he cares not for switzerland. in spite of all this king has done for him, personally, he resents how desperate he was when he first stumbled onto swiss soil: bloody, broken, bruised. what would his mother have said if she could have laid eyes on him? and what of his father? the old swine would have turned his back to hide his sneer, deeply unsettled at being forced to bear witness to the consequences of his actions. a weak man.
you were lucky to be born. (and he thinks, his father was lucky to die a peaceful death.)
the voices of the people he once loved and those he no longer remembers ring in his mind until they blur into one, an echo that speaks of shards and fragments he cannot conjure up. there is nothing to tether him to russia either: what does that make him?
Бездомный. a wanderer with no place to call home.
(he thinks of irina, and then her son.
the sweet scent of innocence and how much the boy reeks of it. it should have been an insult to look at these two and feel a tinge of warmth in the hollowness of his chest, but in that split second, pictures of their mother, olga, came rushing back to him. and alexeis knows of how things have been going wrong, so horribly, terrifyingly wrong since the day he departed at his father’s behest. but he had failed to ask what it had been like for her.)
he inhales, his fingers twitching with annoyance when he feels another's gaze lingering on him. alexeis’ eyes remain shut. “уходи.”
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upon entering russian chambers, her jaw locks in place, her stance becomes defensive and stiff. that is how she has presented herself for the past two years - a cold shell of a woman. that is what she has become in moscow, and what she vowed to herself to leave behind. the chambers are supposed to be hers, but they feel foreign, unlike hindustani grounds in sasso corbaro.
she has just made her presence known in bellinzona, and she expects to meet new faces as well as old, familiar ones, and yet here she is. a man she does not recognize stands in chambers that were supposed to feel like her own. everything about the situation throws nagasani off balance for a split second, despite not showing it.
“i am,” she says, in agreement, although it almost comes off as a spit. she has no quandary expressing her resentment towards her husband, even if nothing about yuri fills the requirement for that word. there is no love, there is no respect, there is no companionship. there’s nothing between them but clouds and ashes.
“none sent me here, sir. who sent you here?”
her first reaction is telling in its own way.
mouth snapped shut, shoulders straightening, eyes dulling. there’s something to be said about a woman whose first instinct is to fight, not flee. inwardly, alexeis flinches.
outwardly, he displays no emotions. this is not his fight and he’s not come here for one: all he wants is a picture to put into place. what he sees before his inner eye is a mosaic with colors and contours that make no sense, no matter the perspective. the man inhales, the sound quiet and steady to calm his own nerves as he remains rooted to the spot.
her rooms are decorated fit for a russian tsarevna. the opulence is in stark contrast to the darkness of the furnishings, the carpets hanging off the wall. how much has she given up to lead a life in a foreign country, one half of an alliance that exists only in name?
her fool of a husband would never understand. when alexeis did as he was asked, gave his service and the better parts of his life to a country he never did identify himself with, that fool sat at home and did — did what?
judging from the look on her face, she apparently doesn’t hold her husband in high esteem either, if for very different reasons. the tension rolls off his shoulders.
“i came here at nobody’s behest but my own. i hadn’t known yuri married.” he removes his gaze only to study a nearby painting with vague interest. “is it too late to offer my congratulations?”
Jalal’s first sight of the castle they had been given residence in had raised many questions; it was box-like, it’s windows plain, looking from the distance more a prison fortress than a palace. For lack of a better word, it was ugly, with none of the grace of the palaces at home—or even of the many Christian churches they had passed on the long journey here. Having experienced some more of the freezing winter of this mountain land, though, Jalal was beginning to see its practicality. The thick walls kept all the cold out; and, thankfully, all the heat in. The place may not be as beautiful as his own palaces, he supposed, but the makers had known what they were doing.
It was one of the warmest days since his arrival, and to take advantage of it Jalal had wandered down to the gates and had a horse brought out. Hands folded behind his back, he looked down at what he could see of the town from the vantage of height that the palace gave them—and started at the sound of a horse neighing in fear behind him. One hand on his swordbelt, he turned around, instantly alert.
alexeis couldn’t take his eyes off the man; it wasn’t his striking looks capturing his attention, but the confidence with which he strode around the grounds as though they belonged to him. it reminded him, vaguely, of the tsar’s father whom alexeis had caught glimpses of as a boy before he had been sent off to do his bidding.
the thought soured his expression immediately, a cloud of unease hanging above his head. chill bumps rose high on his skin at the memory of something he believed to be true yet the male was quick to suppress the accompanying sensation to focus on other matters. his memory, this he knew, was not to be trusted and he was certain he’d never met this man.
good. a stranger was easier to navigate than those who had once cherished him.
“Добрый день,” he interjected, aware he was disturbing another’s observation of this place with no particular care for the implications of his actions. alexeis did not bother to keep thinking about it. “you stand in my way.”
it was plea, command and disregard all at once packed tightly into five words as blue eyes stared on, hands coiled tightly around his own horse’s reins.
had he been told a year before that he was to sit down next to a fierce, but young italian with a penchant for languages and an unparalleled abundance of knowledge, he would not have believed a single word of it. and yet here he was, receiving lessons by the very same girl.
life did indeed work in many mysterious ways. alexeis was disgruntled to admit his accent was far too heavy and too thick for ippolita to understand most of what he said and though his french was reasonably present, his italian was beyond broken. the few words he recalled, he mixed up with his knowledge of latin and so, the lessons were distressing.
“пожалуйста, прости меня.” dragging one hand across his face to wipe off the confusion which had settled onto there quite permanently, he was sure he would go to bed tonight with yet another throbbing headache. retaining knowledge was not easy but to regain what he had seemingly lost was a shame all on its own and it infuriated him to know he could not do any better. “your skills are admirable. how long have you been studying these languages?”
he had long ago learned not to hide his resentment. had he been given the same time, he, too, could have learned. the man cast his gaze aside at the thought, lips pulled taut in a grimace of bitterness.
he’d only seen little of germany in his life thus far. heard more of it as a boy, the details of which he could no longer remember for the life of him. alexeis stood a little straighter, a continuous throbbing sensation building behind his forehead. it had plagued him for a while now yet the swiss healers had assured him it was a medical condition felt by many and that he should not fear for it would go away on its own soon.
it was warm. still, a shiver ran down his spine as his shoulders sagged just the faintest bit. it had been difficult to wrap his mind around most of the political situation presented to him by the spies. alexeis felt cold, so terribly cold — something would not leave him be.
(too many things. his heart was heavy. he exhaled.)
“you’ve been looking at me a long time,” he spoke, features devoid of any emotions as he stared ahead into the nothingness. his body tensed; a natural occurrence. “have you a reason for doing so?”
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I’m saying love.
A little girl cracks a peppermint between her teeth
and gives me half.
I’m saying life. A hundred thousand men
go hoarse shouting it shouldn’t
have been a penalty.
I’m saying mother. A woman,
singing me a song from long ago,
wipes my nose while I scream.
I’m saying my country. A young man
cups the blood in his outstretched hands
and says he didn’t start it.
I’m saying death. Someone is running
through the empty streets at midnight,
looking for a notary.
I’m saying faith. A priest
bares his head and raises his eyes to God
as a first-class funeral passes.
I’m saying God.
Everything watches me in silence.
Rafael Guillén, ‘I’m Speaking’, I’m Speaking: Selected Poems (trans. Sandy McKinney & Rafael Guillén)
his hands at his side crumpled into fists as he took steadying breaths to disperse his irritation. the russia he had returned to was not the same as the country he had departed from some fifteen years prior and it made him acutely aware of the gap which had formed between him and those he should have been proud to call friends and confidants.
(he would not yield to his emotions. he could not. the name trubetskaya would be revived and brought back from the shadows with his reappearance.)
hers was a new face, one he doubted he would have forgotten if given the chance. her expressions spoke of emotions he could not place, anger he did not understand and a fierceness that piqued his interest. the tsarevna nagasani was said to be a woman of fiery temper and her intense, dark eyes had him understanding what was not said aloud.
she was caged. and so was he.
“you’re yuri’s wife.” it was a statement, not a question. the man regarded her with a tilt of his head and thought about how much of a fool her husband was for not taking as much interest in her as he should have. did he know of his loss? alexeis doubted it.
the courts of switzerland present ALEXEIS TRUBETSKAYA of RUSSIA, the PRESUMED DEAD LORD of TRUBETSK. the TWENTY-NINE year old has been PROUD and SELF-INDULGENT before the break of war but have now become DISORIENTED and APATHETIC. HE is often remembered by their likeness to AARON TAYLOR-JOHNSON and THE SIGHT BLOODSTAINED GROUND ; THE MUSKY AIR IN A PRISON CELL and THE COLD HORROR OF A NIGHTMARE YOU CAN’T ESCAPE FROM. the rumour mills of europe claim that his allegiance lies with NO ONE and that he is for WAR.
alexeis = a russian male first name deriving from the greek aléxios, meaning "defender", and thus of the same origin as the latin alexius.
irineich = patronymic of his late father.
trubetskaya = russian form of the original trubetskoy.
TITLE : lord of trubetsk (the title was passed down to him after the older male members of his family had perished; not officially assumed as he, too, was presumed dead).
MONIKERS / NICKNAMES : alex. aljoscha.
GENDER & PRONOUNS : he + his.
ETHNICITY : european white.
DATE OF BIRTH & AGE : december 01st, 1529; aged 29.
ZODIAC SIGN : sagittarius.
ORIENTATION : ??? honestly, he’s just struggling.
MARITAL STATUS : bachelor.
OCCUPATION : formerly a soldier. as youngest of three sons, he was supposed to join the ecclesiastical ranks. now? he’s dead on the inside the only living heir to the estate and title left behind by his late father.
CURRENT LOCATION : sasso corbaro, switzerland.
BACKGROUND.
PLACE OF BIRTH : at his family’s former residence in their grand duchy, located in lithuania (now an annexed part of russia).
RESIDENCES : legally none as he was assumed dead.
RELIGIOUS VIEWS : orthodox catholic.
EDUCATION : alexeis was sent off to war shortly before his sixteenth birthday and thus did not have time to pursue more intellectual studies. street-smart > book-smart. over the years as a soldier, he’s learned more and broadened his own horizon though more so as a man rather than a noble. other than the classic, average education that a highborn man of his rank received at russian court, there’s nothing of significance to add or mention.
LANGUAGES SPOKEN : fluency in russian and lithuanian. he used to have a decent understanding of latin which has gotten rusty over his years in captivity. conversational in french and italian and retains a very basic understanding of german.
ALLEGIANCES :
the rurik dynasty; implied through family history.
russia ; implied through his service as a soldier.
trubetskaya family ; through blood relations.
FAMILY :
† irinei mikhailvich trubetskaya : father.
† olga trubetskaya : mother.
† mikhail trubetskaya : oldest brother.
† dmitry trubetskaya : second oldest brother.
irina trubetskaya : sister.
irinei belskyi : nephew.
OTHER FAMILIAL RELATIONS :
† pyotr belskyi : brother-in-law.
APPEARANCE.
FACECLAIM : aaron taylor-johnson.
HAIR COLOUR / STYLE : bright blonde hair falling around his ears in playful curls, the same shade as his sister’s. naturally thin but as he matured, alexeis has been lucky enough to escape the usual hair loss which plagues the older, male members of his family. the brightness of his hair brings out the blue in his eyes and compliments his skin tone nicely.
EYE COLOUR / SHAPE : as blue as the ocean. although they look calm when he observes others, there’s a tsunami whirling inside of them when you aren’t looking.
HEIGHT : 1.80 m // 5'9″.
BUILD : he used to be lean and gangly as a youth but grew into his frame through his duty as a soldier and soon matched the physique of dmitry, his second eldest brother. when alexeis first came to switzerland, he had grown into a haggard version of himself after the years of abuse, malnourishment and violence he endured in captivity. cuts and bruises used to mar and cover every inch of exposed skin; his physical condition had decreased considerably as a direct result of this and with the added trauma of slipping in and out of a near comatose state, he further weakened. in the past year, he’s been quietly recovering in switzerland: trying to regain what he once had through vigorous effort and a healthy diet but his body has yet to adjust to the meaning of freedom in its entirety so he’s been Struggling™ enormously. the journey to sasso corbaro has been strenuous on him. furthermore, the issue of his body image negatively impacts his self-confidence.
SPEECH STYLE : slow and crisp. when he talks, his drawl highlights his lithuanian heritage though most would immediately take him for a russian. very economical with words as he tends to speak rarely though he’s very eloquent when he does deign to do so. sometimes has trouble voicing his thoughts (especially when in a heated situation) though he always has to have the last word. very assertive, curses a lot in private.
RECOGNIZABLE MARKINGS : his mustache. it was inspired by his eldest brother who used to make fun of alexeis for his bare face as a young lad before he was whisked off to war.
BEAUTY HABITS : in his consistent struggle to readjust to courtly life, alexeis has willingly opened up to a world of beauty and fashion which he wasn’t aware of prior to his departure from russian court as a youth. is very focused on hygiene (obsessively so) and especially adamant about the care of his mustache. is well-groomed as a clean appearance is vital to him. clipped nails. well-endowed, too.
PERSONALITY.
TROPES : smug snake. manipulative bastard. driven to suicide. earn your happy ending. forbidden fruit. hypocritical heartwarming. parental issues. poisonous friend. redemption equals death. say my name. simple, yet opulent. took a level in cynic. was it all a lie? adult fear. arc symbol. at the crossroads. being good sucks. birds of a feather. easy amnesia. damsel out of distress. play-along prisoner. the sacred darkness. light is not good. light/darkness juxtaposition. didn’t think this through. the end of the beginning. freudian excuse. if we get through this. i just want to be normal. no place for me there. nurture over nature. parental abandonment. quest for identity. magnificent bastard. death faked for you.
INSPIRATIONS : achilles (greek mythology). tony stark (mcu). theon greyjoy (game of thrones). bronn (game of thrones). hypnos (greek god). marc antony (history). the kuragina siblings (war and peace). felix yusupov (history). bolsheviks (history). alexander bogdanov (history). the beast (fable). anton chekhov (history). anna akhmatova (history). jamie fraser (literature). anastasia (history). cesare borgia (history). abstergo (assassin’s creed). javert (les mis). nature reclaiming old buildings. haunted houses. house of mirrors. draco malfoy (harry potter). geralt of rivia (the witcher). the scent of blood. the feeling of being watched. “run” by snow patrol.
MBTI : esfp-t (the entertainer).
ENNEAGRAM : type-8 (the challenger).
HABITS : paying no mind to others, excessive drinking, focusing on negative things.
HOBBIES : gambling, dancing, wrestling, soccer, archery, gossiping. listening to songs and music, praying three times a day. spying ??? he just likes listening in on conversations of others lmao.
USUAL DEMEANOR : at first glance, he’s beyond pristine. alexeis prefers to wear light colors which, in combination with the same beauty all of the trubetskaya children inherited, lends him a warm, somewhat welcoming presence. but make no mistake: alexeis is only what he wants to be and when it suits him to be just that. his demeanour changes easily and is continuously adjusted when the situation demands it. call him a little rough around the edges. it’s probably the best way to describe this man.
HEALTH.
PHYSICAL AILMENTS : muscular dystrophy which he developed after his years in captivity. chronic pain is experienced most commonly around the area of both wrists and ankles. sustained head injuries during his time as a soldier which contribute to his headaches and migraines. despite his weakened physical state, he remains very stubborn about keeping up with a ridiculous training schedule and diet to get his body back into shape.
NEUROLOGICAL CONDITION : full-on amnesia: he doesn’t remember names and faces, only voices! hints of a bipolar disorder (the risk of which he inherited). narcolepsy. prone to headaches and migraines which usually ends in alexeis shutting himself off in his rooms. he still experiences sleep paralysis and sleep terror though these have worn off in their intensity in the past year. bouts of depression plague him regularly but he remains tight-lipped about such issues. his dreams (read: nightmares) usually focus on the root of his problems, aka his time as a prisoner and the ensuing trauma.
PHOBIAS : agateophobia — the fear of insanity. on his worst days, he thinks that is what must be happening to him.
ALLERGIES : none he’s aware of at present.
SLEEPING HABITS : sometimes he sleeps through days on end but will then go weeks without needing rest at all whatsoever. his sleeping habits are messy and follow no specific pattern but he’s consistent with his need to rest in his own rooms. he cannot fall asleep in another’s rooms, which to his dismay includes even his sister’s apartments.
SOCIABILITY : it really depends on the day and his mood. sometimes he wants to charm the pants off a person but then he finds even the sound of someone breathing next to him irritating. he’s hard to pinpoint and can easily switch from utter delight to fierce anger in a matter of seconds yet he prefers for others not to know of his moods. disliking the social etiquette forced on nobility, he will sometimes blatantly ignore titles and proper terms of addresses. generally the kind of person who displays very little respect or courtesy, alexeis has no wish to curb his sharp tongue for another’s sake and enjoys a battle of wits. in moments when he’s unsure what to do, he usually submits to following another’s lead.
ADDICTIONS : unbeknownst to most, he used to rely heavily on opioids. it was a habit he picked up during his time as a soldier which ultimately got him through the days as time passed by. after he was captured and no longer had access to sustain his addiction, months of withdrawal followed and were accompanied by painful symptoms. to this day, this is something he chooses not to speak of as the people who knew him pre-war/captivity remain unaware of his dependency. he’s very ashamed of it and aware he’s vulnerable to falling victim to it again since the temptation is always there, lurking in the back of his mind.
his palms were clammy as he awaited the announcement of his presence.
(alexeis remembered the gentle touch of a younger child’s hand and blonde, tousled locks splayed across the pillow. he remembered the laughter, carefree and bold as though nothing could harm her. beyond that, he remembered nothing.)
what would she think when she saw him? what would she do? his heart could not — would not survive her rejection. if king diebold’s spies told the truth, alexeis had no more family left other than irina. could she forgive his long absence? would she embrace him as the brother he hoped to be, the last remaining link to a family which no longer was?
the doors opened and he straightened himself. this was no time for his mind to play games on him. (but oh, how fearful he was. how little reassurance his thoughts had to offer.)
“сестра.” his gaze met hers, a torrent of yearning and fear darkening his blue eyes as he caught sight of her for the first time in long fifteen years: no more a child but a woman now. he swallowed, his throat tightening in a strange mix of emotions as he stepped into the room, fully mesmerized by the sight of her who the spies had called his younger sister. why don’t i remember? who have you become since i last saw you?
licking his lips, he stepped closer until he stood in front of her, examining her features with a hunger that was foreign even to him. “do you remember me?”
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