one: first of all, sorry for this utter travesty. i don't even know what this is, tbh, but i've been working on it for the better part of a years and it's still crap. i've got barely any idea what's going on, lmao, and honestly, i know that klaus and caroline are back together in the originals now, bc youtube lol, but i don't know - i don't really care for it? i feel like such a traitor lol, but i feel like it's way too late now, like julie plec, you done messed up. you gave one twins and the other a magical witch baby and you expect me to take them seriously? you expect me to take you seriously? (seriously tho, is this lady like okay?) wow, it's like i can't ever be happy, but eh, i'll be fine in fanfiction-world with klaus and caroline.
two: honestly though, i genuinely don't know. i was so happy to see the wonderful responses to my last story, like genuinely couldn't stop smiling, so i'm so grateful for them, by the way. i suck at replying though, and like i really wanted to reply, but i left it too late and now i'm too embarrassed and omg, stop talking sakina, please.
three: all together now, klaus and caroline are now the fandom's property (only joking, plague, don't sue me please)
are we out of the woods
.
.
The rest of the world was black and white,
But we were in screaming colour.
And I remember thinking,
Are we out of the woods yet? Are we out of the woods yet?
TAYLOR SWIFT, OUT OF THE WOODS
.
I have drunken deep of joy,
And I will taste no other wine tonight.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, THE CENCI
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.
NOW
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.
The dance begins, a fast and furious one, as the wild forests come alive with glittering lights and moonglow.
Caroline holds her breath and moves; her feet bare and dragging against the damp soil and stone. She sings as she moves, never missing a step, never missing a breath, her song wrought from her wretched throat. She raises her arms and her gaze falls on him, the witch king who leans forward, his eyes black and gleaming and wicked. He is surrounded by twittering witches and priestesses, by the damningly powerful Qetsiyah, whose face is like carved stone, whose silk gown linger against his thick fingers, but his gaze only stays on the girl dancing beside Caroline.
The lovely girl, the lovely Amara, in the red flames dances, brighter than the crimson sparks around her. Silas watches her, hunger written all over his face like a dog begging for the last scraps, lapping up the slightest smile thrown his way, and Amara, with her lovely, soft features, shies away. But Caroline spies the soft press of a smile against the curve of her lips, sees the moonglow flicker against Amara's pale face.
Birds flit about Caroline as she moves, twisting and turning around the roaring flames, her ragged skirts of her dress trailing on the stone behind her. Her favourite, a soft blue bird twitters in her ear and rests lightly on her shoulder, as Caroline dances. As the wolves in the forest howl, she sings wild witch songs, in languages that she doesn't know or understand, as the unfamiliar words pour from her tongue like languid, honeyed wine.
The night slowly moves on, the moonglow bathing them all, as the fires dim.
Caroline dances on.
She keeps singing, even after all the other girls have seated themselves, even after Qetsiyah herself has retired. The birds flutter around her, the sound of beating wings lilting, and Caroline continues to dance, dragging her feet against the stone. Her feet are bleeding, red staining the cool grey stone in a blurred mirage, but Caroline struggles on.
Her head lifts painfully, to cant towards the skies, as the darkness slowly begins to fade.
The moon has begun to fade away into the sky, the soft wash of dawn pooling against the edge of the horizon. Hope lights within her and Caroline continues to sing, continues to dance, even so. She moves like a flitting bird, her arms burning in pain, and tears track against her cheeks, the cool morning breeze shifting her skirts.
Silas' gaze fixes on her and his smile is bright and wicked and triumphant. Caroline wants to slap it off him, but she continues to dance and sing.
When the last bit of night slips away, she collapses against the ground painfully as Silas lifts himself from his seat, to sweep himself away.
You never go against the wills of the forest, without paying your due.
.
.
She's utterly exhausted, but Caroline manages to somehow drag herself to the stream.
Her feet are still bleeding, leaving red against the damp brown of the soil, and it mingles painfully with the raw green leaves of the trailing, sprawling path. Caroline almost sobs with relief when she sees the sweet, gushing stream before her, the clear blue glistening with the morning sun's rays.
Hissing with pain, the push of breath caught between her teeth, Caroline tentatively cups her hands and fills them with cool water. The water is so cold it almost burns her, but she holds her hands still before she washes her bruised and battered feet, first. The morning sun warms her slowly, as Caroline reaches to clean herself up, watching as the blood washes away in the river, and drinking from the stream thirstily, her throat parched dry.
It's strange that she still has blood within her, but witch magic is something Caroline has never tried to understand.
That was always Bonnie's forte.
Caroline hisses at herself, dragging her fingers against her bare feet, sharply. She is not supposed to think of them, not supposed to remember them. It only brings too much pain to her, though she thought, without a heart, emotions could have been easier. If anything, it's heavier and harder for it.
Her dress is a tattered thing, well-worn after nights of cursed dancing, and though Caroline has attempted to darn it, as best as she could, her efforts are futile. She had never bothered to learn to sew, after all. Her fingers shaking from the sudden, sharp cold of the water, Caroline continues to wash herself clean, in rhythmic, tired motions, with a ferocity that keeps the saltwater tears locked within.
A breeze picks up and rustles the trees briefly.
But it's when the twig snaps cleanly that Caroline looks up.
Startled, she scrambles to back away, staring around herself, wildly, until Caroline sees it.
A great wolf of a beast, it looms over her from the other side of the stream and stares at her with bright and golden eyes. Caroline swallows a scream, for there is no use, for nobody would answer her helpless call, and scrambles to back away. Her feet burn as twigs and sharp, sprawling vines catch against her dress and tear her arms and legs, drawing specks of blood.
"Oh, God, oh God," Caroline hisses under her breath, swearing hotly.
What God is she praying to? None has heard her all these terrible years. She hates that she's not yet strong enough to actually move away, even as she attempts to, madly scrambling.
The wolf stares at her, before the sound of cracking echoes around.
It's sickening to hear, and Caroline presses her trembling fingers to her mouth, to keep in her fear-filled mewls. The wolf's bones crack and snap apart, as the fur ripples over his body, to reveal a trembling naked man before her.
"Futuo!" she blurts out, her voice wrought in panic.
Caroline's heard of the beasts that roam these forests.
People say they rise from their prey with blood-stained lips, that they were human things, that they had slowly integrated themselves into human society and threaded themselves within the tapestry of humanity so well that their victims never realised they'd fallen to roaring beasts. The stories had made her shiver and she remembered that Bonnie's grandmother had told them, how much of a comfort humanity sought, to believe that they weren't humans, but beasts, and had always been. Bonnie's grandmother had always been a little weird.
"You see me," the man says faintly, staring at her.
"You're naked!" Caroline blurts out heavily.
She presses her fingers to her eyes, turning her head away, as the man chuckles lowly, across from her. Caroline can hear the soft ripples of the cold water, as he washes himself, as the drag of material against grass settles on skin.
"Alright, I'm decent," he tells her, and she opens one eye.
The air is smoky with fog and the soft wind rustles through the greenery, a dull aching pain beginning to ache through her bare legs. The man is still staring at her, his gaze drawing down, and Caroline reaches to firmly, fiercely tug the rags of her dress over herself, her jaw set in angry defiance.
Beast or no, she doesn't take kindly to creepers.
But damn, if he doesn't look good.
He's handsome, in that sharp and cutting way, with eyes a gorgeous deep blue and ruffled, messy hair the colour of dark ash-blond. He's wearing ratty clothes, too, clothes that have seen long better days, but the shafts of sunlight flicker in through the clearing and cast against his face.
"You don't seem entirely surprised to see me," he tells her, his gaze quizzical. "Are you a witch?"
She can tell she's got him a little rattled.
It's the slightly startled look in his eyes, and the slight defensive tilt of his shoulders.
Caroline lifts her chin and attempts to make herself stand, before her feet ache too much and she ends up slipping against the leaves once more. He reaches forward, and she flinches back, but he only reaches to cup the water into his palms, seeking the solace of cold water, as she did, after the thick, humid night.
Caroline stares at him from across the stream, knowing somehow that he can sense lies.
"No," she tells him defiantly, refusing to show him her fear. Though her voice still shakes when she says, "Are you going to kill me?"
This time, the surprise that flickers across his face is evident, his eyes widening slightly. He seems to realise that he looks a beast to her, that she still remembers his teeth slavering with red, that she really thinks so low of him.
"You don't know me," he says finally.
"I know what you are," Caroline says, and it's answer enough. "I know what you do."
"Oh?"
He's amused now, the prick.
"Wolf-men," Caroline tells him. Struck by the urge to stop him looking so cocky and amused, she eyes him. "What did you ask for? Was it worth it?"
The man before her looks completely startled, the amusement falling completely from his face, and Caroline juts her chin out in triumph at him. She's not an idiot. Wolf-men don't become wolf-men just on the off-chance. You have to give something up to the forest, to make the bargain. Something precious.
Just as she did.
"Are you sure you're not a witch, love?" he asks her, clearly attempting to gain some control back.
"I'm not," she retorts. "And don't call me love."
He raises his hands, in mock surrender.
"Then give me your name," he asks, his eyes bright. "Please."
"Yours, first."
She's not an idiot.
You don't give up something, without knowing something in return. Across the stream, his lips quirk a little, and she realises that the test he had just given she had passed. Caroline rolls her eyes at him.
"Klaus," he tells her.
"Klaus," Caroline repeats, tasting the word on her tongue. "Your name is Klaus?"
It's a strange push against her teeth, but it seems to suit the unfamiliar stranger before her. Klaus eyes her, with bright eyes. It's not the same look that Silas had for Amara, but it's something closer to fascination.
But nobody has ever been fascinated by Caroline Forbes.
"Do I amuse you, love?" Klaus asks, leaning in as Caroline shivers.
"I told you not to call me that."
"Well, you haven't given your name to me," he tells her smoothly.
Caroline eyes him and then says, "Caroline. My name is Caroline."
"Caroline," Klaus says, and it's like melting honey from his mouth. His gaze drops to the blood soaking her dress. "That looks bad."
Caroline flinches away, for his gaze is piercing like a blade. She swallows thickly.
"I've never seen you here," she tells him, instead. "I know the face of every wolf-man in this coven."
Klaus eyes her quizzically, a question in his eyes.
"I've been out of town," he says, by way of answer. They're both as cryptic as each other, she thinks to herself bitterly. "I didn't think I'd come back here again, truth be told. But you, not a witch and yet you are part of a coven?" When she doesn't say anything, Klaus raises his eyebrows. "You know what I am."
"Well, I'd have to be an idiot not to know," Caroline shoots at him. His lips quirk slightly, but he waits. She lets out a breath, her throat raw from singing the whole night, her legs aching in dull pain. "A dancer. I'm a dancer."
"Covens don't have dancers."
His answer is quick and sure.
"Silas' coven does," Caroline says.
Over Klaus' face, something ripples and Caroline latches onto it, quick and sharp. He knows the name, she realises, thinking quickly. His gaze lingers over her, before drawing to the blood soaking the damp earth once more.
"Silas," Klaus repeats, his gaze on her. "You're one of Silas'."
"No," Caroline snarls out defensively, before she can stop herself. "I am mine."
Silas' mark on her arm burns at her protest and she catches a hiss between her teeth. Klaus stares at her, before he leans forward. He shakes his sleeve down and Caroline inhales sharply, reeling.
Silas' mark is on his arm, too.
.
.
THEN
.
.
"Please, Nik," Henrik pleads. His eyes are wide and innocent as he grabs Niklaus' arm and tugs impatiently. "We wouldn't have to stay long, Nik – just for a little bit!"
Niklaus tries to hold strong against the emotional manipulation of his little brother, as he sharpens his gleaming blade. He holds it to the fire briefly, watching the blade glow white, sparks shattering and spraying on the workshop floor. The flames spit and flicker like dancers in red. When Niklaus notices that Henrik is too close, he rolls his eyes, but reaches to pull his little brother back from the reaching flames.
"Father won't like it, Henrik," he says warningly, for even the mere mention of their father is usually enough.
Henrik passes him the hammer and Niklaus accepts it, hammering out the sword firmly. Henrik has always been able to pull at him, like Rebekah, so Niklaus keeps his head down, his gaze hard on the gleaming blade.
"Father doesn't have to know," Henrik suggests, looking hopeful. "Nik, come on, please."
"Why aren't you playing with the other kids?" Niklaus tries.
Henrik sulks, huffing as he glares at his brother. His mouth even pulls into an imploring pout that isn't fair, curse the gods, Niklaus thinks.
"I'm not a kid, Nik," he says.
"Oh, my mistake, you're a man, now?" Niklaus teases, and he reaches to ruffle Henrik's hair playfully. "Then you won't be wanting all those spinning tops I made you –,"
"No, no," Henrik says quickly. "I'll keep them. You know. Just for – for memory's sake." When Niklaus chuckles, Henrik starts sulking again. "Come on, Nik. Kol won't play with me and Finn keeps trying to make me practice my reading."
"What about Elijah?"
"Elijah wants me to play hnefatafl," Henrik tells him, rolling his eyes. "It's boring, winning all the time, Nik."
"So you want to go play with the wolves?"
"Not play with them," Henrik wheedles. "Just watch them turn, Nik. I know you've gone with Kol and Elijah."
"No, we haven't," Niklaus says quickly.
Henrik throws him a look. "The new necklace Bekah's been wanting just happened to be a thoughtful present you and Elijah gave, then?"
How is his brother such a smartass?
Niklaus curses the gods again, rolling his eyes. Rebekah had found them sneaking back into their rooms and had threatened to tell the whole village, if they didn't pay up. He should've known that Henrik, the sly thing that he is, would have figured it out, too.
"It's dangerous, Henrik," Niklaus tries again.
It's not, really.
When the wolf-men change, they change on the other side of the river. It's so they can't accidentally make it across to the village. Niklaus has actually seen it happen, has been utterly fascinated that his drawing book had been filled with pictures of wolf-men turning, fur rippling over their flesh, teeth growing into fangs.
Henrik implores, his voice a soft keen, "Please, Nik. You'd be the best brother, my favourite, I swear it –,"
Niklaus breaks.
"Fine," he says, letting out a taut breath as he straightens. Henrik begins to whoop in delight. "But you have to stay by me, the whole time."
The forest is a wonder to behold and Klaus thinks of putting it to paper, with a desperation in his fingers, his breaths fraught. The grass is greener against the forest and it's filled with witches and beasts that pretend at being men.
He's so distracted that it's only when Henrik screams that Nik runs.
.
.
When Silas comes for them, he demands Elena and promises to make the rivers run red, should he not get her.
The witches surround their village, their wolves and priestesses howling, as the village folk frantically try to find a solution. Chief Lockwood is conferring with Bonnie's grandmother, the High Priestess Bennet, as they scramble to defeat this witch king, who has threatened to break apart their flimsy protections and bathe their village in red.
"He's too powerful," Bonnie's grandmother says, in the council. "Silas has lived longer than any of us, taken his power from the earths. His coven is greater than our own."
Beside her, Caroline stiffens.
Bonnie's face is twisted in pain and Caroline reaches out to Elena, her fingers outstretched to comfort her friend. Katherine's absence lingers thick and uncomfortable between them. Elena is shaking like a leaf, her beautiful face torn with horror. She flinches away from Caroline, looking as though she might break apart.
"We will not survive this, that's what you're saying?" Chief Lockwood snarls out fiercely, as she runs a hand through her hair. "Why does he want Elena?"
Eyes turn to Elena, as if on cue.
None of them are accusing, Caroline thinks. They could never be. Elena is the golden, sweet girl, who has never done anything wrong. She's beautiful and smart and all the tragedies seem to fall upon her.
Her mother, the second-in-command, clears her throat.
"Her heart," Caroline's mother says. "He wants her heart. He'll tear apart the roots of the village to get it."
That seems to break Elena completely.
She jumps to her feet, half-sobs cracking out of her throat, and bolts out of the council meeting, her soft brown hair drifting around her. Caroline and Bonnie aren't far behind, but when they finally find their friend, Elena's not alone.
"It's not because of you," Elena is sobbing to Stefan, her voice raspy. "It's because of me – everything is because of me."
Even when she cries, she looks beautiful, Caroline thinks.
No, she thinks, feeling disgusted with herself. Gods, how can she be so cruel?
But it's hard not to be a little resentful of Elena. It's because of her that their village has been isolated, that none of the neighbouring chiefs will even dare to help. It's because of her that Caroline goes to sleep, hearing wolves howl and witches scream with laughter, and dreams of their hands plucking out her heart and feasting on it.
Damon's gaze is fixated on her and Caroline rolls her eyes at him, trying not to show her discomfort. She's always been a bit wary of the Salvatore brothers, though they seemed utterly enamoured by Elena. Everyone loves Elena, but Caroline always thinks that these Salvatores, who had moved from Italy, are just that bit stranger.
"Blondie," Damon says. "I need to talk to you."
"Well, I don't want to talk to you," Caroline shoots back.
She makes to move after Elena, but Damon puts a hand on her arm. He's strong and all but drags her to the edge of the forest. Caroline glares at him, pushing him off her. Her gaze drifts briefly towards the dark of the forest, where the wolves and priestesses and wild witches lie.
"I have a plan," Damon says.
"Your plans suck."
"My plans do not suck. You suck."
"Did you ever learn past reading and writing? You sound like a two-year-old," Caroline snips, in annoyance.
Damon huffs. "Blondie, this has to do with Elena."
Caroline stiffens, her attention caught.
"What about Elena?" she demands, her gaze narrowed.
"I have a plan," Damon repeats, his voice thick with assurance. "It mostly depends on you being the distraction which, hey, would you look at that, is your best, albeit only, feature."
She's too worried to get distracted by his insults.
"What kind of distraction?" Caroline asks.
"A Silas-hasn't-seen-the-doppelganger kind of distraction."
Caroline stares at him.
She thinks of Elena's face, thinks of the exhaustion dropping at her mother's cheeks. Everyone in the village is suffering. They're running out of food and the witches have already begun to drop things in the rivers running through the village. Bonnie's grandmother is working hard to purify the water, but Silas' coven work harder.
"If you're not up for it," Damon says, rolling his eyes, "then –,"
"You will come for me?" Caroline says, her voice low.
Damon smirks at her, but his eyes linger on Elena worriedly.
"Of course, blondie," he says. "You think Elan would let me keep breathing if you weren't safe?"
When she enters the forest, she steps on the path alone.
.
.
Henrik is a broken body now.
He sees them lower the bones into the earths and Niklaus wants to bury himself by his little brother. He cannot stop staring at Henrik, cannot hear anything else within himself. Everything around him seems to stop and Niklaus just stares. He is crying quietly beside Rebekah, whose sobs are awful and loud.
Once Henrik has gone into the earth, his brothers tense and his mother howls, dropping to the ground. Father's fingers are shaking and Niklaus can see his knees weaken.
As he reaches to help his father, Mikael stands back.
His face twists with hatred.
"That should be you in there, boy," he snarls out in a vicious bite.
His words draw Rebekah's quiet gasp, but Niklaus is looking to his mother. She stays silent and his heart breaks.
"You've angered the forest beasts and now we're going to die for your stupidity," Mikael continues and with every word, it is as though he twists the blade deeper into Niklaus' heart.
His siblings are silent.
His mother is silent.
They agree with Father, he realises. I'm a fool. I killed Henrik.
Klaus leaves as soon as night's dark fingers crawl over the village, his heart hammering in his throat.
.
.
Across the black skies are the gleaming stars, slowly turning blood-red as the auspicious night courses on.
On the earths, wild witch women rasp old prayers and press their lips to the cold stones around their necks for protection, golden-eyed beasts quiet their hungry howls and turn their white teeth away from their prey, and even magic-less mortals lock their iron gates in tightly and tangle themselves in cool sheets to hold their loved ones close.
Caroline can't breathe when she gives herself up.
In her quivering fingers lie a blade carved from the ash of the stars. The chains rattle against her thin, pale wrists, cold iron breaking her skin as if it were glass, as she pulls her arms back. Caroline is forced down against a cold, black slab of stone and screams her throat raw.
The blade slips into her chest.
It slowly carves her thin, white bones, in a blur of exquisite pain. She howls, wild-eyed, as her mess of a red heart is pulled out from within her chest.
"Liar," comes the ragged snarl and the blade cuts her flesh. "You are not the star-touched one! Where is she? Where is the doppelgänger?"
She lets her eyes drift shut but the beginnings of a crooked smirk presses against the set of her mouth like a kiss. Blood pools against her bruised, red cheek and she waits to be led into the other side, her fingers trembling but ready.
Where are they?
Where is Damon?
They promised to save her.
The call never comes.
Instead, a blazing fire begins in her heart and begins to trail an agonising path through her body. She screams until her voice gives way and the chains clatter against her flesh in protest, burning against her skin.
She does not know respite until the night is done.
When she wakes, she discovers Silas' mark on her arm, binding her to his coven forever.
.
.
"I want my brother back," Klaus demands.
The witch smirks at him, at his naivete.
"No magic can return to you what has been returned to the earth," she tells him.
"Then how do I protect my family?"
Klaus carves out his name into the cold, barbed iron of the white tree, presses the steel blade against his flesh, and watches as his blood seeps into the jaws of the hungry tree.
Red blood turns to golden ichor before his eyes, as the uninhibited magic of the forest wraps around his throat and tightens its hold. He is on his knees, snarling out a vicious howl that echoes louder than any wild beast.
He is ichor now, his flesh made unbreakable, his blood made molten gold of the old, languid gods, though his arm burns, and Silas' eyes are bright and wicked.
.
.
NOW
.
.
When night falls, Caroline's gaze lingers around the forest clearing.
She busies herself quickly with pretending to fix her dress, so as not to attract any attention, but keeps an eye out, her eyes turning towards the wolf-men more times than most. When the moon's soft glow spills against the forest floor, limning them all in a silvery hue, Caroline's shoulders droop.
She lifts herself up nonetheless, the first to dance. As always.
"Caroline!" Silas crows, surrounded by his twittering witches and priestesses, draped over his throne as they feed him. "Give us a show, darling!"
Beside him, his witch queen, Qetsiyah's gaze is stony.
Caroline bows her head once, traces her bare foot against the stone, and launches herself into the dance.
She sings with the soft falling strings, her exhaustion sinking deep into her bones with every move she makes. Every time she spins or lifts herself in the air, Caroline thinks she will never come back down again.
Most of the witches know her story, but they don't care for it.
To them, she's the idiot who gave up her heart to those who abandoned her anyway.
Caroline's gaze lowers to the ground, her eyes filling with tears. The hole within her heart aches, a deep and thudding thing. Oh, how she misses them all.
She misses her mother with a hopeless emptiness that leaves her gasping and she misses her friends so badly that sometimes it hurts to just breathe. She's all alone here, trapped within Silas' coven through a trap of her own making, abandoned.
And yet, all they would need to do is just show their faces, and she'd take them back in a heartbeat.
And isn't that just the most pathetic thing?
They left her, and Caroline doesn't even care. Because she wants them to save her so much she can't even hate them.
Caroline spins across the clearing, her skirts flaring out around her, her bare feet leaving bloodied footprints behind her. She's getting dizzy and she can feel her body sinking with exhaustion. But Silas' magic means she can't physically collapse.
Not until the last drop of night spills away.
Caroline breathes out a hacked half-sob, turning her face away from Silas as she attempts to keep in her tears. Tears are a fragile, precious thing, too. She won't give them to him.
"You've got a wonderful singing voice, love," says a familiar voice, and Caroline feels something within her relax.
"I know," she says proudly, lifting her head.
Klaus is wearing a soft smile. He holds out his hand to her.
"May I?"
"You're risking your neck to prove you're the alpha male," Caroline warns, but she takes his hand anyway.
Her hand fits in his like a glove and Caroline lets him spin her, feeling safe and comfortable in his arms. She flushes lightly at the praise, preening a little as Klaus leads them around the clearing. The place is filled with wild witches and dancing priestesses. Usually, wolf-men do not dance, but they are getting away with it.
Nobody is watching, Caroline realises, feeling a calmness in their invisibility.
"I don't have to prove anything, love," Klaus says, his eyes bright. "I am the alpha male."
Caroline rolls her eyes at him, very aware of how she's pressed up against him. He moves them swiftly, his gaze dropping briefly to the ground where she's trailing blood. A brief look of fury flashes across his face.
"I could tear out his throat with my teeth," he suggests.
"Don't," Caroline says, and if she had a heart, it would beat hard in panic. "Seriously."
"Very well, then. On to more mannered subjects then?"
Klaus sways her to the sound of the lilting strings, pushing them out of the dance and pulling them back in, again.
"So where have you been?" Caroline asks him.
"Reporting to Silas, as usual," Klaus says easily, but there's no mistaking the displeasure that flickers stonily across his features. "And yourself?"
"Trapped here, as usual," Caroline huffs out, as she pushes them back together, her feet tracing against the stone. She corrects his stance easily, murmuring, "This way."
"It's been a while," Klaus admits.
"You're doing well," Caroline tells him, and he preens. Her gaze drifts to his arm. "You gave up your name to them."
"And you, your heart."
"We've both been stupid," Caroline mutters.
The bitter derision drips from her voice like poison. Klaus reaches to spin her, watching her as she twists her body perfectly, leaving red against the pale forest floor, leaves crackling under their feet.
"You could never be stupid, Caroline," Klaus murmurs. "You only loved too hard."
As the music grows faster, they have to move faster to keep the pace.
Klaus turns and spins her across the forest clearing and Caroline catches up quickly. Her curls tumble about her shoulders, her dress flaring around her lithe figure. She's breathless as she moves, before her head turns and she catches Silas' eye.
He tips his glass towards her.
Caroline swears under her breath.
"Silas' work?" Klaus says.
"He's enjoying this," Caroline tells him bitterly.
Klaus looks at her, his eyes bright with a challenging look to them that speaks to her soul.
"He did ask for a show."
There's a rousing applause that almost deafens Caroline, when the sun finally rises.
.
.
Klaus' body aches.
If this is how one night of dancing turns him out, then he has no idea how Caroline has managed for all these months. Even though she must be exhausted, she doesn't let it show, at all. Caroline dances as though the world is hers, on a stage she makes her own, and Klaus watches as though he starves. She's an artist's dream come true, her curls brushed in lines of gold.
"Wolf-boy," Qetsiyah calls flatly. "Witch-girl. Come."
Caroline's brow furrows, affronted. "We have names –,"
"Come."
She's pulled forwards, as if by an invisible string, her bare feet trailing the dirt. Caroline almost stumbles and Klaus reaches forward to steady her quickly, his gaze on the way that her feet trail blood in the earth. Glowing sunlight droop against the forest floor as they follow Qetsiyah back to her bower.
It's a beautiful place, vines and ivory draped over the soft clearing, spilling a jewel green colour across them all. The brook babbles around them, water gushing smoothly through the bower, and lights flicker about the place. When Klaus looks at them closer, he realises they are sprites.
They are out of place in this wild land, Klaus knows, and his back stiffens warily because of it. When he looks at Caroline, she looks just as defensive as he feels, her head lifted and her jaw taut with determination.
Qetsiyah is eyeing them, her lips curling at the edge.
The witches around her twitter and flutter. A slight annoyed look flickers across her face before Qetsiyah lifts her hand.
"Leave me," she orders.
Klaus' gaze stays on Qetsiyah, refusing to be intimidated, as the witches leave quickly. He's rather impressed with the way Caroline's face doesn't falter, either. Neither of them speak, as Qetsiyah stares at them, draped majestically over her throne.
She looks at them as though they are something to be dissected, fascinated with them. It unnerves Klaus, but he doesn't let it show.
"You gave yourselves willingly," she says eventually, tasting the word. "That's a rare thing. How many years has it been?"
"Too many," Caroline says shortly.
Qetsiyah's lips quirk.
"It is always the pure and the innocent Silas lusts for," she tells them conversationally, reaching for a bowl of water. Qetsiyah dips a finger in the waters, swirling it into a circle. "Their hearts die first. But the two of you. You still live, though you gave yourselves up willingly. How selfless your souls are."
"Thank you," Klaus says lowly.
He's not entirely happy to be called selfless like this, but you'd be a fool to not take the sops of compliments the witch queen gave you. Caroline's gaze drifts to him briefly.
"What do you want from us?" she asks, clearly impatient.
"Straight to the point," Qetsiyah mutters, nodding in agreement. "You want to break your curse, I presume? You want your freedom."
Klaus stiffens.
"Yes," Caroline says, too quickly.
"You are bound to it," Qetsiyah tells them. "Your heart is the will of the forest. You are chained."
"Chains can be broken," Klaus says, his voice a hissed promise.
Instead of looking offended, Qetsiyah's smile widens and she blows on the bowl of water.
"Silas is sleeping on the two of you," she says, before briskly brushing the drops of water away. "He's a fool, my husband. Which is why I intend to be rid of him."
Caroline blinks.
"What."
Qetsiyah shrugs.
"Silas has… started to stray," she says delicately, but Klaus does not miss the flash of fury in her eyes. "I will not stand for it."
"You want us to kill him for our freedom," Klaus says, catching up quickly, and Qetsiyah's eyes brighten with amusement. "But how do you kill a god?"
Caroline has stiffened, her eyes on Qetsiyah.
"You love him," she answers finally.
Qetsiyah inclines her head, looking pleased.
"Amara," she says, her lip curling with disgust. "That whore of a witch. Within her lies your salvation. I need her heart."
"I can get it for you," Klaus says, sensing the way Caroline has stilled. "I can tear it out of her chest for you. For my freedom."
"No," Caroline snarls out fiercely. "She's an innocent."
"She's a selfish whore, who has ensnared my stupid husband into her bed," Qetsiyah snarls out and the waters in the bowl start churning something fierce.
The bower seems to shake and quiver with Qetsiyah's fury and Caroline lets out a soft keen of pain, unable to stop herself. Alarmed, Klaus turns to her, but Qetsiyah's torture lets up and Caroline is breathing once more.
"If you want to stay, dancing on Silas' strings, be my guest," Qetsiyah says flippantly. She leans forward, her dark eyes blazing. "But if you want your freedom, if you want me to clip your strings, you will bring me Amara."
.
stahp already: again, a very, very hot mess. steaming pile of crap, lmao. i don't know if i'll write more of this - maybe if people like it, which isn't likely, lol. just in case anyone is confused, we're in viking ages but like i didn't know how to put that across without being like, "klaus says, 'yes, this character is sharpening swords, because we are in the viking ages, yes.'" yes, i suck at writing - anyway, silas, the witch king, is wanting the doppelgangers and caroline unwittingly gives herself up for elena while klaus becomes a werewolf (why did i say wolf-man? why am i so damn extra) to bring back henrik, but of course, they're both tricked by the witches, because silas makes caroline a glorified dancer while klaus is bound to his coven and henrik is still very much dead.
i have, like, the vaguest ideas for what happens next because i've been working on this for ages and trying to figure out, like, an ending or something for this story, before i just went, screw it, and decided to post and ruin your day.
also.
google futuo.
:)