Author's Note: The poem in bold was written by Robert Frost, and is much owned by me as Doctor Who.
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice
At first there was a lot of talking. Arguing. Debating. Squabbling.
Only one mad, rogue Gallifreyan with an old box dared to act. Back on his home planet, arguments flew back and forth, seeping in a pit of politics and prejudice.
Then the first Dalek attack hit.
Immediately, all the arguing dropped away. As a species, the Time Lords reached for their weapons, and any cautionary words said next were lost in the storm of bullets.
From what I've tasted of desire,
I hold with those who favour fire
The attacks on both sides were hard; but it was nothing compared to those inflicted on innocent by-standards. One by one, other planets and species were swept up in the War, forced to take up sides. Those were the lucky ones. The unfortunate never had a chance, as they were blasted into oblivion, or into non-existence itself.
The Time Lords- oh, the ancient Time Lords, old and degenerate, for the first time in centuries, they had an excuse to release their power! A euphoria, a manic fear, a hysteria gripped them, so strong and wild that not even President Romana's steady head could hold it back. It caught, more virulent and deadly than any plague.
Even the rogue Doctor felt it. A sizzling in his blood, the taste of revenge, as he felt all the power around him, and saw the Daleks burning.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
For all their god-like power, there were many times it seemed that the Time Lords came close to losing.
Their enemies were careless. They had none of their concerns to hold them back. They did not tip-toe around sensitive patches of time. They did not try to limit their impact on planets. They did not use restraint. They brought only mind-crushing hate; behind them trailed destruction, pain and grief.
There were times that the Doctor would sit, paralysed, for hours in his ship, and nothing anyone could say to him would make him move. Surely it could get no worse?
The anger of the Gallifreyans reached a boiling point. They were frustrated. They demanded harder, swifter action! They were being too soft on the enemies, they claimed. More deadly tactics should be employed! Stop worrying about the causalities, just decimate the enemies!
They dragged her from office.
In her place, they brought back Rassilon.
To say for destruction ice
is also great
Rassilon did not care.
The people would not agree. He cared. He cared about so much. He believed in freedom. Peace. Destruction of hate. The end of grief, suffering, and the Time War.
That was all true; but only for the Time Lords themselves.
The Doctor followed, and obeyed, perhaps for the first time in centuries. He had no choice. If he lost what little control he had over the battles, it would spiral out-of control. And Rassilon could not afford to lose him, so he threatened what little was still important to him; Romana. The Master. Leela. Fitz. Susan. Companion after companion fell under the Lord President's control, and with it came the Doctor.
Then he discovered the truth. The final plan.
He could not let it stand. The destruction of Time, but the survival of the Time Lords? It would bring an end to the Daleks, but to all other life, everything else they'd fought to protect! He said as much; he rallied the people, trying to spark rebellion. It fell on deaf ears. They did not care. In peace, they had never ventured out of their fragile Citadel. They had never walked along an alien beach, never looked an Atraxi in the eye, never spoken with a Clomian, never traveled with a human. They had never felt much fondness for the multitude of species which lived beyond their planet, and what little there had been, had withered and died in the winter of war.
He had to do something. He had to stop it.
So the Doctor did. He invented a new weapon. Re-designed the Time-Lock. His TARDIS spun across the planet, across the battle-fields, across the wastelands of death. Time froze. Inside it, the conflict doomed to repeat, all his friends and enemies caught inside a never ending war, beyond the reach of everyone.
His family burned.
His friends burned.
His planet burned.
His body died, and burned.
He felt like ice.
And would suffice.