Sometimes he felt so old. He looked like a young man in his twenties, but his age could be seen in his eyes. He had old eyes, eyes that had seen empires rise and fall; that had been to the edge of the universe and back. He had died so many times, but even death could not hold him back. He needed to be in the TARDIS. It was his destiny, it wasn't his choice. He had made mistakes, terrible mistakes. He had destroyed what was most precious to him, but he would overcome this too in time. He was tired of waiting for time to work itself out, he was a good man and it was time for a good man to go to war. He was Rory Williams, the Last Centurion, and after Demon's Run he would be feared even more than the Oncoming Storm.