Title: The Consequences of Free Will

Author: true-blue-sheila

Disclaimer: I own nothing, no-one and nowhere. The Vampire Diaries belong to L.J. Smith, the CW T.V. Network and all associated producers and directors thereof. Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling – long may she reign – and Warner Bros. Studios

Summary

She was victorious – on her own terms. She would bow before no man – ever. They tried to burn away her Will – but she rose from the ashes, stronger than before. Now, Arielle must once more break free from the shackles of Fate. But how much pressure is one person expected to be able to bear before she cracks under the strain? Even if she is The-Girl-Who-Lived.

Prologue: The Dream

She could feel the Otherness, everywhere, it surrounded her, and it was within her. It whispered to her without words, but she could feel it inside her soul – a primal, ancient consciousness that no mortal being could truly comprehend. She welcomed it now as it wound its way through her, where she ended and the Other began was no longer clear, they were One.

Never before could she have brought herself to allow this – she had ever chosen the path of freedom, spurning all attempts of others to define her, guide her or bind her to their idea of who she should be . . . of how she should live her life. She practised her magic as she willed, defended her right to independence and privacy fiercely in the face of those who would name her unnatural and defiant. She was but a girl, they claimed – a helpless female with no kin to look out for her welfare.

Her ability to see to her own protection had been proven to her own satisfaction, and to their great chagrin, many times over but still they persisted. They urged her to seek fostering with any number of families prepared to take over her welfare – she had only to choose which she preferred – and who would afford her shelter and care.

In time, as she came of age, the head of her household would offer her hand in marriage to a suitable husband, and she would have the opportunity to raise a family of her own. Her reaction to such generosity was unequivocal, she had openly disdained the very idea of bowing to the authority of males – she trusted so few people as it was, and her past experiences hardly encouraged a great deal of faith in humanity . . . let alone the males of the breed.

Their society placed so much power into the hands of men – too much. She had seen for herself that they could so easily abuse their authority over the women and children in their charge, and rarely did any intervene or even offer as much as a token protest. No, she would never allow herself to be so vulnerable. Her accomplishments along with her mistakes were her own, she took responsibility for both, and any decisions regarding the course of her life would not be left to others to make for her.

And her choices had led her to this, the moment where she understood everything. The gods who watched over the destiny of mankind did not see the need to compel anyone into a path not of their own design. It was always a choice as to how one met and reacted to the circumstances that they faced in the mortal lifespan they were granted on this earth.
Free Will.

She had chosen to embrace her fate and offer herself to the kiss of steel, the release of flame. A willing sacrifice to save those who could be saved, a chance to be resurrected a final time with the strength to oppose the ones who sought power that was not theirs to take, to control others through fear and suffering.

For a moment, the faces of the ones lost to her flashed through her mind – their lives forsaken in a pointless, savage conflict – her family and her friends. In that moment she would have fallen to her knees and wailed her torment, screamed it to the very heavens – but it was time. Time to end this, but, oh, if only they knew, it was just the beginning.

Truly, they knew her not, to think that she would ever be defeated so easily – fools.

She sensed more than saw the flicker of movement from the corner of her eye. Instinctively she pivoted smoothly toward it with her arm simultaneously swinging down and across her torso in a swift arc. Her attacker released a high-pitched yowl that trailed off into an ugly, choked gurgle. His blood sprayed across her arm and face, the sword in her hand striking true. Slumped at her feet, the body of the wolf was limp and lifeless. Lingering only long enough to be certain of its demise she moved on through the mayhem, searching for her true enemies, the ones she sought to entrap with their own short-sightedness and ambitions – their greed would be their undoing.

Ever onwards she swept through the melee, pausing only to engage assailants in combat, by magic or steel her enemies fell before her. Finally she had broken free of the clashing mob, taking the opportunity to breathe deeply, preparing herself.

Not much longer now. Out here, in the open, seemingly exposed and vulnerable, as she stood alone without the cover of the horde, she knew that they would find her rather than the other way around. So much the better, she thought, let them seek her out to finish it. She only needed one – for where one went, the other followed close behind.

Finally taking note of where she was, she saw the wooden scaffold used to restrain him for the ritual – empty now. They had cursed him, bound his power to blood, stone and moon. His own brother had helped to render him helpless and vulnerable, as he begged and pleaded for them to stop, for mercy. There was none. There never had been, not for him, not for any of the lost.

He was there, standing with his siblings in front the post he had been tied to, with the shredded remnants of his bonds trailing from the wooden frame. All five watched on with horror (and an odd, predatory hunger) at the bloodshed before them. Her mouth curled in contempt, of course they would not intervene, after all, how could they possibly pick a side in this battle? She angled her head to survey the fight behind her – wolves snarling fiercely through bloodstained muzzles, blades and teeth and claws rending flesh as men and women screamed in rage and pain, magic cast in all directions as they battled on.

The hatred and resentment that had been building between the clans had finally boiled over, after the recent violence. Attacks led on entire villages by bands of outlaws during the night, innocent travellers set upon – assaulted, robbed and murdered – in the woods, while young girls and women would seemingly vanish, only to be found hours or even days later, violated and near-broken, unable or unwilling to describe their assailant(s).

Their families were left to nurse the wounded in the aftermath, shocked and grieving for those who had been lost. Their sorrow had become outrage, swiftly turning to fury, as they called for justice, demanding that the criminals who had caused such harm should answer for their sins. War, it seemed, was inevitable.

Turning back to find them watching her now – even amidst the chaos their instincts were uncanny – she regarded them coldly as they began to move in her direction. The expression on her face must have warned them off, for they froze in their tracks. Their eyes showed confusion – why would she, of all people, look at them like that?

Why, indeed?

All of them were so distinctly different from the others, yet each possessed that undeniable, inhuman allure.

The oldest was a tall, lean male in his prime. His severely masculine face, dark wavy brown hair and intense, pale green eyes made him quite popular with the young women in the village, married or not. But his naturally quiet and serious manner made him seem standoffish, and disinclined to mingle with others.
Finn.

The second brother stood with his broad shoulders squared and tense, struggling with the conflicting urges within him. On the one hand, it suited him ill to stand aside and simply watch such carnage unfold. On the other, he was loath to leave his brothers' and sister's sides. Ever protective of those he loved, his watchful dark-hazel eyes viewed the fight before him warily from a strong, angular face framed with shoulder-length near-black hair.
Elijah.

The next brother was a sharp contrast to his older siblings' dark leanness, with his brown-blond curls falling past his broad shoulders. Muscular and sturdy, his blue-grey eyes were still glassy from the effects of the binding magic that suppressed his true self. The handsome, almost pretty face was set in harsh lines, revealing his anguished emotions.
Niklaus.

The fourth was the tallest of all the brothers, slender yet steely with an untidy mane of brunette hair that tumbled over his forehead. He had a face that was well-matched to the rakish grin and puckish expression that he habitually wore, the dark brown eyes dancing with impish glee, with his wide forehead, high cheekbones and sharply pointed chin. Right now, though, his visage expressed only a terrible rage. Fists clenched hard at his sides, the knuckles blanched white, gave a clear indication of his displeasure, but he remained unmoving, a silent witness to murder and betrayal.
Kol.

The lone female seemed almost delicate when viewed alongside her brothers. She was slender and pretty, with large blue eyes and long blonde curls that swung as she turned to Elijah, perhaps begging him, or any of them, to intercede. She made no move to enter the fray herself, despite her own strength and skill with weapons – learned in secret, as her father did not approve of women fighting their own battles. She was ever cosseted and coddled by her family as the only surviving girl, her brothers ever eager to leap to her defence, so perhaps it was little wonder that she did not rush into battle on her own initiative.
Rebekah.

Her rage climbed to new heights as she watched them simply stand there like statues, seemingly indifferent to the slaughter going on around them. Such a picture they presented to outsiders, their bonds with each other strong and unbroken.

Hah! She knew better.

Already, this gruesome and tragic night had seen them fall apart – betraying one of their own out of fear and weakness. Her fingers flexed on the hilt of her sword as she stepped toward them with utter contempt written plainly on her exotic features. They recoiled from her wrath, but it did little to allay her disgust. Cowards.

Before she could speak, vent her fury, her senses stirred in alarm. She felt his approach from behind just before the blade appeared from her lower stomach. There was no pain, not yet, only a dull coldness in the pit of her womb where she was pierced through. Her limbs were suddenly numb, she felt as though the sword she grasped had suddenly trebled in weight, a heavy burden pulling her arm downwards until the tip dug into the earth before her frozen fingers fumbled to release it.

Rebekah gasped in alarm, her hand flying to her mouth in shock at the sudden attack. The others seemed stunned into stillness, their eyes widening in disbelief before Kol screamed out, "No. NO! Father, please!"

An eerie chuckle ghosted past her ear, causing her to shudder in disgust at his closeness. How she hated him, with all his malice and unfounded pride. He was an arrogant bully, undeserving of the trust that others had placed in him. He ruled his household with an iron fist, dominating and controlling his children's lives completely.

Finn, Elijah, Niklaus and Kol, to say the very least, were more than of age to have long since moved out from under his roof, to establish homes and families of their own. And Rebekah, their daughter, even if she was not yet married, should have at least had the prospect of a betrothal by now, if not actually engaged to be wed. And yet, no one dared to raise their voice in question, it appeared that everyone was content to go along, for fear of provoking Mikael's wrath.

And his wife Esther was no better – truly, their union was conceived in hell, and consecrated by darkness. Now though, it was him wielding the sword that cut through her – he that laughed cruelly at their distress at his assault on her. He bent down to whisper in her ear, ignoring her cringe. "Such loyalty you inspire, creature, even from mine own children. Of course, monsters do band together after all, I suppose I should not be so surprised." He lifted his face to sneer at them smugly, knowing perfectly well that their superior hearing had picked up his soft tones effortlessly, as he continued to taunt them all, speaking a little louder now, "Though I had hoped that they would remember where their true allegiance belongs – with their family, with their blood . . ."

Finn and Elijah began to run at him, whether seeking to prevent further harm to her or to aid him in his murderous intent – it no longer mattered. His hand grasped her upper arm tightly as he withdrew the sword at the same time. Now it hurt, feeling the blade twist in her flesh, as he yanked it free with brutal force and spun her around to face him, glaring down at her in triumph. Their mutual loathing was evident as she stared him down, undaunted by the pain. Vaguely aware of the battle around them slowly dying away, as more and more of the combatants stopped to watch this clash of titans in their midst – warrior versus witch, immortal vampire against mortal human, the large, powerful male facing off with the smaller, seemingly fragile female – she bared her teeth at him in defiance.

She felt the blood flowing freely from the terrible wound in her abdomen, staining her tunic and breeches. Barely breathing, her eyes spat hatred as he raised the sword above his head to strike once more. The blade descended, biting into her chest, as he thrust with inhuman speed and strength, the razor-sharp tip tearing through her ribcage and into her heart. There was an unnatural hush in the clearing, no one moved or spoke, watching on, paralysed, as he released the hilt and stepped back.

Such a tiny thing she seemed as she stood there alone, all eyes fixed upon her. Her mocha-toned skin spoke of her diverse ancestry – her mother's people had hailed from the deserts of Egypt. From her father, a native son of Al-Andalus, she had inherited her bright golden hair and startling green eyes.

Her back straight and unyielding, she was utterly silent, her features impassive as she stared back at him with those piercing eyes. She showed no signs of faltering, of feeling weakness or even acknowledging the savage gash in her abdomen, let alone the sword still thrust within her chest.

Everyone else around them watched on in varying states of disbelief and anticipation at this clash of wills. As powerful as she was, surely not even this witch could withstand such grievous blows. Then, finally, she sank down to her knees, her eyes still locked unwaveringly with his.

He smirked, icy blue eyes glittering cruelly, as he opened his mouth to gloat once more, but was cut off when she spoke quietly, "Thank you, Mikael." It seemed that giving voice to even those few soft words had drained the last of her strength as she slumped back into the arms of Finn as he ran to catch her before she hit the ground.

In the sudden flurry caused by the young woman's collapse, several people took the opportunity to slip discreetly into the trees ringing the clearing. They could not help her now, from this moment on it was all in her hands.

If there were those who happened to gaze back at the clearing wistfully, remembering the ones fallen in battle that remained behind – if there barely stifled sobs and cries of mourning amongst the group as they retreated swiftly – there was reason enough. This had been a night of great loss and sorrow, and it wasn't over yet.

The werewolves roaming alongside these mortal witches lifted their noses into the wind, trying to judge the best way to flee. Their foes would come, would hunt them down in revenge for their alliance with the witch, for standing against those responsible for the slaughter perpetrated on this bloody night – but they didn't intend to lay down like sheep in the pastures, meekly awaiting the butcher's blade, though. It wasn't time to face them, not yet.

But their time would come, when she returned. Their people, their clans – those who had descended from them that still carried on their faith and traditions – would be ready to play their part once more, to give everything that was needed in the struggle against evil. This was their choice.
Free Will.

Back in the clearing, Finn ignored the shock on his father's face at her words, barely even noticed it in fact. All his attention was focussed on the girl, held in his lap protectively, desperately, as he whispered, "No, no," repeatedly. Her eyes stared up at him unseeingly, the pain and blood-loss taking over her senses as she slipped away from him, from them. His siblings were there, crouched around her now, denying the evidence of their own eyes – they couldn't lose her!

Esther's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, as the crowd around her murmured in disquiet. She cast her mind back, recalling the events of the evening. In particular, the memory of the girl standing within the sacrificial circle as she knelt with her head bent and seemed to pray. 'Prayed for what?' Esther wondered.

No one could know, for the circle had been sealed off by the witch to all outside it. A seal that they had been unable to crack, one that placed a barrier between her and those who sought to stop her, bind her. It also had the ability to keep all sounds from escaping its borders as the lone witch inside chanted and held out her hands to the heavens in entreaty.

Esther remembered seeing the girl fall suddenly, as though she had been flung to the ground by invisible hands. Even from outside the mystical barrier, Esther could feel the magic that emanated from within – the girl had clearly cast a powerful spell. The girl stood suddenly, raised her head to look about her – her eyes were swirling brightly with the magic she had called, before returning to normal as the enchantment faded.

Suddenly, the seal was dropped, but, before anyone could react, she held up her hand and concentrated. Her power flared out, strong and fierce as her sword suddenly appeared, called to her hand with magic. She ran into the fray, wielding both magic and blade with grace and strength as she cut down those that opposed her. Esther lost sight of her after that, absorbed in her own battles with enemy witches and wolves – until Mikael had seen her, and struck from behind.

Her mind raced frantically, trying to work out what the other witch had meant – who would ever thank their killer for doing such? Was it simply defiance – the girl unyielding and rebellious to the last? Or was there more at play here? What had the girl prayed for, and apparently received – all these questions circled in her mind with few answers if any being presented.

As Esther pondered, Niklaus was sitting by the stricken girl's bent knees, peering worriedly at her rapidly paling face. He watched her lift her eyes to Mikael's face as it twisted in disgust at the scene before him. Her words seemed to echo in the clearing long after the witch herself was silent. 'Thank you, Mikael.' She had not spoken sarcastically, her low tone had been calm and clear, her eyes serious. 'Could she have truly meant it?' the question rippled through the crowd as they huddled and whispered heatedly. Why thank him? All here knew of the contempt she bore for Mikael and Esther, a disdain they returned in full measure.

It seemed that their bewilderment would not be cleared up just yet, as they watched on, stricken and fascinated by the scene.

She struggled for breath now as her life-blood seeped into the earth, shutting her mind away from the outpourings of grief as the five who knelt beside her pleaded with her to live – to let them heal her, change her. BAH! Had she not warned them, how could they not see the truth for themselves? They had chosen this path for themselves; she could spare no more compassion or empathy for their pain any more. How many others had suffered, bled and died for their wilful blindness? Now she had become the latest casualty in this war.

Opening her eyes (when had she closed them . . . she couldn't remember) as she panted desperately, trying to force the words through her numbed lips, to offer a chance. Flawed beings that they were, she loved them so. She always had.

How could she not try to save them, to see if they would finally come to comprehend that their salvation was in their own hands?
Free Will.

". . ."

"What is she trying–" Kol began to whisper from the right of her. He was holding her hand in his tightly.

"Shut it and listen!" Klaus hissed from the left.

"You shut it, I was only–" Kol shot back before being interrupted again.

"All of you, quiet!" Finn bared his teeth in a snarl as they flinched back at his sudden display of dominance, and subsided.

"I . . . shall . . . re-return . . . once. O-on-ly . . . once. Nev-ver . . . ag-gain." The halting, stuttered words were whispered between increasingly strained wheezing, the barest puffs of sound from her whitened lips. Finn was holding her to him tightly, his head bent over her face as he strained to hear her. He was the closest though the others had crowded around tightly as well, unwilling to be parted from her now. Rebekah was kneeling opposite Kol, holding her left hand, while Elijah was beside him, mirroring Klaus' position by her knees.

Finn could hear the terrible rattle in her chest, he murmured to her, "Please, please don't do this, we need you." Denying all that his enhanced senses were telling him, them – they could not only see, but smell more blood spilled around her than remained within her small body now. Her flesh was chilled, stiffening under their touch even as they tried to hold her here to this world – to them – her stricken heart pumping frantically to beat around the impaling steel shaft of their father's sword.

A struggle she was steadily losing, the discordant rhythm in their ears slowing and weakening, as she slipped ever closer to death. Her mouth opened wide as her body instinctively, but futilely, attempted to channel more air to her slowly collapsing lungs. She looked at them, stared at them deeply – trying one last time to impart her message, her warning for the future. ". . . Once . . . more . . ."

The final word slipped out on an extended exhale of breath as her eyes closed for the last time, and her body stilled. They exhaled with her and held their breath, waiting, waiting for her to inhale once more. They were listening so intently for her breathing to resume, that they almost didn't register what they weren't hearing – almost.

It was Rebekah who eventually let go of the cold little hand she was clutching so desperately in her own to press the shaking palm to the wounded breast under the cruel blade. Her touch only confirmed what her ears had already told her, the faltering heartbeat had ceased. And so the tears fell. She wept unashamedly, mourning her friend as she would a sister. "She's gone." She stood up, unsteady and shaken, her usual grace deserting her in her grief so that she wavered on her feet. Her piercing gaze, however, was unwavering as she accused, "You killed her."

Her brothers had risen to stand just after she had, and now moved to flank her in a rare show of accord. They stood firmly united against their antagonist – their father, Mikael.

A sharply indrawn breath from the, up until then at least, mostly silent gathering around them drew their eyes – it appeared that Mikael would not be the one to speak in his own defence. Rebekah's public outburst of blame (with their tacit endorsement) for the slaying of their friend would apparently be met by their mother, Esther, in Mikael's stead.

Whatever it was that Esther had intended to say was lost as a sharp crackling sound erupted behind them. As they spun around, a sight that truly defied belief met their stunned eyes. They witnessed her body bursting into flame – a strange fire burning in hues of green, black, blue and crimson. Yet it was not just the colouring of this blaze that struck them as bizarre – the conflagration's origin appeared to be the point where Mikael's sword met her flesh, tongues of flame glowing silvery-white against her tawny skin.

Elijah was the first to react, shouting, "No!" as he leapt forward, perhaps intent on hauling her mortal remains from the fire in order to preserve whatever was left of the girl he had truly cherished, a wise friend, for all her tender years. The fierce heat of the inferno thwarted him, as it grew to engulf her whole body. The sheer intensity of the fire dazzled his eyes; he threw up his arm to block the glare, and turned his face away in defeat. He saw that Niklaus had moved up beside him, his expression torn with frustration and anguish, unable to get any closer. With their eyes struggling to adjust from the brilliance, it took Kol's wondering gasp and subsequent, "Nik, 'Lijah, look," before they caught on that something else had apparently changed. Kol, Finn and Rebekah stared at the pyre, with identical looks of . . . what, exactly, shock, rapture, enthralment, a mixture of all three, perhaps?

Turning, they watched in stupefaction – from within the very heart of the blaze, a shape emerged. A distinctly familiar outline appeared, unnerved and thrilled, they felt their skin prickle in nervous excitement (they knew that symbol . . . intimately), they watched on as the beak opened and an unearthly melody seemed to arise from the very flames themselves, silvery and sweet as the fire flared higher before descending to a low-pitched purring, almost, as the blaze dulled down – a –

"–PHOENIX!"

With such harmonic rapture having just been heard amidst the flames, almost anything else would be dissonant, a harsh come-down afterwards. Esther's shrill cry was definitely not an improvement, especially for those with sensitive ears, Niklaus considered thoughtfully, rubbing the offended organ with the severe misfortune to be facing toward his mother when the damnable harpy had released her mating call. He eyed her with an admittedly large degree of malicious ire, he had neither forgotten nor forgiven her previous measures taken against him this evening . . . this was salt in his wounds.

She looked around her in a state of raw panic, her sudden realisation completely derailing her usual composure. No one really knew what to do as never before had they seen the poised matron in such a condition – not even when her youngest son was carried back to the village in his older brother's arms, slain by wolves. Her wild, terrified dark eyes finally settled on her husband – and promptly narrowed in wrath. "You FOOL!" she screamed. "She invoked the spirit of the Phoenix! That is why she was chanting for all that time. A prayer offered to the old gods – the primal guardians of the first witches.

"You think that you have won by killing her physical body, but you may have doomed us all! If she is reborn, it will be with the power of an Avenger – the spirit of the Phoenix will drive her to seek retribution on those who she believes have wronged her in not just that life, but ALL of her previous incarnations."

She had to stop for breath for a moment and Mikael, whose face had steadily reddened in frustration and ire as her tirade continued on, promptly seized his opportunity to retort, "And what would you have suggested I do, my love?" he raised his brow in mocking inquiry, emphasising the last two words with a subtle jeer before continuing, "Allow her to continue wreaking havoc with the ritual you designed for this night? In case you do not remember, she had to be sacrificed in order for the ritual to truly succeed. That is what YOU told ME."

They glared at each other in silence for a moment before Esther threw up her hands in disgust, gesturing dismissively as she paced. "What's done is done, and cannot be undone," here she paused to offer her husband a meaningful look before she continued, "None of us had understood before it was too late, I failed to realise what she had planned – the Invocation of Spirit requires a willing sacrifice. The sacrifice must fulfil specific terms in order to achieve the witch's purpose and successfully summon the guardian they have called on – how they present their sacrifice, what they must sacrifice, or even who they choose to actually perform the sacrifice, all these things can play a part.

"She has accomplished her task, marking you as her foe," looking at Mikael, "Along with any who stand with you. Her fate is bound to the Phoenix now. We can do no m–" Her sudden break in speech and her fixed stare over at the – finally – ebbing pyre alerted Finn first, his narrowed gaze switching to follow the direction of Esther's eyes had the others catching on swiftly. As one, they shifted to see for themselves just what was so mesmerising. Elijah huffed out a shaky breath – she was gone, vanished, as if she had never even been here to begin with. There were no scorch marks or even a burnt-out hollow in the grass where the supernatural inferno had blazed.

The only thing that remained – his eyes widened, then narrowed intently – was his father's sword, lying in the grass as if it had never pierced the breast and heart of an innocent young girl. And yet – it no longer looked like that same blade. He heard his mother inhale, no doubt in preparation to speak, ordering the seizure of the sword by trusted hands – those loyal to his parents, obviously – and he forestalled the declaration by moving, one smooth, rapid whoosh that saw him standing over the sword, before he stooped to pluck it up from the ground.

He stared each of his siblings directly in the eye. He did not speak, simply looked at them. He refused to meet the gazes of Mikael or Esther. He had nothing to say to them, not after this night. The message was clear. He turned and blurred out of the clearing, running as fast as he possibly could away from that cursed place.

The place where he had lost yet another piece of his innocence tonight, where he still stood to lose everything that even meant anything to him any more. They could refuse to follow him, choose allegiance to their parents over him. He reached another clearing, miles from where he had left them, then waited and prayed. His head snapped around, and his heart shrank a little in his chest as he heard a familiar bellow of rage echoing through the trees from that direction – good gods – was his father sending them to hunt him down now? Or worse, the werewolves! His nose wrinkled in disgust at the thought of the putrid creatures – so caught up was he by this repulsive idea that Finn had fled right out of the trees and into the woods beyond him, before he could so much as blink in surprise.

Eyes wide, he jumped back in shock, and not a little bit of fear, as Kol bursting from the tree-line into the open coincided with another (was that closer . . . or just louder?) shout from his father. Kol, clearly having heard, poured on more speed than any of them would have previously believed possible without the right motivation, whipping past Elijah with a look on his face that said he didn't know whether to be panicked, or ecstatic, about the crazed thrill of having their raging madman of a sire chasing them all over the wilderness of the New World. Kol was known to be a bit . . . peculiar, at times.

Elijah was still trying to decide between rolling his eyes, or snorting in disbelief at his younger brother's eccentricities, when Niklaus and Rebekah came crashing through the trees in their blind dash for freedom as Mikael yelled again – he really was starting to get too close for comfort, Elijah thought vaguely – and Elijah was left in absolutely no doubt as to their feelings on the issue.

They were outright terrified. Rebekah screeched fearfully to him while she was still clearing the last stand of trees. "Elijah, stop standing around like a bloody statue! RUN!" One quick glance at Niklaus's face affirmed his support of that sentiment, though he was clearly intent on saving his breath, and strength, to flee for dear life. Elijah assuredly needed no further urging, taking to his heels with such speed that one might have thought he flew over the ground rather than touching his feet upon it.

Another echoing roar from Mikael had Rebekah shrilling out an alarmed yet defiant Valkyric battle-cry even as they ran onwards through the dying night. Their mother had as much as admitted that the witch unlike any other had set herself free from the shackles of this mortal world in her own way – and now it was their turn. They were making their own bid for independence in their new world, she had shown them the way and they only needed to be brave enough to take it.
Free Will.

Author's Note: Phew! Hopefully all my re-editing has paid off, and this is now much easier to understand. For those who've already been through this chapter, I hope you enjoyed the new snippets of information. For everyone else, I just hope that you enjoyed it, period.

Please review, and let me know what you think :D