Revery of Madness (Doctor Who)

II - Searching for patterns

It hurt. It was pain in its rawest form, pain he had never before felt in his life and never would again. Time was burning in his mind, drilling into his soul and his very being. He flinched, somehow still aware of his surroundings and the watching Time Lords. He wouldn't falter, wouldn't run.

So he stood, and he watched.

And he heard it.

He shut his eyes to listen, to determine what it was, but it wasn't necessary. The sound washed over him in a sudden, all consuming wave, swallowed him hole and let him scream in painful agony.

Drumming.

It was the sound of drums, tearing him apart from the inside, repeating, repeating, repeating, repeating. Four times. Always four times.

Fingers were on his small shoulders, on his hands, ripping them away from his tears smeared face. Gravel was digging into his knees. He glared into the curious watching faces of robed figures, unable to remember their names or purposes. They dragged him to his feet, said something.

"I think that one broke."

Perplex he blinked, realizing he could hear the voice clearly, despite the drumming in his head. The thought was like an anchor, a lifeline he clung to.

And the noise faded.

For a moment he thought it was gone completely, but when he closed his eyes and listened, it was still there, lingering in the back of his head, waiting, lurking, like a predator.

The Time Lords pushed him away from the Untempered Schism. For another long moment he refused to move, an unexplainable urge almost forcing him to look back. To take just another peek inside.

There had been so much power!

It could all be his if he only let it happen.

But the adults already pushed him away, dragged and shoved him towards the one Time Lord that would decide his fate. He was clad in the richest red robes, his posture showing absolute power and control. And contempt.

"Ah," Rassilon made and clicked his tongue with a disgusted look on his face. "The little spawn of Lord Oakdown. It's not a surprise you failed the trial, womb-born." He spat out the last word as if it were a poison. Then a gloating grin spread on his lips. "Maybe your father will finally get rid of you now."

"He screamed something about drums in his head, Sir," one of the Time Lords said.

They wouldn't let him visit the academy. He knew it. They would doom him to be an outcast, to live among the common people. A mere peasant, instead of a mighty Time Lord.

If he would survive his father's wrath.

"Bring him home!" Rassilon boomed with a smile. "We won't taint our pupils with this mad stain."

"I'm not mad!" Anger rushed through his veins like hot acid, making his eyes spark with their blue fire. "And I'm not a stain! I'm better than all of you!"

Silence spread among the adults, Rassilon cast a cold gaze at the boy in front of him, then he stepped closer, towered above the child with nothing but hatred in his eyes.

"You dare to-"

"There's no drumming!" the boy continued hastily before anyone would be able to shut him up. "It was only... my heartbeat that I heard."