The Last Romanov (Under Editing)

From the Brink

Anastasia loved Livadia.

Then again, how could anybody not love that place? It was warm, there, the air thick with salt from the ocean. Everyone was always happier, there, too. Mama smiled, her sisters laughed with one another; even Alexei could join in with them, when he was feeling well. And, every once and awhile, Grandmere would visit them. She would tell stories from Paris, promise to take all her granddaughters there for their respective sixteenth birthdays. Olga and Tatiana had both been, of course, and they were fond of rubbing that in hers and Maria's faces. Maria, though, would go, soon: she would be turning sixteen, that year. Meaning that Anastasia would soon be the only Romanov girl to have not visited the city.

"When do I get to go to Paris, Grandmere?" Anastasia pouted after hearing Maria and Grandmere discuss their plans for Paris. Despite the fact that she already knew the answer to that question.

"You know the rules, Nastya," Olga said. Prim and proper, as per usual. Anastasia wished that she could be less bossy while they were in Livadia: it would have made the place the most perfect place on earth. "Not until your sixteen."

"But that's two years from now," Anastasia protested. "I can't be the only one to not go!"

Olga and Tatiana, the two proper Grand Duchesses, rolled their eyes, annoyed at her constant questions. Grandmere, though, just smiled. And as far as Anastasia cared, it was her opinion that really, truly mattered: unlike Olga and Tatiana, she wasn't a butt-face.

"You won't be the only one not to go, Nastya," Grandmere said with a smile. "You'll get your turn, just like your other sisters. I promise."

"But what about the war?" Anastasia asked. "Papa says that we might not even be able to come here all the time. What if I can't come to Paris with all the fighting?"

Worry flashed on Grandmere's face, so quickly, she almost didn't see it.

"You don't have to worry about that," Grandmere said, back to smiling. "I won't let some fighting with Germany get in the way of me giving you a good sixteenth birthday."

Anastasia was still frowning. "Do you promise, Grandmere? Cross your heart and hope to die?"

"Of course," Grandmere said, crossing her finger over her heart. "I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die."

Anastasia woke up in the hospital with an all too familiar ache.

She'd prayed just about every day since that awful night in 1918 that she would never feel it, again. And yet... there she was. She was in a hospital, again, on the mend from a bullet wound. When she opened her eyes, she'd half expected to even see the Czech doctors that had been there before looming over her, shocked at the girl that lay before them. But, they weren't there. Instead, it was just Grandmere, who was working on her needlepoint, and a nurse who was digging through one of the cupboards.

Anastasia slowly turned her head. You won't be the only one to not go to Paris, Nastya. I promise.

I promise.

Look at how much things had changed since then. How many promises had been made and broken. Since her biggest concern was whether or not she would get to go to Paris like her sisters did.

She wished she could go back to those days.

Grandmere looked up at her and smiled when she saw that she was awake. That same smile she'd always had. And for that moment, she felt like her Grandmere was back.

Anastasia tried to smile. She felt like she was going to cry, but she blinked back the tears. She couldn't let that nurse see her vulnerable. In fact, she wasn't even sure that she could let Grandmere see her vulnerable. She had to be strong. Strong, like dad.

Strong like dad.

Then again, had dad ever been strong? Would he have abdicated if he were really strong?

Catharine the Great, then. Or Olga of Kiev. Those two were two of the most powerful rulers in all of Russian history. She had to be strong, like they were. She doubted that they would've cried in front of their nurses and their grandmothers.

Grandmere set her needlepoint down and stood up, coming over to her side as the nurse looked over at her. "How do you feel, Nastya?"

Anastasia shook her head. "Not good."

"Are you in pain, your grace?" the nurse asked. "We haven't given you that much morphine; I can get you more if you need it."

Anastasia shook her head, again. "No need. Save the morphine for the people that need it more."

The nurse did a slight bow. "Of course, your grace."

She left, leaving her alone with her grandmother.

"Nastya, I know that routine: your grandfather and your father did the same thing," grandmere said. "Did you say that to the nurse for political reasons, or do you really not need more medical attention?"

"No," Anastasia lied. "I feel fine: really."

Grandmere gave her a look. She knew full well that she was lying; she always had.

"You don't always need to be some strong, infallible being," Grandmere said. "Sometimes, it's good for the people to see you as human."

Anastasia didn't say so, but she knew for a fact that that wasn't true. Why was Grandmere telling her that? She should've known better than anybody that showing weakness to the Russian people was a quick way to get disposed: she'd seen it happen to her husband and her son. Why was she trying to tell her otherwise?

"I... don't know about that," Anastasia said. "It seems like the second the people see the Czar as a normal person, they remove them from power."

Grandmere looked down at her hands, sad. "I... suppose that's true."

The two of them were quiet for a few seconds.

"Nastya, I'm... sorry," Grandmere said quietly.

Anastasia frowned. "Sorry? For what?"

"That you never got to be a teenager," Grandmere said. "You shouldn't have to do all of this: you should be flirting with boys, rebelling against your parents. You never should've gotten the weight of the world on your shoulders while you were so young."

Grandmere began to wring out the skirts of her dress, anxious. "Your father ended up with a lot of responsibility at a young age, too. And it tore him apart."

Anastasia could feel tears welling up in her eyes.

"Promise me that... you won't let it tear you apart, too," Grandmere said.

Promise. That word didn't have much meaning to her, anymore. Papa had promised her that everything was going to be okay. Grandmere had promised that she would be able to visit Paris. Neither of those had ended up happening. What good was a promise when nobody bothered to keep them?

"I... promise," Anastasia finally said. "I promise, Grandmere."

She hoped that she could keep that promise.

Before they could say anything else, the door creaked open, and one of the doctors poked his head in. "Your grace, you have a visitor."

A visitor?

"Who is it?"

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Hello, one and all! A nice, short chapter for you guys, today. Don't worry: you've got more substantial things coming your way :D

I don't really have any items of business, so we're going to get straight to the dedication. Today, this one goes out to one of my fabulous readers, lenemm19 ! She's also got some stories of her own, so be sure to check them out if they strike your fancy. Thanks for your support, mate :D

As always, be sure to vote and comment, and we'll see you next week with another exciting update of "The Last Romanov" :D