❧ lockwood garden ❧

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The Lockwood drive stretched out before Amalie and she ascended the stone steps toward the grand estate, her arm linked loosely with Jenna's. The warm afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the lawn and the guests tricking in, their laughter and polite murmurs carrying on the breeze.

Jenna had invited her to this Historical Society tea party, and Amalie hadn't hesitated to accept. Jenna was a good friend—kind, oblivious to the supernatural chaos of Mystic Falls, and refreshingly normal. Spending time with her felt almost...human.

"I'm so glad you're here," Jenna said brightly, giving Amalie's arm a quick squeeze. "It's been ages since I had someone to actually enjoy these things with. And who knows?" Her voice took on a conspiratorial lilt. "You might have a little more fun than you're expecting."

Amalie raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? Should I be bracing myself for something?"

Jenna grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Let's just say there's someone here who might make this more interesting. Do you remember Elijah?"

Amalie kept her expression carefully neutral, her tone nonchalant. "Tall, dark, impeccably polite? Rings a bell."

"That's the one!" Jenna beamed as they reached the front door. "I think he might have taken an interest in you. And honestly, who could blame him?"

Amalie chuckled softly, shaking her head as they stepped inside. The grand foyer welcomed them with the soft strains of classical music and the faint clink of glassware. Guests mingled beneath the glittering chandelier, their voices blending into a gentle hum.

Jenna's attention quickly shifted, her gaze lighting up as she spotted Andie Starr, the local news reporter. "Oh, there's Andie! I'll catch up with you in a bit," Jenna said, squeezing Amalie's arm before heading off.

Left to her own devices, Amalie made her way toward the refreshment table. She skimmed over the delicately arranged platters, suppressing an eye roll at the bite-sized offerings that seemed more ornamental than edible. She reached for a glass of champagne, taking a small sip and savoring the faint fizz. It wasn't exactly her drink of choice, but it would do.

Her eyes wandered across the room, and almost instinctively, they found him. Elijah stood near the far wall, his polished demeanor barely masking his growing discomfort as Carol Lockwood chattered away, her smile fixed and unrelenting. Amalie watched with amusement as he nodded at all the appropriate moments, his posture impeccable but his patience clearly wearing thin.

When his gaze caught hers, she couldn't help but smirk, lifting her glass slightly in a silent toast. Elijah's lips twitched in what might have been a plea for rescue, but he endured another moment before finally extricating himself with a graceful excuse.

He crossed the room with practiced ease, his steps measured, and his presence commanding without effort. When he reached her, the faintest glimmer of relief shone in his eyes.

"I hadn't anticipated the endurance required for small talk here," he said in a low murmur, his voice carrying a note of dry humor.

Amalie raised her glass, her smirk deepening. "It's not for the faint of heart. Especially when Carol Lockwood's involved. She could talk the legs off a chair."

A soft laugh escaped him, and he cast a wary glance over his shoulder, as if ensuring Carol wasn't about to reappear. "An apt observation," he said, shaking his head.

She arched an eyebrow, her tone playful. "And here I thought an ancient vampire like you would be used to part chit-chat."

He tilted his head, feigning offense. "Not quite ancient."

"Practically fossilized," she shot back, her grin teasing.

A soft smile curved at the edges of his mouth, and he leaned in slightly, his voice lowering so only she could hear. "It's charming, really, how you manage to reduce centuries into such simple terms."

They shared a quiet laugh, standing close as the rest of the room carried on around them. For a moment, Amalie allowed herself to forget all the complications. Here, with Elijah, everything felt...uncomplicated, even natural.

That didn't last long though as Damon entered the building. Jenna had tried to intercept him at the door, wondering what he was doing there. But then she was shocked when Andie kissed him and said he was her plus one. With Jenna momentarily shocked he made his way straight to where Elijah and Amalie were.

"Damon," Amalie said through clenched teeth.

"Amalie," Damon replied smoothly, giving her a nod before his gaze moved directly to Elijah. With an all-too-innocent look, he extended his hand. "I don't believe we've met yet. Damon Salvatore."

Elijah regarded the outstretched hand with a calm, unreadable expression, his gaze flicking from Damon's face to his hand and back again. After a brief, loaded pause, he offered a mild smile. "Elijah Smith," he introduced himself, pointedly leaving Damon's hand hanging. Despite the formal tone, there was a subtle edge in his voice—a polite warning. And why not? He didn't need to charm everyone here, especially not when they were someone Amalie clearly found insufferable.

Amalie had to stifle a laugh at Elijah's choice of last name, the faintest glint of amusement in her eyes as she looked at him. Smith? It was the most basic alias he could have picked—any more generic and he'd be calling himself John Doe. He could've at least chosen something with a little more flair.

Damon's lips twisted as he took in Elijah's reserved greeting. He retracted his hand, covering the slight with a slow smile. "Smith, huh?" Damon's gaze darted to Amalie with a hint of mischief. "Guess originality isn't his strong suit ," he remarked.

Amalie rolled her eyes. "Oh, I don't know, Damon," she replied smoothly. "Some people don't need a flashy name to make an impression." The retort was subtle, but her eyes sparkled with a defiance Damon didn't miss.

Elijah gave Amalie a small, appreciative smile before turning back to Damon. "I take it you're enjoying the party?" He asked, his tone so flawlessly civil it almost came across as sincere.

"Oh, absolutely," Damon replied, his grin stretching wide. "I mean, who doesn't love mingle with Mystic Falls' finest?"

Amalie raised an eyebrow, biting back a retort as Elijah stepped in, his calm presence a balm against Damon's needling charm. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Damon," Elijah said, his tone smooth and unbothered, though there was an underlying firmness in his gaze. "I'm sure we'll see plenty of each other."

The faint challenge hung in the air between them, unspoken but understood, as Damon's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

With the tension practically tangible between the two men, Amalie quickly found an excuse to get away. She moved around the tea party, mingled with different members of the Historical Society.

Amalie's fingers drummed absently against the edge of her champagne flute as she nodded along to the librarian's stories, trying to keep her attention fully on him. He was enthusiastic, sharing tales of the town's oldest artifacts and his pride in Mystic Falls' collection. And she was genuinely interested; artifacts held pieces of history far more alive than any dusty textbook.

Still, despite herself, her gaze was drawn to Elijah, so she saw when he and Damon left to speak in the study, shutting the door behind them. Though she didn't care enough to listen in, the sharp clatter that followed left her grinning. She imagined Damon was nursing a bruised ego—and probably more...which was much deserved.

It wasn't long before Elijah was striding out of the study, not looking very happy. No doubt, Damon had said something to get on his nerves. Elijah seemed like someone to not handle disrespect very well.

Though the Original's eyes couldn't help but light up when he saw Amalie again. Soon, he was at her side.

"Nice talk with Damon?" Amalie asked innocently.

"Not entirely pleasant, I must admit," he told her with a grimace.

She nodded in understanding and looked him over. He looked just as put together as when he entered the room. The only sign that something had happened at all was a small smear of blood staining the cuff on Elijah's right wrist—Damon was probably still in the study healing and getting cleaned up.

Elijah's gaze swept the room before returning to hers, his expression easing. "It's rather stuffy in here, wouldn't you agree?" He gestured toward the garden beyond the tall French doors, his voice softening. "Shall we?"

Amalie's lips curved into a smile. "I'd love to," she replied, her pulse quickening.

###

The Lockwood garden sprawled in a lush, sunlit oasis of carefully tended greenery, stretching like a sanctuary away from the manor's looming walls. Vibrant flowerbeds bordered the stone pathways, overflowing with foxgloves, hydrangeas, and roses in full bloom, each blossom nodding gently in the soft midday breeze. Around them, tall hedges stood like silent guardians, manicured and precise, offering pockets of privacy within the broader expanse. The sunlight dappled through the delicate lattice of a white pergola, casting intricate shadows that danced along the path with each gentle shift of the breeze.

Beyond the garden's central pathway lay a pond, its surface smooth and glassy, ​​reflecting the cloudless blue sky. Lilies floated lazily across the water, their petals open to the warmth of the sun, while small fish darted beneath the surface, casting ripples that disturbed the tranquility momentarily. Willie trees arched over the far edges, their silvery-green branches swaying. Birdsong filled the air, a melodic reminder of life thriving within this carefully crafted world, and the subtle fragrance of lavender and honeysuckle lingered.

Yet, even with all the garden's natural beauty stretching out before him, Elijah's gaze was drawn not to the flowers or the sunlit pond but to the woman walking beside him. Amalie moved with a grace that seemed to meld effortlessly with their surroundings, her laughter like a gentle breeze against the soft hum of insects and birds. The sunlight caught the curves of her profile, illuminating her hair in soft, golden hues that matched the warmth in her gaze. As she spoke, her words colored the moment with a vitality the garden alone could not provide, a magnetism that seemed to root Elijah's attention entirely on her. The garden was beautiful, certainly—but beside her, it paled in comparison to the vibrance she brought to life.

As they strolled deeper into the garden, the soft rustle of leaves and birdsong around them felt like a quiet world of its own, far removed from the recent dangers they had faced. Amalie slowed her steps, glancing toward Elijah with a touch of hesitation before she spoke. Her expression softened, her eyes warm as they met him.

"Thank you," she began, her voice quiet yet resolute. "For last night. If your witch hadn't stepped in when he did..."

Elijah's gaze remained steady, but his jaw tightened as he nodded. "You don't have to thank me," he replied softly, though beneath the calm of his voice was a sharp undercurrent of anger. The idea of ​​losing her—of any harm coming to her—made his patience thin. He would have to deal with the werewolves, and soon. But for now, he reined himself in, unwilling to let his frustration cloud the peace of this moment. "I'm only grateful he was there in time," he added, before changing the subject with a hint of deliberation. "Have you given any more thought to what I mentioned before?"

"About the spell thing?" Amalie asked, glancing up at him. When he nodded, she bit her lip, clearly searching for the right words. "It was...a lot to take in."

Elijah inclined his head slightly, his gaze unwavering. "And I understand that. I want you to have time to consider it fully." He spoke gently, with that careful respect he always seemed to reserve for her.

She took a measured breath, looking past him for a moment as if weighing her response. "I think I've come to terms with it," she said thoughtfully. "Honestly, there's not much to lose, is there? But I was also thinking about something you said—about your siblings." She hesitated, noting how his expression shifted almost imperceptibly, his gaze becoming somber. "You mentioned their bodies...being unretrievable."

Elijah's footsteps slowed, and he turned to fully face her, the sunlight casting a soft glow over his otherwise unreadable expression. "Yes?" He asked, curiosity laced with a faint sadness. A part of him was also saddened by the fact she was thinking about them. Of course, they were also her soulmates, but they could never be together now.

Amalie tilted her head, her eyes searching his face. "What if...Klaus just told you that to keep you off his back?" Her voice was gentle, hesitant, as though trying to avoid causing him further pain.

Elijah's eyes darkened slightly as he processed her words. "I'm not sure I understand," he replied slowly, though a flicker of uncertainty had begun to spark within him.

"If he thought you might keep searching for them, or try to get them back yourself, then would it be impossible that he lied to you to get you to stop?" Her tone was cautious, as if afraid that voicing the idea would hurt him further.

Elijah's gaze hardened as he considered her theory, his mind turning over the countless times he had trusted Klaus' word, each time with nothing more than the cold certainty of his brother's authority. The idea had been woven into his mind so deeply that he had never allowed himself to question it. And yet, standing here with Amalie, hearing her voice what he had never dared to, he felt a stirring of something he hadn't felt in a long time: hope.

"That would be...a profoundly twisted deception," he said finally. "Even for Klaus." But there was a note of uncertainty, the kind of wavering that only someone as close to his brother as he was could fully recognize.

At that moment, Amalie felt a presence beside her, though unseen by anyone but her. Ana stood beside her, arms crossed and a mischievous smile tugging at her lips as she looked between Amalie and Elijah. "Look at him—the way he's hanging on every word. The man's utterly smitten. I think you've bewitched on Original."

Amalie felt warmth rise to her cheeks, though she tried to ignore Ana. She took a small step closer to Elijah, her hand reaching out to touch his arm in a comforting gesture. "But if it's even a possibility—if there's a chance your family is still out there somewhere—is Klaus being dead really worth it?"

Elijah's gaze met hers, and for a moment, he felt the weight of his centuries lift, the years of loss and resignation crumbling beneath the warmth and conviction in her eyes. There was a part of him—a very large part—that no longer wished to kill his younger brother. He had wanted revenge for so long, and that was his plan all along when Rose had called him originally. But when he saw her, saw Amalie, that wish for revenge disappeared almost instantly. He couldn't kill Klaus. He had to admit, though, that if she weren't here, he would most likely still want to. But she changed everything.

"Wow, Amalie," Ana whispered, feigning astonishment. "Look what you're doing to him. The centuries-old, unshakeable Elijah Mikaelson is looking at you like you're the sun."

Amalie felt Ana's teasing settle into a warm thrill in her chest. She managed to keep her face neutral, but she could feel the small, secret smile pulling at her lips.

They stood there, surrounded by the vivid beauty of the garden, but Elijah's thoughts were only half on his family. Instead, his focus shifted irresistibly to the woman beside him. Amalie stood there, grounding him with her presence and her quiet certainty, her eyes filled with an unspoken promise he couldn't name.

Ana leaned in closer to Amalie, her tone a mix of admiration and amusement. "If you don't kiss him soon, I might just die of boredom. And that would be impressive, considering I'm already dead."

###

Amalie sat curled up in a velvet armchair in the Salvatore parlor, her back pressed against the soft cushions as she absentmindedly sketched in her journal. She was getting truly tired of always being around Damon and Stefan. Sometimes a girl just needed her space. She ran her finger down the edge of the page, studying her recent sketches. She drew pictures to go along with her words. Like when she wrote down what a silver dagger would do to an Original, she drew what she imagined the dagger to look like. She also didn't think much of the simple sketch of Elijah that was on the very last page of the journal. She had drawn that one late at night, when she had first bought the journal. It was a rough sketch, unfinished, she wasn't that familiar with every detail of him. Yet, she couldn't help but think.

With an incredulous shake of her head, she tried to focus on the page again. The whole soulmate thing still felt surreal, but she was warming up to it. It might have helped if the others didn't speak of Klaus as if he were a monster—she's not saying he wasn't, but it would help. Or maybe if she had met the rest of the family herself. Hopefully, she could have that opportunity, and their bodies weren't at the bottom of the ocean like Elijah believed.

The creak of the floorboards jolted her out of her thoughts. Damon and Alaric strolled in, casting her brief glances before turning to Damon's bourbon stash. She observed them, noting their worn expressions.

"Today was a bust," Damon grumbled, slumping down onto the couch with a dramatic sigh.

"Yeah," Alaric muttered. He nodded toward Damon's neck. "How's the throat?"

Damon rubbed the spot where Elijah had stabbed him with a pencil. "Sore," he mumbled, a note of resentment creeping into his tone.

"Yeah. That Elijah's one scary dude...but with nice hair." His comment got a laugh out of Amalie before she could stop herself.

"He's gonna be hard to kill," Damon muttered, his eyes flicking briefly toward Amalie as if to see her reaction.

"Yeah. I'd think twice before I'd trust that dagger and some ashes to do the job," Alaric said. "You're gonna need more info."

Amalie's fingers clenched around her journal, her gaze flicking down to the page where she'd sketched her imagined version of the silver dagger. She kept her face neutral, not wanting to betray the pulse of anger she felt at the thought of them planning Elijah's demise. They had a dagger, clearly, and she knew that if they were to use it on him, he wouldn't take it lightly once he woke up. Her only consolation was in knowing that it wouldn't be permanent; Elijah had reassured her that there was no weapon capable of truly killing an Original, not anymore. She decided to keep that knowledge to herself.

"I'm out of sources," Damon whined.

Amalie looked up, a grin pulling at her lips. "It's not a book report, Damon."

He rolled his eyes, but before he could respond, Alaric changed the topic, his expression shifting. "What's up with you and this news chick?"

"Ooh. She's got spunk, huh?" He asked with a smirk.

"Just don't kill her," Alaric said, running a hand through his hair, exasperated.

"If I did, who would report her death?" Damon quipped, but Alaric's glower softened his smile.

"Just don't do it, all right?" He said, his voice heavy. "She's friends with Jenna, and it's bad enough that I'm lying to her about