Later, Bill will claim not to remember much about this half-hour of his life: being shown into dressing rooms, or Apparating from there back to the hotel to get their belongings -- and then again, having forgot the rings -- or helping Fleur to dress, or handing her the bouquet that the hotel provided. He'll claim not to remember the hotel photographer agreeing to stand as witness, or very many of the words spoken.
But deep inside, he hears it all and he listens to it all and he agrees to it all, and he thinks it's one of the best things he's ever done in his life. He hears the words about sharing and responsibility and love and honouring and cherishing. He sees himself hand Fleur her ring and he sees Fleur hand him his ring, and he watches, as if from far away, as they stand so solemnly and quietly side by side. He doesn't notice the stiffness of the white shirt and vest and tie against his skin, far more used to the soft cotton of a t-shirt, and he doesn't notice the tuxedo's tails falling to the back of his knees but he does know Fleur and her extreme beauty, and he knows he's never seen anything like it.
Like her.
He hears himself repeat the words I, Bill, take you, Fleur, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, to love and to cherish, from this day forward.
He feels them inside his soul. He feels them as an irrefutable and absolute truth, as an expression of the depth of his love for her.
He sees her soul when he looks into her eyes, and it's her turn for vows.
He might later claim not to remember, but it's all indelibly etched onto his heart.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2005-07-19 04:38 pm (UTC)But deep inside, he hears it all and he listens to it all and he agrees to it all, and he thinks it's one of the best things he's ever done in his life. He hears the words about sharing and responsibility and love and honouring and cherishing. He sees himself hand Fleur her ring and he sees Fleur hand him his ring, and he watches, as if from far away, as they stand so solemnly and quietly side by side. He doesn't notice the stiffness of the white shirt and vest and tie against his skin, far more used to the soft cotton of a t-shirt, and he doesn't notice the tuxedo's tails falling to the back of his knees but he does know Fleur and her extreme beauty, and he knows he's never seen anything like it.
Like her.
He hears himself repeat the words I, Bill, take you, Fleur, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, to love and to cherish, from this day forward.
He feels them inside his soul. He feels them as an irrefutable and absolute truth, as an expression of the depth of his love for her.
He sees her soul when he looks into her eyes, and it's her turn for vows.
He might later claim not to remember, but it's all indelibly etched onto his heart.