NOTE: This is the first chapter of the revised version of the story. I am currently uploading it to AO3 and will update this version as well. I'll write in the note if the chapter has been revised :-)
Revised: 14/1-25
~ PROLOGUE ~
Once Upon a Time... in Cardiff
On a worn wooden bench in Cardiff, a young woman sat watching the bustle of city life pass her by. To the human eye, she appeared no older than 25 or 26, her features youthful and unassuming. Yet beneath the surface, Ailla was far older—centuries older.
She was a Time Lady, one of Gallifrey's elite. Or rather, the last Time Lady of Gallifrey, though she didn't yet know the tragic truth of her people's fate.
For years, Ailla had been stranded on Earth, tethered to this planet like an anchor she couldn't lift. What had begun as a brief detour had stretched into decades—a lifetime in Earth's terms. Her goal was clear: to find another Time Lord. Surely, one of her own would eventually turn up in a TARDIS and whisk her away, back to the stars or perhaps even home to Gallifrey.
Her search had led her to Cardiff, the unassuming Welsh city perched atop a Rift in time and space. The Rift was a portal of chaotic energy, a wound in the fabric of reality that drew in the strange and extraordinary. To Ailla, it was a beacon—a place where she might cross paths with another of her kind. And so, she waited.
The days blurred into weeks, and the weeks into months. Cardiff, with its perpetual drizzle and occasional sunny breaks, had become her reluctant prison. She told herself it was temporary. Someone would come. Someone had to come.
A voice interrupted her reverie.
"Hello."
Ailla glanced up, startled. A young woman with strikingly blonde hair had sat down next to her and was smiling warmly.
"Um… hello?" Ailla replied, her voice cautious.
"Ailla, right?"
The stranger's familiarity with her name sent a ripple of unease through her.
"Yeah…" she answered hesitantly. "Have we met before?"
The blonde woman's eyes flicked toward the passersby, as though scanning for someone. "Not yet," she said enigmatically, her smile never faltering. "But we will."
Before Ailla could respond, the woman clapped her hands with sudden energy.
"Right! We need to get going," and she leaped up from her spot on the bench.
"What?" Ailla blinked, confused. "Go where? And we? I don't even know who you are!"
The blonde paused mid-step and turned back to Ailla. "Oh, sorry! You can call me Isabella, if you'd like" she said cheerfully. "Now, come along. We're on a tight schedule!"
Ailla hesitated, her instincts screaming caution. But curiosity won out. She stood and followed.
"Where exactly are we going?"
"Not far," Isabella replied cryptically, her pace brisk.
"Care to elaborate on not far?" Ailla pressed.
Isabella's grin widened. "Let's just say you've got somewhere to be. And trust me, you don't want to be late."
The cryptic remarks were grating, and Ailla finally came to a halt. "No! No! Not another step until you tell me what's going on."
The blonde woman turned, her expression patient. "Alright, I'm an open book, what do you want to know?"
"Who are you?"
"Can't tell you that."
"What?! You just said you were an open book!"
"I did. But there are rules. I can't reveal anything that might mess with the timeline. Your future depends on it."
Ailla frowned, her mind racing. "Oh, you're from the future, aren't you? … my future?"
Isabella's grin returned. "Now you're catching on! Yes, I am indeed someone from your future."
"Alright, fine," Ailla muttered. "But can you at least tell me where we're headed."
"I suppose telling you shouldn't be an issue." Isabella replied, "I'm taking you to a TARDIS."
Ailla's heart skipped a beat. "A TARDIS?Really?"
"Yup." Isabella said, popping the p.
"Whose?"
"Someone you know … Well, someone you've met before."
"Who?"
"The Doctor."
The mention of the Doctor's name made Ailla stop in her tracks.
"The Doctor?" she repeated, her voice tinged with disbelief.
Isabella looked back at her. "Yeah ... now come or you won't be there in time, before he leaves."
"No. No way. He'd never agree to take me along. He's sort of the reason I'm stuck here in the first place!"
Isabella's expression softened, though her pace didn't falter. "Oh, I know all about that. Trust me, he'll take you, now hurry up!"
"But ... but ..."
"Stop fussing, I promise you he'll have no problem taking you with him—I'm from the future, remember?!" Isabella said with a smile.
Ailla wanted to argue, but something about Isabella's certainty gave her pause. Against her better judgment, she followed.
The pair walked in silence until Isabella finally stopped at the edge of Roald Dahl Plass. She gestured toward the square.
"Alright, this is where we part ways," she announced. "Just head over there. You'll see the Doctor's TARDIS. It hasn't changed a bit."
"Wait," Ailla said, her nerves fraying. "You're sure he'll take me?"
Isabella flashed a grin. "Positive. Just be honest with him."
"OK." Ailla took a deep breath. "Here we go. Wish me luck."
Isabella grinned. "Trust me, you won't need it."
Before Ailla could say another word, Isabella turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving her alone.
Ailla stood frozen, watching as Isabella vanished into the throng of passersby. The woman's cheerful demeanor and cryptic knowledge lingered like a faint echo in her mind. Something about the encounter felt... off.
Who was Isabella, really? And why had she been so certain about the Doctor's willingness to take her along? Ailla's heart clenched at the thought of meeting him again—him, of all people. She wanted to believe Isabella, but how could she trust someone she'd just met? Someone who claimed to know her future?
Her instincts told her to tread carefully. Trust was a fragile thing, and it had burned her before. She had spent decades stranded on Earth, clinging to the hope of finding someone, anyone, who could help her escape. But the sudden appearance of a stranger promising exactly what she needed felt almost too convenient.
Could this be a trap? Or worse—was she being manipulated by someone who knew her desperation? Ailla glanced toward the plaza, where Isabella had said the Doctor's TARDIS would be waiting. If this was a trick, she'd find out soon enough. But if it wasn't… could she really afford not to try?
Her feet felt heavy as she took the first step forward, her mind still swirling with doubt. Trusting strangers wasn't her style, but then again, what other choice did she have?
The Doctor stood leaning against the TARDIS, his brow furrowed in a mix of boredom and mild impatience. His gaze darted between his wristwatch and the chip shop Clara had disappeared into minutes ago—though, for him, it felt like hours.
"Hello, Doctor!"
The voice was cheerful, startling him out of his musings. He turned to see a woman standing a few feet away, her expression brimming with excitement.
"Eh... hello," the Doctor replied, his tone cautious, confusion etched into his face.
"Oh, of course, you don't recognize me!" the woman exclaimed, more to herself than to him. "I mean, why would you? I've changed, and it's been so long—a lifetime, really. Well, two... three actually—at least for me. Considering you've regenerated since, it could've been thousands of years for you, so I can't really blame you for not remembering me, can I?"
She was rambling, and it was so rapid-fire that the Doctor, legendary for his own tangential speeches, struggled to keep up. His brow arched higher as she continued.
"Wait—hold on," the Doctor interjected, raising a hand to stop her torrent of words. "You've met me before? In an earlier regeneration?"
"Well, yes! That's what I just said—weren't you paying attention?" she quipped, her tone playful yet a touch exasperated. "The last time we met, you were in your second regeneration. Short, dark hair, deep frown, a bit grumpy?"
"Yes, yes, that was me," the Doctor said, his voice trailing off. His mind worked furiously, trying to place her. "But... I'm really sorry—I don't seem to remember you."
"Of course you wouldn't!" she said with an almost teasing grin. "I've regenerated twice since then. New face, new everything. You wouldn't recognize me!"
"Regenerated?" The Doctor's face paled. "You've regenerated?"
"Come on, Doctor, guess! Who do you think I am?" Her eyes twinkled with amusement, clearly enjoying his bewilderment.
"I'm not playing games," he said sharply, though his tone betrayed his rising curiosity. "Who are you?"
Her smile widened, a mix of mischief and genuine warmth. "It's me... Ailla. Remember? I used to travel with Koschei."
The Doctor froze, his eyes widening in recognition. "Ailla? No... it can't be! Ailla!" His expression shifted, a mixture of shock and disbelief. "Oh, I never even considered that you might..." He began mumbling incoherently, half to himself, his hands gesturing wildly.
"Do I get a hug, or are you going to keep muttering to yourself all day?" Ailla said, her grin widening.
"A hug? Of course, you do—come here!" The Doctor opened his arms, and Ailla stepped into them, her own arms wrapping tightly around him.
"I'm so glad to see you," he murmured, his voice warm.
"Likewise," she replied, her face pressed into his shoulder. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the weight of years—and regenerations—melting away.
When they finally pulled apart, Ailla took a small step back, her hands lingering on his forearms for a moment. They stood in companionable silence until she broke it.
"So, Doctor... can I come with you?" Her voice was hesitant, the humor in her earlier words giving way to something quieter, more vulnerable. "I promise I won't try to arrest you again—or anything like that," she added quickly, a faint blush creeping into her cheeks.
The Doctor's face softened, his smile gentle. "Of course, you can," he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the universe.
Before Ailla could respond, a voice rang out behind them.
"What did I miss?"
The Doctor turned, his smile broadening as Clara strode toward them, a paper-wrapped bundle of chips in hand. Steam wafted up from the package, the unmistakable scent of salt and vinegar reaching Ailla.
"Oh, just an old friend," the Doctor said breezily, reaching out to snag a chip from the bundle. He popped it into his mouth with a satisfied grin. "And we've got lots to catch up on."
Clara raised an eyebrow but said nothing, her gaze flicking between the two of them. Ailla glanced at Clara, then back at the Doctor, her heart lighter than it had been in years.
Inside the TARDIS, the hum of the engines filled the air, a comforting backdrop as the Doctor explained—albeit in his usual broad and somewhat evasive terms—who Ailla was to Clara. Clara, ever the optimist, had been delighted to hear that he'd found another Time Lord. After offering her congratulations and a warm smile to Ailla, she'd excused herself to give the two some privacy, disappearing down the corridor to her room.
Ailla now sat in the pilot seat, legs crossed, watching as the Doctor flitted around the console. His hands darted across the controls, flipping switches and pressing buttons in a seemingly haphazard fashion. She had to suppress a smile—some things, it seemed, never changed.
Without warning, he stopped, his hand hovering over a lever, and looked up at her, curiosity lighting his face.
"I'm curious," he began. "How did you end up in 21st-century Cardiff?" He straightened, folding his arms. "Last I saw you, it was the 34th century, wasn't it? Or... was it the 35th?" He frowned, clearly trying to recall. "Either way, a bit of a leap, isn't it?"
"It was the 34th century," Ailla corrected gently. "3375, to be exact. And yes, it's quite the leap." She sighed. "It's a dull story, really."
"Try me," the Doctor urged. "Just the important bits. How long it's been for you, how you got from the 34th century to the 21st—give me the highlights."
"Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you." She leaned back in the chair, her voice tinged with weariness. "From my perspective, it's been about 80 years. I stayed in the 34th century for quite a while, trying to figure out my next steps. Then I met this bloke with a Vortex Manipulator. He didn't exactly deserve it, and… well, I'm not proud of this, but I sort of... borrowed it."
The Doctor's eyebrows shot up. "Borrowed it? You mean stole it."
"Fine," she admitted, her cheeks flushing slightly. "I stole it. And I used it to jump around for a bit, trying to find a Time Lord—any Time Lord—who could give me a ride home. But then I ended up in Cardiff in 2007. The Vortex Manipulator died—probably thanks to the Rift—and that was that. I've been stuck here ever since, keeping an eye out for any Time Lords who might turn up." She spread her hands in a gesture of resignation.
The Doctor's face softened, a flicker of guilt crossing his features. "Oh, Ailla, I'm so sorry. If I'd known you'd end up stranded on Earth, I would never have left you behind back on Darkheart."
Ailla held up a hand, shaking her head firmly. "No, Doctor. You don't need to apologize." Her voice was calm but tinged with regret. "It was my fault. I shouldn't have threatened to arrest you. I was young, naive, desperate to prove myself to my superiors…" Her voice trailed off, and for a moment, her gaze drifted somewhere far away, lost in memories.
When she looked back at him, there was a small, self-deprecating smile on her lips. "Besides, I can't exactly blame you for the fact that no Time Lords crossed my path all those years, can I?" Her tone was light, almost teasing, but there was an unspoken hopefulness in her eyes.
The Doctor managed a smile in return, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He turned back to the console, his fingers brushing absently over a row of levers. "No, I suppose not," he murmured, his voice quieter now.
He didn't have the heart to tell her the truth—not yet. That there were no other Time Lords to find, no Gallifrey to return to. The weight of that knowledge sat heavily in his chest, but he kept it hidden, offering her a soft smile instead.
Ailla didn't seem to notice the bittersweet edge in his expression. For now, she was content, finally back aboard a TARDIS and reunited with an old friend.