A/N: So I did something weird. I took chatelaine-s's Chelsie Challenge Prompts, and a list of characters and then I drew them from a hat. I'm a sucker for rare pairs and crack ships so I figured, why not?

First up? Flame: Violet/Molesley Sr.

Summary: Violet visits Bill Molesley's garden. Why she bothers with an old gardener like him, he will never know.

Full disclosure: It's a bit sad and melancholic. Proceed with caution.

Flame

Why she bothers with an old gardener like him, Bill Molesley will never know. But sometimes he allows himself to suspect.

It's a beautiful spring day when he hears the sound of her cane and heels clicking against the cobblestone path. Over the years, she has visited often, but never with much warning. He walks round to greet her at the front, a welcoming smile gracing his worn features. He wipes his sweaty brow with the back of his hand, missing a smudge of dirt across his cheek.

"Good afternoon, Mr Molesley!" she greets politely. Always so polite. "How are your roses coming?"

"Very well, Milday. Thank you for asking," he says. Winter is finally a memory, and he is glad to be be knee deep in his garden fighting a war against the weeds once again.

"Will you be entering the Flower Show this year?" she questions.

"Not this year, Milady," Bill shakes his head. If he's not mistaken, a hint of disappointment flickers across the Dowager's face. He wrings his gloves in front of him. "I don't think Joseph approves of me gardening anymore," he admits. "Not at my age anyway."

The Dowager peers toward the tools he left lying about. "Ah yes, that is one of the reasons I have others to do it for me," she says pointedly with a small chuckle. "The ends justifies the means." He blinks, mesmerized by the rare mirth dancing in her eyes.

These moments are rare, and she knows he knows that. He already knows so much about her, especially impressive considering their years of veiled conversations led by her. He never asks her about her life, her interests, her remaining hopes and her heart's true desires, not even if he wanted to. It's not how things are done.

Violet thinks that maybe he could have known her so completely. If only she let him. If only she were able to.

If only.

"It is a shame you won't be participating," her eyes are fixed on a flower that has yet to bloom. "You are a worthy adversary, Mr Molesley."

"Thank you, Milady," he nods, tries to prolong this moment. "As are you."

She grips her cane tightly, and thinks about what to say next. She thinks about asking him to come round, to give her garden an inspection before the Flower Show. Maybe give the gardeners under her employ some much needed advice. And then maybe she could ask him to stay for tea. Maybe even dinner.

But they're too old to be playing with fire, to be licked by flames and watch everything burn down around them. So the Dowager Countess shakes her head to douse the fire and watches as the embers burn cold.

For they are artifacts from a time long gone. They are the last of the Edwardians and their lives are a setting sun.

Next up: Silver- Mary/Charles Grigg. (I don't even know.)