A/N: Gods, it has been a long time since I've thought about this story. I had to reread the whole thing and my notes AND all the bits I deleted from the original but kept. Anyway, I'm all up to date with it once again, and on with the supernatural war!

Chapter 25: Diamonds Are Not Forever

There are trolls in Manhattan. I can't fucking believe it! I'm not going to apologize for my language because I think I'm entirely justified. Gran would be so horrified if she could see what I've turned into. She raised me to be a lady, and instead I'm…

Well, I have no idea what I am now, and did I mention there were trolls in Manhattan?

Back to the problem at hand. We're stuck in the FBI building, on the twentieth floor, and there are trolls rampaging through the city. No one knows what's going on except us, and we are not prepared to fight off monsters that, half an hour ago, were just plot devices in dark fairy tales designed to scare children into submission. At least, that's what I thought. The others obviously knew better. However, their knowledge does not make them prepared.

There is no way for Eric to rally his troops in time without cell phones. It's just us. "Sookie, stay here," Eric tells me.

"No!" I respond immediately before it dawns on me that I would be absolutely useless in a battle against an army of trolls. I doubt that reading their minds would be that helpful if they were as dumb as everyone says they are, and stiletto heels are going to have no effect on giants like those. Somehow, I have a feeling that Tolkien and Rowling and all the writers of fairy tales and fantasy novels got quite close whenever they wrote about trolls. It's just a gut feeling.

"Pam, stay with Sookie," says Eric, ignoring me. He knows I had a brain fart just then. Is it a curse or a blessing when your significant other can practically read your mind? Perhaps it's a little bit of both. "Defend her with your life."

"I don't need people laying down their lives for me!" I declare. I mean every bit of that. My life is not worth more than Pam's or anyone else's for that matter, and I would never forgive myself if anyone actually went and died for me. I know that a man can have no greater love than to lay down his life for his friends and yada yada and so on and so forth, but while I like knowing that I am on the receiving end of that kind of love, I don't want people to demonstrate their love in that way. It's so tragic.

He knows that she will not willingly remain behind, but there is no way in hell that he is going to let Sookie confront trolls, especially when she's unarmed. Eric just has to trust that she understands, and that his child will be competent enough to keep her from running headlong into danger, as she seems to have a tendency to do.

"Can you get weapons?" the Viking demanded of Nolan. He knows he's scaring the man, with his fangs and his manner. He doesn't give two shits about what the director of the FBI thinks of him. He hires PR people to manage people's opinion of him so he can be as much of an asshole as he wants and not have to worry about it.

"The bureau has a cache of weapons in this building," says Nolan. "Nothing big, though. You need the army for that."

What they really need is heavy artillery. A tank or two would be nice, but Eric's not stupid enough to be under the impression that the FBI has access to those. No, they'll have to kill these trolls the old fashioned way. Swords are much easier to get than guns. He has a dozen of them, from various time periods, hidden away in the safe in his Manhattan apartment. The medieval longsword would be best for such a task as troll killing, he deems.

"This is just like old times, isn't it?" asks Finn. The mad faerie is grinning broadly with a wicked gleam in his eye. In a bygone age, Finn was one of those people who craved the thrill of battle. Time, and love, has mellowed him a little, but there is still quite a bit left of the ferocious faerie prince Eric once fought side by side with. Well, back to back would be a more accurate way of putting it.

"If by old times, you mean the Dark Ages, then I really can do without them," says Barisan. "There was no broadband."

"There isn't any broadband right now," Finn points out. "In essence, we have just been catapulted back into what you call the 'Dark Ages', except humans are now not capable of dealing with the lack of electronics." It is just like those two to get into a discussion about society or history or something just as unsuitable right before battle. They have always been this way and Eric suspects they always will be this way. In his long, nomadic life, they have been his only constants. He hopes that he will have a new constant in Sookie.

He turns to her. Her face is pale, but she is determined to remain calm, or at least appear calm. Swiftly, he bends down to bring his lips to hers. Her mouth is warm and soft. She leans into him and her grip on him tightens. He pulls away before she can persuade him to either take her with him or stay behind with her. Knowing Sookie, she will never ask for the latter, but she will do her damndest best to tag along.

"For luck," he says.

"Be careful," she whispers.

"Don't worry, Sookie. I won't die."

"If you do, I will find you wherever you end up and kill you again myself."

He laughs. "I will hold you to that promise, lover," he says. And then he takes a leap through the window. The other two might want to teleport, but he prefers to fly. It allows him to scout out the area and assess the situation. Besides, he needs to get his swords. Those magic users don't need their steel, but he does.

Finding trolls is not a difficult task. Neither is hiding from them. No one ever feared a troll's intelligence. It's their lack of it that makes them so terrifying and so effective as frontline soldiers. Goblins are cowards. Trolls aren't smart enough to be afraid so they are impossible to stop. Destruction is their specialty. It's what they were bred for.

Screaming humans fill the streets like torrents of ants, all running in the same direction. They clamber over cars, buses, humans; anything and everything that is in their way of escape. The sounds of glass being smashed and steel groaning as it is torn apart harmonizes the high-pitched cacophonic symphony.

In the dark, the humans are a mass of confusion. They have lived with artificial lighting for so long that without it, they are completely lost and in a state of panic. Looking at them, it is difficult to think that a mere three hundred years ago, they survived just fine without all these electronic gadgets.

It's not hard to identify the trolls. They don't exactly make themselves inconspicuous. Their only camouflage is their natural skin colouring and texture, which resemble the surface of lava rock. In New York, that is the equivalent of wearing the Union Jack in the middle of Texas and proclaiming the United States' allegiance to their rightful British sovereign.

They are smashing anything and everything, using pulled-up street lamps as clubs. So the fae don't even bother arming these things anymore. At least that would work to their advantage.

The human police are there, trying their best to contain the uncontainable. Their attempt is valiant, but ultimately futile. Their cars aren't working, for one. All they have are their little handguns that wouldn't even stop Pam, let alone a fully grown troll.

One of the creatures roars as a stray bullet fortuitously hits it and penetrates the skin. It heads for the group of policemen, who immediately scatter. The creature picks up a car as if it were a toy and hurls it at them with deadly accuracy. Eric takes off into the air. He does not have the advantage of size over these creatures, but it does not mean he cannot have the advantage of height. He drops down on the troll's head and plunges his sword into the creature's eye and then flies off again before it can seize him.

His sword is not quite long enough to penetrate the brain, and troll skulls are thick. He darts in and out, scoring tiny nicks and gashes in the troll's hide. Chow is on the ground, trying to do the same thing. The Chinese vampire zooms out of the way as the troll tries to crush him beneath its giant two-toed feet with thick nails that look more like hooves. Vampires might not be able to do a lot of damage to a troll without the right weaponry —although Eric would love to try to kill a troll with a medieval-style lance. However he knows he can't kill a troll on his own unless he has great luck and Eric Northman is not a great believer of luck — but they can distract the troll until someone with the capacity to end its life comes along. That is what warlocks and faerie princes are for.

"It looks like I'm doing all the work up here!" he calls down to the two sorcerers below.

"Killing a troll is not like killing just another animal!" Barisan says as he dives to the ground to avoid being brained by the troll's club.

"You mean you can't blast it to pieces with a grenade or something?" demands Chow, who is way too young to have encountered anything more exotic than a grizzly bear.

"That might be a viable option if we had one," says Finn.

"You're the wizard."

"I prefer sorcerer, and I can't conjure one up out of thin air!" The faerie throws a ball of blue fire at the troll, which strikes the projectile with its club, baseball style, and sends it flying into a building. Windows and walls explode, sending shards of glass and steel everywhere. Eric narrowly avoids being staked by a pencil. That would have been humiliating.

"You've killed a troll before!" says Eric as he lunges at the troll again, scoring a nick on its neck, but not deeply enough to cut anything important. Compared with the troll's size, his sword looks like a bee sting. He flips backwards off the troll's skull and lands "How did you do it last time?"

"I had diamonds at that time!"

"And you don't have any on you now?"

"Forgive me if I didn't bring my troll killing kit to New York City!"

"We could probably raid Tiffany's," suggests Barisan. "It's right there." Without waiting for a reply, he breaks through the door and disappears inside.

"Pam is going to murder you!" Eric calls after him.

I do something that surprises me and will most likely surprise Eric; I wait in the office with Pam and Nolan and refrain from biting my fingernails. It's a pain to wait for manicures to dry, and I don't want to ruin the very nice one I have right now. Besides, I'm pretty sure nail polish is toxic, and I'm not Snow White. A prince's kiss won't bring me back from the dead, even if I do have a real prince.

Instead, I try to pray. I don't know who I'm praying to. Judging by the state of my city, I'm pretty sure God's either asleep or He simply doesn't give a damn about us. But surely there must be someone up there listening, right? Well, what harm can it do? It's worth a shot. I might even get lucky and get a direct line to God or Goddess or whatever.

Five minutes in, I give up. I can't concentrate. My mind is too busy thinking about Eric and imagining the danger's he's in. The trolls in my imagination grow larger and more terrifying by the minute. I stop myself before I imagine them with spiked tails. That's dragons. I desperately hope there aren't any dragons.

Outside, I can hear distant roars and terrified screams. Occasionally, there's something that sounds like an explosion. I clench my fists. The diamond Eric gave me glistens in the light of the stars and the fires.

You often hear that the worst part of war is the waiting. Guess what? I believe it.

Barisan loathes trolls. They are large, ugly, difficult to kill and have awful breath. Clearly, there is no such thing as toothpaste in the Otherworld. Come to think of it, with all modern technology rendered useless by whatever spell the Fae used, it will only be a matter of time before the world runs out of toothpaste and they have to resort to using salt or chalk again. That would be bloody awful.

The diamonds are in a safe with a six-digit code and a foot thick steel door. Barisan could have just opened the safe in a more traditional manner, but he's not the type. Why would God give him these powers if He didn't intend for him to use them, for legal means or otherwise? Besides, the traditional way is just too time consuming. Time is something he doesn't have right now. It might be ironic for an immortal man to say something like this but it's really not.

The door's edges turn red, and then white. He kicks it in when the edges have melted away. Inside are a vast array of stones, both cut and uncut. The warlock quickly selects the brightest stones —and briefly wonders about the price tags— before rushing outside.

In the three minutes he's been gone, the troll has pulverized the pavement with its club. The warlock finds Fintan and presses the velvet bag of diamonds into his hand. "It's up to you now."

"Watch and learn, Frenchman," says the faerie with a grim smile as he up-ends the bag. Pink, yellow, blue and regular diamonds spill onto his palm. "Nice choices, by the way."

"I won't settle for anything but the best," says Barisan. Fintan closes his hands around the diamonds and begin to speak under his breath in an ancient tongue that has long disappeared from the world. Power hums in the air. It seems to the warlock that his friend's hands are beginning to glow.

"Eric, Chow, out of the way!" Fintan suddenly shouts before he opens his hands. A beam of light bursts forth and strikes the troll. It stops with its club raised. At first, it doesn't seem as if the light has done anything to it, but when it stays that way for a very long time, Barisan realizes it isn't going to move again anytime soon, if ever at all.

The light has somehow turned the creature into solid rock.

They gather around at the feet of the stone troll, its mouth still open in a perpetual silent roar. "What was that?" whispers Chow. His voice is full of wariness.

"Magic," says Fintan.

"That's some powerful magic," says Barisan.

"Thus the tools," says the faerie. He shows them the diamonds in his palm. They have been rendered into dust. He lets the dust trickle through his fingers and fall to the ground, where it is blown away by the breeze.

"That is some very expensive powerful magic," Barisan amends.

"It's the only way to permanently kill a troll without magic lances or modern artillery. Unlike those two things, diamonds are naturally occurring. Diamonds are receptacles and containers for sunlight, if you will. Trolls fear sunlight. Weak sunlight won't kill them, but enough of it can turn them into stone."

"You released the sunlight from the diamonds?" says the warlock.

"Yes. Unfortunately, the process destroys the diamonds. Luckily no one's going to care right now."

It turns out, Fintan was very wrong about no one caring about those diamonds. "You robbed Tiffany's and then reduced ten million dollars worth of diamonds to dust?!" demands Pam.

"Aw, come on, Pam," says Sookie. "They killed the troll. I say that's worth it…" His bonded does not look convinced. Eric has to admit they were very nice diamonds, but if he had to choose between Manhattan and sparkly stones, he would always choose Manhattan. That is the true gem. Not that it would be much of a gem if the Fae got what they wanted.

"But…!" For once, Eric's progeny is without words. If the situation were not so dire and post-apocalyptic, Eric might have laughed. Right now, he's more worried about what might come through the portal next. He's pretty certain this isn't the only troll in town. Hadn't the cryptic letter said 'trolls'?

Nolan paces in his office. Eric smells the man's fear in his sweat. He's not the kind to show it, but the director of the FBI is terrified. "I'm going to need your help," the vampire says quietly.

"How am I supposed to help you?" demands Nolan. "I don't even know what the fuck is going on!" He runs his hand over the balding spot on his head. It's shiny with perspiration.

"I just need big guns," says Eric. "There won't be a Tiffany's or Cartier's every time we fight a troll, and there won't be just trolls. I guarantee it."

"In your opinion, Mr Northman, what are our chances of winning this war?" asks Nolan.

Eric ponders his answer. Should he tell the truth, or a white lie? "It's…minimal," he finally says, deciding to go for the truth. "But it does not mean we should not fight it. The Fae are powerful, but not invincible."

"They don't particularly like iron," said Fintan as he twirls one of his iron darts between his fingers.

"But you—" says Nolan.

"Hybrid," says Fintan.

"We have iron in Manhattan," says Sookie. "Although I suppose it's all in those steel cables and things like that."

"It's manpower that we lack," says Barisan. "If it takes four of us and three diamonds to deal with one troll, how are we going to cope with the real invasion force?"

My fingers shake as I gratefully accept the mug of hot tea from Fintan. I'm not sure how he managed to procure it. Suffice to say I have suspicions that his methods were not entirely legal. Then again, who can be bothered with counting dollars when there's every chance in the world of being eaten by a goblin or squashed by a troll?

Anarchy has taken over New York City. The police and the authorities are trying to maintain order, but it's futile without an adequate communications system, and everything, from the internet to the traffic system, is down. Even the cars aren't working. Actually, nothing which involves electrical circuitry is working right now. It's as if an electro-magnetic pulse has hit the city and blasted it back to the Stone Age.

Looters have taken to the streets. These aren't your ordinary lowlifes, but just desperate regular people trying to find enough provisions so they and their families can survive. It's not that they're bad people, but in bad times, it's everyone for themselves. You can hardly blame them.

Sequestered in the FBI's Manhattan headquarters with the director of the bureau, one faerie prince, one warlock, and three sleeping vampires, I'm as safe as anyone can be in such situations, except I'm the sole reason why this is happening.

"I know you're blaming yourself, Sookie," says Fintan. "Don't."

"But it's my fault—" I begin.

"It's Niall's fault. You did not send the troll. All of this is beyond your control," says my grandfather. He makes sense, and I know he's making sense, but it does not make me feel much better. I am the one who has the ability to stop all of this. If I surrender myself to Niall, and let him marry me off…

Perhaps I'm just too selfish, but I can't do that. I can't let someone have so much control over me again, not after last time. I am never subjecting myself to that again. That helplessness, that sense of hopelessness…I would rather die.

Except that wouldn't solve anything because from what I know of Niall, if he couldn't have me, he would just have revenge.

And we all know who is wrath is directed at right now.

The only way is to kill him. I know it sounds extreme, to want to murder your own kin, but sometimes, such sentiments are justified.

Fintan must have read my thoughts, because his eyes suddenly take on a strange light. He grips my hand, and for a moment, I get a glimpse into his mind. He doesn't mind the idea of killing his father. There is no love between them. Perhaps there was, once upon a time, but not anymore. Niall has only ever tried to use him to further his own cause of dominating the Otherworld. His sole purpose of acquiring me is to use me as a breeding machine to further propagate his line, ensuring that there will be more heirs to his throne should he fall in battle. And God forbid that his heirs be of second-grade blood —Niall's wording, not mine.

However, falling short of that, Fintan is considering closing the portal, although that in itself is not an easy task. Niall's magic is very powerful, and he has drawn on the powers of his kin to open the gates. It will take even more power to close them. My grandfather cannot do it on his own. He has Barisan, but even the two of them are not enough. It takes blood to open the gates, and it will take blood to close them. Not just any blood. Powerful blood, willingly shed through the sacrifice of a magical being, be it fae, magi, vampire, or any other one of those. The power that is released in that sacrifice will be enough to close the portal.

"No, you're not doing that!" I shout. My tea spills as I stand up suddenly. The hot liquid burns my hands and my legs as it splashes onto my skin, but I don't care. "Nobody is going to die because of me. I've said that before, and I'll say that as many times as I have to!"

"Sookie, if someone doesn't do something, more people are going to die because Niall wants you."

"If anyone should be doing something, then it's me," I say. "It's me he wants." I pause. "I'm a magical creature, aren't I?"

"And what will that achieve?" asks Fintan. "If you die, then this—" He indicates the chaos outside. The once ordered streets of New York City are littered with debris and looks more like London after the Blitz. Nothing moves. It's as if the city is already dead. The abandoned skyscrapers, against the hazy sky, resemble dead trees in a burned forest.

"This will all have been in vain," says my grandfather. "Why do you think we are fighting? Dying is easy. It only takes one split second, but it is not about you. Do you think Eric is just going to go back to his old existence as if you were never part of it? Do you think I could live with myself for letting you…letting you…"

He turns away from me. "The thing about death, Sookie, is that it's not really about you. When you're dead, you won't be here to care anymore. It's about the people who have lost you."

The words, the tone, it breaks my heart. I've lost people in my life. I know how it feels, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone else, much less the people I love. I reach forward to squeeze Fintan's shoulder. He glances back.

"We'll find another way, then," I say. "There has to be one. We've come this far. I'm not about to give up just because we're faced with overwhelming forces. Again."

He pulls me into a hug. I feel his heart beating. With him, I feel safe. I know I will be fine. Fintan, Eric, Barisan; they're not going to let anything happen to me or the world. Niall has chosen to make enemies of the wrong people. "That's my girl," he whispers. "You really are of Adele's blood."

"And yours too," I say. "You're a survivor."

"I have to say, your survival instincts are rather dubious."

"Hey, you're the one who's been on the run for a thousand years, so you can't say anything."

"Nine hundred and fifty two. And I'm still alive. You could stand to learn a thing or two from me, granddaughter."

"I don't have that impressive arsenal of faerie weapons at hand, gramps. It's a slight disadvantage. And just because you do doesn't mean you're allowed to throw yourself into suicidal missions, okay?"

Fintan smiles. "Agreed," he says "Neither of us will do anything stupid unless there is no other choice."

As night falls, apprehension wraps its fingers around us with a strangling hold, making it hard to breathe. What is going to come through that portal next? I can hardly believe nothing has happened in the twelve hours since the defeat of the troll which trashed Manhattan. Perhaps other things have been going on, but we were simply ignorant of them because we have no way of communicating with the outside world.

"The waiting is the worst part of any war," Barisan complains as he searches the FBI's building in vain to find some form of alcohol.

"I would have thought you would have gotten used to it by now, being the veteran of so many," says Eric in reply as he peers into the inky distance. I'm not used to not being surrounded by artificial lighting. The stars have never seemed so luminous and numerous before, like a sprinkling of icing sugar on black silk. But I can't enjoy it. "Where is your personal squadron, anyway? I thought they were coming?"

"You and me both," says the warlock, finally giving up on his futile search. "They should be here by now. It's been days, and I haven't heard a word from them." His brow is furrowed with worry. He puts his fingers on the bridge of his nose as if to stem a nosebleed and bows his head with a sigh. "If something has happened…if something has taken out a whole squadron of warlocks…"

"You don't know what's happened," I say firmly, more eager to prove it to myself than to him that there is still hope for our reinforcements. "Do you have any way of contacting your headquarters or whatever they're called?"

"I have," said Barisan. "They know nothing about it. I fear they are lost to us."

I sit back to absorb this news. A whole squadron of warlocks? I don't know very much about warlocks and magi and stuff, but I know Barisan and what he's capable of. And a squadron of ten people just like him must have ten times the power. For them to be completely wiped off the face of the earth…

"What's capable of doing that?" I whisper.

"A faerie, a more powerful magical being, a dragon, the list can go on," says Barisan. "Warlocks are no longer as strong as we used to be. Fewer of them are born, and more die. Magic has grown weak in this world to be replaced by science and technology, while it is as strong as it has ever been in the Otherworld."

"We can't just sit here and do nothing!" I say. A thousand thoughts whir through my head. I am one eighth faerie, and it's been proven that I have that essential spark. They're fighting this hugely unbalanced war because of me. I have to fight this war. "Teach me, Fintan."

"Teach you?" he asks.

"I have the spark. I have power. Teach me to use it."