So I was pretty mad after posting the last chapter of this, because FanFiction net freaked out and wouldn't let me do some final edits. I couldn't access any of my Doctor Who stories, as a matter of fact. Had to get around it by starting a new story. Sorry for the inconvenience.
Anyway, sorry this took so long. I fear I may have to put this story on hiatus until I get further in my novel, which makes me quite glad none of you know the exact location of my house. I'd rather you guys not get those torches and pitchforks out again. Lol ;)
What I wanted to say at the end of the last chapter is that 'emet' means 'truth' in Hebrew. Ergo, 'Sword of Truth'.
That is all for now.
Please review :)
The maze of tunnels that wound throughout the Underground was considerably complex, but the Doctor seemed to have worked out which way they needed to go to reach the heart of it all. And whenever he started veering off in the wrong direction, Clarion was able to correct him. River walked beside the Anavrinian, Ian strapped to her front; she figured his father needed somewhat of a break. Jenna was still with Amy, tucked away from view in her sling.
"So what are we looking for, exactly?" River questioned, gazing around her in amazement as they crossed a well-structured stone bridge at least one hundred feet in the air. An underground river rushed below, its waters reflecting off the gold and silver-veined cavern walls in the dim light.
"The key to the Anavrinians' freedom. Well, it's not exactly a key; that is to say, it's a sword. The Sword of Emet, to be precise."
"According to Ezra, this sword thing can only be claimed by the heir to the throne," Amy added, lacing her arm through the Doctor's.
"Then how will us going there help matters?" River asked perplexedly.
"Dunno. Just thought we could get a look-see, perhaps figure out how to find the prince from it."
"Not much of a plan."
"I thought it was better than a plan, actually. Has more..greatness to it."
River shook her head. "Alright then, who was this Emet?"
The Doctor glanced back at Clarion. "I'm sure Mr. Grey could explain that better than I, seeing as he's from here," he replied.
"Emet was a king," Clarion began, the tale coming easily to his tongue. There was not an Anavrinian alive who didn't know of it. "The very first king of Anavrin. He was the first to bring the entire planet under one government, and make its name well-known in the realms of trade. The sword was a gift from the best metalsmith in Anavrin, forged from silver and gold intertwined and, so legend has it, enchanted so that none could grip the hilt except a member of the royal family. It is said that, if anyone else attempts to wield it, the hilt grows hot to the touch and will burn the skin."
"Personally I think you lot would do fine with a Magic 8 Ball instead—I mean honestly all you'd have to do is ask it 'am I the prince?' and you'd have your answer, no burning involved—but I suppose a sword is just as good," the Doctor mused.
Amy rolled her eyes. "Oh yeah, you can really build a serious history on a Magic 8 Ball. Imagine writing that into a schoolbook."
"Well the Durdums did it, and they don't seem to have an issue with it. Then again they rather closely resemble magenta balls of fluff, so that's not saying too much…"
"Sometimes I wonder if you just make this stuff up."
"Of course not. I'd take you to see them, but they're not exactly the brightest race, per se. Last time I visited they got it into their tiny brains to sacrifice me to this Magic 8 Ball of theirs. Apparently they're under the impression it's some kind of god or something. Quite a fascinating experience, I must say. Especially since their average height is the length of my shoe; it didn't quite go the way they planned, bless their little hearts."
Amy stared at him in disbelief, resolving to hold her tongue in future.
At last they reached the great amphitheater Ezra had spoken of. It was the largest cavern they had seen yet, the stone carved into rings of seats that descended towards a stone stage. Fixtures fashioned from silver to look like trees surrounded the theater, giving off soft light from the apple-shaped orbs suspended from their spindly branches.
In the center of the stage was a column of marble, completely smooth aside from an eyelevel inscription encircling it, the symbols a language unknown to Amy and River. The Doctor hopped up on the stage, avoiding the steps altogether, and ran his fingers over the carvings.
"So where's the sword?" Amy asked, taking the safer route the stairs provided. She leaned against the column next to the Doctor and adjusted the strap on Jenna's sling, tired from the journey through the Underground.
"According to this, it's right here. At the heart of this column," the Doctor answered.
Amy backed away from the pillar and examined it. "Funny sort of place to keep a sword," she remarked.
"It seems only the true heir can retrieve it from within," the Doctor continued. "Just as I thought."
"Then why did we bother coming all this way if we can't even see it?" River asked, mildly disappointed.
"Or can we?" The Doctor turned on Clarion. "You said the prince escaped when he was a boy, some twenty years ago. Exactly how old was he?"
Clarion hesitated. "Around ten or eleven, I suppose."
"And how old are you?"
A longer pause. "Thirty one." Clarion seemed unable to meet the Doctor's penetrating gaze.
The Doctor moved closer, his voice low and solemn. "So answer me this, Clarion. Why is the prince so afraid of claiming his throne?"
Finally Clarion looked up, his violet eyes morose and lackluster. "I believe you already know the answer. Because I'm a coward."
Amy hadn't thought a nearly-empty subterranean amphitheater could become any quieter, but in that moment she was proved wrong. Shocked by this revelation, she looked over at River and noted that the woman shared a similar expression.
"You're the missing prince?" River was still gaping, and she looked slightly annoyed with herself for not figuring it out earlier.
Clarion dropped his gaze again. "I had to adopt the surname Grey after I went into hiding. My birth name is Ravid Hosea Clarion Swift. Clarion was the name used by my parents—before their death, that is."
"Why didn't you tell us? We did save your life, ya know," Amy said pointedly.
"I was ashamed of being too afraid to return, to at least attempt saving my people. I've been fooling myself for twenty years that Clarion Grey was an entirely different person, one who wasn't responsible for Anavrin or the throne. Once I acquired my own galaxy ship and assumed a cover as a freelance time agent, it was easier to believe the lie."
River slid her hands through Clarion's, squeezing them. "And what do you believe now?" She questioned, her intelligent blue eyes set on his violet ones.
"That I'm the rightful king of Anavrin and that the throne will be mine again." Clarion smiled. "Anything seems possible as long as I have you with me."
"Good, because I don't plan on leaving quite yet," said River, edging closer. Amy had taken Ian and his carrier from her a second before, having been prodded to do so by her intuition. It was rarely wrong.
"Alright then! Might as well hop to it, Clari-boy! All you have to do is place your hand on the column and the sword should—oh honestly, must we do that now?"
Clarion and River went right on kissing, ignoring him entirely. The Doctor's impatience was exceedingly evident.
Amy grabbed onto his arm, preventing him from interrupting. "Hold up there, buster. Let them alone."
"But the sword, and the pirates, and…how are they even doing that? Do they breathe out their ears?" The Doctor harrumphed.
"If the sword and the pirates have waited twenty years, they can wait a few more minutes, Doctor."
"But—"
Amy placed a finger over his mouth, shushing him. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this to happen. Don't spoil it for me."
For Amy's sake, at least, the Doctor waited, his foot tapping, until the pair had broken apart. "If you two are quite through…" he said, gesturing towards the marble column.
Clarion grinned sheepishly and stepped towards it. He placed his hand on its smooth, cold surface and moved back.
The column shuddered. Quite unexpectedly it crumbled, the marble tumbling to the floor in pieces. When the dust cleared, a bejeweled golden hilt could be seen sticking out of what was left of the column, glimmering in the pale light.
Without hesitation Clarion stepped forward again and grabbed the sword by its handle, and it slid out of the pedestal as if the marble was nothing more than butter. The blade was, as legend had foretold, silver and gold entwined, two-edged and tapering at the end into a still-sharp point. The hilt fit well in Clarion's hand, leaving his skin unscathed. It was a moment worthy of a hallelujah chorus; or so Amy thought.
"After you, Your Majesty," the Doctor said with a satisfied smile, waving towards the steps leading down from the stage.
Taking him up on this, Clarion led the way out of the amphitheater with the Sword of Emet in one hand and River's hand firmly clasped in the other.
To those who figured out Clarion was the missing prince long before this chapter, my hat off to you. If I had a hat...
Notes- Ravid means 'wanderer' and Hosea means 'salvation', and both are Hebrew. Thought it fit well.
