A.N.: I should probably mention that my face-claim for Ástríðr is Louise Lombard (who plays Elizabeth Lascelles in Grimm, where I first saw her, and she inspired my version of Ástríðr).

As a weird side-note, somewhat relevant to The Originals, I've been watching one of Amber Heard's depositions to be used in the defamation case Johnny Depp has brought against her, "Johnny Depp & Amber Heard Abuse Claims: Amber Caught Lying Under Oath! NEW AUDIO and VIDEO!" and all I can think of while watching her body-language, the way she speaks, is Klaus. It's an interesting, cringe-inducing watch (it was truly a train-wreck) but it shows how abusers take the truth of their victims' suffering and portray it as their own.

I've figured out how and when Klaus is going to die! I had a lightbulb moment, and it made me so happy!


Resurgam

46

Dubious Intent


Ástríðr lived.

For days, he could not wrap his head around it. And yet, there she was, sitting at the other end of the dining-room table, the smile on her face indulgent, as Gyda bent over her hands with a tiny little brush, having filed and buffed her fingernails to perfection. Gyda was giving her ancient resurrected Viking witch grandmother a manicure.

Happily for Elijah, he had the distractions of full-time employment to keep himself busy, to stop his brain from imploding from the sheer stress of trying to reconcile that his mother, whose funeral boat he had built and burned, was alive.

That she had killed Mikael.

That was, if possible, harder to reconcile than anything; that Mikael was dead.

Ástríðr had been dead for a thousand years: And for those thousand years, Mikael had chased them. Tormented them. Hunted Niklaus. All to…to free them from Niklaus' manipulation and unending cruelty. It was one thing to know they were hunted: Another to understand and truly appreciate why Mikael had hounded them so doggedly for centuries. Had Giulia not discovered the truth, not shown Elijah the Natives' paintings in the caves depicting the tragedy of their family, and allowed them to work through the truth of it themselves, in their own time, in a safe environment away from Niklaus' abuse and manipulation…Mikael's death would have come as a victory.

As it was, it felt…hollow.

It put an end to a thousand years of fear.

And yet, Elijah thought… Giulia had systematically dismantled the armies of enemies Niklaus had created for himself over the centuries, layer upon layer of protection from Mikael as each enemy jostled closer for the right to take their vengeance upon him, enemies he kept around, in terror of his wrath, to buoy Niklaus' self-esteem that he was powerful, and terrifying, and brilliant, and all those things he knew in his heart he was not. Without them, he was stripped bare: And Giulia had known it. Without his victims, Niklaus was nothing. Niklaus' greatest talent had always been his narcissism: Projecting onto his victims - his siblings - that they deserved it. That it was not his fault. They only had themselves to blame for how he treated them. Break his power over them, and it broke the man.

Giulia had seen that, decades ago: Had dispelled Klaus' enemies one by one, destroying his power over them, leaving him vulnerable. Klaus' power was built on the pain of others - their fear, their paranoia, their pathological need for vengeance. In coaxing them to abandon their need for revenge, in emboldening his enemies to abandon their hatred and fear of him, and live their own lives, Giulia had broken Klaus' power over them.

Niklaus had manipulated, murdered and abused his way through history out of terror of discovery: That one day, those he punished most severely for their loyalty to him might learn the truth. He had murdered their mother, and manipulated them against their own father, who sought not just Niklaus' annihilation, but their freedom from his tyranny.

Now Mikael was dead; and Klaus was not.

Ástríðr had killed Mikael.

Elijah did not think that his death at her hands had been Mikael's intent; but it was certainly effective. His death freed them from fear - of him. It set them all a little off-kilter, realising that they would never again have to dread that he stalked them from the shadows…and yet at the same time, Elijah was filled with a grief so profound, he could barely catch his breath. All Mikael had wanted was freedom for his children; to protect them from an enemy worse than they had ever faced, who manipulated and punished them with such indiscriminate fervour - had them so wrapped up in him that Elijah could distinctly recall each and every single time he had lived solely for himself, so consumed was he usually by thoughts of Niklaus, how best to shield him from Mikael, to protect Rebekah from Niklaus' wrath, to walk that precarious tightrope between giving in to Niklaus utterly and protecting the people he loved.

Mikael was the only tangible thing Niklaus had ever been frightened of.

All he was left with, now, was the empty blackness inside. Every awful thing he projected onto others, fundamentally incapable of acknowledging his own shortcomings.

That, combined with his new dual-nature, his struggle to access even the fundamentals of his werewolf side…

What was Niklaus without Mikael to evade for centuries; without the siblings he had hoodwinked and abused into loyalty in spite of his atrocities against them; without the armies of people itching to tear out his throat? Fear had built the foundations of his power; and fear made those foundations brittle.

All it took, as so often happened, was one emboldened person, for the entire structure to come tumbling down.

Giulia was that first, courageous person. She had given Elijah and his siblings the tools to appreciate the truth, the time to absorb it and reflect on how it altered everything, and the friendship to build a newfound strength from: The strength to stand up for themselves. To put an end to Klaus' tyranny for themselves. Giulia wasn't necessarily a heroine; she was an enabler. She gave them what they needed to be the heroes of their own stories. Because only they had the power to change their lives.

And yet…Ástríðr lived. Had been resurrected with the power of a dozen dead witches strengthened by fifteen sacrificed humans…the worst storm in the recorded history of Virginia had heralded her resurrection.

For Mikael to go through all that effort, only to be killed by Ástríðr's own hand just as he bore down upon Niklaus… Elijah was trying to figure out their endgame. Mikael and Ástríðr had always been partners, before anything else. They had always worked best together. And together, they had been indomitable.

And it was utterly disconcerting to see Ástríðr being given a baby-pink manicure by Gyda, as they discussed shopping and clothes; "I'm going to style you."

"Oh…alright," Ástríðr murmured, her eyes wide, as she watched Gyda dart out of the room to scurry upstairs for her shiny new laptop.

"She is doting on you," Elijah murmured, not glancing up from his papers; he had essays to give feedback on.

"Yes," said Ástríðr, with a soft smile.

"I…am sorry your own children cannot bring themselves to be so attentive to your needs." Elijah did not look at his mother, but the sentiment was real. He found it…difficult, to be in the same room as Ástríðr, still disbelieving that it was her who had truly been resurrected. The storm, Mikael's death… He knew it could only be her, but still…seeing was not always believing.

Ástríðr's smile was indulgent, her eyes glimmering with warmth. "Ejnar. Gyda can adjust in a hurricane, or a tsunami - both of which we both know, she has, in the past." She sighed, and Elijah felt the prickle of shame, and a burn of regret in the back of his throat as she said, "But you…my face brings back too many memories you would rather stayed buried for the pain they bring you. It is a shock, I know…not just my resurrection but…your father's death, too. To reconcile Mikael's death after a thousand years running from him, knowing the truth as you do…" All of which was true, and the very reasons Elijah found it so difficult to look at his mother. "I am not going anywhere; I would rather you come to me, when you are ready, than force myself upon you."

"Why…" Finally, he cleared his throat, set his papers down, and looked at Ástríðr. Gyda had rummaged through Lagertha's closet to steal some clothes, but they did not quite suit her, the way Lagertha owned everything she ever wore. "Father was willing to take a subservient role only to you; that did not change in a millennium. When he raised you, was it his plan to have you kill him?"

For a moment, Ástríðr gazed at him, considering her response. She had never been one to be rushed into anything, unless it was in her own time. "Mikael's goal was to kill Niklaus and free you all. A thousand years had driven him thus far…a thousand years of grief, and loneliness, and a lack of understanding of his motives… His purpose was to free you." She tilted her head slightly, a tiny smile playing on her lips. "You are already free."

"No, we're not," Elijah countered grimly. They knew the truth; but using it as a weapon against Niklaus' abuse would be an ongoing battle. "We won't be, for a very long time."

"Niklaus' abuse lingers, I know," Ástríðr sighed heavily, and her features crumpled.

"How could you know?"

Ástríðr turned wide blue eyes - Willem's eyes, Lagertha's eyes - on him, her lips parting subtly."I have been with you, Ejnar, always. For a thousand years, I have walked by your side, shared every triumph, every joy…and felt the wounds of every sorrow," she said, gazing earnestly at him. "I know everything. Everything your brother has forced you all to endure these centuries…"

Elijah's heart stuttered. He murmured, "Everything?"

Ástríðr's face was solemn, sorrowful. "Everything. There is little to do, beyond the veil of death, but watch, and regret our mistakes," she said, starting to tidy up the little bottles and cotton-balls and the kitchen-towel protecting the polished table. Her fingernails glinted a tasteful pale pink. "Your father raised me to set things right -"

"You will not kill us," Elijah said, quietly, but with just enough menace to make his mother raise her eyebrows. Then her features shifted toward anger, indignation.

"Kill my own children?" she seethed, and Elijah remembered her white-hot, quiet rage, more deadly than Mikael's blind fury. "I killed the only man I have ever loved to prevent seeing any one of you harmed."

"Even though it was Niklaus."

"Even so," Ástríðr said, her lips pursing. "He is punished. Every moment he draws breath, he is in agony."

"It's not enough," Elijah said coldly.

"It shall suffice, for now. He has no Mikael to evade; no siblings to torture; no enemies to send shivering beneath rocks. He has nothing," Ástríðr said lightly, her wrath disappearing in an instant. "Can you devise a more apt punishment for that wretched creature I no longer recognise as my own son? What is he without you?"

"Unthinkingly violent and sadistic," Elijah answered tartly.

"That may be so," Ástríðr said, pulling a thoughtful face. "I did not return to kill your brother, or you, Ejnar. I am here to make things right."

"You cannot erase the past," Elijah said, frowning. "Even if you could sanitise our memories, I would not allow it; they are who I am."

"I would not take that from you," Ástríðr said gently. "The truth is your greatest weapon against a repeat of the past. It is the truth I now search for."

"What do you mean?"

"A thousand years ago, I crafted a spell of such…exquisite difficulty, such ambition…and it was perfect." Ástríðr's face lit up with delight, talking of magic, and pride, talking of her own unique talents. "I had Kol and Isak working on it with me for weeks, until it was nearly complete. Every detail was meticulously thought out. You were to be…stronger than the werewolves, faster, more resilient and invulnerable to lasting injuries inflicted by them. I had studied the magic of Rollo's curse and transformations for decades, and crafted my spell by all I knew of his nature." She sighed, shaking her head, her vibrant eyes alive, Elijah could see her thinking. "All things must have balance. Mikael and I wanted you strong, able to outlive the werewolves, but not…this." She waved an elegant hand delicately at Elijah, who did not take it as an insult. "You were to be stronger, but only just - and only when you needed to be. Around the full-moon."

Frowning at his mother, Elijah's mind went inexplicably to Giulia, whose heart beat fiercely, whose skin was decadently warm to the touch, who was stronger than a werewolf on any given day yet significantly vulnerable compared to a vampire, but did not suffer if exposed to sunlight without magic protection, invulnerable to werewolf venom, she had confirmed. Her senses honed more sharply closer to a full-moon, her healing was expedited by intake of fresh blood. And, most significantly of all, she had an annual menstrual cycle - to procreate naturally, one of the most significant things denied to vampires, set them outside of Nature. Made them abominations.

"Well, something went wrong," Elijah said dully.

"Significantly. And I intend to find out what. I have had a thousand years to think on this, my spell, how it could have gone so tragically wrong," Ástríðr mused, sighing thoughtfully. "I concluded long ago that it was not the spell, itself. My spell was perfect. So, something else. Ejnar…will you help me?"

Elijah sighed, and glanced at Ástríðr. "Do you know, only you and Father ever call me that anymore?" he said gently. And it was true. Finn did, too, on occasion, but like the others he was adapting to the changes within their family, and called him Elijah more often than Ejnar. "You ask for my help, but to what end? So you can undo the spell, as Niklaus' curse was undone?"

"There is no undoing what has been done to you…but perfecting it? That is still in the realm of possibility," Ástríðr said calmly, her expression thoughtful, but bright, as if she was already anticipating the thrill of magic. The same thrill Kol and Isak had been chasing for centuries, without it. "I will need to discover exactly where things went wrong - one tiny error, and this is what happened." She gazed long and hard at Elijah, almost seeing through him, as if the magic that had created him as a vampire was visible to her, imprinted on his heart, on every part of who he was. "I can amend the error, but I will not undo the spell that created you into vampires."

"Why not?" Elijah asked, not quite trusting her.

"A thousand years, my love…my firstborn…did any of you truly live?" she asked, and Elijah fought not to flinch away from her touch as she reached out to tenderly stroke his hair from his face. His stomach seemed to evaporate at the grief etched in her lovely features. Her blue eyes, so different from his own, held his gaze, and regret and sorrow, love and hope seemed to pour from them. "I would see you happy…I will see you fulfilled, and ecstatic in your lives. Surrounded by friends - by family."

When he could find his voice, Elijah said with hoarse urgency, "Do not mention this to the others."

Ástríðr flicked her gaze over his face, reading him so easily. If she had been watching them for a thousand years, she would know how distrustful they all were. And she was a potential threat to his family. To Gyda. "You believe this cannot be done? Or you do not dare trust a hope that it can be." She sighed sadly, her face dripping with earnest sorrow, and she trailed her fingertips along his cheek, whispering a heartbroken, "Ejnar."

"I will not see them disappointed," he answered.

Ástríðr sighed, shaking her head subtly; her blonde hair shimmered, the scent of lavender and lemon-mint tickling his nose. "I have been gone too long…you have forgotten me." She fixed him then with a look that sent him back a thousand years - longer. Stood at the water's edge, the village of Kattegat to their backs, the fjords before them, and ships. So many ships, he had built. Slaves prepared for the sacrifice. The dawn they had set sail for a new life, leaving the horrors of Dagmaer and Freyja behind them. A new life. No-one had believed it was possible - no-one had believed there lay anything beyond the open seas to the west. Ástríðr was determined to prove everyone wrong; to find a safe home for her surviving children. She turned her body toward Elijah, so they were face-on, and her eyes were fierce and earnest when she said, "I will stop at nothing to provide for my children. I have set my mind to it, Ejnar. You just wait and see."

Her proud, stubborn, playful smile was infectious, and Elijah's lips twitched. He sighed, and pressed his hand against the hand she had rested against his cheek, closing his eyes to luxuriate in her comforting touch for the first time in a millennium. "Mother…" he sighed. When he opened his eyes, he asked, "What is it that you need?"

"A witch."

"Has Ashlyn not done enough for you?" he asked warningly.

"I will involve Ashlyn no longer," Ástríðr said, with an idle wave of her hand. "It was cruel to threaten her fiancé…but it does yield results, however grudging."

"Perhaps she worried you would do worse to your children than Mikael ever could."

"She is loyal to you; I am certain she dreaded that my return spelled out your death-sentence," Ástríðr said, and she smiled. "You did well with her, Ejnar. All these centuries, I had wondered…whether you would ever be able to love a child so completely again, if the scars ran too deep. There were glimmers, with Marcellus, yet you chose the boy's safety over your own happiness, and left him to Niklaus. And then…Ashlyn. Tiny little bundle, wasn't she? So full of joy, with that gorgeous blonde hair, those eyes. You were happy…you were never happier than when you were a father."

Elijah sighed grimly. "The deaths of my children killed me long before Mikael sank his blade through my heart," he said, and something shuttered in Ástríðr's eyes. "If not Ashlyn, then who? Mystic Falls has slim-pickings where witches are concerned."

"Slim, yes, but the witch who resides here is one of the most skilled in centuries," Ástríðr said, and Elijah knew she did not mean Ashlyn, nor the former witch Bonnie. "I would ask you to intercede on my behalf with Sheila Bennett."

"Professor Bennett owes me no favours," he warned quietly.

"She has a very strong friendship with Giulia Salvatore. And you have a way with Giulia," Ástríðr said, with an entrancing little smile that made Elijah hot under the collar, embarrassed and shy for some reason. Ástríðr chuckled softly. "I told you, I've been watching. I thank the gods every day you inherited my patience, or you would have made a pretty mess of it all by now."

"I still may yet," Elijah said, thinking of Giulia, and how fraught she had been, that night in the cellar of the Boarding House, her husband bleeding all over her lap as he endured a seizure of such intensity, Elijah had been sure he might die any moment. It was Mikael's death, Giulia had murmured, wiping tears from her cheeks with her forearm, gasping for breath: His death had a knock-on effect on so many people's lives - because it affected their lives and they were, if nothing else, the propagators of their species, and everything came back to them eventually.

"You won't; it would cause her pain," Ástríðr observed. "And the last thing you want to do is cause her more pain."

"She's struggling, and I can't… I can't be near her," Elijah admitted. He could not be with the woman he loved, while she tended to her dying husband. As she had said, weeks ago…it wasn't fair of her to say it, but she loved him. And because she respected herself, and her husband, and Elijah, she could no more lean on Elijah for emotional support as be physically unfaithful to her husband.

"She's suffering, and you know it… How long have you suffered without anyone realising the truth?" Ástríðr said softly. When she spoke, it was with a softness and a regret that made Elijah think - know - she spoke from personal experience. After all, neither Willem nor Niklaus would ever have been born had Ástríðr and Mikael not suffered from Freyja's death, had Rollo not provided the support and comfort Ástríðr had needed when Mikael was incapable of providing it. "It makes a difference, when someone knows - no matter the distance between you. In the back of your mind, you will always feel it…someone knows. You're not alone. No matter how dire things may seem…"

"Her husband is dying; I will not take her away from him," Elijah said sternly. "I shall acquire whatever you need on your behalf, but I will not draw Giulia in to this."

After a moment, quietly watching him, Ástríðr said gently, "I will need her, Ejnar."

"Why?" he asked, frowning.

After another moment, Ástríðr answered, "Deep down, you already know. She is…all I envisioned for you and your siblings, when I crafted my spell to protect you from werewolves. I know bits and pieces, of course, but I am curious to know how it came to happen - how she came into being. In a thousand years, she's the most entrancing person to ever be born."

"You like her," Elijah realised, and Ástríðr smiled softly.

"I told you; I have been watching for a thousand years. You came alive when you met her; and when you were daggered, all but Kol sunk into coffins… I watched her," Ástríðr said, and her smile turned sweet, her eyes bright. "Your father respected her, you know. I admire how fiercely she loves; and I respect her brilliance; her compassion and natural goodness, her resolve; and how she raises her children."

"Children?" Elijah frowned. "She has one daughter."

"The werewolves' son," Ástríðr said, condemning Hayley Marshall as she raised one eyebrow expressively.

"Spencer," Elijah said, and his mother nodded.

"He will always be more her child than his own mother's," she said thoughtfully. Her eyes darkened, as she added, "Some women are not suited to motherhood."

"You were," Elijah said, and his mother smiled.

"So is Giulia. She is a warrior; she is a mother…" She smiled richly, her expression fond. She had not met Giulia, and yet, if she spoke the truth - and Elijah suspected she did - she had been watching them all, including Giulia, for years. Her smile faded as they heard footsteps in the foyer, and a long sheet of tousled blonde curls disappeared out of view, and she murmured, "Some women do not deserve children. And some who do…"

"You have not spoken with Lagertha," Elijah murmured, watching his sister disappear into the house.

"She will not…meet my gaze," Ástríðr admitted.

"She is angry," Elijah said softly, almost apologetically, but he held Ástríðr's gaze when he reminded his mother, "You told her it was an impossibility."

Ástríðr knew what he meant, of course: A thousand years ago, Ástríðr had told Lagertha that her children who had died could never be brought back to life. Lagertha, who had miscarried many more children than she had ever carried to full term, who had endured stillbirths and cot-deaths, had lost the two children to survive infancy during the war that had culminated in their becoming vampires. Lagertha had never forgiven Ástríðr for not having the power to bring back the children she had fought for, and lost in spite of everything.

Ástríðr's eyes sparkled, and her features twisted with a grief that was not entirely only Lagertha's, but her own, as well, and Elijah's. He had lost all but one of his children; Lagertha all; and Ástríðr's last child, her youngest son, had been torn to ribbons. Throatily, Ástríðr whispered, "I would bring them all back, if I could."

"To what end?" Elijah said grimly. He could not remember his children's faces. "We cannot go back."

"No. Only forwards, or we are all lost," Ástríðr sniffed delicately. She sighed, and caught Elijah's gaze. "I am afraid we must get a little lost, Ejnar, before we can be found."

"What do you mean?" he frowned.

"In order to unpick what happened…I must go back."

"In time?" Elijah stared. He knew such a thing was possible - the world was much more complicated, much more fluid than anyone knew - but…

"In memory," Ástríðr said delicately. "I need Sheila Bennett to delve into my memory of that night. As skilled as Ashlyn is, it is Sheila Bennett who has true intuition; she will be able to discover the truth without even knowing what to look for."

"How can she, when even you do not know yourself?" Elijah asked, frowning. He sighed, as Ástríðr's lips parted, and shook his head, "Never mind; I wouldn't understand your answer anyway."

Ástríðr's wide smile was indulgent. "A thousand years, and still magic evades you."

"I was not born a witch; I never shall share your intuition with magic," Elijah shrugged. His power had been in his word; and his talent in creating things from seemingly nothing. Over his many lifetimes, he had been a shipbuilder, a carpenter, a jeweller, a surgeon…he created things, or devoted his time to fixing them. Making things that had broken work again. Taking his pain and turning it into things of ecstatic beauty. "I appreciate it, but I can never truly understand it."

"You still respect it…something your half-brother never did," Ástríðr said, her tone sharpening as her eyes darkened to hard sapphires.

"He does not respect it because he does not understand it - and can never access it; he will never be able to tap into that power, so he disdains it as inferior," Elijah said, voicing wisdom he had gained over centuries, watching Niklaus deal with witches. He frowned, and glanced at Ástríðr, saying quietly, "That's the first time I've ever heard you call him that. Half-brother."

"For what he has done, he has earned such a distinction," Ástríðr said coldly.

"Yet if you call Niklaus bastard, it follows you must also name Willem the same," Elijah warned gently.

"Willem… Willem is the antithesis of all Niklaus is," Ástríðr sighed, beaming briefly with delight, pride. "A thousand years apart, I still see more of you and Finn and Lagertha in Willem. He is your brother. For all he has done to you, Niklaus has earned the distinction, the separation from you all."

After a moment, Elijah asked something that had been on his mind since Mikael made reference to it, the night he had died. "Do you regret it? Father suggested he should have executed Niklaus that night, rather than flog him… Do you agree?"

For a long time, Ástríðr did not answer, merely gazed thoughtfully at Elijah, considering her answer. "Yes," she said finally. "I would rather he had died that night, than let him spend one thousand years torturing you."

"You couldn't know what was to happen."

"I could. The seeds of his nature were always there, Ejnar, even as a boy. He was a cruel child; and a narcissistic young-man," Ástríðr said calmly. "I saw in him my older brother who had been killed for his cruelty."

Elijah blinked in surprise. "You had a brother?"

"I never spoke of him; he was long dead before you were even born, before Kol even was born," Ástríðr said, her tone clipped. "And yet…he was reborn in Niklaus. All Niklaus is, my brother was."

"Was he a witch?"

"The gods are good - no," Ástríðr said, and Elijah swore she shuddered. "T'was Dagmaer who killed him. To protect us. She endured him for years, before his eye turned to me. I say killed…she peeled the skin from his limbs as he lived, turned his insides out."

Her eyes sparkling, Ástríðr reached out of habit to her throat, where her pendant had always hung, filled with potent herbs and spells of protection, a relic of the Old World and the spring raids, the gold, their family's growing wealth as Mikael's prominence grew. Her pendant, which Rebekah had worn for nine centuries - lost, only to be found draped around the neck of a doppelgänger. It was Ástríðr's nervous habit - she took strength from the pendant, in the act of touching it as much as the spells safely ensconced inside. And Dagmaer…speaking of her, even centuries later, still unnerved her. Dagmaer was to Ástríðr what Niklaus was to Elijah and his siblings. Ástríðr could not think of her sister without hatred, dread, terror - and love and sorrowful regret.

They all knew the story of how Dagmaer had been broken; each of Elijah's sisters but Rebekah had learned to fight with shield and sword - for those without them still died upon them. Or worse. Dagmaer had been broken, and Elijah realised, long before the spring raiding-party had overwhelmed her; their brother had sown the seeds, and it was the day Kol came into being that had pushed Dagmaer over that precarious ledge. He wondered, then, briefly, if Kol had been born a girl…would history have unfolded differently?

Dagmaer was the first and worst horror Elijah had ever endured, decades before Klaus was ever born. He had been an adult, a warrior in the shield-wall, a shipbuilder and farmer out of necessity, his life extended by his mother's magic, protected, so that at several decades old he had still looked just as he did to this day, in his mid-to-late-thirties. He had been the eldest, with Finn and Freyja next, Lagertha and Isak the baby. Kol, their cousin, tutor to Freyja and Isak, the first child Ástríðr had raised, her confidante, her constant companion long before she had met Mikael…

"I will not become Dagmaer," Elijah said quietly, but with feeling. He remembered her far too vividly to not be mindful of the slippery slope they all lived on. "Not even to protect them."

Ástríðr gazed sorrowfully at him, but her tiny smile brightened her face, as she rested her hand against his cheek. "You never could become her."

Elijah sighed, and gazed into his mother's deep blue eyes. "I will call on Sheila Bennett tomorrow."

"Thank you, Ejnar," Ástríðr said softly. "You will not regret it."

As Ástríðr drifted out of the dining-room, called to the kitchen by Gyda so they could eat together, Elijah turned to his papers, no longer seeing them, as he murmured to himself, "That remains to be seen."

Because how could they truly know - how could they truly trust…that firstly, this was truly the Ástríðr of their past, their memory; and secondly, and most importantly, that she was in earnest. That she would use this time, after her resurrection by Mikael - whom she had killed, within days, possibly to cement their trust in her as a protector - to right the wrongs she had committed against them centuries ago, and not…not take advantage of the power she had over them.

It devastated him, not to trust her implicitly. A thousand years of abuse at Niklaus' hands, and his own better judgement, meant Elijah would never wholly trust those outside a very small circle. Gyda, Lagertha, Finn, Kol; Carafina, Veronica, Chocolat; Giulia. His family; his truest friends; and the love of his life.

He was aware that he truly trusted only the eldest of his siblings - those he had grown up with, warred beside, fled Kattegat alongside: His parents' first family. Kol, Finn and Freyja, Lagertha, Isak and Kol. Their family had been very different to the one his parents had raised in the New World, when he and his siblings had already been adults with homes and families of their own, long before Willem first appeared, and the others followed, Niklaus, and then Rebekah, and finally Henrik.

The dynamic was very different between Elijah and his older siblings, compared to the dynamic he had with Niklaus and Rebekah. To Rebekah he was firstly a protector, and a surrogate father-figure, lastly a companion; but he was the dominant one in their dynamic, she deferred to him as she would a father. Niklaus…was different again, and yet Elijah knew it in his heart that he had evaded the silver-dagger so consistently because Niklaus had taken delight in trying to destroy everything he envied in Elijah, the firstborn, eldest son, the very best of Mikael and Ástríðr combined, respected and admired, beloved, a leader in his own right, with his own mind and a wealth of experience, an awareness of a greater world beyond their settlement, with a fierce, faithful wife, and children who adored him, respected his wisdom and authority, and emulated his example.

Isak was a different story altogether, his pain entirely his own, stemming from the loss of his magic, and the rage that came with it, his impotence, his self-loathing, his desperation, his grief. Once upon a time, he had been the most vibrant, the most joyous of them all - hard to keep up with, the truth all told.

But the core family - Kol, Elijah, the twins, Lagertha, Isak - they had been very different, when they were together, than when the younger siblings had arrived. The younger, cherished, spoiled siblings who knew nothing of the Old World, of Kattegat, of the cold and the struggle, of their endurance, and all they had suffered long before they set sail from Kattegat. It had bonded them, the older siblings; and try as they might - and Rebekah had often tried - none of the younger ones could ever understand their bond. Because they had not been part of it. They belonged to the New World; they belonged with memories of the settlements, and the Natives, wolves and strange crops and bison, long hot days, children swarming around his knees, memories of a tired, joyous, breathlessly warm time after the trauma of Dagmaer and Freyja had started to fade from their nightmares.

Elijah…was at home with Finn and Lagertha, even, to an extent, Willem, who, firstborn in the New World, had grown with the settlement as they endured the worst hardships; he knew what it meant to be hungry and afraid long before Henrik's death sparked the war with werewolves, because he remembered them afraid. He remembered them hungry, and he knew what it meant to work in a way that Niklaus and especially Rebekah and Henrik never had to. Willem had been a boy, but he pulled the weight of a man as he completed his chores, contributing to the success of the setltment with every little thing he did, whether it was braiding Lagertha's hair back while she hoed the fields, or learned from Elijah how to carve, and fish - while they laboured, Willem had very often gone off on his own, to fish the creeks and streams. That was one of his many chores, and in his own small way he had helped the village thrive. He was almost grown by the time Niklaus was born, already happy in his own company, learning from his older siblings, independent, conscientious, with a deep sense of responsibility to others, on the cusp of manhood but denied an armband due to the scarcity of ore. Mikael had been proud to call Willem his son: Niklaus had been born with a very different nature to Willem's, and had been raised differently.

But it was Kol, Finn and Lagertha whom Elijah felt most at-home with, and Gyda. Willem, he hadn't seen in nine centuries, and yet he fit so organically it felt as if he had never left, his nature shining through. Isak's bonds with his siblings had fractured long ago; and Elijah was too much Rebekah's father and protector to be a friend, the way he was still, after all this time, easy companions with Finn and with Lagertha. He and Gyda had a strong relationship, based on the fact he had let Gyda go, to grow, and explore the world, to gain her own experiences, to mature. And as mature adults they made excellent companions, and that was based off of mutual respect and trust, friendship not just the bond between father and daughter, because after all they had seen, all they had endured, that bond was not enough.

As an adult, a married man, a father himself, Elijah's relationship with his parents had altered: All of a sudden, he had found himself being treated an equal to them, rather than just their son, someone who needed their guidance and protection. An equal; a companion and partner, whose mind they respected as much as each other's, whose experiences made his opinions valid. They had had great trust in him, and respect for the man he had become; they knew they had done their jobs well by him, just as he was doing with his own children. Gyda was the best of all of them, even now.

Yet…sat in the dining-room, a thousand years on, annotating feedback for his AP English students, Elijah couldn't help wonder where Ástríðr fit in.

After all this time, after all the horror that had plagued their family…where did she belong? What was her role, now? They needed mothering about as much as a pack of velociraptors did: They were all far too old, had experienced far too much to ever go back to those sun-drenched glorious times of ages past, and times long dead, when Ástríðr had been both stern, comforting, loving mother, wise confidante, and unearthly-powerful goddess to them all.

They would not be infantilised. They could not be brought under Ástríðr's control as if they were naughty children.

They were too old, too wounded, too distrustful to let her tuck them under her protection, to let her soothe every worry and fear, the way they had so craved in the immediate aftermath of her murder, fleeing back to the Old World, all while trying to figure out not only what they were, but who they were becoming because of it.

So what remained to Ástríðr, if she could not mother her children?

A parent's love never died. What Lagertha would not do, to bring her own children back, to protect them, to give them everything they had been denied. And Elijah? He would do anything it took to see Gyda happy, to know she was living a fulfilled life surrounded by friends and a family who appreciated all her many gifts, to be able to live freely, without fear, with endless opportunities open to her.

All she could do, Elijah thought…was love them. Help them, if they asked for it. Do her utmost to provide opportunities for them.

Opportunities for what?

What could she possibly do, to perfect what had gone wrong with her spell, a thousand years on? What good was delving into her memory to discover precisely how it had all gone wrong, if she claimed she would not reverse but perfect what had been done to them?

She had been murdered by Niklaus before she could undo the damage of her spell, though Elijah knew from Kol that she had not slept, consumed by her need to discover what had gone wrong, why her children had…become monsters. What had she done to them?

It was the reminder of Ástríðr's murder at Niklaus' hands that settled Elijah's mind. Niklaus would even now be redefining paranoia and rage as he dwelled on Ástríðr's true intentions, her reason for being here.

It occurred to Elijah, then, to trust, where Niklaus was incapable of doing so.

Trust not Ástríðr, perhaps…but his own instincts. He was no witch, but Elijah had his own intuition, honed over decades long before they had fled Kattegat. He…knew his mother. He knew Ástríðr. He knew the love she had for her children. Everything she had ever done was motivated by her love for her children, her desire to give them the opportunity for better lives.

So Elijah trusted that Ástríðr would do what was best for her children.

Ástríðr was a visionary witch; and a risk-taker. Sailing the unknown Atlantic Ocean had been a risk worth taking, to give her surviving children a better life.

When war had destroyed their settlement, killing her children to complete a spell of her creation had been a risk worth taking, when they rose stronger than ever, invulnerable to their enemies. So they could survive. Surviving led, slowly, to living.

Ástríðr had always had hope. Hope that what came next would be better than what they had endured. Hope that they would recover, in time - and that is what she had always given them: Time.

They no longer needed more time.

What they needed… Even Elijah couldn't define it, but he knew they lacked it.

Gyda, who had been going through the public library, had come across Tuck Everlasting, and a quote had stuck with Elijah as she read it aloud: "What we Tucks have you can't call it living. We just... are. We're like rocks, stuck at the side of a stream."

The Originals just were. They were stuck. They needed…to be free. They had survived for too long. They needed to live.

And, being their mother, Ástríðr knew it.

And, being their mother, Ástríðr was going to make sure that they did.

All Elijah had to do was ignore the conditioning of ten centuries, and trust in Ástríðr's love for her children over the snide voice whispering cruelties in the back of his mind that sounded exactly like Klaus.


A.N.: I hope everyone's safe and healthy - I'm sitting looking out of my window into my garden, which is full of sunshine (a rarity, in April, in the UK!) and listening to the birds singing, and thinking how lucky I am to have this green space to escape to when the walls start closing in. Be safe, be healthy, and don't get despondent. Things will get better! They have to.