Hundred Years' War

A Doctor Who Story

1—Mother Never Lies

Thalmidor-Gregsithhupanarison raced to the top of the hill behind his house, his twin brother Kepalte-Kenarnatisilbashon only steps behind. They ran until they got to the tallest tree on the property, a Jeckinav. Its huge girth, low, sturdy limbs and waving tendrils made it a perfect place to play as children and a perfect place to speak privately now that they were older. The tree house they had built for themselves ages ago was still standing and they climbed into it now, shutting themselves away from the rest of the world.

"Did you see Mother today, Kenarn?" the first young man asked. "She was packing up the rest of my things, stuff I said was too babyish to take with me. She said I might want it."

Kenarn answered his twin, "Don't worry, Thalmidor, she did the same to me. I tried to tell her we could come get it again if we really wanted it . . ."

"I think she doesn't want it around any more," Thalmidor declared.

Kenarn shook his head. "It's not like that at all; Mother never lies. She wants us to take it with us to show Father. He won't have seen any of it, and she says he'll want to . . ."

"Do you really think we have a father? I saw in the TARDIS databanks how Gallifreyan children were cloned—'Loomed' they called it—for ages and ages. Maybe we were—"

"Mother never lies!" Kenarn insisted. "She might not tell you anything, but she never lies. We have the pictures to prove it. Besides, Mother's been telling us forever about Father and how we would meet him someday. I wonder if he's as wonderful as Mother says . . ."

Thalmidor replied crisply, "If he was that wonderful she wouldn't have sent him away in the first place. There's got to be something wrong with him, something bad."

"Or maybe she's just an old stick-in-the-mud who didn't want to go adventuring, or living with a human version of a hummingbird. From what she says, Father never stands still for a moment and barely stops for breath when he talks. Gee, that sounds a lot like you, Thalmidor!"

"I'm nowhere near that bad," Thalmidor grumbled. "But I really have to wonder about Mother . . . and our father. Why would he just let Mother take us away?"

Kenarn said seriously, "You remember about Kassi and me, how we argued and clashed about everything, but still were crazy about each other? Maybe Mother and Father were the same way, though I can't see Mother being crazy about someone."

"She told us every regeneration's different, though the basics stay the same," Thalmidor said, musing. "Maybe this regeneration has changed her a lot. And who knows what kind of father we'll end up with. He might not come at all!"

"Mother said he was crushed when she took us away, so there's no way of telling. All I know is if Kassi and I had actually had children I would have never forgotten about them no matter how long I was gone or how much I changed. Maybe Father will be the same way. And he has a TARDIS!"

"That's not what she said," Thalmidor corrected. "She said he has an old, beat-up rust bucket that probably won't get him to the edge of the Solar System, let alone anywhere else. We'll have to take our TARDIS when it comes to it, if Mother will part with it."

Kenarn sighed. "I wish she would teach us to fly it . . ."

"We know the answer to that question by heart—'Your father will teach you; near-death experiences are his department.' I don't see what harm it would do to show us just once . . ."

"She'll be showing us tomorrow when we leave," Kenarn reminded his twin. "She'll have to if she's going to get us to Earth."

Thalmidor was just about to speak when his watch started chiming softly. He looked at it and said, "It's late. We'd better get back to the house."

Adora sat down on the porch swing and gently rocked while the twins cleaned up from dinner. She looked out at the sunset on the planet she had made home for herself and the twins and thought about tomorrow. Tomorrow, she would take them to their father, the Doctor.

She wouldn't dream of breaking her promise; that was beneath her. But she did wonder if she would ever see her children again. They would probably get wrapped up in the Doctor's way of living, his passion and brilliance—and decide they didn't need her any more. That would be the price she would pay for taking them from the Doctor. She couldn't change it, but it made her sad.

The twins loved her, she was sure of that. Both were intelligent, capable, and kind; they loved her and always would. She had not raised them to be the cold, power-hungry, proud beings her first children had been. She had learned that lesson from hard experience; the twins had to be taught to care about others and themselves. She owed their father no less, or herself. Kenarn had even had a committed relationship, one where Adora had not approved but dared not stand in his way. He had to be able to risk if he was ever going to find someone to share his lives with. As it happened, his girlfriend had only been a part of his life for ten years before she moved on, but Adora felt Kenarn had grown from the experience. He had always been more passionate, more overcome by his emotions, but now that had been slightly tempered. Thalmidor had yet to share his heart with anyone but his twin but Adora was not worried; he got along well with others but was too carefree to settle down at this point. She hoped that his time with his father would help him mature a bit.

His father. The Doctor.

Adora hadn't seen the Doctor in one hundred years. She remembered him though, all too well. She thought back to how he had looked when she left him, how horribly broken he had seemed. He had been willing to throw away everything that made him who he was just to be with her and the twins as a family, but she had known it wouldn't have been right and so she had left. She had settled here on Renstigon and had raised the twins on her own, but she had always talked about the Doctor with respect and love, had brought out the pictures, had made sure the twins understood what a good man he was. She knew he was a good man, knew how he loved her. She had loved him as well, loved him too much to chain him to one planet and time to fritter his days away. She desperately hoped the Doctor would take some time to heal from what she had done to him instead of immediately jumping forward to when he could have the twins as part of his lives again; if he didn't it would be awkward. But there was no way of knowing.

She heard the twins in the house, Kenarn singing and Thalmidor playing the piano. She had insisted that they learn, that they have music in their lives as well as sports, all the arts, languages, history . . . if there was any branch of study or pastime she had made sure they were exposed to it in some fashion. Adora didn't want the Doctor thinking she had neglected their education. It was true that the planet she was on was not very technologically advanced and that their science was limited, but she had done the best she could and she was sure the twins would be up to speed within a year or so. They were bright and the Doctor was a great teacher. Yes, she had done all she could for her children.

She just hoped their father would forgive her for it.

The Doctor looked in the mirror again, scowled, and tossed his tie aside in frustration. He got out another from the special rack in the Wardrobe Room and considered it, frowning. He had been at this for over an hour, and he still couldn't find the right tie. Maybe it was the shirt . . .

The TARDIS hummed at him loudly and he stopped himself, sighing. He wasn't ever going to find the perfect tie for this event and even if he did no one would notice it anyway. He grabbed the next one on the rack, took the shirt he'd picked out and left the Wardrobe Room telling his TARDIS, "I'm sorry for the mess; I just want everything to be perfect. I know you can't give them rooms until they come, but I'm sure you'll do a brilliant job with that; you always do. I wonder if I should pick up some more food . . ."

The TARDIS gave a little shiver and the hum increased.

"All right, all right!" the Doctor threw up his hands. "I'll stop fretting, I will . . ."

He reached his bedroom and laid out the clothes, then sat down on the bed. It was four years since Adora had left him on Earth, four long years. He had gone to Jack minutes after it happened and his immortal friend had let him cry and rage and then sulk for about six weeks. Jack threw him out after that, saying, "The Universe needs you. Get out there and right the wrongs. I'll even come with you for a little while, but your days of moaning and mourning have to end. You'll get your boys back, don't worry. It hurts now, but you'll get 'em back."

The two traveled together for two years, and then Jack decided one day to go back to Earth and his Ianto and the slow path. The Doctor didn't begrudge him; his friend had been more to him than he could express, but it was time for them to part ways. He promised Jack he would bring the twins by to meet him and then took off for parts unknown.

"Parts Unknown" had meant getting sucked into a time whirlpool formed by some creatures who were on the track to making time-ships but still hadn't got it quite right. It took him ages to get back to his regular time-stream and once he did he had to deal with an incursion of Sontarans on Ormion Twelve and once that was over there was a Mauve Alert . . .

By the time everything had settled down a bit and he could catch his breath, he was surprised to find that another two years had passed and he was ready. He had to see his children, see how Thalmidor and Kenarn had turned out. They were still young, still impressionable; he'd get his chance to teach them about the Universe and all its wonders before they got too old and jaded. There was still time.

He took a shower, dried and got dressed, then made his way to the Console Room, more nervous than he'd ever been in his lives. This meant the world to him, no, the Universe. He was going to see his children for the first time in a hundred years. Would they accept him, feel ambivalent, reject him? He had only Adora's promise that she would speak kindly of him . . . but wait, she wouldn't break her promise. Adora wouldn't lie to him. If she said she would tell the twins he was a good man, she would do so. She might have resented him or lost her love for him over the years, but Adora never lied. He set the coordinates and materialized, then took a deep breath and opened the doors.