A/N: In honor of reaching review 450, after a brief request for an update, and thanks to inspiration from the entire season 5 running on BBCA recently, here's a new installment. Oh, how I wish the new season was up and going...
All the things one has forgotten scream for help in dreams. ~Elias Canetti
A dream has power to poison sleep. ~Percy Bysshe Shelley, "Mutability"
I.
"I have to get back to the Citadel now," the Doctor said, pushing impatiently to his feet. "There's no time to lose. Amy..."
The Dragon King did not rise, did not move in any way except to reach for the delicate teapot. He wrapped the long, knobby, silver fingers of his hand around handle and poured himself and the Doctor both another cup of the greenish liquid. Only when that was done did he look up. The humor that usually tinged those ancient eyes was flat, gone.
"Yes. You could leave now. Run back and flail around, like that creature in the Earth proverb...what is it again? A bovine in a dish shop? Forgive me...it has been many years since I bothered with their languages, droll and colorful as they are... But if you do go back now, you will miss the main reason I called you here."
The Doctor ran an impatient hand through his hair, his never-great stock of tolerance completely exhausted by the dragon's constant delay in getting to his main point. "And just what might that be? Come on. We've been dancing around this now over tea for hours. Amelia's in real danger, something is threatening an entire planet full of people, maybe even more than that, and you're sitting there sipping like...like...tea will solve all the universe's problems!" He considered his own past momentarily, gestured in frustration. "And, okay, yes, a good cuppa will do a lot. Granted. But this! What are we going to do about this?"
The Dragon King smiled. It wasn't a particularly pleasant thing to see. There were too many teeth in it. "Time Lords. So rash and impulsive. Always rushing into action. I suppose such hastiness comes naturally with youth..."
The Doctor looked as though he'd been slapped. "Youth? Impulsiveness? I'll have you know that 907 is a ripe old age..."
"Then start behaving like it. Think. Who made the great Ways, Doctor?"
"What? A history lesson?" The Doctor paused, muttered, paced. "It's a mystery. There are several accounts of their origins, to be sure. Some credit the Sitrexi. Others say they were made by the Architects of the Pandarian Empire since several of the features seem to align with some of their early technologies. Several of the Time Lords, including my old teacher Borusa, always believed, though, that they..." He stopped short and turned around, wide eyed.
The Dragon King tilted his head, met his gaze. "Keep going. Did you finally get there?"
"...that they were made by the great Dragons..." His voice was a whisper as he said it. The Doctor came back and sat down in the chair again, picked up the cup of tea, drained it off in one long swallow, held his cup out wordlessly. He stared at the Dragon King as he felt the warmth of the hot tea refilling the vessel in his hands. "One of the great Mysteries being unraveled right here before me today..."
Again, that flicker of a smile. "Only because there is so much to lose now. We would have been content to let the origin of the Ways lie shrouded in mystery. They were...a mistake, a first step toward the way we now travel with portals. They were sloppy and incomplete, dangerous. We would destroy them if we could, but as with so many things done in haste and carelessness... in arrogance...what we forged cannot be undone. They were made when our kind was young, proud in its strength, uncaring or unbelieving of the fact that what we made, others would use for conquest, for domination.
"And, indeed, until the rise of the Rishellian High Lords, few species could access the Ways or even find them except by our assistance. The Time Lords of Gallifrey, your people, knew of them, sensitive to the changes in warp and weft of Time and Space as they are. They felt us tunneling through. They warned us that what we were doing was not wise, but we were proud then, confident to the point of foolishness, unwilling to take counsel from anyone. We used the Ways as one would use a toll-road system, extracting the metal riches we crave from any who would pass, and we used them to build an Empire. It is no accident the legends of our kind are on almost every civilized world..."
The Dragon King's voice trailed off and he sighed. His gaze was far away, seeing something in that lost past.
"And then came the High Lords," said the Doctor softly.
"Yes. And then came the High Lords. They used their native abilities to manipulate, to steal that which had rightfully been ours. They discovered the way to punch holes into the Ways using a combination of a psychically-active memory amplifier and a DNA-link to the place they needed to go. Once they got into the system, we fought them everywhere, but they were strong and many, and we...although we are stronger than they individually, we have always only been few..."
"They took control of the system. You lost the Master Hubs."
The Dragon King nodded. "Even so. And so the Rishellian Empire grew and we waned on our separated worlds until we gained the ability to make portals. Some wanted to try to retake the Ways then. And possibly we could have done so.
"But we were too few, most of us felt, to risk such a thing. On many of the homeworlds, we were fighting for survival from the species we had lived with for so long. Too many of us were having to relocate altogether. And, we also no longer had a taste for Empires. We had outgrown that childishness..." Again, that smile of too many teeth.
The Doctor contemplated, turning the puzzle pieces he'd been handed over in his head, fitting them together, looking for the bits that were still missing. "The paintings. Who made them, you or the High Lords?"
The Dragon King held up his arm and the voluminous sleeve fell away to reveal his hand and his forearm. He was covered in small silver scales that glinted in tiny iridescent refractions of light. His forearm itself was muscular, strong, as if he regularly wielded heavy weapons or tools. The hand at the end had five fingers like a human's hand, but all the digits were somewhat longer, ending in short claws that looked like polished stainless steel. He brought the tips of those fingers together in a graceful gesture and made a flourish like writing on the air. A stream of colors followed his fingertips. He sketched lightly in the air and an image of the TARDIS appeared, hanging in the air like a shimmering mist, gaining detail with each delicate stroke.
"Who do you think?"
"Ah. Lovely. That's...lovely. I understand why they're so different from the other things hanging in the gallery now... So... they can't make any more of them?"
The Dragon King lowered his hand and the afterimage of his creation dissipated, eaten away as though a sudden sun burned away a morning vapor. "No. Although they destroyed several of their promising artists in the process, they never discovered that gift. And we have tried very hard to reclaim all the Way gates we have been able to lay our hands on."
"Do they know what the paintings are?"
"One of them must. We have felt the Ways open again. They walk them again, seeking to reclaim what was never rightfully theirs in the first place. However, you have walked the halls of the Gallery. You know that many of the Way gates still lie undiscovered or at least unused there."
"Do you know which one of them it is?"
"No. We have watched, but we have not seen them in the Ways. They do not tarry there. They open them with violence and pass through very quickly, like thieves in the night. They fear them yet."
"Is there a place inside the Ways we could watch them from?"
The Dragon King bowed his head in thought. He traced a pattern on the tabletop with his fingertip as though he was going through a map in his head. The Doctor couldn't help but notice that as he did so, a trail of color followed faintly behind that moving digit. Fantastic, he thought, absolutely fantastic...
"Yeeesss. There is such a place. All the the Ways they have breached so far center around one network, around one region of worlds. It would be possible for you to hide there in that junction and follow them or simply spy."
"Excellent. Let's start getting that plan ready, then."
II.
Amy planned to spend the morning walking around the grounds of Raven House. She turned her face up to the sun, spread her arms out and felt the cool wind tease her hair around her face. It felt good to be out of the city. She inhaled deeply, imagining that she was exhaling all the darkness from the dreams of the night before that continued to linger in her mind. She'd been very relieved that Irial had not been downstairs when she'd made her way there for breakfast. Some of the other High Lords were there, one of them the unsmiling blond she frequently saw with Irial, and although they gave her long looks and courteous nods, none of them said anything to her. She'd eaten quickly and escaped outside.
Irial's estate had a curious mixture of wilderness and domestication to it. He'd told her at dinner it was very, very old, that it had been destroyed and rebuilt. As she came around a corner, she stopped short. She saw two large black stone ravens guarding the entrance to what appeared to be a hedge maze. The greenery was fragrant and lush, and the shadows inside were inviting. The wind's susuration seemed to be a chorus of voices with urgent secrets to tell her. Suddenly, Amy wanted very much to be inside that sheltering darkness.
"Haven't been in one of these since I was a child," she murmured. She approached the entrance, her booted feet crunching the stones on the pathway lightly. She had paused between the two massive figures. She laid her hand on the midnight stone of one bird's massive curving talon. Why, it isn't cold at all! Shouldn't stone be cold on a day like today? It feels...it feels... Her thoughts somehow spiraled away, and she ran her hand over the stone again caressingly, staring up at the face of one of the carved ravens high above her. Wait, weren't they facing the other way? I thought they were looking out toward the house, not down toward me... She heard footsteps approaching. With difficulty, she tore her gaze away from the mesmerizing black birds above and glanced sharply over her shoulder to see the blond High Lord walking quickly toward her.
"Lady Amelia?"
"Um...yes?" She tucked a strand of windblown hair behind her ear. What now?
"I have not had the chance to be introduced to you properly, so I hope you will forgive the utter lack of protocol in my naming myself. I am Aelfric, Ravensworn. It would honor me if you would allow me to be your guide today."
Something glittered just in the corner of her vision, and she turned back to the hedge maze. She had so wanted to go inside it. There was something calling to her from in there, making promises, offering...offering something wonderful... She shuffled a half step toward the soft shifting darkness within. Inside, there's something inside for me...
"Lady?" Aelfric's voice gently broke through the haze surrounding her again. "Lord Irial will be most cross with me if he finds I have left you unattended or that you lack proper entertainment. I pray you allow me to show you the formal gardens..." She felt his fingers lightly clasp her shoulder, and with a start, she looked down. The contact made the voices from the maze stop suddenly.
"Formal gardens? Oh yes. That would be...lovely..." She felt a little dizzy, as if she'd been on a carnival ride that spun too fast. She allowed him to lead her away, leaning on the arm he offered just a little. She did not notice that both the stone ravens once again sedately faced the house.
III.
"She would have gone into the Maze had I not stopped her! She was wandering the grounds with no one watching, no one taking care, and the Maze almost had her when I got there. Two more steps, and she'd have been past reclaiming." Aelfric's voice was full of icy fury.
Irial stared unmoved out the window at the night-darkened sky. He did not turn. Nothing in his mien betrayed his inner disgust with himself for leaving Amy alone all day in such a dangerous place. He'd lived here so long that he often forgot just how dangerous Raven House could be to the uninitiated. However, Aelfric went too far...
Shifting slightly as though merely seeking a more comfortable position as he leaned against the stone frame of the window, he turned his head. "Aelfric, becalm yourself. Nothing happened."
"Nothing happened! Nothing happened! How then will you explain her absence to her mate if she is called to the Maze again or finds the Black Well or any of the other dangers this House, by its very nature, conceals? How then will you keep our secret? The Time Lord will tear down this house stone by stone if she suffers the slightest distress that cannot be adequately explained and soothed, and yet you stand there as though it is trivial! More rides on this than you seem to remember, Irial! You never should have brought her here! If your judgment were not impaired by your..."
Irial turned sharply, hand on the silver blade at his waist, teeth bared. "You go to far! Remember to whom you speak! Remember what I have sacrificed, what I sacrifice still! I, forget? How could I ever forget?"
Aelfric fell to his knees, his already pale face ashen. "Forgive, milord. Forgive. I spoke only from my love of you, only from my wish to see all things restored." He hung his head.
Irial waved his hand tiredly, and he took up a document from the table in front of him. "Get up, Aelfric. I will not take your head for speaking the truth. You are... correct...in your concern for her care. Of course she must be be kept from harm. Tell the others tonight before you retire. Set up a rotating schedule if you must. Ensure that Lady Amelia does not stray into the...less friendly areas of the House on her own during her time with us."
Aelfric rose with that supple grace inherent to his kind and bowed before leaving the chamber. Irial watched him go. With effort, he turned his attention back to the item in his hands, but he could not focus on it. All he could think of was Amelia lost in the deceptive twists of the Maze, lost forever, Amelia hurt or injured from something he could stop, Amelia in that chair so patiently waiting for her in the basement...
"All too soon," he murmured to himself, "all too soon, the lady will be forced to encounter those less friendly areas in a way that will change all of us forever." His hand tightened around the parchment of the report he held, crumpling it.
He threw it aside and strode toward his chambers.
IV.
Amy stood in the middle of the high ceilinged room. She was wearing the black dress again, but this time, she didn't fiddle with it or adjust it. It felt natural. She was waiting on someone. There was supposed to be someone else here in this place with her. She just kept herself from tapping her foot impatiently when she heard, whisper quiet, the sound of a footstep on the marble floor. She turned, her smile parting her lips, lighting her eyes.
There he is.
Irial swept her into his arms as she came forward. His hands pulled her close to him, clutched her tightly. The music began, and he buried his face in the fall of her hair, twirling her around and around. Her laughter echoed off the arching roof high above as they spun.
V.
The Doctor was cold and tired as he climbed back through the glowing portal. He had been looking for any trace of the High Lords inside the abandoned Ways, something that would indicate who among them might be trying to activate the painting gates again. It had been a largely fruitless and exceedingly frustrating endeavor. There had been signs of recent passage, disturbances in the ancient corridors, but nothing he could pin down or follow.
The corridors themselves made for a thoroughly disquieting atmosphere. The walls, though solid to the touch, were a swirling grey like smoke made solid, cored out of the living fabric of space and time as they were, and the wrongness of them pounded against his head until he felt something like a massive headache forming, or at least something as much like a headache as he was capable of having.
Give me my TARDIS any day over these blasted things. They're just terrible.
He could feel the icy damp of the Ways clinging to him as though he were coated in it. I need to sit in a hot bath until all this comes off me and then to sleep for a week. He sat down on the edge of the bed in the chamber he'd been provided heavily and pondered the laces on his boots in weary confusion. The heat from the roaring fire in the huge carved stone fireplace behind him felt wonderful after hours spent in that silent dull chill. Have to go talk to his Lordship before I can do any of that, though, let him know it was all for nothing tonight, see if he can get someone in to watch for awhile. I have to have a little break...
That was the last thought that passed through his mind before fatigue overwhelmed him.
VI.
He was walking through the comfortable antechamber of his dreaming mind, thoroughly warm once again, the last of the chill of the Ways left behind him. He had come here for something specific. He looked around the room, considered the door that would lead him back to the peaceful refuge of red grasses and orange skies, and although it was tempting, he dismissed it. That wasn't what he'd come here for. And truly, it wasn't the sanctuary he longed for. His gaze skipped over the dark door where the horror hid quickly to fix on the blue TARDIS doors that would lead him to the place that would give him truest peace. With the flicker of thought, he was standing with his hand on the latch. With a sigh and a smile of anticipation on his lips, he slipped the TARDIS key from his pocket into the lock, opened the door and stepped in...
VII.
The Doctor found himself in the shadowy alcove of a room he did not recognize. Everything here was old, changing subtly, and some of it, he felt disturbingly, was somehow alive, watching him, knew he was there.
Not possible. This is Amy's mind, Amy's dream... What is this?
He became aware of music, soft, insidious music, and his heart tightened in his chest.
No.
He knew those notes, knew those cadences. It was Rishellian, music of the race that had given birth to the legend of the enchanting pipers... And there was seduction in those strains. He could translate their song, could unravel their mysteries as they trailed their too-silky sonic caresses over him.
Have to see, have to get closer...
He slid from the darkness toward the flickering light, obscuring himself behind a large pillar. As he did so, he began to see motion in the large open chamber before him, began to hear laughter. Familiar laughter. Delighted laughter.
Amelia... Everything inside him wound itself tighter in fear.
And then he saw them.
VIII.
Irial held her close, pressed her body to his, had her bent back over his arm as they spun. Her red hair fanned out, her eyes were closed, and she was laughing. She was a study in color contrasts in the black Rishellian gown, its stark color against her pale skin drawing attention to the amount of her creamy skin it left uncovered or teasingly revealed as she moved. Her hands rested in total relaxation and trust against the High Lord's chest and shoulders, lightly holding on as he turned her around and around. No one could mistake the expression on Irial's face for anything but possession as he looked down at her, as his hands gripped her firmly, fingers gently shifting in the lightest of caresses.
It was something beyond just dancing. It was nothing less than a prelude between lovers, a form of love in itself, and every fiber of the Doctor's being responded to it. He felt his teeth bare, his hands clench, and he had to force himself to remember that the best course of action was not to charge out of the darkness and destroy.
He knew immediately that this was no fantasy spun by Amy's mind, knew that somehow Irial was there, that he had intruded here inside Amy's mind. It enraged him almost past the point of tolerance that someone would dare to invade the sanctity of his mate's mind, and his hand itched to create a tool of vengeance, to strike down the interloper, to make safe again that which was His. In the darkness that shrouded him, a sword flickered into being in his clenched hand, wicked, blade called together from the shadows of the air, from the shadows of his soul...
Not for nothing was he a Time Lord, and among them strong, well-trained, even if he had long ago chosen to turn his back on the Prydonian Academy, the High Council, even the office of Lord President... Reason reasserted itself through baser instincts, and he forced his hand to open. The sword he'd summoned became less distinct until it was gone by the time he flexed his fingers.
Watch. There is something important here. You need to pay attention, or you'll miss it...
And so with the wolf inside him howling, the Doctor stayed in the darkness and watched as Irial whirled the woman he loved around the shifting ballroom floor.
IX.
She was so happy. She felt so safe. As long as she was here, in his arms, then everything was okay. She'd never known a place of refuge like this, a place of such perfect peace...
-sudden memory of red grass and orange skies and silver-leaved trees -
She missed a step of the dance, her eyes flying open. Irial looked down, a tiny indulgent smile on his face. No trace of concern clouded those coin-silver eyes. As she searched them for some sign of what had made her so distressed, she felt his hands circle gently, supportively, reassuringly, against her again, and she felt her eyelashes flutter, felt herself yielding again to his the power of his will as he led in the dance.
Because as long as he led, everything was right, everything was good. She could trust him as she had trusted no other...
- green eyes in an angular and beloved face, filled with despair and anguish –
Again, she stumbled, this time far more profoundly, wrenching her ankle despite the strong hands that supported her. Those hands caught at her again, gentle but firm.
"Amy? What is it? Come, let us resume the dance. A misstep matters not." His rich voice was indulgent, beautiful, enticing.
But wrong. Somehow wrong. This is not the voice I want to hear. This is not the right voice, this is not His voice...
She took a step away from Irial, then another. The music continued to swirl around her, continued to demand that she rejoin him, pulling at the corners of her mind like insistent little fingers tugging at her skirt, her elbows. She ignored it.
No. I will not. This is not...is not...
She shook her head slightly, biting her bottom lip as she walked over to the fireplace, rested her hand on the mantel. Irial did not follow her.
"Lady, if you will dance no more tonight, I must leave you. Are you sure you wish me gone?" She did not see the little gesture he made with his elegant hand, could not hear the whisper he made almost under his breath, but from the darkness beyond the pillars, another who watched did...
She did not turn, but a sudden well of confusion blossomed inside her. Did she? He was only being nice to her, wasn't he? Was only trying to make her happy, wasn't he? She heard his booted step on the floor as he turned to go.
"Irial," she said, indecision in her voice as she turned sharply away from the fireplace, crossing the distance between them, "Irial..." She didn't know how to finish that sentence. She simply stood staring at him. Only a pace or so separated them now.
He reached behind him to a table that had suddenly appeared, and handed her a glass of golden wine, took one for himself. She took it absently, stared down into it for a moment swirling it in the the goblet as though mesmerized, then she drank deeply, and he smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. He sipped from his own glass, took both, sat them aside. He gently slipped his fingers around her hand where it had fallen to twisting in her skirts, lifted it lightly to his lips.
"I ask no more than to give you happiness, Lady."
As the stars hidden inside the golden wine exploded inside her, he pulled her unresisting form back into the dance with the softest of tugs.
X.
The Doctor watched Irial dance with Amy for what seemed like an eternity. He was aware of the passage of real time, of course, and he knew that hours were passing as the High Lord caressed his mate, coaxed her, seduced her, touched her in ways that were worth killing over. The Doctor felt as though he was carved from ice, detached from everything he was seeing. He had watched Amy almost awaken from whatever control it was the Irial was using on her briefly twice during these hours, and he'd almost stepped forward the first time, but then he'd watched Irial closely, watched the Rishellian reassert his control, draw Amy back in. He saw the golden wine Irial plied Amy with and cursed again the decision to come to this world.
His mind is very strong, but then the Rishellians always were a mentally able race. However, he shouldn't be able to do this to the bondmate of a Time Lord. Especially not with that fortress she's got in her head. He's got to have something pretty fancy going on, something boosting him outside that's allowing him to just waltz in here, literally as it were, and lay claim to her like he's lord of all he surveys.
He looked at the two of them chatting and dancing, and the jealousy inside him gnashed its teeth again, pulled hard against its chain to break through the clinical detachment that held it in check.
At least all they're doing is dancing. Whatever else he may be, he's not tried anything else other than that, I suppose. And, even though his invasion of her mind is heinous, at least he hasn't...
At that moment, Irial turned his head and lightly, lightly brushed his lips along Amelia's cheek.
XI.
Amy had been laughing at something Irial said, but when she felt that light touch, she blushed bright, and pulled away slightly. He held her firmly, refusing to let go until she stopped all motion and simply stood with her eyes cast down.
"Irial..." Her voice was soft, firm, negative.
"Amelia..." His was entreating, and he lowered his head again dipping down as if he would capture her lips.
She turned her head, and he settled for a kiss to the corner of her mouth. She was as still in his arms as if he was caressing marble. He pulled her hard against him, looked down at her with bright eyes.
"I would destroy and remake this world for you, Amy. I am going to make you the Raven Queen. No matter what Aelfric says, I will raise you up, not destroy you, and you shall be a thing not seen in a thousand years/ I will set you on high and make this world and a hundred others bow at your feet. Lady, you are becoming my world, and I swear to shape all others around you... Will you not grant me the favor of one tiny kiss?" His voice was fervent, passionate, bordering on desperate. "Will you forever make me beg or take even that smallest of comforts like a thief? Like a criminal?"
Conflicting desires warred in her. Two voices spoke, one that urged her to turn into his embrace, to open to him completely, give him all he desired, and one that screamed that to do so would be betrayal. She could not summon from that inner sense betrayal of what... She finally looked up at him, "Irial, I...I...I just...I...can't..." She looked down again. She was shaking.
He released her. "Nay, Lady." His voice was soft, gentle. "The hour grows late, and you no doubt have been long desirous of the peace of slumber. I will leave you now, Amy; I will leave you now, my heart." He leaned over and pressed a final kiss on her forehead. She watched him with confusion in her eyes. "Rest well. Dream no more tonight unless you dream amicably of me."
He walked to the door of the room and sank into the shadows, disappearing.
XII.
Amy continued to stand in the center of the ballroom after Irial left. Now that he was gone, she wasn't exactly sure why she was here. She felt a little dizzy, a little sick. She took two more steps, and she suddenly just collapsed, the black skirt belling out around her like a puddle of ink. She knew the slit was revealing more of her leg than was decent, and suddenly she savagely hated the dress, hated this room, hated this place, as her cheek pressed into the cold stone floor.
Yes. Hate it. Hate this place. Hate Rishell...what did I dream? I dreamed that...that...Oh no...I dreamed of ...him again...
She made a choking noise, crying and trying to stop it, furious, sad, confused, and so very, very tired...
Why do I keep winding up in this horrid dress? And dancing? And why do I keep dreaming of Irial? I don't want him... I want...I want...
*Who do you want then, Amelia? Ask for him, and he might appear. That's the way of things here, y'know.*
She summoned from somewhere enough energy to roll over on one side and look toward the pool of darkness at the back of the room, and there, leaning with that indolent grace that became him best studying here with unreadable eyes, was the one she'd wanted all along.
Doctor!
He pushed off the column and was there beside her sitting on the floor in the flickering of a thought.
*Yes. Hello, Pond. You've been busy since I've been gone, I see.*
He reached out and hesitantly stroked a strand of her hair out of her face, tucked it back behind her ear. She noticed that his hand was trembling. She looked up at him in worry.
Doctor?
He simply shook his head, a smile made of barbed wire twisting his lips. *This is not the place to talk about it. Trust me, Amelia.*
Her eyes slid closed and she felt her nausea increase. I...see. So how long were you back there skulking amongst the tapestries, Polonius? She felt a bitterness growing inside her, an anger with him, with herself, with this whole stupid situation. She didn't want to be dreaming of Irial. It just kept happening...
To her everlasting amazement, the Doctor laughed, that short bark of pain and humor that was uniquely his. *That's my girl. A little righteous fury is exactly what is called for in this situation.* Again that trembling hand smoothed over her hair, more firmly this time, coming to rest for just a moment against her neck, brushing aside the red locks so his fingers could stroke gently just where he usually kissed her to mark his claim. His eyes were full of storms, brooding, dark, as he watched the motion of his hand against her skin.
That long, huh? Doctor... I'm sorry...I..I don't know why I'm dreaming of Irial, or this place, I... It tumbled out of her in a flood of words, and she could feel the flow of tears hot as acid streaming down her face.
Oh, I don't want to be here anymore! She flung her hands over her face, balling up in a protective curl.
She felt strong arms lift her, turn her, hold her close, and she blindly flung her arms around him, pulled him to her tightly, burrowing her face into the comfort of Him, of the feel of Him, the rightness of this pair of arms, the sound of two heartbeats beneath her ears, the unmistakable presence of this one, her Mate. He sighed deeply.
*Then let's not be here anymore, Amelia. We've much to talk about, and morning will come all too soon. Let's go somewhere where you'll feel safer.*
XIII.
When she opened her eyes, they were in her room in the TARDIS. She was sitting on her bed. He was leaning against the door, arms crossed, one foot back on the door itself, watching her. He waved his hand at her, smiled just a little. He seemed so odd, somehow so distant. He had been so since she'd first seen him in that other room. It disturbed her.
She realized that she felt much better. The nausea was almost completely gone. She was, however, still wearing the stupid black dress. She scowled down at it, tugging at the wayward bodice that was once again threatening to reveal much more of her than it concealed.
"I...bloody...hate...this...oooohhh..." She finally just gave up and grabbed a folded quilt off the end of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. "There. Fine. Now. Better. And I will continue to wear this damn quilt until such time as I can figure out how to get this monstrosity off me..."
The Doctor nodded, crossed over to the bed and perched lightly on the foot.
"I considered taking us back to Gallifrey, but for the sort of conversation we're going to have to have, I thought this environment might be more reassuring, less distracting..." He trailed off, falling again into that long study of her that made her feel as though she were being weighed and somehow found wanting.
"You've got to stop that," said Amy after a moment passed of his intense scrutiny. "You've got to stop that because I can't stand it. I don't know why it happened. I'm as sorry as any person can be. I don't want Irial. I know it to the core of my soul. You're the one I want, the one I chose, Doctor, so I don't know why I'm having the dreams, and you have to quit looking at me like that..."
He looked at her a long moment more and sighed, shook his head. He reached out and took her hand. "No. I'm sorry. I know I am...distant...just now. You will have to use some of that boundless patience you have with me and overlook it, I'm afraid. It's not that I doubt you. We are bonded. Properly and truly. I'd...feel it...if you didn't ...if you...if we weren't..." He stopped, stroked his thumb over her hand. "Let's just say it this way. I don't worry about you being unfaithful, okay? I'd know it most immediately and most definitively if you ever stopped caring about me."
She stared at him. "What...what do you mean?" She had the most horrible feeling that she knew...
"Bonding is a serious matter, Amelia, never done lightly. It is not possible for a Time Lord to be unfaithful. While bonded, the power of the connection means that we simply do not desire others. None other compares. If that bond is somehow broken though, the consequences are similarly powerful..." He laid their joined hands over his chest. She felt the dual heartbeat, steady, comforting.
She shuddered. "You'd...you mean you'd..."
He made no answer, only looked at her, his thumb continuing to stroke her hand softly.
"I swear I'm not dreaming of him because I want to! I don't know why I..."
He laid a finger over her lips. "I know. And this is one of the parts you're not going to like, Amy. You're dreaming of Irial because Irial wants you to."
She went stiff as a board, then her eyes narrowed as all the little pieces clicked into place.
XIV.
"What? What!"
"They're not dreams. Or, well, they are, I suppose, but you're not in total control of them when he's in them. He's actually there with you, just as much as I am here in this place right now."
"Well that's just wonderful then, isn't it?..." The nausea returned and her stomach rolled. "Someone else using my head as his personal playplace. I think I'm going to be sick..."
That slight smile flickered over his lips. He squeezed her hand gently. Everything he did was so gentle, so restrained. It was making her want to scream, making her want to hit him. Why wouldn't he react? Wasn't he angry? Didn't he care?
"Come on, Pond. You're made of sterner stuff than that! Come on! Brace up! We have to figure out how we can use this against him!"
"We have to what?" She all but shrieked it at him tearing her hand from his grasp. And now he wanted her to invite Irial in again willingly? No bloody way...
"Did I forget to mention that bit? Oh yes. That's the other tiny little fragment you're possibly not going to like so well..." Faint amusement was dancing in his eyes. She itched to slap that expression off his face...
"Kill you both. Him first and then you," she muttered "What the hell do you mean, 'Use this against him?' I don't ever want it to happen again!"
"I believe Irial is the one I'm here hunting now, here in the Dragon King's palace..." and he gave her, as quickly as he could a summary of his discoveries, the Way paintings, the haunting and echoing Ways themselves, the lost empire of the Dragons, the perfidy of the High Lords of Rishell, the dangerous reopening of those forgotten passages between worlds, his own long vigil. He did not, however, say anything of his suspicions of what Irial's true purposes for her might be. He concluded by saying, "...and after hearing your new boyfriend's profession of love there at the end, I am almost positive that he's the one I'm looking for."
"Irial? Really? Do you really think he'd do something like that? You think he has it in him to destroy and enslave worlds? But he's always seemed so...noble..." Even as it came out of her mouth, she realized how it sounded in light of the present situation.
The Doctor stared at her a moment, that bitter barbed-wire smile appearing. "Oh, to be sure, to be sure. Noble enough to sneak into your mind like a rapist and a thief and try to coerce you into giving him what he wants... Oh yes. Very noble. Very noble, indeed. It's a fine mask he wears as he stabs you in the back...Gold lined, or maybe I should say silver to go with his tongue and his eyes..." His words were still subdued, still rational, but now for the first time Amy saw his hands curl on the comforter, fisting on the soft fabric, and she recognized that detachment for what it was.
And she took a deep, deep breath, probed delicately through the bond and confirmed what she already suspected.
He's so very, very near the edge of control, so very near the edge of rage that he's locked it all down completely. This is all he's able to give me. That's what he meant earlier. Oh, Doctor...
She laid a gentle hand on his forearm, felt the tension singing through him. "He...he only ever kissed me... and when he did, I always pushed him away. He always, always let me go." Her voice was a whisper.
"One night, Amy, one night very soon...he wouldn't have..."
He sat as though frozen for a moment and then, as though he could not help himself, he turned, slipped a trembling hand up to cup her face, thumb stroking over her bottom lip feather-light. "Doesn't matter that you pushed him away. When I saw him try to kiss you, put his hands on you in claim, I wanted..." He stopped, as though saying the words would lead to the actions themselves. "And then he said he would make you his Queen, his Mate? I felt that I could...Borusa would be... so proud. Never would have believed it. I don't know that my self-control has ever been tested as much as that, you see? And I did not...I did not..." He removed his hand from her, rose, paced back to the door. She could sense the beast inside him, the wolf, wounded, angry, needing, that he was fighting, straining so hard to hold back.
Something inside her stirred, something that had been wanting him, had been wanting that which was Hers, for the days he had been gone. It unfurled, responded to the dark need he fought so valiantly, the need to restake his claim, to reaffirm that his mate belonged to him alone. Now that she was listening through the bond, the depth of his need was an aphrodisiac such as she'd never known. She wanted to rip the suit from his lean body; she wanted to climb him like a cat up a tree...
She allowed the quilt she'd wrapped around her to fall away as she got up and crossed the narrow space that separated them. He did not turn, stood with both hands pressed against the door, eyes tightly shut.
"Doctor," she murmured.
"Amy," his tone was one of man in agony. "Amy, you must give me space. You must get away from me now. Even I only have so much self-control and I...right now...I'm …."
She placed one hand on his shoulder, slid the other into his hair, caressing for a moment before using it to tug lightly, to turn him. He made a growling sound of pleasure at the contact she knew well as she maneuvered him, then tried to stop her again. His eyes were tightly shut as he pressed back against the door.
"You have to leave this place, Amy. Just wish yourself elsewhere, Because I...I...want too much...and...I won't be able...to say no, to be noble, won't even be able to be kind if you don't bloody get out right now..."
"Open your eyes, Doctor." She purred it, ran her nails lightly up his chest, tracing patterns, idly. His reaction fascinated her, made her hungry.
"No. I mean it. I won't be able to stop, and I won't be able to be gentle, and I..." His palms pressed against the door so hard she was surprised they did not somehow crack the indestructible material.
"Open your eyes, Doctor." She skimmed her fingertips up to his neck pulled loose his bowtie with a sharp tug, ripped it away.
"No. You have to run, Amy. I will be okay in a day or two, but it's not safe to be with me now is what I'm telling you, If you keep doing that, I'll..."
She pressed herself full against him and nipped his bottom lip hard. His eyes shot open in surprise, immediately closed again, squeezed shut like a child trying to keep out the boogeyman. The comparison in this situation made her amused.
"I know," she said in a low, conversational voice. "I know you're not safe. I know you're made of need right now, ridden by darkness." She stopped and she pressed her mouth to his again because she wanted the taste. He did not kiss her back, but his body shook from the strain of the denial. He made a low whining noise in the back of his throat as she trailed kisses up to his ear, caught the lobe between her teeth before continuing in a whisper directly against his ear.
"But what you keep forgetting, or ignoring as you choose, I'm not sure which, is that I am your Mate, Time Lord, which means that you don't scare me, ever, and most importantly..." and she slipped her fingers up to his temples, stroked boldly, watched his body arc like someone struck by lightning ". ..Don't. You. Tell. Me. To Run."
As she'd intended, her touch on that sensitive place had destroyed the last of what was restraining him, and his strong hands snaked up her body to catch her wrists as his eyes opened. They were star-shot, black edged with the tiniest rim of green, and they devoured the exposed skin of her shoulders, raked over the plunging bodice of the black Rishellian gown. As much as she hated the gown, at that moment, she understood its true purpose as she stood proudly, wishing it were gone, wishing his hands were on her instead. She pulled against his grip, wanting to touch him, wanting to remove his jacket, but his hands tightened, held her still as he looked at her a moment longer.
Then he took her.
Not a cliffhanger, I promise. Pie is being put in a separate chapter and is forthcoming momentarily. Separate dishes. The importance of presentation and all that, don't you know? Anyway...Don't throw things, darlings. However...if I give you a HUGE chapter like this AND pie, I better get reviews...