Author's Note: This is my first fanfiction ever! I'm not a native English speaker so I apologise in advance if I've made some grammar mistakes. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this story, I tried my best to do justice to Frucien.
September 2013, New Orleans
Niklaus Mikaelson had been in a hellish mood ever since he got back from his nightly endeavours in Rousseau's. He had returned to the compound all murderous glares and snarky comments, just looking for a reason to pick a fight. Six agonizing hours later his older sister was the only one still present so he snapped at Freya yet again, this time for returning home so late the previous night and waking up Hope.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Niklaus, stop finding excuses for me to test my magic on you again, Hope barely stirred in her sleep when I got back."
Freya's voice finally rose a little, because even she, usually so calm and collected, was fed up with her brother's antics.
"Empty threats. We both know you're not as powerful anymore. Dahlia's gone and most of your power along with it."
As per usual, Klaus was never one to hold back insults. The witch's facial expression faltered slightly, but she quickly struck back:
"Is that so? Why don't you try and attack me, maybe we'll find out, just for the sake of your peace of mind of course?"
The hybrid stood up, almost lunging himself towards her.
"Maybe you should focus your revenge on someone a little bit more deserving, sister? I certainly have a few people in mind."
Freya smirked.
"I'm sure that you can take care of any rodent yourself just fine. You're not exactly a weakling."
This time there was definitely a glimmer of sadness in the young witch's eyes. Niklaus looked at her and his eyes widened, as if seeing something for the first time.
"I…" he began, but stopped himself abruptly and his face morphed into a huge grin.
"Right you are. I could rid any potential enemy of their existence easily, but the trouble is this particular one really does have a fondness for witches."
There was no mistaking the double meaning that lay behind his words. Freya suddenly had the urge to vomit, she could already envision it: young and pretentious vampire looking to abuse her and the craft she possessed for his own personal gain, but then, despite all these red warning signs flashing through her head, the witch thought better of it. Immortality or not, Freya Mikaelson was not powerless. Anyone who tried to hurt her the woman would hex for eternity.
"And how do I come into the equation, dear brother?" she finally replied. "If you want me to seduce that maniac, I'd kindly suggest you find someone else more fitting for the job."
Nik jumped to his defence immediately, somewhat appalled that his own flesh and blood would think him so vulgar.
"I wasn't…What I meant was, he could drop more hints about what havoc he plans to wreck in New Orleans in the upcoming months if asked nicely by an enticing witch, not the man who he considers a psychotic maniac who left him in the mud almost 1000 years ago."
"And the last person you're referring to is, let me guess…"
"Me, yes."
Freya rolled her eyes at Nik and looked at him, brow furrowed.
"Fine."
A long pause followed, accompanied by a bitter sigh.
"I will do it, brother. Besides, it's not like I have anything better to do anyway other than taking care of my adorable niece and drinking endless amounts of tequila."
Niklaus admired his sister. He didn't imagine he could ever go through the painful adapting process to this brave new world her sister was doing so flawlessly at the moment. He also could have never put up with being stripped of most of his power as Freya now was.
"I'm sure you will make a lasting impression, weakling or not."
He really was going for comforting, but the words got twisted when they flew out of his mouth and her sister's rueful gaze vanished.
"May I please know the name of my target, before I leave and let you quietly hiss in peace?" she asked icily.
The Mikaelson witch then turned on her heel and started walking away, when Klaus called after her:
"You will find him in The Palace Royale suite under the name Lucien Castle."
At first, Freya thought she'd heard the name wrong. Then her face paled and she had a sudden sensation of falling down the rabbit hole. Somehow, step after step, she dragged herself out the door into the street without Niklaus noticing anything strange, thank god. Outside, she sank down against a wall and let the ancient memories flood through her brain.
September 1683, Vienna
Right after the Battle between the Turks and the Austrians
The Turkish encircling the magnificent Vienna had come at a last minute, Freya thought. She had compelled her lady's maid Amalia to keep an eye out for Dahlia at all costs and judging by her latest report it appeared that her aunt was stuck behind the troops of the Turkish army, struggling to get inside the city, where she'd find Freya in a matter of seconds: the poor dear was barely cloaked with spells, scared, alone and thus completely at the wicked witch's mercy.
If the news was true, it would buy her some time, but not much. The city was entirely cut off from the necessary supplies and support it so desperately craved. Of course, that also meant no one could get in, but only for now. The Austrian Habsburgs couldn't fight the countless Turkish troops for much longer and Dahlia could easily get past any kind of obstacle in her way, even the superior Turks couldn't rip the hearts out of their enemies faster than the woman of all evil.
Soon the enemies would be in the heart of the city and then…then…
Freya knitted her hands together tightly and sent a small prayer to the Gods in four languages, finishing with an old childhood riddle in her native tongue, Elder Futhark, an ancient tongue she barely remembered. It was a poem that her and Finn would chant repeatedly as children whenever something good happened. Over the many centuries and having to cope without her family by her side, she had begun to consider repeating the little poem before facing danger her talisman.
Frightened to the bone, but determined Freya pulled the hood of her dark grey cape over her head and slowly began to exit a small empty guesthouse in the heart of the city centre.
There had been about five people in the house on its best day, but everyone including the host had fled two weeks ago in fear of the Turkish invasion. She had chosen Les Trois Sœurs simply because it was the most nondescript, vague and impersonal little hotel anyone could find in Vienna. Only two storeys high, bleak white walls, not much furniture, crammed space and uninviting atmosphere, it was anything but nice.
When she awoke from her hundred-year beauty sleep in the 1500s, her first year on the run after escaping Dahlia, she had stayed in a beautiful château fit for a queen with mesmerizing marble sculptures and paintings made by the great Renaissance artists, even one of the early works of Michelangelo was displayed in the castle.
She had made it easy for her aunt to track her down and Freya couldn't allow herself to make the same mistake twice. The eldest Mikaelson had barely made it out with her life and snuck in one of the cemetery vaults, now Paris catacombs, where only the first one to enter would be able to step out alive.
Upon coming back to life a month ago she had learned from the witch community in Paris that there was a twin vault in Vienna that held the same abilities.
The problem was that Freya had know idea, where she could find the twin chamber, no one to help her and she was slowly, but surely running out of time.
The streets were almost empty. She was headed to the cemetery in Vienna, hoping the ancestral magic would be strong enough there and provide her with some answers. Freya bowed her head down and tried to lay as low as possible, her shoulders almost brushing the passing buildings.
Suddenly the young witch heard loud footsteps. They were too strong to belong to civilians and too close. She suppressed a scream.
About forty feet ahead of the elder Mikaelson, the cobblestone main road unraveled into three smaller marketing streets. There was just no way in telling which way the attackers were coming from, but she'd have to make a choice fast.
Desperately, Freya leapt to the right. When she noticed the empty street stretching out ahead of her the witch started running, relief threatening to overwhelm her.
It wasn't until her head hit a stone wall and a hand closed around her throat that she realised she had been backed into a corner.
It was a bloody dead end.
There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run, it was too late and she was looking into the deep shaded eyes of a skilled predator.
"Well, well, gentlemen, look what we've got here," the same voice half-whispered close to her ear. "A witch."
"Let me go!" Freya screeched.
"No, love, I don't think so," the monster said, his face stoic with a murderous glint in his eye and pushed her further up against a wall so she was left out of breath. Her mind was foggy and the hold of the hand crushing her neck was now so strong she could barely utter a single world let alone a magical chant to free herself.
"See, darling, I don't know if you've heard of us, but we are The King's Whisperers, ruthless vampires whose specialty is to kill witches…" he paused for added effect "and bring their heads to the King."
The man waited a second for his words to sink in. Horrified and unable to think of a way out, Freya tried to repeat the Futhark poem in her head, but she was unable to concentrate on the verses.
What if they discover I can't be killed?
A single tear slid down her cheek.
Will I be their slave forever?
The predator wiped it away with his thumb, almost gently. The witch jerked her face away in terror.
"Please…please," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I…I…"
"No point in pleading dearie, Lucien's not gonna let you get away!" shouted a raucous voice near her.
"You should be praying you don't die by his hands, he is the most vicious of us all!"
"Prepare to suffer a slow and painful death, whore!"
"We'll take pleasure in killing you!"
"Shouldn't wander the streets alone, cunt!"
"Yeeea, you had it coming!"
"I'd fuck you good and rip your head right off, whore!"
More shouting followed as Freya uttered a sentence that only the predator holding her firmly in place could hear.
"I…I'm a Mikaelson witch…I'll…do…anything."
She spit out blood as she fell to the ground like a ragged puppet. The air was suddenly filled with sputtering sounds, smell of blood, hearts flying and desperate cries for help as the leader of the King's Whisperers suddenly tore apart his fellow twelve legion members in less than a minute.
Then, his features covered in blood and looking at her with heated eyes, Lucien grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her up causing Freya to fall into his arms.
"So you want me to believe you're a Mikaelson witch. I'm warning you now, do not lie to me."
His face was once again inches away from her and there was so much pure hatred in his dark eyes. Intimitated by how close he was, Freya felt herself trembling under his touch.
"I…I am a Mikaelson witch. You…you have no reason to doubt…"
Her speech was interrupted, when she coughed up another mouthful of blood.
"Oh, for fuck's sake, are you going to die on me?" Lucien snapped and before Freya could say anything he'd bitten into his wrist and shoved it into her mouth.
The witch turned away and struggled to get free.
"Drink up," Lucien hissed. "Or I won't be as nice."
Seeing no other way out, Freya squeezed her eyes shut and forced down a little blood. It tasted unusual, but the woman immediately felt her head clear and her magic surge inside her. In that moment she was no longer afraid, she was no longer powerless, she was invincible.
Lucien soon withdrew his hand and demanded:
"There there, now do as I say and prove to me that you are a Mikaelson witch."
And just like that Freya was dragged back into the dangers of reality.
"I swear to you! My name is… Gyda Mikaelson, descendant of the maternal Original li…"
She had no intention of telling this vicious killer he was one of the seven siblings of the Original family.
"Use your powers, witch," Lucien cut in. "Otherwise…"
"Wait!" Freya yelped and slowly looked him in the eye with all the courage she could muster. She had to get out of there now, the moment was upon her, she could almost sense Dahlia getting nearer by every passing second.
"I need to know about the catacombs of Vienna."
Whatever the man was expecting to hear her say this wasn't it.
"How dare you ask me questions?" His voice was pure venom as he reached for her neck. "Let…me…remind…you," he said in a low voice, "that it is you whose life is hanging by a thread here."
"Lucien," Freya quavered. "Te…tell me where they are and…and…" she gasped for air as he gripped her throat forcefully, clearly angered by her attitude, "and I will be your witch for…as long as…I…live."
Once again, she'd hit a nail. Lucien's smirk vanished and he looked at her with disbelief. Then his whole face transformed into a slow, victorious smirk.
"Well," he whispered, his cool breath hitting her neck at an angle that made her wince slightly, "that is precisely what I wanted to hear."
He paused for a moment and continued.
"The catacombs are hidden in the left wing of the Schönbrunn garden, but it's not like you're ever going to see them, love, you're coming with me now."
"Oh," said Freya impulsively taking a step back, "you see, I don't think I will."
Before Lucien could react, the witch had raised her right hand and broken his neck with a light snap of her delicate fingers. Then she proceeded to the cemetery.
November 2013, New Orleans
It was almost night-time and Freya Mikaelson was walking around the buzzing streets of New Orleans and contemplating everything that had happened in the past few months.
In conclusion, life was getting more difficult by the second. First, there was the never ending tension and endless quarrels between her, Klaus and Elijah. Rebekah was in Morocco looking for a way to bring back Kol and the whole family was in disarray without her.
Then there was the threat of the looming prophecy. Elijah's first sire Tristan De Martel was in town and so was the infamous organization called The Strix. All of them devoted to use the ludicrous prophecy as an excuse to try and get rid of the Mikaelsons. Or so it seemed. A masquerade ball was going to be held later tonight in celebration of a society that was mighty indeed.
Davina, a young and ambitious witch was the Regent of the 9 covens now, a dangerous position and one that Freya herself would never be willing to take. The older witch wondered how the peace treaty would hold up with such a young but determined leader in power.
And then there was the devil himself, the man that Freya refused to think about. (But couldn't help herself.) Lucien. Despite Klaus' frequent demands they hadn't met face to face yet, mostly because she was afraid Lucien would recognise her. After all, they hadn't only met in the 1600s but also…well, let's just say, both of their encounters were enough to leave a sharp memory.
Thinking about Lucien made Freya feel uneasy. The little details that he had heard from Klaus suggested that even his brother had no idea why his first sire was in town. Freya suspected his true motives were pretty gruesome, but she didn't interfere, because as it turned out, Lucien was Klaus' first sire. It had been downright impossible to control her emotions, when she discovered that little piece of information from Elijah. Just her luck that the man who had managed to torment her thoughts from time and time again was once also the sidekick of her murderous brother. She'd hid in the compound whenever he was around and prayed every night that not a soul would find about her own connection to the sneaky asshole.
Deep in thought, Freya didn't even hear her phone ring at first. She scoffed audibly, when she saw the caller ID. Of course.
"What is it now, Niklaus?"
"Really, Freya is that the way you greet the brother you've spent your whole life trying to find?"
"Oh, I'm sorry," the witch bit back. "Are you not calling for a favour?"
Freya could hear the telltale sign of a phone being snatched away from Klaus' hand, but nothing could prepare the witch for what was to follow.
"You're absolutely right, love. We need your help."
Freya had to bite her tongue to keep herself from gasping. She'd know that deep, malicious yet silky voice from anywhere. Freya felt herself dangerously unraveling and even more so, the witch suddenly felt utterly cold. It seemed as though her hiding days had officially come to an end.
While Freya was crumbling on the other side of the line, Lucien kept on talking.
" …of mine has gone missing and we must find her, our lives depend on it."
"And I take it, I was the only one willing to answer your call?" she asked trying to understand what he was saying and lighten up a bit.
"Well, you're certainly the loveliest."
The initial surprise was over and Freya was growing livid. Before she could stop herself, the witch snapped:
"Niklaus, please tell your creepy friend that just because he's good-looking doesn't mean I won't turn him inside out and hang what remains from a pole."
"Freya."
Niklaus had returned to the phone, thank god. "I'm asking as your brother."
Too disturbed to keep arguing with either of them Freya reluctantly agreed to help. Before she knew it, she was fiercely pounding on the door of Lucien's penthouse. The adrenaline in her veins was still strong enough to keep Freya from panicking and running away before Lucien could get a single glimpse of her, but she was still very afraid.
"Please, do come in."
Even though the sarcasm in Lucien's voice was evident, Freya barged in, her whole body tense, ready to flee or perhaps, set him in fire.
Then the smell of dried blood hit her, almost making the witch throw up the empty contents of her stomach.
"Ugh, this place smells like dried blood and…bad cologne," she added, somewhat challenging.
"It's just my natural musk," he replied from the other side of the rooom and smirked. "I find the ladies love it."
Freya raised her head and finally met his dark stare. There was no sense of familiarity or recognition in any of his features. He looked at her with an indifferent expression and only vague interest. She fought against all her better instincts not to let out a victorious laughter.
He didn't know.
In fact, he most certainly had no clue in the world of who was standing before him now. Freya Mikaelson couldn't believe her luck. She knew he was powerful, she knew he was cunning, she had been sure Lucien would figure her out in seconds.
Maybe this means he isn't as bad as I thought, Freya mused before doing a locator spell to find his missing friend.
The rest of the night went by a blur. The witch was still beyond relieved, but as the evening progressed she grew more and more distracted. By no other than Lucien Castle. He just wouldn't leave her thoughts today. Involuntarily, Freya found herself thinking back to the second time her and Klaus' sire had crossed paths.
Author's Note 2: Also, please rate & review my work, I really want to know, if you liked it and/or how can I improve the story! If you have any ideas considering other pairings besides Frucien or just general plot line ideas, please let me know, I'd love to hear them!
