Ghosts of the Past

Mini-Story Summary: Faced with a Roman invasion, Auton Rory is forced to infiltrate the ranks of the legion to discover why the soldiers are so interested in the Pandorica.

Author's Note: Whoa! I'm amazed by the response I got to the last mini-story. Hello to everyone, from Germany to Grenada, America to Australia! Thanks for reading! It's really amazing to watch my words travel the world even though I'm stuck at school ticking off the days 'til finals. Makes me feel a bit like the Doctor. :)

Anyway, here's my new mini-story, again researched with the somewhat dubious help of Wikipedia. Oh, Internet, you are both my greatest asset and my greatest vice…but, anyway, I learned a bit about British/Roman history while writing this, and I hope you do as well!

As always, if you have anything to say, please leave a review. I love feedback!

118 AD

Sixteen long years had passed since Rory last enjoyed human company. He had spent most of this period sitting next to the Pandorica. To pass the time, he would reminisce and have imaginary conversations with Amy while staring at the solitary sunbeam traverse the Pandorica chamber, disappear into the night, and reappear the next morning. Rory refused to block the entrance to the Underhenge, despite the fact that the Pandorica would be much safer if he did. To him, the sunlight filtering down from the entrance overhead was his last remaining connection to the outside world, a link he could never sever.

This was a decision he would deeply regret.

Sometimes Rory stayed stone-still for months on end, save for a faint moving of the eyes and the odd unmuffled yawn. Every so often a spider would spin its web off Rory's earlobe or lap and then wither and die, just like practically everything else in the Underhenge. Dust piled on Rory's nose and hair, and mildew ate at his tunic.

For all intents and purposes, Rory Williams was dead to the world.

Marcus trudged dejectedly through the barren landscape, each foot placed diligently in his comrade Titus' footsteps. Suddenly he felt a jolting pain in his heel.

"Hold on, mate, I've got a stone in my sandal," he said, tugging off his shoe.

"Quit holding us up, Marcus," grumbled Titus, stopping nevertheless. "We've got scouting to do."

"Aw, lay off it," said Marcus, rummaging around in his sandal for the offending stone. "You know as well as I do that Optio Arsenius gave us this job just to get us outta the way. There's nothing out here 'cept dirt and rocks." He pulled the painful perpetrator out of his shoe. "Mind you, very oddly shaped rocks."

"Come again?" Titus leaned over Marcus' shoulder to get a better look. "What on Earth? That's no stone…that's a finger!"

"No, it's a stone, look!" Marcus tapped it against another rock as proof.

"A stone finger, then."

"You reckon it's from a statue?"

"Nah, look closely!" said Titus. "The finger's got a bloomin' hangnail. Nobody carves hangnails onto statues. Why bother? And, it's not marble or any stone I recognize. No, this isn't a statue. It's something else."

Marcus stood and surveyed the area, and promptly spotted something. "Titus! Right there. You see it?" He pointed towards something half-buried in mud.

Titus strode over and picked it up. He cleaned it off with a corner of his tunic, then held it at arm's length, scrutinizing it. Then he recognized it, and squealed and dropped it back in the mud. "It's…it's…" he stuttered.

"What?" Marcus asked.

"A head."

At Titus' feet, the stone face glared emptily into the overcast sky. And there was something else. Was that a crest upon his helmet?

"By heaven, he's a Roman soldier too!" said Marcus.

"Was a Roman," corrected Titus. "Have you heard the stories?"

"Stories?" Marcus looked befuddled. "No."

"Well, a few scouts of the Valeria Victrix legion were out investigating this same area. They encountered a cohort camping near the circle of stones. That in itself wasn't remarkable. What was remarkable was that this cohort—and its entire legion—was under the command of Cleopatra. Which was, 'course, impossible, 'cause she died ages ago! The scouts scuttled off to tell their commander, and when they returned, the legion had simply vanished. Several centuriae searched for the Lost Legion over the years. Nothing…until now. You know what? I think you just got the last remains of the Lost Legion stuck in your shoe."

Marcus paled. "But…what happened? Why'd they disappear? How could an entire legion turn to stone?"

Titus began walking towards the ring of stones in the distance. "I dunno. Wanna find out?"

"Not really," said Marcus.

"Too bad. Let's go."

Without further ado, Titus and Marcus began trudging towards Stonehenge.

Once among Stonehenge's weathered arches, the soldiers stopped to catch their breaths.

"Titus, why don't we head back now? There's nothing here," remarked Marcus.

"Chickening out, Marcus?" teased Titus. "We haven't even looked around yet."

"I've seen all I want to see," retorted Marcus.

"Come on, aren't you even the slightest bit curious?"

"Well, sure," admitted Marcus, "But caution supersedes curiosity any day of the week."

"Fine, then," Titus huffed. He began poking around the monoliths. "Stay here if you want. I'm gonna explore."

"What, and leave me all alone?" Marcus fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Yup," said Titus, peering behind an arch.

Marcus sighed. "All right, you win. I'm coming too."

Titus grinned. "Great! Look what I just found." He indicated a rectangular hole cut into the bedrock, in which a set of stone stairs descended into impenetrable darkness. "You first," he announced.

Marcus drew his gladius. It couldn't hurt to be cautious, and in any case, few things assured the Roman more than a solid blade in his fist. "Fine, whatever," he said, "but it's good to know that if anything sneaks up behind us, it'll get you first." He grinned and, before Titus could open his mouth in protest, Marcus jumped down the stairs.

"I can't see a thing," announced Marcus.

"Me neither. Wait a few minutes and our eyes'll adjust. In the meantime, try not to trip on anything."

"Easier said than done," noted Marcus, but he stopped and leaned a hand against a wall to steady himself as he adjusted to the darkness. "Titus, can I ask you a question?"

"No." Titus sounded sarcastic, so Marcus went ahead anyway.

"Are you superstitious?" he asked.

"Wait, what?"

"Do you believe in ghosts and wraiths and other…stuff?"

"Would you mind asking me that question when we're not in a dark, creepy, unexplored tunnel with who-knows-what lurking in every corner?" asked Titus.

"Sorry," said Marcus, "I only ask because I see something weird over there, and if I were superstitious I certainly wouldn't want to go anywhere near it."

"Oh, come on," said Titus, dodging around Marcus to take the lead. "Let's take a look."

The two advanced into the tunnel, which widened into a cave as they progressed. In the exact center of the cavern stood a square box, taller than Titus and far taller than Marcus. Strange round patterns were etched into its sides. An ancient language, perhaps? The box reeked of something mysterious and otherworldly.

"Spooky," whispered Marcus.

Titus edged closer and began circling the box. "I wonder if there's anything inside it," he said.

"I dunno," said Marcus, "but there's something outside of it. Come see! It's another one of those stone soldiers. And it's intact!"

Titus shuffled over to his comrade. Marcus stood next to a statue-like Roman, a Centurion by the look of its helmet. The soldier sat on a ledge, head in its hands, next to the Pandorica. Cobwebs and dust caked its body.

"I wonder what it was doing," asked Marcus.

"Staring into space, by the look of it," commented Titus.

"Very funny," said Marcus.

"What's funny?"

"Your joke," explained Marcus. "Obviously. Are you all right? You sound different."

"Huh?" grunted Titus. "I didn't say anything."

"Yes, you did," countered Marcus. "You asked what was funny."

"No, I didn't!" said Titus.

"You most certainly did," Marcus argued.

"No, I did."

Marcus looked down at the frozen soldier.

The soldier looked back.

Marcus squealed. Titus yelled and bolted up the staircase like a frightened rabbit, with Marcus close behind.

Rory sneezed and began brushing off cobwebs. He would have issued a warning to the pair of scouts had they not already disappeared, and he'd already made quite an impression. Rory distinctly heard the faint echo of one soldier yelling for his mother. Then he stood and stretched for the first time in months.

Rory knew that these scouts were merely the first wave in a flood of Roman inquisition. Next time, it'd take more than his unexpected entry into their conversation to fend off the next round of intruders. Rory would need to prepare, and to do so, he would need information. To find information, he'd have to rejoin the outside world. Time to do some scouting of his own.

He patted the Pandorica one last time. "I'll be back, Amy," he assured the box. "I promise."

And then he adjusted his helmet and strode at last into the glorious sunlight.

"…and then, the statue moved! It looked right back at Marcus, I tell you. And what's more, I could swear it was smiling!" narrated Titus. "So, we made a dignified and orderly retreat to report back to you."

"Perhaps the movement was a trick of the light," countered Optio Arsenius. The military officer looked skeptical. "Or an overactive mind."

"With respect, Optio, no," said Marcus. "We both quite clearly saw the stone soldier move."

Arsenius' shoulders shook slightly with suppressed laughter. "All right, then, Pedes Marcus and Titus. Thank you for your report. Dismissed."

As the pair returned to their tents, Marcus ribbed his comrade. "'A dignified and orderly retreat,' you say?" he chuckled. "About as 'orderly' as a cattle stampede. And 'dignified'…? The only thing louder than my pounding heart was you screaming 'Mummy! Mummy!'"

"No, you must have misheard me," huffed Titus. "I was definitely calling 'Marcus! Marcus!' I was worried about you."

"Yeah, sure," shrugged Marcus. "Keep telling yourself that."

Titus' face was as crimson as his tunic. "Don't rub it in."

Marcus opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "Hey, well, see you tomorrow morning, then. I'm going to sleep." He ducked into his tent.

"Bye, then," muttered Titus to the closed tent flap. He strode over to the adjacent tent and collapsed onto his makeshift bed in an inglorious heap. There, face-down in the sheets, Titus shut his eyes and tried to forget the events of the day.

"Um…hello?" came a voice next to him.

Titus bolted upright and looked to his left to see a new soldier sitting on a new bed, staring at him.

"Who're you?" asked Titus, far too gruffly.

"Sorry," apologized the man. "I'm new here, and you had a spare spot in your tent. My name's Rory."

"Rory? Is that a nickname or something?"

"Yeah…" said Rory. "Short for Roranicus."

"Well, Rory, you look a bit familiar," said Titus. "Have I seen you somewhere before?"

A smile played at the corner of Rory's mouth, then promptly vanished. "I just got here," he said.

"Right. Probably not, then," concluded Titus. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that he knew Rory, somehow. He dismissed the thought with a shrug. "Sorry. It's just been a bit of a weird day."

"Tell me about it," muttered Rory. "Anyway, when's dinner?"

"In about an hour," said Titus. "Wake me up then, will you?" And he flopped back into his bed sheets and was snoring ten seconds later.

The dinner itself was nothing special; even though he had no need of food, Rory nibbled at some meat and choked down some tasteless gruel. What was unique, though, was the company. The men around him provided a valuable source of information, which Rory was determined to collect. So he turned to Titus and brought up the subject.

"Hey, what do you know about Stonehenge?" Not subtle, but still to the point.

Titus looked taken aback for a moment, then took a breath. "Well, there's something unnatural about that place. The Lost Legion disappeared there ages ago, people say. My friend Marcus and I dug up a few stone body parts nearby. No idea how they got there. The locals steer clear of it. Downright eerie, I tell ya." Rory noticed that Titus neglected to mention their earlier encounter at the Pandorica. Titus was embarrassed, most likely. Not many people would believe a story like that. "But if you want to know more," continued Titus, "Ask her."

Rory looked up from his meal. There, passing the cooking fire bearing a basket of leafy produce, was a woman in her early twenties, with waist-long braided brown hair and an apron belted round her waist. She headed towards the chef's tent.

"She's a local," explained Titus. "Seen her 'round here for the last week or so. I don't know her name, but she's full of stories. 'Course, she's not hard on the eyes either, so campfire conversations tend to be interesting."

"All right then," said Rory, shoving his gruel towards Titus. "You can have that. I'll be back."

"No you won't," countered Titus with a chuckle.

"Eh, it's not like that," said Rory.

"Never is," muttered Titus sarcastically, spooning up some gruel.

Rory ignored him and ducked behind the cook's tent as the woman emerged from it, empty-handed, and headed towards the commander's quarters. What business did she have with the officer? Rory could only think of a few explanations, and information was at the top of the list. So, as she entered the lodgings, Rory edged around the camp, dodged the cooking fires, and snuck up unseen towards the tent's back. Above the crackling of burning wood he could make out a faint conversation issuing from the quarters.

"…I know it sounds like utter hogwash, commander, but that was their report," came the Optio's voice. "A statue, moving, they said. Scared the living daylights out of them."

"It sounds like a pair of overactive imaginations to me," said a voice that could only be the commander's.

The lady interjected. "I know it sounds unbelievable, but I assure you, it's true. Stories speak of a man who guards a box beneath Stonehenge, which is said to contain an invaluable treasure."

"What sort of treasure?" The commander's voice was edged with what was, unmistakably, greed. "Gold? Jewels? Money? Or something…less tangible, perhaps. A gift from the Gods." Rory could only imagine the gleeful expression on the officer's face. "Something worth spending a lifetime protecting."

Their voices dissolved into excited whispers, and for the next few minutes Rory failed to catch any meaningful snippets of conversation. He was so absorbed in his eavesdropping that he failed to notice a tapping on his shoulder.

"Oi!" barked someone behind him. He jumped and flipped around to see the brown-haired woman, arms crossed, glaring deep into his eyes. "Listening in, are we?"

"How'd you know?" asked Rory sheepishly.

"Next time, don't eavesdrop while standing between a campfire and a tent. Your shadow was falling on the cloth. I could see your profile, clear as day."

"Thanks. I'll remember that the next time I feel like spying." And Rory turned to leave.

The woman grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him round to face her. "Not so fast, you. What's your name? Rank? Superior?"

"I don't answer to you. You're not in the military."

"Just tell me."

Rory dug through his mind for a throwaway name. The pterosaur incident sprung to mind. "My name's George."

"Your new friend says you're called Rory. So, to whom did you lie, him or me?"

"You're spying on me?" accused Rory.

"Which makes us even," the woman retorted.

Rory laughed. "Guess so. Well, in a sense, neither name's a lie. To some people I'm George, and to others, I'm Rory."

"Some folk tales speak of a Roman named George," said the woman, eyeing him.

"I'm sure there are stories about a bloke named Rory too. Doesn't mean they're talking about me. And don't I look a little young to be the source of a folk tale?"

"Yes, you do. But looks can be deceiving," observed the woman.

"But how old would that make me?" countered Rory. "Forty, fifty…or older. It would take a miracle to disguise that age."

"As somebody told me long ago, nothing's too wonderful to be true."

Before the shock of realization hit Rory, the woman who could only be Rae had already vanished.

Rory returned to Titus' tent but, as usual, didn't sleep. Instead, he lay in his sheets and stared upwards. He hadn't seen Rae in sixteen years. She'd recognized him instantly, of course, as he looked exactly the same, right down to the Roman armor, as he had nearly two decades ago. In that time, Rae had grown up, and proven to be a resourceful woman. Still, the question remained: why was Rae in the Roman camp, spreading stories about the Pandorica? Rory didn't know, but his instinct told him that Amy was in danger.

By the time dawn broke, Rory had escaped the camp and hiked back to Stonehenge. Something was profoundly wrong. A swath of dirt ten feet wide had been churned and pressed as if a large object had been dragged along the ground, and the stone circle was surrounded by sandal- and hoof-prints. The Romans had been here, with their workhorses and foot soldiers, and made off with something large and heavy. Heart pounding, Rory ran into the Underhenge.

The Pandorica was gone.

Titus had slept poorly that night. He suspected he had a grass allergy, but even though he had very little congestion, he simply could not fall asleep. Images swam through his mind, flitting back and forth, taunting him. Stonehenge, the box, and the stone man guarding it…and the eyes that bored straight into his soul, eyes that were alive even though they shouldn't be. Eyes, so oddly familiar. He'd seen them somewhere else, he was sure of it. And what about his new tent-mate? Roranicus was familiar somehow, just like the stone Roman. They both had the same eyes. Oh, and the same helmet. The same pointy nose. The same…everything.

Gods above! thought Titus. He's the stone man. He's found me.

He jolted from bed to find the dawn light poking through the tent cloth and the sheets beside him empty.

Titus ran across the path and shook Marcus out of bed. "Marcus! The stone man. He came back!"

"Titus, you were dreaming," Marcus grumbled groggily.

"No, I tell you. You know Roranicus, the man who ate with us last night?"

Marcus jumped up as he realized. "Oh. Oh. OH! He's the stone soldier! By the gods!"

"He's gone. A bad omen, I say. We'd best find him, before he finds us."

Marcus fetched his gladius. "Come on, then. Let's go hunting."

Rory stood outside Rae's tent and yelled. "Get out here!" he hollered. "We're going to talk. NOW!"

Rae stumbled through the tent flap, already dressed and slightly muddied, which confirmed Rory's suspicions.

"You told the commander about my box."

"So?" shrugged Rae.

"You told him there was treasure inside. He's a greedy, underpaid soldier. Of course he was going to go dig it out from beneath Stonehenge! And you helped him do it last night, hence the mud on your dress. How could you do that to me?"

"What I don't understand is how you did it," countered Rae. "Sixteen years, and you haven't aged a day. How?"

"If you ignore time, time ignores you."

"No it doesn't," countered Rae. "You can run and hide from time all you want, but it always catches up to you."

"Is that what this is?" stormed Rory. "Stealing the Pandorica? Is this your idea of 'getting even' for something I don't even know about?"

"Oh, don't feign ignorance," said Rae. "You know perfectly well what you did. The dragon killed my father. You swore revenge. And then, far from slaying the beast, you hopped on its back and rode it off into the night. You let it live."

Rory was shocked. "You're mad at me because I wouldn't murder? You hate me because I'd rather save life than end it? I don't believe this. So you stole the Pandorica, the only thing in the world I care about, in vengeance! Unbelievable. The dragon wasn't a monster, but you are."

Rae stood in stunned silence. Rory could almost see the flood of emotions welling up inside her—anger, loathing…and pity? She took a deep breath and sounded resigned. "They took the Pandorica to the nearest port. They're sailing it back to Rome."

Rory ran off in pursuit of the wagon tracks, leaving Rae alone once more.

"No. No, you're not disappearing again. Not this time," muttered Rae, and, gathering her dress in her hands, she sprinted after the distant Roman.

It wasn't remotely difficult to follow the deep-dug wagon tracks. Rory raced along the path into a forest so deep that the morning sun was invisible behind the thick canopy. His heart beat at a pace to match. If he lost the Pandorica now, if he lost Amy…he couldn't bear to think about it. So he quickened his pace.

Not quick enough. Although Rory dared not look back, he could hear the rhythmic drumming of approaching hoof-beats. Roman cavalry, no doubt. As fast as he ran, the horses grew closer. When they sounded no farther than twenty meters behind him, Rory could ignore them no longer. He stopped and spun on his heels to face his pursuers.

Five horses and their well-armored riders ground to a halt before him. He looked at their faces. "Titus?" asked Rory. "What's this about?"

"Put your sword on the ground."

Rory pulled his gladius from its sheath and stuck it point-down in the dirt.

"Now, keep your hands where I can see them. You're under arrest, Roranicus, or whatever your name is."

"Uh…why?"

"One, the impersonation of a Roman soldier. Two, the mysterious disappearance of the Lost Legion. Three, you scared us."

"One, I'm not pretending to be a Roman soldier—I am a Roman soldier. Sort of. Two, I had nothing to do with the disappearance of the Legion. They turned to stone all by themselves. Footprints of the never-weres and all that. I just happened to be in the vicinity. Three…well, guilty as charged."

"What are you?" asked Titus. "Marcus here reckons you're some sort of spirit. Demetrius thinks you're a demon. I know that whatever you are, it doesn't bode well."

"Don't give him ideas," said Marcus. "Bet he'll shoot us with fire from his eyes or something."

Well, that certainly gave Rory an idea. He raised his arms.

"No, not my eyes. Will my hands do?"

His palm flopped open, revealing the gun hidden within. With no hesitation, he fired a warning shot into the sky and another into the ground in front of the soldiers, which exploded in a gloriously satisfying fireball.

The horses bucked and screeched, and the men grimaced in fear.

"Now, this is your one and only warning. Turn around and head back to camp. Don't follow me, or have anyone else tail me. I'll be watching. Any funny business, and I'll fire. That's a promise, Titus and whatever-your-name-is. Go."

With that, Titus and his company circled back the way they had come, churning dust in their wake. Rory, smiling slightly with his small victory, continued on his journey in a headlong sprint.

The next three hours were a blur of forest, field, and footpath as Rory raced towards the ocean. The sun inched its way higher into the sky, and was nearly at its zenith when Rory caught whiff of the salty sea spray. He could see a mast in the distance. Almost there.

Still, something was wrong with the landscape before him. There was something missing. He could see the ground a short distance before him, and the far-off mast, but what was in between? Rory dug his heels into the dirt and skidded to a halt.

Just in time, too, because no further than a few meters in front of him was the edge of a cliff.

Rory cautiously peeked over the edge. Dozens of meters below him, ocean waves lapped at the rock face. And, about half a kilometer away, the stern of a ship floated towards the horizon, mocking him.

There was only one option. Jump.

Rory pulled off his armor; it would only weigh him down. Just as he was kicking off his boots, he heard the sound of someone dismounting a horse.

"I don't hate you."

Rory looked up. Rae stared back at him, leashing the borrowed horse's bridle to a tree.

"What?"

Rae drew closer. "About last time. I don't hate you for what you did."

"Then why'd you do it?" asked Rory. "Why did you take the Pandorica?"

Rae stared at her feet, but not before Rory caught a glimpse of the guilty expression on her face. "I was mad at you," she admitted. "It wasn't really about you letting the dragon live. I was angry because you came, and told me fantastic, amazing stories, and in that one night you became the best friend I ever had. You showed me something wonderful. Then, you just left. No goodbye, no note; you just exited my life on top of a fantastic dragon off on another wondrous adventure, leaving me, a six-year-old, to grow up living a life that could never measure up to yours."

"I didn't realize—"

"No, you didn't," Rae cut Rory off. "So don't apologize. It's all my fault. Juvenile jealousy run amok. You wanted to protect your box, and a tiny immature part of me was mad that you'd chosen the box over me. I wanted to take the box away so there'd be nothing between us. Well, not in that way. Just as friends, you know? Like that story you told me, long ago, about the girl who waited for the man with the magical box so they could travel the stars together." Rae took a deep breath. "To me, you're the man with the box."

Rory stood silent for a minute, forming his thoughts. "You keep asking me why I look the same."

Rae nodded wordlessly.

"Well, something's…wrong…with me. I don't heal the way I should, and I don't age the way I should. The man in the magical box, the Doctor, he can fix me. Until then, I've got to stay with my box, with the Pandorica, until the Doctor comes. And look!" He beckoned towards the distant ship. "The Pandorica's out there, in the ocean, and I've got to swim after it, because everything I want to be, my last hope, is in that box. You, though, have a future here. You live in a beautiful village, with a beautiful family, and can live a quiet, simple life. That's all I ever wanted, and that's what you have. Enjoy it."

Rae had tears in her eyes, but nodded nonetheless, and whispered a solemn promise: "I will." But she had one final question. "The story you told me about the girl and the Doctor, all those years ago—how did it end?"

Rory took one long look at distant ship, with the Pandorica on its deck, and Amy nestled inside like a bird waiting to hatch from its egg. Then, just before he dived off, he answered her last question.

"I'll tell you when I find out."

Author's Note: Yeah, so I realize I'm leaving you at a bit of a cliffhanger (literally!) but I'm going to update eventually, so don't worry.

Quick disclaimer: we won't be seeing Rae again for a while. All OC's need a break every so often to prevent them from contracting a fatal case of Mary-Sue-itis. Not like she's my Mary Sue or anything, though. Quite the opposite, as she's both slightly selfish and completely naïve. I do want Rory to see some real action, though, so next time I'll take a break from the banter and bring in a new monster. Our Auton hero needs the chance to do some Doctor-ish alien battles of his own.

And, as always, I love reading your comments, so please leave a review!