A/N: Short chapter, but next ones gonna be massive :)
Y. Years
One year on, he had found only three things to fill up his time; a few sticks, a pile of rocks and his gun hand. He would throw the first two and shoot them down with the third. He would test himself by throwing further, faster, different directions. But pretty soon, he ran out of rocks and twigs and he couldn't leave to get more. Because that would mean leaving Amy.
Fourteen years on, the Romans finally found him. They dug him out, threatened him and 'forced' him to bring the box to the Forum. He agreed, as long as he was allowed to stay with it. They dragged him to a ship and took him to Rome. On the ride across the channel, he saw a young soldier looking at him.
'What?' He almost barked out, his hand going to his sword.
'Nothing.' The kid said. 'You just look like my Uncle Artorius.'
Neither said another word for the rest of the trip.
Sixty two years on, an old woman sat down next to him. They stayed in silence for a few moments before he sighed.
'I met your son.' He whispered.
'I know.' She murmured back. 'He told me.'
Without saying a word, and letting Artorius take over, he put an arm around her and pulled Aelia into a sideways hug. Brother and sister sat together, tears threading to spill.
Three hundred and seventy-four years on, the Roman Empire began to fall. He pushed the Pandorica from country to country, becoming a legend in most of them. He fought in hundreds of battles, contributed to dozens of wars and started a few fights, just to move the box from one place to another.
Seven hundred and ninety eight years on, he was tired but he couldn't sleep. He was hungry but he couldn't eat. He just wanted to give up but he knew he couldn't. Because, if he wanted to give up, he should have done it eight centuries ago, not now. It was too late to give up now,
One thousand, one hundred and thirty nine years on, the Vatican got the Pandorica. He had conflicting views about this; knowing they would protect it but also knowing that neither he or Amy were religious. One day, the leader of the Vatican visited him and his box.
'Father.' He said, bowing his head.
'My child.' The Pope smiled. 'I know you do not follow our religion but it would do the others in your mind good to pray.'
He watched the old man leave, his mouth hanging open. He prayed everyday of his life from then on.
One thousand, four hundred and thirty nine years on, he finally managed to find a way of making time go faster. If he hid away in his head but Artorius didn't leave, time sped past. All four inhabitants of his head watched the fire closely, taking it in turns to rise and face threats. Theta rose when it required brains, Kaxano when it required tricks, Artorius when it was brawn and Rory when it needed a mix of all three.
One thousand, nine hundred and eight years on, he was sat in the security office, playing chess against Kaxano. It was one of the strangest games ever but it was fun. A noise in the other room made him look at the camera screens. He grabbed his torch, grinned to himself and ran into the next room, ready to kick some Dalek butt.
A/N: Please review guys, this story is almost done but I can't help but feel you've all lost interest.