Chapter Two

"You've got the wrong Helios. She's mine."

It was all he could do to ignore the shocked expression on Rose's face, his blue eyes cold and fixed on the baffled Priest, every line in the old man's face creasing as he shifted uncomfortably from behind his pulpit under the weight of the Timelord's icy stare.

"You disgrace Helia with this... This boy." He was growling, spitting out the words as if they were poison.

"She has been given!"

"She's not yours to give." The Doctor answered in a tight voice, his hands fisting at his sides.

"The ritual has begun. She has been given." The elderly Priest insisted hotly, gesturing wildly in the direction of the great bowl of paint that was balanced in the arms of a small girl, the youngest of the women serving as maids to the Temple that loomed in the distance. "What has been given cannot be taken back! She must pay Tribute, or bring death and destruction upon us all. The Gods will have her, one way or another."

The joyous cries of the crowd had become a cacophony of anger and fear as they watched from below, many of the couples still thrusting their ribbon-bound hands into the air as they chanted and prayed and demanded Tribute. Spears seemed to come from nowhere, closing in around the dais and gleaming in the light of the two suns, too dangerous and too many to push through, a wall that would protect them against the rising chaos while at the same time tightening the noose the Doctor could feel cinched and chafing around his neck, and by the looks of things, was becoming increasingly uncomfortable for the members of the Clergy as well. The Priest swung his gaze from the Doctor, to the crowd, and then to Rose, his long fingers steepled, large hands quaking with the effects of old age as his eyes rolled back, his lips moving in a soundless, desperate prayer.

"He hasn't been." The Doctor replied calmly, nodding in the direction of the un-dressed boy that stood frozen and semi-erect and so very close to Rose, his copper toned skin rich and glossy but completely untouched by the golden paint that marked his companion as a gift to the Gods. "It should be me standing there, not him. Me. It ain't proper, giving her away when she belongs to another." He wasn't breathing, could not breathe, even as he forced the words that would sway this entire debacle in his favour. "Would you give the sun to the moon, your Worship? How much do you think your Gods would like that, hm?"

He could not look at her, did not dare to even glance in her direction. With a spear pressed between his shoulder blades and the murmur of the crowds becoming almost deafening in his ears, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. There was no way out of this, none that he could see anyway, and so far as he could remember from what he knew about the doomed culture of Alexandria, there had never been a failed Tribute in their recorded history. In the early days of their cultural development there might have been a hesitant participant every now and again, but he or she usually relented and had gone along with the ceremony to avoid the alternative; those that refused the duties of their christening were offered to the God's as Blood Tribute before another would be named and christened and given in their predecessor's stead. Boys and girls, men and women, hundreds had been given in the name of the Gods without deviation or interruption. With the TARDIS much too far away and any chance of escape dwindling with each and every guard and spear that came to surround the dais, he could see no alternative. She had been given, and he could not spare her that.

However, he had really made a presumptuous, territorial arse of himself in claiming her absolutely, publicly, and without her permission. Their relationship had never been like that, and while he had found himself frustratingly and increasingly preoccupied by her, he could not speak to the extent of her feelings and doubted very much anyway that she could feel much beyond friendship for a daft, old alien who looked old enough to be her father. Her friendship, her trust, that had been more than he could ever have asked for and was certainly more than he deserved, but here he was now, declaring that she belonged to him as if that were the most natural thing in the world. The boy they had selected as Tribute was nice enough, beautiful in an exotic way, pretty and perhaps a few years younger than her, but someone he was sure Rose would fancy herself in different circumstances. That boy was a fair alternative to his own big ears and pale, razor-knicked old face. He had reacted without thinking and found himself claiming her as if he had the right and he was not sure there was any going back now, no way to change his mind after the spectacle he had made out of the both of them.

No, he did not dare to look at her, not now and perhaps never again after this. If she looked disappointed, if she looked disgusted by the idea of it - by the idea of him - he was not sure he could survive it.

The chanting of the crowd softened, becoming the same joyous and encouraging cheers from before, all the fear and anger gone away and replaced by the thrill of these two strange and foreign lovers being brought together by the grace of the Gods they sought to honour with this ceremony. He could barely hear it though, the sound of all those voices raised in song seeming far away from him as he stared directly into the eyes of the Priest, much to the confusion and discomfort of the guards and surrounding Clergy. A few minutes dragged by, Rose called out to him, and the Priest held up one thin hand to signal his release.

"Then come to her, and be given freely."

Just like that the spears that had been holding him back were retracted and he nearly stumbled as he scrambled up the few remaining stairs and across the platform as the bewildered boy at her side was helped back into his wrapped clothing and guided off the platform. A pointed look from the Priest signalled that it was time to resume the ceremony and a pair of women came to him in reverent silence to lead him across the stage with gentle pressure on the backs of his arms until he stood shoulder to shoulder with Rose, their long-fingered hands reaching to gingerly tug at the collar of his jacket until he shrugged it back over his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground heavily around his feet, the sound of the leather crumpling at his heels drowned out completely by the roar of the crowds.

"What are you doing?" Hissed Rose, her eyes wide and wild as he continued to let himself be stripped. "This is part of the plan, yeah?"

There was faith in her voice, faith in him, and he cringed at the sound of it.

It took everything he had to meet her gaze, his mouth set in a grim line, shaking his head from side to side ever so slightly so that only she would see. There was no plan, no plan other than this. Coward that he was, he could not look at her for long, could not bear to see her look of disbelief crumple into one of panic, fear, or rage. Instead, he dropped his gaze to the swell of her bosom and swallowed against the dryness of his mouth when he saw the hint of pink behind her forearm, the faint blush of an areola not quite hidden behind the arm she had pressed protectively over her breasts. He had felt such panic and rage when the ritual had first begun that he had not been able to see anything other than her wide, disbelieving eyes, and he had been running before he had the chance to even catch a glimpse of her.

And now, with her arms so tightly wrapped around herself, knees tucked to try hold together the delicate material that hung loosely around her hips, he found that he had to remind himself to breathe. As the two women that had been working at undressing her hesitantly came forward once again, whispering encouraging words and pleas for her to stand up to be stripped of her clothing, he wanted nothing more than to pull her into the protective circle of his arms and shield her from the reality he had landed them in. A glance in the direction of the Priest, who was now standing alongside an armed soldier, sent chills down the length of his spine, knowing what would happen if she remained uncooperative for too much longer.

"Rose."

He said her name softly, not unkindly, and just as he knew she would she had tilted her chin just far enough to gaze up at him, her trust in him automatic and unshaken, or so he hoped. He kept his gaze level with hers as one of the women tending to him tugged his shirt up to the level of his waist, waiting for him to crouch just a bit so that she could tug it over his head and arms, leaving him bare-chested and more naked than Rose had ever seen him. Ignoring the other young woman that had come around the curiously fumble with his belt buckle, he extended one hand towards her and gave her a small, encouraging nod. He held her gaze for what felt like an eternity, his fingers aching as he stretched himself as far as he could towards her until finally she reached out far enough that the tips of her fingers skimmed over of his, her expression reading of confusion and hope and faith in him as she was helped to her feet.

The two women that had been working to prepare her for the ceremony stood just behind her, silent and uncertain, until the Priest gestured towards their charge with a certain finality that indicated that they had best finish preparing their Helia with haste. Before Rose could react to the two pairs of hands that were now hovering above her hips he twisted his fingers between hers and squeezed softly, hoping the familiar ritual would be enough to ground her.

"Just look at me, Rose. Me and no one else."

She could just barely reach, but she clung to his hand so tightly that he could feel the slight hitch in her breath when she felt their hands on her, their red-copper fingers seeking the loose ends of the material she had been trying to keep wound over her hips and thighs. He could feel the tension in her as the time consuming process of unwinding the sheer material began again, but to her credit she did not flinch. With her attention fixed solely on him, her lips pressed tightly together, she seemed to lose herself in the stormy depths of his eyes, her lashes fluttering a bit at the musical sound of the last few layers of material falling away from her hips and thighs, each of the bells tinkling beautifully as she was completely unwrapped and exposed, much to the delight of the onlooking crowd.

He had hardly noticed the feeling of his belt being pulled clumsily through belt loops before the button and zip at the front of his trousers was undone, his attention fixed on the flushed face of his young companion in an effort not to let his gaze wander too far below the bare curve of her shoulders. Even with his eyes fixed on hers, his peripheral vision allowed him a much broader view than her human eyes would allow her of him, and it took every ounce of discipline he had in him not to explore her further. He had seen the way the last of the ringing material had slipped in a loop around the curve of her hips, and the way the bells had popped one by one from between her thighs as she had relaxed her legs to rise from where she had been crouched beside him. When it was his turn to be stripped completely the rustle of the denim being pulled down the length of his legs had distracted Rose long enough that she had seen two pairs of long, dark fingers curling under the elastic waistband of his pants before she had shut her eyes tightly, teeth pressing into her bottom lip as her face reddened, her fingers tightening around his.

He stepped out of his trousers and pants without taking his eyes off of her, his boots and socks coming next, earning another loud cheer from the crowds circling the dais. Completely unconcerned with how very naked he was, he had kept his attention on Rose, squeezing her fingers whenever she squeezed his, both amazed and ashamed that she could even stand the feeling of his calloused skin against hers. She was clinging to him as best she could, her one hand firmly wrapped around his while her other arm protected the swell of her breasts, her eyes still closed as the familiar chanting began, earning the smallest of whimpers from her as the three women returned with the bowl of paint between them, looking hesitant as their fingers skimmed the golden surface.

"Just keep your eyes closed, Rose." He said softly, giving her hand a squeeze just as one young woman reached to reinforce the golden line of paint that was drawn down the length of her spine, sending shivers through her as she clutched his hand even tighter than before. He held her hand for as long as he was able, squeezing her fingers and massaging the back of her hand with his thumb until he was forced to release her so that the women working on him could go about painting him under the watchful gaze of the old Priest while the Clergy surrounding them began to chant in unison.

It was just as well, as the young girl that had been charged with painting Rose had finished with her back and had come around to begin working on her front and he had no choice but to look elsewhere. He had turned his gaze away from her just in time to see Rose reluctantly lower her arm from her breasts, giving him a brief view of two small, pinkened nipples centred on the two perfect, milky globes she had been ineffectually hiding behind her forearm before he turned his back to her. He turned to face forward just in time to watch as the old Priest came forward and threw his arms wide, christening him Helios while he was being painted, making it quite clear that there would be no backing out for either of them now.

He watched quietly as one of the women dipped their hands into the large bowl of golden ink, scrutinizing every naked inch of him thoughtfully, before the two of them came forward with the large bowl being held just within reach. With their fingers they drew fantastic patterns over his chest, tracing the hard lines of his pectoral and abdominal muscles, his diaphragm, the slope of his thin abdomen before continuing down over his hips and legs. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched for as long as he dared as the trio of women circled Rose appraisingly, speaking in soft, soothing voices as they encouraged her to hold out one arm, or spread her legs. As the hand of the youngest girl slipped between her thighs, his gaze was torn away from her parted lips as she inhaled sharply, his two hearts beating erratically in his chest.

He was a much more cooperative participant, raising up his arms and spreading his legs and fingers whenever he was asked to, his cool eyes scanning the growing crowds for any potential route of escape while his skin prickled at the feeling of the paint being drawn along the sinews of his biceps and forearms, down the length of his spine, drawing out the curve of every corded muscle between his inner and outer thigh, sparingly marking his face, and daringly traced around the base of his shaft. He was not at all squeamish in the face of the crowds filling the plaza, but the thought of a very naked Rose standing less than a meter away from him had rendered his mouth dry and brightened his complexion just slightly. Looking down at himself, all hard lines, scars, and rough angles, he groaned inwardly at the thought of how much nicer it would have been for her if he had let the young Adonis play his part in this whole charade, his skin seeming soft, gleaming and unmarred, ruby satin as opposed to the worn leather of the interfering Doctor's. An attractive boy with clean and gentle fingers, wouldn't that have been preferable when compared to the calloused, blood-stained hands he had to offer?

While pondering this, the sound of ringing bells and Rose's shallow breathing caught his attention but he was steered away from his companion before he could look around. More smiles as the busy hands of the Temple maids went back to the work of preparing him, the younger one standing off to the side with her arms full of dark fabric, the bowl having been taken from her and set aside once the painting had been finished. Lifting his arms up, he watched as the delicately folded pile began to unravel as the two older women circled around him, ducking under his arms as they twisted the material over and around his hips, clothing him from the waist down in the wrappings that Rose had loved so much, although the intricate weaving came no higher than his navel. When they were finished he looked down at himself with raised eyebrows, the many layers granting him a bit of dignity as the navy blue material - a bit simple, but the best that could be done on such short notice, he supposed - became rather opaque with each complimenting layer. Strangely, painted up like a canvas and dressed in such delicate material, he felt more naked than before.

The Priest was talking again, but his attention had been fixed on Rose as soon as he'd been permitted to turn around; given the distance in her eyes he doubted she was hearing one word of the melodic speech, but that was probably for the best considering what was being described as their imminent joining. Her hands were pressed between her breasts, clutching at the bell-tassled material she had been dressed in for the celebration as tightly as a child might cling to a security blanket, and his heart ached at the thought of how very young she was. Golden streams and starbursts decorated her arms and shoulders before dipping and hiding beneath the clinging material they had wrapped her in once again, and he shuddered at the mix of relief and disappointment that brought colour to his cheeks and speed to his pounding hearts, and not for the first time that day he felt disgusted with himself.

More words, more chanting, more torches, and he found himself staring out wordlessly at the sea of cheering people in the hopes of finding some previously overlooked hole in their defences, just wide enough for him to pull Rose through before they made a mad dash for the TARDIS.

He could almost see it, her hand tightly held in his as her beautiful legs propelled her forward, nearly matching his speed if he let her, while yards of the pink material she had been so expertly wrapped in unwound and trailed behind her in long, brilliant streamers. The intricate wrapping would be all but undone, hanging in tempting loops from her curves to show off so much flawless pale skin, clinging and barely intact by the time they had reached the TARDIS. He'd reluctantly drape his heavy jacket over her shoulders if he had managed to grab it before their escape, and she would smile a beautiful smile as the weight of relief brought her to her knees, adrenaline sending shivers through her small frame as she relaxed against the door. How many times had it come to that? They had been in some truly sticky spots more than once, and before he knew he for certain that he would be able to save her he often wondered if that would be the day that she would decide that she had finally had enough of this life, if it would all become too much for her at long last and she would ask him to take her home; it never was, not so far, and she had never looked at him with any doubt of whether or not she thought she belonged with him once they were safe in his wonderful blue box, but that had been in the wake of him doing something impressive and saving her, or her saving him, and she would be comforted in knowing that she and her Doctor had managed to keep things from spinning completely out of control. So far as he could see, his blue eyes squinting as the light from the late afternoon suns flashed off countless blades, there simply was no way out this time and the sinking feeling in his gut made him doubt the outcome would be the same.

So lost in thought he was, he had not even noticing the weight of one trembling hand on his shoulder until he saw the same quaking digits descend carefully to hold a trembling Rose in place. The roar of the crowd came back to him just in time for him to hear the sudden and abrupt silence that followed it, filling his ears with only the sound of her breathing. Quietly, torches were being carried off the dais to be set up behind the large screen, the shadows of so many Temple maids flaring in dark shapes across the stretch of fabric as they set up a primitive sort of projector; if he had not been so angry and nervous and full of fear, if Rose had been safe at his side and they were standing together as onlookers in the crowd, he'd have told her it simply ingenious, and fantastic - technology far beyond it's time. Brilliant, the Alexandrians were. She would smile and agree with him before he would usher her back to the TARDIS before the ceremony became too graphic and all would be well.

"...So it has been from the very beginning, we gather in the wake of the last winter moon to give ourselves over gladly unto the mercy of the Gods! We raise our voices together to worship in the light of each sun and celebrate the reunion of the Lovers, who have yearned for each other for so long. Gladly given, -" The Doctor snorted at that, earning the briefest smile from his companion and a few glares from the surrounding Clergy "- We offer Tribute in honour of their consummation!"

The hands of the Priest slipped down from their shoulders to seek out the hands of the Doctor and Rose, thin fingers squeezing tightly as he murmured a chant under his breath that the crowd already knew to follow. A sea of purple-black rippled and shone as every head was bowed in prayer, a hushed murmur echoing throughout the pavilion for a short time before the first pair of ribbon-bound hands rose into the air, and then another, and another, until each and every couple - some very old, and some very young - offered up their love in earnest. Carefully, Rose's hand was placed in his, and he curled his fingers around hers without prompting and let himself be turned towards her as she was guided gently towards him. Those eyes, brown and gold and wide and trusting, he could lose himself in those eyes. There was a song on Earth about brown-eyed girls, and he wondered absently if Rose had ever heard it. She was watching him, all of that distance he had seen in her face earlier seeming to crack and break and shatter as she tilted her head back to stare up at him, her brow knitted as she looked him over, alarmingly seeming to be looking through him, her dark eyes fixed on the icy blue of his, searching for something he was sure he did not have.

"In honour of Helios and Helia, this man and this woman have come together, and in their joining Alexandria will know true peace and prosperity. He is hers, and she is his, as it was always meant to be."

It was wrong, it had all gone wrong, but he clutched her hand tightly the moment his eyes found hers and swallowed against the lump in his throat. She was beautiful, his Rose, and he was so ashamed. Standing opposite her now, her hand so small and warm against his own, his knees felt weak under the weight of just how unworthy he felt. She was everything that was good and kind and soft and warm and right in the Universe, and he was everything she was not.

The cheers of the crowd had become deafening and he could feel the thrum of her heart picking up speed as she sucked in a deep breath and tightened her grip, knowing somehow that this is where everything would change for them.

Golden cords cracked and snapped in flux as the they thrashed unseen above them, merging and diverging and converging in a web of so many possible futures that had been created in the wake of those two words that had changed everything: she's mine. Too many to count, far too many and not enough time - never enough time - for him to search and examine to seek the safest path. He had done nothing to deserve her, and in fact he had done everything there was to do to cement that fact that he could never deserve her, and yet here she was, all pink and yellow and brave and trusting.

What happened next would serve as one more nail in the coffin that awaited him somewhere out there in time and space, reinforcing his inevitable damnation, and as much as he hated himself for it, he squeezed her fingers one more time and shivered at the feeling of just how right it felt to have her hand in his.

A/N: Oh, I am so glad to have finished this chapter and apologize for the wait! So much has been going on in my personal life and it has really made it hard to take the time and sit down and write. I want to thank each and every one of you for the reviews and messages I received regarding this story, it really does bring me such joy and I feel so inspired every day, it really is a wonderful thing to wake up to.

The next chapter will probably be the last, and I hope it will be everything you want it to be. As always, if you have suggestions I would love to hear them. I will do my best to have it published soon.

For now, I hope you enjoy this chapter and look forward to hearing your thoughts. Please, please leave me a review if you are enjoying this story so far. It means so much to me.

Cheers. TBW.