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muse-oleum · 11 days

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Beloved (Part I)

“She was the only woman who saw all of him—the good, the bad and the ugly—and wanted all of it. From the moment she arrived in our village, everyone else never really stood a chance. Honestly, I don’t believe anyone ever will.” OR Rebekah tells Hayley the story of the first and only woman Elijah Mikaelson has ever truly loved, and why he can never love her the way she wants him to.

Elijah Mikaelson x Witch!OC/10th century AU/Unreliable Narrator (mostly Rebekah, though)

Find it on AO3: here.

(+ so many more tags and nerding it out in the notes :) come say hi)

Hayley was sulking again, listlessly watching the fire crackle back to life as Rebekah poked at it, the scent of firewood filling the air as the flames soared higher, licking up at the blackened bricks. With a sigh, the vampire sat back into the leather armchair closest to the fireplace, occasionally prodding the heavy iron grate closer to the hearth, as if keeping the crackling embers from escaping would somehow prevent the werewolf from asking her the question she knew she wanted to ask.

Rebekah sank deeper into the comforting depths of the armchair, eyeing her companion from above the rim of her glass. The scowl on Hayley’s face was enough to indicate just what had transpired between her big brother and the young werewolf.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” she said, taking a sip of… whatever it was Nik kept around the study.

Hayley looked up, frowning. There was a world of hurt in her eyes that Rebekah knew all too well. She’d seen it time and time again in face after face. All the women who fell for her brother inevitably ended up wearing a similar expression on their face when they finally understood that Elijah would never give himself to them completely.

Honestly, had he been anyone else, Rebekah would have accused him of having serious commitment issues.

But this was her brother. Loyal to a fault, fiercely protective of those he loved, dotting uncle to his little niece. And so, as much as she’d rather be just about anywhere else right now, it was both her duty and burden to explain the situation.

Especially to this particular woman, seeing as she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon and her remaining in the dark would only cause more problems in the future; both for her and for the entire family.

Rebekah sighed again, downing the rest of her drink.

“Just so you’re aware: Elijah would have my head for even broaching the subject with him, let alone with you, so if you rat me out, I’ll make Mikael look like the easter bunny.”

The corners of Hayley’s mouth twitched, threatening a smile—an all too rare occurrence these days. It dimmed almost immediately, the kind of pain only unrequited love could bring swimming in her eyes. The werewolf sighed, propping up her chin on her knees, returning her gaze to the fire.

“I just—” she closed her eyes, taking a breath and letting it out before trusting her voice again, “I thought we could be going somewhere, y’know?” She shrugged, tucking her fingers inside the sleeves of her sweater, “But he’s just so… remote. It’s like I can’t reach him, or something. Every time I try, he just… closes off.”

Rebekah poured herself another drink, taking a fortifying breath.

“He wasn’t always that way.” Seeing Hayley’s eyebrows shoot up all the way to her hairline, she scoffed. “A thousand years is a very long time, you know.” Tilting her head, she decided to rip the band aid off in one clean swipe. Better to have it over and done with as quickly as possible. “When we were human, Elijah fell in love with a woman named Svala. She was…” she took a long breath, echoes of agonized screams clawing at her mind, losing herself to old memories as she gazed down at her glass. Rebekah watched them swirl in the dark amber liquid, swallowing the lump in her throat when she realized she couldn’t quite remember her face, sharp features and laughing grey eyes tangling together in soft hues, pulling her back in time despite herself.

“She was his wife, and the love of his life.”

Present-day Virginia, c. 990 A.D.

It was just after Álfablót, during the month of Haustmánuður, that the boats arrived, narrowly escaping winter at sea. Ayana had already foretold their arrival and entire families had left the village to go greet their loved ones from the old countries. The village itself waited, the old and the young, and all those whose kin had not been onboard the boats. New homes had been built—as many as possible—and there were still logs of timber scattered around in expectation for more, covered by pine needles and leaves to keep most of the coming ice at bay.

Preparations for winter were well underway by the time the first travelers were spotted, able-bodied men and women carrying young children in their arms or on their backs, with the more travel-weary stragglers lagging behind. Only the more adventurous children seemed to have any energy left, gazing at the welcoming party with wide eyes, tugging at each other’s sleeves.

The head of the village had gone with them and there was a collective sigh of relief at his safe return. Some of the werewolves had gone too, eager to see new faces—and to warn them of what life with them would entail.

Not that it mattered. After such a long voyage, all would have been glad of a simple meal, the warmth of a fire and the comfort of family they had not seen in years.

Carrying her pack on her back, Svala looked up at the tall pine trees, so different from the wide oak trees of her home. She didn’t know what to make of them—she didn’t know what to make of any of it.

Her mother had convened with her Sisters, sensing the dangers in the new religion that had made its way to their homeland, swaying their people and changing their ways. She had come back with a haunted look, telling her to pack whatever it was she loved most, and that they were leaving. Svala had raged and raged, tears in her eyes, refusing to leave and digging her heels into the ground until her mother had all but dragged her onto the boat.

It was a great hulking beast, larger than the ships she had grown up around. It was meant for a sea voyage that would last weeks, where storms would rage and winds would blow, threatening to drown them into seas she had only ever heard about in stories. Her mother’s presence had calmed her, the hand on her shoulder heavy enough to pull her from her thoughts.

No völva would let her people drown.

It still hadn’t been enough to save her, though, and Yrsa Anundottir had died a week before they reached their destination, leaving her young daughter alone, cold, and scared in a new world she knew nothing about.

A young couple, Ulf and Asta, had taken Svala under their wing. Asta, like her mother, was a völva; and quite good at it too, though she dabbled more in incantations and less in the art of divination.

Svala had always been thankful her own powers had strayed more towards healing than the more arcane arts. She had never envied her mother’s power and, as she stood looking up at the trees in her new home, all she felt was hatred for it. Divination had brought her here, all alone, without her mother. She couldn’t help but suspect Yrsa had known all along she would not make it this far, and it only made her angrier.

A small boy tugging on her skirts distracted her from her thoughts, his wide smile and big brown eyes warming her despite the autumn winds whipping her hair around her face. She tucked an errant curl behind her ear and smiled back, waving at him. He smiled even wider and ran back to those she assumed must be his family. He tugged on the sleeve of one of the older men, whispering in his ear something that made him laugh.

He was handsome, with shoulder-length dark hair braided back from his face, revealing balanced features, most prominent of which sharp cheekbones and an even sharper jawline. She averted her eyes when she inadvertently met his own, the same warm brown as those of his… brother? Son? He was old enough that it could be both.

Svala felt the pressure of Asta’s hand at the small of her back, guiding her to a clearing where an open fire pit had been lit, casting a warm glow on the charred ground beneath it. The village leader, a well-built man called Harald whom she had grown to respect over the past few weeks, had opened the welcome feast, and she noticed that those whose families had left their homeland years ago had at long last been reunited. She smiled, dropping her pack against the trunk of a nearby tree, as she observed Ulf greet his brother Magnar, the two men embracing each other. Magnar then turned to Asta, opening his arms to her and welcoming her, and Svala felt a small twinge of jealousy.

It was petty, she knew, but she wished someone was there to greet her like that. But all she had was her small pack and the memory of her mother.

Averting her eyes to hide the sting of tears she refused to spill for a woman who had abandoned her, Svala turned back to her meagre belongings, rummaging in search of something a little warmer. Earlier this week, they’d stopped at a stream to wash and repair their clothes, and she had taken the opportunity to refresh her winter clothes, not knowing when she’d next have the chance.

Still, fall here seemed milder than at home, where the first snows had surely already fallen. She was hit by another wave of sadness and tied the strings of her pack with such vigor that she nearly snapped them, biting back tears when a small hand braced itself on the bark of the tree in front of her.

“Mother says you can leave your belongings at our home. It’s not wise to leave them about like that.”

It was the little boy from earlier, bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet, observing her with a far more intelligent gaze then she’d come to expect for a child his age. Their speech differed slightly from hers, but she understood him well enough, and she thought she could actually make out the slight inflections of her homeland.

“Why? Would someone steal it?”

He shook his head and bent towards her, mischief in his eyes. “No, but the landvaettir might take it and hide it inside an old tree and then we’d never see it again.”

Svala blinked, then laughed. The boy’s eyes lit up, and she had the sneaking suspicion he had been trying to cheer her up. It certainly had worked—it felt so very good to express joy again.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” She whispered conspiratorially, winking at him.

Elated, the little boy ran back towards his family, who had dispersed into the throng of people gathered in the clearing. She saw him gesture wildly to the same man as earlier, caught the amused smile on his face before he started to make his way towards her. She dropped her gaze back to her pack, tying it off with one final tug and hoisting it on her shoulders.

The man was tall; taller than she’d expected. He towered over her, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulders. Instead of making her feel caged in, it made her feel safer, an odd sensation tingling up her spine.

Svala finally dared to meet his eyes, finding them darker than his brother’s but full of the same earnestness. He inclined his head towards her, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips. It made him appear younger, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. She smiled back tentatively, her lips stinging, chapped raw by the wind and the salt.

Before she had even taken one step, he took her pack from her, swinging it over his shoulder as if it weighed next to nothing. The little boy grabbed her hand, tugging her along to meet the rest of their family, babbling happily about how he would take her to see the clearing tomorrow, before all the leaves had fallen and Svala couldn’t help but smile at him.

“Perhaps we should let her decide for herself what she would like to do first, little brother?”

The boy stopped, eyeing her as he would a particularly complicated puzzle, a little storm gathering in his eyes, and she knew enough of children to recognize the beginnings of a tantrum.

“I’ll be happy to come with you to the clearing, little one,” Svala said, smiling at the glee in his eyes, “on one condition.” He looked on with rapt attention, his eyes widening. She smiled wider, “I will go, but only if you tell me your name.”

She heard the man beside her huff out a laugh. The boy snuck his tongue out at him, narrowly escaping a smack upside the head as he danced around them, avoiding his brother’s hand deftly. He reminded her of a wood sprite.

“This impolite little imp is Henrik,” his brother said, giving up and tugging his little brother into his side, ruffling his hair. He turned towards her, warm brown eyes mirthful.

“I’m Elijah.”

----------------

“And that’s how they met,” Rebekah sighed, getting up to refill her glass. It was a good thing she couldn’t get drunk easily; she had a feeling she would need that tolerance as the evening wore on. “Svala charmed Henrik as soon as she stepped foot inside our village and our little brother was the way to Elijah’s heart.” She took a small sip, fingers drumming on the table. “I honestly think it was instantaneous, at least on his part. I could tell he was smitten almost immediately.”

She sighed again, leaning back against the table. Hayley was silent, staring at her—although Rebekah was ready to bet the other woman wasn’t really seeing her at all. The Original suppressed another sigh. She disliked the idea of hurting her but it was unavoidable. Hayley was young, and on the cusp of love. She deserved to be pulled from the edge before she well and truly fell for her brother, a path which only ever led to heartbreak.

“Svala’s mother had died during the crossing,” Rebekah continued, seating down on the table, “and our own mother took pity on her, I suppose. I think she could also sense Svala’s powers, which were strong even for a völva, and—”

“You used that word before, but what does it mean?” Hayley asked, straightening up and tugging the fabric of her dress around her knees, visibly shaking herself from her thoughts.

“Völur—that’s the plural form—were witches (mostly), but also sometimes warlocks, who traveled the old countries, stopping here and there to dispense their services. Another term for a völva is seiðkona—wielder of seiðr, what you’d call magic.”

“So she was a witch?”

Rebekah hummed, taking another sip. “Yes, but also something more. You see, modern-day witches seem to have largely lost their powers of divination. At least the ones I’ve met.” She shrugged. “Kol’s been to the East, I’m sure he would tell you more about ancient magical powers, if he could.” Rebekah cleared her throat, pushing away thoughts of her brother. “But in any case, a seiðkona could, under the right circumstances, predict the future with reasonable accuracy.” She paused, eyeing the werewolf. “Svala was one such witch, although we didn’t discover that until much later.”

Hayley nodded pensively. “So your family took her in?”

“Early on, yes. She stayed with us for a while, helping our mother and myself with household chores—don’t give me that look, it was like that, back then—and we grew close.” Rebekah swallowed the lump in her throat as the memories came rushing back. “I always had wanted a sister.”

----------------

“I do believe my brother fancies you,” Rebekah said as they crouched near the frozen stream, their fingers red and stinging from the cold.

“Which one? You have many,” her friend answered with an impish grin.

“Oh, stop it! You know which one!”

“Why, Rebekah,” Svala stood, batting her eyelashes innocently in her best impression of Tatia, the woman who hung on Elijah’s and Nik’s every word, “I had no idea Henrik saw me in such a way.”

That earned her a handful of freezing water to the face. Shrieking, she kicked fallen leaves at Rebekah in retaliation.

The beautiful blonde, the only sister in a large brood of brothers, had been Svala’s salvation these past few months. They were around the same age, with Svala only a few years older than Rebekah, and of vastly different temperaments. That did nothing to stop the budding friendship between them as Rebekah helped Svala navigate life in her new environment, introducing her to their neighbors and helping her to make friends. In return, Svala had taken to helping the younger woman with her chores, lending a hand where she was needed.

Esther, too, had been glad of the help, saying jokingly that she wasn’t getting any younger, and thus welcoming Svala with open arms. She suspected that the older witch would have wanted more daughters. Together with Asta and Ayana, Esther had also taken to perfecting the young witch’s understanding of seiðr, the trio easily stepping into her mother’s shoes. Of the three, Svala was most at ease with Asta, given that they shared a common past—or as common as anyone around here, anyway. Ayana scared her a little, but she rather thought her mother and her would have been fast friends. As for Esther, she remained undecided.

She was grateful to the older woman—more than grateful, really—but there was still something about her that Svala couldn’t quite shake. She wondered distractedly if she should be worried that her mother’s power had managed to make its way to her, and what it was trying to tell her if it had.

“You know perfectly well which of my brothers I was referring to.”

She did.

Elijah was still somewhat of a mystery to her. A man of few words, the only signs of his partiality came in other forms. He would help her with the more physical tasks, such as carrying buckets filled with water and snow for washing and cooking. Or he would help her skin and tan the hide of the animals the men caught on their hunts, fashioning coats and pouches from the leather. He had introduced her to his friend, the smithy, a tall, muscular man named Leif, who showed her how he made the arrowheads and knives used for hunting.

These people did not raid, although, far from the sea as they were, she supposed it wasn’t all that unusual. They appeared to trade with some neighboring settlements, although most of these were nomadic in nature. The only other village near them was the one led by the werewolves—a people Svala had only heard her mother speak about very infrequently. There were some clans in the old country, but they lived far from towns and villages in self-inflicted exile.

This was not the case here, where the two villages cohabited peacefully. There was, however, an undeniable current of fear around the full moon, when those not afflicted by the Curse would withdraw to the cave systems underneath their village, magical boundaries and wards in place, to wait out the moon. She supposed she understood the high status that Ayana and Esther seemed to enjoy. When faced with fangs and claws, seiðr was an attractive defense.

She was pulled from her musings by the feeling of a strong hand on her arm. Elijah swooped in and took the heavy bucket from her, barely straining under its weight. He gave her a gentle smile and fell into step alongside her. Rebekah, the little minx, winked at her—in full view of her brother!—and escaped up the path, grumbling about how she too could use someone to help her with her own burden. As if summoned, Nik appeared at her side, easily bracing against its weight. Svala huffed a laugh when he threw her a long suffering look over his shoulder.

“Your brother seems to never be too far from your sister,” she told Elijah quietly, laughter brightening her dark eyes.

Those eyes of hers, the color of dark stormy skies, had been an object of fascination to him ever since he had met her. They seemed almost alive, wisps of grey and brown and blue all interweaving together, one peeking through more than the others depending on the weather.

Of course, her eyes were not the only beautiful thing about her. It seemed to him that the gods had crafted this woman solely to plague his dreams. She filled his mind so completely, he had began to wonder about his sanity. On one occasion, he had heard her sing quietly to herself as she gathered wood for the fire, her long brown hair tumbling down her back, framing her petite frame and highlighting the curves of her body; and Elijah had almost believed he’d been taken in by a forest spirit.

But such stories were the ones he told his youngest brother on nights he could not sleep, and he knew better.

He did not know what love felt like; at least, not that kind of love. He knew the deep devotion he felt towards his siblings, and the lust for a warm, soft, body; but this was uncharted territory. Every time Svala was near, Elijah lost the ability to speak, unable to string more than two sentences together for fear of appearing an utter fool. His silence did not seem to bother her, so he took it as encouragement to remain just as he was, comfortable with admiring from afar.

Which was exactly what he was doing right now. Svala was eyeing him curiously, no doubt wondering what was taking him so long. Little did she know (he very much hoped) that all he wanted to do was kiss her to find out whether her lips were as soft as they appeared.

“Rebekah and Niklaus have always been very close,” he answered slowly, returning his gaze to his siblings in front of them, “it used to make Henrik quite jealous.”

“Is that why he’s so attached to you?”

Elijah chuckled. “No, Henrik is rather fickle in his affections. One week, he won’t leave me alone, the next, he’ll be glued to Kol’s side.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping a few octaves. “Although I think that’s mainly so he can learn new tricks and cause more trouble.”

Svala laughed. “Yes, he’s rather good at finding trouble.”

“Oh, I’m sure he would say trouble finds him.”

“An answer only a troublemaker would know to give,” she said, nodding sagely.

They had reached the village, passing through a denser copse of old trees, the scent of pine needles overwhelming. It was one Svala had taken time to get used to, but now that she had, it filled her with a strange sort of warmth. She wasn’t sure if she could call that feeling “belonging”, but it certainly felt close to it.

Between Rebekah’s freely given friendship, Henrik’s childlike love and Elijah’s quiet company, she had began to ease into this new life her mother had thrown her into. She still missed her home, and the wide, tall oak trees behind her homestead, but the ache was cooling, little by little.

Of the Mikealsons, only Finn and Kol remained a little aloof. The former because it was simply his personality and the latter, she suspected, was a little shy about talking to a völva. Svala wanted to tell him he had nothing to worry about: she couldn’t predict his future even if she tried, and she had no desire to do so. The topic hadn’t even been discussed by any of her three teachers yet, although she knew Asta, at least, had some knowledge of the divination arts. Ayana and Esther seemed to think it was best left alone and Svala would tend to agree, given where her own mother’s gift had led her.

Then again, she thought, chancing a glance at the man beside her to find him looking back at her with a small smile on his lips, perhaps that was not an entirely bad thing.

----------------

“They kept dancing each other for weeks,” Rebekah said, shaking her head fondly in an effort to drive away memories of her friend. “It drove Nik and I absolutely mad.”

The Original sighed, raking a hand through her blonde curls to briefly massage the back of her neck. Sitting still for so long rarely took a toll on her body anymore—she was, quite simply, too old to care—but she suspected the current topic of discussion drained her more than she’d like to admit.

Talking about Svala was forbidden. Everybody in the family knew it, and even Nik never ever dared to speak her name when Elijah was within earshot. Her death had been a blow their older brother had never recovered from and even now, nearly a millennium after he’d buried her, she would still catch him bracing himself against some pain she couldn’t see and she knew he was thinking of her.

“Their courtship was long, by our standards,” she continued, turning her back to Hayley as she refilled her glass for the umpteenth time that evening, “but that’s Elijah for you.”

“Why do you say that?” Hayley asked. “He’s always seemed like a man who makes up his mind quickly to me.”

Rebekah hummed into her glass. “Oh, his mind was made up, believe me. He was going to marry her, none of us—least of all him, at least at the unconscious level—had any doubts about that.” She turned back to her companion. “But you forget about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

Eyeing her friend, the vampire sighed, looking down at her glass. “Our father.” She took a deep breath, hating that even now the man had such a hold on her as to make her afraid of speaking his name. “Mikael wasn’t a kind man, as I’m sure you’ve noticed,” she said drily, smiling slightly at the werewolf’s quiet snort, “and he wasn’t then either. I think Elijah was afraid to bring Svala into a family with such a man at the head of it.”

Rebekah sat back into her original seat, bringing her forearms to rest on her thighs, rolling her glass between her hands. “Perhaps he was right to be worried, considering everything that happened.”

“Did Mikael hurt her?”

The Original chuckled bitterly. “Who didn’t he hurt? He hurt Nik, most of all, but he took it out on others too. Our mother never moved against him,” she bit out angrily, “and even back then, I didn’t understand why. He was strong, but she was a witch, so what was she afraid of?” She huffed. “Obviously, now, I know she was scared her little secret would come to light.”

Hayley nodded, shifting in her seat. “Klaus’ real father?”

“The leader of the neighboring village,” Rebekah answered, noting the disbelieving look the other woman shot her. “Yes, rather stupid of both of them really, but oh well.” She shook her head, willing herself to get back on track. “But no, Mikael never laid a hand on Svala. Elijah would probably not have stopped me from trying to kill him if he had.”

Hayley’s eyes grew wide. “You tried to kill your dad?”

Rebekah nodded darkly. “And I wish to god Elijah had let me finish the job.”

“That’s wild.”

“Welcome to the family, love.” Rebekah gulped down the rest of her drink, thinking that she might just have to slow down if she was going to survive waking up tomorrow. “Anyway, after a few months of tentative smiles and furtive glances, Elijah finally made the first move, to our family’s collective relief."

----------------

Midsommerblót was fast approaching and with it, the height of the summer months. Offerings for the landvaettirs had been prepared, crops stood tall or sprawled over and under the soil, birds were chirping in the tall trees and it seemed every living thing was bustling in preparation for the harvest months.

Svala herself had not been idle since the arrival of spring. With help from Elijah and Nik, as well as Leif and Ulf, she had moved into her own cottage, not too far from the Mikaelsons. It was small, but sturdy, the last of the new homes built for the newcomers.

She would miss Rebekah’s constant companionship and the easy routine she had fallen into amongst the family, but she was glad to have a space to herself. She’d never really had that before. The home she had shared with her mother was smaller than her new one, even if her youth had been spent mostly following her mother in her travels.

Besides, given the current climate in the Mikaelson home, Svala had no doubt Rebekah would end up sleeping here more often than not in the upcoming months, personal space be damned. Mikael had been in an even fouler mood than usual, and she had been glad to escape. Svala knew her friend well enough by now to know that her new home was about to become Rebekah’s new home too.

Unless her brother beat her to it.

The distance between Elijah and her was long gone, replaced by open smiles and slower touches; the kind that lingered a little too long and left her a little too breathless. As the summer solstice approached and Midsommer drew nearer, she’d began to feel the telltale pull of desire more forcefully every time he stood next to her. It grew so strong at times that she worried the others would feel it, like the current pushing her towards him. She was entirely powerless to resist it but felt no need to battle it, if only they could find themselves alone.

But, as things would have it, between moving into her new home and preparing for the festival—as well as her daily chores and Henrik’s and Rebekah’s constant demand for her attention—she had barely had any time to herself. Let alone with Elijah.

And yet, the infuriating man wouldn’t leave her thoughts.

Svala shook her head ruefully, spotting Nik down the path.

Gathering wildflowers was a task she and Nik enjoyed doing together. He always kept some tucked away for Tatia, she knew, and he’d give them to her tonight, at the feast. The others were for Rebekah, who’d just turned sixteen last week, a true child of summer.

Together, they kept an eye on Henrik, who amused himself by crafting what flowers they brought him into crowns and bouquets. Svala had a sneaking suspicion one of these was for her, but she wouldn’t ruin his joy at giving it to her tonight.

“So, has my brother finally kissed you?” Nik asked her out of the blue, just as they settled into the routine of their task.

She sputtered, her cheeks glowing red, and he had the audacity to laugh at her.

“Nik!”

“Svala!”

Speechless, her eyes wide and mouth hanging open, she rather reminded him of a fish before she burst into a fit of laughter.

“You haven’t answered my question,” he said shrewdly.

Looking down at the handful of flowers in her basket, Svala pondered how best to answer him, when she felt a hand settle on her shoulder. She looked up, momentarily confused by his sudden change in attitude. Gone was the impish grin, instead, he looked very serious.

“My brother is often too noble for his own good,” he said, somewhat cryptically (and here she thought Esther was the only one with a penchant for the mysterious), “and has a tendency to let that get in the way of his happiness.” He paused, blue eyes studying her. “But he’s in love with you, of that I have no doubt, and if he lets you go because of our father, I will personally make him regret it.”

Svala smiled back tentatively, before her brain catches up. “Your father? Why? Is he… opposed to me?” She couldn’t fathom what it was she’s done to incur the man’s disapproval.

She didn’t say that she was also secretly scared of not being good enough for Elijah.

Nik shook his head, bending to pick some more flowers. “No, as a rule, I don’t believe he is but he’s a difficult man…” he hesitated, debating whether or not to share something else with her, before sighing, lowering his eyes to the ground. “He’s… violent. And unforgiving of weakness. He views love as such, and has already told Elijah off multiple times for spending too much time around you. Not that it stopped him.” He shrugged, “I think Elijah is worried about you joining our family because of how Father is.”

Svala blushed at the mention of her ‘joining’ the family.

It’s not that the thought hadn’t entered her mind since she’d met Elijah, but völvas rarely married or had children. Asta and her mother were exceptions. And Svala herself had never met her father. All her mother would tell her was that he was a good man, a Dane, powerful, and that was that. She didn’t even know his name and probably never would.

Not that it mattered now. She was an ocean away.

“Is he that bad?” she asked quietly, redirecting her thoughts to the present. She knew Mikael was a hard man, but all of the men she’s met before, save for Elijah and his brothers, were—in one way or another—hard men as well. And yet, everyone seemed to tiptoe around the Mikaelson patriarch as if he was Hel* come to drag them all down to her realm.

Nik sighed, about to speak, but suddenly froze, catching sight of something she couldn’t see. Turning around, she saw Mikael looking at them, face unreadable but eyes like thunder. He truly did look like a Viking: cold and hard, like the ice. Svala wondered if it didn’t run in his veins. Nik sighed dejectedly next to her, no doubt expecting a humiliating tongue-lashing once they got back to the village.

No, Mikael did not seem like the type of man who would be pleased to see a son of his picking flowers with a woman.

She held the man’s gaze, daring him to come forward. She may not be her mother, but she could hold her own if he tried anything. She didn’t miss the way Nik tensed as his father’s gaze shifts to her. Svala was half tempted to send a little jolt of magic through the man, but stopped herself when Nik’s hand slid into hers. Glancing at him, she took her eyes off Mikael and in the time it took for him to glance back, his father was already gone past the tree line.

“Please don’t provoke him,” he begged softly, his eyes a little frantic, “Elijah would never forgive himself if Father did something to you.”

Svala stared at him, dumbfounded. Would he dare?

Nik seemed to understand exactly what she was asking, and shook his head. She relaxed slightly, until her friend sighed again, rubbing his neck. The motion dislodged the fabric of his tunic, pushing it aside. Horrified, Svala got a glimpse of what looked like the healed marks of a lashing, scarring the flesh across his upper back. She stopped herself from rushing forward, unsure whether he meant for her to see the evidence of his father’s abuse or not.

Nik might not share his father’s disdain for weakness but that did not mean he would welcome her pity.

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“After that, when she wasn’t with Elijah, Svala rarely left Nik’s side,” Rebekah whispered, staring into the fire as if she could will her friend back to life. “I don’t think she ever told either of them she’d seen his wounds, but she told me.”

Together, the two women had tried to shield her brother from Mikael’s wrath as much as possible. But neither had been able to stop her parents from doing the unthinkable: binding his brother’s wolf form, denying him all ties to the man he would have been better off being raised by.

Standing up, the Original stoked the fire, watching as the flames soar higher, losing herself to memories of another fire, in another place, a thousand years ago.

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A little off to the side, Svala watched as people danced around the bonfire that stood proudly at the center of the clearing she had arrived in only months prior. It was the biggest fire she’d ever seen, stacks and stacks of wood burning high into the night. Gathered around the clearing were the elders, amongst them Ayana and Esther, who looked on fondly as the young danced.

There was one more house on the far left side to where Svala stood and the ground was now littered with old pine needles and wildflowers. She could hardly believe it had almost been a year since her arrival in the village. So much had changed since then: the harsh bite of the cold winds was a distant memory, her loneliness was gone, and she hadn’t missed the sea for a few weeks now. There were still times were homesickness would find her, creeping into her heart when she least expected it, but those were growing few and far between.

The man largely responsible for such a change stood on the other side of the clearing, Rebekah by his side, her hair braided prettily in the style Svala knew she liked. Kol and Nik were arguing with each other, but judging by the fondly exasperated expression on Elijah’s face, it wasn’t anything she needed to worry about.

Her own hair was swept back from her temples in two braids, barely strong enough to contain the rest of her mane as it swept down her back. Svala rarely wore it down, preferring the tightly braided style some of the shieldmaidens had worn back home. It was practical, but Midsommer was not about being practical. It was about revelry and fun, partaking in the joys of summer and enjoying the fruits of a year’s worth of hard work.

She’d even worn her best dress, the one her mother had sewn for her back home, during one of those cold winter nights that felt like a lifetime ago. Yrsa had always been partial to green, for herself, as it highlighted her red hair, but red had always been Svala’s color, bringing out the color of her eyes and the warmer tones in her hair. But the pigments for red dye were expensive, even when supplemented with wild berries, and so this dress had only ever been meant to be worn on special occasions. Svala thought her first Midsommerblót in her new home was a rather good time to try it on.

She giggled when Henrik ran up to her, tugging Rebekah with him, and dragged them both to the center of the clearing, where the warmth of the fire was almost unbearable, to dance. The little boy spun around them in a circle, tugging at their skirts until Svala caught him, tickling him mercilessly. He shrieked with laughter, trying to escape her and drawing the attention of his older brothers. Absorbed as she was by her revenge, Svala completely missed the look of complete adoration that overtook Elijah’s face, but Rebekah certainly did not.

She hoped someone would look at her like that too, one day.

Bending down to swoop her little brother up into her arms, Rebekah tugged at Svala’s hand, drawing the older girl into the wide circles of the dance, turning around each other in turn as Henrik clung to her, tucked between them. Laughing, Svala came to a stop, her cheeks red from exertion, and disappeared briefly, coming back with two cups of ale. The beverage was more than welcome, a relief against the heat. Henrik clamored for a sip and Svala had all the trouble in the world keeping him off, her eyes widening playfully as she downed the rest of her cup, taunting him.

“That’s not fair!” Henrik whined, kicking his little legs, “I wanted some too!”

“Not just yet, little one” Svala said, swooping him up to let Rebekah enjoy her own drink in peace, “but there’s some very tasty berry juice over there.”

The bribe worked, as it always did on children. Pacified, Henrik allowed himself to be led to the large oak tables, bending under the weight of the harvest. While Svala poured him a cup of fresh juice, Rebekah saw her older brother approach and, in a moment of uncharacteristic generosity of spirit, whisked Henrik away from the couple the first chance she got.

Passing by Elijah, Henrik nearly thwarted her plan when he reached for him. Knowing her brother was powerless to refuse him, Rebekah twirled around on herself, laughing and drawing a giggle from the child, effectively distracting him from their older brother’s presence. She made her way to another table, sitting herself and Henrik down to let him pilfer the entire platter of wild berries, stuffing them into his mouth as fast as a squirrel, his eyes growing bigger by the second as he looked at the sudden influx of people dancing around the bonfire.

It seemed like the entire village had collectively decided to join in, couples dancing together and wider circles of people skipping together hand in hand, their chants joining the music, growing louder and louder. Had she not been familiar with Midsommer and its merrymaking, Svala would have thought herself addled by the ale. Eyeing her cup, she shrugged and took another drink, closing her eyes.

The thing she liked the most about Midsommerblót was the music and dancing. Everyone was happy, indulging in the warmth of the summer months, enjoying the fact that it would last for some more still before the return of the cold.

Autumns here were less colorful than in the old country. The pines did not shed their leaves and so they never turned into the bright yellows, oranges and reds Svala had known all her life, but the evergreens held a certain beauty to them. It was mostly noticeable in the winter, when everything else was dead and still, they held on.

The one tree she always found herself drawn to, no matter the season, was the one standing tall behind the fire, its branches sweeping over the clearing, full of the green of summer.

The villagers called it “white oak”, for the light finish of its wood when harvested, and it was magnificent. Svala thought it must have been the oldest tree here, allowed to grow into itself as the clearing was cleared of other trees some centuries ago. In the fall, its leaves turned as bright as the trees of her old home, and she never felt homesick in its presence.

Lost in thought, she jumped slightly when she felt the press of a strong hand at her back, relaxing almost immediately when a deep chuckle sounded from just behind her.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you.”

She turned her head to the side, watching under thick lashes as Elijah’s profile came into view, his high cheekbones highlighted by the glow of the fire. Where they were standing, by the tables, its warmth was more distant, but the shiver that tingled down her spine had nothing to do with the chill. She felt the weight of his hand where it still was, pressed into her back, between her shoulder blades.

His eyes turned to her, taking her in.

Svala had always been beautiful, but tonight, in her red dress, her cheeks warmed by more than just drink, she was even more so. Her grey eyes sparkled when she looked up at him, shimmering in the low light. They were tender, excruciatingly so, wide and open. He felt like he could lose himself to her and it would still feel like home.

She caught her breath, noticing the way his hand slipped lower, pulling her closer until her back rested against his chest. She could still hear the music, but the sound was drowned out by the feeling of his hand caressing down her back, settling on her waist. She was pulled more firmly against him, a possessive touch to the way his fingers dug into her side.

Slowly, Svala finished her drink, setting it down on the table beside her. Seeing that everyone else’s attention was taken up by the feast, she allowed herself to rest against Elijah’s chest, his warmth a comforting presence against her back. Her head came to rest just above his heart. If she focused hard enough, she could feel its beat against her ear. It was steady; as steady as the man it belonged to, and she knew, in that moment, that she was the one who held it.

She felt his chin touch her hair, in a kiss or just resting there, she wasn’t sure. She simply savored the moment—the first one they’d shared since he had helped her down from the newly finished roof her house, preventing her from falling and catching her in his arms.

His arm snaked around her, ensnaring her, his finger splayed on her hip, close to where their bodies touched. She felt that pull again, the same one she always felt when he was near, begging her to bring him closer still, until it felt like she was going to meld herself to him.

Turning in his grasp, Svala brought their joined hands to her lips, kissing his knuckles. Elijah’s breath hitched above her and when she looked up, all she saw before his lips claimed hers was the devotion shining in his eyes.

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“I was looking right at them,” Rebekah said, the mischievous look only a younger sibling could have written all over her face. “I never told Svala, but I couldn’t resist telling Elijah. I never saw him blush harder.” She laughed, shaking her head fondly. “Mostly, we were relieved he’d finally done it; their little courtship was exhausting to watch, honestly.”

The Original looked back at Hayley, eyeing the werewolf. She was calmer, now, less jittery, and more focused on Rebekah. She honestly was’t sure if it was because of her stellar storytelling, or because the other woman was desperate for any morsel of anything related to Elijah. She couldn’t fault her for that; she knew her brother was a hard man to forget, even when it was for the best.

She heard the telltale whoosh of another vampiric presence even before Hayley did, hybrid senses and all.

“I do believe your squeal managed to gather everybody’s attention, sister mine.”

Rolling her eyes, Rebekah looked over at her tyrant of an older brother, busy pouring himself a drink, and nearly snorted at the way Hayley’s own eyes rolled almost all the way back into her skull.

“Thankfully, by this point, everyone was too far gone to see what was really going on,” Klaus said, the twinkle in his eye almost fond as he looked back at her, “but, alas, I wasn’t.”

“Oh yes, because you were never one to indulge.”

Her annoying twat of a brother eyed the drink in her hand meaningfully—her sixth of the evening, she believed. Rebekah shrugged, and he softened. Of all of them, herself and Elijah excepted, Nik had been closest with Svala. She didn’t think her brother would have joined in on their conversation willingly—in fact, she rather thought he would have ran from it.

He did love to surprise her.

“You see, Little Wolf,” he said, the moniker falling easily from his lips, “our brother as he is today, noble to a fault and—if you squint—nearly caring, is revolting enough, but Elijah back then…” he shivered, “now that was positively nauseating.”

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Elijah’s hand cushioned the back of her head against the wood behind her, his grasp there gentle even as his mouth did sinful things to hers, gliding against her lips, teasing her. He’d backed her against the side of house, away from the gathering, when neither of them had been able to contain themselves anymore.

As soon as they had been in relative privacy, Elijah had crusher her to him, framing her face with his much larger hands and kissed her with an urgency Svala had not thought him capable of.

She could not have been more wrong.

His hands were all over her, sweeping over her stomach up to her breasts, and all the way into her hair, tangling in the long strands, bringing her face closer still, his kiss growing more desperate. All it had taken was for her to arch into him, drawing the length of her body against his, for him to press her against the wooden wall, a low moan escaping him.

The tether between them was vibrating, the need to possess and be possessed urging them closer until all they could feel was each other. Her brows furrowed and Svala made a small sound of protest when Elijah pulled away, his breathing ragged against the side of her face. She felt the weight of his hips against hers, the evidence of his desire pressing deliciously on her stomach.

Feeling bold, she let her hands wonder, sweeping over his lean hips and around to pull him towards her, arching into him when he let out another low sound of pleasure. He settled into her embrace, letting her caress up and down his back, the touch more calming than it was meant to arouse and yet managing both at the same time.

She was so small, compared to him, he felt like he could pull her into his arms and no one would ever be able to harm her.

Svala nibbled at his jaw, letting her head fall back to allow him to press slow kisses all along her neck. Breathing in her scent, Elijah let himself fall deeper into her arms, resting most of his much larger weight against her, but she never made a single sound of protest.

They were both breathing more calmly now, letting the heat of their bodies cool before he did something unforgivable and made love to her for the first time right up against her house. Elijah would not let himself go enough to allow for anything else than absolute perfection whenever they did decide on sharing this moment together.

Kissing her collarbone one last time, it took all of his willpower to pull away from her. Svala allowed it, dropping her arms from around his neck until they rested against his sides. He smirked when he realized that she was just as unwilling to part from him completely.

Elijah let himself feel up her body once more, lingering on her soft breasts until he heard her breathing speed up again, and he knew that if she kissed him again, he would forget his resolve and drop to his knees in front of her, hide under her dress and make her forget any other name but his.

The thought alone was the sweetest torture.

For now, he felt contented enough to breath in her scent, pine needles and smoke mixed with the flowers she’d picked this morning, his thoughts turned to a future they would share together.

#the originals #elijah mikaelson #the vampire diaries #tvd #tvdu #elijah mikaelson fanfic #elijah mikaelson x oc #elijah mikaelson x female oc #original female character #vikings #10th century AU #the originals AU #tvd AU #(i guess?)#unreliable narrator

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