"Let us sit upon the ground and tell sad stories of the death of kings." She/her/hers. 30. Writing sideblog and sometimes art. Follows from within-thehollowcrown (18+ Only)
Welcome to my masterlist! Here, you'll find a collection of stories that dive deep into the worlds of my favorite fandoms, filled with drama, romance, and a touch of adventure. Whether you're here for slow-burn relationships, intense action, or emotional character journeys, I've got you. Click through to explore, and I hope you enjoy the stories as much as I loved writing them!
Fandoms:
The Originals
Sharpening Knives (Elijah Mikaelson x OFC; Multi-chapter; Ongoing)
You Could See Me From the Dark (Elijah Mikaelson x OFC; One Shot)
The Grishaverse (Shadow and Bone)
The Blood of Saints (Aleksander Morozova x OFC; Multi-chapter; Ongoing)
Final Fantasy VII
Plainsong (Sephiroth x GN!Reader; One Shot)
Sleepwalkers (Vincent Valentine x GN!Reader; One Shot)
Exit Wounds (Vincent Valentine x OFC; Multi-chapter; Ongoing)
feminist retelling shoulsnt be the woman does some girlboss shit femist retelling is she does the same stuff except u actually give a shit abt her perspective and thoughts and feelings as a human being this time
ao3 writers what's your average word count? go to the statistics page on your dashboard and find your total word count then divide that by the number of fics you've written. mine is 3,728.
I have the female urge to run away to New Orleans, find out that I'm a witch and get a hot original vampire boyfriend, who is too obsessed with his brother's redemption, but maybe that's just me.
Wooo, life has cut drastically into my writing time and mental space. BUT I have a scene or two left to work out and then editing, but Chapter 32 is almost done.
Have a longer sneak peek for being so patient:
Klaus groans, exasperated now. “Have you considered that —like you— I am trying to keep Hayley safe? Using our mother’s magic to empower her people so they are capable of protecting her?”
Elijah folds the journal closed and pushes away from the desk, rising to his feet.
“Yes, unless—of course—they decide to seek retribution for decades held in exile. Which would place Hayley in the middle of an uprising. One that will provoke further violence.” He meets his brother’s stare with his own. “You see, you risk turning New Orleans into a war zone, brother. I won’t let that happen.”
Klaus eyes narrow to slits, but whatever assuredly nasty comment he has on deck is interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps.
They both turn towards the doorway just as Rebekah sweeps in, radiating irritation.
“Splendid timing, Rebekah,” Klaus says, too light. “Come to join Elijah’s sermon?”
The look Rebekah shoots him is nothing short of venomous. Her arms fold over her chest, creating distance.
“I couldn’t care less about your latest squabble.” Her eyes flick briefly to Elijah and then back. “But if perhaps if you weren’t so preoccupied with chasing down dusty relics, you might notice the damage you’re inflicting elsewhere—“
“Damage?” Klaus echoes with an incredulous snort. “If this is about the situation in the bayou, perhaps you should on your own indiscretions, sister.”
That seems to take Rebekah aback. She blinks, a little startled, then, “And what indiscretions are those, Nik?”
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t play the fool, Rebekah. I’m talking about your rather close proximity to the mother of my child. Or did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
Elijah watches her stiffen from head to toe. “If you’re accusing me of something, say it plainly.”
“I’m merely making an observation,” he says, innocence painting the edges of a too-sharp smile. “This city has enough problems without you involving yourself in Hayley’s already questionable decisions. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you skulking about the Quarter with Marcel, whispering about God knows what.”
He then surprises Elijah by rounding on him as well.
“And you—both of you, actually—would do well to remember where your loyalties lie.
Rebekah takes a step forward. Elijah intervenes before it can escalate any further. “Enough. We have greater enemies at present that each other. Whatever differences we may have—“ he levels Klaus with a withering look “—they must wait.”
No one speaks right away. The three siblings stand there, each festering in unspoken resentment—the kind that is certain to rear its ugly head later. But they both back off a fraction and it seems Elijah’s won them over. For now.
“Very well,” Klaus says at last. He takes a step back, eyes still fixed on Rebekah. “But remember, dear sister, that there’s nothing in this city that escapes my notice. If you’re hiding something—“ his tone makes it plain he believes she is “—I will find out.”
Elijah wonders if he catches it, the flash of fear that passes through Rebekah’s eyes, gone as quickly as it came. He searches Klaus’ expression and finds only a careful mask.
Then, all at once, he brushes past them, folio still tucked under his arm, and disappears down the hall.
Elijah waits, listening, until he’s out of earshot before he says, “You shouldn’t antagonize him, Rebekah. Not now, not with tensions already so high.”
Her gaze finds him and he knows she hears it—the warning he doesn’t dare voice aloud. The secret he’d helped her sweep under the rug. The one that, with one word from Genevieve, could fracture the fragile bond holding them all back from ruin.
“He’s the one playing games, Elijah,” she snaps, venom doing little to disguise the waver in her voice. She worries her lip. Then, softer: “Games that could get Hayley hurt.”
And there it is. Laid out so plainly that Elijah doesn’t know how he ever missed it. The longing stares, the way she always lingers a second too long. A suspicious he’s held close, now confirmed beyond doubt.
He drags a hand over his face, feeling the full weight of his age. He wants to scold her for her recklessness, but he’s all too aware of throwing stones in glass houses.
“Your concern for Hayley’s wellbeing is…admirable,” he says slowly, measuring his words. “We need to tread carefully. Niklaus is already suspicious. You must not draw any undue attention towards yourself.”
“I’m perfectly aware,” she replies bitterly, eyes fixed on the carpet. Then she glances back, jaw set with resolution. “Don’t ask me to stay away, Elijah. I won’t.”
He doesn’t answer, not a first. He’s too busy wondering how they all got here—bogged down in secrets and forbidden trysts, stuck fast before they’d even realized they’d been ensnare. He reaches for the scrap paper he’d written on earlier and slips it into his pocket.
“I’m not asking you to avoid her,” he says finally, heading for the door. “I’m asking you to proceed with the utmost caution. For all our sakes.”
And as he leaves her standing alone in the study, he knows he’s speaking to himself as much as her.
Adrenaline Jolt to the WIP - Always & Forever: Part II - Elejah fanfic
Giving an Adrenaline Jolt to the WIP for @surpriseelejahmonth! One day, one day, I will go back to this, but in case I never do, enjoy what I have so far.
Premise: Elena goes to New Orleans seeking Elijah's help with her sire bond to Damon.
Word count: 3.5k
⭐︎ Part I ⭐︎
The first inkling that Klaus had that anything was amiss the moment he stepped through the door was the utter stillness around the Abattoir. He paused in the archway, listening intently. He could hear Hayley upstairs, rummaging in the attic, no doubt looting anything and everything remotely related to the history of werewolves in New Orleans—and possibly about magic curses and how to undo them. Next to hers, the baby’s heartbeat was as light as a feather and even he had to strain to hear it.
It was the quietness coming from the study that perplexed him.
Elijah was far better at remaining still for an extended period of time than he was, but there was an unnerving quality to the stillness and it unsettled him. Briefly, he ran through the events of the day, wondering if he’d done something he really shouldn’t have and for which he was about to receive one of his brother’s spectacular tongue-lashings.
That was until he caught the other scent floating about—one that definitely shouldn’t have been there.
He was up the stairs and onto the main landing in less than a second, hackles raised by the thought of an interloping little intruder of the Petrova variety, when he found himself hauled up by the lapels of his shirt and thrown halfway through the house right back into the courtyard. He was so stunned that he stayed on the floor for a breath longer than strictly necessary, trying to piece together what on earth had just happened.
“Brother, whatever it was that you were thinking of doing, might I suggest you reconsider?”
There was an edge to Elijah’s voice that Klaus had no trouble identifying: he had threatened something precious to him, and was about to find out the rest should he not toe the line. He’d heard that tone enough times in the past and was intimately familiar with the torment Elijah would rain down upon him should anything happen to that particular Petrova.
His brother had always been a lovesick fool.
“Well then, brother, perhaps you might share the reason behind my favorite doppelgänger’s intrusion into our home?”
“Elena is my guest, Niklaus, and as such is to be afforded every courtesy. Am I making myself clear?”
He was half tempted to argue, but the day had been a long one and frankly, he had other things to worry about than a newly turned Petrova doppelgänger, annoying as this one was. At least it wasn’t Katherine; he might truly have done something regrettable then.
“And what is the lovely Elena doing here, and as your guest no less?”
Klaus didn’t miss the slight sneer his brother couldn’t quite manage to conceal when he used his preferred moniker for the otherwise perfectly ordinary girl now sleeping in one of their guest rooms. Actually… He strained his hearing, locating her heartbeat, and didn’t bother hiding his grimace.
Elijah had actually put her in his room. The idiot.
Klaus was certain that, hadn’t he already been dead for a fair few centuries, the sheer monumentality of that discovery would have killed him on the spot. He simply could not wait for Rebekah to find out.
“She came to New Orleans seeking my help with a… problem. I promised her I would help, but it seems the evening exhausted her.” Elijah actually had the audacity to point a menacing finger towards him. “And should you, or anyone, disturb her rest, for any reason whatsoever, I assure you, brother, I will make certain you regret it.”
He had no doubts about that and if the stuttering heartbeats he could suddenly hear coming from somewhere behind him were any indication, so would the vampires of the French Quarter before the hour was out.
When Elijah Mikaelson made a threat, everyone toed the line. Privately, although he would never be caught dead admitting it, Klaus often thought his brother far more terrifying than he was. At times, even he was scared of the beast Elijah kept a very tight rein on, unleashing it periodically whenever someone did something spectacularly foolish.
Harming Elena Gilbert in any way, shape, or form fell squarely into that category. Given the strain lining his brother’s eyes, he could tell that someone had, so to speak, fucked around and was about to find out.
⭐︎☾⭐︎
Elena woke up disorientated. The light in the room wasn’t coming at the right angle and it was too quiet. No birds chirping on the trees outside, no groaning planks of wood or splintering beams, no arguing brothers…
Her eyes snapped open.
She immediately regretted it as soon as the sun hit her full force, blasting her eyeballs into painful oblivion. For a few seconds, all she could see was pure white, until she blinked a few times and the fog dissipated. Inhaling deeply, she was hit by two pieces of information at almost exactly the same time: one, she was not in her room at the Boarding House, and two, she could smell Elijah Mikaelson everywhere.
Why on earth would she smell him everywhere? And more importantly, how did she even know what he smelt like? When had that become a part of her brain chemistry?
She sat up, rubbing at her eyes with the heels of her hands when the memories registered with painful clarity.
Damon and the sire bond, her no humanity road trip with Rebekah, seeking Elijah out in New Orleans so he could help her remember… What did he help her remember, again?
And then, because she hadn’t suffered enough shocks to her system to last her the morning yet, she remembered.
She barely had time to bolt for the bathroom before she emptied the meagre contents of her stomach into the sink, coughing against the block in her throat. Shaking, she turned on the water, studiously ignoring the mix of bile, blood and alcohol as it swirled down the drain, her mind drawing a blank. She slid to the floor, her back against the sink cabinet and took deep breaths, attempting to regulate her heartbeat, careening wildly in her chest. She wasn’t entirely successful until she felt a pair of warm hands around her face, brushing against her cheekbones.
Slowly, Elena cracked one eye open, as soon as she felt her heart begin to slow down enough for her to actually speak.
“Sorry about the mess,” she croaked, “I didn’t have time to aim for the toilet.”
He chuckled, helping her up with one arm around her waist. His other hand was still busy caressing her cheek and she was in no hurry for it to stop.
“It’s quite alright, Elena. I’m impressed you managed to aim at all.”
She opened her eyes wide before narrowing them suspiciously. He had his trademark Elijah Mikaelson Big Bad Original Vampire smirk, even if his eyes were a little sad. And suddenly it registered.
“Did you just take a dig at me?”
Elijah placed a hand on his heart, his smirk turning into something more playful. “I would never.”
Elena was nearly tempted to shove at him with all of her baby vampire strength, just because. She surprised herself by laughing out loud, placing a hand on her mouth in shock, before dissolving into giggles again.
It felt good to laugh.
But the whirlpool of emotions she had gone through in the space of a few moments had left her more than a little drained, and Elijah sensed that as soon as her legs began to buckle underneath her. He had her sitting on the bed—his bed, she’d just realized—before she could even begin to feel herself fall. Slowly, he tilted her head to the left, eyeing her greying complexion, before zooming out of the room and back inside in less than a second, a bag of blood in one hand and a warm damp towel in the other.
Elena took the blood bag wordlessly, sipping at it without even thinking about it, a sure improvement on the last few weeks. She let him run the towel on the side of her face. She hadn’t even realised she had started crying.
She finished the last of the blood just as he stood to put the towel back in the bathroom. Elena took the opportunity to look around the room. She was still a little dazed, but not enough not to understand the fact that, out of all the rooms she was sure this place must have, Elijah had chosen to put her in his. Part of her truly wasn’t sure what to do with that information, and another part of her was more than a little thrilled. She shut that one up immediately. She was here for a reason, and had had enough of romantic entanglements to last her at least two human lifetimes.
“How are you feeling?”
Elena sighed as he sat on the bed next to her, folding his hands in his lap. She itched to lock her fingers up with his. She ignored the little voice in her head that told her to embrace this, whatever this was.
“Better.” And she knew that he knew that wasn’t quite true, but he didn’t call her out on it and she was grateful for it. “I’m… glad I remember,” she said, risking a glance up at him to find his eyes hardening at the mention of what exactly it was that she was remembering. “Even if it’s painful, I’m glad to know the truth. About him, I mean.”
There was a definite tick in his jaw and she had the errant thought that she had just condemned Damon to death last night.
Maybe she should have thought about that, because as obtuse as Caroline liked to call her when it came to romance, she really should have known that Elijah would make Damon wish he had never been born the moment the Original found out exactly what the younger vampire had done to her.
But then again, she hadn’t remembered, had she? And whatever it had been that she was expecting to remember, it certainly had not been that.
“Thank you, Elijah. For helping me, I mean. I don’t think I said that last night,” she said softly, letting her hand rest on top of his.
“You were a little preoccupied,” he smiled, but there was no real warmth behind it. “I certainly am glad to have helped you, Elena, even if, for your sake, I wish things were different.”
So did she, but hindsight was only a wonderful thing because one could only ever see it coming after they had been dealt a crappy hand, when the obvious solution was already far out of their grasp.
“Still, thank you.”
Elijah tipped his head towards her, looking down at their joined hands. He made no move to disengage himself from her and neither did she.
Until, that is, a loud crash was heard from the foyer and Elena repressed a giggle with great difficulty at the long suffering look he addressed to the ceiling.
“I’d better go and see what kind of mischief my siblings have managed to land themselves into this time.”
“I guess if you want New Orleans to remain standing, you probably should, yeah.”
⭐︎☾⭐︎
To say that Rebekah was annoyed was an understatement. She wasn’t just annoyed, she was irritated. One could almost say pissed off. And the reason for that entirely too early bout of irritation was trying very hard to disappear behind her elder brother, and failing miserably.
“Not that I didn’t appreciate our little road trip,” Rebekah said, crossing her legs over the arm of the sofa she had nearly thrown into Nik’s face when he had refused to stop gloating about his accomplishments as the Great Hybrid King of New Orleans, “but what exactly are you doing here, Elena?”
She had thought leaving Mystic Falls behind would be easier than this, but it seemed the irritating little town was entirely true to form to its inhabitants: a perpetual thorn in her side. Judging by the adoring and frankly disgusting look Elijah was casting sideways, he at least was probably overjoyed at this new turn of events.
Every time she was forced to watch the two of them interact, Rebekah pondered the merits of exiling herself to another continent. At least until they got their act together, which could take anywhere between one week and one century. She repressed a sigh with great difficulty.
“I needed help with the sire bond, and Elijah helped.”
Her brother at least had the grace to look away—and was that a blush she saw?—before her disbelieving stare.
“I… see.”
She fervently wished that she did not, in fact, see.
“It’s not what you’re thinking, Rebekah.”
Klaus looked caught between wanting to murder someone and absolutely gleeful at the blush—because it was a blush—he could see fast developing on his brother’s cheeks.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Elijah blush but the sight was worth it. Until his mind caught on to what his little sister was insinuating and he suddenly wished he was the one lying daggered somewhere just so his brain did not have to conjure up the ghastly image of Elena and his brother engaging in that particular act.
“Oh?”
“Elena needed help remembering a few… details of her time under the sire bond, and I merely agreed to help her.”
Or, more likely, he had seen an opportunity to play knight in shining armour to the woman he was hopelessly in love with and took it.
Rebekah would give him points for effort. She was just happy she could trash the image of her brother letting Elena drink his blood to rid herself of a sire bond into the proverbial bin. She wasn’t sure her breakfast could have remained where it was if not.
“And those details were…” Klaus trailed off, fixing himself a drink with the look of a man who both desperately needed it and was enjoying the scene playing out in front of him immensely.
“Private,” Elena shot back, nonplussed.
If Rebekah wasn’t so set on retaining at least some her initial dislike for the newest Petrova (on principle, if nothing else), she might actually admire her for the way the baby vampire handled Klaus. She clearly had either lost her mind, her sense of self preservation, or simply could not care less.
Impressive.
Klaus looked like he was about to retort something unforgivably rude, but Elijah, as always, shut him up before the idiot got himself thrown into next week through the nearest wall and all the way into the Mississippi.
“As I said, Niklaus, Elena is here as my guest and will remain so for however long she wishes.” He levelled a long look at Rebekah, who narrowed her eyes in return. “And the both of you will leave her alone until such a time she decides she wants your company, is that clear?”
“Crystal.”
But just because she simply could not resist the idea of tweaking her brother’s nose a little, Rebekah crossed her fingers behind her back.
⭐︎☾⭐︎
Elena had been expecting a call, but not so soon. Still, she really should have known better.
She’d been perfectly content on taking Elijah up on his open-ended invitation to stay, and after escaping Klaus’ laser-focused eyes and Rebekah’s disturbingly blue ones, she had settled back into his room, a book in hand. She had figured nobody would try to disturb her here, but she hadn’t counted on the kind of electronic disturbance that could transcend state borders.
“Hi Care, how’s Mystic Falls?”
“You know, you could have dropped me a text to say, oh, I don’t know: “hey Caroline, guess what, I’m not dead!” but guess not.”
“I’m sorry,” and she was, “but it’s been… difficult.”
Elena could almost heard her friend’s eyebrows drawing together by the slow exhale she let out on the other end.
“Difficult how? What happened?”
She toyed with the edges of the book before remembering that this was, in fact, a priceless first edition, and closed it sharply. She knew Caroline heard it by the equally sharp inhale she heard.
“I… I don’t know if I want to talk about it, Care—at least, not right now. Not like this,” she rushed to add the moment she heard the breath that would no doubt precede a torrent of protests. Something in her voice must have stopped Caroline though, because there was a suspiciously long silence at the other end of the line.
“Okay, ‘Lena, just… Just be safe, okay? I know you want to trust Elijah, and if he helped you, I’m game, but please remember you basically walked into Supernatural Central as the twice dead, twice revived Doppelgänger, yes?”
Elena had to laugh as the entirely too accurate picture. “Don’t worry, Care. Elijah pretty much threatened both Klaus and Rebekah into submission over my continued well-being.”
Silence, and then… “Ew, you’re even starting to talk like him.”
Elena had no time to let the middle-school insult she had ready-made fly because the next second, Caroline ended the call. She couldn’t shake the suspicion that she would be hearing from her friend very soon.
⭐︎☾⭐︎
Elijah had not counted on being given an outlet on which to work out some of the simmering rage roiling beneath his skin and was therefore entirely unsurprised to find that the nearest piece of furniture suffered the fate he wished to inflict upon the eldest Salvatore instead.
A few hours later, confronted with the mess he had made of the study, he resolved to put it to rights before either of his siblings managed to corner him.
He really should have known better.
“Dare I ask?” His brother held up the vintage print normally hanging above the mantel piece, no doubt foraged from somewhere underneath the previously pristine coffee table, which was now missing three out of its four legs.
Elijah threw him a dark look. He had not worked out all of his rage yet and if Niklaus decided that now was the appropriate time to test him, he would be more than happy to oblige him, for once.
“Better not, eh?”
Klaus hung up the print back where it belonged, fiddling with it with the intensity only an artist could manage, before turning back to his older brother, analysing him.
If Elijah had any inkling that he was watching him, he gave none, instead focusing on rummaging through the pile of papers on the desk.
For someone as neat as his brother was, Klaus was forever astounded at the fact that Elijah’s desk could most often best be described as a minefield: papers, letters, business cards and other deal-making paraphernalia littering the surface of the desk. And yet, somehow, Elijah always managed to find what he was looking for. The rest of the study, in its normal state, was usually a perfect reflection of his brother’s intensely restrained personality, a masterwork of control.
He would know, he had snooped around enough.
But the desk… now, the desk gave away more than Elijah might like to admit. For example, while the surface was always nearly chaotic, there was order within the chaos, a perfect capsule of his brother’s personality.
Right about now, there was no order to be found, which meant that Elijah was troubled. And, judging by the scowl on his face, save for when a certain Petrova was in the room, vengeful.
“What did Elena tell you last night that managed to rile you up so much, brother?”
For once, there was not one ounce of mockery in his tone. Perhaps that was why his brother actually listened to him and looked up, glaring daggers that Klaus understood were not truly directed at him.
“It seems I was remiss in thinking her safe in Mystic Falls,” Elijah said, voice tight and just shy of low enough to be considered a growl. “Damon Salvatore, in particular, has proven most… untrustworthy.”
There was so much venom infused in the name that Klaus immediately knew that whatever the petulant little man had done paled in comparison to anything either Salvatore brothers had tried to pull off before the sacrifice. And since there were very few things on this earth that could infuriate his brother as much as a good daggering, Klaus could admit to feeling somewhat… perturbed.
Particularly because he knew that the only reason Elijah had left Mystic Falls behind was that he had thought Elena safe with her friends and family. Apparently, something had happened that had made him not only reconsider, but reconsider it strongly enough to destroy half of the study in the process.
“And let me guess, you’d like nothing more than to rip Damon’s head from his shoulders?”
Elijah smiled darkly, the sort of smile Klaus hadn’t seen in a long time—except for the odd occasion where it was directed at him.
“That would be letting him off far too easy, brother.” Elijah rearranged some papers on the desk, piling them up neatly. “Once I’m through with him, there might not be enough left for a proper beheading.”
Written for @surpriseelejahmonth in answer to this prompt, requested by @anphibole (hi, friend!): Elijah gets his suited ass back to Mystic Falls when he hears of Elena's transformation, see how that changes canon
Word Count: 3.2k
Warnings: violence, language, grief, mentions of death and abuse (both direct and implied). Please read at your own discretion
“I’m sorry, Elijah.”
Lilting, soft. It shatters the sitting room’s stillness with the force of a hammer. He casts his gaze over sunlight walls. A ticking grandfather clock in the corner. Shelves burdened with books and potted plants. Framed photos dotting walls and empty surfaces, all of a woman and the same smiling girl.
“Grams left me a lot to work with, but nothing on how to counter hexed objects.”
He’d known it was a long shot when he’d boarded the flight to Virginia, left New Orleans to fade into specks of shadow below. Still, the disappointment smarts.
This would be the moment when his brother would dive across the table, wrap his hands around her throat and threaten until she agreed to try again. Elijah simply retracts his palms from the table and settles them in his lap.
“There is no need for apologies, Miss Bennett,” he replies. “I appreciate your help regardless of the outcome.
Seated across from him with her slender fingers wrapped around her teacup, Bonnie Bennett looks spread thin. There’s a slight slump to her shoulders, like a weight slowing pressing down on her petite frame. Shadows punctuate the space beneath her dark eyes. Eyes that watch him with something far too old, far too knowing for her nineteen years.
It looks too much like grief. Like overexertion. Absently, he wonders if she’s sleeping, or if she’s still being used as a pawn in the Salvatore’s perpetual tug of war over Elena Gilbert.
He tries not to wince at the name. The last time he’d seen her, with red in her hair and a flush to her cheeks, her heart had still been pounding from their kiss. He’s determined not to seek her out now, to let her figure out her fledgling vampirism without him there to further complicate her life.
“So...a hybrid baby, huh?” Bonnie asks, dragging him back into the present.
He hums. “So it would seem.”
A part of him regrets telling her. It’d been a necessary concession when he’d enlisted her help, but he feels a protective flare all the same.
But Bonnie Bennett is a clever girl, something tells him she’ll keep what she’s learned to herself. For self-preservation, if nothing else. He doubts very much that she would risk bringing Niklaus’ ire down upon herself or her friends.
“I take it you’ll be leaving again soon?” It’s not a question, really. Delivered with the subtlety of a cudgel, her mouth a tight, bloodless line. It leaves no doubt what she’d prefer.
Elijah thinks of Sheila Bennett, brilliant and formidable, and can’t blame her. The interference of vampires has done little to improve Bonnie’s life.
“Tomorrow morning,” he confirms and watches her body sing with relief.
He makes his excuses, pushes to his feet, and feels her eyes on his back as she follows him to the door.
It’s ajar. He’s already halfway onto the porch when she stops him.
“Elijah,” she asks, tentatively. He looks behind him, where she stands at the foot of the stairs. “You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important, but…” she rubs at her arm, finding his eyes through her lashes, “Could you check on her, before you go?”
He freezes, turning back toward her. There’s something swirling beneath the words, something that makes him uneasy as he searches her eyes and comes up empty.
She misinterprets his silence as irritation and adds rapid-fire, “I know she’s been a real dick since she turned off her humanity, but she’s not answering her phone and I can’t get within fifty feet of the boarding house without either Stefan or Damon giving me the run around and—fuck–I’m just really worried about her—”
An unshed tear dangles from her lashes, her breathing uneven. The air crackles with magic, drummed up in her anxiety. Elijah stops her before she can work herself into a frenzy, even as a pit forms in his gut.
“I’ll see what I can do, Miss Bennett.”
She doesn’t offer up any more information, doesn’t thank him. Just watches him descend the steps into the midday sun.
His hands curl and uncurl at his sides, doubt warring with instinct. He tells himself he’ll take the evening to think it through, to decide whether his interference is warranted. But a more honest part of him–deeper down–knows it was never a question.
The front door closes behind him and Elijah turns the corner and down the strip of asphalt that leads to the Salvatore Boarding House.
——
Sun beats down on the dirt road, makes the manicured lawn shine an almost fluorescent green and the inhabitants of the flower bed droop beneath the onslaught. Gravel shifts beneath his feet as he ascends the winding walkway that leads to the front door. Wind trails behind him, ruffling his hair and softening the heat’s full bite.
The boarding house is just as he remembers it. Gabled pitches and Tudor style framework that gives the whole place an out of time feel. A perfect mirror for its immortal inhabitants.
He deftly avoids a crack, the only blemish in the tidy cobbles, and tries to not think of the summer he spent in the basement with a dagger in chest. Because if he lingers on it too long, remembers the mess he’d woken to, he’s not sure he’ll be able to muster the level head this impromptu check-in deserve
It’s only as he steps onto the edge of the porch that he realizes something’s wrong. There’s no Damon to chase him off with gnashing teeth, no Stefan to politely demand an explanation. Only a silence that suggests that no one is home. Or if there are, they haven’t heard him.
He stops short at the door. Deliberates and then raises his hand to knock. It seems preposterously polite, after all that’s passed between his family and theirs. But he also doubts an Original barging into their living room would go over well.
The decision is made for him when he hears the scream. An agonized howl, a feral noise that slips under the massive oak door and coils around his heart like a vice. Because he knows that voice.
Suddenly, he’s surging forward with new urgency. By some miracle the door is unlocked, but he would have torn it from the hinges, ripped it to splinters if he had to. Because it’s Elena and she’s in pain. And that–that is something he won't allow.
“Looking for this?” Damon’s voice echoes from the other room. “You know the rules; bad girls don’t get nice jewelry.”
Silent as a shadow–a predator stalking an unknown quarry–he glides past the banister, through the round archway that leads through the living room. He weaves round torn furniture, the fluttering pages of books wrenched from their shelves, follows the trail of carnage into the study and stops dead–
The study is dark, curtains pulled tight. The green-glass shade of a table lamp spills fragments of light. They catch on the polish of the desk, the fire extinguisher placed conspicuously in the middle.
Stefan presses white-knuckled palms across the surface, pitching his weight against it. Jaw set and eyes flinty, he looks like a detective in a crime drama. The bad cop to his good, Damon stands on the other side, towering over a high-backed arm chair.
Leather lashed round with ropes, Elijah smells the vervain before he enters. He checks at the doorway, watching just as the heavy damask curtains part and a dazzling flood of light pours out onto the floor.
It unfolds in the millisecond before he can react.
Elena shrieks and thrashes, legging flailing out, trying to push herself back into the shadow.
Stefan stands just beyond its reach, toying with something on the desk. Jaw hardset, eyes darting from the curtains to his brother in agitation.
And Damon–Damon’s hands are wound around the tasseled cord, peering down with unmistakable satisfaction as she twists and thrashes and spits venom like a viper in a trap. Her hair hangs in tangles around her face–shiny with sweat, or maybe tears–teeth barred in a grimace.
She bucks, throws her head back as the chair squeals back an inch. And that’s when Elijah sees it. The sizzling red burns seared across on her cheek, the mirror to a dozen more already half-healed on her arms and neck.
In flash, Elijah’s at the window. Arm pressed to Damon’s throat, pinning him to the bookshelf. A leather bound volume slams to the ground like punctuation. He rips the cord away with his freehand, the curtains snap shut. His eye snap from Stefan’s stunned face, Elena panting and exhausted, and then finally settles on the little silver ring on the desk. A slow, dreadful understanding begins to dawn.
“Would anyone like to tell me,” he says, level and dangerous, “what precisely is going on here?”
“Elijah,” Damon chokes around his forearm, “long time no see.”
He presses harder, tries not to enjoy the way the younger vampire gasps in pain.
“Try again,” he replies, looking straight at Stefan.
He doesn’t have to wait long.
Damon wheezes, fingers scrabbling uselessly at Elijah’s sleeve. His face is blossoming an impressive shade of red, the veins in his neck bulge as he tries to speak, but Elijah doesn’t give an inch.
“Let him go,” Stefan barks, stepping forward.
“I assure you I will,” he says, “once someone answers my question.”
Stefan’s jaw twitches. His gaze darts to Elena, who’s gone frighteningly still in the chair, chest rising and falls in short shallow bursts. Her head lolls the the side, hair veiling her burned skin, blistered from the sun.
“You know she turned it off,” Stefan starts, resigned and imploring. Like he’s trying to justify it to more than just Elijah. “After Jeremy, the house—she turned it all off.”
Elijah doesn’t move. His expression doesn’t change. He presses harder, listens to Damon gurgle like a floundering fish.
“And you decided the answer was to try her down and torture her?” he asks flatly.
Stefan winces.
“It wasn’t like that. We tried talking, reasoning wither. Nothing worked. She was dangerous, Elijah. Feeding on innocents, threatening—“
“She’s a new vampire,” Elijah cuts in, a flash of anger seeding through his voice. “It’s your responsibility to teach her, not break her into obedience.”
“Why not,” Damon rasps, still clawing at him. “Isn’t that what you do to your family—“
His grip shifts. Displaced air cracks as he slams him sideways into the bookshelf. Volumes crash to the floor in a chorus of protest.
“I see,” he murmurs, still water and broken glass. “So pain is the preferred method now. Psychological warfare. Sunlight and starvation.”
Stefan inches closer, desperate now. “We didn’t have a choice—she nearly killed her best friend. We’re just trying to bring her back.”
When he takes a step too close, Elijah moves. It’s an easy thing to tear off Damon’s ring. Easier still to crack the curtain and drag him bodily into the light.
Damon screams. Sharp and sudden, wrapped in guttural, primal agony— the same cry torn from Elena’s throat moments ago. His skin sizzles and cracks, kicking out blindly for respite.
It feels like justice. It feels entirely not enough.
“Stop!” Stefan roars, rushing toward them.
Elijah holds firm, hand around Damon’s throat and pins him in the light just a little longer. Savoring his contorted features, the hammering of his pulse.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spies Elena and remembers why he came here. And it has little to do with vengeance.
He lets go. Damon bolts, flings himself to the opposite corner like a kicked dog licking his wounds.
In a few strides, he’s at her side, crouched at her feet. The acrid sting of vervain bites into his fingers as he grasps the ropes, but he doesn’t so much as flinch. One sharp tug and the binds break, falling in a heap to the floor. In their way, her wrists and ankles are left with raw, mottled burns.
Elijah pauses, lifting a cautious hand to brush the tangle of hair from her damp forehead. Surprised when she allows it, he ghosts his thumb over the edge of her jaw, as though a gentle touch might steady her trembling.
“Elena,” he murmurs, just for her ears. “Are you with me?”
Her lashes flutter, dark eyes glassy and unfocused. She doesn’t answer. Her breath hitches, cadence uneven, like there’s nothing in her lungs but ash. Tears carve little rivers, cascading down her cheeks. And he begins to suspect that the Salvatore’s planned worked, just not in the way the intended.
“Breathe.” He swipes away the tears. “You’re safe now.”
He rises, turning to the Salvatore brothers. The stillness in his expression is deadly, the calm sea before a tempest.
“Miss Gilbert will be leaving with me,” he says, matter-of-fact. “And if either of your values your continued existence, you’ll let us pass without incident.”
Damon, still hunched in the corner nursing his blistered skin, lets out a ragged laugh of disbelief—the kind that dies the second he sees the thunder in Elijah’s eyes. Stefan looks ready to argue, but the fight in him falters when he looks at Elena—slumped and trembling.
Elijah takes the silence as an answer. He stands slowly, reaches for Elena with open palms. An invitation extended for her to accept or decline, if she should so choose.
She hesitates, blinking up at him through wet lashes. And then she places her palm in his, hands her weight over into his keeping.
When her knees tremble, he hefts her into his arms. Secured against his chest, her head finds the crook of his neck. He feels dampness seep through his collar as he strides for the door.
“Elijah,” Stefan calls, trailing him all the way to the front door. “You don’t understand—”
A single look stops him cold—composed, unblinking, lethal.
“I understand perfectly, Mr. Salvatore,” Elijah replies, voice silk over a blade. “You brutalized a girl you were meant to protect. You tortured her under the guise of salvation. And now you want to defend it as necessity?”
He adjusts Elena in his arms, gaze never leaving Stefan’s. The storm beneath his skin coils tighter.
“I’ve spared your lives today for her sake,” he continues, quieter now, more dangerous for the restraint. “But let me make myself abundantly clear: if either of you so much as look in her direction again—if you breathe her name, or cross my path—there will be no mercy.”
Then, without another word, Elijah turns and disappears into the glittering afternoon, the door swinging shut behind him like the closing of a tomb.
—--
They sit by the river until the sun begins to dip below the treeline, watching the water as it bands in gold and bruised violent. Side by side at the banks, they content themselves to the rhythm of the current lap over worn rocks in silence. Somewhere behind them, birdsong fades. The world stills, like a held breath.
There are a hundred questions Elijah wants to asks. A thousand things he needs to say.
But he keeps them to himself. It’s not the time. Not yet.
Beside him, Elena draws her knees to her chest and hugs them close. Folded in on herself, her eyes follow the river’s path like it might lead her somewhere she can’t name. The stone in her hand turns restlessly between her fingers—smooth, flat, pale as bone. She doesn’t look at him.
She doesn’t need to.
When she speaks, it’s barely more than a break. A cracked thing, fragile and worn at the edges, rubbed raw by the tidal wave of her returned humanity.
“Every time I close my eyes, I see him,” she says. “Jeremy. Dead on the table while the house burns. I remember how fast it all went up, the way the smoke burned my lungs. I thought I’d die from it—the grief.” Her fingers tighten around the stone until her knuckles go white. “The things I’ve done since…it’s like watching someone else’s memories. Except the guilt. That feels real.”
He listens, unmoving. A patient presence at her side.
She takes another breath. Shaky, like the first crack before the dam breaks.
And then she tells him the broadest strokes. The crash over the bridge. The fire. Damon ordering her to shut it out and the sire bond--
He senses there’s more she isn’t saying. Things she may never share. Not because she’s unwilling—but because there are wounds too deep to name. And Elijah understands too well that there are hurts that defy language.
She doesn’t owe him her pain.
He doesn’t need her story—not unless she choses to offer it. Elena Gilbert has been dissected, carved away pieces of herself for too long. Torn herself open for friends, for strangers, for the damn Salvatore brothers—Elijah refuses to be another.
Instead, he reaches into his coat pocket. Fingers brush fine wool and come away with a folded envelope.
“There’s a first-class voucher with your name on it,” he says, pressing it into her hands. “Wherever you wish to go. However long you need. It will be taken care of.”
She blinks. Looks up at him for the first time, those arresting eyes of her round with emotion.
He continues quietly, “Should you wish to put Mystic Falls behind you, you wont be followed.”
He doesn’t need to elaborate. They both know who he’s speaking of.
Her brow furrows, confusion rippling across her face.
“Why?” she whispers.
He doesn’t answer right away, just watches the sunset reflected off the water. There are too many truths, and no one them would serve her right now.
Because you’re a flaring sun after a millennia of darkness.
Because I’ve done so much wrong, but this—this is something I need to be right.
Because I love you.
But when he speaks, his voice is measured. Steady.
“Because you’ve had so much taken from you, Elena. And I deeply regret my own part in your suffering. I cannot undo what’s been done. But I can offer you the one thing in my power to grant.”
He looks at her, unwavering.
“Your freedom.”
She stares at him, lips parting like she might protest, like kindness is a strange, foreign thing.
“I don’t understand,” she says, voice small.
“That’s alright,” he replies. “Someday you will.”
She looks down at the envelope, fingers ghosting the neat scrawl on the front like it’s something precious—sacred, even.
If he was a selfish man, he would ask her to come with him. To start her path to healing in the balmy brightness of the Crescent City. But instead, he only watches her with something reverent, too fragile to name.
The sun dips below the horizon. Shadows lengthens across the river, and the current carries the day away.
Elijah’s had a thousand years to perfect the art of waiting. And for Elena Gilbert, he’d wait a thousand more.
