The moment in S4E06 when Isobel nurses Violet back to health is my favorite moment between them, the defining moment of their friendship, if you ask me. Inspired by Rapunzel's healing song from Disney's Tangled, his little story is a "deleted scene" from the episode, in which Isobel prays that the sister of her heart will be healed.

Come on, Violet. Don't you dare die on me. You're a tough old bird; you can beat this!

A sudden, spasmodic cough caused Isobel Crawley's last thought to waver and her heart to twist as she looked down at the fever-suffused body of her cousin. Throughout England, the Dowager Countess of Grantham was known as a stiff-necked, iron-spined, steel-tongued woman, and half a dozen more adjectives were frequently used to describe her - some downright nasty, but the rest defining one unifying feature of Lady Grantham's character: strength.

Looking at her now, though, Violet Crawley did not appear to have the slightest bit of strength left within her. The bronchitis was waging a war inside her, her body wracked with terrible coughs. Her skin was paler than the moon and burning with fever, drops of perspiration sliding down her face and into the snowy white cloth of her nightgown, soaking the equally blanched sheets. Violet's silvery hair, not a strand of which normally escaped her elaborate upsweeps, was strewn all over the pillow in a wild mess and becoming wilder with each toss and turn. Her lids were closed over her bright blue eyes, which never missed anything. Now, they were missing everything as the delirium from the fever trapped her in a dream world that was more a prison than an escape.

Years ago, when they first met, Isobel would not have been able to resist gloating had she seen her regimented cousin in this kind of state. She and Violet used to engage in a daily spite match based on nothing more than class, of all things, but one war and a wedding - and two deaths - later, their arguments had become less personal and more good-natured, if it was to be believed. Oh yes, they picked on each other and even dabbled in name-calling from time to time, but rarely ever did the teasing cut to the bone. Not anymore.

What had changed? War and familial ties had brought them, two equally strong, stubborn women with radically opposing viewpoints, together as unlikely friends. There was once a time when Isobel wouldn't have given tuppence if Violet just stayed at the Dower House or, better yet, moved to London. Now, she couldn't imagine what she would do without the woman who had become the sister she never had.

Another cough shook Violet's body and her hands flailed in protest against the assaulting virus, one flinging over her head and the other landing with a soft piff on the sumptuous bedclothing. Feeling tears come to her eyes, Isobel reached for the basin of rosewater she had prepared earlier. She swirled a fresh cloth in the mixture, wrung it gently, and dabbed at the dowager's sweltering skin, praying that the cooling liquid would bring the fever down. "Shh," she shushed gently when Violet began to murmur and fidget. "It's all right. Everything's going to be all right."

"Who's there?" Violet reached blindly before her, her slender fingers grasping Isobel's sleeve. "Who are you?"

Isobel winced. Although she had seen many cases of bronchitis in her years as a nurse, it always pained her to see the despair on loved ones' faces when the patients couldn't remember them or know they were there. Never before, though, did she imagine that she would be one of those loved ones feeling as though she had been exiled. "It's me, Violet. Isobel."

Violet relaxed her grip and ceased her fidgeting. "Violet Isobel," she muttered. "That's a lovely name."

A smile stole unbidden across Isobel's face at this. "No, no. You're Violet," she said, taking Violet's hand and laying it against her cousin's chest. "I'm Isobel." She then laid the dowager's hand over her own heart. How she wished she could take the strength pumped from that muscle and pour it into Violet's languishing body.

"Isobel." Violet dropped her hand back onto the bedclothes, but did not open her eyes. "Are you my sister?"

Isobel froze, unsure of whether to laugh or cry. Never in her right mind would Violet have asked that question, and on any other occasion, this would have been a hoot... but for some reason, Isobel felt like weeping. The fact that Violet had asked it, even in her delirious state, proved that on some deep, unconscious level, the dowager countess truly did love her as a sister and just maybe considered her as such. Nine years in the past, no one would have thought there would have been any kind of relationship between the two women other than pure animosity. Isobel wiped away a tear as she thought back to that fateful day in the spring of 1912, when she and Matthew first arrived at Downton to begin their new lives.

"Mama, may I present Matthew Crawley, and Mrs. Crawley. My mother, Lady Grantham."

Isobel strode forward, breaking into her sunniest smile. Although Lord and Lady Grantham - Cousin Robert and Cousin Cora, she reminded herself - were closer to her own age, it appeared that Violet, the elder Lady Grantham, had much more in common with her. They were both widowed, matriarchs of their immediate families, and, most importantly, mothers. Surely a woman who had raised a man as kind as Robert was just as decent. "What should we call each other?" she asked, extending her hand to the dowager countess.

Violet raised an eyebrow, those icy blue eyes of hers scrutinizing her newfound cousin in one sweep. "Well, we could always start with Mrs. Crawley and Lady Grantham," she said, her voice chilly, with the faintest hint of sarcasm coating it.

Isobel's smile slowly slipped from her face and she retracted her hand, feeling as though she had been slapped. It was understandable that the family wanted to get to know them first, but to insist coldly on such formality? For pity's sake, they were cousins. At least they could call each other Cousin Isobel and Cousin Violet; she would gladly settle for that. Biting back a comeback that was less than polite, Isobel set her jaw and walked into the dining room with the rest of the family, well aware that Violet was shaking her head all the while.

Thankfully, the formalities had disappeared. She and Violet were now on a first-name basis, no cousin attached, and the animosity now more resembled a mild sibling rivalry than two alpha females scrapping for the kill. Siblings. Blood cannot dictate sisterhood, but love can. "No," Isobel said, taking the hand that rested on the duvet and giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'm your cousin." She inhaled deeply before speaking what was truly on her mind. "But I love you as though you were my sister."

A sound halfway between a moan and a sigh escaped Violet's mouth. "Oh..." Her body went limp, weak from illness and exhaustion, and the next words out of her mouth were barely intelligible... but Isobel heard them. "Love you, too."

Tears streamed down Isobel's cheeks as the precious words reached her ears. She had the love of her cousin, her sister... but for how long? Violet was now lost in a deathlike slumber, ashen and clinging to life by the slenderest threads. "You listen to me, Vi," Isobel said fiercely, using a shortened name that Violet would have hated in real life, "You are not going to die." She seized her cloth again, dipped it in the rosewater, and sponged her cousin's face. "You're not going to die becuase I won't let you. Do you hear me?" More tears fell from Isobel's face and mingled with the rosewater on Violet's skin. "I won't let you die."

The tears continued to fall as Isobel, emotionally exhausted herself, began to pray. "Heavenly Father, I beg of you, don't take her now. Please, don't take her from her family, don't take her from me. Why would you give me a sister after all this time only to take her? Heal her, please. Burn this illness out of her and make her well again. If this is your design, change it. Just bring back what's mine. Don't take my sister, please."

The fervent prayers continued until Isobel, sapped of her own strength, finally fell asleep in her chair, still clutching her cousin's hand. In her dreams, Violet was awake and strong, her tongue sharp and her eyes bright as she and Isobel played round after round of cards together.

"How long does this go on?" the dowager asked, looking over her hand.

"Oh, ages," Isobel replied, laying down her own cards.

"Oh, goody-goody," Violet replied sarcastically, though Isobel could hear the sincerity behind the words.

Isobel smiled in her sleep. The Lord would soon shine his healing power upon Violet, she knew it. Goody-goody indeed.