Sire (The Vampire Rules)

Sire (noun): A respectful form of address for someone of high social status, especially a king;
a father or other male forebear.

Sire (verb): To beget; procreate as the father.

Chapter 1: The Messenger

The Journal of Elijah Mikelson*:

In the beginning, our family was human; over a thousand years ago, now. Although our mother dabbled in the dark arts, we were actually just a family trying to survive in a time when it was quite difficult to do so. And, for better or worse, we were happy.

That is, however, until one night, our youngest brother was killed by our village's greatest threat; men that could transform themselves into wolves during the full moon. Our family was devastated. Having already lost his eldest daughter to plague years earlier, and desperate to protect the rest of us, our father forced our mother to call upon her black magic in order to make us stronger. Despite her warnings of the dangers, she did so with him and then turned to her children.

My remaining siblings, Finn, Kol, Niklaus and Rebekah, were all terrified and begged our parents not to use magic on them. To protect them from the unknown effects of the spell, I volunteered to be the next altered. My parents agreed to wait a day or so before proceeding with the others. But it became clear later that night the dark magic made us demonic creatures, and my mother refused to curse her other children. Thus, the first vampires were born.

*Portions of the language used in this journal entry are taken directly from an episode of The Originals.

Present Day
New Orleans

Marcel Gerard's French Quarter compound was party central most nights. The gatherings weren't private, but if a tourist wandered in off the street they'd soon regret doing so. The locals knew better than to attend. There were certain places in the Quarter one simply did not go, unless of course you were a member of the earliest established vampire society in America.

Trevor was a non-descript vampire: tall, with brown hair and a slight build. He wasn't the kind most noticed, and he was quite used to that. He spent almost all his time in the company of one who demanded the attention of anyone in the vicinity. At this moment, however, he was on his own. He navigated through the pulsing crowd of youthful vampires gyrating to incessantly loud music. "One can hardly call it such," he thought. "Sire wouldn't tolerate 30 seconds of this noise before putting a stop to it." But fortunately, the King of the Vampires was not there. Instead, he was waiting at the finest hotel in New Orleans for his servant to return from his important errand.

Trevor looked around but was unable to discern the supposed leader of the assembled rabble. He knew the vampire's name, but not his face. "Looking for someone?" A voice made itself heard above all the others buzzing in his ears and he turned to the source. It was another non-descript face, like his own. "Yes, thank you. I am looking for Marcel Gerard."

"What do you want him for?"

"I have a message for him."

"Oh, well I can get him the message."

"No, I must deliver this personally. Fetch him for me." The last words came out in the form of an order, not a request. Most of the time Trevor took orders, it was a rare occasion when he could give them. But he was not only centuries older than any other vampire he would encounter here, but also manservant to the oldest vampire in existence, and that gave him quite a bit of authority.

Thierry, Marcel's closest friend, and member of his inner circle of day walkers, reluctantly walked away to find the vampire in question. Marcel's guys were protective of their leader and this stranger's presence and demeanor concerned Thierry. He located Marcel upstairs on a balcony where he'd been observing the entire encounter.

"Who is that?" he asked his friend.

Thierry shrugged. "He just said he had a message for you that he needed to deliver personally."

Marcel studied the messenger from a distance and assessed he was quite old. In the vampire world, age is not determined by how old one was when turned, but rather by how long ago they were turned. This one seemed more ancient than Marcel himself, a former slave who was turned over 150 years ago. "Bring him into my study," Marcel told Thierry, wanting to hear this mysterious dispatch in private. Thierry went back downstairs to do just that and Marcel went inside. He sat down behind his large desk, assuming a position of authority. He didn't know his posturing would be wasted on the vampire who now entered the room and stood before him.

"Marcel Gerard?"

"That's right, who are you?"

"My name is Trevor, but my name is not important. I am here representing Our Sire, Our King, Elijah Mikelson. Our Sire requires that you prepare his family home for his occupation. You have 24 hours to remove all that," he gestured with a hand towards the door of the room, "riff-raff from the premises and make it suitable for the one who sired us all. I will assist you in any way required."

Marcel fully heard only a small portion of what Trevor said. His mind started swimming at the mention of Elijah Mikelson's name. He had lived a long time with the apprehension that Elijah's brother, Niklaus Mikelson, would someday return to New Orleans. He never entertained the thought of their King coming there. Elijah Mikelson had lived exclusively in Europe, establishing and ruling Vampire colonies there. Why was he coming here now?

Trevor waited, none-to-patiently, for Marcel to respond. Elijah would be even more impatient for Trevor's return and keeping his Sire waiting was not something Trevor did often. "Mr. Gerard," Trevor addressed the still-stunned vampire sitting behind the desk. "Do you understand what I have told you?"

Marcel finally spoke. "Elijah is coming here?"

Trevor shook his head. "You must never address him or refer to him by his name! Did Lord Niklaus teach you nothing?"

Marcel thought it over. Niklaus, or Klaus as he is called by some, was Marcel's direct sire and taught him many things, but never how to talk about their King.

Trevor took his silence as an admission that Marcel was clueless and did some educating on the spot. "He is referred to as 'Our Sire,' and addressed as 'Sire.' You'll need to know that tomorrow when you welcome him to his home."

"He'll be in New Orleans by tomorrow?" Marcel asked, hoping there would be more time to process what was happening.

"He is already in New Orleans," Trevor informed him. "He is waiting for me to return to the hotel. But first I must be certain you have heard and understood the message."

"Yeah," Marcel reluctantly admitted; "I've heard, and I understand." What he really understood was that nothing would ever be the same for the vampires of the French Quarter.

"Good," Trevor continued. "Now, this is what you must do…"

Rebekah Mikelson watched nervously as her brother Elijah paced the hotel suite. She was always concerned when Elijah seemed agitated. Everyone close to him knew it was incumbent on all of them to keep him as calm as possible. He was a fair and patient ruler, most of the time. The other times were moments no one cared to see repeated. She was also nervous for another reason. Being back in New Orleans after a hundred and fifty years was a shock to her system. As was the thought of seeing Marcel Gerard again; and the thought of what Elijah would do to both of them if he ever found out about the history they once shared.