True Blood doesn't belong to me. I'm simply a humble, massive fan of Eric, Pam, and Sookie. I'm hoping this story to be a bit different. There will be some Eric and younger Sookie banter. I'm not sure if it will catch the interest of anyone, but feel free to let me know!

Preserve and Protect

EPOV:

I've only returned from a five-hour business meeting, with a fellow vampire sherif of mine, to find Pamela is acting very strange. She avoids looking at me in any cost. She tusks her tongue whenever a fang-banger attempts to make the moves on me, only to have me decline them, yet again. When another starts approaching- the third human this evening in the bar- she made a very loud noise of disgust, and pretended to gag.

"Oh, when are they ever going to learn? How dull this is!"

"What has your panties in a knot tonight, Pam? You're acting very... unusual, ever since I returned from my meeting. I thought you loved laughing at the weaker men, and taunting them with me?"

I stare into her glowing eyes as she stands across from me by my throne, questioning her. She holds my look for a meaningful moment, and then that look is gone. She averts her eyes, presses her made-up lips together into a grim line, and then says in a shrill voice that tells me she is extremely unhappy, "Just forget it, Eric! Forget it!"

She rips out of the room, across the dance floor, and disappears into my office.

I stare after her, stunned. Clearly something has her in a wretched mood tonight upon waking. I mightn't know what, but something definitely has. And then, it comes on so strong, so violently, in waves... twisting my heart, and I almost feel as if I am being pinched by a set of tweezers viciously. What is with women and their temperamental moods? This wasn't characteristic of Pamela at all. The grief is so overwhelming, I curl up in my seat, and grit my teeth together. In all the centuries we have spent together- fucking, partying, slaughtering, and all - I had never felt something as severe and crippling as this. Something was wrong. Pamela was in a dangerously foul mood today.

I consult my moves upon waking. I don't recall doing anything to her, anything that would make her upset in me. I had a business meeting with the Sheriff of Area 3, but I had bid her good evening before leaving. What the fuck is wrong with her tonight? Unless she is being her usual, moody bitch-self? Fuck, if I know. All I know is that, with her quick and moody departure, this means she is expecting me to follow and make amends of... which ever it is I did wrong to her. So, with a gruff sigh, I do.

She jerks upright when I shove through the door of my office. She's leaning back in my office chair, legs crossed, body turned sideways, but her relaxed demeanour instantly coils into apprehension when she hears my entrance. What is my dear Pamela hiding? I muse, anxiously. Did she make an accidental slip and kill one of the regular breathers? I could hardly fault her for that. It could easily be salvaged, so why was she so frazzled around me?

Her eyes flit up to me, and she makes a concerning sniffling noise.

I cross my arms over my chest and fix a hard stare onto her, waiting for the explosion to begin. Rather instead, she wrenches open the top drawer of my desk, and busies herself. She produces her vibrant red nail-polish, sets it onto my cluttered desk, and starts with painting her nails stonily. Clearly, I am not going to get a quick and easy explanation from her. No, she needs persuasion... And, luckily, I was good at that.

"What, Pamela? What is it?" There.

"I did something. Something terrible while you were absent, and you're not going to like it, Eric."

"Such as?"

"Never you mind." She lifts her head. There are bloody tears in her eyes. "Fuck, Eric. You might as well release me and get it over with. But, just so you know... I had no choice. It was beyond my control and, yes, I'll be the first to say that it is... unforgivable of me." Her bright red lips curl into a grimace, and I can tell, she is holding back uncontrollable tears with vigorous effort. "There, I fucking said it. There will be no need to repeat how unforgivable it was. But I was... compromised, and he... he got me good."

She avoids returning my gaze artfully, turning her head this way and that way, her eyebrows raised halfway to her hairline defiantly, as she coats her fingernails. Her nail polish fetish was bordering onto obsession. The pumps, I could understand. What I didn't understand, was her penchant for nail polish at all. It smelled like fucking petrol fumes.

"Jesus, Pam." I look down at her, smiling, unable to hold in a laugh. "All this drama due to some mishap with a fucking human. Human's die all the time. Fang-bangers are asking for it." She swears underneath her breath. "Where did you conceal the body? I'll deal with it. For you, I always do, and will."

There's a long silence where she stares down at her fingernails. "How did your meeting fare?"

"Well. I got... held back by the secretary. She was blonde and she had big tits."

"Oh, you didn't?" I have finally won victory in making her laugh. She gives me a short, soft one.

"I did, in all sincerity. What is it about vampires that make humans desperate to be fucked by them? I will never fathom the logic of that. It is pitiful, really."

"Well, that I can attest to whole-heartedly," she agrees gently. "But I am afraid there are more pressing matters at hand than the amusing discussion of how pathetic human's are. There is always plenty of time for that discussion later."

"Then tell me, Pam. As your Maker, I command you not to conceal anything from me. Whether it will make me angry or not, is irrelevant. What is troubling you?"

"Eric." It comes out of her mouth absolutely flat and emotional. Fuck. I knew what it meant, and I knew it wasn't anything good. I knew my progeny well.

I approach her and come up behind her in the chair. I take her rigid shoulders in my hands. Her breath sucks in her throat. She is shaking all over. I try to send some of my oozing calm back into her, somehow, as if I am able to, in order to placate her. But she is beyond inconsolable, my child. I haven't ever seen her so... affected before. This is a new development, and one I find myself disliking immensely.

"Pamela? What is it?"

"He came to me today. That bastard came to me!"

I am absolutely clueless. "Who?"

She twists around in the chair to look up at me desperately. Blood is trickling down her cheeks. "He attacked me and silvered me! There was no other option, Eric!"

I don't say anything. I can't., I am utterly speechless. The fact that someone actively violated my child and threatened her, was enough.

"Who was it?" It is a struggle not to raise my voice at her. It wasn't her I was infuriated at. Never my Pam.

"His name... is Niall Brigant. He... he came to me. He was a fucking fairy, Eric! And he... he asked for you. He somehow had knowledge that you were the oldest and most powerful vampire in Louisiana and he... he somehow also knew what I was to you... so he used that against me! I am so fucking sorry!"

I'm getting nervous now. And fucking dangerously, lethally angry. I want to strike my fists into somebody. The name Niall Brigant... is not a familiar one to me. I do not associate with fairies and yet, somehow, he knew of me. We are not acquainted. So, what is the meaning of this? Pamela has fallen silent. She is hunched over in the seat, clutching her hands in front of her face, weeping loudly.

"What did he do to you, Pamela? Where did he... silver you?"

"He... he said it wasn't done to intentionally harm me. But he... he said that if I do not comply in passing his message along to you, he will make it into something personal. He will... he'll..." She couldn't even say it. I wait patiently. And then, she slowly unbuttons her pink ruffled blouse, and peels it off. She stands, and turns, showing her back to me. What I see there... I want to fucking kill this... fairy. Her back is covered in peeling burns; blistering red marks forming words:

Preserve my grand-daughter from harm...

Sookie Stackhouse...

Or your progeny will die...

She stands before me, showing me her bare back, shoulders hunched, waiting for me to say something in response to it, until she feels I've had a good enough glimpse. I hand her blouse back, and she slips it back on. She winces at the pain of the fabric covering her burns, and slowly rebuttons it.

"All right," I tell her quietly, trying to compose myself. "I get the gravity of your situation now, Pam. Thank you."

"My... my situation?" she repeats loudly, getting in front of my face. "Your fucking situation, Eric! Unless you... you want me to meet the... the truth death and... perish at the hands of this demented fairy, you will have to do as he requests! I had no choice!"

I stare down at her wet face, suddenly tongue-tied. This is what she is mostly upset about? Betraying me, her Maker, in some sense? Not because she was used as no more than a worthless instrument to blackmail me with, in preserving this... Sookie Stackhouse object? "Pamela, there is no easier way to say this. But you are a fucking imbecile."

She breaks down loudly at that; She's a tragic mess. Blood, all over her cheeks. Dribbling down onto her shirt.

"I... I know, Eric! Please, forgive me!"

I take her face in my hands, and hush her softly. She peers up at me, both frightened, and stunned. "Do not ask for my forgiveness, Pamela. Especially when, at a time such as this, it is not needed. Do not be so fucking stupid. Be heartless, and uncompromising. Do not seek forgiveness from anyone!"

"W-what?"

I close my eyes and lean my forehead against hers. "This Niall... Brigant hurt my child, Pamela," I say to her, wiping the tears off her cheeks with my thumbs. "If anything, he ought to be seeking forgiveness, not you. He has harmed and pained my one and only progeny, my... child."

"I... I don't understand," she whispers weakly. Then breaks down sobbing again. "Why aren't you disgraced in me? Why aren't you... angry?"

"Because, as you stated... it was beyond your control."

"But-"

"But nothing. All that matters, as for now... is this."

I lower my mouth to hers, and kiss her. I feel her frown against my lips, and then she pushes herself into it, in a reluctant and highly confused manner. When we are done, she presses her face into my chest.

"Fucking asshole fairy," she cries bitterly. "He... he got me good, Eric!"

"He will pay. Have no doubts on that."

"Yes, he will," she agrees firmly. "Are you... are you going to do as he requests?"

"What the fuck question is that, Pamela?" I stroke her hair. "If he had the heart to do that to you with silver, then I have no qualms in my mind, he could do far... more. I would not dare go against his orders and put your life at stake."

"Yes. That's what I... thought," she murmurs into my shirt. Her voice drips heavy with sarcasm. The old Pam I know and love, has returned. "We'll get him good, right?"

"The hell we will. And we always do. Together."

She slumps forward into me. A moment later her shoulders start to shake again.

"Pamela, relax," I say, helplessly. "Pamela, look at me."

She refuses to; She presses her face into my shirt harder.

"Pamela, as your Maker, I-"

"-command me to look at you, blah, blah," she finishes dryly. She turns her head to look up at me; A weak, miserable smile playing across her lips. Slowly, she separates herself from me and wipes her eyes.

I pull my wrist to my mouth; If she's in pain, I couldn't bear letting her go on and suffering.

"Eric!" She grabs my hand, fingers overlapping tightly, and tugs it down from my fangs. Instead, she guides it down... lower... lower... to her thighs underneath her skirt; my knuckles barely grazing. "Blood won't do," she says, softly. Still peering deeply into my eyes, she reaches over and maliciously cups me in my trousers, squeezing... digging. I gasp, delighted, and though it feels strange being so intimate with Pamela, I cannot help the fact my body responds to it, and willingly. My fangs run out, and she grins up at me, wickedly, showing glistening fangs of her own.

"Aren't we forward?"

"What can I say? Pain makes me incredibly horny!" She rips off my shirt, and the buttons pop and fly everywhere. I clutch her face in both my hands, draw our faces in closer. She pauses for just a second, leaving her lips and fangs close to mine, and then she says, breathing over me,"And, after what I've only just endured... I feel a good and intense fucking session is warranted!"

"Oh, I believe that is fair!"

"And Eric Northman is the best for that! Thank fuck he is my Maker!" Playfully, she nips my lower lip with her fangs. For the first time in nearly over twenty years, I had sex with my darling progeny. It was exactly like going over familiar ground again, and familiarizing yourself with the territory once more, restoring it, recalling it... Discovering it all over again.

But no matter how long we spent, up there on my desk, exploring one another again like we had many times ago... there was still the issue at the forefront of my mind. I had to find this Sookie Stackhouse creature- for Pamela's sake. I didn't know what a Sookie Stackhouse was, but I was determined to find that out, and quickly. Time could not be wasted.

My progenies life hangs in the balance.

I manage to track down the Sookie Stackhouse creature; I had wonderful investigators, after all.

She resided in a house miles away from Shreveport, where Pamela and I resided. I also learned, through my investigators, that Sookie Stackhouse is a human, and that her parent's died when she was a mere three years old.

I think longingly of being back home, in Shreveport, with Pamela, my progeny, just an evening ago. Fucking her was, oddly... satisfying. Oh, how those were the days, or should I say far appropriately... nights. I am hoping to become acquainted with this human child soon, but judging by how dim and dark it is outside, it seems tonight for the occasion would be improbable. There is an apple tree lining the garden, munched on apples intersected on the long and wet green grass, by deers. I hear a window screened door slam to the left of where I am standing and then, it comes at true last, in a glorious pitter-patter of tiny footsteps. A child is running down a set of wooden steps on a porch, and then there she is, the animated child who is to be the object of my assignment to preserve and who's fate of mine rests unwittingly, bursting through the waving grass, harum-scarum. My still heart twists somewhere deepest inside of me.

She isn't what I predicted at all; She is beyond all preformed expectations. She is young, about in her ninth or tenth year. Even more distressing than her estimated, juvenile age, is that she is outside, in the dark, alone. Well, not quite alone, as I am here skulking around. She is utterly oblivious as to her surroundings; Had the worst occurred, anyone could have reached out and snatched her, and she would not have bat an eyelid in time enough to spare herself. She is wearing the clothes I assume she sleeps in; A long-sleeved, white night-gown that makes her appear quite a delicate doll, and knee socks in a plaid green to keep her from catching a frosty chill on her toes. She is carrying a flashlight along with her, and a fairly large book I am not familiar with, tucked underneath one arm, along with a blanket, while she holds the lit flashlight in the other, her hand firmly clasped around it. Obviously no one has enlightened her on the dangers of venturing outside at dark.

She lets the blanket fall from her arm and collapses down onto her knees in the grass, and she takes her carefree time, in spreading the blanket over the grass. Then, she dumps the book she is holding onto it, and sits, crossing her arms over her knees.

I hesitate, observing her. I do not quite understand the duties expected of me by the job I am undertaking to preserve and protect her. Am I meant to make myself known to her? Or do I just loiter around in silence and fulfil my duty of keeping an eye on her in secret? She's obviously not informed of me, she clearly does not know I am there, and that I am here for her wellbeing. I consider making myself known to her, but then I am a stranger, and if she is any smart, she will react suitably to the occasion in screaming for her progenitors. She nurses the book on her bony knees, shines the beam of the flashlight onto her book, and starts to read underneath a bed of sparkling stars. She is content, and absorbed in her reading, and she mutters out the words on the page as she reads aloud.

"Once upon a time, there was a young girl who.." She has a Southern twang to her small voice. I stand around aimlessly, and listen for a short measure of time to her story. It is quite a ridiculous one to ingest, without laughing humourously; Nonsense about evil, wicked stepmother's, and a courageous and charming prince. Do human children truly believe in such dull and foolish notions?

The story tickles my throat and once I compose myself, I discover the child is staring straight at me through the darkness. I understand, late, that I hadn't been as successful in containing my delirious laughter to myself.

"Who is there?" the child hisses sharply. It was incredibly brave of her, given the circumstances. She looks like an agitated little kitten. You just want to indulge yourself in petting her, then wringing her fluffy, short neck. "Jason, I swear to God, if that's you... so help me!" She falls silent menacingly, letting the threat linger on meaningfully. She fails; She is as menacing as a Goth girl to a vampire.

"Greetings, Small Human," I intone, smiling in a - hopefully- kind light. My fangs are out on display. I am hoping it is far too dark for the human eye, to distinguish them.

"Jason! Very funny! Ha-ha!" She is groping around for something on the blanket, then feels out a stone on the grass, which she proceeds to toss overhand at me. I don't think she can see me all that well, but she succeeds in catching me sharply on my right knee. It hurts like a bitch, and I groan and hop around on the spot, nursing it. An instance later, the twanging is gone. Thank fuck for swift healing.

"Don't do that again, Human, otherwise I will be forced into doing something we may both quickly come to regret," I warn her, very seriously, through my fangs.

She takes cautious heed of my advice, and clutches her book tightly to her chest. "Who is that?" Now, resonating the child she is, she is frightened. "You're not Jason!"

She keeps saying that odd term, which, funnily enough, I haven't two wits on what a Jason is.

I feel a sudden, profound need to appease her. "Eric. The name is Eric, Human. And you are Sookie. Sookie Stackhouse. I mean to intend you no harm, and I wish you would not inflict harm on me, and express the same sentiment."

"I don't know anyone called Eric. Give my rock back. I don't know you. How'd you know my name?" She is glowering at me through the darkness, trembling through her lacy white night-gown. "Who are you? Why are you in my yard?" Her voice is tiny and accusatory."And, by the way... I still want my rock back, Mister!"

I find her rock near my left shoe. Just as I'm bending down to retrieve it, she rises to her feet, and shines the beam of her flashlight directly into my face. It stings even worse than the Goddamn rock she pummelled at me. "I will repeat again, Human. Do not do that, either."

"Do what?" She hisses through small teeth., persisting with blinding me with that intense flare of light. I am considering crushing it, just to see her cry. "I'm not doin' anything to you! I want my rock back! Give it now!"

She looks so fierce, a little breathing spitfire in human form, its comical. And then she sees my fangs when I approach her slowly and cautiously with her jagged rock, her eyes widen fretfully, and she backs away an inch off her blanket, gasping. Her flashlight slips from her clammy fingers. I sigh in relief; It couldn't have come soon enough.

"Coal from Santa," she murmurs, in a breathless and shaky way. I haven't the slightest idea who this Santa is for that matter, and why he is bestowing her coal, of all things.

Cue an awkward silence. And then, cue Sookie Stackhouse reaching down to grab that irritating flashlight again off the wet ground. It goes directly into my eyes again, and it burns.

I try to ignore the inner vexation I feel, and rather instead, aim to appear harmless and friendly in smiling through my fangs at the girl. Friendly and harmless are the last elements you would use to actively describe a being of my persuasion, because most of us aren't. And I know that for a fact.

"What is wrong with your teeth?" Children. Don't you just want to devour them whole.

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with my teeth."

"Sure, there is. You got weird teeth!"

"Well, I could say the same about yours. How you can possibly eat with them, is beyond me."

Self-conscious and offended, she lifts a hand to touch run a small finger around aforementioned, deformed and blunt, human teeth. "There ain't nothin' wrong with my teeth!"

"Oh, I think there is, Small Human."

"There isn't!"

Throughout this insightful conversation, I have managed to inch closer to her along the grass without her noticing.

She raises the flashlight again into my eyes, as though it is a pistol bearing silver. "I saw that," she shouts defensively.

I lift a brow at her. "Saw what?"

"That!" She points down at the diminishing distance developing between us. Seems I haven't been as sneaky as I'd thought. "Stay away from me! Give me back my rock!"

"I am trying to."

"Where did you come from? Why are you in my yard at this late of a night? Why are your teeth weird?"

"Why are you- a mere child- out at such a dangerous hour by yourself?"

"None of your business! This is my yard! I have equal rights!"

Our conversation was clearly going nowhere. "Give me your hand," I direct her coldly.

Her stare turns just as cold as my voice. "Why?"

I thrust my hand out for verification, her jagged rock digging into my palm. "Your rock. How about we make an exchange? Your flashlight, for the rock?"

She thinks about this, her lips curling over. "Why you want my flashlight for?"

"Just to hold it for the time being," I tell her earnestly. "I do not like you shining it in my face. Frankly, it hurts me."

"You're just trying to con me."

"Con you? Why would you believe that?"

She was surprisingly stubborn. "I just know you are. I don't know you. Why should I agree to an exchange with somebody I don't know?"

"I won't con you, I swear it."

Another awkward silence. The Sookie Human shifts her weight from foot to foot, scrutinizing me suspiciously. "Give me my rock back first."

"All right. I have no intentions to keep your rock." Whether you know it or not, because you're that infantile, there are many rocks existing in the world, Little Girl.

Cautiously, she outstretches a tiny hand. She makes an upset whimpering noise when I reach out, turn her small hand over gently with my fingers, and plop the rock down into it.

"Your fingers are icy! And your teeth are weird!" There she goes again, insulting my fangs. In some cultures to a vampire, it would be necessary reason to slaughter a human.

"They are not weird!" I am deeply insulted. My fangs are my most prized and precious possession. It made me... touchy. "They are sharper than yours and they serve me well, thank you very much!"

"What do you even eat with those? It's weird!"

Irritated beyond comprehension, I realize the only way to efficiently make her understand, is to... take matters into my own hand. It'll frighten her, sure. But I'm hungry, and I haven't eaten in days. I would literally kill for a dog, even. A possum is a while away in her yard, searching for something to eat. Wordlessly, I let my senses take over, and close my eyes. I listen carefully, measuring the distance.

"What are you doing?" The girl whispers in plain disgust.

To answer her question very bluntly, I go after the source. I wrap the possum's bristly tail around my wrist, and in another slice of a second, I am standing before the Human, and the possum is dangling from my wrist by the tail, scratching and hissing horribly in weak-hearted defense for itself. I eat the possum by penetrating the neck, messily and quickly. I can feel the warm blood dribbling down my chin, moistening my lips. The girl watches me in outright fascination and revulsion.

And then she says, nervously, "You eat like a starvin' dog!"

She does an excellent job of offending me, each and every time. "I do not!"

"Um, yeah. You do! " She shudders visibly when I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand and toss the now-dead possum somewhere in her yard. "Gross! You are a murderer!"

She comes to this conclusion, all because I killed a stupid possum?

"A murderer?" I've killed far more than a mere animal. It's odd that she is so quick to name me as a murderer over that.

"Yes. Animals have souls. I was told that in church."

"Humans have souls. Animals... no. Your church was wrong."

There is a moment of silence where she stares at me. "What are you?"

Again, I try to look friendly, but I know I look awful, due to the blood on my face, and the fangs. "Vampire."

"Pfft. You're lying. There's no such thing."

"And you say that while looking- and speaking- to one before you."

"Prove it, then," she challenges strongly.

"Prove it? I just did."

"That was nothin'. That still doesn't prove you're a vampire."

She was a difficult one.

"Perhaps if you're nicer to me, I will show you I am a vampire by attempting to fly."

Her eyes widen. "You can fly?" And then, her lips crack into a big grin. "All right. You got yourself a deal!"

"Good."

Silence.

She stomps her feet on the grass impatiently. "Well? When are you gonna fly?"

"When I am ready. Are you that weary of me, Human?" I look down at her thick book. "What is this drivel you are reading?"

"None of your business," she says again sourly. "I wanna see you fly."

"Not yet."

She peers up at me doubtfully. "Why? Because you're really telling me bull. You can't fly, can you? I bet you can't. I bet you're not even a... a vampire, because they don't even exist."

"I'm going to be coming here often, and you will see me here... often. You must keep this quiet, do you understand, Human?"

"Why?"

"That is also classified information. But you will be seeing plenty more of me. Regardless of how irritating you are, and how much I would enjoy nothing more than to kill you, it has been interesting, Little Human." I hold out my hand, and she eyes it cautiously. "Until we meet again, Sookie." After a moment of careful consideration, she takes my hand bravely. And then, with an audible gasp, she wiggles her hand out from underneath mine and wipes it on the cloth of her nightgown.

"Eww, there's blood! Yucky!"

And there certainly is; She now has a smear of bright red blood streaking down her stark-white gown. Oddly enough, that strikes me as hilarious, in a morbid way.

"I am vampire. Blood is vital. What do you expect, Human?"

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, so you say, Mister."

"Faval, Sookie."

"Fa... faval." Already, her Swedish is better than that of an amateur. Wonderful. Pam would be jealous.

I turn to the dark of the trees.

"Well?" she calls loudly. "Are you gonna-?" And before she is able to even finish that sentence, I rise. I am gone and she is left alone and unbothered in her yard again.