Kings of Kobol she is beautiful, the Doctor thought as he stared out the window of his study. He had spent the better part of the day talking-though he insisted it was more like arguing-with Vashtra about the Celebration Day ball coming up in a little more than a week. Now, he was content to stare out at the sunny day outside, but his mind was preoccupied with the stunningly gorgeous woman that he just shared tea with.
The way her brown hair just seemed to flow off of her head and down her shoulders was unreal to him. She was obviously used to serving indoors by the way she held her bearing, but she had been worked in fields or some other type of manual labor, he could tell. Despite her small frame, the Doctor could see that her muscles were well toned. The more and more he thought about her, the more and more he found himself thinking about marrying her. But no, that would be impossible.
The laws of the nation of Gallifrey expressly forbade slaves being freed at all, let alone marry their masters. If you were born a slave, you were stuck a slave. There was no other options. But then again, hadn't Amy and Rory gone up against the same laws so that he could marry their daughter.
The Doctor closed his eyes and tried to hold back the tears as the memories came back to him. He could still feel the heat of the fires from the forges and the pain of the whip as it struck his back, whether or not he had done something wrong. Every day was the same in the forges. Get up early, work yourself to death beating hot metal into swords and shields for the war effort, eat terrible food, get beaten yourself, go to bed, and repeat the cycle the next morning.
After the Battle of Trenzalore, when the people of Gallifrey finally won the war against the Dalek nation of Skaro, the slaves who worked in the forges were to be killed. They were of no further use to the people of Gallifrey, and their conditions were technically illegal according to the laws that Rassilon had enacted to protect slaves during the war. If one were to survive, they could go to Rassilon and convict the masters. Death was the only answer.
The line was long as slaves marched to their deaths, but one boy, by the identification of Slave 24601, ran out of the line and through the forges, chased through the fields until he was able to lose his pursuers in the canyons. The boy was only ten years old. He trekked across dozens of miles, until he found himself at a slave auction in Arcadia. Gallifrey's second city. The boy was bought by a young woman of about 25, with the reddest of hair he had ever seen.
"Hello," she had said when he was brought before her. Her accent was northern, if the boy wasn't mistaken, which wasn't very often. The woman knelt down, even though she was getting mud all over the skirt of her dress. She looked into the boy's brown eyes, which she could tell had seen so much more than they had any right to see.
"My name is Amelia," she told the boy. "Amelia Pond. What's your name?"
Automatically, the boy responded, "24601."
"You mean you don't have a name? Like a proper name?" The boy shook his head. "Well then, I guess we'll have to change that then, won't we?" Amelia smiled and stood, offering her hand to the young boy. For some reason, the boy took it, even though he knew that wasn't how slaves were supposed to act for their owners. There was something about this woman that was different though. She was kind, caring. She got mud on her dress just so that she could look into his eyes, and wanted to give him a name. That was different than everything the boy knew.
The red-haired woman led him to a coach where a short, stumpy man stood, opening the door for Miss Pond when she approached. "Strax," she said to the man, "take us to the shopping district. We need to get some proper clothes for our latest addition."
"Right away, ma'am."
Amelia helped the boy into the coach and got in herself. In an hour, the boy was wearing clothes that were fitted to him personally, and were made of materials he had never felt before in his life. "There," Amelia said, kneeling down in front of him once more. "You look much better now, you Raggedy Boy." She ruffled the boy's dark brown hair and stood up, taking his hand again.
They rode up to the grandest of buildings that the boy had ever seen. Perfect green grass, beautiful flowers, and tall trees. Still holding onto Amelia's hand, the boy walked up the stone steps to the front doors, where a young boy of about thirteen or fourteen opened them.
"So, your father is letting you be butler for a day, is he, Jack?" the woman asked.
The boy smiled. "Yes ma'am," he said. "He said that if I did a good job today, he might let me do it more often."
"Well, I look forward to when you will be walking around these halls doing everything your father is doing today."
"What's your name?" Jack asked, the boy.
"24601," he said.
"What, you don't have a name?"
The boy shook his head.
"Don't worry, Jack. We'll be changing that soon. Come on, Raggedy Boy. Let's introduce you to the rest of the family." Amelia took the boy throughout the rest of the house, introducing him to the rest of her "family", which included nearly a dozen servants from different regions. All of them asked him his name, to which he always answered, "24601."
Eventually, Amelia took the young boy to meet her husband, Rory Williams. Amy laughed and explained that it was a joke between them that his real name was Rory Pond, like her.
Rory looked at the boy with a smile on his face. "And who exactly are you," he asked nicely.
"Slave 24601."
Amelia looked down at the boy and asked him, "If you could pick any name in the world, what would it be?"
"Doctor," he said. "I wanna be the Doctor."
Rory looked as if he was going to protest, but Amelia gave him a stern look before looking down to the boy again. "I think that's a wonderful name, Doctor." She ruffled his hair. "If you want to be called the Doctor, then we'll all call you the Doctor. But you'll always be the Raggedy Boy to me."
The Doctor let the memory of Amy Pond fade from his mind. Her legacy had been forever a part of his life. She had never raised her voice at him, never once threatened to beat him, and had always listened to him whenever he had a nightmare from the forges. She had really been more like a mother to him than a mistress.
The Doctor found himself wondering what Amy would have thought of Clara. More than likely, she would have loved the twenty-five year old brunette. What would have Melody thought of her? He didn't have to wonder about that last part very long. Instantly, the letter she had written to her husband in the event she died came to his mind.
Reaching into his desk drawer, he pulled the yellowed piece of paper out and held it reverently in his hands. He read it over once more, even though he had memorized what his beloved wife had written a long time ago. She had talked about how much she loved him, ever since they met as children. She had been away visiting relatives when he first arrived, but when they had met, she claimed that she was instantly smitten with him. She had written the letter to tell him that, despite how much they loved each other, she wanted him to move on from her, now that she was dead.
"I want you to find another woman," she had said, "one that you truly love. I don't care if you have to break the law to marry a slave like my parents did to allow us to marry, I want you to find another wife. I'm dead, you don't need to feel loyal to me anymore. And we both know that you can't be alone. We had many wonderful times, Doctor, and I wouldn't go back to change any of them. But, as much as we hate to admit it to ourselves, this is our last page together. That doesn't mean you have to set the pen down. Keep it in your hand, find a new woman to write more of your story. Goodbye, Sweetie."
Placing the letter back in the drawer, the Doctor wiped the tears from his eyes. Melody was right. He had been alone for too long. But that didn't change his situation. He was a master, and she was a slave. But, then again, he was a still a slave too.
"Look down. Look down.
You'll always be a slave.
Look down. Look down.
You're standing in your grave."
The Doctor sang the lyrics to the song he had learned in the forges all those years ago. Shortly before he had married Melody, Amy had effectively erased all traces of the slave that was 24601. All there was left was the Doctor: widower to Melody Pond and heir to the William's estate. Could it be possible for him to do the same thing to Clara? He could, Vashtra had been around when Amy erased 24601; she would know how to do the same thing to Clara. Only one thing kept the Doctor from calling Vashtra and having her begin the process was a simple question: did Clara love the Doctor as much as he loved her?
For now, it seemed that the answer was no. It was forbidden for slaves to love their masters as the Doctor had loved Melody. If Clara did love him, he would have to make absolutely sure of it before he went around erasing any trace of her life. For now, there as a ball to plan.
