A/N: There are probably glaring errors at various points during this fic. I have tried to do some research, but I never have been much cop at that. If there are any, please feel free to point them out.

Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey.

A Meeting of Fates

1. The Winds of Change

Wednesday 10th April, 1912, 11:00

The hustle and bustle of the Southampton port was the first thing that struck Anna Smith as she peered out of the window of the motor at the vast crowds that had gathered to see the RMS Titanic set off on her maiden voyage; it seemed as though thousands of men, women, and children had flooded from the streets to be a part of the momentous occasion. Getting through the sea of people would be nigh on impossible.

"Ah, bloody hell," Thomas grumbled from beside her, apparently drawing the same conclusion. "This is ridiculous."

"Bet his lordship hasn't had any problems getting to the ship," added Sarah O'Brien, mouth twisting distastefully as the motor slowed to a crawl in order to inch its way through crowd towards the far end of the pier where the first class passengers would board the Titanic.

Anna remained quiet, choosing to ignore the other two servants' complaining. If she could have chosen her own companions for the trip to Newport, Thomas and Miss O'Brien would have been last on her list. As it was, however, Miss O'Brien was Lady Grantham's lady's maid and Thomas was currently acting as Lord Grantham's valet whilst a suitable replacement was found. The crossing could not have been made without them, and Anna wasn't foolish enough to open her mouth about it. In any case, she was hopeful that she wouldn't have to spend much time with either of them. She needed to be on hand to assist Lady Mary Crawley, his lordship's eldest daughter, but the rest of her time was hopefully going to be her own, and she planned to use it exploring every inch of the ship that she could. This was an opportunity that would never present itself again.

At last the car came to a complete stop, and the three servants cautiously clambered out. The Titanic was almost in front of them now, and Anna couldn't help but gasp at her impressiveness. She had never seen something as wonderful as this in her whole life. Even Thomas and Miss O'Brien were quiet as they gazed upon the sight, obviously unable to think of a scathing remark. The noise pressed in around them as passengers of the ship pushed forward to board. Children darted in between bodies as they giggled in excitement, deaf to their parents' calls. Their driver handed them their valises and tipped his hat to them.

"Have a good trip," he told them.

Miss O'Brien's lips twisted bitterly. "That's not likely, not with the way her majesty will be ordering me around the whole time."

"You exaggerate," Anna cut in absently, still examining the sight in front of her.

"Well, I don't know what you've got to be happy about. Lady Mary is as bad as her ladyship, and you'll be run ragged this whole time. You won't get to enjoy any of the trip."

Anna shrugged, not seeing the point in arguing. Whatever Miss O'Brien said, she was determined to enjoy herself.

"I can see his lordship," Thomas informed them, scanning the crowds. "Looks like they're waiting for us."

"Of course they would be," Miss O'Brien grumbled, following the pair over to the family.

Lord Grantham greeted them warmly. His wife stood beside him looking equally pleased, but their daughter was silent and sullen, looking as though she'd rather be anywhere in the world but standing here waiting to board the ship. Mr. Crawley and Mr. Patrick, his lordship's cousins, seemed a little uncomfortable standing so close to the formidable young woman. Thomas moved forward to help get the cases that the Crawleys' driver was patiently waiting with, and soon the party was moving towards the grand boat. Anna was in awe of her, up so close. She was splendid. Gwen would surely be jealous of her tales when she returned.

The family began to make its way towards the boarding line, with the servants following dutifully behind them. Mr. Patrick offered Lady Mary his arm, but she shot him such a withering look that he dropped it at once, looking like a chastised puppy. Once on board, a member of the crew stepped forward, offering to show them to their quarters. Lord Grantham accepted graciously, handing the tickets over, and they continued further into the ship. Anna's eyes were wide as she tried to take in all the sights she possibly could. The rich wood panels running the course of the walls. The exquisite paintings made by some breath-taking talent. The gleaming floorboards underfoot. The whole thing was gorgeous beyond words.

Soon the group arrived at the Crawleys' quarters, and Anna immediately set about unpacking for Lady Mary, whose room was almost as beautiful as the one she had back at Downton Abbey. The young woman had followed her into the room and was currently sitting in a chair by the vanity, scowling morosely at her reflection in the mirror.

"Is something the matter, milady?" Anna asked as she finished putting the other woman's evening gowns in the mahogany wardrobe. "You seem a little preoccupied."

Lady Mary was silent for a few moments, before sighing. "I just don't want to be here, is all, Anna."

"Why not?" she took the chance in asking.

Lady Mary sighed again. "Because I know what this visit's about. It's about making the engagement official."

"Milady?"

"Mama and Papa want to be able to invite Grandmama over for the wedding whilst they're visiting her. And it just reminds me of what the future holds for me."

Anna remained quiet, not knowing what to say. In any case, she reminded herself, it was not her place to have an opinion on such a matter. Thankfully, the conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. Thomas poked his head into the room.

"Beg pardon, milady, but one of the crew members is here to escort us to our quarters, if it's agreeable with you."

"Yes, yes," Lady Mary waved her hand in way of dismissal, busying herself with placing her jewellery in the pots provided on the vanity table.

Anna dipped her head. "I'll see you later to change, milady."

Lady Mary shook her head. "No one changes on the first night, Anna. I'll see you before I retire for the night."

Anna nodded again. "Very good, milady." With that, she withdrew from the room and followed Thomas to where the steward and Miss O'Brien were waiting impatiently.

"'Bout time," Miss O'Brien grumbled. Anna ignored her.

The group made its way through the ship to where the servants' quarters were. The steward showed them the servants' common room, a plain room filled with places to sit that looked agreeable enough, proceeded to the servants' hall where their meals would be eaten every day, and then came to a rest at their destination, the bedrooms. They were small and windowless, but they were cosy nevertheless, and certainly not much worse than the lodgings that Anna was used to at Downton. They were told that they would be sharing. At once Anna's heart sank. It wasn't the thought of sharing. She enjoyed sharing rooms with Gwen very much at Downton, where the two of them would discuss their dreams, giggling childishly over someone who might have casually caught their eye and discussing the goings on of the day. Anna felt safe with Gwen, the way an older sister did around a younger one. But sharing a room with Miss O'Brien was something that Anna had hoped to avoid at all costs. The sour lady's maid would surely put a damper on any high spirits that she might have had. It was bad enough that she'd have to see her every day, never mind sharing the night with her as well.

Already the older woman was wrinkling her nose as she placed her valise on one of the beds. Obviously she felt the same way about sharing with her. There were two cupboards of storage, and Anna set about putting her things away despondently.

"I'll see you later," Thomas said to Miss O'Brien as he was led away in search of his own cabin. She nodded briskly in reply.

Both worked in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Anna hung her working clothes neatly, then placed her best Sunday dress alongside them.

"Don't know what you bothered bringing that for," Miss O'Brien sniffed at her, banging one of the drawers shut.

"You won't have the time to wear it. We're not on holiday."

"I don't see why I can't when my duties are done," she replied lightly. "I'd like to take the time to explore in the evening, and I don't think his lordship will mind if I do that as long as I don't have any jobs to do for Lady Mary."

Miss O'Brien rolled her eyes, but didn't bother answering. Anna was thankful for that.

From somewhere above, came the sound of a horn being blown. Both women looked up at the noise. And then, suddenly, came the definite feel of movement beneath their feet. Anna grabbed at the end of her bed to keep her balance. It was a little off-putting, as though she was rocking almost unperceptively from side to side. She hoped fervently that she'd grow accustomed to the sensation before long. She wasn't quite sure that she liked it.

But there was no denying the feeling of excitement that welled up inside her as the ship slowly began to move away from its Southampton mooring. She was heading for adventure, for the unknown, for a bit of excitement in America. It didn't matter that the trip was only going to last a few weeks. It didn't matter that she'd be working every one of those days, making Lady Mary look beautiful for the balls she was going to be attending on the arm of Mr. Patrick Crawley. She could feel it in her bones. Change was upon her.

When the winds begin to blow, her mother had said wisely one day as they'd stood together outside their home, watching her father and brothers working in the field, you'd best listen to them, little Anna.

She was certain that the winds of change would be blowing now if she clambered up onto the deck to watch the ship depart. And she was determined not to let them go to waste.

John Bates gripped the handle of his cane more tightly as he slowly made his way through the crowds towards the ship that would take him away from England for good. He licked his lips nervously, feeling the sweat beading at his temple under his hat and wondered, not for the first time, if he was making the right decision by leaving the country. His mother thought that he was—and really, she was the only one whose opinion mattered to him anymore—but even that reassurance couldn't stop the seeds of fear from sowing themselves in his mind. He knew people in England. In America, he would be truly alone.

He could almost hear his mother's voice in his head, chiding him in that no-nonsense manner that befitted her Irish spirit: yes, you know people here, Johnny, but they're the wrong sort of people to be knowin'.

The ship was an absolutely beautiful sight. He had never seen anything like her in his entire life, and he had seen many wonders during his time. Many horrors, too, but he tried not to think about those too often. All around him people were cheering and waving and shrieking, clearly enjoying the excitement of the Titanic's maiden voyage. Families shepherded their children towards the third class entrances, passes clutched like a lifeline in their hands. For most, they probably were.

It had been his mother's idea to purchase the ticket for the Titanic. In fact, she had taken it upon herself to scrape the money together, and she had presented it to him on his last visit to her.

"It's time to turn your life around, John," she'd said to him, and he'd known that she had been terribly, terribly serious; she only ever called him John when she wanted him to listen. "You've been out of prison long enough to know that Vera isn't gonna be comin' back to yer. If she wanted you to find her, she'd have revealed herself by now. What you need is a fresh start away from the memories, away from the drink."

"I haven't touched a drop since I came out," he'd protested, but she'd waved it away.

"You haven't touched a drop yet," she'd said. "But I know you, John. One bad day and you'll turn back to the bottle. I don't want that for you. I want you to be happy. And that's why I've got you something."

She'd presented him with the ticket then, and he'd taken it. She'd filled his head with promises of better prospects in the new world, of a life free from looking over his shoulder every day expecting Vera to be there, of a place where it would be easier to cope without the drink, of a life where he'd be just one more face in the crowd, where he'd never be asked about his past and he'd never have to give any answers.

They'd both cried as they'd embraced in the hallway, neither of them wanting to admit that it would be the last time that they ever saw each other alive, but he'd gone out and fulfilled her wish by making the arrangements for this journey.

And now here he was, waiting to take that first step into a new life.

And he was terrified. Terrified of knowing that his mother wouldn't be there to support him if everything went wrong, terrified of things not being any different in America despite her faith in him.

He did his best to navigate around the boisterous children, the sound of his cane seeming to reverberate in his skull, an extension of his shame that everyone could see.

God, he could use a drink.

The thought sprang unbidden to mind, and he stopped short. Was it ever going to get any easier for him? He'd been off the drink since the start of his prison sentence, when he'd been forced to go without. He'd thought he would die without it at the time and it had taken weeks for the shakes to abate once the stuff had worked its way out of his system. He'd been careful to keep out of the pubs upon his release, but the niggling feeling that he was free to go out and have a pint constantly plagued his mind and set him on edge. In prison, he'd had to go without it. Now, he was doing it by choice. But that choice could change at any moment.

The thought of drinking once again made his mind up for him.

He couldn't be trusted in England. Perhaps his mother was right; perhaps it would be different in America. Perhaps he'd be so engrossed with making a new life for himself that he would forget all about the need to drink. And without Vera being there to tempt him off the straight and narrow path, perhaps he could finally make a respectable man of himself.

A future where no questions were asked. It sounded nice.

He clutched his valise tighter and began to limp up towards the boarding line. The steward scrutinised his ticket suspiciously as he handed it over, then jerked his head in what John assumed was admission. He garnered a lot of strange looks with his limp and his cane, but he tried to ignore them as he made his way through third class in search of his cabin. He ran across a steward as he wandered the deck, and the young man offered to show him to his quarters. Gratefully, John followed him, glancing around at the unremarkable interior of third class as he went. The young steward seemed quite chatty, and happily pointed out the main areas of interest as he went. John was grateful to hear the location of the smoking room. Having given up drink for good, he'd come to rely more heavily on his other dirty habit of smoking. His mother hadn't been too keen on that one, either—it smelled absolutely terrible, she'd always complained—but she'd conceded that it didn't make him lose his head, so that had to be a bonus.

The steward led him down a flight of stairs into a cold hall. Taking the ticket from him, he proceeded to the end of the corridor and rapped cheerfully on a door.

"This'd be yours," he said. "Enjoy the trip."

"I'm sure I will. Thank you," John replied evenly as the steward left him to it. Opening the door, he was greeted by a room that was worse than the cell he'd had in prison. Three bunkers filled the space from floor to ceiling. There seemed to be no storage space at all.

John sighed and slumped down on one of the bottom bunkers, head in his hands. If this was going to be his living space for the next week, then it was going to be a very long trip to America. Deciding that he couldn't spend any longer in the room than he had to, he stashed his valise under the frame as best he could and exited the room again. He would go up top, remind himself of what the smoggy air of England felt like for the last time. From the way that people were madly dashing around, he discerned that they had to be leaving soon. His breath caught in his throat.

Back up on deck, he leaned against the railing and looked out at the sight before him. The crowd that had come to see the Titanic off on her maiden voyage had swelled. Flags flapped. People cheered and waved at their loved ones as they waited for their journeys to America to begin. John wondered how many of them wouldn't be returning to England. A gentle breeze blew against his face, and he turned his face upwards to gaze at the cloudy sky. It felt good against his skin, and he tugged at his collar.

Everything was going to change, he thought incoherently. He could feel it.

And then the horn blew, signalling the start of his journey into the unknown. The cries from the crowd reached a crescendo as the ship slowly began to pull away from the port. All around him people waved wildly at the friends and family that they were leaving behind. John was content to watch. He had no one to wave to. His mother was safely in London. He had promised to write to her as soon as he was settled down, but until that moment he now stood alone.

He was nervous, apprehensive, a little worried. But he was in no doubt that everything was going to change from this point onwards.

The wind told him so.