Rory leaned up against the cold side of the Pandorica. It was the year 1247, and he felt entirely alone. He knew that the Doctor had said that it would be a long wait, but he had expected it to move by quicker. Sort of like how traveling with the Doctor usually went, with adventures around every corner. And while there were exciting moments, most of his time was spent staring at the ground and doing nothing.

"Hello."

Rory turned around, surprised, pulling his sword out and brandishing it. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

The man shrugged. He had dark hair and a smooth, triangular face. His face looked young, but his eyes, looking out from beneath high, arching brows, told a different story. They were full of pain and loss. "I have heard stories of an ageless Roman Centurion, called the Lone Centurion, who protects a mysterious box throughout time, saving it from countless dangers."

Rory snorted. "You actually believe that? It's just a story, a myth. And how did that bring you here?"

The other raised an arching brow. "Well, I am experiencing something somewhat similar in my life right now, so I thought I'd visit him and compare stories. But, apparently he's not here." He turned to leave.

"Wait!" Rory called out after him. "What do you mean, you experienced something similar? Who are you, anyway?"

The stranger turned back with an odd smile on his face. "My name is Terence."

"But why did you say you'd experienced something similar?"

"Tell me, Centurion." Rory flinched slightly. "Have you ever heard of King Arthur?"