The Last Tsar

"Let me fall if I must fall. The man I will become will catch me."

~ Baal Shem Tov

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The warm, salty breeze of the Crimean coast did little to alleviate the heaviness in Nicholas's heart. The Livadia Palace loomed before him, its white walls stark against the backdrop of the Black Sea. It was here that Alexander III "the Russian Bear" lay in his final days.

Nicholas descended from his carriage, flanked by his aides and a small contingent of guards. His usual resolve was clouded by the weight of the moment. Nikolai, the original one, had spent his entire life under his father's shadow, learning from his firm hand and unwavering resolve. But now, as Alexander lay dying, our Nicholas was acutely aware that the burdens of the Empire would soon rest completely on his shoulders.

...

The interior of Lavinia Palace was hushed, the atmosphere oppresive. Members of the Romanov family had gathered, their faces somber. Sergei Alexandrovich, Alexander's stern younger brother, was among them, his sharp eyes betraying his concern.

Nicholas greeted them quietly, his gaze lingering on Sergei and Pobedonostsev. Though their conservative influence was waning in St. Petersburg, in the familiar stronghold, their presence was undeniable.

"Nicky." Came a voice from a nearby room.

The sound froze Nicholas in place. It was his father.

Nicholas turned and entered the dimly lit chamber, where Alexander lay propped up by pillows. The once-mighty Tsar was now a shadow of his former self, his massive frame diminished, his breathing labored. Nicholas knelt by his bedside, taking his father's hand.

"Leave us." Alexander ordered the aides. And so they did.

"Father." Nicholas whispered.

Alexander smiled weakly.

"You've come. Good. I knew you would."

Nicholas nodded, his throat tightening.

"How is it going Nicholas? How are you?"

"It's going well, Father. Everything is under control. And I'm good too."

Alexander's face became serious and he responded with an answer:

"Are you though?"

Nicholas felt something rising up in his chest... some pent-up feelings not even he knew existed.

He got caught off guard, like a kid doing something he shouldn't have.

"W-what do you mean?" Nicholas said, visibly moved.

"I know you are not the tough man you act to be, son. Your facade doesn't work on me."

Nicholas felt as if he was pierced on his soul. His eyes watered, in the verge of crying, but he didn't.

"Father..."

But, at that moment, Alexander moved and straightened his back and with a force from God-knows-where... maybe it was the parental force in act... maybe it was the will of a father to comfort his beloved son... no one knows...

Then, he did something he hadn't been capable of doing since some months now.

He got on his feet and went face to face with Nicholas.

Staring right into his soul, he said:

"Let is out, son."

"Let out all the anger, sadness and fear building up inside you. This might be the last time you'll be able to."

Then, Alexander hugged him like any Father would hug his son in need.

This was the last push for Nicholas as he let it all out. He actually cried as he had never done in either of his two lives.

...

Back to St. Petersburg

The cell was cold, the stone walls damp and unfeeling. Alexei Ivanovich, the Okhrana officer the investigators had arrested some days ago, sat on the narrow cot, staring at the faint beam of moonlight seeping through the high, barred window. The officer's words echoed in his mind:

"Tell us everything, and you walk away free."

The offer was simple. Too simple.

His fingers twitched as he replayed the past few days. The tension of the arrest, the panic of discovery, and now this, this unbearable, soul-crushing choice. Freedom dangled before him, tantalizingly close. But it came at a cost.

He shifted uncomfortably, rubbing his temples.

He thought of his friends and comrades who had trusted him. People who had shared his dreams. People who had their own families, their own concerns, their own lives.

Everyone is the main character in his own story after all.

He clenched his fists, the weight of guilt pressing down on him. They trusted me. They trusted me to be stronger than this.

And yet, the alternative…

He thought of his wife. Her pale, drawn face, the tears she must have shed when she heard of his fate. He thought of his young son, too young to understand what had happened, clinging to his mother as they took Alexei away.

"Do you think they would hesitate if the roles were reversed?" the officer had asked.

The truth was, Alexei didn't know. He didn't want to know.

He was inwardly a good guy who made a bad choice, who got affected by the environment he was in and got caught the only time he did so...

This choice, was probably going to follow him through his whole life...

He stood and paced the cell, his breathing shallow. The walls seemed to close in around him, the air growing heavier. He felt trapped, not just by the physical space but by the impossible choice he faced.

Pragmatism.

The word came back to him again and again, like a needle scratching the same groove on a record. What did loyalty mean when it came at the expense of his own survival? What did principle mean when it left his family destitute and alone?

He stopped, staring at the small crack in the stone wall before him. His mind raced.

If he gave them names...just a few, not all... would it be enough? Could he control the narrative, steer their attention away from the others, maybe buy them time?

No. He knew the thought was foolish. The Tsarevich's men were thorough. Ruthless. Once they had even a thread, they would unravel the entire web.

He sat back down on the cot, burying his face in his hands. The silence of the cell was deafening.

Then, as if on cue, the sound of the iron door creaking open jolted him. The officer stepped in, his expression as neutral as ever. He carried no papers, no files, just that same air of calm authority.

"Well?" the officer asked, his voice devoid of malice or sympathy.

Alexei looked up at him, his mouth dry, his heart pounding.

"I…" His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to meet the man's gaze. "I'll tell you what I know."

The officer nodded, his expression unreadable. "Good choice."

As the door closed behind the officer, Alexei let out a shuddering breath. The decision was made.

But as relief slowly crept in, so did something darker.

'What kind of man have I become?'