Here is my first offering for the MM AU Fest! There may be a couple more drabbles on Tumblr, but this is my big offering, and it will be multi-chapter. I will try to update less sporadically but unfortunately I can't promise that. Just a note, flashbacks are italicized. Anyway, reviews are amazing and I will love you forever if you review, and go check out all the other AU Fest stories! Enjoy!

The day of the funeral was cold. Mary could see the breath coming from her father's mouth as he spoke of the merits of her cousin.

She hadn't liked Patrick at all. To her, he had just been her annoying older cousin who she was to be forced to marry. She didn't have a choice. Not many girls like her did, though. Marriages were more diplomatic arrangements than anything else.

Patrick had few merits, having been a bonafide idiot and a rebellious one at that. He had always been a troublemaker, bringing shame to the royal family of the kingdom of Downton.

Mary thought, as a princess, marrying Patrick was beneath her. He was only Sir Patrick Crawley, and he wasn't even that closely related to her family. He was just lucky enough to be a boy in a family where girls seemed to be much more common. Patrick had the good fortune to be the heir.

She didn't see why she couldn't have the throne, as she could run a kingdom far better than him, or any man at that. "The inheritance system is idiotic," she had complained to her father, but he had not truly listened. Nothing changed.

Patrick was dead now. The true nature of his death had not been disclosed, not even to Mary. "He is my intended," she had protested, wanting to at least know the reason her cousin died. She did not claim to care for Patrick a great deal, but at least knowing the cause of his death would be nice.

"It isn't something for delicate young feminine minds to hear," King Robert had replied. Mary was not delicate or even excessively feminine, but she simply rolled her eyes at this protest.

And now that Patrick was dead, there was a new heir. A heir they had yet to meet. All they had was a name. Sir Matthew Crawley was coming from his home in Manchester to Downton.

"Manchester," Mary scoffed. "I cannot believe we have a cousin who lives in Manchester."

"Oh come on, I'm sure he's perfectly nice," Sybil replied. Dear Sybil, to Mary's chagrin, was almost always right. Nobody could hold up to her ridiculously high moral standard. Sybil was the princess who was loved by all in the kingdom. Mary was considered aloof and her sister Edith considered unimpressive.

To Sybil's comment, Mary rolled her eyes. "No doubt you will both fall in love and then you will be queen of Downton."

"I thought you and Sir Matthew were engaged," Edith snarked, trying to get her voice heard. She and Mary were always making sarcastic comments to each other, engaged in a constant battle of oneupmanship that had often been compared to the worst and most senseless of wars.

This Mary could not take. "I have not ever been told of this, how could we be engaged?"

"You were engaged to Patrick, it only makes sense that you are engaged to the next heir," Edith replied, a hint of bitterness creeping into her tone.

Queen Cora had entered the room during this comment. She made her way discreetly over to Mary and handed her a letter. Mary's face grew pale, paler than her typical complexion. "Edith...is this some sort of awful trick?"

"What is it?" Edith questioned.

"I haven't even met him, Mama! Why am I engaged to him, of all people?" Mary threw the letter to the floor angrily and stormed out of the room.

Edith bent down and picked the letter up off the floor. "Well, there goes my chance at being queen."

"I can't believe he's gone now," Edith said, blinking back tears as she stared at Patrick's grave.

"Don't make such a show of your grief, Edith. It's not very impressive." Mary's voice was cold, emotionless. The voice had been there since she got the letter that Matthew had agreed to her father's offer of her hand in marriage. Her father had gone ahead, without her consent, and gotten her engaged. To say she was a little bit annoyed would be an understatement. Of course, most considered it her father's right to choose her husband. Mary was considered far too progressive for her time, but most people thought she wanted to rebel for the sake of rebellion. It was true that she was rather contrary, always wanting what she couldn't have, but she was rather forward-thinking. Not as much as Sybil, as no one could be as progressive as Sybil, but certainly more than the people of her society. Her icy tone was a natural part of her, borne of residual bitterness and annoyance at her world.

Edith blanched at Mary's coldness. "He was your fiancee. Aren't you sad?"

"I don't believe in sentimentality."

"Sentimentality? Mourning is sentimentality? I think it's rather proper to mourn, especially for such a kind young man who died so young." Edith wrapped her black cloak closer around her.

Mary rolled her eyes. "A kind man? I rather should think you were in love with him."

Tears were rolling down Edith's face, tears that would never come to Mary's eyes. "Maybe I was! Do you know how lucky you were? Everyone wanted you to marry him, and then you could become queen and have a wonderful husband. I loved Patrick, he would have been a perfect king."

"We never were fond of each other. I don't see why you must fuss so about it."

"Fuss so? You aren't even sad about his death!" Edith was shaking now, an undesired image for a princess.

Mary began to walk back towards the castle. "I am sad. I'm not as sad as I'm supposed to be, and that is what makes me sad."

The castle was bustling when they got back, slaves and serfs rushing around to make the meal for after the funeral. Edith, claiming lightheadedness, had gone up to her room. The luncheon was quiet, as Robert's mother had also not come down.

"Sir Matthew should arrive in a few days," the king mentioned, trying to break the somber atmosphere that had settled.

Sybil looked up from her meal and smiled at her father gently. "That's wonderful. I'm eager to meet him."

Mary glanced from Robert to Sybil and back again. Their excitement about the new heir was frankly disgusting. If the world was fair, it would be her to inherit, not some stupid cousin from the Kingdom of Manchester. "Why are you so excited? He's my fiancee."

"I thought you didn't want to marry him," Sybil replied cooly, taking a drink from her goblet.

"I don't." Mary sipped her own drink. "But why are you quite so eager about his arrival?"

Sybil gave another sweet smile. "Well, it's better than waiting to find out what he is like. Besides, shouldn't it be nice to have some new company around. You and Edith can be dreadfully boring."

"Oh yes, I'm so boring. I can't even decipher what you mean."

"You're so stuck to the rules. And you won't ever do anything with me. All you want to do is mope around the castle. I want to explore things, find new paths, maybe learn to read..." Sybil's tone was now directed at her father. "Perhaps Sir Matthew will be kind enough to actually help me live a life."

"Girls, you will find out soon enough what he is like. Please stop arguing. He should arrive tomorrow," Robert interrupted. "I should go to my chamber. I have a splitting headache, and there is supposed to be a ruling on the case of a thief in the morning."

The next day came too soon, in Mary's opinion. Too soon she was standing in front of the castle, weighed down in her heavy dress, black of course because of stupid Patrick, ready to meet the new heir, her fiancee.

It was still bitterly cold, the fog a constant companion to the luxurious castle of the royal family. Rain had not fallen, but the skies threatened to empty their water. The horse of the man who they were waiting for was barely visible until he had nearly come all the way up to the castle. And that was Mary's first glimpse of Sir Matthew Crawley.

Her first impression; a decent man, not particularly tall but not short either. Nondescript blond hair, pale skin much like her own, a manner of walking that seemed confident enough but certainly not the magisterial posture that had been drilled into her since childhood. The only thing that truly stood out to her was his eyes, bright blue, bluer than the pond near the castle on a summer day, bluer than the dyed cloth of Sybil's favorite dress.

He rode up to the front of the castle and pulled on the reigns of the horse, coming to a less than graceful stop. He bobbed up and down with the control of a rider who only rode when necessary, and Mary internally moaned. She herself was an accomplished equestrian, though her mother didn't consider it a proper talent for a princess.

The horse whinnied as Matthew slid off and landed hard on his feet with a loud thump. He grimaced, but straightened out and tried to smile.

"Greetings," King Robert said as Matthew approached him.

The younger man nodded and bowed carefully, as if he was afraid he would fall if he bowed any lower. He was awkward, a shaggy lock of blond hair flopping around his face as he raised his head to meet Robert's eyes. "And to you as well, your majesty."

Robert let a smile cross his lips. "I look forward to getting to know you."

"And I you, your majesty," Matthew replied.

The queen stepped forward next, and Matthew bowed once again. "I'm so pleased to meet you, Sir Matthew."

He smiled in reply and turned to Mary, who was glaring at him harshly. He stepped back from her dark stare and tried to smile at her. "Your Highness..."

"You may as well call me Mary, as we are engaged," she said, practically hissing at him.

He didn't know what welcomed such hostility from her, but he nodded and stepped back. In all honesty, he wasn't too pleased about the marriage either, but his mother and Robert had insisted vehemently, and he tried to avoid conflict if necessary.

"No doubt we will do well together, Mary," he said, the words feeling oddly poisonous on his tongue, as if they were a pack of lies, obvious ones.

"No doubt," she repeated coldly, but her attention obviously wasn't on him. He moved on to greet Edith, and then Sybil, both of whom were rather enthusiastic to see him. They were rather isolated, and the sight of new company, especially handsome male company, was rather appealing.

"We meet in the solar, which is the room just across the hall from Mama and Papa's room, and then we go to dinner. The cook prepared a mighty feast for your arrival tonight," Sybil said cheerily, taking it upon herself to make her cousin feel welcome.

He nodded. "Will you show me to my chamber? The journey was terribly long."

"Of course. Is your mother to come?" Edith had pushed Sybil out of the way, and was practically hanging on to Matthew's arm. Only Mary kept her distance.

"Yes, she is with the wagon with our items," he replied, and as they walked away, their voices faded.

His voice was nice, she thought. Oh, what was she doing? This man was being forced on her, and she had no ability to object. Was she expected to like him?

She supposed she was. It wasn't as if she could expect to choose her own husband. If only she were stronger, more rebellious, less engrained in the society she was born into. Maybe then she could possibly leave, think for herself. But no, that was more like Sybil.

And Sir Matthew Crawley. He seemed overeager. He certainly had something to do with this arrangement, despite her father's claims to the contrary. And Mary wasn't sure she liked him at all.

Supper was a grand affair, with several different kinds of meat, and wine, a delicacy so rare in Downton. "Only the best for my daughter's husband," King Robert had said cordially to Matthew. He had immediately taken a liking to the young man.

Matthew, for his part, seemed a little bit unnerved in the giant castle, as the center of attention. He had lived a quieter life in Manchester, training to be a knight of course, but never the center of attention. Always the learner.

Sybil had taken an immediate liking to him. "It's always so dull around here," she complained at dinner, to which he just gave a gentle smile. "But you seem like you might shake the place up a bit."

"Oh, I highly doubt that," Matthew replied.

She rolled her eyes and took a sip of her wine. "Well, you may very well change up Mary's life. She's not exactly thrilled with the prospect of the wedding..."

"I can understand..." he said quietly. The marriage wasn't really his greatest desire, but his mother was pressing him into it. He loved his mother of course, probably more than was considered proper for a man of his stature, but sometimes she meddled too much in his affairs. Mary was a beautiful woman, if cold and unapproachable. But perhaps that could change.

That night, when dark had settled upon the castle, Matthew found himself in the solar, the center of the suite of rooms that the family occupied. With a copy of The Canterbury Tales on his lap and a candle next to him he was quite contented.

Until she came out.

He didn't notice her until she spoke. Her footsteps on the cold stone floor were inaudible, but her voice was not. "You can read." It was a blunt observation, one without accusation or surprise.

"My father taught me. Both of my parents thought it would be a good thing for me to learn, and it could possibly help me get farther in life. Can you?"

Mary shook her head. "No. I honestly never desired to. But it's a rare skill so I don't really feel obligated to learn."

"Do you want to?"

She shrugged. "I suppose it would be nice. Knowing if all those passages the priests talks to us about are true would be interesting."

"I could teach you." He closed the book and turned his attention fully to her.

"Maybe, when we have time," Mary replied cooly.

"We have years."

She looked down at herself. "I'm in my nightclothes," she said in self-realization. "I wasn't expecting to see anyone out here."

"Why are you out here?" he questioned. It wasn't harsh, and a quiet and concerned tone seeped through his voice.

"Sometimes I can't sleep, so I come look out into the village through the window," she explained. "It's always so alive, filled with people at every time at night, even when most sensible people should be asleep. There are men at the tavern, boys who have sneaked out of the house to serenade girls, people simply doing their work at night, and I keep thinking, they have so much life in them. Me, I feel like there isn't much to live for. Life for us is dress, eat, hunt, and sleep, marry, and then repeat the same pattern time and time again. And we don't even get to choose who we marry. Of course, that's the way this idiotic world works."

He pressed his lips together. "I've made you angry."

"My life makes me angry, not you," she replied curtly.

He let the corners of his mouth turn up in a slight smile. "If it makes any difference, I think you are fascinating."

Mary stepped towards the window. "Aren't you the charmer."

"No, I am being serious. But you know, we don't have to marry. Not if you don't want you. If you have any problems with it..."

She let out a laugh, a harsh, self-mocking laugh. "How could I ever refuse a man who tells me that. No, if we don't marry, I will probably be pawned off to a far worse man than you."

"You think highly of me then?"

"I still think you're rather pathetic, but you may improve. You have already improved in my sight."

"Then I shall take that as my consolation prize," Matthew replied. He blew out the candle and stood. "Goodnight, Mary."

"Goodnight." Her reply was soft, and she looked out the window once more.