Romanovs Reflected - Fan Fiction

[bestfriendsgirl]

Gulf of Finland, July 2008 …
     He stood alone, at the stern of the luxurious yacht Standart II, watching the wake churned by the great propellers fanning out beneath the dusk. High summer was beautiful in this part of the world, with its long, sunny days and nights when it never quite got dark … the famous White Nights.
     Of course, he wasn’t really alone. He never was, not even in private, at home, and never had been. He had come to accept the perpetual security details for the necessary evil that they were, but it didn’t make him like them any better. He sighed, reached into his pocket and pulled out his cigarette case. He lit one – his first in days – and inhaled the soothing smoke.
    A familiar gentle touch, the warmth of a beloved hand through the sleeve of his naval summer dress uniform, distracted him. He turned and looked into the blue-gray eyes of Alix - his wife, lover, soulmate and mother of their five children.
     “Nicky! And you’ve been doing so well, too!”
     He switched his cigarette to his left hand and drew her close. “I know, my love. But the past few days have been such an ordeal, even though we’ve known this was coming ...”
     She nodded, the jewels in her tiara reflecting the light from the sky. “That we have. But not so soon and not in this manner.”
     He saw her lower lip tremble ever so slightly so he changed the subject. “So how do they get on in there?” he asked, nodding toward the yacht’s grand salon. “They” were a glittering collection of world leaders, many of them family, gathered together for the occasion and dining on the finest cuisine Russia had to offer.
     “Fine. Fine.” She shook her head. “I’m so glad that miserable Dubya’s presidency is ending and we won’t have to invite him to things anymore!”
     “Now, Sunny,” he admonished, using his pet name for her. “The Americans are the best friends we have!”
     “Well, they might be, but he certainly isn’t.” She grinned. “Wonder if he’s enjoying the company of Cousin Willy.”
     They shared a laugh and he said “A stroke of genius, seating them together. Those two deserve each other!”
     “Oh, it was wicked of me, but I couldn’t resist. And dessert is about to be served, so we really must be getting back.”
     “You’re right.” He took one last drag off  his cigarette and flicked it over the railing into the sea below.
     “It’s a good thing your minister of environmental protection wasn’t here to witness that,” she said, shaking her head.
      Nicky laughed softly. “Sorry! Another bad habit I have to break!”
      He offered his arm. She took up her accustomed place on his right, slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, and their game faces were on. Nicky and Alix became Nicholas II, Absolute Autocrat of the Russian Empire, and his consort, Alexandra Feodorovna – along with the disliked George W. Bush, leaders of the Free World.

To be continued ... Any questions, comments or derogatory remarks, PM me! Thanks!

[bestfriendsgirl]

Freedom of the Press …?
February 2008 …
     “Ooooh!”  Nicholas II moaned as he lifted his right foot, swathed in an Ace bandage, onto a chair in his working study in the Alexander Palace.
     “Poor huzzy!”  That was Alix, gently placing ice packs over the swollen ankle. “I still think you should take the day off..”
     “She’s right, Your Majesty,” Dr. Botkin said, anxiously watching his patient’s face for signs of distress. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider?”
     “No, Evgeny Sergeiovich. I’m fine.  Actually, this whole thing gives me a chance to get caught up. I’ve got a pile of Duma recommendations to wade through.”
      Count Fredericks, Minister of the Imperial Court and one of his right-hand men, had already cancelled his audiences for the day. Accordingly, Nicholas was casually dressed, in neat khaki slacks and a white cotton button-down shirt, the French cuffs of which held a pair of  his vast collection of cuff links – gold ones today, with the entwined Cyrillic initials N and A in tiniest diamonds. Over this, he wore a black crew-neck sweater of fine wool, embroidered with, instead of a polo pony or alligator, a tiny gold double-headed eagle.
     “Very well then, Sire. I’ll be back with more ice and pain meds later.” Dr. Botkin bowed and left the room, almost running into Grand Duchess Olga Nicolaievna. Twenty-two and fresh out of the University of Moscow, she served as an aide-de-camp, complete with blue uniform, gold braid and her father’s monogram on her shoulder boards.
      “Mom, Dad,” she said, bobbing a quick curtsey. Even a daughter, by tradition, honored her sovereign in public. “You need to turn on Russian Reveille.”
      Nicky shook his head. “I don’t think so.” But Olga beat him to it. Grabbing the remote control from his desk, she pointed it at the wall. A panel opened to reveal a 54 - inch television screen. Another touch of the remote and the screen came to life - “Next up: Tsar vs. tennis star.”
     “Check it out!” Olga exclaimed. “The anchorwoman has my hair!” Ever since Olga had appeared at her university commencement with her golden hair in waves framing her face, young women across the empire had experimented with the style. It was easy and flattering, and catching on fast.
     “Shh.” Alix said. “Here we are”
      “An impromptu tennis game between Tsar Nicholas II and Grand Slam winner Stefan Kovacs ended in mishap yesterday when a powerful shot by Kovacs hit the Tsar in the ankle! Ouch! The tennis star, seeded third in the world, was at the Alexander Palace for a reception honoring the national junior tennis team. The Sovereign is expected to make a quick recovery.” 
     And there he was, looking sheepish and silly as he and Alix got out of the limousine at the family entrance to the palace. On crutches, he hoisted himself up the steps and into the building.
     “Ah well. At least they didn’t show you leaving the indoor tennis court in the ambulance,” Alix said. “That’s something.”
     “And you bore up beautifully,” Nicholas said, taking his wife’s hand and kissing it. Public appearances were difficult for her, especially unplanned ones, but she’d come through like a trouper.
     “Mes enfants.” The three of them looked up to see Count Fredericks in the doorway. “Her Majesty’s car is ready.”
     “Thank you, Vladimir.” It was Alix’s morning to volunteer at the Alexandra Feodorovna Center for the Treatment of Mood Disorders. She was passionate about the work and hated to miss but she said, “Dearest, I can stay home if you need me.”
     He shook his head. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve got Olga, Vladimir, Botkin, and a palace full of people – I’ll be fine.”
     “All right then. I’ll see you at lunch.” She kissed her husband on the lips, her daughter on the cheek, and hurried out.
     “Mon chere, here are your newspapers and magazines.” Fredericks placed them on the desk and hurried out, too. Nicholas soon saw why.
     On top of the pile lay We Are Russia, the nation’s leading celebrity gossip magazine. SCARY SKINNY! was emblazoned across the front cover, over a collage of photos of famous young women, one of them, the Grand Duchess Tatiana Nicolaievna. Three weeks ago, it had been CHUBBY CHICKS, with Marie Nicolaievna being taken to task for wearing an American size 6 jean, as opposed to Tatiana’s size 0 and Olga’s size 2! When the kids were little, the press had respected their privacy, but now that they were teenagers and beyond, it seemed to be open season on them.  He brought his fist down hard on the desk. “What the devil is wrong with these people?”
     Olga sighed. “It’s because they can, Daddy. Freedom of the press was restricted for so long in this country, they feel they have to push the envelope, just to prove a point. You know we don’t cooperate with them.” She picked up the magazine and flipped to the article. “See, they just quote anonymous sources at the University of Moscow about the Grand Duchess’ eating habits. What are you going to do, revive the Okrana?”
     “Don’t tempt me,” he said, and reached for the Times of London. Olga bowed, took the offending magazine and left, closing the study door behind her.

To be continued ... any questions, comments or derogatory remarks, please PM me!

[GrandDuchessAndrea]

Very good! I like the bit about Olga's hair! 

[bestfriendsgirl]

Freedom of the Press … ? Continued.
     There were times Nicholas did want to revive the Okrana, not to mention a whole lot of other repressive measures taken by Tsars in earlier times. And he would be within his rights, too – he was the absolute ruler of the Russian people, answerable only to God. There was a representative body, the Duma, elected by popular vote of the people – universal suffrage. But they made recommendations, not laws.  Nicholas had the final say over anything they did, and his vetoes couldn’t be overridden. A word from him could set the most notorious criminal free – or imprison thousands of innocent people. He could shut the entire government down, or expand it any way he wished.     
     But all this was on paper. In actuality, Russians enjoyed civil rights on a par with Western Europe and the United States. And when the Duma talked, the Tsar listened. When their recommendations made sense or benefitted the country, he was quick to act upon them. The situation was akin to that of a corporation which grants its workers all the rights won through union collective bargaining, to keep them from unionizing.
     He didn’t give them everything they wanted, though. Abortion, except in cases of rape, incest or to save the life of the mother, was still forbidden in the Russian Empire. Nicholas knew it went on, of course – Russia had the highest rate of miscellaneous “women’s procedures” in the world – but at least he didn’t give the appearance of condoning it by making it legal. There was no “no-fault” divorce, and Orthodoxy was still the state religion of Russia, although individuals were free to worship as they pleased.
     It was a delicate dance between him and his people – a strange system, but they made it work.
     Nicholas tried his best to concentrate on the Duma reports, but the pain medication Botkin had given him made him drowsy. He wasn’t used to this kind of inactivity – his morning run in the palace park had been out of the question and he probably wouldn’t be able to swim after lunch either. What the devil had he been thinking, playing tennis with this kid? “Bring it on!” he’d said. Who did he think he was, George Bush? The phone on his desk buzzed, interrupting his thoughts.
     “Yes? Ah, Msr. Galliard. What can I do for you?” Pierre Galliard was one of the few people who could get through to him or Alix without first stating his business to a secretary or aide-de-camp. But, as he was the headmaster of the school attended by Anastasia and Alexei, calls from him were not necessarily good news.
     And this morning, it was not good news. “I see. Yes. I’ll be waiting.” He hung up the phone. Why was it that Alix was never at home when this sort of thing happened? He rose from his chair, forgetting his bandaged ankle – but only for a second.
     “Sweet Mother of … oooooh!”   He sank back down, caught his breath, and grabbed his crutches. Rising again, he hobbled  into the anteroom.
     Olga was sitting in her chair, smiling up at a young man perched on the edge of her desk. Another aide-de-camp, handsome, with dark hair and eyes … Voronov, wasn’t it?   A naval officer, currently attached to the ministry of communications and press. He was laughing at something she had said, and the look in his eyes was unmistakable. He used to look at Alix that way. Still did, in fact.
     Nicholas gave a discreet cough. Voronov leaped to his feet so fast it was a wonder he didn’t fall over. “Your majesty,” he said, and bowed. Olga, slightly flustered, did the same.
     “I’m going to be out for the next few minutes,” he said and hobbled to the door.
    “Is everything all right Da … Sire?” Olga asked. “Do you need any help?”
    “I’ll manage,” he said. Pausing, he turned toward Voronov.  Leaning on his left crutch, he pointed at his eyes with the index and middle fingers of his right hand, then pointed them at Voronov.  Then he hobbled out.

Any questions, comments or derogatory remarks, please PM me!

[blessOTMA]

lol...I'm enjoying this !

[aleksandr pavlovich]

Re: Reply # 3:  Please note that the tutor's name is "Gilliard," not "Galliard."   AP.

[bestfriendsgirl]

Noted ...  my bad! 

[aleksandr pavlovich]

Additionally,  the conventional abbreviation for the French " Monsieur" is "M.", thus "M. Gilliard."   I have never seen Pierre Gilliard addressed as "Monsiegneur," whose abbreviation of "Msgr." closely relates to your usage.    AP

[bestfriendsgirl]

Maybe it's because I'm Catholic and Monsigneur is one of our titles!

[bestfriendsgirl]

Freedom of the Press …? Continued
     He wanted to go for a run. He wanted to smoke a cigarette. He wanted to be done with these damnable crutches. Botkin had offered him a wheelchair. Now he wished he’d taken him up on it.
     Running was out for the time being, but smoking wasn’t. He was standing outside the entrance to the family wing enjoying his last drag when the vehicles carrying Anastasia, Alexei and their security detail drove through the palace gates.
     Nicky watched as his youngest daughter got out of the car. She was dressed in the uniform blazer and plaid skirt of the Tsarskoe Selo Academy,  the skirt rolled at the waist to make it as short as possible. She moved slowly and her eyes were cast down. So she knew she was in trouble. Good!
     Alexei followed her. Since Anastasia had to leave school with the security detail, so did he. Nicky knew he was delighted, both with getting out of school early  and the fact that his sister was in for it.
    The children curtseyed and bowed, respectively. A retainer opened the door and they followed their father into the palace and down the hall.
    “You are soooo busted!” That was Alexei, obviously relishing the thought of his sister in trouble.
     “Shut up, you little jerk!” She moved to hit him, and Nicky moved to stop her. But it wasn’t necessary – she stopped herself. No matter how annoying he was, no matter how he provoked them, his sisters knew: Never, never, never strike Alexei. Never.
     Nicholas led the way into the Maple Drawing Room and stood aside to let Anastasia pass. He stopped Alexei with a stern look, then closed the door.
     He sat down, laying the crutches beside the chair. “All right, young lady. Let’s have it.”
     Anastasia reached into her backpack and pulled out an envelope. She handed it to her father, who removed a photograph of the school dramatic society – in which Anastasia was making an unmistakably obscene gesture.
     “Nice. Real nice,” Nicholas said. “Very grand duchess-like.”
     She slumped into a chair. “I hate being a grand duchess!”
     “Join the club! I’ve never particularly liked being Tsar!” She glared at him and he continued “Your suspension is for three days?”
     She nodded.
     “Well, I’m sure your mother can find plenty for you to do here. In fact, she has a committee meeting tomorrow for the spring charity bazaar at Livadia.”
     “Unhh -  You mean we have to dress up and do the white flower thing again?  Oh, Daddy!”
     He held his hands up. “Hey, don’t look at me! If I have to work a sales stall, you can sell white flowers.”
     “Rats!” Anastasia rose and picked up her backpack. “Are we done?”
     “For the time being, yes.”
     She flounced out, shutting the door behind her. He leaned back in his chair and sighed. What was it that the American president Theodore Roosevelt had said about his daughter? “I can either run the country or I can look after Alice. I can’t do both!”
     Nicholas knew exactly what he meant.

To be continuted ... any questions, comments or derogatory remarks, please PM me! And thanks for reading.

[Vive_HIH_Aleksey]

It's cute... but I have to say Nicholas doesn't "sound" like the ruler of a country... He sounds even younger than his two youngest children, and they all sound very American at that. But it is cute.

[bestfriendsgirl]

Freedom of the Press … ? Continued
     Nicholas spent the evening as he usually did when he was home en famille - in the den, laid out in his recliner, a pile of folders and reports on his lap. He usually used the time to prepare for the meetings and audiences lined up for him the next day, or to catch up on late-day developments and put out fires. He had a whole staff of people available to brief him, and he made liberal use of them when pressed for time. But he tended to process information better if he read it for himself, so he preferred to do so if he could. 
     The dossier that occupied him now, though, had nothing to do with tomorrow’s schedule. “Voronov, P.A.” the tab read, and he’d had it messengered from St. Petersburg that afternoon. He smiled to himself – sometimes it was good to be Tsar.
     The remainder of the working day had been quiet. He’d called Tatiana in Moscow to check on her and make sure the magazine cover hadn’t upset her. It hadn’t and he wasn’t surprised. She was the efficient, unflappable one … the Governor to her brother and sisters, even though Olga was older.
     Botkin had come by to check his ankle. He said it was healing nicely and the swelling was almost gone. He should be off the crutches in a couple of days. That was good news.
     He looked over at Alix, who was sitting on the sofa crocheting and watching television with Olga. Needlework was her stress relief, as exercise and cigarettes were for him, and she seldom sat down without something in her hands on which to work. He blew her a kiss and she blew one back. The den was their favorite room in the palace. It was right off their bedroom and accessible only through the more formal Pallisander Room. In an earlier era, it had been the Tsaritsa’s personal retreat, and been decorated in shade of mauve and white. It had a more contemporary look now, but many of the built-in bookcases and fixtures remained. He and Alix made good use of them for family photographs, books and gifts he’d received from his people over the years.  A desktop computer stood on a table between the two large windows, where Alexei was busy on a gaming site.
     Anastasia entered the room, but did not curtsey to her parents – it wasn’t required in private. “Can you let me know when you’re done with the computer, Alexei?” she asked.
     “Here, you can have it now,” he said. “I’m losing anyway.” The kids had access to one computer in the entire palace, the one here in the den. Only Olga was allowed her own laptop, and that was just since she had graduated from university. It caused dust-ups sometimes, but Nicky and Alix were adamant that their children not be isolated in their rooms glued to laptops every spare moment.
     “Thanks.” Anastasia sat down and logged on. And gasped. “OH. MY. GOD. Mom, Dad, everybody! Come here now!
     Alexei turned on his heel and hurried back, followed by his mother and sister. Nicholas limped over, grasping the back of Anastasia’s chair for support.
     “This can’t be true!” Nicholas cried.
     “Oh, dear God!” Alix bowed her head and buried her face in her hands.
     “This is insane!” That was Olga.
     “No way!” Anastasia agreed
     “Ewwwwwwww!” Alexei chimed in.
     The shocked silence was shattered by the bleep of the telephone. Olga answered it.
     “Dad? It’s the ministry of communications and press.”
     He limped over and took the receiver. Alix followed him, took his hand and squeezed it. He looked into her gray-blue eyes and took a deep breath. Time to meet the crisis. The game faces were on.

To be continued ... any questions, comments or derogatory remarks, PM me! Thanks for reading!

[bestfriendsgirl]

Mashka, Mashka, Mashka!
     Much later, Nicholas lay in bed, staring into the darkness. Alix’s head was on his shoulder and he ran his fingers through her soft red-gold hair, laced now with the odd strand of gray. An occasional teardrop slid from her cheek and dropped onto his chest. No game faces now. Just two stunned, heartbroken parents trying to fathom the unfathomable:
RUSSIA’S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR TO TIE KNOT WITH TEENAGE GRAND DUCHESS !!!
    All accompanied by a photo of their Maria, with a diamond ring the size of the Rock of Gibraltar weighing down her right hand. Standing behind her, his hands on her shoulders, was … Oh, God! He couldn’t say the name, not even to himself.
     Every media outlet in the nation was transfixed. The biggest playboy in Russia and the loveliest of Nicholas II’s four daughters, and his distant cousin besides? It was the biggest human interest story in years, the fact that they were both members of the House of Romanov sparking that much more frenzy. This would never go away. Never.
     Alix broke the silence. “I just don’t know how she could do this, Nicky. She knew we’d disapprove, but did she have to blindside us like this?”
     He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. “Maybe she thought it was easier to get forgiveness than permission. I’ve got a feeling there’s going to be a lot to forgive before it’s all over.”
     Alix sighed. “I don’t understand.  She seems so happy in Petersburg! She loves university, she’s making her best grades ever, she wants to be a preschool teacher. She’s made friends, she’s having fun – and she wants to throw it all away to marry him!”  
    She shifted to her side, and Nicky snuggled against her. “You know Mashka’s always had her heart set on having a husband and children,” he said. “We’ve joked that she would marry the first idiot to come along.”
     “Well, my love, it looks as if the joke’s on us.” They lay in silence for a while. Then Alix spoke again: “You ought to banish him. Like they used to a hundred years ago, when one of the family made an unsuitable marriage!”
     “Yeah. I could do that. Deny our own daughter a right I grant to every other subject in the Empire. The liberal press would have my head on a pike, and if you think we have a firestorm on our hands now …”
     “Oh, Nicky, I wasn’t serious!”
     He turned her to face him and looked into her eyes. “Weren’t you?”
     She grinned. “Well, maybe a little. But only because I want to keep her from making the mistake of her life! If it were anyone, anyone but him … that jagoff!
“Jagoff?” Nicholas laughed. “What kind of word is that?”
     “An American English one. Alexei picked it up from that little girl from Pittsburgh who’s in his class this term. It’s a slang term for a person who’s rude, annoying and not particularly smart – “
     “In other words, Maria’s so-called fiancé.”
    “Yes. Kind of vulgar, but very descriptive.”
     “Jagoff,” Nicholas said. “Sounds almost Russian, doesn’t it? I could create a hereditary title – Prince Jagoff!”
     Alix giggled. “You’re awful!”
     And Prince Jagoff he became to them, to the point where they had to be very careful to use his real name when speaking of him to someone else.

To be continued ... any questions, comments or derogatory remarks, PM me! Thanks for reading.

[GrandDuchessAndrea]

Now who is this person supposed to be? I want to know why Maria would ever do that! Write more!

[bestfriendsgirl]

Mashka, Mashka, Mashka! Continued
     Nicky and Alix sat together in the family sitting area of the Pallisander room, waiting for Maria and enjoying the quiet moment. It was their first one this morning, and, he suspected, the last one they’d have for quite some time.
     It had started even before breakfast, when Alexei sat channel-surfing in front of the TV in the den. “Check it out – Mashka’s everywhere,” he’d said brightly when Nicholas entered.  He sighed … yes she was. Unfortunately, so was Prince Jagoff – holding her hand, touching her hair, sliding his arm around her waist.
     “Take your hands off my daughter!” he growled involuntarily.
     Alexei turned and looked at him. “What was that, Dad?”
     “Oh, nothing … nothing.”
     Anastasia came in, wearing not her school uniform but a smart dress and heels for the committee meeting with her mother. Kissing her father on the cheek, she said “Morning, Dad - how’s your ankle?”
     “Better today, darling.” But Botkin still had him on crutches. He’d also slapped a blood-pressure cuff on Nicholas and was not pleased with the reading – it was up. Big surprise.
     “Dad – Denisov’s on,” Alexei called from the TV. Nicholas watched as his minister of press and communications, Andrei Denisov, gave his and Alix’s statement, saying how delighted they were about Maria’s engagement and how they welcomed Prince Jagoff into the family, et cetera, et cetera. He was glad he hadn’t had to make the statement himself. He probably would have choked on it.
     “I don’t even believe this!” Anastasia said. “I mean, he’s been with about a zillion women. Isn’t she afraid she’ll, like, catch something?”
     “Anastasia!”
     “But it’s true!”
     “That’s enough! Alexei, turn that rubbish off. Our breakfast is going to get cold.”
     It continued in his study, when Vladimir brought in the newspapers. Maria and Prince Jagoff were on the front of every one.
     Olga picked one up from the top of the pile and flipped through it. “This one says he wants her money, Dad. He probably does. He spends it like water and he’s into his mother for about half a million rubles.”
     Nicholas frowned. He’d known Jagoff was in debt from family gossip. But a half a million rubles?  Maria wouldn’t gain control of her personal fortune until she turned 20, and she was only 18 now. Plenty  of time to rack up some more.
     Olga picked up another newspaper. “Ooooh! This one’s talking about their being cousins!” She held it up and Nicholas read the headline - “It’s All Relative In The Imperial Family.” He shook his head. Among royalty, it was not unheard of for cousins to marry, although it inevitably drew comparisons to residents of some of the less progressive areas of the United States.
     They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Voronov entered, carrying several thick manila folders. “Your Majesty,” he said and bowed.
    “Thank, you, Captain. Just put them down on the table if you would.”
     Voronov complied and bowed out. Nicholas gave an ironic smile. This time yesterday he had actually been worried about this kid making time with Olga! What had he been thinking?
     Continued below ...