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Chapter Text

It’s the middle of the night and the room is completely dark.

And Rudolf is scared of the darkness. He knows he shouldn’t be, because he’s supposed to be a soldier and a powerful emperor one day and emperors can’t be scared of the dark. But he is and huddles underneath his blanket. He is scared and he can feel tears gathering in his eyes. How unbecoming of the heir to the throne. If only his mama were there to hug him and tell him that everything will be okay. But she is far away on her travels. Again.

Rudolf whimpers as he feels the first tear roll down his cheek. His grandmama and Gondrecourt would surely not approve of him if they saw him like this. In fact, he feels like the whole world is against him.

Suddenly, a form emerges from the darkness. Rudolf can only at first make out that whoever is with him is tall and unnaturally quiet. As this someone starts to noiselessly come closer to his bed, Rudolf starts noticing more details. The person is dressed in a long black coat and there are shiny feathers sitting on one of their shoulders, both short and long, throwing shades of green in the dim light.

The figure sits at the edge of his bed and Rudolf can now make out that it’s a young man, his features, despite being smeared in dark paint, are pleasant to look at and his dark eyes are glassy, much like Rudolf’s.

For a while they sit in complete silence, observing one another. Rudolf is the first to speak: “Who are you?” He hates that his voice is still choked with tears.

The stranger doesn’t answer for a while, seemingly not knowing how to answer the question. “I am a friend.” He says quietly and Rudolf immediately knows that his strange new friend has the most pleasant voice he will ever hear.

His friend looks so sad sitting there at the end of the bed, especially his eyes. Rudolf reaches out a hand to touch his friend’s sleeve, to make sure that he is real and he has a companion at last and to perhaps calm him. But the peculiar man shies away from him. Rudolf immediately berates himself for such weakness. He shouldn’t do such things if he is to be an emperor. And new tears spring to his eyes.

As if he read his thoughts, his friend at first reaches out to stroke his head with a gloved hand, and Rudolf so wants him to, but at the last moment he instead kneels down in front of Rudolf. “Dear prince, please, don’t think this is your fault. It’s just that…” he stops, trying to find the right words a child like Rudolf would understand. “When someone touches me, they are in a lot of pain. And I don’t want to hurt you. But know that whenever you call for me, I will appear to you and we can talk. Would you like that?”

And his poor friend tries to smile, but Rudolf can tell that he probably never did so, because his new friend’s smile is lopsided and weird. But Rudolf doesn’t mind. He himself doesn’t know how to smile. But now, with a friend, maybe both of them will learn how to.

“Yes, please, I would like that so much, my friend.” Rudolf says softly, his smile just as lopsided as his friend’s.

Chapter Text

A few years pass, Rudolf is more a young man than a child and his friend is the most important part of Rudolf’s life.

Rudolf now knows that his friend isn’t human at all – if his peculiar appearance didn’t give it away. His friend has had many names, Rudolf gathered that much, but Rudolf calls his friend Smrt. Whenever he is scared or in need of company, Smrt seems to melt out from the shadows of the room and they are together.

Sometimes, they just sit in content silence and other times, they talk. Rudolf talks about his day, about his frustrations and Smrt patiently listens, sometimes offering Rudolf advice and consolation.

Even now, they are sitting on the rug in Rudolf’s room, the door safely locked lest someone disturb them. In the soft daylight and white and red colors of the room, Smrt looks so out of place. His long coat is as black as the midnight sky and is spread out all around him like a silk fan.

While he doesn’t have to leave the comfort of his room and while he doesn’t have to put on that façade of a proper crown prince the Empire deserves, Rudolf is content to remain in his long white sleeping shirt, his hair still mussed from bed. Rudolf thinks he and Smrt must look like polar opposites of one another in that moment, sitting on the floor. Light and dark. Human and otherworldly. Unruly and magnificent. Weak and powerful.

In moments like these, Rudolf sometimes wonders what Smrt could possibly see in him to make him stay around so long. Why would someone so beautifully otherworldly choose to spend his time with him, a complete failure of a crown prince?

Yes, Rudolf isn’t afraid to admit to himself that with each year he was closer to being an adult, the more he found his friend beautiful. The delicate, yet sharp facial features his friend possessed. The keen dark eyes that seemed to sparkle in the darkness. The dark brown hair that was a little longer than should be proper and was brushed out of his friend’s face and ended in soft-looking waves behind his ears. His friend’s gracefully long and pale neck. And the beautiful feathers sitting atop one of his shoulders. Both short like those of a hummingbird and long like the tail feathers of a magnificent rooster, both soft and fluffy like those of a few day old chick and flat and sleek like the feathers of a grown up bird. All the feathers share a peculiar iridescence that depending on the light made them look green, purple or blue.

His friend’s feathers indeed are fascinatingly beautiful.

Thinking over them makes Rudolf notice something amongst the tuft on his friend’s shoulder. Something hard, distinctly lighter and resembling a needle. A pin feather. Surely there is a feather, just as beautiful as the others, hiding within its casing, just begging to be freed. Rudolf instinctually draws closer to his friend and before either of them really know it, Rudolf’s fingers are on the pin feather, gently separating the sheath and unraveling the feather.

Rudolf marvels at the newly freed up feather’s colors only for a moment before he realizes just what he did and he jumps back as if burned, his sleeping shirt fluttering in the air. From their first meeting, Smrt has prohibited Rudolf to touch him. While Rudolf was still a child, Smrt told him that touching him was painful, shying away anytime the young prince would try to touch him. But as he grew older, Rudolf did realize that touching his friend could be downright deadly.

Horrified at what he just did, eyes darting about the room in a frantic way, hands that still feel a ghost of the sleekness of that feather shaking and the first tears threatening to spill, Rudolf braces for the pain. For the agony, for his body to start dying. But nothing happens.

He is alive and his friend is looking at him with eyes wide with worry.

Rudolf involuntarily lets out a whimper. “I’m so sorry, my friend. I know you forbid me from touching you and I probably did something rude to you. Please, forgive me, I don’t know what came over me.” Because even if touching his friend’s feathers wasn’t deadly, Rudolf realizes what he just did. He breached his closest friend’s personal space, which is something a noble like himself should never do lest everyone thinks he is a dimwit.

And even if Smrt wouldn’t care about the human rules that Rudolf as the crown prince should consider at all times, Rudolf, now blushing red with shame, has observed enough birds to recognize that he just preened his friend’s feathers. An action that amongst feathered creatures was a sign of the closest intimacy.  

Smrt curiously observes the way the young prince’s cheeks flush and examines the freed-up feather. The flat plane of the feather is separated in a few places, but for this being probably the first time Rudolf has preened a feather, the work is delicate and well done.

“There is no need to apologize, my prince. It was rather pleasant.” Smrt says, his voice peacefully melodic. He never had anyone other than himself preen him and didn’t realize that there was sensation in his feathers. Feeling his young prince’s delicate fingers on his feathers felt pleasant. And carding through the feathers, he finds a few more unnoticeable pinfeathers. “Would you care to continue?”

Rudolf is astonished at the way his friend is looking at him. Smrt’s gaze is gentle and trusting. Wiping at any of the tears that could have possibly escaped, Rudolf thinks he must look like a mess as he comes back to his friend’s side and shyly rises his hands and carefully starts preening the feathers.

Rudolf slowly becomes lost in his task, the only thing taking him out of the concentration is a soft sound that is somewhere in between a chirp and a cat’s purr. It takes a moment before both the prince and his immortal companion realize that the sound came from Smrt himself. The wide-eyed look Smrt gives Rudolf confirms that the sound was completely impulsive. That it was Rudolf that managed to draw such a sound out of his friend.

After a few moments of surprised gazing at one another, a smile appears on both of their faces. Both smiles still unusual from an outside perspective, but Rudolf and Smrt don’t mind. There hasn’t been much opportunity for either of them to smile in a long time.

Once Rudolf is done with the preening, Smrt observes the prince’s work, all the feathers softly shining in shades of teal and lilac in the soft daylight. “You are a natural, my prince.” Smrt says gently and is pleased to see Rudolf’s eyes dart about the ground in an adorably shy manner. “I’d be pleased if you’d preen my feathers the next time as well.”

Rudolf is at a loss for words, unused to praise. “It would be an honor, my friend.”

“How can I repay you?” Smrt asks, his eyes eventually landing on a soft hairbrush tossed on the nearest table. His prince’s hair is still laying messily on his head, looking somewhat like the feathers he just preened. Rudolf doesn’t have feathers of his own and this is perhaps the only possible way he can do a favor for Rudolf. “Would you allow me to brush your hair?”

Rudolf at first only looks on surprised, but then he smiles softly and gratefully nods. Both of them move towards the table, Smrt looking like the young prince’s shadow. Picking up the hairbrush and making sure to not touch Rudolf directly, Smrt starts smoothing out the prince’s short light brown hair. Although he can’t touch it, Smrt can tell the hair is as smooth as silk threads, almost as smooth as the feathers on the wings of his death angels.

Smrt at that point knows that come what may, he will gift Rudolf with a pair of magnificent wings once the time comes. But Smrt knows and can feel that there is still so much life left in Rudolf and he can’t possibly take those many precious years away just due to his own whims.

Smrt lays the hairbrush down and Rudolf, still pleased from the brushing sensation, looks at his friend’s work. Instead of being parted in the middle, like Rudolf was taught to do, his hair is parted to the side, the almost unnoticeable wave of his hair now falling over his temple. The court advisors will probably whisper about the unusual way his hair is styled, but Rudolf has never seemed to please them, so let them whisper all they want. Rudolf likes his hair better like this either way.

Looking at each other, they both know that duty awaits them. But duty can wait for a few minutes, on that they are agreed. So, they sit back down on the carpet, mirrors of one another, feathers preened and hair styled and remain in content silence.

Chapter Text

Rudolf storms into his room, shutting the door behind him with a frustrated huff. Feeling the intricate carvings of the door frame, he leans back his head and tries to take deep calming breaths. But all that keeps on running through his mind are his tutor’s harsh words.

The lessons today were brutal. It wasn’t as if Rudolf wasn’t fond of learning, he was in fact excited whenever he could pick up a yet unread volume of poetry, learn about history or, what pleased him more than anything was when he could academically observe his beloved birds, drawing and noting down each and every feather. But what Rudolf downright loathed was when he had to learn of wars and battles.

He could care less about the battle strategies his tutor described to him. Rudolf well knew that he’d never in his life use them. During his military training, he was a mediocre soldier at best, even if he was given multiple military titles at birth. And he knew he’d never become the Emperor, even if he’d been raised his entire life to be one. And even if he by some miracle did, he’d much rather abdicate.

For the sake of appearance, he was trying to note down some of the important points his tutor made during the lecture, but his mind kept on straying to more pleasant places. Like his beloved birds. Unlike him, they were free to fly wherever they pleased.

He started scrawling little squiggly birds onto the edges of his paper. They were little things, taking flight through the sky. Rudolf imagined they were crows, with black sleek feathers. Just like the ones that have been lately landing on his windowsill and observing him through the glass.

His mind wandered to the lovely birds with their iridescent feathers. He knew they must have been sent by his friend, just by the identical way their feathers shined. He at first only observed the crows, but he soon started to open the window, especially if the weather was unpleasant. The birds were shy at first, but Rudolf soon had them sneaking away from the autumn weather into the warmth of his room, where they would usually rest around the fireplace, curled up and with their feathers fluffed up. Some of them were even starting to be a little more brave, sitting next to him around his desk or on his bed.

Most of the birds would still not allow him to touch them, much less get close to them, except for a peculiar raven that was evidently their superior. She was the first to sit on his desk and Rudolf felt so at peace as she observed him writing. After a few days of the raven sitting next to his paperwork, Rudolf tried to gently pet her and was surprised when the bird immediately nuzzled his palm and let out quiet, but happy chirps. The feathers on her head were soft and smooth like the finest satins on his mother’s dresses.

Noticing there were a few tiny pinprick feathers on her back, Rudolf’s fingers naturally wandered to them and he soon found himself preening the bird. This was much more difficult than the last time he preened Smrt’s feathers, just due to the fact that these feathers were tiny. But after a few minutes of all of Rudolf’s attention on this single task, the raven’s feathers were preened and as shiny as they should be. The raven herself, the smart bird that she was, flew over to the mirror propped up in the corner of the room to admire the prince’s work and flew back to nuzzle Rudolf’s hand in thanks.

Thinking back on his newly acquired bird friend, Rudolf didn’t realize that the tiny, almost unnoticeable birds on the edge of his paper turned into a drawing of said raven taking up a space about the size of a coin. For it only being a quick sketch done in nothing but blue ink, it was surprisingly lifelike, down to the shine of the feathers and the lively yet glassy eyes.

Rudolf thought that when the next opportunity arises, he must ask for his blue ink to be switched to a sepia or a pitch black one. Those would make the sketches of his bird friends appear even more lifelike.

Meanwhile, his tutor finished with the battle strategies and moved onto reading contemporary accounts of the battlefield from those many years ago. As he had to listen over and over to the numerous recollections of almost dead soldiers everywhere, their agonized moans permeating the air and their crimson blood soaking the soil, Rudolf couldn’t help but think if his friend was there with them.

He could just imagine Smrt on the battlefield, his eyes glassy like on that day they first met. Smrt did mention to him once, that when there were too many people dying in one place, he had helpers. He called them the death angels. Rudolf had never seen one, but he imagined they must be just as beautiful and graceful as his friend. He could just imagine Smrt and his angels silently moving through the battlefield, giving an embrace to each soldier whose injuries sapped their life way. An embrace that enticed Rudolf far too much to experience.

“You seem extraordinarily invested in that paper, Your Highness.” The tutor’s sharp tone of voice broke Rudolf’s daydream. “I can tell you are once again not paying attention but scribbling instead of taking notes. You only furrow your brows and so unbecomingly stick out the tip of your tongue when scribbling. Well, show me the page.”

Rudolf reluctantly, and with his head hung low, handed his notes over. He could feel his cheeks get warm with shame, because alongside the many birds, his crow was now perched on the hand of a roughly sketched out figure with a burst of looped pen strokes on one shoulder, clearly mimicking feathers and two dark blots instead of eyes. Even with a few strokes, Rudolf knew he managed to capture his closest and most private friend’s likeness. And now, he had to share this private part of himself as well.

With a dissatisfied scowl, the tutor first went over whatever notes actually were on the paper before his gaze moved over the drawings that at this point took over a majority of the page. “This is preposterous, Your Highness! You will be an Emperor one day and an Emperor must know how to lead an army into battle and how to be a politician, not scribble down some silly birds and ridiculous scribbles the entire day like a child!”

“The Archduchess did warn me before I was appointed as your tutor that you were not the most fitting to be the heir of an empire, that Count Gondrecourt has already had his fair share of troubles with you when you simulated to be sick during your military drills!” Rudolf was in fact seriously sick for most of the awful time Gondrecourt tried to make him into a proper soldier, but none believed him then, save for his mother. And still, no one believed him.

“But, I was willing to undertake the task of raising the Crown Prince of Austria as he should be raised, a skilled soldier and a capable and sympathetic diplomat, but instead of a Crown Prince, I was given you, a frail, incompetent, dumb, pathetic disgrace of a boy, who would much rather, like a simpleton, let birds flock into his room through an open window, than be who his blood and name tell him he should be! No wonder the Archduchess didn’t have a nice word to say about you and the Empress is constantly away, so as to not be associated with you.”

Each of the words the tutor said was pure venom and looking upon the scribbled sheet, he suddenly crumpled it up and threw it into the roaring fireplace. Rudolf only watched in horror as he saw the flames eat away at the image of his friend and the raven, until the paper turned to ashes.

“I shall have a word with the Emperor about your abominable behavior at class time and he’ll definitely have you come forward to explain yourself, Your Highness.” The tutor continued in an equally icy tone, almost spitting out the honorific title with disgust. Rudolf did already get sent to his father a few times in the past to explain his actions. His father never raised his voice at him, but just the sheer look of disappointment on the Emperor’s face was enough to make Rudolf feel extremely guilty.

“I don’t understand how the Emperor hasn’t made one of the other Archdukes his heir already instead of continuing to hope that you will one day miraculously become a fitting person to leave the monarchy to. Any one of them would be a better ruler than you could ever hope to be. You’d only lead the empire to ruin. You would do all of us a favor if you disappeared on travels just like your mother, who surely must not be sane. Or better yet, if you weren’t sane as well and someone could lock you up in one of those madhouses she loves to visit. Everyone would be happier that way.”

Rudolf couldn’t handle it anymore, tears pooling in his eyes, and stormed out of the classroom, until his feet carried him to his chambers. He slams the door behind him and tries to fight back the tears.

He leans back his head and tries to take deep calming breaths. But all that keeps on running through his mind are his tutor’s harsh words.

The entire room feels like it’s spinning all around him. He feels like he is suffocating and with shaking hands unfastens the red starched collar on his uniform jacket. But that still doesn’t feel like enough of a relief, so his fingers go all the way down the jacket, unfastening each cold button and slipping the constricting blue thing off of his shoulders. It’s a little too cold in the room for Rudolf to only be in his shirtsleeves, but he doesn’t mind.

The harsh words of his tutor keep on coming back to him over and over as Rudolf feels his back sliding down the door until he is seated on the floor. He indeed must look pathetic in that moment. In the back of his mind, Rudolf thinks that all those words hurled at him must be true. A true Crown Prince would calmly rationalize this situation at his worktable, not sit on the floor in nothing but his shirtsleeves, fighting back tears. It would indeed be better if he just disappeared.

The tears now freely flow down his cheeks and Rudolf feels more like a failure with each sob that unwillingly escapes his throat.

A sudden knocking on the window makes him raise his gaze to realize that his raven friend is sitting behind the glass panes, feathers visibly drenched from rain.

“Aren’t you going to let her in?” A familiar voice sounds from across the room and Rudolf for the first time in this unfortunate day feels happy, because Smrt is sitting at his worktable, legs nonchalantly propped up. “I know she will certainly appreciate being out of the rain.”

“My friend…” Rudolf breathlessly utters as he rises from the ground and tries to straighten his shirt. Not wanting to make the raven wait outside a moment longer, Rudolf rushes to the window with his jacket already prepared as an adequate replacement for a towel to dry off the bird’s feathers.

The raven contentedly flies into the wide open jacket and lets Rudolf wind the felt around her while chirping in approval. The young prince rushes the wrapped up bird onto one of the armchairs surrounding the fireplace and reassures himself that the raven is nicely wrapped up before he goes to add wood to and stoke the fire. The raven, meanwhile, has slid out of the fabric cocoon the prince wrapped her into and nests onto the back of the jacket, leaving a wet and dirty imprint.

Smrt at this point has moved away from the table and looks on the scene unwinding before him. He did notice his most trusted angel lately sneaking off to the human realm much more frequently, but he never would have guessed she was visiting his prince.

Knowing Rudolf, Smrt knew the prince certainly took good care of her, with how much he adored birds and their observation, but he would have never imagined that one of his angels would have already accepted him as a close companion. The angels weren’t ones to build close relationships with humans, especially with what each of them experienced as a human themselves. But seeing the highest ranking one of them already happily chirp and purr while nesting on the prince’s jacket while Rudolf strokes her head and back makes Smrt feel both content and feel a flash of what could only be called jealousy.

“Thank you for taking care of her.” Smrt says quietly. “She is quite the rascal, but it seems she took a liking to you.”

Rudolf looks up with still glassy eyes at his friend. “I knew she must have been yours. Does she have a name?”

Smrt smiles down at the young prince. “Her name is Aemilia.”

Aemilia lets out a caw as she hears her name being said and Rudolf once again strokes her head in the gentlest of ways.

“Why were you crying when I came to you, my dear prince?” Smrt asks, seating himself down onto the carpet, within a safe distance from Rudolf.

And reluctantly, Rudolf recounts the whole day, each insult at this point almost carved into his memory. “…And at the end of the day, I believe every word he said.” Rudolf finishes with a quiet whimper.

Smrt’s compassion goes out to the prince, who is at this point sitting in silent resignation, tears once again flowing down his rosy cheeks. Smrt would so want to wipe those tears away, give Rudolf a reassuring embrace, but one touch from him, and all the life would leave Rudolf and he would be alone once again.

Carding through his feathers, Smrt finds a fine flat feather and tears it out. They already found out that the feathers aren’t deadly for Rudolf to touch, so this is perhaps the only way Smrt will get to calm his prince. Moving closer, Smrt reaches out and wipes away the tears on Rudolf’s face with his torn out feather.

Rudolf at first gasps at the unfamiliar sensation upon his cheek but seeing his friend’s worried expression turn to one of reassurance makes him close his eyes and lean into the feather. It’s soft and in that moment, Rudolf imagines the touch being Smrt’s elegant gloved fingers instead of the feather.

“Remember what I now tell you.” His friend says gently. “Never believe a single one of those words. You are so strong and brave and wise, Rudolf. What you’ve lived through is only a testament to that. And if they don’t see you as their prince, remember that for me, you will always be my prince.”

After all of his tears subsided, Rudolf finds the feather floating down into his hands. “Keep this as a memory. Even when I can’t be physically with you, at least have this as a reminder that I will always be there for you, my prince.”

They continue to sit in content silence for a few more hours until Rudolf goes to bed, the feather safely tucked away in the secret drawer of his bedside table. Rudolf slips underneath the sheets and gratefully lays his head down onto the pillow. Aemilia, her feathers now completely dry, at first makes it for one of the decorative pillows beside Rudolf’s head, but a quick disapproving glance from Smrt makes her turn and rather land on Smrt’s shoulder. Rudolf smiles as he sees Smrt sit down at the foot of his bed, just like the first time they met and with that, he slowly slips away into sleep.

The last words he hears are said in the sweet and gentle voice of his friend: ”Sweet dreams, my prince.”

Chapter Text

It’s a hot summer day and Rudolf doesn’t have any responsibilities for once. Both his parents are away from Vienna for the day and the Emperor thankfully commanded all his tutors to give the prince a day off from studies. He didn’t think he’d see such a day, but now that it was here, Rudolf doesn’t know what to do first. He could go out into the gardens, or try to take a ride on one of the horses he was gifted but isn’t all that familiar with until this point. But Rudolf is more than happy to stay in his sleeping shirt the whole day long and lock himself away in his room.

The room offers him the much needed momentary solace from any and all human presence he so loathes at this point. But he knows that if he so wishes it, he is never alone.

He soon hears a familiar gentle knocking on his window and sure enough, his friend is out there on the balcony, Aemilia perched on his shoulder. With a wide smile, Rudolf scampers to unlock the door and let his companions in. As Smrt passes by him, Rudolf just thinks how much he’d want to give his friend a welcoming embrace, but that is unfortunately not possible. Not for a longer while at least.

They sit on their usual positions on the carpet and Rudolf must admit that Smrt looks even more out of place here in Schönbrunn than in Hofburg. The white and gilded walls and the joyous warm summertime light clash too much with his friend’s dark nighttime allure.

Rudolf only wonders just how much more beautiful Smrt would look in candlelight during a warm summer night. And in a darker colored room. At that point Rudolf knows that once he has the opportunity to decide for himself how to decorate his living quarters, he’ll get all the wood changed to some darker shade and his wallpaper changed to a dark sea green, so the walls compliment the color of his friend’s feathers.

For a while, they sit in their usual content silence, Aemilia sunbathing near the window, before Rudolf offers to preen Smrt’s feathers, since there are a few visible pinfeathers. Smrt gives Rudolf a little, kind smile and turns in a way so that Rudolf has nothing shading away the sunlight coming in through the window and Rudolf can work easier. Smrt closes his eyes in relaxation as Rudolf starts his task.

As much as Rudolf tries to concentrate, Smrt’s feathers just don’t seem to want to cooperate today. The sheaths keep on breaking off into small sections that stubbornly hold onto the feathers and the longer feathers keep on coming out uneven.

Rudolf in desparation turns to Aemilia, who at this point has awoken from her nap and has so characteristically leaned her head to one side in silent observation. As if she was showing her support from far away. Rudolf turns back to his friend’s feathers to try again, but the next pinfeather’s sheath once again breaks into a hundred stubborn shards. He can’t help but huff in frustration as he feels disappointment squeeze his heart. His precious friend trusts him, who can’t seem to do a single thing in his life right, to preen his glorious feathers once in a while and he just keeps on ruining them.

“Do you need some help?” a soft female voice says from behind Rudolf. He turns around in astonishment, finding that instead of a raven, there is now a woman sitting down next to the balcony windows. Just like Smrt, she’s dressed in a long flowing black coat, which lays in ripples all around her. There is a hood covering most of her head, but under it, Rudolf can see a pair of dark eyes rimmed by black blots of paint, set in a sharp yet friendly face. From under her hood peeks a short single braid of dark hair. But what most fascinates Rudolf are her feathers. One of her sleeves is covered in short feathers, but the other looks like a glorious wing, the feathers both black and silvery grey.

Smrt softly turns his head towards them both and opens his eyes. “Rudolf, I don’t think you’ve yet met Aemilia in her more human form?”

Rudolf only softly shakes his head as he observes the woman, who he now knows to actually be the raven that so likes to curl up on his jackets, stretch her arms high above her head. “Is she one of the angels you told me about?”

Smrt gives Rudolf a little smile in affirmation. Rudolf turns back to Aemilia, who is smiling widely at him and there is a mischievous glint in her eyes. ”One could even say I am the most important angel your friend has. There were quite a few instances when he would be completely lost without me.”

Smrt gives Aemilia an exasperated look that would make a human with a weaker constitution die right on the spot, but it makes Rudolf smile. His friend has been so reserved in showing his feelings around Rudolf, always trying to maintain a collected appearance, but there are those few special moments when Smrt’s guard slips. When a wide smile involuntarily blossoms on his lips, when he scrunches his face in deep thought or when his dark eyes get glassy. And that makes his immortal and almost unearthly beautiful friend appear so much more approachable and somehow even more beautiful.

“And I thought you had learned some manners with how tame you act around Rudolf while you’re a bird. Appears I was mistaken in thinking that.” Smrt sighed and despite still looking exasperated, there is a hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “See, Rudolf, that when I told you that Aemila is a rascal, I wasn’t far away from the truth.”

“Call me a rascal one more time in front of Rudolf and I swear I won’t ever again preen your feathers when you ask me to and your precious prince isn’t around.” Aemilia huffed in mock exasperation, yet a grin is clearly visible on her black painted lips. She elegantly rises and makes her way to the two of them, squatting beside Rudolf. “Speaking of, looks like you need a bit of help. Don’t think it’s your fault that the feathers are a bit unruly today, Rudolf. Sometimes, they just happen to grow in like that. And then, you just need to be patient with them.”

And carding through the feathery tuft on Smrt’s shoulder, she finds the stubborn feather in question and helps Rudolf gently pick off the tiny shards of the sheath while giving him advice how to handle such feathers in the future. Rudolf occasionally takes his attention away from the task and observes Aemilia or Smrt for a few moments. Aemilia is so focused on her task and Rudolf is pleased to see the tip of her tongue occasionally peeking out of the corner of her mouth. He apparently does the same thing while painting. Smrt, for his part looks relaxed, but there still is an evident guard up. Rudolf can see that much. Trying to make his friend fully rest, he moves up the long feather until the shorter, softer feathers are within the reach of his fingertips and he starts to softly card through them. Rudolf looks up after a while and sees that his friend has visibly relaxed a bit more. But suddenly, that half chirp, half purr escapes Smrt and all of them stop.

Aemilia looks up at Smrt with wide, surprised eyes before that mischievous glint appears in them. “I didn’t know you purr when your little prince preens your feathers!” Smrt looks half embarrassed and half as if would rather wring Aemilia’s neck right on the spot. “I wouldn’t even guess that you enjoy being preened by someone other than yourself. And I thought the few times you asked to be preened by me in the past few months were just because you couldn’t reach the feathers on your back.”

If Smrt’s face wasn’t constantly and unchangingly the color of the most precious white marble, Rudolf would be sure that his precious friend would be blushing at this point. While he continued working on the preening alongside Aemilia, Rudolf wondered what Smrt would have looked like if he was a human man instead of a millennia old being. He would undoubtedly make anyone that encountered him immediately swoon and fall for him. Much like he does even now, only in a very different way, Rudolf added for himself in his mind.

Once all the feathers are preened, Aemilia contentedly once again stretches her arms and lays down onto the carpeted floor. As a bird, Rudolf did observe her rolling around on his rug a few times and the way she rolled onto her side and nuzzled the carpet very much reminded him of those times.

“Aemilia, can I ask you something?” Rudolf says quietly.

At that, Aemilia attentively sits back up and smiles at him with a wide, toothy grin. “Sure, what is it?”

“You mentioned preening Smrt a few times. Do you angels preen one another often?” His question is shy, but it makes Aemilia smile and Smrt attentively observe.

“Yes, we do. Each of us usually has a preening partner, who is the one to preen our wings most of the time.” Aemilia explains. “Except for your friend, who I thought preened himself alone most of the time because he’s just too proud to be preened by us. Turns out he just purrs and didn’t want us knowing about that.”

Aemilia receives another dirty look from Smrt, but Rudolf guesses she means all this in earnest fun and without malice. “Don’t worry, I won’t let your secret be known to the flock.” She winks and puts one spindly gloved finger in front of her lips in a gesture of silence.

“Wait, you said you have wings?” Rudolf asks excitedly, the ornithology part of his soul excited to observe.

“Yes, but we keep them mostly hidden in these more human-like forms.” Aemilia explains and strokes her shoulder. “They aren’t the most practical in these little cramped spaces you living humans create. But this room should be big enough for me to unfurl mine.”

And within a moment, a pair of gorgeous dark wings blooms from Aemilia’s back. Their size is astonishing to Rudolf and the feathers are so pretty, black with a silvery shine. The wings are evidently strong, yet at the same time look almost ephemeral. Rudolf wonders just how big of a wingspan Aemilia must have when he notices another pinfeather, this time in her wings and instinctually dives for it, swiftly removing the sheath.

Aemilia smiles up at him before she turns her gaze to Smrt. “I can see why you like to be preened by your prince so much. He’s very precise and attentive.” There is something in Smrt’s gaze that isn’t all too pleased to see Rudolf attending someone other than him, something that maybe could even be called jealousy, but he has to be patient. He knows Rudolf will one day join the flock that is already on its way of accepting him, but that time is still far away.

Once Rudolf is finished and Aemilia has sufficiently marveled in the mirror just how neatly he preened her wings, all of them move from the usual spot on the carpet next to the window to observe the slowly setting sun. Aemilia has turned back into her bird form and nested in Rudolf’s lap. The prince gladly strokes the raven’s smoothly feathered head and observes how the golden sun rays almost make the angel’s feathers look like copper or bronze.

Smrt’s feathers in this rare golden light have abandoned their cool toned purples and blues and instead reflect the colors that appear on the sky as the great sun disk descends: pinks, reds, oranges and yellows. Rudolf now knows he must save this one moment to his memory and try and draw it later.

They spend the entire sunset sitting by the window in silence until the sun is replaced by stars and a slim moon crescent. Since Rudolf never got changed out of his sleeping shirt, he is content to throw himself back onto the soft mattress of his bed, placing Aemilia on her usual spot by his head. As Rudolf winds his arms and legs around his blanket, he gestures for Smrt to join him on the empty half of the bed.

Smrt smiles down at Rudolf as he lays down, mindful of keeping a distance between them. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this, but how can he refuse his precious prince? He once again feels that familiar pang in his chest as he has to keep his hands back, even as Aemilia is trying to snuggle into Rudolf’s hair.

Aemilia must have sensed his displeasure, because she promptly moves back onto the small cushion that Rudolf initially put her on. She looks up at him apologetically as he nests down, but Smrt knows that he would want to do the exact same thing she just did if he was in her place.

Rudolf has meanwhile fallen asleep. For once in months, his dreams aren’t bad or non-existent. He dreams of warm golden and pink summer sunsets and dark wings that could engulf him whole.

Chapter Text

The years flew by fast. For Smrt, that wasn’t something unusual. After all, he has been around for millions of years at this point. If the time went by any slower, he might reconsider his task of being a bringer of demise.

Yet now…now was the first time he perhaps wanted the time to both go slower and quicker.

Smrt found an unlikely companion in the Austrian Crown Prince, their first encounter being when the frail royal was only seven and shivering in fear of darkness. Until then, no one ever willingly wanted Smrt near them. Even if the little prince’s mother, his dear Elisabeth, did in her youth profess a yearning to be with him, with each year, she seemed more distant. Whereas she would gladly fall into his arms at the age of fifteen, at thirty, she looked at him with disdain and delighted in infuriating him.

Smrt cursed himself for ever allowing himself to form emotional bonds to living people. In the past, his heart did break a few times over humans he had a bond to and who, in the end, passed on and disappeared. He cursed himself for having the capacity to feel human feelings at all. What good were they if he only ever suffered because of them?

When he first met Rudolf, it was the summer of 1867. He just wanted to share a moment of triumph with his Elisabeth as she became the queen of Hungary, yet she already knew of his weakness and took every chance to remind him of it.

He had to escape far away, to Vienna, because he could bear it no longer. Smrt never knew physical pain in the way humans did, but he guessed it must feel similar to what he now felt. He felt pathetic. After years and years of trying to close himself off after having his heart hurt repeatedly, he allowed himself to feel again, all for Elisabeth. He thought she would be different than all the others. How wrong his judgement was. And what good was he? All he could do is kill. He couldn’t even touch anything without destroying it. Smrt couldn’t cry like humans did, but he did feel his eyes dampen.

That’s the state the little Crown Prince first saw him in. Despite Smrt feeling how full of life the prince was, that he still had many years of natural life left, he felt drawn to the tiny royal. Both of them were hurting inside out. Seeing the frail child by his side, curled up in the pure white blankets and tears streaming down his cheeks made Smrt want to calm the child and wipe those tears away. His hand was already outstretched, already so close to touching the child’s pale forehead. Yet, Smrt did catch himself and drew his hand back. He was so close to prematurely ending the life of a child and he endlessly berated himself for losing control.

The child was evidently yearning for a human touch. For an embrace, for a kiss on his forehead, for a gently guiding hand on his shoulder. Yet, Smrt couldn’t offer anything of the sort. He was neither a human and neither could he touch the prince.

The only thing he had to offer was companionship. Yet, it turned out, both of them needed that more than anything.

Soon, escaping from his duties of taking souls to spend time with Rudolf became a time that Smrt always looked forward to. From an outside perspective, their meetings might have seemed strange, because most often, they would just silently sit on opposing edges of a carpet and say nothing. Just enjoying each other’s presence. Rudolf would sometimes talk of his lessons and worries, but most of the time, they basked in the silence.

It was quite a surprise when Rudolf preened Smrt’s feathers for the first time. The prince’s surprisingly gentle and skilled fingers were pleasant to feel carding through the feathery tuft on his shoulder. He didn’t even realize that there was any form of sensation present in his plumage. He also didn’t up until then realize he could purr just like his angels. His first instinct was to be ashamed for losing control over himself again, but Rudolf looked at him so sweetly in that moment. He couldn’t help but smile over it.

From that point on, Smrt made sure to intentionally leave the pinfeathers that he up until then removed himself for Rudolf to preen away.

Another surprise was finding out his angels have been flocking to Rudolf’s room. Smrt did wonder why his assistants were lately spending so much time in the human world. Especially his Aemilia. Ever since she joined his ranks, Aemilia was his right hand, the only being he would ever dare and entrust his thoughts and feelings to. Yet, she was spending more and more days away with no explanation.

Only when he paid Rudolf a visit in the middle of the night did he understand. Rudolf was already asleep, that much was expected. What he didn’t expect was seeing his angels turned into crows laying all around the room, perhaps ten or fifteen of them laying on carpets and armchairs. Aemilia was curled up in the young prince’s lap, the moonlight softly reflecting off of her black raven wings.

It was evident that she was the first of his angels to feel at home in Rudolf’s rooms. Both by the way she snuggled up to the prince and by the fact that there was a bird perch sitting on Rudolf’s writing desk, just the right size for a raven.

Perhaps sensing his presence, Aemilia inquisitively raised her head, her dark eyes shining up at him like two jet black beads. The angels have always been rather light sleepers. Standing up and silently stretching her wings, the angel must have decided that Rudolf’s lap was no longer good enough of a spot to rest and marching her way up the mattress, she began to nest on Rudolf’s pillow, right next to his head.

In that moment, Smrt envied Aemilia the freedom her bird form offered her. The freedom to touch anyone and them not die.

He glanced once more at her and saw her fixing a few strands of the prince’s hair. As if she was preening him. He must have evidently given her a very nasty look, because Aemilia immediately and apologetically backed away from Rudolf. Spreading her wings, she silently flew onto his shoulder and rubbed her head against his cheek in apology.

Smrt disliked reprimanding his angels. He knew they went through more than enough unpleasantness in their lives. But he felt a strong urge to protect his prince from everyone. Even the angels. Smrt raised his hand to stroke Aemilia’s head and she gratefully nuzzled into his glove.

Soon, the angels became almost permanent inhabitants of Rudolf’s room, each having a designated spot or perch they rested on. Rudolf was a gentle soul and cared for each one of them when they flew in drenched from rain. And Smrt was glad to see the flock accept his prince so quickly as one of their own. He knew that once the time came, he would gift Rudolf a magnificent pair of wings, but not yet. Rudolf still had quite a few years of life left.

The years passed and while Smrt stayed the same, he watched Rudolf grow up from a scrawny child to a young man. Even if some of the child-like softness never left the prince’s features and he didn’t grow up to be particularly tall, Smrt guessed that most humans would call Rudolf fetching. His entire being and every move seemed naturally elegant, even if they carried an irremovable air of melancholy. He was the image of a mysterious prince from a poem written long ago. Some admired him, some were weary of him.

But Smrt knew that no mortal knew Rudolf in the way he did. Not buttoned up to his chin in a tight-fitting military uniform, not constantly standing upright like a candlestick, not surrounded by gold and finery and endless nobles and military officials.

The Rudolf Smrt knew preferred his nightshirts over any other item of clothing, the gathered sleeves billowing around his pale forearms and the ties around his throat undone. He liked lounging on his bed or on the carpet while he could bask in the soft dawn daylight. The only other beings he was surrounded with were the angels, who by this time already got used to snuggling up to Rudolf and were excited to be preened by him once in a while.

Over the years, Rudolf has only gotten more skilled and attentive with his preening. And Smrt secretly looked forward to every time the prince carded through his feathers and preened them. At this point, they almost made a routine of it.

Every week on Saturday afternoons, they would meet at Mayerling. Rudolf received the little hunting lodge as a present from his father and soon made it a small kingdom of his own. He had all the rooms redecorated, all deep teal wallpaper and walnut wood. All the servants were instructed to leave him alone in the lodge while he was there, save for an old butler who was to bring Rudolf a meal three times a day. This way, he and Smrt wouldn’t ever be disturbed. Like the years before in Schonbrunn, they would sit by the window and Rudolf would attentively preen Smrt’s feathers, careful to not leave behind a single pinprick.

Smrt adored seeing Rudolf in the soft yellow and orange light of the dawn, but the sunset somehow suited his prince better. There was something enthralling about the way the deep oranges, pinks and purples of the setting sun reflected in the now longer wavy tendrils of the prince’s hair. What Smrt would give to brush the unruly strands away from his prince’s noble forehead and for his hand to just so naturally slip and gently stroke Rudolf’s rosy cheek.

But the time for that wasn’t right. Not yet.

So, they stayed in the light of the setting sun like always, Rudolf deeply focused on preening Smrt’s feathers and Smrt stealing a longing gaze at his prince once in a while. Once they are finished, they continue on sitting in content silence long after the sun has set and stars came out on the dark sky.

“I have to return to Vienna tomorrow morning.” Rudolf breaks the silence, evidently sad to leave his retreat. “Father ordered it. He said I can no longer avoid state dinners by pretending to be sick or travelling away. And you know how much I hate the state dinners.”

Smrt smiles gently. “Yes, I do, Rudolf. But I’m sure that if you show up once, your father won’t mind if you avoid the next fifteen of them. He is a man who easily forgives. And remember, I’m always with you my dear prince. Even if it may not seem like it.”

That seems to put Rudolf at ease.

“I would give everything to stay like this forever.” Rudolf smiles sadly.

Me as well, Smrt wants to reply, but he knows that saying it out loud is already redundant. Both of them already know it.

“Mama should come to the dinner after a longer while as well.” Rudolf says as his gaze skims the letter from his father, which he has read about ten times already. “I haven’t seen her in years with how much time she spends abroad. Wonder what she’ll say to me.”

Smrt’s heart pangs momentarily when Rudolf mentions Elisabeth, but not as strongly as it would have a few years ago. What matters to him now is Rudolf. “I’m sure she will be proud to see how her son has grown up.”

“Even if the courtiers whisper about how strange I am behind my back?” Rudolf grimaces momentarily.

Smrt can’t help but smile. “Especially because of that. You know how much she herself dislikes them.”

Rudolf can’t help but smile wide as well. Indeed, his mother has always been one to go against the flow. Seems like he inherited that from her.

“You know how I dislike cutting our meetings short, but you should perhaps go to bed.” Smrt says gently. “You have a big dinner ahead of you tomorrow and it surely wouldn’t give off a good impression if you came looking tired.”

Rudolf slowly nods and before he can properly cover himself with the blanket, Aemilia has already flown off of her perch and onto the mattress. She quickly finds the cushion that Rudolf gave her and nestles into the already formed indent in it.

Just like every time, Smrt seats himself at the foot of the bed. A silent and patient guard as Rudolf slips away into the world of dreams. Smrt only wishes they are peaceful like the Saturday afternoons they spend together.

Chapter Text

Franz Joseph checked his pristine white uniform jacket for what probably was the hundredth time that evening. He knew he must seem almost paranoid to his attendants, but this evening was special for him.

The Emperor welcomed in various invited dignitaries and nobles for dinner thrice a week. These dinners usually took place on workdays, but if a foreign guest happened to be visiting Vienna, these dinners were usually moved to a day of rest. This time, the dinner was moved to a Sunday, which coincided with the weekly family dinner. Every member of the Habsburg dynasty was obliged to attend, save for if they were sick or on travels away from Vienna. And two names have been missing from the seating plans for the past few months, if not years.

So, it was with great surprise when Franz received the finished seating plan that late Sunday morning and saw opposite his name written Her Majesty, the Empress in sloping red ink and right next to it written Crown Prince Archduke Rudolf. He knew he must have smiled at that moment.

His beloved wife and son. His Sisi and Rudolf. He was finally going to see them.

He hadn’t seen Elisabeth for he didn’t know how many months at this point. She was constantly away on travels around Europe, either due to her health requiring some fresh seaside air of the Mediterranean or her horse-riding adventures. She frequently wrote him letters of how she spent her time, vividly describing her surroundings, sometimes even including a short poem she wrote, but a letter could never fully replace her.

Rudolf, on the other hand and as far as he knew, has always been within reach. Yet, the endless duties the Emperor had meant that Franz didn’t have the time to visit his son and talk with him. And even when he had the time, the attendants always told him that his son left the palace. Probably for Mayerling, that picturesque hunting lodge that Franz gifted his son.

Thinking on it, Franz only now realized just how long he didn’t see Rudolf. Every Sunday, he received a written excuse from Rudolf that he was either too sick to attend or currently too far away from Vienna. The prince seemed to him like smoke. Here one second yet gone the next. He wasn’t even sure what Rudolf looked like at this point.

Sudden knocking on his door disturbed Franz from his thoughts. It was Count Taaffe, already dressed in his black frockcoat richly embroidered in gold thread.

“What is it Edouard? Why aren’t you welcoming in the guests?” Franz mentally braced himself for what was to come, since lately all Taaffe did come to him with was complaints about the Crown Prince.

“Your Majesty, if I may be so bold to speak to you about a certain issue…”

“Speak freely, what is it?” Franz already knew where this conversation was heading.

“It’s the Crown Prince, your Majesty.” Taaffe finally spit out.

“What has my son done this time to earn your ire for him?” Franz is all too familiar with all the issues Taaffe sees in his son.

“You’re being far too considerate with him, your Majesty. You give him too much freedom to do whatever he wishes. Your son is not acting the way a proper Crown Prince of an empire should act.” Taaffe is still evidently trying to dance around whatever is bothering him this time about Rudolf. And Franz has had about enough of it.

“Edouard, spit it out already.” The Emperor says, his tone icy. “What bothers you about my son?”

“It’s the Crown Prince’s hair that’s the issue, your Majesty.” Taaffe finally babbles out.

For once, it’s the Emperor’s turn to be perplexed. “His hair?”

As far as Franz remembered, there have so far never been issues regarding his son’s appearance. The Rudolf he remembered was always very neatly dressed and the same went for his hair. It had always been brushed out of his forehead, even if Franz did remember Rudolf stubbornly insisting on parting his hair to the side instead of in the center like everyone else. Other than that, he remembered that Rudolf’s looks have always been rather unremarkable. Just what could be wrong with it for Taaffe to complain?

“Yes, his hair. The Crown Prince has not been cutting it for so long that it has grown past any acceptable point and now walks around more like some bohemian artist rather than the heir to the throne that he should be.” Taaffe explains. “You must command him to cut it.”

“Edouard, I’m sure you’re over-exaggerating, as you always are with my son.” Franz fixes his cuffs for the last time. “I’ll try and talk to Rudolf myself and be my own judge of the situation.”

The Emperor walks away faster than Count Taaffe can bow to him. All the way to the ballroom, where he should receive his guests, the only thing on Franz’s mind is Rudolf. Just how much did his son change in the many months he hadn’t seen him?

Just as always, the Emperor stops to wait in front of the ballroom doors, waiting for the Head of household’s signal for him to enter. All the nobles inside must be lining up along the wall in a single neat row to receive his welcome. Truth be told, he isn’t fond of all these official rituals. The artificiality of every prepared word and every gesture is sometimes disgusting to him, yet, for the sake of the monarchy, he must preserve them. He knows he would take the usual informal Sunday family dinner over this organized chaos any day. But, he must remind himself, today isn’t like every other official dinner. His Elisabeth and Rudolf will be there.

He wonders whether both of them are behind the doors already. Noticing the young attendants guarding the door, he asks them as much. They tell him that the Crown Prince did arrive already, but that the Empress was probably going to arrive a bit later due to her still being dressed. Franz smiles at that. His Sisi has never been one to come on time, usually arriving fashionably late. He never knew whether intentionally or not, but he knew he could never be mad at her for such a nitpick as her not being punctual.

He finally hears those three hollow bangs upon the floor and braces for all the greeting he’s about to do. The white and gilded doors open in front of him and he is instantly met with the seemingly endless line of nobles. The men all in their best tailcoats, bearing endless medals or gleaming embroideries upon their chests. The women are either wearing wine red or emerald green gowns, that seems to be the fashion now. Each of them is dripping in jewels, as has been customary ever since he can remember.

It has been quite a while until he finishes greeting every guest, yet Rudolf is nowhere in sight and Elisabeth didn’t enter the room as well. So, he announces that they will wait with the dinner until the Empress comes and all the nobles soon flock together into small gossip groups.

Franz calmly walks through the room, trying to listen for any mention of where the Crown Prince could have disappeared. In the end, he doesn’t have to strain his ears, since Rudolf seems to be the name on everyone’s lips. The elder nobles seem to be perplexed and shocked by him. The younger gentlemen talk about him being strange. Most of the young ladies seem to be smitten with him, despite also thinking him a bit too aloof.

Finally, he overhears someone mention they saw Rudolf heading for one of the balconies. And that is where Franz heads. His head swims with thoughts as he slowly reaches the open doors. Just how much did his poor unremarkable son change in those months that the entire court is talking about him? Would he still recognize Rudolf once he sees him?

With a deep breath, Franz reaches the threshold of the balcony, not being sure what to expect. His eyes take a moment to adjust to the dimness of the outside, even if the golden candlelight is streaming out of the ballroom behind him. The interior light makes his shadow on the ground seem like a dark threatening snake, which cowers at the tips of the feet of a solitary figure standing in one corner of the balcony.

Franz can immediately recognize the court uniform of his son. Especially the light blue jacket with its bright crimson collar and cuffs edged with gold. He still remembers the first time Rudolf wore a jacket like this. Back then, Rudolf was still a little boy and it was Gondrecourt and who had the prince’s first uniform made. Franz did remember that in those first few months, Rudolf complained to him how much he disliked the jacket Gondrecourt had him wear. That it was heavy and uncomfortable, that the collar was itchy and too tight. That he would much rather wear just a shirt, like he used to until then. Franz himself didn’t like the uniform jackets much, but he remembered explaining to Rudolf what an important part of decorum that jacket is. Rudolf seemed to wilt at his words then and never openly talked to him about disliking the jacket again.

Yet, as Rudolf slowly turns to face him, it’s evident that his dislike for the jacket never went away, since all of the shiny metal buttons are unfastened and the jacket, instead of fitting closely to the prince’s torso, hangs limply at his sides, exposing the bright crimson lining.

Yet, Franz is taken aback that if it were not for the jacket, he almost wouldn’t have recognized his son. The young man standing in front of him is a far cry from the unremarkably ordinary boy he remembered Rudolf as. His figure is lean and elegant, and his entire bearing reminds Franz of a rigorously trained ballet dancer. His features are familiar to Franz from long ago, and yet, they are different than he remembered. He might be getting the familiar feeling from the way his son’s features have somehow even in adulthood stayed rather childlike and soft. But somehow, each of Rudolf’s features is more fine and noble in a sense, like a marble statue finally finished. He is also as pale as marble, his cheeks like the delicate petals of a white rose, even if there are almost unnoticeable signs of the sun having kissed his son on the bridge of his nose and cheeks. But in his face, there is imprinted a deep-seated melancholy, especially in Rudolf’s still childlike brown eyes.

And then, he notices the hair. He hoped Taaffe was just exaggerating when he spoke of how improperly long the Crown Prince’s hair had gotten, but turns out Taaffe wasn’t exaggerating at all. Rudolf’s hair was indeed of a most unusual and unsuitable length for the heir to the throne, the light brown waves fanning over his pale forehead and framing his face and the longer tendrils kissing the top edge of his jacket collar.

“Rudolf?” Franz says, the name of his son coming out as more of a question than a greeting. As if he still couldn’t believe that the person in front of him is indeed his son.

“Father…” the prince answers, slightly bowing his head. His voice is soft, but just the same as his father had remembered it. The knowledge both puts him at ease and slightly unsettles him. To hear such a familiar voice coming from someone that has become unfamiliar to him.

They stand on the balcony opposite one another, neither of them knowing how to break the silence. The months apart have almost made them strangers to one another. In the end, it’s Rudolf who speaks out.

“Has mother arrived yet?” He asks timidly. Rudolf knows well that his father, despite everything, adores his mother and discussing her is perhaps the safest way to start a conversation.

“No, she hasn’t. We are waiting for her arrival before the dinner begins.” The Emperor answers, his words curt and coming out surprisingly formal out of his mouth. Franz knows he should reprimand his son on the spot, that would be the proper thing to do. Yet when he looks at Rudolf, he can’t help but be glad to see his son again. The reprimands can wait for after dinner, when the two of them can truly be alone without the entire court society a wall away.

“I’m glad to see you after so long.” Franz finds himself earnestly saying. “I guess you nowadays prefer the retreat Mayerling offers rather than the court here in Vienna. I’m glad my gift didn’t go to waste.”

“Mayerling is a beautiful place, father.” Rudolf answers, his thoughts still back on that sunset yesterday. “It is serene and quiet, offering endless time and motivation to study and think. I can’t imagine anyone who would prefer Vienna over it.”

Franz smiles. The conversation he managed to start with his son is rather mundane, but neither of them seems to mind. For Franz, it’s refreshing to for once not talk about laws or the military, but about something as simple as the way Rudolf had Mayerling redecorated to his taste.

“Do you still keep the birds that you used to?” Franz asks and Rudolf’s mouth runs dry for a moment. He never talked to his father about the flock. Seeing the slight uneasiness on his son’s face, Franz adds: “I sometimes saw a few dark-feathered birds, I would never be able to name what kinds of birds they were, sitting on your windowsill when I crossed the courtyard. And as soon as you started spending most of your time in Mayerling, I never saw the birds again.”

Rudolf at first searches his father’s face for any hint of malice. He had to do so every single time with Gondrecourt and later his tutor. Yet, his father’s face is friendly. With relief, he answers: “Yes, the birds are with me still. It’s a few different kinds of crows and a raven. They like it in Mayerling as well.”

The father steps closer to his son, laying a hand on the prince’s shoulder. He doesn’t know of any other way of how to show his gratitude to Rudolf for coming that evening.

They are interrupted by the announcement of the Empress arriving. Franz can’t wait to see her, but before he comes back in to greet her, he rubs Rudolf’s shoulder in encouragement and looking down, he does up two of the buttons on Rudolf’s jacket. “I know you don’t like the uniform, but do button it up, just for the dinner.” Rudolf only gives him a small nod in affirmation.

The Emperor enters the ballroom to greet his empress, who just entered. Franz hasn’t seen his Sisi for months, they have been married for three decades and yet she still manages to take his breath away. Her gown is made in the newest fashion, the train of her skirt dragging behind her like a tail of peacock feathers. It’s made of the finest satin in the color of candied violets, her favorite sweets, which goes so well with her chestnut hair, artfully arranged into braids on top of her head. She looks just the same as she always did to Franz. Still as beautiful as at their first meeting. Her features are slightly more drawn with age, but still elegant.  

The imperial couple greet one another officially and proceed towards the table with all their guests in tow. Rudolf joins them at the last minute, his jacket thankfully properly fastened up, but the way his hair flows around his face as he scurries to his seat does elicit a few murmurs from the people he passes. He is seated to the Empress’s right hand and as soon as she sees him, her eyes get slightly glassy and disappear for a moment behind the gentle flutter of her fan.

Franz smiles from across the table. It is clear that Elisabeth missed her son as well.

As mother and son sit next to one another opposite him, Franz notices just how must Rudolf takes after his mother. It’s clear, that the delicate features that earlier perplexed him on Rudolf are in fact inherited from Elisabeth.

“My dear, how much you’ve grown since I last saw you. And you grew your hair out.” She points out suddenly and smiles as she brushes a stray lock of hair from Rudolf’s eyes. “It suits you incredibly well. It reminds me of some of the portraits that hung in the halls at Possenhofen when I was a child.”

As if on cue, a loose tendril escapes from Elisabeth’s hairdo, falling over her brow. It has the same wave to it as Rudolf’s hair. At this point Franz is sure that he won’t command Rudolf to cut his hair short again or force him to change in any way. He and Elisabeth are so alike. Only now he sees it.

After dinner is finished, most of the guests leave for the smoking room or the ballroom. Sisi excuses herself and leaves for her apartments for the night, as is her custom. She is quite an early bird and besides, she never liked conversing with other nobles.

Everyone is merrily conversing inside, yet Franz sees a lone figure on the balcony. It’s Rudolf. He almost wants to approach him again, yet before he can, the Crown Prince stretches out his hand and a raven lands on his arm. Franz curiously observes how the raven leans its head onto Rudolf’s palm as he pets her. Rudolf proceeds to pull out a handful of what looks like leftover bits from the dinner and offers it to the raven, the bird happily gobbling from his hand.

Franz decides it is better to leave Rudolf alone now, in fear of interrupting the scene unfurling before him, and turns back to the ballroom, ready to face his duty again. And in a momentary glimpse, he realizes just how unlike one another him and Rudolf are.

Chapter Text

The sky has been overcast the entire day. Not too ideal for a scheduled military parade to take place, but not unpleasant. The vast and numerous groups of soldiers and equestrians, each in their pristine uniform with polished buttons, were marching forth under the watchful eye of their beloved Emperor and the Crown Prince.

The monarch and his heir were observing from afar on horseback. The Emperor’s horse was well built and a warm brown with a shining white patch on its forehead. But the Crown Prince’s horse was most peculiar, much like all things around the heir lately. The horse had a rather slim build and a shining black coat and if rumors could be believed, it apparently appeared out of nowhere in the imperial stables. Everyone at first thought it was one of the horses the Empress had had shipped to Vienna from England, but all those horses were tame and gentle, while this one was the exact opposite. It kicked and refused to be saddled, let alone touched by anyone. Anyone that is, except for Crown Prince Rudolf. As soon as the Crown Prince approached the horse, it became gentle, nuzzling his palm for sugar cubes and letting Rudolf give it scratches between the ears.

The soldiers stole glances at their monarch and his son as they marched past. Despite the Emperor already being a man of advanced age and his hair and beard having already almost completely turned silvery, he still possessed the same air of strength and confidence that he had in his youth. For many of the soldiers, Franz Joseph was the only monarch they ever remembered ruling over them. Many even doubted they could even imagine a day when Franz Joseph wouldn’t be their Emperor. He seemed almost eternal.

How different compared to the Emperor did the Crown Prince seem to the soldiers. Crown Prince Rudolf had never been particularly strong or able to project as much confidence as his father. Yet never before did the Prince seem to the soldiers so frail, almost ephemeral. He certainly did fill them with a will to defend him, looking almost vulnerable, yet them imagining him as the one person ruling over them and leading them into battle? They couldn’t imagine that.

As for Rudolf himself, he hated having to be overwatching the military parade. The only reason he was there was that his father specifically requested him to by sending riders to Mayerling to accompany him back to Vienna. Now, just seeing the soldiers in their military uniforms with their polished muskets brought him back memories of Gondrecourt. Of all those dreadful military training drills that still made him sometimes wake in cold sweat in the middle of the night. All the cold showers. All the exhausting physical training. All the gunshots next to his head in the middle of the night.

A shudder ran over Rudolf. He quickly gathered himself and stole a glance to his right, where Count Taaffe was keeping watch over him like a hawk over his prey. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice the shiver. Or at least he pretended he didn’t see it. Rudolf knew that if that was the case, Taaffe would definitely bring it up later to his father.

Taaffe was becoming more of a thorn in his side with every time they met. The worst was that Rudolf knew that he would never become the ideal heir in Taaffe’s eyes. There was always just something that the Count didn’t approve of. Just so that Taaffe wouldn’t complain the entire day, Rudolf made sure in the morning that his uniform jacket was pristine and without a single crease, all the buttons properly sewn on and fastened and the collar almost choking him with how firmly and tightly it wrapped around his throat. Thankfully, his ceremonial plumed hat had to be worn for this event, so there was a way for Rudolf to hide his long hair. At least there would be no complaints from Taaffe about that today. Aemilia helped him make sure that all his waves were secure inside the hat before he had to leave the safety of Mayerling.

Rudolf smiled. Aemilia was so gentle when she tucked away his hair that morning. “It’s just for a few hours, Rudolf. Just a few.” She said and pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead. Just like his mother did when he was a little boy. A little boy, who awoke to the harsh sounds of gunshots next to his bed.

He flinched as Aemilia tucked in the hairs at the back of his neck and he felt a sting on the spot she touched. He had no idea what it could be. All he knew was that with the hat clinging closely to his head, the unpleasant feeling persisted even now. All he wanted to do is to take the damned thing off and find out what is bothering him there, but then Taaffe would have a reason to complain about his hair, so Rudolf endured it.

Yet another group of soldiers marched away in front of his gaze. All in the same grey uniform and marching in unison, they didn’t look like a group of individual men, but a stormy sea. Their faces and themselves lost in their uniformity. They must surely be looking at him and all the medals pinned to his chest and think what a fake he is. He got each of the medals through no actions or heroic events of his own, they were given to him for simply being born as the only son of the Emperor of Austria. Each of them was supposed to elevate his position within the military, yet Rudolf felt how each medal that he didn’t earn just sank him lower.

In each of the soldiers’ gazes he saw the way the reverence they held when they looked up at his father turn to cold pity when they looked at him. And he truly felt pitiful. Would the soldiers still look at him in pity if his father was no longer there and if he became Emperor? Or would they force themselves to put on only a mask of reverence and lie to him? He would never be like his father that they so looked up to. His father was the perfect Emperor. Dutiful, strong-willed, gallant, decisive. And Rudolf felt like he would never acquire these traits.

The thought of him one day becoming an Emperor made him sick. All the pretense of wearing a gilded, gem-encrusted crown and dragging velvet robes lined with ermine for portraits. The crown would be so heavy on his head that he would feel as if his neck was about to snap under it, the robes would weigh him down and with each look at the ermine, he wouldn’t think about how expensive and soft the furs are, but how many stoats had to be killed for all this pretense. All the paperwork, from sunrise to sunset. All the council meetings in rooms as cold as ice and all the court dinners in rooms where one could barely breathe. And all the endless military parades and pointless battles and wars that could have been prevented.

He could see himself standing on the battlefield, his boots and uniform splattered in red. The pins of the medal upon medal on his breast almost scratching his skin underneath the jacket. Corpses scattered everywhere amongst men who were just about to breathe their last breath.

And amongst them danced Smrt with his angels. The hooded enigmatic forms of the angels lifted the fallen soldiers one by one, bringing them closer to Smrt. And Smrt, Rudolf’s eternal friend who refused him every attempt at a touch, now in front of him gently drew each of the soldiers near into a caring embrace. Stroking his beautiful gloved hands over the numerous wounds that have already clotted up with blood and dirt, over the unseeing milky white eyes that would never again behold the death bringer’s beauty, over the scarred cheeks and temples and the matted hair. And standing so near, he would press a gentle lingering kiss to the soldier’s forehead and the empty human shell would fall from his arms, limp like a marionette, who’s strings have been cut.

Rudolf wanted to run to him, to scream, to cry. Yet he couldn’t. All he could do was stand there and watch as the thing he yearned for the most was freely given to others but not him. Because he was unworthy. Because he was worthless. Because he was a failure.

Rudolf felt tears well up in his eyes. He couldn’t stand being there anymore. There were soldiers marching who were barely past the point of adulthood. He couldn’t bear knowing that they would be given that sweet embrace while he didn’t know how many more years he would have to wait for it. Quickly urging his horse to turn around, he galloped off back towards Mayerling. At this point, it would make no difference if he ran away in the middle of the parade or stayed there wiping away at the tears in his eyes. He would get scolded by Taaffe and then his father either way.

He urged the horse to go quicker and quicker still, jumping over the exposed tree roots. Just when he thought he was about to see the gates of Mayerling, a sudden downpour of rain started, making the prince absolutely drenched before he reached them. At least the rain will hide away his tears from his servants before he dismisses them.

Once he arrived at his retreat, Rudolf’s mind became a blur. He heard himself hollowly giving the order for the horse to be led to the stable, dried off and fed. And that he wishes to be left alone until the next morning. He guessed the servants must have been used to days like this at this point. There have been too many similar ones already.

He reaches his bedroom and safely locks the door, as is his custom. A few of the angels are still there, most of them asleep on their perches. Yet there is no sign of Aemilia and no sign of Smrt. He sometimes wonders why they have even stuck around so long around him. He is such a sorry excuse of a being.

He slumps down onto the ground, his back resting against the footboard of his bed. And that is where Aemilia and Smrt find him. Still completely drenched, practically sitting in a puddle upon the cold wooden floor, and with tears streaming from his unfocused eyes.

Smrt wants to rush to him in worry, embrace him and wipe away those tears, yet a single touch upon his shoulder from Aemilia reminds him why he shouldn’t. He casts his tortured gaze down as his angel rushes to Rudolf herself, stroking his cheeks and helping him stand up. She proceeds in helping Rudolf get out of his soaked through clothes, handing each discarded article of clothing to Smrt to somehow occupy his attention. Yet he does see the way Aemilia can freely brush away the wet strands of hair that have clung to Rudolf’s forehead and Smrt feels jealous of his most trusted angel.

By the time they reach the shirt, Rudolf had woken enough from his delirium to change by himself into a soft nightgown. Rudolf‘s eyes are downcast and glassy as he comes out from behind the changing screen and as Aemilia leads him to his bed. A few of the younger angels are nesting in the unkempt blanket in their crow forms, but Aemilia swiftly yet gently sweeps them onto the ground so she can cover Rudolf. The prince silently but gratefully accepts the blanket from the angel and hugs the corner of it to his chest.

All the while, Aemilia coos to him, gently strokes his hair and wipes away at Rudolf’s silent tears. Smrt hates that he can’t do more than watch on from the bedpost as his prince is suffering. If he has a heart of any kind, he thinks, he is sure that it is breaking in this moment. Seeing Rudolf so lost in his pain that he didn’t even notice his presence.

After a while of the gentle repetitive motions, Rudolf seems to quiet down and his eyes seem to focus on his surroundings. The last few hours have been too much of a blur. He is warm under his blanket and a sharp, yet kind painted face is leaning over him. Aemilia’s face. The hand that has been stroking his head surely is hers as well.

And at the foot of his bed sits Smrt. His dear friend is by his side once more. Beautiful as always, the light of the lit candles and the fireplace almost creating a warm halo around his head. Yet when Smrt looks upon him with those usually slightly mischievous eyes, all Rudolf can notice is how glassed over and pained they are. As if his friend was on the verge of tears.

“My friend…” Rudolf wants to say, but his words come out more as a whimper. Rudolf hates it so much. How weak he sounds. He quickly digs himself out from the blanket despite Aemilia’s protests and scrambles towards Smrt. He wants his friend to stroke his hair and face, just like Aemilia did. Would it truly be so bad to finally feel his lifelong friend’s touch?

Their fingers are almost touching when Smrt realizes just how close Rudolf had come to him and with a sudden yelp, he rises from the bed and takes a few steps back. His long black coat flutters in the air with the sudden motion and his feathers are fluffed up in alarm. Yet when Smrt sees Rudolf’s crestfallen face and the tears starting to roll back down his precious prince’s cheeks, the feathers on his shoulder whither down.

“Why?” Rudolf asks through sobs. “Why can’t you hold me? Why does it have to be like this?”

“Rudolf…” Smrt whispers, his words also almost a whimper.

“Please, I beg you.” Rudolf continues through tears. “I can’t continue this life anymore. It can barely be called a life. I am suffocating more every day you aren’t by my side. I yearn for you every waking moment. I want you to embrace and hold me. I want to be like Aemilia and all the other angels. Please. I beg you, have mercy upon me.”

“You know how much I yearn to, my sweet prince.” Smrt says. “Yet your time on this earth shouldn’t come to an end yet.”

“Then when?” comes out of Rudolf as a tortured sigh as he downcasts his eyes again.

Suddenly, Rudolf feels something fluttering down onto his back and shoulders. Something soft and light. A cloak made out of thousands of shining black and silvery feathers, that so remind him of the sweeping sleeve of Aemilia’s jacket. The feathers rustle as he shifts underneath it. The cloak looks like it should be as heavy as the ceremonial robes of a monarch, yet Rudolf almost can’t feel it upon his back.

“It won’t be long now, my dear Rudolf.” Smrt says, his voice still slightly pained. “Both you and I will know when the time comes. But, for now, this is the most I can do. Take this cloak as a promise. A promise that I will be waiting for you at your final hour so you can take flight by my side. A promise that I will give you the loveliest wings amongst my angels.”

Rudolf silently nods and instinctually, his hand wanders up the collar until it reaches the place on the back of his head where he felt the unpleasant feeling earlier that day. His fingers card through the hair until he startles at the unexpected sensation he encounters and yelps in surprise. He knows this exact feeling too well at this point, yet it can’t be. The cold and hard feeling he has become so familiarized with from grooming Aemilia and Smrt.

“Aemilia, I think I’m going mad.” Rudolf whispers.

“What is it? What happened?” the angel replies in worry. Smrt looks at him with a worried gaze as well.

“Please, look at the back of my head and tell me what it is that is in my hair. Because it surely can’t be-”

Aemilia is already carding through his locks when she stops suddenly.

“A pinfeather.” She finishes for him, slight disbelief in her own voice. Rudolf feels her swiftly discard the sheath of what must be a very narrow and delicate feather, like the decorative plumes of the birds of paradise.

His mind is reeling. He is a human. He shouldn’t be growing feathers. This shouldn’t be happening.

Yet, he becomes calm when he sees Smrt’s glassy eyes. “It won’t be long now.”

Outside, the rain is still violently beating against the windows of Rudolf’s room. Yet, his mind is strangely serene now that he wraps the feathered cloak tighter around his shoulders. He wonders what it will be like once the time comes. His hair will be interwoven with feathers, and he will have real wings, just like Aemilia. And he will finally be able to hold Smrt’s hand in gratitude and lay down his head in his friend’s lap as he feels Smrt’s elegant fingers playing with his hair and feathers. And for once, he will fall asleep in a world where he isn’t a Crown Prince and doesn’t have to become the Emperor. Where he isn’t the heir to the throne with endless medals he didn’t earn. Or a nuisance to anyone.

He will just be Rudolf. And that will be all that will matter.

Chapter Text

It’s the middle of the night when he awakes.

The first thing that comes to Rudolf’s mind is how cold his room is. The fire in the fireplace has burned out what seems like ages ago, the only evidence of it ever burning there were the left behind charred logs. He snuffed the candles out himself before laying down in bed. But he hoped that the fire would burn for longer. If not for his sake, then for the sake of Smrt’s flock. A lot of them have flown back to Smrt’s realm, but about five of them remained on their perches, their feathers puffed out to keep themselves warm.

He would immediately rise to rekindle a fire save if there wasn’t a hand gently resting at his side. A small and gentle hand that carried no warmth of its own. Aemilia’s hand.

Rudolf observes the angel laying by his side for a moment. Her dark eyes are closed in a peacefully deep sleep. The black paint is still present both on her eyes and lips, even if some of it rubbed off onto Rudolf’s bedsheets. Aemilia’s hair is still secured in its usual braid, but a few strands are starting to come loose. A little pied crow, whose name Rudolf now knew to be Edwin, has tucked himself underneath her chin and partially under the blanket, his white feathered belly softly rising and falling with each breath.

He can see her usual jacket haphazardly discarded over the footboard of his bed and from what he can see, her choice of sleeping garment is something loose and flowing that envelops her like a black shroud. It rather reminds him of a chiton worn by the women of ancient Greece and Rome. And rather of a few dresses his mother brought over to Vienna with her from her travels through Greece.

His mother. His forever absent mother.

Carefully sliding from under Aemilia’s hand, Rudolf sits up against the headboard, hugging his knees to his chest.

As far back as he remembered, his mother has never fully been there for him. Sure, she did help him in the past, like when she ordered Gondrecourt to end with his military drills. She did everything in his best interest, but as soon as she helped him get back up on his feet, she disappeared. She was never there to offer him an embrace when he awoke in cold sweat because he thought that he heard gunshots next to his head again. She was never there to hold his hand when he needed reassurance. She was always gone.

Rudolf sometimes envies his mother for the freedom his father grants her. She can leave the gilded cage of the Viennese court anytime she wants and can travel anywhere she desires. From the foggy forests of England, through the fresh mountain air of the Alps, to all the charming little Greek islands, where it must feel like summer year-round.

How grateful Rudolf would be if only he could experience a month like that. Or a day. Not constantly having to watch out for Taaffe’s numerous spies. Not always expecting his father’s messengers and horsemen arriving to lead him back to Vienna and his duties. Not having to be the Crown Prince.

Rudolf rises from the bed and goes to reignite the fire before his mind takes him to those dark thoughts again. He knows how much the angels like being warm and there is no reason why they should be uncomfortable. He strikes the long match and throws it amongst the logs along with some crumpled newspaper. He is pleased to see the wood relight itself, but it will be a while before the room will be warm again.

Now, that a blanket no longer covers him, Rudolf shivers in his nightshirt, his feet bare. He glimpses his precious feathered cloak laying on the divan, the sputtering first flames throwing warm reflections upon the shimmering silver feathers. As if it patiently awaited him there. Rudolf almost reverently approaches it and wraps himself in it. It doesn’t feel heavy, but just the feeling of its presence on his shoulders is comforting to Rudolf.

He sinks into the divan, almost completely enveloped in the feathered cloak. Rudolf’s mind can’t help but wander back to his mother. His beautiful, unfamiliarly familiar mother.

He feels such a strong connection to her, he knows that they have always been so similar, yet he almost doesn’t know her. He guesses no one really does. Not even his father, not even her ladies in waiting. Everyone has gotten so used to her whims that nobody is no longer surprised if the Empress disappears from Vienna in favor of some strange Mediterranean island. Yet still, she marches on, the sizeable entourage scampering behind their graceful mistress. Yet still, she is evidently never happy even if she’s free.

Rudolf saw her from a window in the Hofburg a few weeks ago. He was called to Vienna to attend a council meeting and by a lucky glimpse caught sight of his lady mother crossing the courtyard. He can still remember the deep red satin of her dress flowing behind her like the flames currently flickering in his fireplace. She was holding an ornate umbrella above her head and a fan ready at her side. Her stride was fast, the two of her attendants barely catching up to her.

Rudolf felt so near to her and yet never has been farther. Calling for her would be easy in the moment, he tells himself, but easier said than done. One word coming out of his throat and he would risk the ire of everyone.

He too yearned to run away somewhere, just like her. To not have to sit in council meetings where everyone except his father thinks he is redundant. To not have to attend military parades of soldiers he will never lead. To never have to become the emperor with gilded crown of iron and a silver tongue of lies. And once that crown is placed upon his head, to never be free again.

He doesn’t realize that tears are silently rolling down his face again. He winds the cloak tighter around himself, yet he can’t silence it, the dull throbbing pain at the very core of his being. He is so tired, so weary of this entire pretense. For some time, he thought he could power through. Like the hero in one of the fairytales no one ever read to him. But he now knows that that would only be wishful thinking.

Wanting this deep-seated pain to finally cease tormenting him, he remembers a small box tucked away at the very back of one of his table drawers. He was given the box by the court doctor a few years back for a rather painful injury he suffered. The doctor said it was a brand-new form of treatment, promised that it was unusually effective in bringing immediate relief. Rudolf never ended up administering the potential cure to himself, potentially because Gondrecourt’s lessons of pain making one stronger still remained within him.

But the pain is of a different kind now and it was much more unbearable.

Wearily approaching the table, he opens the drawer and blindly lets his fingers wander around until they meet the hard outline of the box. Pulling it out from the depths of its hiding place, Rudolf at first gently traces the edges of the unassuming wooden box before flipping the lid open. Inside is a shining metal and glass injection needle with a tourniquet and five glass ampules laid out on a crimson velvet.

The entire procedure is far too swift in his blind desire for relief. The return of the still cold air as he quickly throws the cloak off of himself. The strap on the tourniquet digging into his skin like a coiled snake under the rolled-up sleeve of his nightgown. The sting of the injection might as well belong to a snake. A beautifully shiny, yet poisonous viper. His vision starts to swim as he throws the damned instrument away and tears off the strap, hiding away the painful reminders of his act underneath his sleeve.

He leans against the bedpost and lets himself sink to the ground. A strange feeling courses through his veins. A sudden calm, a calm like he never in his life experienced. It isn’t a calm before a storm, like most of his life, but a true and uninterrupted feeling of peace. It’s both exhilarating and unsettling at the same time.

All the pain and worries are suddenly forgotten. Perhaps for the first time in his life, Rudolf feels completely safe. Feels as if he can achieve anything he sets his mind to, yet he doesn’t have to. An unknown warmth and comfort is seeping into his bones. He feels as if he could fly.

Rudolf notices the cloak is no longer around his shoulders. He does feel momentarily ashamed of the way he unceremoniously discarded such a precious gift, but the cloak is soon back around him. Rudolf can’t help but snuggle against the soft feathers. As he presses them against his cheek, he sees them shine in multitudes of colors under his half-closed eyes. He doesn’t remember the feathers being quite so colorful in their iridescence. Might be because of the moonlight streaming in through the window, but they are simply beautiful.

He involuntarily leans his head to one side and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looks like a mess, his hair unkempt and nightshirt rumpled. Long, in this light almost unearthly pale limbs peek out from underneath his feathered cloak. In his hair, he can see iridescent glimpses of more feathers having grown in.

Ever since he found that first feather, about a dozen more have appeared on his head. He at first didn’t know what they looked like, since the first ones grew in at the back of his head. But he now knows them to be delicate little plumes, so alike to the decorative feathers on the heads of certain birds of paradise. They are almost unnoticeable in his hair, sharing the same color, yet the little plumes have that iridescent shimmer all of Smrt’s flock share. They are a reminder that it won’t be long now before he joins the flock himself. Every time he brushes his fingers or a comb through his hair, he can feel them there. They are sensitive little things, making a pleasant shiver run down his spine every time.

Lost in the all too calming release of the opioid, Rudolf almost doesn’t take notice of the figure that has appeared near the window. Only when he registers that something is blocking away the moonlight he so reveled in, he sees the figure, shaded and somewhat ominous to his gaze. He’d usually smile softly and gladly greet Smrt, yet his mind is clouded now and Rudolf doesn’t recognize his beloved friend. All he sees is an ominous dark silhouette.

He yelps and scampers away. He knows Aemilia is still in his bed and he knows that he always will have her as his protector. He can hear a whimper in his voice and breaths as he scrambles to bed and latches onto Aemilia, hiding his face away in the blanket. He knows he must have rudely awoken her with how sweetly she rested there alongside little Edwin, but he is overwhelmed with fear.

Smrt thought this night would be quite unremarkable, but as soon as he sees Rudolf slumped on the floor against the footboard of his bed, he knows something isn’t right. His dear prince is sitting there like a discarded puppet, whose stings have been cut. He wants to greet Rudolf like he usually does, yet when the prince’s eyes land on Smrt, all he sees in them is pure fear. Smrt has seen this emotion in the eyes of innumerable humans when they beheld him. He had hoped he would never see Rudolf’s lovely doe eyes look upon him in such a way. And now he knows why, because just a single glimpse of fear and he feels as if he is shattering from the inside.

He loathes himself for scaring his darling prince so. And he curses himself for letting himself be vulnerable. For ever having hope that a human full of life would ever see him as more than a bringer of demise or the means to an end. He feels pathetic.

He sinks to his knees under the surge of the feelings this stirred up in him as he sees Rudolf try and hide beneath his blanket, like a scared child once more. The prince latches onto Aemilia, who is quite surprised to be awoken in such a way. Smrt sees Edwin barely manage to crawl out from between the two figures as Rudolf embraces the angel. Aemilia tries to soothe the prince’s whimpers and strokes his hair in slow and calming motions. Yet Rudolf’s whimpers seem to never want to stop.

Edwin’s little frail body flutters onto Smrt’s shoulder and hops into his hands. The little angel demands some comfort from Smrt. Slowly, Smrt starts to card through the tiny black and white feathers and feels his mind calm down from the sudden turmoil. Rudolf never reacted as he just did. Something must have happened to alter him so severely.

“Rudolf, please, what’s the matter? What happened?” Aemilia coos to him and even though she tries to keep calm, Smrt can hear that uneasiness in her voice as well. She throws a few desperate glances his way, yet both of them know that she is the only one who can calm Rudolf in this state and moment.

Smrt suddenly glimpses the shine of something on the carpet. The silvery shine of metal and glass. He places Edwin on one of the empty perches before approaching it. Cautiously picking the object up, he sees it’s an injection needle. One that was evidently used, the tip still having traces of blood on it. Nearby, strewn under the bed is a sterile looking white strap, which also bears an almost unnoticeable smear of blood alongside a small empty glass ampule.

“Aemilia, can you please look at Rudolf’s forearms?” Smrt asks of his angel cautiously.

“What for?” she responds, yet when she sees Smrt with the syringe placed in his palm, a sudden realization dawns on her. “You don’t think that…?” the rest of her question remains unspoken.

“It appears so.” Smrt says quietly, his eyes downcast.

Aemilia rolls up the sleeve on Rudolf’s left arm only for both the death bringer and the angel to gasp as their suspicions are proven true. The delicate pale skin on Rudolf’s forearm is marred by a slowly forming bruise, the reddish blue appearing through a cloud of sickly green discoloration. There are little, almost unnoticeable scratches in the crook of his elbow alongside a swollen injection mark over the veins and an angry red imprint from the tourniquet digging into his skin just above.

“Oh, Rudolf…” Aemilia whispers. “Why would you do this?”

By this time, Rudolf seems to have calmed down from his panic, yet he is still clinging to Aemilia and his eyes are unfocused and cloudy. He doesn’t respond. And Smrt loathes to see him like this.

“We should probably bandage the arm.” Aemilia reasons first. “I know there should be a roll of bandages in the desk. I saw Rudolf bandage up a few of the other angels’ wings with it when they got hurt.”

Smrt wants to smile at the mention of how attentive and caring his Rudolf is to the angels, but he must act. He is swift in finding the bandages and hands them over to Aemilia. Smrt watches as her nimble fingers wrap the wound up and neatly tie the bandages before she covers them back up with the sleeve.

“His breathing is so shallow.” Aemilia says with a worried expression upon her face as she strokes a few strands of hair away from Rudolf’s brow. Smrt does deep down feel that each breath Rudolf takes is labored and painfully short. “Maybe, if we took him outside, he would sober up sooner. And fresh air never hurt anybody. We just need to bundle him up so he doesn’t catch a cold.”

After a rather prolonged time of sliding out from under Rudolf’s embrace and haphazardly throwing on her coat, Aemilia helped the prince stand up from bed in his intoxicated state. Rudolf is quickly dressed with her help and even though Smrt can’t involve himself closer lest he unwillingly puts Rudolf in danger, he longs to be of help. Noticing the feathered cloak left on the spot he found Rudolf, he picks the garment up. Despite the cloak appearing thin, it was created to serve its wearer in any weather. It should feel like a warm and soft woolen blanket to Rudolf in the current deep winter.

Aemilia sees his intention and nods in agreement. As Smrt comes closer to Rudolf, Aemilia keeps a protective hand in between them, lest either of them lose their composure. With a single swish, the cloak flutters through the air and lands around Rudolf’s shoulders. Even though Smrt earns to tie up the laces at Rudolf’s pale throat into a neat bow, he lets Aemilia do the task. She, however, lets Smrt put the hood upon Rudolf’s head, her hand still in between their chests.

As the death bringer gently lays the feathered hood upon the prince’s gently twisting locks, Rudolf’s eyes bear into Smrt’s. There is still that cloudiness present.

“Who are you?” Rudolf whispers, gratefully no longer full of fear. “Do I know you?”

Smrt tries to hide the pain he feels in the moment, because Rudolf so reminds him of the little helpless child he was upon their first meeting. “Yes, you know me very well.” Much more than any of us dare to admit, he thinks. “You’ve known me for many years. Ever since you were a little boy, in fact.”

“Are you my guardian angel?” Rudolf asks innocently as Smrt steps away from him.

Smrt startles at those words. “Why would you think that?”

“You certainly are beautiful like one.” Confesses the prince and a deep blush appears on his cheeks.

Aemilia’s wide-eyed amused gaze darts between the two of them. She has never before seen Smrt get this flustered and she has been around him for a millennium at this point. Her always civil and level-headed friend is now nervously darting his dark painted eyes across the room in an effort to calm himself. She notices the at first glance unnoticeable feathers in his hair have instinctually ruffled themselves up alongside the feathery tuft on his shoulder and that this is perhaps the first time in her existence she sees a hint of color appear on Smrt’s face. For on his face, which has been constantly the most refined shade of pale marble now appears a hint of a flush. A flush so similar to Rudolf’s in both its placement and coloring.

She knows she could irritate Smrt with mentioning it to him, but there will be time to do that later. They now need to take Rudolf to get some fresh air.

The Prince thankfully has no similar remarks as Aemilia assists him down the stairs, Smrt already having gone to prepare the carriage. Both him and Aemilia decided that they wouldn’t risk some of the housekeepers spotting them if they remained on the courtyard and Rudolf certainly wouldn’t be able to walk far, so taking the carriage on a ride around the grounds seemed like the safest option.

Smrt took hold of the reins and whip as Aemilia helped Rudolf settle in the back. The carriage was an open one, much more suited for summer than winter, but neither of its occupants minded. It started gently snowing as Rudolf, still dazed, took his seat.  Smrt smiled as he saw the soft snowflakes gently landing on Rudolf’s nose and hood.

Cracking the whip, Smrt commanded the black horse to start their hopefully short journey. They went slowly at first, careful as can be, yet the ride got progressively faster. They were soon racing with the wind but none of them minded the cold gusts of air on their faces.

Rudolf gazed up at Smrt, at the way those beautiful feathers on his shoulder fluttered in the wind. He could feel the wind on the tiny feathers growing in his hair, but he wanted more. He wanted to have wings in that moment, so he could feel it fully. He wanted to feel as if he was to take flight.

He slowly stood up and outstretched his arms, the feathered cloak that previously enveloped him now fluttering behind him. The rustling of the feathers sounding like a melody to his ears. He imagined that having wings must feel quite like this. Except much more exhilarating and fulfilling.

Aemilia held onto Rudolf’s waist as he stood up and she bade Smrt to slow the carriage down. However, as soon as Rudolf felt the wind under his imagined wings die down, he yearned for more. And seeing the whip held in the hand of his beautiful companion immediately opened up an option of bringing it back. Before either Smrt or Aemilia were able to register what was going on, Rudolf sprung up from his seat and snatched the whip into his own grasp, commanding the horse to gallop at full speed again.

Rudolf reveled in his returned sense of release and little chuckles escaped his throat alongside shallow breaths. He was in control of something for once and basked in. But soon, the wind that felt so freeing to him felt more like slashes against his skin. What he a while ago viewed as pleasant and freeing was now hurting him. He gasped for air, as if awoken from a bad dream.

Taking his chance, Smrt plucked the whip from Rudolf’s fingers and told Aemilia to drag Rudolf back to his seat. The carriage slowed down again to a gentle trot. Smrt saw that the flush Rudolf now bore was no longer from the whims of his intoxicated mind, but from the cold wind, so he turned the carriage around to head back to Mayerling.

By the time they arrived at the hunting lodge, Rudolf had recovered from his delirium, yet didn’t say a word. Aemilia and Smrt accompanied him back to his room, where the fire Rudolf lit was already peacefully burning and filling the room with welcoming warmth. A few more angels have snuck in while they were on their carriage ride and as soon as they saw Smrt and Aemilia, they flew to their shoulders to beg them for a preening.

Settling in their usual spot on the carpet, they soon fell into their usual routine. Rudolf gazed into the fire, a million thoughts swirling in his mind. Until he sniffled, which took Smrt’s attention.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Smrt asked gently. He knew that Rudolf must be very vulnerable at this moment and that he might not want to confide with what he just went through.

Rudolf nodded gently. “The world is so evil. It’s so full of injustice and destruction. And I want to bring about change, but no one wants to listen to me. As if my voice was hollow. I want to change the world for the better, but I’m scared to. I’m scared of the power that you need to do that. I tasted power back then when I took away your whip. It felt amazing for a moment, like I was on top of the world, unstoppable. Yet, that soon disappeared. And I felt empty and hollow once again.”

“The world is full of destruction and evil, but you mustn’t let it drown you by making you feel helpless.” Smrt said gently.

“But I’m all alone to face it. Completely.” Rudolf bowed down his head.

Taking the whip that he mindlessly brought up to Rudolf’s room, Smrt reached out with it until the tip made contact with Rudolf’s chin and bid the prince to lift his gaze. “You aren’t alone. I am always with you. I promised you I’d be.”

Chapter Text

It was the age-old custom for a Crown Prince to spend his birthday in Vienna. After an ordinary day of council meetings, studies and uniform fittings, a huge family dinner would await him. Everyone who was his blood relation or meant something at court would be present to congratulate the heir to the throne. A grand ball would usually follow afterwards, the wealth and vanity of the monarchy at full display until the early hours of the following morning. Colorful fireworks would be let loose at Schönbrunn as the next crate of expensive imported champagne was opened.

However, if anyone were to break a tradition, it would certainly be Rudolf. He never liked the courtly parading. There was just something false and strange about the entire ordeal that gave Rudolf the most unsettling feeling. He knew very well that the many nobles who would come to congratulate him actually deeply disliked him, and the feeling was mutual. For a single day, he would be paraded around like a prize-winning horse and as soon as the new day dawned, all of it would be forgotten. He would once again be seen as a nuisance.

Which was why he decided to spend the day of his 30th birthday away at his retreat in Mayerling. He left in the middle of the night, leaving behind only a note informing his father that he felt he was going down with a fever and in an effort to not transfer whatever sickness besieged him to an unfortunate passerby in the palace, he was retreating to the privacy of Mayerling to recover. In truth, Rudolf never felt healthier as he galloped off through the Schönbrunn gardens.

His father knew very well that Rudolf hadn’t been the most resistant to illness ever since he was a little boy. Even if in recent years his health significantly improved, his frequent notices of dinner absence because of made up health issues kept the emperor’s assumption about his son reinforced. Finding a note like that on his son’s birthday could just be considered bad luck in this circumstance and Rudolf wouldn’t even get reprimanded, since one rarely has control over their health and over when they fall ill.

And so, on the day of his 30th birthday, instead of behind a richly laid lunch table, Rudolf finds himself sitting on the carpet in Mayerling, enjoying the last warm rays of the summer sun. Not that the summer this year was warm by any means, but once in a while, the sun would manage to fight its way through the gloomy clouds.

The air is still and quiet, until Rudolf hears the fluttering of wings on it and sees Aemilia land on his balcony. She hops in through the open window and immediately following her is Edwin, still full of energy from their flight. Aemilia, still a raven, hops over to Rudolf and nestles herself in his lap. Rudolf at this point knows what she wants as her shining black eyes look up at him and he starts rubbing circles on her head. She purrs in delight as Rudolf’s fingers move down her back and stop in between her wings, where Rudolf finds a few pinfeathers. He immediately preens them until they are smooth and unraveled, which earns him a pleased chirp.

Meanwhile, little Edwin has decided to take out some of his boundless energy on one of Rudolf’s old discarded shirts. Rudolf never quite knows just where does the little angel get all his spirit from, but he is by now used to Edwin taking it out on his clothes or alternately on Aemilia’s hair. In particular, Edwin loves undoing Aemilia’s braid while she’s napping. Rudolf watches in amusement as Edwin at first tries to unpick one of the shirt cuffs with his beak before he gives the task up and starts wrestling the entire garment.

He has been absentmindedly stroking Aemilia’s soft back feathers while observing Edwin getting tangled up in the shirt, but Rudolf suddenly realizes that he is stroking feathers no longer. The smooth fabric of Aemilia’s hood is underneath his fingertips, and her head is resting in his lap. He observes her affectionately observing Edwin before she rolls onto her back to look up at him.

“How is my favorite living human on his special day?” She asks, a mischievous glint in her eyes and a smile on her black painted lips. Rudolf would scoff if it were anyone else asking him such a question, but it’s Aemilia. And he knows that every time she is teasing him in this way, she always means it well.

“Definitely better than if I remained in the palace today.” He truthfully answers. Rudolf can see that Aemilia is curious about what would be going on at Schönbrunn if he stayed there, but she thankfully isn’t pressing him for details. “I enjoy your company a thousand times more than all the company at the palace on such days.”

Aemilia slowly sits up with a smile and stretches her limbs, before her gloved hands dive into the rich folds of her coat, evidently looking for something. “I knew today was coming around and so me and the other angels thought that we should bring you a gift.” And after a moment, she pulls out a rectangular wooden box and sheepishly hands it to Rudolf. “Sorry if it’s a little haphazard on the inside.”

The box is made out of a lovely dark wood and tied over with a midnight blue velvet ribbon in a messy bow. Once open, the box is lined with the same velvet, in which are nestled shining silver tubes of paint. It’s evident that the flock put the box together themselves, since the tubes are from various paint makers and on some of them, there are even preserved visible imprints of strong crow talons in the soft metal casings.

And atop the paints lays a feather. Smooth and graceful, black like the deepest night yet reflecting a rainbow of colors. Smrt’s feather. Rudolf forlornly picks it up, the paints seemingly forgotten for a moment. How he wishes Smrt were there with him.

“He misses you as well, Rudolf.” Aemilia says softly. “He wanted to come visit you so bad, but, alas, duty called.”

Rudolf brushes his cheek against the feather’s soft bristles. It’s as smooth and soft as silk and equally pleasantly cool against his flushed skin. He yearns to feel more than just this one singular feather underneath his fingers. He wants to be touching the entire feathery tuft on his friend’s shoulder, to rub circles into the soft sensitive feathers that are hiding from the sight of the outside world behind their glorious shining brethren. And for his fingers to perhaps venture further, beyond the familiar territory of Smrt’s feathers…

Aemilia brings him out of his daydream by placing her gloved hand onto his shoulder. He gives her a little smile. “Thank you for the wonderful gift, Aemilia. It’s the best gift I’ve ever received.”

“You flatter me and the angels too much. I’m sure our little last minute present isn’t comparable to a gift an emperor of a nation would bestow onto his heir.” She says, scooping Edwin up into her arms. The little pied crow has given up trying to tear Rudolf’s old shirt to smithereens and instead decided to try and untie Aemilia’s boots before he gets picked up and away from his task. “But I know the flock will be happy to hear that.”

“I guess I better go and test them out so that you can get your helpers an accurate report, right?” Rudolf gives Aemilia a mischievous smile, fully knowing that he will get one straight back. He takes the tubes to his work table, pulling out a scrap piece of paper to swatch the colors. As he spreads out every color with his paintbrush, he can tell that each of the pigments are the best quality and the bright colors are almost glowing at him. But his favorite is a paint labeled “Midnight Indigo Blue”. A deep, but warm dark blue, like the endless night sky that he can most often see reflected off of Smrt’s feathers.

He spreads out a sheet of one of his nicer papers and starts laying the colors down instinctually. Light tones first, gently sketching the outlines in the lightest petal pink shade, before he fills the spaces out. He’s drawing Aemilia as she’s sitting before him now, Edwin laying on his back in her lap and her wing-like sleeve spread out on the ground. The last glimpse of the warm summer sun leaves a joyous yellowy shine on one side of her pale face and Edwin’s white belly has a tint of lavender to it.

He's soon finished and hands Aemilia the little artwork. She admires the quick sketch with a smile on her face and even shows it to Edwin, within a distance of him not being able to start tearing at the edges with his beak. Rudolf watches them as he starts a new artwork.

This one is completely different from his usual paintings. He usually draws birds, if not members of Smrt’s flock, then he paints studies of the gorgeous bright-feathered birds of paradise he saw so many times illustrated in the encyclopedias he so often read. If not, he sometimes captures Aemilia’s likeness in quick studies. But now, he decided to paint a portrait.

He lightly sketches in his friend’s sharp yet gentle features from memory before he dips into the colors. His friend’s graceful face doesn’t need a lot of pigment before he moves on to carefully placing the many layers of blue, green and purple to as closely as possible mirror the iridescence of Smrt’s feathers. And then, he picks up the precious tube of Midnight Indigo Blue and with the utmost precision paints in the dark of Smrt’s coat, of the paint around his friend’s dark gentle eyes.

By the time he is finished, Aemilia is looking over his shoulder and observing the final few strokes he places. Rudolf has captured Smrt’s likeness perfectly, down to the tranquil air she hasn’t seen in Smrt before Rudolf. She strokes Rudolf’s shoulder and smiles. “You painted him so well, Rudolf. He’ll be very happy to see it.”

As Rudolf turns in the chair towards her, Aemilia’s gaze lingers on the prince’s hair. It has been about two years since they discovered that little delicate feathers have started growing on Rudolf’s head, much like all the other angels. By now, his hair was richly interwoven with them. They were almost unnoticeable if one didn’t know to look for them, sharing the same golden-brown color as Rudolf’s hair but having a soft iridescence to them if they caught the light in a correct way. But she could see a few pinfeathers hiding underneath, since Rudolf probably didn’t notice them yet.

“Are there more pinfeathers again?” asks Rudolf as he sees Aemilia’s gaze linger on his head. His fingers wander up until he slightly flinches from suddenly finding the first of them. He will never cease to be fascinated by the many feathers that are in his hair already, but actually freeing them from their stubborn sheaths is something he thinks he’ll never get used to. “Why won’t you ever help me with them? I’ve helped you with your feathers so many times already.” Rudolf asks the angel as he starts on the task.

“I’d like to be of help, but preening wing feathers is so different than preening the hair feathers for us.” She says and sits down on the edge of Rudolf’s bed. “We don’t really care for who preens our wings, even if it is a form of bonding for us. But the hair feathers are something…intimate. It’s a time of bonding reserved only for our closest mate. And generally, once you have someone preen them, they will be the only one to do so. Smrt has always been the only one to preen mine.” She says as she twists her braid around her fingers. “And I know you will be just the same. He has never bonded with anyone as closely as he has with you. Which is why I would rather not risk taking this from him.”

So, instead, Aemilia helps Rudolf from afar, talking him through where the next pinfeather is and how well he’s doing. There thankfully aren’t too many and soon enough, Rudolf is finished. He admires the feathers from afar in the mirror propped up next to his dresser and suddenly grows melancholic. With every day, with every grown in feather, he is closer to becoming one of Smrt’s beautiful angels. Yet, the day when he finally becomes one and can finally embrace his lifelong friend and get lost in his glorious black wings just doesn’t seem to want to come. Just how long does he have to wait?

As if sensing his change of demeanor, Aemilia rises to take the feathered cloak from the divan and gently drapes it over Rudolf. He has been in similar moods quite often lately, so at this point, she knows what helps. Aemilia leads Rudolf to bed, where she lets him cuddle close to her, his head resting on her shoulder. She strokes his hands as they watch little Edwin flit in and out of the room, bringing in the tiny hunting trophies of the first fall leaves and laying them in a haphazard pile on the floor next to the bed.

They see the sun set beyond the horizon as they have so many times and Rudolf is unexpectedly soon asleep in her arms. As Aemilia lays him down onto a pillow, she feels strange. As if something has shifted in the air today. As if Rudolf was somehow suddenly more delicate and vulnerable, like a precious vase of the thinnest blown glass.

She hears the flutter of wings on the air and by the time she turns her gaze, Smrt is entering the room. He looks so eager to greet Rudolf, yet as soon as he sees Rudolf already asleep, his shoulders slump. His duties did keep him from being by Rudolf’s side a few times, but this was the first time it was on the prince’s birthday.

“Has he been asleep for long?” Smrt asks his angel quietly, careful not to disturb his precious prince’s rest.

“He fell asleep as the sun set.” She says, moving towards the table. “He missed you so much, my dear bird boy. He even painted this for you.”

Smrt almost wants to berate her for using that pet name she came up with that he so dislikes hearing, but seeing Rudolf’s artwork silences him. Smrt knows that must be him on that portrait Rudolf painted, yet he can’t help but marvel at having a way of knowing how his precious prince sees him. When after years and centuries of seeing only fear, anger or silent resignation in the eyes of people he appeared to, it is so strange to him that someone sees him like this.

“Smrt…” Aemilia interrupts his inner bewilderment. “As I spent today with Rudolf, I had this weird feeling in me. Like something has become different about him. I can’t put my finger on it. Can’t you feel it too?”

Smrt scrunches his brows as he tentatively approaches Rudolf’s bedside. “Yes, you’re right.” He smiles softly, even if his eyes are seemingly deep in thought and he gently strokes the edge of Rudolf’s blanket with his gloved fingertips. “The time is almost here.”

“You mean…?” She doesn’t finish the sentence. Both of them know what she wants to say.

“It won’t be long and Rudolf will soon join us.” Smrt smiles as he sees the prince turn to his other side and unconsciously gets his arm out from underneath the feathered cloak that covers him.

Smrt reverently and most gently covers the prince back up, the silvery feathers of the cloak rustling softly. “Just a few short months, my prince, and you’ll have wings of your own. I promise.”

Chapter Text

It hurt.

It hurt so damn much.

Rudolf isn’t sure just how quickly any hope in his life could have gone away. Just when things were starting to look up for him. For a moment, he felt as if his broken-up family could become whole again. Just for a single, right moment would be enough. He now feels foolish for even hoping that to be possible. For his family to not turn their backs on him.

His father is a rationally thinking man. Yet like all men like him, he is full of doubt and hesitation. And as a man of advanced age, his hesitation is for all things new and to this point undiscovered and unknown to him. Rudolf can imagine that caring for such a large empire as his father’s must be difficult, yet in every of his father’s decisions, he sees how carefully he treads. How anxious he is to not have anyone turn against him.

The country has become a perfect copy of its ruler. Wise, yet behind the times and slowly nearing its downfall. Rudolf isn’t blind to it. He has tried to do everything possible to steer this sinking ship to a safe shore. He wrote numerous pamphlets of a new and reformed government system, all anonymous in foolish hopes of not being discovered.

Yet, somehow, one of Taaffe’s sleazy spies has found out and reported it straight to the Emperor.

No matter how much he at first relented, then tried to explain his motives to his father, how helpful it would be to think over a reform of government, all was in vain. The Emperor wanted to hear none of it. In his eyes, Rudolf had become someone unable to be trusted, a black sheep of the family, a potential threat. A dark stain on the monarchy’s polished slate.

He gave Rudolf two options. Neither of them pleasant. The first was a military deployment to the farthest corner of the monarchy, at least until everyone in Vienna forgets about his pamphlets. And the second, in his father’s mind more drastic option, disownment and banishment from the empire.

Rudolf can’t decide which would be a worse end for him. He’s always detested anything and everything to do with the military thanks to Gondrecourt, but all he’s ever known was life in the royal palaces of Vienna and the comfort of Mayerling. Sure, he did venture into the Orient once, but he was under the constant supervision of footmen and local guides there. He’s never had to fend for himself and he surely wouldn’t last long on his own.

And with that, he realized he had no one to turn to for help.

He loved Gisela, she has always been his beloved big sister, yet he knew there was much more distance between them now. She was far away in Bavaria and had little children she needed to raise. He would only be seen as a weakling and a burden if he asked her and her family for help.

He has never grown close to Valerie. Maybe because there was such an age difference between them. Maybe because they were just so different by nature. But, he was sure of one thing. That he has always been jealous of the amount of caring attention that was given to her by their mother.

His mother.

In her lay his final hope for salvation. Surely, if she heard him out, she would agree with his views and ask the Emperor to reconsider. He knows that despite her being far away most of the time, their souls are so similar. She will help him.

The entire day, he wrote out everything he wanted to say to her. The precious quill made out of Smrt’s gifted feather kept on gliding on the parchment, leaving line after line of meticulously prepared and reasoned arguments for his views. Rational as can be in his situation. He ran through each one of them and content with his guidelines for the meeting, he ventured to the Hermesvilla just as the sun was starting to set.

His mother’s luxurious secret garden was bathed in the day’s final rays of golden sunlight, the gilding and the jeweled tones of the façade shining brightly. Despite it being mid-winter, there were flowers looking at him from every windowsill, their petals suspended in frost. The entire house seemed to him out of some other world, as if it belonged to a fairy rather than a human. But, then again, his mother has always seemed to him rather fae-like.

One of his mother’s ladies in waiting lead him to a door, behind which his mother awaited. Rudolf nervously picked at the ribbon binding his prepared parchment into a neat tube before expelling a sharp exhale and opening the doorway.

In front of him was a greenhouse, lush with beautiful exotic plants and flowers. It was yet another of his mother’s escapes, creating an impossible world all of her own, hidden from the prying eyes of the public. It was undoubtedly beautiful, all the colors and smells so far unknown to him fascinated him for a moment.

He couldn’t see her anywhere but heard what could pass for quiet sobs. He followed the sounds until he came upon her. Curled up on the ground, clothed in a flowing lilac dress, her face noticeably older than he remembered and streaked with tears. Underneath her tearful exhales, he could make out the words “father” and “where are you”. A few paces away from her on the ground lay a curled up piece of parchment strewn with lines upon lines of poems and a dark feather quill.

Rudolf’s own piece of parchment was quickly forgotten as he bent down to retrieve the poems and approached his mother to perhaps console her with the verses. Yet, as soon as she noticed his presence, her entire demeanor changed. The hurt and broken woman from a few moments ago hid behind an icily distant wall.

She rose and swiftly wiping away the remaining tears on her cheeks with an elegant hand, she turned to go away. Rudolf begged her to listen to him, almost at the brink of starting to cry himself.

“You’re trying to disturb my peace, Rudolf.” She said bitterly, her slender back turned to him. “What is it that you want?”

“Mama…” Rudolf could hear himself whimper. He would normally berate himself for showing any sign of weakness to anyone, but this was his mother. Surely, she would understand. All the words that laid on his mind poured out of him as he kneeled before her then and there, all his worries and troubles set loose. Yet, against his better hopes, with each word, his mother seemed to him more and more distant.

“But, if you speak to the Emperor, everything can be changed…” he almost didn’t finish the sentence before he saw his mother turn to him with eyes filled with an angry fire, her hand outstretched and ready to slap him across the face. A clear warning. He recoiled from her with a hurt whimper.

“I’ve never begged him for anything. Ever.” She said, her tone of voice cold and threatening. “And I won’t beg him even now, even if it concerns you. Now, leave me alone.”

She swiftly walked away, the lilac chiton-like dress trailing behind her, leaving Rudolf on the ground. The beautiful flowers of many colors that fascinated him before now closed themselves and the wonderous greenhouse suddenly seemed to him dreary and harsh.

There truly was nothing to save him anymore.

With his head hung low and shoulders slumped, Rudolf crept back to the entryway of the villa. The sun has set already and with it was gone the magical golden shine reflecting off of the dark wooden paneling in the entry hall. What seemed to him as if taken straight out of a wonderous fairytale now looked cold and uninviting.

Mindlessly, he boarded the carriage, giving the hollow instruction to take him back to Mayerling. His mind was far away. If it weren’t, Rudolf surely would have noticed that his coach was now driven not by his usual coachman, but a figure enveloped in a dark hooded cloak, from which peeked out silvery and black feathers.

His swirling thoughts blurred into nothingness. How could he have ever thought that anyone would be willing to help him? He was a pathetic good for nothing. Nature might have bestowed upon him the title of Crown Prince, yet everything he should know to be a good crown prince, he failed at. He was neither a good soldier, nor a good strategist and politician. Unlike his father, Rudolf wasn’t born with a silver tongue. He was neither particularly healthy, neither was he remarkable. The only gift nature seemed to have given him was curiosity, a yearning for knowledge and an inordinate amount of compassion, which have only gotten him into further trouble.

When he was stepping out of the carriage at Mayerling, it was already dark and the tears have firmly made their imprints on his cheeks.

Yet, as he steps out, he has a weird feeling. That something strange is happening in Mayerling. The wind that he heard roaring in the back of his mind during the carriage ride seems to have stilled. The snow lays pristine and untouched on the ground, even though he knows his servants should have passed through the courtyard multiple times by now to prepare the lodge for when he arrives. The air is oddly quiet.

It's as if not a single living soul except for him is currently at Mayerling.

He huddles underneath his coat as he enters the abode. It’s dark, not a single fire is lit anywhere and his only source of light is the gentle moonlight streaming through the windows. He can tell the entire lodge is slightly chilly, but he shrugs off his thick woolen coat either way. He hates how heavy and cumbersome it has been laying on his shoulders.

His gaze wanders alongside the shadowy ridges of the wood paneling of the entry hall, wondering where all the servants could have disappeared, when he sees something move in the shadow. As if melting from the darkness is the figure of a lithe man, dressed in a dark hooded cloak and with dark paint smeared around his eyes and on his lips. On one of his sleeves shimmer black and silvery feathers. One of Smrt’s angels.

Rudolf both feels mesmerized by the beautiful apparition, yet tears his gaze away. He has never before seen any of Smrt’s angels in their more human forms, except for Aemilia. For him to see one of them now, in such a hopeless moment, can surely only be his imagination playing cruel tricks on him.

His eyes dart to the gallery above him, but sees another of those beautiful apparitions watching him. This angel looks to be a girl few years younger than Aemilia and a braid of ginger hair is hanging over her shoulder. Her blue eyes are wide like saucers as she watches him.

Rudolf futilely tries to look elsewhere, yet everywhere he looks, the angels seem almost as if they are melting out of the shadows. Each of them in the same dark uniform, curious yet solemn eyes smeared in dark paint and feathers shining in the moonlit night. He sees how young all of them are, tragically younger than his thirty years of life.

He feels tears push to his eyes at the thought. Each one of the angels seemingly had their suffering cut shorter sooner than him. He feels whimpers escape his lips as he runs up the stairs to his bedroom. He sinks to the ground as he slams the door behind him.

He can feel short and sudden breaths escaping him, hot tears slipping down his cheeks. Each of the angels Smrt has taken under his wing has been younger than him. So why must he suffer so long? Why does he have to continue with this life where everyone turns their backs on him and why must his mind conjure up in front of him an image of what he so desires and yet put is so far from his reach?

“Mama…” he can hear himself cry out in a hoarse voice. “Anybody…please, help me…I can’t go on anymore…”

A sudden gust of chill air sweeps across Rudolf’s tearstained cheeks. As if the wind was futilely trying to dry them. Rudolf lifts his gaze only to see Smrt standing on the other side of the room. His friend’s gaze is full of longing and compassion.

Rudolf feels his jacket slip off of him as he rises to his feet. Is this perhaps the moment he so longed for all those years?

He takes a few tentative steps towards Smrt and almost wants to start running towards him when he feels hands holding him back. Multiple pairs of hands clad in black gloves. He tries to break free from their grasp, but it’s for naught. Only after a moment does he realize it’s in fact Aemilia’s hands.

“Rudolf, no! It’s not your time yet!” she gasps for air as she steps protectively in front of him, as she is so used to doing.

“Aemilia…Everyone…” Smrt’s gently musical voice sounds through the room. “I appreciate your concern, but it is unneeded tonight.” And with a single gesture of his hand, Smrt commands the angels to leave the room. Rudolf can’t help but think that in that moment, his beloved friend has the air of the heir to the throne the entire empire wished Rudolf to one day become.

All the angels leave except for Aemilia, who approaches Smrt wearily. “Are you sure it’s Rudolf’s time already?” she asks silently.

“I can feel it, dear Aemilia.” Smrt says and presses a short kiss to the angel’s forehead. “Go take care of the flock.”

Aemilia reluctantly leaves Smrt’s embrace and approaches Rudolf. She seems to look deep into his soul with her dark eyes as her hands gently come up to the prince’s shoulders, her thumbs rubbing circles to calm him. Perhaps to calm both of them. She stands up on her tiptoes and brushing away a few strands of hair from his forehead, Aemilia presses a soft kiss to Rudolf’s forehead. Almost like a blessing.

Aemilia softly smiles at him as she goes out of the room and quietly shuts the door behind her.

Rudolf’s eyes once again wander to his dear friend. Smrt is standing there, serene and quiet. Even though the crescent in the sky is so slim that it is almost unnoticeable in the sky, it’s light floods the room. And his friend’s dark coat and plumes look almost like liquid silver in the moonlight. And Rudolf so wants to touch them.

With hesitant steps, Rudolf comes closer to Smrt. All those years, Smrt has been so adamant, so careful so as to prevent every chance of them touching. Yet now, his friend’s hand is outstretched and expectant for his.

Time seems as if it has slowed all around them. And there is something so still, quiet and peaceful about the moment.

The first touch is the barest brush of their fingertips. Yet Rudolf finally feels the smooth leather of his friend’s gloves and it’s surprisingly soft. His fingers naturally slide into Smrt’s hand. He marvels at how natural it all feels. As if their hands were always meant to be one in the other. Smrt draws Rudolf in, one hand coming up to embrace him and the other leaving Rudolf’s and gently touching his hair. Rudolf shivers as he feels the touch on the feathers hidden in his hair. The first time he feels someone else’s touch.

And suddenly, Rudolf’s mind catches up to his feelings. He is touching Smrt. And Smrt is touching him. Embracing him. And he has always been forbidden from touching Smrt. Lest something terrible happen to them both. Fear overtakes his mind for a moment.

He wants to free himself from the embrace, yet despite how gentle it first seemed, Smrt’s hold on him is firm. Rudolf feels himself panicking, thinking that at any moment, he will start feeling the excruciating pain that Smrt told him would come with his touch back when he was a little boy. But instead of it, Rudolf feels his friend’s gentle touch on his cheeks, stroking them with his thumbs. Probably wiping away the tears that must have escaped Rudolf’s eyes again. Smrt with the barest touch lifts up Rudolf’s chin, so that the prince is looking him in the eyes.

And once their eyes meet, Rudolf feels at once calm. He knows there will be no more suffering now. No more troubles. The ultimatum the Emperor has given him can long be forgotten now. Because he knows he is no longer the Crown Prince. He no longer has to live in pretense and no longer has to act according to what his father and the empire would wish him to be.

He knows he is just Rudolf now. Just Rudolf. And he knows that is all he’s ever wanted.

He feels as if he could fly.

Rudolf smiles at Smrt. At his beloved friend. Smrt returns the smile and Rudolf sees that familiar little crooked way Smrt smiles he so remembers from back when they first met. And he no longer thinks it’s weird. Smrt’s smile is unlike any other he has ever seen and it’s absolutely beautiful.

Smrt’s hands wander back down to Rudolf’s and they begin some strange dance. It’s slow, yet there is no rush now. Both of them marvel in each other’s presence while they are swaying to and fro. And Smrt starts humming an entrancing melody to their dance. He sings out no words, yet there is a sweet finality to the deathbringer’s song.

Their steps take them closer to Rudolf’s bed, where both of them sprawl out into the soft bedsheets. Smrt takes the beautiful feathered cloak that was laying at the foot of the bed and gently covers Rudolf with it, tying the soft ribbon around Rudolf’s neck. Then, Rudolf watches as Smrt takes off his gloves. His hands are pale and elegant, yet Rudolf is surprised at how purely ordinary they look. Smrt then takes off his coat and while he lays it over the footboard, Rudolf is surprised to see that his friend has been wearing only a vest under the coat, a shirt being nowhere in sight.

Before Rudolf can ask about it, Smrt has laid down right next to him and opened his arms, welcoming him back into an embrace. Rudolf dives into it without a moment of hesitation, the feathers of his cloak rustling. Rudolf doesn’t know why he always imagined Smrt’s touch to send a shiver down his spine, because in this embrace, he now knows that it is soft and warm. It feels like home.

“Smrt…” Rudolf whispers, full of gratitude yet not knowing just how to show it. Yet his friend seems to know just what the former prince thinks of.

“Rest now, my dear Rudolf.” Smrt says softly and draws him closer, one hand stroking Rudolf’s hair.

Rudolf doesn’t know just how long they rest there, entangled in the sheets and his feathered cloak, arms around one another. He just knows that he must have drifted into sleep sometime during the night. And it’s perhaps the sweetest sleep he’s ever experienced, knowing his friend is so close.

 He wakes at the crack of dawn to Smrt’s fingers gently brushing against his forehead. Smrt beckons him to rise up from the bed and only as he is standing up and the feathered cloak slips off his shoulders does Rudolf realize he is no longer wearing the shirt and uniform trousers he remembers falling asleep in. The trousers are much more close fitting, much like the ones Smrt and the angels wear and his shirt is much looser and black instead of the white one he always wore. And at the foot of the bed, he sees a jacket laying. One, like all the other angels wear.

Rudolf thinks his eyes must be wide as Smrt picks the jacket up and approaches him. The fabric rustles melodically as his friend guides Rudolf’s arms into the sleeves. One close fitting and covered in tiny round feathers like that of a hummingbird, the other a majestic sweeping wing. But, even though the coat goes all the way down to his ankles, Rudolf feels as if it’s almost weightless.

On the feathers of his sleeve, Rudolf sees the first warm rays of the dawn. The last dawn he’ll ever see. A strange sentiment falls over him as he wanders to the window, watching the first rays start to make their way from behind the forest trees. So many times, he has seen similar dawns, yet knowing this is the last one he’ll ever see at Mayerling makes him tear up.

Smrt walks over to him in concern. “Is everything alright, Rudolf?” he asks tentatively.

Rudolf smiles at him through the tears. How considerate Smrt always is. “Yes, I just don’t think I’ve appreciated the dawns in my life enough. And knowing this is the last one is strange to say the least. But I am glad I was able to see it.”

Rudolf’s eyes bore into Smrt’s. The two fall into an embrace and as Rudolf closes his eyes, he thinks he feels something other than the morning sunlight tingling his cheek. Something soft and light. When he opens his eyes, he can’t help but stare in awe at the majestic wings that have appeared on Smrt’s back. They are much bigger than Aemilia’s and their black feathers are throwing purple reflections in the warm sunshine.

Smrt brushes away a stray lock of hair that has decided to fall over Rudolf’s forehead and gently, with the barest of touches, he touches Rudolf’s cheeks. Yet, he dares go no further. In his eyes, there is an unsaid question. “Are you prepared?”

Rudolf nods softly before pulling Smrt closer and as his hands grasp his friend’s pale face, their lips connect. The kiss is gentle, yet long. Rudolf feels Smrt’s hands wander from his cheeks to his shoulders and back, gently stroking their way alongside his shoulder blades. And then, the strangest sensation comes over Rudolf. He can’t exactly name it, but it’s as if all the burdens he carried were replaced by a feeling of safety and warmth.

As they part, Rudolf feels something brush against his hand. Feathers.

“Are those…?” Rudolf asks, unbelieving.

His beloved friend just softly smiles. “I did promise you I would bless you with a pair when the time was right.” And he plants another, shorter kiss to Rudolf’s forehead. “My dear angel.”

As the world slowly starts disappearing from around them, shielded away by their wings, Rudolf feels only a serene calmness.

Because for the first time in his life, he feels free.

Chapter Text

Rudolf awakes.

It’s somehow strange still using the word, he thinks. Now, that he is no longer alive and should no longer have the need to sleep. All the other angels certainly rested only occasionally. But there have been so many restless nights in the last few months of his human life that he feels as if his constant need for rest now is just his body and soul trying to catch up.

But he certainly isn’t complaining about the situation. He can lay amongst the softest bedsheets while a soft ray of sunlight is tingling along his arms and cheek. It doesn’t matter how one of his bare feet is sticking out from underneath the blanket or how he is holding one corner of the blanket close to his chest. After all, he is no longer the Crown Prince. And it’s an incredibly freeing feeling.

Rudolf opens his eyes a smidge and beholds the room he’s in. When he started to awake for longer periods of time, Smrt had an entire solitary room furnished for him in the exact way his bedroom at Mayerling looked. Sea green wallpaper, dark wood paneling, a spacious fireplace and a generously sized bed. Smrt told him it was so he can have a space in the wide unknown world of his realm that Rudolf knows already. To get used to this place easier.

But despite the fact, Rudolf spent only a few moments in that room, looking over the bookshelves. Most of his time was spent in Smrt’s quarters. That was where he was first brought to, his mind too exhausted to precisely make out the room’s layout. All he remembered from that first moment was that he was laid upon a divan. Nothing remarkable and not the most comfortable one.

He knew that when his eyes opened for a moment then, he found the room just the same. Nothing remarkable, rather plain and almost not lived in. Only the barest of necessities were present: a writing desk with a chair, a bookshelf, a chest of drawers and the divan he laid on. But, after a few moments of closing his eyes, he was plucked from there and after a moment laid onto a bed he was sure wasn’t there before. And that one was soft and comfortable, a perfect place to fall asleep.

For weeks, he has been in a state of half-awake, his body too tired and mind still too heavy to let him rise without a much needed and proper rest. His last few weeks amongst the living were practically miserable, with only very little proper rest, so Rudolf guessed that he was just playing catch up now.

And always, when he awoke for just fleeting moments, he was there by his side. Smrt. His one and only companion.

Smrt has been keeping a watchful and caring eye over him for the past weeks. Either sitting right on the bedside as he did even when Rudolf was still a living being or sitting at the desk, writing down in one of his many journals, as Rudolf soon found out.

Rudolf remembered the first time he properly woke up in this room. He didn’t know how long he spent in his blissful sleep, but he could sense it wasn’t just one night. His whole body felt rigid, like a long unused typewriter.

He tried stretching his limbs, but could only get the slightest twitch from them due to the fatigue he was still feeling. His vision was blurry, so all he could make out were just blurred blotches of various grey shades that broke what he assumed was the continuous white void of the room Smrt placed him in. But the room itself was quite dimly lit, so everything looked grey.

He felt miserable. He felt weak.

He heard an involuntary whimper escape his lips and as if it was a call for help, the void in front of his eyes was suddenly broken by a dark blotch quickly approaching him. By the rustle that approached him as well, Rudolf knew it was Smrt.

His sweet, caring Smrt.

He was immediately by his side, gently taking his hand and softly talking of more rest and taking things slow. But he also said words of praise. How proud he was of Rudolf, how he would never leave his side, how he will care for him day and night until Rudolf is ready to leave the room and join their flock.

Rudolf teared up at the mention of the flock. They surely must be so worried about him. Aemilia certainly did look slightly worried the last time he saw her.

“Don’t worry, they know you’re with me and that you must now rest for quite some time. You lived through quite the ordeal and have to gain back what your mortal troubles have taken from you.” Smrt said gently, as if he sensed Rudolf’s thoughts.

“Thank you, Smrt.” Rudolf whispered out, his voice hoarse, yet full of gratitude. “Thank you for everything.”

Despite wanting to stay awake and beg Smrt to talk to him some more, Rudolf drifted off to sleep again. Into another, more personal and hazy void, where he felt like he was floating. And imagined, that Smrt was somewhere by his side.

The next few days, or at least what he assumed were days due to his complete lack of time awareness during this time, were mostly spent in that haze, only managing to awake from it for short periods of time where he and Smrt would talk and Smrt would hold his hand and gently stroke it.

During one of those awake moments, Rudolf asked Smrt why his vision is still so blurry.

“Your eyes have changed now that you are an angel. Everyone’s do.” Smrt answered. “The blurriness will go away after a few more days, you just have to get used to them. That’s also why it’s so dim in here, so you have an easier time getting used to seeing things a little differently than when you were a human.”

“Do they look different?” Rudolf tentatively asked.

Smrt gently touched Rudolf’s chin with his fingertips to make Rudolf look up.

“Yes, they do.” he answered gently. “They’re now blue instead of brown.”

“What kind of blue?” Rudolf curiously asked.

Smrt chuckled. “Ever the artist I see. They’re a light blue, like forget-me-nots,” he answered with an audible smile in his voice.

“Did your eyes also change when you came into the flock?” Rudolf asked sleepily, the eyes he now knew to be blue slowly drooping again.

Smrt remained quiet for a moment.

Rudolf suddenly realized that while Smrt knew practically everything about his life, he knew nothing of Smrt’s. He didn’t even know whether Smrt was even anyone other than who he met his as. Did Smrt just appear within this afterworld one day alongside humans appearing on Earth and did he just exist for millennia exactly like this? Or was there a time when Smrt was a human being like him and became a part of the flock after he died? And if so, did he also live a very short life just like all the other angels?

After a short while, Smrt answered:

“Yes.”

“What color were your eyes before?” Rudolf asked shyly. Just asking this felt like he was somehow stepping too far into the past that Smrt perhaps never wanted to reminisce about.

“I don’t remember.” Smrt answered again after a longer while. “It’s been so long and I never once thought about it in all these years. But, perhaps, they were the same brown as yours were.”

That night, Rudolf dreamt of Smrt and of what kind of different lives he could have lived if he was a human. He knew he would one day ask about it, but for now, he let himself imagine. There would be enough time for everything now.

After a few more days of flitting in and out of these hazy dreams interspersed with moments of wakefulness, Rudolf did feel strong enough to sit up in his bed. His vision did already clean up, but he still didn’t have enough strength to walk, but now, he could sit with Smrt side by side.

Rudolf would lean his head onto Smrt’s shoulder and Smrt would read poems to him. Smrt at first didn’t want to say the author’s name, but Rudolf could guess that the poetry was Smrt’s own work. He couldn’t quite pinpoint what about it gave him the impression, but the imagery felt like something Smrt would write on lonely evenings by candlelight.

While Rudolf was leaning on Smrt’s shoulder and listening to the lovely gentle rumble of his melodic voice, Rudolf couldn’t help but admire the pages of the little journals Smrt was reading from. All of them that Rudolf saw so far were bound in beautifully embossed and painted leather. And all the pages were painted with beautiful illuminations of flowers and ornaments, and the poems themselves were written in elegant and sloping handwriting.

During one of these poetry readings, a faint knock sounded on the door to the room.

“That’s probably Aemilia. I told her that she shouldn’t let anyone else here and only come if something important came up. I’ll be right back.” Smrt said gently as he slipped from the bed and put the book of poems down onto the mattress.

While Smrt slipped out of the room, Rudolf wondered what could be so important that Aemilia had to inquire about it. Did another new angel come into Smrt’s realm? Or was someone from the flock unwell or hurt? Could the death angels even get hurt now that they weren’t living beings? Or did something happen in the land of the living that warranted Smrt’s attention? Did a war break out? Or a famine? Or some new plague that would wipe out a third of the human population again?

Rudolf caught himself in these racing thoughts. It was no good to jump to such conclusions now. There was nothing he could do about it now that his tether to the world of the living was forever torn. And even if he would one day be able to help soul pass from one world to the other just like Aemilia and Anna and all the other angels, he was far too weak now to even entertain leaving the bed for another few days and the room itself probably in over a week.

Rudolf thought about how he didn’t even know how much time had passed between his last moments in Mayerling and now. His perception of time was all off from so much fatigue and rest. And he couldn’t be sure whether Smrt’s realm moved in the same time as the land of the living or if the time here passed by much, much faster. All he knew, it could have easily been just a couple of days or even entire months. He wouldn’t know if he tried.

The door suddenly opened and Smrt slipped back into the room. Rudolf smiled at the sight of him. Compared to the poised and powerful image worthy of a monarch Smrt left on him while he was still alive, he now looked almost human in a way. No dark eyepaint, no imposing coat and no gloves, just slightly mussed hair and dark billowing shirtsleeves.

Rudolf wondered, if any of the other angels aside from him and Aemilia ever saw their flock’s leader like this. No officiality, just Smrt being himself away from all the responsibility that surrounded him.

As Smrt slipped back to Rudolf’s side, he must have seen the silent question lingering in the former prince’s eyes. Did something bad happen?

“Don’t worry, everything is alright.” Smrt reassured him and placed a gentle kiss on Rudolf’s forehead. “Aemilia just came to tell me that back in the land of the living, your funeral will be taking place tomorrow.”

Rudolf bowed his head. His funeral. So, it must have been a week since he came here. He wanted to feel something in regard to his own funeral, but felt unnerved yet relieved that he didn’t. In just those seven days, the bond he had with the living world had dissipated completely.

“I guess they didn’t respect my last letter and that I want to be buried in that peaceful abbey’s cemetery without any pomp and circumstance?” Rudolf sighed.

“No, they didn’t.” Smrt said, stroking Rudolf’s hair. “They organized a full state funeral with all the black crepe flags and sashes necessary, and they will lay your body in the Imperial Crypt. Just as protocol tells them to do.”

“Will you go and pay respects?”

“Why should I when I have you right here and with me? I wouldn’t want to miss a moment of getting to be by your side, my prince.”

Rudolf smiled. “Thank you, my friend. And you don’t have to call me that anymore, after all, I’m no longer a prince.”

“Here, in my kingdom, you are one. At least to me.”

Smrt and Rudolf embraced and thought what an amazing feeling it is to finally be able to feel the other’s arms entwined around them.

“But, even if you aren’t going there, could you perhaps ask a tiny favor of Aemilia?” Rudolf asked after a while.

“So long as it wouldn’t put her in danger.”

“I left some of my drawings and watercolors back in the Hofburg before I left for Mayerling. And I’d rather have them here with me than them being destroyed or interpreted some wrong way. I’m certain they are still in my study. Do you think she could bring them here?” Rudolf blushed, because he for sure knew that among these forgotten watercolors were among the numerous birds and parrots some depictions of Smrt.

As if knowing what was on those papers, Smrt softly smiled. “I think she should be able to do that. You’ll have them back tomorrow.”

“And could I ask one more thing? Could Aemilia place a flower onto my mother’s desk? I don’t want to make her sorrow any harder to bear, but I want to give her some one final goodbye.”

Smrt lovingly looked at Rudolf. “What a gentle and benevolent heart you have. You know she could have been a better mother, yet you still care for her.”

“Because I still see some of myself in her. Even if she didn’t care for me half as much as I cared for her.”

Smrt drew Rudolf closer into an embrace and gently stroked his hair. “I will tell Aemilia to do so.”

A soft and content smile blossomed on Rudolf’s lips as he felt his eyelids grow heavy again. “Thank you, my friend.”

And with that, he slipped into another dream.

Being awake can still wait for a few days.