1945 - Germany
For many years, Eric the Viking had longed to return to the way things had once been between his maker, his made sister, and himself. Scores of years with his maker—later on, with a newly made sister—had spoiled Eric to the world. Once upon a time, a vampire could take what he wanted when he wanted it and humans were far too afraid and weak to do anything about it.
"Do you think we should try the Americas?" Eric grunted in the old language, slipping into the words as if it were a well-worn coat, familiar and fitting. He wiped the rest of his dinner, a small group of American prisoners of war left to rot now that the Nazi resistance had failed, from his face.
The maker, slight of build, reached up to the tall Viking and touched his hands to Eric's mouth. Coming away with blood staining his fingertips, Godric examined the red as if it held the answers to the great questions of the universe. There was no trace of smile on the cherubic face that had become as familiar to the Viking as his own over the thousand years they had been together.
A boy in appearance, Eric thought. A boy strong enough to crush a human with a finger, strong enough to destroy me on a whim, if that were his desire.
"Nora has been after me for it. And it would be well to let the Europeans repopulate. The wolves and war have not been kind to them. Though I cannot imagine we have helped much, either," Godric admitted with a faint smirk.
"Nora claims that the women have gotten used to the freedom they were given while their men fight the war. They wear pants and smoke and drink and curse. Nora absolutely loves it," Eric snickered, laying the American accent on thick. It had not only been the way of life that had changed but his made sister, too.
"It is settled then. Shall we depart tomorrow?"
Though not truly a question, Godric had never pressured his progeny with unnecessary commands. Eric inclined his head, as was polite, and threw the body of the man he'd eaten into the harbor with the rest of the American prisoners, in the same manner as one discards the cob of a corn into the rubbish bin.
It had never been necessary for Godric to command his progeny. Eric would never question him.
That is, until Arella.
1953 – United States
Godric had an all-American woman by the throat and was fucking her senseless. The woman groaned and the cords in her throat pulsed and beckoned.
Eric, a pale sliver in the dark beside his maker, twisted and writhed. His fangs were fully extended and gleamed just as brightly as his pale skin. Nora clutched her made brother, restraining him or trying to restrain herself, Godric could not tell. They both watched and waited while stroking, touching, teasing.
This was often the ritual: the two progenies watching as their maker took the victim, bled her, and then took the first sip. 'Blessing the food,' Nora had called it. The rite had once been exciting, sensual, fulfilling.
The two-thousand year old teenage vampire was bored. He sighed, withdrew from the woman, and slit her artery as easily as taking a slice of air for breath.
"Drink, children."
Nora and Eric stared in confusion at their maker. Eric's eyes were clouded with suspicion but the younger Nora appeared dumbstruck in her haze of bloodlust.
Nora spoke first. "Don't you want any, Godric?"
"I am not hungry. Allay your fears and eat, Nora," Godric ordered. But before he'd finished his sentence, she had already latched onto the open wound.
Godric already had a foot out the door.
Once in the cold December air, he felt some of the webs of bloodlust clear from his thoughts. He knew, undoubtedly, Eric would question him later. Eric had always known him best, could almost read his maker's thoughts, the small imprints of emotion overflowing into his progeny's mind. But he did not care to express would he could not even admit to himself.
The night sky held nothing but stars, he had realized long ago. Any and all gods had forsaken him. They could not save his soul, if there was anything left of it, he was sure. And he did not believe in Lillith, as most vampires chose to believe.
Without knowing where his feet were taking him, though he watched their movement with interest, he was without direction. As listless in body as in mind.
The woman he had taken tonight, he hoped, now lay with whichever god she chose to believe in. So strange, that thought was, that Godric paused in the moment to wonder why he even cared about some human and the state of her soul.
A boy's voice called out to him, "Hey, mister!"
Godric froze and raked his eyes back and forth over the surrounding area. This area… he was near an orphanage. Why would the careless staff lose track of one of the children in the dead of the night?
Before he could help himself, Godric was standing beside the boy, gaping down into his face. God help him, his eyes were identical to Marcus's, the boy his master and maker had taken and destroyed before Godric. The same eyes of the boy that had once been trusting and innocent.
Such a life Marcus could have had, with his hands making a life for him and his family. Godric would have visited them from time to time, perhaps even taking up the neighboring land. He would have died of old age, happy, with his wife and children and grandchildren by his side. Godric would grieve but would be fulfilled knowing that Marcus had truly lived a full life.
"Are you all right?" the boy, of a pubescent age, asked, pointing to Godric's hand. "You're bleeding everywhere."
"What's your name, child?"
"Benjamin, but I ain't no kid."
"No, no. Of course not, Benjamin," Godric reassured. He arched his back, standing upright, and placed his bloody hand on the teen's shoulder. "Do you believe in God?"
Taken aback at the strange turn in conversation, the boy licked his lips and peered over his shoulder. His fear levels were rising, Godric could smell it. He fiddled with the slicked back hair tucked behind his cumbersome ears, a nervous habit. Godric noticed two of Benjamin's fingers were missing. He had worked hard, or had been abused, possibly both, in his young life. So many things reminded him of Marcus, and of himself, long, long ago.
"Um, yeah, sure. Doesn't everyone?"
"If you believe in God," Godric wondered, "why would He put you in death's path?"
Benjamin was now visibly shaken. By now, Godric was sure, Benjamin had noticed the vampire's strange lack of clouded breath-air that came with winter, the paleness of the skin, the eyes that held knowledge no teenager had accumulated. He began turning away before Godric caught him by the wrist. Their eyes met and the boy went slack as Godric prodded the naïve mind with his glamor.
"Answer the question," the vampire commanded. "Why are you out here right now, this late at night?"
"Sometimes the head mistress will let me slip out at night if I do… things for her first." Benjamin's voice squeaked and quavered before he went on, compelled to answer in entirety. "I go down to the bar. Sometimes I catch lost women and steal their purses."
"And do you think God put us together on this night for a reason?"
"I…" Benjamin's brow was slick was sweat and he licked his lips again. "I dunno. Mama usedta say that everythin' happens in God's reason."
"Where is your mother now?"
"Dead." Both sweat and tears were now slicking the youth's face.
A smile appeared on Godric's face, a knowing smile, as if the two had shared a wonderful secret.
Everyone Godric had ever loved had died. Marcus had died. And then Godric had died. He had then killed his master, his maker. He would never know what it felt like to be alive again. Nor would poor Marcus, whom had been unflinchingly loyal to their master, had taken the punches in Godric's place, had taken their master's anger for Godric's disobedience. Why should it be fair that this human get to live Marcus's life with Marcus's eyes when Marcus's bones had all but dissolved into the earth long since?
It was Marcus's death at the hands of their master that played out in front of Godric's eyes as he took Benjamin's face in his hands and stared hard into his face.
"God has abandoned you," Godric said, still with that same secretive smile.
He snapped his hands to the side and Benjamin crumpled at his feet.
"Ah," Godric sighed and raised his eyes to the empty stars winking at him. "Much better."
But when he lay in slumber that night, he found Marcus staring accusingly into his face, into his soul. And he felt a singular thread of... remorse.
I realize that I've killed two "kids" in a row here, but it's strictly meant to show the differing scales between the two characters. I do not condone hurting children in any way shape or form. Godric is still without regrets or remorse, death incarnate. What made him start to change his ways? We'll explore that soon.
That being said, I always wondered what happened between Eric and Godric-as mentioned in the show-that happened 50 years pre-dating the show that separated them or at least kept one or the other from wanting to be together. By the end, we'll see my theory/version on why that separation happened.
