Blackbird;

Prologue

You were only waiting for this moment to arise.

It was early spring eighteen sixty-one; April seventh to be exact and Damon was leaving. He was going to be one of those Confederate Soldiers. I was far more than less than impressed; he was my best friend, who else would there be to cause mischief with in his absence? Stefan sure wouldn't, he was only good for a game of football. Which was a game was not supposed to play, though have, many times. I'd have to attend those petty parties with the women and spread gossip about fellow Mystic Falls women. That was not my scene and I only attended those events at the bare minimum my mother and society would allow.

Damon's father, Giuseppe Salvatore had invited my family and a few others to their estate to see his son farewell. I didn't think it had been Giuseppe's idea though, I sensed some persuasion from Stefan, Damon and Giuseppe were not too fond of each other and it may be sad to say; I doubted Damon's father was that bothered by his son leaving for the Civil War. But either way, I stood as my maid Lynette helped put on my pannier and tie my corset tightly. Lynette was a short, frail black women and she was my favourite maid. She always had a witty remark to voice after my mother added another order to her already mile long list of demands, and she was wonderful at giving advice. She was a swift dresser too, the other maids to take forever but Lynette was done quickly and efficiently.

This evenings dress was a crimson red colour, and it had an almost daring neckline. The sleeves hung from my shoulders and dipped into an obtuse 'V', which in the middle had a crème coloured jewel; the skirt was tight around my tiny looking waist, much thanks to the corset, then flowed out into an elegant manner. It was safe to say it was beautiful.

"Your mother picked this out earlier in the morning, Miss Whitlock," She smiles up at me. "You must be going somewhere special this evening, it's awfully fancy."

"Lynette, how many times must be discuss this. Please, call me Eleanor!" I laugh amused, and she stares back up at me warmly. "And no, I'm afraid not. I'm off to bid Damon a goodbye."

"That boy is certainly charming," Lynette chuckles softly, finishing off tying my dress. "He can put any women under a spell; almost had me tangled in his web! It's a wonder how you can put up so much tolerance to him."

"Believe me - even I have my difficulties every now and again."

The older woman stands up from her kneeling position and grins. "And I do not doubt that in the slightest, Miss Whitlock."

I open my mouth to correct again, but I notice my mother waltz into my bedroom, and Lynette quietly leaves behind her. She too is dressed elegantly enough for a ball. "Eleanor you look beautiful,"

"Thanks, mother." I reply almost monotonously, her and I don't really see eye to eye. "Why are we so dressed up for? I was just going to wear a day dress; it's just the Salvatore's and a couple other close acquaintances."

Genevieve Whitlock shakes her head. "No, the party is for all the Confederates that'll be leaving us tomorrow. We're no longer going to the Salvatore estate; it's being held at the Lockwood's by the mayor. He wants to see his citizens off," She sees my expression and must feel the need to elaborate. "The Salvatore's are set to attend."

"But Eleanor, dear," Her brow furrows as her face gets pulled down into a frown. "I do wish for you to associate yourself with other suitable men. You're nineteen I'm sure the majority of your friends have wed by now. You should too."

I nod, unwilling to argue. If I didn't choose a suitor soon, they'd arrange one for me. I couldn't fathom the idea of being married to someone I didn't love, for it all to be arranged. I also had nagging feelings for the eldest Salvatore, they kept lingering even after the many times I had tried to push them away. Damon was an amazing friend, loyal, honest, and trustworthy. But he was a horrible lover; he was the usual womanizer. Even if I wanted to wait for him to love me back, it would not be worth it. As my mother put it, my young pretty face would not last forever, and I needed to court someone before my looks faded. If I ended up being the only unmarried woman of the family, to her, I'd be an expletory disgrace.

"Now the carriage is waiting," My mother speaks up again. "We have to be going."

Then she walked out of the room, not once glancing back to see if I was actually following. She just knew you would. That's one thing I hated about: she was overconfident and self-assured. Her brain revolved around her class and what ball she was going to be attending next. Heaven forbid she befriends a person of a poor background or of a different race. But these were the times when being different was frowned upon; I was often frowned upon.

The two of us walked out into the yard where Mr. Donovan had the carriage parked. He was about fifty-odd, and he drove us everywhere. Mother really discarded him as a driver but I thought of him as more of the grandparent I never really had.

"Hello, Mr. Donovan," I beam at him. He smiles down at me, his skin wrinkling around the eyes. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"Good day, Miss Whitlock," He looks down at me, seemingly studying my attire. "You're all dolled up. I infer I'm bringing you to the Confederate Farewell party?"

"Your inference just so happens to be correct!" That's where the conversation ends, though, not by choice.

"Eleanor!" My mother calls, in a demanding tone from the interior of the carriage. I roll my eyes and the elderly man laughs.

"You better go inside, it's never wise to anger your mother."

"Oh, I know, Mr. Donovan," I mumble under my breath. "I know."

The whole ride to the Lockwood's mother rambled about the men she thought were suitable bachelors. But I had all but tuned her out. I do as she asked, I'd wander about and act flirtatiously with the men, though this night was primarily about Damon. The longest I'd been without that boy was a week, now I had no idea how long he'd be gone – and that was also that horrid possibility he wouldn't come back, ever. It pushed that to the very deep untouched part of my brain: He's Damon Salvatore, he wouldn't go out like that. He needed something more extravagant and uncommon than dying at battle.

"Eleanor, El." I was brought back to reality by her irritating voice. I knew you shouldn't degrade your mother but her tone sent chills down my spine until I physically cringed. It sounded so taunting and superior compared to my warm, soft murmur. I treated everyone equal, whereas she looked down onto all, we were complete opposites; I sometimes dread having to tell people who exactly I was related to. "Gosh, you're always so wrapped up in your daydreams. You can't be attentive to save your life. We've arrived."

And it turned out we actually had. We were stopped right in front of the staircase that led into the Lockwood's. The place was lit up with candles all around the yard; couples lingered around, some even swayed together to the soft sounds that traveled out from inside. Every time we arrived here I looked at the place in awe, it was gigantic and it always appeared so done up and wonderful.

Again I followed in my mother's suit as she led me towards the main commotion. If the outside was astonishing, the inside was perfect. It even had a spacious ballroom. In the sea of people, I'd lost sight of my mother, which I had been almost relieved by. I did not need her breathing down my neck all night about marriage.

A servant walked up to me and gestured the tray of champagne in my direction. I took it and just began to slowly sip as I analyzed the room for people of importance. Instead, a blonde haired man proceeded my way. He was unfamiliar, he could surely not be a native to the town of Mystic Falls, he was a newcomer. A very handsome newcomer. He was almost porcelain skinned and had enticing hazel eyes; I'm sure you could drown in them from a mile away. He wore a perfectly tailored black tail coat and trousers, his shoes seemed to be of expensive leather. What made the outfit stick out though was the crimson red bowtie, it just happened to be the same shade as the fabric of my dress.

"I'm Sebastian Steele, you are Miss Whitlock, I presume?"

"Eleanor Whitlock," I correct for what seems the thousandth time today. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

I curtsey as I am supposed to and he smiles. "Well, Eleanor, may I just say you look breathtaking this fine evening."

I spot my mother in the crowd, just above his head, eavesdropping from now too far away. "Thank you, Mr. Steele. I must tell you, you look rather dapper yourself." I give him a sideways smirk and he chuckles.

"You're new around here." I state instead of ask; I already know the answer.

He nods his head, "I moved here in the last week. It's terribly small but it seems to have very beautiful women."

I know what he's referring to and I flirtatiously laugh, and my cheeks flush just in the slightest bit. "Well, Sebastian Steele, maybe you'll maybe to snag on for your own." I leave with a wink and saunter off in the direction I had spotted Damon in mere seconds ago.

I finally catch up to him as he stops at the table of refreshments. "Damon." I greet.

"Eleanor."

"You know it's rude to make a girl chase after you?" I fold my arms across my chest and his eyes light up with that familiar look of amusement.

"But, Elle - that is all the fun!" I swat at him in a way that is not polite and he laughs loudly, whereas the others surrounding us frown. After he calms down, he looks down at me, and gives me a look that says he approves. "You look ravishing tonight, Elle."

"Why aren't you just the gentleman?" Again I curtsy and this seems to humour him.

"I'm going to miss you." I tell him, my voice wavering. My lips curl into a small, sad smile and I watch as his face does the same. "Who will be my partner in mischief whilst you're gone?"

"Defiantly not Stefan," Damon responded with a knowing smirk. "He's much too mature for childish games – though, he's only seventeen. He doesn't realize he has his whole life to be responsible, now is the time of fun."

I look at him seriously now. "Promise me you won't die out there?"

He gives me an expression that easily reads 'You know I can't do that' but I ignore it. "Please?" I plead with him. I need to know he's trying his hardest to stay alive.

"I promise," He whispers after a moment of silence. Damon turns and stares at him, our eyes locked, and I know he's being serious about this, just like I want.

"Very well," I try to change the mood to one of lightheartedness. "But if you do die out in the war, I will search and search until I find a way to resurrect you and then I will murder you again for being incompetent."

Damon scoffed but then grinned down at me, placing his chin on my forehead. I quickly pulled him into a tight hug – I didn't want to let him go out there. He was my best friend, I loved him – I couldn't let him go out there and be thrown into a dangerous battle with guns and many other weapons. He wasn't allowed to die. But this was above me. I played no part in the decision.

"Come with me." He mumbled into my hair. He grabs a hold of my wrist and softly tugs me along. But there is no need for that, as soon as he asked to be followed, I was going to agree. I trusted him one hundred percent. Damon led me past the crowds, and up the wooden spiral staircase, and into a room which was vacant except for a bed and a bureau. My guess was it was a room for guests because a room as bare as this, no one could live in it.

"I'm going to miss you," He whispers so softly, it's as if he's talking to himself. Though I'm confused, he had to bring me all the way up here to voice he was going to miss me? Surely it couldn't be that private.

"You'll be fighting a Civil War, Salvatore," I sit on the bed, and he paces around the room. "You won't have time to miss me. You'll have to be worrying about yourself."

His pacing abruptly stops, and he comes to sit down next to me. "Now that is true, not in the least. I'm going to miss you every day – your laugh, eyes, smile. And every day I'll be worrying about you, too. If you're well, if you're sick, if you're still unwed…" Damon's expression falters a bit. "Your welfare will be just as important as the events that are happening right in front of me on the battlefield."

The mood seems to intensify immediately. Nothing else is said and the only things heard is the muffled sounds from down the staircase and mine and Damon's ragged breaths muddling together. His face is mere inches away from my own and soon his lips hesitantly place themselves on my own. It's slow at first, almost unsure. But soon it is sure, and on instinct everything escalates. I soon feel myself being pushed back onto the bed and I can feel Damon's fingers ever so lightly undo the knots and bows that belong to my dress and corset. The morals of a Christian woman are to wait until after your marriage, it's almost a law. But his kisses and touches mess with my brain, and those thoughts don't even click in my mind. I'd never been as thoroughly religious as my peers and I was never one for rules; starting now didn't seem like an ideal option. The pannier soon slid off along with the rest of my clothing. Damon kissed down my jawline, down my neck, down my chest. The tiniest part of me willed the rest of me to stop, but that didn't even seem logical to my foggy brain or aroused body. Damon was leaving tomorrow at the crack of dawn – there was that chance you will never see him again! The smart part of my brained shrieked at me; but it seemed only to be a faint whisper. The rest of my body ached for him to be mine, even just for this short night. It was the devil and angel on my shoulder, this once, I chose the fiery heat of the devil.

I curled up next to his warm body after he took me and I felt no regret. I didn't even feel sinful. This wasn't something done amidst in pure lust. This couldn't be put to shame.

It started to sink in after that. Damon was leaving tomorrow; nothing was cloudy any more This couldn't amount to anything because I couldn't wait for him when there were no guarantees.

"I love you," I said quietly into his ear.

His body turned to face me, the ghost of a smile on his handsome face. "I love you too, Elle."

This is when a huge lump in my throat formed. I knew what I was going to say next, I knew what I had to say next and it wasn't going to be nice for either of us. "I can't wait for you though."

There's a pregnant pause before he replies with a very heartbreaking, "I know."

His fingers gently stroke my cheek and one simple tear runs down my cheek before I finally close my eyes and fall asleep, Damon's body entangled with mine, for the first and last time.

This is a prologue for an idea I have. It's not going to be set in the 1860's for very long, and I don't know, the beginning of this story seems to be a bit confusing so I have to muddle that out. But is this worth continuing? Damon is my new fictional obsession of the week and my mind just keeps spurring with ideas. Feedback? :)

Sadly, I don't own The Vampire Diaries or Blackbird by The Beatles. I do however own anything that hasn't appeared in the books or series.