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thee-morrigan · 9 months

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by the waters of Leman

À la Recherche du Temps Perdu, Chapter Three [chapter one | chapter two] The Wayhaven Chronicles Nate Sewell/Adam du Mortain 4.5k words read it on AO3

My official explanation for this ridiculous delay is that time isn't real (unlike my obsession with these two, which is everlasting as their love for each other 😌)

— FOUR WEEKS AND FIVE DAYS AFTER THE MAYERLING INCIDENT

Where was Adam? Where was he, for that matter? So bright in the woods, too bright, the snow reflecting all of the sunlight that shouldn’t be there. Why was there so much sunlight? How long had they been here, deep in this wilderness that was so at odds with the metropolis it surrounded? Hadn’t it been night when they’d arrived? Had it been mere hours? Days? Longer?

No. Nate took a breath and worked to calm his mind, to soothe the frenetic current of dread that threatened to overwhelm him battering at his nerves like a gale-swept sea.

Where?

Stay calm.

Where?

Stay. calm.

Fear and reason ricocheted in him for a long moment — too long a moment. Longer than he — than Adam, he almost allowed himself to think, shoved that fear down, down, down — might be able to afford.

But where — those spikes of dread, unctuous and clammy, began to demand of him once more. Then the sticky tendrils knotting themselves into disquieted tangles in his chest were abruptly halted as, almost as if he’d spoken the fear into his surroundings, he heard a voice he did not know begin to answer his query.

(Did he know that voice? No, he did not know that voice, surely.)

“He is exactly where you left him. Exactly where you would expect him to be.”

Nate whirled, trying in vain to locate the disembodied speaker, but saw only the dark press of the shadows between the looming trees, which carved strange, dark slashes through the dizzying spindrift of the snowstorm.

The voice, discordant and terrible, sounded distorted, as though filtered through some medium that stretched and contracted it all at once before setting it loose to ricochet against itself. Echo in her cave.

If the cave were deep underwater.

Nothing was where he expected it to be, including himself.

He expected that both he and Adam ought to still have been in the empty lodge of the erstwhile crown prince, shrouded by the dark quiet peculiar to buildings abruptly abandoned, their vitality snuffed out as quickly and unceremoniously as a candle flame.

He expected it to be dusk outside. And, for that matter, for outside to be outside.

Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm.

Words in his head like a heartbeat, pulsing in his veins. Rising and falling like the breaths he forced past the blind animal panic constricting in his throat like drowning, seawater in his lungs, forcing the air in deep past the choking fear, trying to focus instead on the press of oxygen — not salt water — as it ebbed and swelled against his ribs.

Stay calm.

Stay.

Calm.

Sta-a-a-y

(deep breath in)

ca-a-a-lm

(deep breath out)

Stay calm.

Staycalm.

(Staycalmstaycalmstaycalm)

stay—

“I would think,” the voice continued, almost cruelly cavalier, “the better question would be when your companion is.”

FOUR WEEKS AND FOUR DAYS AFTER THE MAYERLING INCIDENT

One month. They had been in the Imperial City for one month, and they had appallingly little to show for their efforts.

Adam felt his upper lip twitch with the threat of a derisive curl. If one could indeed call their activities thus far efforts. Certainly, it seemed to have taken very little effort on Nate’s part to engage in the various social events and polite frivolity that had thus far constituted the vast majority of their so-called investigation. Adam, on the other hand, felt himself wind tighter by the day and found himself uncharacteristically restless in the face of a court that seemed intent on simultaneously obfuscating and romanticizing the already mysterious incident at Mayerling. He was not an impatient man; even if he hadn’t been too pragmatic by nature, any inclinations towards impulsiveness had long ago been practiced and trained out of him. And, anyway, immortality had a way of dulling most of that very human instinct for instant gratification. Their meandering progress, however, chafed at him, at his need for efficiency. He felt the need to make some kind of definitive headway, the need to move coiling taut as springs in his body, the pressure along his jaw, at the base of his skull, mounting smooth and methodical as winding a pocket watch.

It was just that everything about this mission seemed so mundane. The circumstances of Rudolf’s death — what little they knew, littler still they knew to be true — were so terribly basic. Perhaps they wouldn’t seem that way to someone without the benefit of long centuries granting a decidedly not mundane perspective. Perhaps, if his circumstances were different, if he were different, still human, the whole affair would have more gravitas. Perhaps it would be as scandalous and sordid as the papers insisted, the dreary horror of it all the one constant through the early days of ever-changing headlines.

OUR CROWN PRINCE DEAD!, came the first stark headline.

A heart attack, one paper announced. A stroke, lamented another, dead of a stroke at thirty, can you imagine?

One came close to the truth, its nearness to the mark made more apparent by how quickly that edition disappeared. Confiscated, presumably by the government. Dead of a gunshot wound — a tragic accident, but an easy conclusion to reach, to believe, given that his Imperial Highness had been away on a hunting trip.

It took several days for the actual truth — as much of it as would be printed — to come out.

THE MOST HORRIBLE TRUTH proclaimed the Wiener Tagblatt. The Crown Prince had, indeed, been found dead of a gunshot wound.

One truth: it was not an accident.

One lie: he was alone.

Too many questions.

And, yet, the easiest answer — that the Crown Prince had indeed succumbed to the mounting pressures and nerves of an increasingly fragile and seditious empire he was meant to inherit — seemed, to Adam, all too believable. Such things happened. Perhaps not with great frequency, but with no real rarity, either. And a ruler going mad to disastrous effect was certainly an established story line in the annals of his own experiences with human history. He suspected, if he’d cared to ask, that Nate would confirm this to be a recurring theme throughout a much longer timeline of recorded history.

So why were they even here?

He turned his head slightly at the sound of a key fitted into a lock, the soft click of unlatching followed by the louder snick of the door being opened and shut. It wasn’t until the door onto the balcony behind him opened that he turned fully, nodding hello to Nate as he straightened from where he’d been leaning, forearms braced against the railing while he’d looked at the city below and considered whether it truly held any secrets for them. And, if so, what the cost of those secrets might be.

“Notice anything interesting down there?” Nate asked, pulling the balcony door shut behind him and stepping forward to join Adam at the railing.

Adam made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Alas, the streets seem as unremarkable as everything else we’ve encountered here thus far.”

Nate suppressed a smile (poorly, if Adam’s expression was any indication) as he regarded his friend. He did know what Adam meant, of course. He’d be lying if he said the lack of progress they’d made so far didn’t frustrate him, too. But he wouldn’t exactly call any part of their time in Vienna, their time together here, unremarkable.

“You left early this morning,” Adam said after a moment, the silence that fell between them settling rather more heavily over him than it usually did, the press of it a dull needling at the base of his skull rather than a soothing warmth. Or he was imagining things, letting the chafing weight of too little progress over too long a time seep into every part of his life lately.

Nate let out a soft hum of acknowledgment that faded back into the surrounding silence half a heartbeat later, apparently not planning to explain himself further.

When Adam, who still found himself disquieted by the silence and therefore annoyed, finally parroted Nate’s earlier question back to him, inquiring whether he’d found anything interesting in the winding streets below, the taller man hummed again, this time a susurrant rumble of amusement.

“I don’t know if I encountered anything that would meet your estimation of ‘remarkable’,” he said, straightening from where he’d been leaning next to Adam against the balcony rail. If he noticed Adam’s gaze flick to his hands as he shoved them reflexively into his pockets, he didn’t acknowledge it. “But I think I may have given us something to do.”

“Something to do” indeed turned out to be less of what Adam would personally term remarkable; if pressed to come up with a single term to describe exactly what Nate proposed they should spend the afternoon doing, he would be more inclined to use words like outrageous. Ludicrous would also be a strong contender. Frivolous, even, might emerge as a viable candidate.

At the moment, though, his mouth did not seem to gravitate towards the shape of any particular word, lips remaining tightly pressed together as one dark blond brow arched, the other creasing expressively, as if to stand in as a proxy for his mouth in communicating exactly how deeply absurd he found Nate’s suggestion.

"A bathhouse," he said finally, his voice flat. "You want us to spend the day at a bathhouse. Conducting reconnaissance on an archduke who may or may not be there."

Nate, imperturbable as he ever was, shrugged. "Why not? It's not like we have any other leads at the moment. Plus, the bathhouse seems to be Ludwig's preferred spot for relaxation and clandestine meetings. It could provide us with some valuable information, even if he's not there."

Adam fell silent once more, contemplating the extent to which this plan could fail. Yet he couldn't deny Nate's logic, any more than he could deny the fact that their investigation had hit a dead end. Maybe a change of scenery and a different approach would bring them closer to unraveling the mysteries surrounding Prince's death. After all, people often let their guard down in such places, engrossed in their own indulgences.

"I can go alone if you'd rather stay here," Nate offered, suspecting he knew what the answer would be even before Adam's head snapped up to meet his gaze.

There was an odd glint in those peridot eyes that said he wanted to argue – perhaps about the ridiculousness of the plan or maybe just out of frustration at their situation. But instead, Adam let out a resigned sigh and pushed off from the balcony rail, his movements carrying the weight of a man who knew he was walking into potential folly yet saw no alternative route.

"No,” Adam grumbled, smoothing out the front of his jacket as if preparing himself for battle rather than a day at the baths, “You'll not be wading into whatever murky waters await us at the bathhouse alone. I will join you."

"Let us hope they do not prove literally murky," Nate said, mouth curling in amusement, though his eyes, still on Adam's, shone with a glimmer of gratitude.

"But," Adam continued, "If we're going to spend the afternoon strutting about in towels while nobles waste their coin on perfumed water, let's at least have a plan of action."

Nate laughed outright then, placing a warm hand on Adam's stiff shoulder with a gentle squeeze. "I myself wasn't planning on 'strutting about' in a towel, but if you feel that'll aid in our mission, by all means," he teased, his smile only widening as Adam shot him a reproachful look.

"But you're right," Nate continued, lifting his hand from Adam's shoulder and dragging it through his own hair, mussing the dark waves. "A plan of action is in order."

Even in the frosty grasp of the midwinter afternoon, Vienna hummed with life, a swirling kaleidoscope of commerce and culture. The Danube, usually a stately emerald ribbon cutting through the cityscape, had frozen over, and now served as an ice-covered thoroughfare, frost glittering like silver filigree along its banks. Horse-drawn carriages, adorned with intricate designs and draped in velvety fabrics, clattered along the cobblestone roads, their passengers bundled up in thick blankets and wraps to ward off the cold. Street vendors braved the chill, peddling everything from roasted chestnuts to fur-lined gloves, their wares spread out on brightly colored blankets. The scents of cinnamon and cloves permeated the air, mingling with the sharp tang of chimney smoke and horseflesh. Beneath the pale winter sun, the city sparkled like a jewel encased in ice.

For all its grandeur, when they finally reached it, the entrance to Vienna's Zentralbad was surprisingly inconspicuous. Nestled in a narrow alley off the city's main thoroughfare, its sandstone facade glowed a soft amber in the watery winter sun, its sturdy oak doors flanked by a pair of statues, their granite-hewn faces gazing out onto the bustling city with an air of quiet indifference. Once inside, however, the Zentralbad was a world unto itself, unfurling before them in a labyrinthine sprawl of opulence. The air was thick with the scent of citrus and mint, wafting from bronze braziers filled with smoldering herbs, radiating a warmth that seemed to seep into the very bones, a startling contrast to the frostbitten city just outside its doors.

Despite being nestled, as they were, in the heart of the city, the baths were a peculiar blend of opulence and seclusion, their depths concealed from prying eyes by fragrant veils of steam, labyrinthine hallways, and cascading greenery, as though determined to recreate the gardens of Babylon, somehow, in the biting cold of a central European winter. Tall arched ceilings, painted with grand frescoes of mythical creatures and gods, loomed overhead, casting long shadows across the polished marble floors. Bathing pools of varying sizes and temperatures, lined with intricate mosaics, were scattered throughout the complex, each one more inviting than the last. Plush divans and gilded tables laden with fresh fruits and goblets of wine filled the lounging area, where bathers could rest or socialize between soaks.

"Quite the spectacle isn't it?" Nate murmured, voice echoing slightly off the ornate tile work that adorned the walls, dancing over the splashing of water and soft murmur of conversations as they moved deeper into the bathhouse, led by an impeccably dressed attendant.

"Indeed." Adam responded, gaze flicking to Nate's as they walked, the silent reminder in his eyes clear: Stay on your guard.

The attendant guided them to their assigned room—a private chamber draped in rich fabrics, where they were assured they could prepare for their bath in peace—before bowing respectfully and leaving them alone.

The room was a sanctuary of soft light and warmth, suffused with the same scent of citrus and mint that pervaded the air outside. Here, the walls were adorned with hand-painted tapestries that depicted serene landscapes, as if each hanging was a window into another world. Dark wood furnishings, polished to a high shine and ornately carved, dotted the room, their surfaces bearing everything from light refreshments (fruits, sweet rolls, wine) to plush towels. A large, canopied divan draped with silk blankets and plush cushions sat against one side of the room, offering a luxurious spot for private repose. Towards the back of the room, a heavy wooden screen provided privacy for undressing and changing, its panels carved with intricate floral patterns that danced in the soft light.

The pull of the bathhouse was magnetic, and it seemed for a moment as if they were stepping into another world, one where their only obligation was to surrender to the sensuous luxury around them.

"Nate," Adam began, his voice softer now, cocooned in the hushed serenity of the chamber. He turned from his exploration of the room, catching Nate's gaze. It struck Nate then, how unusual it was to see Adam in such a setting, this place of indulgence and opulence so at odds with his restrained manner.

Yet he looked...right here, as if the soft glow of the braziers had been made to dance on his features, highlighting every sharp angle and soft curve.

"Adam," Nate answered, his voice sounded distant to him in the richly furnished room, as if he were hearing it from underwater. He shifted, the soft rustle of his clothing loud in the silence.

"We cannot allow ourselves to be distracted by the allure of this place," Adam said, his voice steady as he strode towards the wooden screen, disappearing behind it a moment later.

"Of course." His gaze lingered on the intricately carved screen where Adam had disappeared for a moment longer, eyes tracing the contours of its intricate design, a motif of intertwined vines and flowers, before he, too, began to undress.

Armored in nothing but towels and the faint scent of citrus, Nate and Adam emerged from the cloistered sanctuary of their chamber and entered the surreal world of the main bathing area. The bathing chamber spread out in front of them like a sunken garden, a palatial oasis for those seeking escape from the biting chill of winter. Steam rose in soft plumes, casting a dreamlike glow over the room, blurring the boundaries between reality and reverie. Somewhere in the distance, water trickled down from an ornately carved statue, each drop echoing through the chamber like a whisper on marble. Pools of gently simmering water shimmered under the golden glow of torchlight, their surfaces aglow with reflections of the grand mosaics that adorned the ceilings and walls, surrounded by sleek columns festooned with clusters of lush, winding vines. The low hum of quiet conversation echoed across the water’s surface, punctuated now and then by the splash of someone slipping into the balmy pool or distant laughter from shadowed corners.

Guided by the soft glow of strategically placed lanterns, they made their way along the edge of one of the pools. Their footfalls seemed to echo and then lose themselves among the myriad sounds echoing in the grand chamber. Around them, courtiers and bourgeoisie alike moved like gilded ghosts, wading languidly through the water's embrace, their languorous motions stirring the surface into a delicate dance of light and shadows. Some were secluded in alcoves, engrossed in hushed conversations whilst others floated aimlessly, given over to the warm reprieve the bathhouse provided.

Beneath an arched alcove adorned with intricate mosaics of mermaids and sea dragons, they found a smaller pool that seemed to have been forgotten by the rest of the bathhouse's patrons. They had just settled themselves in the warm embrace of the water when the focus of the room shifted quickly and subtly, like shimmering reflections on water. The grand doors at the opposite end of the bath opened, allowing a brisk draft of cool air to sweep across the heated room. A hush fell over the chamber as a party of men made their entrance. In its center, draped in an ornately embroidered silk robe, his mouth curled in a conspiratorial smile — a courtier's smile — stood the Archduke Ludwig Viktor, youngest brother to the emperor and uncle to the late Prince Rudolf.

The Archduke's reputation preceded him, rumors of his indulgent lifestyle and flamboyant personality echoed in the hushed whispers that swept through the chamber. His eyes, sharp and shrewd beneath heavy lids, scanned the room leisurely. The crowd parted imperceptibly to make way for their royal guest as he sauntered towards a secluded alcove not too far from their own, his retinue trailing behind like glittering peacocks.

As the party made their way further into the bathhouse, Nate nudged Adam subtly and inclined his head towards the valet. Adam's eyes followed his gaze, and he nodded in return - the first part of their plan in motion.

The valet was a man of slight build with a neat appearance that spoke volumes about his meticulous nature. His dark hair, slicked back from his forehead, was speckled with silver at the temples, giving him an illusion of age that his bright eyes contradicted. Amidst a flurry of whispers and subtle glances, they watched as the valet peeled away from the Archduke's party. He moved with a practiced grace, his eyes scanning the room as he made his way towards another, larger pool at the center of the chamber. His gaze flitted over them for a moment before moving along, his face all but impassive. He settled himself near the edge of the pool, where the steam was thickest, effectively shrouding himself from all but the most observant.

The enfant terrible of the Hapsburgs had a reputation for being devilishly unpredictable, with an impish glee for dangerous games. They would have to tread carefully here, Adam thought, his gaze flicking back to Nate, a silent conversation passing between them. With a soft sigh, Nate rose from the warm pool, water droplets cascading down his body, catching and refracting the soft light, steam curling around his form as he moved into the crowd with an air of nonchalance, following the path of the valet. The bathhouse was alive with the murmur of whispers, the sound of water lapping against marble, and the occasional soft laughter that echoed across the chamber.

Adam allowed himself a fleeting smile as he watched his friend vanish into the haze of steam and murmuring voices, a sense of anticipation prickling his skin – it was important, after all, not to appear out-of-place. He closed his eyes and submerged himself in the warm water, its tranquility a sharp contrast to the thrill that pulsed beneath his skin. His eyes fell on Nate and the Archduke's valet once more, bathed in the gold and azure glow of the surrounding lanterns. Even in this maze of opulence and splendor, he thought, Nate's allure was not diminished but rather seemed to sparkle even brighter as he deftly slipped into conversation, as easy and fluid as water slipping through his fingers.

The evening wore on, Adam watching Nate thread himself into the fabric of the Archduke’s circle; the bathhouse transformed into a nocturnal haven of whispered secrets and veiled glances. The warm air was dense with the mingled scents of citrus, wine and exotic oils; a heady cocktail that left each breath tasting sweet and intoxicating. The murmur of conversation ebbed and flowed around them, like a living creature that breathed on its own rhythm.

Finally, Nate reappeared beside him, the flickering torchlight gleaming off his damp skin as though he'd been outlined in gold filigree, leaving his body as gilt-edged as the pages of one of his many treasured books. He leaned in towards Adam, lips curved in an easy smile, looking for all the world as if he were eager to share a particularly lush morsel of gossip. "Well, my friend, I believe we can wrest ourselves from the distracting allure of the bathhouse at long last."

Adam raised an eyebrow, a flicker of a smile — amusement at Nate's phrasing, relief at the apparent lead in their investigation, and perhaps the soporific effect of the heady atmosphere — tugging at his own mouth. "Oh?"

"We leave in the morning. Ludwig's valet has invited us to travel with their party as far as Alland, where we will graciously assist Rudolf's erstwhile valet in completing his securing of a certain hunting lodge nearby."

Adam smiled properly then, a breath of a laugh escaping him. "Dare I ask how, exactly, you have secured us such access? And such an escort?"

Nate's eyes danced with pleasure in the scintillating torchlight, its reflection glinting molten gold against the dark brown of his irises, gleaming against the white of his teeth as his own smile stretched into a feline grin. "I merely expressed my desire to experience the thrill of a proper Viennese hunt."

FOUR WEEKS AND FIVE DAYS AFTER THE MAYERLING INCIDENT

The archduke's valet was a man of his word, and by the next evening the pair found themselves standing at the threshold of the late crown prince's hunting lodge. They gazed up at the foreboding edifice, its stone façade blackened by years of harsh winters and countless hunting parties. The last vestiges of the sinking sun cast long shadows that stretched and twisted across the landscape, adding an eerie pallor to what was already a place tainted by tragedy.

Adam felt a chill, and not from the winter air biting through his coat. He cast a sidelong glance at Nate, noting the tense line of his jaw despite his outwardly calm demeanor. It was impossible not to feel a sense of unease standing in front of the lodge where Prince Rudolf had met his tragic end just weeks earlier. A mystery that had sent ripples through the empire and brought them here.

"Well, here we are," Nate said finally, breaking the silence, his voice echoing among the nearby pines. "Shall we?"

They approached the thick, wooden door with trepidation, its solid weight testament to the privacy it had once provided for the ill-fated prince and the woman who'd loved him. As Adam reached for the heavy iron pull, a sudden gust of wind swept over them, making the pines whistle and moan. It seemed to underscore the gravity of their task as they stood on the cusp of secrets laid to rest weeks prior. With a determined push, the door creaked open, revealing a darkened interior lit only by faint moonlight creeping in through the windows.

Adam blinked. His vision swam, the sharp edges of reality blurring into a monochromatic haze. The wind, once a harsh howl in his ears, died down to a hollow whisper. The chill that had bitten through his clothes seemed to seep beneath his skin, settling into his bones with an icy dread.

And then the darkness erupted, swallowing them whole, as a fel voice, low and melodic and wrong — wrong, wrong, wrong — began to echo from within their very bones — to rumble against them like a thunderclap, raw silk over rough stone — calling to them from within that dark wave.

The voice was low, a sonorous murmur that nonetheless seemed to resonate throughout the lodge, throughout their very bones. Adam and Nate both froze, a preternatural stillness borne of instinct. But even melding halfway into the shadows could not keep the soft, terrible sound of it from curling like weighted smoke around them, its tendrils winding beneath their skin, reverberating in their chests. Despite their hyper senses, the sound’s origin was somehow impossible to pinpoint; it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. A low, rough laugh, vaguely feminine, ancient, and otherworldly, scratched at Adam’s brain. Across the room (And when had he crossed the room?), he saw the tremor of a barely restrained wince tighten the line of Nate’s jaw.

The laughter faded into a hum of amusement, wicked and cruel.

“Hello, Nachzehrer,” the voice crooned, the smoke of it coiling tighter around them.

Then, almost as if conjured by timbre alone, Adam felt — no, he saw — a silken cloud of some smoke-like substance enshroud them, solid as a wall erected in the middle of the room between the two vampires.

And then he saw nothing at all.

#not me rolling in 3 years later with an update 🥲#i do have Ideas and kind of a plot and half of the next chapter written so like. trying to finish this this year?#true to form I have left So Many footnotes in the ao3 version #twc #katie writes things

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