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He stands in a dark, cool, vast room, the faint scent of dry, old stones and incense in the air. It takes a while for his eyes to get used to the darkness, but when they do, he realises that it's the nave of the Augustinerkirche - only darker than he's ever seen it, with no candles lit and very little light filtering in through the stained-glass windows. It's been a long time since he's set foot here; the court chapel is more than appropriate for an emperor to conduct his spiritual affairs in, when he needs to. Still, he associates it with mostly warm memories - even though imperial weddings are always a somewhat burdensome affair and require months, if not years, of planning to organise, the adoring people and smiling couples make them worth it.
"Franz Joseph", a voice says from very near, and despite himself and all his experience with maintaining a serene exterior, he flinches in surprise at being jostled from his thoughts so suddenly. He slowly turns his head, and there, standing next to him, is the most peculiar, ostentatious man he's ever seen. To contrast with the darkness around them, he's wearing all white; the frilled sleeves of his shirt evoke nobility and sophistication, but it's cut deeply enough to leave the top of his chest bare; his trousers shimmer in the half-light like fine silk, befitting a powerful ruler, and yet they cling tightly to his body like seaweed to the edge of a ship. As Franz averts his eyes, he's shocked by the intensity of the man's gaze; his eyelids are painted dark, and he doesn't blink as he stares at Franz with intent.
"We have not spoken before", the man says, "but this meeting is very important, your Majesty."
Franz stares back, bewildered, and doesn't bother to hide his astonishment. He doesn't know who this man thinks he is to address him directly like this. If only there was someone to ask; it's what he does when he can't keep track of all the foreign visitors to his court. Still, his empire is among the greatest, if not the greatest empire known to man; surely anyone with a smidgen of sense would show deference, to honour the sacrifices he's had to make.
"How so?" Franz asks, when he realises no help is forthcoming. The man smiles at him, all teeth, before leaning in furtively. He gets a little too close for comfort, and Franz pulls away, incredulous, so that the man doesn't speak his words right into his ear.
"I'm here to ask for your son's hand."
"Pardon me?" Franz asks. On some level, he knew all along it was going to be about Rudolf; it seems like the vexations his son causes him will never end. Still, he has no idea what the stranger means.
"Isn't it obvious?" the man counters. "In marriage."
Franz feels all blood drain from his face. It's not just because of the words, nonsensical as they are; it's because of how incredibly pleased and confident the man sounds as he says them. He speaks like someone who's used to getting his way.
"My son is married", Franz says pointedly. "To a woman. It is wholly inappropriate for you to jest in this way, no matter who you are."
"I assure you, sir, that this is no laughing matter to me", the man says, speaking in a borderline hiss. "I love him more than a woman ever could. He, too, prefers my love to anything a woman could offer him."
"My son could never love someone like you", Franz snaps. "He knows his place, even when he struggles to fulfill some of his responsibilities. And he -"
"I know you've been reluctant to release him from the bonds of his unhappy union with the Crown Princess", the man says carelessly. "And I understand that such a sacred bond can be hard to undo, especially if the Kaiser, Pope and God alike object. Nevermind that, for I have a way to release him from his obligations with or without your approval. All I ask for is your blessing, so he can rest assured that his father understands him."
The contempt with which the man speaks of all Franz holds important and powerful is palpable. It makes him feel a little sick.
"You're gravely mistaken", Franz says. "And I will hear nothing of your ways. Rudolf may have made his disdain towards his marriage known, but a little unhappiness is nothing unusual for a man to live with. Especially someone as prone to flights of fancy as he is. He made his vows -"
"His vows", the man muses. "The vows where he proclaimed to stay by her side until death parts them?"
"Surely you don't mean to bring Rudolf to his death", Franz protests. "How could you claim to love -"
"Is it still not obvious?" the man asks, smiling, and as Franz steps back, he sees the edge of something hard flicker on his face. Something older than the church they're standing in; something older than the earth it was built on. He sees it now.
"No", Franz breathes. Death smiles at him.
"Yes", he whispers, stepping closer. "Don't you see?"
Franz closes his eyes, but it helps him very little; Death is close enough that he can sense his lack of breath, and cold dread creeps into his soul.
"I mean to take him with me", Death says, his hand settling heavily on Franz's shoulder, "and cherish him for all my days. I can be gentle to those who yearn for me with all their heart. He will be much happier away from the court that has caused him suffering for all of his life, and my status is more than sufficient for such a match to be appropriate. The son of an emperor and the lord of all the dead. It will be beautiful."
"You will never have him", Franz says, stern and sure, and steps away from Death's grasp, spinning around to face him. "Rudolf may stumble and falter, but he will never give himself to you. He's still learning, and one day, he will follow me to the throne. And his wife will become Empress."
There is a long pause, Franz staring Death down and not letting self-doubt get the better of him. Then, Death laughs; a shrill, cacophonic sound, much too mirthful for a sacred place of worship.
"So, your answer is no?" Death asks, approaching. Franz doesn't back away; he's strong enough to face him. "I should've known you're rarely one for compromises, Your Majesty. It's a pity, for he will be mine anyway; we both know he will defy your will and do everything in his power so that we will be united."
Before Franz can stop him, Death leans in, pressing a mockingly deferent kiss to his cheek. As it happens, a series of moments flashes in front of his eyes: an empty black motorcar scarred by shrapnel, a gunshot that rips him apart with piercing pain, a sea of white flowers, Elisabeth weeping inconsolably, a dark forest, Rudolf limp and motionless in Death's arms as he cradles the prince much closer to his body than is appropriate, a kiss.
"Know that I have warned you, and wake up", Death whispers, and Franz recoils from him, his mouth opened into a silent -
***
The emperor jerks awake, and after a moment of stunned silence, grows glad that it was all a confusingly sinister dream. He knows in his heart that the imperial legacy is secure despite Rudolf's occasional stumbling; right now his son is away on a hunting trip to clear his head, but when he inevitably returns from Mayerling with a less contrarian outlook on things, Franz will have Taaffe reason with him once again. The cold, clear morning of January 29th, 1889, as the calendar reads today, is bright with promise and clarity.