Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
Date posted: 19 January 2003
~ Thirty Four ~
His people were celebrating. In dance and song, in food and drink, in love and laughter and tears, they rejoiced. It was for moments like these that he existed.
The clan celebrated this evening to welcome a new life to their numbers. It was rare that this happened, just as it was uncommon for them to lose one of their own. He looked upon them; the young and ageless faces among the few old and peaceful ones. The deep blue of lapis lazuli glowed at fingers, wrists and throats, in hair, on belts and dangling from earlobes.
Everywhere he walked, faces aglow turned to him, beckoning him to share in their jubilee – "Omar..." – offering him a taste from the cup of their happiness – "Sire..." – some of them visibly reliving their own moment of choice. On a night like this, he could be truly happy, till the euphoria spilled and overflowed. All efforts and sacrifices, all prices and pain, were rewarded tenfold.
But his best reward came when he crossed paths with the source of their elation. The young, beloved face held contentment and, thankfully, no hint of fear or uncertainty. "Cally," he pronounced the foreign name with the ease of long use. She smiled at him, and left the arm of her chosen, to come into his embrace readily. She hugged him, then craned her neck back to meet his gaze. She smiled radiantly.
This, his newest child, who had accepted his offer of life.
* * *
The door of the library was rudely flung open and banged resoundingly against the wall. The timid young girl sitting inside winced, sure that there would be an unsightly hole in the wall as a result of this exhibition of temper.
"Damn it, Jerrick," Crystal shouted, storming into the room. "You set me up! You told the vampires that the Enemy is dead so that they would stop attacking and you could steal my hunters, didn't you?"
"No," was the unruffled reply of the man who trailed in after the fiery redhead. He limped, but his movements were so economical that one didn't really notice it on casual observation. Unlike the woman, who was blind with fury, Jerrick noticed the girl. He spared her a sympathetic smile and pointed his head to the door, indicating that perhaps she should escape while she could.
May-Ling needed no second hint. She rose, clutching the book she'd been reading, and scuttled out of the library, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. Her eyes were wide as she quietly shut the door behind her.
"You know as well as I do that you can't face another offensive. A strike of our own, however, is another story," he went on when the door clicked softly. He added in an attempt to soothe her, "I'm taking barely a handful. You have more hunters than you know what to do with, as it is. What difference could it possibly make?"
She growled at him, unimpressed by his logic. "It's not a matter of numbers. It's the principle of it. You manipulated me to fit your own designs and I will not stand for it!" They faced each other in silence, Crystal glowering, Jerrick disdainful.
"I told you the last time that it's not your decision to make," Jerrick reminded her, breaking the silence." You don't own them, Crystal, anymore than I do. It's their choice whether they want to join the attack or not. And they've made their choice." He smiled thinly. "But I'll fight you again, if it'll make you feel better."
* * *
Unfortunately – or perhaps luckily for Tristan's dignity – they didn't find any spare guitar strings.
Two days later, the first frayed string snapped. Tristan managed to work around it, compensating for the missing string with fancy fingering. Another string gave way the next day. On the fourth day, two strings broke, one drawing a long, fine line of blood diagonally over the musician's right cheek as it recoiled.
The cut faded before Tristan temper did.
Even accomplished as he was, he could not do much with two strings. Instead, he took to prowling the entire subterranean prison. His restlessness was infectious and understandable. They had been held there for almost three weeks with nothing to do and no idea as to why they were being held and for how long. The ambiguity of their fate was quite possibly the worst thing about their captivity.
An unexpected result of Stefan's finding the instrument was that Tristan wasn't as reclusive as before. In the past five days, Tristan's musical prowess had been established, as evinced by the hint of respect in Stefan's eyes. The Italian vampire seemed less tentative around him now, although he was still far from comfortable in Tristan's company.
"If we don't get out of here soon, I'm going to go crazy," Tristan announced vehemently on the fifth day.
"Crazier," Samar corrected just loud enough to be heard. She had her nose buried in a book, having given up on chess. Stefan and Leon had had only marginal success in trying to teach her the finer points of the game, and watching convoluted strategy between two experienced players got old really fast.
Absently, she thought that it might be an effective way to encourage the youth of America to read; lock them somewhere for a month with no other form of activity available. Then again, some would probably choose to vegetate rather than open a book. Like a certain individual who was pacing the length and width of the room with almost frenetic energy at that very moment.
Tristan did not _quite_ climb the walls, but gave that impression from time to time. Looking up, Samar could tell that Stefan was distracted from the match he and Leon were engaged in. He wasn't the only one.
When he passed her peripheral vision for the thousandth time, Samar's book hit the throw pillow on her lap with an emphatic thump. "Tristan, either sit down or go pace somewhere else. You're bothering me," she said crossly. She raised the book in a clear signal for him to go away.
"_You_ leave. You don't need the space, _I_ do, and this is the biggest room," he shot back.
The book descended again. She eyed him, irritation flaring. "I don't see what your problem is. The others are fine," she said, gesturing to the chess players and Makoe who was occupying the rest of the coffee table not taken up by the chessboard. He was doing something arcane-looking with odds and ends of electrical and electronic devices scavenged during their foray into the storerooms.
Tristan's snort broke into her thoughts. "When have you ever seen Makoe show any kind of reaction? And Leon – hell," he ignored the gaze Samar sent that should have skewered him, "He's sedentary by nature: he _likes_ just laying about and doing nothing. As for Salvatore–"
"Tristan!" Devilment gleamed in Samar's wide, overly-innocent eyes. "You know what 'sedentary' means? Oh, we're so proud of you," she cried, heroically suppressing laughter.
Her brother growled and prepared to pounce on her, but was stalled by Stefan's quiet interjection, "What _about_ me, Tristan?"
The tall vampire rounded on him and green eyes met hazel full on. Samar tensed. Her brother tolerated the Italian vampire at best and made no secret of it. Never before had Stefan brought about a confrontation like this. The question gave Tristan a wide opening for vicious attack that Samar doubted he would pass up.
On the other hand, Stefan had come quite a ways from being the stuffy, brooding fellow he had been three weeks ago. If nothing else, he had learned to fight, Samar reminded herself, smiling at the memory. Maybe he'd just _beat_ some courtesy into Tristan.
Tristan looked at him, trailing his eyes down the length of Stefan's body to his toes and back to his eyes in an insolent manner. "You?" he asked insultingly.
::Yes, me,:: Stefan replied telepathically, in an open send so that everyone could hear. His mental voice was steady and, while not loud, clear and not at all hollow.
Tristan stared at him, weighing his reply. "You're a sorry excuse for a person, and even sorrier for a vampire," the lanky man said at last. Sneered, rather.
Samar's body quivered with apprehension. Leon was looking on with a tiny furrow on his brow, clearly concerned. Makoe as always watched the proceedings calmly, as if nothing touched him. Stefan's expression didn't change a hair.
::How would you know?:: he asked, his tone still calm, but unmistakable challenge in his question.
That seemed to floor Tristan, for he blinked. His sneer slipped, but only briefly before he stuck it back firmly in place. "What the animal blood, moping and wimpy attitude not clues enough?" he asked, not deigning to reply through telepathy.
::Maybe. But then, maybe not. As I recall, I wasn't the one moping and lying abed all day these past three weeks.::
Samar couldn't help herself; she snickered. When Tristan glared at her, she said, a touch defensively, "Well, it's true." She tried to imitate Stefan's tone of calm reason, but did not do nearly as well. Out of the corner or her eye, she saw Leon suppressing a smile of his own. Tristan noticed too, and scowled, turning his thundercloud expression back to Stefan.
The Italian was almost as expressionless as Makoe. ::Maybe,:: he went on when he saw he had Tristan's attention again. ::You should get to know me a little better before you decide I'm an utter waste of space,:: he offered sensibly. ::And I'll extend you the same courtesy.::
Tristan was clearly off balance by Stefan's manner; firm and not backing down, but not attacking either. He looked about, slightly disoriented, and blinked as if to ask, "What's this?"
Samar caught his eye and smiled. "Give him a chance, Tristan. He really _has_ changed," she assured. Stefan bent her a repressive look that made her think that he might have been spending too much time with Leon. She could see her brother about to brush off the 'wimp' and jumped in. "What, afraid he might prove you wrong?" she goaded.
Naturally, Tristan took the bait, "Hah!" He glowered at Stefan in his best 'prove me wrong, I dare you' style. "You're on."
Careful to show no emotion, Stefan nodded.
::I can tell that this,:: Samar whispered, irrepressible and sarcastic, to Stefan alone, ::Is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.::
Author's Note: Feedback!
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
Date posted: 19 January 2003
~ Thirty Four ~
His people were celebrating. In dance and song, in food and drink, in love and laughter and tears, they rejoiced. It was for moments like these that he existed.
The clan celebrated this evening to welcome a new life to their numbers. It was rare that this happened, just as it was uncommon for them to lose one of their own. He looked upon them; the young and ageless faces among the few old and peaceful ones. The deep blue of lapis lazuli glowed at fingers, wrists and throats, in hair, on belts and dangling from earlobes.
Everywhere he walked, faces aglow turned to him, beckoning him to share in their jubilee – "Omar..." – offering him a taste from the cup of their happiness – "Sire..." – some of them visibly reliving their own moment of choice. On a night like this, he could be truly happy, till the euphoria spilled and overflowed. All efforts and sacrifices, all prices and pain, were rewarded tenfold.
But his best reward came when he crossed paths with the source of their elation. The young, beloved face held contentment and, thankfully, no hint of fear or uncertainty. "Cally," he pronounced the foreign name with the ease of long use. She smiled at him, and left the arm of her chosen, to come into his embrace readily. She hugged him, then craned her neck back to meet his gaze. She smiled radiantly.
This, his newest child, who had accepted his offer of life.
* * *
The door of the library was rudely flung open and banged resoundingly against the wall. The timid young girl sitting inside winced, sure that there would be an unsightly hole in the wall as a result of this exhibition of temper.
"Damn it, Jerrick," Crystal shouted, storming into the room. "You set me up! You told the vampires that the Enemy is dead so that they would stop attacking and you could steal my hunters, didn't you?"
"No," was the unruffled reply of the man who trailed in after the fiery redhead. He limped, but his movements were so economical that one didn't really notice it on casual observation. Unlike the woman, who was blind with fury, Jerrick noticed the girl. He spared her a sympathetic smile and pointed his head to the door, indicating that perhaps she should escape while she could.
May-Ling needed no second hint. She rose, clutching the book she'd been reading, and scuttled out of the library, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. Her eyes were wide as she quietly shut the door behind her.
"You know as well as I do that you can't face another offensive. A strike of our own, however, is another story," he went on when the door clicked softly. He added in an attempt to soothe her, "I'm taking barely a handful. You have more hunters than you know what to do with, as it is. What difference could it possibly make?"
She growled at him, unimpressed by his logic. "It's not a matter of numbers. It's the principle of it. You manipulated me to fit your own designs and I will not stand for it!" They faced each other in silence, Crystal glowering, Jerrick disdainful.
"I told you the last time that it's not your decision to make," Jerrick reminded her, breaking the silence." You don't own them, Crystal, anymore than I do. It's their choice whether they want to join the attack or not. And they've made their choice." He smiled thinly. "But I'll fight you again, if it'll make you feel better."
* * *
Unfortunately – or perhaps luckily for Tristan's dignity – they didn't find any spare guitar strings.
Two days later, the first frayed string snapped. Tristan managed to work around it, compensating for the missing string with fancy fingering. Another string gave way the next day. On the fourth day, two strings broke, one drawing a long, fine line of blood diagonally over the musician's right cheek as it recoiled.
The cut faded before Tristan temper did.
Even accomplished as he was, he could not do much with two strings. Instead, he took to prowling the entire subterranean prison. His restlessness was infectious and understandable. They had been held there for almost three weeks with nothing to do and no idea as to why they were being held and for how long. The ambiguity of their fate was quite possibly the worst thing about their captivity.
An unexpected result of Stefan's finding the instrument was that Tristan wasn't as reclusive as before. In the past five days, Tristan's musical prowess had been established, as evinced by the hint of respect in Stefan's eyes. The Italian vampire seemed less tentative around him now, although he was still far from comfortable in Tristan's company.
"If we don't get out of here soon, I'm going to go crazy," Tristan announced vehemently on the fifth day.
"Crazier," Samar corrected just loud enough to be heard. She had her nose buried in a book, having given up on chess. Stefan and Leon had had only marginal success in trying to teach her the finer points of the game, and watching convoluted strategy between two experienced players got old really fast.
Absently, she thought that it might be an effective way to encourage the youth of America to read; lock them somewhere for a month with no other form of activity available. Then again, some would probably choose to vegetate rather than open a book. Like a certain individual who was pacing the length and width of the room with almost frenetic energy at that very moment.
Tristan did not _quite_ climb the walls, but gave that impression from time to time. Looking up, Samar could tell that Stefan was distracted from the match he and Leon were engaged in. He wasn't the only one.
When he passed her peripheral vision for the thousandth time, Samar's book hit the throw pillow on her lap with an emphatic thump. "Tristan, either sit down or go pace somewhere else. You're bothering me," she said crossly. She raised the book in a clear signal for him to go away.
"_You_ leave. You don't need the space, _I_ do, and this is the biggest room," he shot back.
The book descended again. She eyed him, irritation flaring. "I don't see what your problem is. The others are fine," she said, gesturing to the chess players and Makoe who was occupying the rest of the coffee table not taken up by the chessboard. He was doing something arcane-looking with odds and ends of electrical and electronic devices scavenged during their foray into the storerooms.
Tristan's snort broke into her thoughts. "When have you ever seen Makoe show any kind of reaction? And Leon – hell," he ignored the gaze Samar sent that should have skewered him, "He's sedentary by nature: he _likes_ just laying about and doing nothing. As for Salvatore–"
"Tristan!" Devilment gleamed in Samar's wide, overly-innocent eyes. "You know what 'sedentary' means? Oh, we're so proud of you," she cried, heroically suppressing laughter.
Her brother growled and prepared to pounce on her, but was stalled by Stefan's quiet interjection, "What _about_ me, Tristan?"
The tall vampire rounded on him and green eyes met hazel full on. Samar tensed. Her brother tolerated the Italian vampire at best and made no secret of it. Never before had Stefan brought about a confrontation like this. The question gave Tristan a wide opening for vicious attack that Samar doubted he would pass up.
On the other hand, Stefan had come quite a ways from being the stuffy, brooding fellow he had been three weeks ago. If nothing else, he had learned to fight, Samar reminded herself, smiling at the memory. Maybe he'd just _beat_ some courtesy into Tristan.
Tristan looked at him, trailing his eyes down the length of Stefan's body to his toes and back to his eyes in an insolent manner. "You?" he asked insultingly.
::Yes, me,:: Stefan replied telepathically, in an open send so that everyone could hear. His mental voice was steady and, while not loud, clear and not at all hollow.
Tristan stared at him, weighing his reply. "You're a sorry excuse for a person, and even sorrier for a vampire," the lanky man said at last. Sneered, rather.
Samar's body quivered with apprehension. Leon was looking on with a tiny furrow on his brow, clearly concerned. Makoe as always watched the proceedings calmly, as if nothing touched him. Stefan's expression didn't change a hair.
::How would you know?:: he asked, his tone still calm, but unmistakable challenge in his question.
That seemed to floor Tristan, for he blinked. His sneer slipped, but only briefly before he stuck it back firmly in place. "What the animal blood, moping and wimpy attitude not clues enough?" he asked, not deigning to reply through telepathy.
::Maybe. But then, maybe not. As I recall, I wasn't the one moping and lying abed all day these past three weeks.::
Samar couldn't help herself; she snickered. When Tristan glared at her, she said, a touch defensively, "Well, it's true." She tried to imitate Stefan's tone of calm reason, but did not do nearly as well. Out of the corner or her eye, she saw Leon suppressing a smile of his own. Tristan noticed too, and scowled, turning his thundercloud expression back to Stefan.
The Italian was almost as expressionless as Makoe. ::Maybe,:: he went on when he saw he had Tristan's attention again. ::You should get to know me a little better before you decide I'm an utter waste of space,:: he offered sensibly. ::And I'll extend you the same courtesy.::
Tristan was clearly off balance by Stefan's manner; firm and not backing down, but not attacking either. He looked about, slightly disoriented, and blinked as if to ask, "What's this?"
Samar caught his eye and smiled. "Give him a chance, Tristan. He really _has_ changed," she assured. Stefan bent her a repressive look that made her think that he might have been spending too much time with Leon. She could see her brother about to brush off the 'wimp' and jumped in. "What, afraid he might prove you wrong?" she goaded.
Naturally, Tristan took the bait, "Hah!" He glowered at Stefan in his best 'prove me wrong, I dare you' style. "You're on."
Careful to show no emotion, Stefan nodded.
::I can tell that this,:: Samar whispered, irrepressible and sarcastic, to Stefan alone, ::Is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.::
Author's Note: Feedback!