There, and Back Again - Chapter 15
Aug. 5th, 2020 04:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
schrodingers_time_ladyFandom: Doctor Who
Character(s): Rodageitmososa (OC), Rassilon (Pre-Canon), Quences, Others
Previous Chapter: Chapter 14
Next Chapter: Deus in Absentia
Synopsis: Growing into a Time Lady is hard enough, but growing up as the Lord President's ward is even harder. Especially when it seems as though all of Gallifrey and strangers alike want to tell you how to live your life and who you're going to become.
Cross-posts: AO3
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Six years later…
It occurred to Roda - a couple of seconds too late - that throwing her collar at Lord Rassilon was about as far from ‘diplomatic’ as it was possible for her to behave.
There were a couple of seconds where she thought, perhaps, that she might have gotten away with it. Rassilon had ducked, and the pointy bits of the collar hadn’t hit him in the face. (Bren was right; she really couldn’t aim for shit.) Right now, the President was staring at the piece of clothing on the floor as though it had sprung out of the time vortex out of nowhere, which she supposed probably made about as much sense to his idea of what was and wasn’t proper as the idea of someone throwing something at him did in the first place. He wasn’t looking at her, and as Roda caught her breath and gathered her thoughts she entertained the idea that now might be a very good time to run, and deal with the consequences later. Because the final thing that dawned on her - in the eternity of a second or two where all Skaro hadn’t broken loose - was that she had just done something very, very stupid.
It had begun with speaking up out of turn. She usually kept her mouth shut through the majority of council meetings; waiting until somebody called upon her for her opinion, which was typically a slightly reworded version of Rassilon’s opinion whether it was hers or not. Today, though, the topic had been too close to home for her to toe the Chapter line.
In the past few months, Castellan Temia had been ruthless in his pursuit of the shobogan rebels. His pursuit, and his hunt. Sax, Odell, Bren and the others getting away those years ago had taken its toll on his reputation and his pride, and there had been calls for his resignation from within those circles of Gallifreyan nobility with a particular hatred towards the shobogans. People who believed that the native Gallifreyans were a mark on the good name of the Time Lords. Roda - who had been feeding Bren warnings throughout those months and had been forced to privately concede that perhaps there was a bonus to her being in the Council - was not one of those people. Though both her seat and her status, technically, as the custodian of the Prydonian Library put her within the nobility of Gallifrey, she hated it. Hated their prejudice, and their ego. But most of the people who sat in the council with her were those kinds of bastards. And she had bitten her tongue long enough.
***
“Or we could give them our excess.”
Silence befell the council chambers as all eyes turned on its youngest member. Kithriarch Quences of Lungbarrow paused in the middle of a vitriolic sentence about racial purity with one hand in the air and affixed Roda with a look of such venom that she almost wanted to laugh. And it would have been comical, under any other circumstances. He looked like a fish caught out of water, his mouth agape and his eyes boggling. But nobody else was laughing. Nobody else would have interrupted him in the middle of a speech.
He was not an important Lord, all things considered. The House of Lungbarrow - though influential - had faltered in recent years. Under Quences’ command they had produced little more than custodians and clerks, but they had held a seat on the Council since time immemorial and his line went back far, far further than Roda’s own. She knew that Rassilon held him in some regard, if not the highest, and that when he spoke, people were expected to listen. She also knew that when a member of her own Chapter had something to contribute to a debate in the Council, she was typically expected to not and agree, with a general air of ‘hear hear, what wisdom’. But Roda had never been especially good at keeping her mouth shut, especially when it mattered, and she’d somehow managed a six year streak of not putting her foot in it. Apparently it had been only a matter of time before that changed.
When Quences finally found it in himself to shut his mouth, he didn’t start talking again. Roda sat in her mother’s chair, silently begging it to swallow her whole, as the Council waited for her to add something more to her untimely interruption. Clearing her throat - and against her better judgement - she did so.
“Lord - Lord Quences makes the claim,” she began, trying to be respectful - for all the good it would do now, “that the rebels invade our territory in search of greater resources, and that in order to curb their… enthusiasm,” his words, not her own, “we should cut down and produce only as much as we need. But that’s just… stupid.”
A murmur passed around the table, within which Roda could only catch the occasional word. ‘Inconceivable.’ ‘Too forward.’ ‘Inexperienced.’ She bit her tongue with difficulty, hoping that the conversation could just move on with her interruption ignored. But the Scendelesion delegate across the table had other ideas.
“And so you would have us waste our energy on supplying terrorists with the means with which to devastate our lands?” Selesion’s father - whose name Roda could never quite remember - scoffed. “Is this what the latest generation of Prydonians believe in?”
“It is not,” declared Rassilon, firmly, “Perhaps the representative of the House of Meyeroderon is simply confused.”
He said it with an air of finality, his eyes cutting cauterized holes in Roda as he silently commanded her not to speak again. It was not a suggestion, though he phrased it as one, ever the politician, ever thinking of appearance. His mouth was a tight smile, reassuring the Council that this was but a blip in an otherwise rehearsed and scripted meeting.
“But,” Roda began, her mouth running away once more, unable to take the hint, “if they’re just hungry isn’t it our responsibility as Time Lords to provide for the people of Gallifrey?”
“The rebel shobogans have made it clear that they do not count themselves amongst our ranks,” protested Quences, with a sneer. Roda glared at him, thinking of the friends he was insulting. “As such I for one see no reason why we should consider them our burden to bear.”
Most of the Lords and Ladies around the table raised hands or voices in agreement. Roda made a fist, pushing herself to her feet and slamming back her chair. The murmuring began anew, this time with sideways glances at Rassilon. The idea that he was somehow to be her keeper only fueled Roda’s frustration.
“Aren’t we better than that?” She snapped, furious. “Aren’t we Lords and Ladies? Aren’t we at the helm,” she stressed, fishing for words, “of greater acts than starving an army that is already losing the war? Or was all that talk at the Academy about how we’re better and smarter than everyone else just a load of-?”
“Be silent, Rodageitmososa.”
Roda sat down, and studied her knees. She was faintly aware of Rassilon inviting Quences to continue making his point, but she ignored him, stewing in her own thoughts. The talks went on, and she didn’t open her mouth again.
***
“Are you finished?”
Rassilon’s voice was quiet; so quiet that Roda almost didn’t hear him. She stood in the council chamber of the Panopticon, chest heaving, her tantrum dissipating. Rassilon had called an end to the proceedings not long after her outburst, but with a single word he had stopped her before she could slink away with her metaphorical tail between her legs. Now, she felt as though she was faced with a predator. Hushed. Waiting. Ready to strike. The controlled anger was the worst.
Without saying a word, she crouched down, retrieving her collar from where it had thudded against a wall. She stayed small, still, tucking it under one arm as she pulled herself to her feet. There were no words to say, at least none that she thought would make things better. Or rather… there were plenty of words she could say, but they would all be kowtowing and at the moment, she had the feeling Rassilon would tell a lie coming a mile off.
Still, he didn’t speak; simply waited for her to respond.
Roda took a few deep breaths, contemplating the many levels to which she had messed up. She had shouted at Rassilon. She had thrown something at him. She had embarrassed him in the middle of the council. She had spoken up for the shobogans. She had spoken out of turn. At least one of those things was something to be proud of, in her books, but there was no way that the President was going to agree; and she had no idea which one she was supposed to begin apologising for first.
“It won’t happen again.”
“It won’t happen again…”
Still angry and still self-conscious herself, Roda nodded, carefully taking a step backwards and away from Rassilon. When he didn’t react to the first she took another, glancing quickly over her shoulder to see how close she was to the door. Maybe she just had to leave and let him… cool off? Calm down? Maybe this would all boil over if she just stayed inside of the Library for a couple of days and let Rassilon take his temper out in his workshop instead of on her. She could come back in a couple of days, apologise gratuitously - whether she felt like it or not - and hope that she hadn’t blown a hole in their somewhat stable peace forever. It wasn’t as though she had ever appreciated the position he had put her in when he’d ‘gifted’ her the seat, nor that she was happy with the life she was forced to lead… but it was easier than Rassilon’s anger. Keeping her opinions to herself in the future was the easiest way to make sure that this never happened again.
“It won’t… happen… again.”
“I…” Roda swallowed, just inches from the door. She nodded again, keeping her head bowed, playing the subservient ward and citizen and hating every second of it. “Yes. Just… forget what I said. It was careless.”
Her foot hit the open doorway just as Rassilon’s gauntletted hand slammed into the keypad on the wall, mere inches from her head. Roda flinched, pulling her foot back just in time to stop her heel from getting trapped in the closing door. She turned to stare at it, mouth opening and shutting in surprise, and missed the hand that grabbed her arm and spun her around as though she weighed nothing at all. The breath rushed out of her lungs as Rassilon slammed her against the door, the collar bouncing off her leg and rolling across the floor once again. He pinned her in place with one hand on her shoulder, and beside her the gauntlet on the wall glowed an unnerving shade of blue that made her want to close her eyes against the glare.
“Hey - wait a-!”
“Careless.” Rassilon narrowed his eyes, practically spitting in Roda’s face. “What you did was not simply careless, Rodageitmososa. It was disobedient. It was insulting. And it was stupid.”
Roda’s eyes flashed as she gripped Rassilon’s forearm, subconsciously trying to tear it away from her. “What are you - let go of me!”
The glove flashed again, and knowing full well what it was capable of doing Roda couldn’t help but flinch. He wouldn’t use it on her… would he?
“Careless is a mistake. You have never minced your words.” Gone was the President, gone was the politician, gone was the guardian. In his place was the commander. The man who could start and finish wars. “You embarrassed me in the Council today, Rodageitmososa. You directly opposed me on matters that I thought even you would find simple enough to grasp and you did not know your place.”
“You’re hurting me..!”
Rassilon ignored her complaints. “I cannot begin to understand your motive in defying me. Was it simply to make a fool of me?” Though his tone was cold and threatening, Roda could tell that he was legitimately unsure, which meant that at least he had no idea the real reason she had spoken up. “I would have thought that you of all people would have no love for the terrorists who led to your father’s untimely demise.”
The words spilled out of her mouth in a snarl before she even knew what she was saying.
“But what if Temia was wrong? What if they did nothing wrong - what if they just need our help?”
“Are you questioning me?” The grip on her shoulder let up, only for Rassilon’s hand to snap instead to her throat, forcing her to stand on her toes. Roda’s eyes widened in alarm, and she groped blindly for the controls on the wall that would unlock the door. The ones that her once upon a time guardian’s glove was still resting atop. “Lord Rassilon the Great, founder of your society?”
“I’m - I’m questioning the Castellan!” Roda managed to choke out; somehow angrier than she was alarmed. She knew - or rather, a little voice at the back of her mind - was telling her that she was in danger, and that she had never pushed Raz so far as to choke her before. It should have terrified her, but she was full of rage and vinegar. Instead she clawed at his knuckles, trying to prise open his grip and stay on her feet. “I just think he made a mistake! Should we at least make sure?”
“The Castellan works on my orders,” stressed Rassilon, punctuating his words with a squeeze of his hand. Roda gasped, still trying to get her fingers underneath his, but he didn’t even seem to have to put up a fight to stop her. If anything, he simply lifted his hand higher, and one of her feet left the ground as she scrambled to keep breathing. “And regardless of your opinion of my policy decisions, your ignorance on the matter not only demeans yourself but also the entire Prydonian Chapter. My Chapter.”
Roda pushed at Rassilon’s gauntlet as she tried to find the emergency unlock for the room, or to somehow find the keys she had to press to open it. Her other hand held onto his wrist as she struggled to maintain her balance, and as she felt the blood to her head thin, her anger increased. I should have aimed the collar for his fucking head.
“You don’t have any fucking idea what I know, Lord President,” she growled, eyes darkening. “I’m not ignorant, you just don’t pay attention to anything outside of what you want to be true.”
“I alone,” snapped Rassilon, finally raising his voice, “know what is best for our people! I will not be spoken down to by a rebellious child who has never learned her place!” He drew back his hand with the gauntlet threateningly, and it was all that Roda could do not to close her eyes and turn away. She felt her fingers glide across the keypad and tried to keep his attention on her face, instead of her hand. “Every chance you have had in life I have graciously given you and yet time and time again you repay my patronage with ingratitude and selfishness.”
“Selfishness?!” Roda scoffed, reduced to pressing buttons at random. “I have always - always danced to your-!”
“Scarcely a year has gone by where you have not created some fictitious-!”
“And I have tried and tried and tried to live up to your expectations for me! You put me in this position, you stole my future from me and you decided who you thought I was.” She heard the door click unlocked as if from a great distance, and slammed her fist down on the panel even as they continued to shout over one another. His words, his rebuttal, fell on deaf ears. “I’ve had enough!”
The President stumbled as the door slid open behind them, his arm lurching upwards as he caught himself. Roda’s feet left the ground once and for all and her face went red as she kicked and squirmed to be free. A part of her still believed that this was a nightmare. That no matter what she had said or what she had done, the man who had raised her would not do this. Would not choke her, bruise her and intimidate her. But she also knew that something had changed, today, and that this was not a dream. This was a point of no return. For all of her disagreements with him - all of the times she had disappointed him, or he had chastised her for something outside of her control - she had never felt fear or anger on a scale like this. A bubbling hatred from the sinking feeling in her gut that everything she had known in her life had been a betrayal.
A memory not yet happened flashed across her mind, from the game of Eighth Man Bound. Of choking, of pain, of suffocation. Helplessness. She wished that someone remained in the corridor who would see her what the Lord President was doing to his once-ward, that there was someone who would step in and help her. And then her toes finally collided with the underside of Lord Rassilon’s collar - the sensitive place where his clavicle was unprotected - and Roda landed hard on the turquoise ground with a thud.
She glared at Rassilon, daring him to touch her again. He looked down on her as he rubbed his chest with a faint grimace of pain, before his eyes widened, just for a moment, in shock and horror. He took a step away from her, but to Roda it still felt as though he was looming over her. He looked at his glowing gauntlet, and the bare hand that had just been wrapped around her throat. And then he looked at her with an expression that Roda had never seen before, and could not begin to read.
“Go home, Rodageitmososa. We are done, here.”
Roda made a fist once more, rolling onto her haunches to catch her breath. Her eyes were wide with disbelief.
“That’s it, is it?” she said, barely louder than a whisper. Rassilon set his jaw. “Three hundred years of grooming me to be the tool you wanted, and as soon as I have an opinion of my own you throw me away.”
Rassilon said nothing. Getting to her feet, Roda turned and walked away.
no subject
Date: 2020-08-30 01:32 pm (UTC)(Although it's fascinating to compare Rassilon here to the Master later. She makes powerful enemies.)
no subject
Date: 2020-09-01 10:44 pm (UTC)Or maybe she should just run away, here and now. Only Rassilon would be put out.
On the other hand, he would be a very powerful enemy to make.