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locker_monsterTitle: The Boy Who Waited (11/49)
Rating: PG
Characters: Rory, with appearances from Barbara
Timeline: set between "The Pandorica Opens" and "The Big Bang"
Summary: London, 1996. Barbara Wright prepares the Pandorica for exhibit at the National Museum. As the work unfolds, she recounts the lengthy history of the stone box and its loyal protector, the Lone Centurion.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. Everything else is me taking liberties with history.
A/N: A huge thank you to my beta![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
punch_kicker15. This story would still be sitting on my hard drive if it weren't for you.
Rory wasn’t in the mood to talk once they left Acre. He sat glumly on his horse, his eyes trained on the Pandorica or on the horizon. Every step pained him. The further east they went, the harder it became for him to escape with the Pandorica.
He tried to see this as an adventure, but he was in the wrong company for that. If this had been a proper adventure, Amy and the Doctor would have been here with him. He could picture the Doctor babbling on about China, bragging how he had created the first fireworks, and Amy would have just laughed. She’d be loving every minute of this, riding off to a far, exotic land. It wasn’t the same when she was locked away inside a stone box. Rory missed her laugh.
To save himself from dwelling on the things he missed, he looked around at his current travelling companions. Before leaving the stronghold, they had been joined by two friars, who had been assigned by the new Pope, to assist in bringing the word of Christ to the people of China. There were well learned men, but were not ones for chatting. At the head of the group were the two older men, brothers Rory figured. One brother rode on a horse while the other drove the wagon with the Pandorica. They were having a lengthy conversation about the road ahead and it sounded like they had been this way before. Rory found this promising. At least they wouldn’t get lost on the way to China.
The last member of the group was the teenaged boy. Back in 21st century, taking a teenager on such a lengthy trip would have been unthinkable, but here, by 13th century standards, the boy was an adult and perfectly suited to travel to China. Rory wondered if it was like an apprenticeship thing or if the boy was merely here because of family.
Caught up in his musing, he didn’t notice that the boy was staring at him. It was only when he was glancing around at their passing surroundings did he catch the boy hastily throwing his gaze elsewhere. Rory might have been inclined to ignore the boy’s interest, but they had a long journey ahead of them and these men would be his only company for months, probably years. He didn’t need the boy staring at him and then shying away every time their gazes met.
Rory guided his horse over until he was riding next to the boy. He quickly decided that “boy” was the wrong term. Young man was a better description, because that was clearly what he was. Someone whose childhood was long past and who had no awkwardness about his identity. It was like he had to grow up fast.
The young man had strong features; women would have called him handsome. Square jaw, dark, thoughtful eyes, and a mass of dark brown hair. Now that Rory was regarding him, the young man didn’t bother to pretend to look elsewhere. There was no need to keep up a pretence when he had been caught red-handed. He was determined; Rory had to give him that.
“I did not ask your names,” he said. It was a simple statement, meant to show that he wasn’t angry. Also, Rory honestly did not know any of their names. He had been in too much of a huff to pay any attention to Visconti.
The young man took a second before he answered, as if weighing the options in his head. “That is my father at the head of the caravan, Niccolò. My uncle, Maffeo, drives the wagon. I am Marco. Marco Polo.”
Rory’s eyes widened and he was sure his eyebrows disappeared under the brim of his helmet. Marco Polo. The Marco Polo. Explorer, trader, diplomat. Kids across the world called out his name while playing in the pool. And here he was, a teenager riding a horse in the middle of nowhere.
“Is something wrong?” asked Marco with a slight frown.
“No, nothing is wrong.” Rory tried to rearrange his expression of surprise into something more befitting a fabled warrior. So they were on their way to China to meet Kublai Khan. He remembered that much from history class. “Tell me, is the Pandorica being sold to the Khan?” That was the only option that made sense. Rory couldn’t think of any other person in China who would be interested in the box.
Marco glanced briefly to the head of the caravan where his father was. The man was too far ahead to overhear their conversation. “We hope to entice the Khan into buying it. The funds would do a great service to the Church.”
Rory nodded. Basically, the Church needed more money to keep fighting in the Crusades. The current one was the ninth one. Or was it the tenth? He had lost track. Money from a powerful kingdom like China would also look good. It would make it seem like the Vatican had the support of the Khan himself.
So not only was the Pandorica boosting the reputation of the Polos – they would forever go down in history as the ones who sold the mysterious relic to the great Kublai Khan – it was also helping to fund a war. Wonderful.
They rode in silence for a bit. Rory wasn’t quite sure where they were headed, but the route looked familiar from the time he and the Knights Templar rode to Antioch. So they were heading north, but then what? How did one get to China going over land?
“You could have remained in Acre,” said Marco. It wasn’t a complaint or a suggestion to leave. It sounded more like the young man was trying to cheer him up.
Rory glanced over at him. “What do you know about me, Marco?”
“I have read a few stories about you. You are hundreds of years old, you protect the Pandorica with fierce determination, and you will not allow anyone to open it until the time is right.”
“Exactly. Wherever the Pandorica goes, I go, too. Had the Pope moved it without me knowing, I would still be here. I would have tracked down your party by now.”
“Does this mean you will try to steal the Pandorica from us before we reach Cathay?” Marco asked the question innocently, as if asking Rory if he think it would rain today. It was slightly creepy.
Rory had to admit to himself that if an opportunity presented itself, where he could run off with the Pandorica without hurting anyone, he would take it. Ultimately, the only allegiance he had was to himself. The Polos had entered into Kublai Khan’s court just fine without the Pandorica the first time around; they wouldn’t need it now to win his favour.
He chose to say nothing, knowing Marco was smart enough to figure it out. The young man didn’t seem surprised, but he wasn’t panicked either. “My father has told me wonderful things about the Khan’s court…”
They rode on, casual as could be, and Rory listened as Marco told his tale.
It was almost comical. Rory doubted he had ever seen two men ride away as fast as the two friars did now. After a minute, they were black specks in the distance.
Next to him, Niccolò Polo held the small chest containing the papal papers from the Pope to Kublai Khan and some scholarly works on Christ and Christianity. He seemed slightly bemused, but not overly heartbroken, like he had been expecting this. When he glanced at his son, who was trying to hide a grin, the man’s lips quirked up into a small smile beneath his long moustache.
“What now, Father?” asked Marco.
They were in a city called Layas, by the coast. It was in the same region as Antioch from what Rory could tell. An alarming amount of soldiers swarmed around the city, like flies on a carcass. They weren’t attacking, but they were mobilizing for something. The sight of so many well-armed men had caused the friars to fear for their safety, so they had fled back to friendlier lands.
“We continue on,” said Niccolò. He secured the chest to his saddle, taking great care to make sure that it was properly harnessed. “We will re-supply and see if we can hire men to assist us in our expedition to Cathay.” He glanced back to his brother. “Maffeo, see if you can find a cloth large enough to cover the Pandorica. I think it would be best to conceal it from view.”
Rory couldn’t have agreed more. If more men were going to join them, he didn’t want them taking an interest in the Pandorica. “I will come with you,” he said to Maffeo.
They agreed on a time to reconvene before splitting off into two groups. Rory had spent much of the trek in Marco’s company at the rear of the caravan. He hadn’t had much opportunity to speak with Niccolò or Maffeo but they seemed equally spirited about their journey. As he carefully guided the wagon through the packed streets, Maffeo said to Rory, “Layas is a wonderful city. So alive with people and trade.”
There was no denying that statement. There were stalls and traders everywhere Rory looked. No one seemed concerned about the soldiers, making him wonder if they were just in the city as a show of force. “You have been here before?” Rory had to keep his attention trained on the road ahead, to avoid trampling anyone, but he occasionally glanced over at the younger Polo as they talked.
“Niccolò and I travelled this way on our first journey to Cathay. We also made trips here before, to trade. You can find almost anything here if you look hard enough.”
Maffeo continued to extol the wonders of Layas until they came upon a silk maker who had enough fabric to make a covering for the Pandorica. The man squinted at the stone box, working out the measurements with a practiced eye. Rory got the impression that the man didn’t recognize it for what it was, beyond being a giant cube, which was a relief.
Maffeo spoke to the man in a language Rory didn’t recognize, but they were clearly trying to settle on a price for the silk and the man’s services. When they finally agreed on an amount, Maffeo came away looking like the victor. The silk maker just looked bewildered, like he couldn’t believe what had just happened.
“This will take some time,” said Maffeo. Like the other Polos, he was tall, but lean where his brother and nephew were broad. His wily nature seemed to be reflected in his skill as a trader. Rory was sure he could haggle for a cup of water in the desert and end up with an oasis in his possession instead.
“I can wait,” replied Rory, looking around for a place where he could hitch his horse. He was used to sitting around and watching the world go by.
The younger Polo looked ready to argue but one look at Rory’s determined expression and he seemed to give up on what he was about to say. They moved the wagon out of the way of the silk maker’s stall to allow other traders access and hitched Rory’s horse to one of the stall’s poles. Rory sat in the bed of the wagon with the Pandorica while Maffeo counted out the silk maker’s fee.
Rory took up his usual position; seated with his back against the Pandorica. He had a nice view of the market and he watched the crowds as they went about their lives. He had always liked markets. They were a place where people from all walks of life could gather in harmony. He spotted a spice trader chatting with a tanner, an Indian merchant mulling over a barrel of wine, and a pair of women weaving elaborate tapestries. Everyone had a story to tell.
By the time the silk maker was done with the Pandorica’s covering, it was nearly sunset. Maffeo had left at some point to let Niccolò and Marco know they would be delayed and now the Polos returned to the wagon, carrying fresh supplies. Rory had just flung the silk covering over the Pandorica and he was settling the edges neatly over the corners. It still looked like a giant cube, but at least now the circular carvings on the side of the Pandorica were hidden and would not draw even more unwanted attention.
He thought Niccolò would have no troubles finding willing men to join them, especially with the promise of a large payment at the termination of the trek, but he and Marco did not have any company with them.
“Word has spread about the Pandorica,” said Marco, reading Rory’s confused expression. “Everyone fears that it will bring bad luck.”
Rory shook his head. People didn’t even know what the Pandorica was and they were assuming the worst about it.
“This changes nothing,” said Niccolò. “We will set out at first light. Tomorrow, our journey begins in earnest.”
Rory was fairly sure it was Christmas.
They had left Acre in mid-November and had been travelling for over a month now, according to the waxing and waning of the moon. Adding up the occasional delay here and there, the passage of time seemed about right. Today was December 25th.
What a revelation to have in the early hours of the morning. The Polos lay slumbering inside a small tent, wrapped up in thick blankets and nestled close to one another to share body heat. The nights had definitely grown colder and the days had become agonizingly short so there was no doubt it was winter. No snow though. Rory had seen plenty of Christmases without snow, but the day was always more magical when the world was dusted with white.
He walked over to the Pandorica and threw back the covering just a bit so he could see one of the sides. “Merry Christmas, Amy,” he said. He paused, before adding sincerely, “I didn’t get you anything, sorry.”
When he did know what the date was, which had been hard to do early on since the calendar days didn’t match what he was used to, Rory usually celebrated the holiday or occasion when it came around. Christmas, New Years, Valentine’s Day, and Amy’s birthday. He had stopped celebrating his own birthday because keeping track of how many years he had been alive had become increasingly daunting. Getting gifts when you didn’t make any money was a bit challenging at times, but Rory had managed all right over the centuries. Most times he had found something to present to Amy. A handful of flowers, a finely polished stone, a scrap of silk tied into a bow. Back in the temple at Rome, he used to take the offerings people left behind and pretend to have a meal with the Pandorica.
It may have seemed a bit daft, but it certainly helped him from going batty. Simple moments, like giving a gift, made his life seem normal for a few minutes.
“I can’t even begin to tell you where we are,” said Rory. He looked out at the landscape, hidden in the darkness, barely making out the hills and bare trees. There were plenty of rocks around and smaller pebbles, too. Feeling inspired, he bent down and started rearranging them. “We’re heading south to the coast, to catch a ship to China it sounds like. You haven’t been on a ship in a while. That should be interesting.”
The pair of horses pulling the wagon were doing all right but they were limited in how many miles they could travel in a day due to the weight of the Pandorica. Niccolò and Maffeo were eager to get to China as quickly as possible, but they weren’t fools. They knew not to push the animals beyond their limit. They made camp regularly so everyone could rest.
In moments like these, it would have been easy to get onto the wagon and drive off without waking the Polos. Rory had even considered it a few times, but a part of him always rejected the idea. Besides carrying the Pandorica, the wagon also carried all of their supplies. Even if Rory left those behind, the Polos would have no way to carry everything. Without the wagon, they might be doomed to die.
No, if Rory were to steal the wagon, he would have to do it when they were near civilization, somewhere that would give the Polos a change to procure a new one. He could wait a little longer.
Rory finished rearranging the pebbles and he stood up to admire his work. He looked back at the Pandorica, as if asking for its opinion. He received none, of course, but he nodded anyway and reached up to pull the covering back down.
When the Polos woke in the morning, they didn’t notice Rory’s handiwork in the dirt. They merely packed up camp and rode on. Had they noticed, they would have discovered a simple message written out in small stones.
I love you, Amy Pond.
Rating: PG
Characters: Rory, with appearances from Barbara
Timeline: set between "The Pandorica Opens" and "The Big Bang"
Summary: London, 1996. Barbara Wright prepares the Pandorica for exhibit at the National Museum. As the work unfolds, she recounts the lengthy history of the stone box and its loyal protector, the Lone Centurion.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. Everything else is me taking liberties with history.
A/N: A huge thank you to my beta
punch_kicker15. This story would still be sitting on my hard drive if it weren't for you.1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49
Rory wasn’t in the mood to talk once they left Acre. He sat glumly on his horse, his eyes trained on the Pandorica or on the horizon. Every step pained him. The further east they went, the harder it became for him to escape with the Pandorica.
He tried to see this as an adventure, but he was in the wrong company for that. If this had been a proper adventure, Amy and the Doctor would have been here with him. He could picture the Doctor babbling on about China, bragging how he had created the first fireworks, and Amy would have just laughed. She’d be loving every minute of this, riding off to a far, exotic land. It wasn’t the same when she was locked away inside a stone box. Rory missed her laugh.
To save himself from dwelling on the things he missed, he looked around at his current travelling companions. Before leaving the stronghold, they had been joined by two friars, who had been assigned by the new Pope, to assist in bringing the word of Christ to the people of China. There were well learned men, but were not ones for chatting. At the head of the group were the two older men, brothers Rory figured. One brother rode on a horse while the other drove the wagon with the Pandorica. They were having a lengthy conversation about the road ahead and it sounded like they had been this way before. Rory found this promising. At least they wouldn’t get lost on the way to China.
The last member of the group was the teenaged boy. Back in 21st century, taking a teenager on such a lengthy trip would have been unthinkable, but here, by 13th century standards, the boy was an adult and perfectly suited to travel to China. Rory wondered if it was like an apprenticeship thing or if the boy was merely here because of family.
Caught up in his musing, he didn’t notice that the boy was staring at him. It was only when he was glancing around at their passing surroundings did he catch the boy hastily throwing his gaze elsewhere. Rory might have been inclined to ignore the boy’s interest, but they had a long journey ahead of them and these men would be his only company for months, probably years. He didn’t need the boy staring at him and then shying away every time their gazes met.
Rory guided his horse over until he was riding next to the boy. He quickly decided that “boy” was the wrong term. Young man was a better description, because that was clearly what he was. Someone whose childhood was long past and who had no awkwardness about his identity. It was like he had to grow up fast.
The young man had strong features; women would have called him handsome. Square jaw, dark, thoughtful eyes, and a mass of dark brown hair. Now that Rory was regarding him, the young man didn’t bother to pretend to look elsewhere. There was no need to keep up a pretence when he had been caught red-handed. He was determined; Rory had to give him that.
“I did not ask your names,” he said. It was a simple statement, meant to show that he wasn’t angry. Also, Rory honestly did not know any of their names. He had been in too much of a huff to pay any attention to Visconti.
The young man took a second before he answered, as if weighing the options in his head. “That is my father at the head of the caravan, Niccolò. My uncle, Maffeo, drives the wagon. I am Marco. Marco Polo.”
Rory’s eyes widened and he was sure his eyebrows disappeared under the brim of his helmet. Marco Polo. The Marco Polo. Explorer, trader, diplomat. Kids across the world called out his name while playing in the pool. And here he was, a teenager riding a horse in the middle of nowhere.
“Is something wrong?” asked Marco with a slight frown.
“No, nothing is wrong.” Rory tried to rearrange his expression of surprise into something more befitting a fabled warrior. So they were on their way to China to meet Kublai Khan. He remembered that much from history class. “Tell me, is the Pandorica being sold to the Khan?” That was the only option that made sense. Rory couldn’t think of any other person in China who would be interested in the box.
Marco glanced briefly to the head of the caravan where his father was. The man was too far ahead to overhear their conversation. “We hope to entice the Khan into buying it. The funds would do a great service to the Church.”
Rory nodded. Basically, the Church needed more money to keep fighting in the Crusades. The current one was the ninth one. Or was it the tenth? He had lost track. Money from a powerful kingdom like China would also look good. It would make it seem like the Vatican had the support of the Khan himself.
So not only was the Pandorica boosting the reputation of the Polos – they would forever go down in history as the ones who sold the mysterious relic to the great Kublai Khan – it was also helping to fund a war. Wonderful.
They rode in silence for a bit. Rory wasn’t quite sure where they were headed, but the route looked familiar from the time he and the Knights Templar rode to Antioch. So they were heading north, but then what? How did one get to China going over land?
“You could have remained in Acre,” said Marco. It wasn’t a complaint or a suggestion to leave. It sounded more like the young man was trying to cheer him up.
Rory glanced over at him. “What do you know about me, Marco?”
“I have read a few stories about you. You are hundreds of years old, you protect the Pandorica with fierce determination, and you will not allow anyone to open it until the time is right.”
“Exactly. Wherever the Pandorica goes, I go, too. Had the Pope moved it without me knowing, I would still be here. I would have tracked down your party by now.”
“Does this mean you will try to steal the Pandorica from us before we reach Cathay?” Marco asked the question innocently, as if asking Rory if he think it would rain today. It was slightly creepy.
Rory had to admit to himself that if an opportunity presented itself, where he could run off with the Pandorica without hurting anyone, he would take it. Ultimately, the only allegiance he had was to himself. The Polos had entered into Kublai Khan’s court just fine without the Pandorica the first time around; they wouldn’t need it now to win his favour.
He chose to say nothing, knowing Marco was smart enough to figure it out. The young man didn’t seem surprised, but he wasn’t panicked either. “My father has told me wonderful things about the Khan’s court…”
They rode on, casual as could be, and Rory listened as Marco told his tale.
It was almost comical. Rory doubted he had ever seen two men ride away as fast as the two friars did now. After a minute, they were black specks in the distance.
Next to him, Niccolò Polo held the small chest containing the papal papers from the Pope to Kublai Khan and some scholarly works on Christ and Christianity. He seemed slightly bemused, but not overly heartbroken, like he had been expecting this. When he glanced at his son, who was trying to hide a grin, the man’s lips quirked up into a small smile beneath his long moustache.
“What now, Father?” asked Marco.
They were in a city called Layas, by the coast. It was in the same region as Antioch from what Rory could tell. An alarming amount of soldiers swarmed around the city, like flies on a carcass. They weren’t attacking, but they were mobilizing for something. The sight of so many well-armed men had caused the friars to fear for their safety, so they had fled back to friendlier lands.
“We continue on,” said Niccolò. He secured the chest to his saddle, taking great care to make sure that it was properly harnessed. “We will re-supply and see if we can hire men to assist us in our expedition to Cathay.” He glanced back to his brother. “Maffeo, see if you can find a cloth large enough to cover the Pandorica. I think it would be best to conceal it from view.”
Rory couldn’t have agreed more. If more men were going to join them, he didn’t want them taking an interest in the Pandorica. “I will come with you,” he said to Maffeo.
They agreed on a time to reconvene before splitting off into two groups. Rory had spent much of the trek in Marco’s company at the rear of the caravan. He hadn’t had much opportunity to speak with Niccolò or Maffeo but they seemed equally spirited about their journey. As he carefully guided the wagon through the packed streets, Maffeo said to Rory, “Layas is a wonderful city. So alive with people and trade.”
There was no denying that statement. There were stalls and traders everywhere Rory looked. No one seemed concerned about the soldiers, making him wonder if they were just in the city as a show of force. “You have been here before?” Rory had to keep his attention trained on the road ahead, to avoid trampling anyone, but he occasionally glanced over at the younger Polo as they talked.
“Niccolò and I travelled this way on our first journey to Cathay. We also made trips here before, to trade. You can find almost anything here if you look hard enough.”
Maffeo continued to extol the wonders of Layas until they came upon a silk maker who had enough fabric to make a covering for the Pandorica. The man squinted at the stone box, working out the measurements with a practiced eye. Rory got the impression that the man didn’t recognize it for what it was, beyond being a giant cube, which was a relief.
Maffeo spoke to the man in a language Rory didn’t recognize, but they were clearly trying to settle on a price for the silk and the man’s services. When they finally agreed on an amount, Maffeo came away looking like the victor. The silk maker just looked bewildered, like he couldn’t believe what had just happened.
“This will take some time,” said Maffeo. Like the other Polos, he was tall, but lean where his brother and nephew were broad. His wily nature seemed to be reflected in his skill as a trader. Rory was sure he could haggle for a cup of water in the desert and end up with an oasis in his possession instead.
“I can wait,” replied Rory, looking around for a place where he could hitch his horse. He was used to sitting around and watching the world go by.
The younger Polo looked ready to argue but one look at Rory’s determined expression and he seemed to give up on what he was about to say. They moved the wagon out of the way of the silk maker’s stall to allow other traders access and hitched Rory’s horse to one of the stall’s poles. Rory sat in the bed of the wagon with the Pandorica while Maffeo counted out the silk maker’s fee.
Rory took up his usual position; seated with his back against the Pandorica. He had a nice view of the market and he watched the crowds as they went about their lives. He had always liked markets. They were a place where people from all walks of life could gather in harmony. He spotted a spice trader chatting with a tanner, an Indian merchant mulling over a barrel of wine, and a pair of women weaving elaborate tapestries. Everyone had a story to tell.
By the time the silk maker was done with the Pandorica’s covering, it was nearly sunset. Maffeo had left at some point to let Niccolò and Marco know they would be delayed and now the Polos returned to the wagon, carrying fresh supplies. Rory had just flung the silk covering over the Pandorica and he was settling the edges neatly over the corners. It still looked like a giant cube, but at least now the circular carvings on the side of the Pandorica were hidden and would not draw even more unwanted attention.
He thought Niccolò would have no troubles finding willing men to join them, especially with the promise of a large payment at the termination of the trek, but he and Marco did not have any company with them.
“Word has spread about the Pandorica,” said Marco, reading Rory’s confused expression. “Everyone fears that it will bring bad luck.”
Rory shook his head. People didn’t even know what the Pandorica was and they were assuming the worst about it.
“This changes nothing,” said Niccolò. “We will set out at first light. Tomorrow, our journey begins in earnest.”
Rory was fairly sure it was Christmas.
They had left Acre in mid-November and had been travelling for over a month now, according to the waxing and waning of the moon. Adding up the occasional delay here and there, the passage of time seemed about right. Today was December 25th.
What a revelation to have in the early hours of the morning. The Polos lay slumbering inside a small tent, wrapped up in thick blankets and nestled close to one another to share body heat. The nights had definitely grown colder and the days had become agonizingly short so there was no doubt it was winter. No snow though. Rory had seen plenty of Christmases without snow, but the day was always more magical when the world was dusted with white.
He walked over to the Pandorica and threw back the covering just a bit so he could see one of the sides. “Merry Christmas, Amy,” he said. He paused, before adding sincerely, “I didn’t get you anything, sorry.”
When he did know what the date was, which had been hard to do early on since the calendar days didn’t match what he was used to, Rory usually celebrated the holiday or occasion when it came around. Christmas, New Years, Valentine’s Day, and Amy’s birthday. He had stopped celebrating his own birthday because keeping track of how many years he had been alive had become increasingly daunting. Getting gifts when you didn’t make any money was a bit challenging at times, but Rory had managed all right over the centuries. Most times he had found something to present to Amy. A handful of flowers, a finely polished stone, a scrap of silk tied into a bow. Back in the temple at Rome, he used to take the offerings people left behind and pretend to have a meal with the Pandorica.
It may have seemed a bit daft, but it certainly helped him from going batty. Simple moments, like giving a gift, made his life seem normal for a few minutes.
“I can’t even begin to tell you where we are,” said Rory. He looked out at the landscape, hidden in the darkness, barely making out the hills and bare trees. There were plenty of rocks around and smaller pebbles, too. Feeling inspired, he bent down and started rearranging them. “We’re heading south to the coast, to catch a ship to China it sounds like. You haven’t been on a ship in a while. That should be interesting.”
The pair of horses pulling the wagon were doing all right but they were limited in how many miles they could travel in a day due to the weight of the Pandorica. Niccolò and Maffeo were eager to get to China as quickly as possible, but they weren’t fools. They knew not to push the animals beyond their limit. They made camp regularly so everyone could rest.
In moments like these, it would have been easy to get onto the wagon and drive off without waking the Polos. Rory had even considered it a few times, but a part of him always rejected the idea. Besides carrying the Pandorica, the wagon also carried all of their supplies. Even if Rory left those behind, the Polos would have no way to carry everything. Without the wagon, they might be doomed to die.
No, if Rory were to steal the wagon, he would have to do it when they were near civilization, somewhere that would give the Polos a change to procure a new one. He could wait a little longer.
Rory finished rearranging the pebbles and he stood up to admire his work. He looked back at the Pandorica, as if asking for its opinion. He received none, of course, but he nodded anyway and reached up to pull the covering back down.
When the Polos woke in the morning, they didn’t notice Rory’s handiwork in the dirt. They merely packed up camp and rode on. Had they noticed, they would have discovered a simple message written out in small stones.
I love you, Amy Pond.
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no subject
Date: 2013-05-23 03:41 am (UTC)I don't know why this chapter is so heartbreaking, but it is. Just, here they are in the middle of this huge stretch of time, getting farther and farther from the goal, on a quiet christmas day. Rory's loneliness, humanity, dedication and simple devotion is perfectly him, still with centuries left to go.
no subject
Date: 2013-05-24 10:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-05-23 09:25 am (UTC)His simple devotion and true love just shine through. And Christmas makes it more poignant somehow. I am totally in love with this fiction - you have no idea!
*HUGS*
no subject
Date: 2013-05-24 10:34 pm (UTC)