AU! historisch - fürs team
Sep. 30th, 2012 09:08 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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120_minutenTeam: Kaleko
Challenge: AU - historisch
Fandom: Merlin
Wörter: 867
Kommentar: WWI, character death
Merlin squeezed his way past two officers, his back scraping along the glass of the door.
He ducked his head. The less attention he attracted the better probably. Inside the regimental office it was crowded and loud. Behind a glass front, numerous women were sitting in rows and hammering away on typewriters. Merlin could discern more officers walking around in the back of the building, where the offices were, he presumed. It all seemed far too busy for peace time. Merlin could have been fooled if he hadn’t known exactly that the war was over. If he hadn’t been there when the last shots were fired. If he hadn’t been there to watch one of the last men to die in the war to end all wars, mere minutes before the cease fire.
He shook his head. Remembering that most pointless death of the many pointless deaths was not going to help him, ever.
“Can I help you, sir?” asked a pretty brunette, sitting behind a reception desk to his right. He smiled at her.
“I hope you can,” he said, taking off his hat and nodding at her in acknowledgement of her helpfulness. “I’m looking for a soldier. A corporal, I believe.”
She continued to smile at her, though her eyes saddened slightly. “You have to take the stairs up to the second floor, someone there will probably be able to look at the records for you.”
“Thank you.”
He turned towards the broad stairs leading up. Going up he was facing a painting depicting the heroic battle of Waterloo. Merlin scoffed at it. The dreams of heroic battles were long destroyed and anyone who still held them was delusional. He was glad to be able to turn his back on the painting as he went further upstairs.
The second floor was much simpler than the ground floor, no elaborate decorations, no paintings, simply a few maps that had to be rewritten.
Again, a brunette sat behind reception. He stated his request and was led by her to a small office. A young officer, too young to have properly served it seemed, scrambled up hastily.
“Who are you looking for?”
“Arthur Pendragon. Last I saw him he was a corporal.”
Merlin had expected to wait for some time, while people tried to dig up Arthur’s file and address, but he was surprised as the boy’s face changed with the recognition of the name.
“He was a lieutenant by the end.”
“By the end? Does that mean he’s still alive?” Merlin tried not to sound too hopeful. It was hard to believe that they had both survived this war.
“I’m sorry, sir. He was… he was shot by a German sniper during the second Battle of the Marne. Last July, sir.”
At the turning point of the war. Of course. Merlin was naïve to think he would have made it, not Arthur, not in a war like this. He swallowed, tried to speak, instead he only nodded.
“My brother fought alongside him. That’s how I know. He was a brave man. My brother always admired him. He always said his death had affected all of them. Everyone thought Arthur would be one to get through it all. It’s a real shame. A real shame.”
“Thank you,” said Merlin, if anything to stop him from talking. It was too much.
“No problem, sir. I can find out where his grave is, if you want me to.”
Merlin declined, because he knew the grave would most likely only be an empty trap in a field in France, where there either weren’t any bodies at all or all of them slumped together in a pitiful mass grave.
He wanted to punch something and he wanted to hit himself, simply for the fact that he had fought for the side which killed Arthur. He should have deserted and gone over to the English. He should have done something to make sure that the British win, that Arthur… but the British did win. They won without his help and who was he to think he could have changed the outcome of the bloody war, to think he could have saved one person, when millions others had been slaughtered every day and it had never been a question of ‘if’, only of ‘when’.
It had never been fair. It wasn’t fair that he was standing here, while Arthur had rotted away in France because of a German sniper. Because of a battle Merlin had participated in himself. He was pretty sure that it hadn’t been him; he had never been a good enough shot. He had always been lucky when he got them at all, no matter which part of the body, let alone shoot them in the head-
He shook his head to clear it from his thoughts. His eyes fell on a framed picture on the boy’s desk. “Your brother?”
“Yes, sir?”
Merlin hesitated. “Did he.. come home?”
“Oh yes, sir. He lost an arm, but he came home to us.” The boy smiled and Merlin smiled back.
“Good. You take care of him.”
“Will do, sir.”
Merlin nodded curtly and left the room. There was nothing left to do now.
Challenge: AU - historisch
Fandom: Merlin
Wörter: 867
Kommentar: WWI, character death
Merlin squeezed his way past two officers, his back scraping along the glass of the door.
He ducked his head. The less attention he attracted the better probably. Inside the regimental office it was crowded and loud. Behind a glass front, numerous women were sitting in rows and hammering away on typewriters. Merlin could discern more officers walking around in the back of the building, where the offices were, he presumed. It all seemed far too busy for peace time. Merlin could have been fooled if he hadn’t known exactly that the war was over. If he hadn’t been there when the last shots were fired. If he hadn’t been there to watch one of the last men to die in the war to end all wars, mere minutes before the cease fire.
He shook his head. Remembering that most pointless death of the many pointless deaths was not going to help him, ever.
“Can I help you, sir?” asked a pretty brunette, sitting behind a reception desk to his right. He smiled at her.
“I hope you can,” he said, taking off his hat and nodding at her in acknowledgement of her helpfulness. “I’m looking for a soldier. A corporal, I believe.”
She continued to smile at her, though her eyes saddened slightly. “You have to take the stairs up to the second floor, someone there will probably be able to look at the records for you.”
“Thank you.”
He turned towards the broad stairs leading up. Going up he was facing a painting depicting the heroic battle of Waterloo. Merlin scoffed at it. The dreams of heroic battles were long destroyed and anyone who still held them was delusional. He was glad to be able to turn his back on the painting as he went further upstairs.
The second floor was much simpler than the ground floor, no elaborate decorations, no paintings, simply a few maps that had to be rewritten.
Again, a brunette sat behind reception. He stated his request and was led by her to a small office. A young officer, too young to have properly served it seemed, scrambled up hastily.
“Who are you looking for?”
“Arthur Pendragon. Last I saw him he was a corporal.”
Merlin had expected to wait for some time, while people tried to dig up Arthur’s file and address, but he was surprised as the boy’s face changed with the recognition of the name.
“He was a lieutenant by the end.”
“By the end? Does that mean he’s still alive?” Merlin tried not to sound too hopeful. It was hard to believe that they had both survived this war.
“I’m sorry, sir. He was… he was shot by a German sniper during the second Battle of the Marne. Last July, sir.”
At the turning point of the war. Of course. Merlin was naïve to think he would have made it, not Arthur, not in a war like this. He swallowed, tried to speak, instead he only nodded.
“My brother fought alongside him. That’s how I know. He was a brave man. My brother always admired him. He always said his death had affected all of them. Everyone thought Arthur would be one to get through it all. It’s a real shame. A real shame.”
“Thank you,” said Merlin, if anything to stop him from talking. It was too much.
“No problem, sir. I can find out where his grave is, if you want me to.”
Merlin declined, because he knew the grave would most likely only be an empty trap in a field in France, where there either weren’t any bodies at all or all of them slumped together in a pitiful mass grave.
He wanted to punch something and he wanted to hit himself, simply for the fact that he had fought for the side which killed Arthur. He should have deserted and gone over to the English. He should have done something to make sure that the British win, that Arthur… but the British did win. They won without his help and who was he to think he could have changed the outcome of the bloody war, to think he could have saved one person, when millions others had been slaughtered every day and it had never been a question of ‘if’, only of ‘when’.
It had never been fair. It wasn’t fair that he was standing here, while Arthur had rotted away in France because of a German sniper. Because of a battle Merlin had participated in himself. He was pretty sure that it hadn’t been him; he had never been a good enough shot. He had always been lucky when he got them at all, no matter which part of the body, let alone shoot them in the head-
He shook his head to clear it from his thoughts. His eyes fell on a framed picture on the boy’s desk. “Your brother?”
“Yes, sir?”
Merlin hesitated. “Did he.. come home?”
“Oh yes, sir. He lost an arm, but he came home to us.” The boy smiled and Merlin smiled back.
“Good. You take care of him.”
“Will do, sir.”
Merlin nodded curtly and left the room. There was nothing left to do now.
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