The Winter of Our Discontent, Part II: The Devil Went Down to Anjou (2/3)

[lareinenoire]

Title: The Winter of Our Discontent, Part II: The Devil Went Down to Anjou
Authors: lareinenoire and rosamund
Summary: Something is rotten in the state of England...and it's not just the heads mounted above the gates of York. Can the Doctor and Jack solve the mystery and, even more importantly, can they sober up in a land without safe drinking water?
Rating: PG13 for language and thematic material
Wordcount (Part II): 11,066 (including footnotes)
Warnings (for all three parts): Some violence, drunkenness, Jack Harkness behaving like Jack Harkness, implied debauchery, implied slash, bad chronicle jokes, very bad Shakespeare jokes, and possibly educational footnotes.
Disclaimer: Jack, the Doctor, and the TARDIS belong to RTD. Everybody else has been dead long enough that they really shouldn't care.
Notes: Set between the end of the third series of Doctor Who ('The Last of the Time Lords') and the beginning of the second series of Torchwood ('Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang'). Once again, the footnotes needed to go into a separate entry due to length -- they are HERE. Again, many thanks to angevin2 for beta-reading! And to speak_me_fair for the banner!

Part I: This Sun of York






"Excuse me?" said the clockman, head tilted to one side. "Could you please move your telephone box? We are cleaning the street."

"Uh, Doctor, tell me these weren't here when we left," Jack requested, leaning back towards him. "Did I really drink that much?"

"No, Jack, they weren't," he was reassured. "Something is rotten in the state of Cardiff."

"Could you please move your telephone box, sir?" the clockman repeated. If it were possible for them to look confused, it probably would have done. "It is blocking the street."

"Oh, right," the Doctor said hurriedly. "Yes, of course. Before we do get out of your...parts, could you tell us what year this is and who's Prime Minister? Actually, for that matter, who's Queen--or King?"

"This is the year 2007. I do not recognise the term 'Prime Minister'. We have no King. Queen Margaret VIII reigns over us, long may she live."

"This is not good," Jack muttered, casting an uneasy glance around him at signs no longer in Welsh and English. He'd had a Spanish girlfriend once, and he thought the other language might be that of Spain.

"Right, thank you very much," the Doctor breezed, apparently without hearing. "We'll just get out of your way now."

"Thank you very much, sir." The clockman turned and made his way toward what appeared to be a standard-issue street cleaning vehicle. With a shrug and a wink, the Doctor beckoned Jack back into the TARDIS.

The next time the door opened, it was onto a far smaller street with cobblestones and Jacobean windows. And, right opposite, a bookshop. "Just what we need," the Doctor remarked. "If you want to know what's going on, head for the books."

A bell jangled as they entered the shop, which seemed to be inordinately full of staircases. The books lay in precarious piles three feet deep in places, apparently holding up the walls. On the counter sat a luxuriously furred white cat, purring like a motorboat.

"May I help you, gentlemen?" enquired the dust-covered old man seated behind the cat.

"I was wondering if you might have a book for me," the Doctor said sweetly. Then, to Jack's unconcealed surprise, he twirled like a man being measured for a suit.

"Is it a book about dancing?"

"No. You see, when I last left this town--" At Jack's glare, he amended his description to "--city, the Queen was Elizabeth, second of that name. Now I find out it's someone called Margaret and the Welsh language appears to have dropped off the face of the earth."

The man looked at him as if he'd sprouted a second head. "I'm afraid we've never had a Queen Elizabeth, sir. And if you want someone who speaks Welsh, you'll want the university. Although we do have some Welsh dictionaries at the back."

"Do you have anything on Edward of York or Margaret of Anjou, then?" He looked and sounded a little disappointed in the bookseller, who was stroking the cat in a disturbingly Blofeld fashion.

"Fifteenth century. Up that staircase, third door on the left."

They followed his directions, tracing a path through dust fully an inch thick. It seemed the fifteenth century was a little visited place. Jack was valiantly trying not to sneeze when the Doctor gave a cry like that of a man seeing a long-absent friend. "Will! I should have guessed he'd help."

"What?"

"Look." He thrust a book the seller probably described as slightly foxed under Jack's nose, pointing at the title. "Henry VI, Part Three. He still wrote it. Always a man for the Histories, that one."

It wasn't a play Jack had read, and he found himself stuck on the first page of the introduction. "Originally titled The True Tragedy of Edward of York?"1

"Oh, dear," the Doctor said, taking the book back and flipping through it. "I really thought we fixed that." The flapping pages of the book slowed and the Doctor gave an incoherent snort of derision. "Oh, come on! I am not that incomprehensible."

"You're in there?" Jack demanded, before his brain caught up with his mouth. "Am I?"

The Doctor gave him a slow, considering look. "I should say so. Will never could resist your sort of stunt, though I must say he seems to have embroidered it immensely. Unless I closed my eyes for about three hours."

"What?!"

"Mind keeping it down up there?" the bookseller's voice echoed. "You're frightening Snowbell."

"Snowbell?" the Doctor mouthed incredulously and Jack had to grab at a biography of Edward IV to stifle his laughter. It had the portrait of a nice-looking young man with fair hair and dark eyes--who was definitely not Edward of York.

Gaping, he thrust it at the Doctor who replaced the Shakespeare with a random piece of paper as a bookmark in order to take it. He looked at the back, saying, "The son of Henry VI and Margaret of Anjou. This is Edward of Lancaster."

"Both of them Edward? Not very creative with names back then, were they?"

"No, Jack, they weren't." He was now flipping through the biography at an unreasonable speed. "This isn't helpful. Is there one of Margaret?"

Jack peered at the dusty tomes, finally spotting one that looked as though it would suit. Again, the Doctor seemed to fly through the book. It really wasn't fair. "Oh, here we are: The battle of Towton is the first recorded appearance of homo horologius, although garbled accounts from both Wakefield and Mortimer's Cross hint at their presence, particularly the latter, with its mysterious three suns over the battlefield. What we do know is that even with an army of nearly 20,000 men, the Yorkists were slaughtered. This scene was immortalised more than a century later by William Shakespeare in the third part of Henry VI, which includes one of his most famous and most confusing lines--the young Duke Edward's final cry, 'A doctor, a doctor, my kingdom for a doctor!'"

"Doctor?" Jack whispered.

"My kingdom for one. Well, he got that right anyway." He pounded one fist into his open palm. "If I'd only had more time! There must have been another lot of them and I should have seen that."

He span on one heel, grabbing for Henry VI as he did. "Where are we? Towton, Towton, here we...oh. Jack, you really shouldn't have done that."

"Why? What did I do?" Jack demanded, trying to look over the Doctor's shoulder at the text.

"Do you know about Richard II?"

"I know he's not the hunchback or the Lionheart but, other than that..." He trailed off into an embarrassed silence.

The Doctor thrust the book at him, finger pointing out a speech of Margaret of Anjou's. "Let's say he liked his pretty boys."

Trying and failing to blush, Jack said, "Oh. So how about that confusing line, then?"

"Of all the convincing attempts to change the subject, that's not one of them." Despite this censure, he apparently couldn't resist flipping to the end of the battle. "Oh, Will, you hack!"

"Why, what did he say?"

"Have you ever read--or seen, for that matter--Richard III?"

Jack thought about this for a minute, before saying, "My kingdom for a horse, winter of discontent, that Richard III?"

"Made glorious summer by this son of York." Confusingly, he shaded his eyes on the word 'son'. "Which can't exist in this reality. That's a travesty. But, to answer your question, he transplanted that scene as verbatim as he could." After a pause, he frowned and added, "I am not leaving the world without Richard. Vamanos!"

"Vamanos?"

"I can't say allons-y all the time. I'm trying something new."

***

When the TARDIS doors opened, they found themselves in a cramped alleyway. From just over a nearby roof, Jack could see the twin bell towers of Westminster Abbey. "Uh, when are we?"

In answer to which, the Doctor ran out into the street to question a passing watchman. Or something. He had what might have been a uniform at least. "Excuse me, my companion and I have been on the road for some time. Could you tell us what day it is, please?"

"About..." he counted on his fingers, "three weeks before Easter."

"Thank you. That's good to know. When is Easter this year?"

"End of March, I think. Not sure."

"So it's March now?" the Doctor probed. It was unclear whether he was losing his patience or not, but Jack certainly was.

"Yes," the man said very slowly. "Yes. It is. The Earl of Warwick left about five days ago, to meet the Queen."

"Queen Margaret?"

"There's another?"

"In 1461, no," he allowed. "Thank you. You've been very helpful. Come, Jack."

Jack, glaring and muttering under his breath, nevertheless followed him along the distinctly horse-smelling streets to the buildings across from Westminster Abbey. "The Palace of Westminster. That's where Edward's likely to be--as the King."

"He's the King now?"

The Doctor gave him a serious look. "He claimed the throne a few days ago. Hence the speech I showed you." Then, brightening up, "Now let's go and find him. We can be official messengers. Or maybe heralds. I've never been a herald before."

"You are seriously nuts, you know that?"

He shot Jack one of his trademark smiles, all eyes and teeth, and scurried over to the guards at the entrance to the Palace holding up the psychic paper. "Good morning, gentlemen. We need to see the King."

"The Doctor!" The man's grin lit up his entire face. "They're telling all kinds of stories about you."

The Doctor turned the psychic paper towards himself and snorted. "So that's what I was thinking. Out of interest, what stories are they telling?"

"Are you truly Merlin?"

"I'm never sure," he said to the guard's patent confusion.

"But the stories say you appear and disappear. I have a friend whose cousin's brother-in-law was at Mortimer's Cross and he said he saw you walk into a big blue box and disappear."

"And do you remember Merlin having a big blue box?"

"He might have been wrong about the box. He lost an eye at Northampton."

"He wasn't wrong. I parked it in an alley back that way. What's your name, by the way?"

"Walter, sir." His enthusiasm very nearly rivalled the Doctor's. "An honour to meet you."

"Good to meet you, too."

"Hi," Jack said. "I'm..."

"Jack. Remember the True Tragedy," the Doctor warned.

"I was saying hello."

"With you, even that's a pick-up line."

"Oh, well, when you put it like that..." Jack pouted. "Should we find Edward?"

Enthusiasm still palpable, the Doctor nodded. "Indeed. Do you know where to find the King, Walter?"

"The hall, I should think. Just through that courtyard and up the stairs."

"Thank you." He gestured with his head for Jack to follow him to the indicated staircase.

It was only as they entered the large, timber-vaulted room and he caught sight of Ned that Jack began to think about the realities of the situation. He hadn't exactly expected to see him again when he'd kissed him.

"Doctor!" Ned jumped off the dais in a blur of green brocade, crossing the room in several bounds to grab the Doctor's hand. "Right on time, I see."

"You were looking for me?"

"I had my hopes," Ned admitted with a grin. "I cannot think how you do it, but you bring me the best of luck."

"You have a fan," Jack murmured, smiling for what felt like the first time since he'd seen Ned. His heart was beating uncomfortably hard and fast, and he decided to yell at the Doctor later for not warning him about fifteenth-century fashion that wasn't armour. He should have at least mentioned the tights.

Ned's eyes moved to him, with what might have been hesitation, and he let go of the Doctor to hold out his hand. "Captain."

All too aware of the Doctor's eyes on him, Jack took the proffered hand as innocuously as he could manage. "Uh, hi, um, Edward."

Ned seemed on the verge of responding, but another voice hailed them from a nearby doorway, and Jack decided William Hastings was his favourite person in the world. "So you've returned? Couldn't miss the fun?"

"Something along those lines," the Doctor said. "Have there been any rumours about more clockmen, by any chance?"

Ned and Hastings exchanged glances. "Not as such," Ned finally said, frowning. "Before we arrived, there were rumours of rampaging Northmen.2 But Londoners suspect anybody coming from further north than Oxford."

"We have information received to suggest there are more, so those rumours may not be exaggeration," Jack put in, trying not to look at Ned as much as possible.

"And Warwick's account of what happened in Saint Albans didn't entirely make sense," Hastings put in. "His men turned and ran, but nobody knows why."

"Saint Albans," the Doctor said, as if tasting the words. "That was Margaret's army, wasn't it?"

Ned nodded. "Warwick's gone north already. I think he wants to redeem himself."

"Ned, really," Hastings chided. "We can't all tell grandiose lies in the face of almost-certain death."

"It wasn't a lie," the proclaimed King said innocently, while shooting Jack and the Doctor a grin that was anything but. "It was an interpretation."

"Out of interest," the Doctor began, before Jack interrupted him.

"And vanity." He intercepted a nasty look and grinned. Not before time, he was starting to get over what had to have been embarrassment. "What did you interpret?"

"May I?" Hastings was laughing almost too hard to speak, but forcibly calmed himself. "So, three suns in the sky. I nearly turned and ran, to be honest--"

"Are you serious?"

"Sadly, yes." He didn't sound very sad. "Ned, however, pointed at those three suns, claimed they signified the Holy Trinity and that God obviously favoured York.3 I can only imagine it was divine inspiration, since the rest of us were certain it was the End of Days. But," he added with a rueful smile, "he can be very convincing when he puts his mind to it. The rest, you know."

"God favours every side," Jack said, but not loud enough to be heard by anyone save the Doctor who did shoot him a Look.

To Edward, the Doctor said, "Congratulations. Quick talking is an important attribute in a leader. And a king."

"I'm not king yet," Ned demurred.

"A mere matter of a crown," Hastings said with a shrug.

"It's more than that, Will. You know it as well as I do. Harry, whatever his faults, is the anointed King of England before God and all the country. But that won't be for long."

"Let's hope so," the Doctor said, a little dourly. "As long as we can stop those clockmen for you."

"Of course you will. You're a worker of miracles, Doctor." He made his way back toward the throne. "We leave the day after tomorrow. Ought to enjoy civilisation while we still can."

Jack had to smile at the not-quite-King. "Here's to the fruits of civilisation."

"Jack!"

"I meant wine and music and, uh, books," Jack covered.

Hastings choked on a snort of laughter, but said nothing.

***

After what seemed like the largest meal he'd had in his life--not that he didn't appreciate it after not having eaten in two days and over several teleportations--Jack felt as though he were ready to collapse. After relieving himself in very primitive conditions, he exited what was called a privy to find Ned standing in front of him, arms folded.

"Why did you do it?"

"Because I'm attracted to you. Why else?"

Ned stared at him, looking unsure and--worryingly--very young. "You don't...no." He shook his head and began to make his way down the corridor. I should not have asked."

Jack started after him, catching his hand. "It's not...I mean, it's just...normal, that's all. It's something that happens between people. Human or otherwise."

"Otherwise? Sometimes you make no sense at all." Ned didn't turn. "I don't understand the Doctor, but I don't think I'm meant to. I suppose I'm not meant to understand you either."

"Is there a window anywhere? Do you even have windows?" he suddenly thought to ask.

"Of course we have windows," Ned replied, glancing back at him in sudden confusion. "What do you think we are, barbarians?" With a brief laugh, he led Jack up a winding flight of stairs to a large, firelit room. He pulled the heavy drapes aside, letting a blast of cold air into their faces. "There. Windows."

Looking at the magnificent view over the moonlit water of the Thames, Jack couldn't help comparing this to the night he'd first met the Doctor and Rose. Although this view had fewer explosions, of course. "So I see. Look up. Tell me what you see."

Ned stepped forward, lips pursed thoughtfully. "Stars. I think that's Ursa Major, though I never had much memory for that sort of thing."

"Look up there at Ursa Major and Pegasus and all the rest and tell me this is the only world with life," Jack said, resting his hand on the velvet-clad shoulder of the young man.

"Of course it is. It has to be," Ned murmured.

"Why has to be?"

"Because..." he glanced back at Jack, eyes very blue against the moonlight. "Surely someone would have mentioned that before."

Jack felt himself flush slightly as he realised what Ned must mean. "Oh, yeah. This is probably one of those things I shouldn't mention."

The younger man jumped on the chance to change the subject. "You have rules?"

"Travelling with the Doctor is like that." He couldn't stop the smile the Doctor's mere presence inspired in him from taking over his face.

Ned responded with a smile of his own. "I had assumed it was like travelling with Warwick, but I don't think rules came into that."

"What is this Warwick like?"

"Difficult to explain," Ned laughed. "Very clever. Sometimes too clever, I think. I wonder what he and the Doctor would make of one another." He looked back out at the river. "He's the elder brother I never had."

Jack too looked at the water. "I never had one, either, but I can't say I felt the loss."

"I don't suppose I would have done if Edmund..." He trailed off.

"Was he the one at Wakefield?" Jack asked softly, wary of opening old wounds.

He nodded. "He was born the year after me. We were always together, you see, until last year." After a second's hesitation, he added, "Father sent me to Wales. It would have been me, otherwise."

"That doesn't make it your fault." He knew the guilts of wartime intimately.

"No. But that does make it my responsibility."

"I get that. Don't let it take you over, though."

"I don't think it will," he said, sounding almost surprised. "There are too many other things."

"That's good." Jack smiled somewhat evilly, "Might I suggest a distraction?"

"That sounds dangerous," Ned replied, eyes flicking down and up again. "Not the manner of distraction to which I'm accustomed."

"Danger can be seductive."

"You have no care for my soul."

"I have far more care for your body."

"That sounds like something I've said before," he murmured, laughing.

Laughter in which Jack joined wholeheartedly. "You obviously have good taste in lines."

"So it would appear." He leant against the window frame. "They have always worked."

"Well, then," Jack said, leaning against him.

"First time for everything." It might have been nervousness in Ned's voice, but the kiss, Jack quickly realised, was anything but.

***

"Young people have so much energy, don't they?" There were very few voices that could wake Jack up instantly, but the Doctor's happened to be one of them. He jerked upright to find himself in the fanciest bed he'd ever seen, let alone slept in. Not that there had been much sleeping involved.

The bed was also empty. "Where's Ned?"

"Seeing to his kingdom," replied the Doctor. "As he seems to have seen to you already. What did I tell you about behaving yourself?"

"You mentioned something about trying?" Jack ventured.

"Yes. Only the precise words I used were don't confuse the pretty boy."

"Oh," Jack raised his eyebrows, "so you noticed?"

"Jack, can you raise your mind from the gutter for just three seconds and concentrate?" groaned the Doctor. "We have an army of clockmen on the loose, we have no idea where they are, and you're sleeping with the King of England!"

"Just the once." Jack paused. "Or maybe twice. I kinda lost count."

The Doctor buried his face in his hands. "I really, really can't take you anywhere." After a moment, he added, "And will you please put something on? It's a miracle nobody's noticed. Maybe it's because he's not officially King yet. If he were, he would be surrounded by people twenty-four hours a day."

"Good thing I have excellent timing."

"That wasn't what I meant."

"I was interpreting."

"I am not Will of the incomprehensible sentences," the Doctor retorted. "I make sense."

"So did that, in context." But Jack did drag himself out of the indecently comfortable bed. "It's good to be the king, apparently."

"That would be why everybody wants to be the king. Not the bed," he clarified. "You know what I mean. Everything else."

"Doctor, are you embarrassed?"

His response was a glare. "Just put some clothes on."

With great effort, Jack managed to keep from saying anything more until they started down the stairs to the hall. "What time is it, by the way?"

"Ten-thirty. You're indecently lazy. Or just indecent."

"Like you said," Jack replied with his sweetest smile. "Young people have lots of energy."

The table was cleared except for a pile of papers next to where Ned was standing, looking distractingly nice in burgundy and gold. He was deep in conversation with a woman dressed in black, to whom Jack paid little attention, as Ned caught his eye with a wicked grin. Almost instantly, the woman turned, delicate brows rising just slightly.

"Edward, do you intend to introduce me?"

"Mais bien sûr, Maman," Ned said cheerfully. "The Doctor and Captain Jack Harkness. I've told you about them."

"Yes. You did not say they were still here," she remarked with a smile that made her look uncannily like her son.

"My mother, gentlemen, the Duchess of York."

The Doctor bounded forward with an irrepressible grin. "I've always wanted to meet you!"

"Really?" The Duchess studied him bemusedly. "I know very little of you, save what Edward has told me. From which I gather you saved his life. You have my deepest thanks."

"Oh, it was nothing," he replied. "We just happened to be in the neighbourhood."

"My dear Doctor," she said firmly. "I assure you it was everything."

"Spoken like a true mother."

Ned, in the meantime, leant close to whisper to Jack, "Sleep well?"

"Like the dead. Believe me, I know."

He seemed puzzled, but a look intercepted from his mother called his attention away. "Yes, Maman?"

"Was that everything?" Jack had the rather uncomfortable sensation that she could see right through him.

"News from Burgundy?" Ned recalled.

"George is enjoying the festivities, but he misses Margaret terribly. I wonder if I ought to have sent her as well."

Ned shook his head. "You'll be glad of the company, although, considering how Duke Philip is fêting the boys, Meg might have preferred it otherwise.4 Doctor, may I speak to you for a moment?" He led the Doctor to a corner, too far away for Jack to hear.

"It's an honour to meet you, Your Grace." With his most charming smile, Jack stepped forward and kissed that lady's hand.

"Captain Harkness," she replied with a smile of her own. "My son seems rather fond of you both."

"We bonded."

"I think I can see why," the Duchess said, her expression unreadable. "Edward seems to inspire that somewhat more than his father, God rest his soul. But one never knows under these circumstances."

"He's a charismatic man," Jack admitted.

"Yes." She glanced toward her son. "You haven't met my nephew of Warwick yet, have you?" To which Jack shook his head. "They say that of him too. They are both well loved." Looking back at Jack, the Duchess suddenly said, "And yet I hear rumours that there is more in the north than just Queen Margaret."

Sobered more quickly than by a plunge into a snowdrift, Jack faltered. "That's what we came about, the Doctor and me."

"Exactly what is that, Captain?"

"Have you heard of the clockmen?" he asked, unsure of how to describe the menace to her.

"Yes. I'm not certain how much I believe, but if Edward claims to have seen them..." she sighed. "I don't know what you did--we heard any number of bizarre stories--but I assume you plan to do the same in the north?"

"It is the best way of dealing with them," Jack said, catching himself mid-shrug. He wasn't certain how you behaved to Queen Mothers, albeit only in waiting.

"Three suns, indeed," she murmured with a soft laugh. "I nearly told him off for blasphemy."

"Why blasphemy?" Jack asked, perhaps a little too innocently.

"The Holy Trinity. Only Edward would expect to get away with that."

Jack tried to look as though he knew what she was talking about. "Of course."

Ned strolled back toward them and linked his arm through his mother's. "Well, now that that's finished, I think we should be off. The city council will want proper instructions. I'll see you later," that last addressed to Jack as they made their way toward the door.

"Count on it," Jack said with a wink that made the Doctor glower at him. Again.

"Actually..." Ned paused, letting go of the Duchess as he hurried back, "I just remembered. Is that what they're wearing in Cardiff these days?" he asked, gesturing to the floor-length coat of which Jack was very proud.

Jack felt the urge to kill his companion as he gave an ill-disguised snort of laughter. "It's not like yours is any better," he hissed.

"I didn't pick it to match my eyes." Jack felt himself blush, not having realised the Doctor had cottoned on to that and, pitching his voice so Ned could hear, said, "Only some of us."

Ned didn't bother to hide his laughter. "I rather like it, as it happens. And," he added sotto voce, "I never saw much wrong with playing to one's strengths, whatsoever they may be."

Jack felt one of his trademark smiles--teeth like his were too good to hide--light up his entire face. "So I noticed last night."

"I had hoped you might. I have a reputation to uphold," Ned replied, grinning in a way that made Jack want to drag him into the nearest empty room and have his way with him. Thankfully--or infuriatingly, depending on one's point of view--Ned's mother caught his attention with an audible cough, and he stepped back. "Oh, and Doctor. You'll need to tell me later what you think of the banner."5 And with that, he led the Duchess from the hall, laughter echoing even after he left.

The glittering banner seemed to distract the Doctor nicely, to Jack's everlasting gratitude. "Clock gears. Look, Jack, did you ever see anything so beautiful?"

"It looks like a weird flower to me," Jack shrugged.

"Philistine." The Doctor pointed at different images on the cloth as he spoke. "The white flower is the rose of York, with the sun behind it. En soleil is the heraldic term." He paused, apparently savouring the words. "En soleil, doesn't that sound marvellous?"

Jack nodded--it seemed the safest course. "It'll be crowned later, of course."

"Why of course?"

"He'll be King," the Doctor said, stopped in his tracks as surely as if Jack had dropped a tree across them. Sometimes he forgot not everyone was as clever as he was.

"As long as we get the other clockmen," Jack reminded him.

At that, the Doctor frowned, rumpling his impressively quiffed hair distractedly. "Yes, there is that one minor flaw."

***

The minor flaw seemed far less minor when they were standing on a hill overlooking the Lancastrian army as it spilled out of the city of York on its way south. It was far, far larger than he had expected; and judging from the Doctor's expression, the same thought was going through his mind.

"So what now, o great leader?" he muttered. Not for the first time, he wished he had his team with him. Tosh would be bound to have something useful. "Head for the biggest tent and hope?"

"There are worse ideas," the Doctor acknowledged absently, his eyes scanning the horizon. "Whoever's controlling the clockmen has to be near Margaret. But..." Raising his head, he squinted at the sky, "if there were another ship, surely someone would have noticed something odd by now."

"You'd think. Unless they're disguising it as a castle."

Although Jack had meant it flippantly, he saw the familiar considering expression flit across the other man's face. "You know, that's not as half-baked as it sounds. Maybe not a castle, obviously, but it wouldn't have to be big just to relay a signal and you humans don't pay attention to your surroundings most of the time."

Rolling his eyes, Jack successfully mastered the urge to kick the annoyingly superior alien. Instead, and with an edge to his voice that went wholly unnoticed, he said, "Fascinating observation, but does it actually help us?"

The Doctor seemed surprised, his expression suggesting Jack had failed to pass an elementary test. More to himself than anyone else, Jack muttered, "I hate being Watson," but composed his features into a reasonable approximation of attentiveness as his companion went on, "Of course it does. It could even be sitting somewhere in plain sight."

That was when Jack caught his meaning, "Like the TARDIS. You think they might be using cloaking technology."

Though he would have denied it point blank, Jack felt his heart leap when the Doctor smiled at him in acclamation. "Precisely. And if they are using chameleon circuits or similar--"

"We can track them," Jack finished the thought.

Unfortunately, that proved harder than they might have anticipated. The large amounts of reflective metal in the vicinity might have had something to do with it. Throughout the long journey from London to Pontefract--not nearly as boring as he might have feared, between Ned and the Doctor--Jack had found himself wondering what might happen if he attempted to explain the concept of the automobile. Or the train. Or anything that wasn't a horse or a wagon.

The Doctor, of course, had been thrilled in his own extraterrestrial fashion, going on and on about human ingenuity as if there were something in it to surprise him after all these years. There had to have been, Jack mused, fairly sure that the Doctor wasn't that good of an actor. And leaving him stuck in conversation with some squire from Buckinghamshire on the merits of proper crop rotation, or interrogating an ancient Welshman named Fluellen on the best uses for leeks, gave Jack plenty of free time.6 How he spent it--and with whom--was his own business.

But now there were more important things to concern them. Like the fact that Margaret's army looked to be about twice the size of Ned's.7

"Perhaps we go in the back way," Jack considered.

It actually worked in their favour that the Lancastrians were encamped on the outskirts of York, since York, being a city of some size, had multiple entrances. And even though the Doctor was far worse at sneaking around than he thought he was, the psychic paper did come in handy.

"Hullo, terribly sorry to bother you, but we're messengers," he said, waving it under the nose of a gatekeeper who was clearly running to seed. "Here with urgent missives for the Queen."

"Missives?" Jack muttered and received a dirty look.

The guard studied them through narrowed eyes. "You don't look like messengers."

"Should we be wearing a pin with 'I'm a messenger. Ask me how?'", Jack sniped.

"No need to be rude, young man," he said. "We can't let just anybody in to see the Queen, you know. After all that's happened."

"After all what?" Jack asked. The Doctor promptly stood on his toes.

"Some messengers you are, if you don't know that." Taking the psychic paper from the Doctor, he peered at it. "Although you've got the seal. Not sure how, mind you. I suppose standards must be slipping these days."

Looking the man up and down meaningfully, Jack said, "Mustn't they just?"

"Now, look here, young man--"

"Why don't you just let us inside," the Doctor interrupted, "before we make a complaint to your superior? This message we hold may be the key to the kingdom and you're strutting around like an aggravated rooster!"

The guard did eventually let them in and showed them to an imposing-looking stone house, all the while keeping up a muttered running commentary about disrespectful young people, how the country had gone to the dogs, that Henry V had done them all a great disservice by dying too young, and that he fervently hoped the Godless creatures who had murdered Good Humphrey of Gloucester were roasting in the fires of damnation.8

It was the Doctor's turn to sound innocent, if not ignorant, as he prompted, "Godless creatures? Nobody told us about those."

"Murdered him in his bed, they say. Poor man, God rest his soul." He crossed himself furtively. "Well, here you are. She's got her own guardsmen, for His Majesty."

Jack felt the Doctor seemed disappointed to have reached their destination. Neither of them said anything beyond thanks and good riddance. Albeit not quite in those words.

Compared to Wigmore and Pontefract--which, admittedly, Jack had only seen briefly--the house seemed very small, but the décor more than made up for it. He stifled the urge to comment that it was good to be the king, as the Doctor flashed the psychic paper for what felt like the umpteenth time to a far more well-dressed guardsman.

"From Clifford?" The guardsman made a moue of distaste. "Your man's a bit excessive, isn't he?"9

"Can't be too careful nowadays," was Jack's comment.

"Suppose not." He didn't look convinced, but he waved them onward. "Second floor."

They ascended the painfully low-ceilinged staircase for what felt to Jack like hours before finally entering a sumptuously furnished set of rooms at the top of the house. A woman sat near the window, visible only in profile, before the Doctor knocked on the doorframe.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected Margaret of Anjou to be like, but the reality surprised him. She was...well, beautiful, to make no bones about it. She was also staring at them in a manner not far removed from that of the erstwhile Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, which kind of put a damper on things.

"Your Grace," the Doctor murmured, bowing and poking Jack in the ribs with what felt like his screwdriver when he didn't. Jack scrambled to follow suit, feeling faintly ridiculous.

The queen's dark eyes flickered between the two of them, wary and unreadable. "Who are you, messieurs?"

"The one on the right, Your Majesty, is Captain Jack Harkness," came a low, slightly singsong voice from the opposite corner, where a man stood in the shadows, a hood concealing his face from view. Jack suddenly felt as though the floor had dropped from beneath him. "I'm afraid I know him all too well."

"You!" Jack yelled, reaching for the gun he'd forgotten he wasn't carrying. "I should make you pay for what you did."

The Queen was out of her seat in seconds, hand whipping round to reveal a wicked-looking crossbow aimed directly at Jack. "I was unaware that you knew one another."

"I was unaware that he was even here. Quite a surprise, I assure you. But, nothing to worry about." Jack could hear the smile in the old man's voice, and his blood boiled. "He's easily despatched."

Rather than attempt to interfere, the Doctor merely turned to Jack with a meaningful look. Jack didn't want to think what it said that he understood what his companion couldn't say in words so distracted himself by lunging towards Bilis.10 "Could say the same about you."

The crossbow bolt buried itself in the middle of his spine. He had enough time to reflect that none of this was fair at all before the world went black.

***

The room was dark when Jack opened his eyes, and, he soon realised, empty. But he could hear voices echoing through the stairwell. Rubbing the small of his back--even though the excruciating pain was thankfully gone--he made his way to the door and listened, trying to glean where the voices were coming from.

"...you assured me this was safe, mon frère. That it was foolproof. I trust you will explain yourself." A woman's voice--Margaret's, he now recognised.

For a split second, he couldn't think who she was talking to. Until he heard the familiar voice reply, "I assure you, Your Grace, the plan is as safe now as it was yesterday. An encounter with an old...acquaintance is nothing for you to concern yourself about, especially as he is now dead."

"He...spoke very strangely," Margaret observed as Jack inched his way down the stairs above them. "And the other? Do you know him?"

"Not by sight, but I suspect he is a part of Jack's little band," Bilis said, so contemptuously Jack was hard put not to rush out and break his neck.

"And what does this band do?" Margaret enquired coldly. "After that débâcle at Mortimer's Cross, for which you claimed you were not responsible, I must confess myself doubtful."

"They are from another place, Your Grace, seeking meaning in the stars."

"Like you?" Jack could see Margaret's face now, albeit shadowed in the scant light. It bore an expression he was glad wasn't directed at him. "There seem to be a great many of you about, mon frère, and very neatly coinciding with a defeat of our forces. Can you explain that?"

"If your Grace will give me a few days, I am sure that--"

"That boy is less than thirty miles away. And may I remind you that he was the one responsible for Mortimer's Cross? You promised me an army that could not be defeated on the field. And yet a wastrel child can run them down like a collection of toys!"

"They cannot be defeated without knowledge your adversary has no way of possessing." Jack leant further back into the shadows as Bilis paced the cramped landing. "Are you certain you can trust the leaders of that army?"

"I have trusted them far longer than I have trusted you."

"As Becket trusted his King?" insinuated Bilis.

Margaret fixed him with a stare that Jack could not see, but that he could certainly imagine. If only looks could kill; he'd have far fewer problems. Without responding, Margaret threw open the door. "I have very little time, monsieur, and less patience. What do you want here?"

"Tyger's heart wrapt in woman's hide--he certainly got you right, didn't he? Makes you wonder about those rumours, really," the Doctor's cheerful voice rattled out, speaking three times as fast as he needed to as usual.

"I have no time for riddles, monsieur. Who are you and what do you want?"

"What I want is to set this time aright, cursed spite and all."

"Speak clearly," snapped Margaret. "You are beginning to annoy me."

"Oh, I'm good at that," the Doctor agreed, again sounding indecently cheerful. "But, clearly, I'm here to stop you. You see, these clockmen aren't meant to be here." There was a slight pause as he may have gestured at the ancient clock salesman. "Neither's he, I suspect, if he recognised my companion."

"Who are you to decide what is or is not meant to be here?" demanded the Queen. Jack could just catch a glimpse of the back of the Doctor's head as Margaret circled the chair where he was confined. "This is a war. One takes what advantage one can."

"Oh, didn't I say?" Jack could practically hear the smile in his voice. "I'm the Doctor."

The same held true for Margaret, but when Jack caught sight of the smile, he suppressed a shudder. "Then Edward is a greater fool than even I gave him credit for being. That boy never ceases to surprise me."

"Just as it should be." Jack had managed to get far enough down the staircase to see that the Doctor's wrists were shackled.

"To let the man responsible for his victory wander into our hands." Her laugh was surprisingly girlish, and it occurred to Jack to wonder how old she was. "Well. I don't see why we shouldn't take this as a gift. I've heard a great deal about you, Doctor. They say you can destroy entire armies. They call you Merlin."

"I never have known, myself," he said, sounding a lot happier than Jack felt the situation warranted.

"And, of course, the unfortunate man upstairs. I'd heard some very interesting things about him. But that is no matter." She stood behind the Doctor, blocking him from view. "My husband is rightful king of this realm, Doctor. If we have been given a gift, it is only justice. But I think we shall keep you in close quarters, nonetheless." Raising her voice to echo through the stairwell, she added, "He comes with us tomorrow. I don't want him out of my sight."

Jack swore, retreating backwards as quickly as he dared. How was he meant to effect a rescue without so much as a sonic screwdriver for help?

Without realising, he had stepped through a doorway into a room even more richly furnished than the rest of the house, draped in wall-hangings and strewn with clothing and jewels probably worth more than all of his team's pay combined. Near the window, a man was kneeling before what he guessed to be an altar, so deep in concentration that it seemed he hadn't noticed Jack at all.

"Uh, sorry to intrude, but you don't happen to know where the exit is, do you?"

The man did not seem to hear at first, but as Jack made his way toward the window, hoping luck would be on his side for once today, he spoke, the words low and soft. "You're not one of ours, are you? They don't think I understand what's happening, but I do."

"What is happening?" Jack asked, wondering who the man was.

"It wasn't supposed to happen this way. I never meant..." He trailed off with a sigh, turning away from the altar. "She doesn't understand, you see. Why I did what I did--she thinks I betrayed her and our son. But what kind of father gives his son a blighted land?"

"No father at all," Jack said softly. He wasn't completely certain, but he had an inkling this might be the King. What had Ned said his name was? "But...I don't understand. What did you do?"

The King smiled. "You must be the only man in England who does not know. It was the only way. How can any king stand by and watch his subjects slaughter one another? I could not bear it. So I gave it away. To Richard, God rest his soul."

"Richard?" Jack asked, justifiably confused. "I thought his name was Edward." Even as he said it, Jack remembered what Ned had said about his father and brother.

"No. Richard. An ill-luck name, that. But no worse than Henry, I suppose."11

"Your name is what you make it."

"Not always, I fear." The pale blue eyes were alive with pain. "Sometimes the dead cast too many shadows."12 Moving quicker than Jack would have anticipated, he flung the drapes aside to reveal darkness beyond the window. "It's not very far to the ground, and there's no moon tonight. Go, quickly. And tell my cousin..." he trailed off. "No. It's no use. Go on. Before they realise you're here."

"How do I get back in?" he asked, failing to continue to meet those eyes. "I have a friend still here."

"Oh, yes. Another sorcerer. Too many of those here--it's unnatural. We won't be here much longer, though. Or they won't be." He turned back to the altar. "They tell me my wife has better luck in battle when I am elsewhere. You should go now."

Something about his demeanour prompted a pang of pity. "Look, can I take you with me, then?"

"Impossible. But I thank you. Now, hurry."

Though he felt loath to do so, Jack clambered onto the sill of the window. He tried, but there was no consolation he could give so, in the end, he just said "Goodbye."

***

It was nearly dawn by the time Jack caught sight of the army he had left the day before. They had begun, like some sort of massive, sprawling creature, to move northward, and he took advantage of being on his own to sneak across the river at a more innocuous crossing than the large, stone bridge that looked to be heavily guarded on both sides.

He had managed to convince himself that they wouldn't hurt the Doctor. Margaret seemed far too curious about him, for one. As for Bilis... Jack had to bite back several colourful curses. What the hell was he doing here anyway? For a man who could travel effortlessly through time and space, he had definitely chosen a weird point in both.

Finally, after what felt like a hundred years' searching, Jack found a familiar face in the flow. "Hastings," he yelled, waving his arms like a Cardiff girl on a night out, "hey, Hastings!"

"Captain Harkness?" The other disentangled himself from whoever he was talking to and hurried over. "What's happened? Where's the Doctor?"

"Uh, funny story there," Jack said in the tone that said it wasn't. "He's in a castle, I think. In York." Then, shifting his aching and probably very smelly feet ruefully, "I'm definite that he's in York."

"Margaret?" He seemed to be bracing himself for the worst.

"About as rabid as your average wolverine. Is she always that personable?"

"I'm afraid so." Hastings sighed, dropping his forehead into his hands. "Ned will not be happy to hear this. But is he alive, at least? The Doctor?"

"Last I saw," Jack confirmed. He rather hoped the cloak he'd "borrowed" was hiding the bloodstains that had to have ruined his favourite coat.

"Well, thank God for that, then. Even if he is with Margaret." Hastings motioned for him to follow. "If she knows who he is--and I don't see how she couldn't--I doubt she'll kill him. He's far too useful."

"Yeah, she might actually know a whole lot about me, too," he admitted shamefacedly.

"I can't imagine what, aside from your being the Doctor's companion. Although the fact that you're on our side is a damning offence."

Wondering how much to tell, Jack stared at the crowds. "I come from another place. Not just Cardiff," he clarified, hands held out to stop whatever Hastings might say to that, "but another time as well. There was a man with Margaret who recognised me. We...had dealings recently."

Hastings swore under his breath. "There does seem to be a lot of that. Dealings, that is. I'm not certain what you mean by other times, but it's not important." He came to a stop in front of a large tent and studied the two guards, both of whom were looking rather sheepish. "Right, you. Where is he?"

"Indisposed?" the younger ventured, blushing a little.

With an eyeroll that spoke volumes, Hastings pitched his voice to carry into the tent. "Much as I hate to disturb Your Grace, I'm afraid it's important."

"Hey, the more the merrier, right?" Jack grinned, raising his own voice. "I'm sure he won't mind us joining in, will you, Your Grace?"

Ned's reply somehow managed to carry over Hastings' fit of laughter. "I'm afraid you're too late this time, Jack, but I'll keep it in mind.13 Let them in." The guards stepped aside with undignified snorts of their own, and Jack heard their laughter explode in full as they entered the tent.

It was clear from the state of the bedclothes and Ned himself that he had quite literally rolled out of bed. Jack, trying not to drool openly, had a hard time deciding where to look. Whatever jokes he and the would-be king might make, the Doctor was right in his call for discretion. "We--that is, I--have some bad news," he said without preamble.

It was as though shutters had fallen across the younger man's face, wiping away any trace of the laughter that had greeted them. "Where's the Doctor?"

"With Margaret."

"Alive, then. That's something." Ned sank back onto the bed, cursing under his breath. "And her army?"

"Big," Jack told him, looking him in no longer twinkling eyes. "Bigger than yours, at a guess. And on the move."

"Could you tell if they were...human?" There was a telltale swallow before the last word that belied Ned's apparent calm.

He shook his head. "I saw some humans, but most of them were in full armour." There was a pause as he tried to gather his thoughts. Even without the Doctor, he was pretty good at this sort of thing. "I think it's a safe bet to say there were clockmen there, though. Given who I found Margaret with."

"Someone other than the usual suspects, I assume?" Ned raked dishevelled hair out of his face as he chewed on his lip. Reaching across the bed, he retrieved a shirt, only to freeze halfway through putting it on. "Will?"

"Yes?"

His voice had gone very quiet. "Has there been any word about the bridge?"

"Not recently." Hastings crossed to where a decanter and several glasses stood on a table and set to work. "Captain Harkness said they were in York last night. There's no way an entire army can cross nearly thirty miles in a single night and be in any shape to fight in the morning."

"Let's hope so." Ned drank the offered wine in a single gulp before looking at Jack again. "Who was it, Jack? With Margaret?"

"His name is Bilis Manger," Jack said, thinking carefully, "and he comes...well, actually, I'm not sure where he comes from."

Ned mouthed the name, his nose wrinkling slightly. "An odd name. What does he do, this Bilis Manger?"

"Meddles in my life, apparently." The memory of a life he might have had before his team opened the Rift crashed over him, threatening to unsteady his mind. "And has an affinity for clocks."

"Well, if what we fear is true, there are certainly enough of those about," muttered Hastings, as Ned began to pace back and forth, worrying at the laces on his sleeves. "How was Pembroke controlling them, Ned?"

The Duke looked up, as if just remembering they were there. "The Doctor knew. And you must know, Jack. How do we stop these creatures?"

"There'll be something like a ship hidden, but it was the Doctor who tracked it last time. If only I had--" He broke off, not entirely sure of where he was going with the sentence. The accessories of his life in Torchwood, the team he'd come halfway across history to...not avoid, as such, but...delay the moment of meeting?

"Well," Ned finally said, "we don't have the Doctor, much as we might wish it. Is there any other way?"

Jack lunged forward, hand on Ned's forearm, crushing the lace. "Your Grace, just...Just give us--give him--time. He's the Doctor."

"Time?" the young man echoed, laughing weakly. "We haven't got time, Jack."

"What happened?"

"Nothing, as such. But if Margaret's army has left York, they'll be here tonight at the very latest. Which means we engage them tomorrow." He looked as if he were about to say more, but stopped at the sound of raised voices outside.

Ned barely paused before snatching up the nearest sword and charging out of the tent. Cursing under his breath and throwing Jack a pleading look, Hastings followed. Jack paused only long enough to grab one of the other swords before joining them.

He emerged into chaos. A cluster of horsemen had just appeared, covered in mud and blood, and a crowd had begun to mill round them. From the corner of his eye, Jack could see an additional horseman, this one in full--and fancy--armour charging forward before flinging himself off his horse and grabbing Ned's arm for balance. Jack noticed in sudden horror that an arrow was sticking out of his leg.

"What in hell is going on?" Somewhat to Jack's surprise, Ned's barked question quietened the crowd a little. "Warwick?"

"The bridge. I don't know how they got there, but they've taken it," the other man said, words muffled by his helmet. "My half-brother Francis...God rest his soul."14

"Oh, Christ," Ned clasped Warwick's shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

The Earl ripped off his helmet to look Ned in the face. "They're dying for you this morning. I don't know how many. Thousands, maybe." Ned paled visibly but did not look away. "For you, Edward."

He nodded, the strange, jerky movement a far cry from the casual grace Jack had begun to take for granted. "Your horse, Warwick. If you please."

Jack swallowed, desperately aware that this was not a situation in which he could help much. It had suddenly occurred to him how much heavier a medieval sword was than the foils he was accustomed to. The crowd had grown almost exponentially it seemed, with men pouring in from all sides to surround them. Mounting in one movement, Ned somehow managed to extricate himself, charging to the nearest clear patch of ground.

He swung the horse round, holding it steady with his knees. "Gentlemen, do you know who I am?" There was a murmur of response from the crowd, though Jack could not make out any actual words from where he stood. Behind him, Warwick had caught up, limping badly. The wind whipped Ned's hair across his face as he continued. "I would be your king. But that is not the only reason I stand here today. I know what you have sacrificed, what you have lost. Not ten miles from here, they slaughtered my father, my uncle, and my brother, and I swore that I would make them pay dearly for it."

Then, unexpectedly, he added, "You're frightened, I know. So am I."

Warwick cursed under his breath. "Dammit, Ned. Don't say that."

"Men respect a leader who's honest," Jack muttered, glaring.

"Not now, they don't," was the curt reply. "Not like this."

"For though our cause is right and honourable, you know as well as I that Justice--proud virtue that she is--stands with the strong, leaves the weak in misery. It is our swords, gentlemen, that make us honest men. And so have I resolved to win, or to die." He gazed out over the crowd, meeting Jack's eyes briefly before looking back at the men in front of him. "You have all fought bravely. And for that I give you my solemn oath. If any man should wish to depart today, I hereby give him leave. If you would not fight for me, return to your homes, your families. Let him fly that will--" And at that, Ned smiled, brilliantly, heartbreakingly smiled, "--for surely I will tarry with him that will tarry with me. And we few, we happy few, we band of brothers; for he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, this day shall gentle his condition. And such glory shall they have, to free their country from these late miseries, that Fortune herself shall smile and stop her wheel, and write our names in the book of Fame till the very end of days itself."15

Those last words were drowned in a torrent of cheering, and Jack let out the breath he hadn't realised he was holding. A quick glance in Warwick's direction revealed that the other man was now looking thoughtful. "He's better than I thought."

An arrogant man, in Jack's opinion, and for no reason that he could see. Still, there was no point in picking a fight if they were about to go into battle. Especially when it would undermine Ned. As veteran of more than a few of these moments, Jack thought the would-be King had acquitted himself far better than Warwick seemed to want to give him credit for.

To himself, he murmured, "And gentlemen in England now abed shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here."16

Ned was breathless when he reached them, the smile gleaming. "Forget actual fighting. That was bloody terrifying."

"You did well," Warwick said thoughtfully. "That last bit about brotherhood was really quite inspired."

"Wasn't it?" Ned laughed. "It was something I heard the Doctor say. I don't know why, to be honest. Although I think he was talking about Agincourt..."

Of course he had been. Even Jack knew enough to recognise Henry V when he heard it. Possibly now wasn't the best time to mention it, however.

"I need to meet this Doctor."

"Of course you will. Oh, by the way, Jack," Ned added motioning to both of them, "this is my cousin, the Earl of Warwick. Warwick, Captain Jack Harkness. A friend of the Doctor's."

Playing to his strengths, Jack went for charming. "An honour to meet you, Your--"

Oh, crap, he had no idea how to address an Earl. The Doctor was so much better at this than he was.

"--Lordship," he hazarded.

"And you, Captain," Warwick replied with a nod. "Ned, how soon can you be ready?"

"An hour. We'll meet you at Ferrybridge." As Warwick limped off toward his now-abandoned horse, Ned let out his breath in a frosty cloud. "So it begins."

Wishing he could do more, Jack clapped a hand to the rather paler-looking young man's shoulder, gesturing at the men saddling up around them as he did. "That was some speech. If you ever give up battling for kingdoms, you could really make it as a writer. I had a boyfriend who was a writer once. The things that man could do with a quill..."

Ned let out a choked laugh as they made their way back to the tent and its relative warmth. "Father would turn in his grave. Although I seem to remember one of Warwick's men liked to write stories in his spare time. Name of Malory, I think." He turned slightly, so his eyes met Jack's. "I need you to do something for me, Jack."

"Anything," Jack promised without thinking.

"I need you to find the Doctor and get him out of here." Placing his fingers against Jack's mouth to stave off any argument, he pressed on, "If it all goes wrong--and God only knows, it might--I need you to get him back to London. He's promised to take my mother and sister to...somewhere. Burgundy, probably. Someplace safe."

Pity crashed over Jack like a wave at the last words. In very many ways, Ned was a boy who'd had to grow up too fast and God--if there was such a being--knew he could relate to that. "You can rely on me. Can't leave him running around here anyway. That man's a magnet for trouble."

Ned's frame relaxed visibly, probably to the relief of the squire struggling to fasten his armour. "Thank you, Jack. I knew I could trust you." With a quick glance down at the sword Jack was still carrying, he added with an unexpected smile, "And another thing--stay away from the fighting. You've got no armour and you're holding that wrong."

Jack felt his cheeks warm and tried not to look sheepish. "I guess it's not a foil," he conceded. "No palpable hits on the battlefield. Seriously, though, don't get dead. Take it from me, there's nothing more likely to mess with your love life."

"I will try my best," Ned assured him. "If I died, the first thing I'd see would be Edmund telling me he predicted I'd get myself killed before I turned nineteen. I refuse to give him that satisfaction."

Jack had no choice; he simply had to laugh. "Your men'll start giving me the evil eye any second now. And here I thought I was the one cheering you up."

"You are, and you did." Ned hugged him briefly, armour clanking as he did so. "I'll have one of the scouts take you as far as the river crossing. Good luck, and tell the Doctor..." he hesitated for a second, "tell him we'll hold out as long as we can."

In his time, Jack had watched a great many people he cared about leave to risk their lives for one cause or another. It didn't get any easier. As if reading his thoughts, Ned offered him a grin before shoving the helmet down over his head. "Once more unto the breach?"

"Thief!" Jack accused halfheartedly, with a weak attempt at his normal smile. "That's--" Just in time, he remembered and substituted, "--the Doctor's line."

"I thought his was allons-y?" Ned's question echoed oddly inside the helmet. "And, besides, that's not stealing. Borrowing, perhaps. And he's surely got enough to spare."

"You're incorrigible," Jack decided with a vastly exaggerated sigh.

"And you," Ned informed him with a salute, "are lying through your teeth." Before Jack could respond, the would-be King made his way out of the tent to the sound of muffled cheers from outside.

Watching Ned and his army depart was somewhat akin to watching a painting come to life, Jack supposed, fighting the urge to grab a horse and ride out after his painfully heroic lover. Except that paintings couldn't die.

He shook himself; the Doctor needed him and, if he was honest, he was more use to Ned there than in a hack-and-slash battle. Swords were just not his style. Or horses.

PART III: My Kingdom for a Doctor