DW Update - Myths and Legends (1/?)
Title - Myths and Legends (1/?)
Author -
joely_jo
Characters - Ten/Rose, OCs (well…, not totally, I suppose)
Rating - PG for early chapters, smut later… ;)
Summary - The TARDIS lands in Denmark, right in the middle of a famous poem from English literary heritage. The Doctor knows they’re not here for a sneak preview, but the hapless Danes are convinced they have their saviour. Will the Doctor solve the mystery in time or will one of history’s most famous texts have a different story to tell?
Author’s Notes - A mammoth undertaking. This story follows an episodic/BBC books format, and is hopefully reasonably historically accurate - goodness knows I’ve done enough research! I’ve made one or two essential changes to the actual plotline of the Beowulf story but then, that’s authorial licence for you! Hopefully there are no Anglo-Saxon professors lurking around here who will eat me alive for doing so. ;)
Many thanks to my fabulous beta readers
aibhinn and
sensiblecat.
Somewhere in Denmark a king woke from a fitful sleep. Dreams had plagued him, dreams where red, unblinking eyes had stared at him and a strange, shadowy beast had stalked up from the swamps and laid waste to the village he called his home and kingdom. For a long moment, he lay frozen in his bed, listening to his heart rattle crazily in his chest. His ears honed in on the silence of the night-time. An owl’s cry echoed across the stillness, but other than that, there was nothing.
Nothing.
He rolled over on his bed of straw and stared into the darkness. This was the third night he’d wakened in this fashion; each time the dreams had been more vivid, more detailed. The first time, it had simply been red eyes floating in the air, a ghostly form twisting and disappearing into the ether; the second, he’d heard harsh breathing just inches from his neck and woken to find himself bathed in sweat and shaking.
It was ridiculous, he thought, as he tried to steady the beating of his heart; a grown man, a mighty warrior famed in story and song, waking like a child from nightmares.
He pulled the woven blanket that covered him up to his chin, as if somehow the material would give him some protection from his panicked thoughts. Slowly, as he listened to the silence, he felt his eyes growing heavy once again and sleep beginning to curl its way around him. He let his eyes fall closed and drew in a deep, sighing breath.
And then a scream cut through the night.
It was not the scream of a child, nor the scream of a woman. It was the scream of a grown man and it was accented with mortal terror.
The king shot from his bed, instantly awake, and listened. Footsteps thumped on the ground and then the most inhuman sound greeted his ears. Like the grating of metal on metal, a high-pitched hissing squeal rang out, sending fear flooding through him. Immediately, he grabbed his sword from where it lay, flung open the door to his hut and looked out onto his village. His people were running for their lives, screaming in fear. Hanging above the roofs of the huts was a massive but ghostly form, dragon-like but with grasping arms that ended in long, bony digits and claws eight inches long. Its mouth was nothing more a gaping split in its small, reptilian head. With strides that traversed entire buildings, the monster swept forwards and began snatching up bodies as if they were toys.
The King stared at the huge creature, at the indistinctness of its form, its smoky shadow. It was the beast from his nightmare. Vast and malevolent, it turned, as if sensing the presence behind it, and fixed two unblinking red eyes on the King.
****
Rose’s boots were soaked. It was a typical September morning, the last days of summer just clinging on like threads of sunshine stretched tight across the air. The sun had not long risen from out of the mists, but was already burning off the wetness in the ground, its light catching on spider’s webs and blades of grass laden down with droplets of dew.
She took a deep breath of air. It was clearer than she’d ever smelled it, even on the holidays she’d been on as a kid to the countryside. Completely unpolluted. She turned to the Doctor as he stepped out of the TARDIS. “So, where are we then?”
He walked up to her and stood next to her, hands in pockets, eyes squinting against the brightness of the sun. “Denmark, AD772. Right in the middle of the Dark Ages when tribal warrior hunter-gatherers ruled these parts like dozens of little kingdoms.”
“Like in Lord of the Rings, that Rohan place, yeah?” Rose asked.
“Hm, yes, Tolkien was an enthusiast for this era, so I suppose it’s a similar idea. People settling down for good and farming the land, building villages and communities designed to last more than a season. Real civilisation, domesticated animals, that kind of thing.”
“And why are we here?”
The Doctor took his hands out of his pockets and looked left and right. He scratched the back of his head. “Hm, now that’s where you’ve got me. No idea.” His finger needled her in the ribs. “Set the coordinates for Paris in the late 19th century. Thought we could’ve gone to see the Folies Bergere… But I don’t see any pretty girls in costumes, do you?”
Rose swallowed, her eyes alighting on two figures standing a few metres behind them. “No…” she hissed in a low voice, “but I do see two blokes and they don’t look that pretty.”
Immediately, the Doctor spun around a hundred and eighty degrees. Behind them were two clearly shocked but aggressive looking men dressed in skins and roughly woven clothes. Their faces were half screened by long matted hair and beards. They were staring open-mouthed, but one of them was growling, yes, definitely growling. “Hello,” said the Doctor cheerfully. “Nice morning, isn’t it?”
The larger of the two men growled deeper, then reached behind him. “Doctor,” said Rose, “I think he’s drawing his sword…”
Grinning tightly, the Doctor nodded, “I think you’re right.” He nodded his head at the two men. The warrior pointed his weapon at the Doctor’s chest. “Good sword… Well tooled and very…” he swallowed, “sharp. Erm… yes, well… I hope you don’t mind if we run!”
He grabbed Rose by the hand and pulled her into a sprint. The two men immediately gave chase, hollering and yelling as they pursued. The Doctor wheeled towards the wood and plunged beneath the low branches, dodging left and right.
“Doctor!” Rose shouted out as she tripped over the uneven ground, doing her best to keep up. Her breath was burning in her lungs and the only thing that was stopping her from falling behind was the Doctor’s relentless grip on her hand.
Behind them, she could hear the two men still following, their footsteps thudding on the compacted ground. “We need to get back to the TARDIS!” she called as he hared through the undergrowth. Brambles snatched at her jeans and she had to turn on a sixpence several times as they met with a fallen tree or a slippery slope. Suddenly, though, the Doctor halted so that she almost barrelled straight into the back of him.
“Shh…” he instructed.
“What have we stopped for?” Rose demanded, sweeping her hair back off her face and breathing hard.
The Doctor put his finger to his lips and peered into the wood. Belatedly, she realised that the sound of the footsteps had melted away and now all they could hear was birdsong and the breeze, blowing gently through the upper branches. She gathered herself and looked at the Doctor, who smiled in relief. “I think we’ve lost them,” he concluded.
Rose sighed and looked around them. The wood they had fled into seemed to be mainly deciduous trees, oak and beech, with a fine loam of rotted leaf matter beneath their feet. Pale light filtered through the branches, dappling the ground, and a faint smell of damp greeted her nose. “Can you remember the way back to the TARDIS?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” replied the Doctor smoothly but not totally convincingly. He grinned as if that would help. “Though I suggest we keep going straight on. This wood seems to end a bit further in that direction.” He pointed in front of them and sure enough, Rose could see that the trees seemed to thin out a little and green fields could be glimpsed.
He readjusted his coat and marched onwards. Rose jogged a few paces to catch up with him then fell into stride alongside him. “Who were those people, then?”
“Danes,” he explained confidently. “Some of those warrior-hunters I told you about. Presumably out for a little warrior-hunting in the early morning dew.”
“Oh,” said Rose and swallowed uneasily. “Didn’t know they ate other humans…”
“They don’t,” the Doctor replied. “They probably just thought we were invaders. You know, on their territory. We don’t exactly look like we’re from around these parts.”
She looked down at her jeans and purple zipped top. “No, I suppose not.”
“Here we are then,” said the Doctor. “Edge of the forest. We can follow the treeline round to the other side now and find the TARDIS.” He walked through the last of the more spindly trees that grew around the edges of the wood, turned right and stopped. “Or not…”
In front of them was another bearded Dane, and this one had the carcass of a deer across his shoulders and a few friends with him. More than a few. The Doctor thrust his chin out. “Ah, hello again,” he said. Rose’s breath stopped in her throat.
“You are trespassers!” said the man in a gruff voice. “Speak your reason for being on this land!”
The Doctor pursed his lips and glanced at Rose, making a soft clicking noise with his tongue. “Er, morning stroll?” he supplied brightly. “Early bird catches the worm, and all that.”
The Dane narrowed his eyes, clearly not amused. “You will come with us. Our Lord will want to speak to you.”
Smiling thinly, the Doctor nodded his head. “That’s… that’s a good idea. Leaders are great. They know what to do with trespassers.” He swallowed, glanced at the man’s weapon, a thick sword that hung from a leather belt-like ensemble, and added, “And you wouldn’t want to do anything rash.”
The warrior pulled the sword as he noticed the Doctor looking at it and pointed it threateningly at Rose, then turned it on the Doctor. “Walk,” he instructed.
Rose moved in front of the Doctor and started to walk in the direction that had been indicated. She looked back over her shoulder at the Doctor, but he was turned half away, walking sideways at a slight lope. “This leader of yours?” he was asking. “Does he have a name?”
“His name is spoken everywhere; he is a mighty leader and victorious warrior.”
“Yes, yes, but what is his name? It’s just that we’re from rather a long way away and you’re going to have to fill me in on the details.”
The Dane looked at him as if he’d just uttered a blasphemy. “Hrothgar is his name.”
“Hrothgar, hm?”
Rose listened to the tone in the Doctor’s voice suddenly become curious, though she had no idea why. Maybe this Hrothgar person was supposed to be a mighty leader, but she’d never heard of him before. “And where are you taking us?” the Doctor added.
With a sniff of what sounded like contempt, the warrior replied, “The greatest hall that has ever been built: Heorot. Where you will await our judgement…”
****
Out of the misted horizon, several small huts made from timber, mud and straw emerged. Enclosures contained small numbers of cattle and pigs, and chickens roamed the packed-dirt streets freely. The Dane guided Rose and the Doctor in the direction of the settlement, then lead them through the huts along paths that had been trodden down in the rough grass. Several villagers stopped what they were doing to watch, intrigued by the arrival of such strange individuals. “Keep moving,” the warrior instructed as Rose slowed to fall into step with the Doctor.
“This is some kind of village, isn’t it?” she asked in a low voice.
The Doctor nodded. “Small communities like this were safer than living spread apart. More eyes to keep watch for invaders or pillagers. And of course, more hands to tend the livestock and work the land. Well,” he continued, “that was the women of course, because we’re talking about a very patriarchal society. The men defended the land and hunted for food.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Rose dismissed with a smile. “I know. They fought long and hard all day then lay about in the evenings comparing weapons and drinking beer, yeah?”
They were moved rapidly through the village until they approached a much more impressive building; a construction considerably larger than the others, standing atop a mound of grassy earth. It was sturdier in construction with a wooden, rather than thatched, roof. Two burly-looking soldiers guarded the main doors, spears in hand. Conversation and laughter could be heard coming from inside. The warrior herded Rose and the Doctor through the doors.
The hall was a wide open space, with several long, low tables positioned around the edges. In the centre was a raised platform and upon it a carved wooden chair. A man sat in the chair, dressed in similar clothing to the others, but adorned with gold brooches and pins. He was nodding sagely to another, younger man, who was apparently listening to him, but looked up when the Doctor and Rose entered.
“Lord Hrothgar, we found these trespassers by the wood,” the warrior began. He pushed the Doctor and Rose to their knees and tapped his sword threateningly on both of their heads. “What do you wish us to do with them?”
Hrothgar peered somewhat short-sightedly at the Doctor, taking in his clothing, hairstyle and facial features. “Male and female,” he noted. “And they seem young… The male has yet to grow a beard. How unusual. Were they together?”
“Yes, my Lord.”
Changing his position in the wooden chair he sat on, Hrothgar leaned forwards. “They are not Wulfings. Nor Geats. Nor Scylfings. They are unlike any I have seen before.”
The Doctor cleared his throat. “If I could interrupt, Lord Hrothgar?”
Hrothgar stared, as if mildly surprised that the Doctor could speak at all. “Yes?” he said, finally.
“My friend and I have come from far away. Beyond the kingdoms of the tribes you describe. We are sorry for our intrusion, but were not aware that we were trespassing. We would be very grateful if you would forgive our indiscretion and allow us to continue on our journey.”
There was a long pause, during which the sound of a blacksmith hammering metal clanged into the hall. Finally, Hrothgar stood and moved in a contemplative circle around both the Doctor and Rose, the leather on his clothing squeaking a little. “Place them with Wealtheow. Tell her I will return shortly, but she must find more appropriate clothing for them in the mean time. I cannot have foreigners blatantly parading themselves in my clan.” Hrothgar stood and waved in the direction of the main doors. “And thank you, Aeschere. Once again your loyalty impresses me.”
Aeschere nodded, showing a small measure of gruff pride in his lord’s obvious gratitude, and grabbed the Doctor by the shoulder, instructing him to stand.
“No need for roughness,” the Doctor complained, easing himself upright and dusting the straw and dirt from his knees. Aeschere moved to perform the same action on Rose, but the Doctor cut in. “Don’t touch her,” he said in quiet threat, and Aeschere’s hand fell immediately from Rose’s shoulder. “She’ll come willingly.”
To be continued... hopefully in a day or so...
Author -
joely_jo
Characters - Ten/Rose, OCs (well…, not totally, I suppose)
Rating - PG for early chapters, smut later… ;)
Summary - The TARDIS lands in Denmark, right in the middle of a famous poem from English literary heritage. The Doctor knows they’re not here for a sneak preview, but the hapless Danes are convinced they have their saviour. Will the Doctor solve the mystery in time or will one of history’s most famous texts have a different story to tell?
Author’s Notes - A mammoth undertaking. This story follows an episodic/BBC books format, and is hopefully reasonably historically accurate - goodness knows I’ve done enough research! I’ve made one or two essential changes to the actual plotline of the Beowulf story but then, that’s authorial licence for you! Hopefully there are no Anglo-Saxon professors lurking around here who will eat me alive for doing so. ;)
Many thanks to my fabulous beta readers
aibhinn and
sensiblecat.
Somewhere in Denmark a king woke from a fitful sleep. Dreams had plagued him, dreams where red, unblinking eyes had stared at him and a strange, shadowy beast had stalked up from the swamps and laid waste to the village he called his home and kingdom. For a long moment, he lay frozen in his bed, listening to his heart rattle crazily in his chest. His ears honed in on the silence of the night-time. An owl’s cry echoed across the stillness, but other than that, there was nothing.
Nothing.
He rolled over on his bed of straw and stared into the darkness. This was the third night he’d wakened in this fashion; each time the dreams had been more vivid, more detailed. The first time, it had simply been red eyes floating in the air, a ghostly form twisting and disappearing into the ether; the second, he’d heard harsh breathing just inches from his neck and woken to find himself bathed in sweat and shaking.
It was ridiculous, he thought, as he tried to steady the beating of his heart; a grown man, a mighty warrior famed in story and song, waking like a child from nightmares.
He pulled the woven blanket that covered him up to his chin, as if somehow the material would give him some protection from his panicked thoughts. Slowly, as he listened to the silence, he felt his eyes growing heavy once again and sleep beginning to curl its way around him. He let his eyes fall closed and drew in a deep, sighing breath.
And then a scream cut through the night.
It was not the scream of a child, nor the scream of a woman. It was the scream of a grown man and it was accented with mortal terror.
The king shot from his bed, instantly awake, and listened. Footsteps thumped on the ground and then the most inhuman sound greeted his ears. Like the grating of metal on metal, a high-pitched hissing squeal rang out, sending fear flooding through him. Immediately, he grabbed his sword from where it lay, flung open the door to his hut and looked out onto his village. His people were running for their lives, screaming in fear. Hanging above the roofs of the huts was a massive but ghostly form, dragon-like but with grasping arms that ended in long, bony digits and claws eight inches long. Its mouth was nothing more a gaping split in its small, reptilian head. With strides that traversed entire buildings, the monster swept forwards and began snatching up bodies as if they were toys.
The King stared at the huge creature, at the indistinctness of its form, its smoky shadow. It was the beast from his nightmare. Vast and malevolent, it turned, as if sensing the presence behind it, and fixed two unblinking red eyes on the King.
****
Rose’s boots were soaked. It was a typical September morning, the last days of summer just clinging on like threads of sunshine stretched tight across the air. The sun had not long risen from out of the mists, but was already burning off the wetness in the ground, its light catching on spider’s webs and blades of grass laden down with droplets of dew.
She took a deep breath of air. It was clearer than she’d ever smelled it, even on the holidays she’d been on as a kid to the countryside. Completely unpolluted. She turned to the Doctor as he stepped out of the TARDIS. “So, where are we then?”
He walked up to her and stood next to her, hands in pockets, eyes squinting against the brightness of the sun. “Denmark, AD772. Right in the middle of the Dark Ages when tribal warrior hunter-gatherers ruled these parts like dozens of little kingdoms.”
“Like in Lord of the Rings, that Rohan place, yeah?” Rose asked.
“Hm, yes, Tolkien was an enthusiast for this era, so I suppose it’s a similar idea. People settling down for good and farming the land, building villages and communities designed to last more than a season. Real civilisation, domesticated animals, that kind of thing.”
“And why are we here?”
The Doctor took his hands out of his pockets and looked left and right. He scratched the back of his head. “Hm, now that’s where you’ve got me. No idea.” His finger needled her in the ribs. “Set the coordinates for Paris in the late 19th century. Thought we could’ve gone to see the Folies Bergere… But I don’t see any pretty girls in costumes, do you?”
Rose swallowed, her eyes alighting on two figures standing a few metres behind them. “No…” she hissed in a low voice, “but I do see two blokes and they don’t look that pretty.”
Immediately, the Doctor spun around a hundred and eighty degrees. Behind them were two clearly shocked but aggressive looking men dressed in skins and roughly woven clothes. Their faces were half screened by long matted hair and beards. They were staring open-mouthed, but one of them was growling, yes, definitely growling. “Hello,” said the Doctor cheerfully. “Nice morning, isn’t it?”
The larger of the two men growled deeper, then reached behind him. “Doctor,” said Rose, “I think he’s drawing his sword…”
Grinning tightly, the Doctor nodded, “I think you’re right.” He nodded his head at the two men. The warrior pointed his weapon at the Doctor’s chest. “Good sword… Well tooled and very…” he swallowed, “sharp. Erm… yes, well… I hope you don’t mind if we run!”
He grabbed Rose by the hand and pulled her into a sprint. The two men immediately gave chase, hollering and yelling as they pursued. The Doctor wheeled towards the wood and plunged beneath the low branches, dodging left and right.
“Doctor!” Rose shouted out as she tripped over the uneven ground, doing her best to keep up. Her breath was burning in her lungs and the only thing that was stopping her from falling behind was the Doctor’s relentless grip on her hand.
Behind them, she could hear the two men still following, their footsteps thudding on the compacted ground. “We need to get back to the TARDIS!” she called as he hared through the undergrowth. Brambles snatched at her jeans and she had to turn on a sixpence several times as they met with a fallen tree or a slippery slope. Suddenly, though, the Doctor halted so that she almost barrelled straight into the back of him.
“Shh…” he instructed.
“What have we stopped for?” Rose demanded, sweeping her hair back off her face and breathing hard.
The Doctor put his finger to his lips and peered into the wood. Belatedly, she realised that the sound of the footsteps had melted away and now all they could hear was birdsong and the breeze, blowing gently through the upper branches. She gathered herself and looked at the Doctor, who smiled in relief. “I think we’ve lost them,” he concluded.
Rose sighed and looked around them. The wood they had fled into seemed to be mainly deciduous trees, oak and beech, with a fine loam of rotted leaf matter beneath their feet. Pale light filtered through the branches, dappling the ground, and a faint smell of damp greeted her nose. “Can you remember the way back to the TARDIS?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” replied the Doctor smoothly but not totally convincingly. He grinned as if that would help. “Though I suggest we keep going straight on. This wood seems to end a bit further in that direction.” He pointed in front of them and sure enough, Rose could see that the trees seemed to thin out a little and green fields could be glimpsed.
He readjusted his coat and marched onwards. Rose jogged a few paces to catch up with him then fell into stride alongside him. “Who were those people, then?”
“Danes,” he explained confidently. “Some of those warrior-hunters I told you about. Presumably out for a little warrior-hunting in the early morning dew.”
“Oh,” said Rose and swallowed uneasily. “Didn’t know they ate other humans…”
“They don’t,” the Doctor replied. “They probably just thought we were invaders. You know, on their territory. We don’t exactly look like we’re from around these parts.”
She looked down at her jeans and purple zipped top. “No, I suppose not.”
“Here we are then,” said the Doctor. “Edge of the forest. We can follow the treeline round to the other side now and find the TARDIS.” He walked through the last of the more spindly trees that grew around the edges of the wood, turned right and stopped. “Or not…”
In front of them was another bearded Dane, and this one had the carcass of a deer across his shoulders and a few friends with him. More than a few. The Doctor thrust his chin out. “Ah, hello again,” he said. Rose’s breath stopped in her throat.
“You are trespassers!” said the man in a gruff voice. “Speak your reason for being on this land!”
The Doctor pursed his lips and glanced at Rose, making a soft clicking noise with his tongue. “Er, morning stroll?” he supplied brightly. “Early bird catches the worm, and all that.”
The Dane narrowed his eyes, clearly not amused. “You will come with us. Our Lord will want to speak to you.”
Smiling thinly, the Doctor nodded his head. “That’s… that’s a good idea. Leaders are great. They know what to do with trespassers.” He swallowed, glanced at the man’s weapon, a thick sword that hung from a leather belt-like ensemble, and added, “And you wouldn’t want to do anything rash.”
The warrior pulled the sword as he noticed the Doctor looking at it and pointed it threateningly at Rose, then turned it on the Doctor. “Walk,” he instructed.
Rose moved in front of the Doctor and started to walk in the direction that had been indicated. She looked back over her shoulder at the Doctor, but he was turned half away, walking sideways at a slight lope. “This leader of yours?” he was asking. “Does he have a name?”
“His name is spoken everywhere; he is a mighty leader and victorious warrior.”
“Yes, yes, but what is his name? It’s just that we’re from rather a long way away and you’re going to have to fill me in on the details.”
The Dane looked at him as if he’d just uttered a blasphemy. “Hrothgar is his name.”
“Hrothgar, hm?”
Rose listened to the tone in the Doctor’s voice suddenly become curious, though she had no idea why. Maybe this Hrothgar person was supposed to be a mighty leader, but she’d never heard of him before. “And where are you taking us?” the Doctor added.
With a sniff of what sounded like contempt, the warrior replied, “The greatest hall that has ever been built: Heorot. Where you will await our judgement…”
****
Out of the misted horizon, several small huts made from timber, mud and straw emerged. Enclosures contained small numbers of cattle and pigs, and chickens roamed the packed-dirt streets freely. The Dane guided Rose and the Doctor in the direction of the settlement, then lead them through the huts along paths that had been trodden down in the rough grass. Several villagers stopped what they were doing to watch, intrigued by the arrival of such strange individuals. “Keep moving,” the warrior instructed as Rose slowed to fall into step with the Doctor.
“This is some kind of village, isn’t it?” she asked in a low voice.
The Doctor nodded. “Small communities like this were safer than living spread apart. More eyes to keep watch for invaders or pillagers. And of course, more hands to tend the livestock and work the land. Well,” he continued, “that was the women of course, because we’re talking about a very patriarchal society. The men defended the land and hunted for food.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Rose dismissed with a smile. “I know. They fought long and hard all day then lay about in the evenings comparing weapons and drinking beer, yeah?”
They were moved rapidly through the village until they approached a much more impressive building; a construction considerably larger than the others, standing atop a mound of grassy earth. It was sturdier in construction with a wooden, rather than thatched, roof. Two burly-looking soldiers guarded the main doors, spears in hand. Conversation and laughter could be heard coming from inside. The warrior herded Rose and the Doctor through the doors.
The hall was a wide open space, with several long, low tables positioned around the edges. In the centre was a raised platform and upon it a carved wooden chair. A man sat in the chair, dressed in similar clothing to the others, but adorned with gold brooches and pins. He was nodding sagely to another, younger man, who was apparently listening to him, but looked up when the Doctor and Rose entered.
“Lord Hrothgar, we found these trespassers by the wood,” the warrior began. He pushed the Doctor and Rose to their knees and tapped his sword threateningly on both of their heads. “What do you wish us to do with them?”
Hrothgar peered somewhat short-sightedly at the Doctor, taking in his clothing, hairstyle and facial features. “Male and female,” he noted. “And they seem young… The male has yet to grow a beard. How unusual. Were they together?”
“Yes, my Lord.”
Changing his position in the wooden chair he sat on, Hrothgar leaned forwards. “They are not Wulfings. Nor Geats. Nor Scylfings. They are unlike any I have seen before.”
The Doctor cleared his throat. “If I could interrupt, Lord Hrothgar?”
Hrothgar stared, as if mildly surprised that the Doctor could speak at all. “Yes?” he said, finally.
“My friend and I have come from far away. Beyond the kingdoms of the tribes you describe. We are sorry for our intrusion, but were not aware that we were trespassing. We would be very grateful if you would forgive our indiscretion and allow us to continue on our journey.”
There was a long pause, during which the sound of a blacksmith hammering metal clanged into the hall. Finally, Hrothgar stood and moved in a contemplative circle around both the Doctor and Rose, the leather on his clothing squeaking a little. “Place them with Wealtheow. Tell her I will return shortly, but she must find more appropriate clothing for them in the mean time. I cannot have foreigners blatantly parading themselves in my clan.” Hrothgar stood and waved in the direction of the main doors. “And thank you, Aeschere. Once again your loyalty impresses me.”
Aeschere nodded, showing a small measure of gruff pride in his lord’s obvious gratitude, and grabbed the Doctor by the shoulder, instructing him to stand.
“No need for roughness,” the Doctor complained, easing himself upright and dusting the straw and dirt from his knees. Aeschere moved to perform the same action on Rose, but the Doctor cut in. “Don’t touch her,” he said in quiet threat, and Aeschere’s hand fell immediately from Rose’s shoulder. “She’ll come willingly.”
To be continued... hopefully in a day or so...