Author's Note: Hello, lovely readers! Thank you for your continued support, your lovely reviews, follows, and favourites! It's all greatly appreciated. I hope you're all staying safe, washing your hands, and wearing masks.
Enjoy!
Sybil doubted a dank concrete basement was the sort of thing a Jedi Padawan was used to, but it was the best her grandmother could do under the consequences.
It was one of those rare occasions where her servants were out of the house, and Violet had grasped the opportunity to hone Sybil's swordsman skills. The lightsaber felt warm in her hands, like the shining silver metal would melt right into them. The blade shone green, but even with her fingers so close to the emitter, they didn't feel as if they would burn. Kyber crystal – that was what her grandmother had said created the blade – a rarity to find these days, but not impossible. She hoped to one day find a crystal and create a lightsaber of her own, but for the moment her grandmother's felt perfect. Together they had gone over each of its aspects, from the battery and power cell to its emitter matrix, and how she had constructed it under the tutelage of a Jedi called Master Yoda.
Now, Sybil was getting used to the feeling of the weapon in her hands, how it moved with her wrist, how it connected to the Force with her.
"The Jedi fought with these, yes?" Sybil asked, focusing on the green-white blade.
"The Jedi use the Force first and foremost for knowledge and defense," Violet said from her seat at the far corner of the room. "But yes, dear, a Jedi uses her lightsaber to attack if she must."
A steel beam was jutting out from the concrete floor of the basement up to the ceiling and Sybil started to practice the few blocks Violet taught her around it.
"Feat further apart, dear," Violet said. "Or you'll lose balance."
Sybil gazed down at her feet and fixed her stance. She was dressed in one of her riding habits with breeches, tall boots, and a flared coat. Not an outfit traditionally worn by the Jedi, but at least it allowed her more freedom of movement compared to her day dresses and corsets.
Slowly, she swung the light saber around the metal beam, twisting her body with the hilt as if she had an opponent attacking her. Reaching out with the Force, Sybil found it carried her in a way – directing her movements and footwork.
"Are you feeling the Force flowing through you?" her grandmother asked, as if reading her mind. Sybil smiled the tiniest bit. She had no doubt Violet could.
Sybil nodded. "I feel it guiding me."
"Good, it should guide you, but it should also obey your commands. The Force is about balance between all living things. Light and dark."
Sybil's footwork faltered suddenly, remembering the darkness she had felt in the presence of Darth Vader.
"Is something troubling you, dear?" Violet asked, immediately catching on.
Sybil inhaled sharply. She'd been avoiding discussing the incident with anyone since it occurred, and she'd so far been successful. But now her grandmother knew something was wrong as soon as she'd mentioned the darkness. She couldn't put it off any longer, as much as she wanted to. She deactivated the lightsaber and took a seat beside her grandmother on the small bench.
"Granny, you remember when I went on that relief mission to Jakku all those weeks ago?"
"I remember that magnificent row over the dinner table on the subject," Violet said dryly.
"Well, when we reached Jakku there was an Imperial blockade. Our ship was searched." Sybil felt heat rise in her cheeks.
Violet was silent for a long while. "I trust your mother and father do not know about this."
She looked down, away from her grandmother and shook her head.
Violet didn't say anything to say, only gave her own head a stiff nod.
Sybil continued. "Our ship was searched… by Darth Vader himself."
Her grandmother's gaze hardened, and she tapped her walking cane on the floor a few times. The room grew still and tense, and Sybil couldn't tell if her grandmother was in shock or had already suspected the news. Finally, Violet asked, "did he sense your own Force-sensitivity?"
Sybil exhaled slowly. "I don't know, Granny. When Captain Branson left to show his officers our cargo, I felt this darkness surrounding Vader. And me. It felt like the Force, Granny, but something about it was twisted, wrong."
"The Dark Side of the Force," Violet said somberly, leaning on her walking cane.
Sybil stared at her grandmother and furrowed her brow. "What does that mean?"
Violet sighed. "The Dark Side was harnessed by the Sith – the Jedi's adversaries. Darth Vader is one of them, perhaps the most powerful ever known."
"It felt like he was using the Force to draw me in, like the Dark Side was enticing me."
"The Dark Side thrives off of fear and hatred. Anger. It's enticing because it represents the quick and easy path. A path into which a number of Jedi have descended," Violet said, a sudden tremble in her voice. Sybil had never heard her grandmother's voice tremble in her life. She didn't even know if that was possible. "If you felt it as strongly as you say, then it's possible Vader knows about your powers."
Sybil swallowed away a nervous lump in her throat. "But it's been weeks since it happened. If he knows, why hasn't he acted upon it? Don't they send inquisitors to root out Force-sensitive beings?"
Violet sighed and gripped Sybil's hand comfortingly. "I don't know dear, but it's best now that you don't leave the planet."
"But Granny, the relief missions –"
Violet put a hand up to stop her. "Those systems have survived this long; they can do so a little longer." A silence grew in the room before she spoke again. "It would also be a good idea to speed up your training, should the time come. Pick up the lightsaber."
Sybil nodded; a little more determination set in her face. The presence of the weapon calmed her nerves, she felt the Force again enveloping her.
"Take your position in front of the beam," Violet said. "Now you must learn how to attack."
Mary didn't know why she was here, standing in the middle of the massive docking platform, with her father and Cousin Matthew.
There were much better uses for her time instead of watching her bewildered and frankly awkward cousin learn about loading Granthinian goods into their respective shuttles to be shipped off to the Empire. What made the experience even more bothersome was that an Imperial Star Destroyer was hanging above their heads, clearly visible in the upper atmosphere and cast a shadow over the entire estate.
She swallowed and tried not to look up and its massive grey belly. The ship hummed quietly, but its cannons seemed primed and ready to rain fire down onto the planet's surface at any moment.
It was her mother who had asked Mary to join the men on their little lesson that afternoon – most likely to push her onto to the arms of Cousin Matthew in the hopes that a marriage would soon follow. She didn't know why her mother had warmed up to the new heir all of a sudden, but she didn't like it. Her father had probably worn her mother down enough to accept him, but Mary wouldn't. Not after he'd sent Sybil into danger with the Empire – either willingly or unwillingly. She had yet to figure that out.
"Lieutenant Hayes here leads the Imperial inspections of all cargo," Robert was explaining, gesturing to the middle-aged officer scanning a shipment box potable water cannisters. Mary tried not to wrinkle her nose at the man.
"No small feat," Cousin Matthew replied, his hands clasped behind his back.
Mary tried to read his expression – was it admiration or curiosity? She didn't know. The fact she didn't know irritated her to no end.
"It certainly isn't, Mr. Crawley," a voice drawled from behind them. Mary narrowed her eyes. Perfect. Just the person who could make this experience even more insufferable.
Governor Callen strode toward them from the lift's entrance, his gloved hands clasped neatly behind his back. He wore that same self-assured grin he always had whenever they were surrounded by other Imperial officers – as if the Crawleys had somehow encroached on their territory instead of the opposite.
"Lieutenant Hayes's team must go through what – at least one hundred shipment crates a day?" The governor continued.
"With the help of Lord Merton's team, of course," Robert added, obviously eager to remind Callen the Empire still didn't have complete autonomy over the planet. "Everything shipped off-planet must also be up to standard." He motioned to a few workers pushing the crates onto large shuttles. "After, they are put onto their designated shuttle. Those with the Empire's emblem obviously go to the Imperial Navy and Imperial Forces, while those with the Granthinian emblem are transported to other planets as part of trade agreements and such."
That day, there were only Imperial shuttles littering the dock, with everything headed to the Star Destroyer looming above them. Mary knew it must be important for there was ample security on and around the dock – squadrons of Stormtroopers and more Imperial officers than was necessary, though she didn't know the ship's designation.
She clenched her teeth in annoyance. Mary made it her duty to know the goings on of both her planet and the Senate, and she rarely didn't know when an important cruiser was arriving to take a shipment of goods.
"And what of imported goods?" Matthew asked.
"Everything coming onto the planet arrives via a separate dock not too far from here near the ocean," Robert explained. "It makes it easier for the imports to get transported all over the planet."
Mary was about to make some excuse to leave – her mother would just have to find some other way to enact her rubbish plans – when something in one of the Imperial shuttles on the far side of the dock caught her eye. It only lasted a second, but Mary could have sworn she'd seen a shadow racing down its ramp. A nervous feeling suddenly engulfed her, and instinctively she stepped towards her father and Cousin Matthew, eyeing the darkened opened ramp of the shuttle.
She had a bad feeling about this.
"I think we should leave–"
BOOM‼
Mary's words were suddenly cut off by fire and smoke. Some invisible force propelled her backwards off her feet, onto the far side of the platform. Her heart started to race, as she pushed herself to her knees.
"Papa! Matthew!"
Mary realised she couldn't hear her own screams, and instead an incessant ringing settled in her ears. All she could feel was the heat, and tendrils of flames threatened to burn the skirt of her day dress. She didn't know how badly hurt she was, and her body was so full of adrenaline if she had any injuries, she couldn't feel them. Her gaze shifted wildly as she tried to locate her father, her heart nearly stopping before spotting him and Cousin Matthew helping a clearly injured Governor Callen off the burning dock. The ringing in her ears became less severe, and a slurry of comm chatter and blaster fire filled the dock.
Mary was in the middle of firefight. Pushing herself, she quickly took shelter behind the closest Imperial shuttle. She didn't know how long it would keep her safe, but she needed to assess her surroundings. Through the smoke, it was clear the far side of the dock caught in the explosion had suffered the most damage – the shuttle that had once occupied its bay was now reduced to scrap and the dock itself was bent downward to the fields below. The structure beneath was starting to buckle – it would collapse at any minute.
Who was responsible for this?
They were clearly no friends of the Empire, but were they friends of the Rebellion? Or friends of Grantham for that matter?
From her vantage point behind the shuttle, Mary could see scraggly-dressed men and women ducking for cover behind anything they would find, shooting at the droves of Stormtroopers now arriving on the dock. She didn't know what else this group had planned – for all she knew they could be planning to blow up the entire dock.
Mary needed to find a way off as soon as possible without getting caught in the crossfire. Slowly, she reached under the skirt of her dress and pulled her small, sleek blaster from a holster on her thigh. It was something her kept on her person at all times – being a public anti-Imperial figure and involved in the Rebellion came with its dangers, after all.
"Stop!"
"Hold still!"
The shouts came from beneath her, down on the grassy fields beneath the dock. They belonged to a pair of Stormtroopers attempting to wrestle one of the rebels into submission. Mary's heart raced. They weren't shooting him, so they must want him alive for questioning.
But how much did he know about the Rebellion? Did he know about them? About their own involvement? If the Empire found out about her family, they would assume they had a hand in planning this attack – no matter that her father, Cousin Matthew, and herself were caught in it. It would mean the destruction of the Crawley family, and her home would become another cog in the Empire's machine. Mary could not let that happen under any circumstances. She aimed her blaster at the two Stormtroopers holding down the rebel fighter. If she was quick, she could get both of them before either had a chance to spot her.
Before Mary could pull the trigger, a squadron of Stormtroopers arrived and surrounded the rebel.
Blast.
There was no way she could take out that many without risking herself. Breathing steadily, she adjusted her aim and pulled the trigger before she gave it a second thought. The red blaster bolt sailed through the air and found its target cleanly.
The rebel fighter fell to the ground with a loud thump, but Mary was already running in the opposite direction to a clear staircase down the dock before the Stormtroopers could turn their heads.
By the time Mary reached the drawing room of the Abbey, she was relieved to see the rest of her family had already assembled – all accepted for Cousin Matthew and Cousin Isobel.
Mary's heart rattled so loudly it rivaled the explosion. Before she could ask after them, both her mother and father rushed up and engulfed her in a hug.
"Are you alright, my darling?" Robert asked, holding her shoulders and checking her over.
"I think – I think so," Mary replied, her voice shaking.
"You should still get checked by Dr. Clarkson," her mother said.
Mary nodded. "Where's Cousin Matthew?"
"He went back to Crawley House," her father supplied. "I don't think he was harmed in the attack."
Mary nodded again, this time finally looking at her father. He had a few scrapes and bruises, and his suit was covered in soot and dirt, but he looked fine. She breathed more steadily and took a seat on the embroidered sofa beside Sybil. As if it were a gut reaction, her sister practically shoved a glass of water towards her, to which Mary took gratefully.
"You weren't involved in this, were you, Robert?" her grandmother started, banging her walking cane down onto the hardwood flooring.
"How could you even say that, Granny?" Edith piped up defensively.
Robert looked equally defensive. "I knew nothing of this attack – I would never do such a thing."
"Well, then, what do we know?" Violet asked, her sharp eyes gazing around the room as if each one of them had a piece of information to share.
"As of right now?" Robert asked, "almost nothing. I was so busy rushing Governor Callen off the dock I didn't see any of the attackers' faces."
Through the massive drawing room windows, the smoke rising from the loading dock was still visible, as were the legions of Stormtroopers and Imperial officers. The chaos of the platform rushed back into her memory, and she was once again staring at the rebel fighter. She was once again aiming her blaster to kill the rebel fighter. She could just make out the reflection of the sun in his eyes. She pulled the trigger of her blaster –
"Mary?"
Mary's eyes snapped up to her father's worried face. "What did you say?"
Robert sighed. "I asked if you saw anything, recognized any of the attackers."
She shook her head.
"Could this be one of Saw's?" Cora asked, holding Robert's hand a little too tightly. "Ever since he parted with the Rebellion he's been pulling mad stunts like this."
"Saw Gerrera is mad, indeed," Robert replied, sipping his tumbler of brandy. "But I don't know if this was his doing. We'll have to get a message to the Rebellion about this, see what they know."
"But if it were him," Mary said, "and he wanted supplies, he could have just asked."
"This wasn't about supplies," Robert said solemnly. "Whoever did this wanted to hurt the Empire."
"And how well did that turn out?" Violet asked. "One shuttle destroyed out of their fleet of thousands and a few officers killed. They didn't even have the decency to hit Governor Callen."
Despite herself, her grandmother's statement pulled Mary's lips into a small smile.
"Whatever the motive, that attack was reckless," Cora said. "Robert, Mary, and Cousin Matthew could have been killed, and draws more suspicion on us should the Empire think we were involved."
"But we weren't!" Edith cried.
"That won't matter to the Empire," Mary replied, monotonal.
"Right," Cora swallowed, "and on that topic, I'm the sure the Empire will be right along with their questions and interrogations so we must co-operate with them and avoid raising their suspicions at all costs."
Mary inwardly groaned, but knew it was the right thing to do. Just like killing that rebel fighter had been to protect her family. If she hadn't, they could all be in that Star Destroyer above the loading dock, waiting to be sent to an Imperial prison, separated from each other, perhaps executed…
"What about Cousin Matthew and Cousin Isobel?" Mary asked, trying shake her thoughts.
"I think they know as much about the attack as we do," Robert said, taking another sip of brandy. "They're not a liability."
From her expression, Violet didn't seem to fully believe him, and Mary didn't either.
Were it not for the unfortunate look on Carson's face as he re-entered the drawing room before dinner, one would think everything at Downton were normal.
In the two days since the attack on the loading dock, not one Imperial official had come to Downton to debrief or pass on any information. As far as the family knew, Governor Callen was still recovering in the village hospital, but the Empire must know who the rebel group was and must be in the process of hunting them down. The Empire was nothing if not efficient. Perhaps, Robert thought as sipped his second glass of brandy, it was a good thing no Imperial had paid them a visit – maybe they had been cleared of suspicion, and they could all focus on rebuilding the dock.
Though the sky had darkened hours ago, the silhouette of the crumbling dock loomed in the distance. Thankfully, only the side directly hit by the bomb had been severely damage in the attack. The rest of the platform was useable but still considered too dangerous to remain in service.
As Robert stared at the loading dock, he begun to feel a slight gratefulness for the attack – though it was something he would never admit aloud. Sparing a glance at his mother, he wondered if she felt the same. Thankfully the attack had not been serious – and he still damned whoever was mad enough to put Mary and Matthew in danger – but it had struck a blow to the Empire. Since the attack, transportation had come to a grinding halt. Nothing was leaving the planet, and every second it remained as such hurt the Empire's war machine.
For that, at least, Robert decided he could spare some gratefulness.
The sentiment didn't last long, however, as Carson approached him with a weary look.
"Grand Moff Tarkin and Governor Callen are waiting for you in the library, my lord," Carson rumbled in a very low voice.
Well, that answered his questions.
Robert nodded, trying to project an air of confidence, but he could practically feel his heart drop to his feet. He set his glass of brandy onto the table beside him and made his way out of the brightly lit drawing room, into the darkened halls of the Abbey, and into the library. Only a few of the lamp lights were on, but a fire roared in the fireplace.
The two men were waiting for him by the large oak bureau – Grand Moff Tarkin with his ever-steely gaze and spotless olive uniform, and Governor Callen, a little worse for wear with a few faded cuts and bruises on his face and neck. He had borne the brunt of the explosion, though the three of them and Mary hadn't been particularly close to the blast. They'd all been thrown off their feet, but the governor had been struck in the head by a piece of flying debris. Matthew hadn't even hesitated after righting himself to help get the governor off the platform, and it had taken some convincing from Matthew to help him before Robert could stop his search for Mary. Shame had burned inside him, leaving his own daughter there like that, but in all the chaos he had found himself lifting the arm of the governor over his shoulder and getting him off the platform before the firefight could begin in earnest. When Mary had finally bolted into the drawing room after the whole bloody affair, a sense of relief threatened to make his heart explode.
"Gentlemen, I was wondering when you would finally grace this house with your presence," Robert said, trying to mask the nervousness in his voice. "Please," he gestured to a sofa adjected to the bureau, and the two officers two a seat. Robert settled himself in the sofa opposite. "Would you like a refreshment? I can get Thomas–"
"Lord Grantham, why don't we get straight to the point," Tarkin cut in. "Two days ago, the main loading dock was attacked by an unidentified group of terrorists, and while most of the dock remains structurally sound, significant repairs must be made so it remains safe for the shuttles and personnel."
So, transportation would remain slowed for a little longer.
"In the meantime, all transportation bound off-planet shall be moved to the dock in York," Tarkin continued.
The York platform was reasonable, given its relative proximity to Downton and its size – not at large as the main dock but large enough to get the job done.
"Very good," Robert replied automatically.
"I'm sorry to say it will put more pressure on you and your workers, Lord Grantham," Tarkin added, not sounding at all sorry.
Robert fought the urge to grind his teeth. Of course, it meant that – anything to keep the Empire running smoothly, even if that meant Grantham's own would suffer the cost. "I have good workers," he said forcefully. "They'll work as best they can under the circumstances."
Tarkin's eyes narrowed. "Yes, I'm sure of it. Now as for new security measures–"
"What is the assessment of the damage caused by the attack? Not the damage done to the dock or that shuttle, but the people," Robert asked, cutting off the governor. He was taking dangerous liberties with Tarkin and Callen, he knew, but they seemed to have neglected in telling him anything about that crucial aspect.
Tarkin's steely gaze remained on him, and if it were possible his eyes narrowed even more. Robert didn't think anyone dared interrupt him, but this was his house, his planet, and he had the right to know. The governor pulled out a small datapad from the inside pocket of his uniform's jacket and took a few seconds to pull up the information.
"No Granthinians have died, but seven were injured; three remain in the village the hospital and the rest were treated and cleared," Tarkin drawled. "Five Imperial officials were killed from the blast, nineteen others were injured, including Governor Callen. Thirty Stormtroopers were killed in the firefight. There were nineteen insurgents, and all were killed except for five, who fled on a shuttle and escaped."
Robert nodded, taking in the information. A few of them escaped and weren't caught – or so Tarkin claimed – so it would be easier to figure out who had planned and carried out the attack in the first place. The more he thought about it, the more likely this all seemed like one of Saw Gerrera's stunts. He hadn't wanted to believe it, but perhaps Cora was right. After all, he hadn't spoken to the man since before he severed ties with the Rebellion. And even then, he was carrying out missions deemed radical even by the Rebellion's standards.
"Now, as I was saying," Tarkin continued, clearly agitated with Robert's interruption, "new security measures have been discussed to ensure the safety of Grantham and its workers."
A small smirk crept up onto Governor Callen's face, which made Robert's heart drop yet again.
"As the main loading dock is being rebuilt, there will also be two garrisons constructed on either end, capable of housing one hundred Stormtroopers each," Tarkin said.
Robert felt heat rise to up through his chest into his head. "I should think a stronger militaristic presence would invite more conflict, no?"
"Lord Grantham, it had been made clear there is a weakness in the supply chain, and others may seek to exploit it," Tarkin snapped. "Let me reiterate, these new garrisons are for your protection, and the protection of your workers."
More like the protection of their own officials and the supply chain, Robert thought, once again refraining from grinding his teeth. They were using the attack on the dock as an excuse to exercise further military control over the planet, whether it required it or not. Mary would throw a fit, that was for certain – as would his mother, though perhaps without raising her voice as much. Cora and Edith would just grin and bear it, but Sybil… it was challenging enough to hide her Force sensitivity, but with these new garrisons it would be even harder. Especially with the running around she and his mother had been doing these past few weeks. Violet didn't think he noticed, but he did. The two had been "taking tea" together alone at the Dower House more and more, sometimes for hours. Robert hadn't had the heart to confront his mother about it yet, but he was sure she was helping Sybil in some way. But perhaps that was a good thing – if she learned to control her powers then a sudden outburst would be less likely. Yes, let Violet continue to help Sybil, it was probably the safest thing for her in any case.
"Further," Tarkin continued, "a squadron of Stormtroopers shall be positioned on the platform at all times, and more Imperial personnel will be added to inspect cargo both on-world and off-world bound. Finally, an Imperial blockade of three Star Destroyers shall be established with immediate effect."
Robert's eyes went wide. "That's hardly necessary–"
"These items are non-negotiable, Lord Grantham," Tarkin snapped. "The Empire has deemed them very much necessary. Governor Callen here shall oversee all of these implementations and will inform me should there be any resistance to them."
Robert stopped himself from glaring at the governor. It was clear Callen was enjoying this too much. He probably suspected Robert of planting the bomb himself. And now they were subject to a near-occupation of Grantham. Imperial bastard.
But Robert only swallowed his anger as the two Imperials rose from the sofa, and he did the same.
"I shan't take up more of your time, Lord Grantham," Tarkin said. "Enjoy your dinner."
Before Robert could ring for Carson to escort them out, the two officials were already walking out of the library doors out into the darkness of the halls beyond.
This was not good, Thomas thought as he rubbed his forehead with his thumb in between drags of his cigarette.
Normally, he could control his craving, but this was his second smoke since the dinner gong had rung and his heart as on edge. Fortunately, he wasn't expected back upstairs until the dinner service began, so he had a good half-hour of reprieve to calm his thoughts.
It wasn't just Thomas, but the whole staff had been rattled by the attack on the loading dock. The first evening, that clumsy William had even managed to spill the wine sauce meant for the chicken all over his own livery and Carson had made him rush up to his room and change. Mrs. Patmore was raising her voice at Daisy more than usual, but Mrs. Hughes was managing to keep everyone in check. It was Gwen who was shaken up the most, however – her parents had been working the fields right near the dock and had almost been crushed by the wing of the bombed shuttle. The maid had spent the past two days in the hospital with them, leaving her share of the work to Anna who was consoling more and more with Mr. Bates as of late.
Carson had said practically nothing about it other than the family's messages, but that was just him being Carson. It was more Mrs. Hughes who had comforted those who were more shaken up, which was nearly all of them.
"Lord Grantham wants to make it clear this was an isolated attack and that he doesn't anticipate much danger from this group – whoever they are," Carson had told the staff after they'd all been gathered in the servants' hall. Most of the maids had seen the explosion from one of the estate's windows, but the rest of them had just heard the BOOM and felt the shake of the house. Gwen practically had to held back so as to stop her from rushing towards the dock in search of her parents.
"However," Carson continued, this time with a slight hint of annoying in his voice, "Imperial officials may come around in the next few days asking questions, if anyone knows anything."
"Why would we know anything?" Daisy asked, to which Mrs. Patmore quickly shushed her with a hiss.
"It's just what they need to do, Daisy," Mrs. Hughes supplied in a gentle tone. "Please co-operate with their questions should they ask and answer truthfully."
Thomas took another drag of his cigarette and then stamped the butt out with his heel. No Imperials had been around to question them yet, but he suspected with Tarkin and Callen visiting, that would begin soon.
The air was becoming chilled, and Thomas was ready to turn in when a shadow came rushing into the courtyard. The footman rushed to meet it, and he and Abram shared a warm embrace.
"Where were you?" Thomas asked. "I was about to go back inside."
"Sorry, it was hard getting away from Callen," Abram replied, breathing heavily. "But he and Tarkin are settled in the library with his lordship now."
"Well, what's so important you can't transmit it over the holopad?"
Abram took a deep breath, sweat forming on his brow. "Thomas, now is the time to go. The Crawleys are getting themselves too deep into danger."
Some spark of loyalty to the family made Thomas's heart sink. "What do you mean?" He asked gravely. "Is this about the attack?" He suspected they might have some connection to the rebel group, but then why would they orchestrate an attack on their own dock?
Abram shot him a look of confusion. "No, no. Not that. It's about Lady's Sybil's relief mission to Jakku."
Now it was Thomas's turn to look confused. "What does a relief mission have to do with anything? As far as I know they're perfectly legal."
Abram shook his head. "They're being severely restricted now, and Lady Sybil's wasn't registered with the Empire." He suddenly dropped his voice to a whisper. "Her ship was boarded and searched by Darth Vader himself."
The footman's brow furrowed and felt his heart bang in his chest. "How do you know this?"
Abram inched closer to Thomas and placed a hand on his arm. "I overheard a transmission from outside Callen's office. Vader called him personally and was in a complete fury."
That didn't help Thomas's racing heart. "But how does this endanger the family?"
"Vader said to remind the Crawleys of the new rules regarding relief missions, and specifically 'we don't another incident like at the Yards'," Abram explained nervously. "He must have meant the Kuat Drive Yards, but I don't know what 'incident' Vader was referring to."
Suddenly, Thomas's heart seemed to come to a halt and his sweat turned cold on his skin. James and Patrick Crawley. The Empire had said their ship had been destroyed my marauders during a relief mission… but perhaps they had been doing something else… spying on the Empire. Destroyed by the Empire. Thomas was about to explain this to Abram but stopped himself just before the words could leave his mouth. He loved Abram, but he was still an aide to Governor Callen. He didn't want to say anything that might raise the Empire's suspicions on the family. It wasn't that Thomas wasn't sure Abram could keep a secret, but the Empire had ways knowing things and he didn't want to make it any easier for them.
"Whatever the 'incident' is," Abram continued, "it's not anything good for the Crawleys. Look, Thomas, I've saved up enough credits to buy my way off this planet, and I want you to come with me."
The footman grimaced. "But you know how rigorously those shuttled are checked, and now there's sure to be added security because of the attack. You wouldn't even make it off the platform."
Abram's lips curved into a smart smile. "I have enough money to bribe Lieutenant Hayes himself. Thank the stars those rebels didn't get him."
Thomas's heart was pounding so hard it rivaled the sound of the dinner gong. "What? How?"
His smile grew wider. "Turns out he has a gambling problem and has significant debts with some of the cartels on his homeworld. I saved up enough to cover them."
Thomas playfully shoved Abram's arm, and he returned the action by kissing him hard on the lips. The footman relished the kiss, wondering if it would be the last of them for a long while. As Abram pushed him up against the side of the house and continued kissing him, Thomas wondered if this is what he truly wanted – a life away from the estate and the Crawleys and the Empire. A life with Abram and only him. It was enticing, but had worked his whole life in service, and becoming butler of the big house was his life's dream. As a result, his sense of loyalty towards the Crawleys was stronger than he cared to admit. It felt wrong to throw it all away. Even if they were mixed up in the Rebellion – and he couldn't blame them if they were – he still felt a sense of duty to protect them. He knew his dedication to the family was rather silly, after all he was only under their employ, but he'd like to think they would protect him if he should find himself against the Empire.
Pushing the thoughts away, he gave Abram a sordid look when they stopped kissing. "You daft man, how do you know Hayes won't turn you into the Empire and keep the money anyway?"
"Because I would only transfer the credits once we're off the planet," Abram said.
Thomas let out something of a scoff and a chuckle. "I can't believe you've gone and fixed Hayes's debts. The man doesn't deserve it."
"He will if he secures us a way off Grantham."
Us. Thomas didn't know if wanted this. He wanted Abram but leaving the only life he had ever known was difficult to consider. He must have shown it on his face, because Abram's smile dropped.
"Look, Thomas, I know it's difficult," he began, his voice solemn. "But you have to understand that the Crawleys are putting themselves in danger. The Empire wants all of their off-world travel monitored and reported-on, it sounded serious. And Vader said something about being interested in Lady Sybil personally. I think we should get out while we have the chance."
For what seemed the millionth time that night, Thomas's heart stopped. "What did you say about Lady Sybil?"
"I said Vader is interested in her, personally. He didn't say anything more than that." Abram gave him a funny look. "Why?"
It wasn't just the family, but Lady Sybil in particular… why? Why would a monster like Darth Vader be interested in Lady Sybil? Because she conducted an off-book relief mission? No, it had to be more than that. Thomas's thoughts were spinning again. If he had a chance to protect Lady Sybil, he had to take it. He had been at Downton since she was born. He remembered when all the staff had been gathered and Carson had announced her birth. He remembered when she would always sneak into the kitchens for extra helpings of whatever sweet Mrs. Patmore had in the works. The cook had relented at times, but it was Thomas who would always indulge her by going into the larder and picking something for her to eat. She had always been so nice to him, and in recent years perhaps he hadn't shown her the same affection.
No matter what the family were involved in, Thomas had to tell Lord Grantham of Vader's interest in his daughter. He didn't know what it meant, but he had the opportunity to protect her, and he needed to take it.
"I should tell his lordship about this," Thomas said, his gaze shifting for a second to the illuminated servants' entrance.
"What?" Abram hissed. "If this gets back to Callen, I could get into more trouble than for simply trying to desert."
Thomas shook his head. "No, it wouldn't get back to him. The family's not like that – more likely Lord Grantham would keep it to himself. But he needs to know if Lady Sybil is danger, and from what you said it sounds more serious than a relief mission."
Abram's grip tightened on his arm, not uncomfortably or aggressively, but out of worry and urgency. "If we want to make it out, we need to leave as soon as possible. I peeked at the High Command's transmissions – they're planning on filling the planet with Imperial forces, a blockade, monitoring of all off-world travel. Soon getting off the planet will be nearly impossible."
Thomas grimaced. Again with the we, as if Abram was so sure he was ready to pack up and leave. But if what Abram was saying was true – and it usually always was – then he needed to decide quickly.
Abram or Downton.
He gazed back up at the estate sprawling above him. Its lights were still on, many flickering gently from what must be the fireplaces. Its glow bathed the estate ground in a soft gold. He could hear commotion coming from the kitchens inside – Mrs. Patmore shouting something at Daisy, no doubt. The dinner service was likely to start soon. He had to go back inside.
Taking Abram's hands in his, he gave him an apologetic look. "I can't make this decision tonight," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "My whole life is Downton, and I need to tell his Lordship about Lady Sybil."
Abram shot him a look of disappointment. "Well, the window of opportunity is shrinking by the day. We must leave before the squadrons of Stormtroopers arrive and the blockade is set."
"I know," Thomas replied, his hands shaking. "Just give me a day, at least, to figure everything out."
"Okay," Abram said quietly.
At first, Thomas thought he would leave in a huff, but Abram only smiled and leaned up to kiss him once more. It was light, yet still so passionate. It made him fall in love all over again. That doesn't help, Thomas thought playfully, and perhaps Abram knew that.
Without another word, Abram was rushing back towards the front of the house, and Thomas watched him fade into the darkness. Once his retreating form disappeared, the chill of the breeze finally registered making him rush inside to the light and heat of the servants' hall. There was the usual commotion – Mrs. Patmore and Daisy were putting the final touches on the evening's meal; Carson seemed to still be upstairs, along with Mrs. Hughes and the maids who were likely preparing the bedrooms for the evening. Thomas breathed in, and it felt safe.
It like home.
Could he really leave it all behind? Even for Abram?
Thomas shook his head, clearing any thoughts of abandoning his position at Downton. He knew his first priority, and that was protecting Lady Sybil from the Empire.
