Author's Note: Hello, lovely readers! Another update for you all, I do apologize that it's been a while. As always, thank you for the reviews, follows, and favourites, it's greatly appreciated!
Enjoy!
Matthew didn't consider himself a religious man by any stretch of the imagination.
In the months since his since arrival on Grantham the family had invited both him and his mother to join them at their church every week, and though he attended unfailingly, he never found himself taken with the words proclaimed from the pulpit. He reasoned that if there were a singular God up in the heavens somewhere, controlling what occurred down below, He most certainly would not have put him on the path in which he currently found himself.
But when Molesley announced Grand Moff Tarkin into his study the afternoon after their big dinner, he silently thanked every star in the galaxy – and indeed God if there were such a being – that his mother was out.
He generally believed himself to be a good, trustworthy son. But the singular damning fact he was technically spying on the rest of the Crawleys on behalf on the Empire – even under the threat of his certain demise – made him doubt he was a good person at all, let alone a good son. No, he realized. He wasn't a good son. He was keeping this secret from his mother, and from the rest of his family. And if they somehow discovered the truth about him, Matthew was quite certain they would never, ever, forgive him.
Lady Mary Crawley, especially.
The thought oddly broke his heart.
Matthew stood from his seat, although leapt would have been a more accurate description of the action, as the older man entered the small room and crinkled his nose at his surroundings. Matthew stopped himself from narrowing his eyes at him and cursed himself for standing at attention like some green Imperial cadet. He truly wished to show no deference to the man who would in effect be leading an occupation of the planet, but he couldn't help but admit Tarkin had a way about him that commanded attention and fear.
Not respect, however. Never respect. Not from Matthew, at least.
In fact, Matthew could not think of a person whom he respected less. But the dinner the previous night hadn't been a complete travesty. Actually, the moment with the salty meringue had made the whole bloody thing worth it. He could tell, however, that through the whole affair Grantham's new security measures weren't the only thing on Tarkin's mind. When they'd spoken in the drawing room before going into dinner the conversation topics between the two of them had never risen beyond the banal, and then Tarkin had excused himself rather abruptly to slink into a conversation with that rather disagreeable officer Larry Grey and Lady Sybil.
Peering at the group from across the drawing room, Matthew couldn't help but fixate on his cousin. It had surprised him to realize the feeling welling in his chest was protectiveness. He wanted nothing more than to go over there and rescue Sybil from being cornered by the two Imperials, but before he could he was roped into another conversation with Lord Merton and a young man who was introduced as Peter Pelham, the Marquess of Hexham. Even after all these months he was still trying to keep the titles used in the Grantham system straight in his mind, but he at least had enough wits about him to remember Lord Hexham's position was a sort of equivalent to Robert's but on their neighbouring planet. Still, every few seconds he would cast a glance at his cousin. Tarkin had been doing most of the talking which came to as no surprise, but Matthew's brow had furrowed as it had become obvious Tarkin was trying to intimidate Lady Sybil. He had leaned over her like a nexu about to trap its prey, but Sybil in return had held her ground. It had been quite something to watch, but the whole time Matthew had been wondering, why?
Why had Tarkin taken a sudden interest in Lady Sybil, when the purpose of the dinner was about a return to "normalcy" as the Empire put it, after the attack on the landing dock?
What Matthew couldn't guess, however, was the reason for Tarkin's present visit. If their conversations had steered clear of the political and incriminating topics the night before, then he had no doubt politics and blackmail were on the Imperial officer's mind as he entered the small room.
Tarkin did not take a seat in the chair in front of the bureau, instead electing to remain standing with his hands clasped neatly behind his back.
Matthew remained standing as well on the opposite side of the bureau. He had no intention of getting within an arm's length of the man if he could help it.
"Moff Tarkin," Matthew started, clearing his throat. He hated how nervous he sounded and made an effort to breathe steadily and evenly. "To what to I owe… this unexpected visit?"
Out of habit the words "the pleasure of" has almost escaped his lips, but he managed to bite them back.
"Quite unfortunate," Tarkin began without pretense. "The cowardly attack on the landing platform."
Why was he saying this? They'd already been through the niceties last night. "Yes, it is," was all Matthew decided to say.
"You were very lucky," he drawled on, the lines on his face remaining still as ice. "The result could have been exponentially worse."
What was he getting at? Matthew resisted the urge to narrow his eyes. "Yes…" he said carefully. "Lord Grantham and Lady Mary were very lucky as well."
"And I heard about your little act of bravery – getting Governor Callen off the platform." Tarkin's words were sincere, but the tone of his voice was like an interrogation into Matthew's very soul. He felt the sudden need to explain himself, though Tarkin hadn't accused him of anything. Sweat started to collect on his palms, his forehead – good God when had it gotten so hot in here? He wanted to stride over to open the large window to let the brisk breeze in, but his feet were cemented to the carpet.
"Everything happened so quickly," Matthew found himself explaining, nonetheless. The words kept tumbling out, anything to fill the suffocating silence between them. "The governor was practically thrown into me, and before I knew what was happening Lord Grantham and myself were carrying him away from the platform."
"Yes, Callen explained as much." Silence once again, Tarkin holding his gaze, waiting for him to crack. "And what off Lady Mary?"
Matthew blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"You said she was lucky as well, but from what I understand you made it off the platform before her," Tarkin said, holding his cold gaze. "Did you see her after she escaped?"
"No, I didn't," Matthew said truthfully, though he didn't know if Tarkin believed him. "I didn't see her until later in the evening, at dinner."
Tarkin considered him for a moment. "And how did she seem?"
"She was quite shaken, just like the rest of us," Matthew replied, his tone growing agitated. He felt the sudden urge rise in this chest to defend Mary's character to the gangly man in front of him.
"Was she, Mr. Crawley?" Tarkin clearly didn't believe him.
"I'm sorry, Moff Tarkin," Matthew could take this line of questioning no longer. "But what exactly are you implying?"
The older man let the question hang heavy in the air for quite some time, though his expression surprising didn't harden at Matthew's tone. Finally, Tarkin spoke, and Matthew almost flinched at the sudden break in the overwhelming silence.
"You've been on Grantham for, what, just about five standard months now?" Tarkin asked, almost lightly.
Matthew felt his fists clench involuntarily, his jaw tightened almost painfully.
Tarkin continued, the faintest hint of a smirk crossing his lips. "Yes – five standard months and you already appear to know the Crawleys so well. Which is why you've sent Governor Callen a total of only five reports on them."
Matthew swallowed, wondering if Tarkin would take out a pistol and shoot him right then and there.
The silence that followed was unlike anything Matthew had experienced in this life. It was oppressive, it drove him to madness, it shut out what chill was left in the room and replaced it with stifling heat. Finally, when it became clear Tarkin wanted an answer from his mouth, he found the will to speak.
"Why do you need them? As your current plans show, you're more than capable of spying on the Crawleys without me having to act as your lackey," Matthew said.
"But security can only go so far, Mr. Crawley," Tarkin replied with an all-knowing drawl. "The Crawley family are intensely private and very cautious of… outsiders. I very much doubt you know them as well as you think you do." Without another pause, Tarkin turned towards the study's door to leave.
Matthew should have grateful the interrogation was now coming to an end, anything to get that man out of the room. But that last sentence… he couldn't get it out of his head. It lodged itself deep in his soul, unable to be left alone.
"What do you mean?" Matthew asked, before the older man could take a step passed the door's threshold.
Tarkin smirked again. "Ask them about James and Patrick Crawley."
Sybil knew she shouldn't be down here. Her grandmother would tell her it wasn't her place – the servants have their space downstairs, and they have their place above. But since that evening Gwen discovered her long-kept secret, the line between staff and employer had faded completely. Gwen was now one of four people in the galaxy who had knowledge of information that could very well destroy the family and the household, and there was no Jedi Force trick to make her forget. But Sybil didn't want Gwen to forget – it was freeing to be able to talk to someone without keeping an important part of herself hidden away under lock and key.
Sybil tucked herself in an alcove by the servants' entrance and waited for Gwen to pass by. The family had just finished a quite subdued breakfast upstairs, so she suspected the house maids might be getting a bit of a reprieve while the footmen cleared away the breakfast table. Few curious hall boys gave her surprised looks, but she simply told them she was not waiting on Carson nor Mrs. Hughes, and they quickly went about their business. After a second encounter with a hall boy she realized either the butler or housekeeper would find her eventually and start asking questions, and she almost gave up on her mission when Gwen finally passed by.
A quick whisper caught the maid's attention, and Sybil pulled her into the alcove with her.
"My lady, is something wrong?" Gwen asked, clearly stunned.
"No, no, Gwen. You're not busy, are you?" Sybil asked.
"Well, we have to change the linens in the guest rooms in half an hour."
Sybil smiled and grabbed Gwen's hand. "Good."
She led her quickly out the servants' entrance, through a small patch of woods just to the east of the estate and then up to a clearing at the top of a hill. It was the same clearing she had escaped to after James and Patrick's memorial service – her own private space away from everything. The only thing that marred the view was the massive landing platform down in the distance, now surrounded by Imperial officials and stormtroopers and cranes and repairmen.
Further down Sybil could even make out of the two plots of land being surveyed by multiple teams of Imperial engineers – the beginnings of the garrisons. No ground had been broken yet, but the whole site had been quickly chosen and cordoned off. Clearly the Empire wanted to make their presence known as quickly as possible. Thankfully a fleet of Star Destroyers hadn't joined the rest of the Imperial troops, only the one laying in rest in the atmosphere above the landing platform, but no doubt more would join it soon.
"This is amazing," Gwen said, finally catching her breath.
Sybil stared at her friend and appreciated she could still see the beauty of her surroundings, when all Sybil could see were the beginnings of an Imperial occupation. Clearly Mary's view on things had been rubbing off on her. Still, the Empire had already taken so much away from them, and away from the galaxy. Sybil could not let them take away the beauty of this place as well.
"It's where I come to practice, on my own," Sybil confessed.
"Show me?"
Sybil swallowed, the prospect of willingly displaying her Force sensitivity to someone other than her family daunting. The request went against everything she had been taught since she was a girl. But Gwen was her best friend, more than that. Gwen felt like family, too.
She took a seat on the grass and Gwen followed her lead. Closing her eyes, Sybil reached out towards the patch of wildflowers beyond them. She felt the wind suddenly pick up, sending a comforting chill down her back. The Force was all around her, flowing through the individual blades of grass, the soil beneath her, through the veins of the wildflowers and the roots of the trees. She felt the Force flow from every living being and travel up her spine. She then opened her eyes, watching the leaves from the nearest tree detach from their branches and dance circles around Gwen.
"How wonderful…" Gwen exclaimed softly, eyes alight following the trail of leaves as they landed on the grass around them.
"One of the more benign tricks," Sybil replied, her voice trailing off.
"Lady Sybil…" Gwen began, shifting in the grass. "I know you don't really have a choice, but I wanted to thank you for trusting me with your secret."
"I'd trust you with anything, Gwen," Sybil said, smiling warmly.
"You really mean that?"
"Of course, I do! We're like sisters, you and I." As the words came out of Sybil's mouth, she realized she was closer to Gwen now than both Mary and Edith. She and Gwen were bound together by her Force sensitivity when Gwen could be rewarded for turning Sybil and her family over to the Empire. She moved closer toward Gwen beside her and nestled her head onto the maid's shoulder. Together, they stared out toward the broken landing platform and the rush of movement and machinery around it.
"I'm terribly sorry about your parents," Sybil said after a long silence.
"They're recovering," Gwen replied, her voice soft. "Luckily, they weren't right near the platform when the bomb went off. A piece of metal hit papa's leg pretty bad but it's getting better. He's hired one of the hall boys to help operate the tractor."
"And your mother?"
"She's back to her usual self. The burns weren't serious, according to Dr. Clarkson."
"That's good," Sybil said. "I'm glad."
"Me too." Another pause before Gwen spoke. "We heard about all the new security the Empire is providing; Mr. Carson told us at breakfast today. What are you going to do?"
Sybil swallowed sharply; felt her heart pound a little heavier in her chest. Remembering the conversation with her father, thoughts of fleeing came to mind.
"Just carry on," Sybil replied finally. "What else is there to do?"
Thomas had just finished bringing down the last tray from the upstairs breakfast when he saw Lady Sybil huddled in the corner by the servants' entrance. He had a mind to approach her, ask her if she needed anything.
In fact, he felt the sudden need to know everything – why the Empire was interested in her, what she hiding, what was Lord Grantham hiding? Knowing he would most certainly get sacked was the only thing stopping him from going over there and asking Lady Sybil herself. He had eventually made up his mind to ask Lady Sybil if she needed assistance and nothing more when she pulled Gwen into the corner with her before whisking the housemaid out the servants' door into the yard. Thomas took a quick gander at the clock in the hall. It was only half past ten – the family's luncheon wouldn't be for another two hours at least, Lord Grantham was out inspecting repairs to the landing, Lady Grantham was also out paying calls to the wounded, and the elder Crawley sisters certainly wouldn't need anything William couldn't handle.
With light steps, Thomas stepped out the servants' entrance on the pretence of a smoke break, and discovered Lady Sybil and Gwen were not in the yard, but were rushing up the hill beyond and into the forest.
Just turn around and go back inside. The thought swirled in his mind uncomfortably. Truly – what was to be gained by spying on his employer's daughter besides being thrown out on his ear?
Information… answers to all his questions…
Thomas scanned the area quickly to make sure no one was watching and followed Lady Sybil and Gwen into the forest.
Thankfully, he caught himself before rushing into the small clearing after them and ducked behind the wide truck of a fallen oak. If he peeked over the tree, he had a clear view of the two women. They were sitting, their backs facing him. Just beyond them was the destroyed loading dock, surrounded by cranes and Imperial personnel. Maybe Abram was down there, somewhere, dutifully at the right hand of Governor Callen mentally sorting through all the information that could be sold off for a few credits. Thomas chuckled to himself at the thought, but it instantly soured. Abram had been using that information to buy his way off this planet, and then he had decided to stay. Thomas of course had been elated by the news, but now couldn't help but wonder if Abram resented him for it – he was still stuck in a job he hated with people he hated with no way of escape. But with the increased security and Imperial presence, it would now be near impossible to defect.
Motion out of the corner of Thomas's eye suddenly caught his attention. His heart raced, but realized neither Lady Sybil nor Gwen had moved from the clearing. In fact, Lady Sybil was sitting perfectly still, but around them were leaves from the trees, wildflower petals, blades of grass. They were coming from the trees around him, rising from the earth, and Thomas stood in amazement. It was as if the whole planet was dancing around Lady Sybil, moving in the most delicate of natures. Gwen tilted her head back to watch everything, then back to Lady Sybil, as if she were the cause of such wonderment. And then the leaves and the flowers and the blades of grass arranged themselves in a neat line and danced towards her.
Thomas furrowed his brow and shifted as silently as he could to watch at a better angle. It was then when he could see it – Lady's Sybil's arm was stretched out, guiding the bits of nature of their path. His eyes widened almost immediately at the realization.
This was Lady's Sybil's doing.
She was the one controlling nature around them.
But how?
And then another realization hit him – when he was a boy, before Downton and before the Empire, he'd been told tales by his older brothers of powerful peacekeepers and warriors. Men and women who could do things beyond explanation, sense the future, move things without lifting a finger, read minds… using the Force.
But they had gone extinct, hadn't they? The great Jedi Purge had wiped them all out. And the ones who'd survived were hunted down by the Empire.
But here Lady Sybil was, displaying her power… a power that, if it were discovered by the Empire, could get her killed and the rest of them arrested for treason.
This must be why the Empire was interested in Lady Sybil… Abram had said Darth Vader himself and searched her ship during that relief mission. But if that were the case, why were they all still here? Why hadn't they been visited by Imperial Inquisitors?
Thomas shook his head and focused back on Lady Sybil and Gwen. The bits of nature she had been controlling were scattered in the clearing around them, as if it had been the work of a strong gust of wind. He'd seen enough, now. He'd seen too much.
And what was he to do with that information?
As much as it pained him, he couldn't tell Abram. Even so much as a rumour of conformation would bring down the Empire's wrath upon them. And there it was again, he realized, that feeling of loyalty to the Crawleys that welled in his chest. Reporting on this secret was all well and good for Thomas's own self-preservation, of course… but whatever consequences the staff would face as a result of this getting back to the Empire would be faced tenfold by the entire family. Thomas couldn't let that happen.
Taking care to watch his steps, the footman maneuvered away from the clearing. When he had put enough distance between him and Lady Sybil, he broke into a full run back to the estate.
