The day of the ball finally came, and as much as the Doctor hated it, he put on his tuxedo and joined the throng of people in the main halls of the house. He had a glass of champagne in his hand as he milled about the different members of the aristocracy of Gallifrey. The women were dressed in the "latest fashions" as they called it. The Doctor called it unnecessary fluff.
Ever since Melody's death, many of the "eligible" ladies had tried to come onto him, and tonight was no exception. Lady Christina de Suza, Madame de Pompadour, even Duchess Elizabeth all tried to impress him with their eligibility. They failed. The way they lived their lives didn't impress the Doctor. There was only one woman he would even consider sharing his life with, and she was currently walking around with a tray of hors d'oeuveres.
The servant's dresses hadn't changed, despite the occasion, but to the Doctor, Clara Oswald looked like she was a member of royalty herself. What the Doctor wouldn't have given to be able to just get down on one knee and propose to her right then and there. That wouldn't do though, not with Rassilon himself at the ball.
Uncomfortable with the whole situation, he found himself waiting for a time when he could politely excuse himself from everything and hide in his study. That was when he saw a servant whisper into the Master's ear. The Master clinked his glass to get everyone's attention. The Doctor could feel the pace of his heart quickening. The Master had been the one who had beaten him so mercilessly in the forges. Any time he was anywhere near the Master, he feared that the man might identify him as Slave 24601. So far, that hadn't happened, but anything was possible.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, loud and clear. "I am pleased to announce that I have just received word that a slave who escaped many years ago has just been identified."
"That's very good news, Master," Lord Rassilon said. "What is the identity of this slave, if we may ask."
"He's a slave who escaped work in the forges during the Time War, Lord President." The Doctor felt his pulse quickening. The entire night, he thought he felt the Master's gaze on him. Now he understood why. The Master had recognized him, just as he feared. "His name," the Master continued, "is Slave 24601. As we speak he is being attached to the beating poles in the public square for summary execution. If you all would be so kind as to direct your attention to the media screen."
The Master set a holo-projector on the table and displayed the man who he claimed was Slave 24601. That was when the Doctor realized that the Master hadn't recognized him. He honestly believed that the man on the beating poles was 24601. The Doctor allowed himself a small smile. After this, he would never have to fear being caught again. The government would never look for him after this, not after they thought they killed him.
But just as quickly as he smile sprouted on his face did it fade. Amy would have been ashamed of those thoughts. Just before she died of the same disease that had taken her husband, she had made him promise that he would never be cruel or cowardly; that he would never give up or give in. He had done his best to keep that promise, but now, as the executioner waited for the Master's order to beat the man to death, he realized that he had failed Amy by even thinking about letting this man take the blame.
But what could he do. If he were exposed as an escaped and then freed slave, he would be killed on the spot. Then what would happen to the servants in his house? What would happen to Clara? Clenching and unclenching his fists, the Doctor steadied himself for what he was about to do.
"Waiting your orders, sir," the man with the whip said.
Just before the Master could give the order to begin, the Doctor rushed forward into the small circle of people at the center of the room. "Wait! Stop! Let him go!" Everybody looked at him as if he had gone mad. "You have the wrong man. The man on those beating posts is not Slave 24601." The Doctor swallowed hard. "I am Slave 24601."