Disclaimer- I don't own it.

It's often annoed me that we don't get Lord Akeldama's backstory in the books, so my friend and I developed a complicated headcanon involving some spoilers from the fifth book (although really, it's only spoilers that the Egyptian queen exists and that she turned Akeldama). I did as much research as I could into homosexuality in ancient Egypt, which there is little on, and found that, while technically condemned, it was more acceptable in actual practice, unless you were on the bottom of a relationship, as it made you weak. The only canon I can think of that this contradicts is Akeldama's reasons for leaving his hive; that he disagreed on a fashion basis, and as that is pretty much contradicted with later canon, I have chosen to disregard it.

Rated because of many references to prostitution, and because it feels m-rated, more than anything.

I don't want to say anything alse, as it may spoil the fanfic, so I hope you like it! :)

It was only a walk down the street.

One of the girls had been begging for a new comb all week; no one would get it for her, so she had turned to Akeldama with sultry eyes (as though he didn't know how that worked) and pleaded for him to take one walk, one teensy little walk, down to street to buy the comb from the bazaar.

In twenty minutes of walking on a respectable thoroughfare, he had insults thrown at him, been forced to bow in subservience to a passing nobleman who had been disgusted by his presence, and had had to avoid the occasional rock flying towards him.

'It does not matter," he thought angrily. 'Half of you will be in my bed come nightfall.'

He hated venturing out of the small area of Alexandria he had been raised in, the slums and brothels and seedy bars. People knew him there, and did not spit at him (unless he deserved it, which had been known to happen). There, he could feel good about himself.

But not in the public, where anyone of any class could see him, see the mark on his skin that branded him a whore, where a quick glance at his effeminate face spoke volumes as to where he stood (or knelt, or lay) in his relationships.

He paid for the comb with shaking fingers, hoping to scurry back to the brothel as quickly as possible. The man who owned the booth leered at him.

"For yourself, to comb your pretty hair?" asked the man, snickering.

Akeldama shook his head and mumbled, "It's for a friend."

"Of course it is, like we can't all tell what you are," said the man snidely. When Akeldama reached for the comb the man pulled his hand away, leaving Akeldama's face red from shame.

"Can I please have it?" he asked, trying to sound humble.

"Of course. Even you are a paying customer."

His eyes burning, he snatched the comb and started to head home, shoulders hunched. He hated being a whore.

"I can do my own hair," he said.

He knew it was futile, of course. But it was a manner of pride.

The girl tutted and kissed him on the cheek. Usually they hated giving affection to non-payers, but he was different. They knew they had nothing to fear from him.

"I love doing your hair, Akeldama," she purred. "It's so light and beautiful. Men don't usually have such beautiful hair."

He was perfectly aware of that. If he'd grown to be big and strong and his hair was dark he would have not been what he was, even growing up in a brothel. He would have been a guard or a money-lender or even a cook. But he was pretty and blonde and had long eyelashes, so he was not.

"Oh, smile, honey," she said, sounding concerned. He supposed he was frowning rather hard. He forced his lips into a smile, but it felt unnatural and forced.

"Don't smile like that for the customers," she laughed. "You'll never get another job."

She let a few strands of his golden hair fall over his face as she tied his hair up, exposing his neck. It made him look coy, he knew. When would he be too old for this game? What, he wondered in a vaguely terrified way, would become of him when he was?

"I know better than that," he said truthfully. "I guess I'm just saving all the sincerity for them."

She smiled and swatted at him for being cheeky and then left him to get ready for her own after-dark visitors. Akeldama dreaded this time of the night more than most of them did, he had since Menes had died and he'd become the only male whore at the brothel, forced to take all the business for his kind there was in a night.

At the beginning of the night, he got the rich, old ones, the ones with the money to have him fresh and relatively unused. As the night wore on, his clients got poorer and poorer, until, when dawn was breaking, he would get sailors and merchants that were content with his last, struggling leftovers. Then he would be left to recover and gather himself for the next night.

"You don't have to worry about getting pregnant!" the girls always giggled, and he would laugh with them, because they were the only friends he had.

He would never say would he thought; that they could walk properly and sit down and weren't the lowest class of person Alexandria possessed, that it was less polite not to spit at him than the alternative. In Eygpt, there was no worse kind of human being than one who was willingly sodomized.

"Oh, child," said a smooth, female voice. "Why are you crying?"

Akeldama flinched as a woman's soft, dark hand grasped his arm, pulling him closer to her, closer to the house she was leaning from.

"P-Please pay me no mind," he stammered. "Please, I did not mean...I will be on my way now. Forgive me for troubling you."

He rubbed the tears from his eyes and attempted to free himself from the woman's cold grasp, but she was unnaturally strong.

"What are you doing out after nightfall, child?"

"I am making a house call," mumbled Akeldama, showing his forearm to the strange woman, so that she would know what he was.

"But you have not answered my first question," said the woman.

"I am crying because..." said Akeldama, compelled to tell this strange and beautiful woman who smiled at him with such warmth. "I am crying because I am a whore, and there is no one in this world who loves me."

"Oh, young one, that cannot be true."

"But it is," he sniffled, trying to regain his composure. Just because he acted like a young vixen in bed didn't mean he was one. He was nearly twenty, whether or not the brothel admitted it to anyone. "It is true."

She ran a thumb over the brand on his arm. "Would you like this to be gone? Would you like to be free of this?"

He gaped at her. "I cannot...there is no way to be free of it. It is branded onto my skin forever."

"Not forever," she said, her breath hot on his neck. "Not yet."

He felt something sink into his neck right before he sank into her arms, unconscious.

"You bled him too much, my lady."

"I was desperate."

"I-I know, only...he may not recover."

"Nonsense. He is stronger than he looks. In fact...I believe he is waking."

Akeldama opened his eyes and saw nothing but blurry shapes, so he shut them again. He was lying on something soft, and there was a cover over him, which he pulled closer to him. He hadn't slept this well since...ever.

"Young one," said the woman's voice again, closer to him. "I know you're awake. It's okay."

He wished he could keep his eyes closed forever, but he doubted that was what the world had in store for him.

He opened his eyes.

The woman was hovering over him, her mouth stretched in a large smile.

"Where am I?"

"You are in my home," she said. "You can stay here, if you wish."

"I cannot," he said, remembering at last who he was and where he was supposed to be. "I have missed my call! I will be in for a beating..."

"You don't have to be," she said.

Akeldama attempted to stand, but his legs were shaky and he had to sit. He collapsed back onto the bed he'd been sleeping on.

"Feel your neck," she suggested.

He did, and gasped when he felt two deep, small bite marks. "What...what bit me? What's going on?"

"I am a vampire," she said. "And I can give you immortal life."

"Why would I want immortal life?" he said. "I would only be a whore forever."

"If you decide you want immortality," she said. "You will not have to go back to that brothel. Not now, not ever. You will belong to me. You may live here and eat whatever you wish, wear whatever you wish, in exchange for your blood and the performing of some simple tasks."

"What tasks?" he asked suspiciously.

She smiled. "I am in need of a lady's maid," she said.

Akeldama, who was nearly too old to be a whore and had nothing to lose, agreed.

He liked being a lady's maid.

His new master, the Queen, had bought him from the disgruntled brothel at an undisclosed price. She wouldn't tell him, as she told him that he, as a human, had no price. It was a new concept to him. He liked it.

His Queen slept during the day, so he adjusted his schedule accordingly, keeping the same hours as her. When he went to bed late or woke early he liked to doodle with charcoal on stone, often planning the clothes he would dress his Queen in that night and even designing new ones.

He didn't like the Egyptian style very much; he disliked nudity, when it came down to it, because he associated it with sex, so, when no one was watching, he would draw outfits with fully clothed men and women, the women with ruffles and large skirts and the men with tight pants, so you could see their assets without resorting to nudity. Akeldama rather liked that idea too. He began experimenting with different kinds of pigments, smearing flowers onto the stone and seeing what colors they created.

During the night, he picked clothes for the Queen, conforming to the Egyptian standards of less-is-better, except, of course, her neck, which was adorned with many jewels and layers of finery. When he dressed her, she told him stories of the old days of Egypt. He liked to listen and to learn. Then, when they had finished, she would drain him until he could barely stand. He would spend the rest of the night recovering and helping her other drones with the work around the house as she entertained guests.

It was a strange life, but it was his. All his.

"Do you like me, Akeldama?"

Akeldama nearly dropped the jewels he was holding in surprise. "Yes, my lady, of course."

"I thought so," she said. "Not many of my drones like me, you know."

"How can I not like you?" Akeldama said. "You saved me from the brothel."

"Was it saving, then?"

"Yes," said Akeldama earnestly. "I hated it there. I always in pain and everyone was cruel to me...I like it much better here."

"Most of my drones only want my immortality," said the Queen. "You are different."

Akeldama laid the jewels around her neck. "If you say so, your majesty."

"My dear, dear Akeldama," said the Queen. There was a look in her eyes that Akeldama had never seen before. He did not like it. "You love me, do you not?"

"I-I do," he stammered. "As much as any drone has loved their master."

"Yes," she said. "But you do not desire me."

"No," he admitted, blushing. "I am not attracted to...to women."

"I thought as much, dear one," she said, trailing her hand across his cheek. "Would you do something for me, my love?"

"Of course," he said quickly. "Anything."

"There is a man with your preferences in my parlor right now. One of the other drones, the impetuous little brats, has stolen a pretty necklace from him, and he wants compensation."

Her smile was wicked. Akeldama stared at her, not understanding what she wanted him to do.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I have no money."

"No, you pretty young man," she said. "I mean for you to be his compensation."

Akeldama could hear the blood roaring in his ears. His heart felt as thought it had stopped beating.

"But..." he whispered. "You said I would no longer have to be a whore."

"No," she said, eyes glinting. "I said you would never have to go back to the brothel. Do you not want immortality, boy?"

"Yes," he said, his voice stronger and his eyes harder. "I do. I will obey all your orders, my Queen, until I die."

But, when he turned away from her to go downstairs, readying himself to play a game he had thought he had quit, he no longer loved the Queen. He was no longer hers, not in heart. She had betrayed him, and now he was only following her for the immortality. Once he had that, he wasn't going to stick around.

"You're lovely, my lady," said Akeldama, his tone of affected breathlessness. "You look gorgeous."

"If I do," she said, delicately kissing the top of his head. "It is because of your skill."

But as she said it, she twirled in the mirror, and Akeldama knew she did not believe it.

"Now," she said cheerfully. "I'm off to a promising dinner with a nobleman, and you, my dear boy, shall entertain his retainers."

"Of course," said Akeldama, his voice still carrying the saccharine sweetness, his insides liquifying with anger. "Whatever you command."

Akeldama sighed and looked at his drawing. It was good, but still not right. He looked at his pile of flowers and began sorting through them, trying to find the perfect one.

"Here," said a voice, and Akeldama looked up to see the sad eyes of the Queen's advisor. "This might do."

He looked wistfully at Akeldama's art, and Akeldama wondered if he, too, had once liked to draw.

Akeldama accepted the flower. It was the perfect shade of yellow.

"What's it called?" he asked.

"Immortelle," said the advisor. "I think it suits you."

Akeldama smiled and crushed it between his fingers.

"This is unfair, your majesty!"

"He has only been here three years!" said another drone, voice rising. "I have been here eight!"

"He is more worthy than you," said the Queen, her voice silken. "He has been a more trustworthy drone than any of you could imagine."

Akeldama didn't want the drones' hatred. He wanted to yell and apologize for how their Queen was picking favorites, but that would ruin everything he had worked for. Ruin every moment he'd spent on his knees or back in the past two years for.

He swallowed. The day had finally come. He was being turned. Or, more likely, he was going to die a horrible death. A fitting end, he told himself, for a horrible life.

But if he did turn...his insides churned. He knew what he would do.

The Queen smoothed back Akeldama's blonde hair and told him to relax. He nodded and smiled and didn't say anything. He knew she liked him best when he didn't speak.

"On your knees," she said soothingly, and he turned his back to the angry drones that continued to glare daggers at him. The Queen's vampires, he knew, were watching him closely. He knew they didn't want him to turn.

She opened her mouth wide and revealed a second set of teeth he had never seen before. A shiver of anticipation ran through him.

She bit into his neck, and everything changed.

Pain. It hurt. He could no longer see. He could hear someone screaming; was it him? Pain.

His body was shaking, but he wasn't doing it. Pain. Blood was being drained from his body and being replaced with fire, burning fire, awful fire. It hurt. He hurt.

It lasted longer than he would have thought possible. The shrill screech went on and on until his throat was hoarse and dry. He convulsed, still in the grip of the Queen's teeth. Pain.

Then...it was over. She let go, and he fell to the floor, tired, and yet not tired. His skin prickled. When he looked at it, it was even paler than before. He examined his arm. The brand was gone. She had not lied about that, then.

He looked up, and there she was, smiling triumphantly, blood still dripping from her fangs. Even though he knew it was his blood, it still looked...delicious. He needed blood. Blood.

The Queen summoned one of the drones. He reluctantly stood.

"Offer him your neck," she said.

The drone, his smile forced, offered his neck to Akeldama, who, vision still blurry and legs still shaky, bit down.

Relief. His legs strengthened and his eyes cleared up. His hearing sharpened; everything was better. He clung to the neck until the Queen said sharply, "Stop."

Akeldama forced himself to pull away. The drone, unaccustomed to so much blood being taken at once, barely made his way back to his seat before collapsing.

"Let us get you some rest," said the Queen. "Tomorrow night we will begin training."

Akeldama may have been the Queen's favorite drone, but he was not her favorite vampire. His duties as her rentable concubine did not stop either, although she allowed him to drink blood from his partners.

Something he did not expect was losing the ability to draw. He tried to make the shapes into dressed and clothes, but he found that he could not. It no longer worked in his head. His heart ached; he had wanted to draw forever.

He suffered through her training, her instructions about avoiding daylight, on how to properly feed without killing the drone, about how to make yourself look human. He would need it, for when he finally broke free.

And when he did, all hell broke loose.

"You can't leave."

There was authority in that voice. Akeldama could feel it pull at him, pull at his very insides. But he was stronger. His hatred, his anger, was stronger.

"I can," said Akeldama. "And I will."

He was facing off the Queen in her own throne room. He had, without even noticing it, grown tall before he'd changed. He was taller than her advisor, who was watching his with shrewd eyes. His face has lost its effete features with immortality, and his gaze was steel.

"That's impossible," said the Queen He could detect a wavering in her tone, and knew he had triumphed. "It's unheard of. There's no way a vampire so young could become a rove."

"I am doing so now," said Akeldama firmly.

The Queen stood. "You cannot! I took you in when you were nothing! I fed you, clothed you, kept you safe. You owe me."

"I would," said Akeldama. "If you had not betrayed me. If you had not sent me back into the life I hated. You made me a whore after promising me otherwise, and I cannot forgive you for that."

The Queen, for once in her very long life, was speechless.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," said the Queen. "You were weak. You were a whore. You were supposed to to bow down and listen without question."

"I know. I would have, too, if you had not done what you did. I would have followed you to the ends of the world."

"You don't even have a first name," said the Queen weakly. "You were a slave. You are no one."

"I have a first name," said Akeldama angrily. "I am Immortelle Akeldama, and I am breaking from this hive, forever. Thank you for immortality; I am no longer branded, and I am free to go where I wish in this world. I hope I never see you again."

He walked out, and not a single drone moved to stop him.

Life was not easy after that.

He had to keep moving, only at night, trekking many miles through wilderness. There were many times that he nearly starved, and many where he was nearly disintegrated by the sun. His body craved the hive, but he forsaken that life, and he spent countless hours crying and shaking, unable to control himself.

He had no destination at first. He just kept moving, getting as far away from Alexandria and its Queen as possible. Eventually, he ended up in a land that would become France, where he was forced by his tether to settle. He spent centuries there, amassing a large fortune through manipulations, bribes, and sex, which he found not at all disagreeable when on his own terms. Life was still hard; his kind were hunted, and it was not easy to disguise yourself if you were a homosexual vampire who couldn't move.

He swarmed in the Middle Ages, during a battle that threatened his life, and crossed the Channel to England, which he found far more agreeable, and settled there. By the time he met Alexia Tarabotti, there was little left in the old vampire of his human self.

That was, until she touched him, and he could feel life's warmth spread through him, bringing memories back of Alexandria, of his miserable life, or being a lady's maid, and, most importantly, of a young man who liked to draw with flowers.

The immortelle is a yellow Egyptian flower that mostly closely resembles goldrenrod. :) I thought it was fitting. Reviews are love! :)