[ For timeforamy ; chivalric code ]

[mmkaternater]

There aren't a lot of perks in facing your imminent demise come sunrise, but the Doctor has managed to grab on to a few. Perk One: If they know that tonight could very well be your last night on earth, they're going to put you up in very posh lodgings. (Of course, in 14th century England, this roughly equates to a mite-free mattress and not having to share your chamber pot with three other people, but all's fair in love and Medieval diplomacy.) Perk Two: If you are allowed to choose the contents of your last meal and you ask for fish custard, the people who are guarding you are going to give you a very strange look but will not, for the most part, object to you saying that you want to pop down to the bin to make it yourself. Which is when you manage to lose them in the castle's maze of twisting, windy stone corridors.

Actually, this perk might be better than the one about the chamber pot.

Given the volume of the shouting coming from far distant hallways, the Doctor figures he has about fifteen minutes before his dine-and-dash tactic is discovered. 'Plenty of time to find Amy and see that this whole "upon the morning" business is sorted before anyone gets hurt. Specifically, the Doctor himself.

The hallways are like highways, clogged with people and very irritated guards, so the Doctor has taken the overpass. Actually, he's taken the ledge outside one of the castle windows, scooting along the narrow cropping of stone, fingers dug into the mortar. He pokes his head into a window, only to get a chorus of high-pitched screams in return --

"Sorry, ladies! I'll be on my way. Sorry for the intrusion. Lovely bathrobes, by the way!"

-- before he edges along the wall to the next set of windows.

On the massive, four-poster bed in one of the rooms, the Doctor sees a pair of black leggings and a leather jacket. Amy. He grips the window frame and leans in, tapping his knuckle against the leaded glass.

Comments

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"Amy, you don't understand. You can't begin to --" he pulls his attention away, out across the ocean. For a moment or two he tries to sync his breathing with the pull of the surf down below. 'Thinks that he's got it, only to note that the sea has changed on him.

"What do you remember?" he asks. "Our time together. Chasing through the stars. What do you remember about it?"

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

What did she remember? What sort of a question was that? Amy wants to ask him if he's barmy, but she doesn't because she knows he's serious. Knows that there's something being unsaid that needs to be contended with, brought up and -

- and what?

"I remember it," she says, "you know that I do. You were there. The crack in my wall was following me, and it still is. And all the places we saw, the Daleks, the Weeping Angels - everything. Why are you asking me that, why does it matter? You were with me."

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"Think, Amy. Try. What do you remember? Is that all of it? Or is there something else...something deep down...something that you think you know but aren't quite sure about. The thing inside you without a voice."

He turns his pale eyes to her. Intense. He needs her to remember. He does not want to do it for her.

"What's missing?"

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Something is hurting in the back of her mind, a dark spot that's bright and hard at the same time, and Amy wants to shut her eyes to tell it to go away. But she doesn't, instead she holds to his gaze. He's looking at her with a fierce intensity that's making her heart beat faster, and she knows that it means something she can't find words for.

A tear slips down her cheek, and she doesn't know where it came from.

"It..I.."

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

The Doctor takes in a breath and raises his hand, half shadow in the moonlight, to steady her by the shoulder. "Amy --"

"He's up here, lads!"

A splash of torches against gray stone and they're discovered. The Doctor takes Amy's hand and breaks into a run down the balustrade.

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Whatever has been brought up is forgotten for now, and Amy grasps the Doctor's hand as she breaks into a run with him. The guards - if that's what they are? - are chasing them and her shoes are slapping against the stone.

"Where are we going to go?" she cries.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"Wherever they aren't!" the Doctor shouts, turning to look over his shoulder as the first wave of guards stumbles out onto the archway. They are weighed down by their heavy armor, which is good, because it gives the Doctor and Amy -- in their lightweight tweed and velvet, respectively -- the chance to move quickly.

But the guards know the layout of the castle better than their quarry, and the Doctor scuffs to a hard stop before the edge of a drop-off, catching Amy by the arm before she goes over, too. He pulls her roughly against his chest and looks up: a rope and a rudimentary pulley system, used for moving rocks from one level of the castle to the other.

"Do you trust me?" he asks, darting a look back to her.

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

What a silly question - and yet at the same time, Amy knows he needs to know the answer. It's important - to her, and to him. There's something dangerous coming up for them, and if she doesn't trust him -

"Of course I do."

Her fingers squeeze harder on his, and her eyes are wide and fierce.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"Good. Because I'm about to do something incredibly stupid. Jump!"

He lets go of her hand and suddenly he's airborne: jumping through the black, hands snatched out to grab one end of the rope. If Amy times it right (and he hopes to god that she does), her weight will counter balance his and they'll be out of range. Of swords, anyway. At the very least they'll have some time to plan around the arrows.

The Doctor's palms scream with raw pain as the rope scours his hands. He manages to hold on, though, and for a second or two gravity takes over and he's swinging comically through the air. "COME ON, POND!"

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Amy jumps.

She does it without thinking or considering or giving it any real sort of comprehension as to what might happen to her when she does it. It's just simple to her - she trusts him implicitly and if he's asking her to do something then that's exactly what she's going to do.

There's hard, rough rope under her palms and she's grasping at it for dear life, not bothering to quiet the shriek that breaks from her lips. Her eyes are clenched tightly shut but she forces them open, a rough breath coming from her lips

"Doctor!"

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

Amy's weight on the other end of the rope balances the pulley and the Doctor's shoulders are practically jacked out of their sockets by a sudden stop. Of course, he's a bit heavier than she is, so gravity's pulling him down while it's lifting her up -- right back to eye level with the guards.

"Amy!"

The guards are reaching for her. One of them holds the mail of the back of another so he can lean out far over the ledge, making a grab for the rope. The Doctor acts without thinking. 'Lets go of the rope and falls -- some ten feet -- to the ground. He lands on both feet with a hell of a clack of his jaw and dives toward the other side of the rope. Without a counter-balance, Amy's in freefall.

Why couldn't we have landed in a place with kinder gravity?

He puts out his arms. Stands. Prays.

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

"Don't you touch meeeeee!"

Amy is none too fond of being grabbed at by strange men, let alone ones who are taking her away from where she wants to be. It doesn't sit well with her now, or at any other time. Her cry is petulant and annoyed, but she is also falling and there isn't any avoiding that notion.

Her stomach feels as if it has already plummeted to the ground below, but a wild hope of desperation sends her looking down to where the Doctor is waiting. She can't do anything to soften or cushion her weight, and Amy shuts her eyes tightly as she collides with him - in his arms.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

She lands (mostly upright, though not completely dignified) and the Doctor is suddenly swimming in a sea of very heavy green brocade and frilly skirts. He tips awkwardly on his heels but manages to keep his balance, puffing a bit of lace out of his eyes.

"Hello," he greets, grinning from ear to ear, "so glad you could --" he doesn't get to trade in on the pun because the guards are already regrouping. He sets Amy very unceremoniously on her feet and grabs her hand. "Run."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

If there hadn't been an entourage of guards chasing after them, Amy would have taken a little longer to revel in how romantic the gesture was. Being swept into the Doctor's arms like that? It's something straight on out of a fairy tale.

But there are guards.

Amy twists her fingers tightly in his and breaks into a run alongside him.

"Where?" she asks, her voice rough. "Where are we going to go? They know this place - where are we going to go?"

Amy doesn't want to add that she might be a bit afraid. Not for herself, but for the Doctor and what might happen to him once their pursuers catch up with them.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"I don't know! I came up with the last plan -- it's high time you threw your weight around, Pond!" He's only half teasing. They could really use a strategy right about now. The Doctor can hear the guards behind them; an alarm starts to bleat from one of the towers. The Doctor is about out of options and they are about out of ground when --

"Over here!"

The Doctor looks off to his left. Lady Alice Fitzalan, wife-to-be of the good Earl of Kent, is standing in the doorway of a squat church, waving them inside. At this point, the Doctor's in no position to question the directive. He pulls Amy along and together they rush into the sanctuary of the, well, sanctuary. Lady Fitzalan herds them toward the confessional booth at the mouth of the apse. "Quick, inside!" she rushes. 'Shuts them inside. The Doctor is shirt buttons-to-corset with Amy in the small space. "Pardon," he apologizes, with a hint of a blush, trying to sort his limbs in the closeness.

Outside, he hears the guards advance on the church, and Lady Fitzalan's angry protests -- "Would you dare interrupt a bride at prayer? How dare you!" -- as she holds off the worst of their pursuers.

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Of all the things which could have happened, Amy wasn't expecting this. The Lady Alice, coming to their rescue? But that was exactly the case, and she wasn't going to put up any sort of argument or fight about it. Not when there was rescue, and it was very much begging for them to come take advantage of it.

The small, confined space barely gave enough room to breathe, but Amy doesn't much mind that kind of closeness. Not when it means they're safe, and - well, she doesn't quite mind being that close to him, either.

In the semidarkness she can only see little bits of his face, slivers of light daring to illuminate him to her. Amy feels her pulse roar in her ears and catches hold of his hands with hers when he tries to shift away from her.

"Don't." Her voice is a whisper in the air between them. "It's okay." Because she doesn't want him to move. Amy likes it when he's this close to her, very, very close and right against her.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

The Doctor's free hand -- the one that's not wrapped up in hers -- raises with a silencing finger. He's trying to listen for the script outside; is Lady Fitzalan capable of taking on her future husband's guard? There are rough, disagreeable voices out there, punctuated every once in a while by the Lady's stern interjections.

He listens and he swears he can hear three heartbeats -- his two and her one -- in the silence.

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

It's very unsettling, being in this small of a place. There's no room to move about and no way to really consider your escape, lest you want to be found out, and if you're claustrophobic then forget about anything positive happening in this experience. Amy doesn't have that fear, but she isn't wanting anyone to find out they're here. Not now, not with things outside as tense as they are.

She presses her ear against the wall of their confinement, focusing as hard as she can on the outside world. But all she can hear are mumbles.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

After a minute or two (or an hour, it's impossible to tell in the dark and his shoulder is starting to go numb) the Doctor can no longer hear any sort of sound from outside. He looks down, perhaps to concentrate on listening, and sees a pair of slippers poking out from underneath the hem of her dress. This strikes him as odd and slightly amusing -- running from danger in a pair of house slippers. He smiles, and lets her catch him doing it.

Forget about the fact that they're holed up in a confessional, trying to distinguish whispers from audible threats: Amy's wearing slippers, and it amuses him.

He points. Grins. Nods his approval.

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Amy has a moment where she can't figure out what he's smiling about - of all the mad, crazy things to do when they're running from danger and holed up in a tiny, stuffed space, why is he smiling? But then pointing downward gives her a better idea and Amy drops her eyes lower - grins, too - and lifts her gaze back to his.

A little shrug of her shoulders happens, one that forces a pain through her right one, and then she's biting her lip against a giggle. The sound stays anchored and hidden in her throat, but the smile reaches her eyes.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

Scuffling outside the confessional. The Doctor lays his hand on Amy's shoulder, ready to shove her out of the way if it's the guards come to collect him. The small door opens abruptly. The pleasant, lined face of Lady Fitzalan looks in on them from the gloom of the church. "Hurry," she whispers, turning over her shoulder, "I was only able to stall them for a few minutes. You need to get out of here."

The Doctor quite likes this plan, and steps out of the confessional box, lifting a hand to help Amy out behind him.

"Do you incur such a reception everywhere you travel?" Lady Fitzalan asks, looking stern but sounding not one whit of it.

The Doctor smiles amiably and runs his knuckles over the back of his neck. "This is pretty much the way of it, yes. Thank you, Lady Fitzalan. I think you've quite literally saved our necks."

The lady nods politely, glancing from Amy to her raggedy knight. "I have seen the politics of this court," she says evenly, "and I have seen how they've changed. My husband-to-be is not himself of late. He has let his knights sway his opinion far too readily, may God protect me for saying so. There is too much..." she pauses to consider her words "...strife, in this court, when it comes to love. I do not wish to see others trapped by the conventions prescribed to them about whom they might love, and whom they might not."

The Doctor straightens up to contest that he and Amy are not in love, but the Lady waves off his protest with her slim fingers. "It is obvious to me that you adore one another," she says coyly. "Do not think that you escaped notice during the party this evening."

Well, he honestly can't fault her there.

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

"Yes, thank you." Amy's voice is a bit breathless, there wasn't a great deal of air to spare in the confessional box and most of it was taken up by the scent of their own anxiety, a bit of perspiration, and the familiar whiff of tweed jacket. Lady Fitzalan's words do not escape her notice, though, and Amy turns her focus to the other woman in a sharp instant of curiosity.

"Was what happened at the party that unusual? Not the challenging part, I'd guess that didn't happen every day, I meant the -" here, she gestures to the air between herself and the Doctor - "the Lady and her knight. Or did we upset the balance completely?"

She's thinking for a moment about Sir Rorrick and how incensed he seemed to be at her choice in companion. Why was that? Was it out of -

- well, that would be a bit on the forthright side, wouldn't it? For a man she'd just met to be jealous of the apparent knight at her side?

"It's just that Sir Rory seemed particularly upset."

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

The Doctor gives her ribs a soft jab with his elbow. "Yes, social graces are particularly interesting, Amy, but I'm really interested Lady Fitzalan's other comment --" he inclines his head toward the other woman "-- the one about the Earl not being himself."

Lady Fitzalan goes pale. She turns her face away and shakes her head. "I misspoke. I meant nothing."

The Doctor steps forward, taking Lady Fitzalan by both arms. "Yes you did," he says quietly, lowly, in that soft voice he uses to reassure and reaffirm, "you said your husband hasn't been the same lately. That he's allowed his knights to rule his decisions. Why would that be? He's an Earl. Near best thing to being king; you don't just take orders from the hired help..."

Realization creeps onto his face.

"...Unless you're afraid of something..."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Amy gives him a petulant look, but it disappears rather quickly at the sight of Lady Fitzalan's pale change in complexion. Yes, something is very wrong here and the Doctor doesn't do well with not addressing things which are wrong. Her eyebrows lift slightly, accompanied by a tilt of her head.

"Afraid of the knights," she says slowly, as if she might be putting together puzzle pieces in her mind. "Of the knights, or something they know or have that no one else does." Amy turns her eyes to the Doctor's face, as if to see if he is following her train of thought.

But knights are a means to protect, not something to be feared. So why this way, in this place?

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

Lady Fitzalan gives a soft cry and shakes herself loose of the Doctor, retreating to a pew and burying her face in her hands. The Doctor feeds Amy a look -- Now here's something interesting -- and goes to sit beside the noblewoman. "Lady Fitzalan...it's all right. You can tell us. We're here to help."

The woman shakes her head and pulls her face from her palms. "Sometimes I think I'm going mad. I think I'm the only one who notices --" her voice cracks and she turns her cheek away. The Doctor lays his hand over hers. "You're all right," he says softly, "we don't think you're mad, do we, Amy?" He looks up to flash a quick smile at her. "You can tell us."

Lady Fitzalan seems to crumple in the pew. She dabs her eyes on the corner of a brocade sleeve and looks down toward the floor, more a little girl than a woman about to marry into an Earldom. "It began three weeks ago," she says quietly, "when the knights returned from their holy pilgrimage. When they brought...it...back."

The Doctor looks alarmed. "Brought what back?"

"The relic," Lady Fitzalan says, as though the word is poisonous. She shudders visibly. "The blood of Christ."