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The tunnel was dark and twisting, just barely sloping as it angled downward into the earth. No daylight penetrated it, leaving its occupants completely blind as they hurtled through it. At last they reached the end of the passageway, rolling several feet before coming to a complete stop.

"Amy! Amy, where are you?" The Doctor shouted immediately after coughing most of the dirt out of his lungs. The cavern was just about as dark as the tunnel had been, and the only thing he could hear was his son and daughter's indignant wailing.

"Yer sittin' on me, idiot," A disgruntled and very much Amy-ish voice said nearby.

"Ah, yes, sorry. I thought the ground seemed a bit too soft," the Doctor replied as he hastened to move.

"Are you calling me fat again?"

"Er, of course not, just the usual human…squishiness."

"Squishiness?"

"Never mind, never mind. Forget I said anything at all."

"Humph."

"Where are we?" River's voice echoed off the walls, and it was difficult to place exactly where she was in the gloom.

"The Underground, it appears. Our ancestors built these caverns and tunnel systems long ago, as a way out in case of siege. Fortunately the pirates aren't aware of it. The people speculate it's how the last prince escaped," Clarion explained once he had gotten his bearings.

"Is it just me or is it getting brighter in here?" Amy asked.

The cavern was indeed growing more gray than black. Suddenly a circle of light came into view from around the bend. As it drew nearer, the group saw that it was a torch, held aloft by a man in his fifties with a haggard expression on his face. He was accompanied by an equally-grim woman around the same age, her white hair braided into a coronet around her head. Although their clothing was patched, it was reasonably clean, as were the garments of the two men who flanked them. All four carried sharpshooters in holsters tied to their belts. Perhaps, the Doctor reasoned, it was a good sign that they weren't holding the weapons at the ready. He'd had enough of guns for one day.

"Welcome, strangers. We mean you no harm," the woman greeted, spotting River's hand flexing over her blaster. At close proximity they could see the scar, a memoir from a battle of some sort, stretching in a white line from her forehead to her cheek and dividing the edge of her right eyebrow in two.

"We witnessed your escape from the pirates and thought we'd lend a hand," the man contributed.

"And who exactly are you?" River asked, experience having taught her to be cautious in any situation.

"Ezra Taylor, leader of the Resistance. And this here's Ruth, my sister and second in command." Something caught the man's eye, and he brought the torch closer. "You best come with us, miss. Looks like a bullet clipped ya."

It wasn't until he said this that River felt a wet, sticky substance dripping down her arm. She inspected it and found a shallow gash in her shoulder that was nevertheless bleeding profusely. The adrenaline from the chase had dulled the pain until now. Left without another choice, she obediently followed Ezra and Ruth through the tunnel. Clarion insisted on ripping off a strip of material from the hem of his shirt and binding it tightly around the wound to stem the flow of blood. River was grateful for this; she had begun to feel lightheaded.

Their trek ended in what appeared to be a subterranean church. From what they'd seen thus far, the Doctor and his companions had gathered that the Underground was actually an entire city of its own, built beneath the canals. It was a marvel in of itself, especially taking into account how the great stone pillars held the weight of the Arbora and still remained largely intact despite their age.

"Who would have thought any of this was even down here?" Amy said in amazement, her eyes traveling over the room. The Doctor smiled and laced his fingers through hers.

"The Anavrinians are known for their top-notch architects. Or at least they were. Their work used to be as high in demand as the precious metal their trees produce," he informed, reveling in her wide-eyed wonder.

Clarion cracked a tired smile. "It's been many a year since I've heard that, friend. No one comes to Anavrin to commission our tradesmen these days."

"Ain't that the truth," Ezra spoke up, his eyes hard. "And all because of those accursed pirates."

"Blimey, you must have half the surface population down here. Why don't you just—you know—attack already?" The Doctor inquired, having observed a great number of citizens during their journey through the Underground.

Ezra shook his head. "Still not enough. T'would be a massacre."

"We have a prophecy dating back from the Age of the Ancients, one that many of our people put their faith in. It states that, in the darkest of hours, a savior will come forward and lead us to victory against our oppressors, into an age of peace," Ruth said, placing her torch in a beaten-silver bracket on a nearby pillar. "A prince; or so it is foretold."

"A Prince of Peace," the Doctor mused with a small smile. "Is this the same prince who is rumored to have escaped the big bad pirate invasion?"

Ruth nodded. "That is the general belief. We hope, for the people's sake, that it will come to fruition. But I would be lying if I were to say our hopes aren't wearing thin."

"You honestly don't have to do this," River told Clarion, who was helping clean the injury sustained on her shoulder. One of the Underground's medics had checked it out beforehand and pronounced that it wasn't too serious.

"No, but I want to. Besides, I owe you for saving my life," Clarion answered as he finished wrapping the bandage and pulled her sleeve back down.

"That was mostly the Doctor's doing," River reminded.

"Not entirely," Clarion pointed out, smiling. It was an expression that always reached his violet eyes whenever he was looking at her. It was also infectious, apparently, for she couldn't stop herself from grinning in return most of the time.

"So, Clarion. Have you any family?" River asked. One couldn't fault her for her boldness.

"I did, once. But the pirates bereaved me of that when I was very young."

"I'm sorry. There's nothing more terrible than having loved ones stolen from you."

Clarion nodded. "I agree, although time proves to be the best balm for it." His gaze focused on hers and held it. "And what of you? Are you any relation to the Doctor or his wife?"

"Goodness, no. Although you might say they sort of adopted me. I never got a chance to know my actual family, exactly; I'm not really sure who my father was and my mother died shortly after I was born. My grandmother raised me, but of course she's gone now."

Clarion reached for her hand, and she felt heat rise in her cheeks. "It seems we both received the worse lot in life."

"Well, you were right about time. It's been a while since she died, so it doesn't hurt as much anymore."

There was a moment of contemplative silence for both of them.

"Are you—I mean, have you ever been…married?" It was not often that Clarion stumbled over words, and he tried his best to keep his composure.

"Never. Haven't met the right one, I guess. There are a lot of numskulls in this universe."

Clarion chuckled. "Well, I wouldn't give up completely. Not yet, anyway."

It was then that River realized how close they were. If she were to lean forward ever so slightly…

"River! How's the old arm feeling?"

Inevitably, the Doctor appeared out of nowhere, invading their secluded corner of the church. River sighed inwardly and pulled away.

"A good deal better now, thanks to Clarion," she answered.

"It wasn't too deep of a cut. Just close enough to an artery to make a right mess. She should be alright now though," Clarion expounded helpfully.

"Glad to hear it. Although you are looking a mite flushed, River. Maybe you should—"

"Doctor!"

Just then Amy marched up, looking none too pleased. "Ian got ahold of your screwdriver again," she told him.

The Doctor patted his pockets frantically. "Blast! The little pickpocket…" he exclaimed before stomping off in the direction of his son's mischievous chortling.

Amy paused for a moment to wink slyly at River before twirling around and following him.

So using a Babylonian name for the pirate King got me using biblical names for the Resistance leaders. And yes, that's also where the Prince of Peace reference came from :)