The Queen of Dironem, now posing at the Queen of Euwan, was an eerie sight. Outside of her armor she sat in a sleek black shirt that hugged at her body, yet flowed off her backside, framing her hips just above the matching leathery pants and boots underneath – all garments, the Doctor knew, were still a sort of shield, and if he threw a spear it would do little more than bruise her ego if it managed to strike her. She had pale skin and blood red lips that smiled deviously as they entered, sparkling eyes looking them over and deciding he wasn't a threat.
With a quick glance to Clara, he felt a knot tying itself in his stomach.
The Doctor didn't know if it was the way the Queen was sitting calmly on the throne, fingernails tapping impatiently as they entered the room, or if it was the knowing look she seemed to have that sent shivers over his head and down his spine. He steps became hesitant, feeling the negative energy rolling off the woman watching them and, he could tell, Clara was off put by the same. She struggled just enough to make the Queen's smile widen as she stood, making her way down the steps to wrap her arms around her slowly, eyes closing in a manner that made him slightly sick.
"You must be a fine warrior," Morda offered as she met his look, straightening away from Clara and not looking down at her as she waited.
The Doctor bowed slightly, dropping his head just enough, but he didn't take his eyes off her. He didn't trust her and he certainly didn't trust the way she kept a possessive hand on Clara's shoulder. "Just a lucky find," he replied quietly, voice low.
"You don't sound pleased," she told him, looking upset, "One should be pleased when they come across the princess – so lost and far from home."
He feigned a smile, "Your majesty, I am pleased, but concerned for my plight."
"And what plight might that be?"
Nodding to Clara, he explained, "She wandered into a rebel camp and in the dead of night, I choose to defect to return her – but now I fear I cannot go back, nor can I venture into the village as I'd be labeled a traitor to the rebellion."
Morda narrowed her eyes at him, a small grin lifting her lips as she asked, "Are you trying to ask for a place amongst my men?"
He bowed again, and again, he refused to take his eyes off of her. "It would be an honor to fight alongside men as valiant as those who defend the crown."
"Him," she looked to Sloren to say, "I approve of."
The Doctor glanced sideways at the other man and saw how the words stung him, despite the even expression on his face – the hurt lay in the way he raised his chin slightly, lips threatening a tense grin. "I seek pity, your majesty, not approval."
Stepping closer, Morda nodded, "Then pity you shall find." She turned to Sloren and nodded, "Take him to the training fields – see what sort of man he is." Shifting closer to Clara, she told her, "I'll take care of my daughter, remind her of her place in this kingdom."
Sloren gulped and it went unnoticed by the woman staring at Clara – who looked to the ground rather than meet the Queen's gaze – but it didn't go unnoticed by the Doctor. He took the two steps to the man's side and told him quietly, "When you are ready, good sir."
There was a hesitation then, just before Sloren nodded and turned, striding out of the great hall and the Doctor awkwardly followed, hands adjusting the metal at his chest and fighting the temptation to give Clara one last look of assurance. He had to assure himself that the dastardly Queen wouldn't run a sword through her; he had to assure himself that as far as the Queen was concerned, she was the prize, the battery, the coordinates that would make the machine work, and he forced himself to toss aside the other thoughts jumbled in his mind.
"Will she be safe?" He chanced to question as they reached the hall outside, turning left and heading out towards where the Doctor knew he would surely have to ready himself for a test battle against, presumably, one of his best men. Where, the Doctor also knew, his plan could go completely awry if he was too easily defeated.
Giving him a look of contempt, Sloren nodded, "She's the Queen's daughter."
He smiled and risked all to say, "She's the Queen's prisoner."
Sloren turned slightly, footsteps slowing and he asked, "Did she tell you this?"
With a grin at the concern, the Doctor allowed, "She told me a few choice things, trying to convince me to set her free."
"But that she is the Queen's prisoner – did she say anything else?"
The Doctor lowered his eyes slightly and whispered, "She says she has friends amongst her enemies."
He caught the man's quick smirk before he turned away. "Are you good with a sword?"
Shrugging, the Doctor touched the object hanging heavily off his waist, and admitted honestly, "Bit rubbish, actually. Better at strategies; the planning of battles more so than the competition of them." He accepted the nod Sloren offered because he knew it meant the man understood – even if he ended the test on the ground, his mind might still be of some use.
And armies always needed good minds.
They moved out into the misty morning and the Doctor could hear others chatting, horses being saddled, and swords clanking against one another loudly. He nodded to the men as they moved through and once they'd found a spot on the grass none were occupying with their training, Sloren drew his sword and turned to face the Doctor, gesturing at him to do the same. With a slow laugh, the Doctor touched the handle and he pointed, "A reminder – far better at talking than fighting."
Sloren laughed, "You wish to talk your way out of battle."
He nodded, straightening and gripped the handle now, fidgeting with it, "It took but a few words to subdue your princess."
The sword swung easily at him and the Doctor jumped back away from it, struggling with his own weapon for a moment before drawing it and looking up at the amusement on the other man's face. Of course he'd used a sword before, but other incarnations – ones more adept than himself – and he gripped the sword roughly, bringing it up with a grimace when Sloren's cut the air in his direction. He shouted out when the connection shook his arms painfully and then he rushed to the side, slipping away from a second swing and a third, and he could hear the men laughing – knew he had an audience.
"He's like a weasel avoiding the mouth of a lion," Sloren called out, eliciting another round of laughter.
The Doctor raised a hand, breathing heavily to explain, "Sometimes it's better to live to have another day to fight, than enter foolishly into the fray."
"And he calls us fools," Sloren shouted with a smile.
Raising an open palm, the Doctor shook his head, "No, no, obviously not – you've ruled over this planet for… what's it now, twenty three years? Obviously not fools; obviously quite adept; obviously warriors unmatched anywhere on these lands."
Striking out, Sloren crashed his sword into the Doctor's three times before responding, "So you woo your opponents like a woman?"
Shrugging awkwardly, the Doctor sighed, "Were I the woman on your mind, you'd be properly wooed."
The metals collided again, this time dropping the Doctor back several feet with a gasp of pain. "You claim to know what's on my mind – is this your sorcery? Mind tricks and word games?"
"I'm really quite clever at them – told you before, more the strategist."
Rushing towards him, Sloren slashed at him until his back pressed roughly against a wall. He knocked the sword from his hands easily, holding him with the blade to his neck, the Doctor's palms out at his sides, and he hissed, "Strategize your way out of this."
The Doctor whispered, "You look upon her as one in love, and though she may not reciprocate in front of the Queen for fear of the repercussions for both herself and you, on other days she might: a smile, a witty remark, a light touch to your hand, stolen in a garden. And you're afraid now, but not because you feel her life is in danger, you know it's not – she's far too important to your Queen's plans – but because she might let slip that it was your idea to take the explosive and leap the back wall just before nightfall on her horse. Because if the Queen discovered your treachery, you'd be forcing her hand and it wouldn't be Clarice's head on a post out front, serving as a warning… it would be your own."
"Did she tell you this?" Sloren demanded quietly, turning to glance at the men approaching.
With a shake of his head, the Doctor offered a small smile and explained, "No, she spoke very little to anyone at the camp." Then he added, "Told you, strategist… and strategy merely requires attention and cunning and a little imagination."
"You mean to say you deduced these things," he gestured back, "From a few moments in the great hall?"
"I deduced these things from one look in the great hall; one look she failed to return that froze your heart in your chest and is driving your anger now, which is quite a hearty anger." He gave the man a light push and a nervous chuckle.
Sloren raised a hand, stopping his men from getting within earshot, and he asked, "What do you deduce of her?"
"What?" He asked slowly.
Leaning closer, Sloren dipped his head and tilted it away from his men to state, "Clarice."
"It might be best to steer clear of her for a few days; loads on her mind."
"Am I on her mind?" Sloren murmured, teeth clenching together.
Brow wrinkling, the Doctor replied softly, "Yes."
Turning again, this time meeting his eye, Sloren demanded, "And the Queen?"
"What of the Queen?"
"What do you deduce of her?" He smiled, slowly, testing.
"She's a solitary creature, incapable of trusting even the closest of her men – undoubtedly she's been banished from one realm already by someone she put her faith in. She'll meet her end far sooner than she thinks and it'll come at the hand of the most unexpected and for the most unexpectedly pure reason." The Doctor grinned back and nodded, "And she's your mother."
Sloren tugged the sword away from him, staring at him curiously before turning to the men and announcing, "Meet our new strategist."
