Chapter Text
It had been five years since Grandmother Sarah Jane had appeared in Rose Tyler’s life to reveal that Rose’s father, who’d died when Rose was a baby, was Sarah Jane’s son. But gaining an unexpected relative was nothing. What Rose really hadn’t been expecting to find out was that Sarah Jane was the current reigning queen of a small European country called Gallifrey and Rose was actually a princess, and next in line for the throne to boot. After growing up on a council estate all her life, this news came as something of a shock, to say the least.
After an adjustment period, however, Rose took to her new life with enthusiasm. She went from believing she couldn’t even pass her A-levels to attending a high level university, majoring in diplomacy and political science. It was the most difficult schooling she’d ever done, but she’d graduated with honors.
She’d done a lot of growing up over the last five years, her life moving in a decisive direction instead of floating aimlessly. The changes in Rose had manifested not just inwardly, but outwardly as well. She’d cut her hair so it brushed her shoulders and kept it colored a soft, baby blonde rather than the starkly bleached straggly locks she’d had before. She wore less mascara and stuck to a more natural look along with altering her wardrobe to be more upscale, more princess-like. Skirts and low heels instead of hoodies and trainers, though she still had them in the back of her massive wardrobe, for comfort in her private time. Overall, she presented as more grownup, more polished.
Now that she’d just celebrated her twenty-first birthday, Rose was eligible to accept the crown. Sarah Jane intended to step down at the end of the year, but would remain with Rose to help until she thought Rose was fully ready. Rose was nervous, of course, because there weren’t any classes in How to Run a Country 101, but she’d come to love Gallifrey in the short time she’d been living there. She definitely missed the chips back home in London, however.
The problems started when Sarah Jane announced her intention for Rose to be crowned queen to the Gallifreyan Parliament, which were, as Rose called them, ‘a bunch of stuffy old white blokes with too much starch in their collars wearing dusty wee white wigs.’
Another potential heir to the throne had appeared out of no where. Harold Saxon, Lord Oakdown, was apparently an obscure cousin by marriage. He argued that Rose could not take the throne, as Gallifrey law stated that an unmarried woman cannot become queen. Sarah Jane, outraged, said that they’d never enforced that law, but Parliament was swayed by Saxon’s talk of tradition.
Prime minister Irving Braxiatel declared that Rose would be given thirty days in which to marry, otherwise the throne would be handed over to Lord Oakdown.
And that was why Rose was sitting in front of a large projector screen with her best friend Clara, who was visiting from London, Grandmama Sarah Jane, and Sarah Jane’s personal assistant, Donna, going through the long list of eligible bachelors who might become Rose’s prince.
As much as it rankled her, an arranged marriage was Rose’s only hope. Sarah Jane had one, her good friend Quatre had married her, and they’d had a great fondness for one another throughout their marriage, all the way until his death twelve years ago. It didn’t give Rose much hope. She longed for love, not fondness, but she did love Gallifrey, so she was determined to fulfill her destiny to become queen. She wasn’t going to let a little thing like the lack of a ‘y’ chromosome stop her.
Donna pressed the clicker which forwarded the projector. “Baron Adam Mitchell,” she announced as the picture of the dark haired young man was displayed, along with a few points of interest.
“No, he’s not appropriate,” Sarah Jane said. “Aside from his compulsive gambling, he’s a narcissistic prat.”
Rose made a face. “Good to know. Next.”
The following photo was of a blue eyed, spiky haired blond with a winsome smile. “Jake Simmonds. Expert marksman. No title, but from a good family.”
“What about the title ‘husband?’” remarked Clara, brushing her dark shoulder length hair behind one ear.
Rose nodded. “Yeah, he’s cute.”
From his place near the doorway, Alastair, Sarah Jane’s head of security, spoke up. “His boyfriend thinks he’s cute, too.”
Sarah Jane shrugged. “Hmm. No matter. Put him on all the invitation lists. He’s a wonderful dancer. Next.”
The next man was too old, the following too young, and the one after that had been arrested too many times, according to Alastair (Rose swore the mustached man knew the inside scoop on everyone).
“No, no, Donna,” Sarah Jane said, placing a hand to her forehead. “We need someone titled, someone who can help Rose to run a country without his ego getting in the way. Someone attractive and smart, without being too arrogant. Someone with compassion.”
Donna pressed the clicker. “Someone like him, maybe?”
Rose’s eyes lit up with interest as she looked at the picture. “Yes. Someone very much like him.”
According to the stats, the man was eleven years older than her, but she found she didn’t really care that much about it. He was gorgeous, with deep brown eyes that twinkled with humor, a brilliant smile, and lots of great brown hair with ear-length sideburns that gave him a sexy ‘I just rolled out of bed like this’ vibe. The longer she looked, she realized that his face was slightly asymmetrical; his nose was a little crooked, his left ear was a bit wonky, but she found it just made him more attractive. Rather than taking away from his looks, it made him more interesting.
“Good choice, Rose!” said Sarah Jane. “It’s a wonder I didn’t think of him before.”
“John Lungbarrow, Duke of Tardis,” Rose read, cringing slightly. “Nice name.”
“Don’t worry, you can keep your own,” said Clara. “Well, he looks… decent.”
“To say the least,” said Rose.
“All yours, love,” said Clara, waving a hand in Rose’s direction. “Not really my type.” She scanned the rest of the information. “Expert in Aikido, speaks ten languages fluently, loves to travel, he’s a pilot in the Royal Air Force--”
“He’s a Londoner!” Rose exclaimed excitedly.
“Yes, and you might have noticed that sooner if you could peel your eyes away from the hotness long enough,” Clara teased. “Also, he’s into photography, sketching, and… tinkering, whatever that means.” She lifted one shoulder. “You could do worse.”
“Grandmama,” Rose said, turning in her seat. “Set it up!”
* * *
The lead-up to the initial meeting was as formal and awkward as Rose expected. Invitations issued to the duke in England and a release to the press created a frenzy in both countries. On the actual day of the meeting, with the majordomo announcing everyone and the press watching the duke’s every move as he entered the palace, it was less like the sort-of date Rose was hoping it would be and more like a ceremonious event. Even so, her heart was thudding in her throat the whole time.
As she awaited the duke’s arrival, she was glad she’d kept a handkerchief in the pocket of her pale pink jacket. Her hands were embarrassingly sweaty and she’d learned not to wipe them on her matching skirt, lest there be smudges. She never would have thought of things like that five years ago, but now… the prospect of meeting her potential-future-husband with sweaty palms and a grimy outfit was mortifying.
At least Alastair had seen to it that it was as private as possible, taking place in the gallery of the palace, which was one of the inner rooms with no windows to spy through, and with Sarah Jane in attendance, but aside from her, just the bare minimum of staff to promote less gossip. Sarah Jane promised to remain in the background unless Rose appeared to need a hand, she really only needed to be there for the initial meeting, out of respect for the duke.
After his introduction and expected salutations to both women, Duke John stepped forward with a smile. “How do you do, your highness?” he said, extending his hand to Rose.
His smile in the photo had nothing on his smile in person. It did something odd to her stomach. Like it was turned inside out. Thankfully, she didn’t think it showed on her face as she smiled back and met his handshake.
“Ooh!” they both exclaimed as a sudden spark zapped between them, making them twitch their hands back. They looked at each other and simultaneously chuckled, the tension broken a bit.
“We made a spark, that bodes well, doesn’t it?” she said, grinning.
“Well, I hope so!” he said. He looked down at his feet. “Though it could just be my shoes…”
Rose looked down and saw him holding up a foot for her perusal, rotating his ankle a bit. He was wearing cream colored plimsolls, an odd choice for the smart brown pin-striped suit he had on. He remained on one foot, as if it was no hardship for him. His balance was quite good. It distracted her sufficiently that she didn’t really think about what she was saying.
“Wouldn’t the rubber sole negate any static charge?” she found herself asking, heedless that the topic wasn’t exactly princess-like or marriage-minded.
“Sometimes, but not always,” he said, putting his foot back on the floor. He eyed her feet, seemingly uncaring that they were discussing electric shock and the merits of shoes rather than a potential marriage contract. “You’re not wearing insulated footwear, are you?”
Rose tipped one foot up, showing off her stylish peep-toe slingbacks. “I don’t think so.”
“Then you probably got the worst of the shock.” He pressed his lips together, his expression apologetic. “I have learned me to repent the sin of disobedient opposition to you and your behest, I am enjoined to beg your pardon.”
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Shakespeare.”
His face brightened. “My lady knows the bard!”
She rolled her eyes modestly. “I think anyone who completed seventh form knows Romeo and Juliet.” She pretended over-caution in poking him in the arm with one finger, lest she meet with further shock. “And I hardly think it can be considered a ‘sin.’ It just means I may be dealing with a live wire!”
He laughed and the corners of his eyes crinkled. “I must say, you’re not quite what I expected, your highness.”
She winced slightly. “Is that bad?”
“Not bad,” he said, shaking his head. “Just different.”
“I’m afraid this whole situation is different for me,” she said, beginning to walk down the length of the gallery, which prompted him to follow alongside her. “Is it weird for you, too?”
“I’m afraid not as ‘weird’ as you might hope, sorry,” he said, sounding amused at her choice of words. “Every marriage in my family for the last hundred years has been arranged. Naturally, it was assumed I’d follow suit, so I don’t consider it very odd at all.”
Rose blew out a breath. “Well, maybe you can help me get used to the idea, then. I know it probably sounds like a little girl’s fantasy, but I always thought I’d marry for love and live happily ever after.”
He shrugged slightly. “Nothing wrong with that idea, but just because you are being required to marry for… different reasons, shall we say, that doesn’t mean that happily ever after can’t also happen. I wouldn’t be here unless I thought there was a chance things might work out well between us. Even for the sake of being a queen’s consort.” He pursed his lips slightly, his full lower lip sticking out a little, as he tilted his head. “Perhaps there can be more than one definition of ‘happily ever after.’”
A slow smile spread across Rose’s face. “I think I might like you, your grace.”
“I think the feeling might be mutual, your highness,” he said with an answering smile and just a hint of cheekiness. “But please, call me John. If we do this, we should do it right.”
“Then you must call me Rose.”
“Rose,” he repeated, as though savouring the taste of the name. “Lovely.” He offered her his arm.
Still smiling, she took it. As they continued to walk down the gallery and chat amicably, Sarah Jane followed behind at a respectable distance and Alastair followed behind her. Both of them watched the pair with discerning eyes, but it was far too soon to tell anything.
* * *
Their first public outing took place on the shores of Gallifrey’s one beach. It was scarcely larger than one really long disc throw, but Donna had said that it would be best to give the photographers a ‘romantic’ setting to shoot. Rose didn’t know how romantic it was, being that the skies were slate gray and threatening rain the whole time, but luck was with them and they stayed dry.
Sarah Jane followed with her entourage a short distance away, walking her silver greyhound, K-9, and Alastair was ever present with a small group of security in the background. They did their best to keep the reporters a respectful length away from the royals.
Rose and John waved for the cameras a few times, smiling away, the picture of burgeoning love. They kept the conversation light and John was a fantastic conversationalist. He could talk about anything and if there was something he didn’t know, he had a mobile he’d augmented that reacted lightning fast to voice commands. Rose knew she’d be wanting an upgrade to her own mobile once she’d seen his in action, and he was quite good at explaining what he’d done without making it sound like he was dumbing it down for her.
In the interest of growing closer, Rose tentatively broached the subject of likes and dislikes. “What is a relationship ‘deal-breaker’ for you?”
John stopped walking and turned toward her, placing his hands on her shoulders, very seriously. “First off, I must know… how do you feel about pears?” She burst out laughing, and his face softened into a smile, but he reiterated, “Please, tell me! Pears, yes or no?”
Still giggling, she brushed her wind-blown hair away from her face and said, “Um, well, I’ve never really thought seriously about it before. If there are other alternatives, I’ll generally pick something else. I find pears a bit too fibrous and without a lot of flavour.”
He made a face. “Oh, Rose, they do have a flavour. A bad one. And you’re right about the texture, they’re just bad all around. I absolutely cannot abide pears.” He sniffed and straightened, letting his hands trail down her arms so that he could hold one of her hands in his. “But since you seem mostly ambivalent towards them, leaning toward the ‘no’ side, I suppose that’s not a ‘deal-breaker.’”
“Well, I’d never insist that you eat one for my sake anyway,” she said. “Unless it was going to… I don’t know, save my life or something.”
He placed his free hand over his heart. “I promise, if it was to save your life, I would eat pears until I could taste nothing else.”
“John,” she said, tilting her head to one side. She didn’t need ridiculous promises for him to impress her, she’d rather he just be himself. “Please don’t exaggerate. I want to get to know the real you.”
He shook his head. “I mean it. It’s still fairly early in our acquaintance, but I can already tell - the universe should not be without Princess Rose Tyler.”
She gave him a small smile. “Then I’m sorry for doubting you. It’s just… since I began this life, I’ve found that people rarely say what they mean. It’s all about what’s happening under the surface. Like this whole marriage thing. It isn’t about me being incapable of ruling Gallifrey without a ring on my finger, it’s about having a woman on the throne when it could be a man.”
“Personally, I think it’s rubbish,” said John. “Worth should never be based on what someone has between--” He stopped abruptly, remembering they were in public. He pulled on one ear, awkwardly. “Erm… well, I take it you grasp my meaning?”
She suppressed the laughter that wanted to bubble up. “Yes, I believe so. If this were any other date, I might have hugged you for that,” she said. “But since we’re being watched and all, I’ll just do this.” She squeezed his hand. “There. A hand hug.”
He grinned. “It’ll do. For now. I look forward to the day when I may cash in on an actual hug. I bet those are brilliant coming from you.”
“You don’t need to flatter me, I already like you.”
He shrugged. “So prove me wrong. If I’m right, it’s not flattery, it’s a fact.”
She giggled at his logic. “Alright. One day.”
He nodded, satisfied with her answer. They walked for a few strides, swinging their joined hands between them, before he spoke up again, “Honestly, it’s hard not to want to say nice things to you, even if they are all true. I’ve never met someone who makes me feel so intimidated. And believe me, I’ve met my fair share of intimidating people.”
Rose scoffed. “I’m not intimidating, look at me.”
He did and his cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink that made his freckles stand out. “Yes, well… that’s rather intimidating also.”
For some reason, his response made her feel like blushing in embarrassment as well. John was making it very easy to fall for him and she didn’t want to seem like an easy target, despite the fact that she needed to get married soon. The man was just charming and downright likeable. She kept going back and forth between thinking it was an act to marry her for her throne, and thinking that no one could be this good at acting 100% of the time. He seemed so genuine.
Luckily, she was spared a reply as the wind off the waves snatched her colorful silk scarf from around her neck and carried it away. Automatically, Rose began chasing after it. John chased after her, calling, “Rose! A princess doesn’t chase after scarves! Let me!”
Her tongue touching her smile, she threw over her shoulder, “A princess can jolly well do whatever a duke can!” and kept running.
They were laughing as he easily caught up to her with his longer legs and they leapt for the scarf at the same time. With a tangle of arms, they fell down in the sand, which only made them laugh harder, and then they realized the reporters were following them, nearly tripping over one another to capture the moment on film. Which was even funnier to the two of them. They were gasping for breath with tears in their eyes before they finally gained control of their mirth.
John rose to his feet and helped Rose to hers, the scarf clutched in his other hand. Once they were both standing, he slid the scarf through both hands and bowed before her, offering it as if it were a ceremonial sash. “Your scarf, my lady,” he intoned, reverently.
Biting her lip to keep from laughing all over again, she accepted the scarf with a formal curtsey and solemn head nod. “My thanks to you, good sir,” she said, wrapping the length of silk around her neck. She offered her hand to him as he straightened. “You may kiss my hand.”
The flashbulbs of the cameras were nearly blinding as he captured her hand in both of his and did so, but the hubbub was secondary to the flip-flop Rose’s stomach did in response to the feel of his smooth, cool lips pressed against her fingers.