Chapter 22:
Now and Forever

x

Faerie, 1985

Hadley could only watch as her cousin writhed on the flat stone of the courtyard. Everything happened so quickly and all at once. Niall's commotion drew the fairies out, an impromptu congregation of curiosity and confusion. Little groupings stood around in clusters, watching in awe as their seemingly fearless leader prepared for battle, as he prepared to travel to the human realm for the first time in recent memory. His guards trailed in his wake, though they gave him a wide berth. Not only was Niall outfitting himself for a war they were not fighting, but he was doing so already armed and ready to fire, his hands glowing so brightly they looked like miniature suns of power. Anyone who dared get close enough might find themselves caught in the crossfire.

At that point, no one even noticed Sookie, trailing behind her grandfather, her face stricken and lost. Only Hadley watched her proceed, from a distance, leaning out the window of Niall's office, watching the scene below. She walked without direction, stumbling, a drunk in the shadows. She had an air about her of loss, of tragedy, though the act had not yet been executed. Hadley had never known that type of connection, the type Sookie had with the vampire, that level of love, so pure and true. The type where nothing else mattered. But she could recognize it. She could see it in her kin; if Niall killed Eric, Sookie would not survive. Hadley realized, with a tremendous finality, that she had made a great and terrible mistake.

Niall approached the portal, but Hadley only had eyes for Sookie. She noticed with surprise that Sookie had transformed slightly. Her shoulders were squared, straight. Her expression determined, focused. Her hands shook, then glowed. Sookie was not known for her power. Yes, she was strong. Yes, fairy blood still coursed through her veins. But she was nothing, she was no one in comparison to a pureblood. At least, that was what Hadley thought. That it is what she assumed. But one glance at Sookie's hands negated all of her preconceived notions. She nearly missed it, the light so bright it reflected, it burned. Hadley closed her eyes in response, felt the hair blow back from her neck as she did so. When she opened them again, the screams had already started.

Hadley took the steps two at a time, racing down the stairs to the courtyard below. The fairies that were hovering in the distance closed in, strangling Sookie in a tight loop of bodies. Hadley pushed through them to the center only to discover Niall hunched over her as she choked, as she flinched, as she gagged. Her eyes were clenched shut against the pain, her palms smoking and charcoal black. Like she'd burned herself, like she'd done it to herself. But that was impossible.

"Her bond. It's broken. I've seen this before," Niall said, his voice serious and stern. Commanding. His weapons were sheathed, the crinkled skin of his hands stroking Sookie's face. Sookie grimaced, her jaw flexing, her teeth grinding together as if forcing herself not to bite off Niall's fingers. "Take her to the infirmary. Call the doctors."

A guard scooped Sookie into his arms, her limbs thrashing against him, protesting against even the slightest touch. Her groans echoed throughout the chamber, louder and louder still. Hadley stood by Niall as Sookie was carried away, until a door thudded shut, a mute over her anguish. Distant sounds of pain and panic could still be heard, each one making her grandfather flinch in response.

"What happened?" Hadley breathed.

"The vampire," Niall began, another scream cutting him off before he could continue. "He has died."

"That's not possible," Hadley replied. "We both know that's not possible. We've both seen how strong he is."

"These things happen," Niall said stoically. "When we least expect it, when we deem it impossible, death comes to greet us."

"No," Hadley said emphatically. "Not unless… not unless he did it to himself."

Hadley's mind flew into possibility, into scenarios imagined and real. What if he knew she was leaving him permanently? What if he felt just as strongly as Sookie proclaimed he did? What if the loss was too much to handle, what if he decided to end it instead of go on? Hadley shuddered. Fairies valued life above all else, but all Hadley could see, all she could feel, was death.

"She will be better off without him," Niall said with a surety that made Hadley fearful of her grandfather for the first time in her existence. No one was better off without their soulmate, no one forgets how their one great love felt by their side.

"I hope you are right," Hadley managed. She left him then, went to the infirmary instead of her own quarters. She would stay with Sookie. She would stay for as long as it took. She would hold her hand through the pain, stroke her hair, cool her forehead with a damp cloth, feed her, bathe her, give her sips of water. She would attempt to heal her, attempt to soothe her pain. If it could play any part in remedying the mistake she made, then she would do it. No matter what.

How could it be so endless? How could the pain be so unforgiving? Hadley knew that bonding with humans was forbidden for this very reason, because the consequence of the break was much too great. She'd never done it herself, nor did she know any fairies who had. Not until now. Still, she had underestimated the severity. It was as though Sookie was losing a part of herself, that a part of her own being was dying, was being cut away slowly, removed from her body while she lay awake to watch. And, perhaps, that was what was happening in its own way. The physical representation of a soul leaving the body, of a handprint fading, of a life withdrawn.

Hadley held her, let Sookie grip her as hard as she wanted. She watched the muscles flex beneath her skin, the sweat grow on her forehead. Hadley told her little stories, little fairytales, though only the ones with happy endings. Anything to distract her from her torment, anything to make the time go faster, to bleed away like the internal wound she fought against. Hadley couldn't tell if Sookie heard her, couldn't tell if she was able to listen. She lost her touch with tangible reality, with the passing of time. She didn't know how long she sat at Sookie's bedside. It could've been years. It could've been minutes.

Niall came to the infirmary. He rested his hand on Hadley's shoulder, awakening her with a jolt. She hadn't even realized she'd slept. He reeked of sadness, bathed in early morning light, the crease cuts of his wrinkles deep and shadowy. Hadley stared into his eyes, searching. Imploring. Sookie lay before them, restless even in sleep. Tense, constrained. The pain unstoppable.

"Can you help her?" Hadley finally asked.

Niall nodded solemnly, sitting on the edge of the bed. Sookie's eyes opened, her milky gaze unfocused.

"Grandfather?" she asked, her voice rough from misuse. Hadley watched as her grandfather succumbed, as he always had, to his precious granddaughter, his offspring borne from half his kin and half apart, so alike him yet so fragile, so independent yet so protected.

"Sookie," he whispered, running his aged knuckles along her bare arm.

"Can you make it go away?" Sookie asked desperately, her hands clutching the white sheets beneath her.

"I can make it go away," he replied softly, "I can make it all go away. Close your eyes now. I'll make it better, I promise."

He scooted closer to Sookie, resting a palm on her forehead, his hand glowing slightly where their skin met. Hadley's brow furrowed, watching the transformation on her grandfather's own face. Concentration, focus. A level of magic, a level of power she had never witnessed before, never even heard of.

"What are you doing?" Hadley asked urgently. Sookie's body began to relax, began to settle.

"I'm making it go away," Niall answered, turning his attention back to his granddaughter. Hadley did not know what that meant at the time. Did not understand the significance of his words, of what Sookie would become. A girl without memory, a girl without history. Without the experiences that made up a person, that shaped a story. A lost girl who'd never grow up.

No, what she saw before her that day was a different narrative; a much more generous, hopeful one. The pain left Sookie. She began to relax, to let her muscles unwind, her face smoothing out, a grateful exhale between her lips. When her eyes opened once more, they were clear and bright.

But they were empty.

She looked at Hadley then at Niall with the blank cheerfulness of a newborn. Then, as if truly entering the world for the first time, her brow furrowed in fear like she might cry. Like the world overwhelmed her, like it was all too much to bear, too much to witness, too much to take part in. Like there was no room for her in this life, like it was all some tragic accident, some misunderstanding to be rectified.

She opened her mouth to speak then exhaled, finding the words. Finally, she asked:

"Who are you?"

Louisiana, 2008

All Eric had to do was wait it out. He had to wait for them to get comfortable, to feel sure. And then he would break free, as easily as snapping a twig. He had grown resistant to silver over the years, could overpower the thin chains that Bill and Sophie-Anne had used on his wrists, his ankles. They'd driven him to New Orleans by human driver, trapped in a coffin, silver-bound. After Russell took Sookie, Eric got a little sloppy. Careless. He could admit that. He should've known not to chase on instinct, should've known they would lay a trap if he attempted to fly.

The silver netting was brutal. It stopped him mid-launch and anchored him to the ground beneath them. Had he not been so blinded by rage, he would've seen Bill reach for it, would've seen Sophie-Anne's triumphant smile, would've torn out their livers with his pinkie finger and enjoyed doing it. Instead, he sat in a pitiful excuse for a cell beneath Sophie-Anne's sprawling mansion, a nameless group of vampires guarding the door. Eric could hear Bill and Sophie-Anne above him, milling about on the main level. Their mindless chatter, their congratulatory nature. It disgusted him. They had not won. They hadn't even entered the ring.

One of the vampires threw a bag of blood at his feet, just out of reach from the chains. They were taunting him, testing him. Seeing if he could break through the silver, wondering if the stories they heard about the Sheriff of Area Five were actually true. They were, of course. But he wasn't going to let them know that truth. Not yet. Eric focused, summoning Pam, capturing her attention. He felt her dutiful response, her abrupt trajectory in his direction. There would be little time for explanations, for regrouping, for plans. Eric had to use this patience to his advantage, to plot his next move before it could be negated like a chess match in which he was already a handful of pawns short.

Eric could imitate rest rather easily. It was a trick Godric taught him, the right way to angle his head in which to suppress the bleeds, to stifle the flow of blood so it pooled instead of dripped. Eric closed his eyes. He closed his eyes and waited. Waited until he heard the silence above him, around him. The single drip of water in a leaky pipe, the earthworms burrowing in the mud, the click of the second-hand on a clock. Opening his eyes back up during the day was a struggle, but a necessary one. His muscles felt leaden, as if they were solidifying to wood and sinking deep into wet concrete. He sensed Pam near to him, felt the tug on his bond of commiseration, of preparedness. He tensed his arms and pushed, the silver snapping and falling to the ground before him.

Ironically, the blood intended to trap Eric still lay at the front of the cell. After yanking his feet from their bindings, he downed the whole bag in one go. He would need it. Sophie-Anne's home had floor-to-ceiling windows and werewolf guards, both of which he would need to avoid in order to make it to Pam. His uncooperative legs dragged beneath him as he walked. He listened carefully to the beating hearts above him. Now standing, blood leaked freely from his nose and ears, dripping down and splashing to the floor, a gratuitous trail of breadcrumbs. Eric hovered behind the door to the light tight basement, paused. A guard stood on the other side. He could smell him, taste him. His focus, his singular motive drove Eric to an alert efficiency. Every act boiled down to that particular moment, each move potentially his last, their last. That was not acceptable.

Everything had to be perfect. He had to be perfect.

The door splintered when he shoved, the crack of wood bending in on itself in a shudder and a whine. The guard spun, gun at the ready. But he was far too slow. Eric wrapped his hands around his neck and chin, and, with a flick of the wrist, the man was dead. Eric kicked his body down the steps, shut what was left of the door and ran toward his Child. An alarm shrieked in his ears as he threw open the front gate, instantly met with bright, unforgiving sunlight. Eric hissed, his fangs dropping on instinct, shielding his eyes with his forearms. He could follow the bond internally, he did not need to see. He held onto the rope within him, feeling the tug toward Pam as though he were being dragged against a heavy current.

He moved quickly, blew through objects, ricocheted off metal and wood. All the while his skin burned, the wretched stank of boiling flesh, of melting muscle to bone. He was moving quickly, could tell by the feel of the air against his skin, of the bullets that whizzed behind his head, too slow, one step too late. He considered flying, briefly, though he believed any inch closer to the sun would turn him to Icarus, a descent in flames guaranteed. Pam was close, then closer still. He ran headlong into something metal, something impervious, and juddered to a stop. It was the reinforced door of the storage container. He had made it. With a grunt, he pulled it up with the latch, hearing Pam's hiss of protest as he rolled inside. She slammed it shut herself, coming quickly to Eric where he lay in a ball, his skin still smoking, raw, burnt and brittle.

"I brought blood," she said, handing him a bag. The engine rumbled to life, the tires of the 18-wheeler upon which the storage container sat crunching atop the pavement. Eric took the blood, sucking it in greedily, felt as the life force went straight to work on his wounds. They were silent for a few moments, Eric letting his body recuperate from the daylight, Pam stewing in her own uncertainty. He sensed her emotions: the trepidation, the worry, the concern, the annoyance. He smirked at that last one–at least some things remained consistent while the rest of his existence went straight to hell.

"Are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on?" Pam finally asked, the impatience in her voice clear as the day outside.

"Thank you for coming," Eric said, though it was stern gratitude. A warning that this was serious and no attitude would be tolerated. Pam backed off, recognizing the threat in her Master's tone. "Sophie-Anne sold Sookie to Russell."

"Russell? The… King of Mississippi?" Pam asked, confused.

"Yes. Russell is a fairy hunter," Eric grunted. He watched as the exposed skin of his hands and arms knit together, remembering the pain and chalking it up to a debt he would pay to both Sophie-Anne and Bill.

"And how do you know that?" Pam challenged.

"Let's just say we have a history together," Eric smirked. "This is unimportant. What is important is how I am going to get her back from him."

"He already has her?" Pam asked, incredulous. "There's no way. He's ancient."

"Thank you for your vote of confidence, Pamela."

"Sorry," she sniffed. "What's the plan?"

Eric stared at her silently.

"You do have a plan, right?" Pam asked, eyebrow raised.

"The plan is I go in there and get her."

"Did you not hear what I said? He's ancient."

"Don't you think I know that?" Eric snapped, the blood from his nose dripping to the floor of the container. "I have seen him fight. I have seen him lead. I have seen him kill."

"Eric, that's suicide. You can't go in there alone."

"What choice do I have?" he raged, his fist slamming into the wall, leaving a dent in the metal.

"Well, I'm going to go with you, obviously," Pam said, rolling her eyes.

"No. It's too dangerous. I forbid it."

"You need help," Pam hissed.

"No."

"Stubborn fool," Pam snapped. "I'm coming with you whether you like it or not."

"No," he reiterated. "Do not make me command you to stay back. You know I will if I must."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me," Eric growled, his long fangs glinting in the low light.

Pam crossed her arms, averted her eyes. In the silence, he contemplated what she said. He was a trained warrior, skilled in both learned tactics and instinctual combat, and even he knew that he did not stand a chance against Russell. Even with Russell's guards removed, with his backup eviscerated, and without the advantage of his home turf, it would be a tough if not impossible battle. Just as Eric lost time and again to Godric, he would lose to Russell. And this was not a skirmish, this was a thousand times more important than that. He could see no options. Pam's help would not tip the scales in his favor, nor would any of the other young vampires in his dominion.

Eric plucked his bond with Sookie. It was hardly there, like a ripple of water on a still pond, a strider coasting the surface. She was alive. He knew that for a fact. He could feel the distance between them, the gap of space and time. Russell had taken her to Mississippi and left her alive. Eric meant what he said outside of Sookie's house. There was no way that Russell would waste a fairy on one singular day. He would do what he tried to do all those years ago: he would keep her captive, harvest her blood, experiment. The fairies were taught to kill themselves before ever succumbing to captivity, particularly in the hands of a vampire. That was how his plan failed all those years ago. But Sookie... Sookie did not know the rules. She did not know herself fairy at all.

Eric grimaced, the machinations of his mind whirring, testing all of the variables and coming up with the same outcome every time. Death. If not for one of them, then for both.

You need help. Pam was right, as she always was. There was one option he had, one force that had defeated Russell before. One idea that could, perhaps, defeat him again. Permanently. It was possible. Not probable, but possible. And it had consequences. Unfathomable ones at that.

"Have you changed your mind?" Pam asked, feeling the shift in Eric's mood. The purpose driving out the helplessness. The suicidal turned determined.

"You're not coming with me," Eric reiterated, laying down, feeling the rumble of the wheels on his back. "I need to rest. To prepare."

"Whatever you say, Master," she replied sarcastically, joining him. Pam left her hand open, outstretched, hovering between them. Waiting. She knew what Eric needed; she always knew. Eric grabbed her hand with his own, wove their fingers together, feeling the strength of his Child flow from her to him. Her promise, her confidence, her surety that they would succeed. It beckoned him into sleep.

When Eric awoke, the sun was nearly set and their hands were still interlocked. He removed his slowly, careful not to wake her. He waited, anxious and impatient, until the last of the light dropped below the horizon before sliding open the back of the container and slipping out into the night. Fangtasia welcomed him, the sign dark, the door closed. The human staff milled about, setting up for the evening to come. They didn't notice when Eric rushed past them; all they felt was the slight displacement of air, an unruly wind drifting from a vent.

He sat himself at his desk with a heavy sigh, testing his bond with Sookie once more. Alive. Responsive. But weakening. His hand clenched into a fist, frustration lurking within every part of him. Sookie was not helpless. She was strong, she could fight back even if she didn't know how. She proved this already in the woods with René, when Eric nearly lost her, when he almost didn't get there in time. But Russell was not a bigoted human stumbling blind through the forest. No, he was a vampire. Older than Godric, seemingly older than man itself. Sookie with all of her faculties would not be able to best him, subdue him. And Eric would not rest until Russell was bested.

Russell had taken too much from him, from his existence. Eric would tolerate it no longer. He would not stop until Russell met the true death. He vowed it.

From within his pocket, Eric pulled out the small slip of paper. The international line. He dialed it quickly, hearing the buzz of the connection, the beeps of a foreign transfer. It rang and rang and rang. He didn't consider this option, didn't consider the possibility that the call would not be answered. Right when he was about to give up, there was a click of a phone removed from its handle.

"Hello?" Hadley said, her voice wary.

"Hadley, it's Eric," he replied swiftly, wasting no time. "I need your help."

"Now?" she asked, just as urgently.

"As soon as you can. And, Hadley?"

He could hear her pause, how she waited with bated breath.

"Bring Niall," he ordered and hung up.

Mittenwald, 1835

Sookie's last stop was the tailor. His name was Friedrich and he knew Sookie by name. Even though Sookie's German was lackluster at best, they still understood each other. Mostly because Sookie was always asking for extra fabric, extra long trousers, extra in the arms and extra around the neck. Since the shops were only open during the daytime, Sookie was left with doing the menial tasks for both her and Eric: bartering for farming and cleaning supplies, picking up clothing and food, selling their goods, the list went on and on.

She didn't mind these tasks, not truly. It gave her an excuse to get out during the day, to experience the town during its most beautiful hours, both sunset and sunrise. They'd picked Mittenwald because of its rural but accessible location. They were able to keep a small farm where they'd be left alone by both the humans and the supernatural. Sookie could go into town when necessary and when the feeling suited her. Ever since returning from the colonies, Sookie yearned for the open countryside the New World provided them, the anonymity and the sense of freedom, of wonder.

Germany felt most like what they'd come to know as their home, though the fields of Virginia were now but a history for both. They could only stay in one place for so long, even if the humans were in constant flux. After all, they didn't age, and some began to notice. It was easier to pick up and start again; far easier than convincing an entire generation that their eyes were playing tricks on them. Eric had found the cottage they now inhabited during her last trip to Faerie, obtaining all the necessities with the funds they had amassed selling wheat, tariffs aside. After dodging a revolution or two, they'd found peace once more.

Sookie knocked on the door to the tailor's shop. Behind the steepled roof lay the distant snowcapped mountains, glistening luminously in the sunset. Sometimes, moments on Earth were so beautiful that they were painful to Sookie. It was like the memory burned a permanent place within her so forcefully that it hurt. Like it was daring her to forget its beauty, its transcendent importance. This was one of those moments.

A little bell jingled as the door opened, Friedrich's face peering from behind the wood. His small, wire-rimmed glasses perched on the edge of his nose, a hair's breadth from dropping off the tip. He blushed, staring up at Sookie. She wasn't tall, but by Friedrich's standards she was a giant. She smiled at him, stepping past as he let her inside.

"You came just in time," he said, traipsing through his piles of fabric. The shop was a chaotic mess as always, bunches of linens, silks, patterns, colors. Sookie ran her hand along something so soft it felt like water between her fingers. "You would like to check?"

Friedrich moved a stack papers, a ribbon ruler and a loose pair of scissors from the table, setting down a large cardboard box. He lifted off the top, revealing the suit that lay inside. It was immaculate, luxurious, impressively crafted, just as Sookie had anticipated. It cost them a pretty penny but it was surely worth it. She touched the velvet necktie, the charcoal grey of the lapels, the cinched buttons.

"It's beautiful," Sookie gushed.

"I checked the lengths twice. Very tall, yes?" Friedrich asked, confirming.

"Yes," she smiled. "I'm sure you have it right."

"Very good."

He replaced the lid, handing her the box. She had already paid upfront. This was the last thing she needed, the last prepared item for their small ceremony. She couldn't help the butterflies that ran through her stomach as she walked the cobblestones, each moment dipping further into night. With the parcel tucked firmly under one arm, she wove through the streets, growing narrower and narrower until she hit the dirt lanes, traversed only sporadically by horse and carriage. She could've taken one of their horses but she enjoyed walking the country roads, their smell and taste and magic.

She came upon their cottage, the light of candles already glowing in the windowsills. She paused outside for a moment, watching the solid shape of Eric's silhouette cross frame like a moving watercolor, splashes of him diluted and wavy before her. Before she knew it, the door opened.

"What are you waiting for?" he whispered, beckoning her inside with his hand. He heard her heartbeat, felt her through their bond. Knew she was near to him as he always knew, as they both always knew. She entered the house, immediately enveloped by the warmth of the fire, sliding the box his way. He smiled and nodded his thanks. Their bond was tempered, but she was surprised by the flash of anxiety she felt on his end. Perhaps she was not the only one with butterflies.

The dress lay in their room wrapped in paper. She'd had it made in Berlin and went herself to pick it up, making Eric promise he would not peek. The fabric was thin but conservative, airy and light as if she were wearing but a wisp of new smoke from a fire. It was shiny, too, and when it caught the light it twinkled like a thousand stars. It encapsulated the night. Not its danger, not its mystery, but its perfection. Its wonder, opportunity, anonymity, and beauty. She put it on carefully, mindful not to rip or snag. The fabric flowed from her neckline to her bare feet; it seemed to float on air, its sheen brilliant. She let her hair down, braiding small sections into plaits, pinning it back with wildflowers she'd found around the cottage. She wanted to look as she did the day they met, dancing and laughing and free.

She pinched her cheeks, took a deep breath and joined Eric in the front room. He was waiting, the suit a perfect fit, the crystal blue of his eyes scorching her own. He was upon her in a flash, his fingertip touching the soft petal of a flower in her hair.

"Do you remember?" she asked, speaking of that day, the gathering, the Viking prince, the moments before a deadly duel.

"I remember everything," he whispered, his lips brushing her forehead gently. "Are you ready?"

She swallowed and nodded. He took her hand, leading her outside, then lifted her like she was a delicate, breakable thing, holding her to him before lifting off into the night. The stars shone around them, dripping down, each one shooting toward the horizon, the moon not yet risen, hiding, laying in wait. They flew to the depths of the mountains, to the tree line scattered with fallen snow hovering into springtime. Sookie's breath misted before her.

"You look beautiful," Madeline said, leaning up against the base of a tree. She held a lantern, though she did not need it to see by. Instead, she placed it between them on a smooth, flat rock. Something to cast their faces in a glow, to bring them closer together. "You told her that, right, Eric?"

Eric grimaced, clutched the back of his neck.

"You look beautiful, Sookie," he said. Sookie wanted to reach up, to tug on the fabric that held his hair back in a low knot. She wanted to unravel him, to start from the top and work her way down to his toes. She wanted her vampire, his savagery and his humanity, the man beneath the suit. Instead, she blushed in response to his compliment, however prompted, and looked expectantly at Madeline.

"I have the rings," Madeline said, taking a small drawstring pouch from her satchel. She handed one to Sookie, the other to Eric. "Are you both ready?"

They nodded, glancing at each other and away.

"Don't tell me you two are shy. After, what, eight hundred years?" Madeline scoffed.

"Give or take," Eric smirked.

"Eric," Sookie whispered, a knot in her throat. She felt a seriousness overcome her; something inside her that told her not to make light of the moment, to appreciate it for all of its worth. To treat it as a promise, to give it the gravity it deserved. Eric turned his attention back to Sookie, stroking her hair with his fingers lightly.

"Forever, right?" he replied, placing his palm at her heart.

"Forever," she agreed.

Madeline nodded and began to speak. She bound them together in a new way. Their vows, spoken. Their rings, exchanged. Their love represented as man and woman, as husband and wife. It was a ceremony, a tradition, an invention. Yet, to Sookie, she felt irrevocably changed in a way she had not expected, had not anticipated. She felt human. And, as she gazed into Eric's eyes shining with tender affection, with hope and with love, she knew he felt the same.

x

do you spot the references to chapter one in here? we're closing loops, y'all. only two chapters to go... stay healthy, stay safe x