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The Twice-Blooming Tulip: The Franco-Ottoman/Algerian War of 1853 and the Turkish Revival

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Prologue
In a Room off Ambassador's Hall, Dolmabahçe Sarahi, Islambol, Sha'ban 21st 1321/
November 11th 1903
"Grandfather, its almost time for the ceremony..."


Yusuf Ozcan looked up from his typewriter, slouched over both from hours of sitting and the weight of years. For a brief moment, he swore his mind was still lingering on the world inside the pages: the figure in the doorway, with the crisply pressed navy blue and red trousers of a dress uniform, trimmed back beard, and taunt olive skin the spitting image of his younger days. The old man had to adjust his speckles because his vision cleared enough to tell the difference between that day half a century prior and now, smiling warmly as he slowly pushed himself onto his feet.

"Don't try to order me about, Yuzbasi," Yusuf joked, vainly trying to sound serious over his own chuckling. "I may be a bit worn, but I still outrank you." The old officer puffed out his chest even as he reached for his cane, the gold, green, and red metals jingling against one another. They, along with the old uniform, were tarnished and fraying at the edges; contrasting sharply with the oranate decorations of his stateroom, but he found his eyes wandering not to their beauty but longingly back at his work: fingers itching to continue.

"I woulden't interrupt under any other circumstances," the boy nodded solemnly: ever the serious one. "But the crowd is getting restless. Surely if your heroics are worth recording, they are also worth celebrating." His eyes followed his grandfathers to the stack of ink-stained papers piled atop the stately desk. Most were written in the script of the Franks; line after line of mechanical, identical letters on unadorned parchment, but at the top of them all was a single sheet off colored paper; the loving curves of the Prophet's script spelling hand-painted on, showing the shakiness of its author's aging hands. "Is this... did you finally settle on a title?"

The old man gave a knowing smile, slowly walking towards the great red curtains and leaning both his hand forward on his cane. "Yes... 'The Twice-Blooming Tulip'." He acknowledged, before pulling down on the golden tassel. As he did, the curtains rushed to the side to reveal the great skyline over the Bosphroious: golden and azure minarets mixed with the towering smokestacks of the industrial districts, bright red and green tiling topping the rooves of the thriving shops of the Great Bazzar. Over the water, a great ribbon of red and grey wires over a series of leaping arches, holding aloft a trio of massive steam engines as they carried cargo and passengers from one half of the Queen of Cities to the other... or perhaps even from one end of the Empire of Islam to the other. But closer than all of these was a beautiful tapstry of peoples: skin ranging from alabaster to black as coal, in the dress of every Millet from the full burquas of Bendion nomads to the red sashes of the far west and the split-dress kimono of the east. The roar of the cheers and conversations were just as chaotic and deafening, dozens of tounges trying to be heard. Yet, through it all, Yusuf could take a clear breath and calmly focus on a single, unified phrase that echoed above all others. In ceremonial Arabic, he whispered along with it "There is no God but God. Mohammed is the Prophet of God. The Caliph is the Successor to the Prophet."

For a moment, the room was silent, Yusuf closing his eyes before continueing. "My child, let me ask you... do you believe the fate of Empires can turn on a single moment?"

The younger soldier paused, folding his hands behind his back as he gave the idea a deep thought. "Perhaps that of other Empires." He admitted. "But how can it be so with ours? Allah will always provide for his faithful..." he tried to go on, but was interrupted by his elder's loud laugh, the man raising the cane to the manuscript he held.

"You have the privilege of living in the bloom, Akmed," the old soldier reminded him, casually fingering one of his medels; depicting five great trees rising up from a crescent. "To you, our nation has always been sturdy and strong, resisting the shifting winds of the world like an ancient oak in all but the mightest of storms. But would such an Empire have had need for a hero when my time came?" Akmed found the cover page being pulled from his grasp, Yusuf placing it back down beside his typewriter. "No, there was a time when we were not as strong, when storms bufffeted us from the north and west and it seemed the trunk itself might crack. Perhaps it was Allah... perhaps not," his eyes glinted craftily, not revealing his intentions. "But at just the right time, nourishment came and strengthened it. And do you know what that fertilizer was, Yuzbasi?"

The words came from his grandfather's mouth just as he read them from the heading of the page. "The Blood of Charlemagne"

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Greetings and Salutations. Welcome to my timeline, The Twice-Blooming Tulip. While I'm not the most experienced timeline writer, I'd like to try to make a contribution and construct a realistic world that avoids the "wanking" of a preferred power and gives a realistic, bumpy depiction of a declining power's return to relevance. Since Nassirisimo's With the Cresent Above Us (The Inspiration for this timeline) already masterfully covers such an Ottoman resurgence from a Russo-Turkish war of 1877 POD (After the Caliphate was deep in forgein debt, encroached upon by forgein influence, and being ripped apart by ethnic strife), I felt I'd take a road not yet tread and base this off a 1850's POD at the last point the Empire could arguably be said to be a fully independent Great Power; the capitulation to Napoleon III's gunboat diplomacy over the protection of Ottoman Christians and Christian holy sites within the Empire.

I fully recommend looking up With the Cresent Above Us, as I hope to capture its feel and quality in those portions of this timeline written in "Historical Text" format. Other sections will be written in personal format, from the perspective of Yusuf Ozcan as he goes through life during the Ottoman resurgance. Any critique/advise/commentary is welcomed, and I'll try to respond to all of it and use it to insure my work is as realistic/believable as possible.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy.
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