A/N: Several reviewers are curious about what Irial is up to out in the woods. If you're keeping score, a lot of what he (and the Rishellians in general) are doing is taken from various myths and legends about elves. The "chasing people around in the woods in the moonlight" bit you're currently reading is an adaptation of the Wild Hunt (apply your friendly neighborhood search engine if you've never heard of it). The music bit that so enchants Amy in the dreams and that the Doctor warns her of when they first arrive is a variation on elvish pipers/harpists. There are other things, too, along, but I won't go into them here. You can look for them yourself if you like. Not everything is based on myth, but I am trying to weave it in all along. There's a method to my madness, most of the time. (Of course, happy accidents do occur, and I'm grateful for those, too...) On with the show.
Look how the pale queen of the silent night
Doth cause the ocean to attend upon her...
~Charles Best, "A Sonnet of the Moon"
With finger on her solemn lip,
Night hushed the shadowy earth.
~Margaret Deland
I.
Amy walked toward the cloud of tiny shimmering lights. The stones of the walk shifted and clicked under her feet, but she didn't hear the noise. Instead, she heard a soft, enticing whisper.
Amelia. Amelia Pond. Come here. Come inside. There is something inside that you need to see, that you've always wanted. Come inside, Amelia...
The moonlight lay a sheen of icy silver over the landscape, and the high hedges that formed the outer walls of the maze were an unbroken black barrier before her except for the wide entry. There, the light seemed to gather, pool, spill as though entreating her to step into that tiny sea of radiance. The two raven statues, wreathed as they were in their tiny circling clouds of stars, seemed to look down on her with benevolence as she hesitated there in the darkness just outside that brilliant threshold.
Come on, Amelia. Come on in. There's so much to show you, so much to give you, and so little time.
The voices were clearer now, a chorus that was somehow feminine and piercing in its loveliness. Still she held back...
Are you afraid, little girl? Don't be afraid. We like you. We need you. And we are going to tell you secrets. Don't you like secrets? Aren't you looking for secrets? There are secrets in here. We will tell you all the secrets, but you have to come inside come inside come inside Amelia Pond...
The voices were so soothing, so reassuring. Her feet were moving without her conscious volition. One step. Another. Another...
Amelia's fingertips trailed lightly over the oddly warm surface of the nearest raven statue as she stepped into the welcoming tide of whispers and light.
II.
Irial gave his horse its head on the way back to Raven House. Unable to run most of the night, the Charger was ready to exert itself, and it moved like it was a part of the wind. He leaned low over the beast's neck, something inside him exulting as it always did in the speed of the movement. Tonight, though, with the full moon making him reckless, he urged the stallion to go faster, left the rest of the hunting party behind.
Because every falling hoof takes me closer to where I need to be...
His brothers, the High Lords of Rishell he'd invited to join him on this moon-sodden night, now mostly had sated their inborn lunar madness with the terrible pleasures of the Hunt. They would go home to pursue other pleasures, equally intense, under the influence of the high moon. Most of those who were mated had already left the hunting group behind, their urgent need for the chase now replaced with another urgency altogether.
The Great Hunt was an outlet for their furious passions and had been from time immemorial. Tonight, Irial, as was appropriate for the host and for his position as the Raven Lord, had provided prey, finding those guilty of crimes, both servants of the Citadel and peasants from the city and the surrounding estates, and delivered them up as game. There had never been a flicker of hesitation in his actions. Such was the way of the Law of Rishell.
It was not always thus...
Once his people had ridden to the Hunt, wild, dangerous, killing whomever was luckless enough to be caught in the open on the nights of the high moon, taking it as their right to ride them down as a human hunter might do to a fox or a deer. There had been no thought for law, only for the joy of the chase, the pleasure of the fear and the hot blood at the end of the kill.
Those were the days of the Empire when we were arrogant and decadent. We have moved beyond that now.
As he had cut the cords that had bound the hands of a former chambermaid of the Citadel who had killed her lover in a fit of rage, he'd looked down at her cowering form. Her eyes refused to settle on him. She did not seem to be able to tear her gaze from the mounted pack of hunters, silent in their dark garb, from the lances they carried, steel tips glittering in the light of the moon, from the hounds that sat patiently but wild-eyed beside them...
He reached a gloved hand down and jerked her face up to force her to meet his eyes. "You know the law. You know your chance. Remain unfound until the setting of the moon, and you are reprieved."
No one in the history of Rishell has ever done this. Nothing escapes the Hunt. But you could always be the first...
Tears began to stream down her face, and her lips moved as though she was trying to say something. He looked at her a moment more, disgust welling up in him, and he pushed her away. He wiped his hand against his trouser leg, as though trying to remove the soil of the contact with her.
She will deserve everything she gets. She will deserve every moment of fear, every exquisite tearing of the hounds' teeth, every wound of the lances. And though she is timid now, she will not die easily...
He could see inside her head, and under the abject terror, he could see the pettiness and meanness of her true heart. She was not sorry for the crime she had committed. She had lain in wait for her lover, had ignored his cries for mercy, had taken her time with her "vengeance." She would have done it a thousand times. She would do it again now, strike Irial himself down where he stood if only she dared...
Just another animal that needs to be put down. So be it.
As he moved to walk away, he felt her hand clinging to his cloak. He heard Aelfric move to punish, to kick for the presumption that she had in touching him, but he raised the slightest of fingers and half-turned to look at her as the words she had tried to form before finally forced themselves out at last.
"Mercy. I beg it of you..."
As you gave to your lover? As you gave him as you cut him open from neck to navel because he dallied with another?
He reached down and tugged the cloak from her grasp with one sharp, efficient motion. He walked over to a cart laden with supplies.
"You are not bound. You will be given a head start of as long as it takes the lead hunter to count to 100 before anything here pursues you."
He turned back to her at last and he tossed down a hunting knife. Its blade shone menacingly in the silver light.
"And there is that. Make whatever form of mercy you choose with what you have been given. Nothing else will be offered you."
And he had walked away from her as her hysterical shrieking sobs began in earnest. The Hunt Master had begun to count in a strong, slow, steady voice.
As the black-and-white countryside blurred around him, Irial reflected on her final moments.
She had not ended well. Her bravado had deserted her in the end. Cornered, screaming, forgetting even that she had the knife, flailing with her bare hands as though they could stop the advancing wall of steel...
Irial had not been one of the hunters who brought her down, but he had felt a certain satisfaction in her demise, nonetheless. There was just something about one who could betray a lover to the death in that way that was even more distasteful than the usual rabble they used for the Hunts...
He shifted in the saddle as the wilderness gave way to the more cultivated lands of Raven House and made a conscious effort to put the whole squalid incident from his mind. He was, after all, now where he wanted to be, where he'd yearned to be all night long. The moon still rode high in the sky, was still igniting silver fire in his blood, and soon, he'd see Amelia.
III.
The Doctor was in the tunnels again. He sat folded up in one of the curiously-carved alcoves the Dragon King told him had been for sellers of provisions once upon a time when the Empire had been at its peak and untold numbers of merchants had been moving their goods and travelers in large quantities through the Ways.
When the Dragon King had told him of this space to begin with, an unholy sparkle of glee had come into the Doctor's tired eyes.
"So...you're telling me I'm going to hide in sort of...a little shop?" The idea amused him terribly. Memories of his past, companions gone, adventures shared flickered, danced.
The Dragon King was somewhat baffled by his humor. "I...suppose one could look at it that way, yes." He sounded cautious in his affirmation.
The Doctor had thrown his head back and clapped his hands. "Fantastic. I do love a little shop, nothing like a little shop..."
Now, though, all the humor had drained out of him. He was merely cold and miserable sitting in the shadows of the space off the main Way, trying to play a mental game to pass the time and to stave off the worst of the effects of the Ways.
Okay, so...a list of ten different places I'd rather be with Pond right now and why. Because I'm jolly well going to tell her about them next time I see her. Let's see. There are so many choices, so infinitely many places better than this that it practically boggles the old mind just trying to narrow it down to ten, but...if I had to choose...I think I'd start by going to...
There was a sound. It was hardly worth qualifying it as a sound at all, something so faint, so tiny, so brief an auditory whisper that had it not happened in the totally silent space of the Ways, it might have been missed. He held his breath and listened. It came again.
Booted feet. A group of soft-walking individuals approaching, moving quickly.
At last. Took you fellows long enough. He wanted to sigh in relief at having at last caught a group in the Ways he could follow.
A glow pierced the gloom of the Way before him, and he fought the instinctive urge to slide away from the opening. The alcove was not terribly deep, and even though he was concealed behind the stone counter, he still felt exposed.
They can't see me from where they are. I'm safe. But if I move...
The real danger was not being seen here. The pervasive darkness saw to that. The real danger was in being heard...
He continued to listen as the faint light got stronger, as the sounds of the group increased. As their noise grew greater, he shifted just enough to peek out from behind the edge of the counter. A group of some ten High Lords cloaked in black were passing. They were moving quietly but quickly. They did not look particularly disturbed to be in the Ways. None had a weapon drawn.
So...not expecting any trouble, are we? Confident lot, you are. Hmm. Well, at least you won't be jumpy... Let's hope I still remember how to become one with the shadows like good old Hattori Hanzo showed me. It has been quite some time since those days in Mikawa, but...
The Doctor waited until they were almost out of sight before he silently stood up and slipped out of his hiding place in pursuit.
IV.
Irial was in a state of panic. He could not find Amy anywhere. He wrapped his power around him and sent his mind out to hers, seeking the thoughts that had so intrigued him right from the very start, that curious mixture of alertness and humor, of innocence and perception, of openness and hidden corners that he could not penetrate. All the other minds around him, he saw. The High Lords were like welding torch flames, incandescent, blazing pure. He could read even them with ridiculous ease when he was applying his gifts like this. The human servants were fragile swirls of color, little kaleidoscopes, likely to be broken if one was not careful, shade and shape, but not much of interest. The other species in the house had their own significations and permutations, but none of them were what he so frantically sought. The one he looked for, the patterns that had enchanted him were missing. She simply was not.
It is not possible. What can have happened?
He had dismounted in the courtyard and gone straight up the stairs to her room intending to ask her to walk in the moonlight with him. He'd had no firm plans, only instincts driving him, and even though there were voices in the back of his head screaming at him that his actions were unwise, he'd shut them out, knocked firmly on her door, and...
Received no answer at all. Even when he knocked again. And again.
He'd called out to her, telling her that he was concerned for her and that he was going to open the door if she didn't open it. When there again came no response, he'd put his hand to the latch and it had swung easily in to reveal a bed unslept-in, a chamber undisturbed, fire banked for the night and burning low.
Frowning, he turned away. Had he not specifically told those who were remaining behind to keep her in her quarters tonight? It was dangerous for her to be out and about on her own, but most especially on a night of the high moon...
But it is Amy. And she is headstrong...
He expected at first to find her downstairs, perhaps in the library or perhaps sitting and talking with one of the High Lords who had remained at Raven House. A brief flash of annoyance flickered through him that she would have found someone she liked to sit and talk with this late into the night, but he waved it away.
As he moved from room to room and found no Amy, his confidence slipped. No one he met had seen her. No, the Lady Amelia had not come down after dinner. Yes, she had, per his instructions, been shown to her chambers and had expressed her weariness. As far as anyone knew, she was there still.
"Find her. All of you will search. Look for her now! Look everywhere! Find her, and if the slightest distress has come to her..." This was said in a tone sheathed in ice. The High Lords of Raven House scattered.
V.
The Doctor slipped along the passage behind the little band of High Lords. None of them seemed to be aware of his presence. The gentle noise of fabric rustling and leaf-soft step was more than enough to cover his own careful movement.
As long as I pay attention to what I'm doing here, I should be fine...
It was difficult to keep a balance of being far enough behind them to remain hidden in the darkness and close enough to them that some of their light was useful for his own eyes. He longed to bring out his sonic screwdriver, both for the illumination and for the comfort of having it in the hand.
Not that it will really do me any good against those blades, mind you, but it's the principal of the thing, I suppose. And nobody likes the dark. I'm not afraid of the dark, mind you. It's just...too many things hide in the dark... He shook off memories, forced a sardonic twist to his lips. Including me, right now, I suppose. I guess I'll take a bit of comfort in that. I'm one of the scary things in the shadows today...
As always in the Ways, time and space seemed just a little warped. It was a bit like looking at things in a Fun House mirror or having been on a ride that spun too fast for too long and then trying to walk in a straight line. The longer he was inside the Ways, the worse it became for him. It seemed just a little harder than it should have been for him to tell how long he'd been in here, how long he'd been following this group of High Lords, how far they were journeying.
Because these things are abomination. He shuddered. Just bore a big hole right through the fabric of everything. A big old hole that can be sutured closed or healed up or filled in. Sure. Right. Go ahead! No way that's a bad idea.
The raw pulsing of the components of the universe pressed down on him momentarily despite his efforts to shield against them, and he strained to get his mental barriers back in place. Perhaps that struggle was the reason he didn't notice the High Lords stop until he'd taken two footsteps, two very loud footsteps in that tomb-silent passage, more toward them.
VI.
"My Lord, we have searched every room in the House. She is not within the keep." The young blonde elf who had been given charge of keeping Amy safe now reported this news.
Irial was coming up the stairs from the basement chambers. His fear had driven him to go down to check, just to make sure she had not found her way past the locked doors, down to...
"She cannot have simply faded into the thin air. You will continue to search. Look for anything. Any trace, any sign."
"My Lord." The High Lord bowed and darted away.
Irial leaned heavily against a large black wood console in the entry hall, his mind racing through possibilities.
What now? Where now? Is it possible that she ran away? Or that the Doctor for some reason, that he came and took her, that they are gone, that they somehow know? The Time Lords are said to be canny, perceptive...
The door opened and Aelfric strode in. "The entire House is in an uproar. What ails my Lord?"
Irial did not turn. "You will no doubt find it amusing. She is gone, Aelfric."
Aelfric, puzzled, walked to stand just behind Irial. "Gone milord? Who?"
"The Lady Amelia. I came home to...to...to..and she was not here. I am a fool. Even fate conspires to protect her from me..." His hand closed into a fist, pale against the dark wood.
Aelfric was very still. "You have searched the house."
Irial turned with a bitter laugh. "I know you think my brain addled, but I am not so gone that I did not think of that, Aelfric. She is not here. There is no sign of her anywhere. It is as if she never existed."
"And the grounds? Have they searched the grounds?" His tone was urgent.
"As...we speak. Why?"
Aelfric grabbed his arm. "Come."
Irial shook his hand off. "Where? Aelfric? What is it?"
Aelfric looked at him, his eyes full of regret. "The Maze, milord... "
Irial was in motion with the words, Aelfric half a step behind him.
VII.
The band of High Lords had paused before a large carved door arch. When they heard the Doctor's accidental extra footfalls, they spun and peered into the darkness. One of them turned and made a curious gesture, something like flinging a handful of air toward the noise he'd heard. As his hand moved, he murmured the liquid syllables of his language. The Doctor found himself revealed by sudden brilliance, outlined in colored lights that burned bright enough to illuminate even the high and distant ceiling. He stood with one hand slightly raised, squinting as his eyes adjusted.
Damn.
As always, he went with the option of brazening it out.
"Oh. Hello. Fancy meeting you lot here. Fairy Fire, is it? I've heard of it, of course, but I've never seen it in use before. So this is what it looks like in real life. I'm a living neon sculpture! Fantastic! Probably won't last long, but then, I don't guess it really has to, now does it?" He grinned.
"Seize him!"
He sighed, put his hands down as the High Lords grabbed him roughly. "Oh, now how did I know that's what you were going to say. Can't anyone come up with something original?"
As a final note, I'd just like to say thanks to jumptheshark for one of the best reviews/"what's going to happen next" write ups I've ever gotten. Who knows? All kinds of things happen. Keep looking for portals near you. :) Thanks to everyone who reads. Thanks to everyone who reviews. Happy New Year to you all.