author's notes: pfew, this took me longer than intended, but life is busy and hectic. anyway, here is the new chapter! put a lot of effort into this one. i remained elusive about some bits intentionally because i didn't want to speculate too much. so i hope you all like it. let me know what you think, because reviews make me happy. thanks to everyone that has already left me comments, you all kick ass! next chapter will start the big s2-arc rewrite, because obviously, Godric can't die anymore right? i'll probably focus on other characters from then on as well (Sookie, Eric...) unless you guys tell me otherwise...

disclaimer: i own nothing. except a bit of the plot.


eight: history


Isabel is no fool. And she's definitely not blind either. Her own affections for Illeana are great, but she sees Godric's feelings for her grow every day. Their powerful leader spends whatever free time he has with her, talking to her, watching her, and most importantly, sometimes even smiling.

"She's changing him," Isabel smiles, and turns around to face Hugo.

Hugo stares back up at her, but only half-heartedly returns the smile. Of course he knows what Isabel means. In the course of only four years Godric has changed. When he first got here eight years ago Godric hardly ever surfaced. Now, four years after Illeana first arrived, he is almost happy.

Almost.

Hugo loves Illeana, cares for her the way he imagines he would care for a real daughter. But the attention Isabel gives her feels like too much. It makes him almost jealous, but he doesn't admit that to himself. Because he also loves Isabel more than anything in this world. More and more though, like a cancerous doubt seeding its way into his heart, he starts wondering if that love is reciprocal.

"Do you think he loves her?" Hugo asks, and moves to stand behind Isabel, who's staring down out the window, watching Godric and Illeana having a conversation out on the patio. She can no doubt hear everything that's being said between them.

Isabel doesn't dare to speculate about Godric's feelings towards Illeana. She's known her sheriff for a very long time, but she has never seen him love anyone. He has never called a human his, not since she met him forty years ago. But he has changed, that much is apparent to everyone.

He is the oldest vampire in the Americas. This has been true for a very long time. He's never met one older than himself. Some say that his power exudes from him, pouring out of him without him needing to speak a single word. He is simply that powerful.

He knows that is true for at least one person. He doesn't need to speak for her to know he needs her, no words needs to be uttered for him to know when she needs space. As much as she is growing comfortable in the nest, she is still human. He will never question her needs.

She's twenty-four years old, and he is over two thousand. They make the strangest combination, but combine they do. He knows her, and she understands him, strangely so. He'd never dreamed she would make him start hoping again.

Godric hears Hugo's question to Isabel, but is grateful Isabel doesn't answer. In truth, he's not sure if he is still capable of answering the question himself. He has felt love before, in many forms, and he's almost certain that what he feels for Illeana resembles love, but he doesn't allow himself the thought.

The thought of loving another human woman.

The thought of time catching up with them.

The thought of losing her.

He doesn't allow such things to surface.

"Have you ever been married?" Illeana asks him, almost as if she has picked up on a feeling inside him he was trying to disguise. Trying to forget.

"Not in the traditional sense," he answers. He never did have a wedding ring. "But yes, I had a wife. Before I was turned." She had only been fourteen years old when they met, but in those times it wasn't uncommon to be married at such a young age. He was already a man at fifteen, a wife followed not long after.

"And children?"

Godric stares out in front of him for long moments, rekindling the memories in his mind. They are as clear as day, as if the past never happened, as if history somehow had eluded him and forgot to include him in its pages. But it was there, lying in wait to be resurrected if ever there was one such as Illeana to ask him about it.

In a way, he was history.

He remembers them clear as day; a young boy with his mother's bright-blue eyes and black hair, and a girl with his eyes. When he was born it was his destiny to work alongside his father in the fields.

But then the Romans came.

"A son, Kenneth, and a daughter, Freya," he says solemnly. He'd left them, his wife and children, to defend their lands from the foreign intruders. He never once saw them again.

Illeana regrets asking him the question, but for once her curiosity had gotten the best of her. When he answers her question, she meets with a feeling she recognizes, but will never know herself. Godric feels sad, and nostalgic, but also angry. She imagines it has much to do with the mindset of a part of history she will never understand. Those were different times.

"And of course there is Eric," Godric adds, and looks at her briefly. Yes, he loved Eric, in a very different way than would be humanly accepted, but it was love.

"Eric?" The name rings true in her ears, and the image of a blond-haired vampire comes floating in her peripheral vision. He was never as cruel to her as Stan was, but he never did like her. The feeling was mutual.

"I am his Maker," Godric says, "He is sheriff of Area 5 now."

Illeana smiles softly. Such different and conflicting feelings she finds in him. "You care for him. Deeply."

"Of course," Godric looks at her. It's silent for a while as he thinks back on those days. He'd been magnificent, Eric, still is. A graceful warrior on and off the field. The only human he ever turned.

"What about others?

"Other women, you mean?" He understands all too well why she's asking these questions. He's told her some of his history, but had never talked about his human life. His human life doesn't matter anymore. "I am over two thousand years old. I have loved and lost a great many."

"I am not judging you." He can't help but notice how her sentence constructions are starting to resemble his. "I'm merely curious. I'm told it makes me very human." She tips her head playfully, trying to ease the mounting tension between his words.

"It does," he smiles, and softly traces a finger down her cheek.

"Please," she pleads.

"There have been women," he answers, but doesn't look at Illeana as he does. She can't help but wonder where his sudden feeling of guilt comes from. Underneath, cloaked right beneath the surface of the emotion, she finds violence. How many women has he killed in his lifetime? How many men? How many children? "There was one," Godric continues, "Deirdre. She..." he hesitates.

He remembers all too clearly. The conversations in front of the fire. The days spend with her asleep in his arms. His vampire memory has always been both a blessing and a curse. It's one thing to remember the good times, it's another to be condemned by them.

He feels Illeana's hand on his chest suddenly.

It gives him the strength to look at her.

How can she sit by his side willingly, knowing what he is?

How can she love him, when he's not sure if he can ever give her his heart?

How can any of them have loved him?

"She was enchanting," he continues. Her long red hair. Her soft grey eyes. "She knew. She accepted me. She never questioned it." Up until the point where he watched her die in someone else's arms.

"You still love her," Illeana whispers. In her own heart, she finds jealousy for the first time in her life. She's ashamed of feeling it.

"I've stopped viewing the past as something I carry with me," he says softly. "It's easier that way."

She briefly wonders if there will ever come a time where he will forget her. The thought gets pushed to the back of her head; if she thinks about it too much her heart might break. "But it still makes you who you are." She imagines his history looks like a blueprint to ancient ruin.

The nest doesn't celebrate birthdays; they've all had too many already and finding all of them gifts has become nearly impossible. Most of them already have everything they need. Still, every year, despite having told Isabel she was too old for stuffed animals eight years ago, Illeana finds a teddy bear on her bed when her birthday comes by.

Only now, she doesn't get visits. Instead, she goes to visit her mother. Part of her feels guilty for not going over there more, but Illeana knows her mother is happy with her stepdad. Though being her adoptive mother already, that term might not exactly be correct.

"You're not staying, are you?" Her mother hands her a cup of coffee. Illeana is standing by the fireplace, looking at pictures of the past. She wonders briefly if Godric has boxes filled with photographs somewhere.

"Not long," Illeana answers. She feels strange, being out in the real world again, during the day. She's never regretted her choices, not once, but she never imagined she'd changed so much in only four years time. Being around vampires has given her a peace of mind she has never found in the human world. "He needs me."

"You need him," her mother corrects her. Her daughter has changed; Illeana is now airing a tranquillity she's never seen her possess before. It suits her. "Do you love him?" she asks, and watches her daughter in silence. She's not sure how she feels about her daughter and that vampire. He's known her since Illeana was four years old, but she's only really known him four years. Or so she likes to think; she knows her daughter has a knack for getting people.

Illeana stares out in front of her for long moments. "I do," she answers, and puts a hand to her chest. She finds her heart beating fast, rhythmically, and in chime with a greater truth: she will never love anyone else the way she loves Godric.

the way his hands touch her hair. the way his mouth curves when he smiles. his fingertips on her cheek, caressing a path down her neck. his lips soft and coolly against her skin, a hushed breath.

Illeana moans in her sleep, and turns around. The movement shakes her from her comfortable slumber. She knows she's still in his arms; she only has dreams like that when he's close by. He's looking at her when she opens her eyes.

"You were dreaming," he says softly, and buries his gaze deep inside her green eyes.

"Did I wake you?" Illeana rubs her eyes wearily; Godric almost chuckles.

"No," his voice remains low and soft. He gives her time to wake up. "What were you dreaming about?" he asks, curiosity taking the best of him. He loves watching her sleep; it is like intruding in her innermost moments, and her allowing him.

Illeana blushes, and tries to remember if her parents had ever told her that she talked in her sleep. She never thought she did. Maybe she was wrong. She's not sure what to tell him, she's never been particularly good at remembering her dreams.

She looks up at Godric from where she's positioned in his arms, and hesitantly moves her fingertips towards his face. A glow sets out from them when they touch his pale-white skin, and she shows him just what she had been feeling in her dream.

Godric takes her hand, and places it over his lips. He smiles, and she can feel it. Everywhere.

"When we found you," Godric says, placing her hand back on his cheek, but he keeps hold of it. "And I told you you'd be safe, you did the same thing to me."

"What?" Illeana startles, and pulls her hand back abruptly. Godric doesn't say a word; he gives her the time to compose herself and speak again.

Illeana doesn't know what to think. Did she use her gift on Godric, just like she had used it on her parents' killers? Was there some kind of instinct even then, telling her that she should fear him first, only trust him later?

"It's called projecting," she says. Or rather, she imagines people would call it projection if her ability had been a more common gift. Illeana sits up in the bed. "I think I did." A frown colours her features. "But I don't know why."

"Self-preservation," Godric sits up as well, leaning back on his arms. "It's one of the most basic instincts."

"So I made you keep me safe?" Illeana looks at him, worry in her eyes. He doesn't like seeing her like this; perhaps it would have been better not to say anything at all. But he'd kept his curiosity about her gift for himself for almost four years now. He believes they've grown close enough for him to know more about it.

He had no idea this was news to her.

"It's more than that, Illeana," Godric looks at her pointedly. "Princess, look at me." He gently places his hand on her chin and forces her to look at him. Her green eyes are filled with tears. "You were four years old. You went through something terrible. What you did was only normal."

"But I made you..." Illeana insists, but Godric is already shaking his head.

"You didn't make me take you in," he says, his eyes never leaving hers. Her eyes plead with him, he doesn't know what for. "You didn't make Isabel love you." He's softly nodding now, not exactly sure what he's building up to. Illeana's eyes grow big; perhaps she knows already.

"You didn't make me love you." The words come out unintentionally, but he means them.

They're words she's been wanting to hear her whole life.


and if i had one chance to freeze time
and stand still and soak in everything
i'd choose right now
and if i had one night with sunshine to break through and show you everything
i'd choose right now
before the fears that i once had start coming back… again


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