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Literature Text
-Third time's a charm
Rory. Oh Rory.
Fantastic, funny, beautiful, gorgeous Rory.
That idiot! Why, hmm? Why! Sometimes he does things I don't understand. This is the third time I've lost him. To what? The London Blitz with the Daleks behind the moon and me down in Churchill's bunker? Is that what happened? The lights came on and the Germans attacked. Is that what happened? Well they do say that the third time's the charm.
He's dead, isn't that right? And all he is now is a fairytale, a dream. Because the whole of reality is collapsing on itself and only two people are left to remember him. And when the total event collapse completes, no more. We're all no more.
The Lone Centurion, never leaving, never wavering, always dutiful to his bride locked inside the Pandorica. He was going to get married in the morning; </I>I</I> was going to get married in the morning. Now that day will never come.
My heart hurt, hurt more than it had before. Two times, two times that I've held him as he died. Two times that he's looked into my eyes as his last breath escapes him. Two times. Twice.
Did I mention that the third time's the charm?
The universe is big, sometimes there are miracles. Or so I've heard –not that I remember where but…
No no. I'm not the most important thing in the universe. Being in that box the whole time, I'd never feel anything. I would just be asleep. That's the problem. Rory…. too kind for his own damn good.
Amy!
So I run into his arms and I cling for all it's worth. I love the Doctor, but Rory Williams is more important than anything else in the world, even a total event collapse. Human or auton, it doesn't matter. Just as long as I have him.
So when the Doctor makes his final stand and Rory is next to me, I lash out. Because he shouldn't have. He shouldn't have waited 2000 years. But he did. And that makes it all the more special.
Rory Williams, my fiancé.
I'm getting married in the morning, did I mention?
--------------------------------
-A thousand lifetimes
As humans, we feel, we taste, we see, we touch, we hear. We love, we hate, we cower, we stand up straight. We are complete; we are full. There isn't anything that can destroy our last hope of resolve.
We are real.
And yet we dwell in the past on our dreams and fairytales. We long to put ourselves in the Hollywood stories that will never come true. This is a world that we want but can never have. The fairytale, the fable, the myth.
I was a myth… once, never was, maybe will be, maybe was in some other time stream.
The Lone Centurion.
The Wanderer.
The Follower.
The Dutiful.
The Guardian.
Wherever the Pandorica would go, I would go. Wherever Amy went, I would follow. In the old legends and myths, the scholars debated over the fine piece of an "anomaly" the called it. What was it? Where was it from? A work of the gods? Why was it here? And who was the fabled protector?
They made up stories, just as they always do. Like Merlin and Arthur, Zeus and the Olympians. A myth, a story –passing down through the ages, always changing evolving.
They said it was a curse brought upon me. Others said it was a blessing. Still others believed it was a rite of passage that I had to complete.
In the world of time, nothing is constant. It always fluctuates. The simple answer in the end was love. The love that lasted a thousand lifetimes, thousands of years. Spanning through the ages. The silent Lone Centurion. And his bride.
I got married in the morning, did Amy mention?
Rory. Oh Rory.
Fantastic, funny, beautiful, gorgeous Rory.
That idiot! Why, hmm? Why! Sometimes he does things I don't understand. This is the third time I've lost him. To what? The London Blitz with the Daleks behind the moon and me down in Churchill's bunker? Is that what happened? The lights came on and the Germans attacked. Is that what happened? Well they do say that the third time's the charm.
He's dead, isn't that right? And all he is now is a fairytale, a dream. Because the whole of reality is collapsing on itself and only two people are left to remember him. And when the total event collapse completes, no more. We're all no more.
The Lone Centurion, never leaving, never wavering, always dutiful to his bride locked inside the Pandorica. He was going to get married in the morning; </I>I</I> was going to get married in the morning. Now that day will never come.
My heart hurt, hurt more than it had before. Two times, two times that I've held him as he died. Two times that he's looked into my eyes as his last breath escapes him. Two times. Twice.
Did I mention that the third time's the charm?
The universe is big, sometimes there are miracles. Or so I've heard –not that I remember where but…
No no. I'm not the most important thing in the universe. Being in that box the whole time, I'd never feel anything. I would just be asleep. That's the problem. Rory…. too kind for his own damn good.
Amy!
So I run into his arms and I cling for all it's worth. I love the Doctor, but Rory Williams is more important than anything else in the world, even a total event collapse. Human or auton, it doesn't matter. Just as long as I have him.
So when the Doctor makes his final stand and Rory is next to me, I lash out. Because he shouldn't have. He shouldn't have waited 2000 years. But he did. And that makes it all the more special.
Rory Williams, my fiancé.
I'm getting married in the morning, did I mention?
--------------------------------
-A thousand lifetimes
As humans, we feel, we taste, we see, we touch, we hear. We love, we hate, we cower, we stand up straight. We are complete; we are full. There isn't anything that can destroy our last hope of resolve.
We are real.
And yet we dwell in the past on our dreams and fairytales. We long to put ourselves in the Hollywood stories that will never come true. This is a world that we want but can never have. The fairytale, the fable, the myth.
I was a myth… once, never was, maybe will be, maybe was in some other time stream.
The Lone Centurion.
The Wanderer.
The Follower.
The Dutiful.
The Guardian.
Wherever the Pandorica would go, I would go. Wherever Amy went, I would follow. In the old legends and myths, the scholars debated over the fine piece of an "anomaly" the called it. What was it? Where was it from? A work of the gods? Why was it here? And who was the fabled protector?
They made up stories, just as they always do. Like Merlin and Arthur, Zeus and the Olympians. A myth, a story –passing down through the ages, always changing evolving.
They said it was a curse brought upon me. Others said it was a blessing. Still others believed it was a rite of passage that I had to complete.
In the world of time, nothing is constant. It always fluctuates. The simple answer in the end was love. The love that lasted a thousand lifetimes, thousands of years. Spanning through the ages. The silent Lone Centurion. And his bride.
I got married in the morning, did Amy mention?
We all dream and believe in far-fetched fairytales. And the most intriguing of them all was of the Lone Centurion and his Lost Bride. A story of devotion, time and love and the silence that lifted.
TWOSHOT/POST-THE BIG BANG
I. third time's a charm Amy's POV
II. a thousand lifetimes Rory's POV
TWOSHOT/POST-THE BIG BANG
I. third time's a charm Amy's POV
II. a thousand lifetimes Rory's POV
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Comments8
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So cute! *squeeeeeee!!!!*