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The year Elijah turned twelve, Father took him into the woods for a hunt.
It wasn’t the first time he’d done so. Elijah had been on hunts before, with Father and Finn there. He knew how to shoot, skin, clean a kill.
This time, though, Father brought Niklaus along.
Finn was at home with Mother, helping guard the hovel, making repairs for winter, and looking after little Kol and baby Rebekah, who was just starting to toddle everywhere and grab everything in sight.
This hunt was for Elijah. And Niklaus.
Elijah worried over his little brother, as he always did. Since his birth, Elijah had loved Niklaus and worried for him in equal measure. Some unknown fear that Niklaus would be taken, ripped away from them, haunted Elijah ceaselessly.
Especially now that they would be alone with Father, who had so little patience for Niklaus. Elijah worried his temper would plummet after a night in the forest. Worried his little brother’s clumsy hunting skills would anger Father.
Niklaus had hardly ever spent a night away from home. He’d only held a bow a few times, and still flinched sometimes at blood or death.
What if Father mocked him for his weakness, his youth? What if he struck him, as he so often did? Or what if, Elijah stayed up wondering, Father simply left Niklaus in the woods to die, days and days from home?
(Father wouldn’t. Elijah knew he wouldn’t. But still, he worried.)
For the first days, Elijah’s fears were abated—Niklaus held his own incredibly well.
The three of them tracked and brought down several rabbits and a large, healthy deer. Niklaus was the one to skin and clean the rabbits for their nightly meal. He wielded his knife with an earnest, intense focus. Determined to please Father.
Elijah dared not tell Father how Niklaus developed such skill with a knife. All those nights carving wood by the fire—Father would not be impressed. (The incident with the paintbrush was still fresh in Elijah’s mind—and on Niklaus’s cheek.)
On the second night, Father roasted a rabbit while Elijah set up a tent with skins and furs for blankets. Their deer was propped on a rack of sticks beside their pile of weapons.
Niklaus stared into the fire with tired, bleary eyes. Elijah watched his brother contentedly. (Later tonight, when they settled down to sleep, he’d tell him how proud of him he was.)
It happened with no warning. Either he approached on silent steps, or they were less alert than they realized. None of them had any inkling of danger until a new voice spoke.
“Fires burn bright at night.”
The strange man held a dirty, curved sword in front of him, in a fighting position. Holding them all hostage.
Elijah shot to his feet, eyes flickering to their blades and bows, laid safely away from the fire. Far out of arms’ reach.
His heart dropped into his feet at the realization: They were powerless. At the mercy of the man in front of them.
Their ambusher was filthy. His hair and eyes were wild, as though he’d been lost for many moons. His voice was rough, heavily accented. “Stay where you are. There’s no need for violence.”
Father stood up, facing the strange man across the fire with a ramrod-straight back.
The stranger leveled his sword. “I said, do not move. Stay still, and I will hurt no one.”
Heart racing, Elijah put one arm in front of Niklaus. Never before had a stranger, an enemy, pointed a blade at either of them. Niklaus scooted his little body closer to Father’s shadow on instinct.
“You point a blade at me,” Father breathed. “At my own blood.” The menace in his soft tone was unmistakable.
“I do not wish to hurt you. Any of you. My only need is food.” With his free hand, the man pointed to the deer carcass. “Give me your kill, and we will leave in peace.” His eyes darted nervously between his three hostages.
Elijah could barely move to form his lips around the man’s most confounding word. We?
He peered behind their ambusher, into the shifting shadows of the night.
Oh.
Standing behind the stranger were two small children, a boy and a girl. Even smaller than Kol and Rebekah. Their eyes were huge in their gaunt faces.
Mikael surveyed them, sizing their opponents up. “You will not take what is mine,” he spat.
The stranger spared a glance back at the children. “Five nights our bellies have been empty. Give us what we need, and we may part peacefully.”
Mikael’s lip curled. “If you are too weak to provide for your family, then let their blood be on your hands. Leave as you came, and there will be no need for bloodshed.”
Elijah glanced down at Niklaus. He too was on his feet, but his stance was anything but defensive. He stared with wide blue eyes at the boy and girl. Mirrors of their own little brother and sister, only hungrier and dirtier. (Mother expected another this winter. Another miracle, she called it. Another mouth to feed, Father said.)
Father took one step toward their deer, toward their pile of blades and arrows.
The stranger moved his sword to block Father’s path. Warning him. “Stop.”
“You would dare command me.”
The man gripped his sword with two white-knuckled hands, doubling down. “There is no need for violence,” he said again.
Elijah had the feeling their attacker was nearly as frightened as he and Niklaus. Had he—and the children in his care—not been starving, he would never stoop to threats and demands.
“Leave,” Father repeated. “Or there will be blood.” He pointed to the forest for emphasis.
The man ignored him, taking one step closer to the fire.
“Fine.”
Without warning, Father grabbed Klaus by his hair, pulling their bodies close and forcing his chin up.
“Father—” Elijah began, but stopped in horror as the small knife Father had used at dinner came up to Niklaus’s throat.
The stranger gasped. “What are you—”
“Leave my sight,” Mikael snarled. “Unless you want the blood of one more child on your hands.”
Elijah could not move. There was a dull roaring in his ears. His feet were rooted to the spot, blood turned to ice at the sight of his father holding a knife to his little brother’s neck.
Not him. Not Niklaus.
“You wouldn’t,” the stranger breathed. “Your own blood.” In mere seconds he had turned from conqueror to victim.
“You know nothing of the blood I have spilled,” Mikael growled. His voice rose to a shout. “Do you wish to test my mettle? ”
Both Elijah and Niklaus flinched. Elijah gasped for air. He could not seem to draw a breath.
“You're mad.”
Elijah had to wonder if the man was right.
Had Father lost his mind? Would he put a blade in Niklaus’s throat simply to scare off an intruder?
Many times, Elijah had witnessed the brazen anger of his father. His hardness, his quick leaps to violence. He’d left marks on Niklaus before. Drawn blood, even.
With the expression on Mikael’s face, Elijah could believe him capable of anything. He truly could not tell if their father was bluffing.
Niklaus whimpered feebly in protest, tears welling in his bright eyes. One of his hands grappled uselessly at Mikael’s wrist.
“Father, let him go,” Elijah whispered. He would not dare move closer, even if he could. Mikael could end his little brother’s life with one small motion.
The ambusher raised his free hand in a pacifying gesture. “Don’t. He’s a child.” His sword hand shook visibly, removing any threat he once held over them.
Elijah imagined the man’s thoughts to be a faint echo of his own—an endless chant of Don’t hurt him don’t hurt him please don’t hurt him
This stranger was not an evil man. He was no different than Mikael or any man back home who wanted to feed his family.
More evil now seemed their father, who pressed a blade against his own son’s neck. Precisely at the spot he and Elijah had pierced to bleed the deer earlier in the day.
“I will slit his throat.” Mikael tightened his iron grip on Niklaus. Used the fistful of hair to pull his chin higher, displaying his throat more prominently. “Make no mistake, I will kill him.”
“No,” Niklaus whimpered, his voice pinching higher through the tears in his throat. “Father, please.”
The stranger shook his head. “Stop this,” he implored. His feet fumbled beneath him.
Elijah’s head shook in tandem with the stranger’s. Both begging for mercy. “Father, don't hurt him, pleas—”
“Silence!” Mikael roared. His voice echoed off the trees.
Niklaus’s breathing hitched louder in the dead quiet.
“Stand down, or I will spill his blood right here.”
There was nothing but resolve in Mikael’s voice, his face. He seemed oblivious to Niklaus’s whimpers, his panicky squirms of protest.
Elijah’s heart leapt to his throat with every painful beat. His muscles screamed for him to rush forward, push Mikael out of the way, and hold his brother in his arms. Rock him to sleep, just like he used to when Niklaus was little more than an infant.
He couldn't dare take that risk. With the state Mikael was in, he might just as well perceive Elijah as another threat.
All Elijah could do was stand frozen and hope.
The man finally took one step back. Lowered his sword.
Mikael did not relinquish his hold. “Take your brats to starve elsewhere. These woods belong to me .”
One tear slipped down Niklaus’s cheek.
The wild man backed away slowly. “Yes. All right. Yes. Yes.”
Mikael remained a statue. Watched as the stranger turned and vanished with his two shadows into the night.
Their soft footsteps faded into nothing, and the three were left alone.
None of Elijah’s fear left with them.
Mikael had not moved. He still held Niklaus, blade poised to pierce.
Niklaus was white with terror. His chest heaved. Each of his breaths was closer to a sob.
Elijah raised his hands as he turned to Mikael, to his little brother.
His voice was faint and shaky. “Father. Father, please. Please. Please.” You can let him go now.
Why aren’t you letting him go?
Niklaus’s huge round eyes locked on Elijah. In his desperate gaze was every ounce of trust and confidence he had ever put in Elijah.
And never had Elijah felt more inadequate as a big brother.
Mikael stared at his second son with an unreadable expression made of stone.
“Please. Let him go.” Elijah dared not speak any louder than a murmur, lest Mikael‘s blade hand twitch in surprise. “Please, Father. They’re gone.”
Don’t hurt him don’t hurt him please don’t hurt him
Finally, Mikael’s fist slowly began to loosen, relinquishing Niklaus’s hair and dropping his chin. The hand holding his knife fell away from his exposed neck. As soon as it did, Niklaus’s legs gave way and he fell to the ground.
Elijah dove to catch him, landing them both in a tangled pile at Mikael’s feet.
“Niklaus.” He gathered him in his arms, feeling his small body shake uncontrollably.
“‘Lijah.” His little hands formed fists around Elijah’s shirt. Clinging with every ounce of strength. “‘Lijah.”
“I’m here—I’m right here.” Elijah ran his fingers over his little brother’s throat. “Are you hurt?”
“Don’t be foolish,” Mikael snapped down at them. “Not a scratch on him.”
Elijah couldn’t bring himself to believe a word Mikael said. He leaned down to inspect Niklaus himself.
There was a red dot on his neck, where Mikael had held his small blade. The color was angry, but his skin was unbroken.
Elijah sighed with relief as he brushed Niklaus’s hair from his forehead. “Shh. It’s all right. You’re all right.”
They were empty words.
Niklaus buried his face in Elijah’s collar, soft whimpers still escaping him. Elijah pressed his lips into his brother’s curly hair, murmuring a string of hollow reassurances. Don’t worry. (How could he not?) It’s all right. (Their father still had a blade.) They’re gone. (The stranger hadn’t been the one threatening him, not really.) You’re safe. I’m here. (Like that meant anything. Elijah hadn’t stopped it the first time.)
They rocked back and forth together, neither able to control their trembling.
Mikael strode past them, toward their tent of skins. “Like a dog begging for scraps,” he scoffed. “A man who cannot provide is not a man at all.”
Elijah turned to their father, still cradling his little brother’s head on his shoulder. “Father. Why? Why? ”
“Why?” Mikael laughed once, a cruel and humorless sound. “To frighten him. A frightened man is no threat. Nevertheless, we must be on our guard. He may return.”
He ducked under the flimsy roof of the tent and began to arrange his furs to rest on.
He seemed not to understand what he had done, how badly he had scared Niklaus. He had bared his son’s throat and pressed a blade to its tender skin. All to keep a stranger from stealing a kill they could easily replace.
This was worse than his rages, his temper. He had taken a deadly risk on the lives of one of his children, and he seemed utterly remorseless. Uncaring.
In that moment, Elijah was more frightened of his father than he ever had been.
“You…you wouldn’t have,” he breathed. “Would you? You wouldn’t.”
Mikael stilled his preparations for sleep and lifted his head to look Elijah in the eye.
For a chilling moment, he said nothing. Then, “A posture. Nothing more.”
There was no warmth in his tone. No reassurance. No hint of affection that made Elijah’s breathing come easier. Nothing that would calm Niklaus, who still shuddered in his arms. The firelight reflected the tears shining on his cheeks.
Elijah pressed a kiss to his forehead.
“Stop your sniveling, boy. A warrior shows no weakness. And let him go, Elijah. You’re not his mother.”
Elijah released his little brother instinctively at Mikael’s command. (It was instilled in him, in all of them, to obey Father’s every whim.) Niklaus swiped a hand across his teary eyes, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the ground.
“Get some rest, both of you. You’ll need your strength for the journey home.”
…
Later that night, when the fire had burned down to embers, hours after Mikael had succumbed to unconsciousness, Elijah crawled over to Niklaus.
Neither of them had been able to sleep. Niklaus had been reaching for him since they’d lain down side by side.
Elijah took his little brother’s face in his hands, inspecting it in the low light. Tear streaks marred his dirty cheeks.
“Brother,” he began in a whisper, but words escaped him.
Niklaus stared at him with trust in his red-rimmed eyes. Waiting for Elijah to say the magic words and mend what had been broken tonight.
His tongue was empty.
Elijah ran one finger down the scar on his brother’s cheek, thin and pale and hardly detectable in the dark of night.
Old and long since healed, but it was just another story in a lifetime of stories of pain.
Mikael was their father . The one who protected them, provided for them, taught them to be strong. Elijah was meant to trust him fully, to look up to him and be like him, as every good son should.
But how could he?
Mikael treated Niklaus so harshly. Criticized his every move, punished him for the smallest of offenses. Singled him out in a multitude of wrongdoing. Like he was lesser, baser, worthless even.
Elijah could not remember such cruel words, such cruel hands, directed at him, even when he’d been younger and weaker like Niklaus.
The brother Elijah loved so fiercely Mikael seemed determined to find fault with. It was almost enough to make Elijah jump up and defy his father—almost.
He pulled Niklaus’s body close to his, wrapping his arms around his narrow shoulders. Holding his head in his hands, Elijah moved his mouth downward to whisper in his little brother’s ear.
“Do you…do you remember when you asked me to leave with you?”
Niklaus shifted in Elijah’s arms, turning his head to lean against Elijah’s chest. “You mean run away? From home?”
Elijah’s stomach churned at the words, at the terrible forbidden thought. “Yes.”
“I remember. You told me we could not go. We had to stay, for Kol and Rebekah.”
That night had haunted Elijah for nearly a year. His brother’s muffled cries, his tearful pleas. The blood dripping from his cheek, marring his little bowl of blue paint with dark droplets.
The night Elijah’s obedience had felt more wrong than right. More like cowardice than duty.
“I was—” Wrong. I was wrong. I need to keep you safe. More than anything, I need to keep you safe.
“You were right.” Niklaus all but mumbled the words, his face buried in Elijah’s shirt.
An uneasy pulse flowed through Elijah’s stomach, making him feel sick. “What?”
“Rebekah. And Kol. They need us. They cannot protect themselves.”
There was a muffled ringing in Elijah’s ears that had nothing to do with the whistling wind.
What was Niklaus thinking? Had he not felt the hardness of Mikael’s hands tonight as he threatened his life?
“We cannot leave them behind. We must keep them safe,” Niklaus breathed. One finger stroked up and down a small piece of fabric on Elijah’s shirt.
“Safe,” Elijah repeated hollowly. How could his brother possibly know the meaning of safe?
“Yes. Like how you kept me safe tonight.” One little hand found its way up to Elijah’s cheek.
Elijah grabbed it and held it there. He could still detect a faint, minute trembling in Niklaus’s fingers.
“Do you think…do you think they’ll live?”
Elijah’s brow furrowed at his unexpected question. “Who?”
“The boy, the girl. Tonight. Will they survive?”
Their father had held a knife to Niklaus’s throat, and yet Niklaus was worried about the other children they’d seen.
Elijah pressed his lips to Niklaus’s fingers. “I’m sure they will.”
He would love his brother for the rest of their lives, whether or not Niklaus deserved it. If he were to burn their village to the ground, Elijah would still love him with every fiber of his being.
But there were times when he was overwhelmed by his brother’s goodness . Made Elijah proud to call Niklaus his blood. Gave him the confidence that maybe, maybe, Father was not right about absolutely everything.
“I am so proud of you, little brother.”
Maybe Elijah imagined it, but he could’ve sworn the trembling in Niklaus’s hand calmed at the praise.
Maybe he wasn’t a complete failure of a brother.
“Do you think you can sleep now?”
Niklaus burrowed his head in close to Elijah. Murmured sleepily into his shoulder. “If you’re here.”
Elijah’s hand clasped on top of Niklaus’s chest, over his heart. Felt the steady thread of it beating. Breathed, for the first time since the stranger had come.
Me too, Elijah thought. Me too.