WARNING: Spoilers for S5 in A/N.

A/N: So, before some of the S5 spoilers came out, I'd never felt compelled to write about Pam's turning since there are so many amazing FF stories out there to enjoy (plus, CH's canon version). However, since (according to S5 spoilers) the TB writers have decided that Pam should not only be a whore but a madam, and they've also decided that she was turned in the US (as opposed to being turned in Britain, as per canon), I've been thinking a lot about this. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure I'll love watching what they've come up with (especially since it evidently involves Pam and Eric in bed together. Naked. *grins*), but I just think that Pam deserves better than a brothel. Apparently, so did Eric.

That being said, this is my imagining of TB Pam's turning, set c.1905 San Francisco, CA, inspired in part by spoilers from S5, as well as some stuff from the S2 DVD extras. Thanks for reading!

DEDICATION: To my very dear Truebie friend, Lady Dudley. Here's hoping that S5 brings better days for TB's OTP. xx

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.

Have you ever seen such kindness

Such resigned delight

All in one glance

Right when you pass me

I watch, you see

You smile, I breathe

Air in my chest

I'm trying my best

The sun left me so quickly

I am stuck under the moon

I want to belong to you

I pray no one will find you

I'll stay right where I am

'Til you come back

Don't let me lose you

Before there's a chance to begin

He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

For that, I very nearly hated him instantly.

Though once he spoke, I knew that I had to be with him - for one night or forever, it didn't matter, it just had to happen.

It was strange that I didn't notice the handsome man earlier since I'd been busy scanning the crowd for my fiancé who had rushed off to meet his mother's carriage and left me waiting unattended.

I reflected on that thought for a brief moment: for goodness' sake, we weren't even married yet and I was already being pushed to the back burner in favor of another woman, even if it was his mother.

I swear, if he wasn't scion to one of the "Big Four" families, I'd have considered acting on my reservations, but alas, Daddy and Mama were anxious to get me paired off as they were both already frustrated beyond belief at my choosiness. Mama was particularly offended since she'd raised me to be a 'proper lady'; thank God what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her (it's a good thing that Colin, our stable boy, was good at keeping secrets). But I digress.

I was quite fortunate and should probably sound more grateful that my betrothed was even more well off than my own well-to-do father, and it was helpful that he wasn't terrible to look at either. Well, he could've been a few inches taller, but beggars can't be choosers.

So, because of that distraction, I didn't notice the striking man until he was standing in front of me.

He was tall, much taller than most every other man on the street that evening, he would have towered over my own finacé who was not much taller than me. He appeared somewhat of a dandy: he was dressed well, just as everyone else waiting in front of the grand music hall that evening, but every aspect of his attire was lavish and he was preened to perfection; he practically glowed.

He removed his top hat revealing his long, golden hair, which was fastened in a single braid, and bowed slightly, then asked in a sensuous tone, "Now what, pray tell, is a woman as delectable as yourself doing standing alone outside on such a cool evening?"

Well, that was forward, I thought, then stated aloud, "I'm waiting for my fiancé, and I would be grateful if you would please leave before he returns." Best not to lead this man on too much, he seems eager enough as it is, I told myself.

"I think you'd be eternally grateful if we both left, together, before he returned," was his lecherous reply.

I stifled a gasp. The cad! Who did he think he was speaking to? Some street-walking call girl?

"Sir, I don't know who you think you're speaking to, but just in case it's not blatantly obvious, I am not some low-rent harlot from one of the saloons here in town. My father and fiancé are influential, powerful men in this city. So, if you value your life, you'll do well to respect my wishes and leave me at once."

He laughed.

I scowled. What the hell was wrong with him?

To tell the truth, I was put off by the fact that I wouldn't be able to enjoy flirting with this fellow since he was so boldly salacious. Someone might overhear, and a girl was only permitted so much fun within the confines of decent society. Here he was ruining my night at the theater by being a bit too overbearing. Such a shame, too, since he was more beautiful than any other man, and most of the women, in attendance this evening.

"Perhaps they were eminent," he smirked, "but now that I am here, I believe those accolades properly belong to me. In fact, to my knowledge, there is none more influential and powerful in this country now that I have arrived," he boasted.

I had to will my jaw from falling agape. Never in my life had I ever met anyone so arrogant, and that's saying something considering the company I kept. Before I could say anything, he was speaking again.

"Now, perhaps we should start over," he continued in his vaguely European accent, "I've traveled far and wide, but never have I seen someone so fair as you, beautiful lady. I am Eric Northman. May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?"

"Pamela Swynford de Beaufort," I sniffed haughtily in my best impression of my mother, "and I, sir, have never, ever met anyone so brazen, nor had my requests so rudely ignored. I've asked that you leave me in peace, so please, go."

"Pamela," he mused slowly, and despite my efforts to continue loathing him, the way my name rolled off his tongue caused my heart to skip a beat (or three). "What a lovely name. It's from a poem, you know. Would you like to know what it means? It implies sweetness, all-encompassing, like honey."

Talk about honey, I thought, listening raptly as his voice dripped like lubricious nectar. I'm quite certain I ceased breathing at this point.

"Would you like to know what I think, Pam?" he raised his eyebrows inquisitively and smiled sweetly.

Now he's calling me Pam, I mused.

"I think that despite all your attempts to prove otherwise, I'll bet that you are sweet, but you just don't like to show it. And honestly, who could blame you since you'll be forced to spend out your days catering to a dullard: that short, small-minded excuse for a man who is going to smother out whatever interesting sparks lie within you awaiting ignition, then burden you with bearing his equally insignificant offspring, and who'll just continue to stray from your side, leaving you to live out the remaining days of your existence a lonely, bitter heart."

I could feel my eyes stinging from the tears I willed not to fall. How dare he! How dare this man, this stranger, assess my life. How could he possibly know what I already felt in my heart?

"I cannot bear the thought of such a tragedy, not for you," he said, barely above a whisper, his knowing eyes never leaving my own.

Who was he? What did he want? Why was I allowing him to stir such feelings within me? I should be able to dismiss him as I have so many others before, but I was powerless as he held me in his gaze with eyes that seemed to swallow the world.

He composed himself and said quickly, "I'll take my leave, but before I do, I offer you this: meet me tonight and I will give you everything you've ever dreamed of and more. I will give you life in place of the agonizing death you currently march toward. Meet me on the northwestern side of the peninsula after the show this evening. You will not be disappointed."

Then, without so much as a backward glance, he turned and left.

A/N: Songs quoted throughout the story are "I Want To Belong To You" and "Sumatra" by Katie Herzig, which, along with some clips from the S2 DVD extras, inspired me.