Mikeal knelt by the river. The sun was still up, but the darkness that entombed his mind blocked any bit of warmth or comfort it could offer. All he had wanted was to protect his family, and now his family was gone. His wife had been murdered, his children had fled. One swift stroke of evil and the slate that had been his life was wiped blank.
He was completely alone. Completely void of anything that had given his life meaning. His wife and his children; seven people he had dearly loved, snatched away by the hand of wicked ambition.
He heard a rustle of wind and instinctively he stood and looked around; half expecting to see Esther, with her calm, stern look, or his children quarrelling youthfully amongst themselves.
But there was no one, only the bitter wind.
He began to walk down the deserted path along the river and thought about the lives he had taken that day, and the life he had spared. In his blind rage he had slaughtered his wife's lover. Knowing the man who dared touch his wife was dead should have brought him comfort. But the reality was he now regretted it. In his own suffering, he merely inflicted more. Justice had been served, but he felt no honor in it.
He thought of Niklaus. He should have slain the boy where he stood. He could vividly see his wife's lifeless body, her no longer beating heart in Niklaus' hand. But he couldn't bring himself to lift his sword knowing his only daughter was but a stones throw away. He would protect her from that much at least.
Mikeal shook his head. He didn't want to think anymore, it was making everything seem to real, and it was a reality he did not feel he was ready to accept. Everything burned down to his soul, like a candle left to burn until it was completely spent of it's wax.
Esther's face surfaced in his mind, the most poignant memories of their years spent together replayed themselves until he could walk no further. He knew that nothing he could ever do or say would lift the immense pain that burned in his heart.
"Please let it not be true," he whispered, but a cruel silence was all he received in reply.
He heard Ayanna's voice in his head. "This magic will breed consequences...The spirits will turn on you."
He knew that he would have to carry on, but he did not know how. He did not how he could possibly mend the shattered fragments that remained. All he knew was that no matter what, he would never, could never, see his wife again.
She had tried to make things right, she had cursed her son, making his werewolf side dormant. She had begged Mikeal not to blame Niklaus for her mistake. In his anger, he left her to seek revenge on the boy's father. In his absence, Niklaus had killed her.
Mikeal could not shake the guilt. Had he been a better, more forgiving man; had he stayed with her, Esther would still be alive. But she was dead, and he was alone. For the first time in thirty years, he was alone.
His mind flashed to the faces of his children. They would never understand. He had never told them he loved them, or how proud they made him. And he would likely now never have a chance.
Mikeal remembered the night Esther had given birth to Niklaus. He remembered Ayanna placing the boy in his arms. He remembered feeling the same pride holding Niklaus that he had felt holding Elijah and Finn. Pride that he would later feel holding Kol, Rebekah, and Henrik. Pride and love. A father's love.
Whatever resistence he had to the pain dissolved, and he broke down. He neither knew nor cared how long he stood there and wept for his family.
After what seemed like an eternity, the tears ceased, leaving a muted acceptance in their stead. Mikeal closed his eyes and thought again of his wife. His beautiful Esther. She would know no justice or peace while Niklaus lived. He steeled his resolve and knew what he had to do for his wife. He would spend his eternity hunting Niklaus. He would kill his wife's murderer, and anyone who stood in his path.
Mikeal growled and picked up a large rock. He hurled it into the water and forced a smile as he watched the ripples that broke the calm surface.
