Different Kind of Magic -- The Last of the Royals
Title: Different Kind of Magic
Chapter Two: The Last of the Royals
Date Written: 2/08/09
Rating: R/M, to be safe
Word Count: 1,623
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Characters/Pairings: Ianto/Jack, Doctor/Rose, Donna, Master
Spoilers: Doctor Who up through Season 04, Torchwood up through 02, Different Sort of Science and To Days To Come
Warnings: AU like whoa, very gruesome images in this chapter and character death.
Author's Notes: Thanks so much to my gorgeous betas totally4ryo and katestamps, who are my sounding boards, my muses, and all-around fantastic girls. Second part of my birthday gift to teachwriteslash.
Previous chapters found here.
Book cover by cjharknessgirl
"Always the women."
"I didn't see her."
"Dying in your arms. Happy now?"
-- The Master and The Doctor, The Last of the Time Lords
Ianto hated the dungeons under Capitol. Everybody did, really; they were cold and dark and damp, prisoners crying out for mercy or release or just plain crying. They were a depressing place to be for any length of time.
However, that wasn't the only reason why Ianto hated them. Ianto hated going down there because of the lingering scent of long-spilled blood, the echoing screams of terror from murdered prisoners. The quiet laughter of Harold ringing off the stones.
Jack put a hand on the small of Ianto's back, rubbing reassuringly. Warm reassurance and strength flowed out of Jack and into him, and Ianto gave him a grateful smile. Jack's hand slid downwards a little bit for a quick grope before the Time Lord swept past him, balancing a tray of food in one hand.
Ianto just rolled his eyes, seeing straight through the obvious attempt at distraction.
The goblet of wine sloshed a little when he stumbled on the last stair, rich red droplets staining the pale skin of his hand. Jack looked over his shoulder and raised a questioning eyebrow and Ianto rolled his eyes again, this time at his own clumsiness. Jack gave him a wink and turned left down a corridor.
The dethroned King Harold was sitting in a cell that allowed for no sunlight, down in the deepest, coldest part of the dungeon, lit only by feeble firelight. He didn't even flinch when Jack pulled out the key and unlocked his door with a loud clang, but he looked up when they entered his room. "So. Is it hemlock or nightshade in the wine tonight?" he asked casually, not rising from his filthy straw pallet.
The only real luxury Harold had been afforded as a monarch was a last meal. The man had requested roasted venison and a cup of fine wine. Jack and Ianto had made sure the Queen had been busy when the meal was finished and took it down personally. They were afraid that the woman's kind heart would be swayed by the image of the man who was her husband.
"Like we'd let you off that easily," Jack said, stepping forward and handing over the plate. "You're going to die tomorrow, in front of the people you oppressed."
"Ooh, the kid's got teeth." Harold gave him an awful grin, white flashing rudely between the sea of scrubby facial hair. "If only dear old Dad could hear you now, eh?"
Jack's face grew stony as he stepped back. Ianto offered the goblet to Harold, and rolled his eyes when the former monarch regarded it icily. He took a sip of the rich liquid, enjoying the way the flavor played over his tongue.
"Oh, like I'm going to believe the amazing Ianto Jones, the kid that can't die," Harold said sarcastically.
"He's the Man That Can Never Die," Ianto said, jerking a thumb over at Jack. "And I'm not allowed to come back if I kill myself."
Harold's mouth turned upwards as he took the proffered glass. "No cutlery? You expect me to eat like an animal?"
"Like we'd give you something with an edge, right," Jack said sarcastically. "You have hands, but if you want to eat like an animal so badly we can throw it on the floor for you."
Harold took a long drink of his wine, letting out a satisfied sigh as he lowered the goblet from his mouth. "Ah, that's lovely." He looked up at them, picking up a slice of venison. "So," he paused to pop the bite into his mouth, talking around his mouthful, "Will you be there tomorrow? The both of you?"
"Wouldn't miss it," Ianto said, an odd edge in his voice that didn't go amiss. In truth he was terrified to go, terrified that the Queen or the Doctor would change their minds and that the man before them would haunt them forever.
"Then I look forward to seeing you tomorrow," Harold said dismissively, turning his attention to his meal.
Jack locked the cell door. Ianto fell into step next to him, both of them completely silent as they retraced their steps upwards. Once they were in the warm light, Jack turned to Ianto. "How fast do you need the antidote?"
"It's slow acting. I'd probably survive even if I had to go searching for the plant," Ianto replied.
Jack nodded. "Of course. It's just insurance in case my parents change their minds." He took Ianto's hand. "Do we have to go search for the antidote?"
"There's some in the room," Ianto reassured him, grinning.
"Well, come along then." Jack tugged him towards their room.
-----
Harold was dressed to the nines as he was escorted up to the platform, looking every inch the King he used to be. His face was clean-shaven, and his now close-cropped hair was still wet from the bath he'd been allowed to indulge in. He was dressed all in black, the long shirt with a high collar as if it would save his neck.
He stopped after climbing the stairs and turned around to look back at those that had gathered to watch his execution. The crowd was enormous, with the rebel leaders and the nobility sitting in chairs on the ground, commoners sitting or standing in the stands behind them. There had been so many people demanding to see his execution that it had been delayed even longer than they'd wanted to build a makeshift arena. All of it was wood -- they were going to tear it down and use it for firewood after Harold was dead.
Ianto was sitting in the front row, sandwiched between Jack and Donna. Both of them were clutching at his hands, trying to give him some sort of stability while his mind whirled in all the emotion flying about.
While Harold's supporters were few in number, they were there and clearly visible. A few of them were even crying openly at the fate of their beloved King, handkerchiefs pressed against their faces.
There were also those -- mostly the Doctor and Rose and Donna, people he felt so keenly it hurt sometimes -- who desperately didn't want to have to kill Harold but knew they had to for the good of their people.
The majority of the people, however, wanted Harold dead. They wanted to see his blood spilling down off of the chopping block and down over the stage. They wanted to watch the crimson life spilling out of his neck, the headless body twitching without a master to dictate its movements.
Harold's gaze found the little family sitting in front, the Queen and the Smith Siblings and Jack and Ianto and he gave that practiced, patronizing sneer. He raised his bound hands to point accusingly at them.
"Jack Harkness!" he called out, his voice ringing out loud even over the noise of the restless mob. They silenced immediately, watching to see what the man would do. "Ianto Jones! Donna and John Smith! And my dear, darling wife Rose," he sneered, pointing at each in turn. "You are responsible for these happenings today, and I promise that you will pay for this."
Ianto couldn't suppress the shiver that ran down his back. The words were spoken with such finality that he knew deep down that this wasn't just a threat.
"And when your time comes," Harold continued, "you will wish that I was still alive. Those that shall avenge me will make anything I've ever done seem like the plaything of a child."
The executioner grabbed Harold and pulled him towards the chopping block. The only person who knew who the executioner's identity was Rose; Jack and Ianto had been told that it was a Palace Guard who had volunteered for the job. His face was obscured by a black hood, the covering standing out violently against his Royal Guard uniform.
Harold was forced to his knees, and the executioner put his head down on the block. The dethroned king struggled, and two more masked guards moved forward and lashed his head down to the huge block. The executioner's axe swung in an upwards arc as the man lifted it above his head. It hovered for half a second before slicing through the air, down, down, down towards the sliver of flesh that showed between Harold's hairline and his black high collar.
At the last second, Ianto closed his eyes tight and turned away a little bit, unable to watch the deed. He felt Donna press her face against his shoulder, shielding her eyes from the sight as well. However, even though he wasn't watching, his mind filled in the details when provided with the sound of metal crushing bone and the coppery scent of blood.
There was a roar from the commoners behind them and Ianto cautiously opened one eye. The executioner was holding Harold's head aloft by the dead man's hair, unseeing eyes open and glassy. Blood poured from the severed base, staining the wooden platform dark.
Donna's face was still pressed into his shoulder, the redhead clutching at his hand like it was a lifeline as she trembled. Ianto looked over at Jack, loosening his grip on the Time Lord's hand when he realized he was doing the same. "Jack?"
Jack's free hand came up to bury in his hair. "Yeah?"
"Can we go home now?" Ianto asked, realizing he sounded so like a child. The whole thing had been awful and terrifying and barbaric and Ianto realized that all he wanted to do was just run all the way back home to Torchwood House and hide under his bed and never come out again.
Jack gave him a little smile and nodded. "Yes. Yes, let's go home."
Chapter Two: The Last of the Royals
Date Written: 2/08/09
Rating: R/M, to be safe
Word Count: 1,623
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Characters/Pairings: Ianto/Jack, Doctor/Rose, Donna, Master
Spoilers: Doctor Who up through Season 04, Torchwood up through 02, Different Sort of Science and To Days To Come
Warnings: AU like whoa, very gruesome images in this chapter and character death.
Author's Notes: Thanks so much to my gorgeous betas totally4ryo and katestamps, who are my sounding boards, my muses, and all-around fantastic girls. Second part of my birthday gift to teachwriteslash.
Previous chapters found here.
Book cover by cjharknessgirl
"Always the women."
"I didn't see her."
"Dying in your arms. Happy now?"
-- The Master and The Doctor, The Last of the Time Lords
Ianto hated the dungeons under Capitol. Everybody did, really; they were cold and dark and damp, prisoners crying out for mercy or release or just plain crying. They were a depressing place to be for any length of time.
However, that wasn't the only reason why Ianto hated them. Ianto hated going down there because of the lingering scent of long-spilled blood, the echoing screams of terror from murdered prisoners. The quiet laughter of Harold ringing off the stones.
Jack put a hand on the small of Ianto's back, rubbing reassuringly. Warm reassurance and strength flowed out of Jack and into him, and Ianto gave him a grateful smile. Jack's hand slid downwards a little bit for a quick grope before the Time Lord swept past him, balancing a tray of food in one hand.
Ianto just rolled his eyes, seeing straight through the obvious attempt at distraction.
The goblet of wine sloshed a little when he stumbled on the last stair, rich red droplets staining the pale skin of his hand. Jack looked over his shoulder and raised a questioning eyebrow and Ianto rolled his eyes again, this time at his own clumsiness. Jack gave him a wink and turned left down a corridor.
The dethroned King Harold was sitting in a cell that allowed for no sunlight, down in the deepest, coldest part of the dungeon, lit only by feeble firelight. He didn't even flinch when Jack pulled out the key and unlocked his door with a loud clang, but he looked up when they entered his room. "So. Is it hemlock or nightshade in the wine tonight?" he asked casually, not rising from his filthy straw pallet.
The only real luxury Harold had been afforded as a monarch was a last meal. The man had requested roasted venison and a cup of fine wine. Jack and Ianto had made sure the Queen had been busy when the meal was finished and took it down personally. They were afraid that the woman's kind heart would be swayed by the image of the man who was her husband.
"Like we'd let you off that easily," Jack said, stepping forward and handing over the plate. "You're going to die tomorrow, in front of the people you oppressed."
"Ooh, the kid's got teeth." Harold gave him an awful grin, white flashing rudely between the sea of scrubby facial hair. "If only dear old Dad could hear you now, eh?"
Jack's face grew stony as he stepped back. Ianto offered the goblet to Harold, and rolled his eyes when the former monarch regarded it icily. He took a sip of the rich liquid, enjoying the way the flavor played over his tongue.
"Oh, like I'm going to believe the amazing Ianto Jones, the kid that can't die," Harold said sarcastically.
"He's the Man That Can Never Die," Ianto said, jerking a thumb over at Jack. "And I'm not allowed to come back if I kill myself."
Harold's mouth turned upwards as he took the proffered glass. "No cutlery? You expect me to eat like an animal?"
"Like we'd give you something with an edge, right," Jack said sarcastically. "You have hands, but if you want to eat like an animal so badly we can throw it on the floor for you."
Harold took a long drink of his wine, letting out a satisfied sigh as he lowered the goblet from his mouth. "Ah, that's lovely." He looked up at them, picking up a slice of venison. "So," he paused to pop the bite into his mouth, talking around his mouthful, "Will you be there tomorrow? The both of you?"
"Wouldn't miss it," Ianto said, an odd edge in his voice that didn't go amiss. In truth he was terrified to go, terrified that the Queen or the Doctor would change their minds and that the man before them would haunt them forever.
"Then I look forward to seeing you tomorrow," Harold said dismissively, turning his attention to his meal.
Jack locked the cell door. Ianto fell into step next to him, both of them completely silent as they retraced their steps upwards. Once they were in the warm light, Jack turned to Ianto. "How fast do you need the antidote?"
"It's slow acting. I'd probably survive even if I had to go searching for the plant," Ianto replied.
Jack nodded. "Of course. It's just insurance in case my parents change their minds." He took Ianto's hand. "Do we have to go search for the antidote?"
"There's some in the room," Ianto reassured him, grinning.
"Well, come along then." Jack tugged him towards their room.
-----
Harold was dressed to the nines as he was escorted up to the platform, looking every inch the King he used to be. His face was clean-shaven, and his now close-cropped hair was still wet from the bath he'd been allowed to indulge in. He was dressed all in black, the long shirt with a high collar as if it would save his neck.
He stopped after climbing the stairs and turned around to look back at those that had gathered to watch his execution. The crowd was enormous, with the rebel leaders and the nobility sitting in chairs on the ground, commoners sitting or standing in the stands behind them. There had been so many people demanding to see his execution that it had been delayed even longer than they'd wanted to build a makeshift arena. All of it was wood -- they were going to tear it down and use it for firewood after Harold was dead.
Ianto was sitting in the front row, sandwiched between Jack and Donna. Both of them were clutching at his hands, trying to give him some sort of stability while his mind whirled in all the emotion flying about.
While Harold's supporters were few in number, they were there and clearly visible. A few of them were even crying openly at the fate of their beloved King, handkerchiefs pressed against their faces.
There were also those -- mostly the Doctor and Rose and Donna, people he felt so keenly it hurt sometimes -- who desperately didn't want to have to kill Harold but knew they had to for the good of their people.
The majority of the people, however, wanted Harold dead. They wanted to see his blood spilling down off of the chopping block and down over the stage. They wanted to watch the crimson life spilling out of his neck, the headless body twitching without a master to dictate its movements.
Harold's gaze found the little family sitting in front, the Queen and the Smith Siblings and Jack and Ianto and he gave that practiced, patronizing sneer. He raised his bound hands to point accusingly at them.
"Jack Harkness!" he called out, his voice ringing out loud even over the noise of the restless mob. They silenced immediately, watching to see what the man would do. "Ianto Jones! Donna and John Smith! And my dear, darling wife Rose," he sneered, pointing at each in turn. "You are responsible for these happenings today, and I promise that you will pay for this."
Ianto couldn't suppress the shiver that ran down his back. The words were spoken with such finality that he knew deep down that this wasn't just a threat.
"And when your time comes," Harold continued, "you will wish that I was still alive. Those that shall avenge me will make anything I've ever done seem like the plaything of a child."
The executioner grabbed Harold and pulled him towards the chopping block. The only person who knew who the executioner's identity was Rose; Jack and Ianto had been told that it was a Palace Guard who had volunteered for the job. His face was obscured by a black hood, the covering standing out violently against his Royal Guard uniform.
Harold was forced to his knees, and the executioner put his head down on the block. The dethroned king struggled, and two more masked guards moved forward and lashed his head down to the huge block. The executioner's axe swung in an upwards arc as the man lifted it above his head. It hovered for half a second before slicing through the air, down, down, down towards the sliver of flesh that showed between Harold's hairline and his black high collar.
At the last second, Ianto closed his eyes tight and turned away a little bit, unable to watch the deed. He felt Donna press her face against his shoulder, shielding her eyes from the sight as well. However, even though he wasn't watching, his mind filled in the details when provided with the sound of metal crushing bone and the coppery scent of blood.
There was a roar from the commoners behind them and Ianto cautiously opened one eye. The executioner was holding Harold's head aloft by the dead man's hair, unseeing eyes open and glassy. Blood poured from the severed base, staining the wooden platform dark.
Donna's face was still pressed into his shoulder, the redhead clutching at his hand like it was a lifeline as she trembled. Ianto looked over at Jack, loosening his grip on the Time Lord's hand when he realized he was doing the same. "Jack?"
Jack's free hand came up to bury in his hair. "Yeah?"
"Can we go home now?" Ianto asked, realizing he sounded so like a child. The whole thing had been awful and terrifying and barbaric and Ianto realized that all he wanted to do was just run all the way back home to Torchwood House and hide under his bed and never come out again.
Jack gave him a little smile and nodded. "Yes. Yes, let's go home."