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Nikolai arrived in Moscow only a week after his parents, summoned by a letter in which Sonya spoke gravely of both his mother and father’s health, and simultaneously seemed to imply that Natasha was to be married, though to whom was completely unclear.
These suggestions seemed troubling, enough so to send him home the day after he received her message, despite Sonya’s countless assurances that such action would not be necessary, each scribbled hastily at the bottom of the letter as if she’d only realized the gravity of her words after penning them.
The city was still a dreadful sight. Snow clung to the burnt remains of buildings that once stood strong against winter storms, those that remained stayed quiet and unlit, and the stray dogs that roamed amongst them, always having survived on little, seemed just a bit thinner. It made Nikolai shiver more than the cold ever could.
It was a mystery to him how someone could find happiness amongst this mess, but he supposed if anyone could, it would be his sister. Or it would have been, before she had been dampened by the misfortune of the last year.
Natasha had not been the same for a long while, and Nikolai could only imagine that Prince Andrei’s death had worsened her condition. He worried, deeply, that this supposed marriage would be all wrong for her.
Nikolai had never liked the idea of his sister marrying Andrei. He was far too old and stuffy, an impression he garnered from only one encounter but one that was continuously proven by nearly every story he was told regarding the prince or his equally awful father. How Princess Marya could hail from such a family was beyond him. As was the idea that Natasha, so kind and full of life, could ever fall for such a man.
In fact, as much as he loved Natasha, she’d never seemed the brightest when it came to matters of the heart. That had been an appropriate folly when she was a young girl, but after entering society as a woman, it had become a dangerous weakness.
Now, after what had happened with Anatole— a story that Sonya had wisely withheld till after the man’s death on the battlefield— Nikolai felt all the more confident in his right to be protective over his sister.
As Nikolai’s sled approached the Rostov house, he passed a small group of peasant children playing in the snow. It was a muddy, sad pile of snow, no doubt dirtying their clothes and soaking their shoes. Perhaps they’ll catch a cold, Nikolai thought, someone should yell to them and spare their mother the trouble.
But as the boys and girls giggled, chasing each other through the snow, Nikolai lost his voice. The carriage passed by the children and went on towards his home.
When Nikolai arrived, he did not receive the same excited welcome he had only a year ago. The entire house seemed too tired to greet him in that way, from the people themselves to the old door that creaked as he stepped in.
Natasha was an exception to this. She cried out when she saw him, and pushed past Sonya and their mother to wrap her arms around her brother in a greedy hug.
“You’ve come home at last!” Natasha exclaimed. “How we missed you. After everything that’s happened…”
“Oh, how terrible it all is,” he said, expecting her to cry, but while both Sonya and his mother’s eyes glistened with the beginnings of tears, Natasha’s never did.
“No, no, Nikolai,” Natasha said, pulling away from her brother and looking at him intently. “How could anything be terrible now?”
Nikolai smiled, but he could not understand her. He couldn’t understand how she could ask such a question, or how she could keep from crying. There was plenty to cry about; Petya, Andrei, Moscow. He felt like crying himself. It seemed despite her joy to see him, just as before, she was as changed as the rest of them, maybe even more so.
Natasha stepped aside and allowed Sonya and their mother to greet Nikolai. Their father had not come to meet him, he was bedridden with a temperamental illness that flared up suddenly and always at the worst possible times.
—
“How is everyone else faring?” Nikolai asked. He had sought out his father and spent a brief moment with him, but was now back with the women in the drawing room.
“As well as anyone can be at such a time,” the countess answered with a sigh. “We’ve received very few visitors.”
“Oh? Sonya mentioned that Natasha had received some special visitors,” Nikolai said with a smile. His sister gasped, turning to their cousin.
“You’ve told him already!” Natasha gave Sonya a playful slap on the arm.
“I didn’t, I swear it!” she promised. “Or at least, I didn’t tell him everything.”
Natasha sighed dramatically.
“Oh, just tell him,” his mother said, grinning happily, an odd look on her tired and worn face.
“Pierre has asked for my hand,” Natasha said. She blushed pink all over her face, as if the sun had kissed her. “And I’ve accepted.”
Nikolai couldn’t quite believe it, though he would be lying if he said the thought hadn’t crossed his mind when he’d learned of Natasha’s possible engagement. The two had always been quite fond of each other, and had spent even more time together after his sister broke off her engagement with the late prince. With Pierre a bachelor again, the match was finally possible.
And a good match it was. He could see why his mother smiled so. A wealthy man like that, after all the gossip surrounding their family name, was nothing short of a miracle.
Clearly, though, this meant much more to Natasha than just the formal business of marriage and matchmaking. It was as if the union had breathed a new life into her. Once again, she was the brightest person in the room.
Still, Nikolai couldn’t help the uneasiness that he felt. Pierre was a fine man, even despite the little differences that may have arisen between them over the years, but with all their family had been through recently, Nikolai found himself hesitant at the thought his sister had again found herself engaged. Not to mention how scandalous it seemed for Natasha to be betrothed yet again, so soon after her former fiancé’s death (though, Nikolai still could not find much pity in his heart for the late prince, even if he had been so dear to both his sister and the lovely Princess Marya).
“That’s wonderful!” he said, though it took him a second too long to reply. “Wonderful, really. And where is our dear count now?”
“Here, in Moscow,” the countess said before Natasha could reply. “He just returned from St. Petersburg a few days ago and he’s been visiting Natasha daily—”
“And he’s coming for dinner tonight,” Natasha interrupted her mother, and though she usually would’ve been scolded, she only received a fond glare usually given to reprimand children but also reserved for young women made irrational by love.
“He comes nearly every night,” teased Sonya. “And that’s in addition to his daily visits! They can barely spend a moment apart.”
“I’ve never seen the fellow so happy,” the countess smiled. Natasha flushed at their words.
—
Pierre arrived just a few short hours later. He stepped in from the cold with a red nose, grinning at the sound of conversation echoing through the empty home. He allowed the footman to help him out of his big fur coat and quickly set off towards the drawing room, barely allowing himself to be announced.
When he entered the room, the women were to their feet nearly immediately, rushing over to greet him. He said his hellos to both the countess and Sonya, before Natasha seized his face with her hands and pressed a kiss to his still-freezing face.
“I missed you,” Pierre said quietly, his words meant for Natasha alone.
“It’s only been a day,” Natasha whispered back, smiling at the bashful look on Pierre’s face. She’d clearly missed him just as much as he missed her.
Overwhelmed by the attention, Pierre hadn’t noticed Nikolai, who stood quietly behind the women, a polite smile on his face. After the ladies were through welcoming the count, Nikolai stepped forward, offering his hand.
“Nikolai!” Pierre grinned and pulled the younger man into a tight, friendly hug. Nikolai was stiff, hardly expecting the gesture, but quickly melted under the familiar warmth of the large man’s embrace. Pierre had been a great friend since childhood, but even so, his brotherly affection was the same given by any of Nikolai’s friends— the one thing men as different Denisov, Dolokhov, and Pierre could all share easily— this particular Russian spirit of camaraderie they must’ve learned at some point during their boyhood, or perhaps even have been born with.
“It is good to see you again, Pierre,” Nikolai said. “How are you? Well, I hope?”
“Yes, very well,” he said, glancing quickly at Natasha. “And you?”
“Much better now that I’m home,” Nikolai sighed, and Pierre nodded.
“I feel quite the same.”
—
Dinner was simple as a result of the Rostov’s reduced circumstances, a fact that clearly displeased the countess, who took every opportunity to critique the size of the duck or the lack of staff. She had been doing this at every meal for quite some time now, so nearly everyone knew to simply nod along, but it still stung Nikolai as a reminder of his mistakes.
Pierre and Natasha sat across from Nikolai and Sonya, with the countess at the head of the table. The count was again missing, though he sent Pierre his regards and asked him to stop in again tomorrow (as if he wouldn’t otherwise).
Nikolai thought his parents may be as ecstatic about the union as the couple themselves. His father had apparently devoted nearly all his energy towards the wedding and its planning since the day Pierre had asked him and the countess for their permission to propose to Natasha. Though Nikolai only had a second hand account of the conversation, it had apparently gone something like this.
The countess had initially been hesitant to allow Pierre to address the count at his bedside when he was in such a weak state, but the man insisted the matter was urgent, and that he must see him. She eventually granted his request after Princess Marya suggested it may be in her best interest to do so, and she was far from disappointed.
At the very mention of an engagement, the count had brightened, and when Natasha officially accepted, he actually managed to get out of bed and embrace her in congratulations.
Since then, the count's health persisted enough to allow him to participate in some small social affairs, though he still suffered greatly. The most he could manage were these visits and dinners with Pierre, and he still endured many nights like this where he could not even bring himself to do much more than rest.
“I suppose after the wedding we’ll be attending dinners at your house,” the countess said, looking pointedly at Pierre and Natasha.
“I suppose so,” Natasha said. “I think I’ll make a fine hostess, don’t you?”
“I’m sure,” Pierre nodded. “Why else would I marry you?”
“As if you’re the society type!” she scoffed, earning a laugh from the whole table.
“Oh, it’s too bad you aren’t,” Sonya sighed. “The parties you could have in such a home would be grand.”
“Well, if Natasha would like to, maybe we will,” Pierre shrugged, poking at his duck.
“No, I think I am quite tired of parties,” Natasha said, earning a displeased look from her mother.
“As am I,” Nikolai said, more as support than anything else, though he really did agree. “But I will be very happy to attend dinner.”
Nikolai tried to envision himself visiting the future home his sister would share with Pierre. It seemed an easier task with every new moment in their company; Natasha was hardly shy in her affection towards her fiancé, and Pierre too was quite clear in his admiration. He looked at her the same way devotees gaze upon icons of the Virgin Mother, and he held her like a poor man would hold the finest of jewels.
Their home would be a happy one. Nikolai did not doubt that Pierre would be as doting a husband as he was a fiancé, and likely an even more dedicated father, who would spoil his children to no end. Natasha, of course, would excel in whatever role she took, and do so with love and grace, as was her nature.
Perhaps Pierre would be too generous, or Natasha too commanding, but with how they looked at each other, as if there could never be strife between them, it seemed unlikely to cause real trouble.
The two had seemed to awaken new identities within each other. Where they were once so set in their own particular ways, they now seemed to move together as two halves of a whole, in harmony not just with each other but with the world around them as well. Pierre, once clumsy and awkward, now carried himself with confidence. And Natasha, who’s heart had always beaten quicker than it should, seemed calm.
In a way, this change saddened Nikolai. It had always been his worry that adulthood would change life so severely that the happiness of youth would be far from reach. No longer did Natasha look to him or Sonya after saying something witty, waiting eagerly for their approval. No longer would she run through these halls. No longer would they be young.
It would only be years later that Nikolai would realize the true foolishness of his worries, that the death of youth was essential, and that it made way for new life. Only then would he see the fruits of such a loss, in the smiles on not only his own children’s faces, but on that of his sister’s as well. Bright young lives that brought him more joy than he had ever known before, dancing and singing and running and playing just as he had so long ago.
But even now, in the midst of his worries for the future, and his unwillingness to let go of the past, he could not truly be sorrowful at the idea of his sister’s marriage. Not when she smiled so.