Authors note - Just to say there are some scenes and some dialogue directly copied here from True Blood season 3, which remains the property of the writers for said TV show, and is of course not mine. Just wanted to cover myself here girls lol. And I'd also like to take the time to thank you all for continuing to read and review! Kindness is always rewarded, so here have another chapter! xx
Eric's POV.
Up until six weeks ago, the only real concern I had to occupy my thoughts, actions and plans was getting to the bottom of the whole Tyra Boden mystery, but since then, there's been more pressing matters I've needed to attend to, all revolving around a hell of a lot of vampire politics, some that concerns me, and some that doesn't. But, it was through one aspect that did concern me that I attained information about another matter of mine, a thirst for vengeance I've carried for over a thousand years, but first let me fill you in on the story so far...
As you will know, through Lafayette I have been selling V for the queen of Louisiana, Sophie Anne. And two weeks ago I received a visit from her and the magister, informing me that they suspect a vampire within her kingdom to be selling V to the human population, and then three days after that my club was raided, stashed V found, and Pam was taken prisoner. When I arrived she thought on her feet very quickly and blamed the V dealing on Bill Compton, with the magister then giving me a deadline of two days to bring Compton to him. So then, I travelled to Jackson, Mississippi to strike a deal with the king of the aforementioned state, and that was for help in taking over Sophie Anne's kingdom, in return for him helping me secure release of Pam. This was done, as well as the (very unluckily for Sophie Anne) forced marriage via torture of the magister between her and the king, meaning he took control of Louisiana as well as Mississippi, before the magister was slain by Edgington. And so the devious fuck should have been. I'd have killed him myself purely for what he did to Pam. And so this brings us nicely up to date, Pam has been released and between her and the only fully trustworthy human I know (Deborah) are keeping Fangtasia running while I'm still here in Jackson, kissing the king's ass enough to worm my way in with him, and keep searching for what I'm really here to look for; evidence. Evidence to pin the murder of my entire family right on his royal highness, and the werewolves he used to carry out his dirty work. Godric and I spent many, many years tracking down a group of them who were fuelled by vampire blood, trying to discover who their master was, and of course bring him down for crimes so heinous against our species. And when the same band of weres, all gorged on V arose locally again, and I discovered they were under the control of Edgington, well why don't you put two and two together and tell me what you come up with. Yes, I am more than just a touch convinced it was the king who wiped out my entire family...and all I need now is the solid proof I know I will find within his mansion.
'Please, you must see the rest of Russell's collection' Talbot, the king's husband tells me as I view a scroll of 16th century Japanese vampire erotica, mid way through a tour of the mansion and all the collectables Edgington has amassed over the last three thousand years. Opening the display/storage case fully, I wander over closer, where inside I see it; I see it again after more than a thousand years...
'And this?' I enquire, picking up my fathers' crown from its stand.
'Some random tribal crown, he must have hundreds of them. This one's Scythian I think' Talbot drawls in reply.
'Viking' I correct him, before my mind goes back to the very last time I saw it...
I remember bringing Astrid, my younger sister in to my mother after I'd heard her cries for attention, and then sat down to eat dinner with them. Before I could even take the first bite of my meal my father and mother both scolded me for spending so much time with our servant who cared for the goats, light hearted at first, until of course, Arvid became stern with his words, telling me I needed to grow up, that I couldn't spend my life between a woman's legs, that I had to learn responsibility, which did fall upon somewhat deaf nineteen year old ears. He wanted me to learn to be a king, to precede him well, except I always told him 'later, another day, not now' with much petulance towards him. Teenagers haven't changed much through the centuries have they? Except nowadays it's more 'I'll tidy my room later' rather than 'I'll learn how to be a king later'. And so after a heated confrontation, I left in search of pleasures fonder with the servant girl once more. Until the sounds of mayhem came filtering through to the barn where we were locked in a tryst, and I charged back into the homestead to witness werewolves ripping my family apart, my brother Felix lying dead, the baby slain in her manger, my beautiful mother torn apart on the floor, and my father still fighting.
'Eric! Behind you!' He called out to me, just in time for me to draw my sword and slay an oncoming wolf, but not giving me enough time to save him from the one who dived upon him, and tore his throat out before picking up his crown in his mouth.
'Bring me the crown' a voice spoke from outside, and as I rushed to the side of my dying father, trying to save him in vain, I saw him. The dark shadowy figure swathed in a black cloak, who took the crown from the wolf.
'Don't be a hero Viking' he told me, as I made a start towards him, sword drawl and held high, before he turned and vanished into the night, leaving me to return to my dying fathers' side.
'Father, look at me' I told him, holding his head in my hands.
'You are king' he gasped through blood curdled, final agonising breaths.
'No! I won't allow it!' I replied, desperate for him not to die, shouting for help that never came.
'You know what to do' he croaked. 'Vengeance' he then added.
'Vengeance' I repeated as I nodded, his blood running out all over my hands, his head slumping back and his eyelids fluttering until...he died.
'It's beautiful' I tell Talbot, coming around from my flashback, feeling pure venom with a thousand years of potency fuelling its way through my body, making it hard for me to remain composed yet I manage it. I must manage it, I must.
'Quite' he replies, eyeing me with curiosity. And before he has the time to become more curious over my demeanour, I place the crown back and turn to him.
'I neglected to tell you and Russell that I will be away tonight, I have a little business to attend to, so I'm afraid our pleasant evening must come to an end a little prematurely. I shall return though, before sunrise' I tell him, watching Talbot look disappointed.
'Ahhh Eric, and our evening has been so lovely up until this point. I cannot say I am not disappointed by this, but business is, after all, business' he replies lightly, while I nod and exit the room, and the mansion, and the state at speed, flying back to Louisiana, and coming to a stop somewhere on the outskirts of Bon Temps, in the middle of a huge forest, where I cannot move any further, my mind taken over completely by more flashbacks from the time I was human...
'Arvid! Arvid! Come quickly, the baby is taking his first steps!' Yes, my infant memories stretch back as far as this, to being a year old and walking with small, unbalanced steps to my mother's outstretched arms, her smile so bright and wide it was like the sunshine itself, laughing with mirth as she beheld me, her first born, walking to her. I then remember my father running in, crouching at her side with his arms around her, smiling too.
'That's it! That's it little Viking! Another step, we'll have him up on a horse before he's even reached his third year Lydia' he said encouragingly, the joy in his voice at watching me walk to them still ringing in my ears now. And then I reached them, and was bundled up in their arms, and showered with the love and praise they bestowed on me and my siblings always...
'Less tension in the bow, or you'll fire the arrow clean over the target' my father told me, as he stood by the side of my seven year old self, teaching me my first lesson in archery. And so I released the arrow and watched it sail through the air, hitting the target of a large piece of tree trunk, upon which my father had carved a huge X for me to hit the centre of. The first five attempts had either sailed right past this target, but this one hit it dead on in the centre.
'You will make a fine archer one day, my son' he told me, holding my face in his hands and tenderly kissing my forehead while I beamed with pride. I would have done anything to have made him proud, except maybe the one thing I really needed to in the end...something my teenage petulance prevented me from understanding the importance of. And before I knew it, tomorrow was too late, and I could never say 'tomorrow, I will learn tomorrow' to him again, for he was gone...my beautiful mother too...
'Little man, you should be the one to look after me' I remember her telling me as she lay under my bed covers with me, stroking my head and soothing me when I was frightened during a storm. I always thought the lightning was going to come down and hit me. And to this day, I still do not enjoy storms.
'I will when I'm big enough, I promise mother' I replied, drying my tear stained eyes and feeling her to the same, her soft fingers stroking my cheeks so lovingly as she held me close, my hands entwining themselves in her beautiful, soft, light blonde curls, listening as she sang to me...
'The clouds are dark, and the sky is grey, but if you sleep now...'
'...tomorrow the morning will steal it all away' I finish, back in the here and now, sitting down on a fallen tree trunk, blood tears trickling down my cheeks as I can still hear her sweet voice, singing the rest of the lullaby to me that she made up herself, to sing to me when the thunder and lightning raged all around, to ease my worried infant mind to sleep. And now I have nothing, nothing to comfort the thousand years of pain, anger and torment I've carried with me...except maybe one thing, other than the bloody vengeance I will wreak upon Russell Edgington. But right now, only one other thing will ease what I've tried too hard to forget, and had until I saw my fathers' crown...
Tyra's POV.
'You have absolutely no idea how relieved I am to see your name flashing up on my cell!' I practically bark with relief as I answer my phone to Pam, the first correspondence I've had with her for the last three weeks, since she sent me the text telling me to stay away from Fangtasia. 'What on earth has been going on?' I then ask, before she get's chance to even reply to my first statement.
'I appreciate you've been worried for me, but I'm absolutely fine, so you don't need to fret any longer. I just called you to say we've been back in business for a week now, so there's a weeks' worth of books for you to come in and get started with. And as for what's been going on, I don't want to sound rude but I just cannot tell you. It's Eric's business and he's tied up with a hell of a lot of problems right now, if it's anyone's job to tell you it's his. So how are you?' she replies in her usual cool tone, while I move through to my lounge and flop down on my back on the couch, removing a magazine that sticks in my spine and throwing it on the floor before making myself comfortable leaning back against a pillow.
'That's fine Pam, you know I never pry into vampire business anyway, it isn't my concern. Just as long as you're okay, and as for what I've been up to, ahhhh just the usual mundane crap, working, working, working, and trying to fit in some sort of a social life between it all' I reply, twirling a strand of my hair around my finger as we chat, more catching up on what I've been up to rather than her, since she's told me that is confidential information. I'm just glad to hear from her again, and with that get my routine back on track, even though I cannot deny I will miss the extra time that I had. But knowing a friend is safe and well is worth more than mere spare time on my hands. We end the call with me telling her I'll see her in two days (it's Monday today) and I then chill out and read a bit more of my new book (an biography on Countess Elizabeth Bathory, a truly fascinating woman), before the call of my office becomes too much to bear, and I head to it to battle with sums for a few more hours. I do intend to get an early night tonight, somewhere before 2am would be a nice time to slip under my covers methinks.
I attack my work with gusto, and before midnight passes I've managed to finish the books for Merlotte's, Sinclair's Auto's and Flourish, Hartford and Bennett, a legal firm in the centre of Shreveport. It's just as I'm having the idea of powering down for the night that I hear a tap on the glass of my screen door, and wonder if it's a stoned Lafayette wandering over for a visit, but then remembering he's still working right now. And so I venture out of my little office and head down the hall into the lounge, and then turn to see Eric standing outside. And at first I frown heavily at him, starting for the door with my shoulders rounded, ready for round two of 'let's be a complete asshole to Tyra', when I notice his face properly. And he doesn't ever convey much in expression, but right now he doesn't look himself at all. And so I slow my walk and even out my frown, but still remaining cautious as I open the door to him. I look up at him properly, and see the closest thing to a distressed vampire I've ever seen. And not because of his face, I can just see it all there in his eyes; pain and anger, but not anger directed at me.
'I need you to do something for me' He tells me urgently, his eyes red rimmed with blood tears more shocking that his tone, which transmits urgency, perhaps even a touch of genuine need.
'What?' I ask him as I step back to let him in.
'This, just this' he replies, taking my hands and then pressing them against his face, so it's cupped in my hands, while I just stand there and wonder what the hell is going on, trying to fight off the way this is making me feel. No blood exchange this time has prompted this...this is all just us. The last time he saw me he called me an idiot and treated me like I was as much, now it's flipped back to this again. My head is a mess.
'Eric, what's...' is all I manage before he cuts me up.
'Mmmm, so much better' he whispers, so quietly I can barely hear him, his own hands coming up to stroke the back of mine, while he just stands there and looks half in pain, half euphoria; my 'energy' the cause of the effect obviously. It's shaking me to my core, to see him like this, like there are actual emotions running through him. But what's really making my core shake right now both physically and metaphorically is that he's leaning slowly towards me, closer, closer, until his nose touches mine, and he then presses his cheek against mine after I move my hand and rest it against his neck, both of his arms winding around my waist as I close my eyes, our shared stare so strong I actually feel like I'm about to faint I feel so dizzy and lightheaded. And I can't even explain how else I feel for one second, other than it feels so fucking right. And then, then I open my mouth to try and speak, yet no words come out. Instead though, I feel a cool set of lips gently touch my top lip right on the cupids bow, and I open my eyes to look back into his again, yet the intensity of the energy between us right now is so strong, I honestly feel like I'm going to have a heart attack.
'You feel like home' he whispers to me, before he vanishes, leaving me standing there gasping for breath as I finally do breathe again, shaking, and wondering what the hell is going on? Why is he acting like this? Why? And then, loathingly because I haven't done it in a long, long time, I burst into tears. I drop to the floor and reach out to slam the screen shut, the frame shaking as I follow it with the heavy solid door that shuts off the glass porch screen. And I just sit there cross legged, leaning forward and resting my head on the cold wood floor as I cry with confusion, hating myself for letting silly emotions rule and get the better of me like this. Jeez, I sound just like Eric. And I guess in a way I have to be a little like him right now, and just use this moment to blank it out, how he made me feel. Cut myself off from it, as a vampire does with his own emotions; except Eric did this hundreds of years ago. I don't imagine he can feel much now, which makes me convinced he's just enjoying messing with me, trying to play with my emotions. But still, he did look so...and that moment with him was just so...Tyra, stop. Go get a wash, brush your teeth, refill your glass of water and go to bed.
And so after instructing myself to do just that I pull myself up off the floor and lock the door, turning the blinds closed on the eight thin, floor length windows that run either side of the door (four each side, it's a nice frontage), plummeting the room into darkness. I reach out around the wall for the kitchen light, flick it on and pour myself a fresh glass of water, then onto the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face, before heading to bed, slipping my clothes off and letting them fall untidily where I cast them off onto the hallway floor, closing my bedroom door behind me and curling up under the covers after setting my water down on the big, flat polished yellow marble coaster on the night stand, sliding off my bracelets and taking one and looking at it for a while, my other hand putting the other three thin gold bangles down, and just holding this little pewter one, a charm bracelet I made when I was little, six to be precise, about nine months after my mom had died. It's always been a comfort to me, but for reasons I never dare speak of to anyone. For it was when I was sitting out in the back yard of my parents house, about six months after they'd brought me home there, that I got my first visit from a friend who stayed in contact with me until I was sixteen, then vanished. The young man who my parents, and many psychiatrists and therapists all told me was my imaginary friend, especially since my mother would hear me in the garden and look out to see me talking to no one, and then turning to say 'hey, where did you go?' into the thin air. Sometimes, I wonder if he was real or not, with how he used to just vanish like that...but I'll never forget the first time I met him...
Having being sat still for a good hour making the new, shiny little bracelet that newly hung off my little wrist, I decided to take a bucket from my parents shed, and head off in search of edibles from the hedgerow that bordered our garden. Even though the evening had fallen, my mom had been out about half an hour previously to bring me a juice and light up the many lanterns she had hanging from the trees, so she could still see me through the darkness down at the bottom of the garden. And I'd only been there a few minutes when I heard someone behind me.
'You do know those berries are poisonous, don't you?' A soft male voice spoke to me. I was six years old, and it was less than a year since my real mom had died. That's the very first time he came to me. I stopped my hand in its pursuit of picking the orange berry from its vine, and turned around to see a young man standing over on the other side of the brook, smiling at me. 'As a rule of thumb, if it's orange it's best to leave it alone. Those dark purple ones are safe though, and I'd recommend them' he then added, smiling at me. He had the most amazing green eyes I'd ever seen, and he was short but quite well built but he looked about seventeen, if that.
'I know that, those are blackberries and mom puts them in pies' I reply, watching him smile a touch wider, and then step out onto the stones that lead from one side to the other, arriving at my side and beginning to pull berries off the bush.
'Allow me to assist Tyra' he told me, while my eyes widened.
'How do you know my name?' I asked him. My parents had told me all about the dangers of talking to strangers, but for some reason I didn't feel unsafe with him; far from it in fact.
'I know a lot of things about you. I know for one thing that you're a very special little girl, despite the fact that sometimes I know you might not feel like you are' he replied, dropping berries into the bucket I had hanging from my arm.
'Because my real mom and dad aren't here you mean?' I asked him, wondering if that was what he meant, and then thinking 'but how would he know?' He did though.
'Yes, exactly that, and I think you're very, very brave too' he replied as I smiled at him sadly. 'But, that's in your nature, because of who you are. And you really do have no idea how important you are either. I feel privileged to be standing here with you, I honestly do' he then said, while I gave him a puzzled look.
'Why am I so special then?' I asked him, confused at why this stranger was praising me so much.
'I cannot tell you the reason, but it is something you will learn, one day' he replied, while I nodded curiously. And I remember walking further along the side of the brook with him, and he showed me different types of berries and herbs that were edible, named every flower we passed and pointed out fish and little fresh water crabs in beautiful clear water to me, that I could just about make out from the light the lanterns provided. And then, after walking me back to my garden, he vanished. But I saw him again soon after, and sat in a tree with him for hours after sunset, asking him question after question, and each and every one he had an answer for. He was so learned, like he'd been around forever. Yet he looked so young. And always, whenever he visited me, he had the same message.
'You have no idea how special you are; how important you will be' or words to similar effect. And with each month and year that passed, even though his visits would be at most few and far between, I grew very close to him. He became a constant to me, from a time when life was very bewildering. He was wonderful, he was wise, and he was kind, he was...
... 'Godric' I whisper into the night, smiling with deep affection as I remember my strange, yet beautiful 'imaginary' friend. No amount of medication (that I cheated taking anyway by hiding the pills under my tongue, or throwing them back up again after I'd been made to take them under supervision after many other previous incidences of me getting rid of them down the toilet) or hours sat in a therapists chair could really convince me otherwise, until I reached twelve and had had enough of it, so agreed he was all a figment of my overactive imagination and left it at that. Except he wasn't, and I still saw him for a further four years after that. I just didn't tell anybody.