The road less travelled...

Title: Rolling Out The Red Carpet 2/3
Author: katherine_b
Rating: G
Summary: The Doctor might have to do something that goes totally against the grain.

Part II

Fuming, the Doctor heads back to the TARDIS, his latest attempt at entering Zingiber City having proved useless. The problem is that the TARDIS library has proved to be surprisingly bereft of any information on Zingiberian culture, so his first attempt at entering disguised as a court jester had failed. In fact, after attempting to joke with the creature at the gate, he had come to the conclusion that there was no humour at all on Zingiber.

His second attempt, acting as a tradesman delivering food to the gate closest to the palace, only made the guards suspicions, and his quick scans of the ground afterwards showed that the city was in its current location because it was the only area on the planet capable of producing food edible to Zingiberians.

This most recent effort, offering a gift of what he believes to be the local currency at the third gate, was the least successful yet. The guard had proved to be astonishingly unbribable, leaving the Doctor to conclude that Zingiber might be the last bastion of honesty left in the universe.

What’s most annoying is that he suspects Donna is being informed of his various attempts, and he has no doubt that she will be enjoying them.

In a particularly foul mood, he flings open the TARDIS doors, steps over the threshold – and stops short.

A large, red apple is sitting on the console, illuminated by a small spotlight that he doesn’t think existed before now.

He strides across the floor, snatching up the object, and stares at it as it lies in the palm of his hand. A smile begins to creep across his face and he gratefully pats the green-blue core of the TARDIS even as he pockets the piece of fruit and hurries out of the console room.

The wardrobe looks just as it did when he left it after hunting out his court jester attire. He had pushed all of the red clothes aside in his search, understanding that, if he wears something of that colour, it’s possible the Zingiberians might proclaim him as their King and then he’d be unable to rescue Donna, with the two of them stuck in the same castle.

Not that he hadn’t allowed himself to consider what it might feel like to be a King in this place, with Donna ruling at his side, but he was quick to dismiss the fantasy and focus on the task at hand.

Now he doesn’t spare those thoughts more than a few seconds as he hunts through the racks, finally finding what he’s searching for and draping a long cloak over him. He glances in the mirror, satisfied that he’s covered, and then heads out of the TARDIS and into the open air, pulling the hood up with misgivings for his hair, which he knows will look terrible later.

Still, no time to worry about that if he’s going to make it back into the city and see Donna before curfew.

Leaving the TARDIS, he hurries out into the cool air, breaking into a run as he realises that the sun is lower on the horizon than he had previously thought. He also sees, as he arrives at Zingiber City, that this gate is the only one he hasn’t tried to enter by, as he’s been hoping to avoid a guard who might recognise him.

Although it’s hard to tell the various Zingiberians apart, the Doctor is almost certain, as he is stopped by the usual ring of spears, that this group is made up of individuals he hasn’t seen before.

Instead of speaking, he thrusts out his hand and opens his fingers to reveal the red apple the TARDIS had given him.

The Zingiberians gasp and draw back almost in unison. Beneath the hood, as he closes his hand over the apple and returns it to his pocket, he grins. It works every time.

“A gift!” one of the squeaks and almost drops his spear in surprise. “A gift for our Queen from a mysterious stranger.”

Mysterious stranger. He quite likes that title. In fact, he might start introducing himself that way in the future. A mysterious stranger, the Doctor. It has a nice ring to it.

He’s so busy musing on that idea that it takes a moment for him to become aware that he’s in motion, being urged forward by the group of Zingiberians. Considering they’re so much smaller than he is, they move astonishingly quickly, and in short order he finds himself on the other side of the palace from the view he saw outside the walls.

“Gift for the Queen,” one of the guards announces in a tremulous voice that prompts the two Zingiberians on the doors to spring to attention.

“Gift for the Queen,” the echo passes down the massive corridor, and the guards around the Doctor peel away as he is led deep into the palace until he only has one in front and one behind.

“What is it?” a familiar voice asks as he is led into what he can tell from the faint echoes is a large chamber.

“A gift, your Majesty,” one of the Zingiberians squeaks in obvious excitement.

He has to suspect that their exuberance will drive Donna crazy eventually. At least, he hopes it will.

“Show me,” Donna orders.

The Doctor feels small hands poking him from behind and he shuffles forward, easing his hand out from beneath the cloak and holding it out in the direction from which Donna’s voice is coming, making sure to keep his face hidden.

“Kneel,” one of the Zingiberians yelps in what he can hear is a horrified tone, and he stops short.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding!,” he exclaims under his breath.

“I think you’d better,” Donna’s voice says smoothly from somewhere near by and he wonders if she heard his grumbling.

The room around him falls silent while he remains obstinately on his feet, but then he feels a number of sharp points of spears in his rear end. He leaps forward and crashes onto his knees, flinching at the pain.

A choking sound from in front of him suggests that Donna is finding his position far too entertaining, and he clenches his fists to stop himself from saying something he might regret, although at the feeling of the fruit in his hand, he relaxes his grip a little so as not to bruise it.

“The gift,” one of the Zingiberians says as firmly as it can manage in its high-pitched voice.

Grumbling under his breath, he extends his hand and opens his fingers, feelings Donna’s warm skin brushing against his hand as she picks up the apple.

It’s a huge effort not to grab her at that moment and try to run out of the room with her, but considering how quickly those little creatures can move, he knows they wouldn’t get far. And it would be extremely undignified to regenerate with a body full of small, sharp spears.

“Leave me alone with the stranger,” Donna says in commanding tones, and the Doctor stifles a sigh as he shifts uncomfortably.

His knees are killing him!

Well, that and he’s also a bit disturbed at how quickly Donna seems to have assumed the traits and mannerisms of a queen. If she’s truly enjoying this as much as it sounds like she is, he’s going to have to come up with an unbelievably good reason for her to leave.

The soft patter of feet passes him and then slowly dies away before the massive doors through which he entered the room are closed with echoing creaks.

“All right, Spaceman,” Donna says at last, “you’d better get up before you have to regenerate in order to be able to walk ever again.”

He peers at her from beneath the hood of his cloak as he thankfully staggers to his feet. “How can you be certain it’s me?” he demands without uncovering his face.

She snickers. “No other mysterious hooded figure that I’ve ever heard of wears a brown pinstriped suit and white chucks.”

“Oh.” He looks down at himself, to see his legs and feet protruding from beneath the cloak, which clearly isn’t as long as he’d thought. “True. Hadn’t thought of that.”

Donna chuckles and reclines on what looks like a particularly comfortable and well-padded chair. She’s dressed, he sees at once, in a black sleeveless gown with her hair hanging loose around her shoulders. There is a crown on her head and a matching necklace around her neck, as well as a large ring on one of her fingers, all made of what appears to be burnished bronze. She certainly looks every inch a queen, although the expression on her face is more teasing than regal.

“So,” she asks lazily, “just what ruse did you use that actually worked well enough to get you in here at last, Mr Court Jester-Salesman-blackmailer?”

“Oh, come on,” he says scornfully, throwing back the hood of his cloak and sliding his fingers through his hair so that it recovers from being crushed, “every good legend has a gift being presented by a mysterious stranger. You didn’t learn that in Second Year Seniors English, did you? Hah!”

Donna arches an eyebrow and raps her silver-painted nails on the arm of the chair. “If you’re going to be nasty to me,” she says, pouting, “I’ll call my guards in and have you thrown out – and possibly tortured for good measure.”

“Your guards?!” he exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. “What, is everything here yours?”

“Apparently so.” She smiles, exuding smugness. “My city. My castle. My bedroom,” she adds, lowering her voice and leaning forward, speaking quickly even as he hears what sounds like footsteps outside the door, the sound of which prompts him to pull the hood over his head again. Donna continues, “which happens to be the eighth room from the right on the third level, if you and the TARDIS felt like paying me a visit in less official surroundings.”

Before he can respond, the room fills with Zingiberians and he realises that the small window of time Donna arranged for them to have together is gone.

“Forgive the interruption, Majesty,” one of the mice-like creatures offers hesitantly, “but curfew is almost here. We need to know what to do with the stranger. Is he to remain here this evening?”

“No,” Donna replies, and the Doctor isn’t sure whether to be relieved or irritated.

He doesn’t particularly want to be locked in Zingiber City, away from the TARDIS, but he also isn’t too happy about the way decisions are being made about him over which he has no apparent control.

“Escort him out,” she goes on. “And if he returns in the morning,” she adds as several Zingiberians close in around him, at least one spear pointing uncomfortably into his side to prevent him from interrupting, “then I will grant him another audience. He interests me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” comes a chorus, and the Doctor feels as several tiny hands begin pushing him away from the throne.

He glances back one final time and sees the teasing light in Donna’s eyes. He rolls his own eyes as he turns away.

She isn’t going to make this easy for him, and he grinds his teeth in frustration as he is escorted out of her presence.