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.
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The hallway did nothing to ease Dimitri's mind as he searched for the grand staircase. It was filled with pictures of a young, smiling, childish Anastasia; of a happier time in Russia. Her wide eyes stared at him from the black and white photos, large and innocent. The pictures reminded Dimitri of that fateful winter ball the Romanovs had had the year Rasputin had shown his true colours. He remembered how Anastasia had been dancing with her father, Nicholas, the Czar of Imperial Russia, and how both she and her grandmother hadn't noticed when he had been pulled out of the hall by one of the servants and roughly thrown towards the kitchen. Dimitri shook his head to clear his mind of these thoughts. It was no use to remember them. He was glad he was out of the kitchen, even if he wasn't out on the dance floor with Anya.
There, at the end of the hall, was a slightly larger picture, a rough sketch, hand drawn. Anya was dressed in a regal gown, bringing out her blue eyes and setting off her wavy auburn hair. Her smile was bright with laughter, and she seemed to be looking at him warmly through the paper. She looked glorious, every inch of her the Princess Anastasia. Dimitri looked away before he did something drastic and turned the corner rather swiftly, resuming his search for the stairs.
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Anya trudged up the stairs in her new coronation ball gown. She knew princesses weren't supposed to trudge, and she couldn't ignore the disapproving look the guard at the bottom of the stairs had given her, but she could care less. The ball was in a few short hours, and ever since dawn's first light she had been prodded and measured and squeezed and fitted and directed until she thought she would go insane. Vlad and Dimitri had been easy compared with Grandmama. Sure Vlad had tested her nearly every five minutes and had seen to it that she memorized the entire Romanov family tree, but learning the names and family history of the entire Russian court would have been easier than standing on a stool, unmoving, barely breathing, for three hours. Not to mention being spoken to in French, a language she didn't even understand one word of, or Russian so heavily accented that she could barely understand it. While Vlad and Dimitri had tried to teach her high class table manners, it had been a lot easier learning with them, where you could laugh if you did something wrong, than with twenty servants and tutors and tailors and painters and guards and Grandmama breathing down your neck and correcting every wobble of a plate, every un-extended pinky, and every slurped spoonful, with pursed lips, furrowed foreheads, and grim expressions. And during every boring lecture with Vlad there had at least been Dimitri there to joke and bicker with . . . Dimitri . . .
Just the thought of that man could make her want to scream-but princesses don't scream. They never scream. They are always cool and collected. Anya ground her teeth together and climbed the next step. Dimitri. He had been using her in his con to get the Dowager Empress Marie's-Grandmama's-money. He had taught her how to be regal and act regal and look regal and sound regal. He had used her from the very beginning, never mentioning that odious reward. She had actually believed that he thought she was Anastasia, and all that time he had been lying . . . But could he really have been all that bad? They had been through so much together. Could he actually turn away from all that-from her-just for ten million rubles? Anya had thought there was something between the two of them. Sure they had fought often at the beginning of the journey, but by the end . . . by the end they had been waltzing and holding hands and sharing secret smiles and soft looks . . . Anya had thought she had fallen in love with him, but it had probably been part of his ploy from the very beginning. Oh, Dimitri! she thought, desperately.
As if he had heard her, Dimitri suddenly appeared at the top of the grand staircase and started walking down. He looked well, in a nice, if somewhat worn-looking suit. A few dark curls spilled over his forehead into his eyes. Anya couldn't breathe. What was he doing here? Oh, she thought, with a sinking heart, he probably just came for the reward money.
Dimitri tossed his head to rid his face of the curls dangling in his eyes, thinking he'd get a haircut as soon as he left the building, when he caught sight of Anya. He had to stop walking in order to not fall down the stairs in shock. Oh, God, he thought. Sure he had fantasized about seeing her one last time, before he left for St. Petersburg, but he hadn't really thought about it actually happening in reality. Anya was standing in front of him, staring wide-eyed at his face. She was dressed up in a beautiful gown, gold and pink and blue, full-skirted and perfectly elegant. Her hair was up from her face and her brilliant silver crown caught the light from the chandeliers, nearly blinding him. Dimitri's hands lay slack at his sides.
She didn't know how long they stood like this, staring at one another. Anya had to fight her first impulse much more than she thought she would have to-which was throwing herself in his arms and telling him how much she loved him. Of course, if she did that he'd probably give her a strange look and run out the door and the guard at the bottom of the stairs would lock her up in an asylum and Grandmama would think she was crazy.
Drawing herself up to her full regal height, and putting on a very false show of confidence, Anya greeted him rather coldly. "Hello, Dimitri."
"Hello," he answered, his eyes fixed on her face. She couldn't read his expression at all. He had a very thick mask on, hiding his emotions.
They paused for a moment, both not knowing what to say; a rather awkward silence settling in. Then,
"Did you collect your reward?" Anya asked, raising her chin.
How was he to answer this one? He couldn't tell her right out that he hadn't taken the money; she would want to know why. If he knew Anya, she wouldn't stop badgering him with stubborn questions until he told her. And he couldn't tell her why. He had made a promise to stay out of her life forever and if he admitted his feelings for her . . .
"My . . ." Dimitri cleared his throat, searching. "My . . . business is complete . . ."
Their struggling conversation that was floundering about in tension, unasked questions, and unrevealed feelings was interrupted. "Young man," the guard from the bottom of the stairs called up to Dimitri, "you will bow, and address the Princess as 'Your Highness.'"
Anya tried not to wince. That was the last thing she wanted. Dimitri might be her subject, but he was still Dimitri . . . the man that she-
Uncomfortably, she told the guard, "No, that's not necess-"
Dimitri raised his hand to stop her mid-word. He didn't want to, but if he was giving up the reward money and his love for her, he'd better get used to it. "Please, Your Highness," he said, bowing. "I'm glad you found what you were looking for."
Anya tried very hard not to grimace when he bowed. Oh, she didn't want him to have to bow to her! Not Dimitri . . . Had she found what she was looking for? Of course she had! She had found Grandmama; this was where she belonged. She had found her home . . . Somewhat coldly, she replied, "Yes. I'm glad you did too."
Struggling not to let out a bitter snort, Dimitri nodded. He hadn't found what he was looking for . . . or rather, he had found it, and then lost it. "Well, then . . ." Dimitri shrugged and walked past Anya down the stairs.
She couldn't help it. If that was all he was going to say . . . ! "Enjoy your fortune!" she harshly called after him.
Dimitri stopped, and spun around. Oh, how he'd like to tell her! It was eating him up from the inside. His 'fortune,' indeed! Restraining himself, he said, "Goodbye . . . Your Highness." He bowed again and quickly strode out the door before he could correct himself and call her Anya. He wished she would sprint down the stairs after him in pursuit, but all he heard was the door banging shut behind him.
Swallowing a lump in her throat, Anya stared after Dimitri's retreating figure, knowing she'd never see him again. Softly, to herself, she whispered, struggling not to cry, "Goodbye . . ."
Disclaimer: I don't own Anastasia or any other characters in this movie.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The hallway did nothing to ease Dimitri's mind as he searched for the grand staircase. It was filled with pictures of a young, smiling, childish Anastasia; of a happier time in Russia. Her wide eyes stared at him from the black and white photos, large and innocent. The pictures reminded Dimitri of that fateful winter ball the Romanovs had had the year Rasputin had shown his true colours. He remembered how Anastasia had been dancing with her father, Nicholas, the Czar of Imperial Russia, and how both she and her grandmother hadn't noticed when he had been pulled out of the hall by one of the servants and roughly thrown towards the kitchen. Dimitri shook his head to clear his mind of these thoughts. It was no use to remember them. He was glad he was out of the kitchen, even if he wasn't out on the dance floor with Anya.
There, at the end of the hall, was a slightly larger picture, a rough sketch, hand drawn. Anya was dressed in a regal gown, bringing out her blue eyes and setting off her wavy auburn hair. Her smile was bright with laughter, and she seemed to be looking at him warmly through the paper. She looked glorious, every inch of her the Princess Anastasia. Dimitri looked away before he did something drastic and turned the corner rather swiftly, resuming his search for the stairs.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Anya trudged up the stairs in her new coronation ball gown. She knew princesses weren't supposed to trudge, and she couldn't ignore the disapproving look the guard at the bottom of the stairs had given her, but she could care less. The ball was in a few short hours, and ever since dawn's first light she had been prodded and measured and squeezed and fitted and directed until she thought she would go insane. Vlad and Dimitri had been easy compared with Grandmama. Sure Vlad had tested her nearly every five minutes and had seen to it that she memorized the entire Romanov family tree, but learning the names and family history of the entire Russian court would have been easier than standing on a stool, unmoving, barely breathing, for three hours. Not to mention being spoken to in French, a language she didn't even understand one word of, or Russian so heavily accented that she could barely understand it. While Vlad and Dimitri had tried to teach her high class table manners, it had been a lot easier learning with them, where you could laugh if you did something wrong, than with twenty servants and tutors and tailors and painters and guards and Grandmama breathing down your neck and correcting every wobble of a plate, every un-extended pinky, and every slurped spoonful, with pursed lips, furrowed foreheads, and grim expressions. And during every boring lecture with Vlad there had at least been Dimitri there to joke and bicker with . . . Dimitri . . .
Just the thought of that man could make her want to scream-but princesses don't scream. They never scream. They are always cool and collected. Anya ground her teeth together and climbed the next step. Dimitri. He had been using her in his con to get the Dowager Empress Marie's-Grandmama's-money. He had taught her how to be regal and act regal and look regal and sound regal. He had used her from the very beginning, never mentioning that odious reward. She had actually believed that he thought she was Anastasia, and all that time he had been lying . . . But could he really have been all that bad? They had been through so much together. Could he actually turn away from all that-from her-just for ten million rubles? Anya had thought there was something between the two of them. Sure they had fought often at the beginning of the journey, but by the end . . . by the end they had been waltzing and holding hands and sharing secret smiles and soft looks . . . Anya had thought she had fallen in love with him, but it had probably been part of his ploy from the very beginning. Oh, Dimitri! she thought, desperately.
As if he had heard her, Dimitri suddenly appeared at the top of the grand staircase and started walking down. He looked well, in a nice, if somewhat worn-looking suit. A few dark curls spilled over his forehead into his eyes. Anya couldn't breathe. What was he doing here? Oh, she thought, with a sinking heart, he probably just came for the reward money.
Dimitri tossed his head to rid his face of the curls dangling in his eyes, thinking he'd get a haircut as soon as he left the building, when he caught sight of Anya. He had to stop walking in order to not fall down the stairs in shock. Oh, God, he thought. Sure he had fantasized about seeing her one last time, before he left for St. Petersburg, but he hadn't really thought about it actually happening in reality. Anya was standing in front of him, staring wide-eyed at his face. She was dressed up in a beautiful gown, gold and pink and blue, full-skirted and perfectly elegant. Her hair was up from her face and her brilliant silver crown caught the light from the chandeliers, nearly blinding him. Dimitri's hands lay slack at his sides.
She didn't know how long they stood like this, staring at one another. Anya had to fight her first impulse much more than she thought she would have to-which was throwing herself in his arms and telling him how much she loved him. Of course, if she did that he'd probably give her a strange look and run out the door and the guard at the bottom of the stairs would lock her up in an asylum and Grandmama would think she was crazy.
Drawing herself up to her full regal height, and putting on a very false show of confidence, Anya greeted him rather coldly. "Hello, Dimitri."
"Hello," he answered, his eyes fixed on her face. She couldn't read his expression at all. He had a very thick mask on, hiding his emotions.
They paused for a moment, both not knowing what to say; a rather awkward silence settling in. Then,
"Did you collect your reward?" Anya asked, raising her chin.
How was he to answer this one? He couldn't tell her right out that he hadn't taken the money; she would want to know why. If he knew Anya, she wouldn't stop badgering him with stubborn questions until he told her. And he couldn't tell her why. He had made a promise to stay out of her life forever and if he admitted his feelings for her . . .
"My . . ." Dimitri cleared his throat, searching. "My . . . business is complete . . ."
Their struggling conversation that was floundering about in tension, unasked questions, and unrevealed feelings was interrupted. "Young man," the guard from the bottom of the stairs called up to Dimitri, "you will bow, and address the Princess as 'Your Highness.'"
Anya tried not to wince. That was the last thing she wanted. Dimitri might be her subject, but he was still Dimitri . . . the man that she-
Uncomfortably, she told the guard, "No, that's not necess-"
Dimitri raised his hand to stop her mid-word. He didn't want to, but if he was giving up the reward money and his love for her, he'd better get used to it. "Please, Your Highness," he said, bowing. "I'm glad you found what you were looking for."
Anya tried very hard not to grimace when he bowed. Oh, she didn't want him to have to bow to her! Not Dimitri . . . Had she found what she was looking for? Of course she had! She had found Grandmama; this was where she belonged. She had found her home . . . Somewhat coldly, she replied, "Yes. I'm glad you did too."
Struggling not to let out a bitter snort, Dimitri nodded. He hadn't found what he was looking for . . . or rather, he had found it, and then lost it. "Well, then . . ." Dimitri shrugged and walked past Anya down the stairs.
She couldn't help it. If that was all he was going to say . . . ! "Enjoy your fortune!" she harshly called after him.
Dimitri stopped, and spun around. Oh, how he'd like to tell her! It was eating him up from the inside. His 'fortune,' indeed! Restraining himself, he said, "Goodbye . . . Your Highness." He bowed again and quickly strode out the door before he could correct himself and call her Anya. He wished she would sprint down the stairs after him in pursuit, but all he heard was the door banging shut behind him.
Swallowing a lump in her throat, Anya stared after Dimitri's retreating figure, knowing she'd never see him again. Softly, to herself, she whispered, struggling not to cry, "Goodbye . . ."