Dead and Damned

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Delirium

Disclaimer: I do not own True Blood or its characters.

Sorry for errors! Hope you enjoy.

I really am grateful for everyone's patience!


My people go by a few things: Norseman, Northman, or Viking. The last one was a derogatory term. I loathed when Leif used it. 'Viking' was derived from my mother tongue and meant 'to raid'. It was mostly used by our enemies or the ignorant, making our people out to be undisciplined barbarians. Not the strong, capable, and intelligent society we actually were.

Raiding was not all we did. My people are traders, explores, and extraordinary craftsman - not mindless brutes.

Like many civilizations of today, my culture was male dominated. A woman's role was domestic: taking care of the family and finances, preparing food, and the most time-consuming task of all, making the family's clothes. Spinning, carding, weaving, cutting, and sewing took a long time. If you had servants to help – like my mother and father did – it went by swifter.

If you look closer, you'd see in my culture females were treated better than in most others.

They had a certain amount of personal power, depending on their social status. When the men were away from home—raiding, fishing, hunting, exploring, or on trading missions – women took over all the men's work as well as doing their own.

Females could also learn to wield weapons as well as any man. If widowed, they'd even become landowners and take up their late-husbands trade. Women were valuable members of Nordic society. It was shameful for a man to harm a woman, especially if that entailed unwanted advances. There were laws against it. How many other cultures of today can say the same thing?

Marriages were arranged, but usually the young lady had some sort of say. With me, there were too many advantages for our people. Too many connections my late husband had that would benefit us. Father wouldn't be swayed by my whining.

My father's mother had the same a 'no-nonsense' attitude. It was one of the things my grandfather found attractive about her, so I was told.

Grandmother did not just wield weapons, but went to battle and was actually a female warrior as well. She was more than satisfied with dying unmarried, dedicating her life to defending our people in war. Inkeri never thought a fellow warrior, Geirolf, the next ruler of our people no less, would be the one to win her over.

I hope they were reunited in Valhalla now. My village prayed for such at her funeral. She more than deserved it. It was sheer will alone she lived as long as she did. Although she could be loving to her family, Inkeri was as fierce as she was intelligent. Not a lot of my people lived passed 50 winters.

How Balder did so was beyond me. Eric did not even make it to 35 winters. If Godric hadn't taking a liking to him, my brother would not have seen another night on this Earth after that battle. Grandfather also died in combat, my father was only a boy then. I never got the pleasure of meeting him.

Unfortunately, only half of the warriors who die go to Valhalla. The other half are sent to the goddess Freyja's field Fólkvangr. My grandparents were probably never reunited.

Thinking about them brought another memory to the forefront of my brain.

Alva! Alva! Mother and Father told me to come get you. It is time to go home sister.

The last words I heard Eric say while my heart was still beating. I was so angry and heartbroken. Trying desperately not to cry in those woods... unsuccessfully.

I wanted to stay that night with the last of my family, in my childhood home. Eric and I were conspiring to get Father to agree. To his great annoyance, at 14 winters my brother still refused to marry. I had responsibilities and to my father, you must uphold them no matter the circumstance.

(In widowhood, I adopted my late-husbands' role on a permanent basis.)

We almost convinced Mother, which was over half the battle. If we got her to agree it was as good as done. She used to have a way with Father nobody else did.

Why am I musing about this in such detail? Search me.

Memories and fictitious visions alike play in my head while my sanity disintegrates. At times they blend together and it's hard to tell which was which. The weaker I became, the more delirium sets in. I had brief lucid periods, when I was fully aware how bad my mental state was, but those were few and far between now.

Godric and Eric have been protecting us. They took turns getting us blood and watching to make sure we didn't get ourselves killed. Would this be my true death? The pain seemed never ending. A moon cycle passed and we only got worse. I wouldn't be able to defend myself now if my existence depended on it.

Initially I believed my Child and I were being tested or punished by our Gods. We died for the day perfectly fine, neither one of us were poisoned with liquid silver. Which is the only thing I thought would compare to the feeling we awoke to. What else was I to think?

Not everything is about your Gods, Alva. Godric rebuked as condescendingly as he could muster at my assumption, before going on to tell us all what was truly happening.

Turns out it was the blood we drank. I never heard of our source of nutrition doing such a thing. Godric informed us if humans were ill with any sort of plague it also rendered the blood unhealthy to drink. Not nearly to the same extreme as what we were infected with, however.

There was no official name, but Boy Death favored calling it The Silent Spite. We hunt humans, steal their lifeblood, and terrorize them for enjoyment. It amuses Godric to think perhaps this was their way of unknowingly giving payback.

Eadric hoped he was exaggerating when he told us what The Silent Spite entailed. Unfortunately for us, the symptoms were exactly as he said they'd be.

"Alva!" A young high-pitched voice exclaimed.

Bewildered, I pull myself into an upright position, with difficulty, and saw my brother. Eric rushed toward me, flashing an excited gap-toothed grin. He's a little thing bundled up in wool and animal skinned clothing.

In that moment I was no longer an immortal undead creature. Instead I was a human girl back in my homeland.

"Kan du inte se att jag är upptagen?" (Can you not see I am busy?) I grumble.

Eric was supposed to be busy as well. What in Odin's name was he thinking? He'll get in trouble for sure. Mother had me helping a couple servants with cleaning clothes in a stream. She promised by the evening she'd have boiled whey turned into buttermilk to drink at supper.

My little brother knelt beside me, out of breath and panting. The gleam in his eye was one I knew well. Eric had gossip to share. "Dagr's skador är smittade! Jag hörde Brúnn informera far!" (Dagr's wounds are infected! I heard Brúnn informing Father!)

Shock coursed through me. The linen I was washing slipped through little fingers.

People accused of certain crimes had to walk over a piece of red-hot iron or snatch stones from a pot of boiling water. A guilty person's burns got infected, while an innocent's healed.

Father was positive his injuries would heal. It is unbelievable that his faith in Dagr was unfounded.

Before I could reply everything uprooted. The world around me spun out of focus. Eric, the stream, the clothes, my surrounding, and even the servants. Everything was ripped away. It made me unsteady. I didn't know where I was or what was happening.

"Eric?" I called, not that it did any good.

The relief I felt when the world came into focus didn't last long. A misleadingly angelic laugh caused hatred build in my gut. With it, all the innocence from moments ago dissipated.

Leif's little hands yanked me off the ground. Oak brown hair stuck up in every direction atop his small head. "Var inte arg, min skatt. Det var bara lite roligt." (Do not be angry, my treasure. It was only a bit of fun.)

A bit of fun? She was leaps and bounds older than me. I seethed internally. The first time he allows me to see another one of my kind except him, and he forces me to antagonize him into a fight.

I like a good brawl as much as the next person, but the way Leif made me to do it was suicidal.

"Jag har något annat för dig!" (I have something else for you!) He beamed. I give a flat look, not quite able to resist the urge to frown. His enthusiasm melted into stern disapproval. "Det räcker! Du är otacksam. Du ville se vår värld, ja? Nu när jag börjar visa det för dig, detta är hur du tack mig?" (Enough with that. You're being ungrateful. You wanted to see our world, yes? Now that I start showing it to you, this is how you repay me?)

Repay him? For what?

I was thrown unwillingly into this existence. What should I be grateful for? He tells me nothing! Every mistake I make results in punishment, yet he refuses to do any teaching. All he does he watch and enjoy my floundering! Of course I want to see more than his wretched face. Perhaps then I could actually learn.

Leif barks demands at me without explaining anything. Then he's surprised when I am not miraculously adept at this overnight. That is his version of 'mentoring' me, or whatever he is trying and failing to do.

It seems if I'm going to make any real progress with what I am, I'll have to teach myself. Which is MUCH easier said than done. This… thing I've become is different in every way than what I am used to.

"Som din skapare beordrar jag dig tillvänta där för mig att återvända." (As your Maker I command you to wait in that spot until I return.) Leif ran west before the last word left his lips.

As your Maker I command you… is there anything I hate more than those words?

While he was gone I attempted to take even the smallest of steps. All I could do was move my upper body. My legs would not budge, no matter how hard I tried. Feeling his presence approaching freed them. 'Until I return' were his exact words. I suppose this qualified. He didn't say 'until I am in view' or even 'until I say otherwise'.

A Maker's Command is very specific and literal.

I wish I held my breath and did everything in my power to ignore the human he was bringing. Wait, A logical part of me said, you need permission first. It was difficult to listen to that voice, especially when the human came into view.

My mismatched eyes flicker to her pulse points, causing sharp fangs to run down at the sight. Her strong heart called to me and wind blew her scent in my direction. The pulsating organ sent a river of rich ambrosia circling throughout her body. I lunge, fangs bared and fingers curled into claws, despite the whispering voice protesting in my head.

A haze smothered my brain, urging me forward, dismissing anything that wasn't the human. Nothing else matters. I need the warm liquid, to feel the euphoria her blood will bring, taste the intense flavors explode on my tongue.

I was very new to this existence, three seasons in at the most. That along with Leif hardly putting a toe of effort into teaching me made it impossible to control the urge. Do you think I wanted to kill this innocent person? Or keep losing control and acting like a wild animal? Of course not, but how can I stop?

Well, getting thrown into a tree was certainly one way.

I slammed into the tall maple and it couldn't withstand the force. Splinters broke off into my back as we both hit the ground. Luckily they were shallow wounds, none came close to my piercing dead heart.

Leif dropped the human and flung himself at me in a temper. He was several heads shorter than I was. A small thing, with a scrawny frame and big eyes, frozen at an age where the baby fat started to come off his face. It never would completely now.

Do not be fooled by his harmless, cherubic appearance. Or the way his mannerisms could truly be quite child-like. Leif was a monstrous little demon. Older and more dangerous than he appears.

"Du äter inte om jag inte sager!" (You do not feed unless I say so!) He thundered, keeping my body pinned. "Upprepa det!" (Repeat it!)

It was not a Maker's Command, but still I obeyed. Internally hoping that in doing so, it appeased him enough for my punishment to be less cruel. "Jag äter inte om du inte sager." (I do not feed until you say so.)

"Jag måste straffa dig." (I have to punish you.) A faux look of caring chased away most of the wild rage on his face. "Du förstår, ja? Jag gillar inte att se dig i smärta, men du måste lära dig disciplin. Någon bra skapare skulle göra detsamma." (You understand, yes? It brings me no pleasure to see you in pain, but you must learn discipline. Any good Maker would do the same.)

What a load of mule dung.

Defiance steeled my expression. Words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them. "Kom igång med det." (Get on with it then.)

So much for appeasing him as much as possible.

Though, to be fair, it was hard to try and fake submission properly when that human was still enticing me. Her presence riled my inner beast. The sound of blood rushing through her body. Her heartbeat picking up speed now that she was waking up. I struggled uselessly against my Maker. Fangs ached to bury themselves in her warm flesh. Involuntary growls rumbled in my chest.

Leif clucked his tongue in disapproval and released me. Before I could do something foolish, like try and get to the girl, he spoke. "Som din skapare beordrar jag dig att riva ut din egen huggtänder." (As your Maker I command you to rip out your own fangs.)

I balk at his pompous attitude and callous tone. I will sooner rip out YOURS! My hands moved of their own accord, paying no heed to my wishes.

Powerful hands were pinning me again before I could do as commanded. I let out a frustrated cry. My body craved to obey Leif. The fact that I was being thwart created a blistering pain that stabbed at my insides.

"Låt mig gå!" (Let me go!) Was that me?! The weak, raspy sound barely louder than a whisper?

"Inte förrän jag kan vara säker på att du inte kommer att skada dig själv." (Not until I can be certain you will not mutilate yourself.) A powerful voice that was NOT my Maker vibrated through me. Where did he come from?

I don't know how he escaped my notice before, but he came sharply into focus now. My attempts at fighting him off were painful and pathetic. Something about the tribal markings on his pale flesh was familiar… like I'd seen them before.

Ripping out my fangs was the only way to get the agony to stop. Why won't he let me complete Leif's command? Unless the ancient was in on it. Was this my sire's plan from the beginning? Command me and then refuse to let me complete it, just to see me suffer?

"Vad pågår?" (What is going on?) Another male inquired worriedly. A flare of realization came with the sound. My Progeny. He had to get away. It was not safe here!

Blind panic overcame me. It felt like a cluster of nerves exploding in my abdomen. My thoughts accelerated in my head until I was something akin to dizzy.

"Du berätta för mig." (You tell me.) The ancient demanded. "Vad tror hon pågår?
Kommunicerar hon med dig with med tankeöverföring?" (Is she communicating with any thought transference at all?)

Run! I urge my Child. RUN!

"Allt jag vet är att hon vill att jag ska springa." (All I know is she wants me to run.) He began sounding as panicked as I felt. "Varför? Vad pågår?" (Why? What's happening?)

"Ingenting." (Nothing.) Godric attempts to soothe. "Försök att hålla huvudet, Eadric. Jag behöver dig för att hjälpa mig medan du fortfarande tänker tydligt." (Try to keep your head, Eadric. I need you to assist me while you are still thinking lucidly)

He was keeping me pinned with embarrassing ease. The only reason he'd need my Childs' aid would be to use him to manipulate me. Further unhinged with this assessment, I repeatedly try to take a bite out of him with rabid snarls.

Unfortunately for Godric, whatever rationality Eadric managed to hold onto was gone. He was pushing thoughts to me with a savage urgency. The words rattled in my brain, fragmented sentences that seemed to jump from one thing to another. A jumble of fears and nonsense I was unable to decipher.


This chapter was just learning more about The Silent Spite (AKA Hep D) and how it affected Alva. I also wanted to give a little deeper look into her human past - seeing how badly her and Eric want vengance for their family - as well as showing you more Leif.