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The small boy before her was evidently terrified, his bare legs trembling while he kept his wide, timid gaze fixated on his bare, mud-coated feet.
His small hands, coarse and dried from hard labour, were clutching Niklaus' hand, Marcel's hand so small it appeared lost in Niklaus'.
Astrid's eyes softened as she knelt down, not bothering about the dirt that loosely coated her dark skirts as she met Marcel's terrified gaze.
She couldn't help but feel as if she was with a wild deer, that any sudden moves would spook it and cause it dart in the opposite direction.
It truly broke her heart, as she met his vulnerable, chocolate eyes, reaching her hand out, eyes momentarily flickering to meet Klaus'. He was watching Astrid closely, eyes warm and a loving smile spread across his lips.
With a gentleness similar to the one she had used when she had once held Ivar in her arms. She had been so small and brittle she had been terrified she'd break him.
Swallowing the woesome thoughts away, Astrid gently placed her hand on Marcel's cheek, lifting his gaze to hers. As soon as her soft palm sat upon his cheeks, Marcel instinctively winced.
The small action, the instinct that had been programmed into his mind, filled her with a blood-thirsty anger. How anyone could raise a hand, or harm a child was beyond her. They were the true monsters, not vampires or werewolves.
"Hello, my names Astrid. You have no need to be scared, sweet boy." Astrid mused, keeping her tone sweet as Marcel swallowed.
He was clearly uncertain as his gaze flickered towards Klaus for reassurance, who nodded, the smile never leaving his lips as he watched his wife.
As she gazed at Marcel, he noted how at peace she appeared. Her eyes were light and filled with an indescribable joy, her shoulders were no longer tense, her lips were curved into a genuine smile as she radiated tranquillity.
Was this all he needed to do to gain her favour, to win her back, bring her a child?
It was a win-win as far as he was concerned, Marcel clearly needed a mother, someone to protect him and love him regardless, while Astrid needed to full-fill the longing emptiness within her.
And for Klaus, he'd win his wife back and would be able to mentor the boy who reminded him so much of himself. He'd been a fighter, not standing the abuse his superior had cast upon him, just as Klaus wished he had as a child to Mikael.
But then again, he had tried, once. It had been a foolish mistake.
If it wasn't for his mother's necklace, perhaps he wouldn't have been pinned to the oak tree by Mikael's sword, left for dead before his mother had healed him.
Klaus had been so caught up in his thoughts he hadn't noticed Astrid was trying to hold herself together, tears dancing in her expressive eyes.
"Sweet child, you think you are worth any less because of your skin? Your worth a thousand times more than the people who made you believe that." Astrid's lips curled as she tried to prevent the growl that threatened to leave her lips.
The world was a cruel place, but for this child to see that, and believe he was any less because of his skin, made her furious. Stroking his cheek, Astrid forced a smile as Marcel blushed.
"I don't know what to say, mam." He mumbled, shrugging as Astrid smiled.
Raising to her feet, Astrid gently took his hand in hers. "Astrid, call me Astrid." She corrected him.
One hand holding Astrid's and one holding Klaus', Marcel was overwhelmed as the rich couple began walking with him along the dusty road, in the opposite direction of the funeral.
"What happened to your mother, Marcel, if you don't mind me asking." Astrid questioned warily.
She wondered how a mother could allow her son to grow up in slavery. Astrid would have done anything for Ivar, anything.
Marcel sniffled. "The fever took her, mam- Astrid."
Her eyes softened, a cold feeling washing over her. At such a young age, Marcel had been exposed to death.
"I'm sorry, sweet boy."
Klaus' sent him a smile. "Don't be sorry, everything he's been through has made him what he truly is; a warrior."
She felt her heart contract at Klaus' kind words, her lips curving into a large smile as they meet gazes. She could feel her guard slipping down, the way he had acted and spoke with Marcel told her that this wasn't Klaus manipulating the situation in his favour.
It was more than likely that Klaus saw himself in the boy, as he had suffered at the hands of his stepfather, Marcel had suffered at the hands of his 'masters'.
