Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else belongs to me. No harm intended or money made from this fic.
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
Author's Notes: I've put up a summary of the events in the Vampire Diaries, so all subsequent chapters are bumped down one number in the Fanfiction.net count. Chapter numbering remains the same, though i.e. this is still Chapter 15.
~ Fifteen ~
So they thought he was a witch.
That was Elena's first thought when her eyes opened the next morning. Well, yes. And she would have believed it had she not recognized what he was last night. It was a clever subterfuge, she conceded; hide power by putting it into a different category, saying it was from a different source.
He frightened her; how had he ended up in such a state? And what was she suppose to do with him?
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, shaking her head a little, as if the gesture would make all the pieces of her life fall into place.
Eiran was right, she decided. Sleep _did_ make all the difference. She felt calmer now, more centered, her consciousness having had time to assimilate memories and knowledge that had been walled off for a year.
Some of it was unnerving and she was careful not to look too closely at those. But other things simply made sense now. Elena understood why she had fallen ill so often in the past year; each time she Turned someone, her body paid a price. And last night, she had taken some of the Old One's to recover what had been used up.
But then, the rest of the Power had gone rogue, with no outlet; raw force like a wave of pent-up, dark emotions had risen – pain/hate/death. If it weren't for the Solstice...
Elena shuddered and turned her mind elsewhere. Absently she stood and went through her morning routine. Feeling refreshed and more ready to face the day, she looked about the familiar room that had been her prison for the past two days. Like the rest of the house, it had been emptied in preparation for the battle and likely sustained some burn marks and unsightly holes in the plaster. It looked the same, however, the Turned having made it top priority to put Elena's room back in order.
Elena wondered if her captive status still remained as she turned to the door. A polite knock sounded just as her hand settled on the brass knob.
Eiran stood alone in the hallway patiently. No guards. Or was Eiran the guard? "Good morning. I came to see if there was anything you'd like. Breakfast, perhaps?" he said.
Elena's stomach growled in response, eliciting a startled smile from her. "Yes, please," she replied quickly before her stomach could answer for her. He returned a small, almost shy smile and gestured for her to precede him.
They went down the hall, down a broad, majestic spiral stairway. Bright sunlight lanced through tall windows, turning the marble underfoot an incandescent white. The air was filled with sounds of industry; hammering, shouting, the purr of machinery. Eiran stepped forward when they reached the ground floor and led her through the flow of people hurrying about on various tasks. They passed teams of repairmen replacing glass panes, restoring wiring, patching holes in walls, relaying carpets.
A thought stabbed through her, rooting her in place momentarily. ::This is pointless. They shouldn't be doing this.:: She knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that the beautiful house would see many more battles before this was finished. It would be razed to the ground.
The memories she had so carefully ignored were beginning to crowd her, pushing at her consciousness. A touch on her elbow brought her back to herself. Eiran was looking at her with concern and faint puzzlement. She forced a quick and – she hoped – reassuring smile and moved forward.
The back of the house was quieter, away from the frenetic activity. Through one door, Elena glimpsed rows of cots holding injured people. She felt a pang, but averted her eyes. They would all be human in that room. No one needed her help.
They arrived at the kitchen, finally. A large breakfast was laid out, buffet-style, on one counter. The kitchen was deserted, however. "Everyone else has already eaten and gone back to work," Eiran explained as they filled their plates, in answer to her question. "I decided to wait for you."
Elena sat down at the table, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. She stared down at her plate for a long moment before Eiran noticed.
"Milady?"
Her shoulders hunched. "Don't call me that," she said, her soft tone somehow lending force to the words.
A pause. "Elena," he tried again. "What's wrong?"
::What's _wrong_?:: Instead of laughing hysterically, which had been her first reaction, she organized her thoughts. Even to herself, everything either sounded stupid or melodramatic. Finally, she settled on, "All these things happening, all this work done," she waved at hand to indicate the restoration, the huge breakfast, the sickroom, "And I just slept the morning away. I'm feeling a little guilty is all."
He looked so incredulous that she had to laugh, but it died quickly. She shook her head to indicate that they should drop the matter. They ate in silence, Elena lost in thought. "Tell me about... everything! Last night, this entire ...thing." ::War? Crusade?::
Eiran seemed to understand, despite her disjointed questioning. "Last night, vampires attacked the mansion. The hunters were ready for them, of course. Even then, they lost about a third of their number with as many injured."
"Crystal Baron!" Elena exclaimed, suddenly remembering the fighter, lying motionless on the floor at Nigel Emery's feet. "Is she–?"
"Oh, she's alive. The witches invested quite a bit of time into her. Not only is she the one that holds the hunters together, and the one that funds everything, she's also the best fighter in the group." Eiran's tone was carefully neutral. Too carefully. Elena started to speak but he was already going on.
"The vampires suffered losses too, if the ash and dust left are any indication. According to one of the hunters, it looked like a stalemate until that freak storm hit. The vampires all dropped what they were doing and ran." He voice was impersonal, almost clinical, as he talked about the race he had once been part of.
Elena realized, with a start, that the humans were oblivious to the other facets of last night's battle. Equally obviously, the vampires had sensed _something_ that terrified them.
"The non combatants – that's most of us former vampires, the witches and the servants – were in hidden bunkers in the wood behind the property. A lot of important items – books, furniture and equipment – are stored there, too. When we were given the signal to come out, we brought what was needed with us and began the 'clean-up' work. The repair crews started arriving early this morning. By then, the more bizarre damage had been taken care of – such as the blood." He paused to check her reaction to that last, slightly graphic statement.
She simply looked back at him, waiting for him to go on, digesting the information. He took a mouthful of cold orange juice and drew a breath. Elena noticed water beading and running down the side of the glass, leaving a ring on the tabletop.
"Well, that was last night. As for the rest, the bigger picture..." he floundered visibly. "Mi–Elena. What do you–"
"Perhaps," a quiet voice intruded from the kitchen threshold. "It would be better if I told this story, Eiran." Elena jumped, then nearly cringed when she recognized the speaker. Eiran turned his head to nod acknowledgement and greeting, finished his juice and picked up his plate. At his enquiring gesture, Elena surrendered her own plate and half-empty cup. The former vampire efficiently rinsed the flatware and utensils, loaded them into the dishwasher and then he was gone.
Elena, who had remained woodenly still till then, drew a slow breath, turned to face the lame man with disarmingly tousled red hair and pale blue eyes: Jerrick.
Author's Notes: Reviews are _greatly_ cherished! Also, with a little encouragement, I _might_ start formatting _all_ chapters with proper italics, etc. *grins*
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
Author's Notes: I've put up a summary of the events in the Vampire Diaries, so all subsequent chapters are bumped down one number in the Fanfiction.net count. Chapter numbering remains the same, though i.e. this is still Chapter 15.
~ Fifteen ~
So they thought he was a witch.
That was Elena's first thought when her eyes opened the next morning. Well, yes. And she would have believed it had she not recognized what he was last night. It was a clever subterfuge, she conceded; hide power by putting it into a different category, saying it was from a different source.
He frightened her; how had he ended up in such a state? And what was she suppose to do with him?
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, shaking her head a little, as if the gesture would make all the pieces of her life fall into place.
Eiran was right, she decided. Sleep _did_ make all the difference. She felt calmer now, more centered, her consciousness having had time to assimilate memories and knowledge that had been walled off for a year.
Some of it was unnerving and she was careful not to look too closely at those. But other things simply made sense now. Elena understood why she had fallen ill so often in the past year; each time she Turned someone, her body paid a price. And last night, she had taken some of the Old One's to recover what had been used up.
But then, the rest of the Power had gone rogue, with no outlet; raw force like a wave of pent-up, dark emotions had risen – pain/hate/death. If it weren't for the Solstice...
Elena shuddered and turned her mind elsewhere. Absently she stood and went through her morning routine. Feeling refreshed and more ready to face the day, she looked about the familiar room that had been her prison for the past two days. Like the rest of the house, it had been emptied in preparation for the battle and likely sustained some burn marks and unsightly holes in the plaster. It looked the same, however, the Turned having made it top priority to put Elena's room back in order.
Elena wondered if her captive status still remained as she turned to the door. A polite knock sounded just as her hand settled on the brass knob.
Eiran stood alone in the hallway patiently. No guards. Or was Eiran the guard? "Good morning. I came to see if there was anything you'd like. Breakfast, perhaps?" he said.
Elena's stomach growled in response, eliciting a startled smile from her. "Yes, please," she replied quickly before her stomach could answer for her. He returned a small, almost shy smile and gestured for her to precede him.
They went down the hall, down a broad, majestic spiral stairway. Bright sunlight lanced through tall windows, turning the marble underfoot an incandescent white. The air was filled with sounds of industry; hammering, shouting, the purr of machinery. Eiran stepped forward when they reached the ground floor and led her through the flow of people hurrying about on various tasks. They passed teams of repairmen replacing glass panes, restoring wiring, patching holes in walls, relaying carpets.
A thought stabbed through her, rooting her in place momentarily. ::This is pointless. They shouldn't be doing this.:: She knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that the beautiful house would see many more battles before this was finished. It would be razed to the ground.
The memories she had so carefully ignored were beginning to crowd her, pushing at her consciousness. A touch on her elbow brought her back to herself. Eiran was looking at her with concern and faint puzzlement. She forced a quick and – she hoped – reassuring smile and moved forward.
The back of the house was quieter, away from the frenetic activity. Through one door, Elena glimpsed rows of cots holding injured people. She felt a pang, but averted her eyes. They would all be human in that room. No one needed her help.
They arrived at the kitchen, finally. A large breakfast was laid out, buffet-style, on one counter. The kitchen was deserted, however. "Everyone else has already eaten and gone back to work," Eiran explained as they filled their plates, in answer to her question. "I decided to wait for you."
Elena sat down at the table, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. She stared down at her plate for a long moment before Eiran noticed.
"Milady?"
Her shoulders hunched. "Don't call me that," she said, her soft tone somehow lending force to the words.
A pause. "Elena," he tried again. "What's wrong?"
::What's _wrong_?:: Instead of laughing hysterically, which had been her first reaction, she organized her thoughts. Even to herself, everything either sounded stupid or melodramatic. Finally, she settled on, "All these things happening, all this work done," she waved at hand to indicate the restoration, the huge breakfast, the sickroom, "And I just slept the morning away. I'm feeling a little guilty is all."
He looked so incredulous that she had to laugh, but it died quickly. She shook her head to indicate that they should drop the matter. They ate in silence, Elena lost in thought. "Tell me about... everything! Last night, this entire ...thing." ::War? Crusade?::
Eiran seemed to understand, despite her disjointed questioning. "Last night, vampires attacked the mansion. The hunters were ready for them, of course. Even then, they lost about a third of their number with as many injured."
"Crystal Baron!" Elena exclaimed, suddenly remembering the fighter, lying motionless on the floor at Nigel Emery's feet. "Is she–?"
"Oh, she's alive. The witches invested quite a bit of time into her. Not only is she the one that holds the hunters together, and the one that funds everything, she's also the best fighter in the group." Eiran's tone was carefully neutral. Too carefully. Elena started to speak but he was already going on.
"The vampires suffered losses too, if the ash and dust left are any indication. According to one of the hunters, it looked like a stalemate until that freak storm hit. The vampires all dropped what they were doing and ran." He voice was impersonal, almost clinical, as he talked about the race he had once been part of.
Elena realized, with a start, that the humans were oblivious to the other facets of last night's battle. Equally obviously, the vampires had sensed _something_ that terrified them.
"The non combatants – that's most of us former vampires, the witches and the servants – were in hidden bunkers in the wood behind the property. A lot of important items – books, furniture and equipment – are stored there, too. When we were given the signal to come out, we brought what was needed with us and began the 'clean-up' work. The repair crews started arriving early this morning. By then, the more bizarre damage had been taken care of – such as the blood." He paused to check her reaction to that last, slightly graphic statement.
She simply looked back at him, waiting for him to go on, digesting the information. He took a mouthful of cold orange juice and drew a breath. Elena noticed water beading and running down the side of the glass, leaving a ring on the tabletop.
"Well, that was last night. As for the rest, the bigger picture..." he floundered visibly. "Mi–Elena. What do you–"
"Perhaps," a quiet voice intruded from the kitchen threshold. "It would be better if I told this story, Eiran." Elena jumped, then nearly cringed when she recognized the speaker. Eiran turned his head to nod acknowledgement and greeting, finished his juice and picked up his plate. At his enquiring gesture, Elena surrendered her own plate and half-empty cup. The former vampire efficiently rinsed the flatware and utensils, loaded them into the dishwasher and then he was gone.
Elena, who had remained woodenly still till then, drew a slow breath, turned to face the lame man with disarmingly tousled red hair and pale blue eyes: Jerrick.
Author's Notes: Reviews are _greatly_ cherished! Also, with a little encouragement, I _might_ start formatting _all_ chapters with proper italics, etc. *grins*