Summary: Elena takes on the Old Ones, risking all to gain a life for herself and Stefan.
Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and any other names you recognize from the books, 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_
* Author's Note(s)
Date posted: 18 January 2004
* Hi, everyone. I've been struggling a little with Chapter 53, but hopefully, not for much longer. Just want to say a quick thank you to Kichiko (I keep wanting to say chiriko -- that's little one, in Japanese, right? ^_^) for encouragement with each chapter. As we have less than seven -- I'm putting my foot down at 60 chapters or more! -- to go before we wind up this tale, there are some things I'm wondering about in retrospect/review. I'm going to post these as questions in the next chapter and I'd appreciate any feedback you'd care to give. On another note, hey, I hadn't realized that author alerts are now available to all members! Fantastic!
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~ Fifty Two ~
Waking felt both surprisingly normal, yet subtly disorienting.
Stefan lay still, eyes still closed as he came back to consciousness of his surroundings. What was different? He searched his mind, trying to identify the sense of wrongness. He felt something wet and prickly beneath him: grass. But the scent was wrong. The sounds around him told him it must be night. But he had to strain to make out the call of nocturnal creatures. Everything was quieter, blunted...
Memory caught up with him and his eyes sprang open, body tensing. There was no pain, a small part of him noted absently as he sat up. Has it happened? Is it done? Was he really Turned? It felt unreal-
It was dark. At first, Stefan could barely see and he was disoriented. Then his eyes - and his mind - adjusted to human perception again and he began to make out shapes.
A soft intake of breath drew his eyes like a magnet. A short distance from him stood a familiar figure, oddly transformed. But no, it was he who had changed...
Stefan was peripherally aware of the witches seated with some simple food on a blanket behind her. Light from the lamp set beside the blanket silhouetted the blonde, turning her hair into a golden halo.
She took two steps forward and he could see her more clearly. She had her fingers to her lips and her eyes were wide with emotion as she watched him. They stared at each other for a long, breathless moment. Then Stefan held out his hand in silent, beckoning invitation and she flew into his arms.
"Stefan, oh, _Stefan_!" she gasped, hanging on to him as if she were drowning. He held her close, sharing the same sense of relief and euphoria she was feeling. It was done. They had done it. There was nothing in their way now; they could have the life together that they had never dared to dream about. The realization made Stefan dizzy.
Then she was laughing through her tears of joy and he joined her until they were both breathless. With her head nestled in the hollow of his shoulder, Stefan looked up at last, noticing the rest of the world.
He just barely made out Makoe in the shadow of a tree, leaning against a trunk with his arms crossed.
::You made it. Congratulations.:: Makoe's mental voice sounded much the same as before, and his tone was as flat as ever, but there was a tension there that Stefan sensed.
He looked to where Samar had been. Tristan and Leon were in the same position as before, save that they were watching him. The tension that had been barely perceptible in Makoe was almost a tangible thing around those two.
"Samar?" he whispered.
Elena pulled away a bit reluctantly and met his eyes, sober. "She's not woken up yet."
"But... she was Turned first," he said carefully, the unspoken question in his tone.
"Yes. Yes, she was."
* * *
"There is nothing I can do!"
Samar drew a sharp breath as the cry pierced her unconsciousness. There was an answering gasp from somewhere close and above her.
"Samar," someone breathed her name. Leon.
Instead of replying, she inhaled again deeply. Why did it feel like she was gasping for air? Like she had been holding her breath for too long?
Well, at least the shouting had stopped.
She was shifted, lifted to aid her breathing and warm arms supported her. In a few seconds, she was feeling better, less like she was about to suffocate.
She sighed, reluctant to open her eyes or move. She was so comfortable like this, cradled in warmth and nicely sleep-fogged.
::Samar?::
Yes, Leon? Ooh. She couldn't reach out with her mind.
Her eyes flew open and she thought she heard a sigh of relief. The shoulder under her shifted again.
"Leon?"
"I'm here," came the instant reassurance. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine." She moved and he helped her sit up. She felt weird, actually. Like she was down with a flu and her head, ears and nose were stuffed up and her eyes bleary. She blinked, and shook her head. No, not a flu. Vampires didn't get sick.
::But I'm not a vampire anymore. I'm Turned now. I'm human again,:: she realized with wonder. She wriggled her shoulders, testing the pull of muscles in her back carefully. No pain. Stefan was right; she was healed -Stefan!
Her head jerked up.
They were back in the cabin. She was on the coach with Leon and in front of her; Stefan and Elena faced Tristan in a frozen tableau. Tristan had a fist raised in midair as if he'd forgotten about it, Stefan had his hands held out in a defensive position and Elena, behind him, was tensed and ramrod straight with fists clenched at her sides.
All three were staring at her.
Elena relaxed first. "Samar," she said with relief. Her voice broke the spell. Stefan smiled and against her will, Samar's breath caught; he really was handsome and having the full force of that smile turned on her was just a bit overwhelming. He had changed, she noted, studying him when she was no longer blinded by the smile. His good looks were wholly human now, the faintly feral quality that had been his vampirism gone. Samar thought actually suited him.
Tristan was taking slow steps towards her, almost as if he were stalking her. She focused her attention to him and narrowed her eyes. "What?" she asked, suspicious and a little defensive at the way he was looking at her.
"You're human now?"
Samar felt her lips twist into a parody of a smile. She opened her mouth and skinned her lips back. "Lookie here. No fangs."
Unbelievably, he paled. "That can be fixed." His own fangs slid out. He was still coming closer.
She didn't back away, but she did lean back against Leon as far as she could go. "Not yet, Tristan. I want to give this a try first."
"What's to try? You know what being human is like; you were one for eighteen years!"
"And I've been a vampire for 30. So give me another twelve years to balance the scales, why don't you?" she snapped back. ::He doesn't get it,:: she realized, dismayed. ::He doesn't know that I was thinking of becoming human again, doesn't understand why I'd even consider it.::
He froze. "Are you saying you want to stay a human? You don't want to be changed again?" His tone dared her to refute him.
Samar sighed, and pressed the heel her hand to her forehead. Her earlier peace was crumbled at that difficult question. Being Turned hadn't simplified the situation at all; she still had a choice to make.
"I don't know. I need some time to think-"
::No!::
Her head jerked up at the roar but all she saw was a flying blur. Then Tristan landed on top of her, fangs a hairsbreadth from her neck.
"Wha-Tristan!" she shouted, breaking out of her shock to try and push him off. But his hands closed on her shoulders and he was just too strong. He was, after all, a vampire, and she was only human now. Samar felt Leon pinned under her and frozen with shock before he too started trying to get Tristan off her.
He snapped, nearly reaching her neck. Once. Twice. She squirmed and dodged, feeling fear and rage shoot adrenaline through her body. His fingers dug cruelly into her arms and he didn't hesitate to use elbows and knees to good effect. She screamed his name again in pain and fury. This could not be happening! How _dare_ he? Has he gone _mad_?
"What the hell are you doing?" And then Stefan was there, trying to pull Tristan off. The gaunt vampire was surprisingly strong, or perhaps his maddened frenzy was giving him unnatural force. With a swipe and a lashed out foot, Stefan went sprawling.
Amid the chaos, it should have been impossible to hear the single, quiet click of metal. And yet, it sounded as clearly as a gunshot and everyone froze.
Makoe stood over them, gazing down at Tristan dispassionately. He had a gun pressed to Tristan's head. "Think you can change her before the bullet kills you?"
Samar stared at him. He wouldn't really kill Tristan...would he? Her eyes went from the rock-steady hand holding the gun to his cold, cold eyes, and what she saw there chilled her.
"Makoe, get out of the way, dammit. I can't let her stay human."
The dark vampire was unimpressed. "It's her choice."
"No!" Tristan shouted and the gun pressed warningly into his scalp.
"Let her up, D'Angelo." The tone never wavered; it was flat, calm and cold. Utterly devoid of any emotion.
Tristan reached up and knocked the gun away with a swipe that no one saw coming. Makoe didn't even bat an eyelash, merely stood there and continued to watch him expressionlessly. Tristan snarled at him, fangs glinting in warning, then turned back to Samar.
But when he tried to lower his head, he froze. Samar watched in amazement as he looked puzzled, then frustrated as he tried unsuccessfully to sink his fangs into her throat. Finally, he snapped his head around to snarl at Makoe again.
"I said let her up." With the quiet words, Tristan was suddenly thrown across the room and pinned spread-eagle against the far wall with invisible bonds.
Samar could only stare: Makoe had not touched him. She sat up hastily as began Tristan hurling abuse at his 'captor'. He really must have gone mad to be saying such things to Makoe, she thought, catching her breath.
Makoe was walking over to her pinioned brother when Samar felt a hand on her shoulder. She hadn't realized she was trembling until then. She huddled against Leon, but could not take her eyes away from the dark vampire and her brother. Would Makoe really kill him?
Elena was helping Stefan sit up. Samar spared him a worried glance; he was human now too and couldn't take as much abuse as a vampire could. He seemed all right, though, standing and taking an unsteady step towards Tristan.
Makoe flicked his fingers in a staying gesture and Stefan hesitated, then took the nearest armchair, Elena still hovering anxiously over him.
The short vampire stopped directly in front of Tristan. "Why?" he asked shortly. It took Samar a moment to realize that Makoe was asking Tristan to explain his actions.
Tristan growled a curse at him, then his head was jerked back as yanked by invisible hands in his hair. Or around his neck. He gasped.
"Why?" The tone of that single-word question was relentless and icy.
Tristan only bared his fangs defiantly at his tormenter. Oh, Tristan, can the stupid bravado and just answer the question already!
Then Makoe murmured something too low for her to catch and Tristan glared in murderous fury.
"We're waiting, D'Angelo."
Tristan held on another second longer. "She's my sister," he spat eventually.
Since when did you get a kick out of assaulting your own blood? she wanted to ask sarcastically, but she was still shaken.
Makoe crossed his arms in a gesture of waiting.
"I can't let her get kicked out of the hunt. And she will be if she's human. And then what would happen to her? Who would take care of her?" Tristan's eyes finally went to her.
"She's just a kid."
While Samar was still trying to decide if she was going to beat him up for his patronizing or hug him for his care, Leon spoke up.
"Tristan, if she decides to stay human, she won't be alone." He paused. "I'll be Turned, too. I'll take care of her. For," he added wryly, looking down at her. "As long as she lets me."
She shot him a disgusted look, then lifted her nose disdainfully, eyes going to watch the other vampires' reactions.
Tristan was staring and Samar almost laughed at his pole-axed expression. She wrapped her arms around Leon and felt him return the embrace after a brief hesitation. Eyes meeting her brother's, she felt a tremulous smile curved her lips and nodded.
There was no further argument from him. Maybe it was his surprise that robbed Tristan of his fight. Maybe he genuinely had objected to her being Turned only because he was worried about her and now that Leon had said he would look after her, Tristan was satisfied. Or maybe it was because the force that was holding him pinned to the wall chose that moment to disappear.
Tristan sprawled on the floor indecorously.
Samar stifled an impolite, "Hah!" and looked away quickly. She caught Makoe watching at her and Leon. His fathomless eyes captured hers for a second before she tore away and went back to watching Tristan pick himself up.
Getting into a fight with her brother was definitely the lesser of two evils.
Tristan grunted as he straightened. Samar noticed livid lines where she'd clawed him and he moved like an old man, but that was probably from being thrown into the wall and held there by raw Power. How had Makoe done that anyway? Nevermind.
"Well," he said at last, almost looking calm - for Tristan. "I guess that's that, then. Let's go."
Samar's mouth fell open. "What?" She sat up, like a deer scenting a predator.
"Let's go," he repeated. "Jerrick told us we would be hunting Old Ones. Well, they've already got two of them. Have you even eyeballed one, yet? All I've got is fighting a couple of lousy hunters. I don't need any witch to be able to do that. Stefan's human now; he's not part of the hunt anymore. What's to keep us here?"
Samar glared at him. Nor was she the only one. "Well, if Stefan isn't part of the hunt anymore, then neither am I," she snapped.
"That's different," Tristan said quickly. "You've not made up your mind yet."
Oh. Tristan wasn't fighting about her being human because he was deluded. Great.
Trying to argue that point with him was futile. Instead, she crossed her arms aggressively and her lip curled. "I'm staying."
Leon, beside her nodded agreement. "There are two more Old Ones to deal with. We'll get our chance."
Her brother snorted in disgust. "You're nothing more than a pair of gullible, worthless humans now - or as good as. I'm out of here."
Well, no one would ever accuse Tristan of being consistent, at least. But the insult raised Samar's hackles. She watched him spin on his heel and head for his room while anger burned like acid in her stomach.
She didn't remember moving. The next thing she knew, Tristan was flat on the floor with her knee digging sharply into his back. She hid her own surprise when he twisted his head to glare at her. He tried to roll over and an arm flailed in an awkward attempt to knock her aside. Without thinking, she caught his fist in mid-air. Held it as he struggled to get free.
"Worthless human, eh?" She managed, miraculously, not to yell. Instead, the rhetoric came out as a sort of purr with an underlying growl. She gave him a lethally sweet smile.
"I may be human now, bro, but I have been a vampire. I will never be 'just' a human again." She all but threw his hand aside and got to her feet, feeling steadier than she expected. "Stay a while," she suggested, borrowing Leon's mild tone of voice. "Things might get interesting yet."
And that was, truly, that.
* * *
Elena shut the room door and turned around slowly.
Stefan was watching her and the joy in his eyes was quiet no longer. It electrified the air between them. Wordless, he opened his arms and she came into them willingly.
There were sweet tears and whispered words amid the kisses they shared then. Laughter of sheer elation. Confessions of love and fears. Relief shared.
When the storm of emotion had passed, they lay quietly on the bed together, Elena's head pillowed on Stefan's chest, the beat of a now-human heart in her ear. How long they stayed like that, they neither knew nor cared. But finally, Stefan moved to rise.
Elena lifted her head to look at his face in enquiry. He met her eyes, looking unwontedly grave, then got off the bed and started pacing the room.
"Stefan?" Elena asked gently. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, watching him. When he didn't answer, she reached out and caught his hand as he passed. He looked at her and she was struck by the indecision in his eyes, as if he was struggling with something.
"What is it?"
He shook his head and touched her fingers to his lips before resuming his restless pacing. Elena watched him prowl with that remnant of vampiric grace. Or perhaps it was his aristocratic upbringing that led him to carry himself thus. She admired him absently while the greater portion of her mind tried to puzzle out his odd behavior. After a double handful of circuits, he whirled to look at her.
"The timing is all wrong; you have another two Old Ones to face and there are arrangements that must be made now that I'm human again and this really isn't the place, but I can't wait anymore. Elena, there is something I need to ask you." He retraced his steps till be stood in front of her again and took her both hands in his.
She tipped her head back to look at him, expectancy and concern in her face.
Meeting her eyes solemnly he asked, "Do you remember the first time we... promised ourselves to each other?"
Elena had to take a moment to absorb the apparent non sequitur and then to understand what he had asked. Memory came quick and sweet.
"Of course," she answered softly. They had been sitting in Mrs. Flowers' attic and she had confessed the whole mess with Caroline to him. They had exchanged blood then... and he had given her Katherine's ring.
"A lot of things have changed since," he continued. "I was a hunted man then, and a vampire. You were about to graduate and Katherine and Damon were adding their own intrigues." He tried to smile, but it didn't banish the gravity in his eyes. "Elena, even with all those things against us, I wanted, _needed_ to be with you, always." And now his eyes glowed, that last word half-whispered and fervent.
"That one thing has not changed. I still want us to be together, always."
It was then that Elena realized where this was heading and it was a good thing she was sitting down because it was doubtful that her legs would have supported her in that moment. Her breath froze in her throat, her mouth went dry and her heart took wing.
Her mind turned back to when they had sat together on his bed in the attic. He had struggled to find words then as well, she recalled and smiled at the memory, but the joy and love welling up inside her now outshone the amusement.
He went down on one knee before her, still clasping both her hands in his. His tone, when he spoke, was soft and formal. "Elena Gilbert, I love you with all my being and I want to share with you this mortal life that you have gifted me, and to share yours. I want -"
He broke off and momentarily looked frustrated. Elena had the uncanny insight that in this one moment, he sorely missed the ability to touch her mind and show her without words what was in his heart. He muttered something in Italian, then switched back to English. "I want to fill your days with joy and your nights with love. I want to be a true husband to you and, if possible, give you children."
He freed one hand and pulled out a small velvet case from his pocket. It snapped open with a flick of his thumb, baring the gleaming stone set in a circlet of platinum; not a lapis lazuli this time, but a diamond. "Will you do me the great honor of being my wife?"
Elena looked away from the sparkling rock on its bed of black velvet and into green eyes that were tensed around the faint smile on his lips. Inwardly, Elena shook her head. How _could_ he be nervous...
"Something else hasn't changed," she said after a moment of searching his face and her own heart. "I said yes then, and my answer remains the same." She smiled through the tears filling her eyes and answered him in the same semi-archaic phrasing that he had used. "Stefan Salvatore, I love you and I would gladly share my life with you. Yes. I will be your wife."
His joy earlier was nothing, _nothing_ compared to the blaze that lighted in his eyes at her words. With infinite care, he removed the ring from the box and slid it on her left ring finger as she watched.
That done, they shared a look, then Stefan shifted to sit beside her again and they sealed their promise in the time-honored way: with a kiss.
* * *
He was tired.
Walking half blind and uncaring through the woods in the still night, he stumbled over a protruding root and decided to sit down before he fell flat on his face. He ended up sprawled flat, grass prickling his back.
Oh, yes, he was tired. Fatigued to the depths of his non-existent soul. Worn down by the ever-present pain and the waiting. Burned out. Exhausted.
_Weary unto death._ His lips quirked at the ironic humor he found in that phrase.
The pain, the exhaustion - they threatened to overwhelm him and steal his control.
Even knowing that the pain would swamp him if he let go, the effort it took to cling to his shields was becoming agonizing. The thought of release, of freedom - no matter how false - was very seductive that night.
Between holding Emmet Mogen bound, keeping himself alive from Jason's shot, confronting the Old One, supporting Elena while she Turned the vampires and then dealing with the hunters, his balance was in shreds.
It was an untenable situation. He desperately needed to regain Power but he knew himself enough to know just how dangerous he was with such a weak hold on himself. He might harm someone, might not be able to stop himself before it was too late. And so he could not reach out for the very Power he needed to shore up his shields for fear of-
A tentative contact.
Something flitted on the edges of his consciousness, brushed him with inquiry. His restraint broke, freeing the predatory side of his nature.
The being screamed and tried to flee from this thing of blood and leaves-
Too late.
Later, when Jerrick came back to himself, it was in a rush. There was nothing left of his victim, save a violent eddy in the flow of the ley lines nearby. He was lying in precisely the same location as before. He didn't know if he moved at all, nor how long he had been senseless.
The forest was utterly devoid of life, even to his otherworldy senses; all had fled.
He felt a spurt of emotion- anger, fear, remorse, guilt - then quieted himself to take stock. The Power he had gained was barely adequate, but it gave him a margin to breathe, lifted him above the level of a mindless, starving animal.
Now he could carefully begin to draw Power into himself in ways that were less harmful to others; he had that much control again.
Still, he had to brace himself as he cracked open his shields and drew on a trickle from the ley line. He ground his teeth to keep from screaming at the pain as Power poured into him, burning like fire, scraping like glass on raw flesh.
But what was worse was the way this Power pulled on his borrowed soul and the warp and weft of him seemed ready to tear free from his body.
He slammed the shields shut at last and lay gasping. Sweat beaded and ran down the sides of his face, disappearing into his hair.
He didn't have enough Power to heal himself of the damage from the gunshot, nor to repair the hundred little aches his frail body experienced simply from his everyday demands on it. His shields felt paper thin and his reserves were still drained to the dregs. He managed to bury the pain, muffling the agony to a bearable level. It was never gone, that ache. It was his constant companion, wearing away at him every moment of the day and night.
He was still weak, but at least no longer in danger of losing control. He had endured all he dared for this evening. It would have to do for now.
After a few more minutes, he slowly got to his feet, moving like an old, old man. He fumbled for and found a handkerchief and wiped away the sweat on his face, wondering, as he often did these days, how much more he could bear. Not that he had much choice, he reminded himself bitterly; what else could he do but ride it out?
But he quelled, in the depths of his secret being, at the thought of enduring days and weeks and months of this. He _must_ end it soon. The next move was to find the sixth.
Tomorrow, he would send Eiran out. They would find the last of the brethren. And then...
And then his curse would be broken.
Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and any other names you recognize from the books, 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_
* Author's Note(s)
Date posted: 18 January 2004
* Hi, everyone. I've been struggling a little with Chapter 53, but hopefully, not for much longer. Just want to say a quick thank you to Kichiko (I keep wanting to say chiriko -- that's little one, in Japanese, right? ^_^) for encouragement with each chapter. As we have less than seven -- I'm putting my foot down at 60 chapters or more! -- to go before we wind up this tale, there are some things I'm wondering about in retrospect/review. I'm going to post these as questions in the next chapter and I'd appreciate any feedback you'd care to give. On another note, hey, I hadn't realized that author alerts are now available to all members! Fantastic!
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~ Fifty Two ~
Waking felt both surprisingly normal, yet subtly disorienting.
Stefan lay still, eyes still closed as he came back to consciousness of his surroundings. What was different? He searched his mind, trying to identify the sense of wrongness. He felt something wet and prickly beneath him: grass. But the scent was wrong. The sounds around him told him it must be night. But he had to strain to make out the call of nocturnal creatures. Everything was quieter, blunted...
Memory caught up with him and his eyes sprang open, body tensing. There was no pain, a small part of him noted absently as he sat up. Has it happened? Is it done? Was he really Turned? It felt unreal-
It was dark. At first, Stefan could barely see and he was disoriented. Then his eyes - and his mind - adjusted to human perception again and he began to make out shapes.
A soft intake of breath drew his eyes like a magnet. A short distance from him stood a familiar figure, oddly transformed. But no, it was he who had changed...
Stefan was peripherally aware of the witches seated with some simple food on a blanket behind her. Light from the lamp set beside the blanket silhouetted the blonde, turning her hair into a golden halo.
She took two steps forward and he could see her more clearly. She had her fingers to her lips and her eyes were wide with emotion as she watched him. They stared at each other for a long, breathless moment. Then Stefan held out his hand in silent, beckoning invitation and she flew into his arms.
"Stefan, oh, _Stefan_!" she gasped, hanging on to him as if she were drowning. He held her close, sharing the same sense of relief and euphoria she was feeling. It was done. They had done it. There was nothing in their way now; they could have the life together that they had never dared to dream about. The realization made Stefan dizzy.
Then she was laughing through her tears of joy and he joined her until they were both breathless. With her head nestled in the hollow of his shoulder, Stefan looked up at last, noticing the rest of the world.
He just barely made out Makoe in the shadow of a tree, leaning against a trunk with his arms crossed.
::You made it. Congratulations.:: Makoe's mental voice sounded much the same as before, and his tone was as flat as ever, but there was a tension there that Stefan sensed.
He looked to where Samar had been. Tristan and Leon were in the same position as before, save that they were watching him. The tension that had been barely perceptible in Makoe was almost a tangible thing around those two.
"Samar?" he whispered.
Elena pulled away a bit reluctantly and met his eyes, sober. "She's not woken up yet."
"But... she was Turned first," he said carefully, the unspoken question in his tone.
"Yes. Yes, she was."
* * *
"There is nothing I can do!"
Samar drew a sharp breath as the cry pierced her unconsciousness. There was an answering gasp from somewhere close and above her.
"Samar," someone breathed her name. Leon.
Instead of replying, she inhaled again deeply. Why did it feel like she was gasping for air? Like she had been holding her breath for too long?
Well, at least the shouting had stopped.
She was shifted, lifted to aid her breathing and warm arms supported her. In a few seconds, she was feeling better, less like she was about to suffocate.
She sighed, reluctant to open her eyes or move. She was so comfortable like this, cradled in warmth and nicely sleep-fogged.
::Samar?::
Yes, Leon? Ooh. She couldn't reach out with her mind.
Her eyes flew open and she thought she heard a sigh of relief. The shoulder under her shifted again.
"Leon?"
"I'm here," came the instant reassurance. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine." She moved and he helped her sit up. She felt weird, actually. Like she was down with a flu and her head, ears and nose were stuffed up and her eyes bleary. She blinked, and shook her head. No, not a flu. Vampires didn't get sick.
::But I'm not a vampire anymore. I'm Turned now. I'm human again,:: she realized with wonder. She wriggled her shoulders, testing the pull of muscles in her back carefully. No pain. Stefan was right; she was healed -Stefan!
Her head jerked up.
They were back in the cabin. She was on the coach with Leon and in front of her; Stefan and Elena faced Tristan in a frozen tableau. Tristan had a fist raised in midair as if he'd forgotten about it, Stefan had his hands held out in a defensive position and Elena, behind him, was tensed and ramrod straight with fists clenched at her sides.
All three were staring at her.
Elena relaxed first. "Samar," she said with relief. Her voice broke the spell. Stefan smiled and against her will, Samar's breath caught; he really was handsome and having the full force of that smile turned on her was just a bit overwhelming. He had changed, she noted, studying him when she was no longer blinded by the smile. His good looks were wholly human now, the faintly feral quality that had been his vampirism gone. Samar thought actually suited him.
Tristan was taking slow steps towards her, almost as if he were stalking her. She focused her attention to him and narrowed her eyes. "What?" she asked, suspicious and a little defensive at the way he was looking at her.
"You're human now?"
Samar felt her lips twist into a parody of a smile. She opened her mouth and skinned her lips back. "Lookie here. No fangs."
Unbelievably, he paled. "That can be fixed." His own fangs slid out. He was still coming closer.
She didn't back away, but she did lean back against Leon as far as she could go. "Not yet, Tristan. I want to give this a try first."
"What's to try? You know what being human is like; you were one for eighteen years!"
"And I've been a vampire for 30. So give me another twelve years to balance the scales, why don't you?" she snapped back. ::He doesn't get it,:: she realized, dismayed. ::He doesn't know that I was thinking of becoming human again, doesn't understand why I'd even consider it.::
He froze. "Are you saying you want to stay a human? You don't want to be changed again?" His tone dared her to refute him.
Samar sighed, and pressed the heel her hand to her forehead. Her earlier peace was crumbled at that difficult question. Being Turned hadn't simplified the situation at all; she still had a choice to make.
"I don't know. I need some time to think-"
::No!::
Her head jerked up at the roar but all she saw was a flying blur. Then Tristan landed on top of her, fangs a hairsbreadth from her neck.
"Wha-Tristan!" she shouted, breaking out of her shock to try and push him off. But his hands closed on her shoulders and he was just too strong. He was, after all, a vampire, and she was only human now. Samar felt Leon pinned under her and frozen with shock before he too started trying to get Tristan off her.
He snapped, nearly reaching her neck. Once. Twice. She squirmed and dodged, feeling fear and rage shoot adrenaline through her body. His fingers dug cruelly into her arms and he didn't hesitate to use elbows and knees to good effect. She screamed his name again in pain and fury. This could not be happening! How _dare_ he? Has he gone _mad_?
"What the hell are you doing?" And then Stefan was there, trying to pull Tristan off. The gaunt vampire was surprisingly strong, or perhaps his maddened frenzy was giving him unnatural force. With a swipe and a lashed out foot, Stefan went sprawling.
Amid the chaos, it should have been impossible to hear the single, quiet click of metal. And yet, it sounded as clearly as a gunshot and everyone froze.
Makoe stood over them, gazing down at Tristan dispassionately. He had a gun pressed to Tristan's head. "Think you can change her before the bullet kills you?"
Samar stared at him. He wouldn't really kill Tristan...would he? Her eyes went from the rock-steady hand holding the gun to his cold, cold eyes, and what she saw there chilled her.
"Makoe, get out of the way, dammit. I can't let her stay human."
The dark vampire was unimpressed. "It's her choice."
"No!" Tristan shouted and the gun pressed warningly into his scalp.
"Let her up, D'Angelo." The tone never wavered; it was flat, calm and cold. Utterly devoid of any emotion.
Tristan reached up and knocked the gun away with a swipe that no one saw coming. Makoe didn't even bat an eyelash, merely stood there and continued to watch him expressionlessly. Tristan snarled at him, fangs glinting in warning, then turned back to Samar.
But when he tried to lower his head, he froze. Samar watched in amazement as he looked puzzled, then frustrated as he tried unsuccessfully to sink his fangs into her throat. Finally, he snapped his head around to snarl at Makoe again.
"I said let her up." With the quiet words, Tristan was suddenly thrown across the room and pinned spread-eagle against the far wall with invisible bonds.
Samar could only stare: Makoe had not touched him. She sat up hastily as began Tristan hurling abuse at his 'captor'. He really must have gone mad to be saying such things to Makoe, she thought, catching her breath.
Makoe was walking over to her pinioned brother when Samar felt a hand on her shoulder. She hadn't realized she was trembling until then. She huddled against Leon, but could not take her eyes away from the dark vampire and her brother. Would Makoe really kill him?
Elena was helping Stefan sit up. Samar spared him a worried glance; he was human now too and couldn't take as much abuse as a vampire could. He seemed all right, though, standing and taking an unsteady step towards Tristan.
Makoe flicked his fingers in a staying gesture and Stefan hesitated, then took the nearest armchair, Elena still hovering anxiously over him.
The short vampire stopped directly in front of Tristan. "Why?" he asked shortly. It took Samar a moment to realize that Makoe was asking Tristan to explain his actions.
Tristan growled a curse at him, then his head was jerked back as yanked by invisible hands in his hair. Or around his neck. He gasped.
"Why?" The tone of that single-word question was relentless and icy.
Tristan only bared his fangs defiantly at his tormenter. Oh, Tristan, can the stupid bravado and just answer the question already!
Then Makoe murmured something too low for her to catch and Tristan glared in murderous fury.
"We're waiting, D'Angelo."
Tristan held on another second longer. "She's my sister," he spat eventually.
Since when did you get a kick out of assaulting your own blood? she wanted to ask sarcastically, but she was still shaken.
Makoe crossed his arms in a gesture of waiting.
"I can't let her get kicked out of the hunt. And she will be if she's human. And then what would happen to her? Who would take care of her?" Tristan's eyes finally went to her.
"She's just a kid."
While Samar was still trying to decide if she was going to beat him up for his patronizing or hug him for his care, Leon spoke up.
"Tristan, if she decides to stay human, she won't be alone." He paused. "I'll be Turned, too. I'll take care of her. For," he added wryly, looking down at her. "As long as she lets me."
She shot him a disgusted look, then lifted her nose disdainfully, eyes going to watch the other vampires' reactions.
Tristan was staring and Samar almost laughed at his pole-axed expression. She wrapped her arms around Leon and felt him return the embrace after a brief hesitation. Eyes meeting her brother's, she felt a tremulous smile curved her lips and nodded.
There was no further argument from him. Maybe it was his surprise that robbed Tristan of his fight. Maybe he genuinely had objected to her being Turned only because he was worried about her and now that Leon had said he would look after her, Tristan was satisfied. Or maybe it was because the force that was holding him pinned to the wall chose that moment to disappear.
Tristan sprawled on the floor indecorously.
Samar stifled an impolite, "Hah!" and looked away quickly. She caught Makoe watching at her and Leon. His fathomless eyes captured hers for a second before she tore away and went back to watching Tristan pick himself up.
Getting into a fight with her brother was definitely the lesser of two evils.
Tristan grunted as he straightened. Samar noticed livid lines where she'd clawed him and he moved like an old man, but that was probably from being thrown into the wall and held there by raw Power. How had Makoe done that anyway? Nevermind.
"Well," he said at last, almost looking calm - for Tristan. "I guess that's that, then. Let's go."
Samar's mouth fell open. "What?" She sat up, like a deer scenting a predator.
"Let's go," he repeated. "Jerrick told us we would be hunting Old Ones. Well, they've already got two of them. Have you even eyeballed one, yet? All I've got is fighting a couple of lousy hunters. I don't need any witch to be able to do that. Stefan's human now; he's not part of the hunt anymore. What's to keep us here?"
Samar glared at him. Nor was she the only one. "Well, if Stefan isn't part of the hunt anymore, then neither am I," she snapped.
"That's different," Tristan said quickly. "You've not made up your mind yet."
Oh. Tristan wasn't fighting about her being human because he was deluded. Great.
Trying to argue that point with him was futile. Instead, she crossed her arms aggressively and her lip curled. "I'm staying."
Leon, beside her nodded agreement. "There are two more Old Ones to deal with. We'll get our chance."
Her brother snorted in disgust. "You're nothing more than a pair of gullible, worthless humans now - or as good as. I'm out of here."
Well, no one would ever accuse Tristan of being consistent, at least. But the insult raised Samar's hackles. She watched him spin on his heel and head for his room while anger burned like acid in her stomach.
She didn't remember moving. The next thing she knew, Tristan was flat on the floor with her knee digging sharply into his back. She hid her own surprise when he twisted his head to glare at her. He tried to roll over and an arm flailed in an awkward attempt to knock her aside. Without thinking, she caught his fist in mid-air. Held it as he struggled to get free.
"Worthless human, eh?" She managed, miraculously, not to yell. Instead, the rhetoric came out as a sort of purr with an underlying growl. She gave him a lethally sweet smile.
"I may be human now, bro, but I have been a vampire. I will never be 'just' a human again." She all but threw his hand aside and got to her feet, feeling steadier than she expected. "Stay a while," she suggested, borrowing Leon's mild tone of voice. "Things might get interesting yet."
And that was, truly, that.
* * *
Elena shut the room door and turned around slowly.
Stefan was watching her and the joy in his eyes was quiet no longer. It electrified the air between them. Wordless, he opened his arms and she came into them willingly.
There were sweet tears and whispered words amid the kisses they shared then. Laughter of sheer elation. Confessions of love and fears. Relief shared.
When the storm of emotion had passed, they lay quietly on the bed together, Elena's head pillowed on Stefan's chest, the beat of a now-human heart in her ear. How long they stayed like that, they neither knew nor cared. But finally, Stefan moved to rise.
Elena lifted her head to look at his face in enquiry. He met her eyes, looking unwontedly grave, then got off the bed and started pacing the room.
"Stefan?" Elena asked gently. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, watching him. When he didn't answer, she reached out and caught his hand as he passed. He looked at her and she was struck by the indecision in his eyes, as if he was struggling with something.
"What is it?"
He shook his head and touched her fingers to his lips before resuming his restless pacing. Elena watched him prowl with that remnant of vampiric grace. Or perhaps it was his aristocratic upbringing that led him to carry himself thus. She admired him absently while the greater portion of her mind tried to puzzle out his odd behavior. After a double handful of circuits, he whirled to look at her.
"The timing is all wrong; you have another two Old Ones to face and there are arrangements that must be made now that I'm human again and this really isn't the place, but I can't wait anymore. Elena, there is something I need to ask you." He retraced his steps till be stood in front of her again and took her both hands in his.
She tipped her head back to look at him, expectancy and concern in her face.
Meeting her eyes solemnly he asked, "Do you remember the first time we... promised ourselves to each other?"
Elena had to take a moment to absorb the apparent non sequitur and then to understand what he had asked. Memory came quick and sweet.
"Of course," she answered softly. They had been sitting in Mrs. Flowers' attic and she had confessed the whole mess with Caroline to him. They had exchanged blood then... and he had given her Katherine's ring.
"A lot of things have changed since," he continued. "I was a hunted man then, and a vampire. You were about to graduate and Katherine and Damon were adding their own intrigues." He tried to smile, but it didn't banish the gravity in his eyes. "Elena, even with all those things against us, I wanted, _needed_ to be with you, always." And now his eyes glowed, that last word half-whispered and fervent.
"That one thing has not changed. I still want us to be together, always."
It was then that Elena realized where this was heading and it was a good thing she was sitting down because it was doubtful that her legs would have supported her in that moment. Her breath froze in her throat, her mouth went dry and her heart took wing.
Her mind turned back to when they had sat together on his bed in the attic. He had struggled to find words then as well, she recalled and smiled at the memory, but the joy and love welling up inside her now outshone the amusement.
He went down on one knee before her, still clasping both her hands in his. His tone, when he spoke, was soft and formal. "Elena Gilbert, I love you with all my being and I want to share with you this mortal life that you have gifted me, and to share yours. I want -"
He broke off and momentarily looked frustrated. Elena had the uncanny insight that in this one moment, he sorely missed the ability to touch her mind and show her without words what was in his heart. He muttered something in Italian, then switched back to English. "I want to fill your days with joy and your nights with love. I want to be a true husband to you and, if possible, give you children."
He freed one hand and pulled out a small velvet case from his pocket. It snapped open with a flick of his thumb, baring the gleaming stone set in a circlet of platinum; not a lapis lazuli this time, but a diamond. "Will you do me the great honor of being my wife?"
Elena looked away from the sparkling rock on its bed of black velvet and into green eyes that were tensed around the faint smile on his lips. Inwardly, Elena shook her head. How _could_ he be nervous...
"Something else hasn't changed," she said after a moment of searching his face and her own heart. "I said yes then, and my answer remains the same." She smiled through the tears filling her eyes and answered him in the same semi-archaic phrasing that he had used. "Stefan Salvatore, I love you and I would gladly share my life with you. Yes. I will be your wife."
His joy earlier was nothing, _nothing_ compared to the blaze that lighted in his eyes at her words. With infinite care, he removed the ring from the box and slid it on her left ring finger as she watched.
That done, they shared a look, then Stefan shifted to sit beside her again and they sealed their promise in the time-honored way: with a kiss.
* * *
He was tired.
Walking half blind and uncaring through the woods in the still night, he stumbled over a protruding root and decided to sit down before he fell flat on his face. He ended up sprawled flat, grass prickling his back.
Oh, yes, he was tired. Fatigued to the depths of his non-existent soul. Worn down by the ever-present pain and the waiting. Burned out. Exhausted.
_Weary unto death._ His lips quirked at the ironic humor he found in that phrase.
The pain, the exhaustion - they threatened to overwhelm him and steal his control.
Even knowing that the pain would swamp him if he let go, the effort it took to cling to his shields was becoming agonizing. The thought of release, of freedom - no matter how false - was very seductive that night.
Between holding Emmet Mogen bound, keeping himself alive from Jason's shot, confronting the Old One, supporting Elena while she Turned the vampires and then dealing with the hunters, his balance was in shreds.
It was an untenable situation. He desperately needed to regain Power but he knew himself enough to know just how dangerous he was with such a weak hold on himself. He might harm someone, might not be able to stop himself before it was too late. And so he could not reach out for the very Power he needed to shore up his shields for fear of-
A tentative contact.
Something flitted on the edges of his consciousness, brushed him with inquiry. His restraint broke, freeing the predatory side of his nature.
The being screamed and tried to flee from this thing of blood and leaves-
Too late.
Later, when Jerrick came back to himself, it was in a rush. There was nothing left of his victim, save a violent eddy in the flow of the ley lines nearby. He was lying in precisely the same location as before. He didn't know if he moved at all, nor how long he had been senseless.
The forest was utterly devoid of life, even to his otherworldy senses; all had fled.
He felt a spurt of emotion- anger, fear, remorse, guilt - then quieted himself to take stock. The Power he had gained was barely adequate, but it gave him a margin to breathe, lifted him above the level of a mindless, starving animal.
Now he could carefully begin to draw Power into himself in ways that were less harmful to others; he had that much control again.
Still, he had to brace himself as he cracked open his shields and drew on a trickle from the ley line. He ground his teeth to keep from screaming at the pain as Power poured into him, burning like fire, scraping like glass on raw flesh.
But what was worse was the way this Power pulled on his borrowed soul and the warp and weft of him seemed ready to tear free from his body.
He slammed the shields shut at last and lay gasping. Sweat beaded and ran down the sides of his face, disappearing into his hair.
He didn't have enough Power to heal himself of the damage from the gunshot, nor to repair the hundred little aches his frail body experienced simply from his everyday demands on it. His shields felt paper thin and his reserves were still drained to the dregs. He managed to bury the pain, muffling the agony to a bearable level. It was never gone, that ache. It was his constant companion, wearing away at him every moment of the day and night.
He was still weak, but at least no longer in danger of losing control. He had endured all he dared for this evening. It would have to do for now.
After a few more minutes, he slowly got to his feet, moving like an old, old man. He fumbled for and found a handkerchief and wiped away the sweat on his face, wondering, as he often did these days, how much more he could bear. Not that he had much choice, he reminded himself bitterly; what else could he do but ride it out?
But he quelled, in the depths of his secret being, at the thought of enduring days and weeks and months of this. He _must_ end it soon. The next move was to find the sixth.
Tomorrow, he would send Eiran out. They would find the last of the brethren. And then...
And then his curse would be broken.