Writer's Notes: Okay, here's the warning: this is my FIRST attempt at a full length story. So it will be rough around the edges. I'm writing for the 11th Doctor and Clara as probably my favourite TARDIS team, and one we saw far too little of. And I'm writing for them because there are things I want to say about that relationship and a story to tell about it. Character is very much at the heart of the story (or intended to be) but I've attempted to create a hopefully compelling narrative around it to explore those. It's intended to be a novel that could conceivably be published (it won't be, but that style) so I did set myself some rules but I won't bore you with them. I'll add commentary only if the chapters have something worth saying about them and I'll post my full thoughts on the story as a review once it's complete. Your feedback would be very much appreciated. Hope you enjoy!
I've uploaded the first few chapters together, so you can get into it. The image of an exiled Ice Warrior in a snowglobe was one of the first things I thought of and thought that's a good image to open with.
Deep in the swirling vortex of the unknown, Contar Smitt could almost hear his family talking. "You're flying it wrong," his wife, Sofie, would whisper in his ear with a playful smirk, and he'd ignore her, continuing to fly his ship the way he knew how to. His children would bicker in the background: his son, Rober, snatching his favourite toy back from his younger sister Yalia, making her burst into tears. Sofie would then be forced to let him fly in peace as she attended to the troublesome youngsters in their care. He could almost hear them, but not quite. Because Contar Smitt's family was dead. Just like everyone else.
Smitt's spacecraft ejected itself from the vortex and landed with a hiss. Contar braced himself. This wasn't going to be an easy conversation. He ran a hand through his thick brown hair, feeling each short blade trickle past his fingertips. With a sigh he let his hands fall down open on his lap and found himself looking down at them. He couldn't see any blood, but he knew it was there. The skin had once been pale and smooth, but now there was the beginnings of a tan, and a lot more creases than he remembered. His fingers trembled slightly, and he noticed the tiny signs of stress hidden between his fingers like a cancer. "Enough delaying…" he muttered to himself as he forced himself to his feet and headed for the exit ramp at the back of the ship.
Stepping off his transport, Contar found himself in the centre of a metal-plated sphere, decorated with the constant falling of snow that seemed to sizzle as it touched the floor but settle nonetheless. Contar clenched his trembling fists, determined to present himself as confident, despite the turmoil within him. He slowed his heartbeat to a normal rate, and took a deep breath. The floor shook as the sphere's sole inhabitant slowly marched towards him. Contar swallowed as the hulking green creature appeared in front of him. "You're a Martian…" he realised out loud. "You're a Duraxian," it responded without blinking.
Contar had heard stories of the Ice Warriors of old but never dreamt of meeting one face to face. Heavy green armour hid the Martian within, scaled like a crocodile, but with tinted red eyes. When it spoke, it was with an icy hiss that sent shivers down Contar's spine. Contar slammed his fist against his chest in salute. The Ice Warrior didn't return the gesture. "Grand Marshall Arvakxyr," Contar was trembling from more than just guilt and stress now; fear had crept in. "I've come for your help." Arvakxyr grunted in disapproval: "I'm not a Grand Marshall anymore, Duraxian. I'm a Martian by biology alone; cast out and dishonoured."
"I know," Contar forced a surge of confidence to rush through him, brought on by desperation, "I've heard the stories." Arvakxyr tilted his head slightly by means of acknowledgment but said nothing. "There are many people who describe your act of dishonour as… Kindness. I imagine the man who inspired you to do it would be one of them."
"That man is dead," Arvakxyr answered without hesitation. The Ice Warrior's thoughts focused on the image of the short-haired man in the black leather jacket that had landed on Mars with the small blonde girl in the blue box. The man who had taught him that some things were more important than honour. That mercy and forgiveness were the virtues a race should aspire to. Arvakxyr's mind also lingered on another fact though: the death that had echoed across the universe. His friend struck down on the planet Earth with a different face. Of course, there were stories that it was a trick, that this strange impossible man had cheated death one last time but Arvakxyr refused to give credit to such stories. A life lived as long as that man's, deserved an ending.
"I need him to be alive," Contar growled, and he realised a rage was slowly growing inside him. He swallowed it back down. "The stories say that he gave you a way to contact him if you ever chose to end your self-imposed exile." "And you think I'll share that with you?" The Ice Warrior roared, and with speed Contar couldn't believe he lunged forwards, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him up into the air. Contar's hands flew to the vice-like grip around his neck, trying to prise the metallic green fingers away, but with no success. Suddenly the Ice Warrior's hand withdrew, dropping Contar back down to his knees, where he gasped for breath. It was as if Arvakxyr had just remembered the value of mercy.
Contar glared up at the giant green beast, coughing out through gritted teeth: "Do I really look like I could hurt someone like him? Do I really look like a threat to the Butcher of Skull Moon?" Arvakxyr didn't answer that. "I'm asking for his help!" Contar shouted, pushing himself up to his feet. "That's all…" he breathed out, "now please…" Contar and Arvakxyr's eyes met, and in that moment the Ice Warrior realised that his humanoid visitor might actually be the most dangerous being in the room.
"Tell me where to find the Doctor."