Title: Waterloo
Rating: T (M later on - nothing really graphic)
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, except a love for this show, it's characters and history.
Summary: In June 1815, men fight for advantage on the fields of battle, while women fight for what they must.
A/N: I knew it would come to this as soon as I found out that one of the final episodes would be called "Waterloo". After I pulled myself up from rolling on the floor laughing, my mind went wild knowing that something like this just had to be written. And writing I am. Basically all people mentioned (except the OCs and the characters you know) have actually existed. The same goes for places, events and details - as far as I could research them. Waterloo was one of the bloodiest and strangest battles of pre-modern times and the more I read about it, the more fascinated I am. This story is almost more for my own enjoyment than yours - but I really hope, you will enjoy it too.
If you're ready now - lets get on with it.
Enjoy.
Waterloo
Intro - Part I
The first day of March of the year of the Lord 1815 was a grey and wet day throughout most of continental Europe. In its northern and eastern edges - Moscow and Stockholm - snow was still freezing the land beneath. London experienced its usual heavy rain and the hungry women of Paris - prematurely aged by years of war, hunger and the loss of men and sons - queued in freezing downpours as they hoped to buy a minimum of flour to feed their hungry families.
History had forgotten about most of the women, of their families - as it generally tends to forget the common people who endure a war and do the actual fighting.
On this day, all eyes of history and politics were turned towards Vienna, where the great men and those who considered themselves great discussed and bartered the future of Europe. Countries, small stretches of land, they all were dealt with on a smaller and greater scale, underneath heavy and gleaming chandeliers, while in the larger rooms waltzes were played and danced. It was the moment where everybody who was somebody, and everybody who wanted to be somebody, simply had to be in Vienna - at least, not to miss any of what was deemed the most important action of the time.
That, however, proved to be a mistake.
On the same day, on a small non-descript spot near Antibes, the ghost everybody in Vienna believed to have successfully left behind reared his head. That morning, none other than Napoleon Bonaparte, exiled emperor of the French, landed on the soil of his former empire - willing and ready to seize control again.
In less than 24 hours, the shocking news of his return had reached the important cities - causing fear, horror, excitement and more than a little bit of hope in Paris, in Marseille, in Lyon. In Vienna, quite a few ladies felt faint, while gentlemen quickly swallowed their drinks to calm their nerves.
Emperor Francis I was said to have broken into tears.
Czar Alexander sequestered himself with his officers in his palais for hours of intense discussion.
The Prussian delegate was said to have taken ill.
The Duke of Wellington sent his adjutants on various errands, despatching messengers to God knows where.
Monsieur Talleyrand was seen with an unreadable expression. But then, nothing else had been expected of the cunning leader of the French delegation who had managed to survive the Revolution, the Grand Terreur...and...the imperial rule of Bonaparte...only to be charged with important posts under each.
As the news spread throughout the small alleys of Vienna, the din of gossip rose as well. Wild suggestions were heard, that the French army would desert completely and run back to Bonaparte, that they'd shoot him on sight, that King Louis had already fled, would flee, take his life, be killed by the angry Parisian mob.
While street people almost happily spread the gossip, behind the closed doors of meetings and strategy sessions the excitement was no smaller, but much more refined.
It didn't take long for the allied leaders and their generals and diplomats to come to one conclusion: should the unthinkable happen and Napoleon Bonaparte succeed in retaking the throne of France, then the largest army imaginable would stand against him.
Of course, nobody really expected the Corse to return to the Tuileries.
That, however, proved to be another mistake.
It wasn't even three weeks before Napoleon Bonaparte - former and now reinstated Emperor of the French - was carried into his palace on the shoulders of his enthusiastic supporters.
Once again the capitals of Europe were caught in shock. Vienna, experienced in sieges by Napoleons troops, in fact ceased all activities for a moment. Even the musicians halted in their play.
Carriages rushed over the crowded roads from port to port, carrying people, goods, and much more importantly, news and messages.
It didn't come as a surprise that the French mobilized again, the Emperor declaring that he intended to return to his empire's former glory. Fear spread quickly, remembering his military prowess.
However, his troops were few and far stretched. The allies intended to use this advantage, beginning to gather troops themselves.
On the day that the news of Bonaparte's mobilization act reached London, in the early afternoon, there was a knock on the front door of the grand Georgian building in a quietly elegant street on the outskirts of town.
The butler who opened the door eyed the boy outside with disdain, fully intent on closing the door in the lad's face. However, his plans were interrupted by a young woman, the companion of the Lady of the House.
"What is it, Ames?" she asked politely, but with an air of authority.
Knowing how her ladyship supported and protected her companion, the butler preferred to demur and point to the blond boy outside. "The lad claims to bring news from the continent for her ladyship, Miss Eve. Claims that it was sent by a friend of her ladyship's in Brussels."
The young woman nodded, hiding any possible emotion behind the mask of the polite smile covering her pale face. "Thank you, Ames. I'll deal with our guest."
The butler inwardly rolled his eyes as he turned away, but chose to say nothing. He was an experienced man at his job, had been long with the family, and if he was honest, he trusted her ladyship's decisions and instincts a lot more than he did his lordships. If the Lady trusted her companion this much, then he would oblige.
Business was hastily dealt with, the lad sent away with a few shillings and a smile. The folded message in her hand, Eve felt it burn her skin. Was this what they'd been waiting for?
Barely able to keep up a proper countenance, she hurried up the stairs towards her lady's boudoir.
The woman sitting at the small desk inside the room barely acknowledged the interruption of her study of the foliant before her.
"What is it, Eve?" she asked distractedly.
"A letter from the continent, my lady. The lad who delivered it said it comes from Brussels."
The older woman started, almost whipped around to stare at her companion. Her blue eyes were intense as they trained on the other.
"Does it bring news?" she asked, her emotions loud and clear in her voice.
"I hope so, my lady."
The hand that stretched out for the letter was shaking, as was the one that covered her mouth, as Lady Grace Foley took the parchment that might possibly yield her fate.
Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated.