"Do you want to play with the doll?"

Cora watched as Lillian considered the cloth toy she was holding. It was rather plain for a Countess' daughter, more of a stuffy than the standard dolls one thought of when imagining the beloved plaything a child of Downton should have. She had seen what some of Robert's peers had thought made lovely toys for their children… porcelain dolls in fine dresses and hand painted faces. Beautiful to look at, perhaps fine companions for tea parties, but otherwise treated no different than how so many in England saw their children: decorations to be shown off before tucked away, out of sight and out of mind. Cora though, despite all she did to act otherwise, was American. She had been raised by a man who while having gained wealth that put Downton's purse to shame had begun life as a simple man from a poor home and remembered the love and attention his parents had given him. He'd done the same for her and Cora had been determined to do the same for her children.

Once Robert's mother had bragged about how she had far more involved in her children's lives than her peers had in their heirs' lives. "An hour for tea every day." She'd been so utterly PROUD of that. Cora had been horrified by that thought. The idea that Robert and his sister hadn't actually eaten with their parents until their teens, that armies of nannies and servants had cared for them… she had refused to raise her children that way. She would spend time with them, love them and care for them. There would be the nannies and governesses of course but she wanted to be there for her children.

The proof of that was the doll. A cloth toy stuffed with fluff and a stitched on face and yarn hair. A simple toy but something that could be tossed about and hugged and loved without fear of breaking it.

She'd had one made for each of her girls. Mary's had been a pretty thing with black hair and a blue dress. Edith's had been brown-haired with a gray dress with red trim. Sybil's had been a deraggled little thing by the time she'd finally grown out of it, the blonde hair frayed and the dress replaced twice due to the rough play.

Now she sat on the floor of the nursery and held out a red-headed doll to her youngest child.

Lillian considered the doll for a moment before nodding. "Yes." Her voice was utterly soft, not so much a whisper but rather a muted sound. Quiet yet also filled with conviction. She wanted to play with the doll, there was nothing else to say. Where Mary would have demanded, Edith would have been uncertain, and Sybil would have just taken it and run off before Cora could finish, Lillian merely considered the doll before deciding that yes, she wanted to play with it, took said doll, and begun to do just that.

Cora reached out and stroking the little girl's hair as she set about building a little house for the doll with her blocks. It was slow work, Lillian carefully lining up the block and placing them so that they were perfectly squared with each other. It went slowly and Cora knew that some might have seen her and thought her meek and dim from the way she measured out her words but she could see easily that the child merely was one that desired perfection and weighed all options before committing. She was not brash like her sisters but that didn't mean she wasn't sure of her opinions. Even at her young age she knew what she wanted and when she settled on it no one could command her otherwise.

'So like your sisters,' she thought as Lillian finished the square that would be the foundation of her dolly's house and began to build up the walls. 'How long before you decide to leave me too?'

It was just so utterly hard. Cora wanted to pick Lillian up and cuddle her and hug her and never let her go. Keep her close and stroke her hair and tell her how much she loved her. How she was now one of the only lights in her life. But she was so very scared. Terrified that she'd drive her away in her quest to keep her close. She remembered how her mother had once told her that when one tried to squeeze their fist to hold more sand it merely made it spill between one's fingers. But she also didn't want to give her too much freedom, lest the little girl grow up thinking she wasn't loved. Because she was loved, so very much.

'Perhaps it's unfair of me,' she thought as she watched Lillian consider which block to stack up next, 'but she is getting love that was meant for four.'

"Well, there you are," Violet said as she made her way into the room, her cane tapping against the floor as she ambled across the nursery and took a seat in the solid oak chair near where Cora knelt on the floor.

"I suppose you are here to scold me for not standing at attention?" Cora asked, keeping her tone light as Lillian rose and toddled over to Violent, reaching up and patting the old woman's wrinkled hands with her small chubby ones. Violent, for her part, merely smiled and mimicked the toddler, running her fingers along the back of her hand before motioning for her to go back to her games. Lillian nodded and went back, a small smile tugging on her lips as she did so.

"I'd prefer not to, if that is all right with you," Violet said, lips pulled together tightly. "I know you think it my duty to behave like some monstrous ogre but I can show restraint and kindness, I'll have you know." She shifted in her seat. "The fact of the matter is that I quite understand your desire to spend time with Lillian."

Cora didn't say a word for several minutes, giving Violet a look that let her know she wasn't ignoring her. It was only when Lillian moved across the room to gather more blocks from the finely crafted toy chest that she spoke and only then it was in a low whisper. "You'll be horrified, I am sure, but I truly don't care: if it weren't for Lillian I would have long left Downton."

"And where would you go?" Violet asked.

"New York, most likely. It wouldn't be unheard of for a Lady to take an extended leave of her home to return to the place of her birth."

"Not across an ocean though," Violet said. "Or, at least, one as large as the Atlantic. To the continent? Well, that is rather common. Many women take trips there on their own to tour Europe. The colonies though?" Violet paused and let out a little laugh. "Of course that's mostly because there is so little to see there!"

Cora though shot her a dry look. "I would remind you that England is far smaller than the United States. In fact all of Europe could easily fit within its borders."

"Ah, but there is a difference between size of land and size of culture," Violet argued. "I have stayed in homes that are older than that country. And its size only makes more clear how empty it truly is." She shrugged. "Still I suppose you would find something to do there… for a little while."

"Or a long while."

"You don't-" She paused as Lillian finally returned and the two lapsed into quiet as the little girl continued on her own little manor made of blocks. Both had learned that Lillian heard and understood more than most realized and neither wanted to upset her by talking of anything less than happy things. She wouldn't scream or cry but Cora had witnessed Lillian shrink into herself when people were upset and it would take days to make her feel comfortable enough not to walk about like she was carrying a precious egg upon her head. Once Lady Wetherton had, while having tea with Cora, allowed her voice to become to sharp while Lillian had been walking by with her nanny. The poor child had refused to come downstairs for nearly a week, worried she would upset "the tall lady". Nanny had tried once to carry her downstairs only for Lillian to instantly slip away and hide upstairs, forcing all the servants to tears about the guest rooms till they found her. She wasn't skittish… merely sensitive to the world around her and preferring to avoid its traumas if it could be helped.

Finally Nanny Walters came in, a touch startled to find both Cora and Violet sitting there. "Oh! Your ladyship. I just came- the little miss needs her bath and then to head to bed. But I can-"

"no no, please," Cora said. But rather than rising up she held out her arms and felt her heart melt when, after making she had placed the last block in place and it was straight, Lillian shuffled over and gave her a hug. "Oh, my empathetic little princess," Cora whispered, feeling Lillian wrap her arms around her middle. "Mama loves you so very much."

"Yes. Love you too." She said it so matter-of-fact, so much like a truth that was known to all, that it made Cora's eyes sting with unshed tears. She quickly blinked them away as Lillian pulled back, staring at her for a long while before finally nodding and moving over to say goodnight to her grandmother.

It was only when she was gone that Violet spoke. "Cora, you don't mean to suggest that you'd seriously consider… leave Robert?" Needing to do something Cora rose up and began to put the loose blocks away, though she refused to touch Lillian's little block house while Violet looked on. "You know that for people of our station such things simply aren't done."

"But I'm not of your station, am I? I'm just the uppity little American pretending to be something she isn't." Cora let out a sigh. "Forgive me… that wasn't right. You aren't the one I'm mad at."

"Though I dare say I deserved that for how I treated you when things started." Violet folded her hands in her lap and let out a quiet breath. "It seems that is a trait us Crawleys share… directing annoyance and disrespect on those our children choose to love."

Cora didn't take the bait.

Violet looked up at her, lips puckered as she continued to pick up the nursery. "You mean to tell me that if it weren't for Lillian you'd have left Robert and gone to New York?"

"Of course." She didn't bother to look up at her mother-in-law. "I love Robert. I won't claim that I don't. The thought of losing him to the War made my heart clench. But there is a different between loving someone and liking them and honestly I don't much like Robert anymore. I look at him and see the man who didn't just merely drive our daughters away but who has shown not an ounce of guilt for doing so. He cares more for appearances than he does about happiness." She gave a little shrug. "It would be easy enough. America leads the world in divorces… my mother would hire a lawyer and argue cruelty or abandonment. Knowing her she might try adultery… her last letter was rather harsh when it came to Robert and what he did to the girls so I could see her seeking to ruin him." Violet let out a hissing gasp at that but Cora continued on. "Or perhaps I'd settle in Nevada. After 6 months I would be declared a resident and they are rather laxed with their divorce requirements. Then there is a Mexican Divorce-"

"You've put far too much thought into this," Violet stated, "for someone who claims to still love Robert."

"It would break me to do it, I admit that." Cora shook her head as she dropped the last toys into the chest. "And it is something I most likely wouldn't actually go through with. But there is a comfort to thinking about it and know I have the option. To know there should things ever truly get too bad I have a way out."

"But surely there is more to your life here at Downton than just Lillian and Robert," Violet said, leaning forward. It didn't matter that Cora was standing and her mother-in-law was seated... somehow the old woman still managed to look down upon her. It was a trick Cora had never managed to master.

"What?" Cora asked, for once deciding not to be demur and polite to Violet but make clear how odd and strange her comment was to her ears. "Charities where I am little more than a figurehead for them to point to when they wish to make themselves look grander? Luncheons that border on tedium? Oh yes, I know... I keep the furniture from flying off!"

Violet merely leveled a cool stare at her. "Such remarks aren't cute when Mary and the girls say them and they are less so when you utter them." She settled back in her chair. "And it is those very girls that I speak of. Your daughters."

"Who want nothing to do with me," Cora said with bitter disappointment.

"Because you have done nothing to make things right!" Violet declared, thumping her cane against the hardwood floor.

Cora stared at her slackjawed for a moment. "What... what else would you have me do? I send letters, I send gifts, I beg them to come see me-"

"There, right there." The Dowager jabbed her finger at Cora like it was a fencing blade. "There is your mistake."

"I don't understand."

"Of course you don't," Violet said with a huff. "Do you know why Mary and Edith and Sybil welcome me into their home... even that tiny little flat Sybil shares with that rebel of a woman?" Cora knew Violet was speaking of Isobel and couldn't help but smile at that. "Because I didn't try to bludgeon them with sheets of paper thicker than most cakes or buy their willingness to reengage with gifts. The former is easy to ignore at best and comes off as patronizing at worse. And the latter is an insult, frankly. There is far more depth to them than that!"

"So you'd have me do nothing?" Cora challenged.

"I'd have you see them, speak with them, and make it clear that you love them and respect the choices they've made in their lives."

Cora though shook her head in misery. "They won't come to see me."

"Again, that is your mistake." Cora stared at her, not comprehending what she was getting at and finally her mother-in-law huffed. "Expecting them to come here, the theater of their tragedy, instead of you going to see them!"

"Go to London?" Cora asked, wanting to make sure she'd heard Robert's mother correctly. When she merely shot her a look Cora waved her off. "Oh, I couldn't do that."

"And why not?"

"Downton-" Cora paused and realized that she'd only admitted moments ago that save for Lillian there was nothing tying her down to England, let alone Downton.

"My dear you just told me that you fantasize about how you'd escape this place and travel to New York. I dare say London would be a shorter trip."

She had here there. "I couldn't go because Lillian is here."

"And they do not allow children to take passage on trains?" Violet questioned. "Well... that is a new rule I had not heard before. I wouldn't mind of course, as far too many children are rather loud and boisterous while riding on trains-"

"I didn't mean that," Cora said sourly. "I meant that Robert wouldn't allow it."

"Oh? So one moment you speak of how Robert holds little sway over you and the next you need his permission to do something you've done in the past? I remember you taking Mary to London when she was Lillian's age."

"That was different."

"However was it?" she pressed. "Because this time you aren't going to visit friends but rather your children?"

Cora glared at her but the longer her mother-in-law returned her stare the more Cora's will wilted like a flower in the summer sun until finally she felt herself collapse into herself. "Because I'm afraid," she finally whispered. "Now there is a chance they might let me be a part of their life. I can hold onto that. But if I go and they reject me..."

She wasn't sure when it happened but she suddenly found herself sitting in the chair Violet had been in, the old woman beside her rubbing her between her shoulder blades. "Yes, there is risk. But I think you are looking at the girls far too harshly and letting what happened in the heat of the moment cloud your judgment. Your only sin was siding with Robert, or at least giving them that impression. His actions are currently your own because of that but Mary isn't a statue and as much as she might like to think her heart is ice I know that it is not. Go to her, Cora. Go to her and ask for her to let you be a part of her life again. When she agrees to it Edith and Sybil will as well. It is Mary who has caused the separation and it is her that can mend it." Violet considered something for a moment before nodding to herself. "In fact I would say Lillian would help in that matter greatly. Mary might be cold to just you but if you arrived at their doorway with her littlest sister Mary would be far more open. At the very least she wouldn't cast you out onto the stoop. It would be good for the little angel as well... she should know her sisters."

"But what of Robert?" Cora asked with a hiccup, determined not to cry no matter how much she longed to. "When he finds out-"

"He'll what? Cast you out?" Violet asked. "If so then he is a fool that will have doomed himself. Not just from society but I. And as for you and Lillian...well, the girls were exiled and they have done rather well. General Lothrop might not be of our ilk but the depth of his heart makes him a king among kings. What else can you say of a man who took in three girls he'd barely known and treated them with kindness and love? And Mary would not see you left homeless after you two had just worked out your problems." She patted Cora on the back. "Go to them, Cora. Go to them and fix the rift. You missed Mary's wedding... don't miss Edith's. Go and make things right and find a way to be part of their new lives. And once it is healed then all of us can work to pound some sense into my pudding-headed son."

Cora smiled at that and finally nodded. "Yes... and I think I know just where to start." She stood and smoothed out her dress. "I was told we had some important guests downstairs... I should meet with them. Including a certain general." With that she marched out of the room, her heart all the lighter.

~A~O~O~O~F~

Allen was not in a pleasant mood.

He had never been one for large gatherings. Oh, he could handle dinners, that was perfectly fine. It was rather common for all those in attendance to slowly split off into smaller groups and that is where he thrived. He was far too used to seeing large groups as something he had to command, not something to merely be a part of. Have him chat with a cluster of men that numbered no more than 5 or so and he was perfectly fine. He'd tell a few stories, listen as others made their comments, and then wonder when dinner would be. But a large gathering filled with numerous people, many of whom he didn't know, where they were all expected to mingle together? That left him not knowing how to act. His first reaction was to stand up and take command, to give directions and orders. His second was to leave and just go do things himself because when it came to anyone he didn't know he didn't trust them in the slightest to handle things in a sensible way.

The musicians continued to play and he did his best not to shift in his seat. The red dress jacket he was wearing wasn't his favorite and he'd have much rather worn his standard olive or tan uniform than the ridiculous outfit that was required by the military to don.

'Serves no purpose other than to make me look stupid,' he thought to himself.

His mood wasn't helped either by the fact that he found the music to be rather dull. Well, just by itself, of course. Allen was someone that liked to keep his mind stimulated. When he'd been a private the other soldiers had nicknamed him 'Professor' because he liked to read whenever there was a lull in the fighting. He enjoyed word puzzles and other times would work on mathematic problems purely to amuse himself. The other men hadn't got it back then but his commanding officer had. "Lothrop, you're mind is a horse that wants to run about even if it's stuck in a pen!" one Captain had once shouted at him. And he was right. Cat knew that on long train rides all she had to do to keep him busy was to give him an enigma to process and he would happily remain quiet in his seat and not say a peep, allowing her to chat with friends or plot out her next book without him constantly bugging her.

The music would have been perfect if he were able to read a book or jot down thoughts on a pad of paper or puzzle out something. But no, all he could do was sit there, staring with a stony face as the band continued to play the standard dry music and everyone pretended it was something new and exciting and wonderful.

'Like anyone here would know new and exciting,' he thought, forcing himself not to scoff out loud. 'They wouldn't know what those were if they took form and bit them on the ass!'

He gave up trying to remain still and shifted his weight, grimacing slightly in pain as he felt a twinge where his leg met his hip. Part of the problem with his build was that he was designed for movement, not stationary positioning. Command him to walk 10 km a day and he'd manage it with ease. Tell him to sit in an unfamiliar chair and his hip would begin to lock up. He could already feel the pain coming on and he hoped that there would be a break soon; if there wasn't then he risked developing a limp from the pain and then it would take days or even weeks to work out kinks.

'Damn chairs,' he thought as he reached down and drove his fingers almost painfully into his hip muscles, wigging them back and forth to try and loosen everything up and mitigate the pain. 'Downton Abbey is sooooo wonderful and so bloody fancy but they couldn't get us chairs with better padding?' He could see that others were hurting as well, their tailbones beginning to throb from sitting in the hard oak chairs for far too long. Of course Robert Crawley looked perfectly content to spend the entire night in a chair, sitting forward listening to the music and basking in the knowledge that he was forcing so many military personal to be uncomfortable to stoke his own ego. 'And that is the real reason I am in such a foul mood,' Allen thought to himself as the band, even though they had moving towards would could have been a lovely ending, moved to continue the piece.

His words to Anna and John had proven to be quite correct: he needed to keep reminding himself not to drive his fist into the Earl's nose the moment he's seen him. The fool had tried to intimidate him… HIM!... with a strong handshake and then resorted to poison-dipped compliments and acid-filled chatter. Allen had envisioned that he was cradling Noah in his arms, as it had been the only way he'd gotten through the conversation.

The girls had hidden it well and strangers might have missed it but Allen and Catherine had raised a daughter and he knew how one could hide their tears when others were around. In those first few days, when he'd come upon Mary sitting alone in a room, he'd seen how she'd leapt up and avoided locking eyes with him so that he couldn't see the redness that tinted her sclera. He had watched Edith struggle to enjoy her new freedom even as homesickness claimed her. And he'd heard Sybil murmur to herself about all the many different ways life could have gone and things might have been different. It had taken them a lot of time and effort to move on and while they were all in better places the father in him remembered well who it was who had hurt the three women that had become the daughters of his heart.

And yet here he was, forced to sit under Robert Crawley's roof (and in the back of the room, a clear insult to his station and honor), listen to music he provided, sit in his horribly uncomfortable chairs that could go straight to hell, and then thank the man for throwing a few coins at the military like he'd won the entire bloody war for them!

Allen was not in a pleasant mood.

Thus when he saw the two women who he figured had come from the village or one of the neighboring towns to listen to the performance stand up he'd thought maybe someone had finally had enough and were far more daring that him and were leaving. He considered that perhaps they would convince Lord Grantham to finally get his head out of his ass and call for a break so people could stretch, perhaps use the washroom, get some circulation back in their legs. But then they'd reached into their purses and begun to move along the rows and Allen had realized that they were merely handing things out to people. He'd been forced to go to one performance where everyone had to hold candles while a poet spoke of the stars in the night sky and considered that this was merely a variation on that. He hoped not as he'd been so bored with the poet's ramblings that he'd begun to consider lighting another man's hair on fire with his candle just to find a way to escape.

It was to his utter confusion, however, when he noticed that they seemed to be only focusing on certain people. No women at all, only men. And men who weren't in the ceremonial uniforms of the army…

"What is it?" Allen heard one of the footman ask of the woman who'd moved to stand before him. She might have been beautiful if it weren't for the vile scowl on her features and it grew all the worse as she lifted up what she held.

"A white feather of course," she said with utter loathing. "Coward."

Allen was not in a pleasant mood.

"What is the meaning of this!?" Allen roared, leaping to his feet and sending his accursed chair slamming to the floor, everyone turning towards him in shock. The poor footman who'd been given the feather had gone nearly as white as the plumage and the other man who'd been handed it didn't look much better. The musicians stopped their music cold, the sound cutting off like the reaper's blade had sliced through it, and all focus was on the enraged General as glared at the two women. "You DARE to use this moment of all moments for your… petty attention-seeking grandstanding!"

He could tell that those who had only had a bit of experience with him, namely the servants of Downton, were startled by the transformation in his voice. The army officials that he called collogues and friends were familiar with it but that didn't mean they didn't shift in their seats. Allen had always had a rumbling voice, filled with sardonic tones that put many at ease. But those that had seen him tear into cocky new recruits or be unleashed on prisoners who refused to break had heard the voice he now used to lay into the two women. It was like a bear growl mixed with brimstone, not so much spoken but forced up from his throat and past his lips. He knew he would need plenty of tea with lemon and honey to undo the damage he was doing to his vocal cords, as he wasn't a young man anymore and pulling off the commanding snarl was tearing him up but at the moment he needed the power that came from that voice.

The women were either dedicated, brave, or stupid… perhaps a mix of all three, but they both stood their ground and faced him down.

One snapped like she was a mother scolding her child. "These people should be aware there are cowards-"

"Do you KNOW who I am?" Allen snarled, cutting her off and taking a step forward. "I am General Allen Lothrop, head of Replenishment and Supplies for the entire British Army and the most senior officer in this house." He took two more steps forward and one of the women, the one that had given the valet the feather, finally began to show cracks in her brave features. "So don't you ever lecture me again." He swept his eyes over the two of them and sneered in disgust. "Oh… you're two of those."

"Two of what?" the second woman said, still having a bit of backbone though her fierceness had begun to fade. "Concerned women who wish to aid in the war effort?"

"Egotistical busybodies who compensate for their own failures by bringing down others. Oh yes… I've dealt with your kind far too many times. Whimpering whining worms who make up for all their shortcomings by wearing a façade of indignation and pious superiority." He ran his tongue along the edges of his upper teeth. "Aid in the war effort," he mocked, face scrunching up as he threw their words back at them. "Pathetic."

The first woman was looking about, realizing that this wasn't going as she had hoped. Allen could only imagine that in her mind she'd envisioned some grand heroic scene where all of them had rallied around them when they revealed the 'cowards', joining with the taunting and mocking before applauding them for their bravery in bringing to their attention the blindingly obvious that there were some sitting with them who weren't enlisted. The second though was a true zealot to her cause and wasn't fazed so easily. She squared her shoulders and declared, "We are not pathetic. We do our part, unlike these-"

"Have you enlisted to work as nurses?" Allen said, the growl leaving his voice and with it came the return of his natural jesting tone, the one he commonly used when chatting with Matthew or Thomas or his dear friend Richard. That startled the second woman all the more, having not expected his rage to suddenly disappear. But Allen saw several officers wince for they knew the trap he was laying out that the women were sure to prance right into. "No… no, I think not. You don't deal with death and suffering like that and still believe that war is something that young men to march off to happily. You don't hold the intestines of someone's son or husband in your hands and cheerfully believe that war must be marched into as lightly as your feathers weigh.

"Perhaps a factory then," he asked, now prowling around the two women like a wolf sizing up a wounded pair of does. The two of them moved closer together as he smiled with all teeth and no pleasure. "Let me see your hands." They just stared at him. "YOUR HANDS!" he roared, making everyone leap back in fright. The two women lifted their arms up and had he been in a better state of mind he'd have been disgusted with himself at how they moved to shield themselves. "You have soft hands," he said simply, taking a step back. "Never put together a car or assembled weapons for those boys you want to march out to fight and die for all of us, have you?

"So what is it you do?" he asked with a mocking lightness. "What do you do to aid in the war effort? Oh yes… you hand out feathers. Well, I dare say the Germans are going to tremble at that!" He scoffed. "You didn't come here to "expose cowards"… he came here to make yourselves feel better about your own cowardice. You could have helped in so many ways and yet you sat at home and could only wrap yourself up in your false bravery like it was a moth-eaten quilt."

"General… that is enough."

Allen slowly turned, staring down Robert Crawley, the Earl of Grantham. He flexed his fingers and wondered if he was going to get the chance to smear the man's nose all across his flabby face.

"You are going to allow them to get away with this mockery?"

Lord Grantham squared his shoulders and stared Allen down with utter arrogance. "If they want to expose cowards they can. More power to them. It seems to have worked in exposing you as not only a coward but a traitor."

A Brigadier suddenly leapt to his feet to defend Allen but he held up his hand, forestalling the complaint. Allen only dimly realized that the footman he'd been defending had risen and hurried out of the room. "Those are powerful charges, Lord Grantham. I don't suppose you have a way to back them up?"

"I think the way you have cozied up to certain yellow-bellied cowards already proved you lack the stomach for true battle. Your words here only prove it. You're scared, General… you'd let the Germans march all over us and destroy our way of life if it meant you could sit in a chair and not have to show an ounce of courage."

"There is a difference between doing something you know must be done and naively marching off to do it," Allen retorted. "The War must be fought… but I am not blinded to the horrors of it. I actually care for every drop of British blood that is spilled… but of course I actually have to deal with the effects and can't hide away in my gaudy estate with my gifted rank-"

"Get out," Lord Grantham snapped.

"-and pretend I am a soldier-"

"Get out at once!" he shouted.

"-rather than a child playing make-believe!"

"You will leave at once! YOU are the true coward!"

Allen snorted. "Oh, I'll gladly leave." He turned to those that were still sitting, which were mostly the people from Downton and the surrounding areas as most of the military men had risen to defend him, their silence only bought out of his gesture for quiet. Some might not like what he said but they respected him and knew he'd earned his rank and they wouldn't stand by as a pompous lord degraded him. "Good people of Downton, you came here to support the Army… instead you support your lord. Because I'd rather march into hell naked than accept a dime from Robert Crawley!" He paused and nodded to the musicians. "Thank you for the performance."

With that he spun on his heels and marched out of the room, it taking only moments for every last member of the armed forces who'd been attending to follow after him. He could hear Lord Grantham, who'd suddenly realized that EVERYONE was now abandoning his event, asking the men to please stay but not a soul did.

An hour later Allen held up a glass of water and looked over at John Bates who lifted his own glass, though his was filled with brandy.

"And that is the story," Allen said before taking a drink.

Anna, who was seated nearby, looked at him in shock. "I can't believe you spoke to him like that! I… even at my hottest I'd never…"

"Well, when Downton next does something to royally enrage you think of what I did and smile," Allen said with small smirk before he downed his glass of water like it was cheap whiskey.

"How much trouble do you think you'll get in?" John asked, grabbing the pitcher and refilling the General's glass. "I know Central Command wanted this to be a pleasant evening."

"Oh, I'm sure I'll get chewed out tomorrow and something will be put in my file… but they can't do much more than that. I'm too valuable to them." He paused, pursing his lips. "I suppose I can kiss my 4th star goodbye for a while."

"I'm assuming that's not good," Anna said.

John was the one who answered. "It would be like Thomas being up for the position of valet but told he had to remain a footman. Or I suppose an underbulter not being promoted to butler would be a more proper metaphor."

Anna shook her head. "Oh General…"

"Enough of that… Cat will be mad enough at me as it is." He paused and chuckled. "Not because I actually yelled at the blowhard but because she's worried I'm going to work myself up and give myself a heart attack."

John though just looked at Allen, considering everything that he'd told them. "And will this affect you when you are Lord Oakwood? You said you needed to bring dignity back to that title…"

Allen groaned. "I hadn't even thought of the bloody title. Hell, you're probably right." He let out a sigh. "I suppose my first few dinners will have a lot of declined invitations. At least among the lordly lot."

Anna noticed him looking her way and correctly guessed his thoughts. "You can't invite me and John to your first dinner as Lord Oakwood."

"And why not? You and John, Mary and Matthew, Sybil and Tom, Edith and Michael… add in the kids and-"

There was a knocking at the hotel's door and the three of them went silent. The rest of the army officials had gone to catch the late train back to London but Allen had always planned to stay the night at the Grantham Arms. All the guests were up in their rooms save for two having a quiet card game by the fire, leaving the three friends to sit at a table and enjoy some late night drinks before heading to bed. John had taken to locking the doors at night with a strict policy of not opening them again until the early morning; he'd told Allen about some Turkish diplomat and how that vile fellow had shown him that people were at the most vulnerable when they thought they were safe. With a wife and a new baby he wouldn't allow anyone to wander into his hotel while he slept.

John moved towards the door and for a moment Allen wondered if Lord Grantham had done something foolish like call the constables on him for disturbing the peace. He wouldn't put it past the man. But rather than men in police uniforms it was someone else who entered the hotel when John unlocked the door… someone Allen had never expected.

"Sanctuary," Cora Crawley whispered, clutching a sleeping Lillian to her chest.

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Notes: Oh, having Allen rip those two bitches a new one was so satisfying!

And I bet you didn't see that ending coming!

So I sprained several fingers in my right hand yesterday so I am going to keep the plot bunny short as I don't want to aggravate my injuries too much.

What if Season 1 of Downton had occurred after WWI instead of before it? Basically everyone is the same age as they are in Season 1, but several years later. Patrick and James died sailing back from the Continent. Matthew fought in the war. Sybil never got to be a nurse but it is now the Roaring 20s. That sort of thing. How would things be different?