A/N: This is my first Downton Abbey fanfic ever. I had to try though because Sybil and Tom are such a wonderful couple. This fic is inspired by the song "Dream" by Imagine Dragons. Reviews are appreciated.
"Because I very much regret to announce that we are now at war with Germany."These words were like an echo in her head and it didn't seem to end.
War... war... war...Sybil had been aware that it had only been a matter of time until this would happen. In the past few months there had been a tension in the wind that had made everyone feel uncomfortable. Everyone had reckoned that this war would sooner or later break loose.
But certainly no one was thinking it to begin today. They had just celebrated their garden party after all. She still vividly remembered the joy that spread through her body as she had received the news of Gwen having the job as secretary. Gwen had been so happy, and so was Sybil herself. How could a wonderful day turn into such a horrendous disaster?
As though God had known, the weather had changed shortly after her father's announcement. Clouds darkened the sun and the festival had to be ended abruptly. They had managed to pack everything inside by nightfall. That was when it had started to rain. That was when the first hints of a thunderstorm could be heard crawling up the country. That was now.
Sybil was sitting in her room all alone. She had been sitting here for hours, thinking about what was to come. A war. What did a war mean? This would be more than fatalities they read about in the papers. This war would touch this house and this family. People Sybil knew and held dear would be injured, would maybe even die. This war could last for years. Who of them would see the end of it? How far would it go? She'd never really thought about all that thus intensively until now... it had never really occurred to her. It was as though they'd all been living in a dream they now had to wake up from.
Never had Sybil believed she would be scared of this war. She didn't have to fight anyway. But thinking about the people she might lose unsettled her. Truth was that this war scared her.
A soft peal of thunder sounded from afar. Sybil had always disliked thunderstorms. She wasn't scared, she just disliked the noise and the resentment it brought. Of one thing she was certain now, she wouldn't be able to sleep yet.
Sybil's throat felt a little dry and, since she had nothing better to do, she decided to go downstairs and get something to drink. No one would be up anyway, it was already past midnight - but it was better that way. She didn't feel like talking to anyone nor did she want to wake Mrs Patmore or any of the kitchen maids.
Without pulling over a cloak or anything, Sybil left her room, wandered through the dark corridor on tiptoes and crept down the large wooden staircase. No one seemed to be up, so she crossed the hall and hurried over to the door that led down to the kitchen.
Much to her delight, no one was up. Sybil lit a lamp and set off to look for a glass. All she could find was a mug, but that should do as well, she decided. As Sybil turned on the water tap and watched the cold translucent liquid fill her mug, a shiver ran down her spine. She suddenly felt so cold. Sybil took one sip and put the mug back down.
This was all too much...
She'd always considered herself to be quite courageous. Why then was she so scared of this war she didn't have to fight in? Was it the unknowing that scared her? Was it the reckoning about everyone she might lose?
Sybil blinked away some tears and left the kitchen, abandoning her mug of water. She should better go upstairs and try and sleep. But on her way to the small staircase, her sight went blurry of tears. She grabbed hold on the railing and slowly sank down on a step, burying her face in her hands. A single sob escaped her throat.
And so Sybil just sat there, face in her hands, crying silently. Until...
"Lady Sybil?"
She froze and hastily wiped away some tears. Her cheeks must've still been tear wet and her eyes all red and puffy. Sybil looked up and saw Mr Branson standing in the corridor. His hair was a little messy. Had he been up until now, driving the festival guests back home? No, certainly not - he was wearing ordinary pants and a white shirt.
"Can I help you, m'lady?" he asked, approaching just a little.
Sybil shook her head and forced a smile. "No one can, but thank you, Branson. What are you doing up at this time?"
"I suppose I couldn't sleep, so I decided to make myself a cup of tea."
"I wanted to get myself a glass of water, but I could only find a mug," Sybil said.
The corners of Branson's mouth twitched into a small smile. "Would you like a cup of tea, m'lady?"
"Oh, no... thank you, Branson. I should go back upstairs."
Before Sybil even had the time to get up, Branson blurted out, "You don't have to go, m'lady - not for my sake."
Sybil knew it would be lady-like to head back upstairs, but they were in war now - who cared about lady-like, at least at midnight? And it was Mr Branson after all, not Mr Carson or Mrs Hughes. She nodded and Branson smiled. He approached a bit more so he was standing only a few meters away from where she was sitting. A look of concern crept onto his face. He must have noticed the tears twinkling in the corners of her eyes.
"Are you quite all right, m'lady?"
She couldn't tell him how she really felt, could she? What would it look like to him? A lady didn't cry in her chauffeur's presence. She would make him feel uncomfortable. But before Sybil could pretend she was all right, a tear fell down her face.
"Oh Branson," she whispered, and buried her face in her hands again. She just couldn't pretend she was all right. Nothing of this was all right. They were at war - how could anything be all right? Sybil didn't remember a day in her life when she had felt so powerless, hopeless and alone.
That was until a hand gingerly touched her shoulder. She glanced up and saw Branson sitting next to her. She had wanted to be alone when she had come down here some minutes ago, but now she wanted nothing more than sitting here with Tom Branson until daybreak. Could she dare to edge closer, just a little bit?
"What is it, m'lady?" Branson asked softly. He had pulled his hand back. It was now resting on his knee.
Sybil wiped her tears away as best as she could. "I keep thinking about the war, about everyone we're going to lose. It scares me." She let out a sob. "I'm so sorry for embarrassing you like this, Branson. Please do not believe you have to stay and comfort me..."
"I do want to, m'lady. And you're not embarrassing me," Branson said and it sounded genuine.
His genuineness it probably was that kept Sybil talking. "I've never lived through a war, I don't know what's it like. I'm so scared that I'll lose my family and my friends. All men will have to fight sooner or later."
"Not all, m'lady," Branson said, but it didn't feel like a great comfort.
Sybil glanced at him, fresh tears already burning in her eyes. "They will call you up as well, won't they? Oh Branson, this is all so horrible."
Branson didn't reply this time. He probably couldn't deny the fact that it was horrible, even if he wanted to. Sybil was fighting back the fresh tears. Her last words had made her think of what would happen if Branson would fall at the front. He was more than just a chauffeur to her, he was a friend.
"Branson?"
"Yes, m'lady?"
She looked at him intensely through teary eyes. "If they call you up, you have to promise me to come back. Please, promise it, Branson!"
"I'm sorry, m'lady, but I cannot make promises to you that I might break," he said. She noticed he didn't look her in the eye.
"Please! You have to promise! Tom, please-," she sobbed. Without even thinking about it, she had called him by his first name. She had called him Tom. This had never happened to her before. Heavy sobs rocked her body and she couldn't stop the tears falling this time.
Branson put his arm around her shoulder and she instantly edged closer. Their shoulder were touching. Sybil buried her face in the crook of his neck and he put his other arm around her.
She heard his whispers right next to her ear as he said, "I cannot promise you my survival, but I can promise you my friendship for as long as I live."