Disclaimer: I do not presume to own Downton Abbey, Roman Holiday, or Audrey Hepburn by writing this fanfic.
AN: So yes, I started a new one, but it's as a request for a dear friend. I promise not to neglect my other stories in favor of this one- they'll all have equal time!
Princess Mary was finally going on her Grand Tour of Europe. As the sole heir to the throne of Downton- a small kingdom squashed between England and Scotland- this was her first completely political trip where she was unoccupied by her family. At first she was overjoyed by the prospect- finally a bit of the freedom she craved!- but after a glance at the schedule for her tour, she discovered just how wrong that hypothesis actually was.
While it was… pleasant to have people shower her in adoration, Mary inwardly despised the sugarcoated words most of them used only to try to get something from her. The constant simpering was getting on her nerves, and the neverending list of events was exhausting. She managed to keep up her cool, charming front, but it was only a matter of time before she slipped and snapped someone's head off.
It had been a particularly long evening, full of dancing with officials she secretly loathed. She was in Rome, for goodness sake! Why couldn't she be permitted to tour the city, instead of going to all these dull events at embassies? All she wanted were a few moments alone before bed, but O'Brien wouldn't even let her have that.
"Shall we go over your schedule?" O'Brien's voice called her away from the window from where she had been watching a small Italian band.
"I suppose." Mary sighed, walking over to the bed and slipping under the covers, unable to enjoy the silk sheets because of her scratchy nightgown. "Only I don't know why I'm forced to wear this dreadfully ancient thing to bed. It's not like anyone's here to see it."
O'Brian ignored her and began listing off the next day's events in a patronizing tone. Mary gritted her teeth as she listened, forming snide responses in her mind. As the woman droned on, Mary grew grouchier and more tired until she erupted.
"Oh, shut up, you old bat!" Mary snarled.
O'Brian dropped her notebook. "I beg your pardon?"
"Stop it, stop all of it! And get out!" Mary furiously stabbed a finger towards the door.
"My dear, you're in hysterics." O'Brian pushed Mary back.
Mary bared her teeth at her obvious disobedience. Grabbing a pillow, she hurled it at O'Brian's face.
It impacted with a whump, and O'Brian gasped. "Control yourself! I'm sending for Dr. Clarkson." She stormed out the door.
Mary snatched the pillow off the ground and settled back under the sheets, her mind a jumbled mess.
Dr. Clarkson soon trotted into the room, medical bag in hand. O'Brian trailed behind him, a scowl on her face. Mary could hear her hiss, "She had the audacity to throw a pillow at me!"
The doctor sat on the edge of Mary's bed. "Pardon me, madam, but she looks perfectly well to me! How are you, your highness?"
"Quite well, I assure you, doctor." Mary said calmly, her mask back in place. "Only I am feeling a bit tired."
"I swear she threw her pillow at me!"
"And why should I do that, O'Brian?" Mary asked innocently.
General Carson flew into the room before O'Brian had time to respond. "Is the princess quite alright? We can't have her upset before the press conference tomorrow!"
Clarkson frowned, studying Mary. "It seems O'Brian's report was inaccurate. However, perhaps a small dose of medication would be in order."
Mary found it best to be compliant. "Of course, whatever you say, doctor."
Dr. Clarkson got out a needle. "It'll make you sleep better and cheer you up a bit. Quite harmless."
He quickly gave her the drug then and began to pack up. "Sleep well, your highness." General Carson, seeing that the treatment was over, ushered the doctor and O'Brian out, closing the door with a soft, father-like smile at Mary.
Mary sighed and laid back. How terribly frustrating! Still, she could hardly admit to being so unladylike to O'Brian. A burst of inspiration hit her and she left out of bed, rushing to her wardrobe. The medicine must have failed, because she didn't feel any sleepier than she did already, so she might as well make use of the time as everyone else thought she was in a drug-induced haze. Slipping into the most informal outfit- a white peasant blouse, a calf-length green skirt, and flats- she rushed out the window and dropped into the courtyard below. Pinning her hair back as she ran along, she hid into the back of a grocery car parked outside and made her escape, as the driver passed out of the embassy gates without question.
A smug smile lit up her face. She had escaped! The entirety of Rome was open to her! As soon as the grocery car slowed, she lept out, striding through the nighttime streets. Where should she go first?