"We may stumble and fall but shall rise again; it should be enough if we did not run away from the battle." – Mahatma Gandhi

Marcel had thought the days of taking orders from the Originals were long gone, had disappeared alongside them when they fled the city back in 1919. But he was begrudgingly wandering down an abandoned street in the French Quarter under direct, slightly aggressive orders given by Elijah Mikaelson. While the rest of the vampire community had been instructed to search for Klaus and Rebekah, to scour every inch of New Orleans for the missing Originals, Marcel had been given one special directive: check on Imogen Claire.

It was kind of bittersweet to learn that the former Governor's mansion had been burned to the ground. So many times over the years had he imagined being the one to light the match, to sit back and watch his childhood go up in smoke but he never thought it would become a reality. That mansion stood as a symbol for everything horrible in his life, all of the brutalisation of being a slave and all of the memories of being classed as a victim. No, he wasn't upset to see the plantation burn to rubble but he was a little disappointed he wasn't the one who got to light the first spark.

The fact that Imogen had been caught in the blaze was the only part of the situation that really mattered to him. There was no reason for her to ever be near that house, but he only thought that for selfish reasons. Some part of his subconscious didn't want her to have the same association that he had, he didn't want her to make connections where there shouldn't be any.

He could remember the ache in his heart when Elijah told him that she had been trapped inside the burning building and the subtle glint of desperation hidden in the Original's ancient eyes when he sternly ordered that he make his way to Imogen's apartment. That was all it took for him to rush out of the Abattoir and now he found himself walking down the familiar street with a dull pain in his chest.

The scent of fresh blood wafted through the night air, something familiar about the aroma catching his attention and making his mouth water in anticipation as he froze in the middle of the street. There was only one incident he could remember tasting blood that smelt as sweet as what he was experiencing and the thought alone sent him running towards Imogen's apartment at the maximum speed he was capable.

Time seemed to come to a stop as he froze in horror at the scene in front of Imogen's apartment building and he barely noticed the shards of glass scattered all over the ground as his gaze locked on the source of the blood. A brunette woman was lying with her face turned away from him, her body arranged in an almost unnatural position and he gasped in shock, causing the sweet scent of blood to saturate him. The familiar perfume sent a jolt through him as he was broken out of his daze and he rushed over to kneel beside the woman with a renewed sense of urgency.

There were few times in Marcel's life that he had experienced true fear and he could name them on one hand. The first incident he could remember clearly was back in 1821 when was still human and Kol Mikaelson forced him to watch compelled people act out Hamlet, even making them kill each other for real. In 1919 when Mikael arrived in New Orleans, he was brutally beaten and crucified to a post in a play as a message to Klaus. He could remember the feel of the flames licking at his skin as the opera house burned to the ground around him and he could remember being absolutely positive that he was going to die that night, alone and frightened.

"Please, don't be her. Please, don't be her." he pleaded under his breath in a desperate tone as he gingerly turned the woman's head towards him and he almost growled when he recognised the beautiful witch unconscious in his arms. "Damn it, Imogen."

Nimble fingers instinctively went to the pulse point of her throat as his gaze swept over her unnaturally pale complexion and his frown deepen when he felt the sticky substance on her skin, causing him to lift his hand from her neck. When he glanced down in confusion, he could see the dark red blood coating his fingers and he swore internally as he looked around for the source of the blood until his gaze landed on the deep stab wound on her throat.

"Come on, pretty girl." He whispered helplessly as he allowed his vampire visage to appear and then he bit down on his own wrist with an audible crunch echoing in the near silent night air. Blood poured from the wound as he lifted Imogen's head to cradle her body to his chest and he pressed his wrist into her mouth as he used his free hand to massage her throat, manually forcing her to swallow as much of the blood as possible. "Come on, pretty girl. Drink up, honey."

A small moan escaped the witch as her eyelids fluttered open with difficulty and her blue eyes were unfocused as she weakly tried to move away from the arm in front of her mouth.

"Hey, hey, hey. Relax. I got you. I got you." Marcel murmured softly as he soothed her brunette hair back gently and removed his wrist from her mouth as she made a vague sound in the back of her throat. A relieved sigh escaped him as he focused on the sound of her heartbeat getting stronger with each passing second and his dark brown eyes locked on the scarlet red blood staining her slightly parted lips as she breathed labouredly. Her cheeks were ashen as her eyelids fluttered closed, falling into an unconscious state and he stroked her cheek with his fingertips as he held her against his chest like she was the most precious gem in the world.

Once he was completely positive that Imogen was healed, he carefully lifted her into his arms in a bridal hold as he stood up from the ground. The glass shards crunched underneath his feet as he tucked her head in the crook of his neck and he inhaled her familiar vanilla perfume that was so unique to her in reassurance that she was safe in his arms. He shifted her body into a more comfortable position before he used his vampire speed to run to The Abattoir and he easily avoided running into anyone who would ask question as he took her straight to the guest room she had claimed as her own.

"Here we go, pretty girl." He whispered to her as he gently placed her down on the large bed and her head lolled to the side in her sleep as her brunette hair fanned out around her like a halo. The heavy feeling in his chest was starting to slowly alleviate as he perched on the edge of the bed and watched her chest rise and fall with each breath. He reached out to gingerly rub his thumb over her lower lip, taking away the remains of his blood and she moaned in her sleep as he sucked the blood off of his thumb.

Now that he was sure that Imogen was going to be okay once she woke up, the concern that had settled in the pit of his stomach was starting to morph into rage. How dare someone hurt Imogen? She was under his protection, under the Originals protection, so who would be stupid enough to lay a hand on her? Was it Celeste trying to finish the job she had failed to do in the fire earlier that night? Was it the witches trying to get revenge on her for stopping the original Harvest Ritual? Or someone trying to weaken the vampire's hold on New Orleans by taking out one of their most valuable players?

The sound of his cell phone ringing knocked him out of his thoughts and his gaze immediately went to Imogen's face to make sure the noise didn't wake her up as he reached for his phone. He glanced at the caller ID with a sigh as he stood up from the edge of the bed and he wandered over to the opened doors that led to the balcony overlooking the street below as he pressed the accept button on the screen, "Diego, hey. Find anything?"

"You're not gonna like it." The vampire on the other end of the phone call answered warily and Marcel raised an eyebrow in question even though Diego couldn't see him as he leaned against the railing. "Me and some of the guys ran into a group of witches when we were patrolling. They were collecting the remains of one of theirs."

"Who?" the former king asked sharply as he looked over his shoulder in the direction of the bedroom, a mixture of concern for the unconscious woman inside and confusion over what exactly had occurred causing him to frown.

"That's the part you're not going to like. It was Sophie Deveraux."

"Damn it!"

"I thought you'd want to know."

"Yeah. Thanks, man. Keep me updated." Marcel ordered lightly in a defeated tone as he rubbed the bridge of his nose and he vaguely heard the confirmation on the other end of the phone call as he hung up. A groan passed through his lips as he slipped his phone back into his jeans pocket and he closed his eyes for a moment, processing the fact the Sophie Deveraux wasn't living any longer.

Sophie Deveraux had been a pain-in-the-ass witch but there was a time when they were friends, more than friends for a small amount of time and even with everything that had happened, he hadn't wanted to see her dead. He knew that their unorthodox semi-friendship wasn't the reason Diego had felt the need to inform of her death. It was a well-known fact within the supernatural community that Sophie Deveraux and Imogen Claire were best friends and they'd been practically joined at the hip for their entire lives until the unfortunate events of the Harvest had driven them apart.

Guilt gnawed at him as he slowed made his way back into the bedroom, his mind drifting to memory of the hollowed look in Imogen's eyes when Davina died. The selfish part of him wanted to run out of the room, to abandon the responsibility that had been handed to him the moment Diego had told him the news. There was also the more prominent part of himself that knew he needed to be the one to inform Imogen of what happened to Sophie.

An almost inaudible groan came from the unconscious brunette and he instantly used his vampire speed to appear at the side of the bed with a concerned frown. He sat down on the edge of the bed as he gingerly traced his fingers down her sunken cheek and her eyelids started to flutter open at his touch as she lolled her head to the side. A moan escaped the back of her throat as confusion settled over her expression and her lips turned down in a frown as she blinked repeatedly.

"Hey there, pretty girl. Good to see those gorgeous eyes." Marcel whispered to her in greeting as a grin spread across his lips and her blue eyes focused on him as she lolled her head around to look at him.

"Marcel? Hi." Imogen whispered back to him, her voice cracking from not being used in a while and she cleared her throat gently as she winced in pain with a grimace twisting her lips.

"Hang on a second. I'll be right back, okay." he told her gently with a hesitant glint in his dark brown eyes and she nodded slightly with a small smile as he leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead.

Imogen fought the urge to close her eyes as she watched Marcel exit the bedroom at vampire speed, every neuron in her brain was telling her to go back to sleep but for some reason she knew that she had to stay awake. She had no idea how she ended up back in her bedroom at the Abattoir and if she were anyone else she'd think the night before had been a nightmare but her memories were much too clear to be anything but reality. It was easy for her remember every word spoken between her and Celeste, she definitely remembered the searing pain radiating through her neck when the glass pierced her skin.

Marcel entered the bedroom with a glass of water in his hand and the witch instantly started to sit up on the bed but he rushed forward to stop her with a restraining hand on her shoulder. "Stop, stop, stop. You just woke up, hon. You gotta go slow."

"I feel fine, Marcel." She told him in a strained voice as he set the glass down on the bedside table and carefully helped her sit up with her back against the headboard of the bed. Imogen offered him a grateful smile as she accepted the glass he handed her and he gingerly sat down on edge of the bed as she sipped the water slowly.

"You're fine? I found you on the street with a stab wound. It was so bad I thought you had already bled out. Another minute without my blood and you would have."

"Well, thank you for the blood." She said sincerely with a small smile as she squeezed his fingers gratefully and he offered her a half-smile as he placed the now empty glass back on the bedside table.

"Now, tell me, who do I have to kill?" he asked her in a light-hearted tone but she could see the seriousness behind the façade he put up as a front and she sighed heavily as she weakly moved to swing her legs over the edge of the bed. Marcel stood up from the edge of the bed when he noticed what she was about to do and he held out both of his hands, silently offering her assistance as she slid her hands into his with a small smile. "I'm serious. I'm gonna kill whoever hurt you."

"Then you're going to have to kill me." Imogen admitted softly in a whisper as she removed her hands from his grasp and easily sidestepped him, ignoring the dumbfounded expression on his face. She could feel his incredulous gaze on her back as she made her way over to the dresser and she avoided the desire to look over her shoulder as she pulled open the drop drawer.

"What are you talking about?"

"I got cornered by Celeste on my way home. Since she failed in killing me in the fire, she wanted to finish the job. Said it was the perfect way to teach the Originals a lesson. I wasn't about to be a victim. Not again. So I smashed in the window of the sedan and stab myself in the throat with a shard of glass."

Marcel stared in horror at the back of the brunette's head, completely astonished by the confession and the nonchalant tone of her voice when she delivered it. Imogen was the fiercest woman he had ever met, the most determined and resilient without any contest, he couldn't believe that she would give up her life so easily. He knew that losing Davina has devastated her and that she had taken to numbing the pain with alcohol but she had seemed to be handling the situation better recently.

"You...?" he trailed off unsurely, anger seeping into his tone as he took a step towards her and she braced her hands on the edge of the dresser as she tensed in anticipation for his reaction. "You tried to kill yourself?! What the hell, Imogen?"

"You really think I'd do that?" she asked bitingly as she spun around to face him with fire burning behind her blue eyes, a spark of life that he couldn't deny when he was looking directly into them. "You really think I'd go through the hell I went through, only to let some power hungry witch-bitch on a misguided quest for justice get the best of me? You should know me better than that. I may be damaged, but damaged people? They know they can survive. I'll admit, when we lost Davina I was a little depressed and I thought about it, but Elijah talked me off the edge completely. I am not suicidal."

"Not suicidal?! What do you call stabbing yourself in the neck?! A fun party game?"

"It's part of my plan!" she shouted at him in irritation as she took a few steps towards him, standing close enough that her index finger was pressed against the middle of his firm chest. Her cheek flushed with anger as she clenched jaw to stop herself from continuing her tirade and she tilted her head up slightly to meet his gaze unflinchingly. "I would never risk my life when there's even a chance to bring Davina back to life. And you know that. We're all pretty sure that Celeste is the one who has to die before we can get Davina back, right? I felt the magnitude of her power in that fire. There was more magical energy in those flames then anything I've ever experienced. It had to be more than one person, she has to be tethered to the other witches that came back with the Reaping. Even I'm not a match against her at the moment, if she has a link to more magic."

Imogen let her fierce expression soften when she noticed the anguish behind his dark brown eyes and she took a deep breath as she reminded herself that he had now witnessed both of the Claire sister's lying in a puddle of their own blood. It wasn't fair of her to be angry over his assumption when he didn't have all of the facts and if there was anyone she trusted to help her revive Davina, it would definitely be him.

A tense moment of silence passed as they stared at each other and then Imogen sighed heavily as she reached up to place her hands on either side of his face. She could see the inner turmoil swirling in his dark brown eyes, the sorrow and pain that her almost death had caused him. She pushed herself up on her toes so that her forehead was pressed against his and he closed his eyes as he inhaled slowly, breathing in her unique scent as a reminder that she was safe in his arms.

"The moment I left here last night, I cast a revival spell on myself as a precaution. I had a feeling Celeste wouldn't be happy with my survival. I wasn't going to die. Not for long anyway. Celeste demonstrates intelligence, and the ability to think multiple moves ahead. She's skilled in manipulation and deception. So, we have to be even more devious and calculating. The Originals couldn't be our main plan of attack because she'd see that coming. Celeste's biggest fault is her arrogance, she's vain and thinks she's the most powerful witch in the Quarter. She thinks she took out one of our team's most valuable players last night, so you can only imagine how confident she feels right now. She's going to want to flaunt that superiority. She'll get cocky and she'll make a mistake. The moment she makes a mistake, she'll be vulnerable and it will be easier to get the upper hand. Now that she thinks I'm dead, I'm literally our team's secret weapon." Imogen informed him passionately with a cunning smirk on her lips, her blue eyes lighting up like an untameable wildfire as she spoke about the scheme. "I felt her individual magic, Marcel. It's nothing compared to mine. When the time comes, I can take her."

"You saw this coming. You knew that Celeste would feel threatened by you." Marcel stated in an awed tone of voice as he narrowed his eyes at the witch in front of him, scrutinising her every feature like he had never seen her face before in his life.

"I read Elijah's diary, with his permission, and made a psychological profile of her character. I thought it might give us a tactical advantage." She admitted innocently with a bright grin on her lips as she shrugged her shoulders and he couldn't help smiling back at her as she continued, "And I was bored."

"You're diabolical." He said proudly as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into an embrace with his chin resting on top of her head and she chuckled happily as she returned the hug with a smile.