Gone But Never Forgotten

The birth of Astrid mikaelson

The Viking village was cloaked in the stillness of a cold, moonlit night. Inside a modest, secluded cottage at the edge of the settlement, a palpable tension filled the air. Tatia Petrova lay on a bed of furs, her face flushed with exertion and pain as she endured another wave of contractions. Her heart ached with a mix of fear and anticipation, knowing that the child she was about to bring into the world was a result of another forbidden union.

Tatia's heart belonged to Elijah Mikaelson, a noble and honorable man who had always treated her with respect and kindness. Yet, in a moment of vulnerability and confusion, she had found herself in the arms of his brother, Klaus. That single night had changed everything, leaving her with a secret that could shatter the delicate balance of their lives.

"You're doing wonderfully, Tatia," Esther Mikaelson said softly, her experienced hands guiding the labor. Esther's presence was a double-edged sword—both a comfort and a reminder of the family to which Tatia's child belonged.

Tatia's grip on the edge of the bed tightened as another contraction wracked her body. She cried out, her voice filled with both pain and determination. Beside her, Klaus paced anxiously, his usually composed demeanor shattered by concern for Tatia and their unborn child.

Esther looked up at Klaus, her eyes hard. "You must remain calm, Niklaus. This is no time for weakness."

Klaus nodded, trying to steady himself. He approached Tatia, his heart torn between guilt and love. "I'm here, Tatia. You're not alone," he whispered, his voice filled with a rare tenderness.

With a final, powerful push, a newborn's cry pierced the air. Esther deftly caught the baby, quickly wrapping her in a soft cloth. The room seemed to hold its breath as Esther turned to Tatia, a rare, genuine smile on her face despite the circumstances.

"Meet your daughter," she said softly, placing the tiny bundle in Tatia's arms.

Tatia's eyes filled with tears of both joy and sorrow as she gazed down at the little face peeking out from the cloth. "Astrid," she whispered, the name feeling like both a blessing and a burden. "Her name is Astrid."

Klaus looked at the baby with a mixture of awe and overwhelming love. His eyes, usually hardened by the struggles of their world, softened as he gently touched Astrid's tiny hand. "Astrid Mikaelson," he repeated, his voice breaking. "Welcome to the world, my little miracle."

Astrid's cries quieted as she felt the warmth and safety of her mother's embrace. Klaus leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Tatia's forehead and then to his daughter's tiny hand. In that moment, everything else faded away—the power struggles, the forbidden love, the pain. All that mattered was the family they had created.

"We will protect her, always," Klaus vowed, his voice filled with unyielding determination. "She will know love and safety, no matter what."

Tatia nodded, her heart swelling with love for the man beside her and the child in her arms. As she looked into Klaus's eyes, she saw the same promise reflected back at her. In that small, dimly lit cottage, amidst the harsh winter winds, a new light had been born—a light that would shine through the darkness for centuries to come.

But even in this moment of pure love and joy, a shadow of doubt lingered. Tatia knew the truth of her heart belonged to Elijah, and that the love for Klaus, though deep, was complicated and fraught with consequence. She prayed silently that this child, their Astrid, would be a bridge, not a barrier, between the brothers who both held pieces of her heart.