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_
Date posted: 26 November 2002
~ Twenty One ~
::What about Stefan Salvatore?::
Jerrick's question sounded mockingly in her memory. Well, now she knew; he would be safe. Pain coursed like fire through her veins as the tide of hunters flowed past her on either side.
::Why didn't you start with me?::
She had been unprepared for the harsh words and they had hurt all the more for it. And when he had threatened her, she knew him too well to believe he meant it. The threat, the physical intimidation; bravado and self-preservation. He had been defending his pride, showing her that he was not hurt. But she hadn't missed the fact that he had stayed in the path of the gun and her heart squeezed painfully; even when he thought she had betrayed him, he protected her.
The knowledge was small consolation when he had left without a backward glance.
Dusk had fallen by then and the hunters were swallowed up in the gloom beneath the trees. They had scarcely noticed her, although she thought Seth paused to spare her a look before disappearing in hot pursuit of prey.
Prey. That's all he was to them. Elena hoped that the darkness would give the vampires enough of an advantage to escape. And that Stefan would not suffer at the hands of the others.
She wondered, distantly, who those three were and how he came to be in their company. Stefan had never indicated any ties with other vampires. They had obviously been involved in the fight last night.
"Why did you do that?" a quiet voice asked at her elbow. Elena was surprised again and felt her expression change, a mask over her emotions. She shot a glance to the side and made out a shadowy silhouette. It was undefined, but with the voice, she identified the speaker.
"Why did you lie to him?" Eiran prompted when she kept silent. She turned back to the house and started in that direction with him trailing her by a step.
"How do you know about that?" she asked, buying time to think.
"That little hunter-girl said that you were taking a walk in the woods. I followed, but when I arrived, I found you facing three vampires. I heard and saw everything. He reacted very fast," Eiran said, referring to Stefan.
Yes, Elena agreed silently. She had not seen him move like that in a long time. Sometimes, she almost forgot that he as a vampire. But not right then.
"Milady–"
"Elena," she corrected. It was almost automatic now, the flash of annoyance barely a flicker.
"Elena. Why? If you'd rather not answer, you can tell me to go away and stop prying," he added, realizing that he was pushing for an answer.
She sighed. "You saw how the hunters went after them. If he knew the truth, he'd insist on staying. What are the chances of him surviving that? Or he might ask me to leave with him. And we spend the rest of our lives running from vampires wanting to kill me. Will he survive that? He can die, for all that he's immortal."
There were other reasons, but Elena didn't feel like enumerating them. Eiran was silent after that. Their eyes adjusted to the increased illumination as they approached the mansion; the house was ablaze with lights and bustling with an inevitable level of activity that came from so many living in close quarters.
Eiran silently escorted Elena to her room. She was about to shut the door when Sheila and another female Turned appeared. "Mil–Elena. Jerrick says that we are to go to your old apartment and collect your belongings for you. Is there anything in particular you'd like us to bring back?"
Elena was momentarily lost in fury. It took her a moment to realize that the girls were still waiting for an answer. "There's nothing. Just my clothes," she said, not caring if her tone was harsh. The glow of pride at being given the task left their faces abruptly at this. They bobbed their heads awkwardly and fled. Elena shut the door firmly in Eiran's face.
Safely alone, she leaned against the door and slid downward. When she no longer had to hold herself upright with an effort, she wound her arms around her bent legs and rested burning eyes on suddenly weak knees.
::Damn you, Jerrick,:: Elena thought angrily. Of course he would have know of the 'visitors'. And had done nothing about them. Even as she thought that, she could almost hear him say calmly, "It was necessary." ::Well, damn necessity and practicality and the order of the universe.::
Eyes still closed against her knees, her mind wandered over the other reasons to keep Stefan away. If the intrinsic animosity between 'her' side – the hunters – and 'his' – the vampires – was not enough, if the coming battles were not sufficient reason, the potential chaos unleashed in the event she lost control of an unmaking made her choice easy. If she was going to tear out a chunk of the world with a hundred-mile radius, she did _not_ want him nearby.
And then there was the fact that as soon as Stefan found out about her ability to Turn vampires, chances are he would _want_ to be Turned. And if he was one of those who could not adapt to being human again... No, Elena was not willing to risk that at all.
And so, she had misled him, turning him against her on purpose, driving him away with anger.
::Of course,:: a little voice whispered, ::You're pushing away the very reason you were willing to accept the task in the first place.:: Yes, the task was her price for a second chance, a second life with him. ::But,:: she told herself fiercely, ::What's the point if he's dead? It's easier to kiss and make up than to resurrect a 500-year-old vampire.::
::It's the right thing to do,:: she assured herself. ::This doesn't hurt as much as it would if you got him killed,:: she said logically. ::Now, think of something else.::
And first thing that came to mind was the incompatibility between her Turning vampires – in effect, 'saving' them – and her working with hunters – who killed the very vampires she was trying to help. That thought segued into the split within 'their side', between the hunters and the noncombatants. This afternoon was a good start to breaking down that barrier, but Elena knew that they still had a long way to go.
The aching in her eyes began to grow into a headache that promised to be massive. With a groan, she got up and stumbled towards the bed.
* * *
The hunters called to each other as they searched the forest for the spying bloodsuckers. They were quite thorough and well organized about it. Fortunately, the vampires managed to remain hidden.
After half an hour, when the commotion had died and they were certain that no hunter lingered cunningly in the dark, the vampires stirred and took stock.
::High way?:: Tristan asked. It might have been safer but, although the forest was quite densely wooded, the branches did not overlap enough for the four to traverse above-ground.
One at a time, they dropped, absorbing the impact with bent knees and hardly causing a stir in the air, much less any noise. They were vampires. They were the night's own and they slunk through it with the ease of belonging.
Even Salvatore didn't do half-badly.
They headed towards the edge of the Baron place, keeping alert for the sounds of pursuit.
::Why are we letting him live again?:: Tristan demanded plaintively, referring to Stefan. The Italian vampire pretended not to hear the open statement. ::Why are we letting him come with us?::
::Because he's one of us now,:: Makoe said coolly. ::Aren't you?:: he asked Stefan directly. He added a wordless sense of betrayal/pain/revenge behind his question. Not that he believed for a moment that Salvatore would harm the girl, but it would be...interesting to see how he reacted. And it would shut Tristan up.
Stefan didn't answer right away and Makoe could sense Tristan gathering himself to push the issue when the sound of high-pitched slithering filled the night. Makoe felt something with a life of its own wind around his body and arms, and then another and another. He belatedly realized that what he heard was the singing of ropes cutting through the air.
In an eye-blink, he was bound immobile. Three lengths of stout fiber-chord wound around him tightly, the ends held, presumably, by three hunters that he could not make out despite his superior vampire night vision. From Tristan's cursing, Makoe guessed that the others suffered the same fate.
How had the hunters snuck up on them? They had stuck to telepathy, had barely disturbed nocturnal forest denizens save those that caught their scent and recognized them as predators.
When the ropes had stilled and only the sound of someone – probably Tristan – struggling against the bonds could be heard, Makoe caught movement in the dark. He made out a single figure rising from where it had been seated demurely against a tree.
"You saved me a bit of trouble, coming here on your own," a man said conversationally.
Was it his imagination or were the surrounding lightening? No, the darkness _was_ lifting. And since none of the vampires were able to cast light, Makoe guessed that it was the man's doing. He noticed that beyond their immediate vicinity, the forest was still shrouded in gloom. Overhead, the trees seemed to lean inwards as if peering at the proceedings within the dome of light. Makoe looked for the hunters holding the ropes and got a shock when he saw no one there. The ropes hung in mid-air, as taut as if muscular men kept a firm grip on each end.
"What the–" Tristan began, but he didn't get a chance to finish the explosive and probably colorful question. Another rope slithered out and wound itself about the bottom half of his face, effectively silencing any outburst.
"Do not profane this place with your ignorant mouthings," the stranger said, sounding serene and stern at the same time.
Aodhan studied him in the growing illumination. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, slightly older than Makoe himself, with tousled red hair and disconcertingly clear blue eyes. It was clear from the stiff, stilted way he held himself that he was no vampire.
Salvatore and Leon wore similar wary expressions. Tristan's eyes were wide with outrage above his unconventional gag. Carefully, Aodhan asked, "Who are you?"
"I am called Jerrick," the other said and Makoe noted the ambiguous phrasing of the answer.
A memory teased the edges of his consciousness. Makoe's mind started putting the pieces together. Magic and the restraint on Tristan. Above him, Makoe thought the trees whispered. It was nothing more than a stray wind rustling leaves, of course, and yet –
::It would seem you remember something of your mother's people,:: a voice said in his head. It didn't belong to Leon or Tristan, and was too resonant and assured to be Salvatore.
Makoe softly gave voice to the answer his mind presented him. ::Druid?::
The man's clear eyes met his. Aodhan knew that neither of them moved, but the eyes seemed to come closer and swallow him up. He recognized mind-control and fought it. Of the trio, he had always been the strongest and he turned his well-honed powers against the man. For one who casts light and mentally manipulates multiple objects at once, Jerrick's presence was surprisingly fragile.
Someone had told Makoe once that his mind was a dark, still place, where black, icy pools reflected the light of searing meteors that occasionally, unpredictably streaked an empty sky. He alternately smothered the invader in cold and darkness that was his nature and scorched him with the fire for which he was named. But Jerrick dodged every thrown bolt and dove _into_ the inky, freezing lakes, past the icy cages Makoe crafted, penetrating his shields. Like the crafty fox, the invader won not by strength but by guile.
Makoe felt gossamer webs spring up, too fast to be burned away, swathing his mind with dreams. He was thinking, as he slipped into the void, that the other had not answered his question.
Author's Note: Aodhan is a Celtic name meaning fire.
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
Date posted: 26 November 2002
~ Twenty One ~
::What about Stefan Salvatore?::
Jerrick's question sounded mockingly in her memory. Well, now she knew; he would be safe. Pain coursed like fire through her veins as the tide of hunters flowed past her on either side.
::Why didn't you start with me?::
She had been unprepared for the harsh words and they had hurt all the more for it. And when he had threatened her, she knew him too well to believe he meant it. The threat, the physical intimidation; bravado and self-preservation. He had been defending his pride, showing her that he was not hurt. But she hadn't missed the fact that he had stayed in the path of the gun and her heart squeezed painfully; even when he thought she had betrayed him, he protected her.
The knowledge was small consolation when he had left without a backward glance.
Dusk had fallen by then and the hunters were swallowed up in the gloom beneath the trees. They had scarcely noticed her, although she thought Seth paused to spare her a look before disappearing in hot pursuit of prey.
Prey. That's all he was to them. Elena hoped that the darkness would give the vampires enough of an advantage to escape. And that Stefan would not suffer at the hands of the others.
She wondered, distantly, who those three were and how he came to be in their company. Stefan had never indicated any ties with other vampires. They had obviously been involved in the fight last night.
"Why did you do that?" a quiet voice asked at her elbow. Elena was surprised again and felt her expression change, a mask over her emotions. She shot a glance to the side and made out a shadowy silhouette. It was undefined, but with the voice, she identified the speaker.
"Why did you lie to him?" Eiran prompted when she kept silent. She turned back to the house and started in that direction with him trailing her by a step.
"How do you know about that?" she asked, buying time to think.
"That little hunter-girl said that you were taking a walk in the woods. I followed, but when I arrived, I found you facing three vampires. I heard and saw everything. He reacted very fast," Eiran said, referring to Stefan.
Yes, Elena agreed silently. She had not seen him move like that in a long time. Sometimes, she almost forgot that he as a vampire. But not right then.
"Milady–"
"Elena," she corrected. It was almost automatic now, the flash of annoyance barely a flicker.
"Elena. Why? If you'd rather not answer, you can tell me to go away and stop prying," he added, realizing that he was pushing for an answer.
She sighed. "You saw how the hunters went after them. If he knew the truth, he'd insist on staying. What are the chances of him surviving that? Or he might ask me to leave with him. And we spend the rest of our lives running from vampires wanting to kill me. Will he survive that? He can die, for all that he's immortal."
There were other reasons, but Elena didn't feel like enumerating them. Eiran was silent after that. Their eyes adjusted to the increased illumination as they approached the mansion; the house was ablaze with lights and bustling with an inevitable level of activity that came from so many living in close quarters.
Eiran silently escorted Elena to her room. She was about to shut the door when Sheila and another female Turned appeared. "Mil–Elena. Jerrick says that we are to go to your old apartment and collect your belongings for you. Is there anything in particular you'd like us to bring back?"
Elena was momentarily lost in fury. It took her a moment to realize that the girls were still waiting for an answer. "There's nothing. Just my clothes," she said, not caring if her tone was harsh. The glow of pride at being given the task left their faces abruptly at this. They bobbed their heads awkwardly and fled. Elena shut the door firmly in Eiran's face.
Safely alone, she leaned against the door and slid downward. When she no longer had to hold herself upright with an effort, she wound her arms around her bent legs and rested burning eyes on suddenly weak knees.
::Damn you, Jerrick,:: Elena thought angrily. Of course he would have know of the 'visitors'. And had done nothing about them. Even as she thought that, she could almost hear him say calmly, "It was necessary." ::Well, damn necessity and practicality and the order of the universe.::
Eyes still closed against her knees, her mind wandered over the other reasons to keep Stefan away. If the intrinsic animosity between 'her' side – the hunters – and 'his' – the vampires – was not enough, if the coming battles were not sufficient reason, the potential chaos unleashed in the event she lost control of an unmaking made her choice easy. If she was going to tear out a chunk of the world with a hundred-mile radius, she did _not_ want him nearby.
And then there was the fact that as soon as Stefan found out about her ability to Turn vampires, chances are he would _want_ to be Turned. And if he was one of those who could not adapt to being human again... No, Elena was not willing to risk that at all.
And so, she had misled him, turning him against her on purpose, driving him away with anger.
::Of course,:: a little voice whispered, ::You're pushing away the very reason you were willing to accept the task in the first place.:: Yes, the task was her price for a second chance, a second life with him. ::But,:: she told herself fiercely, ::What's the point if he's dead? It's easier to kiss and make up than to resurrect a 500-year-old vampire.::
::It's the right thing to do,:: she assured herself. ::This doesn't hurt as much as it would if you got him killed,:: she said logically. ::Now, think of something else.::
And first thing that came to mind was the incompatibility between her Turning vampires – in effect, 'saving' them – and her working with hunters – who killed the very vampires she was trying to help. That thought segued into the split within 'their side', between the hunters and the noncombatants. This afternoon was a good start to breaking down that barrier, but Elena knew that they still had a long way to go.
The aching in her eyes began to grow into a headache that promised to be massive. With a groan, she got up and stumbled towards the bed.
* * *
The hunters called to each other as they searched the forest for the spying bloodsuckers. They were quite thorough and well organized about it. Fortunately, the vampires managed to remain hidden.
After half an hour, when the commotion had died and they were certain that no hunter lingered cunningly in the dark, the vampires stirred and took stock.
::High way?:: Tristan asked. It might have been safer but, although the forest was quite densely wooded, the branches did not overlap enough for the four to traverse above-ground.
One at a time, they dropped, absorbing the impact with bent knees and hardly causing a stir in the air, much less any noise. They were vampires. They were the night's own and they slunk through it with the ease of belonging.
Even Salvatore didn't do half-badly.
They headed towards the edge of the Baron place, keeping alert for the sounds of pursuit.
::Why are we letting him live again?:: Tristan demanded plaintively, referring to Stefan. The Italian vampire pretended not to hear the open statement. ::Why are we letting him come with us?::
::Because he's one of us now,:: Makoe said coolly. ::Aren't you?:: he asked Stefan directly. He added a wordless sense of betrayal/pain/revenge behind his question. Not that he believed for a moment that Salvatore would harm the girl, but it would be...interesting to see how he reacted. And it would shut Tristan up.
Stefan didn't answer right away and Makoe could sense Tristan gathering himself to push the issue when the sound of high-pitched slithering filled the night. Makoe felt something with a life of its own wind around his body and arms, and then another and another. He belatedly realized that what he heard was the singing of ropes cutting through the air.
In an eye-blink, he was bound immobile. Three lengths of stout fiber-chord wound around him tightly, the ends held, presumably, by three hunters that he could not make out despite his superior vampire night vision. From Tristan's cursing, Makoe guessed that the others suffered the same fate.
How had the hunters snuck up on them? They had stuck to telepathy, had barely disturbed nocturnal forest denizens save those that caught their scent and recognized them as predators.
When the ropes had stilled and only the sound of someone – probably Tristan – struggling against the bonds could be heard, Makoe caught movement in the dark. He made out a single figure rising from where it had been seated demurely against a tree.
"You saved me a bit of trouble, coming here on your own," a man said conversationally.
Was it his imagination or were the surrounding lightening? No, the darkness _was_ lifting. And since none of the vampires were able to cast light, Makoe guessed that it was the man's doing. He noticed that beyond their immediate vicinity, the forest was still shrouded in gloom. Overhead, the trees seemed to lean inwards as if peering at the proceedings within the dome of light. Makoe looked for the hunters holding the ropes and got a shock when he saw no one there. The ropes hung in mid-air, as taut as if muscular men kept a firm grip on each end.
"What the–" Tristan began, but he didn't get a chance to finish the explosive and probably colorful question. Another rope slithered out and wound itself about the bottom half of his face, effectively silencing any outburst.
"Do not profane this place with your ignorant mouthings," the stranger said, sounding serene and stern at the same time.
Aodhan studied him in the growing illumination. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, slightly older than Makoe himself, with tousled red hair and disconcertingly clear blue eyes. It was clear from the stiff, stilted way he held himself that he was no vampire.
Salvatore and Leon wore similar wary expressions. Tristan's eyes were wide with outrage above his unconventional gag. Carefully, Aodhan asked, "Who are you?"
"I am called Jerrick," the other said and Makoe noted the ambiguous phrasing of the answer.
A memory teased the edges of his consciousness. Makoe's mind started putting the pieces together. Magic and the restraint on Tristan. Above him, Makoe thought the trees whispered. It was nothing more than a stray wind rustling leaves, of course, and yet –
::It would seem you remember something of your mother's people,:: a voice said in his head. It didn't belong to Leon or Tristan, and was too resonant and assured to be Salvatore.
Makoe softly gave voice to the answer his mind presented him. ::Druid?::
The man's clear eyes met his. Aodhan knew that neither of them moved, but the eyes seemed to come closer and swallow him up. He recognized mind-control and fought it. Of the trio, he had always been the strongest and he turned his well-honed powers against the man. For one who casts light and mentally manipulates multiple objects at once, Jerrick's presence was surprisingly fragile.
Someone had told Makoe once that his mind was a dark, still place, where black, icy pools reflected the light of searing meteors that occasionally, unpredictably streaked an empty sky. He alternately smothered the invader in cold and darkness that was his nature and scorched him with the fire for which he was named. But Jerrick dodged every thrown bolt and dove _into_ the inky, freezing lakes, past the icy cages Makoe crafted, penetrating his shields. Like the crafty fox, the invader won not by strength but by guile.
Makoe felt gossamer webs spring up, too fast to be burned away, swathing his mind with dreams. He was thinking, as he slipped into the void, that the other had not answered his question.
Author's Note: Aodhan is a Celtic name meaning fire.