Warnings: Angst, slash, bloodplay, violence, torture. If you're mature enough to watch True Blood, I think you'll be fine reading this.

Disclaimer: True Blood belongs to Alan Ball and the SVM books belong to Charlaine Harris. Only the original characters are mine.

Thank you so much for the lovely comments. They're much appreciated.

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Eric held out a hand under the showerhead to test the hotness of the water.

In Fangtasia last night, he'd been getting a drink from the bar, and suddenly remembered that Godric's hands were always cold and the skin a little rough, but still incredibly soft when touching his skin.

Earlier in the night while a pretty blonde girl nibbled on his earlobe, he'd remembered that Godric despised fighting with weapons. He thought only a weak vampire needed anything more than fangs and hands to kill a foe.

After deciding the water was hot enough, he remembered that Godric's eyes were always drawn hungrily to anything with print on it, a classic novel, a shopping list, or even graffiti.

I just want to forget. Water splashed over his face and he squeezed his eyes tightly.

...

Late autumn. 938 AD. Sweden.

"Tell me about your children," the boy said suddenly.

"What?" Eric frowned suspiciously at this sudden interest and looked down at the boy. He was picking at his fingernails, ripping at the white until it split. "Why do you want to know?"

"They're important to you." As quickly as he ripped a nail off, it regrew. "I know you miss them."

He sighed, turning to look up at Eric's face. "I thought... I thought if you told me about them, it might lessen your pain."

Eric eyed him, not sure if he should respond to such an unexpected request. When they'd awoken to a viciously strong wind whipping heavy rain and sleet around them, Eric had huddled down beside a huge tree and flat out refused to move. The boy had sat down beside him without a word.

Perhaps he's bored and just wants to pass the time. That thought made Eric raised his chin defiantly. If he wants to know something, then I should be able to know something about him too.

"Didn't you miss anyone when you... at first?"

"No." The boy drew his legs up, wrapping his arms around them and shook his head, his messy hair swishing against his forehead. He started scratching his filthy wrist. "There was no-one."

"And since then?" Eric asked, his voice a little quieter. The boy scratched his own arm so hard that he ripped the skin. He blinked in surprise and watched the tiny lesion heal, frowning.

"No-one."

Eric honestly thought he was lying. The boy had to be lying. How could anyone go a thousand years and not have a single friend? No-one to play with as a child, no-one to share village gossip with, no-one to go hunting with, no-one to tell silly stories to, no-one to curl up against to keep warm. He opened his mouth, to call the boy out on it or laugh at the ridiculousness of the statement, he wasn't sure which, but no words escaped. The boy's promise that he would not to lie kept echoing in his mind.

The silence must have stretched out too long because the boy glanced up at him. Eric hurriedly looked away.

"Well, my eldest son's name is Hákon. He's eleven years old..." Hákon, who was trying very hard to use his sword as well as Eric did. He had light brown hair and hazel eyes like his mother had, but Eric thought he would be as tall as he was when he grew up. He loved looking after the animals and when he'd been little, he would sneak off and sit beside the chickens, happily talking to them as though they were people. He had a dog called Jarli who followed him everywhere. He refused to eat mushrooms.

The boy rearranged himself and nodded to show he was listening. The boy was right; talking about them did brighten his mood. Eric continued.

"My daughter Signý loves to sit on my shoulders because she thinks she can touch the sky..." A temperamental five year old, she infuriated him with her tantrums one minute, and then made his heart melt with her sweetness and kind nature the next. She begged him to tell her stories each night. She loved making things and cows scared her. She loved to comb his hair because it was blonde like hers.

The boy glanced down at the grass bracelet around his wrist and touched it lightly. He still seemed to be listening.

"I think my baby son Danur he will look like his brother when he grows..." He had to stop, suddenly too choked up to continue. He would never see what Danur looked like when he grew up. Danur would always be the baby who had just discovered how to sit up and blow spit bubbles in Eric's mind.

When his parents and sister had been killed, he'd mourned bitterly, but the thought of revenge had eased the grief some. He'd never thought he could feel grief like this though.

Every part of him ached with the desire to see them, to hold them, to kiss their sweet little faces again. Though he'd lost wives, he was one of the few lucky ones that had never lost a child, a boon he was grateful for every single day, and to lose them threefold like this was near unbearable. He had no idea how anyone who had lost a child could stand the heartache. It was made all the worse by knowing they were alive.

At the same time he realised that his cheeks were wet, he saw the boy was looking at him. He touched his face and saw the blood on his fingertips. Before he could say a word, the boy caught his wrists and held them, then gently licked the bloody tears off his fingers.

"I am sorry you hurt," his Maker said quietly. To Eric's great surprise, the boy began to slowly lick the tears off his face. His forehead rested against Eric's. "It is no life for you if you spend every waking moment weeping for them."

"How can you possibly understand," Eric whispered, "if you have never lost anyone you love?"

"You are strong-hearted," the boy said. Eric had never seen him look so serious. "It is what makes you so beautiful to me."

The boy ran a finger down his cheek and his hand dropped away. He turned, pulling his legs up and pressed his face against his knees, as if hiding. He didn't move.

When it became obvious the boy was not going to say anything more, Eric stared off into space, lost among thoughts of his old life. Hunting with friends, the numerous women he'd slept with, the merry nights full of laughter and drinking with the villagers in the Great Hall. All lost to him now.

The stormed passed and fine, misty rain trailed after it. The boy stood up.

"Stay here," he said, sounding oddly grim, and Eric was too surprised at being left alone to say anything. His Maker disappeared into the night. Eric wanted to follow, but common sense told him to stay where he was.

.

A soft, sleepy whimper caught his attention.

His Maker was approaching, holding a girl, maybe five years old, close to his bare chest. The child's eyes were closed, her tiny fingers twined in the necklace that hung around the boy's neck. As if they were siblings, an older boy kindly carrying the tired child.

Eric stared first at the child – she looks like Signý - then at the boy.

"No."

The boy looked down at the infant in his arms, and Eric wondered if he was struggling to see a sleeping child, not just something to quench his thirst. He looked at Eric again and Eric stepped backwards.

"There is nothing wrong with it," he said flatly, holding the child out again. Eric looked at him, disgusted. He'd yet to hear his Maker refer to a person as anything but 'it'. Never, 'he' or 'she', always 'it'. The boy held out the girl expectantly and his eyes narrowed when Eric backed away again.

"It's a child," Eric snapped, angry and exasperated by the boy's lack of understanding. "I won't kill a child. I won't."

"You did not care about killing the other night," the boy retorted. "Everything ends, they all end eventually. What difference does it make?"

Eric picked up his sword.

"I told you before that I would fight you if I could. I will fight you on this. Do not kill the child."

The boy unceremoniously dropped the girl on the ground. The little girl gave another soft sigh, but she was sound asleep. The boy must have hypnotised her before stealing her away. She huddled to the ground, trying to get warmer. Had the boy not been right there, Eric would have wrapped her in his cloak. She would freeze in this miserable weather.

His Maker stepped over her and Eric saw a faint blur of motion, and then the boy was right in front of him, looking up into Eric's face. Eric backed up again. Their height difference meant nothing. With his lips pulled back in a snarl, his long fangs bared and his grey eyes dark, the boy was frightening.

"I could command you to," he said, his voice low, dangerous. "And there is nothing you can do about it."

"Then you will have to command me because I won't hurt her."

Eric stormed off, knowing that he was leaving the child to a grim fate at the boy's hands and he hated himself for abandoning her. He hoped that the boy wouldn't kill her, and then he would be able to double back and help her. He had no idea where she had come from, or if there was even anyone left alive to come looking for her. Anything could kill her out here.

But he would not do it. He could feel the boy's cold, angry eyes watching him go. He did not understand the sudden change... this betrayal.

Yes, that's what it is. Betrayal. He was quietly listening to my heartaches and now ... this? He wants me to kill a child?

He'd walked maybe a hundred yards when the boy called after him, his voice soft and colder than ice.

"As your Maker, I command you to come back to me immediately."

The words gripped him and Eric was unable to move his legs to take another step forward. Every part of him screamed to turn around. As he struggled against his unyielding body, fiery pain spread through him. His eyes widened in shock as every muscle in his body seemed to twist. It hurt not being near the boy.

After nearly ten minutes of the agonising pain, he turned around, and each step closer to the boy brought more relief.

When he was just a few feet away, Eric placed his blade against the boy's neck, pressing hard enough to draw blood. The boy didn't flinch.

"You will never, never be able to best me," the boy said steadily, blood trickling down his neck. "I am older than you. I will always be stronger than you."

Then there was another blur and he was beside the child again. Eric stepped forward to swing his sword, but he was too late. The boy bent down and bit the girl's neck. He took a few mouthfuls and stepped away, his own neck already healed. He focused on Eric, blood dripping from his mouth.

All Eric could smell was the little girl's blood and it seemed to creep into every part of him. It was making him dizzy, the world was spinning crazily and the steady heartbeat in the girl's chest was so loud to his ears. And then...

... Then he realised that he couldn't hear the little heartbeat anymore.

He cried out in horror, sickened to his very core by what he'd done. He dropped the lifeless girl and shrank back, wanting to look away, but spellbound by this – my – evil. A child. I've killed a child.

And I enjoyed drinking her blood.

He could feel the heat of the child's blood spreading through him. The boy touched his shoulder. "Do you understand now?"

"Why did you do this?" he whispered, staring down at the small, pale face, framed by blonde curls. All he wanted was to hold his children in his arms again; protect them against everything that might harm them.

Now I'm one of those things. I could kill them as easily as I killed this girl.

"You will kill over and over and over." The boy stroked his head tenderly, smoothing his hair down. "It is a part of your life now."

"You've already told me that." Eric closed his eyes, wishing he could reverse time so that none of this had ever happened. Wished he'd died on that pyre and never met this creature. "I know that."

"There is something I have not told you." The hand stopped. "But I think you already know it."

Eric waited.

"You will enjoy it."

With a furious cry, Eric grabbed his sword and shoved it into the boy's stomach, impaling him into a tree. His Maker's face twisted in pain. Eric sneered. So he can suffer. Good.

"You're lying," he snarled. Eric pushed the sword in deeper, perversely pleased when the boy finally cried out.

"I promised you that I would not lie," he gasped raggedly, coughing up blood. "I promised!"

Blood poured from the wound, brilliant red against the whiteness of the boy's skin. It did not escape Eric's notice that the boy wasn't putting much effort into fighting back. He could easily have thrown him off by now, broken the sword in two. He was letting Eric hurt him like this.

"Do you truly think I enjoy killing innocent children? Innocent people?" Eric demanded, baffled. He jerked the sword again and the boy gasped. "Just because I killed on a battlefield does not mean I enjoy killing."

He leaned forward. "But you do, don't you? You like killing." The boy glanced away and Eric snorted. "You know, I thought there was something human in you," he said bitterly, loosening his hold on the sword. "But now, I just think you're empty."

Despite the excruciating pain, the boy stopped twisting, stunned into stillness.

Eric yanked the sword out, leaving a long ragged wound, and tossed it aside lest he be tempted to cut the boy's head off. The boy collapsed, gripping his belly and looked at the little body. Eric followed his gaze. That's all it was now, a body. No spirit left. This little girl would never run, or laugh, or sing, or curl up in the warm embrace of her parents ever again. There was... nothing. Just a ransacked shell.

"Your beloved children, your Hákon, your Signý, your Danur, will die just like she did," the boy said, blood still trickling from the corner of his mouth, "because you cannot control your hunger."

Eric nodded miserably.

When he was fully healed, his Maker stood up slowly and looked him straight in the eye. "We do not have to kill when we feed."

After a beat, Eric simply walked away. If he stayed a second more, he would just mindlessly attack the boy until his Maker killed him. All those innocent people needlessly dead. He smiled bitterly to himself. I never even asked him if we had to kill, I just stupidly assumed we did.

He drew back in shock when the boy abruptly dropped down in front of him, blocking his way. It was as if he'd fallen out of the sky.

"Now you know how just how dangerous you can be if you do not master yourself," he said, grey eyes searching Eric's face for some sign of understanding.

"And you think this cruelty was the best way to show me?" Eric said incredulously, pointing at the little girl.

"Which would cause you the most grief, my Child?" the boy countered, stepping closer. "Losing your self control, killing someone, perhaps someone you love, and suffering over each death? Or your Maker bringing you a bleeding child, knowing you will not be able to resist, who shows you just how strong you must be to survive, and who now reminds you that her death was truly at my hands?"

"You don't even care that she's dead!" Eric sputtered. He shoved the boy to the ground and stood over him, furious. "My fangs killed her. I have to live with it."

"Then know that the dead are at peace and there is no reason to think about them," the boy snapped back. He jumped to his feet, but moved to stand near the little girl and gazed down at her. Eric glared at the elaborate tattoo on his back. The boy has mementos of his human life carved into his skin, yet even those visible reminders can't make him act human, Eric thought angrily.

"I can destroy everything I touch if I wish it, but I do not want to destroy you." The boy turned around. "You must listen to me."

"You just lost control of your body and killed a child. You lost control of your temper and attacked me. If you dominate your emotions and body, the humans will live when you feed from them."

He lowered his gaze, lightly touching the grass bracelet. "You will be like me," the boy said. "Not by choice, but by necessity. That you cannot stop unless you want to be forever haunted by the dead."

Eric glared at him, unwilling to be swayed so easily. "Death wanted a companion. Not a twin."

"The world has enough dark monsters in it." The boy's voice was strangely distant. He looked down at the stone pendant around his neck and began fiddling with it. "My Maker taught me to be one of them and I have survived this long because of it."

Twisting the pendant around and around, deep in thought, his fangs cut his lower lip and Eric watched drops of blood well up. Instantly, his mouth watered and he wanted to taste it. He shifted, preparing to dash forward – and realised the boy was right. He lacked self-discipline.

He did not want to kill. It was that simple. To be able to do that, he would have to learn to control his new bloodthirsty desires. He would have to accept the loss of his family. He would have to let go of his old life. He would have to acknowledge that this new life would be in the night. The boy licked his lips and the blood was gone. If he wanted to live, to truly experience this great gift of life his Maker had given him, he would have to learn at the boy's side.

Abruptly, the boy yanked the pendant off and threw it away. He stared after it for a few seconds, his body tense and a bewildered look on his face as if he couldn't believe what he'd just done. Then the look was gone and he turned back to Eric.

"I will teach you differently," he said determinedly, squaring his shoulders with this new resolve. Again he touched the grass bracelet and Eric could only guess what it meant to him. His Maker lowered his eyes, a strange, almost ashamed, expression coming over his face and his voice grew so quiet that Eric could barely hear him. "Then you won't be as... empty as I am."

Eric frowned, wondering just how much those words had hurt the boy. He hadn't said them to hurt, just stating things as he saw them. He did as much again. "You're full of contradictions," he said, moving closer, and the boy frowned, puzzled. "You act like a child, playing games and pranks. You can sit with people, talking happily as if is completely natural to you. You are as ruthless as an animal when you hunt. And you are cold-hearted and happy when you kill. I just don't understand how you can enjoy something so terrible."

The boy turned away. "I hold someone's life in my hands," he said, awkward in his confession. "They are at my mercy. I choose their fate and there is not a single thing they can do about it."

On some strange level, Eric understood. He'd known men who enjoyed power of some sort, even he had as king of the village. But people could abuse power too. He knew men that beat their wives to prove their supposed strength over them.

It made Eric wonder about the boy's ancient history if he sought happiness in killing others.

"Power over your body, over others. And power over me." Eric struggled to keep a scowl off his face. Having his own body fight against him because his Maker willed it was horrifying. "Is there anything you can't control?"

The boy turned back to him.

"Of course. But I control myself and my destiny. That is all that matters to me."

I'll be your father, your brother, and child.

"I think you are empty," Eric said and the boy's jaw tensed. "But I also think you don't want to be anymore and you're trying not to be."

"You promised not to lie to me," Eric continued, putting his hand on the boy's shoulder, looking into his eyes. "Did you truly mean it?"

"I meant it," his Maker whispered, holding his gaze for a few seconds before his eyes flickered to Eric's hand. He looked apprehensive as he always did when Eric touched him, so Eric let go, respectful of the boy's uneasiness.

"I'd rather not kill at all, but I accept that it will happen," Eric finally said and suddenly it felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "I will try not to let it trouble me."

A small smile appeared on his Maker's face and he nodded.

Eric knelt beside the little girl, whispering the prayers that would guide the girl's spirit to the haven of dead children. The gods would protect her and nothing evil would ever harm her again.

"I am not in the habit of killing children," the boy said abruptly. "I have not killed one in centuries."

"This will be the last time." Eric glanced up. "You can help me bury her."

The boy frowned at him, but after a moment, he bent down to help. Their combined speed and strength allowed them to quickly dig a grave to bury her in and they were done before the rain started up again. The boy sat against the tree again, but Eric remained upright, ignoring the rain.

He bent down and began digging another hole. When he was done, he picked up his sword and set it carefully in its grave. Even though he knew it by heart, he studied it one last time. This was the closest thing to a funeral he would have. He covered it over.

...

Daytime. The water was icy and he had no idea how long he'd been sitting there. His limbs felt like they were made of lead and he struggled to lift up an arm to turn the tap off. After a few blind gropes, he looked up and focused intently to make his body obey. He got out of the shower and wiped himself down.

He staggered over to the bed and collapsed, staring up at the ceiling. He could feel blood trickling down his face and was almost able to convince himself that it was from being awake during the day.