Chapter Text
June 6, 1489
I think of her eyes often. I imagine them transparent in the way they only got after a few drinks, far from the composure daylight requires. It was only in those moments I was sure she loved me, at least in a fraction of the way I loved her. I felt safe in those moments, to an extent I never dared to give words to.
I wish I had. I was a coward in those days. A naive boy, blind to how lucky I was to hold love.
And now I am due to see those eyes again, without a shred of recognition. I fear it will break me. If not by her hand, then surely by Niklaus’.
Elijah closes the journal, his palm resting heavily on the leather surface, as if to keep the confession contained. He feels the unfamiliar pulse of an erratic heartbeat in his ink stained fingertips, as if his own words were ratting against the chains he bound them in. If he were to close his eyes now, with the nearby fire that would warm his heavy eyelids, with no one near to bear witness to his humanity, he is sure that he could trace every detail of her irises with perfect clarity.
He keeps his eyes steadily ahead instead, not breathing, memorising the cracks in the stone wall until his heart slows and slows until even his well attuned sense cannot tell that it beats at all.
Composed he rises, tucking away the fragile keeper of his humanity into the heavy oak bookcase where it will safely out of the way. Where it will be unable to interfere with the task he must perform.
---
Rebekah’s furious shout rings down the hallway as he approaches. “No, Nik. This is cruel and you know it.” There’s the sound of a crashing vase, no doubt the victim of a melodramatic gesture. “You mustn’t ask this of him. You know he will not turn you down and you take advantage of that at every turn.”
“This isn’t your business Rebekah. I’d advise you stay out of it lest you wish to anger me.” Niklaus’ voice is taught with the vestiges of fraying patience. He rounds the corner to see the frustration mirrored in his brother’s stormy blue eyes which rise to meet him over their sister’s shoulder. “Please, brother, you tell our sister this is not some trick that I have forced upon you, but a journey that you yourself volunteered for.”
Her blond curls dance in the morning sun as she whips around. The soft white lace of the nightgown she still dons is a stark contrast to the red that rims her eyes, swollen as to bar the tears from tumbling down her cheeks. Elijah softly smiles and steps forward to wipe away the remnants of a lone escapee.
“Elijah.” Her voice crackles over the syllables, pleading with him to help shoulder the burden she alone carries on his behalf. Her outrage at the unfairness of the world only serves to remind him of how young her heart remains, despite the centuries that have sought to damage it. If anything it steels him in his resolve. Somewhere beneath his brother’s twisted and damaged facade beats the same righteous soul as his younger sister. Both of which he swore to protect so long ago, always and forever. They are his responsibility and he will bear it gladly, no matter what devils may attempt to lead him astray.
He shushes her gently as he pulls her into his embrace. “You know why it must be one of us Rebekah, no other would be as sure of her face.” He whispers softly. “It is better to be me.”
“No.” Her head shakes angrily against his chest, but she makes no move to pull away, in many ways accepting the defeat she knows to be looming. “No. It’s not better. Let Klaus go, this is his fool hearted task. You have no need to do this to yourself Elijah.”
“Sweet sister, I will be back before you even think to miss me.” He presses a kiss to her damp cheek before pulling away. “Besides, I think you will find yourself quite too busy for such silly things as longing for your big brother.”
“What do you mean?” She demands, not giving him a moment to answer before turning to their brother. “Nik what is he talking about?”
Elijah levels him with a heavy stare. It had taken hours of negotiation and despite his earlier promises Niklaus still looks ready to rethink his decision. “I think you may prefer to see for yourself. If I am correct William should be arriving in the stables any moment now.”
A smile splits Rebekah’s face, creasing the drying tracks of her tears. “You’ve allowed him to return?”
“Yes, well. See that he keeps in line or the next time he leaves it will be in a casket.” says Niklaus, doubtlessly already planning several ways to make good on that promise.
“Oh thank you, thank you. He won’t Nik, I promise,” says Rebekah, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before turning back to Elijah. A grateful beam has overtaken her features, only shreds of her previous distress lingering in the recesses of her eyes. “Thank you Elijah.” A peck on his cheek and she is gone, already ordering her lady’s maids to ready her for the day as she races down the hall.
“Brother, I still don’t think this wise. You remember her last suitor!” Niklaus runs a hand through his hair, his eyes mad at all the plots he imagines the lowly stable to have. Plots that could only surely only be accomplished in Niklaus’ own imagination. He must come to that very conclusion because he petulantly slumps into a chair. “She risks everything with her naive heart.” he grumbles.
“Hush, Niklaus. It is a small price to pay for her agreeableness on the matter. You know as well as I that she would stow away and follow me if she thought there a chance for my reprieve.”
“She would not last a day is the steerage of that ship.” he retorts.
Elijah huffs a laugh, knowing his sister’s ever growing spoiled habits would very well be her undoing. “Better we do not test that theory. Now, come. Help me ready the horses and I will let you remind me of your orders if it will ease your worries.”
---
Hooves on the dirt path give Elijah a rhythm on which to match his breathing. In, thump thump, out, thump thump. His warm breath fogs the night air on every exhale and he swears in the wisps he sees her ghost each time. One sole stride ahead, as she was wont to do. He could push his mare to breaking and there she would be, just beyond his furthest reach but never more.
No man ever could match her elegance atop a horse, her ease at calming the most brutish stallion into a delighted canter as if she were but air upon their back. It was only her grace that kept her tethered to the vicinity of her companion. She would always ease only moments before breaking into the clearing of the village, effortlessly filing in behind him the moment before his fathers watchful eye landed upon them, as was expected of a lady.
The distant sounds of an impending village near and she vanishes once more. He feels that if he were to turn around she would be right behind him.
It gives him the shred of resolve he needs to pull his mare to a stop, soundlessly demounting. He carefully ties her to a sturdy oak and sets out the oats he had packed to keep her occupied and quiet while he goes about his task. He checks the knot. Once. Twice. Three times, if just to delay one more moment. Finally satisfied, he turns back to the glow of fire light breaking through the distant trees.
His footsteps are soft on the forest floor as he approaches. Elijah has seldom felt more the monster he is condemned to be as in that moment. No more is he gracing the high court and inviting lovely ladies to be his meal with saccharine smiles and cajoling words. Now he is his truest self, lurking in the night hooded woods stalking a prey with devilish intent.
It’s a small village, no more than ten or eleven families, each with a small home arranged in a messy sort of ring around the edges of the clearing. A larger wood structure stands above them on the far side of the circle, dotted with so many torches that he worries an errant breeze may set the whole thing alight. People file in and out, carrying armfuls of grains and fruits. A young man no more than seventeen chops wood out front, stopping every once in a while only to brush his shaggy brown hair from his brow. His companion dutifully feeds the logs into a blooming bonfire that will no doubt shield them all from darkness until the wee hours of the dawn.
A young dark haired girl checks a spit hosting a small pig, no doubt the centerpiece to whatever feast he must have stumbled upon. He holds his breath until she turns towards his direction, but alas, the dark brown eyes are not the ones that grace his dreams.
He settles in the shadows to wait, watching the cadence of community so familiar to the youth in his heart. There would be no untouchable princessesses lounging behind stone falls here, no palaces to infiltrate. Just the carefully choreographed survival of every individual playing their part.
The spit rolls on, the carefully tended embers slowly coaxing flavor into the meal. Children are herded from the homes into the main hall, disappearing one by one to join the chorus of voices behind the heavy wood doors. A few men come to collect the pig, to take it inside where it will fill bellies, surely washed down by whatever mead of the area that is squirreled away for special occasions.
His mind wanders without permission, the unchanging stars calling forth old repressed memories unbidden.
The harvest had been kinder than most. His stomach presses against his leather belt in a way it seldom does, full to the point of bursting. The honeyed mead is still sweet on his lips that are tugged into a grin as he watches the party rage on. It is the first year that Kol has been allowed to the evening festivities and he has taken full advantage, swinging through countless partners as they twirl around the fire. The eyes so similar to his own glint behind the fox mask he dons, summoning a gust that blows the skirt of the blacksmith's daughter higher than is remotely acceptable. He would normally be met with a knock to the head, but tonight it only prompts laughter as she frees her hands long enough to hold them down before returning to their dance. Even Mikael is too deep in his cups to notice or care.
Niklaus isn’t too far behind, stumbling over his normally graceful feet as he follows along the simple steps. His hands are intertwined with Tatia’s but her eyes stay trained over his shoulder, met with Elijah’s own. She laughs as Niklaus breaks the choreography to dip her. Her hands find his shoulders for stability as she allows her head to tip back, the ends of her hair brushing the ground. Niklaus does not let her stray far, his hands at her waist holding her body to him. She rolls her eyes but allows her arms to drape across his neck as they sway. She smiles at Elijah as another turn brings them facing again. She mouths something to him. He is too far to hear the words, but he memorised the way her mouth curves when she utters that phrase long ago.
“I am yours Elijah, always.”
The scratch of oak doors on an uneven dirt floor brings Elijah back to reality. Joy tumbles out from the depths of the hall as if the very gates of a long lost valhalla opened before him. Two young boys run merrily through the night to their home, tugging a smaller blonde girl between them, still chanting the unfamiliar song that had periodically rung out through the feast.
The adults patter slowly behind them, watching them carefully to the door. Their eyes track the door as it swings shut before rounding to the large bonfire that looms in the center clearing. The same young men come back to tend the fire, coaxing the flames with more kindling until they once again dance heavenwards. A barrel is hefted out and set atop a wide stump, drawing more people from the hall like moths to flame. Small heads poke above the window sills, the youth banished to bed vying for looks at what they have been deemed too small to partake in. Tin cups are distributed and Elijah allows himself a smile as they toast once more.
It is not until the clanging of dishes within subsides that the final stragglers emerge to join the merriment. One woman, her hand heavily in her skirts as she holds them above the dirt, stops briefly to observe the scene. She stands between the propped open doors, the light backlighting her silhouette as if it were emanating from her alone. Her face is shielded by the shadows but his heart knows it is her all the same. Will her eyes bear mischief as it did her predecessor? Will the curve of her smile tug the cupid's bow of her lip the same?
A young man, the same he had seen chopping wood not hours ago approaches her, pressing a tin to her empty hand with a cheeky bow. She takes his spare hand and laughs as he pulls her into a spin towards the bonfire. Mead sloshes from her cup, leaves stains on his cream tunic as she turns once, then twice. She stumbles on a root into his embrace and giggles the whole way. Her face catches the light, the brown doe eye Elijah had spent half a century dreaming of heavy with intoxicated joy.
The girl, Katerina, if his spies are to be believed, offers her presence freely. She locks her hands with the other young women as they dance. Her shriek cuts across the night as she gives chase around the fire to a younger man, his hands firmly grasping a flower he had pulled from her hair. But time and time again she drifts back to the brunette boy with his broad shoulders from years of manual labor. He watches her shoulders relax each time she finds comfort in his embrace, ignoring the slight twinge of nostalgia? guilt? that it stirs in his stomach. Each time she is pulled away he spares a slight glance to the young man, finding his adoring attention tracking her movements just as closely as his own.
He barely dares to move a muscle as he watches her, cataloging the way each different shadow brings a new dimension to her face. Not as the fire steadily roars to a climax and begins to wane off into smoking embers. Not as one by one members of the party drunkly stumble the short distances to their homes and the ruckus dies off into small chatterings. He expects at some point he will find some way in which she is strange to him, a surprise brought to the familiar features by the brand new soul inhabiting them. He finds none. Each look, each step is so achingly known to him that he has to ground his feet into the dirt to stop himself from rushing forth to pull her into the old dances he feels certain her body would still remember.
She grows foolish as the night drags on. In a way he had once been. Grasping her lover's hand and drawing him into the privacy of the night, seeing only the refuge it offers instead of the nightmares it houses. He is their shadow as they weave through the trees. The boy whispers sweet nothings and her quiet laugh twinkles out in the night. For a moment he can imagine that he is once again in a wood halfway across the world, half a millennium in the past, chasing his beloved through the trees as she darts away in one of their favored games.
“Tvoĭ sŭm, Ivan, vinagi.” she whispers when she finally allows the chase to end, her back pressed to a tree mere meters away. The language is new, but the words are the same as what was once promised him. They stop his heart in the old familiar way.
Elijah cares not if branches break beneath his feet as he swiftly moves away, unwilling to further play voyeur in his own thoughts or theirs. His eyes find the moon instead, full between the breaks of the trees.
Is he to capture her? Steal her away in the night to sit prisoner in their castle as misery encompasses her final days as the moon draws into bloom? This girl who laughs like his own beloved, whose lips carry the same words that had been whispered into his own ear so long ago. Is he that much of a monster? Was this his mothers curse on him? To cement his fate as an unfeeling sentinel at his brother’s side, swapping Niklaus’ salvation for his own?
Elijah glances to find the moon is not where he left it. While he had pondered the world had turned on. As it will continue to do no matter what path he chooses for himself. He knows deep down that he cannot allow her, or more selfishly, himself, such a terrible fate. The witches had deigned Niklaus the mercy of a loophole, surely they must offer him some way for his heart to go on beating. He knows he should grab her now, return to England with his prize, but instead his mind can’t help but to plot other destinies as his feet find their route back to his mare.
Elijah carefully unties the heavy knots, soothing hands brushing down the well groomed mane. There is one. One person who may be able to deliver both things his soul so desperately needs. The one who still has the knowledge to rewrite nature to his whim even if it’s no longer by his own hand. He quietly mounts and with his mind made. It is not towards the awaiting boat on the French coast to which he sets his path, but to the wild forests far south. Where somewhere in the hills, in the trees steeped in magic, he prays his youngest brother may wait to deliver him salvation.