Disclaimer: AKA, that thing that reminds you as a fanfic writer, of how little is actually yours. And you as reader, that all us fanfic writers get out of this, is the joy of a review. Because Doctor Who or Harry Potter aren't mine.

Fixed Points in Time

By

DracoNunquamDormiens

In this chapter: The Doctor freaks out like a boss. The Torchwood bunch cut a fake deal too many. Sirius loses his trusty wicker basket, sort of. James gets jealous. The Doctor freaks out some more. Uther calls in a favour, Mordred adopts the goats, and Sirius loves dragons.

Part Eleven: Blue Box, Through Time

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Uther was having a very hectic day, and no, it wasn't all that common; not in Camelot. Ruling a kingdom such as this, when you were a mighty wizard of the Ancient Houses, wasn't really all that hard.

He'd have hated the job were he a Muggle; there would have been so much ruling going on, and wars to wage, and then all the rebuilding, and sorting things out. He was in the know; he'd been keeping tabs on his neighbours. Was it any surprise that they looked sixty when they were no older than thirty? They were so busy with their little spats for power and land, that they forgot to live.

However, he wasn't getting on that boat; neither were most of his lords and ladies, and together they usually anticipated and fixed any problem the kingdom could have before it even occurred. As a result, Camelot was where everyone wanted to live, and in Camelot Castle, there was usually a celebration of some kind rather than the trite and old problems of averting famines and plagues and all that boring tosh.

People called it the blessed kingdom.

Uther liked the ring of that.

However, these last few days there had been so much work to be done, that he was considering creating the five-day workweek some 1600-odd years early.

He was presently riding back to the castle, after witnessing something utterly amazing. The two lads who had come for a visit from the future had been flying around the dragons on broomsticks! Broomsticks, would you believe!

He'd have charged in on one of his winged racing horses, himself, but he couldn't deny that this way was loads faster and… it looked very impressive.

Very.

At his side, Arthur and Sirius were whooping, cheering them on— which was lost amid the roaring and screeching and flapping of wings. Uther was simply speechless.

Not that the time-travellers' choice of riding off on dragons and leading every last one poor creature away before Uther and his knights had to put them down had been any less amazing.

All Uther and Merlin had had to do, was rebuild the destroyed steeple of the church before the villagers came back. Bells and towers always took so long to build, and Muggle methods were downright dangerous. Everything else was easily fixed, and it would give some of his retainers something to do. They were growing fat and bored, he could tell.

He turned to leave, just as the first villagers returned to the town. He grinned at them, flourishing a hand at the rebuilt church they liked so much.

"Behold—"

"Thank God!" some of them exclaimed. Uther's grin became rather fixed. "A miracle! IT'S A MIRACLE FROM GODDDD!"

"Well, you see, actually, I —" Uther sputtered, but Merlin beckoned him to leave.

"Don't waste your breath, old friend."

"But, Merlin, you saw how I-"

"Trust the Muggles to credit the church with our every achievement," Merlin said, laughing into his beard.

"You reckon they're blind?" Uther asked. He wasn't finding it so funny. He hoped this new fad would wear off soon; he was growing bored with all the kneeling and grovelling and averting his eyes and all. Getting up early on Sundays, what was the point in that? Couldn't that new God be worshipped at a more sensible time?

Still grumbling, Uther left his knights to aid the villagers in the rebuilding efforts, without magic of course— that was for the dead of night, when more miracles would occur that would be attributed to Godddd again — and returned to Camelot Castle to celebrate how well this adventure had played out, despite the villagers crediting this all-powerful all-knowing invisible man with everything that went remotely well.

Only, when he and Merlin returned to the castle, it wasn't to a peaceful welcome and a hearty celebratory feast.

Sir Doctor of TARDIS was going spare, running around the courtyard like a chicken without its head.

"Do you think he is practising his dragon mating call?" Merlin asked wryly, after they heard the first desperate roar. Uther decided he'd grow his beard long, if only to be able to chuckle under it like his lifelong friend did.

"Somehow I don't think that's what he's doing. Sir Doctor," he said genially, upon dismounting and striding towards their resident Lord of Time, "What is the problem?"

"It's gone! I can't believe it, but I saw— she must have made a biological transference and tricked it, she took it!" the Doctor looked at the king, ruffled his hair wildly, ran this wand thingy all over the nonplussed Uther, and then resumed his fast pacing. He was wearing a path in his courtyard, at the rate he was going.

"What's gone?" Merlin asked curiously. "If you mean the dragons…"

Uther somehow didn't think that was the thing of it.

"It's GONE! Don't you get it? Eh? Eh?" the Doctor was tapping his temple, as fast as he was speaking. "My TARDIS! The most powerful weapon in the universe, and she took it!"

Now that got both wizards attention.

"Father, I'm going to grab some horses and go find the lords Gryffindor and—"

"Yes, yes, go right ahead. Don't break anything," Uther waved him off, vaguely aware that he and the lord Black were racing each other to the stable where he kept his prize steeds.

Which, of course, he would never let his son borrow. Some things were just private. However, he was simply too focused on the Doctor to notice just now.

"She?" he asked. "Who is this she you speak of?"

"The… Elaine," the Doctor answered. "She transformed when she went into the TARDIS, but she said she was Morgana."

"Morgana le Fey," Merlin groused. "That is not good."

"Not at all."

"What, she is real? Like the real first evil witch real?" the Doctor threw his head back with a frustrated, "Gaaaahhhrghh!", stamping his feet and everything. It was a pretty good imitation of a dragon's mating call, Uther thought, but didn't say as much.

"He does go the full mile there, doesn't he." Merlin cocked an eyebrow. Uther snorted.

"And I thought Arthur had a flair for drama."

"So what do we do now?" the Doctor asked desperately.

"I should say, we must go to my Truly Secret Chamber," Merlin replied matter-of-factly.

"This isn't a time for your bad sense of direction!" the Doctor wailed.

"No, it isn't," Merlin agreed. "But it isn't a time for wailing or screaming at the skies, either."

The Doctor, who was just getting ready for another howl of outrage at the skies, snapped his mouth shut.

"And while it will be very useful if you help me find my Truly Secret Chamber again," Merlin added, taking the Doctor by the arm and marching him to the castle, "I must go there so I can make you a Finder's Keeper's Amulet."

"A whadiwhasa?"

"Whadiwasa isn't a good name for it, no."

"A what? I mean, what?"

"Do you have anything from your Tardiness box?"

"It's TARDIS, it's an acronym for Time and Relative Dimension In Space."

"Acronum?"

"Acronym. You take the first letter of each word and spell out a new one."

Merlin cocked his head to the side, watching him through intense, clear blue eyes. The Doctor was reminded of Sirius yet again.

"You know? Never mind. I have… wrappers from the chocolates I keep in the kitchen, and a buoy from the pool, and this banana…" The Doctor rummaged in his pockets as he walked, showing the old wizard yet again where they'd hidden the chamber. "And a key, but I don't know if it's…wait." He shone his sonic screwdriver all over it. "It's the real key," he announced. "How did she get in?"

"Well… she's a witch." Uther pointed out the obvious. He was strolling beside the Doctor, hands clasped behind his back. "The most — and first — truly evil witch of all time."

"She has to have taken the blue box of tarditude somewhere," Merlin reasoned, staying on point for once.

"Or somewhen," the Doctor corrected.

"In that case, you would have to wait another four to six years for my Time-Turner device to work."

"Like that's any good," the Doctor shook his head. "In four to six years, she'll have the entire universe bowing to her."

"At least we'll have some time to prepare, then."

"How can you be so calm about it, Uther?"

"This happens, oh… once, or maybe twice a month."

The Doctor stared.

"She steals the most powerful weapon in the universe twice a month?"

"Mmmno," said Merlin. "Sometimes she also steals tapestries."

"And crockery," Uther added.

"Mostly food from the kitchens."

"That one time," Uther said with a chuckle, "she made off with roof tiles from the outhouses."

While the wizards laughed, the Doctor, for the first time in long, long years, caught himself being worried. Like, really worried.

What could that witch be doing to his beloved TARDIS? The Doctor didn't want to think about it, but his gifted Time-Lord mind was already going over every scenario, every possibility.

And just this once, for longer than even he could remember, he felt outright dread.

It wasn't a nice feeling.

.

.

So… what did happen to the TARDIS?

Heh. Well, nothing yet. The more appropriate question should be, what did the TARDIS do to Morgana?

Because, one thing might be said about this blue box: Morgana was not having a good time in it.

She was being thrown every which way, slamming most unflatteringly into walls, and a table with buttons and levers and a thing that went honk whenever her head smashed into it, and a strange old chair.

There was a lever on the table — one that was larger than the others scattered around, anyway — and as she was sent flying by the beast that only looked like a box but was anything but, she grabbed onto it.

It moved with her and only made things worse.

Had Morgana le Fay known what a maraca was, then she would have recognised what the TARDIS was doing. It was shaking itself to the rhythm of La Bamba in its attempts to get rid of her, wheezing and whining and screeching its gears wildly.

And then it hiccoughed halfway through the second chorus— and disappeared.

Morgana sailed through the air next, and vanished into the depths of what she rightly had labelled as the most magical of beasts in the universe.

All thoughts vanished from her mind as she tumbled down several flights of stairs and landed in a large pool with a splash.

The TARDIS hiccoughed again.

And again.

Each time it did, it appeared somewhere else. In the twenty-first century, the L.I.N.D.A. bunch were having a field day of TARDIS sightings, all over the world, in so many different eras...

It made their day.

Nerds.

.

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And what of our other villains?

We left Mordred and Severance to run for their lives, after stealing Snow the little dragon.

There isn't much to tell about that part of their adventure that you, dear reader, haven't already surmised; they hid the baby dragon in the belfry, then legged it from the village, as far and fast as they could go.

Severance's mule was the fastest — it was the most frightened of their mounts — and bolted toward Camelot Castle faster than you could say yee-haw!

Since this was a direction that was extremely convenient for its rider, he didn't try to make it stop. If anything, Severance urged the beast on, leaving Mordred far behind with a faceful of dirt.

As for his companion, he wasn't having as much luck with his own mount. The poor draught horse was old, nay ancient, and the old bag of bones had no wind left in him, no matter how Mordred urged it to go faster.

In the end, faced with the prospect of being noshed on by those angry dragons, he turned down a muddy road and dismounted. It wasn't hard because his horse was staggering along rather than walking; he ended up levitating it after him, the old nag was all winded, and he might be the apprentice of an evil witch, but he wasn't about to leave it lying there on the road.

Much less with Morgana's house so close by.

Overhead, the dragons soared, letting out bloodcurdling roars and screeches that had both old Clapper's mane and Mordred's hair standing on end. Knees feeling rubbery, Mordred forced himself to continue running. He was nearly at the house, when one of the monstrous beasts made a grab for him, missing him and Clapper by inches.

Panting, Mordred ran faster, looking over his shoulder as he sought the — questionable — safety of the hut.

Then the dragon turned, hit them with its tail, and sent both horse and warlock flying. Startled and frightened bleating around them and the oh-so-familiar stable smell, told Mordred where they had landed. Next to him, old Clapper tried to get up, huffing.

Mordred decided to stay where he was, in the muck, surrounded by six goats.

It wasn't until Severance came cantering over on his own exhausted mount, that Mordred moved at all.

"Mordred! Mordred! Where are you?!"

"Are they gone?" Came from underneath a rust-red goat.

"Wh— oh, the dragons? Aye, they're attacking the village."

Mordred poked his head out amid the sea of chewing herbivores. Had Severance known what a periscope was, he'd have noted that the young Malefois looked just like one. But he didn't, so he merely thought he looked ridiculous hiding there.

He had news, news which couldn't wait.

"She's gone," he told Mordred. "The Lady Morgana is gone, vanished with the Blue Box!"

"What?"

"I got to the forest and saw her," Severance insisted. "She went inside, and the box started growing and shrinking and twisting about and it was shaking and flying and gone!"

"So the dragons, that was just a waste of our time? We just risked life and limb for… what?"

Severance had no answer to that.

"And what's going to happen to them?" He gestured at the animals around him.

"I do not know," Severance replied. He was still trying to get his head wrapped around the notion that Morgana was gone at all.

"I am going home," Mordred muttered, emerging fully from the pen. "Come, all of you. You can stay at my house. Come on, Clapper. Lead the way. You've earned yourself some carrots."

"But Mordred! We must find Morgana!" Severance exclaimed.

"You do that," Mordred clapped the older man on the shoulder. "Let me know if you find anything. Only, you know. Not."

.

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Elsewhere around Wales…

The flying horses were a stormy grey, and Arthur took care to conjure a similarly grey cloudy backdrop so they wouldn't be seen.

"Which way did they go?" Lord Black asked, his voice higher pitched than usual in his excitement.

"Over there, past the dead marshes towards the snowy mountain yonder!" Arthur yelled back, his blond hair whipping in the wind. Should he turn the gale-force winds into a gentler breeze?

He decided he wouldn't.

It looked much nicer so, like they were on a mission.

Which they were, after a fashion. With luck, maybe they would even have to battle dragons and everything. In an epic, glorious, death-defying battle… to the death.

"Look!" cut his daydreaming short, and he followed lord Black's pointing finger to where he could see more dragons assembled than he cared to count.

This being the Middle Ages, Arthur really couldn't count. Unless it was corners for his table. In that regard, he was very advanced, but he had never cared to carry that skill over to anything that was actually useful.

The horses reared up, not at all happy about the prospect of landing in the middle of a group of their worst predators, and it was all Arthur could do to keep from falling off his.

The lord Black wasn't as strong, nor as capable; he was on an enormous horse, and he was only ten, after all. He lost his hold on reins, mane, and stirrups, and was soon hurtling down, spinning madly and yelling in high-pitched alarm.

Arthur wrestled his steed to go after him, but the horse was having none of it.

"Whoa, whoa!" Arthur yelled, trying to get his horse to fly down and rescue his cousin, while lord Black just kept getting smaller and smaller as he fell.

And then suddenly, the shriek of panic became one of delight. Arthur grabbed the reins of his steed firmly, steadied it… and saw that a white dragon had caught the younger boy on its back. The lord Gryffindor was sitting atop it, grinning widely.

"Ahoy hoy, your Artieness!" he yelled, and said something to the beast he was riding.

It let out a screech, and it was — forgive the pun — like magic. The dragons, which had been flying up, possibly to eat Uther's prize racing steeds and thus landing Arthur in a world of trouble, landed in their clearing instead, and started minding their own business. Then the lord Gryffindor said something else, and Artie's horse stopped trying to escape, and was suddenly tame.

Arthur decided he might have to take up learning horse. As a second language, like. It seemed like a useful skill to have.

Especially when the other steed, which had bolted after throwing its rider off, came back looking abashed.

"Am I glad to see you two," the lord Gryffindor said. "I hope you brought some food."

"No, lord Gryffindor," said Arthur. "It did not cross our minds."

"Just call me James, whenever you go all lord this and lord that, I feel like I have to look for my great-great-great-times-a-million granddad. Which is your dad."

"Very well. I still do not have any edibles."

"We'll have to find something. Sirius is starving."

"Where is the lord B—" Artie cut himself off when James gave him a warning look. "Sirius?" Arthur revised.

"He's down there. Come on, I'll introduce you to the dragons."

"As long as you don't introduce us into them."

"Weeeee!" the lord Black yelled. He looked like he had been frozen wearing the happiest expression ever seen by man. It was a little unsettling. "We're on a dragon!" He exclaimed to James, ecstatic.

"I noticed," James pointed out, laughing. "This here is Snow." He patted the dragon's neck, which crooned back.

"Hi, Snow!" the lord Black squeaked in delight.

Arthur smiled.

"He's the reason the dragons attacked the village," James added.

"How come?" Arthur was instantly intrigued.

"Someone tied him up, shrunk him, and put him in the church. The dragons were only worried and looking for him."

"Who would do such a thing?"

"I was hoping you could think of someone. Sirius said it was that dude, Severance."

"A dood?"

"Yeah. Dude, bloke, chap, guy, man."

"Ah."

"It sounds like something Severance Prince would do." The lord Black seemed very attached to the dragon Snow, he was all but fused to its neck, clearly enjoying himself to the fullest. "I love dragons!"

"Don't we all," James replied, then added, "Isn't he a servant in the castle or something?"

"Yes, but we only use him for outdoor maintenance work," Arthur replied. "My father believes he is in league with Morgana."

"Her." James clearly knew who she was. "Isn't she always, like, trying to overthrow the kingdom and such?"

"Mostly she just steals food."

"Ah. Well that isn't … as evil as I heard. Sirius does the same thing all the time." They got ready to land, and moments later they were on the ground. Lord Black didn't seem to want to get off, however. Snow crooned at him.

"He likes you," James pointed out.

"I like him. May I pleeeease keep him?"

James shook his head in defeat. Apparently all Blacks were dragon fans. Or maybe it was only those that were called Sirius? He couldn't tell.

"Sirius, a dragon is not a pet," he said, just as he had told his own Sirius at least three hundred times just today alone.

"I know, but I really, really like him!"

Oh look, they even argue the same.

"Yeah, well. You're not keeping him. C'mon, let him go. We have to get Sirius — the other one — something to eat before he spontaneously starves to death."

"Will this do?" Arthur dangled a brace of rabbits before James' nose, skinned and ready for roasting.

"That will do nicely. I thought you said you didn't have any food?"

"I told you we didn't bring any edibles. Because they're all around us."

"You truly amaze me sometimes, Artie."

Arthur grinned.

James did short work of roasting the rabbits with a spell — Sirius would snatch them up and eat them raw otherwise, he knew — and led them to where his brother from another mother was busy playing veterinarian, like he had for the past hour, to keep his mind away from food.

Already he had patched up most of the beasts, which were coming to him — and until recently, James as well — with various complaints, ranging from a sprained wing all the way to cavities. Right now, Sirius was almost all the way inside of a huge dragon's mouth, looking quite like food himself, busy dislodging bits of an unidentifiable carcass from between its teeth… and was clearly considering eating the rotten thing. It was too disgusting to even finish contemplating the thought.

"Stop that! Stop that!" James snapped. "Padfoot, you're not that desperate!"

"But I'm really, really hun— Holy Snitch! RABBIT!"

And just like that, James was sans bunnies, and for a few short moments, all he heard were crunching, munching noises from his best friend. He was losing weight, James noticed, watching him. Despite the inordinate amount of food he kept shovelling into his mouth, it still never seemed to be enough.

"Come on, Doctor Pads," he prompted. "If you're all done with your patients, we have to get you some real food." And that thing off his foot… but he couldn't forget what that hag and her mates had been talking about in the dungeons the other day. He needed to talk to Merlin about that.

"Just a minute, there's a yearling that needs checking over… and then we can go."

"I'll help!" Excited beyond belief, the tiny Sirius skipped over to do just that. "I love dragons!"

"Hey, so do I!" Sirius grinned, leading Sirius away. James just shook his head in defeat and went to join Artie, who was making friends of his own.

Two of them, that was simply too much, even for him.

.

.

In the ruins of the Camelot houses that hadn't escaped the dragons' wrath, something else was stirring.

Namely, a travelling wizard and salesman from Queerditch Marsh, who was on his way home. He had been selling his wares in the market — amulets, an original Resurrection Stone, and flatware for cooking — when he saw the dragons approach. While around him, the villagers were running like crazy this way and that, he spotted something that made him forget about running and search for a better lookout spot instead.

Two boys, it was hard to tell from here how old they were, were weaving their way between the dragons…

On broomsticks.

Flying broomsticks.

One was picking up fruit and vegetables from the stalls, while the other swung a club around and hit the produce at the dragons. It was amazing, and Anarawd Llewellyn couldn't tear his eyes off them, or their mounts, as they loop-de-looped, twisted and shimmied their way through the fire breathing reptiles.

When the crazy battle was over, Anarawd scrambled around in the wreckage, looking for at least one of the marvellous brooms. He'd take this to his brothers, Cynfor and Bran, and maybe they could make something of this.

Anarawd was so focused on looking for this amazing broom, that he didn't notice another strange occurrence that was strangely occurring a few feet away from him.

A group of four strangely dressed, dishevelled strangers, was stealing through the town, hurrying in their attempts to remain unseen. They were wet, smelled like day-old seaweed, and were covered in what looked like dried blue goat spit.

The leader of the group we already know; her name was Yvonne Hartmann, and she was followed by her operatives, fresh out of the Camelot dungeons. And the moat, where they had hidden until Uther's army had left and disappeared from view, which was also incidentally, the place where they had almost been eaten alive by a medieval moat monster.

Yvonne still insisted it was alien.

Her companions insisted it was freaking them out.

Their escape hadn't been flawless; they had been made by the butler, Dimbledore, who apparently had a hobby of sticking his long, pointy nose in everyone's business but his own.

He had threatened to sound the alarm, to make the knights that had gone to fight the dragons — such a ridiculous notion — turn back, unless she and her team came up with something worth his while.

Incredibly, they did, even going as far as cutting a deal to get their gear back from where the alien king and his wizard had hidden it.

In exchange, the old warlock would receive a plasma ray to call his own. He believed it was a weapon. Yvonne smiled mirthlessly. She'd kill the old man before he was even aware of what was going on. Then she'd open the portal and go home, regroup, and return with the full power of the Torchwood Institute.

"Psst!" Caught her attention. The old man had indeed come through! He had their full equipment inside a hovel, and was beckoning at them to approach.

"Very well done, old man," Tomtom said, handing her the plasma gun, as they had planned. "You didn't forget anything."

"Now for my consideration," was the reply. They stared at him. The old man huffed. "My pay."

"Here's your pay," Yvonne snarled, taking aim at him, and firing right into his surprised face.

Several things happened in quick succession: the old man staggered to his feet, his bushy eyebrows and beard singed rather badly, and started screaming, "WITCH! WITCH! SHE TRIED TO KILL ME! A WITCH!"

Then he grinned at Yvonne and yanked the door open, running outside yelling "WITCH!" at the top of his lungs, while a short, skinny man emerged from under a pile of rubble, shouting, "I found it! I found it!"

They didn't pay the man any mind, more preoccupied with the angry villagers who were already coming their way, wielding pitchforks and torches.

.

.

They said their goodbyes, and Artie and James found themselves teaming up. They had all hands full trying to tear Sirius and… Sirius from their favourite animals ever to exist, and the first hour of the return ride was spent on a variation of, "No, Sirius, you cannot keep a dragon," complete with an equally predictable, if duplicate, rendition of what James knew to be standard Sirius arguments, which apparently had remained — and would remain — unchanged for over two millennia.

These could all be summed up in three words: "I want one."

The last leg of the breakneck journey was less verbose, as Sirius — James' one — threw in a new argument, for variety's sake: "I'm hungry."

Then he started bemoaning that he had forgotten his trusty wicker basket when they left in a hurry. And complaining that he was hungry, and that he had a headache, and that he'd starve before they got back. By the time they came in sight of Camelot Castle, it had escalated to: "My small intestine just ate my large intestine and is eyeing my pancreas with entirely too much purpose."

"You're getting a full leg of ham to yourself as soon as we land," James promised, for the umpteenth time. He and Famine!Sirius were riding on one of the horses, with James holding on to Sirius to keep him from falling off — he was close to passing out from hunger by now — while Artie and Iwantadragon!Sirius were on the other mount, and James wondered why he hadn't just apparated Sirius back to the castle ages ago.

"You're all talk, just trying to seduce me," Sirius answered, clutching his stomach and swaying dangerously on the saddle.

"I solemnly swear, we're seconds away from food. I can even hear the trumpets announcing our arrival, can't you hear it?"

And they were. Seconds away from food and getting a loud fanfare both.

"Prongs, I'm starving. I really, really am."

"I know, just hold on a minute—"

"You said seconds!"

"Yeah, hold on sixty seconds. Start counting."

James steered the horse to a landing, which went pretty well if you considered the added handicap of having to prevent Sirius from falling headfirst to the ground. As soon as the horse's hooves touched the earth, right in front of a few score applauding and cheering onlookers, Sirius seemed to have found his second wind.

He leapt off the flapping steed, on his way to the kitchens, then lost his second wind and stumbled, caught himself, and was promptly cut off by — James stared —none other than Guinevere.

"Hello, lord Black," she said in the most seductive fashion ever, smiling the most dazzling of smiles and fairly undressing Sirius with her eyes, while walking her fingers up his chest.

Sirius stared at her, then at her fingers, like she was even more disgusting than the rotting gunk he'd just pulled from out of the dragon's gullet, thereby proving that he had no taste at all.

None.

For his part, James felt jealousy, sharp and blinding, creep up from his stomach, or rather, from a bit below stomach level. Next to him, Artie was glaring at Sirius in a way that threatened to combust him on the spot.

"I saw your prowess with the dragons," said Guinevere breathily, her groping fingers seeking to undo the laces of his leather jerkin, as if she could now test him for another kind of prowess. Sirius caught her hand in his, and the more Guinevere's face lit up, the higher James' jealousy flared.

It was a lot of flaring.

Next to him, Artie was gritting his teeth so hard, it was audible.

Criik, criik.

"Good," Sirius answered, pulling her hands off him her completely and sidestepping her. "Means you're not blind. Bully for you."

It was hard to tell who was more shocked, Guinevere herself or James and Artie.

"He just…" Artie stammered.

"He just…!" James echoed.

"Lord Black, wait!" Guinevere hurried daintily after him, but he blanked her completely, grinning widely at Rosie the pastry chef and pulling her into a hug. She was carrying a large pigeon pie and was covered in flour, her hair half out of the braid she usually wore it in, but he embraced her as though she were a princess in the most gorgeous gown.

"Gah," James and Artie muttered at the same time, inventing the double facepalm right then and there.

"Are you two staying on here or can we get off now?" Sirius the younger asked impatiently.

"Yeah," James muttered sourly.

"Quite right," Artie gritted out.

They both dismounted, boring holes into Guinevere's back with their eyes.

She in turn, was sniffling and looking hurt… but she wasn't so much as acknowledging that James or Artie even existed!

"As if he was the only heroic one," James muttered. "I was pretty heroic too."

"And I rescued you from… from... I was also heroic," Arthur gritted out.

Criik, criik.

"Damn right you were," James agreed furiously. "We both were amazingly heroic."

Criik, criik.

Uther hurried out of the castle to greet them, though, smiling brightly and patting Sirius on the back — he was sitting on the stairs leading up to the Great Hall, laughing with Rosie and sharing his pie with her, while loudly lamenting the loss of his trusty wicker basket, which people were already looking for, but nobody had as yet, found.

The little Sirius was already regaling everyone else with a grand tale of his adventure, as excited as before, and randomly exclaiming, "I love dragons!"

"Welcome my lads!" Uther boomed, throwing an arm around James and Artie, and ushering them inside. "Come, come, there is much to discuss. Dear nephew, do come and join us."

Sirius pecked Rosie on the cheek and took the last slice of the pie, winking at her as he all but leapt to his feet, his energy levels restored and his mood unflagging as ever.

And once again, there was Guinevere.

"Lord Black," she told him impatiently, her voice and expression softening when he turned to look at her. "I do wish you could join me for a walk after your audience with the king."

"You're confusing me with Artie," he answered, taking a hearty bite from his delicious pie. "He's the one you want for that."

"Oh, but I do not want him," Guinevere answered. "I want—"

Deep inside the castle, someone popped the cork of a barrel. Sirius flashed Guinevere a dazzling grin.

"Cider!" he exclaimed.

Sirius was hurrying up the steps to the castle, polishing off his pie as he went. "Save some for me—" he suddenly stopped short, frowning in confusion. He turned to look at the princess, as though he had thought better of it and would agree to go "walking" with her. Though obviously, there would be next to no walking involved, the way she had planned it.

At least that's how Guinevere (and Artie, and James) interpreted it.

"Finally you come to your senses," Guinevere huffed, tapping her delicate foot at him.

"Cluck," said Sirius. His head gave a small jerk to the side, like a startled chicken. In the background, Artie let out a mocking, "Ha HA!" but James went from jealous to alarmed in an instant.

"What did you say? Did you just cluck at me? At me, Guinevere of Carmelide, daughter of King Leodegrance—"

"Cluck." Sirius grabbed his head, and he would have tumbled down the stone steps, if James hadn't caught him.

"Go get Merlin, quick!" He yelled at the princess, but she merely stared at him as though he were wearing his antlers and swishy tail, while he tried to revive his friend. Rosie was quicker on her feet however, and shot inside the castle as though her buns were on fire.

.

.

Not a handful of seconds had passed, when the old man returned with what looked like the entire village, armed with pitchforks and rakes and cudgels and torches, yelling, "WITCH! WITCH! BURN HER! SHE BROUGHT THE DRAGONS!"

"Hurry up, open the portal!" Will and Tomtom urged. Yvonne turned their vortex manipulator on, while her companions hurried to put on their helmets. Will slammed the door shut in the villagers' faces. Tomtom leaned on it. Jack drew the curtains closed on the nearest window.

"Hurry!"

The machine started whirring, the LED lights indicating that it was charging up.

The villagers were kicking at the door, nearly breaking through.

The portal opened.

"C'mon!" Jack jumped in, then Will, then Tomtom, who had held the door closed, made a break for it —

The portal fizzed out.

Tomtom Tomlinson wailed in despair.

Yvonne's scream of rage was heard as far as the town square.

It was drowned out by three hundred voices chorusing: "BURRRRN HERRRR!"

.

.

TBC.

Up Next: The TARDIS lands. Merlin is useful, even though his sense of direction sucks. We meet Wendelin the Weird, the Doctor has an idea, Sirius has an idea, and Artie finds Sirius' basket.