I do not own TVD of TO.
1919
She tapped a silver coin against her thigh.
Somehow it always came back to money.
Wealth, power, land; wars had been waged across history over man's desire for those three things. Very few skirmishes could be directly linked to woman – at least in the mortal world – but she wasn't fool enough to believe women were more level-headed. They rarely instigated wars because they lacked the authority to summon the numbers needed for battle, as a result they were often relegated to behind the scenes roles.
Her free hand brushed the fringe of hair from Thierry's brow. His mouth puckered but he remained asleep and she watched his chest rise and fall.
Rebekah kept her in the loop – Bekah always kept her in the loop – but she had already known Papa Tunde was killing left and right; she would have to have been a fool not to notice. Even the humans were catching on. The self proclaimed king had slaughtered humans, wolves, vampires and witches alike.
According to Rebekah, Elijah planned to negotiate a truce with the man nobody could kill – a man who had brought a reign of terror to New Orleans, a man who had brought that terror directly to her door.
She knew both brothers would go to the summit, giving a perfect opportunity to sneak into the compound. She could find Kol and use the dagger to find the others and save Rebekah a nap of her own – it was only fear of Klaus that kept her from waking Kol herself, but she could have him back in twenty-four hours; all she had to do was let Elijah negotiate a deal with Papa Tunde.
He would never be satisfied. She had seen it in his eyes. The man was obsessed with power. He might honour Elijah's terms for a time before he demanded more. Elijah would refuse and cite their former deal. Papa Tunde would return to sacrificial magic.
There was a reason not to negotiate with terrorists.
Her thumb traced the '1987' etched into the quarter, but her eyes never left Thierry.
How long before she saw her son's head on a spike with Tunde's mark?
She knew how to stop him. She knew what to do, but she also knew the cost.
To stop the horror – to save her son – she had to sacrifice Kol and her morals. She could have found another opportunity to get him back because more would arise – of that she felt certain – but to stop Papa Tunde she would have to cross a line that she could never uncross.
There were six streets between her and the Mikaelson family and in her personal opinion it was too close, but today it wasn't close enough.
She was meant to be a human woman, so she could hardly pick up her human son and race at Original speed. She could have asked Rebekah for help, but her only friend was at the sanatorium; even in the midst of chaos life went on.
"Mom," Thierry tugged on her arm, "where are we going?"
"I have to talk to someone, baby," she murmured, running a hand back through his hair.
"But we already passed Astrid's house," he frowned and twisted back to point at the unseeing doll a few yards back.
Elena followed his eyes. The dowager had left a single window open the night she died – normally a board was kept on the interior to ward off the cold – and it was through that small space that she communed with Astrid while Thierry played in the yard and Mary-Alice plead her sanity deep within the coven madhouse.
Astrid was her sounding board; her link to the ancestral world of magic. It had been a discussion with Astrid that led to her eureka moment.
"We are not visiting Astrid, sweetie," Elena's eyes flicked back to her path; only three more blocks. Her next words were too low for his ears. "Mommy has to make a deal with a devil."
Three blocks later the compound loomed, imposing on her personal space, demanding that she cower in fear. As an Original hybrid she knew logically that there was no reason for her terror, but there was still a piece of her – buried inside – that screamed 'run'; 'run from him and everything he represents': but a second voice – the louder voice – quoted words that wouldn't be penned for nearly a century – a variation anyway: 'kill the girl, so the woman can live'.
She was not a scared little girl anymore. She was a woman; she had responsibilities – people who depended on her – so she ignored the warnings and old internal alarms. She gripped her son's small hand, walked past the 'M' emblazoned on the wall and came face-to-face with one of the few men capable of sending her head into a tailspin.
"Elijah," she straightened her shoulders. "I'm glad I caught you." Part of her expected to hear her name roll off his tongue in soft syllables, but that was a different Elijah.
"Forgive me," his eyes widened, and then narrowed, searching the far corners of his mind, "have we met?"
She opened her mouth to answer, but was stopped by the arrival of the second man who wreaked havoc on her brain.
"What seems to be the delay, brother?" He clapped Elijah on the back. "It's not like you to keep a man waiting. Who is this?"
Blue eyes flickered to Thierry and back to Elena; recognition passed through the depths. He knew her face, but he couldn't place it.
"Isobel Vanchure," she glanced down when Thierry shifted, half-hiding behind her legs. She wished in that moment for a larger support system that she could trust. Her eyes returned to the brothers. "I maintain one of your properties on the other side of the Quarter."
"Right," Elijah nodded, placing her glamoured appearance, "if there is a problem with the property it will have to wait," he moved around her, "I'm just on my way to a meeting."
Her hand shot out, fingers curling tightly around his elbow. She checked her strength at the last second and kept it at a human level.
"You can't make a deal with Papa Tunde," her eyes flashed.
"I beg your pardon?" He looked with amusement toward her hand.
Klaus' voice held no trace of mirth. "What does a human know of Papa Tunde?"
Her eyes narrowed, flickering to a nearby vase and back; the heavy ceramic flew through the air and came to a stop before it could hit Klaus.
"Do I have your attention?" They dragged their gaze from the hovering vase to her. "Or would you like to check for wires?"
"You may be a witch, Mrs. Vanchure, but that fails to answer my inquiry. Why can't I make a deal?" Elijah watched her with growing annoyance, pulling his arm free with the arrogance of someone whose authority had never been questioned.
"You're over nine-hundred years old and you need me to tell you why giving in to a bully is a bad idea?" Her left eyebrow rose. She ploughed through before either could call her out for knowing their age. "He might want you to think he has all of the power, but he won't until you go through with this. If you give in he'll play along for awhile, but then he'll be right back at it. He won't stop until he controls everything."
"Is it possible you're underestimating his character?" Elijah sighed, deciding to humour her.
Elena searched his eyes for a long moment. "You're not foolish enough to over-estimate Papa Tunde," she shook her head.
"Mom?" Thierry whispered, tugging at her hand. "Who is Papa Tunde?"
"He was the man who came by the house," Elena didn't bother keeping her voice low, nor did she attempt to hide the flash of fear in her eyes.
"The man with the funny accent, and quiet sons?" He frowned.
"Yes, baby."
"He was on the property?" Elijah's brow lowered.
"Yesterday," Thierry chirped, trying to be helpful. "Mommy told me to go to bed," his smile dropped, "even though there was still twenty minutes 'til bedtime."
The way he dragged out the time made it sound like Elena had stolen years off his young life. He brightened a few seconds later.
"It's okay though 'cause Mommy promised we could go see the brass bands next week." Excitement lit up his eyes. "She said the trumpet player is amazing."
"Do you like music, then?" Klaus crouched down. The genuine smile on his lips took Elena by surprise; his mouth was meant to curve in cruel smirks or a manic grins.
"I love music, 'specially jazz," Thierry bounced on his toes, out now from her skirts. "Mommy says when I was little I would only sleep when she played a jazz album."
"And I suppose you're all grown up now?" Klaus tilted his head.
"No," he laughed, puffing out his chest, "but I'm bigger; I'm big enough to play the trumpet."
"I've told you already that your hands are too small," Elena reached for his shoulder.
"We'll just see about that," Klaus' dropped his voice to a solemn level and stood, placing one hand on Thierry's unclaimed shoulder and steering him into the compound. He gestured to a hall beneath a set of stairs.
"The third door on the left is the music room. In it you will see every instrument imaginable; find the trumpet and we shall prove your mother wrong."
Thierry looked back over his shoulder, but took off running when Elena nodded her permission.
"I'd estimate five minutes for you to get to your point," Klaus watched him go before following Elijah's lead and laying an expectant gaze on their guest.
"He came by the property?" Elijah prompted, curiosity winning out over manners.
"I've made no secret of my opposition – I've been wary since the day he came to town. When he knocked on the door he was coming for my head," she inhaled slowly through her nose. She knew he couldn't have harmed her, but without the protections she had placed around the house he could have incapacitated her and taken Thierry.
"Thankfully it's still attached," Klaus smirked, eyes twinkling. "It would be a shame to spoil such a lovely face with that charlatan's mark."
"That mark," Elena closed her eyes to steel her nerves. The next words out of her mouth may as well have been an execution sentence. "His power lies in his marks. In order to channel the energy from his sacrifices he has to draw it through a conduit..." she told herself that the two men were already dead. "If you destroy the conduit you will weaken him significantly."
"And you know where to find this conduit?" Klaus glanced at his brother – the pair had an entire conversation with their eyes in the space between heartbeats – a human wouldn't have noticed.
She wasn't human.
"Ask yourself this," she turned her gaze to the hall when Thierry came scurrying back; Klaus had under-estimated the capabilities of an excited human child. "What is Papa Tunde never without?"
"I found it," Thierry declared, holding up the gleaming trophy.
"Something that bears his mark." There was no question in Elijah's voice.
"Or someone," Klaus gave a pointed look to the child at his feet, struggling in vain to reach the valves with his small hands.
Elena followed his gaze and gave a minute nod; Klaus mirrored the motion then turned a bright grin on Thierry.
"I think your mother might be right; you're not quite big enough."
"I'll never be big enough," he sighed, holding the instrument out to Klaus.
The next morning Elena nursed a lukewarm cup of coffee as the sun crested the horizon and cast long shadows through the kitchen. For the first time in her immortal life she had blood on her hands, and even though the information saved hundreds of innocents it still weighed on her mind.
She was so lost in thought that she didn't hear the buzz of the doorbell until the person gave up and began to bang on the door.
She abandoned the nearly full cup and ran to the door. It was a good thing she hadn't removed her glamour the previous night because she didn't think to cast it; lucky since Klaus was on the other side of the door.
"Do you always knock on doors at the crack of dawn?"
"I could hear you awake," he lowered his hand to his side. "I thought it better to knock; you didn't react so well the last time you found me in the entry."
"I was wondering if you remembered me."
"It took some time to come back," he smirked. "You're awake early."
"I haven't been to bed," she admitted. "Between the threats to myself and my son, and the execution I all but ordered last night rest has been elusive."
"Then I come with excellent news," he tilted his head." Your information proved fruitful. Papa Tunde is dead and you may rest easy."
She rocked back on her heels, doubting rest would come.
"Thank you," she lowered her eyes, frowning when she saw the box under his right arm. "What's that?"
"A small token," he held out the box, letting go when she took it.
Elena turned the case over slowly, inspecting the clasps.
"I'm not going to find a severed limb in here, am I?" She looked up through her lashes.
"That would be a highly inappropriate gift for a child," he scoffed, expression softening into something she didn't recognize on his face: gratitude. "Get some rest Mrs. Vanchure, and – should you feel so inclined – drop by the compound tonight for the celebration."
2011
One Month Later
Senses returned slowly, they always did regardless of whether he had slept eight hours or eight decades under a mystical influence. His limbs tingled, pins and needles signalling the oncoming consciousness.
Pains gripped his stomach, clawed behind his eyes and clung to every extremity.
A muscle spasm wracked his arm, but he barely felt it for the slim fingers that curled around his hand. A thumb smoothed over his knuckles as the pleading whisper traveled along his skin.
"Please..." the voice wavered, on the cusp of breaking, "please open your eyes. Give me some indication that I didn't screw this up. Please..."
Something wet dropped on his knuckles, rolled down his hand and left a trail over his arm.
"I..." his voice cracked, raw from disuse. He swallowed twice, forced his eyes open and tried again; meeting her red eyes and forming each word with deliberate care. "I'm n-not worth crying over, darling."
A tiny giggle burst from her parted lips, wet and hysterical. She let go of his hand and shifted, grabbing either side of his face so she could kiss him; his brow, his cheeks and finally his lips. Tears slipped from her eyes.
He reached with shaking hands and wiped the moisture with his thumbs.
"I mean it, darling," he smirked, "I am not worth your tears."
"You let me be the judge of that, Kol Mikaelson," she touched her forehead to his and moved one hand down to cover his heart. "You earned every tear I shed, and every tear I would have cried and still might if my spell fails."
"You? Fail?" His fingers threaded through her hair. "Never," conviction clung to the syllables.
"So much faith," she closed her eyes. "Clearly you've forgotten our early magic lessons."
"You always got it right in the end." Kol pushed up on his elbow gently, holding on to her all the while. "I've died already, haven't I?"
"The moment I unlinked you from Rebekah," she chewed her bottom lip, hoping his sire line would survive the transition as well.
"Then the first part worked beautifully," his hand slipped down her spine. He hated to let go, but now he knew what the aches were and he had to unless he wanted the death to be permanent. "Shall we finish this?"
Elena nodded, leaned back and reached for a bag of her human blood on the nightstand. She held her breath as he opened the bag and started to drink, sagging only when his face shifted and his body completed the transition.
Kol saw the look on her face when he drained the bag. He reached for her hand and squeezed.
"I never doubted you, Elena Gilbert."
"That's okay," she caught a drop of blood from the corner of his mouth. "I've had more than enough doubt for the both of us."
"Why would you ever..." he paused to pull her thumb into his mouth and clean the blood with his tongue,"...doubt yourself?"
"You've missed a lot," she sighed.
"Then you must fill me in," he wrapped his arms around her waist, marvelling at the strength he sensed in his muscles, "but first..."
Elena laughed as she was deposited on the bathroom counter.
"You couldn't shower alone?"
"Every time I let you out of my sight you wind up in some supernatural mess; it's safe to say that I'm never leaving you alone again."
"You might get sick of me after a few centuries," she warned.
"Never."
Elena squeezed the worst of the water from her hair with a towel and leaned back against the headboard, folding her legs beneath her body. Her dark eyes flickered to the ensuite door where the final tendrils of steam curled out, evaporating before they could reach her perch.
"That looks familiar," he flashed across the room and leaned against the headboard beside her.
"Someone got my clothes all wet," she shrugged, pulling a damp curl from underneath his collar. "I had to wear something."
"So you stole the shirt I had for myself?" He cooked an eyebrow.
"It looks better on me," she tossed the towel aside. The tip of her nail traced a tingling line down the centre of his chest towards his belt. "And you look much better like this."
"Why, Miss Gilbert," he put on a scandalized air, "are you objectifying me?"
Before she could answer he flipped her over and pressed her body into the comforter.
"I really love this shirt, darling," his fingers slid over her thigh, working the material higher. "So, despite looking phenomenal on you, I must reclaim it." As he spoke he leaned lower until the last words were whispered against the shell of her ear.
"You know, most people would be eager to get out after a month in bed," she breathed.
"Why would I leave when everything I could ever want is right here?" Genuine curiosity chased any teasing from his voice and eyes.
Her heart skipped a beat.
"Four walls can get dull after a time," her eyes sparkled.
Kol turned his head, dragging his nose over her cheek until his lips brushed her mouth. "It is not the walls that interest me." He kissed her softly. "I just want to enjoy the calm before one of my brothers descends with chaos in their wake."
"Your brothers aren't here," her fingers explored the strong muscles in his back slowly, as if she had all the time in the world to memorize how he felt.
"I worked that out when I couldn't hear them."
Kol rolled onto his back at her silent urging. He drank in her appearance with his eyes, staring unabashed at the curve of her cheeks and the beginning of a frown line that would never deepen.
"Did you also work out that they're not coming back?"
She rested her hands on his chest, traced an all but faded scar above his heart and tilted her head. Kol didn't have to look to see what she had found.
"That's where my father ended my human life," his fingers curled around her wrist. His eyes widened after a moment.
"What do you mean they're not coming back? Did mother –"
"No," she pressed her fingers to his lips; a small smile crossed her face. "Everyone is fine... for the most part."
"For the most part?" He frowned, arching an eyebrow. He sat up slowly, holding her waist with one hand. "What exactly does that mean?"
He told himself that nothing was seriously wrong. She would have told him the moment he completed the transition. She wouldn't have waited so long to break the news. If one of them had been hurt she would have said.
"You missed a lot," she shifted, moving to sit beside him, but he held her tight so she settled for resting her weight on his thighs. "What do you want to know first?"
"Start with the eldest. Where is Finn?"
"He left for New York a few days ago. The moment he knew I had things handled he went with Sage; he said something about seeing everything he missed."
"Sage is alive?" Kol tilted his head. He remembered the woman well; after Finn went against everything he believed to turn her, he had made it his mission to learn why. Sage had reminded his brother what it was to be human; she had turned his rare guarded smiles into signs of genuine happiness.
"Yup," Elena nodded. "She has been trying to catch up with all of you for nine-hundred years, and because of her you came this close," she held her thumb and forefinger close together, "to spending eternity in a mystical coma, linked to Rebekah, but since she didn't know what she was doing, and we managed to locate more, I forgave her for burning the white oak. Now she and Finn are off somewhere with promises to check in," she waved in the general direction of New York. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you upset he's not here?"
"A little," he shrugged. "I've barely spent any time with him in centuries, but I can hardly begrudge him for desiring distance. What about Elijah?"
"New Orleans," she licked her lips, "Thierry has been keeping an ear to the ground for me. There were whispers of a witch plotting against an Original, and when I worked out that it wasn't me Elijah went to investigate."
"I see," he nodded slowly, "and what about Nik?"
A line appeared between his brows when her grin broadened into something between smugness and glee. "What did you do, darling?"
"Nothing much," she shrugged, unable to hide her grin, "I just gave him a taste of his own medicine."
"Meaning?" He tried for stern, but her grin proved infectious.
"Well," she looped her arms around his neck. "Bonnie came around – we won't be braiding each other's hair anytime soon; but she accepted my apology and understood why I had Stefan and Damon do what they did. She helped break the link between us and worked with me to cast a spell I'd been working on for decades."
"Oh, really?"
"Uh-huh," she nodded. "We actually did the spell first, and it worked out perfectly. Klaus asked if the unlinking had worked and I suggested we test it. He had barely agreed before I lodged a dagger in his heart."
"You stabbed my brother?" He held his breath. "You stabbed Nik and lived to tell the tale?"
"That spell I was working on was the one you had Astrid and Mary-Alice working on," her heart sped up. "I stabbed him with a gold dagger dipped in white oak ash. Klaus is in a supernatural time-out. Rebekah pushed for a minimum of fifty-two years. Finn wanted to leave him for centuries until he regained consciousness – that's a whole other story. And Elijah thought waking him and letting him know what had happened would be effective enough."
"But he is still asleep though, so what did they agree on?"
"I suggested a century, and to appease Finn I promised to find a way to give him back his consciousness near the end." She chewed her bottom lip. "I'm sure they'd renegotiate if you wanted to."
He leaned back, inhaling slowly.
"I think a century should teach him a lesson and keep him from ever daggering one of us again."
"You're onboard then," she sighed, playing with the hair at the back of his neck. "Although, you should know that I made a few modifications to the spell so the daggers won't affect you anymore – not without altering the base metal."
"Base..." he frowned, "what exactly did you do to me?"
"The same thing Freya did to me – assuming I did it right..." She waited for the moment of realization and saw when it flared in his eyes.
"You gave me back my magic?" He spoke slowly, hopefully.
"I tried," she spun the pyrite ring around with her thumb, "but you're the only one who can tell me if it worked." He stilled and she tilted her head. "What's wrong? Don't tell me you've got performance anxiety," she teased.
He pinched her hip, but didn't correct her. It had been a thousand years since he felt magic in his veins and he couldn't decide if that was the source of the tingle beneath his skin or whether it was caused by her presence or just nerves.
"Hey," she held either side of his face. "It's alright; take your time, and if it helps: the fact that you're alive is a really good indication that I got it right."
He fixed his eyes on the shelf beyond her shoulder and the books that lined it, focusing on a slim red volume. It took more concentration then he remembered using before the book lurched off the shelf, soared across the room and thumped against the mattress.
"Your aim is off; you might want to work on that," she picked up the novel. "Would you like some lessons?"
"Don't forget who taught you," he rolled his eyes. "I'm out of practice..."
"You'll pick it up again," she gave him a small nudge.
"Exactly," he nodded solemnly. He couldn't hold the expression for long though before a grin threatened to split his face. Words of gratitude failed him so he did the only thing he could think to do and kissed her, pouring every emotion he felt into it.
Sheer joy raced through his body and he laughed into the kiss. He pressed featherlight kisses over every inch of exposed skin he could reach.
His elation dropped a fraction when the door swung inwards. Rebekah hopped on the end of the bed and he rolled his eyes.
"Your timing is impeccable, sister," he sighed, but the smile never left his lips.
"I gave you two hours," she shrugged. "Did you get to the bit about mother yet?" Her eyes flickered to Elena.
"Not yet," she twisted to sit against the headboard, smiling softly when his hand slid down to rest on her knee. "I was focusing on the happy news."
"What happened with mother?"
"She disappeared," Elena tucked her hair behind her ear, "reappeared, tried to kill us all again and when that didn't work she killed herself."
"We burnt her body in case she got any ideas about coming back," Rebekah fiddled with a box in her lap.
"I thought you had to have a Mikaelson witch, and while we're on that topic didn't Nik turn mother?"
"Yes," Rebekah turned her eyes on Elena.
She swallowed and fiddled with her ring.
"After I turned I started looking for spells that dealt with time," she admitted quietly. "I found one that allowed me to send someone back a few hours. And before you can scold me, yes, I know crossing into one's own life is dangerous, and I knew, if it came down to it, having you present would work, but I was scared even tied to Rebekah your body wouldn't be able to take the stress of channeling magic, so when Finn volunteered I sent him back to stop Klaus. I've regretted it since your mother made her daring escape."
"And luckily her fear turned out to be unwarranted paranoia. Here," she held out the box.
"Mother is dead," Kol watched Elena take the box and turn it over. "Were there any ill effects from your spell?"
"Aside from the consequences of leaving your mother as a witch no, there were none," Elena shook her head. "Finn knew to stay out of sight until it was done, at which point the past version of him disappeared and I thanked anyone who might be listening that we didn't get caught in a time loop. What is this?" She looked to Rebekah.
"Present from Elijah, sent by express mail," she shrugged.
"Elijah is sending you gifts," Kol arched an eyebrow.
"Aw," Rebekah smirked, "don't be jealous; it was just a fling."
"Not funny, Bex," Elena scolded, but she couldn't help giggling when Kol glowered and mumbled something about not being jealous.
"Kol is three shades of red so I will count it as funny," she hopped to her feet. "I think I'll go take a relaxing bath."
Elena tore into the package as she moved to leave. Gold glittered as it fell, thumping against the mattress, and her heart stopped. Blood rushed from her face.
Wordlessly she picked up the dagger.
She barely heard Kol through the roar of blood in her ears.
Underneath her burning anger lurked the ghost of an emotion she had sworn would never darken her heart again: fear. He hadn't been down long enough to feel beyond vengeance, and immortal or not she didn't doubt Klaus' ability to make her life miserable.
Her eyes flickered to Rebekah and the message was clear; she couldn't be trusted to make the call without screaming into the receiver.
If Elijah knew what was good for his health he wouldn't come within three States of her.