So, I wrote this back in February 2013 and never published it. I guess that makes it a bit AU now but it still reads generally well and not too anti-canon, however, the premise itself has been made AU in the last year. (In the spirit of not giving away spoilers, I'll put the exact premise after the story but it really should be quite obvious, at least it seems so to me, but then again, it was my idea...) I originally wrote it to prove to myself that it could be done. Not because I actually believed or wanted it to be true but just to show it could be done. Then I realised I actually like the story as a story in itself. In fact, I like it too much to change it even after all this time (and a 50th Anniversary). I hope you like it too. I find there I far too few Romana stories out there. She is by far the one of the best companions and I personally find her really great, and versatile, to write for.

Sorry that was quite a long note, I'll get to the point now. I don't own Doctor Who etc. Please enjoy this story, it was great to write and to rediscover.

She stood tall, mustering the last reserves of her quickly dwindling strength. Swirls of Time spiraled ominously around her. Their shape, threatening to collapse at any moment. Still she stood, back straight, head held high, defiantly paying the chaos around her absolutely no heed. In a grim sort of determination, she had eyes for one thing and one thing only.

The man stood a few feet in front of her. He was holding an arm protectively over his face while tentatively trying to approach her at the epicenter of Chaos.

They made an interesting picture. Both tall, dark haired, naturally regal figures, they could easily be confused as, at the very least, close relations. There was no such connection. The robes they wore, too, were exactly identical. Elaborate, red hued almost-silk that fell in heavy folds. While his were pristine though, perfectly pressed and adorned, hers had clearly seen better days. They were covered in dust and grit, torn in places and on closer inspection, even appeared to have the odd bloodstain. The balance of power should have been very much in his favor. It, however, clearly was not.

She stood strong and defiant, surrounded by chaos and yet untouched, looking imposing even in her scruffy, bloodstained clothing. He, on the other hand, was clearly shocked and defensive, on the back foot even and more than a little fearful of the power she seemed to be wielding before him. In the middle of his Citadel she had the power, held all the cards. It was unthinkable. He had made the greatest error in judgement. He dismissed her as a threat, thought her all but defeated and yet here she was, against all odds, tearing his world down around his ears, piece by painful piece.

She could feel that she was having to pour her life into the project to support it. She really didn't have the strength left in this body for that to be viable. This was a risk but it was one she understood and was willing to take. It was a small price to pay. Her life for millions. She would protect her people with her last breath and even in death if she had to. For her people. Her idiots. She would save them from themselves and the rest of the universe from them. This was the final stand and she would be victorious.

The Vortex swirled around her. It strengthened, intensity spiraling off the charts. He was forced back to avoid being assimilated into it and yet there she stood, strong and tall, in the very centre of it all–untouched except for the non existent wind whipping her hair and robes. She smiled. It was not exactly a happy smile. It was a defiant smile, a condescending smile, a smile with more than a hint of insanity. She spoke. Her voice was crisp and clear despite the life leaving her body. It somehow carried through the nonexistent wind and the swirling of space-time.

"This is the end, my Lord Rassilon." She said. "The Final End."

He believed her. In that moment, he knew without a doubt that she had won. There had never even been a chance for him to fight her, dispute her claim. Not this time. He turned quickly and fled back through the catacombs, something the Lord High President never did. The Great Lord Rassilon had seldom ever fled from anything in all his lives. He had too much faith in himself and his greatness but now, in the end of days, when he thought he could finally have it all, he had to admit: She. Was. Terrifying. An avenging angel in the flesh, he thought. It really was the end of the world and it was not going to be on his terms.

She watched with grim satisfaction as he turned tail. After everything that he had done to her and those she loved, she definitely felt more than a little pleasure from finally defeating him so spectacularly, even as close to her own end as she was.

She really was very close but she had done her part now. She hoped He was ready. He had to be. It was histurn now. Swaying slightly but managing to hold it off just a little longer she reopened their telepathic link. She felt him immediately. He had been worrying about her. That was nice, pointless but nice. He was a lot more worried now that he could feel the truth. It was radiating off him in waves. She hadn't let him know how lethal doing this could be for her. He wouldn't have let her do it otherwise. She sighed. He was trying to talk to her, to fuss. There wasn't enough time.

"It's done" she whispered, unable to separate her mind from her body anymore.

'It's ready' she felt him reply, accepting the end, his despair washing over her.

Tears rolled silently down her cheeks, the only sign of her weakness. She didn't notice. He did. They were mirrored on his face too, a million miles away.

"Then do it and run. Run Doctor. And remember us. Remember me...?"

As her last hope for him fell from her lips, she closed her eyes for the last time, took a deep breath, and finally let go of it all.

Her vision clouded as the swirls of space and time and chaos flooded the clear air around her. It forced tension into every part of her body. She screamed. This was worse than anything and everything she had ever experienced or dared to imagine. There was burning, stabbing, pounding all at once, all over. It was unimaginable and unbearable and then, suddenly, it was over. She was gone from the world and from his mind. He lent on the console for a minute breathing heavily.

"Goodbye Romanadvoratrelundar" He whispered softly to no-one in particular, tears still staining his cheeks as he pulled the dematerialization lever.

As the Tardis dematerialized jerkily and his planet was ripped apart by the event she had caused, he could only sigh, mourning his loss and her heroism. The universe she'd given everything to save sighed with him.

Then, he did as he was told. As he always would for her.

He ran.

From everything.

Forever.

And that was it. Can you guess the challenge I set myself?

Yes, I had just watched the Christmas special with the Snowmen and wanted to see if I could prove that Clara could be Romana popping up because of some timey-wimey reflections from the end of the Time War. I turned out to be half right... She was a result of timey-wimey reflections... Only of herself... I'm glad she wasn't Romana though, I have to say. Clara is not super high on my list of favourite companions.

Thanks for reading. I really only wrote it for myself but I though it was nice, so behold: I shared.