Chapter Text
He had just adjusted his tie when she walked out of the ensuite, freshly showered and wearing a pair of jeans and a green camisole. He winked at her as she tied her hair up in a ponytail, and his eyes followed every move she made for several seconds, watching her put on her trainers, then a jacket, then a swipe or two of mascara.
Her jimjams were crumbled in a pile next to the bed - the result of the previous night’s lovemaking - and on the vanity near the door sat most of her make-up and personal items. The book she was currently reading was on the nightstand, and he knew that if he were to open the closet he’d find half of it was filled with an assortment of her clothes in addition to his, including her first proper pair of running shoes (right next to his red chucks). As she slipped her hoop earrings into place, he found himself looking around the room at more things he never imagined would be possible. The strands of blonde hair on his pillow. The particular smell of lavender wafting in the air. The second toothbrush on his sink… Their sink.
Moving her out of her old room and into his was a process that happened rather organically, though never with an “official” invitation. One wasn’t needed. The moment they left Jackie at Bad Wolf Bay and were alone, safe in this universe, he didn’t think twice. He simply brought her to his bed and held her close while she allowed herself to feel the loss for a little while, his fingers rubbing her back, until it started to settle that they’d survived . They were together. They talked and talked and talked, and cried, and laughed, and talked some more, until the talking turned to gazing, and the gazing turned to kissing, and one thing led to another, and… well… she’d slept there every night since.
Admittedly, he still didn’t sleep much. He blamed time, and its constant reminder that it’s always moving, always ticking, always inching him closer to losing all that he cares about, and while he’d willingly made the choice to stop running from how he felt, at times he still found getting this close fairly terrifying. He was, dare he say it, atrociously happy , but the more open he was with her the more the idea of losing her again threatened to stop his hearts to the degree that they would never restart, and somehow not sleeping so he could watch her breathe through the night helped. It was better than sleep, really. Far more peaceful.
(He despises nightmares, he really does.)
And every morning, the devotion he felt when she opened her eyes and it dawned on him that he was the first thing she was seeing still startled him. Even beyond that, just being able to look at them - her eyes - the perfect mix of hazel brown with a hint of green he had been so afraid of forgetting was often too much, and every morning when he said “hello” this flutter filled his gut the way it had back on that abandoned street, back when she was just a memory; a figment of his imagination; a drawing in a journal he’d once made when he’d forgotten everything else, even his own name. The words Donna said rang in his ears almost every day, underscoring every adventure, every meal, every laugh and kiss and passionate shag.
Why don’t you ask her yourself?
He smiled softly as he drew small circles in Gallifreyan on the dresser, still watching her get ready for their day, and he noticed when she noticed what he was doing. She was absolutely radiant in green, he thought, and when her tongue-in-cheek smile greeted him from across the room he couldn’t help but reciprocate with the most idiotic grin.
“You alright, there?” she asked as she walked over to him. He nodded.
“Oh, yes,” he murmured. “Ready to go?”
“Almost,” she said, and he watched as she reached behind him and grabbed her TARDIS key, still on the silver chain he gave her so very long ago, and draped it over her neck. He swallowed hard, genuinely surprised when he felt a burning sensation sting his eyes, but he cleared his throat and blinked it away quickly.
It didn’t go unnoticed. With a squeeze to his arm, she kissed him, and he made the softest of sounds as he placed his hand on her hip, his thumb lightly circling her belt loop, until she pulled back and gave him another signature smile.
“There’d better be chips,” she said.
“Mmm…And cake,” he added, grinning madly yet again as he took her hand, and together they walked out to the console room.
They stopped when they heard a bang at the door.
“Wait here.”
“Hold on, check where we are first,” she suggested, pointing to the monitor she still couldn’t read, but he was already pulling his screwdriver out of his pocket and approaching the door, smiling as he opened it, ready to be clever and charming and get them out of whatever situation they might have landed into, but much to his surprise, a small child stood before him, holding up a fish.
A dead fish.
“Hello!” he chimed, kneeling down so he was at her eye-level. “What do you have there?”
“Am I dead?” the child asked, and the Doctor’s brow furrowed deeply, his smile falling away.
“...Why do you ask that?”
The child held the fish up, and the Doctor just looked at it, not sure what to do. She couldn’t be more than four or five, with blonde hair that could rival Rose’s tied back in an intricate braid. She wore a simple brown frock with no shoes, and he couldn’t help but notice that her face was smeared with dirt. He opened his mouth to speak, but something stopped him.
She held up the fish again.
“For you. I don’t want to die. Mother will be sad.”
“You’re not dying,” he insisted, and he sensed when Rose approached. Their eyes met for a moment as she sat down next to him, but when she held out her hand to greet the child, the fish was placed in it instead.
“Oh, um…” Rose began, but rather than deny her, she smiled and tried to ignore the feeling of the scales (and the smell.) “Thank you. What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“INGRID!” they heard someone call, and both Rose and the Doctor glanced up just as a tall, pale, burly man came striding toward them. “Ingrid! What are you doing?!”
“Father!” the girl shouted ecstatically, running toward him. He scooped her up in his arms and looked at the Doctor and Rose in contemplation, though there was something in his eye that was alarming. “The blue gate, Father! The Jötnar! I thought I was dead!”
“The what?” Rose whispered, but the Doctor looked behind the girl for the first time, starting to let his curiosity get the best of him. Tall, snow-capped mountains surrounded what appeared to be a village. The ground was covered in snow as well, though it had been shoveled to the side so it was safe to walk the dirt roads, and he noticed there was definite chill in the air. The sun was setting beyond the horizon, and the buildings that surrounded them were wooden, many with painted rooftops that resembled some kind of ship. Dogs roamed freely, as did children and squirrels. Many people seemed to be on their way home, some carrying rabbit pelts on their backs, others with buckets of water, some with mead, and when he looked to his left he saw a swirl of lights starting to become visible in the darkening sky, and he let out a happy sound.
“Aurora Borealis!” he cheered, and Ingrid (and her father) gave him a startled look. “Is this Norway?!”
Rose’s attention snapped to him.
“Who are you?” the man asked hotly. The Doctor grinned.
“Must be what, 9th century or so?” he continued, sniffing, but before he could use his sonic screwdriver to confirm, Ingrid started to cry, and the playful mood fell away. When he spoke next, he was cautious. “It’s alright, you’re okay. I’m the Doctor.”
“I’m Rose.”
Together, they stepped off the TARDIS.
“Am - am- am I dying?” Ingrid asked again, and the Doctor’s eyebrow raised inquisitively as he looked at her father. “The blue gate, Father. The Jötnar…Jotunheim…M-mother said -”
“That’s not the gate, dove,” her father said softly, still watching the Doctor with hesitancy. “You are very much alive. No Jötnar are here today. I promise.”
Rose watched as Ingrid sniffled and asked her father if he was sure. He kissed her head and assured her she was safe before he placed her on the ground, and with his body blocking her view of the TARDIS told her to run along to find her mother. She bolted away instantly, and her father sighed as he watched her go, then looked back at the Doctor.
“What is your purpose here, Doctor?” he demanded. For the first time, Rose noticed his hair was just as blonde as Ingrid’s, though it looked darker with the amount of dirt that was in it. He also had an array of tattoos on his upper arm and neck in a language she couldn’t read, and she began to play with her earring, waiting to see what would happen.
“Why was she asking about the Jötnar?” the Doctor asked.
“You are strangers here. Answer the question. What is your purpose?” Ingrid’s father snapped angrily, and Rose saw he was reaching for an ax that was tucked in a belt around his waist. She stepped forward.
“We’re travelers,” she explained calmly. “Just passing through. We can leave, if you’d like.”
“The Jötnar are a myth,” the Doctor continued, oblivious to the threat for a moment as the wheels in his head turned quickly, and his voice raised an octave or so in contemplation. “Jotunheim, too. Why did she think she was dead?”
“Doctor -” Rose warned.
“What is that? The blue… whatever that is?” Ingrid’s father asked, pointing to the TARDIS, and the Doctor looked over his shoulder. The old girl had shut her doors, and Rose took another step forward.
“It’s a… ship,” she explained. “We don’t mean any harm. We’re just passing through, yeah?”
“That’s no ship,” the man growled, his hand on his ax, and the Doctor finally realized what was about to happen just as it was pulled from its holder, and he grabbed Rose immediately. The man let out a cry as he swung the ax, but when they dodged he hit the edge of the TARDIS.
The Doctor tugged on Rose’s hand, and he said one word, just one word.
“RUN!”
They beamed at each other as they ducked again to avoid being hit, and they took off, pushing anyone who might be in their way to the side with a jumbled apology. The Doctor kept looking back to see where the Viking Man was(that’s what he was calling him in his head - Viking Man), and he had to give him credit; he was fast. He was gaining on them quickly, and as they turned the corner into what must be the village’s epicenter, they found themselves surrounded by a number of different shops, including a stable.
“Get on the horse,” the Doctor instructed, ushering her towards a Palomino that was grazing on some hay.
“What?”
“Rose, now!”
He grabbed her waist and pulled her to him, and in a matter of seconds had somehow helped her up onto the horse’s back. There was no saddle or reins, or at least there wasn’t enough time to find any and get them situated. He gave her an apologetic look for that, fully aware she was probably a bit too tender to be riding bareback thanks to their insatiable libidos, but when they both heard Viking Man scream from several feet away, the Doctor patted the horse, giving it the green light.
It whinnied.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU GONNA DO?!” Rose protested as the horse began to trot in a circle, and she gripped its mane. “OI! I CAN’T RIDE A BLOODY HORSE! Get up here!!!”
He opened his mouth to speak, but the ax came flying at them, and it landed with a whoosh on a wooden pillar near Rose’s head. He panicked when it split the wood, and she screamed, which seemed to startle the horse enough to start to canter, and he watched in relief when she was carried away under the Northern Lights.
“HALT!” Viking Man bellowed, throwing another ax he’d somehow gotten his hands on, and this time the Doctor fell to the ground. It landed just below the other one, and the remaining horses began to neigh in surprise. “Where is your honor?!”
“Oh, for the love of…” the Doctor muttered, but a third ax was thrown (really, where was he even getting them?!) and he had no choice but to roll behind the wall of the stable, covering his pinstripes in hay and mud as he grabbed a horseshoe and chucked it at Viking Man, who tossed it to the side with a swipe of another ax .
The clinking noise of the two metals striking each other reverberated in his ear, and he looked around frantically for something to protect himself with.
All he had was a pitchfork.
“Okay, okay, okay, let’s just slow down. Rose already told you - we’re just travelers -” he began as Viking Man approached, and he hopped to his feet with the fork at the ready. People were starting to gather around, some cheering, some drunk, some simply curious, and he didn’t want this to escalate. He sighed. “What’s your name?”
“WHAT IS YOUR PURPOSE HERE?!”
“ Trav-el-ing,” the Doctor repeated, like he was talking to a toddler. “Let me guess. Is it… Bjørk? Frederick? ...Alan?”
“What did you say to my daughter?”
“Nothing!” the Doctor replied, but Viking Man raised his arm again, and he held the fork higher. “Alan, we don’t have to - “
The ax came toward him, and the Doctor blocked it with the prongs of the fork, though he realized instantly it wasn’t going to do much in the long run. More onlookers began to observe the action, and someone shouted at Viking Man, calling him ‘Gorm’, babbling on about ‘valor’ and telling him he couldn’t fight the Doctor if he didn’t have an ax, too.
“Oh, no, no, no, no -” the Doctor begged, but Gorm was being handed a different (larger) weapon, and he glared at the Doctor as he passed him his ax.
“They are right. Take it,” he instructed coldly, and the Doctor looked at him with his mouth half-agape, the reality of this absurd situation crashing down on him. But if there was one thing he knew about old nordic tradition, it was that dueling was taken rather seriously, and since, for some reason, that was exactly what he was in the middle of, the outcome would be much worse for him (and Rose) if he didn’t participate.
So he dropped the pitchfork, and folded his hand around the handle of the ax.
The fight fair, Gorm charged at him instantly, and for several moments they clinked and clamored, sparks flying as they hit one another’s blades. Gorm seemed almost impressed that he was keeping up with him, though the Doctor was sure he’d never admit it. He was surprising himself just as much. Sure, he’d done a bit of dueling in the past, but it had been with swords, and the ax was… stubby? Stupid? Small and hard to swing? Irritating? All of the above?
He shook his head to refocus, and he supposed he couldn’t be too upset. Whatever he was doing seemed to be working and that was good enough for him. It went on for a few minutes, and eventually he started to push back, initiating some intricate footwork and dodging every one of Gorm’s attempts to stop him when he suddenly heard the unmistakable sound of a horse approaching. His stomach flipped, and he looked over for half a second just as Rose called his name.
Gorm immediately wrapped him in a chokehold, his ax ready.
“LET HIM GO!” Rose screamed, trying to help, but she was having trouble stopping the horse, and in an effort to slow it down she grabbed onto the first thing she saw, which happened to be one of the axes in the pillar. It came out of the wood in one motion as the horse nearly trampled everyone, and the crowd gasped and stumbled back, delighted. She dropped the ax on the ground and jumped off the horse as it ran away, landing with a hard thud on her side she knew was going to bruise, but adrenaline was coursing through her, and the only thing she could focus on were the centimeters between the Doctor’s neck and Gorm’s blade.
She picked up her ax.
“I said - let him go .”
“ Rose, ” the Doctor rasped, coughing. Gorm sneered, and he raised his ax.
“What is this?!” a new voice demanded, piercing the air, and Gorm’s arm stiffened. “What is happening?”
Rose turned toward the voice, spotting a tall man standing at the bottom of a set of stairs that led to a banquet hall. He was quite muscular, and his ginger hair was tied back with a piece of leather, accentuating a tattoo around his eye that gave him a commanding presence. He wore full plated armor, complete with his own set of axes and a cloak made of bearskin, and he glided over to them, eyeing Rose in particular. “Gorm, release him.”
“Jarl, Sigurd. They -”
“Release. Him,” Sigurd instructed, and with a mumble Gorm did as he was told. The Doctor gasped as he fell to the ground and reached for his neck, loosening his tie. Rose was at his side a moment later, and he couldn’t help but smile at her.
“What’s more fun, me or the horse?”
“Shut up, are you okay?” she asked under her breath, and he nodded as he wrapped his arms around her. Sigurd watched with his head tilted to the side thoughtfully.
“And where are you from, drengr?” he asked the Doctor. “Your language. Your clothing. Your accents. They are unfamiliar, yet you fight well. Both of you.”
“London,” Rose sighed, rubbing the Doctor’s back, who sniffed as he took her hand and stood. “We’re just traveling. We didn’t mean any harm or offense.”
“ London ?” Sigurd purred, the syllables like butter on his tongue, and the Doctor noticed a strange gleam in his eye. “Ah, yes. Yes, of course you are… That is in England, is it not?”
“Yes,” the Doctor answered, not quite sure what to make of this man, and more than curious to understand why he stopped Gorm. Everyone around them began to chat amongst themselves - gossiping, or perhaps bored by the lack of action- and the Doctor cleared his throat. “What’s this place called?”
“You do not know?" he asked. The Doctor just looked at him. "Gorm did not introduce you?"
"He was a bit busy throwing axes," Rose muttered. Sigurd's nostrils flared, but he smiled.
"Well, allow me. This, drengr, is Asgardstrand!” he replied proudly, opening his arms wide. “It is home to the largest and most abundant clan in the entire Danish realm. My name, as you've heard, is Sigurd Ragnulf. I am the Jarl. I see you have met my Jomsviking, Gorm Ragnarrson. How did you come to arrive?”
“What does all of that mean?” Rose whispered.
“He’s basically a king. Gorm is his right hand man,” the Doctor muttered in her ear before he began to answer Sigurd's question. “Right! Well, I’m the Doctor, this is my…”
He stopped, thinking the word ‘friend’ didn’t quite suffice these days but also sort of despising the idea of merely calling her his ‘girlfriend’, and he frowned. Rose stifled a laugh, knowing exactly what was bothering him when the skin between his brows began to crease, and she decided to make it easier for him.
“I’m Rose,” she said, squeezing his hand. “We were -”
“They had a ‘ship’, Sigurd,” Gorm interrupted. “Or so they claim… It wasn’t like anything I’ve ever seen, and it wasn’t by the docks.”
“Where was it?” Sigurd asked.
“Near the cliffs,” Gorm answered, and the Doctor and Rose shared a glance. “It was blue. My Ingrid was giving them a fish I’d caught for her this morning. She thought they were Jötnar.”
All the extraneous chatting stopped.
For a moment, it was deathly silent.
Sigurd, however, began to laugh mirthfully, and he crossed his muscular arms across his chest. “And this was the reason you challenged them?”
“Jarl, they are outsiders. Given the state of things, I was trying to -”
Sigurd held up his hand, his face still smiling, but his eyes clearly told Gorm to stop talking.
“We are a hospitable clan, you know this, brother… And as the only one of us who has ever seen any Jötnar, I assure you, you need not worry. Did these two strangers offer any reason other than this blue ship that made you question them?”
“Ingrid -”
“- is safe, yes?” Sigurd asked, looking to his right, where Ingrid and her mother were watching with wide eyes. Gorm inhaled sharply when he saw them, his chest rising and falling slowly, and Sigurd clapped his arm before he turned his attention back to Rose and the Doctor.
“What is your purpose?” he asked calmly.
“We’re just traveling,” Rose answered. “We don’t have one, really. We came here without knowing what we’d find. It was just…”
“An adventure,” the Doctor finished, winking at her, and Sigurd smirked. The crowd watched with bated breath as he took a step toward Rose, his eyes tracing the outline of her face in a way that made the Doctor feel rather possessive, but he made no effort to touch her. Instead, he grabbed the ax she had dropped and handed it back to her, then bowed. It was a sign of respect, she realized, and when she took it he nodded, then turned his attention to the hall behind him.
“Both of you have a fire in your blood that echoes the mightiest warriors. I sense it. As I said, the Asgardstrand clan strives to be accepting and welcoming of all. Many of our members come from places outside of Norway. I apologize for Gorm’s rashness.”
“Jarl, please, I was only -” Gorm tried to interject, but Sigurd shot him a look, and he swallowed his words.
“And I must say, your faces tell a story that I’d like to hear. As a traveler myself, I would hate for Asgardstrand to be a black mark on your map. Therefore I say welcome! You may stay as long as you wish. Gather what you need for the rest of your journeys… There is a blacksmith, should new weapons be of interest before you go. The stable. A trading post. I will have my sister, Revna, set up rooms for you if you desire a place to rest. But first, come. Feast with us, won’t you?” he said, gesturing toward the hall, and it was then that they all heard the music that was being played inside with lutes, fifes, and drums.
The Doctor looked at Rose, who was folding her lip between her teeth. Neither spoke, but they knew they were thinking the same thing - that the little girl with her dead fish had intrigued them enough to stay long before any mention of the “state of things,” and while Rose had no idea what the Jötnar were, the Doctor certainly did, and she knew he was dying to figure out why everyone was so bothered by them.
There also seemed to be some sort of trouble stirring between the two men in charge, and that meant they couldn’t leave even if they wanted to.
He squeezed her hand.
“Thank you,” he said. “We’d be honored.”
“Wonderful!” Sigurd rejoiced, clapping his hands, and he began to walk back up the stairs so he could ring a large bell, signaling the start of the feast. Everyone began to file in, including the dogs that had been roaming the streets, and Gorm slipped his ax back into his belt without so much as looking at Rose or the Doctor before he stomped off, too.