the tsardom @dmitryofrussia - Tumblr Blog

tsarevnascphia‌:

≠ — Her brothers words sent a chill down her spine. He had been born for power, and had been raised to be prepared for this, she had not. Knowing that Dmitry had the weight of his family’s lives and that of his countrymen’s lives on his shoulders was not a burden that she thought she could carry. Yet, hearing such an expression come from him made her demeanor turn grim. Rather than focus on such a thing, she turned her attention to his mention of his wife, shaking away the chill that seemed to be staying with her. “Yekaterina has a delightful disposition, I would not think it that difficult.” She mused with a small, tight lipped smile.

She had time. The relief that washed over her almost made her let out a laugh. She did not though, but she physically relaxed, her shoulders having grown tense. “I did not think you would send me away just like that, I may be an inconvenience a times, but I do like to think you regard me fondly.” She teased, her resolve slipping slightly.

“I hope such conversations go well, I would quite like to see how my betrothed reacts to Russia, and I would not like to go to France right away.” She paused then, lips pursed. “Have you met with any of them before?”

he had been bred for ruling, and though his fist might not be made of iron in the way his father’s was, the current tsar knew his duty and the duty of those around him. dmitry inclined his head. “she does indeed,” he remarked, slow to give compliments to anyone, let alone the wife he adored more than most. while the tsar knew his sisters often needed a gentler hand and he was willing to provide it, there were moments he became as unyielding as ice.

the strength of russia was not entirely dependent upon his sisters’ marriages, though the tsar knew that they would play a part. still, he knew his youngest sister well enough to know she would never be happy in france, away from all she knew. “sofya,” he began, his eyes meeting hers. “your marriage and my fondness for you are not mutually exclusive. if our father were still alive, you’d already have been married off.” and probably to somewhere she’d hate even more than france. “we have a duty; i have a duty to russia. your marriage will help to foster good relations and solidify alliances without relying on maximillian.” he supposed he did not expect her to know all of these things, however, and the tsar sighed.

“i have met with the king several times regarding alliances and military.” he had not, however, met the man he’d chosen for her to marry.

#p: sophia #sophia:1

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irinatrubetskaya‌:

the truth was that she did not speak to him as a woman should’ve. she ordered him, as if she were his wife or better; but that did not mean that she didn’t respect him. for sure, her respect was bone-deep and riddled her wildly - built and nurtured by the father who had sworn blood loyalty to the rurik dynasty once the late tsar saved his family’s necks.

“my son is well, he is fat and happy - he has strong blood within,” irina took to her boast with ease, eyes searching the tsar’s as if to coax the truth to him. he is your nephew, she’d say. he is of your blood; you must take care of him till yuri arrives or till pavel steps up to his promises. and yet, she does not say a word out loud - she only stares, telepathy a beg upon her mind as her hand stretches to touch the tsar’s arm. dear dmitry, he still had a long way to go to be as feared and respected as his father… but there was still time. and her father, as much as she hated him, had liked dmitry enough… slowly, her hand traces up his arm to the side of his face; as if to hold his features in one embrace. but she doesn’t linger for long, sh knows his heart is taken by his wife - the german who had taken the place of a russian beauty. damn yekaterina, dmitry shouldn’t have soiled his name with the western cultures.

“thank you, dmitry. i know i am safe as long as you are here,” unveiling herself as a flower did with the sun, her petals moving aside to expose her sweet nectar before she took a step away from him. “now your sisters join us, i thought i could offer my advice on how to use them to your advantage… they are bright and beautiful girls, they should be celebrated as russian beauties… do you think sophia’s betrothal to the third son of the late french king appropriate? of course, i only talk to you because i know them so well and.. after my experience with marriage, i dread what might come for them.”

a half-smile flitted across his face, genuine in its pleasure, at irina’s comment about her son, about the nephew that he had never been allowed to claim. “he is strong,” he agreed. “you must bring him to visit me more.” his eyes met irina’s, blue and honest, a flicker of light behind them that few were given the opportunity to see. “he may never call me uncle, but i would know him, would have irinei know his cousins.” the rurik dynasty, he knew, would be stronger together and he would rather irinei be a favored cousin – albeit a bastard – than one who would eventually attempt to usurp his cousins for the throne.

“no harm will come to a hair upon your head,” he promised her, the smile he bestowed upon irina genuine and small, more a flicker than anything else. “you and irinei will be protected. i promise you that and when yuri arrives, i will ensure he is tasked first and foremost with your protection.”

if another had questioned him, even in such a careful way, he might have reacted with anger. even with irina, he felt the familiar annoyance coursing through his veins, the reminder that many in russia found him incompetent, that they wished he was his father, cold and stoic, instead of the tsar who had shown a warmth few had not. “irina,” he said warningly, his eyes glinting as his head tilted to the side. “be careful with your words. i do nothing without thinking through potential consequences.” he knew she cared for his sisters, that yelena and sophia would be safe with irina; it was that knowledge that kept him from being offended and his smile was thin. “a third son is appropriate, because i plan to grant him lands in russia. francis can hardly pretend he needs louis for the succession when he has an heir and his next brother had one of his own.” dmitry thought his plot well thought out indeed. his nostrils flared. “but i am curious. what would you have me do with yelena? she cannot remain unmarried for long, especially not at her age.”

#p: irina #irina:2

duchessfriederike‌:

“Perhaps,” Friedi said. The dauphin would be a much sought-after husband, when he was old enough, though if the rumours of his health were to be believed, he would not make it so far. In any case, it seemed strange to be discussing such matters. Children younger than Tatianna had been betrothed, but that didn’t mean it sat any easier. “She is still so young. I am sure the perfect husband will reveal itself, in time.” She nodded her head slightly, thinking of the tsarevnas, both of which she called friend. “They will do well whatever you decide for them,” she spoke the words confidently. She had enough faith in the Ruriks to have utter conviction in her words. “I hope to visit as often as I can. I would hate to put a stop to my little trips.” Russia had been a wonderful escape when things with her father got to be too much, and that happened more often than she would care to admit.

he chuckled, knowing well that his wife would not be pleased if he allowed their eldest to go all the way to france. and yet, she would be a queen if that was to be the case. it was nothing to worry about now, however, and he took a sip from a goblet of wine that he held in his hand. “there is plenty of time to choose,” he agreed. “and plenty of time for alliances to change.” he would be surprised if he was still allied with the same countries he was currently, for there seemed to be a fracture on the precipice, something that would give before others were ready. it was why he was so careful with who he’d chosen for his sisters, wanting to ensure that they were protected, that they would not be taken from him, would not be used as leverage by other monarchs who did not have the moral compunctions he did. “let us hope you are able to do so with frequency. your cousins will miss you if you are not able to venture close-by.”

#p: friederike #friederike:1

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tsarevnaa‌:

for @dmitryofrussia location: dmitry’s reception room

it had been far too long since they last spoke to each other, and far too much had happened for it to remain so. switzerland was not nearly as merciful as it promised to be, keeping the tsarevna on edge with every new arrival. and how difficult it must be for her brother during these trying times. he, the tsar of russia, was responsible for ensuring peace for their land, to ensure its prosperity and further development. everything must be done for the good of russia.

and that included marrying off her daughters, sending them to foreign lands to strengthen the motherland. yelena was trained for it - to be a dutiful wife - but time had changed her. the prospect of a betrothal that excited the young tsarevna now frightened her to the core. and it was the tsar, her brother, that held her faith in his hands.

it was why she both dreaded and anticipated their meeting. sitting beside him now, she hoped they would discuss a myriad of topics, yet prayed dmitry would not entertain the topic of marriage.

❝ it has been quite a while, hasn’t it, брат мой? ❞ she said, a gentle smile adorning her features, ❝ how are you doing? ❞

dmitry could admit some surprise when he’d seen his sister waiting for him. he had little time for socializing these days, little time for peace even within the confines of his own rooms. most nights he barely saw his own children, so busy he was with ensuring peace, with negotiating his youngest sister’s marriage, with planning his eventual annexation of poland. but it was not that sister before him now and he inclined his head, giving yelena his full attention.

he felt guilt for not checking in on her earlier. yelena had been a prisoner in their own home, sheltered for her beauty, and it was only when dmitry had become the tsar that it had stopped. “it has been,” he remarked, leaning back in his chair. “i am about as well as can be expected. the days are long and i long for russia, not the frivolity the king of switzerland thinks the rest of the world covets. i have little time to spend with my children.” his jaw clenched, his countenance more annoyed than truly angry. he sighed, a relaxing his features. “how are you finding our hosts? is there anything you long for?”

#yelena:1 #p: yelena

tsarevnascphia‌:

≠ — Sophia had doubted that her brother would be able to put politics aside for the evening, but had had hopes. He was such a determined and hard working man, he deserved to have some sort of time as a respite, even if it was just a small occasion. He had, unfortunately, proved her right in her initial thoughts that he would focus mainly on his crown and the tasks that came with it, as opposed to the merriment that the wedding provided. The brunette hummed and shook her head as she offered him a fond, yet warm smile. “I am glad that my sister by law is happy to see her kin, a happy Tsarina makes for a happy Tsar.” She teased, before nodding thoughtfully. “I had not thought as much, but I had perhaps wished, as you do deserve a rest.” She stated, bringing her goblet up to her lips to take a sip.

As soon as her brothers brown eyes laid upon the rest of the room, she knew what was to come out of his mouth next. Her worries and the fears she had been holding onto the whole night would not be put to bed, they would be brought up and much to her dismay, she would have to talk about them. It felt as if her throat had dropped down into her stomach and she pursed her lips, her gaze flickering down to the floor. It had been a habit of hers as a child, to avoid eye contact when she was lying or upset, and unfortunately, ht was not a habit she had fallen easily out of.

“I think it is lovely, but it is not home.” Sofya stated, eyes darting to the wine she began to swirl around in her goblet. “I had not imagined I would be wed here, but if it must happen on Swiss soil, then it must.” There was no use in asking if her marriage to the French Prince must happen, for she knew well enough that it would happen whether or not she truly wanted it to. The marriage was an alliance, not one of pure passion and romance.

“Do you know when the ceremony will take place?” The question came out a little quieter than perhaps she had intended, her voice seeming shy and naive as she looked up at her older brother.

perhaps if he had not been worried about the violence, about the inaction of the other monarchs, he might have been more willing to put aside his political machinations, would have focused simply on the wedding of a favored niece instead of on what might come out of it. he chuckled, a strange sound coming from his lips in such a public setting. “it is not so difficult to keep yekaterina happy,” he finally replied, a teasing smile present on his face and in his eyes. she relished in the family of her birth and he could not fault her, not when she’d already proven her loyalty to russia, her loyalty to him. was that not what any man truly wanted? “i will rest when I’m home, when i do not need to worry that the lives of my kin will be taken while they sleep” he said simply, the words meant to dismiss the subject, his tone only slightly tinged in steel.

dmitry was a man who was well-used to getting his way. he had fought for it in years past, had learned under the tutelage of his father, and now that he’d held russia for several years as its own empire, he felt convinced that his whims should be catered to. it occurred very little to him that his sister might not like the match he’d made for her; he had spent weeks looking at all men who would be eligible and he thought that his sister might be happiest with a french husband; he had no intention of marrying her off to one of his brother-in-law’s bastards, at any rate.

switzerland was certainly not home and he shared his younger sister’s sentiment, though he did not verbalize his thoughts. “it seems prudent to do so when all of the families can be here.” his voice was gentler than it had been before and he looked over at sofya. “it will, of course, be blessed by our church upon our return home.” his lips quirked at the corners and he took a sip of his wine. “i plan to give your husband lands in russia; it is part of the discussions i mean to undertake with the french king – once he leaves his son’s bedside.” his eyes crinkled at the corners. “i do not intend to send you away sofya.” his wife was better at this.

“i do not. there are particulars i need to negotiate with king francis. i imagine maximillian will be there as well, since his natural son is to marry francis’ sister.”

#p: sophia #sophia:1

oncebely‌:

@dmitryofrussia !!

simeon knew he would have to meet with dmitry eventually. it hung over him until he thought of little else — the dear tsar of russia, the betrayer of his own men, the weak, frightened rurik… simeon took a breath and then another. he needed dmitry to believe little had changed between them; he needed to be a dead soldier come home with gratitude and grace. ( for what was home if not the one who ruled russia? ) differences that had begun long before simeon left for battle would need to be left at the door.

but, oh, how his hands shook as he entered the tsar’s reception room.

the world around him seemed to come in and out of focus, until all he could see was dmitry himself, seated and pleased as only a tsar could be. ( dmitry had forgotten the winter of russia; he had forgotten what it did to those who had grown up in its embrace. ) and simeon felt something stir in his chest, something that was not quite the burning hatred that came with irina trubetskaya.

a memory, settling into simeon with a flash of past and present: two boys, each serious and each trying to hide their smile, watching yuri make a fool of himself again.

his footsteps halted as he came to stand in front of dmitry rurik, and the memory faded. simeon did not trust his memories anymore. he trusted only this: the feel of soil filling his lungs, the taste of blood and blood and blood, the deepest understanding of death. the relief that came from revenge.

dmitry would suffer like all the rest, he would make certain of it.

“well,” simeon settled on, the sound rough and thick. “i am alive.”

it seemed strange, to hold court in a foreign country, but dmitry knew that there were disputes and hearings he needed to handle, even if he was not sitting in his palace in moscow. he’d heard of simeon’s return from the dead, that the man himself breathed air when all thought his body lost to the world, to the dirt and the earth.

the footsteps dmitry heard now said otherwise. they spoke of a man who had lived, a man who had survived, a man whose own existence had been lost to them. such a man was dangerous. the tsar’s face was blank, impenetrable, just as russia was, as russia would continue to be.

since he had spoken with irina, dmitry had wondered how to handle simeon’s return. they had been friends, once upon a time, even if the other man had seemingly preferred yuri as most did; dmitry had been a serious child, already aware of the responsibilities that would be his own upon ascending the throne. but still, simeon had been there through many of his life’s trials and dmitry was nothing if not loyal, even if he could not trust.

the tsar rose from the chair as if he rose from his own throne and carefully, deliberately, took steps toward the other man, clapping him on each shoulder. “you are that, old friend.” he pulled back, a smile playing around his lips. “and the world is better for it.” returning to his chair, he gestured for a servant to bring another for simeon.

“tell me,” he spoke softly, with the words of a friend but the tone of a tsar. he would not forget to put russia first, to know what was the truth before he made a judgment. “how on earth you came to be here, alive and well?”

#simeon:1 #p: simeon

irinatrubetskaya‌:

irina watched him, her feet bare upon polished oak as she stood before the tsar. she may see him as a gentle bear but she knew that fury was a trait that belonged to the rurik dynasty. she could see the scratch behind his eyes, power and heat waiting to be unleashed - it was something that stirs within irina too, but her’s as active and alight. perhaps he may learn something from her if he is to make a name for himself within the timelines of history.

“irinei cried the whole way, he is unsettled whatever the governess or i do,” irina answered, her feet carrying her across the space of his reception hall to reach the barred window that overlooked the castle.

who could she trust with her life? who would care for irina with unconditional love?

with her blonde hair fallen down her back, irina tapped the window to a tune unrecognisable to the naked ear; something she had heard within the darkness of her dreams. “no,” she answered, refusing to meet his hardened eyes. “there is no one, i wear my dagger by my thigh. i wear my ring hallowed with poison… i trust only myself with my life,” her head turned to meet his eye only after she exhaled with frustration. “dmitry,” she called, informality surely a blessing to two souls who had grown up alongside one another. irina may not have been a member of his family, but she was close enough to be valued. a mother to his not-so-secret nephew, a lover to his brother and a close confidante to the sisters too. “i am scared for my neck. my son’s too. i am scared to sleep within the same walls of simeon belski… i fear his temper, how he looks at me and irinei. you must protect me and find space for me within your chambers, or i will die.”

there were few times he could recall seeing irina so rattled, though that did not seem to be the proper word either. the tsar steepled his fingers together underneath his chin, eyes narrowed as he looked at her, a flash of blue cold as the russian snows lurking in the depths. “your son is well now?” he inquired. “and looked after?” he doubted any would care too much about the baby, not with pavel and simeon having resurfaced. and even if he’d never been told so overtly, one simply had to look at the child to know he was of the rurik bloodline.

another might have been worried about irina’s dagger and her poison, but dmitry, who had known her for much of her life, was not. his eyes narrowed and there was fury in his countenance that others might seek to harm one so protected by the tsar himself. “continue to do so.”

it was the specific request itself that gave him pause. the fear that irina, so strong and stoic, readily admitted to, nearly dismantled his own stony façade. he had known simeon, though it seemed nearly a lifetime ago, when he was not the tsar and simeon had been alive instead of risen from the land of the dead.

a hand ran along his face and he exhaled heavily, already knowing he would accede to irina’s request, though it would mean an explanation to his wife that he was not certain he wished to make. “it will be done, but only after i have spoken with my wife.” he would not remove yekaterina’s ladies from the apartments they’d been given without first ensuring she would yield. “and i shall speak with simeon as well. none of the russian household will be harmed unless the perpetrator wishes to find himself at the end of my sword.”

#irina:2 #p: irina

duchessfriederike‌:

“I pity the man. Perhaps that means my dear cousin is to remain unwed, then?” She teased. It seemed so far in the future, but it seemed only yesterday that Dot was a girl of ten. Friedi knew as well as anybody how quickly children grew up, even as she would always see her cousin as a little girl. “She will have her siblings to vet any many who tries to court her. You would do the same for your sisters, no?” Perhaps that was how the Duke of Alençon had won Sophia’s hand. Even as she thought it, Friedi had to stifle a peel of laughter. Somehow, she did not think that was the case. “I hope we will be staying here. I intend to treasure my time with my family for every second I have to spare. It will not be long before we all part again.”

a chuckle escaped his lips. “for the foreseeable future.” in time he would need to arrange a marriage for his young daughter. “perhaps i should see if she gets along with the dauphin of france. they are of a similar age.” and he would be pleased that his eldest would be made a queen. he chuckled. “my sisters are difficult when it comes to marriage. both so sheltered in different ways.” and yet still Dmitry did what he could to ensure that their marriages would not be unpleasant. “your new husband is as much my ally as he is your father’s,” dmitry pointed out. “you are both welcome in russia whenever you desire. I believe my wife would enjoy showing you the new palace I am having built in yekaterinburg.” a city he had named for his beloved wife; let the world see how valued she was.

#friederike:1 #p: friederike

princejingyan‌:

Jingyan had nothing but respect for the Russian Tsar. He had done well in his position, after all. Russia stood strong, with less of the threats that plagued China. Hoards of Nomadic warriors were certainly not lining up to attack his borders. Still, the Holy Roman Empire was no small enemy. It made sense to seek help from their allies, and forge a tighter bond with one another in turn. Their empire was massive, and just as glorious as China. Together, they could conquer anything, but Poland and Mongolia was a good place to start.

“She is,” he confirmed, a spark of amusement alighting in his eyes. “Though it seems as though Poland is used to being in the hands of a woman, and may yet be for years, until their prince reaches his majority.” If he did. He hated to wish ill of a babe, but he did not think that Helen would be above committing all sorts of vile acts to regain what she saw as hers. “It is all the more reason to bring them under Russian control, no? It is fortunate for your plans that such uncertainty comes now.” Whilst this was true, there was little sense in a reckless assault. These things needs to be approached delicately, and if the Tsar was as capable as Jingyan deemed him to be, he would know that to be true. “Then your brother by law has already done some of the hard work for us.” The Holy Roman Empire was a strange enemy, being halfway across the world from his homeland, but had caused no end of problems for China, impeding their presence on the world stage and forcing his country’s hand. They had no choice but to engage in war with this far-off land, and Jingyan bore them little love. “A bold hope, but not one that seems unlikely. Our empires are already stronger than all others. There is little chance of failure, should we stand together.” Unless they were reckless, unless they were stupid, who could stand against their might?

the tsar’s head inclined at the general’s comment. “she does it quite well. poland would not do so well with political unrest.” which was exactly what helen brought to the table with her desire to rule; even if the people would support her, a woman, over a man who currently held the throne, it would remain unstable for years to come. and though dmitry might pretend he wished for peace, he found that the stability of his own rule and that of the russian empire was more important than most. “if sigismund is not around any longer, few will hold a throne for a child. helen would have no trouble, unless agnieszka were to contest for it as well. either would be easily put down with little difficulty.” the smile he bestowed upon the other man was a pleased one, a genuine one. “i am not certain how long sigismund can hold the throne, especially if certain rumors are proven to be true.” his spies had told him many things through the years and he believed a great deal of them to be true, though he could not simply take another’s word for such a thing.

“he has, though I would not trust him excessively.” maxmillian had taken germany for his own and with it the princess of the holy roman empire. he could not trust a man who would turn on family so easily, though perhaps he might be less apt to do so considering how clearly yekaterina had adapted to her new life at russian court. “we will have to do it in such a way as to be careful of what others might perceive. I want a show of russian might, a show of the relationship between our two countries, and little reason for others to come after us.” he chuckled. “though if you were the holy roman emperor, would you fight so much for such a small country?”

#jingyan:1 #p:jingyan

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irinatrubetskaya‌:

location : dmitry rurik’s reception room, sasso corbaro. @dmitryofrussia timestamp : 21st April, 1559.

she had arrived back within belinzona’s grasp that morning, heralded back from the tsar himself by parchment and ink! she had been gone for a week or two, travelling non-stop from the boring borders of switzerland to the ravaged cold of russia. she had even taken her son, the fat little one-year-old balanced within her lap as they went by carriage along roads carved by men from so long ago. she had hoped, in some way, to stay within moscow once more. to realign herself amongst the oven of elders and reintroduce herself into society as an eligable woman of the motherland; it had seemed the tsar thought of her wellbeing, her safety, her survival.

weary from travel she dressed once more, her long blonde hair falling down her back in a bold move of her now-single status, as she went to his rooms. with the tap of her knuckles, she announced herself, her voice cool yet rasped from exhaustion before she entered with the slightest noise from bare feet ( slippers yet to be unpacked, her clothes still lined from a maid’s precise folding ). with a curtsey, she falls to the floor and allows her hair to act as a shroud before she picks herself to meet dmitry’s eye. “your imperial highness, i have returned. pyotr was buried on his family’s estate, and i am yours once more.”

the tsar of russia had felt nearly heartless as he’d sent orders for the widowed princess of bely to return to switzerland after her late husband was buried. certainly she might have preferred to remain in moscow, where she could mourn in peace, where her son might have some semblance of normality to his upbringing. but he had seen the look upon her face when presented with pyotr’s head, had heard the whispers in the hall and known they would travel with her to russia instead of remaining unsaid.

he owed her no explanation, but he had ordered her to present herself upon arrival. dmitry had known irina for much of her life; he did not wish for her to think him cruel. hard, yes. unyielding, at times. but not cruel, not with the woman he’d known since she was little more than a child.

his head inclined. “i trust your journey was not overly difficult.” it was not a question, though in another time it might have been one. “your guards will be replaced with those loyal to me and me alone.” he knew well how money could corrupt, what it could buy, how little loyalty was truly worth. the tsar’s eyes were hard. “are there any you currently trust with your life?”

#p: irina #irina:2

duchessfriederike‌:

She had rather hoped, once, that her father might allow her to marry into Russia, where she had spent some of the happiest times of her life. He had once told her she had little potential for greatness, and with other, more biddable, daughters to wed, she had never expected that she would be trusted with an alliance as crucial as the Ottomans on her shoulders. Yet here she was, ready to begin anew, with a new husband, a new life, and even a new name waiting for her. Even now it was all real, she hardly believed it. She laughed, filled with a fondness for the elder of her only cousins. “The German is strong in her then, I see,” she teased. “I would not worry. If there is hope for me, then there certainly is for dear Tatiana.”

it was good to hear his niece laugh and dmitry responded with a warm smile that did not often feel at home on his face when he was in public. “that it is,” he agreed, shaking his head with the knowledge that his father would be turning over in his grave at the sound of any of his grandchildren being part-german. it was not an insult, however, to the tsar, and he took a long sip of the drink he held in his hand. “well it will help that any man she wishes to marry will have to first best me with the sword,” he remarked, eyes alight with amusement. he was only partly jesting. “i expect your wedding will be the first of many here in switzerland. does your husband intend to remain here for much longer?” or was he itching to get home, much as dmitry was.

#p: friederike #friederike:1

duchessfriederike‌:

#p: friederike #friederike:1

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tsarevnascphia‌:

closed starter for @dmitryofrussia

≠ — The wedding was something she had come into rather blindly after her trip from Russia had taken longer than expected, the lavish decor, along with the intricate flower arrangements all had her head spinning. For a moment, she had thought she had walked in to her own marriage being prepared and anxiety had gripped at her, but her suspicions had been put at ease when she had heard who’s nuptials it was.

The ceremony was a sight to behold as well, a mixture of two different faiths, both intriguing and beautiful in their own way. It read like some sort of fairytale, where those of differing sides come together for the union of their two countries. It was beautiful and poetic, and for all intents and purposes, should have been rousing the creative muse within her from it’s dark dungeon. Instead, however, it brought nothing but all consuming anxiety.

Her own marriage was on the horizon. A husband had been chosen, correspondence had occurred. She was to be wed to a French Prince for the good of Russia, and Sophia was scared. Not because he did not seem like a good man, on the contrary, his letters read as such. However, she was scared due to the duty marriage upheld, and the example’s she had in her brothers were two very different sides to the same coin, and Sophia feared that her union would end up much like Yuri’s.

Taking a sip of wine from the goblet she had been offered, Sophia walked around the room, noting the jovial looks on the attendee’s face. The brunette smiled, nodding and saying hello to those that greeted her. She was not looking for anyone in particular, and yet no one could quite hold her attention. Soon enough though, hazel eyes landed on that of her oldest brother, the Tsar, and she was quickly making her way towards him. “Dmitry,” she breathed, a bright smile gracing her features. “I hope you are putting aside politics for one night to enjoy the festivities.”

dmitry would admit the wedding was nice, even if the traditions of the ottomans and the germans differed greatly from those of russia. there was, perhaps, an opulence that he was unused to; his wedding had been a rather solemn affair, he was unaccustomed to the sorts of frivolity and merriment that accompanied others. perhaps dmitry simply had problems with celebrations, finding them to be somewhat gauche considering how many had recently died. or mayhap he was simply being too curmudgeonly at an event that he should abide with grace instead of something more ill-fitting.

through all of this, he was, however, in a good mood, which is why he did not begrudge his sister using his name instead of his title in a public setting as she approached him. his head inclined and he offered her another smile, one that was fond, a smile more often reserved for family and the few times he was able to spend with his children worrying about little else than their welfare. “you know how I feel about frivolity on solemn occasions,” he pointed out, though his lips twitched while he lifted a goblet of ale to his lips and took another heavy pull. “but friederike looks happy and it has done my wife well to be around her kin.” he would certainly not complain about that. “i do not have the luxury of setting politics aside indefinitely. there is a weight that comes with the crown, little sister.”

he looked around the hall; it was a good space, though there would need to be adjustments made for a wedding of russian royalty. “what do you think of it?” he inquired, his lips pulling at the corners of his mouth. “your own wedding will likely take place here.” though she was to marry a french prince, dmitry still had arrangements to go over with the french king; he hoped to grant his future brother-by-law lands in russia rather than allow his russian jewel of a sister to languish in french frivolity.

#sophia:1 #p: sophia

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