Author's Note: This is just a few ending scenes from the movie Anastasia,
rewritten by me. I used the script from the movie version (1997), and the
1995 version too. I love this movie, but I personally think that Rasputin,
the 'bad guy' could have been left out of the movie entirely and it would
have been just fine.
Disclaimer: I don't own Anastasia or any other characters in this movie.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dimitri stood nervously in the study, awaiting the Dowager Empress Marie. The thick oak desk and dark book shelves were imposing in their clean, dustless, way. Velvet emerald curtains were pulled back from the large glass windows, revealing a street of Paris. People were coming and going, and the occasional French phrase drifted up to where Dimitri stood. He tossed his hair out of his dark eyes and stuffed his hands deep in his pockets, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
Why had he come here, to this large, grand house? Dimitri knew exactly what the Dowager Empress had called him for. And he knew what his response would be . . . Perhaps, though he knew it was futile, he'd come just to have one last look at Anya-er, Anastasia. Dimitri swallowed and took a shuddering breath. Anya . . . the stubborn, tomboyish, quick-witted, beautiful woman he had fallen for, and fallen for hard. The only catch was that she was the long last heir to the Russian throne, Anastasia Romanov, and he, Dimitri, was a worthless peasant who had lost her trust by using her in a con. A con which he wasn't even intending in going through with anymore-and it wasn't really a con, because Anya had actually turned out to be the Princess Anastasia. As he'd said before to Vladimir, a former aristocrat from the Russian court who had helped him in the 'con,' princesses never married worthless kitchen boys. No, he'd promised the Dowager Empress that if she saw Anya, he would stay out of both of their lives forever. There was no use harboring these romantic thoughts about Her Serene Majesty, Princess Anastasia. He'd leave her to be happy with her grandmother and new-found title and long-lost home while he didn't accept the reward money and lost any chance of romance that he might have had with her.
The richly carved doors leading to the study opened suddenly, and there stood the Dowager Empress herself. She looked years younger than when Dimitri had seen her last night. It seemed that the finding of her precious granddaughter had sprung a great change through her. The doors closed behind her and she brought out a large valise, which she set on her desk and commenced opening.
"You sent for me, Your Grace?" Dimitri asked stiffly, staring at the wall. He couldn't bring himself to look at her, least he break down and she see the emotions barely hidden in his face.
"Yes," she replied, straightening up and casting her critical eye over him. Dimitri winced. He was wearing his best suit next to the one he had worn last night at the opera, but he knew this one was not even worth comparing to the other. He could feel the rough seams and the hole in the left jacket pocket burning against him. Dimitri's face grew warm.
"I owe you a debt larger than I could ever repay," Empress Marie said. "I want you to have the reward money: ten million rubles, as promised . . . and the very deep, heartfelt gratitude of an old woman." She clicked open the valise and Dimitri saw that it was full of money.
He nodded in response. "I accept your gratitude, Your Highness. But I . . ." Dimitri cleared his throat awkwardly, looking at his shoes, "I don't want the money. I-I just came to tell you that I'm sorry for any distress I may have caused last night. I hope you know it was necessary . . ." he trailed off, not knowing what else to say. It was much easier than he had thought, to refuse the reward money.
The Empress looked at him thoughtfully, grimacing more than smiling. "What do you want, then?" she asked softly.
Taken aback, Dimitri had no idea what to say. This was not at all the reaction he had thought she would have. Shaking his head sadly, Dimitri replied, with a painfully yearning, far off look in his eyes, "Unfortunately, nothing you can give." He bowed respectfully and started off to the door, still tense.
"Young man," Empress Marie called after him, stopping Dimitri in his tracks. She paused for a moment, wondering whether she should ask him this next question that had been on her mind for some time. "Where did you ever get that music box?"
Dimitri had told her last night that he had worked in the palace as a boy, and she had laughed at him. Not knowing what to say, Dimitri stayed silent, still facing toward the door, longing to just go. He tossed his head to rid his face of the hair hanging in his eyes.
A look of recognition crossed her face and the Empress crossed the room to stand in front of him. "You were that boy . . ." she said, wonderingly.
"I should go-" Dimitri looked wildly at the door, but did not move.
For years Marie had wondered who that little kitchen boy had been, who had gotten them out of the winter palace through the servants' quarters, and here he was, full grown and not accepting a reward of ten million rubles for his trouble. He had risked his own life to save them years ago. He knew who they were, of course, but many other servants had too, and yet they had joined in with the riots, forgetting the kindness that Czar Nicholas had shown them; not thinking of their former master's family-his innocent children!-how they would have to bare this burden; would have to escape . . .
Marie circled Dimitri, thinking. "You were that boy, weren't you?" she asked. "The servant boy who got us out." She received no response from him. Why does he not want to be recognized? she wondered. "You saved her life, and mine. Then you restored her to me . . . and yet you want no reward?" Marie shook her head, unbelieving.
"Not anymore," he answered, voice seemingly strong, but Marie caught a slight tremble in it. A small hesitation, but it was there all the same. He raised his head suddenly. "Promise me she'll have a home." Dimitri remembered Anya's obsession over homes . . . how badly she'd wanted one.
"She does," the empress replied. What a strange thing to promise.
Dimitri struggled to keep his voice level. "And tell me she's happy." Oh, God, he had sounded like he was pleading with the Empress-but he was. He wanted Anya to be happy, he wanted it more than anything in the world . . . except perhaps, one other thing . . .
The Dowager Empress frowned. Happy? Was her Anastasia happy? She seemed so. Marie knew her granddaughter was happy to have found her; was happy to find what she'd been looking for since she was eight . . . but was it enough? Would she stay happy? Anastasia loved to talk about her family, and how life used to be; but she had seemed so glum when they had fitted her for her coronation gown. She was even having a hard time responding to the name Anastasia rather than that dreadfully common name she had come to Paris with: Anya. Empress Marie didn't know if she could honestly say that Anastasia was happy.
Not knowing what else to say, the Empress asked, changing the subject, "You say you used to want the reward? Why the change of mind?"
For the first time since she had entered the study, Dimitri looked her straight in the eye, not caring if the Dowager Empress sensed his nearly overwhelming emotions. "It was more of a change of heart." Empress Marie raised her eyebrows, but did not open her mouth. Dimitri averted his eyes again. "I must go." He bowed her, uncomfortable with what he had just said. "Your Grace."
Striding towards the door, Dimitri sighed, relieved the meeting was finally over. As he passed the Dowager Empress, he caught the unmistakable scent of peppermint . . . but he dismissed it from his mind and strode out the door, hoping the Dowager hadn't picked up on his last comment about his heart.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Please r/r! Thanks! This is my first Anastasia fic, so be nice, please!
Disclaimer: I don't own Anastasia or any other characters in this movie.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dimitri stood nervously in the study, awaiting the Dowager Empress Marie. The thick oak desk and dark book shelves were imposing in their clean, dustless, way. Velvet emerald curtains were pulled back from the large glass windows, revealing a street of Paris. People were coming and going, and the occasional French phrase drifted up to where Dimitri stood. He tossed his hair out of his dark eyes and stuffed his hands deep in his pockets, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
Why had he come here, to this large, grand house? Dimitri knew exactly what the Dowager Empress had called him for. And he knew what his response would be . . . Perhaps, though he knew it was futile, he'd come just to have one last look at Anya-er, Anastasia. Dimitri swallowed and took a shuddering breath. Anya . . . the stubborn, tomboyish, quick-witted, beautiful woman he had fallen for, and fallen for hard. The only catch was that she was the long last heir to the Russian throne, Anastasia Romanov, and he, Dimitri, was a worthless peasant who had lost her trust by using her in a con. A con which he wasn't even intending in going through with anymore-and it wasn't really a con, because Anya had actually turned out to be the Princess Anastasia. As he'd said before to Vladimir, a former aristocrat from the Russian court who had helped him in the 'con,' princesses never married worthless kitchen boys. No, he'd promised the Dowager Empress that if she saw Anya, he would stay out of both of their lives forever. There was no use harboring these romantic thoughts about Her Serene Majesty, Princess Anastasia. He'd leave her to be happy with her grandmother and new-found title and long-lost home while he didn't accept the reward money and lost any chance of romance that he might have had with her.
The richly carved doors leading to the study opened suddenly, and there stood the Dowager Empress herself. She looked years younger than when Dimitri had seen her last night. It seemed that the finding of her precious granddaughter had sprung a great change through her. The doors closed behind her and she brought out a large valise, which she set on her desk and commenced opening.
"You sent for me, Your Grace?" Dimitri asked stiffly, staring at the wall. He couldn't bring himself to look at her, least he break down and she see the emotions barely hidden in his face.
"Yes," she replied, straightening up and casting her critical eye over him. Dimitri winced. He was wearing his best suit next to the one he had worn last night at the opera, but he knew this one was not even worth comparing to the other. He could feel the rough seams and the hole in the left jacket pocket burning against him. Dimitri's face grew warm.
"I owe you a debt larger than I could ever repay," Empress Marie said. "I want you to have the reward money: ten million rubles, as promised . . . and the very deep, heartfelt gratitude of an old woman." She clicked open the valise and Dimitri saw that it was full of money.
He nodded in response. "I accept your gratitude, Your Highness. But I . . ." Dimitri cleared his throat awkwardly, looking at his shoes, "I don't want the money. I-I just came to tell you that I'm sorry for any distress I may have caused last night. I hope you know it was necessary . . ." he trailed off, not knowing what else to say. It was much easier than he had thought, to refuse the reward money.
The Empress looked at him thoughtfully, grimacing more than smiling. "What do you want, then?" she asked softly.
Taken aback, Dimitri had no idea what to say. This was not at all the reaction he had thought she would have. Shaking his head sadly, Dimitri replied, with a painfully yearning, far off look in his eyes, "Unfortunately, nothing you can give." He bowed respectfully and started off to the door, still tense.
"Young man," Empress Marie called after him, stopping Dimitri in his tracks. She paused for a moment, wondering whether she should ask him this next question that had been on her mind for some time. "Where did you ever get that music box?"
Dimitri had told her last night that he had worked in the palace as a boy, and she had laughed at him. Not knowing what to say, Dimitri stayed silent, still facing toward the door, longing to just go. He tossed his head to rid his face of the hair hanging in his eyes.
A look of recognition crossed her face and the Empress crossed the room to stand in front of him. "You were that boy . . ." she said, wonderingly.
"I should go-" Dimitri looked wildly at the door, but did not move.
For years Marie had wondered who that little kitchen boy had been, who had gotten them out of the winter palace through the servants' quarters, and here he was, full grown and not accepting a reward of ten million rubles for his trouble. He had risked his own life to save them years ago. He knew who they were, of course, but many other servants had too, and yet they had joined in with the riots, forgetting the kindness that Czar Nicholas had shown them; not thinking of their former master's family-his innocent children!-how they would have to bare this burden; would have to escape . . .
Marie circled Dimitri, thinking. "You were that boy, weren't you?" she asked. "The servant boy who got us out." She received no response from him. Why does he not want to be recognized? she wondered. "You saved her life, and mine. Then you restored her to me . . . and yet you want no reward?" Marie shook her head, unbelieving.
"Not anymore," he answered, voice seemingly strong, but Marie caught a slight tremble in it. A small hesitation, but it was there all the same. He raised his head suddenly. "Promise me she'll have a home." Dimitri remembered Anya's obsession over homes . . . how badly she'd wanted one.
"She does," the empress replied. What a strange thing to promise.
Dimitri struggled to keep his voice level. "And tell me she's happy." Oh, God, he had sounded like he was pleading with the Empress-but he was. He wanted Anya to be happy, he wanted it more than anything in the world . . . except perhaps, one other thing . . .
The Dowager Empress frowned. Happy? Was her Anastasia happy? She seemed so. Marie knew her granddaughter was happy to have found her; was happy to find what she'd been looking for since she was eight . . . but was it enough? Would she stay happy? Anastasia loved to talk about her family, and how life used to be; but she had seemed so glum when they had fitted her for her coronation gown. She was even having a hard time responding to the name Anastasia rather than that dreadfully common name she had come to Paris with: Anya. Empress Marie didn't know if she could honestly say that Anastasia was happy.
Not knowing what else to say, the Empress asked, changing the subject, "You say you used to want the reward? Why the change of mind?"
For the first time since she had entered the study, Dimitri looked her straight in the eye, not caring if the Dowager Empress sensed his nearly overwhelming emotions. "It was more of a change of heart." Empress Marie raised her eyebrows, but did not open her mouth. Dimitri averted his eyes again. "I must go." He bowed her, uncomfortable with what he had just said. "Your Grace."
Striding towards the door, Dimitri sighed, relieved the meeting was finally over. As he passed the Dowager Empress, he caught the unmistakable scent of peppermint . . . but he dismissed it from his mind and strode out the door, hoping the Dowager hadn't picked up on his last comment about his heart.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Please r/r! Thanks! This is my first Anastasia fic, so be nice, please!