A small walk away from Lady Maive's manor, Charles was splitting wood for the cold winter nights. Grabbing another round, it set in on the chopping block, hefted his splitting maul, and brought it down on the wood. The wedge struck and slid down the wood like butter, slowing to a stop at the end of the blow. Charles grabbed the two halves, pulled them apart, and then tossed them into the stack. He had been doing this for almost two hours, and his muscles were sore, his hands blistered. The huge stack behind him was for the castle, supplying the servants and, most importantly, the Lady's room.

Glancing up the hill, Charles saw that she was working with his brother on dueling. These past few months they had focused on how to fight a single person, unlike the mass battles they were used to. Many things they had learned from Maive; how to read, write, and social edict for the upper class, but most importantly was the Game. There were more like them, people who came back from death, and their goal was to kill the others until there was only one left. Luckily, they could only now die from a decapitation, and the dueling Maive taught them focused on quickly disarming and then decapitating their foe.

Listening to the tinks of saber against saber up the hill, Charles continued with the wood, his muscles aching, and he thought of what else he had to do, before his own lessons.

--

Lying in a cot, his muscles screaming in agony - from the back, to the shoulders, the upper arms, and even his thighs and calves - Charles enjoyed the warmth emanating from the hearth, and listened to the snores of his brother. A flickering light came down the hall, and Lady Maive stepped into the little parlor where the two Scots slept. Charles closed his eyes and grunted, turning onto his side and then faking a snore. Despite how much they were learning from the woman, Charles didn't trust her. He felt deep down that he shouldn't, a type of feeling he never had before his first death. There were many thing that felt different from that point, he had better senses, could determine the makeup of something by just tasting it, and also could determine the time of day to the hour with barely even thinking it. Strangely Jack couldn't, and he hated it.

Hearing a sigh at his direction, Maive turned and left. She kept wanting him to join her every once in a while, much to Jack's chagrin. Charles could tell Jack lusted after her, but she wanted the elder brother. Charles refused to join her though, while Jack attempted to take his place, and failing, satisfying himself with the maids in the castle for now.

Jack, now he was the main reason for the distrust of Maive. The lad lapped up her words like a bear with honey, and she had him twisted around her finger, using his lust as bait, dragging him on, and then letting him have a little glimpse to fuel the desire but then pulling back to break him and make Jack more malleable. Charles was afraid that Jack would try to kill him if she only asked it. Women, it seemed they made life more difficult than the good Lord intended. Turning to face the window, Charles watched the snow fall outside as he drifted off to sleep, not hearing a sound out by the gardens, nor feeling a presence of his mind...

--

A humming sound grew louder as something that looked like a box started to take shape right on top of the frozen bushes, squashing them flat as it became solid, and the grey metal box slowly morphed into a wooden texture, turning brown and resembling the tool shed it landed next to. Two men stepped out, wearing long black robes that trailed across the snow.

"I cannot believe you talked me into this." The first spoke, his brown hair was slicked back, as his brown eyes darted back and forth around the garden. "A grade three planet, you know these are restricted my friend."

The second man, his brown hair was neatly combed as it black eyes took in everything with a hunger, looked at his friend. "The council won't miss us, and how else would we get proper preparation for traveling through time and space without practical experience?"

"Very true, but why not visit Barcelona?"

"Because, my dear Doctor, a savage world would be much more enlightening." Plucking a dead flower from its bush, the man crumbled it in his gloved hand. "Though I should have picked a different time, or maybe another location, so that we would not have to deal with this infernal snow."

"Ah, Master, I find the snow quite wonderful though. Very peaceful. I think we should make this trip fast, find the village, have a drink and then return before the council discovers us."

"Yes, that does sound inter-" The Master paused in midsentence. "Do you feel that?"

The Doctor paused, and nodded. "Another Gallifreyan?"

"On this backwater planet?"

"Stranger things have happened."

"Of course." The Master closed his eyes and focused, finally pointing towards the manor that was looming over him, specifically at a window that was lit and fluttering with the light of a fire. "That one. I think we should stay on this planet for a while longer."

"The Council would find this interesting." The Doctor smiled and walked towards a warm glow in the distance, "But it would be best if we waited for tomorrow. I think I might grow to like this place."

--

Strolling across the fields with Jack, Charles held the hilt of his claymore. Snow softly crunching under his boots, a cold breeze whipped his cloak back. His skin prickled quickly, but deep down he only felt slightly chilled.

"Bloody wind." Jack muttered, wrapping his cloak around himself tightly, his new basket hilt claymore at his hip, specially ordered by the Lady, part of her personal game with Jack. Charles kept his old claymore, keeping the clan in mind and cursing the Campbells with every breath. Their ring leader would pay, and he would be the one to execute the bastard, he knew it.

As they strolled into the village, a small hum started in the back of his skull. It was soft, not like the piercing buzz of another immortal's presence. It felt like stepping into a pool of warm water, familiarity, greeting a long lost friend, hugging a family member. It was the presence of somebody, or bodies, but they were not immortals, unless the buzz could come in different ways.

"Do you feel that?"

"Feel what? This blasted wind?" Jack was having an angrier look on life, and Charles couldn't tell if it was Maive's influence or just his natural aggression being released through the ability to survive almost anything.

"Never mind then. I'm glad Maive allowed us to have the day to ourselves. I think we should practice our dueling later though, but a warm drink would be wonderful right now."

"Aye."

Opening the door to the tavern, the hum got stronger as a highland fog of smoke rolled out the door. Stepping inside, men were sitting around, smoking their pipes and eating breakfast, for some it may have even been a form of lunch. Behind the bar, the sound of dough being slapped down and kneaded into more scones, and the smell of stew wafted from the deeper kitchen. Nudging Jack to find a table, Charles stepped up to the bar, smiling at the maid who was cleaning the counter.

"Just two warm drinks for my brother and I." Placing a few shillings on the counter, he smiled. "And a bit extra for you too, for a pleasant Christmas."

"Thank you, milord." This caused a pause from Charles, he wasn't used to having such respect, but he did have to admit, Maive clothed them well, and they did have the education of the higher classes.

"Any word on the scones?"

The maid gave him a smile, "They are almost done and I can bring one to you."

Charles smiled back. "Thank you lass." He waited for the warm drinks to be prepared, and brought the warm tankards to the table his brother found. Over in the corner, two men stared at him. They were dressed in black, and their eyes felt as if they pierced through him. One with a neatly cut goatee sent a slight shiver down his spine, but the other's kindly face made up for it.

Sitting down, he slid Jack's drink across the table. "Drink up, mate. I think we should hurry, as those two," his eyes darted to the corner, "no, don't look. They are watching me. I fear they may wish harm."

"Campbells?"

"Maybe, I cannot tell though. They wear neither tartan nor crest."

Jack nodded and sipped his ale, smiling as the lovely maid brought two scones. Dining quietly, Charles kept his eyes on the men, and waited till they finished. Standing slowly, both young men made their way towards the door, and slipped out, calming making their way down the street.

"Wait!" a voice called out. Charles couldn't place the accent, but a stranger shouting wait at a point like this was never good.

"Split!" Charles shouted, and the both dove into different directions, snow crunching under their boots and their cloaks billowing behind them. Dodging around different street vendors, Charles didn't look back. A stupid idea, to look back when running, and an amateurs mistake. Usually their last one.

Turning, Charles found himself at a dead end. He hated that word, but hoped that if this turned lethal, his head could stay intact. Turning, he kept his hand on the hilt, ready to draw it at any moment.

"I mean you no harm." The kindly man was approaching him slowly. He wore black robes, which made the Scot think of a monk, but it clashed with the black leather gloves. "My friend went after yours, we couldn't be which one we were sensing."

"I am Charles Lamont of the Clan Lamont." Drawing the blade slightly, he got into his dueling stance. "Step no closer and state your intention."

"Very well." The man smiled. "I am The Doctor, and I am not of your world."

"What do you mean?"

"I come from another planet, and if I am correct, you might not belong here either." Keeping his hands out, the Doctor tapped his lips, pondering.

"I belong in this world as much as you do!"

"My dear boy, I am not human. I come from another planet, far away, in time and distance." he stepped backwards. "And I believe we are brethren." Smiling, The Doctor leaned against the wall, and started to explain.

--

Jack glanced back at his pursuer, and collided into a cart, flipping through the air over it as the cart fell apart. Gasping, he looked down at the plank of wood sticking into his stomach. Cursing it and everything else, he slid himself backwards and against the wall, watching the man come closer. Gasping, Jack grabbed the splintered plank, and started pulling it out. He was not yet used to death yet and couldn't fight against it like Maive told him they could.

Stepping up to the dying young man, The Master looked down at the body, and watched as he gasped and came back to life. "Most curious." He muttered, leaning down and grabbing the boy by the collar, lifting him up the wall. "Listen, I think we should have a chat."