My beloved readers,

More than a year has passed since Henry's rebuild, and things have been looking up for the green Princess Royal; the express has grown in light of his increased power, and runs faster than ever before. Henry himself has reported that he's never felt better, and that his accident seemed to have done wonders for him in the end.

But, you might be wondering, what about our original chief express engine?

What about our number four?

What about… Gordon?

Well… see for yourself.

From,

the writers.

What If Henry was rebuilt as a Princess Royal

Story 1, Part 2: Rivals - Part 2

Written by memesandtreasure

Proofread and Corrected by the S:TTS Team

Sodor hadn't been so peaceful in so long, at least not since before the Great Depression began; holiday makers were starting to make their rounds once again, goods traffic had finally reached a semblance of normalcy, the economy had begun recovering, and the engines were getting along better than ever.

Of course, with peace comes change; Henry, now a Princess Royal, had been such a success, especially with the express, that he was promoted to the train's chief engine. He now makes the same runs from the big station to Barrow that Gordon used to, with a few differences from his predecessor; his superior tractive effort and power let the train become longer and heavier, while his higher coal and water capacity meant he ran with fewer stops to stock up his tender. These factors, in combination with his new-found nonstop high speed capabilities, resulted in an even tighter timetable and an even more prestigious service, something Henry takes much pride in.

As for Gordon, now a secondary express engine, he had been relegated to fast, semi-fast, and local passenger workings, often pulling goods trains as needed; many an engine would have loved to be in his position, but Gordon himself wasn't among them, having grown accustomed to his former position as the Wild Nor' Wester's primary engine, and feeling that he deserved to stay as such after his 13 year tenure on the job.

Still, Gordon had an image to maintain, so he stayed respectfully silent when Henry received his promotion; instead, he'd try to outdo him while also pointing out everything he did wrong. Of course, it backfired in the form of Sudrian karma, like when he said that Henry whistled too much, only for his own whistle to jam and make people and engines alike think that air sirens were going off. Then, he kept trying to outdo Henry's first run with the Wild Nor' Wester, only to feel a sharp pain from working his cylinders and valve gear to their utmost limits; his most recent act was an effort to pull more than Henry could, but again, he almost worked his cylinders into oblivion.

From there, Gordon went about his work diligently, but silently; he only spoke when spoken too, didn't dare to strike up a conversation with anyone, especially Henry, and kept to himself, even around the likes of James. Gordon the big blue engine, once the pride of the line, now felt completely and utterly alone, embittered by what he saw as a coup on his social standing on the NWR.

It would be on this day though, that he'd receive another chance.

1938, Summer, Tidmouth Sheds:

Gordon laid still in his berth, keen on resting before returning to work. It was a beautiful day, sunlight bathing his boiler as birds flew about, singing in the air; Gordon took no notice and kept his eyes shut. Life had lost its color, time slowed, and he was miserable without the express. As much as he respected Henry for being able to take it from his buffers, and as proud as he was for him doing so, he still hated that it was taken from him at all.

"It should be me who's out there right now, pulling those passengers, running down the mainline, the wind in my face."

It wasn't all bad, as Gordon found he didn't need to push himself very hard or long on the other trains, unlike before, but he felt like they just couldn't compare.

"It just isn't the same anymore," he muttered.

Gordon almost fell back into his bored lull, but the familiar sound of shoes grinding against gravel had caught his attention. Looking around, he eventually caught sight of none other than the Fat Director himself, Bertram Topham Hatt.

"Gordon."

"Sir."

"...How has it been?"

"Slow."

"Mm. Well, I can't say that neither you nor I shouldn't have expected this."

"Yes."

"...Gordon, are you still mad?"

"Mad? No."

"Gordon, it wasn't personal."

"I know that."

"Want something to take your mind off of it?"

"Anything will work, I guess. Is it a goods train?"

"Oh, no. Something else actually, and it's been way overdue for a long time now."

"...What?"

"Tell me, have you ever wanted to meet your designer again?"

"Sir Nigel Gresley? Yes."

"Have you ever wanted to meet William Stanier?"

"Not until Henry's rebuild, no. As of now though, sure."

"Good to hear, because we'll be leaving for the mainland to meet with them in a week."

"Oh, okay… wait, what?"

But Gordon wouldn't get an answer to his question, for Bertram had driven away in his tiny blue car.

"...What's going on?"

One week later:

Seven days had finally passed, and the time had come for Gordon to make a trip, either to Doncaster or Crewe; he could recognize that his designer, Sir Nigel Gresley, and also the man who gave Henry his rebuild, Sir William Stanier, were both involved, but he had found it quite hard to figure out how the pair fit. Sure, he'd find an answer upon reaching his destination, but he would much rather know right away than wait for an answer.

"Oh, hello there, Gordon."

Gordon looked to platform one; next to him was Henry, attached to the Wild Nor' Wester and ready for action, while Gordon himself was coupled to the Limited.

"...Henry. I didn't see you there."

"Beautiful day out, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"...I heard you're going somewhere on the mainland."

"That is correct, yes."

"Interesting. Do you know why?"

"Something about meeting with my designer and yours."

"Which one?"

"The one who rebuilt you."

"So Sir Nigel and William are gonna be meeting with you and Sir Topham?"

"With how fast you are, I'm surprised you took so long to piece it together. Are you going soft in the smokebox by any chance?"

"Oh, shut up, would you?"

"You first."

"Hmph..."

"..."

Deafening silence fell between the two, lasting several painfully long moments, until one of them had found the courage to speak up once more.

"...Good luck on the mainland."

"Thanks. You too... with the express."

The first whistle blew, signalling for Henry to pull away with his coaches, leaving Gordon alone once again. He took one last deep breath before the next whistle came, and when it did, he set off on his journey, curious to see what awaited him on the mainland.

10 hours later:

Finally, Gordon had arrived; Bertram had been granted permission to run his engines on LMS metals as needed, and in this case, getting his A0 to his destination required doing so. The trip began from Barrow-in-Furness, where Gordon took Arnold's passenger train from him, as the mogul had a pickup goods to haul. Departing from Barrow, Gordon and the North Western's director made the journey towards London, reaching Euston, and then making a departure from King's Cross with a rake of Gresley teak coaches.

As he thundered down the mainline, Gordon thought he would have been satisfied with pulling another express, only to be surprised with the fact that it didn't fill his heart with the same rush the Wild Nor' Wester did at all. For a time, he thought something was wrong with him, and that he, as an express engine, should have taken joy in such an act, but luckily for him, he was able to push it out of his mind upon seeing the name of the station he stopped at.

"Doncaster…"

Moments later, passengers flooded out of the coaches and onto the station platform as Gordon was uncoupled from them, while Sir Topham climbed into his cab to go the rest of the way.

"Sir, did you bring me here for a nostalgia trip?"

"No. At least, not solely because of that reason. You'll know once I get the details ironed out with your designer and William, hopefully by tomorrow."

"...Alright. Let's see if I can remember the way."

Gordon breathed in familiar air, glad to be back after so long; soon, he found the workshop where he had been built itself, as well as several sheds dotted about the yard. Finding one that he liked, Gordon slowly parked himself upon a turntable, and waited for it to position him in front of the berth. When it did, he backed down tender-first into some buffers, waited for his crew to dump his embers and douse his fire before making their departure to a temporary residence, and finally took the opportunity to relax. Gordon was now in old stomping grounds, his spirits lifted at least for now, and a happier engine overall.

As Bertram made his departure to Doncaster's meeting room, Gordon whistled with what little steam he had to get his attention.

"Sir, I just want to say… Thank you for bringing me here."

"No need to do so yet, Gordon. This is only half of the surprise, after all."

"...What's the other half?"

But Gordon's question went unanswered, for Sir Topham had already walked out of earshot.

"...What is with him and being so cryptic with me these days?"

2 hours later:

Gathered about were the powers behind the works of Doncaster, Crewe, and Crovan's Gate; standing against the walls and around the table, they were akin to palace guards, silent and at the ready.

At the head was Sir Bertram Topham Hatt, with Sir Herbert Nigel Gresley by his left and Sir William Arthur Stanier by his right. A leather suitcase rested on the table, unlocked and ready for its content to be pulled out.

"Gentlemen."

A chorus of greetings flooded the room, before Sir Topham Hatt silenced them with a single gesture.

"A good day to the rest of you as well. Now, you're all probably curious about why we've gathered here in the first place."

"Well, isn't it about rebuilding that A1 prototype out there into an A3? Sounds like a job Doncaster can handle by itself, now doesn't it?", inquired the chief draughtsman of the LNER.

"Not exact-"

"So you're saying Crewe's not up to snuff?", a blast pipe caster from the LMS shot back.

"No. Just unnecessary. Besides, anyone with even the most miniscule shred of common sense knows that you can't trust the LMS to know how to handle a proper engine," retorted a boiler tube fitter.

"You little-"

"ENOUGH," boomed the Chief Mechanical Engineers and the director.

The room fell silent in respect, as order restored itself once more.

"We're here to collaborate, not tear each other to pieces over where we come from," spat Nigel.

"Exactly. Rivalries don't matter," added William Stanier. "Not when we all have a reason to come together."

William turned in his chair to face Sir Topham Hatt, ready with an apology.

"Sorry about that, Bertram. Why don't you start us off, since Gordon's your engine?"

"Thank you, William, and I will."

Sir Topham then opened up his suitcase, pulling out packets, handing them to his assistants so they could pass them out to the others.

"Now then, these first papers detail the profit figures of the North Western Railway upon my number three's rebuild into a Princess Royal, courtesy of a favor from William, who I can't thank enough for helping out the North Western all those years ago."

"It was my pleasure."

As the workers read the figures, they found themselves perplexed by what laid before them, with one finding the courage to speak up about it.

"Hold on. Your railway is on an island, right? It's been years since the Great Depression, and your passenger traffic still makes quite a bit more than your goods work, when it should be the other way around, especially with where that railway of yours is positioned. Why is this discrepancy here in the first place?"

"Good question. But first, what's your name?"

"Jacob Anderson. Was I out of line?"

"No, but you have brought me to my first point: my number three, Henry."

Sir Topham folded his hands, and rested his arms on the table, ready to tell the story.

"Henry wasn't always intended to be a Princess Royal. You see, William had proposed different designs for him to be rebuilt into after his accident, and a grand total of three options were laid out for me at Crewe when I got there; they were a Stanier Class 5 4-6-0 for mixed traffic duties, an LMS 8F 2-8-0 for goods workings, and finally, a Princess Royal 7P 4-6-2 express passenger engine. Since passenger trips had turned into our lifeline, I chose the plans for a Princess Royal, as Lizzies would allow for more coaches to be hauled over the Preston Incline without the need for a banker. In the end, I believed that I chose well, if the state of my railway is anything to indicate."

"If you chose well, you wouldn't be needing to look towards any of us for help."

"Exactly, which brings me to goods profits; Henry's rebuild has proven to be a very helpful boon to our passenger network, but not so much for our freight department."

"Who normally works the trains?"

"Nine Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway Class 25s and a single Class 28, all rebuilt into moguls, and our passenger engines whenever they can be spared. Ever since our Stirling Single and the other tank engines were sent away, we've been struggling just to get by and survive without their support."

"That bad?", questioned a concerned William.

"Yes, and the remainder are either becoming more underpowered, or they weren't built to handle those sorts of trains from the get-go. Henry's the strongest, but he's so busy with the Wild Nor' Wester, Gordon has to pick up his slack; he has even larger driving wheels than our number three, so you can imagine the trouble he goes through to handle our heaviest loads."

"...Alright then. We're all ready to get to work, but we'll need to see your designs to begin."

"Lucky for all of you, I do, thanks to the input of Sir Nigel and William."

Reaching into the suitcase again, Sir Topham had pulled out a single sheet of massive parchment, wrinkled and worn by the sheer amount of time spent designing and refining its contents as necessary. Rolling it out, drawings were revealed, accompanied by clusters of numbers and figures, some of which were quite perplexing to read.

"The specifications listed are based on the most extreme principles employed by the big four; these include larger cylinders, smaller driving wheels, and higher boiler pressure to increase tractive effort and enable the pulling of heavier loads, a larger firebox for easier steaming, removal of the inner cylinder, and the strengthening of his frames to withstand the modifications, all in an effort to minimise maintenance and maximise performance of our number four, Gordon. Any questions?"

"How expensive do you expect this rebuild to be?", an accountant probed.

"Quite a bit, since nothing like it's been done before, but feasible if we all pitch in. Besides, Gordon's return to service will more than pay for it."

"Why only two cylinders? Why not three or four?", asked a cylinder caster. "They'd be smaller, make it easier to clear your loading gauge."

"Well, I've found that working with inner cylinders in general is quite painful for everyone involved, especially when it comes to Gordon's conjugated valve gear."

"Hey!"

"Plus, these 22 by 30 inch two outer cylinders on their own will be able to generate more than enough tractive effort with a 250 psi boiler and seventy four inch driving wheels. Furthermore, the NWR loading gauge is more than generous enough to allow these measurements. Is that enough of an answer for your question?"

"More than plenty. And I'm guessing that the reinforcement of the frames is so that your number four can withstand his own newfound might."

"Correct. Now, we all lead very busy lives, so a way to send each other updates without obstructing anything in our schedules will be paramount to this project, since each of us have to make different parts for Gordon in light of our respective specialties. So, if we could establish how to do that before we get to work, that'd be great."

"Well, Arthur can cover me as needed, but if he can't be reached, you'll have Thompson instead; I'd take Oliver any day, but he's with the Southern now. William?"

"Charles can do the same. Currently though, he's chatting with someone named Robert; haven't personally met him that often, but he's pleasant. What about you, Bertram?"

"Well, my assistants are handling affairs for me at home, but I do recall that my railway's Chief Mechanical Engineer does have at least one assistant to help him out as needed."

"Well, I do believe that our agreement is settled. Isn't that right, Gresley?"

"It is. Tomorrow, we will begin with the rebuilding of Bertram's number four, but tonight, a celebration is in order. Drinks are on us!"

"And then I walked out of there to catch you up on the other half of your surprise."

"That explains the screaming."

"They're incredibly loud, yes, but the thing you should be taking away from what I've told you is that you're gonna be revolutionary; with this rebuild, you'll be one of the strongest engines in Britain, and the first of a new kind of engine on two fronts. You'll be able to do away with both goods and passenger trains better than ever before, freeing up the other engines to work where they're sorely needed. Doesn't that sound incredible?"

"That… is a tantalizing prospect."

"It does. So, the only question is… do you want it?"

"...Sir, how long have you known?"

"I might be your controller, but I'm also a railwayman at heart, Gordon. Ever since Henry had his rebuild, you've been… off lately. So, tell me what's bothering you."

"...It began on the mainland. I knew the fate of prototypes then, and I know it now; being a prototype means a final firing first, the cutter second, unless someone were to buy you up before it comes. You gave me that chance, and I've been grateful ever since."

"The strike you held says otherwise."

"And I've only held even more respect for you ever since. Anyway, once you brought me into the fold, I was promoted to being the North Western Railway's chief express engine, and the story only unfolded from there, especially after that protest; I truly thought things would've stayed the same, I did, but I was wrong. The consequences of every action, all of them we've ever made, caught up to us after what James did. Henry didn't agree with that cheap batch of coal, and kept steaming poorly, prompting both you and the board to bring in the Welsh coal, and Klondike too. The bastard almost killed Henry, and I felt like blame could only be put on me; I rallied two of my friends into a strike, and I nearly killed one in the aftermath, all because I couldn't handle shunting. Still sickens me to this day."

"Gordon, it's-"

"With Henry's return, I felt all sorts of things: relieved he was safe, proud of a successor, envious of a thief, and angered by the loss of what I thoroughly believed to be mine, and mine alone. Those last two were why I tried to outdo him, but of course, all of those efforts failed. Then one day, as I was going about with a goods train, a thought had finally occurred to me. What if I didn't deserve the express in the first place? What if everything I've ever been handed had all been undeserved?"

"That's not-"

"The LNER got rid of me, and for good reason. It took too long for me to understand, not until my wake up call, but Henry made my replaceability clear. If he can do it, then who's to say no one else can, that someone better won't come along and be worthier? There's no point in keeping me around is what I'm saying, Sir Topham, let alone in rebuilding me so extensively. That's why I don't want to go through with this, because there's someone better out there, because I mean nothing, I don't matter at all, and I… I'm sorry."

"Gordon, I understand where you're coming from, but with all due respect… you couldn't be any further from the truth."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me; Gordon, you mean everything to the NWR, and all of us who work under its banner. Sure, you've done some bad things during your time on Sodor, and you were sold to us because the LNER didn't want you, but that was then, and this is now. Do you understand how vital you were during the Great Depression, how essential you still are? You're one of the North Western's strongest engines, second only to Henry; without you, we'd have fallen behind on the goods trains piling up at the harbors. We'd do everything we can to keep you with us, and you're not as replaceable as you think. If you were sold off, then Henry and James would've lost a friend after everything they've been through, I would've been down an engine that I've come to know and love, and the rest would then follow suit soon after. Don't you see how much we've needed you? The gratitude you've received from the other engines whenever you take a hard job off of their hands?"

"I did, but I thought I was merely being… pitied upon."

"You weren't. We care for you, Gordon. Sodor cares for you, and I know that deep down in your boiler, you care for the island and our railway as well. You shouldn't have to think like this, or feel the need to, not when we need you. Not when I… need you."

"I understand. I'll accept the rebuild, if only to be of greater help. I just don't know if it'll… work or not, you know?"

"Gordon, this will work. Besides, if the collaborative might of three locomotive works isn't enough for the job, then I'll find a way to drag Swindon into it."

"Sir, please don't turn me into a Castle."

"After the humiliation your brother went through, I wouldn't dream of it."

And for what felt like the first time in ages, Gordon and Sir Topham Hatt shared a mighty laugh, a weight lifting itself off of the engine's boiler; minutes later, alone once again, but with a mind as clear as the night that knew he truly wasn't, Gordon slowly drifted into his first peaceful rest in quite a while. As he did, he began to dream of a better tomorrow, a new life, and the day he'd get to see Sodor again, happier than he ever was before.

The next day:

Gordon had been shunted into Doncaster work's main facility by one of its tank engines, unaware that he would be striking up conversations with the men who were supposed to administer the green water into his system before the rebuild was to begin.

"So, I don't think I'll be able to leave these works under my own power, now will I?"

"No. Not really; you're a Sudrian design intended to represent the utmost limits of British engineering capabilities. I don't think you're going to be leaving the island without a lorry anymore."

"...Oh."

"Do you have a problem with that?"

"No. I might get called too fat to work by some of my coworkers, but they'll all be singing my praises when I'm finished with testing my limits."

"Or they won't, and you'll make a fool of yourself."

"That too."

"Mm."

On the bright side, the conversations were pleasant, keeping up until Gordon's designer stepped out from his office and into the open, intent on seeing his old prototype.

"Gordon."

"Mr. Gresley."

"How's it been on Sodor?"

"It's been peaceful for the most part, with the exception of a few… incidents."

"So I've heard. Do you want to… talk about it?"

"Honestly… not really. I don't feel comfortable doing that out in the open."

"That's fine. Although, for what it's worth, I'm proud of you, Gordon. You've made quite a name for yourself while you were away, and it's nothing less than an honor to rebuild the one who started off my exceptional career, let alone designing you in the first place."

"Thank you, and it's been an honor to have such an incredible man be my designer."

Sir Nigel Gresley nodded back in respect, before he and Gordon gave the signal to pour and pump the green water into the latter's systems; it took only a minute for the water to take effect, and less for Sir Nigel Gresley to give the all-clear. Gordon's rebuild was now in its beginnings, and nothing could keep it from reaching its endgame.

One year later:

The first thing he felt was this blazing heat in his firebox, followed by the familiar warmth of steam creeping its way into his cylinders. He reveled in the feeling he was deprived of for what had been far too many long and agonizing months. The engine would've gotten lost in the sensation, had a man not dumped his fire and interrupted the moment.

"Oi, what are you-"

"Calm down, Gordon."

"Sir Nigel? What are you-"

Stopping himself short, Gordon could recall everything from before being dosed with the green water, including… how he was supposed to get to Sodor in the first place.

"Sir Nigel."

"Yes?"

"Am I higher off the ground, or did the world around me shrink?"

"You're higher off the ground."

"So this is the…"

"Yes, Gordon. This is the lorry that's taking you back home."

"And this lorry has a name. I'm Mark. You were loaded onto me an hour ago."

"Oh… wait, no one bothered to fire me up before I was loaded onto a lorry?"

"If you were conscious, you could have fussed about too much and been dropped rather than gently laid on Mark here. That would've set us back by months," Sir Nigel added to defuse the situation.

"...That's fair. Still doesn't take the sting out from having to travel by road and lorry."

"I'M RIGHT HERE."

"It still doesn't change the humiliation."

"I will-"

"That's enough," cut in an agitated Sir Nigel Gresley, promptly turning to face Gordon.

"...Sorry about that. You know how it is."

"Yes, I do, but that doesn't give you the right to act that way. You're not infallible, okay?"

"I understand."

"Good. Now, a few things before you go. First, the matters of your tender, which you can find over at Crovan's Gate apparently."

"Why so far away?"

"Well, they've already built something like it for Henry over on Sodor to lessen fuel stops on your mainline for the express from what I've heard, and it's been streamlined too."

"As for mine?"

"Unstreamlined variant, of course, but both seem to take reference from the LNER; your tender seems to be our six-wheeled group standard placed on an eight wheel base, and scaled up to fit your proportions, while Henry's seems to take stock from our streamlined non-corridors."

"Ah. Sir Topham's really thought things through for us, hasn't he?"

"That he has. Speaking of which, he's also had you painted in unlined black."

"…Wait, what?"

"Yeah. He said that he'd tell you about it after your trial runs, which brings me to my third point; Gordon, I wish you the best of luck on Sodor. You'll do us proud. I know it."

"Thank you, Sir Nigel. I promise that I'll at least try my best."

"That you will, Gordon. That you will."

With that, Sir Nigel Gresley walked back to his office, waving goodbye until Mark's driver made his return and started up his engine, steadily making their way to Sodor; Gordon's return had finally begun, and there was nothing capable of stopping him from doing so.

Many long hours later:

The journey home had been arduous and grueling, but not because of treacherous road conditions; no, it was because Gordon and Mark had been arguing for the entire journey to the island of Sodor, with Allen, Mark's tired driver, caught in the middle.

"What did I do to deserve this?", Allen thought to himself as the two machines kept at it.

Gordon and Mark had cycled through many topics by this point, but were at each other's throats over which form of transportation was better, railways or roadways.

"US ENGINE CAN HANDLE HEAVIER LOADS!"

"AT LEAST WE LORRIES CAN MAKE OUR WAY UP ACTUAL GRADIENTS!"

"WELL, I DON'T SEE YOU CLIMBING A MOUNTAIN!"

"I DON'T SEE YOU DOING THE SAME!"

"One more hour. One more hour."

Luckily for Allen, he made it to Barrow right before he would have snapped at the pair of sentient machinery, heading down to one of the local pubs after parking his lorry and the load he carried near an LBSCR H1 waiting patiently with the breakdown train.

"They're your problem now!", he yelled to them, hastily making his leave.

"...What's his issue?", a curious workman muttered.

"Isn't it obvious?", snarked another, jabbing a finger at an arguing Gordon and Mark.

The men and Yang listened to the verbal sword fight continue as they lifted Gordon onto the rails and off of the flatbed, kept listening as Yang made her way to the turntable, and still watched the verbal lashing they gave each other as Yang coupled up to Gordon.

"YEAH, THAT'S RIGHT. YOU BETTER RUN."

"I'M NOT-"

"Come on, you big baby. We're leaving for the workshop."

"But I'm not-"

"We're going. Now."

Yang roughly yanked Gordon's coupling chain, pulling him away from his opponent.

"THIS ISN'T OVER!"

"OH, DON'T I KNOW IT!"

As Gordon was dragged away to the works, Yang chose to speak up once Mark was out of earshot, not wanting to be subjected to the lorry's ranting and raving.

"Gordon, what the hell's wrong with the both of you?"

"I started it by making some off-hand comments about the humiliation of having to travel by road to Mark over there. Then he insulted me, and it escalated from there."

"...Why?"

"...I don't know. I guess I've always had a temper. At least he'll be here tomorrow so that I can apologize to him, assuming his driver has a hangover by then."

"...Wow. You actually want to apologize? Who are you, and what have you done with the real Gordon?"

"Ha ha, very funny. Despite what many think, no, I'm not soulless. I have a heart, and I'd appreciate it if people treated me as such."

"Our little civil war says otherwise."

"I'm a changed engine, and thought it over quite a bit. I never did apologize to either you or Ruby, so I'd like to rectify that; Yang, I'm… sorry. It was wrong of me to have done the things I did back in 1934, and I'd like to wish Ruby my sincerest condolences."

"Thanks, but… why now? Why not earlier?"

"You were angry at me, and for good reason. I… couldn't force myself to face the shame of my entitlement. That, and you're… genuinely terrifying when you're mad."

Yang gave a light chuckle.

"So I've been told. Don't worry though, it's only when I have valid reasons to be such."

"Yes, that is true, but what if you misjudge the situation?"

"What do you mean?"

"You heard me. Yang, you got angry at me for good reason, and Henry and James too. I shouldn't have let my emotions control me, and neither should they, but you're doing the same thing we did back then."

"I'm not letting my entitlement control me."

"No, but your anger is. Blowing up at the wrong person could be disastrous."

"Haven't-"

"Adora. My cousin. The B17 who came in to help us while Henry was on life support. Do you remember her?"

"...You know what? That's fair. I'll be more careful. I promise."

"Good. Also, we've got to get Ruby and James to actually talk about what happened. It's definitely not healthy for one to keep snapping at the other, and for the other to not learn from his mistakes and keep being… himself."

"Yeah… I'll see what I can do."

"Good. Same here."

The conversation had died down with that final remark, the silence persisting between the pair of tender engines until they finally made it to their destination at Crovan's Gate Works.

"Well, we've finally made it. I believe your tender is somewhere in the back of one of the berths inside, already stocked up on coal and water, and painted black as well."

"Thanks. I know it might be a bit much, but do you think you could shunt me onto it?"

"No problem. I'm already here anyway, so I just need to find… that."

Looking around the yard, Yang spotted a turntable lying in wait, slowly inching towards it with Gordon right behind her, coming to a stop late enough for her leading bogie to lay a few inches away; not a moment sooner, workers came out to uncouple her from Gordon and prepare to turn the both of them around as needed. Yang went onto the device first, gaining a better view of her surroundings as she was carefully rotated around. This view would allow her to make her way around the intricate web of points to push Gordon onto the turntable from behind, tender-first.

"Say, you've gotten better at shunting since I last saw you. Are you training to become a station pilot by any chance?"

"And put Percy out of a job? Definitely not. Since when did you gain a sense of humor?"

"It's something I'm trying out to make myself less of an ass. Is it working?"

"Well, it certainly is for me. Don't push it though."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Gordon chuckled, the turntable creaking beneath him.

Once the turntable did its job, Yang backed down onto the pacific, a workman coming to couple the engines up to each other; once he did, he immediately sent Yang on her way to the main facility, an order she gladly followed as Gordon was pulled away behind her.

"Are we there yet?"

"It's not that far."

"Well, it feels like it's that far."

"Patience is a virtue."

"Oh, you try being unable to move under your own power for a year."

"Now, now. Do you need to be put down for another nap?"

"...I'll shut up now."

"See to it that you do."

It wasn't long before they reached the main building, although a bit of time was taken up by Yang's confusion about which berth Gordon's tender occupied, mixing up his number with the platform it was stationed by.

"Wow. Maybe you aren't cut out to be a replacement for Percy."

"At least I've been putting in the exercise. What's your excuse?"

"I can't move on my own right now."

"Sounds like something any lazy engine would say."

Gordon would have retaliated with an attempt at a retort, but the sound of metal grinding against coal, and then said coal being gently tossed into him, cut him off.

"Think you can get to Tidmouth on your own?", Yang queried.

"I'll be fine. Not like I need a babysitter," he replied, a firelighter climbing into his cab.

"The trip here says otherwise."

Gordon rolled his eyes, his retort at the ready, but Yang had already left to take away an up goods train from Wellsworth.

"Hm. She's a lot more pleasant than I thought she'd be."

"That's because you're not being an ass, Gordon," his driver answered. "Seems like the men at Doncaster did a fine job with you mechanically, and mentally too."

"Don't patronize me, Jonathan. It's not like you'd know anything of the sort anyway."

"There it is," his fireman butt in. "That elitism we've been without for the past year. It's honestly a real shame too, as I've come to quite like working with James myself."

"It takes one to know one, Andrew."

"Thanks… HEY!"

"Tidmouth," Jon muttered, pulling his fireman away by his collar.

"Fine," Andrew conceded as he entered the cab, forcing Jon's hand off of him.

"Oh, how I missed this," chuckled Gordon.

Jon and Andrew had already been debriefed on how to operate Gordon by this point, so it didn't take very long to get him fully steamed; soon, the engine and his crew were able to finally set out down the mainline under the former's own power, ready for what was to be a busy day ahead.

One and a half hours later:

The first service Gordon was to take was the afternoon express; the line of coaches had grown in size since he was last here, and numbered… seven coaches long?

"I could've sworn it was longer before," Gordon thought to himself.

The North Western Railway's number four would have pondered the thought longer if he could, but any notion of doing so was immediately tossed out of his smokebox upon one Sir Topham Hatt walking towards the station platform with the board of directors in tow.

"Gordon," the Fat Controller greeted as the others boarded the dynamometer carriage.

"Sir Topham. It's been quite a while since we've last seen each other."

"Yes, it has. I know you've not had a proper run for a while, but how was the trip here?"

"Oh, it was simply lovely; I've no idea where my capabilities lie though."

"Well, if everything goes well, then you'll be one of the most revolutionary engines in the entirety of the British Isles."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then we've spent a fortune on completely reworking you for nothing."

Gordon's boiler suddenly felt cold, and as hard as he tried to keep a straight face, it was easy to see that those words got to him.

"Now, now, Gordon. I jest; you'll do splendidly. I'm sure of it."

"That wasn't very funny."

"Clearly, it was not, but again, you'll do fine; Good luck, Gordon. I have faith in you."

As Sir Topham became the last person to board the train, Gordon looked around for any possible witnesses to the conversation, before taking in one last deep breath to clear his smokebox; surely, the Fat Controller wasn't lying. He'd be fine.

Still, he was glad when the whistle came, gladder still when the signal dropped and he'd been allowed to depart; now, all he wanted to think about was the wind in his face and a nice long rest at the end of the day.

His trial had already gotten off to a miserable start; Thomas was running late, at least he seemed to be anyway, and he'd been waiting at the platform for a whole nine minutes. It surprised Gordon, for sure, but more importantly, it frustrated him to no end.

"Where is that little tank engine?", he muttered.

And soon, he'd get his answer, for a blue tank engine had pulled into the station with his two faithful coaches, Annie and Clarabel.

"Thomas."

"Gordon."

"Where exactly have you been?"

"Doing my job. You?"

"Doing mine. More importantly, doing it well in spite of being held up for nine minutes."

"Held up? I'm running to time. If anything, you're too bloody early, mister punctual."

"Early, I'll have you-"

Gordon caught a glance of the clock before he finished, stunned silent by what it read; it turns out that Thomas was right, and that he was nine minutes early, not late.

"Oh. I'm… sorry about hazing you for-"

"No no. I'd do the same if I were wearing your wheels."

"Fair."

An awkward silence was soon shared between the pair, but broke with a dropping signal and the whistle of the equally weirded out guard.

"We never speak of this again?"

"Outside of bragging rights on my end, no."

"Good."

"Yes, very good."

And they never did.

At least Gordon didn't until his next stop.

The rebuild seemed to be a success so far; thanks to his larger firebox and higher boiler pressure, Gordon steamed easier than ever, producing a tractive effort of 41700 pounds when paired with his two 22 inch by 30 inch outer cylinders, and he was still fast enough to keep to time as well. Granted, he wasn't quite on the level of Henry anymore, but hey, he'd learned to let go.

After his run, he'd been able to take the time to apologize to Mark the lorry, whose driver was still drinking his frustrations away hours later; Gordon actually felt sorry for him, and gave his sincerest condolences, the latter begrudgingly accepting from how lonely it had been waiting for his driver, and wanting to hold a conversation to fill the silence. It turned out quite pleasant too, as both seemed to hold similar views on the matter of coworkers, the companies they worked under, and the great and not-so-great people who operated, maintained, and more or less cared for them as they did so.

"Oh, you wouldn't believe how angry they got when I told them to do their job; it's not my fault that they're so incompetent, I have to remind them how to do their work properly so often. It's disgraceful."

"You think that's bad? You should have seen the fear I put into the men who couldn't get it right with my inner cylinder a decade ago; I mean, I don't have it anymore, but still."

Mark chortled.

"Oh, how could I've missed a catch like you."

"And I as well; it feels great to finally see someone who actually gets it."

"And you know what else would be great?", Arnold the Stanier Class five mogul cut in.

"What exactly would that be, you lump of dirty coal?", rebutted Mark.

"The bloody Nor' Easter getting on with his work, that's what."

"I've got a bit of time."

"So am I. Now get going, would you? This goods train isn't gonna take itself away, and it isn't like you're an express engine anymore."

Gordon reluctantly complied, finding a turntable and backing down onto Arnold's train as the mogul did the same for the express.

"Oh, and by the way, if you're really trying to copy my style, then you need to do a better job at it; it takes more than unlined and dull black paint to come close!"

Gordon was taken back by the comment, and would have yelled out something in return at the mogul, but Arnold was long gone by the time he could have done so.

"Hmph. Not like I really had a say in the matter."

That said, Arnold's comment did stick out to him; why had he been painted black? It had to have been for a good reason, as he'd have been consulted otherwise; something was definitely wrong, but the guard's whistle cleared the thought away. For now, he had a job to do, and not even the peculiar matter of his livery would keep him from doing so.

Before his rebuild, Gordon's jobs were fairly set; they'd mostly consisted of express runs back and forth between both ends of the island, with an occasional goods train breaking up the monotony whenever he was assigned to one. Now, it was the complete opposite, as he was now juggling as many of the freight services offered by the NWR as he could, while the other engines filled the gaps he couldn't. Admittedly, it was odd to be in such a position when he considered where he once stood in life, but it'd be a lie to say he didn't feel just as important nonetheless. That, and a good portion of the trucks actually talked, so he wasn't always left alone with just his crew on these runs. Overall, as unglamorous as it was compared to his previous line of work, he still felt just as useful.

It didn't mean he loved everything, as the single train he loathed was to be his final trial run; even before his rebuild, Gordon was always disgusted with how the Red Engines often smelled after taking it, more so once he began pulling it himself. Gordon wished to never pull it again after the long years of struggling up the hill with the smell of fish in the air. Alas, he also knew its importance, and couldn't bear to trust anyone else besides his own capable buffers with the Kipper, apart from the Red Engines.

"Jon. I'm really glad about Gordon's firebox; it's never been so warm," Andy noted as he put his hands closer to the heat.

"Me too. Just keep the fire going. How are you doing, Gordon?"

"I'm fine; it just reeks. Like usual."

Gordon envied the people inside of the dynamometer; he's been towing it behind him all day now, and the extra weight it added wasn't helping. He envied the people inside, who didn't have to work in the bitter cold like everyone else, but his boiler kept him going. He was waiting for the signal to leave, when something peculiar caught his eye; most of the men out and about worked the docks, wearing company uniforms as they did. However, a few of them weren't, and while his sighting of them was brief, he could just make out a single one of them wearing a star on his left shoulder.

"Strange."

He wanted to ask someone about their presence, knew where they came from, and was only stumped on the reason as to why; His Majesty's Armed Forces wouldn't be here for no reason, after all. It was almost terrifying, really, but he didn't dwell on it any longer, as a guard's whistle rang through the air and sent him on his way into the night sky, uneasy and on edge, with the feeling that someone, he didn't know who, was watching him.

Gordon was completely exhausted by the time he made his return to Tidmouth; the trials had proven his rebuild's worth, and the Flying Kipper alone had made its stops in record time. Gordon was conflicted on the fact that his best performance came with a fish train, but it was the most strictly run service on Sodor, so he at least had that going for him.

"Well, I'm home now; everything went well, I'm stronger and faster than ever before, and I've managed to get through the day without any major hiccups. All I need to do now is-"

"Hello, Gordon," greeted a familiar voice, catching the number four off guard.

Gordon slowly traced the source of the remark to the berth closest to his left; Henry was the engine occupying it, and he didn't look too well. The Princess Royal was painted dull black like the Gresley pacific himself, wearing bags under his eyes that showed just how hard he'd been working to make up for the gap in motive power. Still, he'd come to carry the pride and prestige of a toplink express engine since his rebuild, and it hasn't faltered since, not even with his dull black paint and tired eyes working against him.

"Henry. It's been far too long."

"Yes, it has been. How was Doncaster?"

"A good trip down memory lane while I was awake. Not so much when I was put under."

"Mm. And how was the trip back? Your return to Sodor too, for that matter?"

"Coming back was absolutely horrid; I had to put up with this transportation lorry for way longer than it's healthy too, and I think we broke his driver," he chuckled.

Henry smiled.

"Then I came back, and got put to work like you did; turns out that I burn coal and steam better than ever before, thanks to my new specifications. Plus, I'm stronger than you are now, even if it's only by about 1000 pounds or so."

Then he frowned.

"Oh, please. With your chunky cylinders, tiny driving wheels, and overpowered boiler, I'd be surprised if you weren't."

Now it was Gordon's turn to scowl.

"Well, at least I can get up the hill with less help. Don't you need to rely on Edward?"

"At least he's more polite than you."

"At least I'm more economical."

"At least our siblings are both being outclassed by more modern cousins."

The conversation froze with that last remark, and stayed as such for several moments… before the pacifics broke down into laughter, forcing themselves to keep quiet enough to not wake up the surrounding residencies and engines around them.

"I've really missed having an actual verbal sparring partner; do you have any idea of just how easy it is to wind up James, and then immediately pull the rug out from under him?"

"I've been doing that for years, Henry, so yes. It's quite boring, isn't it?"

"After a while, yes."

"Exactly. Say, do you mind catching me up on what's been going on with the island? I've been gone for far too long, and I'm honestly quite interested in what happened since my departure. Especially with those strange men running about at Knapford harbor. They've been on my mind for a while as of now."

Henry contemplated how to explain the turbulent past year, trying to find the right way to start, before settling on something more lighthearted to begin with.

"Well, James actually got saddled with the Flying Kipper while you were gone."

"Really? Do tell."

Henry did just that, beginning with Sodor's state when he first left; at first, the island was relatively peaceful, and life moved on, but with time, Gordon's absence started being felt by the North Western Railway. Henry stayed on the express, but his downtime started to become more and more occupied by all sorts of goods trains in between. He was strong enough to take the heaviest of loads, fast enough to keep to time with ease, but even he had his limits, and he was spreading himself far too thin to keep up.

"I did get help; the Red Engines, James included, were allocated to goods schedules, the express was reduced to allow me to rest a bit longer, and Yang and Ruby took charge of filling in the gaps alongside Edward. It's been hard, but we've managed since."

Henry took a deep breath to calm himself; his cylinders ached, and his axles still felt like they were on fire, but he was an express engine. He had to keep his composure, even if he was in pain, no matter what.

"When we heard you were coming back, we thought things would just go back to normal like before. News spreads fast though, and to hear that you've actually been putting in a performance to rival mine when I first came back was amazing. You know what it means for us, Gordon?"

"Sort of… not really though."

"It means that we're safe; we're Sodor's biggest, fastest, and strongest engines. There's no way that the North Western will ever be in danger if we're around to keep its services going. If you handle the goods work, I handle the express, and everyone else covers the remaining services we can't, we're set for life."

"What else does it mean?"

"It also means we're rivals, Gordon; we're on a different playing field than the others, I'm willing to admit, but that doesn't mean I don't regard them as our greatest friends. That's a fact. We're just… way more… more than the other engines, I guess."

"...I suppose you're right. Nothing on the island touches us in strength or speed. It's kind of been a bit boring being so strong. It's almost like everything comes too easily by then. Is that what you're thinking?"

"Exactly. I think that's what I've been missing for a while now. Someone who can give an actual challenge to me. That's what rivals do; they challenge one another to push higher and higher, to outdo the other, to improve. So what do you say, Gordon? Do you want to be my rival? Help push ourselves further into greatness for the sake of our railway?"

"That depends. Are we still going to be friends?"

"Yes, Gordon. I'm not going to refuse the friendship I've built with an engine who made a stand against what we perceived as an injustice, even when things turned ugly. Plus, we stuck together, even when the other engines stood against us. Sure, you avoided me for a good while after my rebuild, but if I were you, I'd have done the same. All I'm saying is that, yes, we're friends, and nothing will ever break that bond. James too, of course."

"Then I accept your terms. From now on, the two of us are rivals and friends."

"Here here."

The conversation had died down after that, especially when the other engines trickled in from their own night runs. Still, they were the last to stand awake, and Gordon wasn't an engine to leave stones unturned, or questions unanswered for that matter.

"Henry."

"Hm?"

"Do you have any idea of what those men at Knapford Harbor were doing?"

"What men?"

"Well, they were all accompanied by this one man wearing a star on his shoulder."

"Oh. They're just members of His Majesty's Armed Forces. Nothing special."

"Well, do you know why they're here?"

"Something about tensions in Continental Europe; you know I'm not one to pay attention to the news."

"Oh… you think we'll be fine?"

"Gordon, I'm not sure. Maybe we will, maybe we won't. Just try to get some rest, okay?"

"...Alright then. Night," he muttered.

"Night."

The last to fall asleep, yet the first to wake at dawn, the pair of pacifics would serve their railway faithfully, even to this day. I think it's quite a pleasant life to lead. Don't you?

September 3, 1939:

I am speaking to you from the cabinet room at 10 Downing Street. This morning the British ambassador in Berlin handed the German government a final note stating that unless we heard from them by 11 o'clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us. I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany.

You can imagine what a bitter blow it is to me that all my long struggle to win peace has failed. Yet I cannot believe that there is anything more, or anything different, that I could have done and that would have been more successful. Up to the very last it would have been quite possible to have arranged a peaceful and honourable settlement between Germany and Poland. But Hitler would not have it. He had evidently made up his mind to attack Poland whatever happened, and although he now says he put forward reasonable proposals which were rejected by the Poles, that is not a true statement. The proposals were never shown to the Poles, nor to us, and though they were announced in the German broadcast on Thursday night, Hitler did not wait to hear comments on them, but ordered his troops to cross the Polish frontier the next morning.

His action shows convincingly that there is no chance of expecting that this man will ever give up his practice of using force to gain his will. He can only be stopped by force.

We have a clear conscience. We have done all that any country could do to establish peace. But the situation in which no word given by Germany's ruler could be trusted, and no people or country could feel itself safe, had become intolerable. And now that we have resolved to finish it, I know that you will all play your part with calmness and courage.

Sodor: Lost Stories (What If) will return with Rivals: Part 3.

Remember to check out the Broa Island YouTube channel for future adventures! YouTube, Twitter, and other social media accounts dedicated solely on Sodor: The Lost Stories will become made available sometime in 2022/23.