A/N : Okay so here's my first ever (and most likely my only) Cobert fanfic. I'm obviously a Banna shipper so I'm used to write my darlings and writing about another ship I don't ship more than that was a challenge but I just couldn't resist it. This is based on a French song called "Guerre, Guerre, Vente, Vent" (by Tri Yann) which I think suits Boer War era Cobert so much.
Hope you enjoy, please review my Cobert besties.
thanks to Julia for her beta reading and overall hyping of the story
"Après sept années de guerre, sept années de bâtiment
Après sept années de guerre, sept années de bâtiment
Je reviens de Grande-Terre, je reviens à Lorient
Je reviens de Grande-Terre
Guerre guerre, vente vent"
After three years in that dreadful, hot place, he was back in his dear Yorkshire. He could see the outline of the estate as the car got closer. He was home. He had done his duty, he had fought for his King and Country, and he had lived up to his status of Earl. The word "live" brought a horrible feeling in his body. He had survived, which was the only thing one could do in such conditions. He had only survived the rued war thanks to Sergeant Bates.Nevertheless, he was home. How he had missed his precious house. Downton had always been his (first and) greatest love - sometimes at the expense of his relationship with his family. The estate had been in the hands of the Crawley family for centuries, but to him it was much more than just an heirloom. He had heard his father say to him countless times that he was born here and hoped to die here, and Robert had made this motto his own. His father's wish had been granted, though unfortunately much too soon. He died aged only fifty-seven, a few months before Robert left for South Africa.
"J'ai passé des nuits entières, debout, au gaillard d'avant
J'ai passé des nuits entières, debout, au gaillard d'avant
Sous bons vents, sous vents contraires, sous la bise et les brisants
Sous bons vents, sous vents contraires
Guerre guerre, vente vent"
As the car drove nearer to the house, Robert's mind was filled with memories. He could see his impressive library in which he loved to read after dinner; the delicious food prepared by Mrs Patmore and most notably the bedroom he shared with his wife. Sleeping in his wife's bed would be a great and welcome change after the three years he spent sleeping in uncomfortable beds in dirty tents in the middle of the barren and blood-covered battlefield. So many of those nights had been spent dreaming of his cosy Yorkshire family home.
"Voyez mon sac de misère, lourd de coups, vide d'argent
Voyez mon sac de misère, lourd de coups, vide d'argent
Allez dire au Capitaine, j'ai obéi trop souvent
Allez dire au Capitaine
Guerre guerre, vente vent"
A strange sensation spread throughout his whole body as he finally passed the gates of the estate. The car pulled into the driveway and stopped in front of the door. Robert was met with the familiar faces of his butler Carson and his valet Watson. The latter took his meagre luggage from him, nothing more than the bag he had taken with him to South Africa. His baggage might be light, but his heart was heavy.
"Bonjour ma mie qui m'est chère, revoilà ton cher amant
Bonjour ma mie qui m'est chère, revoilà ton cher amant
Je suis las de trop de guerres, sans voir grandir mes enfants
Je suis las de trop de guerres
Guerre guerre, vente vent"
As he entered the hall, he was met by his wife and their daughters. Nanny must have brought them down to meet him, and how happy he was that she did. He didn't have the time to get reacquainted with his surroundings, because his little girls were already hugging him tightly. Robert marvelled at how grown up they were. Three years was a long time to be separated from the ones you loved, especially at such a young age. Sybil was now seven, Edith was eleven and Mary twelve. They were little ladies now. Cora had told him in her letters how Mary always begged her to have one of the housemaids - a girl named Anna, who was a few years older than Mary - as her own lady's maid. He turned around to look at his wife, whose eyes were filled with tears.
"I'm home" he whispered, his emotions catching up with him.
"And I'm really glad you are," Cora replied with a smile, before kissing him.
The kiss made the time stand still and everything around them disappear. It felt as if they were the only ones in the world. How he had missed her tender kisses, her delicious scent and the way she pronounced his name as she kissed him. The word was uttered as if she tried to cling to him, as if he was going to disappear any minute and she wanted to make sure he was real. He had often thought about how it would be if he were to die in battle during the last two years. He had resented the thought but it was inevitable when one was faced with death on a daily basis. He had thought of his poor Cora, heartbroken, with only their daughters as a reminder of him. He had stayed up on several nights, overwhelmed by the regrets he had about his married life. He had been nothing more than another fortune hunter, desperate to save his family's estate… Yet he had been happier than he deserved with his wife, he had loved- he loved Cora with all his heart. The thought that he had wasted their first years together was what had kept him awake at night. He would make up for this for the rest of his life, he promised himself as their kiss came to an end.
"J'ai reçu tes mille lettres, par le rossignol chantant
J'ai reçu tes mille lettres, par le rossignol chantant
Je t'écrivais moins peut être, je t'envoyais des rubans
Je t'écrivais moins peut être
Guerre guerre, vente vent"
After his encounter with his wife and children in the hall, Robert went upstairs to freshen up before dinner. He had travelled for days and could do with a break, but his mother and his cousin James with his wife would be here to welcome him back. He had to fight the desperate desire to go to bed already. He went to his dressing room, where Watson had already unpacked his bag and had prepared a new suit for him to change into. Robert would ring for him once he had splashed his face with water. Before he rang for Watson, he noticed a stack of letters neatly put on his bedside table. He recognized them from how dirty and worn out they were: Cora's letters. He had read them so often to the point of knowing their content like one would know a poem. They had been his beacon during those hot and dusty nights when he couldn't sleep. Being a Captain meant he had to put up a brave face for the soldiers under his protection and authority. The poor men were already too frightened, he couldn't let them down. But the truth was, he was just as frightened as they were by the possibility of suddenly dying without being able to say goodbye to his loved ones. He had to bottle his emotions to ensure good morale among his men. Only when the men were asleep, could he unleash his worst nightmares. Sometimes, he had found that sleep came just as hard to his batman, Bates. He had been awake during the nights quite often and they had shared a drink and talked about home. The man had often told him how lucky he was to go home to a loving wife and children and had shared his envy during the darkest nights. At this moment, as he was reading through his wife's letters once again, Robert wondered how this Bates fellow was faring, especially because of what happened. He felt guilty, deep down, that he had come back untouched, while his brother in arms would forever bear the mark of that awful war.
Bewitched by his wife's tender and loving words, Robert didn't hear someone entering the room. He thought it was Watson, and was ready to tell him to come back later. The man was a good employee, but there was something off with him. Robert couldn't confide in him. It hadn't really mattered before, but Robert had learned during his time abroad that having a confidant could be beneficial. The voice of his wife dragged him from his reading.
"You kept my letters," she whispered sweetly.
"Every one of them", he replied in a beat, rising from the bed to hug his wife tightly. "Oh darling, I missed you so much". He couldn't help the tears rolling down his cheeks.
"So have I, Robert. But you're here now" she patted his back as she heard his tearful voice.
"I meant to write back more often…I just couldn't" he pulled away to search through his pockets, from one of which he took out a red ribbon. "I bought it in one of the villages"
"Oh, Robert, it's beautiful" Cora thanked him with a kiss.
"I'm not as skilled as your maid, but I could tie it for you ?", he suggested with a shy smile, which reminded Cora of the first days of their courtship.
"O'Brien did my hair, she'd hate me if you undid everything. I could wear it as a bracelet ?", she suggested, to which he nodded. Silently and ever so softly, he tied the ribbon around her delicate wrist. They gazed lovingly at each other before their lips met in a more intimate kiss than the one they had shared earlier.
"Mes amis plus que naguère, vous me verrez bien souvent
Mes amis plus que naguère, vous me verrez bien souvent
Après tant d'années de guerre, j'aurai tant et tant de temps
Après tant d'années de guerre
Guerre guerre, vente vent"
Unfortunately, she told him he needed to get changed because his mother and cousins had already arrived. So, after Watson had helped him get ready, he went downstairs to the drawing room, where his family was already waiting for him. He embraced his cousin and his wife as well as a young man - well he couldn't be older than fifteen - who he suspected was their son Patrick. His world had changed so much in the span of just two years, and that thought made Robert's head turn a little. His mother gratified him with an awkward yet loving embrace only Violet Crawley could master.
The dinner was eventless. His family refrained from talking about the war, rather engaging in trivial talk about their life. Robert was particularly happy to hear about his girls.
Etiquette demanded that he never spend too much time with his daughters, but he had missed them nevertheless. In the next few months, he would make the most of his time with them. Life was too short and precious to waste those moments. He spent the moments he wasn't talking simply looking at his wife, who was as gorgeous as she had ever been. He marvelled at how lucky he had been to marry such an incredible woman. Their love story hadn't been the most romantic at the start, but they had indeed lived a great love story. And he hoped they would for many more years to come.
"De Lorient à Grande-Terre, vent arrière, vent devant
De Lorient à Grande-Terre, vent arrière, vent devant
Les fleurs d'hiver étaient belles, elles annonçaient le printemps
Les fleurs d'hiver étaient belles
Guerre guerre, vente vent"
The last time he had seen Downton, winter was starting to show. He returned in the spring; a season which held many hopes and love, that stood for new beginnings. After months of metaphorical winter he spent on the battlefield, everything came back to life, blooming and blossoming more than ever.