Title: The Forgotten One

Pen name: Ladychrysanthemum

Status (Virgin or Almost-Virgin): Virgin

Primary Players: Erik, Susanne

Beta'd by: Miss Construed and pixiegiggles

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, insofar as any of us can claim anything as belonging to any one in particular

To see other entries in the "Poppin' Eric's Cherry" contest, please visit the C2:

http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/community/Poppin_Erics_Cherry_One-Shot_Contest/75492/

A/N: Thank you to my two betas, Miss Construed and pixiegiggles, for their patience, insight and comments. Any mistakes made after their efforts are solely my responsibility.

"Poppin' Eric's Cherry" One-Shot Contest

Summary: The night after the Nevada takeover, when Eric's memories return, he dreams of a mysterious woman he has no memory of. This is a coming-of-age story for the Poppin' Cherries contest about the first woman Eric ever loved.

Prelude

The night after the Nevada takeover, when my memories of my time with Sookie in her house returned, I went back to my normal routine at Fangtasia. I felt rejuvenated, as if everything was falling into place for me. This time, I was even more focused and determined to work things through between us.

I had told her, sitting in the room on the bed we had once shared, that I remembered everything and that I had not felt such happiness in a thousand years.

I thought I had lost her, but now I had her back, and I meant to keep her. I would find a way so she would never refuse me or run away. I would do everything in my power to protect her. It was the foremost thought in my mind. Protect her. Keep her always, as long as I could have her.

A strange thing began to happen as well. At night, I began to have dreams. Now, vampires don't really dream, and yet, I knew that these were dreams. What's more, I remembered them upon waking.

I thought about what I was seeing. I knew that what I was dreaming could not be real because I remembered every single day of my thousand years except for those few days I spent with Sookie. Nevertheless, the timing of these dreams, along with the return of the memories of my time with Sookie, left me puzzled.

In the dream, I dreamed of the first day I had met her. I dreamed an entire life with her.

I dreamed of Sookie, and yet it wasn't her. They were like memories, except that I had never had such memories of her, and she was never this woman.

In the dream, I laid her down on a soft blanket, holding her to me, kissing her forehead, tracing her lips, her mouth. I remembered holding her to me as the sun was dying.

In the dream, I thought about the first day I had met her. I remembered, and yet I knew these were no memories.

I thought she was asleep.

1: Opening Scene. Meet Erik

"Erik, stop flirting and trying to steal kisses from the girls. You've already made them forget their morning chores," my mother scolded me.

I turned away grinning, and saw my mother behind me, looking harassed with all the chores left undone.

"Being the man of the house while your father is away does not give you license to take over other people's time," she said, "even if they do not mind being distracted." My mother's voice softened with a smile.

I turned back to the girl I had been flirting with. "Sorry!" I mouthed. I gave her a wink. She sighed in disappointment and turned away.

I had always had a way with women of all ages. They liked me, and I liked them. I was naturally charming and good looking. My mother said that I take after my father.

She told me that from the day I was born, all the women of the village would dote on me. My head would turn at the sound of their voices, my laugh, gurgles and smiles, even my burps, instinctively charming them. Yup, I knew how adorable I was, and I knew how to work it. I lived to see a girl smile.

I had turned twelve this past year and was starting to grow a young man's body. My voice was starting to change. My face still looked like a boy's, but my shoulders were broadening like a man's. Although I felt out of proportion, I knew the girls in the village still noticed and admired me since they kept stealing glances at me, taking every opportunity to talk to me. I took full advantage of that.

However, even I couldn't always charm my mother. She knew me too well. I loved and respected her, and, of course, I had to try to get away with most things. Still, when she put her foot down, I knew that I had crossed the line. She was the lady of the house, after all, and my mother. My father insisted that I show her complete respect, and I listened to him.

As with most households, my parents' marriage had been arranged; they'd been matched to ensure the household was managed equally between husband and wife, for the good of the village and for survival. They shared a deep, mutual respect of each other, having learned to depend upon and trust each other's judgment, and had even come to love each other. My father was responsible for our safety, as well as hunting, fishing, trading, and outdoor chores. As the village chief, he also ensured the security and organization of the community, leading expeditions away from home. My mother, meanwhile, was the lady of the house, who literally held the keys to the wealth of the home. She managed the household and was responsible for ensuring that enough food was cooked and stored for the winter.

It had been a hard season that year. The men have been spending more time than usual outside of the village, fishing and hunting farther away to ensure that we have enough food. I had been away since I was five, staying with my uncle in a different village as was tradition, training to become a man. I had only recently returned. The long expeditions had left our village vulnerable and I had come home to care for my mother and my sisters.

With my father and brother away, I was the man of the house, and I took my responsibilities for the security of the women the house seriously. That meant keeping a lookout for strangers, honing my sword skills, and fixing things around the house. As the younger son, I was often left behind to watch the women, a role I was suited to and enjoyed. Nevertheless, my father said he would take me on his trips next year, and I was looking forward to that. Meanwhile, all I could do was daydream about next year while I sat around during idle moments in the cold winter communal area.

My mother interrupted my thoughts and asked, "Erik, don't you have more things to do?"

"No, mother. I'm done with most of my chores and everything is secure."

"Did you mend the outer wall? Chop the firewood and fix the large iron soup-pot?"

"Yes, yes, and yes," I said, grinning at her. I knew there was nothing for her to complain about. I was always on top of things.

Finally, she handed me a basket. "Here, Erik," she said, "since you have so much time on your hands. The servants are much too busy this morning to take care of this. Take this basket of fish and clothing scraps and go out to the edge of the village near the burial mound. There you will find a woman named Susanne. Bring back the package of herbs and mushrooms she gives to you. Do not dawdle and be nice to her. Remember to behave yourself!"

"Don't I always?" I smiled innocently.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, and take your lazy cousin along with you! It'll get you both out of the house for awhile."

2: First Meeting. Meet Susanne

We made our way through the snowy forest, the sun illuminating the forest around us, towards an isolated house on the outskirts of the village where our village burial site was located.

I was happy to have my cousin, Gunnar, on this errand. He was fun to have around, even if he was always getting me into trouble. We both shared a wicked sense of humor, and when together, we got into more trouble than we each did on our own. As we walked through the woods, we talked about girls and dreamed about next year when we would be allowed to go out on trips away from the village.

We were having such a good time getting out of the house that I almost forgot we were on an errand. As we approached the house, however, I noticed Gunnar quieted down as we neared the other end of the forest.

We came upon a woman who was tending to some farm animals outside a sadly maintained home. Equipment lay around the yard and the roof was in need of repair. Several projects lay abandoned, while an anemic curl of smoke from the fire inside floated over the top of the longhouse. Normally, one would expect several people to be around to help, but she appeared to be alone. She was picking her way through a small pen where sheep were kept.

It was strange for there to be a house on this side of the forest near the burial grounds. Most people would not choose to live here. It was not really part of the village.

I was surprised by the uneasiness I sensed in my cousin. He crouched down to spy on her, and I followed his lead.

She was a beautiful woman, working quietly and patiently alone with the animals. I think we both secretly enjoyed watching her. She was perhaps 8-10 years older than I was. She could have been my older sister. I did not know her, although Gunnar appeared to. As she moved around, the sunlight appeared to follow her.

As soon as she went into the house, my cousin's mood picked up again, and he said, "Here's our chance!"

Broken from my reverie, I asked, "Chance? To do what?" I was confused.

"You'll see," he said, grinning wickedly.

Before I could to stop him, he walked by the pen and opened it, chasing the sheep out. As the sheep ran out, they knocked down the poorly maintained fence and the chickens scattered everywhere, knocking the pile of wood in the front yard.

As soon as she heard the noise, the woman ran out in alarm. She dropped a pail of water and tripped over it in the doorway in her haste. When we saw how much chaos we created, and how frantic she was, we broke out in laughter.

The woman, however, turned to look around, and she began to cry. My laughter died down when she wouldn't stop crying. I began to feel ashamed of myself. She looked frail, thin and tired. I realized how fragile she was.

By then, my cousin had already run away, but I approached the woman apologetically. "I am sorry about this," I began. "That was stupid. We get into pranks all the time."

She startled at the sound of my voice and looked up, as if she expected someone else.

She looked at me carefully. After a moment, she nodded, saying, "It is okay, I have become used to people doing these things to me. It is not the first time. I was so worried that it was actually something else, someone else ..."

She stopped herself from elaborating. There was a tightness in her voice. Then she sighed.

"Other people?" I continued for her. "What other people?" She ignored me. Instead, she steadied herself before she began to heave the heavy woodwork. I saw that it was difficult for her.

I helped her before she had a chance to protest. "Here," I said, picking up some of the heavier pieces of the fence that had scattered and fallen.

"No, I can do it," she began. I did not give her a chance to refuse me. I helped her anyway, and she stopped protesting. She looked exhausted.

I continued by helping her to round the animals back into the pen and to replace the now broken fence with a temporary fixture. She was still struggling with the firewood, so I stepped forward to carry the rest into the house.

Looking around, I gestured at her fence. "That is only a temporary fix. If you can get someone to mend it, perhaps the man of the house can…"

She interrupted me. "You are being so kind. Thank you." She looked at the now empty pail in her hand and at the hastily-mended fence and looked as if she was going to start crying again.

"Are you going to be okay?" I asked.

"I just thought it was those men again who sometimes come around here. Now I will just have to re-build this myself. Ever since my husband died…"

I realized now why she was so tired. She was a widow, and there did not appear to be even any children or other relatives. She appeared to live alone. I realized she must care for both the common chores of the household as well as depend on other people's kindness to help her with outdoor chores. No wonder she was tired.

I decided that she needed a little bit of cheering up. "I am sorry. Where are my manners? My name is Erik."

"Yes, I know. You are the chieftain's son. You look just like him. My name is Susanne."

She slowly made her way back to her home. She seemed so lonely and scared.

"Actually," I said, wanting to continue the conversation, "I came to pick up a package my mother sent for me to fetch." I hesitated, a bit ashamed. "I wish our first meeting would have been a bit better."

She looked at me, and then lowered her eyes. "Well, I am at least grateful that you stayed to help me when you realized your mistake. I never expect anything of anyone anymore."

Feeling the need to make amends, I offered, "If you will let me, perhaps I could fix your fence for you. I think I can help you with some of the mending around the house, too."

She sucked in her breath as if to utter another automatic protest, and then, weighing me with another glance, she admitted, "That would be of great help."

"Please. It is the least that I can do after we created this mess for you." I look around the house, wondering what else needed repair.

"Thank you." She paused, and continued, with some difficulty. "It has been so long since anyone has shown me that kindness." She smiled at the thought of someone helping her.

Usually I felt pretty confident around most women, but with her, I just felt awkward. I decided to cheer her in the best way that I could.

"It's okay. Take it as one of my village responsibilities to care for you. And I like being the big man of the house. My mother says I'm going to grow up and be huge one day. The girls tell me all the time I have such big muscles!" I said, demonstrating by flexing my arms.

"Yes, I am sure they do," a smile forming on her lips. "I can tell you will be a handful." After a long pause, she finally relented. "Of course, you can help me."

I was happy to see that. I hated to see her cry.

3: The Dilemma. Mother Explains

When I return to the village center, I went searching for my cousin.

"Where did you go? You left me all alone," I accused him.

"What's wrong? Did you get caught?"

"Well, unlike you, I stuck around and actually saw what happened afterward. That was not a nice thing to do. Did you realize that the woman lives alone?"

"Yes, of course. That's why I knew we could get away with it."

"You knew? Well, after you left, she began crying. You did not have to stay behind and watch her break down as she tried to hide what a hard life she leads. Why did we have to go ahead and do that?"

He shrugged. "I thought it might be fun. She is strange. Everyone in the village makes fun of her."

"Yet she has done nothing to you."

"People whisper things about her. She is known as a healer, but people say that she is a little too close to the spirits and that she knows things other people do not say. Some say that she can see the future. There are even hints that she may be behind the unusually long winter we're having. Besides, she lives alone by that graveyard. Isn't that a bit strange? Who would choose to live there?"

I thought about it for a minute. To tell the truth, I was a little scared of anything supernatural. I had been taught a healthy respect for the power of the gods and anything else that was out there. But my parents also taught me to see the humanity in people and to judge them based on their character and actions.

"No, I would say there is nothing odd about her. In fact, I found her patient and kind."

"That, too, perhaps, but most people in the village stay away from her. As a young available woman, men find that there is something odd about her. A few years ago, when a man finally approached her brother to ask to wed her — well, let us say that when her husband died early and she did not produce any offspring, people were not surprised."

"What are you implying? It would make no sense if she were to cause her husband's death. Her life is even harder with no one else to care for her."

"And look, no one will go near her. Her husband's early death is proof of her strange ways," my cousin insisted.

I shook my head. When I looked at Susanne, all I saw was a brave, lonely young woman that no else was taking care of, who was just trying to survive. No matter the truth or my personal fears, I resolved that I was not going to assume anything or judge her on anything except what I knew of her first hand. I owed her that much.

"No," I told him, "She is only a young woman with bad luck--poor, alone, no husband, no children, and no one in her family who cares after her." It was as if her own people had left her behind.

Why did our village not try to do more for her? I resolved to ask my mother.

When I was able to ask her, she told me, "For a woman in her position, there isn't much that can be done. Perhaps another marriage could be arranged for her with a male widower, one with children to be cared for, but there is no one appropriate with whom to make such an arrangement right now. Besides, she did not conceive quickly in her first marriage; that, along with men's superstitions…well, she was lucky to have been married the first time. She did not have many suitors when she was younger; they were all spooked away. Now, she simply waits for another man to take interest in her."

"Technically, she is not part of our village, and she has no family except her brother, and, well, he does not take care of her. Your father does not approve of this, but there is only so much our village can do for her. But at least she has a house, and although she is very poor, she can make her own living by collecting and trading herbs with others and acting as a healer to those willing to accept her. Unfortunately, this winter has been particularly hard on everyone, and she is vulnerable on the outskirts of the village. Men may easily prey on her, and she survives alone."

My mother then added, "If you can help her, it would reflect well on you. It would be a great kindness, and she could really use your assistance. You have been left in charge. You have always done us credit, but you can no longer act like a child."

4: Rain

It had been several weeks now.

As promised, I returned to her house to help mend her fence, after which I stayed on to fix the roof, chopped some more firewood for her, and offered to complete any other odd chores.

As I spent more time in her house, I came to know her.

She was hard-working and did not complain about her situation, but I saw how tired she got, how lonely she was, and how afraid she was for her future. There was a sadness that clung to her that was only temporarily alleviated by my presence. Unfortunately, it never truly went away. Because of the time I had been spending with her, we were becoming friends. I thought that I was her only friend, and I tried my best to keep her thoughts occupied.

No matter how tired and beaten down she was, she always had a kind word for me, even in my awkwardness. She shared with me what little she had when I took breaks, and in return, I would often find excuses to bring things over from my house and help in any little way that I could.

One evening while I was at her house, it began to snow and rain heavily, and a fog moved in. I had been at her house all day, sweating and working in the yard. I finished moving all the logs for the rest of the winter to a more accessible location.

"Set them there," she said as she directed me to move the firewood. "Thanks for the last round." She straightened up, her back hurting and gave me a tired smile as she ruffled my hair fondly.

"Why don't you stay here tonight? It is getting too dark and wet to find your way home. Come in for a bit of supper."

I took off my wet clothes and handed them to her to hang before the fire. I wiggled my eyebrows, and she laughed at me, shooing me into the kitchen, where I sat huddled by the fire.

"Don't be a pest. Set the table, Erik, while I warm up the porridge."

"Yes, m'am," I said in compliance.

The smells and clinking sounds of dinner being prepared filled the small cottage. It was a wonderful familiar feeling, waiting for the food. She was a gracious host, and she made everything comfortable within the cozy cabin. My joking and charming attempts to flirt cheered her up a bit. She laughed, and it lightened her face; I saw the warm glow that was her beauty and charm.

The scent of her in her house, surrounded by her things, made the attraction more acute, and it made my body harden in reaction. She stopped, as if she was aware, or had allowed herself to become aware that I was no longer a boy. It was hard to hide. She looked startled when she noticed, and turned away quickly.

I huddled by the fire, trying to stay warm until my clothes dried. "I have some of my husband's old clothes you can use in the meantime." She handed them to me. She was aware that my eyes followed her everywhere.

"Erik, we have to decide where to put you tonight," she said brusquely, looking around the small cabin.

I continued to prepare for bed. She ignored me and busied herself about the house, taking care of chores until I got caught in the shirt she had given me. She moved closer to help me untangle myself. She pulled the shirt on squarely and reached over to brush my hair back quickly, smiling at me fondly, and then stopped. Sensing something, I leaned forward and gently kissed her.

Surprised, she stopped me for a moment and looked at me carefully. Then, leaned forward and slowly returned the kiss, deepening it. She sighed.

Her hands reached out to explore my face, my lips, along my cheeks and jawbones, where my face was starting to show the angular jaws of a man and the beginning whiskers of hairs on my face. Her hand moved to my chest, where the whisps of hair peaked in a triangle in the center, the hair just beginning to sprout underneath my arms. She inhaled, smelling the faint scent of muskiness. Her eyes and hands explored my shoulders and arms, trailing her hands to where they joined with my chest, where the muscles were developing, and my thin body had just started to fill out.

Meanwhile, all I could do was to watch her face, as her eyes explored my body.

Her eyes and hands reached lower, as she saw my erection and stopped before me, hesitating. Slowly she reached her hand to me, and began to massage my erection, as if to comfort and relieve me. "Let me take care of that," she whispered. I lay back, and she continued to fondle my erection with her hands before putting me into her mouth. I began to moan as she worked me, and I came quickly.

She reached up to let her hair down and removed her clothing. When she stood naked before me, I reached out and began to touch her, reaching for her breasts. She took my hand and moved me to her bed. I sat down while she took off my shirt; my trousers were already gone. She climbed in after me and resumed her exploration of my body with her hands and mouth.

She was all soft curves in the firelight. I could smell her hair. She slid in beside me on the sleeping bench, her body soft, cool, and damp from the rain. We huddled together at first and she cuddled into me. Then, she slowly raised her head and looked at me again. I looked back at her and reached out to kiss her.

It was as if, until that moment, she had only allowed herself to be the woman in the room, to view me as the child to maintain that boundary. Those differences collapsed as she led me through this exploration; we were only two people making love, one more experienced than the other, and she, like a teacher, took the student along.

I was a little nervous. The girls in the village had never let me get this far before. I was excited at this great opportunity, but was afraid that I would touch something and break it, or otherwise accidentally hurt her. I wanted this to be good for her; I so wanted to be good at doing this.

She guided me, and allowed me to touch her breasts, to fondle them. "Not too hard," she whispered to me softly. "Suck on them. Swirl your tongue around. Bite me." I was eager. This was the first real opportunity I've been allowed to be able to play with these.

She then guided my hand to the source of her womanhood. It was wet there. It smelled nice, she smelled nice. "Take your fingers, and touch me like this. Rub me." As soon as I touched her, she began to react, gasping. "Yes, not too hard, like this." I relaxed. I was nervous. Too hard? Too soft? Too fast or slow? Would anything break?

She laughed. Was that the right reaction? She kissed my alarmed face and told me that it was okay, breathing deeply. Keep going, she seemed to hum. "Yes, that's it." I was pleased.

Of course, everything I did seemed fine for her. She seemed to just enjoy having me there to share something with her; to unburden her sadness; to remind her that she was a woman; to allow someone to remind her that she was not forgotten and that she counted; to share her grief and sadness; to experience joy, mostly physical joy, but at least some emotional joy as well. She wanted this moment to feel alive. She wanted this opportunity to fill the hours of pain and loneliness and worry, a respite.

She was a gentle and patient teacher. "There!" she told me, gasping as she said this. Instinctively, I knew I was on the right track. I was so intent on getting it right. I thought, "Okay, remember this spot. This is a good one to remember." I was busy trying to make mental notes.

Though the entire process was physical, I found it to be emotional as well; a wondrous moment of discovery to be able to spend this magical moment with a beautiful creature, to connect with her, and yet, I was still a child, trying to figure out where to put the boxes in the right slots.

She told me not to hurry, to just enjoy, and I learned to relax into the process.

When I looked back, I remembered that she helped me to appreciate everything - not just the sight, but the sound, the smell, the taste of her. I was so intent that I didn't notice she was looking at me. Finally, I looked up.

I watched her face to see how I was doing. She laughed at my sincerity and intensity, then she looked at me, looked directly into my eyes. I began to see emotions flicker across her face. She was self-conscious that she was revealing these emotions to me, and tried to pull away, to look away. "Let me see you," I said, and she did. It was one of the most naked moments I had ever seen from her. Before that, I may have glimpsed naked women before during weekly baths in the longhouse, but I had never seen anyone this exposed before me as she gave herself to me.

When I look back, I remember that moment as magical. Two people, a moment in time, who needed each other to guide one another.

I was becoming hard again. Now she guided me to her entrance. I was excited, uncertain. Would I last longer than one thrust? I felt a bit of resistance, and then I was in, sliding into her, enveloped by warmth and wetness, feeling myself completely inside her. I stopped there, holding myself up on my arms. This is what it meant to be inside a woman. She held me there for a moment, held me still. I tried to breathe carefully. It was achingly beautiful, like being at both the start and end of a path. Breathe with me, she said. And so I began. We moved slowly together.

I knew I wouldn't last long, but we had spent a long time in touching each other. I felt myself tensing, simultaneously rushing forward and holding back until I couldn't contain myself. I felt myself coming, releasing. I came soon after, and fell back into blackness with a goofy, happy smile on my face. I let the darkness swallow me, and I sunk into it, welcoming sleep.

I woke up the next morning and the sun was streaming over the fire pit. I could hear the birds singing, as if welcoming in life. At first, I thought she was still asleep, but then I realized that she was being still and looking up at the ceiling. She saw me and rolled over to give me a deep kiss.

"My sensual little lover with the big heart," she smiled at me tenderly, amused. "You are going to grow up and break women's hearts everywhere," she told me. I smiled, proud of myself. Of course, I had been told that before, but it felt even better to hear it from her, my first lover, my first woman.

She leaned over and called me, "My little lover."

"I'm not little," I said, protesting.

"Oh, I'm sorry, you're right. You are simply 'my lover'," she whispered with a smile. My chest puffed out; I was pleased at that nickname.

"That's right. And I had yet to grow more. Just you wait!" I shouted enthusiastically. "The best is yet to come," I said, wiggling my eyebrows.

She laughed at that. "I have no doubt of that," she said.

I was glad to cheer her, but she quieted down again, saddened. Her body seemed chilled. "Hold me, Erik," and she crawled into my arms, snuggling until she found the right spot. It was wonderful feeling her in my arms. My lover,I thought to myself, possessively, the thought extremely satisfying.

"Hold me tighter," she said, and I did. I felt wetness around her eyes, tears. I turned to look at her and asked her what it was, but she told me that it was nothing.

That division was back in place between us, the one that let me know that I could not follow after her into her world.

I was confused and bewildered by this woman. She made me feel all these desires. I wanted to protect her, to be there for her, to be everything for her, and yet, I was aware of my inadequacies, of how much I didn't understand of her, of women, of the world. I wondered whether this feeling would ever go away.

When I asked again why she was crying, she only became more agitated, until she got up and dismissed me, sending me away. I was unable to help her. She would not let me. I didn't know what to say to her. And, to make peace with her, I avoided the question.

* * *

The rest of the winter, she allowed me to continue my visits to see her, and we continued to make love. She would take me into her bed, but she would not let me into heart. I was frustrated. All that she would allow me to do was to cheer her up and flirt with her, joke with her.

I thought about how I wished I were older and could marry her. Then I could care for her and make all her worries and loneliness go away. I knew that I was too young, but I also knew that I could be loyal and would try my best to help and protect her in what ways that I could.

She told me, "Oh, Erik, one day you will find another girl and you will fall in love with her and want to marry her and she will make be you so happy, that you will be in bliss." She stopped, as if she was seeing something far away. "But not today. And not with me," she said sadly.

5: Danger. Men Around the House

It had been several weeks since that evening. I had started to visit her regularly, bringing warmth, a smile, and cheer to her. My mother laughed, teasing me I was acting like a puppy dog. I didn't care. Spring was beginning again, and I collected wildflowers for her along the way each time I visited, which she accepted with her ever-present patient smile.

I went to see her one evening and caught a glimpse of some strange men leaving. I didn't recognize them as anyone from our village. She appeared to be doing some kind of business, but I did not like that she was alone with several men that I was not familiar with, and who appeared to treat her a bit rough.

"Who were those men?" I asked.

She was unwilling to talk about it. I remembered her telling me several months back about her fears of something, someone she would not talk about. Her future. Were they the same?

"What do they want with you?" I asked.

"What do all men want?" she replied. But seeing my expression, she softened, "I have some protection. Most men are afraid of me, and they want me for many things. They would not hurt me," she said confidently, although I was not so sure.

Finally, I said, "You need more protection. Maybe I should stay here with you more regularly."

"No, that is not necessary," she said dismissively.

I persisted. "Well then, perhaps my father, when he returns, could do something about this. I am sure he can organize more protection…"

"No, Erik, it is not really necessary. I can handle it."

"But maybe then, I can…"

"No, Erik!"

I stood there surprised, uncertain what to do. What was wrong with trying to help her? I wondered.

She relented and said, "Come here."

I walked over to her and she gave me a hug.

She looked at me with a brave, tired smile. "I have my reasons for the things I do. I do what I must so that I can live my life with the dignity that is left for me. Thank you for your concern, but I do not need any help."

Despite her assurances, I knew that more could be done. It should be done despite her protests, but she refused to accept help from me or others. I believed that I knew better than she did what protection was needed, but I also knew that she had survived long before I came along, as well. I was uncertain and confused, as usual.

In the end, I decided to try to find some further way to protect her without her knowing it, but it was too late. In the end, I could not save her.

One night, I returned to her house with flowers in hand, only to find her body. The image was horrific and seared into my brain. Her body was broken, it was bleeding, with her clothing torn. I could not forget it, even if I wanted to. I cried over her body.

My anger and confusion swirled around me. Her death had done something to my sense of self, my sense of myself as a man.

I was angry at her for being so stubborn and proud, that she had doomed herself by not believing that there was anything that could be done for her. I was angry that I was unable to protect her, ashamed of my failure as the man in the house, unable to assert myself, that I was powerless to make her accept my help.

Could I have tried harder? Would she have taken my help? I felt confused, helpless and useless. I did not know how to understand what had happened. I thought about how I could have helped protect her, despite her protests. At least she might still be alive.

I knelt for a moment next to my lover, holding her close to me, gazing into her face. Only her face had been left untouched. It was peaceful. Her eyes were closed, a tendril of hair straying into her eyes.

I thought back to the day we first met, how she glowed as if the sun itself followed her. Now, the sun was dying, as if it were still pursuing her, mourning at her parting from this world.

I remembered the joy she had given me, and all the ways that she showed it, trusting me and allowing me to help her, letting me in. I remembered how she made me feel to be graced by her goodness.

I brushed her hair aside from her face and kissed her gently. And let her rest.

I buried her in the woods and placed a special marker for her in the village cemetery next to her husband. I prayed that it had been brief and painless and wondered what her last thoughts were. I wondered whether she was happy in the end. I wondered many things that there were no answers for.

I was ashamed, and I could not tell my mother of my failure to this woman. My father noticed something wrong though, and he questioned me about it. I told him about her, and he could only nod. "I am sorry about that," he sighed. "You cannot save them all, my son. Perhaps, in some ways, she did not want to be saved."

It was hard for me to believe it. I knew that that would be the easier way to see things, but I could not stop seeing her mangled body before me.

"Come, I'll take you on the hunting trip tomorrow. It is time you started to take on your other duties as a man."

That summer, my father took me on a fishing and hunting expedition. When it came time for me to visit a brothel, my brother and father were there to celebrate with me. It was a wonderful experience. There, Idiscovered the joys, lightness, and charms of women -- physical pleasures that were free from emotions.

Since that day, I have triednot to think too much about the tragedy of it, and of my loss, or how I blamedmyself somehow, until the pain diminishes to a dull forgotten ache, one I barely remembered the origin of. A part of me, however, will always remembered the vulnerability of my first lover, and will never forgiven myself for not having tried hard enough to protect her, even though there was little I could do.

Over time, I took my position within the village, shouldering more responsibilities, growing up, becoming a man, even if this experience was one of the defining moments in my passage from boy to man.

6: Memory

I cannot remember much of her scent anymore. I only remember her tears and her pain and my helplessness. After a while, I could not even remember her face or her name. She became someone I chose to forget, and I drowned her memory among the many other women I sought out, and will continue to seek out, over the next 1000 years.

I fell back into a form of my shallow old self, the one that joked and was silly, the one that was second nature before all this occurred. Beneath it, of course, I had changed, but to deal with the pain was something I could not bear. Instead, by ignoring the pain, I could forget my inability to protect her and deny the unfairness of life. I denied the fragility and vulnerability of what we have on earth, the fleeting nature of our existence, by celebrating life with other women.

I tried to forget my failure to protect her until, after a thousand years, her pain was a dull ache that no longer had a name.

* * *

Present day

I woke up from the dream. What a sad story. I felt the shadow of a bruised feeling inside my chest. I lay my hand across it.

It was only a dream, right? I asked myself.

Only a dream.

Note: In conclusion, as the story-teller: I call the story, The Forgotten One, not just because Susanne appears to have been forgotten and left behind by those around her in her village; it is also because Eric Northman, himself, in the present time, has forgotten the story of his first love and first loss. This is a bit based on the idea that in the stories we tell and in our collective unconscious, we re-play our original wounds in our lives over and over again and through the stories we tell each other.

Perhaps Eric can only remember his past through his dreams. He has forgotten that this was once a true story. And who knows? Are our dreams real? Are they past remembrances/ experiences that we do not realize that we have forgotten when we awake?

If this story is true, of course, then the events in Dead to the World, where he forgets his time with Sookie, and his ever-present efforts to protect and keep her, take on an additional meaning, when he looks over the course of his 1000 years. Of course, he did not remember his first love. But we, as the reader, feel the ache. We know the ache within him goes much deeper. It is the missing piece of him, the old forgotten wound, the "dull forgotten ache".

What is Eric still searching for today? Redemption? His first love? Is he still trying to remember?

A/N: Thanks for hanging in there! For anyone interested, I have a link on my profile page with pictures of what I'd imagine a twelve-year old Eric (um, possibly a bit older) might look like. I don't blame Susanne for lusting after him.