Blue ▹ The Originals [2]

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
FAMLIY SPATS

"Someone's gonna end up crying. Probably me."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     Henrik woke with his cheek against a cold stone ground. He blinked his eyes open, half-expecting to feel confused and delirious, but his mind was clear. He slowly pushed himself up, groaning lightly. The groan was more habit than anything else, because his body didn't hurt, though he was quite sure he had fallen into this Chambre de Chasse. Falling instead of simply appearing in a blink of an eye showed signs that this was thrown together rather quickly. He ran his hand through his hair and decided to take in his surroundings. He was mildly surprised to see his old bedroom in the Mikaelson compound in New Orleans, though it took his a few seconds to recognize it. It was his room, but the modern touches to it were gone. Gas lamps replaced the electric ones, the balcony doors were entirely different and a dark brown instead of a white, and the lace curtains certainly weren't the blackout curtains he now preferred. He climbed to his feet, confused by the old-fashioned choices. Other pieces of his furniture contradicted the old-fashioned ones; the bed frame was modern, as was the chaise, and the bookcases. Seeing it all mixed together made Henrik's head spin, so he chose to leave the room entirely.

Thankfully, the compound outside of his room weren't so mismatched. It all looked like the modern compound to him, from the railings to the light switches he could see. He roamed down the hall for a while, trying to hear any sound. There was nothing aside from a storm that seemed to be raging outside. He could hear the wind beating a stray window shutter again and again against a wall outside. The sound was already starting to grate on his nerves when he heard a new sound, like a shoe scuffing against the floor. Henrik was halfway down the stairs when Francis appeared out of a room below—a spare bedroom, Henrik vaguely remembered—his eyes narrowed in thought. His thoughtful, serious expression fractured as soon as he saw Henrik, and then relief quickly followed. Henrik only made it down three more steps before Francis was there, gathering him in his arms. Henrik soothed him with a comforting sound, wrapping his arms around Francis's neck to hold him back.

"It's just a Chambre de Chasse," Henrik comforted into his hair, because he knew why Francis was holding him so tightly, why he'd looked so relieved and why he had moved so fast. Francis didn't like being put under spells on a good day, but catching him unaware was a new fear that he was constantly fighting against. "Louis and Cassandra won't let anything happen to our bodies, and there's a protection spell around our apartment, remember? No one who means us harm can get in. We're safe." Francis released a small, controlled breath against his neck, then slowly pulled back to look at his surroundings with fresh eyes.

"This is a Chambre?" Francis asked eventually, sounding doubtful. "Your description of it sounded much prettier." Henrik huffed out a small laugh and squeezed Francis's shoulder, moving further past him down the stairs. He had a gut feeling they weren't the only people in the magical dreamscape. If they had appeared in a random, unknown house, then perhaps Henrik would've been worried. But them being in the Mikaelson compound, with décor from over a century ago, pointed toward a more personal reason behind this Chambre. Henrik wouldn't voice that theory, though. Not until he could be sure. There would be no use pointing fingers at one of his siblings—because they were the only ones who could've remembered the details of his century-old room—unless he had actual proof. Otherwise, it would just turn into a screaming match.

"It was pretty because Freya made it pretty," Henrik reminded over his shoulder. Francis stayed close to him, practically his shadow as he moved through the main foyer. "It was our only comfort. Now, let's just find—" He was going to mention their tokens—the things tying them to this dreamscape, the thing that represented them—but he broke off when he heard another set of footsteps. Henrik and Francis whirled toward the sound. Francis tensed when he saw that it was Klaus, but Henrik just sagged with relief. If it had been an enemy or something, Henrik didn't know what he would do.