They were reading in the library when she asked. A warm fire glowed in the hearth in front of them, and her feet were in his lap as she sat sideways on the couch. They each had a large tome in front of them, and they had been reading for several hours without speaking, just content in each other's company. The sound of her voice caught him off guard, but when he actually absorbed what she had asked, he was shocked.
Memories rushed back to him faster than he could put a stop to them. Horrible visions of war and carnage plagued him and he heard screams of people long gone echo in his ears. Terrible sights that still gave him nightmares flashed before his eyes and he shivered, despite the fire in front of him and her warm legs on his lap.
"Where did you hear those names, Rose?" He asked hoarsely. She shrugged. She still hadn't looked up from her book and had missed his reaction.
"This book mentions them, but doesn't give any explanation. Was hopin' you'd know." She finally looked up and noticed the horrified expression on his face. She winced sympathetically.
"That bad huh?" She asked, mostly rhetorically. She scooted closer and rubbed her hand up and down his arms, attempting to bring him back to the present and out of his memories. He nodded weakly and attempted to focus on the feeling of her hand on his arm and the length of her body now pressed up against his side.
"They're from the Time War." He whispered. "Weapons both sides used against each other." She continued to stroke his arm, letting him know he could continue if he wanted, but that he wasn't obligated.
"The Nightmare Child was a Dalek creation. It was responsible for more Gallifreyan deaths than all of the Daleks combined." He closed his eyes, remembering.
She was ethereal. The most beautiful little girl anyone could ever imagine. Long blonde hair that fell in perfect ringlets around her shoulders. It never seemed to dirty or tangle or lose it's bright shine, even in the fires of explosions. Her eyes were wide and framed by thick eyelashes, innocence at it's finest. However, their color was the bright deranged blue of a Dalek's eye.
Everyone who saw her fell in love with her, and became desperate to be loved in return. They showered her with gifts, food, clothing, toys- things that were hard to come by due to the war. They put bows in her delicate blonde hair, in comparison to Gallifreyan children who had messy, filthy hair, and dressed her in velvet dresses, while their own children were in rags. But even the children loved her. They gave her their toys, their food, everything, to the point of their own starvation. She took it all. Hundreds died as she played and ate what would have saved their lives. Her tinkling laugh filled the streets over the sound of death and starvation. She moved from town to town, and even those who knew what she was were bewitched by her. Millions died by her childlike hands. It was as if she brainwashed them into believing nothing was more important than her comfort, her happiness. Anyone who displeased her, all she had to do was fake a whimper or shed a single tear, and mobs of Gallifreyans would tear their own apart.
The Horde of Travesties was a Time Lord weapon, which fell into the hands of the Daleks early in the war. Unimaginable terrors were released upon the population of Gallifrey. Monsters of all shapes and sizes ripped Gallifreyans to shreds with claws and teeth. Genetically engineered monsters, often Gallifreyan prisoners whom had been experimented on and changed into unrecognizable beasts. The Weeping Angels were one, punished Time Lords send into the void in banishment who learned to feed of time energy to survive. Monsters driven mad at the hands of their own people in the name of scientific advancement, some too horrifying to mention. Armies of beasts, half Gallifreyan, half monster, all insane, tore apart cities and soldiers as if they were paper. Beasts that could insight plagues with a touch of their fingers, or kill with a glance rampaged through the mountain villages and towns. Wildfires burned the red grass plains in an attempt to wipe them out. The fires could be seen from the TARDISs orbiting the planet and the smoke blocked out the twin suns.
The Skaro Degradations caused the Fall of Arcadia. Thousands upon thousands of experimental Daleks flooded the streets of Arcadia, the city where refugees and the injured had gathered for protection. The Citadel was in sight of the city, and it was simply full of children, elderly, and wounded. There was hardly anyone there to fight back. Nearly every single one of them was slaughtered before dawn. Thousands of people wiped out, in the blink of an eye. Davros and the other Daleks had spent their own time experimenting on their people as well, with far better results than the Time Lords. Giant Daleks that could destroy city blocks with a single pulse from their guns, flying garrisons of Daleks with literal armories at their disposal. Daleks utterly devoted to nothing but chaos and killing. The species that was already mad and bloodthirsty, multiplied and exaggerated and twisted to the point of uncontrollable destruction. And sent to reek havoc on refugees and children.
The Could-Have-Been King, with his army of Meanwhiles and Neverweres. After Arcadia fell, the Could-Have-Been King came from the south. No one had heard of him until he was just there, standing outside the Citadel, with ten thousand soldiers. The people rallied around him, calling him savior, king, proclaiming he would rule them after the war was won by his army. Even the Lord President fell to his knees in relief at his arrival. They took the battle to the Daleks, rather than wait for another slaughter like Arcadia. It was then that they realized what the army was made of. Each soldier, was a walking, living, paradox. Meanwhiles and Neverweres ripped apart planets as the Time Lords and Daleks clashed. Walking, breathing bombs that could tear apart the very fabric of reality. The Reapers came almost immediately, tearing apart Time Lords and Daleks alike. Nothing was safe. The Could-Have-Been-King stood high watching the carnage and the fear with maniacal eyes. The Dalek's screams were music to his ears and he was deaf to the screams of his own people as they were erased from time. Those who would call him ruler torn apart with the fabric of reality by his paradoxes, and with them, the very memory of his own existence. When the battle was over, the Could-Have-Been-King returned to the Citadel, proclaiming victory, only to realize that no one was left alive that would remember him. No one had ever been alive to remember him, thanks to his own paradoxical warriors. And so, he faded into non-existence like the rest of them.
"How do you remember him then?" Rose interrupted. The Doctor was shocked back into the present by her question. He looked down at her face, wide eyed and sympathetic, and smiled. He had been so caught up in his memories that he had forgotten she was there. But now that he remembered, and she was back again at the forefront of his thoughts, the horrors of the war faded away again. Like always, she was a soothing balm to his aching mind.
"The books." He coughed out. "The books write the history of the war as it happens so that we don't lose the knowledge, even if we forget. Timey-wimey stuff you see."
"Sure." Rose nodded, seemingly accepting of his answer.
"Tell me about the Citadel." She asked, changing the subject not so subtly.
The Doctor gratefully and gladly launched into a descriptive of the beautiful city of his youth, already again forgetting the horrors of the war.