Episode One: What Are You Afraid Of?

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess, much beloved by her family, especially her parents, a king and a queen. The princess's family fought day and night to keep her safe, to protect her from the darkness in the kingdom. But the family had countless enemies, spanning centuries and continents. After bloody conflict and tragic defeat, the princess's family was lost, all in one fell swoop. Only the princess and her mother, the Wolf Queen, remained. They alone bore the burden of scouring the earth for the means to make the family whole again.

This quest proved quite the challenge for the Wolf Queen, and as years passed, the princess grew. She grew not only in mind and body, but in power, for she had been blessed with potent magic. The Wolf Queen loved her daughter and raised her well, but found herself unable to finish the task of saving the family. Fifteen years have passed, and the princess is no longer a child—and for the first time since her family's fall, she finds herself with the chance to complete the quest and save them, once and for all.

Tallahassee, Florida

The Monroe house is small, yellowing sideboards and a patchy front lawn. Still, it's cute; Mrs. Monroe likes to spend what little free time she has tending to a flower patch just off to the side of the two-person porch. Her azaleas are having a particularly good season, despite the terrible Florida heat.

Mrs. Monroe is in her flower patch, floppy hat cocked at just the right angle to block out the sun, when a redheaded girl walks up her driveway. She smiles and straightens up a bit. "How you doin', Hope?"

Hope waves. "I'm great, how are you?"

"Just tryin' to keep these flowers from shrivelin' up in this damn heat." She points at Hope with her trowel. "Have you got sunscreen on? Skin like yours, you'll burn like that." She tries to snap her fingers, but her gardening gloves muffle the sound.

"Don't worry about me, Mrs. Monroe. It's just a few blocks from my house." Hope gestures to the front door, a fading confederate gray. "May I go in?"

"Sure thing, hon. She's in her room. Finally got her to clean out that old trunk of hers. Bet it's mostly junk in there."

Laughing, Hope says, "Have fun with your flowers!" and heads into the house. She knows the layout well by this point, makes a turn at the kitchen and walks all the way to the end of the hall, where the last door on the left is ajar. Inside the green and white bedroom, a girl sits cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by piles of papers and clothes and trinkets. Her back is to the door, so Hope tiptoes to her and, without warning, begins to tickle the girl's sides mercilessly.

The girl shrieks and curls in on herself, twisting to get a good look at her attacker. "Oh my god—Hope!" She manages to swat Hope's hands away. "You ass!"

Breathless from laughter, Hope plops down on the ground. "Sorry, I couldn't resist." Then she puts a hand on the girl's neck and pulls her in for a kiss, which is received with a begrudging hrmph. After the kiss, Hope says, "I missed you, River."

"We were at work together yesterday."

"Well then fine, I take it back."

"No, wait." River kisses her girlfriend again. "I missed you, too." She furrows her eyebrows, pats at Hope's face. "Did you put on sunscreen?"

Hope rolls her eyes with a groan. "Not you too…"

"Hey, white girls like you do not tan. I can go out in the sun just fine, because I've got that melanin to protect me—"

"Only from the sun," Hope interjects slyly.

River snorts. "Ain't that the truth. But for real, I don't want you to burn. Red is not your color."

"I have red hair!"

"Exactly."

Hope sticks out her tongue. "My mom can tan."

"Then you got your daddy's skin."

"I wouldn't know." They both fall silent, the mood officially killed. After a minute, Hope asks, "So what are all these piles?"

River starts pointing. "Those are old clothes that I need to donate, those are old toys that I need to donate, those are some photos and things that my mom might want to scrapbook—"

"Ooh, I love your mom's scrapbooks."

"Mhm. Oh, and those are just important papers that I probably should not have been trusted with."

Hope peers at that pile. "Like what?"

"Oh, some bank statements, school records, my birth certificate. Things like that. No idea why I have any of them."

Spying the birth certificate toward the top of the pile, Hope picks it up with a grin. "Aw, baby River. Born 3:21 am." Hope smiles up at her girlfriend. "I was an early morning baby, too."

River's inspecting a shirt for any wear. "Oh yeah? What time?"

"Not sure. I don't have a birth certificate."

River freezes, then slowly turns her head. "I swear, your family is sketchy as hell."

"Tell me about it." Hope looks back down at the document, where something strange catches her eye. "Hang on."

"What?"

Hope's eyes dart between River and the birth certificate a few times before finally settling on the former. "This says that your last name is Malraux, not Monroe."

River wrinkles her nose. "Oh yeah. Speaking of sketchy families…" She settles her body into a more comfortable position. "Look, I don't know why we left Texas when I was little, but I know it was sudden, and I'm pretty sure it had something to do with our family. I just remember my dad telling me over and over, 'You're a Monroe now. Remember that. River Monroe.' I was five, so I wasn't, like, attached to the name or anything. We even got it legally changed. You're holding onto the original." River bites her lip. "Look, you cannot tell my folks you know about this. They will flip their lids if they found out you knew. They made me swear to keep it a secret. Promise me?"

"Yeah." Hope's voice is hollow, like she's hearing it from the opposite end of a tunnel. Her skin is ashen as she stares, unblinking, at the ink on the paper in her hands. Three words sound on repeat in her head, deafening in her ears: Malraux. Texas. Shit.

New Orleans, Louisiana

Vincent bursts through the penthouse doors, never breaking his stride until he reaches Marcel, who is reclined on a sofa, reading The Times-Picayune. "We can't do another year of this, Marcel."

Barely sparing the witch regent a glance, Marcel says, "Good morning, Vincent. How's your day going?"

"I'll tell you how it's going. I got nine covens of witches screaming for your head. You're supposed to keep the vampires in line, Marcel."

With a sigh, Marcel folds up the paper and sets it on the coffee table. "What exactly have we done this time, huh? Poor attendance at the Fête des Bénédictions last week?"

Vincent takes a deep breath. "We are comin' up on yet another anniversary of the fall of Klaus Mikaelson, and yet again hundreds of vampires are gonna flock to New Orleans to celebrate. They gonna decimate the local population, Marcel! The witches want an end to this."

"And what exactly do you expect me to do about it?" Marcel stands up. "I don't control all the vampires in the world, just the ones in the Quarter. And yeah, when the out-of-towners come, they tend to wreak some havoc, but my guys do our best to keep them in check."

"Last year fourteen locals were killed by members of Klaus Mikaelson's sire line. Fourteen. That's fourteen families destroyed. We been keepin' the peace best we know how but I'm tellin' you Marcel, if you don't put an end to this yearly slaughter of locals, we will."

Marcel's eyes narrow. "What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you may be the biggest bad goin' in New Orleans right now, but never forget, no one is unkillable." He turns on his heel and marches for the door. "'Specially not in this city."

The sun is on its descent when Hope walks through her front door, mind a million miles away. She passes the living room with her eyes on the ground, so she misses her mother on the couch, reading. "Hey."

Hope stops, turns. "Oh hey."

Hayley's eyes narrow a bit, and she stands. "What's up?"

"Um." Hope fixes her face into something brighter. "Not much. Just gotta go get ready for work."

"How was River?"

"Fine," Hope answers too quickly. "You know, the same. I'm running late, I should…" She gestures toward her bedroom, and then starts to head for it. She only makes it a step before she stops herself. She turns back to her mother. "Hey, um. I was wondering. How close are we…what more do we need to get before we can, you know, bring the family back together?"

Hayley sighs, looks down and adjusts the hem of her shirt. "Hope, look, I know we've travelled basically everywhere trying to find the cures for everyone upstairs—"

"And I never minded, honestly." Hope approaches her mother. "All I ever wanted was my family, too."

With a smile, Hayley tucks a piece of Hope's hair behind her ear. "You were always the bravest of us all, you know." Her smile fades a bit. "I brought us here because I was told someone at the university might have information about a wolf pack whose venom we need to cure your uncles. But that lead didn't pan out, so…I don't know where to turn next."

As innocently as she can, Hope asks, "What wolf pack?"

"Um, the Malraux pack. They were originally from Texas, but vampires wiped them out years ago. I've been trying to track one down ever since."

"Right. I knew that." Hope gives a fake smile. "Well, I should go get ready." She hugs Hayley. "Everything's going to work out, Mom. I know it."

Hayley kisses her daughter's head. "I sure hope so."

"Just toss the trash and you can head out."

Hope nods at her manager. "Sure." She weaves her way through the restaurant, pulling trash bags from the bathrooms and the bar area to take outside. Once she's replaced all the bags, she heaves the collected trash over one shoulder and cuts through the kitchen, where the only cook left for the night is tossing dough.

"You close tonight, Rowan?" she asks.

Rowan nods. "Bullshit."

Hope hums in agreement and pushes open the back door, heading down the alley toward the dumpster. She twists her body around and chucks the bag atop the others. After wiping her hands on her shorts, she pulls her phone from her pocket, opens an app, and clocks out.

"Nine-oh-nine," she murmurs to herself. That leaves too much time to think about River before bed. She heads for her car, a late 2000s Honda her mom picked up on Craigslist, but freezes when she hears something shift in the alley behind her. She spins around, fingers typing 91 on her phone screen.

"Hello?" she calls into the darkness. Silence. She starts to turn back around, but hears another noise. "If you come any closer I will blow you straight to hell!" Hope shouts, hand outstretched defensively.

More silence, and then a quiet voice behind her: "I wouldn't recommend that."

Hayley's cross-legged on her bed, an open trunk facing her at the foot. Laid out neatly on the comforter is everything, all of the vials and spells and potions needed to cure the people sleeping in coffins in the attic. She runs her fingers over a collection of small glass bottles, each labelled in her own fairly messy scrawl. Six of the bottles are filled with a transparent amber liquid. She picks up the bottle labelled 1 – Crescent and gives a little smile. The smile wanes as her eyes fall on the seventh bottle, empty and labelled 7 – Malraux.

Hayley heaves a heavy sigh. "Oh Elijah," she whispers to the room. "What am I supposed to do?"

She thinks back to a day eight years ago, Hope napping in the front of the moving van as Hayley met with an old wolf friend from Appalachia, Meredith.

"I don't know what to do tell you, Hay," Meredith had said, leaned up against the side of the truck, her blonde hair twisted into its usual braid. "Everyone I've talked to said all the Malrauxs are dead."

"They can't be," Hayley had insisted. "I just need one. Someone has to be left."

"The vamps in Texas got them pretty good about four years back, so I'm told. Some kind of race war. I mean, it's Texas, so not altogether a shocker. If any of them made it out, they would impossible to find." She gave a small, sympathetic smile. "Sorry, Hay."

Hayley focused on the sound of her daughter's breathing inside the van, slow and even in her sleep. She took a deep breath of her own and said, "Thanks anyway, Mer. If you hear something—"

"I'll call, no doubt." Meredith hugged her friend and then said goodbye, leaving Hayley to climb back into the van. Hayley looked down at her daughter, long red hair falling across her face, more peaceful in sleep than she could ever be awake. Hayley wiped a tear away aggressively as she started the truck.

"Fifteen years and no sign of a Malraux wolf anywhere," Hayley says to the air, empty venom bottle in hand. "I promised my daughter I would bring her family home, but Elijah…" She slides off the bed, letting the Malraux bottle bounce onto the comforter, and makes her way into the hall of their little rental home. She deftly pulls down the ladder to the attic, climbs up, and takes the few steps over to the silver coffin she has spent countless hours kneeling beside. She lifts the lid and sees him, just as perfectly laid in his suit as he was fifteen years ago.

"Elijah, I don't know how much longer I can keep searching. I've been moving Hope around for a decade and a half. She's never had a home, never had stability. At what point…" She stops, uses her thumb to catch the stray tear running down her nose. "At what point do I give up a lost cause? I love you so much, Elijah, and the thought of never seeing you again...but I need to move on. Hope needs to move on." She bring two fingers up to her lips and then touches them to Elijah's. "Please forgive me."

Hope whips around to see someone walking out of the shadows. She raises a shaky hand. "Stay back! I mean it!"

"Hope Mikaelson…" That gives her pause. "You've grown, kid. And your hair! You were a blonde baby, but damn if you aren't a redhead now."

"Who the hell are you?"

The man stops, hands raised in placation. "My name is Vincent Griffith. I knew you back when you was a baby. At one point I even had your uncle Finn inhabiting my body. Yeah, you and me go way back."

"So you thought it'd be cool to approach me in a dark alley?" Hope lets some energy roll off of her, shaking the branches of the trees that line the back of the alley. "That was stupid, if I'm being honest."

"Look, Hope, I'm not here to hurt you. In fact, I'm tryin' to do you a favor."

"A favor," Hope repeats, skeptical.

"How would you like to be reunited with your father?"

River's always loved a good night run. Sure, running during summer nights in Florida is like running through a swamp, the air thick and wet and impossible to move through, but River likes the challenge, likes the way the sweat sizzles off of her skin. Tonight it's Kendrick Lamar's back catalogue that's soundtracking her run, the beat echoed in every slap of her shoes on the pavement. Her path carves a chunk out of downtown Tallahassee, under the neon lights of the Strip and through the patchwork streets of Frenchtown. She's never afraid, even though she's by herself at night. She feels powerful, invincible as she flies through her city.

As River approaches a well-lit area, she brings her water bottle to her lips, but despite all her tugging with her teeth, she can't get the top open. She gently jogs to a stop at the mouth of an alley, giving herself a minute to fiddle with the bottle.

Just as she gets it open, a hand clamps around her elbow and yanks her into the alley, where in the darkness she is pinned to the brick of the wall. "Hey!"

"Hey you too."

Her wrists held above her head, River has to strain to see her attacker's face in the dark. The stench coming off of him is wretched, Fireball and cigarettes. She can tell he's not that much older than her, probably one of the students at the university. She wriggles against his grip. "Let me go!" she shouts, hoping to attract attention.

Her attacker pulls her away from the wall just to slam her into it again. "Shut up, bitch. Look at you." He brings his nose to her neck and breathes deep, and her heart is shuddering a mile a minute. "Love to get a taste of you, girl." He grins at her lecherously.

As if on autopilot, River springs into action. She knees him in the groin, and when he staggers backward, she cocks her head back and knocks it into his. He howls in pain, and she makes a run for it—but a hand closes on the back of her shirt and jerks her backward. Her body clangs against the wall, but she rolls with it and, with a rage she has never felt before in her life, pushes the creep away from her. Eyes wide, she watches his body fly to the opposite wall, much farther than she ever thought she could shove someone, and his head cracks against the brick. He slumps to the ground, motionless.

The world freezes. "Oh god." River forces her feet to move. She approaches him slowly, as if he might catch on fire. Trembling, she crouches, presses her finger to his neck.

No pulse.

"Oh god. Oh Jesus. Oh no." Her breath starts coming faster and faster, and without warning, a flash of indescribable pain washes through her body, a crackling ache that shakes her to her very bones. She curls in on herself, knocking into the body, but just as suddenly as it started, the pain vanishes. She uses the wall to pull herself to her feet, looks down at the man who tried to attack her, and does what she knows best.

She runs.

Freya finds him in the garden most days. He stands among the flowers, always in bloom, and watches the artificial sun carve a path through the everblue sky. Fifteen years in and Elijah still puts the suit on every morning, but she's been watching the cracks form at his edges for some time now. At least his stoicism is easier to deal with than Kol's explosive anger or Rebekah's yo-yoing between aggressive optimism and hopeless doubt.

She approaches him with quiet steps. "How are you, brother?"

Elijah takes so long to answer that Freya wonders if he even heard her. "I'm finding it…ironic that the person who brought our family together is named Hope, and yet I feel as if I have never had less hope in my life."

Freya steps up to her brother's side and rests her head on his shoulder. "It does seem as though the task we left to Hayley is…taking longer than we expected, but I have no doubt that after all this time she still continues to search for our salvation."

"Yes, sister, that is the fear."

Freya looks up at Elijah, confused. "What do you mean?"

Elijah examines his hands, avoiding eye contact. "My wish for her has always been something greater than this family's salvation. Hayley deserves freedom, happiness…a life with her daughter. I just hope—" He cuts himself off.

"You hope she hasn't spent the last fifteen years focusing solely on bringing us home." Elijah's silence is confirmation enough. "Unfortunately, brother, if I had to guess?" Freya walks in front of Elijah, forcing him to look at her. "Hayley's desire to be with you has been her life's purpose since you were taken from her, second only to raising Hope."

Scoffing, Elijah starts to argue. "It is not just me she wishes to save—"

"Of course not. Hayley loves all of us, even Niklaus, and I am sure she would stop at nothing to bring each of us back. But to ignore her love for you, to dismiss how keenly she must be feeling your absence, does no justice to your memory of her."

After his older sister's scolding, Elijah is silent. He studies the flowers that color the garden, their elegant dance in the breeze. Eventually he admits, "There is the other fear, of course."

"The other fear?"

Elijah looks Freya in the eyes. "That she has died in her quest to save us."

Freya grips her brother's hands tightly. "No. Banish this fear from your mind, Elijah. Hayley is strong and capable, and would never allow her daughter to be orphaned like that."

"You and I both know it is not so simple."

"It does you no good to think like this, brother. Hayley is out there, and she is fighting for us." Freya kisses Elijah's cheek, and then tips her head onto his shoulder once more. "We just have to have hope."

Hope and Vincent sit across from each other in the brightly lit Dunkin' Donuts on the university campus. It's empty save for the bored cashier poring over an Italian film history textbook and a young guy on a MacBook surrounded by empty coffee cups.

Hope spins her own cup—frozen coffee, because even at night summer in Florida is hell—and asks, "So. How do you know who I am? How did you know where I live? Why do you want to help me find my father? How did—"

"Whoa, slow down!" Vincent raises a hand to stop her. "I'm gonna tell you everything, don't worry." He gives the shop a quick glance to make sure no one is listening, and then continues in a low voice. "I'm a New Orleans witch, just like you. I've lived in the city my whole life, and I've always sworn to protect it from whatever threat comes its way. That's why I'm here. I need your help."

"How did you find me? My mom and I, we move around so much—"

Vincent shrugs. "Simple locator spell."

"Using what?"

"The blood of your closest relative: your daddy."

The breath leaves Hope's chest. "What? You just—you just have access to—he's in New Orleans? Still?"

"Yeah, yeah. And I want your help breaking him out."

The edges of Hope's vision are starting to blur. "This is a lot to take in."

"Well, sorry kid, but I don't got a whole lotta time. You see, every year, right around now, hundreds of vampires come from all over the world to party in New Orleans. Vampires who fifteen years later are still celebratin' your dad's downfall. And when they come, they leave death and destruction in their wake. The only way I can think to get them out is to remove the thing that draws them there in the first place."

So many thoughts are jumping around in Hope's head that it's impossible for her to know what to focus on. "Was he really that awful? That so many people are celebrating, still?"

Vincent is silent for a beat, nodding to himself absentmindedly. "Yeah, yeah. I don't know what your momma told you now—"

"Nothing…concrete. I know he liked to paint, like I do. And that he loved his family. That he loved me. But she doesn't talk about the kind of person that he was." She inspects her coffee lid. "I guess that sort of answers the question, doesn't it?"

Vincent reaches out to pat her hand. "Kid, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but your daddy was the biggest bad there ever was." Hope closes her eyes, processing. "But if it helps, nothing made him more…human than you. Everyone in the Quarter, hell, everyone in the damn world knew: if there was one thing that made Klaus Mikaelson weak, it was his baby girl."

Something hollow tugs at the pit of Hope's stomach, so, eager to change the conversation, she says, "Okay. You need my help getting him out. How exactly do you propose we do that?"

Settling into his chair more comfortably, Vincent begins to explain. "The boundary spell keeping your father trapped is strong, but I think our power combined should be able to break it."

"Are there no other witches in New Orleans who could help you?"

"There are, but hardly any of 'em want to see Klaus Mikaelson roaming free, and even if they did, none of them are going to be as powerful as you."

Hope's brow furrows. "Me? I'm not that powerful."

"Oh, no, see, that's where you're wrong. You may not be very well-trained, but if you really honed your abilities…kid, you'd be able to set the world on fire." Hope's eyes widen. "Not to mention the fact that your very existence is a source of power. The only child of a hybrid and a werewolf? Yeah, that's a magical occurrence rare enough to power almost any spell."

"Okay." Hope looks out the window of the Dunkin' Donuts; the campus is silent, the moon hanging swollen in the black sky. "Okay." She looks back to Vincent. "You know I've never been to New Orleans? It was the one place that my mom said we could never go."

"Well, there's good reason for that. You almost died there more than once."

After everything Hope's heard in the past half an hour, the only thing she can do is laugh. "Yeah…yeah, that sounds about right." She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her keys. "Alright." She stands. "Let's go."

Vincent's confused. "What?"

"If we're going all the way to New Orleans—" She shakes her keys. "—I'm driving."

When the doorbell rings, Hayley looks up, confused. She glances at her watch; it's nearly eleven, which is when it hits her that Hope should have been home a long time ago. She leaps to her feet, leaving Elijah's coffin propped open, and flies down the attic ladder. She whips open the front door, fearing the worst, and is surprised when she sees her daughter's girlfriend, wide-eyed and a little shaky, her breath coming fast. "River?"

"Hey, Ms. Marshall."

"I told you, call me Hayley."

"Right." River's eyes slide past her, inside the house. "Is, um. Is Hope here?"

Hayley sighs heavily. "No, she's late coming from work. I was just about to call her. Do you want…" She trails off. River's eyes are ringed with red, and she looks as though she's about to disintegrate. That's when Hayley catches an all-too-familiar scent. She looks down and spies spots of blood on the strap of River's tank top. "River? Did something happen tonight?"

With that, River's face crumples. She pitches forward with the force of her tears, and Hayley catches her in shock. She stands in her open doorway, holding her daughter's sobbing girlfriend, completely at a loss for what to do next.

They're speeding down I-10, halfway to Pensacola, when her phone rings. Hope shoots Vincent a look that clearly reads, Here we go, before answering. "Hey Mom."

"Hope, where are you? Do you know how late it is?"

Hope takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but—"

"Look, I'll be mad later. You just need to get home. River's here and…something's wrong."

Hope nearly slams on the brake. Vincent's eyes widen in warning, but she ignores him. "What is it?"

"I'm not sure. She showed up looking for you and…Hope, there's blood on her."

The car jerks with the force of Hope's reaction, and Vincent's hand flies out to steady the wheel. "Is she okay?"

"I'm going to check her out in a minute, but she just keeps asking for you. Get home, now."

Hope is silent for a long moment, eyes staring out at nothing as trees whip past in a dark blur. "I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?"

"Tell River…tell River that I am so, so sorry, but I can't come home right now. In fact…I'm gonna be gone a couple of days."

Hayley's voice is low and dangerous. "Hope, where exactly do you think you're going?"

"…New Orleans?"

On the other end of the phone, she hears the front door open and shut, and the unmistakable sound of summer cicadas. "I'm trying very, very hard not to lose my shit right now, Hope, mostly because your girlfriend is in our living room, currently losing her shit. Now I don't set a lot of rules with you, because you're smart and you're capable and I trust you, but I thought I made it very clear that we were to never set foot in New Orleans again."

"I can save him."

A moment of silence. "What are you talking about?"

"My dad. I can save him. I can bring him back. At least…" She glances at Vincent who, with wide eyes, is shaking his head no. "…that's what Vincent told me." Vincent tosses his hands up in the air.

"What the—Vincent is with you?"

Vincent rolls his eyes and motions for Hope to put the call on speakerphone. When she does, he says, "Listen to me, Hayley, you know I'm not gonna let anything bad happen to your girl."

"Your witches have tried to murder Hope more than once."

"Fair enough. But right now we need her help, and she needs ours."

"I'm going to go get him, Mom," Hope says, "so please, please take care of River. Tell her I'm sorry, and I'll be home soon."

"No, Hope, you—"

"I love you." She hangs up, drops the phone in the cup holder with a sigh. She looks over at Vincent again, who just shrugs. Eyes back on the road, she settles into her seat, and then, without another word, the pair continue their midnight drive to Louisiana, following the moon west.

If you've been following me for a while, you probably know that I'm a Glee writer, full stop. But it's been a long time, and I've spent the last few weeks working on a fic for The Originals. This is the first episode. If you would like to continue reading, please go to the Tumblr peopleandrhythm. I will be posting episodes weekly (Sundays at 8p EST) on that blog. This has been one of the most complicated and exciting writing projects of my life, and I am so glad to be able to share it with you.