Ok, so here's chapter one of lord knows how many. It's Merlin/Arthur AU, set on the ill-fated Titanic. I hope you enjoy and excuse my mediocre writing. Review if you have a moment :)
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A. Sade.
"This is your uniform. Keep it clean."
Merlin nodded, taking the starch-white jacket and dark trousers that were now being pushed across the table, pulling them him into his arms. They were going to itch horribly, but Merlin was used to clothes that scratched and irritated, so he'd be able to bare it without too much grievance. He met Gaius' eye, the old man now seated across from him, white hair hanging around his face in a most unusual fashion, but uniform pristine none the less. Merlin eyed it. He'd never been able to keep clothes that clean in his life. He was a little disconcerted by the intensity of the stare with which the old man was surveying him but he seemed kind enough, no malice, and his mother liked him, so Merlin let his lips curl into a tentative smile, hoping Gaius might return it. Gaius raised an eyebrow. The height said eyebrow reached was impressive. Merlin's smile faded a little.
"I've assigned you a specific room to attend." Gaius said, pulling something from his pocket. Merlin had been told he'd be at the mercy of some rich asshole the moment he'd set foot on the ship, although, the way Gaius phrased it was a lot kinder than the words chosen by the serving boy he'd run into whilst awaiting inspection for lice.
"You will report there immediately and await our guests' arrival," Gaius continued, "Mr Uther Pendragon will direct you as he wishes and you will follow his orders to the letter."
Merlin opened his mouth to ask if he should change here or-
"You will not speak out of turn, you will not question him, you will sleep when he says you may sleep and you will piss when he says you will piss."
Merlin closed his mouth and swallowed, trying to keep his eyes from widening. He had a weak bladder and a mouth that never shut up. Mr Pendragon had better be a reasonable man.
"You will be at his beck and call until this ship has docked in New York and Mr Pendragon is safely ashore. Understand?"
Merlin nodded a little dumbly, then Gaius pushed a scrap of paper toward him, and as Merlin picked it up he saw the room number etched in blotched ink. 'Room 214 – Bridge Deck'. He glanced up at Gaius, unsure if he should go now or wait, fingers fidgeting at the paper.
"Merlin." Gaius said, fixing him with a warning stare, "I'm doing this as a favour to your mother. If there are complaints of your service, then my neck is on the line. So please, do not disappoint me."
Merlin managed to stammer out that he wouldn't, and then Gaius smiled at him, one Merlin could have used at the start of this conversation, because the smile put him at ease, and Gaius suddenly looked warmer, and Merlin found himself grinning back.
"The door's always open, Merlin." And as Gaius leant back in his chair, Merlin took that as his queue to leave.
He hurried out the door and down the corridor, looking for the right set of stairs to take him to the right deck. The ship was a maze. Merlin got lost finding his way to the shops in his own home town for God's sake. How was he going to manage in a metal labyrinth?
He'd been told there would be a small room for him just off his masters' quarters, so Merlin slipped into the servants' common room to change, pulling on the slightly too loose trousers and snug fitting jacket, which, as he predicted, itched horribly, and he shoved his old clothes in his satchel, trying once again to flatten his hair, and he emerged, feeling a good deal more important than when he'd ducked into the room, thinking that maybe white might be a good colour on him.
Merlin's confusion in navigating the ships corridors only increased tenfold as he tried to find the right room, accidently sending other attendants and one angry crewmember flying as he became more anxious. It was nearly eleven, and if he wasn't in the room when Mr Pendragon arrived he knew there'd be trouble. He finally found the right deck, dodging people where he could, taking the looks of affrontation in his stride, and he was almost sent flying over the railing as he collided with someone rather broader than Merlin, with blonde hair, blue eyes and a rather haughty expression. Merlin gasped as his breath left him, grabbing the railing for support, apologising profusely – apologies the blonde prat didn't seem to hear over his own outraged shout, and before he could receive some sort of reprimand for being the clumsiest person on the planet he scurried away, looking to take refuge in the room he's been assigned to.
Room 214 was breath-taking. Merlin was sure every first class room was. But as he stood, panting slightly, in the middle of the luxurious space he felt his jaw drop slightly, the rich red and gold interior warm and welcoming, the furniture pieces looking as though each cost more than his entire house, and Merlin swallowed, shaking his head, muttering quietly about unnecessary expenditure.
He glanced around, checking all the lamps were lit, checking there was nothing out of place, and then he found his own room. Well, his cupboard. There was a dingy bed, one light, and a tiny drawer set. Merlin sighed, setting his bag down on the bed and his book on the bedside table, and he retreated, grateful that he at least had his own private space in which he could relax. If he ever got the chance that was.
Tugging at the collar of the straight jacket that is his uniform, Merlin moved back out into the main room, trying to work out how to stand, settling for hands clasped behind his back, chest puffed out, and as he waited he hummed under his breath.
Arthur Pendragon boarded the Titanic at ten thirty in the morning. His father led the way from the car that dropped them from the dock, giving orders left right and centre, ordering people to give orders to people, whilst Arthur took in everything around him, every detail of the enormous ship, its sharp stern, four huge boilers, splendour and wealth emanating from every inch of gleaming iron. The dock stank, but still, Arthur would rather stay down here amidst the rotting fish and the riff raff than board that ship. He felt a firm hand grasp his shoulder, his father's voice in his ear, and Arthur found he didn't have the will to forage a smile.
"Well, son. Isn't she magnificent?" Uther proclaimed, waving a dramatic arm across the landscape of Arthur's view. Arthur stared up at it, trying to arrange his features into some semblance of an appropriate expression. Uther glanced at his son's face and the grip on his shoulder tightened.
"Nothing empresses you, eh?"
Arthur made to answer, but Valiant, Uther's body guard, cut in.
"Spoiled, Sir." He said with a sneer, one Uther seemed to believe to be a jesting grin, and he clapped Arthur on the back with perhaps more force than necessary, and laughed.
"That he is. That he is."
Arthur felt his jaw tense as he slipped his hands into his pockets, keeping his tongue behind his teeth. It wasn't his fault his father had lavished him with unnecessary grandeur for nineteen years, nor was it his fault that his father didn't know him well enough to tell that the Titanic had indeed impressed his son, Arthur just wasn't the type to go on about it.
Uther, on the other hand, loved to go on about the splendour that he could afford, and he was doing it now, leading them across the dock, listing more than likely inaccurate figures ascertaining to deck space and carat gold of the napkin holders.
As they boarded the ship, Arthur took one last look over his shoulder, taking in the slightly overcast sky, the smell of the air, everything he was going to miss whilst chained up in America with whoever this Morgana half-sister of his was, and another woman, Mithian, to whom he was intended. Well. His father thought so. Arthur had other ideas about that, ones he wouldn't dare voice to his father. He'd likely be shot.
As they moved through the ship, Arthur paid attention to the detail of the interior, the luxurious…everything. He ventured that most of the furnishings on this ship would go completely unnoticed yet probably cost more than most people made in their lifetime. His father had said with pride and arrogance that on Titanic, no expense had been spared, it seemed he was right. Ridiculous.
As they moved along the bridge deck Arthur caught a glance of the sky outside. The engines were running and it was minutes to eleven, due to leave any minute, and Arthur felt an inappropriate longing to join the masses of the third class plebeians and wave goodbye to no one in particular. He wouldn't of course. He had no place among them, not to mention the outrage he'd suffer at such an insolent action, but as his father insisted on examining the promanaire, Arthur got a breath a fresh air at least. He breathed deeply, staring out at the dark blue meeting light blue, watching where sky met sea, with disdain. The horizon was a trick of the light, unreachable, a place of bliss many believed existed because they caught a glimpse of it, but to it they would never get.
It reminded Arthur of a point in his life in which his father might leave him to his own. When he might be free of the pressures weighing on his shoulders, pressures others considered an honour rather than a burden. But they were like chains; the arranged marriage, the position he had in his father's oil firm, the name he bore. It seemed that nothing was too good for a Pendragon, yet nothing was good enough.
Arthur was just contemplating throwing himself overboard and swimming back into the harbour when something collided with his back. He stumbled slightly, his aggravation turning on an unruly haired and rather pale skinned man with bright eyes and ridiculous ears, his cheekbones like razors, jutting out at sharp angles, and Arthur found himself with his mouth open, half in fascination, half indignation. The man was donned in a white coat, so he seemed to be a member of staff, though he looked much less presentable than the other starched collars Arthur had seen so far. He apologised without meeting Arthur's eye, in too much of a hurry to observe proper manner to his superior, and before Arthur could shout after him he was darting away down the deck, dodging people and soon he'd disappeared. Arthur glared after him, wiping his coat down, muttering about the nerve of some people. Titanic might have been of the highest quality when it came to size, grandeur, and luxury, but the staff was obviously as common and as disappointing as on any other ship. Pity.
Uther and Valiant appeared by Arthur's side, urging him forward, Uther having an itch for a cigar and a brandy, eager to see their room, and eager then to meet with Caerleon, a business associate whom Uther enjoyed ridiculing where possible, probably over room size on this occasion, though Arthur cared little. He sighed and followed, rubbing his back where the young man had hit. For someone so slight, he had surely hit hard. If he saw him again, he'd force an appropriate apology from him.