Author's note: Surprise! Two back-to-back stories! I've been working on both this and the epilogue to Chaotic Good concurrently, and figured this would be a great publication date! I conceived this story because I thought it would be hilarious to not only see Silas get rejected, but to point out all the ripple effects that action could create.

It was supposed to be a one-shot and a joke, and then this happened somehow.

Disclaimer: The Vampire Diaries is owned by L.J. Smith and the CW. Title credits go to words existing! Yay, languages! :D

Approximately 2000 years ago – Thrace, (ancient) Greece

With a resounding thwack, the front door of an exquisite Thracian estate swung open, the source of its motion confidently strolling inside, much to the annoyance of his considerably calmer, more responsible brother, who watched the dramatic entrance with a glass of honeyed wine resting languidly in his aristocratic hand.

"Olysses, you're back. Almost a year early," Silas drawled, displeased with the current state of affairs. His brother's presence usually meant chaos, since he generally took it upon himself to use his restless energy to question every norm, rile every politician, and just generally wave an irreverent display of rebellion for his own amusement.

"Hello, brother," his interlocutor smirked, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "My crew and I had begun our work at Aetna, when our ship's supply of citrus was almost stolen. I don't know about you, Silas, but I like my teeth sparkly and shiny and in place."

Silas furrowed his brow as he was wont to do. Olysses was tempted to count the wrinkles. "Don't you have a healer?"

"Last week, our Water Healer had to take a leave of absence when she received word of a family emergency. We thought we could do with our Earth Healer, but his potion supplies seemed to all but vanish. So, we had to turn back. At least for a few months."

Silas reasoned that if he had to stifle his groan of frustration, he could at least give his sigh liberty to be audible. Olysses may be a thorn in his side, but at least his latest misadventures had proven Silas right. Again. "Divine intervention, brother. Perhaps now you will curb your wild ways and serve the magic at our ancestral temple, as is proper, not your foolish travels."

Olysses closed his eyes, allowing his consciousness to extend to the fire in the hearth, the static in the air, allowing them to energize him. "That's where you're wrong. While you waste away on this one tiny part of our world, I get to see its many wonders. I've seen the root of ice magic in the glaciers of the Arctic's heart, I've felt the winds in the center of the Mediterranean Sea, my heart felt the fires in the deepest parts of Aetna. We're Travelers, Silas. We're meant to explore. Find magic in its home."

"Magic is meant to be studied at dedicated temples and we have to show our ancestors the respect they deserve when they built them."

"Magic is everywhere!"

Getting tired of this argument, Silas acquiesced, reasoning that perhaps his brother had simply lost his way in his insistent wanderlust. Perhaps if he saw the grandeur of the temple, he would change his mind. "Come with me tomorrow, brother. If you still insist on this wayward journey after spending," he paused, considering what an appropriate length of time would be to convince Olysses to give up his idle quest, "a week visiting the temple daily, then I promise I will let go of my mission to curb your errant ways."

The billow of smoke swirled through the expansive atrium – twirling, dancing – weaving patterns in its elegant rise to the sky above. Amara watched it in wonder and a twinge of envy through the slot in her headscarf, as was the customary uniform for those in her position. Soon, her lady, Qetsiyah would call on her to begin preparing the evening meal.

She had been the great witch's handmaiden for only a few months, and yet she found her home here to be peaceful, overall. She and Qetsiyah had become friends, despite the difference in their stations, and Amara could begin to see a life for herself here. She found herself feeling serene, curious, elated.

Until last month, when tragedy struck and unexpectedly took the lives of her parents. For nearly three weeks now, Amara had been completely and utterly alone in this world – an orphan in a foreign land. She attended her duties listlessly, her soul contorting with grief whenever she would find a moment's reprieve from her work.

Lately, to make life more bearable, she found herself becoming increasingly fascinated by the magic that surrounded her. Although she was not a witch herself, she took enormous delight in absorbing the sights and sounds of the transformations she beheld – of pondering the meaning behind them – of viewing what she viewed to be the very secrets of the cosmos unfolding.

She counted herself lucky that Qetsiyah and her lover, Silas, allowed her to watch them concoct their creations. Qetsiyah had been busy lately – secretive about a new project she had been exploring, so Silas had paid Amara extra attention.

Silas. Amara swallowed nervously. He had caught sight of her the second she began her employ here at the magical temple. He was attractive, Amara had to admit, though something about his countenance initially unsettled her. Although she at first had no trouble thwarting his advances, she had lately found herself so weak and vulnerable that her soul craved companionship. Silas convinced her that the pain she felt made her virtuous – her grief, noble.

He taught her to embrace the tragedy that had overwhelmed her a mere three weeks ago and allow it to transform her anew. He understood the agony in her soul at the loss of her family and insisted that embracing her feelings made her connection to them powerful.

He insisted that this is what they would have wanted.

And he had been the only one who offered to speak to her about it. Although speaking to Silas had initially caused her immeasurable pain, confusion, discomfort – at least she didn't feel quite so alone. Lately, she had even begun to enjoy his company. Perhaps they could be friends.

"Amara!" She jumped at the sound, quickly retreating from her reverie as the last of the ceremonial smoke escaped through the window on the ceiling.

Qetsiyah walked into the room, a curious smile lighting her face. "We're going to have a guest tonight. It appears Silas' brother has interrupted his global journey and will spend a few months at home. Please set the table for three when you are finished preparing the meal, and then you may go home."

"Of course, my lady," Amara curtseyed, and made for the door to the kitchen.

A sly smile touched Qetsiyah as she gently took Amara's arm. "I hear he has become quite handsome. He'll be at the temple this week. I will introduce you."

Amara blushed, nodding politely, though she hadn't the faintest idea of why a Thracian noble would want to speak to a handmaiden, especially one so very alone.

It had been nearly five days until Qetsiyah sought to return to the magic temple, Amara in tow. This week, the Travelers had reserved the space to practice their unique brand of magic, which left Qetsiyah with little else to do except research and mostly failed attempts at her secret new concoction.

At the behest of Silas, however, she acquiesced and brought Amara along to observe his meditations – his communing with the magical force that guides the elements and the spirits of mankind.

Amara watched in wonder as the very trees seemed to move to accommodate his sitting form, their leaves fluttering to surround him in a feather-light embrace. Silas had always been able to connect with plant-life so seamlessly. He had the most exquisite garden in all of Thrace. Quetsiyah had once explained to her that Silas is an Earth witch – which meant that he draws his power from the Earth element.

"His brother, Olysses," Qetsiyah whispered, pointing to a man with chestnut hair facing away from them, "is a Fire witch."

"But I've seen Silas create fire with his fingers," Amara responded in confusion.

"A parlor trick," Qetsiyah waved in annoyance. "Travelers are born with the ability to control one element primarily, and often a second element in a much weaker form to compensate for their inability to use all four, though they tend to be extremely efficient with their primary element," she admitted, grudgingly.

"I've seen you use all elements, my lady."

"That is because I serve the Earth Mother. All elements are at my disposal, and I am at theirs. Travelers are different. No one really knows what their magic was meant to represent, though everyone seems to have their own theory."

Whatever it was that Qetsiyah said next had been lost to Amara completely, because it was at that moment that Olysses chose to turn, and Amara found herself faced with the bluest eyes she had ever seen – they had been so bright, nearly ablaze. A distant prick tickled her brain – or perhaps her soul – and she could have sworn she felt the air around tighten with a kind of electricity. Perhaps it had been seconds or minutes or eons, but Amara finally allowed herself to breathe again. The stranger smirked at her in a manner she should have found unsettling – but something about it sang to her.

She swallowed thickly and watched with widening eyes as he made his approach.

"Hello, Qetsiyah," he greeted easily, the smile on his face widening, before winking at Amara. "I see my brother forced you to watch his performative plea to the magic, as well."

Quetsiyah laughed in return. "You know how he is," and then placed a hand behind Amara, motioning her to move forward. "And this is Amara, my handmaiden."

"Amara," the handsome stranger drawled, as though tasting the name on his tongue. "Beloved, in Latin," he smiled at her in a manner that made Amara's heart nearly flutter out of her chest. "Fitting for a maiden as beautiful as you. You're not from here," he guessed.

"No, Amara's from our competing empire," Qetsiyah teased, tapping Amara's shoulder affectionately.

"You speak Latin?" Amara blurted in surprise.

"I make my way from place to place," he responded with a hint of mischief.

"Olysses likes to travel the globe in search for strong manifestations of magic in nature," Qetsiyah explained, rolling her eyes at his obvious flirtation.

"It's a calling, just like it's a pleasure to meet you, my lady," Olysses announced, his voice sizzling with charm, as he took Amara's hand to press a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

"I'm no lady, sir," Amara finally demurred, after the power of speech made itself present again. Although her heart fluttered earnestly at Olysses disregard of her station, she knew quite well the strict punishment in Thrace for those who dared to masquerade above their station.

"You let me be the judge of that," he winked.

As Qetsiyah as the harpists return, she knew that the next stage of chants was bound to begin soon. "I have to go speak to the elders, Amara," she whispered, leaning closer to her handmaiden's ear. "Will you be all right here?"

"I'll watch out for her, Tessa," Olysses reassured, recalling his childhood nickname for her, to the witch's visible relief. Amara merely nodded, unable to resist the blush that crept to her cheeks at being alone with this dashing stranger.

Olysses took his place next to Amara as the various a large number of attendees gathered in a circle again together again. Placing his hand on the small of her back, he gently guided her to the side of the room, where they would stand and watch.

Melodic chanting filled the grand auditorium where the witches known as the Travelers would assemble to study their magic. There had been a great number of theories as to the origin of the name. Silas argued that the name originated with travels through consciousness. Deep meditation at their ancestral temple would allow them to access greater forms of magic.

Olysses believed otherwise – that Travelers were meant to seek out the soul of magic by following its soul throughout the planet, where it's felt the loudest, boldest, strongest.

"What do you think of all this pomp?" Olysses whispered to Amara, vaguely gesturing to the stage.

"I think it's beautiful," Amara breathed. "The way that Silas can direct the roots of trees to settle and how Quetsiyah can make the flowers bloom. I wish I had magic."

"Magic doesn't have to be found in temples, Amara," he countered, then leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. "Do you want to see?"

"I'd love to!" Amara exclaimed, forgetting propriety in her enthusiasm.

"Come on, then," Olysses winked, grabbing her hand and subtly guiding them out of the temple.

They soon found themselves at the base of a mountain, where Olysses helped Amara off his horse.

"Mountains are filled with Earth and Air magic. I have an Air supplement to my Fire primary magic, so I can use the wind to help us reach the summit quickly."

"We're going up there!?" Amara gasped in excitement, having never climbed atop a mountain before.

"We are, but not in the most conventional way," Olysses grinned, roguish excitement sparkling in his cerulean eyes, as he extended a hand. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes," she breathed, surprised to finds the sentiment true.

Olysses pulled her into his arms, and within seconds, Amara felt a strong gust of wind propel them upward, causing her to shriek. He merely laughed in response and held her tighter. "Don't worry, Amara. You're safe here with me."

Within minutes, the wind gently settled them both atop the summit, and Amara struggled to regain control of her rapidly beating heart. "That was amazing!"

"Wasn't it?" Olysses grinned, reluctantly releasing her. "You're a curious woman, Amara. You seemed so shy at first, but you're actually quite brave. I didn't think you'd agree to this."

"I love magic," Amara gushed, unable to stop herself. "It's the most beautiful thing on the whole universe – in all the cosmos! I only wish I could wield it like you. Like Qetsiyah," she beamed. "Like Silas," she finally added with a tinge of sadness, remembering how inappropriate her current state of happiness was. She had almost forgotten her grief in the time she spent with Olysses, feeling joy and excitement for the first time in weeks. She had forsaken her family.

Olysses eyebrows drew together in consternation at her sudden melancholy when mentioning his brother. "What's wrong, Amara? Has my brother been bothering you?"

"No!" Amara was quick to exclaim. "He has been a friend," she reassured.

"Your sudden change in mood would indicate otherwise. It's okay. No harm will come to you for telling me. I'll handle him."

Amara shook her head, shame creeping onto her features. "It's just that he would be disappointed in me."

"Why?" Olysses prodded.

"My parents tragically passed three weeks ago," she whispered, halting when emotion threatened to overwhelm her.

"I'm so sorry," he replied, gathering her in an embrace.

"I'm all alone here now. Silas reassured me that my embracing my grief honors my family and makes me virtuous. The way that I just behaved brought them nothing but shame," she looked away, unable to face the judgment in his eyes.

"Amara," Olysses sighed. "Please don't listen to my brother and his penchant for projecting self-flagellation."

Gingerly, he placed his hands on either cheek, willing her to look into his eyes. "Your parents would have wanted you to be happy. If this is really the first time in weeks that you've smiled, then you have no idea how proud I am to help bring such a beautiful smile onto the world. You may not be a witch, but your smile is magical," he explained sincerely, using his thumbs to wipe the tears from her cheeks. "Please don't listen to my brother when he tries to fill your head with this nonsense again. You deserve to feel joy. You didn't bring your family shame. You brought them relief, knowing that you'd be all right."

"Thank you for saying that," Amara whispered. "I've been feeling like a terrible person every time I forgot my grief even for an instant."

"Come here," Olysses pulled her in an embrace. "There's a difference between ignoring your feelings completely and not allowing yourself to be completely swallowed by grief. You're allowed to feel sad, but you're also allowed to feel happy. When mine and Silas' mother died, Silas tried to drench the entire house in mourning to honor her for years. Eventually, I had to leave. It was the real reason I ran away. The search for natural magic came later. I probably should have been there for my little brother, and maybe if I was, he wouldn't have been so maladjusted. But that's my problem to deal with. Don't let him take it out on you and project his own inability to move forward as though it's a virtue."

Amara nodded, feeling the knot in her chest unravel, the warmth and safety of Olysses embrace to soothe her.

"Let's try something to take your mind off this," he pulled back suddenly, a playful smirk on place. "Stand up, stretch out your arms, and close your eyes."

Amara brow furrowed on confusion, though she followed his instructions, standing with her arms stretched wide.

"Feel the wind sweep through your fingers. Breathe the Sun's rays. Let your skin taste the grass beneath your feet. Listen. Allow your mind to wander where it wishes."

Amara kicked off her sandals, letting her feet rest on the soft, dewy grass of the summit. The wind called to her, bringing with it a sense of serenity. For the first time in weeks, Amara felt hope.

She felt a pair of arms embrace her, a velvet voice whispering in her ear. "That's magic."

I decided to set the first part in Thrace because of the spirit of rebellion that is associated with it – and also as a nod to my favorite Battlestar Galactica character.

This story introduces a new kind of magic that I'm going to explore in depth in my post-series story – what the Travelers were before they were cursed for Silas' misdeeds. (And what they become again when the curse is broken.)

Amara is decidedly not a witch. This is the kind of magic anyone can feel, according to Olysses.

Olysses is a variant of Odysseus, who I suppose probably reminds me the most of Damon of all the fictional Ancient Greeks I know. He was clever, witty, and often used very questionable methods to get things done.

Since Damon is decidedly not an Olysses doppelgänger, I gave him a different hair color. Chestnut was just the first one to pop into my head. If you want to think of it as reincarnation, you certainly can. He's Damon-esque, at the very least. :D

Amara's name has Latin roots, not Greek, so it stands to reason that she and her family are likely from somewhere that's ruled by the Roman Empire. I was deliberately vague about the exact location to let you readers fill it in with anything you like.

Next chapter, we'll learn how not-quite-doppelgängers Tatia and Katherine are doing. Doppelgängers don't exist in their story, but they can look similar enough.

Yes, actual Damon and Elena will be in this story, too! :D How will they meet despite doppelgängers and vampires not existing in this story? I suppose you'll have to wait and see!

So, with Chaotic Good now officially finished (YAY!), I imagine that its sequel, With Great Power, will get most of my attention. This one's really short, too, so this should be completely finished soon, too!