Disclaimer: I do not own True Blood or Eric Northman. I just wish I did!
Prophecy of Fate
All it takes is one event, no matter how slight or grand, to alter everything. One split second is enough to change your entire life. It can turn day to night, life to death, boys to men.
Many moons ago, I was a young mortal man; naïve and innocent. My older brother Lars had spent five years as a Viking warrior, earning the reputation of being dangerous and volatile… feared yet respected. Like our father and grandfather before him, he led his men, young and old alike, into battle; which was always on foreign soil. My people preferred to fight, scavenge, and pillage where it would affect others personally, politically, and financially; leaving our land to remain unscathed. With the ever growing population, it was necessary to forage out in an attempt to expand our villages. I followed in my brother's footsteps at the tender age of fifteen, watching and learning from the shadow in which I'd always remain for the entirety of my human life.
All triumph must come to an end; each victor eventually taking his final breath.
It was after a copious invasion off the coast of Lisbon. We'd attacked, plundered and burned their villages; killing their men, claiming their women and stealing their children. It was a ruthless fight, one of which I was not proud. I focused my energy, as did my brother, on the killing; leaving the claiming and stealing for the men beneath us. But it was the only way then: be the strongest or lose everything.
Occasionally, even the strongest would lose. And when they lost…they lost it all.
It had been seven months, but the outraged clan would take revenge. They attacked in the dead of night; utilizing the darkness as their tool. Lars was beaten to death in his bed where he'd been sleeping alongside his wife, Aude; who was spared to be forever haunted by the memory of his murder.
In the blink of an eye, my brother was gone; leaving his widow with child. She would be mine; married within one week of his death. The next in line of four brothers, I was the eldest and unmarried. It was my place, my responsibility to carry out. It was the way of my people. I would never know young love; true love. I would never know the tender kiss of a virgin. I would never be the first to touch or to taste any woman. My destiny was set, and it was my obligation to carry out. I would make the best of things. That was all we knew then. By the time Aude delivered the child, stillborn, I had become adjusted in my new life and chose to remain by her side. It took months for her to recover. A superstitious woman, she convinced herself demons had been sent by the Gods to steal her child in payment of her sins. She deemed it penance for allowing herself to covet the brother of her deceased husband; whom she'd sworn before God to love forever. In Aude's mind it was meant for me to marry her only as a means to fulfill obligation, insure her safety and the safety of my brother's unborn child, and to procreate.
It was a sin for her to actually have enjoyed our lovemaking.
Many women would now attest it to have been a sin if she had not.
In actuality, it was because of Aude, as my wife, that I learned the way of a woman's gentle curves. I'd found my way to her a virgin, ignorant and unskilled with women. My mentor, she had a tender hand and an understanding nature. The soft waves of her strawberry hair set in contrast against her fair skin. Tall and full, her voluptuous body was the perfect welcome after a day of foraging. Many a night I'd spent nestled within her embrace, my cheek to her breast, losing myself in the sparkling blue warmth of her eyes. I grew to care for her deeply, regardless of the way we had come to be. She accepted me completely, body and soul; eventually bearing me six children. Of two boys and four girls, I learned only three would survive to reach adulthood. I would not see any of my off spring age beyond childhood.
I was called away to war. Foreigners threatened the safety of our village, our women, and our children. The able-bodied men of our clan would scatter the outskirts of our land, defending its honor to the end. Some of us took to the sea, as a means to stop the threat before it ever reached our shores. Our battles quickly moved to foreign shores. In order to accumulate more wealth, we had to strike the first blow.
It was during my fourth month away that I saw Godric, my maker, for the very first time. We were off the coast of Prussia, defending a small island known for rare spices; an invaluable commodity during those times. Everything was foreign to us there, the climate, the vegetation, the inhabitants. Completely disoriented, it had been a bloody battle. I'd lost over a third of my men to combat. The clanking of silver, the muffled sound of metal meeting flesh, the moan and shutter of death …are sounds that remain with me to this day.
They swirled in my mind that night, creating a rage of guilt. I had just dragged two of my men over what had to have been 400 yards at least just to find one already dead, and one bleeding so profusely it was futile. As all the life around me seemed to leave the bodies, their souls preparing the journey to the Gods, I heard a rustling in the trees. My sword drawn above my head, my legs bent and ready to lunge, I was attacked quickly and without any opportunity to defend. I found myself flat on my back, a weaponless child perched atop my chest. He appeared human, beautiful; but his flesh was ice cold and his teeth were like that of a rabid animal. I struggled to free myself, reaching for my sword. He was too fast, almost predicting my every move. I had never known another man I could not defeat, especially one unarmed. He spoke in my dialect, although he looked nothing like me or my kind. He had seen me at war, impressed by my skills. He told me I should not fight him. I should know I would die there on that island, my army all but gone. He explained that he could not let my passion, determination and skills as a warrior rot into the ground surrounded by a hundred other unworthy men. He could not save my soul, but he could save my life…if that's what you'd wish to call it.
Before I could answer, I felt his bite; his teeth easily piercing my skin. I remember the confusion I felt as he fed, draining me almost completely. It was…terrifying …yet…incredibly poignant. It was, as if at that moment, I knew Godric was claiming me as his own. My master, my maker, my reason for being. He bestowed upon me the greatest of gifts…eternal life.
I never went back for Aude and the children, trusting my maker's judgment. He assured me it would not be best to subject my family to what I'd become as they could never understand the change and I was unable to harness my newborn abilities and needs. Years later, while passing through a neighboring village, I learned of their wellbeing. Aude never remarried, but was cared for by the clan in honor of myself and my brother, Lars; as we had sacrificed our lives for them. My children each fulfilled their destinies; some too short, the others experiencing full lives. I missed it all. That probably should have made me sad. I probably should have felt pain, remorse. I should have cried. If I were still human, I am sure I would have. Instead, I felt nothing.
For it was Godric who had given me immortality and it was with Him I was reborn.
I remember, in the visions of my earliest memories, staring in fascination at the gracefulness of his movements. Godric had become a vampire himself tens of decades before becoming my maker. We grew together throughout the ages and I witnessed how he had evolved from a savage animalistic being to a gentleman of charisma and charm. We were quite the alluring pair during our time together; combing the streets of city after city, driven only by bloodlust, sex, wealth and power.
Quite the entrepreneurs, Godric and I perfected the art of wine making. Having learnt myself from the greatest drunkards of the Viking Age, I could ferment anything from fruit to fish. Godric fashioned the barrels in which the wine was stored; knowing just which berry would be complimented by birch and which needed oak. We'd move from town to town, carrying our enterprise with us; wooing men with the need for booze and women with the need for fun. Ah, it was a time for Godric and me. We feasted well, suckling on the fruits of our labor. We complimented one another so perfectly; he holding my most adoring respect and affection, I knowing with him I'd always be cared for.
Like all young fledglings, there came a time for me to move on. Eventually, I too became a maker, accompanying myself with Pam somewhere around the turn of the century. But my connection to Godric never weakened. I could always feel him, even when we were worlds apart. His joy caused my heart to dance; his pain brought me to my knees.
It had been at least a century since I'd last seen him when I'd learned of his imprisonment in nearby Shreveport. I local vigilante organization using religion as a shroud was holding Godric with the intent of using him as an example…a martyr. I became furious and it took every bit of will I could muster to remain rational. I tried to behave as Godric would. I pursued the assistance of Sookie Stackhouse, a human telepath with whom I share a blood bond and together we initiated his release. I was anxious to see his comforting eyes, his flawless face. He appeared as he always had: serene, wise and beautiful. However, this time he wore a new emotion that took me time to recognize: sadness. Godric, my Maker, had lost his will to live. He had witnessed and inflicted so much devastation and sorrow during his long existence on earth that he was too distraught to face another day. His decision was made. I could not sway his will.
And, in a flash…one split second…the blink of an eye, my entire reason for being…was GONE.
More to come. I'll be jumping to the end of Season 2. If you like what you see---let me know.
Reviewers get to comfort Eric!!!