Hello everyone! I recently watched the movie Roman Holiday, (starring Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck, both of whom I now am deeply in love with.) and an idea started to spark, featuring my favorite characters from Downton. So enjoy! This first chapter is a little meaty with details and history, but it was necessary. Please review! I own nothing but my imagination and writing skills.

The Crawleys had a reputation to uphold. Their family was one of the oldest royal houses on the European continent and was constantly under the scrutiny of the public eye. They were representatives of their nation, and so they had to appear proper and refined at all times. King Robert and his wife Cora regularly donated to charities, and the matriarch of the family, the Queen Mother Violet, was renowned far and wide for her wisdom. However, it was the daughters of the family, the princesses, who had caught everyone's attention. Cora had given birth to three girls, all of them beauties. They were rarely seen, however, and thus retained an aura of mystery.

The eldest daughter, the heiress presumptive, Princess Mary, was classically beautiful. She had long, black hair and cold dark eyes. Many a suitor had sought her hand, but she had refused them all, turning away countless men, from all countries and nationalities. The newspapers speculated about her future spouse and potential candidates. Whenever a suitor would visit, there was sure to be an increase in newspapers claiming to have some new gossip about what had happened.

The second daughter, Princess Edith, was also beautiful, but quite drab in comparison to Mary. She was always in the shadow of her older sister, and she was often pushed to the side in favor of Mary. She was very kind-hearted and generous, making several efforts to improve the lives of the citizens in her country. Edith was not quite so picky as Mary when it came to choosing a companion. She was sought after by Sir Anthony Strallan, and after a yearlong courtship, they were married, earning them a front page story on most European newspapers. The couple happily settled into his castle in the countryside. They had just announced that they were expecting their second child.

It was the youngest daughter that seemed to be the least publicized. Although Princess Sybil was beautiful, Mary outshone her in pure elegance. Sybil was kind, but she hadn't performed as many royal duties as Edith. Little was known about her other than the fact that she supported women's rights. Her close friends and relatives described her as "kind, smart, and witty." The only thing printed in newspapers about Princess Sybil was a desire to understand the young woman and where she stood on every aspect of society.

It was only natural then, that Sybil would be the one to pick up her family's reputation when it was shattered by scandal and rumors. She was the perfect person to restore the faith in the Crawley family and distract the public from the events that had transpired in the Crawley household.

Turkish nobility had come to visit Downton, in the form of a man named Kemal Pamuk. He was extremely handsome and Mary took a liking to him. Pictures were released of the two of them horseback riding around the castle grounds. The pictures filled the newspapers.

Mr. Pamuk was planning on staying for two weeks, but the first night he stayed was his last. A footman found him dead in his bed the next morning. The scandal occupied even more papers. Rumors spread like wildfire. Stories were stirred up. Was he poisoned? Was he secretly murdered? A popular rumor that came from a verifiable source claimed that he had died in Princess Mary's bed.

Whatever had occurred, it was clear that the Crawley name had been tarnished. To cleanse it, the heads of the family came up with a solution. They needed a fresh front to the public, someone kind, smart and witty. Edith was busy with her family and Mary already had enough trouble tied to her name. Violet was too old and Cora and Robert needed to stay and govern.

So it was reluctantly decided that Princess Sybil would embark on her first publicized goodwill tour of European capitals. It meant early mornings and late nights, high heels and restrictive outfits, and absolutely no down time to read a book or climb a tree or do anything resembling fun. Instead, the princess had to attend ceremonies, give speeches, and stay up late into the night dancing with strange men who made themselves far too comfortable with her.

Yet it was her duty to the country to promote foreign relations and keep her family in good standing. So Princess Sybil picked herself up, held her head high, and pressed forward.

She received a wonderful welcome from the British at the start of her tour. After three full days of dedications and continuous activity followed by a visit to Buckingham palace, she flew to Amsterdam. There Princess Sybil dedicated the new International Aid Building and christened an ocean liner. Then she went to Paris where she attended many official functions designed to cement trade relations between her country and the Western European nations. She stopped in Bern, Switzerland and gave several press conferences and interviews, keeping all of her answers polite, respectful, and uncontroversial.

And so to Rome, the Eternal City, where the Princess' visit was marked by a spectacular military parade highlighted by the band of the crack Bersaglieri Regiment. The smiling young girl showed no sign of the strain that resulted from the continuous public appearances.

And at her country's embassy that evening, her country's ambassador to Italy gave a formal reception and ball in her honor. It was here where Sybil had a moment to stop and note how sore she was. Her cheeks hurt from the constant smiling. Her throat was dry from every greeting and "How do you do?" not to mention the speeches. Her feet and legs ached from standing in heels for 15 hour days. Sybil longed to do nothing more than sit down and rest, preferably for the next century. How easy Sleeping Beauty had it! She thought to herself. All she had to do was prick her finger and take a nap. I'd trade with her any day.

Though Sybil was a beauty, she didn't have the luxury of sleeping. So Sybil was stationed at the head of the room, (standing, of course) and greeted every person that entered that ballroom. She made small talk with all of them, greeted some in their native languages, and smiled brilliantly. "How do you do?" "What a lovely dress." "That's very kind of you." Miraculously, her voice didn't crack throughout the entire thing, although it was becoming rather hoarse near the end of the greetings. As Sybil was about to take her seat (Thank heavens for a break!), she was pulled back up, expected to dance with the ambassador. The dance was fast-paced and exhausting. Sybil continued to smile and accepted every dance from the many who sought her out. The evening went by slowly and painfully. Sybil kept playing mind games with herself, trying to stay awake. She smiled. She greeted more strangers that she didn't care about, but had to give the impression she did. "How do you do?" "Charmed."

Near the end of the dance, and after dancing with several eligible members of the Italian aristocracy, including one pompous braggart, Sybil excused herself to speak with the ambassador, who she knew to be an honorable person. Sybil spent the last dance in his company, making for a positive ending to the ball.

Then the ball was over. Yet, Sybil still had to smile and meet every last straggler who had hoped to make her acquaintance.

It was well after midnight when Sybil was finally able to flee to the comfort of her room. There she yanked the high heels off of her feet and called for her maid O'Brien to come help her break free from her incredibly confining dress. She took her first deep breath all day and slipped on a nightgown. Sybil sprawled on her bed, praying for any form of sleep to come to her exhausted body, but it wouldn't come. Instead, she was left in a half-conscious state in which she was unable to control what came out of her mouth.

O'Brien brought her a tray with milk and crackers. "Your Royal Highness, we need to go over the schedule for tomorrow."

"Everything we do is so wholesome," Sybil muttered, her mouth full. She stood up on the bed. "Look at this nightgown. Isn't it horrible?"

O'Brien examined it. "You have very nice things," she said carefully.

Sybil shook her head. "Yes, but I'm not two hundred years old! I don't want to sleep in a nightgown like some lady. I want to sleep in pajamas."

"Pajamas?" O'Brien repeated absentmindedly. O'Brien had a rare talent that was useful as a servant; she was able to tune out what her superiors were saying and let her mind wander while appearing like she was paying attention to every word.

"Just the top half."

O'Brien looked up, startled.

Sybil ran to her window and opened it. Noise started to flood the room. Outside in the distance there was a barge with a group of dancing people on it. "Look out there. Look what fun they're having." She sighed wistfully. "I wish I could join them."

"Come away from the window, Your Highness. You need to rest, and we need to go over the schedule for tomorrow before you tuck in. It has to be done."

O'Brien closed the window and led her back, Sybil still rambling.

"Did you know that there are people that sleep with absolutely nothing on at all?"

"I rejoice to say that I did not."

"When I get back home, I'm going to buy myself a pair of men's pajamas, and just sleep in the top half. When I marry, my husband can have the bottom half. Think of how much we'll save in sleepwear. Just one pair of pajamas and both of us are suited."

O'Brien rolled her eyes. The princess certainly didn't need to be thrifty with money. And if her mother had heard her talking about pajamas... O'Brien was smart enough to understand, however, that Sybil was at the very last thread of her physical capacity to stay awake, and just sighed, pulled the covers over her, and mentally transcribed the best quotes to pass on to Thomas the next morning. They would certainly share a laugh during their smoke break tomorrow. She pulled out a notebook from her uniform. "Alright, time to go over the schedule for tomorrow." Before Sybil could groan, she added, "It has to be done. The sooner we start, the sooner we finish."

Although Sybil didn't agree, she stopped complaining. O'Brien interpreted that as consent and moved forward. "8:00, breakfast here with the Embassy staff. I'll come to rouse you at 6:30 so you can bathe, dress, and prepare for the day."

Sybil interrupted. "Wake me at half past 7, I can bathe quickly."

"7:00," O'Brien countered.

Sybil nodded. O'Brien read on.

"9:00, we leave for the Polinori Automotive Works where you'll be presented with a small car."

"Thank you." Sybil said graciously.

"Which you will not accept."

"No, thank you," she corrected herself.

"10:30, inspection of food and agricultural organization will present you with an olive tree."

"No, thank you."

"Which you will accept."

"Thank you."

O'Brien continued, marking a small box next to each item. Tomorrow she could check it off, and they would be done with it. "10:55, the New Foundling Home for Orphans. You will dedicate the cornerstone and give a speech." She saw Sybil sit up and open her mouth but O'Brien knew what she was going to say and cut her off. "No, not the one about Equality for Women. You'll be giving the speech from last Monday, Youth and Progress. 11:45, come back here to rest...no, that can't be right." O'Brien double-checked her handwriting. "11:45, conference with the press." Sybil slumped.

"1:00, lunch with the foreign ministry. Remember, all sweetness and decency. 3:05, presentation of a plaque. 4:10, review the special guard of police. 4:45..."

O'Brien went on, not noticing that with each engagement, Sybil grew more and more tense. She muttered replies to each one. "Thank you. How do you do? No, thank you. Charmed. So happy to meet you."

"6:05, back here to-"

"STOP!" Sybil screamed at the top of her lungs. The tray of milk and crackers capsized as she turned away, her hair covering her face. "Please stop!" she sobbed.

O'Brien quickly righted the tray. "It's alright, nothing spilled."

Sybil buried her face in the pillow. "I don't care if it's spilled or not. I don't care if I drown in it!" came the muffled reply.

O'Brien stood up. "You're sick. I'll call for Dr. Clarkson."

"I don't want Doctor Clarkson! Please let me die in peace!"

O'Brien wondered if perhaps Sybil's reaction was from exhaustion or *ahem* a delicate nature or perhaps a combination of the two. But Sybil needed to rest so she could continue tomorrow. "You're not dying. It's just nerves. Control yourself, Princess."

"I DON'T WANT TO!" she screamed into the pillow like a child and beat it mercilessly with her fists.

"I'll go fetch Dr. Clarkson."

Sybil sat up. "It's no use," she sobbed. "I'll be dead before he gets here." She buried her face back into her pillow and let out huge, heart-wrenching sobs.

O'Brien left to find the doctor. He had been kind enough to accompany them on their trip as Her Highness' personal physician and occasional therapist. Hopefully he had something in his medicine bag that could help her to sleep. Princess Sybil wasn't likely to choke down the milk and crackers, but perhaps Dr. Clarkson had something in the form of medication that could put her into a deep sleep until morning. She certainly needed it.

Sybil lay with her face buried into the pillow. She tried to regain control of herself. She counted to 20. She counted to 30. She counted to 35 and gave up. She thought about how her face would get all blotchy and tried to guilt herself into stopping, if only for her complexion's sake. Sybil finally stopped trying to get rid of her anger and let it steam out. She scrunched up her face and gritted her teeth and sent as many hateful thoughts to everyone she could think of: her parents, her sisters, O'Brien, the press, that one chap who had danced too close to her at the ball, and the whole bloody world.

When a red-faced Dr. Clarkson opened the door to Sybil's room, heeled by O'Brien, he saw a still form on the bed. Not a peep was to be heard.

O'Brien raised her hands. "I'm telling you Doctor, she was just throwing a fit a moment ago."

He shrugged and made his way to her, still sporting his pajamas and robe. He gently sat next to her on the bed. "Your Highness, are you asleep?"

"No."

"Alright then. I'll just bother Your Highness for a moment."

Dr. Clarkson pulled a couple of instruments out of his bag and popped a thermometer into her mouth. He put his glasses on and squinted, examining her for any visible injuries or strains. "Now Princess Sybil, please tell me why you were crying." His voice was much more comforting than O'Brien's, and Sybil was grateful to have someone in the room that at least sounded like they cared. She was able to calm herself.

"I'm terribly ashamed, Doctor Clarkson. I was perfectly happy, and then... I started crying, and I couldn't stop."

He nodded. "Where are you on your cycle? Is that affecting you-"

Sybil flushed red. "No, it's not that! I assure you!"

He shrugged. "I have to ask. Crying is a perfectly normal thing to do. Don't worry about it." Doctor Clarkson took the thermometer from her mouth and examined it. "A long sleep should do the trick. You'll be back to your old self by the morrow."

O'Brien cut in impatiently. "Doctor Clarkson, it is most important that she be calm and relaxed for the press conference tomorrow."

Sybil looked at him with wide eyes. "I'll be calm, and relaxed for the conference tomorrow, and I'll improve trade relations and clear the Crawley name. I'll bow and I'll smile and I'll be a good girl and make my family proud..." and she fell into hysterics again.

O'Brien huffed. "There she goes again. Doctor, can you give her something?"

"It'd be best for her to just sleep naturally, but I do have this to help her, it you insist."

She nodded curtly and Clarkson extracted a syringe from his bag. "Now hold out your arm. This won't be too painful."

Sybil obeyed, clenching her teeth. The needle went in smoothly and it had scarcely started before it was over. She stared at her arm in mild confusion and Doctor Clarkson quietly packed up his bags.

"There you are, Your Highness. Have a good rest."

O'Brien lingered behind. "I'll wake you at seven, Your Highness. Sleep well!" She tucked her in and turned out the light.

Sybil lay looking up at the ceiling. It was a very pretty room that she had been placed in. It looked like something out of a Victorian mansion. But the carved angels in the uppermost corners looked like gargoyles in the darkness. Everything seemed a bit distorted.

I haven't been able to see any of Rome while I've been here. I've been too caught up public affairs. She thought. I wish I could go out and explore, just for a little while. And then a thought struck her.

Why not...right now?

She reasoned with herself. When she had last glanced at a clock, it was just before 2. It was probably nearing half-past right now. That meant she had until 7:00 to explore and look around. That would be plenty of time to sneak out and take a walk through Rome, maybe catch a dance on the barges. She sat up in bed, not feeling the exhaustion from before. This was her chance to choose what she wanted to do with her time, instead of being bound to O'Brien's notebook and that blasted schedule. She felt a burst of energy and ran over to the wardrobe on the far side of the room. She selected the plainest outfit, a simple blouse and skirt that any person could be seen wearing, and threw it on, tying a small kerchief around her neck.

Sybil opened the window again and saw the dancers. The crowd had thinned. She was disappointed, but still wanted to explore, even if she had missed the dancing. She vaguely wondered how she would sneak past the guards at entrances, but dismissed it with a closer glance at her surroundings. Her window opened up to a narrow ledge just thick enough to walk on. The ledge led to a patch of ivy that begged to be climbed. Sybil had always been a bit of a daredevil, and her heart beat quicker at the exciting prospect of climbing out of her window and sneaking out of the grounds. It was terribly romantic, something straight out of a novel.

Carefully placing one foot in front of the next, Sybil clung to the wall until she reached the ivy. The vines were thick and strong, making it easy for her to climb down safely. The gate was simple to open from the inside. So with a slight creak, she squeezed through and wandered into the night.