The Doppelgänger Mikaelson

Alexander's gaze darted between Rebekah and Ivar, his chest heaving as panic overwhelmed him. His fingers clenched tightly around the dagger, and his body tensed like a coiled spring. Then, without warning, he spun on his heel, bolting toward the door in a desperate attempt to escape. His movements were frantic, his feet stumbling slightly as he propelled himself forward, his mind consumed by the singular thought of survival.

But before he could reach the threshold, a booted foot connected with his chest in a brutal kick, sending him flying backward. Alexander's body hit the ground hard, the air rushing from his lungs in a wheezing gasp. The dagger clattered from his hand, spinning uselessly across the floor. He groaned, clutching his ribs as he writhed in pain, his earlier confidence shattered into fragments.

Ivar's attention snapped to the doorway, his emerald eyes narrowing. The figure that stepped into the room was cloaked in shadow, the dim light casting an almost ethereal glow around him. For a split second, Ivar's expression faltered, his sharp features softening with recognition.

"Five?" Ivar murmured, his voice low and laced with disbelief. His brows furrowed as he took a cautious step forward, studying the figure with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

The man stepped further into the light, his lips curling into a boyish smile that sent a jolt of nostalgia through Ivar. But then the smile widened, and the man spoke, his voice warm and familiar. "Welcome back, eldest brother."

Ivar froze, his sharp gaze locking onto the speaker. His surprise was evident in the way his brow arched and his lips parted slightly, as though trying to reconcile the image before him with the boy he remembered. Slowly, a chuckle escaped him, low and rough, like distant thunder.

"You grew," Ivar said, his smirk returning as he shook his head in amused disbelief. He gestured vaguely toward the man's face, his emerald eyes gleaming with mirth. "And that too—into him."

Henrik froze mid-response, his lips parting to retort to Ivar's teasing, but the faint sound of approaching footsteps drew everyone's attention. The air seemed to grow heavier, thick with the kind of tension that came with long-separated families reuniting. One by one, the remaining Mikaelson siblings appeared, their presences commanding and distinct.

Freya, regal and composed, entered first, her blue eyes scanning the scene with a mixture of disbelief and cautious joy. She halted, her breath catching as she took in the sight of her eldest brother, Ivar. Her fingers tightened briefly around the edges of her flowing cloak before she stepped forward, her composure slipping into a rare smile.

Finn followed closely behind, his typically stoic face etched with an unusual softness. His brows knitted as he regarded Ivar, his lips twitching into what might've been the ghost of a smile. Though he said nothing, the faint relaxation of his shoulders spoke volumes.

Then came Elijah, every movement precise and deliberate, his suit immaculate as always. His dark eyes softened as they landed on Ivar, his lips curving into a small, approving smile. He gave a subtle nod, his way of acknowledging the eldest Mikaelson with quiet dignity.

Niklaus was next, his movements more hurried, more charged. His stormy blue eyes darted between Ivar and the others, his face a mixture of disbelief, relief, and guilt. His jaw tightened momentarily, his emotions warring for dominance.

Finally, Kol sauntered in, his characteristic smirk firmly in place. But beneath the roguish grin was a flicker of genuine warmth and excitement. He paused near the doorway, his dark eyes glinting mischievously as he took in the scene.

The room was thick with the weight of the reunion, the air electric with unspoken words and old wounds.

Niklaus was the first to move. He strode toward Ivar with a purpose, his expression softening as he approached. Without hesitation, he pulled Ivar into a tight hug, his hands gripping his elder brother's shoulders firmly, almost as if grounding himself in the moment. His voice, though steady, was tinged with vulnerability.

"I've missed you, brother," Niklaus said, his words laced with raw emotion. "If you had been here… maybe things would've been different. Maybe we wouldn't have made the same mistakes."

Ivar blinked, the weight of the hug catching him off guard for a moment. Then, understanding dawned on him, and his sharp features softened into something almost paternal. He let out a quiet sigh, his arms wrapping around Niklaus in return.

"I'm here now," Ivar said, his deep voice calm and steady, yet filled with conviction. "And I don't plan on going anywhere anytime soon."

He pulled back slightly, his emerald eyes meeting Niklaus's stormy blue gaze. His lips curled into a small, reassuring smile before he glanced over Niklaus's shoulder, his expression sharpening slightly as his gaze settled on Alexander.

"But," Ivar continued, his voice taking on a more authoritative tone, "right now, let's address the elephant in the room." He inclined his head toward Alexander, who was still sprawled on the floor, clutching his ribs and glaring up at them with a mixture of pain and indignation.

Niklaus followed Ivar's gaze and let out a low chuckle, the sound both amused and predatory. "Ah, yes," he drawled, stepping back to allow Ivar to take the lead. "It seems we have some unfinished business."

Henrik, who had been standing off to the side with Freya and Finn, exchanged a glance with Kol. Kol's smirk deepened, and he leaned casually against the wall, folding his arms across his chest.

"This should be entertaining," Kol remarked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Do carry on, Ivar."

Ivar rolled his eyes at Kol but didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he stepped closer to Alexander, his emerald eyes gleaming with quiet menace.

Alexander, still wheezing from the earlier kick, tried to push himself up onto his elbows. "You… you can't do this," he stammered, his voice trembling despite his attempt at defiance.

Ivar crouched down, his movements deliberate and controlled. His smirk widened into something almost wolfish, and he tilted his head slightly, studying Alexander like a predator sizing up its prey.

"Oh, Alexander," Ivar said, his voice low and almost mocking. "I think you'll find that I can do whatever I want."

The room seemed to hum with the unspoken unity of the Mikaelson family, each sibling standing tall and unwavering, their gazes fixed on Ivar and Alexander. For the first time in a long time, they felt like a complete unit—a force to be reckoned with.