This is the end.

Thank you so much for following along on this journey. I hope the ending is at the very least satisfactory. If there's anything you wish to discuss further, feel free to PM me. As always, I look forward to your reviews - particularly now that we both know how it ends.

Much love to all of you!

Christmas 1940

84 years old, Carson sat on the bench overlooking the lake. The water was calm, surprisingly calm for the time of year. He preferred to watch it when it was rippling along, following the lead of the breeze. The reflecting grey sky made the world feel as if it was standing still.

Carson smiled.

Drumming his fingers on top of his knee he tried hard to remember the latest piece he had learned on his piano. He hadn't known what to do when Mr. Branson showed up with the instrument one morning a few years back. He hadn't wanted to offend the man and not take it, but how could he have accepted such a generous gift?

It wasn't until Lady Mary dropped by his cottage that he was given an explanation.

"We're downsizing," she said, sipping her tea, "but we want to make sure our favorite items remain in, well I suppose you could say in our favorite hands."

And so, not wanting to disappoint the Countess of Grantham, Carson went about learning how to play. Even if the post office matron thought he was an old fool ("why learn something new at your age? You'll drop dead before you're any good at it!") he didn't seem to care what people thought anymore. Perhaps that was the greatest thing about old age. You knew what to care about and what not to care about

"The mums need some watering," he said to himself, his fingers stilling on his knee.

"Oh, I don't know, there is a frost coming."

He spun around on his bench. Grinning, he began to rise for Miss Sybb- no, Branson, she was Miss Branson now.

"Good day to you, Miss Branson," he said.

"And to you, Mr. Carson," she smiled and sat next to him.

She and her father were the only ones in the family to call him Mr. Carson. To everyone else, even the villagers these days, he was just plain old Carson. Some of the boys - in their military uniforms, leaning against the candy shop windows - called him Old Man Carson. It was a sign of respect, he knew, because they came to him, and often, for advice and guidance, and he prayed for each and every one of them to return home from this ghastly war.

Two great wars in two decades. How the world could be so foolish was something Carson assumed he would never know.

The bloody Germans.

Miss Branson gave him a funny look. He must have shown his disgust and carefully changed his face into a picture of pleasantness.

She asked, "Do you often come here, and sit by the lake?"

"Most days." He said, "I like to take a mid-morning walk after my tea. And sometimes I stop here along the way."

"I've seen you before - even in the rain."

He nodded, "Sometimes. The rain makes me feel young again - invites the vigor of the blood, like an adventure but without the danger."

"Aunt Mary disagrees," Miss Sybb - Miss Brason smirked, "She thinks you're mad to go out in such weather. That you'll fall ill and then she'll have no one but her sister to talk to."

"And Mr. and Mrs. Branson," He added, "Her ladyship has a large and wonderful family and I am confident she will do just fine without me when the time comes."

"I disagree," Miss S- Branson couldn't quite keep her smile hidden this time, "she can't seem to do without you even now while you're here."

Carson sighed, knowing he would take the bait, "How so?"

"She wants you to come for dinner - it is Christmas and the family is quite lonely with George off fighting. The Countess says you ought to be there, to make it feel like Christmas again."

"I'm not sure that would be appropriate -"

"Of course it would be," Miss Branson continued, "You've played quite a large role in our family, and we would all appreciate it if you were there."

"Won't it bother Mr. Barrow?"

"Oh no, he's off in London today, celebrating with a - with a friend," Miss Branson said, not making eye contact.

Trying not to understand the implication behind what she was saying, Carson said, "No staff on Christmas?"

"Not these days."

It had been almost ten years since he had left his position. The dwindling staff and the extra duties (and all those stairs) had become too much. He had been lucky. The family provided a cottage, and up until she died Mrs. Patemore brought round baskets of food to keep him through each week.

When the new cook arrived he had lost the privilege and had started learning how to cook. Rationing was making that task a lot harder to learn than playing the piano had been. He missed Daisy, even if she did send him a Christmas card every year. Odd - he had never thought he would miss the girl who had once been a lowly kitchen maid.

"Will the Young Mr. Bates be there?" Carson asked, trying desperately to find an excuse that would allow him to join the family. It didn't feel right to just up and join in as if he were a member of the upstairs. But Johnny Bates and George Crawley (now Lord Grantham) were the best of friends, so perhaps the lines weren't drawn quite as perfectly as they once were.

"Oh yes! And Anna." Miss Branson bit her lip, "Of course, she's not very happy. Johnny's been threatening to join the war effort -"

"He's too young."

"Yes, but he looks old enough, and he could fool them if he really wanted to. It's a sore subject, I wouldn't bring it up if I were you."

Carson nodded, "I won't."

Miss Branson looked gleeful, "So you'll come then?"

"Yes, I suppose I shall." He sighed.

They sat on the bench. Carson waited for Miss Branson to stand and lead him towards the delicious Christmases he remembered.

But then she said, almost at a whisper, "Are you hesitating because you don't want to be reminded of Mrs. Carson?"

He felt his eyebrows shoot up at that. In truth he hadn't thought about it. The memories Downton would bring back were mostly fond; and he had visited the Abbey before and had spent a lot of time counseling Mr. Barrow on what was what. So it hadn't been a thought - his Elsie and his Downton.

"No, no," he said, "I don't think so."

"Do you still miss her?"

"Everyday," he lied.

Miss Branson bit her lip again, "I've been thinking a lot about true love."

"Oh?" Carson wasn't sure where this was going.

"I don't think I believe in it." She said.

"No?"

"No. There are too many people. And to meet the one true love of your life in your home town seems like the luckiest roll of the dice that too many people experience."

Carson nodded, "I suppose."

"I think everyone has a well-spring of love." Miss Branson continued, almost as if Carson wasn't there, "and we have to love someone - in some way - no matter what. And so we cling to the people nearest us because we have to love someone."

"I see," Though Carson really wasn't sure he entirely understood what she was trying to say. He wasn't sure if she knew what she was trying to say. But then, it had been the same way with her mother, so he shouldn't be so surprised.

"And I think that's a good thing, really. Not to ever stop loving." Miss Branson stood up.

Carson followed suite, uncertain if she was going to keep speaking. But she turned around and he followed her back to the Abbey. As they walked Carson found himself admitting there was some truth to her words. Because even if Miss Branson was a bit too philosophical about it, he was about to spend Christmas day with a group of people he cared very deeply for. Perhaps even loved.