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Chapter Text

You will pay for this.

Elijah had discarded those words the moment his bedridden brother uttered them. He wasn't intentionally obtuse out of some misguided belief that Niklaus wouldn't follow through.

On the contrary. If history's to be prologued, it's a proven fact that crossing his brother in any way, shape, or form results more often than not in immediate punishment. Even in cases where the offense is more perceived than factual.

Niklaus enjoys instantaneous gratification far more than long-term satisfaction. He'll covet both if possible. But he'll go for the former when it's too strenuous to attempt the latter.

That is why Elijah wasn't surprised as he could've been when Papa Tunde's blade was driven through his chest. His momentary distraction cost him his focus. And Klaus lounged like a wolf after his prey.

The pain was not like anything he's ever felt before. And he prided himself on having a high tolerance after centuries of pushing his body to its limits.

It's not like he has to spend any effort to grow strong. Since the day of his rebirth, he had already reached peak physical prowess. A dozen armies of vampires and werewolves may ambush him, and he'll be standing at the ensuing bloodbath, no worse for wear. Except for perhaps needing a new suit. A regrettable sacrifice.

But his training was to hone his mental fortitude and practice restraint. A foreign concept to most of his relatives. Mikael was a sad excuse for a parent. Elijah, however, can't refute that his teachings, brutal and merciless as they were, had played a role in his resilience over the last millennium.

So as he drowned in a sea of agony and a torrent of suffering, the noble stag maintained enough sense of self to still be able to hear snippets of conversation. And what he registered was decidedly less than pleasing.

... All you have to do is admit it.

You're insane.

... Monster ... You summoned Mikael to kill me.

Elijah picked up on an intense and increasingly dangerous aura. His younger brother was swallowed by a sense of betrayal. When he was like this, nothing could sway his mind. Not reason. Not compassion. Only a superior force. And while his sister held the white oak, he wasn't so naive as to think that could protect her if the Hybrid wanted her harm. Bekah wasn't acting on the same killer instinct Niklaus was quickly spiraling into. Scratch that. That's his default setting.

Elijah swore he would protect her no matter what it took.

But he also swore he'd never stand against Niklaus either. They were meant to be together. A family united. Always and forever.

His brother broke that covenant a dozen times over. Twisted the words of youthful innocence and lorded their loyalty to him and only him as if it were his god-given right. Never expecting he reciprocate an iota of the same.

There is no choice.

Elijah clawed through his own chest cavity with a strength unnatural even to his recollection. He gasped for air he would normally not require and stood wobbling like a drunkard after Mardi Gras.

Maybe I did.

Rebekah had lowered her head in shame as if subconsciously condemning her thoughts. Recriminating her desire to break free of her eternal captor. One Elijah, to his shame, stood by and enabled, which only cemented his illusions of grandeur.

Niklaus froze in place for a second. Strange, after practically forcing the confession.

But it lasted for a moment before he tried to plunge the white oak into their sister's heart.

Up to this point, Elijah had had some hope. He always believed there was a way to redeem his brother. His paranoia and outbursts were defense mechanisms designed for self-preservation. But there was a glimmer of goodness reserved for his family. And that spark can one day flourish and prosper.

A new child could herald a brighter future for the torn Mikaelson tree.

But he was wrong.

Klaus was willing to murder the very girl who stood by his side for centuries.

The original vamp sped, tackling his brother to the ground. He was still reeling from the mystical blade's effects. He may have had the best control when it came to feeding amongst his siblings. But that didn't mean his hunger was non-existent, especially when he just hemorrhaged so much energy pulling that forsaken weapon of ludicrous torment.

"Elijah." Both his siblings called to him in surprise. Unfortunately, in their confrontation, Bekah was pushed to the side and lost her handle on the only means of killing one of the vampire progenitors.

Niklaus got to it faster than Elijah, his glowing orbs of molten gold suggesting his feral anger is about to be unleashed.

"You couldn't just stay down, brother, could you? The noble Elijah, always to the rescue. Well, don't waste your breath. Now that Rebekah has confessed her guilt, all that's left is for me to issue my verdict. Interfere in the proceeding and I will be forced to take measures I won't enjoy." The self-proclaimed most powerful creature in the world held the white oak threateningly, demanding Elijah meekly stand back and allow him to play judge, jury, and executioner with their sister's life.

Elijah's eyes clouded in blood, spider veins seamlessly merging. The dark monster he repressed most days was begging for release, and he was for once not against setting him free.

"Elijah, please, just go. It'll be fine. Nik ... he won't hurt me." Rebekah's own tearful eyes made something in him break. She wasn't certain of her words but tried to assuage him, purely to shield him from Klaus' potential wrath.

She doesn't have to sacrifice herself on our brother's altar for some ancient mistake. Elijah won't allow it.

"Sister, leave us." He meant for it to be comforting but firm. Instead he emitted a low growl, as if announcing an irreversible tragedy was imminent.

An omen or a self-fulfilling prophecy, he wonders.

"Brother, please." She kept pleading with him to see reason. But he was a stone wall.

"Listen to the traitor brother. If she runs, I will have no choice but to chase her. Even if I have to put you down. And for costing me my favorite brother, being daggered for eternity will be the least of her troubles." Niklaus went back to his casual element. Spouting accusations and offering ultimatums. Always hiding behind the facade of the victim, never the aggressor. So quick to seek recompense for a slight. Not acknowledging his myriad of sins.

"I told you I would protect Rebekah by whatever means necessary, brother. I intend to honor that pledge."

Faster than the blink of an eye, he pushed Niklaus through two consecutive tombs. Not sparing him any quarter, he punched his brother into the ground while he was down repeatedly.

The hybrid didn't surrender to his onslaught willingly but uppercutted him, throwing him a few yards back.

Elijah had finally given in to his bottled rage. There was a darker aspect to his vampiric persona. An unrelenting beast that spilled the blood of thousands. Most for his family's protection. But others to fulfill his innate desire. Those of the apex predator.

"Is that a hint of the fabled beast behind the red door? I've heard only whispers for too long. And I've been patiently waiting for a chance to play." Klaus laughed gleefully. He made a show of fixing his dislocated shoulders and closed his bloodied fist, only to notice a distinct lack of the mortal weapon he possessed.

And not with that pathetic blade. You'll have to pull it out one day. And I'll hate you just the same.

Elijah will look back to this day countless times in the years to come. Try and dissect every mistake he has made. And re-evaluate how he could've avoided them all.

But for now. Instinct wins.

The hybrid sped to his elder brother, canines at the ready to inject toxic poison into Elijah's veins.

The latter slashes with Tunde's blade at his attacker. Klaus loses an eye yet still bites down on Elijah's forearm. But then the younger Original grows angry and frustrated. He latches on to the white oak stake, and Elijah pushes it into his vulnerable target.

I'm not so cowardly as to kill your brother.

For a moment there is nothing but stillness. Everything stops. The very air is unmoving.

Then. Fire erupts from his baby brother's chest. The rage he harbored evaporates like smoke. The blood in his veins turns cold.

A scream pierces through his haze. He looks around confused, as if in a stupor. His sister's silhouette finally appears.

Was it her scream? His own? Does it matter?

"Eli..."

Niklaus doesn't even breathe his last word. There's wrath. Fear. Heartbreak. Loneliness. A thousand years ended with the flick of a wrist.

We do not feel, and we do not care. 

We did once. 

Maybe he was wrong. Immortals can't love. On the night they rose as creatures of the night, as the masters of the underworld, it was written that their monster selves would take the reins.

What does a demon need with human emotions?

Nothing.

"What have you done?" Rebekah fell next to him as if her weight proved too much for her original strength to carry.

Everything.

Always and forever.

Until forever ends.

***

Rebekah didn't know how she got back to the compound. She probably glided through the ether like a wraith. Or flew like a finally liberated bird. But the truth is, she doesn't have the faintest idea how she's not a broken mess.

Nik is ...

It seemed easier to believe that the globe's axis had shifted than her brother's death.

This is a droll tragedy.

She must not have recovered from the effects of the werewolf venom of those traitorous crescents. Of course, that's it.

Her secret summons of Mikael being discovered. Her brother going into a blind rage and hunting her down like a rabid animal. Elijah ... Elijah taking Nik's life.

Such bizarre hallucinations. But figments of her imagination all the same.

That's the most reasonable explanation.

Rebekah staggers through the Abattoir's entrance. That witch in her poison-induced acid trip. Not the red-haired wench Genevieve. The other one. One of Elijah's blasted ex-lovers. Celeste was her name. She spelled the cemetery to prevent the exit of Originals until daybreak.

The female vampire looks to the starry sky with a laugh. She left easy enough. It was indeed a trick of the mind.

How could she ever think otherwise?

Time to sleep off the effects of the venom. Maybe her brother will get back from whatever pub he toiled at and give her some of his blood. Narcissistic wanker will probably demand a favor in the foreseeable future. But she just might accept if her headache persists. Bullocks.

Rebekah lowers her head and notices the horror surrounding her.

The courtyard is a dumping ground of desiccated corpses. No stakes protruding or any signs of dismemberment suggesting the cause of their second death. As if they simply dropped to the ground immobilized. The tether to their immortality plucked out by an invisible specter.

She walks slowly to a man in a brown coat; he's the closest to the fountain at the center of the yard. Presumably their leader.

No. It can't be.

She hastened to turn his body around.

Marcel.

Not tears of hers will revive him. She's a soulless bloodsucker, not a mythical phoenix.

Nik was his sire. The French Quarter’s vampire army's maker. Her denial spits back in her face.

Her brother is dead.

Elijah killed him.

And her former lover and any vampire ever made from his line by consequence.

This was her fault. Her foolish notion of freedom. Of finding love. She destroyed her family. Her kind.

She passes out in exhaustion.

Chapter Text

Rebekah Mikaelson stirred from her sleep; the softness of her bed called for her to continue lazing about. But her senses immediately tingling as the scent of cooking wafted through the air.

Confusion washed over her as she noticed that her dirty clothes had been replaced, leaving her dressed in fresh garments. Puzzled by these unexpected changes, she quickly realized that something unusual had occurred during her slumber.

With a mix of curiosity and caution, Rebekah rose from her bed and made her way towards the source of the enticing aroma.

As she approached the kitchen, she discovered Elijah, her steadfast brother, diligently preparing a meal. His face, as always, bore an air of composure. She could detect no hint of concern in his eyes. But surely this was the occasion for it. Wearing his iron mask on this day is downright cruel.

"Elijah," Rebekah called out, her voice laced with curiosity. "What happened while I was asleep? My clothes have been changed, and I can't help but notice that the bodies in the courtyard have vanished."

Elijah turned to face his sister, his gaze meeting hers. He sighed softly before responding, his voice not tinged with any worry.

"Forgive me, but I took it upon myself to carry you to your room and dispose of those unflattering rags. The deceased vampires have also been cremated for the sake of urgency and discretion. Except for Marcel. He's in a coffin downstairs should you like to say your goodbyes."

The only indication of her brother being remotely upset was the shift of tone when mentioning Marcel's name. Out of grief for the child he helped raise. Or anger at the man he became colluding with her to summon the Destroyer. To force his hands into killing their brother.

She's afraid of even contemplating these thoughts, let alone sharing them.

I've prepared breakfast for us. Your favorite. Eggs Benedict. I know how you look down on fresh juice. So I've also brought champagne. Come."

Elijah carried the plates and moved to the table without preamble.

Rebekah's brows furrowed in concern, her mind racing with possibilities. She had grown accustomed to a life fraught with danger and unpredictability, so taking comfort in life's little pleasures—who is she fooling? It's more akin to the most lavish luxuries and incessant indulgences that the world has to offer, given her family's ridiculous wealth and influence, but last night's particular events weren't common occurrences.

And her brother skipping past them and sweeping the entire thing under a metaphorical rug is bloody maddening. She knows it will do more harm than good in the long run.

The trick is how to even address that can of worms without painting herself as the main root of the problem.

She allows herself a moment of weakness. Surely she's earned it.

"Have you spoken to Hayley yet?" Rebekah inquired, her voice laced with a mix of apprehension and a small glimpse of jealousy. She liked the crescent werewolf. More than liked, actually. But a part of her always looked with envy the closer her due date approached.

The curse of vampirism had robbed her of any chance of having a family of her own. She was frozen in time. Just on the cusp of eighteen. But she hadn't actually reached it when her mother cast her dark magic. Her brothers did enjoy reminding her she was still a child. To be protected and taken care of under their tender mercies. And while it was suffocating at times—unbearable even, given her current predicament—she would be lying if she said she didn't despise how Elijah and Nik, to a lesser extent, started throwing themselves at Hayley's every demand for the past couple of weeks, cuddling her as if she were an infant, not just carrying one.

She was also half certain Elijah was in love with the hazel-eyed brunette. Protectiveness is his natural state. But surely there's more to his affectionate looks and epic speeches of familial togetherness.

And on the subject of her brothers, there was Kol. Her asshole brother. The notorious bad boy type. Hayley had undaggered him. Both to spite Klaus. And out of a false belief, he shared more than his looks with Elijah. Her rebellious sibling's first priority was getting chummy with Davina. Just long enough to take some of her blood, get into his old hideout at Lafayette Cemetery to collect all his toys of doom and gloom, then skip town. Too much drama, he said. As if he didn't revel in such.

If she could hazard a guess pertaining to his doings. He was slaughtering his way through some unsuspecting populace, and off building that Klaus effective dagger he started back in 1914, away from outside interference. Yep, the same one she reported to Nik in the hopes of staying in his good graces. Before she went and set their godforsaken city on fire and summoned Mikael a half decade later.

Impeccable foresight as always.

The less said about her eldest brother, the better. Finn spent most of his life in a box. He resented what they became after their undeath. Nik even claimed he was the one who betrayed them to the Five. Her half-brother blamed her first, due to her tragic affair with Alexander. But then rationalized keeping their brother unconscious. It was for his own good, he said. She could've fought back against his decision. She might've joined him in a century-long slumber. Or Klaus would've been swayed otherwise.

But the sad truth is she never much cared for Finn. It seemed as if he had no desire to be in their vicinity even when they were humans. Immortality didn't change that aversion. Just magnified it tenfold.

The second they were unlinked from Esther's spell, Finn left Mystic Falls. Who knows where he is? She doubts he'll even shed a tear if he learns of Niklaus' passing.

"Are you alright, sister?" Elijah had broken through her long blanketed stare.

No, she wasn't alright. How could she be? How could he?

"Of course, brother. But you didn't answer my question."

Elijah paused for a moment, deep in thought, before responding. "Unfortunately not yet. It isn't the sort of news one shares over a phone call. I plan to go to the bayou later. And I've called for a meeting between the factions. A power vacuum needs to be filled. Both in the city. And in the supernatural community at large, after the sireline's fall."

She knew that her brother possessed a keen intellect and a talent for unraveling complex situations. Compartmentalizing his feelings was practically his signature move. It was admirable when the world felt on the verge of breaking. A steady atlas to catch the burdens with ease.

Now. Rebekah thought it was a noose around her neck. Does he loath her for what he had done in her name? Would she notice the difference? Klaus never cared to. Personal feelings were irrelevant as long as actions attested to loyalty.

She doesn't want to model herself after him, obviously.

The blond Original loudly puts her utensils down and faces her elder brother, monopolizing his attention. "How do you feel?"

Elijah squints his eyes in bewilderment. "Perfectly fine. I've had sufficient blood to rejuvenate my strength. The venom has all but been purged from my system. You should know I have a higher tolerance than the average vampire."

Odin, give me strength.

Maybe his delirium has fried his brain circuits, and he's simply unaware.

"I'm the impulsive, overly emotional teenager here, Elijah. What is your excuse for being so intentionally difficult? It's alright to talk to me about this. In fact, I am the only person on this accursed earth who could understand what you're bloody going through." She was heaving through her long tirade, bemoaning their shared suffering, even if only one party is actively admitting its existence. "I hated and loved Niklaus all my lives. Wished to spend eternity by his side. And gut him like a fish, a hundred times over. Please just talk to me."

Elijah's expression darkened slightly. She knew he wouldn't just flip out in anger and frustration. Where Nik had a mercurial temper that spared no one from its path, not dissimilar to a war tank, her noble brother used his wrath like a scalpel, targeting the necessary points to provide the most effective results. His family, however, rarely saw that aspect of his personality.

Until ...

"I'd prefer not to waste any more time than I need to discussing the fact that I murdered my own flesh and blood and made my unborn nephew or niece fatherless."

She was tempted to say the child was better off. Elijah had been the only decent parental figure any of them knew. Mikael was an abusive prick long before he took a liking to filicide. Esther's failing was emotional neglect. At least before she spent centuries on the Other Side and returned hellbent on ridding the world of what she deemed as abominations.

Klaus' initial interest in Marcellus gives her suited brother hope that he's changing. Caring for a life not connected to him or beneficial to his schemes. He even stayed away to preserve the bond between child and parent when Nik grew too resentful he wasn't the sole source of the boy's happiness. But her optimistic brother failed to realize that Klaus only sought to mold Marcel into his own image. He saw a kindred spirit. A bastard rejected by his birth father. And thought he could rewrite history. But when he couldn't, he threw a fit, as a child with god-like powers is wont to do. He would try and fashion his biological progeny into another mirror of himself. Or worse, a weapon to be wielded at his whim.

Oh, he denied it with zealous fervor when Rebekah and Elijah accused him of that. But Klaus is an adept methomaniac. He'll consciously pick and choose what action justified which act, lying to himself without issue. His family's at risk. An old enemy has grown too powerful. And suddenly, the only way is to exploit his own child's power to protect them.

It's so painfully obvious.

Rebekah could even add further fuel to the fire and say Elijah needn't stop himself from pursuing Hayley anymore. No concerns about replacing her child's father's rightful place because there isn't one.

But she also knows that's so incredibly selfish and inconsiderate. And her brother is the antithesis to that. It's a bit jarring at times. Being related to someone so self-sacrificing. But perhaps it was fated. As there needs to be some balance to the narcissistic, egocentric behavior of the rest of her family.

"You saved my life."

That's the only thing that she can say to him. She isn't completely certain Klaus would've gone through with his threats and killed her. But she isn't absolutely positive he wouldn't have either. For centuries, she knew the inner workings of her brothers' minds just as she did her own. But last night, she was terrified, wary, and alone.

Then Elijah came and did exactly what he said he would. Defend her to his dying breath against whomever wished her harm.

She is in pieces. But her brother's very likely teetering on the edge of self-loathing and manic depression. How could she keep him from the ledge?

"Rebekah..." He was warning her. Giving her a chance to let the issue go and move on. She isn't clever enough to take it.

"I know what you are telling yourself at the moment. You aren't the depraved monster our parents think you are. You made an impossible decision. And for that I'm eternally grateful." Her resolve hardened to speak her truth. A dark confession not coerced but freely given.

If the roles were reversed, she knows she would've done the same. They aren't naturally. Because Elijah would never be as foolish as to do what she did. But the problem remains the same. Between Nik and Elijah. There is simply no choice.

"I could've ... There had to be another way." The Mikaelson patriarch stood too quickly, aiming to conclude this little conversation and its strange turnabout.

"We're immortals, Elijah. If we spend every moment of our lives thinking about what could've happened differently, we wouldn't have a single bloody moment of peace. What's done is done." She sped next to him and grabbed his hand before he disappeared. She needed him there. To comfort. To yell at. To just exist in the same space as her. Her eyes glazed over at the mere thought of him abandoning her.

He picked up on her implicit request, for he tightened his arms around her and pulled her into a hug.

"It's alright, Bekah. Everything will be alright." He kissed her forehead and hummed in a soothing voice.

She believed him. He would make things better. He had to. She laughed a little at her being the one to ease his sorrows. And the opposite was under way.

At least they had each other.

Chapter Text

Kol Mikaelson, the infamous happy homicidal maniac of the Original family, quite enjoyed himself in the midst of the supernatural club he recently acquired, which was pulsating with energy and excitement.

The city of angels had welcomed him as befits his royal stature. Vampires and witches circled him, desperate for power and glory under the banner of his fledgling empire.

No one particularly liked Nik. They feared him—disproportionately so, considering Kol had the larger body count—and certain sycophants here and there worshipped him. Oblivious fools.

But his substantial list of enemies was a pleasing buffer. Honestly, if not for his half-brother's intrinsic compulsion to antagonize everyone he meets. Or to bloody spare some of his victims to lord over them his supposed superiority, Kol wouldn't have amassed such a huge following.

He spent most of the last century carted in a sealed box for heaven's sake. His contacts of the magical variety would've dried up if the Hybrid hadn't offered him fresh troops to gather.

Tonight, however, was about cutting loose and having fun. Paint Los Angeles red.

The air was thick with the sound of thumping music, laughter, and the mingling of various creatures of the night.

Nyx, this fine establishment he made his temporary residence, attracted unsuspecting mortals like moths to a flame. No one can say he didn't appeal to his undead court's preferences.

At midnight, dinner is served.

The music reached its zenith, and immortals took to what they did best. However, all was not sunshine and rainbows. Screams fluttered about the club. He wouldn't care normally. It's a sign of a job well done. Except vampires began dropping dead, one by one. Not all of them. But at least a third.

At first, Kol's reaction was one of curiosity. He arched an eyebrow, his eyes scanning the room as he tried to make sense of the sudden turn of events. His mind raced with possibilities, considering both supernatural and mundane explanations for the alarming phenomenon.

No hunters were spotted. The intoxicated and inebriated humans were too sluggish to even take on normal people. Let alone supernaturally stronger undead. And vervain would only burn, not incapacitate. A malevolent hex seemed the more reasonable explanation.

As the gravity of the situation sank in, concern and a tinge of fear crept into Kol's thoughts. He was no stranger to danger, having faced countless threats throughout his immortal life. He chased that thrill, in fact. The only thing he abhors more than a silver dagger through the heart is boredom. Endless days without entertainment are hell on earth.

But the sight of his fellow vampires falling lifeless was unsettling, even to someone as audacious as the notorious rebel.

He remembered what Finn once said when he tried to aid their mother in annihilating them all.

With his death, he will be released. And all the undead blight will follow along.

The tasty Bennet witch broke the spell that tied he and his siblings together. But if Esther desired the vampiric race's extinction, there had to have been a link between the death of the Originals and their progeny. The Mikaelson siblings weren't mere figureheads. A simple analogy of cutting the head off the snake. And the eggs will be easy pickings.

A sireline spell bound them to their life force. He had to give her credit. She was as mad as a hatter. But a bloody wicked genius.

Who exactly kicked the bucket? And is he next on the menu?

To prevent a commotion—rather one he didn't orchestrate—Kol took action. He swiftly ordered his surviving lieutenants in the crowd to collect their fallen comrades and erase the minds of those who witnessed the event. The partygoers are too high to even comprehend it, but better safe than sorry.

Time for a witch hunt then.

**

He walked into a dimly lit, opulent parlor adorned with mystical artifacts. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he surveyed the room, searching for a particular seer with great magical power, unlike anything he's ever seen.

It was that very reason he sought to court her to his side a hundred years ago. The covens of New Orleans were waging war against one another, with Kol and Nik at their respective helms.

Freya refused his every offer to overthrow the mad vampire king in favor of his younger, smarter, and hotter sibling.

By some strange longevity spell he still means to uncover, her body regained its youthful visage to the present day. 

Dressed in his signature roguish attire, he exuded an air of confidence and charm, ready to employ his persuasive abilities to his advantage.

Spotting the witch, her titular intricate beauty and air of mystique intact, Kol sauntered over to her with a suave smile playing on his lips. He leaned against a nearby table, his voice dripping with seduction as he initiated their conversation.

"Hello, darling." Kol purred, his voice laced with a hint of intrigue. "When my contacts told me of your whereabouts, I thought my ears deceived me. But it appears as if time stopped for you as it does for any other bloodsucker. Your magic, however, bleeds in waves. How do you do it?"

The blond seer, initially taken aback by Kol's directness, regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and caution.

She had tried to learn tales of the infamous Mikaelson family. Her family. Despite their notorious reputation and their insatiable thirst for power. Every supernatural worth their salt knows it's best to tread carefully when addressing an Original. They're supposedly incredibly self-absorbed and prone to brutal violence at the slightest provocation. 

Witnessing her half-brother daggering Kol in full view of the city denizens on Christmas didn't disprove that notion. Even family weren't absolved from living under that fear.

When she awoke three years before her scheduled decade under the dreadful slumber curse, she knew something went wrong.

Her gift of foresight showed her the truth of that matter. It's just her luck; Kol decided to make this his new capital.

Before the witch could respond, the parlor's windows swung open, and the candles burned brightly. The table started shaking. Someone was astral projecting. It had to have been someone with great psychic resilience. Her shop is heavily warded.

An impeccably dressed man, chronologically a few years older than Kol. And resembling him greatly, made an appearance. The newcomer's presence immediately shifted the atmosphere, his piercing gaze locking onto Kol and Freya with a mix of sternness and authority.

"Kol," Elijah stated firmly, his voice resonating with an undercurrent of warning. "You haven't been answering my calls."

Kol straightened himself, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. "Ah, Elijah, I knew someone took my hand of glory. Bekah said I just misplaced it like a stupid child," he quipped, his eyes glinting mischievously. "I ignored you because I was a little bit busy not giving a rat's ass. Whatever trouble you and Nik are in the middle of. I have bigger fish to fry."

Strangely on brand for her brother.

Elijah's expression remained stoic, but a flicker of melancholy showed in his eyes. A blink-and-you-miss-it sort of deal. Kol didn't, though.

His stuffy older brother approached them, his regal presence filling the room.

Forgive the theatrics, Miss," Elijah said, his tone measured yet commanding. "Allow me to clarify the situation, baby brother. This is not a request. You are to come to New Orleans posthaste. I have no interest in your little global domination agenda. You can pursue it later. This is a family matter. And undoubtedly urgent."

Kol raised an eyebrow, a mixture of surprise and intrigue coloring his features. Where Klaus was loudly domineering and violent, Elijah's quiet control faded into the background.

If he wasn't so pathologically obsessed with their brother's redemption, Kol suspects the world would be in the palm of Elijah's hands.

More for him, he supposes.

Freya, now more at ease, stepped forward, her gaze shifting between the Mikaelson brothers. "So it's true," she confirmed, a hint of subdued melancholy in her voice. "I had visions of the Originals fighting one another. The Hybrid turning into fiery ash and his children all sharing his fate."

She never knew him. She heard only the worst accounts of his doings. And what he submitted Finn to is surely enough to make her despise him forever. She and her twin brother were both cursed to spend most of their existence in a casket by their relatives.

But what if her father wasn't the idyllic parent she recalled?

What if her half-brother wasn't born a monster?

No.

What does it matter now?

Kol's playful facade gave way to cold calculation. His theory was right. An Original dies. So does every immortal begat from their line.

But the fight she describes. It could only mean ...

"Well, it seems I've underestimated you, dear brother," Kol admitted, a wry smile playing on his lips. "I thought we would be beholden to live under Nik's shadow in perpetuity. You are the worst of all. But you certainly proved me wrong."

The younger Mikaelson could practically feel the disgust and resentment from hundreds of miles away. It was so unoriginal—pun intended.

"If you force me to retrieve you by force, I assure you you will regret it. Goodbye, Kol."

The consequent psychic blast broke the parlor's door in half and nearly tore the fancy chandelier down. He'll have to reprimand Elijah for his discourtesy. After centuries of drilling proper etiquette into his mind, he pulls something like this.

He replaced one infuriating fratricidal brother for another.

Always and forever. What a load of shit.

**

"Did you get through to him?"

"Indeed, sister."

Elijah stepped out from his office when he heard his sister's voice from downstairs. She was overseeing the preparations for the upcoming meeting with the supernatural denizens and human coalition of the city. There was no use in letting New Orleans cannibalize itself in the aftermath of his brother's death.

Strange. The very term seemed foreign. Elijah was a man of many words. He was a master orator and liked to manipulate others into signing their own death warrants when conducting a deal. He didn't lie to them, so to speak. Just operated with a by-the-book definition of the truth. The bounds of the agreement were respected. The poor souls just had to choose their words carefully. He was the living—or rather, stubbornly undying—embodiment of Ludwig Mies Van Der Rohe's infamous phrase: the devil is in the details.

And in spite of, or more likely because of, his linguistic excellency, trying to formulate a complete sentence that includes his brother and dead—actual demise, not daggering or body jumping—seemed off.

For some reason, Rebekah has seen fit to absolve him from his heinous, despicable crime. Yes, he acted out of a motivation to protect her. But in saving her, he murdered her brother—he lost the right to name his own the moment that stake pierced his heart—and Marcel.

His sister has always loved unconditionally. But he thought he was caged by the same hopeless devotion just days ago, and now look at how things turned out. Did she think he would lay a hand on her if she condemned his actions? Has he replaced her former captor? The difference is that he's a worse abomination. Klaus never sullied his hands with the blood of his siblings, despite his darker, more frequent inclinations.

He was indirectly responsible for genocide. Thousands of vampires around the world died because of his monstrous rage. What cardinal sin did they commit, besides being sired from Niklaus' blood?

"Elijah," Rebekah began, her voice filled with a blend of confidence and vulnerability. And like a switch in the depths of his mind, his downfall spiral was dampened.

"I've been working tirelessly to set up the mansion for this important gathering. What do you think? Does it meet your expectations?"

Elijah regarded Bekah with a gentle smile, his eyes taking in the sight of the meticulously arranged great hall. Every detail reflected the prestige and power of the Original family. With a graceful stride, he approached her, his voice embodying a blend of appreciation and pride.

"Rebekah, my dear sister," Elijah replied, his tone carrying a hint of warmth. "You have truly outdone yourself. The grandeur and attention to detail are evident in every aspect of this mansion. The factions will undoubtedly be in awe of the ambiance you have created."

A sense of relief washed over Rebekah's features, her shoulders relaxing as she absorbed Elijah's words of praise.

"Thank you, brother," Rebekah expressed, her voice laced with gratitude. "I wanted to ensure that the factions recognize the power and unity of our family. This meeting is crucial for our continued dominance, and I wanted to create an atmosphere that leaves a lasting impression. We're just as strong as ever before. They must know that."

There was a gaping wound in Elijah's heart, the size of the Red Sea, but he nodded all the same, his gaze fixed on his sister with unwavering support. She offered him her own without question. The least he can do is reciprocate. "You have succeeded admirably, Rebekah. Your dedication and attention to detail always serve us well. This display will not only command respect but also reinforce the strength and unity of the Mikaelson name."

A surge of pride swelled within Rebekah's chest as she absorbed her brother's words. She had always sought to uphold the family's legacy, and Elijah's acknowledgment validated her efforts. She realized he needed a purpose to focus his attention. Stability was always his strong suit. Nik often relegated the more mundane tasks of ruling to her elder brother anyway. Conquest was his aim. What came after never appealed to him. Or to her if she's perfectly honest. It's a good thing Elijah was there to consolidate their rule.

"I know you don't feel it at the moment, but the two of us are more than enough to face any challenges that lie ahead," Rebekah said, her voice filled with determination. "The sun will shine on us again, brother."

Elijah's eyes gleamed with amusement, his voice resonating with incredulity. "Did you just quote Marvel's Loki?"

Rebekah's eyes glowed in childish glee. "I didn't know you were an MCU fan, Elijah. After this meeting, we'll have a film marathon. We have to."

"I keep up with pop culture. I'm not a barbarian, thank you very much.Your request will be taken under advisement. Though I implore you not to share this with Kol. He's a menace without further immunization." Elijah felt bizarrely happy. Maybe he was unworthy of joy. But he rarely could stop himself from experiencing that feeling in Bekah's presence. She was a beacon of light, even after centuries of living in the darkness. And he loved for it.

"No promises, brother."

He really did.

Chapter Text

Hayley felt like the butt of some freaky universal joke.

First, she came to that weird small town in Virginia looking for information on her birth parents. Surprise, surprise, the shady professor and the doppelganger bitch Katherine screwed her over and left her in the dust empty-handed and nearly got her killed. She supposes it was karma for what she did to the hybrids. Leading them like lambs to the slaughter. But in all fairness, Klaus is an impulsive dick. He killed his last batch of viable soldiers when they broke their sire bond, instead of simply draining them of vervain and re-compelling their loyalty.

He was attractive, though. If he weren't a handsome devil, and she had drunk slightly less, she wouldn't be stuck in this CW-esque soap opera with fangs.

Vampires are dead. That's the one common rule every supernatural knows. They can't procreate. But the cosmos decided on a whim to spare Klaus' swimmers one night. The same night she made some very questionable decisions.

The witches subsequently kidnapped her. Half of them think her baby is Lucifer, prophesied to end the world. The other half thinks it's magical Jesus come to liberate them from Marcel's tyranny. She doesn't even know she wants "it.". Multiple sets of crappy foster parents permanently turned her against motherhood. She's nineteen. She's barely an adult. What's the point of bringing a child into this world if she's just going to fuck them up?

And Klaus is the last person on earth to co-parent with. The guy is more of a drama queen than the high school girls she hated with passion. I mean, he told her to abort the baby one second. Then tried to wring her neck for the attempt two minutes later.

 The only reason she's still alive is because of Rebekah and Elijah.

 Right, that's where the secondhand embarrassment starts. Her baby daddy's brother is a walking cliché. He's chivalrous, soft-spoken, and kind. Actually pays attention to her and her needs. She isn't a walking incubator when he's around. He's never tried to make her feel insecure or foolish despite the fact that he's an ancient, invincible immortal.

 She supposes all the others are too. But Elijah's the only one who feels like he's lived a thousand years. Also, his jawline can cut through glass. And maybe she's crazy, but he licks his lips in her presence more than normal. He's, in a word, perfect. The prince charming you would tell your friends about marrying one day.

 And God, how it makes her wish to slink into a ditch and die. Because nothing can ever happen between them, even if Klaus wasn't such a control freak. As her biological family did leave her one thing. And it's a pack. Previously royalty amongst the wolf kind, now just recently freed from a two-decade-long curse and extremely prejudiced against vampires. Her pregnancy was barely tolerated under threat of expulsion by Jackson. That's her werewolf betrothed, by the way. She was a literal toddler when the Labonairs, in all their infinite wisdom, chose her future husband. What century were they living in?

 But moving on. The stupid love triangle graduated into a square when she had the brilliant idea of waking the last Original brother. It's not her fault Klaus left his coffin and daggers just lying about unprotected. Elijah was gone. She thought he bailed on her at the time, unaware his half-brother daggered him and left him a prisoner of Marcel and his witch Davina. But curiosity got the better of her, and she undaggered the youngest Mikaelson.

 Shameless flirt, that one. And it felt good to play along, as Klaus getting angry was always a plus. Though things never went any further than that. And Rebekah told her he left town out of the blue one night. He pulls a disappearing act often, she said.

 Hayley kind of face-planted when she realized she had all this boy trouble. It was a nightmare.

 If only she knew how this saga had more chapters in store.

**

 The crescent werewolf was initially ecstatic. Elijah had appeared in the bayou looking for her. The pack was nice. But they expected her to acclimate too quickly to their lifestyle. She's not a snob by any chance. But the few months of staying with the Mikaelsons does make one comfortable with certain luxuries.

The noble Original couldn't look more out of place if he tried. Three-piece suit. Italian shoes. Oh, and the distinct scent of rotting flesh. All vampires smell like that to their supernatural mortal enemies. But in the Original's case, you can switch out disgust and bile with sheer terror and intimidation.

 "Hayley, how are you?" Even his voice sent shivers down her spine. And she was going to blame her pregnancy hormones for it.

 "I feel like a dying whale. Pretty sure I look it too." She wasn't normally self-conscious, but the Mikaelsons were all eligible to pose as supermodels. It felt surreal to be in their presence.

 Elijah raised an eyebrow as if questioning his superior hearing. "Nonsense. You're glowing."

She snorted at that. "Fat chance of that. But thanks anyway."

 "Would you like to accompany me back to the compound? There's something I'd like to discuss."

 Jack materialized from thin air. The pack also stopped all activity and focused all their attention on her and the suited vampire. Wonderful.

 "You can talk right here, Mikaelson. And better make it quick." Oliver, the crescent Beta, wasn't being very subtle. This is exactly what the doctor prescribed. A healthy dose of toxic masculinity to start her day.

 "I don't believe I addressed you, Mr. ...; remind me of your name. Wait, I don't particularly care. Why don't you escort yourself elsewhere? And might I recommend you do it quickly?

 Wow. Elijah wouldn't even spare the guy his attention under normal circumstances. Let alone stoop to his level. What is going on?

 "Are you threatening my pack member Elijah?" Jackson couldn't help but interfere in this macho pissing contest. Way to go, genius.

 Before things escalated to dumber territory, she placed herself between the two and told Elijah she'll follow him shortly.

 He didn't protest thankfully, and Jack mellowed when he felt him get into the car away from his lands.

 "Can you not turn into an angsty teenager when I talk to one of my child's family members?"

 "It's not like that. I'm only looking out for you.

The Originals don't care about our kind. The sister told you point-blank Klaus will kill the moment you give birth. It's best we have precautions."

 "We've been over this. Elijah won't let anything happen to me. He has no problems with the crescent pack. Stop giving him any ideas." Did she need to spell it out for him? Don't antagonize the only immortal who won't kill you on sight.

 "Alright, I'm sorry. Just don't let your guard down, Hayley. That family. They made Marcel into what he is. Nothing good can come from them." The wolf Alpha seemed apologetic until he realized what his words could be interpreted as.

 "Wait, I didn't ..."

 "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Jack. Goodbye."

 She left the bayou upset and frustrated. It's not like he was lying. How does one get raised by centuries-old, sociopathic mass murderers and not turn out like them?

 She wasn't an angel. She's killed before. All the werewolves have. But when you live as long as the Originals, you lose a bit of empathy. Humans die like flies from your perspective. So why would it matter if you accelerated the timeline by a few years? Nothing.

 She doesn't want that for her baby. But maybe she won't have a choice.

 Elijah opened the door for her like the gentleman he is. She barely walked for five minutes, and already her legs hurt like hell. She feels a hundred months pregnant, not just eight.

 "What did you want to talk about?" Hayley put on some Metallica when Elijah started driving his Bentley. He tried not to wince as the hard rock music intensified. She liked how uncomfortable he was because she knew he wouldn't change it if it pleased her.

 "It's better we reach the abattoir first. I am afraid it's a delicate matter."

 "Well, I'm the furthest thing away from delicate, so go ahead. The suspense is killing me." She noticed Elijah tightening his grasp over the steering wheel.

 This is actually serious.

 "Niklaus is dead. I killed him." It was a cold delivery. Like one would report something on the news. The Original didn't move his eyes from the road.

 Hayley's first reaction was bewilderment.

Klaus killed his siblings every other Tuesday. Why did Elijah act like it was world ending?

 "So, you daggered him. What's the big deal?"

 The ancient vampire looked surprised in her direction.

"No, that's not ... He's permanently dead. I used the indestructible white oak stake. He meant to wield it against Rebekah. Or perhaps he didn't and was in actuality merely bluffing. I acted out of fear. I didn't ..."

 The ever-composed Original resembled a wandering drifter. She instantly pictured Bambi when his soulful brown eyes met her own. That is why she didn't interrupt him with what she actually thought.

 What the fuck was this white oak stake?

 Rebekah had told her that the Mikaelsons were true immortals. Nothing living or dead can harm them. But now Elijah had destroyed that statement's veracity.

 The Marshall thinks she's still in shock. Klaus can't be dead. Kol described him as a supernatural cockroach. He'll still be alive when the sun swallows the planet.

 She knows this has so many consequences. Both for her and for her child. She—and Hayley really hopes it's a girl, because a mini Klaus is a horrifying prospect—will grow up without her biological father.

 Any of the Original Hybrid's enemies will come after them seeking vengeance upon the offspring of the man that ruined their lives. New Orleans will once again turn into a war zone.

 God. The universe can't just give her a break.

Chapter Text

Josephine LaRue was born in the garden district in New Orleans, Louisiana, in 1935. Her parents were wealthy and extravagant philanthropists. They spoiled her rotten in her youth. But on her sixth birthday, they introduced her to the family's dark skeletons.

She was raised in a supernatural melting pot of rival factions and deadly political intrigue.

The city had no longer been the de facto vampire capital, considering the Originals had been chased away decades earlier. Still, the presence of the bloodsucking leeches only grew with every passing moment the witch covens spent fighting one another and not asserting their influence on the meager clan of the miraculous survivor Marcel Gerard.

As a young woman, Josephine's dreams were firmly established in the mortal world. To become a spectacular, internationally acclaimed violinist, the heiress to Thelma Given's legacy. To run away with her completely normal beloved from the shackles of power grabs and wanton violence that consumed her every waking hour.

But her mother ... disapproved.

She hexed her hands to make them swollen and arthritic, costing her life's purpose. She murdered her Louis in front of her eyes. Incineration. Her mother had quite the twisted sense of humor.

When the old crone died, she danced on her tombstone. But she knew her destiny was forever altered.

Magic was the calling of their lineage. A sacred task passed from matriarch to daughter since the 16th century. She may excel in the craft in the shadows or be a rejected pariah both in the daylight and behind closed doors.

She accepted the latter. But her ambitions only transformed in nature, not in horizon. The nine Sagittarius covens would be a single body in her lifetime. Endless squabbling and backstabbing will vanish. And the magical sect will rise to their truest potential.

It was perhaps this burning desire for true power in the abyssal void of her heart, bereft of love or even companionship, that had her sanction the harvest.

Every hundred years or so, the Ancestral Plane begins to lose its tether to the real world. And with it, the most vital element to their mystical practices is slowly but surely depleted. To remedy this, a sacrifice is necessary. Nine girls, one from every coven, are chosen to act as a symbolic offering and an intermediary to the realm of the dead.

If their sacrifice is approved, the young witches are revived, more powerful and knowledgeable than ever, having been taught by those that came before. And the link to Well is re-energized.

The key word is if. The offering can be rejected. The death made permanent. The spirits are after all fickle beings. One would have to be after getting detached from all human limitations.

Sophie Devereaux was no believer. A self-declared rebel who left the French Quarter as soon as she could and loudly spoke against her policies.

The Regent of New Orleans didn't shun her from the community for that infraction. Some conservative fanatics would have. But the LaRue witch prided herself on being a different type of leader. More open-minded and accepting. Her fire had been dimmed by her elders long ago. Should she become the same zealot extremist she derided all her life?

Yes.

Because Sophie was entangled with the prodigal son of the Original family. She sold their secrets to that silver-tongued demon.

Her sister witches were slaughtered after his hounds of carnage interfered in the ritual.

And magic was banned. How ludicrous. The essence of their being. The fabric of their universe being taken from them.

Vampires were monsters camouflaging in human skin. Mother Nature herself rejects them. They devour everything they come in contact with like gluttonous reapers. Their continued flippant behavior about the severity of their transgressions is what hardens her conviction to eradicate them.

So it isn't a coincidence that the very worst of them has come to haunt her.

***

Josephine's eyes narrowed as she caught sight of Elijah Mikaelson sitting comfortably in her armchair by the fireplace. One of her prized Peter Bocage albums is playing in the gramophone.

She had woken up at 2 o'clock in the morning, hearing the jazz music blasting downstairs. An intruder had barged into her apartment.

She didn't fear them at all. No human can harm her. And her barriers are strong enough to give a supernatural assailant a psychic lobotomy. That's on the astronomically low chance that an undead devil gets welcomed in.

But the balance of power had shifted. And the self-satisfied predator knew it as well as she did.

"Miss LaRue. Forgive the intrusion. I hope I didn't startle you."

She walked confidently to her living room, facing her uninvited guest. She may not be as ancient as he is. But she's had enough years under her belt to learn a few tricks. And this is, first and foremost, her territory.

"Elijah Mikaelson, I would have to ask you to leave. This is hardly an appropriate hour."

Elijah, his expression calm and composed, met her gaze. He spoke with remarkable ease, as if they were old friends simply catching up.

"Josephine. It's a delight to finally make your acquaintance. It was rude of me not to visit sooner. I've heard about your long self-exile to this quaint little house. Beautiful, by the way. Cozy." The vampire looks around, examining in appreciation her dwelling, ignoring entirely her earlier request. "As much as I'd hate to impose, I am here on urgent business. I wanted to discuss the matter of your refusal of my invitation."

Josephine crossed her arms, a defiant glint in her eyes. Her dignity is more important to her than her life. Whatever remains of it anyway. This fashionably dressed gentleman is the monster to end all monsters. A merciless butcher who ended thousands of witches without a care.

"Your invitation? Don't insult my intelligence, Mr. Mikaelson. You mean to collar my kind once more under the guise of bedazzled promises and embellished threats.

The vampire reign is over. Those days are behind us. I will gently remind you to vacate my premises one last time."

Elijah's tone turned serious, his words measured.

"Josephine, I understand your reservations. But consider the dangers of having me as an enemy. The Mikaelson family, for all our flaws, has always been a formidable force. Our resources and connections are nothing to scoff at. Why cage yourself as the regent of only one city when I can offer you leadership of the magical community of the entire country?"

Josephine was tempted to spit at his offer of power and glory, all gained with rivers of innocent blood and historical cruelty. To think he can shackle her so easily.

She restrained herself from such petty behavior but didn't let any hint of subservience leak through her facade.

"I am aware of the Mikaelsons' power and reputation, but I have chosen a different path. The witches, the werewolves, and even the humans have suffered enough at the hands of vampires. I won't be swayed by your empty bargains."

Elijah finally stood up—how he made such a simple endeavor seem as if he rose from his rightful throne, she isn't certain—his voice soft but commanding.

"Josephine, I implore you to reconsider. It's not too taxing for me to find a more amenable replacement, but I foresee substantial collateral damage and loss of life as the covens fight for dominance. It is in our collective best interest to stand united and play the roles we've been given."

Josephine's expression hardened, her voice unwavering, "You may spare yourself the conflict in that case, Elijah. Leave New Orleans. Your presence isn't needed nor even wanted. Your family is a plague that's infected the planet for a millennium. But I'm fortunate to have lived enough to learn that the Mikaelsons aren't immune to the spread of one another's sickness. Soon enough, you will carve out your own grave. And the vampiric curse will die with you."

Elijah sighed, a hint of disappointment in his eyes. His cold black eyes almost made her shiver with awe and disgust.

"Very well, Miss LaRue. If you're staunchly set in your path, I won't force your hand. But remember, I came as a herald for peace, and you denied me. The next time we meet, it might be on a less fortuitous occasion. Have a wonderful evening."

With those final words, the Original turned and disappeared into the night, leaving Josephine to ponder his warning. The encounter had left her with a lingering sense of unease, aware that her choice might have consequences she had yet to fully comprehend.

The witches, the wolves, and the humans rarely worked together. But common enemies make for strange bedfellows. Perhaps together they can climb from under the heel of the vampires. They don't need an immortal cult of false gods to protect them. Certainly not from the very abhorrent errant creations they let roam the world unmolested.

Spirits, don't lead us astray.

**

Tristan de Martel was seated in his opulent penthouse in the vibrant city of romance and secrets, playing Claude Debussy's timeless masterpiece, Claire de Lune, on his piano.

The room was adorned with lavish furnishings, reflecting his wealthy and influential status as the vampire prince of Paris.

Next to him lay a delicate crystal glass filled with crimson liquid, his source of sustenance—blood. As he took a sip, the metallic taste danced on his tongue, a reminder of his immortal existence.

His thoughts swirled with treacherous plans and the desire to alter the course of his eternal life. Tristan's gaze shifted to the city lights twinkling below, but his mind was consumed by thoughts of his maker, the Original vampire, Elijah Mikaelson.

Tristan's resentment towards Elijah ran deep, fueled by centuries of rivalry and animosity.

The allegedly noble man sired him not out of a desire for companionship or obsession disguised as love but merely to wield him like a tool. A disposable pawn to use and abuse. Then toss away like the scum of the earth.

For a hundred years, he wore the name of his jailor like his own. Ran like craven prey from his supposed father across the old continent. And where was his creator, you may ask? Enjoying the gift of anonymity in the quiet Italian countryside with the rest of his demonic brood.

When the compulsion broke, it was his greatest salvation and his most nightmarish damnation all at once.

His mind, body, and soul felt broken and aimless. He recovered. In time. For that is the only thing commendable about longevity. There are always more chapters to be written.

But perhaps returning to normalcy was an imaginary childish hope. Undeath and identity loss had remade him into something darker. Better. Far more resilient.

He can fool himself into believing Aurora was the one who needed his care and guardianship—her emotional mood swings and depressive episodes were visible to the naked eye—but she wasn't the one who blacked out when the hunt called to her every primal instinct.

He had yearned to end Elijah's life. To rid himself of another cruel negligent parent like he should've disposed of their father as mortals. Exorcise his originator's stain on his fragile psyche.

And beyond his unresolved "daddy issues," the constant threat of the Originals deciding to tie up loose ends never left him. If a single one of the Mikaelsons harmed a hair on his sweet sister's head, the Destroyer's wrath will appear as child's play to the carnage he'll unleash.

Conceding that in eliminating their progenitors, he also rose to the zenith of the supernatural matrix, then he's killing a murder of crows with one stone.

But a stratagem of this magnitude posed a significant challenge. Chiefly, the fact that his chosen targets were, for all intended purposes, truly invincible.

The recent demise of Klaus Mikaelson, the Original Hybrid, had quashed that proclamation of superiority. What was supposed to have been a moment of elation turned to a horrific discovery.  One more string for the first immortals to hang them off by the ankles.

**

"You're certain of this? Every one of them perished?"

"Indeed. Elijah's warning was broadcasted to all our brethren. If a delay had happened, the vampire species might have been discovered."

Tristan listened intently as his loyal general, Aya Al-Rashid, delivered the troubling report. The news of vampires spontaneously dying worldwide sent a chill down the de Martel's spine. After centuries of living at the higher echelons of the pyramid, this was a most unwelcome reality check of where the true power lies.

Thankfully, all evidence of supernatural activity was obliterated in time. The Strix, an ancient and powerful society of vampires from Elijah's sireline and the closest thing the underworld had to a governing body, was working diligently to maintain the secrecy of the supernatural world. Tristan himself had perfected the art of manipulating human organizations for his personal ends. Mortals were instruments and nourishment. Nothing more. Nothing less.

"Elijah is at his most vulnerable when he acts out of emotions. Killing his brother will break him. And we must capitulate on this occasion. The time for whispers and plots is over. Action is required. It is our duty, Aya, to ensure that his reign is brought to a swift and decisive end."

Vampires' lives were intrinsically linked to their makers. Should the maker perish, so too would their progeny.

This disastrous revelation had far-reaching implications for the Trinity's plans. He doesn't mourn Lucien's passing as much as he would a close friend's. They were mutually linked by their simmering fury for Klaus and Elijah and varying affection for Rory. But he was also too opportunistic and self-serving for Tristan's liking.

The truth remains: he couldn't risk inadvertently causing his own demise by eliminating Elijah. The stakes were higher than ever, and careful strategizing was imperative.

With his glass of blood in hand, Tristan pondered over his options. Imprisoning his sire seemed like a viable alternative. By stripping him of his freedom, Tristan could neutralize the threat while preserving his own existence.

The very thought of Elijah languishing in captivity brought a sinister smile to Tristan's lips. It wasn't nearly a proportionate response to the century-long bout of mental enslavement he and his sibling faced. But it would calm him somewhat. Bring him a measure of clarity.

Aya wanted to extract her pound of flesh from the former lover who abandoned her and their fledgling clan to the hands of his cannibalistic father. She didn't dare attack her sire when he returned in the 1400s and expected everything to be as it once was. She was too clever for that. But she did lie in wait in the shadows, corrupting the new empire the Mikaelson tried to recreate from the ashes.

Tristan knew that imprisoning an Original vampire would not be an easy task. Elijah possessed immense power, cunning, and the most dangerous of all, persuasion.

His sire's modus operandi was cutthroat execution of any major resistance. But when balancing the responsibilities of rulership and his narcissistic, savage, traitorous siblings, weak points slip through the cracks.

And in the five hundred years since he last crossed paths with Elijah, Tristan and Aya's allies have only grown and taken the reins of major vampire princedoms.

As he gazed out over the city, the twinkling lights mirrored the gleam in the French noble's eyes. The pendulum of power was swinging, and Tristan was prepared to seize control, no matter the cost.

With a wave of his hand, Tristan dismissed any doubts or fears that might have lingered. "We won't rest," he declared, his voice tinged with a mixture of certainty and defiance, "until Elijah Mikaelson is toppled from his lofty throne." The words carried the weight of an oath, binding Tristan and his devoted followers to a path of relentless pursuit.

Aya, ever loyal and resolute, nodded in agreement. "We shall dedicate ourselves to this cause, Tristan," she pledged, her unwavering loyalty evident in her voice. "The Strix shall rise, and our cowardly founder will fall."

Chapter Text

The somber atmosphere within the dimly lit St. Anne's church weighs heavily on the hearts of those gathered. Keeping true to its rumors of being cursed and stained with demonic touch, the sanctity of the cathedral was made null and void by the fact it housed the worst monster to ever roam the earth. 

 Elijah stared unflinchingly at the crucifix. No seraphic angel had come down from the heavens to smite him for his many, many sins. If there was a benevolent, all-powerful Creator, why did He let his kind commit atrocities for centuries? To sentence them to the fiery pits of desolation after they meet their true death? Is that where he and Niklaus are fated to spend eternity? Together, for they have been together since his brother opened his bright blue eyes. 

Surely there is more than the Other Side, the Ancestral Well, and every purgatory witch realm in between. Perhaps not the biblical hellscape necessarily, but a close enough equivalent. Otherwise, what's the reason for treading a virtuous path? Or is that a false question in and of itself? Good deeds should be done in the earthly plane, because there is nothing following it.

 The Originals only ever answered to each other. Niklaus committed both matricide and patricide fairly easily. Did their family inherit some predisposed predilection for kinslaying? 

 The ancient immortal was trapped between both worlds as a child. Mikael was a proud pagan, just like his father and grandfather before him. He carved the emblem of the Norse deities into their weapons. Prayed for strength from Thor and a good harvest from Frigg.

 Esther was a Christian convert. Perhaps the irony of a witch, rumored to be the most dangerous servant of the Devil, actually believing in God was lost on her. His parents somehow made peace with their opposing faiths, considering he and Rebekah's decidedly not Viking names.

 All it took to reach the gates of Valhalla was to die well, with a weapon in hand and acts of bravery on the battlefield. Morality was inconsequential beyond that basic premise. He doesn't think even his most avid enemies can truly call him spineless or pathetic in the face of danger.

But surely they all wish for him to meet his just deserts one day. If inferno was off the table, then what could prove a fitting punishment for a millennium of savage, unapologetic dominance? 

 Rebekah squeezed his hand, and he shut off his screaming thoughts of condemnation. Hayley and Cami stand to his left, their expressions a mix of grief and confusion, whilst Kieran O'Connell stands next to the coffins of Niklaus and Marcellus. There was surely a symbolic symmetry in that. Father and son laid to rest side by side, though their faces looked away from one another. It reminded him of the statue of the Roman god Janus, gazing at the future and the past. 

 Did the holy man consider holding a service here sacrilegious? 

 It was an intimate gathering. Too intimate. The sanctuary was declared off-limits for the private occasion. He wonders who would appear to pay their respects. The Mikaelsons inspired both fear and awe, largely due to their reputation of invincibility. No longer. Crows would swarm to feast on their husks soon enough. 

 The absence of Kol fuels the tension that lingers in the air. 

 Rebekah, adorned in beautiful black attire, clutches a piece of paper tightly in her hand. Her veil cannot hide the truth of her impending tears. He can feel her nails drawing blood from where she clutched his hand too tightly. She could break it and he would thank her. He feels very little as of late. 

 He cannot hide from the rivers of blood or the ash and smoke, even in his dreams. Correction: his nightmares.

As a vampire, sleep is more of a luxury than anything, much like human delicacies. He'll sample the finest cuisine in the world, simply because he can.

Astonishingly braggadocious, he knows. But dishonesty is a more severe infraction.

Likewise, sleep is used to alleviate the stress of the day. Let go of the constant burden of existing as a glorified immortal janitor. Cleaning the trail of massacres across the continents. Disappointed in his family's actions. Ones he rarely participated in but neither did uphold his threats of deserting them should they persist.

Deluding himself into thinking that made him any better.

 Unconsciousness was the original intention. Now, he's desperate for the barest of distractions, or he'll plunge directly into the welcoming abyss of madness. 

 He always wondered if his brother's sanity was lost after fifty years, four months, and nine days of being cursed into committing ritualistic suicide. Elijah and Rebekah never left his side, even after numerous unintentional assassination attempts. But there was only so much they could do to protect him from his own brain chemistry going haywire. 

 Will he grow to romanticize his own murder in the years to come? 

 What a wonderfully morose thought. Appropriate. 

 His angelic sibling takes a deep breath—unnecessary, for she doesn't need oxygen no more than healthy exercising—composing herself before stepping forward to deliver the eulogy. Her soft voice is trembling. 

 "Nik was an enigma, a force of nature. He was our brother, flawed and contradictory. His complexities defied simple categorization, but his love for family, while misguided in action, was unwavering in sentiment." 

 Celeste flashes into his mind. Taking her life in the cemetery before he arrived to face Niklaus. Finding her drowned by zealots on his brother's order centuries earlier.

 You care about her. Well, that is unfortunate. I heard they're rounding up the town witches as we speak. 

 Elijah's gaze drifts towards the entrance of the church, his eyes searching for any sign of Kol. Frustration simmers beneath his composed exterior, his anger at his brother's absence growing with each passing moment.

He warned him he'd resort to some unsavory methods to bring him to the city, and Kol took no heed of his ultimatum. 

 Hayley, standing between Elijah and Rebekah, senses the tension in the air. Her confusion deepens as she attempts to navigate the complex dynamics at play. She whispered into his ear, "I don't understand. I get Kol and Klaus were on bad terms, but why would he miss his own brother's funeral?" 

 Rebekah, unaware of the brewing storm or willingly ignorant, continues with her eulogy, her voice wavering with emotion.

"Nik was a tortured soul, burdened by his past and haunted by his demons. He raised a fine man, who was so full of life and love that vampirism couldn't rob him of that. Marcel was too free a spirit for this crappy old world, so he's gone someplace better. Klaus just had to tag along. To micromanage every second of their celestial journey together. We won't ever forget them."  

I will make it my cause that you never know a moment of happiness. 

Liar. 

 The Original sister gently kisses the foreheads of the deceased and gently promises, "Always and forever. We had a good run." 

 As Rebekah finishes her speech, the church doors swing open, and Kol saunters in, a mischievous grin plastered across his face. His celebratory mood clashes sharply with the subdued atmosphere, drawing the attention of the gathered mourners. 

 The youngest Mikaelson immediately turns angry. She shouts, summoning the fabled Furies to seize and accost her brother, then drag him to the depths of Tartarus.

"Where have you been, Kol? How can you show such disrespect to Nik's memory?" 

 The latter is laughing, completely unbothered.

"Oh, Bekah, darling, lighten up! No need to be so glum. We should be celebrating Klaus' demise, not wallowing in fake grief." 

 Rebekah's eyes widen in disbelief, her anger threatening to consume her.

"How dare you!" 

 The up-to-this-moment silent Camille finally speaks out, "Klaus was your brother, Kol! Do you not really care that he's gone forever?" 

 Kol was baffled; his brother's former spy/therapist was telling him how he should react to Klaus finally biting the dust. Literally. 

 When did Nik get so bloody soft? Caring about his pretty human girls and playing responsible daddy. He doesn't disapprove of his choices for bedmates. Not at all. But there are certain distinctions between drained one-night stands and recurring troubles. 

 Kol is about to reintroduce himself to the neighborhood.

"Listen here, love, I am quite famished. So why don't you... " 

 "Stay away from my niece, you godforsaken devil." The brave priest foolishly tried to attack an Original vampire and nearly lost his life for it. 

 Elijah sped him to the attic, which was just spelled to prevent him from leaving. An arrangement to protect others from Kieran's slow descent into hex-induced sprees. 

 The Mikaelson patriarch's composure shattered; he steps forward, rejoining the fray. He talks through gritted teeth, his voice laced with barely concealed fury.

"This is not the time or place for your insolence, Kol. Show some respect for the dead and for those who are grieving." 

 Kol's laughter fades, replaced by a momentary flicker of remorse. A minute later, his defiance is restored, more obvious and assured than ever.

"Respect, eh, brother? If Nik had spent a second of his wasteful existence doing anything worthy of respect, we wouldn't be here right now." Kol got closer, taunting his elder "You know this to be true. Why else did you slay your precious Niklaus? He brought this upon himself, and frankly, it's about time he faced the consequences of his actions. By your hand or mine, it's one and the same." 

 Do it. I dare you. You'll have Kol to deal with. 

 "And Marcel? You would speak of him so harshly?" 

 Elijah compartmentalized his own issues with his brother's ward. He mourned him once. But then he found him alive and well. Trying to use a child to kill him, no less. He holds no ill will towards the dead. He isn't guilty because he wasn't betrayed. He's just a hollow corpse. 

 Never cared for the whelp, Kol thought darkly. But he was going for semi-diplomatic responses, so he went against his gut.

"Collateral damage to exorcize Mikael's successor from our lives. To think mother's bastard was the only one to truly resemble our father in every aspect." 

 He's not my father, is he? 

 Kol had even more reason to set the world on fire than his half-brother. There wasn't a fancy ritual to regain his magic like there was one for Klaus' lycanthropy. And as the leading authority in the arcane and the black arts, you'll have to take him at his word. 

 His mystical essence was a part of him since he was four years old. He was connected to the earth in ways his siblings could only imagine. 

 Then, he turned into a creature of the night. A bloodthirsty monster rejected by Nature, his sixth sense taken away without cause. But no, let's focus on Klaus' misfortune. It's not like he was a werewolf for more than five minutes, while Kol was a witch his entire life. The hybrid goes on killing sprees because he longs for his true self. It's understandable. There's still a sliver of hope for his redemption. 

 His younger brother does it for attention and boredom. He needs to be put down for the benefit of the family, lest the Destroyer reach them.

Hypocrisy never looked so good. 

 The always and forever club thinks he'll mourn him. Not a chance in hell. 

 Hayley, the accidental newest member of the Mikaelson brood, is torn between taking Kol's side and opposing Elijah and Bekah's but steps forward to mediate. 

 "Enough! I barely knew Klaus compared to all of you, but he loved his family in his own twisted way. Grieving him, if at all, will be its own sort of screwed up. " 

 The room falls silent, the weight of Hayley's words hanging in the air. Rebekah's anger subsides, replaced by a mix of sorrow and resignation. Elijah and Kol lock eyes, a silent, entirely unwanted but nonetheless existent understanding passing between them. 

 Three Mikaelsons once again circle one of their fallen kin. This time no solemn oath is uttered. Merely internalized affection and loathing, harbored in equal measure but never shared with another soul. 

Just entering the city limits, the last of the old horrors finally joins the fray.

 And the cycle carries on. The legendary snake setting their course.

Chapter Text

The grand ballroom is adorned with lavish decorations, filled with supernatural beings of all kinds. The air crackles with excitement and an underlying tension.

Elijah, elegant and vigilant, scans the room, his eyes taking note of the various attendants. Rebekah was less than pleased when she learned of Josephine LaRue's refusal, but her true fury only resurfaced when he informed her of his plan to invite the acting French Quarter elder Genevieve Monroe to the soiree. He was quite clear about his intention to eliminate the witch in due time, but as long as she's still of use, he'll allow her to slither about the mortal realm.

How his dear sister interpreted his careful strategy is known only to herself. He hopes she doesn't attempt anything too impulsive to quell her personal vendetta, but he won't command her. She's free to make her own decisions.

After the failed Harvest and Elijah's own execution of Agnes Lacroix four months ago, the magical leadership of New Orleans is the lowest it's been in nearly three hundred years.

The earlier occasion naturally occurred when the Originals first settled in 1722 and turned the allied werewolf pack Alpha Solomon Navarro and the witch Regent Sophia Dalliencourt against one another. The fact that the wolves accelerated their own downfall by abducting Sophia's daughter Vivianne, whom Niklaus claimed as his, was besides the point.

And like then, Elijah recognized the unique position he can leverage to firmly establish their foothold in the city. It can no longer be called a vampire princedom—or, in Marcellus' illusionary ambition, an independent kingdom—as there's an undeniable absence of the undead element.

Taking his brother's life didn't result in some karmic sacrifice of his ability to make new ones. If anything, his progeny would be stronger than any of his former pupil's creations. The magic of vampirism is pure, so the transitioning immortal is more powerful by default. Age refines skill and focus. But who amongst the sad menagerie of beastly bloodsuckers showed the slightest inclination towards control?

Elijah still didn't want to share his dark gift—or curse, according to others—with anyone else. His relationship with most of his sired has undergone a steady decline for years.

He craved no companionship nor romantic entanglement to cloud his judgment for the last 70 years. The original was consumed with one all-encompassing task. Revenge. To plunge his fist through Klaus' cold, merciless heart and desecrate his grave for throwing their siblings' bodies into the sea.

He was an invincible predator. A fairy tale demon described in great detail in children's stories. But neither might nor magic can raise three coffins from the bottom of the ocean.

How cruel was his brother to set him on an aimless warpath without a care? To turn his oath and make a mockery of his undying loyalty. A travesty of cosmic proportion.

How vile was Elijah for believing the lie to begin with? So quickly unleashing the evil, vicious hunter dwelling in the darkness. Mikael would be proud. In under a century he brought more fear, disgust, and paranoia to Niklaus than his father elicited in over a millennium.

Then came the grand finale. On the hour of his greatest triumph, the moment his half-brother meticulously planned and obsessively engineered—the breaking of the infamous Curse of the Sun and the Moon—Elijah tried to end him. He could've done it. He wanted to.

It had the makings of a Shakespearean tragedy. One of the Mikaelsons' recurring themes. A flair for the dramatics. Repetitive treachery. Bottomless greed. White-hot rage enough to burn a city to the ground.

Elena was willing to sacrifice her life if he swore to her he would fulfill his promise. She begged him to save her friends.

He lied.

It was the first time he ever reneged on a deal. Yet, Clotho and the Fates weren't satisfied; Elijah was, to his own detriment, a man of his word.

Death would claim his half-brother. And the vampire would stand over his broken body, the zealous right hand of God, like the Old Testament alluded. Azrael in the flesh comes to deliver divine retribution.

How fitting that in both instances he acted in Rebekah's name.

He used the cloak of righteousness to camouflage his deeds. His entire family was dead and lost to him, presumably for all time. But it was Rebekah whose return he truly desired.

Elijah can survive without Kol and Finn. He barely spent any time with the latter after they turned. And the former could go off on decade-long benders or witch hunts at his whim. He was his sister's eternal shadow, however. He would name her his own, but to reduce her to such is unflattering and, dare he say, blasphemous. Bekah is the radiant sun that gives his life purpose and restores his happiness. A paradox for a creature of the night, but a symbiotic one.

If he was willing to kill his brother to quench his own appetite for retaliation. To lessen the psychic scar birthed by her absence. Then, the events at the cemetery aren't baffling and contradictory, just expected.

Perhaps that's the true irony in all of this. Elijah knew this path was leading to a cliff. If the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and hoping for a different result, then he'll go down in the annals of history as the maddest of men. A master of repressing and suppressing any blemishes that affect his outward appearance and his proper recollection of past events.

Rebekah sounded gleeful when she heard of the French Quarter coven plotting against Niklaus. She warned him to stay away from their path and let him dig his own grave, as it were. He refused. And thus, she completed her prophecy.

"You look like you could do with a drink. And here I thought the host had certain privileges."

Elijah turned around to watch the approaching warlock. A dark-skinned man with piercing eyes and a usually no-nonsense face. The vintage champagne and intensifying jazz music apparently relaxed him.

"Vincent. I'm very pleased you took the time to attend this little get-together."

The elder of the Tremé coven shook his hands without any noticeable signs of discomfort, "You thought I'd skip the one chance I got to see the vampire king groveling for our help. You're getting senile in your old age, Elijah."

The noble stag squinted his eyes at the easy manner of his guest. Vincent Griffith was an old acquaintance. Friend would be generous.

He is a powerful warlock, second only to Josephine, and that's due to the witch Regent having direct access to the ancestors of New Orleans.

Elijah was aware of his strong aversion to vampires. He weaponized it for his gain when he devised the plot to lure Niklaus to Mystic Falls, using the doppelganger as bait. Vincent's lieutenant Noah Martin had lost his daughter to his brother's clutches. So the elder entered an unlikely alliance with the Original.

Obviously, that whole situation turned very sour. Both Noah and his children, the bright, idealistic Luka and Greta, not a defenseless victim but an active accomplice of Niklaus, were killed in his endeavor. And the true object of his quest was postponed—not derailed in retrospect—until the previous week.

He knows it's beneficial Vincent is so quick to align himself with the new powers that be, but his doubts are present.

He'll worry later. Kol told him he's developing wrinkles, somehow against the pre-existing rules for vampiric physiology.

"Well, groveling isn't quite the term I was leaning towards. But I would never decline an invitation to a drink. Shall we?"

**

Rebekah, dressed in a flowing silver ball gown, gracefully moved over the dance floor, all the while observing the interactions of the party's guests.

She catches Elijah leaving with a warlock and discreetly skits away, heading towards her own intended witch. Her dancing partner tries to interject, and her eyes darken with angry spider webs. Rebekah reconsiders, her lips curving into a sly smile. She drags him along, leaving the crowd as she spots an empty room.

He seems very excited. She barely lets go of his hand before he attacks her with his mouth, trying to exert his control or impress her with his snogging. She's almost amused. Rebekah allows him two more kisses before she pushes him to the wall. He looks breathless.

Ethan or Eric, or whatever his name is, doesn't even scream when her supernatural fangs embed themselves into his jugular, tasting warm gushing blood. It's a euphoric experience for both parties. The vampire receives nourishment; more than that, the red river of life is how she imagines the ambrosia of the gods tastes like. And for the donor, well, a psychedelic high is an oversimplification.

"Elijah said no killing tonight. Didn't he, Bex?"

She tears herself from absolute bliss to listen to the annoying voice of her brother. Kol looks debonair and roguishly charming in his grey suit. Though no fashion statement trumps the dripping blood from his face. A sad imitation of her noble brother.

"Just a suggestion, brother. Next time you advise someone on their feeding habits, you might want to look in the mirror to wipe out the evidence of your indiscretions first. Think about it, alright."

He laughed in amusement and wiped the imperceptible trail of blood from her own lips with his thumb.

"A few witches offered their bodies all too willingly to my sister. I didn't drain them dry. Just tired them out during other activities. But thanks for the tip. Say hi to Genevieve for me."

She raised an eyebrow at his correct assumption and turned around to the young warlock, who looked on with slight shock and fascination. She can take him to bed. He's handsome and malleable. No one would kill him or chase him away under the guise of protecting her from heartbreak.

In that instant, she hates him for it. Why does he deserve to live? And not everyone she's loved.

Even her ...

"Rebekah. Do you...

She snaps his neck before he blinks and lets his body fall motionless to the ground.

The vampire turned around unbothered. She has a witch to find.

**

The party continues, guests mingling, unaware of the intricate dynamics at play. Elijah left Vincent's side when he caught sight of someone entering a secluded study.

He gently excused himself and prepared for a confrontation with the possible intruder.

A young brunette in a black cocktail dress looked reverently at the ancient tomes. She was a human from her scent.

"I am afraid this area is restricted, Miss. I shall escort you out." He calmly voiced his thoughts.

She turned slowly, not spooked by his wraithlike entrance. Brave and beautiful. A dangerous combination.

"I apologize, Mr. Mikaelson. I wasn't aware. Francesca Corea, by the way. It seems only fair we're introduced, seeing as I'm to replace Father Kieran in the human faction going forward." Miss Corea gave him her hand, as if expecting him to adhere to the strict archaic method of courtship and lay a chaste kiss.

He nudged it over and shook it, to her slight confusion, "I wasn't aware of the change of representatives. Forgive me for not sending you an invitation of your own."

She smirked as if seeing through his implicit question of her presence in the dragon's lair uninvited.

Francesca's eyes meeting Elijah's with a mixture of confidence and seduction if he interpreted it correctly. She straightens her posture, her voice laced with a hint of arrogance.

"It was a last-minute call. I wasn't even coming here, but I had to reschedule my free night out. But I assure you, my intentions are far from nefarious. I'd like to protect my community and maintain the balance of power."

A sharp grin was plastered across his face.

"Your words ring hollow, Francesca. You didn't choose this room at random. There's more to this than meets the eye. I recommend you inform me of your own volition before I take certain measures I wouldn't enjoy."

The mortal's smile falters, a flicker of doubt crossing her features.

"You may be more perceptive than your reputation suggests, Elijah. And to prove to you my loyalty and the humans' to the inevitable victor, I will warn you of a plot under way. But I want one thing in return."

Elijah's gaze hardens, his voice firm,"You're awfully confident to assume this is a negotiation. Tell me everything you know. And then, I might consider your request."

She didn't back down as he anticipated; her heartbeat was louder than normal, but it didn't summersault from her chest like others did ages ago.

"I only want your word that I and my people are spared. We weren't involved in this scheme, and I've come to relay the traitors to your doorstep. So, do I have it?"

Elijah can very well refuse. Drain her of vervain and compel the information he needs without a fuss. On the negligible chance she's protected by a mental ward, he'll need a witch to lower it. But that could take time he doesn't want to waste.

Time is a luxury immortals have in abundance. Yet, he's realized how inconsequential eternal life really is.

"Fine. Speak."

Chapter Text

The celebrations are still going in full swing when Kol spots Hayley descending the long stairwell, finally joining the gathering. He sauntered over to her, a mischievous smile on his face.

“Well, well, look who decided to grace us with her presence. Took you long enough, love.”

She doesn’t dilly dally and rolls her eyes not a moment later.

“Don't start with me, Kol. I had the herculean task of putting this dress on in the first place, and then going down these Harry Potter shifting stairs.”

"That's actually offensive, sweetheart. My design came way earlier than that plagiarist. Between Klaus' paranoia and my  imagination, the Mikaelson magical security measures were revolutionary in the late 1800s."

"What a relief. Your ego is in check."

Kol chuckles, leaning against a nearby pillar as they engage in their usual banter.

“I prefer confidence. But a wonderful idea just occurred to me. You should’ve simply come in the nude. I assure you none, least of all myself, would find issue with such a sight.”

“In your dreams, pretty boy.”

She scoffed and tried to go past him. He held her forearm as his eyes gleamed.

“Oh, I have had various fantasies starring yourself. Spoiler alert, they’re quite lewd. But the more interesting discovery here is that you find me pretty.” She tried to interject but he continued on, “I am quite pleased with your confession, because I must say; you're looking quite lovely tonight. A shame you didn’t bless us with your natural beauty.”

The spunky she-wolf smiled sarcastically, “Save the charm for someone who's actually interested, Kol. That’s Elijah's thing, not yours. Stick to your usual game.”

The Mikaelson feigns offense, placing a hand over his heart.

“Ouch, Hayley. You wound me. Are you trying to tell me, despite your earlier affirmation, that you don't find me the least bit seductive?”

Hayley raises an eyebrow, her expression unimpressed. Her voice is surely as dry as a nun’s cunt.

“Please, Kol. I can assure you, your supposed seductive powers don't work on anyone with half a brain.”

Kol grins, taking a step closer to Hayley, whispering in her ear, “Oh, I beg to differ, love. I can smell your arousal from here. It’s positively obscene. You can't deny the effect I have on you.”

Hayley's eyes narrow, a mixture of annoyance and amusement flickering across her face. She raises her voice, gathering the attention of some of the crowd.

“Is that so, Kol? Well, I hate to break it to you, but you're not as irresistible as you think you are. Whatever you're smelling, it's certainly not because of you.”

Kol's confident façade falters for a moment, caught off guard by Hayley's response. He's never liked courting timid submissive girls - unless they were so uptight and virtuous that defiling their facade of goodness became paramount - but he isn't pleased with his current progress. If Nik and Elijah fancied this girl, she must be something special. She freed him from his latest dagger nap. He owes her for that at least. And against all odds, she's bringing a new generation of immortals into being. A magically sensitive nephew or niece for him to teach and study. That's fascinating certainly. Yet there has to be more.

"I... uh... well, I suppose you have your secrets, Hayley. But mark my words, one day you'll succumb to my charms." He stammered for fuck's sake. Not different from a virgin schoolboy who doesn’t know how to properly phrase his thoughts and not sound like a buffoon or a serial killer when his crush walks by. Bekah would cut him to shreds if she learns of this. His first order of business is preventing his public humiliation from spreading.

Hayley had the nerve to smile knowingly at his discomfort.

“We'll see about that, Kol. But for now, why don't you go and find someone else to flirt with? I'm sure there are plenty of willing participants in this room.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. He relishes in the chase. Pretty birds with sharp tongues are a precious commodity these days.

“Always a challenge, aren't you, Hayley? I'll take your advice for now, but don't think you've seen the last of me.”

The crescent watches as Kol walks away, a mix of amusement and exasperation lingering on her face. Their banter may be entertaining, but she knows it’s a disaster in the making. The whole situation is as weird as it’s humorous.

 Never a dull moment in New Orleans.

***

Elijah sits at his desk, deep in thought, as Genevieve, stands before him. The tension in the room is palpable and ominous.

“You and I aren’t so different Genevieve. Creatures of great power, forever bound to the duties of leadership. And every great leader has to make terrible decisions for the benefit of those under his charge.”

 The Monroe elder meets Elijah's gaze, her expression carefully composed.

“Coming from the legendary Elijah Mikaeslon, that is indeed high praise. Though I fail to see why I am here. You promised us safe conduct if I am not mistaken. ”

The Original hummed non-committedly and refilled his glass of whiskey.

“The confines of that agreement were infringed upon when I learned you were plotting against me. Your survival is henceforth dependent on your willingness to cooperate. The names of your accomplices, the degree of their involvement, etcetera.”

Genevieve raised her arms - presumably to attack, which triggered his vampiric face – but apparently it was a spontaneous reflex showcasing her surprise, that or her excellent acting skills.

“That is not true Elijah! I did no such thing. I’ll prove it to you, right now.”

The immortal’s eyes narrow slightly, questioning the credibility of Genevieve's words. He won’t execute her without due process however, so he signals her to go on.

“It’s the werewolves. They despised their lives under Marcel’s regime. They think that it’s time for them to restore the city to rights, which in their primitive understanding means that New Orleans becomes ground zero for a new wolf pack.”

“Such grand ambitions. How do they hope to achieve this?” He imbued his words with just the right combination of sarcasm and intrigue. She wouldn’t necessarily distinguish if he were actually interested or merely playing along with the charade a while longer.

“Klaus was talking to one of his biological father’s descendants. He carries, supposedly, a moonlight ring, capable of granting him full control of his powers 24/7. You can imagine what they want to do with it.”

Elijah empties his drink in a single gulp. This matter was trifling news. Now it’s officially cause for concern. The wolf population has dramatically decreased in the past centuries. Vampires, especially ancient ones, don’t enjoy living with the fear of toxic venom over their shoulders. Thus, a crusade was launched in the middle ages to eradicate their kind. No one except Niklaus cared for the lycanthropes’ possible extinction. And even then, his brother was more concerned about losing his potential army, then genuinely distraught over his pseudo brethren.

Wolves were, at worst, a nuisance one night a month. At best, day walking expendable enforcers. But, this mystical ring could radically alter that balance of power.

And to think he wanted to mildly push Genevieve into reckless paranoia. Throw her off her game and prevent the initiation of a three-sided coup like Josephine warned him two nights ago. A bold statement that he regarded as nothing more than a bluff to save face. No substance nor solid strategy underneath, just embellished words, like she used to mock him.

Francesca certainly gave him that impression when she wagged her accusing finger at Kol. Perhaps she was counting on him killing another brother without a second thought. One dead Mikaelson already. Why not add a second to maintain his successful streak?

Or, the most obvious train of thought is why Genevieve would reveal the pack’s plans so casually. He inspired a healthy amount of fear, but there is an infinitesimal chance that the very woman who set Klaus on Rebekah’s trail and nearly arranged her murder, would cower in fear from an Original. Even if he were the one to deliver the killing blow.

“You’ve shared many truths here today. Tell me, why is that?”

“Why? I know how you operate Elijah. My silence will condemn my entire coven to a brutal slow death. If I have to side with one devil or the other, I’ll choose the one who is able to secure his power rather than let the city descend into anarchy every time he gets angry. That is the mark of a true leader, from what I understand.”

Clever little witch.

“Eight of the Harvest girls have been revived. One more is left. How long until the ancestors demand you relinquish your earthly vessel?”

And what measures will you be willing to take to buy your freedom, the final one remains unsaid.

Genevieve's facade wavers for a moment, but she quickly regains her composure. She’s defensive and he’s glad he found a chink in her impenetrable armor.     

“I have no authority to dictate to ancestors’ decisions, or to overrule them. But I can assure you that they want peace for their community. If you offer us that, we shall reciprocate.”

Not at all what the Regent foretold. A harbinger of death and calamity on the Mikaelson name. The annihilation of the vampire race. He may have to enact his own plans and install a new head of the witches sooner than expected.

A pity. Josephine had an exquisite taste in music.

Elijah studies Genevieve with an unwavering gaze. He suspects her true intentions are still hidden, but he will bide his time, waiting for her to make a mistake.

“Very well, Genevieve. I will take you at your word. But remember, I am always watching. One misstep, one betrayal, and you will face the consequences.”

The redhead witch's expression flickers with a mix of fear and defiance, aware that she is walking a dangerous line. She ought to.

“I understand, Elijah. I will not disappoint you.”

Elijah caresses her cheek softly and it's clear from her body language that she wants to flinch away but refrains herself. The Original’s towering presence cast a shadow over the room.

“See that you don't, Genevieve. I am a merciful man. But even I have limits.”

**

In the shadows, Rebekah's eyes are firmly fixed on the red-haired sorceress exiting Elijah's study. With calculated steps, the vampire edges closer, her spite driving her forward.

How dare that godforsaken wench try and worm her way into her brother's inner circle?

What's next? She'll attempt to climb into his bed to save her own skin? How she longs to decapitate her in the middle of the ballroom. Or better yet, compel her to carve out her own heart. She wonders if such a theatrical murder will make her brother angry.

Does she care? She just snuffed out that warlock whose name she didn't even know, like it was nothing. What does Elijah even think, letting the self-absorbed bitch alive? Worse, conversing with her in private, and not his sister.

Kol appears behind her like the uncultured stalker he is.

"Well isn't this lovely? Our brother's holding a secret rendezvous with fiery witches. I recommend you control your jealous face better, sis."

She scoffed, not bothering to turn around and actually pay attention or validate his inane remarks.

"That's absurd. I have nothing to be jealous of. Elijah can keep the company of whomever he wishes. He isn't a child."

"He's certainly no child. Otherwise, your feelings would be even more problematic." Kol laughed at his own joke, as if he's both comedian and crowd conjoined.

"Why don't you find some witch to play with? Maybe Hayley is willing to reject you again."

She smirked in his direction. He hid his annoyance well, but she knew she ticked him off. The so-called immortal Casanova being flat out mocked for his flirting. How his pride takes a wonderful beating.

"You know sister, I was in the alley earlier hooking up with a girl and ..

If he says one more word about his sexual exploits, she'll shove him in a box and throw it into the Mississippi river.

..I couldn't help but notice a nice gentleman burning in a dumpster. What would good old Elijah think when he hears about this?"

He tsked reprimandedly. The shit eating grin Rebekah would love to erase only grew wider.

"Let me guess. You being a good little boy will go and inform Elijah. Here I thought you weren't anyone's bitch. Or was I wrong brother?"

His desperate desire for independence is so easy to utilize.

Kol's playful facade gave way to cold simmering indignation.

"You think you're so clever darling. If I wasn't so disgusted with how you fear disappointing daddy, I wouldn't tell him. But for this provocation alone, I'm already set on sharing this juicy tidbit."

"Me? If that helps you sleep at night you may believe that. It'd do wonders for your state of mind acknowledging you're an attention whore. You remember the time you massacred a gypsy village because Elijah preferred hanging out with his lover over joining you on a blood orgy."

If he claims he forgot he's a shameless liar. Rebekah remembers all too well hearing Nik telling her of a village shaman cursing him with his dying breath. For twenty years, he couldn't drink human blood without vomiting it out like it was highly potent vervain. She laughed until she passed out that night. The memory alone could drive her into cackles centuries later.

And all because he didn't get to spend his re-birthday with their brother doing what vampires did best.

Maybe it's a bit tragic, if one forgets the hundreds of lives lost as collateral damage.

Humor still overshadows the melancholy.

"I've slaughtered too many people to count. It can happen for any number of reasons. Or none at all. You see, vampires don't need to justify their actions. We are the dominant species after all. Humans don't go about apologizing after they serve animals for food."

Another elitist pep talk. Lovely.

"But, I command you for steering the subject away from yourself. My advice is, lighten up. I doubt he'll dagger you. Though, you deserve it for betraying me to Nik a hundred years ago."

She spent nine decades in a box right beside him. It's not like she emerged from the ordeal scot free.

Like clockwork, their brother makes his regal appearance. He stands in the middle of the hall, attracting the undivided attention of all those present. Witch, wolf, human and vampire are captivated by his spell.

There isn't one word or gesture wasted or misused. A poignant performance. A hollow one until their eyes meet in the crowd. He smiles imperceptibly and she feels strangely elated. Kol's words echo in her mind, against her better judgment.

What possible feelings could she have for Elijah? He's her brother. Her only supporting force. Her protector. The general who would wage wars in her name. The king who would rule by her side. The only man to ever stand against Niklaus because of her.

Marcel chose vampirism over her. He never tried to search for her in the century they were apart. Stefan would rather honor his past relationship with Elena than spare one glance in Rebekah's direction. Alexander manipulated her to destroy her entire family. Her terrible love life haunted her for eternity.

But Elijah's not featured in it. He can't be. That's ridiculous. Right?

"May I have this dance Rebekah?"

She nodded too excitedly. Kol's frown deepened. She didn't particularly care.

"Of course, Elijah. It's my pleasure."

Chapter Text

Rebekah wasn't normally a light sleeper. It's a bizarre and rare quirk (weakness) for an immortal. Especially when one experiences nearly a century and a half under the effects of a mystical artifact designed to temporarily incapacitate its victim. How much sleep could she possibly need when she's exhausted two lifetimes worth already?

But for whatever odd inexplicable reason, she still finds comfort in the quietness of her peaceful slumber. An enchanting and ironic blessing she supposes.

That is why she's vicariously angry that her mind is hellbent on staunchly remaining awake. She turned over and over again to find a better angle. An absurd strategy when you think of how remarkably relaxing her bed is.

She changed her mind and raided the fridge in the middle of the night seeking some scrumptious O+, only to find their stock completely empty.

It wasn't that fact alone that irritated her. Someone had gone through the trouble of renaming the remaining packets of AB+ as the other blood type. As if she's a dumb toddler unaware how to distinguish between fine beverages and peasant servings.

Kol.

Who else would be so petty and childish? And the thought of him living up to his threat and informing Elijah of how she broke his no killing rule is worsening her aneurysm.

Thor help her. She's starting to understand why Nik was so dagger happy all of a sudden.

No. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. She just needs to get dressed and hunt for a refreshment. It's New Orleans. There has to be some drunk clueless tourist running about. Snatch. Drink. Erase. Not bloody rocket science.

She feels too lazy to go into the city. There are servants in the mansion. Her brother disapproves of them drinking from them, but it's mostly due to his personal reservations in regards to anarchist bloodletting. Rebekah won't kill the help this time, so he can excuse her actions surely.

Bullocks. What is this weird fixation that's only increasing lately? Her moments of joy are intrinsically linked to Elijah's presence and approval. Her doubts and worries cease to seem hugely impregnable or mildly difficult thanks to his words of affirmation. His feelings of anguish and pain she wants to destroy with her bare hands.

They've danced hundreds of times over the centuries. The subtle art of blending in plain public demanded that they learn courtly etiquette. No one took to it as well as Elijah did. But why did this particular dance feel different? More intimate if that makes sense.

Fucking hell. What did Kol mean? With his all too knowing eyes and mocking smile.

She wants to confront him. Drag him from whatever hole he laid his head at, and shout at him to revoke his nonsensical comments. Burn them to cinders and ash, and he along with them.

The Original doesn't find her mark in his room, so she settles with thrashing the entire place and screaming her frustrations as she paints her macabre art scene.

Unsurprisingly, no one is awakened. The distrustful cunt that he is, Kol has his quarters spelled against vampire enhanced hearing. She's only grateful she needn't sully her ears every time he decides to take a wank.

With that business done and over with, Rebekah wanders across the Abattoir. She considers how fitting that name actually is. A slaughterhouse disguised as the refined dwelling of the ruling family of the supernatural. Heathen savages who climbed to the top with excessive violence, brutality and subterfuge. Their familial unity is both their most powerful asset and most dangerous shackle.

After centuries of love and hate, what is left? The rotten core of their proud unwavering affection has transformed and mutated beyond recognition. Volatile and unpredictable passion has spawned, capable of toppling empires and birthing legacies.

Where does she and Elijah fit into all of that?

For a long time she observes his painting. Another remnant of her half-brother she hasn't the heart to bury.

No epiphany grants her the long-awaited answers. To the source she must go then.

Rebekah half expected to find her brother wide awake, nursing a glass of age old whiskey and looking over the balcony. Admiring the mesmerizing city as if he were master of the universe, overseeing his perfect creation.

To her utter shock, he was unmoving, statuesque even. Elijah spent, to her knowledge, two years under the thrall of the dagger. One of the perks of being physically superior to Niklaus as vampires, on top of carrying the highest level of emotional influence.

Her elder brother doesn't sleep. Kol even jokes around that he merely hangs upside down from the ceiling like a bat to replenish his strength.

Preposterous and crude. But then so is Kol in general, so his opinion shouldn't be considered, except if one means to criticize his fallacies and denounce them to the world.

She thinks the first time she saw Elijah unconscious was in 1492. After the doppelganger whore Katherine fled from Nik and Elijah proposed a penance to redeem himself from his unforgivable grievous sin; developing an attachment to the sacrifice.

If Rebekah wasn't away in Italy at the time - enjoying herself in the immersive wonder of Renaissance culture and the warm  embrace of its passionate artists - the whole debacle could've been avoided.

But alas.

A year into Klaus' little punishment, rumors of Mikael aligning with the Pope to wage a holy war on the vampire kind reached their ears. In the blink of an eye, Nik called his co-general from the land of semi-death and into the waking world.

Innocent VIII passed away two months later. Ostensibly out of sickness. But in reality at the hands of one of their covens, all too happy to avenge their persecuted brethren in Germany after the failed witch hunter papal bull. Neither immortal nor wiccan need fear of another foolish crusade.

Calamity was thankfully avoided.

Rebekah stores the memory away as she finally reaches Elijah's bed, her hand lingering near his face.

The female vampire doesn't consider herself shallow by any means. She's drop dead gorgeous. That's merely a fact not an exaggeration. Yet outside beauty could only please when it flares and burns in defiance, challenges the sands of time and their ruthless dominion. Vitality is born from mortality.

If her brother's attractiveness was all that interested her, she'd understand the jumbled mess of her emotions. A passing infatuation is hardly new. Even if its current object was not a common recipient. But there is so much hidden depth to their bond. Words fail to encapsulate the exact nature of her emotions.

She takes a deep breath, contemplating her next steps. It's an immense breach of privacy to access another's mind without their consent. It's child's play to go through with it though. The temptation to dissect their most cherished secrets. Their darkest compulsions.

Rebekah would feel violated if anyone attempted to do it to her. Originals are immune to most forms of mental tempering, so her fears are for naught. If there was a time to try, a deep virtually catatonic sleep would be suitable.

She recalled the words of Shakespeare, emphasizing the importance of expressing one's sorrow and grief.

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.

By verbalizing one's pain and suffering, they can find solace and healing. Her family doesn't follow this creed. Least of all Elijah, who adheres rigidly to the principles of stoic philosophy.

The line between righteousness and obsession can be perilously thin for a Mikaelson.

Forgive me brother.

**

Your mother told me to give her some of my blood. She said nothing about turning you into monsters.

I am not a monster, Tatia. I am still the one who loves you.

He could never pinpoint which memory he'll reexamine that night. What horrifying scenario his subconscious mind will rewrite into an even more depraved and perverse tragedy.

Elijah lived with the unfiltered belief that his every action has been in service to his family. Sacrifices were his de jure. Compassion was his go to instrument. Efficient destruction when required came second. Always second.

I'm ... I'm not ... a monster.

His past actions claimed otherwise.

The newborn vampire's irises clouded in onyx black. Lust for blood, euphoric gratifying crimson delight, superseded his love. He fought against his instincts.

Run.

He failed.

Elijah remembers this scene startlingly differently.

He pacified Tatia and mitigated her surprise and revulsion. Swore his undying affection and kissed her cheek. She apologized for her harsh words. He replied that he's the one to blame. And he proved he was right seconds later, when be compelled away her memories of the incident. Esther couldn't stress enough the necessity for discretion. And he was the obedient son, so he followed her instruction.

The young girl ran in terror from the unhinged beast. Her right palm was bleeding, her predator  unrelenting. She fell into the ground, her energy depleted. Elijah pulled her back up with ease. He called forth his sharp incisors and tore into her neck like the vicious abomination he is. Tatia screamed. She pleaded and begged, writhing in agony. Her pulse grew faint. Her body sagged.

He pulled away at last. She was an empty husk.

Dead girl with warm brown eyes. She'll haunt him for centuries. Born to die. As immortal as he is. As cursed and broken.

The swiftness and finality of the act doesn't trouble him. The lifeless sack of flesh his double delivers to his mother's slaughterhouse doesn't phase him either.

It's the words she whispered in the aftermath that break his psyche.

Everything will be okay. You did well by bringing her to me. I shall make it right my son. Clean yourself. And forget.

The soft voice echoes in his mind. Twisting. Turning. Recreating. Drowning. Darkness permeates the fog of his memories. The red door is there. Always there. His first kiss. His first kill. All his damned firsts bonded to that inescapable symbol of cruelty. An obsession for perfection spawns. No blemishes can be allowed. None.

He can't ... He can't be a monster. He's good.

His brother's death has opened the floodgates. And now, his mind is shattered.

Elijah.

He knows that voice. But it's impossible. She shouldn't be here.

Rebekah.

No.

Chapter Text

He was in a secluded and idyllic woodland, where a gentle river meanders through the trees. The sunlight filters through the leaves, casting a soft, ethereal glow upon the surroundings. 

Elijah had only experienced darkness and deranged horrors within the inner sanctum of his mental labyrinth, so this beautiful picturesque landscape was undoubtedly deceptive. A soothing mirage to further drive the despicable nature of the imminent and cruel calamity. 

He knew that. He did. But why on earth was she here? 

When his unconscious self made it to the heart of this enchanted forest, his ears caught the distant sound of trickling water. Curiosity piqued, he followed the melodic notes, leading him closer to the source. The babbling river comes into view, and the Original's eyes widen in surprise as he witnesses a breathtaking sight. 

There, at the water's edge, stands the radiant and ethereal figure of his sister Rebekah. Her beauty is unparalleled, her skin shimmering like moonlight, and her flowing golden hair cascading around her shoulders. 

He's not some degenerate lust-crazed voyeur, but she's a perfection incarnate and he's still a man. 

Elijah tries to move away. To run from this (surely) distorted remembrance and cajole himself awake. Lament the fact that he's taken the life of his first love in peace. Or in existential torment without sexualizing someone who must never be seen in such a way. 

To his detriment, he's transfixed and immobilized. Struck by the vision before him and filled with awe and admiration. He's patiently waiting for the proportionate guilt and self-loathing to emerge, yet it remains selfishly absent. 

He recalls the myth of Diana, the goddess of the wild and protector of nature and Acteon. The youthful hunter accidentally gazed in the deity's naked form while she bathed in the river. So great was her anger at his transgression, she delivered a powerful curse. Turned him into an animal. Acteon was hunted by his own hounds and torn apart. 

Perhaps it was worth it. To glimpse edenic grace if only for a moment. Then die as an offering for its continued longevity. 

Rebekah hasn't been a practicing witch for over a millennium. If she could still call the forces of nature to her will, she would smite him down for this unapologetic act of lechery. 

Purification by holy fire or light has featured prominently in many of his dreams. On most days, he contemplates taking off his daylight ring and staring down at the midday sun. 

Naturally, he'll combust into flames. But as an Original, condemned to walk the earth for eternity, he'll revive from the ashes like a phoenix. If he desires it hard enough, he can imagine remaining a pile of dust, just like his brother. Absolution can be derived from final death for not a single shred of acceptance is found in the tragic reality of life. 

Then he thinks of his family. Of Rebekah. How alone she might feel in his absence. She's a survivor, but he doesn't want to inflict anymore pain on her, negligible as it might be. She's his anchor. 

So, why is he seeing this? 

Elijah's momentary hesitation turns to dread as Bekah's keen senses detect his presence. She swiftly turns her gaze towards him, her eyes ablaze with fear and betrayal. 

The serenity shifts to disaster. He only now took full notice of his state. He was naked from the waist up. Drenched in blood and guts, as if exiting a carnage. 

When did it end? 

The weather reacts to the terror invading his sweet sister. Pitch black dark overcomes the rays of the sun. Bekah's heart is beating a hundred miles per hour. She's human. His mind and heart reject that statement in equal fervor. Humanity signifies frailty. Mortality. Weakness. Nothing like his sister. 

Her carotid artery calls for him. He wishes to drink from the very essence that flows through her veins. 

More. 

He wants to possess her. It's a barbaric notion unfamiliar to his regular vocabulary. Primitive, animalistic and primal longing to devour and claim her invades every pore of his being. To mate. 

Elijah feels the monster desperate for the hunt. What did his brother call him? The Beast behind the red door. How long has he been a part of him? Is the vampire even himself if his alter-ego actions' are a reflection of sadistic pleasure? 

Rebekah raises herself over the riverside in a hurry. She breaks a tree branch and holds it like a makeshift stake to defend herself. The Beast delights in her act of courage. The chase is half the pleasure. If the prey just submits without any effort, what's the point to begin with? 

He needs to snuff out the spark of resistance by his own hands. The longer it takes to dim its warth, the sweeter it will taste. An aphrodisiac nectar sipped from a fierce warrior priestess. 

Elijah's a master of control. But that iron restraint is slipping away. Unlike the memory of Tatia's death which he viewed as a neutral third party, this was an immersive experience. Body and soul, he craved to accomplish what the predator decreed. 

The vampire stalks his target menacingly. He smirks mockingly at her chosen weapon. A trinket he could swat like a fly is supposed to keep him away. There is no one stronger or faster than he is. He made sure of that. And now he'll commit a worse sin, unbothered by the restrictions of morality and decency. 

"Stop! Elijah. Don't ... don't move." 

She's not shaking in fear. That's rage. Unabashed wrath, bolstered by revulsion. The tear she shed is in honor of his former self. Bekah's mourning her presumed victim. The Beast that's taken the shape of her beloved brother. 

Exquisite defiance. 

"Don't you recognize me sister?" 

Elijah didn't expect an answer and in truth, didn't require one. The swarm of confusion and hope appearing on her face is as captivating as it is sickening. 

The vicious black from his eyes is replaced by warm brown orbs and his fangs get retracted. She believes it's a trick and refuses to lower her wooden stake. One must applaud her regained common sense. 

A searing heat burns through his core and Elijah falls to the ground writhing in agony. Did he self-actualize the pain he felt he deserved? 

"I can't ... I can't forget what I did. Please help me .. Bekah." 

With those final words, his sister's hostility vanishes and she runs to his aid. One key detail that flew past her radar; she's still starkly naked. Diana is an unworthy imagery to describe Rebekah. Aphrodite herself, goddess of beauty and love, would pale in comparison to his sun-kissed sister. 

She kneels by his side, trying to locate the source of his torrents of suffering. An angel wanting to ease the pain of the Devil. The Huntress taking pity on the poor follower she just sentenced to the brutal violent end of a mere prey. 

He caressed her cheek and slowly brushed a gentle thumb over her plump bottom lip. Her crystal blue eyes grew in shock as she blushed. 

"Elijah, what are you .. 

Charmed by her bashfulness, Elijah closed the space between them and brought her closer, caressing her body with his heated gaze. 

Chronologically, he was six years older than her. Rebekah was nearly eighteen when their mother turned them into the bloodsucking demons that they were. She hadn’t aged a day older, in human years. He knew a myriad of suitors desired her over the centuries. They tended to meet horrific deaths at Niklaus' hands or get caught in the crossfire of a dispute between the Originals and their underlings or foes. Yet, despite the enormous risk one takes into consideration before engaging in a relationship with her, the reward far outweighs the danger. 

This is wrong. So very wrong. But Elijah can't stop what's happening. Would he truly do so if he had the power to? 

No. His beast growls in denial.

"Elijah,” she breathed his name once before his lips found hers. 

Rebekah certainly didn't have this in mind when she accessed her brother's mind - not that she's complaining - she's more worried that it might upset him to learn this was no fantasy. 

Tatia's murder greatly disturbed her. Not because she cared about her in particular. Elijah and Nik were acting like fools, fighting over some mundane girl, who played them both like disposable toys, and in the process ignored Rebekah for the better part of a year. And the deplorable saga reignited with her descendants Katherine and Elena. The Petrova stench was genetically transmitted. 

The true reason she felt so conflicted was because he looked so broken as he brought the body to their mother. So young and gentle. The cold march of time robbed him of that light. Their brother's dreary fate corrupted his very soul. And she's left to pick up the pieces. 

Seeing him atop the riverside, consumed by his vampiric personna, made her afraid. Not of him, but what he perceived himself as; a merciless butcher that destroys everything he touches. On instinct, she tried to protect herself. Rebekah was never handed a manual on dream realm metaphysics, so her newfound humanity is fascinatingly perplexing but unimportant. 

She's a battle tested Viking shield maiden for one. Mikael would never lose a daughter to sickness again. He treated her like he did her brothers. She was taught to be a tracker. A fighter. A killer. 

But more importantly, Nirvana is within sight. 

Similar to an explosive burst of energy in her mind, dopamine surged through every neural pathway. Elijah's smooth words flow like a choreographed performance as he assumes control and softly slides his tongue inside, caressing hers. She can't resist but let out a moan, embracing him tightly, yearning to feel his presence closer. She longs to inhale his essence, craving his physicality, his vitality, his desire. Her bosom presses against him as he pulls her closer, engaging in a passionate kiss, maintaining unbroken connection.

As their kiss grew more passionate, Rebekah slowly worked up the courage to touch his chest. He was built like Adonis. Or perhaps Hercules after completing his twelve labors is a more apt analogy. 

He kissed her hard and deep, giving her extra momentum to carry out her illicit desire. She coiled her arms around his neck and suddenly grew resentful that her vampiric fangs were currently unavailable to her. Blood sharing between immortals was the epitome of passion, closeness and intimacy. 

Elijah continued to kiss her in a manner that evoked the sensation of eternal yearning. It felt so right. All-Father … this feels so much better than she had ever fantasized. 

The taste of a fresh kill lingers on his taste buds, yet it fails to deter the vampiress from reciprocating the kiss with utmost intensity. This is her sole opportunity. Rebekah craves for him to sense her ardent longing. She desires this image to be etched in his consciousness in perpetuity. 

The truth of their familial ties did not bother the blonde in the least. Breaking every societal taboo came inherently easy with limitless power and influence - Nothing like this happened before, but that doesn't mean it was impossible. A natural evolution of toxic Mikaelson codependent patterns is what Camille may call it. 

What annoyed her most was the fact that her brother thought none of it was real. It wasn't his fault completely. She barged into the depths of his subconscious without his permission to understand her own emotions. To prove to herself that she wasn't some disgusting sexual deviant lusting after her noble sibling. 

In finding his tortured soul crying for help, his plethora of sins suffocating him, Rebekah's intervention somehow triggered this scenario. And now they are trapped by their own unfulfilled desires. 

Bloody fantastic. 

She emitted a soft, gasping sound as she experienced Elijah's lips on her neck, tracing a path of fervent kisses along the middle of her chest. He gently squeezed her right breast, first appreciating the blush of her pink nipple, then playfully nipping at it with his mouth. A joyful exclamation escaped her once again as he teasingly sucked it back, evoking pleasure beyond measure. Why was she naked to begin with? It seemed irrelevant giving the circumstances but it merits some thought later on. 

This would surely lead them to uncharted territories if Elijah continued at this rate. Everything felt so good and so right, but it was taking advantage of his ignorance. “Elijah,” she panted as he turned his attention to her other breast. “Elijah… wait.” 

His onyx orbs came about with a vengeance. He was taking care of her, the way she deserved, yet she denied him. His lust is present still, but he craved blood now more than he did the flesh. One way or another he'll be satisfied. As can she, if she allows him to continue. 

"What?" He hissed in annoyance. Weeks of hellish nightmares had erased his good manners. He's surely owed one perfect dream. Just one to get him through the rest of eternity. His greatest salvation disguised as his worst vice. Their union would be sacred despite how forbidden it actually was. 

"I don’t know. I just… we should talk about this in the real world." 

What? 

He tried to catch his breath because undoubtedly it was the haze of his emotions that made him confused. 

He attempted to kiss her again and ignored the ridiculous words he misheard when Rebekah murmured, “I don’t want you regretting anything after." 

Elijah wasn't wrong the first time. This is madness. What could she mean? 

"Rebekah. What are you talking about?" 

Her eyes clouded over in shame and she got up. Already he missed her body heat. And his cock was as hard as Excalibur, fully prepared to be sheathed in her depths. His vile thoughts excited him as much as they made him angry and frustrated. 

"I'm so terribly sorry. I didn't know that .. this would happen. I just wanted to sneak a peek. That doesn't make it any better. And I am a horrid creature for not telling you sooner, brother. But I didn't know how to ... say it." 

Elijah was confident nothing could surprise him anymore. Monotony is the norm after centuries of living. Yet, this is groundbreaking and astonishingly invasive. 

Rebekah had no right to glimpse his deepest desires. He certainly didn't have any right to act on them, whether she was a consenting partner or not. He doesn't know who to despise more.

That's a pathetic lie. Of course he knows. 

The Mikaelson patriarch is a sinner seeking eternal redemption but who keeps sinning. He commits calculated crimes to advance his standing and his family's status or safeguard their interests. His emotions got the better of him this time but he can recover and leave the entire thing behind them. He needed comfort after learning of his role in Tatia's demise. His sister aided him, but she shouldn't feel obligated to do such a thing. He must make that irrevocably clear.

That's probably the right thing to do. 

He's a monster. Why does doing the right thing matter? 

"Please say something." Rebekah's lips quivered in pain. He wanted to tear his own heart and present to her as proof of his undying loyalty and affection. She can never truly upset him. He's damned to suffer in silence. And more than accepting of this bleak fate. The hounds can tear his flesh apart and he'd perish a happy man.

"Thank you for your honesty. Let's end this."

He blinked himself awake.

Chapter Text

Elijah and Rebekah sat at the elegant dining table, the morning sunlight streaming through the windows of their lavish mansion. Plates of fresh fruit, pastries, and steaming cups of coffee (with an extra shot of blood) adorned the table, but the atmosphere between the siblings was anything but relaxed. 

Rebekah, dressed impeccably in a stylish gown, couldn't help but notice Elijah's distant expression. She took a sip of her coffee before clearing her throat, attempting to engage him in conversation. "Elijah, darling, we should discuss what happened last night. The events after the ball were quite transformative, wouldn't you agree?" 

Elijah looked up from his plate, his piercing black eyes meeting Rebekah's gaze. There was a hint of weariness in his expression, a reflection of the weight he normally carried as the Mikaelson family's protector and diplomat. Though in this instance,  it’s probably related to the unleashing of the Pandora box instigated by their make out session. 

Positively scandalous and undeniably unforgettable. 

At least in one party's perspective. 

"Indeed, Rebekah, they were. However, I believe it's essential for us to divert our attention to matters of supernatural city politics today. I've received some troubling news." 

Rebekah let out an exasperated sigh, placing her coffee cup down with a bit more force than necessary. "Always the diplomat, aren't you? Can't we just have an honest conversation? Some of us don’t have the luxury of selective amnesia. What happened is ingrained in my memory”.   

Maybe poking at the stoic bear was impulsive. Or plainly logical. She had anticipated resistance, knowing Elijah's inclination to prioritize their family's responsibilities over personal matters. A guilty freeing Red door erasure was a further threat stacked up on that. However, she refused to let the moment pass without acknowledgement. 

"Elijah," she pressed, her voice soft yet persistent, "we can't simply ignore what happened. We kissed, a lot, and it meant something to me. I need to understand what it meant to you." 

Elijah sighed, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. He turned his gaze toward Rebekah, his eyes filled with a mixture of fondness and uncertainty. 

"Bekah, you know that I hold no one in higher regard," he explained, his words carefully measured. "Last night's events... it was a momentary lapse, a result of heightened emotions and shared vulnerabilities. My mind was reeling from severe trauma." 

Her heart began to sink, her hopes for a heartfelt confession deflated. Foolish. Pathetic. The girl who loved too easily. She never learned, did she? 

She knew Elijah all too well, aware of his tendency to prioritize duty above personal desires. Even if he harbored the slightest inclination towards engaging in an sordid incestuous relationship with her, his code wouldn't let him. They would spend an eternity in misery. 

It's better this way. 

Liar. 

"So, it meant nothing to you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes searching his face for any sign of affirmation. 

Elijah reached across the table, gently taking hold of Rebekah's hand, his touch offering a modicum of comfort. It was searing pain not flinching away in outrage and heartbreak.

"Rebekah, it's not that it meant nothing," he admitted, his voice filled with a mixture of regret and longing. "But we must consider the consequences of pursuing such feelings. Our family, our responsibilities, they must always come first." 

Rebekah's eyes welled with unshed tears, her heart heavy with unrequited emotions. She knew Elijah wanted her to confirm his words and find a way to ... what, return to before? Was that even possible? For her to shut her feelings and move on like it never happened? 

She could no more diminish the ache in her chest than alleviate any suffering he might be experiencing. Nor did she want to, if she's perfectly honest. He can wither in tortuous agony. It's only fair. 

"Of course. The benefit of the family. And what is that exactly? What is the Mikaelson family? A cocktail of rage, envy and greed, aged for millenia. Just waiting for a match to explode like a powder keg. We aren't beholden to anyone but ourselves Elijah, don't you see that?" 

Her fervent shouting could wake the dead, but her brother wasn’t moved from his stupor. 

Hayley on the other hand came down with her hands over her eardrums, moaning her suffering.  Rebekah might’ve felt bad for her, if she didn’t catch the small smile that appeared on Elijah’s lips. 

A thief in waiting just entered her dominion. 

"Forgive us for disturbing you. We had a slight disagreement. I can have your breakfast delivered to your room if you wish to sleep further." 

 Disagreement. Such a quaint way to describe it. 

"No thanks. Miracle baby keeps vamp-kicking anyways. So I won't get a wink."

Her chivalrous brother escorted the pregnant werewolf to her chair before pulling it out for her. 

She resisted the urge to scoff. Firstly interrupting and now this. 

"Where is Kol? I thought the whole clan would sit together for meals." 

She raised her eyebrows in interest, keenly aware of her brother's blank stare. She searched for any hint of jealousy to appear but found none. 

Pleasing. 

"What do you want with Spike Sr? Please don't tell me you fell for his charming love. I'll lose all respect for you if you have." 

Elijah smirked in her direction and she courageously battled the butterflies in her belly. He was the one who introduced her to the Buffy series. Though he detested when she compared his brooding to Angel. 

It wasn't a terrible analogy.

Hayley snorted while cramming a beignet in her mouth. Her brother tufted at her table manners and the crescent rolled her eyes.

"I was just wondering if he liked my surprise. He kept droning all night, between flirting, that is, about how he's performing an experiment with human blood and dark objects. O+ in particular, for its specific properties. So, of course I flushed it down the toilet." 

Hayley looked conspiratorially as if sharing some secret that's not to leave their holy trinity. Her gleaming eyes indicated how she unabashedly enjoyed doing what she had. 

Bloody hell. 

"You're the one who drained the blood bags and replaced them with AB after changing the name." Her curt tone concealed the bumbling fury beneath. 

"Yeah. It was a stroke of genius, in my humble opinion. Is that not okay?" Hayley turned to Elijah in confusion, hoping he'll give his stamp of approval on her harmless prank and cheer her up after the evil vampiress soured the mood. 

Fat chance of that. 

"We need to talk in private. Now." 

The reproach on the tip of his tongue perished when he fully observed her countenance. 

"Very well sister." Elijah emphasized that last word to steer the conversation in a manner he can deal with properly. He laid down his utensils, whispered some words of comfort in Hayley's ears - poison to her vampiric senses - and followed her to his office. 

** 

The moment they breached the threshold, he expected her to push him into the wall and initiate something. 

He knew he desired it truthfully. And loathed himself for the unspoken lingering sentiment. It took all his mental fortitude not to give in to his baser instincts. But he did. 

He couldn't allow his weakness to stand in the face of his sister finding love. True affection with a good decent man. Not a soulless fratricidal monster. 

He's unworthy. So terribly cursed and bound for hellfire. He cannot drag her with him to the depths of Hades' underworld. 

He won't. Even if he has to rip his heart out. 

Rebekah took a deep breath, her voice tinged with guilt and apprehension as she revealed the truth to her brother. "Elijah, there's something I need to tell you. I... I killed a warlock at the party." 

Elijah's brows furrowed, concern etched on his face as he listened attentively to Rebekah's confession. One remarkably different from what he expected. 

He recognized the weight of her words and the turmoil she must be experiencing. His voice softened with understanding. She wore her heart on her sleeves, his beautiful golden sister. Her empathy for humans was second only to Finn. It didn't limit her capacity for cruelty, but it did make it worse to reconcile the divide between the killer and the caretaker. 

"Rebekah, please tell me what happened." 

Rebekah's eyes filled with tears as she recounted the events that led to the man's death, her voice quivering with remorse. "I was reckless, and my actions led to his demise. He didn't attack me or anything like that. He just smiled. Such a gentle adoring smile. It reminded me of many others over the centuries and I ... I just snapped. I'm so sorry. I broke your word." 

The last uttered term broke something in him. Was she so terrified of his wrath? Is that the cycle of the Mikaelson lineage? In slaying their father, Niklaus became his successor. And now Elijah has assumed the latter's role. The snake, eating its own tail. Ouroboros. Unbreakable and inevitable. 

He took a cautious step closer, offering her comfort and reassurance. "Rebekah, I understand that sometimes our impulses get the better of us. While I cannot condone the loss of an innocent life, I am the last person on earth to judge or heaven forbid punish you for it. We will deal with this together." 

Rebekah's shoulders sagged with relief, tears streaming down her face. "I was afraid you'd be furious, Elijah. I thought you would blame me more harshly. And that annoying pratt kept feeding my insecurities." 

Kol then. Rebekah and he always got on like water and oil. The kind of childish squabbling you outgrow as you get older. The only issue is they were frozen as teenagers for eternity. And magnified emotions were added into the mix. Considering the reaction to Hayley's doings, Bekah must've appointed his little brother as the culprit. And presumably avenged the perceived wrong herself. 

Splendid. 

Elijah placed a gentle hand on Rebekah's arm, his voice filled with compassion. Hopefully his other sibling will be as responsive to this approach. He doubts that.

"Rebekah, I won't deny that there may be consequences to face, especially if the witches discover what happened. But you needn't ever fear disappointing or displeasing me. Do you understand?" 

Rebekah nodded, her voice choked with gratitude. "Thank you, Elijah. I will do whatever it takes to make things right and ensure that this doesn't happen again." 

Elijah was overwhelmed with the urge to erase her tears. He caressed her cheeks softly. Her crystal orbs captivated him. They tore at his defenses with such ease. He tried to suppress his carnal lust from rising so he gently kissed her forehead. 

Elijah's gaze held a mixture of concern and determination as he spoke. "We will face this situation head-on, Rebekah. It's important that we take responsibility for our actions and find a way to make amends. I will do everything in my power to protect you, but we must also be prepared for the covens' potential retribution." 

Rebekah wasn't apparently satisfied with his declarations or a chaste peck and her lips pressed against Elijah's in a sudden and surprisingly passionate kiss. 

It was similar to a raving storm invading his every thought. There was no viable shelter. No safe haven from the onslaught of emotions. 

Why did this have to be difficult? 

As they parted, she gazed into his eyes, her tone tinged with a mix of vulnerability and defiance.

"Elijah, your words can't be true when your body reacts to me this way," she stated, her voice filled with a hint of accusation. 

His expression remained composed, by some otherworldly intervention. He took a step back, creating a bit of distance between them, attempting to maintain his deplorable facade. 

"Rebekah, physical reactions can often be misleading," Elijah responded, his voice steady but tinged with a touch of unease. "Attraction and desire do not necessarily equate to truth or compatibility." 

Rebekah's gaze hardened, her voice laced with frustration. "Don't patronize me, Elijah. We've spent centuries together, and I can read the truth in your eyes. There's more between us than you're willing to admit." 

His jaw tightened, his gaze briefly faltering before he regained his usual composed demeanor. "Perhaps that familiarity has been confused for something else." 

Bekah laughed mockingly, her voice colder than a snowstorm.

"What, romantic affection? The king of vampires doesn't require such mundane redundancies." 

"That's not what ..." 

Before he can breathe another word, she sped right past him, nearly tearing the door off his hinges. He completed the task and sat in his study for hours. 

Is this the right thing?

Chapter Text

Elijah pushed open the heavy, weathered doors of the dimly lit bar in Algiers. As he stepped inside, he was greeted by a scene of chaos and carnage. The air was thick with the acrid stench of blood and alcohol, and a palpable sense of dread hung in the air.

Bodies littered the floor, scattered like discarded toys in the aftermath of a violent storm. Broken furniture and shattered glass bore witness to the frenzied struggle that had taken place mere hours before. The once lively establishment now stood as a haunting testament to the brutality that had unfolded within its walls.

Elijah's gaze swept across the grim tableau before him, his eyes narrowing with a mix of concern and determination. The lifeless forms of humans and vampires alike lay strewn across the floor, their vacant eyes reflecting the horrors they had witnessed in their final moments. The sound of silence enveloped the room, broken only by the faint creaking of the swaying ceiling fan.

Among the chaos, traces of Kol's presence lingered. Empty bottles and shattered glasses bore testament to his revelry, a reminder of the reckless abandon that often characterized his existence.

Elijah's brow furrowed as he surveyed the scene, piecing together the fragments of what had transpired.

Some time after 11 o'clock on the night of the party, his brother disappeared. He's normally more perceptive of the ongoings in his vicinity, up until the most minute details.

But he was distracted.

Now it's been over a week since he's been spotted and a treacherous part of Elijah can't help but wonder if some nefarious plot is being hatched.

He loathes his immediate spiral into paranoia. Odin knows the vampire counseled Niklaus to have a bit more faith in his siblings too often.

On the other hand perhaps his half-brother was right to fear betrayal from those closest to him. Only an Original can kill an Original. Only family can lower your defenses enough to try.

And that ridiculous warning by Francesca birthed a seed of madness in his subconscious. He was wrong to consider her a fool he recognizes. Granted, he's not the perfect embodiment of mental health, so it's entirely possible he was leaping to find evidence of foul play.

As he cautiously navigated the blood-soaked floor, Elijah's keen eyes detected subtle signs of a struggle. Broken limbs, torn clothing, and splatters of blood painted a macabre picture of the violence that had unfolded. It was obvious that this was not a mere bar fight or random act of violence but a deliberate and calculated display of power.

A nauseating demonstration to satisfy one's own insecurities. Instill general fear to hide the truth; that you're impossibly terrified.

Elijah's jaw clenched, his anger simmering beneath his composed facade.

Why was it so difficult for his siblings to learn even the most unambiguous of concepts? Gruesome savagery begets brutal resistance. Senseless violence and decadence topples empires. After centuries on this earth, surely that has been made abundantly clear.

Elijah was on the verge of leaving - and burning this entire building down on his way out - when he detected a faint pulse. Someone was still breathing but barely. 

He vamp-sped to the attic. It was nearly cloaked in darkness. The air was heavy with an eerie stillness, broken only by the soft flicker of candlelight cast upon the walls. The sound of his footsteps echoed through the emptiness.

He was too late.

Moonlight filtered through the curtained windows, casting an ethereal glow upon the maudlin scene before him. Genevieve's body lay sprawled across the cold stone floor, her once vibrant eyes now vacant and lifeless. A pool of crimson blood stained the ground, a stark contrast against the pale expanse of her lifeless form.

Elijah's eyes narrowed with a mixture of annoyance and anger as he knelt beside her, his fingers reached out to touch her cold, lifeless cheek. The flickering candles cast a macabre glow, illuminating the haunting tableau of death and despair. 

The scent of dried herbs and incense lingered in the air, remnants of Genevieve's mystical practices. Perhaps Kol lured her with promises of hidden knowledge or even freedom from the ancestors' thrall. He could always sweet talk witches into doing his bidding. 

But then why kill her? She could've refused his offer but a dozen covens are a phone call away.

And there's that seer he noticed when he astral projected to Los Angeles. He was positive she seemed familiar, and was surprised to discover she knew his little brother a century prior. The final non-aligned witch in the city during Kol and Niklaus' latest power struggle.

A second similar stance is plausible.

Yet, there's a hidden variable here. Elijah's confident that something is eluding him.

Why bother murdering an elder, especially in such a sloppy manner, leaving irrefutable proof for others to find? 

It was baffling.

If Kol was being framed for this crime - and that's a big if - then he inadvertently loses the support of the local magical community. Elijah can be implicated as an associate if he doesn't respond with unequivocal condemnation and even take measures to ensure his punishment.

So is that the true purpose? Applying the age old principle of divide and conquer on the Original family.

Too simple.

Assuming this is a conspiracy, and Josephine's words certainly justify one being carried out behind the scenes - the reason why she would willingly share this still frustrates him to this day - could the Regent sanction her subordinate's execution?

Yes.

The Harvest is a sufficient reminder. And Genevieve was always bound to occupy her mortal vessel for a precisely determined duration. Whether until the spirits decided she outlived her usefulness, or even Elijah himself made that choice.

How about the wolves?

The Crescents were proudly against his rule and his affiliation with Hayley. As if they can remove the fact that she's effectively his family, with their sheer disapproval and hate.

He could do without the peanut gallery.

Maybe he was wrong to allow them to keep such a high opinion of themselves. A complacent vampire prince subjugated them for decades. Do they truly believe he couldn't inflict worse havoc on them than his pupil?

His niece or nephew will one day lead the pack. That alongside Hayley's conviction in their amenability towards integrating to his domain, are the only reasons their heads sit firmly on their shoulders.

But if the redhead witch's version of events was credible, and the werewolves are preparing to launch a coup, well he isn't compassionate to a fault.

He knows it'll be a hassle to investigate. But he has to do it anyway. He just has to commit arson first to clear the evidence of supernatural activity.

Uneasy is the head that wears the crown.

That's an understatement. He gets an aneurysm once an hour. And unlike the ones induced by a witch, these ones don't heal.

***

Finn wandered the streets of New Orleans, a princedom his family once upon a time consecrated as the supernatural capital.

Like a magical beacon, he was drawn here. Yet, no bittersweet nostalgia came to the surface. He was sealed away when they made the city their home. Just as he was six hundred years prior. And three centuries henceforth.

Regulated to an eternal inanimate object by his own kin. Niklaus was the main culprit. But all his other siblings were complicit. Their silence was deafening. Their inaction was proof of their cowardice. 

His mind drifted back to a time long past, to the days when he was still a mortal man. The memories of his human life were not by any means perfect. Nonetheless, one can romanticize the most mundane of events when compared to the desolate emptiness of that black horizon. 

He did enjoy the vibrant atmosphere of the crescent city, bustling with life and brimming with the laughter of its inhabitants. Creatures of darkness are captivated and ensnared by light, as much it scorched and repulsed them. Cursed undead contradictions that they are. 

Preceding his daggering, Finn had roamed the earth as a bloodthirsty predator desperate for control. He couldn't tolerate his new existence, or God forbid relish in the torment and suffering he imparted on others like Kol and Klaus fancied. 

Father went mad in undeath, betrayed at learning his wife's infidelity, he struck her down and swore to exterminate every one of his progeny and the bastard they considered their own. 

At least, that was what Finn was informed. 

A millennium later, he discovered Niklaus was the architect of that offense. Just like every other misfortune written in the histories of the Mikaelson family. 

But the reason the eldest Original believed the lie so easily, was due to the fact that the infamous Destroyer might have murdered Esther in truth if the secret of Dahlia's bargain was revealed to him. 

His twin sister Freya was the apple of their father's eye. Her supposed death broke him. To find she was bartered away, would fuel his already bumbling rage and unleash the ruthless hunter he never hid from his other children. 

Finn's feelings oscillated from fearing for his life to praying to the mighty Lord to deliver him to the pearly celestial gates. He suspected he wouldn't be worthy if he succumbed to his own suicidal fantasies. 

But then again, only his father held the key to ridding him of his immortal coil. The caveat was that Mikael possessed a single weapon. A blade marked for Niklaus himself.

They burned the great tree hours after reviving. And assuming another would grow one day in the future, the issue of the two other components remains. 

When calling forth her dark magic, Mother channeled a solar eclipse and bound the spell with Tatia's lifeblood. That is why vampires burn in the sun and require the crimson essence as sustenance. 

A white oak stake would be harmful but not actually fatal on its own. 

His voluntary decades-long exile before their disastrous reunion in Tuscany was motivated by his quest for true peace. 

He didn't adopt an ascetic lifestyle or wander as the nomadic hermit they painted him as.

He just didn't go out of his way to slaughter as many as possible, then lament in the aftermath why Mikael caught their trail. 

Worse than mocking him for his pacifist creed, they thought him a sanctimonious bore who looked down on them. Despised them for embracing the demonic plague foisted upon them. And while he never zealously fought to keep unity within the family - even as mortals - he couldn't fathom why they so quickly drew their own conclusions and appointed him the herald of their doom. 

The Five approached him in the beginning with gifts and promises of alliance. A mutually beneficial agreement was their highlighted goal. 

Redemption for a monster demanded a heavy price. His journey began by eliminating the rest of the devilish brood. Crippling the nascent vampiric expansion in its cradle. 

Freedom from his curse would be the ultimate reward. The opportunity to live and die as a witch. Not an isolated pariah for the rest of time. 

He was tempted. Truly tempted to agree with their scheme. 

However he presented a counter offer. His siblings may not be so eager to accept humanity after a century cloaked in shadows, but they all secretly desired it. He knew that. The only way to deliver their darkest wish is to temporarily lock them away until they can be given the Cure itself. 

The Hunters would be appeased with the Originals no longer able to create and lead other immortals, and Finn wouldn't be haunted by the abhorrent sin of murdering his entire family. 

Mara Bennet, the creator of the Brotherhood, asked to channel him to power the incantation necessary to put his siblings in a deep slumber, just long enough to retrieve the elixir of their salvation. 

Except she lied. 

Lacking the elements to kill the abominations without his assistance, she instructed her creations to incapacitate them for perpetuity. 

Blinded by the allure of absolution and normality just as his youngest sister was with love and freedom, Finn played a role in the near imprisonment of his entire family. 

Fate dealt him a cruel hand. In sparing his siblings a swift merciless death, he was condemned to a life in a box. 

Niklaus deduced his guilt after a single conversation. And Elijah didn't protest once as the scythe of the reaper was plunged into his family.

A cycle of resentment, self-loathing and aspirations of monumental vengeance permeated his thoughts the more time he spent there, trapped but completely conscious. 

Finn should've gone mad ten times over. How he retains his sanity is a miracle. His half-brother's death should lift his spirits somewhat, but nothing brings him actual rejoice, only further isolation. 

The world had moved on, evolving and transforming with each passing century, while he remained suspended in a perpetual state of immobility. It's a perplexing reality. It's confusing and cruel, which is quite strange as he was raised in the medieval age. Civilized folk are well dressed barbarians. Genuine empathy is a dime a dozen. Liars and murders are ubiquitous. 

It's a perfect playground for the vampires. Perhaps his siblings fashioned it as such. Or did they simply take advantage of and maintain the status quo? 

Both options are as depressing as they are suffocating. 

Finn yearned for the simplicity of his mortal days, for the warmth of human connection and the freedom to walk under the sun's gentle rays without needing a daylight ring. He longed for a sense of belonging, for a purpose that extended beyond his eternal thirst. 

But what could that possibly be? 

Maybe the Creator heard his desperate plea, and decided to inflict further misery on his twisted soul. 

"Hello brother." 

Sometimes, the endless nothingness is bliss.

Chapter Text

Elijah, the impenetrable sentinel, stood in the doorway of the elegant parlor, his gaze fixed on Rebekah as she gracefully moved her fingers across the grand piano. The room was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, casting a warm ambiance that complemented the haunting melody filling the air. 

The rich notes of Beethoven's Sonata No. 14, resonated through the room, carrying with them a sense of melancholy and longing. It was a piece that Rebekah had always been particularly fond of, and her skilled hands brought it to life with a depth of emotion that captivated Elijah's heart. 

He remembered how excited she was to teach him how to play the harpsichord, the new wonderful invention of the Italians in the 1500s. 

She never got upset at how undignified and flustered he became after the unrhythmic dissonance of noises he brought forth. A tragic assault on genteel society Niklaus and Kol took to calling it in the following days. 

So he offered her the same graciousness when he returned to New Orleans after a lengthy business trip to Europe - a necessary fleeting reprieve from his half-brother - and introduced her to the piano. 

He recalled the countless nights playing at his sister's request and listening to Rebekah's own pieces, her love for music evident in every delicate touch. She hardly needed his help, for she was a prodigy. But it felt rewarding to share in her achievements. To bask in an activity not soured with carnage. 

He still scorned the reason he distanced himself from Marcellus. The fact that an individual can love more than one person at a time completely flabbergasted his brother. So Elijah and his ward needed to direct their misguided affection away from each other and towards a proper recipient, notably Niklaus himself. 

Taking that into consideration, the noble brother was secretly pleased his time in the music parlor with Bekah was exclusive to the two of them. Klaus focused on the painting brush and didn't offer a glib comment or anything of the sort when they were here.

Overwhelmed by his whirlwind of memories, he had only now realized Rebekah's eyes were closed, her expression serene yet imbued with a hint of sadness. Her fingers danced across the ivory keys, lost in the intricate rhythm of the composition. Elijah never ceased to marvel at her talent, her ability to convey such raw emotion through the power of song. 

As the final notes of the Moonlight Sonata lingered in the air, Rebekah slowly opened her eyes, her gaze meeting Elijah's. A small, melancholic smile graced her lips, and Elijah felt a surge of love and protectiveness wash over him. 

Other less platonic feelings crept up on him. It was a constant war with his darkest demons. A doomed crusade. 

"Beautifully played, Rebekah," he finally spoke, his voice filled with a mix of admiration and tenderness. 

Rebekah's smile vanished. The tranquility of the moment was lost. He felt like the wretched harbinger of death. To rob her of her light. Her joy. His presence drained the harmonious energy that just infused the sacred altar.

Strictly speaking, they've been avoiding each other for the past nine days. Orbiting the endless void but never actually colliding. Bound by gravity and mutual frustration and acrimony to suffer in solitary silence. 

His unilateral decision to pull the plug on whatever burgeoning feelings that clouded their sibling bond was the root cause. A wise plan in his mind's eye that unfortunately - predictably - planted waves of resentment and contempt in both respective parties. 

He truly despised the distance between them. Almost as much as he feared his powerlessness should he breach it. His near instantaneous acceptance of her immoral blasphemous proposition. 

But now he has little choice. 

"Rebekah," Elijah began, his voice grave, "Have you heard from Kol yet?" 

He observed the minute transformation on her features. Summoning her armor to confront him. It was flattering to recognize his effect on her. Yet it simultaneously triggered his self-loathing. He needed to remain in control. All his lives, he had jumped at the chance to correct any wrong ever made in her regard. It was an instinctive dermal reaction. 

Now he's both the author and the victim. 

"Nope." 

She popped the 'p' all too joyfully for his liking. Why was he even scrutinizing her lips' movements that much?

"I haven't the faintest idea where he is. And frankly, I hope I don't have to suffer his presence for another decade. Be a darling and close the door on your way out." 

With her clear nonchalance and dismissal, Elijah felt proportionately insignificant in her eyes. It was salt on a festering wound. 

He should exploit it to further maintain the divide he instauured. But he isn't strong enough. As soon as he leaves the parlor, his own walls will return, more impregnable and airtight than ever. So he has to keep the conversation going a moment longer. 

"There is something else. A reason why my search for Kol is paramount. It appears that our brother may be implicated in the death of the witch Genevieve." 

He expected surprise and disbelief. The barest hint of outrage at stealing her kill at the very least. But all he received was cold satisfaction as if harboring a hidden secret. 

"You should've led with that dear brother. That trollop has long passed her expiration date. Maybe I ought to thank Kol after all." 

Elijah's suspicion began to extend beyond his brother. The gnawing fear affected him greatly. He hesitated for a moment before continuing. "The evidence is compelling but rather circumstantial. I found her body in a bar by the docks that Kol rented for the night. Alongside twenty seven humans and twelve vampires. They were torn apart limb from limb. She however was drained dry. The details are incriminating. Suspiciously so." 

"Again I say good riddance. If you're quite done, why don't retrieve your aloof detachment and we can continue ignoring each other in peace." His sister sighed and headed for the counter, before pouring down a glass of vodka. It seems she contemplated erasing this conversation by the time he disappeared from her sight. 

He willfully ignored her comment and stepped closer. She retreated in consequence, "What if this evidence against Kol is part of a larger conspiracy? What if someone is actively working to frame him?" 

His sister's features were filled with ironic pity, "Do you truly believe that there's a method to Kol's madness? He kills whom he wants, when he wants. Always has." Her voice grew at the incredulity of her brother's suggestion. "And a conspiracy? Who would benefit from tarnishing Kol's name? Why on earth would they go to such lengths?" 

Why indeed? 

Elijah's brows furrowed as he processed the question. "Kol has always been reckless and impulsive. But witches aren't his normal prey. He's reverential of their practice. Killing one would be akin to social suicide. Acting on a mercurial whim isn't the logical conclusion."

She raised her eyebrows at his insinuation,"If you're so concerned about him why haven't you tried a locator spell? He couldn't just have evaporated into thin air." 

He fetched himself a glass and gripped the vintage bottle; a gift from Peter the Great during his sojourn in the Empire. Such prized beverage for what occasion exactly? 

"The city covens weren't very accommodating. Josephine has them on high alert. I had to offer Vicent a favor should he produce any results. But I returned empty handed. Whether that means Kol is heavily cloaked, possibly in witch custody, or that Mr Griffith has simply refused to extend me this courtesy, despite being well compensated for his aid, is debatable." 

Rebekah's vibrant reaction didn't seem fabricated. "It's insane to refuse such a ridiculously generous proposal. You know I've always abhorred how sanctimonious the New Orleans witches were. Mindless sheep, the lot of them." 

She turned her gaze into the adjoining balcony and existed languidly, forcing him to follow, enthralled by her siren song, the honorable fool he was. 

"Forget about them. You have the Gemini, the most powerful coven in the States on speed dial. Couldn't you hire one of them for the job?" 

Elijah was inebriated already. But he looked on stoically, his mental vault a divine gift. "Great minds think alike sister. Alas, Joshua is not answering my calls. I fear he's either betrayed his allegiance or has found himself on a bit of a bind." 

She scoffed unceremoniously. It had no right to appear as regal as it did. "For his and his family's sake, I hope it's the latter. I just had a manicure. It'd be a shame to ruin it by tearing out his heart." 

He took a sip of his drink to hide his smirk. He'd normally disprove such flippant disregard of life. And yet, the fact that she's so vocal about her displeasure and willing to shed blood to rectify it, for no other reason except he experienced mild discomfort, is sweet. 

He's unquestionably hopeless. 

The silence stretches between them. Elijah hasn't the heart to divulge his accusations regarding her involvement. And she didn't make any additional request for him to leave. 

"I saw Finn today." 

Elijah was expecting a great many things to break the impasse, but certainly not that. 

"He's in New Orleans? For how long?" 

He's truly thankful he didn't run his errant mouth earlier. If his estranged sibling just happened to be in town, coinciding with the staged murder of Genevieve, then Rebekah may not be the suspect he assumed. 

"I don't know honestly. I didn't actually speak to him. He left before I could have a chance. He looked spooked. Properly freaked out. I almost felt the desire to shield him from all harm." 

He didn't know how to interpret that statement. Her inflection revealed no hint of trickery. He thinks that's why he's truly upset. A childish inane jealousy. So far beneath him. And yet very present.

Elijah nodded encouragingly, hoping she might continue her account. His mind raced with the implications of their eldest brother's potential guilt. How relieving and infuriating it actually is.

Confusion marred his sister's face. "That's it. He didn't stick around for an interrogation. And I didn't chase him across the Ninth ward like a stalker."

She paused, fully analyzing his countenance, "But you want to. You already suspect him. Don't you?"

Her chuckle echoed across the winds, crafting a different type of melody. "You never cease to amaze me brother. The white knight leaping to the rescue one second. The merciless punisher the next. Don't you get tired of the game?"

She turned away from him without another word. He wasn't even worthy of a goodbye.

Elijah vamp-sped in front of her. His temper flaring at her false presumption. He was being objective. Just as any neutral jurist should.

Finn was an unknown variable. Fully able to carry out this ruse and slip through his fingers without his knowledge.

He gave his brother the benefit of the doubt once upon a time. Accepted the invitation to Finn's vineyard and led all his siblings with him. Like lamb to the slaughter. Niklaus played along with the charade as his behest. His sister foolishly fell to Alexander's advances, but again the Mikaelson family wouldn't have set foot in the blasted trap, if not for the elder Original's promises of reconciliation.

Never again.

Moreover, if Rebekah's so quick to throw stones at him for condemning Finn for the murder without substantial evidence, what's her excuse for not granting Kol the same chance to contest his verdict?

The trail leads more firmly to her hands being soaked with the redhead witch's death in any case.

Bekah never concealed her distaste or revulsion when it came to the fallen elder. It's already established she has no issue killing members of the French Quarter coven, acting on her emotions. And her relationship with Kol - and recently Elijah - is less than ideal.

It didn't make him feel any less monstrous for formulating this bleak scenario. He offered her compassion and acceptance when she confessed her role in the warlock's (accidental) death. But he has no problem leveraging that to pressure another admission. 

"There is no game. I hold myself to the same standards as everyone else. We aren't gods, Rebekah. Someone has to keep us in check."

"And you just decided that would be you? For someone who detests the concept of absolute power, you sure have quite the god-complex."

Touché.

"I would be more than happy to confer that role to your capable exquisite hands. You always did like to take charge."

Her flushed cheeks and clouded crystal orbs spurred him on. They were standing impossibly close. He could hear her undead heartbeat. Detect the taste of alcohol in her bloodstream. He wanted to verify his theory, but he wasn't certain he wanted her to pull him closer, or push him away - forever - thus he relented and remaind impossibly still.

"Are you sure you won't be embarrassed to learn I make for a superior leader, in every conceivable manner?" 

She was teasing him. He rarely got the chance to enjoy the back-and-forth to this degree. Eternity, in contrast to popular belief, is an extended collection of several insipid lifetimes, sprinkled with occasional cataclysmic struggles. Distracting enough to limit his opportunities for romantic pursuits, but not nearly enough to make the danger worthwhile.

Perhaps, he never admitted he already found the ideal partner.

"I've never been a betting man, but I am willing to wager your success will make me the most comfortable and at ease bloke in the Quarter. Have at it."

Her gleeful visage pleased him considerably. "So I am supposed to be the new Queen of the supernatural, and you'll just stay here like a useless trophy husband?"

Pardon.

"I am appalled you regulated me to a mere attractive specimen. I'll do the tasks of an exemplary stay-at-home spouse, thank you very much."

She laughed in delight. He wished to capture the sound in a bottle and store it in a sealed, albeit quickly accessible fort.

For a single second that lasted an eon, Elijah discarded all his pretenses of infallibility and put aside his burdens. Rebekah's gaze didn't falter, so he surrendered to the caged desire.

Their lips met, a delicate collision of lust and anticipation. The world around them blurred into insignificance as their bodies gravitated toward each other, drawn by an invisible force that transcended time and rationality. In that moment, the universe seemed to hold its breath, savoring the exquisite tension that hung between their parted mouths.

His hand cradled her face, his fingers tracing the contours of her cheek with a tender reverence. With each stroke, he conveyed a silent promise - one he didn't yet have the audacity to proclaim - of passion and vulnerability, of a connection that defied the boundaries of their immortal existence.

She, in turn, surrendered herself to the intoxicating dance of their embrace. Her arms found their way around his neck, fingers entwining in the strands of his hair. The strands became a conduit, a lifeline that tethered her to the present moment, grounding her amidst the swirling tempest of emotions that coursed through her veins.

Their kiss deepened, a crescendo of longing and surrender. Their breath mingled, as if exchanging secrets known only to them. Time slowed, stretching into infinity, as their mouths moved in perfect harmony. It was a symphony. An intricate choreography of lips, tongues, and whispered sighs.

And as they broke apart, their breaths mingling in the hallowed space between them, Elijah knew without any lingering doubt; he was truly cursed.

He just didn't care.

Chapter Text

Kol was quenching his thirst for vintage alcohol when ,out of the blue, a pretty bird decided to approach him. 

"Not a single public execution or familial betrayal all night long. I dare say the infamous Mikaelsons have lost their touch." 

Is she that ignorant or just a plain imbecile? She should thank Loki it's him and not his courteous brother she spoke to. Or worse, his social butterfly of a sister. 

The vampire smiled with roguish charm as he kissed her hand, "Perhaps you'd like to be the first course of the evening love. We like to take our time to produce only the most exquisite results." 

Granted, she's not too lucky. 

"I should hope so. That quick disposal of the novice warlock from the Garden district made me concerned with your sister's performance. That's why I came to you naturally. The legendary Alchemist. He who has bathed in the blood of thousands of creatures for both power and pleasure." 

She had a strange allure to her. And an uncommon familiarity that sobered him up. More baffling about the encounter, he could feel her dampening her magic. It was a near perfect repression. Allowing a small portion to filter through, painting herself as a weakling with too high aspirations and a distinct lack of self-preservation. 

But he knew the truth. A dam can't completely stop a flood. At least not for long. 

She had the means to cripple him where he stood. Possibly his siblings as well, if they're caught off guard. 

Kol notices the not-couple dancing from the corner of his eye, and resists the urge to punch his fist through a wall - preferably several. Yep, they're all doomed. 

He knew he should've strong-armed Freya into attending as his date when flirtatious presents and subtle gestures didn't bear fruit. 

He just has to hope this dark witch is a legitimate admirer intrigued with his arcane knowledge, instead of a complacent foe rightfully gloating before ushering his demise. 

"That is my moniker. Magic and vampirism don't usually mix. But my travels have taught me how to fashion the closest equivalent of undead mystical amalgamations. I would be absolutely delighted to show you darling." 

He skillfully placed his palm on her bare neck. Right now, they stood at a stand still. He can snap her vertebrae as quickly as it would take her to dessicate him. Should the stars favor him, his mystery girl will hesitate, ensuring her death. 

"After you dear." 

But where is the fun in that? 

Kol and the raven haired lady quietly slipped away from the party.

**

The past week was a bit of a blur. When one's life is measured in centuries, keeping track of mere days is exhausting and unnecessary. The memories all blend together. 

Still, through the haze of booze and boobs, something felt off. A locked access from the innermost secrets of his mind. 

But that's nonsensical, surely. No magic user on the planet can compel an Original. Especially Kol. The layers of runes inscribed on his physical form and spiritual warding keeps him safe from all interference. 

He had tried once to follow the instructions of a group of Tibetan monks on meditation. Elijah mentioned it helped him curve his hunger, so it can prove useful to him. 

Kol could care less about submitting to human societal norms on his feeding habits. He just noticed the teachings resembled actual wiccan practices and his interest was piqued. 

No actual correlation between the two had him abandon the guise of attempt in hyperspeed. 

Staring at nothing, virtually immobilized for long periods of time seemed like a bore. That is why he couldn't comprehend what the hell Dahlia was doing. 

His new flavor of the month - and permanent subordinate if he can manage to convince her - was seated on a yoga mat for over an hour, doing breathing exercises. 

Oxygen ceased to be a requirement since his father pierced his heart and lungs with his sword. The process of witnessing others struggle or strain in inhaling and exhaling became a normality he ignored. 

It's the staggering difference between this trapped motionless woman and the lively machine that comes out at night that surprises him. 

"Yes?" 

He was standing at the door, away from her line of sight. Not to mention that predatory stalking was a built-in setting after rebirth. 

He wiggled his eyebrows when she turned around, giving him her full attention. "I booked the Black Flame for us tonight. A couple of my night walkers are looking for rings. You fancy getting a new job, gorgeous?" 

"To serve at the beck and call of the world's oldest occult expert. Who wouldn't want that?" Her tone forever carried a hint of malice, derision and self-deprecating humor. Internalized on occasion. Eerily resembling Elijah's. In other instances, he's the target. And Nik appears in a flash, against his better judgment. 

"In exchange, you'll be under my protection. No coven or individual wiccan can attack you without antagonizing the Original family. And most importantly, all our resources are within your reach. Grimoires as ancient as I am. Dark objects strong enough to alter reality. An army to command. What do you say?" 

Who's foolish enough to deny him? 

Her onyx orbs flickered in deep contemplation. The sudden intensity of the atmosphere pressured him, rather than her. "Very well. If you want my fealty, you'll grant me your own. Is that not fair?" 

Loyalty to another. Preposterous indeed. On the other hand, he enjoys a few decades without going on the prowl for a witch replacement. 

Perhaps, he can figure out how to make her immortal before time catches up to her. Freya is proof of concept. He's good with experiments. 

"Why not? Should we shake hands on it? Unless you would prefer a kiss?" 

"Oh I had something different in mind. If you don't mind doing the honors?" 

She handed him an embellished obsidian knife meticulously tucked away in her jacket on the nearby hanger. Circa 1300s Greece, if he's to hazard a guess. Klaus had been the connoisseur of blades, but Kol is no slouch either. 

With an expert slash into his right palm, droplets of blood fell into the prepared cauldron. Dahlia followed suit. It was alerting how quickly he complied with her suggestion. So unlike him. A reckless hedonist, but never a trusting fool. 

In the blink of an eye, the vampire pushed her to the wall and tightened his iron grip on her pressure point, preventing her from any dodgy spellcasting. 

"What the bloody hell did you do to me, witch?" His growl was monstrous. His scarlet hooded eyes promising swift merciless carnage. 

She smiled completely unbothered. He broke her windpipes as a response. 

Her wheezing noise lasted shorter than he imagined. Tasted bitter as well. Her healing was abnormal. It was supernaturally fast. Vampiric even. 

What twisted abomination has he just signed a Faustian pact with? 

Almost automatically, Kol felt his ribcage searing with the heat of a thousand suns. When he tore his shirt in a hurry to discover the source of the pain, he noticed a scale burned on his chest. It was the sigil of the Libra sect. 

How?

"Is this a ridiculous game to you wench? Why do you use this brand? The coven is extinct." 

An identical mark was tattooed on her breast. Magical ink to signify an unbreakable deal. A blatant ownership clause. Elijah adopted them in his bargains every now and then, when his business partners weren't very prone to upholding their end. 

Yet the catch was that it's an imperfect two-way contract. A regular human or supernatural going against a stipulation leads to spontaneous immolation. Originals however have a fancy way of cheating death. His noble brother may not have needed to reveal this fact, his word is law without tomfoolery. Kol isn't beholden to that restriction. 

He'll squeeze every bit of information from the ambitious burnette. Afterwards, her entrails will serve as Christmas decorations. 

"Is it? Here I am." 

She bowed theatrically - a Mikaelson prerogative she's not entitled to - allowing him a healthy peak into her cleavage. Alright, he can forgive a single time use. 

The room's temperature levels were rising. No, it's his own vessels evaporating. Twenty seconds is all it takes for a mortal to die once that happens. He gets to relive the agony with each successive regeneration. Brilliant. 

"I expected more of you, sweet nephew. The only one to embrace his heritage in his youth. You didn't possess my Freya's innate powers, but your mind made up for that." 

"What the fuck are you on about?" 

The aneurysm caused serious hearing impairment, or he just blacked out and is now in a dreamlike comma.

She flicked her wrist and he regained a semblance of coherent thought. 

"Where do I begin?" She sighed in disappointment. He's relegated to a mere unruly child. She's not his family, yet the scolding on the tip of her tongue makes him flinch. 

"From the start, cunt." 

For that comment he spends the rest of the afternoon throwing up his lunch. He wishes that was his worst misfortune. Not the Pandora's box he uncovered. 

*** 

His lovely aunt was dressed in a knee-length cocktail dress with loose strappings. She had the customary violet eye shadow and black lipstick. 

The cliche image of every femme fatale in a Bond movie. He binge watched them with his pseudo friend Jeremy Gilbert. It's a shame he got the Hunter's mark, forcing Kol to arrange his death. A tough but necessary decision lest the foolish Scooby-Doo gang succeed in raising Silas and trigger the end of the world. 

It's the dagger Nik stuck in his heart moments later that truly infuriated him. 

"How do I look?" 

Like a child-stealing psychopathic supermodel with a murder streak and a bottomless hunger for power. In other words: a proper relative. 

"I've seen better." 

She sneered in outrage at his lack of manners. Her face might as well be stuck in that expression. After her little juju, they're stuck with one other. For better or for worse. 

"Are you certain Genevieve will work with us?" 

Dahlia took the stool next to him. The compelled bartender Roberto poured her a double shot tequila on her request. Impressive start. She's Freya's mentor alright. 

"Genevieve is nothing but an expendable pawn. Her refusal will mean her death. I need access to the Regent. Once I have her, and I will, opposition to the Libra restoration is impossible." 

She ended her evil monologue with a toast, before draining the glass in a gulp. 

"And what of the pesky Ancestors? Esther to be specific? My siblings had her consecrated on New Orleans soil." 

She rolled her eyes in annoyance, "Those zealous ghosts and the fool that tricked her way into leading them are insects in the grand scheme of things." 

"Considering your candid proclamation, I assume you completed the barrier spell. The bar is an anti-magic zone to the ancestral covens?" 

"Of course, I am not baffoon. Unlike the amateur who didn't take precautions against kenning." 

The audacity.

"It's not my bloody fault you spell-crafted a secret mind tempering technique. Am I meant to shield myself from something that doesn't exist?" 

She got up angered. What a drama queen.

"The title of supernatural royalty is lost on you. What's the point of being stronger than every other creature on earth, if you can be used like another's pet, with just the right amount of preparation?" 

Now she's abusing his false compassion. Pompous bitch. 

"I am no one's pet. Say another word and I'll bury you in cement. You'll make for a nice parking lot for drunk tourists." 

She stepped closer at his threat, rather than backing away. "I am not scared of you little boy. You should thank your wretched mother's magic. As flawed a design you all turned out to be, at least you aren't a brain-dead thrall like the rest subjugated to my curse. But a one-trick pony I am not."

He started sweating faster. Not this shit again. "Your doings say different. The blood boiling is on its last leg. Learn another tune auntie dearest."

She called off her mystical assault and retook her seat with gravitas. "Your words have merit. I am capable of a myriad of ways of ensuring your cooperation. Delightfully violent ones." 

"As am I. Remember, you consented to the contract as well. If you don't fulfill your obligations, I am authorized to a punishment of my choice. Is that not fair?" He whispered her words back to her.

The old hag's manipulations weren't fool-proof. The kenning temporarily lowered his defenses, but the deal bound them to a common cause. Both of them will burn alive when they diverge from the terms. At revival, the other can take more pleasure at engraving the pact's clauses in the flesh.

Her response was overshadowed by the crowd's entrance. Vampires that swore allegiance to him during his time in Los Angeles. He's only now summoned them to the Crescent city. Elijah’s too distracted with guilt and their sister, to take heed of the obvious signs.

A new order is on the rise.

Roberto goes to fetch the rest of the compelled humans: a generous meal to serve at the feast.

The eternal night has just begun.

**

He was woefully misinformed.

Kol thought the evening served as a get-together for his court, with an added plotting as hors-d'œuvre.

Things started out magnificently. The party was in full swing, music and thrill traveled like pandemonium.

In the midst of heavy drinking and dancing, he escorted Genevieve to his magical playroom upstairs.

She was very guarded, but her presence alone attested to her desire for rebellion. To break free from a life under the spirits' thumb. It's tragic she'll soon replace her jailors with Kol and Dahlia. 

He noticed the brunette leaving the swarm of people after receiving a call. Vamp-hearing was the ideal solution. Until his eardrums burst out.

No eavesdropping. Got it, you sadistic bitch.

The Original carried on to his destination

"Make yourself comfortable, love. We have much to talk about."

He opened the windows to let in some cool air drift. The French Quarter elder scanned some of the Grimoires on his desktop with reverence.

"These are sacred tomes. Preserved in pristine condition."

He chuckled in amusement. Dangling a carrot worked wonders for him. Maybe Nik should've picked up a thing or two. Swinging the stick didn't instill the visceral intimidation he sought after all.

"That's the tip of the iceberg darling. The magical community will change forever in the coming months. You can be part of something incredible. Or you can die with the rotten disbelievers. Your choice."

Her eyes dilated silently. He almost thought he was compelling her subconsciously. But the scent of vervain in her system disproved that notion.

He's truly that glamorous.

While pondering the limits of his own grandeur, Kol caught the sound of new ominous arrivals.

Ancient vampires. 

"Peruse to your heart's content. I'll be right back."

He flashed away in an instant.

And you can be assured he didn't like what he found.

Tristan bloody Martel.

Dahlia went behind his back - as expected - and invited the stuck up poser Elijah turned over a millennium ago.

Few people managed to irritate him as the noble stag's mirage. All his brother's worst aspects, yet not one of the tools to hide them.

"Thank you for joining us Kol. You're just in time for the main act." 

De Martel made a signal for one of his lackeys. The suited henchman was across the bar. He left the shadows for the middle of the dance floor. In uncoordinated but devastating extremely fast attacks, butchered every one of Kol's sired and any surviving snacks.

He couldn't fathom the identity of the risen monster. It had to be an illusion. 

The face that stared back at him was all too familiar.

Klaus.

Chapter Text

Elijah wasn't particularly fond of the bayou. Disregarding the entrenched scent of the lycanthropes, with fear and hate seamlessly merging, the humidity and stifling heat were a potent deterrent. But Kenner would accept meeting with him only in the heart of his domain. Terribly suspicious he would be assassinated by the Original vampire if found elsewhere. So, he acclimated. 

Elijah is honestly bewildered with the Alpha's reservations. Would a change in venue truly prevent him from executing a target? 

The Crescent pack's power outside of the full moon is a laughing stock. For now, that is. The danger of the elusive ring prompts his proactive approach to destroying all opposition.  Under normal circumstances, he would be well on his way to complete extermination. However, the kinship shared with Hayley and her child is a powerful block. 

Thinning out the herd and eliminating rowdy troublemakers is sufficient. 

"It has to be the witches." 

Jackson predictably blamed the covens for his packmates' recent disappearances. A theory Elijah was more than willing to support. 

"They were in fact magical footprints near Oliver and John's last known locations. And rumors are circulating in the grapevine that the wolves are responsible for Genevieve's death. It seems logical that they've retaliated." 

The Alpha glared at the heep of wooden logs he just finished stacking. His distrust of the vampire, overshadowed by the valuable information offered to him on a silver platter. 

"That had nothing to do with us. The witches are always having turf wars. For all we know, it was Vincent or that new elder that showed up out of the blue. She replaced Monroe. Probably didn't flinch at killing her to make it happen." 

Elijah retained his mask, processing the emotion-originated allegation. Naturally, he fed both sides conflicting reports to stoke the animosity between them. Aggression bubbled over and led to violent outbursts, which hid his long term goals quite beautifully. 

Although, the new French Quarter leader Freya was a new variable. It was too strange a coincidence that she arrived in New Orleans, days after he noticed her and Kol conversing in secret. Plotting perhaps. His younger brother strutted back into the compound after the vanishing debacle, without the barest explanation and expected no reprimanding or questioning from his beloved family. 

Kol appealed to his empathy; He was owed some faith . Elijah granted him leniency on the surface level. Darker thoughts remained swirling deep down. Finn, the more favored suspect, was himself conveniently missing, presumably cloaked. By whom and for what purpose? 

The complex web of alliances and betrayals enthralled him, despite being the bane of his existence. 

Elijah's gaze drifts to the lone figure standing in the distance, masked somewhat by the trees. The silhouette nudges forwards. His blood turns cold as he identifies the person. 

Jackson calls him back to the realm of the living, and the vampire breaks free from his trance. 

He's certain they speak longer on the subject of incoming war, but Elijah's too mentally preoccupied with the screams of guilt and madness in his mind. 

His brother's spirit was watching. Lying in wait to witness his own fall. Nothing less than what he deserves.

***

Camille cautiously opened the door to her apartment. She had received no visitors for days and barely went out outside.

All her focus was spent perusing through ancient grimoires from her family's confiscated contraband collection to try and figure out a cure for her uncle.

Supernatural custodian heritage or not, she was no magical expert. The Latin and French courses she took as an elective didn't actually prove helpful in translating voodoo gibberish. At this point, she felt all hope was slowly but surely getting drained from her body.

"Hello Camille."

The surprising drop-in didn't make it easier.

"Elijah. I didn't expect you."

The perfectly dressed gentleman smiled charmingly, but she didn't dare interpret it as a good omen.

The O'Connell could never read him. Klaus wore his emotions on his sleeve. It made her empathize with his plight at the beginning. He did hold her hostage through psychic compulsion, but dissecting her potential Stockholm syndrome to a dead vampire is a topic for another day.

Elijah on the hand, was practically a chameleon. Adapting to any social interaction with the grace of an experienced politician - or old school mobster. You only saw what you wanted reflected in the mirror.

"I hope I didn't find you at an unsuitable time. May I come in?"

She carefully observed the empty corridor to think over his proposal. Camille doubted he would actually harm her if she refused. In their conversations, Klaus often derided his elder brother's heedless obeisance to human morals.

Obviously within the confines of casual murder, her safety is assured. However, if the Original had a purpose in being here, and she stopped it - intentionally or not - her life is forfeit.

She remembered all too well how Klaus paid for the mistake of ignoring that solemn truth.

"No, please come in." She opened the door wider, welcoming him to her humble abode. The tension didn't dissipate. Her fatigue was catching up to her as well.

Elijah crossed the barrier not a moment longer. The fact that she just gave him unlimited access to her home should raise quite a few flags. But, a flimsy legal clause wouldn't have stopped him anyway.

"Sorry for the mess. I was going to clean up later. But I just lost track of time."

She let out a nervous chuckle, as her guest observed the sink filled with junk food remains and the plethora of clothes strewn about the sofa. Magical writings galore overtook the table haphazardly.

"It's quite alright. It was a grievous error on my part to come like this. Yet, I fear it's terribly serious."

Calmy, the vampire removed his jacket and deposited it on the coat hanger near the closet.

"What's going on?" She mulled over the possible scenarios of supernatural doom and gloom the ancient vampire has come to tell her of. Sometimes, she hated not leaving New Orleans like the Hybrid attempted to compel her into doing. Loss of normality was an eternal reminder.

"I would like us to talk. If you're amenable."

His answer shocked her more than she liked to admit. He couldn't be insinuating what she thinks he is. Cami ran her hands across her blond locks, a useless tactic to relieve the height of frustration and exhaustion she's experiencing.

"Do you mean as a patient? Because I am not remotely qualified, Elijah. I wouldn't know where to start."

Instead of amusement at her false assumption and correcting it, Elijah made himself comfortable on the sofa across from her. Brilliant.

"I believe you're grossly underestimating your capabilities. I rarely heard my brother speak of any mortal with the degree of respectability he reserved for you. Your intellect intrigued him. As it does me."

She felt a strange tickling sensation at the complement. She wouldn't consider herself a naïve girl, but catching the interest of the world's oldest vampires is one hell of an ego boost.

And a terrifying warning of the lethal entanglement she's risking the longer she's in the underworld's capital.

Furthermore, a supernatural therapist is definitely not a career path she should be pursuing. It's fascinating having the chance to examine the psyche of century old immortals. The history, knowledge and myriad of psychological disorders at the tip of her fingers would make her a best-selling author. Provided she's allowed to publish them and keep breathing at the same time.

Not worth the risk.

In an all too quick movement, Cami accidentally pushes the tea cup on the kitchen counter to the floor. It breaks on impact, hurdling shards in every direction and spilling its contents. Her half-addled mind doesn't register the minuscule flinch of her guest. Nor the strained voice of his words, when she reached to pick them up on her own, cutting her tender flesh.

The mess - both the recent one and the general one around the flat - is gone within a moment's notice. With her imperceptible injury bandaged neatly. The vampire looks at ease, his rescue attempt now finalized.

She's wondering whether he's that obsessive about tidiness. His fashion style is a dead giveaway for certain preferences. But imposing his own perfectionist ideals on others only made itself known at present.

Another silly thought crossed her mind. His belated reaction until her finger was picked. A trigger perhaps. Squeamish at the sight of blood. It almost had her snort at the outrageousness. Lord of the vampires, made undone by a few droplets of his power-source.

Thankfully, mind reading was strictly through tactile contact. So her critical albeit well-intentioned thoughts are obscured.

"As I was saying. You'd be well compensated for your time of course. And I wouldn't bear ill-will towards you should you decline. I consider you a friend Camille. I hope it's not too presumptuous of me."

A friend. That's ... nice. With Davina's reclusiveness post mortem and Josh's death, Cami could use one right now. Just to diverge her more bleak notions about her uncle's fate.

On the other hand, the young vampire's untimely end inevitably dragged to the forefront the matter of his sire's death. Elijah's brother. The very man she was called upon to dissuade from killing Rebekah. Apparently, her heart-felt commiseration with Klaus on the pain of losing a sibling wasn't enough. And when reason failed, the elder Mikaelson took up himself the mantle of the biblical Cain and wet the earth with his younger's blood.

No wonder he wants therapy.

She's about ready to reluctantly agree when Elijah continues on.

"Additionally I give you my word, your uncle will receive only the best magical care available. His hex shall be treated. This is not part of the agreement mind you. I'll help him either way. I apologize for not acting sooner."

Oh!

She's sure she hasn't felt so giddy since her high-school prom. No actual strides have been taken, but the Original's word is ironclad. Kieran will be okay. Everything will be alright.

Her hug comes unexpected to both parties. Not awful or uncomfortable, just slightly awkward with the vampire's hand remaining down and impossibly stiff as if preparing for an attack. Her flaring enthusiastic warmth didn't thaw his aloof expression.

"I take that as a yes, Camille?" He formulated his inquiry too quietly.

"I told you a hundred times that's a grandmother's name. It's Cami. And absolutely."

Her real life shot at recreating Anne Rice's interview with the vampire. This is perfect

***

Rebekah was taking advantage of Elijah's charitable mood when she called him an hour ago and coaxed him into joining her on a shopping spree. She's never met someone as knowledgeable about high-tier brands as her suave brother, so his help would be a boon.

The particular setting for their meeting was inconsequential however. She just needed a backdrop to relay some subtle suggestions here and there about having a proper date.

Letting him be the judge of how a particular dress or lingerie set fitted her was just an extra bonus. His mind is slow to accept his feelings. But, his body is incredibly eager to act on them. A little push is all it takes.

To her utter horror, Hayley, bored out of her mind, and big as a whale decided to tag along. Rebekah cursed the stars when Elijah, still on the other line - and a vampire - gave his approval for the werewolf mama's request, if his sister's willing he stressed too late.

He might as well have locked her up in hexed chains. Should she shatter the pregnant woman's dreams, and risk upsetting her brother?

"Why not darling? The more, the merrier." Her perfect Disney princess smile was reassuring. The crescent's weak - fabricated - protests about interrupting sibling bonding nearly made her wretch.

She already had her way. Why bother rubbing it in?

"Demetri. Grab the car, would you love."

The vampire complied with her request immediately. Rebekah never felt that having bodyguards was necessary. Klaus was too paranoid for his own good, she reiterated in her mind for centuries.

On a more realistic level, who other than her family could harm her? Who could stop them should they do so? Still, she would be lying if she didn't admit how frequently the Mikaelson sister treated them as efficient servants. Bound by a vow of silence, their displeasure over said indignity was kept only to themselves. Then again, violent displays of discontent are ill-advised when working for a progenitor of your race.

"Meena, help Hayley climb the stairs. Be gentle." The snap of her fingers forced another immortal to follow her command. She left the parlor in a terrible mood. Her masterfully crafted plan was crumbling into pieces.

***

Rebekah had no clue just how unfortunate she actually was. Stopping at the entrance of the ultra-exclusive store, the vampiress headed with regular confidence to her awaiting brother.

This situation could still be salvageable. Hayley can be distracted long enough for the Mikaelson to be alone with her unknowing prey.

Almost on instinct, Rebekah engulfs her love in a tight - maybe too possessive - embrace. He smells amazing. She has half a mind to snog him right there in public view. Assert her claim, and cast off all potential usurpers into the abyss. Frigga is merciful however, and the Original is satisfied by Elijah kissing her forehead with clear joy in his honey brown orbs.

"I missed you." His voice is too low for any chaste thoughts. She can tell, because her own mind is skipping through R-rated simulations in hyper-speed.

"It's only been three hours since we saw each other. Dial down the longing brother dear." Her seductive tone is contrasting her accusing phrase

The sexual tension is so thick it can be cut with a butter knife.

Then, she noticed Elijah wasn't alone.

Wonderful.

He took her charming invitation too literally, for accompanying him was the blonde bartender, spy, therapist and God knows whatever else role she filled, during Nik's war campaign. The bloody hell does a girl need to do to gain her suitor's undivided attention?

Rebekah doesn't chase. She's the center of attention of every gathering. The Holy Grail sought by the Knights of the Round table. The Golden flame Prometheus stole from Olympus.

But she's forced to share her private moments with her own brother. Ridiculous.

"Cami. Fancy seeing you here."

"Rebekah. Hi, it's been a while. Elijah asked if I wanted to come here after we ... went for coffee. I hope you don't mind."

The stutter in the middle of talking, implied she was lying about her and Elijah's activities. Isn't this just kismet?

"Of course not. Us girls are going to have a blast. We might even leave my old grumpy brother in the dust." She wrapped her arm around Camille with too much fondness perhaps, for Elijah raised his eyebrows, offended at her conspiratorial response.

"Hey Cami. Is everyone a fashion groupie today?" The werewolf arrived at the scene at last, her friendly teasing blending well.

"Very well ladies. Shall we?" Elijah took back the loss momentum, naturally and effortlessly. Her feigned coldness to hide her anger for keeping quiet about his doings with the O'Connell was all but forgotten.

Damn him.

Chapter Text

Anger is like a full hot horse, who being allowed his way, Self-mettle tires him.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Kol silently admired the closed coffin in the middle of the room. 

He wasn't ashamed to say that the exquisite craftsmanship was riveting. The rich mahogany wood gleaming softly in the light. 

The polished surface showcases intricate carvings made painstakingly slow by his half-brother's diligent hands.

He needn't even check to know that the interior is lined with luxurious cream fabric, inviting and serene, creating a peaceful resting place. 

Atop the coffin was a beautifully engraved letter K to distinguish which one amongst the Hybrid's collection this belongs to.

And isn't it the most delicious of ironies that Niklaus is now trapped and immobilized there by his hand?

He opens the box unceremoniously and eyes the golden dagger lodged deep within his brother's heart.

Kol's own invention, naturally. 

It took him a couple of weeks to get the descendant of Mary-Alice to willingly grant him some of her blood. 

The sanctimonious Elijah, power-hungry Nik, and the still-living pain in his arse, Marcel Gerard, banding together to keep her away from his oh-so-dangerous hands.

And in the end, it turned out that nothing will get a stubborn teenager more into an idea than explicitly forbidding her from doing it.

Thus, one trip to Lafayette cemetery later, and his Dark objects' collection—the ash dagger as their crown jewel—returned to his hands.

Dahlia was more than willing to make the necessary adjustments to ensure it's effective.

(As if it needed any.)

He could feel an aneurysm building up, and for the umpteenth time, wished he had partnered up with just about anyone who wasn't related to him.

The family's all cursed.

"Do you need to take a selfie with it? We're on a timetable here."

The screeching crone yelling across the hall finally broke him out of the highly immersive torture session he conjured for her later.

Why in the gods name did he even bother getting Mother Gothel up to speed with modern slang?

Bex said he was horrible when he first woke up in the 21st century. But he hardly believed he was this irritating.

And what did his sister know anyhow? She woke up barely two months before him. The bloody nerve of that woman to cast stones.

However, maybe she wasn't dead wrong on this one instance.

"Fine, you old hag. I'm coming. A simple text would have sufficed."

He turned around; one thing did keep pricking at the back of his mind.

The suit.

It felt like a cartoonish add-on. He understands the desire for petty revenge. Yet, Tristan must've been on some weird shit when he decided to force Nik into these clothes.

Kenning spells shouldn't be wasted on dressing dolls.

Plentiful ridicule, undoubtedly. Though, an obvious cry for attention.

Elijah sure did leave a mark on him.

Oh well. His methods, however dubious and erring on the side of deranged, have proven results. 

Kol slowly reseals the casket, savoring the sight of those gray veins a little longer. He knows this isn't permanent—or even a three-hundred-year-old sentence to tip the scales back to balance between them.

It'd be a colossal waste of time, rationally speaking, to resurrect someone and then force them to eternal slumber.

(Rationality being a presumed trait for members of his kin is a difficult enough exercise as it is. But he digresses.)

If his personal reaction to seeing the Hybrid back in his immortal coil back at the bar is a gauge...

His siblings will be caught blindsided. And that will prove to be their undoing.

A miniscule art of him empathizes with the raging disaster heading in the way of his own flesh and blood. 

He shoves it so far down his throat, he almost chokes on it.

Always on forever. Let's see if they really believe that miserable lie.

He comes down the stairs.

***

Florence, 1492

In the sun-drenched courtyard of her palazzo, Aurora reclines on a chaise longue, the warm rays of the Tuscan sun enveloping her like a golden embrace. Dressed in a flowing gown of deep sapphire silk, she adjusts her wide-brimmed hat to shield her delicate features while a gentle breeze rustles through the nearby olive trees.

Moments later, the sound of soft footsteps approaches.

Splendid timing.

Her ladies-in-waiting, Caterina and Isabella, escort her maker, Rebekah. The Original is wearing a striking purple dress that commands attention. Though the frown that mars her beautiful visage is expected.

“Lady de Martel, how lovely to find you indulging in the sun,” Rebekah remarks, a hint of playful sarcasm in her tone. “I would have thought you’d prefer the cool embrace of the night. You and all your little pets.”

Aurora plays with her daylight ring—a delicate piece adorned with intricate filigree that protects her from her kind's most inconvenient vulnerability. Rebekah silently observed the act, making her displeasure known as she eyed the two shimmering pieces of jewelry around the other noblewomen's necks.

"Do we truly have a need for such formalities, Rebekah?" Aurora sighs with an awfully melancholic tone.

Rebekah arched an eyebrow challengingly and made a gesture for her companions to leave.

They hesitate for a second, gaining the Mikaelson sister's ire, who bristles at the clear disrespect.

The lady of the house confirmed the dismissal of her sirelings with one hand, and they scurried off quickly.

"Please forgive their impertinence. They're young and will be punished quite thoroughly later." 

She apologized and bid her sire to make herself comfortable on the chaise next to her own. "Did I mention how radiant your presence is?"

"I enjoy flattery as much as anyone, but let's not bother with such frivolities. After all, we are intimates." The Original finally complied with her request.

"Indeed. Half a millennium of history. It would be an utter shame to reduce what we share to that of mere acquaintances."

"Yes. Though I would hardly call us friends, either."

"Would you prefer mother, then? It's a bit gaudy, I think. Although I've never met my mother, so it isn't as if I am replacing her. And, technically, you...

Rebekah abruptly cut her off. "Do not call me mother."

Aurora didn't bother resuming her loud pondering, realizing the words struck an unintentional nerve.

The blonde immortal cleared her throat and took the reins of the conversation.

 "I am in a charitable mood today, so both you and those uncultured wenches haven't been torn apart yet. But who knows when that might change?"

The warning left a sour taste in her mouth, but she soldiered on, her smile not diminishing in the least.

"How I've missed your barbed tongue, my sweet. Please, enjoy the wine. It's from my vineyard in the countryside."

Her guest grabbed the chalice on the tray and swirled the liquid a couple of times inquisitively. 

"Adequate taste, I'd wager."

Before it could touch her lips, the Original emptied it on the floor. Then, lifted Aurora off the ground in a chokehold, her vampire eyes glistening with shadows.

"It turns out I do share my brother's mercurial temperament after all. Your pleasantries have bored me. Tell me one good reason I shouldn't kill you right now."

"For starters, you'd ruin that gorgeous dress."

"I can live with it. You won't, I am afraid."

"Why did you bother coming in here in the first place if you weren't even the tiniest bit curious about what I had to say?"

Her maker apparently interpreted her response as further insolence.

"Your hubris compelled you to invite me to your home. As if you not only had the power to summon me here like some common courtesan. But also the unwavering conviction I let you live after what you'd done."

"What I'd done? And pray tell, sire, what horrible sin has earned me execution?" She retorted with a silky voice.

"Don't be a fool in your last moment, Aurora. It's beneath you." The last words were stressed menacingly.

The Original's ironclad hold tightened even more as if that were possible. 

"Do you know how many times Nik called for you whilst he suffered from the Hunters' curse?" Her sire's anger kept rising with each passing moment.

"Of course, you don't, you deceitful snake. You slithered into his bed, hoping to gain immortality. And when that failed, you thought to use me for your twisted aim." 

Her undead heart broke at the continuing list of allegations.

Rebekah chuckled softly, yet a faint tear fell from her face.

"You abandoned us both when Mikael arrived, and now you question my rage. I'm not a young woman anymore. It's long past time I put my firstborn to rest."

"Then, do it. If you're so certain of my monumental guilt, and nothing I can say or do can persuade you otherwise, then go ahead."

"Now that I was granted your permission, why yes, I will do that." The cruel taunt came quickly and cut deeply.

This was no bravado, however.

"You jest, but I only speak the truth. I love you and Niklaus today as vividly and passionately as the day I was reborn. If my death should bring either of you some measure of solace, then it is yours without question.

Forgive me, brother.

Aurora ripped her daylight ring off, letting it clatter on the ground.

Rebekah barely could comprehend the event before she felt the sizzling skin of her progeny underneath her fingers. 

She was transfixed for a couple of seconds before the younger vampire finally caught on fire, prompting her to snap out of it and vamp-speed the pair back to the depths of the palazzo.

She covered the quivering girl with her own body and didn't breathe a word while Rory clung to her fiercely. 

She offered her neck, and when the girl didn't immediately react, the Original made a clean cut through the skin. The smell of blood was a trigger that let the vampire's instincts take control.

This wasn't how this should've gone, the Mikaelson thought.

***

Present day

Rebekah strolled through Jackson Square, the vibrant energy of New Orleans swirling around her like the warm, humid air. The sounds of street musicians filled the atmosphere, mingling with the laughter of tourists and the distant notes of jazz drifting from nearby cafés. Her redheaded companion trailed not far behind, wide-eyed and filled with excitement.

“Oh, look at that!” Aurora exclaimed, pointing at a fortune teller’s tent adorned with colorful fabrics and twinkling lights. “We should get our fortunes read! This place is magical!”

Rebekah paused, questioning her sanity, as she watched Aurora bounce from one attraction to another like a child in a candy store. “Must you act like a common tourist? It’s almost embarrassing.”

Aurora turned, a grin plastered on her face. “Embarrassing? Rebekah, this is a city alive with culture! Just look at the architecture—the wrought iron, the vibrant colors! It’s enchanting!”

“Enchanting, perhaps, but hardly dignified,” Rebekah replied, her tone clipped. “You’re behaving like you’ve never experienced a city before. You’re a vampire, not a schoolgirl on holiday.”

“But I am enjoying myself!” Aurora countered, her enthusiasm unyielding. “Isn’t that what being in a new place is about? The food, the music, the people! We should embrace it.”

Rory kept needling her; the Original stayed quiet, frustrated by this turn of events.

"You've changed, Bex. Where is the girl that lived for adventure? Who lusted for beauty in the mundane?"

"Perhaps she died after centuries of finding life to be a heartless, worthless canvas of death and decay."

Aurora rolled her eyes, undeterred. “How fabulously maudlin. I know I was right to come here. With that wretch Elijah as your only company, you were bound to end up like this."

"Why are you here, exactly?"

"Weren't you the one who dragged me to this place the minute I got dressed. And you were quite rough I might add, but didn't even apologize?"

Rebekah sighed, exasperated. “That's not what I meant, and you know it. Why are you in New Orleans? Why is Tristan and his sidekick Aya? ”

Her insubordinate sireling fluttered her eyelashes, and Bekah barely suppressed a groan.

"I am ... sorry. Now, will you please indulge your impatient creator, and tell me why you and your brother are here?"

Rory smiled triumphantly and walked to a nearby tarot card reader to their left.

"I'm here to spend time with my beloved maker. And while Tristan fancies himself my keeper, he doesn't even know I am here. And I intend to keep it that way for a bit longer. 

She gestured at the empty bench excitedly, before lightly pushing her towards it, "Though, if you desperately need to learn what he's up to, why not give it a go?"

The blonde was resisting an eye roll that could very well keep her permanently blind. "I am this close to commiting capital murder." 

The poor sod sitting across from here chuckled and waved charmingly. No doubt a charlatan, unaware of the truth of her warning.

She almost pitied him.

"Oh, come on! What do you have to lose? Stop being a snooty boar and get on with it."

She whispered in her ear suggestively, "He can be our dinner tonight, or we could spare him till breakfast if you want to do something else with him, later?"

Now, Bekah is positive she'd have gone for such an arrangement just a month ago. Not only to decompress and stop her brooding—yes, she's been more irritable and standoffish lately, though pigs would fly first before you got her to admit it.

But also, to try and see if her progeny was keeping any more secrets from her. Her mind was likely less fortified while asleep. So, win-win. (Moral queries about head dives aside.)

Conversely, she's exploring something new with Elijah. It's strange and a tad sordid. And may never actually lead to anything. Yet, she doesn't want to kill even that possibility in its crib, before it blooms into a real relationship. 

Call her old-fashioned; she's okay with that label.

“Oh, I see,” Aurora said, her voice teasing yet firm. “You already found yourself a new beau. What, with Nik out of the picture, you're free to chase love.”

The Mikaelson's silence speaks volumes, and Aurora hurries closer to a group of musicians, the awkwardness stretching.

One day, Rebekah will ask her how she can so nonchalantly speak about the death of the man she claimed to have loved for a millennium.

But today is not that day.

His death is still too raw. Too fresh.

If Rory hasn't graduated past denial in her grief, she will definitely not be the one to burst her bubble.

Though, she most assuredly has to keep her away from Elijah's crosshairs.

This is fun.

Chapter Text

Or they can send over the ledge.

***

Present day,

Elijah, Rebekah and Kol settled at the table for brunch. The rich aroma of coffee mingled with the sweet scent of beignets, creating an inviting atmosphere that was hard to resist. Yet, despite his best efforts, the Mikaelson patriarch couldn't help but feel something was off.

Rebekah sat across from him, her gaze fixed on Elijah but her expression unreadable.

Leaning back in his chair, Kol couldn’t resist the opportunity to pontificate when his opinion was neither wanted nor needed.

“Are you two having a lover’s quarrel?” he teased, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. He rested his elbows on the table, watching them with a playful grin. “I can practically feel the romantic tension radiating from this table.”

Elijah frowned, taking a slow sip of his coffee, determined to remain stoic and not engage with Kol’s banter. His brother had a child's attention span, and could very well forget the topic if evaded with enough finesse. Thankfully, Elijah had mastered this craft.

Was there truly something amiss between him and Rebekah? 

The Original had been struggling to compartmentalize his feelings lately; everything had shifted drastically in just a few weeks. It was hard to pinpoint exactly when or how this change had occurred.

Kol’s blasé manner suggested that the nature of his and Rebekah's relationship had been out in the open for far too long. But surely that couldn’t be possible.

Elijah had only recently come to terms with it himself, after wrestling with a healthy dose of self-loathing and self-flagellation. Perhaps Rebekah still struggled to reconcile the schism that had arisen.

He resolved not to push her, allowing her to set the pace on her own terms. However, his trademark patience might easily be misinterpreted as reluctance or hesitation from an outside perspective.

A thousand years old, and he still suffered through cliché misunderstandings reminiscent of high school shenanigans.

The immortal was grateful that Hayley had gone to meet the Crescents earlier that morning. The pack remained on his radar, but at least he was certain their vendetta would never target the werewolf mother or her unborn child. Explaining another facet of their nightmarish family tree would be a hassle—possibly the final straw.

As he deliberated on the most suitable course of action, Kol’s amusement only seemed to grow.

“Come on, big brother!” Kol exclaimed, breaking the silence. “It’s a beautiful day, and here you are, brooding like a storm cloud. Rebekah’s eyeing you like you’ve stolen her last pastry. What’s the story?”

Oh how Elijah wished he could erase the impish smile spreading across Kol’s ridiculous face.

No. Violence mustn't occur during a meal. It's basic etiquette, even savage heathens should understand that.

Rebekah rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a hint of a smile. “I assure you, Kol, it’s nothing of the sort. Just a sibling discussion.”

“Discussion?” Kol echoed incredulously, feigning shock. “Is that what you call it? I’d hate to see what you’d classify as an argument. Perhaps a duel to the death?”

Elijah’s facade cracked just slightly as his lips twitched, but he clung to his veneer of indifference. The less weaponry Kol gained through these mind games, the faster his inquiry would dissolve.

Bekah shot Kol a warning glance, but the former witch was undeterred, clearly relishing the moment.

“Fine, keep your secrets,” Kol said, waving a dismissive hand. “Though you can’t tell me Bex isn’t fond of drama. Not as much as Nik, I concede. That guy is one-of-a-kind theatrical queen, but she's a close second. And let me tell you…”

Elijah felt a pang of irritation by the use of the present tense. He was already haunted day and night by his half-brother's murdered corpse; he needn’t contemplate his survival and potential retribution.

No matter how much he deserves it.

“If you intend to approach a point before Ragnarok’s arrival, I suggest you get to it now,” Elijah interrupted, his voice steady.

Kol remained incorrigible, “You should work on your interruptions with the O'Connell girl, brother. It isn’t particularly respectful or conducive to conversation. Nor does it indicate familial closeness despite popular consensus.”

“For the love of all that is holy, Kol, stop with this nonsense,” Elijah snapped, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

“Fine, fine. So, I assumed this little spat had something to do with Eli’s exes being in town. Then I figured it’s because he’s been so chummy with Hayley. Jealousy becomes you, sister.”

“Watch it, you little shit. Did Esther drop you on your head when you were a baby?” Rebekah shot back, her tone half-serious.

“Awfully presumptuous of you to assume I was ever held,” Kol retorted, his smirk widening.

Elijah did. Though, he's come to regret it.

“As I was saying,” Kol continued, “that’s when I remembered a little birdy spoke about Aurora being in town. I’m guessing Elijah here would like to live up to his oh-so-elegant proclamation and use her head as a footstool. And you're having cold feet. Is that it, sis?”

“I recommend you leave, brother,” Rebekah said firmly, her patience wearing thin.

“You would like that, wouldn’t you? Well, more auspicious news for you, my darling family: I’m taking a trip to New York.”

“Why on earth would you do that? And how is that auspicious news?” Elijah asked, incredulous.

“Well, for one, I’ll be out of your hair. No more canoodling in the dark for you two. Not to mention, I’m going there to meet my lady love. So you should feel unending elation, as I surely do.”

Rebekah burst out laughing uncontrollably. “You’re saying you actually tricked some poor girl into being with a crude, philandering brute like yourself?”

“Actually, Bex, the women I pursue aren’t likely to dagger me while we make out, leave me for their ex, or spy on me while I sleep. So there’s no need for trickery. Being a gentleman comes off easily. Again, this is just a personal preference. You do you.”

“Fuck you,” Rebekah shot back, her laughter subsiding.

"Ouch! You kiss our brother with that mouth?"

The female vampire had gone well and beyond her limits. She vamp-sped to Kol and plunged her hand in his heart, "What were you saying, again? I must be growing senile in my old age."

“Elijah, you better keep a close watch on this one. She’s soliciting me in broad daylight!” Kol exclaimed, not bothering to move a muscle.

“Enough!” Elijah stood up, shouting, frustration echoing in his voice. "Let him go sister. Please." He gently pried her bloody hand and quickly pulled his handkerchief.

 "Are you defending him? After what he just said?" she yelled in frustration.

"I am not defending him. I merely want us to take a breather and speak properly when we've cleared our heads", his words were curt and concise, his own temper nearly past its threshold.

"I can practically feel the love. It's rejuvenating."

"Is everything a cosmic joke to you Kol? Have a shred of dignity for once in your immortal worthless existence and stop ... talking." It would've been better if he had yelled, for the perfectly dead monotonous tone with which he delivered his reprimand, could freeze hell twice over.

Kol left the Abattoir without a second glance.

Chapter Text

Elijah stepped closer to Rebekah, concern etched across his face. “Rebekah, we should...

***

He flipped them around in an instant. Bekah's brow furrowed, and she tried to pull away slightly, a flicker of anger igniting in her eyes. “What are you doing, Elijah?” she asked, her tone sharp, yet laced with doubt. “You picked a shitty-ass timing to finally fight back.”