Author's note: This is the final part to my gift for Certified_Ceraunophile for the Klaroline Winter Gift Exchange 2021 (see Chapter 145 for part 1.) This is a historical human AU - Caroline is the daughter of a powerful lord while Klaus is an artist under their patronage. How far can forgiveness reach when a dark secret and a revenge plot stand in their way?

Warning: Angst. Violence. And did I mention the angst?


"What nourishes me, destroys me"
― Christopher Marlowe, Dr. Faustus


The first thing Caroline set ablaze was the faded coat of arms that hung from the gates of Mikaelson Manor. Running her torch along the cracked edges, she signaled her father's warriors to the rally point along the southern wall. Once it was revealed that her father's murder was retaliation for Ansel of the North's execution, it was obvious who had brought war to her doorstep — The Mikaelsons. Headed by a minor chieftain whose unremarkable demise in battle was eclipsed by rumors of cuckoldry, their manor house had fallen into disrepair.

Rumors of Esther's affair with Ansel of the North faded into obscurity along with the Mikaelsons' good name. Once Caroline's messengers sent word of the depth of the Mikaelsons' betrayal, she solidified a strategic alliance with the powerful Lockwood clan. Their much-celebrated prowess in battle ensured her swift victory. The first of the Mikaelson clan's steadfast warriors stormed the crumbling border wall, and with a resounding clang of her blades, she plunged into battle.

The hulking soldier foolishly performed a backsteppe maneuver that left his calf open to a low swipe with her short blade. His bellow as she sliced into the meat gave Caroline a grim satisfaction, as did running him through with her broadsword. He kicked up dust as fell, bowels spilling near her feet as she chased the two soldiers who attempted to overpower her. Breathless, she swung wide, forcing one to stop his skipping step and lead with a different foot. Her other opponent was more practiced in his movements, the high center stance intimidating until she realized he couldn't wield a blade equally in both hands. Emboldened by the sounds of her father's army, Caroline grew careless, and her attempt to disarm ended with the loss of her broadsword and a deep wound to her forearm. With a strength she hadn't expected from such a wiry frame, her opponent had knocked her to the ground, his foul breath against her cheek as he spat, "A position better suited to a lady of your stature."

Her stomach heaved at his crude threat, and she quickly brought a knee to the seam of his codpiece. From his high-pitched scream, she assumed correctly that he'd been afflicted by the pox. His mewling cries distracted him, and Caroline brought up the edge of her blade underneath his chin, pressing it through until his blood coated her breastplate.

Muttering under her breath, she rolled out from underneath the dying man, leaving him to his fate. Captain Saltzman stuck out an arm, his stoic expression flickering only briefly with relief as he saw the largest of the bloodstains was not her own. Her arm ached where the enemy's blade tasted flesh, but the bleeding had grown sluggish, so she paid it no further heed. A quick glance along the border wall filled her heart with a grim gladness. She was taught a woman's place was in war, fighting alongside her soldiers as they drew strength from her. Caroline did not relish the destruction; there was no beauty in the making of war.

The air stank of sweat and bile and the gore of the slain. Men struggled for purchase along the blood-streaked wall; many desperately clutching at their gaping wounds. Her steps were careful, giving wide berth to the scattered ropes of intestines. A severed hand curled open, with fingers outstretched to the sky in supplication to their gods. Only the slow-witted would entreat the gods in such a manner. The gods only spoke in blood and bone.

The thinned ranks of what remained of the once-proud Mikaelson warriors had all but fallen underneath the might of her father's army. Flanked by the Lockwood men, Caroline stormed the manor house, where she was pleased to see that Esther wisely chose not to run. She received them in the solar, a narrow room at the top of the stairs where she must have watched the ravages of the battle below.

"You dare enter my home with your barbarian horde," Esther icily stated, not bothering to stand from her high-backed chair.

With a silent nod, Caroline ordered the Lockwood men to leave her side and continue pursuing their enemies. She felt the flames in her belly as she stared at Esther. This was Ansel of the North's mistress; who had sent Klaus to kill Caroline's father. "You sent your snake to my home with a message. I've delivered my answer," she said simply, noting with interest how her enemy paled as she took in the blood that streaked Caroline's skin.

"Do as you will; it matters not. My Ansel has been avenged." Cackling, her eyes gleamed with madness as she smiled widely.

This was Klaus' mother. She had nurtured within him a hatred that couldn't be purged until he'd achieved vengeance. They were both cowards. Her lover had been especially cruel in his ambition — to come to her with soft lips and gentle murmurs — a blade to the chest would've been more merciful. At this faithless bitch's urging, Klaus had killed her father. KILLED HER FATHER. KILLED HER FATHER. KILLED. KILLED. KILLED. As the red rage came, Caroline ran her blade messily across Esther's throat, breathing deeply of the foul poison in her veins.

Wiping the flat of her blade along Esther's threadbare garments, Caroline stood tall as she proudly wore the blood of her enemy. Tyler suddenly appeared, favored son of the Lockwood clan, looking upon her in approval as he announced, "You've slain an enemy of our people — the king will be well-pleased, my lady." Scowling at the commotion downstairs, he added, "The rest of the wretched Mikaelson progeny have scattered to the winds. But no matter — our warriors will find them and then they will answer to our king."

Klaus must be among them, running scared. Good.

"Your loyalty to my father and our king is to be commended. I'll make a final sweep of the rooms and you gather your men downstairs and set everything ablaze." With a dismissive nod, she moved to the other rooms; the last vestiges of the battle outside had started to fade as her warriors claimed their victory. It was the scraping of stone that caught her attention, and as she rushed to the remaining storeroom, a strangled gasp choked off whatever words she would've said.

Klaus was here. He stood at what appeared to be a hidden passage, fists curled at his sides. Caroline was struck by his stillness; his body and hers existed in the same space, and yet they'd never been further apart.

How she hated him. Klaus stole her father's time. He stood there with those same gray eyes, so grave and penetrating, dissecting every eyelash and twitch of her cheek. Her secrets were no longer his to know. He took a step forward, and for a fleeting, dreadful moment, she thought he would try to touch her. However, the fury that raged in her expression kept him rooted in his place.

Emotions flickered across his face; too fast for Caroline to register. He opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it. Her palm rested on the hilt of her short blade, a gesture that oddly brought her comfort. She knew who she was. She proudly stood before her ex-lover, wearing his mother's blood. At battle's end, Tyler would offer her Esther's head as a trophy. Perhaps she would take Klaus' as well. He took her father's trophy.

"Lady Caroline," Tyler's booming voice called out, startling them both. "Do you need assistance?" The heavy fall of his steps could be heard as he started to ascend the stairs.

Caroline and Klaus' gazes met, and a thousand words that never passed their lips choked them both. Time stood still as their gods mocked them, the bittersweet memories lashing at her heart until she wanted to curl into herself. She finally shouted, "Nothing of interest up here; see to your men in the outbuildings and we'll send word to our king."

They called each other 'my love'.


His face was perpetually damp these days. Between the diluted pigments dripping down his brush to his sweat-soaked skin, Klaus questioned whether the gods had favored or punished him with this bountiful commission to paint frescoes of the domed ceiling of one of the largest churches in the land. Punished. Spring had long since surrendered to autumn since Caroline had allowed him to escape, and he still was no closer to understanding why.

Their people weren't so different; they kept to the code of the gods and honored their kinsmen above all. His mother had taught him of his duty to his true father, and when he'd learned that Lord Forbes had played a role in Ansel's death, he allowed his heart to be poisoned with the desire for vengeance. He'd gone to the Forbes' estate filled with dark purpose. Righteous purpose.

Caroline had been a surprise. The only child of Lord Forbes possessed a formidable reputation, but Klaus hadn't realized how thoroughly she would drive him to distraction. While her prowess with the blades rivaled that of the gods, it was her surprisingly beautiful, tender heart that ensnared him body and soul. He felt the weight of his lies every day he remained with Caroline, prolonging that hurt. They would never be healed.

The worst part of his revenge was having to hide behind his falsehoods. By pretending to be a simple artist, he was all but invisible to nobility while being privy to their most intimate moments. He saw the genuine affection between Caroline and her father, those tender moments that softened his heart and filled him with wretched despair. Lord Forbes must die. His patron had treated him justly — a far too rare an occurrence for a man of his station. Lord Forbes had proven himself to be an honorable man. A man who sentenced Ansel to death.

Caroline had returned his vengeance in kind when she slew his mother. He'd yet to fully understand if that reset the balance between them. His mother was a viper of the pit, but she'd been loyal to his true father in the ways that she could. He hadn't enjoyed the easy affection of kinsmen that he'd observed of the Forbes family, but they'd been his blood nonetheless. No matter his love for Caroline and unexpected affection for her father, it didn't change his duty to his kinsmen. The guilt was to be expected, and was a festering wound he lived with daily.

And then Caroline had let him go. By the gods, how that unexpected gesture haunted him! What did it mean? How could such a thing come to pass? When he'd fled her home, he'd assumed whatever love she'd felt for him had died. Yet she saved him. The possibilities were as endless as they were vexing.

With a heavy sigh, Klaus delicately applied more red earth pigment to the fresco decoration. He'd tried to make amends in some way, even though Caroline would never hear of it. Even in this distant land, he'd learned of plots against Caroline and had silenced them through a useful few still loyal to him. Her enemies were his.

The plaster layer wasn't properly smoothed, causing his brush to unevenly glide in places. Muttering to himself about the tradesman's inferior work, he carefully climbed down from the scaffolding, pausing at the last rung when the heavy bronze doors squeaked open. Klaus raised his head wearily, expecting the friar to pointedly yammer on about his tasteless visions for the fresco design.

Instead, Caroline and Tyler stood before him, stony-faced with hands resting on the hilts of their blades. Caroline had found him. Clever warrior goddess.

"You dared to run from us, coward," Tyler spat, lips curled into a sneer.

Trifling cox-comb, Klaus thought disdainfully, observing the soldier's puffery. While this foolish upstart's intentions were clear, it was Caroline's impassive face that proved inscrutable. She could've been sculpted from marble for all the emotion she showed. Did she truly feel nothing for him?

His silence angered Tyler, who took another menacing step as he taunted, "The king has granted us special dispensation to kill you where you stand rather than cart you back to our homeland to face his divine judgement."

Klaus squared his shoulders and leveled his coldest gaze at Tyler. His life may be forfeit, but he refused to beg.

It wasn't until he felt the warm blood on his face that Klaus fully understood what he saw. In one fluid move, Caroline forcefully thrust a blade underneath Tyler's chin, sending violent sprays of blood across the stone floor.

She casually stepped over Tyler's dying form and swiped at her gore-splattered cheek. Squinting up at the church's domed ceiling, her voice contained the hint of a teasing lilt as she told Klaus, "Your brushstrokes are still rather heavy-handed." They exchanged a tremulous smile. It bore more hope and affection than such bruised hearts had any right to feel.

They called each other 'my love'.