Elijah is an honorable man.
Like the Japanese samurai, he'd take death before dishonor.
The downside is that he can't die, so he doesn't exactly have a choice.
It feels a little like defeat and a little like desperation but when Elijah sees Rebekah safe from harm and, even in her sadness, radiant and stunning, he convinces himself it's the right thing.
They're standing in the gardens surrounding the beautiful mansion Freya has created for them. The witch and Kol are inside, finally, finally talking about what happened with Davina. Elijah is half-listening, ensuring that he can stop Kol should he lose his temper-but he knows also that Freya is more than capable of defending herself.
A breeze shifts the leaves on a rosebush, and the petals of the flowers flutter slightly. One rose, Elijah notices, is torn and shredded as though it were in a battle; mutilated strips of petal hang loosely from its center, the pale pink turning brown and crinkly where the petals curl up. Elijah picks the rose, lets it hang limp and dead in his hand, then crushes it in his fist. The deadened petals fall through his fingers to the ground.
Rebekah stands a few feet away. She has not turned but he knows she is aware of him. Her blonde hair reflects blinding white from the sun (Freya has truly outdone herself; the sunlight is warm and cozy and real, too real, and it makes him tired in a way like he wants nothing more than to just stand here in the warmth and comfort instead of leaving, ever, but the back of his mind churns with thoughts of the true world, actual roses, real sunlight-of Niklaus) and her profile cuts a surprisingly soft image against the darkening sky, rounded nose and full pink lips, and Elijah is struck-not for the first time in a millennia-by how beautiful his sister truly is.
"Are you going to stand there staring at me forever?"
Rebekah turns away from the horizon and Elijah lets a small, half-grin creep up on his face. He shrugs, which is strange because personally Elijah thinks shrugging is rude and impolite and very unsuitable behavior, but Rebekah always brings out the worst (the best) in him.
"Maybe," He says.
Rebekah raises a perfectly arched brow. "Forever is an awfully long time, brother." She smiles and its a little bit sad and a little angry, and Elijah wishes-not for the first time-that he could make everything all right again.
He sighs quietly, crosses the tiled path between the rows of hedges and cherry trees, stands next to his sister and watches the sun set over the horizon.
"I'm sorry," Elijah says, suddenly, so much so that it surprises even him and all of a sudden the words are rushing out of his mouth before he can stop them and he's not sure what he's trying to say, exactly, but he can't seem to stop himself either.
"I'm sorry I left Niklaus. I'm sorry I couldn't protect Hayley; I'm sorry I let Davina die; I'm sorry I left my niece-our niece-in danger, but I-Rebekah, I don't-"
"Stop," She says. In his head it sounds like a scream. "This wasn't you. Or Nik. It wasn't any of us."
Elijah looks at her, sees her face harden. The wind picks up, and her blonde hair is brushed to the side, her slender white neck exposed and pure.
"I'm not just being self-deprecating, Rebekah," He continues, ignoring her previous words. "I'm reasonable. I'm always reasonable."
He sees her lower lip tremble. Roses shift in the hedge. "You are as selfish as them."
This, of all things, shocks him. He is selfish, certainly, but to hear his darling little sister say it so crudely, so plainly, as if it is an unfortunate, undeniable truth she is burdened with (and there are many such burdens) makes his eyebrows rise and his heart clench painfully as Elijah wishes-not for the first time-that he could've died all those years ago like nature had planned.
"Them." He says. It's not a question, but it's not a complete thought. The word lingers uncomfortably in the summer air.
"Yes," Rebekah replies. "Nik will stop at nothing to have what he wants. We are only lucky we are so often the object of his desires-his family. And Marcel..." She trails off, seemingly lost, but Elijah does not further the conversation.
"Marcel is desperate for validation that only the one he hates can give him." She finishes, coldly.
"I thought you loved him," Elijah says sharply, after a beat of silence, almost accusing.
"Yes," She says simply, all of a sudden looking tired again, the cold hardness of her expression gone and leaving behind the pain of thousands of years of loss. "And I love Nik. And Kol, and Finn, and Freya. And you." She pauses. "And Henrik. I loved Henrik, too."
Elijah sighs. He doesn't want to speak of this anymore-the sunlight is deceptively pleasant, it seems, because the warm comfort is long gone and all Elijah can feel anymore is a tension left behind as the setting sun descends completely. He wants to say, I know. He wants to say, I love you too, and I won't let you be hurt anymore. He wants to say, I will be the one to protect you now, instead of one of those who hurt you.
But those words are extrapolations from a long lost life, worlds away, in a place where real sunlight is often hidden by clouds and more roses die and more people get left behind.
Instead, he says nothing, stands at the edge of their dreamed up perfection and lets his eyes linger on a horizon that does not exist.