Title: What You Made
Summary: Godric is saddened to see the hatred in his child, but he's the one who created it.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, or True Blood. I'm also not making any money off this story, so please don't sue!
A/N: I actually posted this story a few days ago… but the site was being kind of glitchy so I'm reposting for purely selfish reasons :) I hope you enjoy what you read, and really hope you're kind enough to leave a review! (Even if you didn't like it).
Oh… and SPOILERS for the S3 finale! So be warned :)
"You make me bleed, my child."
Eric tore his eyes away from Russell and focused on Godric, who was looking on disapprovingly; he couldn't help but flinch away as his Maker shook his head, his dark eyes solemn. "So much hatred," he said, quietly.
Eric clenched his hands into fists, his whole body stiffening. "This is who I am, Godric," he snapped. "This . . . is what you made!"
The first thing he felt as he came awake, was fear. He was covered in darkness, so lost he couldn't even see his own hand in front of his face; it was perfectly silent, not even the sounds of his own breathing could comfort him. He shuddered, then gasped as a ripple of pain traveled through his body, causing him to jerk and twist as if he could get away from it . . . something was holding him down, and he began to panic as he felt the strong arms wrapped around him. He struggled violently, grunting, clawing at the darkness around him until he felt soft earth beneath his fingers; dirt fell onto his face and he spat, his fear increasing as he realized exactly where he was.
I'm buried alive!
The thought sent him into a frenzy. He pushed on the ground above him even harder, grasping at dirt and rocks, ignoring the pain as his knuckles were scraped raw; suddenly, the dirt gave way and his arm shot up into the fresh air above. Eric cried out in relief as his eyes focused and he took in the bright moon, the millions of stars, and felt the cool wind on his face.
The voice was soft and gentle. The arms that were wrapped tightly around Eric let go, so he jumped out of the shallow grave and onto solid land, never taking his eyes off the unfamiliar face staring at him so calmly. He reached for his sword, cursing when he realized it was gone, then tensed himself for a fight as the boy climbed out of the grave after him.
He was young, that much was obvious. Just a boy, perhaps only fifteen or so. His dark hair was messy and hung around his face carelessly . . . his eyes were unreadable as they studied Eric, looking him up and down as if he were a slave up for sale. He had the body of a young warrior, lean and muscular, and his bare chest revealed tattoos marking his pale skin. When he spoke, it was in Eric's language, but he had a heavy accent: "So anxious to begin your new life. Most children do not awake before their Makers."
"Who are you?" Eric hissed, taking a step forward and raising a fist to the boy. At 6"4, Eric towered over him, but the boy didn't flinch, didn't take a step away, or even blink.
"You may call me 'Godric'."
Eric sneered, grabbing Godric by the throat and pulling him close. "I don't care about your name!" he snapped, "who are you . . . what did you do to me? Where am I?"
"I am your Maker." Godric reached up, his ice cold hands grasping Eric's as he removed his grip. "Your father, your brother, your son. I am your everything now." When Eric opened his mouth, Godric shushed him quickly: "It is always confusing at first, this will pass in time. But what you should know is that I saved your life. You would be in the ground, permanently, if not for me."
Flashes passed before Eric's eyes . . . blood and dirt, men screaming as he plunged his sword into their flesh, a battlefield filled with dead bodies. His men, his closest friends, walking with him, carrying him away from the horror of it all and gently preparing him for death. Then a stranger, slitting their throats in the blink of an eye.
"You killed my men."
Godric shrugged a shoulder, his eyes dulling with boredom. "Irrelevant."
"I told you I would fight you if I could," Eric said, a smile slowly spreading across his face. "And now I can . . . you will die, boy." He lunged at Godric with all the speed of his lifelong training, one hand open and reaching, ready to rip out Godric's throat, the other clenched into a powerful fist. Before he could get to him, Godric had him pinned on the damp ground, his hands around Eric's neck, his face inches away . . . and a pair of long fangs nearly touching Eric's lips. Eric nearly yelled in fear, but clamped his mouth shut before any sound could escape; he swung his arm wildly, his open palm clapped Godric's ear with enough force to shatter anyone's eardrum. Godric only blinked.
"Stop it!" he commanded.
Eric froze. Not by choice, but suddenly he could not fight anymore. His arms were heavy, they fell to the ground, away from Godric,and he lay there, helpless beneath him. Gritting his teeth, he tried again to lift his arms, but it was like some invisible force was holding them down . . . shouting in frustration, he relaxed, and Godric sat back, releasing him.
"Now," he said, "are you going to remain calm?"
"What are you?" Eric demanded, his eyes focusing on Godric's fangs.
Godric tilted his head, a smile briefly appearing on his face. "I am what you are now . . . we are the same."
"I am not like you!"
"Oh no?" Godric appeared in front of Eric, moving so quickly his eyes couldn't focus.
"Look into my eyes, see your reflection. See what you are." He leaned forward and Eric had to fight the urge to back away, every instinct within him screaming that the stranger was too close for comfort; he ignored the urge and obeyed Godric's command, looking deep into the dark brown pools and seeing his own face staring back at him.
His own face, and his own fangs.
Gasping, he scrambled backward and got to his feet, stumbling over a rock and nearly falling back down as Godric watched him, amused. "What did you do to me?" Eric whispered.
"I think you know."
"That's not possible!"
"And yet-" Godric spread his arms wide "-here we are, you and I."
"I'm . . . I'm dreaming!" Eric ran his hand through his tangled hair, then stopped to study his knuckles . . . where they were bleeding and sore only a minute before, now they were completely healed. "This isn't real," he said, softly.
"It is." Godric appeared in front of him again, but this time his touch was gentle as he brought his hand to Eric's shoulder and rested it there. "You were dying on that battlefield. Now you have the chance to live forever. You are no longer bound by mortality, but if you wish . . . I can kill you." His eyes bore into Eric, looking through him and causing a shudder to rack his body. "Is that what you want?"
Eric looked back down at his hands, bringing one up to touch the sharp fangs he felt protruding out of his mouth; he pricked the pad of his finger and watched with fascination as the wound healed almost instantly. Shaking his head, he put his hand over his heart and stayed still for a moment, waiting to feel and hear the familiarity of his heart beating, pumping blood through his veins.
There was nothing.
"This is not a bad thing," Godric spoke again. "I have lived for a thousand years . . . you are Viking, an explorer, you want to see the world? I have seen more places than any human could in their lifetime." His hand trailed away from Eric's shoulder and to his neck, brushing away a strand of dirty blond hair. "I know it is frightening, but you are strong. That is why I chose you."
"Chose me for what?" Eric didn't know why, but he felt no need to pull away from Godric's tender touch, in fact, he enjoyed the feeling of the cool skin on him. He wanted to lean into it. Embrace it.
"You are mine." Godric's voice was firm. "I will care for you like a father would a child, I will teach you all I know. I will be your guide, as a friend would. I will be your protector, as your brother." His hand dropped to his side. "You will never be alone, and neither will I."
The silence lingered between them, and Eric didn't know how much time had passed before Godric smiled, and spoke again.
"Now . . . what is your name?"
"What is your name?"
The girl shivered violently, her green eyes wide with terror as she watched Godric walking closer to her, his eyes taking on a dangerous light under the moon. Behind him, stood Eric, hands at his sides, completely relaxed, a small smile on his lips. Whimpering, the girl found her voice and answered: "Jóhanna."
Godric placed his hands on either side of the girl's face, focusing his eyes on her. "What a beautiful name," he said, his voice just a whisper. "Now look at me, Jóhanna. And don't be afraid. Everything will be all right." She relaxed beneath him, and he gestured Eric over to join him. "You try," he encouraged. "Empty your mind, allow her consciousness in . . . focus."
Eric nodded, kneeling beside Godric and looking at Jóhanna. He spoke her name gently, and her eyes snapped to him, very briefly losing the glamour that Godric had over her; it was replaced by Eric's influence almost immediately, and Godric smiled as he watched his child control her. It only took a few minutes for the two of them to feed on her, then leave her laying in the straw and walk away from the barn, satisfied.
"You are getting very good," Godric complimented.
Eric's eyes brightened. "Thank you," he said, slowly. "You are . . . a good teacher." It had been two months since Godric had transformed Eric, and the two of them had not left one another for even a minute during that time. They traveled Eric's home country side-by-side, stopping by some small town so Godric could glamour a human and allow Eric to feed, then repeating the process somewhere else. Finally, Godric taught Eric how to do it himself.
Eric looked over at his Maker and smiled in response to the happy expression on Godric's face; he was obviously pleased with Eric, and in a way he could never explain, to himself or anyone else, that made Eric happy. He wanted to please Godric, the way he'd wanted to please his human father as a young boy looking up to hero.
"I don't usually glamour all my food," Godric said, "but I thought it would be best to start you out slowly."
Eric frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Eric," Godric laughed. "Sometimes you are so foolish . . . haven't you wondered why you are hungry so soon after each feeding? Two hours, maybe three?" He shook his head.
"We were not meant to be so generous." Abruptly, he held up a hand, freezing in place.
"What is it . . . ?" Eric questioned.
"Someone is coming," Godric spoke with absolute certainty.
And sure enough, from the shadows a young boy stepped, his face smudged with mud and his light brown hair messy with straws of hay; he looked at the two strangers curiously, too young to know fear. He walked right up to Eric, one tiny hand reaching out to touch Eric's fingers as they dangled at his side . . .
"What are you doing here, child?" Godric bent over, placing his hands on his knees.
The boy only blinked blankly at him, and squeezed Eric's index finger tighter; Eric gaped at him, then turned to Godric, at a loss for what to do. Godric raised his eyebrows, glancing quickly at Eric before going back to the boy and stroking his shirt-sleeve tenderly. "Tell me your name," he commanded, softly.
"Fjori," the boy spoke.
His voice was so childlike and tiny, and for a second Eric felt a pang as he remembered his own children he'd left behind to go fight . . . and then left again when his human life ended. His son was only three years old, probably about the same age as the child next to him, standing straight and reaching only up to his knee.
"I haven't told you," Godric said, thoughtfully, "how delicious children are . . . have I?"
Eric recoiled, instinctively pulling the boy closer to him. "You can't be serious!" he said.
"Quite serious, actually," Godric replied. "He is only a human, Eric. Nothing but an animal. They are here for our purposes, nothing more . . . they are beneath us."
"He's only a child," Eric protested.
"He might as well be a young cow. Or a deer." Godric licked his lips quickly, something he always did when he grew frustrated with Eric. "Perhaps a rabbit. Did you ever hesitate when you needed to feed on any of those creatures?"
"No!" Godric snapped, reaching out so quickly Eric didn't have time to react, or even feel the child being ripped from his grip. Suddenly, he was in Godric's arms, tears in his startling blue eyes, his lower lip trembling dangerously; Eric watched in horror as Godric's fangs descended and his eyes dipped to the boy's throat.
"Godric, please . . . " Eric pleaded, as Fjori started to cry.
"It is time you learned," Godric said, "you are not human anymore, Eric. Up until now I have been gentle with you, I've glamoured all our victims so they wouldn't be scared, and I've let them live." His sneered, as if it was all disgusting to him. "But that is not our way. And now you will discover that."
His fangs dug into the boy's flesh as Eric cried out and lunged forward, his hands grasped at Fjori but Godric shoved him aside easily and continued feeding. Fjori's sobs grew quiet quickly, but Eric's eyes filled with tears as he watched the life drain out of the boy, until finally he was limp in Godric's arms, his young eyes closed for eternity. Wetness ran down Eric's cheek and he wiped it away with his hand, starting at the blood he found on his palm.
Godric sighed deeply, letting the boy crumple to the ground. His mouth was covered in blood, and he looked more like the predator Eric had met that first night than he had in the months they'd been together. He looked at Eric, a frown deeply etched into his face. Blood tears stained Eric's cheeks as he knelt by Fjori's lifeless body, cradling him as he would his own son. "He was just a boy," he breathed, placing his hand on Fjori's cheek.
"The sooner you realize," Godric said, "that you have no attachment to humans anymore . . . the easier this life will be for you. They are just food, Eric." He rolled his eyes. "You are still so human." Roughly, he grabbed Eric's arm and yanked him to his feet. "No matter. You will learn."
They left Fjori laying in the middle of a cold field, and Godric never even looked back.
The year was 1230. The village was nestled somewhere deep in Spain. A nameless place, full of nameless people. Perfect, Godric called it.
Eric smiled into the woman's neck as she moaned in pain, her cries growing weaker and weaker, her fists losing strength as she pounded at his back; he held onto her tightly, one hand grasping her throat while the other pressed against the small of her back. He drank from her greedily, savoring her delicious, exotic taste, stroking her golden skin with his long, pale fingers.
The door swung open, and Godric rushed in, his face pinched with anxiety. "Eric!"
Eric stopped, letting the woman drop back onto the bed, her eyes wide open and staring at nothing. "What's wrong?" he asked.
"One of the whores must have escaped," Godric spat, "she gathered the townspeople." As he spoke, voices could be heard outside and lights from torches came flickering through the windows. "We have to go. Now." He grabbed the handle and swung the door open, taking a step into the hallway without even looking; a vase clobbered him on the side of his head, dazing him long enough for the woman who swung it to scream for help before he sank his fangs into her throat.
Lights appeared at the bottom of the stairs, the voices became louder as members of the gathering mob rushed up the steps; Eric bared his fangs, pushing by Godric and putting himself between his Maker and the angry people.
"Demon!" one man shouted, his wide eyes betraying him, showing the fear that his strong voice hid. "Kill him!" To Eric's surprise, the Spaniard threw a silver chain, wrapping it around Eric's neck as he growled and snapped at them . . . he'd never been exposed to silver before, so the instant weakening was terrifying. He sank to his knees with a grunt, barely hearing Godric's roar as he left the now dead woman and hurled himself at the group, specifically the man who wounded Eric. He tore out the man's throat before any of the others even saw him.
Eric was laying on his back, paralyzed and helpless, and hating every second of it. He gasped with relief when Godric appeared above him and grabbed the chain, his hands burning as soon as he touched it. He threw it away with a growl, then helped Eric up and whirled to meet their attackers, his fangs exposed, his eyes flashing dangerously.
"How did they know about the silver . . . ?" Eric said, hoarsely.
A torch burst through the window of the other room, immediately setting the room on fire; Godric and Eric exchanged glances, nodded sharply once, then went their separate ways. Godric leapt over the people, confusing them as he moved in a blur; Eric went back into the room they'd just abandoned, running through the raging flames and out the broken window. He ran from the humans, something he hadn't done in over three hundred years, and disgust filled him with every step he took as he got further away from the village.
It was only a few hours 'til dawn before he saw Godric. The older vampire was stumbling toward him, tripping over tiny objects, rocks and branches, obviously struggling just to take another step; Eric rushed to his aide, wrapping his arms around him and lowering him to the ground gently. Arrows were sticking through Godric's body, a head poking out from his stomach and his leg; his face was covered in blood, and Eric could only hope that most of it was from humans.
"Why aren't you healing?" he asked, his voice taking on a desperate edge.
"Arrows were . . . dipped in silver," Godric wheezed, leaning into Eric's embrace. "It will take hours, and I . . . haven't fed."
His eyes began to droop closed, but Eric shook him awake. "Will my blood help?"
"No . . . needs to be human."
Eric cursed, looking at the sky and trying to judge how long he had until sunrise; his eyes drifted back down to Godric, even paler than usual, a sharp contrast to the dark blood the streaked his face. "Come on," Eric grunted, standing up and lifting Godric as he would a child. "I need to get you someplace safe."
"What are you doing?" Godric whispered.
Eric didn't answer him. He dug a shallow grave and laid Godric in it, all in silence, then tenderly brushed his Maker's hair away from his face. "I'm taking care of you," he said, firmly.
"Don't go . . . back there."
"I have to." Eric squeezed Godric's hand, then disappeared.
The village was wide awake when he arrived, standing on a hill and overlooking them, unseen by any of them; they were running around wildly, their voices carrying to him, speaking of "creatures of the night" and how they "killed one of them". A low growl started deep in his throat as he listened to them, and saw Godric's beaten body in front of him.
Kill them all.
Later, Eric would not be able to recall exactly what happened in that village, only images of blood and screams echoing in his ears would remain. He tore into them . . . man, woman and child, not stopping to notice or care as he slit their throats, or ripped out their hearts, or broke their bones. Some tried to fight back, silver burned his skin and once an arrow pierced his shoulder; but he had the element of surprise, he was too fast for them, and eventually they all fell under his hand.
By the time Eric returned to Godric, dragging a young woman behind him, light was beginning to appear in the sky and his eyes were growing heavy. He tossed the screaming girl to Godric and watched as his Maker drank from her, healing himself, growing stronger with every gulp; finally, Godric gasped and pulled away, his eyes now wide and focused. He looked at Eric, concerned, taking in the blood-soaked clothes and crazed expression.
"Are you all right?"
Eric smiled, reaching down to grab the girl's arm and pull her out the grave so he could climb in; he lay next to Godric, slipping one arm under him and draping the other across his chest. "I'm fine," he whispered, his head pressed to Godric's.
"What did you do?" Godric stifled a yawn.
"It doesn't matter," Eric breathed into his Maker's neck, pulling him closer. "But they will not try to harm us again." His fingers brushed Godric's forehead while his other hand
played with the buttons on his shirt. "Time to rest now."
The village behind them burned furiously . . . but the two vampires closed their eyes and slept, wrapped protectively in each others arms.
Eric swallowed, struggling to hide his hurt and anger as the image of Godric flickered and disappeared, casting him one last sorrowful look. With disgust, Eric realized there were tears in his eyes, and he hoped that Bill- who was staring at him as if he were mad -hadn't noticed. All he'd ever wanted, in the thousand years he'd been a vampire, was to please his Maker . . . once, making Russell suffer for an eternity would've done just that.
He didn't understand what changed. He probably never would. All he knew was disappointing Godric was like a stake to his heart, like he was being crushed by some terrible weight; but he stood in silence and watched Russell disappear under the wet cement, unable to let go of his hatred. Even if it meant hurting the only thing he still cared about . . .
This is what you made.