PROSE: The Day of the Doctor

The note she'd left on the TARDIS console directed him to 1562, and the Royal Court.

[...]

The first day he'd seen her, sweeping through the halls, surrounded by a fluster of courtiers, he'd mistaken her for tall and imperious, but when his atnics at court drew her attention, and he found himself summoned to her presence, the woman patting the cushion next to her was smaller than he expected, bubbling with mischeif and laughter, and there wasn't a hint of reserve or calculation in her merry eues as she took his hand explained that he was obviously a spy and she intended to have him tortured for information and executed. 'Well, beyyer get it in the right order then' he said, and they shared their first laugh together, as the Duke of Norfolk beat him to the ground.
She was his only regular visitor during the months of his incarcertaion, and though she always arrived trying to look stern, she was quickly reduced she always arrived trying to look stern, she was quikcly reduced to squeals and giggles by his stories, and increasingly, so was the torturer. 'Stop it, stop it!' he'd say, leaning against the crank kandle and wiping his eyes through his hood.
'Me stop it? Me?' said the Doctor, his eyes wide with comedy outrage, and they all grew so helpless with laughter, the team from the next torture chamber started popping their heads round the door in puzzlement, which only set them off again.
Sometimes, he was able to use his big sad eyes (his best pair yet, and his first brown ones) to good effect, and she started opening up to him, recounting tales of her childhood, and all the loves she had forsaken in the name of duty. Once she was telling him a story of such intimacy and evident truth, that the torturer had asked if they wanted to be alone. 'No, no,' she'd flustered, embarrased, 'you carry on.'
He found himself looking forward to their sessions together, despite the constant screaming.
She was often busy, of course, and sometimes weeks would go by with no visits, and given the Zygon situation, he couldn't help worrying. So after a gap of several months, he was relied to see her, pink and happy and waving at him, as he mounted the scaffold.
'I stand among you today,' he said to the crowd, on being granted some final words. 'Taller, I think than I have ever stood. People don't tell you that about the rack!'The crowd roared, and he managed to keep them laughing for an hour. In the end, he found that he'd talked himself hoarse.

[...]

He'd smiled through all the pain, he'd joked, he'd listened.