Notes:
Who am I? A: The most obnoxious fiction writer in the history of time.
Who are you? A: A saint, if you're still interested in this story.
I took quite a long vacation into old fandoms - (Gilmore Girls & Harry Potter, mostly) - but also got quite entrenched into new TV shows and that pesky thing called life, but, at the end of the day, here I am. Because they say 'Home is where the heart is', do they not? If that's true, then this story is my home. Always & Forever. ;)
Congrats to JMHUW who came closest to answering my question in your review by specifying Kol's blood specifically, the witch attack and for the reference to the Spike 'It's all about the blood' quote, which is ridiculously apt for the reason Elena's still alive. ;)
(Not sure if you're still interested in the story I offered the winner, 'cause it's been so long, but I'm going to PM you about it shortly.)
Also, I'm fully aware that the explanation for why Elena is still alive (and a lot of the exposition of Kol's flashback) is quite a lot to digest and probably pretty confusing, so I'm entirely willing to write out a Q and A at the start of the next chapter, so if you have questions you'd like answered, please leave them in your reviews and I'll do my best to answer them. That can go for other non-related plot lines too, though.
Onward. Enjoy, folks. :)
Disclaimer: The Vampire Diaries, its characters, plot lines and premise belong to LJ Smith, Kevin Williamson, Julie Plec, The CW, Warner Brothers and their affiliates. I do not own anything detailed in this story, and I make no monetary profit by these writings.
Being overwhelmed was not a state Kol Mikaelson was intimately familiar with. He was rather proud of the fact that in the face of stress and adversity, his track record of remaining calm, nonchalant and nonplussed was remarkably untarnished. But he now considered this feeling—the tightness of his chest, the small gasps of breath, the sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, the adrenaline burning deep in his throat, the tension heavy between his brows and the high arch of his shoulders—and thought that perhaps this is what being overwhelmed felt like.
His gaze travelled first through the open archway into the next room, down to the ornately carved dining room table—an outlandish piece of décor that could seat fifty, never mind the fact that Nik didn't have five people he'd trust into this area of his home, let alone fifty.
Resting atop the expansive wood surface was a body—Elena Gilbert's dead, grey, immobile form, neatly placed and evenly tucked as though it were in a coffin. Elijah took great lengths to ensure that he did not damage the girl's remains as he used his most gentle gestures to place her there.
Kol had been sitting—his hands bouncing nervously on his lap, his posture straight and rigid, his eyes wide and haunted—for nearly forty-five minutes, and in that time, he heard Elijah wreck, tear and destroy every breakable item in the adjacent room that he could get his hands on. Kol's wide eyes finally settled on the dead girl's face—and such an interesting face it was.
This face had caused more grief and trauma to his family for the last millennia than he could've ever fathomed. It had once belonged to a whore—an assertive, aggressive, arrogant and evil woman who tore his family's loyalties into a puddle of ash on her wickedly gleeful whims. It had then belonged to a sacrifice—a means to an end, a weapon encased in a body, a girl who knew nothing of her destiny, a girl who upon discovering it, fled. She fled and became a shrewd, calculating woman—not quite as careless and evil as the one before her, but still she yearned for the first chair in the orchestra—would die for the first chair in the orchestra—but was forever enslaved to play second fiddle.
Kol didn't know much about Elena Gilbert, but he had experienced enough to know that the girl hadn't even wanted a seat in the orchestra. She wanted to distance herself as far away from her predecessors as possible. And perhaps that was what set her apart.
His brother Elijah was a complicated man; on the one hand, he was a man of solitude—solemn and dignified, refined and delicate. On the other hand, he was an uncontrollable wave of passions—of wants, desires, fears and heartaches. His austere disposition masked an internal firestorm, and there were only a scarce few in the world who could cause his façade to slip.
Even Tatia, the falsely sweet devil, the siren that lured his brothers into eternal damnation—her death had not caused such a reaction in Elijah. When Tatia died, Elijah took it with grace; he took it in stride, he picked himself up off the ground, wiped the tears from his eyes and carried on. No words of grief, no actions of sadness, no display of anger. That's how Kol knew—that's how Kol knew Elijah had never loved her.
Then Katerina, the naïve human sacrifice, the intriguing puzzle that lured his brothers into eternal competition—her death had not caused such a reaction in Elijah. When Katerina fled, Elijah took it with regret; he carried his disappointment in the hunch of his shoulders, but it wasn't sorrow that he'd lost her, it wasn't sorrow that he'd never had her; it was sorrow that he couldn't save her. Elijah, again, carried on; no words of grief, no actions of sadness, no display of anger. That's how Kol knew—that's how Kol knew Elijah had never loved her.
And now, Elena; the second human sacrifice, the determined, relentless eighteen year old human who openly defied every monster that came her way, the girl who put her trust where she ought not to and her loyalties where they were not deserved. Her death had caused a reaction—an obliteration of Elijah's composed façade and a deep, dark, painful look into the depths of his inner turmoil. When Elena died, Elijah took it with pain; he carried his anguish in the sweat of his brow, displayed his contempt with the malicious glint in his dark, dead eyes. There were words of grief—there were shouts of grief; painful, animalistic cries that reverberated through every wall of the house. There were actions of sadness—the slump of his shoulders, the wetness of his eyes, the quivering of his lips when he laid her body to rest. And oh, were there displays of anger—the rage and fury in his chest, the clench of his fists as they broke glass windows and maimed colored canvases. That's how Kol knew—that's how Kol knew that Elena was different. Elena was the anomaly.
Why? Kol sat there, eyes narrowed intensely, scrutinizing her rigid, immobile silhouette—What made this girl Elijah's anomaly?
He tore his eyes away, letting them fall to the side table at his feet. There, open and disheveled, was a black, leather-bound notebook with thick, yellow pages and the scent of fresh ink. Picking it up carefully, he mouthed the last scribbles to himself in a hoarse whisper—"Clarke Smyth. Possible fighter; may be of the five. Descendent of Inteus Belvin's sect?"
His eyes widened with alarm as a swirl of memories carried Kol to a time long since suppressed.
The storm outside was increasing in strength, its force breaking tree limbs, uprooting shrubs and disrupting seas. She held a warm piece of cloth to the boy's forehead, singing a tribal tune she had learned from her mother many moons past. A soft cough emitted from the boy's lips, and she cradled his head in her arms, smiling as he opened his eyes.
"Kol, my child—" she whispered to him gently, "You are safe. You are with me, and I—"
"You will always take care of me," Kol finished for her with a fond smile. "You take care of me, Ayana, even now, when I am a monster who does not need nor deserve your care." He sat up slowly and his bleary eyes focused to his surroundings. They were in the foothold under Ayana's home, a sanctuary for her magick and, for now, a sanctuary from the storm.
A wry smile crept onto her lips as she dipped the cloth in the bucket under Kol's cot. "You have the teeth of a monster, my dear child, but the soul of a man—the soul of a beaten man, a discouraged man… you are a broken spirit, my boy, but you are not a monster."
Kol's smile was cruel, but it was flimsy—fake, like something practiced. "Were he alive, Gosheven Bruner would beg to disagree, Ayana."
Ayana shook her head, declaring with powerful conviction, "Gosheven Bruner was a mistake that your mother forced on you." Her voice lowered, a terse growl in her tone, "Your mother forced onto you many mistakes."
"My mother is dead," Kol stated with finality, avoiding the direct line of her eyes; "Let us not dwell in the past."
Ayana seemed to concede the point, lulling into silence and instead pressing the cloth firmly against Kol's stomach, grimacing as the boy winced in pain—"Do you remember what happened, child?"
His memory was foggy at best, and with a strained voice, his breath labored and shoulders scrunched, he questioned, "Awenasha, you've heard of her… the girl they say harbors the old world powers—one of the witches that live beyond the creek in Shiver's Pond…" he swallowed convulsively, trying to remember; "There was smoke, lots of it… she was chanting, and I passed out. That's…" his eyes suddenly widened in disbelief; "My father! My father was—" his gaze darkened considerably and he bolted straight up, the cloth falling into his lap, his tone harsh and demanding, "What does my father have to do with any of this, Ayana?"
Ayana's voice was steady, but it was saturated in deep sorrow—"Your father has dealt a great disturbance to the natural order, my son. When your mother created you and your siblings into what you are today, I thought nothing could disturb the balance to that degree ever again. I was wrong, Kol… so very wrong. I underestimated Mikael, I should never have."
Kol wasted no time in asking the unasked. "What has he done, Ayana?"
Her dark eyes were cold with displeasure. "The witch families beyond Shiver's Pond are unlike any others I've ever known—they seek power, they crave it, beyond any confines of rational thought. Mikael exploited this… he offered them the power they covet, in his attempt at vengeance against your brother. I know it comes as no surprise to you that your father is hunting Niklaus for the sins of your mother, but the lengths to which he would go…" she let out a slow, shallow breath, her tone hollow and defeated; "I don't think there is anyone among us who could've anticipated this."
Shortly after they awoke from their transition, Niklaus had been the first to flee the village. He knew Mikael was waiting to enact his revenge, and he told each of his siblings that he wasn't going to wait for death like a coward; rather, he was going to fight against everything Mikael stood for, until only one remained the victor.
Kol had known his father wouldn't take the news of Niklaus leaving easily without responding in some way, but the way Ayana was speaking…
Ayana was never one to overdramatize; that had always been his mother. If she were speaking of Mikael's actions in such a way, he knew it must've been devastating.
"Ayana, please. Tell me what he has done."
Her eyes held a strand of hesitation, her fingers grasped tightly in the warm, wet cloth—"I fear your reaction."
His lips quirked into a brief smile. "'Fear nothing, my son, for fear is the limp wolf who barks but cannot bite.' A wise woman once told me that on my tenth birthday, as I recall it."
There was warmth in her smile now, but it did nothing to diminish the hesitance in her eyes. She spoke slowly, carefully tasting every word thick on her tongue. "As you know, there are five witch covens that live beyond Shiver's Pond… your father has exploited their lust for power, and he has done this in exchange for help to hunt Niklaus. He has not merely employed the witches' help, however. I imagine he wanted the wolves' help above all, but he could not arrange their allegiance, not with his murder of Blackelk, Niklaus' true father. He rounded up five of the roughest, most brutal families in the village and the witches bequeathed them with superhuman strength the likes of which we've never known – the ability to be a new kind of hunter, one that suits Mikael's purposes." A thick lump formed in her throat and she looked deep into the turmoil of Kol's eyes.
"A hunter of vampires," Kol finished for her.
"Indeed," she confirmed with morose sadness.
"Who?" Kol asked, "Who have these witches given such power to? And"—he broke off, his mind drowning in relentless waves of understanding—"… and what are these witches getting out of it? You said my father is exploiting their lust for power; what begets them power by instilling it in someone else?"
"The magnitude of magic responsible for such a task bonds its caster with its recipient; each of the five witch covens creates a magical bond with one of the families they empower. The witches and their respective families, in essence, become one. Their own sect, their own sacred family. The bond makes it so the witches powers can feed off the hunter family's strength." She took a long, deep breath. "Mikael has played every weapon in his arsenal perfectly—by exploiting the witches lust for power, he has created superhuman hunters capable of taking down Niklaus. By the very nature of the bonding, the witches receive the power they so covet, and become another weapon he may wield as he pleases. And, the five sects that the witches and hunters combine to create remain faithful and loyal to the very man that bestowed them their power."
"By God," Kol whispered in astonishment. His eyes narrowed suddenly, scrutinizing the way Ayana seemed to squirm in discomfort. "You evaded my question, Ayana," he accused suddenly; "Who have these witches given power to?"
Ayana forced herself to hold her head straight, looking him square in the eye, her words full of strength and resolve; "Five families. Frasher; Ghormley; Mixwater; Risingfawn…" her hands clenched the now dry cloth between her twitching fingertips, "And Belvin."
"Belvin?" Kol echoed softly, his teeth clenched. "Belvin?!" He stood up, knocked over a water bucket at his feet and kicked it against the stone wall, watching it shatter into a million broken shards. The coloring of his face was dark with displeasure, the veins of his vampire visage tickling his red-hot eyes. "As in… as in Halian and Inteus Belvin – the bastard sods who raped my Huyana two weeks before she was killed?"
Ayana stood, a fair ways away from Kol, her posture uncertain, but conviction secure, "Kol, I strongly advise that you think before you—"
"I will kill them," he asserted powerfully; "Both of them. I will rip their lungs from their chests and shove them down their throats." A manic gleam of terror spread across his handsome face, distorting the edges, and he made a dash to the door, but Ayana blocked his path.
Eyes tinged blood red and teeth piercing and snarling, Kol barked, "Out! Out of my way, Ayana—I do not wish to harm you."
Ayana's voice was deadly calm. "I have always let you make your own decisions, my son. I will not interfere with your plans—however, you do not know all the information. It is my duty to inform you." Kol simply snarled louder, his animal instinct getting the best of him. "Listen! The first vampire to take the life of a hunter will be granted a gift—immunity. They cannot be harmed by any member of the sect—witch or hunter. If you go after the Belvin boys, none of the Belvin sect will ever be able to harm you again—neither witch nor hunter. The immunity from their hands will run within your bloodstream forever."
Kol laughed, a dark, chilling amusement. "So if I enact my vengeance on Halian and Inteus, I not only get well deserved justice, but immunity from their entire sect for eternity? I fail to see a problem."
"Think, Kol!" Ayana scolded. "What was the first lesson of magick I ever taught you?"
"Move out of the way, dammit!" Kol hissed in anger.
"What was it?!" Ayana shouted, remaining firmly in place.
Kol took a deep breath, his eyes and teeth still sharp with sadistic delight, and said, much softer, "There is no magic without consequence. The balance demands something taken from something given," he recited, monotone as if a long ago ingrained mantra.
"Make your decision as you please, my son—but remember this: If you are the first vampire to take a hunter's life, immunity from their sect is given. Immunity from the other sects is taken. The Belvins and their witches will be unable to kill you, under any circumstance. The others… Frasher; Ghormley; Mixwater; Risingfawn… your life will become vulnerable to them. They will not need the ashes of the oak tree. Any simple stake will do you in at their hands."
Kol paused visibly, but did not move an inch.
Ayana's voice softened, and she squeezed Kol's hands tightly. "Ask yourself if petty vengeance is worth the risk to your life. That's all I ask."
Wrenching his hands out of her grip, his red eyes boring straight into her dark ones, he whispered in repent—"I'm sorry," and left the security and comfort of Ayana's home for the last time.
In the dwindling hours of midnight, he fought a fierce battle with the two Belvin men, and he narrowly escaped with his life, taking with him the decapitated head of Halian Belvin, the dead man's brother Inteus running with his life intact as cowards are wont to do.
Kol's eyes flickered upwards to Elena Gilbert's dead form. A terrible but seemingly impossible question swirled in his head—Elijah seemed to believe that there was a Five hunter descended from Inteus Belvin running about. If this were true, it was entirely possible that the witches with the immense power who had struck in Philadelphia were Five witches bonded with this Belvin descendant. He swung his legs around, standing and pacing. It made sense. He hadn't noticed in all the chaos, but it was strange that he felt none of the effects of the witch's powers. He had chalked it up to sheer luck, but perhaps… perhaps it wasn't.
If the witches were of Belvin descent, that means he was granted immunity from their harm. His blood granted him immunity from their harm, as Ayana had phrased it.
Wait.
Staring at Elena Gilbert, he swallowed convulsively. Could that mean… could that mean that the immunity ran in his very bloodstream? Because, if so, it would be transferred to anyone who ingested it… anyone with his blood in their veins as they were attacked. Wouldn't it?
His feet brought him closer and closer to the girl as he pondered.
Elena ingested his blood seconds before the witches killed her. All things considered, it was possible that his immunity from the Belvin sect granted Elena, who had his blood in her veins when she died, that same gift. Wasn't it?
He wasn't given time to ruminate on the possibility, however, as the girl's skin rapidly lightened from its deep, dark grey to its natural olive coloring, her chestnut brown eyes snapped open and, suddenly and forcefully, her body lifted off the table in a torturous lurch, gasping for breath.
'Are you so foolish as to care for her?'
Strangled breath, a gasp lodged in his throat. Piercing blue eyes narrowed in a vicious rage. His tone one of condescension—how could you be so weak? So pitiful, so… human? Elijah has never been anything but human, even with sharp teeth and a sharper appetite. He hates his brother—hates him for being so unfeeling, so cold, so cruel. But he hates him most of all because he's right. He made a mistake—he cared too much. And yes, he got burned. Oh, how Katerina had burned him.
He takes one of the paint cans in Niklaus' study and crushes the metal between his fingertips until its nothing but liquid putty falling to the ground. His teeth are locked and rigid, his eyes puffy and irises red, a terrible mixture of painful emotion and uncontrollable fury.
From the moment he met Elena Gilbert, he had taken every precaution to stay as detached as possible. He treated her more like livestock than a human being, a sacrificial offering to slaughter on an altar for the Gods. And it had worked, for a time. She had been just another face, just the second copy of Tatia, and nothing more.
And then, with one fluid flick of her wrist, it all changed. He remembers the look in her eyes when she handed him the dagger—purposeful, determined, trusting—and her humanity was so achingly sincere that he couldn't help the catch of his breath. It would've excited his brothers for a very different reason—a human girl, an important human girl, delicately placed her trust directly in his hands. Oh, the sinister plans Niklaus would've employed with that advantage.
But if Elijah knows anything, it's that he's never been Niklaus.
'I'll tell you, but not here.'
She gave him the dagger, raised her eyebrow in defiance of everything he'd ever thought her to be, and in that moment, he saw beyond her face. He saw beyond Tatia, beyond Katerina—there was steel in her eyes that neither of her predecessors had possessed. Tatia's eyes were wicked—gleeful, sadistic, as if she was always lording something over your head, and you didn't quite know what. Katerina's eyes were hard—determined, like Elena's—but different. The hardness in Katerina's eyes was born of shrewdness, of careful, precise calculation. She was all thought, all masterful logic. The hardness in Elena's eyes was born of emotion—raw, gritty emotion. Purpose, tenacity and passion. It wasn't calm, controlled or calculated—it was primal, and so very, very human.
Of course, now—now, it was nothing. Now it was empty. Now it was dead.
'It's a common mistake, I'm told. It's one I won't make again.'
He's sure Elena didn't know it, but he wasn't threatening her—he was reassuring himself. The way she had looked at him in that very moment—'You cared about her'—, the way his vulnerability appealed to her and the way her empathy appealed to him, he halted it dead in its tracks.
Or, at least, he'd attempted. Given his best effort.
His inner voice sounds so much like his father—'Best effort? You gave it your best effort? You are pathetic, sentimental—you are a fool.'
He rips at the window dressings and they tear easily, too easily. He wants something, someone, to rip his teeth into. Something to feast on—to quell his rage, to sedate his hunger.
'You are a fool.'
She had seduced him. Not with false promises, nor with sweet declarations or tantalizing sensuality—no, with humanity. She had seduced the part of his soul that desired to be rid of the monster, to live a life free of burdens, to lay his body to rest in a finality that he will never achieve.
No, she hadn't seduced him. He let her seduce him. He wanted it. Hell, he'd begged for it.
'You are a fool.'
His lips curve into an acerbic smile, sardonic and bitter. A fool is blind not in the eyes, but in the heart.
'You are a fool.'
He doesn't need breath, has no use for oxegen, and yet, he's suffocating. Boiling. Drowning. He claws at his shirt collar, ripping his tie into little shreds of blood red tears.
'You are a—'
"Elijah."
He turns, his eyes bloodshot, his hands gripped tightly around an antique vase, to see Kol wavering in the doorway, his jaw slack and his posture uncertain in a way so uncharacteristic and jarring that it makes Elijah pause.
"She's—Elena… she's awake. She just… woke up."
The vase cracks.
An old, beaten up '94 pick-up sat in the Donavon's driveway, engine still running, smoke emitting in erratic wisps of white steam. A couple houses down, a young blonde girl with flimsy braids was running through a sprinkler, her mother lounging on a green striped beach chair, a gossip magazine in her lap and a cigarette between her fingers.
The two men in the pick-up truck were unnervingly silent, surveying the carefree, innocent display of childish glee with a sort of resigned sadness.
Matt's voice was soft, but not quite timid. "Why did we leave her there?"
Stefan's voice, on the other hand, held no hesitance. "She deserves some answers—the kind of which we can't give her."
"I don't trust them," Matt spat bitterly, a harsh swirling of acidic vinegar present in his tone. "I don't know what their agenda is, but I do know whatever it is, it's not in Elena's best interest, and that's all I care about."
"You trust me then?" Stefan asked, a little genuine surprise evident in the raising of his brows.
Matt laughed, a dark, humorless chuckle, a chilling sound from the normally reserved young blonde. "Do I trust you?! You murdered my sister, I fucking hate you!" There was a flash of pure anger in Matt's eyes, but it dissipated quickly. "But… with, Elena…" He paused, sighing, as if he wished he could take back his words before he even spoke them. "You've proven, at the very least, that you love her. That puts you slightly above those slimy bastards in my book, at least when it comes to protecting her."
Stefan's voice was somewhat hollow and entirely monotone when he answered, "Elena and I are no longer together—"
"Doesn't matter," Matt brushed him off brusquely; "Can you tell me that means you've just suddenly stopped loving her? Of course you can't; you'd do anything for her, even if it wasn't something you agreed with. You know how I know that? 'Cause so would I."
The blatant naiveté, while disconcerting, was at the same time a nice change of pace. He had thought that the madness of this town's insidious supernatural infestation had robbed all those involved of their innocence. Maybe not everyone, Stefan mused with a rueful half-smile.
"I don't trust them either, Matt, but you know as well as I do that Elena does. Look, they have an agenda, yes, but it's clear they're not going to harm her. Not now, at least. We'll figure out what their end game is, but for now, I'm willing to let it play out." Matt went to interrupt, but Stefan shut him down forcefully. "I care about her as much as you do, and that's my entire point. If we brought her back here kicking and screaming, she'd just find another way to get answers from them – probably a more dangerous way, honestly. She's resourceful like that," Stefan chuckled with a sad but affectionate smile.
Matt could not refute that, but he still looked immensely displeased. "I worried about her less when she was with you."
Yeah, Stefan sighed, So did I.
"Get some sleep," Stefan said, more an order than a suggestion. "You've been through a lot in the past few days, your body needs it. I haven't abandoned Elena, trust me. I'll keep an eye out for her, you should know that. I'll always protect her, that's non-negotiable."
"Elijah wants her for himself," Matt stated brutally, "It's clear as day, I'm sure you can see it. What are you going to do about it?"
Stefan cringed, the harsh wording of Matt's declaration stinging deep.
"I don't know," he answered solemnly.
"You don't know? You can't leave her to his advances – he's the worst of 'em all. Damn snake in the grass, that guy is. His brothers are brash, headstrong – you can tell they're psychotic. Elijah… that guy is underhanded, and so are his intentions."
And mine aren't? Stefan mused to himself darkly.
Such a long time and exposed to so many horrible things, and Matt was still underestimating vampires.
"We'll talk more soon," Stefan said, easily declaring the end of the conversation, and left the car with no real parting. Walking past the young girl and her mother, he noted that the woman was watching him curiously. He nodded with a small smile, his mind elsewhere entirely.
He wasn't about to wage a war on Elijah Mikaelson for Elena's affections, that was for certain. But all the same, he wasn't going to slink away with his tail between his legs either.
He and Elena had been through hell too many times to count and come back mostly intact – that meant something to her, he knew. It surely meant something to him.
He vowed a long time ago to respect her decisions, but as far as he knew, no decision had been made.
He was just as naïve as Matt, wasn't he? Well, one thing is for certain – it took him decades to make peace with the end of his and Katherine's relationship, and he hadn't even been in love with her in the first place. Come hell or high water, he was going to fight to avoid figuring out what getting over Elena Gilbert entailed.
"For fuck's sake, those Belvin bastards are still out reigning terror wherever they deign to spit and you didn't think to tell me?!"
…
"I didn't think it pertinent to get you involved until I was certain, Kol; you know where your mind is when it comes to that family and it's far from clear-headed."
…
"Clear headed? You expect me to be clear headed, brother? Would you?! What if those Belvin fuckwits had gone after Niabe instead of Huyana? What if they'd gone after Rebekah?" Kol was seething, positively foaming at the mouth. His lips twisted into a horrible sneer, "Elena?" He paused, his expression murderous. "What if Halian and Inteus Belvin had raped sweet, precious Elena?"
…
The eerie, passive calm that had taken hold of Elijah's features vanished, replaced only by a snarl. "Don't you dare insinuate-"
…
"I'll insinuate what I like, dammit! That's what they did to me; that's what they took away from me. Answer my question, brother, if they had raped – hell, if whoever this Clarke bastard is – does rape Gilbert, do you expect that you'll be clear minded about anything ever again?!"
…
"If you're honestly worried for my safety, talk to me about it, don't use it as bait for someone else's anger."
Both men turned immediately, Kol's face ashen red with malice and rage, with his older brother's pallor pale as a sheet, staring at a girl he never imagined he'd see walk ever again. "Elena," Elijah began, "You shouldn't be—"
"It's been four days, Elijah," she cut off sharply; "I've been sleeping for four days, I'm not missing anything else."
Kol snorted, still entirely self-consumed, and turned away from Elena. "Let's take this into the other room—"
"I'd like to see you try to keep me out of this conversation, Kol."
The younger Mikaelson laughed, humorless and cold. "You're an insolent little bitch, aren't you, Gilbert?"
She did not rise to the taunt itself, but a cruel smile spread on her lips as she said, "I'm sorry, but these are the same people that just successfully murdered me, are they not? I don't know who the hell Huyana is, but you clearly want the same revenge I do. Elijah will hold you back from that—I won't. So long as I actually know who they are and what's going on."
Kol surveyed her curiously while Elijah seemed to grow more shocked with each word exchanged. A sardonic but not entirely humorless laugh bubbled from Kol's throat as he gave a wry smirk—"They all say she's so different from the last one," he addressed to neither of them in particular, "I don't see much difference."
Before Elena could respond to the unnerving comparison, Kol waved her off; "Have it your way, Gilbert," he motioned towards the living room, "I'll tell you what's going on. I'll tell you exactly what's going on," he shot a pointed look at his brother this time, "But when Elijah has to snap your neck again to keep you from running off in terror, don't expect help from me."
"I'm a lot of things, but I'm not an idiot," she spat bitterly; "I'd never expect help from you in this universe or any other."
Kol just shrugged and walked through the entry to the parlor room without a single look backwards.
"Elena—" Elijah began, his voice filled with its usual dark, chilling resolution.
"I deserve answers," she cut him off.
"You will get them."
"On your schedule, I assume?"
"My brother has a flair for the dramatics," Elijah scoffed; "Any answers you get from him will be sensational nonsense."
She shook her head and smiled – a bitter, pitiful thing. "Then you'd better come and counteract that nonsense, because I'm getting it one way or another."
Elijah glowered, torn between attempting patience and demanding she go back upstairs and stay there – forever, possibly.
"Is my resolution a surprise to you?" Elena asked, an undertone of petulance in her sarcasm.
Elijah laughed, a dark chuckle. "I've learned that nothing you do can surprise me any longer – I'm entirely prepared for any antics coming from you. I'd like to see you try to catch me unawares."
An amused smirk on her lips, Elena whispered, low, intimate, and slightly suggestive — "Challenge accepted."
Elijah took a substantial sip of his tea, watching her walk away with an awestruck expression on his face.
Just a month ago, Elena had never once considered that she'd be sitting in the Mikaelson's parlor room, the most composed man she'd ever known looking decidedly more anxious than she did, his brother lounging comfortably in a plush armchair, a decanter of rum in his hands and a sadistic smile on his lips. Hell, she never thought she'd set foot in this house ever again and, at the time, she was quite satisfied with that.
If there's anything Elena Gilbert has learned since transitioning, it's that where her life is concerned, nothing is too absurd to rule out.
"Let's start with a question I have first and then we'll get to your petty concerns later." Kol leaned forward, all traces of playfulness gone from his demeanor, "Who is Clarke Smyth?"
Whatever Elena had been expecting him to say, it wasn't this. "Matt's father?"
"The kid whose hand I broke, right?" He directed this question towards his brother this time.
Elijah nodded, but did not speak.
"Alright," Elena spoke softly, "I answered your question – now answer mine: Who are the Belvin family?"
This time, Elijah did not hesitate even slightly before cutting in right before his brother. "A family we knew as humans – you know there are people who proclaim to be vampire hunters, yes?" Elena nodded, swallowing painfully at the mere thought of the man she'd never been given the time to mourn. "At various points in history, many people have self-proclaimed to hunt the undead, but only five families were ever officially bequeathed gifts of superhuman strength designed specifically for hunting us. Commonly referred to as 'The Five', they were created by our father for the sole purpose of hunting and killing Niklaus."
Elena was quiet for a good few seconds, digesting before she said, "And the Belvin family was one of them."
"Obviously," Kol spat in derision but seemed content to say nothing else.
"It was Belvin family descendants who attempted to kill me, then?"
"Yes, but not exactly," Elijah spoke, his voice heavy and thick with a morose sort of regret; "The ones who came to Philadelphia to kill you were witches, but, technically, they were Belvin witches." He put a hand up to silence Elena's further questioning and she lulled into silence immediately.
Kol cut in, glaring at his brother. "This is my story, brother, why don't you let me tell it?" When there was no outward protest, Kol continued – "When dear ole' Dad created 'The Five', giving each family superhuman strength, he could not have achieved this without witches. Little power-hungry cunts only did what he wanted for quid pro quo – any power the witches gave the new hunters, the witches themselves received two-fold."
Her voice hoarse and uneasy, Elena asked, "So Five hunters and witches collaborate to take down a common enemy? And what makes one a 'Belvin' witch rather than just a witch?"
A dark grimace flashed across Kol's face—"The nature of the spell used to give the hunters their power bonded witch and hunter families in ways that had only once been dreamed of. For all intents and purposes, they belong to the same line now. There are five lines – five hunter families, of which Belvin is one, and a line of witches for each family. The other four family lines have all died out – at least, as far as I know." Kol narrowed his eyes on his elder brother's shadow—"Until a few days ago, I was under the impression the Belvin line had suffered the same fate."
"Who ordered the attack on me, then? Did the Belvin hunters have a motive for having me dead or was it the witches themselves that orchestrated it all?"
Kol shrugged, "Hard to pinpoint exactly, but we—well, he," he motioned to Elijah, "—seems to believe the current head of the Belvin hunter line has a reason to be interested in you."
"Matt's dad," Elena whispered in horror.
Kol's mouth dropped open, but Elijah just smirked at him.
Elijah picked it up smoothly, as though Kol had never dropped it – "I believe so, yes."
"No," Elena dismissed immediately; "That's not possible."
Kol's voice was harsh, degrading—"And you're basing that assumption on your how many years of involvement with 'The Five?'"
"I've known Matt's dad forever. He's a lowlife, but he's not a vampire hunter, nor the mastermind behind some millennia-long supernatural feud – the idea is absolutely absurd. The man could barely hold an intelligent conversation."
"Belvin's are lowlifes," Kol muttered darkly; "Unintelligent, barely functioning, vicious idiot savants and I should've castrated Inteus Belvin when I had the opportunity – should've pulled his intestines straight from his throat and hung him with them like a fucking noose."
"They hurt someone you cared about," Elena surmised; it wasn't a question. "Huyana, I gather?"
Kol set the decanter of rum on the table and stood, as close to Elena's face as he could get without Elijah objecting. "I'll satisfy your insipid curiosity, little doppelganger, on one condition."
Careful to not even take a breath, Elena instinctively answered, soft and submissive, "What's that?"
"Once I finish, I never want to hear that name come off your lips again, do you understand me? I will kill you, regardless of my brother's feelings, and I'll deliver your severed head on a nice, cute little silver platter to the Salvatore Boarding House, are we clear?"
Gathering all the bravado in her entire body, Elena nodded with great difficulty, and Kol retreated back to his seat. "Huyana was my wife—my best friend as a human. She meant everything to me, and Halian and Inteus Belvin – motherfucking animals that they were – raped her because it seemed 'fun'. Because they were 'bored'. Huyana was my wife, and she was the mother of my child that never got to see the light of day. So when my brother asks me to be 'clear headed' about their family line, I understandably get somewhat – irritated."
Not a second after Elena opened her mouth, Kol fixed her with a chilling glare that melted any words of condolence off her tongue. "What did I say, doppelganger?"
Sensing the palpable tension, Elijah surveyed Elena and her prominent distress with equal parts intrigue and compassion. She raised her head to meet his gaze and he held it back. There had always been this characteristic way Elena looked at him that transcended their rather significant age difference – in moments like these, he didn't feel like the millennia year old vampire that he was, but rather like an innocent young man living amongst werewolves, witches and all kinds of old magick, understanding none of it. They were anything but equals, and yet, she fixed him with this stare that was unnaturally confident, trusting and self-assured. With most people – vampire, human or otherwise – it was an entirely different story. Their eyes widened with fear, with trepidation. Elena's eyes just narrowed with challenge and the occasional spark of a distinct amusement.
No one had ever had the gall to be amused by him – admittedly, her audacity and vigor was part of what drew him to her in the first place, but the unabashed amusement was a more recent development that he wasn't sure how he felt about yet. In some ways, he was intrigued, even bemused. In others, he was outraged.
"Have we deteriorated into the eye-fucking portion of the conversation, or is the doppelganger going to ask the question any sane person would want to know at this point?"
Elena started, snapping her head up to look at Kol's smug face, and asked, rather shaken and startled, "Well, yeah — why I'm alive is definitely something that's on my mind."
Kol rolled his eyes at his brother's obvious discomposure. This was ridiculous – what was so special about some eighteen year old chit that had his normally stoic brother so whipped? It was… disconcerting, to say the least. "To sum up a rather complicated story, my blood grants me immunity to attacks by the Belvin line – hunters and witches alike – and you ingested my blood before you died – hence, your temporary immunity." Kol stood up, made a show of stretching, a small sliver of his shirt rising, a salacious smirk on his lips, and declared, "I'm ravished – anyone want to go out and find someone to eat?"
"Hold up," Elena said instantly, stunned. "You… fed me your blood, to – keep me alive?" It was so preposterous – Kol Mikaelson cared whether she lived or died? Never mind the fact that she happened to know that blood sharing was a rather... intimate endeavor between vampires. For Kol to make such a declaration of protective intent - and to say it so nonchalantly at that - shocked her speechless.
Shrugging, Kol answered flippantly, "I've never sired a vampire before, believe it or not, but I understand the proper protocol is something along the lines of not letting the sired die in the first couple weeks. I don't half-ass things."
Elena's jaw dropped, eyes widening comically. Despite the knowledge that Matt's father was a vampire hunter gunning for her death, this was the information that pushed her over the edge. "What?!"
Responding immediately, Elijah rose and interrupted, "I think what my br—"
Kol's attempt at faux-innocence was downright laughable. "I'm sorry, was that an insensitive way to drop that news? I've never been in this situation before, you'll have to forgive my lack of tact. As a matter of fact, I've never done that well either."
"What – " Elena sputtered, trying to gather some semblance of composure, "What does that even mean?"
Kol's voice was droll, as dry as sandpaper. "In most customs, it means that my blood was used in your transition."
Elena stood now, her eyes glinting dangerously; "I know that! I meant… how does this affect us? Our… relationship?"
"Relationship?" Kol echoed, a positively feral grin directed as his brother. "What relationship are you speaking of, doppelganger?"
"Oh, fuck you, Kol," she hissed in annoyance; "You know exactly what I meant. And I have a name, you know."
"Calm down, Elena – it doesn't mean anything, not really," he lied through his teeth; rather convincingly, in fact. "Granted, in some older traditions, it was an unspoken rule that sires were meant to teach their new vampires to control and adapt, but that's not always followed these days. Besides," he grinned, his mouth upturned in a wry smile, "My brother seems to be filling that role for you quite splendidly."
Mouth still agape, his strong assurances placated her anger slightly but did nothing to eradicate her fear.
"Now – " Kol broke off, his usual playful, sinister spirit back full impact, "I'm going out to find someone delicious to play with. Feel free to stay and… brood together, if that's what gets you guys hot."
Elena sank back down on the couch, a hand rubbing her forehead to alleviate a stress that she was sure wouldn't be relieved for quite some time. "Holy shit," she breathed slowly, trying to think of a stronger adjective for overwhelmed. It didn't quite do this justice. "I think you were right," she directed at Elijah, who still hadn't moved. "I'm fucking exhausted," she said, as if noticing for the first time.
Elijah, still shocked stricken, straightened up and sat down next to her. "It's a lot to take at once, I know — " he agreed, "I did give you fair warning about my brother's dramatizing, however. You have no one to blame but yourself in that respect," he teased somewhat lightheartedly.
"Mhm, I suppose," Elena answered, her eyes heavy with extreme fatigue, physical and emotional. Elijah draped a wool knit blanket over her and made to leave, but Elena spoke first – "And I'll have you know I'm well versed in Kol's – dramatics after the past weekend, I think."
The elder vampire paused, a sharp, chilling grimace on his face. "What did he do?"
"Well, nothing particularly bad per se," Elena waved off in nonchalance; "Just a little scandalous, I suppose. It's just that he was quite vocally enthusiastic when he and Stefan were fucking; I mean, really, it was downright animalistic, and our beds were right next to each other. Honestly - where's the decency, I ask?"
Elijah, on instinctual, guttural reaction – partly by mere surprise, but mostly by hearing Elena refer to a sexual act as 'fucking' and speaking of animalistic sex almost… wistfully – sputtered momentarily, visibly caught off guard, and decidedly more… aroused than sat well with him.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Elena spoke in a succinctly endearing voice that held a twinge of something edgier than its normal tone, "Did I startle you?" A laugh bubbling from her chest and an almost sadistic smile on her lips, she said, "Well, I guess I did. With that little dribble of tea on your chin, one might even say you've been caught unawares."
Her grin widened even more as his face darkened in realization. Her amused lips, curved into a very beautiful delight was dangerously enticing in a way Elijah had never allowed himself to attribute to Elena before. His voice was barely a whisper of a threat when he spoke, "Oh, that was very risky, Miss Gilbert."
"No reward without risk, as they say."
She was far too smug for him to let this go. They were unquestionably entering a new phase in their relationship, one in which Elena was far too comfortable in her conviction that they were on equal footing.
He looked forward to correcting her misconception.
He moved off the sofa, a wry smile gracing his lips in spite of himself. "Goodnight, Elena."
A brilliant, warm smile looked back up at him, and she curled into the warmth of the blanket, eyes closed in blissful comfort and murmured into the pillow, utterly unguarded, "Night, 'Lijah."
Notes: Things are about to get fun for our primary couple, guys. ;)
Next Time on D&R: The Boarding House finally lives up to its name for the first time in decades, Elena makes a decision to forward her own personal life completely outside of vampires, the supernatural and anyone involved in either, Stefan and Katherine are caught in an uncomfortable (and weirdly domestic) situation, Damon and Elena have a long over-due 'talk' about their relationship, Tyler and Caroline talk about how recent events have affected their relationship, and Katherine finally takes some time to fill Elena in on what she knows, albeit with her own unique 'flair'.