F I V E Y E A R S L A T E R

 Part One: Circling Dante's Inferno

 The Doctor felt a chill wrap around his left ear. A wind began to whisper and it stirred him slightly, enough to make him feel a little afraid. He had been sitting in darkness for days. A black thing, it smudged across his vision, black against black. He felt the chill again.

 'Long is the way and hard that out of hell leads up to light .'

 It was a woman's voice.

 'I don't need a quoting fest.' The Doctor didn't move.

 Silence.

 A kiss tickled his left ear.

 'Then you want business?'

 Her voice was cool, almost chilling, but it was seductive.

 Silence.

 'I'm here to make a deal.'

 'I want nothing,' the Doctor said, almost in contempt.

 The door of the cell opened. It was a small, rabbit hutch-like door. There were two large, scaly feet in front of the spilling light. The Doctor flinched, unaccustomed to the light, which sent him blind momentarily before he could remember his Time Lord skills. He looked around the cell to see if the woman was there. She wasn't.

 He never questioned that he'd imagined it, because in defeat nothing, not even imagination, was going to save him.

 The guard snarled. 'He' was a lizard-like beast, dressed in a metal and leather uniform. The Doctor couldn't remember if he'd seen something like this when he'd been brought into his cell five years earlier.

 'Time for your execution.' The guard dragged the Doctor by his feet through the small hole and threw him into the piercing bright lights of the corridor. An old memory trickled in his mind as his eyes adjusted quickly to the light.

 He was pushed down the corridor, his hands bound in some metallic vice. The corridor was a metal pipe with lights hanging from the ceiling, set apart every few metres. The walls were round except for tiny doors burrowed into the ground, not unlike his cell. The walls were dirty and stained with dried blood, mostly red, though he recognised various shades of blue and green that could have only come from the dying. The floor was curved and formed a channel were a small stream of brown water flowed down the pipe. The smell was unbearable.

 They had reached a large portal, a huge clockwork door set into the end of the 'pipe'. The door opened, the rusted cogs moving with a squeaking, piercing sound. The prisoners began to scream and pound against the metallic surfaces. Some screamed for their release, whilst others just wanted to die. It was not unlike a mental asylum where the inmates had become violently out of control. The guards went about their business, ignoring the disturbance.

 The Doctor looked back down the pipe, into the darkness towards his cell, and then he felt it again -- a kiss tickling his ear/the furious sound faded/he heard the voice again/I want to discuss a deal. The sweet silence faded and the violent sounds returned. The Doctor was lost -- staring absent-mindedly, giving the guards the authority to knock him through the door.

 He fell to the ground as the door slowly closed again. The voices of the inmates grew louder and more violent. It reminded The Doctor of an abattoir. The door shut and the noise died. Or he thought, the voices had died.

 He was led through a series of passages not unlike the pipe. As they continued the pipe became wider, the swill and blood disappearing while the dirt and grime still remained. Everything reminded him of the pipe, the screams, his cell and five years in absolute darkness.

 He was now in a large domed room. The ceiling was massive, decorated with sculpture of some horrific nightmare. It was like a dream from Giger inspired by the darkness of those five years, where an active imagination had drawn out creatures and figures; demons as companions. There was a large bronze double door at the end of the room towards which they where walking. The Doctor spent more time looking at the details in the ceiling: Hands were nailed to the dome, arms too thin, revealing the muscular features, faces shriveled, exposing eyeballs.

 As he came closer, something disturbed him even more, an increasing and confirming realisation that they weren't sculptures, but served as a warning to the guilty of their fate. This was where people were left to die.

 And when he reached the double doors, there, pinned Christ-like, was the Abbot, shriveled and contorted, his face set in silent pain.

 The Doctor tried to look away, but he was forced to stand close. He could hear the shallow, rasping breath of the Abbot as the door was opening.

 Inside was another domed room, only smaller. There were no poor souls covering the ceiling, only a large balcony were a royal court looked on.

 Everyone fell into silence when they saw the Doctor stagger into the room, his hands bound, on his face the look of the defeated. The Doctor saw the court in more detail now. It was like the court of the Spanish Inquisition, a nightmarish place; only this time he saw Wil and Peri standing before the court's judge. An old man dressed in a dirty white, his face was shriveled not unlike the distorted shapes seen outside the room.

 The Doctor felt the presence of the Dark One looking on.

 The judge spoke.

 'I find the enemies of the One to be guilty. They are to be executed, and sentenced carried out before this Just Court immediately.'

 Peri and Wil began to scream, but the Doctor, who had been trapped in his dark cell for five years, unable to move, to speak, to see any light, found that his voice, his rage was lost.

 He could only look on in silence. He heard their cries, recognised the fear in his friends' faces, and after five years of silent nothing tried to scream out , but couldn't.

 A large lizard creature moved towards Peri and Wil as they were being positioned on the execution blocks, their heads hanging over a dark stain.

 The Creature took hold of an axe and lifted it high.

 The Doctor tried to scream out one more time but failed. He looked on as he saw his friends die.

 He bowed his head low in respect, but his guard grabbed hold of his head, forcing his eyes open to see the results of his friends' attempts at freedom.

 Two smaller creatures came out to clear the bodies, without the respect Peri and Wil deserved. Their heads were removed and placed upon the shelf that lined the court room. There were hundreds of other victims, bloodied and dumped for the pleasure of the Dark One.

 The Doctor felt a kiss on the nape of his neck, and again he heard the voice whisper. 'A deal, time to discuss a deal.'

 He was thrown onto the floor before the judge. 'The enemy has been found guilty and sentence passed.'

 The Doctor looked up and didn't try to speak.

 'You will be confined to your cell for eternity. Your will to be free and your desire to travel and explore has been noted. Your sentence will be the denial of that existence. The sentence is found to be just. Sentence to be carried out immediately.'

 The Doctor was lifted up from the floor and dragged back to his cell, his mind concentrating on memories of his companions.

 He had lost all will to escape.

 This had been his sentence. The Master sat there, staring at his own reflection. He was finally the ruler of his own universe, staring at his reflection for eternity.

 He remembered Wil's enthusiasm for performance, he understood that pride. He remembered the Peri from his travels: her love of life, plants, people. It was she who had showed him how to appreciate the human way of understanding nature. He understood all these good things.

 The Doctor felt the chill again and he felt lips press against his. He heard the voice again, only it said something new.

 'Choices. You made several this time, but you never accepted the role given to you. You threw away the chance to be Time's Champion, for the approach didn't agree with you. You then chose another but you hesitated, and then were finally approached by another choice, a meager, simple choice. It was one that didn't require sacrifice, but it brought you here, and now your friends have died. And you are trapped here, talking to your fears.'

 'Yes, but not to myself. I know and understand what this is about. I know who you are.'

 'When we first met, you knew me as Ishtar.'

 'But I defeated you, and gave you your place in the universe.'

 'That changes nothing, especially since I've been dead a long time.'

 A pale face began to grow from the darkness, a face that he recognised from a long time ago during a moment of happiness in Cheldon Bonniface. It had been such a long time ago, and so far way from here.

 The Doctor stared at the face before him. His hands flew out, gripping her side, his fingernails digging into her skin. His gaze penetrated deep into her eyes, as his face tightened in anger and he screamed out:

 'Explain!'

 The Timewyrm/Ishtar slid effortlessly from the Doctor's grip and settled into a corner of the cell.

 'I'm dead. I'm no longer the Timewyrm or Ishtar, or the girl you dumped on Earth. They're all dead.

 'I think something inside you understands, Time Lord, but it's trapped, barred by memories and defences and things that try to make you forget your failures. It's a tiny, apelike homunculus trapped in its cell -- like the one you're trapped in now. It's dark and dirty and it fears. And it grows mad as it talks to its fear.'

 The Timewyrm crawled closer to the Time Lord. Her long pale hands gripped the side of his face as she buried her fingers deep into the his skin. 'Let me try and help it out.'

 'I'm dead, but I have a new job. I'm an Agent.'

 The Doctor looked around his cell, trying to stay a safe distance from the creature. 'I'm not making a deal with Death; I won't play his champion. I want life. I won't become like you.'

 The Timewyrm laughed again. 'You don't understand; I'm no Death's Champion.' She moved closer again to the Doctor as he tried to keep himself away from her.

 'Your people created the Gods Death, Time, and Pain, but they never asked: What do Death, Time and Pain create?' She smiled, baring sharp teeth. 'I work with *them*.'

 The Doctor began to shiver uncontrollably as the room became colder and colder.

 'It's time you made a deal with the neutral observer in this Timewar. Me. I can send you back in time to a point where you can make a better decision, a real choice.'

 The Doctor's teeth began to chatter. 'W-w-what d-do y-you wa-nt?'

 'My master will sort that out later, when you get to meet her. What do Time, Death and Pain create? The answer, you see is simple. Everyone Fears something. I'm Fear's champion. Fear only uses the dead to champion its cause, and the best thing is...'

 The voice began to fade as the Doctor began to freeze, his eyes growing heavy... 'Everyone always Fears something. Fear always gets an invitation.

 'This time, it accepts graciously.'

 T H E P R E S E N T

 Part Two: Three Become None

 The Doctor looked around, and noticed the column in the center of the room. 'If I'm the Holy Man, I wonder where my congregation is?'

 'Here,' giggled the column. The Doctor jumped back, as if he'd received an electric shock.

 'Adric? No, it can't be.'

 'Oh, yes it can,' the voice said.

 'Welcome to Purgatory.' An invisible hand gripped the Doctor's throat. As he sank to the ground, he could see the Master laughing, laughing.

 The hand let go of its grip, leaving a powder blue trace where its fingers would have been.

 'If you wanted to look at my cravat you could have asked.' The Doctor loosened the gray cloth from around his neck and jiggled it before the column in the room.

 'I think I liked the celery.'

 'What are you? Celery's Champion?' the Doctor snapped back, although he glanced quickly around the room, cautiously expecting the remains of edible green vegetables to fly at him.

 Giving up trying to figure out the details, she tried to think of the big picture, tried looking at it from the Doctor's perspective.

 She'd believed when she'd run into him, she'd believed during the years she'd been married to Yrcanos, and she still believed it now. The details were more important than the picture, because, she thought as she noticed her shadowing reflection in the tinted glass, because you miss the people you hurt.

 She looked up from the window scene as an old man dressed in a cream white suit sat next to her and smiled. She returned the smile. He spoke.

 'Have you been to Paris before?' He was an American, from the south.

 Gilliam paused. She wasn't annoyed by his company; she just wasn't prepared.

 'I was there some time ago.'

 'By yourself?'

 'No, with a friend. He was a good friend.'

 'A former lover?'

 She laughed. 'No -- I've never been too successful with romance.'

 'But what about lovers? Paris -- you might find someone there.'

 'Perhaps.' She looked out the window trying to sketch out the details of the blurring landscape. 'I don't know what I'm looking for.'

 The man fell silent and looked out the window trying to find what the woman was looking at. His gaze fell to her hands and he noticed an absent ring, a mark where there had been one.

 'How long have you been separated?'

 'What!' Gilliam jumped, quickly rubbing at her skin where she had worn the ring. 'Not long, but--' She paused. 'But I wasn't happy where I was.'

 'How about you, have you been married?' Gilliam asked. 'Oh, sorry; I haven't introduced myself.' She reached out with her hand. 'I'm Gill, Peri, no -- Gilliam.'

 He took her hand and shook it. 'Are you sure?'

 'Gilliam.'

 'How do you do, Gilliam? I'm...' An announcement interrupted the man.

 Gilliam never found out who he was. She never knew that he had known her for a long time, and as they continued their conversation, Gilliam never knew that because of him, she wasn't going to get to Paris.

 He tasted sand in his mouth as he tried to hold his breath. There was no air, no light, there was... a sharp pain. Wil felt something burrow into his skin, and then felt himself rising through the sand. He saw daylight and breathed in hard for air.

 Hecate was beside him, pulling him from the sand, her sharp nails buried into his wrist. Wil saw his blood trickling from his hand.

 He lay on the 'hard' sand trying to regain his senses. His mouth felt bad, but the pain in his wrist was incredible. Hecate removed her 'grip' and then carefully moved her lips to the cut, licked at the blood, and then kissed the wound gently. It began to heal.

 Wil looked up at her nervously, unable to make an attempt to escape. Hecate looked up and their eyes met. Her mouth was blood red and she moved in closer, kissing him lightly along his arm, his chest, the nape of his neck and then upon his lips. Wil tasted his blood, and then...

 He fell to the sandy ground, staring out into nothing as Hecate removed her lips from his. A red milky haze moved through his eyes. It focused into one point and his pupils glowed a bloody red. The momentary daze left him, as he got up and went back into the forest greenery, forgetting what had just happened.

 Hecate watched him disappear. After he left, she buried herself into the sand, looking for bloodier pastures.

 The Master folded his arms. 'Verandorar.'

 'Why does that sound familiar?' the Doctor asked dismissively. 'So, to recap: we're on Verandorar, Peri's not Peri, Wil's disappeared with Hecate, there's a bunch of Daleks and Thals in the Abbot's TARDIS, he's regenerated, and here's ADRIC. Now all that's missing is a dwarf, a giant, a one armed man and cherry pie!' he added cynically.

 The Doctor began to examine his pockets. '...And I'm not in the mood for David Lynch.' Giving up, he looked up at his companions. 'Do any of you have some chalk on you?'

 The Abbot handed him a piece of white chalk.

 'Can I ask why we're standing around for?'

 'Waiting for.' The Doctor corrected him, he sat on the stone floor and began to scribble.

 'What are we *waiting* for?'

 'Absent friends.'

 As he moved through the forest, Wil saw a sandstone-like temple from which the voices had been coming. Before going in, he spotted a tree that suspiciously grew some pink fruit. He took three pieces down and began to juggle them.

 He walked into the temple, noticed the Abbot and the Master arguing. The Doctor was on the floor, drawing a portrait of a woman with no eyebrows. He looked at the complex colours but couldn't find other pieces of chalk except for the white piece in the Doctor's hands.

 'Wil, good to see you made it.' The Doctor bobbed his head up, smiled at Wil, then looked back down at the drawing.

 'What's going on?'

 The Abbot turned to Wil. 'Waiting.'

 The Doctor stood up and bounced over to one of the walls started scrawling out words. He spoke silently under his breath: 'Verandorar.'

 Wil, still juggling, looked up at the names. 'Susan? Ian? Barbara?...'

 The Master recognised a few of the names. 'They're the companions from the Doctor's previous travels, although I don't see what they have to do with this quiet Timewar.'

 'I'm trying to remember something I've forgotten.' The Doctor was still not giving a hint to what he was doing.

 Adric spoke. 'It's T E G A N, not T E G U N.'

 'How could you tell with that accent?'

 'So what happened to her and Nyssa?'

 'Nyssa went on to become an air hostess and Tegan pursued a career in biotelegensis. Or did she become an agent for actors or something?'

 The Doctor had finished writing the names of his previous companions. Taking the piece of chalk, he began to trace a complex pattern, weaving the various letters together, circling syllables, hyphens, exclamation marks.

 When he had finished, he stood back as the Master and the Abbot moved closer and looked at the pattern, reading how almost infinite possibilities turned into one definite pattern - a pattern that spelt out what the Doctor had in mind.

 'When we began, we were given our roles of Redeemer,' the Doctor nodded to the Master, 'Champion and Holy man.' He then nodded towards the Abbot. 'Whatever the Dark One has planned, I think we should remain with those roles. Whilst he thinks we're something we're not, by just pretending to be them we'll be one step ahead of him.'

 The Master looked back up at the plan on the wall, but his body language had changed. He felt a cool chill wrap around his mind and for a moment he stared at five years into the future, saw a man staring at his own reflection, trapped in a tiny room and he understood. The Master was going to have his own plans.

 'I'm afraid, Doctor, I have to disagree with you.' He raised the sword. 'I've never found your plans mildly interesting, and I have my own ideas. I've pondered this since this challenge was thrown down and I can see where I should be going. I think I'll feel more comfortable with the Dark One in this Timewar!'

 A black shadow grew out from one of the temple walls. The Master moved towards it, staring at his former companions.

 Taking the sword, he moved through the darkness for bloodier pastures.

 and the darkness closed.

 'Ah, that's not quite what I expected.' Adric said.

 'You never thought the redeemed Master was an act?'

 'Not quite; I suggest we all leave here -- there's a large group of humanoids fifty metres from the temple.'

 The Abbot turned and ran out of the room. The Doctor yelled out, trying to stop him. The Abbot disappeared.

 'What's wrong with him?' Wil asked.

 'This isn't going to work. It needs all three of us to work at the plan.' The Doctor rubbed his head looking for another way.

 'Adric, I never said 'sorry'.'

 'Here is a long way from there.'

 'I never knew you well; you were someone who stood up to fear but didn't get hurt by it.'

 'I suppose you could look at it that way,' Adric said.

 The Doctor jumped track again. 'Perhaps we can find a way of persuading whoever's coming this way to help us.'

 'Perhaps you can convince me that this is a dream!' From one of the doors that led deeper into the temple came a voice of a woman. 'Cause I'm not really interested in doing this again!'

 It was Peri -- only she was about forty years of age. As old as she'd been the last time the Doctor had last seen her, in Dover, late 20th Century.

 'Wil, Adric, this is Gilliam.' The Doctor walked around to her. Holding out his hand, he introduced himself. He stood up straight, smoothed down his lapels, tidied his cravat and shook his hair.

'I'm the Doctor,' he smiled.

 'Hello, Doctor.' There was a male voice coming from the entrance of the temple on the other side of the room. Someone stood in the light of the door. Behind him there were about twenty people peering around him, trying to look in.

 The Doctor rushed over to them, sliding on the stone floor and blurring the Mona Lisa he had sketched. 'Let me guess; you've been expecting me.'

 Wil looked at the new arrivals, first at Gilliam, then the people at the door. 'Ah... So when are we going to get this war over and done with?'

 Part Three: No Voices Crying Out

 The Abbot found himself on top of a sand dune looking over the red nothingness all around him. A biting wind blew sand into his back. He chose a direction at random and continued walking.

 As they'd made their way from the temple to village, the Doctor had explained to Gilliam what had been going on, although he left one thing out. He wasn't sure if it was true. When they'd been confronted at the beginning, they were told that Peri was pregnant with King Yrcanos' child.

 The Doctor considered the possibility that Gilliam was pregnant. It was a part of the plan for all five of them to be here, fighting the Dark One.

 The Doctor looked up at his hosts.

 'You know, this would go great with those little cherry tomatoes, and some thyme and rosemary as garnish.' The two people said nothing.

 'I was hoping you could tell me how my friends are doing. I'd like to speak with them.'

 They still said nothing.

 'You can't imagine how she's going to react when she find out she's pregnant,' he laughed to himself.

 They stood up, smiled and left without saying anything.

 The Doctor muttered to himself, 'Must have been non-speaking roles.'

 'You see, when you look within the sword, it shows you something about yourself. Sometimes it's your future, or your past.'

 He placed the sword onto the floor. Two lizard-like guards stood next to him. The Dark One spoke.

 'Leave!'

 The Master turned and was escorted out by the guards, unsure what he should to expect now. The doors closed behind him, and the guards left.

 The Master was left alone. It seemed the Dark One didn't care about his guests' free range in the city.

 'I've always wanted one of these,' he said excitedly, as he ran his fingers around the TV's edges. The man standing next to him handed him a remote-control which was made of the same black material.

 Wil coughed. 'Doctor, I think we should be meeting the chief of the village.'

 'In a minute.'

 The man standing next to the Doctor looked on as enthusiastically. 'I just managed to get a copy of the special-special fiftieth anniversary edition of Star Wars, with extra scenes. There's this extra scene with Obi-Wan...'

 'Obi-Wan?' the Doctor said. 'I haven't heard that name in a long time.' He handed the man the remote control. 'A long time.' The Doctor grinned.

 'Oh, excuse me; my manners,' the man said. 'I'm Maklayle, chief of the village.'

 Maklayle led the Doctor, Gilliam and Wil into a large room, that Maklayle called the war room. It was nothing more than a tent with giant, comfortable cushions and a pseudo-AI-stereo, gestalt model, in the corner.

 Maklayle addressed the group. 'In a couple of day's time the King will arrive with an army he has gathered from various villages and cities around the planet. He is hoping to make an attack on a City to the north where evil is said to lurk.'

 'Doctor?' Gilliam seemed concerned.

 'Must be a localised phenomenon. I imagine all around the universe the same sort of thing is going on.'

 'Doctor, I was hoping you would be able to join us in the battle.'

 'My friends and I are on a quest, fighting our own little demons. There are five of us, but unfortunately we're two short.'

 'I understand. I wish the best for you and your friends. But I can offer you rest and a chance to meet our king. He will be honoured to meet you.'

 'Thank you very much. But I only ask you to try to avoid fighting; there are *other* ways.'

 'Hello, there.' Someone was calling him. The Abbot lifted his head, trying to see who it was. He sat himself to get a bearing.

 'Hello.' The person was standing behind him. He was tall and wore a black cape and was looking a little sunburnt. He reached out his hand and helped the Abbot stand up.

 'I'm playing Devil's Advocate.'

 The Abbot looked at the devil's agent, and the image of the Peri flashed in the back of his mind. The man laughed.

 'Holy Man, Redeemer, you want to be an angel of God.'

 The sand storm worsened.

 'Shall I make things better?'

 The Abbot nodded silently. The man then held out his arm, opening his palm. Sand began to swirl around it, and then as the wind began to disappear around them, a miniature wirly-wirly danced on the man's hand. He closed it. The place was calm.

 'That's one.'

 'One what?' the Abbot asked.

 'I tried to tempt *him* three times and failed, you cave in on the first go.' The man laughed a little darkly. 'You really need to be less careless. When the devil appears at least challenge him.'

 The Abbot bowed his head low.

 'Come, now. Let's get straight to the third temptation then.' The Man held out a scroll, it the Abbot's TARDIS.

 'I have here one TARDIS, belonging to the Abbot. You agree to join us, you can have this back.' He held the scroll tauntingly.

 'The Thals and the Daleks?'

 'Taken care of, when you agree.' the man held the scroll firmly in his hand, but held it within the Abbot's reach, offering him the TARDIS.

 The Abbot took hold of the other end.

 'I took them back to Skaro.'

 The Abbot held onto the scroll, rolling it out. He looked around, and the man had disappeared.

 He walked into his TARDIS, and saw that his TARDIS was as it had been before the Timewar had begun. He closed the doors, then heard a cough behind him. He spun around.

 'As I said, you are now one of us.'

 The TARDIS grew dark, as white electric flashes burst sporadically. The room began to chill.

 And then he heard screams; he heard the sounds of the Thals and Daleks he had killed, and they echoed forever.

 T W O D A Y S L A T E R

 Part Four: For the Benefit Of Those Who Came In Late.

 'I haven't had the chance to ask you...' the Doctor poked his head through the entrance of the Gilliam's tent. He hesitated for a moment then walked in. '...about leaving.' He stood some distance from Peri. 'I'm sorry.'

 Gilliam looked closely at the man standing in front of her. He was tall, slim, his face was gentle, his blond hair fell framing his face. His eyes were a little cool but made her feel comfortable. He fidgeted as he stood there, looking concerned.

 'I'm not sure... I was angry and bitter, but...' Gilliam looked away for a moment, then caught the Doctor's gaze. 'I don't know. This place seems too far away to worry about things like that.'

 The Doctor nodded.

 Gilliam continued, 'I thought a lot about it before, about the people you leave behind.'

 'Most choose to leave.'

 'I know, but don't you really think there's something more? That they're not leaving you, but you're leaving them?'

 The Doctor sat down on a cushion, letting his gaze fall to the floor. They were silent.

 'I--' they both spoke at the same time.

 'What is it that you feel and think?' the Doctor asked.

 'Confusion, sadness, anger. I think it must be different for different people. Perhaps they do see a new life. Traveling with you helps you see the universe for its randomness and confusion, but it helps you understand yourself. Perhaps some have come away knowing who they are, or maybe they've found love, or...'

 'Hmm... I know how you feel. I almost stopped traveling.'

 'Oh yes?'

 'When I last regenerated, there was a woman called Grace. She was friendly, kind...' The Doctor sat on the floor facing Gilliam. 'We had feelings towards each other.'

 Gilliam was startled by the revelation, although she thought there was something else she was feeling.

 'I guess I saw for a moment,' The Doctor continued, 'what it would be like to be with someone.' He paused. He seemed uneasy, perhaps confused, as if he were seeing something new for the first time, something that was exhilarating but frightening. 'For a moment, I understood what it would be like leaving.' He looked up into Gilliam's eyes. 'How the details could be so warm and beautiful. You told me that when we last met.'

 Gilliam felt awkward but didn't look away. 'For me that was just yesterday.'

 'Oh, yes; of course.'

 'How did you feel after not choosing to stay with Grace?'

 He laughed. 'Confused, sad...'

 The Doctor lay on the floor, resting his head against the cushions Gilliam was sitting on. He closed his eyes, drifting off into the silence, thinking of Grace. He hummed a little tune.

 Gilliam rested peacefully. Looking down at the Doctor, she absently began stroking his blond tasseled hair. She felt the baby inside her kick, and laughed.

 'I hope you're looking after him.' The Doctor sat up, turning around. His eyes rested comfortably on hers.

 The Doctor moved closer, but hesitated. 'May I?'

 He was looking at her belly now. Gilliam nodded. The Doctor gently placed his warm hand to her cool skin. The child had kicked inside her, but as soon as the Doctor rested his hand, the child calmed. Gilliam felt a wave of peace come over her.

 'The child seems to be doing the best out of everyone here.' The Doctor placed his head against Gilliam, laying his ear on her belly. He then proceeded to carry a conversation on his own.

 'What's that?'

 'Oh, I'm sure we can arrange that.'

 'No, I hadn't heard the one about the baby, the turtle and the lettuce.'

 He laughed, then gave Gilliam a quick glance and smiled. 'He'll be the best child this side of Torbus 7 -- he'll just need an understanding mother. The universe has had its share of neurotic scriptwriters, most of which reside in Manhattan for some strange reason.'

 'La de da right?' Gilliam asked.

 'I never found out why. You know Annie Hall is one of my favourite films? I was almost in that one. I was going to play the psychiatrist.'

 Gilliam laughed. 'What happened?'

 'A few Movellans were at the Stonewall bar. Luckily, no one spotted them.'

 'Why am I not surprised?'

 The Doctor sat up beside Gilliam.

 'Oh, that was a great night. Grace and I were separated most of the evening. And I seem to remember every gentlemen in the place wanting to dance with me.' The Doctor absent-mindedly began stroking Gilliam's hair. She found it completely reassuring and peaceful, then felt a tear form.

 'What's wrong, Gilliam?'

 'Oh, nothing bad. Good memories coming back.'

 'That's what so wonderful about life. Now who was it who said that the soul was a collection of memories? Paul somebody.'

 'Now that's a revelation.'

 There was a trumpet-like noise outside.

 Wil entered the tent as if riding a horse. He was dressed in a purple and royal blue court jester's outfit, a spiked hat sat on top of his head. He entered, bowed to his audience, and spoke:

 'Now may I introduce to you my gracious King -- Gwilym, jester of Paracastria here at your service.'

 Wil then began to juggle three red and yellow balls, and every so often attempt a small tumble. Both Gilliam and the Doctor clapped at each trick he performed, and then at the end of his act as he rolled towards then and neatly sat before their feet.

 'Wil, I can't imagine how you managed to do that in this small place,' Gilliam said.

 'Now if I tell you, I'll have to tickle you to death; we never give away our secrets.'

 'You'll have to show me how to juggle.' Gilliam threw three balls into the air, dropping them on the first catch.

 'Certainly, my dear,' he laughed.

 'Oh, Gilliam, I'm offended. I'm quite a good juggler myself.' The Doctor took the three balls and started the balls flying in simple patterns. 'I have performed before the cruelest and meanest judges of all time.'

 'Who were they? Gods of an almighty evil power? New York Art critics?'

 'Oh, them? They were easy compared to Jake Christopher's birthday party.' He stopped and threw the balls back at Wil. The Doctor then crouched down on one knee, looking like a kid eagerly waiting before tightly- wrapped up Christmas presents beneath an old Christmas tree.

 'Now, he was celebrating his fifth birthday, and he and a few friends spent the whole afternoon humiliating me while all the other children laughed. It put me off for several hundred years; I couldn't go near an electric toaster without remembering that day.'

 'Well, I hope you'll be back in business when my child has his or her fifth birthday.'

 The Doctor stood up, motioning to Wil. Will threw him the balls and he performed a quick juggle, then threw the balls back to Wil and bowed low. 'It would be a pleasure.'

 The Doctor and Gilliam focused their attention on Wil.

 'So, Wil, why are you dressed up like that?' Gilliam asked.

 'A jester hears that a king is arriving -- I do have to look my best. I found a perfect mask.' He took out a folded cloth mask that was tucked in the back of his pantaloons, and put it on his face. It was a simple half mask of red and yellow with a pattern similar to the juggling balls.

 'You look better already,' said the Doctor as he left the tent.

 'Thank you -- hey, what do you mean by that?!' He followed.

 Gilliam smiled and rubbed her hand over her belly gently. A trumpet sounded nearby.

 The Doctor popped his head through the tent flap. 'The king has arrived.'

 'I'll be right there.' Gilliam re-adjusted her clothing and left the tent.

 Another trumpet sounded.

 'Now this should be interesting,' the Doctor said, grinning. 'Wil's a master of public relations.'

 Wil stood up straight, standing proud. 'Now, ladies, gentlemen and children. Can you hear the sound of the trumpet?' The children chorused a resounding yes.

 'We must do our best before the king.' Wil began to over-emphasise his gestures. 'He will be old and large and quite fat, so it's important not to laugh at his gross deformities.'

 'Wil, I think you're taking it a bit too far!' the Doctor shouted.

 Gilliam whispered a reply to the Doctor. 'A master of diplomacy, hey?'

 'I didn't say by *whose* standards.'

 Gilliam seemed a bit worried. 'Do you think we should tell Wil that there's a guard standing right behind him?'

 'Let the master do his work.'

 Wil continued. 'You will see this jester perform great tricks before..' He felt a hand grab down hard on his shoulders.

 'Be quiet, fool!'

 'Fool? I'm not a fool, I am the king! It may seem a bit confusing, but your master is the fool. Your rash and brazen actions show it. Your anger in the face of simple foolery shouts it out to the world. When a soldier marks a jester as his enemy then he fights mockery -- a vanishing thing, for mockery is the stuff of thin air. Any person, soldier or king, to make an enemy of a fool must have a fool as a master or a tutor. (My own master is a Doctor and while his medicine is bitter, his wit is far healthier). Now, let me see your tutor; he must be quite large -- if your tutor is a master of culinary arts, you have certainly learnt that well. Your tutor is a poet, for your face shows that your heart must excel your own deformities, and by your actions your tutor is one who teaches his pupils to develop a slow wit and a small intellect. The fool who makes an enemy of a fool must therefore serve a fool.'

 'Why, you!'

 Wil tumbled quickly away and then stood upon his hands upside down.

 'Perhaps things will be clearer if we all stand upright. If all the king's men are fools, then all the king's fools must be great warriors. One fights with a sword, while the other cuts with his wit.'

 Wil began walking around on his hands. The children clapped and laughed.

 'My fool's enemy, why do you still stand upside down?' Wil didn't stop. 'You look foolish. Come join me, and place your hands on the ground and feet in the air and make sense from this nonsense.'

 Wil began to sing:

 'Fools had ne'er less grace in a year,
for wise men are grown foppish,
and know not how their wits to wear,
their manners are so apish.'

 The Doctor moved forward to intervene. 'Ah, Wil, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but the King is right behind you.'

 Wil fell to the ground. (The crowd laughed).

 Wil fumbled as he stood up then quickly straightened himself. 'Your majesty!' Wil bowed low as the King dismounted from his horse.

 The King appeared before the crowd, which gave a cheer as he began to address them. The King wore a full suit of armour and still had his helmet covering his face. He approached Wil.

 The guard stood close by, speaking harshly. 'Your name, fool!'

 'Gwilym of Paracastria.'

 'Kneel, fool,' the guard ordered.

 Wil got down on his knees and stared at the ground. The King unsheathed his sword, and then gently placing the broadsword on Wil's shoulders the King spoke.

 'I name you foolish Wil, the Kingly fool.'

 'A great honour, Wil,' the Doctor heckled from the back. 'Perhaps we should serve you humble pie in your honour.'

 Everyone laughed.

 'Rise, Sir Gwilym.'

 The King removed his helmet, and everyone in the crowd was shocked. The King was a young adult, no more than 20, and as Wil slowly took off his mask in disbelief the King realised he looked identical to Wil.

 'Doctor, I suppose you should explain what's going on?' Gilliam asked.

 'Oh, I can only give you half an explanation.'

 'I'll take it.'

 The Doctor and Gilliam moved down to the front, and the Doctor bowed before the King. 'Gilliam, this is your son, the King.'

 Gilliam said nothing.

 'Doctor?' Wil asked.

 'Yes, I know; another time paradox. We'll sort it out when this is over.' The Doctor said flippantly.

 'Actually, Doctor, there's a lot we need to discuss.' The King held out his hand to the Doctor, and they shook hands as equals. 'I also happen to have a part of your personality.'

 'The eighth one.'

 'Any others?'

 'The Master and the Abbot.'

 'How?' The Doctor walked around the main hut, his arms flying in disbelief. His eyes narrowed in confusion as he winced. 'I-I-I don't understand -- I know you're the child Gilliam is carrying right now, but this amalgam of Wil's physical characteristics and the personality of three others...'

 'Three become one, right?' Wil muttered.

 'Yes; you still haven't explained why.'

 'You'll find out,' said the King.

 The Doctor rushed over, closely looking the King in the eye. 'I *hate* it when people know your future and never tell you the complete story!'

 Gilliam and Wil both looked angrily at the Doctor.

 'What? I would never do a thing like that. What?! Okay; maybe in the past, but I was young.'

 'You're over a thousand years old.'

 'Young in this regeneration.'

 'Hah!' shouted everyone.

 'Doctor, Gilliam, Wil there's much to do. My army will strike camp tonight. We'll discuss our plans tomorrow morning.'

 Part Five: Dream Brother

 Wil looked out over the night sky - a thick black colour, no starry lights, no clouds. It was an empty darkness he could do without.

 Down below the army had settled in and fires were lit in centre of wheels of tents. The people were laughing and having a good time. Wil couldn't get the idea out of his head - a dark sky smothering the joyful group. This was something bad and dangerous. His crowd pleasing tricks were good, but the Dark One was an irrepressible force. He could make people laugh, but here it would be just that. Each person would be fearing the future, one that looked dark.

 It was a fear that buried itself and folded around each person's own personal darkness. That fear would fight its way out of the darkness. Fear didn't struggle; it moved slowly and smoothly. Fear was that thing smothering sense and hope, some sort of inferno at the heart of an impenetrable darkness.

 He heard laughter rising and then quieting. A flute sounded over the new-found silence, the melody weaved deeply and darkly, but it calming sounds brought something peaceful to Wil. It was the sound that shined invisibly in the darkness.

 Wil walked along the ridge alone, feeling a cool breeze clearing his thoughts. He began to think of the children he had met; what kind of--

 He grabbed the sides of his head as a intense sharp pain ripped into his head, and fell to the ground trying to scream, knowing he'd be the only person who would hear.

 'There's a child sleeping in his tent
The pictures go wild in a rush of wind
The dark angel he's shuffling in
Watching over them with his black feather wings on fire.'

 Wil found himself somewhere new. A room; there was a black and white pattern on the floor, the walls seemed to him blood red, and shadows flew across as if they existed as only as shadows. In the center of the room was a wooden dining table that had room for twelve people. Wil found himself sitting at one of the ends. There was a single candle on the table.

 Further down there was one person seated. The light ticked Wil's eyes. As he tried to focus, he first thought that he saw a woman in a white dress. Then it became clear that there was an old man staring back at him.

 The man nodded then reached for something invisible on the table, bringing it to his lips like a glass of wine.

 Wil closely examined the man. He wore a white hat, and his clothes were also white, but they seemed a little stained from sunlight. Wil moved his hand over the table and felt something invisible slip into his hand. Bringing it to his lips, he drank. It tasted sweet, like fruit juice. The old man nodded again and winked.

 'Wil, are you all right?'

 Wil sat up, a little drugged and rubbed the side of his head. 'I... I... Where am I?'

 'You're at the camp.' The Doctor helped Wil off the ground.

 Wil shook himself, looked around and tasted something sweet lingering in his mouth. 'Not again!'

 He waited. Behind him the Dark One sat silently, watching him manoeuvre the TARDIS to it's final destination. Then the Dark One spoke.

 'The Holy Man has given himself to temptation, and the Redeemer has returned to his selfish ways.'

 The Master hid his emotions, maintaining his dignified exterior, but inside he shivered at the simplification of his desires.

 'Now all that remains is for the Champion to bleed over my world, to see him lose everything that makes him what he calls himself -- the Doctor. Trap him in the darkness, never to see light.'

 'The Doctor will make himself vulnerable.'

 'Master,' the Dark One called out, 'you are a coward. You will never find your place at my side.'

 The Master spoke, slightly offended. 'That was never in my sights.'

 'No, of course not. You want to rule, but I will give you nothing, but yourself.'

 The Dark One moved from his throne and walked over to the Master, staring down at him. 'You don't understand. You changed; you called yourself 'Redeemed' because you'd found you couldn't win. But you never knew one basic thing, yourself. You never defined what it was exactly what was *you*. The Holy Man knew who he was, as does the Doctor. But you, you exist as a shadow of yourself, and every grab for power is like grabbing for the shadowing dominion to rule over. You played in the darkness, for too long, without realising you were grabbing at thin air. You are nothing!'

 The Dark One walked away, leaving the room with his guards, leaving the Master on his own looking around at nothing.

 An old man wearing a white hat and yellowish suit shuffled in, using a wooden cane as support. He walked towards the sorrowful man, turned towards the doors as if forgetting something, then turned back.

 'How do you do?' He spoke with a slow drawl, his accent sounding like someone from deep American south.

 The Abbot shivered in the corner.

 'You're finding things a little difficult to comprehend, I understand.' He patted his cane. 'You're not too sure about the price you're paying for a victory that isn't defined. You can't see where this is heading.' The old man moved closer, touching the Abbot's forehead. 'So you've chosen nothing.'

 The Abbot looked up at the old man. 'What are you?'

 It was an idea that was meant to confuse him, to keep him at a distance from the power of the Dark One. He knew who he was. Even when he'd been Koschei he'd known who he was, as when he'd been betrayed, when he'd taken pity on the Time Lords for their waste of power; when he'd found himself trying to survive on the planet of the Cheetah people, when he'd changed and become the Redeemer. He'd had to know who he was to change.

 He never thought once that change was just preventing him from knowing who he was.

 'Advice. Friendship. As much as anyone could ask.'

 'What?' The Master stopped as he heard a voice.

 An old man with a white hat, and cream coloured suit walked slowly from the shadows.

 'You're about to ask me who I am. Now, most people would want to know what *I* wanted, but you're more interested what I could give *you*.' The old man spoke in a southern accent, slowly meditating on each word he stressed. 'Advice, friendship.'

 The Master moved in close, quickly scanning the old man's eyes. 'I don't need it.'

 '*Hah*! You should *ask* the Doctor about friendship.' the old man poked his finger at the Master.

 The Master was silent.

 'What do *you* want?'

 The Master sank back against the stone walls.

 'Perhaps in your case I can *offer* you something.' The old man searched his pockets, muttering to himself.

 'You look somewhat familiar,' the Master suggested. 'You're not one of the Doctor's older regenerations?'

 The old man shook his head, discovering that his pockets were empty. Then as if remembering, he lifted his hand and spotted what he wanted. He slid a ring from his finger then held the gold in the air trying to catch some light to reflect. He smiled at the Master and held it out to him.

 'I am the One.'

 The Master touched the ring and saw everything. The fall of Jerusalem, the destruction of Skaro, the witch hunts on Plomptious Minor, the Battle of Vay Low, the Balrogs on Gallifrey.

 The Master let go of the ring. He felt exhausted.

 'Now, young man, decide.'

 'Decide what?'

 'WHO. YOU. ARE.'

 Part Six: I'm everyone, I need you

 The party traveled all morning through the dew soaked forest. The trees led with a green morning light as the silence was punctuated by the calls of whistling birds, oblivious to what was about to happen.

 500 men and women were moving northwards from the village, preparing themselves for a battle on the city walls. They were several days away, but they spent the time alone in their thoughts, thinking about love, death, dark, light.

 Jeyan-Marc Loffiyer had been traveling with the army since the King had come by his village three weeks earlier. He remembered the King's speech, his revelation of dark times and the importance of light, and that here on this planet the most important battle was to take place. Jeyan-Marc saw the need to fight the Dark One as a matter of importance.

 Good had to defeat evil.

 He knew it was a simplistic way of seeing events, but it was what he understood then.

 Now, three weeks later, the ideas seemed a little hazier, unclear. He knew he had to fight, but now he felt something begin to wrap around his mind. It felt as if Fear had decided then to come and suffocate his strength, showing him a future that only meant death.

 The lead gunner, Htgn-Kew, stared out into the emptiness before her, and listened carefully to silence over the comm systems. As she surveyed the waters more deeply she began to notice a few patterns. A high pressure system was developing in the east, and there were what seemed to be hazy blurriness in the north west. Becoming more defined, they turned into a chain of islands.

 As she listened carefully to the open channels the silence turned into the shallow breathing of her battalion. She heard murmurs, prayers that some said to themselves.

 Htgn-Kew couldn't understand how the simplicity had become more complex as time passed.

 It began to cloud her thoughts.

 On one of the medical ships Nurse Katyor tried to concentrate on the preparations and the drills the staff had performed, but he knew things were only going to get worse. None of the staff had spoken to each other for days, only muttering a few prayers, understanding each other's fears.

 He thought that this was probably the last time he would enjoy peace, here between the stars. Sometimes it didn't feel like waiting, because Katyor hoped that they were hiding.

 Katyor paused in his work to stare out into the peaceful space. He knew he was going to die.

 They played here because the adults didn't come here, played here because they could hide away from the outside world.

 Children screamed with laughter.

 The Doctor was hoping to meet up with the Abbot before taking on the city. Wil knew they had five days to met the forces outside the city walls.

 'The Dark One's been here,' Gilliam said nervously.

 'It seems they've taken the cylinder - Adric,' Wil noticed.

 'Yes.' the Doctor said a little too darkly.

 Gilliam recognised it instantly. 'Doctor?' Gilliam shook him. The Doctor paused, in a little trance, then smiled again.

 'This Timewar is becoming far too dark. It's become a game and this isn't something I play. I mean, I-I--' he stuttered, 'I'm not Time's Champion!'

 Gilliam and Wil both looked nonplused.

 'This Timewar...' He paused. 'It's making us something we're not. Twisting each of us into former shadows of ourselves. I didn't want to become Time's Champion because it hurts too many people; it's not *my* way. The Master became his former self, the Abbot's completely lost somewhere...'

 He sat down on the floor, crossing his legs, then held his hands together to his lips. 'Hecate is something else. Wil, even you've been *affected*. You gave up on Kings and knights, but you seem to be playing a shadow of your former self.'

 Gilliam looked at the Doctor nervously. He hadn't said anything about her.

 'Then there's the King. He looks like Wil, but acts like The Abbot, the Master and myself.' The Doctor avoided looking at Gilliam directly, she noticed.

 'There are too many unanswered questions!' The Doctor said angrily. 'Things seem to be going on without any direction or purpose. There's nothing defined. All we've been doing has been navel gazing!'

 Gilliam felt a little hurt.

 'The army is moving to make an attack,' Wil said.

 'But why? How can one army of 500 make headway in a war that has its effects throughout all Time!'

 'The army's going to attack to get us into the Dark One's fortress.' Gilliam argued, 'and we have to be there. What we have to do justifies everything.'

 The Dark One's army had appeared out of the shadows of the forest, creeping their way into battle, ambushing the King's army.

 They had intercepted the King's army three days before he'd expected to engage the enemy. The King knew that the forest could both help and hinder his army's chances of a victory, and that this skirmish would only reduce the forces available for their final assault.

 The Doctor moved unnervingly. His face grew tired and sorrowful. Gilliam held her hand on his shoulder, reassuring him.

 'Wil, Gilliam, I want you both to make your way back to the temple. This is far too dangerous.'

 'No! Everyone needs our help!' Gilliam protested.

 'No, I can't let you go with me! Wil, you've got to get back, it's the only way.' The Doctor turned and rushed deeper into the forest, towards the battle.

 Gilliam looked at Wil, then began to follow the Doctor. Wil reluctantly followed.

 The walls were steep, and he guessed there was no way to climb back out. He touched the side of his head where it hurt, and felt a sharp pain.

 His fingers were stained with blood. He guessed that he wasn't bleeding to death, that all it was a small cut.

 Wil slowly stood up, trying to figure out how he'd fallen down. He couldn't see any gap above, so there was no chance of anyone spotting him, unless they'd fallen down, too.

 High above him ,Wil heard the sound of the battle continuing, but mainly the gurgling sounds of the dying.

 He looked down both ends of the gully and at random chose one to walk down.

 No matter how many times he tried to stop them, they always seemed to push themselves towards Death.

 It never was worth it. He could have been on Oliseries, on the reaches of Andromeda or in the streets of the towns that had disappeared in Bosna i Hercegovina, Skaro, Israel, Twr-6-fr, Valedrome, Cry!nyo, Korpiarolia, Glementrifiaticirteform, #-~~s-m...

 It was all, unfortunately, endless.

 He'd once stormed onto the battlefield and cried out for the universe to stop, but it hadn't, only moved with its own pace towards Death.

 When he'd regenerated he'd taken on new responsibilities -- he didn't have to interfere anymore.

 How could he celebrate life if all he saw was death?

 The Universe changed at that moment. He saw it with a total disregard for meaning. The gas clouds lost their patterns and were just the remains of an exploding star, asteroids were the mocking remains of planets destroyed, a black hole, the most destructive force, showed itself for what it was: a true nothingness.

 This was a feeling he had felt before when he'd faced a horror he hadn't been able to stop, when he hadn't been able to understand himself, when Kopyion had decided who he was.

 The universe had become to him something true to that nature - haphazard, morally neutral, and unimaginably violent.

 'Wil!' A laugh. 'I'm glad we could meet.'

 Wil looked down into the gully where an old man wearing a white hat and yellow-stained suit moved into the light.

 It was the man he had seen before.

 'Yes it's me. This time in the flesh,' the old man chortled.

 Then he saw just at the edge of his vision one of the King's men, a boy, his hands outstretched for help, trying to grab the Doctor.

 The Doctor fell to the ground beside the boy. With one hand he grabbed the boy's hand. With the other, he calmly patted the boy's head. He tried to offer him some comfort against his approaching death.

 He spoke to him telepathically. *What do you remember?*

 *I remember my father teaching me how to hunt, I remember my mother's pretty but sad face, I remember my first kiss, the sound of a flute, the sunlight, the moonlight, the stars, laughter, friends, the smell of flowers in spring, the first sneeze of winter, cool winds, warm summer nights, the curve of a lover's back, morning light on a lover's body sleeping in the bed, a baby's heartbeat, fire, water, voices singing, the way children played...

 The boy died.

 'Doctor?' Wil spoke softly.

 The Doctor slowly turned around to see Wil standing there. He carefully and with respect lowered the body of the boy to the ground. He folded the boy's hands across his chest, closed the boy's eyes and wiped away the blood from the boy's face.

 'Doctor.' The old man spoke firmly, reacting differently than he did towards Wil. The old man had come to Wil like a grandfather. To the Doctor he seemed to act like a tutor. Wil guessed it was the best way to focus the Doctor's attention.

 'Yes?' the Doctor said softly.

 'Time to go away from all this.'

 It would take some time for the King to regroup and rest, and try again to fight back the darkness that was now spreading like a cancerous fear.

 A dry wind blew through the camp.