A.N.: I'm definitely going to tone down the 'Always and forever'-ness of Elijah's life being devoted to Klaus, I mean, my degree is in History not Psychology but I've watched enough Criminal Minds to be interested, and Elijah's basically the 'apath' to Klaus' Dark Tetrad narcissist, the key to normalising Klaus' behaviour and creating the illusion that Klaus can maintain normal relationships with others.

So for this chapter, if you fancy it, watch 'I'm Old-Fashioned' with Fred Astaire and Rita Hayworth on YouTube; and also Dusty Limits' 'Music of the Night' for the inspiration for Kol's cabaret; you won't be able to watch Phantom the same way again…

Also, no matter what I write, I don't hate Rebekah; I just hate the way the writers portrayed her in TVD as a petty little bitch (who we all loved as the only voice of truth who really stuck it to Elena when even Caroline backed down) and then gave her a dramatic character-shift in The Originals. I also wish they'd kept more of Rebekah's sultry Prohibition ele-glam (elegant-glam) aesthetic, you know? Who wouldn't want to see her embracing the Downton Abbey obsession?


Machiavelli's Daughter

06

Reunion


The Boarding House was transformed into an opulent nightclub, glowing in warm candlelight, small tables arranged with fine linen cloths, elegant flowers, silverware and delicate cut-crystal glasses filled with potent cocktails from a menu written by Kol, celebrating a bygone era: a fabulous Orchestra booked on loan from The Savoy in London performed 1920s and Thirties dance band songs and Old Hollywood movie-scores, two pretty blonde sisters in shimmering pale-pink 1930s evening-gowns singing along, while canapes were served with pre-dinner drinks.

Sunday-night at the Boarding House had become her favourite event during the festival, and it was the only time she ever forgot how much she hated the house. The main hall looked unrecognisable and extraordinary, and over the last handful of years the evening had only reached new heights of opulence. A seven-course meal was prepared to Michelin-standards, small beautiful dishes of extraordinary flavour served with complementing wines, starting with fresh oysters and Chablis and ending with a dessert of nectarines poached in elderflower and sweet wine with cherries, delicate petit-fours, a scoop of homemade gelato, with a sweet dessert wine, and after, a beautiful cheese-platter served with Champagne. As each course came and went, they were treated to the Orchestra; to burlesque dancers; to a blues singer who oozed sensuality; and as after-dinner cordials, cocktails and coffees were handed out - Giulia sipped cherry-brandy from a cordial glass just big enough for one preserved cherry - they were treated, finally, to Kol, who was not only a nightclub-owner and bartender in New Orleans and the evening's compere but a talented cabaret singer with a three-octave vocal range and one of the most hilarious, cultured comedians Giulia had ever witnessed in action.

In his element, Kol was extraordinary, flirtatious, especially with the men, like Alaric, whom he adored making uncomfortable even as he laughed; Kol was borderline inappropriate, at his most extroverted, charismatic, raunchy, flamboyant self, singing his naughty interpretations of everything from Sondheim to Bowie to Andrew Lloyd-Weber, his comedy and satirical sketches dedicated this year to the themes of decadence and disillusion - he called it stand-up misery, and yet half the room had tears streaming down their faces, threatening to spill their drinks they were laughing so hard. Giulia could barely catch her breath; and after the Orchestra performed a handful of songs to round off the evening, accompanied by their singers and three of the burlesque dancers, she giggled and traipsed over to Kol, deliciously tipsy, exhilarated from laughing.

After Robin Williams' suicide people said the saddest people were the most talented at bringing laughter to others: If that was true, Kol was one of the greatest comedians. Over the last decade, with her Psychology PhD under her belt and Kol as one of her more intriguing case-studies, she had diagnosed Kol with bipolar disorder, stemming entirely from being turned into a vampire against his will; his life as a magical prodigy, a witch with untold potential, had been cut short, brutally, and irreversibly. He chased new highs, craved connection; he chased knowledge, had greater understanding of witchcraft than anyone in the world, and yet could not tap into it. He could only advise from the side-lines, missing the connection, regretting the choices made on his behalf, the source of great knowledge but never accepted by the community he yearned to belong to again, due to the nature of his existence he could not help.

Giulia couldn't sing, but she could play, and she perched on the bench beside Kol in front of the grand piano on the stage; and as people drifted out of the house she played and he sang, or sipped a cocktail, leaning his elbow on the piano and watching her, his smile sad, wistful, as she created the only kind of magic she could, music.

Whatever had happened that night at the quarry, whatever she had become, she now had heightened senses, and it was music she had the most staggering reaction to. Like Zita watching the colours swirl and dance as she listened to live blues or a Classical ballet on Giulia's stereo, Giulia was mesmerised by music; but it had taken her a long time after her transition to be able to listen to it without emotions overwhelming her. Sometimes the wrong song could leave her breathless, in agony, grief crippling her; other times, a strain of music was transcendent. Specific music triggered memories half-buried and she avoided certain songs because of their association, and the emotion that swept over her when she heard them.

To sit and play the piano with Kol seemed a simple thing - it had taken her years, and the birth of Zita, to be able to harness her emotions and play again.

Especially in this house.

"I'm glad you didn't leave yesterday," Giulia said softly, because it had been in the cards. The anticipation of this evening outweighed Kol's dread of being discovered by Rebekah, whom Giulia had spied yesterday a couple of times, dancing during the Charleston-a-thon as if her afterlife - and her philanthropic contributions to the local cancer hospice - depended on it. Giulia had also overheard Stefan convincing her not to compel the judges of the Mr and Ms Vintage competitions to vote her the winner; and earlier this afternoon, she had stood with a cocktail in her hand, dressed in her Flapper finest, watching, mesmerised, as Giulia and Aljaž had commemorated the centenary of Rita Hayworth's birth with a recreation of her famous dance with Fred Astaire in You Were Never Lovelier to the Orchestra's rendition of 'I'm Old-Fashioned', an introduction to the evening's ballroom-competition on the dancefloor in front of the main arena bandstand.

Giulia still wore the elegant and risqué evening-gown Chocolat had recreated from footage of the noire film, his early birthday-gift to her, her hair set in curls and styled like Rita's, and she sipped a fresh cocktail from a little glass and played with Kol, resting her aching feet; she had been dancing all weekend, Swing, jive, the Charleston-a-thon, master-classes and competitions, and she loved it. The festival, Rose's brainchild, had become an institution at the Boarding House, though how long it could continue without the magic breaking, Giulia didn't know; too much of a good thing, and all that. They would need to be selective in upcoming years; there was no point letting the event get too big, or the bubble would burst and the wonderful, relaxed, old-timey family feeling of the thing would be eclipsed by loudmouth drunks and obnoxious advertising.

She didn't want the festival, her experiences of it, to be ruined. Perhaps this might be the last summer she attended for a while; she could keep her rich memories of spending wonderful times with her friends, when their families were young and healthy and full of joy and anticipation, with four-year-old Zita surprising her with a Shirley Temple dance, with Kol's cabaret performances, dancing with Aljaž to honour Rita Hayworth, and she could move on.

Some things, she had learned, she just had to let go. The memories were her treasures, long after the people and the places that had made them were altered. She couldn't imagine living a thousand years, comparing her experiences. She tried not to do that, to take each event as its own experience. Sometimes it worked. It depended on who she was with.

Giulia enjoyed most things; some things, she endured. This weekend, she had embraced with everything she had, surrounded by her friends, her family, with good music and even better food during extended meals with the people she loved, dancing until her toes blistered and bled, making memories that had to last lifetimes.

She glanced over at Kol. "Are you ready for your surprise?"


Headlights illuminated the delicate sheers over the tall windows and made the polished wood of the dining-table gleam, glittering off silverware and briefly there was a lull in the laughter, the conversations flying thick and fast over fine wine and a platter of ripe stoned fruit, honey-drizzled soft cheeses Finn had made himself from a flock of goats, warm flatbreads, beautiful Parma ham, toasted salted almonds and squares of dark-chocolate he nibbled on between sips of decadent red wine. Music played softly in the background, Gyda's choice this time, introducing Lagertha to punk, while Finn and Isak played an ancient board-game and they laughed, teasing each other, exchanging stories, sharing books and magazines and laughing at shared memories over bottles of wine, the scent of late-flowering lily-of-the-valley and sweet-peas and white forget-me-nots teasing his nose from the vase on the sideboard, the delicate breeze from the open windows bringing in the scent of sun-baked grass and wildflowers and the melodic sound of water from the creek late into the evening as Elijah sat, and laughed, and enjoyed the simple, rare pleasure of just holding his daughter's hand.

He might have been forgiven for thinking he had finally achieved Valhalla. Were not all his siblings present, and even Gyda, tried and true warriors who had fought in the shield-wall? Perhaps the Valkyries had plucked them from the mortal plane, at long last, and whisked them to the great hall of Odin, where their fellow einherjar feasted nightly and prepared for Ragnarök.

Yes, Elijah might be forgiven for believing it. He had woken, an I.V. drip-feeding him blood to assuage the worst of his hunger, gentling his way back to consciousness. The silver-dagger he remembered so vividly being plunged into his heart by Niklaus was gone, the old blood on his now-incinerated shirt the only evidence that he had been stabbed there: The dagger was gone.

And Gyda had sat at the side of the low cot he found himself lying on, watching the dust-motes whorl gold in the sunlight streaming into a renovated attic room. She had smiled at him, gently, and caressed his face with cool fingers that smelled of nail-lacquer and jasmine lotion.

He had never imagined in all these years that when he finally reunited with his daughter she would have cropped her hair in a shining chestnut pixie-cut that highlighted her deep brown eyes and fine bone-structure - but she had. And it was her haircut more than anything that told Elijah in that moment that her appearance was not a dream; that he had been woken from his slumber; that they were not in Valhalla, no matter how much it felt like they were. Peace. He felt peace.

She had given him blood-bags, embraced him for an age, and smiled knowingly when an unknown barber attacked his hair, bringing him reluctantly into the Twenty-First Century with a hot shave and a cropped haircut almost as short as Gyda's. She had let him shower, had laid out a tailored Burberry suit and had led him downstairs to the sound of voices that were too familiar to be believed, the scent of turned earth and herbs, freshly-ground coffee and oil paints, a television on, and his family playing old games around a coffee-table.

His family.

Someone had brought them together, in this beautiful house with a view of a gurgling creek and beautiful parterres behind and the woods beyond a sculptured front-garden, where each of his siblings had a room of their own and seemed to have been here some time, bringing their character to the magnolia canvas. A room had been left spare for him; he had rarely slept since the dagger had been removed.

Had it been Niklaus who had woken him, Elijah knew from experience that he would have been ordered to follow his brother's lead in dealing with some crisis of his own creation, manic and paranoid and demanding, as self-absorbed and frightened as ever, cruel and impatient, and accusing him of failing him when it was Niklaus who had sunk a dagger into his heart.

They were in Mystic Falls, in a refurbished house that had centuries ago been the sight of a massacre of witches… They had not been woken by Niklaus; someone had allowed them to remain at the house, in the sunshine, acclimating to this time, reacquainting themselves with the family-members they hadn't seen in centuries - Finn out of his casket for the first time in 900 years; Isak, no fewer than five centuries.

Finn, Isak, Lagertha, Gyda; the last he knew, Kol had of course been safe in the Salvatore Boarding House while Klaus arranged everything to lift Mother's spell. He had wondered, briefly, where Rebekah was.

And then they told her that Giulia had stolen them from their coffins, right under Klaus' nose, and removed the daggers.

Giulia, whom Elijah had watched laugh as she danced into the flames as a transitioned vampire, depriving Klaus of the sadistic pleasure, the pathological need to driving a stake into her heart - symbol of Niklaus' impotence if ever there was one.

In the moonlight Elijah had paused, broken by the blackened, smouldering husk that had once been a vibrant seventeen-year-old young-woman. His Giulia. Courageous, exquisite, amorous, brilliant Giulia with her vivid silver-grey eyes, toned thighs and throbbing intellect, her large hands and long, elegant fingers, extraordinary cheekbones and a sense of loyalty and responsibility that surpassed even Elijah's. Extraordinary, imperfect Giulia with her traffic-stopping figure, a young, borderline-alcoholic, who conquered what was above her strength through sheer tenacity, the open-minded, compassionate, brave young-woman who had snuck up on him, embedded deep in his heart before he had even realised it.

He didn't let people in. He had run headlong for Giulia, obsessed with her fierce intellect, mindless with lust for her, relaxed in their bond, opening up to her as he hadn't opened himself to anyone in all his years; he had never wanted anyone the way he yearned for her - his last thought before oblivion as Niklaus had sunk the dagger into his heart was her.

Giulia, who was dead.

Giulia, whom his siblings and his daughter claimed had reunited them. Stolen them, from right under Niklaus' nose.

Perhaps he was dreaming.

Giulia was dead: He had seen what had remained of her after her noble, devastating act of self-sacrifice.

According to the human barber, it was ten years since Klaus' ritual at the quarry - since Giulia's death. A full decade. And he was, indeed, in Mystic Falls.

The headlights receded, leaving the soft amber glow of the room to settle as talk picked up again, his siblings disinterested by the interruption, but Elijah could hear that there wasn't another house for miles: they were surrounded by nature. Therefore whoever had driven here, whoever was now walking up the garden path, had gone out of their way to come here.

He glanced at Gyda, who was listening out of the corner of her ear, and yet who didn't seem concerned by the unexpected visitors. Two sets of footsteps, one in heels, approached the house, and Elijah froze, staring at Gyda in mingled horror and confusion, as he listened to the voices, sounding tipsy and relaxed and happy, two familiar voices - and yet they couldn't be right.

The door-handle clicked, and two people spilled into the elegant foyer, laughing, in mid-conversation, flushed from drink and exhilaration, sparkly-eyed and beaming, dressed to the nines - him, in a sleek tuxedo, and her

"-you're not going to tell me?"

"You'll see!" A rich laugh, an extraordinary smile.

His eyes stung, and he shot to his feet, still gripping Gyda's hand in his without realising it, his insides disappearing, weightless with shock, as she twirled, closing the front-door, the candlelight shimmering off the details of her 1940s-style evening gown modelled after one of his favourite Rita Hayworth outfits, feather-light and giving the illusion of lace without underpinnings moulding to her torso. There was something unearthly graceful in the way she moved now, but Elijah would have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to recognise her - and he stared, feeling as if a freight-train had gone full steam ahead into his stomach…

Giulia.

It couldn't be.

And yet…she had grown up. At seventeen she had been arrestingly pretty, all cheekbones and silvery eyes, beautiful lips and lots of thick dark hair and a curvy figure kept toned by athletics, elegant arms and large hands with long, clever fingers that danced over the keys of a piano like an effortless ballerina dancing across a stage.

Now… Her prettiness had matured; she was dauntingly beautiful. Heart-stopping, awing in her intensity.

Flawless fair skin and dark hair touched by the sun giving it warmth, the startling contrast of those shocking icy grey eyes framed with dark lashes, cheekbones to cut diamonds with; her figure was toned, and womanly now, a mouth-watering hourglass, her elegant arms and hands pale and toned against her black gown.

Gyda took the wine-glass from his hand, as Elijah felt himself drawn to her. Giulia.

Kol draped himself in the doorway, his expression shocked, appraising, mocking, delighted, as his cousins rose from the table to laugh and greet him, Gyda jumping into his arms, wrapping herself around him with a delighted shout.

And Giulia was there, in front of him, the candlelight making love to her bone-structure and the shimmers of copper and gold and molasses in her hair, and the details of her ball-gown, and he scented absinthe and cherries on her beautiful lips and saw the wistful, heartsick look in her unusual eyes glowing silvery ice-grey in the candlelight, his heightened vision picking out the nuances of colour that reminded him of storm-clouds illuminated by lightning, shards of silver and quartz and grey-diamond and aquamarine refracting light.

His fingers shook as he reached out with one hand, ghosting his fingertips against her jaw, a shining curl, his senses overwhelmed as he allowed the scent of her skin and her perfume mingled together to flow over him, the strong, steady beat of her heart music to his ears as his eyes consumed her, every single tiny detail - the faintest hint of laughter-lines at the corners of her eyes; the subtle change in the shape of her elegant eyebrows from what he remembered; the sparse makeup she wore flattering her features; the tiniest of bumblebee stud earrings in her cartilage piercing, the way the lace of her gown gave the illusion that she showed more of her magnificent figure than she actually did, Chocolat's lacework and signature artistry hinting that former acquaintances had been nurtured over a decade into friendship. Even her posture had altered, her shoulders back, her breasts proudly pushed forward, her chin level with the ground. Warmth emanated from her, her heartbeat was strong and lulling and Elijah stood, and stared, his eyes burning, unable to breathe.

He was shocked, and confused; he had seen her dead, burned beyond recognition. He had watched her dance into the flames, victorious in death.

Elijah hadn't realised just how victorious in death.

They were so close he could taste the bourbon-soaked cherries on her lips, felt the warmth of her body like a furnace, lulled; he let her natural scent wash over him, intoxicating; and his hands landed heavily on her waist, wanting to drag her close and keep her there, but he couldn't move, frozen with shock, could only hold on to her. Less than a week ago, she had been burned beyond recognition.

He had been struggling to reconcile that fact, even as he enjoyed his reunion with his siblings, his daughter. The horror of Giulia's death, the knowledge that Klaus was free and running amok…

Now she stood before him, a mesmerising film-noire dancer in the flesh, tasting of bourbon, cherries and champagne, the soft, spicy scent of her perfume mingling with her natural scent, warm, alive.

"Giulia," he bit out in a rush, shocked, his vision blurring.

Over the centuries he had become numbed to his heightened senses; rarely did he experience the jolt of heightened emotion that came with an intensified state of being. Now he did.

She was here, alive, in his arms. She rested long-fingered, elegant hands on his arms, leaning in to his body, delicately licking her lips, gasping; she had always been tall, and in her low heels she was the same height, maybe a little taller even. And as he gazed at her, speechless, drinking in those silver eyes, she never looked away, never broke eye-contact, just gazed back, the emotion playing across her face in a rare display he couldn't remember. She had become excellent at concealing her emotions, even controlling her heartbeat. A single crystalline tear slipped down her cheek, and Elijah scented the salty tang of it on the air, heard it fall against the delicate mesh of her top.

His hands shaking, he reached up, to delicately wipe that tear away, and to cradle her face in his hands, his eyes swimming, burning, tenderly brushing his thumbs against her cheekbones, memorising the details of her face again, now that time had passed. He swallowed, and tears slipped down his face, and he let out a choked breath as she rested her forehead against his, the gesture comforting. They never looked away, never blinked. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers, tasting the absinthe and cherries and her warmth, almost panting for breath, and Giulia looked wistful and young when he drew back, the Giulia he remembered from last week.

"You died," he whispered, the reality of her burned corpse still fresh in his mind. Days ago. Years ago.

"I got better," Giulia said, with a tremulous smile.

"How?" Elijah asked softly. "How is this possible?"

"I'm stronger than you," Giulia whispered playfully, and she winked as he gave a tearful, shaky laugh.

"Giulia…" he sighed, shaking his head softly.

"I've missed you," Giulia murmured, heartfelt and earnest, sorrowful.

"I saw you dead," Elijah whispered, heartsick. "I saw you burned."

"I'm alright," she told him, leaning in to kiss his cheek softly, lowering her hands to take his from her waist, intertwining their fingers, holding him so close he could feel her heat, the lush curves of her breasts beneath the diaphanous lace. She delicately kissed the tears from his cheeks. "Shh, I'm alright. I'm alright." She whispered it over and over, a prayer almost, soothing him.

Days ago she was dead.

Here she was, humming with vitality.

He stroked his thumbs against her hands between their bodies pressed close, holding on as if to a lifeline, and blinked, startled into the present, away from the harrowing memory of Giulia's self-sacrifice and its aftermath, by the cool tang of metal on his tongue as his thumb brushed her fingers. The pad of his thumb brushed against one, two, three bands of precious metal, and he felt the distinctive cool silkiness of a pearl - her mother's pearl solitaire ring she never took off - and precious stones in a more elaborate setting.

He frowned, perplexed. In wonder, he murmured, "You are married." He glanced down at Giulia's hands, her large pale beautiful hands and long, elegant fingers tipped with filed fingernails painted a delicate blushing nude, and saw the candlelight gleam off her mother's pearl, the light shimmering and sparkling off of several diamonds set into a daisy in a stunning, eye-catching ring.

Married. The freight-train hit again.

Giulia's smile was heartbroken, not delighted; why wasn't she happy? "I'm a lot of things," she told him softly. Even her voice had matured, softer than he remembered, richer, sultry like smoky whiskey, and her Virginian accent had gentled, a harsher inflection on her T's like the English.

He held her hands in his, and smiled tremulously. "You're alive."

"And you're awake," she said, and gave him a beautiful smile, as if she had been waiting to do so for far too long. Ten years. She had waited ten years. "I like the haircut."

Still stunned, Elijah murmured, "Gyda wished for us to match," and Giulia's eyes crinkled delicately as she laughed, flashing her beautiful white smile - and the barest hint of dainty little fangs. Unbidden, and in spite of the rings on her finger that seemed to burn his skin as he held her hands in his, he leaned in to kiss her one more time, and lingered on her lips. She was alive.

Alive.

She had…she had survived.

She had survived - not just the ritual: She had survived death, transition to a vampire, and death as a vampire by fire. Burning alive was not the gentlest way to go; Elijah knew from experience. How? He would dearly love to know - and gazed at her, hoping this wasn't the illusion, the lie. Was she here? Was…was this his Valhalla? Or another dream in his oblivion?

Here she stood, intoxicating in her beauty, lush and beautiful and tipsy and emotional and with the daintiest, most delectable-looking fangs he had ever seen, and had the strangest impulse to lick. Her heart beat fiercely, her warmth relaxed his body, still stiff from recent desiccation, her blood smelled delicious, and her tears disappeared, replaced by a warm, sad smile, as she leaned in to rub her cheek against his as a cat might to display affection, subtly separating their bodies, and he reluctantly let go of her hands.

"You - I - I can't - You are a devious - little - minx!" Kol blurted, incandescent with shock and mingled amusement, grabbing Giulia by the waist to tickle her so she threw her head back and laughed, wriggling away from him as he attempted to blow raspberries on her neck. It was familiar: The two were close. And Kol looked entranced with Giulia as his tipsy, breathless grin showed just how handsome Elijah's cousin truly was.

"Surprise," she cooed softly, and a laugh rumbled up from Kol's chest, shining through his eyes.

"If you weren't such a poppet you'd be in for a smacked bottom, young lady!" Kol declared, hanging from around Gyda's neck as she beamed, giddy. Kol grinned, unlatching himself from Gyda, to throw his arms around Elijah in a tight hug, embracing like brothers.

It was always interesting to watch the family dynamics shift when one or another of the members of their family joined them: and they always shifted, and the camaraderie and warm glow of family always faded. Elijah had experienced the un-daggering of his family far too many times not to know how things worked.

Lagertha and Gyda were warm with each other, respectful and friendly, supportive; in an argument Lagertha stood before Gyda, blocking any attempt to harm her, and if Lagertha was the target, Gyda reciprocated, protecting her aunt. Gyda had always admired her eldest-surviving aunt, the martial Lagertha who had lost her children to plague and war: Gyda had lost her mother to childbirth, her brothers and sisters to famine and plague. All because of the selfish actions of one person. Together, Lagertha and Gyda were friends as well as family; they had often spent decades as companions, exploring the world together, they supported and protected each other and in spite of her losses Lagertha was nurturing, deeply maternal toward those she viewed as worthy of the effort.

Had Rebekah been in the room the atmosphere would have cooled; it was young, exhausted Gyda, buried under grief at the death of her mother and siblings she had tried to keep alive, who had picked up Lagertha's shield after Mikael cut his own daughter down - to fight for her right to live. It was Gyda who tried valiantly to fight and protect herself and her older, spoiled aunt who thought men were there to protect her, would never have dreamed of picking up a sword herself, in spite of the stories of the fate of their mother's sister, Dagmaer, who had been overpowered by raiders and left broken in the spring snows, her bond with magic - and her mind - forever fractured. Esther had healed Dagmaer's body but nothing could soothe her mind; she had nurtured her sister through an unwanted pregnancy, and after his birth took Dagmaer's unwanted infant and raised Kol as her own, long before she had ever felt Elijah quickening in her belly.

Women in their family had learned long ago that either by sword or by harnessing Nature's strength they had to learn to defend themselves: Elijah had been raised fiercely feminist, every woman he knew holding a position of strength - his mother a respected wise-woman, healer, strategist and advisor to a much-younger husband she had chosen for herself and helped to rise to the position of jarl; Lagertha, a shield-maiden as well as a mother; Freyja, their mother's disciple in witchcraft, insanely talented; and Torvi…his Torvi, his wife, Gyda's mother, and mother to six more of his children lost to the ravages of war - she had fought in the shield-wall during spring raids right alongside him, had saved Elijah's life several times before she had decided she could do worse for a husband, and took him to bed amid the furs during one memorable spring snowstorm.

Yes, Gyda and Lagertha were close, respected each other, and disdained Rebekah as an affront to their upbringing: They despised Klaus. Isak and Kol loathed one another, their own image reflected back at them: Kol adored Gyda, the sole survivor of her generation after the devastation on their family, and a stubborn flickering light in a sea of darkness in spite of it. Finn had not been woken in nine centuries, almost a stranger to them now - but once, he had been Elijah's best-friend; they had worked their farm together, lived in proximity, Finn had helped raise Elijah's children as the quiet, steady uncle Elijah trusted to keep them safe in his absence. Lagertha had had her own family, and had once laughed at Isak's propensity to bed any female within leagues - freewoman or slave, maiden or married woman. She had grown impatient with his behaviour, becoming more irreverent the longer they lived, the more removed they became from their old lives and any sense of responsibility.

In their human lives, Isak and Kol had once been inseparable: over the course of their lives as vampires their bond had altered, especially in the early centuries after fleeing Marseilles, during which the two had body-hopped across Asia from one witch's body to another, learning all they could, until one delectably nasty coven had ousted them so decisively that Kol had suffered nightmares for decades - which took some doing, after what they had seen. Kol and Isak were both former witches, who remembered their family in the Old World, remembered Freyja, the lives they had lived, and who despised what they were; mirror images, they could no longer stand the sight of each other, and had frequently come to blows.

The last time they had all been united, the dynamics had already begun shifting. Isak would back down to Elijah, the eldest, possibly to Finn, who remembered clearest the brutal times in which they had been raised and would not hesitate to put his younger siblings in their places, especially after the death of Freyja had left him irrevocably lonely, no matter what Elijah did to try to help lessen his pain. Lagertha was her own woman and always had been, and it was her the older siblings sometimes turned to for guidance, the way Mikael had once turned to Mother; and Gyda had been allowed the freedom to grow, emotionally and intellectually if not in body. She still looked as fresh and young as the day she had been murdered, all dark eyes, romantic lashes and sweet lips like her mother's that gave the illusion of utter tenderness, masking the iron will beneath. Her dark eyes held the sadness that came with experience, wisdom; but also the delicate glint of something like hope that even Niklaus could never fully extinguish.

They were missing Rebekah, who caused such friction with Lagertha and Gyda because she knew they had no respect for her, and Niklaus, who always demanded he be the centre of attention. Long gone were the days when any of them had hoped they might once more enjoy a day with their brother Willem, the first child born in their new home after Freyja's death, elder-brother to Niklaus, Rebekah and the long-dead Henrik, who had been Gyda's friend and companion and a stern boy who seemed to have inherited all the sense of responsibility Niklaus had always lacked.

Elijah and the others had learned to go on without Willem after he disappeared, to stop looking for him in every face, in every strange city; Elijah had never breathed a word to the others when he had run into him by shocking chance in the streets of Manhattan decades ago. He pretended it hadn't hurt that Willem had stood him up for a drink. But it had.

It had been a very long time since all of them had been gathered in a room together like this - no nefarious plots, no Niklaus, no sniping from Rebekah or thinly-veiled threats between Kol and Isak.

The new variable was, of course…Giulia.

Giulia, who had extracted vows from Elijah before she strode headlong to her death like the truest warrior, her fear the opportunity for astounding courage.

She had asked for his trust.

He gazed at her, realisation dawning. His first thought had not been that this reunion was down to Giulia; because Giulia was dead. The promises she had made to him were made redundant by her self-sacrifice.

"Do you know, I think we're going to need drinks. Copious drinks," Kol declared, and Giulia nodded, suddenly smiling, gesturing toward the sideboard.

"Everything's in there," she said, and Kol went to explore the cupboards. Kol's face was a picture as he opened the doors and examined unopened bottles of absinthe and St Germaine and small-batch distillery gin and bitters and all the makings of a true speakeasy.

"It's like I'm not even related to any of you at all! Truthfully, I'm shocked; I expected better from you, Gyda. Is there at least a working ice-machine in this place?" Kol asked, shaking his head, as he removed bottles and equipment from the cabinet. Elijah started, on edge, when Giulia disappeared; she returned, bearing an ice-bucket, smiling warmly. "Thank you - see, this is why you get the Amarena cherries, and I would be remiss if I didn't keep you deliciously squiffy, what with all the emotional trauma flying around in this room." He gestured with a flourish at Elijah, who raised his eyebrows, but caught Giulia's eye and her smile and settled down in his chair next to Gyda, watching Kol create cocktails for Finn and Isak and Lagertha to taste for the very first time, Rob Roys and Hummingbirds and Between the Sheets and Bee's Knees and Gin Blossoms and Manhattans and Martinis, juleps and an Old Fashioned. Giulia sat, the picture of elegance, in her ball-gown and set curls, her diamonds glittering as she cradling Rebekah's old favourite, the De La Louisiane, glimmering in the candlelight and laughing, slipping seamlessly into the flow of conversation that started up again as naturally as if there had been no interruption, the way families and best-friends could pick up after a long absence as if no time had passed.

They were in company, and he was devastated, and enthralled, by Giulia's…survival. Her life.

He was curious; she had thrived.

As the evening turned into the early hours and the stars grew dim and the earliest birds started to chirp surreptitiously in the purplish bruised pre-dawn, they had shared around drinks to taste, Kol going into fits of nostalgia and delight on hearing that Finn had been making his honey mead again; they played games Elijah had forgotten; and shifted around the table until he found Giulia sat beside him while Kol caught up with his cousins, and Gyda laughed with tears streaming down her face, sat at Kol's knee, sipping a Hummingbird, and Isak and Finn played another ancient board-game.

Elijah glanced from his brothers and sister, his cousin, his only surviving child, to Giulia, who was in conversation with Kol across the dining-table, delicately sipping her drink, her eyes bright, relaxed in her chair.

He observed the way they were with her, the familiarity, the bond, their conversations, the way Finn gravitated toward her wherever she was in the room, Isak's thinly-veiled distrust, the delight in Gyda's eyes as she giggled and sipped her drinks and Kol and Giulia's conversation ebbed and flowed, filled with jokes and stories, clever, almost intimate, bouncing off one another.

"All this is your doing," he said softly, as Giulia rose to her feet, fishing out of her empty glass the silver cocktail-stick on which three preserved cherries were skewered. She savoured the cherries, eating them one after the other, glancing from face to face as the conversation petered off, watching them. Licking her lips, she set her glass on the table, her eyes flicking over his face.

"I made you a promise," she said softly, and Elijah's heart ached. He remembered her promise, their vows to each other. To trust in her. He looped his arms around her waist again, drawing her in for a hug, lifting her off her feet; she wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her chin on his shoulder, and he heard her tiny sigh, the thump of her heartbeat, felt the delicate stroke of her fingertips through his hair at the back of his neck.

He tried to put into his embrace what he didn't yet know how to put into words. And he released her too soon, mindful of the diamond ring on her finger.

"I gave myself ten years…" Giulia said softly, clearing her throat, sliding a glance at Kol, whose face grew sombre, "before they returned to Mystic Falls."

Elijah frowned subtly. "Who returned?"

"Stefan…with Klaus."

Stefan with Klaus?

A ripple seemed to flicker across the room, passing from one person to the next, the minute, almost unnoticeable reactions to his family hearing that name, the name of their monstrous half-brother, the nightmare who daggered them in punishment for daring to live their own lives without him as the centre of them.

Elijah frowned at Giulia, remembering… Before he had been stabbed, he remembered the young Stefan Salvatore, a vampire in constant inner-torment, appearing at the loft Alaric Saltzman had called his home, and which Klaus had appropriated. He had said something about his brother Damon, who had been bitten by a werewolf girl. He had been guided to Klaus, searching for a cure… One of the loopholes of Klaus' new state of being. His blood cured werewolf-bites.

He sighed heavily, realising that ten years asleep meant he had missed ten of the most pivotal years for Klaus since they became vampires in the first place. "There is much we must discuss."

"Hence, libations," Kol spoke up, offering Elijah another Between the Sheets. "Personally I can't discuss Niklaus in any degree of sobriety. And since I spied your darling sweet sister Rebekah just this afternoon, I think we're going to need a few more bottles of the good stuff. Your timing is impeccable, poppet. Or - ominous. Do you have some kind of Original fang-dar?"

"I have an App for that," Giulia said drily, catching Elijah's eye. He sidled closer.

"What happened after I was daggered?" he asked quietly. "How did you come to -?" He gestured at the others.

"Steal you? It's a long story that makes me look frankly brilliant," Giulia said, and Elijah's lips twitched. She gave him a subtle wink, but her features sobered up as she sighed. "After he daggered you, Klaus gave a bottle of his blood to cure Damon, in exchange for Stefan's indentured servitude for a 'decade-long bender' as the Ripper of Monterrey… Stefan has been your brother's caretaker and spank-moppet for ten years; his time is nearly up."

"And you worry Niklaus will not honour the terms of his agreement," Elijah guessed.

Giulia frowned softly. "It's more than just your brother giving me sleepless nights," she said ominously. She reached up, and gave him a strange smile as she cupped his cheek tenderly, looking slightly lost for a second. He reached up to press his hand against hers, astonished to feel its warmth seeping into his cool skin. "He's just at the forefront for the moment…"

He realised, then, "You shouldn't be alive." He gasped softly, devastated by the implications. "Niklaus, his transformation -"

"According to reliable sources, he's not gained any more control than he had the night you saw him under the full-moon's influence," Giulia said seriously.

"He will think you have something to do with his deficiencies," Elijah knew. He blinked quickly. "And…Elena Gilbert?"

"She revived after the ritual, just as Sheila's spell intended," Giulia said, licking her lips. "Neither of us should be alive after what he did… And Stefan's brought him back to town. He's on human-blood again; I don't think he even thought about the implications to us…" She looked disappointed, but not surprised; he remembered her relationship with Stefan was rocky at best, and he supposed ten years with Niklaus had done nothing to help change that.

Elijah looked Giulia in the eye and vowed: "I will not allow Niklaus to harm you."

Her smile was sad, but it was a hopeful kind of sad. "I didn't pull that dagger out of you to turn you into a guard-dog… I did it…for you." In an instant he caught a glimpse of the devastatingly brilliant, courageous, shy girl he had adored, the one who still blushed during sex but turned into a chillingly brutal warrior when her friends were under threat.

He nodded, and told her, "I will not allow you to be harmed."


A.N.: Let's all just take the opportunity to swoon over Elijah… If the writers constantly abused Enzo and Kol, what does that mean for how they brutalised his character over the last couple of seasons of The Originals?