-REMEMBER ME-
PART II
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Impossible Eleventh
"Actually," says Jexlan as we turn to follow Tragalade. He looks awkward, but hopeful. "I thought Clara might like to…erm…see the Temples? Learn our history?"
You and I exchange a look. The Temples he speaks of sounds interesting, but I've got a bad feeling about separating. You nudge me.
"Go ahead, Clara," you say. "I can tell you want to. I'll figure out what's going on, and tell you everything, and you can catch me up on the history of this place."
I nod, biting my lip. "Yeah, I'd like to go, it's just…"
"What?"
I shake my head. I don't want to sound clingy, regardless of any bad feelings.
"Nothing. Alright, I'll go," I grin at you, and tug you down to my level by your scarf to peck you on the cheek.
"Have fun," you say, grinning, cheeks a bit pink.
Tragalade nods. "Alright then. Clara, Jexlan will show you our temples. They are quite fascinating. I'm sure you will enjoy them."
You hand me off to Jexlan, who grins.
"I promise you'll not be disappointed," Jexlan says, and I smile at him, looping my hand through his arm.
"Alright, then, Doctor, if you'll come with me," says Tragalade. We both go our separate ways, but before we turn I look over my shoulder at you. And you've done the same. We share a look, one I'm not entirely sure about, but makes butterflies shoot through my stomach. You smile reassuringly at me, and I smile back. Then Tragalade turns.
"Oh, Jexlan, Clara," he says, and we stop. "I must ask you not to leave the city under any circumstance, and to take the tunnels to the Temple. As you've seen, the crowd is one I'm sure you'd rather avoid, and they surely will have glimpsed your face, Clara. For them to see you would only rile them up again. The people of this city are good people, but we are quite the violent bunch when it comes to getting our hopes up."
Tragalade smiles, his eyes twinkling. But there is a dark warning in those eyes.
"Yes, sir," says Jexlan, placing a fist over his chest in a gesture of a salute. Tragalade nods. I exchange one last look with you, and we separate.
Jexlan leads me across the hall, not towards the entrance, but towards a side wall hidden behind the columns. "This way," he says. "Tragalade is wise, telling us to stay off the streets. He's right about our people. We may be in a ceasefire at the moment, but we are at war. And we are violent."
Jexlan opens a door that opens to a flight of stairs going down. He takes a torch form the wall, and lights it. He leads our way down the stairs, with myself following close behind.
Our journey through the tunnels is mostly silent, aside from a few words. The tunnels are eerie and dark. Once or twice we pass people on their way to different destinations. I fail to understand why this is a major route of travel for these people. The tunnels are more than eerie, they are a bit sinister; as if they have seen evil. More than once I find myself shivering in the cold, damp underground, and I cling to Jexlan's arm, wishing that it was yours. Without you, I feel unsafe.
When we are finally out of the tunnels I breathe a sigh of relief, and I blink in the sunlight.
"Where are we?" I ask.
But as my eyes adjust, my question answers itself.
In front of me is a great temple made of stone. It resembles something of Earth, the old Greek and Roman temples, with its columns and statues. But there is something distinctively alien about it. Perhaps it is the fact that that particular dark hue of grayish stone could not be found anywhere on Earth, or maybe it is the blue veins of light pulsing in the cracks the are embedded in the stone. Or, it could be none of those, and it could be that the statues, though crumbling, don't quite match up to the craftsmanship of the early stone workers of Earth.
"This is the old temple," explains Jexlan. He puts out the torch as I stare in awe at the building. "This is where we store our history, our true history, as one you will not find in the Capitol. In the Capitol, they only show what they would want the people to know, so they might further control the people. Here, we hide nothing. Our history is for all to know."
"Well, at least you're not big on secrets," I say.
Jexlan smiles enigmatically.
"We have our fair share of those, as well. Though Tragalade likes to keep most of those close to his chest."
Jexlan leads me up the stairs, past two huge marble statues. Both are of majestic old men with long beards that graze the ground, and both statues are larger than life.
Then we enter though the large wooden front doors, partially rotten and covered in ivy; though they looked as though once upon a time they might have been varnished and gleaming and beautiful.
"This is our history, and we never forget it. Every moment is contained within these walls. It is sacred, and to forget that history is our biggest crime…."
Jexlan continues to speak, telling me things about them. I follow him through the hall, observing all of the carvings and paintings. A picture of a woman holding a child, of several people crowded around a fire, a ceremonial dance, a hunt. I pause at a painting of a single man standing in front of a great beast, a lone hero wielding a spear against a great monster.
"Tragalade," explains Jexlan. "This depicts his victory against the great beast."
"How did he…?"
"He threw the spear with great aim, and it tore through the great beast's eye. But the beast was not quite dead, and in it's pain and blindness it knocked Tragalade off his feet, and bit at anything it could find, angry and wounded as it was. And the first thing it found to bite was Tragalade's leg. It tore it clean through. But Tragalade continued to fight, and stabbed the great beast through the brain with the knife he kept in his belt. The final blow killed the great beast, and Tragalde was victorious. Wounded and bleeding, he tied a tourniquet around his severed leg and crawled back to civilization, making it only a few miles before the wild people found him and healed him."
"The wild people?" I ask.
"They are those who has shunned city life, living outside the walls. They are a strange people."
"Oh," I say, reminded of our own people on Gallifrey who live in the wilds, shunning our way of life.
"Let us continue," says Jexlan. I follow him round a corner, and there is an abrupt change in tone.
Jexlan continues to speak as we pass by these carvings and paintings, but I linger, something niggling at the back of my brain. They are strange, different, more modern and, somehow…alien.
I pause at the wall carving of a woman. She seems odd, out of place. And somehow, very, very familiar. Her clothing is not like the clothes I have seen people on this planet wear. Her clothes are more of the kind one would perhaps see on Earth, in the early 21st century. Her haircut is sharp and shiny, thick and lustrous, so unlike these people's hair. She wears a skirt and a leather jacket, but her body is turned away, her face hidden. Surrounding her are children, children who are obviously natives of Trenzalore.
"Who is she?" I ask Jexlan, a feeling of something tugging at the back of my head. A memory? Something. Something about this painting is not right.
Jexlan stops, and turns, coming to stand beside me. He examines the image with a small smile, as though this was his favorite painting in the whole building.
"She is the girl. The girl who came with Him. His companion. The girl that he called…Impossible."
I look at him sharply.
A memory fights to my head, stronger than any memory before while I have been conscious or not-regenerating. It is muffled, though, blurry, shrouded in darkness. Hidden deep within the recesses of my mind, only coming back to the surface.
"What did he mean I'm the Impossible Girl? How exactly am I impossible?"
"Oh, it's just a thing in my head! I'll explain later!"
I struggle to remember it clearly, to remember the man's voice clearly and perhaps attach a face to it, but nothing else is forthcoming. I open my eyes and look at the painting again, my head begins to hurt.
"Who's He?" I ask, remembering Jexlan's words.
Jexlan smiles enigmatically. His eyes are mysterious. Silently, he leads me to another place, a place that seems special by it's round space and domed ceiling. In the center, like a plinth, stands a larger-than-life statue. I gasp as I lay eyes upon it.
I know this man.
How, I'm not sure, I can't possibly have seen him before.
But I know him.
His arms are stretched out wide, though whether this is in a welcoming gesture, or something more sinister, it is hard to tell. It could be either come with me, I will help you. Or it could be one of command, as though the man is indicating. I am your ruler, you will follow me, you will worship me. It's intention is unclear, it could be both.
His chin is large, his hair flipped over to one side and sleek and shiny. His dark eyes glitter beneath a nearly eyebrow-less brow.
His clothing is though from another era as well, another planet. He wears a knee-length coast with lapels. The statue depicts this as purple. His pants are fitted to his thin black pants, and on his feet are wingtip brown boots that are very distinctly Victorian. On his gray waistcoat hangs a pocket-watch, and on his neck….on his neck is tied a bow-tie.
"I know you," I whisper to myself, reaching out a hand and touching the pocket-watch chain on his waistcoat, the highest part I can reach. "How do I know you?"
If Jexlan hears me, he pretends not to.
"He is the enigma. The one who was there at the very beginning. He is the man shrouded in mystery. Even our peoples could not record his history. His tale is one that has been passed down through the ages, and so distorted with every telling. He is our God. He founded this world. He gave us speech and memory and intelligence. He gave us knowledge and wisdom. He saved us all, but the doom of his future hung over his head. A question would be asked, a question that must never be answered."
"What question?" I asked, in a terrified whisper.
"The first question. The oldest question in the universe."
"But what is the question?"
Jexlan looks at me, hard and long.
"Doctor Who?"
~Run you clever boy, and remember me~
A/N: Sorry for the long wait! Finals week, you know how it is. I'd been super-busy and I'd also lost the will to write, but it's come back now and I've got plenty of time! Happy Christmas!
So, how did you all enjoy the 50th? Was it as amazing as you hoped it be? It was for me! Of course, I had to re-write the ending to this story because of it, but that's okay, because I like the new ending a lot better.
Also, WHY DOES MATT SMITH HAVE TO REGENERATE? WHY WHY WHY? *sobs uncontrollably*
Matt, I love you and I'm sure I speak for everyone when I say you were a fantastic Doctor and we will all miss you terribly! Good luck in your future endeavors, and know that the Doctor Who fandom will always, always be there for you! Matt, you were my Doctor. And you were a very, very cool one. Bow-ties and fezzes will always and forever be cool because of you. Geronimo!
Anyway, leave a review, dear readers, and I'll keep typing!