[ 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.

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[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

The countess draws her slender fingers beneath her eyes. The Doctor produces a handkerchief from his pocket. The lady touches it to both her cheeks. "A relic," she repeats, "brought back with the knights from the Holy Land. They have an almost...unnatural devotion to it." She gestures toward the altar of the church, where an alcove has been carved into the stone.

The Doctor is up and examining it immediately. He prods the wall. 'Licks the stones. "Fresh mortar," he says, considering this, "this is a new alcove. Built in the last month, I'd say. Look at the debris down here --" he gestures to the floor around his feet, where small piles of cut rock lay strewn about. There are fresh metal bars over the opening of the alcove. The Doctor looks back at the countess. "Is it in here?"

Lady Fitzalan rises to her feet and rushes over to the alcove, pressing her small hands to the bars. "You mustn't!" she insists, "it is protected by God Himself. The knights will kill you for even knowing of its existence!"

The Doctor frowns. "Just a look," he says, a bit petulantly, "I'm very curious. Aren't I, Lady Amelia?"

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

He isn't the only one who's very curious. Amy rises to her feet from the pew and her slipper-wrapped feet are almost silent while she pads across the flooring. They have to get a look at this thing, this relic, because it has the answers to this great mystery. That's what everything is when it comes to the Doctor, some great sort of mystery, one part after the other. Pieces placed together until a full picture can be made, to solve either a years old or years new puzzle. She's grown to love it.

"Very curious," she says, then brings her gaze to the fragile noblewoman. "One thing about my knight, he's not one to take no for an answer when he wants to have at something. And I have a tendency to go where he does. If you don't let him look, let us look, then we can't help. And he's very good at helping."

Amy pauses, then touches her palm to Lady Fitzalan's shoulder. "Think of your husband to be," she says quietly. "He's in danger from this relic, maybe a growing amount of danger every day. Don't you want him safe?"

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

The Doctor had not considered this approach. Nevermind, he's all about the relic: peering and snooping, running his thumb over the fresh new lock between the bars. He only becomes aware that Amy's speaking after she's already done it, and he turns his attention to the pair of them, curious and surprised.

"Of course," Lady Fitzalan is saying, bowing her head, "I love him with every fiber of my being. I would do anything for him."

The Time Lord catches Amy's eyes. Go on, he nods, this is good stuff.

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Amy covers the woman's thin hands with her own palms, gently cupping there in a motion which could be seen as protective. She has a wild moment of thought - wondering if this is the best idea - but tosses caution to a howling wind's attention in the next second. No, she's a fairly honest girl - well, unless you're an imaginary friend come back after twelve years of absence. Then Amy might be inclined to lie about her name and her profession at first. But she does come clean, and -

- and that is wholly beside the point.

"I know how you feel," she says. "Because I love the Doctor. I'd go through anything as long as it meant staying with him, and I'd face any fear I had to if it meant him being safe. I know you're afraid. But face that fear for the man you love. It might well be the only way."

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

Tense moment of silence while both the Doctor and Lady Fitzalan consider the confession Amy's just made. The Doctor, for once in his long life, looks absolutely speechless. He sort of blinks, swallows, looks back to the lock in a desperate attempt to focus his thoughts. Lady Fitzalan gives Amy's hand a squeeze. "I'm so worried about him," she says in a quiet voice, "and I can't help but think that it's all to do with that." She looks at the alcove with scarcely disguised fear and contempt. "But even if I wanted to help you, I couldn't. Sir Rorrick keeps the only key to the lock on a chain around his --"

Whrrrrrrrrr!

The Doctor's sonic screwdriver makes an appearance. "Yes, well," he says a bit sheepishly, pulling the lock apart, "no need to bother him on the night before the big fight."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Well, that's one way around a lock. Amy didn't really believe the Doctor would be stalled or hindered by a key, but she had already begun formulating a plan to get the key from the opposing knight.

But that wasn't necessary.

Amy squeezes the frail hands reassuringly once more. "If there's something to be done, the Doctor will find it. We won't let anything bad happen if we can help it."

Was that easier said than done, though?

No, Amy believes it will be all right. At least, some part of her does. The rest might be just a touch afraid or anxious.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

The Doctor unhooks the lock from the bars and sets it aside, parting the fragment of heavy brocade curtain and reaching his hands slowly inside.

Lady Fitzalan looks from the Doctor to Amy.

"Who are you people?" she asks, incredulously.

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Amy's eyes glitter and she smiles. "We're the people that stories are made up about," she says. "Because we're here to help. You know, the kind of thing fairy tales will come from."

It's an idealistic thing to say, but it makes her smile to think it. Maybe because somewhere in her heart she believes it for truth.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"Fairy tales?" Lady Fitzalan repeats -- before she's summarily shushed by the Doctor. "Quiet," he says, reaching his fingers toward the back of the alcove, "I've got something." He draws back, his palms cupped over something small and round. Through the cracks in his fingers, whatever it is appears to pulse with a strange, dim light.

The Doctor looks at Amy and Lady Fitzalan, and opens his palms.

It's a small, circular container -- gold, with ruby inlays -- and it's glowing. "Get back," the Doctor says, waving them both off. He places the container on the top of the pew and steps back, waving his psychic screwdriver over it. He checks the reading. Frowns. Grins.

"Oh boy."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Telling Amy Pond to do anything that she doesn't want to do is a futile exercise and a waste of breath. As soon as the Doctor has the container in his hands she is running to his side, motioning Lady Fitzalan back with a gentle gesture of her hand. She herself settles for taking up her position beside the Doctor, leaning in closer to get a look at what's in his hands.

There is light glowing, and it's bringing out the red hints in the rubies.

"What is it? Doctor, what is it?"

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"This," the Doctor says in a whisper, "is a power source." His green eyes are alight with excitement and the neat little bow of a niggling question answered. "Alien mold. 'Explains why there's so much of it hanging about the castle. The knights brought back an alien power source from the Holy Land."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

A what from a where? Amy's eyes widen and she leans in for a closer look. It certainly does look alien, beautiful at that and maybe a bit more alien than it was beautiful. "That's what you were looking at the mold for, isn't it? Did you recognize it?"

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

The Doctor thinks quickly. "Yes," he says, "of course." He hadn't. Mold was mold, except in this case, when it was clearly something much more. "But you might want to back up, Amy; in addition to being the main power source for an alien engine, this mold has certain...psychic abilities. It heightens aggression in some; makes others subservient. It's very tricky stuff."

To say the least.

"That would explain your husband-to-be's sudden inability to stand up to his knights, Lady Fitzalan."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Amy takes a few steps back then in agreement, not exactly keen on the idea of her mind belonging to anyone or anything else's control. Her arms fold across her chest and she looks to the noblewoman again before returning her eyes to the Doctor.

"So what do we do now? Destroy it?"

That seemed like a good idea.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"That would be the general idea," the Doctor says carefully, sitting on the edge of the apse, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. He's considering the 'relic' with a very intense sort of stare. "Though it seems a waste to just destroy it outright...without finding out where it came from."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

It's a longer perimeter of a walk but Amy takes a roundabout way to the other side of the relic, albeit keeping a distance from it. "Well, someone or something created it," she says logically. "And they have to be controlling it, you think? Or at least know where it is."

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"If someone steals your engine," the Doctor says, leaning down so he is eye-to-eye with the relic, "you're going to want it back." He strokes his chin thoughtfully. "And believe me, you don't want to be anywhere near this thing when whatever it is that lost it comes back." He straightens. 'Glances at Amy. "We'll have to take it back to the TARDIS. Keep it safe until we can figure out who it belongs to. Otherwise, if we leave it here --"

he eyes Lady Fitzalan, then makes a discreet pantomime of an explosion, puffing out his cheeks for emphasis.

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Amy's heart leaps into her throat and beats out a rapid fire pace. No, that would be a very bad place to be - but that's exactly where she and the Doctor have a habit of being. In very, very bad places at even worse times. It sort of comes on along with the territory of traveling through time and space. And this thing isn't safe here.

"Then we'd better take it now," she says. "Because someone's going to notice it's gone."

That, too, could mean a world of bad things.

Amy turns to Lady Fitzalan with wide, fervent eyes. "It's going to be all right," she says, "but it's probably best if you go back to your rooms for the rest of the night. You'll be safe there."

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

The Lady taps the edge of the Doctor's handkerchief to the corners of her eyes, then offers it back to him. The Doctor smiles and puts up a hand. Lady Fitzalan colours with embarrassment, and puts the handkerchief in the sleeve of her dress. She gets to her feet. "What will you do with it?" she asks. "Someone will notice that it's gone."

The Doctor smiles. "That's the wonderful thing about faith," he says, "you don't actually need to see something to believe in it." He reaches into the pocket of his coat and pulls out a sandwich bag (which still has half a sandwich in it) and very carefully tips the contents of the gilded box inside of it. He replaces the box in the alcove and seals the zipper on the bag. "There," he says, quite pleased with himself, "the world's very first 'holy sandwich.'"

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Amy bursts into laughter, then bites down on her lower lip. She shakes her head in amusement, then turns her attention to the Doctor again. "What if they do notice it's gone?" she asks. "Never mind that you're expected for a duel at morning. We can't leave until we've sorted this out, and if they do find out -"

Her mind is going further ahead than she expects it to, but Amy is nothing if not constantly prepared. She's quick on her feet and even moreso with her mind. They could be finding themselves in a very tight predicament if anyone does happen to realize the idol is missing. She doubts it would take much reasoning to figure out who the thief was.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

The Doctor slips the holy sandwich into the pocket of his jacket. "The mold is the problem," he says, "once we get it out of here and back to its proper, ah, vessel, I think a lot of the aggression and duel-y-ness will take care of itself. After all, who'd want to fight me? I'm perfectly charming."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

"And don't forget modest." But Amy is hopeful. She doesn't want there to be a duel, especially on her behalf. "Well, then we had better get this thing out of here before any more aggression pops up."

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

The Doctor takes a moment to look hurt by her suggestion that he is anything but a perfectly modest, universe-saving alien with impeccable taste in dress -- and then realizes that her sarcasm has a point. "Quite right," he says. "Lady Fitzalan, I wonder if you'd be so good as to provide us with one last service: a horse, to get us back to our, ah," he considers what to call the TARDIS, "mode of transportation."

Lady Fitzalan nods. "Of course. You may take my horse. I hope, though, that you are not seriously considering fighting Sir Rorrick on the morning. He is the most skilled of my husband's knights."

"Skilled?" the Doctor asks. "Oh, well, I suppose that's true. Everybody's got to be skilled at something. 'Pity mine was at making omelettes and not fighting. I'm sure I'll come up with something before the morning. Come on, Pond." He bows deeply to Lady Fitzalan. "My lady."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

The idea of riding a horse again isn't one she minds, especially since someone else is holding the reins. But she's more worried about the Doctor and the prospect of a duel actually happening at first light. She doesn't want it to happen, not because of any other reason than she doesn't want him getting hurt. Never mind that she can't protect him, but she can try. Amy is many things and stubborn is one of them. Fervently, insistently stubborn when it comes to things that she wants. And she does not want this duel to happen, not tomorrow or any other time.

But they can contend with that in the morning, she figures.

Amy reaches forward and hugs Lady Fitzalan in an impulsive display of emotion. She's grown fond of the noblewoman, and the smile on her face shows this.

"Don't worry. Its going to be all right, and you're going to marry the man you love."

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

Lady Alice is clearly surprised by the sudden, forward gesture, but she quickly warms to it: wrapping her arms around Amy's shoulders in a polite hug. "May god go with you and your knight, Lady Amelia of Leadworth." She draws back, and the Doctor taps Amy on the elbow. "Off we go."

They creep to the nave and out a side door, emerging onto the street. The Doctor sees the stables a few yards away, and hears the whicker-breaths of many slumbering horses. He does not see any guards. Nevertheless, he holds a finger to his lips to indicate silence, then steals to the back door of the stable, slipping inside. The air is heavy with the perspiration of tired animals and the smell of tooled leather. They pass down a row of stalls, each with a steed inside. The second-to-last stall has a bit of twisted flower garland about one of the posts. The Doctor points to it.

Lady Fitzalan, he mouths.

The animal inside is a dapple gray mare with a mane and tail the colour of brushed silver. The Doctor approaches carefully, clucking at the back of his throat, his hands moving over the animal's tall shoulder. "Hallo, old thing," he whispers gently, rubbing the velvet on the upright ears.