Obligatory Statement of the Obvious: I do not own anything apart from my plot and original characters. The canon characters and their dynamics all belong to Hajime Isayama. This is my first attempt at an AU, especially a historical one, so comments and suggestions are greatly appreciated! I'm trying my best to keep everyone in character while also maintaining accuracy for the setting.

An Introductory Note from the Author: After careful consideration and in response to reader comments, for the sake of clarity I have reverted all characters' names to their cannon versions/spellings regardless of whether that name was historically/geographically common at the time. (For those interested, the originally-conceived tweakings are on my Tumblr account.) The gents tend to refer to one another by surname. Hope this helps!


Chapter 1: A Carriage Ride
(Armin Arlert)

"This seems a long way to go for dessert," Yeager complained; he'd been looking out of the window of the carriage at the city shrouded in night, but now he slumped back in his seat.

"It'll be worth it, trust me," said Smith.

Arlert eyed their tall friend, his impressive frame nearly filling his quarter of the carriage as he adjusted his waistcoat. He had already suspected that they weren't being driven somewhere for cakes or candies – not at this time of night and not this far from their homes – and now he was fairly certain. After all, Smith was celebrating his last week as a bachelor and they'd already spent a good portion of the evening in a suspiciously docile manner: a fine dinner, some barely-touched brandies and a round or two of billiards, the usual toasts. And then after some whispered words to his best man, in his charming way he had ushered them all into the two carriages that awaited them.

Arlert had a sinking feeling about where they were going. The buildings flowing past them were becoming less and less grand, their gardens less and less well-kept. He could feel the roads deteriorating beneath them by the way the ride grew more jostling. They were headed for the bad part of town and that spoke of either drinking to excess, gambling, opium, or prostitutes – none of which he, as one of the youngest and less 'broken in' of their party, felt comfortable with. But it was him against seven others, and if nothing else he wanted them to have at least one sober person with them as they walked into whatever den of devilry it was going to be.

He should have known. Yet he'd felt incapable of rejecting the invitation of a man so well-liked and well-connected. Erwin Smith, His Lord Lieutenant the Earl of Stohess, was already a well-respected soldier and philanthropist, not to mention having obtained the title of Earl from his late father at an early age, and now he was marrying into old money. He was the embodiment of good fortune and they, in turn, were fortunate to be his friends. The idea of him having less than savory tastes seemed so out of character.

Suddenly they had come to a stop, stirring Arlert from his thoughts. Already the driver was hopping down and opening the door, and they were spilling onto the footpath. The newly-arrived winter air woke him up, and he peered around him at the nondescript buildings and scattering of gaslamps. The nearest sign – at the cross-street where they'd stopped – read Elm Gardens but didn't look anything of the sort.

No one else seemed too concerned, however. The raucous laughter of the four members of the other carriage disembarking stirred the night. Arlert turned to them and self-consciously adjusted his own ill-fitting jacket – although around his age, Braun, Hoover, Kirstein and Springer seemed confident and well-put-together, as though they had the same tailor.

"Gentlemen, this way," Smith said, and began to lead them away from the carriages and to the corner of Elm Gardens. He seemed to know precisely where he was going, even though to Arlert they were in a residential rather than commercial area and there was little by way of landmarks or light. Nonetheless they trailed him, reenacting their actions at the Somme nearly a year ago at a much slower pace. Arlert, glancing in front and behind him, could even swear they were in the exact same order, and with a faint pain in his breast noted the spaces between them, where their fallen comrades should have been.

In the dim light between the streetlamps, Arlert thought he could make out a small park on their left. Maybe 'Elm Gardens' wasn't such a misnomer after all. It hardly seemed impressive, though, and even less still cause for them to be out here without their overcoats. Yet Smith led them toward it, holding the glossy green gate for Ackerman and the rest of them before leading them yet again, this time down a ramp that Arlert figured serviced the fountain in the center of the park. It seemed odd to require a pump room for so small a fountain, and it added to his nerves – what little light they had was vanishing and so too was his confidence in Smith. What heinous thing could possibly await them down here apart from a mugging or a murder?

At the bottom of the ramp, Smith stopped and the group soon followed suit, finally falling quiet. Arlert heard him knock on the single door six times in a pattern he didn't recognize. There was a scrape of metal that revealed a rectangle of golden light at eye-level no bigger than a postslot, and it was shortly blocked by a face.

"Eiswein," said Smith. "And they're with me."

Presently the slot in the door closed, and the sound of bolts being drawn back echoed around the cramped space before the door swung outward. Arlert craned his neck to see a corridor, a wall-mounted gaslamp and a red-uniformed doorman, but little else.

The doorman nodded, "Welcome back, Lord Stohess."

'Back'? Arlert repeated in his head. He's been here before?

"Thank you, Hicks," Smith acknowledged, and headed past him into the corridor.

Once again they followed. A glance around him told Arlert that the others were now as wary as he was. The corridor was warm, narrow and as nondescript as the street had been, and the sound of the door squeaking shut behind them was little comfort. He nearly stumbled when all of a sudden, wooden stairs began.

"Trust you to pick strange venues, Smithy," chuckled Braun.

"Interesting as this is," Kirstein added, "I'd very much like to know where we're going. I wasn't planning on crawling around in a sewer tonight."

"As opposed to any other night?" Springer jibed.

"A much…freer establishment than the Savoy Hotel. I did promise dessert," Smith answered.

A few more jokes were tossed back and forth but Arlert was too focused on his feet. The last thing he wanted was to trip and fall into Ackerman and risk the ill-tempered one's wrath. In fact, he'd been surprised that Ackerman had come along at all. He'd known of course that he was the closest to Smith, but revelry had never seemed his favorite pastime, no matter the occasion.

Eventually the stairs ended; Arlert guessed they were at least a storey underground but dreaded to think what could possibly be down here all this way. Yet the short but wider corridor that met them was carpeted in burgundy, and even the walls had wood paneling. Four evenly-spaced oil lamps led them to another two flanking another door with a gleaming brass knob. Outside it was another doorman in red, and he smiled as Smith approached.

"Welcome to you and your guests, Lord Stohess. We'd heard of your upcoming nuptials and had hoped to see you before the blessed day to wish you good health," said the mustached doorman. "We're grateful for the opportunity." He reached out a white-gloved hand and grasped the door handle, turning it.

"Many thanks, Broadmoore," said Smith, "I'd been hoping, too."

The door was opened for them and Arlert was immediately assaulted with a blur of colors, heady smells, voices and music. He was vaguely aware of following Smith and Ackerman onto a landing of some kind beyond the door, and heard Broadmoore say, "Welcome to The Carousel, gentlemen," as the others entered behind him and the deceptive little door sealed them off from the outside world.

As the others began their excited and appreciative noises, all Arlert could do was groan to himself and think back to his previous speculations: drinking to excess, gambling, opium, or prostitutes. As his eyes struggled to take in the decadence in front of him, he noted with dismay:

It appears to be all of the above.