Sherlock shook his head. "What's so bad about the Fields of Trenzalore?"
The Doctor immediately rushed to clamp a hand over his mouth. "Hush! No talking! No anything!" He cleared his throat and licked his lips and felt the force of Trenzalore push an answer out of him. "It's been said that at the Fall of the Eleventh, at the Fields of Trenzalore, no living creature will be able to speak falsely and a question will be asked. It's been said a question will be asked…and that question should never be answered."
River's jaw dropped open. "Your name. Someone's going to ask you for your real name."
"All right, everyone—from this point on, no one can speak. No one can talk!" the Doctor insisted as his face grew ashen with worry. "And no one can ask questions! Everyone needs to be silent while I look for an escape, all right?"
John couldn't help it. "What's so bad about your name?"
The Doctor cringed. "JOHN! I told you not to ask a question! If I tell my name…something terrible will happen, especially here. This field has the power to make something terrible happen if I say it, so there's your answer. Remember, no one can lie here."
"Impossible," John said.
"When was the last time you had sex, Sherlock?" River asked to prove her point.
Sherlock didn't hesitate—the answer came out of him. "Two days ago. John got home early from work."
"SHERLOCK!" John wheezed in embarrassment while Clara snickered.
"It was on the kitchen table. It was excellent."
"Sherlock, that is private!"
Clara had to join in on the fun. "John, who tops?"
"It depends on the day—wait, no! Forget I said that!" John blurted out. "I get it, I get it. The Fields make you say the truth."
The Doctor worriedly rubbed his hands together. "We might be here for awhile. Let's get a fire going, if we can, and then I can explain as much as I can so the question won't have to be asked. We can beat this—we just have to make it until the end of the Fall of the Eleventh."
"And when's that?"
"No idea," he said honestly, "but if it is what I think it is, I hope it never arrives. Let's start camp."
John and Sherlock tried their best, even with the help of a sonic screwdriver, but the grass couldn't catch on fire. It wouldn't even let itself be uprooted, so the crew settled into the tall grass and huddled around each other for warmth in the freezing wind. Clara nestled between her parents, not the slightest bit uncomfortable given the scary circumstances, while John and Sherlock held each other tightly and braced themselves against the fierce wind.
"Gallifreyan names," the Doctor began, "are given at birth by a Time Lord's parents. Since we are born knowing all of time and space, and every infinite possibility of it, we can sort of…see a child's future."
"Why couldn't you see me, if you already knew the future?" Clara asked.
"No questions, Clara, please. And because we usually learn to keep most of that loud stuff out of our heads. It would drive us mad otherwise, and I'm already mad enough, don't you think?"
"Definitely."
"Clara!" admonished her mother.
"What? The Fields made me say it…"
"Anyway," the Doctor continued, "we come up with the name based on the future a child will have, and the name itself is a destiny of sorts. It dictates what the child's meant to do, and because of this, names are kept secret from birth. Some destinies are larger than others, and you never know what will happen, so the child learns its name and picks a title to use as a placeholder, or a nickname. Only under very special circumstances can a name be revealed, and the Time Lord himself can pick what those are."
"What was yours?" Clara asked, earning a swat on the hand. "I'm sorry! I forgot!"
He grimaced and answered her, with every fiber of his being fighting to keep it a secret. "I would only ever tell someone I trust enough to do what needed to be done, when the time was right." He met River's eyes briefly and then looked away. "I've already done that. I'm not supposed to tell anyone, ever again, but if someone forces me, on these Fields, something terrible could happen. My name is my destiny."
River sighed. "It's what you've been running from your entire life. If you say it on the Fields, it just might come true."
The Doctor gulped. "We can't allow that to happen. It simply can't happen. River, you understand—it's not meant to happen. We have to find a way to escape the Fields and find the TARDIS."
John worded it carefully. "Can you tell us…what your name means, at the very least? Will that hurt anyone?"
"It won't, and I can tell you, but I've already told someone and I really, really don't want to do it again. So please don't ask."
Clara had been trembling between her parents the entire time, despite some lighthearted joking. She'd only just found out that the parents she'd recognized as hers for her entire life were really just carriers, and her real parents were a pair of mad, dangerous time travelers. One of which was a man who'd grown to be her best friend, a man she'd accidentally had a thing for in lives past, and the wife she'd been slightly jealous of. It felt too weird. And now, she was in the middle of a final showdown of sorts that could hurt her father. She shivered violently, and River assumed it was because of the cold and put a comforting arm around her.
"So, the TARDIS has left, and she either was commandeered or she decided to leave us. I doubt Sexy would ever want us here, so someone has taken her, someone who knows how to control a TARDIS."
"Moriarty?" Sherlock asked, instantly alert.
The Doctor shook his head. "Dead. Besides, not a Time Lord. The only people who can drive the TARDIS are Time Lords, like me, part-Time Lords, like River and Handy, and eventually Clara, and to date, one incredibly talented yet uniquely annoying consulting detective."
"Oh, Doctor," Sherlock drawled, "you do care."
They all chuckled to themselves until they heard a soft keening noise coming from somewhere in the field. They turned their heads to find the source of the sound, which seemed the amplify with the wind. Somehow, it seemed to come from the grass and ground itself, and over the high-pitched sound, a deep, rumbling voice was heard.
Welcome, weary travelers.
The Doctor jumped to his feet. "Who are you?"
I am the Fields of Trenzalore. Welcome. You have come seeking answers.
"No one's come seeking anything. We've been trapped here."
Everyone comes seeking answers. Today is the Fall of the Eleventh, tired Doctor, and no living creature can speak falsely until the question is asked. This day has been well-prepared for.
The Doctor bit his lip. "Are you bound by the same rules as everyone else? Do you have to tell the truth?"
Yes.
"Then tell me. Who has the TARDIS?"
The TARDIS has been taken by its original manufacturer. It will not be returned to your care. It is needed.
"What for, eh? What do you need a batty old Type 40 for, anyway?"
When the question is asked and answered, the TARDIS will ensure its completion.
"What—"
"No, Clara!" the Doctor hissed. "Don't ask anything. Let me handle this." He flexed his hands. "How do we escape?"
You do not.
"There's got to be a way. I don't believe you."
There is no escape from the Fields of Trenzalore. The day has been well-prepared for. The question must be asked.
"Who's prepared for this day? Who wants me to answer the question?"
You already know the answer, weary Doctor. Must I say it aloud? I shall if you request it.
"No!" he said. "No, it's fine. Don't say it."
Very well. Welcome to the Fields. You all have questions that must be asked and answered. Everything will come to light. Everything will be illuminated. You will be free once the First Question is asked.
"But we already asked you a question—why aren't we gone?"
Not a question. The First Question. The question hidden in plain sight from the beginning to the end of the universe. One of you must ask it. The Fields only have the power to answer.
River's face had gone completely white. "Doctor. We need to use this."
"No, River, we need to find a way out of here. There has to be a way out of here. You know what happens if I tell my name, River—it can't happen today, or any day. We need to find an escape."
"The Fields are bound to tell the truth—there is vital information we could get here. We're going to need to learn something from here before we leave. This could be crucial."
River Song. Are you ready to travel deeper into the Fields?
"Yes."
"NO!" the Doctor protested. He grabbed her shoulders to keep her rooted firmly in place, but she shoved him off.
"Doctor, I have to find a way to stop this. I have to find a way to save you. The only way to get out of here alive is to live through the Fall of the Eleventh. And I am going to keep you safe, do you understand me? You and Clara both."
Is anyone else ready?
The other three weakly nodded. "It's the only way to figure this all out," Sherlock said. "Doctor, look at the logic of it. You can come with one of us if you don't want to be alone."
"I have to be alone. None of you can ask me a question today, so I'll have to travel alone." He faced the Fields. "Very well. Take us where we need to go."
A strong gust of bitter wind separated them all, pulling each person to a different section of the field.