The Spare Salvatore

Bourbon splashed against crystal as Damon poured his fourth - or was it fifth? - drink of the evening. The boarding house creaked around him, its familiar warmth somehow hollow now that Stefan and Elena were gone. Even the firelight seemed wrong, catching reflections that moved just a little too deliberately in the window panes.

"Cheers to freedom," he announced to the empty room, his voice sharp with false bravado. "May it be worth the price of admission."

The bourbon tasted like ash on his tongue.

A shadow detached itself from the corner - too graceful to be natural, too deliberate to be threatening. Elijah emerged like old money given form, his presence making the room feel simultaneously smaller and more significant.

"Drinking alone?" The Original's voice carried casual interest. "How terribly symbolic."

"Come to gloat?" Damon didn't turn around, but his grip tightened on his glass. "Or did your brother send you to change my mind?"

"Actually," crystal clinked as Elijah helped himself to the bourbon, his movements carrying that ancient grace that made vampires look clumsy in comparison, "I came entirely of my own accord. You've made yourself... fascinating."

That made Damon turn. "Fascinating?" His laugh held an edge of hysteria. "The noble Original, fascinated by the spare Salvatore? Now that's a joke worth drinking to."

"In a thousand years," Elijah settled into a chair with fluid elegance, "do you know how many have refused my brother's direct offer?"

"Let me guess - I'm the first?" Damon's attempt at sarcasm couldn't quite hide his genuine curiosity.

"No," Elijah's smile was sharp with ancient memory. "You're the third. And that..." he paused, something terrible and wonderful dancing in his eyes, "that makes you worth understanding."

The shadows in the corners seemed to pulse with interest as Elijah continued.

"The first was a vampire I turned myself - Alexander - not your brother, the doppelganger, but another. A magnificent creature who thought freedom was worth more than perfection." His smile turned predatory. "Would you like to know what happened to him?"

"Do I have a choice?" Damon's voice cracked slightly on the last word.

"There's always a choice, Damon," Elijah's eyes reflected something vast and ancient in the firelight. "That's rather the point. The real question is... are you prepared to understand the consequences of yours?"

The firelight cast strange shadows as Elijah leaned forward, every movement deliberate as aged wine.

Taking Damon's silence as beckoning, Elijah continued.

"Alexander was..." he paused, selecting words like weapons, "extraordinary. Even as a human, he understood darkness in ways that made vampirism seem almost redundant. When I turned him, it wasn't to create a monster - it was to preserve something that already existed perfectly formed."

Damon tossed back his bourbon, the liquid burning less than the implications in Elijah's voice. "Sounds like someone your brother would have loved to add to his collection."

"Oh, he did try," Elijah's smile was sharp with memory. "Offered Alexander exactly what he offered you - perfect preservation of his beautiful darkness. No need to pretend, no need to change..." The Original's eyes gleamed. "No need to be anything but exactly what he was."

"You have to understand," he began, swirling his bourbon thoughtfully, "my brother doesn't simply make offers - he reveals truths you've always known but never acknowledged. When he approached Alexander, it wasn't with promises or threats. It was with... understanding."

"Imagine someone looking at you - truly looking - and seeing not just what you are, but what you could be. Vali stood before Alexander in his study one night, and simply... appreciated him.

Spoke of how beautifully Alexander understood violence, how perfectly he had mastered the art of cruelty. Not judging, not condemning - just pure, genuine acknowledgment."

"'You see it, don't you?' my brother asked him," Elijah's voice took on an almost hypnotic quality. "'How every death can be a masterpiece, how suffering can transcend mere pain to become something sublime. You understand that darkness isn't just an urge to be controlled - it's an art to be perfected.'"

"He showed Alexander visions - not of power or dominion, but of perfect understanding. Moments where he wouldn't have to pretend remorse, wouldn't have to hide his appreciation for the beauty in brutality. A state of existence where his darkness wouldn't be a burden to bear, but a gift to be celebrated."

"That's my brother's true power," Elijah's eyes gleamed. "He doesn't offer you what you want - he offers you what you are, perfectly preserved. No more masks, no more pretending to be less than what you know yourself to be. Just pure, unrestrained truth."

The shadows in the corners writhed like living things as Elijah continued.

"But Alexander..." he chuckled, the sound carrying centuries of dark amusement, "Alexander laughed. Said he'd rather be imperfect and unpredictable than pristine and predictable, even at the cost of acceptance. Sound familiar?"

"Let me guess," Damon's voice carried forced lightness, "didn't end well for him?"

"That depends entirely on your definition of 'well'," Elijah swirled his bourbon, the liquid catching impossible patterns in the firelight.

"You see, Alexander thought refusing meant escaping. He didn't understand that sometimes..." his smile turned predatory, "sometimes the cage you choose is worse than the one you reject."

"It is difficult to truly explain, as someone who hasn't experienced it, but from what I could gather, it is like this. After one refuses the of understanding my brother offers everything else starts to feel... hollow.

Colors seem less vibrant, sensations less intense. Not because he's cursed you, but because once you've been truly seen, truly understood... nothing else quite compares to that feeling of acceptance. Of being loved like that."

"It is what drove Alexander mad," Elijah concluded softly. "Not the losing of power or position, but the absence of that moment of perfect acceptance. Once you've experienced someone looking at your darkest truth and finding it beautiful... well, everything else is just pale imitation, isn't it?"

The boarding house creaked softly as Damon absorbed this, understanding dawning in his eyes about why even his bourbon tasted like ash since his refusal.

"You see, Alexander's descent was... methodical in its desperation. The first decade, he tried conventional rebellions - turning entire villages, creating armies of newborn vampires. Each massacre more elaborate than the last, staging his kills like theater productions for my brother to find."

"When that proved insufficient to fill the void, he turned to more... creative pursuits. He began collecting rare blood types, mixing them with ancient wines and vampire venom. Created cocktails that could drive immortals mad with pleasure or pain. But even that began to feel hollow."

"The second decade," Elijah's voice carried dark appreciation, "he discovered pain. Not simple torture, but elevating suffering into an art form.

He learned to keep victims alive for months, their agony preserved like fine wine. He became famous in certain circles for his ability to extend a single death into years of exquisite torment."

"By the third decade," Elijah swirled his bourbon thoughtfully, "he turned to blood magic. Started experimenting with ritual sacrifices, trying to achieve the same intensity he'd rejected.

He would drain entire bloodlines in specific patterns, turning their deaths into magical formulae. Each ritual more complex than the last, each failure driving him further into obsession."

"The fourth decade brought demon blood into his experiments. He began mixing it with his victims' blood, creating hybrids that shouldn't exist. Creatures caught between life and death, their very existence an affront to nature. But even their suffering couldn't match what he'd rejected."

"In his fifth decade," Elijah's voice dropped lower, "he discovered ancient texts about soul manipulation. Started collecting essence instead of just blood.

He learned to extract memories, emotions, even fragments of identity from his victims. Created tapestries of stolen moments, trying to weave together something as intense as what he'd lost."

"The sixth decade," Elijah's smile turned sharp, "he turned to pleasure rather than pain. Built elaborate pleasure palaces where vampires could experience every conceivable sensation.

Mixed blood with exotic drugs, created orgies that lasted months. But even in ecstasy, he couldn't find what he sought."

"Seven decades in," Elijah continued, his eyes reflecting firelight and ancient horror, "he began experimenting on himself.

Started replacing parts of his own body with demon flesh, infusing his blood with dark magic. By then, he barely looked human - more a patchwork of supernatural parts held together by desperate will."

"The eighth decade brought madness," Elijah's voice carried something like pity. "He started trying to replicate my brother's power through increasingly deranged methods.

Drinking the blood of ancient vampires, attempting to forge his own version of the mark through ritual scarification. Attempting to feel, that closeness he felt when my brother accepted him, that moment again where his King appreciated his existence.

But as you would expect, each ended in another failure that only caused drive towards more extreme attempts."

"And the ninth decade," Elijah concluded softly, "that's when he finally broke. Realized that everything he'd done - every experiment, every atrocity, every attempt at transcendence - had just been pale imitations of what he'd rejected. That's when he went to my brother, ready to accept what he'd once refused."

The fire crackled ominously as Damon absorbed this.

"And Vali turned him away," he said quietly, understanding dawning in his eyes.

"Indeed," Elijah's smile was terrible in its beauty. "Because by then, Alexander had proven something crucial - that freedom without purpose is just another form of prison. Each desperate attempt to prove his choice meaningful had only made it more hollow."

"That's when he decided to take by force what wouldn't be freely given," Elijah's eyes gleamed with dark memory. "But that... that's another level of horror entirely."

The fire cast writhing shadows as Elijah's expression darkened.

"Alexander's final descent began with a revelation - if he couldn't earn what he'd rejected, perhaps he could take it. He spent the next five years gathering every scrap of forbidden knowledge about my brother's power. Not just the mark, but the very nature of what Vali had become."

"He started with the witches," Elijah's voice carried dark appreciation. "Found thirteen covens whose bloodlines traced back to the creation of the Other Side itself. Convinced them that together, they could bind a power even nature feared. The price?" His smile turned sharp. "Just their ancestral magic, their children's futures, and their own souls."

The boarding house creaked ominously as he continued.

"Then came the demon contracts. Not just deals - he literally carved infernal contracts into his own flesh, letting Hell's power remake him from the inside out. Three arch-demons agreed to bind themselves to his form, their smokeless fire turning his blood to liquid darkness. By then, he wasn't even recognizable as the vampire I'd turned."

"The preparations took four years," Elijah's eyes reflected firelight and ancient horror. "He chose Prague because three ley lines converged beneath the city's heart. Spent months laying groundwork - sacrificing nine hundred and ninety-nine souls at precise moments, their deaths forming patterns that made reality itself shudder."

"The ritual site was a masterpiece of forbidden geometry," Elijah's voice dropped lower, making Damon lean in despite himself. "Circles of power drawn in the blood of immortals, symbols that burned mortal eyes to behold. The very air felt wrong there, like reality was already beginning to tear."

"When my brother arrived," Elijah paused, choosing his words carefully, "Alexander had everything in place. The bound demons writhed within his transformed flesh, their power joining with the sacrificial energy he'd gathered. The witch covens chanted in languages that made reality bleed, while Hell's fire forged bonds that could theoretically cage even the mark's power."

"For one perfect moment," his voice carried terrible wonder, "it almost worked. Reality bent exactly as Alexander had calculated. The chains of hellfire began to bind, the sacrificial patterns aligned, and the power he'd gathered over nine decades surged toward its intended purpose."

The shadows seemed to hold their breath as Elijah described what happened next.

"Vali let him think he'd succeeded. Let him feel that moment of triumph, of believing he'd actually managed to bind what should never be bound. And then..." his smile was beautiful and terrible, "then he showed Alexander exactly why some powers can't be stolen."

"He didn't just destroy Alexander's work - he used it. Turned ninety years of obsessive preparation into the perfect prison for its creator. The demon contracts? Inverted, trapping their power within Alexander's essence. The sacrificial patterns? Rewoven into chains that bound not flesh, but understanding itself."

"The witches?" Elijah's voice carried something between pity and satisfaction. "Their bloodlines still carry the memory in their very bones - a warning about challenging forces beyond comprehension. Their magic turned inside out, their power redirected to fuel something far worse than death."

"And Alexander himself?" The fire popped ominously. "He exists now in a state of perpetual revelation. Every moment of every day, he experiences that final understanding - when he realized that all his gathered power, all his stolen knowledge, was nothing compared to what he'd tried to take."

"That's why his story matters, Damon," Elijah concluded softly. "Not just as a warning about defying my brother, but as an object lesson about the difference between taking and earning power. Alexander spent ninety years learning everything except the one truth that mattered - some things can only be given freely, never taken by force."

The night pressed closer around them as Damon absorbed this horror story masquerading as a lesson. The bourbon in his glass caught impossible reflections as he considered his own rejection of Vali's offer - and wondered what path he might choose that wouldn't lead to either Alexander's fate or simple submission.

"And the second one?" he asked finally, his voice steady despite the weight of what he'd heard. "I'm guessing they found a better way?"

"Indeed," Elijah's smile shifted to something almost gentle. "Would you like to hear how she managed what Alexander never could - true understanding without submission?"

Damon, though hesitant after what he heard, nodded.

"Sage," Elijah began, his voice carrying something like reverence, "was a revelation even before she was turned. A pit fighter who understood violence as art, who saw beauty in the darkest aspects of human nature. She didn't just survive in brutality - she danced in it."

"She was turned by your brother?" Damon asked, refilling his glass.

"By Finn," Elijah's expression softened with ancient memory. "A brother you haven't met yet. The oldest brother, even older than Vali, and perhaps the most complex of us all. Where most saw only savagery in Sage's nature, Finn saw... poetry."

"Another Original?" Damon's eyebrows rose. "Just how many of you are there?"

"More than you've encountered," Elijah's smile held secrets. "Though that's a tale for another time. What matters is that Sage understood something about existence that made her... unique."

The boarding house creaked softly as Elijah leaned forward, his voice dropping to an almost intimate tone.

"What truly set Sage apart wasn't just her refusal of perfection - it was her understanding of what that refusal could mean. She turned freedom into an art form, each decade a new masterpiece of possibility."

"I'm guessing your brother wasn't exactly thrilled about someone slipping through his fingers," Damon observed, pouring himself another drink to mask his fascination.

"On the contrary," Elijah's smile held ancient amusement. "Vali was... entertained. You see, where Alexander's defiance was born of fear and your rejection stems from principle, Sage's choice created something entirely new. She became a variable even he couldn't easily predict."

"She would appear at court unannounced, each visit a performance in itself. Once she arrived drenched in the blood of a demon lord, not as a show of power, but because she'd discovered a new form of combat that made violence sing. Another time she came bearing knowledge of death rituals that made even the oldest vampires pause in appreciation."

"But it wasn't just violence she explored," Elijah's eyes gleamed with remembered wonder. "She learned to paint with shadows, to compose symphonies that could drive mortals mad with beauty. She discovered ways to make pleasure and pain transcend their normal boundaries."

"And your brother just... let her?" Damon couldn't hide his disbelief.

"Let her?" Elijah laughed softly. "He encouraged her. Every few decades, he would send her challenges - not tests of loyalty, but opportunities for evolution. 'Show me something new,' he would say. 'Show me what freedom can become when it has purpose.'"

"After three centuries of constant evolution, of becoming things no one had imagined possible, she returned to court one last time. Not broken or desperate like Alexander, but... complete. She had crafted herself into something entirely new - something that even Vali found worthy of true respect."

"She chose preservation then?" Damon asked, though his voice suggested he already knew the answer.

"She chose transcendence," Elijah corrected gently. "When she finally accepted my brother's offer, it wasn't surrender - it was victory. She had proven that there were paths to perfection he hadn't imagined, ways of existing he hadn't considered."

"And now?" Damon's voice carried carefully controlled interest.

"Now she exists in his collection," Elijah's smile turned knowing, "but not as a trophy or a cautionary tale. She is proof that freedom, when wielded with sufficient creativity, can be more interesting than mere preservation or defiance."

The shadows seemed to lean closer as Elijah fixed Damon with an intense stare.

"That's why I'm here, Damon. Not because you refused like Alexander, but because you might understand like Sage. The question isn't whether you'll break or submit - it's what you'll become now that you've rejected the obvious path."

"And what exactly are you suggesting?" Damon asked, his voice steady despite the weight of possibility pressing down around them.

"I'm suggesting," Elijah rose with fluid grace, straightening his immaculate suit, "that perhaps you might be interested in learning how to make freedom into something worth watching. After all," his smile showed too many teeth, "eternity is a long time to spend simply being contrary."

The night deepened around them as Damon considered this offer - not of perfection or submission, but of understanding how to make his choice into something that even the King of Vampires might find... fascinating.

"I'm listening," Damon said finally, and Elijah's smile widened with satisfaction.

"Good," he replied, pouring them both fresh drinks. "Then let me tell you about the possibilities that exist between defiance and submission. About ways of being that even my brother finds... worthy of attention."

The shadows danced with anticipation as another piece of their endless game fell into place, and Damon began to understand that perhaps rejection was only the beginning of his story.

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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!

So, it seems Elijah is taking Damon under his wing. 

What do you guys think of that?

Also, how did you guys find the stories of Alexander and Sage?

Do please tell me if you found them interesting.

Well, again I hope you enjoyed, do please comment and review if you haven't,

And I hope to see you all later,

Bye!)