Actions

Work Header

Rating:
Archive Warning:
Category:
Fandoms:
Relationships:
Characters:
Additional Tags:
Language:
English
Series:
Part 51 of The Extended Railway Series
Stats:
Published:
2024-02-09
Completed:
2024-02-14
Words:
6,072
Chapters:
6/6
Comments:
108
Kudos:
54
Bookmarks:
2
Hits:
1,009

The Ffestiniog Engines

Summary:

Dear Friends,
Duke the narrow gauge engine has spent his life learning to accept his past. Everything from his early days spent in fear of his manager on the Ffestiniog to his prejudices, his parenting, his successes and his failures. But one thing that has always hung over his smokebox has been his relationship with his siblings - the same siblings who helped him save a sinking ship but also gave him up to the manager. The same siblings who worked for the railway that sent horrific letters to him and his crew - so when Flying Scotsman arrived with a dire message for the old engine, it was to his own surprise that he decided to go to Wales and see his siblings. These stories tell you what happened next.
The Author.

Notes:

Please do not put this story into an AI for any reason or copy it elsewhere without my permission. Thank you.

Chapter 1: Porthmadog

Summary:

Spencer pulls Duke to Wales, and worries for his friend.

Notes:

Surprise! I'm back... only a month or so later than I planned.

I would like to begin by noting that this is entirely a work of fiction, and any likeness to anyone is purely coincidental - which neatly brings me to the fact that this is an entirely fictional version of the Ffestiniog Railway. The real Ffestiniog Railway is Wales is an incredible place where dedicated volunteers keep some of the oldest engines in the world running. I highly recommend visiting.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Spencer puffed down the Cambrian Coast Line, watching as the scenery meandered past. It was a picturesque little line; beautiful and fragile: his size meant that the track groaned slightly under him as he rolled along - but they’d gained permission to run up the line to the town of Porthmadog. The silver engine wasn’t sure what to expect - he’d never been to Wales before, and he’d certainly never been confronted with a sibling being diagnosed with the unholy trinity of mechanical issues for an engine: metal fatigue, rusting, and algae in the pipes. Just one of those was bad enough to warrant a complete overhaul or a withdrawal from service - but Spencer had never heard of an engine with all three. 

He’d been dozing in the siding by the Skarloey Railway when Duke has sprinted in, looking startlingly frantic and as pale as a ghost, his eyes darting around until they spotted Spencer and widened in recognition. Flying Scotsman had been leaving when Spencer arrived - and for some reason, the world-famous engine had suggested that Spencer find Duke’s covered flatbed. He was still a little put out that Duke got some sort of palanquin while he ended up the sole bearer - though that feeling had long since cooled into quiet grumblings that made Duke laugh. 

Scott had been right - Duke wanted to leave instantly, steaming straight to the loading dock with little fanfare and a lot of snapping at the men. Spencer had been stunned - Duke didn’t like raising his voice, and he detested snapping.
“It’s a vice I’ve left behind in my youth,” he said when asked. “Yelling gets nothing done faster. I’m wiser to that now…” 

But here Duke was, looking frantic and practically shouting a destination at Spencer’s equally stunned driver. 

They secured the old engine, and hurried away as soon as they got a free path. 

“Would you mind explaining?” huffed Spencer as they sped through the lush Sudrian countryside. “This isn’t like you Duke - why’re we going to Wales of all places?”
“I was built in Wales, Spencer,” reminded Duke. “And my siblings live there. And… Scott told me…” Duke broke off for a long moment, before explaining everything. Prince’s messages, Duke’s obstinance - Scott finally telling Duke the terrible news. 

It made Spencer feel sick to his steam chest. 

The line was stunning to run along though, Spencer mused as he passed through Llandanwg and the Irish Sea opened up in front of him, showing off the massive cove that Porthmadog nestled within. The entire cove seemed to welcome them in as part of the scenery, and it made Spencer regret his initial comment. 

“Why haven’t we been to Wales before?” he asked Duke. “Your business cleaning up after Sir Robert has taken us to every other corner of the British Isles…”
“My siblings live in Wales, Spencer,” huffed Duke. “I try to avoid them. Or… I did. I suppose that’s no longer an option.” The sea lapped at the sand just below the lineside; the very image of those old advertisement posters Spencer had once seen plastered up in every station between London and Aberdeen. Two siblings played in the sand, mixing water and sand together to build little castles - though the pair kept having to restart as they got the ratios wrong. 

“I do the same,” reassured Spencer. “I try to steer clear of York… and Mallard. But even I have to go to York sometimes… and deal with her biting little comments.”
“I suppose you’re right,” sighed Duke. High above them, clouds swirled and grew, darkening as they swung inland for just a few scant miles. The last few miles to Porthmadog. 

“Are you ready, Duke?” asked Spencer carefully, rolling over a set of disused points. Quietly, he wished he could turn around and whisk Duke as far away from this tiny corner of Wales as possible. Every rivet on his boiler screamed at him to leave - a starkly shocking contrast to the picturesque countryside. 
“No,” grunted Duke. “There are nine working steam engines on the Ffestiniog, and they’ll all want to gawk at me. Then there’s going to be Welsh Pony somewhere skulking about.”
“Uh… how do you know this?” quizzed Spencer. Duke blushed slightly.
“I… asked driver to check. He told me that: Prince, Palmerston, Taliesin, Merddin Emrys, Earl of Merioneth, David Lloyd George, Blanche, Mountaineer II and Britomart are all in steam right now.” Spencer merely hummed in response. 

Perhaps, Duke cared more than he let on. 

The Porthmadog Mainline station loomed in the distance - unfortunately, the station didn’t directly connect to the old Harbour Station, so instead Duke was to be placed on a flatbed and trucked through the town to stand on the old piece of track he’d once shunted on. Spencer would spend the week on sidings and pulling tourist trains - it wasn’t often that an A4 ventured to Wales, after all. 

The Welsh Highland engines watched with interest from their terminus station as Duke was rolled off his flatbed and onto the lowloader for the last few hundred yards. 

The lorry rumbled down the quaint Welsh town streets, before stopping beside the track. There stood a familiar face which hadn’t changed an ounce in almost one hundred and fifty years. 

“So, you finally decided to show your snivelling face.” 

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed, and I'll see you all tomorrow!

Chapter 2: First Impressions:

Summary:

Duke meets his classmates and their coworkers...

Notes:

To reiterate: The Ffestiniog Railway in real life is a wonderful place, and I highly encourage people to go and support it - the characterisations made by this fic are there due to issues far outside the heritage railway's control.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“So, you finally decided to show your snivelling face.” 

“Palmerston!” snapped Prince, hissing forwards. “Hold your tongue.”
“Please, he deserves this much. It has been over eight months since you went to Railfest. Eight . Whole . Months .”
“And we are lucky that Duke came at all!”
“He owes us this much,” snorted Palmerston. “Our rich and famous sibling, living a life of luxury on the Island of Sodor while our sister is rusting away in front of us!” Palmerston hissed away, steam gushing from his drain cocks. 

Prince watched his brother steam away, and sighed. 

“He has not changed a wink since being resteamed,” the old engine sighed. “We rather hoped he would mellow out some, you know?” Duke just raised an eyebrow.
“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been here in a century.”
“Longer,” Prince replied. “You left in 1877, right? How is your railway?”
“I did leave then,” Duke said stiffly. “And the Skarloey Railway is doing very well. Just recently, the BBC filmed a documentary there about the old plateway that used to run up to the mines, for the 200th anniversary of that line next year.”
“That sounds nice.” 

The pair trailed off into an awkward silence. Duke’s temporary crew wandered over, setting to work steaming up the old engine to allow him to puff up and down the old line he’d once worked.
“I see you kept the second rail,” noted Duke, staring down the Cob.
“Management did not want to pull it up,” Prince chuckled. “They liked to pretend it was a guard-rail, in case one of us derailed - though we all knew it was a reminder of the… engine they had sold. It is a bit useless now, but we keep it.” 

Duke wasn’t really quite sure how to reply to that. He wasn’t sure how to act at all - not with Palmerston’s fiery temper or Prince’s stumbling smalltalk. Britomart puffed up, their smile as wide as the estuary. 

“Hi! You must be the famous Duke! I’m Britomart - oh, but you probably know that. You can read my nameplate after all, can’t you? An old engine like you surely must be able to read! Although… Merddin Emrys need glasses, so I’m not sure. Do you need glasses? Surely if you did, your Duke would’ve bought you some - oh wait, but he’s not a Duke, is he? He’s an Earl - but he should be a Duke, and isn’t the Government thinking of splitting Sodor from the Duchy of Lancaster. I heard they were!” Duke just gaped at the little engine as they rambled on! 

“Um…”
“Britomart, you are overwhelming him,” Prince finally cut in. “Yes, this is Duke, from the books. He is here because of–” Prince never got to finish his sentence, as at that moment a bolt of lightning lit up the sky, followed by the roar of thunder. 

“Ah, so it is going to rain,” sighed Duke. The first fat droplets fell, then more, then more - until soon it was beginning to pour. Duke’s temporary crew let out several curses as their hard work firing Duke up was made obsolete in a matter of moments. 

Britomart led the two older engines back to the Boston Lodge sheds. Palmerston was there, as was Welsh Pony, tucked in the corner awaiting his own overhaul. 

“ He is not coming in,” snarled Welsh Pony; Palmerston blockaded the entrance. Britomart jumped.
“Why not? Duke’s our guest, and guests should be allowed in. All our guests are allowed to sleep in the sheds, it’s part of our policy as a heritage railway. You know our policies, it’s on the back shed wall! We needed to put them up there because–” Duke looked, and indeed there was a large bronze plaque on the opposite wall with a list of rules. 

“It’s covering up the old plaque,” Duke suddenly said, startling Britomart and plunging the shed into an awkward silence. All of the old George England engines shared a guilty look. Palmerston quietly rolled backwards, letting little Britomart in. Prince followed, and then finally Duke. Blanche opened a sleepy eye, spotted Duke, murmured something no one understood, and went back to sleep. 

“Lazy youngster,” sniffed Welsh Pony. “If I had the chance to run, I would not squander it sleeping.”
“Blanche is not on rotation today,” reminded Prince. “She has every right to her rest.”
“She could at the very least pretend to be interested in this railway letting its… its… failure of a George England return,” hissed Welsh Pony.
“As charming as ever,” muttered Duke grimly.
“You were only built to win a competition,” Welsh Pony sneered. “Meanwhile, we ran this railway. You were about as profitable as setting money on fire. And then, when you were finally sold, you went off and stole a title! You do not deserve a title. I deserve a title, I deserve to run - but no, you stole that too!” 

Duke didn’t reply, instead sitting silently on his rails and mulling over his younger sibling’s words. 

“It’s too late now,” he eventually said, “for you to drag me down into your mud-slinging. Once the rain subsides, I will see our sister - if it’s not too late.”
“She is… stable,” said Prince quickly, before Palmerston or Welsh Pony could make their own comments. “She is just inside the station building, at the bar.”
“Of course she decided to be plinthed there,” sniffed Palmerston. “Her favourite pastime could be found in that bar.” 

Duke grimaced at his foul-mouthed elder sibling, and settled in to wait out the storm outside.

Notes:

Britomart is adorable, and also very ADHD. Blanche just wants a nap while the George Englands' fight like cats and dogs. This says a lot about the state of the railway.

Chapter 3: Resentment

Summary:

Duke is unfortunate enough to continue receiving the Ffestiniog engines'... *hospitality*...

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The rain lasted far longer than any of the engines could have expected. All trains had to be cancelled, and the shed filled to capacity, with the diesel shunters congregating in one corner while the steam engines had a silent stand off in the other - right up until David Lloyd George - the double fairlie - returned. 

Unlike most steam engines, David and Lloyd, the George twins, were young, and hadn’t managed to quite grasp how a Double Fairlie traditionally acted.
“Hi!” chirped one end. “I’m David.”
“And I’m George!” called the other end. Duke blinked, and checked the nameplate. Ah, so they shared a last name.
“Pleasure to meet you,” he said slowly.
“Is it true you’re the Duke the Lost Engine?” quizzed George excitedly. David snorted.
“Take a look, George!” he groaned. “It’s obviously him! He’s not one of our George England’s, after all - not to mention his livery is different and so is his gauge!” 

“Do you have to shout?” groaned Mountaineer. “You two get into too many arguments for my liking.” Blanche agreed.
“Oh yes! What would Linda think?”
“Nothing, she’s having an overhaul,” snorted David.
“Be nice! It’s her sister,” snapped George. Duke grimaced, and looked over to Mountaineer and Blanche.
“Are they always like this?” he asked.
“Unfortunately,” sighed Blanche. The pair argued right through the night, drowning out the rain as they found a myriad of new things to disagree upon. It always began as something simple: was the shed leaking? Was Duke a real duke? Was Welsh Pony a ‘real’ iron horse? And then it spiralled dangerously, devolving into squabbling and resenting hisses shot at one another. It only got worse when they tried to drag the other engines into their drama - with a surprisingly high level of success. Duke privately wondered if the two had ever considered going into debating. 

He was more than glad when the rain subsided early the next morning and it was David Lloyd George that was sent out to assist the diesels with cleanup. 

“Finally! A rest!” cheered Blanche.
“You have already been resting!” snorted Welsh Pony. “Lazy!”
“Rude.”
“Insufferable.”
“Resentable!”
“Enough!” burst out Prince. “Come on Duke, I cannot take this any more!” Duke blinked - he hadn’t been expecting Prince of all engines to want his company. 

The two old engines puffed along the Cob, watching as the waves splashed against the rocks. They were still churned from the rain, but had calmed considerably.
“Are they… always this bad?” asked Duke slowly.
“Unfortunately,” sighed Prince. “I am in desperate need of a break.”
“I see…” 

The two puffed into the station platform, just as David Lloyd George prepared to leave.
“We need to push the trucks!” hissed David.
“No, we need to pull them,” retorted George.
“We need to push them, so that they can be easily loaded.”
“ No , we need to pull them, so we can see if there are any obstructions.” Prince and Duke shared a look. 

“Push!”
“Pull!”
“Push!”
“Pull!”
“Push!” The two grew louder and louder, before finally, they both snarled at each other and shouted: 

“DRIVER!” 

Their poor, harried driver tumbled out of the cab, looking very dazed.
“Pull…” he murmured, before sitting down and wiping his brow.
“See!” smirked George. “Driver agrees with me. We need to pull the trucks.”
“Driver just mumbled,” snorted David. “That’s not proof at all!” 

The diesel engines quietly collected David Lloyd George’s trucks and rolled away with them. The double fairlie barely even noticed - too caught up in their own debate - until Duke blasted his whistle. 

“Your trucks are gone!” he shouted. “If you two spent half as much time working as you spend… resenting each other, you’d already be done!” The two blushed, and rolled away. 

Palmerston puffed up next.
“Oh look who’s butting in where they do not belong.”
“Stow it, Palmerston,” hissed Prince. “At least Duke is trying to help those two. You just egg them on!”
“That is because they are the best entertainment this railway has!” snapped Palmerston. “Watching Merddin and Emrys lose their glasses for the nine-hundredth time is not funny anymore. What else even is there?!”
“A decent, humane conversation,” muttered Duke under his breath. 

Palmerston hissed furiously, his eyes burning with fury.
“What did you say?!” he roared. “You snivelling little runt of a sibling! You have no right, no reason–”
“ You have no right,” snapped Duke, finally reaching the end of his patience. “I have not seen you in 128 years. I have not heard from you since 1918. And yet the first thing you do when I arrive is belittle me and speak down at me. Well guess what?” Duke steamed forwards - his size eclipsed that of Palmerston. For the first time, Palmerston didn’t look quite as foreboding. He looked scared. To one side, Prince looked… confused. Duke took note of that . 

“W… w-w… what?” Palmerston managed to squeak. 

“I’m sick of it! Shove off!” Palmerston jumped, and scuttled away. Prince just stared in shock, until eventually, he managed to regain his voice. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I… I think someone needed to say that.” Duke looked over to his eldest brother, and sighed.
“I don’t like getting angry,” he huffed. “I’m trying to be better… for my pufflings. But… he really did have a knack for digging under my skin. Can we see Princess now? I don’t think I want to spend much longer.” Prince sighed, looking forlornly after Palmerston before smiling weakly at Duke.
“Right… follow me, we can probably see her now.” 

And with that, Duke and Prince puffed off to see the ailing Princess. 

Notes:

Once upon a time, I considered having David Lloyd George use the nickname 'Mighty Mac', just as an easter egg... but it didn't really fit, so I got rid of it in the end. But yeah, they are 100% based on Mighty Mac's terribly argumentative attitude.

Chapter 4: Painful Truth

Summary:

Duke finally visits Princess...

Notes:

This is it! Duke's finally meeting his sister - but can he help her?

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Princess held court over a small bar in the station house. Her throne was a plinth with a large window that allowed her to always be able to speak to her siblings - not that she often did. When Duke and Prince approached, the small battalion of mechanics and doctors the railway had hired to try and stabilise her condition were leaving, debating quietly among each other as to how they could proceed. 

“Hello, sister,” said Prince politely. Princess opened a sleepy eye.
“Ah, so you did manage to recall the wayward son,” she hummed, gracing Duke with the weakest attempt at a smile the old engine had ever seen.
“Yes, sister. Duke has come to see you. How are you doing?” Princess coughed in lieu of a reply. 

“Hello Princess,” Duke said. “How are you?”
“Hello Duke, I am so happy to see you. After all, I am but weeks away from the scrapper’s torch,” said Princess evenly, before snarling. “Those mechanics are incompetent .”
“They are the best in the business,” Prince hissed. “They are trying.”
“I do not need their best,” Princess said with a growl. “I need more professional help.”
“Like what?” asked Prince, almost robotically. Duke’s eyes narrowed at the pair. Neither seemed to notice.
“I need a workshop, and the proper tools, and to be overhauled,” Princess declared. “Somewhere like…” She paused, her eyes shifting over to Duke. “... like Crovan’s Gate.” 

Duke raised an eyebrow. In the background, Palmerston and Blanche snuck over, listening in on the conversation. 

“An interesting choice of workshop,” Duke eventually said. “Tell me, Princess, why Crovan’s Gate?” Prince and Princess exchanged a look; it looked like they were trying to suppress a wince.
“Well, it is the best in the country, is it not?” Princess said eventually. “I need the best care.”
“But it is so far away, compared to Riley & Son, or Derby, or even Brush Traction in Loughborough. Going all the way to Sodor might damage you further.” The colour drained from Prince’s face. 

“But they are so expensive,” Princess went on. “Surely, if I went to Sodor, you could pay for your dear sister’s repairs.” Duke scowled.
“Ah, I see,” he said. “How much do the mechanics estimate this to cost?” Princess rattled off a sum so obscenely massive that it made even Palmerston gasp in shock. £4.5 million was such an absurd number that even the volunteers preparing for their day stopped to stare in horror at their engine’s blatant lie. Duke went silent.
“Ah, but I am sure we could whittle that number down,” jumped in Prince. “I mean, that would probably cover so much more than Princess’ overhaul - why, it would probably be enough to cover Linda and Welsh Po–” Prince’s eyes went wide, and his mouth slammed shut with the click of his teeth hitting. 

“I knew you were scheming something,” snarled Duke. “I just didn’t expect it to be this bad. I knew you’d been lying too, Prince .”
“How… how did you…” Prince’s eyes darted around, as if the older engine was afraid to look his younger sibling in the eye.
“I wasn’t built yesterday. You’re speaking like you rolled right off the set of a cheesy sitcom. No contractions at all? Seriously - did none of you think I wouldn’t notice? And that forced conversation too - is everyone else in this? Everyone acts like… like… horrific terrors but darling Prince, peacemaker Prince - the one who wants to ‘fix everything’ while syphoning money off of me. Make me like you so I’d just give up everything for… for classmates who hate me? Butter me up and get me to spend more money than it cost for the Flying Scotsman to be rebuilt - was that your goal? I’m right, aren’t I.” That wasn’t a question. 

Prince winced.
“Almost,” he said quietly. “Just… only Princess and I knew. The other two are really like that. And… and when I saw how much… how much better you are now, how much you’ve managed to grow and heal away from here… I… I messed up.”
“You did,” Duke replied coldly. “Princess is incurable, isn’t she?” Both she and Prince winced, and looked down at their buffers.
“Yes…”
“So the money?”
“Is to help fund our overhauls… And kickstart the construction of a connection to the Welsh Highland Railway… And act as a protective shield.”
“You wanted to drain me dry,” murmured Duke. “I need time to think.” Prince’s eyes widened with something Duke worried was hope. “Time away from you all.” Prince looked down at his buffers in shame once more as Duke hissed steam at him and headed for the station. 

“I need a lorry please, right now,” he announced. Prince jolted so harshly he almost jumped the rails. Britomart looked up from their work with a start, while both Palmerston and Blanche winced at the authority in Duke’s voice. 

A volunteer nodded, also staring at the engines in shock.
“I’m so sorry,” they murmured. “We… we’d hoped that Prince just wanted to reconnect when he told us… but this…”
“Don’t say it,” sighed Duke. His eyes barely held back tears - all the fight in him had been destroyed in that moment. “Just… please get me away from them.” The volunteer hurried away, and within half an hour, Duke was back on the mainline, sitting beside Spencer on his flatbed.

Notes:

Who wants to get hurt by these engines?!

Um... sorry if all your hopes for the Ffestiniog engines were crushed by this chapter. And yes, Princess is incurable. Hope you all enjoyed!

Chapter 5: The Ffestiniog Engines

Summary:

Duke decides to talk to Spencer, and comes to a decision...

Notes:

Last chapter really got everyone fired up, eh? XD

I woke up to my inbox being fully of amazing comments - so a massive thank you to everyone who commented!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“What do you mean, the line is flooded ?” hissed Duke.
“The track was flooded by that storm last night,” Spencer replied. “It’ll be fixed by tonight though. A better question is why are you back already? ” Duke sighed, closing his old eyes. Spencer had never seen Granpuff so defeated. 

“It was all a scam,” Duke eventually said. “They wanted my money, and nothing more.” Spencer winced.
“We did fear that would happen,” he eventually hummed.
“Yes - but it was all so… so… slimy.”
“Slimy?”
“The volunteers there are trying so hard,” Duke said, “they’ve even covered up the old manager’s commandments with a new plaque - but those engines are so dysfunctional that they needed to put rules on the new plaque! But… that old plaque is gone, and I’m a little surprised by that. It was so stark on the shed wall… but those rules still run deep. Only Prince made an effort to conceal his resentment, and my… my…” 

“Classmates, Duke,” Spencer cut in gently. “They don’t deserve to be called your family. Your family is back home - it’s Peter Sam, and Sir Handel, and Stanley, and Ivo Hugh, and Bertram and all the other Skarloey Railway engines.”
“You… you’re right. They’re just classmates. And they’ve ruined all the engines’ they work with too. Blanche sleeps to avoid them, David & Lloyd have never learnt teamwork… and poor Britomart… they seem to just want to fill the silence. It’s horrible .” 

“What even drove you apart?” asked Spencer quietly. Duke looked over. Spencer gazed down at the little engine, looking a little nervous. Duke realised with a start that he’d never really explained everything to the silver engine. 

“It all began when the Skarloey Railway began searching for a company to buy steam engines from…” Duke began, slowly retelling the story of his first few years on the Ffestiniog Railway, of his abusive manager and the rules he enforced. Of Carwyn and finally being sold off. Of letters that started arriving not long after the Mid Sodor opened - letters that came first from his old manager, then from the next manager and until the end of 1918. Disgusting letters full of insults and threats and abuse so vile it made Spencer sick to his frames. 

It made Mallard seem like a saint. 

“And you still came back…” Spencer said quietly, once Duke had finished. The old engine was barely holding back tears, staring down at his buffers and looking so small and old and defeated. “You’re far braver than I could ever be.” 

Duke looked up, stunned. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. 

“You suffered through all that, and yet you still came. And while you might say it was just the managers - your classmates did nothing to help, or to stop them, or even to reach out. You were buried for over twenty years, and even then they said nothing! You owe them nothing, you hear me?” Duke smiled a watery smile.
“Thank you, Spencer,” he said quietly, not trusting his voice. “You… really mean a lot to me. I’m thankful it’s you here.” Spencer blushed.
“It’s my honour,” he managed. “Do you want to go home?” 

Duke considered. 

“No. Not yet. I still have to say goodbye… and I am not going to just leave without seeing my classmate one last time. I am not a coward. But I will wait for tomorrow.” 

And so Duke did. He waited until the next morning, then hired the lorry once more and set a course for the Ffestiniog Railway. 

He found a station deafened by arguing. 

David & Lloyd were hurling insults at one another while Palmerston berated everyone in earshot, Britomart scuttled about trying to escape, Blanche traded heated barbs and Welsh Pony had been wheeled out and joined in the fighting. And at the centre was Prince and Princess, who were not only arguing with everyone but each other - all while the volunteers just stared on in disbelief. 

“Is this a bad time?” asked Duke from his perch.
“Is your railway like this?” asked one volunteer.
“No,” admitted Duke. “It is not.” He paused for a moment, then sighed. “Go blow Prince’s whistle - that'll get them to belt up for a moment.” 

The volunteer did just that, wading into the fighting to reach Prince’s cab and blast his whistle. It drowned out all the shouting - and finally they all noticed Duke on his lorry. 

“Duke!” beamed Prince, his entire face lighting up. “You came back!” Palmerston sneered; Princess just stared impassively.
“I did,” Duke said plainly, “because I want the truth. The full truth.” Prince winced.
“Is it not obvious?” snorted Palmerston. “These two wanted your money, so they made a plan. Prince got the message to you, and then they tried to convince you to invest in us. But they mucked it up - because of course they did. They underestimated how conniving you are.” 

“Well, no–” Prince interjected. “We messed up because we were stupid. We just wanted the security you have. But instead, we acted like fools and ruined everything. I… I’m sorry, Duke. I’ve been a horrible older brother.”
“You certainly have,” grunted Duke. “Which is why you're not my brother. I have a brother, and his name’s Stanley. I have my pufflings, and Rusty, and Skarloey, and Rheneas, and Bertram and Duncan and Spencer and everyone on Sodor. They are my family. We’re classmates. You lost the right to call yourselves my sibling the day you decided I wasn’t worth defending.” Prince took each blow with little more than a wince, but Duke could tell his words had had an effect. 

“And what about the money?” asked Palmerston bluntly.
“We don’t want it,” a volunteer suddenly said, startling all the engines. Duke raised an eyebrow. “We don’t want you to spend your money on these engines - not when they act like this. They need to earn your forgiveness.” Prince smiled.
“I… thank you, I hope that one day I feel comfortable enough to forgive them.” 

Princess just smiled a wry smile.
“So do I. Thank you, Duke, for coming to see me… one last time.” 

“I don’t!” burst out Welsh Pony. “What utter trollop! All of you, smiling and acting like we should be… be… friends with that reject!” Duke’s smiled dropped into a frown. Those words…
“He’s right!” snapped Palmerston. “Duke’s just a money-grubbing coward - the old managers knew, and so did we! You sleazy old bag of bolts - standing there with the money we deserve and not giving up a cent. All the letters we wrote to you were true .” Welsh Pony smirked at his sibling's horrific words. 

Duke went still, everything rushing back. The letters...

Notes:

Sorry for the cliffhanger! Guess you'll just have to tune in tomorrow.

It's about time the volunteers stepped up and said something - but of course Palmerston and Welsh Pony had to go and ruin it. I hope everyone's ready for the finale tomorrow!

Chapter 6: Letters

Summary:

Duke's time in Wales finally comes to an end...

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“... what letters…” whispered Prince, stunned.
“ You ,” hissed Duke. “ YOU! ” 

“What did you do?!” demanded Princess furiously, all her calmness drained as she glared over at her siblings..
“We told Duke the truth,” sneered Welsh Pony. Duke had gone red in the face. 

“They sent vile, horrible things to me, calling me such terrible things that I can’t even say them,” snarled Duke. “They worked with those abusive managers to degrade me and my home .”
“They were honest,” snapped Palmerston. “Especially about you - you vermin.”
“You really haven’t grown up,” sniffed Duke. “Hurling petty insults about and believing it will curry you any favour at all.”
“It’s not about wanting to be better, runt,” snorted Welsh Pony. “It’s about being better. Or did you manage to keep your railway from closing indefinitely?” 

Duke didn’t reply. He said nothing. The entire yard went silent. 

“I think I’m done,” Duke eventually said. “Princess, I am sorry for what is happening to you, and I wish you all the best. Prince - I’m sorry for what you’re left with. Britomart, I’m sorry I can’t take you with me. David and Lloyd - for Pete’s sake, learn what teamwork is! You two are one engine - you need to learn to work together or you’ll do no work at all! I’m sorry you learnt from this lot. Blanche, I’m sorry you have to live with my classmates. Palmerston and Welsh Pony…” Duke paused. “May you one day find peace. Goodbye.” 

With that, the lorry pulled away - and the Ffestiniog Railway slid out of view. Duke took a deep breath, letting all his pain and anger blow away on the wind. 

He was going home. 

*** 

The trip home was quiet - but less tense. Duke dozed on his flatbed, while Spencer rolled gently along, not rushing but rather savouring the countryside. Great Britain could be such a pretty place, when he took the time to slow down and look. 

But all too soon, he was rumbling across the Vicarstown Rolling Bridge and onto the Island of Sodor.
“Wake up Duke,” Spencer said gently.
“Hmm? Are we home already?” grunted Duke, opening his bleary eyes. “I swear the last time I went from Wales to Sodor it took longer…”
“That would’ve been by ship,” reminded Spencer cheekily. “I’m much faster.”
“I suppose you are,” grinned Duke. “On land at least. I don’t think you’d be good at swimming.” That startled a laugh out of Spencer, right as Crovan’s Gate came into view. Stanley, Peter Sam and Sir Handel were all waiting. 

“Duke!” cheered Peter Sam. “Is it true you went to Wales? Did you meet Talyllyn?”
“I did go to Wales,” hummed Duke. “But… not Towyn. Porthmadog.” Peter Sam and Sir Handel shared a look.
“Are you… alright?” they asked together. “We know… you don’t have fond memories of there.” Duke paused, and looked off into the distance, where Derek was rumbling by with a freight train. 

“I don’t think I’m alright yet,” he admitted. “But… I will be. I will be.” Peter Sam smiled.
“Good to hear! We’re glad you’re back, Granpuff - it’s been a mess. Bertram managed to adopt a pet toad, who won’t stop croaking in the shed at night.”
“Duncan’s going mental over it,” added Sir Handel with a grin. “And Skarloey won’t even sleep with us anymore.” Duke chuckled. 

“I’ll get on it,” he promised. “Now you two hurry off and collect your next trains - we can’t let our passengers down.”
“You know our schedules too well, Granpuff,” grumbled Peter Sam, already puffing away.
“We’ll see you soon!” called Sir Handel, rumbling away in the other direction. Spencer pushed the flatbed into the siding and puffed away himself, looking for a long drink and a rest. 

That left Stanley. 

“How did it really go?” asked Stanley.
“Princess is incurable,” Duke began softly. “So they just wanted my money - well, Prince did. Palmerston and Welsh Pony turned out to have known and helped write those… those…” Duke trailed off, looking down at his buffers. “Those letters. They were… behind them.” Stanley gasped.
“Your own–”
“Classmates, Stanley. They are no siblings of mine, not when I have my family right here.” Stanley smiled.
“So was there anything good about the trip?” he asked.
“Yes, actually,” Duke replied, surprised to even be able to say such a thing. “Prince… seems remorseful, so perhaps one day we can reconcile. I also… got to say goodbye, to Princess. I hope… I hope she will be happy, no matter where she ends up.” 

Stanley smiled, understanding how important it was to the old engine to finally get all his thoughts off his mind. 

“Come on then,” he hummed. “Let’s get you back on our rails.” And finally, Duke was home. 

*** 

About two months later, a letter arrived at the Skarloey Railway sheds. It was addressed to Duke, who had his driver read over it while being steamed up. 

“It’s from the Ffestiniog Railway!” his driver exclaimed. Duke stiffened, his eyes going wide. Stanley sidled over, quietly nudging the other engines away from Duke.
“Who’s it from… exactly,” asked Duke slowly.
“It’s from Prince,” his driver said. Duke quietly reminded himself that his driver hadn’t come with him to Porthmadog. 

“Would you… read it?”
“Of course!” 

And here’s what Duke’s driver read: 

 

Dear Duke, 

Greetings from Porthmadog and from us at the Ffestiniog! Well, most of us. Welsh Pony and Palmerston have been locked up in the shed ever since the volunteers discovered how cruel they’d been to you. It’s made the place a lot less grim! Blanche is more lively than I’ve ever seen her before - and little Britomart is so chirpy, it’s hard to be downcast, even without Princess. She’s being immortalised in that bar of hers, on her own request, so people will always be able to see her. I find it a bit morbid - but it’s what she wanted, and I can’t argue with the fact that now she’s gone, they were finally able to pull out all the gunk inside. 

David and Lloyd are trying to get along better too - though every other day I have to blow steam at them and remind them that they’re one engine. Mountaineer is helping with that - I think she’s just happy that we’re all getting along a bit better now. You really inspired me, Duke - to try harder. To be better, and actually be a leader for this railway. I even got a book out about your old Mid Sodor line to help me! Have you heard of it? It’s called ‘A History of the Mid Sodor Railway and It’s Effects on the Arlesburgh Valley’ by a W. W. Quill. What an odd name, right? Who gives their child an alliterative first and middle name? 

The volunteers are getting rid of that plaque in the sheds. They have really had enough of having to force us to be nice to the tourists - now, they’re simply reminding us that those tourists are our coal and water, and if we fail them we’ll end up like Welsh Pony and Palmerston. I think they’ll let Palmerston out soon though - he is in working order, and we do need another engine until Linda returns from the works. I’m hoping that being stuck surrounded by nicer engines will help Palmerston change. And if it doesn’t, then I might just read him the Riot Act - or perhaps retell that story from the book about ol’ number 2! 

I really have to thank you Duke. You’ve changed everything on our railway with your visit. I hope you’ll allow me to keep sending you letters. Short of turning up on Sodor, it’s the only way I could think of to stay in contact… and hopefully fix our relationship. 

Your Classmate and brother, 

Prince. 

 

Duke considered the letter in his driver’s hand for a long time. Then, he smiled.
“Say, driver, do you have some spare time? I think I’d like to write a letter…”

Notes:

It looks like Prince is finally turning the corner - now let's see if he and the volunteers can do the same for the other George Englands. And yes, Princess did not make it - but she had her final wishes honoured at least (even if they are a bit creepy for an engine)

Also, who enjoyed the injoke in Prince's letter? If I had the money and the time, I would 100% become a historian and writer for Sodor! Thank you for reading!

Series this work belongs to: