Disclaimer: I don't own "Downton Abby." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: Well, it's been more than a year and my brain finally said, 'hey, you know that random fic we wrote a thousand years ago? Sequel time!' - Sir Anthony is a newly awakened Sentinel: (a person with enhanced senses) And Edith is his newly discovered Guide: (a person that helps a Sentinel control their gifts and keep them from 'zoning' or hyper-focusing on one sense and thus vulnerable.) The connection or bond between a Sentinel and Guide is a soul deep and almost spiritual thing that is generally considered pre-destined. Much like the soul-bond/one-love trope. *In this version Sentinels don't come online until they meet their Guide, the person best suited to help them balance these abilities – essentially the other half of their soul. Neither Sentinel nor Guide can come online until they are at least twenty years of age. So, essentially, when Sir Anthony visits Downton in 1x05, this is the first time an encounter would have resulted in them being matched as Edith is at least twenty years old in 1912.

Disclaimer: Sequel to "Preconceptions (preconceived, prejudice or just plain puzzled)" and takes place almost immediate after that story finished. – Contains: period appropriate behavior/language/thoughts/actions/etc, animal traits/behaviors, romantic intimacy and sensuality.

Resolutions (received, rational and rather rapturous)

Chapter One

He woke much like an afterthought. Without startlement or any significant form of duress. It was simply a fluid state of being, transferring itself from one extreme to the other. In this case, it was the dead of sleep to full alertness in less time than he'd previously considered possible.

For a long moment it was almost too much.

It felt like the recoil of shotgun blast lingering far too long in the bones. Filling everything with an incessant buzzing that spread itself through his nervous system by way of the blood. Flooding through him as a cacophony of sensation and stimuli fell on him at once. The fineness of the weave in the sheets under his naked back. Her scent thick in the air – sadly fading. The clattering of pots and pans drifting up from the kitchens. The low murmur of raucous laughter. The tart of a coming rain dancing across his tongue despite being certain that it was a clear day outside. The grating scrape-ssscrape of a metal tool cutting through tired soil. The lowing of cattle from fields miles away.

He could hear all of it.

Feel all of it.

Taste all of it.

Smell all of it.

Almost as if he was there himself.

Inches away and-

An awareness that was not his own - feminine, yet firm - nudged into his mind then. Hesitant, like she was still unsure of her welcome, before rushing over him like cool water aiming to snuff out a threatening blaze. Covering him over in a gentle surge. Soothing every frayed edge. Every rumpled bit of him that was threatening to crease. Calming the growing frantic beat of his heart with the strength of her own until his senses dulled, then leveled out. Forced in-line by his Guide's attention and open love.

Edith.

Guide.

He exhaled, forcibly. Shuddering as his unruly senses calmed. Eventually getting a hold of himself so that he could finally blink up at the unfamiliar bedroom canopy. The sordid events of the night before thrumming through him as the scent of his Guide surrounded him like a balm.

Well, then.

It wasn't exactly what he'd expected out of his dinner invitation, that was for certain!

He cast his senses out, tentatively searching. Finding her effortless in a room clear across the house. Mostly quiet as her elder sister, mother, grandmother and what sounded like at least three household servants spoke in mock whispers. He focused on them long enough to ensure she was alright - something in him relaxing in increments as the beat of her heart and the scent of her remained steady and unagitated - before giving them back the sanctity of their privacy. Finding himself strangely reluctant to do so, despite it being completely improper. At loath to give her up in any sense, before a familiar gait coming up the closest set of stairs caught his attention.

He'd barely begun to sit up in bed, looking about the room in hopes of finding at least one salvageable bit of his clothing before James, his man servant, knocked on the door.

"Come," he answered with a sigh. Deciding there was nothing else for it as he allowed the sheets to puddle in his lap. Trying not to let himself be bothered by the state of the room, very much aware that Edith's corset was still caught against the fire-grate like the stage-set bedroom of some scandalous Gothic romance.

"Good morning, sir. Heard you had quite the night then?" James opened, unflappable as usual as he entered the room with a large suitcase and his usual wan smile. "Mr. Carson took the liberty of calling down to the estate early this morning. I believe they decided that you might like a bit of familiarity when you woke up."

He nodded. Pleased beyond words at the thoughtfulness.

"Quite right too, it's a relief to see you, James," he answered honestly. Part of him aware that he was committing everything about the man to memory. The honest scent of him. The niggle of well hidden anxiety that was already lessening by the moment. The sound of fabric rasping as his usual attire rubbed against the threads of the thin under layer he wore underneath. Apparently perpetually chilled despite the warmth of the season.

"And you, sir," his manservant replied, just as warmly. Having the advantage of knowing each other for decades and thus sharing an understand that most Lords could not boast when it came to those that served them. "The rest of the staff will be grateful to have you home, I must say. They're quite worried, sir."

He nodded, considering the idea before glancing off towards the window. Frowning a bit at the angle of the sun before putting his suspicions to voice.

"What time is it?"

"Just past mid-day, sir," James remarked smoothly, like there was nothing unusual or particularly obscene about sleeping well past noon. "Mr. Carson told me you were quite tied in, and it was Doctor Clarkson's express wish that you were not to be disturbed. They will be sending for him directly, I should think."

"Good god!" he exclaimed, rubbing tiredly at his eyes before turning back to face him. "Mid-day?"

"I hope you'll forgive the presumption, my lord. But by the look of it, you needed the rest," James remarked bluntly as he crossed over to the closet and pulled out a small, collapsible suit rack. Carefully smoothing out a good half-dozen of his finer suits for his inspection before leaning down to pick up his abandoned suit-jacket - creased and slightly torn into by a combination of the restraints, his own actions and perhaps even the enthusiasm of his Guide - with an unhappy twitch of his mustache.

"I brought a selection, sir. I was unsure of how you wished to mark the occasion."

He eyed the crisp line of suits. Wondering at the question himself as flashes from the night before reminded him of how complicated his predicament truly was. He'd never considered the idea that he could be Sentinel, nor a Guide for that matter. He'd always been, simply put, him. Unassuming, uncomplicated, Sir Anthony Statton.

He'd married well, of course. But he and his late wife had not been blessed with children. No matter, they'd had each other and had been content to spoil her brother's veritable legion of children like they were their own. He'd coveted their quiet life. Enjoying his middling position in the world of status and class. Important enough to note, but not important enough to be consistently bothered either. Having the opportunity to be a little bookish, enough that some called him dull, mixed with just a bit of daring. Insisting on learning to drive and impressing upon himself the raw, independent pleasure of it as he drove himself around the countryside without much in the way of reproach.

Indeed, he'd been well pleased with his life - despite his loneliness.

Now all that was about to change.

"And how should I mark such an occasion?" he asked softly. More to himself than anything as he slowly swung himself towards the side of the bed. Body aching something fierce as his toes curled across the floor. Distantly remembering hearing something about Sentinels undergoing physical changes in term of muscle mass, agility and strength after their senses were activated. He sighed, aggressive. Tempted to be floored once again by how much his life was set to change - and indeed, quickly.

"Depends how you feel about it, sir."

"Like my world has changed without my consent, yet I cannot bring myself to regret a lick of it. Even though I know I should," he answered with a softly. Feeling remarkably brash as he found himself wanting to continue. Wanting to say that he didn't deserve this. Her. That she deserved someone young and less jaded. Someone who could give her the breadth of their years and not just a selection. That he was, in a sense, stealing her away from the world and all it's potential pleasures by tying her to him this way. That it was criminal. And worse, he could barely bring himself to care.

He didn't realize he'd spoken it all aloud after all until James shocked him with a bold response.

"Is it still stealing if she wants to be stolen, sir?"

Somewhere in a distant part of the house the snap of shuffling cards could be heard - at least by him - clear as day. Giving him the picture of two of the staff playing poker on an table in the servant's quarters.

"I suppose not," he allowed. At least not in the strictest definition of the word.

"Well then, sir. If you don't mind me saying so, you still sound exactly like yourself. …So, the pale grey jacket it is. Though, I do think the forest green pocket square might be handsome enough to compliment, if that pleases you?"

He didn't trust himself to speak after that. Instead, he just nodded. Steeling himself for the action as he finally rose to his feet. Ignoring his nakedness as the sheets fell away - hushing down the blue-veined pale of him in a rash of goose-flesh. Indicating he was ready to be dressed.

It was time to face what came next.

His life, as it was now, no matter how altered.

He had her, after all.

It seemed reason enough to brave it.

He sensed more than saw the dip of his manservant's throat the moment he turned his back. Allowing the warm, refreshing cloth he wet him down with to sooth the tension out of his muscles. Realizing the same moment James saw the clawed up canvas of his back, that the marks Edith had made in the height of their passion had likely not had a chance to fade.

"I have shocked you," he said quickly. Catching the hitching swallow that left James' throat before the man rallied himself. Deciding a bit of levity was in order as he forced his tone to teasing dryness and turned back around so he was facing him again. "I can assure you my honor did not go unchallenged."

He took it as a personal victory when the man's mustache twitched in grudging amusement.

"Does everyone know then?" he asked later, shaking the crisp sleeves of his white shirt down around his wrists as the man fussed about with his tie. Fastidious to a fault.

"I am sure there is a humble pig farmer in rural Canada that hasn't been made unaware, sir," James remarked blandly.

"Capital," he muttered, not without sarcasm. A muscle in his cheek pulling tight as what he'd feared fastly became an unavoidable reality. This would not be an easy transition. Not for either of them.

He was so distracted that he only noticed someone was approaching - getting a fragrant burst of savory smells and the hot pipe of his favorite tea – a moment before the knock sounded.

He waved James off to answer it. Suddenly starving as the smell of food became almost unbearably strong.

"Compliments of Mrs. Patmore, sir," Thomas told him. Vaguely familiar from the madness of the night before as he breezed into the room and set a heaping tray in front of him with a practiced smile. "You should see the state of the kitchens, sir. I don't think she's been so pleased in years. Mrs. Patmore and the others have been up for hours determined to cook enough for you. I'm told sentinels at least double or triple what they usually put away. Mr. Carson would be up himself to tend to you, but he was needed by the ladies. I'm to tell you that Doctor Clarkson has taken the liberty of speaking to both your own staff and ours, suggesting you stick to less complicated dishes until your senses level out. Mrs. Patmore was able to alter the majority to fit those requirements. So I hope this suits you."

"Please convey my appreciation," he answered, already tucking in. Not bothering to stand on ceremony as his stomach churned and he realized he was utterly ravenous. Imparting the rest between bites of an exquisite butter-flaked roll. "I will have to thank her personally. And, apparently watch my waist line."

Thomas smiled like flint, sharp and breakable. Not unaware that the young man's eyes were keen. Missing nothing as he looked about at the debris of the room with a brief dart before settling back on him again. Expression telling him nothing. Luckily he didn't need to rely on merely that anymore.

And what he sensed was that Thomas was a man to keep on one's good side. Where you would benefit from his good will as he considered you and your affairs with a friendly eye, rather than the latter. He was a man that craved advancement and prestige, but also disliked the cage servitude and society pressed upon him. It was a dangerous mix, indeed. He considered the matter quickly before deciding on a course of action.
"I do hope that in the...distraction of last evening I didn't cause you any harm?" he opened carefully. Able to see grudging surprise flitter briefly across the man's face - come and gone between a blink – before smoothing back to impassiveness. "It's all rather muddled, I'm afraid. But I'm aware that I struggled rather hard against you. You are well, I trust?"

Thomas nodded.

"Quite well, sir. Thank you," the boy answered, undertone warming by the second. Like a root given just a spit of attention and sunlight. "You were not responsible for your actions. And in truth, Mr. Matthew got the worst of it. Mr. Carson and Lord Grantham were caught off guard, as well I. I have never known a gentleman to lose their brandy easily - especially one so fine - so I knew it had to be something serious."

"Still, no excuse for unbecoming behavior," he replied, morbidly curious about the details of the night before when seen through another's eyes. "You have my apologies, whatever they are worth. Though I do hope you view them in sincerity."

"Certainly, sir," Thomas answered, this time with a cautious but believable truth behind it. The predatory edge momentarily softened. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

He hesitated. That was all it took for Thomas to interject.

"I do happen to know that Lady Edith is very well this morning, sir. And is currently in conference with the ladies. I believe wedding preparations are being discussed. ...Amongst other things. If that is of any interest."

He smiled. Something in him warming pleasantly as a part of him he didn't quite understand yet stretched out. Brushing over their connection like a caress. Feeling her respond briefly before he pulled away again.

"Thank you, Thomas. You may go."

He finished his meal in silence. Appreciating James quiet fussing as he set the room back to rights. Inconspicuously separating the clothing that could be salvaged and those that could not. Folding all of Lady Edith's things on the far corner of the bed for a maid to see to later. The corset, however, was left to it's solitude on the fire-gate. His manservant apparently deciding that the garment was too feminine in nature for masculine removal and best left alone.

Normally he would be mortified, but today?

Well, today was a different matter.

The rhythms of life were so very strange.

Just when you thought you were in for a downward slope, there was unexpected renewal.

A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – There will be two more chapters, stay tuned.