For Little Miss Myrnin - let me tell you right now that this was the only thing I could think of. I've written every conceivable Amelie/Oliver moment from Bite Club and before Ghost Town I can't write it because of my love for Samelie.

Therefore, I hope you like it.

I don't own anything… unfortunately.

~Set around the mid to late 1500's mark; after Elizabeth is Queen ~

Then dazeld eyes with pride,
Which great ambition blindes,
Shal be unseeld by worthy wights,
Whose foresight falshood finds.
From a sonnet by Queen Elizabeth I

He is mesmerised by the beauty that dances around him, the one that is the object of every single man's desires and that of many of the married men as well. Every fibre of his being is focused on keeping his ageing eyes on her, the beauty whom he came across so many years ago and yet remains to look exactly the same. It only confirms his belief in what he thought she was then: a vampire… but he wouldn't turn her in – he wants to be one of them.

And she entices him; he cannot focus on anything but her, though he has a distinct belief that she is playing on this to get her own way and to manipulate the results that occur. Her tightly pulled back blonde hair calls to him, as if it wants him to run his fingers through it. The tightly fitting dress highlights her assets to perfection, resulting in his breath catching in his throat, though he gets the impression from the way she holds herself that she prefers to dress in more conservative means than what is so blatantly on show. The Era has been extremely… enchanting for men, for their chance to ogle women, with the dresses evolving to reveal more and more. Yet the way that she stands, he decides, she definitely doesn't like to be dressed like this.

He decides that it is time to ask her to dance, so he moves forwards. He wants to stride over there and take her hand, to pull her from the other suitors in the room, yet does he dare?

Meanwhile, the woman with the blonde hair, the object of so many people's affections, narrows her eyes slightly as she looks around the room. It seems as if everyone is the same, all desiring her for her assets, rather than her inner brains and knowledge… but, Amelie reflects, nobody looks on that in a woman nowadays. And she is playing up to that, with the provocative way she has dressed this fine evening.

As her head whips around the room, she seems to recall a strange scent that she has come across in the past – one that was so unique, it became almost engraved in her mind as she regretted not tasting the assured exquisite blood that would be accompanied with a scent as powering as this… yet this could be a second chance. But perhaps… perhaps he could be here to turn her in as someone who is not human… for he will have remembered her; she smiles to herself coyly as she realises she is never forgotten.

… By the ones that she chooses to let live, of course.

In the corner of her eye, she sees Myrnin dancing with Queen Elizabeth, as charming as usual. She wonders how long it will take for the Queen to lose her cool outer shell and weaken to the incessant compliments only Myrnin could possibly get away with giving. This leaves her alone, in need of a partner for the next dance. She is beginning to tire from a growing thirst only heightened by the increasing speed of the heartbeats of the hundreds of humans present at the court of Queen Elizabeth…

As she contemplates who to 'go after', so to speak, a suddenly confident Oliver decides to approach her for a dance. He has presumed what she is – a vampire; someone with immortal life as he aspires to have – but is not scared of her. He knows that she could have killed him when they met all those years ago, when he was a young man.

"May I have this dance?" he asks her, bowing deeply as she curtseys as is customary for women as they greet a man. Her eyes narrow as she realises that it is this man whom she met decades ago, the one with the scent so appealing to her that just thinking of it causes her mouth to water. To have him here, all to herself… it seems almost too good to be true.

She nods slowly, extending her hand for him to take. Her pearly white skin is in contrast to his tanned outer layer, the pastel colour of her dress merely accentuating the pallor of her skin whilst his brown suit almost blends in. his hair is tied back in the curling way that the gentlemen of the court wear it, tied back with ribbons, but merely makes his already lined face appear even older.

He stares down at her face as he begins to dance with her, slow and much differently to the other dancing pairs. The music and the time suggests that they ought to be dancing in a group and being vibrant and such but, instead, it is slow and almost romantic. She locks herself into his eyes, dark meeting light, and she feels herself blushing the little she, as a vampire can, blush, the reaction most likely not even being obvious.

He spins her round and she smiles widely, for the first time feeling almost comfortable in the arms of a human. His body heat doesn't seem to be as different from her own temperature as the majority of the men in the room seem to be, which is strangely refreshing for her – she normally has to fight to stop herself feeling drawn to the kill, whereas this seems nearly natural.

Suddenly, his arm moves to grip her waist and she feels the rush of energy between them, the one that binds them together as they dance, the tempo increasing. He barely manages to keep up with the feral monster released inside of her as she dances, the energy released as they touch spurring her on.

Finally, the song ends and he is panting whilst she isn't out of breath whatsoever…but she is thirsty and she yearns for his blood, to feel his neck between her teeth, to taste his blood sliding down her throat. But she manages to hold in this desire, simply wanting to dance with him more than she wants to kill him.

His head dips down to hers and she reaches up, instinct taking over as his lips press to her own. a sigh escapes her lips almost without her realising as he pushes her back into the corner, the shock causing her vampire body to be moved by a mere human without issue. In the corner, he proceeds to kiss her harder, his hands roaming her body and she doesn't care, so long as she gets to kiss the man who she seems to be attracted to without doubt.

His lips suddenly disengage from hers and she stops still, confused as his lips move to caress her cool cheek, before stopping at her ear. "I know what you are," he whispers so quietly that even she has a slight issue with hearing what he says. But then the words process through to her brain and she freezes, every iota of colour disappearing from her skin as she realises he knows she is a vampire.

Then, she grabs his wrist with a lightning speed move, dragging him behind her as she exits the room without another word. He doesn't speak either as she takes him through a complicated mess of corridors and rooms to emerge outside in the fresh air outside Hampton Court, a location where Amelie has spent a great deal of time throughout the years in various disguises.

"What am I?" she questions him harshly, her voice breaking the silence. The only other noise that can be heard is the steady swishing of the water in the pond nearby, nothing else able to be heard by Oliver's weak ears.

"You're a vampire," he says simply, not embellishing the facts. She doesn't move or react for a moment and he continues, deciding that if she hasn't killed him yet, she perhaps shall not. "I recognise you from before, when I was younger. Something about you then drew me into believe you were one of them and this confirms it… but I'm not going to tell anyone-" she cuts him off, looking up from the perfectly cut lawn to look him in the eyes.

"If you wish not to turn me in, or to be killed, why have you brought it to my attention that I have managed to betray the one thing I must keep secret?" she asks him sharply, her perfectly innocent image broken by the harshness of her tone. It seems almost another life ago that they were inside and partaking in immoral activities.

"I want you to make me a vampire," he says coolly, emulating her almost… though he has never seen this side of her so it is coincidental that he has acted almost identically to her.

She doesn't react for a moment, simply stares at him, almost sizing him up. Could he be useful to her? She doesn't make vampires just because they want to have immortal life: she makes them either for companionship in Myrnin's case or, as with every other, she requires an army to help destroy her Father.

"Why do you want to subject yourself to a life of misery?" she asks him finally, her voice wistful. "I know many, myself included, who wish that we had never been turned, though it is true that the majority of us have been forcefully turned," she continues, remembering the horrors of the night almost one thousand years ago when her Father turned her.

He contemplates her question for a moment, removing the hat from atop his head and twirls it in his hands. "I want a life to prove myself as a leader, someone who is powerful and strong," he decides finally, not knowing that the woman in front of him is already locked in a dispute with her Father to have the most powerful 'crown', so to speak. "I want an immortal life to win and win, to learn new things but to have power," he continues and she contemplates this.

"You must understand that if you were to be turned, you would never see the sun again… you would never grow old – or, in your case, older – or have a new family… you would belong to me and if I deigned you the pawn I no longer required, you would be sent to your death in the fight against my Father," she says, almost cruelly, each syllable snapped out.

He nods slowly, accepting this in his stride though he had not factored in a current vampire war. "And us?" he motions to them both, identifying the connection between them.

She smiles slightly and nods. "I feel something for you, as much it pains me to say it. Let us see where it takes us, if you are confident in this decision for me to turn you…" she trails off as he nods eagerly, waiting for her to do it. He proffers his neck to her and she shakes her head at the absurdity that she has now turned two people because they wish for immortality, turned two people who seem so absurdly excited at the prospect of this life.

The sight of his delicately covered pulmonary vein encourages her bloodlust and she barely stops herself from snapping his neck in her haste to reach him, to begin to down his blood. Her fangs extend and she breathes in his delicious human scent, the one that has haunted her for so long now, and her fangs pierce his skin, the warm crimson liquid filling her mouth.

It's better than she had imagined, the poignant and memorable flavour of his blood etching a new level for perfection as she almost loses control as she feeds greedily. Beneath her hands, a feebly twitching Oliver reminds her that she must stop before he dies, if he is to be a vampire.

She lays him down on the floor when he has lost a suitable amount of blood, something about the vulnerability evident in his face appealing to her more than ever. She desires him as a suitor as well as a solider and her wrist rises to her mouth with the knowledge that it is his blood that has strengthened her and that she is converting him for a more selfish reason than to give him what he wants. She is turning him because she wants him, forever…

She rips into her wrist and sets the pouring limb into Oliver's mouth, forcing the blood down his throat and presses her other hand to his forehead, closing her own eyes. She can hear that there are partygoers planning on leaving within the next five minutes but there is plenty enough time for her to have turned Oliver and to have whisked him away from here.

His eyes snap open as his heartbeat stops but she has no fear that she cannot stop him: her superior age and knowledge of vampires causes him to be thrown back down onto the ground with surprising speed for such a slight woman.

"No," she growls. "You will not kill one of the people in court – we shall go afar for your first meal, do you understand?" she continues and he nods, his eyes crimson with bloodlust.

As she turns away to lead him in the direction of the intended victim for his meal, his hand snaps out to grab her arm. She looks down to see someone with the same skin colour as herself holding her, pulling her back around to face him as she reads his face to see that there is not just bloodlust there.

There is lust for her as well.

Her hands entwine into his hair as his lips crush to her own, neither of them needing to breathe to steady their frozen hearts. But, after a moment, she knows they have to leave in order to avoid the advancing humans.

So she pulls away, as becomes customary, and leads him down the dark road towards his new life… with her.

Thoughts?

I went for Tudors even though it is stated on wikipedia in various locations that Oliver is in fact Oliver Cromwell because, well, I like the Tudors and know a lot about being at court at that time… so it's pretty accurate I think.

Review si tu plait… and I'm calling you 'tu' cause I think we're getting friendly now, after 144 Morganville Vampires stories from me?

Vicky xx