He had died saving his best friend's best friend. He had lived the life of a Roman soldier, day in, day out. He had seen the opening of the Pandorica. He had killed the woman of his dreams. He had lived and loved and felt and cried even though he was made of plastic. He had held watch by her side for centuries and centuries; the guy with the pointy nose becoming the boy who waited. He had fought through rain and hail and snow and fire. He braved anyone who dare try to take his Pandorica, his Amy. He had seen the destruction of his universe and the birth of another. He had lost his plastic and gained a wife. In the end, being Rory the Roman wasn't all that bad.