A/N: I know it has been a while, but here is a new chapter. I have on more almost ready for Finn. But leave a review if you want me to continue writing this.
Klaus
July 26, 1598
I thought I saw him today. It was only a glimpse. Nothing more. Only for a moment. Yet, I felt my knees trembling. I lost my breath, my heart drummed in my chest. Even if only briefly, I felt like a little child again. As if I was still sitting in our hut's doorsteps in a breezy evening, playing with Rebekah and Elijah, while monitoring the horizon, begging the Gods to bring my father home.
It was nothing. I was mistaken. I had half a mind to mention the incident to Elijah. But in the end it seemed pointless.
How could I explain to my brother that, after years of running from our monster of a father, the mere thought of spotting Mikael in a crowded street brought me joy in the likes of which I have not known for half a millennia?
Could I truly be mad enough to think, even if only for a second, that my father would meet me on some city square, and simply tell me he liked my painting? But I did. I imaged Mikael walking towards me, as he had done so many times when I was young, with a warm smile on his lips and a tender love in his eyes. I could see him, his clothes, his hair, I could even remember his smell of sweat and blood and the flowers he would bring for mother.
There had been times I wondered what would I do if Mikael walked towards me, without a single trace of anger in his eyes. Could I ever be desperate and mad enough to believe him? Before today, I thought it was impossible. I believed myself hardened and immune to such tricks of memory and heartbreak. But perhaps I am not. I thought I had harbored enough hate in my heart to last my eternity. I was sure I had enough awful memories to loathe Mikael with every piece of my soul. I could have sworn it.
And yet, I'm a fool. More than a few minutes had passed—almost 20—before I realized I was lost in a fantasy. A world where Mikael always loved me. I could partially hear his voice:
"You are my son, Niklaus. I never had a choice on the matter. But you chose to bear my name, to be my son, and for that...my boy, for that I will always be grateful. I'm thankful for every God, dead and alive, for letting me be your father..."
Childish, aren't I? Mad even. Stupid!
And yet I can hear it. As though he truly said it. As though I could taste the tears which flew from my eyes when I heard those words.
But perhaps those are simply my tears now.
Sometimes I dream—a foolish dream, yes, but I do wish it to be real—I dream an evil sorcerer made me forget about such memories. I dream my father loved me, but all the beautiful moments, all the times he messed with my hair, all the kindness and love he ever showed me; I dream someone stole it from me. But if—when I break my werewolf curse, I shall break this other curse too.
Then, Mikael will be the man he used to be when I was young. He will hug me, mess with my hair, run his eyes through my paintings, frowning of course, and say, as he said many times when I was a boy and he would let me sit in his lap while I painted with the berries he brought home for me:
"I'm not sure I understand what you do, my little Klaus, but I do know it's exquisite. The sort of beauty only kings are rich enough to have and see. I'm no king, but I do love it very much. Almost as much as I love you, my little angel."
Maybe not like that. Maybe he could not call me an angel. I'm very far from angelic.
But I do dream of such a day. When Mikael can once again be the father I love. When I'm once again the son he loved so dearly. The son he would die for, as he almost did many times.
Perhaps more than anything in this world, a part of me simply wants to have my father back. The man who loved me, taught me so much, protected me and bleed for me time and time again. Through all my youthful foolishness, Mikael stood by me, guided me away from terrible mistakes and, when he couldn't do so, took the consequences of my mistakes upon himself. He promised me,
"For as long as I live, no man, beast or God will harm you, my boy."
And I, like the fool I am, believed him.
Despite my better judgement, part of me believes him still.
Though perhaps that is my punishment after all. To fear the father who wants me dead, while being utterly unable to truly hate him.
I will always love the man Mikael used to be. And, until I stop being a fool, I will always pray to see that man smiling at me again.
It hurts more than death and betrayal.
I will never have my father's love again. I could never dream of making him proud of me. There is no hope for that. Not anymore. Maybe there is no hope for me as well.
Unless the second curse is real, I have no chance. If only it could be a curse. If only his cruelty was simply a curse, a mistake, someone else's doing. If only Mikael could forgive me for all the pain I've caused…
If he could love me, maybe then I could be happy again…
Gods, perhaps I truly have gone mad. Will I ever be able to hate him? Will there ever be a time when I am no longer hoping and praying for his soul, his love?
Can I even break any of these wretched curses… If they are even curses, not simply my bloody fate…
For Hell and all its devils, I only ever wanted one thing. It's not much. Truly.
Fuck. I only want my father back.