Dr Who and the True History of Troy

1


A whoop whoop whoop noise suddenly disturbed the star sparkly atmosphere and Leda looked up from her nest of rushes and thistledown on the reedy island on the aquamarine lake, startled, her long elegant neck turned, just so, to reflect light as a white shimmer upon her svelte feathers, her fulsome birdly glory caught in a sunset that made her pure whiteness glow pinkish.

"Oh Mother, will you just take a gander at that!" cried a stunning young woman who sat nearby on a large toadstool. (It was a very large toadstool big enough and strong enough for a fair lady to sit her Greek loveliness upon). "The thing appears to be a big magic box, blue in colour. Could it be the legendary Pandora's Box, do you think?"

"I'm not sure we know whether or not Pandora had a blue box, Helen," Leda replied in all wisdom as she preened her feathers rather nonchalantly. Having been the lover of a god, she was used to strange apparitions. "Pandora's box may have been pink for all we know."

"I hope it's not Theseus come back to rape me again, the egotistical bastard," Helen said, though stoicly, for she was a woman of the ancient Greeks, daughter of a swan and a god, and she accepted rape as the lot of women and young girls as readily as she expected the sun to come up each day, Zeus willing.  

"Oh dear," Leda replied sadly. "I hope this is not going to be the start of yet another grim and tragic Greek tale."

A door in the great blue box opened and what looked like a beautiful red haired woman stepped out. But she wasn't a beautiful red haired woman at all, she was a beautiful red haired Timelord with brilliant breasts.

"Oh dear me, fair red haired lady," said Leda. "Who are you?"

"I am the Doctor, thank you very much."

"Doctor who?"

"That's it. And this is my companion, Petty McCracken."

A handsome chap (looking somewhat like Sean Connery, though Leda and Helen were not to know that) stepped forth. "Excuse me, lovely swan, but - did I just hear you speak?" he asked in some surprise.

"I did," said Leda demurely. "I am from Narnia originally, you see, and only a Greek due to a set of mysterious and unrecorded circumstances."  

"Oh my," Petty gasped as his eyes fell fool upon the beautiful Helen. "You are the most stunningly beautiful woman I ever ever seen. Even slightly more beutiful than the Doctor."

The Doctor smiled. "I've always felt second best, but now as I've seen you, Helen, I am happy to take second place in all the ages."

"Helen?" Helen asked. "How is it you know my fair name?"

"Your beauty is legendary," the Doctor smiled.

"Legendary? Are you then from the future?"  Leda asked.

"I am from the future the present and the past," the Doctor smiled. "And Petty here is from the rocky and rustic back streets of the Scottish Hebrides."

"He looks very handsome," Helen commented, giving Petty a languous look.

Petty blushed. "Some as say I look a bit like Sean Connery, you know."

"I have never heard of him," Helen smiled thoughtfully. "The name sounds noveau Irish. Is of the legendary noveua Irish tribes of the the misty islands across the vastly distant sea channel?"

"I think so - Sean that is," Petty said with some uncertainty, trying to remember if he had heard this idea presented in an earlier episode of Dr Who or not, as some ideas in Who were claimed to be a bit repetitive and depended on the writer.

"So you are Leda the Swan and this is your daughter, Helen," the Doctor mused intelligently. "I thought it was all just a legend."

"Oh hark!" Helen exclaimed. "Who is that paddling across the lake just now?"

"It is I, Alexander - also known as Paris," said the handsome man paddling toward them in a canoe, his accent sounded Trojan, though with a definite Hittite inflection. "And I am here to abduct you, voluptuous Helen."

"But my bemuscled husband Menealus will be rightly aggrieved by that," Helen exclaimed, as her eyes ran up and down - with, admittedly, quite some interest - Paris's sun tanned and well oiled near naked physique.

"Don't fight it, just jump in my canoe, fairest flower of Archaea!"

Helen sighed fatalistically, her majestic perfect breasts heaved stoically, her salubrious black hair hung in lively ringlets, her kimono-like white filigree gown seemed pinkly translucent in the sunset, her perfect feminine body showing white beneath be-pinkened cloth, her eyes gleaming with apprehension... and perhaps a spot of anticipation...

"No!" Petty cried, with perfectly understandable jealousy, and jumped forth to stop them. "I'll see no harm done to your fair body, Icon Lady of All History!"

"I have no choice, it seems, handsome Irish-looking fellow from the Scottish Hebrides. Yet, fear not, pray thee! I'm sure I can bear up to a little bit of harm." Helen was blushing slightly.  

Paris held up a bronze sword, approximately eight feet long - or so Petty estimated  nervously - with which he fended off the bold Scotsman, and in a trice Paris was paddling away with his gorgeous and only slightly reluctant plunder.

"They'll be off to Troy now," Leda said sadly. "Have I not lead a very interesting but hard life full of tragedies, oh woe! .. and now, on top of it all, I'll have to look after poor little Hermione while Helen's gone, as Menelaus is not a very good father, even by ancient Greek standards."

"Why didn't you try to stop him, Doctor?" Petty asked accusingly as he watched Helen swisked away by a man who was slightly more handsome even than himself

"I'm not sure really --- but at least we'll now get a chance to find out what really happened during the Trojan War; I suppose Ol' Anon thinks he has some very intelligent theories about it all."

"Do you think so? Intelligent?" the Doctor poised. 

"After a fashion, I suppose," the Doctor answered, wincing slightly.  


to be continued...




 










 




 



r

(Though Sean Connery? Really?)

This is one of my favorite starts to a Nuwest Who story yet.

This is great! I do miss the old Petty of course, but I suppose the [terrible] accent must have been taxing to write out.
Excellent mixture of literary sources.

Oooh... Ol' non wrote this, then instantly forgot he had no doubt... getting a bit old about the gills methinks.   Mmm... 'Excellent mixture of literary sources" hey?  Never fear, Forest, Ol' Anon will never keep it up. Must prod the old bastard into action p'raps... He likes a good prodding as I've heard.

2

It is said to be a veritable truism that great tale-tellers rarely resort to creating (or re-creating) ridiculous stereotypical characters in a callow attempt to please their readership, but nonetheless equally true that sometimes they do. This is why - apparently - Petty McCracken had a most astonishing mental breakdown as he watched Paris paddling off under the romantic moon of Ancient Greece with the most beautiful feminine fatale ever of all time (Helen that is in case you've forgotten), who was even slightly more beautiful than the current manifestation of The Doctor, a bare amount, but just enough to be noticeable to anyone, especially if they weren't blind. Well, poor Petty in his spontaneous fraught reaction to seeing the tragic (for him) abduction of fair faced Helen fell immediately back to type, and in this case, as should not be unexpected, a full on Forumshiran stereotype of the Wholesome Tales kind.

"Ock tha noo!" he wept plaintively as he sat legs akimbo upon the reedy little island.  "I've soocoomed too mee tribull sterryotripe!

"Sterryotripe?" the Doctor exhaled sadly. "And to think I'd almost come to like you a little. Oh Sweet Jesus, you don't even look like Sean Connery anymore!"

Aghast, Petty peered through narrowed lids into the moonlit mirrormeery water that beset the island in gently undulations set up by the handsome receding rower stroking with big muscled arms. "Ock tha noo! Eye luke lik... Eye luke lik... Eye luke lik..."

"Yes, you look like you - worse luck," the Doctor drawled with some distaste.

Leda sighed. "If the hideous man-thing wishes to return to his former handsome self: yes, I mean you, formerly-handsome man who is now a squat and craggy caricature - Scothobbit was it? - anyhow you can only return to your true image of what you think you should be by rescuing Helen, avoiding sleuthful Paris, and killing the almost invincible Achilles."

Petty bightened. "Yoo meen thee Akkkillees thart haz a bung heel!

"The same."

"So how did you figure all that out, Leda?" the Doctor asked suspiciously. "Sounds like something some second rate - no, third rate! - writer just came up with without hardly any thought at all."

"Perish the thought," Leda said disarmingly, craning her beautiful neck so as to send her neck feathers shimmering scintillatingly in the silvery-grey moonlight and thus hopefully distracting the Doctor from further conversation about the relative merits of a certain writer.

The Doctor shrugged fatalistically. "Come on Petty. Back to the Tardis. We'll see if we can intercept that brawny sunbronzed specimen of humanity before he gets away."

"Oh goodee goodee," Petty cried and pranced about in such a Scotshobbity manner as to loosen his stately trousers and reveal his rather garish mini-kilt.

"And so it begins," the Doctor sighed with barely any hint of joy, in fact, none. "And to think, things had almost becomie faintly literary and I thought there might even be chance all the shallowness and trashy peurileness could be left behind. Faint hope that was!"

Faint hope indeed.

These great sagas - so called - have their own wyth and windle, Petty... though I might be thinking of the Wythywindle, if that at all be the correct spelling.

3

"I'll need to do something, and quick-smart too," the Doctor said as she depressed the portthrusterpad. "As soon as I set the coordinate we'll be on our way -- aah that'll do it!"

The Doctor turned to Petty. "Now Petty, will you kindly look over there a moment."

"You mean over there.... but what...."

"Now bend over..."

"You mean, like this... but why.... Aaaaarrrrrrrghhhhh!"

"Did that hurt, Petty?" she asked demurely.

"It did indeed, Doctor. Why, my ring is positively ringing in agony."

"Strange turn of phrase I must say," the Doctor said, "but at least I'm rid of your stupid accent again. I'll just wipe this sonic screwdriver now, I think," she added primly, getting out a tea towell from the Tardis console. "Ahh yes. Clean as a whistle... Now, retire please and put on some reasonable clothes."  

"Doctor! That really hurt!" Petty grieved, rubbing his exploited part.

"A lot!" he added.

"But you're back to being Sean Connerish again. Surely the pain was worth it. It was worth it for me I can tell you."

"I'm not sure I like the Sean Connery thing all that much - but the ladies seem to like him... Alright. I'll go and get dressed dapper-like."

"Good man," the Doctor congratulated him.

When Peter returned, looking very nice and hardly Scottish at all, he asked: "So you've set the coordinates for ancient Troy, I presume."

"Not at all. While it seemed a good idea at the time, I think it best we leave all that ancient literary legendary stuff alone. Literary stuff isn't really Whoish if you know what I mean. Not Ol' Anon Whoish anyhow. Frankly it's been ages and he can't think of anything he wants to write anyway."  

"But what about my beautiful Helen?'' Petty gasped in immediate broken hearted anguish.

"Please be reasonable. Surely you're better off we me. I am, after all, by an earlier estimation, the Second Most Beautiful Woman in the universe."

"After Clara Oswald you mean?"

"After Helen, you dick. Now, we seem to be materializing.... Yes. Perfect. Perfect parking I might add..."

Petty ran to a portal and his face drained of all colour. "We've parked outside a shoe shop!"



The End....



and a new beginning.

''as some ideas in Who were claimed to be a bit repetitive and depended on the writer''

how true.

Though Ol' Anon does avoid that kind of thing as we know, he not being your typical Who writer.

See Doctor Who and the Wankermen of Shoevius.

I missed this whole thing the first time it happened. glad to have attention brought back to it.