Chapter 1
"-for God's sake, however bored you get, stay out of-!" Whatever the Doctor was about to say next was interrupted by a sudden, blinding flash of light and a loud fizzling sound as the time travelling device on the Doctor's wrist activated and sent him to the future before he could finish his warning.
Rory simply stared at the empty spot where the Doctor once stood.
Stay out of what though? Cakes? Volcanoes? Ball-pits? He was pretty damned sure that the timelord was going to say 'trouble' but he learnt very early on when travelling with the Doctor that you can never quite predict what he was going to do or say next. He felt his temper rise as he thought more about the Doctor's last unfinished warning. Why was it so difficult for that bloody alien man-child to just wait and finish his sentence first before his compulsion to press some button on an alien toy overwhelmed him? Rory swore right there and then that he would wring that extra-terrestrial neck the next time he saw him.
Out of lack of anything better to do, he unsheathed his gladius and leant back and sat against the Pandorica, his head heavy and full of unwanted thoughts.
Stay of trouble? Rory snorted at how incredibly hypocritical that was coming from the Doctor.
2000 years lay ahead of him now and as he glanced around at the petrified forms of his former Auton Roman comrades and other alien lifeforms, a sudden creeping suspicion slowly dawned on him that perhaps, just perhaps, he should have just gone with the Doctor.
"Oh Amy," he whispered to the box behind him, feeling cold metal on his plastic skin. He desperately wished that he had the ability to cry out a tear as he closed his eyes, "how am I going to do this without you."
Amy didn't answer back, nor would she for a long time.
It didn't really matter though. Rory will protect and wait for the love of his life, for as long as it takes.
He wasn't exaggerating to the Doctor when he said that he had Roman memories and Roman thoughts, only merely understating it as a true English person could. Laying underneath Rory William's consciousness was a battle-hardened centurion who fought barbarians to the north and Parthians to the east, who had killed more men and women (and children) that Rory will ever be comfortable with and has no compunction in doing so again. He was a zealous patriot, a charismatic leader of men, a brutal killer and a skilled player of politics.
He was, in short, everything that Rory wasn't.
Sitting in darkness under Stonehenge, and seeing as there was nothing else to do until someone came around to investigate (there actually was, his conscious snidely reminded him as he studiously ignored the messy chamber cluttered with stone figures, he just didn't feel like cleaning right now), he sorted out his memories from his other life, as he never quite had the time to do so before. It was really disturbing and strange both how much and how little effort went into faking all of it just to capture one person.
Tapping into the deactivated person's memory files (a disturbing phrase that Rory will not ponder upon again for reasons of maintaining sanity, no matter how bored he may get) behind his consciousness, he saw all of his other life.
He saw himself growing up in in the shadows of Gloucester, or Glevum as his other self knew it, with a Roman father and a Celtic mother, in a veteran's colony. He had a Roman name, Octavius Rufius Britannicus, and a Celtic name Roraigh, one that his other mother privately called him when his other father wasn't around.
He saw himself befriending and growing up with a local redhead Celt girl, daughter of the local Roman-aligned Celtic chief, who looked an awful lot like Amy, and funnily enough was also called Amelia.
He saw himself leaving Glevum to join the Legions, with a tearful kiss from his mother, a firm clap on the back from his father and a passionate farewell from Amelia the night before he left, with a promise that whatever it took, he shall come back for her.
Rory was actually impressed when he saw the night in question from his other perspective, and this was coming from someone who had ready access to the internet back from when he wasn't plastic.
It was quite frankly odd and bizarre just how similar and different Rory and the Centurion were. Both grew up in Leadworth (ish), both called Rory (ish), and both were in love with a wild redheaded girl.
Rory idly wondered if the redhead girl from the Centurion's memories was real, and if she was still waiting for her Roraigh to come back. After finishing that line of thought, he snapped back to reality, no longer willing to dive into his other memories any longer than necessary, with his feelings on cleaning UnderHenge taken a sudden 180-degree turn.
He sheathed his gladius back in (why did he even take the bloody thing out to begin with?) and started to work on clearing the stone statues away before giving the place a good spring cleaning.
After all, he reasoned as he dragged Auton Fabius to one side of UnderHenge, it wouldn't be long before the real Romans come around to investigate and it wouldn't do to have a place under the command of a fake Roman officer to be in such a rough state.
When he finished giving UnderHenge a semblance of orderliness, and if you squint hard enough in the dark, even something that might resemble cleanliness, Rory began drilling with his sword and shield. He knew his sword drills off by heart thanks to his other memories and experience but still he drilled for no other reason that if he cleaned any more, he would start sorting out the stone statues by height or something banal like that out of boredom and down that road lay madness.
When the drills became old and stale after some (not very long) time, he started to plan for when the proper Romans do actually turn up, trying to think of a way to introduce himself to them without getting himself stoned or beaten or crucified as a barbarian imposter or as a deserter. He really didn't want to test out his Auton invincibility this early on, nor did he felt like explaining to anyone why he didn't bleed or die like a man just yet (or ever).
He spent time making up backstory after backstory, each more outlandish and ridiculous than the last before giving up at the 115th iteration, reasoning that he could simply fake it till he made it when the time came. He, after all, learnt from the best.
Days and weeks passed by and he started to wonder why it was taking so long for them to march up here, seeing how the aliens who descended on Stonehenge that night made such a spectacular light show, it must have been visible for miles and miles around.
After three whole agonizing weeks of cleaning, performing re-enactments of comedy sketches to an audience of one, drilling and cleaning again, his Auton hearing began to pick up a faint but familiar sound, and despite himself, he became more and more excited as the rhythmic sound came closer and closer by the hour.
The sound of marching men.
The sound of Rome marching towards him.
Titus Flavius Metellus, centurion, stomped moodily through the muddy ground that he had long ago associated with the stinking arse end of the empire that was Britannia.
Behind, and not in much better mood either, were the men of the century chosen for the mission to investigate what went on over the old sacred stone ruins of the Celts three weeks ago when stars from the sky suddenly descended over the site and just as suddenly disappeared, along with most other celestial lights in the sky.
Titus cursed as he nearly slipped on a patch of wet grass. This should have been the job of the frumentarii, or perhaps some of them auxiliary calvary troops. Even if it was his job, horses should have been issued for this kind of role, but apparently quelling local riots and religious panic over the apparent deaths of the celestials whilst ensuring the security of Imperial interests in Britannia meant that there were no horses available for poor Titus Flavius.
Everything truly went to Hades in a hand basket since the Event.
When the stars blinked out of existence, it was all the army could do to prevent mass panic and riots from the populous, let alone mass desertion from the rank and file. The only thing that prevented a truly tragic scenario was when Sol Invictus decided to show up in the morning, seemingly ignorant or uncaring of the fact that most of his kin were struck from the skies.
Whilst most people have calmed down after seeing the Unconquered Sun in the morning, some opportunistic tribal chiefs and druids with a score to settle started raising hell all over the countryside, trying to incite riots and rebellion against Roman authority.
It was only until recently that the situation in the region improved somewhat that the camp prefect decided that they could afford to spare a century to investigate the incident.
As if the situation wasn't ridiculous enough, a local informant reported seeing an unauthorised and unknown Roman military camp bearing the banner of an inexistent legion a few miles away from the stone circle. The report was made creepier by the fact that apparently, the camp contained life like stone statues of Roman soldiers bearing positions of pain and panic, like the victims of the Gorgon of old.
He ordered that the information be kept to only the optios themselves as there was very little need to heap the possible existence of ancient mythical monsters on top of the burning inferno of chaos that was their life at the moment, whilst at the same time also secretly hoping that if he waited long enough to deal with it, perhaps by the time he got around to it, it will be someone else's problem by then.
Besides, Titus only had the emotional capacity to deal with one crazy situation at a time.
Titus dare not even think of the situation in Rome. If he knew Rome and the Romans at all, there would at least be a few riots and uprisings by now over the Event. Romans barely needed an excuse to start a fight or a bloodbath.
His worries about the situation back home was interrupted by the sight of the Celtic stone circle coming into view.
After nearly an hour of marching, the stone circle seemed to grow larger and larger and the details of the site became more and more vivid. He has been to the stone circle a month ago as part of a diplomatic attachment to observe and perform sacred rituals in order to cement friendly relations with the natives. He frowned as he took in the details. He certainly didn't remember the Celts putting up torches or camping equipment at the site, and he knew the Celts wouldn't despoil their sacred places like this.
Finally reaching the sacred Celtic grounds, he ordered his men to spread out and look for clues.
Almost immediately, Adalric the German called out in his rough Latin. "Sir! There is something for you to watch!" The tall blonde waved his arm around at the center of the circle.
One detail that disquieted him when he arrived by the German soldier's side was the sight of a large tunnel in the ground in the middle of the site that seemingly led into darkness. That wasn't there last time, he hysterically thought to himself as he observed the stone masonry of the tunnel, nor could it have been built since the short time he was last there without Roman assistance.
The presence of torches, camping tents and this mysterious tunnel in the ground all pointed towards a possibility that someone or something was here two weeks ago when the stars died out.
You could physically taste the unease within the air as his men gathered around the entrance to the hole.
"Septimus, take half the men and set up a perimeter around the circle and watch our backs." His loyal optio nodded at him before barking out names and orders. The men chosen for guard and perimeter duty looked greatly relieved as they heard their names, having felt they just dodged a scorpio bolt.
"Paulus, torch." A squat and ugly Illyrian who was standing closest to him jumped up when he heard his name and fumbled for his flint and steel lighter. After a few false starts and shaky sparks, a flaming torch was brought to life and was passed around to light up its brethren.
Once there were enough torches lit, Titus looked down at the dark abyss and bitterly wished that he was literally anywhere else, with some other sod standing in his place.
None of his men looked eager to be the first one to go down into wherever the tunnel led to, which meant that getting them to go down there would be a challenge. He can't say he blamed them, as stories of vengeful gods and monsters were unhelpfully occupying his mind. He was tempted for a second to just go back to camp and report that there was nothing to see here before he ruthlessly squashed it. There were far too many risks in lying to the senior officers, one of which was that you never knew who amongst his men might rat on him for a promotion.
With a forced cheer that can only come with practice, he looked around at the grim faces of his troops. In all of his years in commanding auxiliary troops, he had honed a particularly sharp sense for danger, especially from his own men, and right now, his senses were telling him to step carefully here lest he get shanked and dumped ignobly in a muddy ditch in Britannia.
With a confidence he did not feel he stood on top of a fallen stone in front of his men and cleared his throat to get their attention.
"Men of Germania! Men of Hispania, Illyria and Africa!" he called out to the different groups "Here we are at the end of the world! Here the time has come for you to show your true colours as honourable soldiers of the Twentieth Legio Valeria Victrix!" He sternly looked at every man in the eye, conveying with as much force as he can the image of confidence and self-discipline that one should expect from a Roman Centurion, even in strange times such as these.
"This mission of ours is of utmost importance to the Empire! Lawlessness and chaos have fallen all over the world over the deaths of the stars! Whatever happened a fortnight ago, I know we will find our answers here! And once we have found out the truth, law and order shall be restored! But should we fail here, darkness shall be the future of not just Rome, but of all men!"
Reminding them what was at stake here, not just for the Empire but for their own kin, Titus mentally patted himself on the back for that one as he saw most of their faces shift from reluctance to something that could resemble determination.
"I know not what lies underneath here. I cannot tell you if there are gorgons or gods or if this is an entrance to Hades." He paused here to build up a little tension here, just like they taught at school, but he had to break the tension at the right time. 1. 2. There. "Perhaps there are big breasted lusty Amazons thirsty for milk down there" He wagged his eyebrows suggestively all around, and felt thrilled when there were chuckles and hearty laughter at his weak joke. Good, good, they were buying into it! He soldiered on with his speech. He licked his dry parched lips and took another deep breath.
"What I can tell you is this! I guarantee that after today, we are never going to buy our own drinks again!" Whoops and whistles responded to that boisterous claim. "For we are now going to step into the songs of glory! Following in the footsteps of Achilles! Of Alexander! Of Hercules and Lysander! Follow me and we shall step forward together into myth and legend!" The men were driven into a frenzy by the time he finished, leaving him with a feeling of euphoria.
As good as he was feeling, he decided to finish this now whilst he still had nerves to do so, else he'll just stand on the blasted rock and blather on forever. He held out his hand, and the men quieted down. His forced his grin to fade away as to create a more serious face for a more soulful impact to the final act. His Greek tutors would weep with happiness if only they could see him now.
"No matter what happens down there today, know only this." He said solemnly as he saluted his men before drawing his gladius and raising it to the air. "I shall always be in front of you!" Roars of approval filled his ears as forty men were taken over by a wave of feelings of excitement and newly founded courage. They stomped their feet and hollered before taking out their swords and raising it to the skies.
"SOL! INVICTA!" He roared with blood full of fire and false bravado.
"SOL! INVICTA!"
"SOL! INVICTA!"
"SOL! INVICTA!"
He felt the metaphorical blades lifted away from his throat.
All there was to do now was to face the darkness. He jumped off his rock and marched resolutely towards the entrance, torch and shield in one hand and sword in the other. He turned his back and barked out "Form up! Line up!".
When he saw the men had lined up with shields, torches and swords at the ready behind him, he turned his head back forward and marched into the dark tunnel, knowing that it was far too late for any regrets.