Author's note -

Thank you so much to everyone who has read/followed/reviewed/favourited this collection so far! I always love to hear from you.

A birthday ficlet for the lovely gothamgirl28, as it's already your birthday where I am. Hope you enjoy it, my friend, and wishing you a wonderful day!

The crimson thread

For as long as she could remember, sunset had been Sybil Crawley's favourite time of day. Whenever she could, she would wander through the grounds of Downton Abbey in the late afternoon and evening, face aglow, heart beating with a hasty rhythm she couldn't explain. There was something out there in the west, she just knew it, something she was meant to find.

When the Crawleys planned a trip to the Lake District in the summer of 1911 to visit the home of Lord Grantham's old school friend, the Duke of Cumberland, she was very excited. At last, she would be travelling west for the first time in her life! Perhaps she would find it, whatever it was.

She came as close as she ever had the day they had a picnic at St Bees Head, on the west coast. Wandering off from the rest of the party after high tea, alone at the edge of the Irish Sea, she felt a sensation she had never felt before. Something was tugging at her hand, making her reach out towards the setting sun. Eyes dazzled by the last rays of daylight, she thought she saw a crimson strand of light leave her fingers, travelling across the water to a destination beyond her sight.

She never forgot that feeling – somewhere, out towards the west, lay her destiny.

Tom Branson was always the first one awake in his family. As a boy, he'd be the one leaping out of bed as soon as he opened his eyes in the morning, hanging out of the window of the room he shared with his brothers, staring at the brightening sky and smiling. The breaking dawn energised him, giving him strength to deal with whatever challenges life threw his way each day, and as he grew to manhood the attraction he felt for the sunrise always stayed with him.

On a summer's day in 1911, he found himself on a tram to the seaside without really knowing why. Wandering along the beach at Dalkey as evening drew in, a strange force took him over, a force he could not understand or control, that made him lift his hand towards the dark, lonely horizon. Then, he thought he saw a crimson strand of light leave his fingers, heading over the Irish Sea to England.

Now he understood – to find his life's meaning, he had to travel east. When the chance came to take up a chauffeur's job in Yorkshire, he jumped at it, eager to find out what fate had in store for him.

1913

All day long, Sybil had been feeling edgy, restless. When the sun was setting, she had headed outside for her usual walk through the grounds of Downton Abbey, but for the first time ever her feet seemed to be leading her in another direction entirely.

Something had changed, but she didn't know what. All she knew was that she was compelled, driven, to walk behind the house. As she rounded the corner of the drive, she caught a glimpse of a small, low-set building towards the back of the stable yard.

In that moment, that same mysterious power within her, the one that had possessed her on the shores of the Irish Sea, pulled her hand out in front of her, fingers straining to reach something the same way they had that day. Starting to run, she soon reached the door of the building, and with her still outstretched hand she pushed it open.

A young, fair haired man in shirtsleeves was standing in the middle of the floor, his hand reaching towards her. They both gasped as the light over his head picked out a crimson thread, the same thread they had both seen once before, running from his fingers to hers.

Silent, dreamy, she walked towards him, and the thread glowed more strongly with each step, twisting and coiling, pulling them inexorably closer. When they met, their hands came together first, palm to palm, fingers folding together. She felt a fiery glow spread through her whole body at his touch, and she knew he felt it too from the way his breath quickened. Together, they watched the thread weave around their interlocked hands and then vanish.

Only then did they look at each other and, with one glance as deep as the Irish Sea, she knew they were already lost, imprinted on each other before the first sunrise. He brought their hands to rest on his chest and she could feel his heart beneath her fingers, beating with the same hasty rhythm as her own. She rested her other hand on his shoulder, while his settled at her waist.

"Oh, my darling," he murmured, and his voice, with its Irish lilt, sent a shock of recognition rippling through her, like a stone dropped into a pond. Their eyes moved to each other's lips before meeting and locking, and she let out a sigh of delight as he pulled her gently to him.

Just a breath apart now. She closed her eyes, tilting her face to his, and as their lips met she heard a groan deep in his chest. His arm tightened around her, bringing her closer, and their linked hands clung even more tightly together as their kiss deepened, sealing the bond between them forever.

She didn't know anything about him, not even his name. But she knew that this was what she had been searching for, aching for, longing for all her life. East and west had come full circle, and the crimson thread had brought her at last into the arms of the man she was born to love, with every breath, with every beat of her heart, as he loved her.

The rest was detail.

A/N -

I once saw a post on Tumblr that describes me pretty well - "I don't believe in soulmates, but for my OTP I'll make an exception." :)

I was inspired to write this version of an S/T soulmate story when I saw another post on Tumblr, which spoke of the East Asian myth of the red thread of fate. According to this legend, the gods tie an invisible red cord around the ankles of those destined to be lovers, regardless of time, place or circumstances. This magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break, and it gradually draws together the two people who are meant for each other. (Often, in Japanese culture, it is thought to be tied around the little finger, which was the version I used here.)

I thought about the best place to post this story, and I decided to include it this collection as a 1.04 AU story about how Sybil and Tom met. You may remember I've already posted another 1.04 AU here (as chapter 11) - who says I can't have more than one version of this! :)

Finally, I also want to acknowledge a debt of inspiration to two of my favourite S/T authors who have also written lovely soulmate stories for the Bransons - Yankee Countess (based on colour) and repmetsyrrah (based on time). Thank you both!