1927
He stood on the bridge staring down at the ice, forearms resting on the railing. In the summer, the water would run and babble, its sound mixing with the birds' songs and the trees and leaves rustling in the wind. For now, though, it was frozen solid, and the birds had gone south.
Nine years. Nine long years he had been waiting there. Years full of fear and uncertainty, bruises, and the bite of constant hunger to show for his efforts
Sometimes it felt like those years had passed in the blink of an eye. One moment he was nineteen years old, still innocent and full of hope, and in the next moment he was nearly thirty years old and alone. Other times it felt like those years had dragged on forever, until it felt as if a lifetime had passed. Sometimes, when he managed to catch sight of his reflection, he was surprised to see he wasn't middle aged.
He was still waiting.
Sometimes he didn't know for what. Certainly not Anastasia. Not anymore. And certainly not anyone else of the royal family. He knew, now, that they had all been dead for years, murdered in cold blood by the soldiers who had kept them captive. And if Anastasia was lucky, she was dead, too.
God, he hoped she was dead. He didn't care if that made him a terrible person.
He didn't care if he thought that the real tragedy would be if she was still alive, somewhere. There was nothing left for her. Her family was gone and had been for a long time. Her home had been gone for even longer. Most of the royal family's belongings had long since been stolen or looted, so she wouldn't even have the small comfort of familiar things. Really, all that remained was her old, broken music box, and even Dmitry knew that wasn't enough.
He'd thought about dropping it in the river a few times over the years but couldn't bring himself to do it. It was one of the few things that he had left of hers. It was proof that he hadn't somehow imagined all those years of serving the family. He'd wondered about that, too, over the years.
Snow had begun to fall, so Dmitry straightened up and left the bridge. He didn't want to be caught outside in a snowstorm. Besides, Vlad was probably waiting for him with whatever concoction he had managed to pull together. Meals with Vlad weren't always strictly edible, but it was a far sight better than starving to death.
He knew, he'd nearly done it a few times in his past. The most recent time he'd been tempted to just let it happen, but he couldn't do that to Vlad.
"There you are, m'boy!" the man roared when Dmitry arrived. His legs nearly gave way when the older man clapped him on the back, but he managed to steady himself.
"Here I am," Dmitry smirked. "With a whole two cans of beans." Vlad grinned as he took the cans from him and turned toward the fireplace.
"These will go well with the bread I managed to get," he said. "It's not the best, but there weren't many options today."
"Bread and beans? That's all?"
Vlad brandished a poker at him, looking stern. "Don't complain. We're lucky to have even this."
Dmitry huffed a sigh and slouched into an armchair, not bothering to remove his coat. He knew he was supposed to be grateful that they had anything at all to eat, but it was difficult when the government had been telling them for over a decade that things were going to be better, if they just gave them a little more time. He had to wonder how much longer they were expected to wait for all that they had been promised.
"How was work?" Vlad quipped from the fire.
Dmitry smirked. "Slow. Not much to show for it. Not a lot of people on the streets when it's this cold."
"Bah! You always say that," Vlad laughed. "Yet you still managed to get your hands on some beans."
Dmitry shrugged, but didn't respond. Vlad didn't have to know that he had only been able to afford one can, and that he had swiped the second when no one was looking. They both knew very well that it was survival of the fittest in St. Petersburg. Or, rather, Leningrad, as they'd renamed the city. As if Dmitry needed another reminder of who was behind the Romanovs' deaths.
"I'm not sure if you would have heard the rumors," Vlad said slowly. Dmitry bristled. He was used to Vlad trying to make conversation when he was in this kind of mood, but he had, in fact, heard what people were saying.
"It's not true," Dmitry said stiffly. He hoped that would put an end to the topic.
"You don't know that."
Dmitry huffed again, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. True, he didn't know it for sure. But it had been nearly ten years, and the only people who turned up claiming to be a Romanov were imposters. He'd seen a picture of the most famous imposter, some girl in Berlin, and he couldn't understand why people thought she might actually be one of the Grand Duchesses. And after so many imposters, Dmitry had stopped paying attention to them.
"Just hear me out-"
"No."
"Dmitry…."
He grudgingly met Vlad's eyes. He had the strangest look on his face, a mixture of pity, hope, and possibly a bit of mania. He knew Vlad knew he spent large part of his life with the Romanovs. He also knew Vlad didn't know what he was talking about.
"I know what you're going to say," Dmitry said, "and I don't think we should."
"But why not?" he asked.
"I can think of a million reasons why not," Dmitry muttered. "I'm sure you could too, if you thought about it for more than ten seconds."
Vlad visibly deflated, fixing Dmitry with a look before turning back to the fire. Dmitry bowed his head and sighed.
"I wasn't trying to be mean," he said. "I just think it's a bad idea."
"Life is full of bad ideas, my boy," Vlad sighed. "You might as well take advantage of one or two." He held out a few slices of bread and a small bowl of beans, which Dmitry accepted gratefully.
"I think I hit my quota of bad ideas by the time I was eleven," Dmitry said, earning him a smile from the older man.
"Well then, what's one more?"
Another shorter chapter, but I wanted to get it out quickly. Which actually brings me to a question I have for you guys: Would you rather I post shorter chapters, with the hope that I update more frequently? Or longer chapters with a somewhat unpredictable posting schedule? I think I could do either, and I wanted to get your opinions.
