Disclaimer:TVD and Kol belong to Julie Plec I guess
Warning: -
Notes: Aaaaah I'm so sorry, I have some serious issues and have been neglecting this story like crazy. But you know, flashback time. So forgive me? I got you Lord Forthwind and Kol Mikaelson.

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1196

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England, 1196 –

It was like the mud sucked on her boots that morning. It had been raining for eight moons straight, the innkeeper had said. She had grinned, because how bad could it be.

"I can handle it," she had said. The innkeeper had just laughed at her and went to pour some more mead for the lonely haunter sitting at the bar. He had introduced himself as Lord Forthwind the Courageous – presumably the innkeeper had been giving him that mead all day.

She had gone upstairs then. Muriel, the tentative, quiet maid had made her bed with four blankets – England was colder than Jessima herself this time of year. She had wrapped herself in all four of them, and sat in front of the fire all night. In the morning she had pulled her boots on again – she had never made the effort to take off her other clothes; a cotton legging and leather coat. She had put up her blonde hair again and gone downstairs.

Lord Forthwind the Courageous had been nowhere to be seen, but Muriel was cutting pieces of off a large corn bread.

"Miss Helsen. How was your night?"

"Extraordinary, Muriel. Thank you for the blankets."

Jess heard the innkeeper stumbling down the stairs and she wondered if he had too much of his own mead last night, when he apparently emptied his stomach in the kitchen.

"Did you want some bread, Milady?" Muriel had asked, oblivious to her boss tramping through the hall.

"Oh, thank you, dear. But I must really go now. Here you go," and Jess had handed her more than enough dubloons.

Leaving a baffled Muriel behind, she had then taken off into the pouring rain and sucking mud.

You won't ever make it to Longford Castle, girl. The mud will wear you down in mere hours.

The innkeeper had been right, she thought. Any normal man, much less woman, would've made it all the way to Longford in this sludge. She kept at it for hours and hours on end, and it even started to affect her.

Almost two hundred years, she scolded. Two hundred years and she couldn't handle a little mud. God, she was the worst vampire alive. Or dead, technically.

Suddenly, a twig snapped on her left, in the forest. Next thing Jess knew she was plummeting face first into the mud.

Oh god. The string of curses that left her mouth the moment she pushed herself up again, face full of mud, could've 'put the devil himself to shame', as her mother would've said. But she was long dead, so couldn't really say anything.

In short, she was already painfully aware of her own stupidity and currently ill-favored appearance, and all of this over what was probably a bunny stepping on a twig.

On second thought, she really was kind of thirsty. A bunny wouldn't be a particularly bad thing.

But when she raised up from the mud, it wasn't a bunny that was staring at her, wide-eyed, but a man. For one short, terrifying second she thought it was Lord Forthwind – coming after her in his drunken stupor to violate her – but then she remembered how she was a thousand times stronger than three sober Lord Forthwinds.

If it had only been Lord Forthwind.

"Good day Milady," the stranger said.

God damn him – she seemed to amuse him, for his smirk turned into a grin when she glared at him. He was very handsome, Jess acknowledged, his hair dark and dripping from the rain, his eyes darker and even more shimmering. He was tall and – she startled when she noticed.

There had been one single time she had met someone like her. A vampire. She had met him in Brussels in the summer of 1097, when he tried to eat her.

"Oh shite," he had screamed. "You're one too."

They laughed at that and then they had been partners for over thirty years.

You're one of the good ones Jessie.

They had driven a stick right through him, in front of her. She wondered if she could drive a stick through this vampire's heart too, because he didn't seem too friendly.

Also, she would like to have no one witness her with her face and clothes covered in mud.

"You all right?"

God, what an obnoxious, disg –

He hauled her to her feet with such ease her earlier question had been answered: No, she could probably not stake this man. Or, boy, now that she was staring right into his face. He grinned again.

"Are you incapable of speech, little one?"

Little one – well that did it. She had always been a little quick-tempered, and as a vampire it seemed as if that trait had been impossibly magnified. No matter how handsome he was, or how easy he tread the mud, she was bloody well likely to poke his eye out.

So she stepped closer and tried to do just that. And soon enough she was rewarded with an intensely satisfying Ow! and an unknown, vile vampire on both knees.

"What did you do that for? Where the bloody hell did you learn to do that!?" he demanded as soon as his eye started healing.

"Practice makes perfect, little one. And, frankly, I don't think my poke is that perfect yet."

He smiled sarcastically at that, but didn't seem to lose his interest. Unfortunately.

"Kol," he said, extending his hand, "And I should probably stake you for that eye-thing you just pulled."

She looked him well in the face. He knew about the wooden stakes then. She had always been mystified about everything vampire, honestly. No one was there to teach her anything when she had just changed into one. She just woke up one day on the beach, having no idea how she got there, but the sun was suddenly burning, burning, burning like it never had before. Before she knew it she was in the shadows. She had ran like some… God? She had ran fast like the wind and she could smell the sea and feel the sand and hear the fisherman that were far out on sea. And she had thought it was just a dream or a wonderful miracle until she had basically ate one of the fisherman whole. Then there was the sun that burned her flesh red and black, the teeth in her mouth – those of an animal, sharp and deadly – the veins under her eyes, swollen and almost painful. Always the hunger, the thirst; she didn't know, couldn't tell the difference.

And while all the fishermen went to heaven, she went through hell. Being a vampire turned out to not be as easy as it sounded and without any sort of guidance she had felt all alone. She had oft wondered if she was maybe the only one of her kind. After all, she had no idea how to create another one of her kind, or who created her.

But this boy with arms stronger than hers knew things, and so – against all of her morals and standards – she reached him her hand.

"Jessima," she said haughtily (trying to rescue some of her dignity from certain, painful death), "And I invite you to try your best."

"I don't think you would want me to try, Milady," Kol said, kissing her hand. "But speaking of murdering the weak, I'm having a little dinner at my residence. I would be overjoyed if you could find the time to join me and my family."

She could feel the teeth sting, feel her heart contort. Feel how the words wanted to come out broken and unhinged, her breath catching in her throat. She hadn't killed since Domnall taught her how to compel. And she had taken to drinking animal blood anyway. When she was travelling, she found it more practical to suck on some deer than to go find a town. Drinking from humans did nothing but make her feel guilty. She took an unneeded breath.

"I don't drink from humans."

His left eyebrow shot up.

"I drink animal blood."

Slowly, his right eyebrow joined his left.

"I have for a few years now."

When he finally opened his mouth, he didn't seem impressed anymore but just very bored.

"Well, Jessima, that's all very honourable," he shook his head slowly, "but unnatural. It's not how we're supposed to live, you know. I was just starting to like you."

Ugh, this man really got on her nerves too much. But all she wanted was to know. Domnall told her everything he knew, but it wasn't much. It wasn't enough – not for her, at least. She felt like getting out of there, leaving this boy behind and running, instead she said, "I'll come to your ridiculous bloodfeast, if that's what you desire so much," immediately regretting her words, but feeling more excited than she had in years.

Unfortunately, excitement seemed for young girls now. All she felt was tense. And all she felt was ancient.

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A/N: Everyone that reviews, favorites or follows gets drunken hugs from Lord Forthwind okay