Sinners And Saints
Prologue.
The excited mumblings of the people in the room carried throughout the building, reaching the ears of the men in the hallway as they dragged along the dead weight of the unconscious Damon Salvatore. The toes of the man's worn leather boots scraped harshly against the floorboards as they entered the main hall of the mansion. They were met with a great eruption of boos and heckles as they placed Damon on an old wooden chair in the corner of the room. They tied him to it using metal chains doused in vervain, winding them around the helpless man until they could be felt squeezing against his sides tightly in a manner that would kill any ordinary man, any human man at least. The guards then simply stood beside him and waited.
The shouts and promises of damnation continued until a loud bang abruptly silenced them from the balcony above. Damon began to stir in his seat as he started to painfully regain consciousness. He groaned as he opened his eyes, and was welcomed by the dull burn of the vervain sizzling through his pale skin. Confused and disoriented, he followed the eyes of the crowd as they gazed up at the balcony which jutted out like a cliff to tower menacingly over them.
The grand double doors had swung open and violently hit the walls beside them, creating an almighty thump that indicated the arrival of the pair that would act as both the judge and the jury. The silence was eerie as they emerged from the depths of the mansion to greet the crowds. On the right stood a man of average height with a strong, lean build. He had short dark hair that was slightly unkempt, with light blue eyes that glinted curiously. He was dressed casually, wearing a simple brown sweater and navy blue jeans, an outfit that allowed him to blend in with the common riff-raff of the city of New Orleans. His arm was linked carelessly with the woman to his left, whose blonde hair and electric blue eyes served to capture the attention of every male below. Her black dress rose just above the knee and clung to her shape perfectly, further accentuating her effortless beauty. They didn't smile or speak or even look at one another as they descended the winding marble staircase, but their intimidating presence was enough to capture the audience's attention.
Damon glared furiously and began to struggle against his restraints as he saw them approach. He knew who they were, of course everyone did, but he liked to consider himself particularly well acquainted. Niklaus and Caroline Mikaelson, The King and Queen of New Orleans. They were a match made in hell and would most likely and very literally be the death of him.
But as they strolled towards the centre of the room, Damon's eyes began to focus on another figure that, at present, was standing with their back against him. It was a woman, that much was clear, with long brown hair that cascaded gently down her back and curled slightly at the ends. She kind of reminded him of Elena. But Elena couldn't be here. He had told her to run, far away and never look back, to never return for him. He wouldn't allow Klaus to hurt her. He was willing to take sole responsibility for their actions.
He continued to look at the woman until a feeling of dread began to creep up on him. He had told her to run, but did she? Did they find her? Is this woman Elena? The hair, the tanned skin, this woman's height, it all matched up. And as she gently turned her head all his greatest fears became reality.
"Elena!". He called out to her. She moved to slowly face him, her deep brown eyes bore into his own, apologetically and achingly full of regret. He started to fight against the chains keeping him from her, from wrapping her in his arms, but it was useless, he knew it was useless.
"Steady on there, mate." Chimed in a lilting British accent. "We wouldn't want you to hurt yourself. After all, we wouldn't want you to pass out before you get to witness your love's ultimate demise now would we?" Klaus smiled at him and then turned to face his right-hand man, Marcel. "Marcel would you please tell Ms. Gilbert and Mr. Salvatore why exactly they are here." The tall dark skinned man turned to face the two 'defendants'. "You have both been charged of treason, consorting with the witches and plotting to kill the King of New Orleans, all of which are crimes punishable by death."
"Punishable by death you say?" Klaus asked, and Damon could sense the mockery in his tone. He grinned and once again gathered the crowd's attention. "Well what do you say then my friends? Should these traitors pay the ultimate price for their hateful and treasonous crimes?" The crowd roared and cheered in response. They then proceeded to chant "Kill, kill, kill!". Klaus smiled at their enthusiasm as he began to walk back towards his wife. "Well then love, what's the final verdict?" He took her hand and kissed it tenderly as their audience once again simmered down to a whisper in anticipation. Caroline smirked gingerly down at him as she looked into his eyes with a stare that would send shivers down the spine of any man or beast. She then settled her eyes on Elena and slowly uttered the final verdict " Those who consort with witches deserve to die like witches. Burn her at the stake." The bloodthirsty crowd howled out their agreement.
"Nooo!" Damon's shouts were drowned out as two of Klaus' henchmen grabbed Elena by her arms and lifted her of the ground effortlessly. She didn't cry or struggle, but seemed to just allow them to tie her body to the wooden cross situated just below the staircase. Damon had always thought it was just there ironically, but apparently it had a much more practical use. They wrapped her delicate body in unforgiving steel chains which bound her ominously to the large wooden cross. Damon saw Marcel approach the cross with a plastic cannister and winced as he watched him pour it's contents over the cross and Elena, effectively readying the scene for the conclusive and savage final act.
He saw Klaus tauntingly flicking a lighter on and off as he sauntered towards Elena. Of course he would star in the grand finale. He stopped just in front of the cross and turned to face the crowd once again before he spoke. "Elena Gilbert is just another example of what happens to those who conspire against me." His sinister eyes landed on Damon. "I am the King of New Orleans and I will not abide by traitors!" Damon glared back at him. Damon was not afraid of death, he didn't care what happened to him anymore. He knew that a rebellion was coming and it wouldn't be long before he and the Ice Queen met their inevitable and agonisingly painful ends.
"This city is mine. And I will burn every single vampire, witch and werewolf in this city who even so much as thinks otherwise. Do I make myself clear?" His face morphed quickly into a sickeningly charming smile as he turned on his heel and stepped towards the cross. "But actions speak louder than words don't they?" The lighter snapped open to reveal a deadly flame. The flame inched closer and closer to the vulnerable wood until it finally made contact, causing the cross to quickly engulf itself in flames.
Damon watched silently, helplessly as he saw Elena's face display it's first signs of fear. her dark eyes followed the fire as it crept higher and higher, reaching her feet and working it's way up her body. Damon shut his eyes when he heard her scream. A gut-wrenching sound that would never leave him. When he opened them again he found her face. She seemed to sense him staring and looked down at him, face contorted, eyes burning. He felt tears well up in his eyes and trickle down his cheeks as he saw her mouth out "I love you" and smile at him solemnly. This serenity only lasted mere seconds as she soon let out yet another anguished scream.
x
Hours passed, but the crowd remained in the hall and watched as Elena burned down into little more than a charred and blistered corpse. Klaus and Caroline had sat in their thrones on the balcony and observed the entire show, while Damon stayed tied to the chair in the corner of the room. He was grieving, but he hadn't cried. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction. The smell of disintegrated flesh was overwhelming and the body that dangled from the cross no longer bore any resemblance to Elena. The were toying with him, basking in his misery, but they hadn't killed him. Yet.
He saw them both rise from their seats out of the corner of his eye and begin to once again descend the stairs. Some of those who had witnessed the event had fallen asleep and had to be nudged awake in order for the to stand for the King and Queen. A path was made in the crowd for them as they approached Damon. He felt rage stir violently inside of him as Klaus bent down to meet him at eye level. "Now Damon, what should we do with you, hmm? Do you want the same fate as your poor Elena?" Damon smirked at him madly. He then spat in his face. Klaus wiped his face with his sleeve as he stood up straight and glared down at the man in front of him.
"Well seeing as we used up the only giant, wooden cross that we have I'm afraid that simply won't be possible." He pouted down at Damon. "What a shame. However that delightful little spectacle has put me in a merciful mood, so instead of putting you out of your misery, I've decided to let you go." Damon wanted to hit him. He wanted to hurt him. He wanted to feel Klaus' dead heart in the palm of his hand. He began flailing in his chair and continued to shake until the hands of the two guards he had encountered earlier came down on him, forcing him to stop.
Klaus stepped towards him and rested his hands on either side of Damon's face. "I want you to leave New Orleans and never come back. I want you to remember my mercy and compassion. And I want you to live out the rest of your days regretting what you have done to me and the people of this city. Do you understand?" He looked Damon dead in the eye, and then snapped his neck.
x
He felt the warm sun on his face as he forced his eyes open. There was sand beneath his fingers and a dull ache in his throat. Damon sat up and surveyed the area to find nothing but vast desert and cloudless blue sky. He used his hands to push himself up and off of the grainy ground. He looked around once more and then proceeded to set off in the direction of what he hoped would be the nearest gas station. First item on his shopping list, the cashier. Second, a phone call.
Time to call in a few favours.