AN: I'm ignoring The Originals for this fic. You should too.
Let us go hence: the night is now at hand;
The day is overworn, the birds all flown;
And we have reaped the crops the gods have sown;
Despair and death; deep darkness o'er the land,
Broods like an owl; we cannot understand…
The air thickened and Klaus felt the shades' approach. Twelve witches, bent for revenge on Caroline…he'd met these harpies before. Perhaps this time the message would stick that no one, no one, would harm Caroline while he was alive.
His eyes flashed amber and he felt his fangs lengthen—his body was reacting towards protecting Caroline.The traitorous little witch had been right about one thing—he really had no idea what his werewolf heritage meant, what powers it would unlock.
The wind shifted and Klaus stiffened. He recognized these scents—and they were not the scents of witches.
"Well, well, well," He smirked as the shades materialized. "Kimberly. Adrian—and all the rest." Twelve hybrids encircled him, their eyes filled with hatred. He could feel the air vibrate with rage—how much power did they have in this world of undeath?
"Come to greet your dear old dad?" Klaus sneered. "I have to say, I am touched."
Adrian bared his teeth. "You're dead, Klaus."
"Actually, you're dead," Klaus corrected. "Remember? I slaughtered your traitorous hides one very merry Christmas—"
One of the hybrids, a large man named Bruce, outstretched his arm. Without warning, Klaus doubled over, as though someone had launched a cannon ball into his gut.
"I wouldn't underestimate us, Klaus," Kimberly snarled. "You can't rely on brute strength alone. Not in this place."
His breathing had become restricted. It felt as though their sliming, betraying hands were grasped around his throat, squeezing the air out of them. He gritted his teeth.
"You've gotten feisty rotting in your graves," He bit out, the words coming out choked. "But you can't kill me."
"Oh, I wouldn't be too sure of that," Adrian's fangs began to lengthen as he stepped towards him. "You think your immunities on mortal ground will work in a place of death? Where everything you see and smell wants to drag you down, where your nightmares become real? Your banished to Hell, Klaus. And we're your tormenters."
Adrian attacked. Klaus braced himself to defend himself but to his horror, found himself unable to move. He was paralyzed and immediately, Adrian knocked him to the ground.
His former hybrid's fangs tore into his throat and Klaus screamed in agony. He forced himself to roll over, trying to harness both vampire and werewolf instincts—but everything felt out of reach. He was as helpless as a human; this world of death had taken away his strength.
"Everyone," Kimberly shouted. "Shift to your wolf forms. We will tear him to pieces."
"I'll take the head," Adrian's mouth was filled with sinew and blood, red stripes coursing down his chin.
Gods…if they can take down an Original—what are those witches doing to Caroline? Did her father get her out of there? His thoughts had become hazy. He was about to fall into blackness as he watched the twelve shift to wolves, false moonlight glinting on their fur—but suddenly they stilled.
The sound of a pipe cut through the darkness.
The wolves pawed the ground anxiously. Adrian, still human, but fangs bared, back off of Klaus' paralyzed body, turning his head wildly towards the sound. It was a low, melodic, haunting song, something Klaus thought he'd heard before. Perhaps in a dream a thousand lifetimes ago.
Something was happening. The shadows were shifting, dissipating into something close to sunlight, but not quite. A man stepped forward playing something that looked like a wooden flute.
The wolves he passed cowered in fear.
Klaus stared in shock. The man had dark skin, the color of mahogany. He wore ancient clothes, something between what a druid would wear and a Native American, along with a wolf pelt slung across his shoulders. His hood was drawn and Klaus could not see his face.
The man said something to the wolves in a language Klaus vaguely recognized, though he could only understand a few words. The man's voice was gravelly, like smoke from a dying fire, and Klaus felt something in him loosen.
The hybrids vanished. Klaus felt whatever was restraining him lift and he leapt to his feet, snarling at the interloper threateningly.
"Who are you?" He demanded. "Why did you interfere?"
"Your death is not theirs," The man answered. "Not in this ignoble place."
"Answer my question. Who are you?"
"When I walked on mortal ground, I was called Tav," The man responded, lowering his hood. His hair was long, the color of coffee, matching intense, eyes.
The lines on his face alluded to his age, but there was a fiery spark in his gaze. Life. There was an unnatural life in those eyes, something that didn't fit in this lay of the dead.
"Tav," Klaus sneered. "Well. I'm assuming you have a lot of mysterious undead things to do, particularly when the doors of death are open—old families to haunt, mediums to mess with, that sort of thing. So if you'll excuse me, I've a blonde to save." He turned away from him, already inhaling the mist, trying to catch Caroline's scene.
"Your mate?" Tav called after him. "Caroline?"
Klaus stopped short. He turned, eyes narrowing towards the man.
"She will be well," Tav said simply. "That is why I showed William where to find her."
Klaus' brow furrowed. "You sent Bill Forbes to save Caroline?" His fists clenched. "How do you know me?"
Tav ignored the question. "Niklaus," He murmured. "Niklaus. A name from across the sea. But I gave you a name too, a warrior's name, in the vain hope and prayer you would not forget the wolf—Karralys."
Klaus' chest constricted. He stared at the man with new eyes, suddenly realizing why the twelve hybrids had disappeared.
"You're the first," His voice was dry. "The first werewolf. The one my mother fell in love with." He couldn't say the words, couldn't find what this implied as a swirl of emotions tumbled over him—rage, hatred, sorrow, pain…
"And you," Tav replied. "Are my firstborn son."
XXXX
"Daddy," Caroline panted. "Daddy, we have to stop!"
He didn't answer her, but his hand squeezed hers gently. Desperately, Caroline glanced behind her.
"Daddy please," She begged. "I can't just—I can't just leave—"
"Klaus can take care of himself," Bill replied shortly. "The Original vampire? The source of the scourge, who's remained alive for a thousand years despite every hunter, born and trained? He'll manage. I'm taking you some place safe."
"But this place—it's—there's something wrong with this place!" She couldn't put her finger on it, but something like instinct told her that Klaus was in terrible danger.
"Caroline!" Her father whirled towards her, his hands gripping her shoulders. "You are in the land of the dead, the one place on earth your powers are ineffective. You're on their turf, they sense your light and life and they will do everything in their power to snuff it out, do you hear me? If they find you, they will take you, and you will never return home again!"
She stared at him, her eyes filling. It had been years since she'd heard his voice, so long since she felt his touch. In this world of unrealities, where her loved ones walked—he was here.
"Where—where can we go?" She whispered.
"Come on," Bill said firmly. "There's a place they can't go."
XXXX
There was no pride in Tav's features. No fatherly warmth, no love or affection. This, at least, was a comfort to Klaus—anything else would've felt false.
"So," He said immediately, crossing his arms. "Dear old dad. I can't say it's nice to meet you, given the circumstances, but considering what an ass Mikael was, a very low bar has been set for you."
"I don't need a bar set for me, Karralys," Tav said quietly. "A hundred years ago, had you come through the doors of death, I would have let the souls you've tormented rip you to shreds. I have seen very little of the wolf in you, very little love and loyalty to your pack. I had thought Esther's curse made you one of those blood beasts and your soul was the price." His words lacked the anger Mikael's had had so often; they were cool and matter-of-fact.
Klaus found that the only thing he could think to say was: "Don't call me that."
Tav ignored him pointedly. "I had thought you were a punishment from the gods for my indiscretion with Esther, for not respecting that she was bound to another. I thought my suffering, my penance, would be to watch the beasts of blood run rampant across the centuries, killing and feasting on the humans, while I could do nothing to protect them."
Tav's eyes met his. "But something has changed within you. Your presence in the Crescent City, your reliance on your brother and sister, your desire to be king of the people of this city—I see the shadow of the wolf, however faint."
"I've no idea what you're talking about," Klaus said coldly. "My domination of New Orleans isn't out of some sentimental—"
"And the girl," Tav said suddenly. "Caroline. She has seen what I have seen."
Klaus froze. Her words rang through his mind. Anyone who is capable of love is capable of being saved…
"She has seen the wolf too," Tav said softly. "And she sees it now. It is why she has come here. It is why the wolf claimed her as his mate."
His hand went to his pouch and he withdrew a small dagger. It appeared to be made of onyx and Klaus eyed him warily.
"Are you worth saving?" Tav rumbled. "Are you more than the beast you've been for a thousand years? If you allow the wolf to rule you, will it atone for your darkness?" He raised his hand and Klaus fell to his knees. Something within him was burning, as if his internal organs had been exposed to daylight.
"You have murdered, betrayed, stolen, tortured, and damned," Tav's voice thundered in his ears. "Still yet you live, still yet your brother and sister protect you, still yet the girl who walks in sunlight strives to save you. Are you deserving of this redemption?"
"I will not answer to you," Klaus growled, clutching his head. It felt as though a white-hot carving knife was searing through his brain.
Tav's voice roared. "And the thousands of humans you murdered, the men, the women, the children? Were they deserving of the deaths you gave them? The pain you inflicted?"
"Get out of my head!"
"Your mother the witch, she thought your evil could never be atoned for, so she damned her own children! Again, I ask you—are you deserving of redemption?"
Klaus screamed in agony. Thousands upon thousands of faces were flashing through his head, men, women, children, the countless mortals he'd carelessly slaughtered. He felt their agonizing deaths, he felt their hunger as they became newborn vampires, he felt them shrivel to dust when they could not survive the turning. He felt the rage and sorrow of the werewolves, being forcibly turned into something outside their natures, their hybrid forms condemning them to slavery.
"Enough," He rasped. "Enough!"
"It was not enough for them, it is not enough for you," Tav's voice was deadly calm.
"You're killing me!"
"Would that I were. But empathy is not a death, it is a rebirth. I want to see if your soul still lingers…" Tav's eyes glittered in something akin to malevolence.
The voices in Klaus' mind screamed out their pain, echoing across thousands of years. What was Tav looking for? There was nothing left but ashes, nothing but the darkness…
"No…"
Tav's hand rose and for a blessed moment, the voices halted. "What did you say?"
"I said," Klaus strained for breath, sweat pouring down his face. "No…I do not deserve redemption…not for what I've done…not for what I will do…there is nothing…"
There was a kind of stillness as he spoke, the words making his throat raw. The agony had been so intense, he'd wished for the sweet release of death—but he was in death, death would mean an eternity of suffering those pains, over and over…those horrible voices, that horrible screaming from the innocent lives he'd slaughtered for food and pleasure…
Tav bent down towards him. Klaus met his gaze.
"Good," Tav said softly. "No one is deserving of redemption. Redemption is a gift, one you accept or reject. There is still hope for you, Karralys."
"Go to Hell," Klaus spat.
"Perhaps later. For now, you must go to your mate. The doors will be closing soon; Lalaurie has all she needs."
XXXX
"Stay with me, Caroline."
She felt strange, as though parts of her were fading into the shadows. The further they walked into the Underworld, the more lifeless she became.
"What's—what's happening?" Her voice sounded outside of herself, as if she was listening to a bad recording. "What's happening to me?"
Her father gripped her hand tightly. "You're succumbing. Remember, Caroline, you are alive. Don't give into the shadows, sweetheart. We're almost there!"
Her eyelids felt heavy and she longed to curl up on the ground and vanish. She rather thought it would feel like a nap.
"Caroline!" Her father's gaze was frantic. "I promise you, baby, we're almost there! Stay with me!"
She focused on the sensation of her father's hand clutching hers. His hand had always been soft, always gentle, as he put curlers in her hair or combed through it. She focused on those memories and sensations and gradually felt more solid.
"That's right, sweetie," Her father's voice was relieved. "And here we are!"
Caroline looked up. They were standing before a house, a house that looked precisely like Elena Gilbert's. Her eyes widened.
The front door opened and Alaric Saltzman stepped outside. "Caroline," He smiled at her. "It's good to see you."
She tried to answer but collapsed on the ground.