Downton Abbey Comment Ficathon
With the new season upon us, and fandom all extra-enthusiastic, I figured now would be a great time for this. Because there can never be enough Downton Abbey fic, and there certainly isn't enough now!
( Read more... )
( Read more... )
You stand there, in one of the front rows, watching Lavinia in white, walking slowly down towards the front, and you know she wishes she was elsewhere, that it was someone else to whom she was walking. You know because you wish it too, because that would mean the world was still right, that prayer did still work, and that life could continue.
You watch as they smile, his wide and open, hers not quite reaching into her eyes. You know you did the right thing, stayed true to your promise. You have one more thing to say, one last opinion to impart, before you can leave. Only it’s not an opinion, it’s the end of that promise, the one you never wished to fulfil. You failed before, but the flu was more than her grieving body could take, years of strength wasted away by overwork, grief and sickness. You remind yourself to visit and lay down some flowers, and tell Isobel that today you finished what the two of you had started.
While it broke you to promise, once you had, you endured and completed. You loved him and these were the women he loved. So you stood by and watched them grieve, and comforted them, like the family they are, and the irony wasn’t lost on you that when Patrick died, you resisted mourning him as a fiancé, and now you must mourn only as a cousin when your heart wants to tell the world what he meant to you.
So you watch and celebrate with Lavinia as she takes her steps towards a new life, to fitting someone else into her heart. You ward off her attempts to see you settled, because although you never speak of it, somehow you know she knows what’s in your heart and you’re not ready, and not sure you ever will be.
As they leave, saying their farewells and receiving well wishes, you hug her close and whisper, like the school girls you never were, what he wanted you to say. That he loved her and wanted her to be happy, to find someone. She whispers back that he wouldn’t want you to be sad forever either.
That night, as sleep eludes you once again, you wonder what you would have done in her place. Because although you both loved him, it’s not the same. Their love was public - publicly celebrated and publicly mourned. Your love was secret, just another secret you hang onto, hoping all is well, that all is private. Perhaps if your roles were reverse, if she mourned in private and you in public, enough time would have passed for you to be happy again.
And perhaps, perhaps tomorrow is another day and perhaps every journey starts with a single step.
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment