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mtxref_ficAuthor's Note: Written for < lj user="fic_promptly">'s Twilight AU, Edward/Carlisle, Vlad Tepes' tomb at the Comana Monastery. Stealth crossover with Elizabeth Kostova's "The Historian.
An old friend of Carlisle's, a historian who worked as a diplomat in The Netherlands, had left Carlisle some of his personal papers, ones that related to an odd bit of research he had conducted, starting in the 1950s, including a photostat of a hand-drawn map of a small region of Rumania. Edward found him poring over the dossier one night in spring.
"What's all this?" Edward asked, eying the papers spread out over the dining room table which they kept for show and used solely for things like this.
"It's part of a trip that I'm planning," Carlisle said.
"A trip? A trip to where?" They had seen much of Europe and Asia as well as South America and Africa. It would seem few places remained for them to see.
Carlisle turned the map around for him to see it. "Comana, Rumania. Or more specifically, the monastery there."
"Why that particular monastery?" Edward asked.
"One of the most well-known of our kind, mostly because a heavily fictionalized version of his story was released to the public, on the Volturi's permission," Carlisle replied.
Edward blinked. "You mean... Dracula? He really was a vampire? I knew he was a historical figure, but all the history books that I have ever read downplayed the notion or discredited it entirely."
Carlisle nodded. "Yes, something the Volturi insisted upon: they wanted to keep us as much out of the public eye as possible," he said.
"And you're planning to take me there?" Edward asked. "I thought he was still alive."
Carlisle wagged his head. "In a manner of speaking: he sleeps, but not as humans do."
* *
A week later found them in Rumania, in the commune of Comana, standing before the doors of the white-washed stone building, its dome gleaming in the rays of the setting sun. The chanting of the monks offering their evening prayers arose, over the evening songs of the birds and the lowing of cows in the farm collectives nearby.
"This is the place?" Edward said.
"Yes, this is where Vlad Tepes lies sleeping," Carlisle said.
They waited till the chanting had faded away and the sun had slipped just below the horizon before they entered the church. The smell of incense still hovered in the air and one of the monks moved about quietly, putting away books and tidying the chapel.
Carlisle put a hand behind Edward's arm, guiding him through a door to a narrow stairwell, lit with a single electric light hanging from a wire. They descended into a crypt that smelled slightly of dry earth.
"We're going into the older part of the monastery: Vlad Tepes built the original monastery, but it was demolished and rebuilt by his successor," Carlisle said.
"I imagine Lord Tepes wasn't too happy about that," Edward said.
"He tried to take revenge on him, and that is when the Volturi stepped in: they deemed him a threat to our masquerade, and it was not the first time he had harmed humans and called too much attention to himself. But because he had been a prince, they could not rightly execute him as they would a commoner of our kind," Carlisle said. "And so they forbade him from feeding, till he slipped into torpor."
By this time, they had reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped into the crypt. A bank of candles on a stand lit the room, the flickering light falling on a stone slab in the floor, marked with a red cross that ran the length and breadth of the slab.
Carlisle went down on one knee before the slab. "He lies here," he said, laying a hand on the stone. "He'll stay here till the Volturi deem it time to awaken him."
Edward came closer, then knelt before it. Under this stone, beneath the floor, lay the most well-known vampire of all time, asleep, awaiting the day when he might awaken once more. He hoped he would be there on that day, to meet this great man in the unliving flesh....
An old friend of Carlisle's, a historian who worked as a diplomat in The Netherlands, had left Carlisle some of his personal papers, ones that related to an odd bit of research he had conducted, starting in the 1950s, including a photostat of a hand-drawn map of a small region of Rumania. Edward found him poring over the dossier one night in spring.
"What's all this?" Edward asked, eying the papers spread out over the dining room table which they kept for show and used solely for things like this.
"It's part of a trip that I'm planning," Carlisle said.
"A trip? A trip to where?" They had seen much of Europe and Asia as well as South America and Africa. It would seem few places remained for them to see.
Carlisle turned the map around for him to see it. "Comana, Rumania. Or more specifically, the monastery there."
"Why that particular monastery?" Edward asked.
"One of the most well-known of our kind, mostly because a heavily fictionalized version of his story was released to the public, on the Volturi's permission," Carlisle replied.
Edward blinked. "You mean... Dracula? He really was a vampire? I knew he was a historical figure, but all the history books that I have ever read downplayed the notion or discredited it entirely."
Carlisle nodded. "Yes, something the Volturi insisted upon: they wanted to keep us as much out of the public eye as possible," he said.
"And you're planning to take me there?" Edward asked. "I thought he was still alive."
Carlisle wagged his head. "In a manner of speaking: he sleeps, but not as humans do."
* *
A week later found them in Rumania, in the commune of Comana, standing before the doors of the white-washed stone building, its dome gleaming in the rays of the setting sun. The chanting of the monks offering their evening prayers arose, over the evening songs of the birds and the lowing of cows in the farm collectives nearby.
"This is the place?" Edward said.
"Yes, this is where Vlad Tepes lies sleeping," Carlisle said.
They waited till the chanting had faded away and the sun had slipped just below the horizon before they entered the church. The smell of incense still hovered in the air and one of the monks moved about quietly, putting away books and tidying the chapel.
Carlisle put a hand behind Edward's arm, guiding him through a door to a narrow stairwell, lit with a single electric light hanging from a wire. They descended into a crypt that smelled slightly of dry earth.
"We're going into the older part of the monastery: Vlad Tepes built the original monastery, but it was demolished and rebuilt by his successor," Carlisle said.
"I imagine Lord Tepes wasn't too happy about that," Edward said.
"He tried to take revenge on him, and that is when the Volturi stepped in: they deemed him a threat to our masquerade, and it was not the first time he had harmed humans and called too much attention to himself. But because he had been a prince, they could not rightly execute him as they would a commoner of our kind," Carlisle said. "And so they forbade him from feeding, till he slipped into torpor."
By this time, they had reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped into the crypt. A bank of candles on a stand lit the room, the flickering light falling on a stone slab in the floor, marked with a red cross that ran the length and breadth of the slab.
Carlisle went down on one knee before the slab. "He lies here," he said, laying a hand on the stone. "He'll stay here till the Volturi deem it time to awaken him."
Edward came closer, then knelt before it. Under this stone, beneath the floor, lay the most well-known vampire of all time, asleep, awaiting the day when he might awaken once more. He hoped he would be there on that day, to meet this great man in the unliving flesh....
