A/N: It's appropriate that I'm writing about dragons now. I've been dealing with my own sort of dragons lately in daily life. The ones I'm writing here are far less cantankerous, however. On to the Doctor and the Dragon King. Thanks to those of you who still read this and tell me that you like it, despite the long delays.
We think, sometimes, there's not a dragon left. Not one brave knight, not a single princess gliding through secret forests, enchanting deer and butterflies with her smile. What a pleasure to be wrong.
~ Richard Bach
I.
"Doctor, I still don't like this. I still think I should go with you. Look, surely you could just, sort of, I don't know...tell them I'm your mate or something and that I had to come?" Amy's expression was mutinous. She stood in the middle of the room watching him, her arms crossed over her chest, foot tapping.
The Doctor, who was throwing an odd assortment of things into two bags, a smallish one he'd requested for himself and a larger one for her, did not pause in his frantic dance around the chamber. He picked up a brass coaster from the beside table, turned it over and inspected it minutely, laid it back down, then seemed to think better of it, picked it up again, and threw it in his bag. Likewise, a moment later, a solid silver multi-armed candelabrum that had stood decoratively on the mantel went in, too. He already had quite an assortment of metal objects in it that he'd shamelessly pilfered from both their rooms.
"Pond. We've been all through this. If the Dragon King did not send for you, I cannot take you. There are rules here, and violating them without exceptional circumstances is how red-haired beauties become the main course at state dinners..." He tried to fit a large gold tray into his bag, but it was too long to fit. He muttered in frustration and tossed it onto the bed.
She was not mollified in the least by the "red-haired beauty" comment. Really. She wasn't.
"Well, will you tell me why you're packing my bag then?"
"Because I plan to go downstairs and do a bit of light drama, say you're going with the emissary and me, and have him drop you off in the forest we arrived in. He should be able to do that. He seems an agreeable fellow. Because you, my dear little trouble magnet, are going right back to the TARDIS. And you may have to hike it a bit to get there." He picked up a sharp little knife from their breakfast tray and dropped it in her bag along with two of the uncut fruits there.
"Wait. What? And did you just call me a trouble-magnet?"
He sighed and stopped finally. "Amy, something is going on here. Something very seriously wrong. I knew it that first night. I don't want to leave you here alone. I believe the Dragon King is calling me to give me information about it, hopefully something that will help me prevent it altogether. You heard what the emissary said."
"That there are some moments of time even you don't want to see."
"Right. And if any of those are about to happen, quite frankly, I'd feel much better if you were safely tucked up in the TARDIS." She saw a ghost of his past flicker through his eyes, and she felt a corresponding shiver trace down her spine, and her offer to stay behind and explore in his absence died on her lips. Because if it's so bad he can't handle it...
"What do you really know about this Dragon King, Doctor?"
He shrugged, leaving off his packing for a moment and pacing over to the window to lean against the frame. Outside, the daylight was starting to turn that rich gold of late afternoon. "I've never met him personally, although I have met others of his kind on other worlds. Once upon a time, they were on several worlds throughout the galaxy. Now, though... Anyway, last time I was here, I tried to find him, tried to find the clutch of dragons I thought to be here on Rishell. All I found were bones and debris. He must have hidden his people deep somehow. After seeing the response of the Empress and her gentle people today, I don't wonder..."
"You said you'd met others of his kind. What are they like?"
He gazed out over the scenery before him with an arch to his brow and a twist to his lips. "Like every other race, I suppose. His kind can be either very, very good or..." He trailed off, his mind wandering down other paths.
"Or?" Her tone was impatient.
He laughed, that short bark with no humor, looking at her over his shoulder. "Or not, Pond. Or not. They're fantastically long-lived beings. And that's coming from someone who's got 907 years under his belt, mind you. I've met both the beneficent ones and the power-mad ones in my travels. They're telepathic, telekinetic, and their technology...actually, they make the Time Lords look like rank amateurs in so many areas, quite frankly, that we had something of a rivalry with them when there were sufficient number of either of us for such things. One of the closest things to real magic there is, I suppose.
"You used to have them on Earth, you know. Then your kind grew to fear their powers and massed up to slay them when they entered their hibernation phases. Not really very sporting, that... They all died or emigrated. Became the stuff of legend..."
His voice became wistful at the end, and she knew he was thinking of his own lost people, of loss and destruction. She could feel the wash of sadness coming from him. She walked over to where he stood, and she slipped her hands into his, rested her head against his chest to listen to the sound of his steady heartbeat. She felt his thumbs seek and find the tiny ridges of the white scars in the middle of her palms. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. They remained like that for long moments.
"Be...be... careful for me, okay? Just in case this one isn't one of the good ones. Make sure you...come back." She whispered it when she spoke.
He smiled against her hair. "Ah, no worries. You know me. I always turn up again...Well, sooner or later."
II.
A servant had already carried down the two pieces of luggage the Doctor had packed, and despite the small size of the Doctor's, the porter's eyes had widened as he'd hefted the suspiciously-clanking and jangling bag. He'd said nothing, though, merely glanced at the Doctor as he'd gone out. The Doctor had smiled and nodded, rocking back on his heels with his hands behind his back as he'd watched the poor creature struggle with the weight.
Amy looked around the room and back at him. It was really happening, then. They were about to be separated. She hadn't been without him since...since... She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around his neck, suddenly needing the reassurance of touch. He cradled her face in his hands, rested his forehead against hers a moment before softly kissing her.
"We won't really be apart, Pond," the Doctor murmured against her lips.
*There is always this. We will be connected through this...*
They walked down the great staircase hand-in-hand. It amazed him how fast he'd grown used to this easy affection. When they passed the Fool and the Fighter, they saw the dragon emissary standing with indolent grace near the carved doors. He might have been alone for all the attention he paid to the other group of individuals in the room. The High Lord courtiers were waiting with postures ranging from an ill-disguised discomfort to open hostility on the other side of the large room. Their tension and antipathy radiated like heat from a cast-iron stove.
*Don't you just hate it when the children can't play nicely together?*
The Doctor squeezed her hand as he tried to coax a smile from her, but she could barely force the corners of her lips to turn up. Too many emotions were swirling inside her to allow mirth.
They stood between the two groups, and for a moment, no one spoke. Amy had the uncomfortable feeling of being a small, tasty mouse caught amongst very large cats. Then the Doctor broke the silence.
"Here we all are again, then. And I suppose we'd better be getting along. Áinfean, we thank you for your hospitality. I do hope we'll be able to drop in again before we leave."
Áinfean came forward, her raven brow arching. "Oh, are you both going with the emissary, then?"
"Ah,well, yes. Slight change of plans. As it turns out, Amy is going to make the journey, after all."
All eyes turned to the dragon emissary who, after the slightest of hesitations and a careful study of the Doctor's face, bowed in confirmation.
Áinfean smiled. It was not a pleasant expression. "I was so hoping your good Lady Pond would stay here with us in the city while you went to see the Dragon King. She was not, after all, included in the invitation to go, and I would hate for anything to cause friction with diplomacy with the liza...I mean the honorable dragon nation. Everyone knows how...sensitive they can be... Since I know you plan to keep your word and return to help us with our problem, I am sure she would be comfortable waiting for you here. I know I, personally, was expecting her to stay. Entertainments had been planned in her honor."
Amy glanced up at the Doctor. Read: We're in deep poo with the elves if I leave. What do we do now?
*I won't leave you here. Not with her. I don't trust her as far as I could pick her up and throw her. Actually, all things considered, far less...*
The Doctor stepped closer to Áinfean, a move that put Amy just a little behind him, his smile equally unpleasant, equally non-indicative of enjoyment. "Oh, but I wouldn't for all the world take advantage of your kindness, milady."
Áinfean's lips parted, her wings flicked open, and her teeth bared. "My good Doctor, you could never inconvenience me. I must insist you honor me with the chance to prove it." Behind her, armed High Lords stirred softly. She and the Doctor stared at each other, neither willing to bend.
"Nay, sister. I must protest! You cannot claim the lady as your guest just yet, I think," said a deep voice from near the foot of the stairs. All eyes turned to focus on Irial. He gracefully strode forward, a spot of solemnity in a sea of brilliant color. The ranks of High Lord courtiers parted for him. He stopped before Amy and bowed slightly.
"Milady, I believe you accepted my invitation to be my guest at Raven House last night, did you not? I shall be most deeply wounded if you choose my sister over me..." Irial's serious gaze belied the playful tone, urging her to confirm his words. He held his hand out for her to slip hers into, a sign of her acceptance.
Amy felt the tension in the Doctor flicker, change, become aimed at Irial as well as his sister, but no comment came from him through the bond. His eyes flicked to hers briefly, then away. She saw his jaw flex.
Oh, and he won't like what I'm about to do, but I don't see any other way out of this, she thought in the privacy of her own mind, turning over other options and finding none.
She pasted a smile on her lips and placed her hand in Irial's.
"I wasn't sure you remembered, milord. Thank you for your kindness in, um, renewing your invitation. Of course I will be happy to go to Raven House."
III.
Áinfean had faked delight with the arrangements. Irial's delight, she thought, had been real. The Doctor had forced a smile, and Amy, personally, had just wanted to get everyone out of the room before all the big predators involved started tearing into each other. Everyone had made their way out of the grand entrance hall and out to the courtyard where Rishellian Chargers were called for to take Irial, Amy, and a few other High Lords back to Raven House.
The horses had been saddled, the bags packed, and all that remained were the last of the goodbyes. Amy had been trying to ignore the low growl that was coming to her through the bond as Irial took over the preparations for her transfer to his house. She couldn't help but notice that there were no horses being prepared for the Doctor or the dragon emissary.
Finally, she and the Doctor were given a private moment to say their last goodbyes. He took her by the wrist and dragged her to a private corner of the courtyard outside. She tugged at his grip, complaining loudly.
"Oi! You're hurting me! Stop! Don't drag me like a sack of potatoes!" She pulled free and punched him none too lightly in retaliation.
They stood glaring at each other for a moment before she looked down at her feet and he looked away, running a hand through his hair.
*So much for "tender goodbyes," I suppose.*
Look, what else would you have me do? I couldn't go with you. I'm not staying here. My options were a little limited.
*I know. I know. But I don't trust him, Amy. He wants something from you, and I haven't been able to figure out quite what it is yet. You must be careful.*
She snorted and looked up at him, the hint of a smile appearing for the first time. And that wouldn't be my wolfie's wee voice of jealousy snarling at me, now would it?
His lips quirked slightly, too, and he took a step closer to her. *Only a bit. Okay. Alright. Yes. A lot. Because he wants that, too, and don't think otherwise. But that doesn't negate the fact that he's up to something. Trust me on this one, and keep your eyes open, please, Pond?* He gently tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear, cupping her cheek as he finished the gesture.
She leaned her face into his hand, stepped close and wrapped her arms around him. Yeah, yeah. You know me. I never get into any trouble at all if I can help it.
*It's that you just can't seem to help it that's the worry to me...*
Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and she looked up at him. Ha! Pot, kettle... Look who's talking!
He grinned that manic, crooked little smile and he ran his thumb lightly over her bottom lip. *Both of us, and far too much, Pond.* The sound of voices came to them from the main courtyard. Irial could clearly be heard ordering his retainers to finish the preparations. He gave commands for "the Lady Amelia's horse," and the Doctor's smile disappeared, and something dark and unreadable flickered in his eyes as he lowered his mouth to hers, urgently brushing his lips across her own. *Now. Kiss me before one of those damned elves comes around the corner and tells you it's time to go...*
IV.
Irial had patiently waited for her to finish saying goodbye to the Doctor. The Doctor had walked her over to the waiting Rishellian Charger and had seen to it that she was up in her saddle and ready to ride, giving her a leg up and checking the saddle and cinches himself despite the fact that Irial was personally standing beside the Charger waiting to be of assistance if needed. He studiously ignored the presence of the High Lord altogether. He found problems with all the fastenings, and redid them meticulously. Irial stood calmly, that tiny ironic smile playing around his lips.
The Doctor had turned away from one last adjustment to her bridle, and he and the tall High Lord had been face-to-face. The two had stared at each other for a long, long moment, and although nothing had been said, Amy could feel that silent powerful communication, that silent challenge passing between them as she had before when she'd stood between them at the Fool and the Fighter. Irial finally bowed slightly, turning to go and mount his own Charger. The Doctor watched him go, lightly touching Amy on the leg with just the tips of his fingers and glancing up out of the corner of his eye as he'd turned back to the dragon who simply stood watching the entire affair as though it were a form of high entertainment.
Irial had made a gesture with his hand, and her Charger had suddenly been in motion. There'd been no more time to worry about the exchange between the two men or to try to do anything but hold on. As she'd been riding out of the Citadel gates, she'd brushed her hair out of her eyes and looked back to wave one last time to see the dragon make an elaborate gesture with his hand and a glowing portal appear out of thin air. The Doctor and the dragon had stepped through it, and they had been gone.
Had he looked up that one last time before he stepped through? She was almost certain he had. She'd felt that surge through the bond, and then, oddly, it felt as though she was still feeling it, only it was somehow...very, very much farther away. She couldn't explain it. The fact that it was still there, however, was a comfort to her as the Rishellian Chargers tore through the darkening gloom of late evening toward Raven House. Irial rode next to her, but he did not speak. She was grateful to him for his silence.
Raven House sat just outside town on a beautiful estate whose back portion adjoined a large forest. The house was a large central tower of black stone with two smaller towers and other low buildings adjoining it. A massive portcullis and drawbridge crossed a real moat fed by a partially diverted river swirling around the base of the outer walls of the structure. The keep itself dominated the landscape like a glossy monolith built on a hilltop.
When they arrived, Irial himself showed her up to her room. He took her small bag, the one the Doctor had packed, and sat it beside her bed. She turned in a circle, admiring the high-ceilinged architecture vaulting overhead.
"Does your chamber please you, Amy?"
She took in the canopied bed with its carved black wood and red velvet bedding, the flagstone floors, the high windows that during the day would let in massive amounts of light and a splendid view, the rich furnishings, and she turned back to Irial.
"How could you miss with this? It's splendid. Thank you. Really."
She noticed that his silver eyes shown with pleasure at her simple complement. She wanted to tell him thank you for helping her solve her problem with Áinfean, too, but somehow it didn't seem exactly appropriate...
His lips quirked in that way they had that always made her think he knew more than he was telling her. All he said, however, was, "I am pleased it pleases, lady. I do not often have guests here, so I apologize for the humble nature of my home."
"Irial. Trust me. This is fantastic!" Any place that isn't the Citadel right now is heavenly...
He bowed. "Then, if it meets your approval, I will leave you to get settled in. I have been at the Citadel for some time now, and there are matters here that require my attention rather urgently. If I might be so bold, I will call on you later to escort you down to the evening meal?"
He paused, clearly waiting on some sort of response from her.
Good Lord, I'm in his own house, and he's asking for permission to come and talk to me? Really?
"Sure. Sounds good."
He bowed and left the room. She looked around her again, and walked over to flop down on the bed.
Now what?
V.
The Doctor stumbled slightly as he stepped through the other side of the door of light the Dragon King's emissary had opened.
"That, my good fellow, is almost as bad at time travel without a capsule. No subtlety at all, is there? I mean, it's all just brute force, teleporting like that. Makes one queasy."
The dragon laughed that rasping, hissing laugh. "For you, Time Lord, perhaps, but then again, your kind always was...fragile..."
The Doctor bristled, frowned. "I'll have you know that on Gallifrey we face the Naked Schism at eight years old..."
The argument between them flickered back and forth as they walked down the narrow corridor, but suddenly it opened up into a beautiful cavern, and the Doctor's reply was cut off in mid-stream.
"Blimey," he murmured. "Would you look at that, then?"
The walls of the cavern were covered in outcroppings of crystal. They reflected light in a shimmering rainbow as they hit tiny refractions and imperfections within the stones themselves. Statues and objects made of precious metal were artfully arranged here and there, bathed in pools of illumination being channeled down from some unseen source above. Water spilled down the walls in places into pools, musical and clear. In the center of the room, though, drawing attention away from all else was a huge chair cast from a silver metal upon which sat a warrior. His garments were much the same as the emissary's, but they were of black silk shot through with silvery threads. His scales were almost the same color as the chair, but they were somehow lustrous, somehow sheened with something that made the precious metal upon which they rested look dull and flat.
The emissary walked forward to the throne and knelt in a single graceful motion. The Doctor followed behind him and stood looking at the room, the throne, and the being who sat upon it.
"Must say that I love that throne. That's trillanium, right? Fantastic. I'd love to see the mold you use to cast it, though. Mighty hard to work, is trillanium ore. Difficult to melt, almost impossible to keep liquid. Hard to find, too, for that matter, except on Dimar 2, but, of course, that planet is so close to its sun and so hot that it is, quite literally, on fire 10 months out of 12 during its year..." He smiled slightly, folded his hands behind his back and nodded. "Hello. I'm the Doctor."
All movement in the room had stopped. Every dragon and other being there was simply looking at the Doctor with something as much like shock as he could interpret on their still, alien face. The being on the throne studied him for a long moment, a clawed hand stroking at the large jewel it wore around its neck, and then boisterous laughter came bursting out of its carved silvery face.
"Ah, who else could you possibly be? Your legend proceeds you. Come, sir. I have been waiting for you for quite some time you know! Be welcome. Be welcome. I have much to tell you that you need to hear, and I fear that time for the telling is very short, even for ones such as we."
VI.
Amy wasn't quite sure what she'd been expecting for "dinner," but this wasn't really it. She smoothed her hand over the black silk of the gown again, surreptitiously tugging the bodice back into place. Damn Rishellian fashion. I'm SO glad the Doctor can't see this one, or my wolfie wouldn't just be growling... When the catlike servant had showed up and laid out this gown for her, she'd simply assumed that there was going to be some sort of big function of the kind she'd been to at the Citadel, and she'd allowed the servant to help her into the garment without a fuss. Her hair had been styled, and when she was ready, a knock at the door had sounded to reveal Irial waiting to escort her downstairs.
Now, though, she sat at a table for two in front of a roaring fire with only Irial. She tried not to feel odd. It wasn't working terribly well. She took a sip from the elaborate pottery goblet in front of her, and she took another stab at conversation. So far, all their attempts at conversation had stuttered and died. Her nerves were becoming increasingly strained. Finally, she abandoned all other pretense.
"So, um, where is everyone else?" Because this is a little too intimate for me, to be honest...
He smiled that enigmatic smile and poured more water for her from the flagon on the table. He had sent the servants away after they had put the food on the table. "You have concerns of my intentions, milady? Fears that I intend to ravish you here on the table between the main course and the pastries?"
She blushed slightly. I swear, sometimes, it's just uncanny. "Should I?"
He raised those old-coin eyes to hers for a long moment before he answered, and finally he laughed softly. "Nay, lady. Remember what I told you as we danced. I lack both the talent of my kinsmen at petty seductions and the interest in such useless games. It was not for that purpose that I invited you to my home."
She laughed, something in her relaxing at last. "Useless games? Well, don't you know how to make a girl feel pretty?"
He grinned, and he reached across the small table to lift her hand to his lips briefly. With that gesture, she suddenly felt the tension between them uncoiling, dissipating. "You see what I mean about my lack of talent. No one looking at you tonight in that gown could consider you anything but the most worthwhile of pursuits, I assure you."
"Thaaat's better. Now, tell me more about this house..."
The rest of their meal passed in pleasant conversation. She completely forgot the question that had flickered briefly, importantly, crucially in her mind... Why did you invite me here at all, Irial?
VII.
After the meal, Irial took Amelia on a short tour of part of the house as he led her back to her chambers, her small hand resting lightly on his arm. As they walked, she asked him questions about objects they passed. He noted the questioning glances he received from the other High Lords who had accompanied him back to Raven House whenever he and Amy happened to encounter them as they wandered through the house. They scanned her attire, noted the color he had chosen for her, the black that none but he and those sworn to the Raven House ever wore here on Rishell, and their finely arched brows climbed high. They noted her hand on his arm, the smile on his face, and their curiosity increased. When he shot them level, quelling glances, however, reminding them who ruled here, they made small nods or gestures of obedience and slipped away or went back to whatever it was that they were doing. He was sure that Amy did not notice. It was not their business what he was doing with her...
When they arrived at her door, he bowed her back inside, bidding her goodnight and peaceful rest, silver eyes taking in the soft smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. There was none of the nervousness, none of the fear he'd seen when she'd first realized they were dining alone left in her expression. Her mood was playful, relaxed, friendly.
When her door closed, he stood outside for a few moments more, his fingertips resting against the wood. He slowly traced a symbol with his index finger against the smooth surface, a complex rune, elaborate there, a tiny frown appearing for a moment, and then he turned and walked away.
He needed to think, and he went instinctively to the place where no one would bother him. His steps took him to a set of stairs that spiraled upward, higher and higher, until a large portal opened to the roof. He walked out on the battlements into the bright moonlight. The cool night wind swirled around him as he rested his hands against the black stone. For a long time, he listened to the sounds of nature around him, the distant sounds of Raven House below settling into its night-time routine as he tried to sift through the complex nature of what he was feeling.
His sensitive hearing picked up and identified the approaching individual easily, but Irial chose to ignore him until the other's voice spoke from just behind him. He knew what was coming, did not want to hear it.
"Oaths and bonds prevent it, milord. Basic common sense prevents it. What you are, what she is, what you must both become prevents it." The voice was mild, gentle, non-accusatory, completely matter-of-fact. It could have been discussing a weather report, an item from a long-lost history text.
Irial still did not turn to look at the High Lord who now stood beside him. The shorter, blond Rishellian did not seem to take it as an affront. He simply stood in a posture that mimicked Irial's.
"After all of it, after so many generations of rebuilding, of waiting, will you be the one who lets this opportunity slip away?"
Irial's fingers flexed against the stone, and he suddenly pushed away, walked across the tower top with a few furious strides. The other High Lord did not follow. He simply continued to look out at the darkened landscape.
"You know what we try to achieve, what we seek to regain, what ancient wrong we seek to right. You above all others understand how delicate the balance is upon which everything is resting at this moment. All that has been worked for can now be plucked like a ripe fruit from a tree...if you stand firm, milord."
Irial turned sharply, silver eyes glittering in the pale light. His face was full of direct menace. Had Amy seen him now, she would not have recognized him at all.
"You do not need to worry about my resolution, Aelfric." His voice was hollow, full of dark fire, all the music drained out of it. A shadow darkened the top of the tower as the leading edge of a bank of clouds began to slip across the face of the moon, and his features disappeared with the light. "I know what has to be done. Intimately well, you might say." He laughed harshly. The clouds passed and once again, he was washed in silver. "I was born for this, trained for this, sworn to this. I have given over everything, everything to it." There was a choked, angry sound to that. "Do you think me made of such malleable stuff that a mere slip of a mortal girl could take me from this destiny?" His hand fell to the hilt of the silver dagger at his waist.
Aelfric knelt low, held the position. "Pardon, Raven Lord. Most humbly do I apologize. No offense was intended. If I have offended your honor, let my life pay the forfeit."
Irial looked at him, and as suddenly as it had come, the rage disappeared. "Get up. No. You are right to ask." He walked back to the battlements' edge, leaned heavily there. "If you are wondering, old friend, then others will, too. As always, your council is sound. Even though it is painful to hear, it is sound. Tonight was...an indulgence." He scanned his eyes over the view but saw nothing of it. He was, instead, seeing only what he desired and what must be, trying feverishly to figure out a way to make the two things fit together. He shook his head.
I must accept that I can only have one of these two things, and I must choose the greater good for my people. I must do what I have always done and put my own desires aside. This chance may never come again...
"Let's go down. There is still work to do before we begin the tests to see if the Way can be reopened."
And that, ladies and gents, is all for now. Guesses? Reviews? Lots o' plot here, but I had to get some stuff moving forward that's been waiting for awhile... Let me know you're still reading, please. (At least, I hope you are...)