A/N: Hey all. Sorry about the wait! This story will get completed I promise. In fact it's almost completely written out. Finding time to post is really my biggest struggle. Anyway, since it has been a bit of time, I want to refer everyone's attention back to chapter 10 where we first learn of the legend on Aenona. It might be beneficial to reread that bit just to refresh your memory. Thanks for everyone for sticking with this story and thank you so much to my two betas Bria and rosets2008 for their continued patience with me XD

Chapter 13: The Would-Be King

Sleep was not very forthcoming later that night when John's head hit the pillow. Not that that was a particularly foreign feeling; having sleep elude him. On the contrary, it remained one of the few constants in his life. Well, one of the few constants in his life since he had fallen into this not-quite-right world.

But as much as he longed for the reprieve that sleep might offer him, he feared terribly the thought of having to face the nightmares that continued to plague him; ones of falling and unfinished sentences, ones that made the thought of drifting off to sleep more of a burden than an escape. How could he sleep when he would once again have to encounter, in his mind's eye, the horrified look on Rose's face after he'd rolled himself off of her body? He knew such a haunting image would only join the ranks of his mocking nightmares, burning away behind his closed eyelids as a sick sort of punishment. No, he would rather not sleep at all than have to relive that.

Even just thinking back on what they'd done was enough to make bile rise up in his throat. He should have had the presence of mind to stop her. Especially when he had known that she wasn't in her right mind at the time, that she had been distressed when she had stumbled upon him in the library, mascara lines visible on her cheeks from where her tears had caused her makeup to run. But instead he had been so wholly weak; had eagerly accepted the illusion she was offering him. The mere thought of having his Doctor again for one night had been enough to bring him to his knees, had given him the encouragement he needed to submit willingly to her demands. To the pretending.

He just hoped she could forgive him for not stopping her.

But even as his heart remained terribly troubled as he lay back in his bed, his eyes staring up into the oppressive darkness of his room, he couldn't help but also feel a grim sort of satisfaction settle into his bones. Specifically, regarding his conversation with the Doctor. The Time Lord had finally been forced to listen, had finally been forced to acknowledge his actions, a thing John had been longing to confront him about for months now. So even if Rose refused to forgive him, John would at least be able to repay her kindness in this small way, by opening the Doctor's eyes to what his little game of push and pull had brought out in all of them; what the consequences of his actions were. A thing which would hopefully compel him to stop all this nonsense once and for all. If he chose to take John's advice to heart, that is. Which wasn't an entirely comforting thought given the other man's track record, but it was all John could offer him, this little push in the right direction. After that he would just have to cross his fingers, and hope for the best.

That being said, he certainly had not been planning to, under any circumstances, let the Doctor know of what had happened between him and Rose. Rather, it had kind of just spilled out of him in his frustrations (the hypervodka certainly hadn't helped much either). And as much as he might have used bravado against the Doctor, John would be lying if he said the other man didn't frighten him at least a little bit. Taunting the Doctor had probably not been one of his wisest of plans (again he blamed that damn hypervodka for loosening his tongue). But in the end his blunt truthfulness had compelled the other man to listen to him whereas before he had avoided such a conversation at all costs. That was at least a small comfort, and one John needed desperately at the moment.

Not that John was under any illusion that things would be getting any easier for them right away. He knew that time would be needed for things between them all to cool back down into some semblance of normalcy. Well, as normal as it could get with the three of them traveling together at least.

But he could hope; he would hope that things would be looking a bit brighter from here on out.

However, days passed and John's hope began wavering, teetering on the edge of a too high cliff that none of them could hope to recover from should they fall. He hadn't expected everything to be perfect immediately, but it was easy to be disheartened by the awkward and tense atmosphere that descended on the Tardis.

Not that the Doctor wasn't doing his ample best to get everything back to normal in the only way he knew how: by embracing an air of nonchalance and keeping everyone on a tight schedule of adventures. He even seemed to be extending the same sort of attitude towards Rose as his way of apologizing and offering up his friendship to her again without having to actually discuss or explain his actions. He pretended as if nothing had happened between them in the first place, as if she would slip neatly back into the original rhythm of their complicated relationship without any further prompting. It was fairly obvious to John, however, that this would not be the case. Not that this deterred the Doctor from continuing to try (though as more time passed a desperateness was imparted into his further attempts).

But Rose continued to remain withdrawn from the Doctor. She still was polite and amiable, but John could detect her tightly reeled-in emotions just underneath the surface. The spark in her eyes not nearly as visible as she seemed to crumple into herself further and further under the weight of the tension that existed. Her anger, which had been noticeably present in her eyes only days ago, seemed to have just sort of drained right out of her, replaced instead with sad looks and tight smiles. John could tell it was tearing the Doctor apart that he couldn't seem to get through to her in his usual fashion, so much so that he had even willingly offered to let her go and see her mum for a few days in a last-ditch effort to smooth things over. But this had seemed to only upset Rose more and she had quickly declined the offer before stumbling off to her room.

John felt a bit desperate himself to go and talk to her, to try and apologize for what had happened so that it might not weigh so heavily on both of their minds anymore, but he couldn't quite bring himself to follow through with such a thing. A cloying fear kept him from knocking on her bedroom door.

It wasn't until almost a week following his talk with the Doctor that such a conversation between him and Rose did take place. All three of them were run absolutely ragged by this point from the intense schedule that the Doctor was keeping them on. Yet, here they were in the console room, getting ready to once again visit another world, the Doctor's disposition forcefully bright and manic, despite the fact neither he nor Rose were paying much attention to him. This act was getting old to both of them.

"Aenona. Aeenonaa. Ae-nona. Kind of rolls of the tongue yeah? Have some of the most interesting art techniques I've seen. They make these tapestries, you see, but with living thread! The best part is that it is a completely mutualistic relationship. The creatures, called Flibber worms, are meant to live in groups, they feed off each other's love and companionship, it keeps them going," the Doctor's eyes came up to lock onto Rose's, who pretended not to notice his intense stare. Dejectedly, he continued his little lecture. "But over time many colonies were being split up and they almost went extinct. That was, until someone came up with the clever idea to use them in their artwork! Keeps them all together and happy. They're a bit telepathic too, so the artists are able to communicate with them when they're creating the pieces. It's quite brilliant."

The Doctor was piloting the Tardis, and luckily just as he was finishing his speech the Tardis lurched violently, and John was thankful that they wouldn't have to endure another tense silence that would have undoubtably greeted the Time Lord's speech just as it had done for his last six attempts at conversation.

The Doctor pulled the view screen around to consult the circular symbols. "Ah, we've arrived during the rule of the good King Mecerellius. The height of the Golden Age for Aenona, without a doubt. Mecerellius ruled for almost 300 years. A widely popular ruler and a high supporter of the arts, if I recall correctly and, well, Time Lord, me so of course I do. Anyway, we should get to see some wonderful pieces today! Molto Bene!"

The Doctor bounded to the door, grabbing his long brown coat on the way out. "C'mon then," he yelled behind him, his good cheer not deterred, despite the lack of enthusiasm from his companions.

The museum, when they got there, was admittedly fascinating. All different kinds of alien species were milling around the room and talking to one another quietly. John couldn't help but wonder if that had been a purposeful thing on the Doctor's part given the recent lack of conversation in the Tardis, and if so then John would have to admit the other man could have excellent foresight. Waiters carried around glasses of champagne on small silver platters that John took full advantage of (drink, he found, was his friend). He had lost the Doctor and Rose awhile back now, as he tended to try and do as often as possible. He had to admit the quiet atmosphere and ambiance of the museum were able to bring out a contentment in him that he hadn't felt in awhile and much to his surprise he found he was enjoying himself a little (sleep deprivation aside). Although, who knew if it was the alien wine talking? Either way, he didn't much care as he cast his eyes upon a piece that had a beautiful river as the focal point, the Flibber worms softly recreating a flowing affect in the piece that was quite lovely.

He let his mind remain blissfully blank as he wandered further into the museum. Eventually, without even really knowing he had done so, he had made it clear to the back, a place that didn't have nearly as many people milling about it. It became apparent enough why when he stumbled upon a hall that was blocked off by a thick red rope and a sign that declared the area as Special Access Required.

Traveling with the Doctor, his and this new one, had only served to arouse curiosity in him to the fullest degree whenever he stumbled across such a sign. And even more than that, traveling with the Doctor had made him a lot more likely to break the rules as often as possible. So without a second thought, John was stepping over the ropes (did they seriously think such a thing was going to keep people out?) and was quietly stalking his way down the hallway, keeping on his toes, ready for anything to happen.

He passed some more pieces as he traveled the hallway, these ones of people rather than of landscapes. The moving threads served to bring the characters to life with arching eyebrows and smirking lips and knowing eyes and John felt a sort of shiver crawling up his back at the creepiness of it.

He was starting to pick up on the sound of voices as he continued his way on the darkened hallway. His heart pounded, a mixture of adrenaline and a foreboding feeling that was creeping up just in the back of his neck that he couldn't full describe. He wasn't sure what was going on back here, but for some reason he had the inexplicable feeling that he wasn't supposed to know about it and that it was much more than some sort of private tour. That was another thing he'd gained from traveling with the Doctor. A sixth sense for trouble.

As the voices got louder, his heart pounded harder and he had to force himself to breathe quietly as his eyes stayed focused intently on the doorway that was down the hallway, casting a sliver of light from the bottom. It was much darker, the further he went and now he could barely make out anything in the dark except for the small strip of light that was getting closer and closer. This only served to enhance the adrenaline coursing through his body. So intense was his focus, so intense was his concentration on remaining quiet and discreet, that the collision he made with what felt suspiciously like another body startled him enough to let out a sharp, horrified gasp that was quickly clamped down by a hand over his mouth.

He began struggling against the hand that had now pinned his arm behind his back with a surprisingly strong grip for someone who had to be at least a foot shorter than him. The attacker's other hand still was clamped firmly over his mouth. His heart was pounding even quicker now as a shot of fear coursed through his blood and he tried to call out for help behind the hand. His captor clamped down harder.

"Shh," the voice hissed out and John immediately froze. He knew that voice.

He tried a few attempts at saying her name behind the vice-like clamp over his mouth, but it came out rather garbled and unintelligible and he didn't want to startle her by wrestling her away from him. And though he wouldn't ever admit it he didn't know if he could wrestle himself away. Where the hell had she learned how to do this? His arm was already feeling numb from where it was pinned, sparks of pain shooting up the limb and resting to form a dull ache in his shoulder.

After a moment of him no longer struggling, she blew out a quiet breath and said softly in his ear, "I'm going to uncover your mouth in a second and if you even think about trying anything I'll break your arm." Her grip on the aforementioned appendage tightened just a fraction and a sharp pain shot through. If he had been doubting a second ago that Rose couldn't possibly break his arm, then that thought was erased now.

Bloody Hell. Who knew Rose could be so frightening? He nodded his head, agreeing to her request and carefully her hand pulled away from his mouth. Hesitantly, fearing for the safety of his poor arm, he spoke up in a whisper, "Rose, Rose it's me."

Immediately she pulled away from him, a small gasp escaping her mouth in what could only be described as complete and utter shock. He turned around to her, squinting to try and make her out in the darkness of the room while he cradled his arm to his chest.

"Oh god! I'm sorry!" she said immediately.

"S'alright, but where the hell did you learn to do that?"

He could almost picture her sheepish expression as she said, "Oh, umm, well I didn't really grow up in the best parts of town so I had to learn to take care of myself, yeah? Took a few defense classes a few years back. They come in handy sometimes."

"I don't know if my arm will recover from this abuse."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic."

This conversation was so surreal, John thought. He hadn't been able to get out more than two words to her for the past few weeks and now here they were holding a full conversation like adults. Although, he did find it easier to talk to her when he didn't have to look at her face and remember the betrayal and guilt in her features.

"Umm," she spoke up hesitantly after a second. "Which, umm, which o-one are you?"

Oh. Oh. Right, it was too dark in here for her to have any hopes of making out what he was wearing which was her usual method of telling him and the Time Lord apart. He couldn't help wondering which name she was hoping to hear as he opened his mouth.

"John. It's John."

"Oh." She sounded relieved.

There was a pregnant pause. "What're you doing back here?"

"I could ask you the same."

"I thought you were with the Doctor." He couldn't be sure, but he thought she might've flinched as he said the other man's name.

"You're not the only one who wanders off, John. Especially as of late."

"I'm sure he isn't too thrilled about that."

"Yeah, well..."

The sound of something banging hard just up ahead followed by a raised voice had both of their heads shooting up in an instant. Without a second's thought they were quickly creeping towards the door, pressing their ears up against the wood to try and catch the conversation.

"...he's starting to become suspicious, sir. Your disappearance has caused a great stir, as you well know and he is on his guard every day. Hundreds of men are sent in search of you."

"Then we must make haste," A much angrier voice spoke up. "The throne is rightfully mine and I will not allow it to slip through my grasp again." Another loud bang echoed and both Rose and John jumped at the noise.

The second voice spoke up again, trembling slightly, "I've done my best, my Lord. In counseling I tell him to give up this mad search, but he will not heed my advice. I fear that he has become suspicious of me."

"You utter fool! I would not have expected such incompetence from you!"

"I-I'm sorry, my Lord."

A pause. "It would seem we have no choice then. The window for my advancement to the throne is closing. We must put into motion our plans tonight. Here, take this."

"What is it, my Lord?"

"The poison you shall slip into his drink. I want it done and I want it done tonight. I will have my revenge against my dear brother and I will take back what is rightfully mine. No longer will they mock me as the Would-Be King. They will bow down to me as their ruler. You will see to this at once. I want him dead!"

"Yes, my Lord. I w-will not d-disappoint you," the voice squeaked.

The sound of footsteps and the turn of a knob had both John and Rose scrambling backwards, wide-eyed, looking for somewhere to hide, but to no end. The second the man walked out, a light immediately illuminated the hallway, and in turn John and Rose.

"Shit," John breathed out, as the man looked between them both with shock in his expression. Out of instinct, John grabbed Rose's hand to encourage her to run with him, but the second he had turned away with her a blinding flash entered his mind, crippling him. He fell heavily to the floor as blackness washed his vision around the edges. Looking next to him, he knew Rose was undergoing a similar mental attack. The last thing he heard before he went under was her voice crying out a weak and strangled, "Doctor!"