#series: lezte rose

[detroit-grand-prix]

letzte rose - bittere erinnrungen

Toto Wolff x Susie Wolff Royal/Historical AU

Chapter Summary: During breakfast, Toto's mother brings up the possibility of remarriage, and a list of potential brides. Toto refuses to look at it, but spends an afternoon reflecting on the state of his personal life.

Weekends meant that Toto’s rigorous schedule was relaxed, albeit only a bit.

He let himself sleep in a bit later, getting up at 5am instead of 3:30, and he had breakfast with his children and his mother instead of taking it alone in his study.

As he arrived for breakfast on Saturday — at 7:00am sharp — though, the only other person at the table was his mother.

— Where are the children? — he said, sitting down at the chair at the head of the table, as the attendant pulled it out for him. 

— Benedict said that he would be on the piste for an early fencing lesson, so he is with his trainer. Rosi, I think, said she would be dining with your sister this morning — Johanna said, her voice a little vacant. Her eyes were glued to a copy of some newspaper, likely the Wiener Zeitung, but Toto couldn’t see the masthead. A prickle of annoyance traveled down the back of his neck. How many times had he been told off for trying to read at the dining table, even in recent years?

— Something interesting in the papers this morning? — he said, as an attendant placed a tea tray in front of him.

— What? — Johanna said, startled — No, I mean… just the…

— Maybe something in the society pages caught your eye?

Toto smirked as Johanna became visibly flustered, tossing aside the hastily-folded volume and turning attention to her plate.

 — Never mind that, I wanted to talk to you about something important, and it’s just as well that Bene and Rosi aren’t here — Johanna said, making Toto look up from his cup of tea, furrowing his eyebrows.

— It has been a while since we talked about it, but I think you need to give remarriage some more consideration again — she ignored Toto as he opened his mouth to immediately protest, pressing on — it’s been years since Stephanie’s passing, and you need someone other than me to perform the Empress’ duties.

— Why not Rosi? — Toto asked cooly, recalling his conversation with Niki.

— Because Rosi needs to put serious consideration into her own marriage and future. Both of your children do! Don’t think I won’t be speaking to them later on about this, either — She speared a piece of tomato with her fork and Toto felt that she was somehow eating it at him. 

— Mama, I’ve told you before, I am not interested in marrying again.

— You’ve no good reason to refuse, my son.

— I just can’t, mama. It feels wrong — Toto pushed his eggs around his plate with his fork. 

— What do you mean? There’s no sin in it. Father Strossmayer and I have spoken about this, and he agrees with me, and the Bible even encourages…

Toto took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down before giving in to his urge to stand up and start yelling. The calm, quiet, even way his voice came out surprised him. 

— I know what the church says, but I loved Stephanie. When I was younger, I thought marriage was simply my duty, but I ended up being blessed enough to fall in love with the woman I married, a privilege I thought I’d never be afforded. I’ve discharged that particular duty to the crown and laid my heart to rest with her. It doesn’t feel right for me to dig it up again and give someone the rotted remains. Besides, I will remind you that you never remarried after papa died.

Toto and Lili’s father, Sven, was the Duke of Norrbotten and a Prince of Sweden. He and Johanna got along quite well, and Toto remembered his father as a kind, gentle man, but not long after the birth of Toto’s sister, something changed. 

He started experiencing frequent nosebleeds and headaches that would make it difficult for him to leave his bed. He would frequently become too dizzy to walk, almost as if he was drunk, but he was never much of a drinker. He started showing fits of delirium, agitation, and hallucinations. 

The court doctor was called, and theorized that it might be some sort of neurological issue. The court chaplain came to say some prayers at his bedside — Johanna refused to call it an “exorcism” — but it was all for naught. He eventually refused all food and drink, and slept at all hours, until his body and spirit just seemed to give up.

An autopsy was performed after Sven’s death, and it was found that his brain was riddled with tumors, which explained all of the horrid symptoms he had been experiencing.

It was not a time that Toto really cared to remember. 

Johanna’s expression turned sour, and she shifted uncomfortably in her chair once more.

— No, I did not, because I had two children to take care of. Not to mention, it is far easier for a widowed man to find a spouse than a widowed woman, especially one that already has the future secured. Your grandfather agreed that it was best for me to remain single, as there was no material benefit to any potential suitors.

— And what benefit would there be to me remarrying now?

— Well, for one thing, it would afford you the opportunity to have another son, to insure that you have a successor — Johanna saw Toto open his mouth to argue, but ignored it and continued on — While you’ve done well to secure your line of succession, it would present an opportunity to ensure there’s a spare, in case something happens to Benedict. It is not as if I wish for it, but, we do not know God’s will for any of us. For another thing, there needs to be someone to manage the royal household and the social duties that you have been neglecting for the past few years, to your own detriment. Now, I’ve got a list of names of ladies that would be perfectly suitable…

Johanna slipped her hand into the small reticule she always carried, extracting a slip of paper from within. 

— There’s Princess Francisca of Brazil… I believe she just turned twenty-four, I’ve heard she’s rather striking. And then there’s Princess Maria Carolina of Bourbon Two-Sicilies, you’ve met her, I believe. She was born here in Vienna, and she’s the daughter of my cousin Clementina… and then Luisa Fernanda of Spain… she’s young, but that would be a handsome match; she’s the heir presumptive until Isabella has a child, you know. And that’s just the Catholic houses! It’s not ideal, but an especially good match from a Protestant family may be willing to convert…

Johanna had stopped looking at Toto, her eyes locked on the list of names in her hand. No doubt she was already planning the next great state wedding, and Toto could feel the anger rising within him as his mother continued to talk. It felt like a hot bile creeping up his throat, twisting his insides, making him clench his fists until he could feel his fingernails digging into the meat of his palms.

— That’s enough! — he said, pounding his fist on the tabletop. The flatware and cutlery clattered. One of the attendants in the room yelped slightly in surprise, immediately covering her mouth and blushing. Johanna stopped, mid-sentence, gaping at her son in shock. — I tell you this every time you bring it up, mother, but I do not wish to be remarried. If you must spend all of your spare time worrying about the security of my line of succession, I implore you to focus these efforts on your grandchildren instead. I am telling you, as a grown man and the emperor of this nation, that we shall not speak about remarriage again, and that is final.

Johanna’s eyes had narrowed, and her expression hardened. 

— And I am your mother — she hissed, venom dripping from her every syllable — I am simply doing what is best for you, for this nation, and for your happiness.

— My happiness?! — Toto said, raising his voice almost to a shout — Mama, we both know you have never given a damn about my happiness!

He was now on his feet, his chair pushed back and his breakfast long-abandoned and likely ice-cold. The dishes continued to rattle on the tabletop as he jabbed his finger into the cloth-covered wood. 

— You didn’t give a single thought to my happiness when you arranged my marriage to Stephanie, and it was only by the grace of God that we came to love each other. Of course, our marriage was happy before she passed, but as you’ve told me yourself, my happiness was secondary to ensuring the future of our family’s dynasty.

Toto stepped away from the table, breezing past the pair of servants that were frozen in shock. He pulled on the handle to the door into the dining room a bit harder than necessary, stopping halfway over the threshold to turn around and face his mother once more. 

— If you truly have any concern for my happiness, you will not bring this up again!

Toto retreated into his study, pacing around the small room as he tried to calm himself down.

He hadn’t lost his temper that badly in years, that he could remember, possibly decades. When he was younger, in the earlier days of his reign, he had been quicker to anger. He was desperate to prove himself and his authority in the days right after his grandfather died, not trusting that anybody saw him as anything more than a child pretending to be a ruler and a statesman. Him being short, sometimes even brutal, with his advisors was the norm, but a combination of time and the perspective that came with wisdom and experience mellowed him greatly, as did his desire to be a good husband and father. 

Normally after Saturday’s breakfast, he would review any paperwork or important matters that had come across overnight until the early afternoon. He did not work on Sundays, wishing to keep the Sabbath as a holy day of rest. Most of the royal household had the day off as well.

— I will never be able to focus like this — he mumbled to himself as he sat down at his desk. He buried his face in his hands, pressing his palms into his eyes until he could see stars, as if it would push the memory of the last hour out of his head by force.

He blinked as he lifted his head, trying to clear the blurriness from his vision, and the portrait of Stephanie resolved into focus from its place on the wall.

He knew exactly what would help.

Toto smirked, and opened the topmost drawer in his desk — the one right under the top, and fished out a ring of small brass keys. Then, he opened one of the lower drawers, extracting a small wooden box from within. 

He set the box on his desk, running a finger over the inlaid brass lettering on the top, the word “MIZPAH” in large capital letters. It had been a while since he had seen it, and there was a thin coating of dust on its glossy lacquered surface. The box was unassuming by the standards of everything else in the palace, belying the value of its contents to Toto. True, what was inside the box did not have much — if any — monetary value, but was priceless in Toto’s eyes.

He put the key in the lock and sprang the latches, revealing a thick stack of papers — letters, envelopes, postcards. It was all of the letters he and Stephanie had exchanged through the years, the earliest ones having been written before they had even met, after their marriage arrangement had been finalized and before she arrived in Vienna. There were letters and postcards from the separate travels they had taken through the years. Toto often had to travel for functions of state, and Stephanie had always enjoyed seeing new places, even as a child. They had taken many trips together, but Toto was not always able to join her because of the demands of his schedule, so they resolved to write to each other often when they had to be apart. 

Engraved on the underside of the lid was a Bible verse, the one referenced by the word on the lid’s inlay. A verse of Genesis, telling of the covenant made between Jacob and Laban, he remembered. It was written in the Latin vulgate — intueatur Dominus et iudicet inter nos quando recesserimus a nobis. 

“The Lord watch between me and thee, while we are absent, one from another.” 

The priest that performed Stephanie’s funeral rites had referenced the verse in his sermon, inspiring Toto to have one of the court’s artisans, a particularly talented furniture maker, make the box to contain the letters for safekeeping. He had meticulously paired each and every one together, the letters he sent and the ones she sent in response, and vice versa. 

He felt his anger with his mother dissipating as he thumbed through the letters, admiring Stephanie’s elegant looping handwriting. Some of the pages had little mementos stuck to the pages — flowers she had pressed, little doodles she had made in the margins and footers. He skimmed through the contents, remembering trips she had taken with the children; home to Bavaria to visit her family once, trips to the seaside in France, to Paris via the Rhine, even to London. 

Letting all of the memories flood back in left Toto feeling almost relaxed, until he came upon the last letter in the pile. 

“How had I forgotten about this?”, he wondered, turning the pages over in his fingers.

For the last two years of her life, Stephanie had not been well. It started with her experiencing night sweats and fatigue. Before long, she was unable to keep weight on, no matter how much she ate. The doctors at court diagnosed her with consumption, but were optimistic about her recovery. It was recommended she leave Vienna and spend some time at the seaside, that the sea air would help. 

The children went with her as she departed to a castle the family owned — Castelo di Miramare — just outside of Trieste, on the shore of the Adriatic Sea. The three of them spent many months there, and it seemed for a while that Stephanie was on the road to recovery. She planned to be in Trieste until the summer, when the family would reunite in Bad Ischl, at the summer villa. 

Toto wrote letters every few days to her, and was reading one he had sent her while she was in Trieste. In it, he was telling her about a dilemma he was facing with the State Council. He had constantly been butting heads with Chancellor Metternich, even then, but the question had come up about one of Metternich’s staunchest allies, Count Karl Clam-Martinic. He was pushing for reforms that would make the government more conservative, practically relegating Toto’s role to merely a symbolic one, and would promote Chancellor Metternich to something akin to an autocrat, like the Shogunate of Japan allowing the emperor to remain in a ceremonial role with almost no power.

Niki, and another councilor, Count Franz Anton von Kolowrat-Liebsteinsky, were pushing Toto to replace him with someone more moderate, but Toto thought removing him would destabilize the government, resolving to find other ways to keep him in check. His letter described the dilemma to his wife, hoping for some of her insight. Stephanie was very intelligent, and had an uncanny ability to see things objectively. Niki joked that she was the unofficial fifth member of the State Council.

She had written back within days, encouraging him to go forward with Count Karl’s dismissal. 

“I know this is a difficult decision, my darling,” she wrote. Toto’s eyes hovered over the last line of the letter. “But, fortunately, spring is coming soon no matter how difficult the winter has been, and, like the flowers, you will need to bloom”.

Toto felt a tear streaming down his cheek as he reached the end of the letter. He did not know it when he had received it, but it would be the last one she had written. Her condition rapidly deteriorated for a week after months of steady improvement, until she passed away from pleurisy that February.

He sniffed, wiping the tears away that were forming in the corner of his eyes. He glanced up at the portrait once more.

“I suppose I still have a way to go before I bloom, meine geliebte”.

He sat in silence for a few moments before he neatly tucked away the letters, placing the box back in its compartment. 

As he was doing so, a knock came from the door to his bedroom, and Phillip, his Kammerdiener, stuck his head through.

— I have your riding clothes ready for you, Your Imperial Majesty, if you were planning to go to the Stallburg today after lunch.

“How is it noon already?” Toto thought. After working for a few hours on Saturdays after breakfast, he would have a light lunch and go to the imperial stables for a few hours to ride. 

While the indoor sand arena — the Stallburg — that Toto’s great-great-great-grandfather had built was more than adequate in size to get a decent ride in, he wished, more than anything, that he could go for a hack around the countryside, or even through the city, like he could when he was younger, before he himself was saddled with the burden of his duties. He liked to race the horses against his friends, and had started taking riding lessons at an early age. When he was young, he had aspired to attend the Spanish Riding School, but his accession at age 15 left no time for regular training. 

Despite being confined to the arena most of the year — with the exception of the summer holidays — Toto looked forward to his time at the stables all week, because he felt like it was the only time where the mantle of his office didn’t sit so heavily on his shoulders, and around the arena always did a great deal to lift his spirits. The students of the riding school finished before lunch on Saturdays, and he made sure that nobody else could come in to ride in the afternoons. Even if he didn’t have time to ride very long before having to dash off to another appointment, he fit in time in the saddle where he could.

While the grooms at the stable took excellent care of the animals in their charge, and other people in his family had their horses prepared and waiting when they came riding, Toto always insisted on doing the preparation work himself; brushing down the horse, picking its hooves, and putting on tack. He even preferred to groom the horse after his ride, talking sweetly to it all the while, and feeding it peppermints from the pockets of his riding coat — probably more than the stablemaster would prefer.

His favorite was a stallion named Conversano Comtessa, but went by Campione. Campione was nearing twenty years old; very nearly an old man, and had always been especially sweet and gentle, especially with Toto’s children when they were young. 

He was of exceptional beauty, too. All of the horses in the Stallburg were white-haired Lippizans, but Campione’s hair looked like spun silver, especially in his mane and tail. He was extraordinarily well-muscled, and Toto had heard that he had been a favorite of each student of the Spanish Riding School that had been assigned to him since he started under saddle. He was not used regularly for lessons now, as he was getting on in years, but the trainers still exercised him. 

— Good afternoon, Campione — he said, as he reached the stall of his prized stallion. The horse perked its ears up, bringing his head over the door of the stall. Toto reached out and patted his velvety nose. The horse pushed his nose past Toto’s hand, sniffing at his pockets.

— Yes, I know, we have an agreement — Toto said, chuckling. He pulled out one of the candies from his pocket, which Campione snatched near immediately before backing up a bit, allowing Toto to open the door to the stall to enter. It was a routine by now. As he brushed and tacked up the horse, his mind was elsewhere, thinking about the conversation with his mother and reading his wife’s letters. 

It had been eleven years since he was widowed, and that morning was not the first time that his mother had brought up remarriage, but he had never considered it on his own, and bristled whenever someone else brought it up. 

“But why…?” he wondered, guiding Campione smoothly around the arena in a walk. He was letting the animal warm up, keeping the reins long and loose. 

It certainly wouldn’t be out of the norm to remarry as a widower, and as his mother said, it was encouraged by the church. But whenever the thought crossed his mind, he swiftly dismissed it, telling himself that he needed more time.

Before he had even realized it, more time had turned into eleven years. 

He and Stephanie had always talked about the things they would do together when they had grown old. He never aspired to stay on the throne until his death; it was not something he discussed with anyone but Stephanie, but he had planned on abdicating when Benedict had been sufficiently prepared for the job of running the empire. He and his wife had plans to renovate Ambras Castle in Innsbruck to use as a winter home, and they would spend their summers in Trieste. They would travel around Europe, of course, and they both wanted to see the United States. 

But then, once she passed, Toto stopped making plans. He felt like a tree that dropped its leaves for the winter. Still standing, somehow, but dormant, maybe even dead from afar. He sank himself into his work, living by his routine and barely registering his own existence outside of it. He tried putting on a brave face for his children, but even they seemed to notice, asking occasionally if he was okay.

Toto pulled the reins a bit, directing Campione into a trot, making sure that his topline was long enough and low enough for the more strenuous exercises. 

He let his thoughts skirt the idea he had long forbidden himself from thinking about — would it be the worst thing in the world to have some companionship again? It was not as if anyone would replace Stephanie in his memories or his heart, but he did miss having someone around who knew him as more than The Emperor, someone to share little jokes and knowing looks, someone to share his deepest worries, to share meals, someone to join him for ballets and concerts, on walks around the garden, on summers in Bad Ischl…

“Sure, take a new wife, fall in love again. But what if she leaves you in the same way? What if you die before her? Everybody dies sometime, after all”, asked a cruel voice in the back of his mind. 

Suddenly, Campione stopped sharply, jerking Toto forward. He managed to keep himself in the saddle, but only just. He briefly wondered what could have spooked a normally superbly disciplined horse, but he was simply standing at rest in the arena, flicking his ears about as if he was waiting for the next command. Toto realized that the error was his — he had tightened the reins too much without even realizing it, giving the horse the signal to stop. He hadn’t meant to. It was a product of being startled by his own revelation.

— Sorry, boy — he said, sheepishly patting the beast’s neck. Campione snorted and pawed at the dirt a bit with his forelegs, before responding to Toto’s command to continue in a canter.

His fears were now plain as day; he never cared to live through the weeks following Stephanie’s death again, but… 

The way he was now could hardly be called “living”. He was dormant, like the trees in winter. He was standing, sure, but from far away, he may as well be rotting upright. 

The situation was different, but Stephanie’s advice in her letter was right — he needed to bloom. 

He felt a strange calm as he finished up his ride, and felt a sense of clarity that he hadn’t had for a while. It carried him the rest of the way through the evening.

The next morning, as he kneeled and prayed before Sunday Mass with his family in — the Hofkapelle — the court chapel, the prayer he said was not the usual ones he did by rote each week. It was an earnest plea, less so to God or Christ or the Blessed Virgin, but to Stephanie. 

“You will always be my first love, but it has been a very hard winter without you, meine geliebte, and I cannot join you yet. I’ve denied myself the comfort of another while I still live in this world, but I cannot continue in this loneliness. You told me I need to bloom, so please, send me a sign that it is time and continue to keep me in your prayers as you are always in mine”.

The next morning, while Toto was doing his morning work, there was a knock on the door of his study once again.

— Come in — he said, not looking up from the military dispatches he was in the middle of reading.

The door opened to reveal Phillip, holding a singular white rose. 

— Sorry to interrupt, Your Imperial Majesty, but the head gardener thought you might like to have this — Phillip crossed the room and extended the flower to Toto. 

Toto took the rose, glancing at it in his hand. It certainly wasn’t an ideal specimen. Its stem and leaves looked a bit ragged — damaged by frost, no doubt — but the petals looked like they were in decent shape, somehow, showing only the slightest discoloration around the edges. 

— The garden staff was working on getting the rose bushes covered, but it seems that one of the blooms wasn’t pruned with the rest of them a few weeks ago, or just decided to come late. The last one, in any case — Phillip said — The gardener gave it to me to give to you, he said that the white ones were the Empress’ favorites.

Toto had stopped paying attention to what Phillip was saying, and was staring aghast at the flower. Stephanie did love white roses, often saying that they were the most beautiful ones of all, even if the petals lacked in color.

“They also signify purity and new love, you know,” he remembered her telling him once, after she had snipped a particularly large bloom from the palace garden. “I know you weren’t there for it, but my wedding dress had little white roses embroidered into it”.

He stared at the bloom for a moment aghast, before regaining his focus.

— Thank you, Phillip. Tell the gardener I appreciate it very much.

— I will, your Imperial Majesty — he bowed deeply and retreated, closing the door behind him, and Toto fixed his gaze on his wife’s portrait.

— I suppose this is your answer, meine geliebte. Thank you.

[detroit-grand-prix]

letzte rose - die traurige kaiser

Toto Wolff x Susie Wolff Royal/Historical AU

Chapter Summary: On a bleak November day in 1847, the Emperor of Austria, Christian I, goes about his usual routine. A visit from his advisor, Andreas Nikolaus Ritter von Lauda, brings grave tidings of happenings that even the Emperor was not aware of that threaten to shake the peace and stability of the entire country and its provinces. The news makes Toto, as the Emperor is known by close family and friends, that his self-imposed isolation has gone on long enough.

He was having that dream again.

It used to be his wife that he saw in his dreams, and it brought him great comfort in the miserable months following her death. But as the years wore on, the image of his wife became harder and harder to see, until he stopped being able to see who the figure with him was at all.

What used to be the clear, undeniable presence of Stephanie had been reduced to the feeling of delicate fingers caressing his cheek and smoothing back his hair. The scent of a delicate, floral perfume lingering in his nose. The reassuring weight of a hand on the small of his back. The feeling of a soft hand holding his. 

It always came with the feeling of relief, as the persistent loneliness that even haunted his dreaming life briefly dissipated, but whenever he tried to turn and look, to see the face of the angel who had deigned to save him from his isolation, there was never anybody there. 

He was alone again.

Every time.

— I fall at your feet, Your Majesty, good morning!

Toto snapped his eyes open upon hearing the words that Phillip, his Kammerdiener, greeted him with every morning.

He sat up, trying to rub the dust of sleep out of his eyes, as Phillip’s blurry outline coalesced into focus. He was in a deep bow, the oil lamp he was holding casting a delicate glow onto the walls of Toto’s bedroom. The sun was not yet up; it never was when Toto woke up, because he preferred to do so at an hour that most called “absurdly early”.

— Good morning, Herr Peter. 3:30 already, is it? — Toto said, trying to steady himself on his feet.

Phillip assisted him as he washed, shaved, and dressed. It was nice having Phillip to talk to so early, Toto had to admit, as he tried to ignore the dull pang of emptiness filling his chest that always followed when he had that particular recurring dream. It wasn’t on a nightly basis like it was in the months following Stephanie’s death, but once every few months now. 

Every time he had that same dream, it made him feel off-kilter, like a child’s toy spinning top that had been kicked off its point. He was hoping that reciting his usual morning prayers would help him feel centered again, as it normally did, but by the time his breakfast was served, he was still unsettled. 

Many in the court joked that they could set the palace clocks by the Emperor’s schedule instead of the reverse, which Toto thought was a fair assessment. He just preferred to minimize the decisions he had to make each day, is all - he had to make enough of them in the course of governing his empire, so he could not be bothered to choose what to wear or to eat or what time to wake up from day-to-day.

Promptly at 5am, his breakfast arrived, something else that varied little. One scrambled egg, one slice of grilled ham, a bit of cubed bacon, two slices of pumpernickel toast — toasted extra dark so that it was crispy like a cracker — with butter, a slice of tomato, and a sprinkling of salt on each, with a small mug of dark-roasted coffee, with a splash of cream. 

After his breakfast dishes were whisked away from his study, Toto got started on the pressing matters of the day: going through the reports and correspondences from various officials that were placed on his desk overnight. 

The rest of the palace usually stirred to life by the time he was halfway through the morning reading; not everyone was keen to wake up as early as Toto did, and that was fine. He found that sinking himself into his work was a good way to keep his mind off of other things. 

Even he had to admit to himself, though, it had gotten more extreme in the last few years. More than once, he’d found himself being shaken awake by his daughter, Rosi, having dozed off with his head on his desk, ink from whatever paper he had been reading smeared across his face. The last time it had happened, the concerned expression Rosi had on her face as she helped him to his bedroom had left him shaken for days. 

Toto was in the middle of reading a report about growing concern over a separatist activity in Buda — most of his correspondences seemed to be about Hungary these days — when the door to his study flung open to reveal the swiftly advancing form of Andreas Nikolaus Ritter von Lauda, one of Toto’s closest, most trusted advisors, trailed by a frantic aide-de-camp, who was shouting that the man — Niki, as most knew him — had to be announced before he could enter the emperor’s study. This episode played out every time Niki came in, without fail; he never stopped to be escorted in as most guests were, and his own military clout didn’t exempt him from the rules.

— It’s okay, Major. At ease. I will call if we need anything — Toto said, saluting the officer, who bowed and saluted back before retreating back to his post. 

Niki was an old friend of the family; his own grandfather had been an advisor to Rudolf VI. He was a hero of the Napoleonic wars who was badly burned during the Battle of Aspern-Essling when he was trying to keep the French from advancing on the village of Aspern so that its civilians could be evacuated. He was trapped inside of a house the French set on fire and sustained terrible burns to his head and neck trying to shield a civilian woman from the parts of the house that were caving in. He still bore the scars, decades later. 

An old military legend held that Rittmeister von Lauda had a priest summoned to what all assumed would be his deathbed in a nearby field hospital, but told the Father to “fuck off” as soon as the priest touched him with the anointing oil. 

Toto had asked Niki about that story once, wondering if it was just a tall tale, but Niki verified it himself, telling him that the priest tried to read him his last rites.“Goodbye, my son, may God grant you eternal rest”, the priest had told him. With a laugh, Niki told Toto that he thought the priest was going to give him words of encouragement to find the resolve to remain in this life, not try to send him off to the next. 

Niki also did not usually bother with the normal formalities and niceties of court etiquette, sparing only a slight bow in Toto’s direction as he crossed the threshold of the emperor’s study. Most people would be aghast at Niki’s curtness and rudeness, but Toto appreciated someone speaking plainly to him, as if he was any other person; he was almost certainly the only one outside of his immediate family that did.

— Did you see the news this morning? You and I make a prominent appearance.

— I was just reading the Wiener Zeitung, I didn’t see any…

— No, not in the newspaper. From the cafes. Here — Niki said, tossing a thick pamphlet onto the top of Toto’s stack of papers. It was one of the underground publications printed anonymously by university students and distributed through many of Vienna’s coffeehouses, made to circumvent the strict censorship laws set up by Chancellor Metternich decades ago. 

Toto pursed his lips as he unfolded the document, his eyes immediately drawn to what Niki was likely referencing.

It was a political cartoon, one that featured an especially unflattering caricature of Toto. The figure had an enlarged head, and exaggerated features. He appeared to be grinning stupidly as he was crouched on the floor in a dark room lit by a single candelabra. This version of Toto was wearing nothing but his underwear and his crown, placed jauntily on his head. Sitting next to him was a large rat, dressed in a military uniform laden with medals and a sash with the words “Von Lauda” on it. The fur around the rat’s head and ears was missing, and it had a sour, hardened expression on its face. The rat appeared to be pointing at a tattered map of the Hungarian province on the floor. 

The caption read, “The Emperor and his pet rat plan the strategy for Hungary”.

Toto stared at the image for a few moments. The likeness was humorous, and its appearance in the papers was hardly surprising, and certainly nothing Toto hadn’t seen before. The rest of his advisors generally tried to keep material like it — the things that were overly critical of his reign, his family, the government, or the church — away from his sight, but Niki was one of his few that would never spare his feelings.

— Well — Toto said, glancing up at Niki — At least they made my nose the right size this time.

— I think they made me look better than usual — Niki said, donning a satisfied grin — It’s like they aim to flatter me.

He had long drawn comparisons to a rat, but at least, he had always said, it was more about his appearance than his character. In his younger days as a hotshot military officer, Niki had an especially prominent overbite, long front teeth, and an intense, piercing gaze that, even to his own admission, looked rather murine. His features had balanced out over time, between the scarring and age. His cheeks became more paunchy and made his overbite look less obvious, but the comparison had become intractable over time. 

— Joking aside, there is something serious to take from this — Niki said, taking off his trademark navy top hat. He generally did not remove it in most circumstances, as it hid the worst of the scarring from his wartime injuries, but the bright red trim ribbon made it his trademark. Over the years, Toto had noticed that he only took it off as a gesture of absolute sincerity — The fact that you and I are sitting in the darkness in this… drawing is no coincidence. I am sure you know that your citizens are growing increasingly unhappy with the government. It has been a long time since the people, your people, have seen you in public, and the perception is you are not the one governing, that Metternich is, and you’re just a figurehead, and a poor one at that.

— That’s not, I do plenty of governing, and that’s what I’m interested in, not putting on a show.

— Like as not, you are a symbol for the empire, but a symbol that sits hidden in the darkness is not worth much. You’ve been isolated so long that all of the goodwill you have earned with your people is evaporating because of the way Metternich has been handling things.

Toto sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. 

— I know you’re not wrong, but… between you and I, all of this was easier with Stephanie. She was so kind, she could naturally connect with people in a way that… I’ve never felt like I have been able to, but with her, it felt like all of it was manageable. The people loved her, you saw how many people were lined up for her funeral procession, the streets were nigh impassable for days.

— So, do we need to find you another wife, then? Someone to hold your hand and sweet-talk you while you do your job and rule your own country?

Toto gave Niki a deadly scowl. 

— Have you been talking to my mother? You sound just like her — he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, feeling like a little boy being scolded — I don’t need a wife.

— Well, you need someone to help you with your obligation to be visible to your people again. Why don’t you ask Rosa? She’s old enough, and she’s a lovely young woman, everyone that knows her adores her, and she’s as magnanimous as her mother was.

The mention of his daughter made Toto’s expression soften a bit. 

— She is, but I don’t…

— The point is — Niki said, standing back up — You need to see and be seen amongst your people again, because Metternich is guiding the country down a dark path, and you’re the only one that has the power to stop him before your citizens gain a taste for blood. I know you were not yet born at the time, but I’m sure you remember what happened to your great aunt Maria Antonia in France not so long ago.

He picked up his hat, placing it back on his head with a flourish that may as well have been the period at the end of a sentence. He exited Toto’s study the customary way — never turning his back on the emperor — with a short, sharp bow and a curt “Your Imperial Majesty,” before letting the door fall closed as he left.

Toto sat at his desk, frozen and dumbstruck. He glanced at the official portrait of the royal family that was hanging on the wall opposite his desk. It was painted when Rosi had just turned three, and Benedict five, as a birthday gift to Stephanie. He looked at it often; though the pain of his wife’s death was no longer quite so acute, he found that talking to a canvas-and-varnish version of her would sometimes help with examining a problem or question he was puzzling through, as if it were a means to externalize it.

He stared at his wife’s pleasant smile, as if at any moment, she would start giving him the answers to the nascent questions that were rattling around his head, but of course, none came. 

The portrait hung silent, as it always was.

He found it difficult to focus on his paperwork after that, but the chiming of his clock in his study told him that lunch would be served soon, anyway. 

While he ate breakfast alone in his study, he liked to take his lunch in the family dining room in his apartments. They were still solitary affairs; the only time he ate with others was during dinner. Most nights, he had dinner with his children and his mother, and on Sundays, the entirety of the extended imperial house gathered to dine; it was important to Toto that his relatives attend if they were in Vienna, but he didn’t know why. 

He sat at his usual place at the head of the table, where his place setting was made, and his daily menu was waiting. Toto’s tastes in food were not extravagant, but just like his breakfasts, he had his preferred meals. Official dinners with foreign diplomats or important guests meant that French food was served, but for his own meals, he much preferred simpler Viennese cuisine. Wiener schnitzel and Tapfelspitz were among his favorites, but today, he opted for brathendl — roasted chicken breast — with a side of roasted potatoes and carrots, and a buttered, seeded roll. 

Niki’s words continued to echo in his head as he was eating. The rest of the contents of the pamphlet surprised him. The newspapers and his advisors both offered glowing reports of the stability and peace of the Concert of Europe, but the pamphlet contained news of brawls between soldiers and civilians in the face of military draft commissions, economic recessions, food shortages ongoing in some areas, and the independence uprisings in Hungary, which he was aware of. 

How had he not heard of this happening? Chancellor Metternich would have been well aware…

— That weasel — Toto muttered. Niki may have been the one that looked like a rat, but Chancellor Metternich was the one acting the part. 

Niki was right. His isolation kept him in the dark, and kept it so the only information he had received was the information that the chancellor and other palace officials wanted him to receive. No wonder Metternich or his other aides never complained about him reducing his public-facing duties in the last few years.

— Frau Julia — he said, getting the attention of the attendant that stood by during his lunch each day. She seemed a bit startled. It wasn’t often that Toto had spoken to her beyond a nod of acknowledgement when she brought his meals to the table — Please, come here.

— Yes, your Imperial Majesty? — she said, stopping to curtsy once she was within arms’ length of Toto. 

— I have a question, and I want you to answer as honestly as possible. You need not fear any sort of censure or repercussions no matter what your response is, so please, be as thorough and truthful as you can be. Do you understand?

The woman — a compact, slender woman with red hair and brown eyes — nodded tentatively. 

— Yes, your imperial majesty.

— How do you think things are going… how do I say this? Politically. I’ve been made aware of some situations that I was not aware of, and I wanted to get your opinion, as one of my subjects and a citizen of the empire. Please, be truthful.

The woman’s eyes went wide in shock, and she quickly shifted her glance toward the parquet flooring, her fingers tightening their grip around the edges of the tray she was holding.

— Well… things have been difficult, Your Imperial Majesty. The grocers don’t have as much food as they used to, it seems like every day you hear about someone’s husband or son being forced into the army and sent to Hungary to fight, the farmers have staged a few protests… and it seems like so many people are going hungry, even though they put in a full days’ work. I’m grateful for the fact that I work in Your Imperial Majesty’s service, because the kitchens provide enough food that I can take home enough for my daughter and me to eat well, but my neighbors haven’t been able to afford meat or sugar in months…

Toto listened thoughtfully, stroking his chin. 

— I see. Thank you for your insight.

— If it helps, the university students that make those pamphlets and talk about politics and the law, they say it’s mostly the Chancellor’s doing. I know Your Imperial Majesty has a good heart, but they, the students, say that he’s the one really in charge of things.

He nodded thoughtfully, thanking his attendant for her insight.

— You’ve given me much to think about — he told her, which seemed to bring Julia a small measure of satisfaction and pride. He made a mental note to himself to have his private secretary arrange to have a small gift for her daughter, a bag of sweets, perhaps, sent to her home later that week. 

The rest of the day was lost to Toto as he wallowed in his thoughts. He leafed through documents that had already been reviewed, trying to read between the lines, grasping for the truth hiding under the half-lies fed to him by his advisors. He considered summoning Metternich directly to confront him that second, maybe even dismissing him outright, but he had been in his position so long that doing so threatened to destabilize the entire country.

No, the present situation required delicacy, and the sort of confident statesmanship he’d found that he had a talent for in his late teens and early twenties.

But the Emperor Christian I of then and the Emperor Christian I of now may as well have been two different people entirely. 

[detroit-grand-prix]

letzte rose - ein ode an die pflicht

Toto Wolff x Susie Wolff Royal/Historical AU

Chapter Summary: After his time reflecting and soul-searching on how to resolve his loneliness, the Emperor decides to take his daughter up on an invitation for an evening out to the opera. When the curtain goes up, he realizes that maybe his heart hadn't been buried after all.

A quiet Monday afternoon followed a very busy morning, spent mostly receiving official guests in the audience chamber. Toto ate lunch alone, finding the need to decompress after a long morning of talking. As he sat and worked on the things he had set aside for the afternoon, he found himself feeling antsy.

“Maybe going for a walk would help”, he thought. He could stretch his legs, and clear his head. It had been three days since the gardener had given him the white rose, which was now on his desk, and his thoughts were buzzing after the epiphany he had come to, that maybe it was time to seek the companionship of another.

However, he didn’t want to bother with the list of names of eligible women his mother gave him, not yet. 

Toto liked to walk through the gardens when he could. He loved the palace gardens, and both the Schönbrunn and the Hofburg had extensive gardens with a wide variety of trees and plants, statues and fountains. His ancestors who had built both palaces had clearly always valued the beauty of nature, and brought it in from the world over, including an orangery filled with fresh citrus trees from the Americas, and a palm house filled with plants and trees from the tropics. 

The gardens at the Hofburg were much smaller than those of the Schönbrunn, but no less picturesque, but the way the biting November gales rattled the windows in his bedroom and study, plus the gloomy gray light, told him that today was best spent indoors.

So, he found himself walking the halls of the palace, toward the west wing that he rarely saw these days, aside from going to the chapel. It was clear from the reactions of some of the palace staff that it was a surprise to see Toto roaming the halls of this part of the palace at this time; even as they bowed and curtsied, he could see the mild shock on their faces as he acknowledged them with a nod. 

He continued walking down the hallways, his mind feeling pleasantly vacant of thoughts, just enjoying the journey without having a particular destination in mind. He thought about making essentially a large loop around the building, but he was stopped in his tracks by the distant sound of soft piano music. It was hard to make out what was being played, but as he drew closer to it, he was able to recognize the piece as the first movement of a Mozart piano sonata he quite liked. It was number 11, he believed, in A major. Whoever was playing it was quite talented, perhaps one of the court musicians. 

He was delighted when he arrived at the right room, and peeked carefully around the doorframe, not wanting to be spotted and end up interrupting whoever it was that was playing so wonderfully. 

To his pleasant surprise, over the top of the music rack, he saw his daughter’s head, the dark blonde ringlets at the side of her head swaying gracefully with her movements as she worked her way through the bouncier, more upbeat variations. He couldn’t help but smile, unable to resist the temptation to keep watching from the side of the doorframe. Thankfully, the end of the piano faced the door, and while it obscured most of her from view, it likely obscured Toto from being spotted, as he didn’t want to interrupt.

So he thought.

— I can see you, you know — Rosi said, though she did not stop her playing, except to finish the first Andante grazioso movement before moving onto the Minuetto. Her voice sounded cheerful, like she had to stop herself from giggling.

Toto blushed as he stepped into the doorframe, making little effort to hide his sheepish smile from view as he walked into the room, sinking into one of the elegant chairs set up around the piano. Rosi continued playing, giving Toto a slight smile as he sat down. The room was set up for a private salon, but Toto was not sure the last time he had attended one. He knew they were popular with some of the court’s ladies, and his mother frequently played hostess to them.

It was open, but relatively small and plain in comparison to the other rooms near it. It was on the second floor, almost directly above the chapel. Toto’s mother had had it redecorated a few times, very obviously not knowing what to do with its interior, and it showed. The walls were covered with a green floral wallpaper and matching window appointments that Toto thought clashed horrendously with the rich red carpeting and reddish wooden molding and wooden paneling along the lower part of the wall, and the enormity of the paintings and tapestries of the room didn’t help it look any less stuffy. 

But, it didn’t matter, he never came down to this room, and even now, he was too entranced by his daughter’s playing to notice the decor. 

Toto sat and listened as Rosa finished the grand-sounding Minuetto movement, and moved into the dizzying quickness of the Alla Turca. 

Rosi finished the last few chords with a flourish, and Toto applauded politely as she moved the bench back to stand and take a mock bow.

— That was wonderful — Toto said. He felt himself beaming at her with pride. Whereas Benedict had developed a talent and passion for sports, Rosi’s talents and sensibilities were firmly in things like music, and art. She had taken piano lessons from a young age, and while she had come to learn many instruments and had an impressive knowledge of musical theory, the piano was her passion — It’s been too long since I’ve heard you play, I think. So I am glad I decided to come this way.

— I was going to say — Rosi said, quietly playing something Toto thought sounded familiar, but couldn’t place it; another one of Mozart’s sonatas, if he had to guess — It has been a while since I’ve seen you outside of your office, aside for church and supper.

— Well — Toto said, with a smirk — You would have seen me at breakfast the other day, but you were with your aunt. So instead, I had the pleasure of only having your grandmother’s company.

Rosi giggled. 

— Yes, she told me that she brought up the idea of you remarrying again, and that you… uh, did not receive it well.

— Oh, is that all she said about it? I’m surprised — Toto leaned back a bit in his chair as he cocked an eyebrow. 

— Well, no… she said you had a bit of a tantrum about it — Toto laughed — That you stormed off in a huff and went to play with your horses, she thinks, just like you used to do when you were a boy.

Toto chuckled and shook his head.

— She’s not wrong, and I’m not proud of it. But, I’ve told her time and again that it’s not something I wish to discuss — Toto said, an air of concession in his voice. 

— I understand your frustration. She started talking to me about the suitors she has lined up for me, all of these men that are handsome and charming and are a perfect match for me because, but all of them are probably twice my age and will see me as nothing more than the daughter of Emperor Christian.

She finished her playing by pressing a random assortment of keys, making a sharp, crunching chord, and turned on the piano bench to face her father with a sigh.

Toto was always impressed by his daughter’s acerbic wit and wisdom beyond her years. She may have mostly gotten Toto’s features — his square jaw, wide smile, shapely nose, high cheeks, and dark brown eyes, but there was no question that she got her intelligence from her mother.

He chuckled softly. 

— You never know. I had not expected much when your grandmother arranged my marriage to your mother, but I would say that it worked out wonderfully. But, out of curiosity — Toto asked — And if you don’t mind my asking, I know this is not something we’ve spoken about before, but… what sort of man would you marry, if you had a choice?

— Hm — Rosi said, tilting her head back in thought. She was leaning with her hands on the back of the piano bench, swinging her feet back and forth gently as the toes of her shoes skimmed the top of the carpeting — I suppose I haven’t thought about it much. But, I would hope that he would like music, like me, you know, going to operas and concerts and the ballet. I’d want him to be intelligent, the sort of man who likes to read, has some curiosity… but, he should be kind, most of all.

Rosi’s eyes dropped back toward the keyboard of the piano in front of her. Toto knew that his daughter had seen many women of the court enter into marriages of obligation where a man would take a wife and, at best, ignore her, and at worst, treat her horribly. Toto certainly wouldn’t willingly marry his daughter off to some noble scoundrel to have her be miserable for the rest of her life, but without Stephanie, the matter of setting up his daughter’s future betrothal was mostly in the hands of Archduchess Johanna.

He wasn’t sure what to say, but before he could respond, Rosi spoke up.

— Speaking of operas, I know this is a long shot, but a friend of mine, Andrea, you’ve met him, but he goes by Antonelli, he’s one of the cellists for the company at the Kärntnertortheater, he says they have a new opera debuting next week. I know it has been a long time since you’ve gone to the theater, but… perhaps you’d like to go with me?

Toto blinked, surprised at the invitation, and trying to remember the last time he had gone to the opera.

He and Stephanie used to attend the theater frequently; both of them especially loved operas. Toto thought for a moment; the last one he remembered attending was the second premiere of Kreutzer’s Das Nachtlager in Granada… but that had to have been a decade ago, shortly after his wife passed. 

It was his first time going to a public event after her funeral, but the experience of going somewhere in public without having his wife to speak to. He hated having to sit by himself in the imperial box, he hated the way he kept seeing everyone glancing his way. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t used to standing out in public; it was impossible to go anywhere as the ruler of an empire without attracting attention, but when he was with members of his family, the attention didn’t feel like it was trained so sharply on him. 

Not to mention looks of pity and sadness that people gave him that night, his first time out as a widower, and without his children — made him uncomfortable enough that he decided it would also be the last. He could rule the nation, yes, but he couldn’t go out in public without someone by his side; the realization of which brought him great shame, furthering his disinterest. It was like he was trying to pull out a splinter, but only driving it deeper under his skin. 

The timing of Rosi’s invitation felt like another sign. He couldn’t undo the last eleven years and face them with more bravery and resolve, but he could face the future with it. 

— You don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course, I know you don’t really like… going out in public, not since mama died — Rosi said — But… I just thought, you know, maybe you would like to see this show. I’m told that it’s very funny. And that the lead soprano is very talented. I thought it might… cheer you up, and we could spend some time together.

Rosi took a long breath in and sighed, almost as if she was trying to steady herself before continuing.

— It is very fortunate that you’ve come down here, because I have been wanting to talk to you for a while, but you’ve been so busy that I haven’t been able to see you, but after I heard your argument with grandmother, I got a little worried that being so isolated for so long might be affecting you. I know it’s been very hard since mama died, but Bene and I have both been worried about you for a long time, and we just think it would be better if you got out more, like… you used to.

Toto’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

— I’m sorry if that was out of turn, but, I swear I’m just concerned for…

— You don’t have to apologize, my daughter. You are absolutely right, and I had actually arrived at the same conclusion myself after I spoke to your grandmother. I did some thinking to myself when I was in the Stallburg, and prayed to the Lord that He might send me some direction, and… well, I think it is time I stop hiding away. I think your mother is probably quite disappointed in me and would want the same — he said, remembering Phillip presenting him with the white rose; it was surely the sign he had asked for from Stephanie, her permission and reassurance that his life did not have to end with hers. 

However, the meaning of the rose — to him, at least, would be his own little secret, one last inside joke between Toto and his dearest departed wife.

— Now — Toto said, abruptly, hoping to change the subject — Tell me about this opera.

— It’s called Martha, I think, and it’s by Frederich Flotow. He premiered another opera called Alessandro Stradella here in Vienna two years ago. I hadn’t seen it, but I heard good things — Rosi said, her voice full of delight — Apparently this one is a romantic comedy… oh, and the woman playing the lead, the soprano? She’s from England, I hear!

If there was one thing that Rosi had loved as much as music, it was traveling. She had loved it since she was a child, as her mother did. She hadn’t traveled widely since she was younger, but being at court afforded her the opportunity to meet lots of people that came to Vienna from all sorts of places, like the diplomats, artists, and musicians that came to the palace, or to perform at one of the theaters in Vienna. 

When she was able, she loved to ask these visitors questions about what their home countries were like, what sort of food they had, what cities they had come from — really, all manner of things. Benedict had always been a bit more reserved, but Rosi was as outgoing as they came. 

— England? Interesting — Toto said. It was not unusual for guest artists to come from all around Europe to perform; having so many well-known composers hailing from Vienna over the last century had turned the city into somewhat of a hub for music, opera, and ballet, but he couldn’t recall ever having heard of someone coming so far from the west in a while — I wonder how she’s getting on with the language, I’m not sure if most of the English speak German.

— I asked Andrea that, too, since they've been doing final rehearsals this week, but apparently her German is rather good. I imagine she would have not gotten the part if it wasn’t, the libretto is in German.

— I see. It should be a wonderful show, then. I’m sure we will enjoy it.

Rosi’s expression changed once more, going from excited to pensive.

— Father… are you sure you want to go with me? I know you haven’t gone to any events in a very long time, and I know a big premiere like this will draw quite a large crowd, and I know you’ve never loved being in crowded places, so I don’t want to make you…

Toto was quick to get on his feet, walking to the piano bench without a word. He took both of his daughter’s hands in his. Rosi stood up to try and meet his eyes — a difficult task given how tall Toto was.

— What…

— My dear daughter — Toto said. His hold on his daughter’s hands was gentle, but there was a firmness and resolve in his voice that even surprised him — I would love to go with you, and I am so happy you thought to ask me first.

Rosi’s eyes widened, and a smile started to spread over her features that made Toto’s heart flutter. 

— I know that I have neglected a lot of my duties in the last few years, both as emperor and your father, but I feel that God is giving me a chance to put all to rights, so I shall take it — he punctuated a statement with a kiss to the top of his daughter’s hand — Besides, you will be with me, I have no reason to be nervous.

A look of pure elation spread across Rosi’s face as she took her hands back, throwing her arms around her father’s midsection. He stumbled back a bit so as not to fall over as his daughter buried her face in the lapels of his jacket.

— Oh, papa! — she squealed — I’m so happy!

Toto did his best to hug his daughter back, but found it difficult to bend over much further, so he settled for affectionately patting the back of her head, careful not to disturb her hair that was tied into a neat chignon. 

And so, on Thursday evening, Toto found himself seated in a carriage with his daughter for the very short ride from the Hofburg to the Theater am Kärntnertor with his daughter, flanked by a host of Imperial guards. 

Ordinarily, he would opt to wear his military dress uniform when appearing in public. He was proud of his military history and even now, thought of himself first and foremost as a military man, but Philipp had convinced him to wear a more ordinary evening dress; after all, he said, he was not attending the opera as the head of state, but as a father spending the evening with his daughter. 

It had been a long time since he left the walls of the Hofburg palace for an extended period, other than leaving to spend the summer in Bad Ischl, or to go to the Schonbrunn for state purposes, so it had been a long time since he had seen the way people stopped in the streets as the carriage went past to bow or curtsy. The way people looked at him — with shock or surprise — made him feel uneasy, but it wasn’t unwarranted, he supposed. He did his best to smile and wave in return.

The mood of the crowd inside the theater was a little different — the noise of the crowd rose to almost a buzz as people whispered excitedly as his retinue passed through the entry foyer on the way up to the imperial box, though they still bowed reverently, he noticed a lot of them were smiling.

He did his best to acknowledge as many people as possible, but by the time he and Rosi reached their seats in the imperial box, he felt a familiar anxiety creeping in. Rosi, perhaps sensing this — she was keenly observant — dropped back to walk alongside her father, giving his gloved hand a gentle squeeze as they ascended the stairs to their seats.

Toto felt a bit better once he and Rosi had taken their seats, with a pair of guards posted by the doors. 

The imperial box was, naturally, the best seat in the house, placed in the dead center of the mezzanine, hung with scarlet buntings and curtains trimmed in gold. A set of doors in the rear of the box lead to a grand-looking reception room, where there would be a private reception for the cast and musicians following the show, along with 

— Oh, there’s Andrea! — Rosi said, eagerly tugging at her father’s sleeve as she pointed into the orchestra pit just in front of the stage. — There, on the outside of the second row!

He glanced over and saw a young-looking man with a round, almost cherubic-looking face and a mass of unruly-looking dark curls on his head. He was deftly playing through his warm-ups as he noticed Rosi pointing him out, and shot her a small smile in return. He didn’t look like he was any older than Rosi was; Toto thought that he must have enormous talent to have gotten a seat in the Imperial opera company at his age.

He nodded in Andrea’s direction, and busied himself with looking at the playbill, trying to ignore the excited pointing and whispering of the parts of the audience that had doubtlessly noticed that the imperial box was occupied for the first time in a while. He browsed through the names of the cast, a few of which sounded familiar, probably from the newspapers, like the lead tenor, Mr. Erl, but his eyes kept going back to the line with the lead soprano billed. 

— Fraulein Stoddart — he said quietly. Something about the name piqued Toto’s curiosity; maybe the fact that Rosi had told him that the lead soprano was an Englishwoman, though it could have passed for sounding German if he didn’t know any better.

Before long, the house lights dimmed and the audience fell into a hush, and the conductor came out to applause and to tune the orchestra. Toto felt a strange shiver of anticipation before the overture started; not only it had been a long time since he had been to the theater at all, it was the first time he’d been to an actual premiere performance. Operas he had been to before had all been performed for years, so familiarity with the storylines was simply common cultural knowledge. 

All that the playbill had revealed was that the show was a romantic comedy set in England during the reign of Queen Anne, and very little else. 

During the overture, a lone costumed French Horn player came out onto the stage, in front of the curtain, setting up a small stool as he played a lyrical-sounding solo before being comically chased off by an actor in an English police uniform.

The overture ended with applause, and the curtain opened a few moments later to reveal a set that appeared to be the bedroom of a wealthy woman. There was a full troupe of maids onstage, and two women in elegant gowns, the likes of which Toto had seen in paintings of some of his ancestors. There was a brunette woman in a sky-blue gown, and a blonde woman, sitting on a chair in the foreground, facing away from the audience, her posture such that she looked positively disinterested in anything going on around her. 

The chorus of maids, including the woman in blue, started singing, and when he realized what he was hearing, his stomach dropped. 

— You have been so strange, my lady, may we know the reason why? You have seemed to change, my lady, with each day that passes by. Why are you so discontented? Do you want for anything? You have all that life can offer, all that rank and wealth can bring — they sang. 

If they weren’t using the term Lady, Toto thought they may as well be singing directly to him.

He turned his head to quickly glance at Rosi, but she was focused on the stage, but his emotions made another violent turn as the lead — this Ms. Stoddart — finally began to sing about the flowers and gifts she had been sent.

The moment she turned her face to respond to the chorus, there was a sudden squeeze on Toto’s heart. Her voice was heavenly; it was rich, full, and clear, and it rose over the orchestra with ease. He was unsure if her dramatic hairstyle was a theatrical wig or her natural hair, but it glowed like spun gold in the stage lighting.

— Leave me — she sang — Let me be blessed by loneliness. My joy be shared, I bear my pain alone!

By the time the introduction ended and the chorus of maids dashed offstage, Toto felt like his mouth was dry and his heart was pounding, but not in a way that made him feel uncomfortable.

No, it was something else.

He was enthralled. He was alive. He was in love. 

[detroit-grand-prix]

letzte rose - prologue

Toto Wolff x Susie Wolff Royal/Historical AU

Summary: The year is 1849 and one of Europe's Great Powers, the Austro-Hungarian Empire, is on the cusp of burgeoning unrest. Parliament is trying to seize more authority while the provinces are fighting for more autonomy. An increasingly conservative chancellor seems to hold all of the power these days, as Emperor Christian I has become practically a recluse in recent years. But, a night at the opera has the potential to change everything.

Notes: I've been toying with the idea of some sort of Susie/Toto historicial AU for a while, but @totowlff approached me about this royalty AU and it's been impossible to get my mind off if it. She wrote most of this chapter (I edited it pretty heavily) and the chapter outline we have so far, and I'm really excited to see how it develops. Thank goodness for her pretty much encyclopedic knowledge of old European monarchies! I hope you like it, too. We are striving to make it as historically accurate as it can be, minus the fact that obvious major "characters" have been replaced.

There are certain moments when a person knows that their life will never be the same.

For Toto, it was a warm night in May of 1812, when he was just 15 years old.

He didn't remember anything exceptional about that night before he was woken up in the middle of a dream he was having.

A little confused, it took him a few seconds for his sleep-filled eyes to focus on the face of Karl, his Kammerdiener. Holding a small candelabra, his expression hid something that the young archduke could not puzzle out as he rubbed his eyes.

— What…

— I beg your pardon, sir, but your mother requested His Imperial Highness’ presence in her chambers.

— But why? — he asked, as he pulled his covers back and sat up in bed.

— Unfortunately, I don’t know, Your Highness — Karl replied, placing the candle on the bedside table — I’m just following the orders I received.

After helping him to his feet into a robe, Toto’s valet walked him through the halls of the Hofburg. Toto wondered what could be so important that she would get him out of bed in the middle of the night and walk halfway across the palace to Amalienburg, where the apartments of Archduchess Johanna of Austria were located. However, as he approached his mother's quarters, he noticed there was an awful lot of staff milling about, especially for the middle of the night. “Something is definitely wrong”, Toto thought, as his mother’s valet opened the door for him to be announced.

From then on, everything became a blur. The slow steps towards the anteroom. The sight of his mother sitting in one of the armchairs, her wet eyes indicating that she had been crying. Her deep breath before saying the words that changed his life forever.

— Long live the Emperor — Johanna said, before bowing deeply in front of him.

Toto left his mother's room a few minutes later, in complete silence. Accompanied by Karl, he headed back to his own quarters feeling completely numb.

That night, it wasn't just his grandfather, the old Emperor Rudolf VI, who had died. In a way Toto had, too. Toto, the boy who loved numbers, who protected his family with all his might and who liked to race horses was gone too, along with the boy who thought his destiny would have had the courtesy to wait a few years.

From the moment his grandfather’s death was pronounced, there was only His Imperial and Royal Apostolic Majesty, Christian The First, By The Grace of God.

Distrust was his constant companion, especially in the early days of his reign. Whispers about how he was too young and inexperienced for the role filled the palace halls with uncertainty. In the opinion of many, including politicians and the court, Toto should entrust matters of governance to the hands of those who understood the empire’s politics and go back to playing with his horses.

However, it was not in his nature to leave his responsibilities to others, especially to men who only thought about themselves and their own legacies. Toto wanted to govern for his people, for the people who looked to him and his family as a model to follow. Over the next nine years, he took over the reins of his own country, assembling a cabinet capable of forging a new Europe. Toto would always remember the relief on his mother's face when she spoke about Napoleon Bonaparte’s death in exile, definitively ending his reign. 

— Your aunt will be immensely pleased to know that, finally, the devil is in Hell like he deserves to be, and he won’t be coming back this time — Johanna said with a wide smile on her face, during Toto's daily visit to her apartments.

— I don't know if that's the most appropriate way to speak of the dead, especially considering that he was, in a way, part of our family — he observed, pursing his lips. In order to reestablish peace between Austria and France, Toto's grandfather arranged for his other daughter, Elisabeth, to marry Napoleon. The union produced a single son, named Alexander, who became the presumptive heir to his father's ambitions and a major headache for the great powers. However, his proximity with his maternal family was the allegation that Chancellor Metternich said in the meeting with the other chancellors to convince them that Toto’s cousin was not a political threat to Europe.

— Alexander will always be a problem, especially considering that you still haven't resolved the issue of your marriage — his mother replied, brushing a dark curl away from her face.

— I just turned 24, mama…

— When I was your age, I was already married and had both you and your sister — she replied, as Toto shook his head — And there's no point in making that face, you know you have a duty to this country.

— Yes, my duty is to govern it. That is what I am primarily focused on.

— And what good is governing if you don't provide security for your subjects, my son? Nothing gives a nation’s people more security than knowing they don’t have to worry about any bloody succession crises. You don’t want what happened in Britain to happen to us, do you? Even your grandfather couldn’t feel at ease until you were born...

— Considering that Lili already has a son, I’m not overly concerned about who my successor will be — Toto said, with a small smile. This made his mother jump from her seat, giving her son a venomous glare.

— I think this should worry you even more, since your sister is younger than you and has already done more for the future of this family’s dynasty. Something about that statement annoyed Toto deeply. Slowly standing up, he turned away from his mother and walked towards the window, taking a deep breath. He couldn't be fragile, not now, not in front of her.

— If the matter concerns you so much, mama, I give you leave to resolve it — he said. His voice was solemn, but indicated clearly that he was done discussing it.

It took a few years to find a suitable match, but in 1825, at age 28, Toto was standing in the foyer of The Hofburg, greeting his new wife for the first time as she arrived from Munich. She was a Bavarian princess from the house of Wittelsbach named Stephanie. The marriage was arranged at the behest of Johanna and performed per procura before she and Toto had even met. They had exchanged a few letters, and Toto had seen her portrait, but this was the first time they were meeting.

With a shy smile and her blonde hair hidden under her wide-brimmed bonnet, she was clearly scared by it all, especially given how tightly he was gripping his hand.

— Nervous? — he asked her quietly.

— A little — Stephanie replied, nodding to some courtiers that were lined up to see her arrival in the palace for the first time — Let's just say I wasn't expecting...

— All these people?

— No, I'm talking about, well… Your Majesty.

— Was the portrait I sent not true to life? I told the painter not to make my nose so much smaller than it is, but they never listen to me — Toto said, as the air around them filled with quiet chatter and the clinking of military medals as highly decorated courtiers bowed in respect as the imperial couple walked by. 

— Actually… I’d say that you are much more handsome than they made you look in your portrait — the princess said sweetly, her cheeks flushed.

It was with that sweetness that Stephanie entered Toto's life and heart. He didn't know how to feel about her at first. She was beautiful, certainly, and kind, but was Toto in love with her? Hardly. Love wasn't the purpose of their marriage; people like Toto didn't get the privilege of marrying for love.

As time went on, though, Stephanie proved to be a measured and gentle sort, who had no trouble taking on her role as the Empress of Austria and winning over the hearts of the courtiers and public, and eventually, she won Toto's heart as well. It took a few years for their family to grow, but the entire country celebrated with the arrival of the long-awaited heir, a boy named Benedict. Two years later, a little girl followed, and they named her Rosa, contrary to Johanna’s wishes, who had hoped for the girl to have her name.

For years, The Hofburg was a place full of light and joy, and Toto ruled a thriving empire from within it. With his family together, he was sure that nothing could shake him, not even the biggest challenge.

Until one bitter February day in 1836, Stephanie whispered his name as she closed her eyes for the final time. 

All of the light and joy that filled the palace was buried with her in the Imperial Crypt.