A/N: This is a direct sequel to my previous story In Want of An Heir. That being said, I highly recommend you read that one first before you read this one, or else you're missing out on a ton of context. These chapters are likely to be non-linear and of sporadic updates.

Stars in A Sky of Blood and Blue

Chapter One: Lena (I)

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far away, was the March of Kasterborous. It was a vast, hearty land with enduring peoples and folk traditions that stretched back beyond their association with King and Country. In the capital city of Gallifrey sat the ruling house; Lord Johan, Thirteenth Marquis of Kasterborous and Gallifrey, and his wife the Lady Clara were well known throughout the lands as an arranged and impossible match made most loving. Together they bore the duty of being the Twelfth Doctor, a folk title older than the marquisate that had never been shared before, until Johan decided to make his wife the embodiment of his symbolic second heart. They became legend, the Marquis and Marchioness, in both their love for one another and the way in which they ruled the march.

That story, however, is for a different time.

This story begins one day in Spring, shortly before the sixth anniversary of the Marquis and Marchioness's wedding. The Marchioness, having long been large with child, was finally in need of the midwife after nearly two weeks of her husband fussing over her and putting all affairs of the state on hold. Her first pains came during a storm, with her finally delivering after the thunder quieted and it had been raining steadily for a whole day. The Marquis stayed in his bedchamber, which had been converted into the nursery much to everyone's surprise, waiting with sweaty hands and a nervous stomach as he listened to every effort his wife made. Eventually he heard a child—his child—cry out in protest and he slumped into a nearby chair. The intense calm that came afterwards nearly lulled him to sleep, until the midwife entered the room.

"Sir?" was all she said. The Marquis jolted awake and stood up quickly, his cape sweeping behind him as he crossed the room and entered the bedchamber.

A wave of emotion washed over him as he stood just beyond the entrance, staring at the bed before him and its occupants. His wife was deathly pale and shaking as she sat upright with a bundle cradled in her arms. A closer inspection found that the bundle indeed held a newborn babe, pink and fresh and suckling milk with a grand ferocity, the sight of which made the Marquis freeze in place. It was a scene he never thought he'd see, even on the day he married, for back then he did not wish to risk watching another wife convulse to death while a child slipped away in his arms after refusing a nurse. He did not want that even for his worst enemy, which made the mother and babe, both alive and well, seem all the more beautiful and haunting.

"Are you… well…?" he asked nervously, nearly choking on his words. The Marchioness looked up at him and smiled weakly.

"Of course I am." She turned down to the child at her breast and sighed. "Look, it's your papa. He's come to visit us." Her breath was quiet and trembling—the lack of energy in her was apparent. The Marquis sat down at their side and kissed her on the brow.

"Thank you," he said, taking her hand in his. They both looked at one another, one tired from strain and the other from stress.

"Would you like to hold her?"

The Marquis blinked, his eyes growing wide and eyebrows rising at the very idea. "Would you like me to?"

"Yes, please," she nodded, pulling her shirt back over her chest. Watching as her husband awkwardly held out an arm, she passed him the newborn and did not pull away until the child was firmly in place.

Cautiously, the new father pressed a finger to his daughter's nose, making her squirm slightly. "What's her name?" he asked. His wife shook her head.

"I'm too tired to think," she admitted. "Please name her; I need to rest."

"…but, we should name her together, if you haven't already," he insisted, panicking. The Marchioness simply slid down the mattress until she was nestled into the bedding.

"I trust you," she said hazily. "I haven't slept in over two days. Just think about it until she needs to be fed again, okay?"

"Okay," he answered quietly. The Marquis watched as his wife happily went to sleep, leaving their daughter to him, the midwife, and the few maids that were bustling around the room cleaning up the odds and ends from the birth. The maids soon left, which allowed the midwife to tower over the Marquis.

"Milord? I think it's time to pass the child to me now," she said. He shook his head.

"Leave us," he requested. The Marquis stood up and began to pace the room, yet the midwife stayed.

"Sir, are you sure you know what you are doing?" she asked.

"I am meeting my daughter and heir—of course I know what I am doing," he replied. "Leave us, now." The midwife curtsied sourly and left. Once the door was closed and footsteps were no longer heard in the corridor, the Marquis sank down into an armchair to combat his shaky knees and vision blurred from tears. He glanced down at his daughter, only to find that she had yawned herself to sleep.

"Mama and Papa aren't the only ones that are tired, huh?" he asked. The baby wriggled weakly in his grasp, unable to move beyond what her blanket allowed. Rain hit the windowpanes in a sound that soothed the flutter in the Marquis's chest.

'…now what?'

The new father looked around the room, not entirely sure of what to do. His newborn daughter needed a name, and his wife trusted him to come up with the perfect one after months of refusing to discuss in fear of laying a curse upon their unborn child. He was good at things like naming defense strategies and strongholds, not children who would end up growing into the leader of thousands of soldiers and even more smallfolk.

"Not only will you be a great Marchioness and a beloved Doctor, but you're also my daughter," he murmured to the sleeping child. He ran one of his long fingers over her wisps of hair affectionately. "You are the symbol of the love between your mama and me. You are the stars in our sky, and I want to do everything to protect you as you grow into a beautiful and awe-inspiring leader."

He paused momentarily, leaning back into his chair as he thought aloud. "You need a name that is both strong and gentle, one that can be a rallying cry or a soft whisper. It needn't be complicated nor plain, and should be you most of all." A long silence filled the room as he stared at his child, the only noise being the sustained rain outside. Finally, the corner of his mouth twitched upwards and his teeth bared.

He knew his daughter's name.

Hours passed and the Marchioness slept on. Servants came in every so often to make sure the Marquis did not need sleep himself. Every time he would shake his head, though present his daughter proudly. Between servants checking in, the Marquis alternated between murmuring gentle poems and songs in the ceremonial tongue while he sat, and pacing around the room while humming. He was sitting, reciting old, odd words only the sleeping newborn could hear, when his wife finally woke.

"Hey…" the Marchioness said softly. The Marquis rose to his feet immediately and quickly crossed the room to sit on the side of the bed next to her.

"How are you feeling? Do you need to see the physician?" he asked. She shook her head slowly, her eyes still glazed over from exhaustion.

"I'm fine. How about you, Papa? Did you come up with a name while Mama slept?"

"That was the easy part—you did all the work, dearest," he said. The Marquis picked up his wife's hand and kissed the back of it, gazing into her eyes. He glanced back down at the child nestled in the crook of his arm and grinned. "Lena."

"Lena?" The Marchioness snapped awake, her whole body tensing. "Why 'Lena'?"

"It's an old Gallifreyan name," her husband explained. He returned his attention to their child and smiled softly. "In the beginning, there was only the sun. Night was black as pitch, and it was dangerous to go out. One night, a man prayed to his gods by the light of a fire. He wished nothing more than to see without the dangerous flame as he walked from his home to the stream behind his house for water. It would be useful for all—not just him—he reasoned, and soon the sky illuminated with a beautiful full moon and swirls of stars in the red sky."

The Marquis looked over at the Marchioness, to see how attentive she was. When he saw that her face remained glued to his, although quizzical, he continued. "When the man arrived home that night, he found his young son crying. The boy saw his mother and sister step outside and shimmer until they burst into a billion white pieces that flew up in the air and did not come down. He said his mother was the moon and his sister the stars. It was only then that the man realized what he had done: that he had broken his family for the benefit of walking at night without the aid of a flame. His wife's name was Luna, but his daughter was Lena. When we say people are 'the moon and stars in the sky', it's that legend we refer to."

"My mother was 'Elena'," the Marchioness said quietly. Her husband glanced over at her, seeing that her eyes were lowered to her hands as she played with a fingernail. "She died when I was small. Father and I don't talk about her, but that doesn't mean I love her any less. She was a good soul, who liked everyone, and we… we just miss her."

"Then 'Lena' it is," he replied. The Marquis leaned forward and kissed his wife on the brow. "She is the stars in our sky that will light the way." He pulled back and saw there were tears streaming down the Marchioness's cheeks. "What's wrong? Are you sure you don't require the physician?"

"I'm sure," she replied. She pulled his face down towards hers and kissed him on the lips. It was then that the newborn started to squirm in her father's arm and began to emit a sharp, cracking, wail. The Marchioness reached over and slid the baby from her husband's arm to hers to let their child feed. "Hungry, aren't you?"

"Tuck in, Lena," the Marquis said, stroking her cheek gently. "One day you will be the Thirteenth Doctor of Kasterborous and Gallifrey, the Fourteenth Marchioness in service to the King. Grow big and strong and fierce so that no Dalek, no Cyberan, will dare stand in your way. Until then, Papa's here."

"…and what a lovely papa you have," the Marchioness added. She did not lift her head as her husband stood and walked around the bed, climbing in still in his cloak and boots and finery, so that he could wrap an arm around her waist and rest his chin upon her head. They were found like that a short while later, asleep in a cocoon of warmth and rest. The servant who found them woke the Marquis and Marchioness long enough to take the Lady Lena and put her in a nearby cot as her parents sank sleepily in one another's arms.

The next day the march was brimming with excitement as news of the much-anticipated birth spread like wildfire. Their future Marchioness was born, while the current one still breathed. It was certainly a day worth celebration.