Surprise!

Guess who isn't dead!?

I know how long it's been, and to be honest, the best thing that may be said about 2019 is, in fact, that it did not kill me. It was one of the hardest years of my life for too many reasons to bore you, readers. It was I no longer have the will to do the things I enjoy bad. It's been a road getting back to normal, but I'm here. After the calendar turned, writing seemed like a doable thing again. More than that, I saw the Downton movie and remembered everything I loved about this show. Sybil wasn't in the movie, and let's be real neither was the Tom we once knew, but the costumes, the vistas, the dowager's barbs, the pearl-clutching, the "drama" over literally nothing of real importance—all of it made remember what I liked about plunging into this universe as a fanfic writer in the first place. So last week, I re-did the outline that I'd created for the series two events, and this morning I wrote out the following.

It's very short, but think of it as a trailer of sorts. More will come soon. I just wanted to post something because so many of you, over the last year, have encouraged me to go on. As someone who has read unfinished fics I love knowing they likely won't be finished, I know what it's like to get into something only to have it not end when it's meant to. I considered, at my low points last year, just posting a note saying I was done, but I held out because people continued to read and leave comments. So THANK YOU! It really means so much. If you really do want me to finish this beast, let me know because comments are FUEL ;)

So without further ado, here's a peek into the next part of this saga.

August 1916

The pressure of her aunt's hand on hers was what woke her up. It was gentle but sufficient to bring her out of her sleep without startling her. Sybil smiled at Rosamund next to her, grateful.

Sybil had never considered herself all that close to her aunt, but in the time she'd spent in London these last two years, Rosamund had proven herself kind, patient and understanding in ways for which Sybil hadn't previously given her proper credit. The chaplain at the hospital who had taken it upon himself to counsel the young lady nurses when he could find time between offering counseling—and, more often, performing last rites—to the patients had told Sybil that war required a keener search for the good things in life. Sybil counted Rosamund among those blessings that the war had offered, amid the many more things it had taken away. How else would they have gotten to know one another this well?

"I didn't realize how tired I was," Sybil said.

"The train does it to me all the time," Rosamund replied with a smile.

Sybil understood this to be a fib told to make her feel better. Rosamund was too much Violet's daughter to ever fall asleep on a train. Still, Sybil had gone from her final rotation at the hospital to Larry Grey's funeral back to her room to pack to Rosamund's for a fitful night's sleep to the train. She could be excused, and Rosamund was doing just that for the benefit of the other person in their company.

Sybil shifted in her seat and looked across from her at the man. He was older than her by a score, perhaps. He was not quite as old as her father, but he wore labor on his face, if not years. Sybil admired this but understood that it made him an oddity in the world he was about to step into, this gentleman with a vast fortune of his own making.

"Have you been to Yorkshire before, Mr. Carlisle?" Sybil ventured.

"I have," he said.

Sybil waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't. In the few hours she had been in his company, he spoke with an economy of words, which she also admired. It made her wonder, however, what her parents would think of him.

"I imagine newspaper work takes you all over the country," Rosamund offered.

"It does, though not as much now as it used to."

"A mark of your success, no doubt," Rosamund said.

He smiled, somewhat tightly in response. He didn't seem uncomfortable, but Sybil could see that he was not someone for whom such an expression came naturally or easily.

The whistle of the train alerted them to the fact they were nearing the station, and sure enough, the steward knocked on the door and opened it slightly just after the whistle to let them know he would bring their luggage to the platform.

Pratt was there waiting when they stepped off and with the steward's help, he loaded the motor as Carlisle offered his hand to Rosamund and Sybil to step on. Sybil sat down with a long sigh, already feeling the embrace of home.

It had been only months since the last time she'd been at Downton, and though her exile was self-imposed (how could she return without Tom here), she found herself glad to have finally made the decision to stop waiting for him to return. The many men in her care had longed for family on the daily such that it felt like a selfish and unfair indulgence to take herself. But no less a person than Dr. Clarkson had requested her help at Downton Hospital (spurred by Cora, no doubt) so her return would be useful if nothing else.

The ride was quick and as soon the motor came over the gravel at the front of the house, steady and unchanged in spite of the turmoil that roiled the rest of the world, Sybil spotted her parents outside waiting for them.

Alfred, unseen by Sybil until the moment he popped out from behind her parents, opened the door. Sybil stepped out first and Cora took her into her arms immediately.

"Welcome home, darling."