The Princess Without a Crown

The usually neat floor of Hope Mikaelson's bedroom was cluttered with moving boxes. It was the room from her time spent in New Orleans as a child, and although she hardly remembered it from her past, she would always stay fond of it.

They altered an abandoned crib into a queen-sized bed, but much of the rest - aside from a towering bookcase on the back wall - stayed the same. Most importantly, the mural of the New Orleans cityscape on the far-left wall remained untouched. Hope had positioned her bed so that at night she could roll onto her side and gaze at the beauty her father's hands had created.

She did this now, despite the clock on her bedside table letting her know it was two o'clock in the afternoon. The sweltering summer heat of New Orleans drifted in the city's essence through her seldom opened window. Spicy Cajun food that made her mouth water, smooth jazz trumpeting on a street corner, and even the distant earthy scent of the bayou.

Hope rolled over onto her back and stared at the eggshell ceiling, catching a glimpse of a figure in the doorway. It made her smile.

"Before you ask..." she began, "Yes, I'm feeling alright, and no, I'm not changing my mind." She then sat up enough to lean her back against the excellently crafted wooden bedframe and locked eyes with her intruder. Her father, Niklaus Mikaelson, or as most supernatural creatures of the world would know and fear him; Klaus.

Her father pursed his lips into a thin line as he stepped into the room, his eyes casting glances here and there, refusing to meet her eyes. He stopped when he approached her trim yet adequate vanity. A small smile touched his lips as he reached forward and picked up a hand-carved chess piece.

It was a Knight she'd had for as long as she could remember. Hope distinctly remembered holding it as she slept, not once parting ways with it- believing it would protect her against the world's evils. Little did she know, at the time, that her father carved the Knight for her.

Hope was the princess in his story, and he was the King protecting their castle.

"You're certain I cannot persuade you?" he asked her in an unusually soft tone. It made her feel guilty like she was committing some crime for leaving New Orleans for a venture of her own. Almost selfish.

Puffing a soft sigh, she pulled her legs into herself and watched him for a long moment. "I know you're worried, but this is something I have to do. You know where I'll be, and I'm a phone call away if I need you or you all need me."

Klaus looked at her fixedly. "Why so far? Why California? That isn't two or three miles down the road; it's states away. There aren't even wolves in California. You're aware of this, aren't you? And if you're in trouble, I can't be there to help, to do anything at all."

Hope could tell his temper was starting to rise from his troubled thoughts and premonitions of what might come for them next. It wasn't easy being a Mikaelson, always expecting a new enemy to show up on their doorstep to destroy their family.

"I know, dad, I know. It's miles and miles away. If something happens, we won't be five feet from each other to know the other is okay. I know this sounds crazy and reckless, but maybe I need to be crazy and reckless right now. I need to be more than I've been, and I've told you why I've chosen Beacon Hills."

He rolled his eyes then and very sarcastically rebutted, "Ah, yes, it calls to you. There's something in Beacon Hills that sets your soul on fire for some dangerous, idiotic path to destruction."

"Your words, not mine," Hope countered before running her fingers through her long dark hair as she touched her hand over her heart. She couldn't expect him to understand, so she never tried to explain it to him thoroughly. She didn't know if she even understood it.

For months now, there had been this strain in her chest. This longing for something missing, something she needed desperately. It started soft and hardly noticeable, but over the weeks, the desire the passion for whatever is in Beacon Hills grew to the point it felt like trying to breathe underwater.

Her instincts told her where to go, and for now, she had no reason not to trust them. "It won't last forever, but I need you to let go," she said in a slow voice, tone mild. "I need you to let go of me and trust that I'll be alright."

"I can't just let go, Hope. You of all people should know that...."

She stood from her bed, feeling like a chain of guilt was weighing her down. She crossed the room and let herself be enveloped in her father's arms, forehead pressed against his shoulder. His support was what she needed the most.

Hope knew tender moments like these would be the hardest to walk away from, but she had to do this. Not for anyone else but herself.

Dinner was a quiet event. Hope wasn't confident if they had nothing to say or were too discouraged to speak their minds. Spearing a green bean with her fork, she popped it into her mouth and chewed carefully, eyes lingering down at the table.

Her father sat at the head of the table. To his left was her Uncle Elijah, who also kept silent. Likewise, Rebekah, Kol, and Freya didn't utter a word. As for her mother, Hayley, who sat next to Elijah, holding his hand under the table, she was the first to speak.

"Are you excited for tomorrow morning then?" she asked.

Hope was thankful for the break in the silence, but still, she pursed her lips and nodded as she answered, "I get the impression I shouldn't be excited. I get it, I do, but I would still prefer anything except the silent treatment."

Her Aunt Rebekah offered a smile. "We're not ignoring you, love. We're just waiting for the argument to ensue."

"There shouldn't have to be an argument," Hope interjected quickly before her father had time to say anything first, "I'm twenty-two years old. If I had lived in your time, I'd have already gone away with a husband and had three kids by now. So I don't need to defend my reasoning for leaving. Sure, If I had joined up in some magic mafia, I'd let you talk me out of it, but this is my vendetta. How many times have you left to find yourself, Rebekah?" she quickly answered for her. "Plenty of times, but the thing is you always come back, just like everyone in this family does. So now it's my turn."

Kol, deciding not to get into the midst of the conversation, sat back in his chair to listen. Hope didn't blame him. If she could do the same, she would. But instead, Hope watched her mother for some sign of approval, anything that made her decision seem more plausible to everyone else at the table.

"It isn't about age, Hope," Elijah began, "It's about your experience. I will not stand in the way of your crusade, but I expect you to be mindful of what you intend to do. You are powerful, yes, and capable. That much is certainly true. However, some situations that arise require a higher level of expertise," he cleared his throat as he dabbed the corners of his mouth with a handkerchief.

Then, narrowing his eyes, he fixed a gaze on her, "If someone were to suspect who and what you are and be knowledgeable of your weaknesses, what will you do? Will you run or fight? How will you evade enemies, Hope? That is our concern, and if you can prove to us that you can manage yourself on your own, then," he cast a glance towards Klaus, "I think we will have more peace of mind."

Hope raised an eyebrow. "You want me to prove to you that I can take care of myself?" she asked. Although, admittedly, a little offended. These past years that she trained her intellect with Elijah, her strategy with her father, her magic with Freya, had they meant nothing? Had she not already proven herself over the years of constant training?

"What have I been doing all this time then?" she asked. "Learning Latin and fighting strategies and spells for what reason? To be told I'm still not capable?"

"Hope-" Freya started but was immediately cut off.

"No," Hope stated sharply, "I'm aware that I don't know everything there is to know, but I do know enough to keep myself safe. I know when to run, and I know when to stand my ground. I know what spells will harm and not kill and vice versa. If I must take a life, then I know that I can. I'm not a child. I'm a tribrid and a Mikaelson. A combination that leads proof enough I have the upper hand."

"Show us then!" Klaus suddenly demanded in outrage, "Show us the strength you claim to possess that can ward off all of our enemies!"

It happened all so fast. One moment father and daughter glared at each other from across the table; the next, all the glinting knives laid on the table was raised into the air. Hope didn't move. She didn't fidget. Concentration took hold, and it wasn't nearly impossible for her to control the knives that suddenly soared into the wall behind Kol above the fireplace mantle.

Hope was silent as she let the surprise of her actions wear away.

"And if that doesn't work," she started, "I will burst their heart while it beats in their chest. I'll boil their blood in their veins. I will render them helpless."

"Oh, bloody, let her do it," Kol said then, breaking from his silence, "She'd kick my arse if I tangled with her, let alone some newbie vampire still growing into his fangs. Some egotistical hunter who seems to think because he studied Vulgar Latin in a college classroom, he's equipped to handle any creature they read about in a fairytale." He scoffed, took a sip of his blood-laced wine, and winked at Hope from across the table.

She remained in her stiff, unwavering position, both mentally and physically. She was glad to have at least one family member on her side, but it was still her father she needed to convince.

And, by some miracle, it seemed she had. Klaus merely nodded, taking a small bite of rare steak as he conceded.

It didn't occur to Hope until after excusing herself from the dinner table that she'd won a battle against her family. The heaviness that had settled in her chest was liberated as she closed her door. Hope didn't just think she could do this alone. She knew she could.