Nicholas Mikaelson and the Well

This was written for djjevii

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nicholas Mikaelson remembered her.

Contrary to the lies he told, he remembered his mother. Her gentle warm eyes, and lilting smile, and the smell of spices from her obsession with curry—all he recalled.

He always had.

A part of him knew, the memory was probably fake; created during a time he'd grown desperate for love within the cracked orphanage walls.

Yet, he clung to it.

Every time humanity started slipping through his fingertips, or whenever his life seemed to be ending; like today, he summoned the memory to the forefront of his mind.

His body swayed from side to side, repeating the rocking chairs motions. He stared at the white ceiling painted with various flowers above this spot alone. Cracks and the fading colours revealed the age of them, yet his lips never failed to curl into a smile.

"How is my little moon prince this fine day?"

He had the feeling she always asked that. With a baby gurgle coming from him in response, she nodded as if his reply was real and tapped her chin.

"I understand. I can provide that."

She scooped him into her arms and held him close. "Even a little moon prince needs a hug from time to time doesn't he."

Pain reared its head and snapped his foggy mind out of the memory with a groan.

He tensed his body and pulled forwards. Links clinked. His own groans filled the hollow space and his shoulders strained. The bricks and magic imbued chains refused to release him from their captivity.

Body slumping backwards, his back banged against the weeping bricks and he gasped for breath. In the darkness of the well, with no light from above helping to reveal whether day or night had fallen, despair clung to his heart. Something, he presumed debris, fell into the water with a splash. Nicholas sighed and twisted around—trying to pull once more.

How long had passed since they first tossed him down here. Hours? Days? Perhaps a month? Time didn't feel real down here.

"Hello!"

His own voice replied to him.

"Can anyone hear me? Pl-ease!" He flinched. He sounded hoarse. Alien like or desperate. Both even.

No scraping from above or voices responded to him, and in time, his posture returned to a slump. A mistake, he quickly found.

Burning flesh wafted to his nose. Searing pain flared to blistering and then to scorching levels and screams clung to the back of his throat. Breaths whistled through his teeth and his body quivered in agony. His lips parted and the cries became real. Echoing upwards to the surface and returning to him in haunting waves. He clamped them together again and kicked his body outwards until he laid on his back, floating on the water now laced with-- something. Wolfsbane? Vervain? He couldn't tell. All he knew is it hurt.

Kicking around in the water, his shoes scraped along the bricks until they caught on the opposite side of the narrow well. They slid downwards with force, creating a small splash. Water droplets flew into the air and some landed on his face. He felt blood leak from them. Grunting, he wrapped the chains around his palms. Metal burned into the tender skin. Moans of pain morphed into breathless hisses and he pulled. Inch by inch his body rose and the toes of his shoes buried further into the crevices between the bricks. He continued to pull himself higher until his entire body escaped the toxic water. It wasn't enough. His sodden shirt still touched his body and burned into him. Yet, it was better than before. Or perhaps, the pain had left him too light-headed to notice the full extent of his injuries.

"Help!" His voice wobbled. "Help please!"

Droplets trailed down his cheeks. Whether they were beads of sweat or tears he didn't know.

All he knew was simple. He was a vampire and a werewolf.

"I- I... I don't want to die!" Is all he knew.