Back.

- Phil

"What…? What the hell has he done to you?"

The Doctor stopped dead at the top of the staircase down to the TARDIS console, aghast. Before he had time to further express his shock Eärendil, with Elwing slung over his shoulder, thumped into his back, almost sending him tumbling down the stairs.

"Sorry-" the King began, before lapsing into the same stunned silence as the Doctor. "But-" he blurted at last, "we were just here."

"We were," the Doctor grumbled, padding down the stairs and wrestling with the console as though he intended to interrogate it. "But our Elf friend found himself stuck here for a while. Clearly he made himself at home," he said sarcastically, slapping a screen, as though he were giving the TARDIS itself a clip round the ear. The familiar deep blue of the control room was gone, replaced with a lustrous ochre. In place of brushed metal there was wood, exquisitely carved and varnished to a mirror gleam. The walls resembled those of a cave, dark and rough with intricate bas-reliefs etched into their surfaces. Multicoloured banners hung from the centre of the chamber and the console itself resembled a great pagan altar, seeming to sprout from the middle of a tree-stump with wooden handles and buttons. The Doctor could swear he smelled flowers.

"If I didn't know better," Eärendil said, descending the steps slowly, "I'd say we were in one of the fastnesses of the Noldor." He hefted Elwing gently from his shoulder and laid her on a divan while the Doctor dashed down to the level below. He stroked its soft velvet; it could have come from the finest of Elven workshops. "Galdor did this?" He asked. The Lord of the Havens had experienced much he couldn't explain over the last day, but now he was truly nonplussed.

"Your man tricked Bregor inside," the Doctor called back as he rifled through unfamiliar shelves and emptied unwelcome drawers; it seemed as though Galdor had turned the console room into his parlour. "They fought. Turns out Bregor was one of Morgoth's spies," he said, almost casually, as he tossed a couch onto its side to look under it. Eärendil's chest swelled at the revelation.

"That vile traitor," he growled. "What became of him?"

The Doctor straightened up. "Galdor killed him," he said lowly, as though it were his own sin he were confessing. "But he accidentally engaged the engines during the fight. Took him two hundred years to learn how to fly her back to where he found it."

"A good thing Elves are immortal," Eärendil commented, stroking his wife's hair.

"Is it, though?" The Doctor shot back, descending a further level to the console's underbelly. "That's the thing that's bugged me about your planet from the start. Things don't just live forever of their own volition - that's some serious executive interference going on, there."

"Well, of course," Eärendil replied. "The Eldar are Eru's children. He loves them as no other and bound their life-force to the world, so that they may live eternally in peace. Not that that came to pass," he mumbled, stroking his Elven wife's cold hand.

"Oh, no," the Doctor muttered lowly as a small wooden chest with a tree-shaped crest caught his eye. "No, I don't think it's anything that deliberate. It's not their style," he hissed as he unlocked the chest to reveal a dusty iron box.

"I saw them," Eärendil whispered to Elwing, her chest rising and falling minutely with tiny, weak breaths. "Elros and Elrond. They're alive," he laughed. "Alive and well. Because of you," he breathed, raising her hand to his lips and kissing it.

"Riddle me this!" The Doctor barked, his head popping above the rim of the console platform like a mole. Eärendil let out a cry of surprise. "What is the ally of Elves, but the enemy of Men?"

Eärendil seethed quietly, his heart thundering. "Time," he replied grumpily. "A child could work that one out."

"Ah," the Doctor replied, bushy eyebrows rising. "But why?" He asked, hefting the iron box up onto the platform and climbing the last few rungs of the ladder he stood on. "What do Elves know that Men don't?"

Eärendil folded his arms, unimpressed at being quizzed like a schoolboy. "The Valar," he answered. "Men have never walked with the Gods." The Doctor smiled and unlocked the box with a swipe of his sonic screwdriver. Golden light flooded the room, as though a star had been born inside it. As it fell on Elwing, her eyes fluttered open and she took a deep, desperate breath, as though she had been saved from drowning once more.

"Until now," he replied, holding up the Silmaril.

Integrating the Silmaril with the TARDIS controls transpired to be much more complicated than the Doctor had imagined, both due to the jewel's own ineffable subtlety, and the havoc Galdor had wreaked with the console. At the very least, the Doctor was quietly thankful that Eärendil had been too busy cooing and fawning over his revived wife, and breathlessly regaling the last twenty-four hours of his life, to take up any of his time or space.

"Tell me about them again," Elwing urged her husband. Eärendil smiled helplessly. It was the fifth time he had repeated himself, but every moment with her was an unearned blessing.

"They were playing," he said. "Playing with wooden swords, without a care in the world. They looked healthy and happy," he added, a tinge of sadness in his voice.

"I'm glad Maglor has kept his word, at least," Elwing murmured. It was taking her a supreme effort of will to remain conscious, but the resolve that had borne her into the sea without a moment's hesitation was now keeping her lucid. "He was always the gentler of he and Maedhros."

"It will not save him," Eärendil replied quietly, his voice bristling with anger. "He will pay for what he's done to our family." A look of concern flashed across Elwing's face for an instant, burned away by a barrage of memories which culminated in the dark, cold embrace of the ocean.

"Good."

"Right, I think that's got it," the Doctor announced. The Silmaril glowed on the TARDIS console, poised delicately between two contacts like a common gem on a jeweler's lathe, with electrical wires snaking out from each end into sockets across the console. "Took me a while to connect everything up, but then of course, I was assuming we were dealing with something radioactive."

"I...thought we were?" Eärendil replied, straining his mind to recall the Doctor's frenzied ranting from earlier.

"Blimey, no wonder your space program's not up to much," the Doctor muttered. "Look, it's all terribly complicated but the long and the short of it is that this thing-" he pointed at the Simaril "-should get you to your appointment with them upstairs."

"And who are they?" Elwing asked, propping herself up painfully. Eärendil turned and tried to fuss over his wife, but she only used his shoulder to haul herself up further. "The Valar. From what Eärendil has told me, I do not believe you are from the Timeless Halls...yet I suspect they are known to you." Her voice, weak yet penetrating, stopped the Doctor cold.

"This is your world," he said, locking eyes with Elwing. "You deserve their answers." With a deep breath he wrapped his fingers around a large lever. "Ready?"

Eärendil and Elwing shared a look and nodded in unison. "We're ready," Eärendil confirmed.

"I hope so," the Doctor said gravely as he pulled the lever. A surge of power made the Silmaril glow as bright as a star, sending everyone cringing back and crying out in pain as the TARDIS lurched in seemingly every direction at once. Unearthly noises, straining at the edges of comprehension filled the cavernous space as the Silmaril and the TARDIS worked in concert.

"We're pushing her to her limits!" The Doctor cried out at the top of his lungs, curled almost into a ball on the floor as Eärendil covered Elwing as completely as he could. "She was never meant to do this! It's like driving a car up a wall!"

"What does that mean?" Eärendil roared back.

"You wouldn't understand, I wasn't talking to you!" The Doctor shouted back as the hellish screech of TARDIS and jewel grew louder. "I didn't think you could hear me, I was just trying to convince myself this was going to work!"

"You mean you don't know if this is going to work?!" Eärendil screeched as sparks began to fly from the console and flames erupted from the walls, the illusion of sheer rock fluttering and fading away as the fire destroyed the holographic projectors.

"I never know if anything's going to work!" The Doctor shouted back, laid flat on his front with his hands covering the back of his head. "It's usually a case of best guess!"

"You're insane!" Eärendil screamed at the Doctor, burying Elwing's head into his shoulder to shield her from the explosion he felt sure was coming any moment now. "You're a madman!"

"I-" the Doctor began, before an almighty thump sent all three of them rolling across the platform. Eärendil, with practiced swiftness, scooped Elwing into his arms and braced his legs against the handrail before they both went hurtling off and into the wall, while the Doctor clung onto the console for dear life. A final great spark rose from the console before the room was plunged into total darkness. The noises from the Silmaril subsided, like the ocean claiming a stricken boat with all hands, screams dying one by one into eerie calm. Gravity reasserted itself, and the three found themselves lolling helplessly on the floor. Within a few seconds backup power kicked in and the TARDIS was, bar a few quietly-burning fires, back to normal.

"I am a madman," the Doctor continued, dragging himself to his feet like a beaten heavyweight, breathing heavily. "But - and this is very important - I am a madman with a beautiful, brilliant, big sexy box!" He dissolved into joyous laughter, kissing the TARDIS console and groping its ridges. "You beauty, you absolute beauty!" Without warning, he was hurled into the guardrail and kept from spilling over it only by strong hands gripping his lapels.

"Is this a game to you?" Eärendil growled. Up close, the Doctor could see the madness and fury in his eyes, the extreme slenderness of his restraint. "Is this what you do, with all this power? Drop into people's miserable lives and see how much worse you can make them? You're like a man who plays cards with other people's money and leaves the table when he's losing - no, worse, a boy who pulls the wings from flies for sport! You could have killed us all!"

"I could have us killed us all at any point before now," the Doctor replied, very calmly. "I never promised this would be easy."

"Stop hiding behind words!" Eärendil bellowed, forcing the Doctor further back over the guardrail. "You 'try' and you 'never promise'. But you brought me to my wife's grave, let me believe you could save her, then made me go through losing her all over again. And now," he growled, spittle flecking the Doctor's craggy face, "you risk her life already! You won't take her away from me, not again!" The Doctor screwed his eyes shut instinctively as Eärendil drew a mighty fist back, expecting a skull-crushing blow to follow. When it didn't come, one eye crept back open.

Elwing held her husband's fist in a pale, slender hand, stroking the light blonde hairs of his arm. Eärendil's face was turned away from the Doctor's, regarding his wife with furious despair. "He has helped us," she said soothingly. "Save your anger for those who have hurt us."

Eärendil breathed in sharply, his chest expanding so far that it seemed it might burst. The hand which gripped the Doctor's coat trembled before relaxing. The king brought his shaking hands to his face and buried the heels of his palms into his eyes before collapsing into desperate sobs, falling to his seat like a child. Elwing knelt and held his wide frame in her arms.

"I was so lost without you", he whispered. "I longed for death. But to get you back, against all odds, and lose you again so quickly...it would be worse, worse than death…" He let out a howl of anguish as years of suffering poured from him. Elwing stroked her husband's long, matted hair.

"You won't," she whispered back to him. The two remained on the floor, rocking gently together, for some minutes as Eärendil exorcised the last of his demons. Leaving them to it, the Doctor quietly went about dousing the fires that burned around the control room and performing a little housekeeping, keeping the central column discreetly between the two parties to afford them a little privacy. Eventually, Eärendil's weeping subsided into long, slow breaths, and with the help of his wife he made it back to his feet and walked slowly around the console to meet the Doctor's gaze once more. The two nodded curtly - silent, mutual apologies, offered and accepted.

"Where are we?" He asked, voice raspy and ragged.

The Doctor regarded Eärendil darkly. This was a man who had broken; eroded away by years of despair and finally shattered by the trials of the last day, only this moment on the road to rebuilding himself. The next words out of his mouth would either destroy him, or make him anew. The Doctor smiled despite himself.

"I see a lot of myself in you, Eärendil," he said, touching the king's arm tenderly. The Doctor switched on the screen, which flickered into life with a whine. He let out a shout of triumph. "There you are," he said, rotating the screen to face Eärendil and Elwing. "The lost continent...re-discovered." The king and queen stared goggle-eyed at the glowing map before them. It was shaped exactly like it had been on the old maps the Noldor had brought with them centuries before, and at its centre sat a pulsing point of light.

"What is that?" Elwing asked, pointing to the glowing dot.

"That's us," the Doctor replied. "Through those doors is your Valinor," he said, gesturing to the exit, "but…" he paused. He knew the revelation that was to come and suddenly regretted having gone this far. "If you go out there, there's no going back. There's no un-knowing what you'll know. Are you prepared for that?"

Eärendil breathed in deeply, back ramrod straight and visage grim. Though his eyes were still red and raw, he was every inch the image of a king. "I must be," he replied.

"As must I," Elwing concurred, sliding her hand into her husband's. The Doctor nodded and the three companions walked silently to the doors, striding out into a bright and sunny afternoon.

Elwing's legs gave out after just a few steps out of the TARDIS, falling into a swoon. "Careful, my love," Eärendil muttered, holding her up in a strong arm. "You must still be very weak."

"The," Elwing babbled, eyes as wide as saucers, looking straight past her husband's concerned face. "The...trees…"

Eärendil turned, and very nearly lost his balance himself. "Elbereth," he stammered, awestruck. Less than a hundred metres from where they stood, the dead husks of two gargantuan trees curled around each other, spiralling up so high that their tips were lost in the clouds. Their curled, desiccated leaves strained at their moorings in the breeze, and the stronger winds higher up sent enormous branches and boughs swaying with a deep rumbling that sounded like an earthquake. Great scars had been rent in their trunks, large and deep enough for daylight to peep through them like a keyhole.

"My word," the Doctor muttered. "I bet they were really something."

"The fairest," Elwing sighed, her breath tremulous with emotion, "and most beautiful light in all creation."

"Hush," Eärendil said urgently. "Do you hear that?" Over the whistling wind, a mournful cry issued from the direction of the trees. Shielding his eyes from the sun, Eärendil squinted. "There's someone there!" He shouted, grabbing his wife's hand and running full pelt towards the ruins of the Trees.

"Oi!" The Doctor called out after them. "I'm the one who decides when we run!"

The three of them made up the distance in short order, and at their foot they could appreciate the true expanse of the Trees. They reached so high that from their base, they seemed to loom over the party like a giant regarding human invaders into his home. Between them, a figure shrouded in a grey robe knelt with its back to the party, letting forth a wail of lament that was almost unbearable in its sadness.

"It…" Elwing whispered, her heart racing so hard she feared she might swoon again, "it...it is the Lady Nienna."

"She mourns for the Trees," Eärendil added, his voice choked with wonder. "Even now, she weeps for them, that her tears may one day rekindle them." The Doctor moved to Eärendil's side.

"No, she doesn't," he said quietly, his voice hard and serious. "She's performing polymorphic chromatonia," he said, loud enough for the figure to hear. "She's trying to realign the artron matrix using sound energy. But it'll never work."

The wailing ceased.

"What madness are you speaking?" Eärendil hissed at the Doctor; not angry, but fearful. "This is Nienna, Our Maid of Tears, The Lady of the Thousand Sorrows!"

"It'll never work because these capacitors are destroyed," The Doctor continued, striding forward and ignoring Eärendil's pleas. "They'll never work again."

The grey-hooded figure's head raised minutely. "They must," a deep female voice replied, lyrical and tinged with the hint of powers from the beyond. Eärendil and Elwing took a step backwards instinctively.

"Why?" The Doctor pressed them.

"Our return depends on it," the figure replied. "Depends on controlling the vortex."

"How did you do it?" The Doctor asked. "How did you even survive? The exposure alone should have killed you."

"Doctor, what in Arda is going on?" Eärendil pleaded.

"You've been tricked!" The Doctor shot back at him, full of fire and indignation. "Told you were special. Told a loving God made you to be His chosen ones. Told you live in a world of magic and monsters, when only the monsters are real!" He barked towards the figure in grey, which turned to face them. Eyes that glowed with a golden light shone in a face as pale as marble. Eärendil and Elwing fell to their knees in religious fervour, lying prostrate on the ground as the figure in grey walked towards them, leaving glowing footprints in its wake. An aura of deep blue surrounded them, and twinkling stars seemed to shine out from deep within it.

"The Silmaril isn't a source of radiation," the Doctor said calmly as the figure walked towards him. "It's a near-infinite supply of artron energy compressed into a singularity and sealed within an azbantium crystal. It's pure time."

"Why are you saying these things?" Elwing screeched, tears of holy terror flowing down her face.

"Because your past is my future," the Doctor replied. "Your myth my reality. Your gods...my demons." The figure stood within arm's reach of him now. Suddenly the Doctor was a boy of eight again, staring into the Untempered Schism. The bottomless depths of Nienna's eyes stared back across all of infinity. He had run then; he would not now.

"They're my people," the Doctor said. "They're Time Lords."