Chapter 12: The Story Told (Part 2)
Elijah's POV
Elijah Mikaelson prided himself on control. A thousand years of existence had taught him to maintain composure through warfare, betrayal, and the constant chaos of his family's dysfunction.
But standing in Lafayette Cemetery at midnight, reading his mother's handwriting describe torture with clinical precision, his hands were shaking.
"Subject remains conscious despite blood loss approximating 70% of total volume. Regeneration occurs within 48 hours when adequately fed. Pain response suggests full nervous system function. The screaming is... inconvenient."
He turned the page of the grimoire, bile rising in his throat.
"Mikael suggests accelerating the drainage schedule. I've agreed. The subject's suffering is regrettable but necessary. We need his blood pure, untainted by sympathy or hesitation. The immortality spell requires a foundation older than magic itself. He is that foundation."
The next page showed diagrams. Spell circles. Runes. And detailed anatomical sketches of how to drain someone without killing them permanently.
His mother's work. Meticulous. Cold. Monstrous.
Elijah closed the grimoire carefully and set it back in the hidden vault where he'd found it. Three other books documented similar experiments. Years of torture, reduced to academic notes in neat handwriting.
Roy had told the truth. Every word of it.
My God. Mother, what did you do?
He left the cemetery as dawn approached, mind racing. The evidence was undeniable. His family's entire existence—their immortality, their power, their legacy—was built on the suffering of an innocent.
A boy who'd done nothing wrong except survive when others couldn't.
And Elijah's parents had tortured him for it.
Klaus found him in the courtyard at Marcel's compound an hour after sunrise.
"Brother," Klaus said, too casually. "You've been elusive. Researching what, exactly?"
Elijah didn't look up from the book he was pretending to read. "Witch politics. The Harvest ritual. Marcel's methods of control. Fascinating, really, how he's maintained peace between factions for this long."
"Mm." Klaus sat across from him, all predatory attention. "And this has nothing to do with the mysterious ancient vampire who's been protecting Davina?"
"Should it?"
"Elijah." Klaus's voice hardened. "Don't play games with me. You've been investigating something for two days. You've barely spoken to Rebekah or me. And when I ask about your progress, you deflect." He leaned forward. "You're hiding something. What is it?"
Elijah met his eyes. Lied smoothly. "The witch covens are more fractured than we realized. Agnes is planning something significant, and if we don't intervene, this city will devolve into open warfare. I'm trying to prevent that."
Klaus studied him. Searching for the tell, the crack, anything that suggested deception.
Elijah's expression didn't change. A thousand years of experience hiding things from his paranoid brother paid off.
"Fine," Klaus said finally, though he clearly didn't believe it. "But if you're keeping secrets to protect me, brother, don't bother. I'm perfectly capable of handling unpleasant truths."
Not this one, Elijah thought. This truth would destroy you.
Klaus stood to leave, then paused. "By the way, Hayley Marshall arrived this morning. Werewolf. Looking for her pack's history. I thought you might want to... investigate." He smiled. "Diplomatically, of course."
And just like that, Klaus had given him a legitimate distraction. Intentionally or not.
"Of course," Elijah said. "I'll speak with her."
Klaus left, and Elijah exhaled slowly.
That bought me time. But not much.
Klaus's paranoia was a double-edged sword. It made him suspicious of everything, but it also made him distractible. As long as Elijah kept feeding him partial truths—witch problems, werewolf politics, Marcel's schemes—Klaus might not dig deeper.
Might.
Elijah returned to the warehouse that evening.
Roy was upstairs in the office area, laptop open, surrounded by stolen blood bags. He looked up when Elijah entered, expression carefully neutral.
"Find what you needed?" Roy asked.
"Yes." Elijah climbed the stairs slowly, processing how to phrase this. "I found your records in my mother's grimoires. Every experiment. Every drainage. Every..." He swallowed. "Everything you described. Documented in clinical detail."
Roy's jaw tightened. "She kept notes?"
"Meticulous ones. Diagrams. Spell calculations. Observations about your pain tolerance and regeneration speed." Elijah's voice was flat, professional, because if he let emotion in he'd shatter. "She treated you like a research subject. Mikael treated you like entertainment. And when they were finished, they sealed you away without a second thought."
"Sounds about right."
"I'm sorry."
Roy blinked. "What?"
"I'm sorry. On behalf of my family. My parents' sins are not yours to carry, but their actions created us. Our existence is built on your suffering." Elijah extended his hand formally. "You deserve acknowledgment. Justice. And if you'll accept it, my alliance."
Roy stared at the offered hand like it might be a trap. Then, slowly, he reached out and shook.
His grip was strong. Firm. The handshake of someone who meant it.
"Alliance," Roy said. "Against your parents specifically. Not you or your siblings."
"Understood. Though I must ask—what do you want? Beyond vengeance?"
Roy considered that. "Honestly? I don't know. I spent a thousand years planning how I'd make them suffer. Now that I'm out, now that I have the chance..." He shrugged. "Revenge is easy to want when it's abstract. Harder when you have to decide if you're willing to become a monster to get it."
"You're not a monster."
"I could be. I have the power for it."
"But you choose restraint. That's what separates predators from monsters."
Roy laughed softly. "You sound like someone I'd like to have bourbon with."
"I'd enjoy that." Elijah meant it. Despite everything—the horror of the revelations, the complexity of the situation—he found himself respecting this ancient vampire who could have destroyed the world but chose conversation instead.
"One more thing," Elijah said, pulling a blood bag from his jacket pocket. "My blood. A gesture of trust and alliance."
Roy eyed it warily. "That's not necessary."
"Perhaps not. But I'm offering anyway. Original blood is more potent than normal vampire blood. It might accelerate your recovery."
"Elijah—"
"Please. Let me do this one small thing to begin making amends for my family's crimes."
Roy took the blood bag slowly. Didn't open it. Just held it, staring at the label like it was some exotic artifact.
"Thank you," he said finally.
"You're welcome." Elijah adjusted his cuffs. "Now, about Klaus. He's growing suspicious of my absences. I've deflected for now, but he won't be satisfied with vague answers forever."
"How long do I have?"
"A week. Maybe two if we're fortunate. Rebekah is still investigating, though she's been distracted by the city's social scene. But Klaus..." Elijah shook his head. "Klaus will find you eventually. His paranoia is both blessing and curse."
"Then I need to get stronger. Fast."
"How can I help?"
"Information. About your family. Klaus specifically. I know he broke his hybrid curse, I know he's here because of werewolf rumors. But I need details. Vulnerabilities. Things that might keep him from attacking me on sight."
Elijah considered how much to reveal. Then decided: if they were truly allies, Roy deserved honesty.
"Klaus fears betrayal above all else. Thousand years of paranoia stemming from our father's rejection and our mother's lies." He paused. "If you approach him with hostility, he'll respond with overwhelming force. But if you approach with something he wants—information, alliance, acknowledgment of his pain—he might listen."
"What does he want?"
"To be seen. Understood. Accepted despite his nature." Elijah's voice softened. "My brother is a monster who desperately wants to believe he's not one. If you can give him that belief, even temporarily, you have leverage."
Roy processed that. "And if I can't?"
"Then prepare for war. Because Klaus doesn't do half-measures."
They stood in silence for a moment. Two immortals, separated by a thousand years of existence, united by shared suffering at the hands of the same family.
"I should go," Elijah said. "Before Klaus sends a search party."
"Wait." Roy hesitated. "Why are you helping me? Really? I'm a stranger who could destroy your family with a thought. Why risk your brother's wrath for me?"
Elijah met his eyes. "Because what my parents did was wrong. Unforgivable. And if I'm to call myself honorable, if I'm to claim any moral high ground, I cannot ignore that truth." He moved toward the door. "Besides. You remind me of Niklaus, in a way. Powerful, paranoid, capable of terrible violence. But underneath, desperately wanting someone to see the person beneath the monster."
"I'm not Klaus."
"No. But you could be, if you let the rage consume you. So I'm choosing to help you stay human. Or whatever passes for humanity in our world."
He left before Roy could respond.
The walk back to Marcel's compound was long. Elijah used the time to think, to plan, to prepare for the inevitable moment when Klaus discovered everything.
Because Klaus would discover it. His brother was many things, but oblivious wasn't one of them.
And when that moment came, Elijah would have to choose: family loyalty, or justice for a stranger who'd suffered more than any being should.
He already knew which he'd choose.
Roy deserved justice. Even if it cost Elijah everything.
I just hope Klaus will understand. Eventually.
But knowing his brother, understanding might take a century or two.
Elijah could wait. After all, they had eternity.
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