A/N: I DO NOT own True Blood. This chapter has been rewritten a bit longer, though still remains short for the onset of the next.

Samuel I

There was a certain man from Ramathaim…

Titus stood frozen in his spot, watching as Aziza rode off into the night, hair flying behind her along with a cloud of dust that only made her fury more pronounced.

Swallowing, he looked to the empty space around him, gazing upon the blood-stained ground as blood pounded in his ears. Clutching his fists tightly, he glanced down at the ground then once more looked into the distance, Aziza's horse becoming smaller in the distance.

She had asked him to choose, something he found himself completely unable to do. In their short time together he had found himself enjoying her company, seeking her affections, wanting nothing more than to spend further time with her. But never did he think such a situation would arise between the two, particularly so early in their journey.

Titus had the utmost respect for Aziza, but he could not help but feel anger at her logic, her under appreciation for her gifts. And now? She was asking him to choose between battle, something his entire life would own up to, and her.

He knew his decision before he even thought it: of course he would choose battle. He may have been a man in years, but he still had yet to prove his worth. He needed to become a champion on the battlefield as his father had; he needed to own up to the legacy set for him.

There was no choice. Titus knew however, there was no way she would leave him alone. She would come back. She was too humane to leave him alone to die, or let others suffer.

That is what he continued to assure himself as he watched her disappear, and a larger group emerge on the horizon, pounding towards him so furiously the very ground quaked under the hooves of their steeds.

He knew her plan was to hear him cry for forgiveness, then swoop back, and no matter how Titus felt, he refused to succumb to her plan. He was going to do what he set out to do all those days ago. He was going to go to war, he was going to slay and let blood taint his skin.

He was going to become a man, then and there.

Pulling the rusted dagger from his tunic he crouched down, brandishing it tightly as he waited for what would surely be his death, focusing only on killing as many as he could so that his name would be known.

Titus, the boy who had been taken prisoner by Spartans, escaped with a blood-drinkers, and single-handedly slain 12 men before dying with a curse on his lips.

No, not Titus, he would be known by a more formidable name:

Godric.


Aziza watched from a distance as a large party of soldiers rode past her, commanded by a large man brandishing a brass spear who pointed it forth and cried out.

In the darkness, she could be seen if she wished, and unseen if she liked. Even on the back of a creature which could not match her speed on foot, she still possessed the ability to remain undetected and more agile than her male counterparts, who had ridden right past her and taken no note of the horse she bore in the moonlight.

Peering across the valley she picked out Titus' small form, watching as he crouched down with a knife glinting in his hand. She knew the soldiers could not even see him yet. She also knew that his damned pride could cost him his life.

She had not been bluffing entirely. She had no plans to continue their alliance if he would display such willful and irresponsible behavior. But she had not counted on him going his own way so quickly, without giving second thought to what it would mean for him.

She was certain he would give in and call out for her, acting with attitude for several days until forgetting the whole thing and finally—begrudgingly—accepting it. But it seemed that was not going to happen in Titus' idiotic and stubborn mind. He was going to get himself killed foolishly, despite Aziza's efforts up until that point to keep him alive.

She had broken him out of the prison, helped him escape soldiers, protected him, fed him. She had invested in his life, far too much for him to die. Her blood was inside of him, his was inside hers. They were bonded in such a way that surpassed the most intimate relations of human beings. It was stronger than lovers, stronger than mother and child, stronger than siblings. She was inside of him, and he was inside of her.

And that bond only further heightened the distress she felt as the soldiers neared him. She could feel his body, the blossoming danger. He was afraid, excited, blood rushing through his small frame. But she knew there was no way he would survive, elsewise she would not feel so uneasy.

"Damn you boy." She cursed in her native tongue, heart heavy before dismounting the horse. She could not risk losing a good animal when she did what she was about it.

Pulling off her cloak Aziza placed it upon the horse then grabbed her sword, placing it in its hilt around her hips.

"Stay here." She whispered to the animal carefully, then turned towards the scene unfolding before her, feeling Titus' heartbeat spike immensely.

Within taking several steps into a sprint she fell to the ground, the pain more crippling than ever. It was a forceful lunge, as though her body was trying to transport her into the vision only to ricochet off some invisible boundary and onto the ground below.

The voices arrived before the vision, the very air around her spinning as the seen changed, as realistic as though it was right before her.

"You know, you boys have an uncanny habit of making me look like the bad one." Aziza smiled, peeling off her robe and letting it fall to the ground haphazardly as she stood nude in the firelight, smirking coyly at the two men standing on the other side of the room.

Sitting down onto the bed she came to rest on her side, posing seductively as she cross her legs like an exotic sphinx.

Godric and Eric stood before her, both soaked in the blood of the girl. Aziza silently rejoiced in the notion that they had taken no mercy on her. Her betrayal served them right for trusting a human, and her fate was well deserved.

"Well if I can recall correctly, it was you that preached to me sermons of mercy and grace in the beginning." Godric smiled, and Aziza eyed him carefully.

"Hundreds of years in the past darling, we've evolved. Now, are you both going to stand there or are you going to join me? I'm just dying to…taste you."

Godric flew to the bed, leaning over her frame then leaned down and ravaged her with his mouth, kissing her sadistically and passionately, drawing blood as his fangs emerged and causing her own to do so.

"Come Eric, join us." She spoke to the younger vampire and he stood hesitantly, before walking over slowly and climbing into the bed with the both of them, watching and waiting carefully on the edge of the bed as Godric busied himself with her neck, caressing the flesh with his mouth and fangs.

"You have much to learn about the ways of a vampire, and even more than Godric here himself has to learn. But the first and foremost is even a woman of unmentionable power…longs to be a slave." She hissed as Godric pinned her to the bed, lifting her arms above her head and sinking his teeth into her neck.

Spreading her legs she keened in pleasure, turning to look at the progeny of her progeny.

He remained where he sat, looking seemingly uncomfortable for one of his reputation. Eyeing him seductively, she looked up at the ceiling, Godric's tongue lapping up her blood ferociously and causing her to moan as he gripped her arms so tightly they bruised beneath the pressure.

She had found her pleasure in his brutality, her escape in the pain he so readily doled out. She could tell he resented her for being stronger, older, and more cunning than him, but more than anything deep down, no matter how much he claimed to love his life for hundreds of years he hated her for making him what he was, and it was during that time he took out his anger on her body.

Two streaks of blood tears rolled down Aziza's cheeks, whether from the pain of her vision or the vision itself, she could not tell.

But she remained, frozen in her spot as fear flooded her.

It had been once so far, only once. Once in the short span of years since she had come to grace the world of death had it happened. The vision which she had seen occurred several months later, leaving her to believe that they were not necessarily visions, but perhaps windows into the future.

And in the windows, she so often saw him, she had even before she met him. But now, Aziza realized, he could only be with her for an eternity if he could live an eternity.

They were lovers in her visions, but this was the first time she had hear the word "progeny" used, and she could only assume what it meant: it would be her, she would be the one to make him.

It would be that very night. His mortality would wane under his own decision, leaving her no choice. Either way it seemed, it was inevitable.

But first, she needed to save him.


Titus collapsed onto his back, a sharp pain erupting across his belly each time he exhaled where the spear had pierced him.

He knew the wound was deep. He could tell by the way the very life left him with each strained exhale, blood pooling down his belly. As he tried to take in a breath, he was met with a gurgle of blood which sputtered from his throat and fell on his limps in clumped clots.

Next to him, a pained moan. Moving his eyes as his broken neck continued to making each breath more complicated, Titus observed the dying man next to him, he could sense farther along to the new life than he was.

His throat was slit, blood spilling out now faintly instead of the gushing spurts which had exploded with Titus first dragged the knife across his flesh.

He was surrounded by bodies. Four of them to be exact, not as many as he would have longed to take out, but a good number for a boy of his size equipped with nothing but his own dagger and the spear he had looted from the first body.

For the first time in his life, Titus felt truly connected to another being: the people around him. He felt a part of the men who lay dead and dying, as much a part of he was Aziza.

Aziza. The very thought of her caused his slowing heart to skip a beat. She had left him to die, and he both respected and hated her for it. She had kept her word, and a part of him felt his death would make her stronger. She would let no one stand in the way of her beliefs, even if it meant sacrificing them. Though still, it meant the demise of his short time on Earth.

He could not blame her. After all, she had given him the choice, and he had died a warriors death, stained in both blood and glory.

"The princess is nowhere in sight, she must have left him. I'm sure we can catch her by dawn." A raspy voice said above him.

"She is long gone Axinos, searching for her is futile. Nabis will have to accept his boy marrying the sister. I would not like to deal with the likes of her kind. Besides, we got the prisoner." Another voice spoke, one Titus recognized as the leader of the party.

"He was strong. Never would have thought it from his stature."

"A thorn in our side. He is still breathing, let him suffer. The scum of the earth deserve nothing better, especially when he took out four of my good men. Men, we ride north!"

Suddenly, a horse whinnied loudly and Titus heard a commotion. Several shouts tore into the night and he became weaker, his vision becoming darker.

And then, everything was silent. Silent as the end.

"You fool!"

He opened his eyes to find her bending over him looking more terrifying than he could imagine, eyes and face stained with blood that was both her own and the soldiers'.

"A-A…" he began, the word falling from his lips before he could finish it. Closing his eyes, Titus succumbed to the darkness falling over him, ready to meet The Gods.


"DAMN!" Aziza swore, biting into her arm and letting the blood spill into Titus' mouth. Bringing her hand to his broken neck she felt the faintest trace of a pulse, slowly dissipating..

She waited for the blood to heal him, continuously feeding him but it was not enough. His injuries were too grave, and he was not coming back to her.

Kneeling on the grass Aziza looked up to the heavens, asking God for help. She could not let the boy die, no part of her could sustain it, and it did not seem to be God's will.

He was clinging to life, but his life was waning. Aziza could not go the journey alone, and she knew she could not change the future. Clutching his wrist, she gazed into his closed eyes then grimaced.

To save him, she would have to condemn him.

She was going to make him a demon.