Rory told Amy that he couldn't really remember all those years guarding the Pandorica.
He was lying.
He remembered it guarding. The hiding.
And the waiting drove him mad sometimes.
Sometimes it felt as if she would be trapped in there forever. But he would never stop waiting.
The night that he could never get out of his head was the night in the blitz.
The night of the last sighting of the lonely centurion.
Rory was waiting.
Then he heard it.
A wail as the sirens go off.
A faint whistle as a bomb hurtles to earth at great speed.
A deep boom as it lands.
Then he heard a crackle and smelt smoke and knew it was an incendiary bomb.
A bomb that just burns.
He had to protect Amy.
He had to move her away from the nearing fire.
Then he saw it coiled up in the corner.
Rope.
He got up and grabbed it.
He made a loop in one end and pulled right the way around the Pandorica.
He pulled the other end of the rope through the loop.
It wasn't much.
But it would have to do.
He would make sure it did.
Then he began dragging the Pandorica across the ground.
The pain was indescribable agony.
It felt like his spine was being pulled away.
It felt like his shoulders were burning.
But he had to go on .
For Amy.
He had to protect Amy.
That night he dragged the Pandorica across war torn London.
Amy would never know what it had taken to protect her while she was in the Pandorica.
But he wouldn't tell her.
He couldn't tell her.
He had to protect Amy.
Still.
