1912

The sky was a vibrant and beautiful blue, exhibiting no such hindrance to the brilliantly shining sun in the form of even a single wisp of cloud.

The Spring morning was offensively bright and backwardly cheerful, as if the singing birds, the blossoming trees and the blooming flowers all conspired between them to show them all how the world rolled on without their friend and cousin. It felt wrong, like nature had no right to be so upside down.

Today of all days.

The figures moving up to the church were doused in black mourning suits and dresses. Robert greeted them all at the arched entrance with a sombre handshake and the waxy faces all blurred into one large mass, seating themselves in the pews behind those reserved for family and friends.

Mary glanced around every now and then, the pew across the aisle from where she, her sisters, her mother and her granny sat contrastingly empty. It had been reserved for Reggie, Isobel and Matthew and she hadn't seen any of them since the news had been broken. Not when they'd been told that Patrick had gone, not when they'd discovered that his body had been recovered from the water.

Frozen.

She knew they were all still in the village, Matthew hadn't gone back to school quite yet, staying and having a tutor give him lessons much like their governess did until the funeral was over and a short mourning period had passed. But as much as it angered her that her father still spoke more often of Matthew's successes than he did of his own children's, she had missed him in the time he hadn't visited. She didn't know if that made her selfish or crude- if she voiced the thought out loud whether or not others would be appalled. Patrick should be consuming her thoughts now, and he did, very much so, but even during the nights in which she and Edith curled up in Sybil's bed for comfort, she found her mind wandering to how Matthew was coping.

When he appeared in the doorway of the church, pale faced in black tie, tails and top hat, it was clear he wasn't.

She watched as he shook hands with her father, Robert gently rubbing his shoulder before he left to sit down. He looked like a silhouette of himself, walking through the aisle at a slow and serviceable pace with his parents behind him. He didn't look at her once, taking a seat at the end of the wooden pew and staring straight ahead with his red-rimmed eyes.

Matthew couldn't help but wish he could become as insubstantial as the shadow he cast simply to stop his twisted insides from feeling so mangled. His hat sat neatly on his lap and he rested his hands atop it absentmindedly, forcing his eyes to stare in a direction where nobody else could witness his tears.

He heard every raw and morbid word of the service.

Mary barely heard a single murmur.

Her head remained bowed throughout, to conceal her grief from the others. It was not proper to exhibit such displays of emotion when one was a lady- Fräulein Kelder had drilled such lessons into them many times and, dislike her as they did, Mary and Edith found them difficult to forget.

But once they were outside, standing around a newly dug crater as the coffin was slowly lowered beneath the earth they stood on, it proved difficult, for Edith especially, to keep her sobs in check.

She didn't want to say goodbye to him. Not yet. Not ever.

It was strange, for once in their lives the two sisters felt the same thing and acted in similar ways. They'd never been more distant from themselves than they had been in the past weeks. Part of their bitterness had ebbed away, seemingly to make way for the grief they both shared.

Sisterly compassion was a quality near never felt by either of them, unless it was directed toward Sybil, but in that moment, where they could both tell what the other was going through, there was a small inkling of empathy born.

Mary took her sister's hand and squeezed it.

Matthew had ventured through the village in search of a peaceful reprieve many times over the past weeks. His walks had taken him far a field and close to home in equal measure, giving him the opportunity to grieve for his best friend in solitude. In a way, school would be a relief from the constant reminders that Patrick wasn't with them now. Him being a year younger, Matthew would only see Patrick at meal times, in the dormitory, or on the cricket green.

They had no lessons in each other's company and the memories there would be mere infrequent recollections in comparison to the bombardment of flashbacks that accompanied him at Downton.

He still went with Robert on his rounds, he was to be trained up as the land agent and would not shirk his duties- especially given that the presence of the Earl set him more at ease rather than turning his mind to his missing friend. Pharaoh could almost bring a smile to his face, licking his hand as he walked and running ahead before bounding back to make sure Robert and Matthew were still following.

But sometimes, he sought out quiet moments to walk alone and when the funeral had brought his heart to the brink of breaking, he took the chance at the end to stride off, away from the crowd of guests, and everyone else that watched him leave with quiet sighs of a pitied sorrow. Robert had wanted to follow, Cora had urged him to go, but he had to play dutiful host of the reception and needed Reggie to assist him in the Augean task of streaming the guests to the house. Violet, in the end, sent Mary after him and faced little battle at the suggestion. Mary had neither the energy, nor the heart to refuse her granny's wish and so she walked calmly after him, shunting away her tears with a quick dab of her handkerchief.

His step was quick, his burning throat and throbbing eyes forcing his gait to drive his legs faster away before he broke from the pressure of having to see the golden emblazoned plaque reading Patrick James Crawley in neat and perfect lettering.

Turning a corner, his eyes tuned to the gravelled ground beneath his polished shoes, he ran headlong into someone and collided with them hard, being thrust backwards violently by their angered hands.

"Why don't you watch where you're goin'?" Came a loud shout from whomever it was. The voice was abrasive, harsh and cruel, and Matthew got up quickly, brushing himself up to apologise before the strangers could manage to lay eyes on each other. It became apparent when they did that they were not in fact strangers at all. And there were two of them, and one of Matthew.

"Sorry," he mumbled, distractedly, stepping aside to pass them to be on his way.

One of the boys stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

Matthew tried to move again, only to be stopped once more.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Home," Matthew said defiantly.

"Where's your mate?" One of them taunted, shoving his shoulder so hard, Matthew paced back a little.

He clenched his fist at his side. The bullying hadn't seemed so bad when he wasn't alone, but at the mention of Patrick's absence he felt his anger seize his insides in a way he had become somewhat accustomed to since that horrible day his mother had told him.

Isobel crouched in front of him, her face stern and eyes both soft with love and hard with resolve at

the same time. Matthew stayed still, staring at his mother while his stomach flipped and shrank and

became a bottomless chasm. He didn't register the movement of the cushions next to him as his

father sat down, nor did he feel the hand laid over his. He didn't hear whatever mumbling Reggie

said in his gentle voice.

"Matthew," his mother started, "I'm sure you've read in the paper about the Titanic."

There was a pause, a great void of quiet that throbbed in his ears and stung in his eyes. He knew what was

coming, but that didn't mean he had to accept it.

"Patrick said in his letter he was crossing in May," Matthew said, his tone even and emotionless.

Sure but unsure. Harsh and cold yet showing the tumult of emotion that threatened to burst

through him. He was right, he knew he was. Accept he wasn't. Not really.

"I'm so terribly sorry. I'm afraid that Patrick was on the list of passengers. He was not amongst those

on board the lifeboats. He wasn't picked up." Isobel told him.

"Matthew I'm so, so sorry."

There were tears in his mother's eyes. But there weren't tears in his.

Matthew did not move. His jaw tightened but his gaze did not waver from where it had been fixed

minutes ago. He sat stock still for a moment. It did not feel like shock. It did not take any time for the

news to sink in, it did so immediately, burning a lump to rise in his throat. He stood up rather

suddenly, leaving Isobel's hand to slip from his knee.

He nodded slowly, dumbly, and placed his other hand over his father's, patting it.

"I'm going to go for a walk," he announced, striding quickly passed his aggrieved and bewildered

parents, out the door.

"Someone should go with you..." Isobel went to the door and implored her son.

Matthew did not turn, instead saying, rather coldly, "I'm going alone."

"Dear, let him go." Reggie interjected. "Let him be alone for a moment."

He hardly knew what he'd done. One moment, he'd been still, and stoic, forcing his rage to contain within him. The next moment, his knuckles ached, bruised purple by the force of its collision with the larger boy's nose. The spark of fury flickered dangerously in his swimming eyes.

Mary rounded the corner just in time to see it. She stepped back, clapping a hand over her mouth to prevent her unwitting gasp from escaping her lips.

The boy threw all his power and weight into the fist that collided with Matthew's face. It hit his jaw with such force that he stumbled backwards, pain erupted from him on point of impact. The other one grasped him nastily with a hand either side of his head, bringing his knee cap to smash into Matthew's nose. There was a blunt crack before his head was released and he stumbled forwards. Matthew tackled one of them head on around the waist, forcing him onto the stone ground like he would have when playing rugby. The standing boy couldn't manage to push him off and Matthew sat astride his crumpled figure, one knee either side of his shoulders, and he sunk his fist into the boy's face. He did it again, and again, before the other one tugged Matthew off and thrust him hard, face first, against the stone wall. Matthew put up a good fight, especially given that there were two of them and one of him. He pushed one's head away and brought it slamming into the wall by his side. By this time, the other had gathered himself and he and his mate forced Matthew to the ground, kicking him where he lay under their feet on his front.

The larger boy continued to pummel him, knocking him senseless with the merciless toe of his boot but as Mary stepped around into view, finally gearing up the courage to stop them before they killed him, the other boy caught a glimpse of another person in the near vicinity and ran cowardly away.

Matthew managed to get up and throw the other one off him then, standing up carefully, he eyed the other boy, and pushed his back against the wall, crushing his throat with his forearm. Matthew seethed, and it was fair to say that nobody had ever seen him quite so terrifying- his eyes filled with the heated desire to kill.

"He's not worth it Matthew!" Mary yelled, frightened by the unnatural loathing and revulsion on Matthew's face. He didn't relent, keeping his arm pushed up harshly against the boy's throat, before there was an easing up in his eyes, and he bowed his head, weakening and giving up. His arm loosened and he looked away, seeing Mary stood behind him with a pleading gloss over her dark eyes.

Taking his opportunity, the boy kicked Matthew hard in the gut. In his weakened state, Matthew fell hard on all fours.

Mary looked at Matthew's sad eyes as he slowly lifted his head to look at her. She saw his cracked nose, his burst lip, the blood he spat out that had pooled in his mouth and dribbled clumsily down his chin, before he forced his trembling and bruised limbs to take his weight and compel himself to stand.

They boy shifted, readying himself to knock Matthew down again but, this time, Mary stepped in.

"Your father is Mr Crower," she told him sternly. "You live on the farm behind the river path."

The boy was silent.

"Do you know who I am?" Mary asked, cocking her head to the side, her confidence and calm resolve unparalleled to any this boy had seen before. She was beautiful and radiant, even in black, her posture held an importance, as did her strong voice and expensive attire.

"I know you're in my way, miss." He said, seething slightly but not daring to lay a finger on her.

"I would like to point out that your living is in Lord Grantham's gift, your school is funded by Lord Grantham's charities and your farm and home are on Lord Grantham's land. I hope it is not vulgar of me to suggest that you find some way to overcome your violence," Mary said coolly. She turned away and strode off, head held high, before remembering something and spinning back to catch the boy's eye.

"And I am not 'miss'" she added. "I am Lady Mary Crawley."

Her eyes glinted with a sly pleasure at the shocked and frightened look that overtook and contorted the boy's beaten features as she turned once more, taking Matthew's arm and walking away.

He limped, grimacing as they neared a bench in the open square and pulling his arm away to sit down. He couldn't bear this. The proximity in which they walked seemed ill-at-ease with the nature of their relationship. She hated him, tolerated him at best, and he couldn't stir himself to act as though her obvious loathing of him didn't hurt- when he was already hurting more than he had thought possible.

"Matthew are y…"

"Mary, please go back to the house," he shook his head, his tone uncharacteristically callous.

She frowned, irritant mingling with the myriad of feelings she already felt flooding through her stomach. She was about to object, and then her pride got the better of her.

"Fine."

And with that, she walked away.

They had been getting along strangely peacefully since he'd returned to Easter, perhaps some benevolent intervention had forged a sense of serenity between them in preparation for the tragedy that would befall, but she had actually been somewhat anticipating his return from school the past holiday.

It had been warm for an Easter in England. The grass shone a luxurious green in the glare of the afternoon sun and Mary sat despondently on the window seat, the book on her lap going unread in preference of gazing out onto the vast grounds.

"Lady Mary, if you insist on day dreaming rather than paying attention to your studies I shall have to detain you for an extra hour and you will miss tea." Fräulein Kelder insisted haughtily.

"But I can't miss tea!" Mary exclaimed without thinking.

"I assure you, you can and you will if you do not pay attention," came the disdainful reply.

Mary sighed, turning her attention back to the book after a short period of shooting an appropriately irritated glare at her maddening governess.

It was difficult, dull and outlandishly tiresome- she ended up reading over the same sentence multiple times without noticing; she supposed boys did not read such uninteresting works at their schools.

"I didn't know you thought so highly of Matthew," Edith smirked over the top of her own book at her sister's slip of the tongue, evidently enjoying the chance to tease Mary after she had so cruelly ratted her out to Fräulein only minutes earlier.

Mary frowned. It would be untrue to admit that Matthew's return for the holidays had not been on her mind at her exclamation, but that Edith had picked up on it irked her.

"If you must know, I am merely looking forward to seeing Sybil when nanny brings her in." Mary replied coolly.

Sybil at twenty months old was a joy to be around, she ran about quite happily and picked things up, examining them and running to give them to some poor unsuspecting person who most likely didn't want it- usually granny, which gave them all a good laugh.

Even so, Edith didn't quite believe her, and her suspicions weren't misplaced at all in this particular instance.

"Please be quiet, Lady Edith," Fräulein Kelder deadpanned, her monotone voice being enough to send both of her wards to sleep.

Mary shot her sister a nasty, smug look.

"And you too, Lady Mary."

Her smirk was wiped clean off her face.

It was merely a half hour later that they were dismissed to the library to tea, Robert and Cora were already settled in their respective seats, an excited Sybil was brought down by a thoroughly worn out nanny and Mary and Edith took their seats across from their parents, both drawing smiles at the sight of their delighted younger sister.

Sybil stumbled over to her sisters, brandishing a crushed bunch of purple flowers in her pudgy fist and giving half of the stems to either sister.

"Gift!" She announced, not noticing the bemused look on their respective faces. "Reggie walked me in the garden."

"That's lovely darling," Edith beamed.

"Yes, thank you very much," Mary agreed.

"Reggie coming," Sybil told them.

"Yes," Edith agreed. "Do you know who he's coming with?"

"Isobel!" Sybil shouted happily.

"And?" Edith nudged.

Sybil looked thoughtful for a second, frowning in concentration before turning at the sound of Carson announcing the guests.

"Maffew!" Sybil cried, racing her chubby little legs over to where Matthew stood smiling in the open doorway. He crouched when she neared him, roaring as he picked her up as if to pretend she had gotten heavy since he last saw her and swinging her up high above his head, standing up straight again as she giggled madly and grinned toothily at him. She threw her pudgy arms around his neck, playing mindlessly with his tie as he bounced her, walking over to where the others sat with their tea.

"How's my best girl?" he asked her affectionately.

"I good," she replied, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

Matthew sat down on the sofa next to Cora, placing Sybil on his lap and jogging her on his knee and Mary raised an eyebrow in mild shock and yet a small amount of admiration regarding Matthew's newfound confidence. He seemed different, as if, in Patrick's absence, his lessons had finally rubbed off on Matthew- giving him an assertive boldness he had never possessed or owned so well before. He wasn't cocky, or caddish as so many other boys his age were, and he wasn't quite as forwardly charming as Patrick but he was certainly growing less shy, less bashful, and it suited him well.

What really surprised her, was the way he'd changed so much in the last few months; she'd seen him at Christmas, of course, but he hadn't seemed so estranged then. She didn't know what she was expecting, a part of her still envisioned the seven-year-old she had once knew coming up to the big house to play hide and seek with her equally aged self. What she had not expected, however ludicrous it was to think otherwise, was a grown and sophisticated young man with perfect etiquette, impeccable manners, and engaging conversation. He was every bit the young man that everyone wanted in their son.

But there was something else. His voice had dropped in pitch a couple of years ago, she'd noticed that at the time, but there was a difference to him that had struck her upon his entrance. He'd grown older in appearance, as was to be expected, but it wasn't just that; she glanced gently into the cadence of his eyes, finding that their blue was the same and yet infinitely more striking. His blonde hair, still tousled and messy, suited him well. His stature was slimmer and more defined, his arms and chest more built beneath his shirt and jacket. His tender countenance and darker eyebrows seemed similar but changed. He was handsome, and very much so.

"How are you, Duck?" Cora asked, "I'm sure the last few months have been strange without Patrick."

Matthew nodded. "They have, of course they have. And much quieter as well," he laughed. "But he keeps me informed in his letters. They plan to cross to New York in May. It took him a while to get used to the idea, but I think he's quite excited."

"Well, that is good. I do worry about him, so far from home." Isobel mused.

"So do I, I must admit," Robert put in, taking his tea from the footman.

"I too!" Sybil squealed, not looking like she had a care in the world as she ran over to a chair, grabbed her rabbit toy and brought it back to Matthew, passing it eagerly to him and smiling widely as Matthew made it talk to her.

She giggled, taking the toy from him and running to get something else to give him.

Cora stopped her gently, not wanting her to repeat the time she knocked over a vase in her haste.

Mary, watching Sybil's eagerness with fondness, held her arms out for her. "Darling, come here."

Sybil happily bounced over to her sisters, using Mary's help to climb up onto the sofa and place herself in her eldest sister's lap. She reached out for Edith, playing distractedly with her fingers.

"You stole my best girl," Matthew accused, his eyes narrowing in jest at Mary sat on the opposite sofa.

"Perhaps she just prefers me," Mary shrugged, a light in her eyes that hinted toward her joke. "Who do you prefer Sybil darling? Me or Matthew?"

Matthew rolled his eyes, certain that the sisters had planned this between them, but, to his surprise, Sybil just shook her head, sliding a hand across her mouth then pressing her index finger to her lips in a shushing mime.

The rest of them all burst out into peels of laughter.

"You cheeky young rascal!" Robert exclaimed, snatching his youngest daughter from his eldest daughter's lap, throwing her up in the air and catching her as she screamed in delight.

Matthew caught Mary's eye, smiling in amusement.

"How are you?" He inquired, sipping his tea.

"Good, thank you," Mary nodded, "frightfully bored though. Fräulein Kelder is terribly dull, and I'm afraid she monopolises our time far more than she did when Patrick was here."

"He can charm anything," Matthew smiled, "Even the likes of Fräulein Kelder."

Mary had laughed at that. And it was the last time she had laughed. It was the last time Matthew had smiled, the last time Edith had played with a giggling Sybil, the last time tea in the library had been something more bearable than a torrid silence. The last time they'd thought Patrick and James were booked to leave in May. It was the last time they had expected Patrick to be returning home someday.

"Terribly sorry, Sir, but there is a visitor for you," Molesly announced to Reggie and Isobel.

"A visitor? We aren't expecting anyone tonight," Isobel frowned at her husband, the previous serene and gentle quiet of the drawing room now disturbed.

"Who is it, Molesly?" Reggie asked.

"It's Lord Grantham, Sir. He apologizes for coming so late and without warning, but he said it's urgent," Molesly announced.

Isobel's eyes narrowed in curiosity.

"Well, by all means show him in," Isobel said, glancing inquisitively at Reggie who simply shrugged in a non-committal answer.

Molesly bowed his head and opened the door for Robert to enter.

Reggie got up, shaking his friend's hand and inviting him to sit once he'd kissed Isobel's cheek in greeting.

"I truly am sorry to have come at such an inconvenient time," he told them.

"Nonsense," Reggie waved his hand in dismissal, "you're welcome any time, you know that."

"If this isn't an emergency, then what is so urgent, Robert?" Isobel asked politely.

"I won't take up much of your time, I'm sure you've both had busy days working. And I appreciate you allowing me in at this hour. I could have waited until you all come up to dinner tomorrow, but it's rather important news and I felt you should know before I tell the rest of the family."

"Very well." Reggie nodded. "Please, go ahead, would you like a drink?"

"Oh, no thank you. I won't be long. It's quite a delicate matter, given recent events."

"Yes?" Isobel asked, perplexed.

"Well," Robert continued, "I'm sure you are aware that James and dear Patrick were the next in line to take up my title upon my passing, and now given..." He gulped, pressing his sudden emotion below the surface, "the recent tragedy, my mother had pressured me to find the new heir."

Both Isobel and Reggie nodded solemnly.

"And you're having difficulty finding them? Is that what you require my assistance for?" Reggie queried, suddenly becoming aware of where he thought his friend was going.

Isobel did not jump to such conclusions quite yet.

"No, no," Robert shook his head. "No, Murray took care of the whole affair and came up with two names, of which we hadn't even been aware were even relatives."

"Oh," Reggie uttered, surprised. "But, I'm afraid, Robert, I still don't quite understand. What does this have to do with us?"

Isobel had a strange inkling that something life-changing was about to be revealed.

"It's Matthew." Robert said finally.

A silent pall passed over the room, in which Reggie attempted desperately to process this information. Matthew- his son, Matthew- was one-day to be the Earl of Grantham.

"Well," Robert continued, "Of course, it's really you- Reggie, but with us being the same age, it seems more appropriate for Matthew to be hailed at heir."

"I must say I agree with that," Isobel said.

Reggie had to say he thought the same. "I suppose he'll have to be told soon," he mused sadly, knowing it would be such a shock, such a change and such a reminder to his son over what he had lost.

"There's no getting out of it, I'm afraid." Robert said, his aggrieved expression showing his thoughts to be on similar lines to Reggie's. "He must be told as soon as possible so he can be trained up to the task as fully as possible. I know it's horrible, but the estate demands it."

"He'll understand that," Isobel said. "He'll be hurt, of course. But I believe he'll understand."

Only Matthew didn't understand.

They told him during dinner at the big house the night before he left for school, and though Mary and Edith had both been also terribly shocked and downright astounded by the news- as ground breaking as it was- where Mary had been angered that she'd been passed over her inheritance for the boy her father preferred, she had been significantly released of her irritant at Matthew's appalled reaction.

He'd been disbelieving at first, under the impression that the whole thing was some sick and heart-wrenching joke, and only realising the truth in the matter after surveying the painfully momentous expressions of his parents.

He'd shouted then. Angered, hurt, distressed and resenting at the very notion of being the one to replace Patrick. He didn't want this. He'd never envisioned this. He'd never ever even wished to own an estate or have a title or any of those things. They didn't matter to him. Not like Patrick did.

There had been a moment, before he stormed out, when Mary had been sure she'd seen tears in his eyes. Despite her indignant view if him and her vexation at his being the new heir, she couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

The next night, back in his dorm room at Eton and ashamedly glad at being away from the scrutiny of his parents and the family at the big house, Matthew was still distressed at the great matter. Although regretting his outburst at dinner, as he hadn't seen any of them again before he left on the train the next morning and wouldn't see them until he returned for the summer holidays, he still wallowed in the aching sensation the thought of taking Patrick's place brought him.

He opened his trunk to pull out his pyjamas, the darkened room lit by only his bedside lamp which served as proof that the other boys had already settled for the night, and found an unfamiliar rectangular object wrapped neatly in brown paper and string sitting at the very top of his things.

He picked it curiously out of the trunk, smoothing his palms slowly over the paper in perplexed intrigue. His fingers started to shake as he pulled the string, collecting it up and curling it into a ball that he placed gently in his bedside drawer. He removed the paper at an even slower pace, trembling at he slid the object out and folded the paper to stow with the string.

Bringing the gift into the light, he gasped in awe at the title on the cover in shimmering gold embroidered lettering.

Perseus and Andromeda.

He opened the cover to check for an inscription, but found there was none. Only the words: Matthew Reginald Crawley were written in beautifully curled expensive ink.

a/n: I am so sorry this took me so long to write and I'm sorry that I did what I did in respect of Patrick because I really had come to love his character in a strange way. Alas, Matthew needed to be the heir and there was only one way that was possible.