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When Matthew was a boy, he and this mother and father would take vacations to planets not unlike Grantham. Planets ruled by wide-open spaces, rolling green hills, vast oceans, and a lush variety of flora. Some had beaches, some were laced in a tropical heat, but they were all very different from life on Coruscant. It was as if the whole planet stood still, holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. In the early hours of the morning, his father would bring him to the nearest hill, and they'd sit together to watch the sun rise. The sky would burn bright red and fade into pale blue, and there were never any skyscrapers or aircraft blocking their view.

It was only Matthew, his father, and the sky.

"I grew up on a planet not unlike this one," his father had told him during one of these times. Matthew had been young, perhaps eight or nine, holding his father's hand as they walked along an open field bathed in the red light of a rising sun.

"Really?" Matthew replied.

His father nodded. "Yes, a planet called Grantham, it's actually not far from Coruscant."

"Why did you leave?"

"Because… there were more opportunities to pursue my career on Coruscant."

Matthew was unsatisfied. "I would have stayed there… where I could run all day long." He made a show of speeding off down the hill and back up again to his father.

His father laughed, picking Matthew up into his arms. "Think of it this way. If I hadn't left Grantham, I never would have met your mother, and you wouldn't have been born."

"I guess that's a good reason," Matthew conceded. "But I'd still like to run all day!" He jumped out of his father's arms and once again bolted down the hill.

Remembering these conversations sent a wave of nostalgia through Matthew as Robert took him across the vast lands behind the estate that led to an almost never-ending field of gold wheat. Further in the distance resided an elevated landing platform, large enough to house at least two Imperial Star Destroyers, by the looks of it. It had a number of ramps and staircases, as well as multiple lifts to transport the produce to the aircraft.

"Most of the planet's wheat is grown and harvested here," Robert said, jolting Matthew from his thoughts. "Though there are multiple wheat fields all over Grantham."

"Is that why the estate was established here?" Matthew pondered.

Robert smiled at him. "Yes, that's exactly it. In the early days of the Crawley reign, wheat was Grantham's most important export, and the industry that needed the most workers. Establishing Downton close to these fields came out of that necessity to oversee the wheat harvests."

"And what of Grantham's other industries? Lumber, produce, cattle, and the like?"

"I'm glad you've done your research," Robert beamed.

"You mean you're glad you have a new heir that's not completely clueless."

Immediately, Robert stopped his walk and looked seriously at Matthew. "That's not what I meant –"

"I know that's not what you meant, Robert," Matthew sighed. "But it must be what you're feeling… what you all are feeling."

Robert considered him for a moment. "Matthew, did anyone give you the impression that you're not fit for the task last night at the gala? Because let me make clear, that's certainly not how I feel."

Matthew shook his head. "No, nothing like that… but perhaps I feel as if I don't deserve all this. I mean, I'm just someone who got lucky and now I'm intruding into your family and your planet…" he trailed off, feelings of shame burning through him. And not to mention, I'm supposed to be spying on you for the Empire, he added mentally, wanting nothing more than to retreat back to his room at Crawley House. But even that did nothing to help his feelings. He was living on Grantham out of the good graces of someone he had never met until a month ago, and whose family was expected to give up the reins of Grantham to him.

"Matthew…" Robert said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It is not a question of what is or isn't deserved, it simply just is. I told you when we first met, we are a people bounded by tradition, and my family as well as the rest of Grantham knows that. So, you don't have to feel guilty about becoming the heir. What happened to James and Patrick was a tragedy, but if we dwell on the past and what could have been, we'll never progress. We must all do our duty, for the continuation of Grantham and its way of life. My family understands that."

A lump formed in Matthew's throat, once again thinking of Governor Callen's threats. It was his duty to protect his mother from the wrath of the Empire, but he was now bound to the governance of Grantham, and the family that ran it – his family.

He was surprised he felt this sort of connection to the Crawleys already, even though Cousin Mary had practically been staring daggers at him since his arrival – and Cousin Violet and Cousin Cora weren't all that pleased either – but they were still his family, as odd as it was to admit it. Perhaps it was because of the threat of the Imperials that loomed over him, perhaps he just wanted to prove Governor Callen and Grand Moff Tarkin wrong – that the Crawleys truly weren't suspicious or a threat to the Empire. If he could do that, the Empire might just leave him alone, perhaps even leave Grantham alone. But then he recalled Governor Callen's words from the previous night – Grantham and its resources were considered too valuable to the galaxy to ever be left to their own devices, no matter that the planet had been completely autonomous during the days of the Republic. The Empire needed their iron grip to extend to even the most peaceful of planets – it's how they had survived as long as they had.

"Thank you for your confidence, Robert," Matthew finally said, a bit sheepishly. "I don't know if I deserve it."

Robert simply waved him off. "Now, even though our exports are harvested all over the planet, they all go through this port for a final inspection by both our Agricultural Ministry and Imperial officials and then gets picked up by our aircraft or Imperial aircraft. Mostly Imperial aircraft these days."

"Imperial officials conduct inspections of your exports?"

"Rigorously," Robert replied, a hint of resentment in his voice. "Anything going to feed the Imperial Navy or Imperial Forces must be kept to the highest standards."

"And what of exports not bound for Imperial use?"

"Inspections for contraband, mostly. Or the occasional defector. More than once an imperial soldier has tried to steal himself away among boxes of wheat or fruit or the like… it doesn't end well for them."

Matthew clenched his jaw, needing no further explanation. He gazed up at the massive landing platform – devoid of any aircraft now except for a few small shuttles – and tried not to imagine Imperial defectors being dragged down the ramp of a ship and being shot right then and there. For a split second, he saw himself dragged out, pushed to his knees…

He shook his head, forcing the thought away.

"I scheduled a few days for us to take the Verdant to visit the other areas of interest on Grantham; the lumber mills, farms, water treatment plants," Robert continued. They were making their way back to the grounds of the estate, the landing platform slowly receding in the distance. "I do hope you're not too busy with your job." He raised his eyebrow, giving Matthew a knowing grin.

Matthew chuckled. "I'm sure they'll give me some time off for this," he replied.

"They better, and if not, tell them the order came straight from me."

"Don't worry, Robert. I'm sure I can persuade them by myself."


"So, where did you run off to last night?"

The question caught Sybil off guard, so much so that she almost dropped the clasps of the necklace she and Gwen were putting around her neck. Thankfully, the maid caught the delicate necklace just in time to stop it before it slid down the front of her dress. Sybil gave Gwen a silent "thank you" through the mirror.

She and her sisters were getting ready for dinner, and this time they come to Sybil's room instead of the usual congregation in Mary's room. She had to admit, it surprised her when her eldest sister strode into her room not thirty minutes after the dinner gong had been rung, closely followed by Edith. She was only thankful that she hadn't been practicing with the Force – or with her grandmother's lightsaber, for that matter – when they had entered. She was really smarter about these things than her parents gave her credit for. It seemed as if they were constantly worried about her slipping up, revealing something, and in a way Sybil herself shared those fears. Revealing herself as Force-sensitive wouldn't just have devastating consequences for her, but for her entirely family, even those who were in ignorance of the whole thing. Still, on nights when she couldn't sleep, when all the servants had long gone to bed, she practiced moving the silver hairbrush that sat on her vanity to her bed, back to the vanity, and to the tall wardrobe that sat against the opposite wall. It was calming, letting the Force flow through her, feeling in control of such a simple object and yet having a power few people possessed, a power considered treasonous to the Empire…

In a way, it was her own sort of rebellion. While the rest of her family overlooked supplies and food bound for Rebel Alliance bases, participated in Alliance missions, and resisted the tyranny of the Empire in the Senate, Sybil was honing the powers of an almost-extinct group of peacekeepers that once fought for freedom and justice. A group her own grandmother once belonged to.

"Because I thought I told you not to run off during events like last night's gala," Mary continued chastising Sybil once Gwen left the room. "What do you think it looks like, to the Imperial officials attending? It looks like we don't care about their presence, which thus is perceived as opposition to the Empire, which is treason."

Sybil couldn't help but roll her eyes. Really, Mary, I'm more of a danger in the presence of Imperial soldiers than I am somewhere else, she wanted to tell her sister. One flash of a moment without thinking and I could condemn this entire family. Instead, she said, "If you must know, I had a rather unpleasant encounter with Larry Grey. He said some nasty remarks about Cousin Matthew, and I couldn't listen to him any longer."

"What did he say?" Edith asked, earning her a glare from Mary.

Sybil sighed. "He said Cousin Matthew doesn't belong, that he's unfit to govern Grantham. That's he's not one of us."

"Well, he's not all wrong," Mary seethed.

"Mary, how can you say such a thing?" Sybil cried, glaring at her sister through the mirror. "You know just as well as I do that those remarks don't mean a thing coming from someone like Larry Grey."

"No, of course not," Mary conceded, crossing her arms. "But it's true he's not one of us. He could be an Imperial loyalist for all we know."

"Mary, I don't think he is," Edith said.

"And how would you know?" Mary shot back.

Sybil interjected herself between her sisters before a row could well and truly commence. "Look, it is what it is. And eventually Papa's going to have to tell Matthew about the Rebellion. Obviously not right away, but Cousin Matthew is the heir, and he can't become the Earl of Grantham and not know about everything."

"Well, not if I have anything to say about it," Mary snapped.

"God, Mary, you can be such a hypocrite, you know that?" Sybil exclaimed, turning from the mirror to face her eldest sister. Her hands were turning white from gripping the back of her chair.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, you go on and on about how I put this whole family in danger by leaving parties too early, and yet you're protesting Cousin Matthew becoming the new heir, even when both Mama and Papa and even Granny have insisted it be so for the safety of this family."

When Mary didn't retort with any of her usual snipes about being older and therefore more knowledgeable about the ways of the galaxy, Sybil continued. "Now, everyone's most likely already in the drawing room, let's not make them wait any longer."


There had definitely been a row before the girls had come down to the drawing room, Violet thought as she ate the course of buttered sole and roasted asparagus served by William and Thomas. Mary wasn't conducting her usual interrogation of Cousin Matthew, Sybil's brow was furrowed in an angry state throughout the dinner, and Edith seemed to be avoiding the eye of both her sisters.

It probably had to do with Cousin Matthew. Or the Rebellion. Or both. All of the family's arguments since James and Patrick seemed to revolve around those two issues. But even so, Violet couldn't say she wasn't still weary of Cousin Matthew and Cousin Isobel. For one, Cousin Isobel seemed too eager to get involved with the running of Grantham's hospitals. And though she claimed it was because of her career on Coruscant as a nurse, Violet thought she was moving much too quickly. Robert didn't seem to think so, however. As she had entered the drawing room before dinner, Violet could have sworn she'd overheard something from Robert about making Cousin Isobel co-chairwoman of the Board of Hospitals, a position Violet herself had long occupied. Imagine that! A perfect stranger such as Isobel Crawley given such a great responsibility. They didn't know what Isobel did in the background, who she colluded with. For all they knew, she could be reporting back to Governor Callen about the goings-on of their family. Violet had a right mind to explain this to Robert, though she feared he wouldn't listen.

Robert himself had certainly warmed up to Matthew Crawley. Perhaps it was because he longed for some sense of security for the future of the estate and the planet, and he thought Cousin Matthew filled that requirement. Perhaps it was because he thought Cousin Matthew could be a replacement to James and Patrick. Violet couldn't fool herself into thinking that, and she wouldn't let her son think that, either. There was no replacement for James and Patrick.

And that was precisely the problem.

"I showed Cousin Matthew the wheat fields this morning," Robert said in between forkfuls of fish. "And the transport dock."

"Yes, there's a lot more to it than I originally thought," Cousin Matthew confessed, a little sheepishly.

"Of course, feeding the galaxy is not just a weekend job," Mary remarked and her usual bitter tone.

Now she seemed back to her old self, Violet thought, smirking ever so slightly.

"I didn't mean it that way," Cousin Matthew said easily. "I just meant that the intricacy of it all astounds me. That a planet like Grantham has been providing so much food, lumber, and resources for almost the entire galaxy for thousands of years is certainly quite a feat."

"Hear, hear. Well said," Cousin Isobel chimed it, raising her wine glass.

"Does she always feel the need to insert her opinion on every matter?" Violet whispered to her son seated beside her.

Robert acknowledged her comment with a slight glare and turned back to Cousin Matthew, who was seated across the table beside Mary. "And we hope it should stay that way."

Violet didn't know if that remark was intended to be a warning to Cousin Matthew or to the rest of them, but Robert didn't need to remind her of the facts. She knew more than the rest of them what exactly was at stake, even if Robert didn't.

The family finally seemed to leave the topic of inheritances and exports behind until dessert was served, when Cousin Isobel commented on the lemon tartlet Mrs. Patmore had made.

"My, this is delicious," she said, as if she had never tasted lemon before in her life. "But I thought Grantham's climate was too temperate to grow lemons."

"What a scholar we have in our midst," Violet smiled down at her plate, scooping a forkful of the tartlet into her mouth. She once again earned a glare from her son. She shrugged it off.

"Yes, Grantham's climate is too cold for lemons and oranges and so on," Cora said, "but we get them imported from Naboo, along with champagne, tea, coffee, chocolate, and such."

"We give them wheat and cattle, they give us lemons," Mary said matter-of-factly.

"Grantham has numerous trade agreements with planets and systems all over the galaxy," Robert explained. "It's how everything can run so smoothly. They're all managed by myself, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Ministry of Agriculture, and the Empire, of course, since they oversee everything that leaves our docks."

"Speaking of the Empire," Mary started, "I'm afraid I must go to Coruscant in the coming days. There's a Senate meeting Charles and I simply cannot miss, and of course all the Empire Day festivities demand the presence of Senate members."

Violet could detect the slightest hint of resentment in her granddaughter's voice.

"Right, yes, of course," Robert said in a more dower tone. "I had almost forgotten."

"Don't let Governor Callen hear you say that," Mary said, an eyebrow raised and raising her wine glass to her lips.

Don't let Isobel Crawley hear you say that, Violet added mentally.

"Perhaps I could come with you," Cousin Matthew said. "I could show you our old apartment and a few good places to eat, if you ever get sick of the food served at the Senate building."

"Would your work spare you the time?" Edith asked.

"It's not too busy at the firm," Cousin Matthew explained. "I only have a few cases open at the moment, and due to their nature they're slow-moving."

"A wonderful suggestion, Cousin Matthew," Mary replied haughtily. "But I'm afraid I'll be much too busy to have anytime to myself."

"Do say hello to Senator Organa for me, Mary," Violet said, not wanting to draw out the awkwardness Mary's last remark would have brought onto the dinner table. "I missed him at James and Patrick's memorial service."

"Of course, Granny."

Violet managed to corner Mary later when the ladies had gone through the dining room to the drawing room.

"Do you think you might be able to find out what James and Patrick discovered, when you're on Coruscant?" She asked in hushed tones. The two of them were stood in the corner of the room near the fireplace. Carson and Thomas were delivering glasses of sherry to the other ladies across the room, and from Violet's point of vision she was able to see through the slightly ajar door for her son and Cousin Matthew. No doubt Robert would disapprove of what she was asking of Mary, but she assumed the rest of the family was just as curious as she was about their cousins' untimely demise at the hands of the Empire. She knew Mary would certainly be interested, perhaps interested enough to sniff out the rumour mill among the rest of the Rebellion-friendly senators.

At the proposal, Mary's eyes widened, shifting her gaze to the rest of the ladies to make sure they were deep in conversation, and not paying them any attention. "Granny, I can't simply walk up to the Emperor and interrogate him about Cousin James and Cousin Patrick. Or any other Imperial official, for that matter."

Violet shook her head. "I'm not asking you to, dear. What I'm saying is that other interested parties may have heard something about it besides what's being reported on the holonews."

Mary nodded slowly, understanding what she meant.

"Senator Mon Mothma is very clever, you know. And of course, Senator Organa of all people may know something," Violet said in a lighter tone, appearing as if to make idle conversation.

"I agree, Granny," Mary replied.

"Then it's settled. Just be careful, dear. That Senate building could have spies lurking around every corner."

Mary smirked. "You don't have to tell me twice."


"Was dinner alright?" Gwen asked later that evening as she removed all of the pins from Sybil's hair and placed them in a silver jewelry box. "Only, just as I was leaving it seemed as if Lady Mary was cross."

"She was, rather," Sybil sighed. "But she's always cross these days, and she needs someone to take it out on. Cousin Matthew, Edith, me…" despite herself, she let out a small laugh.

"But I thought with the big Senate meeting and Empire Day, Lady Mary could concentrate on her work," Gwen reasoned, pulling the last of the pins out. Sybil's chestnut hair fell down her back in loose curls and she ran a few fingers through it to get it detangled.

"She does that too," Sybil said. But her work is part of the reason she's cross, she mentally added, longing to tell Gwen everything about what was truly happening with the family. She's imagined telling the maid about her family's relationship with the Rebel Alliance for some time, and she suspected Gwen at least had an inkling of her family's opinion on the Empire, but she could never bring herself to tell her. All her life, her parents had instilled the gravity of the consequences should anyone ever find out her family's role in the Rebellion, even those who were considered their most trusted friends.

"All it takes is for one person to know, the wrong person, and the truth finds its way to the ears of our enemies," her father would say. Of course, it all became more serious when they'd discovered Sybil was Force-sensitive. From then on it wasn't just the Rebellion they were protecting, but a person whom it was considered treason to shelter.

Still, Gwen was a best friend to Sybil, and though she shared more secrets with her elder sisters, she felt as if she could tell anything to Gwen. In a better world, she would be able to.

"Where is that hairbrush?" Gwen asked, jolting Sybil from her thoughts. She was looking across the table of the vanity for the engraved silver hairbrush Sybil had received as a gift for her thirteenth birthday from her grandmother.

Sybil checked the small drawers of the vanity, but the brush was nowhere to be found. Her eyes suddenly darted to the top of her wardrobe, and sure enough the brush was there laid against a painted vase. She must have forgotten to move it back to the vanity last night.

"One of the maids must have put it up there," she lied smoothly, getting up from the plush vanity stool and making her away across the room to the wardrobe. Sybil let out an annoyed huff. If she were alone she could easily get the brush down herself, but there was no way she could do it with Gwen in the room, as much as she wished she could.

"Uh, Gwen, are you able to reach it? I'm afraid I'm too short," Sybil said, hoping the maid didn't suspect anything.

"I don't know if I can, milady," Gwen said. "I'm not much taller than you." She reached up to grab the brush, but her fingers couldn't reach past the top of the doors. Instead, Gwen grabbed the vanity stool and placed it in front of the doors and stood up on it. Her feet were up on the edge of the stool, on the tips of her toes, and the stool seemed like it was starting to wobble.

"Gwen, be careful–" Sybil started but it was too late. The stool tipped forward, and brush in hand Gwen started to fall backward towards the floor. Without thinking, Sybil pushed her arms out as if to catch her, but Gwen's body didn't topple against hers. Instead, in remained suspended in mid-air, floating face-up a few feet from the ground.

Oh no, Sybil realized, eyes wide. No.

Immediately she felt the urge to pull back, to retract her Force powers. But she hesitated. If she did that, she would hurt Gwen. Instead, Sybil allowed the maid to gently float towards the ground until she was in a sitting position on the carpet.

The silence between them lasted forever.

Gwen just stared at her, eyes wide, gripping the hairbrush so tight it seemed as she could snap it in half.

"Gwen, I–"

"What was that?"

Sybil blinked. She didn't know what to say. Somehow, she eventually opened her mouth to speak, but not words came out.

"Was that…" Gwen trailed off, still sitting on the floor too stunned to move an inch. "Are you…"

So, she pieced it together. Sybil almost let out a breath of relief. She didn't even know if she could make the words "Force" or "Jedi" leave her mouth. Instead, she nodded in confirmation.

"I've only heard about them through stories about the Old Republic, but that's all they were – bedtime stories," Gwen continued, her voice almost a whisper. "I never thought they were real. But you are one of them? A Jedi?"

At that, Sybil shook her head adamantly. "I'm not a…" she trailed off, sitting down beside Gwen on the floor. Quickly, she eyed hat box she kept underneath her bed, the hat box that contained her grandmother's lightsaber. Sybil could feel the pull of the Force that connected her to the object, but she forced herself to look away, hoping Gwen wouldn't follow her gaze.

"I'm not a Jedi," Sybil continued. "I'm only Force-sensitive. But Gwen, you mustn't tell anybody, not a soul, promise me. If Governor Callen or any other Imperial officer finds out the whole family would be tried for treason. Promise me, you won't tell anyone."

Gwen nodded her head. "Of course, I promise."

Sybil smiled warmly at her friend and pulled her into a tight hug. She could tell Gwen was more than a little stunned by the action, but quickly threw her arms around Sybil, pulling her in a little closer. Everything in her heart told Sybil that she could trust her friend, that she wouldn't betray her family, that she wouldn't betray her. But there was a reason Sybil hadn't even told her own sisters about her Force sensitivity, a reason instilled in her by her parents for almost ten years now. Mary would always tell Sybil she could never understand the value of the Rebellion's mission, because she was born into a galaxy in which the Empire had already been established. She never knew what it was like to live in a free galaxy, under a democracy. But Mary was wrong. It was perhaps Sybil who knew the most out of any of her family what it was like to live in fear, to be forced to hide a part of who you are just to survive.

Even as the two friends embraced, Sybil couldn't help but gaze at the hatbox under her bed, and wonder if she had just doomed her family.