Aednat Deasmhumhain, a seven hundred and fifty-year-old Irish vampire, give or take a few years, was the lover of Niklaus Mikaelson for the better part of two centuries, that is, until she helped Katerina Petrova escape. Now that Klaus has gotten what he wanted anyway, hundreds of years later, Aednat no longer has to run. Now going by the name of Ena Desmond, she attempts to plead for forgiveness from the Original Hybrid, after seeking protection from Elijah of course.
1278 A.D.- Meet the Mikaelsons
Aednat sighs heavily at the long rows of tents making up the street fair, forgetting the color of her masters' quite extensive tent to match his quite extensive estate, although it matches the same colors she has grown up with all of her short, vulnerable, life. The girl-wife and her family serve a relatively long and noble lineage of Norman-Irish dukes and duchesses in South Munster, an Irish Kingdom known as Desmond. As a common serf, the girl is paid no mind as long as she heeds her orders and does not speak out of turn, nor tempt any noblemen to explore under her skirts.
Her dress is no dress, however, as it is of a simple design meant for the working class. It holds no elegance, and nor does her unruly, frizzy hair which is pleated back into a messy braid that reaches down to her lower back, between where the dimples of her curving flesh might be hiding under the once stiff and starchy frock, now worn down to limp, thin fabric.
Aednat huffs and leads her master's mule and cart with the appropriate coat of arms onwards, looking amongst the crowd for a familiar face, or maybe a banner proudly carrying her master's seal. Aednat curses her husband, Bartley, under her breath for having her mind the cart when it should have been his duty. She hopes that her master will be merciful when he learns that she, a woman, traveled to the fair alone and unaccompanied over the distance from the castle. A welcome sight of her mistress' signature deep purple frock and off-white tulle underskirts wobble to and fro a few short strides away, the noble lady's perfectly coiled hair streaming down her back in blonde tendrils. The woman is adorned with flowers, none that Aednat can recognize but all that she deemed breathtaking nonetheless, not to mention quite odd for a lady so prone to attacks of sneezing whenever near a flowering plant.
"My lady! Lady Murrell, my mistress!" Aednat calls forth in ancient Gaelic, more blunt and abrupt than she ever would have been had the seas of noble and common people alike not been so loud and bustling. The Lady Murrell does not turn her head, nor show any semblance of recognition for her name. Aednat hurries her pace, fearing that her mistress has not heard her and will continue on without guiding the serf to her husband's tent. Currently directly behind the lady, Aednat fails to notice that her mistress is taller than usual, her hair quite paler than usual, her stature less wisp-like than usual. Aednat falls to her knees in a deep bow behind the woman who dresses in her mistress' clothes, wearing the pendant with her master's coat of arms on it. "My mistress Lady Murrell, forgive me if I intrude upon your respite, but I have delivered your kind husband's, my master's mule and cart."
The woman, Rebekah Mikaelson turns swiftly, obviously wary and anxious that one may have found her to be the impostor that she is, only to find the strawberry-brown haired, small girl who would look dainty if she were not so worn, threadbare, and tired kneeling at her feet.
Aednat rises from her bow hesitantly when she receives no response, visibly jerking back in surprise when she takes in the Viking beauty that most definitely is not the thin-faced, thin-lipped, small-boned Lady Murrell. Aednat's cheeks redden in her confusion and the match of her easily lit anger.
"You are not my lady! You dare where her skirts and my master's arms?" Aednat shouts unwittingly, never one to think before she speaks when she is angered.
"You dare question me with that tone, you stupid little nit?" Rebekah glowers, towering over the seventeen-year-old, glistening fangs beginning to protrude from her pearly white teeth, her hunting techniques not yet perfected as she begins to attack in the center of an audience. Rebekah's hands clasp onto Aednat's shoulders in a pain-evoking grip, causing the girl to yelp out in fear and of course, pain itself.
"Ah, ah, ah, dear sister. Have we not run enough?" Elijah calmly interjects from behind Aednat, startling her even more. "Be more discrete. If you have to dispose of her, I recommend avoiding doing so in the middle of the fair."
October 2013- Her Unwelcome Return
"Can you spell that for me?" An overly enthusiastic barista asks the curly-haired girl in front of her, holding a marker and Styrofoam coffee cup in order to mark what goes in it and who it goes to, a smile etched into her face like stone.
"E, N, A. Ena Desmond." The customer spells out in a bored monotone, a slight accent tinging her voice, even after all of this time, even after hiding it during centuries of discrimination and ignorance.
"And that's Eeen-uhh, spelt E, N, A: an Irish breakfast with two lumps of sugar and no milk, right?"
"Indeed so."
"Just dandy! By the way, I adore your hair, I can't decide if it's red or brown though."
"Thank you, you're very sweet. I've developed the habit of calling it strawberry brown."
"That sounds wonderful. Your tea will be brought to your chair in no time at all! I hope you enjoy your stay at New Orleans, make sure to give us five stars on yelp and remember, we have brochures with ghost and witch tour coupons near the entrance!"
Hello my lovelies!
I do hope you have enjoyed the above tidbit of what is to come. This is a love story, and as such I need an intended love interest (or two?!). Yes, Aednat, now Ena, has a past with Claus, but that doesn't mean she is fated to be with him.
Let me know what you think!