Thank you to my betas: bannedfrompencils and thinkatory.
Seven knights sat in a circle around the table at the centre of the control room, looking more like a group conducting a séance than piloting a spaceship. There were no levers, buttons, switches, screens, or displays in the room, although occasionally one of the knights would wave his hand in the air or gesture at one of the others. Otherwise they remained immobile, several with their eyes closed.
A tall man with thick dark curls and a short growth of beard opened deep blue eyes and lifted one arm. His chainmail spacesuit restricted the movement somewhat, indicating their approach to a planet large enough to reach them with its gravitational pull.
"Think you it worked?" the blond young man with a good-humoured face next to him asked.
The blue-eyed man looked at his Knight General. "Verily, it should have." He stood and moved to the large rectangular stone in which a sword was sheathed, the red stone on its golden hilt pulsing.
"Truly are we in another dimension," the blond knight breathed. 'She will not find us here, not without Excalibur."
"Do not be so certain," came a woman's voice, seemingly out of the air itself.
All eyes opened wide and focused on the communication link projected above the round table.
"She is coming!" the Knight General said. His usual smile was replaced by shocked horror.
"She is here," King Arthur said. His mouth set in a grim line and his hands were tightly clenched by his side.
A bright white light with a sound like an explosion rocked the ship, knocking the knights from their seats and sending their king, who had been standing next to the sword, sprawling on the deck. The ship began to pick up speed, hurtling toward the nearest planet at ever-increasing speed.
With its customary wheeze, the TARDIS scanned the area where it would land, determined what disguise would best conceal the transcendental spaceship/time machine in these particular surroundings, and then materialized amongst the trees as a bright blue wooden box marked Police with a flashing light on top.
"What have you got for me this time?" the pilot and sole occupant questioned as the brightness in the central column slowly ceased its up-and-down movement.
The Doctor ignored the array of instruments on the TARDIS control panel which could have told him precisely – and sometimes accurately – the planet, place, and time of his arrival. Instead, he swung open the door to saunter outside. The grey-haired man took a deep breath of forest air. Definitely Earth, the Doctor thought. England, 5th century, no 8th century, no definitely 5th.
Leaving the blue box standing amongst the trees as if it had every right to be there, the Doctor headed toward a lake visible beyond the leafy branches, the tails of his greatcoat flapping in the damp breeze. This area reminded him of a place he had visited on one of the Brigadier's last adventures with him. That stubborn numbskull had nearly died then, defending his world.
Fallen leaves and broken branches crunched under the Doctor's black boots and something small scurried away unseen. A flat, grassy plain stretched from the edge of the woods to the shore of a lake. The ground rose sharply at the eastern edge of the grey-blue water. At the top of the steep cliff a stone tower was under construction.
Sounds of men handling heavy stones and an occasional curse drifted down from where the tower was being built at the edge of the rocky crag high above his head, though no one was in sight. On the shoreline below what would be the west wall of the tower, the Doctor picked his way among broken stones, then brandished a small instrument the size of a screwdriver and took a quick scan of the ground, shaking his head at the stupidity of the builders.
He barely had time to duck out of the way when a shout from above warned him of danger. Several large stones which had been part of the west tower wall crashed down to join the broken rocks at his feet where he had pressed himself against the steep embankment, hands splayed against the cliff. Dirt rained down for several more seconds, getting in his eyes and mouth.
"That was close," the Doctor muttered to himself as he blinked and spat out the dirt. He brushed rock dust from his white shirt and straightened his black overcoat. Glimpses of red lining flashed as he shook out the coat.
All sounds of work on the tower had stopped though the shouting and cursing had intensified. The Doctor spotted a well-worn path leading up the cliff to the construction site and strode in that direction.
At the end of the steep path was a plateau with a view of the lake below. On three sides of a grassy area near the edge rose sturdy stone walls, half-built. Workers in rough clothing of undyed wool stood in small groups, muttering to themselves and occasionally pointing toward the gaping hole that used to be a fourth wall. They took no notice of the strangely-dressed grey-haired man who sauntered around as he examined the partially-built tower and collapsed west wall. He peered over the edge where the ground was soft and small stones continued to bounce down the cliff face with tiny showers of dirt.
"You there!" came a shout.
The Doctor looked up to see a man approaching. He had lank brown hair and a ginger beard that doubled the size of his head. His woolen shirt was dyed a bright blue and stretched tightly across his middle.
"Who are you?" the man demanded, eyeing the Doctor suspiciously.
"Someone passing through," the Doctor replied with equal lack of courtesy in the heavily accented English this regeneration had adopted. "Who are you?"
The bearded man frowned at the visitor's haughty tone. "I know every man in the king's party and you are not one of them. You will declare yourself."
"Will I?" The Doctor eyed the fat man.
His clean hands and haughty demeanour marked him as someone in charge of the peasant workers who now regarded the confrontation with more interest than the collapsed wall.
With a glare, the man shouted to the nearest group of stonemasons who had left off their conversation to gawk at the quarrel. "Since you have nothing better to do, you will escort this man to Lord Sagramour's tent." Then the haughty man with the ginger beard strode away.
Three burly workers surrounded the Doctor to ensure he followed. Shrugging, the Doctor went along, curious to see what would happen next.
The tent they made their way toward rested in the middle of an encampment set back from the construction site. Its walls were striped white and gold-coloured cloth and a yellow pennant with a white dragon fluttered from the highest point. The luxury, for the time and place, of the central temporary structure suggested it housed a personage of importance.
Inside the tent, the Doctor's escort bowed his head until his ginger beard touched his protruding stomach. "My lord."
A silver-haired man looked around at their entrance. He wore a crisp white linen shirt with deep blue trousers and a clasp in the shape of a dragonfly with a green jewel for its eye held a dark blue cloak around his shoulders. A noble certainly, but not royalty. The Doctor's "captor" had mentioned a king's party so this new interrogator would likely be one of the higher-ups in service to said king.
The Doctor ran through his memories of 5th century English kings, but, without more clues to the exact time and place, it was impossible to determine with certainty who the current ruler of this area was. Besides, historical records for the time were woefully sparse and the oral history had been lost in succeeding centuries. King Arthur was said to rule Britain about this time, if such a monarch had ever existed. The warrior who had brought Excalibur to Earth through a rip in space and time may never have sat on a throne, let alone been the Once and Future King of legend who would return when he was needed. History was written by the victors and subject to certain embellishments in favour of the storytellers.
The workers who had escorted the Doctor shuffled their feet and stared at the floor, clearly uncomfortable in the presence of the richly-dressed man who was probably a royal courtier.
"You should dismiss these poor men so we can get acquainted," the Doctor suggested.
The nobleman's eyes flashed at the imperious tone and he left off his appraisal of the Doctor's odd clothing to look directly into his eyes.
"This man was poking around the tower site," the head stonemason asserted, puffing out his chest so it protruded nearly as far as his stomach. "Attempting to cast another incantation to interfere with the king's fortifications I have no doubt."
"To what?" the Doctor asked.
Both his accuser and the noble ignored him.
"What grounds do you have for such a claim?" questioned the noble, eyeing the fat stonemason thoughtfully.
"I saw him near the lake below," the man with the ginger beard said. "He waved his magic wand and then the wall collapsed."
"Magic wand!" The Doctor whipped out his sonic screwdriver. "I'll have you know this is a scientific instrument capable of opening doors, locking and unlocking just about anything not wooden, amplifying an X-ray machine, identifying substances, revealing disguises, welding, soldering, scanning, computing, summoning …" The Doctor paused. "Okay, magic wand."
"And he cannot identify himself," the man finished ominously without a glance in the strange visitor's direction.
Those words seemed to hold special significance for Lord Sagramour. He regarded the Doctor closely as he approached. "I am personally familiar with every one of the king's nobles and their households, and clearly you are not a peasant. Do you have any token to attest to your birth?"
The Doctor reached into his inner pocket and produced a small square of what would eventually be called paper to hold up for inspection.
The nobleman looked closely. "This indicates that you are a prince and your mother is the daughter of the king of South Wales, a close ally of our High King."
"Does it?" the Doctor inquired as he turned the psychic paper to have a look at it himself.
"Yet it says nothing of a father. Are you able to name your father?"
"There is no possibility that you know my father or that his name would have any meaning for you."
The head stonemason and Sagramour exchanged a look, then the nobleman nodded. "I'll take him to the king."
The bearded fat man bowed again. "Yes, my lord."
Sagramour led the way further into the large tent, lifting a flap which separated the entry from an inner chamber. The inner circle of the large tent was likely where the current king of this area held court, perhaps the High King the nobleman had referred to. Could it be …
The Doctor followed Sagramour through the flap, letting it fall back into the face of the fat stonemason who scowled and yanked it aside again.
The floor of the tent's inner room was covered with an assortment of colourful rugs. Gold thread stitched into the white cloth walls glittered in the light of numerous candles which illuminated the interior and created a smoky haze at the tent's peak. A wooden platform had been constructed on which a man with a long grey-black beard and a woman in a low-cut gown were seated in chairs with tall wooden backs painted white. The head of a dragon done in gold paint curved down one arm of the man's chair and its spiked tail lay down the other.
A chain of thick silver links hung around the man's neck supporting a pendant with a red gem the size of his pinky. Each finger of both his hands had at least two jewelled rings. A puckered, white scar ran from the man's forehead to his cheek and another seemingly newer scar crossed his face and disappeared into his black beard. The woman was blonde and buxom, also dressed richly but her shoulders continually twitched under the silk of her green gown. Her neck and ears were likewise adorned with jewellery, most of the gems a bright green, and she wore several rings.
"Sire." Lord Sagramour bowed to the man on the platform.
A dozen other men dressed in dark-coloured robes stood behind the throne, deep in agitated conversation. They barely glanced at the recent arrivals.
"This man was found at the site of the latest collapse," Sagramour announced loudly. "And he is unable to satisfactorily name his lineage."
The dark-robed men ceased their heated conversation and stared intently at the Doctor. The queen caught her breath. Thick grey brows lowered over the king's sharp brown eyes, stretching the white scar.
So parts of the story were true; an old Earth legend about a tower that would not stand, a king looking for a scapegoat, and a boy with no father. Although in this case "boy" would be a stretch even for a Timelord. The Doctor remembered a few other tidbits about this story, too, and his own past. Which could be the future. He had looked forward to this for a very long time.
The king looked contemplatively at the strangely-clothed visitor. "What is your name?"
Smiling, the Doctor announced, "Merlin."
"Is it true you have no father?" the king questioned.
"I don't have one now," the Doctor said. "Of course I had a father, but that was longer ago than you can imagine, or from a linear point of view it hasn't happened yet, and I don't think we want to get into explanations of solar systems and galaxies when your people are figuring out that this little island is on a tiny round planet that orbits a yellow sun."
The dark-robed men exchanged glances.
"He is mad," one whispered.
"That makes no difference," another whispered back.
The king was not distracted by their conversation or the Doctor's chatter, his sharp gaze fixed on the strange visitor's face with a calculating expression. Well, the man could not have held power this long without knowing how to manipulate unforeseen events in his own favour, although his alliance with the Saxons had proved to be problematic.
"You are King Vortigern and this is your lovely wife, Rowena," the Doctor said, waving his hands toward each in turn. No one was surprised the stranger had correctly deduced such an obvious fact. "And if you want the truth about why your tower wall keeps collapsing you need look no further than the complete incompetence of your builder." The Doctor turned to the fat man in the blue shirt who had escorted him here, the one most responsible for the inept geological survey.
"Sire!" The head stonemason's face turned purple under his ginger beard.
The king waved him to silence and kept his eyes fixed on the Doctor.
"Anyone foolish enough to build on unstable ground shouldn't be given the responsibility of constructing so much as a tent." The Doctor waved his arms at the dark-robed men ranged around the king's throne. "And yes, I know exactly what these charlatans have been spouting about sacrificing a boy with no father and sprinkling his blood on the foundation to make the tower stand and frankly that ranks as a new level of stupidity."
The men glared angrily but did not speak.
"Let me tell you that as long as it would take to kill me so I stayed dead, that would be nothing to the dangers of spilling Timelord blood on this planet. You would have several unwanted visitors in short order and I can assure you they will not be as pleasant to deal with as I am."
At the implied threat, King Vortigern's eyes narrowed.
The Doctor paused to let the king think. The monarch needed to reassure his men of his continued strength and building this tower was the demonstration of that strength. If his superstitious followers would be satisfied with a human sacrifice it was nothing to Vortigern to have a stranger killed. But if the High King could be convinced he would be better off with the Doctor as an ally, he would take it. Vortigern's men were losing faith and the threat of another assault either by those who would challenge his claim to the kingship or by his own uneasy allies, the Saxons, hung darkly over all their heads.
"How do we make the walls of the tower stand firm?" the king questioned.
"Fire this idiot builder who can't tell solid ground from a geological nightmare and have the men do what I say," the Doctor said.
Incensed, the fat man who had accosted the Doctor looked around to see if anyone was paying this crazy person the slightest attention. The dark-robed men were clearly furious but waited in silence for their ruler's decision.
Lord Sagramour took his cue from King Vortigern's nod. "You are dismissed," he told the stonemason. "Merlin," he addressed the Doctor. "I will take you to the workers and you can give them your instructions."
"Well, then." The Doctor rubbed his hands together. "Let's get started."
The Doctor gave final instructions to the men digging the conduit which would drain the water from the underground pool into the nearby lake. "Make certain you line the tunnel with concrete."
The workers looked at each other in confusion. After three days of carrying out the Doctor's orders, the peasant workers had grown accustomed to his odd speech, exaggerated hand gestures, single-minded disregard of nobles and peasants alike, and incomprehensible speeches. Most of what the strange man said they had managed to understand and carry out but this was a word they had never heard. "What is kongkreet?" one dared to ask.
"Really, do I have to do every little thing myself?" the Doctor said. "Idiots and fools building this tower; it's a wonder you got any of the walls to stand this long."
Lord Sagramour approached, wearing his white linen shirt beneath a red coat and the same dark blue cloak with dragonfly clasp. "Merlin, the king requests your presence."
"Fine," the Doctor agreed.
The nobleman frowned but did not reprimand the stranger for treating a royal command as if it were a request he could choose to grant or not. He simply turned and led the way to the royal tent without a glance behind to see that the Doctor followed.
In truth, the Doctor was curious to see Vortigern's reaction to their progress. The king was a warrior, not an engineer. He would probably be happy as long as his men were occupied and he kept up appearances that the tower building was continuing to a plan.
As usual, King Vortigern was in his temporary throne room, among his courtiers, his lips compressed and lines of strain around his eyes and mouth which made the white scar tissue even whiter. Queen Rowena, this time, was absent.
"As Merlin said, they found an underground pool of water below the West tower wall," Lord Sagramour said to the king. "He instructed the men to dig a conduit to drain the water into the lake."
"Then let them continue." Vortigern gestured for the Doctor to approach.
"Merlin," the king said, "What do you expect to find at the bottom of this pool after it is drained?"
"Dragons," the Doctor said.
All other conversations ceased and everyone's eyes fixed on the stranger who called himself Merlin. The king's thick grey brows drew together and he glanced around the tent at all those watching and listening to his conversation with the sorcerer.
Vortigern turned his attention to Lord Sagramour. "Has there been any sign of dragons?"
Lord Sagramour was staring open-mouthed at the Doctor. He snapped his gaze to the king. "No, Sire."
The king looked back at the Doctor.
One more day, two at most, by the sonic's calculation and the pool would be entirely drained. "Keep digging," the Timelord said.
Two days later, King Vortigern himself was at the construction site along with his entire court. At the western edge of the clearing where the planned tower would stand, beside a deep hole with a tunnel leading all the way to the lakeshore, a temporary stand had been set up for the king's white throne. Its painted gold dragon glittered in the bright sunshine. Queen Rowena was seated on the smaller throne beside her husband.
Crowded around the stand were the king's nobles, behind them several well-dressed men in black robes, and furthest back were the workers who had laboured on the wall and then the concrete-lined tunnel. All were on hand to see if Merlin's prediction would be true, or whether he was a charlatan who would be sacrificed after all and his blood sprinkled on the foundations. There were various disagreements as to which would make a better show: a fight between live dragons or an execution.
A thin man with mousy brown hair approached King Vortigern. His brown curls were stuck to his forehead and cheeks and his hand shook as he carried a sack to the royal platform.
"What did you find at the bottom of the pool?" the king demanded.
"Just this," answered the stonemason, dumping two large stones onto the ground.
One was the colour of rusty iron, the other a milky quartz.
"Not dragons." King Vortigern looked at the Doctor.
Timing is everything. The Doctor took out the sonic screwdriver; hopefully his calculations were not out by more than a few minutes. He needed to hold their attention until the right moment. "Not dragons, but symbolic of dragons: a red one and a white one."
Vortigern glanced at the stones, then turned his sharp gaze back to the Doctor. One of the black-robed advisers smiled and gestured to a soldier wearing a helmet that covered his face and carrying a sword that was exceptionally long.
"The red dragon is you." The Doctor pointed to the king. "The white dragon is the Saxons you're going to keep from overrunning this land."
The queen scowled and sat straighter as did several guards behind her with white dragon sigils stitched on their tunics.
The Doctor paused at his error. "Wrong story." He faced the crowd around the king and lifted his hands into the air as if making a prophecy. "Vortigern is the white dragon. He used Constans as a puppet king and ruled through him until finally killing him, became High King of the Britons, invited the Saxons to help him defeat the Scots and the Picts – that was a mistake." There were several indrawn breaths of outrage which the Doctor ignored. "Married a Saxon woman – don't know how that worked out, none of my business – and is now attempting to hold onto his crown by building a fortress here." The Doctor paused for dramatic effect, glancing around at his audience.
Nothing he had said to this point was news to the black-robed wizards or the courtiers. The faceless soldier with the long sword cracked his knuckles.
With a flourish the Doctor raised his eyes to the sky and continued. "Vortigern will be killed by Ambrosius, the red dragon, who conquers the Saxons and is then crowned High King and who landed in Devon," the Doctor quickly consulted the calculation his sonic screwdriver was running, "two days ago."
This last piece of news was greeted with complete silence from everyone within hearing. For an interminable length of time the grey-haired king regarded the Doctor narrowly.
Finally Vortigern spoke. "So besides being a sorcerer you are a prophet as well. You would do better to prophesy what I want to hear."
At that moment a bright light streaked across the sky and the Doctor smiled. His calculations had not been off by much after all. The interdimensional ship heading toward them had ripped a hole in the fabric of time and space, allowing Morgaine of the Fey to cross the boundaries which divide universes and step sideways in time. And the Doctor would be here to stop her from using that rip to extend her tyranny to this world. Perhaps this time he could reach her nobility and sense of honour before it came to battle between them; perhaps he could avert the tragedy ahead. Morgaine was capable of ruthless conquest, but she had also used her power to heal a blind man as payment for a few drinks and she respected those who were honourable according to her code.
The Doctor raised his hands skyward as if he had summoned the unusual light, allowing the red lining of his cape to show.
The crowd's eyes followed the path of the strange object in the sky. There were gasps as it came closer and closer, growing bigger and bigger. It glowed red like metal heated in a forge and made a sound between a screech and a whistle which increased in volume until it landed on the lakeshore with a resounding boom and enough force to bury itself in the soft earth. A plume of dirt sprayed into the air. Several of the courtiers ran for safety.
"I'll go talk to the dragon, shall I?" the Doctor announced before taking the path which led down to the lake.