The Doppelgänger Mikaelson

A small settlement sprawled before them, nestled in the shadow of towering mountains. The air was crisp and cold, the sky a muted gray as clouds threatened snow. A faint, bustling hum carried from the heart of the settlement, where thin columns of smoke rose lazily from chimneys. Ivar's pace slowed as they neared the outskirts, his sharp gaze sweeping across the rows of modest homes with the same calculating intensity he always carried. The wind tugged at his dark coat, sending it billowing behind him like a shadow unfurling.

Finn walked slightly behind him, his steps quieter but no less purposeful. His angular features were taut, his lips pressed into a thin line as his eyes darted across the scene. A quiet tension radiated from him—he was nervous, but there was a deep resolve beneath it, a weighty determination to do what Ivar asked. Henrik, the youngest of the trio, stayed close to Finn's side, his gaze flickering between Ivar and the settlement ahead. His youthful face was pale, his brows furrowed as he tugged anxiously at the hem of his cloak. The chill in the air didn't bother him—his nerves did.

Ayanna moved alongside them, her presence far different from the brothers'. Where Ivar exuded sharp dominance and Finn simmered with quiet unease, Ayanna's movements were purposeful but contained, as though every inch of her being were pulled tight with quiet restraint. Her silver-streaked hair fell like silk around her shoulders, the flicker of cold determination in her eyes masking the smoldering resentment she felt. She held her arms loosely at her sides, but her fingers flexed occasionally—an unconscious motion, as if her body refused to forget the magic it longed to unleash.

Ivar finally stopped near the edge of a small grove that overlooked the settlement, the earth beneath his boots crunching faintly. He turned on his heel to face the group, his gaze sharp and unwavering as it locked onto his siblings and Ayanna. There was a weight to him—an undeniable force of authority that made his presence almost oppressive.

"You lot are not needed here," Ivar said flatly, his tone cutting through the tension in the air like a blade. His eyes narrowed, lingering on each of them in turn. Finn stiffened, his jaw working as if he wanted to argue but thought better of it. Henrik shifted uncomfortably, kicking at the dirt with the toe of his boot, though he avoided Ivar's gaze entirely.

"But let me give you something to do," Ivar continued, his voice carrying a measured calm that only made it more unnerving. He turned his gaze to Finn, and for a split second, the slightest flicker of trust softened the steel edge in his expression. "Finn, you're the only one other than me who can recognize Freya. You find her. When you do, you take her and leave—immediately."

Finn's brow furrowed, his lips parting as if to respond, but he stopped himself. Instead, he gave a small, curt nod, his gaze hardening with quiet focus. "And if we run into Dahlia?" he asked, his voice low, hesitant.

Ivar's smirk returned—a cruel, almost predatory thing that didn't reach his eyes. "If you run into Dahlia," he said, his voice dropping to an icy murmur, "you walk the other way. Understand me?" His gaze cut sharply to Henrik, who visibly flinched but nodded quickly, his small hands curling into fists at his sides.

"Why?" Henrik asked softly, his voice barely louder than the whisper of the wind. There was a flicker of frustration behind his question, like the boy hated feeling useless. "You said we were strong now. We're Mikaelsons, aren't we?"

Ivar's smile faltered, just for an instant—a shadow of something almost like patience passing across his face. He crouched slightly, his coat pooling around him as he leveled his gaze with Henrik's. "Not yet," he said quietly, though his voice still carried the weight of unshakable authority. "Right now, you're nothing but children playing with fire." He straightened, the moment of gentleness evaporating like smoke. "But soon… you'll be able to burn everything she's ever built to the ground."

Finn swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly as he held his brother's gaze. There was an unspoken understanding there—one built on years of trust and loyalty. Henrik, however, still seemed unsure, his brow pinched as if he didn't quite believe Ivar's words but was too intimidated to argue. Ayanna watched the exchange silently, her expression unreadable, though her sharp silver eyes tracked every nuance of Ivar's movements like a predator watching for weakness.

"And what about her?" Finn asked suddenly, nodding subtly toward Ayanna. The tension in the group shifted almost imperceptibly, as if everyone had been holding their breath waiting for someone to bring it up. Ayanna's lips curved into a faint, humorless smile—there was no warmth in it, only sharp edges and buried disdain.

"She's with me," Ivar replied simply, not even sparing Ayanna a glance. "She's more useful at my side than anywhere else."

Ayanna's eyes narrowed, a flicker of indignation flashing in their depths, but she said nothing. Her chin tilted ever so slightly, a silent act of defiance that Ivar either didn't notice or didn't care to acknowledge. Instead, he turned his attention back to Finn and Henrik, his gaze hardening once more.

"Remember what I said," Ivar repeated, his tone brooking no argument. "Find Freya. Stay out of Dahlia's way. And leave the rest to me."

Finn gave another short nod, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he turned away, his long coat sweeping behind him. Henrik hesitated, glancing once more at Ivar as if searching for reassurance he wouldn't find, before following Finn with small, reluctant steps. The two brothers disappeared into the shadows of the settlement, their forms blending seamlessly into the gloom.

Ivar watched them for a long moment, his face unreadable as he stood tall against the biting wind. The air around him seemed colder somehow, sharper, as though his presence alone could freeze it. Ayanna shifted slightly beside him, her gaze flicking between Ivar and the retreating figures of his brothers.

"You think they'll listen?" she asked quietly, her voice low and edged with challenge.

Ivar turned his head just enough to look at her out of the corner of his eye. "They'll listen," he said simply, the faintest hint of amusement creeping into his voice. "They might not like it—but they'll listen."

Ayanna snorted softly, though there was no humor in it. "For their sake, I hope you're right." Her expression hardened as she turned back toward the settlement, her silver hair catching the faint light. "Let's get this over with."

"Yeah, but you are also going to sit this one out, that's not the reason I brought you along."