A/N: This picks up immediately from the previous chapter.

Rough ages are as follows: Johan at 64, Clara at 45, Lena at 14, Astra and Tara at 12, Sterling at 8, Maglina at 6, and Seren at an old 1.

Chapter Forty-Five: The Inconvenient Injury (II)

It was distressingly early in the morning when the Marchioness and her twin daughters were down at breakfast in their modest house in the capitol. Since arriving in the royal city, there was a flurry of activity that they were swept up in and they needed to make sure they ate earlier than normal in order to keep up their strength for the day ahead. The Marchioness nearly regretted bringing along her daughters on the excursion, yet not only did they keep up with all the speakers and their inanity, but they assisted her in keeping notes and made the best of the late-summer trip as an essential part of their highborn education. Despite this, the trip was still taking its toll on the youngsters, which their mother could not blame them for in the slightest.

"Mama, how long do we need to be here yet?" Tara wondered as she picked at her eggs. "The blue night sky is unnerving, I haven't sparred with anyone in ages, and I'm starting to feel sluggish just sitting around all the time."

"A few more days, at the least," her mother replied. "I know that the conference was supposed to end two days ago, but that doesn't mean that everyone feels the need to be on-time or timely with their speeches."

"I still say that you should take the day off and head down to the local Academy to see if anyone's there that can give you a decent challenge," Astra mentioned. Her twin scoffed at that, though not out of disrespect to her sister.

"Yeah, and get caught when someone's parents gets transferred to the Border Forces? Not a chance."

"Girls, behave," the Marchioness sighed. She then noticed that the butler was approaching her, a silver tray in his hand. "What is this? I didn't think the postman delivered at this hour."

"A special courier came from Gallifrey with this while you were still asleep, milady," he replied. "I knew it would be better to allow you to wake up and prepare for the day first, since the three extra hours of rest you got this morning could make all the difference in His Majesty's court."

"Thank you for your thoughtfulness and honesty," she replied, taking the letter from the tray. The butler then excused himself, allowing the Marchioness privacy once again. "Oh, it's from Martha…"

"What was so important that Lady Martha had to write all the way from the Daleki front?" Tara mused through a mouth of potatoes.

"She's not at the front—she's in Gallifrey," the Marchioness frowned. She continued reading silently, not allowing her daughters to know just yet.

'Please let me preface this by telling you that we have things under control for now, and that you should remain at the conference for as long as possible so as not to draw attention. This could be disastrous if word got out, even if it is resolved before you get on the road. Lena didn't even want me to write you because of it, but my liege earlessa forgets I do this in the best interest of our liege marchioness…'

Astra and Tara watched as their mother grew pale while her eyes scanned the letter over and over. The girls' stomachs lurched, for they remembered their father having the same reaction when receiving a letter about Maglina being born in the middle of battle.

"…Mama…?" Astra asked. "What's the matter?"

"It's your father," the Marchioness replied, her voice dry. She took a sip of water, the glass shaking in her hand. "He shielded Martha from an explosion while on the front. The most either has physically is some cuts and bruises, but…" She choked up, attempting to hold herself together. "His memory of the past twenty years has faded due to a blow to his head."

"Papa? Forget twenty years?" Tara questioned. "We're his night sky—someone doesn't just forget their night sky due to a bump on the head."

"It sounds like Papa just did," Astra said quietly. "Lady Martha wouldn't lie about something like that."

"You're right, dear," the Marchioness said. "You are both right; Papa wouldn't simply forget us without good reason, nor would Martha lie about such a thing happening." She read on, finishing the letter before continuing the discussion. "It does sound like Lena has things under control with Martha and Daniel's help, which will allow us to finish the conference and not draw attention to ourselves, but I want you both to make sure that you are able to leave for home at a moment's notice, you hear? I don't want to put your sister through any more than she has to bear due of this, because it's already been too much."

"Yes, Mama," the twins answered in chorus. Suddenly, all three of them no longer felt very hungry as the reality of the situation settled over the breakfast hall. They needed the conference to be over with, right then and there, for their duty truly lied elsewhere.

The world was hazy as the Marquis drifted back to consciousness. He felt the odd, yet assuring weights of Maglina and Seren, the youngsters having crept into his bed in the middle of the night. The two had been clinging to him since he had returned from the Daleki border, which was something he had admittedly not been expecting to be so comforting at first. He uncovered himself of blankets and children both and padded over towards the wardrobe, picking an outfit for the day—still surprised that his clothes were not all black as he remembered—and slipping behind the dressing screen to change.

Yes, things had definitely been odd the past couple of weeks, to say the least. The four children that claimed to be his own issue were there at his side at almost all times, there to make sure that he was not without someone to explain why something seemed off now that twenty years had vanished from his living memory. The teenager, Lena, was genuinely one of the most knowledgeable youngsters he had ever met, and resembled him so scarily that there was no other explanation—she certainly was his child. Sterling and Seren were as well, with the same facial structure and curly brown hair as their elder sister. There was only one snag in the entire thing, and she was a six year old with more energy than he could have ever imagined.

"Papa…?" Think of her and she shall come. Maglina was tugging at his trouser leg, stuffed bunny in-tow and still half asleep.

"What is it, my child?"

"Starlet," she insisted grumpily. "You call us your starlets, Papa." She frowned up at him, not caring that there was no shirt on his torso or that the sky was still red from night. "Papa…"

"What is it, starlet?" he asked. The Marquis bent down on one knee in order to look her in the eyes. Her face, it was one that he could not place for the life of him, yet her eyes… they were his late lord father's eyes, may he face an entire Cyberan battalion alone. "What's wrong? Why are you awake when you should be dreaming of good things?"

"Seren made his nappy stinky."

"That is a problem; let me dress for the day and I will change him."

"Thank you, Papa." Wobbling in sleep, she went to kiss him on the cheek and landed on his whiskers instead. She then disappeared around the dressing screen, the sound of her rustling the bedding reaching him only a few moments later.

As he finished dressing, the Marquis wondered about what his life had become during the years that he was unable to recall. Turning his room into a nursery, raising children without the aid of a governess, employing a tutor with a face full of Cyberan metal… there was so much that needed adjusting to since returning home. What sort of woman was he with that made this their daily routine?

The Marquis checked himself in the mirror once his cloak was on and steeled himself to face the nappy. He plucked the soiled boy from his bed, ordered Maglina to follow, and went into the nursery. While Maglina crawled into bed with Sterling, who seemed to not care in the slightest that his sister joined him considering how he slept on, the Marquis brought Seren to the changing table and swiftly switched out not only the nappy, but the boy's dress as well. When he attempted to place him back in his child's bed, the lad clung to him, not wanting to let go.

"Papa, stay," he whimpered.

"Papa has work to do," the Marquis replied, his hearts not entirely behind his words. "Rest a while longer while the sky is red—there is still plenty of day left ahead of us." He left a kiss on the boy's brow and stroked his curls before leaving him, for there genuinely was work to be done.

Taking breakfast in his study, as was the norm that he knew, the Marquis went about his business when it came to the management of the march and earldom. His early start meant that he was able to do the work of two people at the normal rate, which surprised some of the newer staff when it came to his efficiency. By the time lunch was over—which he also took in his study—the Marquis was also joined by the young Earlessa, who sat herself down at one of the two extra desks in the room and went through post addressed specifically to her. He discreetly marveled at her competency despite her young age, recalling how his largest duty at fourteen was falling in love. Between her understanding of her role within the march and how she handled herself upon his return to Gallifrey, he was able to figure that his was a special issue, it seemed, and it made part of him beam with pride.

When Lena was done, however, she made it her distinct mission to take the Marquis with her on a tour of the castle. It seemed to be a daily occurrence, with the young woman showing him portraits done of her and her siblings, of her mother, of the entire family, attempting to click something into place in his brain. Instead all the Marquis could do was stare at a face that had no place in his memory, attempting to place it in the sea of murky moments and brief flashes that were attempting to return to him. He could not recall her face, much to his chagrin, and the only way he knew there had to of been something there was when he would look at Maglina—the child with the mysterious woman's face, yet his late lord father's eyes.

"This one was painted when I was a baby, Papa," she said, pointing out the portrait of him and the woman in the hall. All four children were with him that afternoon, the youngest diligently holding onto his cape as they walked, his elder siblings attempting to aid their father in regaining his memory.

"Why does she hold a Doctor's scepter?" he asked. He furrowed his brow, attempting to make sense of the image before him. He had never known the Doctor and the Companion both to hold scepters, which meant that the image before him was most confusing.

"You and Mama are both the Doctor, which means that you both have a scepter," Lena explained, voice slow and deliberate. "She was created Marchioness and Companion upon your marriage, but you began to share the title of Doctor when I was still in the womb." The teen stared up at the portrait almost wistfully, as though she remembered the time the portrait was sat. "This was a challenging setup, since Maggie and Sterling kept wanting to play with you during the portraitist's sessions."

"…but if this is me with your mama… my wife… then why is this also here?" the Marquis wondered. He motioned towards the smaller portrait to its right, of him only a handful of years older than the teen and a girl the same age, though now long-dead.

"Mama does not want Lady Melody's memory to be buried simply because she is," Lena replied. "We cannot change the past, but we can make it so that the future remembers kindly those that did no harm."

"How are you so wise for someone so young?"

"My parents taught me to be so."

He chuckled at that, allowing himself to wander in thought. These children… they were growing on him. Theirs was a presence that he was beginning to wholly accept and that made his hearts feel safer, in a way, more secure. He sat down on a bench and allowed Seren to climb into his lap, cuddling into his chest possessively.

Far off, in another part of the castle, a heavy bell rang to signal the time. When it finished, Maglina gasped dramatically.

"Oh no! I need to practice today!" She began to panic, turning towards the Marquis in as much desperation a six-year-old could display. "Papa? Can you please help me practice?"

"What are you practicing?"

"Singing, but Astra is not here. She's the one who usually plays the violin and I sing to that, or to the piano when Mister Alydon is here, and neither of them are around. Do you play an instrument?"

"I used to, when I was younger," he replied. "Maybe I still can… let me see…"

"Oh, thank you, Papa!" she gasped. She took her father by the hand and pulled him along, Seren and all, exiting the portrait hall. Lena noticed their absence and caught up with them, Sterling at her heels.

"Maggie! What are you doing?!" she scolded.

"Papa's gonna help me practice my scales!" her youngest sister insisted. Lena and Sterling exchanged worried glances and followed them to the music room, where all the instruments were kept. Large and quiet, the room had been carefully constructed with specific attention to sound, making it so that there was not only an odd shape to the walls, but all the surfaces were covered in soft cloth. It took the Marquis a bit of searching, but he found a large case in the back corner of the room, which he hauled out onto the main of the floor.

"What's that, Papa?" Sterling asked. It was now his turn to hold Seren, his baby brother holding his hand tightly in the unfamiliar room.

"My large bass—I cannot believe it is still here," his father said. After pulling up a chair, he took the instrument out, examined it for any broken strings, put the endpin in, and sat with the instrument in front of him. "I haven't played this since I was a much younger man."

"That's a long time," Maglina frowned. "I can wait for you if you need to warm up. Mister Alydon often needs to warm up before he plays, and he plays much more often."

"Yes, I think so," the Marquis replied. He watched as the children sat down before he started tuning the bass, plucking the strings while adjusting the pins. After running the bow over the strings to check, he glanced over at the children again—they were still sitting quietly—before playing a few simple chords on the large bass that made him search deep within his memory to his boyhood lessons.

When those were done, he closed his eyes and started to automatically shift into a song. It was not one from rote memory, but one he composed as he went. His emotions poured into it—everything that he could speak and the things that he could not—his hearts and his soul. He let himself flow through his fingertips and into the instrument, reverberating throughout the room.

"Papa, stop!"

The Marquis's song came to a halt as he heard a tiny screech over the music. His eyes snapped open and he took the bow from the strings, only to see that Sterling and Maglina were attempting to comfort Lena, who was suddenly sobbing uncontrollably. Seren sat in her lap incredibly confused, having crawled in wondering what all the commotion was about.

"What's wrong?!" the Marquis gasped. He set the large bass down and rushed to Lena's side. "Why are you crying?! Should we call a physician?!"

"No, Papa," the teen managed through tears. "That song… that song is beautiful." She took the handkerchief he offered and blew her nose. "What's it called?"

"I… I forgot."

"Then I think you should consider a new name for it."

"Yeah—I probably should."

"…but don't stop, Papa," Lena insisted. "I think… I think playing… is good for you."

"It might be," he agreed.

"Yeah, Papa, I know you don't remember," Sterling piped up, "but once you told us that memories become stories. Maybe sometimes they become songs instead…?"

"How very astute of you, starlet," the Marquis smiled. He ruffled Sterling's hair, double-checked to make sure that Lena was still alright, and returned to the large bass. After making sure he did not knock it out of tune while hastily setting it down, he continued playing, picking up the song where he had left off. He thought while he played, musing on where the notes were coming from. How deep were they within his consciousness? Where did they come from? Were they a memory, as Sterling suggested in his pure child's innocence? It was something he needed to know.

Eventually, as he played, an image began to form in his mind. He saw himself holding a woman's hand, pricking it with the tip of a knife blade. The same face stared up at him, laughter on her lips and frost in her breath. Before long she was sobbing in his arms, clinging to him as he stroked her hair and whispered comforts, the both of them in bed yet clothed. Flashes went by and the looks became increasingly loving, the emotions lustful, and before long they were reciting their vows and laying as a husband and wife were always meant to lay.

Clara.

Yes, it was Clara! She was the one who borne him not just the four children before him, but a set of twins as well! A mind! A beauty! A furious act of nature and yet a calming embrace all the same! It was Clara who kept him sane during the day and warm at night! Clara, the moon in his sky, the love of his life, the mother of his stars, and the entire reason he was still on this side of the earth!

Clara…! His Clara…!

It was now the Marquis's turn to break down into sobs. He stopped playing and clutched the neck of the bass as he leaned into it, crying freely. The instrument was taken from him and before he knew it, the younger three children were all hugging him, whilst Lena placed a hand on his shoulder. He cried as he held the young ones close—never again did he want to experience the vast emptiness that had consumed him the past couple weeks, and the only way to do that was to keep his loved ones close.

"Johan?"

The Marquis blinked away tears to see that the Marchioness was standing in the doorway to the music room, worry plastered upon her face. He gently eased away the children and ran to meet her, picking her up in a twirling hug that ended in a tender, adoring kiss that took breath from them both. After a second kiss, followed by a third and a fourth, the Marquis devolved into tears yet again, this time as he held his wife close.

"Good," she choked out. "You remember; I came as soon as I could. Oh gods, you remember…"

"…and I pray, genuinely pray, that I shall for the remainder of my days, even that dark time when the children lay me in the earth between the love wrenched from me so violently from me in my youth and the enduring love that so graciously keeps my hearts in the best of care as I age alongside her." He swallowed hard, bringing her close and kissing the top of her head. So caught up in her—her scent, her touch, her very presence—that he forgot where they were until a tug at his cape caught his attention.

"Papa? I still need to practice."

Though few were ever privy to that which was the Marquis's inconvenient injury, the ones who did know were not liable to forget about it anytime soon. The Baroness Coal-on-the-Hill nearly cried at learning of his recovery, servants breathed a sigh of relief, and those of his children who were aware of the situation made sure to keep the event tucked away within their memory as a lesson to be repeated another day.

It was the Marchioness, however, who took great care into making sure that such a thing never happened again. She found the spot where she had etched her name on his hearts that night, making him gasp and plead until she was certain that the letters were carved deep into his very soul. They were passionate, sensual, and enthusiastic as they made love well into the night, one never wanting to stop lest the other pull away from their grasp too soon.