Work Text:
It had started so long ago.
(ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta)
Centuries. Ages. So long, he could hardly remember what silence was supposed to mean. Because what was silence, really? No sound. The complete absence of auditory stimuli, if you wanted to be fancy about it. But why would you? Everyone knew what it meant. Silence was silence.
(ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta)
Silence was never silence.
(ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta)
Silence was so, so loud.
It was always the worst was when nothing else was there to block out the noise, the endless noise, the endless drumming. Worst when he would lie awake at night, unable to sleep from that mindless, tuneless song unheard by all but him. When the noise almost seemed to be taunting him, sneering, laughing. Look what you’ve become, it seemed to say. Look who you are now.
(ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta)
No, not laughing. Urging. Pushing him onwards, upwards, forwards, backwards even, anything at all to make it stop. Glut your ears with screams and flames until it almost, almost drowned out those maddening drums. Put your mind to work scheming until it’s too exhausted to shout at you. Almost. Almost. Al-most-al-most. Al-most-al-most.
Everything fell into rhythm. That glorious, terrible rhythm. Trying to fit all the chaos of Creation into four little notes, but it couldn’t be done. Could-not-could-not. Could-not-could-not.
(ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta)
And no one could do anything about it. Even the Doctor- oh, that brilliant pompous bastard. Even he couldn’t fix it. And what good was a Doctor if he couldn’t mend what was broken?
(ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta)
It was never going to go away. It was everywhere, all the time. When idle, he’d find his own fingers tapping out that same beat. ta-ta-ta-ta. ta-ta-ta-ta. Traitorous hands. At first he always tried to force his hands still, clenching his fists till blood welled up from crescent-shaped nail marks. It never worked. And why should it? Why stay still, when you could move? So he unclenched his hands, put them to work. Building. Breaking. Building. Someday, he knew (oh, he knew) that he would put together an empire all his own. Rule over it as leader, as Master, as controller of his own domain. A king atop a golden throne, with a golden sword to wield against all who oppose him. A perfect land…
(ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta)
…or almost perfect. Because there would always be one thing, one thing he could never command.
The never. (ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta)
Ending. (ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta)
Sound. (ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta)
Of drums.
(ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta,ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta…)