Gird Up Thy Loins

When Anthony suggested that their inability to find even a moment together alone two days before their wedding seemed a bit deliberate, he was treated to the most charming eye roll he'd ever experienced.

"Of course it's deliberate," his fiancee replied, squeezing his good arm a little tighter and glaring back towards the Abbey, certain that her father was watching from an upstairs window with narrowed eyes. "They don't trust me for a moment."

"Why ever not?" he asked with a frown. "Shouldn't it be me they don't trust?"

"They don't think I know my own mind," she replied with a resigned shrug. "I imagine they worry I might go off and do something absolutely scandalous."

"Like marry a man twice your age?" He smiled at her decidedly unladylike snort.

"Just so," she replied.

They walked on a bit, Edith gently steering them towards the Temple. Anthony's drawn brow caught her attention and she pulled him to a stop as he heaved a sigh and opened his mouth to speak.

"Anthony, we're having a perfectly lovely time and the last thing I want to hear is my father's, or worse, my Grandmother's, words coming from your mouth. We've been over and through it and they are wrong."

"As you say, Sweet One," he replied with a sheepish half smile. "What shall we talk about then?"

They entered the shade of the Temple, standing quietly for a moment. Edith disregarded the benches and lowered herself gracefully to the grass. Anthony stood indecisively, wondering if he'd be able to get back up if he joined her.

"Sit somewhere, Anthony," she ordered cheerfully. "Let's not waste this chance to disregard etiquette for once."

Taking it as a dare, Anthony sat carefully, grateful when he didn't lose his balance and topple over. They were probably closer than what was appropriate, but neither cared at that moment. It wouldn't long before someone was sent to find one or both of them for further talk of endless details that thrilled and bored Edith in equal measure and, frankly, baffled Anthony. They sat in comfortable silence until Edith reached over and gently took his good hand in hers.

"Tell me about what you were like as a boy, Anthony."

"Good heavens," he replied with a startled laugh. He'd expected Edith wanting to chat about their future or try to pry hints of his honeymoon plans out of him. "Really?"

"Yes, really. I imagine you were all legs and knock-knees. Did you ride your pony and climb trees and go on picnics?"

"Well, I was certainly a bit clumsy as a boy," he acknowledged with a grin. "And I fell off my pony quite a lot at first."

"Everyone does."

"The grooms always told me I had to be firmer with the little chap, so he'd know I was the master. But I worried for his soft mouth – it tickled so when he'd lip an apple off my palm – and I never held the reins tightly enough, so he'd kick up every chance he got and send me right over his head."

Anthony watched Edith laugh delightedly at him and suddenly felt like if he could hear that sound everyday of his life, he'd be the happiest man on earth.

"I wasn't exactly permitted to climb trees. Nanny had a pathological aversion to trousers with holes in the seat. But my sister and I would sneak off and scale some of the smaller oaks at Locksley..." His eyes took on a dreamy expression and Edith knew he was a lifetime away, hiding from Nanny and clambering into the low branches, egged on by his older sister from higher up. "Diana would be the Princess for me so I could rescue her."

"That doesn't seem like Diana," Edith snicked, having met Anthony's somewhat formidable, protective sister the month before.

"We were both quite a bit younger then. I'm not sure who'd be doing the rescuing now."

"What was your favorite game?" Edith asked, scooting a little closer to him.

"Knights!" he promptly replied. "I was never happier in the nursery than when I was slaying the ferocious dragon with my trusty sword and shield."

Edith pictured a small Anthony charging fearlessly through the lovely, bright and spacious room that was the day nursery at Locksley, waving a wooden sword and vanquishing all threats to his Princess and Nanny and had to blink hard before a tear of joy escaped.

"I'm sure all the dragons fled in the face of your heroic acts," she teased in a voice that wavered slightly.

"The ones in the nursery did," he replied absently, looking down at her lovely face and wondering why she seemed like she was trying not to cry. "Sweet One, are you-"

"You're still a dragon slayer, you know," she interrupted, laying her hand lightly on his sling.

"Hardly that," he scoffed.

"You defended Tom from that horrible Larry Grey."

"Well, its a beastly thing, to blindside a man like that with a drug," he protested. "Anyone would ha-"

"But you were the one that did," she said firmly. "You served King and Country when you didn't have to."

"Edith-"

"And you came back wounded, but in triumph, Anthony. I saw so many men, much younger men than you, who couldn't stand up to their injuries. I helped them write their letters, saying goodbye to sweethearts and mothers and wives because they didn't think they could ever live their lives again-they way they'd been left."

Anthony stared at her as she got on her knees to face him and looked fiercely into his eyes.

"You came back, back to Locksley, back to tea with Granny, and back to me...although you took some persuading on that point..."

"Yes," he said softly, "I came back. But-"

"You slay dragons everyday, Anthony. Don't think I don't know. And you're not going to let the dragons win this time either." She smiled and dropped her eyes to stare at his neatly knotted tie. "And neither will I."

"You don't sound much like a damsel in distress," he said, gripping her hand with his good one, then pulling her closer to him until she rested her head on his chest.

"I don't think I'd be very good at it...not anymore," she murmured.

"Perhaps I just need a noble warrior maid to fight at my side," he suggested.

"That sounds quite perfect," she replied, looking up at him and meeting his eyes.

As Lord Grantham escorted his daughter to the front of the church with a somewhat dyspeptic expression, Anthony could hear the clank of the scales dragging along the aisle. When Edith wrapped her arm around his and whispered "Good Afternoon," a small puff of smoke appeared from the lips of the Dowager along with a nearly inaudible growl.

"Good afternoon, Sweet One," he replied nervously.

As Father Avery began to drone on, Edith whispered for his ears only:

"Gird up thy loins, brave Sir Anthony."

And so, the service continued.