This was written for my friend Traxits, because she always writes me fic. I wanted to share it with everyone though, so I'm posting it for public consumption here. I do hope you enjoy it!


Vampires do not often stay together for long periods of time. It leads to wildness and resentment between the parties, and often results in massacre. Occasionally, a vampire who has nested too long with another will kill his nestmate.

Thus, it is discouraged.

When he had made Eric, he had intended for them to hate each other, for it to always be a fight until blood was spilled. They would use one another for pleasure and pain until it blinded them both. He had been vampire for nearly a millennium, had been sick with it, and mad.

So he promised Eric "Father, brother, son," and killed him and brought him over. He'd kept the image of his uncle's murderous face while he'd tried to kill him for his father's land firmly in his mind. He had hoped that the intent would bring the desired outcome.

He had not intended for Eric to worship him, to obey him and follow him; eager to learn everything Godric had to teach. He had not expected to feel so caught up with Eric himself, the perfect, bright creature that was his and his alone, forever undying.

He had been inordinately pleased the first time Eric had fed without killing, some part of his own memory, or perhaps an inbred inclination, indicating that this meant Eric was grown now, able to live unsupervised.

He had touched Eric then, lips on lips and skin sliding against him, had shown Eric where to touch, how to be rough without hurting, how to make love. Eric was not an innocent, of course, but Godric had never allowed him so close before.

They had blended into societies and cultures and eras so frequently and fluidly that he couldn't easily remember the fashions or the people or the norms. At the center of it all and central to it all was Eric, his progeny, his.

Occasionally, they would find another vampire, or a pair, and they would make a nest, but it was always doomed to failure. Always it ended with either himself or Eric revealing a possessive streak miles wide and the others either attacking them outright or leaving them with an air of resentment and a determination to never see them again.

They were in New Orleans, and another century was about to turn, as the humans reckoned it these days.

They had met some locals who had returned after several decades' absence, and were currently residing with them in an opulent home with a light-tight pantry where four vampires could comfortably sleep.

Godric had little tolerance for either of them, who were both far younger than even Eric, who was already as old as Godric himself had been when he'd found Eric. Eric showed no signs of unrest though, and was happy to obey his maker's every whim and then some, a fact which Lorena, the older of their two most recent nestmates, seemed to resent.

Perhaps it was this obvious resentment that caused him to watch the younger vampire, barely three decades turned, so closely. Normally, one so young was beneath him, and he left Eric to play nice. Eric was better at that sort of subtlety that he himself was anyway. Bill though, he watched.

He learned from these observations two things: Lorena was killing her meals, and Godric would not be able to stay long lest he or Eric be noticed by the mortals around them. Also, Bill hated her. He hated that he was forced to touch her in any capacity, that she would have sexual intercourse with him whenever she pleased, and never was he allowed to protest. Bill was so tightly under her thrall though, that he was simply incapable of giving voice to his feelings on the matter.

These observations filled him with sick dread.


Eric watched as the hotel's steward staggered out of their room, light headed from glamour and blood loss, and waited for the door to click closed before he moved.

They had left New Orleans in a hurry some weeks before, the rumors of war with Spain over Cuba and Puerto Rico and the sinking of the USS Maine enough to spur them away, or so he'd thought. They had both been done with war many centuries before.

But Godric had been acting oddly lately, more introverted and quiet than usual, caught up in his own head, and Eric was worried.

He couldn't ask though, as he wasn't sure he wanted to know something Godric was not yet willing to share with him. Instead, he stepped across the room to where Godric still stood, fangs bared and mouth bloody.

"The night is still young," he said. "Are we moving on again before dawn, or did you have something else in mind?" he asked, reaching to unbutton Godric's shirt.

Godric brushed his hands away, staring at something in the distance. Eric frowned. He bent down to kiss Godric instead, and Godric pressed up against his mouth with a groan and Eric could taste the steward from earlier and their own blood mingling together like the perfect wine. He was heady with the fresh feeding, and he wanted so badly for...

Godric pulled away, an expression of pain twisting his features. "We cannot."

"What?" Eric asked, completely nonplussed.

"I am your maker," Godric said quietly.

"Yes." Eric had no other way to respond to such a bald statement. That Godric was his maker was such a fundamental part of his being that he couldn't imagine why Godric would bring it up like this.

"You cannot disobey me."

"Have I... displeased you in some way?" he asked, desperately. Perhaps this was why they had left New Orleans so abruptly? Was he supposed to be punished?

Godric startled and looked up at him, staring into his eyes. "No." He smiled, but it seemed somehow wretched. "No, you have not. You have never displeased me, Eric."

Eric nodded. "Thank you."

"But it is because I am your maker, because you cannot disobey me, that we cannot do this anymore."

"You said I hadn't displeased you!" Eric protested, falling to his knees so he could be the one looking up, the one who was vulnerable. Godric should not be vulnerable.

Godric's hand rested against his cheek. "And you haven't, I promise. You have been the best companion anyone could hope for." Eric closed his eyes and leaned against Godric's hand.

"And that is why I must let you go. I do not wish to force you against your will. We may not be human, but that gives us a higher moral imperative, not a lower one. You know this."

"Yes..." Eric whispered, as the inevitability of this hit him. Godric was his maker. He could not disobey him. "But I am willing," he argued, even though he could feel its certain futility. "You may have chosen me, but it was I who said yes!"

Godric's thumb brushed Eric's cheekbone once before he pulled his hand away.

"A higher moral imperative, Eric," he said again. "It is for you, ultimately, that I do this."

Eric shook his head... "Just don't, please, don't..."

"You must go. You must make for yourself an existence which is palatable to you. Become rich, perhaps. Surround yourself with beautiful things and beautiful creatures. Be content with who you are. Perhaps I will find you again, call you to me again."

Eric leaned forward, burying his face against Godric's chest. "Only perhaps?" he asked, muffled.

"Most likely. I have grown-- accustomed to you, over the centuries." A single soft stroke through his hair. More affection than he'd been shown at one time in nearly half a century.

"Please," Eric whispered, uncaring that he was begging. He was proud, but not so proud that he could pretend this didn't affect him. "Please don't send me away."

"As your maker," Godric said calmly. "I command you."


In my head, Godric lived through the Enlightenment and managed to internalize all of the requisite ideas and ideals, and that's where the whole moral imperative thing came from. I can totally see him embracing the "noble savage" thing as it related to humans and vampires. If Eric seems OOC, well, I kind of see him as OOC around Godric. He loves Godric, after all.

As always, comments are love.