Chapter Text
1964
Victoria barely contained the nervous shiver wracking her body as she stood in front of the swarm of reporters whose cameras were clicking incessantly, eager to capture the happy moment of the heiress to the British throne taking the crown.
Victoria II, that is who she was, the queen of once great nation that now lay in ruins trying to heal its wounds, a queen without power.
The long hairy limbs of the gigantic tarantula that was the Reich snatched one country after another, establishing its authority everywhere, delivering verdicts, administering punishments, enforcing its laws and regulations. Who could dispute victor’s justice?
Only a day before she had been but an ordinary girl, trying to carry on, like all the others, in spite of the terrible reality. She would go to the movies, dance to the rhythms of the new band from Liverpool, buy fashion magazines and tie playful bright scarves around her neck. Once she had her hair cut short and had to hide from her mother and Lehzen for a long time.
Her uncle, King William, under whom the peaceful occupation of England had occurred, broke down, worn out by many years of stress, and hastily abdicated in favor of the young Victoria. He found his peace on one of the remote Micronesian islands that had been handed over into his possession for free under the agreement between the Japanese administration and the Reich. No one knew for certain what exactly the king had done for Berlin to earn it.
Now she, Victoria, was to play the puppet sovereign in the hands of the conquerors who sought to use the British throne as a veil disguising their expansion.
Victoria swallowed nervously, trying to hold herself as confident as possible. He would be here any moment now, her enemy, the tall scary man in black with inscrutable hard gaze who had been introduced to her that morning as Oberst-Gruppenführer John Smith.
His were the hands holding her half-wrecked country, a new province of the new German Empire. She had to look cordial and grateful to the Greater Reich for the chance to preserve the centuries-old British traditions, to survive under the heel of the Nazi ideology.
For a moment, she felt the hardwood floor shift under her feet and the small tiara that had taken so much effort to be fixed on her head squeezed her temples like an instrument of torture.
The doors of the conference hall swung open, letting in the man who had just been on her mind. Sharp, hard features and the black uniform made him look like an ominous bird of prey that could attack any moment and tear its adversary to pieces.
Then everything around her exploded in a commotion. The reporters were trying to move closer, shouting out their questions only to be pushed back by implacable uniforms.
“Have you memorized the speech I prepared for you?” he rasped in a whisper, coming to stand next to her.
Victoria felt a shiver running down her spine; being in close proximity to this man never failed to upend her, mixing her emotions into an explosive jumble of fear, rage and curiosity.
“Did I have a choice?”
“I don’t like it when people answer my questions with questions. Have you memorized it or have you not?” his voice took on a menacing tone.
She nodded, the urge to spit more acid words into his face so strong that she had to set her teeth tight and barely stopped herself before it was too late.
“It is an incontestable benefit for the British nation to become a part of the Greater Reich. We shall follow the ideas of the Führer and uphold his authority over our land. We are grateful to Germany for the opportunity to remain the pillar of virtue and our centuries-old traditions,” she said loudly and smoothly but her voice lacked the emotion that the author of this message evidently had expected from her.
“Sieg Heil!” thundered the well-rehearsed response.
She turned her head and met the burning stare of the dragon eyes. His mouth was set into a hard thin line. He was clearly displeased but he could hardly accuse her of not having complied with his conditions.
Victoria thought, not without gloating, that she had managed to unsettle him if only for a moment and the thought immediately made her feel ill at ease.
After the press conference, Smith looked as he usually did. But when everyone else left the hall, he came up to her, leaned to her ear, his breath searing her skin, and said curtly, “Submission is not among your virtues. But you will have to learn it.”
Leaving her dismayed and confused, he stepped out of the room. The Queen stared at the window, trying to still her heart that pounded somewhere in her throat.
Breathless, she reached her bedroom in the only surviving wing of the Buckingham Palace. Lehzen, her former governess and now the Minister Administrator of the palace appointed by the new government, hurried to her side as she always had done, eyeing her frightened and bewildered ward.
“Are you upset with something, Majesty? I think the conference went well.”
“Oh, Lehzen. Don’t call me that. Let me be Victoria, at least when we are alone.”
“So what is wrong, Victoria?” the older woman sat down next to the Queen, who had gathered up the hem of her long dress and curled up on the sofa. She had been doing that ever since she was a small girl when something bothered or unsettled her.
“That man, Lehzen, that man…”
“Are you talking about the new prefect?”
“Yes, yes, John Smith,” she cringed.
“But he was quite polite and respectful during the press conference — he even tried to smile.”
“Oh, I hate him so much, I hate them all!”
“Good Lord, stop it right now, someone might hear you!” Lezhen cried out in fear.
“I don’t care, I don’t want to be his doll number… whatever! This imperial steward can wear the crown and the mantle himself! It would be more honest than this circus performance for the subjects!”
Lehzen watched her Victoria in amazement, wondering why this long-planned and carefully thought-out business meeting with the Oberst-Gruppenführer had caused such turbulent emotions.
Were her angry words sincere or was she only trying to convince herself? Victoria had known for a long time that as a head of state she would never have even an illusion of power, that her coronation was nothing more than a farce and she would have to obey the Nazi administration without question.
“You do know that we are not in a position to expect more than the roles we have been allowed. History has made it so and it is not in our power to change what has transpired.”
But the young queen seemed oblivious to her admonitions, clutching the cushion to her chest, trying to compose herself.
“I wish to be alone,” she said finally. Lezhen sighed and hurried out of the room.
Victoria could not describe or explain the feelings tearing her apart. Every fiber of her being ought to be revolting against the control imposed on her, she ought to feel fury and outrage, she ought to…
Instead, she could still hear the low growling voice dripping with menace and… something else, something dark and mesmerizing that made her heart quiver in a way she did not understand.
On an impulse, the young queen sprung from the sofa and walked to the wall, glancing up at the portrait of her famous great-grandmother Victoria I — the dignified posture, the imperious gaze of the cerulean eyes…
“You were luckier,” her chuckle was bitter. “You had your wise and kind Lord M standing behind your back, not a satrap in the Nazi uniform.”
Yet she could not help the thinking that the studying, penetrating stare of the amber green eyes, the power of which she had felt earlier that day, was somehow familiar to her.
------------------
John Smith lit another cigarette, the familiar heat enveloping his lungs, and sat back in his massive chair. The dusk was falling on the city outside the windows of his study, drowning the grey somber building of the Reich’s stronghold in London.
He could not sleep that night and was going to spend at least two more hours in this room to sort out his troubling and so inappropriate thoughts.
New York was far behind, and so was his house, his home that used to be his shelter and personal heaven, the perfect little world that he and Helen had built together. The painful memories stabbed at his heart. The death of their dear son had destroyed their family and raised a wall of misunderstanding between him and his wife. He had failed to save his boy from the very thing that was hammered into the heads of the younger generations from childhood. If only he had known, if only he had… His transfer to London as a prefect was a lifesaver, since he could no longer bear Helen’s despair, her accusatory glare and perpetual silence. All things must come to an end, even those that seem everlasting.
But it was not just the painful memories that kept the Oberst-Gruppenführer up in the middle of the night, making him smoke one cigarette after another.
This new queen, this girl, so cheeky and so surprisingly bright, with the piercing gaze of sky-blue eyes, haunted his mind. He had long thought that he was above such foibles, that his mission was to serve faithfully to the cause of the Reich and the Führer, but he had to admit now that he had been mistaken.
John closed his eyes, imagining for a second that Victoria was there, in his study, and drew in a shuddering breath in an attempt to tame the heady, overwhelming desire to feel her skin, to taste her lips, to hear her moan and gasp in his arms.
The vision became almost unbearable and he angrily threw his glass half full of whiskey at the wall, watching it explode into tinkling sparkling shards — in perfect harmony with his long-nurtured restraint.
------------------------
The Queen was trying to hypnotize the clock whose hand with indifferent deliberation ticked off the minutes to her obligatory daily meeting with the Oberst-Gruppenführer. With the man who shaped the fate of her nation on behalf of the Reich.
Leaving the clock alone, she stepped to the mirror, readjusting yet again the rebellious strand of brown hair that kept falling out of place, smoothing down her ashes of roses gown — she thought she looked extremely elegant in it, so much like that slender big-eyed girl on the cover of the fashion magazine.
Not that he would notice. What did it matter? Smith always looked at her in the same distant and cold manner, dutifully laying out his plans and giving his orders — dressed in the polite impersonal form of official proposals as they were. He had been like this with her since the post-coronation speech delivered by her with the affection of a PA system at a train station, making it clear that her insolent stunt would not go unpunished
Victoria let out a heavy sigh, knowing that all her rebellious plans that she intended to set in motion when she first met this harsh impenetrable man had long disappeared, replaced by the compulsive desire to be noticed.
Every time the door closed behind him, she threw off yet another cute outfit, burning with anger and despair, promising not to be such an idiot ever again. And for the life of her she could not explain this urge to seek approval and affection of the man she still considered her enemy.
Meanwhile, the palace was swept by the dizzying changes initiated by Lehzen. The kitchen now produced only dishes of German cuisine, latest German editions of the Führer’s classic works arrived by mail, and everybody at court had to wear the black uniform. These innovations, according to Victoria’s former governess, were motivated by the necessity to follow the Zeitgeist and emphasize the solidarity between the British Crown and the Reich. Even the Queen’s beloved spaniel could not escape the ever-vigilant eye of the Minister Administrator. His custom-made tiny black cap and vest entertained everyone who saw the little Dash pattering at mistress’s heels in his new ensemble. London newspapers that were now packed with propaganda were spewing giddy headlines.
ROYAL HOUSEHOLD DEMONSTRATES LOYALTY TO THE REICH!
QUEEN’S SPANIEL PROUDLY WEARS HIS UNIFORM!
WELCOME TO THE REICH, DASH!
Sometimes, Victoria felt as if she was in the theater of the absurd and nothing could be done about it. The worst thing was that her relatives, at the suggestion from Berlin, were spreading rumors about her upcoming nuptials with a member of the German House of Coburg, intending to erase the Queen’s English roots and with it the English identity.
“Soon there will be nothing British left in Britain, not even a king,” Victoria thought sadly, looking through another article that praised the great achievements of the Reich.
Who could offer her advice, who could help her save at least the little bit of her nation, of her country that remained? Enemies were all around her, even those she loved and trusted, like Lehzen, those she had always relied on, betrayed her. Thinking that, Victoria choked with tears of powerlessness and despair.
He showed up precisely at ten, well-groomed, clean-shaven and creepily charming as always in his solid black uniform coat with the insignia in the buttonhole, his black boots polished to a shine.
Smith sat in a massive chair across her like he owned the place, his arms on the armrests, his legs crossed, his watchful green eyes fixed on her. Like a king, Victoria thought against her will. If there were a throne here, he would sit on it without hesitation.
“Have you been crying?” he suddenly asked, noticing her red-rimmed eyes.
The question caught her by surprise. He had never showed any interest in her well-being.
“I have not. You are imagining things,“ she said without thinking.
“Why are you lying?”
“I am not a liar.”
“I’m never wrong in my observations.”
“Think what you like then.”
“You misunderstand me. If something upsets you, I need to be the first to know. The people should not see their queen tear-stained and depressed, this is no good to any of us.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“What is it that I wouldn’t understand?”
“What I feel when I think about Britain turning into a German province, with no culture, no traditions or language of its own. We are half way there already, and the marriage that Berlin is forcing on me will only accelerate the fall of the British Crown. And I… I am helpless! My ancestors defended the interests of the nation for centuries, building its foundations, while I am only a shadow, not a real queen, just a cardboard figure! I am nothing, a waste of space…” Victoria lost her remaining composure and burst out crying again.
He pulled a snow-white handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her.
“Now, wipe away your tears and listen to me carefully. That’s better,” he added after a brief pause, once she collected herself a little. “You are anything but a waste of space and it is in your power to protect your country from the total control of Berlin without entering a direct confrontation.”
“Surely I can’t do that?”
“We can, together,” Smith said, watching her reaction.
She was stunned into speechlessness.
“Your behavior at the press conference after your accession was reckless. The leadership of the Reich must see you wholly supporting its authority rather than grinding out labored phrases,” he continued. “Only by lulling their vigilance through proving your loyalty can you preserve the legacy of your nation from complete assimilation. I will persecute and suppress any attempts at weakening the Reich’s power in this land but I am willing to turn a blind eye to certain liberties on the Crown’s part.”
Victoria was still silent, struggling to believe that this man, this unfailing and impeccable executor of the enemy’s will, wished to help her suggesting that she should double-deal.
Victoria looked up, meeting his intent gaze and seeing in it something else besides purely business interest, something she had yet to figure out.
“You know, I am not indifferent to the problem of assimilation of the Anglo-Saxon race — they call it the call of the blood,” he said, as if reading the silent question in the wide-open eyes fixed on him. “As a boy, my father crossed the ocean in search of a better future. He managed to survive, to rise and to put down roots in the American soil. I am one hundred percent American, but England is the land of my ancestors…”
Smith paused, looking like he was regretting his candor, and went on in his usual manner.
“I see many qualities of a true monarch in you but I also see the gaps in your understanding of the current balance of power. Submission is not your strong suit but you must learn to wear it — for the sake of your nation. Think it over and remember that the rulers are wise when people barely know they exist,” finished Oberst-Gruppenführer Smith, rising from his chair.
“I understand,” she said. “I shall learn submission but I shall never be subdued.”
John smirked in satisfaction at the fire flaring up in her eyes.
“Well… we’ll see,” he drawled, moving towards the door.
1965
The crowd awaiting their queen clamored in excitement outside the window.
Victoria looked in the mirror, and the mirror showed her a beautiful, confident young woman in an elegant dress with a long train, long gloves, with a diamond tiara in her hair and the proud look of the British lioness, as the press now called her. British — not German, and this was the most important of all her achievements in the year that had passed since the day of her coronation. Navigating dexterously between the interests of the Reich and those of her nation, having avoided a marriage to a member of the House of Coburg that Berlin had attempted to force on her, she found a way to save the nation from absolute control and usurpation. Cunning as a fox, the Queen circumvented the most provocative issues and forged all the right connections in the highest circles, concealing her cast-iron will with a delicate voice and polished manners, and rightfully earned the love and respect of her people. But they did not know who was responsible for molding a frightened indecisive girl into a true queen.
She heard the familiar commanding voice behind her.
“Close your eyes, keep still. There.” Warm fingers traced the bare skin exposed by the low cut in the back of her dress. “You look dazzling today — then again, you always look dazzling.”
She froze, trying to focus on her feelings — like he had always taught her. His kisses on her back, his strangled voice were setting her on fire.
“We should go out to the reporters, they are waiting,” she struggled to find a drop of reason in her mind.
But lightning-fast and uncontrollable, the stinging desire already flooded her veins. And there she was, giving herself into his hands, her eyes still closed, her body feeling keenly his every caress, his every kiss.
She thought that this dark forbidden passion would expire, as does everything that human beings come to know in their lives. Yet, he had only to speak to her or touch her, and it would start all over again.
He suddenly pulled away, as if nothing had happened, and she groaned in disappointment.
“You are right, we should go out,” he pointed out in a businesslike manner.
“You are insufferable, John!”
He held back a contented chuckle.
“Patience is the virtue of the strong. Always remember that, my sweet queen.”
***
(sorry, video embedding doesn't work in the notes)
***
and if you want something visual that's not too abysmal, here is a video based on this fic, by Arizonadreamer
and just for the hell of it, another one, by Lady Disdain, a crossover between Victoria and Doctor Who, just because i love this video so freakin much and take any excuse to share it and because, well, it's still Rufus and Jenna, so let's pretend a bit :)
upd. Vicbourne community is the best! the freshest fanvideo from misstheSlayer