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locker_monsterTitle: The Boy Who Waited (13/49)
Rating: PG
Characters: Rory, with appearances from Barbara
Timeline: set between "The Pandorica Opens" and "The Big Bang"
Summary: London, 1996. Barbara Wright prepares the Pandorica for exhibit at the National Museum. As the work unfolds, she recounts the lengthy history of the stone box and its loyal protector, the Lone Centurion.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. Everything else is me taking liberties with history.
A/N: A huge thank you to my beta
punch_kicker15. This story would still be sitting on my hard drive if it weren't for you.
Hormos, 1272 A.D.
“This is hopeless.”
The breeze coming off the water was a nice change from the soul sapping, dry desert air. Rory was so busy enjoying the refreshing, cool wind on his face that he almost didn’t hear Niccolò. He glanced over at the elder Polo and then back at the busy port in front of them.
Busy didn’t even begin to describe it. Layas had been dull compared to this. There were ships everywhere, loading and unloading, and men shouted in dozens of different languages. Crates, barrels, and bulging sacks were scattered all over the pier and yet it all got to where it needed to go. Sailors and traders milled around the port, waiting for their ships to depart or eagerly heading ashore for much needed R&R. Exotic scents wafted in from the city - cooked meat, spiced wine, fragrant spices - mixing with the more industrial smells of the port.
It was certainly overwhelming, but a welcomed change. The ride from Kerman and then to Hormos had been tense. The entire region seemed to be crawling with bandits and the lifeless deserts had stretched out their journey by more than a few days, putting a serious strain on their remaining supplies. Rory was, well, he wouldn’t say keen, but exchanging the monotony of constant riding for the monotony of constant sailing would do wonders for morale.
“I am sure one of these ships would be large enough to carry the Pandorica,” said Rory, trying to reassure Niccolò.
“You do not know much about sea travel, do you, Centurion?” Niccolò still looked frustrated but Rory’s words seemed to amuse him.
“I have read books,” Rory offered.
The elder Polo slapped him on the shoulder and he finally found a smile. “That knowledge is useless if you do not put it to practical use.” They surveyed the fleet of vessels before them. “If we were merely transporting ourselves and our supplies to Cathay, any of these ships would do fine. It would not be a smooth voyage, but we would arrive more or less alive.”
The “more or less” part got a frown from Rory. He had not grown any fonder of sea travel over the centuries. It was baffling how sailors managed to steer at night without any reference beyond the moon and that wasn’t always visible.
“But when you add the bulk of the Pandorica,” continued Niccolò, “and our haste to reach Cathay as soon as possible, then these ships are worthless. They are stitched together, rather than fastened by iron. They do not use pitch; in a storm we would most certainly flood and then sink. With one mast and one sail, we would not gain much speed.”
Rory could see the ships’ imperfections now that Niccolò had pointed them out to him. They looked like rickety deathtraps as far as he was concerned. “So what are you saying?”
“By land?”
Rory knew they were having a very important conversation right now, but he was distracted by the food laid out on the table. There was roasted meat, piles of cooked vegetables, a plate of fresh fruit, some naan like bread, and other dishes that he didn’t recognize. All of it was thoroughly spiced and just breathing it in was a meal in itself. For the first time in centuries, he wished he could eat.
“We have done it before,” replied Niccolò, answering his brother’s question. Maffeo and Marco had found them cheap accommodations for the night and for once they would be sleeping off the ground on proper beds.
“Yes, but that was ages ago and our circumstances were different. Niccolò, this will add years to our journey.”
Rory’s ears perked up at the mention of “years” and he stopped eying the food. “That long?”
Maffeo nodded his head. “Here.” He began arranging various foodstuffs on the table making an impromptu diorama. “We are here at Hormos.” He spilled some water on the table to represent the gulf. A handful of nuts stood in for the port. “Between Hormos and Cathay are the Pamier mountains.” Torn up pieces of naan bread created the land and a few dates formed the mountains Maffeo spoke of. A hand’s width separated Hormos from the mountains.
“After the mountains is a vast desert, far beyond anything we have encountered.” Maffeo spread out a handful of rice and it reached from the dates to nearly the edge of the naan bread. Rory knew what that section was. The Gobi Desert. “Nothing can survive in that desert. If you use up your water supply, you are dead.”
The meal didn’t look so appetizing now.
“Even after the desert, the journey is not over. Cathay is a large country.” Maffeo dropped a grape at the very edge of the naan bread, marking their final destination. Even in small scale, it looked incredibly far.
“Can we not…” Rory considered the options available to them. “Commission a ship?” The Vatican had numerous resources. It wouldn’t have been difficult for them to send a vessel.
“We cannot afford to the delay,” said Niccolò. “We have been gone from Cathay for far too long. The Khan should not think we are not coming.”
“But what does it matter if we die trying to reach him?” argued Maffeo.
“I think we should move ahead.” Marco had been silent for the entire conversation until now. Like any male his age, he had been intent on eating but it was obvious he had been listening, too. “The outcome will be the same no matter what we decide. Forging on or waiting for a ship; the journey will still be long and perilous. I say we keep on the move rather than waste time here in Hormos.”
Maffeo shook his head, but it was in good humour. “You truly are your father’s son.”
“So no ship then?” asked Rory. He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or disappointed. He didn’t want to spend years on the road, but he didn’t want to go down to watery grave either.
“You know what my decision will be, brother,” said Niccolò, “and Marco has made his opinion known. Will you join us?” He smiled hopefully at his younger sibling.
Maffeo glanced down at his improvised map. He looked like his was re-living their previous trip. Rory had heard stories from the brothers, embellished of course, about the long road to Cathay. They had made it seem easy before, but now he was getting the hard truth. They were risking their lives just to deliver some signed papers and oil from a lamp.
Reaching out, Maffeo picked up the grape and then he popped it in his mouth. He broke out into a reassuring smile. “I will join you, brother. We survived the journey once. We will do so once again.”
Niccolò pulled his brother into a hug and they slapped each other heartily on the back. Rory looked to Marco and the young man was grinning with anticipation. Caught up in the good spirits, Rory couldn’t help but smile, too. They were probably all idiots, brave, adventurous idiots, but at least they would face the madness together.
Rating: PG
Characters: Rory, with appearances from Barbara
Timeline: set between "The Pandorica Opens" and "The Big Bang"
Summary: London, 1996. Barbara Wright prepares the Pandorica for exhibit at the National Museum. As the work unfolds, she recounts the lengthy history of the stone box and its loyal protector, the Lone Centurion.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. Everything else is me taking liberties with history.
A/N: A huge thank you to my beta
punch_kicker15. This story would still be sitting on my hard drive if it weren't for you.1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49
Hormos, 1272 A.D.
“This is hopeless.”
The breeze coming off the water was a nice change from the soul sapping, dry desert air. Rory was so busy enjoying the refreshing, cool wind on his face that he almost didn’t hear Niccolò. He glanced over at the elder Polo and then back at the busy port in front of them.
Busy didn’t even begin to describe it. Layas had been dull compared to this. There were ships everywhere, loading and unloading, and men shouted in dozens of different languages. Crates, barrels, and bulging sacks were scattered all over the pier and yet it all got to where it needed to go. Sailors and traders milled around the port, waiting for their ships to depart or eagerly heading ashore for much needed R&R. Exotic scents wafted in from the city - cooked meat, spiced wine, fragrant spices - mixing with the more industrial smells of the port.
It was certainly overwhelming, but a welcomed change. The ride from Kerman and then to Hormos had been tense. The entire region seemed to be crawling with bandits and the lifeless deserts had stretched out their journey by more than a few days, putting a serious strain on their remaining supplies. Rory was, well, he wouldn’t say keen, but exchanging the monotony of constant riding for the monotony of constant sailing would do wonders for morale.
“I am sure one of these ships would be large enough to carry the Pandorica,” said Rory, trying to reassure Niccolò.
“You do not know much about sea travel, do you, Centurion?” Niccolò still looked frustrated but Rory’s words seemed to amuse him.
“I have read books,” Rory offered.
The elder Polo slapped him on the shoulder and he finally found a smile. “That knowledge is useless if you do not put it to practical use.” They surveyed the fleet of vessels before them. “If we were merely transporting ourselves and our supplies to Cathay, any of these ships would do fine. It would not be a smooth voyage, but we would arrive more or less alive.”
The “more or less” part got a frown from Rory. He had not grown any fonder of sea travel over the centuries. It was baffling how sailors managed to steer at night without any reference beyond the moon and that wasn’t always visible.
“But when you add the bulk of the Pandorica,” continued Niccolò, “and our haste to reach Cathay as soon as possible, then these ships are worthless. They are stitched together, rather than fastened by iron. They do not use pitch; in a storm we would most certainly flood and then sink. With one mast and one sail, we would not gain much speed.”
Rory could see the ships’ imperfections now that Niccolò had pointed them out to him. They looked like rickety deathtraps as far as he was concerned. “So what are you saying?”
“By land?”
Rory knew they were having a very important conversation right now, but he was distracted by the food laid out on the table. There was roasted meat, piles of cooked vegetables, a plate of fresh fruit, some naan like bread, and other dishes that he didn’t recognize. All of it was thoroughly spiced and just breathing it in was a meal in itself. For the first time in centuries, he wished he could eat.
“We have done it before,” replied Niccolò, answering his brother’s question. Maffeo and Marco had found them cheap accommodations for the night and for once they would be sleeping off the ground on proper beds.
“Yes, but that was ages ago and our circumstances were different. Niccolò, this will add years to our journey.”
Rory’s ears perked up at the mention of “years” and he stopped eying the food. “That long?”
Maffeo nodded his head. “Here.” He began arranging various foodstuffs on the table making an impromptu diorama. “We are here at Hormos.” He spilled some water on the table to represent the gulf. A handful of nuts stood in for the port. “Between Hormos and Cathay are the Pamier mountains.” Torn up pieces of naan bread created the land and a few dates formed the mountains Maffeo spoke of. A hand’s width separated Hormos from the mountains.
“After the mountains is a vast desert, far beyond anything we have encountered.” Maffeo spread out a handful of rice and it reached from the dates to nearly the edge of the naan bread. Rory knew what that section was. The Gobi Desert. “Nothing can survive in that desert. If you use up your water supply, you are dead.”
The meal didn’t look so appetizing now.
“Even after the desert, the journey is not over. Cathay is a large country.” Maffeo dropped a grape at the very edge of the naan bread, marking their final destination. Even in small scale, it looked incredibly far.
“Can we not…” Rory considered the options available to them. “Commission a ship?” The Vatican had numerous resources. It wouldn’t have been difficult for them to send a vessel.
“We cannot afford to the delay,” said Niccolò. “We have been gone from Cathay for far too long. The Khan should not think we are not coming.”
“But what does it matter if we die trying to reach him?” argued Maffeo.
“I think we should move ahead.” Marco had been silent for the entire conversation until now. Like any male his age, he had been intent on eating but it was obvious he had been listening, too. “The outcome will be the same no matter what we decide. Forging on or waiting for a ship; the journey will still be long and perilous. I say we keep on the move rather than waste time here in Hormos.”
Maffeo shook his head, but it was in good humour. “You truly are your father’s son.”
“So no ship then?” asked Rory. He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or disappointed. He didn’t want to spend years on the road, but he didn’t want to go down to watery grave either.
“You know what my decision will be, brother,” said Niccolò, “and Marco has made his opinion known. Will you join us?” He smiled hopefully at his younger sibling.
Maffeo glanced down at his improvised map. He looked like his was re-living their previous trip. Rory had heard stories from the brothers, embellished of course, about the long road to Cathay. They had made it seem easy before, but now he was getting the hard truth. They were risking their lives just to deliver some signed papers and oil from a lamp.
Reaching out, Maffeo picked up the grape and then he popped it in his mouth. He broke out into a reassuring smile. “I will join you, brother. We survived the journey once. We will do so once again.”
Niccolò pulled his brother into a hug and they slapped each other heartily on the back. Rory looked to Marco and the young man was grinning with anticipation. Caught up in the good spirits, Rory couldn’t help but smile, too. They were probably all idiots, brave, adventurous idiots, but at least they would face the madness together.
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Date: 2013-06-01 09:03 pm (UTC)*HUGS*