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precious-little-scoundrel · 3 months

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Twenty Songs Challenge, written after being so lovingly inducted by the powerhouse that is sweet Mey, @the-ugly-swan . Challenge being to choose twenty favorited songs and write one shots based off of them with any pairing or fandom of my choosing. Being a weirdo and a little burned out in my own created universes beyond the fics already in works, I chose what currently inspired me most, obscure as it is.

Pairing: Henry “Hotspur” Percy and Lady “Kate” Mortimer Percy -early 15th century

Fandom: RPF, Shakespeare? Tom Glynn-Carney’s 5 magnificent minutes of a performance as Hotspur in <The King 2019> the armor alone was amply inspiring. The Hollow Crown fans feel free to imagine whoever, as you like. I love this historical pairing in about any iteration and the plot is drawn from both Shakespeare’s play and real history, the timeline, plot and politics being pretty self explanatory through the incorporated dialogue. NOTE- wordplay ahead with “cur” and “Kerr”, the latter being a Scottish clan holding great enmity with the Percy Family and charged with holding the Scottish side of the border. Also I kept Lady Percy’s name as “Kate” even though it was technically Elizabeth in the records.

Dynamic: a rough northern lord and his too good for him lady -a lady who has, through years of an arranged marriage gone horribly well, come to find his homespun gallantry and blunt ways more than a little intoxicating when knelt before her in amused deference. She could almost find it in herself to be gentle with him -if he hadn’t just started a rebellion whilst away from her at the Capitol.

Dedicated to my wifey @prompted-wordsmith who I did proselytize into the Percy cult one fevered evening with inestimable results, including her contribution of a few choice lines herein.

🕯As it Was ~ Hozier

“There is a roadway, muddy and foxgloved

Never I'd had life enough

My heart is screaming out

And in a few days I would be there, love

Whatever here that's left of me is yours just as it was”

Warnings: 18+ to be safe. a small amount of sexual content, flirtations, a husband and wife touching in public, verbal sparring and talk of making children and use of the word “bred”, swearing, use of the words “cock” and “cunt.”

The sound of hooves in the courtyard rouses Kate from her anxious stupor by the hearth, toilsome grain list forgotten on her lap. The scroll swishes to the floor at her abrupt standing, wafting out of her path as she rushes to the window.

First the clatter of a single, foremost, over-eager rider, followed at a lag by his retinue, skilled riders all and armored as befits the guard of a nobleman. They make such a clatter in the yard when they come in after him. Some petty part of her briefly considers the tactic of staying here in their chambers in protest, a quiet sign of disapproval with his errand, of discontent with his brusque leave taking two weeks agone.

Her Harry would find her anyway, and like it better that she were in their chambers. He would like it well she were so near the bed and like it ill she slighted him in her dutiful welcome -but he would not speak of that. Not one for speaking much, her husband, not on matters that plague her these days, weeks, months. Kate might have it out with him in the old way and slap him about and toss cold quips and get from him little more than the same benign aggravation and good humored laughs between, a couple dozen kisses to her neck and a grapple in the sheets.

That is what talk they would undertake were she to stay up here.

It is that lone, eager, forerunning clatter of his horse that speaks to her, speaks for him. Just as his sword and his reputation and his gruff graciousness has spoken well of him across these northern lands, his eagerness to return to her, to outstrip his men in haste to be back from his fool’s errand and into her embrace -it is all the declaration of devotion she may expect from him. It is the truest form, without jape lacing his tone or tonic of lust clouding his confessions.

Harry Hotspur, as fast to return to his wife as he is to meet a fight.

It is love, of the sort she has grown to be grateful for, and it is that and fear of losing it besides, that rushes her out from their chambers and down the polished steps, out to the great hall and past the giant outer doors, cursing a lousy servant or five and ordering a bath and commissioning supper and refreshments as she goes. The torch flames bend from her flight, a whoosh and a shadow stalking Alnwick Castle’s stone passageways until the gray light of evening pours into her sight from the opened great doors. Squires and stable boys clutter her path but they part as she dashes, nay, only a dignified hasten now, out into the courtyard where nearly all of this fool’s troup have dismounted.

There are doffed helms to the Lady Percy, the jangle of chain mail crinkling with bows and scraps of deference all around them, but she sees only him, with mist dripping on his nose and a face too boyish for the insolence he has returned from discharging.

“Kate.” he utters.

Will ever he say her name lazily? She hopes not, for that alone she will endure the unwarranted cheerfulness with which he greets her on this dire occasion. She has heard it said in anger, in jest and in passion, vows and quips, praise and warning. And now in cheerful pleasure as evening mist soaks her gown and the heavy clunk of her husband's footsteps clang ever near her on the paving stones.

“Lord husband.” she greets, hands folded over her freshly healed womb.

His stride falters and he rocks back on his spurred heels, an arms length away, an embrace so tangible she can see his jaw tick from the watering of his mouth. “Lord husband is it?” he repeats thoughtfully, eyes drifting down to the paving stones for a brief moment as if to recollect some forgotten crime, they flick up soon and in them is jesting scrutiny, “My lady wife rushed all this way, down five corridors and a furlong of Keep only to greet me thus?”

Did her rising breath betray her eagerness? Could he see her in the hall despite his business dismounting?

“Your cheeks are red.” he shows her mercy, some form of it. His form. “But -Lord husband, it is, nevertheless?”

“Unless you would prefer ought else?” she inquires, he had once thought this smile quite chilling, he had admitted after their first babe, now he finds it rousing, he has admitted after their third.

“If it please you.” his shifting stance is noisy, his tabard and sword and still clutched helm a racket of accouterments in the pattering rain.

“I have any number to offer,” she concedes, stepping nearer, a lady’s step, covering one third of the ground between them that he might vanquish in a single stride. Still, he waits. “Knucklehead.” she whispers, her breath a fog and her insult as lost as vapor in the ears of his watching men, her bearing alone must satisfy their curiosity, as must his growing smirk and rising color, “Jackenape.” Another step until each little scar on his face is visible and the little canyons each raindrop make of them. She saw his finger twitching where it grasped his visor “Cur.”

There was the slightest flinch between his brows at that, a furrow that smoothed as his mirthful lips flattened out. “Careful now, lady wife, with words like Kerr* thrown about, my men might think you presumptuous, their lady gone and married to some other, a Scottish laird at that. So sure of my death already, sweet Kate, that you must speak of Kerrs in mine own yard? Ha, ‘pon my word you are qu-“

“Hush!” Her hand, fresh warmed as it was by recent hearthside and rich velvets pressed frimly to his lips, a tingle shooting straight to her toes at touching him at last. He was silent then, only the puff of breath against her fast chilling fingertips. “Tease me not so,” she begged, her own mirth gone out in her eyes, her arch look turned to grief, “not when you are just returned from an errand all but ensuring such an end. It is too cruel, even of you. Handle me kindly, Percy, as you always have, in words this time, if not in embrace.”

He seemed to ponder this before raising that hand not occupied with his helm, clumsy and clad in gauntlet as it was, to her wrist, wrapping the chilled and layered steel round her pale flesh and gently tugging her hand from his lips, only so far as to press it to his cheek instead, their audience of men at arms unheeded. “I betook myself to London,” he enunciated, as if it were their first night all over again and his thick borderland drawl too strong for her courtly ears to decipher, “to remind a king of his debts.”

“And tell me!” she cried fiercely, a choked, barely quieted protest as her hands dug into the wet leather of his jerkin, wrist twisted from the steel grasp, “What errand is that but a fool’s? Have you no fear at all left in this bruised carcass? Do I patch up an animated corpse time and again from your wars only for it never to have soul and feeling and wisdom in it? Do I, Harry? Gone to remind a king? How do you dare such?”

“It is he who has dared too much!” he cried back, loudly where her’s had been choked, a ringing and rebauld defense, worthy of a man who would chastise his monarch in full view of council. “First his debts, and now my son’s land! We did not make children so as to watch like blithe cowards as their birthright is bequeathed out from under our feet -piecemeal!- to a courtly cunt whose only recommendation is his alacrity to pucker and bow.”

Kate glanced about her at the men making show of industry, piddling at harnesses and armaments, walking horses in circles. Her husband's words could be no worse than what he had said to the King’s own face, anyone without stomach to become a rebel would have stayed behind in the Capitol, sensing dissension brewing. Lady Percy could perceive none missing from his number. So, a war it was to be, then.

“So, a new generation of Percys is to play at kingmaking.” she summarized.

“We make no boast of it.” Harry protested in turn.

“No,” said she, “why would you with how poorly your last choice has served you?”

That caused a start from him, a step forward that was neither gallant nor eager but angry as man to man. Kate, still with hands fisted in the crooks of his armor, stepped with him, backwards to his hall. “It is your brother with the better claim.” he showed his plan at last, a slow and conniving admission, one not common for his brash ways and straightforward mind.

Kate gasped at the implication. “Edmund?”

“He was proper heir, all along.”

“Your father-“ she chose her wording carefully, “-did not agree.”

“My father’s preference is not law.”

“It is mistaken for such, often.” Kate smirked in reply. “And Edmund is not suited-“

“-Edmund is not the turd now stealing from his vassals!” her Harry rejoined, his helmet pressed to her chest, “Edmund will do.” he reiterated once more.

Kate stared at his temper, the signs of it in his flaring nose and his wild eyes, the cure was between her thighs but watching mist drops fall from unblinking lashes was sweet prelude indeed. “Edmund,” she replied quietly and in a manner to be heeded, “is not willing or suited, he prefers instead to listen to welsh bards and lay upon the lap of his savage wife.”

Her Harry rolled his eyes at her truth, an admission, or the closest to one, she would ever receive. As if battling some great inner turmoil she watched him purse his lips and heave out a sigh before in a sudden movement the helm was tossed to the ground -much to the scramble and reaction of a half a dozen squires who ran to pick it up from its puddle- and suddenly steel hands were upon her hips, tugging her near to him even as she shied away, her face turned in a pantomime of demureness. “Strange,” he said and his tone suggested he still pondered her report of her brother's amorous preoccupations, “-and her lap so less Devine than mine own wife’s.”

“Then why do you haste from it so often?” she whined, delivering a smack against his belted tabard, right where the lions paraded across his right breast.

“Only a man dying of thirst appreciates that water has a flavor.” he reasoned and Kate allowed the open mouthed kisses that crept down her neck, her face turned stubbornly still to the south wall. The blacksmith's roof will be in need of new thatching soon, before spring. Before war.

She feels stubble against her tender skin, bracketing those pretty lips she once derided him for. No warrior ought to have lips like that, it was not seemly, not when maidens were denied such richness, such fullness, such rosy hue. But there is roughness about his lips and on his jaw as it tucks into the juncture at her shoulder, that show of clavicle her dress allows drawing him in like a siren’s song. He must’ve rode hard the entire way, no inns or refreshment, no shaving or baths, straight to her as from a battlefield. The King’s city is just as loathsome as any field of carnage, but he went to free her brother, to get a ransom, to reclaim their stolen land, to remind a king.

He did it for her, and the babes she gave him.

Kate turns her face from the blacksmith's thatch and raises her hand to his face, tenderly stroking the three days' beard that's grown as he's been on the road, riding hard to get to her. They have backed nearly to the hall’s mouth, the drip of rain off the gutter patters behind her on the threshold, Kate knows he can smell supper and hear the clatter of their children racing to meet him on still chubby legs. How different is the love of home, man to woman, Harry would sooner fight for it and she would cower within. Her thumb swipes at the raindrops making farce of tears upon his cheek.

"Princess," he breathes against her palm as he crushes her into his chest, still half armored and agonized for it as he cannot feel her softness with the cuirass, the leather, the chainmail. There are curves and bosoms and soft flesh he knows too well just on the other side of this awful barrier.

Princess will be her title if his treason succeeds, if her brother wears that cursed crown. “Princess”. It sours her mouth, but it is kind of him to wish it for her.

"You will come back, Harry.” she commands of him, she declares the outcome of this brewing war, “Soaked in the blood of feckless scum, you will come back and put another babe in me. A little prince or princess," she hisses in his ear, and she can tell he freezes at that, her concession to his treason, still as stone in his metal casings.

His eyes are ever so blue as they search hers.

"So I forbid any recklessness, my Lord Husband. Because I want this - " and her hand slips beneath his jerkin and the hem of mail to squeeze his cockstand most assuredly, as assuredly as she was that he would be sporting one for her, gripping it as one might grasp a chalice of wine during a toast "- and the rest of you, in one piece." Harry slumps against her shoulder, panting into the chilled hair and too heavy for her little frame. "Or so help me God." she intones, sharper than any steel he wields. "Swear it, Harry." She gives him another punishing squeeze, and he groans, agonized, as his mouth meets with the softness of her bound bosom, his knees the hardness of the stone cobbles. If she hadn't promised a use for his cock, he'd think she was liable to geld him herself at his presumption to seat and unseat a king, but now that he is out of her grip, for a moment, and looks up at her with such longing he fears his soul has left his chest for hers.

"So help me God." he agrees, it is in providence’s hands, after all, and in Kate’s clasped one’s atop his head.

“Fool.” she says once more as she bends over him, gently pressing a hand to the back of his head, pressing his face to her belly and her chilled fingers to his sopping hair, “It is not my brother these men fight for, nor for me. Not when it is you that calls them to it.”

“For what then?” He mumbles into her womb, hands heavy on her hips, the courtyard’s occupants dispersed into the shadows of the eaves, but a couple dozen peering eyes twinkle towards them in the twilight’s gloom.

“How often have I heard it said here, in this very courtyard.” Kate scoffs, observing the strength knelt so adoringly before her, “Have I dreamed each cry of ‘no prince save he be a Percy?’ Ha, to think they fight for a Mortimer, indeed. Ha!”

Harry staggers to his feet at this poke, it is, as are so many of his Kate’s wounds, half torment, half praise. His blood pounds with the elixir of her acknowledgment of his capability. “It is well then, Kate Mortimer,” he recites, daring now to put his lips very near her own, to nuzzle his strong nose with her hawkish one, to tip a chin and bat an eyelash against her wet cheek, “it is well that you are Percy now yourself, through and through, wed-“ his lips meet hers in a brush she chases after, “-and bred.”

🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯

Hope all five of you who read that enjoyed it. 😆 I know it’s a fragment but as I’m nothing but hyper fixated when some interests resurrects in me, I’ll probably be back with more of them. Drop a note below if you’d like to be on a taglist for such developments.

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itsmechloeee · 8 months

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Hmmm…it would appear I have a type (could be wrong tho)

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helaenistic · 1 year

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Tom Glynn-Carney at the film premiere of ‘The King’

#tom glynn carney #the king #aegon ii targaryen #henry percy

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you-are-constance · 2 years

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chapter update!

fic link in rbs

#tumblrs gonna ruin the image quality i just know it #siiiiigh so anyway click for better quality #Constance's writing #Constance's art #Constance's tcd project #we are measured by our time #tcd #the clockmaker's daughter #will riley #constance reed #amelia glynn #ma riley #henry glynn #henry glynn my beloved <3 #<- will be a tag now bc he is so important to me.

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deaderthandoubledead · 1 year

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Hmmm 🤔

#hold on guys I'm trying to figure something out #it appears that you can slap a white wig on absolutely anyone and it will immediately make them more attractive #personally this doesn't work with Henry Cavill for me tho #might need more research #house of the dragon #hotd #daemon targeryan #aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #matt smith #tom glynn carney #ewan mitchell #btw I'm not saying the actors are ugly #I'm just marveling at the fact that I personally do not find them attractive but for some reason their characters are hot

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eosr-by-muxse · 4 months

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One or the Other

April 1925

Word Count: +9,110

An experimental rebuild of his class has arrived on the Island of Sodor, bought by the North Western Railway. He wonders if he'll fit in just fine with the other engines as problems begin to rise.

The sun was setting within the horizon, tucked behind the ocean. All of the engines at Barrow-in-Furness had returned to their sheds, except for two.

While both engines were classified as Lancashire and Yorkshire Class 28s, the only two of their class with Hughes Twin Plug superheaters and Belpaire fireboxes, they were quite different. One of them was an original Class 28, no modifications on them were found. The other was a rebuild, an experimental rebuild specifically. After a year of trial, he was deemed as a failed experiment.

Today was one of his last days before heading to the Island of Sodor, to the railway he was sold to.

"You're gonna love it when you get to Sodor!" chimed the smaller engine, as she noted her younger brother's mood. "It's lovely, I promise you."

The rebuilt engine let out a high-pitched wheesh. He hummed. "But you said that the engines there were straight-up sinister," he remarked.

His sister chuckled. "I meant the other engines on trial. Though two of the five were quite mean, I would ignore them if I were you, little brother."

"I'm much bigger than you!" he huffed. "...but, what about the others?"

"Oh, they're quite pleasant," she noted. "Though one of them might not be there anymore." She looked down. "There was an engine who sat in one of the sheds all the time. He barely went out."

"So he could've been…" James gulped a heavy cloud of steam, which slowly backed up his pipes. "Scrapped?" He wheezed out.

"Mhm," hummed his sister. "Don't let it intimidate you. It's just how it goes."

He stayed quiet.

His sister sighed. "I'm sure you'll do great, and you'll fit in quite well."

"...And what about you?" he asked as he looked at his sister.

His sister looked down. "Oh, I'll still be here." She whistled before chuffing away. "Who knows. We might see each other here every now and then."

"Here? As in Barrow-in-Furness?"

"Mhm," she stopped. "There are a few engines who come over from Sodor to here. You might be one of them soon." With that, she left.

The younger engine smiled warmly as the engine, the only one he could truly consider to be family, left. He looked in the distance and could barely see it but it was there.

The Vicarstown Drawbridge was raised up as if reaching for the limitless sky. Once it was let down in the morning, he would leave, and when he crossed over, he would possibly never come back.

…

It was shortly after lunch as four engines were being fired up after a good hour break and a quick announcement from Sir Bertram Topham Hatt II, the director of the North Western Railway.

A grand blue tender engine named Gordon huffed. "Edward, you will give this railway a bad name, just by rolling up there."

Henry, a grand green tender engine right next to him, asked, "They could be reckless. It's better if one of us goes instead."

An emerald-green tender engine, Emily, gave them a quick glare before shifting her attention to Edward. "What do you think they'll be doing when they arrive?" she asked, in hopes of deviating from the negativity.

Edward, a blue medium-sized tender engine, looked at the two largest tender engines and smiled. He softly chuckled. "Ye're forgettin wha mentorit the both of ye," he said, then glanced at the emerald-green tender engine. "Emily, I'm sure it'll be fine. I've been seein more goods trains than usual sae thon's most likely what they'll be doin."

Emily hummed. "That's true."

Gordon huffed and Henry grunted.

"Noo, noo," said Edward. "Please be nice tae the newcomer. It would be rude of us not to."

Emily whistled but the other two said nothing.

Edward rolled his eyes. "Let's get tae work, now. I'll see ye around!" he exclaimed as he chuffed away, continuing to work in Tidmouth Yards.

…

Within a few days, Sir Topham Hatt II had a workman from Tidmouth pass a message to Edward's crew, Charlie Sands and Sidney Heaver.

"The new engine has arrived," he said. "He's at Crovan's Gate Works."

Without any haste, Edward had his tender refilled of coal and water before getting onto the Main Line and heading towards Crovan's Gate. He hummed along the way as he huffed and chuffed down the line.

…

The rebuilt engine nervously rolled to a stop right next to what appeared to be a factory or repair shop.

"Is this it?" he asked his driver hastily as he observed the large brick building. The massive brick building had tall windows that were quite dirty, making it difficult for the engine to look through. He was curious as to what was going on inside, huffing in frustration.

"This is the place," replied his driver, Fred Quill, as his fireman, George Turner, patted at the curious engine. Just a few minutes ago, the engine had been fuming and crying after a not-so-pleasant farewell. It's as if the events that had taken place the day before had never happened.

Just then, Sir Topham Hatt II approached him, followed by two men dressed in blue coats and blue slacks. He dressed appropriately as any other railway owner would, in a full tuxedo with a yellow vest.

The newcomer was a medium-sized tender engine of two leading wheels and six 5'6" driving wheels. His livery was matte black, except for his buffer beams. On his cab was his number, 12556, painted in yellow, the same yellow used for the London, Midland, and Scottish Railway logo on his tender. Unlike other engines, he had a three-chime brass whistle sitting on top of his domed boiler. Across his face, at eye level, was a black stripe, with the number 12556 in white.

The black medium-sized tender engine looked at the man with his heterochromatic eyes of rich brown and lush green.

"Hello there! You must be James!" Sir Topham Hatt II exclaimed with excitement.

The engine jolted, and quickly looked away from the building. His heterochromatic eyes landed sight on the stout gentleman. He was confused. "Who?"

The Fat Director nodded at him. "You, James," he replied.

"P-pardon?" he asked, confused and nervous. He avoided eye contact. "I-I think you have the wrong engine, sir. I don't have a name. My number is twelve-thousand-five hundred fifty-six or twelve-five fifty-six, sir."

"Then you are James," the director said. "I gave you that name. Do you like it?"

James was shocked. Flabbergasted, he looked down shyly. Eventually, he replied. "I do, sir. Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome. Where are my manners? Welcome to the North Western Railway. I am Sir Bertram Topham Hatt the Second, the director of this railway. I expect you to become of good use," said Sir Topham Hatt II.

"Of course, sir!"

"Marvelous!" Sir Topham Hatt II said before looking around. Suddenly, he exclaimed, "There you are!"

James looked in the direction that the director was looking in.

Up ahead, a cerulean blue tender engine rolled in and came to a stop on the track to his left. The other engine was medium-sized, like he was, though a bit smaller, and had four leading wheels and four driving wheels.

Sir Topham Hatt II glanced at the blue medium-sized tender engine, smiling at the warm presence the locomotive brought with him.

Edward smiled at the new engine.

The director looked at James. "You will be working with one of the railway's most hardworking engines." He looked back at Edward with pride before gesturing from him to James.

The blue engine gave a quick hum before rolling closer to James. "Hello thare. Ma name is Edward," he piped cheerfully, his Scottish accent being quite thick. "What's yers?"

"James," the black engine replied quickly. He was still nervous.

Edward smiled. With a quick fweep, fweep!, he exclaimed, "Welcome tae Sodor, James!"

"Edward will be your mentor, James," said the Fat Director, gesturing James to Edward. "You will be working with him at the shunting yards in Tidmouth. Edward will guide you there." He turned to the blue medium-sized tender engine. "Edward, please make sure James is in line with the others. Keep an eye on him."

"Aye, sir!" replied Edward.

James followed. "Yes, sir!"

"Alright then. On you go! I will be checking on your progress by the end of this week, James."

Once Edward was turned around, the engines left Crovan's Gate and headed for Tidmouth Yards.

…

"Are you Scottish?" James asked meekly. They hadn't gone far away from Crovan's Gate when the silence became loud and uncomfortable.

Edward hummed.

James perked up. "If n-not, I'm sorry!" he quickly exclaimed. "It's just your-" His stuttering began to crack into his voice.

"Accent?" Edward said, interrupting the nervous engine. He chuckled. "I wis built in Scotland."

"And what railway do you come from?"

"I canae remember," Edward replied.

"Oh."

It stayed silent again.

"Ur ye an LMS original engine?" Edward asked.

"No. I'm a Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway engine."

Edward slowed down. "Lancashire and Yorkshire?"

"Yes?" James eyed the engine suspiciously.

"We had two engines come over from thon railway back in nineteen-twenty-ane," Edward replied. He hummed. "I was shed mates wit ane but the other ane wis allocatit at yon old Vicarstown Sheds wit the other ladies." He shook his frame. "One wis an L&YR Class Nine and the other wis an L&YR Class Twenty-Eight."

"I know that Class Twenty-Eight engine!" James exclaimed.

His loud voice startled Edward. "Eh?"

"That was my sister, fifty-five!"

Edward stared at James.

"W-What?" James became nervous all over again.

"Och, nawthin, nawthin!" Edward quickly reassured him. "Ye jist donnae look like yer sister…" He looked away, wincing at his own words.

James huffed. "I'm an experimental engine that was once a Class 28," he muttered bitterly.

"Och, och!" Edward braked harshly. "I'm sae sorry! I should'nae-"

James halted and backed down, lining up with Edward. "It's fine," huffed James. "How much longer to Tidmouth?"

"A while," replied Edward.

"Where is Tidmouth?"

"Oan the other side o the island!"

"What?" James exclaimed.

….

Tidmouth was very far away.

By the time the two engines pulled into Tidmouth Yard, which sat next to Tidmouth Station, dwindling towards the west, James was low on water and coal. Said engine could barely see it but from a distance, he saw what appeared to be the bay of the island. Not too far away and closer to him was a turntable.

"Here we are! Welcome tae Tidmouth," Edward exclaimed as he rolled into the shunting yard. James followed suit. "This is where we'll be workin for now," said the blue medium-sized tender engine.

James looked around the small yard. "And where are the goods trains?" he asked, confused.

"Och," Edward's lips strained, forming a thin line. "Well… aboot thon." He cleared his pipes. "The Fat Director wants ye tae do shuntin."

"Shunting?" The black medium-sized engine tensed. "But I'm a goods engine," said James.

"It's what he directed."

"But why? Do you not have any shunters?"

"We do."

"But where are they?"

"You're talking with the only one right now."

James' heterochromatic eyes slowly glanced over at Edward, meeting the other engine's brass eyes. The worry within boiled. "You're a shunter?"

The baritone of his voice threw Edward off, startling him. "Aye," he replied, tense.

"But you're a tender engine!"

"I ken."

"Tender engines-"

"Ur'nae meant tae shunt," interrupted the blue medium-sized tender engine. "But it's the Fat Director's orders. Nawthin I can dae aboot it."

"And you're the only one."

"Ye're jist goin tae keep askin questions, ur'nae ye?"

James backed away.

Edward took notice, alarmed. "It's no a bad thing!" He glanced at the yard, concerned. "But we have work tae dae."

"And it's shunting?"

"Aye! Noo, let's git tae it!"

…

Throughout the afternoon, both engines had some small chats. Edward spoke what little he could remember of the early days of the railway, adding his experiences with the other engines.

Despite the good things he was hearing, James was still worried.

"Do you think they'll like me?" James asked.

Edward hummed as he shunted some Troublesome Trucks to the end of a track. "They will," he replied rather bluntly.

"Oh." James wasn't convinced.

The blue medium-sized tender engine sighed with a warm smile. "Hey, listen. If they donnae like ye right away, give thaim time," he said as he backed away from the trucks.

Suddenly, a low baritone-pitched whistle was heard from a distance. The two had heard it multiple times throughout the day but this time, it got closer to them.

"Is that one of them?" James asked.

"Aye!" Edward replied. He backed up next to James in time to see a grand blue tender engine thunder into the shunting yard with empty coaches. "Come along, come along!" he piped to James, who followed suit.

The blue grand tender engine halted and hummed, observing the two engines approaching him. He focused on the new one.

"Are you the new engine?" The great blue engine asked.

"Yes, uh-" he swallowed a cloud of steam. "I'm James," James replied with a strained smile. He felt small, smaller than Edward.

Edward inched forward. "Why don' ye introduce yerself?" he suggested to the grand blue tender engine.

"Well then, hello. I'm Gordon, and I pull the Wild Nor' Wester," Gordon said bluntly.

"O' the afternoon!" added Edward.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Gordon," James responded, feeling tense.

"It was a pleasure as well." Once the grand blue tender engine was uncoupled from the coaches, he left.

"I'll get thaim, ye keep workin oan the regular freight cars," Edward said as he moved to the track where the coaches were.

James looked at the coaches. "Are those the Wild Nor' Wester coaches?"

"They are," Edward responded as he gently shunted them in place. "It's our passenger express service."

"Does someone else pull it? You said something about the afternoon."

"Aye. She's in charge o the Mornin runs."

James hummed curiously. "Do you get to pull it?"

"Mm, naw. No-"

Another whistle was heard. Though this time, it was a higher pitch than Gordon's. "Hello, Edward!" A voice hollered out.

"Och, thon's Henry!" Edward exclaimed. He looked at James. "This way, this way!" He chuffed backward. James followed.

"You must be the new engine. My name's Henry, what's yours?" a grand green tender engine asked as he rolled to a stop in the yard.

"I'm James," the black medium-sized tender engine replied. He liked Henry already. He's nice, he thought.

"It's nice to meet you. I need to get going. I'll see you around," said Henry before he whistled and left the yard.

James hummed. He asked Edward, "Is he the other engine who pulls the Express?"

"Naw, he pulls the regular passenger coaches an goods trains. Gordon pulls goods trains as well, thouch not often," Edward replied.

"Then who's the other engine?"

"Thon would be-"

"Edward!" An English-accented voice hollered.

"Emily, hello thare!" replied Edward.

"Did Gordon do the final Express run of the morning?" Emily quickly asked. She became excited when she noticed the unfamiliar engine next to Edward.

"He did. He juist left for his break."

"Good, good," Emily said in relief. "Now, who is this?" The emerald green tender engine inched closer to the two medium-sized tender engines.

"Gae on," Edward whispered to James. He backed up. "Introduce yerself."

"Hello, I'm James," said James. "It's Emily, right?"

"It is. Welcome to the railway, lad!" Emily replied. "Have you met the coffee pot engine, yet?"

"Coffee pot engine? The ones with the vertical boilers?" James asked, surprised and curious.

"Thae are the anes," Edward replied. "Thare's only ane left on the railway. He runs the Ffarquhar Branch Line, ane o the only operatin branch lines left. Still frequentit as it wis back then."

James hummed. "Do you guys work on the branch line?"

"Nope," replied Emily. "We work on the Main Line, which runs from here to Barrow-in-Furness."

"Oh. Will I be working on the Main Line?"

"Of course. In fact, you are right now." Emily paused when she noticed the lettering on James’ cab. "Welcome from the London, Midland, and Scottish Railway! Did you come from a railway before then?”

"Yes. The Lancashire and Yorkshire," replied James.

"Lancashire and Yorkshire, huh? Think we had two engines on trial from there, not too long ago…" Emily looked at Edward. "Have the other two met him?"

"They have. Shortly before ye came, thon is," replied Edward.

"Good. I must get going. Sir Topham Hatt wants me to pull the passenger train while Henry's gone. I'll see you two later!"

"Alricht, Emily," said Edward as Emily pulled away from the shunting yards. He looked at James. "Wid ye like tae shunt the passenger coaches?"

"Uh, sure," replied the black medium-sized tender engine worriedly. "Which ones are they?"

"The red coaches on the second tae last track."

James spotted the red coaches and went to work.

When he shunted the red passenger coaches into the station, he heard a little girl.

"Mummy, look! A new engine!" she exclaimed, pointing at James.

Her mother hummed. "It's like all the other engines," she commented with a smile.

James began to smile.

Finally, someone else recognizes that I am just like the others. Just as great. Just as useful-

"I don't see what's so different about it from the rest," the mother said, her smile disappearing. "Other than the eyes," she added, dropping her voice level. She looked down at her daughter and motioned at the passenger coaches. "Come on. Let's get on the train, dear."

The little girl simply followed her mother as James' heterochromatic eyes followed the pair. His eyebrows furrowed at the comment.

Despite the fire still going in his firebox and his water supply full, his boiler felt empty and cold.

So much for wanting to be like everyone else… he thought as he quietly puffed away.

…

It was evening when James and Edward finished with work. The two engines headed to Knapford Sheds, which were not too far. The other engines were already waiting for them, including the coffee pot engine.

On the way back, the comment from the mother had nagged at James, who tried to push it away.

"Glynn, guid evenin!" greeted Edward as he backed into the berth, along with James next to him in the no-longer empty spot.

"Good evening to you too, Edward," replied Glynn when he noticed the unfamiliar engine right next to him. "Hello there. You must be the new one around here, chap," he said.

James was no longer thinking about what happened earlier. He was staring at the coffee pot engine in awe. He'd heard about them but had never seen one before.

Glynn was tiny in length but was nearly the same height as Edward. His boiler pointed upwards and his livery was red, covered in a few scratches and dents.

"Oh, hello!" James greeted back, with a sudden rush of eagerness and curiosity. "I am. I'm James!"

Glynn chuckled at the reaction of the black medium-sized tender engine. He was used to it. His design was one-of-a-kind. "Hello, James. Welcome to the North Western Railway."

"Thank you," replied the black medium-sized tender engine.

"You're very welcome. I'm hearing you're around in the shunting yards for now."

"I am… Glynn, was it?"

"It is, lad. With Edward guiding you, you'll be fine on this railway."

"I hope so…"

"Is something on your-?"

"Can you please keep it down?" muttered Gordon from the other end of the shed. Henry, who was right next to him, was fast asleep. "Some of us are trying to get some rest. It's getting late."

Edward yawned. He had stayed quiet for the majority of the time, occasionally speaking to Emily, who tried to stay awake but had fallen asleep rather quickly. "He has a point," said Edward, with another yawn. "Guid night…"

Glynn looked at James. "We can chat tomorrow. Good night, James. Have a good rest."

"Good night, Glynn," replied James.

Soon, all the engines were fast asleep, with James looking forward to the following week.

…

A loud shrill rang throughout the sheds that morning.

The engines panicked, waking up with a startle. Henry suddenly moved backward, his fire having barely started. He bashed into the buffers at the end of the track.

"Goodness me, who was that?" he asked with sudden fear.

Someone nervously chuckled. All of the engines looked at James, who was about to leave.

"T-that was me…" replied James. "Was it that loud?"

"Well-" began Edward.

"Yes, it was," Gordon huffed. "With that kind of whistle, you'd certainly scare off the passengers."

"Gordon!"

The grand blue tender engine ignored Edward as he whistled and chuffed away.

"Dinnae-"

"Don't mind him, I know," James said, interrupting Edward. He brought his voice down to a whisper. "My sister told me not to."

"Did you say something?" Emily asked.

"N-no, I didn't say anything," James replied. "I'm on my way to the yards."

"Is yer whistle a three-chime whistle, by any chance?" asked Edward.

"Oh, it is," replied James. "It was given to me during my rebuild, 'as a gift' they said. I'm sorry for scaring you all like that."

"Donnae worry aboot it, James. Thouch it wid've been nice tae ken beforehand…" Edward reassured with a chuckle.

"Right, right." James chuckled nervously as he headed out of the sheds.

…

The next few days went by with ease, or they did so initially.

James had been making great progress. However, by halfway through the week, it was becoming quite sloppy, to say the least.

"Dinnae let them get the best of ye, James. They want engines up tae high doh," said Edward, reminding the black medium-sized tender engine.

James groaned. "'Up the high dough?""

"Flustered, upset… rile up an engine!"

He huffed. "That's troublesome."

The Troublesome Trucks continued to laugh. "No good engine, no good engine!" they chanted with boisterous laughter.

Edward shot a glare at the trucks. "Thon's why they're callit Troublesome Trucks," he said, looking back at James. "Ye'll neit tae learn hou tae deal with thaim properly. Sir Topham Hatt is hopin tae have ye pull yer first goods train by the end of the week."

"Why not now? I was a goods engine on my old railway," James asked as he finally managed to shunt the trucks in place.

"Most of our goods trains have Troublesome Trucks, thon's why not noo," replied Edward. "Sir Topham Hatt doesnae want tae risk ye gettin intae an accident for bein inexperiencit."

"Oh, right," replied James.

Edward hummed. "Och! Before I forget, Glynn is stoppin by for his break. He wantit ye tae shunt his coaches for him."

"Really, why?"

"I dinnae ken," said Edward. "He simply askit me tae tell ye."

"Alright…" said James. "Edward, I'm like the other engines, right?"

"Well, naw. We're all different from ane another-"

"I meant as in- Nevermind," huffed James, returning to shunting the Troublesome Trucks and leaving a confused Edward behind.

"Whit dae ye mean by 'as in?'" asked Edward as he followed the black medium-sized tender engine. "James?"

"It sounds silly but am I an engine? Like a real engine?"

"Of course, ye are," he replied, confused.

"Even if I'm a failed experiment?"

Edward was flabbergasted. "A failed-? Aye, e'en sae, James."

"That's good to know."

"Why are ye askin this? Is awthing alricht?"

James hummed. "...Do passengers often say really rude things?"

Edward's eyes widened. He sighed. "It's best tae ignore thaim." He began to chuff away, leaving the black medium-sized tender engine to ponder. "Nawthin we can dae aboot it."

…

Around the early afternoon, Glynn arrived at Tidmouth Station. After dropping off his passengers, he headed towards the shunting yard. James was waiting for him, just having arranged a goods train for Henry to take.

"Hello, Glynn," he said as Glynn approached him.

"Hello, James," said Glynn. "I want you to meet my coaches."

"Hello there!" piped up the first coach. "I'm Annie, and she's Clarabel," Annie said, smiling as she glanced back at Clarabel, the passenger brake coach.

"It's nice to meet you, James!" exclaimed Clarabel, as she and Annie were uncoupled from Glynn.

"Hello, Annie. Hello, Clarabel," greeted James to the auburn passenger coaches as he was coupled up to them from the back.

Glynn chuffed away. "I'll be near the water tank. Thank you, James!"

"You're welcome, Glynn!" James replied as he reversed. He thought about where to put the auburn coaches for the time being.

"We usually go in that shed over there," said Clarabel, noticing the pondering engine. She glanced to the left. "Where the red passenger coaches are."

James hummed as he reversed further and switched tracks to reach what looked like a carriage shed. It was at the edge of the shunting yard. As gently as he could, James shunted them in place.

"James, have you ever pulled coaches before?" Annie asked suddenly as a workman uncoupled her from James.

James sighed. "No, I haven't," he replied as he backed away.

"Would you like to one day?" asked Annie.

The black medium-sized tender engine stopped in his tracks. "Sorry?"

"Would you like to pull coaches one day?"

James was hesitant. "I would, but I'm a goods engine. I'm not meant to be pulling passenger coaches."

"Well-"

"You better get going, James. Glynn does want to spend some time with you," said Clarabel hastily, interrupting Annie.

"Oh right! See you in a bit!" exclaimed James as he chuffed away from the shed. He left to join Glynn.

"Goodbye, James!" said Clarabel frantically. Her franticness went unnoticed by James.

But not by Annie. "Clarabel, what was that for?" asked Annie.

The equivalent of Clarabel's eyebrow bone furrowed. "We can't be telling a newcomer such things, Annie. Besides, we don't know for sure. It's… just a possibility."

…

"...Henry refused to come out of the tunnel. An engine on trial almost got him out but he was being stubborn."

"Would this engine happen to be an L&YR Class 28?"

"Pretty sure it was. Do you know this engine?"

"She's my sister. Number two-forty-three?"

Glynn hummed. "Oh, I remember her. I didn't see her much, though."

"Then how did you know about that?"

"The other three told me about it. They'd seen how hard she tried, but Henry's strong. He wouldn't budge."

"Not one bit?" asked James, amused.

Glynn chuckled lightly. "Not one bit. So the board, including the old Fat Director, ordered for the tunnel to be walled up. He was let out eventually, but that was only because Gordon burst his safety valve and none of the other engines were available to cover for him."

"Wow," said James with a stale tone, though amused. "Even if Gordon hadn't burst his safety valve, Henry would have still been let out, right?"

Glynn stayed silent.

"Right?" Fear began to creep into his boiler.

"No," Glynn replied bluntly. "I don't think so. The others do, but I don't."

"O-oh…"

"It's been a few years since that happened."

"So it won't happen again?"

"No, I doubt it would," said Glynn, teeth clenched.

"Alright. So what happened after?"

"Everything went back to how it was after Gordon was fixed up, just like it is now."

"Nothing changed?"

"Nothing changed," Glynn replied. He heard footsteps. The red coffee pot engine looked in the direction of the sound and saw a group of men walking toward them. "That's my crew. My break's over. Don't worry about Annie and Clarabel, I'll get them myself."

"Oh, alright then. I should get back to work. Goodbye, Glynn!"

"Goodbye, James!" said Glynn as the black medium-sized tender engine left to return to his work in the yard.

…

"James? James!"

"Hm? Who's there?" asked the black medium-sized tender engine as he backed away from shunting a few cars into the siding. He saw the engine, who had been calling out for him. "Oh, hi, Gordon," said James.

"For how much longer are you going to work in the yard?" Gordon bluntly asked with no greeting.

"By the end of the week, I think," replied James, thrown off by the question. "Why?"

"Just curious," he replied. Gordon brought his voice down to a whisper. "You could be a replacement."

James froze. "R-Replacement? Who?"

"Edward."

"E-Edward?" James looked around frantically to find the engine. He managed to spot him on the other side of the yard. "What's wrong with him?” he whispered. “He seems to be just fine."

"Yes, but that's because he stays in the yard. Have you not noticed how he never leaves the yard?"

The question made James think. "He left once for a goods train to… somewhere, but I've only been here for a few days-"

"Edward's old," Gordon said bluntly. "He's been a shy steamer from the day he was built."

"I've never seen him have that issue…" replied James, looking down as he thought back to the past week.

“He never wheeshes because he just cannot steam enough to do that.”

"But Edward's a reliable engine. Sir Topham Hatt said so himself," replied James. "Besides, I was brought here to pull goods trains. I just… need to be ready."

"Sure," Gordon huffed as he rolled out of the yards, leaving a worried James behind, who recalled something his sister had said.

…

"Edward, when were you built?" James asked the blue medium-sized tender engine the following morning.

Edward hummed. "I canae remember… but I might be a few decades old," he replied. Edward noticed James' tense stance. "Is somethin botherin ye, James?"

"No, no. No… Actually, yes." He looked straight into Edward's eyes. "Were you the engine who stayed in the shed during the loans? The one who never left?

Edward was startled, but he still answered. "Aye," he replied, looking down. "But I did leave a few times."

"How many?"

"Mmm, five times?"

"A year?"

"The entire time."

James frowned. "And since when have you been here in the yards?"

"Since nineteen-twenty-three, when the Amalgamation happened. But I dinnae mind it. As lon’ as I'm no’ left in the shed all the time, I'm quite pleasit wit it," replied Edward with a pleasing smile.

However, Edward's words shook through James' boiler, and the smile of the blue medium-sized tender engine bothered James.

James watched as Edward went on with his work. "And what about the Troublesome Trucks?" he asked. He had become more annoyed with them since he arrived, growing tired of their mockery.

"Whit aboot thaim?"

"How can you handle this job? Dealing with those Troublesome Trucks?"

"Well, ane, I enjoy it. An’ two, it takes time."

"You enjoy it?"

"Aye, an’ thare's nawthin-"

"Yes, there is!" James yelled.

Edward was startled but his eyebrows furrowed.

"How do you not want to lose it with those trucks?" He huffed. "I'm ready to shunt one off the rails."

Edward hummed. "I am patient wit’ thaim."

"Don't you wish you could do something else?"

"Well, it wis either this or tae be lockit up in the sheds," replied Edward sternly. "An’ I wid rather no’ be sittin in the sheds, deterioratin’ over time." The blue medium-sized tender engine moved away, continuing his work.

James had an idea.

"How about we travel along the mainline?"

Edward stopped. "Pardon?"

"Travel along the mainline. You said you've been here for quite a while. That means you barely go on the Main Line, right?"

"Well, aye. But like I said, I like workin’ in the yard. It's not much but it's nice," replied Edward, getting a bit worried.

"Then let's go on the Main Line!" James exclaimed. "We can chuff around for a bit!"

"Ye're off yer smokebox!" Edward exclaimed. "We're supposit tae stay in the yard. Orders frae the Fat Director!" Despite his own insistence, the offer to leave was tempting.

"He won't find out," said James. "Lighten up a bit!"

"Aye, he will," Edward said sternly.

"It'll only be for a bit!"

"Doesnae matter!"

"Please! The others have just left. No one else should be coming back, right?"

"No’ for a while," replied Edward. He looked up. "Emily jist left wit the Express, Gordon is gaun’ae tae Vicarstown tae deliver a guids train, and Henry is pullin the regular passenger train before headin’ tae the docks wit a guids train from Barrow-in-Furness."

"Then we aren't disturbing anyone."

"An’ the yard?"

"It'll be fine! It'll just be for a bit! Please!"

Edward frowned but then sighed. "Fine. It daes sound nice, but I dinnae like the idea o’ leavin' wit'out Sir Topham Hatt knowin'…"

"Don't worry! We'll be back shortly!"

…

And back shortly, they were. They had spent less than an hour traveling from Tidmouth to Wellsworth, before turning back.

As they approached Knapford Junction, Edward struggled to see the signals. He squinted, solely focused on the signals that he didn't notice Gordon coming from his left.

Gordon whistled loudly, startling Edward. "Edward! Watch out!" He exclaimed.

"Och!" Edward exclaimed as he pushed on his brakes. He braked in time, missing Gordon. "Gordon! I'm so-!"

"Edward and James!"

The three engines at the junction gasped as they saw the small chubby director storm over to them.

"Gordon, get back to work. Now," he said sternly.

"Of course, sir!" Gordon quickly replied as he chuffed away to Tidmouth.

"You two. The station, now!"

"Y-yes, sir!" exclaimed James.

"Aye, sir!" exclaimed Edward.

The two quickly chuffed towards Knapford Station, leaving the director behind to follow them.

Once the engines settled in the station, Sir Topham Hatt II spoke loudly and sternly at them.

"Edward and James, where have the two of you been?" he asked, raising his voice.

James panicked. "We were on the Main Line, but we didn't go far before coming back, sir!"

"Not far? You're not supposed to leave the shunting yards, the both of you know that!" the short and chubby director exclaimed with fury. He looked at Edward. "Especially you."

"I'm really sorry, sir. James really wantit tae gae, and I agreit. I really wantit tae wander around. Jist for a bit," Edward quickly exclaimed.

Sir Topham Hatt II sighed. "I can't say I'm not upset or disappointed, especially with you, Edward. From now, you're both staying in the yards. You are not to leave unless I say so, understand?"

"Aye, sir."

"Yes, sir," the two medium-sized tender engines replied in solemn unity.

"I hope you do. I'll come back next week instead. Clearly, you both need to learn and behave." Sir Topham Hatt II said sternly before walking away. He shook his head in disappointment, leaving the two engines to think about what they'd done.

…

The following day, James was listening to another of Glynn's stories. This time, it was about the old days of an old railway: The Tidmouth, Knapford, and Elsbridge Light Railway.

"... they were such great engines. Sadly, the first one didn't make it past the beginning of the century and the other was scrapped in nineteen-twenty. The other engines were scrapped by then, so it was just Edward and me. Thankfully, Emily, Henry, and Gordon have come along, and now you have as well." Glynn sighed. "You've been quite helpful since you got here."

"Mm. I'm glad I am," replied James.

His flat tone worried the red coffee pot engine. "You know, you've been quiet for most of the morning and I've noticed you've been ignoring Edward. Is something going on, chap?" Glynn asked.

James looked down, staying quiet.

"It's about yesterday, isn't it?"

The black medium-sized tender engine sighed. He continued to look down at his black running board. "Do you think Edward's mad at me?"

Glynn hummed. "He isn't one to stay mad for long. Talk to him."

"Alright…" James looked at Glynn. "Who were the other engines? Were they from other railways?"

"Well…" Glynn hummed. "There was a tender engine, along with two tank engines from the old Wellsworth and Suddery Railway, and two box-tank engines from the Sodor and Mainland Railway." He squinted, looking down in thought. "Actually, one of the box tanks might still be around here somewhere."

That piqued James' interest. "Really?"

"Maybe. I just don't know where. The tender engine was responsible for leaving them on a siding… His name was-"

"Glynn! Break's over!"

Both engines looked in the direction of the sound. It was Glynn's driver, Gilbert Perkins.

"Alright, Mr. Perkins!" Glynn exclaimed. As Gilbert climbed into Glynn's cab, along with his driver, Glynn looked back at James. "Talk to Edward about it. It's the only way to know." He whistled a farewell and left to pick up Annie and Clarabel for his afternoon run.

James stayed behind in the empty and lonely area of the Tidmouth Yards.

He has a point.

…

It was easier said than done, James thought to himself.

For the past few days, he struggled to talk to Edward but managed to speak up to him, days after his conversation with Glynn.

"Edward…?"

The blue medium-sized tender engine looked back at James. "Hm?"

"Listen, I'm… I'm sorry."

Edward lifted an eyebrow. "For?"

"For making you leave the shunting yard. It got you in trouble and-"

"I'll stop ye richt thare," Edward interrupted, as he backed down to be right next to James. "Ye dinnae make me leave the shuntin yard. I chose to leave wit ye," he explained with emphasis.

"But still-"

"We're both tae blame for whit almost happenit," said Edward. "I actit upon my temptation an ye acted upon yer naivety."

"Naive?" said James offensively. "What do you mean 'naive?'"

"As in, ye dinnae know any better," Edward bluntly replied. "Thon's all."

James frowned.

"Och, thon reminds me. Sir Topham Hatt is comin’ tae see ye in a bit about yer first goods train later today," said Edward.

"What, why? Is there something else I need to know?"

"I think so," replied Edward. His eyes drifted to something elsewhere. He caught a glimpse of the man in question. "He's comin' this way. I'll continue work in the yard," he muttered as he quickly chuffed away.

Sir Topham Hatt II soon reached James. "There you are, James. Now, I came to remind you about the goods train you're taking today. Do you remember where and where?"

"From Brendam Docks to Vicarstown, sir?" replied James.

"Correct. Now, I need you to be careful. From what I've heard, you are capable of handling the Troublesome Trucks but please be cautious, alright?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Excellent! Now, please go to the Crovan's Gate Works," he said, smiling. "Welcome to the North Western Railway, James, our number six engine. I look forward to hearing good reports on your first run."

James gasped with joy. "On it! I won't let you down, sir!" he replied with determination and happiness as he left, smiling, to continue his work.

…

It was the late afternoon of that day when James arrived at Brendam Docks. He rolled in with the number 6 painted on his tender.

He was quite surprised to see how empty the docks were.

There was only one crane at the docks, doing all the unloading. James thought he saw a weird shape, a face of some sort on the crane. But it was too dark to be sure with the sun setting.

James wanted to say "hello" but decided not to. For all he knew, the crane probably had no face. I would make a fool of myself, he thought.

The black medium-sized tender engine was switched over to be able to back up into the goods train. A workman in the docks approached him, coupling James up to the goods train. He gave a quick thumbs up to Fred, James' driver.

"Alright, we're ready to go!" Fred hollered out for James to hear.

James' three-chime whistle rang throughout the docks, startling a few of the workers, before chuffing away.

…

James arrived at the Vicarstown Yards without any problems. The Vicarstown Station was there, which only consisted of platforms, and the abandoned Vicarstown Sheds were nearby. Gordon was there with Wild Nor' Wester for the afternoon.

Fred and George climbed out of his cab, walking towards the smokebox of the black medium-sized tender engine.

"We had a very good first run, didn't we, James?" asked Fred with pride.

"Everything went fine. There's nothing wrong," James replied, a bit thrown off. It still caught him off guard when someone asked for his opinion. "Yeah, it went well."

His crew chuckled, hiding their solemn feelings for the engine.

Fred Quill and George Turner were transferred over to the North Western Railway with James. While George wasn't married or had any family living with him, Fred did. Thankfully, his family agreed to move to Sodor, with special transportation provided by Sir Topham Hatt II to help with the move, having Emily be of assistance for both crewmen.

From their time on the London, Midland, and Scottish Railway, they had seen the trouble James went through as an experimental goods engine after his rebuild, especially with most of his siblings. And especially on the evening of James' last day on the LMS.

Suddenly, one of the workmen in the yard called out. "You may leave now! Emily will be coming by to take it from here!"

Without wasting any time, the crewmen climbed into their engine's cab and left the yard.

…

The following morning, James was the second to last engine to leave the sheds for work when he saw Henry in his berth.

Henry was usually the first to leave. However, the grand green tender engine looked ill. Too ill and tired to move.

"Henry? What's wrong?" asked James quietly.

"I'm having boiler problems again," replied Henry solemnly. "It happens a lot. I'm used to it."

"Since when have you had them?"

"When I was built. The old Fat Director was quite upset when he realized it," Henry replied.

"Can't they do anything to fix it?"

Henry shot a glare at James. "Not after they bought you," he snapped with sudden bitterness. "They said it was too expensive." He squinted at James. "Yet, his first investment was you."

James was thrown off. He hadn't interacted much with Henry but he had initially taken a liking for the grand green tender engine.

"I-I…"

"Just get to work," said Henry. He looked away with a frown. "If you're replacing anyone, it better not be me. Might as well replace Edward or Glynn. I've worked too hard for this railway, for goodness sake."

James stayed silent and left.

If you're replacing anyone, it better not be me…

…it better not be me…

Fred and George began to worry. "Let's go refill on coal and water, chap," said Fred, patting his engine’s cab.

As the black medium-sized tender engine chuffed away, Henry scowled and James could feel it be directed to him.

He felt extremely uncomfortable so he picked up the pace to quickly leave Knapford and head to Tidmouth. His crewmen hollered at him.

He could just use the coal hopper and water tower in Tidmouth Yards.

…

That afternoon, Henry passed through the yard, searching for his goods train. He was able to start running once again and, with enough convincing, Sir Topham Hatt II allowed Henry to pull his goods train to Barrow-in-Furness.

He looked around until he found a long train of trucks full of crates and tarp-covered trucks. Henry smiled at being able to find it as he backed down the front of the train. Nearby was James.

James was preparing a set of trucks to take to Brendam Docks when he saw Henry. He felt tense at seeing him, promptly attempting to ignore him.

Attempting.

"Afternoon, James," said Henry.

"Hi, Henry," James replied swiftly, with a frown.

The grand green tender engine frowned as well. "Listen, I'm sorry about-."

"I don't want to replace anyone," James said suddenly, interrupting Henry. "I didn't come here to replace either of you guys. I was brought to help you guys." James huffed. "Glad they did…" What are you doing? "b-because you don't even do anything!"

"A-Anything?" huffed Henry. Now it was his turn to be thrown off as he fumed. "I work hard for this railway. I push myself to my own limits to get a single job done. I may have been defective, but at least I was appreciated, compared to the failure of an experiment you are!" His crew pulled on the brakes out of fear, locking him onto the track.

James was thrown off as Fred and George tried to soothe him. "How did you-?"

"I remember your sister, alright. The L and YR Class twenty-eight engine? Works number two-forty-three. The one who tried to get me out of that tunnel. I saw her at Barrow-in-Furness before you came here. In fact, I saw you there with her."

The black medium-sized tender engine stayed quiet.

"If you want to be worth the Fat Director's money, you better get going on those trucks, mate," said Henry with a scowl. "I'm leaving." With that, he whistled, announcing his departure from the Tidmouth Yards.

Fred jumped out of James' cab once Henry left, rushing to the front of the engine. James' cheeks burned, turning black as his boiler boiled and bubbled.

"James? Lad? Hello?" Fred called out.

They heard chuffing approaching them.

"W-what happened? James?" exclaimed Edward. He had been on the other side of the shunting yard when he heard a loud, distressing commotion. The blue medium-sized tender engine had seen Henry leave hastily.

"Hey, Quill. You guys alright?" hollered out Sidney Heaver, Edward's fireman as he jumped out of the cab, towards Fred.

"We are, but James isn't," replied Fred, slightly distracted as he tried getting James' attention. "Come on, lad!"

"James? James!" exclaimed Edward.

James wouldn't budge.

An idea came to him. "I'll see if I can find Glynn. He might be just the engine to bring him to." He whistled and chuffed away once Sidney climbed back onto Edward, leaving Fred and George with James.

By the time Edward had found Glynn, it was dark. Glynn had just returned from his final passenger run. Edward quickly shunted away Annie and Clarabel, with the usual gentle care.

But when they arrived, James had disappeared. He had left with his trucks for Brendam Docks.

…

The next day, Emily chuffed up to James, shortly before it was time to pull the Express.

"James, are you alright? I heard what happened yesterday," said Emily.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm alright," he replied.

Emily hummed. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I just needed some time to think alone, that's all."

"Right…" said Emily. "Listen, if you want to talk, just know that I'm here. So are Glynn and Edward."

"Thanks… Um, Emily, is there something wrong with Edward and Glynn?"

"No… Well, Edward has steaming issues but not severe enough to prevent him from working, and Glynn has broken down a couple of times," she replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Nothing, just wondering."

"I know you're lying, mate," Emily said bluntly. "Did someone tell you something?"

James looked away and frowned.

"James…"

"Yes…"

Emily sighed, having a good idea of who it was. "Bother. Don't listen to them. They don't know Edward and Glynn as much as I do. Those two are troupers."

"Will the Fat Director replace either one of them?"

"He would never, unlike the board," she grumbled.

"The board? They make the final decisions, don't they?"

"They do, somewhat, but they struggle because of the Fat Director. It takes a lot for both to agree, and that doesn't happen often from what I hear."

"And if it does, when it comes to… replacing?"

"Then… it does."

…

Since that day, James has stayed quiet. Extremely quiet. He didn't like Emily's solemn tone. It bothered him, nagged at him as if a workman was scraping his firebox empty.

His sudden mood change did not go unnoticed but the attempts to speak to him were fruitless, except for Glynn.

"Glynn, there really is no way of escaping being scrapped, is there?" asked James.

The red coffee pot engine sighed. "I'm afraid so. In the end, we will be scrapped. The question isn't if we will be scrapped, it's when we will be scrapped," he replied solemnly. "What brings this up?"

"I just have a lot on my mind…" said James. "I miss my sister."

"You always mention your sister, young lad," said Glynn. "You have other siblings, right?."

"I rather not," said James bitterly. "They were nothing but rude to me. Just absolutely profane." He glanced at Glynn, glaring at the thought of them. "Twelve-five fifty-five, two-forty-three before the Amalgamation, was the only one who respected me after my rebuild. She actually treated me the same way she would treat others."

"My apologies. I didn't mean to set you off," said Glynn.

"It's fine… I'm sorry for responding like that," James replied solemnly.

"We're just really worried about you, James. You weren't… rude when you arrived," Glynn said bluntly. "And you've been acting quite odd."

"I need to get going," replied James. "I have another train to pull from Brendam."

The red coffee pot engine sighed. "Alright then, lad. Take care on the job! I'll see you later!"

James smiled. "Thank you! I'll see you later!" he exclaimed, with a sudden change of mood.

…

"James? James!"

The black medium-sized tender engine jerked awake. "Huh?"

"The Fat Director wants to speak with you," said Emily, who was on the turntable next to the sheds. "There's a little platform in Tidmouth Yards. His office is right there." She whistled. "Goodbye, see you later!" she exclaimed hastily.

"Ah, goodbye!" James exclaimed. He heard snoring to his left. There was Glynn.

That's weird, he thought. Glynn is usually off to work by now…

Not wanting to disturb the coffee pot engine, the black medium-sized tender engine left quickly and quietly.

…

The trek to Tidmouth Yards was uncomfortable and quiet, an appropriate feeling for James at the moment.

Since my rebuild, I wanted to be like every other engine, he thought to himself as he headed to the platform. But after that… I don't think I want to be like any engine. I want to be unique. I want to be different. I want to be special, but still, be a really useful engine.

Sir Topham Hatt II spotted the approaching engine. "Good afternoon, James. I have something special for you," he said once James came to stop at the platform.

"What is it, sir?" asked James.

"Starting tomorrow, you will be going on a trial," Sir Topham Hatt II told him, his voice becoming stern.

"A trial, sir?" James asked, worried.

"I'm putting you on trial on the Ffarquhar Branch Line," said Sir Topham Hatt II. "You will be running the passenger service for that line."

James was shocked. He gasped. "A passenger train?" James asked nervously.

"Yes, a passenger train. That branch line is one of the only operational lines that we can afford right now, and many people from the south of Sodor depend on it. Don't let us down, James," he said sternly. "Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, sir! I won't let the railway down. I will do my very best."

"You better. Go on with your work now."

"Yes, sir!" replied James. He whistled and chuffed away from the platform, leaving Tidmouth Yards.

…

"I heard ye were put oan trial oan the Ffarquhar Branch Line," asked Edward that afternoon in the Tidmouth Yards.

"Yeah, and?" James asked defensively.

Edward looked ahead, staring blankly at the landscape ahead. "I jist wantit tae say, congratulations," he replied. "I forgot tae say this the other day, but welcome tae yon railway, number six."

"Well, thank you very much," he said. James gestured toward his number. "Took you long enough."

Edward hummed. “Sorry, jist been busy, thon’s all.” He yawned. "I'm gaun'ae get some rest. I'll see ye later," he mumbled as he chuffed away.

There was no response from James, as he was thinking, Twelve-five fifty-five, you were right. I did fit in just fine…

I think.

It was a peaceful summer morning on the Island of Sodor, and today was James' first passenger run.

He was going along the Ffarquhar Branch Line when he heard an unfamiliar whistle. An engine, a stranger, approached right next to him.

When he looked over, he gasped and braked so suddenly. Sparks flew from his wooden brakes.

The engine had no face.

James recognized her from the many stories he had heard on the London, Midland, and Scottish Railway. The very vivid description going through his mind.

"Lady?"

"Indeed I am, James," Lady replied.

"W-What are you doing here?" James asked.

"I am here to simply tell you one thing."

"What is it?" he asked. An odd fear began to boil within him.

"It's one or the other, James. One or the other…" chanted Lady.

She continued chanting when another voice joined.

James looked ahead to see an engine that he knew all too well.

"One or the other," the L&YR Class 28 engine chanted with Lady, looking into James' eyes with no emotion. She was going backward on the track.

"T-Twelve-five fifty-five?" asked James nervously, his voice wavered.

"You see? You fit in just fine! It was one or the other, and you've gone for one," said LMS 12555 so uncannily. "You even have a name! James. What a splendid name for a splendid engine."

"I-I did!" he replied, trying to ignore the uncanny feeling that lingered in the air. "M-maybe one day, you'll be here with me! We can have a peaceful life on Sodor, sis!"

LMS 12555 frowned while Lady continued to chant in the background, "One or the other. One or the other. One or the other…"

At the same time, the space around them changed, and everything deteriorated. It became a black void with the tracks being the only thing in existence.

"But James… it's one or the other…" she said as she began to deteriorate and fade away.

Before James could say anything, a sudden glow enveloped Lady. Within seconds, a golden light flashed, blinding a stunned James, who had a sad face of realization.

James woke up, heavily panting. He looked around in the darkness of Knapford Sheds. He looked to his left.

Glynn was gone. He hadn't seen him since yesterday morning.

It's one or the other… James thought to himself as he began to panic. He squeezed his eyes shut as the phrase repeated itself in his mind.

One or the other…

#ttte james #engines of sudrian rails (shipverse) by muxse #engines of sudrian rails by muxse #my writing #ttte edward #ttte emily #eosr sir bertram topham hatt ii #ttte henry #ttte gordon #eosr jasmine #ttte annie #ttte clarabel #ttte glynn #ttte fic #my art #first Jimmy story (or not if i decide to write stories about the engines' past before the NWR)#who knows at this point lmao #oh well #word count is back to warn ya'll about how long these fics are

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cerenemuxse · 7 months

Text

Cold Iron

December 1962

CW: Deadnaming and using incorrect pronouns (from me for the purpose of storytelling with no ill intention) + Profanity

The story can be found at @eosr-by-muxse for easier access.

Marion’s find turns out to be Glynn, the coffeepot engine who was once responsible for Thomas’ branch line. So when Thomas and Percy show him to James and Emily, James can’t help but wonder how they never found Glynn after all these years. Something’s not right, of that James was certain of.

No one should've been in Knapford Sheds that morning. Everyone should've been working.

Only five of the six engines in the shed had gone to work, leaving one all alone. James was the last of the five to leave the sheds.

About an hour after he left, another engine had come by with the Fat Director in their cab. They crept towards the first berth in the second section of the shed, where Glynn was, whose crew they also had in tow. The cab was quite cramped.

Glynn was a bit of a heavy sleeper so when the engine backed down in the berth and buffered up to him, he didn't awaken. Not even when Mr. Perkins, his driver, coupled him up to the tender engine. Mr. Perkins and the fireman climbed onto Glynn and released the brakes.

And that was when he woke up.

With no effort, the engine towing him left the sheds without wheeshing so much. The Fat Director made sure that the other engines had jobs that wouldn't lead to them coming across Knapford. They were all on the other side of the island or on the only other operating branch line that led down to the docks.

Quickly, the engine was switched to the east tracks of Knapford Junction, going right on the Ffarquhar Branch Line. They trotted down the line as Glynn stayed quiet, enjoying the view of the line one last time.

His time had come.

Passing the ever-growing trees of the surrounding area, the group eventually arrived at the place. It was an abandoned siding covered in an endless number of bushes that had just flourished from the late spring climate, right between Toryreck and Eldridge. The track creaked as the tender engine shunted Glynn into the siding. Before the engine could speak, Glynn stopped them.

"Don't ever blame yourself for this, mate," he whispered. The lukewarm tone of reassurance hit the tender engine with great force as tears welled in their eyes. "My time has come. Thank you for everything."

The sun was beginning to set when two tank engines, Thomas and Percy, rushed into Tidmouth Yards with something in tow. Or rather, someone.

After decades of being believed to have been scrapped, Glynn was found, though in poor condition. His once-shiny red paintwork was cracked and peeling off with huge chunks missing, and he was covered in dust and twigs from funnel to wheel. As quietly as they could, Thomas carefully shunted Glynn into a corner of the yard, unaware of a tender engine having seen the whole thing. As soon as Thomas began to speak, the tender engine rushed away to find the Fat Controller, absolutely terrified.

Once Glynn was hidden away, Thomas and Percy searched around the yard in hopes of finding any of the engines who'd been on the railway before them. Just their luck, James and Emily had pulled into the yard minutes later.

"Emily, James!" hollered the small tank engines as they scuttled towards the tender engines. So much for trying to keep a secret.

"Thomas? Percy?" replied Emily worryingly.

"What's going on?" asked James, equally concerned.

"You'll never guess who we've found!" exclaimed Percy, bubbling with excitement.

"Guess, guess!" followed Thomas.

Both tender engines looked at one another before glancing back at the excited tank engines.

Emily hummed. "Mm, has Gator come back?"

"Nope!" piped up Percy cheerfully.

"Then who?"

"Glynn! We found Glynn!" exclaimed Thomas.

"What?" exclaimed both tender engines very loudly, bellowing huge clouds of steam.

"This isn't funny!" huffed James as his emotions buzzed about. "Glynn was scrapped decades ago!"

"That's what we believed, James!" exclaimed Thomas. "But he was alive all along! Come on, we'll show you!" And with a fweep fweeeep!, Thomas reversed down the track, unable to hold his excitement. "Come on, come on!"

Emily, who had stayed rather quiet, rushed forward, following the blue tank engine, leaving behind a disbelieved James and a confused Percy. The former watched the other two rush away.

"We're not joking around, James," piped up Percy, getting James' full attention, with a serious tone. "Marion found Glynn by accident, but they thought they'd found a talking tree so we went to check it out ourselves."

"Fine. Show me Glynn," replied James sternly and infuriated.

"Are you okay?" Percy asked without any hesitation. He was confused as he had expected James to react rather positively, not the complete opposite.

"Not now, Percy," huffed the snow-covered red tender engine before storming off to follow the others. The little green tank engine quickly scuttled after him, not having shaken off the worrisome feeling he was getting.

When both engines arrived, they found Emily sobbing as none other than Glynn comforted her.

"W-What happened to you?" cried out the Stirling Single. "You've been gone, gone! We thought you'd been scrapped!"

"My deepest apologies, Emily," comforted Glynn, who was also crying. Small tears dripped down his aged cheeks as he let out a soft, tired laugh. "I've simply been here and there on this railway ever since I was withdrawn all those years ago."

"Simply?" repeated Emily as James slowly approached the two. "Glynn, it's been nearly four decades!"

"I know. I know," Glynn replied softly as he peered over to the brightly red-painted tender engine. Even though he was tired as he had no fire running, his eyesight worked well enough. He squinted before he let out a soft chuckle. "James, lad. Is that you?"

"Yes," replied James shakily, huffing out his response. "Yes, it is."

"I see you've taken a liking for red," teased Glynn as he smiled. The wrinkles on his face became more pronounced. "Looks quite smart on you."

And for once, James didn't boast about it, or at least not immediately. He cared less at that moment because now, his old friend was home. Yet he tried to hide his cries. "It does!" he replied letting out a very loud voice crack.

The others let out light chuckles at the red medium-sized tender engine's attempt to hide his emotions. "You'll have to tell me the story about that one soon."

James' chubby cheeks burned with embarrassment. "That's a… bit of a story."

Glynn chuckled. "I'd like to hear it." He let out a yawn, joined by Percy right after. "It is late, however. You all need to get rest. We may have a chat tomorrow. That is if I haven't been found yet."

Percy and Thomas quietly winced, looking at one another, while Emily frowned at them in confusion. "You haven't told him?" she whispered hastily.

"No! Glynn's worried he'll be scrapped if the Fat Controller finds out," replied Thomas.

"He's got to know!" huffed James. "How else is Glynn supposed to stay here?"

"I'm much too old for any of the jobs you all have, James. The Fat Controller will scrap me,” replied Glynn, having accepted his fate long ago. “It’s not a matter of if he’ll scrap me. It’s a matter of when he’ll have me scrapped.

"We have to try at least!" exclaimed the red medium-sized tender engine desperately before taking off.

"James, wait!" exclaimed Thomas as James rushed off. The little tank engines glanced at one another with worry as dread filled the quiet Stirling Single.

After a bit of silence, she spoke. "Glynn, who was the one moving you around?"

"I can't say who but I can say who it wasn't," replied the old coffeepot engine. "It wasn't James, if you're worried about him."

"I wasn't," huffed Emily. "But why can't you tell us?"

"Because they could get in trouble."

…

As quickly as he had left, James was nearly approaching the Fat Controller's office when he heard the voice of the man he was looking for. It came from behind the train of vans to his right.

"Come on, then. To the Ffarquhar Branch Line, chap," whispered the Fat Controller.

Suspicion began to overtake the red tender engine's thoughts as steam wheeshed out in heavy clouds. His crew, who had lost control of James, were startled as they saw his steam pressure rise alarmingly.

"James, please-!" exclaimed Fred.

The sound of a steam engine starting was heard and within seconds, the sound began to drift away. From where he was, James could only see the steam being puffed out from the other steam engine's funnel. Not wanting to get caught after getting an idea, James stayed silent. The steam engine had gone towards the direction James had come from and switched onto the Main Line. As soon as the other engine did, James rushed to the turntable in Tidmouth Sheds, had himself turned around, and chased after them.

…

The sun had fully set by then so the path was dark. Luckily, James had the headlamp on top of his smokebox, so he could travel without his snow-covered snowplow partially blocking the light source. He was a good distance behind the unknown engine as he could barely see the red tail lamp. When they slowed down, James followed suit at the same time, hoping the other engine couldn't hear him.

It seemed to have worked as the other engine didn't say or utter anything. Soon enough, the engine arrived at the siding Glynn had been found at. Slowly and carefully, they were switched to the siding and stopped once they were fully on it.

Without realizing he was holding his steam, James slowly crept towards the engine. His lamp began to shine on the snow closest to the engine when they spoke up.

"He's no' here, sir," spoke the engine. "They've found him."

As soon as words began to slip out of the obscured engine's lips, James fumed. He knew exactly who it was.

"Edward!" he hollered furiously as he rushed forward for his lamp to shine on the engine's tender. Like a deer in headlights, the light revealed the blue tender with the number 2 in its unrecognizable colors of yellow and red. Fury bubbled within James as the words Edward had told him years ago taunted him.

"I'm sorry. I wish I ken. If I did, I wid tell ye."

"Bloody bastard!" exclaimed James as he slowly approached the blue tender engine, ignoring Fred and George’s scolding. "You're supposed to be my friend! You bloody bastard!" he continued as burning hot steam bellowed from his nostrils and the light of his lamp slowly shined across Edward, towards the latter’s front.

Edward hadn’t moved an inch or said a word the moment he was caught. The Fat Controller, however, climbed out of the cab to confront the furious red tender engine, and it seemed to be enough for the engine to crack.

James was outright sobbing. "You lied to me!" he hollered at Edward, purposely ignoring the approaching controller. "And not just me! You lied to everyone!"

There was no response.

"You even lied to Emily."

Edward mumbled something.

"Well-?"

"I'm sorry!" cried out the blue medium-sized tender engine, his voice being silenced by his snowplow. "I'm sorry, I'm sae sorry, James!"

"You're sorry?" James laughed in disbelief. "You're sorry for what? Lying?"

"I'm sorry," Edward repeated, shaking. "I should've said somethin' sooner. I should've-!"

"You very damn well should've!" James yelled back. His tone and volume made Edward tense and frightened. "I asked you about him, and you told me you didn't know! You lied!"

"I had tae!"

"Had to?" fumed the red medium-sized tender engine. "Had to? What? Was your life at stake? Were you being threatened?"

"Naw-!"

"Then what's your shit excuse?"

"That's enough! Both of you!" exclaimed the Fat Controller. "We're heading back to Tidmouth. We'll explain everything, James."

"To everyone?" he spat out. "Or are you both going to wait until the others find out?"

"James-!"

"Answer me!"

"It will be to everyone!" The Fat Controller was becoming frustrated. "I do not like this behavior-."

"Then you shouldn't have lied!"

"James-!"

"No!" he interrupted again. "You told us that he was scrapped. We expected him to be scrapped! But oops! He's actually alive! I may have lied about his livelihood but I still should be respected as if I've done nothing wrong!" cried out James, mocking the Fat Controller.

"James, please!" winced Edward, growing worried about what could happen.

"I'm not keeping my smokebox shut the same way you did!" continued James before letting out a heavy huff, wheeshing steam that was hot enough to melt the surrounding snow. "You know what! I'm not sticking around to hear your bullshit. I've had enough of it." With that, James reversed on the line as the Fat Controller called out for him and Edward remained quiet. As he did so, he spoke again. "Edward, if you're hiding something else, you better tell me or I'm not sticking around you anymore."

The engine didn't respond and James couldn't see Edward's face. However, the sudden bellows of steam was enough of an answer.

"I'm going back to my shed," he muttered, leaving the group behind.

Once James was far away, Edward cried, though still trying to hold it in. His cries were strangled as he huffed and sniffled. His crew and the Fat Controller rushed to the front of the engine. They did what they could to console the elderly engine but he continued to sob. He didn't need this consoling. If anything, he was the last engine who needed it. What about the others? What about his friends? What about them?

…

Once James and his crew arrived at Kildane Sheds, his crew scolded him severely. "What were you thinking? Using such crass language like that?" scolded Fred. "If you wanted to get yourself shut up in the shed, then you've done yourself the favor."

"I can't believe you're defending him!" exclaimed James as water in his boiler bubbled furiously.

"We are not!" shot back his driver, taking off his hat and ruffling his hair roughly. "We get that you're upset, but that wasn't the proper way to respond!"

"Ooo, you sound just like Duck!"

"James!"

"You can go now!" he sneered. "I'd prefer to be alone before the others get here."

"But you're by yourself for tonight," retorted George calmly.

"E-Exactly!" sputtered James, having slightly forgotten.

George let out a sigh as Fred simply left to go home. As his fireman climbed out of his cab once James' firebox was cleared out, he taunted lightly, "Talk about being a close friend."

That struck a tube for James. "What are you talking about?"

"I get you're upset with Edward, old chap," continued George, ignoring the sudden audible fuming from his engine as he walked toward the front. "But don't you think you might've taken it a little too far?"

"Nonsense! Close friends don't lie to each other!"

"Mm, true. But do you even know why he lied?"

"I don't need to," huffed James. "I wasn't even on this railway for a month, yet he was already lying to me."

"Right," replied his fireman, still speaking in a calm tone. By then, he was standing in front of James. "But still, don't you think you took it too far with your threat?"

James' eyebrows furrowed. His eyes fidgeted around as he tried to process what his fireman said. "...My threat?"

"Yes, your threat," scolded his fireman. "They were in the wrong, yes, but so are you. You told Edward to tell you a secret he's hiding or you're not friends with him anymore. That is a threat, James."

"I'm not going to use it against him! That's just low."

"This isn't about blackmail, James. This is about respect. You have your own secrets, don't you?"

The red medium-sized tender engine hummed in annoyance, which only revealed that he, too, was just as guilty.

"There's a reason why people, or engines in your case, keep certain things as secrets, but it's usually out of the same one."

"And what is that?"

"Fear."

"But…" Guilt began to creep within his boiler. "What was Edward so afraid of?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself?"

"Not after I yelled at him!" he exclaimed with fear written all over his face.

"I don't mean now!" reassured his fireman. "Whenever you both are ready to talk."

"Edward will never be," mumbled the red medium-sized tender engine, squeezing his eyes shut. "I yelled at him and just left him behind in the dark. I threatened him with no longer being friends. I even called him crass things."

"Then figure it out. Just know that it can’t continue to be like this."

"I know," replied James.

With that, George walked out of the shed. As he shut the doors to James' berth, he called out, "Good night, James."

"Good night, mister."

…

"...and ever since then, I've been movin' him around."

It was very late into the cold December evening at Tidmouth Yards, just outside the roundhouse. Eyes of purple, brown, and green watched the warm-brass-eyed tender engine carefully as the story came to an end. Said engine looked down, acknowledging his fault and giving his sincere apology. He didn't care if they forgave him and accepted his apology.

That hadn't gone so well with James.

And as expected, Emily spoke up first. "I can't believe it," she sniffled. "You knew this the whole time and never bothered to tell us."

"Out of all the engines," groaned Gordon. "Out of all the engines, Edward, this is beneath you."

"I can't imagine how James reacted," hummed Henry, a bit worried for the red engine.

"There's a reason why he's no' here," replied Edward, slowly looking up at the other three engines. "I wish I could've told ye three sooner. I'm sae sorry."

"Well, if you want forgiveness, you're not getting any," retorted Gordon, whose demeanor was the complete opposite of what he showed outside. If anything, he was ready to burst. "I've had quite enough for today." Slowly, Gordon backed down and headed to the roundhouse.

Henry looked solemnly at Edward. "I'm going," he bluntly said before heading off in the same direction. That left Emily and Edward.

"So how did Jimmy react?" Emily asked.

"Terribly."

"What did he say?"

"What I deservit," replied Edward as he let out a sigh. "Emily, I need tae talk tae ye and James. Privately. Withoot yer crew around."

Emily perked up. "What for?"

"I'll tell ye when we get James." His voice was shaken. "Please. I need tae talk tae ye both."

…

At Kildane Sheds, James was deep in his sleep when two engines backed into the berths next to him, Edward being the closest.

"James!" Emily exclaimed hastily as their crews dropped their fires. "Jimmy, wake up!"

The red medium-sized tender engine groaned as he woke up. With a quick shake, his eyes fluttered open and he opened his smokebox. He would've said something if seeing Edward hadn't kept his mouth shut.

"James, I need tae talk tae ye both," said Edward.

"Don't," replied James. "Forget what I said earlier. I shouldn't have threatened you like that."

"I'm no’ tellin’ ye because o’ thon, James," said Edward sternly. The tone of urgency was there, and James could sense it, much to the other two's relief. "I'm tellin’ ye this because I want tae."

Heterochromatic eyes glanced between warm brass eyes and purple eyes. Once the crews had left, he replied with hesitation, "Okay. Shoot. Whiff and Scruff are working overnight.”

Panic rose within Edward. He was really about to do this, and he couldn't go back.

"Dae either o’ ye ken an engine namit Goldilocks?" he asked.

James froze as the name rang around in his smokebox. "W-What class are they?" he asked, shaken.

"You mean that Larger Seagull from the Furness Railway?" asked Emily.

"Aye, her," replied Edward.

James' eyes frantically looked around. His old friend. One of the seven Furness Railway 21s he was friends with, that he was shedmates with.

What did Goldi have to do with Edward?

"I've always known where I've come frae and whit class I am," continued Edward. His breath was shaking. "Or ance wis."

"But what does Goldilocks have to do with that?" asked Emily, confused.

Edward let out a soft laughter, one of a broken heart. "Goldilocks wis ane o’ ma seven baby sisters," he replied. "I'm the auldest o’ yon Furness Railway 21s." He looked over at James. "I wis ance known as Alice. Dae ye remember me, Nine-Twenty?"

And everything came full force.

It was the middle of a sunny, spring day as Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway's Number 920 traveled towards a junction with a goods train. Everything was going well that day. He arrived on time with all of his trains and he would continue to do so if he kept his current momentum consistent throughout the day. Nothing but a simple day on the line.

But when the junction came into view, something went wrong. His signal was green, so he had the right of way.

Not the loaned Furness Railway engine heading straight towards him.

The poor Class 28 cried out as he pulled on his brakes. The Larger Seagull followed suit but the weight of the passenger express coaches pushed against the Deep-Indian-red engine. Both engines drew closer and closer to one another, the same way the inevitable crash would.

But the crash never happened.

Just their luck, the signalman maneuvered quick enough to change the points, diverting both to opposite lines. 920 was sent to a siding while the Larger Seagull was switched to another track, continuing her trip.

As the day went on, 920 was never explained the cause so he assumed that the Larger Seagull was at fault. "Alice is truly her class' namesake!" he vented to his older sister, 743. He had just learned the Larger Seagull's name. Unbeknownst to him, Alice’s eyesight was not to blame. Her signal had been broken and the message alerting her hadn’t been sent in time. Said engine had been distressed for the rest of her stay as soon as word got out of the incident. Her reputation had only worsened, and so did her hostile behavior.

"It was you," whispered James. "You're that Larger Seagull that came over to the L n' YR."

"And the one who came over to help build the North Western," continued Emily. She observed her close friend. "What happened?"

Edward looked down, squeezing his eyes shut. It was enough for James and Emily to not push any further. "No’ taeday. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," reassured Emily. "You can tell us when you're ready."

"Thank ye. Both o’ ye," he whispered. "Please, dinnae tell anyone. Naw ane else can ken."

"Have you told someone else?" asked James.

“Aye. I’ve told Thomas but that wis… ten years ago. Be- The Fat Controller, I mean!" he quickly corrected himself. The slight burn of his cheeks didn’t go unnoticed by either engine. After all these years, the elderly blue engine still saw the Fat Controller as a close friend, not just as his owner. "Then there’s Glynn and a few others."

Emily couldn’t shake the question away. “Why haven’t you said anything?”

“It’s because o’ Sir Louis.”

“The Other Fat Controller?”

“Aye. Sir Louis threatenit tae scrap me and the other original North Westerners if anyane caught wind o’ whit happenit. I knen he’s long gone but I jist- Jist dinnae tell anyane else. If British Railways finds oot, it's over and we can all kiss thon partial independence guidbye.”

“And what about Glynn?” asked James.

“It had everythin’ tae dae wit’ money,” Edward replied. “Glynn broke down but the railway could’nae afford the repairs sae he wis withdrawn until they could. We’ve kept it a secret since then because we didnae wantit to bring yer hopes up. Glynn’s repairs never happenit, sae the board wanit him tae be scrappit. However, the Fat Controller wis determinit tae keep him sae he liet tae the board. James, when ye were bought around the time Glynn broke down, the railway wis already at a terrible financial point. Why dae ye think we were being rushit oan our wheels around thon time?”

“So it was because of me?”

“Naw, naw!” reassured Edward, recalling James’ now-long-gone fear. “It wis because o’ the Nineteen-Twenty Locomotive Loans when yer sister and Goldilocks came over wit’ those other Mainlanders. Those loans made everythin’ worse. Honestly, I dinnae ken whit Sir Louis wis thinkin’ around thon time.” He looked over at Emily. “He bought ye, Emily, in nineteen-nineteen, yet ye didnae enter service until nineteen-twenty-ane. Then he bought Henry in nineteen-twenty-two but we… all ken how thon went. Instead o’ cooperatin’ wit’ the police, he kept those engines for the first year the Amalgamation took effect until he got Gordon in March of thon year. After nineteen-twenty-three, he let thaim go. He didnae keep any o’ thaim like we thought he would.”

“Jasmine wasn’t kidding when she said it was bad.”

“It was terrible,” piped up Emily. “Sir Louis was… some man.”

“You’re being a little too nice about him,” James noted, only for Emily and Edward to laugh. “What? It’s true! You both know that.”

“Only ye would think thon,” teased the blue medium-sized tender engine.

James huffed playfully until his expression fell slightly. With a heavy sigh, he looked over at Edward. “Edward, I… I’m sorry for the way I reacted earlier.”

“Dinnae worry aboot it-”

“No, listen. I don’t know how you didn’t break then and there, but I’m sorry. It didn’t matter what you did. I still shouldn’t have reacted like that. I’m surprised you wanted to talk to me that soon.”

Edward mentally hissed but he kept quiet. James didn’t need to feel any more guilty for making him upset. It wasn’t important, but Emily thought otherwise. “He did break apart,” she bluntly said.

“Emily-!” whispered Edward hastily.

“No, hush! You can’t keep hiding this kind of thing over and over again, Edward.”

“It’s no’ important-!” he said hastily, avoiding the look James was giving him by looking straight forward into the snowy evening.

“Important, my firebox!” she scolded with good intention. “You came into the yards shaking with black stains on your face and snowplow before you broke down again.”

“I-!”

CRUNCH-SCREECH!

The sound would’ve been terrifying if neither engine had been aware of what happened.

The red medium-sized tender engine had shifted his weight on his chassis, which allowed him to lean onto Edward. The horrible sound of metal being crushed and scratched had been James’s handrails scratching against the blue medium-sized tender engine’s boiler. By then, their boilers had cooled down, thanks to the cold December weather. The feeling, however, was anything but cold iron. Edward was stunned as tears welled in his eyes, only for Emily to follow James right after.

“We’re still friends, right?” muttered James.

“O’ course, we ur,” replied Edward, letting out soft cries and his tears. The other two engines let their watery eyes cry at the same time. The cold air wasn’t enough to beat the tears as stains of coal dust mixed with the water were left behind on their faces.

…

The following morning, the three engines were awakened with exciting news: Glynn would be restored and preserved at Ulfstead Castle, alongside Stephen and Millie. Sir Topham Hatt II had been more than happy to allow his engines to visit the coffeepot engine as soon as Glynn began work at the estate. While the North Westerners were joyfully celebrating Glynn’s arrival to the Earl’s estate, another engine wasn’t too keen.

#my writing #ttte edward #ttte james #ttte emily #ttte glynn #ttte thomas #ttte percy #engines of sudrian rails by muxse #engines of sudrian rails (shipverse) by muxse #ttte henry #ttte gordon #eosr sir bertram topham hatt II #eosr sir louis topham hatt I #ttte fic

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