Joining Theoofoof and having a go at the 52 weeks of Chelsie challenge - I don't usually do drabbles as I get carried and drawn into telling the story so writing something around 500 words is a challenge for me!

I don't know how my year will pan out so who knows if i'll meet the challenge, but giving it a go for my Chelsie love.

A New Beginning

Try as he might he can't shake the nervous tension that has seen fit to burrow down and form roots in the depths of his stomach. A few times that morning he's rushed to the lavatory, quite certain he was ill and his stomach would soon rid itself of its contents.

But no, nothing more than a case of the butterflies, is what his mother would have said. Which has always struck him as something of a strange notion really, butterflies in one's stomach; as a child he'd often pictured the little blighters racing around, leapfrogging about his innards.

Still, he was a man now, an old man he'd thought, as he'd taken a long look at himself in the mirror before bed. In just his pyjamas he'd wondered what Elsie would see when she first saw him like this. Not Carson anymore. Not the butler. Just Charles. Charlie, maybe, in time. That thought had unnerved him. Not that he thought her shallow, quite the opposite, she was as sturdy and dependable as they came, he just wondered. He wouldn't have his uniform to hide behind, a waistcoat to tug on, a job to do.

There was a time he'd thought that was all he'd ever have. And that was fine. It was all he needed. It was all he'd ever wanted, really, to do a good job in a fine house for an upstanding family. It had surprised him, then, when he'd suddenly found he was beginning to long for more. And in his later years, at his time of life. People would laugh. He'd pondered that momentarily.

But then she'd been there, reaching for his hand, leading him forward – gently, gently – just as she always had. How easily she could lead him. She was so adept at it. She led them all. As much as he might like to bluster and claim to 'be their leader', she was the one, the strength, the backbone. How many times did he glance her way when lost for words? How many times had he found his way with just a look from her?

He stands, hands clasped together as he moves to the altar, a few short steps to the unknown. He has no idea if he will make a good husband. He hopes to. He intends to. He wants to be all that he can be for her, to her. To love, honour and cherish just as the good book states.

But the role of husband… It's a word he never thought would be part of his vernacular, not when used in relation to himself. And it's the first time in many years he's been unsure. He told her once he felt that the ground was shaking beneath him, but she'd steadied him, as she always did.

Now, as he turns to greet her coming down the aisle, the very air is shaking. She is beautiful. Breathtakingly so. And her eyes. And her smile. She is proud yet nervous. Glancing to the assembled guests as she walks, and then to him...

The butterflies settle, finding a spot to rest. And the roots that have taken hold are not of nerves, but of life, but of love. For she is the root of it all – but then she always has been.