title: these lungs have sung this song for too long
characters: The Master, The Doctor, Time Lords, companions.
summary: Like a phoenix out of the flaming ashes, The Master rises again.
a/n: it's more of an AU backstory of the master's character until s4, a bit of later s4 foreshadowing; the word count is around 7k, a bit shorter than i would have liked it to be. the first section before the first act is sort of a prophecy, and can be thought of as between ACT III and ACT IV. for marchii gge, with the pairing of the doctor/the master; i'm sorry this is more of the master-centric with the doctor there as well, and it's more of a enemies/family thing than romance.
warning: rated T for violence.
disclaimer: i don't own anything besides the story idea; the characters and everything else belong to BBC.
dedication: this is for rish (starlight moon princess) for marchii, gge14; also for the coppertone wars' monthly challenge
prompt: the doctor/the master, happy or hopeful ending, "you've held your head up, you bear the scars; you've been lonely too long."
(also, sorry for spag errors. the time lords mentioned in here are all mentioned somewhere throughout the tv series, but i'm only up to mid-s7 so i'm sorry if there are any mistakes about canon events, though this is mostly up to s4 and the 10th doctor in end of time, part ii.)
you may write me down in your history
with your bitter, twisted lies
you may trod me in the very dirt
but still, like dirt, i'll rise
- maya angelou
The Doctor and The Master locked in a constant battle, circling around one another.
It is something foreshadowed from the beginning of time; The Visionary, haggard old woman respected above all, sits at the table of the High Council, murmuring nonsense, and the Council hangs onto her every word. "The doctor, the three-fold man, he is coming; he is coming, he will knock four times, and the end, I see the end of time itself."
"Time will not end—Gallifrey will not fall," Lord President affirms. "Gallifrey will not fall, not today."
"Oh, dear Lord President," The Visionary says quietly, cackling. "What do you know of falling? You are of pride, pride runs through your veins, but you must remember, pride comes before a wall, and my prophecies have never been wrong. The end of time is coming; the Doctor and the Master, reborn, the final battle on Earth, where it all began."
"Gallifrey is not to fall," says the Lord President. "We will find this Doctor and this Master. We will put an end to them."
ACT I: ACADEMY
The Master and the Doctor grow up in the House of Oakdown—
It is one of the Newblood houses of Gallifrey, a respectable one; divided loyalties would be its downfall—the sky is lighter in the night, and from the rooftops of the citadel, the Master can see the stars: it is not all of time and space, just a glimpse into the world outside of Gallifrey, and the stars whisper down to him. They dare him to come at them, to venture into the depths of the unknown, but he is a boy of five, and the Master would not dare to venture outside of Oakdown, much less of Gallifrey. It is the only home he has ever known.
"Do you ever think about all of time and space?" The Doctor, boy of eight, already taking in for his Initiation Ceremony, thinks of running away; it is best that he did not turn mad, but all the best Time Lords eventually turn mad in the end. "Do you, Koschei?"
The Master grits his teeth, fists clenched. "I told you, my name is the Master."
"You're only five years old, Koschei," the Doctor jokes, reassuring laughter filling the air. "You can't be The Master—you can't be anything until after you've passed your Initiation Rites, and then you'll be able to change your name. And who knows? Maybe you'll be something else. Being a master seems like a really awful thing to be, all that responsibility."
The two sit in the fields of the House of Oakdown, with pastures of red grass near Mount Perdition, slopes covered with the grass. "Then, why did you choose your name? A Doctor is a healer; they have all the responsibility in the world, the lives of a thousand men resting on their shoulders. That seems like an awful amount of responsibility."
The Doctor grins, "Your name is what you make of it; so is life. I mean, I'm the Doctor yes, but I'm not training to be a healer. I'm training to work with Lord President, to be part of the Time Lord Council one day. You couldn't be a Master, though."
"Why not?" The Doctor is something composed of wiseness, false wise behavior, a habit that all the eight years fall into after staring into the Untempered Schism, the vortex of all time and space; they are treated differently too, as though they have more knowledge about the world around them. They are not Time Tots anymore, they are children in training, childhood devoted to a life of duty. There is no time for play and such—their lives are devoted to making sure that the rest of space will live on in peace, but they must stay above it all, always.
"You know why, Koschei. We don't have Masters—we have Presidents, we have rulers, but we do not have Masters. The Time Lords are above one person ruling the rest; it's never worked out in the past."
"That's why we don't have wars, like all the other great empires?"
"We are not an empire. The Time Lords are simply to look down upon the rest of the world. We do not interfere with the rest of the world, otherwise all of us would go mad in the greatest, worst war of them yet."
"I'd like to be part of a war." It seems something of glory, and not all the Time Lords can devote their lives to glory; there are others who must perform the jobs others would spit upon.
"You'd like to be dead, then? You wouldn't survive for more than five minutes."
"What makes you so sure of that, then? I've been training with Father, how to be a soldier, a swordsman. It's a great honor, he told me."
"You're sacrificing your life, not for the greater good, but so that you can be replaced by another soldier, and another, and another, and another, and the cycle never stops—it's cynical and cyclical, and it'll never get the Time Lords anywhere. We must maintain our stature of peace throughout all of time, otherwise Gallifrey will fall, like all other planets have fallen."
"The Time Lords will never fall," The Master affirms, staring up at the sky—a protective dome stretches around the planet, and for a moment, he envisions rays of lightning and death being shot through that dome, but brushes the thoughts away, because they are the Time Lords. They are not weak tin soldiers—they are warriors, they are geniuses, they are rulers, they are leaders. They do not fall.
The two of them used to run away from the Capitol; on the continent of Wild Endeavour, nestled between the mountains of Solace and Solitude, stood the Capitol of the Time Lords, glorious in its majesty; the sky was burnt orange and red, the mountains white and beautiful in their desolation, and protected by a large transparent dome was where the Academy situated itself. The Doctor taught him to drink with the Shobogans, a sub-group of the Outsiders, New Age Time Lord dropouts—Nesbin and Rodan were among them; Koschei sits among them, staring into the swirling liquid of infinity. "Why did you leave the Academy?"
"Why haven't you? It's a god awful place, and they just tell us to do stuff without even telling us why. You know what they're training us for, though?"
"The Academy's wonderful," Koschei defends. "It's a place of home, nestled in between the mountains of Solace and Solitude; the pride of Gallifrey, all the Time Tots are sent their to learn the ways of the universe. What are you going to do with your life, then?"
"Thirteen cycles of regenerations," Nesbin pipes in. "Thirteen cycles of regenerations is what they give me, thirteen lives, thirteen blank slates to start over upon. Do you think that I'm going to even waste a minute of those regenerations stuck in the Time Lord Academy, learning about history, when I could be exploring all of time and space?"
Koschei barks out a laugh. "All of time and space? All we have is Gallifrey, and that's enough for me."
"You're such a simple child, Koschei, the obedient, dutiful child of House Oakdown; just like your brother, aren't you?"
"I wouldn't mind being my brother." The Doctor is ten years of age now, the Master seven years past their births; The Doctor is growing up quickly, a more respected member of society, though still a child. They're all children, in the end.
"Your brother's already a pawn of the Time Lords! He's been in training with Lord President, hasn't he?" Roban asks, as though he's already sure that the answer is yes, and it's a bit startling that the Outsiders, people who aren't even real Time Lords, just drop-outs and malfunctions, know more about the race of the Time Lords than one of their children does.
"How did you know that?"
"Us Shobogans, we know a lo more than you think—The Time Lord Council, they rely on us; we feed information about the other Outsider groups, the more rebellious ones; and in return, they don't kill us. They could, they would kill us."
"Not Lord President—he's a fair and just man, Nesbin. He wouldn't kill anybody, would he?"
"You have so much to learn, little child," Rodan grins, laughing. "You are but a child of Time, one of their mere creations—there are thousands of students like you, wanting to be better, wanting to prove yourself. If you want to stand out, do something different, be somebody else. The Time Lords, we're a remarkable race, the best and most noble of them all. What have you got to offer us?"
(Two months later, he picks a fight with some six drunken Shobogans, and they don't bother to look at him anymore.)
He constantly lives in the shadow of his brother—
"I swear to protect the ancient Law of Gallifrey with all my might and brain. I will to the end of my days, with justice and with honour temper my actions and my thoughts," Koschei recites; it is the prayer that he whispers in his sleep, tossing and turning, alone. Thin wisps of brown ringlets, weak and cowardly; his brother chooses the name of The Doctor; in the language of the forest, this is a man who heals, who saves all of time and space from destruction. Staring into the endless beats, the drums pounding in his mind—all of time and space, ready to conquer.
The Master grows distant from his brother—the elder of the two chooses the name of The Doctor; he stares into the infinity of the Time Vortex, headmaster of the Academy composed of wise eyes and wispy beard placing a hand of reassuring upon his shoulder, staring into the endless droning—all of time and space, ready to explore.
ACT II: RUNAWAY
Torvic is nothing more than a cruel monster—
They are all children of time, creations by the High Council of Time Lords, but Torvic has gone insane after staring into the Tempered Schism (it's not irregular for the Time Tots to go mad; they either go mad or run away, and some of them stay and remain normal, but they are anomalies, the Special Children is what they are called; they are revered beings, Gods among children).
He is of brown ringlets and darkened eyes; the sun burns holes into his back, scarred black skin trailing across—he is dying, an ailment that cannot be found in the storage of the Time Lords; Torvic is stained by the Citadel, the worst of the creations of the Time Lords, the most malveolent of the Children of Time. He corners Koschei, eyes gleaming with cruel intentions. "Koschei, Koschei, Koschei, what am I going to do with you know? You've been a horrible boy, leaving the Academy, running away from the Citadel; what would your father say?"
"What would your father say when he figured out that you weren't in the hospital?"
"He would be proud of me; living a life of glory and fighting, rather than living out my last days in a hospital bad, regenerations and memories sucked away from my brain and stuffed into the expanse of the Vortex. Your father wouldn't be proud of you. You're a coward."
"I'm not a coward!" He cannot be a coward—Koschei's father has raised him to be a soldier, and soldiers are never cowards; they are brave and honorable and scarlet runs through their veins.
"Then why don't you fight back?" Torvic jeers, swinging a punch.
"I don't see the point in fighting back somebody who's twice my size and twice my age, especially not if you're sick too—I could fight you, I could beat you, I could beat a thousand creations of you, all at once. I'm the Master."
"You are not a Master, you are a boy, Koschei—you have looked into the Untempered Schism, yes, but that does not change who you are."
"It changed you. You used to be a nice boy, and now you're just a villain."
Torvic's eyes flicker dangerously, and he throws Koschei into the River Lethe, standing above him with a weapon in one hand, his lost mind in the other; Koschei closes his eyes for a moment, ready to embrace Death, and then Torvic's head falls onto the River, and the Doctor stands behind, eyes hardened and old for a boy of twelve years. "Thank you," Koschei mutters; he is not sure how to act around his own brother, who visits House of Oaktown as often as their father does, which is close to never.
Death is gaunt face and darkened shadows beneath eyes, pulling down upon layers of fabric skin. "You, Doctor, you shall be my disciple." Death is an Eternal, a God of Gallifrey, older than Time, younger than Pain; Pain is something that has originated from the beginnings of the universe. "You will learn how to control your gifts, you will be my child."
"No, I will not." The Doctor is strong and valiant, and he will not let Death rule over him. "I am a child of Time; my brother, The Master, he can be your child, your champion." Death agrees and sweeps Koschei into her arms, and the end is near.
(The beating of the drums, Death whispers them into his mind.)
The Academy is not something carved out of dreams, not something carved out of nightmares—it is a place that nobody can call home, not even the renegades who have been declared insane by the High Council, but a place that all the Children of Time eventually find themselves in, standing in its majestic halls, breathing in its polluted, glorious air. The Master stands there, second-year, member of the prestigious Deca.
The Deca, if nothing else, is something carved out of dreams—the top rank of students in the class, the ones with the most potential to rise in Gallifrey, living in the midst of the Prydonian Academy (they don green and silver robes, colors of victory and luck); Koschei stands by his brother, and for a small moment of time, within the Deca, they are equal to one another.
"You need to learn a power," Ushas tells Koschei; Ushas is The Rani, a Time Lady to be, a woman to be feared; she is the only female member of the Deca, and dons knives and weapons embedded with falling ringlets of hair. "A power is something that will help you rise, not just among the Deca, but in the world of Gallifrey. Even in the Deca, the other members look down upon you."
"Why? I'm top of the class, just as good as any of them."
Ushas barks out a laugh, "Excelling academically is not the same as excelling in life—your brother, The Doctor, he is not excelling academically. He is something of the bottom of his class, I think? But he is brave, we see goodness in him. We see potential."
"What did you see in me, then, besides excelling academically?"
"We saw potential for greatness—from your name, The Master; you wish to be Master of all of time and space, I assume?" Koschei nods in response, eyes tilted towards the ceiling, towards the stars, towards greatness. "You will be Master one day, but first, you must learn how to become a Master. How do you assume to go about doing that?"
"I will make the people love me, or fear me. To rule, you must be either feared or loved. I will choose to be feared."
"Good; you do not want the people to love you—love is something that they can bend to their own convenience, but if they fear you, then nothing will go wrong in your reign. Have you ever thought about mind control, as a power?"
"I do not have a power, I was not born with one."
"Neither were most of the members of the Deca—it does not matter if you were born with a power or not, but you must learn to develop it. You were not born with madness, the drive to become the Master, from your very first moments, but now, that is all that is driving you forward. We, The Deca, we will teach you mind control, we will teach you your power. But, do be careful that it does not become you."
(So, it goes along that Koschei starts hypnotizing all of the other students, and the Doctor un-hypnotizes them, and reprimands his brother, and it is the cycle of the Master taking control of people, and the Doctor fixing his mistakes.)
It is one of those endless cycles, Koschei thinks.
Valdemar is something of the last of the Great Old Ones—an ancient entity, whispered into the ears of Time Tots, children of Time, before they go to sleep, falling into the oblivion of night times; stories spread throughout star systems, throughout races. "We'll go find him," The Master announces to the Doctor, pride ringing in his syllables. "We'll go find Valdemar."
"Is this something about proving yourself to the Deca? We shouldn't even be among them; they're revolutionaries, yes, not good people, they'll grow up to rebel against Lord President, and have their head impaled. They talk of treason."
"Yet, you still remain one of them. They're not good people, perhaps, but they are powerful children. We need the power, we need to prove ourselves to them."
"By finding a mystical entity that's only been told to us in stories and myths?"
"Haven't you ever wondered about the Old Ones? We've been told so much about them, and if some of the other monsters and demons that we've thought of to only belong in stories and myths are true, then why can't the Old Ones be true as well?"
"I don't want to be any part of power. We'll be impaled, and there's no way that Father, no matter how much power he holds in the High Council, can reverse that decision."
"It's the Old Ones—aren't you intrigued? You'll come with me, I know it."
"Can't you just take one of the other members of the Deca?"
"Like I said, we need to prove ourselves to them; even you, especially me. You're not even close to the top of the class, brother, and if you want to ever rise high, you need the support of the Deca. There's a reason Father introduced us to him, and that's the only reason we're even in the prestigious group in the first place; Father's words won't last forever. We're almost done with the Academy, just another ten years or so."
"I'll come with you—on one condition. This is the last time we're proving ourselves to the Deca. Yes, they are powerful, but why do you even need power? We have each other, we have family, we have our brains, our wonderful Time Lord minds; we don't need power to rise up in the world."
The Master barks out a laugh. "You have spent too much time around Time Tots, Doctor."
They find nothing of the Old Ones, except for blatant warnings—they are scattered across the hallways, upon the walls, flashing neon things in bright colors, not majestic like the light that shines down upon Gallifrey in the morning, but catching eyes with capital letters. They find nothing except for records—The Time Lords are too live for thirteen lives, and record their history, everything about them into the Time Vortex—records of the greatness of Valdemar and Koschei thinks that Valdemar should have been Lord President. "He's great, isn't he? All this power."
"What would you do with it—all that power, I mean, if you had it? I would get bored of the power after all, maybe even go crazy with all of the responsibility. You don't need power, Master, to live; you really don't."
(The beating of the drums tell him otherwise.)
There comes a time in Gallifrey where even the High Council of Time Lords loses power.
The Deca fades away into obscurity, and Koschei is left to take control ("This is your responsibility, now," Ushas tells him, voice of two-fanged venom, and there is nobody left to trust. "You must take power, you must be the Master that you were meant to be; where others have failed, you will succeed. You cannot be weak, you cannot be your brother. You must be The Master.") of the world around him.
"Pundat the Third has inherited the title of Lord President; it has been passed down from generation to generation, and now he holds it within his grasp. While Pundat the Second and Pundat the First were loved and adored, noble and just, Pundat the Third is none of the above—he rules with fear, he holds it over the people, and we are cowards, we are all cowards to not stand up for what is right. You'll join me, brother, won't you?"
The Doctor sighs, and stares out the window, a new habit formed recently. "Pundat the Third, no matter how corrupt he seems to be, he is our Lord President. He is our ruler, a titled passed down from generations."
"You have always told me to stand up for what is right, for what I believe in. Ushas told me—"
"The Rani was driven by corruption, and if she was still alive, she wouldn't hesitate to rebel, but you brother, you are not The Rani. You are still a child, and you can still change your ways. You do not have to be driven by corruption, you can be driven by love or grief or simply the will to explore, the will to do better. I would join you if I knew that your intentions were pure."
The Master laughs. "I was born to be The Master, Doctor, this is what I was meant to do. And you can't disagree that right now, in the period where Gallifrey has fallen into civil unrest, that this is not the right time to rebel."
"There is never a right time to rebel, because it will never be morally justified. Have they done anything wrong to you?"
"They have not, but they have wronged the people, and I am a child of Time, a child of Death. Death comes to my bedside every night, and she whispers into my ears of her plan for me, of her plans for all the Special Children like me."
"I am sorry, I truly am sorry that you are the child of Death now, but you cannot let her rule you. You must break from your chains, and do what is upstanding and right. You do not have to rebel, Master. You do not have to rebel, because that is not who you are."
"You do not know who I am, Doctor. You never have. I was going to offer the role to you, offer for you to be the President; the Deca, they had always said that you were destined for greatness."
"I am not destined to be a God—I will not be Time Lord Victorious; I would be a simple Time Lord any day."
"Do what you will, Doctor; just remember, I had given you a chance before, and I will not offer you this again."
(Pundat dies of stress, and Chancellor Slann takes over power; Lady Larn, the seven year-old child of Chancellor Sllann, is The Master's first kill; bloody reprisals against the students follow, and the Doctor, like the child he is, runs away. "You, my children, you are ready," The Master tells them; they are faces of fright and shock, and they are not ready to seize power and lay claim upon the High Council when the Master slays Lord President Slann.)
The High Council of Time Lords, in all of their glory, circles around him, and sentences him to a death of reasons such as treason and murder and many more—Koschei runs away, and never looks back.
ACT III: EXPLORATION
Space is lonely at first, the loneliest adventure of them all—the Doctor has his companions, pretty little things that fade away into pits of oblivion and darkness; some of them leave, some of them don't make it back home, some of them make promises they can't keep; the Master travels through all of time and space alone, and thinks that is the greatest adventure of them all.
Back in Gallifrey, The High Council summons the Time Lady Ailla—
"Lady Ailla, you will represent Gallifrey. You will pose as a human, a spy to monitor the actions of Koschei—we fear for Time Lords like him, Time Lords gone wrong; he is the worst creation of the Time Lords, and he will gain power as he goes further onwards. You will need to stop him, at all costs." Meek Lady Ailla nods in response, and follows the instruction of her betters.
And, surely enough, there is something of a child left in Koschei, and his heart goes out for her; The War Lords look upon human as the most war-like of all the races, yet Koschei thinks that she is just a helpless girl, lost soul, and he takes her on as a companion. "Are you the last of your kind?"
"No, I'm not." His responses are harsh and bitter upon topics of the Time Lords, Ailla notes.
"You don't seem to like Gallifrey—it seems like it would be majestic though, if such technology as this Tardis was devised from it."
"I never told you that I was from Gallifrey."
"You've mentioned it in your sleep," she replies, eyes smiling, recording device implanted into her brain. "Tell me about Gallifrey; it does sound wonderful, though, much better than Earth. We're just a collection of sentient primates, aren't we?"
"By definition, perhaps, but humans are so much more—The Time Lords, we were once wonderful. The Citadel was where I grew up, in the Academy of the Time Lords—it was composed of mahogany banisters, glorious things, and I had a family there too, the House of Oakdown, we were called. Not one of the finest Houses, often ruled by corruption and such, but we were more respectable than some of the others, as it always is."
"Then why don't you still live there, with your family? Why did you run away?"
"Corruption, as it always is. The Time Lords, we were once glorious, a race that just looked down upon the rest of the universe, never to interefere with the other races, whose judgement was clouded with wanting to conquer the rest of the world."
"You're the Master, though, aren't you—don't you want to rule over the world?"
He laughs. "There's a difference between wanting to rule over the world and having the need to rule over the world; we often have wants and needs, and there might be a thin line between the two, and sure, the names that we have chosen for ourselves at the age of eight, they reflect who we want to be in the future, but in the future, years later, we are rarely who we wanted to be in the past, I often find."
"You'll go back there some day? It sounds wonderful, really, a lost paradise buried in the niche of time."
"Never. I'd never go back to Gallifrey."
(And then, that's the end of the discussion and they never talk about Gallifrey again.)
The Master walks through the streets of Earth, hands clenched with those of Ailla's. "So, this is your Earth? These are savages, no doubt; they are all savages, fighting with one another, bloodshed on each other's hands."
"Make them stop, then. You can make them stop, can't you?"
"Stop fighting? These are men, yes, these are humans—I am a Time Lord, Ailla; I stand above them all, I do not interfere with the affairs of humans. These things cannot be changed, they are timelocked, to say. Ailla, you have a gentle heart—"
"I do not have a gentle heart, sir," she spits out. "These are people, these are the humans, these are my people, and I will not watch for another moment of them killing one another. You promised me a planet, the best of them all."
"The humans are among the best of the races," The Master notes. "The humans—back in Gallifrey, the War Lords, we believed that humans were the best lords of war, willing to fight for what they believed in. Yes, they are little tin soldiers, no doubt, and this is a massacre, but I will not do anything to stop what must be done; this is the humans' fault."
"One mistake, one human, a collection of humans made a mistake, and now the rest of them must suffer in a revolution?"
The Master thinks of the Deca, of the group that he had lead against Lord President, how the rest of them had been killed, suffered because of his actions, and does not regret his actions at all. They are what they are, and if others must suffer, then it shall be that way. "This is how it has always been, Ailla; you can't try stopping them, it's not going to work. These are the Cybermen—they are not the worst of them all, but you will not stop them."
"These are my people, Master," she spits out. "I don't care who you are, what you think that you are, but you are a Time Lord; you have the ability to save thousands of lives; why else would you be traveling in all of time and space? I'd rather have you be a Master, a cynical one, who just conquers and kills, instead of one that stands on the sidelines and watches hundreds of my people being slaughtered."
"This isn't slaughter; this is a war. The Cybermen are being destroyed, slowly; the humans are not weak."
"They kill us for sport," she laughs. "This is not war, this is a game; they are playing with us, toying with our minds—wait for a few moments, and then they'll stop firing into the crowd. They're giving the humans hope, and then taking it away. Is that humane, by any sorts?"
"War is not meant to be humane. You sound like you are not one of the humans." This time it is the Master who barks out a laugh. "War is meant to accomplish a goal, to take over a certain section of people. You cannot save them all, Ailla. One or two, perhaps, but you cannot save all the humans."
"I can, and I will. These are my people, Master. I have a right to protect my people; think, if you could back to your planet of Gallifrey, would you save all the children who had been killed in the Revolution?"
(He flies away in his TARDIS, and she finds him two weeks later, with a new face, slowly destroying himself.)
"Where have you taken me this time?" Ailla asks, laughing. "Please say that it's not a space station, I hate those, really."
"Darkheart. Oh, Darkheart's wonderful, it's really brilliant! It's nestled in between the Galaxy's spiral arms, connected to the mass of its star with a dimensional bridge—haven't crossed it before, I don't think that any Time Lord ever has, I'lll be the first—and the young and the sick are healed here, the Chronovores send their children. But, what's most important about Darkheart, is the device. You can be anything, do anything with it. All the power in the world."
"Thought you said that you didn't want to associate with power anymore, that it was a bad influence upon you?"
"Oh, a little power isn't ever a bad thing—everything in moderation, you keep on telling me; and power's no different, not really. I won't become insane with power, of course not, since now you're with me."
Ailla smiles back, hesitant; it is not the first time when she has wondered the Master's reaction to her being a spy, and decides not to tell him, not to betray him, just not yet, but it won't be long. "Well, are we going to go outside, now?"
"One moment—got to check weather controls, just to make sure that there isn't any poisonous gas that'll choke you immediately."
"Oh, that's nice. That's really wonderful, Master."
"Koschei," The Master offers. "Don't call me the Master, really—it makes me sound like a powerhungry freak who doesn't have anything better to do in the world than try to rule over it. The world shouldn't be ruled over, it's a collection of stars, and they're stars that aren't bound together by a single star or anything like that; they're free, and they should stay that way."
(Except then the Darkheart device proves to be too much temptation for Koschei.) "I'm sorry, Koschei," Ailla says, "But I'm going to have to stop you."
He laughs, cackling. "Ailla, I'm sorry, you've been great, you've been brilliant, really, but you're just a petty human, a little girl—I'm a Time Lord, Death has claimed me to be her child, a child of Time as well. I'm the Time Lord Victorious; there's nothing that you can do to stop me!"
(And then, she reveals her identity, and the darkness swallows him, and the last bit of good in Koschei is thrown into oblivion, and he becomes The Master.)
He takes companions on occasion—Chang Lee, a young human from San Francisco, Earth; Katusra Sato, an immortal Japanese Samurai; Sally Armstrong, who knew how to use the Eminence; Chantho, a companion during his years for two decades, no doubt; Lucy Saxon, his wife, the pretty human girl that Britain fell in love with. Ailla was the only companion that he traveled with, because he wanted to; after that, it was all about needing a human ally to achieve his goal, convenient covers. He was never the same.
ACT IV: EARTH
The Master has gone through seven regenerations—Koschei, a child with lovely hair and fair face; graying hair and broken eyes, a decayed version of himself (it is a consequence of regeneration, a biological attribute allowing the Time Lords to survive fatal injuries, and he has the looks of a devil, but has still survived), then blinded eyes and golden hair, slicked back black and snarls for smiles, a stupid professor who couldn't remember anything, and who he had wanted to be all along—young and adored by the people, his people; the Master of all of time and space, starting with Earth.
He follows the Doctor, the Doctor and the Tardis, the Doctor and his companions—it's something of a cycle.
The Master thinks that it is not enough to just simply see the world, all of time and space. "All of time and space. It's simply enough to see it, just to be a part of the universe around you." The Doctor is of wise words and hardened eyes, eyes that are too old for a young face.
The Master's lips curl into a snarl. "Think about it, though, conquering all of time and space—that sounds so much more brilliant."
You are not alone, Death whispers into his ear, but The Master is too old for its mother; you are not alone—those are words of lies; once, Death had told him that Gallifrey would live on forever, that nobody would be able to crush it, not even in the darkest days of the Time War, but he sees Death now for what she truly is, a woman ruled over by duty, the balance of life—one continues to live when they must die, cheating death, another must die; that is the only reason why The Master has survived for so long.
"The Time Lords weren't supposed to be like this." The Doctor is sad and weak and almost human—but he is strong and omnipotent and Time Lord Victorious too. He is capable of so much more than being a doctor.
"Oh, but you see, this is exactly what we were meant to be! Time Lord, Doctor, Lord of time and space. We were meant to conquer. You've just become human. What are you, coward or killer?"
The Doctor's eyes are glazed over under the beating sun; the shadow of Gallifrey is in the distance, and The Master thinks that no matter what happens, the skyscrapers of Earth will not replace the citadels of Gallifrey. The humans are weak-minded, lost souls and even under the rule of him, they will never amount to greatness, ruled over by jagged flaws. The Time Lords will never rise in a different world. "Coward, any day."
"Well, Doctor," the Master snarls. "I gave you a choice, and you chose wrong."
(The beating of the drums grows louder.)
Rassioln replaces Death, and whispers into his ears, words of greatness—Rassilon is the greatest of the Time Lords, the creator of the great race, the rightful Lord President, and he tells the Master, "You will bring me back at all costs."
The prophecy is such; "Your song is ending sir, it is returning. It is returning through the dark and then Doctor, oh, but then he will knock four times." It is pitiful, a song of desperation, but the desperate people, the ones who wish to live more than anything else, are often the ones who survive through the darkest of the days, and the prophecy lives on.
(There is the switching of the gun, back and forth; The Doctor points it at the High Council of Gallifrey, and then back at his brother, and The Master feels a flicker of wariness, because the man in front of him has become Time Lord Victorious, ready to do whatever is necessary to save the lives of the people on his precious Earth, and they are not brothers anymore.)
"I'm sorry." The Doctor has said the words too many times, but he is sorry—he's sorry that the people who could have been brilliant, the really brilliant ones, die all too soon.
(The beating of the drums stop.)
ACT V: GALLIFREY
The Master is scattered into atoms across the universe—
For a moment, the atoms of Gallifrey, brilliant in their rich color, form together in the back of his vision; he sees the towering citadels, the protective dome that forms around them—Lord President stands upon the top, looking over the entirety of the universe, only looking to protect it, never to interfere; it had once been a majestic race, the greatest of them all, but no more.
Frozen, the planet of Gallifrey was meant to be, stored in the niche, the smallest amount of time and space, hidden away, never to be seen again; but the atoms of Gallifrey residing in the Vortex combine to form a new body, and like a phoenix out of the flaming ashes, The Master rises again.
(The beating of the drums start once more.)
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