A/N In response to the flowers prompt from chelsie-prompts on tumblr. Warning: character death (I know, I KNOW).
His hands are shaking. He cannot help it these days, but especially not today. The petals rustle, threatening to fall and the people around him pretend not to notice his difficulty. They gaze at the ground, to the side, anywhere but him. They mean to give the great Mr. Carson the respect they feel he deserves. They look away to preserve his dignity.
It's lonely.
She isn't there to steady him.
The flowers in his hand - roses from the Downton gardens - haven't quite bloomed yet. It's was still winter, the brisk wind tearing through the cemetery reminds him of that. The buds have barely opened, but it was the best that could be managed. It was too early for anything else.
It was all far too early.
The tremor in his hand worsens and he almost loses his grip. He wishes someone would come take them from him, free him from this last obligation. He doesn't think he can manage.
There's a hand on his shoulder, Lord Grantham's no doubt. No words are exchanged, but it does help Charles steel himself. There are already a small handful of flowers on the casket from the mourners, his is the last. One more goodbye.
He kneels. It feels right, even if the ground is cold and unforgiving. Even if it muddies his trousers, what does that matter now? He stares at the casket, still in shock that it's her and not him. He was so certain it was going to be him. He'd never entirely imagined it would be the other way around.
Bizarrely, he finds himself wondering if he should have brought her more flowers when she was alive. It wasn't something he'd ever thought of before but now he's wishing passionately that he could ask her if she would have liked that. The thought is oddly preoccupying.
He's not sure how long he spends debating with himself what she would have said, only that Lord Grantham has knelt beside him. Charles looks up to see his former employer's anxious face. It's time to move along.
Charles nods, reassuring Lord Grantham that he is indeed alright. With a heavy heart, he turns his attention back to the task at hand.
Goodbye, Elsie.
The flowers take an eternity to fall from his hands.
He loved her more than he'd once thought it was possible. At least she'd known that, he thinks. At least they'd had a true marriage, no matter how short it may have been in the end. At least he'd known how much she loved him.
At least for them, the flower had bloomed.
Fin