Chapter 1: An Imp in London Town

He looked at the ground as he walked the London streets, taking intense interest in each cobblestone and uneven bit of paving… because looking up, looking at the night sky only served to remind him of what he'd lost. Thrown away, even. With both hands.

Not my fault, the Doctor reminded himself. It was like a mantra, those words. Every time he stopped running, stopped moving for long enough, he thought of flying away from Gallifrey for the last time; and the guilt crushed him anew.

Gone, all gone. My home is gone, my family, friends; it's all gone

And then he'd say it again, over and over in his mind. Not my fault, not my fault.

Not that chanting those words helped. They didn't; but a little piece of him hoped that maybe one day he'd say them enough that they'd be true. Actually provide comfort.

Not my fault, not at all. Their fault.

But those words weren't true either. It was their fault for forcing him into it; but oh, his too for actually doing it.

He was so busy looking at the ground, watching where his feet fell that he was startled when something moved in the corner of the street. A shapeless bundle under a ragged blanket shivered and twitched; and the Doctor recoiled when a frail green hand stretched out toward him.

"Alms, milord? Alms for the poor?"

"Two things," the Doctor said, eyeing the hand groping toward him with suspicion. "No wait, three.

"First of all, in Twenty-first century England, no one hangs around on street corners at midnight, asking passer-by's for alms. Spare a pound, perhaps. Play on my sympathies by telling me how hungry you are, or how cold.

"But alms belong to another century. You ought," he continued, sounding rather cheerful, "to get your terminology right if you're going to go begging round here."

The figure went very still, one green hand staying outstretched with its skin shining a pale jade even under the moonlight.

"Noted, milord," it whispered. "I'll check my wording from now on. But that was only one thing. What are the other two?"

"The second," said the Doctor curtly, "is that you're simply the wrong colour. You're in England. On Earth. Beings of Earth are not-" he took a step closer, pulling heavy woollen fabric off the little figure, "-green."

Beneath the blanket, sitting cross-legged on the London street was an imp straight out of the fairy tales. Short and pale green, childishly androgynous, with a crop of richly verdant hair rippling in shiny waves down slender shoulders all the way to the pavement. Large black eyes with no whites or irises, strangely bug-like in a small pointed face glittered at the Doctor.

"Some people are green," protested the imp.

"Not humans. If you're going to hang around on Earth, you have to look the part."

"Like you do, milord?"

The Doctor shrugged. "I can pass, yes. At least I'm not an unnatural colour."

"I was told to tell you it's not easy being blue."

"And yet, you're green."

"Easier to be green than blue. And you're so very blue, milord."

"I," snapped the Doctor, "am nice and pink, thank you."

"Pink on the outside, perhaps," a small pointed tongue darted out, licking pale green lips, "but blue on the inside. Like a Gobstopper."

The Doctor cringed. "Thank you for that commentary. But I've better things to do than stand around at midnight arguing about colour with a… what are you, anyway? No," he said, holding up a hand, "I don't care what you are."

"Don't be stupid. You have nothing better to do."

"Do so."

"Do not, milord." The imp crossed its arms, glaring upward. "And don't argue. Anyway, you said three things, three things to tell me; and you've only said two."

"So I have. Pardon me for forgetting that. The third thing is," the Doctor surveyed the figure sitting implacably on the street with a hint of distaste, "that no one says 'milord' like that. Not nowadays."

The creature giggled, a shrill high-pitched sound that made the Doctor roll his eyes.

"Except that you must always use the correct form of address for people, shouldn't you? And I think I'm right about who you are. Leather coat, those blue eyes reflecting your sad, blue inside…and those ears. I was told to look out for those ears."

"What's wrong with my ears?" the Doctor protested. He hadn't looked in a mirror, not properly since the last time he'd regenerated. Didn't really care what he looked like, this go round. If there were justice in the Universe, he'd look like as much of a monster as he felt inside… but no. A glimpse had shown him cropped hair and blue eyes, sharp nose and defined jawbone. Normal enough. No one should scream and run away when they saw him.

"Those ears are ridiculous. Still," the imp shrugged, "I was told to watch for them. He said I'd know you by them; know that you're the milord I'm waiting for."

"I'm not a milord," the Doctor said flatly.

"Well, you're not a milady. And I think you are," the being answered slyly. "I think you must be the Lord of Time I've been waiting for."

They eyed each other, the imp with satisfaction and the Doctor with suspicion.

"You've been waiting for me?" asked the Doctor. "Why? Who sent you? And what are you? Don't know many green things that look like you."

"I'm from quite far away," the imp said. "Like you, but in a very different way. And I'm repaying a favour. Was sent by someone with a supreme interest in you to help…"

"Not being much help," the Doctor muttered. "Being a pain, more like. Give me your name, at least."

"Names are important, and I can't give you mine." The imp shrugged again. "But you can call me your guide, if you'd like. Because there is something for you to do, something big and important that only you are capable of. There is a lost and beautiful Lady who needs to be saved..."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "A lady who needs to be saved? Where is she, in a lake or something, clutching a sword?"

The imp snickered. "Not a lake, certainly. A pond, perhaps."

"You want me to rescue a Pond Lady." The Doctor pretended to think, tapping his cheek with one finger. "Nope. Not interested."

"Alright then," snapped the imp. "If I call her a Princess, would that make it better for you? She needs to be saved no matter who she is. She is crying for her Prince Charming to rescue her. There are tasks to win through, trials to overcome, maybe even danger to avert…

"Are you interested, milord? In taking on the mission?"

He paused for a moment, just long enough to make the little creature think he might actually be willing to accept…

"No. I'm no one's charming Prince. But thanks for the message." He turned to walk away, and the imp laughed.

"You're not full of charm, it's true. But what if I were to tell you milord, that you must do it?"

The Doctor sighed. Remembering flying away from a time lock, grief and anger in his hearts so heavy he wondered why he didn't sink straight through the TARDIS floor, plummeting to the stars beneath him.

"Sometimes," he said softly, "you must do a lot of things. Good or bad. But this one," he sneered, "rescuing a Princess or even some Lady… this sounds like something I can walk away from."

"Then what if I tell you," the imp said slyly, ducking its head and peering up at him, "that this will make your dreams come true?"

"I don't dream."

"Come now, Milord Time. No lies between us!" The creature giggled like a child. "Everyone dreams. And if you're a good boy -a very very good one, who does what he's supposed to- then maybe what you want will come true."

"I'll be a real, live boy?" the Doctor mocked. "Thanks anyway."

"No. If you're very, very good… then I was told to tell you that even you can get your reward. The best one of all.

"You won't be alone anymore."

He was turning to walk away when the imp whispered the last words; and he wished he could unhear them. Unless pretending they didn't affect him. He had always been lonely. A lonely little boy, a lonely man even when he was out travelling the stars, companions at his side. Lonelier still when he returned to Gallifrey, at their beck and call during the Time War.

And loneliest of all now. Planet destroyed. His race destroyed. Last Time Lord standing; and miserable because of it.

"Got your attention now, haven't I?" The imp stood up, stretching thin arms above its head and arching its back like a cat. "I was told that if you wouldn't just do it, help that poor trapped Princess… those would be the magic words to use. And he was right!"

"Fine," the Doctor snapped. "Yes, those were magic words. So then, you've got my attention. What do I do to rescue a princess? Do I need some sort of sword?"

"No. No swords for you. Only this."

With a graceful bow, head down and hand outstretched, the imp held something out and the Doctor took it, turning it over in his hands with a bemused smile and raised eyebrow.

"Who uses a CD to rescue a Princess?"