dancingbarefoot: (China Girl)
[personal profile] dancingbarefoot
I'm a huge Monarchy geek, specializing in the Romanovs and had tried to write something before involving Ianto/Jack and a reincarnation tying them together. But too big of an idea and not really enough information on the Grand Duke that I was using for inspiration. So I put it aside and started squeeing over Beth's Tsarverse starting.

But it woke the bug in my head up again and here we go with my own Russian Verse.

Title: Rosa Mystica
Written by: dancingbarefoot
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Beta: None but if anyone’s interested let me know.
Rating: PG up to R, we’ll see as it goes.
A/N: I’m a Romanov and Royalty buff and so decided to mix that with Torchwood and here we go.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement is intended and the real folks in this own themselves.



The room was in semi-darkness, the fire raging in the fireplace by the window, for it was late. He had heard a clock nearby chime nine bells.

And as per tradition in Russia, freezing for December as witnessed by the frost painting the windows an intricate lacework pattern.

The man sat at his work desk, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to the elbow and his head rested in his hands. The wind blew against the windows and the sounds of someone playing a balalaika could be heard wafting down the hall.

How could he have lost his son, his wife’s pride and joy so far away from them all ...

As he shook his head at the ghosts surrounding him, the laughing infant, the sturdy child, the handsome young man, he found his hands weren’t steady and out of instinct, leaned forward to reach for the whiskey container, the clink of the crystal clinking against the glass as he poured himself one.

It was as he put it back that there was a soft knock at the door.

Before he could speak, a wisp of a boy appeared and Major-General Sir John Hanbury-Williams watched solemnly as the child came to stand beside him, leaning against the desk.

“Papa had told me to come sit with you as he thought you might feel lonely tonight.”

The older man smiled sadly, remembering his son and looking at this little boy, who was an heir to a throne, whose family had already begun his training for war, indulging the child with sailor suits and like all little boys, playing pretend while grown-ups decided the fate of the world.

“Your Papa is very kind.”

“Would you like me to play for you?” From behind his back, Alexei presented his balalaika and went to sit quietly on the ottoman near him. He chose something quiet and allowed the older man to grieve.

*~*~*~*

Sir John remembered that meeting with sadness for just over a year and a half later, he would learn of another loss in a far off corner of Russia that completely ended 300 years of Romanov rule in a way that abdication never could.

It was only five years later in the beginnings of the mysterious resurrection of the alleged Grand Duchess Anastasia, known to the world later as Anna Anderson, that the older man was called to a meeting at Windsor Castle under the tightest security that could be managed.

The telegram at the bottom had for a signature only one word

TORCHWOOD

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