The Legend of Caliburn

How in the name of Common Sense did I manage to get myself into this ridiculous situation? All the Doctor could think of was that his wits must still have been brandy-befuddled. Now here he was, a-horseback, leading a hastily assembled warband on a mad dash across the countryside to head off a troop of marauding Saxons. The last time I was on a horse, he mused, I rode it through a mirror in space to rescue Madame de Pompadour. He'd laugh if only his bum didn't feel like a bloody slab of katok liver.

Back at the standing stone, he hadn't even had time to draw breath after the red-haired Lady's startling intimation that she was Merlin before a runner burst breathlessly into the tent shouting hoarsely that Saxon marauders were a mere day's ride away, burning and pillaging in their direction. Every man in the tent (and they were all men, save the Lady) went as still as the stone itself, staring at him with fearful hope. What else could he do?

"Then we will ride to meet them!" he yelped, powering through his suddenly dry throat to try to make it more of a yell and raising the sword high. "Who is with me?"

With an answering roar, every man in the tent turned and ran for their horses.

Lowering his arm in their dusty wake, the Doctor turned back to the Lady again, finding her gazing hard at him with an unreadable expression somewhere in the mist between derision and approval. Not wanting to hear her thoughts, whatever they were, he seized on the first thing that leapt to his mind. "I'm in need of a horse, if you could find one for me. I got here on foot." He kept his pitiful poker face plastered as tightly as he could on his mug.

Another beat as her eyebrows flared, then she simply turned to the girl who had slipped into the tent and was obviously waiting for orders. "My horse, Cari. And find one for the King." Apparently she was planning to ride with them, as well. Without another word, she held her hand out to the girl, who brought an ornate leather scabbard out from behind her back. The Lady took it and passed it to the Doctor for "his" new sword, seemed about to speak, then turned abruptly away again and swept outside, leaving him all alone, staring the empty doorway.

"Blimey," he whispered, and tried not to collapse.

^..^

The combined petty kings and dukes sorted themselves out in an astonishingly short half an hour, selecting the best fifty or so warriors among them to accompany the new King into battle. In no time they were mounted and ready, and one elder statesman who was remaining behind due to age and infirmity lent the Doctor a beautiful charger, black as midnight and obviously intelligent. The horse investigated his new rider for a few seconds and decided to give him provisional approval to mount – the Doctor didn't press his luck, knowing he'd have to prove himself to the animal over time.

They rode for several hours through the night carrying torches, following the runner likewise mounted and turned into a guide, leading them back the way he'd come. A few hours rest between moonset and sunrise, then they were off again, sharing out the small provisions they had in their saddle bags while they rode.

The men had left "the King" alone for the most part, none riding at his side just behind the guide, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He wasn't at all sure whether to put that down to respect or what. Now it was just about noon on the following day, and the runner swiveled on his saddle to inform the King that they were nearing the last known location of the invaders.

The Doctor switched hands on the reins again and let his left arm dangle to rest it for a moment, his fingertips finding the sword's scabbard as if drawn to it. Glancing down at the ruby winking in the sunlight, he wondered again at the weapon's history.

"Are you good with a sword, my Lord?" Skepticism crept through the contrived neutrality of the words coming from his right, and he swung his head to look at the Lady spurring her horse up to that side, the first time she'd spoken to him since they'd left the village.

"Actually, I'm a dab hand with a broadsword," he replied with a grin, glad for the distraction. "The last time – well, never mind that one, swords aren't much use against Cybermen." It sure hadn't stopped their clomping march up the stairs after him and Jackson. "But the time before that, now, I'll have you know I fought the leader of the Sycorax to a standstill for Rose's hand - I mean, um..." he spluttered, recovering, "I lost my hand... then I grew it back... and then it grew me back... and then it won Rose's hand... or I kind of … gave them to each other..." Desperately seeking a way out of that labyrinth of memories, he glanced right again, catching her look of consternation at his string of nonsensical non sequitors. He seized hold of the first lifeline. "So you're Merlin?"

"Merelen," came the dubious reply.

"Beg pardon?"

She sighed. "If you insist on using my given name, my Lord, rather than my title of Lady of the Lake, I would request that you pronounce it correctly. Mer-eh-len."

"Ah. I see. Merelen." She nodded approval of the correction. He looked at her a moment longer, then put a humble note into his voice. "And may I have your permission to call you that – when it is appropriate, of course?"

She took a deep breath, appreciative of the unexpected courtesy. "You may... Lord Arthur." The use of his (presumed) name signaled clearly she considered herself his equal.

He gave an exasperated growl. "That's NOT my name! I was trying to tell them that, but they just latched onto it."

She was staring at him again. "Why would you – never mind. What is your name, then?"

"The Doctor. Just the Doctor. Where I come from, that is a name. – Why did you think I was British?"

"Because of the way you speak – but while the sounds are the same as ours, the words are nonsense."

"My accent? Of course – the TARDIS translator circuit." He shook his head – usually being mistaken for a "local" didn't cause this kind of trouble.

"Where are you from then, Lord Doctor?"

"Just Doctor, please. Drop the Lord." He took a deep breath, measuring her for potential understanding, then took the plunge. "I'm from very far away – a different world, in fact. A different planet, not this Earth, spinning around a different Sun." He left out the fact that it was twin suns. Enough was enough.

The Lady went as still as ice, unconsciously pulling her horse to a stop, staring at him through huge eyes. He stopped his own mount a second later and looked back at her, waiting for her to absorb it. As the rest of the group began to reach them (they'd been hanging back several lengths), it caused a ripple, and she came to with a start and kicked her horse back into motion.

"So it's true," she finally said, her voice shaking. "The ancient legend. You've come for the sword, then, to take it back where it belongs?"

Nonplussed, the Doctor stared back. "No... That's not why I'm here." I don't think. "What's this legend? Tell me."

She hesitated, then shook her head again. "I won't tell you the bard's version, we'd be here for days. The sword you carry, which we call Caliburn, was brought to my ancient ancestress, the first Lady of the Lake, back before even the Romans came to Britain. A woman from the stars brought it here for safekeeping, asking the first Lady to keep it hidden, that some day someone would return for it. She also said it would protect Britain from her enemies, so long as it was used by one who was worthy. That's why the sword decides who is King."

"A woman from the stars?" Who could that be? "What was her name?"

"She has no name in the bard's tales, only a title, like mine. She was called the Song of the River."

River Song... It hit him like the proverbial ton of bricks. He glanced down at the sword again, three thousand plus years old, from somewhere – and likely somewhen – far across the galaxy. Oh, River, where did you steal it from? And why did you bring it here? (Much later, in a quiet moment, he'd reflect that he didn't actually know she'd stolen it. It just seemed likely from the one brief time he'd known her before she died.)

Merelen had been watching his face. "Do you know of the Lady, my Lo – Doctor?"

He nodded absently. "A bit. Just a bit. She's a mystery." One I'm apparently going to solve some day. But not today.

A small cloud of dust was marking the return of one of the scouts he'd sent out ahead. He pulled up hard beside the Doctor. "My Lord! The Saxons are just over that ridge, in the next valley. They're on the move, marching this way!"

They had found the enemy.

NOW what am I going to do?