Chapter 8

The Moment appeared to be a small brass inlaid clockwork box, but appearances could be deceptive. The Doctor's TARDIS appeared to be a blue wooden Police Box, but who would have thought that it was larger on the inside, and contained the power of a sun. And, like a TARDIS, the Moment was a living machine. A blend of mechanical, electronic and organic components.

The control interface of the Moment was a multitasking, parallel networked, neural processor, that was made deliberately complex so that it couldn't be activated just on a whim. It was a failsafe mechanism that tested the resolve and the motives of the user so that the galaxy wasn't in danger just because they were having a bad day, or suffering from PMT.

So whilst it was testing the resolve of a weary old warrior, and making sure that he was right in his conviction that there was no other way, it also noted that the windows it had opened on his future had not only tangled in time through the days to come, but also through the days that had long since passed.

Inadvertently, all his former lives had been caught up in the Time Fissure when their bodies had been deconstructed into their composite atoms and eventually they had been brought together. The Moment realised that this had the potential to be a disaster, but also knew that unexpected, random events were the stuff of history and legend.

The weary old renegade warrior was certain that there was no other option, and up to this point he had been right. But his time line was in flux, and the future hadn't been written yet. The future of Gallifrey was no longer solely in his hands, it was in all his hands.

The legend already existed, now it was time to write his history.

All the Doctors (except one) were in the drawing room, supping wine and mingling with the courtesans, making up stories of how they knew the groom. One thing they could all agree on with confidence was his good character. He may have been a bit of a rebel, but he always stood up for the ordinary man in the street, opposed those who would mistreat the ordinary man in the street, and he always tried to do the right thing.

The fifth, sixth, and eighth Doctors were enjoying the attentions of the young debutantes, who were hoping to snag a husband who was related to the Prince Consort, and so curry favour and influence in Elizabeth's court.

Two, Three, Four, and Seven were attracting the more mature ladies of the court. Spinsters and widows who were looking for husbands to keep them comfortable in the years ahead.

The ninth Doctor was receiving no amorous attentions at all, as the ladies of the court thought that he was a common farm labourer. He was in no hurry to correct that misconception, as there was only one woman in his thoughts lately. A feisty blonde who had helped him come to terms with what he had done, and what he had become.

The first Doctor was enjoying the attentions of the senior ladies, who presumed he was an elderly uncle of the Prince Consort, and as such would be rich and influential. He managed to dodge out of the way, and made his way over to Six, who was having a discussion about the use of leeches in medicine with the court physician.

"Nice coat," One said as he stood beside him and sipped his wine.

"Oh don't you start. Everybody's been giving me grief about this coat. Look, I'm having a pretty bad time of it at the moment, what with me still being in the first fifteen hours of a particularly bad regeneration." He looked totally fed up and dejected.

"No dear boy, I mean it," One said with a fatherly look of concern. "That coat represents the non-conformist rebel in me. It's just a shame that it took me five regenerations to realise it."

"Really? Non-conformist rebel?" Six smiled and wandered off to talk about being a non-conformist rebel with some poor, unsuspecting courtesan.

"That was very nice of you," Five said in One's ear.

"What, that little speech? I did actually mean it… well, most of it." He looked Five up and down. "Mmm. Just wish I could say the same about your outfit." He wandered off, leaving Five frowning at the space he had just occupied.

"So, is Ace still creating her explosives then?" Nine asked Seven.

"Yes, afraid so. Although I must admit, they have come in useful on occasion. Blowing holes in walls and doors is fine, I've just got to stop her from trying to use them on the living," Seven replied.

"Is there something wrong with what I'm wearing?" Five had wandered over, and was looking troubled.

"Nothing that a gardener or a cook couldn't sort out," Seven said with a grin.

"Eh?"

"Oh leave him alone," Nine said, defending his sensitive former self. "You should try wearing this jumper. People either think I'm a navvy, a submariner, or a farm labourer."

"A submariner?" Eight said from behind him. "The Elizabethans don't have submarines."

"No, this was the nineteen forties… A long story."

"What do you have to do to get a drink around here?" A gruff Scottish voice said from the door.

Everyone looked to see a tall man with greying hair and gaunt face, holding open the doors with his arms held wide. He was wearing a black, three quarter length coat with red silk lining, an open necked white shirt, black waistcoat, black trousers, and black boots.

He walked across the room towards one of the servants who was holding a tray of goblets. "I mean, there I was, minding my own business, when I was whisked away by a swirling vortex… thing," he said, twirling his arm above his head. He reached the servant and took a goblet of wine, swigging a mouthful before continuing.

"Oh, hello Clara. Anyway, it drops me in a forest in the middle of nowhere. No signposts, no policeman to ask for directions, so I have to follow my instincts, and where do I end up? At the Adam's Family reunion."

"Do, do I know you?" Clara asked, looking intently at the new arrival.

The man returned her look. "Ah, yes and no," he said cryptically. "Yes you know me… No, you don't know this face."

"Which one are you then," Eleven asked, anticipating the answer.

"I'm the thirteenth Doctor, unless you're superstitious, then I'm the twelfth if you exclude an absent friend," he said, raising his goblet in a salute to the absent warrior.

"But you're Scottish!" Nine said. "I thought bein' northern was bad enough, but… Scottish?"

"I know. It was borrowed Artron energy. I suspect it might be the Sisterhood of Karn getting their own back," Twelve said.

"Oh, when I said they were the keepers of the flame of utter boredom," Eight said. Twelve raised his goblet again and nodded in agreement.

"You said that to the Sisterhood?" Four said in awe. "I seem to have taken bravery, or foolhardiness to new heights in my later regenerations."

"So, what's the occasion then?" Twelve asked, looking around the room.

"Marriage celebration," Five said. "Queen Elizabeth the First, and Doctor the Tenth."

Twelve spluttered his wine back into the goblet as he nearly choked. "I married her? That certainly explains a lot. I suppose I should be grateful it was my head she wanted to chop off and not something else."

As Clara drifted away and mingled with the guests, Eleven went to talk to his successor. "Does Clara continue to travel with you when I change?"

"Come on, you know the rules," Twelve told him.

"What, like the rule that we can't all coexist in the same time frame?"

Twelve raised his eyebrows and momentarily tipped his head to one side. "Good point... It was hard for her at first, she took it badly. What do you expect, I ended up as a Scotsman," he said with a smirk. "But she came around, and now she's fine with it."

"Hmm, thank you," Eleven said, thinking about how he could help his friend to come to terms with his future regeneration.

A number of people were standing by Nicholas Hilliard, watching him sketch the newlyweds onto the canvas. The fourth Doctor leaned over and inspected his work. "That's very good. It's been ages since I sketched with charcoal."

"You are an artist?" Hilliard asked in surprise.

"Oh yes, I've sketched and painted with the best," he said as he sipped his wine. "I remember sitting on the veranda with Leonardo as he painted that young lady... What was her name? Lisa, yes that was it."

Hilliard turned away from his sketching. "You've worked with the great Leonardo da Vinci? You don't look old enough."

"Ah, well, yes. I age well. Good genes you see."

Hilliard shook his head and went back to his sketching. It was obvious that he thought this odd man in the long scarf was teasing him.

"Look, can you stop distracting the artist," Ten said. "This is taking too long as it is."

"Be patient my Love. I know you are eager to get to our bed chamber, but there is the feast first, and that is being prepared whilst Nicholas paints," Elizabeth said.

There was some tittering from the assembled guests, and Ten scoured the faces, trying to see if it was any of his lot. He was ready to bail out at the drop of a laugh.

Hilliard had prepared his paints, and started to paint Ten's head. "His hair doth look as though he hath been dragged through a thicket backwards," he muttered as he applied strokes of brown paint to the canvas.

"I'll tell you what old chap," Three said. "Why don't we all grab a parchment and stick of charcoal, and we can each do a detail for Nicholas here."

"What a good idea," Two said. "I'll do the detail on the chain around his neck."

"With her majesty's permission, I would do the detail on her bodice," Eight said gallantly.

The queen smiled and nodded her approval. "I like him," she whispered to Ten.

"Yeah… Thought you might."

"Six, with the state you're in at the moment, why don't you do the background. It doesn't take a lot of patience or concentration," Four suggested.

Six didn't argue, because he knew Four was right. With Eleven and Clara watching, Doctors one through nine picked a part of the scene and started producing incredibly detailed sketches that, like a jigsaw, Hilliard would be able to finish the painting from. They were so engrossed in their sketching, that at first they failed to notice that everyone in the room was standing still. So still that they could have been waxwork statues.

"There, finished," Four said.

"Just the last few strokes… Done!" Nine declared.

"And me."

"Me too."

"Ooh, I like the detail you worked into that."

All the Doctors completed their sketches and were admiring each others work, when they realised the room was very quiet.

"What's goin' on, why is everybody frozen?" Nine asked.

"They are frozen in a moment of time," a woman said from behind them.

That voice! Nine recognised that voice. The accent may have been more refined, but it was her. He turned around to see Rose standing there, smiling at him.

"Rose!" He called out, as he rushed forward and hugged her. "Where have you been? How did you get here? Where's Jack?" He fired questions at her, before holding her shoulders at arms length and looking her up and down. "And WHAT are you wearing?"

She was dressed like a pauper, with a tattered white dress, dark tights with holes in them, scruffy boots, and a beige coloured sleeveless jacket. Her blonde hair was wild and dishevelled.

"Ah, you're the one then. I'm not who you think I am," she said, as her eyes flashed with a golden light. She addressed all of the Doctors. "Gallifrey is in peril, and although your arrival here was an accident, it was also a necessity. There is one of you who is not here, a Doctor who is in such depths of despair that he is about to commit an act that they regret," she said, nodding toward Nine and Twelve.

She walked over to where the statues of Ten and Eleven were standing. "Soon, these two will find him, and offer their support so that he does not bear the burden on his own." She stopped in front of Clara and smiled. "This young, incredible woman reminds this man of who he really is." She stood in front of Eleven and stroked his cheek, looking deep into his eyes. "When this happens, you will hear his thoughts, and you will come to his aid. For some of you, it will be in your future; for the others, it will already have happened."

"So, if you're not Rose Tyler, who are you?" Nine asked.

"I am the Moment, and your moment will come, all of you."

Nine detailed sketches floated to the floor to gasps of surprise and startled screams.

Sir Francis Walsingham drew his sword and rushed to stand in front of the Queen and Prince Consort. "Protect the Queen," he called out to his men, as they drew their swords and formed a protective cordon around them.

"What witchcraft is this?" Lord Cecil demanded.

"Where did they go?" Clara asked, gripping Eleven's arm.

"I should imagine that the Moment has sent them back where they belong." He looked worriedly over at Ten. "It's started, the time has come."

Ten nodded and turned to his new bride. "Elizabeth, my people are under attack from a terrible foe, and the old man that you met earlier is about to make a decision that no one should have to make on their own."

Elizabeth knew that when you were a ruler, that the needs of the state came ahead of your own personal needs and desires. "Then you must go my Love, be with your comrade and give him your support."

"Really? Oh, Elizabeth, you really are a most remarkable woman." He took her face gently in his hands and kissed her lovingly on the lips. "Farewell my Love," he said, and ran out of the room with Eleven and Clara.

Elizabeth wiped a tear from her cheek with an embroidered silk handkerchief. "God speed, gentle husband," she said quietly.