Disclaimer: 'The Sound of Music' is the property of Twentieth Century Fox.

Thanks: To Janie, my wonderful beta – the most organised person I know who somehow managed to fit this in amidst a hectic gap year. I stand in chaotic awe.

A Drop of Golden Sun

The Threshold

He had not expected it to turn out so. But then his life had been anything but predictable. Fighting for an Empire which he believed to be indestructible – only to find it in ruins after bloodiest war in history. Finding solace in a woman for whom he would cheerfully have laid down his life – only to find that her life was the one God wanted.

Now, as Georg stepped out onto the terrace on this, his twentieth wedding anniversary, his heart gave the sort of painful stab he usually associated with the weeks immediately after Agathe's death. The fact that they had discussed this day intensified his pain; every word she said had taken on an untold resonance. Bringing his fist down on the terrace balustrade he felt a savage pleasure as it made contact with the smooth granite. 'Oh, Agathe,' he groaned, 'it's you…you who I loved more than a man could ever love a woman…'

Her face, though bathed in sweat, held nothing but beauty for him. Smiling that small smile which she always produced to reassure him, Agathe gripped his hand, fondly caressing the ring on his little finger. Propped up in their bed, she looked tiny, her once creamy complexion now a mixture of greyish skin and protuberant bone.

'I want you to know something, Georg.'

'Yes, darling?' Pressing his other hand over her fragile one.

'I love you.'

'Don't, Agathe…' – he clenched his teeth. 'Don't start saying goodbye. Don't you dare…'

'It won't be goodbye, Georg.' She smiled with a serenity that belied the tears in her eyes. 'I'll always be with you, always loving you, loving our children…'

'Please God, Agathe, stop this, I can't stand it…' The thought of her dying was an abyss, a black hole in an inconceivable future. Recovering slightly, he gripped her hand tighter. 'You're going to get better, my love, - you're going to get better and everything will be as it was.' He said it more to convince himself than her.

'Oh, Georg, if only that were true…' she breathed, the memory of the doctor's diagnosis fading for a moment. 'My love…think of the thing's we'd do…'

'The things we will do, Agathe,' Georg corrected her resolutely. 'I'm never going to let you out of my sight again.'

'Do you remember Florence…,' she whispered, referring to the city in which they had spent their tenth wedding anniversary. At the time Agathe had been unsure about leaving the children, but Georg had insisted on a weekend alone, reassuring her that Liesl, Friedrich and little Louisa would be well looked after by their grandmother. In retrospect, she was glad she had been persuaded.

'Do I remember…!' Georg chuckled, tenderly brushing a wisp of hair from her face. 'I don't think we left the hotel for the first few days.'

'Mmm.' Her eyes sparkled and her face seemed to lose some of its grey pallor as she remembered. 'I wonder if we should ever tell Kurt where he was conceived,' she joked affectionately.

'Some day, darling, some day', Georg replied smiling, arranging the eiderdown around her shoulders as she decided to lie down. 'Just think of all other anniversaries we're going to have…' As the words left his lips, he actually believed them.

'The next big one will be our twentieth, I suppose. That isn't even so many years away….' Agathe could not prevent her tears from creeping out. 'Georg, I want you to do something for me on that day.'

'We'll be celebrating together, darling,' he told her firmly, unwilling to concede the possibility of another future. To contemplate her death was to bring it closer.

'I want you to go to the lake, darling,' Agathe continued as if she had not heard him. 'I want you to go down to the lake, to feel the breeze on your face and –'

'-We'll go together, Agathe,' Georg interrupted, 'and I'll swing you in my arms and thank God for my wonderful wife.'

'No, Georg,' she replied, gasping as her shrunken lungs struggled for air. The conversation had sapped her strength but she struggled to continue. 'On that day you will remember me, but, most of all: you will let me go.' She shook her head as he began to protest. 'You will let me go,' she repeated, 'and you will open yourself to love again.'

Seizing her ailing frame so that she was pinned to his chest, Georg stared at her in anguish. 'I couldn't, Agathe…I-'

'Of course you could.' She placed a finger over his lips. 'I want you to, I want my children to have a mother, I want you to have a wife.' Extricating herself from his arms, she lay down to sleep. Overcome, Georg buried his face in her hair, spread across the pillow, golden as ever - the one part of her that sickness had been unable to touch.

They remained like that for a long time. Outside, the darkness turned to indigo as dawn lightened the sky.

'I want you to know something, Agathe.'

'Yes, darling?' Pressing her hand over his strong one.

'I love you.'

'Then you can love again….'

I must, Georg told himself. I don't have a choice. I must move on. The children need a mother. But Elsa…? Not for the first time, a tiny sliver of doubt coiled around his heart. It had taken him years after Agathe's death to contemplate fulfilling her request, to acknowledge the possibility of letting someone in. But, he reminded himself, Agathe had not just wanted him to remarry. She had wanted him to love again.

Georg felt the breeze on his face. Though it was early morning, the sun was intense, forcing him to loosen his tie. He could sense the early signs of a migraine, the tautness about the temples as the awkward questions pervaded his mind once more. On paper Elsa was perfect – lovely, graceful, effortlessly piercing his frosty façade. But could he imagine her by his side, as his wife here on the veranda? Could he see her with his children, befriending Liesl, tending to Marta and Gretl? And the boys…what would they think of her? How, for instance, would Kurt, in his eleven year old clumsiness, bond with Elsa, with her finesse, her delicate witticisms…? He frowned as the pounding in his head quickened.

Despising weakness, and the feeling of self-loathing which it inevitably engendered, Georg set his shoulders and turned towards the villa. His gaze drifted up to the children's rooms, their curtains still tightly closed against the first light of the May morning. In but an hour those rooms would become hives of activity, Liesl helping Marta and Gretl to don their uniforms, Brigitta braiding her hair, Kurt complaining that he was ravenous. But to dwell on them, Georg knew, was to invite yet more pain – the deadening, shameful guilt that came with detachment.

Pushing such thoughts aside, he strode into the villa, his precise, military steps clicking across the hallway. The faint clang of pots and pans could be heard as Frau Schmidt prepared breakfast; he also made out a few words from the doorway as Franz conversed quietly with the postman. Turning the brass handle to enter his study, Georg picked up the fresh newspaper which had been placed on the desk and settled himself down to read.

'Hitler fails to impose Anschluss on von Schuschnigg', the headline declared, going on to explain how the Austrian premier had refused to be intimidated during talks at the Führer's Berchtesgaden retreat.

'Good man,' muttered Georg aloud, glad that the Chancellor shared his views on the country's independence. Inside, though, he suspected that Austria had merely been granted the briefest of reprieves – Hitler had failed to secure the Anschluss via diplomacy: the next time he would surely engage in more persuasive methods.

Reaching into a drawer for some notepaper, Georg framed a letter to his friend, Andreas Kirchhof. A fellow naval captain, and alongside Max one of the few who had retained contact, they had been corresponding for some months now on the Nazi threat. Kirchhof had gone so far as to establish a network of those eager to defend Austria's independence, ready to transform into an active resistance movement should the menace become reality.

A former First Lieutenant on one of Georg's battleships before becoming a Captain himself, Kirchhof had begun to press his friend to assume a leading role in the network. 'I do not know of anyone more capable, nor more steadfast, to guide us in this struggle,' he had written months before. 'I will never forget your leadership in the Great War and live in the hope that you will defend our country again in its hour of need.'

Georg's initial reaction had been to see if the threat materialised – at that stage, he still had faith in the League of Nations. Now, as the impotency of that organisation was revealed and Hitler's motives became ever more apparent, he considered the offer more seriously. Slowly dipping his nib in ink, he began to write.

Dear Andreas,

You will forgive my late reply to your letter. Besides attending to business, I considered it best to wait awhile to monitor developments at Berchtesgaden. I had also hoped that the League of Nations would reaffirm its prohibition of the Anschluss as outlined in the Treaty of Versailles. Such hopes were, of course, futile. I am now convinced that active resistance is the only possible response to Hitler's territorial aspirations.

With this in mind, I accept your offer to take a more active part in the network. Any skills that I have were gained fighting for Austria; I will now use them to defend her. Needless to say, our main enemy in this struggle is apathy – the indifference that makes collaborators of us all.

I am leaving for Vienna in the morning and look forward to establishing contact with you in the next fortnight.

Your friend,

G. Von Trapp

PS - I fear that in the future we may have to rely on other methods of communication; suffice to say that the Salzburg Gau is rising in influence.

The scratching sound ceased as Georg set down his pen. The dew outside had evaporated and a brilliant shaft of morning sunshine beamed into his study, illuminating a million specks of dust. The activity had somehow reduced his melancholy. His uncertainty about Elsa had receded by resolving to defend his country, the latter decision reducing the weight of the former. Resistance seemed also, in some indefinable way, to bind him to the children – if he was too raw to connect with them on a personal level, he could still defend their homeland.

Folding the letter, his eye fell on one of the many papers lining the desk. The Mother Abbess's letter, arrangements for yet another governess due to arrive that day. He wondered how long this er – he glanced at the note – Fraulein Maria would survive…If she could only endure two weeks, he would at least have time with Elsa, time to think about her as a wife, to consider if the tenderness and gratitude he felt were suitable foundations for a marriage. After that...

The mouthwatering smell of crispy bacon brought Georg's musings rapidly to earth. Feeling suddenly as if he could match Kurt's appetite, he strode in to breakfast.

Gau (pl.Gaue), a Nazi party district. Within such a district, numerous party cells (Zelle) would operate.