Chapter 2: Portents
The first time she wakes, it's only for a moment and she can only register that someone seems to have left the lights on before unconsciousness takes her again. The second, she can't focus on her surroundings, knowing only that someone else is there. Someone who doesn't talk – or, perhaps, can't – but feels almost malevolent. Evil.
She wants to escape, to get away, but she feels as if she were wrapped in cotton wool. Her thoughts are too sluggish. She thinks she hears someone speak, but perhaps it's only in her mind…
So the Big Bad Wolf has come to rest at last. Sleep, Nimue. Dream. And when you next wake, we will talk of Merlin and his world.
And that's the last she remembers for what she thinks must be a rather long time.
She hurts. Head, shoulders, arms, torso, legs. Everything hurts. Even, she realises as her fingers twitch reflexively, her skin. It's a stretchy-sort of hurt. Not agony, but it's enough to be bothersome.
She bites back the moan that threatens to escape her, instead opening her eyes slowly to take note of her surroundings. She remembers being kidnapped, struggling, and then getting knocked out. She vaguely recalls waking earlier, yet little else.
Fighting to restore her composure, as well as her wits, she glances around the room that she's found herself in. Some would consider it opulent. Provided, of course, that she liked things that seem to be straight out of a postcard of the Middle Ages.
She is lying on a semi-soft mattress, but it's thin enough that she feels what might be rope strung underneath. The fur coverlet that drapes over her is thick and warm, shielding her from the chill air she can feel against her face. A canopy covers the bed, masking most of the room with its gauzy covering.
She tries not to move too much, just using her eyes to search what little she can see of the room. She doesn't want to alert whoever is watching her – as she suspects there must be – that she's finally awake. She wants to know what sort of situation she's found herself in. And, then, figure out how she can get out of it.
Biggest problem that she can see so far is that she doesn't know where she is. Her hands and feet aren't bound, so she's free to move about. However, she knows that what doors she'll find are likely to be locked. Freedom - such as it is - is illusory.
Once she's determined that she's alone, she lets herself stretch out the kinks in her muscles and tries to banish the aches that still linger in her body. Her first impression, she decides as she sits up in the bed, is absolutely correct.
It's a gilded cage.
If she closes her eyes, she supposes that she might think she was in a hotel on another planet, knowing that she's safe because the Doctor is next door. She doesn't. This, she knows, is reality and she must face it. So, as she pulls back the drapes, she finds tiny aspects of the room that only reinforce her earlier conclusion.
The windows – which were hidden by the canopy – are small and deeply inset into the walls. Metal bars block the access and she doubts that she'd be able to squeeze through that narrow a gap to try that escape route.
Biting her lip, she pushes herself to her feet, barely avoiding losing her balance as her feet slide on the rushes covering the floor. Her jail, she discovers, is a single room with a few anachronistic – at least from her perspective - chairs for seating. A large fireplace adorns one of the walls and a fire is burning inside it, blocking her view of the chimney – not that she thinks she could climb it to escape.
She discovers a pitcher full of water and a basin, next to which she finds what looks like a bucket with a seat on top. She realises belatedly that that's the loo.
Wonderful.
When she reaches the door, she tries the latch but, unsurprisingly, it's locked. She's stuck, with no visible means of escape, in a room without the basic comforts of home. This is not turning out to be her best day.
Frowning, she takes a seat, staring at the door as if it were the source of all the answers in the universe. Someone should come and find her. She's a prisoner of some sort, held captive because of 'Merlin'. It's only common courtesy for the captor to visit their detainee. Right?
Then again, this isn't her world.
She decides, finally, that she'll give it some time. Wait for a bit and consider what other options she might have for escape. The room looks like it's straight out of the Middle Ages. It's probably a castle so there's bound to be secret passages, right?
Or, if she waits long enough, someone should bring her a meal. Then she can knock out whoever comes to feed her and escape that way.
She doesn't indulge the thought that she might be waiting for a while.
He stares at the knight, dumbfounded. Last time he's checked, he doesn't know any knights. Let alone any who might call him 'old friend'. Finding his voice, he asks in as droll a tone as he can muster, "Is this the part where I'm supposed to say 'tag, you're it'?"
The other man laughs again, though there's little joy behind it. "You've always had the most curious wit, Merlin, but you told me that you wouldn't recognise me. At least not in this point in time. I still don't understand how you can live backwards, but I will not concern myself with that now. I wish to apologise, my friend. I am Arthur, King of Britannia, and I have failed you."
Arthur? Merlin? Now it is starting to make a twisted sort of sense. He knows that he's destined to become Merlin; he just doesn't know when. Now he knows that this is the incarnation that will do it. Strange. He's never fancied himself the type to wear robes or sport a beard.
Never had a beard before, though. Might be interesting. No, wait. Now he's let himself become distracted. "Failed me?" he repeats.
Arthur nods, bowing his head. "We knew that Morgaine had laid plans to steal your Nimue. From your visage, it is obvious that I failed to find you before it happened."
A frown crosses his face at the mention of 'Nimue'. He knows the legends about Merlin. He made a point of looking them up after his first encounter with someone who thought him to be the famous wizard. To equate Rose to Nimue…
It makes sense, really. He's always loved his companions. If she's with him when he becomes Merlin, how else could they identify her? So she becomes someone he loves – which is true – and someone who enters the history books as the only woman Merlin was in love with – which he tells himself isn't true.
He's always been good at lying to himself.
"Where has Morgaine taken Rose?"
Arthur looks confused. "Rose? Oh, yes. You told me… Morgaine would have had her brought to her keep. It's some distance from here, but I arranged for my men to follow me here with extra horses."
He is about to ask for more information when he hears what sounds like a large animal moving through the forest towards them.
The King tenses, resting his hand against his sword. "Move behind me, Merlin. There have been rumours of a foul Wyrm roaming these woods."
In another lifetime, he would've scoffed at the idea of a Wyrm – or, rather, a dragon. This time around, he knows far too well that there is more than enough unexplained phenomena in the universe that doesn't fit within his carefully constructed belief system. And, admittedly, this isn't even his universe. On Earth, he knows that the legends of dragons had originated because of a particularly clever hologram prank. Yet that doesn't mean that on this particular planet there weren't dragons.
The sound of rustling brush seems to get closer and Arthur pulls his sword from its sheath.
He steals a glance at the TARDIS. "We can go into the TARDIS; she's withstood the hordes of Genghis Khan. A dragon's nothing in comparison." Okay, that last bit is a lie, but it's enough to give him a measure of comfort.
"There isn't enough time," Arthur says grimly.
For the lack of anything better to do, he pulls out his sonic screwdriver. He's not certain it can do anything against a 'foul Wyrm', but he might as well give it a try. He doesn't want to face another delay in finding Morgaine and rescuing Rose.
Arthur suddenly relaxes, putting his sword away. "It is safe, Merlin. You can put away your wand," the King says. "My knights have arrived."
"With a dragon?" he asks, suddenly confused. He then realises that the rustling noises are actually those of several horses moving through the woods. Not one large animal, but several smaller ones.
The King gives him a strange look, but before the other man can say a word he hears someone calling out the King's name. The voice is oddly familiar, but he dismisses that as a quirk of humanity. There are plenty of times that he's sworn he's heard a familiar voice –
Romana calling his name. Leela shouting for him to get down. Ace asking if she can use the next canister of Nitro Nine.
-but it generally turns out to be someone other than who he hopes for.
He watches the knights enter the clearing, but has a hard time avoiding gasping in shock when the lead knight pulls off his helm.
It's Jack.
He should be... No. It can't be Jack Harkness. It's just a terrible coincidence that this knight could be Jack's twin brother. A cruel twist on the classic alternates story. Everyone has their twin in another universe. This could easily be Jack's.
"Lancelot!" Arthur greets, holding out his hand to the Jack-look-alike. The other man grasps his forearm after he bends slightly on the horse.
"My liege. We got here as swiftly as we could," Ja-no, Lancelot, says, shooting him a glance that's rife with more than just worry. There's knowledge. Understanding. Almost as if he knows what's going through his mind.
He wants to say something, to call him Jack just to see what his reaction might be, but he can't. That would be far too selfish and there are far, far more important things to worry about than the appearance of a duplicate Captain Harkness.
Such as how to rescue Rose.
"I arrived too late, Lancelot. Nimue has been taken. We must lay siege upon Morgaine's castle," Arthur says and that's enough to jerk him out of his contemplations.
"Siege?" he repeats, shaking his head. "Was planning on having a nice chat with Morgaine, actually. Maybe have a few cups of tea in the process. Though, knowing my luck, you lot don't have tea. Or, even worse, you just have coffee."
"You can't talk to her!" King Arthur protests. "You've tried that before and it never works."
He blinks. He had? Well, maybe. Future him, after all. "Oh, don't underestimate the power of prattle."
"Don't underestimate Morgaine's hatred of you," Lancelot says and there it is again. Worry tinged with something else. Could it be Jack? Just not his Jack?
"She has Rose," he says, as if that answers everything. But, surprisingly, none of the knights bother to contradict him or caution him. That in itself is somewhat worrying. They know him, though he can't say the same of them. It's somewhat disgruntling.
"Mount up," Arthur orders, though not unkindly. He can see that the king is just as worried as he is. Does the man know Rose, too? As more than just a name? As more than Nimue?
He shakes his head at the turn of his thoughts and mounts the horse that's been designated as his. It's been a while since he last rode, but he figures that it's much like riding a bike. Once known, never forgotten.
"How long?" he asks.
Lancelot moves his horse next to his and replies, "'Ere the sun sets."
He just hopes that it isn't five hours too late.
Two hours. Two long, boring hours spent tracing every wall in her room, searching for lines that might indicate a hidden doorway. She lifted figurines, tried to twist candle-holders on the wall, pressed indentations, and done everything that she thought might reveal a secret passage. Nothing worked. She's still stuck. Still in the room. And still with no way out.
It's rather frustrating. In a fit of aggravation, she's even tried to squeeze through the bars over the windows. Even that defied her.
She's fed up, actually. Fed up with waiting for someone to decide to give her the time of day. Fed up with the lack of proper loo facilities in this bloody place. And, most especially, fed up with being a captive – again. "Enough of this rubbish. Oi, whoever's decided to keep me in here! If you're plannin' on boring me to death, it won't work!"
She's rather smug when the door opens as if in response, revealing a tall woman with brilliant red hair. A tall crown is on her head, though her semi-regal appearance is somewhat tarnished by the gold-plated chest-plate that covers her torso. She's someone royal, at least, but the armour doesn't fit with what little she knows about ancient times. Everything else works, somewhat. But a woman and armour? Not so much.
"An' who are you, then?" she asks, not bothering with any sort of honorific. Might be a bit stupid on her part, but she can't muster enough will to care.
The woman's expression hardens. "I am Queen Morgaine, child, and you will address me as befits my position."
"Fine. Queen Morgaine. Mind tellin' me why your blokes decided to kidnap me? Seems to me that they'd got me mixed up with someone else. I'm not a part of whatever little war you've got going on with Merlin. So we can put this behind us if you jus' let me go," she suggests, not bothering to straighten her posture or do anything else that might imply that she's anything other than nonchalant about her current problem.
Morgaine laughs. "Oh, Nimue, you are amusing. You see, child, you are involved in my ongoing struggle against Merlin."
"My name is Rose Tyler. If you're lookin' for titles, it's Dame Rose Tyler of the Powell Estates. Not Nimue. 'S a case of mistaken identity. It happens. So let me go," she says, folding her arms before her.
"No," the Queen replies, smiling faintly. "It doesn't matter what you call yourself, child. Be it Rose Tyler or not. I know who you are. Do you deny that you know the man who calls himself the Doctor?"
She blinks, suddenly struck speechless. When she finally finds her voice, it seems as if more than a few seconds have passed. More like hours. "What's he got to do with this?" Is Morgaine trying to imply that the Doctor's Merlin? She's never heard anything more ridiculous in her life.
"Everything. The Doctor, as you call him, is Merlin. I have skirmished with him for many years and now, with you here, I have an advantage," Queen Morgaine's lips stretch into a full smile, but there's nothing reassuring about it. "He'll stop at nothing to get you back."
He generally does try everything in his power to rescue her, but this is ridiculous. The Doctor can't be Merlin. And fighting her for years? "Tell me this, then. If you've been fightin' him for years, how come he's never mentioned you before?"
Morgaine looks at her with an expression that implies she's being particularly dense. "I've battled him for years, Nimue. He simply hasn't begun his duel with me yet."
Time travel? Oh, great, this is enough to give her a headache. "Then, if he doesn't even know you, what's the point of this?"
The other woman's smile deepens and answers cryptically, "You'll see."
Really, she'd rather just know. She's learned from the Doctor that it's generally much easier to stop the villain when she knows what their evil plan is rather than just guessing it. "Changing history?" she suggests and rewards a mental point to herself in this particular battle of wits when she sees a faint flinch. "So it is. Brilliant plan. Change history, bring in reapers, an' destroy the universe. Pretty hollow victory, isn't it?"
Morgaine's expression turns thunderous. "I know exactly what... Oh, clever Nimue. Trying to learn too much. I have told you enough, now you can think over what you have learned."
"An' what about letting me go?" she asks again, not because she expects an answer but because she wants to know.
"Child, you're going to be my guest for a long time. I suggest you enjoy what comforts you have available to you," Morgaine replies, turning towards the door.
"How 'bout some books, then. A telly? Paper an' pen? Dinner?" she requests, though she knows half of them will be denied.
"Food will be provided…eventually," the other woman says and walks out of the room before she has a chance to come up with another question.
Wonderful. No, fantastic. She knows now that she's stuck in a room, captive of a woman whose goal is to change history. That's never a good idea, as she well knows. Last time she tried, she ended up almost destroying the world. Took her dad giving up his life to fix it.
Her dad's not around this time. Nor is the Doctor.
"Guess it's up to me, then," she comments and fools herself into believing that her voice doesn't shake.
To be continued...