Fic: Refugees
Title Refugees
Fandom Doctor Who/Aeneid
Word count 1988
Pairings None
Rating PG
Disclaimer I don’t own Doctor Who. Neither do I own the Aeneid, but I don’t think that’s ever been copyrighted.
Summary Two lost wanderers meet.
Author’s note Betaed by cicero_drayon. As I’m working on my thesis on the Aeneid, I thought, let’s have some fic. Here follows a short recap of what you need to know: Aeneas, a Trojan prince and the son of Venus (Aphrodite), escapes the sacking of Troy together with his son Ascanius, his father Anchises and a small number of Trojans. His destiny is to refound Troy, and found the Roman race. After numerous wanderings (caused by Juno (Hera), who bears a grudge against him) and a notable long stay in Carthage, where Aeneas has an affaire with Dido, the Carthaginian queen, who when he leaves curses him and kills herself, the Trojans finally reach Italy, which at this point is divided into numerous small kingdoms. Aeneas becomes betrothed with Lavinia, a Latian princess, but Juno inspires madness into her suitor Turnus, the prince of the Rutulians, who declares war on the Trojans. Aeneas makes alliances with numerous Italian peoples, particularly the Arcadians, where the prince, Pallas, follows Aeneas into battle. He is killed by Turnus, who also strips the body of his sword-belt. There is a final duel between Aeneas and Turnus - Turnus supplicates himself, but when Aeneas sees Pallas’ sword-beelt, he kills him anyway. As the Trojans were thought to be Greek-speaking, I’ve used the Greek name forms. When writing this, I kept imagining Eight, although I'm guessing that technically it should be Nine. I've tried to leave it open for interpretation.
The TARDIS gave a reluctant groan as she landed, and the Doctor could almost feel her keeping him back. She did not want him to leave even for a moment, because that would mean she would feel the enclosing loneliness he had caused. Briefly he wondered if he should stay, as she wanted him to, but the unknown outside the doors of the TARDIS was calling him. He needed to reassert that the universe still existed - he needed to pretend that he could go on like before, traveling and seeking out adventure. No longer did companionship feel valuable, because he did not think he could explain what he had lost to anyone who had not seen Gallifrey burn. Still he clung to the hope that if he ignored it for long enough, it would never have happened, and his home would come back into existence. In a way it felt paradoxical, because before the Time War, he had avoided Gallifrey, and at times even been banished from it, but now, when it was truly gone, he longed for it with the intensity of a child away from his mother for the first time.
‘I won’t be long,’ he said, turning away despite her silent protests.
Knowing that if he did not step outside soon, the TARDIS would try to take off on her own accord, he went out into the world around him. The first thing he noticed was the nauseating smell of burning corpses. He looked around, trying to tell where and when he was. It was certainly Earth, and from the vegetation he would say somewhere around the Mediterranean. The TARDIS had landed on a hill, and on the plain below them, soldiers were crossing the spent battlefield, trying to salvage the bodies of their friends. The smell of blood was thick in the air. But most obvious was the man sitting a dozen feet away, watching the progress of the search.
His armour and his cloak was that of a king, richly decorated with swirling images depicted with impressive precision. Particularly the shield, which was leaning against his leg where he sat, was an example of carefully executed workmanship. But for all this grandeur, the man had obviously been in battle - his cloak was torn and his clothes and skin bore encrusted blood, both his own and others’. What was most striking, however, was the look of despair on the man’s face, as if there was no hope left, and he had even stopped wanting it to reappear.
Even if the warrior had not turned at his approach, he was obviously aware of the Doctor’s presence. At last he glanced over his shoulder disinterestedly and, returning his gaze to the battlefield, then asked:
‘Did my mother send you?’
‘No,’ the Doctor answered, although he did not know who the warrior’s mother was.
‘Then who did?’ His voice was as dejected as his countenance. ‘Did Hera send you to gloat at me?’
‘No one sent me.’ At this, he turned and studied him for a long moment.
‘I used to be fooled by the guises of the gods, but no longer,’ the man said, contempt in his voice. ‘I see that you are one of them. Your appearance is not exactly inconspicuous.’ The Doctor looked down at his own clothes, a little surprised at that the man had noticed - usually his mode of dresss would be the kind of thing people did not quite pick up on, despite that it was odd. It was true, though, that he looked very little like any of the people he could see from the hill - from the weapons and the feel of the soil under his feet, he guessed it was the thirteenth century BCE.
‘I’m just a traveller,’ the Doctor said with a shrug. ‘I just.... wander about.’ The warrior’s face fell.
‘I used to wander,’ he said hollowly, and returned to watching the battlefield. His silence implied that he would rather like to be left alone, but this comment had sparked the Doctor’s interest. Approaching, he asked:
‘Where did you wander?’
‘Here,’ he said, as if he did not mind answering, because nothing meant anything. ‘I am the lord of this place - this was where my fathers came from. And yet...’
‘It’s not home?’ the Doctor attempted. The warrior hung his head.
‘My home was destroyed,’ he said silently. ‘How can you not know that?’
‘I don’t really keep up with the gossip,’ the Doctor said with a shrug. The man sighed, as if annoyed that he had to tell this tale.
‘I saw Troy burn. I saw them kill my kin and desecrate the temples. I lost my wife - suddenly she was gone when we headed for the ships. The only reason why I escaped was because there was a destiny for me.’ He looked out over the carnage below them. ‘It’s fulfilled now.’
‘What was your destiny?’ the Doctor asked, fascinated. He was starting to see what was unfolding.
‘That I would refound Troy,’ he sighed. ‘Now I know that’s a lie.’
‘But it’s not,’ the Time Lord insisted. ‘There’ll be a city - a new Troy. Not really like Troy, but not bad at all...’
‘But I’m not important,’ the man said bitterly. Even if he was silent for a while, he did not need prompting to continue speaking. ‘I will die. The one who is important is my son - or rather, my sons. The only reason why I’m still alive is because there is a child to be sired.’ Gritting his teeth, he said: ‘I have my bride now. I killed for her, even. I hope Zeus is pleased.’
‘Why did you have to kill for her?’ A bark of a laugh, which sounded maddened, escaped the man.
‘Because Turnus would not give her up. But he’s dead now, so he has no claim. He never did. It was prophesied that I was to marry her.’ The Doctor bit his lip, watching the warrior, and then observed:
‘For a man who’s about to marry, you don’t sound particularly happy.’
‘How could I be?’ he said bitterly. ‘Tell my mother that I know she pleaded with Zeus and asked for Askanios to be spared - that I know that my life is not important anymore.’
‘I don’t know your mother,’ the Doctor admitted.
‘And still you seem like a god yourself,’ the man said, turning to face him. ‘You are not human. You’re different. And still you don’t know Aphrodite?’
‘Well, if you put it like that...’
‘She has never truly helped me,’ the warrior sighed. ‘Kreusa was taken away from me. Dido I was forced to leave. Pallas was killed. Whatever piety I had left, I lost because of him. Now I am to marry a girl who is the reason he died, he and all those young men, and all for the sake of destiny. And whenever I see my son, I only feel anger, because I know that he is only a tool, and still one which is more valued by the gods than me, and he is just a child. Is this how Aphrodite repays her own son? To make him unloving - unlovable?’ The Doctor stayed silent, equal parts fascinated and stunned at this confession. Once again the warrior slumped, and then continued his earnest speech. ‘At Troy, I was so full of anger at Priam - my branch of the family was supposed to rule, not his. Now they’re all dead, and I am the ruler of what is left of Troy. Look at them!’ He gestured over the field where the exhausted soldiers were roaming, looking for familiar faces among the carcasses. ‘That is no a people, only a pathetic shard of what happens to survive. You should see the men we need to mix with - the Rutules, the Volscians, the Arcadians, the Etruscans. It will not rebuild Troy - nothing ever could.’ He interrupted himself, and when he spoke again it was no more than a whisper. ‘All this destiny, and still I wish I had died in the fires of Troy.’
The Doctor understood. For a long moment, they stood silent, both survivors from wars, both alone when all others had died, both cheated by the powers they had thought would protect them. The Time Lord thought that at least he had the TARDIS and the universe to explore - Aineias had no ships, and he was trapped in a place which was not his home, despite what people claimed. But unlike the Doctor, he had a future. He would cause history to unfold, if only through his marriage to the Latian princess, whose son would be the ancestor of the kings of Rome.
‘People will remember you,’ the Doctor attempted. ‘Your children will achieve great things.’
‘And great evils, I’m sure,’ Aeneas answered. ‘But it is all Zeus’ will, so what does it matter?’
‘At least you have children,’ the Doctor pointed out. ‘You have a people, even if they are few. I have no-one.’
The pious prince looked at him, a strange combination of contempt and understanding in his gaze.
‘I don’t believe you think that that really helps,’ he concluded at last. ‘You know that I have no such thing - I am alone.’ The Doctor preferred not to answer that, because he was right. They could argue about who was worse off, but it would not change the fact that they were probably equally left behind. Once again, the human was the one to break the silence.
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m the Doctor,’ he answered. Perhaps Aineias snorted - the Doctor did not pay attention. Instead, he watched those lonely figures out on the field, trudging through the mud and digging through the corpses. At times, someone would shout when he found something, and his friends would rush to help him salvage the body he had discovered. For every dead soldier of theirs they found and identified, the smaller their people became, and the more wretched their leader grew. Perhaps each and every one of those storm-tossed souls felt as lonely as Aineias. Each and every one of them might carry a shard of the loneliness which the Doctor bore with him, or at least a mirror-image of it, reduced to fit their narrower minds. The Doctor, however, did not have to be told by any higher authority how the world was, and did not have to guess from obscure omens. That clearsightedness was the curse of a Time Lord, because he saw all of Time and Space; he felt it coursing through him, and he knew that he was alone. With every pair of heart-beats, the feeling seemed to swell within him, and he had to fend it off, as it was too real. He understood, but he did not dare to comprehend. Seeing the shipwrecked and scattered Trojans made him wonder how it would have been if there had been other survivors, but he did not dare to face the thought.
‘Hail and farewell, Aineias,’ he said and turned back towards the TARDIS. The warrior’s voice stopped him.
‘If you are not a god, who are you? Under whose command are you?’
‘No-one’s,’ he answered. ‘I’m just a wanderer.’ With that, he fled into the TARDIS. He felt her presence close around him, but also, the absence inside his head was swelling, and all he could hear was her calling out, searching in vain for an answer from her kin.
‘They’re not there,’ he said, even if he knew she was aware of that, and would probably just answer with one of her annoyed snorts from the engines. At least it’s something, he thought, trying to draw comfort from the fact. Still he was more aware of the emptiness inside his own head than of the company around him as they yet again propelled into the vortex, which was silent and untouched.
Fandom Doctor Who/Aeneid
Word count 1988
Pairings None
Rating PG
Disclaimer I don’t own Doctor Who. Neither do I own the Aeneid, but I don’t think that’s ever been copyrighted.
Summary Two lost wanderers meet.
Author’s note Betaed by cicero_drayon. As I’m working on my thesis on the Aeneid, I thought, let’s have some fic. Here follows a short recap of what you need to know: Aeneas, a Trojan prince and the son of Venus (Aphrodite), escapes the sacking of Troy together with his son Ascanius, his father Anchises and a small number of Trojans. His destiny is to refound Troy, and found the Roman race. After numerous wanderings (caused by Juno (Hera), who bears a grudge against him) and a notable long stay in Carthage, where Aeneas has an affaire with Dido, the Carthaginian queen, who when he leaves curses him and kills herself, the Trojans finally reach Italy, which at this point is divided into numerous small kingdoms. Aeneas becomes betrothed with Lavinia, a Latian princess, but Juno inspires madness into her suitor Turnus, the prince of the Rutulians, who declares war on the Trojans. Aeneas makes alliances with numerous Italian peoples, particularly the Arcadians, where the prince, Pallas, follows Aeneas into battle. He is killed by Turnus, who also strips the body of his sword-belt. There is a final duel between Aeneas and Turnus - Turnus supplicates himself, but when Aeneas sees Pallas’ sword-beelt, he kills him anyway. As the Trojans were thought to be Greek-speaking, I’ve used the Greek name forms. When writing this, I kept imagining Eight, although I'm guessing that technically it should be Nine. I've tried to leave it open for interpretation.
The TARDIS gave a reluctant groan as she landed, and the Doctor could almost feel her keeping him back. She did not want him to leave even for a moment, because that would mean she would feel the enclosing loneliness he had caused. Briefly he wondered if he should stay, as she wanted him to, but the unknown outside the doors of the TARDIS was calling him. He needed to reassert that the universe still existed - he needed to pretend that he could go on like before, traveling and seeking out adventure. No longer did companionship feel valuable, because he did not think he could explain what he had lost to anyone who had not seen Gallifrey burn. Still he clung to the hope that if he ignored it for long enough, it would never have happened, and his home would come back into existence. In a way it felt paradoxical, because before the Time War, he had avoided Gallifrey, and at times even been banished from it, but now, when it was truly gone, he longed for it with the intensity of a child away from his mother for the first time.
‘I won’t be long,’ he said, turning away despite her silent protests.
Knowing that if he did not step outside soon, the TARDIS would try to take off on her own accord, he went out into the world around him. The first thing he noticed was the nauseating smell of burning corpses. He looked around, trying to tell where and when he was. It was certainly Earth, and from the vegetation he would say somewhere around the Mediterranean. The TARDIS had landed on a hill, and on the plain below them, soldiers were crossing the spent battlefield, trying to salvage the bodies of their friends. The smell of blood was thick in the air. But most obvious was the man sitting a dozen feet away, watching the progress of the search.
His armour and his cloak was that of a king, richly decorated with swirling images depicted with impressive precision. Particularly the shield, which was leaning against his leg where he sat, was an example of carefully executed workmanship. But for all this grandeur, the man had obviously been in battle - his cloak was torn and his clothes and skin bore encrusted blood, both his own and others’. What was most striking, however, was the look of despair on the man’s face, as if there was no hope left, and he had even stopped wanting it to reappear.
Even if the warrior had not turned at his approach, he was obviously aware of the Doctor’s presence. At last he glanced over his shoulder disinterestedly and, returning his gaze to the battlefield, then asked:
‘Did my mother send you?’
‘No,’ the Doctor answered, although he did not know who the warrior’s mother was.
‘Then who did?’ His voice was as dejected as his countenance. ‘Did Hera send you to gloat at me?’
‘No one sent me.’ At this, he turned and studied him for a long moment.
‘I used to be fooled by the guises of the gods, but no longer,’ the man said, contempt in his voice. ‘I see that you are one of them. Your appearance is not exactly inconspicuous.’ The Doctor looked down at his own clothes, a little surprised at that the man had noticed - usually his mode of dresss would be the kind of thing people did not quite pick up on, despite that it was odd. It was true, though, that he looked very little like any of the people he could see from the hill - from the weapons and the feel of the soil under his feet, he guessed it was the thirteenth century BCE.
‘I’m just a traveller,’ the Doctor said with a shrug. ‘I just.... wander about.’ The warrior’s face fell.
‘I used to wander,’ he said hollowly, and returned to watching the battlefield. His silence implied that he would rather like to be left alone, but this comment had sparked the Doctor’s interest. Approaching, he asked:
‘Where did you wander?’
‘Here,’ he said, as if he did not mind answering, because nothing meant anything. ‘I am the lord of this place - this was where my fathers came from. And yet...’
‘It’s not home?’ the Doctor attempted. The warrior hung his head.
‘My home was destroyed,’ he said silently. ‘How can you not know that?’
‘I don’t really keep up with the gossip,’ the Doctor said with a shrug. The man sighed, as if annoyed that he had to tell this tale.
‘I saw Troy burn. I saw them kill my kin and desecrate the temples. I lost my wife - suddenly she was gone when we headed for the ships. The only reason why I escaped was because there was a destiny for me.’ He looked out over the carnage below them. ‘It’s fulfilled now.’
‘What was your destiny?’ the Doctor asked, fascinated. He was starting to see what was unfolding.
‘That I would refound Troy,’ he sighed. ‘Now I know that’s a lie.’
‘But it’s not,’ the Time Lord insisted. ‘There’ll be a city - a new Troy. Not really like Troy, but not bad at all...’
‘But I’m not important,’ the man said bitterly. Even if he was silent for a while, he did not need prompting to continue speaking. ‘I will die. The one who is important is my son - or rather, my sons. The only reason why I’m still alive is because there is a child to be sired.’ Gritting his teeth, he said: ‘I have my bride now. I killed for her, even. I hope Zeus is pleased.’
‘Why did you have to kill for her?’ A bark of a laugh, which sounded maddened, escaped the man.
‘Because Turnus would not give her up. But he’s dead now, so he has no claim. He never did. It was prophesied that I was to marry her.’ The Doctor bit his lip, watching the warrior, and then observed:
‘For a man who’s about to marry, you don’t sound particularly happy.’
‘How could I be?’ he said bitterly. ‘Tell my mother that I know she pleaded with Zeus and asked for Askanios to be spared - that I know that my life is not important anymore.’
‘I don’t know your mother,’ the Doctor admitted.
‘And still you seem like a god yourself,’ the man said, turning to face him. ‘You are not human. You’re different. And still you don’t know Aphrodite?’
‘Well, if you put it like that...’
‘She has never truly helped me,’ the warrior sighed. ‘Kreusa was taken away from me. Dido I was forced to leave. Pallas was killed. Whatever piety I had left, I lost because of him. Now I am to marry a girl who is the reason he died, he and all those young men, and all for the sake of destiny. And whenever I see my son, I only feel anger, because I know that he is only a tool, and still one which is more valued by the gods than me, and he is just a child. Is this how Aphrodite repays her own son? To make him unloving - unlovable?’ The Doctor stayed silent, equal parts fascinated and stunned at this confession. Once again the warrior slumped, and then continued his earnest speech. ‘At Troy, I was so full of anger at Priam - my branch of the family was supposed to rule, not his. Now they’re all dead, and I am the ruler of what is left of Troy. Look at them!’ He gestured over the field where the exhausted soldiers were roaming, looking for familiar faces among the carcasses. ‘That is no a people, only a pathetic shard of what happens to survive. You should see the men we need to mix with - the Rutules, the Volscians, the Arcadians, the Etruscans. It will not rebuild Troy - nothing ever could.’ He interrupted himself, and when he spoke again it was no more than a whisper. ‘All this destiny, and still I wish I had died in the fires of Troy.’
The Doctor understood. For a long moment, they stood silent, both survivors from wars, both alone when all others had died, both cheated by the powers they had thought would protect them. The Time Lord thought that at least he had the TARDIS and the universe to explore - Aineias had no ships, and he was trapped in a place which was not his home, despite what people claimed. But unlike the Doctor, he had a future. He would cause history to unfold, if only through his marriage to the Latian princess, whose son would be the ancestor of the kings of Rome.
‘People will remember you,’ the Doctor attempted. ‘Your children will achieve great things.’
‘And great evils, I’m sure,’ Aeneas answered. ‘But it is all Zeus’ will, so what does it matter?’
‘At least you have children,’ the Doctor pointed out. ‘You have a people, even if they are few. I have no-one.’
The pious prince looked at him, a strange combination of contempt and understanding in his gaze.
‘I don’t believe you think that that really helps,’ he concluded at last. ‘You know that I have no such thing - I am alone.’ The Doctor preferred not to answer that, because he was right. They could argue about who was worse off, but it would not change the fact that they were probably equally left behind. Once again, the human was the one to break the silence.
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m the Doctor,’ he answered. Perhaps Aineias snorted - the Doctor did not pay attention. Instead, he watched those lonely figures out on the field, trudging through the mud and digging through the corpses. At times, someone would shout when he found something, and his friends would rush to help him salvage the body he had discovered. For every dead soldier of theirs they found and identified, the smaller their people became, and the more wretched their leader grew. Perhaps each and every one of those storm-tossed souls felt as lonely as Aineias. Each and every one of them might carry a shard of the loneliness which the Doctor bore with him, or at least a mirror-image of it, reduced to fit their narrower minds. The Doctor, however, did not have to be told by any higher authority how the world was, and did not have to guess from obscure omens. That clearsightedness was the curse of a Time Lord, because he saw all of Time and Space; he felt it coursing through him, and he knew that he was alone. With every pair of heart-beats, the feeling seemed to swell within him, and he had to fend it off, as it was too real. He understood, but he did not dare to comprehend. Seeing the shipwrecked and scattered Trojans made him wonder how it would have been if there had been other survivors, but he did not dare to face the thought.
‘Hail and farewell, Aineias,’ he said and turned back towards the TARDIS. The warrior’s voice stopped him.
‘If you are not a god, who are you? Under whose command are you?’
‘No-one’s,’ he answered. ‘I’m just a wanderer.’ With that, he fled into the TARDIS. He felt her presence close around him, but also, the absence inside his head was swelling, and all he could hear was her calling out, searching in vain for an answer from her kin.
‘They’re not there,’ he said, even if he knew she was aware of that, and would probably just answer with one of her annoyed snorts from the engines. At least it’s something, he thought, trying to draw comfort from the fact. Still he was more aware of the emptiness inside his own head than of the company around him as they yet again propelled into the vortex, which was silent and untouched.