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: 30 December 2002
Author's Notes: Many apologies for the wait. Expect the next chapter sometime Wednesday or Thursday, I'd say. Happy New Year to you all, particularly the kind souls who've responded to my pleas for feedback!
~ Twenty Nine ~
Blood spurted from Elena's lips and her body bent in half. She remained in that position, putting out a hand blindly to grab the shoulder attached to the warm hands that supported her. She sank slowly to the ground, easing herself off her shaky legs with the help of the healer holding her.
Safely on floor, she gasped for breath, detachedly noticing the red flecks on the gray-veined white marble. It took her a couple minutes to regain control enough to lift her head and meet concerned blue eyes. Madelene Ernst sat back on her heels and handed her a tissue for the nosebleed that had also started.
The worried look darted to Jerrick. "I think we'd better stop. This is not working and it's hurting her."
Elena followed her gaze and met the man's considering gaze. "We'll stop," he said, at length, "For tonight," he added, banishing Maddy's sigh of relief. She was a healer, first and foremost, and it cut her deeply to see Elena suffering as she struggled to transmute raw Power into healing energy.
The woman shook her head vehemently. Leader or no, she would not comply with his unethical, uncaring orders without a fight. "We're leaving for the hunt in three days. She," and she pointed a firm finger at the shaking girl on the floor, "Will not have mastered the skills necessary in that time. If we keep this up, we'll only injure her seriously. So we'd better start thinking about alternatives, because teaching her to heal is not an option." Maddy's blue eyes were lighter then Elena's and at the moment, they were hard and uncompromising.
Jerrick fixed her in a bland look that gave no clue as to what was going through his mind. Elena thought Madelene held her breath until he responded. "What if she channels the energy at you?"
The healer considered this for a silent moment. "It sounds viable," she said slowly. "We sometimes meld our strength to heal serious or complex wounds and that's rather like having energy channeled into us–"
"The amount of energy involved would burn you out," Elena broke in, her voice as unsteady as the rest of her.
Jerrick stilled and Elena was struck by the thought that he did not appreciate her pointing that fact out to the other woman. Then, he nodded slowly. "Well, you've had more success with the witches, fortunately, and the diviners report that your skill is sufficient to handle some simple weather tweaks – work that requires more energy than expertise, I'm told. Splitting the Power among these three should eliminate that risk."
Elena's mouth twisted at his cavalier tone. "I haven't tried doing all three at the same time. And doing so with feral, titanic Power in my hands... well, you'll understand if I'm a little less than gung-ho."
"We'll definitely need a greater safety margin than that. Contingency for things going awry," Maddy put in, clearly siding with Elena.
Jerrick seemed unaffected by being ganged up on. "As to the first," he addressed Elena, "We won't know until we try. And as to the second, we merely have to do the first enough so that you're able to handle it when the time comes."
Both females stared at his overconfident statements with varying degrees of anger and disbelief. Reading the defiance in their demeanor, Jerrick's tone slid into a silky challenge, "Unless you have a better suggestion?"
The girls exchanged glances, a quick, silent communion. Maddy raised her eyebrows inquiringly. Elena, faintly shuddering with weakness and pain could not string her thoughts together clearly enough to think of an alternative. She shook her head slowly, bowing in defeat.
Jerrick's voice now hardened to implacability. "Then there is no more debate, for there is no choice. You _will_ do it, Elena, because you have to. You _will_ manage, or die – with all the rest – trying."
* * *
It was four in the morning, according to the clock.
At least, Stefan was reasonably certain it was four in the _morning_, unless he had lost twelve hours somewhere along the way. He was sitting on the armchair facing the door – and consequently, the clock – watching the pendulum trace its monotonous journey across time.
He should have been dead asleep, exhausted after the last marathon round with Samar and Makoe.
After their initial encounter, he had decided to forgo further episodes. The petite girl had hunted him down – quite likely at the instruction of their pokerfaced instructor – when he had failed to appear for their session. When he had demurred, they had brought the lesson to _him_.
He had resented the liberty and the coercion at first. Samar's genuine eagerness and Makoe's uncomplicated, if unreasoning insistence that he learn to fight, melted away the ill feeling after the first day. Stefan reflected, with a shade of humor, that beating someone up in a no-holds-barred manner broke down barriers of civility and formed bonds between individuals that usually took years of friendship to develop. Lately, they had spent their time cooling down and catching their breath in companionable talk. Samar carried the bulk of the conversation; Makoe didn't say much but lent a presence to the exchange. Stefan had been surprised to discover that Samar could be irrepressibly charming when not annoyed. Which was rare, but...
::It's all good,:: the little voice of logic whispered in the stillness of the night and for once, Stefan agreed wholeheartedly.
And yet, he couldn't sleep. Ironic that insomnia should develop now when he didn't have anything better to do.
"Sleep has ever been a mystery," a quiet voice said suddenly. Stefan peered into the shadows of the right corridor to see Leon propping a shoulder against the wall. "Aristotle produced a discussion on the nature of sleep and waking, but till today no one can really say what causes sleep or dreams." The slender vampire moved to take the couch, facing Stefan. Instead of tipping his head back and shutting his eyes, as was his habit, he supported his head in one hand, elbow resting on the arm of the chair. The brown eyes regarded Stefan peacefully.
Still waters run deep.
The old adage leapt into Stefan's mind unbidden.
"Aristotle believed that sleep originated from the heart," Stefan returned, recalling how he'd read that among the works of the great thinker's works. "And that it is simply caused by heaviness due to the absorption of nutrition. How did you know I was thinking about sleep?" he asked, although not as defensively as he might have, once upon a time. Maybe it was the whole prisoner thing, or maybe it was the late hour. Perspectives changed in the dead of night.
The other's mouth quirked. "I've had the same conversation with myself often enough to have an idea," he answered. "It's ironic that one of the things an insomniac thinks about is sleep. You're settling in," he added, not referring to Stefan's current state, but a more general observation.
Stefan assumed that Tristan and Leon were aware of the trio's antics, by the sounds of destruction, if nothing else. He had never seen either vampire during the matches, but then again, he had little attention to spare in those times.
"Benefiting from Makoe's expertise," Stefan said politely, his muscles loosening as he slumped further into the chair in an effort to relax. The laid-back vampire's presence was strangely soothing and they fell into easy camaraderie born of hours of silent puttering among the cases of books.
Leon smiled slightly. "You can guess how that arrangement came about in the first place," he commented. At Stefan's inquiring look, he elaborated. "How Makoe started giving Samar fighting lessons. She was angry with him for some reason one day and tried to make her displeasure felt – painfully. Makoe's very good at fighting, so she obviously didn't get very far. He began goading with sarcastic recommendations and since it was valid advice she listened. It happened a few more times before Samar came up with the idea to ask him to teach her how to fight properly."
For the first time, Stefan wondered about their personal histories; how they had all become vampires and what they had been before. He cautiously asked Leon.
"Ah, well, no great epic there. I was a colonist in the 1600s. I was mauled during a conflict with the Natives and was beyond help. A comrade at arms changed me to save my life," he said succinctly. "As for the others, their stories are not mine to tell. But I will say that you can ask; if they prefer not to reveal it, they'll just tell you so and with no harm done." Leon's phrasing shifted slightly as if talking about his past brought him back to that frame of mind.
"Speaking of history, did I ever tell you how I first met your brother?" Stefan shook his head, feeling a familiar spark of interest. This time, he didn't bother to hide it. Leon smiled at some memory. Instead of launching into the account, however, he dipped the hand that had been holding his head below the end table at his elbow and withdrew a wooden box.
"This is going to take a while. In the meantime, can I interest you in a game of chess?" he asked. The two small metal latches flicked open with a soft snap and inside the box were assorted figures in solid wood, half of them dark, half pale, with green felt at the bottom of each. The box itself became the chessboard.
"Our Mr. Jerrick was kind enough to include this in the items he sent us," Leon said dryly, setting up the board on the coffee table between them when Stefan smiled in acceptance. Stefan inched his chair within easy reach of the board, mentally recalling how the game was went. He hadn't played in a very long time.
They spoke deep into the night and one game led to another. There were times when the silence stretched, broken only by the running of the clock, but there was no awkwardness in those minutes.
Author's Note: References made to Aristotle's _On Sleep and Sleeplessness_, translated by J.I. Beare.
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
Date posted: 30 December 2002
Author's Notes: Many apologies for the wait. Expect the next chapter sometime Wednesday or Thursday, I'd say. Happy New Year to you all, particularly the kind souls who've responded to my pleas for feedback!
~ Twenty Nine ~
Blood spurted from Elena's lips and her body bent in half. She remained in that position, putting out a hand blindly to grab the shoulder attached to the warm hands that supported her. She sank slowly to the ground, easing herself off her shaky legs with the help of the healer holding her.
Safely on floor, she gasped for breath, detachedly noticing the red flecks on the gray-veined white marble. It took her a couple minutes to regain control enough to lift her head and meet concerned blue eyes. Madelene Ernst sat back on her heels and handed her a tissue for the nosebleed that had also started.
The worried look darted to Jerrick. "I think we'd better stop. This is not working and it's hurting her."
Elena followed her gaze and met the man's considering gaze. "We'll stop," he said, at length, "For tonight," he added, banishing Maddy's sigh of relief. She was a healer, first and foremost, and it cut her deeply to see Elena suffering as she struggled to transmute raw Power into healing energy.
The woman shook her head vehemently. Leader or no, she would not comply with his unethical, uncaring orders without a fight. "We're leaving for the hunt in three days. She," and she pointed a firm finger at the shaking girl on the floor, "Will not have mastered the skills necessary in that time. If we keep this up, we'll only injure her seriously. So we'd better start thinking about alternatives, because teaching her to heal is not an option." Maddy's blue eyes were lighter then Elena's and at the moment, they were hard and uncompromising.
Jerrick fixed her in a bland look that gave no clue as to what was going through his mind. Elena thought Madelene held her breath until he responded. "What if she channels the energy at you?"
The healer considered this for a silent moment. "It sounds viable," she said slowly. "We sometimes meld our strength to heal serious or complex wounds and that's rather like having energy channeled into us–"
"The amount of energy involved would burn you out," Elena broke in, her voice as unsteady as the rest of her.
Jerrick stilled and Elena was struck by the thought that he did not appreciate her pointing that fact out to the other woman. Then, he nodded slowly. "Well, you've had more success with the witches, fortunately, and the diviners report that your skill is sufficient to handle some simple weather tweaks – work that requires more energy than expertise, I'm told. Splitting the Power among these three should eliminate that risk."
Elena's mouth twisted at his cavalier tone. "I haven't tried doing all three at the same time. And doing so with feral, titanic Power in my hands... well, you'll understand if I'm a little less than gung-ho."
"We'll definitely need a greater safety margin than that. Contingency for things going awry," Maddy put in, clearly siding with Elena.
Jerrick seemed unaffected by being ganged up on. "As to the first," he addressed Elena, "We won't know until we try. And as to the second, we merely have to do the first enough so that you're able to handle it when the time comes."
Both females stared at his overconfident statements with varying degrees of anger and disbelief. Reading the defiance in their demeanor, Jerrick's tone slid into a silky challenge, "Unless you have a better suggestion?"
The girls exchanged glances, a quick, silent communion. Maddy raised her eyebrows inquiringly. Elena, faintly shuddering with weakness and pain could not string her thoughts together clearly enough to think of an alternative. She shook her head slowly, bowing in defeat.
Jerrick's voice now hardened to implacability. "Then there is no more debate, for there is no choice. You _will_ do it, Elena, because you have to. You _will_ manage, or die – with all the rest – trying."
* * *
It was four in the morning, according to the clock.
At least, Stefan was reasonably certain it was four in the _morning_, unless he had lost twelve hours somewhere along the way. He was sitting on the armchair facing the door – and consequently, the clock – watching the pendulum trace its monotonous journey across time.
He should have been dead asleep, exhausted after the last marathon round with Samar and Makoe.
After their initial encounter, he had decided to forgo further episodes. The petite girl had hunted him down – quite likely at the instruction of their pokerfaced instructor – when he had failed to appear for their session. When he had demurred, they had brought the lesson to _him_.
He had resented the liberty and the coercion at first. Samar's genuine eagerness and Makoe's uncomplicated, if unreasoning insistence that he learn to fight, melted away the ill feeling after the first day. Stefan reflected, with a shade of humor, that beating someone up in a no-holds-barred manner broke down barriers of civility and formed bonds between individuals that usually took years of friendship to develop. Lately, they had spent their time cooling down and catching their breath in companionable talk. Samar carried the bulk of the conversation; Makoe didn't say much but lent a presence to the exchange. Stefan had been surprised to discover that Samar could be irrepressibly charming when not annoyed. Which was rare, but...
::It's all good,:: the little voice of logic whispered in the stillness of the night and for once, Stefan agreed wholeheartedly.
And yet, he couldn't sleep. Ironic that insomnia should develop now when he didn't have anything better to do.
"Sleep has ever been a mystery," a quiet voice said suddenly. Stefan peered into the shadows of the right corridor to see Leon propping a shoulder against the wall. "Aristotle produced a discussion on the nature of sleep and waking, but till today no one can really say what causes sleep or dreams." The slender vampire moved to take the couch, facing Stefan. Instead of tipping his head back and shutting his eyes, as was his habit, he supported his head in one hand, elbow resting on the arm of the chair. The brown eyes regarded Stefan peacefully.
Still waters run deep.
The old adage leapt into Stefan's mind unbidden.
"Aristotle believed that sleep originated from the heart," Stefan returned, recalling how he'd read that among the works of the great thinker's works. "And that it is simply caused by heaviness due to the absorption of nutrition. How did you know I was thinking about sleep?" he asked, although not as defensively as he might have, once upon a time. Maybe it was the whole prisoner thing, or maybe it was the late hour. Perspectives changed in the dead of night.
The other's mouth quirked. "I've had the same conversation with myself often enough to have an idea," he answered. "It's ironic that one of the things an insomniac thinks about is sleep. You're settling in," he added, not referring to Stefan's current state, but a more general observation.
Stefan assumed that Tristan and Leon were aware of the trio's antics, by the sounds of destruction, if nothing else. He had never seen either vampire during the matches, but then again, he had little attention to spare in those times.
"Benefiting from Makoe's expertise," Stefan said politely, his muscles loosening as he slumped further into the chair in an effort to relax. The laid-back vampire's presence was strangely soothing and they fell into easy camaraderie born of hours of silent puttering among the cases of books.
Leon smiled slightly. "You can guess how that arrangement came about in the first place," he commented. At Stefan's inquiring look, he elaborated. "How Makoe started giving Samar fighting lessons. She was angry with him for some reason one day and tried to make her displeasure felt – painfully. Makoe's very good at fighting, so she obviously didn't get very far. He began goading with sarcastic recommendations and since it was valid advice she listened. It happened a few more times before Samar came up with the idea to ask him to teach her how to fight properly."
For the first time, Stefan wondered about their personal histories; how they had all become vampires and what they had been before. He cautiously asked Leon.
"Ah, well, no great epic there. I was a colonist in the 1600s. I was mauled during a conflict with the Natives and was beyond help. A comrade at arms changed me to save my life," he said succinctly. "As for the others, their stories are not mine to tell. But I will say that you can ask; if they prefer not to reveal it, they'll just tell you so and with no harm done." Leon's phrasing shifted slightly as if talking about his past brought him back to that frame of mind.
"Speaking of history, did I ever tell you how I first met your brother?" Stefan shook his head, feeling a familiar spark of interest. This time, he didn't bother to hide it. Leon smiled at some memory. Instead of launching into the account, however, he dipped the hand that had been holding his head below the end table at his elbow and withdrew a wooden box.
"This is going to take a while. In the meantime, can I interest you in a game of chess?" he asked. The two small metal latches flicked open with a soft snap and inside the box were assorted figures in solid wood, half of them dark, half pale, with green felt at the bottom of each. The box itself became the chessboard.
"Our Mr. Jerrick was kind enough to include this in the items he sent us," Leon said dryly, setting up the board on the coffee table between them when Stefan smiled in acceptance. Stefan inched his chair within easy reach of the board, mentally recalling how the game was went. He hadn't played in a very long time.
They spoke deep into the night and one game led to another. There were times when the silence stretched, broken only by the running of the clock, but there was no awkwardness in those minutes.
Author's Note: References made to Aristotle's _On Sleep and Sleeplessness_, translated by J.I. Beare.