Vale Decem

Disclaimer: No, I don't own Doctor Who...but I'd like to...please?...No? Oh...ok, then. I'll own the fic instead.

Disclaimer: The bits in Latin come from 'Vale Decem' (Ten's regeneration theme) and belong to Murray Gold. They roughly translate as 'Farewell Ten, in honoured dignity, always in memory. Farewell Ten.'

A/N: So I know I'm a bit late for jumping on the Tribute-to-Ten bandwagon but I've honestly not had an idea that seemed to do him justice before. I was just sitting on the bus on the way home from college, listening to the regeneration theme and eating jelly babies so something like this was bound to appear in the big bag of weird that I call my brain! It was inspired by Ood Sigma's last words to Ten before his regeneration and by the gorgeous shot of the TARDIS orbiting Earth just before he dies. I know it's short but I tried not to ramble on in this one, like I do sometimes...So, um, enjoy, I guess...

A/N Take Two: Please remember that all reviews are greatly appreciated so once you've finished reading, have a go at pressing the purdy li'l button at the bottom of the page...Pretty please with an even prettier Time Lord on top?

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The brightest star of Planet Earth burns above the atmosphere; just out of reach, as always. The Lonely God, the Champion of the Human Race.

Vale Decem.

The little blue box, a break in the reverent silence of the cosmos. The sound of the Universe; its shape and its Time. The Oncoming Storm of all that is wise and good; ancient and forever.

Honore res quare.

Every beat of every human heart, every sway of every tiny blade of grass, every silent breath from silent lips, every muffled footstep on every patch of ground. Every single turn of the Earth, every single second of its graceful tumble through Space and Time. He can feel it all, fire and ice; the slow tortuous burn of them crackling and skating along every strand of hair, every follicle of skin.

Usquequaqurum memorium.

The loneliest of angels in his little blue box; so beautiful, and impossible, and dangerous. Our protector, our healer in sickness and fear. He is every hand we hold, every thought we own, every light we ignite, every whistle of the wind as we run.

Vale Decem.

That's who he is. Now forget him.

But the Universe will sing forever, sing him to his rest; to the next great adventure. The stars and the dust and the planets and Space and Time will sing for him; "Vale Decem, honore res quare, usquequaqurum memorium. Vale Decem."

And you will always remember him.