This Charming Brat

The man wasn’t the first that he’d served who had that blanket of condescension wrapped around him like a thick fog you could choke on. Most with membership of Emerald City were probably younger than either Magnus or Hector, but unlike the two of them, they were all puffed up with pride about it, seeing it as their purview to put a youngster in their place. It wasn’t done with the well meaning huffiness of Hector (as much as he seemed to try and hide the well meaning bit) or Magnus’ far more obvious care – trying to make sure that his son survived, that he got the life he hadn’t had before. It was smug and irritating and had left Linc puffing as he approached Magnus now, the gripe already on his lips.

He frowned as Magnus seemed to shift out of a stiff pose, his gaze meeting his as he failed to blow off his question like it was actually a joke. The Royals must’ve had enough illegitimate kids over the years to make it a possibility that some random bloke in a bar was related to Magnus by blood. ”You what?” Linc muttered, swallowing hard as he glanced back at the bloke. Surely Magnus wasn’t cracking a joke back, he seemed incapable of it most of the time (unless he’d spent the night drinking his own weight in liquor). ”Some European prince then? That’d explain the attitude, he’s probably used to some servant butterin’ him up.” And that wouldn’t be him. He’d spent too many years doing that under Wesley’s orders, charm people, talk them into lingering after the club shut, don’t apologise when you shut the cell door on them after – they were just food after all.

Linc bristled as Magnus rounded the bar. Alright, let him handle it then. He held up his hands slightly, stepping back as though he was handing the whole thing over. A quick glance down the bar as he did listen to what he was being taught showed the man’s dark eyes on him. It left him squirming, feeling that weight settling on his shoulders as Magnus demonstrated the sort of knowledge he couldn’t possibly have absorbed while he was in the womb, despite his mum’s chronically high blood alcohol. ”Even he’s a princelet, he can wait five minutes…” The way the guy had been puffing, maybe he’d prefer the original way of doing things…

Or not. Shit. He might’ve just been a baby vamp – something the others never failed to remind him of – but he’d heard of the Mikaelsons and respected a reputation like that enough to be stiffening as Magnus whispered the man’s identity in his ear. ”He’s gonna rip it out … shit. You better make the best drink he’s ever had.” And he’d better take off running for the store room, although it probably wouldn’t do more than piss the Original off as he ripped the door off the hinges.

Head down, Linc noted the way Magnus mixed the drink, what bottles he’d taken off the shelf, even the way he’d stirred the drink. Mr Mikaelson hadn’t griped yet, despite his eyes being on them the whole time, that had to mean something. Linc busied himself wiping down the bar where Magnus had prepared the drink as he started over there, watching the pair of them out of the corner of his eye.

His name had cut the boy’s attitude off in an instant at least. Like the vampirism that had begun with them, the Mikaelson reputation had bled out into the world, the wise paying attention to it. Elijah settled his forearms on the edge of the bar, watching the older vampire approach, with the thinnest ghost of a smile on his lips. ”That was quite obvious,” Elijah said dryly. He glanced at the boy again and watched his gaze skitter away, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat under the weight of his gaze. ”He doesn’t seem to have the manner for it.” That might come with time though, like common sense. He’d heard the suggestion in the older man’s voice that his lack of age was also an indicator of just how long it had been since he’d been turned.

The boy was scowling. Obviously the conversation was filtering back to him, stinging an ego that at age always seemed vastly overinflated. Elijah took Magnus’ hand as he turned back, shaking it cordially enough. ”Elijah Mikaelson,” he informed him, although he doubted that Magnus hadn’t been aware of exactly which of the Mikaelsons had turned up at the bar. ”I have crossed paths with Hector, although not for some time.” Magnus’ face was new though. The corners of his mouth curled faintly. ”Yours to teach?” Elijah asked lightly as he sipped his drink. He hummed lightly, it had been made well, something he doubted the boy would’ve achieved, even with the help of Google. ”At that age ego often outstrips common sense. Impertinence becomes a badge of honour for them. Just how old is he, Magnus?” One dark brow rose, another pointed gaze shot the boy’s way before he darted away, discretion being the better part of valour – and his sire being ready enough to play protector for him.

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The boy might just have been the man’s progeny, but there was some regard there that reminded him of the way Niklaus had been with Marcel, a fatherly air that the boy would hopefully take note of. That relationship between father and son didn’t need to be an easy one – his relationship with his own was proof of that. A fine line existing between oppression and teaching that seemed to have been fallen on the right side of. He would have the boy produce the next drink, although one glance at him told Elijah that he might be skittish about it, the cocktail certainly subpar compared to this one. The teachable moment would be there though.

There was almost a pang in his stomach for his own deficiencies in that area. Would he have stepped up for one of his progeny in the same way? A wall between a threat and what part of him had been passed on, solid, rock hewn in face with this man at least – age apparent not just in that diplomatic air and the accent. If he made any further move to teach the young vampire a lesson, it would be through him.

Elijah studied him silently as he glanced away to his son, a huff of amusement driven out of him at his quiet words. Perhaps not suited the job, perhaps it was something that would come in time – and if not, there was always the club upstairs where most were too inebriated to care if their martini was light on the vermouth. ”And you’re teaching him it,” Elijah responded lightly. The amusement dipped at the presumption that followed, but it wasn’t far from the truth and that pinpoint accuracy had his brows furrowing faintly. This was, perhaps, the furthest he had been from the never ending work of keeping his brothers and sister out of trouble.

If the man’s unerring aim hadn’t been apparent a moment before, it was now. Elijah stiffened, the shutters coming down over his expression for a moment as he stared at the man before him, who hadn’t noticed just how far into the minefield he’d stumbled with the comment about his father. Perhaps not intentional, but it still left his throat tight, his grip on the glass tighter than it should’ve been. ”Soft is a mild way of putting,” Elijah said flatly. ”They were indeed different times, although some things don’t change – especially when it comes to my finally.” There was no overt warning in the words, merely a statement of just what responsibilities fell on his shoulders- and just what his brothers might do in a place like this at the mention of their father. He didn’t doubt that the words had only slipped from the man because he knew just which of the Mikaelsons he was dealing with.

He was still magnanimous enough to take the offered hand and introduce himself. If they had cut the tongue from the mouth of every blabbermouth to cross their path the world would have been a silent one long before now. It might have been another lesson for the boy still lingering at the end of the bar, but it wasn’t one he needed to see. What he was hearing would be enough. The laugh slipped out of his Elijah before he swallowed it back. Magnus was self-deprecating, a man who had likely spent centuries fending off such notions – not all were turned when they were still young and pretty. ”Too young to be yours,” he adjusted. ”Unless there truly is something in the water here.” The rumours of that had been around before Henrik had even gone with Niklaus to see the men turn into wolves.

The instructions he’d given for the Vesper might have come back to sting him, but Magnus had come through. The only real bitterness had been on his tongue in regards to the boy, laughter rung out of his sire by it. ”Perhaps in time, he’ll grow out of it,” Elijah murmured, as though he knew what fatherhood of any sort really felt like. He pressed his tongue to his upper lip, glancing down the hallway the boy was vanishing down. Twenty-five, marginally older than he’d been when he’d been turned, although twenty-five then was different to how it was now.

Dark brows rose at Magnus’ mention of real-world example, the equally dark eyes narrowing faintly. It felt as though there were a story there – although that might have been none of his business. ”He’s had a minor one now, at least. I'm sure more will follow – with your guidance.” The world had a tendency to spit those moments at you, fate usually behind those stings. Magnus’ expression had gone soft, revealing his feelings towards the boy.

That edge of regret sharpened in his throat again. Pressing his lips together, Elijah shook his head. ”Not now,” he admitted. There was always still time though. ”I’ve sired plenty in my time, not many have lingered. It didn’t happen here? The accent…” All three involved obviously weren’t from these isles, although these days it was more common for humans to travel vast distances, just a few hours on a plane and you could be just about anywhere. His world had shrunk down to this town though, chances for him to finally father a child of his own resting here, where his brothers had both been gifted with their miracle children.

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Wisely the vampire chose to heed his warning. Stumbling into the minefield of a Mikaelson’s past was something that few survived unscathed. He had steered clear of the subject of Mikael – a man with far less regard for children that were his own blood, than Magnus had for a stray he had chosen to class as his own. Mikael would have slaughtered both without a thought. His focus had always been on eradicating his own blood first, but Mikael had merrily burned his way through New Orleans without a thought of the collateral damage.

Elijah frowned faintly, glancing down the bar and then back, as though his gaze were roving idly. A place like this likely wouldn’t stand for long against him. It would burn to the ground, taking those who remained inside with it – if they survived the sword. The boy would have no hope against any of it and it left a bad taste in his mouth.

His amusement remained in his eyes despite the rest of his expression sobering at Magnus’ question. News of Hope obviously hadn’t reached all quarters of their world, although Elijah doubted it would take long. One of the Original family producing children. Perhaps the whispers of it had been what had drawn the de Martels to the town. They had a fresh reason to try and wipe them all out. More Mikaelsons meant more lines, more dominance over their kind, and a possible contender to the throne of the Strix, not that he ever imagined Hope would choose a life like that. His brows furrowed faintly, his eyes locking on Magnus’ as they widened. ”Not quite like us..” It seemed the only reason Niklaus had been able to was the unlocking of his hybrid side, but how many of those his brother was now turning would be able to do the same?

How many vampires would choose to bring a life into this world knowing it was likely to be over in a heartbeat for them? Turning a child was a cruelty, one few had ever performed as far as he knew, waiting for them to grow up would be a risk, as so much was in their world. Would Magnus have chosen a child of his own over the boy? Would Niklaus have taken in Marcellus if Hope had come first? Definitely. It seemed to him as though neither man would be able to tolerate cruelty of any sort.

”Quite,” Elijah murmured in agreement, accepting the touch to his upper arm. Niklaus might have had more fatherly instinct, but his temper was also far shorter. He imagined there would be a conversation at the end of the night, a reminder to the boy that there were things that came into this bar that you had to be civil to, especially when you were barely out of diapers in their world.

There were plenty he had brought into their world himself, not all of them had been taken care of past vampire toddlerhood. He couldn’t remember the last he had bonded with as Magnus had with his son. Elijah let out another low laugh, one that rapidly trailed off. ”I should imagine so. There were so few close to my age.” So few created in those early years. They hadn’t known it was possible until they had come across the de Martels and then it had taken time for their plague to spread across the world. There were times when he felt centuries older than his own siblings, but that came with the weight they placed upon his shoulders.

After they had sent the de Martels fleeing with Mikael hopefully upon their trail instead of his own children’s they had scuttled away across Europe, occasionally scattering before they were inevitably drawn back together like magnets, a pattern that they would repeat endlessly right up until now. England had been a spot he had returned to time and again, although the failure of the ritual there had soured that for a time.

A faint frown echoed the expression on Magnus’ face as the vampire explained where he had found the boy. "But you did so in an attempt to save his life. There is nothing to regret in that,” he assured him. Elijah softened slightly towards the boy. ”Nests like that should be stomped out.” Boiled out like ants, not just for the lives they unnecessarily took, but for the damage they could do their kind. It brought attention and not just the well intentioned sort of the man before him. ”I hope he appreciates what was done for him.” His expression softened, another glance cast down the bar. Acceptance took time, appreciation of this gift longer still in some cases.

Elijah lifted his glass, half draining what remained in it as Magnus continued his story, filling in details on a life that had stretched just a few hundred years less than his own. He set it down with a light clink on the bar, his eyes flicking up to the man. Edward the Second. There had been plenty of unrest at the time, knights fighting on fronts in their own country as well as abroad. He had slipped amongst it all. Not more than a couple of decades before Magnus had been turned he had been forced to run again from those he had brought together, Mikael again on his tail. Seeking kinder climates he had travelled to England and had brushed up against the court for a short time.

”Would you perhaps like to sit?” he suggested to Magnus without answering the question yet. He lifted his chin towards the back of the bar. ”Perhaps your son can refresh our drinks while we talk of those times.” He waited for the vampire to round the bar before he turned slightly, propping his arm against the edge of the bar. ”Serve? No. Although as a nobleman I still found some welcome, especially with the King and his wife. Philippa was it not?” Philippa whose slender neck had trembled beneath the kiss of his fangs. Elijah’s expression turned pensive as he thought of her. ”Was it while serving the king that you were…?” Elijah inclined his head. That you were turned. Was the connection that simple? Considering the spider’s web snare of their world it was unlikely.

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If only he’d had quite as noble a reason for turning the queen as Magnus had for turning the boy, or for that matter, as Niklaus did for taking so long to give what Marcel had wanted for years, to become a vampire. Philippa had been a moment of disregard for what come of the decision to turn someone. Giving added power and a means of viciousness to those already grasping both had been asking for the sort of trouble he had cautioned his siblings against for years. A vampire queen, one whose husband was already doing his utmost to control the whole of the British Isles. It should have brought attention upon them all, but he had been lucky. The man beside him, perhaps, had not.

Elijah watched him as he rounded the bar, expecting Magnus to light up as though he had been gifted with something other than the news that it was the fault of a Mikaelson – the most noble and, perhaps, most respected of them – that his mortal life had been taken from him. Without that decision the boy would not have had his rescuer to sweep in to save him, but perhaps he wouldn’t have been in the hands of those things in the first place. Single moments in a life like theirs could create consequences that rippled for centuries instead of mere minutes.

Magnus had probably believed that any twists in his tale had passed long ago. He knew how he had been turned, had likely known what had happened to his sire too – if he was correct in his thinking and Philippa had chosen to pass that gift on to someone other than her husband. The knight rounded the bar, indicating to his son to do as he’d asked and refill their drinks. There was no argument this time, just a faint crease between the boy’s brows as he began to fetch bottles from the shelves behind the bar again, repeating the steps his father had shown him a short time before.

As though pleased with the elevation garnered by his invitation, Magnus sat beside him, puffing up proudly. Elijah did the opposite, curling towards the bar instead, as though protecting himself from any reason that might come. It was Magnus who acted as though he had received the blow instead. ”Yes, Edward. I spent more time in an audience with the queen than the King.” At some point in their history, it appeared as though the same were true for Magnus. Despite his almost familial connection with the King, there had been something more with Philippa.

”I suspected so,” Elijah admitted quietly. ”I imagine you have realised that I was the one to turn her.” That quick crack of her neck sending out those ripples that continued to shake lives now. Magnus could have attempted to drive the empty glass through his heart for what he had done, Elijah supposed he wouldn’t have blamed him for it, although Magnus would have paid for his impudence. Instead he was clapping a hand against his back. A sign of forgiveness? Perhaps.

He watched the boy slide down the bar and set the fresh glasses down. Linc swept them up, only lingering a moment longer than necessary. Elijah waited for him to step away. ”One demanding degree,” he said lightly when they were along again. There were more old vampires in this town than he had expected – after all this time there should have been few left, although with age came strength, and occasionally wisdom. ”I had come to their court to bargain on behalf of David the Second. He had inherited the throne from his father Robert the Bruce just a few years before. There were some unhappy with his inheriting of the throne. Edward Balliol, with some English lords behind him deciding to invade and managed to start another war of Scottish independence.” Just as they had every other time, the Scots had failed.

Elijah sipped from his glass, knowing the next part would be the hardest to hear. ”Officially Edward had forbidden them from invading, I had hoped he could be persuaded to do more than write a strongly worded letter. I was encouraged to speak to the queen instead. Unfortunately, in attempting to sway the court with some judicious compulsion, she learned what I was. Perhaps foolishly, I agreed to turn her in return for her convincing her husband to bring Balliol and his lords to heel. In the end I failed, and the queen got what she desired. I should have learned long before not to allow a woman to wrap me so completely around her finger.” Allowing her to blackmail him into making her a vampire had been as foolish as believing that Scotland could be independent in the first place. ”I take it I am not the only one she played?” He winged a brow at the man beside him. Something in Magnus’ demeanour muddied the impression of whether or not his turning had been entirely unwilling.

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