A/N: So I've decided to try my hand at fanfiction. First, I would like to thank CIS2011 and Patsan. Without their continued encouragement, I would never have published this story or even considered writing. I originally planned on finishing the entire story before even publishing chapter one. But I realized that it would take way too long. So I'll try to update regularly. But I make no promises, as I'm very busy with schoolwork.
Prologue—winter 1915
Matthew Crawley and his squad sought refuge beneath the thickness of the snowy pine trees. Quietly, they ate, drank, and chatted, huddled around the inadequate, sputtering fires that they depended on to keep warm. Though the environment proved less treacherous than the trenches, the frigid surroundings only reaffirmed the feeling that they were stuck in limbo. This only served as transition to the next trench.
As Matthew gnawed pensively on a hunk of raw, stringy meat, he reflected on the startling changes the first months of war brought on to a soldier's outlook on life. War would bring men from optimism crashing to pessimism and then to relativism. To cope with the impending carnage, men constantly reminded themselves that they would be lucky to only sustain a bullet wound to the arm or an amputation below the knee—especially when countless men lost their lives each day. Matthew had yet to face injury or death. He ought to consider himself fortunate to not be trapped in the trenches during winter time he thought grimly. The trenches were nothing but mud and rock. The battlefields were much the same—dusty, desolate hell-scapes without a tree or sign of green to break the monotony.
The English battalion never heard the Germans charging toward their camp. The thick powdering on the ground muffled the treading sounds of their boots. The trees and howling wind blocked out the rustling of jackets and artillery.
It was only until the Germans came within mere feet from the English camp that Matthew and men sensed anything amiss. They were unaccustomed to this environment or terrain. Thrust into survival mode, the men instantly dropped their belongings and grabbed the nearest machine gun. They formed a combat line and pounded forward in resistance. Fortunately, it appeared that the element of surprise was the only advantage the Germans held. Also in a transitioning period, the Germans appeared battered and ill equipped for combat. However, this did not prevent either side from fighting a bloody, ferocious battle.
Matthew ducked as bullets hissed passed him, a few coming within inches of his skull. Many men already lay fallen, with blood pouring out in great quantities. He forged on. Then he hurdled straight into the openness, pushing though sheer exhaustion. When he came face to face with a German, he drove the sharpened point of his bayonet straight though the soldier's erratically beating heart. But just as Matthew pulled the bayonet back, he felt an excruciating stab of pain in his own chest. Blood stained the snow, somehow symbolizing how the bloodbath had forever defiled the landscape. He groped blindly. He clutched his right rib and crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
He succumbed to the darkness.
Ever since Downton Abbey had transformed into a convalescent home, it seemed as though every last corner of Great Britain had been engulfed in the frenzy of the war effort. No person or place slipped past unscathed. Mary thought it disconcerting that even Downton, the bastion of old world stability, had doubled over to assist her country in prevailing through the carnage. It brought her to the startling revelation that even she needed to change. It meant more than simply adjusting her lifestyle as if the war were a mere inconvenience.
Mary sought her own niche amidst the chaos. Edith had recently accepted a job as a part time journalist who spoke with injured convalescents and published their stories. Sybil hoped to secure a full time nursing position at Downton's village hospital. Mary demonstrated strong leadership qualities. She resolved to assist Isobel in organizing schedules and planning charity events. She also acted as a crucial buffer between Isobel and Cora during their routine power struggles.
When Cora received the telephone call informing them that Matthew was injured, Isobel was far too occupied and irritable to deal with Cora. At Lord Grantham's entreaty, Cora had hoped to conceal this news from Mary. But seeing that Isobel hadn't forgiven their latest squabble, Cora reluctantly asked Mary to inform Isobel that her son was scheduled to be shipped back to Downton within the week.
Mary and Isobel stepped into the back entrance to receive the latest sample of collateral damage. Occasionally, a new batch of injured soldiers would enter the premises in especially horrid condition. Such cases served as harbingers of the vicious battles only glossed over in the newspapers. They became the first signals of how the allies were faring. Anybody blind or deaf could comprehend the gravity that was warfare. Even someone both blind and deaf would find the odor of the hospital rooms absolutely sickening. Many of those who returned in one piece suffered invisible wounds equally devastating. Soldiers and officers often returned from the front with personalities marred by shell shock and sanity destroyed by memories of nameless, pulverized bodies strewn across a barren wasteland.
Agitated staff members paced the edge of the room as Thomas carried in the last patient who groaned at every minute shift of the stretcher. The gruesome sight before Mary brought her to an abrupt halt. She stood frozen. Outwardly, she seemed the epitome of professional, calm indifference. But inwardly, she recoiled at the sight of Matthew writhing in unimaginable pain.