Tristan de Martel had told his sister, Clara, of the news; One of the guards had struck Lucien in the chest with a spear. He was dead. Her heart shattered in her chest with each thought of his body lying lifeless and bloody. Each little piece that broke off seemed to be even more painful than the next. Her hands curled into fists at the thought of Tristan. Oh! How her brother must be so joyful to have gotten rid of the wretched stable boy. He needn't worry for his dear little sisters anymore. She clenched her teeth, holding her knees closely to her chest, and lets her tears fall freely. They fell onto the dirt where she sat alone in the stables.
His stables.
This rickety wooden place, even as dirty as it was, was the only place she really found comfort; this was where Lucien had spent most of his days. Besides the snorts of her horses, it had an eerie silence that lessened the comfort. But still she'd rather sit here in the dirt than be with either of her siblings. Right now, with her heart as frail as it was, Clara needed to be comforted. Her brother-- even her sweet mad sister-- could not give her any ounce of it. Tristan de Martel was loving brother but monster all the same. Aurora de Martel was a loving sister but too mad to make decisions on her own.
Solitude was the key to Clara's own grieving process.
A few feet away came footsteps, then a voice. "Miss De Martel?"
It was Elijah Mikaelson.
"Do not come any closer!" Clara cried, her arms tightening around her knees. His footsteps did not retreat causing her to grow angrier. "I said-"
"I know what you said, Clara." Elijah responded, quickly. He held out his hand to her. "Niklaus told me what happened to Lucien- I am terribly sorry." He glanced behind him as if contemplating a thought, "Please, come with me. Niklaus made a small funeral for him. I'm sure he'd be happy if you were to come and show your respects."
More tears welled up in the youngest de Martel's brown eyes. "I don't think I could, Elijah... his body will be lying there. And I just..." Her voice broke.
"Trust me." His gently voice soothed, "Take my hand and come with me."
Unable to refuse the Mikaelson, Clara took his hand; he helped her up and led her into the dark woods. The wind chilled her deeply but there was something that made her comfortable and safe, in the warmth of Elijah's hands, as they were placed on her arms.
As if sensing something, she felt his eyes suddenly move to her. "Is something wrong, petite ami?"
"Such a strange question, at a time like this."
"I understand that. My apologies. I only meant-"
"I know, Elijah."
A brightness just ahead caught her attention. "Is that him?"
