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: 4 February 2003
~ Thirty Seven ~
By the time the Old One entered the room, Elena was as tightly wound as a guitar string that was a hair from snapping – or tearing out the soundboard. Her eyes darted to the door at the sound of the knob turning.
A lone, powerfully built man entered the room. The door shut with a muffled thump of thick wood behind him. There was no doubt; it was _him_. And he was alone. Elena closed her eyes in relief. So far so good.
When he had his back turned to her, she eased out of her hiding spot in the shadow of a divan, keeping her eyes trained on his every move. He took a deep breath and paused. Elena froze, heart seeming to leap up her throat. Then he pulled off the gold embroidered stole draped around his neck and undid the tunic of rich crimson. The muscles on his back rippled mesmerizingly under bronzed skin as he shrugged out of the shirt, letting it fall to the ground. He stepped towards the Roman-styled couch and reached for the simple white, wrapped jacket laid out there.
Elena stole forward, holding her breath, tensed to spring in case he turned before she was ready.
Immobilize him. Knock him out, and then finish him off, she thought. There was no time to waste. Her right hand gripped the stout quarterstaff, which could serve as a cudgel at need. The knife in her left hand was held behind her to prevent a stray reflection of light from alerting her prey.
She forgot the sash. The stiff, scratchy gold material crackled loudly in the stillness as her foot came down on it. She froze, fear and anger jolting adrenaline through her system. The Old One whipped around, surprised.
But not alarmed. He did not raise an alarm at the sight of her standing in his chambers bearing weapons, indicative of his faith in his invulnerability. He said something in a language she didn't understand, his tone quizzical. He switched to English when she failed to show comprehension. "Child? How did you come to be here?"
The fact that he addressed her as a child was equally telling. For all that he looked no older than mid-twenty, he obviously saw everyone around him as infants, hardly surprising considering his millennia of existence.
She smiled at him thinly but instead of answering, rushed him. He dodged, lightning quick, and dodged again when she twisted, anticipating his evasion. His brow furrowed.
Elena, on the brink of springing for him again, found herself paralyzed by invisible barriers. ::No!:: she thought futilely. She struggled, trying to get in physical contact with him. She only needed to be able to touch him...
"Ah," said the Old One, standing no more than two feet away. His expression became focused again. The stone beneath Elena turned to mire, covering her feet before solidifying. The invisible bonds melted away, but she could not move forward, her feet trapped beneath solid rock. "It is physical contact you wish. I am afraid I cannot oblige you," he said, sounding almost kind. "We shall talk, in comfort, perhaps?" Behind them both, stone became fluid, swirling up in a column and then hardening again, forming two convenient seats. He seated himself and waited for Elena to do the same. Awkwardly, she did so, balancing with her arms. She imagined the ridiculous sight she made, shackled to the ground, waving her arms to maintain her balance, a weapon in each hand.
They stared at each other for several seconds. The Old One's expression clearly invited explanation. Elena returned his gaze with a steely, brooding one of her own. He sighed. "Youngling, will you not speak?" he asked, in a tone that could only be called gentle. "You are resourceful, to have come this far undetected," – a lie; security around here was almost laughable – "What is your purpose? What have any of us done that you wish us harm?"
Elena's lips drew back, baring her teeth. She maintained her silence, her mind frantically trying to find some way to get to him. The others – she must act quickly. The Old One looked away from her momentarily, towards the door that led to the ceremonial chamber.
He turned back to her, looking faintly regretful. "You will leave me no choice, then." And he struck, swift as a snake.
Elena felt her mind invaded by a second presence, stately as the mountains but lively as a bonfire. And then her mind whirled with images, sounds, sensation...
...murmuring to Stefan and Damon to take care of each other while the light and warmth called to her to come rest. Come rest...
...fighting for control of Bonnie's dreams as Klaus tried to twist them...
...whispering encouragement to Bonnie, that fateful Solstice Eve, "Call me. You have to ask..."
...bending her incorporeal head in acquiescence and acceptance to the offer...
...dancing the mad, dizzy dance of joy in the wet clearing, unaware of the price yet to be paid...
...lying in the warm circle of Stefan's arms...
...watching Eiran's chest heave and his eyes open in wonder...
...spiraling down into Stefan's intoxicating kisses as the golden light of candles threw dancing shadows around them and dinner cooled unheeded on the table...
...fighting for control of the maelstrom of Power unleashed in the wake of Nigel Emery...
...enticing the dark figure in the alley with false promises of fulfillment...
Elena opened her eyes, realizing that tears were streaming down her face. The Old One was watching her with wonder and sorrow in his face. Then his head bent.
"Our pact is broken then. All shall fall. Kier-Achmed and Ambrose-Meremoth are no more. I am to be next it seems." His tone was resigned. Elena felt sensation at her feet and looked down, disbelieving; the rock melted away. She was free!
She raised her eyes to see the Old One beckon with one hand. "Come forth, little one, and do what you must," he instructed. Her eyes narrowed; it had to be a trick...
::No subterfuge, warrior-maid. Merely acceptance of the inevitable.:: He raised his head, suddenly looking old. But serenity shone in his eyes. For a second time, she was engulfed by his stronger mind. He showed her wordlessly, his sincerity. There was no falsehood between minds.
"Why? How can you be so pliant about this?" she whispered. "How can you not hate me for this?"
::There is no blame. You do this to have a life of your own, with your beloved, this Stefan. Am I not Athanasia-Omar, immortal life? How can I begrudge you that, a full life, when I understand it and have shared in the same? Come, let us finish this.:: More emotions and images flashed in her mind. Years and decades and centuries. Men and women of all races and age, each cherished, each precious and loved. Moments of great joy, times of piercing sorrow. He had lived long enough, full enough. He had no regrets, only gratitude.
As he showed her all this and more, he drew her step by step towards him. She was crying again, but this time, her tears were for him. For his beauty of spirit and purity of heart. How could she do this? To unmake him was to rob the world–
::Two things. Three, actually,:: he broke into her anguish. His mental tone was oddly clinical for a moment, like a slap to bring her out of hysteria. Then they returned to their normal vibrant depths. She looked down stupidly as he took her hands in his, holding them with courtly deference. ::Do not harm my children. Use your gift to help those who wish to be human again,:: he told her earnestly. His charge caught her speechless for moments. She could only nod once, which he returned, sealing the agreement. ::And don't cry for me.::
He guided her hands gently to cup his face on either side. ::Begin.::
She gathered herself, concentrated, faltered. "There will be no pain–" she began.
::Do it, girl! Your friends are dying beyond this chamber. They cannot hold off my children for much longer!:: said the one who had once been called Abran Leota, the father of vampires. His command cracked in her mind like a cat-'o-nine-tails, shocked like a splash of icy water in the face. A surge of alarm shot through her at the reminder of the others depending on her. She tightened her grasp and squeezed her eyes shut.
She had no real control over her ability. It flowed as it willed when she let it go. Once again, Elena felt the spreading, as if a part of her reached out to encompass the Old One. It was different this time. She felt him accept it, not resisting but helping her. She tore her attention away from him to fling out a call, as she'd been taught: ::Maddy! Trent! Alvin!:: Immediately, she felt Alvin snake a 'hand' towards her. She 'grasped' it, channeling Power to him. She was taken aback by the way he consumed what she sent without hesitation and demanded more. Their link was limited to channeling so she couldn't ask him what the situation was out there.
The initial nightly sessions of being hammered with raw force by Jerrick had made channeling almost second nature to her. She immersed herself instead in binding the rapidly increasing pool of energy. It grew from a tiny whirlwind into a tempest, picking up force with the Power it leeched, first from his abilities, then from the accumulated energy of the life forces he had gathered and held within him, and finally from his very being.
At that point, the form of Athanasia Omar was sheathed with an incandescent aura and began to blur. It was then that she felt his pain at leaving behind the children he so loved and his longing that things could have been otherwise. And then, with agonizing slowness, she felt his awareness dissolve, until there was no being there, only pure Power.
The maelstrom began to surge insistently. She focused on manipulating the energy, the better to distract herself from thinking about the unexpected and heartbreaking goodness of this Old One. She fell into a self-induced semi-trance, submerged in the impersonal world of shifting Power, hardly aware of her surroundings.
Somewhere, a door was flung open. A tall, elegant woman with long black hair sailed across the threshold. Her beautiful face was twisted into a look of horror and her eyes held a world of suffering as she took in figure of glowing, swirling light before Elena. A second figure appeared in the doorway even as the first threw herself across the room with a wordless cry.
She reached the duo a second too late; the last spark that had once been an Old One danced and winked out as she fell to the ground where he had once stood, sobbing hysterically and choking out words that meant nothing to Elena.
"No!" Dimly, the cry broke through Elena's abstraction. The voice spoke in English and came from the second figure, who stood frozen in the doorway. Galvanized into action, the person pelted forward, proving to be a girl about Elena's age, with hair of bright sunset bound in multiple braids. The varicolored beads at the end of each braid clattered together noisily. She stood over the weeping woman, seeming in shock.
"No! Omar!" the girl screamed, staring unseeing at the first woman. "No..." she said more softly, in disbelief. Coming out of her stupor, she glanced sharply at Elena, who was too involved in restraining the errant Power to do anything to defend herself. Eyes bright with unshed tears and anguish narrowed fiercely.
"You..." the girl hissed poisonously. She bent to pick up the knife Elena had dropped and advanced, emanating black revenge. "You did this. You _killed_ him!" She came right up so that her face was inches away from the blonde's, tipping her head back to make up for the difference in their height. Her nostrils flared and her fair skin blotched awfully under the strain of her grief and hate.
"You killed the most generous, selfless, gentle and loving man there ever was," she spat. Elena did not move, for to do so would disrupt the careful balance she created between channeling the Power to Alvin and keeping the whole in check. Even so, the words stung like a hundred wasps, only the pain went deeper.
"He didn't deserve to die!" the girl was screaming right in her face now. "You had _no right_!" Then she seemed to lose what small control she had over her emotions. "_Monster!_" The word hit Elena, even in her tranced state, like a slap in the face. "You cold-blooded, evil–!" The girl raised a hand as if to strike her, then stared at the blade she held as if she had forgotten it was there. Her eyes darted to Elena's still face as if measuring her next move. After only a brief hesitation, she stabbed the knife through Elena's heart.
The blonde gasped in pain, an involuntary reaction that broke her paralysis and undid her painstaking work at containing the energy that was all that remained of the Old One. Her careful barriers unraveled in a split second. Awash in a sea of agony, Elena felt despair as she scrambled for consciousness and control. She tried directing part of the energy to the wound in hopes of healing herself. She screamed a second time, feeling the searing burn of raw power on hurt flesh. Spun off balance between pain and remorse and feral Power, she lost her tenuous link to Alvin and felt herself spiraling helplessly into smothering grayness.
* * *
From the hotel room miles away, Jerrick monitored the fight, coordinating at need. He was like a general, removed from the battle, able to see it as a whole and direct it accordingly. Sun Tzu would have approved, he thought dryly.
::Where had things gone wrong?:: he asked himself. When he had not warned the team that it was a mixed group of humans and vampires lived in the Old One's domain? When he had put the magic-wielders together? Or when he had not reconciled with Elena and told her about Omar?
He was not one to dwell on past mistakes, nor despair over might-have-beens. As he watched Elena fall, his mind coolly took in the various circumstances and plotted a move to effectively counteract the problems they faced.
He wasn't worried about Elena; she would emerge from this unscathed. Left on their own, the clan would massacre the hunters shortly. The strike force was... if not exactly expendable, at least replaceable. No, the matter that took his attention was the Power about to be unleashed without Elena or the witches to direct it.
Perhaps this was a blessing in disguise? It would be a good time to test his hypothesis...
He reached out and took Elena's unconscious mind, cradling it as gently as Omar had held her hands. Cajoling, he extracted the knowledge he needed from her subconscious and swiftly, deftly gathered the loose tendrils of Power that threatened to go truly rogue. He guided Elena's subconscious mind through the path of his own design. He clouded it, wove illusions to blind and raise the desired responses, then let things run their course. Power peaked, mushrooming invisibly like a cloud of dust raised by a gigantic explosion. It expanded rapidly outward like the ripple caused by a tossed pebble on a calm lake.
At the leading edge of the wave touched them, attackers, vampire and human alike, fell prone and motionless. To Jerrick's trained eye, Power flowed restlessly, seeking. It flitted from one form to another. When it touched a human, it spun false memories or blocked of the past entirely, then flowed on. When Power found a vampire, it wiped the mind of all recollection then proceeded to coil around the limp form seductively, forming a cocoon that sunk into the core of the undead.
By the time the wave passed over all the attackers, the seething pool of Power had been expended enough that it dissipated into the ambient energy system of the surrounding forest harmlessly.
Seated comfortably in his hotel room, Jerrick relaxed and let out the breath he had been holding. "So that's it."
* * *
The hunters looked around, torn between numbness and battle tension. When it became apparent that no more foes would come, they collapsed where they stood, muscles quivering, breath coming in great gulps. Slowly, strength began to ebb back into their limbs.
Eiran stumbled through the garden entrance into the Old One's room to find three women sprawled on the floor. He ignored the other two figures, attention focused on Elena. She lay on her side, the hilt of her knife protruding from her chest. Her eyes were wide and staring. There was a faint white aura about her that faded even as he watched. A detached part of his brain recalled that on previous occasions when she faced down an Old One, she was enveloped in a glowing sheen.
Taura, hanging on the threshold behind him, must have caught sight of the same scene. She suppressed a moan at the expression on Elena's face: mute horror. Eiran reached her first. Gently, as if he touched spun glass, he lifted and turned her so that she was cradled against his knees. He heard a sob catch in Taura's throat; she was too tired to hold back her emotions. Eiran understood how she felt.
He wanted to tell her that it was all right, that Elena was not dead, or at least, would not remain so for long. She had said she would return and he did not think she meant in the distant future. He wanted to say that she would recover and they would continue their quest but lacked the energy to do so. Besides, he rather suspected she would think he had lost his mind in grief and shock. She – and the rest – would just have to see when the time came.
It never occurred to him to question Elena's claim to immortality. Despite that, even knowing that she was not truly dead, it hurt to see her like this. It brought back memories of Grace too vividly. He found it hard to breathe around the lump in his throat.
His eyes roved over her face, brushing the tangled strands of golden hair away to bare the tear-stained visage and anguish ravaged expression. ::What happened, milady, for it to come to this?:: he asked silently.
Searching for something to do, he reached for the hilt of the knife. The action drew a yelp of protest from the elfin fighter. "Stop that, you idiot! You can't pull that out; she'll bleed–" 'to death' was hastily truncated, a slip of a tongue too late. "At least wait for Maddy," she added lamely.
"No chance of that." Hair trigger reflexes jerked both their heads around. Eiran felt a muscle protest the sudden movement. Alvin leaned against the threshold of the door to the rest of the palace. Just inside the room, propped up against the near wall were the prone forms of the healer and the diviner. A glance clearly showed that Trent was dead; no one survived having their throat torn out like that. As for Maddy...
Taura had her fingers to her lips. "Is she–?" There were tears in her voice.
"She'll live," he said shortly. He let himself slide down to the ground, back against the wall. "They weren't out to kill us, just to get pass us."
"Oh," the petite huntress said intelligently. Eiran turned back to Elena and removed the offending blade while Taura was distracted. Blood flowed sluggishly from the wound. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Taura swipe the back of one wrist savagely across her eyes. "Damn." The curse was meant to come out angry, but sounded listless instead. "That was bad. What the hell happened?" she demanded with a little more fire in her voice. "This mission was supposed to be a stealth strike. It wasn't supposed to turn into a war!"
"Too right." Alvin snapped sourly, anger giving him a spurt of energy. He subsided, eyes closing wearily.
Another voice took up the conversation, this one sardonic and unruffled. Eiran turned towards the fourth door to the room, the one that led to the consort's chambers. "I think we took out three quarters of the clan. Either that or Jerrick's operatives can't count worth peanuts. What I want to know is what happened at the end there. All of them keeled over like dominoes," Karen said.
Taura emitted a squeak at the sight of her. "When the gunshots stopped, I thought..." she said. Karen smiled slightly and shook her head. She was supporting Benjamin on one shoulder, whom she eased against the most convenient vertical surface. "Jerrick told me to back up this sector," she explained.
"Where's She-Ra?" Taura asked nastily.
"Gabrielle's dead. She was the first to fall," Ben growled, glaring daggers at her. Taura subsided, embarrassed. An awkward silence ensued with everyone either too tired to say much or too emotionally charged to break the tension.
Eiran turned back to the still form before him. He unconsciously echoed Maddy's gesture as he gently closed Elena's eyelids.
"Wait a minute," Karen said suddenly, noticing who it was Eiran cradled for the first time. She stepped over and went down on one knee beside him. "If _she's_ dead, then what happened with the Old One?"
He met her eyes, noticing for the first time that they were turquoise. "I don't know," he said baldly. His head turned to Alvin questioningly. The combat witch shrugged. "She started to unmake him. Trent and Maddy were down by then, but she channeled to me for a short while and then, nothing," he related what he knew.
Eiran frowned. The other hunters would be as clueless as he. His eyes roamed as his mind sought answers. He saw, without registering, Jason and Elsa appearing through the terrace doors. The former was limping from a pulled muscle. Like the rest, they sported cuts and bruises. Like the rest, they slouched in fatigue.
His crow-black eyes passed over the other two women on the floor, ignored thus far. The first lay inches from Elena, a young human girl with titian hair. Was she the one who had stabbed Elena? The other woman had ivory skin and long, long black hair, which half hid her face as she lay in a sprawl of willowy limbs. Reverently, Eiran laid Elena back on the ground, arranging her in a more composed posture.
He scooted over to the mysterious women and turned her onto her back. Brushing away the silky ebony locks bared a face with an ageless quality, an unearthly beauty. A circlet that looked like pure quartz crystal graced her brow, a large oval lapis lazuli at its center; a vampire. But something struck Eiran as false. He bent forward, staring at her intently.
"Eiran?" Taura broke his concentration.
"Turned," he muttered, incredulous.
"Turned?" Karen echoed, as taken aback as he. He barely heard her. As quickly as his tired legs could carry him, he went back outside to examine the other fallen forms. Human. Another. Another.
He found a young man with exceptional good looks. On his finger was a ring with a familiar blue stone. And yet, he didn't look like a vampire, not quite. Turned. Eiran rove to the edge of the battle, drawn by the glint of lapis lazuli amid the prone bodies.
Every vampire in the clan had been Turned.
When he got back to the Old One's chambers, Alvin and Karen reported similar findings in the corridor. Taura stared at Eiran, wide-eyed. "What can this mean?"
::No time for that now. Clear out. My operatives will take over from there.:: Heads went up around the room as Jerrick's instructions sounded in all their minds. Silent communication as glances were exchanged. The fate of their quest, grieving for fallen companions; those would come later. For now, they had to leave.
Karen, the most able, was sent to bring around the van they had hidden in the nearby wood. Alvin dragged Trent's body towards the garden entrance, sparing Taura that task. The petite fighter tried futilely to pick up Maddy's inert form but Jason silently took over, lifting the healer carefully. Eiran gathered up Elena and slowly followed the combat witch. He heard Benjamin growl at Elsa as the fighter tried to help him to his feet.
"If you're going to lug that fat witch," he nodded in the direction of Trent, "And _her_," he shot a look at Elena, "Then you can darned well go dig Gabrielle's body out too."
Taura bristled visibly, hands seeking the empty sheaths in her knife-belt. Elsa held up a hand to forestall her outburst, then raked the man at her feet with a contemptuous look. "We're not leaving _any_ of our _team_ behind." His belligerent expression wavered at the pointed reminder that neither he nor his partner had been team players. Elsa let him stew in that for a long moment, then reached for his arm to help him up again. "Let's get you to the van first. Then Jason and I'll go look for your partner," she said, her tone softening a shade. Eiran watched Taura stalk towards the door in front of them, not the least mollified.
Finally, they were all loaded up into the van and on their way back.
He was vaguely aware of the strange and worried looks he received, seated with Elena cradled gently beside him. The others were fighters; they accepted death as part of their calling. Not so he. And as far as they could see, he was numb, not reacting with the expected grief of loss. He was distantly amused by their concern; did they think he would break and lose his hold on sanity at any moment?
They just didn't understand. He didn't need to grieve because she was coming back. He kept telling himself that. He held back the memories the sight of her raised and the ache of seeing her bloodied and broken and kept telling himself that.
Note: Sun Tzu in the _Art of War_ stated that an army should not be directed from within. If a general is in the thick of his troops, he is liable to misjudge the position as a whole and give wrong orders.
* If you read this, if you like it, if you hate it, please let me know! Feedback is very much adored. =)
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
Date posted: 4 February 2003
~ Thirty Seven ~
By the time the Old One entered the room, Elena was as tightly wound as a guitar string that was a hair from snapping – or tearing out the soundboard. Her eyes darted to the door at the sound of the knob turning.
A lone, powerfully built man entered the room. The door shut with a muffled thump of thick wood behind him. There was no doubt; it was _him_. And he was alone. Elena closed her eyes in relief. So far so good.
When he had his back turned to her, she eased out of her hiding spot in the shadow of a divan, keeping her eyes trained on his every move. He took a deep breath and paused. Elena froze, heart seeming to leap up her throat. Then he pulled off the gold embroidered stole draped around his neck and undid the tunic of rich crimson. The muscles on his back rippled mesmerizingly under bronzed skin as he shrugged out of the shirt, letting it fall to the ground. He stepped towards the Roman-styled couch and reached for the simple white, wrapped jacket laid out there.
Elena stole forward, holding her breath, tensed to spring in case he turned before she was ready.
Immobilize him. Knock him out, and then finish him off, she thought. There was no time to waste. Her right hand gripped the stout quarterstaff, which could serve as a cudgel at need. The knife in her left hand was held behind her to prevent a stray reflection of light from alerting her prey.
She forgot the sash. The stiff, scratchy gold material crackled loudly in the stillness as her foot came down on it. She froze, fear and anger jolting adrenaline through her system. The Old One whipped around, surprised.
But not alarmed. He did not raise an alarm at the sight of her standing in his chambers bearing weapons, indicative of his faith in his invulnerability. He said something in a language she didn't understand, his tone quizzical. He switched to English when she failed to show comprehension. "Child? How did you come to be here?"
The fact that he addressed her as a child was equally telling. For all that he looked no older than mid-twenty, he obviously saw everyone around him as infants, hardly surprising considering his millennia of existence.
She smiled at him thinly but instead of answering, rushed him. He dodged, lightning quick, and dodged again when she twisted, anticipating his evasion. His brow furrowed.
Elena, on the brink of springing for him again, found herself paralyzed by invisible barriers. ::No!:: she thought futilely. She struggled, trying to get in physical contact with him. She only needed to be able to touch him...
"Ah," said the Old One, standing no more than two feet away. His expression became focused again. The stone beneath Elena turned to mire, covering her feet before solidifying. The invisible bonds melted away, but she could not move forward, her feet trapped beneath solid rock. "It is physical contact you wish. I am afraid I cannot oblige you," he said, sounding almost kind. "We shall talk, in comfort, perhaps?" Behind them both, stone became fluid, swirling up in a column and then hardening again, forming two convenient seats. He seated himself and waited for Elena to do the same. Awkwardly, she did so, balancing with her arms. She imagined the ridiculous sight she made, shackled to the ground, waving her arms to maintain her balance, a weapon in each hand.
They stared at each other for several seconds. The Old One's expression clearly invited explanation. Elena returned his gaze with a steely, brooding one of her own. He sighed. "Youngling, will you not speak?" he asked, in a tone that could only be called gentle. "You are resourceful, to have come this far undetected," – a lie; security around here was almost laughable – "What is your purpose? What have any of us done that you wish us harm?"
Elena's lips drew back, baring her teeth. She maintained her silence, her mind frantically trying to find some way to get to him. The others – she must act quickly. The Old One looked away from her momentarily, towards the door that led to the ceremonial chamber.
He turned back to her, looking faintly regretful. "You will leave me no choice, then." And he struck, swift as a snake.
Elena felt her mind invaded by a second presence, stately as the mountains but lively as a bonfire. And then her mind whirled with images, sounds, sensation...
...murmuring to Stefan and Damon to take care of each other while the light and warmth called to her to come rest. Come rest...
...fighting for control of Bonnie's dreams as Klaus tried to twist them...
...whispering encouragement to Bonnie, that fateful Solstice Eve, "Call me. You have to ask..."
...bending her incorporeal head in acquiescence and acceptance to the offer...
...dancing the mad, dizzy dance of joy in the wet clearing, unaware of the price yet to be paid...
...lying in the warm circle of Stefan's arms...
...watching Eiran's chest heave and his eyes open in wonder...
...spiraling down into Stefan's intoxicating kisses as the golden light of candles threw dancing shadows around them and dinner cooled unheeded on the table...
...fighting for control of the maelstrom of Power unleashed in the wake of Nigel Emery...
...enticing the dark figure in the alley with false promises of fulfillment...
Elena opened her eyes, realizing that tears were streaming down her face. The Old One was watching her with wonder and sorrow in his face. Then his head bent.
"Our pact is broken then. All shall fall. Kier-Achmed and Ambrose-Meremoth are no more. I am to be next it seems." His tone was resigned. Elena felt sensation at her feet and looked down, disbelieving; the rock melted away. She was free!
She raised her eyes to see the Old One beckon with one hand. "Come forth, little one, and do what you must," he instructed. Her eyes narrowed; it had to be a trick...
::No subterfuge, warrior-maid. Merely acceptance of the inevitable.:: He raised his head, suddenly looking old. But serenity shone in his eyes. For a second time, she was engulfed by his stronger mind. He showed her wordlessly, his sincerity. There was no falsehood between minds.
"Why? How can you be so pliant about this?" she whispered. "How can you not hate me for this?"
::There is no blame. You do this to have a life of your own, with your beloved, this Stefan. Am I not Athanasia-Omar, immortal life? How can I begrudge you that, a full life, when I understand it and have shared in the same? Come, let us finish this.:: More emotions and images flashed in her mind. Years and decades and centuries. Men and women of all races and age, each cherished, each precious and loved. Moments of great joy, times of piercing sorrow. He had lived long enough, full enough. He had no regrets, only gratitude.
As he showed her all this and more, he drew her step by step towards him. She was crying again, but this time, her tears were for him. For his beauty of spirit and purity of heart. How could she do this? To unmake him was to rob the world–
::Two things. Three, actually,:: he broke into her anguish. His mental tone was oddly clinical for a moment, like a slap to bring her out of hysteria. Then they returned to their normal vibrant depths. She looked down stupidly as he took her hands in his, holding them with courtly deference. ::Do not harm my children. Use your gift to help those who wish to be human again,:: he told her earnestly. His charge caught her speechless for moments. She could only nod once, which he returned, sealing the agreement. ::And don't cry for me.::
He guided her hands gently to cup his face on either side. ::Begin.::
She gathered herself, concentrated, faltered. "There will be no pain–" she began.
::Do it, girl! Your friends are dying beyond this chamber. They cannot hold off my children for much longer!:: said the one who had once been called Abran Leota, the father of vampires. His command cracked in her mind like a cat-'o-nine-tails, shocked like a splash of icy water in the face. A surge of alarm shot through her at the reminder of the others depending on her. She tightened her grasp and squeezed her eyes shut.
She had no real control over her ability. It flowed as it willed when she let it go. Once again, Elena felt the spreading, as if a part of her reached out to encompass the Old One. It was different this time. She felt him accept it, not resisting but helping her. She tore her attention away from him to fling out a call, as she'd been taught: ::Maddy! Trent! Alvin!:: Immediately, she felt Alvin snake a 'hand' towards her. She 'grasped' it, channeling Power to him. She was taken aback by the way he consumed what she sent without hesitation and demanded more. Their link was limited to channeling so she couldn't ask him what the situation was out there.
The initial nightly sessions of being hammered with raw force by Jerrick had made channeling almost second nature to her. She immersed herself instead in binding the rapidly increasing pool of energy. It grew from a tiny whirlwind into a tempest, picking up force with the Power it leeched, first from his abilities, then from the accumulated energy of the life forces he had gathered and held within him, and finally from his very being.
At that point, the form of Athanasia Omar was sheathed with an incandescent aura and began to blur. It was then that she felt his pain at leaving behind the children he so loved and his longing that things could have been otherwise. And then, with agonizing slowness, she felt his awareness dissolve, until there was no being there, only pure Power.
The maelstrom began to surge insistently. She focused on manipulating the energy, the better to distract herself from thinking about the unexpected and heartbreaking goodness of this Old One. She fell into a self-induced semi-trance, submerged in the impersonal world of shifting Power, hardly aware of her surroundings.
Somewhere, a door was flung open. A tall, elegant woman with long black hair sailed across the threshold. Her beautiful face was twisted into a look of horror and her eyes held a world of suffering as she took in figure of glowing, swirling light before Elena. A second figure appeared in the doorway even as the first threw herself across the room with a wordless cry.
She reached the duo a second too late; the last spark that had once been an Old One danced and winked out as she fell to the ground where he had once stood, sobbing hysterically and choking out words that meant nothing to Elena.
"No!" Dimly, the cry broke through Elena's abstraction. The voice spoke in English and came from the second figure, who stood frozen in the doorway. Galvanized into action, the person pelted forward, proving to be a girl about Elena's age, with hair of bright sunset bound in multiple braids. The varicolored beads at the end of each braid clattered together noisily. She stood over the weeping woman, seeming in shock.
"No! Omar!" the girl screamed, staring unseeing at the first woman. "No..." she said more softly, in disbelief. Coming out of her stupor, she glanced sharply at Elena, who was too involved in restraining the errant Power to do anything to defend herself. Eyes bright with unshed tears and anguish narrowed fiercely.
"You..." the girl hissed poisonously. She bent to pick up the knife Elena had dropped and advanced, emanating black revenge. "You did this. You _killed_ him!" She came right up so that her face was inches away from the blonde's, tipping her head back to make up for the difference in their height. Her nostrils flared and her fair skin blotched awfully under the strain of her grief and hate.
"You killed the most generous, selfless, gentle and loving man there ever was," she spat. Elena did not move, for to do so would disrupt the careful balance she created between channeling the Power to Alvin and keeping the whole in check. Even so, the words stung like a hundred wasps, only the pain went deeper.
"He didn't deserve to die!" the girl was screaming right in her face now. "You had _no right_!" Then she seemed to lose what small control she had over her emotions. "_Monster!_" The word hit Elena, even in her tranced state, like a slap in the face. "You cold-blooded, evil–!" The girl raised a hand as if to strike her, then stared at the blade she held as if she had forgotten it was there. Her eyes darted to Elena's still face as if measuring her next move. After only a brief hesitation, she stabbed the knife through Elena's heart.
The blonde gasped in pain, an involuntary reaction that broke her paralysis and undid her painstaking work at containing the energy that was all that remained of the Old One. Her careful barriers unraveled in a split second. Awash in a sea of agony, Elena felt despair as she scrambled for consciousness and control. She tried directing part of the energy to the wound in hopes of healing herself. She screamed a second time, feeling the searing burn of raw power on hurt flesh. Spun off balance between pain and remorse and feral Power, she lost her tenuous link to Alvin and felt herself spiraling helplessly into smothering grayness.
* * *
From the hotel room miles away, Jerrick monitored the fight, coordinating at need. He was like a general, removed from the battle, able to see it as a whole and direct it accordingly. Sun Tzu would have approved, he thought dryly.
::Where had things gone wrong?:: he asked himself. When he had not warned the team that it was a mixed group of humans and vampires lived in the Old One's domain? When he had put the magic-wielders together? Or when he had not reconciled with Elena and told her about Omar?
He was not one to dwell on past mistakes, nor despair over might-have-beens. As he watched Elena fall, his mind coolly took in the various circumstances and plotted a move to effectively counteract the problems they faced.
He wasn't worried about Elena; she would emerge from this unscathed. Left on their own, the clan would massacre the hunters shortly. The strike force was... if not exactly expendable, at least replaceable. No, the matter that took his attention was the Power about to be unleashed without Elena or the witches to direct it.
Perhaps this was a blessing in disguise? It would be a good time to test his hypothesis...
He reached out and took Elena's unconscious mind, cradling it as gently as Omar had held her hands. Cajoling, he extracted the knowledge he needed from her subconscious and swiftly, deftly gathered the loose tendrils of Power that threatened to go truly rogue. He guided Elena's subconscious mind through the path of his own design. He clouded it, wove illusions to blind and raise the desired responses, then let things run their course. Power peaked, mushrooming invisibly like a cloud of dust raised by a gigantic explosion. It expanded rapidly outward like the ripple caused by a tossed pebble on a calm lake.
At the leading edge of the wave touched them, attackers, vampire and human alike, fell prone and motionless. To Jerrick's trained eye, Power flowed restlessly, seeking. It flitted from one form to another. When it touched a human, it spun false memories or blocked of the past entirely, then flowed on. When Power found a vampire, it wiped the mind of all recollection then proceeded to coil around the limp form seductively, forming a cocoon that sunk into the core of the undead.
By the time the wave passed over all the attackers, the seething pool of Power had been expended enough that it dissipated into the ambient energy system of the surrounding forest harmlessly.
Seated comfortably in his hotel room, Jerrick relaxed and let out the breath he had been holding. "So that's it."
* * *
The hunters looked around, torn between numbness and battle tension. When it became apparent that no more foes would come, they collapsed where they stood, muscles quivering, breath coming in great gulps. Slowly, strength began to ebb back into their limbs.
Eiran stumbled through the garden entrance into the Old One's room to find three women sprawled on the floor. He ignored the other two figures, attention focused on Elena. She lay on her side, the hilt of her knife protruding from her chest. Her eyes were wide and staring. There was a faint white aura about her that faded even as he watched. A detached part of his brain recalled that on previous occasions when she faced down an Old One, she was enveloped in a glowing sheen.
Taura, hanging on the threshold behind him, must have caught sight of the same scene. She suppressed a moan at the expression on Elena's face: mute horror. Eiran reached her first. Gently, as if he touched spun glass, he lifted and turned her so that she was cradled against his knees. He heard a sob catch in Taura's throat; she was too tired to hold back her emotions. Eiran understood how she felt.
He wanted to tell her that it was all right, that Elena was not dead, or at least, would not remain so for long. She had said she would return and he did not think she meant in the distant future. He wanted to say that she would recover and they would continue their quest but lacked the energy to do so. Besides, he rather suspected she would think he had lost his mind in grief and shock. She – and the rest – would just have to see when the time came.
It never occurred to him to question Elena's claim to immortality. Despite that, even knowing that she was not truly dead, it hurt to see her like this. It brought back memories of Grace too vividly. He found it hard to breathe around the lump in his throat.
His eyes roved over her face, brushing the tangled strands of golden hair away to bare the tear-stained visage and anguish ravaged expression. ::What happened, milady, for it to come to this?:: he asked silently.
Searching for something to do, he reached for the hilt of the knife. The action drew a yelp of protest from the elfin fighter. "Stop that, you idiot! You can't pull that out; she'll bleed–" 'to death' was hastily truncated, a slip of a tongue too late. "At least wait for Maddy," she added lamely.
"No chance of that." Hair trigger reflexes jerked both their heads around. Eiran felt a muscle protest the sudden movement. Alvin leaned against the threshold of the door to the rest of the palace. Just inside the room, propped up against the near wall were the prone forms of the healer and the diviner. A glance clearly showed that Trent was dead; no one survived having their throat torn out like that. As for Maddy...
Taura had her fingers to her lips. "Is she–?" There were tears in her voice.
"She'll live," he said shortly. He let himself slide down to the ground, back against the wall. "They weren't out to kill us, just to get pass us."
"Oh," the petite huntress said intelligently. Eiran turned back to Elena and removed the offending blade while Taura was distracted. Blood flowed sluggishly from the wound. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Taura swipe the back of one wrist savagely across her eyes. "Damn." The curse was meant to come out angry, but sounded listless instead. "That was bad. What the hell happened?" she demanded with a little more fire in her voice. "This mission was supposed to be a stealth strike. It wasn't supposed to turn into a war!"
"Too right." Alvin snapped sourly, anger giving him a spurt of energy. He subsided, eyes closing wearily.
Another voice took up the conversation, this one sardonic and unruffled. Eiran turned towards the fourth door to the room, the one that led to the consort's chambers. "I think we took out three quarters of the clan. Either that or Jerrick's operatives can't count worth peanuts. What I want to know is what happened at the end there. All of them keeled over like dominoes," Karen said.
Taura emitted a squeak at the sight of her. "When the gunshots stopped, I thought..." she said. Karen smiled slightly and shook her head. She was supporting Benjamin on one shoulder, whom she eased against the most convenient vertical surface. "Jerrick told me to back up this sector," she explained.
"Where's She-Ra?" Taura asked nastily.
"Gabrielle's dead. She was the first to fall," Ben growled, glaring daggers at her. Taura subsided, embarrassed. An awkward silence ensued with everyone either too tired to say much or too emotionally charged to break the tension.
Eiran turned back to the still form before him. He unconsciously echoed Maddy's gesture as he gently closed Elena's eyelids.
"Wait a minute," Karen said suddenly, noticing who it was Eiran cradled for the first time. She stepped over and went down on one knee beside him. "If _she's_ dead, then what happened with the Old One?"
He met her eyes, noticing for the first time that they were turquoise. "I don't know," he said baldly. His head turned to Alvin questioningly. The combat witch shrugged. "She started to unmake him. Trent and Maddy were down by then, but she channeled to me for a short while and then, nothing," he related what he knew.
Eiran frowned. The other hunters would be as clueless as he. His eyes roamed as his mind sought answers. He saw, without registering, Jason and Elsa appearing through the terrace doors. The former was limping from a pulled muscle. Like the rest, they sported cuts and bruises. Like the rest, they slouched in fatigue.
His crow-black eyes passed over the other two women on the floor, ignored thus far. The first lay inches from Elena, a young human girl with titian hair. Was she the one who had stabbed Elena? The other woman had ivory skin and long, long black hair, which half hid her face as she lay in a sprawl of willowy limbs. Reverently, Eiran laid Elena back on the ground, arranging her in a more composed posture.
He scooted over to the mysterious women and turned her onto her back. Brushing away the silky ebony locks bared a face with an ageless quality, an unearthly beauty. A circlet that looked like pure quartz crystal graced her brow, a large oval lapis lazuli at its center; a vampire. But something struck Eiran as false. He bent forward, staring at her intently.
"Eiran?" Taura broke his concentration.
"Turned," he muttered, incredulous.
"Turned?" Karen echoed, as taken aback as he. He barely heard her. As quickly as his tired legs could carry him, he went back outside to examine the other fallen forms. Human. Another. Another.
He found a young man with exceptional good looks. On his finger was a ring with a familiar blue stone. And yet, he didn't look like a vampire, not quite. Turned. Eiran rove to the edge of the battle, drawn by the glint of lapis lazuli amid the prone bodies.
Every vampire in the clan had been Turned.
When he got back to the Old One's chambers, Alvin and Karen reported similar findings in the corridor. Taura stared at Eiran, wide-eyed. "What can this mean?"
::No time for that now. Clear out. My operatives will take over from there.:: Heads went up around the room as Jerrick's instructions sounded in all their minds. Silent communication as glances were exchanged. The fate of their quest, grieving for fallen companions; those would come later. For now, they had to leave.
Karen, the most able, was sent to bring around the van they had hidden in the nearby wood. Alvin dragged Trent's body towards the garden entrance, sparing Taura that task. The petite fighter tried futilely to pick up Maddy's inert form but Jason silently took over, lifting the healer carefully. Eiran gathered up Elena and slowly followed the combat witch. He heard Benjamin growl at Elsa as the fighter tried to help him to his feet.
"If you're going to lug that fat witch," he nodded in the direction of Trent, "And _her_," he shot a look at Elena, "Then you can darned well go dig Gabrielle's body out too."
Taura bristled visibly, hands seeking the empty sheaths in her knife-belt. Elsa held up a hand to forestall her outburst, then raked the man at her feet with a contemptuous look. "We're not leaving _any_ of our _team_ behind." His belligerent expression wavered at the pointed reminder that neither he nor his partner had been team players. Elsa let him stew in that for a long moment, then reached for his arm to help him up again. "Let's get you to the van first. Then Jason and I'll go look for your partner," she said, her tone softening a shade. Eiran watched Taura stalk towards the door in front of them, not the least mollified.
Finally, they were all loaded up into the van and on their way back.
He was vaguely aware of the strange and worried looks he received, seated with Elena cradled gently beside him. The others were fighters; they accepted death as part of their calling. Not so he. And as far as they could see, he was numb, not reacting with the expected grief of loss. He was distantly amused by their concern; did they think he would break and lose his hold on sanity at any moment?
They just didn't understand. He didn't need to grieve because she was coming back. He kept telling himself that. He held back the memories the sight of her raised and the ache of seeing her bloodied and broken and kept telling himself that.
Note: Sun Tzu in the _Art of War_ stated that an army should not be directed from within. If a general is in the thick of his troops, he is liable to misjudge the position as a whole and give wrong orders.
* If you read this, if you like it, if you hate it, please let me know! Feedback is very much adored. =)