Fall of the Eleventh Chapter 1: Prologue, a doctor who fanfic

Title: Fall of the Eleventh

Author: ShaViva

Rating: T

Season: Season 7, after The Angels Take Manhattan. AU because I'm not considering this year's Christmas episode nor anything to do with the Doctor's new companion.

Summary: The Doctor has been running his whole life … from the fields of Trenzalore and from the Fall of the Eleventh. The motives of The Silence were clear … his death at any cost. When others emerge with different goals the Doctor discovers that what he should have considered is this. Who wants him to go to Trenzalore, and why?

Classifications: Romance/Adventure

Pairings: Eleventh Doctor and River Song

Spoilers for: Minor spoilers for everything Eleventh Doctor/River related, particularly The Angels Take Manhattan, The Wedding of River Song, Doctor Who: P.S. (by Chris Chibnall), and Night and the Doctor: First Night/Last Night. Spoilers for Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead too. Minor spoilers for The End of the World Pt1/2.

Acknowledgements: to wikipedia and the Doctor Who wiki in particular where I always found something interesting when I needed it. This is particularly true when researching events and characters linked to Gallifrey. If you see something familiar from old Doctor Who, that's where I found it. There was a discussion, I can't recall exactly where now, about the true identity of the Doctor which spawned some of the basic ideas in this story enough that I'd like to give credit.

Disclaimer: I am unfortunately not associated in any way with the creators, owners, or producers of Doctor Who or any of its media franchises! All publicly recognizable characters, settings, equipment, etc are the property of whoever owns them. Any original characters, plot, settings, and anything else I made up are the property of me, the author. No copyright infringement is intended. Written purely for the love of Doctor Who.

Author's Note:

This story was written for NaNoWriMo this year, so it's complete. Just needs me to edit each chapter before posting, which I'll be doing every few days (or faster if I feel inspired.) Hope you enjoy!

Concurrently being posted on AO3 and livejournal.

Chapter 1: Prologue

Not everyone born on Gallifrey was a Time Lord. It wasn't a racial trait or an inheritance. It was a choice, and not one to be made lightly because once done, the choice could not be undone. The children of Gallifrey all had the potential but more was required. They had to look upon the untempered schism, see all of time that ever was or ever would be, and hold their ground. If they could handle that then they could handle the responsibility of being protectors of time.

Sometimes the choice was a surprise, the child showing only a glimmer of talent before it was time to be tested. Sometimes the expectation was a given … the mantle of Time Lord in training waiting to be bestowed because it seemed always that it must be so. Such was the case for the one who would be known as The Doctor.

Theta, as he was called by his friends in his youth, went along with what was expected because, well, it was what was expected. He'd always known it and truthfully, he gave it very little thought – what he might actually find when the day came that he'd stand before the ring and cast his eyes upon the gap in the fabric of reality to see the vortex for the first time. He was an eight year old boy more interested in adventure and answering the unanswerable questions. Did the seal of Rassilon, said to be on a plaque adorning the ring within which the schism was contained, really have a power of its own or was just a symbol? What would going to the Time Lord Academy really be like? Would he finally be able to please himself much more than he ever could under the watchful eye of his parents?

The house of Lungbarrow, his house, held a long and proud tradition in Gallifreyan society and when his mother took her turn at the Loom, Theta was sure she'd used every ounce of her telepathic ability to order up from the genetic extant material contained within the Loom the most obedient and least trouble making child she possibly could. The more he grew, the more Theta realised how stringent the requirements on him were, and the more he just wanted to break out and do as he pleased. He wasn't given to ungrounded fears and was actually looking forward to his turn at the schism because it would mean his life was finally about to change.

When the day finally arrived, Theta travelled beside his fellow academy candidates with a blasé attitude he only later truly appreciated. The old master who awaited them at the bottom of a long flight of steps leading up to the ring was solemn and serious; his voice foreboding as he warned them of what awaited them.

"Young Gallifreyans," he began in a measured, ceremonial tone. "Alone will you each journey up to the ring, and there will you gaze through the untempered schism at the vortex. To fear not at all would be to crawl as a babe, unable to walk or talk or comprehend. Instead, fear enough to understand the three likely outcomes awaiting you at the end of your journey, for the vortex will inspire some even as it spawns flight in others. Beware, for in rare cases the vortex steals minds, leaving only madness behind."

For the first time Theta felt a bit of trepidation. He had no wish to go mad of course, but given that was a rare thing, felt justified in being confident that wasn't going to happen to him. The flight scenario seemed more likely and bothered him more, for what eight year old boy wanted to be scared enough to run away, and in front of his peers at that? No, he'd have to stand his ground regardless of how he felt, and look for that inspiration the old master alluded to being there.

"Candidate Theta, you may proceed," the old master ordered.

Theta took a moment to gather his resolve, before, with a casual nod to his friends, he made his way to the steps. It was a long and increasingly lonely march to the top and despite his efforts his nerves rose with every step he took.

"Don't run," he whispered to himself repeatedly, his steps slowing as he approached the top.

Four fire torches stood at the corners surrounding a large metallic circle that seemed to be suspended in mid-air. Beneath this floating circle, embedded in the ground, was a large disc upon which was engraved the seal of Rassilon. Within the circle itself Theta saw darkness that glowed with midnight blue light and swirled in a circle. At the middle, the swirling became more like a tornado with a centre that seemed to puncture the surface, digging for what lay underneath.

Theta shifted closer, drawn towards that mysterious spinning chasm, unable to look away. He caught sight of brighter lights in the depths but the tornado kept moving, skipping over those lights and then away again. He wanted to see what was there and without being aware of what he was doing, kept creeping forward until he was just a pace away. The schism was there, and as he looked closer and closer, Theta saw the vortex, a mess of ever changing colours that defied description, that crackled with lightning bolts of energy. It was invigorating and scary and mesmerising but the visual element alone was the least of the experience.

No, it was what was going on inside his mind that was the real show. Flashes of scenes that could have happened yesterday or thousands of years ago or in years to come spun across his mind's eye almost too fast for him to register their meaning. Some he recognised and others were so strange to his young mind he could only conclude they were from the future.

"All of time that is, was, and shall be," he reminded himself aloud. He felt the connection, the unlocking of something inside; the ability to understand, with training and practice, what it was he was seeing, and the capacity to comprehend it even when he wasn't standing before the vortex.

As he watched, what he saw took on a menacing edge, death and blood and war and disease and pain and cruelty … it was a never ending spiral of pictures from across time and across galaxies as if all that was worthy of commenting on as far as existence went was what made it dark and depressing and rubbish. He hated what he saw and had no wish to see more … his hearts were thumping madly in his young chest and he wanted to cry out for the disappointment of the nightmare presented to him. Was that all he could hope for, for his future – blood and death and pain?

With a whimper, Theta turned away from the schism, ready to run despite his resolve earlier to do no such thing. He was never sure what made him look back – some previously untapped voice of reason inside compelling him to look again.

He glanced back, still fearful, but the schism was blank. As he watched, other emotions emerged in his mind. Determination, hope, spirit … love. They rose out in an effort to balance the darkness. Behind them were glimpses of someone, a man, wise and kind and honest … his future self perhaps, or someone he could identify with, or even aspire to? Theta still wanted to run but the other side of what he saw was enough to stay his feet, to calm his inner self until he was able to turn away from the untempered schism with far more maturity than he'd greeted it with. His steps away and down the stairs were measured and even until at last he arrived back to the old master's position.

"And what did you see, young Gallifreyan?" the old man queried.

Theta wanted to answer 'death and hope' but he knew that wouldn't go down very well. It wasn't what those at the academy wanted to hear and it would advertise how much he'd wanted to run from the vortex. So instead, he smiled and lied, convincingly. "Inspiration, master," he replied.

"Ah," the old master smiled and nodded as if he'd expected no less. "The house of Lungbarrow will be proud, young Time Lord. The Academy awaits."

The words thrilled him … they called to him of destiny and he embraced it, truly believing that it was meant to be. He was finally on the path to finding his true self.