Chapter Text
THE RETURN OF RASSILON.
The Doctor stood in silence, staring out over the vast orange plains below him, from his high vantage point in the centre of the citadel.
.........So it had come to this..........
He ought to have known.
Anticipated these events.
Always his weakness.
Thinking people better than they actually were. Crediting them with more intelligence than they really possessed.
His own compassion his downfall. Isn't that what Davros told him?
Mercy for a fellow being?
Always.
No one beyond redemption. No matter how corrupt, how hateful, how evil.....everyone has at least one chance of being saved.......
Rassilon returning.
Bringing with him an army.
But who was he, The Doctor, to decide who should live and who should die?
Even when the loss of one life might save thousands.
At first he'd pointedly ignored the frantic messages.
Eventually, the decision had been taken from him. As the pleas for help from a threatened populace became more and more desperate.
The Tardis.
His conscience.
She always took him where he needed to go.
No negotiation this time.
oOo
Moving to the large conference table, he drew back a chair, seating himself with a heavy sigh.
A young man entered behind him, quietly.
An esquire.
Bowing low.
"My Lord President?"
The Doctor did not turn or rise. Remaining seated with his eyes closed.
"Your Captains are waiting, Sir."
The pale lids opened slowly, revealing two pools of liquid turquoise blue. Red rimmed, sorrowful.
The clear intensity of that gaze made the young page quail.
Leaning into the straight, high backed chair, his master gave a slight smile.
"My Captains....." He echoed.
The Timelord's hands strayed up to the newly shaven sides of his head, fingering the symbols of his home world which had been cut into the stubble there.
A pre-battle initiation rite to which he'd acquiesced only begrudgingly. Could have been worse, he reasoned, could have been a bloody tattoo!
Brushing across the ear and down to the left cheek.
Touching his recent disfigurement, healed now but still visible.
A mark of a small battle fought.
His advisors told him he was foolish to agree to the private meeting.
Rassilon was not to be trusted they warned.
But he HAD to try, to see if all this madness could be avoided.
In vain.....
Eyes narrowed against the wind blown, stinging ochre sand.
Whistling as it flew, the whirling Shurikan, concealed deftly in a gloved hand, aimed at the jugular, but missing its mark.
Stumbling back, The Doctor cried out, cheek sliced open. His laughing opponent melting into the ether with a touch to the transporter on his wrist.
Ploy failed but a statement made.
Now, the cross shaped scar, a badge of honour, carried by an unarmed man who faced down the challenge of his exiled foe, alone.
The gauntlet thrown down.
Civil War seemed inevitable.
Those Gallifreyans who saw The Doctor as their saviour.......a hero.......and those who did not.
oOo
His youthful servant poured him a libation, ceremonial, which he accepted and drank down in one swallow.
The warmth burned his throat, coursed through his veins. Duel hearts pumping wildly.
Adrenaline fuelled.
Standing again, preparing to take part in yet another ancient, time honoured ritual.
Bringing forward the armour of the elite of Gallifrey.
Made to fit the contours of the body; the symbols upon it denoting his exalted rank.
Acting as batman, the boy strapped the moulded carapace into place. A wince as the buckles were tightened around his torso. Forcing his breath to be held until the belts were tied.
It felt like a strait jacket.
The next pieces were presented to him, with a reverential nod of the head.
Holding first one arm then the other away from his body in turn as each vambrace was fastened.
Ready.
And yet not.
The man of peace goes to war.
The oncoming storm.
Crossing to the window The Timelord gazed out.
Far below him he could see the glint of light on many weapons. Row upon row.
Massed ranks.
Symbol painted pennants billowing in the dry wind.
The servant returned with a Gallifreyan blaster side arm, and other assorted weapons.
Standing aside, waiting patiently to fasten the ammunition belt to the Lord President's narrow waist.
With the merest flick of his eyes, the Doctor made the young rake step back.
"I don't carry weapons!" He stated, firmly.
"But my Lord........"
The eyes that settled on the youthful face were soft, kindly.
"Take them away." He said quietly. "I've seen enough death, destruction and killing in my lifetimes to fill the pages of the thickest tome your imagination can conjure. Bigger than all the books in Gallifrey's vast libraries. I will not bear arms against my own people."
"But Doctor....this war is a just one......." The boy exclaimed.
He was taken aback by his Lord's sudden outburst of laughter. Silver head thrown back, mouth wide, teeth bared, but a tear in the corner of his eye, which coursed down his face.
"How often have I heard that?!" He chuckled. "So many times. So much righteousness."
He turned to the teenager, taking him gently by the shoulders, the pressure from those long fingers digging into the flesh under the tabard he wore.
"Throughout the Universe, in all the years of my travels, I have heard those words echoing through time and space....." His voice became wistful. Distant and sad. The eyes that held the boy's, blurring and swimming as he watched, riveted, unable to tear his gaze away.
".......a person who is willing to fight for what he believes in, is always in the right. Even if his adversary does not share his beliefs. How easy it is to say, 'I am right!'.
Such hatred, such animosity, fired at those who happen to be a different colour, a different creed....."
He began to pace the floor, speaking as he did so with deep conviction, his expressive hands emphasising his words deliberately.
".......those whose sexuality is different from our own, those whose belief system or politics does not tally with ours. The poor and disenfranchised against the rich and powerful. The young and idealistic against the old and staid. Those who are sick......railing against those who are strong. Slaves turning on their Masters, I've seen it all.....believe me....." The Doctor regarded the young man from beneath his impressive eyebrows. ".........what's your name son?"
"Galien, Sir......"
".......believe me Galien.......more death.....more destruction......more pain and suffering than most would see in a hundred lifetimes.......and now I stand here......dressed in the garb of a General of Gallifrey.....and I'm supposed to lead more hapless men to their deaths in a pointless battle........"
"But Rassilon is evil My Lord.......he must be stopped......he's raised an army......he has burnt towns and villages......slaughtered innocent citizens, he is cruel.......everyone is afraid."
The Doctor placed his fingers on the sill, his head bowed as if under a great weight.
"And fear is what drives us all........."
".........they made me the President of Earth......did you know that?"
He whispered, his tone hushed.
"No, My Lord.....I didn't know that.....they must place great trust in you too......"
Again the Timelord laughed almost manically.
"The Doctor. Peacemaker. Negotiator. Saviour. Messiah. If only they knew......"
"Knew what....?" The squire moved closer.
"......knew how many had sacrificed themselves in my name. How heavily it hangs upon me.....you see....Galien......I enthuse them, make them feel strong......invincible.....I fire them up, make them reckless......introduce them to danger.......fashion them into my infantry.....my foot soldiers.....they fight for me, or for love of me.....in my name......and they die. Just as surely as if I were a God......the great and omnipotent Timelord......all will march into the fray under the foolish notion they are dying for a cause, and that the cause is good.......they sacrifice themselves for that noble principle."
"I would gladly lay down my life to save my home.....my family......the planet I love." Said the youth earnestly.
Large hands held smaller ones, gripping tight.
"You, and all those others out there......" He waved a hand towards the window. "Why is it that no one is ever prepared to talk? To listen? To compromise?"
"This 'Earth'.....it must mean a great deal to you?" Suggested the page thoughtfully.
"I see it as a second home. I have found the majority of its people to be generous, kind, loyal and brave. The spirit of community is still strong. Their life spans are woefully short of course, I have lived through many centuries of their history.
I have toiled and farmed, fought and loved amongst them.
Roman, Celt, Egyptian, Norse, Saxon, Norman...... through many centuries and hundreds of lifetimes of their people, although only a mere few of mine. I have met and talked with the greatest and worst of them, the brightest, the most inquiring minds.
The human race are still like children, compared to us........just learning to crawl, to walk and talk and think.....they make mistakes.....but like most species, our own included, they don't always learn from them.....they repeat the same ones over and over again......I have tried my best to hold to back the tide that would threaten to engulf them."
"And now you do the same here.......for your own people.......Lord President.....what will you do?"
The eyes of the youngster were fearful, the lip trembling with emotion.
"I will walk out there. Face him. Draw my line in the sand. Just as I always have."
The young man reached for the Presidential hand, raising it to his lips.
"You will not stand at the head of the Army? You will do it alone?"
"As I often have, yes."
"Unarmed?"
"Always!"
"Afraid?"
"Never!"
"Then I pray you'll succeed, that you will save us all."
The boy bowed low, backing away.
"Leave me now Galien, go back to your family. Your work here is done. I need a few moments alone, to prepare myself."
"My Lord President!"
oOo
Through the window, the Timelord gazed down onto the massed battalions below. Heaving a deep sigh.
Memories filtered into his mind. Names, like leaves on the wind.
His lips moved as he recited them.
"Barbara. Ian. Polly. Ben. Jamie. Victoria. Zoe. Jo. Sarah-Jane. Leela. Romana. Adric. Nyssa. Tegan. Peri. Mel. Ace. Grace. Rose......ah......Rose..... " He smiled to himself gently.
".....Jack. Mickey. Martha. Donna. Amy. Rory......." Tears began to fall.
"River.......my dear one........how I miss you........and Clara.....my Clara.......all gone......."
Sadly, he turned away.
The tears remained.
"I remember you all." He whispered. "Every brave companion, every friend, every love, they burn brightly within me."
He placed a fist against his breastplate. Holding it there for a moment.
"Well!" He barked, to the vacant room. " Let's get this over with......"
Fin.