𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧
𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧
𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝟐𝟏, 𝟏𝟖𝟐𝟏

from the eyes of
— 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐉𝐀𝐃𝐄 —

"And a diamond necklace to finish off your beauty for the night..." I smiled while clasping the final touch to Amelia Pond in place.

She was stunning. I helped her twist her hair into a fancy and tall updo. We chose to keep her makeup light, which helped enunciate her natural prettiness and not make her already pale skin ghostly.

Once again, her brown eyes burned brighter than fire, and the ocean-blue dress she had chosen was gorgeous against her red hair. Random jewelry of high expense shackled her wrists, a grand diamond necklace encasing her neck. Her updo helped in showing off the necklace.

She was breathtaking.

I leaned against her, bent over as I held her shoulders. She was sitting in front of a large vanity, both of us staring into the mirror.

My attention flickered to my own reflection. I did not do nearly as much as Amy—I did not feel like it, it was more fun assisting Amy in dressing up. I had been to so many extravagant events that I'd long since lost count.

I did not change my hair, keeping it in the tight ringlets from earlier that were half-clipped back with that glittery clip.

More makeup had been added to my face, long dark lashes, and sharp eyeliner that made the blue of my eyes nearly glow.

I was also able to get away with contour on my face considering the natural tan blended with it well.

A simple oval locket was the only piece of jewelry to be found on my body—a long necklace that fell just above my breasts. The dress has changed as well.

Rather than the pretty baby blue from early; a nicer short-sleeved ballgown of purples and greens encased my being. The damn corset was still just as tight, perhaps even tighter to my horror. Amy was painstakingly good at tying a corset.

Funnily enough, I had changed my shoes. The ballgown swept over my feet concealing the entire length of my leg. No one would see or notice the Chucks hiding underneath.

"Let's go," Amy finally smiled excitedly, both of us walking from the costume room arm-in-arm.

When we got to the console room, the Doctor was wearing mostly the same clothing as earlier. Although, he seemed to have switched his tailcoat out for a longer and nicer looking one, a darker and even taller top hat adorning his head.

His bowtie was white, a stark contrast to his dark tailcoat and hat.

The Doctor's reaction to us was similar to earlier. Compliments toward both of us fell from his lips, and I purposely overlooked the extra time he seemed to spend eyeing and flattering me.

I even smacked his hand away when he attempted to stroke my face out of affection. He had only pouted in response but said nothing further as we all left the TARDIS.

This dude was stupidly touchy and affectionate. Typically, I would not care, but sometimes I suspected that there was a deeper meaning behind his actions toward me than there was when he acted in such a manner toward others.

Amy wasted no time in linking her arm with the Doctor's, leaning against him as he left the TARDIS and followed many other well-looking people through the streets and toward a large castle-looking home that sat on a hill.

I was more than grateful to have worn Converse underneath the dress. Amy was a trooper, as despite the clear pain she was in with her shoes, she did not complain and trudged onward.

The Doctor had reached back, looping his other free arm with mine. I rolled my eyes but allowed him to do so.

A few other men stared at the Doctor with jealousy as we passed by. It was very apparent what the three of us looked like in this situation. People were no doubt jealous of the Doctor having two beautiful ladies accompany him—one being his wife and the other a mistress. Not really, of course, but no one knew the difference.

The castle loomed closer with every step, its massive stone towers bathed in the golden glow of countless lanterns. Light spilled through grand arched windows, illuminating intricate carvings that adorned the exterior walls. Even I had to admit the structure was breathtaking.

Amy let out a low whistle. "I feel like we're walking straight into a fairytale."

"Not just any fairytale," The Doctor chimed, his voice tinged with admiration. "This might just be the most stunning home I've seen in London during the Victorian age." He tilted his head, observing the crowd around them. "Though, it's strange..."

"What's strange?" I asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Everyone here," He replied, gesturing subtly to the people moving past them, "is as polished as the castle itself. Perfectly coiffed hair, clothes that could rival royalty... even their jewelry looks like it was plucked straight from a treasury. Something about it feels... curated."

Amy, still linked to the Doctor's arm, smirked. "Maybe they're just rich and fabulous, like us tonight."

The Doctor shot her a look. "Fabulous is one thing, Pond. This is... excessive."

As we reached the grand threshold, two servants in tailored black uniforms with golden accents nodded as they opened the immense wooden doors. A wave of soft light spilled onto us, along with the sounds of an orchestra playing a waltz.

Inside was somehow more dazzling than the exterior.

The grand hall stretched impossibly wide, with towering ceilings adorned in painted murals of celestial skies. Crystal chandeliers hung like frozen waterfalls, their light casting dazzling patterns across the polished marble floors. Silken draperies in hues of gold and cream framed tall windows, and every table along the edges of the room was laden with gleaming silverware and arrangements of exotic flowers.

Even a few women danced in hanging golden silks high above, entertaining the crowd. A small orchestra was near the front, all playing various instruments that came together in beautiful classical music.

The guests, too, were a sight to behold. Their gowns and suits gleamed in the light, silks, and velvets in every color imaginable.

Amy spun around in awe. "Alright, I take it back—this is the fairytale."

"Indeed," The Doctor murmured, though his tone carried an edge of wariness. "Stay on the lookout, girls." He ended in a warning causing Amy to tilt her head curiously at him.

I agreed with the Doctor. This was much too perfect a place for anywhere in the Victorian ages.

A portly man in a deep burgundy coat and a matching cravat approached, a wide smile on his face. "Ah, more of Lord and Lady Ashworth's guests! Hello!" He exclaimed, bowing slightly. "And who might I have the pleasure of speaking to?"

"I am the Doctor," The Doctor shook hands with the man whose brows rose into his hairline.

"Why—a Doctor, you say? Doctor Who?"

I snorted under my breath. "Question of the century, isn't it?"

The Doctor having heard me say that, shot me a look from over his shoulder. "Just the Doctor will do," He smiled, speaking again before the man could question it further. "And this Amelia and... Elenora!" He suddenly blurted, giving me a sheepish look.

I suppose it made sense; during this time, PJ was an even odder name than the Doctor. Especially seeing as I was a woman and it was quite sexist during the 1800s.

I raised a brow, but before I could comment, the man spoke, "Such a pleasure to meet you. I hear the Lord is eager for his son to find a partner tonight. They will need another heir soon, after all. Perhaps one of you ladies will catch his eye?"

"Oh, I doubt that," Amy said quickly, laughing nervously. "We're just here for the festivities."

"And the unveiling of the artifact," The Doctor said before adding a protective. "Not to mention both of these ladies are taken, I'm afraid..."

The man's eyes twinkled in understanding. "Ah, I see, my mistake! But, yes. Quite the talk of the season. Rumor has it the relic holds untold secrets—its discovery is why this ball is as grand as it is. The Ashworths are sparing no expense."

As the man moved off to greet other guests, a tall, sharp-featured gentleman approached, his eyes lingering on me a little too long. I gave him a deadpan look back.

"Is this one your mistress or wife?" Was his greeting to us, his attention on the Doctor, smirking as he motioned to me.

The Doctor tensed slightly, though he kept his tone light. "Yes, this is my Elenora," He said, gesturing toward me. Amy nudged him harshly and he groaned before saying. "My mistress..." Through clenched teeth.

The man chuckled. "Well, if you ever tire of her company, I'd gladly take her off your hands. Name your price."

I imagined this man might look nice with a boot shoved up his ass.

Before I could retort, the Doctor stepped forward, his smile stiffening. "She's not for sale," He said sharply. "And I assure you, I won't ever let her go."

The man's expression faltered under the weight of the Doctor's words. He mumbled an apology and disappeared into the crowd.

I crossed my arms, narrowing my eyes at the Doctor. "Not for sale, huh?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly flustered. "Well, you're not! That would be... barbaric."

Amy snorted. "This just gets better and better."

"Let's focus, shall we?" The Doctor said quickly, steering us further into the room.

As we moved through the sea of silks and diamonds, more guests approached, their commentary revolving around the Ashworth family.

"It's said the son has refused all suitors thus far," One woman whispered to Amy, her gloved hand resting conspiratorially on her arm. "Every young and single girl here is hoping to catch his eye!"

Another guest, a stout older man with an elaborate monocle, murmured to the Doctor, "Some say the artifact might even be... otherworldly. Can you believe such a thing? An artifact from a different country!"

Yes sir, yes I most certainly can.

I exchanged a glance with the Doctor at that, his curiosity clearly piqued.

Though in our minds, when we heard 'otherworldly', we thought of places for beyond other countries.

As we stood near the edge of the ballroom, the music shifted to a lively tune. Amy nudged me with a grin. "Think they'll have us dance?"

"Probably," I nodded, earning an excited squeal from her.

"Good, now those ballroom lessons that me and Rory took in secondary won't go to waste..." She said with a bright smile, talking more to herself.

"Who's Rory?" I questioned, only halfway paying attention.

My gaze had drifted to the far end of the room, where a grand staircase descended into the hall. Just before it stood a towering display covered in a crimson cloth caught my attention.

The artifact.

"Hmm?" She turned back to me before waving it off. "Oh, never mind I said anything...!"

I shrugged it off.

The Doctor was only a few feet away from us, speaking to a couple. He looked dreadfully bored, his own gaze scoping the place out as he barely paid attention to the two in front of him. Finally, his eyes landed on me.

I mockingly waved to him, the Doctor puffing in boredom, his eyes begging me to come rescue him.

Leaning over, I whispered in Amy's ear.

"I believe your husband needs some help..." I told her, subtly pointing in the Doctor's direction.

She turned her attention to him, eyes lighting up while she nodded and scurried over to help him. The Doctor's shoulders slumped, but he seemed happy enough when Amy joined the conversation—the Scottish girl no doubt doing something to make it more interesting.

We held eye contact for a moment more, both of us sharing a small smile just as I turned away and ghosted through the crowd of people.

It was about time for a drink.

If there was anything good about this age—it was the drinks. Strong enough to make you feel something after just a few sips, but not so strong that a single glass might kill you from alcohol poisoning as was the case in the Middle Ages.

As soon as I set my sight on the area where various glasses of bubbly alcoholic beverages were being handed out, everyone's attention was pulled to the top of the staircase where a man in regal worker clothing blew a long trumpet.

I was forced to stop in my steps, stuck in the midst of a crowd of people in fancy clothing, all of us staring up at the staircase. The Doctor and Amy were now out of my line of vision; in fact, I could not spot them no matter which direction I looked.

All that met my sight was a sea of colors made out of various silks.

"And now, might I introduce the most esteemed throwers of this ball—Mr. and Mrs. Ashworth!"

He stepped to the side revealing two people, maybe in their 30s or so, dressed in golden clothing. A man and woman.

They both had hair just as golden as their clothing.

Mrs. Ashworth was a woman who reminded me of Marilyn Monroe in her looks, other than her hair was much longer than Marilyn's had ever been. Golden hair fell down her back in long and thick waves, her figure an hourglass with perfectly plump lips and a beauty mark stamped above the right corner of her mouth.

Her dress was that of the typical ballgown, a sweeping glittering gold with a tight corset that cinched her waist impossibly inward. Like honestly—did that woman not have any ribs?

She smiled a smile that was nearly impossible for someone to have during this period.

Dental health was something hard to achieve in the 1800s. People who were wealthier were able to stop their teeth from rotting and their breath from completely stinking, but they were not able to straighten their teeth or whiten them.

Such technology did not exist yet.

However, Mrs. Ashworth had a gleaming white and straight smile, something that should be impossible.

Her husband was much the same in his smile, his hair fluffy and long, held back in a ponytail. A typical style for people during this time.

He was much like his wife in his beauty, his hair the same golden blonde as hers and his suit equally as ethereal. A long tailcoat that glittered, a waistcoat of bright fabrics, trousers, and shoes of equal color, and a solid golden cane that he held in his grasp. In the arm that was not linked with Mrs. Ashworth.

Gold, gold, gold... all glitter and gold.

Perfection marked them.

Their eyes were a near identical cerulean blue: pale and icy. A very rare color of blue for one's eyes to be.

It was impossible to look away from them, they were glorious, so gloriously perfect and beautiful.

Everyone was in awe as Mr. Ashworth released his arm from his wife's and stepped forward, his arms held up as he dramatically addressed the crowd.

The sound of Mr. Ashworth's voice echoed through the hall, commanding every eye and ear to focus on him. His tone was regal, his words delivered with the confidence of someone who was used to being listened to—perhaps even worshipped.

"Ladies and gentlemen," He began, his arms spreading wide as though to embrace the entire crowd. "It fills me with immense joy to welcome you all here tonight. This celebration is not just a tribute to the hard work and dedication you have shown throughout the year but also an opportunity to come together in joy, unity, and, for one lucky lady, perhaps something more."

The subtle but intentional pause in his words made the young women around me shift on their feet. The air was suddenly thick with expectation, a palpable eagerness that had nothing to do with the drinks or the grandeur of the ball.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. The entire setup screamed opulence and pretension, and yet I couldn't deny the strange allure of it all. It wasn't just the golden glow of the hall or the perfection of the Ashworth family standing before us; there was something deeper—something that tugged at the edges of my instincts, telling me to keep my guard up.

"And now," Mr. Ashworth continued, his smile growing as he gestured grandly toward the draped display at the far end of the staircase, "it is my great honor to present to you a treasure beyond compare. A symbol of fortune, power, and legacy."

Two servants stepped forward, gripping the edges of the crimson cloth that concealed the object beneath. My pulse quickened as I leaned slightly to the side, trying to get a better view.

With a synchronized tug, they whisked the cloth away, revealing the artifact beneath.

The gasp that rippled through the room wasn't rehearsed or exaggerated—it was genuine.

A scepter stood tall on its pedestal, every inch of it radiating an unearthly beauty. The golden shaft glimmered as though it had been crafted from sunlight itself, intricate engravings running up its length in patterns that seemed to shift and swirl if you stared at them too long. At the top rested a crystalline orb, perfectly clear and shimmering with a kaleidoscope of colors that seemed to pulse like a heartbeat.

I inhaled sharply. Not of Earth. The thought was immediate, and it rang through me like an alarm bell.

It wasn't just the craftsmanship—it was the energy. The thing felt alive, as though it were watching the room as intently as we were watching it.

If it was from Earth, then it was one of those rare, supernatural anomalies that would make any historian or scientist weak in the knees.

But my gut told me otherwise.

Mrs. Ashworth stepped forward, her golden gown catching the light with every graceful movement. Her smile was wide and serene, but something was unsettling in it—something too perfect, too calculated.

"This scepter," She began, her voice melodic yet commanding, "has blessed our family for generations. We have just received it by ship from our cousins in Norway! Tonight, its presence will ensure good fortune for us all. May its light rejuvenate your spirits and grant you a night of bliss and prosperity as we dance in its glow."

The room erupted into applause, and I clapped along, though my mind was racing. I scanned the crowd for the Doctor, hoping he had spotted the artifact too. But the sea of silks and jewels around me was suffocating, and no matter where I looked, I couldn't find him.

My attention snapped back to the staircase as Mr. Ashworth raised his hand again. "It is also my great pleasure," he announced, his voice swelling with pride, "to introduce my son, Pollux Ashworth."

A young man emerged from the shadows at the top of the stairs, descending with the kind of deliberate grace that only came with being raised to bask in attention. His hair was not the same radiant gold as his parents, but his eyes were that same piercing cerulean blue.

Colder than ice.

My eyes reflected a reminiscent and bright glow of the ocean. Wavering and wide. The Ashworths, on the other hand, had eyes that reminded me of an iceberg. Bright and blinding, cold no matter how big their smiles were.

Everything about Pollux screamed perfection. He was immensely handsome, tall with a figure of lean muscle. His skin was blemish-free, nearly glistening. He was somewhere in his mid-20s, no doubt close to the physical age of myself and the Doctor.

Unlike his parents, Pollux was not adorned in gold. He wore a bright red tailcoat with golden embellishments. The waistcoat underneath was a pristine white, his trousers a matching red with shiny dark leather shoes.

I noticed that a variety of silver rings adorned his fingers, each glittering under the light.

His full and pink plump lips were downturned in apparent boredom as he scanned the crowds. It seemed that no one had yet caught his attention despite the multitude of young girls whispering with each other and waving toward him in the hope that he might spare just a glance their way.

"And now," Mr. Ashworth continued, drawing our attention again, "we invite all the married couples in attendance to take the floor and share the first dance of the evening."

The servants moved quickly to clear a space in the center of the hall, and pairs began stepping forward.

The Ashworth couple themselves swiftly moved down the staircase hand-in-hand and joined the dance floor, spinning in perfect harmony as the musicians struck up a lilting waltz.

I shifted on my feet, trying once again to spot the Doctor. I stood on my toes, Converse squeaking ever so slightly.

Finally, I found him—and Amy.

They too had joined the dance floor, but they weren't waltzing like the other couples. No, they were spinning wildly, Amy laughing uncontrollably as the Doctor flailed about with the most exaggerated, ridiculous dance moves I'd ever seen.

He looked like a fucking giraffe as he danced around Amy. I couldn't tell if that was genuinely his dancing or if he just didn't want to waltz.

A laugh bubbled up in my throat before I could stop it. Trust him to turn a high-society ball into a comedy routine.

The Doctor caught my eye across the room, his face lighting up with a grin as bright as the sun itself. For a moment, everything felt lighter, simpler.

But then his grin faltered. His movements hesitated. His eyes darted over my shoulder, his expression shifting from joy to alarm in an instant.

My stomach twisted. What had he seen?

Before I could turn to look, a hand lightly tapped on my shoulder. I stiffened, my heart racing as I spun around.

Standing before me was Pollux Ashworth, his cerulean eyes locked onto mine with an interest that sent a shiver down my spine.

"And might I get the name of the most beautiful woman in my midst this evening?" He asked, his voice smooth and unyielding.

Words momentarily faltered, and my throat closed up as I was left entranced by his appearance. He stood tall, around the same height as the Doctor—maybe even an inch or so taller. Our eyes were locked, and the voices that murmured in shock sounded nothing more than mumbles.

Finally, as Pollux tilted his head, eyes continuing to shine in unabashed curiosity, I found my voice.

What was the damn name the Doctor had introduced me as earlier?

"Elenora..." I found myself saying, accent changing to that of a posh Victorian English accent.

"Elenora...?" He trailed off with a smile, asking for a last name.

Briefly, I turned my head to look at the Doctor. He was trying to make his way over with Amy hot on his heel, but unfortunately, they were stalled and became stuck in the large crowd as they were on the other side of the place.

Turning my attention back to Pollux, I spoke again. "Elenora Baggins."

What? Lord of the Rings is one of the best things this universe and a few others brought to the silver screen. Bilbo Baggins will always have my love.

"Well, Ms. Elenora Baggins as I do not see a wedding ring on any of your fingers, might I have the pleasure of this dance?" He asked so earnestly, so wistfully, so alluringly that it was nearly impossible to say no.

So I settled for the next best thing.

Raising a sharp brow and tilting my head up, I purposely looked at his ring-clad fingers.

"Are none of those wedding rings?" I questioned; however, I already knew the answer.

His father and a multitude of others had all said Pollux was currently looking for a wife. Or at least, his parents were forcing him to look.

It was odd that he should approach me.

Physically I appeared somewhere in my mid-20s. Most likely 25 or 26. This was not an old physical age, it was actually quite young.

But in 1821, for a woman to be 25 or 26 and unwed with no children was a rarity. A very negative rarity. They called such women "spinsters", a woman who was past the perceived prime age for marriage.

It was a stupid thought-process, and a very sexist one.

Nevertheless, it existed. It's why I was so shocked that this man approached me. Sure, I may be one of the better-looking women here; however, I was also considered older. By the standards of this society, he should have spared me no more than maybe an appreciative glance.

He definitely should not have been asking for a dance.

"Only family heirlooms," He said, eyes twinkling in amusement, much different than the twinkle of wonder that seemed to always be prominent in the Doctor's green eyes.

The Doctor's green eyes were much warmer than the cold of Pollux's. Thinking of the Doctor, I turned to see where he might be.

Sadly, he was still trying to force his way through the crowd, still far away and nowhere near being able to step in. Not that I needed his help. Why the hell would I need his help in fighting off an attractive man?

In fact; do I really need to fight off Pollux? What was one dance?

Despite my thoughts, I found my mouth opening and words spilling from my lips before I could stop them. "I am here as a mistress to a man and his wife...!" I quickly said to Pollux, hoping this might dissuade him.

I expected it to dissuade him.

Rather, his grin was only wolfish—his eyes nearly cocky. And I hated to admit that it only made him more attractive.

The look in his eyes was obvious: challenge accepted.

He did not give a fuck who I was here with, and by saying that, I may have just made this even more interesting for him. More fun. Because what man did not like the pleasure of playing Mr-Steal-Your-Girl?

Not that I was the Doctor's. Not in any manner of the word other than his intern/companion. But for this event, to these people, I was his damn mistress.

"And?" Pollux breathed, leaving no room for argument. "That does not sound anything like a marriage. Are you betrothed?"

"No." I swallowed.

"Carrying his child?"

"Definitely not." I snarked.

"Then I don't see the harm in a simple dance..." He outstretched his hand, staring straight into my soul as the next words that left him were nearly begging. "Please...?" He said it in such a way with such a look that it left me breathless with my knees downright shaking.

The Doctor was still too far away to join in the conversation, just barely pushing himself to the other side of the dance floor. They had not been able to cut through the dance floor, so he and Amy had to leave from the other side and try to make their way around.

Obviously, they were much too late.

"Very well..." I whispered right back, taking his outstretched hand in my own; my tan skin dark against his fair and flawless complexion.

He leaned down, pressing a kind kiss against the back of it before sweeping me into his side and leading me toward the floor.

People moved out of his way, allowing him easy and quick passage.

Pollux's arm was strong against my back, wrapped around my waist as he led me through the crowd proudly.

His parents had both noticed us coming from where they were dancing themselves, watching their son and me curiously.

Jesus fuck, this night was turning out to be a shit show.

There was something off about this entire family and that damn scepter from their cousins in Norway. Something wasn't right about it all. But I could not think too hard about it, for in the next second I was chest-to-chest with Pollux, staring into his haunting eyes.

He wrapped a hand around my waist, my right arm going over his shoulder. My left hand connected with his right in a clasp as he led us swiftly in a spin—both of us easily falling in tune with each other as we waltzed the dance floor.

The music seemed to get louder, the horns blaring, the piano keys screaming as we moved. People got out of our way, and many people left the dance floor altogether, all gaping to watch us. To see who had managed to catch Pollux Ashworth's eye.

It was not hard, I had done many different dances in my time. Any tango, waltz, or spin, I had to have done it at least once. And Pollux, well—Pollux was a rather fine dancer.

"A finer dancer you prove to be, Elenora," He smiled as we faced each other, not daring to look away.

"Of course, I am," I smirked. "And so are you... but why do you bother dancing with me? Surely you need to find a potential match?"

"Why can't you be a potential match?" He shot back.

"Not only am I much too old for you but I am a mistress... I'm afraid I..." It took everything in me to cough the next word out. "...Belong to someone else..."

Pollux snorted. "Money is of no issue, I can surely haggle a price with your current suitor... and how old are you? 24? 25? I think that is plenty young enough..."

"I could be 40 for all you know..." I said back.

"But are you?" He asked with a knowing tone. "Or are you even older than 40?" Pollux joked.

Yes, I am far older than 40.

I paused. "...No, I am 25..." I settled on saying.

"Ah, yes, still young in this long game of life that we have all found ourselves stuck in," He sighed.

"You don't like games?" I found myself asking as we continued.

"Who says that I don't like games?"

"You called life a game and did not sound particularly pleased with it."

He shrugged. "Life is one of the more boring games, wouldn't you agree?"

I smirked carelessly. "Not necessarily. Name a more interesting one." I challenged.

He looked toward the ceiling thoughtlessly. "Oh... I don't know..." He seemed to struggle momentarily, trying to think of something clever no doubt. "What about the Space Jam?"

What the fuck?