The Boy King's Journey in TVD/TO As A Mikaelson

Cold. That's my first sensation as consciousness slips from my body - a bone-deep chill that seeps through flesh and soul alike. The physical world fades like morning mist, replaced by something vast and ancient. Something that was never meant for living eyes.

The Other Side. 

I've heard tales of this realm, whispered by witches and scholars, but experiencing it firsthand is different.

The air - if it can be called that - feels thick, almost liquid, carrying echoes of countless deaths and lingering regrets. Each breath draws in not oxygen, but memories, fragments of lives long past.

Around me, reality shifts like smoke in a breeze. Colors exist here that have no names in any living tongue, and shadows move with purpose, carrying whispers of ancient secrets. The ground beneath my feet feels constantly shifting, a moment solid and another insubstantial, as if I'm walking on the boundary between worlds.

Vali's protection manifests as a crimson aura around me, its warmth the only familiar sensation in this alien realm.

The mark's power ripples through the gray expanse, making spirits scatter like leaves before a storm. Even here, in death's domain, my son's influence commands respect - or perhaps fear.

The tooth clutched in my hand pulses gently, a beacon drawing me deeper into this twilight world. Each step feels like walking through water, the very substance of this realm resisting my living presence.

Spirits drift at the edges of my vision - some human, others decidedly not. Their hollow eyes track my movement, but none dare approach the crimson barrier of Vali's protection.

A memory floats past, so vivid I could reach out and touch it:

Freya, barely three winters old, her tiny hands reaching for mine as she takes her first steps. Golden sunlight streams through our home's windows, catching in her hair like a crown. Her laughter, pure and bright, echoes across the years.

The temptation to reach for it, to lose myself in that moment of joy before everything shattered, is almost overwhelming.

But I force myself onward. This realm is treacherous - memories here can become traps, snaring the unwary in endless loops of what was or what might have been.

More fragments of the past swirl around me, each one sharp enough to draw blood from the soul:

Esther weaving spells in our home, her belly swollen with Finn, her smile still genuine then.

The first time I held Freya, marveling at how something so small could feel so important.

Dahlia's shadow falling across our threshold that fatal night, her power making the very air crack with malice.

Freya's screams echoing through the darkness as she was torn away, the sound that has haunted my dreams for decades.

Each vision carries its own weight, its own texture. Some feel like silk against my consciousness, others like broken glass. The further I walk, the more intense they become, until it's like wading through an ocean of lost moments and forgotten pain.

Then something changes. The mists part to reveal a scene that makes my heart clench - one that carries the weight of failure and willful blindness...

The scene that crystallizes before me with terrible clarity is our home, years after losing Freya. Vali, barely seven winters old, laying in his bed.

But this isn't just memory anymore. The textures are too sharp, the details too present. I can smell the herbs Esther burned to "cleanse" the air, feel the rough wood of the doorframe under my hand.

My past self sits beside Vali's bed, pressing a cool cloth to his burning forehead. The mark on his small arm pulses weakly, its usual crimson glow dulled by whatever poison courses through his veins.

This was the third such "illness" that moon - though now, with years of hindsight and the Other Side's cruel clarity, I see what I refused to acknowledge then.

"He burns with fever again," Past-Mikael mutters, his voice heavy with helpless concern. I remember this moment, remember the growing fear that my son might not survive another night.

But I'm not bound by what happened anymore. The mark's protection allows me to interact, to change what once was - even if only in this strange space between worlds. Each step I take toward my past self feels like moving through honey, reality itself resisting my interference.

"Look closer," I tell him - tell myself. "See what you've chosen to ignore."

Past-Mikael's eyes widen as he finally notices what I had been blind to - the faint traces of magic in the water cup beside Vali's bed, the lingering signature of Esther's power. The air itself seems to thicken with revelation, making each breath a struggle.

The scene shifts, becomes more solid as I fully enter it. I'm no longer watching from outside - I'm there, merging with my past self but carrying all my present knowledge. The weight of decades of willful ignorance threatens to crush me, but anger burns hotter than shame.

My feet carry me to Esther's workshop, each step echoing with purpose. The scent of herbs and magic grows stronger, and beneath it, something darker - the stench of betrayal that I should have recognized years ago.

She turns as I enter, surprise flickering across her face before her usual mask of concern slides into place. Even now, seeing her again makes my heart twist - this woman I loved, this mother who tried to murder our son.

"Mikael?" Her voice carries that false note of worry I never wanted to hear before. "What's wrong? Is Vali-"

"Enough!" The word tears from my throat, raw with decades of suppressed rage. My hand sweeps across her workbench, sending herbs and potions crashing to the floor. The sharp scent of spilled remedies fills the air - remedies I now know were never meant to heal.

"I see it now," my voice drops lower, dangerous. "Every illness, every accident. The way you'd hover over him with your 'medicines' while the mark grew weaker. It was you. Always you."

Her eyes change then. The mask of motherly concern cracks, revealing something cold and ancient beneath. Power begins to gather around her hands, making the air thick with potential violence.

"You don't understand," she begins, but there's no more warmth in her voice. "That mark... he's not what you think he is. I've tried to protect us-"

"Protect us?" My laugh sounds foreign to my own ears, bitter and sharp as broken glass. "You tried to murder our son. Again and again, you poisoned him, cursed him, all while pretending to care."

The workshop seems to darken, shadows deepening as mother and father face each other over the gulf of betrayal. Even here, in this memory-that-wasn't, I can feel the Other Side watching, evaluating how I handle this moment of truth.

"He's not our son!" she snarls, her true nature finally emerging. Magic crackles around her hands, blue-white and deadly. "That thing wearing our child's face - I saw what he truly was the moment he was born. The mark is just the visible sign of his corruption."

Her power lashes out, but I'm faster. Years of warrior's training guide my movements as I grab her throat, slamming her against the wall. Herbs and dried flowers rain down around us, their peaceful scents a mockery of this violent moment.

"He was a baby," I growl, feeling her pulse race beneath my fingers. "Our baby. And you tortured him with your fear and hatred."

"You're a fool," she gasps, clawing at my grip. "Too blinded by paternal pride to see the monster growing under our roof. The darkness in him-"

"The only darkness here is yours," I snarl, and with one sharp twist, I do what I should have done years ago. The crack of her neck is surprisingly loud in the workshop's silence.

As her body crumples, the scene begins to fade like smoke in wind. Reality reasserts itself, returning me to the gray expanse of the Other Side. But the weight of what I've done - what I wished I'd done - lingers.

The spirits watching from the shadows seem closer now, drawn by the violence of the memory. But Vali's protection holds, keeping them at bay as I continue my journey through this realm of regret and revelation.

More trials await - I can feel them gathering like storm clouds. Each one will force me to face another failure, another moment where I could have protected my children but didn't.

The Other Side isn't just showing me these moments; it's forcing me to live them, to understand them, to learn from them.

Through the mists, another scene forms. This time, I'm watching Klaus in the training yard, perhaps a year before Esther's death. The memory solidifies with brutal clarity - I can smell the iron tang of blood, feel the weight of the sword in my hand.

"Again!" Past-Mikael barks at Klaus, who struggles to rise after a particularly harsh blow. His face is streaked with dirt and blood, but it's the look in his eyes that hits me now - not fear, as I'd always thought, but a desperate need for approval.

"You're weak," Past-Mikael snarls, and I flinch at my own words. "Your brothers would have blocked that strike. Even Rebekah shows more spine."

Now, watching with years of knowledge and regret, I see what I missed then. The way Klaus's hands shake isn't from fear or weakness - it's from exhaustion. He's been training since dawn, pushing himself beyond mortal limits, all to earn a father's love.

The scene becomes solid around me as I step into it. The summer heat bears down, making the air shimmer above the packed earth of the training yard. The weight of my past mistakes settles on my shoulders like a physical burden.

"Stop," I command my past self, my voice carrying the authority of ages. "Look at him. Really look."

Past-Mikael turns, confusion warring with anger on his face. "He needs to be stronger. The world-"

"The world is cruel," I cut him off, "but that doesn't mean we must be. His strength isn't in violence, can't you see that?"

I move to Klaus, who stares at me with wide eyes - eyes that hold an artist's soul, a gentle heart I tried so hard to harden. "Your art," I say softly, "show me."

Hesitantly, Klaus pulls a folded piece of parchment from his tunic. The drawing is exquisite - a scene of our family at peace, rendered with such detail and love that it makes my heart ache.

"This is strength too," I tell my past self. "Different from ours, but no less valuable."

The scene shifts again, dissolving into mist, but the lesson remains. More moments materialize around me - times I dismissed Rebekah's dreams as foolish, when I scorned Kol's interest in magic, when I failed to protect Finn from his mother's manipulations.

Each scene becomes real, solid, demanding I face my failures not just as memories but as moments I must live through again. The Other Side doesn't allow for passive observation - it forces complete immersion, complete understanding.

Through it all, Freya's tooth pulses in my hand, pulling me forward. The mark's protection holds steady, but I can feel greater powers watching now, evaluating not just my strength but my capacity for growth, for understanding.

The trials continue, each one more challenging than the last. I face moments where my pride cost my children dearly, where my blindness allowed harm to befall them. Each confrontation leaves me both drained and strengthened, understanding deepening with every step.

The spirits crowd closer, drawn by the intensity of these revelations. Their whispers fill the air with ancient judgments and older truths. But Vali's protection burns crimson around me, keeping them at bay while allowing their wisdom to seep through.

"Father," a voice calls - not Freya's, not yet. It's Henrik's voice as a child, drawing me to another memory. "Why must we hide during the full moon?"

The scene forms - our cave during a wolf moon, the family huddled together. Past-Mikael stands guard at the entrance, sword ready, while young Henrik watches the shadows with curious eyes.

This memory carries special weight - it could have been the night Henrik died, in another life, another time. But here, now, I see the teaching moment I missed, the chance to explain rather than command.

The cave memory crystallizes fully, and I feel the chill of the stone against my back, smell the damp earth and burning torch fat. Henrik's young face glows in the firelight, full of questions I never properly answered.

"The wolves are monsters," Past-Mikael states flatly, his eyes fixed on the cave's entrance. "We hide because we must."

But I step forward, the mark's protection allowing me to interact with this memory too. "No," I say softly. "We hide because understanding must come before strength."

Young Henrik turns to me, his eyes wide with wonder. In them, I see the wisdom he could have grown into, the bridge he might have been between our family and the supernatural world we feared.

"The wolves aren't simply monsters," I continue, each word carrying the weight of decades of realization. "They're people cursed by powers older than our understanding. Their tragedy lies not in what they are, but in how fear turns both sides against each other."

Past-Mikael's face twists with confusion and anger, but I press on. "We hide not from cowardice, but from wisdom. There are different kinds of strength, Henrik. Sometimes it shows in knowing when not to fight."

The scene shifts, rippling like water disturbed by stones. More memories surface, each demanding attention, understanding:

Finn, isolated and bitter, turning to Esther because I never showed him another path.

Kol, his magical talents blooming despite my disapproval, seeking knowledge I should have helped him pursue safely.

Elijah, shouldering burdens too heavy for any son, trying to be the bridge between my anger and his siblings' needs.

Each memory becomes real around me, demanding not just acknowledgment but active participation. The Other Side forces me to feel everything - every hurt I caused, every opportunity I missed, every moment I chose pride over understanding.

The spirits press closer, their whispers growing louder. They speak in languages only younger than time, but somehow I understand their message: A father must be more than just a protector. He must be a guide, a teacher, a source of understanding as well as strength.

Vali's protection flares brighter as the pressure of their presence intensifies. The mark's power keeps them at bay, but allows their wisdom to seep through. Each spirit carries lessons learned too late, regrets that echo through eternity.

Through it all, Freya's tooth pulses steadily in my hand, drawing me deeper into this realm of truth and trial. But now I understand - finding her location isn't enough. These trials are preparing me for what comes next, teaching me to be the father all my children needed.

A new scene begins to form, this one different from the others. The air grows heavier, charged with ancient power. The spirits draw back, their whispers fading to respectful silence.

Before me, a doorway of pure light takes shape. Beyond it, I catch glimpses of a place where waters meet but never mix, where time itself flows differently. And there, waiting at the threshold...

There, silhouetted against this impossible radiance, stands Freya. My firstborn. My greatest regret.

She's exactly as Henrik described, yet somehow more. Her golden hair catches lights that don't exist in any living realm, and her eyes... her eyes hold centuries of pain, wisdom, and something else - a power that reminds me of Vali's mark, ancient and untamed.

"Father," she says softly, and in that single word I hear echoes of every moment I've missed, every year stolen from us. "You've faced much to reach this place."

"Freya," her name feels like a prayer on my tongue. "My daughter..."

She steps forward, and the realm around us transforms. The gray expanse gives way to a vision of such clarity it steals my breath:

A vast delta where great waters converge, cypress trees rising like ancient guardians from the marshland. The air shimmers with more than just heat - power runs through this place like blood through veins, old magic that makes even Vali's protection pulse in recognition.

"Chenal-Iti," Freya's voice carries the weight of secrets. "The River Path. See how the waters meet but never mix? How time itself seems to flow differently here?"

The vision expands, showing me more: settlements built on raised mounds, boats skimming across waterways like water striders, people who move with the grace of those who understand their place in nature's grand design.

"The Tahanawi people," she continues, "they've guarded this place since before our kind reached these shores. Their magic..." she pauses, choosing her words carefully, "it helps conceal Dahlia's spells, though they know nothing of her presence."

I try to step closer, to memorize every detail of her face, but the vision holds me in place. "Where exactly?" I ask, my voice rough with emotion. "Where does she keep you?"

"At the convergence of three channels," Freya replies, her form beginning to flicker as greater powers press against the barrier of Vali's protection.

"Where the water flows both ways at once. But Father..." her eyes lock with mine, urgent now, "this land has its own guardian, its own law. Even Dahlia must bow to its ancient power."

The realm shudders, and I feel the press of watching entities - beings of light and purpose that make the spirits we've encountered seem like shadows in comparison.

"They're coming," Freya warns, her image starting to fade. "The Guardians sense our meeting. Tell Vali..." her voice grows distant, "tell him this land's magic cannot be dominated, only understood. The path to finding me lies not in power, but in wisdom."

"Freya!" I reach for her, but my hand passes through mist. "Please, there must be more you can tell me!"

Her smile is sad but hopeful as she begins to dissolve. "You've learned what you needed to, Father. The trials you faced weren't just about finding me - they were about becoming who we all needed you to be."

The vision of Chenal-Iti starts to fade, but not before I see one last detail - a place where three waters meet beneath a cyprus tree older than anything I know. Something pulses there, something that calls to the tooth I still clutch in my hand.

"We're coming for you," I promise as reality begins to fracture around us. "Whatever it takes, however long it takes..."

"I know," her voice is barely a whisper now. "I know, Father."

Then Vali's voice cuts through both realms, urgent and powerful: "Father, we need to pull you back. Now."

The journey back feels like being torn through a storm, but I hold tight to everything I've seen, everything I've learned. When I slam back into my physical body, gasping on my knees in the ritual circle, I'm changed.

The others gather around - Vali with his mark still blazing, Henrik exhausted but triumphant, my other children waiting to hear what I've seen, with various corpses of creatures I've never even heard of surrounding them.

But how can I explain what I've experienced? How can I tell them that I've lived lifetimes in those moments, faced every failure, every regret?

"Chenal-Iti," I manage to say, still clutching Freya's tooth like a lifeline. "She's in Chenal-Iti, where the three waters meet."

But that's just the beginning. We have a destination now, yes, but more importantly, I have understanding. I've faced my past, confronted my failures, and emerged stronger.

This time, I won't fail my children. Any of them.

The mark's protection fades as Vali seals the barrier between worlds, but its power has shown me truths I needed to face. Now we prepare for a journey not just across distance, but into the heart of ancient magic and family bonds.

This time, we bring our lost one home.

-----------------------------------

(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all liked this chapter focusing on Mikael! This is the 5th chapter in a row today!

Whew, that's a record for me.

Mikael's come a long way from his original counterpart, right?

Tell me how did you find this charachterization of him?

Do please tell me, I'm really interested in your thoughts.

Well, I hope to see you all later, 

Bye!)