Fic: From This Day Forward (I'm Yours)
Title: From This Day Forward (I'm Yours)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: Amy/Rory
Word Count: 675
Rating: G
Warnings/Spoilers: Vague spoilers up to "The Big Bang"
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, then it's not mine.
Summary: A small snapshot from the wedding of Amy Pond and Rory Williams.
A/N: Happy first anniversary, Amy and Rory! (June 26, 2011 - better three days late than never.) I was at my uncle's wedding this weekend, and was inspired; I wrote most of this the night after. The quotes from the declaration of consent (not the vows) were taken directly from there, as was the title. I'm not sure which kind of Christian Amy and Rory are, so I tried to leave that open-ended. Oh, I love these two.
(P.S. Auction fics coming soon! I know I am the worst ;__;)
Amy Pond stands by the doors of the church antechamber and shifts her weight from one foot to the other, impatient. She's already waited ages for this day to arrive, and now it's being held up another half an hour while the guests stream in and settle into their seats. Idly, she trails her hand down the wall of the vestibule. Etchings in some of the stones outline the church's past benefactors - dedicated to Eric and Miranda Stiles, Charles MacArthur, and a dozen other names she's never heard. Amy's reminded again of how very old the church is; some of the dates below the names go back to the 1600s.
Amy adjusts her new dress, still not completely satisfied, despite her maid of honor telling her it looks wonderful.
She looks around the room again, even though can't really see it properly. Through her veil, everything appears to shimmer, a bit unreal. (But that's silly, she thinks, what could be more real than this?)
Then her father enters the small room through the back door, wiping his brow, and pulls her into a hug. He moves to stand at her right and links arms with her. “Not long now,” he whispers.
Trumpets flare, and a woman in a wine-red dress pulls open the doors. “All right then, Pond,” she says, gesturing to come forward. Amy takes a deep breath, and steps into the church's main chamber. This part should be easy. They rehearsed this just yesterday afternoon.
As she starts to walk down the aisle, Amy surveys the three hundred guests crowded in the narrow pews, all turned towards her. She can pick out grade-school friends, a few co-workers, her grandparents and Rory's, her Aunt Sharon, an assortment of other relatives, and some other well-wishers. There's one face she can't find in the crowd, but she can't quite recall his features - then she realizes she doesn't quite know who she's looking for, just that he ought to have shown up.
It feels like the longest hundred feet she's ever walked. Her dad's still beside her, her arm clasped in his, but she can't help feeling an emptiness on her left, as if there should be another man there - not Rory, someone else to give her away. But Amy knows that's absurd. (Why can't she remember?)
She glances down the aisle at her soon-to-be groom. He's standing tall, tense but hiding it well, and he looks dashing in his light grey suit and the matching hat borrowed from his grandfather, stupid face so grown up, and it finally sinks in, today she's going to marry Rory.
She reaches the front of the church, by the altar, and glides into place. On the other side of a dais, Rory beams at her. The priest faces the assembly and he begins the formal introduction of the wedding, which she tunes out, still lost in thought. The little church in Leadworth looks cavernous from her position, and full of friends and family, even if it is missing one. Amy decides she doesn't care what she's forgotten; there's nowhere she'd rather be than here by Rory's side.
The celebrant clears his throat, then turns to her and begins to read, “Amelia, will you have this man to be your husband…” He continues, laying out the declaration of consent, which Rory's going to get in just a minute with the genders flipped around. These promises are more solemn than she realized, as if the words took on new meaning overnight, or she couldn't understand their significance until now. But Amy's been through so much with Rory, she can deal with “forsaking all others” and staying “in sickness and in health.” Really, she couldn't imagine it any other way.
At last, the priest gets to the end, asking: “…be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”
Rory looks over, grins at her nervously - as if he doesn't already know what she's going to say.
Amy Pond answers, “I will.”
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: Amy/Rory
Word Count: 675
Rating: G
Warnings/Spoilers: Vague spoilers up to "The Big Bang"
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, then it's not mine.
Summary: A small snapshot from the wedding of Amy Pond and Rory Williams.
A/N: Happy first anniversary, Amy and Rory! (June 26, 2011 - better three days late than never.) I was at my uncle's wedding this weekend, and was inspired; I wrote most of this the night after. The quotes from the declaration of consent (not the vows) were taken directly from there, as was the title. I'm not sure which kind of Christian Amy and Rory are, so I tried to leave that open-ended. Oh, I love these two.
(P.S. Auction fics coming soon! I know I am the worst ;__;)
Amy Pond stands by the doors of the church antechamber and shifts her weight from one foot to the other, impatient. She's already waited ages for this day to arrive, and now it's being held up another half an hour while the guests stream in and settle into their seats. Idly, she trails her hand down the wall of the vestibule. Etchings in some of the stones outline the church's past benefactors - dedicated to Eric and Miranda Stiles, Charles MacArthur, and a dozen other names she's never heard. Amy's reminded again of how very old the church is; some of the dates below the names go back to the 1600s.
Amy adjusts her new dress, still not completely satisfied, despite her maid of honor telling her it looks wonderful.
She looks around the room again, even though can't really see it properly. Through her veil, everything appears to shimmer, a bit unreal. (But that's silly, she thinks, what could be more real than this?)
Then her father enters the small room through the back door, wiping his brow, and pulls her into a hug. He moves to stand at her right and links arms with her. “Not long now,” he whispers.
Trumpets flare, and a woman in a wine-red dress pulls open the doors. “All right then, Pond,” she says, gesturing to come forward. Amy takes a deep breath, and steps into the church's main chamber. This part should be easy. They rehearsed this just yesterday afternoon.
As she starts to walk down the aisle, Amy surveys the three hundred guests crowded in the narrow pews, all turned towards her. She can pick out grade-school friends, a few co-workers, her grandparents and Rory's, her Aunt Sharon, an assortment of other relatives, and some other well-wishers. There's one face she can't find in the crowd, but she can't quite recall his features - then she realizes she doesn't quite know who she's looking for, just that he ought to have shown up.
It feels like the longest hundred feet she's ever walked. Her dad's still beside her, her arm clasped in his, but she can't help feeling an emptiness on her left, as if there should be another man there - not Rory, someone else to give her away. But Amy knows that's absurd. (Why can't she remember?)
She glances down the aisle at her soon-to-be groom. He's standing tall, tense but hiding it well, and he looks dashing in his light grey suit and the matching hat borrowed from his grandfather, stupid face so grown up, and it finally sinks in, today she's going to marry Rory.
She reaches the front of the church, by the altar, and glides into place. On the other side of a dais, Rory beams at her. The priest faces the assembly and he begins the formal introduction of the wedding, which she tunes out, still lost in thought. The little church in Leadworth looks cavernous from her position, and full of friends and family, even if it is missing one. Amy decides she doesn't care what she's forgotten; there's nowhere she'd rather be than here by Rory's side.
The celebrant clears his throat, then turns to her and begins to read, “Amelia, will you have this man to be your husband…” He continues, laying out the declaration of consent, which Rory's going to get in just a minute with the genders flipped around. These promises are more solemn than she realized, as if the words took on new meaning overnight, or she couldn't understand their significance until now. But Amy's been through so much with Rory, she can deal with “forsaking all others” and staying “in sickness and in health.” Really, she couldn't imagine it any other way.
At last, the priest gets to the end, asking: “…be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”
Rory looks over, grins at her nervously - as if he doesn't already know what she's going to say.
Amy Pond answers, “I will.”