Coming of Age

Nyssa walked back to her quarters, thinking hard about all that Leela and Damon had told her. All around her Time Lords rushed about, preparing for the Otherstide celebrations. Borusa had refused to let the assassination attempt get in the way of the festival, ordering that it go ahead as normal.

Nyssa didn't know what the celebrations were about, but she guessed they were similar to the winter celebrations on her own planet. Leela had told her that they would comprise of a ceremonial recital by artisans, a dinner for the elite of Gallifrey, and a gathering for the less privileged in the Citadel. Gallifreyans usually spent time with their chapters, or families; as some, like Leela and Andred, were bonded. As the wife of the Castellan, she would be attending with him. The thought of her first formal function as Lady Nyssa seemed somewhat daunting. Maybe she would go to Thalia for some lessons on etiquette. The celebration was a matter of weeks away, and she knew she had a lot to learn.

With a surprised jolt, she realised she had completely forgotten about the revelation of the rigged termination circuit. The celebrations would mean that the unofficial investigation her husband was conducting would be delayed due to the security arrangements he would have to oversee. But even then, Damon would not be able to get to Time Control to investigate the termination circuits himself. Nyssa sighed; she didn't know what to do, and she felt powerless.

Within her a dilemma was waging war. She knew she should tell her husband of Damon's and Leela's suspicions but, then again her loyalty to them and the Doctor stopped her, rendered her mute. What should she do? How could she look her husband in the face, when he had placed his trust in her and knowingly lie? She was torn in two with no sign of relief. Did she owe him any loyalty after he had chosen to draw back from their evolving relationship, taking Nyssa's happiness with it?

Feeling the start of a headache, Nyssa tried to tuck her thoughts away, as she slipped into her rooms.

It seemed like mere hours later that the eve of Otherstide came. Nyssa had received no further communication from either Damon or Leela. They had all agreed it was too risky, should the Castellan intercept it. And there was the issue that Nyssa could not have told them anyway. She could not lie to her husband.

He had retreated to his usual coldly distant self, acknowledging her presence but the warmth had gone. The slightly instantaneous Time Lord that had taken her to Traken and given in to the passion between them had been repressed by the dutiful, dedicated Castellan who denied everything that could have been. Time Lords did not feel love or desire, did not allow their hearts to rule their heads. Theirs was a life of rationality and responsibility.

Nyssa had always been a logical girl, utilising the control taught to her by the finest minds on Traken. She was a Consul's daughter, trained and groomed to take his place, to put her people before herself. But the very thought of her husband brought forth an illogical need and a sorrow so deep, one she had not felt since she had watched the entropy field destroy her home, that she feared it would drown her. She could only hide behind the calm, serene mask she had worn for so long. Hiding herself away from the world, even from he who now knew her best.

For the past few days, she had been experiencing faintness and nausea in the mornings, putting her off her food pills, but it had calmed down lately. She was still pale and wan, unable to sleep for the nightmares and thoughts that whirled around her brain, denying her surcease. All interest in her studies and her experiments had long since died; consumed by the emotional turmoil Nyssa experienced nightly. She was just managing to make it through each day.

Nyssa allowed none of this to puncture her façade that night, nor in the morning when she arose from her bed. Tonight was the celebration of Otherstide, and Nyssa could only hope she would remember all the lessons on etiquette and Gallifreyan decorum Thalia had spent the last week driving into her skull. There were so many tiny nuances of language, both in body and verbally, it was enough to make anyone's head spin.

Standing in the middle of her rooms, Nyssa could hear her husband moving about his office, attended by Maxil and the other Commanders, as they finalised the security arrangements for the evening festivities. Sighing heavily, she wandered outside to her garden, letting the wintry sunlight warm her cold skin. She felt as if she were a flame being quenched by the ice of Gallifrey. What would she be in a few hundred years time? Would she become an ice maiden like the rest of the Ladies of Gallifrey?

She kneaded her forehead with her fingertips, feeling a headache beginning behind her temples. Life had been so much simpler with the Doctor. He was her teacher, she his student. Their relationship was uncomplicated, pure and simple. Tegan had been a friend and an almost mother-like figure to her, and she had certainly rubbed off on Nyssa. Adric…Adric had been her main friend, the one she could connect to easiest. Tegan had always been so absorbed in going home; the Doctor too alien and distant to become too familiar to. Adric had been like her, a lost child, far from home.

But she was not a child anymore. She was not even Nyssa of Traken. She was Lady Nyssa of Gallifrey, and slowly her new home was turning her to stone. She realised now, despite all her logical tendencies, she needed the love and care of a person in her life, to breathe, to exist. The Castellan had given her that for so short a time, and now she was dying for lack of it. Nyssa clasped her arms, feeling a chill spreading over her skin. Maybe it was time to rebel; to break free of the ice spreading through her veins.

Nyssa….

Nyssa felt a sudden weakness in her legs, a hot flush spreading over her skin, as the ground rushed up to meet her and the world went black.

She came to slumped against the wall, feeling a pounding in her head. She raised her hand shakily, brushing the hair away from her eyes, when an alarmed shout echoed across the garden.

"Nyssa!"

"My lady!"

Nyssa looked up, recognising the two figures bearing down on her. Commander Andred, Leela's husband, and Chancellor Thalia hurried across the lawn towards her, concern writ large on their faces, Thalia's scarlet skirts swishing furiously. They reached her and Thalia peered concernedly into her eyes, noting the feverish cast of her skin. Andred waited beside the two women, uneasy and restless.

"Nyssa, did you hit your head?" Thalia asked, putting her hand on the younger woman's skin. She was clammy, but burning hot, even more than usual to Thalia's Gallifreyan skin.

"No, I did not. Just a momentary weakness," Nyssa moved away from Thalia's hand, trying to stand, but her legs were too weak.

"You should have gone to the medtechs if you felt ill," Thalia scolded gently. "Andred."

"Chancellor," Andred moved forward, his white cloak swishing in the silent garden.

"Where is the Castellan? He should be told of this,"

"Please, don't-" Nyssa protested weakly.

"I believe he is with the Lord President, my lady. He and Commander Maxil are going over last-minute security details before Otherstide," Andred overrode Nyssa's protest, looking as concerned for Nyssa as Thalia was.

"Then get him here immediately!" Thalia barked, but Nyssa spoke up, her voice stronger.

"No. There is no need for the Castellan to know, he has enough on his mind without adding this to his burden," Nyssa said, her tone brooking no disobedience.

"Nyssa, we cannot-" Thalia was interrupted by Nyssa's determined retort.

"I will be perfectly well in a little while. I just need to rest and prepare for Otherstide," she asserted forcefully. "I have not been sleeping well for a time, that is all that is wrong with me,"

"Hmmm," Thalia pursed her lips, watching Nyssa thoughtfully. She had noticed a dimming of the glow that had shone in the young Trakenite's aura, and wondered what was contributing to it. Could the Castellan have done something? "You must inform your husband, Nyssa. He will want to know,"

"And I will tell him. Later," Nyssa lied, trying to rise again. Andred caught her arm, having watched the exchange between the two noblewomen silently, and swung her into his arms. Nyssa's instinctive stiffness dissolved, when the full weakness of her body impinged on her mind, and she relaxed against his strong frame. The feeling inevitably brought back memories of that night the Castellan had carried her to her chamber, and they had let their hearts rule their heads, just once. Her entire being yearned for such a time again, but her head knew it would never happen. Nothing could, or would overcome her husband's control. Despite whatever had been growing between them, he had chosen to turn his back on it, determined to remain cold and aloof, condemning her to a life of despair. All this passed through Nyssa's mind, as Andred laid her on her bed, Thalia following behind. She dismissed Andred with a wave of her hand, and sat down beside Nyssa, taking her hand.

"Nyssa, you must tell the Castellan. Now rest, and sleep, my dear," she said gently. Nyssa shook her head, the shadows beneath her eyes standing out in the gentle lighting.

"I cannot do so anymore."

At the Trakenite's sad whisper, full of unconscious yearnings, Thalia sighed.

"I can help you do so. Close your eyes, and relax," Thalia gently placed her hands on the sides of Nyssa's face, as Nyssa relaxed back against the pillows. In that moment, sweet oblivion was all she craved. A moment later, her breathing relaxed, and she slipped into slumber. Thalia removed her hands and sighed. She had seen much in Nyssa's mind unwittingly, had seen all that had transpired between her and the Castellan. She did not understand such emotions herself, since Time Ladies tended to be asexual due to the loss of their reproductive abilities, but she sensed Nyssa needed her husband. Her feelings for him went deeper than she suspected even Nyssa knew. And the loss of him was killing her, along with whatever physical weakness was sapping her strength. It was a mystery.

Sighing heavily, Thalia left the sleeping Nyssa, and walked purposefully into the Castellan's office. He had, indeed, just finished his meeting with Maxil and Borusa, and he looked up as the senior Time Lady entered his domain.

"Thalia," he inclined his head, not looking up from his work. Thalia, used to such arrogance from him, merely waited patiently. Eventually he did look up at her, one eyebrow raised. "What do you want?"

Thalia hesitated for a split second. She knew Nyssa would not tell her husband of the incident in the garden, but he needed to know. Maybe it would jolt him out of this nonsense, and back to sanity. She had seen from Nyssa's mind the intensity of his need for her, mystery that it was, and she doubted he would too pleased that she had concealed her weakness from him.

"It concerns your wife, Castellan," she said finally, raising her own eyebrow disapprovingly. The Castellan's arrogance had no effect on her.

"Oh? She is well, I take it?" the Castellan's inquiry was cool and casual, but Thalia sensed something else lurking behind the impenetrable steel of his eyes.

"No."

"What is wrong with her?" he asked, sitting up a little straighter, the movement betraying his concern, thawing slightly. Thalia did not indicate she saw the change, but she noted it with approval. So she told him.

Nyssa was drifting in peaceful darkness, her mind untroubled by the usual turmoil, when she heard another calling her name. Was it the Doctor?

But no, she knew that voice, and couldn't disguise the leap of her heart at the sound.

The Castellan looked down on his sleeping wife, feeling an inner battle within him. Some part of him was uncharacteristically panicked by the thought Nyssa was ill, and that she had knowingly concealed it from him, but had he not resigned any right to care for her, when he withdrew from their relationship?

She looked a little less pale than Thalia had described, the mahogany ringlets framing her angelic face, a slight blush of colour in her cheek. But the shadows that stood out from beneath her eyes tugged at his hearts, impossible to miss. He called her psychically. He needed to talk to her, reassure himself she was well. She stirred, her eyes opening slowly, fighting to focus as they shook off the haze of sleep.

"Castellan? What is it?" she asked, trying to rise slightly but finding she was still too tired to do more than shift slightly on the pillows. Her heart sank when she looked up at her husband, his face stony and implacable, unreadable except for his eyes. And they burned with something Nyssa knew she shouldn't be seeing.

"Why didn't you tell me you were ill?" he asked quietly, his voice harsh but controlled. Nyssa longed to have the strength to shake him, to break that infuriating control.

"There was no need. It is nothing," she replied, dignified and quietly refusing to be intimidated.

"I had a right to know," he retorted, already turning away before he did something stupid. "Whether you deem there is no need or not,"

Nyssa watched his retreat, and felt anger and resentment rise within her. She turned onto her side, turning her back to him, staring at the opposite wall. "Why should you care?" she whispered, a single tear trailing down her cheek, as she closed her eyes.

The Castellan heard her whispered question, felt it burn through to his hearts. He paused at the door of her bedchamber, looking back momentarily, before he sighed and left, closing the door softly behind him.

He did care, whether he liked it or not.

Hours later Nyssa rose from her bed, feeling strengthened, her weariness gone. Now was not the time for pathos, but a time for celebration. And she had her part to play. She went to her wardrobe, slipping out of her tan day dress, and concentrated.

Her encounter with her husband had left her feeling rebellious and angry, wanting to step outside the boundaries of Gallifreyan custom. She was not Gallifreyan, and she would not dance to his tune any longer. So she mentally sketched a gown of bright red, moulded to her figure like water, draping her body in silken splendour. The sleeves hugged her arms and shoulders, ever so slightly revealing the upper swell of her shoulders, the neckline brushing the top of her sternum. Instead of her usual high necked gowns, it dipped down in the back, just below the tops of her shoulder blades.

Slipping it over her head, she smiled for the first time in days it seemed, before deciding what to do with her hair. Brushing it meditatively, she grinned mischievously, and swept it up off her face and neck, pinning into a smooth style, except for one long, loose shining ringlet that trailed down her neck, hiding the very nape until she moved her head, and it would slide around to her neck, trailing over the line of her shoulder and onto her breast. Slipping into soft slippers of the same hue as the gown, she twirled it, satisfied with its gentle sparkle. Deciding she needed no decoration, she left the wardrobe, knowing her husband would brook no delay. She stopped, arrested, by the sight of a small box on the table beside her bed. She sat down and opened it curiously, gasping slightly. Inside, nestled on some soft, satiny cover was a necklace of small, matched red stones like rubies, but she doubted they were the same as the Earth stones. They shimmered like no diamond ever could, yet they were not overly ostentatious or showy. She could wear it anywhere. But who-?

Why would her husband give her a gift of such worth when he had decided to remain aloof from her? Unless it was customary to give gifts on Otherstide, as it was on other winter festivals on other planets?

Shrugging her shoulders, she slipped it over her head, feeling the cold metal settle against her warm skin, remembering with a shiver the touch of her husband's icy fingers across her skin, warming to her own temperature. She stroked the stones for a moment, looking into the distance meditatively, before a small chime sounded. It sounded as if her husband was growing impatient; she thought with a smirk, as she rose and glided into his quarters.

The Castellan was seated at his desk, in shadow, when Nyssa glided into his office. He looked up, and was grateful for the shadows that disguised the hunger he knew must be showing in his eyes as he stared at his beautiful wife. The gown she wore floated around her like a waterfall, accentuating the youthful lines of her body, her long hair entirely pinned except for one distracting ringlet, which he noticed covered the nape of her neck. The gown, so unlike her, was distracting enough. The stones of the necklace he had given her glimmered, reflecting the patina of her hair, mixed rich browns and dark reds, enhanced the topaz softness of her eyes. In that moment, he merely wanted.

Nyssa could feel his regard, and she inwardly smiled, waiting for some remark. The tense silence was only interrupted when he stood abruptly and came out from behind his desk. And it was her turn to catch her breath. His attire was reminiscent of the night he had taken her to Traken, except instead of plain black; he wore a long-sleeved, military-cut tunic of deep brown, trimmed in gold. Instead of boots, he wore shoes of the type she had seen on Earth, gleaming from beneath the fabric of his trousers. It was distinctly similar to the attire of the Chancellery Guard, but lacking helmet, cloak, weaponry or ceremonial armour. His head was uncovered, burnished waves of gold falling against his temples. Feeling a slight blush warm her skin, she drew herself up and hid behind a haughty façade. He stopped before her, the proud, uncommunicative orbs of her eyes testing his control, noting the prideful tilt of her chin.

"You are recovered?" he asked, smoothly placing her hand on his arm. Nyssa's eyes flashed.

"I am. Like I said, it was nothing," she murmured, already turning away. The light caught the facets of the necklace, making them shimmer as with an inner fire. "Thank you for the gift, Castellan. It was not necessary,"

The Castellan inclined his head at the comment. It had, indeed, not been necessary but some irrational part of him argued that it had been, if only to reassure himself and her, that she still was his to care for. For the first time in eight hundred years, something else mattered in his life apart from his work.

"Come. We must not be late," the Castellan's arm guiding her, they left the room.

The main hall of the Panopticon had been transformed from its dull, cold magnificence to a warmly lit palace, silken drapes in the different chapter colours hanging on the walls. Nyssa recognised Arcalian green and Prydonian red amongst the others. Clearly there were more chapters than she had realised. As she descended the steps with her husband, she noticed every male was dressed the same, in the military-cut tunic, mostly in their chapter colours. A few of the most senior Time Lords wore their long trailing robes, but they were in the minority. She recognised the distinctive white and gold of Borusa's robes in the crowd. The Time Ladies wore gowns like Nyssa; except the skirts were wider and high collars hid the skin of their necks. She resolutely straightened her spine, determined not to feel intimidated as the Castellan drew her into the crowd.

Nyssa was glad of the rock-like arm holding her steady and alert. Her weariness had returned, her legs feeling weakened. It felt like Borusa had droned on and on for hours, after the recitation in a musical, rolling language Nyssa couldn't understand. She guessed it was Gallifreyan.

Borusa's voice echoed in Nyssa's head, words stringing together in an incoherent mess, as she fought to stay conscious. She would not embarrass herself or her husband in this crowd of the elite. After the speech was over, she knew she would be expected to mingle and mix alongside her husband. She had to remain alert.

But then Borusa's words penetrated the fog of numbness in Nyssa's mind.

"And finally we all, at this time of celebration and new beginning, must remember those we have lost. The passing of a Time Lord is a grave and rare event, not the less so for the sorrow and loss left behind. The Doctor was a personal friend of mine, and of many of you here present. For all his deviant and renegade ways, he was a courageous and a wise man, respected by all. He gave his life to Gallifrey, and we will remember him with honour," Borusa finished solemnly, his gaze touching the faces of them all. Nyssa felt transfixed, turned to stone. How dare they mention the Doctor like he had just died peacefully of old age? The hypocrites! They had taken the Doctor's life, without pursing the course of justice, and now they were mourning his loss?

The Castellan mentally flinched at the Lord President's words, feeling Nyssa's hand tighten on his arm. He knew full well her thoughts on the Doctor's death. This did not bode well.

"We will remember," the entire group murmured, before the President left his place, and the hall filled with the buzz of conversation, as the Time Lords and Ladies dispersed to discuss and to converse. Nyssa glanced around at the serene, complacent faces around her, feeling her numbness return, alongside a deep anger. It took all of her training to keep herself upright and controlled, to force herself to take one step after another, as she walked beside her husband, greeting various personages.

Cardinal Zorac loomed out of the brightly coloured swirl of people, clothed in robes of Patrexean heliotrope, bowing slightly before them.

"Cardinal," Nyssa inclined her head. A second later she wished she hadn't, as the movement brought on a wave of dizziness. What was happening to her?

"Zorac. Otherstide greetings," the Castellan gently placed his hand over Nyssa's on his sleeve, and despite her anger and feelings of resentment towards him at that moment, she clung to the contact, feeling some strength wash over her.

"And to you, Castellan. Otherstide greetings, my lady," Zorac smiled benevolently at her, ingenuous and unthreatening, but Nyssa inwardly bristled. He had stood there and let the Doctor die, had done nothing, and he expected her to be polite? As if divining her thoughts, the Castellan gave her a warning squeeze of the fingers, his grey gaze fixed on her face. She shot him a look, before smiling and turning back to Zorac.

"Otherstide greetings, Cardinal. All is well, I take it?" she asked graciously, letting out a sigh of relief when he responded in the affirmative and began to rattle on without any further prompting from her. At last he departed, and she saw Thalia heading towards them, a smile on her lips, but a troubled look in her eyes. She, at least seemed conscious of the anger Nyssa felt simmering in her blood.

"Nyssa, Otherstide greetings. You are recovered from your illness this morning?" she asked solicitously, after she had greeted the Castellan. He watched the interaction between the two of them closely, wondering if Thalia knew more of what was going on in his wife's head than he did.

"I am, Thalia, thank you. Indeed I have a question to ask of you, concerning the programming of the integratial synapses….." Nyssa kept Thalia talking, sensing the concern behind her eyes, not wishing to discuss it in front of anyone. Indeed, she didn't want to discuss it at all. Hearing the Doctor so remembered by the very people who killed him made her blood boil, her temper unleashed. It would take some time for it settle again.

The Castellan left them at that point, to talk to Borusa, and she felt his departure with a relieved sigh. She couldn't deal with him at that moment. When Thalia left her, summoned away, she wandered through the crowd, talking and smiling with any who accosted her, but inside she just felt dead. Then a familiar face, framed by straight brown hair loomed up in front of her, and she stopped to greet Leela.

"Otherstide greetings, my lady," Leela formally inclined her head, deferring to Nyssa's higher rank, a convivial smile on her lips. Nyssa returned it, glad to have found someone who would have felt the hypocrisy of Borusa's speech as keenly as she did.

"And to you, Lady Leela. Andred is well, I take it?" she asked. Leela was alone, gowned in a sedate beige gown, with no collar like Nyssa's, but her long hair let loose, hiding the skin of her neck. She smiled, in a strained way, her eyes trying to communicate something Nyssa couldn't decipher.

"He is very well, my lady. He is on duty tonight, with the other Commanders. I hope you are recovered from your illness?" Leela asked.

"Does the entire Citadel know of my illness?" Nyssa sighed wearily, smiling self-deprecatingly.

"No. Andred told me of your weakness. I hope you return to health soon, my lady," Leela inclined her head in a goodbye, moving past Nyssa cordially. As she passed, she whispered to her in a low, furiously quick tone. "I must speak with you, urgently. Come to my quarters tomorrow,"

Nyssa kept her face blank and unemotional as she moved on.

Another Time Lord appeared in her way, inclining his head formally.

"Otherstide greetings, Lady Nyssa," he intoned, his voice strangely hoarse.

"And to you. May I ask your name, since you know mine?" she asked, her eyes roaming his face and frame interestedly. He was handsome enough, with shorn black hair, a strong face and keenly intelligent green eyes. From his attire, purple and black, she guessed he was from a chapter she did not know.

"Oh but everyone has heard of you, my lady," he replied, not answering her question, "the mysterious and beautiful Lady Nyssa, the last remaining Trakenite in existence, and the ill-fated Doctor's erstwhile companion."

His smile, when it appeared, was unsettling, making Nyssa stiffen. His tone was distinctly mocking.

"Your name, my lord?" she asked again, fighting to remain calm.

"Rigan, my lady. Are you enjoying Otherstide?" he asked, surveying her keenly. Nyssa felt like a mouse when cornered by the cat, playing with its prey before it pounced.

"Yes, I am."

"Gatherings like Otherstide do provide such excellent chances for observing sociological behaviours. It is fascinating to observe,"

"You are a sociologist, my lord?" Nyssa asked politely.

"It is my field of expertise," Rigan said, without any trace of self-conceit, "I must say, I find it amazing to witness your…flexibility shall we say?" he continued, the corners of his lips curling. Nyssa tilted her chin haughtily.

"And what do you mean by that, Lord Rigan?" she asked, every bit as imperious and proud as Thalia or any other Time Lady.

"The High Council sentenced your friend and guardian to death most unjustly, and yet here you are, so very comfortably and complacently, oh what is it you humanoids say? Sleeping with the enemy?" he grinned at that last. Nyssa felt anger pour through her, and her jaw firmed. Were it not for the immense amount of Gallifreyan protocol drilled into her skull by Thalia, she might have slapped him.

"You managed to switch sides ever so quickly and painlessly," Rigan continued, driving in his spike a little further. Nyssa regarded him frostily.

"I do not know the purpose of your interrogation, my lord, but I can tell you it is most unwelcome. Good evening," Nyssa turned away dismissively, aiming to escape to some less disagreeable company. A hand of steel clutched her elbow, stopping her escape. Outraged, Nyssa turned back to look into eyes that burned with some indescribable menace.

"Perhaps Lady Nyssa, you would do well to remember your flexible loyalties in the future. You and I may have much in common, regarding the High Council,"

"Maybe. Maybe not," Nyssa murmured, "Now unhand me at once!"

Rigan released her elbow and she marched away, feeling shaken and threatened.

Across the room, the Castellan was speaking with the Lord President. They watched as Nyssa tore away from Rigan, haughtily dismissing him. The Castellan felt alarm when Rigan snatched her back. Even from his position, he could see the overt threat in the Time Lord's demeanour. He could also see the fear and the anger disguised by the proud set of Nyssa's face.

"Has there been much activity from the Chronossian chapter recently?" Thalia joined them, her eyes trained on the dark presence that looked after Nyssa as she walked away.

"None. They have been quiet of late," Borusa replied gravely.

"Could this be some new ploy of theirs? In approaching Nyssa, they approach the one person within the Citadel that could effectively destroy us," Hedin, resplendent in Prydonian orange, piped up.

"She has reason to do so. The Doctor's execution still haunts her," the Castellan replied, frowning slightly. He did not believe it, but it was a possibility he would have to face.

"Don't be ridiculous, Castellan. She is a logical, level-headed young woman. She knows and understands the reasons behind our act," Borusa retorted derisively.

"But does she accept them?" Hedin wondered aloud. The Castellan looked at the old Time Lord and pondered his words.

"Castellan?" Thalia drew him out of his reverie, her shrewd eyes fixed on his face. "Do you think she is a threat?"

The Castellan thought, thought about Nyssa's rationality, the gentleness and the devotion he knew she was capable of. She was a giving, loving person, that was all there was to it. She put others before herself, and didn't let her personal emotions affect her decisions. From all he had learned of her, he knew that most of all. She'd had ample opportunity to take her revenge on the Master, and yet she never had. She could have betrayed them at any time, and she never had. She had never betrayed him, quite the opposite in fact. His eyes fixed on his wife's mahogany head.

"No, she will not betray us," he said eventually. Nyssa slipped out of a side door from the hall, and he went to follow her, noticing the slight tremor of her shoulders. Something was wrong, and he could no longer fight the concern that rose up in him.

The group had begun to disperse, but Borusa caught the Castellan's arm as he made to move away.

"Castellan, I have some words of advice for you, if you will hear them,"

"Lord President," the Castellan's eyes remained fixed on the side door Nyssa had just disappeared through.

"Do not fight the inevitable. Very few things are sure in the Web of Time, but some things are," Borusa told him gravely, yet there was a kindly twinkle in his eye. The Castellan searched his face inscrutably, before Borusa released him. He disappeared into the crowd a second later.

Nyssa slipped through a door, and out onto a large terraced balcony, overlooking the Citadel. Everything Rigan had said passed through her mind.

She truly was a traitor. Despite her feeble effort to the contrary, she had let the Doctor down. She had failed him. And now she was living comfortably, sleeping with the enemy. Literally.

She winced at the memory. Everything about the evening had dragged her spirits down, her strength with it.

Coldness filled her, numbness spreading through her veins. She stared out at the Citadel of the Time Lords, and felt its ice infect her soul. She was becoming like this place; cold and dead.

A wave of that now familiar weakness, accompanied by dizziness, washed over her and her knees collapsed. She fell, her body twisting as she did so. Expecting to feel the cold impact of marble, she was surprised by the strong arms that caught her effortlessly, supporting her against a hard-as-steel chest. Her nose was buried in brown fabric trimmed with gold, and she looked up into her husband's eyes. Her breath caught, and she hated herself for it. As soon as she could support herself, she pushed him away, standing tall before him.

"Nyssa, are you alright?" he asked, pulling her back to him, one cool hand on her cheek. Unused to that contact she flinched away. "What did Rigan say to you?"

"Nothing. Nothing that wasn't the truth," she replied frostily, looking away.

"What does that mean?"

"It means how could you? How could any of you stand in there, a-and act like the Doctor died in some heroic sacrifice, instead of you murdering him!" she exploded angrily, facing him abruptly, her face alive with the anger and the grief she'd repressed for so long, vibrantly aglow.

"Nyssa, it had to be done. It was a choice between him and billions of others, you know this!"

"I know nothing. All I know is that you could have followed the course of right. The Doctor told you of a possibility that there was a traitor on Gallifrey, and you were too pig-headed to even pursue it!

"Nyssa…." her husband's voice radiated a warning, one Nyssa was too angry to take heed of. The rage flooding her body stemmed from long months on this timeless planet, of loss and need, repression and sacrifice.

""You are no better than that creature that tried to take the Doctor's body!"

"Nyssa!" this time the anger and warning in her husband's voice penetrated, and she saw that, for the first time, she had shaken his unshakeable control. And what she saw both frightened and intrigued her, like the unassailable mountain calling to the untameable sea. Beneath that cold, stony façade was a core of fire.

She turned her back on him and began to walk away, trying to leash the anger she felt, battling against an urge to keep it alive.

"Where are you going?"

"Away from you!" she spat over her shoulder vehemently, but he blocked the only exit from the balcony area, and so the only place she could go was the other end, where she leaned on the wall, her shoulders shaking. Her anger had turned to grief and regret. She had failed the Doctor so many times. She stared blindly out over the Citadel.

The Castellan watched Nyssa walk to the other side of the balcony, the moonlight glinting off her shining hair, that single ringlet flicked over her shoulder, exposing the nape of her neck. On Gallifrey, the nape of the neck was one of three areas where a mental link could be established. The other was in the joining of hands and on the sides of the face, but the nape of the neck was different. In earlier, more innocent times, such an area was restricted to the bond between husband and wife, as well as being an erogenous zone for Gallifreyans. As it was for humanoids, he remembered absentmindedly. The sight tested his already frayed control. Drawing in a deep breath through his nose, he stepped forward, noticing the shaking of her shoulders, the suppressed sobs coming from her chest.

"Nyssa?"

At the gentle query behind her, Nyssa turned from the view of Gallifrey, bathed in silver moonlight like a glistening pearl, and faced her husband. She shone like a ruby in the night, the opaline skin of her neck tantalisingly revealed when the single trailing ringlet of burnished mahogany hair moved as she turned her head. Diamond tears sparkled in the very corners of her eyes, tears ruthlessly held back, as she held her husband's gaze. Her anger converted to pain, she turned away, unable to hold his gaze, feeling the bulwarks of her control buckle under the pressure.

"You know sometimes, I wish I had taken that second option. When Borusa offered me a choice between you and losing all my memories. To forget and just stop being me. To forget…everything," she sighed sadly, shaking her head. She wanted to forget the Doctor, and Tegan and Adric. She wanted to forget the Master and Traken, and Time Lords and Gallifrey. But most of all, she wanted to lose the hopeless yearning that filled her soul with her husband so close. She just wanted to forget, in his arms, but that would never happen again. She could never forget.

The Castellan stared at the back of his wife, feeling that strange desire well up in him again. It was more than desire for physical intimacy now; it was a…devotion to her. He cared for her, needed to know she was safe, that she was well and happy, that she was still his. The sensation was as unnerving now as it had been when he'd awoken with her in his arms, almost a month ago. Borusa's advice echoed in his mind: Don't fight the inevitable. And it seemed he couldn't any longer.

Nyssa's breathing hitched when she felt cool, hard lips gently brush across the exposed nape of her neck, as hands encircled her waist, drawing her back against him. A second later, her spine dissolved and she relaxed into his embrace, arching her neck back as his lips traced the curve of her neck, remembered pleasure sweeping over her skin. He turned her around, and she looked up at him, her tears falling freely, as their lips met. He gathered her closer for his kiss, and she went readily, twining her arms around his neck, as his hands slid into her hair, disturbing the sleek hairstyle. Passion, his and hers, burst onto her senses before she drew back to breathe, panting heavily. It felt like a great weight had lifted from her lungs, allowing her to breathe freely. She looked into her husband's eyes, shimmering silver.

"But…why?" she asked, her gaze darting down to his lips before they returned to his eyes. "You said-"

"I know what I said. And I was a fool," he murmured in a hoarse growl, feeling the reins of his control slip through his fingers. He had none, not when it came to her. He kissed her again, and she felt her skin burst aflame as she returned it avidly, relishing the silken waves of hair beneath her palms as she slid them into his hair. Abruptly he drew back, feeling his blood afire, and Nyssa's heart sank. Was he going to leave her again?

The Castellan read the doubt in her eyes, painfully acute. He simply held out his hand commandingly, and she took it hesitantly.

"Come."

Nyssa took a deep breath as she stepped over the threshold of her bedchamber, her husband following. They had left the Otherstide celebrations quickly, slipping through the crowd like ghosts, driven by an inchoate need. But now, Nyssa felt even hesitant of what seemed inevitable. She didn't think she would recover if he hurt her again. She didn't know the name of whatever strange emotion welled within at the very thought of him, but it was all consuming, rendering her a fragile wreck on a raging sea of emotion. She walked to stand in front of her bed, slipping off the necklace he had given her, and turned to face him, his eyes unreadable.

The Castellan watched his wife as she faced him, noticed the heightened colour, the shallow breathing. But there was a distance in her eyes; one he had purposefully put there, one he now wanted to tear away. He mentally smirked grimly at the familiar feelings of primal possession rising as he strode to her and took her in his arms, kissing her heatedly. He felt the desire within his soul, and knowingly gave into it; let the reins of his control slide through his fingers. It was inevitable.

Nyssa felt it, felt his surrender in the way he held her so desperately, his passion uncontrolled as he took her down to the bed. Something was different this time. A final barrier had fallen between them, leaving them in the light. She felt her heart soar, and surrendered herself. There was no escape from this feeling and, indeed, she didn't want to.