Tangled Fate

The Dinner Party

April 3, 2010

The interior of the lake house was quiet, the only sound the rhythmic ticking of a clock and the soft rustle of aged paper. Elena sat tucked into the corner of the sofa, her charcoal grey V-neck sweater pulled tight over a delicate white lace-trimmed camisole. She shifted her weight, the dark-wash denim of her jeans brushing against the mid-calf brown leather boots she still wore, the distinctive side zippers catching the dim light of the morning.

Spread across her lap was one of Johnathan Gilbert's journals, its leather cover cracked with age. She traced the elegant, frantic script with her fingertip, her breath hitching as she read the entry from over a century ago.

"With the dying embers of the fire at Fell's Church, the scourge of the vampires had passed." the diary recounted. "And though war raged all around us, our town was safe from the demons of the night... Or so we thought."

Elena turned the page, the parchment feeling brittle and dangerously thin between her fingers. Her interest sharpened into a cold, focused dread as the narrative took a darker turn.

"For the monsters we drove to their fiery deaths had begat new monsters." she read, her heart beginning to thud against her ribs. "I knew I was about to die. You cannot run from a vampire. I saw the vampire who killed me. I recognised him."

The next words felt like a physical blow, stealing the air from her lungs.

"It was Stefan Salvatore."

Elena's hand froze on the page. Her head snapped up, her expression a mask of pure, unadulterated shock. Through the window, the lake stretched out in a serene, shimmering blue, completely at odds with the horror written in her lap.

Her gaze locked onto Stefan. He was standing out on the dock, his silhouette framed against the water—the same man she loved, yet suddenly a stranger through the eyes of her ancestor. She watched him, the journal heavy in her hands, as the ghost of Johnathan Gilbert's accusation echoed in the silent room.

Outside, Stefan stood at the edge of the deck, watching as the stone he'd skipped sliced across the surface of the lake. It moved with unnatural speed and precision, a clear by-product of his vampire strength, before finally sinking into the depths. He kept his mobile phone pressed to his ear, his gaze flickering back toward the lake house where Elena was just visible through the window, before he turned his attention back to the horizon.

"Tyler Lockwood ran away from home last night." Damon's voice came through the line, sounding uncharacteristically cheerful.

Stefan's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "How do you know that?"

"Well, I heard it from Sheriff Forbes, who heard it from a very distraught Carol Lockwood." Damon replied breezily. "Which means our werewolf chapter is officially closed, bringing us to our next order of business.,,"

"Killing Elijah." Stefan finished for him, his tone heavy with the weight of the task.

"Exactly."

Stefan had always played the role of the voice of reason, and he wasn't about to stop now. "It's not going to be easy, Damon. He's crafty."

"Well, I've got a crafty little dagger that says otherwise." Damon countered.

"He's an Original." Stefan reminded him, the warning clear in his voice. "We have no idea what that actually encompasses or what kind of power we're dealing with."

"Oh, trust me, Stefan. I'm going to dot all my 'i's and cross all my 't's, or however that goes. I don't want any surprises this time."

Stefan let out a breath, genuinely taken aback by his brother's uncharacteristic focus. "Wow. Damon, tell me you're actually going to be careful for once?"