A/N: Hmm...somebody asked me how far apart the Doctor and Amy have to be for their mental communication to work. Well...Actually...I had a whole little scene planned concerning that...but it didn't quite make it in this time. (snicker) Other questions concerned why it's such a big deal that Amy is wearing black. Hmm. Okay. I can go ahead and work that in, just a little ahead of schedule. Here's a bonus bit, just because it feels good to be writing again.
Plots, true or false, are necessary things, to raise up commonwealths, and ruin kings. ~ John Dryden
A great artist is always before his time or behind it. ~ George Edward Moore
I.
Amy lay watching the pattern of light and shadow racing across her floor for a long time, wishing she felt sleepy. In frustration, she flung herself over to the other side of the large bed and pulled the covers over her head, blocking out the bright moonlight. It was late, and she'd been trying unsuccessfully to fall asleep now for quite some time.
It's no use. I miss him. I wish he were here... I wish he'd been the one sitting with me tonight at that dinner table. I wish...I wish...
And suddenly the chasm of dreams opened under her, and she slipped off to sleep on those yearning thoughts.
II.
She was standing in the middle of a room that seemed familiar to her. There were high arching ceilings and in the hearth, a blazing fire added warmth if not much light to the room.
How did I get here? Where am I? Wait. This...this is...this is where I ate with Irial, isn't it? How did I get back here? I thought...I thought I went upstairs to bed...
For the most part, it was that private little dining chamber again. In the way of dreams, some things had changed, been exaggerated, were changing, fading in or out. Some details were being lost or blurred. She walked toward the table where they'd eaten, and she heard the rustle of expensive fabrics. She looked down and made a face.
Oh Good Lord.
Her dreamself was once again in the black Rishellian dress, the sheer gossamer overlayer revealing the corset-like bodice beneath. Was it her imagination, or was it somehow even more risque than the original had been? I am going to fall right out of this damn thing. I know it wasn't this low cut before. And since when did this skirt have slits all the way up my thigh? She reached down to give the bodice a firm tug when soft laughter came floating to her from a darkened corner of the room. She spun, straining to see into the shadows there.
-No amount of adjusting that is going to help you, milady. I fear it the garment is just inadequate to its... rather delightful...task.-
She blushed beet red. She could feel the heat of it coming up to stain her cheeks. For a moment, she was wrapped in a heavy white cableknit sweater and bulky jeans. They flashed into being, and with them she felt a burst of comfort and safety. A low whisper came from the darkness and they disappeared as suddenly as they'd arrived. More of that laughter teased her. She raised her chin, started to cross her arms across her body, thought better of it when she considered the sudden rise of her chest with the motion.
Are you going to come out? Or are you just going to hide in the dark and laugh at me?
-You're right. It isn't fair that I can see...so very, very much...of you, and you can see nothing of me, is it?-
That caressing purr of a voice was now coming from just beyond the chamber's doorway. She turned to face it, backing slowly away from that familiar, somehow seductive tone.
Sliding out of the shadow as if he was somehow being formed from it stepped Irial. She started, hand flying up to the low neckline of the gown again, uneasily.
-Ah. Not who you were expecting, perhaps?- His laugh was low, soft, velvet and moonlight and the rustle of soft feathers settling. -No. Clearly not.- He moved into the room with a graceful stride she could only call a stalk, and he took up a goblet from the table, poured a shimmering golden liquid from the fragile-looking glass beaker that appeared as he reached down a black-gloved hand for it.
Irial, what is this place? What am I doing here? What are you doing here?
He sipped, eyes sliding shut as he seemed to savor for a moment, then he poured another cup and held it out to her. She looked at him, unmoving. There is something wrong about this. What is it? What is...
-Come, Lady Amelia. I am your friend, am I not? Have I done anything to deserve the suspicion with which you are looking at me now?- His tone was reasonable, coaxing, but she couldn't quite shake the feeling that... He whispered something softly, and just like that, the little voice inside her that was screaming at her to run, to get away, became so soft that she could barely hear it.
He tilted his head gently, his hand still holding the cup out in invitation. There was something about his eyes as she looked into them... She did trust him...didn't she? He had been a good friend to her...hadn't he?
She smiled a little uncertainly and came forward to take the cup from him. As she took it from him, he ran his fingertips across her hand gently. She looked up at him sharply, but he was turning away, back to the table to reach for his own cup. She did not see that tiny smile appear on his lips.
It could have been an accident...she thought to herself. But it was hard to tell. His behavior was...different...here. Less reserved. More assertive. More disconcerting... And where was here? And what was it again that they were doing? She opened her mouth to ask him those important questions when he turned back with his hand outstretched.
-To you, Amy.- He lifted the cup and waited.
She nodded and lifted hers when it became apparent that was what he wanted. They sipped from the cups together, and she frowned down at the golden liquid in the cup. That tastes so familiar... what...
-Lady, will you dance?-
She started to tell him that there was no music and no space for dancing, but she realized that they were now suddenly somehow on a wide rooftop bathed in moonlight. Music filled the air. Above her, stars filled the sky. It seemed as though both were somehow filling her, and suddenly, dancing seemed like the best idea anyone anywhere had every had. She slipped her hand into Irial's waiting one, and he pulled her tightly against him, his hand trailing caressingly down her back as they moved into a whirling waltz. That...that...feels...that feels... His coin-silver eyes glittered as brightly as the stars as he leaned down to whisper something in her ear...
That feels good... she sighed.
II.
Amy's eyes flew open and she sat up with a gasp. She looked around the room frantically, clutching the bedclothes to her neck.
Where the bloody HELL did that come from?
Her pulse was racing, and her breath was coming fast. She felt as though she'd just run a hard sprint. Or as if she'd just...
No. No. And NO. I'm not going down that alley. Besides. It didn't come to that. Woke up before it came to that. But Irial? Really? I mean the Doctor isn't even gone for a twenty-four full hours, and I'm fantasizing about elves? Oh God.
She flopped back down on the pillow and pulled the other one over her face, kicking her feet in frustration. Images from the dream kept coming back to her. In fact, she kept fighting the feeling of being pulled back into sleep.
Not going back to sleep at all tonight, if that's what's waiting. What the hell is wrong with me? I mean, sure, he's good-looking, but come on! I don't think of him that way! Do I?
In the dream, she apparently had. They'd been dancing, and then the next thing she'd known, those velvet-covered hands that had been gliding over her exposed back had been slipping around to stroke her side, had pulled her hard against him, and she hadn't fought him at all. She'd raised her mouth to his, and he'd looked into her eyes with those shining silver ones, and then he'd been kissing her as if he was trying to consume her. She shivered from the hunger she'd felt from that dream kiss.
It...it didn't feel like a dream was the weird thing... How am I ever going to be able to look him in the eyes now? She groaned and rolled over, face down into the bedding. And then he was kissing his way down my neck...down to where the Doctor always...
Guilt flooded her again. I still don't understand why I was dreaming about Irial. At least I woke up.
III.
Irial's eyes opened slowly. He was reluctant to relinquish the connection, but he felt her fight it and rather than force the dream to take her, he let her go.
There will be other nights to taste that sweetness. There is time still for something for myself...
He smiled, stretched, felt some of the burden on him lighten somewhat. I have found a way to have her for my own despite what Aelfric and the others think. And no one will ever know. In her dreams, I can make her the Raven Lady. I can raise her on high, dress her in my black, adorn her in whatever I like... His mind returned to the last part of their recent encounter. Or remove her adornments. Slowly. Piece by tantalizing piece... He sighed, contemplating what it might be like to have her play the role of his mate, even in this surreal way.
I don't know why I didn't think of this before. It is so simple, and she need never know it is more than a wayward dream.
He rose, dressed, and went down the many flights of stairs to the lowest level of the Raven House. Passing down a corridor of almost identical wooden doors, he paused before the last, pulled a large key from his belt, and opened it. It slid open soundlessly to reveal a large round room.
In the center of that room was a heavy wooden chair with restraining cuffs on either arm and on the front legs. On the cracked stone floor around the chair were suspicious-looking stains. The floor itself still gleamed, wet from the bucket of water which had been used recently to sluice something down the large drain cut into the flagstones. Traces of pinkish red still lingered on the floor in the deep cracks and crannies. Water didn't wash away everything, after all...
He paid no attention to the chair. It was a necessary evil that he was used to. Instead, he walked slowly around the walls of the room, looking at the paintings that hung there. There were seven of them. Each was breathtakingly detailed, so finely painted that it almost seemed that the grass rippled, the clouds moved, the raindrops fell. He paused before one depicting a group of High Lords leading a mass of chained cat-people across a grassy plain. The High Lords held two torches aloft. Irial nodded slowly and moved on to the next painting. There nothing but wind and sea were visible. He had moved to the third when Aelfric entered the room.
"I take it the reconnaissance team got in from the water world last night?"
Aelfric nodded. "Very early this morning, actually. There was no reason to awaken you. They came through with no problems."
"And the chair? Did it require the full amount?" He asked it casually, but neither of them missed the tension in him.
Aelfric's voice was quiet. "It did. Yes. We tried only using a drop or two at first, but ultimately we had to spill the entire blood key to get the Way opened." He was silent for a moment. Both of them were thinking of the world represented by that third painting.
"They brought back three new species for you to evaluate for fitness. There might be something exotic that will sell in the slave markets, maybe even something for the games. Nothing they think might open a new Way, though. That place is looking more and more like a dead-end."
Irial nodded, still staring at the third painting. It depicted a world with blue skies and green plains. In the distance were visible hills or mountains. It was hard to tell. Everything was verdant and lovely.
"Do you really think her blood will open it? We've been disappointed so often before..."
Irial ran a fingertip over the frame, gently.
"I think..." he sighed heavily. "I think that we'll have to find out. I think we haven't had any true Earth blood on this planet since the Rebellion closed that Way and the last of the blood keys we were keeping for that purpose committed suicide together to prevent us from getting back to the Master Hub while the rebels on Earth closed every other gate from there. I think not having the true line of her blood is the missing piece that has been keeping us out. Look at what we've been able to do so far," he said, gesturing at the other paintings. "We've retaken or reestablished right-of-passage or control on those worlds because we still had pure enough bloodlines here on Rishell once the old learning was rediscovered. Now, with Amy Pond in our hands, we can re-open the most important Way of them all and retake Earth."
Aelfric nodded. "And from the Master Hub there, we can reopen all the rest of them, ending the blood keys forever. Way will lead on to Way, and our great Empire will be again what once it was when the Raven Lord was the Raven King."
Irial shook his head. "You know that's not why I'm doing this."
"You don't mean to give all of this to Áinfean. Surely." Aelfric's voice was full of scorn for the Empress of Rishell.
Irial walked away, back to the painting of the blue-skied Earth that fascinated him so much. "I don't know," he said softly. "She grows worse with every passing year. She...she...pursues only what pleasures her. She has no care of her people, no care for anything that does not bring her power or euphoria."
Aelfric placed his hand on Irial's shoulder. "Which is why you must rule it, milord. It was always to be you. You have always known it. There must be a Raven King again. The time of the Empress is done."
Irial said nothing, only continued to look at the painting in front of him, his mind swirling.
IV.
The Doctor sat in a much smaller cave-like chamber sipping a cup of tea. Across from him, the Dragon King also had his silvery hands wrapped around a handless tea cup. The two of them had been talking for quite some time.
"So you just packed all this stuff up in a bag and marched right out of Áinfean's castle with it?"
"Actually, I had one of her own porters carry it out for me. I thought, why not use all the resources she put at my disposal?"
The Dragon King roared with laughter. "Ah, Doctor. Would that I could but see her face when she realizes that you've brought all her pretty little odds and ends to me..." He ran a possessive finger over the silver candelabrum.
"Well, I know they're just trinkets, really. I mean if you have trillanium, this isn't anything, but I hoped it would sort of be one of those situations where the thought counted."
"Oh, yes, indeed, Doctor. Oh, yes, indeed. My kind values protocol very highly. As I'm sure you know." Amusement glowed in his eyes.
The Doctor sipped from his teacup, bowed slightly, tried to hide his irritation. Yes. I know. That's why I've been playing Nice Social Doctor instead of demanding to know what the bloody hell was so important that you dragged me away from my mate and made me leave her in the lurch like this... Because if you make the nice dragon mad, you either wind up as a shiskabob or you don't get what you need, and neither option sounds fun just now...
The Dragon King set down his teacup and snapped his fingers. A much smaller dragon of a color somewhere between green and blue slipped forward and placed a painting on the table leaning against the wall before it withdrew to a discrete distance. The Dragon King poured himself another cup of hot tea, picked up his cup and sniffed the rising steam with a pleased sigh.
"Do you know what that is, Doctor?"
The Doctor looked at the painting with mild curiosity. He hadn't really wanted to come to an art exhibition...
"No. I'm afraid I don't."
"Look at it again. Have you never seen its like anywhere?"
Frustration was welling up in a dangerous way. He glanced over at the painting again, and this time, something caught his eye.
That detail. I've seen paintings like that before... Think, Doctor, think...where did you see that style of painting before?
He leaned closer to the little portrait, extending his finger to the canvas, and a cool breeze blew across his hand. He pulled it back quickly, almost upsetting his tea. The Dragon Lord snickered.
"Remember it now?"
"Great Rasillon. I've been bat-blind. It's a portal."
"Oh yes."
"It's a gate, a gate to one of the great Ways masquerading as art."
"Just so."
"And that silly tart Áinfean is sitting on an entire gallery full of them."
The Dragon King sipped deeply before looking the Doctor right in the eyes. "Yeeesss. Now you can see it, can't you?"
He stood up, "Oh, I've left Amy in terrible danger. If somebody in Áinfean's court has rediscovered that old technology and is trying to open those Ways and use them again, they could rip apart this world and every one that has a gate connected to it. I have to get back to the Citadel and put a stop to this at once! Can your emissary take me back?"
The Dragon King was unmoved by the Doctor's haste and panic. "Sit down, Doctor."
"What? What? Didn't you hear me? World ending? Got to stop it? Wasn't this what you called me back to tell me?"
"Oh no. This, you almost knew on your own. This is the least of your concerns at the present. Think, Doctor. There is a very major question you have yet to ask me. It is the most important question of all."
The Doctor dropped back onto his chair, lifted his tea back to his lips, and sipped. He murmured feverishly to himself. "A question...no...the question that I haven't asked...biggest question...most important thing...if it concerns Ways...Ways are about going places...haven't asked...haven't asked." His expression grew certain. "Tell me then. Tell me, Dragon King. Tell me where it is they're trying to go."
The Dragon King sat perfectly still. "You know it now, don't you?"
"Earth. It has to be. There is a Master Hub on Earth. But the way is blocked. Has been for centuries. The Great Rebellion ensured that all those Ways were completely closed up in such a way that the Rishellians would never be able to use them again. And nothing can possibly open a blockage like the ones those rebels created except for..." He surged to his feet again. "Oh no. Pond...no..."
And review. That's all for now, folks. Did I answer any questions, or did I just raise a whole bunch more? Oopsie...