A/N: Many thanks to ChelsieSouloftheAbbey, who listened to me ramble about this chapter. It's always nice to have someone to listen when you're stuck, and it would have been a longer wait for this chapter to post if she hadn't been the good friend that she is. I am sorry for the roller coaster, though. This fic has, well, everything.

There are parts of this chapter I've been planning a loooooong time. The song mentioned at the beginning is on my personal soundtrack to this fic (yes, I have one). I liked the lyrics, and the end of the song has a killer violin riff that I love. It's on YouTube if you want to search for it.

Along with its other qualities, the cloak is kind of like the garment in The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants – it fits however it's needed at the moment.

A reminder – I do not own Downton Abbey. I just supervise the characters at the beach and look the other way when shenanigans ensue.

I hope you all like this! Please leave a review if you have time.

Age to age

I feel the call

Memory of future dreams

You and I, riding the sky

Keeping the fire bright

From another time and place

I know your name

I know your face

Your touch and grace

All of time cannot erase

What our hearts remember stays

Forever on a song we play…

-Two Steps From Hell, "Star Sky"

Picking up a stick, Daisy tossed it into the water, behind the breaking waves. Ve raced after it, splashing her. She laughed. Stumbling a little, she pulled one foot, then the other, out of the deepening holes into which they had sunk.

"The tide's coming up," she said to Freya, who trotted nearby. "And I'm a little warm, aren't you? We should go sit in the shade." She could taste salt on her tongue. "Funny how there's all this water, and it makes me more thirsty!"

Ve emerged from the surf carrying the stick in his mouth. Daisy tugged it from his mouth. He stretched his front paws out before scampering back and forth. She grinned, and waved the stick in front of him. "One more time? All right, go get it!" She threw it to almost the same spot as before.

Jogging a little in the direction of their camp, Daisy watched Ve swim out to get the stick before coming back. "Good boy," she petted him as he shook himself dry. "Ooh-you're getting dry, and I'm wetter!"

"Daisy!"

Papa called from further up the beach. She could see him standing in the tall grass near where the line of sand began. She waved to him.

"Time to come in, love!"

Smiling to herself, she called the dogs to follow and half-walked, half-jumped along the hot sand to the grass.

Charles let out a breath when she got closer. "We haven't seen you since noon. You must be hungry."

Daisy gave him a hug. "Mmm-hmm. And thirsty, too." She gently nudged him as they walked to the wagon and tent. "I know you worry about me, but you don't need to. I know how to swim, I'm careful of the undertow, and either Ve or Freya's with me all the time! Or if not them, Thomas."

"You never know what could happen in the sea," he couldn't help saying. "There are strange beasts there, a storm could come up-"

"Papa," she sighed, "We've been here for going on three days, and the weather's been perfect! And you know I don't go into water deeper than my waist."

"Yes, but the waves make it deeper than that," he argued as they walked around the wagon. He picked up a skin and handed it to her. She tipped it gently and let the dogs drink first, before downing half of it. "You might slip and fall. Anything could happen." He laughed a little at her expression. "I'm your father. I'm allowed to worry about you."

She went to sit down next to the fire. "Maybe…if you went into the sea, just a little, you wouldn't worry so much."

Sighing, Charles poked at the lamb roasting. The smell made his mouth water. "Not you, too. First Elsie, then Thomas. Wetting my feet will hardly change my mind." He waved the stick at Freya, who lingered a little closer. "No," he told the dog. "Wait your turn. I promise you and Ve will get your share."

Daisy slumped a little in disappointment. It was such fun, being here. She knew Papa was afraid of the sea, but she didn't see the point of at least trying to overcome it.

But she knew better than to push him. Maybe Mother will have better luck.

"Where are they?" she asked, taking another swig of water. Charles gestured with his head to the far side of the wagon.

"Thomas bought more leaves from the market today. I told him since it was his fault he fell asleep in the sun and got burned, he should have to buy the remedy." He chuckled, and Daisy stifled a laugh.

The first afternoon they had arrived, Thomas had fallen asleep on the beach. When he woke, his neck, chest and belly bore the brunt of the sun. His burns were healing, thanks to the soothing leaves from the market.

A low curse echoed from behind the wagon. Charles raised his eyebrows. "Is everything all right over there?" he called.

"All fine," Elsie sang back.

On the other side of the wagon, she pursed her lips and tried not to smile. "It could have been worse," she said, pressing a leaf on Thomas's right shoulder. "At least your face was covered. Most of your wounds were there. It would have been much more painful to have burns on top of this cut here." She gestured at the scar above Thomas's eyebrow. Doing so, her hand slipped.

"Ouch!" he groaned, picking up the fallen leaf and pressing it back on his shoulder. There was a definite hint of exaggeration in his voice. "I know you like to help, but I think you really like torturing me!"

"Sometimes," she got up from her knees next to him. "When I'm not torturing your father."

There was a long silence.

She closed her eyes. It is probably too soon to say that to him. "Oh, you know I would never do that!"

"You'd better not," he grumped, before glancing up at her. "Sorry," he said. "You meant it as a joke, and I-"

"-are protective of your father," she finished, pulling her hair over her ear. In the evening light, he almost thought he saw strands of light brown and muted gold mixed in with her rich auburn. "I'm glad you are."

"Some good it is. I keep hurting myself," he looked down at the bright pink skin on his belly. Some of it was beginning to peel. "I can hardly protect anyone if I can't look after myself, can I?"

He knew it was stupid. Getting upset over a sunburn. But he didn't like the feeling of being cosseted, even though Elsie had gone out of her way to give him space. He wasn't sorry to have made friends with her. Not exactly.

It was just little things she did that made him think. Like asking him to walk with her to the market the day before. They had not spoken much, but she had asked his opinion on whether or not to buy certain things. She had not taken his advice every time, but he could tell she listened to him. Later in the evening, he realized why it unnerved him a little.

Elsie treats me like a man.

Mother always treated me like a child. She was very protective.

Maybe too much.

Of course, he had only been a boy most of the time he knew Mother. She had certainly never made a joke about his father in front of him, either.

He often wondered what it would have been like, if she had lived. Somehow he knew she would have been nothing like Elsie.

They are very different.

Had Elsie been there the day I was attacked as a child, what would her reaction have been?

Flexing the fingers on his right hand, he studied the middle two, between his pointer and his pinky. Both were oddly shaped. One of them could not be fully straightened. Richard said he was fortunate to have the full use of them.

He had been ten years old when he had made the mistake of kissing a farmer's son on the cheek. Chased through Downton, he had defended himself as well as he could, but his hand had been nearly crushed by the object of his childish affection stomping on him. Several other boys had taken their turn as well.

It was the only time he had ever seen Father in a rage.

For an entire year after, he had hardly left home. Not even to go to school. Father was loath to let him go anywhere, and Mother agreed. Had she lived, he wondered if he would have been allowed to serve the king at court.

Mother had always been very deferential to Father. Maybe she had disagreed with him, but Thomas had no memory of her challenging him. Or even expressing much of a view of anything outside their home.

Elsie was respectful towards his father, yet she did not hesitate to speak her own mind.

It intrigued Thomas, the way they acted around each other. Sometimes Father would raise his eyebrows, or even bluster a bit. Elsie would either soothe him, or sometimes tease him.

When he thought of his childhood, Mother never acted that way. Their home was happy and peaceful. But it had only one master.

It made him wonder what his mother thought, if there were things she had never said aloud. She had seemed happy to have Thomas home with her, to take care of him.

He was sure she would not have liked him in the competition at Midsummer at all. Much less getting into a fight with strangers in Loftus.

He was glad that Elsie seemed to understand his desire to take care of himself. But it made him uncomfortable, thinking that maybe she understood him better than his own mother had.

It felt like betraying her memory just to think it. Even if it was true. He didn't like the tumult of feelings inside, but he sensed that they would sort themselves out in time.

One thing was certain – the anger that he had felt over Father and Elsie marrying was mostly gone. He still did not like that they had wed so quickly, but there was nothing to be done about it.

They did not do it to hurt you or Daisy. Elsie is not cruel.

Neither is Father.

He cares for me, too.

I've always known that. Even when I was furious at him.

Elsie sniffed, looking away. She did not know what Thomas was thinking about, but she sensed the storm within him was finally beginning to drift away.

He keeps so much inside.

"You protected me," she reminded him, her voice low.

"What?" he asked, startled out of his thoughts.

"You protected me," Elsie repeated. "In Loftus."

He shrugged, not knowing what to say.

"And even though you and Charles disagree on many things, you still watch over him." She continued. "And Daisy, of course. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

He let that sink in before looking up at her, his face expressionless. "You forgot one." She frowned, tilting her head. "Edward."

Arching an eyebrow, she offered him a hand up. "I thought he protected you."

"That is in dispute," he took her hand and stood. "He says he protects me, I say I protect him – we go in circles." He grinned.

They went around the wagon to join Charles and Daisy, Thomas in front. "But if you're going in circles, how can I take one side or the other?" Elsie asked, her voice light. "Edward will never forgive me if I take your side."

"Oho," he turned his head, "I see. I should have guessed you'd prefer him over me. He is better looking, I'll admit."

"Yes," she said, deadpan, even as her eyes twinkled at him. "But you are more charming."

His laugh made her heart melt.

The waves raced towards her. Elsie sidestepped the water, her feet sinking into the hot sand. She continued on the beach past where the road curved back to the village. Ahead of her, the sand was slowly replaced by pebbles and rock. She picked her way carefully almost to the end of the spit of land.

Seagulls cried, flying back and forth between the jagged rocks forming a wall and several other large masses that dotted the bay. Waves crashed against the rocky wall, sending a white spray into the air.

On her right was a little cave. It was used by the people of Staithes when storms came, to watch how high the battering sea would come.

It was a little windier in the afternoon than it had been that morning. Certainly more than they had felt over the last few days.

Ducking her head, Elsie peered into the cave. It was dim, but she made out carvings of wood and iron hanging against the far wall. She went in.

The carvings were of fish and dolphins. Tridents, big and small, hung everywhere. They were all in tribute to the powerful Sea God, little tokens to appease him.

She found a spot on the wall where someone had hammered a long iron nail, long since rusted. Several tokens hung there. She took out the small wooden carving of fish that Charles had bought two days before. Hanging it, she stood with her fingers on her chin, thinking of her erratic uncle. And her husband's fear of the sea.

Not once since they arrived in Staithes had Charles set foot in the water. The closest he came was riding one of the horses onto the beach, but he steered the animal clear of the waves.

Nothing Elsie could say would make him change his mind.

You cannot force him to overcome his fear.

"No, you cannot," a quiet voice said behind her. "He must do it in his own time, in his own way. He is a stubborn mortal, after all."

Elsie's heart jumped into her mouth when the voice began to speak, as she had been alone only a moment before. The voice without doubt belonged to one of the Divine. As he continued speaking, however, her heart leaped again for a different reason.

She turned, a brilliant smile on her face.

"I did not expect to see you here!"

Tom leaned against one of the rock walls, his arms folded across his bare chest. His familiar smile shining, along with the golden aura around him. "Am I a more welcome surprise than your Uncle Peter?"

"Shhh," she playfully put a finger to her lips. "We mustn't let him know." They embraced, and he kissed her on the cheek.

"Sybil sends her greetings. I saw her last night."

"How is she?" Elsie asked as they sat down on a large, flat rock.

"Busy," Tom put his hands on his knees. "Learning how to serve the Lady Mary, and helping Anna sew for her wedding." He grinned. "Not that she is terribly good at sewing, but she is getting better." He talked of Sybil's influence on the king's daughter, of their growing bond. "It will be different than what Mary had with Anna," he said, "But it will likely not surprise you to hear that that proud woman likes your daughter very much. Much more than she shows, though that may change."

Though he could tell she did not want to hear it, he told her about his most recent visit to Victor. The Fire God had been in a cheerier mood than usual, due to having seen his fiancé. Tom did not linger on the subject. It was enough to know Victor was unconcerned about what went on outside his forge.

He then asked about the family's journey to Staithes, and Elsie was glad to tell him about it. He was delighted to hear she and Thomas had become friends. "Though I would be careful if I were you," he warned. "The lad is intelligent. He knows there's more to you than meets the eye. As does his sister."

"Thank you for reminding me," Elsie sighed. "Most of the time neither one of them is home. This adventure here is the longest time Charles and I have spent with them since we married. Speaking of caution," she folded her hands around her knee, "is there anything I can do to help Charles? I didn't suppose his fear of the sea would be so strong. If he does not at least try to face it now, when will he get the chance again? We might not return here for a long time."

Tom stood up, looking towards the cave entrance. "He's been carrying a burden for many years. He and his mother Penelope heard that his father drowned in the sea, but they never knew the circumstances of his death. Charles has always thought he died in terror, at the mercy of the Sea-God's fickle wrath. Penelope," he said quietly, "did not remain with the mortals for very long after hearing of her husband's death. Her son was left to bury her, and to carry his grief alone."

Something stirred in Elsie's mind. "You saw her the day she died."

"Yes." He glanced at the sunlight dancing on the floor near the mouth of the cave, avoiding her eyes. Elsie knew why.

How could I have forgotten?

It was one of the duties of the Messenger to escort dead mortals on the first part of their journey to the Underworld, to the River Styx.

"Was my daughter with you that day?" she asked. Sometimes Harmony went with her husband, to help comfort the dead.

Tom shook his head. "Not when Penelope died. But she was with me the morning Charles's father died. His name is Charles, too. Did your husband ever tell you?"

"Yes." Unbidden, a smile appeared on her face. "And that when he was young his grandfather called them Charles the Ram, and Charles the Lamb. As he got older, he hated that name." Both she and Tom laughed.

"I can believe it," he said, his eyes growing sad. "Your Charles was very proud to have his father's name. He loved him very much. And his father loved him."

"Tell me," she patted the rock. "Tell me what happened. The day he died."

His eyes blazed with intensity. "If I do, you must never tell Charles."

"It might help him!" she protested.

"No," he said, the resolution in his voice final. She knew better than to contradict him. "When it is time for him to cross the River, then he will learn of it. But he must not hear it as a mortal. His father's life is bound with the fates of others, and the effects of it are still felt. Even we don't know why certain things happen. Your father and Hades guard those secrets well." He sighed and sat down. "I'll tell you what I know so you can understand at least a tiny part of it. And so you know the sort of man his father is. Why your husband is the way he is…why he is so faithful to the gods."

The ship was part of a fleet, heading south along the coast to aid the ruler of Branksome in war, against the king of Carlisle.

Most of the men sailing were not regular soldiers. They had received the call from their king, and they had answered it without knowing of all the dangers they faced.

It was a very dark night, marked with vivid flashes of lightning over the thundering sea. The men in all the ships were terrified, and prayed fervently to the Sea-God to still his wrath, and stay the storm.

But he was not appeased.

Most of the fleet sank, sending hundreds of men to the Underworld. Several other ships were damaged by the wild wind, their masts broken, their sails ripped away.

One ship overturned in the darkness. Huge waves broke over her. Many men were trapped below the deck, like their other unfortunate brothers in lost ships. Five of the more fortunate men were pitched into the sea itself.

Among them was Patrick, the king. Husband to Violet and father to Robert and Rosamund. Along with him were four others.

One was a shepherd from Downton named Charles.

The men screamed for help, for mercy, for the gods to save them. Three found pieces of wood to cling to. In their fear, they fought each other, desperate in their desire to live.

"Cowards!" bellowed one man as he was shoved aside. "The gods curse you for this!"

Unseen in the air above the men and the turbulent sea were two watching gods.

"Are we to take all of them?" Harmony asked. "The ones already beneath the water, as well as these?" The Messenger shook his head.

"No. A few will live. But that is not for us to decide. Hades has their souls to claim, and he keeps the reasons for why some live today, and others die. We must wait."

The man who had been shoved aside struggled against the waves for a time before he tired, and sank. Two other heads bobbed above the water some distance away from the other two men.

"Is there anything to hold that you can see?" One shouted to the other. "We've been here since the second watch, and my strength won't hold out for much longer!"

"I can't see anything," the other bellowed, his booming voice loud in the storm. "Don't give up, though, something may turn up!"

"I-I don't want to die," the other man choked. "The gods have mercy on me, but I am afraid! Help us Eala, Divine Lady! Send help, mighty Athena! Oh Great King, SAVE US!"

"Send them our prayers, yes! But if the God of the Underworld wants us, there is nothing to be done," his companion called.

"Maybe you have nothing to live for! No family, no wife who will mourn you-"

"I do, I wish to live just as much as you do! I want to see my wife and my son again…"

"My son is just a child," the first man leaned his head back in weariness, staring up into the black sky above. "He is too young to grow into the man he needs to be without his father. And my daughter, she needs me too," he whispered.

Patrick wept as his strength faded. His wife was strong, yes, but there were many who threatened the kingdom from the outside. There were those within it who would not hesitate to depose a child king and his family for their own uses.

Charles tread water, his arms aching. His heart burned within him. His sweet wife, his Penelope, who had not wanted him to go to war in the first place. His son, the younger Charles, who understood why he did go off to fight, but would mourn him greatly.

He did not know that the man near him in the water was the king. He heard his companion weeping, heard him speak of his little boy and girl.

And then, a miracle.

His hand brushed something – his heart leaped – and he reached out and snatched it. A jagged piece of floating wood, a gift from the gods.

Large enough to hold a man.

"Thank you, Beautiful Lady," he whispered, dragging himself onto it. "Praise the King, who rules over the sky, who sees all."

The other man's voice grew louder, and Charles knew he was drifting closer to him.

His heart stuttered within him.

No. I cannot do this, the wood came to ME, it was meant for ME to hold on to, to live-

Even as he thought it, he sighed, closing his eyes.

What of that man's family? What will happen to his children?

They will be left without a father.

What about my son?

My boy, my namesake…is nearly grown. Almost a man. He is old enough to be master of the flocks and can care for his mother.

And I have some strength left. More than that poor man does.

It was the hardest thing he ever did.

Sliding off, he pushed the wood away from himself, and in the direction of the other man.

I am a fool.

Maybe not, there may be something else that comes.

"Praise be to the gods!" Patrick shouted, hauling himself onto the wood. "My friend, are you still out there? There is a piece here, perhaps there are others for you to find!"

"I am here," Charles answered, his voice weaker. He was tired, so very tired. "The gods favor you. Pray for me, that I might find something to hold."

"Keep your strength, friend," Patrick called. "I pray that the gods may spare you! You lifted my spirits when I thought all was lost. I can never thank you enough."

He drifted away from Charles, albeit slowly. The shepherd heard his voice for a long time still, encouraging him to not give up. By the time the black sky had faded to grey, he was alone.

As far as the eye could see there was nothing but water.

"Lord of the Sky," Charles whispered, his face barely above the surface, "give me strength to see the dawn once more before I die."

He prayed to all the gods, asking for them to watch over his family. "Help them to know you are always watching…be with them always. Let Penelope remember…I will be waiting for her, my wife, my woman, my lover."

"Stay with my son…let him never lose his faith in the gods. Or his hope or courage. Divine Lady," he choked through tears, "give him the love of a good woman, and let him cherish her in return."

The storm had passed. His arms and legs felt as though they were filled with rocks. And still he kept moving, though he was exhausted.

Not until the sky in the east had lightened from grey, and the sun's rays broke over the surface of water. The orange glow brightened his face. Sighing, he smiled at the beauty before him.

Before sinking beneath the waves.

"He did not suffer." Tom's voice reached Elsie. She heard him move a little closer to her on the rock. Weeping softly, her hands covered her face. "Charles was not overwhelmed when death came. He was frightened, and sad of course, but he faced it bravely. I remember everyone I take to the River," he put a comforting hand on her shoulder, "and few mortals are as compassionate in death as your husband's father. He did not think of himself, except to ask for strength."

"And for the gods to bless his son," Elsie whispered. "His prayers were answered. There is no one more faithful than Charles." She shook her head, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "His father could have kept the piece of wood for himself. He did not have to die."

"No one knows what might have happened," Tom said, keeping his hand on her shoulder. "We could only watch and wait, Sybil and I. But he gave his life for someone else. Someone he didn't know. What is the greatest love?" he asked. "You know that better than I do."

"Love that puts others first." Running her hand along the rock, she felt a rush within her body, the hidden source of her power. "Love is not self-serving, Love is a servant." She looked up at her friend. "What am I?" she whispered. "Have I been a servant? Or have I simply used others for my own purposes?"

What about Charles?

"You have been nothing but a servant to him since you arrived," Tom reassured her. "You put him first, and denied yourself. You still do. If you only thought of yourself, you'd be in bed with him right now." He held her hand between both of his. "Everything that you have done since the beginning has brought you here. Being with Marcas and with others, including me, helped you master your own desire. Having Sybil gave you someone outside yourself to cherish. You love Charles – and Daisy and Thomas as well. You give scarcely any thought to your own will where any of them are concerned. They come first to you."

She knew he told the truth.

"I would do anything for them," she confessed. "For Sybil, and for you. For Edward. You all are my family."

"There are many more you could add to the list," Tom grinned. "And more that would do the same for you. You've got more friends, both mortals and gods, than you realize. Beryl, for one. She won't be happy when I tell her you forgot her-"

Elsie slapped his hand. "You will not!" She huffed out a laugh. "She'll remind me every time I see her from now on!"

Laughing, Tom stood up and grabbed his staff that leaned against the wall. "I won't say a word." He gave Elsie a long hug. "I know you want to tell him the story, but it is not your privilege to give," he said in her ear, before standing back. They lingered for a short time in the mouth of the cave, the sunlight dancing on their feet. Tom's shone like pure gold.

"I should be patient then," Elsie said finally. "With Charles. Perhaps it would be better to say nothing else to him, to let him talk to me about his father when he feels ready."

Tom nodded. "That is the best thing you could do. For him, and for you. Of course," his eyes twinkled, "if you find the right moment to give him a gentle prod, I know you will." He smiled mischievously when her mouth dropped open, and vanished into the sunlight.

Charles awoke from a light slumber and turned over, trying to move slowly. He did not want to wake Elsie.

Napping during the day was nice, but it meant when nighttime came, sleep was elusive. He knew he would likely have slept better in the tent, but he and Elsie had given it up for the night for Daisy and Thomas. It was only fair. The children had slept outside for days, covered only by the wagon when it rained.

There was no rain this night.

He blinked, and opened his eyes. Above him the stars shone brightly, so many they were impossible to count. He lay still watching the glorious heavens for a long time. Mesmerized.

When he finally rolled over to wake his wife, wanting her to see the sky too, he found she was gone.

Getting to his feet, he stretched, feeling more awake than sleepy. Not a sound came from the tent. He could not resist pulling the cloth back and peeking in. Daisy was on her side, drowned in slumber, her breath coming out in puffs. Thomas's back was to his sister. Even in the dim light, Charles could see his wild hair, his arms flung above his head in complete tranquility.

He felt a rush of love for them. They will always be my lad and lass. No matter how old they are. Dropping the cloth, he walked into the tall grass beside the wagon.

Where is Elsie?

He scanned the ground, the sleeping horses and dogs. He could see her nowhere.

Then he looked towards the beach.

A figure stood in the shallow waves, her back to him. She held up her skirt as another wave rolled in. Running backwards, she let the water chase her higher onto the sand before she walked back into it.

Whenever she moves, it looks like a dance.

He watched her until he lost count of the times she'd run back and forth. Sometimes she bent over to watch the moment when the water rushed up to curl around her feet. He found himself wishing he was the water, the sea that captivated her, the entity that touched her.

If only he wasn't so afraid of it.

Maybe she would tire, and return to their camp, he thought. Instead, she walked further into the surf, the waves almost to her knees. He could see her skirt bunched up, her keeping it dry. His own mouth went dry at the sight of the salt water spraying her naked legs with its foam.

Clenching his hair in his hands, he felt simultaneous fear, desire, and aggravation. Glancing up at the sky, he raised his eyebrows.

Really? Really? Did any of you gods plan this?

He thought nothing could entice him into the sea.

Nothing except her.

She squished her toes in the wet sand. Another flood of warm water came up and swirled around her ankles.

Ooh, that feels lovely.

Ever since they had arrived in Staithes, she had enjoyed the sensation of walking on the beach where the tide came up. Somehow this night it seemed to be a special delight.

It was probably because she knew they would be leaving soon. One more full day and night, then at dawn on the following morning, the family would depart for home. Without sheep, but with a number of other things. And memories to keep forever.

She looked up into the sparkling sky, a radiant smile on her face. This was her element – beauty in the heavens above and the earth below, pleasure to savor. She had turned and run out of the water once more, one hand holding her skirt and the other sweeping her hair back, when she saw someone standing just out of the water's reach.

Charles.

Walking closer to where he stood, she felt the undertow of the tide pulling at her feet. She danced out of it, laughing when the water splashed up, onto her skirt.

"Come on!" she said lightly. Playful. "I dare ye!"

He didn't budge, torn between wanting to join her and held back by his own worry.

"But if I get my tunic wet…"

"If it gets wet, we'll dry it!" She came closer to him.

"Suppose I fall over?" He knew it was a ridiculous question, but he could not help himself.

She was a little piqued by his never-ending fretting. "Suppose a sea monster comes up to say hello, suppose we're hit by a falling star?" From the look on his face, the sea monster seemed a relevant concern. She knew it was not.

Above them, the Twins glimmered. Elsie glared at Pollux. If you dare to play a prank and fall on us now, I'll throw you back so far, it will take you fifty years in the lives of mortals to walk home.

She raised an eyebrow at Castor, then surveyed the rest of the glittering crowd. That goes for all of you.

You all know that is not an idle threat.

Charles was still unsure. He knew he wanted to go in, but he needed a little push.

As ever, Elsie gave him one.

"You can hold my hand," she said, her eyes glinting in the starlight. "Then we'll both go in together."

"I think I will hold your hand," he replied, grateful. He took two tentative steps forward and let out a gasp as a wave enveloped his feet. "It'll make me feel a bit steadier."

He came alongside of her, and she felt a rush of affection for him. Dear man.

"You can always hold my hand if you need to feel steady," she said. His heart skipped at the music of her voice, the way it danced on the warm breeze.

"I don't know how, but you managed to make that sound a little risqué." He made sure she heard a little pomposity in the words. As he hoped, she laughed at him. She was remembering the man who chased her out of her shrine in the early spring.

"And if I did?"

She held out her hand and he took it, feeling the sure grip of her fingers. Elsie gestured above them. "A night like this is a rare thing to see. We can afford to live a little."

They walked slowly, taking their time, relishing the feel of sand beneath their feet, water on their legs, and their hands holding them together.

"Are you tired?" He asked after a long time.

She shook her head. "No. Are you? Or are you asking because you want to get out?"

"I'm not tired," he said quickly. It was the truth. "And this is lovely-" he gestured above them and around, "-one of the nicest memories I can remember. But I do think I've had enough for now. I thought I could do this again before we left, with the children and the dogs. I know they've been asking me to." Even Thomas asked me yesterday. Again.

She knew he meant it, not seeing the gleam in his eye when she turned back to the shore. She did not really want to get out of the water, but it was more than she had hoped for, for him to walk with her into the sea.

They had almost got back to where they started when Elsie stopped and bent over, giggling a little as she dropped her skirt, reaching for her foot.

"What is it? What's the matter?" He still held her right hand as she hopped on one leg.

"Oh," she laughed, "I've got a pebble stuck between my toes-"

"I'll get it," he said, dropping her hand to come around her front. He crouched down and grabbed her left leg just above her ankle. Digging his fingers into the sand beneath the water, he lifted her foot. She leaned forward to rest her hands on his shoulders.

He found the troublesome pebble between two of her toes and rolled it between his fingers. Then he tossed it away. Before he could stand up, another wave rolled in and splashed over his knees, wetting his tunic near to the waist and drenching his legs. He spluttered for a moment, tasting salt on his lips.

"Oh dear," her voice was low. "You are very wet, my man."

Looking up, Charles wrapped his other hand around her right leg. "So are you."

She stood still, watching as he gathered her soaking wet skirt out of the tide, lifting it higher on her left leg.

It did not escape her attention that his hand moved higher on her right leg, the warmth of it solid against the back of her thigh. He lifted her skirt until her left leg was bare above the knee.

Then he pressed his open mouth on her wet skin.

"Oh," she gasped, her head thrown back, her eyes half shut. She clutched his shoulders. "Oh, that feels, oh-"

He kissed her calf, lavished attention on the inside of her knee. She moved closer, her sighs and soft gasps telling him all he needed to know.

The taste, the taste of her. He could never get enough. The lush fragrance of roses, the sweetness of honey, the richness of wine. All infused with the intoxicating salt of the sea, its scent all around him, in his nose, on the tip of his tongue.

"Charles," she panted, trying to lean away while also trying to let him continue, "we-we have to stop. Now." Her chest heaved, and his touch made her wild. If he uses his tongue now, I am done for.

"Why?" he murmured, his soft lips exploring her thigh. She struggled to remain coherent.

"Be-because," she stuttered, "we have an audience."

That did make him stop. He gazed up at her, his dark eyes meeting hers.

"Where? Is anyone awake-" he began to turn his head, but she reached out and grabbed his formidable chin, pulling it up.

"Not there. There," she gestured with her head above them.

It was as though an invisible wind was rustling through the stars. He had never seen them in such…excitement, he supposed. If they were a crowd of people, they'd be chattering madly…OH.

They are alive.

She raised her eyebrows at his expression. He cleared his throat, frowning. "I see. We can't go to the tent," he whispered.

"I know," she raked a frustrated hand through her hair. He looked off at the rushing water, thinking.

"Will they…tell?"

Elsie heard the rest of his unspoken question. Will the stars tell your father what they've seen? Or Victor?

Glancing up again, she scanned them. Nearly all of them were friendly to her. None were enemies. "No," she said firmly. She was embarrassed at the thought of what, exactly, all of them would see, but the truth was there was little they had not seen. Either from her, or from other gods.

And she was too far gone to even think of stopping. Or caring.

She moved a little, thinking he would get up, but he held her in place. "Stay there," he said softly. When she rested a hand against the back of his neck, he smiled. "I'm not finished." He kissed her glistening skin slowly.

"Oh my man," she moaned, holding his head against her thigh. What is he doing with his tongue, I am coming apart, oh my husband my lover my man do what you will with me, I am yours-

Her skirt inched higher until her hip was exposed. She held it in place until his remarkable attention had so addled her she released it, dropping the cloth over him. She could no longer see him, hidden beneath her skirt.

But she could feel him.

He heard her voice spiral higher, then higher again. He waited until she had stopped trembling before surfacing to smile up at her. With a groan, she leaned over and kissed him full on the mouth.

With difficulty, he stood, his legs complaining. They stood in the tide for an unknown length of time, their arms wrapped around each other, their hands wandering over backs and into hair, mouths and lips worshipping each other, sighs, whimpers, moans, gasps passing between them.

They broke away at the same time. An unspoken exchange between them done, they held each other's hands and raced out of the water up to the grass.

Back at their camp, he stripped off his tunic in one motion, then took the cloak and swept it over both of them. She removed her clothing under their covering.

"Elsie," he breathed, his hands sliding down her bare back and lower beneath the cloak. His wife pressed against him felt so good it brought tears to his eyes. "My love, you…are…stunning," he gasped as they moved as one. How does she do that, her hands her lips her mouth, my wife my lover my goddess, I belong to you-

They cried out together.

Kissing her gently on the lips, he ran his fingers into her hair, feeling grains of sand in them. He went to move, but she murmured against his lips.

"No," she whispered. "Stay here with me." She felt his mouth curve into a smile.

"Are you not finished?" he teased, feeling her foot trace his calf.

She raised her head, shaking it slowly. "With you? Never."

Stars whispered to each other, darted across the sky, hardly believing what they witnessed.

A man enamored with the Goddess is no surprise, but look how she desires him!

Though they kept the secret among themselves, they never forgot.

The next morning, the day broke as clear and bright as the ones before. It was still early when Thomas and Daisy went for a walk with Freya.

He took a deep breath, relishing the feel of the water flowing gently over his feet, the sand in between his toes. "What are you looking for?" he asked his sister, who looked down, stopping every few steps to dig.

"Shells," she said, brushing sand off of one.

"Again? Haven't you already got enough?" She had been searching for an unbroken one to string on a necklace, and had found (he thought) the right one a day before. Not to count others she had collected for Ivy, Edward, her friends Lea and Eve, Anna, and Sybil.

"I need to find a good one for Phyllis," she muttered. "It's not like she'll be leaving Downton anytime soon."

"Suit yourself." He kept walking along the shore. The truth was, he had several scallop shells hidden in his pouch, and wanted to find a few more himself. Two or three should be enough.

He had been walking and searching for a while, feeling the sun on the back of his neck. Picking up another small shell, he let the water wash the sand off, holding it in his hand.

Perfect. It's not broken. The right size, too…

"What have you got there? A scallop shell? Those are rare."

He leaped to his feet and glared at Daisy. "Nice sister you are, scaring me half to death! None of your concern," he opened the string around his pouch and dropped the shell in. It clinked against the others. Daisy grinned.

"It's nice of you to pick up shells for me, but I've already got some for myself, thank you."

Flustered, he spoke without thinking. "Who said they were for you?"

He knew he'd blown it when her eyes widened and she laughed, putting her hand to her mouth. "They're for Mother! Oh, I knew you liked her-"

"I do not," he grumbled, embarrassed that his sister had so completely unmasked him. His face was beet red. "I don't hate her, but that doesn't mean I like her."

"Whatever you say, brother dear," she sang, her dimples showing. She whistled for Freya. "C'mon, race you back."

He stood watching her run down the beach for a moment before running after her.