#skyjci

- “Tree of Life,” Eavan Boland, The Lost Land

The ektenias had been intoned. The crowns had been held over Katya and her husband-to-be’s heads and then Ekaterina and Nikolai had been lead around three times around the Gospel. She was Princess Tverskaya now.

Prince Andrei Bolkonsky had stood stone-faced through the service, though his eyes had softened whenever his daughter had glanced his way, and he’d held Princess Sofiya’s hand in his almost the entire time. He wanted to weep, though from joy or sorrow, he couldn’t decide; perhaps it was both, and that annoyed him. The groom’s family was large and all of Andrei’s own children were there, as well as his sister and her family. The wedding feast and ball afterwards had grown quite boisterous. 

After watching Prince Tversky gaze fondly into Katya’s eyes and her sigh happily in return, Prince Andrei kissed Sonya’s hand and then stepped away towards a quieter corner of the ballroom for a brief respite from the festivities. He almost felt as if the party were mocking his loss, though he’d known this was coming for some years now. Still, it hadn’t quite prepared him. It should have. (Across the ballroom, Countess Bezukhova had watched her brother slip away with a look of sympathy, though he did not see it.) But how could he not be happy for his daughter? He was. He could not help the lines around his blue eyes crinkling as he caught sight of her laughing, twirling across the floor with her Nikolai. 

In January, Princess Marya was living in Moscow, in her father’s house on Vzdvizhenka Street, which was now hers. Her brother, his wife, and their two children were staying with her, for Prince Andrei was still recovering from his injuries at Borodino.

It was late when Tikhon entered her rooms and told her there was a visitor to see her. Her brother and his family had already gone to bed. Princess Marya asked who it was, and was told it was Count Bezukhov.

Prince Andrei had arrived in Moscow in the evening, and almost immediately his father had told him stories of Natalia Rostova’s abduction. The old prince’s voice had been animated and there had been a cheerful gleam in his eye, but Prince Andrei had gone to bed without any discussion of breaking his engagement to Sonya.

In the morning, he had called on Marya Dmitrievna’s house. Marya Dmitrievna had not received him; the butler had shown him into the drawing room without a word. There were footsteps moving around in the upstairs rooms; he heard the voice of Count Rostov in the hall, though he could not hear what was being said.

After a few minutes, Sonya entered the drawing room. Prince Andrei lowered his gaze and went up to her, then looked her in her face. He felt, looking at her, a settling weight of his duty towards her, but it did not feel like a burden; it was paired with a sense of relief that made the weight joyful. He reached for her hand and kissed it.

Prince Andrei and his wife had been visiting at Bald Hills for the first time since their marriage. Princess Marya was glad to see her brother and sister-in-law, but the old prince had called her to his study on the day of their arrival and made his feelings clear. The old prince was mockingly polite to Princess Sofiya, bitterly silent with Prince Andrei, and spoke cruelly to Princess Marya.

The betrothal had been sealed a month ago, but the wedding was not to be for another week. Princess Marya had went about life in the house on Vzdvizhenka Street much as she had been, or tried to. There was a luminous quality about her eyes and face that showed plainly her happiness. She had felt as if she ought to be embarassed about it, and had spoken very little to those who came to call.

When Pierre came to the house, to finalize things with Prince Andrei -- who was still recovering -- about the wedding or simply to speak with her or Princess Sofiya, Princess Marya could not affect the reserve she did with others. It was one of the days where Pierre had spoken long with Prince Andrei, and came across the two princesses in the drawing room.

Princess Marya looked up into his face when he entered the room. Greetings were exchanged between the three of them, but yet the princess' eyes did not leave his face. She hoped he would sit with her. "Is all well with André?" she asked instead. "If there is anything... anything that needs done..."

Men had came to take the coffin away. Princess Marya had not watched them go. Alpatych had written that he would personally bury it at Bald Hills, though the French had already overrun the countryside. Princess Marya had not wanted to reply to the letters that were arriving at Yaroslavl, but it was no longer only herself that relied on her. Her nephew needed to resume his lessons. The house on Vzdvizhenka Street needed to be looked after.

But it had been hard to prepare to leave. Princess Marya felt that she and Natasha had witnessed something that was to be shielded from outside contact, that only they two in the whole world could understand. So she had asked the Count and Countess if Natasha might come with her and her nephew to Moscow.