Unknown Unknowns

Sybil lay on her bed and thumbed through the booklets that Tom had given to her. Some of them were just a few pages, a single broadside folded up to make a leaflet, but others were heftier, with cardstock covers and stapled pages. The writing was passionate and well done, though she couldn't identify which books or sections had been written by Tom unless they had names on them (which most of them didn't). As promised, the literature was mostly about women's issues, and since it was published by a group comprised mainly of students at Odin National University, a lot of it was on the subject of the treatment of women at the university: which classes they were allowed to register for, how it was an unfair burden to them that they were barred from student housing and had to provide proof of an "upstanding" living arrangement, the concerns about their future employment, and other similar things.

It was fascinating. Even though the pamphlets were mainly lists of all the things wrong with the treatment of women at ONU, Sybil still found that each page she read sparked in her mind the image of herself joining those ranks of brave and intelligent young women- women who were making something of themselves, despite the hurdles.

The sheer abundance of pamphlets made Sybil sure that there were plenty of other things that this student group had to talk about- especially since more than half the authors' names, when they were credited, were men; they couldn't only be talking about women's issues! She was desperately curious to learn more. She wondered how much more there was.

She kept the pamphlets hidden when she wasn't reading them, tucking them inside the deep pockets of a heavy fur winter coat that she wasn't going to need to wear until much later in the winter. She would have to find a more permanent hiding spot eventually, especially if Tom gave her more material, but that would serve for now.

The next opportunity she got, Sybil found Tom out by the garage. It was a beautiful sunny morning, and even though it was fall, the weather was graciously warm. The leaves on the trees were red and fluttering in the gentle wind. Tom had pulled one of the cars out of the garage and popped the hood, inspecting the engine for something. When Sybil approached, Tom turned and smiled at her, though he glanced around to make sure that there was no one else around. It was just them, and the breeze, and the birds.

"Lady Sybil," he said, wiping his hands on his work overalls. "What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to say thank you," she said, "for the pamphlets."

"You enjoyed them, then?"

"I did- very much so."

"Well, I'm glad," Tom said. "Was I right that they'd be too scandalous for Lord Grantham?"

"Probably," Sybil said. She frowned. "They've only made me more curious, I'm afraid."

"Have I done you wrong by giving you ideas?" Tom asked, his mouth quirked in a funny smile. "Might not be good, for a lady such as yourself."

Sybil laughed. "Maybe. It's already dreadfully stifling to listen to Mary and Edith fight over meaningless nothing- now when they are I just know I'll find myself thinking about escaping to somewhere where people talk about things that matter."

"Do you think you will try to go to school?" Tom asked.

"I don't know," Sybil admitted. "I want to."

"You should."

"You sound so sure."

"You sound like it's important to you." He closed the hood of the car. "If I may say so, m'lady, you belong to yourself, and so you should live your life the way that will make you happy."

"Is that true?" she asked. "If I mentioned this to my father, it would make him… I don't know what it would make him do. But there's a way he expects me to be, and so that's who I am. I don't get to choose the role I'm playing." She gestured around herself. "If I was somehow the heiress of the estate, wouldn't in some way I belong to it more than I belong to myself? It would be my responsibility- I think it owns my father, in that way."

"You're not the heiress, though."

"I know, I'm just thinking. You might say the same thing about belonging to yourself to Mary, if she were to inherit, and I'm not so sure it would be true."

"Forgive me for saying so if it's rude, m'lady, but I would not be having this conversation with Lady Mary."

Sybil nodded.

"But even if you were the heiress," Tom said, then trailed off.

"What?"

"You and your life- that's not something you can put money on."

Sybil wandered over to the low brick wall that edged the driveway, sitting down on it. When Tom watched her, she gestured that he could sit beside her, and he did, wiping his hands again, though it did little. "It's not money, exactly. My parents wanted Mary to marry Patrick- the old heir- to secure their future with the estate. Even Cousin Matthew- the estate and the title- they've forced him to be someone he never expected to be. These things, Papa would say that the foundations that we build our lives around- they give us the structure of who we are. If the estate or the title is your responsibility, it makes you into who it needs you to be. And if you took that away… What would be left?" She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't really know what I'm trying to say."

"No, go on. I'm listening."

"I'd like to think I have control over my life, but it's not as though I could get up tomorrow and just leave this house and start a new life-"

"Why not?"

Sybil looked at him. "Could you do that? Walk away from the life that makes you who you are?"

"Already have," Tom said. "My family's not on Odin. I paid a lot to get here."

"Oh," Sybil said. "I see. I'm sorry."

Tom shook his head. "Nothing to apologize for. It's what I needed to do." He smiled at her. "I'm sure you could do the same, if you had to."

"I don't know," she said. "I guess I worry that even if I did want that, I wouldn't be able to make myself reach for it."

"From where you're standing, right now, what do you think it would take to make you change your whole life?"

"I don't know," she said. "I suppose it would have to be more than something like just wanting to go to school. It would be something I couldn't live without, or couldn't live with." She turned towards Tom, very earnest. "It would be hard, you see."

"Well, you have your class interests, of course."

Sybil flushed and looked away. "Is that really what it is? I couldn't turn away from being a lady, if I had to?"

"No," Tom said. "There's much more to you than just being a lady."

"I hope you're right," Sybil said. "But I've never been anything but a lady. I don't know what's underneath."

"An intelligent young woman," Tom said.

Sybil smiled, but it was wan. "I hope so."

"I'm sorry for troubling you."

"No, it's good to think about these things. I must be at some sort of crossroads, since my duty this season is supposed to be chasing a husband, and I haven't really been able to get myself to do that." She laughed.

"There's no man who's caught your fancy?"

"None that I could imagine myself marrying tomorrow."

Tom smiled. "I'm glad you don't have to marry one tomorrow, then."

"There's always next season, I suppose," Sybil said. "And I'll probably be a better prospect after Mary and Edith are settled. I'm the third daughter, after all."

"May I say-"

"That I shouldn't marry for prospects, but for love?"

"You took my words right out of my mouth."

"I would like to," she said. "Certainly."

"You will, then, if that's what you're really want."

"Thank you."

"Well, what do I know?" He smiled.

"I think you know quite a lot. I liked what you wrote."

"Must say, I'm glad to hear it."

Sybil hesitated. "Would you introduce me to your friends at ONU?"

"If you like."

"I would," she said, very earnestly. "I really would."

Given that Sybil didn't think that Tom's friends would appreciate meeting her very much, Tom was surprisingly quick in arranging a visit for her to see them. It only took a few days, and when he passed her outside in the morning, he whispered, "Try to go shopping this afternoon," which she could certainly do. She would like to get a new dress for Magdalena's dinner, after all, though if that ended up not quite materializing, she would manage without.

She told her mother this, who waved her hand and shooed her off, so Sybil was able to summon Tom with full permission, and drive into the city with him, giddy with excitement that she tried not to show.

"What are your friends like?" she asked as they drove. It was a misty fall day, the weak sun only serving to illuminate the haze. Sybil leaned forward in the back seat so that she could hear Tom more clearly.

"Smart," he said. "Passionate."

"I knew that already," she said with a laugh. "Are they like you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know."

"Would it be a good thing if they were like me?"

"Yes, of course."

Odin National University sprawled across one corner of the city, easily distinguishable by seeing the students in their uniforms strutting about the greens. Tom pointed it out as they passed, but they didn't stop. "Our usual meeting pace is off campus, m'lady," he explained. "Makes it easier for a working man like myself to get to it."

"Maybe you should just call me 'Sybil' while we're seeing your friends," she said. "I don't want to feel like-"

"You're putting on airs?"

"I don't want to be rude."

"Of course, Fraulein Sybil," he said with a grin.

The building they eventually pulled up in front of was fairly far off campus, and in a much less well kept part of the city. It was an unmarked brick building, with windows far enough off the ground that they couldn't be looked into from the street. It may once have been some sort of office building, but it gave very few clues about its function now.

Tom got out and let her out of the car, then knocked on the door of the building. Sybil looked all around as they waited for someone to open it, and eventually, someone did, a gangly man about Tom's age, with soft brown hair that fell around his face. He had a strong nose but a delicate mouth.

"Look who the cat dragged in," the man said when his eyes landed on Tom. "I didn't expect you to come." He was smiling, though, and he lightly touched Tom's arm in greeting.

"When I say I'm going to do something, I do it," Tom said. The man held open the door so that they both could come inside. The door led into a sparse office area, with bookshelves filled with bins of stapled pamphlets, and a single desk that guarded a door that led further into the building. No one was sitting at the desk, and it looked like rarely anyone did.

"That is why we keep you around, I forgot," the man said. "Even if it does mean you bring mystery women to our doorstep." Sybil stood straight under the man's studying gaze. He didn't seem malicious, but his curiosity was tinged with distrust.

"Martin, this is Fraulein Sybil. Fraulein, this is Martin Bufholtz," Tom said. She was sure the omission of her last name did not go unnoticed. "She's curious about ONU."

"Among other things," Sybil said. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Herr Bufholtz." And she stuck out her hand to shake.

"Just Martin," he said, shaking her hand. "We're all friends here." He seemed to decide that she was harmless enough, because when he let go of her hand, he walked over to the door into the rest of the building and unlocked it, holding it open for them.

The other room was much larger, divided into two sections, one small area that had couches and a coffee table sitting on a worn rug, and the much larger area that contained large workroom tables, on which were spread out stacks of paper, large mock-ups of newsprint sections, paint and brushes, computers with dark screens, and equipment that Sybil couldn't identify but assumed was for industrial printing or something like it. There were people standing around one table with coffee mugs in hand, arguing or discussing something, and they all looked up and stopped talking when Martin led Tom and Sybil in.

"Hey, Tom!" one of them called. "Long time no see."

Tom lifted his hand in a wave. "Busy working, unlike you lot."

The man just laughed. Sybil noticed he was dressed in the ONU uniform, though he had taken off his jacket and tied it around his waist.

"This is Sybil," Tom said, pointing her out. "A friend of mine."

"Ignore us- you're trying to get that out the door before the game. Don't let us disturb you," Martin said, and hustled along. A few of the people around the tabe lifted their mugs at Sybil in an approximation of a greeting, then turned back towards the computer screen images they were all discussing.

"What are they working on?" Sybil asked.

Martin laughed. "That? A student paper that they're going to pass out at the football match tomorrow. It's not particularly important." Sybil got the idea from his tone that if it had been something important, she wouldn't have been allowed into the room. He gestured to one of the couches over in the corner. "Can I get you some coffee?"

"If you don't mind," Tom said.

"No, thank you," Sybil said. Tom sat down on one worn green couch, with just enough room for Sybil to squeeze in next to him. Martin returned with a cup of coffee for him, and then sat on the couch across from them, elbows on his knees, looking at Tom with a searching expression. Tom looked into his coffee cup and said nothing for an uncomfortably long moment, until Martin's gaze flicked over to Sybil.

"So," Martin said. "How did you two meet?" There was an edge in the question.

"Work," Tom said, before Sybil could answer the question.

"Tom, do you really think that I wouldn't know what the names of every member of the Crawley family are?" Martin asked. Martin's voice was somehow equal parts mild and cutting.

Tom's face reddened. "I didn't know you kept that kind of tab on me."

"It's occasionally useful to know someone whose paychecks are signed by a count, but you can only make use of that if you know what web of connections that opens up," Martin said. "You told me Lord Grantham hired you- I looked him up." He smiled. "And you are dressed far too nicely to be a maid."

It was Sybil's turn to feel self-conscious. "I wasn't trying to pretend otherwise."

"No," Martin said. "No, you didn't get out of your car until your chauffeur opened the door for you. You couldn't pretend, even if you wanted to." If Martin had somehow been watching their approach, security around this building was tighter than Sybil had first assumed.

"Are you going to hold it against me?"

"Are you?" Martin asked. "I think that's usually the way it goes- the elite hold their status over everyone else."

"She's not like that," Tom said.

Sybil hadn't gotten a chance to defend herself, and when Tom did, she wondered if it was actually true. "I'm not asking for special consideration," she said.

"Tom did, on your behalf, by asking to bring you here. That's special consideration in and of itself."

"And was I just going to not help someone who's trying to broaden her worldview?" Tom asked. "I thought you cared about that."

"I wouldn't have said yes if I didn't," Martin said. He looked at Sybil. "He argued very passionately for you, you know."

"Then I thank him for it," Sybil said. "And I thank you for giving me a chance."

"You're welcome," Martin said. "I'd like to ask again, and maybe phrase my question better: how is it that you came to know Tom enough for him to bring you here?"

Sybil considered her answer very carefully. "He showed me Triangle Street," she said. "When I was walking through the city to meet someone. He showed me the way, and told me what had happened there. It opened my eyes."

Some very strange emotion flashed across Martin's face. "Remember when I took you there, Tom?" he asked.

"I do," Tom said. "It was as good of an education as I've ever gotten."

"I suppose I can't blame you for giving that same education to someone else, then."

"I didn't realize historical truth was your sole dominion," Tom said. Sybil looked between them. "If you had told me it was, maybe I would have been more selective in handing it out."

Martin chuckled, but it didn't break whatever the strange tension was between the two of them. "So, Triangle Street made you curious about the way the rest of us live?" he asked Sybil.

"It made me curious about all of the things I don't know," Sybil said. "I wanted to know more about what I could learn- I don't even have the sense of the scope of the knowledge I'm missing."

"That's an admirable thing to understand about yourself," Martin said. He relaxed in his seat and sipped his own coffee. "You think you could learn what you're missing at ONU?"

"You think I couldn't?"

"I think a truly worldly education is not one that ONU provides. It's the university closest to the Empire's seat of power, offering classes to sheltered young noblewomen." He tilted his head. "But if you do want a broader scope, I suppose you've come to the right place."

"What do you study, to give you such a dim view of the value of education?"

"I don't have a dim view of education at all," Martin said, suddenly leaning forward again. He tucked his loosely falling hair back behind his ears. "I study classics, and I love it more than I've ever been able to explain."

"More than he could explain to me, anyway," Tom said. "Though gods know he's tried." He smiled at Martin, making it clear that his comment was lighthearted.

"I think it has value that people overlook," Martin said. "I would never study anything else." He looked around, his eyes settling on the people at the back table. "But Tom always reminds me that this isn't the whole world. Everyone at ONU is luckier than most."

"They keep me around just to remind them that people in the real world need to eat."

Martin frowned deeply. "That isn't what I meant."

"I understand what you're saying," Sybil said.

"I suppose I'm going to get an education of my own, soon," Martin said. "I'm graduating at the end of this semester. And then it's off to the killing fields for me. Mandatory service."

"You won't go for a higher degree? If you're doing research-"

Martin laughed. "Classics is not a subject that excuses people from duty to the fatherland. It's not useful. If I were a doctor, or an engineer- but I'm not." He ran tucked his long hair again. "I suppose I should be grateful that I was able to eke out four years where I didn't have to consider how to be of use to the fatherland."

"Mandatory service is only two years," Sybil said.

"Two years, if you survive," Martin said. "And if I put on Achilles's armor, I'll die as Patroclus did."

"Don't say that," Sybil said, quite alarmed by Martin's fatalism.

Martin smiled at her and leaned back in his seat. "No, you're right. I won't resign myself to it." He looked up at the ceiling. "And I suppose I'm trying to make my mark on the universe here, now, so that- if the worst does happen- there will be something of me left."

"Can I ask…" Sybil began.

"What we do here?"

"If you're willing to tell me. It can't all be student newspapers."

"Tom didn't tell all?"

"I am capable of discretion," Tom said.

"I know." Martin studied Sybil. "Tom seems to trust you. He knows you better than I do, anyway." He looked away. "I'm not going to be in charge of this place much longer. But Tom won't be going anywhere. He'll have to be responsible for bringing you into the fold."

"I understand that you don't trust me," Sybil said.

"No," Martin said. "That's not it. It's not about you." And he looked at Tom, with a look so searching that Sybil felt like she was intruding by sitting next to him. Tom just nodded, and the moment was over. Martin glanced at his watch. "I have class in twenty minutes. If I don't start walking now I won't get there in time."

"We could give you a lift," Sybil offered.

"I don't think so," Martin said. He stood, causing Sybil and Tom to stand as well. He offered her his hand to shake. "It was a pleasure, Fraulein."

"Sybil," she said. "If we are to be friends."

"Are we to be?" Martin asked.

"I hope so."

"Well then, Sybil. Until we meet again. Tom." And he nodded curtly.

"I'll see you later," Tom said. "Sunday, maybe."

"I'll hold you to it." He pulled his jacket down from a hook on the wall and headed for the door.

After Martin left, Tom introduced Sybil to a few other members of the group, the ones who had by now finished discussing their newspaper. He showed her how some of the printers worked, and some of the half-finished pamphlets that were getting ready to print. Sybil paid polite attention, but it was clear that without Martin, Tom felt somewhat lost, and she didn't beg him to let her stay, or ask for more information than he was ready to divulge.

They left after a little while, and when they got out to the car, Tom opened the passenger door for her.

As Sybil got in, but before Tom closed the door, she said, "I suppose we're back to what we were. Martin was right."

"Martin is right about a lot of things, m'lady," Tom said. He had his hand on the door, but he wasn't closing it yet. "Is there a different way you'd like it to be between us?"

"You make it sound like there's a different way it can be," Sybil said.

Tom nodded, and shut the door.

They drove in silence for a little ways. Sybil's mind was turning over too much for her to suggest that Tom bring her to the shopping district so that she could look for a dress for Magdalena's party. That seemed so distant now, like it belonged to a whole different world.

"Did you like Martin?" Tom asked after some time. "If you don't mind me asking."

"I did," Sybil said. "Though I don't think he likes me."

"That's just the way he is. You can't pay him any mind."

"You seem to."

Tom just shook his head.

"Are you going to tell me what your club does?"

"Maybe," Tom said. "But I want to be sure that you really want to know."

In truth, Sybil couldn't have said herself if she did want to know everything that was going on. She suspected that it would be a heavy knowledge, one that would be hard for her to hold the weight of. But the weight of her uncertainty could have been worse. She hated the feeling of knowing that she was missing something important.

She had been excited to come to Odin to be in the center of things, just a few weeks ago. She was approaching the center of something, that was sure. She only hoped she was chasing the right thing. She wished she could be as sure as Tom was.

Author's Note

you can all see exactly where all of this is going, right? lol

this chapter is a bit short but hopefully it's interesting all the way through :) i am trying not to linger too long. DA is somehow even more of an ensemble show than LOGH is, and it relies so heavily on action taking place just out of frame lol- that's definitely influencing the way I'm writing this fic.

god i love martin bufholtz. for anyone who is like "who the fuck is this dude" the answer is that he appears in one singular gaiden episode (granted, it is far and away The Single Best Gaiden Episode, I've watched it far too many times. it's "hundred billion stars, hundred billion lights" e8 btw), has a three minute conversation with kircheis, and then promptly dies offscreen. and in that three minute conversation with kircheis, he managed to completely charm me, so he's a secondary character in my long running LOGH fic, A Wheel Inside a Wheel, where he causes all of my readers to have intensely conflicting opinions about him lol. I'm sure you can see why. anyway in this house we stan a slightly cringe revolutionary.

tom branson/martin bufholtz is something that they both mutually would like to happen but also are incapable of making happen.