There is a reason humans and vampires never marry. Integra should have brushed up on her vampire lore.
It had been perfect.
War is a surreal thing, and by the time the final notes of the grand opera washed away and its director hung high on his stake, nothing was the same anymore. All pretenses fell in the face of destruction, all masks failed. They had no reason any longer to deny what they'd always skirted in the past. He'd kneeled before her, giving her his eternal devotion; she'd accepted, and in the act, he'd made her /his/. And so, in the uneasy calm that followed hell, they'd come together, and suddenly there was no reason not to seal their relationship, to proclaim to the world what they'd always known.
The Queen had personally given her amused approval (along with several tips which had made the knight turn very interesting shades of red). The Convention of Twelve hardly lived up to its name any longer, and the remaining members had seen fit to quietly consent after taking a good look at the knight's eyes and the vampire's grin.
A priest had been threatened into performing the ceremony in accordance with the Anglican rite. Many had whispered among themselves, eying them with uneasy looks. Blasphemy, they murmured. Unholy union, they said. But Integra no longer cared about public acceptance. She never really had. She merely shut them up with her glare, and went her own way.
Seras had been enthusiastic, and she'd eagerly set out to make sure everything was ideal. She'd personally arranged for the wedding dress, and she'd helped Integra try it on, chattering happily all the while in order to drown out Captain Bernadotte's helpful comments. Walter's absence was like a hole by her side, but she tried not to think about him too much, for this was supposed to be a happy occasion. They'd managed everything flawlessly regardless.
It had been evening when she'd walked down the aisle of the church and met him before the altar. Before the altar, they'd exchanged their rings and their vows, only making official what they already had.
She'd smiled when his gloved hands held hers as he leaned in for a kiss. And before the apprehensive eyes of the world, the Count and the Countess were finally united.
It had all been perfect.
Except for one, tiny detail.
Sir Integral Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing sat on the cold stone steps of the church, and sighed a long, wistful sigh. She removed the fancy white shoes she'd been wearing all night, and gently massaged her sore feet. Before her, the the dawn's rosy light cast long, hazy shadows; it bathed the ground, covered in spilled rice, and the lone, huddled form of her vampire. He was sharp and handsome in his tuxedo. Everyone else had long since left.
She shivered; her perfectly tailored wedding gown did little to protect her from the cool autumn breeze. She wished she had a cigar.
Integra sighed once again.
"Are you quite done yet, Alucard?"
The Count picked up yet another grain of rice, and set it to the side with conscientious care. "Not yet, not yet, my master. I'm only up to one million seven thousand."
Sir Integral Hellsing gave a groan of irritation. The Virgin of Steel was doomed to retain her title after all.
Bloody traditions. Bloody vampire.
She leaned back, and watched the sun rise.