A.N.: Thank you so much for the reviews - I've responded to a few, but I don't know if the PMs are going through?


Resurgam

47

Tact & Diplomacy


The key with witches was patience and a sensible dose of deference. Where they were concerned, it was always best to mind one's manners. Elijah was one of the few vampires who appreciated witches' gifts, and had historically treated witches, no matter their rank, fortune, race or circumstances, with genuine respect.

Unlike Niklaus, who was prone to beheading witches for what he called 'dilly-dallying' when he had given them a strict order, Elijah knew there was delicacy required with witchcraft, that the finest spells required time and that the effort required for such convoluted, involved spells was often physically debilitating, if not mentally exhausting. Real magic was very different to the magic J.K. Rowling had created: It was not instantaneous. There was no instant gratification where witchcraft was concerned: The more you wanted from a witch, the longer you had to wait - especially if you wanted an accurate result. And, if what you were asking was above a witch's ability, one learned quickly when to capitulate, and when to offer help. To channel an Original provided power of nuclear proportions to any witch, no matter how powerful they were on their own; but only the truly skilled knew how to wield that power without dangerous backlash.

Professor Sheila Bennett was one such witch who knew how to handle power, how to protect herself from it, channel it, and who had the experience and intuition to prove an exceptional ally - or an incredibly dangerous adversary.

She was also wise. Cantankerous, a little goofy, definitely tipsy, but stern, and unyielding. She was elderly, but courageous, and her age had granted her wisdom. She also knew how to set the tone in her dealings with vampires: Anything she did for vampires was on her terms, no-one else's. And she certainly wouldn't be bullied into anything she didn't want to do. Elijah knew all of this from Giulia, who had a deep and enduring respect for the elderly professor. He could never treat Sheila Bennett poorly, all too aware that how he treated her reflected back on Giulia: He would not betray Giulia's faith in him.

He sighed, internalising his annoyance as the girls started at it again - "Why does Gyda always get to sit in the front?"

"Well, you need all that room back there, Rebekah, for your ego," Gyda said, her tone fair and infuriating.

"My ego? At least I'm not pathetic, like you - do you think I don't know why you've been doting on her?!"

"Her? Oh, you mean your mother."

"I would caution you to choose your tone more carefully, Rebekah," Elijah interjected gently. "A thousand years Ástríðr has been dead, yet she still holds the power to dictate our futures. A modicum of politeness toward the woman who gave you life would not go amiss."

"She gave me life and stole my future," Rebekah hissed. "You think I don't see what you're doing?!"

"Enlighten me, Rebekah," Gyda yawned delicately.

"You were always jealous of me. Of how I was treated - like a princess," Rebekah sneered, and Gyda choked on a derisive little scoff of surprise that made Rebekah's eyes flash.

"In what world would I ever be jealous of you? The pretty little trinket the Jarl tempted enemies and allies alike with," Gyda smirked. "Who lacked skills, or purpose - who was caught with her skirts up far too often to have any good sense?!"

"Why, you little -"

"Enough! Cease this inane bickering!" Elijah snapped, as Rebekah reached from the backseat to claw at Gyda. He swatted her hand away sharply, shifting gear. "I will not have you attempting to throttle Gyda, not while I am driving."

"Later, then," Rebekah simpered.

Gyda scoffed, "A thousand years on, I doubt that now you've developed the patience to hone the skills to best me."

"Gyda," Elijah warned, sighing tiredly. Why, why, had he chosen to leave the school on time, offering to give the girls a lift back to the house? He knew better, he truly did.

"I'll have you know I learned to fence centuries ago. I practiced. For three hours, every day," Rebekah sniffed.

"Oh, well, pardon me," Gyda said slowly, her smirk decadent, infuriating. "Fencing, well, now I've been put in my place! Tell me, what did you skewer out in the bayou with your little toothpick?"

"ENOUGH!" Elijah shouted, hating to raise his voice, as Rebekah thrashed and surged in her seat for Gyda, painted fingernails flashing lethally. "Rebekah, so help me, if you but scuff the interior of this car you shall know it."

"What are you going to do, Elijah?" Rebekah asked tartly, still seething to get to Gyda, who merely twisted in her seat to evade her, smirking. "Ground me?"

"As a matter of fact, I shall ensure you are not welcome on the premises for the Homecoming Dance," Elijah threatened, and Rebekah stilled, bristling. He glanced at her in the rear-view mirror. "We may be immortal but I will not have you endangering everyone else on the road by distracting me while I am driving! This is why I refuse to take you out in the car - until you learn some appreciation for the safety of others."

"But Gyda started it!"

"And you have been goading her into a fight ever since Halloween. It ends now, or I shall ensure no atelier is open to you to buy a dress for the dance!" Elijah warned, and Rebekah slammed back petulantly against the plush leather seat, arms folded across her chest.

There was a sly glint to Gyda's eye as she asked, seemingly innocently, "Is Stefan taking you to the dance?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rebekah snapped, and Elijah groaned internally, indicating to turn at the crossroad, shaking his head to himself, resting his elbow against the door and glumly watching the world go by as he waited for the light to change, trying to filter out the girls' bickering.

"Well, from the way you keep moaning - 'Stefan is always running off to help Damon', 'Stefan's spending all his time rehabilitating that Elena', 'Stefan stood me up again because that little bitch baby vampire can't handle the consequences of her own actions', 'Stefan's angry because Isak compelled that Elena bitch to embrace her emotions again and she won't stop crying'… Is the bloom off the rose, darling?"

"Shut up, Gyda."

"I'm only repeating what you've said -!"

"If you don't shut your mouth, the next thing to come out of it will be your teeth."

"Gosh, if you speak to Stefan like that it's no wonder he prefers his weepy ex. He seems like the type who needs to be needed. I would imagine the sex is rather bland - oi!"

"I said shut up - and just in case you were wondering, the only sex Stefan is having is with me."

"I didn't wonder - but it does beg the question; if he's sleeping with you, why is he spending all his time with another girl? More to the point, why are you still having sex with him if he's spending all his time with another girl?"

"Girl? She's practically thirty."

"My point still stands."

"Elijah, let us out of the car. I am going to thrash Gyda."

"What's sweet is that you believe you can. Misguided, but sweet."

The girls knew each other too well, had spent far too much time together, not to know the buttons to press to get maximum reaction. With Ástríðr's resurrection, and Gyda the only one genuinely happy to spend her time with Ástríðr, it had brought old tensions back to the surface. And with Gyda's successes at school, making friends, finding herself welcomed into the school community, joining clubs and going out on dates…well, Rebekah…struggled, and she hated to see Gyda fitting in with such apparent ease. Truthfully, Rebekah had always been envious of Gyda when they had still been human, less than a year between their ages, Rebekah the spoiled youngest daughter without any fulfilling responsibilities, Gyda the respected, hard-working eldest child of Elijah who would one day replace Rebekah as the jarl's daughter, and do a finer job of it than Rebekah had been taught how.

It occurred to Elijah, sat waiting for the light to change while his little sister and his daughter squabbled and goaded each other, to just unbuckle his seatbelt, exit the car, and walk away, leaving them to it.

Then the light changed, he sighed, and the sound of the Bentley's engine purred its sympathies to him as he drove toward Sheila Bennett's house. It was lingering close to twilight, the time of night where everything seemed just a little too bright to be natural, before the darkness snuffed everything into shadow: Sheila Bennett's raised beds were full of glorious herbs, thriving even into the bleak grey chill of November, at least a dozen different verbena plants in a raised bed of their own. Vervain. Witches

He wondered if Sheila had anything for eternal teenagers at war with each other amid her tangerine sage, pineapple mint, borage, Echinacea and winter savoury. He parked the car, ensuring the handbrake was engaged, and turned to give Gyda and Rebekah a warning glare.

"Do try your utmost to behave," he said darkly, as he slipped out of the car, shutting the door on the pair's instantaneous bickering. It was the tension of Ástríðr's resurrection, and confusion over Mikael's death, the ongoing struggle to reconcile the truth about Niklaus' deception, that was causing Rebekah, at least, to lash out at Gyda. It was her standby: The two tended to regress when they stayed too long in each other's company. As for Gyda, she was a naturally patient girl - but even she had her limits, and Rebekah's constant hounding had tested them. Even the very best of them bit back after enduring extended provocation, and Rebekah's hounding of Gyda had been constant. He did not blame either for their treatment - mistreatment - of the other, but felt it was hardly a healthy outlet for everything they were struggling through.

About the most normal thing about Gyda and Rebekah was that they still squabbled like little brats, sniping at each other, lashing out at each other because - well, who else was there? Who else did they share such history with? They knew each other too well. Knew better than to take it personally.

But it was exhausting, to be the referee. And it was a role that too often fell to Elijah. The girls had not lived together for centuries, and yet instead of getting to know each other after all that time apart, share their experiences and their adventures…they fell back into bad habits. Some things ran too deeply; and their human lives had defined their relationship. Rebekah and Gyda would never be best-friends, but Elijah would settle for peaceful cohabitation. Mutual respect, instead of unbridled hostility. It was a start, and until Ástríðr's resurrection they had both been making the effort - to make him happy, if not to make their own lives happier.

He should have made them walk home.

Elijah trailed his fingers through the raised bed of verbena, feeling the unsettling sting against his fingertips, and the porch light flickered on automatically as he approached to knock his knuckles against the front-door. A shadow moved beyond the striated glass a moment later, and the door opened, spilling out warmth and the scent of cooking apples and cinnamon.

Sheila Bennett looked grim and unimpressed as she squinted thoughtfully at him. "Elijah Mikaelson."

"Professor Bennett," he said, nodding respectfully, daring a smile. "You are looking well…I dare say, you haven't aged a day since last I saw you." He took care not to look like he was scrutinising her appearance, but of course he was, and looking closely he was certain Sheila Bennett had been using herbs and spells to extend her life, most likely for her granddaughter Bonnie and her children.

"Didn't your mother teach you better than to mention a woman's age?" Professor Bennett asked, raising a neatly pencilled eyebrow, and Elijah's lips parted, realising…

"You know why I'm here," he guessed.

"I've heard the rumours; when a Viking witch is resurrected by powerful sacrificial magic, that kind of news travels fast," Professor Bennett said. "Especially when she's the one who created the first vampires. What that doesn't explain is why you're on my porch."

"My mother has asked me to intercede on her behalf," Elijah said honestly. "She would like to request your help."

Professor Bennett narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "My help? An' here I thought she'd have the dregs of the Order itchin' to help her wipe y'all off the face of this planet. Including my daughter."

"The thought had occurred to me," Elijah confessed. That they had not heard from Abby Bennett, known to Gyda and Willem as a devout member of the Order, was a concern.

"But you don't think your mother's here for that," Professor Bennett mused, looking him over, and Elijah caught her eye.

"Any more than you could war against your own daughter," he said, and Professor Bennett made a soft, almost rude sound, that said a lot about her relationship with her daughter - or the lack of one.

"Hm. Well, you teach your mother how to use a telephone, she and I can chat, witch to witch," Professor Bennett said, disappearing for a moment; she returned with a phone-number written on a piece of notepad paper. "But if she wants my help, she's gon' have to wait until it's a convenient time for me. And you."

"Me?"

"I may look younger than I should; that doesn't mean I won't feel every ache and pain of using too much power," Professor Bennett said plainly. "Your mother wants my help, I'm not gonna wear myself out for you: You and your brothers an' sisters will be doing all the heavy-lifting, you hear?"

"I understand," Elijah said, his lips twitching toward a smile, appreciating her blunt honesty - putting a thousand-year-old Viking vampire in his place as if he was one of her undergraduate students who trailed in to her lectures consistently late.

"And you have responsibilities to the wider community; whatever it is your momma wants, we'd all best make sure it doesn't get in the way of our prior commitments," Professor Bennett said sternly, and he realised she knew he had taken on the teaching position at the high-school. Yes, he did have commitments: Monday to Friday, his days were no longer his own, and he appreciated the routine, allowing him to settle back into everyday life with some kind of purpose, a focus for his energies…teaching gave him something to do, rather than sit and worry, and obsess over Klaus' devolution, feeling obligated to intercede on his behalf and fix what was broken.

"At your service, Professor Bennett," he said, with a half-bow he hoped did not come across as mocking; he meant it.

"You have a good night, Mr Mikaelson," Professor Bennett said, and her eyes slid to his car, where the girls were contorting around the seats and centre console, Rebekah raking her fingernails across Gyda's throat as Gyda viciously pulled Rebekah's long blonde hair. Elijah groaned, and Professor Bennett's lips twitched. "Good luck with that." He sighed, and Professor Bennett chuckled at the look on his face as he hesitated on her doorstep. "Go on!"

"You will be walking home," he warned, as he threw open the driver's door, "and Rebekah, it feels like rain. So you may either sit nicely and in silence while I drive us home, or you can take your chances racing the rainclouds."

"Why are you picking on me? Gyda's here too."

"Yes, but I don't whine about my hair getting the tiniest bit damp -"

"Because you shaved it all off like some kind of common criminal."

"Keep sniping, Rebekah," Elijah warned, giving Gyda a dark look, "and I am sure Gyda will be more than happy to shear you while you sleep. Now, I tire of your bickering." He pressed the volume dial for the stereo system, and sighed contentedly as Tchaikovsky's 'Serenade for Strings in C Major, Op. 48' started to soothe him, bringing back memories - the most recent association, Giulia sitting on the daybed in the living-room of her lake-house, still as a statue and as timelessly beautiful, illuminated by shafts of deep, golden late-afternoon sunlight, eyes closed in absolute ecstasy as she listened. It had been a quiet, still moment, but for the music, and he had been mesmerised by her stillness, and her breathless appreciation for the music he had associated with so many other memories until that point. Now, Giulia shone through in his memory, and as the ochre foliage of November faded into the shadows of an unmemorable sunset, he could not help feel wistful for the spring and early-summer he had spent with Giulia, falling in love.

When they reached the witch-house, Elijah did not exit the Bentley immediately; he sat in the stationary car, and he listened to the last measures of the piece of music that filled him with such delight, such love, and such wistfulness.

It was bizarre, to enter the house a few moments later, to find Ástríðr discussing how Gyda's day at school had gone. Stranger still for Ástríðr to take the briefcase out of Elijah's hands, and replace it with a cocktail Kol, apparently, had taught her to mix, either recently, or having watched him for so long - long enough to know it was one of Elijah's favourites.

"They've been fighting again," Ástríðr guessed, watching Rebekah and Gyda jostle each other up the stairs to get rid of their school things.

"They are always fighting," Elijah sighed, tired.

"My presence has done nothing to help," Ástríðr said knowingly, and Elijah nodded. He handed her the note Professor Bennett had written down.

"This is Sheila Bennett's phone-number; she said you could call and have a discussion, witch to witch," he said. "If you'd like, I can show you -"

"Yes," Ástríðr said quickly, gazing at Elijah. He knew he had not been as hospitable to his recently-resurrected mother as he perhaps ought, but… It was an adjustment for him, too. After all, besides Kol, it was Elijah who had enjoyed Ástríðr as his mother and confidante for the longest out of all of them, had raised his own children, including Gyda, by the model Ástríðr and Mikael had created in raising him. "I would…very much like you to show me how to use these new telephones."

"They're far less painful than sending fire-messages," Elijah said, and Ástríðr beamed; he remembered. She used to send tiny runes carved into slivers of bark to him at his and Torvi's farm by candlelight, the very earliest, occult form of text messaging. Phones did not leave one with charred fingertips, however, which was infinitely preferable. "Although Gyda is a natural with the new Smart phones, she can likely teach you far much more."

"I need only know how to connect a phone-call," Ástríðr smiled softly.

"Gyda will have you on Instagram before you know it," Elijah warned, groaning as he sank into an armchair, relaxing for the first time all day, unfastening his tie and undoing the top button of his shirt. Ástríðr smiled softly, as she tucked herself into another armchair, looking peaceful, content. He glanced at his mother, and found himself asking, "What did you do today?"

"Very little," Ástríðr admitted, with a gentle smile. "Willem taught me how to use the stove, and we had bacon and eggs - it was so simple and so decadent; and I pottered about in the garden, though Finn has done an excellent job in caring for the plants. You almost would not know he is not a witch."

"You taught him well," Elijah said quietly, and Ástríðr smiled gently.

"You look like you have had a rough day," she said coaxingly, and Elijah rubbed his tired eyes, nodding. "You can tell me about it, if you'd like. Until recently, I…well, I was the ghost at the back of the class."

"You were?"

"I've sat through every lesson, Ejnar. Now, and in the past. I flew with you during the War; and stood by your side during every surgery," Ástríðr said quietly, her gaze so deeply blue as she searched his face for something. She sighed softly, and said, "You have led so many different lives. Such extraordinary experiences, things…things your father and I could never have dreamed you would ever be, could even exist in the world… I admired your dedication to obstetrics, though I worried every week would be the last you could endure, especially when things went wrong."

"It was because things went wrong that I stayed," Elijah murmured, sipping his drink, and Ástríðr nodded, smiling warmly.

"That's why I admired you even more," she confessed. "But designing jewellery for your loved-ones, that you truly enjoyed. You were mesmerised, consumed by your passion…the way you used to be, with your trees and your boats."

"Hm. That was a long time ago," Elijah murmured, resting his head back, tired, thinking of his lives long past.

"And yet some things remain the same. Your greatest gift was always in creation," Ástríðr smiled warmly. "Turning the everyday into the impossible."

"You did not pierce the veil of death to pay me compliments," Elijah said, slightly flushed - with pride. Klaus would always scoff and snicker at what he called Elijah's 'tinkering' - for a self-proclaimed artist Niklaus had absolutely no appreciation for all Elijah's talent with design, in any format - either with wood, paint or precious metals. If he didn't snicker, he destroyed out of pure malice.

Ástríðr's lips twitched, her face shining with faint amusement. "Didn't I? If you had to watch on in absolute silence as Gyda explored and learned and thrived, and suddenly you had opportunity to tell her how proud you are of all she has accomplished, wouldn't you?" Elijah sighed, and glanced at Ástríðr: She knew full well that he would. "Also, that this haircut suits you. Much better than those wigs you used to wear, and the long hair."

"Oh, dear," Elijah chuckled softly, grimacing, as Ástríðr's eyes twinkled. Throughout his life, the fashions had changed, of course, sometimes drastically, often hilariously (in retrospect), and wigs had often been a symbol of wealth and status: To survive, his siblings had often masqueraded as members of the nobility - Gyda herself had lived in the court of the Sun King - and, yes…sometimes evading notice had meant donning the ridiculous fad fashions. Still - it was one thing to live through it, and another to be teased about appalling fashion choices of the past.

"Yes, oh, dear," Ástríðr chuckled softly. "How I laughed."

"Happy to amuse," Elijah said wryly, and Ástríðr's eyes twinkled. He frowned, lifting his nose. "Who is cooking?"

"Willem," Ástríðr smiled. "He's been in the kitchen most of the afternoon. He says it's nice to have a fellow masticator to share his meals with." Elijah made a thoughtful noise: He did not need to eat, but he enjoyed the ceremony of sharing mealtimes, and raising Ashlyn, the daily routine of mealtimes had been honoured, and cherished as she grew older, with a more active social-life. They had always eaten dinner together, no matter what their plans were. "Willem has told me some of you still eat meals together."

"Some of us," Elijah nodded. He, Gyda, Lagertha and Finn often joined Willem, alone of them who truly needed to eat to sustain himself, during the evening meal. They had lived through times when people ate only one significant meal a day - and they had also lived in times when the day was marked by each and every single opportunity to eat, a ceremony made of each occasion. Food, no matter where they were, which culture or continent they were living in, had always been a significant display of wealth.

"So either you have suddenly taken issue with Willem's cooking, or it's my presence at the table that has caused you to lose your appetite," Ástríðr said softly.

"Well, some of Willem's recipes are rather suspect," Elijah said, and Ástríðr gave him a sad smile at his poor attempt to lighten the mood. He was fully aware he had been avoiding her, and she knew it. He gazed at her, and sighed, "This is… It will take some getting used to."

"I know," Ástríðr said gently. "I only worry you're avoiding having to get used to me being here."

"Perhaps I'm a little wary," Elijah said. "In our family, good things never tend to last."

"Well, it's a pleasure to hear that you consider me one of the good things to happen to you, at least," Ástríðr smiled.

"Of course," Elijah said softly.

"Which…makes it all the harder for you to accept," Ástríðr nodded thoughtfully. Elijah had no good answer, and as much as he didn't trust things to last in their favour…he knew he was wasting time, with one of the two people he had always yearned to be reunited with: Ástríðr, for many complicated reasons, and Lucrezia, who had disappeared without a trace and left a gaping chasm in his heart that had only started to be filled when he met Giulia.

They heard Willem calling from the kitchen: Elijah glanced at his mother, and decided to join them for dinner. Willem had made extra crispy fried chicken, cheesy mashed potatoes, fresh coleslaw, corn-on-the-cob, baked beans and soft rolls - all from scratch, and enough to feed an army, and Gyda sat perched on the kitchen counter, savouring every mouthful of fried chicken with indecent enthusiasm. Willem caught her, frowning, and slapped her hand as she reached to dig into the mashed potatoes with her finger.

"Hey - where's your manners?!" Willem tutted, giving Elijah a look at is if it was his fault.

"Don't look at me - you had her for decades; this is your doing," he said, raising his eyebrows, gathering up dishes to carry into the dining-room, and did a double-take. "Is that chocolate-tart?"

"Yes, and I made it," Willem said warningly, as Elijah scented the air, taking in the decadence of rich dark chocolate ganache, sea-salt and homemade chocolate pastry rolled out incredibly thin, blind-baked from what he could tell. A dish of fresh raspberries rested at room-temperature beside the tart. "It's for Mother. She's never had chocolate before; Giulia told me where to buy the artisan chocolate. I won't have Mother eating Hershey's her first time."

"And people say you're the only one of us who's not a snob," Gyda smirked, and Willem laughed richly, shrugging.

"If you're gonna do a thing, do it right," he said, grinning as Elijah tried to get past him to the tart. "You're not allowed any until after dinner!"

"I'm still your big-brother; I can knock you out of my way if I must," Elijah warned playfully, giving him a gentle jab to the ribs, making Willem's eyes glint: Elijah had taught Willem how to fight, all those centuries ago. Not just with sword and spear, but how to kill with his bare hands if necessary.

"See," Gyda smirked at Ástríðr, "I told you: One decadent dessert and Elijah's yours."

"You make me sound so cheap," Elijah said with mild indignation, glancing at his daughter, who grinned, sticking out her tongue playfully as she gathered up the tart to carry into the dining-room along with everything else, perching it mockingly just out of Elijah's reach as he sat down to enjoy dinner with…with his family. With his mother, resurrected after a thousand years; with Willem, estranged for almost as long; and his daughter Gyda, who possessed a rare quality in ancient vampires of being able to live utterly in the moment.

As they started to help themselves to the steaming-hot food, a sheet of tousled blonde curls shimmered into view, and Lagertha tossed her long hair over her shoulder, her frown gentling only so slightly, as she took a seat at the table. It was the first time she had joined them for a meal, indeed, the first time she had lingered in the same room as Ástríðr since her resurrection.

Lagertha's anger and grief at the deaths of her children was going to outlive them all. And yet…Elijah knew it was the quiet conversation Elijah had had with her the other day, for Lagertha's own benefit, not Ástríðr's, that had brought her to the table, literally. He had made Lagertha consider Ástríðr's purpose in returning, and Ástríðr's own intimate knowledge of grief at the deaths of her children… If Ástríðr could have brought back their babies, she would have done it long ago: It was a bitter truth to accept, but a thousand years could not change it. Lagertha loaded a plate and handed it to Ástríðr, licking mashed potatoes off her thumb.

Ástríðr thanked Lagertha in the Old Tongue, and Lagertha nodded subtly, and that was that.

Ástríðr gave Elijah a subtle glance, the words thank you shining from her deep blue eyes. He was still the eldest, and among his older siblings, they still listened to him: They knew he had their best interests at heart - knew them. They could hear something from the others a thousand times, but coming from Elijah, they listened. It had always been so: That was the benefit of being the oldest, wise from experience, intuitive about his siblings, mindful of their happiness. But Lagertha was also prone to listening.

And when Elijah had reasoned that Ástríðr had killed Mikael to free him from the millennium-long hunt that compelled him through time alone, unloved, unhappy, Lagertha, who still loved and respected Mikael even after all these centuries…had accepted that Mikael had been driven too far by his need to execute Niklaus in vengeance for Ástríðr's murder, and that of Rollo and his family, and the destruction of their village and all they had built. He could never have survived a life after killing Niklaus: As he had told them…Mikael lived purely to avenge himself and free his children. Giulia had freed them months ago: What was left to him, when Ástríðr would certainly deny his right to execute Niklaus. He was, after all, still Ástríðr's blood, born of her body. Ástríðr accepted that it had been best for Mikael to die by Ástríðr's hand, quickly and efficiently and mercifully, her face the last he saw before oblivion, before his ancient friends welcomed him to the shining halls of Valhalla.

Lagertha never forgot anything; but she forgave much more quickly than any of them except Finn, who was the embodiment of forgiveness and contentedness. She forgave that Ástríðr had sent Mikael to his rest; but she did not forget that it was Niklaus' lies that had denied them all the relationship with their father. For Lagertha, it had always been a kind, fierce, mutually-respectful, playful bond. Mikael had raised his sons as men he could be proud of, but he had loved his daughters purely, unconditionally. To them, Mikael showed a softer side that few had ever seen. And yet he had raised Freyja and Lagertha to be fiercer even than their brothers, knowing that to survive, they had to be. In spite of Lagertha's loss of what might have been, she had joined them, silently accepting Mikael's death and Ástríðr's role in it, accepting Ástríðr's reason for being here.

As for Isak… It would take a lot to get him to the table.

He was proving…reluctant. Isak had retreated to the Klaushaus with his fury, and his new toy, Elena Gilbert, and refused point-blank to meet with Ástríðr: He had not been at the Boarding House the night she was resurrected, had yet to set eyes on her, had initially thought they were tricking him, or they were being hoodwinked. The rage he had carried since they were turned into vampires made Elijah think Isak knew better than to test his wrath by meeting with the woman he blamed for everything…even if she was here for the sole purpose of setting things to rights.

What that meant, well, that was for the witches to discuss between them. It was above Elijah's head.

He was the enabler, that was all, and the eventual test-subject, he supposed.

It did spark the debate: Did they want to be fixed?

In an instant, Elijah knew how his siblings would respond, if given the right incentives, if Ástríðr offered them opportunities long denied them. From what he knew of Giulia, well, if her nature was closer to what Ástríðr had intended for them all, he knew she could carry children: Rebekah desired nothing more than babies of her own. The closest she had ever come, ever been allowed, was Marcellus, a boy on the cusp of adolescence, and only because Niklaus saw that one single brutalised boy (among thousands of others, throughout history) as an extension of himself. For Gyda, it was a chance to grow up: Giulia looked her age, and her age had enhanced her beauty. She had grown into herself, but she had grown. For Finn and Lagertha it meant an opportunity to connect with the world around them, truly, rather than being mere spectators on the side-lines as history unfolded around them, untouchable and unchanging. And for Kol and Isak…well, that presented a very tricky conundrum. Isak would go along with Ástríðr's plans if he could be guaranteed a connection with Nature once again: He would gladly have had his immortality brutally, bloodily stripped away if it meant he regained magic in exchange. Kol, too, hated the bloodlust and the unending sorrow of watching every person they had ever loved wither and die, and he had spent a thousand years chasing the thrill he used to get from magic, learning as many forms of magical practice as he could - the most voracious researcher, forever forbidden to practice because of his nature.

There would be no stopping Rebekah from taking Ástríðr's offer if she realised children of her own might be a possibility, however slim.

Kol and Isak would kill to be reconnected to their magic, yet how was such a thing to be made possible? Elijah left those complicated thoughts to Ástríðr: That was her realm, after all - their realm, Kol's and Isak's, yet it was Ástríðr who had taught them everything they had known. All that they were came from Ástríðr: It was she who had inadvertently created vampires, while trying to create something else… She had been watching Giulia, enough to see the similarities between her nature and what Ástríðr had intended for her own children.

Ástríðr tried Willem's chocolate tart.

And after they luxuriated in their single, decadent slice of tart, Gyda helped Willem tidy up the kitchen, and Ástríðr turned to Elijah. She said softly, "If Professor Bennett agrees to help me, and we discover the truth of what occurred all those years ago…I will need Dr Salvatore's assistance."

"I know," Elijah said.

"I recognise that tone," Ástríðr said softly. Her eyes were vibrant, serious, as she gazed at him. "You worry for her."

"I am remembering your spells of the past," Elijah said simply. "And what you mean, when you say you need Giulia's help."

"You think I will kill her," Ástríðr said. After all, Elijah thought honestly, Mikael had just murdered fifteen people the same way he used to sacrifice for Ástríðr's spells in the past.

"If whatever you plan is contingent on harming Giulia, or necessitates her death for our transformations to be successful, I will put a stop to all your attempts," Elijah warned quietly.

"Giulia Salvatore has already died once for this family," Ástríðr said quietly, "I will never ask her to do so a second time. It is not her death I require; it is her blood. No more than a drop."

"Why?"

"She is the only one of her kind, the progenitor of a new supernatural species," Ástríðr said softly, her smile turning grim as she said, "As you are. As such, her blood can be used as a powerful mystical binding agent. One of the most powerful in existence, purely because of her rarity, and the circumstances of her own transformation."

"Have you told the others this?"

"No," Ástríðr said softly, tilting her head to one side. "Why?"

"Giulia's husband is dying. I will have no-one hounding her, trying to strong-arm her into assisting you," Elijah warned. "And I know how my siblings can be." And Elijah knew they would use Zita or Enzo or any one of the other children, or her friends in this town, to get what they wanted - especially Rebekah, if she felt Giulia was all that stood between her and a family she so craved. She would destroy Giulia's family to gain her own, and that infuriated Elijah, who had burned his own children on their funeral pyres centuries ago. He had always lived by a rigid code of conduct, throughout the centuries, and it was he who Marcel Gerard emulated in his nature and his conscience, his rules: It was Elijah who had never harmed a child, never fed from one, never manipulated them or frightened them. Children were precious.

And Giulia's daughter would be in danger the moment his family knew Giulia was the key to getting everything they had ever been denied.

If they even bothered with leverage, and didn't just unite to snatch Giulia and slit her throat for all the blood Ástríðr could ever need.

"From what I have seen of Giulia Salvatore, she is more than capable of putting your siblings in their places," Ástríðr said softly, with a faint glimmer of irony in her eyes. "And she would look exceptionally elegant whilst doing so… However unintentionally, a thousand years ago I gifted you with the luxury of time. And regardless of the fervour with which your siblings may pursue what I can offer, I will not be rushed. As Willem said earlier, if you're going to do a thing, do it right. I will do it correctly, in my own time, or not at all. And I will not tolerate the abuse of Giulia's child to blackmail her into complying."

Yet, it fell to Elijah to enforce a no-touching rule, and he knew it.

But it was heartening to hear the iron tones in Ástríðr's voice, to be reminded of the woman who had raised Lagertha, Elijah's fiercest, strongest sister, a woman of wisdom, patience and charisma, fundamentally good, kind and generous in nature. Lagertha was all Ástríðr might have been without her magic, and even as a human, Lagertha had been formidable.

It told him what he needed to hear: That Ástríðr would not be pushed around, and nor would she tolerate their abuse of others to get what they wanted.

He settled into bed, later, relieved that he did not have to approach Giulia while she nursed her terminal husband about something extraordinary his mother was offering them all. The chance for…life.

Elijah couldn't help wonder what that might mean for him, going forward.

Suddenly…it was perfectly acceptable, even encouraged, to dream of more. Of everything he had accepted long ago he could never have.

What is it that he wanted, that he had thought he would never have?


A.N.: Let me know what you think.