"Now then... What about me?"

For The Doctor, a member of a race of beings known as Timelords, it was the most important question that could be contemplated as he awaited an answer from two fellow Timelords that were to be his judges for the crime of meddling with time itself. Admittedly, he had indeed spent a great deal of his time wandering across the vast plains of time and the many events it encompasses, but he had declared passionately that what he had done was for the greater good. His actions had always been within the interests of saving life and preventing strife.

"We have accepted your plea." One of his judges, a tall, imposing male with blonde hair and a blank expression replied. "That there is evil in the universe that must be fought, and that you still have a part to play in that battle."

The look of concern on The Doctor's face melted into one a relief, accompanied by a deep sigh.

"You mean... You're going to let me go free?" He enquired eagerly. However, he was greeted by the sight of his judges sharing a glance and an ominous smirk.

"Not entirely." The blonde stated. "We have noted your particular interest in the planet Earth. The frequency of your visits there must have given you special knowledge of that world and its problems."

"Yes, I suppose that's true." The Doctor said quietly, his eyes shifting uneasily as he began to try and interpret the deeper meaning of what was being hinted. "Earth seems more vulnerable than others, yes."

"For that reason, you shall be sent back to that planet."

"Oh, good."

"In exile." The judge finished, shattering all of The Doctor's hopes. "You will be sent to Earth in the twentieth century, and will remain there for as long as we deem proper. For that period, the secret of The TARDIS will be taken from you."

Scared and angry, The Doctor huffed as he processed what he was being punished with. His method of transport across the barriers of time, The Time And Relative Dimension In Space, was to be rendered useless to him and he was to be left on a planet that was not his own.

"But..." He stammered in protest. "You can't condemn me to exile... On one primitive planet in one century in time! Besides, I'm known on the Earth, it might be very awkward for me!"

"Your appearance has changed before, it can be changed again and that is part of the sentence."

"You can't just change what I look like without consulting me!" The Doctor thundered, only to be replied to in the same indifferent, almost condescending tone that had been maintained throughout the entire proceedings.

"You will have an opportunity to choose your appearance."

"Oh..." He breathed. "Well, that's not so bad, but I must warn you that I am very particular!"

"Here is your first choice." The judge stated while gesturing towards a screen that would show The Doctor what he was to become. Turning round, The Doctor was greeted by the image of a man that could only be described as decrepit, blessed with a snow white beard and not a single shred of hair gracing the top of his head.

"Oh, he's too old!" He exclaimed. After a few moments, the image changed to another choice. This time, it was a much younger face with a head of short brunette hair, however he had a very prominent double chin and chubby cheeks.

"Well, he's too fat, isn't he!?" He remarked with disgust and confusion at how the choices he was being given were proving to be most undesirable. The next image was of a man with a jawline that practically ended in a point.

"He's too thin!" The Doctor rebuked with a flourish of his hand, only to be confronted with the choice of a man that was similar to the ancient example he'd been presented with at the very beginning, but lacked the beard and had hair instead.

"That one's too young!" He lied, desperate to maintain his present appearance. "This is ridiculous!"

"You're wasting time, Doctor." His judge scolded with a hint of irritation. Defiant, The Doctor huffed in exasperation as he continued to protest.

"This is not my fault is it!?" He protested forcefully. "Is this the best you could do? I've never seen such an incredible bunch!"

"Since you refuse to take the decision, the decision will be taken for you."

"No, no, no, I never said that." The Doctor stammered in panic. "But I... But I maintain I have the right to decide what I look like! It could be very important on the Earth. People on Earth..."

Suddenly, The Doctor's speech began to become incoherent. His attempts to continue his protests created random sounds without any actual resemblance of speech. His view began to blur and darken as consciousness was sapped from him. Slowly, he began to become aware of a series of faces that were circling round him. Squinting, The Doctor was able to recognise the faces he saw as images of himself. Confusion set in as he struggled to comprehend what was occurring and why.

"What's hap..." He began to burble in fright." What's happened!?"

"The time has come for you to change your appearance, Doctor, and begin your exile."

"Is this some sort of joke!?" The Doctor spluttered as his mind continued to be more unable to maintain coherent thought. The hallucinations of himself continued to whirl round his head, mirroring the expressions of confusion and fear that were etched onto his face. Mere seconds passed before the sensation of nausea, comparable to that caused by the dizziness of being spun round rapidly, began to set in, disorienting him further.

"No, I... I refuse to be treated..." He began to protest but, after sensing something far worse was occurring, stopped. "What are you doing?"

The nausea and confusion intensified, forcing him to grip his head in a feeble attempt to try and mitigate the sensations that were unnerving and sickening him.

"No!" He cried out. "Stop! You're making me giddy! No! You can't do this to me!"

Breaking down, The Doctor began to repeat no over and over again in a vain attempt to stop the mental torture that was being afflicted. However, the sensations merely intensified. Unable to continue, he lost consciousness, his body still causing him to burble his cries for mercy from his fellow Timelords until all of his strength was spent. Silent, his body lay motionless as the judge that had sentenced him beckoned some attendants to carry him into his TARDIS.

"Ensure that he is comfortable and then dispatch his TARDIS to Earth." He ordered before leaving the attendants to complete their task. After placing The Doctor's lifeless form inside his transport, they began to operate the hexagonal console that controlled it, programming in the coordinates that would transport The Doctor to the right location and time to serve his sentence. Once they were finished, they abandoned him to his journey, his transport whirring into life as it dematerialised.

"Ma'am!" A Timelord tasked with observing The Doctor's journey into exile called out to his superior. "We have a problem."

"What's the problem?" She enquired while leaving her desk behind to see what the issue was. Upon arrival, she could see that the TARDIS, taking the shape of a British police box, was approaching a void, completely empty of light.

"He's approaching a charged vacuum emboitment." He explained while pointing at the black hole. "If he's caught by it, we'll lose him!"

"Then send coordinates that will cause his TARDIS to change course." She countered with an almost irritated tone at her subordinates lack of initiative.

"That's the problem, Ma'am." He countered. "It's not responding! All of my attempts to redirect his vessel have failed!"

Suddenly, the image of the police box began to distort as it was sucked into the emboitment. After a few moments, it had disappeared completely.

"He's gone."

"I'll... Inform the proper authorities." The supervisor remarked monotonously.

Author's Note

Just testing the water with this for my first fanfiction. Depending on the initial reaction, I'll continue this indefinitely, since it's a chronicle. It only stops when The Doctor dies, which has been shown to be incredibly hard to achieve.