Author's Note: Hello lovely readers, and thank you for tuning into this new story. I've been working on this one for quite some time, and since the Downton Abbey movie just came out (it was amazing!), I thought it was finally time to publish this story. I'm so excited to share it you.

I would be remiss if I did not say that this story is inspired by Rap541's "Panem Abbey" over on Archive Of Our Own - an amazing work that places Downton Abbey in the world of Panem and the Hunger Games. Please give that story a read, it's spectacular.

Once again, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy!


A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…


Lady Sybil Crawley's blood was boiling. It took all her strength not to glare at the Imperial officers surrounding the memorial sight, but somehow she managed to get through the priest's lengthy sermon without betraying her anger. She was standing in between her mother, who had a hand supportively on her shoulder, and her elder sister Edith who dabbed tears from her eyes with her silk kerchief. It was Edith who had loved Cousin Patrick, not her eldest sister Mary who had been practically engaged to him. She didn't weep for their cousins. Instead, Mary only stood stoically, staring straight ahead at the engraved stone that read:

James Crawley

And

Patrick Crawley,

Beloved father, and son

Perhaps, Sybil thought as her family started to put their flowers against the stone, Mary was just as angry as she was. But if that were true, she didn't show it. Her many years in the Imperial Senate had obviously paid off in more ways than one.

As her father placed the lily against the memorial stone, Sybil snuck one glance at the Imperials watching. Most looked bored, like they had better places to be. Others looked discomforted by the whole thing. The Crawleys of Grantham were one of the only noble houses to still bury their dead, and even if there were no bodies to bury, the Imperials still stood amidst a tradition so different from their own. Her mother felt her tense in anger and squeezed her shoulder comfortingly in response. They placed their lilies against the stone together, and Sybil kept her gaze for a few beats longer.

They didn't even have her cousins' bodies for a proper burial. They had been destroyed during the attack on their ship – a marauder attack, according to the Empire. But Sybil knew that was a lie. Her family knew that was a lie. James and Patrick Crawley had been on an Imperial cargo vessel with a small crew – they had been on a mission for the Rebellion. Sybil hadn't been told where exactly her cousins had been traveling to, only that the Empire had found them. The Empire had found them and destroyed them. And now they were here, at their memorial service, offering their sincere condolences to her family.

The whole situation made Sybil feel sick.

The last of the flowers had been placed against the memorial stone, and the ceremony officially concluded. The guests started to mill about, many approaching her parents to offer their sympathies. Sybil felt as if she were suffocating and was in a dire need for air. She started to make her back towards the estate, but Mary caught her before she could make it very far.

"Where are you going?" She asked. Her voice was quiet yet laced with anxiousness.

"I need some air," Sybil said, clenching and unclenching her fists. "I can't…"

"Sybil," Mary said, taking her hand and moving close so that only a few inches separated them. "You can't leave yet. Wait until the rest of them are gone."

"How can you bear it?" They were far enough away from the guests that Sybil didn't need to whisper, but she did all the same. "How can you bear to stand there and listen to them pretend they didn't murder our cousins?" The words came out a strangled sob.

Thankfully, Mary didn't tell her not to say such things in a public place, like her mother would have. "I can't bear it, Sybil, but I manage because our family's safety depends on it. "

Sybil nodded, because of course her sister was right. She couldn't let her emotions get the better of her, not when they would have so many consequences. The slightest slip up could make them a target of the Empire, as if they weren't already after James and Patrick.

When they got back to the memorial site, Sybil recognized the middle-aged uniformed man talking with her parents. It was their system's Imperial Governor, Jonas Callen, no doubt saying what a tragedy it is to lose not one but two heirs to marauders. As Mary made her way over to join the conversation, Sybil couldn't help but wonder if Governor Callen knew the true cause of her cousins' deaths. Tearing her gaze from them, she walked over and sat on one of the wooden benches. It was the furthest place from the officers she could be without actually leaving the memorial site.

Edith was still dabbing tears on her cheeks, and talking with Sir Anthony Strallan, Grantham's minister of education. Strallan was dull as a brick, but at least Edith managed to find some comfort talking to him. Sybil gazed around the crowd, hoping to find Tom, but he was nowhere in sight. He'd been present for the memorial service, she was sure of it, but somehow he managed to disappear. He was probably doing some maintenance work for the Verdant or one of their other vessels, and Sybil felt a twinge of jealously. It didn't matter than the Captain of the Verdant didn't stay to greet her father's guests, but of course, it mattered if she did.

Most of the Imperial officers were talking quietly among themselves. Some had wine, other just had their gloved hands folded neatly behind their backs. Every few minutes, one of them was bound to give her a quick glance, but Sybil didn't give them anything to look at. To the Empire, she was a girl grieving a terrible loss. She wanted to know what they were talking about, if they were discussing her family, or if they had already moved on to matters concerning their ever-growing tyranny.

"I'm sorry for your loss, my lady," a man said, sitting down beside her.

At first, Sybil stiffened thinking it was an Imperial officer, but it was only Senator Bail Organa – a close friend of her family's. She nodded politely. "Thank you, Senator."

"I spoke to Lord and Lady Grantham already, before Governor Callen had a chance to corner them," the senator continued. He was dressed in black senator's robes, the colour that represented mourning on Grantham.

"And Mary?" Sybil asked.

"Lady Mary seems to be… in shock by the whole thing."

Sybil's brow furrowed. She would have never thought Mary could be shocked by anything.

"Some of the Imperials think she needs time away from the Senate," Bail continued. "To be with her family."

Despite herself, Sybil scoffed at the prospect. "Knowing her, she'll throw herself into her work just to cope."

"It is a tremendous loss," he commented. For the Rebellion, he meant, not just for her family.

"I still don't understand why both of them insisted on going. They could have completed their mission successfully if only one of them had gone." The words were dangerous, but she said them anyway.

"I'm sure Patrick insisted on going as well."

Sybil nodded. Patrick was always the stubborn one (not unlike Mary), who had insisted on joining his father for their mission. And look what had happened.

It almost came out, right there and then. All of Sybil's anger towards the Empire, all of the words she wanted to say. But of course, she didn't say them. Instead, Sybil could only cling to the true meaning behind their conversation.

"Please give my regards to Lady Edith and the Dowager Countess," he said before standing from the bench.

"Of course," Sybil said, and Senator Organa was done, his dark robes flowing behind him as he weaved through the crowd.

It took longer than she would've liked for the guests to finally dissipate, but when they did Sybil could bear it no longer. She ran from the memorial site towards the forests that surrounded Downton Abbey, their large estate.

She ran and ran, until she was free.


"We must discuss it," Violet Crawley said, setting her crystal glass of wine down onto a small wooden table in the drawing room. All of the guests had left, even the Imperials who, in her opinion, had long outstayed their welcome. Always acting like they owned the ground on which they walked, she thought bitterly. Violet hadn't missed their snide and disgust-filled gazes during the ceremony, and their false sympathies following it. But it was over, poor James and Patrick put to rest, and now they had to continue on.

Carson was out of the room, of course, along with the other footmen. Otherwise, she would have never brought up the topic. The staff knew when to leave the family to their private conversations.

"Discuss what?" Her son Robert asked, his voice laced with urgency. He looked up from his own wine glass with a sense of mild shock – the way he always looked when Violet ventured into topic of which her son was not particularly fond.

In the days since they found out about Cousin James and Cousin Patrick's deaths, Robert was still reeling from the news, almost unwilling to face the facts of it all. He had been quite unwilling to speak to anyone for the first few days, including Violet herself, and only now seemed to be able to make decent – if rather limited – conversation.

"The new heir," she replied, calm as ever.

"Oh, Granny," Edith breathed. Her eyes were shiny with fresh tears. She was still clutching that kerchief from the memorial service hours ago. "Cousin James and Cousin Patrick have only just been buried."

"But they haven't been buried," Mary argued. "It's the Empire's fault there are no bodies to bury."

It was the first treasonous thing Mary had said all day (though Violet was surprised at how far through the day she'd made it), and she was just glad it was in the privacy of Downton's halls, and only in the company of her family. It wasn't that the staff weren't loyal to the family – heaven knew Carson and Mrs. Hughes were – but one could never be too careful.

Her granddaughter had made that mistake some years ago, when she had made a particularly choicest remark concerning the Empire's presence on their planet at dinner in front of a few footmen – and Carson. That evening Violet had overheard Robert and Cora tell Mary she could not say such things in front of those were not family.

"But the staff is like family," a young Mary had argued. Even then she was ready for the Galactic Senate.

Robert sighed. "Yes, they are like family. In fact, we are very lucky to have a butler like Carson and footmen like Thomas and Henry… but saying those things can get them into trouble."

"How?" Mary asked. "They're just words."

"But if Governor Callen or anyone else in the Empire knew we meant them, Carson or Thomas or Henry could get hurt for not reporting them. Do you understand, Mary?"

Violet wouldn't say she was one to eavesdrop, but that evening, during that conversation, she had allowed herself one moment of weakness and peaked through the door left ever-so-slightly ajar. She watched Mary nod her head solemnly and both Robert and Cora kiss her atop her head. It was a conversation Violet had with Robert and Rosamund when they had been at that age, though hoped Mary wouldn't have to have such a discussion if she had children.

"Robert," Violet said sternly, returning to the presence of the drawing room. "Whether you like it or not, James and Patrick can no longer inherit the title and estate. They both will go to your new heir." This wasn't even about the Rebellion, it was about the continuation of their family, of their system.

"You did look into it, didn't you?" Cora asked, eyes wide. She was sitting on an intricately upholstered sofa with Edith, who shot her a look of hurt. Cora ignored it.

"Of course, I did," Robert sighed. "Callen was practically breathing down my back about it since the moment we heard the news."

"Why?" Edith asked. The kerchief was now crumpled in the grip of her hands. Violet had always told her granddaughters not to fidget – it made nervous habits. And nervous habits were a sure bet to give yourself away.

"Why do you think?" Mary snapped, quite harshly. "The Empire obviously wants to look into it themselves, to make sure he's loyal to the Empire above all else."

Robert nodded solemnly. "He's a barrister on Coruscant, descended from the younger son of the third earl."

"A barrister from Coruscant?" Mary asked, seeming appalled that a member of their family could have such an occupation.

"Calm down, Mary," Violet replied. "It could be worse. He could be a moisture farmer from Tatooine." She laughed to bring some levity to the whole ghastly situation. Mary let out a frustrated sigh.

"I don't understand why I can't be heir," Mary argued, "when systems like Alderaan have sensible inheritance laws –"

"You know why, Mary," this time it was Cora who answered. She wore a serious look on her face, one that didn't encourage any arguing. Violet would never say it aloud, but she admired her for it. "If your father were to make you his heir, here and now, it would look too suspicious to the Empire. This system has had the same inheritance laws for thousands of years. To go changing them now just for our benefit would raise too many questions. No doubt this whole family is under such scrutiny because of what happened to James and Patrick, and now we must take extra steps to ensure not just our safety, but the safety of the Rebellion."

"So inviting a perfect stranger into our home, into our private lives, will ensure our safety?" Mary fumed. "For all we know, he could be loyal to the Empire and betray us."

"For goodness sakes, Mary," Violet said, which made everyone in the room snap their head towards her. "We wouldn't tell him about the Rebellion. For once," she sighed, "I agree with your mother. Accepting this new heir will appease the Empire and not arouse any suspicion. But we must tread very carefully."

"Things cannot go back to the way they were," Robert agreed.

A heavy silence followed Robert's words as the family was motionless in the drawing room. Violet suddenly got a strange feeling they were being watched by the Empire, but she brushed it away. It was just her being paranoid, and paranoia would not help. Of that, she knew all too well.

The silence was broken by the soft click of the door opening and Carson, the family's butler, stepping inside.

"Luncheon is served, my lady," he announced with a slight bow of the head.

"I don't think I could eat a thing," Edith commented.

"Really?" Violet blinked. "Grief always makes me unimaginably hungry." Robert shot her a look. She shrugged in return.

"Where is Sybil?" Cora asked, standing and gazing out the drawing room's large windows.

"She was very distraught during the service, but I didn't see where she went after the guests left," Mary replied, gathering her skirts and making her way towards the door.

Violet sighed and leaned against her walking cane to stand from the velvet settee. "I believe I know where she may be."

"Where?" Robert asked, sounding quite alarmed.

"I just know," she replied, shooting him a knowing look. Robert understood immediately.

"Why are you two being so secretive?" Mary asked.

"Never you mind," Violet replied. "Start luncheon without me."

"Are you sure?" Cora asked.

"Yes, yes, of course. There's no use letting Mrs. Patmore's food run cold on my account." And with that, Violet strode out the door.


"Sybil, you're missing luncheon!"

With a start, her eyes shot open and the stack of upright twigs fell to the meadow's floor. Sybil turned, her heart quickening, but it was only her grandmother approaching with a serious look. She signed and return to her meditative position.

After the memorial service, Sybil had come to the only place that would give her some peace and privacy. More than any room at Downton, outside of which members of staff going about their chores would always be lurking. No, instead, she came to the small meadow surrounded by the forest behind the grounds of Downton. She and Mary had found it exploring when they were girls and had played there almost every day, pretending to be fighter pilots one day and Jedi the next. Mary had stopped coming to the meadow when she had become interested in politics, claiming it was no good to play make-believe when they could be changing the real world. But Sybil had never stopped coming.

"I'm not hungry," she replied sharply, perhaps a little too sharply than she would've liked. If her mother were present, she would have scolded her for talking in such a way to her grandmother.

"You've been practicing," Violet noted, her expression softening.

Sybil nodded. "After the service…" she trailed off, trying to find the right words. "I just needed to…"

"And what if it had been – heaven forbid – an Imperial soldier instead of myself?" Her grandmother's expression hardened again as she leaned against her cane. "Do you understand the consequences?"

"I understand, Granny," Sybil replied, with a deadpan expression. Her family would never let her forget the possibility of what would happen to them all if she were to be discovered. But still – she needed to practice her abilities, she needed to feel the Force flow at her finger tips.

She remembered the day she discovered her abilities, only eight at the time. She remembered vividly her parents telling her afterwards that she was so fortunate that only they had been there to witness it, and to never, never display her abilities to anyone.

Not even to her sisters.

At some point, her parents told her grandmother about it, though she would've guessed it on her own, eventually. And now when she practiced, it felt like her own personal rebellion against the Empire, more than the work her family did for the Alliance.

"This isn't just about James and Patrick, is it?" Her grandmother asked, standing just behind her in the meadow.

Sybil shook her head slowly. "How could they just stand there… offer Mama and Papa their condolences… pretending they had nothing to do with it? I saw them, crinkling their noses in disgust during the service. They couldn't even pretend to be respectful."

"They aren't respectful because they don't have to be, Sybil dear," her grandmother signed. "That's just how it is. All we can do is continue to fight, until they can no longer afford to be disrespectful." A beat passed before she spoke again. "Come with me, I have something to show you."

"What about the luncheon?"

"I told them to start without us. But don't worry, what I have to show you is more interesting."

Sybil smiled towards her and stood from the soft grass. Neither of them spoke again until they reached her grandmother's residence. The Dower House was much smaller than Downton, but by no means shabby. The three-storey brick house was surrounded by heavy iron-wrought gates and an assortment of trees native to Grantham, which gave it a sense of seclusion compared to the open grounds of Downton.

The butler Spratt let them in with a slightly confused glance but didn't question why they were back early from the luncheon, or why it was just the two of them. She then led Sybil up the main staircase and into her bedroom.

It was silly, but Sybil couldn't remember the last him she'd been in her grandmother's room, and certainly not as a young woman. It almost felt wrong, being in her most private space.

Violet lifted the bed skirt from the bed frame, and pulled out an old, dusty wooden box. She set in on the bed and opened it slowly.

"Really, Granny, there's no need to be so dramatic," Sybil commented, to which her grandmother gave her a small smirk.

But then she pulled out the item, and Sybil's breath caught in her throat. She knew what it was, of course, but she'd only seen such a thing in pictures or holograms. Never in person.

"Why do you have that?" Sybil asked when the words finally formed on her lips.

Violet smiled, placing the gleaming silver lightsaber in Sybil's hands. "It was my own, from so many years ago."

"Yours?" Sybil breathed. "What are you talking about?"

"I was once a Jedi Knight."

Once again, Sybil's breath caught in her throat. She could hardly imagine her grandmother swinging the lightsaber and using the Force. It almost didn't seem real. "How…" she trailed off, her gazed fixed on the weapon. It was elegantly designed, slim with smooth edges and a curved blade emitter.

"I trained at the Jedi Temple from a very young age, younger than you had been when you discovered your abilities. I thought that was the path I was going to follow all my life, and it almost was."

"What happened?"

"I fell in love with your dear late grandfather. Attachment was forbidden by the Jedi Code, you see, and so I left the Order to marry."

Sybil thought for a moment. "Do you ever regret it? Leaving it all?"

Violet sighed and smiled at her. "There were times at first when I did. I wondered if it had all been worth it. But when I look at you, when I look at my family… I could never regret it. I was fortunate to leave when I did, it turns out, before the Clone Wars and before the Jedi Purge…" she trailed off, and Sybil didn't prompt her for more. How many of those slaughtered during the Jedi Purge did her grandmother know? She looked back down at the lightsaber.

"Do Mama and Papa know?" Sybil asked.

Violet nodded. "But only them. Your sisters and the household staff don't." After a beat, she spoke again. "I want you to have it."

Sybil's head shot up. "What?"

"The lightsaber. I want you to have it."

"Why? Why now?"

"Because there may come a time when you need it, and because it is a reminder that while the Empire was destroyed so many others like me – like us – we still fight against them."

Sybil wrapped her grandmother in a warm hug. "Thank you, Granny."

"You're very welcome."

When they separated, Violet walked over to the bedroom's large windows and drew the heavy curtains closed. After she sat back down on the bed, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

"Granny?" Sybil asked.

"I'm making sure no one is in the hall," she replied.

Sybil raised her eyebrow quizzically, but in a moment understood what her grandmother was implying. She gazed at the weapon, which felt almost slippery in her grasp. Violet gave her a short nod, and Sybil slowly breathed in. She cautiously pressed the activation matrix and the weapon came of life with a swift whoosh and a flash of emerald green. It hummed in her hands, almost soothingly, and Sybil could already feel the Force flowing through her.

"You still have much to learn about this, Sybil," Violet said.

"Will you tell Mama and Papa?"

"For now, no. Your mother would faint upon hearing it and who knows what your father would say," she replied with a soft smile. "But you must keep this hidden, somewhere the maids wouldn't even think to look. It is already a big risk taking it out now."

Sybil deactivated the lightsaber and sat beside her grandmother. "Of course, Granny."

"Now, we should be getting back to Downton before they send a search party for us. And perhaps…" she smiled, "I could give you some proper lessons on how to handle that weapon in the coming days. Your form, I'm sorry to say, was quite shabby."

And for the first time that day, Sybil laughed.