Happy endings. Ah, the struggle.

R.I.P. Lucien Castle. You were not nothing and you will be missed.

"Mr Castle is not here. Return some other time."

It takes every last bit of Tristan's will-power not to roll his eyes. Or run his hand through the vampire's chest and curl his fingers around his heart.

The guard at the entrance to Lucien's villa in Los Angeles has a typical cliché look of a bar bouncer. Two heads taller than Tristan himself, giant muscular forearms covered in tattoos, black leather clothes, and a non-existent personality. His breath reeks of blood and cigarettes – he must have just taken a smoking break.

Tristan makes a step forward, even though his nostrils would rather have him back away. He ignores the smell and focuses on the guard, who has obviously come to realize he is not quivering in fear. He will not let anything stand in his way. He has come to see Lucien on Aurora's behalf and see him he will, even if he has to make his way through every member of Lucien's security staff – literally.

"I will wait for him until he returns." It is not in his nature to wait on those below him, but – as he constantly reminds himself – Lucien is at the top of the food chain now. An unlucky circumstance, but not insurmountable. Like the glass door that lead inside the building or the guard. "Inside."

"Nobody gets inside without Mr Castle's permission." The guard crosses his arms over his chest in a rather poor attempt at looking scary.

Tristan's lips curl into a sly smirk, although he is rather furious on the inside. He made a promise to Aurora and this pathetic fool is keeping him from fulfilling it. Patience is not one of his virtues; this idiot will soon feel it on his own skin.

"I suppose Lucien would hardly have bothered to mention me," he says calmly as he buttons his suit, "But I am one of the three oldest vampires in the world. You would be wise to step aside."

A spark of fear flashes in the man's brown eyes, uneasiness twisting his features. After all, a vampire's strength is measured by their age and he is barely more than an infant compared to Tristan. It is good to know his skills in the art of intimidation have not diminished over time, Tristan thinks smugly as he observes the slight twitching in the vampire's posture.

"Now, if you would be so kind…" He gestures with his hand at the door.

"I'm not allowed to let anyone in." Suddenly, the steel returns to the other man's features. More than steel actually; suddenly, he's even got the nerve to be arrogant. "Get lost."

Tristan sighs. Three hundred years have passed and the blood is still so difficult to clean off one's clothes. Well, he can always get another suit.

Before the other vampire can even catch on, his heart is already beating inside Tristan's hand, the sound of his ribs being crushed echoing the street around them. He grabs Tristan's forearm with both hands and tries to pull his hand out of his own chest, but his efforts are comically fruitless. He starts spiting blood as Tristan's hold on his heart tightens, coughing and choking on it.

"For heaven's sake, Tristan, stop killing my staff. It's rather annoying at this point."

For a moment, Tristan contemplates doing just the opposite, but concludes it would just be a waste of time. He lets go of the man's heart and turns on his heel, listening to the sound of man suffocating with no small amount of pleasure.

"The first of your servants I had asked about your location had the cheek to lie to me." He takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes his hand clean of blood. "Since looking for him wasted too much of my time, I realized it would be much easier to kill the others the moment they share the information, be it true or false."

"Still, it's annoying." Lucien makes his way past the guard, who is still half-rolling on the ground like a child, and unlocks the door by having his eye and hand scanned. When the door is open, his gaze returns to Tristan's face. "I guess whatever reason brought you here is best discussed in private?"

"Yes." He nods sombrely.

Without another word, Lucien gestures to him to follow him inside.

They walk through a number of rooms filled with many young men and women with pierced necks, some alive, some dead. Quite a few ladies (those who still possess a heartbeat) smile at Lucien as they pass by and some even extend the curtsey to Tristan – not that he cares. Only one smile in this world matters and he is on a mission to lure it out.

Soon, they enter what appears to be Lucien's office. The sun is the only source of light, but since there is a balcony is on the southern side, there is more than enough of it to behold every detail in the room. The furniture – a desk and three chairs, one behind, two in front of it, shelves, cabinets – are made of the most expensive ebony, black as starless night. Three giant screens hang on the wall across the glass door that leads to the balcony, currently empty.

"So, here I am now." Lucien's voice interrupts Tristan's inspection. He turns to the other vampire, who is already busy pouring them two glasses of wine. "What can I do for you that I haven't already done?"

He offers one of the wineglasses to Tristan, who (rather unwillingly) accepts it. It is still to his dismay that he now must speak to Lucien as to an equal, not to mention that he has to stoop so low as to ask a favour from him.

For Aurora. He has long lost count of how many times he has repeated those words to himself. For Aurora.

"You know perfectly well why I am here." He takes a gulp of wine. Not as bad as he expected.

Lucien grins ironically, watching him over the edge of his glass.

"Enlighten me."

Tristan clenches his teeth, fighting the urge to crush the glass in his hand.

He knew this would happen when he decided to seek Lucien out, but he convinced himself he would withstand every mockery, every taunt Lucien might send his way. He knew the other man would take great pleasure in making him ask for help. It is the perfect revenge for all the times Tristan had been cruel to him back in their human days and also the final conformation that they are now equals.

If the circumstances were different, Tristan would rather die than give him the pleasure.

But they are not. He must swallow his pride and do what needs to be done. For Aurora.

"I ask you to speak to her." He takes a deep breath and fixes his eyes on Lucien's. He will not repeat himself. "Please."

There is only a momentary flash of satisfaction in Lucien's eyes, far less than Tristan would have anticipated. He expected the other vampire to openly gloat, but Lucien turns his back to him and focuses on pouring more wine into his glass.

"I promised you that you would never see me again." Lucien's tone is neutral. Unable to see his face, Tristan can't tell what the other man is thinking. "I fully intended to keep my promise, but you insisted on making me break it."

Their eyes meet again.

"Why?"

Tristan makes a step forward, determined not to give Lucien another chance to hide his thoughts from him. He still doubts him – he can't help himself. He needs to know what lies within Lucien's mind before… before whatever needs to happen happens.

"I gave her the letter. And then we both read it."

Lucien tries his best to appear calm, but it is obvious Tristan's words have struck a chord. He cannot hide the sound of his heart pounding wildly from Tristan's ears. In a split second, he downs the wine to the last drop and starts fiddling with the wineglass in his hand, staring at it as if it is the most fascinating thing his eyes have ever beheld.

Tristan moves to stand next to the other vampire and rigidly puts his own glass on the desk. This conversation is hardly any easier for him. He still loathes Lucien, absolutely. He still thinks him beneath himself and Aurora. He still believes his is the only love his sister needs.

But his sentiments do not matter.

Aurora was not the only one affected by that cursed letter. Some of its words have stuck with him as well; a line that he knows by heart.

I came to realize my love for you was not about my happiness. It is about yours.

Tristan's love used to be about protecting Aurora. And while it was a noble cause, it was also selfish. He kept her away from the world, confined and alone, to wait for him until he found the time to visit. Yes, he told himself it was for her own good, but it would be a lie to say that he didn't enjoy the knowledge his visits were the only source of joy in her life. He liked that didn't have to share her love with anyone.

But, while that kind of life suited him perfectly, it made Aurora unhappy. He turned a blind eye countless times, pretended he didn't see it. She was safe and that was all that mattered. All the things he did were out of love – or so he made himself believe.

Then came the war with the Mikaelsons – war he lost and they both paid the price.

He had three hundred years to face all his regrets. They all began and ended with Aurora's happiness – all the times he had sacrificed it, all the times he had taken it away. He thought he would never get the chance to atone for his crimes against her – and there were so many.

Lucien – knowingly or not – gave him that chance. In return, Tristan delivered the letter – unread, unopened. It held the secret it had taken three hundred years for both of them to understand – their love for Aurora is about her happiness.

Lucien did his part by reuniting her with her brother. As much as it makes his blood burn with desire to snap something, Tristan is fully determined to do his. He will give her the chance to answer Lucien's letter in person, whatever her answer may be. He dreads one particular outcome more than anything else, but if she so chooses, he will not stand in her way. If he had any intention of doing that, he wouldn't be here.

"She's been searching for you ever since." He continues when no answer comes. "With your very efficient network of spies, I doubt you are unaware of that."

Lucien nods, placing his glass on the table next to Tristan's.

"Yes, I know she has been looking for me." He finally looks at him again. "But I made sure our paths didn't cross."

Tristan is just about to loudly express his bewilderment at this statement when he notices the tinniest shift in Lucien's features. A brief sigh, a shadow passing through the green eyes. It takes only a moment for him to figure out what it is (at last, it is a feeling he himself often inspired in those around him) – fear.

"You fear her answer." You fear her heart.

"Of course I do, a pathetic fool that I am." Lucien's mouth spread into a bitter smile. He shrugs his shoulders ironically, his eyes glazed. "Laugh at me if you will. Only an idiot would hold onto something that has never even been there."

To his own great surprise, Tristan cannot bring himself to gloat or mock the man in front of him. To the old Tristan de Martel, a demonstration of superiority over Lucien would have been an instinct. He would have been cruel, simply because the chance was there to be taken.

But the old Tristan de Martel died in the cold embrace of the ocean. The new Tristan de Martel, though hardly a kind and modest man, is not as blind (intentionally or otherwise) as his old self was. When he looks at the man in front of him now, he sees – the same mere servant-boy he used to see – but also the man who has loved Aurora for centuries despite everything; her demons, her betrayals. He sees how deeply Lucien's feelings for Aurora actually reach, to the very core of Lucien's being. His love for her is – not quite, but almost – as deep and unbreakable as Tristan's.

In Tristan's mind, no man will ever be good enough for Aurora, but as suitors go, Lucien is, after all this time… very close.

"Go to her."

The words linger tensely between them, like a bomb moments away from detonation. Lucien does not answer, but his silence speaks a thousand words.

"I release you from your promise." Tristan says with all the steel he can muster. "Go to her."

Lucien stares at him with his eyes and mouth wide open in absolute disbelief.

"I thought you wanted…"

"What I want doesn't matter." Tristan cuts him off. "This is not about what I want."

"Tristan…"

"Go, before I change my mind."

He rushes out of the room, past Lucien's 'friends', past the guard at the door, past people on the street. He has no idea where he is going, but his destination is of no concern to him. He feels oddly free, as if a great burden has been lifted off his shoulders. Deep down, he knows what it is, even if he is afraid to admit it.

It is a certainty that he has bested his pride, his prejudices against Lucien and his selfishness. He has put Aurora's happiness before his own.

The thought makes him smile, truly smile. He can't deny it feels like heaven.

Cherries are red, the skies are blue.

If you don't find me, will I ever find you?

The rhyme plays on her lips, bounces around her thoughts, but she never lets out a sound. What point would there be to it, if no-one is there to hear it?

Locks of her hair swing slowly in the rhythm of breeze around her face. The scent of cherries caresses her nostrils, so strong she can almost feel the taste on her lips. If her dress was a little longer, her shoes more comfortable and Tristan was sitting next to her, she could almost believe she was home.

A long time ago, de Martel estate was her home. Her sanctuary, her safe haven, her cage, her hell – all in one. The only place where she knew true happiness. The place that last saw her as a human. The place where her demons were born. The place where she met her curse – the Mikaelsons.

The place where she first met Lucien – right under this very tree – in what seems like another life.

The last place on Earth where he could possibly be – but she has already looked everywhere else.

If she is honest with herself, she knows there is no hope left. He made his peace with her when he saved Tristan. Why would he want to reopen old wounds? Why would he risk being infected by feelings again, after everything she has put him through during their immortal lives? She can't blame him for keeping his distance. Deep down she knows she doesn't deserve his forgiveness. But she also knows she can't stop searching for it. Her heart will not have it.

Is this what his love for her has felt like all this time?

Does this mean…

"Hello, Aurora."

She freezes; her breath catches; her undead heart skips a beat.

Suddenly, she is on her feet and she doesn't even remember standing up. Like a flower raising its head towards the sun, attracted by a force it cannot understand or explain, her gaze finds his and it feels as if time stands still.

He is the same as she remembers him – yet different in every way. To her surprise, he is dressed in jeans and casual blue shirt, as if he is just an ordinary man out for a short walk. His brown hair is longer than she remembers, a few locks falling lazily down his forehead. Then her eyes fall onto his face – the only thing time can never change. His eyes are green, with a touch of silver in them – and then she looks away.

She cannot bear to look him in the eyes – she is not worthy of it. She is so pathetic and inadequate, so empty and laughable. She has been preparing herself for this moment for so long, carefully planning her explanations, her excuses, but it is all in vain. He came to tell her it was too late and she would never gain what she sought from him.

Her lips are dead and numb, the words ashes on her tongue.

She must say something – what can she say?

If she doesn't say something, he will leave and never come back.

She doesn't think her heart would survive that.

"How are you?"

It would be an understatement of the millennia to say her greeting words didn't catch him off guard. He expected… he does not really know himself what he expected, but 'How are you?' were definitely not the words he thought he would hear upon their reunion. They are… so ordinary, but so… strange and yet so familiar at the same time. To his relief, it seems that choice of words took Aurora by surprise as well, because she looks just as confused and anxious as he feels.

"I am…" Fine? Excellent? Better now that I see you? Delighted to see you? "Good."

"I…" Her struggle to speak is just as real as his. "I am glad to hear it, Lucien."

His name on her lips – it makes his blood sing, his skin tingle.

Her words are sincere, if her brief glance at him through her eyelashes is anything to go by. He has borne that face in his mind for centuries; every expression, genuine and false ones. He knows them by heart, like a song, like a verse.

He takes a moment to study the object of his sweetest dreams and darkest nightmares – or rather, he can't help himself but to do it.

She is wearing a lovely dress whose colour dances between white and yellow depending on the light. It hugs her curves in all the right places, leaving her calves, collarbone and arms exposed to the sun. The locks of her long hair dance with the wind, shielding her face from his gaze. Her eyes hold the summer in them; a sunny day filled with laughter.

She is even more beautiful than in his memories; what hope is there, that he might leave this place with his heart unscathed?

"I heard you were looking for me." He tries his best to sound casual, but he is sure his heart betrays him. "So here I am."

"Yes." She nods, a sigh pressing heavily upon her chest. "Here you are."

His heart is a pile of broken glass inside his ribcage. It is as he has feared; she came to tell him that, no matter what he did or said, she would always find his love insufficient, lacking – insulting even. The moment Tristan – Tristan, who has hated the thought of him since the moment they met as a master and a servant – suggested he should go meet her, he should have known. He should have known his love would be rejected again, for reasons completely irrelevant. It seems that, if there is something that indeed lasts always and forever, it is his stupid hope that maybe – perhaps – finally – after all these years – his love would be enough and his feelings returned. What a fool he was – still is.

He swallows hard and opens his mouth, intending to ask her not to delay the inevitable, but words burst out of her mouth first, making him forget what he was about to say.

"How did they die?"

It takes a moment for him to collect his thoughts, each and every one of them blurry in pain. She is asking about the Mikaelsons, of course. About her eternally beloved Niklaus, whatever his crimes against her may have been.

He will gladly retell her every monstrosity he did to the bastard, in hope the sights of blood spilt, bones broken, skin torn will haunt her at night. If he is condemned to live in a never-ending nightmare, why should she be free of it?

"Divided and conquered." He forces a sly smirk on his face to hide the pain within. "Remember Klaus' little friend Cami?"

To his surprise, when he gazes into Aurora's eyes, green like two emeralds, there is no anger, no jealousy flashing in them. The only sparks he finds is… guilt.

"Yes." She nods. "What of her?"

"I bit her." He explains shortly, fighting not to think about the thoughts that hide under those red locks. If he did that, he might start hoping. And if he starts hoping… he is lost. "And because of Klaus' fondness of her, all the Mikaelsons rushed out of their hideout like sheep, trying to find a cure."

There is only the slightest twitch of Aurora's eyebrows as she puts the pieces together. There is still no sign of the fury that used to erupt like a volcano whenever someone mentioned Cami's name, with consequences almost as catastrophic. Strange.

"Which there is none." Aurora nods again, seemingly unaware of his conflicted thoughts about her calm demeanour.

"Still, it served its purpose." He shrugs his shoulders, deciding not to dwell on the possibility Aurora doesn't care about Cami's fate because she doesn't care about Klaus' fate. "I followed Elijah and Klaus' baby mama to the bayou. I snapped Elijah's neck and tore the heart out of the wolf-girl's chest. Then I took Elijah to the witches and…"

His voice betrays him and so do his eyes as they look away from hers. That is how it started, the three centuries of loneliness and emptiness. With the greatest betrayal he had ever committed, against the only woman he had loved.

"They broke his sireline." Aurora finishes the sentence for him.

His head snaps back towards her before he can stop himself. He looks for anger, for pain, for revenge, but he finds none in her features, as there have been none in her voice.

Why isn't she angry? Why doesn't she hate him? He robbed her brother of relief death could have brought him. He intended to condemn her to eternal suffering apart from Tristan. She should hate the very sight of him.

"What happened then?"

She is still standing at his side, looking at him like a curious child, sweet in its innocence. He remembers that innocence from days long lost, at these very grounds. Even against his will, it lures a smile to his face, even if the smile is sad and bitter.

"I killed Elijah." He says evenly. The second oldest Mikaelson more than anyone deserved to rot in oblivion. "In return for freeing them from their link to him, the Strix were so kind as to deliver me Rebekah. I just repeated the same process."

Aurora takes a deep breath, like an excited reader who knows the best – or the worst – part of the story is yet to come. She remains silent, though, waiting patiently for him to continue.

So he does (Can't he even deny her wordless requests?).

"When Camille died, I expected Klaus would lash out at me, but he did not." In a sudden strike of inspiration, he decides to push his luck. What does he have to lose? "Maybe he didn't love her as deeply as we had thought he did."

"He was a Mikaelson." Aurora says with icy sneer in her voice. "He loved who it suited him, when it suited him."

He would voice his agreement, but she doesn't let him. Ice in her eyes melts off as she looks at his hand and then reaches for it, her movements uncharacteristically hesitant. Her eyes then return to his and before he can even take a breath, he feels her skin against his.

He waits for her to change her mind and shy away, but the moment never comes. When their eyes meet, she looks… relieved, as if she expected the same of him.

"When I asked you how they had died, I…" She swallows hard, glancing away momentarily (at his right hand trapped between both of hers), but then raises her head to him again. "I didn't ask because I care. Whatever you did to them, it was well deserved. I…" She breathes in deeply, and he feels her hold on his hand tighten. "What I actually wanted to ask you, but I couldn't find the words, is… about the letter."

She doesn't need to explain what letter she thinks of.

"What of it?" He asks breathlessly, hoping his voice won't break. Not now, not in front of her.

He must stay strong; because she is already broken.

"How…" She squeezes his hand again, seemingly unaware of the gesture. He barely even notices it, all of his attention focused on her lovely eyes. Filled with tears. "How could you still love me so, after everything I had done to you?"

Before he knows what he is doing, his hand cups her cheek, trying to stop the tears from falling. Her skin is warm under his fingertips, so very similar to how it felt in his imagination, only ultimately more real.

His heart jumps into his throat when, instead of shoving it away, she puts her hand over his and presses it closer to her face.

"You deserve better." She utters the last word bitterly. "I am unworthy of your love. I have proved that more than once over the course of centuries."

Instinctively, he leans forward. Their foreheads press against one another and he can feel their breaths mixing, her scent filling his nostrils.

"And what is it worth to me, when I can't stop loving you?" A small laugh escapes his lips, somewhere in between cynical and joyful. "I would kill anything and anyone who hurt you, but I cannot kill my love for you."

She backs away slightly, so she can look him in the eyes. She releases his hand that is pressed against her face, but keeps the other one in her grasp. He lets go of her cheek, giving her a moment to wipe the tears away and collect her thoughts. His heart beats like a drum in anticipation, so loudly he is certain the entire world can hear it.

"Aurora." It is really unnecessary to say her name at this point since her gaze is already captivating his, but he never gets tired of its sound on his lips. Besides, if her answer to his letter matches his worst fears, this might be the last time he will have uttered it.

There is something poetic about teary eyes of a beautiful woman – perhaps the delicateness of her sorrow or the diamonds that are her tears?

"When I wrote that letter, I didn't want to make you feel indebted to me in any way." He takes a deep breath, knowing his words might be the one last push she needs to leave him behind for good. Still, he promised himself he would do right by her and he is a man of his word, so he continues firmly. "All I want is for you to be happy, even if it far away from me."

His breath catches when she places her hand on his cheek, their roles now reversed. Instantly, he is taken back thirteen centuries ago, waking from the deepest slumber of his life (apart from death, of course) by the feeling of her knuckles against his face. He fights the glorious temptation to just close his eyes and lose himself in her soft, tender touches, keeping his gaze fixed on her green irises.

"In your letter, you wrote your love for me was not about your happiness, but about mine." The most loving of smiles spreads across her face – what a strong effect those words must have had on her. "Tell me then, if I had the means and the greatest desire to make you happy, what would that make me?"

Is she… No, it can't be… But, what if…

A realization occurs to him and he laughs from the heart, blinking away tears that have suddenly appeared in his eyes.

"We are thirteen hundred years old," He explains in amusement when he notices her raised eyebrows, "And yet we still can't explain what love is."

Aurora's laugh joins in with his. It is a symphony to his ears, one he would gladly listen to for eternity.

It seems that, after thirteen long centuries, Aurora's sentiments are just the same as his.

"I know I would love to find out." Her fingertips brush against the corner of his lips. "If you will help me."

He brings her hand to his lips and places a soft kiss on her knuckles, stealing a breath of her skin's scent before his eyes find hers again.

If this is a dream, he will gladly sleep for eternity. And if this is real, he will spend his life devoted to one thing:

"Whatever makes my lady happy."

Taa-daa. This is the end of the happy version (for the Trinity, not so much for the Mikaelsons. It depends on the point of view, I guess). I'm sorry if the characters were a bit OOC, but dammit, they got a happy ending, they are allowed to be OOC. Thank you all for reviewing, following, faving and reading and enjoy the finale :)