November 1922 ✯ Copenhagen, Denmark
Disclaimer: My story isn’t meant to fully reflect real history or real people. It is a piece of alternative history, otherwise being fiction.
“Nastasia! H-How are you—fine, I hope?”
“Well, I’m preparing for a military campaign, I have to be fine,” she replied. Seeing his continued uncertainty, her eyes glared playfully in an obvious manner, “I’m fine, you dolthead. You really need to learn how cadence works.”
Weakly, Evgeny laughed, “Oh, oh that’s good then.” He looked to the side awkwardly, “I-I’m only here briefly—to say goodbye o-of course, since…”
“Right, Scotland! Honestly, I almost forgot about that.” Her eyes then widened, “Wait, you don’t mean to say that you have already said goodbye to Tanka, have you…?”
“No no, I-I actually just said goodbye to Olenka, lovely as always,” his cheeks turn slightly rosy, “but Tatiana is visiting me tomorrow for a more…‘personal’ goodbye.”
Suddenly, Anastasia leaned close to Evgeny. “I seeeee,” she giggled knowingly, “I do not get it, but I hope it goes well for you and Tanechka.”
“Thank you, uh–” he looks around the place slightly, “Is Maria Nikolaevna here by any chance? I have not seen her.”
“She’s still in Paris, though she’s supposed to be back. From what we heard, the trains are delayed. I will make sure to pass the message on to her when she comes back, I’m sure she would be very delighted.”
“Oh! Yes…” her tone changes ever so slightly in a manner that seems inconspicuous, “you know what—follow me.” As the two walk whilst presumably heading to where Alexei is, she begins to discuss. “Remember when we decided to put on a little home production of Hamlet just recently?”
“Of course I do, you stole a skull from me for it.”
“Come on, we needed ‘something’ for Yorrick’s skull!”
“I-It was a skull I used for MEDICAL SCHOOL–!”
Anastasia reasserts herself, “Anyway, it was a good production! Alexei made for a great Hamlet, so did Vanyon as Ophelia. The reason why we chose Hamlet is because it was set in Denmark and we wanted to pay the country some homage before we go, right?”
“It seems that choice of play has backfired, since nowadays Alexei is miserable. MISERABLE, I tell you!”
“Well, that’s what you get for doing Hamlet—it’s a tragedy, i-isn’t it?” When Anastasia Nikolaevna’s silent glare doesn’t respond, he asks a different question, “H-How is Alexei miserable, exactly?”
Smirking, the Grand Duchess suddenly flashes red, taking on Alexei’s form. “Oh I do not know, Evgeny, for I am just pondering!” she exclaimed dramatically, using his voice. “How could one go on like this? War, philosophy, religion…romance uh–” Anastasia paused and turned to him, “Is romance really that important?”
Ignoring the last part, Evgeny replies to her imitation of Alexei, “N-Nastya, please, you know this is a lot for him, even for you.”
A red shimmer spreads across her body as she sheds Alexei’s appearance and back to her own. She sighs, “I know, but I detest it when people are nervous before doing something important, because then they make me nervous and it makes me worry and I hate worrying!” Looking to the side, Anastasia adds, “I swear, Evgen, he is becoming more like Olga.”
Before he could answer, she shakes her head, “Nevermind all that. I’m just being selfish.” The two stop outside of the Tsar’s room. “Alyosha’s in his room playing the balalaika—can you hear it?”
Evgeny moves his ear close to the door…
“Плачет, плачет мать родная,
Плачут все, как один человек,
Злой рок и судьбу кляня!”
“He’s been playing that melody for God knows how long,” remarked the Grand Duchess. “It’s a little tiring to hear it over and over, but I don’t have the heart to scold him for it.”
“I would not get tired, it’s a lovely song. I’m quite nervous to knock and interrupt him, actually.”
She rolls her eyes but maintains a smile, “You men are such babies, you know that? Here–” Her fist raps on the door multiple times. “Alyosha!”
The singing stops, but not the strumming of the balalaika as a voice, not Alexei’s, answers back, “Who is it?”
“Evgeny Konstantinovich is here, he wants to talk to Alexei!”
Some muffled voices converse briefly before the door is opened by a tall, slender man with blonde hair and gold eyes—Vanyon, of course. He looks between Nastya and Evgen, then steps aside with polite courtesy, “I’ll leave you be.” Vanyon then walks away as if he was never present.
The half-moon’s glow seeps into the dark room. Still, it is not enough to make Alexei’s eyes look less darker than they actually are. But he doesn’t seem as mopey as his sister was making him out to be. Then again, Evgeny knows Alexei well enough to know that he has plenty of fronts.
“Hello, Evgen!” Alexei greets cheerily from an armchair he’s draped himself across, with a balalaika in his arms. Something about him which always stood out to Evgeny was that the current head of the House of Romanov always preferred to sit in the most abnormal of positions rather than what was proper, or ‘healthiest’ for the body. And yet Alexei still complains of pains afterwards…
Anastasia looks up at Evgen. “This must be our goodbye for now, isn’t it?”
“It m-must be,” he remarked. “I…I look forward to seeing you again in Petrograd when it’s all over.”
Hearing this makes Anastasia look to Alexei first, then back to the prince’s. She maintained a smile—a sad, yet hopeful one—and told the prince to, “Take care of yourself.” With that, she turns away from him and follows the direction Vanyon went.
Even when Evgeny finishes with, “The same to you, Anastasia Nikolaevna!” she doesn’t turn back.
He turns himself around to face Alexei again to see he’s looking at him expectantly and stops strumming the balalaika, sensing their own impending conversation.
Figuring out a way to start off, the prince begins with a stuttered, “You play the balalaika very well, Alexei Nikolaevich.”
Alexei looked down at his instrument bashfully and flung his hand in a motion, “Psht, don’t flatter me, Evgen. It’s more to keep my hands busy than anything.” Setting the balalaika aside, against the leg of his chair, he looks back up, “You play the piano for the same reason, no?”
“Y-Yes, I do, Alexei Nikolaevich,” Evgeny acknowledged, his voice softening even more than usual as his spectacled gaze shifts to the floor. “My brother…he used to play the piano a lot too when he still lived with us. He would play for hours, and sang so beautifully too. His mama would sit next to him on the bench, playing duets. It wasn’t his main passion, but you would never know that since he played so well,” his facial expression becomes more melancholic. “Our Papa used to drag my brother out for formal dinners to play for guests—patriotic songs, you know the sort. Naturally, he loathed it. My brother isn’t exactly the patriotic sort. Quite the opposite, actually…”
As his gaze drifted back upwards, voice trailing off into air, he saw the young Tsar staring intensely towards him with an unreadable expression. The air had turned thick with old memories of the past.
“Oh,” Evgeny quickly stumbles over his words, “Oh, forgive me!” His hands wave nervously in an apparent placating gesture, “I’m so, so sorry, Alexei! It’s not my place to ramble on and on about my life when uh, you have a very important job ahead of you! How inappropriate of me, I should–”
“Evgen, Evgen, please, I really don’t mind—” Alexei reassured, but the poor prince was already meekly attempting to shift the conversation.
“How is your leg? Is it feeling better?”
For his friend’s sake, he shifts the mood, “Ah, yes, it’s doing much better, thank you!” In an attempt to be discreet Alexei adds, “Honestly, it feels good as new. Perhaps…?”
The puppy dog look in his eyes makes Evgeny narrow his own slightly. “I-I’m going to tell Tatiana to make sure your cane is packed.”
The Tsar sighs, “Alas, I’m cursed with that stick.”
“‘That stick’ helps you walk, Alyosha,” he countered with a reassuring smile, “if anything it’s a miracle, not a curse.”
“Ugh, stop trying to flatter me!” Alexei covers his flushed face with his hands whilst forcing laughter.
Evgeny blinked nervously, “Uh, it wasn’t meant to, uh–!”
“ANYWAY less about me, more about you; I heard you’re ferrying off to Scotland. Tell me all about it!”
“Yes!” Evgeny Konstantinovich suddenly became quite enthusiastic, “Yes, yes, oh uh–! Well, I’m going to examine s-some recently discovered documents from the 18th century! It’s from the physician, Alastair Lusk. M-Much of his work about vampirism was thought to be lost, but oh thank god it hasn’t! There might be stuff we haven’t even considered about the disease before! My colleagues and I are very excited, I just wish Tanushka could be there with us, but I know her duties are elsewhere.”
“Oh, she—all of us, really—are so happy for you, Evgen.” Alexei then switched the language to English, “I hope your English is good, you’ve learned some of course, no?”
Evgeny nodded and replied using the language, “Of course, I-I have a decent grasp of it, I think.”
“Honestly, I just feel terribly guilty that we have to leave you behind for now,” Alexei frowned slightly, switching back to Russian, “I mean, I’d hate for you to deal with that wretched father of yours alone.”
“Don’t worry about me, Your Ma–” the prince pauses and corrects himself, “I MEAN—Alyosha!”
With a kind appreciativeness, Alexei remarks, “You even correct yourself before using my title, oh how sorely you’ll be missed the next few months…”
“Now I just think you are flattering me!”
“Because you deserve it, ura!”
“My priority is constructive criticism, thank you very much,” Alexei states, almost proudly.
Evgeny chuckled a bit. He stood up suddenly, prompting Alexei to do the same. “I can’t believe you’re actually…doing this.”
“Heh, I know, I cannot believe it either to be perfectly honest. I’m…nervous.”
“How could you not?” Evgeny then briefly became more serious and tells him, “Alyosha, promise me something. It’s obvious but I must say it.”
“Promise that you’ll protect Tatiana Nikolaevna, keep her out of harm and all,” he looks at Alexei intently, “I know she is perfectly capable of managing herself. She’s perfectly capable of everything and anything, frankly. But, the possibility—it keeps me up at night.”
Alexei matched his friend’s expression and nodded. “Evgeny, I would rather die than allow my sisters to die before me. Your promise will be kept, trust me.”
The tension drains from the prince’s face as Alexei steps forward and embraces the man. At first surprised by this gesture, Evgeny slowly returns the hug and the two hold it.
“I-I guess this is really our goodbye for now, my friend,” said Evgeny.
Laughing awkwardly, Alexei notes, “Emphasis on for now.” Stepping away from the hug, he continues, “Thank you, Evgen—for everything.”
“Heh, I was just doing what any physician would do. But, you, your family, have treated me so well, Alexei Nikolaevich. Much better than my family.”
“Forget those people. You are family to us, Evgen.”
The prince crossed his arms across his torso like he was trying to conceal the genuine emotion he felt in this moment. He forced a smile, sad but genuine, “I hope we reunite in Petrograd.”
His cheerful expression disappeared as suddenly as the sun does during an eclipse. The young man’s eyes drift downwards towards the wooden floor, pensive and knowing.
“Petrograd…” the Tsar says, his voice eerily low yet still. Slowly he shook his head, “No, no…no. I don’t think we will be meeting there.”
“W-What?” Anxiety began to swell within Evgeny’s chest. “What do you mean? Is there a change of plans or–?”
Just as abrupt as before, the atmosphere changes again when Alexei begins to laugh excessively.
“Don’t look so terrified, Evgeny Konstantinovich!” teased Alexei, his face returning to his gap-toothed grin. “Tatiana will let you in on what I am referring to.” He sits back down in the chair, shifting to drape his legs over the furniture’s arm, then reaches for and picks up his balalaika. “In the meantime, get some rest. As much as important things lie ahead for me, you have just as important things lined up for you and I’m not going to hold you back any longer.”
The prince took a step back. He wanted to ask more; what was that whole thing about? What was Tatiana going to tell him? What does this have to do with–?
He sighs, and looks at Alexei Nikolaevich for presumably the last time, at least for a couple months.
With all said and done, Evgeny stepped out and closed the door to the room.
Just as he turned around and began to pace away, Evgeny Konstantinovich could hear behind the closed doors, Alexei beginning to play the pained song again on the balalaika.
“Тихо вокруг, сопки покрыты мглой…”
dailybridgerton
yousharknotpass
tangentwithtanner
prguitarman
discoholicmusic
gracieabrams
andulkaphoto
