Author's Note: So, apparently, Queen Elizabeth I is in the 50th Anniversary of Doctor Who special "The Day of the Doctor", but I haven't seen it, much less series 7, so I make no mention of it, and thus am completely ignoring it. Sorry, if anyone wanted that.

Version 2: … or Reality

London, England 1599

There was some magic most foul a' brewing in the air; England could sense it. Even among his own kind, the other nations of the world, the ability to sense, produce, or manipulate magic of any kind was incredibly rare to the point of being non-existent, and even though he took more after his father's Germanic roots, he thought that perhaps his spiritual, magic connection was a gift from his mother's Celtic origins. It would certainly explain why he and the rest of his immediate family could see spirits and magical creatures unless it was simply the isles themselves, which was also an appealing notion.

However, in the end, it did not matter how he had come to acquire his abilities so long as he could use them in the service of his monarch, currently his beautiful, fiery red-haired Gloriana, Elizabeth of the Tudor Dynasty, a woman he also had the greatest fortune to call his wife. Ever since the thrice-cursed pope had declared her illegitimate nearly thirty years ago, thwarting assassination attempts of his beloved wife had become quite common place, even though they weren't as numerous these days. It helped to some degree that at least the senior governmental figures realized and accepted that she would neither marry to produce an heir (she was too old now anyway) nor name one, both of which privately pleased him.

England stopped walking for a moment, glanced up at the high roofs, and shrugged. Whyever not? With a nimbleness he was not wont to display that often, he scaled the side of the building to his immediate right and climbed upon the roof to where he could better feel the wind and see nearly all of London spread before him. He closed his eyes and let his sixth sense wander to find the magic that was stirring about in his heart. While doing so, he also let his mind preoccupy itself with more heartwarming thoughts. England never would have guessed, what with being a nation and marriages between nations only serving as a means to an end, but married life suited him. Beyond that, he liked having a stable government for once which he might not have had the luxury to experience had his Bess married a human or named an heir. He chuckled as he fondly remembered how ridiculously possessive he was of his queen when he'd realized he had fallen in love with her. Oh, he'd fought his feelings, knowing how dangerous it was to fall in love with her, but how could he when his peoples' love encouraged his own and she loved him just as much?

Much as he loved his wife, being the dutiful husband, country, and senior member of the queen's secret service that he was, he rather preferred her alive than dead, hence his night prowl tonight. If he were to be perfectly honest with himself, something had felt… not quite right off and on for the past year, but nothing like this. However, if this latest stirring was a plot against her Majesty's life, that had been in the making for a year no less, he would wish that he could damn himself for all Eternity for having done nothing before now. Still though… it was a surprise that whoever these fools were knew anything about magic at all to be able to use it, but he was certain they didn't expect for anyone like him to be able to sense their mischief and put a stop to it. Were it not for his Bess being in potential danger, England rather thought he was going to enjoy himself with giving these hoodlums a right good magic thrashing.

From what he could determine, the source of the magic seemed to be coming from right around the area where that new theatre had been built. The… Globe Theatre, wasn't it? He hadn't really been keeping a close watch on it; Elizabeth didn't particularly fancy the patron arts, and he himself was relatively indifferent to them. There was one name that kept popping up in his mind though, one William Shakespeare. He was apparently garnering quite a bit of popularity; perhaps he should take a look at his work. It wouldn't do to miss out on the life of a possible future celebrated historical figure; it would wound his national pride as a country.

With sincere apologies to those below, England ran across the rooftops in the direction of the Globe Theatre, wondering what he would find there. He was about halfway there when suddenly the strength of the magic he sensed increased drastically and the only thing that kept him from falling to the road below was his last-second grip on the roofing when he stumbled at the sudden explosion in his senses. Growling, England pulled himself back up onto the roof and when he turned to look in the direction of the Globe Theatre, his eyes widened in horror and his jaw dropped. Arising from within the theatre was a huge spiraling column of purplish red smoke and what looked like a thousand cloaked shades following it upwards. England couldn't think as he stared transfixed at the swirling mass. He was no amateur at magic, but this was something the likes of which he'd never seen before in all his life. Whatever was going on there was much bigger than an attempt on Bess's life; this was something that had the power to take on all of London, no, the British Isles, nay, the world without even trying.

England jumped to the next roof and bolted as fast as he could toward the magic, even with his heart throbbing painfully in direct response to this rip of magic energy in London. He didn't know what he was going to do; he had no plan, had no clue what was going on, but he knew he had to do something, so he ran, just ran. He was nearly there and nearly out-of-breath when the column began to spin in tighter loops based on the center of the Theatre where before it had been loose and expanded to the outermost rim, and there were… were those pages being sucked up? The distance made it hard to make out and he frowned in confusion. With the speed changing like that, he couldn't tell if the twister was going to stop or cause some mystic disaster. Keeping an eye on it, he hurried forward, still leaping on the rooftops and he finally landed on the Theatre roof just in time for the twister column to spiral into a tight flash of bright pinkish light and disappear. England had no clue what just happened, but whatever it was, was gone; he couldn't even feel it in his heart anymore. London was safe, Bess was safe, even he was safe! Panting for air, England dragged himself to the roof's rim to look into the bowl and see with his own two eyes that everything was alright. Sure, his heart knew it, literally, but there was just something about confirming it with his eyes that made him feel more comfortable.

The first thing he saw when he looked down was the stage and standing upon it was budding playwright William Shakespeare, two men who looked like actors, another man who looked very strange, especially by actor's standards; they hardly made any money to afford normal clothes, much less strange ones. He had to be a foreigner, but he'd never seen a foreigner dressed like that and what would they be doing on his stage anyway? England scowled at him in distaste. With a stupid fashion sense like that and being the odd one out in his home, that man was probably French; it certainly wouldn't be the first time that frog had brought about something completely stupid for fashion purposes. Well, it would never catch on here, he wouldn't allow it. Yet, even if he was a foreigner, he still looked far too odd. For one thing, he was a grown man and from this distance, he didn't have any whiskers on him, not even a trace of facial hair on his chin or upper lip; was this a new fashion statement too? The only people who managed to not have facial hair if they didn't want it were the other nations like him, but he could always tell who the nations were, and this man was definitely not a nation.

Beyond the strange foreigner, there was also a woman on that stage! Not a man dressed up as a woman, but a real woman! A colored woman even, who was wearing trousers like a man! England couldn't remember that last time he'd felt so scandalized when it had nothing to do with France! And what were these people applauding for?! That magic probably would have killed- Oh wait… England paused in his mental tirade and rubbed his eyes with his fingers; of course, his people wouldn't understand magic even if it was staring them dead in the face. They probably somehow didn't even realize that woman down there was a real woman either. Exhausted, confused, and worn-out, England dragged himself off the roof and headed back toward the palace, to home to inform Elizabeth of what had happened. He didn't expect it to make any more sense to her than it did to him, but at least she'd listen and believe what he was saying. Nobody else would; he wasn't even sure he believed it himself.

"England, you were out rather late tonight; what kept you lurking below?" Elizabeth asked him as soon as he'd finally arrived in the Queen's bedchambers.

England didn't answer right away. Rather, he drew her into his arms and kissed his wife of thirty-three years, not caring about how old she looked or how many small pox scars had marred her once-handsome face, because she was his Bess and he loved her more than anyone, and probably more than any nation ever should.

"A strange phenomenon," he responded at last when they parted and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. "At first, I thought it was merely the work of yet another assassin group who had somehow gotten their hands on a bit of magic, but this was something else… completely unrelated and far worse than anything I've thus encountered. I was too late to actually see what happened or caused it to stop, but Elizabeth…" England paused from his story-telling to stare straight into the Queen's eyes as he spoke his next words, "If that thing hadn't been stopped, I don't think either of us would be around to discuss this right now, and I don't think I could have stopped it myself if I had been in the position to do so." England sighed and lowered his green eyes to stare at his hands which were wringing about each other in anxiety. "This might be… a bit of an odd question, but do you… ever get the feeling that there might be something… big and… dangerous out there that we can't even begin to comprehend?"

She gave a quick snort and he didn't have to look to imagine that she was pursing her lips into a thin line. "Sometimes," she said rather curtly and England wondered at the slight irritation in her tone. Her heavy skirts rustled as she walked over to him and the bed shifted to his right where she sat next to him. She laid a wrinkled hand upon his left knee and said, "So you were not present for the actions performed, but what did you see, my dear nation?"

"It really wasn't much," England said with a wry smile, "But it was all happening over at the Globe Theatre where William Shakespeare was hosting one of his plays, don't know which one, and of course the audience thought the magic was just special effects. I wish I knew what happened, I really do, but I think it had something to do with the two foreigners that were on stage too."

"Foreigners? Now that's unusual," Elizabeth said with a slight frown.

"That's what I thought!" England agreed, "One of them was a colored woman in trousers, the nerve! Women shouldn't ever get on the stage; it's indecent! And the other was a beardless grown man in a strange-looking brown garment that was long like a cloak, but with sleeves like a chemise. Can you imagine?" He turned to look at her and was surprised to see her speechless with what looked like either horror or anger, and he couldn't tell which it was for those two expressions on Elizabeth's face were quite similar. "Elizabeth? Bess, love, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice full of concern for his beloved as he grasped her shoulders.

"Doctor…" she muttered under her breath, seeming not to have heard him at all.

"You need a doctor?" England said, "Alright, I can find one for you." He made to stand up, but the pressure from her hand on his leg increased and she also tightly gripped his arm with her remaining free hand.

"No, I don't need a doctor, England," she said so forcefully and so full of her natural fire, that England believed her. "This is… something else entirely…" Elizabeth was full of thought, trying to work something through and England waited until she raised her eyes to his and declared, "I wish to go down to the Globe Theatre tomorrow as soon as possible in the reasonable morning hours. Perhaps I'll even see one of these plays of William Shakespeare's as well, since his play was at the centerpiece of tonight's chaos."

"Of course, your Majesty," England said duly with a slight inclination of his head, "Is there any particular reason for this sudden artistic venture, my Queen, apart from its relation to tonight's events?"

"If you wish to act subservient to me, then you'll do me the favor of helping to remove the overskirt and the corset from my person," Elizabeth said sharply and England set to work at his wife's orders. "But in response to your question, let's simply leave it that there is… an old friend of mine that I expect had a hand in either propagating or ameliorating tonight's events."

England frowned and stared at the back of Elizabeth's head, but didn't say a word as he continued to work on loosening the corset strings. He didn't like the way she said that; she'd spoken the word 'friend' in the exact same tone that he used when he talked about Spain as a friend (he would have used it about France too if he hadn't known better that the bloody frog would have taken it as both positive and literal just to annoy him, and then he'd never hear the end of it). Whoever this so-called friend of Elizabeth's was, England already knew that he didn't like them.

()()()()()

As usual, England always walked behind Elizabeth when they were in public, so that there was no reason to question his rank, and this time, he was dressed in the uniform that the other two guards accompanying them would be wearing. He didn't like it; it was way too bulky for his liking and the metal helmet always jarred uncomfortably against his head, but he had a part to play, and it was only temporary anyway. It also bothered him greatly how furious Elizabeth was this morning. Oh, she hadn't been obviously angry; she was doing a brilliant job of controlling herself, but he knew her well, and he would bet the Crown Jewels themselves that this 'friend' was the cause of her temper. They finally arrived at the Globe Theatre and a light fanfare announced the Queen's arrival.

Following after her in the bulky armor, England was able to get a good look at the scene before him; William Shakespeare was sitting on a bench with the woman – had he always worn a neck ruff? – and the other foreigner was standing next to them on the left holding what looked like a crystal ball. It was that one that seemed to recognize the importance of the Queen's visit, for his eyes twinkled merrily as he said her name with the same inflection of a child getting to meet Father Christmas, or something.

"Doctor…" Elizabeth said; it was the same title she'd uttered last night. "My sworn enemy…"

England immediately glared at the foreign man upon this declaration. This man was his wife's enemy? How dare he stand there so boldly and utter 'what?' like he had no idea what he'd done to deserve Bess's enmity!

"Off… with his head!"

England was only too willing to comply. He would ask about the whys later at a better time. He chased after them with the other two guards even as he heard Bess encourage them further to 'stop that pernicious doctor'. 'Pernicious'? Oh, there was definitely going to be a nice long discussion between them about what this young foreigner had done to be labeled as such by the Queen of England.

"Stop in the name of the Queen!" he shouted after the two foreign hoodlums as he chased them through the busy streets, and was just barely able to keep them in sight at all times; it helped that they weren't carrying weapons or wearing heavy armor.

They finally stopped in front of a strange, bright blue, wardrobe-sized box and opened the door, the woman getting in first and the doctor turning around to look behind him with a ridiculous smile on his face. That smile only made him growl in fury as he took aim straight at the doctor's chest with his bow and let it soar. The smile quickly disappeared off the man's face and he just managed to get inside and close the door before the arrow struck the wood with a thud and a twang. England swore once, but he wasn't too concerned. They were trapped in the strange blue wardrobe with no way out except the door they'd just entered; they weren't getting away from him.

He strode forward and took a moment to examine the structure. It truly was a strange object; there was a plaque on the door written in a font very similar to that which were used on the printing presses for books, there was glass set into the door like windows (a very bizarre feature for a wardrobe), and above the door, there was a plaque that glowed like a candle trapped behind glass with a foreign word that looked like 'police' written next to a recognizable word, 'box'. As he moved closer though, the wardrobe started making a frightening noise, like that of a banshee's wail and he hastily backed away. That wasn't the only thing it started doing either; a brilliant light flashed above in rhythm with the sound and he could see through it to the other side! That was impossible! England watched dumbfounded as the wardrobe did that for a few seconds before it quite literally vanished into thin air, and the arrow, formerly embedded in the wardrobe's door, dropped uselessly to the ground; the only evidence that there had been anything there at all.

"Impossible!" England exclaimed as he rushed forward and picked up the arrow in dismay. "It was just here; I saw it! You saw it!" he accused the two guards with him before returning back to his predicament, "It couldn't just vanish! This has to be a trick, an illusion. But how-! I don't-! It… I… can't…!" Completely at a loss for words or explanations, England hung his head low and slowly rose to his feet. "Let's return; there's nothing more we can do here."

He brushed past them, ignoring the worried looks of the two guards and made his way back to where Elizabeth was still waiting for them in the Globe Theatre. One look at her, and he dropped his eyes in shame. He'd failed her. England strode up to her and knelt down before her on one knee, keeping his eyes glued to the straw-covered floor. "He got away from us, your Majesty. I beg your forgiveness."

"Rise, Lord Kirkland," Elizabeth spoke his fake human name with a weary sigh, "I am not surprised that he escaped you; he has a way of doing that. Come, we shall return to the palace posthaste."

She did not say it verbally because there were others present, but she had left the words unspoken in her wake that they would discuss this doctor person in private once they were beyond prying eyes and ears.

()()()()()()

"Alright Bess, we're alone now," England said once he'd closed and bolted the door of some noble person's study. "So how do you know that man and what did he do to become your sworn enemy and be labeled as pernicious?"

Elizabeth was no ripe young maiden; hadn't been when he'd married her and hadn't been for many a year now, but the way she settled in the chair behind the table and seemed to sink into it when she relaxed… the light from the nearby window casting shadows over her wrinkled face and her once-fiery red hair dulled to a very pale ginger with time… her eyes, always so full of passion and life, gazing upon him with such weariness and fatigue… it was the first time that he had ever seen her and thought that she looked old, and it both scared and disturbed him. How many more years would he have left with her? He dropped to his knees in front of her and grasped her hand with both of his.

"Elizabeth… come back to me, love," he whispered softly. Her eyes drifted lazily down to meet his own and she smiled lovingly down at him. He couldn't help but return the gesture.

"That man is called the Doctor. It might be a title, but he uses it like a name and he was never called anything else. I was young when I met him, back when my sickly little half-brother, Edward, was still alive and shortly after Thomas Seymour's beheading."

England had to smile a little then. The execution of Thomas Seymour had been a happy day for him. He might not have been in love with Elizabeth back then, but she was still a young lady that was part of the royal bloodline, and he despised seeing his children harassed.

"He came into my life around that point and one thing lead to another and I ended up marrying him."

"WHAT?!" England spluttered. He knew she hadn't been a virgin when he married her, but he'd always thought Seymour had…

"There's no record of the marriage anywhere, and we weren't married for very long before he was gone. This may seem less ludicrous to you than others, England, but he is not a human. Up there in the evening sky, we see many stars, and some of them are planets; the Doctor is from a planet like Earth, but he told me once that even if his planet was still around, we would not be able to see it from our skies. He travels in a blue, wardrobe-like box that he called the TARDIS and he can also travel to different times. Seeing him today… he doesn't look to have aged a day since I last saw him. Actually…" her eyes narrowed into a scowl, "he might have looked younger than when I first met him, that wretched man. But indeed, he was gone for so long that I knew he wasn't coming back, so I annulled the marriage myself while I was under house arrest in Woodstock during Mary's reign. After all this time, I never thought he would dare show his face again in my lifetime…"

Her teeth were bared and her eyes were brimming with angry tears. England's heart wrenched for his beloved Queen and he silently stood up from his place on the floor at her feet to pull her into his arms and embrace and support his betrayed, grief-stricken wife. Seymour had not been kind to Bess, but this off-worlder, this Doctor, had pulled her back on her feet after the Seymour scandal and given her a reason to trust in men again only to pull the rug out from under her and break her very human heart without a second thought. Seymour was bad, but the Doctor was worse and England vowed as he tightened his arms around his Bess, that he would never forgive the Doctor for hurting the woman he loved and he'd hate him forever until he finally reached the end of his days. And when you're a nation who's lived through approximately eleven centuries, 'forever' was a very long time indeed.

Heh-heh, yeah, I don't think Britain would like the Doctor in either version. It was really strange having to write "England" all the time though; Britain is so much easier, but the United Kingdom of Great Britain didn't exist yet, not even unofficially. Man, I actually had to look up if anybody knew about any planets in 1599. Turns out the answer is 'yes', but not all of the ones we know now, because Galileo was still doing his work around this time. Geez, working with Hetalian history really forces you to get a full perspective on what was new and recently-discovered at the time, but I like that. I like that it actually makes me think about things like that. :)