Henrik was dead. Sweet, youthful Henrik—brother of her blood—was dead.
Her sadness was all-consuming, but if she could blame Niklaus as easily as the rest of her family had, she would be the worst sort of pretender. She was certain it was that same sense of forbidden freedom she yearned for that Niklaus and Henrik were pursuing that tragic night.
A taste of the extraordinary. The chance to see men turn into beasts.
Hadn't the only thing that distinguished her transgression from theirs been timing? She chose nights of little risk while theirs possessed all of it. They were reckless boys as Mikael so bitterly pointed out to Niklaus. Klaus was nothing more than a foolish boy who sought the demise of those who loved him. He was no son of Mikael's.
The look on his face had been heartbreaking. He was so physically and emotionally exhausted from the whole ordeal, but Mikael would not allow him respite. Klaus looked as though he wished he had been the one who perished in the woods instead of young Henrik, and Father looked as if he would grant him that very request.
Against all expectation, Mikael allowed Niklaus to live another day, but everyone in the village knew it would be a matter of time until Mikael exacted his terrible rage upon his most hated son.
But with each passing day, it seemed that Mikael instead turned his calculated anger into another activity. He did not return to the woods to gather food as did other men in the village, her brothers included. He did not show himself at mealtimes. She rarely saw her father at all anymore, and it troubled her deeply.
What could he be doing for so long? Grief was known to make any sensible man lose his wits, but the best consolation was a return to routine, hard work, and contribution to survival. Rebekah felt incredibly guilty for the relief that accompanied Father's disappearance, but it did not sit well with her. She felt he must be planning something—his revenge on Niklaus no doubt.
For a time the entire Mikaelson brood remained constantly alert waiting for their father to present himself, hell-bent on having Niklaus' head. Yet he remained out of sight, and his continued absence began to ease their troubled minds.
He appeared one day while Klaus and Elijah practiced their swordsmanship.
Rebekah laughed as Klaus dodged another of Elijah's lunges and nearly fell over backward. As she noticed her father approaching, her laughter died in her throat and she became solemn. Seeing this, her brothers looked in the direction of her stare and saw the focus of her change in demeanor.
A sense of ill-boding evil seemed to surround Mikael; his quiet fury was stifling.
Rebekah did her best not to succumb to her emotions, but a harsh ringing sounded in her ears punctuated by her own heartbeat. The scene before her progressed as if time itself had slowed to a snail's pace.
Mikael with Elijah's sword.
Mikael and Niklaus crossing blades.
Klaus unarmed.
A sword pointed at his throat.
Rebekah's clouded mind registered one feeling: fear. Such a deep and primal terror for her brother's life that she did not blink. She did not move. She did not breathe.
Mikael threw his sword to the side in disgust and time steadily regained its usual tempo. Air flooded Rebekah's lungs and only then did she realize she was on the brink of fainting. Darkness at the edge of her vision that she did not know was there swiftly receded as if it never meant to make an intrusion. She collapsed to her knees and let her gaze wander between Niklaus and the sword that had nearly just ended his life.
She stayed there for a few moments until she caught Klaus' gaze. Despite having faced down death at his father's hands only moments before, he seemed much more alert and offered her a small, courageous smile. It was all he could do to stem her unbridled anxiety, and she absentmindedly reciprocated his gesture before rising to her feet and slowly moving toward her hut.
In her unhurried retreat, she happened to lift her stare in the direction of the men's dwellings and caught a set of fawn-colored eyes peering at her inquisitively. Kol appeared to be assessing her—toward what end, she couldn't be sure.
This newfound source of worry overwhelmed her already drained senses and she faltered in her path. Despite nearly reestablishing contact with the ground, she kept her eyes locked on his form. She could not fall prey to him this time; she wasn't sure she'd be able to handle it.
His eyes widened and he took a step in her direction with his hand reached out as if to right her.
His reaction confounded every part of her. For a moment, she was transported back to the days when Kol actually protected her and cared for her as any good brother should.
As if following her train of thought, his eyes narrowed harshly. He stepped back to his original position and looked away as if revolted by his own actions.
With a shake of her head she righted her mind. This was the here and now, and Kol was a monster. He did not want her safe; he wanted her possessed. No defenses, no opinions, and no feelings besides fear. She was thoughtless to believe otherwise.
She carried on her way more assuredly now and did not stop until she was safely inside her hut.
Between the near-fatal event with Niklaus and yet another run in with Kol, her wits could not stand another moment of consciousness. Rebekah lowered herself on to her bed and let the numb blackness of slumber claim her mind.