Word Count: 21,813
Author's Summary: Once upon a time, there was a Girl, and she lived in an enchanted forest.
Characters/Pairings: Amy Pond, Rory Williams, River Song, Eleventh Doctor
Warnings: Alternate Universe, Character Study
Recced because: Yet another rec where the author (in my mind) just has that way with words that captures you, keeps you reading and breathless and blinking after you are done. Reality can be hard to come back to! And with this awesome fiction by honeynoir, reality is DOUBLY hard to come back to. This fiction is a fairytale. No names are mentioned, but then, you already know the characters. She draws on these characters in an intense fashion that leaves you pleased because you know them so well in your heart, but the slant of the tale leaves you wondering what lies at the end of the path in the forest. Will it be a gingerbread house? A wicked witch? None of the above? Or all of them at once? This tale left me shivering, raw and airless with joy, wonder, terror, hope, sorrow and that satisfied feeling one gets when done with a tale that is familiar to us all, yet is new every time you return to it. This is that fiction. Reality will seem so pale in comparison...
The cottage is cramped, but cramped is good; it’s just right, in fact. There is the rocking chair, the focal point, right in the middle, facing the door. To one side of it are the cupboards and the cooker and the bucket that’s always full of fresh water(-for-drinking); and on the other a table; and behind it a narrow bed. There are beams in the ceiling above it, and the floor below it is always clean. (Despite all this, it is a malevolent kind of rocking chair, and a fearful kind of place. The Girl is learning to ignore that.)
His eyes open. “You’re here!” he says, and he does rise; a remarkably liquid motion; it always is, considering.
They each take two steps forward until their toes almost touch. She wraps one set of fingers around his tie and the other around a threadbare collar, and she rests her head on his shoulder; as much rest as she ever gets. He buries his fingers in her hair, lets them grow still there.
A moment; a while; the evening later, he gently disentangles her hands from his clothes. Then he pushes the coat down her shoulders, and she all but twirls it off. He yawns and stretches. “Why are you wearing jewellery?”
She hangs the coat up on the hook on the back of the door, yanks off the tiara and drops it onto the floor. Metal on metal. “For work.”
He nods, and then he smiles.