Sorry for the delay but… at least I'm updating now…?

Song for this chapter: The Greatest Story Never Told (Series 4 soundtrack)

The Time of Reckoning

It was all ash.

He kicked his way through a thick pile, passing the remainder of the stone wall they had hidden behind.

Ironic, he had saved her from a future of death by ash and here she was, buried in it again. He kicked another pile, searching. Still nothing.

He entered the desolated courtyard, passing the empty shell of a scorched dalek. There were several others in the yard, some still standing but most in pieces or fallen to the ashes. The building itself was barely more than a shell, hanging over the battlefield, scattered from the explosion.

It had taken two days for the radiation from the explosion on Arcadia to reach a tolerable level, another day to clear the skies and land enough to search for survivors. And all that time, he'd been waiting, his expectations wearing away.

A few soldiers who hadn't managed to escape the blast stumbled from the rubble, testing their new legs and feeling their new faces to get an idea of what they were like now. But he wasn't looking for them. He was searching the ground. He kicked another pile but still nothing.

His hand curled into a fist. Why was he here? He knew what had happened. The only thing that could happen. She had been incinerated by the detonation. He was breathing her in, kicking her with every step. Her chances of surviving were less than a fraction of a percent. She was gone.

He had reached the ruins of the building where one final thick carpet of ashes had built up against the surviving stones of the wall. His knees fell to the ashes. There was no chance she was alive. She should have been right here, right where he was kneeling. And there was nothing. No longer thinking, he reached forward and began to brush the carpet aside.

A face appeared.

He brushed faster. A neck. A chest. Shoulders. Of course. Because she had survived all this time against impossible odds, why not here? Everything else, including the daleks had been reduced to ash but of course not her. His movements were mechanical but had now taken on a hint of panic as more and more of the body was uncovered.

Please… please.

Her hair was gone right down to the eyebrows, burned away in the explosion. The left half of her face was entirely stripped of skin, a bit of bone was exposed near her nose. The skin along her neck, right down to her left arm was burned and peeling too. Any scrap of clothing she had been wearing was long gone. Save one piece.

The necklace lay flat on her chest but it was so covered in blood and ash it was indiscernible from her burned and bloody skin. He only saw it because he was looking for it.

Only when she was free did he sit back slightly and allow a tiny smile to come over him. Impossible odds, thwarted again. That was his Scribe. He crouched down next to her and buried his hands into the ashes under her. With a gentle heave, he pulled her free. The ashes cascaded from his grip as he stood up. Her arms were folded over her stomach but her tiny scorched legs dangled from his hold, shaking like streamers as he turned and began to walk away.

It was too much to hope that his discovery would go unnoticed. He had barely made it past the remains of the outer wall when another searcher came running up to him.

"Soldier! What is that?" The man called.

He just kept walking. "A survivor." He didn't even try to shield her. There was no point.

The other reached out, probing the minds around him. He encountered nothing from the crispy body in the Architect's arms. Or rather, he encountered something he had not ever expected to encounter. He stumbled backwards. "Is… is that a human?"

"Yes." He walked right past the man, heading for the search and rescue ship.

"What's a human doing here?" The other was following him, trying to get a good look at the body while keeping up with the Architect's brisk pace.

"Long story."

"What are you doing?" He asked as the Architect continued his march, clutching the body tightly to him.

"Go away."

The man run to catch up and placed a gentle, restraining hand on his arm. "Architect…" he said to him. "you know it's dead."

The gaze he gave the other Time Lord was cold and hard. A strong wind blew across the empty surface of the destroyed planet sending ashes whirling in a blinding storm.

"No." He said. "She isn't."

Travel was difficult with the war as all the TARDISs had been drafted for fighting on distant worlds. But the Council had its own private fleet which was used exclusively for emergency meetings and for the trials of war criminals. He was pretty sure he didn't count as a war criminal. After all, the actual 'crime' of bringing a lower species to Gallifrey had taken place over a century ago.

And yet, and yet.

"What is the meaning of this? A human? Why are we being bothered about a human?"

"My Lord President," He implored, bowing his head and forcibly stopping himself from gritting his teeth. "This is all being blown way out of proportion. This child is not a trafficked slave or a criminal…"

"I know that Lord Architect." Rassilon interrupted. His gloved hand clenched and the Architect flinched in spite of himself. "That is not my concern." The President continued, tapping his staff on the ground with a clang. "We have other things to worry about. The Moment, for example which it appears your no-good brother has stolen. The Emperor for another. A book of 'prophecies' and a dead human are of little concern to us."

The Council was gathered in the Hall of Condemnation, the Lords and Ladies seated on the raised pedestal that allowed them to observe the entire floor at once. The naked, burned, broken body was splayed on the long table below them. All the Councilors were sneaking glances at her that were equal parts fascination, shame and disgust. He was standing behind the table, his hands gripping the edge to stop himself from trying to run or cover her. But at the President's mention of the Moment, his grip relaxed slightly in shock.

"With all due respect Lord President," Said a Councilman, bowing his head slightly. "This… human, did prevent a vital operation by the daleks. If they had gotten hold of that power source…"

"She also destroyed an entire planet. This is what happens when lower species enter a war."

His thoughts had been focused on the President's comment about his brother. How could he have possibly gotten hold of the Moment? The most heavily guarded weapon in the universe? But at the President's last comment, he forced his thoughts away from his brother. He'd get more information on that later. "She's just one human, Lord President, with no connect to her home." Getting her functional again was all he should focus on right now. Moment or no Moment, this had to work. "She's only been here a little over a hundred years and all that time she has been under my care and supervision…"

"And now her death and the Fall of Arcadia rest on your shoulders, congratulations Architect." The spite and contempt in the President's voice made his blood boil.

"She's not dead!" He roared, his voice echoing off the high rafters.

There was a moment of tense silence.

"What?" The Judge cautiously spoke up, looking from the Architect to the girl and back again.

"She's not dead." He repeated in a more controlled voice.

"That's not possible," Another Council member, the Vice President reasoned. "not even a Time Lord could survive that level of radiation without at least two regenerations…"

"I didn't say she survived." He interrupted, knowing he was treading on fragile ground. "I just said she's still alive."

"What do you mean?"

He turned to the Vice President and extended one hand towards the body. "All her vitals have stopped sir. But her brain activity is still functioning. It would be possible for me to revive her, given time and the proper equipment." He turned to Rassilon, who was now observing the proceedings with a look of stunned fascination. "Let me save her." He petitioned the President. "You owe her that much for what she sacrificed on Arcadia."

Rassilon considered the request, leaning back in his chair. The Architect watched with shallow breaths as the President reached for the small book on the table before him and flipped casually through it. When he reached the end, he leaned forward and peered once again at the body on the table. His eyes roamed her entire surface carefully as if taking in every cut and burn or trying to read her timeline. The Architect resisted the urge to check her mental blockade. Finally, after what seemed like millennia, Rassilon sat back in his chair and gestured with his glove. "You get two days in the Recovery Unit. That is all."

Knowing he would get no more, the Architect bowed stiffly and picked up the body again. Then he left the room to begin his work.

As agreed, exactly two days later, he returned to the Council in the Hall of Condemnation. The body was once again stretched out on the table before them. Only this time they allowed her the decency of a gown.

Rassilon leaned forward. "Well?" He had the little black book clutched tightly in his gloved hand. His eyes sparkled hungrily as he looked at the human before the Council.

The Architect looked up at him. "She's alive." She was breathing again, and her heartbeat was strong. Her skin was still an angry red but he'd cleaned her up a little: re-growing some of the damaged skin and muscle on her left side, resetting her broken bones. The necklace was hidden under the gown.

Rassalion sat back. "Then wake her." He commanded. The other Council members nodded in agreement, some of them leaning forward eagerly.

He placed a single finger on her chest right over where the necklace was, concealing the bump it made from view. "I can't." He said truthfully. "The process and technology I used to revive and repair her is delicate. It takes a long time to work completely. She might not wake up for another year."

Rassilon leaned forward, peering once again at the human child, his gloved hand tapping on the stone in front of him.

He did not remove his finger from its place on the necklace. He did not even breathe.

"Very well." The President finally said, sitting back. "You are both hereby banished from Gallifrey. Leave now. Never return."

He had expected as much. With a bow, he stood.

Then he left the room, the Scribe's limp body clutched gently in his arms.

"Lord President."

Rassilon turned to the Vice President. "What is it?"

The man inclined his head respectfully. "Is it true sir? What this human wrote in the book?"

Despite his low tone, the Judge overheard. "Is it possible for a human to stare into untempered time and survive, let alone have prophecies of our future?" He asked in a louder voice, drawing the attention of the other Council members who abruptly ceased their quiet conversations to listen in.

The President fingered the volume in question, his fingers finding the page he feared most by habit. The words drawn there danced across his every waking and sleeping moment, he knew them by heart and they terrified him. But all he said was: "Apparently."

Asteroid Delta 1203 was one of the more luxurious way points on the road to banishment. It sat right on top of the largest rift of time energy in the star system. Exiled Time Lords often stopped here to refuel or repair before beginning their lives away from Gallifrey. He expected his brother had stayed here for awhile when his third body had been banished. Of course, he'd been able to go further away. With the Time Lock still intact, they would not be going anywhere soon.

The workshop he'd found was small and rudimentary, possessing very little in the way of tools and equipment. But he had a strong power supply and his sonic screwdriver. It would have to be enough.

He moved around the room with difficulty, connecting cables and turning on machines, checking readings and adjusting settings. Every few seconds he would glance between the body on the table and the box in the corner. With the addition of his TARDIS, the room was half its original size.

Being chased for stealing it from the war repair yard was the least of his worries right now. If the rumors in the capital were true, it was the least of anyone's concern right now. He checked his watch as he plugged the final cable in place. A few more hours… barely enough time.

He doubled checked everything one last time. That the cables were all attached correctly. The machines set correctly. The items laid out on the spare table in the corner. The switch was set. His screwdriver was in his hand, ready to adjust if anything started to go wrong. He nodded stiffly to himself. Now all he needed was the Moment.

When he was satisfied, he finally looked down at his Scribe. He placed a gentle hand on her forehead. She still had not woken up since the battle. But she was still alive. She could not die. Not now.

"I'm finally giving you what you always wanted…" He said, his grip tightening around her head slightly. "… a second heart."

Sorry for any inaccuracies. I haven't watched a lot of Classic Who so any missing or wrong references are entirely a result of my laziness.