A/N: I enjoyed (most) of the books, so I will loosely follow that timeline, but I also liked aspects of the show so I'll incorporate some of those elements as well. There will also be additions, deletions, and distortions to allow my character's insertion into CH's world. My Sookie won't be of fairy descent as I always thought it was a cop out to explain her attraction to most of the Sup world and the least believable aspect of her character. As I read the books, it struck me as strange how much older Eric was than most of the other vampires he encountered. The more I thought about it, the more I began to think of how he would react to meeting someone as old, or even older than he (who isn't his maker). I'd started another vampire storyline, but it never went anywhere despite how much I enjoyed the female vampire I created. Eventually she whapped me upside the head and told me she deserved to meet Eric, and thusly this twisted story was born. She is of a different nationality (as we think of it now) than Eric, but has experience with his people's ancestors. This chapter focuses wholly on her and I hope she intrigues you enough to follow her to familiar destinations and characters.

The Wayfarer

She licked the blood from his lips and cried out in anger.

Despite his greater weight, she cradled his lifeless body against her breast, small hands uselessly sweeping his dark blond hair from his sightless blue eyes. She raised her head and glared murderously at the men standing before her in the dusty paddock.

More than one flinched when she spoke, her words cutting the air like a sharp dagger pointed directly at their hearts.

"What in everliving hell have you done, Fechin?"

Fechin, her twin and elder by two minutes, stepped forward with a disdainful look at the men behind him. He faced his sister and her husband's body with the proud strength that carried him through his life until now.

"I righted the wrong Arngeir wrought when he stole you from our family, sister," his voice used with the same lethal precision as hers.

Black brows flew up in surprise before bending into a forbidding frown. Carefully she laid her beloved against the dirt with a kiss to his bearded cheek before standing to her full height, several inches shorter than the shortest man before her.

"He could not steal what was rightfully his," she softly answered.

"He was the enemy, or have you forgotten his men sweeping our coasts and raiding the villages. Raping." Thwarted rage turned his eyes dark, memories of his dead wife rising to haunt him.

"It was not him that did this. He came in peace, tired of the conflict."

"Ah yes, a mere bard." He stepped closer before darting around her to grab the dead man's hand. "A bard with calluses that prove years gripping an axe or sword. A man of peace, surely."

His words inflamed her temper, his touch inciting a killing rage. She roared a wordless battle shout and barreled her smaller body into his. She did not care that this was her twin, flesh of her flesh. He dared to come into her home with words of reconciliation before renting the fabric of her existence with a well placed dagger in the back of her husband.

Fechin, a trained warrior from childhood, did not hesitate. He released Arngeir's hand and drew the sword at his hip reflexively, the tip easily parting the whiteness of her breast and thrust deeper until nearly the whole length was embedded in her chest. A twist of his wrist carved the wound deeper until her life's blood jettisoned from the hole in deep purple red spurts. A deep soughing sound rushed through the encircled men as they watched their lord kill his own sister.

Eyes of jade locked with his, boundless rage and sorrow twinned, reflecting between them for an eternal moment before she fell, her body landing backwards across Arngeir.

Shock and terrible pleasure filled him as he viewed the destruction of the last half hour. Lifting eyes the same color as his slain sister, he viewed his audience.

"They were attacked by raiders. We managed to scare them away, but not before they regrettably slew these two."

No one dared contradict his words as they finally understood the light in his eyes - madness.

She lay where she'd fallen, yet somehow unfeeling of the deadly damage done to her body. The light of the spring day was gone and replaced by a dingy gray, as if the world bled colors as she bled life.

She'd been raised Christian with the tenets of faith in a God and everlasting life in Heaven beside him. However, she did not wish to go to this sterile place because Arngeir would not be there. He was already ensconced in his Valhalla, the place where warriors were graced with an eternity of ale, women, and joyous battle.

Her brother was right as her husband had not just been a bard, though when he came to her in the darkest night, he'd sung lyrical poetry to entice her away. He'd raided the coast of Eire just as his people had for generations until one day he'd seen a lovely girl along the shore and laid his sword aside for the peaceful life. Arngeir had sworn upon his Gods he had not participated in the battle that slew Róisín; so in love with her Ostman, she'd trusted his word and left despite her family's protestations. Their meeting and love had been ordained and nothing in the last five years had ever made her regret her choice, despite her longing for those she left behind.

If only her desire to reconcile with her family had not blinded her to the treachery in her brother's heart. If only she hadn't begged her husband to let Fechin and his men onto their little tract of land. If, if, if...

A stirring to her right brought her wandering attention back and she opened her eyes. The fact she still had some physical control of her body should have interested her, but she was deep in the gray place now.

"Such rage. You pierce the world." The words stroked over her skin, the purring quality in the voice raising goosebumps.

She tried to respond, but found she could not move anything beyond her eyelids. Confused by this she lay quiescent when she felt strong hands lift her.

"Hmmmn, I have not been Called for a long time now. You intrigue me, a leanbh."

That was the last thing she remembered before liquid pain slammed into her and shattered her awareness of life.

I open my eyes as the sun slides behind the covering of night and gently ease from my resting place beneath the sheltering darkness of dirt. It'd been a close call this time and one I cared not to repeat, since my skin still stunk slightly of burnt flesh. In order to fully heal I would need blood and soon as I had no wish to attract unwanted attention.

The rich Louisiana loam falls from my body in waves as I shake myself clear. I'm not a vain woman, but even I am disgusted by the rankness of my body and clothes. Sighing deeply, I walk away from the hole I'd frantically dug beneath a merciless rising sun, towards the lights peeking through the trees in the distance. My bare feet are silent against the forest floor as is my passage, but the animals are not fooled and are hushed in my presence. Fortunately no astute human lingers in the darkness to be warned of the advancing predator.

The first house on the edge of the woods is dark on the first floor, but shines with light on the second. The window is pulled open so the occupant can enjoy the relative coolness of the evening and music blares out. I wince as my sensitive hearing picks up twanging echoes of some sad country song about a woman done wrong by her man. I debate about knocking on the warped front door, but doubt the owner would hear me.

A dog barking next door announces my arrival, but his presence outside at the gate told me the darkened house is unoccupied. I walk on, grimacing as the tightness of burnt skin begins giving way to peeling. I need blood now to repair the damage.

"Eh, who goes there?"

An wizened old lady stands on the road near the third house, her eyes piercing in the gathering shadows, though her human eyes have no hopes of distinguishing me unless I allow it.

"Just me, old mother," I respond respectfully.

"Child, are you mad? They stalk tonight." She points a roughly made cane in my direction. "It's no time for a youngin, especially a girl one."

A trickle of laughter bubbles in the back of my throat but I manage to quell it before it spills forth. Very little that goes bump in the night scares me; I ignore the flashes of what does scare me.

"Who is stalking?"

"Them," she squeaks as howls rose in all directions. I whirl back towards the woods and realize in my hunger I had negated any sounds of other predators circling the small village - no town - I'd entered. I quickly check my mental calendar and realize there is a full moon tonight. "Them" becomes pretty clear as the first Were breaks from the treeline, his body morphing from manlike into animal.

The old lady's heart races with fright and my fangs snapped down in response to the blood lust beginning to consume me. Fortunately she is behind me and cannot see my distorted face, but the Were bounding towards me does and he attempts to stop his forward momentum as he realizes who and what I am. A fierce gladness wells within and I unsheathe the two short swords strapped to my back. The smoothness from which they slide out is a testament to the hours I spent caring for the leather and the steel blades; a day lying against the dirt hasn't harmed them any.

"Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam" I bless cheerfully, idly twirling the blades like batons.

Weres are unable to communicate with words because of their altered vocal chords, but the eyes remain humanlike in their cunning and deviousness. His panicked flailing has stopped, so I'm not taken by surprise when another Were leapt for me from the side. I sidestep the jump and punish him by raking the edge of Fragarach across his ribs before thrusting Gram into his neck. The Were's thick ruff shields him from a fatal thrust, but the spurting blood does speak to some damage.

Pain and surprise tricks his body into reforming as human and I immediately latch onto his neck with a ferociousness spurred by blood and battle lust. I have not completely surrendered to the lure, so I keep his body against mine even as I eye the first Were. The howls on the periphery tell me some of the pack have found other victims and are calling their straggling brethren to the site.

I retract my fangs enough from my victim to taunt. "Go find them with your tail tucked between your legs, puppy. This one is mine."

He paces just out of reach, whining in his agitation, but I am too strong for him to take alone and he knows it. I can see from the raggedness of his fur and the thinness showing his ribs, this Were pack is not well off. My killing tonight would prove a mercy since this is one less drain on the pack's resources. Finally the Were lopes off, his voice raising to speak of tonight's loss.

When the last drop of blood leaves my meal's body, I drop him to the earth with distaste. I rarely feast on beasts of the supernatural because of the weird metallic taste they leave in my mouth, but I had no choice this time. I could have just killed the Were and drank the human, but her frail body wouldn't have all the blood needed to sustain the necessary repairs my body requires.

I pick up my two swords and silently apologize for treating them so harshly; hunger is no excuse for neglecting to keep them in hand. I wipe the blood off with my shirt and quickly resheathe them, making a mental note to clean them properly at the next opportunity.

"Are you one of them, child?"

Speaking of humans. Or, in this case, speaking humans. I ignore the giddiness engendered by complete blood consummation and turn back to the old lady.

"No," I allow my disgust to surface. "If you wish to see morning's light you will never again lump my kind with them. We are not so at mercy of our natures." At least, not in the same way.

"Cat to their dog?" The humor is surprising especially since I can still smell and hear her fear. The thin cotton dress she wears is saturated with salty sweat and a little urine, though from the staleness, the urine is at least a day old. Whomever she belongs to does not take good care of her.

"In a manner."

A whisper of sound. "Vampire."

I use my natural speed to whip behind her, one long fingernail pressed lightly against her carotid artery. "I was never here."

"You are a figment of my imagination," she agrees. "But do you wish to wash?"

Surprise at her continued temerity in light of what she'd seen me do, I drop my finger and stand before her. "Why?"

"You are filthy and stink of blood. I have water and fresh clothing."

"Then why are you dressed so?" I make a full-body sweep of her. "They came here lured by your smell."

A blush warms her skin, or so the blood rushing to the surface informs me. "Do you want my hospitality or not?" The temper snapping in her voice is both surprising and amusing.

I shrug both mentally and physically. "Sure, why not."

The woman in the mirror looks well-rested and beautiful, her pearl-hued skin luminescent with water and light. The long strands of black hair swirl around her, both shielding and revealing the softly lush bounty of breasts, hips, and thighs to the watcher.

I am always surprised by my reflection and the mirror woman's green eyes widens with mine. My physical beauty is a weapon as surely as the two blades resting in their leather home and I care for my body as if it is a separate entity. Staring at her forces me to acknowledge I am she and she is me.

Angry with my maudlin thoughts, I turn away from myself and shut off the bathroom light before venturing back into the connected pitch-dark room where my borrowed clothes lay waiting on the bed. The old woman was a grandmother with a granddaughter about my height and weight who visits on occasion. I am unused to such short tight clothing, but know I need something to wear in order to blend in more effectively. My hair is distracting so I immediately braid it and bind it away from my face.

I ignore the teeteringly high heels lying on the floor for the moment, and lose myself in caring for my swords. When I'm satisfied they're well-honed and clean, I scoop up my gear, the damned shoes, and my weapons. I sidestep the old lady's body at the landing before going to the kitchen. I immediately see the keys she'd spoken of hanging on a hook next to the door leading out to the garage.

The car is an old model station wagon; not something I'd normally choose for myself, but worth taking because it negates me spending precious time to find and steal another one. I put my things in the backseat and quickly return to my host's prone body. I check to make sure it looks like an apparent fall down the stairs broke her neck, then press my thumb lightly to her forehead.

It is unfortunate she did not survive meeting me, but I am hunted and cannot leave any witnesses to my journey.

"Codladh sámh," I whisper softly before I leave her to her dreams.

A/N: I listened to "Oh Death" by Jen Titus as I crafted this piece.

Also any issues with the Irish Gaelic translations are entirely my own mistake as I used free translation sites:

a leanbh - oh child

Ar dheis De go raibh a anam - May he rest in peace

Codladh Samh - sleep well

The title comes from the poem by Padric Pearse, an Irish poet of some renown. The words most apt for my story:

"And then my heart hath told me:/These will pass,/Will pass and change, will die and be no more,/Things bright and green, things young and happy;/And I have gone upon my way/Sorrowful."