Resurrection

For: Jessica (Godiva-Duchess) and all the Klonnie lovahs!

Summary: Klaus resurrects Bonnie Bennett.

A/N: This story is in an alternate universe and I've definitely taken liberties with canon Klaus and Bonnie.

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Historically, when a King plans to invade and reclaim his empire from a usurper, he seeks counsel.

Rallying around the crown would be: wartime generals, strategizing their takeover; ordained priests, blessing their invasion; and loyalists, men who would die in the name of their king.

Klaus has none of these.

Which is why he is asking for directions to Mama T's house from an uninterested teen-aged boy on his bike, back-dropped by the leftover wreckage of the lower ninth ward.

"What you want with Mama T?" the dark-skinned teen asks; distrusting the pale-skinned vampire in his neighborhood.

Klaus brandishes a wide smile and softens his usual approach, "She happens to be a very old friend of my family, mate, and at one time, I could find my way to her residence without trouble, but with the new names on the street signs, I find myself lost," he states with ease, and it was all true, even though the time period he spoke of was before the tract homes and the squared off lawns existed; it was when the sprawling acreage was covered with sugar-cane and working plantations.

Gesturing his hand toward the end of the street they are currently on, the young man tells Klaus to make a left at the stop sign, and when Klaus asks for a description of the house, he tells him he will know it's hers because it's the only house still standing on that street.

With his brow drenched in sweat from the August sun, the teenager preps one Nike shoe on the metal pedal of his bike and warns, "You know she's a witch, right?"

"I know, mate," Klaus says with a smile and a slight nod, continuing his stroll down the neighborhood's crumbling sidewalk; igniting the curiosity of the residents who happen to notice the rugged blonde pass by their home.

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"You don't know me, but I knew your mother," Klaus says, hands clasped behind his back, tipping his weight back and forth on his heels, making small talk with the elderly copper-skinned woman who is ogling him while standing at the threshold of her dimly lit and much cluttered living room.

"You the vampire?"

"Was, I'm now a hybrid." He responds, giving her living room a once over, concentrating on the dusty pictures of the replica Renaissance painting of the Last Supper and a portrait of the late human, Dr. Martin Luther King hanging askew on the wall behind her.

The 102-year old witch turns away from him like that's all she needed to hear and takes up residence on the tattered lay-z-boy, "Come sit down over here," She says, pointing to the faded velveteen couch, "Hurts my legs to stand for a long time, come sit cher' and we can talk."

On his way to the couch, maneuvering around the huge furniture: the over-sized love seat and coffee table, he spots a greying picture in a silver-plated frame, and picks it up from the others on the grimy surface, "You resemble her," He states, brow furrowed, examining the familiar contours in the face of the woman in the photo, "Her proud demeanor and noble chin," He finishes, transported to a bygone era, and before any memories produce, he puts the picture back into the jumble of frames.

"She told me stories 'bout you, "She smiled, her hand landing lightly on her knee, "Well, what was proper to tell a daughter about a former beau."

He offers a weak smile and catches a glimpse of his self in her thick smudged glasses, "She was a dear friend of mine, and also a helpful one," He adds, curtailing this house call to the reason why he was there.

"How can this old lady help you, Niklaus?" She asked, her question rolling out of her mouth like she was ready to discuss business, making Klaus sit up a little straighter.

"As cliché as this may sound," He starts, rubbing his palms over his dark jeans, "I have come to you to get insight on my future."

The old lady coughs out a laugh, her bird-like chest rising and falling, "You sound like them girls that come here asking when will they get married, or when will so and so stop cheating. You ain't come all this way to know about some girl, have you cher'?"

Klaus crosses his heavy leather boots under the coffee table, settling into the worn sofa, "No madam, I have not. I am inquiring about my future, specifically in the event, if I pursue an endeavor that will require me to remove a colleague of mine from presiding as a monarch of some sorts over our fellow city."

The witch blinks at him, her eyes looking distorted behind the coke-bottle eye-glasses, "Fancy talk for you wanna get rid of Marcel and make New Orleans yours again?"

"Precisely," Klaus exclaims, excited that he didn't have to pussyfoot around the subject, or worse, have to engage in other tactics to have her fulfill his request.

With a few huffs, the witch rises from the recliner, walks to the kitchen and comes back waving a plastic blue tumbler in Klaus's face, "Go back there, hop that fence, dip the cup in the canal and bring the water back."

Plastic tumbler in hand, Klaus opens the back door into the stifling hot Louisiana sun, his boots trampling down the un-mowed grass of Mama T's backyard and hops, from a standing position, over the chain-link fence, and treks through the tall bayou grass, where snakes and other critters roam, heading straight to the canal.

He approaches the murky brown-blue water, crouching down, he threads his fingers through the liquid, enlivened by the scent of the Mississippi; that body of water representative of an entity capable of providing abundance of wealth to the residents of the Crescent City and simultaneously able to nearly obliterate it.

He fills the cup to the brim and returns to Mama T's without spilling a drop.

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If his wretch of a mother hadn't turned him and his siblings into vampires, then Klaus could have been a witch. Through his maternal blood line; he carried the witch gene, why is why he believes he has an innate affinity and respect for witches, and how over a thousand years, walking the earth as a blood-sucking abomination of nature, he was still able to procure a longstanding rapport with those who possessed inherent magic.

Mama T hobbles over to a curio case, pulls out a brass bowl, wipes the dust off with the sleeve of her cotton dress and pours the river water into the bowl.

"Now I want you to concentrate, think about what you gon' need in order to be content, and when I stay stop, I'ma look in the water and tell you what I see."

Klaus furrows his brow, misunderstanding, "Content? I am only interested in the results of this war."

"Always aftermath of war, cher', you gotta think about all of that, even after the dust settle, men always want more, so think. Once you got Marcel out the Quarter, do you want his folks to follow you? Are you gon' get bored with New Orleans? Wanna take over Shreveport and Lafayette too?," She advises, picking up a castor oil bottle sitting on the end table, unscrewing the top and dropping three drops of oil into the bowl of water.

Dammit. She had a point.

New Orleans wasn't going to be enough.

Enough wasn't even a part of his vocabulary.

"Very well," He says, resting his elbows on his thighs and rubbing his chin, "Am I being timed?"

She laughs, "You can sit here all night thinking about it, but I won't be here, I'll be sleep," She says, waving her palms over the water and closing her eyes, "I'll let you know when to stop thinking 'bout it."

And then she began to chant the names of the saints and Klaus sat back and concentrated on what contentment meant to him.

"You ready?" She asks, after minutes had passed and Klaus had not thought of anything other than making sure that everyone in New Orleans knew that the 'M', Marcel incessantly stamped and wrote everywhere, was for Mikaelson.

He nods, and she pushes her frames up her nose and scrutinizes the oily shapes in the water.

"At present, Marcel has the upper hand, he got a witch; she 'posed to be something to be reckoned with."

Klaus grits his teeth, and huffs, balling and uncurling his fist, "He wins?!" He says, trying his best to keep his voice even but failing. Terribly.

Mama T gives him a pointed look and he apologizes and rolls his wrist for her to continue.

"No need to get upset, cher'. You just gon' need a witch too," She says, and bends over the water and looks up at him with a conspiratory grin, "And you gon' have the most powerful witch there is."

Genuinely smiling at Mama T, Klaus bobs in agreement, because Kings, who go to war with just their generals, popes and patriots and do not consort the counsel of their seers and sorceresses, to those poor bastards, Klaus says, 'Sorry for your losses,' because they are going to battle unprepared.

You always need magic.

"Provide me with a name and I will be on my way," He says eager to acquire the witch and begin the necessary work to declare war."

"This witch will make you King; New Orleans, Louisiana, Texas, the Gulf states. You will go further but my vision becomes cloudy after New Jersey.

Licking his lips, Klaus leans forward, and repeats, "Name?"

"She's a Bennett. Her name is Bonnie."

Could it be this easy, he thinks? Surely it could not; to have Caroline's brassy best friend as the secret weapon.

"She can defeat Marcel's witch?" He asks quickly; tasting victory.

Mama T, held up her hand for him to stop talking, "The youngest Bennett got more power in her pinky toe than a passel of Marcel's raggedy witches."

Relaxing into the couch, he winks at her and says, "This is excellent news."

"I bet it is," She agrees, and wags a finger at the bowl "But there's a problem, she's gon' be difficult to get."

Klaus understands that the Niklaus that Mama T knows of is the one her mother related to her, and is only a small sliver of the many facets of him. She is not aware of what great and horrible lengths he will go to in order to solidify a future for himself and his family. If the Bennett witch is what he needs, then the Bennett witch is what he shall have.

"I have had the pleasure of her acquaintance, once or twice, and you are right, she is no push over, and will not be easy to entice to my side, but I can be charming when it is required."

The old witch snorts, "You gon' have to do more than be charming; she ain't gon' be easy to get period."

His jaw tightens at all of the obstacles standing in his way. "Do you foresee her being a problem?" Klaus asks, hiding that he doesn't give a shit about the elderly woman's opinion, behind his smile.

And Mama T bobs her head emphatically, "She gon' be a problem 'cause she dead cher'."

Author's Note

Thank you for reading.