Stefan and Damon Salvatore had once, long ago, made the decision to die. Trapped in a limbo between the end of their human lives and the start of their vampire days, they had decided that it was better to leave the earth than to return as the walking dead. For different reasons—Damon had not wanted to live without the woman he loved. For him it was simple; nothing in life had meant more to him than she had, and without her, the emptiness consumed him. Stefan was more conflicted, both about Katherine and about life; he hadn't chosen any of this, after all. In the end, he thought it would be better to die than to be a monster.
But monsters they both became, in varying degrees and for varying reasons, living each day with a hunger that threatened to destroy them. Sometimes they thought it had already burned them from the inside out. Over the years, they had found a sort of peace in the routine of pain and death, sometimes managing to stop themselves from killing, sometimes even managing to make a semblance of lives among the people they instinctively hunted. But, always, they had to move on; they were always reminded that they were monsters, not redeemable and certainly never men.
It wasn't until they met Elena that they found a way to feel alive, to feel human for stolen moments, even if that was a lie. The irony of it all wasn't lost to them. There they were—two brothers torn apart by love of the same woman, dead and undead because of her, unable to truly love anyone because of the secret they carried and the hate and bitterness they bore each other and most particularly her.
And it was this woman's doppelganger—her mirror image, down to the long lashes framing her eyes and the tone of her voice—that made them feel alive once again. Both of them, again in love with the same woman, who just happened to have the same face, even live in the same town, as the first. Fate had a sense of humor, at least.
Love had damned them, and even though they'd sworn off of it, here they were at the brink of death again. Love was forcing them once again to acts of heroism and, really, stupidity. Because they knew it was hopeless. What could they do against hordes of humans, compelled to die for their vampire masters—against those masters, both fairly standard vampires and the virtually unkillable Originals? There wasn't enough ash and enchanted metal in the world to break through the ranks and rescue the fair maiden, even if everything went perfectly and they had the strength to prevail. They didn't, and they wouldn't. They knew that.
But as the brothers got into position at the base of the hill in the darkness before dawn, feeling the heat of coming battle sharpen their senses and stir their blood, they were united in their objective. They'd lived long enough, if it came to that. If they were going to die, they'd do it together, as they had the first time. And they weren't beaten yet. They had a few surprises left in store.
Elena was—to put it mildly—in a state of panic. She thought she'd wanted to know the history, the reason for it all, but as too often happens, the truth was worse than the fiction. Elena was the doppelganger of a woman who had died rather than giving in to the darkness that had consumed the man she loved, and now Elena was set to die to undo the power of that woman's sacrifice.
She paced the fine room she'd been given, where she was supposed to be resting up for her big death scene, wondering how it was she always found herself in these situations. She did what she thought was right, but somehow things were always worse than they seemed. Elena had had the best of intentions; aside from her own general exhaustion with the constant battle, she'd given herself over to save the people she loved. Why was that wrong? They would have died eventually, and she would have still been standing here. She firmly believed that.
And something in her had stirred to life the first time she'd set eyes on Klaus. Was that Maria, the memory of that woman looking upon the vestiges of the man she'd once loved? Elena could swear that it wasn't; never once had she felt love for Klaus. He was beautiful, beyond words, and though she could admire him endlessly, she'd never desired him. Rather, it was a sense of recognition, of connection—of feeling that she was, in fact, in the right place at the right time.
Elena latched onto that sense of rightness. If she was meant to be here, then there was something that she could do. She could stop this, though she didn't kid herself that she'd live to see the results. All she needed was to figure out how to stop Klaus from breaking the curse. A million ideas flashed through her mind, each more unlikely than the last. She couldn't escape, and she had no power against Klaus, nothing but her meager strength and quick mind. But it had to be within her power, or else everything would be lost, in any case. She had to try.
Elena felt her heart beat in her chest, so powerful, something she'd taken for granted for far too long. She shook off the last vestiges of the part of her that had accepted her fate. Elena Gilbert was strong. She was not one to go quietly.
It was strange, she thought, as she slipped into the dress she was to wear for the ceremony, feeling the softness of the silk caress her skin, that it was the end that made her feel truly alive. Her greatest moments had come from her willingness to die rather than her determination to live. She only hoped that it wasn't too late. She only hoped that she could find a way to stop what she'd put in motion.
When Klaus knocked on her door, Elena was ready. She stepped forward and looked the demon in the eye.
For a moment, Klaus appeared to have been struck speechless. He stared at her, looking her up and down, his eyes coming to rest upon hers, which stared resolutely, and she hoped fearlessly, back into his. She would not be meek, not again.
After a moment, he cleared his throat. "You look lovely, my dear." And it was true—the black silk framed her perfectly, and she moved with a grace normally beyond her. She couldn't see how the fire in her eyes lit her entire person, so that she appeared to glow from the inside.
"Thank you," she said, her words dripping with carefully controlled disdain. "Am I an adequate substitute for your Maria? I wouldn't want to spoil the mirage."
Klaus shook his head, slowly. "Substitute? In the ritual, yes, you'll do. But right now? No, dear. You're burning…but the fire is all your own." His voice purred, seeking to sooth her. She refused to let it wash over her. After another moment of scrutiny, Klaus held out his hand, courteously, as always. "Shall we?"
Inwardly, she shuddered. But she was stronger than he was, and she felt like she'd gone to hell and back to remember it. Outwardly, she took his hand, as she always did, proud of her dry palms and steady grip. "Yes," she said icily, "if we must, we shall."
He led her out of the house with measured steps, never too fast for her heeled gait, never slow enough to let her take in her surroundings, still hazy in the predawn. As they walked, she had the sense of a gathering community, as though with each step forward they were joined by yet another member of their court, yet another person or vampire waiting to watch her die, waiting to greet the dawn honestly, for the first time. No one spoke, the only sounds the rustle of clothing and her heels clacking hollowly along the stone path.
Eventually they climbed a hill along a lazy road, spiraling upward with those same measured steps in the same stifling hush. When they reached the top, she had the sense of the crowd covering every side of the hill, surrounding them, watching and waiting and locking her in to a fate she'd been born to and, finally, chosen. The hill was topped by a simple altar: white stone, gray in the dark, a single knife lying on its surface. A nearby bonfire lit the hilltop; the gathering must be visible for miles, though she hadn't seen it on the way.
It took Elena a moment before she saw the figure slumped at the base of the altar, bound and stripped, naked but so dirty it was hard to tell where the ground ended and his skin began. She thought he'd been beaten into unconsciousness and that it must be a mercy to meet the end so blindly. This was the werewolf, then, the one she'd brought to this point because she'd refused to give up Tyler. She wondered if, after she died, she'd be able to feel guilt for that. At the moment, all she had was her resolve. One more death—or even several—would be worth it to stop the monster from coming to power.
Elena looked around, trying to find the vampire ingredient to the mix. Ah, there, on the other side of the altar—bound, also, but staring up at her with something akin to awe. Elijah was awake but not struggling. He sat carelessly, leaning against the side of the altar, simply waiting for the end. Surprised, Elena looked to Klaus. He smiled his half-smile. "You didn't think I'd spill Original blood? He thought to betray me once, and he pays for it now. But he's not unwilling. The end justifies the sacrifice."
"Then why tie him up?"
Klaus laughed. "Oh, you never know. Sometimes when someone comes to the end, they decide to fight, even if they'd once decided to die. It's foolish, and pointless, but it's much less hassle to just prevent the trouble in the first place, don't you agree?" His eyes were a warning in the flickering firelight.
So he knew. "Where are my chains, then?" Elena worked to keep her voice sardonic, uncaring.
He laughed again. "Oh, of everyone here, I think you're the least likely to be able to make trouble. And an escape attempt might be rather amusing. I'm sure your faithful lovers are out there somewhere, waiting for your signal to charge in and save the day. It's comical, really, don't you think?"
"If they're out there, it's news to me." Elena looked him straight in the eyes so that he could see the truth of her words. "I came here intending to die, and I don't expect anything else."
He paused again, narrowing his eyes as he studied her. Finally, he spoke again. "You know, I almost wish we'd had more time together. I would have liked to puzzle you out. You're truly one of a kind, my dear, aside from the obvious."
Elena didn't have a response to that, but Klaus didn't seem to expect one. He motioned to someone beyond the reach of her vision. When that person stepped into the firelight, she couldn't help but gasp. The man was a stranger to her, but she had a nagging thought that he was absolutely familiar. Dressed in scraps, looking as though he hadn't eaten in recent memory, he stood silently, waiting for direction, she supposed. His face was sunken, and his eyes and mouth were so deeply set that she felt she looked at the gaping holes of a skull long since dead. Elena had never seen him before, but she knew him, she was sure.
She looked at Klaus. "My shaman," he said, not bothering with names. "Here to finish the curse he started."
"He's the same—"
"Yes, the original shaman, my ally and my enemy. I bound him to me; though he died long ago, he cannot rest until this matter is finally settled. I believe he's looked forward to this day as much as I have."
Elena stared, trying hard not to be sick, but also curious at the feeling that was stealing over her, a surreal sense of duality between the scene before her and another taking shape just out of reach of her senses.
Klaus looked at her for another moment, clearly waiting. "Well?" he said at last.
Struggling to appear unperturbed at her situation and this sense of something more taking hold of her, Elena couldn't think of what he wanted. "Well what?" she asked.
Klaus sighed. "No final words? Nothing to say to the world before you leave it? We've got time for you to say goodbye, my dear, if you need to."
It was Klaus' peculiar brand of kindness to offer her the chance to bid farewell to the people—the world—she'd in reality left behind weeks ago. She supposed that if Stefan and Damon were truly out there, she could try, again, to convince them not to interfere, that this was her battle to fight. But in this moment, she felt that if fighting were their choice, she'd leave them to it. After all, she'd made her choice, and somehow, she would find a way to see it through.
So Elena turned back to Klaus and said, "Thank you for the opportunity. But I've said my goodbyes to the people I love, and you and I don't need farewells. We each have our part to play."
"So we do," Klaus acknowledged. He touched her shoulder, briefly, a caress she thought was for her alone. Then he turned and motioned to the shaman, who began to speak in a language unknown to Elena, but like the shaman himself, entirely familiar.
With each word the shaman spoke, though each was unintelligible, Elena's reality split further. In front of her stood Klaus, focused upon the shaman and almost preening with his impending ascension. But behind him emerged figures, at first shadows and mist but then increasingly real, standing on the hilltop as though they'd always been there.
The first figure Elena recognized was Klaus himself, though not as he was today, standing so tall and confident, perfectly poised. No, this man—for she saw he truly was a man, or only just changed—was deeply handsome but clearly vulnerable, imperfect, with a heart not yet despairing and destroyed. Looking at the two, standing next to each other but oblivious of the other's presence, Elena thought the man was infinitely more attractive than the monster. The first Klaus felt, and loved, whereas the second had long ago lost himself in his own emptiness and greed. With a pang, Elena thought of the Salvatore brothers—one who worked so hard to retain his humanity, the other who fought so hard against the pain it caused him. She prayed that neither would end up like Klaus, cold and perfect and empty.
The other figure stood a little ways away and like Elena, appeared to see the duality of the scene—the two Klauses, both captivated by the shaman's monotone, and the twins, one vibrant and strong, one pale and drawn, staring at one another across impossible reaches of time. Maria appeared shocked to see Elena, but Elena had long since accepted the reality of the doppelganger curse. A tilt of the head, a look around, and a long measured glance at what had become of her husband were all that it took for Maria to grasp the situation. Tears began pouring down her cheeks, and she visibly reeled.
As Elena watched, Maria's tears changed from clear tracks of salt to the vivid red of blood. Elena shook her head, looking wildly around, but neither Klaus nor the shaman seemed to see Maria dying before them. Elena and Maria were caught in a moment out of time, and all Elena could do was watch in horror while Maria's lifeblood flowed down her cheeks to splash in a pool at Klaus' feet. Everything seemed colored by blood; it stained them all, though no one else could see it.
Elena felt her own salt tears falling free as the other figures faded, leaving her with only the present and a desperate wish to change the past. The blood-stained image of Maria stayed with her, though it gave her no answers. She was left on a lonely hilltop surrounded by enemies, with only the certainty of imminent death to cling to.
At that moment the first explosion rang out, and the world erupted in fire.
