The Doppelgänger Mikaelson

The snow fell softly now, the tension in the air gradually dissipating as the moments passed. Freya leaned against a frost-covered boulder, her breathing slow and measured, though her gaze lingered on Ivar with a mixture of apprehension and gratitude. Finn stood nearby, arms crossed over his chest, his ever-composed demeanor masking the unease he felt after witnessing what had just transpired. Henrik, though quiet, kept glancing between them, his youthful curiosity tempered by a flicker of concern.

Ivar stood apart, his posture straight and his expression unreadable. The crimson glow that had earlier flickered in his hands was gone, leaving only the stark contrast of his dark cloak against the pale landscape. His gaze swept over his siblings, pausing briefly on Freya, whose pale complexion had regained some color thanks to the Lifeblood Link. He allowed himself a small breath of relief, though his face remained stoic.

"Freya," Ivar said at last, his voice cutting through the stillness. His tone was firm, though there was a faint edge of weariness beneath it. "Take Henrik and Finn back. Return to the New world and meet with the others."

Freya's head lifted sharply, her brows furrowing as she straightened from the boulder. "What do you mean, 'take them back'? Where are you going?" Her voice was steady, but there was an unmistakable note of apprehension.

Ivar's gaze flicked to her, sharp yet calm. "Ayanna and I have something to handle."

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her hands curling slightly at her sides. "I'm coming with you," she said, the faint tremble in her voice betraying the surge of emotion she was trying to suppress. "I'm not leaving you to face… whatever it is alone."

"No." Ivar's response was immediate, his tone leaving no room for argument. He took a step closer, towering over her yet speaking with quiet resolve. "Your place is with them. Take Henrik and Finn home. They need you now."

Freya shook her head, her jaw tightening. "Ivar—"

"Enough." His voice softened, but the weight of his words was unyielding. He reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Father is waiting for you, Freya. They all are. Especially him." A shadow crossed his face as his thoughts flickered to Niklaus and what might be unfolding back at the New world. If there's anything—or anyone—left to wait for them, he thought grimly.

Freya hesitated, her lips parting as though to argue, but the steady intensity in Ivar's gaze silenced her. She swallowed hard and nodded, though her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Fine," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll take them back."

Ivar's expression softened just slightly, a hint of gratitude flickering across his otherwise stoic features. "Good."

Freya turned, her movements slow, reluctant. She glanced at Finn and Henrik, her hands reaching out to them as if to steady herself. Henrik stepped forward, his youthful determination tempered by a flicker of unease. He looked up at her, his unruly hair catching the faint light of the snow-covered field.

"Lead the way, Henrik," Freya said gently, her voice steady now despite the turmoil in her chest. She reached down, running a hand through his hair in a comforting gesture. "It's time to go home."

Henrik nodded, his small face set in a determined expression as he stepped ahead. Finn lingered for a moment, his calm eyes meeting Ivar's. There was an unspoken understanding between the two of them—an acknowledgment of something more significant than either dared to voice aloud. With a small nod, Finn turned and followed Henrik, his steady presence a reassuring anchor for his younger siblings.

Freya paused, her gaze lingering on Ivar for a moment longer. Her lips parted as if to say something, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she offered him a faint, bittersweet smile, her eyes shining with a mixture of gratitude and worry. "Be careful," she said softly, the words carrying more weight than she intended.

Ivar gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Always."

With one last glance, Freya turned and followed Finn and Henrik, her steps slow but steady as she caught up to them. The three figures moved through the snow, their forms gradually fading into the distance, leaving Ivar standing alone in the stillness.

He watched them go, his expression unreadable, though his hands curled into fists at his sides. Freya, you'd better get there in time, he thought, his mind flickering back to the tenuous balance that awaited her back at the New world. Only you can hold him together now.

As the last echoes of their footsteps faded, Ivar turned, his cloak sweeping through the snow as he moved toward the edge of the field. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, replaced by a renewed determination. Ayanna awaited him, and whatever lay ahead demanded his full focus.

As the faint outlines of Freya, Finn, and Henrik vanished into the snowy horizon, a heavy stillness settled over the field. The only sound was the soft crunch of snow beneath Ayanna's boots as she approached Ivar, her steps deliberate but unhurried. Her slender form was draped in a dark cloak lined with fur, its edges fluttering slightly in the cold breeze. She stopped a few paces away, her arms loosely crossed as her piercing gaze fixed on Ivar.

Ivar remained silent, his back to her as he stood at the edge of the field. The tension in his shoulders seemed to ebb slightly now that his siblings were gone, though his hands still lingered near his sides, fingertips brushing the hilt of the blade hidden beneath his cloak. The faint, almost imperceptible shift of his stance revealed the weight of his thoughts—calculated, but burdened.

Ayanna tilted her head, a frown tugging at her lips. The faintest crease formed between her dark brows as she studied him, her voice cutting through the quiet like a sharp knife. "So," she began, the tone low yet probing, "where are we going now?"

Ivar turned to her slowly, his movements controlled and deliberate, though the faintest flicker of irritation crossed his face—an expression not born from Ayanna but from the mounting storm of responsibilities clawing at him. His eyes locked onto hers, steady and unyielding. He was silent for a moment longer, as if weighing his words, before he finally spoke.

"Nova Scotia," he said, his voice as cold and precise as the air around them. He glanced past her briefly, his gaze tracing the distant treeline. "But first, we're going to need a boat. That means heading to Kattegat."

Ayanna's brow arched at the mention of Kattegat, her frown deepening as she stepped closer, her boots crunching against the snow. "Kattegat?" she repeated, her tone carrying a mix of curiosity and skepticism. "That's not exactly the safest place for us right now. Are you sure that's our best option?"

"What do you mean not safe. I am Ivar, the Invincible Immortal. It is not safe I agree but that's for them."