My apologies in advance to all the wonderful Andith shippers. I kept hearing David Gray's, The One I Love, on the playlist at work and well, this is the result. I don't own anything related to Downton.
Had there not been a war on, it would have been a perfect summer's night. Instead, on the fields of France, under bright stars, bullets whispered through green leaves. After a failed mission behind enemy lines, Anthony Strallan was struggling to return to safety. Unfortunately though, he'd gotten caught in the crossfire, and as a result his right side and shoulder was now riddled with bullets. Grimacing, the Major staggered a few more steps before slumping to the ground. He closed his eyes, very much aware that the end of his life was drawing nigh.
He wondered, briefly, if he'd be sent home for a proper burial. More likely, he'd end up in some mass grave on foreign soil with no one, except his sister, to mourn his passing. Unless.. His thoughts quickly turned to the one thing or rather person that had sustained him throughout the nightmare he'd suffered the past few years. Lady Edith Crawley. She might grieve for him, though, if she chose not to, he could hardly blame her.
With the falling darkness of death approaching, Anthony sent a silent prayer out across the miles that separated them. A prayer that she was happy and, hopefully, had forgiven him for how terribly he had wronged her by not proposing at the garden party.
God and the stars above knew how much he'd loved her. Still did. In spite of the difference in their ages, Anthony had always felt that in Edith, he'd found his soul mate. But Mary's words had cut deep and instead of listening to his heart, he and his wounded pride had foolishly walked away from the one he loved and straight into this god-forsaken war.
How many times since that fateful day, had he tried to summon the courage to write to her. Admit he'd made the worst mistake of his life and, though he certainly had no right, ask her to wait for him. Daily, had he hoped for the opportunity to return home and see Edith once more. To fall at her feet and beg forgiveness of his sins. To make good on his promise of asking for her hand in marriage.
Sadly, Anthony thought of all the things he might have said and done had he been given a second chance. For once, he would cast aside his blasted sense of honor. He would profess his love to Edith, take her in his arms and kiss her passionately, leaving no doubt as to the depth of his desire for her.
She would be his wife, the mistress of Locksley, and the mother of his children.
It was all wishful thinking now. What might have been. And those regrets were far more painful than the physical injuries through which the life was leaking from his body.
In the fallen soldier's final moments, there were neither visions of the Elysian Fields nor of a fiery Hell. Only images of Edith.
He saw the the two of them in the Rolls out for one of the many drives they'd taken while courting. Her, with a smile as radiant as the Yorkshire sunshine, gazing at him in such an adoring manner as he drove them down the country lanes.
The memory of her tears, falling gently down her cheeks, as she was overcome with emotion during the concert at York. How wonderful it had felt to have her snug against him on the ride back home after dinner at Lady Jarvis's.
He pictured her sitting in the library at Locksley, heard her lovely voice reading aloud the poetry of Keats. The rosy blush that graced her cheeks as she stuttered and mumbled through the more intimate passages.
Like an ocean roar, the next wave of artillery sounded and Anthony knew he was fading fast.
Desperately grasping for one last memory, he saw the them together on the dance floor at the Calendar-Beckett's ball. He felt the warmth as he took her tiny hand in his. Her brown eyes shining with joy. The subtle scent of her lavender shampoo and lilac perfume filled his nostrils.
Anthony's last thought, as he left this world, was of Edith. Opening his eyes and drawing his final breath, Anthony murmured, "My Sweet One, the one I love."