After more than five hundred years, Stefan didn't think he should be afraid of the dark, but something about this place unnerved him. They were deep underground in an old reservoir-water hadn't been stored here for years, but the stone was still damp and clammy, moss spotting its surface. Dim light filtered down from above, just enough to navigate by.
"It's like some kind of pagan underworld," Alaric said, wonderingly.
Stefan smiled weakly in acknowledgment but didn't reply. It was so quiet here, just the soft sound of their footsteps and a steady drip of water, somewhere out in the dark. The heavy graveyard scent of the wet stone overlaid everything, and the echo distorted sound, making it impossible for Stefan to tell if there were any noises or smells that didn't belong.
The werewolves didn't like it. They were interspersed among the humans, whining softly in protest, their tails down and their ears back unhappily. Bonnie, striding along just behind Elena, had her hand on Zander's back, her fingers twined in his thick white fur. Stefan wasn't sure who was reassuring whom.
This was Bonnie and Elena's mission, and Stefan hoped that they were right, that Solomon was here somewhere, not in Trinity's body back in Dalcrest. The tightness in Jack's face said that he was taking a lot on faith and wasn't happy about it. "Every moment that we waste here, Trinity could be murdering innocent people," he muttered to Meredith under his breath, but Stefan, with his sharp vampiric senses, heard him.
When Elena had told him that she and Bonnie believed they knew where the real Solomon was hidden-in an abandoned underground reservoir outside a small town called Stag's Crossing, about forty miles from Dalcrest-Stefan had hesitated.
But now, watching brave, beautiful Elena following a trail only she could see, Stefan had faith in her. Elena always came through.
It was getting colder, he realized suddenly. Frost crunched under his heels. Meredith, usually so sure-footed, slipped and swore as she struggled to regain her balance. The wolves drew closer to the humans, and Tristan let out an uneasy whine.
They rounded a corner, and something moved ahead of them in the dim light. Matt flicked up his crossbow and shot without hesitating.
The crossbow bolt stopped in midair and clattered to the ground.
Stefan tried to leap forward and found that, just like at the Plantation Museum, his muscles refused to obey him. The others in front of him were equally still, Zander frozen with one paw raised, Bonnie in the act of turning her head to look toward Elena.
Solomon stepped out of the darkness.
He was not, Stefan thought with a shock of surprise, particularly impressive. At first glance, he was a small, almost timid-looking man, the type of person you might pass on the street without a second look. Nothing like handsome Gabriel Dalton or tall, sweet-faced Trinity. His light brown hair straggled down past his ears, and his shoulders were hunched. Were it not for the Power that held them all helpless, Solomon would have been easy to underestimate.
Then he looked up and his eyes flashed golden in the darkness, and Stefan knew this was him. Those eyes were full of cold intelligence and pure malice, the eyes of something slimy and primeval that had watched from under a rock for countless millennia as civilizations rose and fell.
Solomon stepped closer to them, closer to Elena, and Stefan went cold with dread.
His worst fears were being realized, and there was nothing Stefan could do about it. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He could barely breathe. All he could do was watch as everything that mattered to him was about to be destroyed.
"A pretty girl," Solomon said, his voice dry and rasping, and reached a hand out to touch Elena's face.
Stefan wanted to scream with rage, wanted to strike Solomon and knock him back, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't move.
Almost gently, Solomon traced a finger over Elena's cheekbones, over her soft lips, across her delicate chin. And everywhere he touched, Elena began to bleed, tiny droplets coming through her skin and running down the surface of her face. Stefan could smell the richness of Elena's blood everywhere, and his canines throbbed and lengthened against his will.
"Lovely," Solomon said approvingly. He stroked his fingers through Elena's blood, smearing it in feathery patterns across her face. "Perfect."
There were footsteps coming toward them, and Solomon looked up, his golden eyes sharp. Stefan's hopes rose for a second. Maybe this was someone who could help them.
"There you are," Solomon said approvingly, and Stefan's heart sank again. Even though he couldn't see her yet, he knew who it was. Trinity. Whatever was left of her, fully in thrall to this wicked Old One.
Please, not Elena. Let her live, he prayed to the God he had believed in unquestioningly as a human. A stream of blood ran down Elena's chin, dripping to stain her shirt. She was terribly pale.
Beyond Elena, he could see Solomon, his golden eyes following Trinity. She hesitated directly behind Stefan, then passed him by. A moment later there was the sound of skin striking skin and a steady trickle of liquid hitting the stone floor. Blood, Stefan realized with horror, smelling the coppery, rich scent. Trinity had hurt someone, but he didn't know who.
Solomon smiled. "Come here," he ordered.
Trinity walked straight to Solomon and stood before him, her hands folded in front of her and her face upturned to his in a parody of an obedient child. Golden eyes gazed into golden eyes, and Solomon's smile broadened.
"Hunters," he said slowly. "Your old friends. Which shall we kill first?" He looked from one side of the group to the other, slowly, and then nodded. "Jack, of course." His gaze narrowed on the hunter, next to Stefan. "I don't trust him."
Trinity came back toward them, her shoulder brushing Stefan's as she stretched to reach Jack's throat. She gave a soft sound of satisfaction as her teeth pierced his vein. Stefan could smell her now. She stank revoltingly of old blood and sweat.
Solomon stretched out a hand toward Elena again, his fingernails long and black with filth. Tracing one across Elena's collarbone, he sighed theatrically. "So pretty," he said again. "I'd like to keep you, little Guardian, make you mine." Where his finger traced, Elena's skin split open, blood pouring out over her collarbone, down across her chest, staining her shirt with gore. "Sadly, though, I think I should get rid of you now. Your blood is too much a danger to me," Solomon finished quietly.
Staring helplessly straight ahead, Stefan wanted to die. He would gladly die, if it would protect Elena.
Elena's arm quivered.
At first Stefan thought it was an illusion of the dim, wavery light. But then Bonnie blinked, a slow, definite blink. They were still touching, he realized. They were working together, in the same way that they had managed to work together to locate Solomon.
Elena's eyes flicked to meet Stefan's, clear, brilliant blue despite the blood running down her face. In them he could read her message: Be ready.
It was so cold that the first touch of warmth spreading inside him felt like fire. He knew without questioning that it came from Elena.
Trinity was feeding from Jack beside him, making thick slurping noises. Solomon glanced away from Elena for a moment, watching whatever horror his puppet was perpetrating, and then turned his gaze back to her, drawing a knife from a sheath at his waist. Stefan recognized it: It had once been Trinity's. A hunter's knife.
The burning warmth filled his body. Stefan knew he would only get this one chance, and that only if he were very lucky. Solomon pressed the knife slowly against Elena's throat. Suddenly, Stefan sucked in a breath, all his muscles screaming in protest as he forced them to move at once. Lunging forward with a massive effort, Stefan raised his machete and brought it across Solomon's neck.
Solomon's body fell slowly and as it landed, the ice beneath him cracked. For a long moment, everything was silent. Then Trinity fell backward to the ground and began to sob.
Stefan couldn't look away from Solomon, a small skinny body on the cold stone floor. He looked so inconsequential. How many people had he sent out to the world to dance at his command? Jack had been right: Solomon left no trace, because he didn't need to be there to destroy.
When Stefan finally tore his eyes away, he saw that Trinity was kneeling next to Jack, his head cradled in her hands. "I'm so sorry," she sobbed, her eyes their normal, untroubled blue. "Oh, my God. I don't ... it's all like a dream. A nightmare."
"It's okay, Trinity," Jack reassured her. Blood was still streaming from the bite on his neck, but he wiped it away. "It's all going to be all right."
And then Elena was in Stefan's arms, whispering, "We did it, we did it," kissing his face and holding him so tight he thought she might never let him go. The open cut on her collarbone was barely beginning to clot. Stefan automatically bit his own wrist and held it out for her.
"Drink," he said. She bent to suck at his wrist, and he watched her affectionately. "You did it," he told her. "You and Bonnie." He could feel the glorious, thankful strength of Elena, and he lost himself in it, feeling his own triumph and relief echoed back to him.
We're free at last, he told her silently. We can finally live in peace.
#TVD11StakingSolomon
