So that thing that happened. Last night. The thing nobody was expecting. Well, not really. I'd heard the rumours, of course - but I never expected it to actually happen. I suppose that's just the thing with these TV writers, they enjoy ripping your heart out and stamping on it. My OTP was destroyed. There you go. So I ficced it, as is the only option in these dark times. I hope you like it.
It had been so swift, the end, so unexpected.
Flailing limbs, choking throat, a head thrown back, and –
I don't want to leave you.
Any of them, either.
But I love you. So very much. And all I can say now is that I tried. You shouted to breathe and I gasped for air so hard, I did. Stay with me, you cried, and I forced my eyes to open.
The seizures shut them soon after, of course, as everyone knew they would.
I can see you, now. Standing there, holding her. Holding onto a piece of me. She's so beautiful, isn't she? Our baby girl. We made a baby girl, and I am so sorry I won't be there to watch her grow. Already, I am fading, yet I swear to you I want nothing more than to stay here and wrap my arms around you, and her. But Mama promised she would take care of you both, and I can trust that she will do that. Whatever Papa tries or says.
This was supposed to be a road we'd take together, the pair of us. But it is your journey now, and I know how well you will do it. Promise me you'll hold her when she cries, smile at her first laugh, keep her safe when danger comes calling. I know she'll be strong and fiery, Irish through and through – you'll see to that! But please, there's just one thing I must ask of you, and that is to keep them in her life. They have just lost a daughter. I have the faith that you will not make them lose a granddaughter and a son-in-law too. I know, I know, it's horrible for you to have to keep coming back here, to these needless riches – and you must go out and fight for freedom still, of course you must – but please don't let her grow up out of their sight. They need her now, almost as much as you do.
I want her to grow up happy. She is a child, and a child does not need ghosts. She needs imagination, and happiness, and stories. Such stories! Thrill her with ours, Tom, tell her everything. Tell her that her mother and father fought for their love, tell her how they ran away together in the darkness, tell her how, in the end, they were triumphant!
And above all, tell her that her mother loves her. So very very much.
The wind in her hair. The sun on her face. Tom, she will be magnificent.
I think I have to go now. I don't want to. I hate this. But it's time.
Don't forget me, my love.
I apologise if it was awful, I know it was short, but I had. to. get. it. out. Julian Fellowes, I will find you and I will hurt you. Thanks for reading, guys, love you all :)