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“I promise, this is all just a horrible misunderstanding,” the Doctor mumbled numbly into the back of the horse he was tied to. “You'll find I'm not an intruder at all, more of a... uhm... traveller. I must've accidentally walked... uhm... past all your guards and onto your grounds. You'd be surprised how often it happens to me.”
His answer was a loud grunt, from the knight on the horse next to theirs and a loud roar from the person currently sitting in front of him.
“This man really doesn't know when to stop speaking.”
Now, the Doctor thought, that was quite rude. He knew perfectly well when to stop speaking. He just loved to ignore it. Not rarely, he had confused and annoyed his enemies to the breaking point and gotten free by that tactic. This time, however, he seemed out of luck.
The horses stopped and he felt rough hands dragging him off the horse and push him to the ground.
“We picked him up down in the village, my Lord. He's clearly a spy, planning to infiltrate us.”
“Clearly,” a smooth voice answered, the amusement in it so audible, the Doctor sat up and blinked up in confusion.
Warm, brown eyes looked down upon him.
“Uhm. Hello,” the Doctor uttered cautiously, while dusting off his waistcoat and spitting out soil. The man in front of him seemed to be the king of the castle. He was wearing a golden crown and a black cloak that was gently swinging in the wind of the castle garden, just enough to reveal the jewel enriched sword on his belt. “Not a spy, I assure you. We can... talk about this, surely?”
He saw the King's eyes wander up and down his form quickly, while the Doctor shakily got back up to his feet, his hands still raised to appease the guards.
The corners of his lips twitched.
“We shall,” he finally announced, turning towards his knights. “You have done well, bringing him to me. Now get back to your posts, I will take care of him.”
The knights nodded, bowing down shortly, before returning to their horses and riding away swiftly.
“I appreciate the trust,” the Doctor said, looking after them with a little frown. “I assure you, all I want is to get back to...-”
“Isn't it always, Doctor?”
The Doctor froze, his eyes flinching back to the King, who was still standing quietly in front of him, his smile now turning... sad?
“Oh. Uhm. Sorry, have we met?”
The King rolled his eyes.
“You'd think by now you'd get more practised in seeing through my disguises, but if anything, that skill seems to only decay with your increasing age.”
“What?” the Doctor asked in what was, admittedly, not the peak of his wit.
“Disguises, Doctor,” the King shortened it down for him, and his eyes widened.
“Oh. Right. Right. It's you. You're the...”
“That's right,” the King nodded with a little smirk.
“... Meddling Monk!”
An utterly exasperated exhale of breath was the only answer he got, making the Doctor giggle.
“Maybe I should have you thrown into the dungeons after all.”
“Ah, now, Master, please, no need to be quite that unpleasant.” He gave his oldest enemy a little wink, watching in mild surprise as he closed his eyes for a second, breathing through his nose, once, twice, before opening them again with a smile.
“Never really got to know this version of you, have I?”
“You seemed rather pre-occupied,” the Doctor agreed with a little smile. “Though you surely tried to become very well acquainted with my body.”
The Master's smile widened and became rather crooked.
“Don't I always.”
With a roll of his eyes, the Doctor walked past him, towards the castle entrance doors. The Master looked after him with a rather surprised raise of an eyebrow.
“What?” the Doctor asked. “You're king once in your life, through means I do not want to be informed of, and are not going to boast in a castle tour? Seems like a waste to me.”
“Oh, I can show you around,” the Master laughed. “I can show you my whole kingdom, Doctor. Interested in joining my court?”
The Doctor snorted.
“Hardly. But I had a very uncomfortable ride. And I suspect you have your TARDIS somewhere inside there.”
“Would you look at that,” the Master grinned, as he offered his arm to link with the Doctor's. “The Doctor. Fancying a trip in my TARDIS.”
“Well, you're rather more pleasant than your previous versions this far, so I might just take the risk.”
The Doctor linked his arm with the Master and they walked side by side into the huge castle.
“I rather am, aren't I? Shame you'll forget all about me.”
“I will?” he asked, giving the Master a surprised side glance.
The Master laughed loudly.
“Oh, love, you always do.”
“It's true, my memory isn't... quite what it used to be,” the Doctor mumbled, looking around the wide aisles they walked down. Everyone they met threw them curious, long glances and the Doctor could still feel their eyes on them once they had passed.
“Swiss cheese is what it is,” the Master grinned. “Completely falling apart. Must be the age.”
“Sure,” the Doctor replied distractedly, turning around again and again to look over his shoulders, where the sources of the uncomfortable stares were. “Aren't you... bringing your reputation into trouble? I mean, the King, walking arm in arm with... uhm...”
The Master regarded him with a raised eyebrow.
“Well... a commoner?” the Doctor finished with a slightly sulky mumble.
He snorted.
“You? A Commoner? Don't make me laugh. Despite...” He tore away his arm, only to put it around the Doctor's shoulders and then pull him closer with a wide grin, squeezing him against his chest. “Let them talk and stare, I don't care. They know better than to question their king.” He winked at him with a threatening edge in his predatory smile, making the Doctor shiver.
But in a stupidly good way. The exact way that had gotten him into trouble with this man far more than he liked to admit.
“Plus, we're both men,” he hastily stumbled on as they entered a massive, golden and red decorated throne room. “Is that frowned upon this period? I can never remember.”
The Master gave him a side glance.
“It's a miracle you're aware at all.”
“See, I know there are stereotypes about this sort of thing on Earth, I just can never remember when they were abolished... Surely, medieval times would be advanced enough...”
“You would think that,” the Master remarked dryly, before he seemed to have decided to have enough of the Doctor's feeble distraction attempts and pushed him against the throne they had now reached. The Doctor stumbled backwards, falling onto his backside and looking up to the Master wide-eyed.
“I can assure you, though,” the Master added with a self-satisfied smirk as he leaned down towards him, “that Time Lord on Time Lord action is not only tolerated, but royally encouraged in this castle.”
“Oh, it is, is it?” The Doctor breathed, suddenly quite unable to tear his eyes off those lips, which now were so very, very close to his own. “Well, your Majesty, who would I be to disobey your rules?”
The Master stopped, face in front of the Doctor's, so close, barely a piece of paper would've fitted between them, looking stunned.
“What is it?” the Doctor asked in confusion, making the Master squirm.
“Nothing, it's just... it's just...”
His breath was hot on the Doctor's lips at he spoke and he thought it was better to speed this sudden stumbling of words along.
“What?”
The Master shook his head slightly.
“You've no idea what it's like to hear you say these things, do you?” he asked, right before he crashed their lips together, kissing the Doctor so hard, it left him completely breathless. He was clinging to him, his head raised to meet his, the Master's hand on the back of his neck as he pulled him closer and he thought if this was how he died, miserably suffocating on this massive golden throne, with the Master's black cloak swishing around him and his taste on his lips, that was alright with him.
Fortunately, the Master seemed to disagree with that fundamental sentiment and he pulled back, breathing hard. He looked incredibly adorable like this, hair all tousled up from where the Doctor had gripped it, his lips swollen and his eyes fixated on him. There was something so vulnerable in his gaze, making the whole King act suddenly feel far, far away.
The Doctor knew what he was going to say before he even said the word.
“Stay.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Master-”
“Just for a while. A bit. I'll throw a banquet. We'll celebrate, it'll be lovely.”
“Master...”
“I have Gallifreyan cheese. Come on, how long has it been? I know you love Gallifreyan cheese.”
“Do I want to know?” the Doctor threw in, loudly. “Do I want to know how many died for you to be in this position?”
“Oh, does it matter?” the Master asked in an exasperated tone, throwing his head back in annoyance. “If I don't do it, they do it to themselves. You know these times.”
“Here we go again,” the Doctor replied, his voice very quiet now. “The very reason I can't stay. You know I can't.”
“You never can,” came the bitter reply. “All you can do is run from me, even when you have clearly just wanted me five minutes ago, when you knew, you knew what I had done already and didn't care at all. It's not my fault, Doctor, I'm not the reason this isn't working. And you need to stop pinning it on me.”
The Doctor turned away, facing the throne, his back to the Master, as he crossed his arms, but it was already too late. His anger was immediately stiffened by a cold hand gripping his hearts, leaving him shivering. They had had fun, up to now and he had readily walked into it with the Master, that much was true.
He sighed, letting his arms sink back to his sides again.
“I'll stay for the banquet,” he finally agreed. “And then I'll go looking for my TARDIS, whether you help me or not.”
“Great,” the Master said tonelessly. “It'll be a feast.”
The Master was quite busy for the rest of the day, leaving them both opportunity to cool off. The Doctor sat in a corner watching the people set up tables and chairs for the banquets. Candles were lit, wine goblets and plates arranged. It was all quite lovely, actually.
People were humming in happy expectation of a feast, court jesters and bards had spread out in the room to practise and chat.
The Master was in the middle of it all, doing what he loved most: Ordering people around. Actually, he really seemed to flourish in his role. His hardened jar had quickly relaxed again, the rage seemed to slowly dissipate, as he continued to plan the banquet to perfection.
The Doctor couldn't help a mild little smirk as he watched.
The Master, while being completely absorbed in his element, seemed to at least still carry some resentment, because he made it a point not to look at him until the feast was readily set up. He stood in the middle of the hall, as everyone who had helped building drew back into the kitchens to finish the meals, his hands stemmed into his hips, staring at the table.
“Hey,” the Doctor breathed, bravely resting his chin on the Master's shoulder from behind.
He felt him tense beneath him.
“I'm sorry,” he sighed. “I can't ignore... the things you do, you know I can't. But I'll happily declare it a truce, for tonight, if you're not angry anymore?”
The Master finally turned his head, looking down on him, where the Doctor was looking up with a cheeky glitter in his eyes.
“It's a bit of a sore point,” he finally brought out through clenched teeth. “You, pretending to be my friend, then trying to change me.”
The Doctor frowned, finally drawing back from his position behind the Master and stepping to his side.
“Noted.”
He had no idea what was going to happen in their future, but it sure sounded interesting. And a little intense. And wildly sad. But at least they were still working on it... right?
“So... truce?”
He held his hand out to the Master, who stared at it.
“What's wrong?”
His voice seemed to get caught inside his throat as he rushed to reply, quickly clearing it.
“Nothing. It's... it's fine.”
He hesitated, then took the Doctor's hand, barely shaking it.
“Truce.”
The banquet started off a little bumpy. A very uncomfortable, tense silence settled as the guests laid sight on the Doctor sitting next to the Master on their huge table.
The Master stood up, greeting everyone with his arms wide outstretched.
“I told you to change,” he whispered to the Doctor, from the corners of his mouth.
The Doctor raised his chin slightly, waiting for him to sit back down, before hissing back,
“And I told you, there's no way I'm wearing puffy arms. You're not wearing puffy arms. I see no reason to do so. Besides, my clothes are not the problem and you know it.”
The Master gave him a short grin before speaking.
“My honoured guests,” he announced to the full table. “Let me introduce you to the Doctor. He is a very dear friend of mine and I wish for you all to treat him with the same well-deserved respect you regard your King with.”
Mumbling broke out on the table, some of it spiteful. The Doctor bleakly thought to remember that the seat next to the King usually was reserved for his wife.
“A very dear friend,” the Master repeated with more force in his voice, the threat now seeping out on the edges.
Slowly but steadily, applause arose and before the Doctor could do more than blink in confusion, several people were shaking his hands, refilling his wine, telling him stories about their lives and asking to which kingdom he belonged.
The Master watched the attention he got with a little smirk, but the Doctor could see his eyes moving along and fixating on every touch he received.
A very jealous king, he thought, when it was so utterly unnecessary. It was not as if people spitting chicken all over the table while speaking and stinking of wine had ever done anything for him, other than ruining his appetite.
But the truth was, all together, it was an entirely pleasant evening. The Master quickly warmed up to tell quite a lot of embarrassing stories about him, with every additional goblet of wine he drank they became worse, and the music and entertainment kept them laughing.
More than once, the Doctor found himself watching the Master rather than them, though. His eyes had a little, almost childish gleam as he watched the bards play their songs.
“Secretly dreaming of a musical career?” he asked playfully after a little while, making the Master flinch, before he turned towards him with an almost sheepish smile.
Got you, the Doctor thought.
“I don't know. It's nice, somehow. In this world full of violence and war, there's this one person, travelling around the kingdoms, singing of life and love.”
The Doctor grinned quietly into his goblet.
“What?” the Master asked.
“Nothing,” the Doctor replied swiftly, but caved when the Master raised both his eyebrows on him, letting the goblet sink with a little cough.
“Well, it's just... Out of all these people readily doing the killing you claim to love so much, you have your eyes set on the lonely traveller, following his dreams.”
They exchanged a look and the Master's lips twitched, before he let out a little sigh.
“Touché.”
“And cheers to that,” the Doctor laughed, raising his goblet to the Master, who clunked his against it with another sigh.
He felt light-headed and happy and a warmth streamed through him, that the Doctor couldn't quite trace back to the alcohol. He wasn't sure, really, who they were in the future, but it seemed like some invisible scale had shifted back from enemies to friends, just a little bit, for this Master, and it... was a nice thought, all in all.
The banquet ended with the Doctor drunkenly sitting in the middle of seven eager people, all having shifted closer with their chairs, telling quite a lot of impossible stories neither of them were going to be motivated to correct later on.
The Master watched him for a whole while, a little disgruntled as he kept on getting his view blocked by a bloke's right arm between him and the Doctor, and then finally got up with a thundering voice, announcing the celebrations over now.
The Doctor looked up to him with a sulk so apparent on his face, it made the Master giggle, while the rest of the people almost immediately obeyed and dispersed.
“I was having fun!”
“Yeah, a bit much at that,” the Master mumbled. “Do you always have to make friends with everyone so easily?”
“It's my one true talent,” the Doctor replied, crossing his arms as he looked around the now empty table. “That's not nice, I wanted Hershel's phone number! I promised to teach him cross-stitching!”
“He doesn't have a phone and is my first knight, I don't want him to waste his time cross-stitching while we are under attack. Didn't you want to go back to your TARDIS? I specifically remember you saying so.”
The Doctor frowned, clearly trying to remember.
“Nah,” he finally said. “Don't think I ever said that.”
The Master shook his head in amusement. “And here I thought amnesia was going to erase all memory of me. Come on.”
He got up, pulling at the Doctor's arm, but the simply made himself heavier and let the Master tear as much as he wanted, clutching his hands around the chair.
“Seriously?” the Master asked. “Do you just want to sit alone on this empty table all night?”
Again, the Doctor frowned.
“No?” he finally offered, clearly confused about himself.
The Master let out a helpless chuckle. “Honestly, I don't know what I thought, letting you drink alcohol. It's always the same with you.”
“Medieval wine.... 's good thought, isn't it? Totally worth it.”
“Yeah, especially when it's Medieval wine freshly from Gallifrey. Come on, then, bed.”
“Bed sounds nice!” The Doctor brought out and finally let himself be dragged to his feet, swaying slightly. “Haven't seen your bedroom yet.”
“Doctor, this is a huge castle, there are around 25 bedrooms...”
He noticed the Doctor's lower lip trembling and took a deep breath.
“My bedroom it is.”
Smiling from one ear to the other, the Doctor stumbled after him through the aisles and into the huge bedroom. He looked around with a wide eyes. The windows were huge and looking over the entire grounds, now covered in darkness. A whole table, to which the Master quickly denied him access to, was carrying bottles and bottles of alcohol, half of it alien. A cupboard stood halfway open, and when the Doctor stepped nearer and peeked inside, he could hear the Master's TARDIS hum. He had perfect view on a set of tools lying around on a table and various plans, schemes and devices, spread around on it in chaos.
He turned back with a little smile, looking at the Master's king-sized – well, of course King-sized, the Doctor thought with a giggle – bed, purple, heavy covers laid out on it.
It looked comfy and that was very much the last thought on the Doctor's mind, before he jumped onto the mattress, face pressed against the sheets, head missing the pillow by inches.
“Clothes, Doctor,” the Master chuckled, as he pulled on his best enemies' legs, to move him closer towards him and take off his shoes. The Doctor simply lay still, letting it happen, snoring loudly despite very obviously still being awake.
The Master sighed and sat down next to him, carefully peeling him out of his jacket and the opening the waistcoat, at the very least.
“You can't be comfortable in this.”
The Doctor sat up unexpectedly quick, suddenly finding himself face to face with the Master.
“I missed you, you know,” he brought out, slurring the s' slightly. “After you fell into my Eye of Harmony, I thought that... really might have been it. I'm glad you're here. Shouldn't be. Really am.”
The Master smiled, pressing a soft smile to his lips.
“I miss you too,” he promised, knowing the Doctor wouldn't notice the change of tenses in his drunken daze. “Now take off these clothes and go to sleep, before you say more things you'll regret tomorrow.”
The Doctor contently tore at his clothes and was quickly wearing nothing but his boxer shorts. He let himself sink back into the sheets, mumbling something into the pillow that sounded terribly like, “The whole king thing is really a bit of a turn on.” and let his eye-lids flutter shut.
The Master watched him for a while, as his breathing evened and his arms stretched around the blanket to cuddle it to his chest. He looked innocent and content and the Master thought that this was the first real perfect moment he had had, ever since taking over this kingdom.
Funny, how everything he had ever wanted, he had ever worked for, was simply nothing without the Doctor.
With a little sigh, he laid down on the bed next to him, wrapping an arm around the Doctor's hip and gently stole the blanket from his clutches, pulling it over them as he shifted closer.
At least for now, he wouldn't need to think about any of that. In fact, the only thing he had to think about, really, was how to make the Doctor stay another night, soberly, and make him tell him everything about that “king thing” that turned him on.