User:SOTO/Forum Archive/The Reference Desk/@comment-188432-20140111021252/@comment-10983683-20140111052309

User:SOTO/Forum Archive/The Reference Desk/@comment-188432-20140111021252/@comment-10983683-20140111052309 Here is the relevant bit about the Brig's funeral. The Doctor’s tears were flowing freely now, his back pressed against the open doorway of the TARDIS. He could feel the Shroud’s tentacles inside his mind, feeding off his grief, and the food was plentiful. And it was time for one last push. Time for him to relive a fresh memory. Time for him to visit one final place in his mind. One he’d been avoiding all these months.

The Doctor closed his eyes.

Flash!

He was standing near the gates of a different graveyard, the gentle summer breeze ruffling his thick hair and pulling at the edges of his bow tie. A few hundred yards ahead, a large crowd gathered together – a mixture of civilians and UNIT personnel.

A man in uniform stepped up to place a folded flag on the polished surface of an oak coffin. Like almost everyone else there, he had aged since the Doctor had last seen him.

John Benton saluted the coffin, then turned to the UNIT soldiers standing beside the grave. ‘Rifle party!’ he commanded. ‘Five rounds rapid.’

Crack! The first volley sent a flock of birds flapping up into the air. A man in a crumpled suit rested on the question mark handle of his umbrella and watched them disappear.

Crack! Liz Shaw buried her face against the shoulder of a man in a velvet jacket and an opera cape.

Crack! Mike Yates exchanged a sad glance with a small, tousled-haired fellow in an over-sized fur coat.

Crack! A man in a coat of rainbow colours wrapped an arm around Jo Grant.

Crack! A short-haired man lowered his head and pushed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.

Slowly, the coffin lowered into its final resting place.

Flash!

Several years had passed, and leaves now tumbled from the branches hanging over the cemetery. The mourners and their extravagant floral tributes were long gone. In their place, standing to attention on either side of the marble headstone, were bunches of flowers in more permanent glazed pots.

The rain pattered down, leaving the ground slippery and soft underfoot. Eventually, the Doctor came out from the shelter of the trees.

He slowly approached the grave, raindrops dripping from his hair and down his cheeks. He stood and read the name carved into the marble: Brigadier Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart.

Quietly, he saluted.

So that puts Doctors Eleven, Seven, Three, Two, Six, and Nine at the funeral.