They're Sorry for My Going Away

Sybil was not completely surprised by the quiet knock on her bedroom door. It came after the whole household had collapsed into their respective beds, exhausted and miserable beyond belief. It was bold of Tom to be up and about. If he was caught sneaking into her room, she doubted that her father would have any pity on him whatsoever. And Carson would probably murder him directly. Still, Sybil dragged herself out of bed and opened the door for him.

He was still dressed in his day clothes, but she was in her nightgown, and she pulled a blanket off her bed and wrapped it around herself while she stood to talk to him, her bedside table lamp dim and only revealing fuzzy edges of his expression.

"Are you okay?" Tom asked, his voice low. He looked around the bedroom. It was still completely torn apart. All her clothes were tossed in a heap on the floor, the drawers of her dressing table upended, the rugs kicked into shapeless oblivion. Only her bed had been put together enough to sleep on.

"I'm alright," Sybil said.

"The pamphlets I gave you-"

"I burned them," she said.

"Good."

"Are you alright?" She asked this with some hesitation.

"I'm alive," Tom said. "I'm not-" He choked up.

"Tom-"

"They were after me, I'm sure," he said. "Martin's gone. And the rest of them."

"I'm so sorry," Sybil said, and she meant it. The petty trouble of having her room turned inside out seemed inconsequential, in comparison to the fact that Tom's friends were likely dead.

"I don't know how they tracked me here," Tom said. "Martin must have left some sort of trail in his notes, maybe didn't code it thoroughly enough…" He shook his head. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

"You don't have to do anything," Sybil said. "They didn't catch you."

"You think they won't come back?" Tom asked. "The secret police, they don't stop hunting you, not until they get someone." He took a shuddering breath. "I'm a dead man. Or someone else is, if they follow some trail they imagine and catch someone else in the house by accident."

Sybil wasn't sure what to say to that. "I hope not."

Tom shook his head. "Hope's not going to save anybody," he said. "I have to get off Odin. If I can get to Phezzan, or the rebel territories-"

"You'd leave?"

"I've turned my life over once," Tom said. "I guess I have to do it again. If I want to keep living, that is." He couldn't meet her eyes. "If I run, there won't be any more suspicion on the rest of the household, since they'll assume anybody who's running away is a guilty party."

"Will you make it there? Will you have to go under false papers?" She figured that anyone from the household would be watched very closely, if they tried to leave the country. For a while, at least.

"I don't know," Tom said. "I-" He was exhausted, probably more than she was.

"It's alright, Tom," she said. "You don't have to know it all now."

He looked at her. "What would your father do, if he caught me here, talking about this with you?"

It was an abrupt change of subject, and Sybil was taken aback. "He's not going to. Everyone's asleep, except us."

"But if he did-"

"What are you trying to ask?" She could tell his line of questioning wasn't really about her father, not with the way Tom was looking at her.

"If your father was going to throw me to the hounds," Tom said, "would you try to stop him?"

"He's not-"

"He said as much, when he addressed the staff earlier," Tom said. Sybil had already been upstairs with Edith at that point. Sybil felt cold, and pulled her blanket tightly around herself.

"He said that?" she asked. Tom nodded.

"Could you bear it?" he asked. "Could you stand to watch, if one of us had been dragged away?"

"Why would you ask me that?"

"Because it's real, Sybil. It could have happened. It's going to happen, soon enough. If the police come back, they won't leave without a body, next time."

"What could I do?" Sybil asked, and her voice broke, plaintive. "Papa couldn't do anything. I wouldn't be able to-"

"Lord Grantham believes in all of this," he said. "He wouldn't try- didn't try to stop it." He shook his head. "He was more concerned about them stealing silverware and cracking the spines of rare books in the library than he was about us."

"That's not fair to say," she said. "You don't know what would have happened if the police had really made an accusation."

"I think I do know," Tom said. He stopped, then said, "I'm sorry. Your father is a good man- it's been a hard day for us all."

"Thank you."

"I just-" He threw his hands wide. "Can this go on forever, Sybil? Can anyone keep living like this?"

"We have to," she said. "What can we do?" She looked around at the destroyed room. "This is what even thinking of something different gets you, isn't it? And if we did really try to resist, if Papa had met them with hunting guns at the door-" She shivered and pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders, looking away from Tom. "Not all of us can run away to Phezzan."

Tom was silent for a long second. She felt his gaze on her, and met his eyes.

"What?" Sybil asked.

"Come with me," Tom said. "It will be easier for both of us to get off planet if you arrange it."

"I can't!" Sybil said, and she said it a little too loudly, loud enough that Tom looked around, as if Carson might suddenly leap out of the emptied closet to haul him down to the police himself. "I can't," she repeated in a harsh whisper.

"Why not?" Tom asked. "You don't have an inheritance."

"I have a family," she said. "I couldn't just leave them."

"Your mother's family is on Phezzan," Tom said. "It's not like they couldn't come see you, if they wanted."

"Why are you even asking me this?" Sybil hissed.

"Because-" Tom seemed torn on what to say. "You're not like all the rest of them," he said. "You could never really be happy here, not after all of this."

"Couldn't I?"

"I know you," Tom said. "I know you, Lady Sybil."

"Do you?" she asked, and this time, her voice was cold.

"I see," Tom said. "I wish I hadn't been mistaken."

"I don't think it serves anyone well to tell me what I should feel," she said.

"You're right, m'lady." He took a few steps backwards, his own voice now cold, his eyes harder than they had been. He put his hand on the door, intending to leave. "Goodnight, m'lady."

"Tom-" Sybil said.

"Yes?"

"If you need any help getting to Phezzan-"

He nodded. "Thank you." And then he was out the door.

When he left, Sybil sat heavily on her bed. Although she had been nearly asleep when he first knocked, she was wide awake now, and her thoughts refused to stop turning over and over. She felt strangely morose, beyond just the terror of the day. Tom's prediction that she couldn't be happy ever again had unsettled her.

Sybil woke early the next morning against her will. Anna came into her room and shook her shoulder gently, disentangling her from the twisted mess she had made of her bedsheets during the night, kicking and thrashing with disturbed dreams.

"M'lady," Anna said, "Lord Grantham would like to leave for Lady Rosamund's house as soon as he can."

While Sybil slowly came into full consciousness, Anna did her best to find an outfit that was as unsullied as possible from the mess of clothes that still lay haphazard on the floor, and by the time that Sybil had brushed her teeth and splashed some water on her face and combed her hair, Anna was ready to help her into a dress.

"How are you doing, Anna?" Sybil asked.

"I'm alright, m'lady," she said. "Last night gave us all quite a scare, but I think we'll come through it." She laced the back of Sybil's dress. "A clean conscience settles the mind wonderfully."

"Do you think there is someone in the staff who brought this here?"

"No, m'lady. Of course not."

"Then why-"

"Herr Bates told me it's because Lord Grantham is going to support Duke Braunschweig, when His Majesty dies," Anna said. She tugged on Sybil's sleeves and tied the decorative ribbons at her elbows. "Marquis Littenheim has connections within the military police. Herr Bates says it's just intimidation."

"Oh," Sybil said, completely nonplussed. "I see."

"That's why Lord Grantham is going to have you all go home early," she said. "You'll at least be safe away from the capital."

"What?" Sybil asked, stiffening. "We're going to leave Odin?"

"As soon as we can pack the household, m'lady."

"But the season-"

"There will be other seasons," Anna said. "Once things are settled again."

"But-"

Anna was a little amused. She finished fussing with Sybil's outfit. "Lady Sybil, if you object, you'll have to take it up with Lord Grantham- I'm afraid I can't do anything about it."

Anna was right, of course, so Sybil ceased her objections for the moment and headed down to breakfast. Her father had already eaten and left, so it was just her, alone at the table, with Thomas standing in the corner to serve.

Once Sybil had gotten her eggs and toast, she asked him, "Have you heard we're packing to leave, Thomas?"

"I had heard, m'lady."

"Are you coming with the family, back home?"

A dark expression came over Thomas's face, but he stifled it back into the perfectly smooth servant's mask. "I don't know. Herr Carson hasn't said anything about it one way or the other. I expect it's a great expense to move staff back and forth between the houses."

"If you wanted to, I'm sure it wouldn't be any trouble."

"Thank you, m'lady." His voice gave no indication of if he wanted to or not.

"Did the Duke of Crowsburg get off alright?"

"I imagine so."

She looked down into her coffee and frowned. Thomas stared into space, not offering anything else for her to latch onto and continue the conversation with. She was finished with her breakfast before Mary or Edith even came down, and this only deepened her sense of malaise. She headed outside.

The car that would seat all of them was already idling in front of the house, though Tom was nowhere to be seen, and her father was pacing back and forth, speaking on his phone to someone. Sybil stood nearby and listened to the conversation long enough to hear that it was her father arguing about chartering a merchant ship to take the household off Odin. This was obviously difficult to do on short notice, and her father, though he offered her a thin smile when he saw her, grew more and more terse and his scowl deeper and deeper as the agent for the merchant company quoted him different times and prices. Her father eventually said that he would get back to him with what would work best, and hung up the phone.

"Sybil, darling, I'm sorry I missed you at breakfast."

"It's alright," she said. "I understand."

"How are you?" he asked.

"I'm fine." She looked at him, and the question she wanted to ask slipped out without her intending to say anything. "Papa," she said, "could I stay here on Odin, with Aunt Rosamund?"

He was brought up short. "Certainly not," he said. "Whatever would you want to do that for?"

"I—" There was no false explanation that didn't sound like a spoiled whine, even to her own ears, and the true explanation was something that she couldn't give voice to. "I like it here," she said. "And I don't want to miss the rest of the season."

"No," her father said. "It's out of the question."

"I would be perfectly safe, and Aunt Rosamund and Granny could look after me."

"For one thing, I'm going to do my best to get Rosamund and your grandmother to leave Odin as well. You and your mother and your sisters—it's become quite clear that you are not safe here." He shook his head.

"Papa—"

"I don't understand what's brought this on you so suddenly." He pursed his lips. "Sybil, my dear, I have the bad feeling that this planet is about to become a warzone. I couldn't live with myself if I let you stay here." He paused. "Your mother isn't happy with this, either. But she understands. It will only be for a few years."

"Why is Mama unhappy?" Sybil asked. She wondered if she could get her mother to turn the tide in her favor.

Her father just shook his head. "Don't bother her about it. She knows it has to be done."

Sybil frowned but nodded. She walked away from her father, who watched her go and then pulled out his phone to make another call.

Morose, Sybil wandered the grounds for a while, kicking up the dry fall leaves on the ground. Her breath steamed out in front of her, and the sky was a wan blue through the thinning leaves of the trees. The house, in its heavy stone, lingered in the corner of her eye as she circled it, not wanting to get too far in case her family suddenly became ready to leave. From the outside, at least, the house was untouched. The chaos of the night before hadn't injured its structure in the least, just shaken everyone up inside, like they were bugs in a jar.

She took out her own phone and, though it was early, dialed Magdalena. Magdalena answered, sleep heavy in her voice.

"Sybil, darling, I'm glad to hear you call me," Maggie said. "I heard about what happened."

"Who told you?"

"Practically everyone," she said. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"You wouldn't have been able to do anything."

"Hm," Maggie said, "maybe not about the police. But other things." She sighed. "Regardless—it's undignified."

"We're alright," Sybil said. "Nobody was hurt, really."

"You sound terrible."

"Papa is going to move us all off Odin as soon as he can charter a ship to take us home."

Magdalena let out a huge rush of breath on the other end of the line, forcing Sybil to move the phone away from her ear. "The season is about to be so dreadfully boring."

"Maggie—" Sybil began, a hesitant tone in her voice.

"Yes, darling?"

"Are you planning on going to Phezzan?"

"Phezzan?" She could just picture Magdalena curling a strand of her hair, still lounging in bed. "There's less that entertains me on Phezzan than there is here. I wouldn't, at least not until after the Kaiser dies."

"Oh."

"Why do you ask?"

"I don't know," Sybil said. She scuffed at the cold ground with her heel.

"Were you planning to go to Phezzan?"

"I have a… friend… who needs to get to Phezzan. And it would be better if he was travelling as someone's accompaniment."

There was a pregnant silence from the other end of the line. "Your secret suitor."

"Maggie!"

"I'm right, then."

"If that's what you want to call it."

"And you want me to take him to Phezzan? Or you?" Magdalena asked.

"I don't know what I want," Sybil admitted. "I guess what I want isn't possible anymore. If it ever was."

"Don't be so glum, darling." But even her voice had a hint of falseness in it. "You'll figure it out."

"I don't think I'll be very happy at home," she said. "I really don't want to leave."

"You could tell your father you want to stay."

"I did. He won't listen."

"I suppose he would be too worried about your virtue."

"My safety, really, I think," she said. "He is worried." Sybil bent down and picked up a perfect red oak leaf off the ground and spun it around between her fingers. "I can't tell if he's overreacting or not. Are you worried?"

"Don't concern yourself with me," Magdalena said. "I always find my way through."

"You are worried, then."

"Not about myself, darling." She paused. "Count Lohengramm's sister, Countess Grunewald. I'm worried about her." She let out a little laugh, not her practiced one, but one that teetered on the edge of despair. "If I could snatch her away and hide her on Phezzan, I would."

"Can I ask you a question, Maggie?"

"Of course."

"If you knew something was about to happen to Countess Grunewald, what would you do to stop it?"

"Anything," Magdalena said instantly. "Whatever I could."

"Even if—I don't know. You'd give up your title?"

"Anything," Magdalena repeated. There was a long moment of silence. "Why do you ask? Are you thinking of doing something drastic for your mystery man?" Her tone was lighter now, joking to escape the implications of the previous second. Sybil didn't take her too seriously when she said, "I'll tell you now, Sybil, darling: men aren't worth it."

"No," Sybil said. "I was just wondering… What would my father do to protect us?"

Again, a beat of silence. "He'd take you home and keep you off Odin," Magdalena said. "And you can hope that's all it takes."

"I should go," Sybil said. "I'll see if I can talk to you again before we leave. Maybe I can sneak out for lunch or something."

"If you need anything from me, let me know," Magdalena said. "Really, Sybil."

"I will. Thank you, Maggie."

Her family's mood on the drive to Aunt Rosamund's house in the capital was sullen. Mary, pale and pinched in a way that Sybil had never seen her before, stared out the window. Edith was indignant about the season being ruined, and blamed it on Mary, but had the good sense to keep her mouth shut. Sybil couldn't stop turning things over in her head, and it was made worse every time she glanced towards the driver's seat, where Tom's hands were white on the wheel. Her father had his computer balanced on his lap, and he was tapping out messages in his two-fingered way, holding the laptop steady with his other hand. Her mother pretended to read a book, but her eyes actually rested on Mary, who ignored her gaze.

The mood did not improve when they greeted Aunt Rosamund and crammed themselves into the guest bedrooms of her home. Nor did things get better at dinner when Sybil's grandmother showed up. The atmosphere was foul, but everyone seemed to realize it would only be made worse by talking about it.

After dinner, all of the women retreated to the parlor, except for the dowager countess, who, tired of the oppressive air, made her apologies and went to leave.

Sybil's father met her in the long, dark entrance hall. Sybil could hear their distant voices, and she wanted to know if her grandmother would be coming back home with them or not. Her grandmother was speaking so loudly that it was almost like she wanted to be heard. Her sisters, mother, and aunt were paying no attention to her, so Sybil slipped out of the parlor and stood in a dark crevasse of the hallway, between two heavy wooden pillars, to listen to her father and grandmother talk. They were disagreeing, and the city streetlights were the only illumination in the hall, keeping her grandmother's frail form in deep shadow, and the edge of her father's nose in light.

"And stay there on my daughter-in-law's generosity?" her grandmother asked. "I don't know if either of us could tolerate that for long."

"There are plenty of places you could stay that are not the house proper," her father replied. "You know that better than I do."

"Your father left me my house on Odin as mine and mine alone when he died. I do intend to stay in it for as long as I am able." She shook her head. "Rosamund will say the same thing about this place, I'm sure."

"You can come back to it when Elizabeth has taken the throne."

"Robert, you are very sure of so many things that I would not be half so confident about."

"Duke Braunschweig is a capable man."

"I'm sure Cora will agree, when you put on that fool uniform, and he leads you to get killed."

Sybil covered her mouth with her hand, preventing herself from gasping aloud and giving herself away.

"I think you're making a mistake," her grandmother continued. "And I think neither your wife nor your daughters will ever forgive you for pushing them away so that you can play hero like you're twenty-five again."

"Duke Braunschweig will need men with experience as leaders."

"There are other men, Robert."

"I'm not going to argue with you about this, Mama."

"Are you dragging your heir into this with you?"

"I'm not dragging anybody. Matthew's life is his own. But he was only a lieutenant- there's no reason for him to get involved. I retired as a rear admiral."

"If you should do this, Robert, and you die, you will be leaving your daughters unmarried, and un-cared for, and the estate in the hands of a man who knows nothing about it. I did not expect that kind of irresponsibility from you. Not now."

Sybil's father shook his head. "Go home with Cora and the girls," he said. "If the worst happens, you know the estate, you'd be abe to make sure Matthew does right by it."

"I have no interest in watching what your father cared for, and what generations of his family built, be played with like a children's toy by some middle class lawyer. I doubt he'd listen to a word I say. And you have no guarantee that he'd provide for Cora and the girls beyond what you stipulate in your will."

"I won't argue with you about this, Mama," he said.

"I find it difficult to understand." She leaned heavily on her cane. "Since Mary was born, I have heard you say again and again that there is nothing more important to you than that estate. You wouldn't even break the entail, or move Cora's money to Phezzan, because of the estate- and look where that's gotten Mary!" Her voice was as shrill as Sybil had ever heard it. "You would throw that all away, for what? And don't tell me it's for the sake of your wife and daughters, because it's not, Robert. You've never been good at lying."

"Duke Braunschweig is going to win whatever struggle there is going to be," her father said, speaking slowly, but with the confidence born of conviction. "It probably will not be easy for him, but he is more equipped for this kind of battle. Families who support him will be rewarded, families who go against him will be punished. It's important to be on the right side, and to end this quickly. If we don't, there won't be an estate. There might not even be much of a crown."

" Hoff Kaiserin Elizabeth," Sybil's grandmother muttered. "It's not worth that gamble, and you're making a mistake. Your wife and daughters will not forgive you, even just for leaving them alone for two years, or however long this takes, let alone if you get killed. Don't be stupid, Robert. I didn't raise a stupid son."

"You don't have to insult me."

"If that's what it takes to get through to you, I will do whatever it takes."

"We shouldn't argue about this now."

"When are you going to tell the girls?"

"When they leave for home."

"They won't forgive you for that, either. I wouldn't."

"Goodnight, Mama," Robert said.

Quickly, Sybil retreated back into the parlor before her father turned back towards her hiding place, her heart beating wildly in her throat.

Sybil couldn't sleep that night in her guest bedroom in Rosamund's house. She kept turning over and over, flinging her elbow up to cover her eyes in desperation, even though the room was already pitch black.

Tom had been right, more right than she had wanted to imagine. Maybe her father wouldn't have turned in one of the staff to the military police himself, but he cared about some kind of duty to the crown more than he cared about his family. His conversation with her grandmother had made that quite clear.

She could just imagine how horrible it was going to be, the whole family leaving Odin without Papa, and then not knowing when they would see him again. That would add a new layer of horror to being trapped so far away from the rest of civilization. She didn't think she would be able to bear it.

And why should she!

If her father cared more about a claimant to the crown than he did his own daughters' happiness- and it was clear that he did- then she was going to have to look out for herself. Or she would be trapped, maybe even forever.

It might have been one thing if her father had believed that Duke Braunschweig and his daughter would make the Empire a better place. But that wasn't what he had said to her grandmother. If he had believed that, he certainly would have said it. Her father tended to say what he meant. But all he talked about was the same stabbing in the back, the same scramble for money and power, the same clinging to the old ways… She didn't want to be like that.

Of course, there were no good choices. It was obvious that her father would support Duke Braunschweig, even just with his name and money, since they were friends- however much anyone could be friends in the court. And even if he hadn't been, she was sure that Marquis Littenheim was no better or worse. But the way he was enthusiastic about it, in his way, ready to throw himself upon the fire for the cause, it made her stomach drop. He wanted to fight to make it so nothing in the world would change, so that they could continue a war with the rebel territories without interruption, so that the military police could continue to crack down on anyone they considered a threat to the crown, so that the kind of polished court dance of alliances and subterfuges could continue unabated for the next hundred years. The next thousand years.

She rolled over on the bed again and buried her face in the pillow, biting back a frustrated noise.

Tom was right.

Admitting that made her path much clearer, even if it also made it that much more difficult. She would never be happy, shipped off to the countryside against her will, without her father, certainly without the friend she had in Tom, and without any hope of bettering herself or the world by getting an education. She couldn't be the type of person who stood by and watched as everyone else made decisions for her, or went along with the way things had always been done.

Sybil slipped out of bed and pulled on her jacket. In bare feet, she quietly pushed open her bedroom door and tiptoed through the unfamiliar house, towards the back stairway towards the servants' quarters. There were plenty of empty rooms: Aunt Rosamund only kept a few staff, and only O'brien, Bates, and Tom had joined her family here. Sybil made a bet that Tom was the one with the light showing through the crack underneath his door at well past midnight, and she knocked on it as softly as she could.

There was a moment of silence, and then the door swung open. He was in his nightshirt and little else, and he smiled to see her, though he held his finger to his lips before letting her in.

"To what do I owe the honor of your visit?" Tom asked in a whisper after he shut the door.

"I changed my mind," she said. "I'll go with you to Phezzan."

"You wouldn't like me to say that I knew you would," he said, but he was grinning. She couldn't help but smile back. His eyes sparkled in the amber light of the dusty lamp on the desk. "What made you change it?"

"I just realized you were right. About everything. I can't be my own person if I stay here."

"Is that all?"

"What else could it be?"

"I was hoping you'd say you wanted some more time to enjoy my company."

Sybil flushed and looked away. Tom almost laughed, but covered his mouth to stop himself. The walls here were so thin, she imagined that the creaking sound she could hear might not be the wind, but could be Bates rolling over in bed in the next room.

"How are we going to do this?" Tom asked, suddenly serious. "I assume we're going to be on some kind of watchlist if we try to leave the country."

"I don't know," Sybil said. "I have family on Phezzan, so it wouldn't be unheard of for me to go there. As for passage… there's ships heading to Phezzan all the time, so it wouldn't be as difficult as my father trying to charter a ship to go home."

"How will you get the money?" Tom asked.

"I'll…" She frowned. "I'll figure something out." She would have to steal from her father. Although she was sure she could, and a plan was already hatching in her head to visit the capital bank with a check with his signature on it and take out the money she needed, that didn't make it feel any better or more sure.

"Your family will try to stop you if they hear about this," Tom said. "You can't be obvious."

"I know," Sybil said. "I won't say a word." The thought of that, leaving without saying goodbye, hurt, but it was no worse than what her father was planning to do. That justified her somewhat.

"When should we plan to leave?"

"I don't know how soon my father can book a ship to take everyone back home," she said. "That gives us a few days, at least. But we should be fast."

"Right. The sooner the better."

The more she talked about this plan with Tom, the more real it felt, and the more the sinking feeling in her chest deepened. But he was smiling so widely, so buoyed by his vision of the future, that some of her doubts slipped away.

Author's Note

logh readers watching lord grantham make life choices are most assuredly like 😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬

sadly if there's one thing that robert is known for, it's getting dragged into schemes that cost him quite a lot. the man cannot resist peer pressure and making bad life choices

have tom and sybil discussed what they're going to do when they actually get to phezzan? hahahaha they probably should! but all of this is happening under pretty stressful and urgent circumstances so. you know.

idk if i'm fully satisfied with the way i've hashed out sybil's motivations in this chapter, but idk- the actual physical timeline of this story is so compressed (not counting the first thomas chapter, it takes place over like, what, 2 months?) that i didn't think it would really be possible or realistic to have the "we're going to get married because i love him" arc that in the show takes place over like iirc several realtime years (even though it feels much shorter on screen lol). certainly they are interested in each other, and that's part of it the reasoning (even if sybil doesn't really want to admit it to herself) but it can't be the total of her motivations. i hope i've done it in a way that feels both natural and satisfying, anyway.

there are two more actual chapters of this story + a probable epilogue. so we're coming right up to the end haha