[ 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

[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.

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

For a few moments Amy is rendered breathless by the sight of the animal. Horses are by nature majestic creatures, beautiful and poised with incredible strength behind their wisened eyes, and she has always found herself a bit in awe of them. Add in that this one belongs to a noblewoman and it makes it that much more incredible.

Slowly and quietly, Amy approaches the stall door. She doesn't want to startle the animal by offering forth another touch to become acclimated to, but she does want a closer look. The horse seems placated by the Doctor, either by voice or touch or both.

"They're beautiful," she murmurs quietly.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"They're not from here," he says, "not originally. They're transplants. They walked across the land bridge to Britain when Britain was still a part of the European continent." The Doctor draws his long fingers down the slope of the horses's nose, feeling hot breath whuff out into his shirtsleeve. The animal has a pleasant, slightly sweet smell. The Doctor curls his fingers underneath the animals chin and touches his forehead to the bright star between its eyes. The animal makes a soft, whickering sound and bumps its nose against the Doctor's pocket.

"Uh oh. He's found the sandwich." The Doctor draws back, fingers slipping over the arch of a proud neck. He sees Amy hovering at the door to the stall. "Come in, it's quite safe. She's very tame."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Amy takes the invitation and crosses into the stall, immediately surrounded by the warm, almost comfortable scent of the horse's home. The wide, clear eyes notice the new visitor but seem more intent on wanting to obtain what the Doctor has in his pocket. No matter the animal - including humans, at that - they will never turn away the prospect of a snack.

"I've never ridden a horse," she admits, lifting her hand to stroke the soft mane, the even softer forehead. "One of those things my aunt said was too dangerous. I'd have gone against her of course, but riding wasn't easy for a little girl to do without someone's adult consent."

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

He scratches behind the pointed ears and the horse, sensing a friend, leans its considerable weight onto the Doctor's righthand side. "Ooof," he mutters, giving the big shoulder a soft shove. "None of that, you layabout. We've got places to go." He gives the horse's shoulder a good, fond clap. 'Grins at Amy.

"Well, no time like the present, yeah? Or -- the past, I should say. Grab that bridle from over there, will you? I'll saddle her up and we'll get going."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

At least she knows what a bridle is.

Amy retrieves one - and a saddle - from the stable wall and hurries back to the Doctor's side. She has the distinctive feeling they may be on borrowed time, and the fear of someone - namely, Sir Rorrick - finding out their whereabouts and plan now rings a fearful chord in her heart.

"Here," she says.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

The Doctor takes the bridle from her hands and eases the leather straps up over the horse's broad nose, tucking his fingers at the edge of the muzzle to get the horse to accept the bit. The animal chomps its big teeth a couple of times and catches the side of the Doctor's hand with its enormous tongue. The Doctor pats the horse's cheek fondly and swings a saddle blanket and saddle up over its back, buckling the things that need to buckle.

"Open the stall door," he tells Amy, then hoists himself up into the saddle. He holds down a hand for her. "My lady."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Amy puts her hand in his and gives pressure so their fingers entwine, giving her a better grip.

"My knight."

And for now, he was.

Amy puts her foot in the stirrup and, with help from his hand, swings up into the saddle. Her arms wrap around his waist to hold on, and she can smell him - his own, distinctive scent - as well as feel the warmth of him up close. The feeling makes her heart beat a bit faster and a smile tuck against the corner of her lips.

Impulsively, she presses a kiss to the only place she can easily reach - the side of his neck.

"Let's ride," she whispers.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

'Tingle of sensation on the back of his neck, sharp and sudden. Her kiss has a kind of energy about it; sort of like when you scuff your bare socks on the carpet and touch a doorknob. It sends little shockwaves up and down his arms. "Hold tight," he tells her, easing the side of his knee against the horse's flank. They clop out of the stall and the Doctor turns the reins toward the door. 'Gives Amy a look. "No, really. Hold on."

He gives the horse a kick and slaps the reins against the side of its neck. The animal rears briefly on its hind legs before descending with a clop and the big muscles gather strength, propelling the riders out of the stables and into the night.

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Amy obeys the request, her arms tightening around his waist. He's small and thin but not frail, and she knows there is a world of strength behind his chest, in his hands.

Then the wind is slapping at her face and she buries her head against his shoulder to push away the sting. The world is rushing around them and all she can do is hold on. It's exhilerating, overwhelming, and her heart is racing as fast as their pace.

It really is like something out of a fairy tale, right now.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

The Lady Fitzalan keeps a good horse. It knows the ground. It's slightly impetuous at an unfamiliar pair of riders, but the Doctor is better with horses than he is with didookbos (clearly) and he can sense when the animal is starting to get churlish. The moor flattens out ahead of them. Beyond the scrape of the horizon, the sea lifts up like a veil. The Doctor feels Amy's arms around his middle like two bands of steel. Her knuckles press into his shirt buttons. He wants to tell her that she doesn't have to hold on that tightly, but he doesn't have the heart.

Besides, it's sort of nice.

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

She likes holding on that tight, if truth be told. Amy likes the feeling of him being a sort of anchor for her to the world around them, something that is keeping her safe - and yet holding complete danger only at arm's length. They are not an unstoppable force by any means, but they are together and that counts for something to her. More than she's willing to voice, at that, but still it is something.

Amy smiles against the wind, her chin tucking against his shoulder for a place to rest and still see the view as it rushes towards them.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

The rocky ground falls away behind them; in the distance, the TARDIS cuts an eerie, almost Stonehenge-like figure against the black sky. The Doctor leans forward over the horse's mane, streamlining his body (and Amy's, by extension), when the horse takes a small jump over a scraggly creekbed. He lets out a "whoop!" of excitement when they land on the other side; 'turns his head round on his shoulders and feeds Amy a big, bright grin.

Adventuring is brilliant fun!

The TARDIS is getting closer now, and the Doctor pulls up on the reins to ease the horse into a slower canter. He swings a hand around to help Amy out of the saddle, then joins her on the ground. "There now, old girl," with a fond pat to the horse's neck, "that was brilliant." The animal blows a breath through its nostrils and puts down its head to nibble on the grass around the base of the TARDIS.

"Some people just can't take a compliment," the Doctor observes. 'Gestures to the TARDIS doors. "Shall we?"

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Adventuring really is great fun. In fact it's wonderful, something Amy doesn't think she could get enough of if she tried. Being with him like this makes her not only smile but feel an uncontrollable swelling in her chest, and consequently her heart. The smile stays with her and doesn't fade, even when they swing into a dismount.

"I think I like going by horseback," she says. "Can we sightsee that way once in awhile?"

She also likes being that close to him, but that's just another fact entirely.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

The Doctor turns around and stares at her, half incredulous. "But," he says, in a very small voice, "I've got a time machine."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Amy gives him a smirk, her fingers touching his upper arm. "You won't mind me with my arms around you while you pilot, then? Because I rather liked it on horseback."

Oh, Amy.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

The Doctor colours -- actually flusters for a second or two, like a pigeon with its feathers all out of order -- and then holds up a finger. "Saving history first," he says, as if laying down the ground rules, "all other considerations..." his smile grows, a charming line "..later."

He bumps inside the TARDIS and hops up onto the platform, shaking the sandwich baggie out of his jacket pocket. 'Thing about interplanetary mold, you have to be quite careful with it -- especially when it's the aggression-invoking kind. The Doctor finds a pair of thick rubber gloves from under the console, as well as a pair of welder's goggles, and sets about quarantining the sandwich.

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Amy laughs, and it's the silvery sound of a girl who knows she'll get what she wants - eventually - and that patience is a beautiful virtue. She can handle anything, especially since now they are together. Being together, with all of space and time before and behind you is an entrancing thing.

She trails her hand across the console and tilts her head to regard the sandwich, though keeping a bit of a distance. It's no secret what he said before, about this being an aggression-invoking sort of mold. She believes him to be right, and the last thing she wants to do is fall victim to it.

"Do you have any idea where it came from?"

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"Hm?" The Doctor looks up. 'Peels up his goggles. "Sorry, couldn't hear you." Ridiculous, because he's not wearing any protective earwear; the Doctor tends to forget where his ears are, apparently. "Oh, where it came from? No idea. The only planets I know of with a sentient mold like this are galaxies -- no, light years -- away. Something must have crashed here. There's no way that this stuff could get here on its own."

He plops each eyepiece of the goggles over his face and extracts a long pair of tongs from the hardware case underneath the console. 'Takes the edge of the baggie in one gloved hand and peels back the zipper seal to get at the sandwich with the tongs.

"What do you think?" he asks, grinning ridiculously, his eyes like two big black saucers. "Do you think Sir Rorrick could be an alien?"

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

"What? Sir Rorrick?" The idea is incredulous to Amy and her eyes widen in surprise. Could it be possible? There have been stranger things, maybe, but Amy isn't sure she wants to believe the knight who has professed some sort of feeling towards her could be an alien from another galaxy.

Then she realizes the irony of that statement and simply bites down on a smile.

"I didn't really take him as the alien type," she says, "but then again who am I to judge? You're the one with two hearts, what do you think?"

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"I think," the Doctor says very carefully, his face half turned away from her, "that you have a history of strange alien fanciers and that it would not be an incredible leap of logic if there was..." the light flashes briefly across the smoked glass of his goggles "...one more added to that list."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

This intrigues Amy, and she leans forward with her arms folding across the console. "You fancy me?" A smile creeps at the corner of her lips, not at all displeased by the idea.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"Careful," he warns, waving at the mold. "I was speaking about that fellow in Air-Paris, actually." But he looks troubled for a moment, his brow furrowing above the tops of his smoked lenses. Whom had he meant?

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

"No, you weren't."

It's a bold statement, but Amy makes it and her eyes hold to his face. She's regarding him with her fierce, intense eyes, the ones that beg no argument.