Here we go: chapter thirteen up and ready. I briefly considered being mean and breaking this chapter after Elena and Kol talk, but decided not to and kept going to give some answers. I hope y'all like it ax much as i loved writing it.
In the two hours since Dorian left the old witch house the dryad had not moved an inch from her perch in the rocking chair. If he didn't know any better he would have said she was rooted in place; just another piece of the room. Only the occasional blink of her eyes betrayed her as a living, breathing being.
He opened the curtains, bathing the dryad's circle in palest blue.
She startled, focusing curious eyes on him.
"What spell gave you utilized to find my Oliver?"
"It's a new spell called Google," Alaric turned from the window, silently blaming his sarcasm on the teenagers he spent his days surrounded by; luckily Bonnie had a dozen spells at her fingertips and an Original with hundred's more at her side.
"You're mocking me," she frowned.
For a moment so brief he thought he imagined it her eyes glowed a pale green; lit from within by a power greater men once wept at.
"Yeah," he chuckled, nodding, "but just a little bit."
Something about her eyes niggled at the back of his mind; he had seen that glow somewhere before, lacking something — perhaps her penchant for offence and fear.
"Will you open the window?" Her mesmerizing eyes slid shut. "I would like to feel the breeze."
His stomach twisted, eyes darting to the glass. "Until I know the full extent of your powers, I'd rather not."
She sighed, tired of his veiled accusations and heavy suspicion.
"You need not fear that I will deceive you. Unlike humans," she sneered, "dryads do not lie, and we choose not to harm."
He sank into Dorian's abandoned armchair and tilted his head.
"Is it that you can't lie, or that you choose not to?" He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees.
"We cannot lie," her eyes narrowed, "but we can choose not to answer. You have a question to ask of me?"
"I do," he nodded; bright blue eyes flashed in his mind.
"I've given my terms."
"This had nothing to do with the knife," he held her gaze. "I swear it."
She considered him for a moment before lifting her chin. "Ask what you will Alaric. I shall answer, or I shall not."
"A few moments ago your eyes glowed green. Why?"
"I allowed my annoyance to show," she looked to the window and the shadows of waving branches. "What you saw was a deep seated connection to nature."
"I see," he nodded, and briefly considered calling to run his thought process by her but shook the idea away. He had to ask now while the dryad was in a generous mood. "What if someone's eyes… what if they glowed blue?"
Her neck snapped up with a creak.
"You know what that means?" He read the confirmation in her eyes. "Will you tell me?"
"I… see no reason why I should." She shifted, causing the chair to sway. "Why should I tell you this?"
He folded his hands together and stared a beat at the circle holding her in place.
"There is a young mother, my… step-daughter, who has no idea what her child is." He looked up in time to see her shift forward, interest piqued.
"You do not speak of an adult?" Her fingers curled around the chair arms.
"She's a baby," he shook his head, "only six months old."
"With a mother who does not remember the father?" Her upper lip curled. She shook her head in disgust.
He swallowed, straightening up. "How do you know that?"
"It… it is their way," she tilted her head, considering him for a long moment. At length she gave a sharp nod. "I would see this grandchild of yours, Alaric, and speak to the mother."
"I think I have to admit defeat," she sighed, taking another toe pinching step up a concrete stair. "I wore the wrong shoes for this."
"Shall I carry you?" He teased, pausing on the step below her.
"No," she flashed an impish smile, "I just need to take them off." She stepped out of one shoe and then the other, wincing when her sore feet flattened on the cool concrete. After a second the cold took over, soothing her aching arches.
She picked up the black satin pumps, hooking the toes on her fingers.
"Can you do me a favour?" She turned to face him and found the higher step put her at eye level.
"There is nothing I would not do for you, Elena," he tucked a windblown lock of hair behind her ear. "What would you ask of me?"
"Nothing major," she reached up, holding the back of his hand and absently twisting his daylight ring. With her free hand she waved her shoes. "Just that the next time you see me eyeing a cute pair of high heels remind me I haven't worn them long term since before I was pregnant."
"At which point you'll choose something else?" He arched an eyebrow.
"Of course not," she smirked, "I'll insist I can handle it, and while I'm squeezing my feet into a pair of shoes I probably should have given Caroline over a year ago you sneak a pair of flats into the trunk."
"Is that all?" He traced her jaw with his thumb, enjoying the warmth of her skin.
"Make sure they match whatever outfit I'm wearing," she attempted a stern expression, but couldn't quite manage it.
"Of course," he nodded. "And will that keep you from being barefoot on National Monuments?"
"In the future, yes," she nodded, "but these stairs are being taken barefoot," she wiggled her toes. "Who thought forty concrete steps was a good way to greet foreign dignitaries?"
"I'm not sure, but the Sunset Symphonies were beautiful," a jet flew overhead and he sighed, "before noise pollution forced them to cancel."
"There was music here?" She looked to the left, examining the stretch of steps.
"From 1935 to 1965," he turned enough to gesture to the water. "An orchestra played from a barge and the audience sat here: listening to music beneath the stars."
"What was that like?" She tilted her head.
"I attended the first. They couldn't have asked for a more perfect night," he tilted his head, lost in a memory. "The sunset sparkled on the water, rippling in a cool breeze that reached the top of the hill. There must have been 10,000 people between the Lincoln Memorial and the bridge, and hundreds more were on the water in canoes awaiting the National Symphony Orchestra. You could hardly see the grass for all the people, and the crowds grew larger every year."
"I wish I could have seen that," she sighed, fiddling with her shoes.
"The NSO is still performing at the John F. Kennedy Centre."
"That's not the same though, is it?" She shook her head. "There would have been people from everywhere who wouldn't normally have access to it. Tickets now would be hundreds of dollars which only certain people can afford, and they're usually the stuffy type."
"Are you calling me stuffy?" He slid his hands around her waist.
"Maybe a little bit," she teased, draping her arms over his shoulders.
"I resent that," he tilted his head. His left hand slid down and pinched her behind; she squeaked and pressed into his chest.
"Elijah Mikaelson," she scolded, breathless. A few people glanced their way, but his hands had shifted respectfully to her hips where she fit perfectly.
"New Orleans has many open air concerts, and of those the majority are child friendly…" he trailed off when he caught her expression. "What?"
She took a deep breath that brushed his chest.
"I love you."
Pressed as close as she was she felt his heart beat a little faster as a slow smile lifted the corners of his mouth.
The Watergate steps faded around them until all he saw were her bright eyes.
"I love you, Elena Gilbert, and I have for longer than I should have considering our situation." He listened to her racing heart.
"How long?" She licked her bottom lip. "You're not gonna say Willoughby are you?"
He chuckled and pressed a featherlight kiss to her mouth, murmuring 'before'. It began when she was human. He didn't know exactly the moment it happened, only that he was in deep when he signed the letter, but he had kept his heart caged to avoid further complicating her life; the last thing she had needed was another vampire professing his undying love.
"That's a long time to know something like that," she whispered.
"Well, large portions of that time were spent in a Chambre de Chas, dead and then without memory," he pulled back to look into her eyes.
"If I'm going to stick around for eternity then you're not allowed to die again."
"I'll do my best," he swore. "I never thought I'd have the opportunity to have you forever."
"Is that how long you want me?" Her eyes flickered, searching his gaze.
"Always and Forever seems like just enough time," he drew circles into her waist, "and somehow not quite long enough."
"Always and Forever, huh?" She felt her stomach flutter. "I like the sound of that."
She made it halfway to his smiling lips when her cell phone rang in her pocket; somebody had an excellent sense of timing. She pulled away with a sigh to answer in case it was Hope, and frowned at the caller ID.
She pressed the phone to her ear.
"Ric?"
"Elena," Alaric kept his eyes on the dryad as he spoke, "I'm sorry. I would have waited until morning, but I knew you'd want to hear this now."
She leaned a little closer, gaze transfixed on his cell phone as if she could hear the skepticism in Elena's tone; for all he knew she could.
"What could be so important I'd want to know it right now?"
"I've met someone who might know something about Serena, but she'll only talk to you."
"She?"
"What magic is this that allows you to converse with one so far away?" She blinked, curious.
"It's not magic. It's a phone; most people have one these days." He held the receiver away from his mouth.
"Is that her? Put me on speaker please, Ric. I don't have superhuman hearing."
He complied and held the phone towards the barrier spell.
"You're on with a dryad."
"Does the dryad have a name?" Elena sighed.
"Not that she's said."
"You never asked," she scoffed.
"Well, you did say you'd give us no answers until we found your Oliver," he winced, shame crept up his neck. "I figured your name was one of those answers."
"If you had bothered to ask, as your clearly more cultured step-daughter, you would have received an answer. My name is Willow. How is it you come to be in this phone?" She tasted the modern word on her tongue.
"I'm not in the phone Willow," she laughed softly. "It's just transmitting my voice, but I can't even begin to explain how that works. What do you know about my baby?"
"I must see the child to be certain," Willow watched the phone.
"Will a picture do? It's passed her bed time."
"And you do not trust me with your child," she glanced up.
"No offence Willow; I just don't know you."
"You are a mother, Elena. I understand your hesitance." Willow sat straight. "How did you get her to react long enough for an artist to paint?"
"Paint?"
Alaric could practically see the confusion on her face.
"They're pictures; they were taken instantly… or as close to instantly as anything can be."
"Fascinating… if they were in the moment they may suffice. Can you bring them?"
"We'll be there within the hour."
Willow startled at the sound of Elijah's voice but made no comment as Elena spoke again, confirming their imminent arrival, before hanging up.
He put his phone away and rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting from Willow to the window.
"You are anxious," she tilted her head, red hair spilling over her shoulder.
"You're honest, I believe that, but sometimes, in this world, telling the truth can do more harm than good." He glanced to the doorway and swallowed. "Elena's been through a lot, and she's stronger than many in the past have given her credit for, but she's human, and flawed and there's only so much a person can take before it becomes too much."
She leaned back, squaring her shoulders and crossing her legs.
"Ask your question, Alaric."
"Will this hurt her?"
She remained silent for a long moment, thinking, until the quiet grew too great and he shifted in his chair.
"It might, and it might not." She met his stare. "I cannot lie to her, and though you may try to protect her you cannot. No father may shield his child from everything; try as you might."
"I'm not her dad," he shook his head, "I didn't even know she existed until she was seventeen."
"Yet you act as her father, and likely grandfather to the babe. You love them both." She tilted her head, sensing the emotion he kept inside. "Family is far more than blood Alaric."
"You're right," he nodded. He hadn't realized his feelings toward Elena were what they were until his twins were born. Sometimes he thought she looked at him as a father, but the subject remained untouched; she'd had a family, a mom and dad she'd loved so much, and he suspected acknowledging what was between them might feel a bit like a betrayal of the Gilberts, as though she were insulting their memory.
"So," he cleared his throat, changing the subject before things got sappy. "Who's this Oliver that Dorian went to find?"
Instant change overtook her face, softening her expression with the memories of days long gone.
"Oliver never lied." Her nails tapped the edge of her chair's arm. "He was not like the other men who would come into the forest to chop down trees so that their houses could be bigger than other houses. He played music," she smiled, wistful. "He would lean against the trees and feel happiness. We fell in love," her voice strained towards the end.
Concern flashed in his eyes.
"You should know… he might not be around anymore. It's been… a while since those days you remember."
"Oliver made a great sacrifice," she lifted her chin. "He became a vampire so we might be together forever. We decided to meet at the clearing where we fell in love so we could run away, but… circumstance got in the way."
He nodded, sighing at the ground. When he looked up it was to sympathetic eyes.
"I feel your pain. You have lost a great love."
His breath caught. He added empathy to her known abilities.
"A psychic tree?" He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Check."
"Is your humour helpful in avoiding your pain?" She cocked an eyebrow.
"Not really," he exhaled slowly, "no." He felt her critical eye as he stared at the floor.
"You carry more than one loss."
Their faces flashed in his mind. He saw Isobel's smile, heard Jenna's laugh and felt Jo's warmth beneath his fingers.
"Several," he blinked: Isobel's disappearance, Jenna's funeral… Jo's blood.
He swallowed, speaking around the lump in his throat. "Including Elena's mother, and the mother of my twins."
He paused for a moment, and when he spoke it was in a thick voice.
"There's some happiness there too." He saw Isobel's determination and Jenna's temper in Elena, Jo in the twins. "I can still see her sometimes when they smile and laugh."
Willow smiled, and they sat together in silence for a long moment until Dorian returned, interrupting the burgeoning connection.
"Good news and bad news," he paused at the door, looking between them. "Bonnie did some sort of combo spell Kol provided, summoning and astral projection, but…" he trailed off and stepped out of the way, making a path for a seemingly young man with blonde hair above a confused face.
"Can someone please tell me what's going on here?"
Willow beamed, excitement seeping from her in a wave. "Oliver?"
She got to her feet and moved as close as the boundary spell would allow. Her smile failed when he regarded her with nothing but confusion.
"I'm sorry," he sounded genuinely so, "but do I know you?"
Alaric could only imagine the pain in her heart. His eyes shifted to Dorian as Kol entered the house with the ring on a looped thread.
"I'm guessing that's the bad news."
Elijah parked the Bentley beside a dark SUV bearing the school logo, illuminating Kol in the headlights where he leaned against a vine covered pillar; the quick flash of silver in his hands resembled the mystery dagger that had caused so much trouble.
Before either of them could open their doors, or utter a single word, a stranger left the house. Elena couldn't hear him, but something about Kol's expression caused a seed of sadness to take root in her breast.
"Elijah?" She breathed, reaching for his hand on the gear shift.
"I don't know him," he held her fingers, "he wants to leave."
He twisted, looking in their direction. She thought she saw a flicker of recognition when the stranger met her eyes. She didn't have to hear to make out the name on his lips.
Elijah stiffened beside her and Kol gave a sharp shake of his head.
If he had looked at her with any emotion beyond curiosity her heart might have dropped as it had so many times when her identity was in question, but the stranger didn't look at her like a jilted lover or a sworn enemy. At most he had met her ancestor in passing; maybe he had heard of Katherine's demise and suddenly thought he heard wrong.
Kol must have corrected him because the man nodded and then disappeared, leaving behind an Original with a broken string.
"Bonnie's doing," she exhaled. A name floated on the edge of her mind; she grasped for it while opening the door. "How much do you want to bet that was Oliver?"
"I think the odds are good."
Elena glanced down at the ground where dozens of broken twigs and sharp pebbles beckoned with threats of sliced soles. Reluctantly, she worked her swollen feet back into her shoes and winced when she stood and her toes pinched.
"What are you two doing here?" Kol twirled the dagger around his fingers.
The cold bite he directed towards her had melted months ago after an awkward apology during goblin research. They weren't besties and would probably never braid each other's hair, but it was nice going into eternity without hatred.
Then again, he remained unaware of her impending forever. Maybe he'd pick up a vendetta when he found out.
"Willow has information on Serena," Elijah placed a hand on the small of Elena's back.
"Willow?" His brows lowered.
"The dryad," Elena drew her jacket closed, keeping out the cool spring breeze. "Her name is Willow. You didn't know?"
"I didn't stick around for introductions," Kol shook his head. "I didn't want to add discomfort to her upset; Willow is unlikely to be forthcoming."
He glanced toward the cottage as Alaric stepped outside with Dorian, affording the dryad a moment alone.
"The heartbroken so rarely are," he sighed.
Elena spotted moisture glistening in the corner of Alaric's eyes, caught in a beam of moonlight; Dorian appeared upset, but otherwise unaffected.
She felt the folded page crinkle in her pocket as she took half a step towards them. She took another and drew in a shaking breath; they made a space for her to walk between, but she paused to watch them.
"We think we've figured out why nobody remembers these creatures."
Elena arched an eyebrow at Dorian's choice of terminology; almost everyone in the loop chose 'creatures' or 'beings', but Dorian had been using 'monster' since the beginning.
"Whatever happened to them erased all memory of them," Alaric swallowed, "it's like they never existed."
"How do you know that?" She shifted on her feet, feeling the dread pluck at her neck.
"Oliver was her lover, they were going to run away together before whatever happened, happened, and he has no idea who she is," his eyes flickered to the door. "She wasn't talking after he left; I don't know if she will anymore."
She pushed between them, pausing only when they called her name to say 'nobody should go through heartbreak alone'.
And she loved that Elijah understood without words that she wanted to go in alone.
Damon would have flat out refused to let her approach a potentially hostile supernatural.
Stefan would have taken convincing.
Matt would have followed for backup.
He provided the support from outside, either speaking to his faith in her or himself; knowing Elijah it was probably both.
She shut the door behind her and followed the rustle of leaves to a circular boundary.
"Willow?" She dropped her hands to her sides.
Slim shoulders shook beneath a shimmering cape.
"Are you okay?" She received no reply; Willow didn't even acknowledge her presence, staring instead through the grime covered window.
She considered the barrier a beat before taking a deep breath and condemning herself to the circular prison until someone let them out.
She stepped over the line of herbs and placed one hand on her shoulder, rough like tree bark beneath the silk cloak.
"Willow?" A twig dislodged from her hair.
She looked up, catching Elena in overly large eyes.
"I heard what happened," she swallowed, squeezing comfortingly. "I'm sorry."
She stayed silent for a long moment, studying Elena's features.
"You really are, aren't you?" She murmured. "You're Elena. You came for answers, not to commiserate over my lost love."
"I can commiserate," she smiled, shrugging. "Do you need anything?"
Willow appeared sickeningly green, and her breathing sounded short, but for all Elena knew that was perfectly normal amongst dryads.
With a short wave of her hand Elena opened the window. A cool breeze stirred their hair and Willow's large eyes closed, revelling in the fresh air.
"I've never been in your situation exactly, but I am sorry."
"Thank you, Elena." She opened her eyes. "There is something you can do for me."
"Of course," she nodded.
"In this moment I would choose not to dwell," she stood at eye level. "Show me the picture of the child."
Elena passed her the folded sheet with the snapped photos of Serena's fingers, toes and eyes at three weeks old.
"They were taken months ago," she twisted her coat between her fingers and pressed her lips together. "She's a lot bigger now, and her hair came in red, of all colours. Apparently my grandmother had red hair."
"She is healthy?" Willow touched the glowing eye.
"It was touch and go for a while, but now she's great."
"That's remarkable," Willow breathed.
"Why? Do you know what she is?" She could see the look of concentration on Elijah's face as he listened in outside the house.
"I do," she lifted her gaze, "as I know all other children like her — the ones who weren't stolen from their cradles — died within weeks of birth. How have you kept her healthy?"
Her stomach dropped as her mind replayed the words with an accompaniment of angry red skin and terror filled screams.
"Two baths a day," she forced out the words around the lump in her throat.
"She will need more as she grows and becomes more active," Willow nodded, staring at the pictures.
"What is she?" A large part of her never wanted to know what transpired in Brazil, but another recognized her need to understand everything about her baby girl in order to keep her safe and healthy.
"She is a naiad."
"Bloody hell!"
Elena's eyes darted to the open window when Kol swore loud enough for her to hear.
"She is also whatever you are," Willow added. "I sense you're not entirely human."
"Gypsy," she nodded, taking the traditional name. "What do I need to know about naiads?"
"What is it Kol?" Elijah's eyes flickered over his brother's abnormally pale features.
He raked a hand through his hair and shook his head, hesitant to offer up whatever forgotten information had sprung up in his mind.
"One of my grimoires mentions a naiad," he exhaled, seeing the cramped Gaelic in his mind's eye. "The account spoke of fatherless children stolen in the dead of night and never seen again."
He was moving toward the door before Kol finished speaking.
Elena spun toward the swinging door and read the panic in his eyes. Her brows lowered in silent question.
Fear cinched his heart.
"Is someone coming for her?" He stared at the dryad and got the distinct sense she saw straight through his attempts at intimidation.
She studied him, large eyes roaming his form.
"Does hostility bury your fears?" Willow cocked her head.
"Is someone coming for who?" Elena stepped toward the barrier, stomach trembling.
"Serena," he held his breath.
She paled.
He very nearly crossed the barrier to hold her, but he held himself back. He didn't trust himself to refrain from killing Willow if he disliked her answer.
"Why would someone come for her?" She looked back to Willow, voice shaking.
"Your child?" She looked to the page after frowning for a beat at Elijah. "At her age it's unlikely. They will think her dead; if the children are not taken within the first few weeks they die."
"Who takes them?" Her knees felt like water.
"I'm given to believe it was long ago when I last walked the earth. Humans lived near great sources of water then — near enough to walk in a matter of hours. For the children born to these human mothers the naiad father would reclaim them, but the mothers would often believe their baby possessed and leave them out to die, or they thought them changelings and left them in a grove. Some of these were fortunate and found by dryads in time to be returned to the water, but many more perished."
Anger flashed behind her eyes.
"Had I known the children could survive with their human mothers I would have done things differently. Then again…" she sighed, eyes darting from Elena to the window she had opened, "… most mothers were entirely human, and humans have the most deplorable habit of persecuting that which they don't understand. Perhaps they would have been worse off with woman who feared them."
Elena's jaw clicked, teeth clacking; only the barrier spell kept her from claiming Elijah's hand. She reminded herself that as a 'magical' mother the assessment didn't apply to her; her little girl was happy, healthy and loved. And the odds of her remembering one terrified scream that occurred at three weeks old were virtually non-existent without supernatural intervention.
"Why differently?" She latched onto the word. Her mind worked to go in a million directions to a million scenarios, but lacked the required information to start. "If someone had taken her what life would she have had?"
Willow's eyes dragged back to Elena as she tilted her head, catching a breeze in her hair.
"Children are precious to Naiads; she would have been protected. It is the environment she would have grown up in." She pressed her lips together, considering her words. "Naiads are only able to have children with humans. Females drown their partners as a way to protect their kind, but males possess an ability to wash away the memory of encounters with human woman. They can sense the time a woman might conceive, and combined with an ability to enthral humans many…" she hesitated, hearing Alaric's words, "… many use their ability to force relations."
Blood drained from Elena's face. She swayed dangerously on her feet and would have fallen if Elijah hadn't stepped into the circle, wrapping his arms around her.
"Not all," Willow amended, meeting her eyes. "Perhaps those traditions have faded since I've been gone. I'm given to understand it's been a while and there were some who did not approve of these methods."
"But they still took the memories?" Elijah tightened his grip when Elena began to shake, tremors running down her spine.
"Humans persecute what they don't understand," she raised her arms, encompassing the circle of herbs as evidence.
She drew in a steadying breath and turned, silently raising her left wrist. She locked eyes with Elijah; dark veins spidered across his cheekbones.
He cradled her hand and pressed his lips to the delicate network of veins, piercing the skin with his canines — careful to only press with his fangs and leave two small punctures; her blood still exploded across his tongue, igniting his desire for her. Not that he needed an excuse to hold her tight and banish the dark thoughts from her mind.
Willow leaned in closer, curious, as Elena held her wrist over the barrier.
Two drops of blood painted the bud of a dried flower. The air shimmered. Elijah stepped back, taking Elena with him across the line.
She reached out a hand; clearing the line of herbs as the door swung open.
Dorian's eyes locked on her hand and then flew to Elena's face. Whatever warmth he had begun to feel for Willow's situation evaporated, replaced by fear.
"What have you done?" He stared at the pristine handkerchief on Elena's wrist.
"I thought that obvious," Kol twirled the knife between his fingers. "Darling Willow over there, appears to have gained Elena's trust. And given the doppelgänger's history that is no easy feat."
"Kol," Elijah's tone held a note of warning, hard and unyielding; a stark contrast to the gentle way he held Elena.
"And now she's free with nothing to stop her from taking the knife and leaving us with no answers."
"Why would I do that?" Willow lowered herself calmly into the chair, eyes shifting from Elena to Alaric. "You honoured our deal, so too shall I. What do you wish to know?"
"What do you want to know?" A silver spoon brought a dainty helping of honeyed yogurt to pale lips surrounded by laugh lines.
Caroline savoured her coffee and glanced over the woman's face. Chestnut ringlets, leeched of colour in places by the hand of time, framed sharp eyes; intelligence shone from the depths under envy inspiring lashes. The set of her mouth warned anyone who looked that she was not a woman to be trifled with.
"We're looking for information on the merge," Klaus sat down his coffee cup, "it's a curse that effects the Gemini twins."
Lydia arched an eyebrow as she deliberately placed her spoon on the breakfast table and pursed her lips.
"Not a peep from you in forty-six years," she hummed, "and now you come for information? You've never made a habit of getting involved in witch business."
"The gemini twins are fourteen years old," Caroline's knuckles turned white, "and they are my daughters. I've grown rather attached since having them and I have no intention of losing either of them to some ancient curse."
Her heart raced, pumping adrenaline through her blood. Instinct said to wrap her fingers around the delicate throat and squeeze until she got answers. Social decency scolded the thought.
Klaus' hand on her thigh grounded her.
"You should make your peace with what is to come."
His fingers, the only thing keeping her from lunging, tightened.
"You are correct in your assumption that it's a curse," Lydia continued, glancing between them, "but this is one curse that can't be undone. The gemini twins were cursed millennia ago by the Gypsy coven, and as the entire supernatural community knows the Gypsies met their end on the second day of May sixteen years ago.
Caroline paled, eyes flickering to Klaus as Hope's birthday came up; the same day Damon first died in a fiery explosion.
"Without a gypsy your daughters will be forced to merge."
"How can you speak with so much conviction?" Caroline simmered.
"The knowledge is not common, but it is there for those who know where to look, and those in positions of power." Lydia's fingertip circled the rim of her coffee cup.
"And which are you?" She gritted her teeth.
"I am the high priestess of my coven," she lifted her chin.
"That's new," Klaus tilted his head. "Last I heard you were still called Maiden."
"Maiden?" Caroline's brows rose.
"For the goddess Persephone," Lydia smiled, "a symbolic title bestowed on the daughter of the high priestess, symbolic, nothing more. And that was forty-six years ago," she turned to address Klaus. "I took over when my mother passed ten years ago."
"I'm sorry to hear that she's passed," he nodded.
"Thank you," her dark eyes focused on Caroline, tinged with sadness. "My coven kept the knowledge of our progenitorial covens."
"What do you mean 'progenitorial covens'?" Caroline leaned forward, heart in her throat.
"I mean that 2000 years ago, give or take a few decades, a rift occurred between the two covens; it was strong enough that a small portion of witches from each broke away." She tilted her head. "They severed all connections with their families and bound together a new coven; one free from the family feuds. Severing the bonds protected my coven from the curses."
Lydia hummed, tapping the table.
"The Gemini cursed the Gypsy coven as punishment for their part in an ancient spell, and only the leader of the Gemini knows how to break it; in retaliation the Gypsy coven placed a curse upon the leaders of the Gemini, and every future leader. Only a gypsy born of an ancient bloodline would know how to break it."
"And the travellers are gone," Klaus finished.
"Not all of them," she caught his gaze from the corner of her eye.
"The coven was destroyed," Lydia reiterated, speaking slowly, as if to children.
"The travellers are gone," Caroline shifted her weight, mentally pulling up a flight schedule, "but they're not all dead."
"Any remaining would be from non-practicing families. Families that stopped practicing centuries ago, so even if you found one they'd lack the information you seek." Lydia shook her head.
"Even if she's born of an ancient bloodline?"
"Caroline, she would have told you anything she knew," he frowned.
"She didn't exactly throw herself into learning," she vibrated with energy. "She barely cracked the books because they were written in half a dozen languages, so what she knows she knows from Bonnie, plus that one spell she got from Hope."
"You know a gypsy from the ancient bloodlines?" Lydia's brows rose.
Klaus looked at Caroline for a moment, contemplating the situation; it would be just their luck to travel halfway around the world for a solution that had been under their noses the entire time.
"Yes," he felt the corner of his mouth raise in an involuntary smile, "we do. And she'll be more willing to help Caroline than she was me. Thank you, Lydia."
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