The Winter of Our Discontent, Part III.i: My Kingdom for a Doctor (3/3)
Title: The Winter of Our Discontent, Part III: My Kingdom for a Doctor
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 III): 12,260 (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'). Unfortunately, the authors are long-winded and LJ forced us to split this into two separate posts. All the notes are HERE. Thanks to angevin2 for beta-reading!
Part I: This Sun of York
Part II: The Devil Went Down to Anjou
The snow, which Jack vaguely recalled beginning as he arrived in the Yorkist camp that morning, now blanketed the ground, transforming the already bleak landscape into a hazy, endless expanse of white. He doubted they cancelled battles on account of snow. Especially not if clockmen were involved, since they probably didn't even notice. But he couldn't think about that now--what mattered was extricating the Doctor from wherever Bilis and the Queen had left him.
At least that was what had mattered before things began to go inexplicably wrong.
Quite without realising, Jack had stumbled into a battle. There were clockmen all around, and a man--movement-wise, it could have been Ned, but this guy was older and had the wrong colouring--battling them.
Jack couldn't understand what had happened, unless this was some kind of flanking movement meeting a section of Ned's army he'd not previously met up with. It'd make sense, he supposed, to put relations in charge of whatever those groups were called at this time in history.
"Father!" The cry came from somewhere behind Jack, and he whirled at the sound, despite knowing it was physically impossible for Ned to be here and at the bridge at the same time.
The man he had noticed earlier glanced up, and the nearest clockman took advantage of his distraction to thrust one bladed hand into his back. He sank to the ground, blood spattering the snow.
Shocked for no very good reason, it being a battle and all, Jack tried in vain to search for Ned in the press of skirmishing figures. That was when he saw the truly impossible: his brother Gray.
He was kneeling nearby, arms pinioned by two clockmen. At least he could have sworn it was Gray until the young man raised his head and Jack realised he'd never seen him before. But the resemblance to Ned was striking. And that was when he remembered something Gwen had mentioned about Bilis convincing her that Rhys was dead. Temporal hallucinations. He was in the middle of a battle that had already happened.
Before he could make sense of this new observation, the action around him ground to a halt as a group of horsemen fought their way through the wind and snow to where he stood. Lifting the visor on his helmet, their leader looked down at the kneeling young man Jack had mistook before. The smile that prompted was one that made Jack shudder inwardly.
His eyes--eyes that might in other circumstances have piqued Jack's interest--seemed to meet Jack's own as he spoke. He didn't sound very old. "A rat of the House of York if I mistake not. And all know how to deal with such vermin, do they not?"
"For Chrissakes, no!" Jack yelled. "He's only a kid. Don't you people have ransom rules?"
But nobody seemed to hear him, though the prisoner--who Jack suddenly realised had to be Ned's brother--stared straight at him, grey eyes widening in horror. "You can't mean...Clifford, are you mad? What are these creatures? What devil's bargain is this?"
"No devil, but the Lord's work," Clifford said, ugly fanaticism in every word. "Those who rebel 'gainst their anointed King cannot hope to earn His blessing. Though he may make an exception for a lad if he prays."
He lifted his sword, already red with blood, and Jack felt an unheard scream rip his throat apart. The boy was unarmed and down--kneeling. "Pray, rat, pray that you be dispatched in a state of grace."
After a second, in which he drew a deep breath, Ned's brother looked him in the eye and spat, "I'll not pray to a butcher."
"I'll take that name and wear it with pride." The sword flashed down and blood fountained from the boy's unprotected throat. Tears of rage prickled at Jack's eyes, then turned to horror as the body was no longer that of a teenage boy, but Ned himself, broken and bloody.
The sound took some time to come to his attention, but when it did, Jack turned from the gruesome tableau, now completely convinced he was losing his mind. Just beyond the knot of horsemen, in the horizon, was a bright blue light. If he hadn't been stuck in the middle of the fifteenth century, he would have assumed it was a laser pointer. Except that...
Without stopping to think further, Jack lunged forward, chasing the light with all the energy he had left. The sound grew stronger, the unmistakeable whirr of a sonic screwdriver.
When he opened his eyes, trying to decide at what point he'd closed them, he was lying on a most uncomfortable surface at the Doctor's feet. Embarrassed but damned if he was going to show it, Jack quipped, "Usually they tell you not to follow the light."
"They tell you not to play with time, either. I think we've established you're not good at doing what you should."
Stung, Jack shot back, "Hey, I escaped! I was going to rescue...wait, where are we?"
After this many days, the interior of one tent looked much like any other. As for the Doctor, he was shackled hand and foot to a thick post, the sonic screwdriver on the ground in front of him. Jack wondered for a moment how on earth he'd used it, and promptly forced himself to think of something else. That was far too distracting.
"At a guess, somewhere behind the lines of the Battle of Towton. Margaret and her tame monk brought you in some time ago. You're a very hard man to wake up, did anyone ever tell you that?" Almost as soon as Jack had opened his mouth, the Doctor hurriedly went on. "No, on second thoughts, don't answer that."
It must have been a shock for Margaret to see him alive after having shot him the previous day, but Jack supposed she'd dealt with it. Snatching up the screwdriver, he pointed it at the shackles, taking comfort in familiarity and a situation that patently didn't involve hallucinations of dead people.
"They didn't tie me up," he said, apparently playing the role of Captain Obvious. The sonic screwdriver made short work of the shackles and the Doctor got to his feet stiffly, rubbing his wrists.
"No, Jack, they didn't. Try not to take it personally."
Jack glared at him, still holding the screwdriver. "You'd take it personally, too, if you'd just been underestimated by your nemesis."
"But you have already escaped death, Captain," came the unmistakeable voice of the Queen from the doorway behind them. "Surely shackles would be a mere inconvenience?"
"I'm not saying I wouldn't have pulled a Houdini, but there's such a thing as respect," he drawled, turning on one heel so his coat billowed out dramatically.
"We can arrange that," Margaret replied, eyes narrowing. Though she may have spoken further, a small shape thrust past her into the tent and snatched the sonic screwdriver from Jack.
"Un jouet, Maman!" The speaker was a towheaded child of eight years old at most, peering up at Jack through eyes disconcertingly close to his mother's.
"No," the Doctor almost shouted. "Non, Edouard, ce n'est pas un jouet!"
Margaret's eyes met Jack's briefly. As if reading there what Jack had only half-conceived, she lunged forward, groping for the boy's hand. Jack moved quicker, snatching the hand holding the screwdriver and backing out of reach. "This is your son, right?"
The Queen froze, her gaze focused on Edouard. It was Bilis who answered. "What is it you're playing at, Captain?"
"What I have to," he brazened out. "I think the lady's understanding me."
"You will not hurt him." To Margaret's credit, she did not flinch.
"Maman?" Edouard's voice trembled and he dropped the screwdriver. "Je ne le veux pas."
"Doucement, petit," she murmured. Now staring Jack in the face, she spoke very slowly. "I do not believe it."
"Jack!" There was more than a hint of true worry in the Doctor's voice, for which Jack was duly thankful; it could only help him, after all.
"You wanna test me?"
"You cannot think to change anything," Margaret said. "York is surely dead by now."
"Eight hours, Captain," Bilis interjected, the accompanying smile making Jack want nothing more than to strangle him. "That's how long they've been fighting. I'm afraid your little side trip took somewhat longer than you might have anticipated."
Eight hours. He tried not to show how much that had thrown him, glancing across at the Doctor. He didn't help matters, shrugging and muttering something about 'wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey'.
As the boy wriggled and Jack tightened his grip, it hit him. "Maybe N--York's dead, and maybe he ain't. You willing to take a chance on this boy's life?"
For the first time, Bilis looked uneasy. "He's playing you for a fool, Your Highness."
"What difference will it make?" Margaret snapped. "Go, then. Your precieux has no doubt joined his father and brother in Hell by now."
"Your Highness, I must insist--"
"That is enough!" Margaret swept her skirts aside as she stepped away from the doorway. "I do not play games with England's heir."
Jack kept his hold on the boy until the Doctor had preceded him out of the tent and his eyes on Bilis. He didn't think the slippery weasel of a man would try anything with Margaret watching, but he'd proved time and again he wasn't remotely trustworthy.
Ultimately, it wasn't Bilis who turned on them--the moment Jack let go of Edouard's arm and he fled to his mother's side, she raised her arm in an unmistakeable gesture. Catching sight of the guards moving in from three out of four sides, Jack grabbed the Doctor and charged through the one open space, hoping against hope that the wind and the snow would work in their favour.
Much to his relief, they did. The wind whipped the arrows aside, somewhere into the snowdrifts, while Jack and the Doctor stumbled through the knee-deep snow until they came to a cluster of trees that, as far as they could tell, marked the edge of the campsite.
"I hadn't realised Torchwood had sunk to those depths," the Doctor hissed, gripping Jack's wrist with surprising force. "Threatening children?!"
"What?" Jack, fully aware of the despicable nature of his action, glared at the Doctor. OK, so he'd known the guy wouldn't approve, but he could at least have said thank you. "I did what had to be done."
"You're wrong, Jack. It didn't have to be done at all--"
He dropped his eyes, resenting how the Doctor could always make him feel like a schoolboy being told off by the head. Which was half the reason he interrupted. He was a leader in his own right, a man who could make hard decisions. "Yes, it did. In case you didn't notice, Doctor, I just saved our lives."
"The wrong way."
"Who's to say it was so wrong? Nobody got hurt and--"
He broke off when the Doctor spoke over him in his own turn with the quiet authority Jack would have given his eyeteeth to have possessed. "I am."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I said, I am." Unwillingly, Jack felt his spine prickle. "I'm the one to say it's wrong, because it is, Jack. Threatening an innocent--a child--is against everything we should be standing for."
"I had no choice," Jack persisted, wishing the argument didn't feel so weak.
"You always have a choice. That's what being human's about. You had the choice to behave better and you didn't take it."
"Well, what was I supposed to do? I couldn't just let them kill y--us."
The compassion was worse than the anger, and ten times more condescending. "Left it to me if you couldn't think of anything else."
"And what would you have done?"
"I'd have thought of something."
And that was when I hit him, Your Honour. He had enough self-control left not to do that, but he did storm off, barely noticing the cold anymore.
Of course, the unfortunate side effect of having an argument close to where two very large armies were battling each other was that storming off could leave one in an even worse position. Jack could barely tell one side from the other in the whirling snow, and he had to wonder if even they knew who they were fighting. And then there was the smell--muted by the cold to some extent, but rising to his nostrils until he gagged.
He could have turned back, but the still-smouldering anger at the Doctor combined with the memory of Bilis' vision held him in place.
And then, in a moment uncannily reminiscent of that vision, he saw Ned. He shouldn't have been able to recognise him, of course, but the brilliant, careless young king had his visor up.1
He was at the head of what Jack felt ninety-nine percent confident of calling a charge. And was likely to get himself killed any moment. Not that he even seemed to notice, urging his horse up and over what Jack recognised in horror as a pile of bodies at least five feet high. Almost in slow motion, the animal slipped, nearly hurling Ned into a forest of Lancastrian pikes.
Jack did not realised he had lunged forward until he ploughed into the nearest pikeman, tackling him to the ground. Through the haze of snow and confusion and blood, he could have sworn Ned called his name. That was when something heavy and sharp slammed into his back and he sank to the ground, pain spiralling out from his spine.
Jack gave a huge gasp as he came back to life, regretting it immediately. His mouth and nose were buried in what felt like a living doormat. A smelly doormat, at that.
With the realisation that it was a horse, he turned his head to see Ned staring at him like he'd just seen a ghost. Which, come to think of it, he kind of had.
By that point, they had reached the copse of trees where Jack had left the Doctor, though the errant Time Lord seemed to have vanished. Jack slid off the horse into a heap on the ground, conscious of Ned's eyes on him as jumped down, ripping off his helmet. His face was bone-white, and Jack opened his mouth, unsure of how to even begin to explain what had just happened.
"Umm, I can explain?" he tried, cursing whatever fate had decreed this should happen now.
"Explain?" The word was a whipcrack. "You were dead."
"It may have looked that way, but--"
"Jack, for God's sake!" The first signs of emotion crept into Ned's voice as he swung one arm toward the battlefield. "Don't you think that I, of all people, would know a dead man when I see one? I've been climbing over them for I can't count how many hours."
Jack sighed, abandoning all thoughts of pretence. "OK, fine, I was dead. I got better."
Ned choked on what might have been a bark of laughter. "That's one I haven't heard before. Men don't generally recover from battleaxes." After a moment's glance at the ground, he sighed and looked back at Jack, dark circles sketched beneath his eyes. "Why were you even there, Jack? I told you to stay away, and with good reason."
"Yeah, well, Margaret happened."
"Margaret happens to the best of us. I meant back there, when you charged into a battle line without a second thought."
"You were in danger," Jack said lamely.
Ned blinked, bright hair whipping across his face, and, completely without warning, he began to laugh in earnest. "Jack Harkness, you are an idiot."
"That's fair." He resisted the urge to kiss the other man; there were larger things at stake than his feelings. "I'm...well, you probably got that I'm not normal. It's hard to fear death when it's not permanent."
"I..." Ned swallowed. "We'll discuss this later. For now, stay back. That's an order." Moving to Jack's side in two quick steps, he kissed him fiercely. "I've been doing this for my entire life. Trust me."
Just as quickly, he snatched up the fallen helmet and hoisted himself back onto the horse in one graceful movement. Tossing Jack a careless salute and a grin, he charged back into the fray and was soon lost to view. The snow, at least, was beginning to die down.
"I actually cannot take you anywhere, can I, Jack Harkness?" Although he knew he should still have been pissed off at the alien with the superiority complex to end all complexes, Jack was too worried about Ned to care. "Next time, at least get a room. Or a tent. Yes, a tent would hide from you from...oh, everyone with a pair of eyes."
Not that it stopped him from being royally embarrassed by the teasing. Looking everywhere but at the Doctor, he found his attention captured by a banner furling out over the opposing army. "Hey, Doctor, what do you make of that?"
Though he looked indecently amused, the Doctor permitted the change of subject with only a raised eyebrow and an "Other than the fact that you're a magpie, you mean?"
"Yeah," Jack said, heavy on the sarcasm, "other than that."
The Doctor shielded his eyes, peering at the admittedly sparkly banner. "Judica me deus discerne meam de gente non sancta.2 Something along the lines of: Judge me, O God, discern me from unholy men. Oh, and those are marguerites round the sides. I like that!"
"I'm sure you do, Doctor, but I meant aside from the puns--"
"Come on, Jack, look on the punny side."
Jack stared the Doctor down coldly. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that. Seriously, then, look at the words. Don't you see what I mean?"
He saw it dawn on the Doctor, feeling the rare warmth of getting there ahead of the ultra-clever being. "The text...like the brooch. Jack, we have to seize that banner."
"I never was one for obeying orders," Jack sighed, thinking of Ned's last injunction to him.
"You can say that again."
It didn't take much effort to convince the Doctor they needed a horse. On foot wouldn't have been nearly fast enough, not in the clearing snow. Jack tried not to think about the reason why it was so easy to find an abandoned horse, and instead climbed on behind the Doctor.
As their mount broke into a bonejarring run, Jack became concerned for the safety of his intimate parts. The Doctor in front shielded him from the worst of the weather, although the poleaxe in his right hand was more than a little worrying.
Jack had never seen him handle a weapon before and it looked sharp. Also long. Long enough to be a danger to Jack if wielded wrong.
"Doctor," he hissed, trying to be heard over the din of the battle they were passing, "let me hold onto that thing. You've got enough to do."
There might have been a sigh of disappointment, but the Doctor relinquished the poleaxe. Jack shifted slightly on the saddle, hoisting the weapon into what seemed like the best position. The horse sped up, scattering men-at-arms as they thundered past the borders of the Lancastrian camp. The banner sparkled in the late-afternoon light just ahead of them, even as Margaret's guard fanned out in hopes of stopping them.
An indecipherable cry went up from somewhere on the battlefield, distracting some of the guards. Forcibly keeping his attention on the task at hand, Jack aimed the poleaxe at the banner. They couldn't think about anything else--the element of surprise was all they had.
The soldiers grouped around the banner had seen them now, judging by their disbelieving expressions, although they didn't seem to know what to do.
Then it was upon him and he clutched what he thought was probably the haft of the weapon hard enough it felt as though splinters were being embedded in his skin and tried for a little Knight's Tale technique.
His heart hammered and sweat stung his eyes as his focus narrowed to the wavering blade of the poleaxe. Holding something this long still on a horse that was bouncing up and down was next to impossible he was discovering.
Cloth ripped audibly and the banner tore loose from the lance-like pole, impaled on the spike at the top of his weapon which probably had a fancy name.
The Doctor, seeing their improbable success, hauled on the reins and Jack had to clutch him round the waist--making a mental note to suggest the guy ate more in future, given how easy it was--in order to keep from falling off as the horse virtually stood on its hind legs.
They were suddenly surrounded by men, but not, as Jack would have expected, trying to trap them in place. These men were running past them, stray shouts of 'Norfolk' and 'reinforcements' and 'sorcery' mingling into a cacophony. Jack turned back to the battlefield as he held the flame of his cigarette lighter--a gift from a particularly cute major in the last days of the Blitz--to the edge of the banner.
What he could only describe as a wall of horsemen was thundering across the field, mowing down the frozen clockmen. As the humans behind them realised what was happening, the lines began to break, falling apart with the men turning to flee.
"What have you done?" The voice was unmistakeably Queen Margaret's, hoarse from shouting, and Jack deliberately dropped the burning silk onto the ground, where it hissed and sizzled against the snow. "Guards, hold them! They are traitors to the Crown."
"Actually, I think you'll find we were performing a service to the Crown," the Doctor said cheerfully, making Jack's stomach sink. He doubted she'd have brought her son to a battlefield. "King Edward the Fourth's crown, that is."
"Edward the Fourth!" she spat. "A plague on him! You would turn against your rightful king and his heir for that child, that arrogant, wanton boy--"
"Your Grace!" An armoured horseman drew rein at her side, pushing up his visor to reveal a face Jack did not recognise. "The line is broken. Well-timed reinforcements from the Duke of Norfolk and..." he looked at Jack and the Doctor without really seeing them, "I don't know how it happened, but they've stopped. And the monk is gone."
"Gone?" Margaret echoed, a tremor in her voice. "Where? He was just here a moment ago. He can't have got far. Find him, Somerset!"
"My men are searching, Your Grace," replied Somerset gently, "but I have my doubts."
"Oh, he's gone," Jack put in, a hint of bitterness darkening his voice. "That's his MO."
"And why should we believe you--?"
"My Lady, we can't stay here!" Somerset interjected, grabbing her arm tightly. "No quarter, remember? They must not find you."
Margaret stared long and hard at Jack and the Doctor, her mouth twisted and her eyes bright with tears. "You will regret this. All of you, Edward of York most of all. It will not end, not while I draw breath." Spurring her horse, she charged past them, Somerset and her guard in her wake.
"It does," was all the Doctor had to say to that.
Baffled, Jack asked, "Does what?"
"Ends while she draws breath. After Tewkesbury when her son dies, she's never quite the same.3 Breaks her heart and her spirit." He paused thoughtfully, before adding, "Shame, in a way."
Not wanting to contemplate that, Jack turned back to the snow-covered battlefield and gave up pretending he wasn't searching for one specific person. As if that had conjured him up, he caught sight of the now all-too-familiar grey and white horse, limping toward what he hadn't realised was a small creek cutting across the battlefield. Ned had abandoned his helmet altogether--Jack resolved to point out later how bad an idea that was--and was shouting orders they could not hear from the distance, until he saw them. At which sight, he gave them a smile that Jack was unashamed to admit made his insides twist a little.
"Jack!"
"What?" Jack demanded, all innocence.
He'd lost count of the number of times he'd been on the receiving end of the expression the Doctor turned on him throughout the trip. "You know what. True Tragedy, Jack."
"But I've never done it on a battlefield," he countered, just to see the look on the Doctor's face.
He did not disappoint; Jack had to lean precariously back to avoid the swipe the Doctor aimed at him, and the accompanying glare could have rivalled Margaret.
"Oh, come on. How was I supposed to resist that?"
Muttering something under his breath about oversexed Torchwood operatives, the Doctor urged their horse back toward the knot of Yorkist commanders, and Jack, for what felt like the first time in three days, let himself relax.
***
Lying in a massive wooden tub filled with hot water and what smelled like rosemary, Jack was mostly convinced that he had in fact died and gone to heaven. A suspicion he considered confirming when he heard Ned's voice from somewhere behind him.
"Don't fall asleep. You'll catch a chill." After a moment's pause, he added, "Although I suppose that's not the sort of thing you worry about."
"I worry about chills. I look like hell with a runny nose." So they were about to have the 'you don't die' conversation. Well, at least he'd be comfortable while they had it.
Ned laughed as he sprawled onto the nearby bed, a sheaf of papers in his hand. Looking back up, he asked without preamble, "Are you human, Jack?"
Jack rose to his feet, displaying his rather impressive body to its fullest. "What do you think?"
"Well, you certainly look it," Ned allowed with a brief smile. "I ask the question in all seriousness, Jack. I've accepted a great many things over the past few weeks, some of which..." he looked down at the papers in front of him. "People can't come back from the dead. It doesn't happen."
Jack shrugged. "Most people don't. I wasn't meant to, but there was this Time Vortex and a girl and...well, I can't die now. Or, I can, but I don't stay dead."
Ned was studying him now, an indecipherable expression on his face. "An ability most of the men I know could only dream of having."
"It's not all it's cracked up to be. Really." Focusing inwards, he saw the darkness behind his eyes. Black emptiness he knew as intimately as he now knew the young man in front of him. "I still feel pain."
"I thought as much," Ned replied softly. "For my part, I would not want it."
"Sensible lad." Shivering, he immersed himself in the wonderful-smelling water once again. "I guess there are perks to being the king."
"Oh, you've barely seen them," Ned rested his chin on his hands, eyes sparkling with laughter. "When we're back in London, God only knows what Warwick's planned, but it will be spectacular. I saw him talking to the Doctor earlier." He shook his head, smiling. "A volatile combination if ever there was one."
It should probably scare me, but I'm far too relaxed." He sat up, chin on the edge of the tub, making puppydog eyes at Ned. "Though I do need someone to scrub my back."
"And you're asking the King of England?" Ned was obviously fighting to keep a straight face as he heaved himself out of the bed with an exaggerated groan. "Presumptuous."
"My middle name. If you're very good, I might scrub yours in return."
Now choking on his laughter, Ned leant over to look at him and picked up the abandoned washcloth hanging over the side of the tub. "How long this time, Jack? Before you and the Doctor disappear again?"
"I don't know," Jack told him honestly. "Once we can be sure all the clockmen are gone, I guess."
"Well, you'll need to stay until we return to London, surely. That strange blue box is still there." Deftly managing to keep his sleeves out of the water, he rested his elbows on the side of the tub. "Would you consider staying? He won't--I already asked him. Offered him nothing less than Somerset's dukedom, but he wouldn't have it. But I suppose Merlin doesn't care for worldly things."
"I..." Jack stopped, unsure of what to say, or even what he wanted. He had a certain responsibility to his team, sure, but he didn't for one second doubt that they were perfectly capable of carrying on without him. And he couldn't deny that the idea of staying with Ned held a certain appeal. "What would Hastings say?" he settled on, stalling for time.
"Hastings..." Ned pondered, lips pursing, "would insist on at least one if not two bottles of wine to help him think, a girl to jog his memory afterward, and possibly end up tossing a coin."
Jack tried to hide his laughter but failed extravagantly. "A man after my own heart, then."
"Mine too, as it happens. And take all the time you need. There's no hurry."
"I meant, really, what would Hastings say to my staying," Jack said quietly.
"Will?" Ned blinked, visibly puzzled. "What has that to do with anything? He likes you well enough. I am the king, my word is law, I wish you to stay, ergo, you shall stay. If you like, that is."
Jack could think of nothing to say that, so kissed the young king instead. It gave him something of a thrill, if he was honest, kissing a king.
It shouldn't have surprised him that Ned fell into a deep sleep in short order, but the entire day had taken on a surreal quality, to the point where Jack had almost forgotten the younger man had spent ten hours in the middle of a bloodbath. He was literally covered in bruises, with a bandage laced tightly around one of his arms, though he laughed it off uneasily, pointing out that he'd got off lightly.
A quick glance at the papers he'd been reading revealed a casualty list of sorts. Though Jack could barely decipher the tiny, spidery writing, the length was frankly terrifying.4 No wonder Ned had been in a strange mood.
Jack emerged from the room, having managed to pull on the clothing left for him without too much trouble. As he stepped out onto the open stairwell, it occurred to him that he had no idea what time it was and that his watch was...somewhere. With the rest of his now absolutely filthy clothing, including the coat he was still determined to save.
Whatever time it was, the room below, which had been full to bursting when they first arrived at the inn, was more or less empty. Lounging on a pillow-covered chair in front of the fire was none other than William Hastings.
"Man of the hour," he saluted him, with a slight exaggeration.
"I was about to say the same for you," Hastings replied, raising his glass. "You and the Doctor. If you're looking for him, he's off with Warwick and Montagu, no doubt causing a great deal of trouble."
"Actually, I was looking for you." Finding himself badly in need of courage of the Dutch variety, Jack poured himself a generous glass of wine.
"For me?" Hastings laughed, taking a large sip from his own glass and holding it out for a refill. "Where's Ned? He mentioned something about fishing you out of a bath before you drowned yourself, but I can't remember how long ago that was."
"Asleep. I guess he needed it after that battle." Jack took a large swig, resolving just to say it outright. "He asked me to stay."
"I should have warned you that he steals people's beds," Hastings observed wryly. "The perils of royal friendship." Turning back to Jack, he shrugged. "He asked you to stay at court? I can't blame him. He wants men he can trust--men without agendas of their own--and they're not easy to find."
"I guess not. Everyone's playing an angle when you're King."
"Unfortunately, yes. Especially with a young king. But Ned is not Henry of Lancaster. He's got a mind of his own, although there are some who don't believe it." He shifted upright. "Sit down, please. You must be exhausted. Chasing the Doctor around Yorkshire is no easy task."
"No," Jack agreed, flinging himself down opposite Hastings. "It really isn't. Not that hacking away with a sword for ten hours can be precisely easy."
"Ten hours..." Hastings let out a bark of laughter. "No, I'm so tired I can't even sleep. It's what this," he gestured to the wineglass, "is for. I envy Ned. Sleeps like a cat."
"You care for him a lot, don't you?" Jack said, broaching the subject with as much subtlety as he could manage.
"As you care for the Doctor," Hastings replied, looking him in the eye. "Quia ventum seminabunt et turbinem metent, one might say.5 Sow the wind and reap the whirlwind. Out of context, but you understand."
"They're wild rides, for sure. But I don't think Ned leaves people behind the way the Doctor does."
"Merlin was known for that," the other said softly. "Arthur, however, was not. Indeed, if I remember properly, he was left behind in the end."
"He was," Jack agreed softly. "Would it...I mean..." God, how to say this? "Would you have a problem with me staying? I mean, I don't want to step on your toes."
"You're more likely to step on Warwick's than mine. And even he won't presume to tell Ned what to do. Well," he added, sotto voce, "no more than he already does, I suppose."
"He's not sleeping with him, too, is he?" Jack questioned, a little tongue in cheek.
Hastings nearly choked on the wine he had just swallowed. "Warwick? Lord, I hope not. His wife would kill him."
"You might be surprised," Jack grinned. "I've known a couple of very accommodating wives."
"Not Anne Beauchamp. Besides, Warwick insists upon carting his own household everywhere he goes. Whoever sleeps with him, he keeps to himself."
Jack raised his eyebrows. "And you and the King?"
"You can't be serious," Hastings said with a chuckle. "All other things aside, it's a mortal sin."
"But it feels awfully nice."
"You're an odd man, Jack Harkness. I hadn't realised Cardiff was that strange."
"Kinda not from Cardiff," he admitted. "I work out of there but...it's hard to explain."
"Obviously a very different place," Hastings observed. "Be careful here. When kings have favourites, there are always rumours. And favourites have a tendency to end up dead if they're not vigilant."
Jack couldn't keep from grinning. "Not a problem, I assure you."
Hastings shrugged. "Just a warning." Rising to his feet, he stretched extravagantly. "Do you need a bed? Seeing as Ned's stolen yours."
"Are you sure? I mean, after what you just said."
"Unless you plan to take advantage of me, which seems highly unlikely. I'm far too tired at any rate."
"Hey, play your cards right," Jack winked.
Hastings laughed. "Flattering as the offer is, I think I've had my share of exertion for one day." He made his way slowly toward the stairs. "Ten hours. God have mercy." Glancing back over his shoulder, he called, "Well? Are you coming or not?"
Mentally shrugging, Jack followed him. "Not like I'm getting a better offer."
"Well, for what it's worth, I doubt Ned would notice or care."
"I'm not trying to make him jealous," Jack protested.
"What?" Hastings grinned. "I didn't mean that. I meant that if you sneak back into your room, Ned wouldn't notice. Mind in the gutter, Captain?"
"Always. But, hey, I'm looking at the stars," Jack quipped, despite knowing Hastings wouldn't get it.
Hastings shook his head with a rueful smile. "A very odd man."
***
Jack still hadn't formed an opinion of the Earl of Warwick, but he had to admit the man knew how to throw a party. An extended party that lasted the length of the journey from York to London, even. The fact that he'd managed to distract the Doctor from the fact that he was half a country away from the TARDIS was a miracle in itself. As for Jack, he was still mulling over Ned's offer, the inconclusive conversation with Hastings having been completely unhelpful.
As they entered London, Jack was reminded of 1945 with an unexpected pang. Smellier streets, flowers instead of ticker tape, but the sentiments were the same.
It was also somewhat surreal, riding in the entourage of a king to an honest to God palace. They hadn't really been there long enough to get used to it before. Plus there'd been the small matter of an army of clockmen waiting to annihilate them all. Amazing how that could distract you.
Damn, it was impressive. Made of pale stone, it almost glittered in the surprisingly strong sunlight. You'd never believe there had been a snowstorm the day of the battle. Until you looked at the men, of course. The legacy of Towton was there in their eyes, a look he recognised from veterans of numerous battles.
If Ned was haunted by the thousands of dead men who paved his way to the crown, it didn't show. Clad in polished plate armour, laughing with Hastings and Warwick, and flirting shamelessly with girls in the crowd, he looked like a king without a care in the world. As the procession clattered into the main courtyard of Westminster Palace, Ned--to Warwick's visible annoyance and Jack's amusement--threw off all remaining semblance of ceremony to greet his mother and a blonde lady Jack assumed was his younger sister.
Catching her eye over Ned's shoulder, Jack gave his best smile. She had a look of her brother about her, he decided. Her eyes widened a little, but she returned the smile with a dazzling one of her own, one that prompted the Doctor to swat Jack on the shoulder for no reason whatsoever. Before Jack could respond, however, two small shapes darted out from a nearby doorway and threw themselves at Ned, knocking him off-balance.
"Are you really King now?" the elder of the two boys demanded--Jack guessed him to be twelve at the oldest.
"Yes, George," Ned replied with a grin, ruffling the boy's blond hair. "Which means you shouldn't be trying to knock me over in public."
Beside Jack, the Doctor had gone very still, his gaze fixed on the younger of the boys, a dark-haired contrast to the rest of his family, with grey eyes that looked to fill half his face. He was clinging fiercely to Ned's cloak and staring up at him with a smile that needed no translation.
The Doctor, surprising and squicking Jack in almost equal measure, dropped to his knees in the none too clean yard in front of the littler boy. "Richard, isn't it?"
The boy hid behind Ned, who laughed and knelt down. "Yes, this is Richard. I'm afraid he doesn't say much, but I assure you he sees everything. Don't you, little man?"
Richard's face went pink, but he continued to study the Doctor with a perplexed frown. "Are you the Doctor? Ned wrote to us about you."
"I am," the Doctor agreed. "Would you like to see my TARDIS?"
"What's a TARDIS? Is it a dragon? Ned said you were Merlin in disguise." All this spilled out of Richard's mouth far quicker than it should have done.
"Easy, lad," Ned cautioned. "Later, I think. Once they've cleared the courtyard. Then you can spend as much time with him as you like."
"Really?" He glanced back toward their mother, who gave an indulgent nod. Turning to the Doctor, he grinned widely, showing a gap in his bottom teeth. "Yes, I would like that very much, Sir Doctor."
"I'm not a Sir," the Doctor said, showing his own teeth in a huge grin. "Just Doctor is fine."
"What about me?" the older boy--George, was it?--asked, a decided whine in his voice. "Can I go too?"
"I'm not sure it would interest you, George, but I don't see why not. Although, you should greet our cousin of Warwick." With that, Ned rose to his feet and the Duchess of York chivvied the two boys inside. As Warwick came up to them, Ned forestalled him, "Don't say anything."
"I wasn't planning to say anything," the Earl said with a shrug. "Doctor, shall we?"
"After you," the Doctor said courteously. Jack fell in behind the group, shoulder to shoulder with Ned's sister.
"Hi."
"You must be Captain Harkness," she replied, holding out her hand. She was Jack's height, which came as a surprise, though her shoulders were hunched as if trying to hide it.6 Close up, she looked younger--he guessed fourteen or fifteen. "I'm Ma--" she paused to correct herself, shooting a covert glance at her mother as she did so, "Lady Margaret Plantagenet."
"Lady Margaret," he echoed, taking her hand to kiss it in Warwick's manner. "I've heard so much about you."
"I shudder to think what Ned's told you, then," Margaret laughed. "I suppose I should call him His Grace now, shouldn't I? It's all happened so very fast."
"Being sister to the King can't be all bad, though. After all, you get to meet interesting guys like me."
She raised one hand to her mouth to stifle her giggles. "You're as bad as Ned! But you could tell me--is the Doctor really Merlin in disguise, or was that just a story to distract Dickon?"
"It's...kinda hard to say," he said eventually. "Things don't happen to the Doctor in quite the same order as they do to us."
Margaret pondered the words as they entered the hall, the first part of the palace Jack could recognise from a tour of the Houses of Parliament what seemed like a lifetime ago. Following his gaze, Ned's sister remarked, "Richard II used to hold marvellous banquets here. I hope Ned will too. Do you dance, Captain?"
"I don't get the chance as much as I'd like," he said, an inexplicable lump in his throat. "Are you offering?"
"Not now, but maybe later, if you ask nicely." Bobbing a slight curtsey, she hurried off after her mother, leaving Jack to feel one of the Doctor's Looks boring into the back of his skull.
He turned around, bracing himself for the Talk. He'd been expecting it the entirety of the journey if he was honest, so to have it would be something of a relief. "Wonderful girl, isn't she, Doctor?"
"And fourteen." The Doctor had folded his arms and rearranged his features into his most disapproving expression.
Before he could open his mouth, Jack stepped in to defend himself. "I wasn't gonna marry her--"
"Not at issue, Jack. She's the sister of the King and you're a commoner. Even Gaveston only got the Earl of Gloucester's sister and that ended in a deposition."7 He stopped, shaking his head. "Poor Edward. Founded Oriel College, but talk about father issues."
"What, Ned?"
"No, Edward II, of course. Your Edward's far too self-possessed for that." He was actually almost smiling now. "Of course, he's still not going to marry his sister to a commoner, however good said commoner happens to be in bed."
Jack, rather at sea, kept hold of the one fact he felt sure of. "I said I wasn't gonna marry her. Wha--"
The Doctor ran his hand through his hair, making it stick up even worse. He was back to glaring now. "That girl isn't just a girl, Jack--"
"You're telling me!" He decided to risk a low whistle, but regretted it immediately.
"Listen to me, you oversexed excuse for a man," the Doctor hissed, gripping his elbow hard enough to hurt, "she's a royal bargaining chip now. She's going to make a marriage advantageous to the throne and to do that she has to be a virgin."
"So what does she get out of it?"
In the ultimate Kodak moment, the Doctor simply gawped at him, struck dumb. Then, recovering his wits enough to speak, said, "Nothing, really."
"Bit unfair on her, isn't it?"
"Jack, she's a woman in the fifteenth century. Of course it's unfair."
"But--"
"No buts. No ifs." He heaved one of the sighs Rose had called disappointed dad's and closed his eyes briefly. "At least we'll be leaving soon. Even you can't do much harm between now and tomorrow."
OK, he had to tell him. It was now or--well, anytime until tomorrow actually, but never sounded better. A lot better, in fact.
Forcing himself to get a grip, Jack's wandering eyes found Ned's. The other man, though deep in talk with his mother, gave him a smile almost as dazzling as Jack's own. Trying for casual, he said, "Actually, Ned asked me to stay. So I--"
"Said no, I hope."
Jack looked around the richly furnished hall, eyes lingering on the family group, with Warwick watching, slightly apart. So they didn't have electricity or proper transport and the less said about the privies the better, but...
He didn't want to, but he wasn't above begging. "Why shouldn't I, Doctor? Nobody's going to complain if Ned pals around with a hero of Towton, are they?"
Apparently even the Doctor couldn't argue with that. Instead he asked softly, "And your team?"
"They're a good team; they'll be fine."
"Are you sure? Or is that just to make yourself feel better about running away?"
It was a low blow, and Jack tried not to bristle as he answered. "Of course I'm sure. Gwen, Tosh, Owen, Ianto--they're the best."
Though the Doctor said nothing, the look in his eyes was enough to have shamed Jack--if he'd had any, that was. "Really. It's what I've trained them for. They don't need me."
"They burn people for witchcraft in these times, you know." He sounded conversational. Jack didn't trust him when he was in this mood.
"Uh, so?"
"Jack!" His voice was rough with exasperation. "You can't die! Somebody is--"
"Ned knows."
"Brilliant! Now how about the other two and a half million people? Well, minus the one percent that just died in that battle."
To which Jack could think of absolutely nothing to say. The compassion in the Doctor's eyes was almost beyond bearing. "You can't stay, Jack. You know that really. You have a responsibility."
"To the goddamn human race?" Jack snarled. "Is this the part where you give the rousing speech and I come over all heroic?"
"No." So quietly, he was almost whispering, the Doctor said, "This is where I tell you that your responsibility is not to the human race or me or even your team, but to yourself. You owe it to yourself to be better. If you stay stuck here with no way back--turn your back on everything you're trying to build--you'll start to hate yourself. You'll start to hate Ned. He doesn't deserve that, Jack."
Whatever Jack could have said to that--and, if he were honest, he had no idea--remained a mystery as a childish treble piped up from next to them. "Doctor, will you show me the Tardis-dragon now?"
The Doctor was suddenly wreathed in smiles. "Of course, Richard. You might be disappointed if someone's been telling you about dragons, though."
"Oh. I thought Merlin was supposed to talk to dragons." He scuffed the floor with one shoe. "What is it, then?"
"Why don't I let it surprise you?"
A sudden, guarded look came across Richard's face. "I don't like surprises."
"You don't?" The Doctor looked--well, surprised. "Me, I love surprises. The stuff of life."
"I used to like them," Richard admitted. "Not anymore. There was a surprise at Wakefield and Papa and Edmund never came back and Maman sent us to Burgundy even though I didn't want to go."
The Doctor sighed, placing one hand on the boy's thin shoulder. "She only wanted the best for you, you know."
"I know. And Bruges was very nice. But we shouldn't have left Ned. At least I don't think so." Taking a deep breath, he looked back up at the Doctor. "It might be a nice surprise, I suppose."
Jack found himself staring after them as they left the hall, completely at a loss. To the point where the hand on his shoulder caused him to nearly jump out of his skin.
"Captain?" It was the Duchess of York, looking singularly unruffled as she glanced at the doorway. "I see my son has captured the Doctor. He's very indulgent."
Jack swallowed, more than a little taken aback. "I guess so. He...likes kids, I think."
"It will be good for Richard." A strange tightness had entered her voice. "He understands more than one might wish." Then, breaking the spell, she started toward the door. "Oh, Edward wished me to tell you he's gone up to the battlements." Before Jack could ask for the inevitable directions, she smiled faintly and added, "That door, all the way up the stairs."
"Thanks," he said, over his shoulder, barely pausing to give civility its due. This was going to be hard enough without waiting on it.
The battlements, once he found them, provided a breathtaking view of the Thames, filled with boats and completely lacking bridges. Jack couldn't help but stare for a few moments, trying to reconcile the unfamiliar image with the London he knew. Ned seemed equally deep in thought, gazing eastward across the fields to the rest of the city.
"I should have warned the Doctor about Richard," Ned said with an indulgent smile. "Once he latches onto an idea, he never lets go."
"Well, the Doctor rarely lights on one idea for more than a few seconds at a time," Jack said, half-smiling, "so that should be interesting."
"Was something wrong earlier? It seemed as if you both were arguing."
Jack stared out at the river again, feeling his cheeks burn. "I guess we kind of were."
"Nothing too serious, I hope?"
Now it came to it, Jack found he could hardly speak through the obstruction in his throat. "Yes, actually."
"Well, then," Ned leant back against the stones, "out with it."
Jack tried to start at least four times, but words really weren't his forte. In the end, he just walked over to Ned, stared into his eyes for an endless moment and kissed him with bruising force.
If this shocked the King, it was difficult to tell. Drawing away from Jack slightly, he studied him with a slight frown. "You're not staying, are you?"
There were tears in Jack's eyes now, however much he might have wished otherwise. His world seemed made of goodbyes recently. "I'd like to. More than you'll ever know."
Ned gave him a rueful smile. "I believe you. But you've left someone behind?"
"My team," he confirmed. "I kinda have responsibilities."
"I thought as much," Ned sighed. "I can understand that, for certain."
"Of course you do," Jack whispered, past the lump in his throat which seemed to have swelled to the size of a golf ball. "King."
"Yes." Ned took a deep breath, turning to look at the river. "I barely know what I'm doing, Jack. On the field, in battle, everything makes sense. But there's so much more to being a king than that, as Warwick keeps reminding me. Too much more, I sometimes think."
The obstruction in his throat seemed to melt away and he put one hand to the rather stubbly cheek. "Ned, you'll do fine. You're a great man. And, believe me, I've known a few."
"Biblically, I suspect," Ned said with a grin.
"I am a biblical scholar."
"And a fine one you make, sir," the King managed between explosions of laughter.
"See, that's better," Jack said with a surprisingly unforced smile. "Laughing is good."
"Take your own advice, then, Jack," Ned remarked, one hand hovering at Jack's chin. "I'll hold you to it."
At which Jack couldn't help but laugh. "Deal, then? I'll laugh and you'll laugh and we'll always have London?"
"Just don't forget," advised Ned in a voice that did nothing for Jack's self-control. "I'd be very hurt."
"Never," Jack promised, taking his hand.
"Good. It's a royal command."
"You're getting good at those."
"I don't think I have a choice," he admitted. "Everyone expects me to give them."
Jack bent his head to kiss Ned's hand. "You're going to do great, Your Grace.
"As are you," Ned said. "Remember that."
"To great memories, then."
And that, as they said, was that. It hurt less than Jack had expected, and he couldn't help but wonder if Ned had planned it that way. The young King seemed to thrive on the entire world underestimating him, a ploy with which Jack was intimately familiar. And it had certainly worked for him all these years, so he saw no reason why it wouldn't work for Ned.
Continued HERE
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 III): 12,260 (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'). Unfortunately, the authors are long-winded and LJ forced us to split this into two separate posts. All the notes are HERE. Thanks to angevin2 for beta-reading!
Part I: This Sun of York
Part II: The Devil Went Down to Anjou
The snow, which Jack vaguely recalled beginning as he arrived in the Yorkist camp that morning, now blanketed the ground, transforming the already bleak landscape into a hazy, endless expanse of white. He doubted they cancelled battles on account of snow. Especially not if clockmen were involved, since they probably didn't even notice. But he couldn't think about that now--what mattered was extricating the Doctor from wherever Bilis and the Queen had left him.
At least that was what had mattered before things began to go inexplicably wrong.
Quite without realising, Jack had stumbled into a battle. There were clockmen all around, and a man--movement-wise, it could have been Ned, but this guy was older and had the wrong colouring--battling them.
Jack couldn't understand what had happened, unless this was some kind of flanking movement meeting a section of Ned's army he'd not previously met up with. It'd make sense, he supposed, to put relations in charge of whatever those groups were called at this time in history.
"Father!" The cry came from somewhere behind Jack, and he whirled at the sound, despite knowing it was physically impossible for Ned to be here and at the bridge at the same time.
The man he had noticed earlier glanced up, and the nearest clockman took advantage of his distraction to thrust one bladed hand into his back. He sank to the ground, blood spattering the snow.
Shocked for no very good reason, it being a battle and all, Jack tried in vain to search for Ned in the press of skirmishing figures. That was when he saw the truly impossible: his brother Gray.
He was kneeling nearby, arms pinioned by two clockmen. At least he could have sworn it was Gray until the young man raised his head and Jack realised he'd never seen him before. But the resemblance to Ned was striking. And that was when he remembered something Gwen had mentioned about Bilis convincing her that Rhys was dead. Temporal hallucinations. He was in the middle of a battle that had already happened.
Before he could make sense of this new observation, the action around him ground to a halt as a group of horsemen fought their way through the wind and snow to where he stood. Lifting the visor on his helmet, their leader looked down at the kneeling young man Jack had mistook before. The smile that prompted was one that made Jack shudder inwardly.
His eyes--eyes that might in other circumstances have piqued Jack's interest--seemed to meet Jack's own as he spoke. He didn't sound very old. "A rat of the House of York if I mistake not. And all know how to deal with such vermin, do they not?"
"For Chrissakes, no!" Jack yelled. "He's only a kid. Don't you people have ransom rules?"
But nobody seemed to hear him, though the prisoner--who Jack suddenly realised had to be Ned's brother--stared straight at him, grey eyes widening in horror. "You can't mean...Clifford, are you mad? What are these creatures? What devil's bargain is this?"
"No devil, but the Lord's work," Clifford said, ugly fanaticism in every word. "Those who rebel 'gainst their anointed King cannot hope to earn His blessing. Though he may make an exception for a lad if he prays."
He lifted his sword, already red with blood, and Jack felt an unheard scream rip his throat apart. The boy was unarmed and down--kneeling. "Pray, rat, pray that you be dispatched in a state of grace."
After a second, in which he drew a deep breath, Ned's brother looked him in the eye and spat, "I'll not pray to a butcher."
"I'll take that name and wear it with pride." The sword flashed down and blood fountained from the boy's unprotected throat. Tears of rage prickled at Jack's eyes, then turned to horror as the body was no longer that of a teenage boy, but Ned himself, broken and bloody.
The sound took some time to come to his attention, but when it did, Jack turned from the gruesome tableau, now completely convinced he was losing his mind. Just beyond the knot of horsemen, in the horizon, was a bright blue light. If he hadn't been stuck in the middle of the fifteenth century, he would have assumed it was a laser pointer. Except that...
Without stopping to think further, Jack lunged forward, chasing the light with all the energy he had left. The sound grew stronger, the unmistakeable whirr of a sonic screwdriver.
When he opened his eyes, trying to decide at what point he'd closed them, he was lying on a most uncomfortable surface at the Doctor's feet. Embarrassed but damned if he was going to show it, Jack quipped, "Usually they tell you not to follow the light."
"They tell you not to play with time, either. I think we've established you're not good at doing what you should."
Stung, Jack shot back, "Hey, I escaped! I was going to rescue...wait, where are we?"
After this many days, the interior of one tent looked much like any other. As for the Doctor, he was shackled hand and foot to a thick post, the sonic screwdriver on the ground in front of him. Jack wondered for a moment how on earth he'd used it, and promptly forced himself to think of something else. That was far too distracting.
"At a guess, somewhere behind the lines of the Battle of Towton. Margaret and her tame monk brought you in some time ago. You're a very hard man to wake up, did anyone ever tell you that?" Almost as soon as Jack had opened his mouth, the Doctor hurriedly went on. "No, on second thoughts, don't answer that."
It must have been a shock for Margaret to see him alive after having shot him the previous day, but Jack supposed she'd dealt with it. Snatching up the screwdriver, he pointed it at the shackles, taking comfort in familiarity and a situation that patently didn't involve hallucinations of dead people.
"They didn't tie me up," he said, apparently playing the role of Captain Obvious. The sonic screwdriver made short work of the shackles and the Doctor got to his feet stiffly, rubbing his wrists.
"No, Jack, they didn't. Try not to take it personally."
Jack glared at him, still holding the screwdriver. "You'd take it personally, too, if you'd just been underestimated by your nemesis."
"But you have already escaped death, Captain," came the unmistakeable voice of the Queen from the doorway behind them. "Surely shackles would be a mere inconvenience?"
"I'm not saying I wouldn't have pulled a Houdini, but there's such a thing as respect," he drawled, turning on one heel so his coat billowed out dramatically.
"We can arrange that," Margaret replied, eyes narrowing. Though she may have spoken further, a small shape thrust past her into the tent and snatched the sonic screwdriver from Jack.
"Un jouet, Maman!" The speaker was a towheaded child of eight years old at most, peering up at Jack through eyes disconcertingly close to his mother's.
"No," the Doctor almost shouted. "Non, Edouard, ce n'est pas un jouet!"
Margaret's eyes met Jack's briefly. As if reading there what Jack had only half-conceived, she lunged forward, groping for the boy's hand. Jack moved quicker, snatching the hand holding the screwdriver and backing out of reach. "This is your son, right?"
The Queen froze, her gaze focused on Edouard. It was Bilis who answered. "What is it you're playing at, Captain?"
"What I have to," he brazened out. "I think the lady's understanding me."
"You will not hurt him." To Margaret's credit, she did not flinch.
"Maman?" Edouard's voice trembled and he dropped the screwdriver. "Je ne le veux pas."
"Doucement, petit," she murmured. Now staring Jack in the face, she spoke very slowly. "I do not believe it."
"Jack!" There was more than a hint of true worry in the Doctor's voice, for which Jack was duly thankful; it could only help him, after all.
"You wanna test me?"
"You cannot think to change anything," Margaret said. "York is surely dead by now."
"Eight hours, Captain," Bilis interjected, the accompanying smile making Jack want nothing more than to strangle him. "That's how long they've been fighting. I'm afraid your little side trip took somewhat longer than you might have anticipated."
Eight hours. He tried not to show how much that had thrown him, glancing across at the Doctor. He didn't help matters, shrugging and muttering something about 'wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey'.
As the boy wriggled and Jack tightened his grip, it hit him. "Maybe N--York's dead, and maybe he ain't. You willing to take a chance on this boy's life?"
For the first time, Bilis looked uneasy. "He's playing you for a fool, Your Highness."
"What difference will it make?" Margaret snapped. "Go, then. Your precieux has no doubt joined his father and brother in Hell by now."
"Your Highness, I must insist--"
"That is enough!" Margaret swept her skirts aside as she stepped away from the doorway. "I do not play games with England's heir."
Jack kept his hold on the boy until the Doctor had preceded him out of the tent and his eyes on Bilis. He didn't think the slippery weasel of a man would try anything with Margaret watching, but he'd proved time and again he wasn't remotely trustworthy.
Ultimately, it wasn't Bilis who turned on them--the moment Jack let go of Edouard's arm and he fled to his mother's side, she raised her arm in an unmistakeable gesture. Catching sight of the guards moving in from three out of four sides, Jack grabbed the Doctor and charged through the one open space, hoping against hope that the wind and the snow would work in their favour.
Much to his relief, they did. The wind whipped the arrows aside, somewhere into the snowdrifts, while Jack and the Doctor stumbled through the knee-deep snow until they came to a cluster of trees that, as far as they could tell, marked the edge of the campsite.
"I hadn't realised Torchwood had sunk to those depths," the Doctor hissed, gripping Jack's wrist with surprising force. "Threatening children?!"
"What?" Jack, fully aware of the despicable nature of his action, glared at the Doctor. OK, so he'd known the guy wouldn't approve, but he could at least have said thank you. "I did what had to be done."
"You're wrong, Jack. It didn't have to be done at all--"
He dropped his eyes, resenting how the Doctor could always make him feel like a schoolboy being told off by the head. Which was half the reason he interrupted. He was a leader in his own right, a man who could make hard decisions. "Yes, it did. In case you didn't notice, Doctor, I just saved our lives."
"The wrong way."
"Who's to say it was so wrong? Nobody got hurt and--"
He broke off when the Doctor spoke over him in his own turn with the quiet authority Jack would have given his eyeteeth to have possessed. "I am."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I said, I am." Unwillingly, Jack felt his spine prickle. "I'm the one to say it's wrong, because it is, Jack. Threatening an innocent--a child--is against everything we should be standing for."
"I had no choice," Jack persisted, wishing the argument didn't feel so weak.
"You always have a choice. That's what being human's about. You had the choice to behave better and you didn't take it."
"Well, what was I supposed to do? I couldn't just let them kill y--us."
The compassion was worse than the anger, and ten times more condescending. "Left it to me if you couldn't think of anything else."
"And what would you have done?"
"I'd have thought of something."
And that was when I hit him, Your Honour. He had enough self-control left not to do that, but he did storm off, barely noticing the cold anymore.
Of course, the unfortunate side effect of having an argument close to where two very large armies were battling each other was that storming off could leave one in an even worse position. Jack could barely tell one side from the other in the whirling snow, and he had to wonder if even they knew who they were fighting. And then there was the smell--muted by the cold to some extent, but rising to his nostrils until he gagged.
He could have turned back, but the still-smouldering anger at the Doctor combined with the memory of Bilis' vision held him in place.
And then, in a moment uncannily reminiscent of that vision, he saw Ned. He shouldn't have been able to recognise him, of course, but the brilliant, careless young king had his visor up.1
He was at the head of what Jack felt ninety-nine percent confident of calling a charge. And was likely to get himself killed any moment. Not that he even seemed to notice, urging his horse up and over what Jack recognised in horror as a pile of bodies at least five feet high. Almost in slow motion, the animal slipped, nearly hurling Ned into a forest of Lancastrian pikes.
Jack did not realised he had lunged forward until he ploughed into the nearest pikeman, tackling him to the ground. Through the haze of snow and confusion and blood, he could have sworn Ned called his name. That was when something heavy and sharp slammed into his back and he sank to the ground, pain spiralling out from his spine.
Jack gave a huge gasp as he came back to life, regretting it immediately. His mouth and nose were buried in what felt like a living doormat. A smelly doormat, at that.
With the realisation that it was a horse, he turned his head to see Ned staring at him like he'd just seen a ghost. Which, come to think of it, he kind of had.
By that point, they had reached the copse of trees where Jack had left the Doctor, though the errant Time Lord seemed to have vanished. Jack slid off the horse into a heap on the ground, conscious of Ned's eyes on him as jumped down, ripping off his helmet. His face was bone-white, and Jack opened his mouth, unsure of how to even begin to explain what had just happened.
"Umm, I can explain?" he tried, cursing whatever fate had decreed this should happen now.
"Explain?" The word was a whipcrack. "You were dead."
"It may have looked that way, but--"
"Jack, for God's sake!" The first signs of emotion crept into Ned's voice as he swung one arm toward the battlefield. "Don't you think that I, of all people, would know a dead man when I see one? I've been climbing over them for I can't count how many hours."
Jack sighed, abandoning all thoughts of pretence. "OK, fine, I was dead. I got better."
Ned choked on what might have been a bark of laughter. "That's one I haven't heard before. Men don't generally recover from battleaxes." After a moment's glance at the ground, he sighed and looked back at Jack, dark circles sketched beneath his eyes. "Why were you even there, Jack? I told you to stay away, and with good reason."
"Yeah, well, Margaret happened."
"Margaret happens to the best of us. I meant back there, when you charged into a battle line without a second thought."
"You were in danger," Jack said lamely.
Ned blinked, bright hair whipping across his face, and, completely without warning, he began to laugh in earnest. "Jack Harkness, you are an idiot."
"That's fair." He resisted the urge to kiss the other man; there were larger things at stake than his feelings. "I'm...well, you probably got that I'm not normal. It's hard to fear death when it's not permanent."
"I..." Ned swallowed. "We'll discuss this later. For now, stay back. That's an order." Moving to Jack's side in two quick steps, he kissed him fiercely. "I've been doing this for my entire life. Trust me."
Just as quickly, he snatched up the fallen helmet and hoisted himself back onto the horse in one graceful movement. Tossing Jack a careless salute and a grin, he charged back into the fray and was soon lost to view. The snow, at least, was beginning to die down.
"I actually cannot take you anywhere, can I, Jack Harkness?" Although he knew he should still have been pissed off at the alien with the superiority complex to end all complexes, Jack was too worried about Ned to care. "Next time, at least get a room. Or a tent. Yes, a tent would hide from you from...oh, everyone with a pair of eyes."
Not that it stopped him from being royally embarrassed by the teasing. Looking everywhere but at the Doctor, he found his attention captured by a banner furling out over the opposing army. "Hey, Doctor, what do you make of that?"
Though he looked indecently amused, the Doctor permitted the change of subject with only a raised eyebrow and an "Other than the fact that you're a magpie, you mean?"
"Yeah," Jack said, heavy on the sarcasm, "other than that."
The Doctor shielded his eyes, peering at the admittedly sparkly banner. "Judica me deus discerne meam de gente non sancta.2 Something along the lines of: Judge me, O God, discern me from unholy men. Oh, and those are marguerites round the sides. I like that!"
"I'm sure you do, Doctor, but I meant aside from the puns--"
"Come on, Jack, look on the punny side."
Jack stared the Doctor down coldly. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that. Seriously, then, look at the words. Don't you see what I mean?"
He saw it dawn on the Doctor, feeling the rare warmth of getting there ahead of the ultra-clever being. "The text...like the brooch. Jack, we have to seize that banner."
"I never was one for obeying orders," Jack sighed, thinking of Ned's last injunction to him.
"You can say that again."
It didn't take much effort to convince the Doctor they needed a horse. On foot wouldn't have been nearly fast enough, not in the clearing snow. Jack tried not to think about the reason why it was so easy to find an abandoned horse, and instead climbed on behind the Doctor.
As their mount broke into a bonejarring run, Jack became concerned for the safety of his intimate parts. The Doctor in front shielded him from the worst of the weather, although the poleaxe in his right hand was more than a little worrying.
Jack had never seen him handle a weapon before and it looked sharp. Also long. Long enough to be a danger to Jack if wielded wrong.
"Doctor," he hissed, trying to be heard over the din of the battle they were passing, "let me hold onto that thing. You've got enough to do."
There might have been a sigh of disappointment, but the Doctor relinquished the poleaxe. Jack shifted slightly on the saddle, hoisting the weapon into what seemed like the best position. The horse sped up, scattering men-at-arms as they thundered past the borders of the Lancastrian camp. The banner sparkled in the late-afternoon light just ahead of them, even as Margaret's guard fanned out in hopes of stopping them.
An indecipherable cry went up from somewhere on the battlefield, distracting some of the guards. Forcibly keeping his attention on the task at hand, Jack aimed the poleaxe at the banner. They couldn't think about anything else--the element of surprise was all they had.
The soldiers grouped around the banner had seen them now, judging by their disbelieving expressions, although they didn't seem to know what to do.
Then it was upon him and he clutched what he thought was probably the haft of the weapon hard enough it felt as though splinters were being embedded in his skin and tried for a little Knight's Tale technique.
His heart hammered and sweat stung his eyes as his focus narrowed to the wavering blade of the poleaxe. Holding something this long still on a horse that was bouncing up and down was next to impossible he was discovering.
Cloth ripped audibly and the banner tore loose from the lance-like pole, impaled on the spike at the top of his weapon which probably had a fancy name.
The Doctor, seeing their improbable success, hauled on the reins and Jack had to clutch him round the waist--making a mental note to suggest the guy ate more in future, given how easy it was--in order to keep from falling off as the horse virtually stood on its hind legs.
They were suddenly surrounded by men, but not, as Jack would have expected, trying to trap them in place. These men were running past them, stray shouts of 'Norfolk' and 'reinforcements' and 'sorcery' mingling into a cacophony. Jack turned back to the battlefield as he held the flame of his cigarette lighter--a gift from a particularly cute major in the last days of the Blitz--to the edge of the banner.
What he could only describe as a wall of horsemen was thundering across the field, mowing down the frozen clockmen. As the humans behind them realised what was happening, the lines began to break, falling apart with the men turning to flee.
"What have you done?" The voice was unmistakeably Queen Margaret's, hoarse from shouting, and Jack deliberately dropped the burning silk onto the ground, where it hissed and sizzled against the snow. "Guards, hold them! They are traitors to the Crown."
"Actually, I think you'll find we were performing a service to the Crown," the Doctor said cheerfully, making Jack's stomach sink. He doubted she'd have brought her son to a battlefield. "King Edward the Fourth's crown, that is."
"Edward the Fourth!" she spat. "A plague on him! You would turn against your rightful king and his heir for that child, that arrogant, wanton boy--"
"Your Grace!" An armoured horseman drew rein at her side, pushing up his visor to reveal a face Jack did not recognise. "The line is broken. Well-timed reinforcements from the Duke of Norfolk and..." he looked at Jack and the Doctor without really seeing them, "I don't know how it happened, but they've stopped. And the monk is gone."
"Gone?" Margaret echoed, a tremor in her voice. "Where? He was just here a moment ago. He can't have got far. Find him, Somerset!"
"My men are searching, Your Grace," replied Somerset gently, "but I have my doubts."
"Oh, he's gone," Jack put in, a hint of bitterness darkening his voice. "That's his MO."
"And why should we believe you--?"
"My Lady, we can't stay here!" Somerset interjected, grabbing her arm tightly. "No quarter, remember? They must not find you."
Margaret stared long and hard at Jack and the Doctor, her mouth twisted and her eyes bright with tears. "You will regret this. All of you, Edward of York most of all. It will not end, not while I draw breath." Spurring her horse, she charged past them, Somerset and her guard in her wake.
"It does," was all the Doctor had to say to that.
Baffled, Jack asked, "Does what?"
"Ends while she draws breath. After Tewkesbury when her son dies, she's never quite the same.3 Breaks her heart and her spirit." He paused thoughtfully, before adding, "Shame, in a way."
Not wanting to contemplate that, Jack turned back to the snow-covered battlefield and gave up pretending he wasn't searching for one specific person. As if that had conjured him up, he caught sight of the now all-too-familiar grey and white horse, limping toward what he hadn't realised was a small creek cutting across the battlefield. Ned had abandoned his helmet altogether--Jack resolved to point out later how bad an idea that was--and was shouting orders they could not hear from the distance, until he saw them. At which sight, he gave them a smile that Jack was unashamed to admit made his insides twist a little.
"Jack!"
"What?" Jack demanded, all innocence.
He'd lost count of the number of times he'd been on the receiving end of the expression the Doctor turned on him throughout the trip. "You know what. True Tragedy, Jack."
"But I've never done it on a battlefield," he countered, just to see the look on the Doctor's face.
He did not disappoint; Jack had to lean precariously back to avoid the swipe the Doctor aimed at him, and the accompanying glare could have rivalled Margaret.
"Oh, come on. How was I supposed to resist that?"
Muttering something under his breath about oversexed Torchwood operatives, the Doctor urged their horse back toward the knot of Yorkist commanders, and Jack, for what felt like the first time in three days, let himself relax.
***
Lying in a massive wooden tub filled with hot water and what smelled like rosemary, Jack was mostly convinced that he had in fact died and gone to heaven. A suspicion he considered confirming when he heard Ned's voice from somewhere behind him.
"Don't fall asleep. You'll catch a chill." After a moment's pause, he added, "Although I suppose that's not the sort of thing you worry about."
"I worry about chills. I look like hell with a runny nose." So they were about to have the 'you don't die' conversation. Well, at least he'd be comfortable while they had it.
Ned laughed as he sprawled onto the nearby bed, a sheaf of papers in his hand. Looking back up, he asked without preamble, "Are you human, Jack?"
Jack rose to his feet, displaying his rather impressive body to its fullest. "What do you think?"
"Well, you certainly look it," Ned allowed with a brief smile. "I ask the question in all seriousness, Jack. I've accepted a great many things over the past few weeks, some of which..." he looked down at the papers in front of him. "People can't come back from the dead. It doesn't happen."
Jack shrugged. "Most people don't. I wasn't meant to, but there was this Time Vortex and a girl and...well, I can't die now. Or, I can, but I don't stay dead."
Ned was studying him now, an indecipherable expression on his face. "An ability most of the men I know could only dream of having."
"It's not all it's cracked up to be. Really." Focusing inwards, he saw the darkness behind his eyes. Black emptiness he knew as intimately as he now knew the young man in front of him. "I still feel pain."
"I thought as much," Ned replied softly. "For my part, I would not want it."
"Sensible lad." Shivering, he immersed himself in the wonderful-smelling water once again. "I guess there are perks to being the king."
"Oh, you've barely seen them," Ned rested his chin on his hands, eyes sparkling with laughter. "When we're back in London, God only knows what Warwick's planned, but it will be spectacular. I saw him talking to the Doctor earlier." He shook his head, smiling. "A volatile combination if ever there was one."
It should probably scare me, but I'm far too relaxed." He sat up, chin on the edge of the tub, making puppydog eyes at Ned. "Though I do need someone to scrub my back."
"And you're asking the King of England?" Ned was obviously fighting to keep a straight face as he heaved himself out of the bed with an exaggerated groan. "Presumptuous."
"My middle name. If you're very good, I might scrub yours in return."
Now choking on his laughter, Ned leant over to look at him and picked up the abandoned washcloth hanging over the side of the tub. "How long this time, Jack? Before you and the Doctor disappear again?"
"I don't know," Jack told him honestly. "Once we can be sure all the clockmen are gone, I guess."
"Well, you'll need to stay until we return to London, surely. That strange blue box is still there." Deftly managing to keep his sleeves out of the water, he rested his elbows on the side of the tub. "Would you consider staying? He won't--I already asked him. Offered him nothing less than Somerset's dukedom, but he wouldn't have it. But I suppose Merlin doesn't care for worldly things."
"I..." Jack stopped, unsure of what to say, or even what he wanted. He had a certain responsibility to his team, sure, but he didn't for one second doubt that they were perfectly capable of carrying on without him. And he couldn't deny that the idea of staying with Ned held a certain appeal. "What would Hastings say?" he settled on, stalling for time.
"Hastings..." Ned pondered, lips pursing, "would insist on at least one if not two bottles of wine to help him think, a girl to jog his memory afterward, and possibly end up tossing a coin."
Jack tried to hide his laughter but failed extravagantly. "A man after my own heart, then."
"Mine too, as it happens. And take all the time you need. There's no hurry."
"I meant, really, what would Hastings say to my staying," Jack said quietly.
"Will?" Ned blinked, visibly puzzled. "What has that to do with anything? He likes you well enough. I am the king, my word is law, I wish you to stay, ergo, you shall stay. If you like, that is."
Jack could think of nothing to say that, so kissed the young king instead. It gave him something of a thrill, if he was honest, kissing a king.
It shouldn't have surprised him that Ned fell into a deep sleep in short order, but the entire day had taken on a surreal quality, to the point where Jack had almost forgotten the younger man had spent ten hours in the middle of a bloodbath. He was literally covered in bruises, with a bandage laced tightly around one of his arms, though he laughed it off uneasily, pointing out that he'd got off lightly.
A quick glance at the papers he'd been reading revealed a casualty list of sorts. Though Jack could barely decipher the tiny, spidery writing, the length was frankly terrifying.4 No wonder Ned had been in a strange mood.
Jack emerged from the room, having managed to pull on the clothing left for him without too much trouble. As he stepped out onto the open stairwell, it occurred to him that he had no idea what time it was and that his watch was...somewhere. With the rest of his now absolutely filthy clothing, including the coat he was still determined to save.
Whatever time it was, the room below, which had been full to bursting when they first arrived at the inn, was more or less empty. Lounging on a pillow-covered chair in front of the fire was none other than William Hastings.
"Man of the hour," he saluted him, with a slight exaggeration.
"I was about to say the same for you," Hastings replied, raising his glass. "You and the Doctor. If you're looking for him, he's off with Warwick and Montagu, no doubt causing a great deal of trouble."
"Actually, I was looking for you." Finding himself badly in need of courage of the Dutch variety, Jack poured himself a generous glass of wine.
"For me?" Hastings laughed, taking a large sip from his own glass and holding it out for a refill. "Where's Ned? He mentioned something about fishing you out of a bath before you drowned yourself, but I can't remember how long ago that was."
"Asleep. I guess he needed it after that battle." Jack took a large swig, resolving just to say it outright. "He asked me to stay."
"I should have warned you that he steals people's beds," Hastings observed wryly. "The perils of royal friendship." Turning back to Jack, he shrugged. "He asked you to stay at court? I can't blame him. He wants men he can trust--men without agendas of their own--and they're not easy to find."
"I guess not. Everyone's playing an angle when you're King."
"Unfortunately, yes. Especially with a young king. But Ned is not Henry of Lancaster. He's got a mind of his own, although there are some who don't believe it." He shifted upright. "Sit down, please. You must be exhausted. Chasing the Doctor around Yorkshire is no easy task."
"No," Jack agreed, flinging himself down opposite Hastings. "It really isn't. Not that hacking away with a sword for ten hours can be precisely easy."
"Ten hours..." Hastings let out a bark of laughter. "No, I'm so tired I can't even sleep. It's what this," he gestured to the wineglass, "is for. I envy Ned. Sleeps like a cat."
"You care for him a lot, don't you?" Jack said, broaching the subject with as much subtlety as he could manage.
"As you care for the Doctor," Hastings replied, looking him in the eye. "Quia ventum seminabunt et turbinem metent, one might say.5 Sow the wind and reap the whirlwind. Out of context, but you understand."
"They're wild rides, for sure. But I don't think Ned leaves people behind the way the Doctor does."
"Merlin was known for that," the other said softly. "Arthur, however, was not. Indeed, if I remember properly, he was left behind in the end."
"He was," Jack agreed softly. "Would it...I mean..." God, how to say this? "Would you have a problem with me staying? I mean, I don't want to step on your toes."
"You're more likely to step on Warwick's than mine. And even he won't presume to tell Ned what to do. Well," he added, sotto voce, "no more than he already does, I suppose."
"He's not sleeping with him, too, is he?" Jack questioned, a little tongue in cheek.
Hastings nearly choked on the wine he had just swallowed. "Warwick? Lord, I hope not. His wife would kill him."
"You might be surprised," Jack grinned. "I've known a couple of very accommodating wives."
"Not Anne Beauchamp. Besides, Warwick insists upon carting his own household everywhere he goes. Whoever sleeps with him, he keeps to himself."
Jack raised his eyebrows. "And you and the King?"
"You can't be serious," Hastings said with a chuckle. "All other things aside, it's a mortal sin."
"But it feels awfully nice."
"You're an odd man, Jack Harkness. I hadn't realised Cardiff was that strange."
"Kinda not from Cardiff," he admitted. "I work out of there but...it's hard to explain."
"Obviously a very different place," Hastings observed. "Be careful here. When kings have favourites, there are always rumours. And favourites have a tendency to end up dead if they're not vigilant."
Jack couldn't keep from grinning. "Not a problem, I assure you."
Hastings shrugged. "Just a warning." Rising to his feet, he stretched extravagantly. "Do you need a bed? Seeing as Ned's stolen yours."
"Are you sure? I mean, after what you just said."
"Unless you plan to take advantage of me, which seems highly unlikely. I'm far too tired at any rate."
"Hey, play your cards right," Jack winked.
Hastings laughed. "Flattering as the offer is, I think I've had my share of exertion for one day." He made his way slowly toward the stairs. "Ten hours. God have mercy." Glancing back over his shoulder, he called, "Well? Are you coming or not?"
Mentally shrugging, Jack followed him. "Not like I'm getting a better offer."
"Well, for what it's worth, I doubt Ned would notice or care."
"I'm not trying to make him jealous," Jack protested.
"What?" Hastings grinned. "I didn't mean that. I meant that if you sneak back into your room, Ned wouldn't notice. Mind in the gutter, Captain?"
"Always. But, hey, I'm looking at the stars," Jack quipped, despite knowing Hastings wouldn't get it.
Hastings shook his head with a rueful smile. "A very odd man."
***
Jack still hadn't formed an opinion of the Earl of Warwick, but he had to admit the man knew how to throw a party. An extended party that lasted the length of the journey from York to London, even. The fact that he'd managed to distract the Doctor from the fact that he was half a country away from the TARDIS was a miracle in itself. As for Jack, he was still mulling over Ned's offer, the inconclusive conversation with Hastings having been completely unhelpful.
As they entered London, Jack was reminded of 1945 with an unexpected pang. Smellier streets, flowers instead of ticker tape, but the sentiments were the same.
It was also somewhat surreal, riding in the entourage of a king to an honest to God palace. They hadn't really been there long enough to get used to it before. Plus there'd been the small matter of an army of clockmen waiting to annihilate them all. Amazing how that could distract you.
Damn, it was impressive. Made of pale stone, it almost glittered in the surprisingly strong sunlight. You'd never believe there had been a snowstorm the day of the battle. Until you looked at the men, of course. The legacy of Towton was there in their eyes, a look he recognised from veterans of numerous battles.
If Ned was haunted by the thousands of dead men who paved his way to the crown, it didn't show. Clad in polished plate armour, laughing with Hastings and Warwick, and flirting shamelessly with girls in the crowd, he looked like a king without a care in the world. As the procession clattered into the main courtyard of Westminster Palace, Ned--to Warwick's visible annoyance and Jack's amusement--threw off all remaining semblance of ceremony to greet his mother and a blonde lady Jack assumed was his younger sister.
Catching her eye over Ned's shoulder, Jack gave his best smile. She had a look of her brother about her, he decided. Her eyes widened a little, but she returned the smile with a dazzling one of her own, one that prompted the Doctor to swat Jack on the shoulder for no reason whatsoever. Before Jack could respond, however, two small shapes darted out from a nearby doorway and threw themselves at Ned, knocking him off-balance.
"Are you really King now?" the elder of the two boys demanded--Jack guessed him to be twelve at the oldest.
"Yes, George," Ned replied with a grin, ruffling the boy's blond hair. "Which means you shouldn't be trying to knock me over in public."
Beside Jack, the Doctor had gone very still, his gaze fixed on the younger of the boys, a dark-haired contrast to the rest of his family, with grey eyes that looked to fill half his face. He was clinging fiercely to Ned's cloak and staring up at him with a smile that needed no translation.
The Doctor, surprising and squicking Jack in almost equal measure, dropped to his knees in the none too clean yard in front of the littler boy. "Richard, isn't it?"
The boy hid behind Ned, who laughed and knelt down. "Yes, this is Richard. I'm afraid he doesn't say much, but I assure you he sees everything. Don't you, little man?"
Richard's face went pink, but he continued to study the Doctor with a perplexed frown. "Are you the Doctor? Ned wrote to us about you."
"I am," the Doctor agreed. "Would you like to see my TARDIS?"
"What's a TARDIS? Is it a dragon? Ned said you were Merlin in disguise." All this spilled out of Richard's mouth far quicker than it should have done.
"Easy, lad," Ned cautioned. "Later, I think. Once they've cleared the courtyard. Then you can spend as much time with him as you like."
"Really?" He glanced back toward their mother, who gave an indulgent nod. Turning to the Doctor, he grinned widely, showing a gap in his bottom teeth. "Yes, I would like that very much, Sir Doctor."
"I'm not a Sir," the Doctor said, showing his own teeth in a huge grin. "Just Doctor is fine."
"What about me?" the older boy--George, was it?--asked, a decided whine in his voice. "Can I go too?"
"I'm not sure it would interest you, George, but I don't see why not. Although, you should greet our cousin of Warwick." With that, Ned rose to his feet and the Duchess of York chivvied the two boys inside. As Warwick came up to them, Ned forestalled him, "Don't say anything."
"I wasn't planning to say anything," the Earl said with a shrug. "Doctor, shall we?"
"After you," the Doctor said courteously. Jack fell in behind the group, shoulder to shoulder with Ned's sister.
"Hi."
"You must be Captain Harkness," she replied, holding out her hand. She was Jack's height, which came as a surprise, though her shoulders were hunched as if trying to hide it.6 Close up, she looked younger--he guessed fourteen or fifteen. "I'm Ma--" she paused to correct herself, shooting a covert glance at her mother as she did so, "Lady Margaret Plantagenet."
"Lady Margaret," he echoed, taking her hand to kiss it in Warwick's manner. "I've heard so much about you."
"I shudder to think what Ned's told you, then," Margaret laughed. "I suppose I should call him His Grace now, shouldn't I? It's all happened so very fast."
"Being sister to the King can't be all bad, though. After all, you get to meet interesting guys like me."
She raised one hand to her mouth to stifle her giggles. "You're as bad as Ned! But you could tell me--is the Doctor really Merlin in disguise, or was that just a story to distract Dickon?"
"It's...kinda hard to say," he said eventually. "Things don't happen to the Doctor in quite the same order as they do to us."
Margaret pondered the words as they entered the hall, the first part of the palace Jack could recognise from a tour of the Houses of Parliament what seemed like a lifetime ago. Following his gaze, Ned's sister remarked, "Richard II used to hold marvellous banquets here. I hope Ned will too. Do you dance, Captain?"
"I don't get the chance as much as I'd like," he said, an inexplicable lump in his throat. "Are you offering?"
"Not now, but maybe later, if you ask nicely." Bobbing a slight curtsey, she hurried off after her mother, leaving Jack to feel one of the Doctor's Looks boring into the back of his skull.
He turned around, bracing himself for the Talk. He'd been expecting it the entirety of the journey if he was honest, so to have it would be something of a relief. "Wonderful girl, isn't she, Doctor?"
"And fourteen." The Doctor had folded his arms and rearranged his features into his most disapproving expression.
Before he could open his mouth, Jack stepped in to defend himself. "I wasn't gonna marry her--"
"Not at issue, Jack. She's the sister of the King and you're a commoner. Even Gaveston only got the Earl of Gloucester's sister and that ended in a deposition."7 He stopped, shaking his head. "Poor Edward. Founded Oriel College, but talk about father issues."
"What, Ned?"
"No, Edward II, of course. Your Edward's far too self-possessed for that." He was actually almost smiling now. "Of course, he's still not going to marry his sister to a commoner, however good said commoner happens to be in bed."
Jack, rather at sea, kept hold of the one fact he felt sure of. "I said I wasn't gonna marry her. Wha--"
The Doctor ran his hand through his hair, making it stick up even worse. He was back to glaring now. "That girl isn't just a girl, Jack--"
"You're telling me!" He decided to risk a low whistle, but regretted it immediately.
"Listen to me, you oversexed excuse for a man," the Doctor hissed, gripping his elbow hard enough to hurt, "she's a royal bargaining chip now. She's going to make a marriage advantageous to the throne and to do that she has to be a virgin."
"So what does she get out of it?"
In the ultimate Kodak moment, the Doctor simply gawped at him, struck dumb. Then, recovering his wits enough to speak, said, "Nothing, really."
"Bit unfair on her, isn't it?"
"Jack, she's a woman in the fifteenth century. Of course it's unfair."
"But--"
"No buts. No ifs." He heaved one of the sighs Rose had called disappointed dad's and closed his eyes briefly. "At least we'll be leaving soon. Even you can't do much harm between now and tomorrow."
OK, he had to tell him. It was now or--well, anytime until tomorrow actually, but never sounded better. A lot better, in fact.
Forcing himself to get a grip, Jack's wandering eyes found Ned's. The other man, though deep in talk with his mother, gave him a smile almost as dazzling as Jack's own. Trying for casual, he said, "Actually, Ned asked me to stay. So I--"
"Said no, I hope."
Jack looked around the richly furnished hall, eyes lingering on the family group, with Warwick watching, slightly apart. So they didn't have electricity or proper transport and the less said about the privies the better, but...
He didn't want to, but he wasn't above begging. "Why shouldn't I, Doctor? Nobody's going to complain if Ned pals around with a hero of Towton, are they?"
Apparently even the Doctor couldn't argue with that. Instead he asked softly, "And your team?"
"They're a good team; they'll be fine."
"Are you sure? Or is that just to make yourself feel better about running away?"
It was a low blow, and Jack tried not to bristle as he answered. "Of course I'm sure. Gwen, Tosh, Owen, Ianto--they're the best."
Though the Doctor said nothing, the look in his eyes was enough to have shamed Jack--if he'd had any, that was. "Really. It's what I've trained them for. They don't need me."
"They burn people for witchcraft in these times, you know." He sounded conversational. Jack didn't trust him when he was in this mood.
"Uh, so?"
"Jack!" His voice was rough with exasperation. "You can't die! Somebody is--"
"Ned knows."
"Brilliant! Now how about the other two and a half million people? Well, minus the one percent that just died in that battle."
To which Jack could think of absolutely nothing to say. The compassion in the Doctor's eyes was almost beyond bearing. "You can't stay, Jack. You know that really. You have a responsibility."
"To the goddamn human race?" Jack snarled. "Is this the part where you give the rousing speech and I come over all heroic?"
"No." So quietly, he was almost whispering, the Doctor said, "This is where I tell you that your responsibility is not to the human race or me or even your team, but to yourself. You owe it to yourself to be better. If you stay stuck here with no way back--turn your back on everything you're trying to build--you'll start to hate yourself. You'll start to hate Ned. He doesn't deserve that, Jack."
Whatever Jack could have said to that--and, if he were honest, he had no idea--remained a mystery as a childish treble piped up from next to them. "Doctor, will you show me the Tardis-dragon now?"
The Doctor was suddenly wreathed in smiles. "Of course, Richard. You might be disappointed if someone's been telling you about dragons, though."
"Oh. I thought Merlin was supposed to talk to dragons." He scuffed the floor with one shoe. "What is it, then?"
"Why don't I let it surprise you?"
A sudden, guarded look came across Richard's face. "I don't like surprises."
"You don't?" The Doctor looked--well, surprised. "Me, I love surprises. The stuff of life."
"I used to like them," Richard admitted. "Not anymore. There was a surprise at Wakefield and Papa and Edmund never came back and Maman sent us to Burgundy even though I didn't want to go."
The Doctor sighed, placing one hand on the boy's thin shoulder. "She only wanted the best for you, you know."
"I know. And Bruges was very nice. But we shouldn't have left Ned. At least I don't think so." Taking a deep breath, he looked back up at the Doctor. "It might be a nice surprise, I suppose."
Jack found himself staring after them as they left the hall, completely at a loss. To the point where the hand on his shoulder caused him to nearly jump out of his skin.
"Captain?" It was the Duchess of York, looking singularly unruffled as she glanced at the doorway. "I see my son has captured the Doctor. He's very indulgent."
Jack swallowed, more than a little taken aback. "I guess so. He...likes kids, I think."
"It will be good for Richard." A strange tightness had entered her voice. "He understands more than one might wish." Then, breaking the spell, she started toward the door. "Oh, Edward wished me to tell you he's gone up to the battlements." Before Jack could ask for the inevitable directions, she smiled faintly and added, "That door, all the way up the stairs."
"Thanks," he said, over his shoulder, barely pausing to give civility its due. This was going to be hard enough without waiting on it.
The battlements, once he found them, provided a breathtaking view of the Thames, filled with boats and completely lacking bridges. Jack couldn't help but stare for a few moments, trying to reconcile the unfamiliar image with the London he knew. Ned seemed equally deep in thought, gazing eastward across the fields to the rest of the city.
"I should have warned the Doctor about Richard," Ned said with an indulgent smile. "Once he latches onto an idea, he never lets go."
"Well, the Doctor rarely lights on one idea for more than a few seconds at a time," Jack said, half-smiling, "so that should be interesting."
"Was something wrong earlier? It seemed as if you both were arguing."
Jack stared out at the river again, feeling his cheeks burn. "I guess we kind of were."
"Nothing too serious, I hope?"
Now it came to it, Jack found he could hardly speak through the obstruction in his throat. "Yes, actually."
"Well, then," Ned leant back against the stones, "out with it."
Jack tried to start at least four times, but words really weren't his forte. In the end, he just walked over to Ned, stared into his eyes for an endless moment and kissed him with bruising force.
If this shocked the King, it was difficult to tell. Drawing away from Jack slightly, he studied him with a slight frown. "You're not staying, are you?"
There were tears in Jack's eyes now, however much he might have wished otherwise. His world seemed made of goodbyes recently. "I'd like to. More than you'll ever know."
Ned gave him a rueful smile. "I believe you. But you've left someone behind?"
"My team," he confirmed. "I kinda have responsibilities."
"I thought as much," Ned sighed. "I can understand that, for certain."
"Of course you do," Jack whispered, past the lump in his throat which seemed to have swelled to the size of a golf ball. "King."
"Yes." Ned took a deep breath, turning to look at the river. "I barely know what I'm doing, Jack. On the field, in battle, everything makes sense. But there's so much more to being a king than that, as Warwick keeps reminding me. Too much more, I sometimes think."
The obstruction in his throat seemed to melt away and he put one hand to the rather stubbly cheek. "Ned, you'll do fine. You're a great man. And, believe me, I've known a few."
"Biblically, I suspect," Ned said with a grin.
"I am a biblical scholar."
"And a fine one you make, sir," the King managed between explosions of laughter.
"See, that's better," Jack said with a surprisingly unforced smile. "Laughing is good."
"Take your own advice, then, Jack," Ned remarked, one hand hovering at Jack's chin. "I'll hold you to it."
At which Jack couldn't help but laugh. "Deal, then? I'll laugh and you'll laugh and we'll always have London?"
"Just don't forget," advised Ned in a voice that did nothing for Jack's self-control. "I'd be very hurt."
"Never," Jack promised, taking his hand.
"Good. It's a royal command."
"You're getting good at those."
"I don't think I have a choice," he admitted. "Everyone expects me to give them."
Jack bent his head to kiss Ned's hand. "You're going to do great, Your Grace.
"As are you," Ned said. "Remember that."
"To great memories, then."
And that, as they said, was that. It hurt less than Jack had expected, and he couldn't help but wonder if Ned had planned it that way. The young King seemed to thrive on the entire world underestimating him, a ploy with which Jack was intimately familiar. And it had certainly worked for him all these years, so he saw no reason why it wouldn't work for Ned.
Continued HERE