Yay! A new story! And so you might ask, why is Veringue writing more and more stories while she hasn't even finished her old ones? Well, that's because she's a bit of a fidgety person.

Anyway, never mind that. The Titanic will only have its 100th anniversary once, so, in memory of that date, I have written this Series 1 AU in which Mary is a troubled young woman engaged to Patrick and sailing the ship of dreams with her sisters and parents. And Matthew is a jolly young bachelor off to New York to do nice little businessy things, while also taking his mum along for no apparent reason other than that I don't want him to be on his own.

All right, well, I do hope you enjoy this first installment, and, as I've mentioned, I'm not very persistent with my stories, and reviews do make me so very happy! So if you'd review, just to tell me if you like it, to provide a comment or anything at all (even just one word) I'd be immensely grateful and will give you very big internet smiles!

Also, isn't it just nice to know you've made a person happy? Yes, it is! And that's why I hope I can make all of you happy with this new story!

Thanks so much for reading, lovelies!

10 April, 1912

In front of him the ship loomed large and imposing, her bow bucking forcefully, arrogantly into the waves, her stern rising and falling gently with the sea. Tied to the dock as she was, she seemed almost like a great creature asleep, just waiting to be awoken, to perform her duty, to act as his ticket over the ocean, taking him to a new land, a new world, a new future, a new life. Unsinkable. That's what they said. Unsinkable.

All over his skin, he could feel his hairs rise at the thought of where he was going, and what would be taking him there.

Matthew took a deep breath and in awe gazed at the wondrous ship. To walk the entire length of it to see the front was in itself already a little trip that took him a few minutes, but it was a walk definitely worth the while, for only from that perspective could he see its name printed firmly, boldly on the black casing: TITANIC.

Again, he shuddered as he looked up. There was no denying that this was the opportunity of a lifetime. You could feel it everywhere, in every person, in every vein, the sense of something crackling, some sort of suspense hanging the air. Soon, this ship would sail, taking him and many others to an unknown, far-away destination, to a new place and a new world.

It was time for something new, something spectacular.

"Oh, Matthew! There you are! All this dashing about and I thought I'd lost you already!" His mother came up beside him, her bag in hand, her grey hair tossing in the wind.

He smiled, but not in her direction. He'd barely even heard what she'd said. "God, just look at it, mother."

Isobel Crawley linked her arm with that of her son's and raised her eyes to the ship. "It is quite something, isn't it?"

Matthew clamped his suitcase a bit tighter, his knuckles turning white, and raised himself up to his full height. The sea salt bit at his skin, but he hardly felt it. There was nothing to stop him anymore, to stop them. Here she was, the Titanic, and ahead lay a wide spread of continent unknown – freedom.

"The ship of dreams," he said.

"I don't see why we had to stay with Aunt Rosamund for three days in advance," Edith couldn't help but remark as she rested her hand on her chin and looked out of the window at the passing landscape, thoroughly bored.

Her father opened his mouth to reply but Edith didn't give him the chance. "Yes, I know it's a long trip, father, but such torture is hardly necessary. Besides, we go to London often and Southampton is really a stone's throw from the city."

Robert sighed softly, but, as he was really not in the mood to argue, he contained himself. "We won't be back for a while, Edith, and Rosamund deserves to see you three off."

Edith sat up and grabbed her book from the table, opening it with force. "And I don't see what I've ever done to deserve such torture," she muttered.

Sybil, sitting across from her sister, gently reached out and turned over the book in Edith's hands, for the elder girl, in her frenzy, had started to read it upside down.

Lord Grantham opened his mouth to make some further remark but Cora laid her hand gently on his arm. "Oh, leave them, darling," she said soothingly. "They're just exhausted."

And they had a right to be so. The family had risen very early that morning to leave from 5 Eaton Place and embark on the last train that would take them to the famous White Star Dock in Southampton, where their impressive journey would begin and from whence they would proceed to remain at sea for two weeks, before reaching New York, if everything went according to plan.

Mary's mind was full of what lay ahead as she gazed outside without truly seeing anything. Patrick, who was beside her, had laid his hand over hers and for once she made no move to pull away. In fact, before she knew what was overcoming her, she'd leaned her head against his shoulder and found her eyelids drooping as she was lulled into sleep by the rocking of the train, vague images of magical ships and roaring waves dominating her mind.

Concernedly, Patrick carefully passed a hand along her brow, whispering, "Mary darling, are you quiet well?"

This instantly woke her, such a light-sleeper was she that she shot bolt upright, stared at her fiancé for a moment in an affronted fashion, before relaxing and then casually pulling her hand away from his. "Yes, quiet all right, thank you." With these words, she turned back to the window and fixed her eyes on some invisible and uninteresting point in the distance, fearing that she'd perhaps led him on a false trail of genuine affection.

Sighing mutely, Patrick Crawley, who, together with Mary, was in the neighboring seat to the rest of the family, leaned across to Edith and gently enquired what she was reading.

The Crawley family reached the White Star Dock within the hour. They all piled out onto the platform and were joined speedily by their maids and valets who had travelled third-class. Chatters of excitement followed and even Mary, who generally managed to remain relatively cold and neutral, could feel her heart flutter more and more with every step she took towards the water, to where the Titanic lay.

They spotted the ship already much before they'd reached it, her funnels sticking up high above the buildings, grey traces of steam trailing from them into the clear blue sky as her engines were warmed up. Beside her, on the dock, people swarmed, saying their last farewells, making their way towards the bridge, or simply standing, gawking at the immensity of the liner.

And Mary, for once, found herself amongst the commoners, her mouth half-open, her eyes glittering, her hair in a whirl about her face, staring up at the Titanic in all her glory.

"Well, that's certainly not something you see every day," Lord Grantham murmured to himself.

"My God, it's enormous!" Sybil exclaimed. "Gosh, I can't wait to go aboard, Papa! I've read so much about the decks and the swimming pool and the architecture and…" Her voice trailed off as she realized that no one was really listening and, a bit gloomily, she cast her eyes back to the boat.

Mary, for want of some privacy, managed to separate herself from the group without being noticed by Patrick or anyone else for that matter. Holding onto her crimson hat with one hand, she proceeded to make her way towards the stern of the ship, jutting out like a cliff over the raging ocean. From this position only could she see the boat's name like she'd imagined it. Seven letters the color of the foam of the sea, showing her the name that had been in every paper, every letter, and on every tongue for the past year. It was the biggest thing of the century, they said. Unsinkable.

"The Titanic," she whispered. It tasted like salt on her lips.

The moment didn't last long however before someone laid their hand on her shoulder. It was Patrick.

"You're not afraid of being seasick, are you, my dear?" he asked.

It was quite a serious enquiry, yet a chuckle escaped Mary's mouth, at which Patrick looked rather offended. She glanced at his face and, with a roll of the eyes, replied, "Really, Patrick, do you think me so weak and pitiful?"

Carefully, he removed his hand from her shoulder again. "I simply wanted to make sure you were all right."

Mary had to suppress another eye roll. "I appreciate your concern, but there truly is no need for it. I'm perfectly fine."

"As you wish," he said, as though Mary was capable of defining her own state of health, which she most probably was – the feisty eldest Crawley daughter.

They stood for a few minutes in silence before Patrick ventured to remark, "Do you think it's truly unsinkable?"

"Anything's unsinkable once you make it to be," Mary replied drily. Tearing her eyes away from the Titanic she turned to watch the people going aboard, line after line of businessmen, little children, women carrying bags, everyone bustling with excitement – the crowd which obscured her family from her sight.

They still had to wait a bit as second-class boarded before they could go on, but for once Mary didn't mind. She was quite enjoying the sight from here, and the next two weeks would be spent on the ship anyway. There was no rush.

Her brown eyes scanned the crowd, observing the people one by one, until they lingered on a young man in a grey suit. His hair seemed golden in the sunlight, and somehow she found herself looking after him for a while longer until Patrick roused her from her thoughts.

"Shall we go rejoin the others?" he asked.

Pursing her lips, Mary said absent-mindedly, "You go on, I'm coming."

"But we might lose each–"

"I'm coming," she repeated, her eyes on the ship. "I'll find my way back."

He acquiesced and, nodding, turned to go. Yet just before he left her, he stopped one more time. "One last thing, Mary. What did you mean when you said that anything was unsinkable once you made it so?"

Mary didn't look at him as she answered. "That anything can be anything as long as enough people are convinced of it." While she spoke, her eyes continued to explore the ship, drifting from post to post and door to door, observing every shining window and every plate of raw steel.

"Ah yes, of course," said Patrick, who still didn't quite understand. But sensing that Mary, as usual, did not welcome his company, he left it at that, and, rejoining the family, went to stand by Edith's side.

"Is this it?" Matthew asked of his mother as they made their way through another whitewashed hallway lined with second-class cabins and stopped at one of the doors. He placed his hand upon the knob.

Isobel glanced at the tickets again and nodded. "It seems so."

On that note they entered the room, which was clean and comfortable but small. There was a main bedroom, with two separate beds, and an adjoining bathroom, but what interested Matthew most was the porthole. Yet this ultimately proved to be a bit of a disappointment. It wasn't on the side of the dock anyway, so, for the moment, the view was only sea, and Matthew assumed it would be much of the same for a while longer.

Then an idea struck him. Without bothering to unpack his bag, he made his way to the door again, walking with long strides, and, in opening it, called, "I'm going to the deck, mother, to see the land before we leave!"

Isobel hardly had the chance to utter a word before her son was gone again and she was left alone, unfolding their clothes and shaking her head to herself.

Matthew, a free spirit, weightless and without a care in the world, made his way swiftly through all the people seeking their cabins, all the families bustling with bags, and excused himself multiple times as he maneuvered up to the higher parts of the ship.

A few minutes later he felt the wind in his face again and, up on deck, clutched at the railing as he made his way to the side overlooking the dock. It was swamped with people, calling, waving, tossing up their hats, shouting names, laughing – come to see the Titanic depart on her first voyage, and her last.

Matthew was completely in his element. He felt young again and utterly free-spirited as he sighed contentedly and leaned against the railing, holding on tightly, yet taking no fear in looking over the side.

At that moment the ship made a louder sound, a rumbling puff, and Matthew instantly thought of the drowsy creature again, now roused from its sleep, and groaning, growling a low and deep growl, eager to set off and get the work done. Straightening up, Matthew Crawley watched how the massive chains keeping the boat prisoner were pulled in and felt how the deck began to shudder warmly beneath him.

The Titanic roared, a fierce yet loyal and undefeatable creature. She was geared up more, pushed to the extreme, and forced to clash against the waves. The wind beat at Matthew's face again, his hair battered about his eyes, but then, within a moment, they were moving, the ship, the huge liner was sailing forward. For a moment, the wind picked up again, and he smelled something, fresh paint, coal, but also something else…a sweet perfume.

He didn't know why, but he turned his head to look across the deck just in time to see a woman with a crimson hat disappear down the stairs, her hand clasping at her dress as she walked.

Within moments, however, his eyes were back on the dock, from which the ship was now pulling away and which lay so far below him that he felt as though he were the king of the world, the maker of dreams, God himself. Matthew took in a deep breath, the shared breath of this boat, this boat that could now make so many things come true.

Below, a loud cry had erupted from the people staying behind, and they started to wave and shout more enthusiastically than ever. Matthew didn't wave back. He wasn't like that, but this once it did take all of his self-control to stop himself from lifting his hand. He had to remind himself that this was a business trip, after all. Not a pleasure voyage.

Still, the least he could do was whisper, and so he whispered, "Good-bye England," as the Titanic sailed away into deeper waters, and Matthew's words were lost in the wind.