Once upon a time the Doctor had promised himself that he would visit the Forest of Cheem.  Time, as it is wont to do, has slipped away from him.  Two regenerations and almost a century have passed since that long ago day on Platform One when the courage of one woman saved them all.  Saved him.  Saved Rose.  And was turned into a pile of ash for it.

Cheem is a small world, a solid land mass without any oceans but full of rivers and underground springs that nourish the occupants of the world.  It's lush and green and so full of life that the Doctor simply stands outside the TARDIS and takes in deep breaths of the oxygen rich air until Sawyer gives a low growl of restlessness.

"Should have left you in the TARDIS," the Doctor mutters, but his feet find the path that will lead them into the forest.  It is cooler here, as they walk away from the light of the suns.  The trees tower over him, so old that they have rooted into the ground, no longer moving like the younger of the species.  He can hear their breath as it moves about among the leaves, but that is the only sign that these trees are different then those on other planets.  Until he hears the laughing.  It is a soft sound, at first impossible to distinguish from the twittering of the birds until he has walked another dozen steps down the path.  The laughter comes from his left, and he must leave the path and step into the dried fallen leaves to follow it.  Sawyer races ahead of him, and doesn't turn when the Doctor calls for him to heel.  For all that he acts like a domestic animal it is times like this that the Doctor is reminded that Sawyer was born in the wild.

"Go away, wolf."  When the Doctor enters a clearing he finds a young girl swinging from the branch of a tree, liana stretching up in a way he'd once been told was not allowed in public.  She's scowling at Sawyer and doesn't spare him a glance.  "Make him go away."

"Pardon?"  The Doctor takes a few steps closer.   She's wearing a dress of  gold and scarlet, the colours of royalty on Cheem, just as she will again the first time he meets her.  Out of politeness the Doctor bows his head slightly in greeting. 

"The wolf.  He's not allowed here in the Forest of my grandmother.  His kind were banished generations ago."  Liana unwrap from around the branch of the tree and the girl falls, gracefully, to the forest floor.  Her hands fold in front of her and only when she is perfectly composed does she turn to look at the Doctor.  "You're trespassing."

"Am I?" He raises an eyebrow and looks at the girl.  She's young, so very young and innocent.  He wishes she could always live in a world where the greatest threat is a tamed animal.

"I could go find my Grandmother and she would send the both of you away."

"You could," the Doctor says calmly.  He holds out his hand and Sawyer comes to him, looking up at him expectantly.  The Doctor strokes his head and scratches behind one ear.

"I might go find her right now."  She cocks her head to one side, but instead of looking for her grandmother she takes a step towards the Doctor.  "What are you doing here?"

"We're simply travellers, resting here for a moment before leaving again.  I'm the Doctor and this is Sawyer."  He holds out a hand, and she looks at him curiously but reaches out to touch his skin.

"It's soft, like the petals of a flower.  Doesn't it get damaged easily, being so fragile?"

"Sometimes, but then it heals."  Usually.

"And his?"  Her gaze is still wary when she looks to his companion.

"Even softer, but less vulnerable."  As if he understands what is being said, Sawyer lowers his head and stands perfectly still in front of the girl.  She reaches out, tentatively, and touches the fur.

"He seems different then the creature in the stories we are told."

"That is often the truth, as time passes.  Men become demons, strangers become wizards, and wolves become mythical creatures.  At the heart of the stories, though, one might find the truth."

"What is the truth?" 

She's looking at him, eyes wide, and he doesn't know what to say.  The truth is that the forest is safe, and so long as she stays here she's safe too.  But she's just a child and she wouldn't understand, wouldn't listen.  The future is already written anyway, and nothing he can say will change it.  "That's something you'll have to discover for yourself.  You'll find your own story,Jabe of the Forest, your own truth."

"Will it be a good story?  Will other trees tell it to their children?"

"It will be a great story, told not just on Cheem but throughout the Galaxy."  None of them are forgotten, not Jabe or Sara or Arthur or Donna or any of the rest.  He carries their stories always.

"Really?"

"Really."  They stand in the glade in silence as Jabe learns that wolves are nothing to fear and the Doctor lets himself remember the past.  Only when it begins to grow dark does he turn back to the path.  "You should return home,Jabe.  Your grandmother might be looking for you."

"Will you be here again tomorrow?"

Slowly the Doctor shakes his head.  "No.  But we'll meet again."

"Promise?"

"I do."

It's a three day weekend (starting in less then 2 hours!) so I thought I'd pick up this meme. Pick an Eleven and I'll write a drabble. Pick a few. I might write them all or I might write the one my muse feels inspired by. I might include your muse or I might not.

1. Playful!Eleven
2. Murderous!Eleven
3. Flailing!Eleven
4. Incarcerated!Eleven
5. Incorrect!Eleven
6. Ill!Eleven
7. Intoxicated!Eleven
8. Cricketer!Eleven
9. Eloquent!Eleven
10. Watching Television!Eleven
11. Playing dress-up!Eleven
12. Cranky!Eleven
13. Awkward!Eleven
14. Gleeful!Eleven
15. Pontificating!Eleven
16. Bedtime!Eleven
17. Jealous!Eleven
18. Inquisitive!Eleven
19. Confused!Eleven
20. Arrogant!Eleven
21. Angry!Eleven
22. Loving!Eleven
23. Working!Eleven
24. Needs-a-Hug!Eleven
25. Choose your own!Eleven

The King was dying. From across the blood steeped battlefield he could see Arthur's attempt to rise from a kneeling position. Even with the aid ofExcaliber , relegated to being used as a cane, he failed. Arthur fell back to the earth. Soon he would fall farther. Like the knights that littered the ground as far as the Doctor could see, Arthur would soon breathe his last.

He had known of this moment centuries ago. The dust of Arthur's remains had fallen through his fingers in the ship under Vorticons as Ace had read the note yet to be written and the Brigadier had looked on. It was still an unspeakable pain to witness the death of the boy he had held as a babe, taught as a youth, counselled as a king. The taste on his tongue was a bitter one when he saw the blood fall from the temple of the man he called friend.

"By the right of conquest your life is mine. I would see your last drop of blood, false king." From out of the shadows Mordred appeared, his sword drawn.

"No." With a speed he hadn't used in years the Doctor raced across the battlefield. Like the wolf he'd kept company with these few years heleaped over obstacles, closing the distance with a desperate need to protect his friend one last time.

Mordred sneered. "You have no hold over me anymore, Merlin. I will have my victory and you will not stop me."

"Leave now, Mordred. This war is ended, though no one stands as victor." He stepped between the dark knight and the fallen man, his hearts pounding as images flooded his mind. This warrior, too, he had seen grow from child to man. Perhaps, had things been different, they might have been friends. He would have liked to look atMorgaine's child without the anger tainting his view. Now he only saw the blade that gleamed in the sun and the hands covered in blood. "Leave while you still have your life."

"Do you think to threaten me, coward? You, who have never held sword or arrow, never brought down so much as the smallest sparrow for the evening's sup. I have nothing to fear from you, Merlin. The old man at the gate with his beggar pot poses more danger to my existence than you do." With the sureness of a man of a score of years and none of his mother's wisdom Mordred took a step towards the Doctor, and drew back his sword.

"You know so little." Standing before him, reeking of sweat and blood and death, Mordred called himself a man. He didn't understand that the thousands dead were nothing compared to what he had seen, what he had done. He had more blood on his hands than this boy could ever know. And still he laughed as if it was sport and Arthur's death the final point. He could teach him, show him death on a scale that would turn the knight's stomach. He could show him his own death.

He could cause Mordred's death. A few words, a suggestion spoken in the right way. He could whisper of slowing heartbeats and fading breaths and Mordred would fall at his feet, his eyes closing even as Arthur's still looked to the sky. He could...

"Mother, save me."

The Doctor blinked to find Mordred stumbling, his hand held to his own throat as if held by an invisible force. He looked away. "Go, Mordred. Go now."

Anger fled as quickly as Mordred left the battlefield. He closed his eyes and calmed his breathing, willing his own hearts to slow to a normal rhythm. He had not meant to lose control. He never did.

"Merlin?" From behind him the rattling breath summoned him. The Doctor turned and knelt.

"I am here, Arthur." With the sleeve of his shirt he wiped the blood from Arthur's brow. The King was dying. He would remain at his side until the end.

Mun: OMG! A Tammy nomination. (mun dances)

The Doctor: We read that days ago.

Mun: No, not Ace's. You. You got nominated.

The Doctor: Really (said rather bladly)

Mun: Best Written fandom original character. I can't believe it. You're so young.

The Doctor: I'm really not.

Mun: You know what I mean.

The Doctor: I'm not dressing up for this thing. If I go.

Mun: You're going and you're wearing a tux. I have an icon ready and everything.

The Doctor: I just spent a hundred years alternating between blue and brown suits. I'm not wearing one.

Ace: Oi! If he doesn't have to dress up then I'm not either.

Mun: Shush, Ace. Go away and figure out how to respond to the emotional turmoil you're going through.

The Doctor: See? It would be easier if I didn't go at all. You can spend more time with Ace and make that strange noise you make when you read Seven's comments.

Mun: It's called a squee; you should know that by now. And you're going. And you're going to say thank you for the nomination.

The Doctor: I'm not dressing up. (pause) Thank you for the nomination. Now go vote for people other than me. Sarah Janes and Harry and the TARDIS and the non-annoying earlier versions of myself...

He checked the address twice before landing the TARDIS in an alley off of Seventh Avenue. When the wolf followed him to the door he pointed back at one of the rugs. "Stay here, Sawyer. This is one of those centuries when animals are frowned upon in fine dining establishments." Sawyer offered a snarl of disapproval but returned to his resting place.

The Doctor found the restaurant easily, approving of the unobtrusive brick building and the simple wood door. Very comforting in its simplicity. The air smelled of cheese and garlic, spices and tomatoes.

"Excuse me." He caught the attention of the hostess standing near the door. "But do you know a girl named Elsa?"

Inspired by this role play with his_sarah_jane

( Rock quarries. With pictorial proof )

Once the lurching stopped the Doctor spared a brief glance at the console to make sure the levels were safe before opening the door. He smiled to himself. Earth. His Earth. He could see all of this universe's time, his own past weaving a path through it all. He had taken a risk trying to pass through the void again, and it had worked.

He was on Easter Island, if the statues around him were any indication. Geographically the opposite side of the world, but the energy here was similar. That must be the connection.

"Where shall we begin?" he asked the wolf standing silently at his side. Closing the door behind him the Doctor returned to the console. The entire universe, and it was his to explore once again. His fingers played over the buttons and switches. The time rotor came to life.

He exited the TARDIS experting to find himself on the Eye of Orion. Instead he was on a street corner in South Croydon.

Now that I've got a good grasp on who the Eleventh Doctor is (I think) I wanted to share a bit. Unless he's shared it with you his history is not character knowledge. His looks and personality (at least his obvious personality traits) are known.


Ancelyn: He has many names, but in my reckoning, he is Merlin.
The Doctor: Do you recognize my face then?
Ancelyn: No, it is not your aspect, but your manner that betrays you. Do you not ride the ship of time? Does it not deceive the senses by being larger within than without? Come, Merlin, cease these games.

A brief history:

Hundreds of years and four regenerations ago the Doctor learned that sometime in the future he would wear the cloak of Merlin. Not only that, but he would do so in another universe. He was destined to know Morgaine and to become adviser to King Arthur, to live 'the slow path' for some time, to watch the rise and fall of Camelot.

When a rift between universes appears on Earth he is just barely able to keep the universes from collapsing in on each other, but in the process he is ripped from his world, across the void into the other reality. He wakes in a cave, no memory, only knowing that something is wrong. His clothes are too big, his hair and eyes the wrong colour. He is alone. At the shore of a lake a young girl with bright red hair gives him a drink of water and gives the lake's name as Vortigans, lake of the High Kings. The Doctor knows without asking that her name is Morgaine. Though he knows it's not right, he tells her his name is Merlin.

His memory slowly returns, and he knows what he must do in the future to prevent the past from being changed. It is a careful game he must play.

For thirty years the Doctor lives as Merlin. He teaches the young Morgaine chess, knowing she will later use the strategies he teaches her to wage war. He takes the young babe Arthur from his family and has him fostered with Sir Kay. He is saddened when an argument with Morgaine ends their friendship, even as he knows it had to happen for events to be as they have to be. When a young boy named Ancelyn beans him with an apple thrown from a tree, the Doctor makes sure the boy is trained as a knight.

After two years of nothing but silence in his mind he finds his TARDIS, hundreds of miles from where he landed in the cave. In a universe where there has never been time travel it takes him years to get her to make even short trips, but in the intervening time he does fix her chameleon circuit. A police box in the middle ages, despite the perception filter, does stick out.

Finally when it is all over he is able to cross over, back to his own reality, with the help of the Lady of the Lake. Following in his time trail are Morgaine, her son and her army and Ancelyn, who will all land near Vortigans Lake sometime in the early 21st century, meeting his earlier self, Ace, and the Brigadiers. The circle is kept.

...

Physical appearance:

He's a good 5 inches shorter than he was the last go around (same height as his Eighth self, actually) His hair is a pale blond, his eyes a bright blue. He speaks with a rather proper English accent, with just a trace of Scottish in certain words. The regeneration he tends towards simple clothing in natural fibers; solid colour pants in a dark shade (usually black) and loose fitting white shirts or black cotton shirts. His shoes as black leather boots.



He is accompanied by a gray wolf named Sawyer. He found the animal in the woods with a wounded paw and took it home to mend it. Now it won't leave, even when he crosses realities. The Doctor pretends to be annoyed, but he's actually quite fond of the wolf.

...

Personality:

The Doctor is quieter then he's been before. He's used to days without speaking to anyone but his wolf or the TARDIS. He's had to walk a fine line, knowing the future but not revealing too much, being called a wizard in a time when magic is looked on with fear, manipulating things the way they have to be. He's developed a tendency to answer questions with few words, to be cagey about his answers. He's watched another war he can't stop, reminding him of a greater war. His sense of humour is a bit dark, his manner sometimes snappish or sarcastic. Although he has been friends with Ancelyn, Morgaine and Arthur he hasn't traveled with a companion for over thirty years. He's afraid he's forgotten how.

He finds immense joy in the little things. Coffee and bananas, both of which they didn't have in the middle ages. Walking barefoot. The freedom of his TARDIS finally working. Visiting old friends.

...



Any questions? Feel free to ask. Though some prompts will be written during the time living in the alternate world, more character interaction will be taken from a point when he's returned to his right world.

“Tell me a story, Merlin.”

The Doctor pulled his gaze away from the fire to find that Morgaine was looking at him expectantly.  He hadn’t even heard the child enter the room.  “I thought you were supposed to be taking a walk with the Sisters.”

“The wind is blowing in over the water.  Sister Mary said we’d like to freeze if we went out.  They’re all in the chapel saying prayers.”

“I’m sure you’re supposed to be down there too,” he said without rebuke.  He had no more faith in the Sisters’ God than he did in Morgaine’s Goddess.  

“I’d rather be here, with you,” the young girl said defiantly.  A year had passed, but she was no more happy in the abbey than she had been when she had first arrived.  She came to see him as often as she could slip away.  Though she never said anything he knew she was sometimes punished when she returned to the other side of the gate.

“Set up the board.”  He gestured towards the chessboard on the table, currently in the middle of a game he was playing with himself.  After a few lessons she was able to place all the pieces on her own, and already she showed a talent for strategizing.  One day, he knew, she would win the game more often than naught.  For now she still had much to learn.

“A story?” she asked once again, impatiently.  In the dim firelight her hair is darker than the usual vivid red.  For a moment he can see another sitting in her place.

---

”Tell me a story please, Grandfather.”

“Not now child.  Can’t you see I’m busy?”  It was early days in the TARDIS and there was still so much to learn, to figure out.  He spent hours standing at the console, not touching anything, just looking.  Sometimes he run through the operation procedures in his mind, simplifying the usual six man process into something more manageable for one.  Sometimes he worked out the coordinates of planets and tried to decide where he and Susan should go next.  There were times when he didn’t think of anything at all, but simply listened to the hum of the TARDIS as it filled his mind.  His TARDIS, though she was still a little wary of him.  That would change with time.

“It’s so quiet in here, Grandfather.”

He looked at her then, curled up in a chair with a book in her lap.  She still wore Academy robes, despite the fact that they’d been to a dozen planets already.  Not for the first time he wondered if he had done the right thing in bringing her with him.  He’d made her an outcast, collateral damage of his own rebellious nature.

She was all he had left of his family, and he hadn’t been able to leave her behind.

“Very well.  One story, but then you’ll help me with the delineation modulator, hmmm?”  He settled into the chair next to hers, and patted her hand when she smiled at him.  One story had turned into two, and he was weaving a tale of an amusing planet called Barcelona when he realized that she had fallen asleep.

“So much for helping with the repairs.”  He shook his head and pried the book out of her grasp.  She had a bedroom, one she’d picked out a few days after they’d left Gallifrey, when it had finally sunk in that they weren’t going back.  He could have carried her there, but he didn’t.  She wouldn’t sleep for long, so there seemed no practical reason to move her.  It wasn’t because he was reluctant to let her out of his sight.  Not at all.

  “Sentimental old fool,” he muttered to himself as he returned to the TARDIS console.  The chameleon circuit could use some tinkering, he decided, after that incident last week.  Three days as clock in an era when clocks had yet to be invented was not acceptable.

He watched Susan out of the corner of his eye as he worked.

---

“Do you seek a story in the flames of the fire?”

“No.”  He has stories full of fires, but none that he will share with the child.  Not yet, at least.  He’s told her many tales - too many, perhaps - but there are many more that he will never speak of in this world.  In a world where his people have never existed it feels blasphemous to speak of them.

Morgaine picks up a pawn and moves it forward, from white square to black.  “You are quiet, Merlin.  Have you run out of stories to tell me?”

“You must learn to be more patient, child.”  He moves his own pawn, his mind already ten moves ahead.  “Listen carefully, and I will tell you of a brave woman and her defeat of a giant snake.”

- teach Morgaine to play chess

- fix chameleon circuit - police box might get noticed in middle ages after a few years despite the perception filter

- bioengineer an organic spacecraft

- teach said spacecraft to recognize my voice pattern (taking into account a different accent)

- see to Arthur's education

- keep Arthur safe

- find Ancelyn, see to it that he is properly trained as a knight

- modify Excaliber so that it reacts with calcium sulfate to create a force field

- figure out a way to get back across the void into the correct reality (once the final battle is over)

- make sure rift stays open long enough for Morgaine, her warriors, Ancelyn and the spaceship can cross through (at the right time)

M'lady Nimue, happy birthday, blessed Beltain.

Shaving as soon as Jet sees.

-I am not a wizard, and the only magic I practice is slight of hand. However science looks like magic to those that don't understand, and the future is easy to predict when you've already seen it.

-I had nothing to do with Uther tricking the Lady Igraine. I met neither of them until after Arthur was born.

-My birth was 'unworldy' and my father 'unhuman' but he wasn't a devil. He was a Time Lord.

-Yes, I did construct Stonehenge. Why? The ground it surrounds is the location of a rift. So when you read that story in the Daily Sun about aliens having constructed Stonehenge? It's actually true.

-I watched over King Arthur as a child, and was adviser to him as a king. He was a good and wise man. And his Guinevere loved him faithfully.

-Sir Kay was a good friend to Arthur, very much like a brother to him.  A little dull for my tastes, though.

-I have never had a long gray beard, thank you very much.

-Morgaine was not the evil woman she is so often made out to be. She was human, and like all humans she was imperfect. I knew her as a child, and taught her to play chess even knowing that the strategy she would learn in our mock game of war would carry over into real life. She loved Arthur as a sister, even as she fought against him.

-The Lady of the Lake did not imprison me in a mountain, though it may have looked like it to anyone watching. My TARDIS was inside that cave, and it was with her help that I was finally able to cross the void back to my own universe.

-They called me Merlin, but that was not my true name. I am The Doctor.

The Doctor's hands raced over buttons and levers as he made an anti-clockwise circle around the console.  All of time and space, once again his to travel.  Nothing held him Earthbound anymore, or timebound.  He could pop over to Melagophon or back in time to Jaconda when it was a pleasant little world.  He could go take in a Beatles concert or watch the Great Wall of China being built or see a bit of the French Revolution.

No.  Jet didn't like the Revolution.

Jet.  For the first time in decades he had someone to travel with.  The Doctor looked over his shoulder.

"What do you think?  Should we see in the third millennium from a party ship in the middle of the Atlantic or visit the planet Glaes?  You've never seen glassblowing done properly until you've been to Glaes."

The TARDIS. His TARDIS. It seems almost too good to be true.

Two years he’s been in this world, this reality, and in all that time the only voice in his mind has been his own. There were no Time Lords here, but the hundred years since The War have taught him to live with that silence. It was the soft hum of his TARDIS that had been the biggest lose. From the moment he had awoken in the cave he had known something was missing, even if at first he hadn’t know what it had been. The TARDIS his only home, but it as also his only hope.

The last time he had seen the blue police box had been on the other side of the void. He had finally decided that she was still there, on that other Earth, and had tried to content himself with the knowledge that Jack would know how to keep her safe. He didn’t want to think about his own future, and two more regenerations beyond that, stuck living in linear time.

Then the dreams had come, and he had started walking. Something, some small inner voice, had driven him north, and he had listened. Now he stood in the highlands of Scotland, not far from where he had met Jamie on the other Earth, and for the first time in two years he did not feel completely lost. He had found his TARDIS. It almost sounded like singing in his mind.

“Hello, old girl.” He patted the door as he opened it. Once inside he leaned heavily on the console, not touching any of the knobs or buttons, just looking. There was a vibrating under his fingers, telling him that everything was still in order. She was drawing power from somewhere, because even at bare minimum the system couldn’t run for two years on the energy she stored. He wasn’t sure what that external power source was, but he would figure it out.

“Then you and I will have some adventures, won’t we?” He could explore this universe forwards and backwards. Maybe there was only one galaxy, or maybe there were a thousand. Perhaps Mondas had never lost its orbit and was now a planet known for home baked pies and sunny beaches. Maybe Metebelis Three had purple crystals and no giant spiders. The possibilities were endless, and they were all there for him to explore.

“And if I’m very, very clever,” he muttered, “I just might be able to figure out how to get the both of us back home.”

It would take time, he knew. Years, as the king he was destined to see die was only an infant. But maybe, just maybe, after that final battle he could leave. With a slow smile he made his way down the halls of the TARDIS to his workroom. First things first he needed to make himself a new sonic screwdriver.

This is a future regeneration of The Doctor. His Eleventh self, to be precise. These days, though, most people call him Merlin.

Ancelyn: He has many names, but in my reckoning, he is Merlin.
The Doctor (Seven): Do you recognize my face then?
Ancelyn: No, it is not your aspect, but your manner that betrays you. Do you not ride the ship of time? Does it not deceive the senses by being larger within than without? Come, Merlin, cease these games. -Battlefield

When the void between two realities is ripped open, only The Doctor can stop them from bleeding together, destroying both. He does, but the cost is high. When he awakes it is post regeneration and he is stuck on the other side of the void, in a universe where there has never been a Timelord before. He's stuck in 12th century Briton, where he is befriended by a young girl named Morgaine.

Sometimes it's a curse, to know what will come. His past is the future of those around him. He girl he mentors will become the woman he must defeat, and the king he advises is already dead. But time is a tricky thing, and he must walk the path that is set out for him.

The first thing he sees upon opening his eyes is blackness, and the absence of stars terrifies him. Pain courses through his body but he pushes it aside. Pain is unimportant. He has felt pain before, and survived. He has never been without the stars. Every planet, every solar system, every galaxy- no matter where he goes there are stars shining in the sky, calling to him, comforting him. He can smell the earth he is lying on, cold and slightly damp. He is outdoors, but above him there is nothing.

Despite the pain that shouts through his head he sits up, reaching out his hand to touch stone. The stone is curved, a solid wall that continues above him even when he stands up. A cave. Somehow, somewhere, he is in a cave. He feels along the rock wall to the opening, taking a deep breath of the fresh air. Stars fill the sky, dancing above him like old friends. Very old friends. He recognizes constellations he’s seen hundreds of times before.

“I’m on Earth.” His own voice surprises him, but he’s not sure why. “Sometime prior to the industrial revolution, judging by the pollutant free atmosphere.”

There is no one around to agree of argue with him, and somehow that doesn’t seem right. He doesn’t like to be alone, not really. Not ever since...

“Since what?” he asks the night. When there is no answer he asks another question, more important and just as likely to go unanswered. “Who am I?”

.....

Exhaustion overcomes him and he sleeps again, this time under the stars. When he wakes it is morning, and the sun is just peeking over the mountains. He stretches, and finds that his hands are covered by the sleeves of a too-long brown jacket. Everything he wears is too large. The pants sag around his hips and pool over his trainers, which flap on his feet like a clown’s shoes. The brown overcoat almost drags on the ground. Something is not right.

“I used to be taller,” he mutters to himself. But that is ridiculous; people don’t change sizes, not in such a dramatic matter. They don’t wake up one day a good eight inches shorter than they had been. People didn’t, but he did.

“I’m not people. Not human.” He looks around him, taking in the sky, the trees, the ground. It is familiar, this place. This Earth. But it isn't home.

He can't remember where home is.

Think about the homeless traveller in his old police box...

...destroyed my home, my planet...

Home?

The TARDIS.



“What is a TARDIS?” The word rolls off his tongue with ease, but all he knows is that it is connected to home, somehow.

.....

“I like the hair.” The still water at the edge of a lake offers him his first real look at himself. His hair is a pale blond, a bit longer than it had been, but falling straight instead of sticking out in different directions. Much neater. But still not ginger, an impish voice whispers in his mind.

He expects his eyes to be brown, and is surprised to see a clear blue reflected back at him. Blue eyes and blond hair? Maybe he should start carrying a cricket ball around again.

“Would you like to use my cup?”

He’s still staring at himself in the water when someone speaks from behind. He turns to find a little girl watching him, her eyessolemn and her cheeks streaked with tears. Her hair is a bright red, and stands out against the drab gray of her dress. She holds a carved wooden cup in one hand. “You look like you might want something to drink, and a cup holds more water than cupped hands do.”

“You’re very right. Thank you.” He excepts the cup and dips it into the lake. The water is cold and fresh; he hadn’t realized how thirsty he had been. He fills the cup three times before giving it back to her.

Drink, Doctor? Jack’s made a pot of tea and you haven’t had anything for hours.

I’m a bit busy at the moment, trying to keep two worlds from bleeding into each other and destroying all life in the universe. Don’t have time to stop for a cuppa.

“Can you tell me where we are?” The girl seems to be alone. She’s only six or seven, and he finds it strange that no one accompanies her.

“Sir?”

“This place, what is it called?” He waves his hand at the lake, though that’s not precisely what he means.

“This is Vorticons, sir. It is where the ancient ones once held court, and now it is home to the Lady.” When the child drinks the water she first spills some onto the earth, and when she speaks of the lady there is a tone of reverence in her voice.

“Vorticans. The Lake of the High Kings.”

He has stood on this shore before. This lake, this land, but not in this time. Not in this place either, not precisely. “Sideways in time.”

The little girl backs away from him. “Time doesn’t move sideways, it only goes forward.”

“Sideways, backwards, forwards and wibbly wobbly. Time is not always as it seems.” For a moment he thinks she might run, but then her eyes grow wide.

“Can it really be made to go backwards?”

“Sometimes,” he says carefully. He can see the hope shining in her eyes. He knows time, understands it better than he understands himself right now. It doesn’t bend to the whims of people, and it likes to teach a lesson to those who try to use it.

“If time could go back then my father wouldn’t be dead and mother wouldn’t be crying and I wouldn’t have to go away.”

“Where are you going?” It seems the safest of the questions to ask. He's not good with human emotions.

“I’m being sent to a convent. Mother says I’m to be taught to be a lady, but I know that it’s because he doesn’t want to see me. He doesn’t like the reminder of my father.”

“Morgaine.” He speaks the name without thought, but it’s the right one.

“You’re a wizard.” She looks more pleased than scared. “You speak of time and know my name before I give it to you. Only a great wizard would do such things.”

“I’m...” He should deny it. He isn't a wizard, not even close. He believes in science, not magic.

Any advanced form of technology is indistinguishable from magic. Clark’s Law.

It is not your aspect, but your manner that betrays you.

“I’m Merlin.”