Dead and Damned
Chapter Two: 50 years later
Disclaimer: I don't own the True Blood universe…
I just got done bathing in the river that I was now sitting on the edge of. I kicked my feet around in the water absentmindedly. I was putting my waist length straight blond hair in braids. Leif, my maker, left me here early the night before. Using the Makers Command he ordered me to stay by the river until his return. I could not go more than a mile away from it.
I wished, and not for the first time, that Leif would have at least let me keep my fur cloak. He left it there in the woods that night so many years ago. Eric made me that cloak from the kills of his first hunt. I smiled a little at the memory. He had been so excited upon his return. On and on he went, telling me in detail about where they went, what he killed, and how one day he just knew he would be better than Father. I had listened to his excited rambling fondly, he was always trying to impress.
A full moon later Eric had come up to me. I remember how proud he had looked. He smirked at me and led me to his room. As we were standing outside of it he told me to close my eyes, I made sure to roll them before doing so. I remember hearing him push the cloth away that led to his room and then silence before I heard the ruffling of the cloth moving again. When he told me I could open my eyes again there he stood. He looked so proud of himself as he held up the fur cloak. It was beautiful. I instantly put it on me and told him how much I loved it. Every day since the full moon before he had been working on it, he told me.
He could be quite the little nuisance but he could also be the sweetest and most fun. I adored him so. Even when we got into fights we were not angry at each other long. Though our fights could get very bad, I recalled with a snort. We were either thick as thieves or at each other's throats, there was no in-between.
I switch to another memory. The memory of Mother telling me about how my name was the female version of the name Alf. I can still hear Mothers voice telling me the legend of him.
Once there was a king named Alf, he was the suitor of a reluctant maiden named Alfhild. She avoided marrying him by disguising herself as a warrior. When they fought however, she was so impressed by his strength that she changed her mind.
I felt the presence of my maker before I heard him. It made any and all positive emotions leave me. I turned to face him, the top half of my hair in thin braids and the bottom half loose. It was how my hair usually was styled.
"Kom Alva" (Come Alva) He ordered with a snap of his fingers. My only response was to glare.
"Som din tillverkare befaller jag dig att komma hit." (As your maker I command you to come here.) His voice was stern. Against my will I stood up and walked slowly over to him. "Jag har lite kul hyvlat. Så följ mig noga, din tillverkare befaller jag dig." (I have some fun planed. So follow me closely, as your maker I command you.)
He ran passed me and jumped over the wide river. My body move without my permission and followed him, my jaw was clenched tight. I highly doubt I am going to enjoy anything he has planned. We were running so fast the scenery should have blurred but I saw everything in great detail. I hope we feed first before his "fun".
I did not ask where he had been, I could not care less. Honestly I wish he would have stayed away longer. I am so sick of his presence. Aside from the humans, I do not get to see anyone but mostly him. Sometimes I get to meet others of our kind. When I do get to see some though, it is rarely a pleasant experience.
I could sense the presence of some of our kind and dread filled me. I knew exactly what kind of fun he was planning. It is not the first time he has done this. He is going to force me to fight them. He very much enjoys doing that. Sometimes they are the same age as me or younger so I have a chance, but more often than not he makes me pick fights with night demons much older than me. One's he knows I cannot beat. He makes sure he is older than them though. Right before I meet true death he kills my opponent but not before I get a thorough beating. I try my best, but there is not much I can do in a fight with a night demon three times my age.
Leif and I come into a clearing and come to a stop. There stood two of them. One was a woman with hair the color of fire, she was a foot shorter than me. While she might look older physically I knew she was the younger one. The other was a man with vivid amber eyes. They stood side by side. The man looked giddy while the woman looked frightened. I could feel that the woman was turned around the time I was. The man however, was quite a bit older than me.
"Salve amicus." (Hello friend.) Leif greeted in Latin and he opened his arms wide for a moment before dropping them.
"Salve." (Hello.) The man greeted in response with a dark smile, raven hair falling into his face. He jerked his head in my direction without taking his eyes off Leif. "Sic est tantum pugnatore? Ea est filia nisi ferox tall." (So this is your fighter? She is a tall one but my child is fierce in battle.)
"Viking est fili mi. Certamen esse eam gravida. Alva meum longe acrius." (My child is a Viking. Your child is no match for her. My Alva is far fiercer.) His tone was cocky, so was his wide smile. I yearned to punch it off of him. They're making us their entertainment, it was annoying.
"Viderimus." (We shall see.) He pushed the woman to the middle of the clearing harshly. She stumbled only slightly before straightening. Her posture was ridged. Her scared eyes looked into my cold ones.
"Alva." Leif said to me sternly. "Cum enim dico vobis quia unus ex vobis pugnam mors occurrit . Rip molares eius pro me. Quia dominabitur tui qui te iubeo." (When I say, you will fight until one of you meets true death. Rip her fangs out for me. As your maker, I command you.)
I walked over to the middle of the clearing, wishing I could rip Leif's fangs out instead. I felt nothing as I came to a stop two feet from the woman and looked into her scared face. Her fangs came down and she bared them at me with a snarl in a pitiful attempt to be intimidating. I curled my upper lip, flashing my own fangs at her in response.
"Slagsmål." (Fight.) Leif commanded, his tone delighted as he switched from Latin to my mother tongue.
