The Doctor spares them a glance, especially Gabriel, before returning his attention to the Castellan. He takes a breath to speak and is interrupted.
"These beings couldn't possibly understand--" the Castellan starts, but the Doctor cuts him off.
"They do. As much as anyone can. Maybe not the ins and outs of Gallifreyan politics, but they understand what's at stake."
There's a pause. More staring, or possibly more telepathic conference. But just as the silence seems to reach an unbearable tension, the door opens again. For an out-of-the-way room, the place certainly was seeing a lot of traffic. The guards bow as a small woman of indeterminate age walks in. Judging by the elabourate white and silver robes, it's safe to assume she is a Time Lord of high rank. The fact that the Castellan bows to her, as well, only reinforces that impression. The shoulder-length straight blonde hair and vaguely amused look, however, don't really go terribly well with the aura of immense respect every Gallifreyan other than the Doctor seems to have toward her.
"Doctor," she says, smiling up at him.
"Romana." At an incredulous look from the Castellan, he amends, "Madam President."
The President, however, peers past the Doctor, taking in the sight of the assembled beings behind him. Then she looks at the Doctor again. "I think there's hope, Doctor," she says, looking up at him solemnly, now. She doesn't have to look up very far, but upward she looks, anyway.
Then the moment ends, and she shows everyone who wasn't sitting already to seats. This is something that requires sitting, you see.
Her eyes never leaving the Doctor's, she waits until everyone has done so, then starts to explain the situation. The increasing takeover of various streams of the Vortex. The temporal twisting. The growing sickness of time itself and the destruction of so many worlds. The Doctor's extinguishing of Skaro's sun with the Hand of Omega had only made things worse. Fuelled the hatred. Caused them to increase their drive and their numbers. Far from destroying them, as he'd hoped, he'd done more than earn for himself the rather vitriolic title of "Bringer of Darkness" in a language they didn't even use any more. He'd broken the last restraint. Things had degenerated into an all-out vendetta. A war of blind, unremitting hatred. Negotiation was impossible.
It had come to this. Fighting on countless temporal fronts. For every vortex stream the Time Lords shut down, another was opened, death raging across it. Bringing the fighting ever closer to Gallifrey itself.
"You're the only one who really knows how to fight them, Doctor."
He closes his eyes. He'd been expecting it, and yet ... this would be how it ends? So many depending on his accumulated knowledge? How does he fail them?
He opens them again and looks at her gravely. "Where do we begin? All of us?"
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2007-09-19 07:56 am (UTC)"These beings couldn't possibly understand--" the Castellan starts, but the Doctor cuts him off.
"They do. As much as anyone can. Maybe not the ins and outs of Gallifreyan politics, but they understand what's at stake."
There's a pause. More staring, or possibly more telepathic conference. But just as the silence seems to reach an unbearable tension, the door opens again. For an out-of-the-way room, the place certainly was seeing a lot of traffic. The guards bow as a small woman of indeterminate age walks in. Judging by the elabourate white and silver robes, it's safe to assume she is a Time Lord of high rank. The fact that the Castellan bows to her, as well, only reinforces that impression. The shoulder-length straight blonde hair and vaguely amused look, however, don't really go terribly well with the aura of immense respect every Gallifreyan other than the Doctor seems to have toward her.
"Doctor," she says, smiling up at him.
"Romana." At an incredulous look from the Castellan, he amends, "Madam President."
The President, however, peers past the Doctor, taking in the sight of the assembled beings behind him. Then she looks at the Doctor again. "I think there's hope, Doctor," she says, looking up at him solemnly, now. She doesn't have to look up very far, but upward she looks, anyway.
Then the moment ends, and she shows everyone who wasn't sitting already to seats. This is something that requires sitting, you see.
Her eyes never leaving the Doctor's, she waits until everyone has done so, then starts to explain the situation. The increasing takeover of various streams of the Vortex. The temporal twisting. The growing sickness of time itself and the destruction of so many worlds. The Doctor's extinguishing of Skaro's sun with the Hand of Omega had only made things worse. Fuelled the hatred. Caused them to increase their drive and their numbers. Far from destroying them, as he'd hoped, he'd done more than earn for himself the rather vitriolic title of "Bringer of Darkness" in a language they didn't even use any more. He'd broken the last restraint. Things had degenerated into an all-out vendetta. A war of blind, unremitting hatred. Negotiation was impossible.
It had come to this. Fighting on countless temporal fronts. For every vortex stream the Time Lords shut down, another was opened, death raging across it. Bringing the fighting ever closer to Gallifrey itself.
"You're the only one who really knows how to fight them, Doctor."
He closes his eyes. He'd been expecting it, and yet ... this would be how it ends? So many depending on his accumulated knowledge? How does he fail them?
He opens them again and looks at her gravely. "Where do we begin? All of us?"