Episode 10: All That Glitters Part II

"What do we do now?" Dorian asked, crouched behind an overturned pillar with Klaus, the Spartens drawing dangerously closer. All he had in the way of weapons were the arrows, the sword having been discarded earlier, and considering how little damage the Major's .44 Magnum did, the thin bits of wood were fairly worthless.

The Major was eyeing the bow in his hands and evidently thinking the same thing. "Who the hell studies archery in this day and age, anyways?"

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "What day and age?"

The Major scowled. "You know what I meant!"

The Earl sighed, brushing some of his hair back daintily. "Well, you know I love immersing myself in Renaissance history, darling. And you didn't answer my question. What are we going to do?"

"Guns don't work, arrows sure as hell won't work…" the Major grimaced. "If we had grenades, or dynamite maybe….How did Jason defeat all of his enemies in the story? And please don't tell me he used magic pixie dust or something."

The Earl was silent for a moment, thinking. "He threw a stone into the thick of them, and each thought that it was someone else who had attacked him, so they ended up killing each other."

The Major snorted. "What a cowardly way to get out of a fight."

"Really? I always fancied it was quite clever."

They fell into an uncomfortable silence as their enemies drew nearer.

"Wait a minute! We still have Ristead!" Dorian exclaimed suddenly, pointing to where the alien crime lord lay cowering against the pillar, the bullet wound in his leg preventing him from escaping.

"So?" the Major asked irritably.

"So, he's the one who made them, can't he control them?"

The Major slowly ground his cigarette into the dirt and turned towards their prisoner. "That's an idea…" he looked at Dorian significantly. "For once."

Dorian rolled his eyes, then settled in to watch as the Major crawled to where Ristead was lying and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, hauling their tormentor to his feet, and dangling him directly in the Spartens' line of fire. "Turn those things off, now," the Major growled.

The poor crime lord withered under the harsh military gaze and reached for a controller hidden inside of his cloak. With the flick of a switch, the monsters that had terrorized them across time and space shut down.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Dorian relaxed against the toppled pillar and ran a hand through his tangled hair as the Spartens slumped lifelessly to the ground.

Snarling, the Major snatched the control-device from Ristead, crushed it in his fist, and thrust the alien aside. He turned back to Dorian and stood staring at him for a long moment and then, in the strangest of silences, he extended a hand and helped the thief to his feet.

The Earl fixed his hair and looked around at the destruction that had swept the field. Dead Colchians and Argonauts alike were scattered across the ground, thick red blood turning brown as it dried in clumps in the dirt. The now-lifeless Spartens had fallen perfectly flat and stiff as toppled statues to the ground around them. The stench was revolting, and sent a wave of nausea through him. He blanched.

The Major lit up a smoke, seemingly indifferent to the carnage, but he was surveying the area with an intent gaze. "Where is the Doctor?"

Eroica, turning away from the field with a shudder, shook his head. "I don't know. I—"

He sensed the Major turn and followed his gaze, but found all the words stopped abruptly in his throat at the scene before them. There was a wide circle in the centre of the field, where none of the dead bodies seemed to have fallen. The Doctor knelt there, cradling Rose in his arms. She lay limp and still, her skin turning a greyish-white, her head lolling back over the curve of his arm, golden hair spilling into the dirt and mud.

Jason stood over them, a recovered Medea by his side, clasping her hands to her chest and looking down at Rose with a sort of numb disbelief. "I just…I didn't…"

"Doctor…" Dorian stared in disbelief, trying to get his legs to work, to walk over to them, was a struggle. "Rose….what happened?"

"I don't know…" the Doctor's voice was quiet and hoarse. "The Sparten stood over her, and then she fell. There was nothing—nothing I could see…"

"There is no wound," the Major observed curtly, glancing over the girl.

"But she's…I mean surely she isn't…" Dorian couldn't get the words to come.

"I'm taking her back to the TARDIS," the Doctor said slowly, standing and lifting her in his arms. "I don't…" His eyes met Dorian's for a moment. They were dark and shadowed, horrified and tired, deeply pained. "I knew this would happen. She's dead. I've killed her. She's only nineteen and I've…"

"Doctor, don't!" Dorian cried. "We'll take her back to the TARDIS. Surely you can do something! Surely!"

"Dorian…" strange, to hear Klaus call him by that name. He fell silent.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," Medea was murmuring again and again under her breath, a quiet mantra. "She was protecting me. I…no one has ever done anything like that for my sake before."

"She wouldn't have done otherwise," the Doctor said quietly. "It would never even have crossed her mind to leave you…she's too…good." His voice cracked. He began to walk away, Dorian walked after him, and the Time Lord stopped abruptly, and spoke without looking at him. "No. Stay here. Help Jason and the others retrieve their treasure. We said we would help, after all."

It was the tone that spoke more than the words: I want to be left alone right now.

Dorian relented.

He fell back to where Klaus stood with Jason and Medea as the Doctor slowly walked away from them, disappearing among the marble pillars and high walls of Aetes' palace. The silence hung heavily over them.

Medea stood staring at the spot on the ground where Rose had fallen. She looked ill. Jason, however, was adjusting the leather straps which bound his shield to his forearm. His skin was regaining its natural complexion, and the shock of having faced the monstrous 'bulls' seemed to have worn off.

"Well, we do have to go and get the Golden Fleece…"

Dorian couldn't look at him. Even the Major seemed disgusted. Medea merely stared at nothing. When she finally spoke, her voice was trembling. "Jason is right…I know my father, and he won't give up the Fleece, even after everything that's happened. If we don't go and take it before his men have a chance to recover, then we may loose our chance forever."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"Alright," the Major said, after several uncomfortable minutes had passed. He ground out the remains of another cigarette in the dirt under his heel.

"The rest of my men have returned to the Argo, but they'll no doubt be ready and waiting to escape—"

"No doubt," the Major muttered.

"It looks like it will be up to the four of us to recover the Fleece," Jason concluded, glaring.

"Steal, you mean. You want to steal the fleece, my dear boy, and no one's better at that than I am," Eroica murmured.

But when Klaus looked over at him, the thief displayed none of his usual smiles or frivolous flirtatious gestures. Rather, the blonde was still pale and shaken, and his wide blue eyes had not left the spot where Rose Tyler had fallen.

Medea's dark eyes, as well, lingered on that place in the dirt. "I need to…" her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. There might have been tears in her eyes that she blinked fiercely away. "I need to go back to my study—get another potion for—an elixir for—"

"We don't have time for that!" Jason interrupted. He looked irritated. "What if you get caught? Aetes isn't a fool, he probably suspects something—and we need your help, or else I'll never get the Golden Fleece!"

"Medea knows more about what's needed to get the Fleece than you do," Eroica snapped suddenly, finally tearing his eyes away from that now-hallowed ground. "If she says she needs another potion, I'll sneak in with her to get it. We won't be caught."

There was that determined look in the thief's eyes, the look that turned them into a steely blue like glazed ice, when even at his most disagreeable, Klaus would have been forced to regard the other man with some grudging respect. He nodded.

"You go with the girl, we will inform Jason's men of the new plans."

"We'll meet you," Medea said. "We will need to take the Argonaut's ship to the island where the Fleece is hidden."

The Major nodded. "Alright. We'll meet again in an hour."

Eroica smiled, but the smile was thin and empty. "Sounds like a plan, Major."

But he could not afford to think about the fact that one of their four had already fallen.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The Doctor took another breath. Felt the air biting against his throat. He couldn't raise his head, he couldn't open his eyes. He couldn't look at her.

He had lain her body on one of the small sleeping couches in the TARDIS medical centre, but it had been clear since the moment he had finally reached her side on that accursed battle field. There was nothing he could do for her. His worst fear, his worst nightmare since he had met her in that Auton-infested department store in 2005 London, was coming true.

He had killed her.

Nineteen years old, and he had killed her.

She had trusted him.

And he had killed her.

Maybe our enemy is….

"Doctor!" a familiar voice called. He felt his hearts catch in his chest. Now his mind was playing tricks on him. "Here we are with all of time and space as we know it at stake, and you're sitting around moping!"

The clear sound of small, precise footsteps across the ground, the sound of material trailing over the metal floor—he looked up in time to see a heavy red cloak being tossed to the side, the familiar form revealed as the shadows parted and the heavy fabric fell away…

"Rose!"

He jumped to his feet, but froze before he could embrace her. The woman he was looking at…she was Rose, but she wasn't his Rose. The woman who stood before him, her back straight and arched, her head tossed back with an almost imperial bearing, so that her long strands of iridescent hair—more orange and fiery than the Rose Tyler he had known—flipped over her squared shoulders. She was older, her mid-thirties, he would guess, and there was a hardness about her face, a perceptible coldness that his Rose had never shown. There were small white scars branching off in splintering lines in a band around her eyes. Eyes that were cold one moment, then softened as she looked at him.

Her smile was quivering, and for a moment, he thought she was going to cry. "Doctor, it really is you! The Doctor I used to know…the Doctor I fell in love with."

He could only stare at her in confusion. "Rose…"

Turning back to the narrow medical bed, he was once again faced with her still, lifeless form. He felt a warm hand close around his, pulling him slowly away. "Doctor…" Her hand brushing against his forehead, not quite so soft as it had once been, there was a jagged scar cut cruelly into the back of her hand. He caught it, trying to hold her gaze.

Her eyes were not the deep brown orbs he knew, they were bright, almost neon, sky blue, they seemed to blaze from her face. He couldn't tear his gaze away from them.

"Rose Tyler…what happened to you?"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Dorian and Medea were walking swiftly through the marble halls of her father's palace. He took the opportunity to observe all of the beauty that history would erase, the bright blazing gold and deep red ochre of the pictures painted on the walls, the statues that looked so delicate they would be shattered into a million pieces long before the twentieth century. He tried to keep his mind away from Rose and the Doctor, and listen at the same time for approaching soldiers and royal guards.

"Damn it."

Medea cast him a sidelong glance, her mouth curved into a deep frown. "Eroica—"

"Don't."

"I'm sorry," the witch looked straight ahead.

"Rose and the Doctor…they were the first real friends I've had in a long time."

He tightened his grip on the slender wooden bow in his hands. "I just want to know…what happened to her."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"I am Rose, Doctor. I'm just not…your Rose, exactly," she explained, perched on one of the hospital beds. She almost laughed, but it came out choked, not the bubbling laughter he knew. "I already took dangerous risks coming here, communicating with her—with my—" she gestured to the Rose Tyler who lay lifeless on the cot. "But my warning wasn't enough, I guess. Never enough."

"You can't be…it doesn't make any sense…" he shut his eyes, leaning against the wall. Trying to think. "You can't be…"

"I'm not from the future," she said, and he detected a bitterness alien to his Rose in her tone. "Not from your future. I'm not supposed to be, at any rate. Something went wrong. Something went horribly wrong, and it—interfered—it shouldn't have got through—it disturbed the time line--it's wrong!"

"Stop it!" he shook his head, fixing her with a stern gaze. "Calm down, Rose. Start from the beginning. Tell me. What is going on here?" He crossed the room, grabbed her firmly by the shoulders, and forced her to look at him.

And when her eyes opened again, and he was staring into those bright sky blue eyes….

He knew those eyes.

He suddenly felt a wave of nausea wash through him, and broke away abruptly, turning so quickly he almost fell over a nearby bed. He felt sick.

"Doctor!"

But he knew that voice, too. Without looking at her, he asked her to continue, or maybe he didn't, but she went on with her story, her voice trembling. "There was a terrible accident, we were in this kind of shuttle, D—Dorian and I, when the Dalek fleet attacked us. They came out of no where—"

"The Daleks?" he asked in a whisper. "No. That can't be—"

"They—they—"

He heard her shudder. He felt guilty that he was unable to make himself turn around and look at her.

"They're everywhere, in my future. The Daleks. There was some mistake, when Gallifrey was destroyed—"

"How do you know about Gallifrey ?" he asked quietly.

"I've been with you a lot longer than she has," he could hear her voice breaking. "Doctor!" the sound of her pushing off the bed, standing, pacing a few steps. Shivering. "The accident—"

"You're all over the place."

"Well, what do you want to know?"

A cry more than a question.

"Dorian and I—the shuttle, it was shot down by the Dalek fleet and crashed on—God, I don't know, some planet! I don't remember anything more about it except the—the noise, like thunder ripping right through my skull. Everything was shaking and tearing apart, and the fire—the fire—I have nightmares about the fire every—"

She took a deep, shaking breath, composing herself with obvious effort. When she began again, her voice was quiet, tremulous. "The control panel exploded in the crash, and my face…well, in the fire, and the glass and metal…you can imagine. The shuttle was completely destroyed. It's a miracle that I lived at all, what was left of me, that is. Dorian….

"Dorian died. They told me it was very fast, but…well, what would I know? There was minimal damage to his body, somehow. Something impaled him, I guess. I didn't ask for the details."

He swallowed the sickness that was rising in his throat, his hand tightening into a fist. These were his companions, he was supposed to be protecting them, not watching them die!

"This can't be our future…" his voice a coarse whisper.

But Rose was still continuing her story in a shaky whisper, her ruined hands trembling uncontrollably as they moved around her face, hovering around the eyes, not touching, no…

"Those of us who were left in the faction, we discussed it. We thought, we thought he might not mind…might even have wanted, well…" she choked.

"I don't believe any of this."

"You don't have a choice! I went through so much just to find you, so that you could stop this from happening! I know it wasn't the way the future was supposed to go—it's a wrong future! You were supposed to destroy the last of the Daleks, the Emperor—you and I, Doctor—but we didn't. The destruction of Gallifrey caused more damage in time and space than we ever could have imagined. Somehow, they got through, Doctor, and they took over my future, and they—and you….you, my Doctor…."

He heard her cross the room slowly, and didn't tear his hand away when she took it in her limp, wounded and clumsy grasp. Her next words were a whisper in his ear:

"You went mad."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"You must think I'm mad," Medea said, hauling a great chest out of one of the narrow alcoves in her spiralling tower chambers. "What I'm doing for Jason, and I barely even know him…"

Dorian leaned against the cold stone wall, absent-mindedly twirling one of his golden curls around his slender fingers. "I guess it's fate," he murmured. How much of our existence in this universe is fate? Do we have any say—he kept thinking of Rose and the Doctor, he wanted to be with them again, he wanted them both to be well and safe, the first friends he'd had in years, it wasn't fair—can we fight the future?

"Medea!" a great bellowing roar of a voice suddenly rang through the old stone chambers. The Princess jumped, knocking vials and potions and wooden boxes of herbs to the ground, where they smashed.

The thief held his breath, from where he was leaning against one of the many stone alcoves, he was cloaked in shadow and hidden from the intruder. "F—father…" he heard the Princess gasp, and knew it was King Aetes standing in the doorway.

"You! False witch-maid! You've betrayed your own people—your own family!"

There was silence on Medea's part, only a heavy, dark silence. Dorian tightened his grip on the bow, in case…

"Yes, I know what you've done!" the King continued. "There's no way those Minoan bastards could possibly have defeated the bulls and army without magical intervention!"

"But—but Ristead betrayed you as well! If it hadn't been for Jason and the others, those monsters would have killed us all!"

"I want no excuses, girl!" the King spat angrily. Then his voice turned to an icy whisper: "If Jason and the Argonauts take that fleece, then you will die!" Saying this, the warrior-king turned on his heel and left, slamming the old wooden door of the tower behind him so that the glass bottles on the shelves shook and shivered.

The potions she had been gathering fell limply from Medea's hands.

Dorian stepped away from the niche in the wall and turned to Medea. The Princess had fallen to her knees, her face as white as a ghost. "Medea….? Your potions…" he carefully picked up one of the vials she had dropped and pressed it into her hand.

All of a sudden, the Princess cried out. Eroica looked up to see a dozen royal guards charging blindly towards them, spears and lances drawn and flashing in the grim smoky light of the tower. "Kill the witch!"

"It's her fault those mad bulls killed our men!"

"It's her fault those strange foreigners are here!"

"It's her fault the Golden Fleece is being stolen!"

"It's her fault! Her fault!"

"Kill the Witch!"

"NO!" Medea screamed, tangling her pale white hands in her dark hair and doubling over.

"Medea!" Dorian acted on instinct. He grabbed the arrows from the quiver he had taken from the battle field, and strung them on the bow, sending them flying at the brutal men in a rapid wave of dart-like shots.

Before he realized what had happened, the princess was touching his arm, and the soldiers lay scattered on the floor, moaning and clutching the shafts of wood lodged in their sides and limbs.

He stared at the weapon in his hands in numb disbelief before tossing it away. Smiling, he turned to look down at Medea where she clutched his arm. "Well, we got we came for, best be getting back to the others now, hadn't we?"

"But—" she continued to stare at the fallen knights with wide eyes, before turning and looking up at him with a look beyond awe and disbelief. "Oh by Apollo..."

Dorian uneasily pried her off his arm. "Uh…Princess?"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

They met with Jason and the Major in the city where the Argo was anchored. Jason's team stood waiting impatiently, still pale and shaken from their encounter with the Spartens and the bulls. "I don't think we should be taking another risk," Idas was complaining loudly. "We lost too many good men today. If we lose any more we won't be able to make the trip home!"

"Which is precisely why none of you will be going with us to get the Fleece," Jason replied. "Medea, myself, and these two strangers—"

He stopped when he caught sight of Medea, white-faced, tears running abstractly from her dark eyes. "I'll help you find your way through the forest, but then—" her voice broke in a sob. "But then I will die, for my own father will kill me!"

"Medea!" Jason strode to her, clasping her trembling hands in his. "No, I won't allow it! Help us get through these woods, and I will take you with me to Iolcus!"

"No! But THIS is my home! My sisters are here, and my aunts and cousins—all of the friends I grew up with—this is my home! In Iolcus what will I be? A peasant? A slave!"

"Never!" Jason declared, cupping her face in his hands, "Medea, help us escape from this awful country and I will make you my Queen!"

"Oh, Jason!" Medea cried, throwing her arms around his neck.

The Major rolled his eyes and grimaced, then reached into his jacket pocket and scowled darkly. "What is it?" Eroica asked, flipping his golden curls off his shoulder and surveying the forest.

"I'm out of cigarettes."

Dorian turned and looked at him. "Oh dear."

"What is 'cigar—"

"Let's just get on with it!" the Major growled in a very threatening voice.

Medea hastily backed up a few steps. "Um…right." She turned to the Argonauts. "You must bring the ship to the side of the island that is sheltered by a wooded-grove. Just beyond those trees is a wall which we must cross to find the sacred garden of Ares where the Golden Fleece is kept."

"Jason, Eroica, we will go with you," Orpheus said. "Don't listen to that old fool Idas."

"No," Jason shook his head firmly. "If we don't return, you can still make it home to Iolcus."

"But Jason—" Atalanta protested, as the four of them stepped aboard the creaking ship, joining the rest of the Argonauts.

"It's better to keep the party small, for this sort of thing, anyways," Eroica said, as the Argo swayed uneasily in the water, the large prow in the shape of the goddess Hera rising up and above the waves and the thick spray of the sea.

"It's alright," Medea whispered to Jason as the Argo sailed towards the small island. "With these two allies we can not possibly fail!"

He looked at her in genuine surprise. "What makes you say that?"

"Jason, are blind? It could not be more obvious—these travellers are the gods Apollo and Ares in disguise!"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

They arrived at the island as the sun was sinking, the sky melting into dark purple hues, a faint orange-golden shimmering on the very edge of the horizon. The Argo rested on the edge of the island as Jason, Medea, Eroica, and the Major climbed out.

"Take my lyre, for luck," Orpheus called to them with his rich, bard's voice, pressing the delicate instrument into the Earl's hands.

"Take my sword," said Atalanta, to the Major.

They stepped onto the dark sand as the Argo pulled away. "We'll be back," Atalanta told them firmly. "In the morning."

"And if we aren't here," Jason told her, "Go back to Iolcus without us."

With these grim goodbyes, the Argonauts departed and the small company was left standing in the thick dark grove that ran along the edge of the small island. Medea shivered and drew her shawl more tightly about her bare shoulders, peering through the dark black shadows of the tangled, gnarled trees. Dorian tightened his grip on the small wooden frame of the instrument, all though what good it would do him in this jungle he couldn't fathom. The Major strode along beside him, as confident and unimpressed with their surroundings as ever. He carried Atalanta's heavy sword with ease, and his sharp glare seemed to cut straight through the gloom and darkness. Jason and Medea were coming along slowly behind them, eyes wide, jumping fretfully at ever little crack of twigs or rustle of wind in the leaves.

"These are evil woods," Medea told them in a low voice. "Everything that grows here is poisonous."

After a time they came upon an impossibly huge stone wall. It was twelve feet high, cold and grey and desolate and cut through the woods, running as far as they could see in both directions. A large black gate with brazen doors and thick, heavy bars rested in the centre. "This gate is guarded by Brimo, the Witch." Medea explained.

Jason glanced about fearfully. "But—surely you are a more powerful witch than she is…aren't you?"

Medea grimaced. "Hush! She'll hear you!"

"Indeed she has," a deep voice said bemusedly from the shadows above them.

"The witch!" Jason gasped, drawing his sword as the dark branches rustled and shadowed figure leapt easily to the ground before them.

The witch was tall and had a stern, austere quality about her—a cold sense of power that hung in a tangible aura over her gauntlet-covered arms, her long animal-skin cloak, leather boots and armour. "I am Brimo, guardian of this forest. I should have killed you immediately, but that you were accompanied by the priestess of this grove."

At Brimo's feet, two large hounds appeared, darker than the shadows, their eyes bright yellow, their growls a low rumble of thunder as they snarled and snapped at the strangers.

"Let us through the gate, Brimo," Medea said, but her voice was shaking, and she stepped behind Jason as the hounds moved forwards.

Brimo raised a hand to halt the dogs, but regarded their group suspiciously. "Why? What business have you in that sacred place?"

"Let us through, Witch!" Jason cried, pointing his sword at her menacingly.

In the moonlight, Dorian saw her smile wryly. "I can let you through the gate easily enough, but on the other side is a vicious dragon that will tear any one who steps into the Garden of Ares into pieces and devour him. Even Medea, our priestess, will not be safe, if you four cross that wall."

Jason hesitated, and Medea shrank back. Klaus regarded the brazen doors of the gate tiredly. "Listen, we're in a hurry, we don't have time for all of this dramatic crap. Just open the door."

"Uh…Major?"

"Their 'dragon' is probably a gecko."

"The bulls were real enough, weren't they?"

"Nein. They were machines."

The thief sighed. There was just no reasoning with some people.

Brimo stared at the four of them, each in turn, and finally shrugged indifferently. "You won't be the first adventurers I've let into the garden, but if you want to die, who am I to stop you?"

With a clap of her hands, the hounds vanished, the large black bars of the gate crashed down, the woods trembled and dirt flew in a thick cloud to the air as the heavy wooden doors flew open. Medea and Jason cried out and clutched each other in fright, Dorian shielded his eyes from the storm of dirt, and when he looked again, Brimo had vanished.

"Come on," Klaus said quietly, "Let's go." Then he turned to the cowering forms of Jason and Medea, and snapped: "Stop that snivelling, you cowards! Do you want the damn fleece or not!"

Dorian couldn't help but chuckle. And then he gasped. For no sooner had they stepped through the gateway, then a pale golden light cut through the dark night shadows, its shimmering glow guiding them into the deep darkness.

"The fleece!" Jason cried at once. "It must be the Golden Fleece!"

The warrior leapt forwards, but Medea clutched his arm tightly. "No, Jason! Watch out!"

Then they saw, all around the great tree where the fleece was hung, a thick dark shadow was coiled, and as the four watched, the shadow shivered and stirred, sliding and twisting slowly around the enormous tree, so that the branches quivered and groaned.

The Major's right hand tightened in its grip around the heavy sword, while the left rose to halt Dorian from moving forward. The thief felt the brush of the hand against his chest, the Major wasn't looking at him, but peering intently ahead, and his own heart was already racing with adrenaline, his sharp eyes picking apart the darkness, his body, ready to spring away in a moment—but when he felt Klaus' hand on his arm he could not help smiling to himself. "But Major, I am a thief. This is my game, now," he whispered.

They stepped forwards, under the Major's heavy tread a twig from the forest cracked and snapped, the sound exploding in the perfect quiet. And that was the end of silence.

The shadow shot out from beneath the tree, uncoiling like a cracked whip, rising straight into the air, so that the party caught a terrifying glimpse of the massive, serpent body, the coils spangled with bronze and gold, jagged horns jutting outwards raggedly across the coils. Medea screamed, and Jason's sword tumbled uselessly to the ground before the creature could even land its first strike.

The thief and the Major stood stock still beneath it, the Major's hand still tight on Dorian's arm. The beast's head swung around, the neck hanging above them in defiance of gravity, the head alone the length of a man's body, its small black eyes sharp and bright and intelligent. A forked tongue flicked in and out of the mouth tentatively and it seemed to be thinking about them, the great head swaying back and forth among the four with a sinister grace and ease.

The Earl felt the Major's body tense beside his, and the hand holding his arm released him, the snake swung its head in their direction, and Dorian knew exactly what Klaus was thinking, but—

"Klaus, NO!"

But the Iron Major shoved him to the side just as the monster struck. He spun into the thick tangled bushes surrounding the grove, stumbling and unable to stop, tumbling straight to the ground as the dragon descended on Klaus. He heard the ferocious snap of the beast's head, and the thud of the thick sword cutting through air and slamming into the dirt.

The Major leapt to the side, avoiding the lightening-fast swivel of the neck as few men could have done. He crouched as the beast reared its head again, regarding its prey with a curious tilt of its beastly head.

"Jason, do something!" he heard Medea gasp.

"The Fleece!" the warrior cried, lunging awkwardly for the tree in the centre of the grove.

The snake's head whipped around and shot towards the Argonaut, slamming into him and sending Jason backwards with a loud crunch. Medea screamed again, and ran to where he had fallen, but the snake's head whipped around and slid down through the air towards her.

Dorian sprang to his feet, and in a second he was across the field and flung himself over the Princess. They both tumbled to the grass and dirt, the giant snake crashing down just above them, swivelling around to glare at them with a definitely angered gaze. The forked tongue darted out again, tasting the air and the eyes fixed on them.

The Major leapt for the old sword, dragging it from the earth where it had fallen and fell upon the beast's tail, driving the edge of the blade through the thick scales. The head snapped back to Klaus' direction.

Dorian pushed Medea out of the way, and took the lyre that Orpheus had given him. "Maybe I can lull it to sleep, like those snake charmers!" he shouted, as Klaus dragged the bloodied sword from the thick flesh. The beast itself was merely watching them, the large head turning slowly in one direction then the other, the eyes flashing, as though it couldn't decide which of them to pick off first.

"Can you play that thing?" the Major asked, staring up warily at the beast.

"I played an acoustic guitar once…" Dorian replied, strumming the short wires. "They're kinda similar, right…?" A few more notes were plucked off at random, and the dragon's head turned in his direction.

The descent was like lightening, and he couldn't move a muscle in his body, he felt the impending death—extinguishment in those terrible jaws—but there was no way of moving in time. He shut his eyes.

There was a bone-crunching CRACK and the dragon reared backwards, its entire body drawn out in anguish and it toppled to the dirt, twisting and writhing wildly as the sword cut through the lower half of its body. The great head beat against the ground, slamming apart rocks and boulders, the trees shaking and trembling under its pain and fury.

Dorian's breath was shaky, but at that moment his eyes caught sight of the glimmer of the Golden Fleece among the trees, and he was Eroica once again, springing off, catlike, into the darkness and the shadows.

In a moment, he was standing before the legendary Golden Fleece. It shone in the darkness, brilliant, luminous, he watched it entirely entranced for a long moment. "Oh…you're a pretty trinket, aren't you, darling?"

The dragon was recovering, it flipped onto its side, curling and shuddering as its wounded body flexed, tearing through the darkness. Medea drew one of the potion vials from her shawl and fell to her knees on the ground, flinging the mixture quickly into the air around her. She began chanting the ancient spells, the power of her ancestors taking over, until the shawl came lose and fell to the ground, and her entire being appeared to blaze with light.

She threw her head back, and the light burst in a tunnel of fire from her eyes and she cried out the names of Almighty Zeus, and Hera, Apollo the Slayer of Darkness, the Huntress Artemis, the war-god Ares, Aegis-bearing Athene, and the sky cracked and howled with thunder and wind that rose and crashed down on them, driving the dragon deeper into the ground.

Dorian fell back against the base of the great tree, the wind howling and screaming in his ears until it was deafening, the flashes of lightening blinding. He shivered and lay there. The entire forest seemed to be ripping apart around him. The earth rocked and shook in violent tremors beneath his body. The branches of the great tree groaned and snapped as though at any moment they would crash down against him, and the wind was knocking the air right from his lungs. For the first time in his life, the thief was actually, genuinely, terrified.

But then he felt someone collapse beside him, and he knew it was Klaus without seeing, because he felt a warm, strong hand cover his shoulder, and the exhausted Major fell so that he was partly on top of him, one arm curled around him as though to protect him from the raging storm, and with one more deafening crash of thunder and an explosion of lightening ripping the very universe around them apart, Dorian curled slightly against the Major's shoulder, clutching the sacred fleece between them, and passed out.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The next morning was warm and bright, the rich golden sun pouring in over the emerald treetops and kissing the rich sandy shore of the island. Dorian stirred and stretched out uncomfortably in the sand, blinking and looking up in confusion. He tilted his head back and felt sand slid out of his hair. He grimaced.

Medea was sitting on the ground beside him, apparently lost in her thoughts. She looked over at him in mild surprise. "Oh. You're finally awake."

"I—mnh—wha—?" It was really to early for mutli-syllables.

"There isn't anything left of the Garden of Ares," the witch said softly. "Everything was destroyed. It's a miracle we even survived. Well, I was casting the spell, and I suppose it was the magic of the Golden Fleece that protected you and Major—"

"The fleece! Where is the fleece?" he asked immediately, wincing at the glare of the sun.

She sighed. "Please don't. You're starting to sound as bad as Jason. He took the fleece, of course."

He groaned. "Of course. How did he avoid being incinerated, anyways?"

Medea actually appeared slightly embarrassed at this. "Well…he was…not in the grove at the time."

"Ran away, hmm?" the Earl asked, lying back in the sand lazily.

"Stop lazing about! It is disgraceful at this hour!" a familiar voice demanded. Dorian smiled.

"I'm recovering from a very near-death experience, as I recall, darling. It's quite legitimate."

The Major snorted, standing over him and shaking his head impatiently. "Also…..the guitar, Herr Dieb?" he made a sort of pained face.

"Sure," Dorian laughed. "Didn't I ever tell you about my flower child days?"

"No. Please don't. Ever."

Dorian laughed at the Major's expression.

"There is the Argo!" Jason's voice exclaimed, and as Dorian pulled himself to his feet, he saw the warrior standing on the edge of the shore, an annoyingly triumphant air about him.

The ship was approaching quickly, the prow in the shape of Hera rising towards them, drawing closer with every wave. Dorian looked to the figure of the ancient goddess as though asking what he should do next…he saw the golden fleece secured in a large leather pouch to Jason's belt. Medea hugged him joyfully as the Argonauts arrived and the entire group cheered wildly.

"By the gods, you did it!" Idas cried.

Atalanta smiled at them, Orpheus climbed out of the boat to embrace him.

"I'm so happy," Medea cried, turning to Dorian, he could see tears shining in her eyes. "I'm really going to live with Jason forever, and be his wife. This is a happy ending. And it's all thanks to you and your friends."

He felt a moment of pain. Should he tell her what lay in store for her…? But no, as the Doctor said, they could not change the course of history. So he smiled sadly to her and hugged her tightly in return.

"Here, take this," she said, pressing her one unused bottle of magical elixir into his hands. "I will have no use for such things any more, and, who knows? Perhaps it will be useful to you."

Klaus stood silent and to the side as the joyous celebration and parting took place. Eroica shook Jason's hand warmly, and hugged him like a brother. The poor fool was so intoxicated with his victory and heroic triumph and near-homecoming that he didn't even notice the satchel removed from his belt.

Dorian and Klaus stood on the edge of the small island, watching as the Argo with its legendary crew sailed slowly from their sight, the golden sunlight bathing the wooden frame, the overjoyed warriors, their trials at an end, waving back to them and shouting their thanks. Dorian and Klaus stayed like that for a long time afterwards, staring out at the calm sea, the breeze brushing back their long hair.

"You seem sad," the Major said quietly, after a long time had passed. "But look at them—they will be happy together and have their whole lives ahead of them. There is no reason to be sad."

"I guess you never cared for myths much as a boy, my Major," Dorian said sadly. "Medea really does love Jason. She saves him from even more horrible monsters and men on the journey home. She even kills her own brother for his sake, and secures his place on the throne of Iolcus when they return home. They even have two children, but then…well, Jason changes his mind, I guess. He runs off with some other princess and tries to have their children enslaved and her exiled."

"What?" the Major looked at him in surprise and disgust. "That man should not be remembered as a hero in history!"

Dorian laughed softly. "Well, the ancient Greeks seemed to agree, actually. In the end of the story, Jason is killed by the very goddess who helped him on his quest, because she was so disgusted with his treatment of Medea."

"That is good," the Major nodded in approval, which made Dorian smile a little.

Dorian opened the leather bag he had taken from the horribly unwitting young hero, letting the thick Golden Fleece spread and fall out in a shimmer of golden glow. It blazed in his grasp, luminous and magnificent.

The Major looked at him in surprise.

"Have you ever heard of anyone finding the Golden Fleece, or it being in a museum anywhere? I've decided it is very beautiful, and I will keep it for myself."

The Major appeared to think for a moment, but said nothing.

Dorian looked at the mythical object in his hands and back to Klaus once more. "Do you think the gods would want me to have it?" he asked, more to hear Klaus say something than anything else.

The Major merely shrugged, then offered one of his very rare half-smiles. "Well, from what I've heard so far, these ancient gods were just crazy about you."

Dorian laughed delightedly, when suddenly, the Major's arm slid around his back, pulling him into a sudden, furious embrace. He felt the Major's mouth press against his own, a deep, passionate, hungry kiss. A hand pressed against his face gently, brushing the long golden curls from his face as the wind blew them into a furious torrent. The kiss deepened, and Klaus held him close for a long time, until the wind died down, and they heard the sound of the TARDIS materializing behind them...

To be continued in Episode 11: The Dalek Invasion of Bonn