Everything was as it should be. As courtrooms should be the courtroom was hot and stuffy. Through the courtroom windows you could see it was going to be a beautiful day – out there.

The judges sat at the bench in their gowns and wigs – their gavels at the ready.

The court officials danced around each other in a waltz of bureaucratic self importance swapping pieces of paper and nodding seriously to each other.

The public gallery was alive with the burble of the thrill seekers, the sobs of little old ladies, the arousal in the eyes of the voyeurs, the god fearing silence of the self righteous, the time weary sighs of the press, the very quiet chuckles from old adversaries and even older friends, and the odd bleat from an overexcited Dalek.

There was only one man in the court who seemed out of place. One lone spectator sat silently amongst the rabble of the gallery. His frock coat was immaculate. His long dandyish hair hung over his delicate features. He leant heavily on his cane as he surveyed the courtroom with distaste, sadness etched across his face.


As the bailiff banged his staff down an excited hush fell across the courtroom. All were waiting for the accused...

And shaven head and feet of lead:

He shuffled in his chains as he was brought to the front of the dock to stand and face the hostile courtroom. He looked small and fragile against the two guards towering above him. Wasn't he meant to be taller? Didn't everyone say he was tall? He shouldn't look short. He can't be short. It is just not right.

The prisoner looked about him as hundreds of pairs (or in some cases – sets) of eyes bored into him and battered him with their emotions until he could bear it no more and he turned his eyes downwards.

Everything was as it should be.

The clerk of the court stood. 'The court will come to order,' he announced. And with those solemn and time honoured words it began.


'The prisoner us charged with the willful destruction of the society of Gallifrey and it's obliteration from the past, the present and the future of time and space. How do you plead?'

When they found him with the dead:



The prisoner was about to take the stand. Everyone held their collective breath as he was painstakingly escorted to the witness stand.

They did not let him swear an oath for oaths are for beings of honour and he had none. They merely asked him if he would 'solemnly promise to tell the truth?'


'I...' He tried to defend himself but he could not find the words. He merely ended up looking down as he tugged his hands neurotically against their bindings.

'You were so arrogant. You dared to think you were 'Time's Champion,' sneered the prosecutor.

'And what did you do with you self appropriated responsibility?' You used it for destruction. You destroyed planets in the name of your self righteous cause. And then eventually so buoyed by your own self importance you destroyed your own people.'

The prosecutor came close. 'Utterly,' it spat and the prisoner flinched.

'Out of existence.'

The prisoner bowed his head lower.


It is reported by some that the prisoner was heard to mutter the words 'yet each man kills the thing he loves', but this may be mere speculation or something conjured up by historians to make their books seem more dramatic.