Marshall S. Mikaelson

That had been the plan, anyway.

Walk through the plaza, grab something sugary from one of the vendors, maybe make fun of a few overly serious Dawn Court nobles from a safe distance, and continue on with his day.

Instead, he'd somehow ended up lingering near the edge of the crowd watching a healing demonstration he had no business finding interesting.

Mostly because the volunteer looked like he was trying very hard not to be the center of attention.

Which, unfortunately, only made him more noticeable.

Griffin caught the tail end of the interaction, listening as Marshall thanked the healer before slipping away from the gathering. By the time the younger man had taken a few steps, Griffin was already falling into stride beside him, a paper bag of candied almonds dangling from one hand.

"You know," he said casually, popping one into his mouth, "I think you've officially got better bedside manners than half the healers I've met."

His grin came easy as he glanced sideways.

"Meanwhile, if they'd picked me for that demonstration, there's at least a forty percent chance somebody would've ended up with the bandage wrapped around their face."

A beat.

"Maybe fifty."

The wolf extended the bag toward him in offering.

"Candied almond?"

The scent of sugar and cinnamon drifted between them as Griffin studied him for a moment.

"You looked like you knew what you were doing up there." His tone softened slightly, genuine beneath the teasing. "Not many people stay that calm when they're suddenly volunteered in front of a crowd."

His grin returned almost immediately.

"Either that, or you're really good at pretending."

Taking the candied almond and popping it into his mouth, Marshall glanced once over his shoulder and shook his head. "Bandages aren't really too difficult. I've seen my dad bandage folks up several times and learned a little bit of it as a kid and stuff. Back when I thought I would follow in his footsteps as a doctor or something." He explained with a fond smile at the memories.

she tilted her head at his explanation, glancing toward the notebook like she might try to peek inside before deciding against it. “doodles count,” she said lightly. “sometimes it’s less about making sense and more about getting it out of your head.” a small pause, then a softer shrug. “as for me… couldn’t sleep. the city felt quieter out here than it did at home, so i followed that.” her gaze drifted back to him, faintly curious. “you getting anywhere with it, or just making the chaos look organized?”

The young male remained quiet for several moments as he subconsciously picked along the binding of his notebook. Finally, he slid it between them and thumbed it open a few pages deep to a somewhat crudely drawn map of the city. Along each of the main paths trailing away from the square, he had drawn a small symbol or object -- a snowflake for Winter; a small flower for Spring; a crescent moon for Night. Each of the Courts had a little image he'd chosen to represent them. "Just a map. At least, it's supposed to be." He shrugged lightly.

his gaze dipped briefly to the notebook as it shifted closer to marshall, noting the instinct without commenting on it directly. instead, his eyes flicked back up, a hint of amusement lingering. “hazelnut magic might be the most practical use of power i’ve heard suggested in weeks,” he said. “which probably means no one’s thought to do it.” a beat. “or they have, and they’re keeping it to themselves. which i respect.”

he exhaled quietly at the mention of the lantern lighting, something thoughtful passing behind his eyes before it settled again. “i stayed,” he said simply. “just… not in any one place long enough to be noticed.” his gaze held marshall’s a moment longer than necessary, not intense—just present. “the courts are… interesting. but i don’t think i belong to anything that certain.” a faint tilt of his head, curiosity threading back in. “what about you? did you find what you were looking for that night… or are you still mapping it out?”

"Oh? Where do you belong then?" He questioned softly. His grip relaxed on his notebook as he looked over the other male's features - the way his smiles tugged at the muscles in his cheeks; the way the lights danced in his gaze whenever some thought crossed his mind. He lost himself a few seconds longer before the question roused him back.

"Uh, still searching I think. Not really sure I've found the answer I'm really looking for just yet." He responded softly.

his gaze flicked briefly to the sugar cubes dissolving into the cup, a quiet hint of amusement touching his mouth. “still trying to convince yourself that’s drinkable?” he asked lightly before taking the seat opposite him. he didn’t rush to fill the silence; he simply settled into it, studying marshall with open curiosity rather than analysis. there was something about him that lingered—something grayson hadn’t quite finished thinking about since they’d met. he nodded toward the now-closed notebook. “were you building something,” he asked gently, “or just untangling your own thoughts?” a small pause, then, more honestly, “i’m glad i ran into you. this place feels different in the mornings—but it’s better when it surprises you with the right company.”

He nodded at his pitiful attempt at sweetening his drink. "What I wouldn't give for one of these fae to have some sort of magic... hazelnut flavoring spells or something..." He laughed once more and quickly shook his head. "Uh, the latter. Unsuccessfully." He slid his notebook a tad bit closer with a subconscious protectiveness. His smile never faltered. In fact, it widened just a tiny bit at being referred to as the 'right' company. "You know, I wondered where you had ended up after the lantern lighting." He admitted. "I'm glad to see you didn't disappear into one of the Courts." A soft, teasing laugh escaped him.

“Okay,” he said, nodding once. “First of all — I believe you’re mostly fine. Which is a very human way to be fine.”

He shifted his weight, one shoulder settling back against the wall again, keeping the space between them open instead of closing it.

“And second,” Kolton added, dryly, “people who are truly fine don’t announce it that fast. It’s okay. You don’t get docked points for being… unsettled.”

At the mention of the Courts, Kolton’s mouth curved faintly — not amused, not worried. Thoughtful.

“Yeah, they’re our neighbors now,” he said. “Which means curiosity is normal. It doesn’t mean you’re obligated to go wander into the nearest magical minefield unsupervised.”

A beat. Then, gentler:

“I get it,” Kolton went on. “The unknown feels less heavy when you can put a shape to it. When it’s a place, a name, a face. Makes it feel… manageable.”

He tipped his head, studying Marshall with something warm and familiar in his eyes.

“But curiosity and preparation aren’t the same thing,” Kolton said. “And the Courts don’t play by human rules. Or supernatural ones, honestly. They play by their rules.”

He let that sit for a second, then softened the edge of it with a half-smile.

“I’m not saying ‘don’t go,’” Kolton added. “I’m saying don’t go alone, don’t go unannounced, and definitely don’t go in thinking you’re just there to look around.”

He pushed off the wall and took a small step closer — still not crowding.

“If you want,” Kolton offered, “we can figure out a way for you to see what you’re curious about without turning yourself into a cautionary tale. Because I promise you — this family has enough of those already.”

The male fidgeted once more and chewed his lip a second time as he worked through his thoughts. "What are you thinking?" He questioned curiously and perked up slightly at the offer. "Are the Courts really that dangerous? But, isn't Uncle Klaus, like, buddy-buddy with one of those High Lords?" He asked offhandedly.

Early mornings were for transit and quiet, for getting from one obligation to the next without collecting extra trouble along the way. But the coffee shop on the corner had its door propped open, warmth spilling out into the cool like an invitation she didn’t fully trust—and her hands were already numb from holding a paper cup that had gone cold five blocks ago.

So she’d stepped inside.

She clocked the room on instinct: exits, the counter, the window line, the way the barista moved like she’d been up too long to be scared of anything anymore. Normal. As normal as anything got. The kind of place where you could pretend the day might behave itself if you met it with caffeine and low expectations.

She was halfway through deciding whether to commit to standing in line when the guy at the window spoke.

“Mornin’,” he said, easy as a habit.

Laikyn angled her head in something that passed for a nod, eyes flicking to the sugar cubes as he dropped them in like a confession. The notebook closing caught her attention more than the greeting did. People didn’t close things unless they didn’t want them read.

“Yeah,” she said, voice low, dry. “Coffee hasn’t gotten the memo that everything else is allowed to be weird.”

She stepped closer to the counter, ordered something simple, then shifted to the side to wait, one shoulder resting against the wall like it belonged there. For a moment she watched the street the way he had—like a moving picture you didn’t need to understand to know it wasn’t scripted.

“Burnt espresso and false hope,” she added after a beat, glancing back at him. “That’s the brand here. They’re consistent if nothing else.”

A small pause. Not quite a smile, but something softer than guarded.

“You look like you’re either planning a heist or trying to convince yourself you’re being productive,” she said, eyes flicking briefly to where the notebook had been. “No judgment. Both are respectable morning hobbies.”

"They're, uh, nothing special really. Mostly just a way to keep my hands busy and my mind occupied for a few minutes. Small doodles of places and landmarks in the city and, uh, what Courts the roads lead to." He pointed to a few arrows and boxes. Then, with a grin, he pointed to a doodle nearby instead. "And a little monkey wearing a crown."

She spotted Marshall by the window and hesitated, then crossed the room with her cup warming her palms.

“Morning,” she echoed gently, the word worn but sincere. Her smile was there — small, real — but it didn’t quite reach her eyes the way it used to. “Yeah. Coffee’s stubborn like that. Refuses to acknowledge the apocalypse.”

She set her cup down across from him, glancing at the sugar cubes with a faint huff of amusement. “No judgment. I’ve been one bad night away from turning mine into syrup.” A beat. “If it helps, the second cup is usually where it stops tasting like regret.”

Her gaze drifted briefly to the window, to the slow unfurling of the city outside. Then back to him.

“You look like you’re planning something,” Skyla said, nodding toward the notebook he’d just closed. “Or trying very hard not to plan anything. Both are valid coping mechanisms around here.” The corner of her mouth lifted. “What’s the verdict today — preparing for chaos, or just keeping your hands busy so your thoughts don’t get too loud?”

She wrapped her fingers a little tighter around her cup, warmth grounding her.

“I was on my way to open the bakery,” she added softly. “But I figured I’d steal a few minutes of borrowed normal first. The early hours are… gentler.” A small, honest pause. “They make it easier to remember that some things still show up, even when everything else feels sideways.”

Her eyes met his, open and kind, carrying a quiet weight she didn’t put into words.

“So,” Skyla said lightly, lifting her cup in a small toast. “Here’s to coffee staying the same. And to mornings that don’t ask too much of us.”

"You're heading to the bakery?" He questioned lightly. "Maybe I'll tag along. I haven't eaten yet and some fresh pastries sound amazing right now." The male mused with a gentle warmth in his tone. "Besides," He started softly and his expression matched his shift in tone, "You look like you could use some company. No offense."

His gaze found Marshall without effort.

He approached at an unhurried pace, the early light catching the edges of his expression and softening the lines that usually spoke of far heavier rooms than this one. When Marshall greeted him, Elijah inclined his head slightly in return, a quiet acknowledgment that carried more familiarity than formality.

“Good morning,” he replied, tone calm, almost gentle. He glanced at the coffee as Marshall doctored it without shame, a faint note of amusement touching his mouth. “I’ve found that when the world insists on changing everything at once, it’s the smallest consistencies that feel like anchors.”

Elijah set his coat over the back of the opposite chair, not sitting immediately — a habit of giving the moment room before settling into it. His eyes flicked briefly to the closed notebook on the table.

“Planning for something you cannot yet name?” he asked mildly. “Or simply giving your thoughts somewhere to land that isn’t your own head?”

He finally took the seat across from Marshall, posture relaxed but attentive.

“The early hours suit you,” Elijah observed. “They tend to be kinder to those who are thinking too much and sleeping too little.”

The compliment warmed his cheeks and his smile softened with shyness. "You think?" He asked, before his brow furrowed just a hair. "Wait - is it that obvious I'm not sleeping much?" He asked.

He crossed over, nudging the chair opposite with his boot before settling into it, coat still on, eyes already taking in the closed notebook, the sugar cubes, the too-thin layer of sleep behind his son’s smile.

“Morning, kid,” he said, voice low, easy. “Coffee tasting like regret is one of the last reliable constants we’ve got.”

He reached for the little metal sugar bowl without asking and slid it closer to Marshall, an unspoken don’t be shy, you’re allowed to make it drinkable. Then he leaned back, forearms resting on the table, studying him in that quiet, sideways way parents did when they were trying not to interrogate.

“Planning the future with doodles again?” Maveric asked, mouth twitching. “Either that, or you’re designing a new way to trap whatever the city throws at us next.”

His gaze drifted to the window, the soft arguments, the market stalls waking up. For a moment, he let the calm exist.

“Early hours are kinder,” he agreed. “They don’t ask much of you. Just show up.”

He looked back at Marshall, eyes steady, warm.

“You okay?”

"I don't think my doodles and notes are going to help anyone trap anything." He chuckled quietly and flipped a couple of pages deep into the notebook. "Unless we have a way to make little monkey doodles come to life now. We... don't, right?" He questioned with a small, uncertain pause before withdrawing his hands from the paper and settling them in front of him - picking his nails through his thoughts.

"I guess? I mean, are any of us really 'okay' these days?" He questioned lightly, but shook his head a couple of times. "I'm not worrisome or anything like that. Just feeling kind of... human, these days." He gave him the same, tired smile he'd greeted him with.

“Accidental bravery’s still bravery,” he said easily, the corner of his mouth lifting. “City’s good at handing it out whether you ask for it or not.”

He stayed where he was, giving Marshall space, but the warmth under his skin settled into something steadier now—less warning, more presence. The kind that said you’re not alone in this, even if neither of them had said it out loud.

“‘Not bleeding, not cursed, not summoning,’” Jax repeated, nodding. “Yeah. You’re doing great by local standards. Gold star. Free pass to continue existing.”

At the Triad District comment, his expression shifted—subtle, but real. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It’s not forgiving on nights when your head’s loud.” A beat. “But I get it. Sometimes movement’s the only thing that keeps the thoughts from catching up.”

He glanced around—the lanterns strung too carefully for a place that had seen this much damage, the depot still holding its breath like it remembered being useful once. “This spot’s got a weird… pause to it,” he added. “Like the city hasn’t decided what it’s supposed to be yet.”

Marshall’s name settled easily between them.

“Jax,” he replied, tapping two fingers against his chest. “And don’t worry—I’m really good at preventing rescues. It’s the surprise ones I get cranky about.”

He hesitated, then tilted his head toward the street leading out of the district—brighter, safer, still humming with life. “If you’re just walking till your brain quiets down, I can walk you part of the way. No sirens. No heroics. Just… company.”

A faint, teasing warmth crept back into his voice. “Strictly optional. But I’d feel better knowing you don’t end up as tonight’s footnote in a Triad incident report.”

He met Marshall’s gaze, steady and unpressured. “What do you say?”

He gave a lingering look at the building that had originally gave him pause and let out a small breath. "Yeah." He uttered. "No, yeah. Company sounds nice. Thanks, Jax." He smiled softly. A small chuckle escaped him at the teasing warmth that crept into the man's voice. "I appreciate the concern. Really. But, let's get out of here. This District gives me the chills." He shivered some and finally moved closer to him.

Kolton found Marshall exactly where he expected to — half-hidden, half-pretending not to be, lingering on the edge of a space like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to take up all of it yet.

“Hey,” Kolton said, not loud, not soft — just enough to be heard without startling him.

He leaned against the doorframe instead of stepping fully in, arms folding loosely, posture casual in the way that was very intentional. He took Marshall in with a quick, practiced glance — not counting injuries, not assessing threats. Just checking. Making sure he was there.

“You’ve got that look,” Kolton went on, mouth quirking faintly. “The ‘I’m fine, don’t ask questions, please don’t ask questions’ one. Real family heirloom, that.”

He pushed off the frame and stepped closer, stopping a respectful distance away. Not crowding. Never crowding.

“I heard you skipped out early,” he said, tone easy, like it didn’t matter — like it absolutely did. “Figured I’d come make sure you weren’t spiraling alone somewhere inconvenient. Or, you know… at least pick the spot with better lighting.”

A beat. His expression softened, just a little.

“You don’t have to explain anything,” Kolton added. “But you don’t have to do the quiet thing by yourself either.”

He tilted his head, waiting — patient in a way that didn’t demand a response, just made room for one.

"I'm not spiraling." Blue eyes shot to his cousin with a defensive gaze. "I was just thinking. I thought... maybe I would try to visit one of the Courts. I know they're dangerous and probably not really that safe for humans, but I'm curious. They're, like, our neighbors now. Right? Shouldn't we get to know them or something?" He questioned as if Kolton knew all the answers.

iliana mikaelson moved through the gallery without sound, the way people do when they know a space is listening. the broken city had given her this place in pieces—walls that didn’t quite line up, lighting that hummed as if it remembered a different grid—but she had made it intentional. she slowed when she noticed someone standing in front of a large piece near the back, a mixed-media canvas layered with gold leaf, charcoal fractures, and something older pressed beneath the paint. iliana didn’t interrupt right away. she watched instead, head tilted slightly, curious about how they were looking, not just what they saw.

after a moment, she stopped beside them, hands folding loosely at her waist. “most people decide how they feel about that one in the first ten seconds,” she said quietly. “they’re usually wrong.” her gaze stayed on the artwork rather than the person, voice even, almost conversational. “i know i was.” she finally glanced at them then, expression calm, unreadable, a faint edge of warmth beneath the poise. “what do you see?”

"I've never been particularly good at 'art'. That talent skipped around the family and missed me, I think." The male smile and tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Is it yours?" He questioned with a nod of his head towards the artwork.

he noticed the glance toward the siphons, didn’t call it out, didn’t bristle. “trust isn’t given to the shadows,” he said quietly. “it’s given to the one who listens when they move. they stay because i notice. same reason they’ve noticed you.” when marshall admitted to feeling too much, tairen’s expression didn’t soften—but something in it shifted. “that doesn’t go away,” he said. “you don’t blunt it. you learn where to aim it. people who feel deeply make dangerous allies and disastrous enemies. which one you become is a choice.” then, at the question about the veil, a faint, dry curve touched his mouth. not humor. recognition.

“yes,” he answered simply. “i’m from a court beyond it. the night court.” no flourish. no pride. “but i’ve stood in places like this long enough to know borders don’t mean what people want them to.” he held marshall’s gaze again, calm, unflinching. “you didn’t miss the manual. you just skipped the part where people pretend they understand it.” a beat. “keep asking questions. just make sure you’re listening to the answers you don’t like as much as the ones you do.” then, quieter—matter-of-fact. “that’s usually where you find out who you’re becoming.”

At the mention of feeling deeply, his mouth pressed thin for a second, not defensive so much as thoughtful. “Dangerous ally,” he echoed quietly, testing the words like they might bruise if handled wrong. Then his gaze flicked back up, more resolve in it than before. “I don’t want to be the other thing. The disastrous option.” He swallowed, then squared his shoulders just a little. “So I guess I’ll have to learn where to aim it, like you said; even if that means figuring it out the hard way.”

The admission about the Night Court didn’t rattle him the way he might have expected. If anything, it grounded something. Borders meant less than listening; that part stuck. Marshall nodded once, deliberate, as if filing the thought somewhere important. “I hear you,” he said simply. “About the answers I won’t like.” His expression softened into something quieter but more certain. “I don’t need to be impressive. I just don’t want to disappear in the noise.” He paused, then added, almost to himself, “If becoming someone takes paying attention and staying awake to what scares me; I can do that. Maybe...”

“Five minutes is about right,” she said quietly, the faintest curve of a smile touching her mouth. Not amused. Just understanding.

When he admitted he hadn’t wanted to be where he was, something in her gaze softened. She didn’t rush to fill the space after it — didn’t try to fix it, or name it. Rowan had learned that some truths only survived if you let them land without commentary.

She adjusted the strap of her satchel, easing it back into a more neutral position as she took a slow step forward — not past him, not closer than necessary, just enough to signal we’re moving now.

“I’m Rowan,” she said gently, as if returning the trust he’d offered. “And you’re allowed to not want to be somewhere. Even if you don’t have a better place picked out yet.”

The cracked pavement echoed softly under their boots as she angled them away from the depot, choosing a route where the streetlights still worked more often than they didn’t. The city exhaled in fits and starts around them — distant sirens, a hum of magic that never fully slept.

She nodded once at his words about the city, eyes lifting briefly to the darkened skyline. “It does that before something changes,” she murmured. “Or before someone notices something they weren’t supposed to.”

A pause. Then, quieter:

“I was following a name,” Rowan admitted. “One that doesn’t show up in the right places. So if it starts feeling like the street’s listening… that’s probably on me.”

She glanced at him sidelong, not prying, just present. “You don’t have to talk,” she added. “But if you do… I’m good at walking and listening at the same time.”

They walked under a flickering streetlight that buzzed, then steadied; Marshall glanced up, then back to the road ahead. “I get the street-listening thing,” he murmured, half a smile ghosting across his mouth. “Feels like the city’s got ears lately; like it’s deciding who it remembers.” He swallowed, the sound small in the night. “If it’s on you, then… thanks for the warning. I’m not great with surprises.” Not accusatory — just honest, the way he seemed to be learning to be with her.

His steps softened to match hers again. “I don’t mind listening, either,” Marshall added, voice gentle. “I promise, I don't wander into hostile territory when I'm walking with someone else.” He smiled and angled a glance her way, careful not to pry, presence offered rather than pressed. “And if the name you’re following starts tugging at the air,” he said, a hint of warmth there now, “I’ll keep pace. Feels better noticing things together than pretending they aren’t there.”

They walked a few moment longer before he spoke once more. “Are you from around here?” He asked lightly and tugged his jacket around himself a little bit tighter as the midnight air whipped around them.