A/N: Hello everyone! This is my first foray into the Originals fandom, hopefully you will enjoy this story. Please read and review!
England 1492
"Too much?"
The scratching of eagle quill on rough parchment stopped and Elijah Mikaelson glanced up at his little sister. Smiling, he rose from his seat and circled the mahogany table, his eyes studying the rich scarlet gown encasing her lithe frame. Tiny, glimmering rubies shimmered against her bodice and a net of milky pearls held her golden curls captive. She twirled slowly, a wide mischievous grin on her face as her many petticoats rustled quietly along the rich velvet carpet. He captured her hands in his and smiled at her fondly.
"Rebekah, my dear sister…" He began slowly, dreading her reaction.
"Oh, I knew I shouldn't have even bothered to ask!" she retorted, snatching her hands away and rolling her eyes.
"We are at war. A very bloody, very costly war. It's best to show the other lords who are supping with us tonight that we are living under slightly more meager means. We are the strongest supporters of his cause and we should do well in leading by example."
"A losing cause if I may add," she retorted. She turned towards the oval floor length mirror and complimented herself on her reflection, turning slightly and allowing the candlelight to dance across her features. She hadn't realized how long she had been admiring her appearance before Elijah spoke up.
"Yes, sister, you are the greatest beauty of all England," Elijah interjected. "Now hurry and change your gown before our guests arrive."
"It is not you that I am meaning to impress," she snapped, without turning around.
Elijah sighed. He had hoped to find a better way of deterring his sister. "Marcel will not be attending tonight."
"What?" Rebekah stiffened. "What about him?"
"He is our chief armorer and fencing master. You don't think he has the time to attend these frivolities while our army runs naked?"
She whirled around to face her oldest brother, eyes narrowed to slits. "And in what way does that concern me?"
"There's no need to lie to me Rebekah, I am not our brother," Elijah said patiently. "You are very well aware that I do not judge you for the ones you love."
Relaxing slightly, she let out an audible sigh and sank quietly onto one of the cushioned armchairs framing the desk. She looked down at her hands and picked absentmindedly at her perfect fingernails, drawing tiny drops of blood along each nail bed. The miniscule cuts healed instantly, leaving beads of crimson blood glistening like garnets on her white skin.
"Nik would kill him if he found out," she said quietly, her icy blue eyes hardening.
"And that is why we mustn't tell him. And why you should change out of that dress. It's not as if the King of England will be dining here tonight."
"Don't be ridiculous, 'Lijah, we don't have a king. That's the reason why we're in this bloody, ridiculous war," she said, before blowing him a kiss, then gliding out of the room.
Elijah reseated himself at the desk, but before he had time to dip his quill, his other sibling waltzed in. Draping himself onto a chair, Klaus kicked his mud-caked boots onto the mahogany, nearly upturning the inkwell. Elijah righted it, not before shooting his brother a pointed glance and pushing his boots off the ornately carved wood.
"Elijah. I have a favor to ask of you."
"Niklaus, the banquet is tonight and is in your honor. I will not cancel our evening because you are being even more of a petulant child than Rebekah. Guests have already gathered in the great hall. You will attend and you will play the perfect human role as the gracious host of the evening."
"We are celebrating my birthday. Idiotic, really, considering that I do not possess the ability to age."
"You know as well as I that this is meant for the cause. Our forces are losing quite spectacularly in the few battles that we have engaged in. We need the support."
"Whatever you say, brother. I find it increasingly difficult to persuade you to see things my way," Klaus said. He stood up, slapping some of the dirt off his palms onto the wool of his pants. "I'll be back. The local peasants are in need of a good scare and I'd like to have a drink before I immerse myself in immensely boring people and their moronic drudgery."
"Make it fast," Elijah called, as Klaus sped out of the room.
His eyes were drilling scorching holes into her back as she danced with the numerous nobles flocking around her. She could not understand why—there were plenty of gorgeous blood bags fluttering around her brother, pestering him for his attention. Then again, she was distracted as well, which was quite an extraordinary feat considering she was being held in the arms of the most eligible bachelor in the room. (Her brothers aside.) His dark eyes gazed at her, running over the simplistic midnight blue gown she had chosen and lingering on the delicate gold 'M' that stood out against the white column of her throat. She felt unsettled and a chill washed over her arms, raising gooseflesh and a prickling sensation lingered on the back of her neck. The final, soaring notes of the waltz ended and Rebekah and her partner parted, clapping politely along with the rest of the couples that were dancing. Immediately, the musicians struck up again and he extended his hand to her.
"Care for another?" he asked, smiling sweetly at her. She could not quite comprehend why that smile unnerved her so horribly.
"No, my lord, I'm terribly sorry," she lied. "I've been on my feet all night, and these new-fangled shoes are pinching my toes quite awfully. Please excuse me, but I hope you enjoy the rest of the night."
She curtsied quickly, shot him a stunning, albeit false, grin, and then slipped away towards Klaus. He was perched on the one of the three throne-like chairs sitting behind the high table that faced the great hall's banquet tables. Her brother had managed to fend off several of the squawking blood bags, but one remained, relentlessly pawing and plucking at him. Rebekah gripped her by the elbow and fixed her narrowed eyes on the girl. She in turn, lifted her chin defiantly and wrenched her arm out of Rebekah's grip.
"Beg your pardon, but I believe that I was engaged in conversation with Lord Klaus," she sneered, placing a tiny hand on Klaus' wrist.
"Leave, wench, before I reconsider ripping your head off," Rebekah commanded, her pupils dilating. The girl scurried away and Rebekah swore she could almost see a tail tucked between her legs. She settled herself graciously in the seat next to Klaus and rewound a curl that had fallen loose back into her plait. "What was that?"
"Another one of the Gilberts. Through all that mindless chatter, I think that she mentioned her name was Elena."
"A Gilbert?" Rebekah asked, disgusted. "I swear…they procreate like rabbits."
"As I'm sure you'd like to."
"Don't start, brother," Rebekah sighed. But he was right. Though, she would rather be repeatedly staked by those ridiculous daggers that her brother kept hidden than admit it to him. Centuries of running with her siblings had hardened her. Bloodlust ran rampant through her and Klaus; men, women, even children were shown no mercy as they were ripped to shreds. The hunger was always in control, and together she and her hybrid brother ransacked countless villages, while Elijah frowned disapprovingly, failed to change their ways, and finally turned the other cheek. But centuries of running, feasting, and destroying had left her empty and in need of something to fill the throbbing hole in her soul.
As much as Rebekah tried to keep it hidden, she could feel it. Bubbling up to the surface, written across her face every time the bloodied remains of a pageboy or serving girl were found in the acres of shadowy woodland surrounding her family's fortress. She would see to their last rites and was always the last to pay her respects and see the dying embers of their funeral pyres. And she wondered what those children could have grown up to become. Nine, ten years of age and their lives had been cut short so quickly, so effortlessly. And at night, lying on satin sheets in a silken nightgown, with all the riches of the world surrounding her, she pondered on why the ache in her chest grew larger every day.
"So, did you enjoy the company of this one?" Klaus asked, his voice steely, signature smirk playing across his lips.
"Not at all," Rebekah replied flippantly. "Didn't even catch his name."
"He's the young Salvatore. Stefan, they call him. Son of George Salvatore, the man leading our cause. Our future king, if we ever win this damn war. You have finally chosen a man worthy of your stature, dear sister," Klaus replied sarcastically. Rebekah knew he meant none of it.
She rolled her eyes. "Hardly, he gives me a bad feeling, Nik. I do not like the way he looked at me. As if he knew who we were. As if he knew exactly how to hurt us."
"Nonsense sister," Klaus said, as he linked his elbow with hers. "Nothing can hurt us. And I will personally decapitate anyone who tries. Their heads will hang from our rafters. Their entrails will be fed upon by rats and ravens."
He pecked her forehead and Rebekah smiled, briefly content. It was in these moments that she was glad that her brother was ruthless, cruel even.
"Niklaus, Rebekah," Elijah appeared, looking slightly crestfallen, his eyes scanning his younger siblings' faces. "You both are being antisocial."
"Nonsense, Elijah, I've had the breathtaking company of a young Gilbert, and our dear sister here has quite literally danced the night away." Klaus motioned towards the giant panes of glass spanning the stonewalls that were allowing miniature rays of sunlight to peek through.
"Enough, come with me." He motioned towards the hidden door lurking behind the high table. The Mikaelson siblings rose as one and slipped away, their getaway seen by none except Stefan Salvatore. The darkness swallowed them whole, until the door creaked shut, locking them inside its inky black. Once inside the dank passageway that led straight to the study, Rebekah whirled on Elijah and poked him in the chest.
"Elijah, you know that I never question you," she said quietly, her eyes wide. "But we have not used this passageway since the castle was stormed by the Lockwood's troops. Tell me that nothing is wrong."
"Nonsense, nothing is happening. Commander Salvatore has only asked for our presence in a more…private meeting place," Elijah reassured her.
Elijah pushed open the grimy, rusty door that signaled the end of the passageway and the heat roaring from the study's fireplace washed over them as if they had sank into a hot bath. George Salvatore himself was seated at Elijah's desk, his long fingers laced together. His closely trimmed, graying beard accentuated hollowing cheeks and icy blue eyes followed the Mikaelson's every move as they entered the room. A cloaked, female figure sat in the corner, shrouded by the flickering shadows of the cavernous hearth. A dark hood that barely brushed the bottom of her chin shielded her face from the curious gazes of the Mikaelson siblings.
"First of all," George began, leaning forward and beaming a smile that did not reach his eyes, "I would like to thank you all for hosting this lovely soiree. Our coffers have been refilled and the guests have danced their shoes to tattered shreds."
Elijah smiled and inclined his head.
"Secondly, I have brought you all here to discuss this war that we are waging." George plucked a scroll from under the desk and unrolled it, revealing a weathered map. Several, large, red X's marred the paper, each with a paragraph of minute, cramped writing scrawled underneath. There was one gold X on the page, with only a single line of script written.
"As you can clearly see," George gestured. "Our armies are clearly no match against the Lockwood's. And while I do appreciate all of you utilizing your little mind control powers and increasing our numbers," He waggled his fingers in the air, "I must inform you that it is not enough. I need more." Leaning back, he took a weighted breath before beginning again and managing to outrage even Elijah. "Have ten thousand men delivered to me in the next fortnight."
"What?" Elijah demanded, while Klaus and Rebekah shot each other pointed looks. "We have already compelled thousands from the peasantry and even dozens from the ranks of your nobility. Your demands are outrageous."
"Do you know what is in fact, outrageous?" George said quietly, his eyes tightening. "Harboring vampires and granting you all safety within my borders when every other country in Europe has declared war on your sickening kind. That was the deal. You give me men. And I allow you shelter." His fists slammed onto the table, as he stood up, jabbing a finger at Elijah.
"Did we not agree upon that?" He suddenly roared, spittle flying from his bared yellow teeth.
The room was deadly silent. Only the crackling from the fireplace and the soft whispered breaths of the woman in the corner could be heard. Yet George seemed unaware that he had managed to anger three of the most powerful beings in existence.
"You fool."
"Address me properly, Klaus, you ungrateful son of a bitch," George snarled.
Klaus sneered and leaned forward, his gleaming eyes glowing amber and a predatory stare fixated upon George. "Have you ever killed someone my lord?" A stiff nod. "Have you ever slashed open throats, ripped rib cages apart, and held a still-beating heart in your hands?" A shake of the head. "Because if you continue speaking to my brother in such a discourteous manner, I shall have to resort to such methods."
George slowly, silently resumed his seat, white knuckles gripping the arms of the winged chair so tightly that it seemed as though he could have crushed the wood. Elijah nodded his thanks to Klaus; mentally noting that compulsion would be a handy tool and that George was never to get his hands on vervain.
"Now that you've finished rudely berating my brothers," Rebekah said, facing the cowed Salvatore. "We have a problem on our hands. In the last week alone, I compelled several hundred men and gave them the fervor of an entire gathering of religious fanatics. These men would have fought to their very last breath, there should have been at least more than one victory."
"That is exactly the problem. I have men. And do you know what the Lockwoods possess?" He glared at them, a glint of jealousy winking in his eyes.
"Vampires."
The Mikaelsons stiffened. "No," Elijah began, shaking his head in disbelief. "That's impossible. The Lockwoods are a werewolf clan; they do not, they cannot associate with vampires. The feud between vampire and weres runs deeper than this war."
"Well, you're wrong. I have received numerous reports from scouts informing me that these battles were entirely one sided. Bodies were torn apart, throats slashed open. Blood ran ankle-deep on the battlefield. And above all that the Lockwoods flew their banners, while ours burned."
"It must be a vampire nesting. A large one," Elijah said, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and index finger. "Or an older vampire. Creating countless numbers of young ones."
"Katherine. It's Katherine. Katherine Pierce."
The woman in the corner had finally spoken. She reached one hand up to pull back the hood, revealing glossy brown ringlets and a pair of dancing hazel-green eyes. Her smile was sure, steady, and, as Elijah and Klaus had both immediately decided, quite fetching.
"How," Rebekah said, mouth puckered. "In the hell do you know that name?"
"Allow me to introduce," George said, gesturing slightly in the woman's direction. "Lady Haylia of House Marshall. She is the lady in waiting to the Lady Lockwood."
"Was. I was her lady in waiting." Nevertheless, she inclined her head; her long curls brushing rosy cheeks. Most women would have curtsied timidly in the presence of the Mikaelsons, but she had not, and Klaus appreciated the girl's daring.
"A Marshall? They're bound to the Lockwoods," Rebekah said, eyes narrowed. She rounded on the younger girl. "You're a traitor."
Haylia's eyes darkened. "I was never a traitor," she hissed. "I have never sworn my allegiance to the Lockwood family. They mean nothing to me."
Rebekah opened her mouth, about to retort, before Elijah reached and squeezed her hand. "Shush, Rebekah. Let the girl speak."
Smoothing her skirt, Haylia continued on. "All of my life, I was groomed to become a lady in waiting to the family. And when I was finally chosen, it was a great honor and an opportunity." She nodded towards George. "My first sighting of the vampire Katherine was the day I saw her turn the stable boys. She was a beautiful woman and she plied them with wine, enough to get them drunk and willing to taste her blood. And then she broke their necks and threw each one into a horse stall. The very next morning, I heard their screams as the sun scorched their skin. That night, I saw them ride into battle, but they never returned."
"Then why are you here?" demanded Rebekah. "You couldn't send this information to us by letter?
"Katherine found me prying in the old horse stables where they were keeping the newer vampires that she had created after the old ones died. She chased me. I ran."
"You managed to outrun Katherine? A vampire that has been eluding me for centuries?" Klaus asked, an eyebrow quirked.
She leveled him with a hypnotic stare. "I run fast."
And they could smell it on her, she knew it. The fragrant musk that clung to every werewolf was evident on her skin. She could even detect a tiny whiff emanating from the hybrid.
"She will need sanction within your walls and protection from the vampire Katherine. The official story is that Elijah has taken on a new ward." George stood and walked towards the door, his cloak trailing behind him. "And try to keep her alive. We know what happened to the last one." He gave Klaus a pointed glance.
Klaus shrugged. "She did ask for it. I just got a bit…carried away."
"Enough," Elijah said. He extended a hand towards Haylia and she clasped it, rising from her seat and shaking out her skirts. She was quite tall and willowy, the corseting of her gown accentuating her tiny waist. "Seeing as you are now my ward, Lady Haylia, allow me to introduce my siblings," He gestured to Rebekah and Klaus. "Rebekah and Klaus Mikaelson."
She dipped her head graciously. "I am honored and grateful to be under your protection."
Elijah smiled warmly and pressed his lips delicately against her hand. "Welcome to your new home, my Lady Haylia."
"Actually," she said, smiling softly. "It's Hayley. My name is Hayley."
Side note: I realize that Stefan and Damon's father's name is Giuseppe in the series, but I realized that his name is not very English sounding, so I changed it to George. Hopefully that wasn't too confusing I've also made Katherine a little bit older than she is in the series... just by a couple hundred years.. no biggie.. Anyways, hope you enjoyed! Please read and review!