Long time no write! I am truly sorry about hat, I've had a large amount of personal upheaval
in the past few months and this chapter does reflect it.
But thank to everyone who has newly favorite this story. There are a few chapters left and I hope you all enjoy them!
He could feel the fire. He had cleaned out the old fireplace in the farmhouse's living room. The chilly Louisiana winters crept up on him slowly. So wrapped up in her arms he almost forgot what this time of year made him dwell upon. His birthday, or at least the day he was made into this.
Sitting in the armchair with his legs crossed in front of him he rested his head on his fist. Eyes losing focus as his mind sped backwards. He actually started when Sookie pressed her soft hand on his shoulder. Her eyes softened with concern. She murmured into hair, pressing to see what bothered him so badly. He grasped her waist and pulled her into his lap. "You want to know my past?" he simply stated. She nodded and he sighed. "Please forgive me." Was the only thing he could start with.
He blinked into the sunlight. He had been up since before the golden orb burned its way out of the cold bleak forest. The trees black against the snow, drift moving up to the stockade. It had been a hard winter so far, his father and mother had gone to join Dis Pater a few years before hand. He was truly on his own. Both a warrior and hunter. He traced the tattoo around his neck under the torc his father had given him when he reached manhood. It proved his strength along with his dedication . He looked back and thought of the bittersweet look on his fathers face when he received it.
"This my son has been meant for you since the day you were born. Thunder and lightning broke the sky. Tuetates was pleased with you. So much that the great tree was burned by his great bolt of fire and underneath was silver that made this. You are honored, my son." His father clasped his shoulder and his mother smiled while weaving her basket. The couple was not blessed with more children. His father hunted and honored the gods dutifully and his mother weaved baskets and cloth to provide for harvest and the village. Many small children would sit by their fire and listen to her tales. She always said this made her happy. After dealing with Godric's infinite question about the gods and stories she was happy no other children tugged her skirts around the never ending day.
She would always tell him of Tuetates, how strong he was and fair in judgment. He was her favorite and the looks that would cross her face when she thought no one noticed during storms always made Godric step back. He wondered exactly how devoted his mother was to the lighting god.
They were taken from him in a storm, his mother had been taking care of the washing at the river and a sudden spring torrent poured from the sky, she was drug in and swept away. He and his father searched two days for her, finally coming upon her body on the bank of the Loire. His father wept holding her close to his body. Together they carried her back and buried her in a field where as his father said she could still see the lighting which she loved. That strong man passed soon after, he was broken and wasted away. Staying out in the spring rains making sure the surrounding barricades would not be stressed from erosion he caught a sickness. They tribe blamed the Romans that had come. He was pushing himself while his son and other youths patrolled the forest and river. There had been rumors of the 'civilized' army burning and destroying villages. Taking women, children and youths for slaves. Forcing them into slavery working either the fields, houses or gladiator games they so savagely loved.
He died on a foggy chill morning. Drawing the dark haired youth to his side, he whispered in his ear about his heritage. Involving prayers to gods and seduction of innocent women all to fulfill a quest form a dark stranger and the council. A baby with storm dark hair and lighting colored eyes. Godric clasped the clammy hand in his and said he understood, when in truth he didn't. If he really was a god's child, why should his family suffer like this, when they scarified so much to bring him into the world like the Druids proposed.
He threw himself into the hunt. His hearth was mostly empty. He wanted no company from the girls that fawned on him at the festivals and dinners. He felt cursed and did not want to bring this upon anyone else. He did enjoy the need to feel flesh upon his, always brief and lacking anything beyond the sudden rush of release.
He did reflect on this bitterly cold day in a village belonging to the Andecavi, that he wouldn't mind a body warming his fur lined bed when he got back from patrol. Maybe the blond sister of the youth next to him. Her hair reminded him of sunlight glinting off the river on hot summer days. He shrugged it off, if he asked on more time she might press for marriage and babies and that was not in his future plans. He was a warrior meant for more than protecting this tiny village. War called to his blood.
Glancing up he noticed movement along the tree line, a wisp of smoke far off along the river where the bridge crossing it was located. A shard of sharp sunlight glinted on a bronze shield emblazed with an eagle. The mythical monsters finally came. He grinned and grabbed his spear. Bow and arrow in easy reach. His blood was singing.
Slowly Godric opened his eyes, one eye at least. He watched his village burn as they passed the bodies a kin and friends. There lay small babes clutched to mothers' chests. Fathers and chieftain with arrows and blades protruding from heads and chests. Moving slightly and wincing at the sharp pain in the back of his head, Godric counted the survivors. Ten youths and give or take fifteen women and children, in the firelight he saw golden hair burn. He was right; she wouldn't have made a good warriors wife. He passed out again.
Waking up he was on a ship and fighting a fever. He didn't know how long he was on there or where they were going. Only days turned to weeks and the cold lands turned to more arid ones. Heat seeped into his clothing and made him stink, he was still clothed in his wool tunic and leathers. Still covered in dry blood and offal.
His eye healed but his limbs were tied. Soon he was hauled out of the cart he was caged in. Stripped of his clothing and plunged into cold water, sand stinging his skin as it ripped away the dirt, sweat and blood coating his muscles. Pushed up onto a platform he listened as foreign words described him. He could only imagine what was being said. His marks that he was so proud of poked at. He wondered if it ever lightning in this land. He doubted it. This sky was to yellow.
He knew he had been bought. The money clinked next to him and a manacle clasped his neck. Drug into another cart and transported to another stinking cell. His eyes hollow as a brand burned his skin marking him in a shameful way. Beaten everyday, he wasn't good enough for the gladiator games. No he was used for practice for other fighters. Brutes that did not understand how battles should be fought, Through cunning and not the sheer force of beating some till they could no longer move.
Other times he was used for amusement, the lady of the house didn't want him enucied. He was plaything and he detested her. The thought of her over feed flesh trying to caresses his made me sick, he relished the beatings he received when he preformed poorly. They got him off better than plump fingers crawling around his spine.
He watched as other buyers came to villa he was at, he had learned quickly this language spoken with suck elegance but corrupted by filth that no opulent bath could wash away. One night a different buyer passed his cell. Asking about him and his history. Some story was made up and told, the present buyer looking like he wanted to spite out sour wine feed to him. Money again was offered and refused, claims about the lady's favorite. The a sigh and a request to talk to the lady and master of the house. Said person came out and following a few specially spoken words agreed to the sale. Dazed looks of pleasantness
across indulged faces.
Again a manacle on the neck, again a new place to go. Only soft lips and a sharp sting to the neck were an answer. One last glimpse of a sunrise before a heavy lid was placed over him.
He awoke howling, thirst burning down his throat and with a savage push unburied himself. A man waited for him. With more answers than he could ever dream of. His blood again roared, he was chosen. He was the son of a god and lightning raced throughout his veins. The trials he encountered were meant to strengthen him. HE pushed and learned he was to become something more than a warrior. Those who felt they deserved more than what was granted to them would break under his heel, those who felt injustice would pray and weep at his feet. He was the end to all and the giver of salvation. He was Death.
Three others would be like him. But he was the first. War, which was to fought to cleave apart kingdoms and build anew. Famine which would humble and give guidance to always be thankful for plenty. Pestilence in which mankind would learn to persevere and overcome. They would not all be vampire like him, though for vampire he was an exception. No one ever dreamed of trying to taint blessed bloodlines before. No one ever would again. His maker explained all and offered himself as Godric's first meal. With that blood he learned much and knew his revenge was sanctioned.
He ripped apart that villa and burned it to the ground. Crushed the mistress's head under his feet and disemboweled the master. He feed on the slaves deeming them pathetic for not trying to revolt. He moved back to Gaul, to see what had become of his people. Always showing the Romans that they're gods were weak, that his placed holy bloodlines to always protect they're people. He saved villages and other he let die. He moved across the continent, going into cold lands to east and moving upwards to islands in the cold north sea. A thousands years and he dwelled in the bitter northlands, coming across a Viking who burned with life and embodied to very soul of lighting and thunder gods. He was Odin child like Godric and he loved him in the swing of his battle axe. He watched as his life ebbed from him and offered on a pyre of branches eternity.
Those crystal eyes widened and the smirk answered him fully. Thus the Norse man became Northman his child. And they traveled together for many years. Godric showing him when to be cruel and heartless, when to pity , when to stand up for beliefs and when to actually love. The nights they spent in each others embraces where never ones to be forgotten.
There would be quick trysts. Light nibs and searing looks that would turn into hours of torment. Long touches that caused gasp and shudder from lips. Both took much stock in loving each other.
It ripped out his heart to let his child go. But for this path of Eric's journey he needed to. He would always love him but his heart wasn't in it anymore and he knew the Swede felt the same. They truly had turned into brothers.
He shifted toward the new continent. So full of life and a newness he hadn't felt in centauries. It was time for a rebirth and had felt it coming for awhile. His child was meant to succeed him. But he wouldn't be ready for a long while. Still he had so much to learn he burned brilliant paths in his wake. Godric crept along the darkness. Watching and waiting then erupting like a storm in the sick. Bright flashes and booming noises, leaving the surveyors to clean up after the clouds had dispersed.
He moved from revolutions to civil wars. Wars that plotted country lines and great ones that tested the world. For those he was called back to his duty and was happy when he could slink in and smother demented made men. It was time for the world to rebuild as a whole. So he settled back in the Americas. Helped create a counsel where young ones felt a need to flex muscle and stupidity. Little did they know how quickly the Northern continent would grow. He did not want to draw attention to himself and he was tired of being the cause of so much bloodshed. He savaged himself too much when he went back to the land of his birth and witnessed the destruction of history. Again he became Death and was not benelovant this time. Not like during the Black Plaque when he only wanted to end the suffering due to his heartstrings crying over the cleaving of humanity. Nor during the crusades when he righted wrongs committed in the name of religion that at heart showed what sacrifice truly was…..
Here in Texas he found some semblance of peace and was happy when his child became more powerful. He could at least guide him from afar. But soon an emptiness took hold. It reminded him of his human youth when would crave company but felt cursed. Her he was a dead man walking with so much pain and knowledge in his eyes, those slighter and less cunning than him put into to high positions because he knew he would always be more powerful than them, leering and cajoling him. He was becoming weak they said, unfocused and out of touch with the times.
He felt that something was on the wind. Something the vampire couldn't understand or couldn't remember feeling from when they were human. He never scoffed humanity, why should he? Was he not mortal once? True he feed upon them took what he needed but he always equaled the balance and gave back. Perhaps it was his blood again, the curse of having a god for a father, always knowing when something shifted when it shouldn't. It made his skin itch.
No one believed he offered himself to that radical church. No one wanted to but it was his test to see if this little church had an inkling of what was coming. The fool who guided it didn't but maybe if Godric played along for a bit there would be a pathway opened to him.
It came along with girl shoved into another cell he occupied with games about a man Romans had also persecuted. Though got off easy with only a crucifixion and not years of torment for simple pleasure.
She smelled like spring air and growing things, her eyes glittered like water and her hair fell in waves of soft morning sunlight. It took his imaginary breath away. A beast rose in him, here was the girl his body cried out two millennium for. Sun to answer storm clouds. He could feel his dark heart beat in chest and he knew this was what he was supposed to protect.
And when she wept for him when he feared he would only poison her with his pain he knew he would never say no to her. His sing sang with a life he forgot it could feel when he wiped away her salty tears. He smiled as he let her lead him inside away from the demon that turn him to smoke and memories. Down to his student and past love who's bloody tears ran from icy orbs. His current and future love wrapped them both in her arms and sighed in relief at the thought such joy of a life so precious could exists. He knew in his bones she never felt that kind of joy before. The thought planted itself in his head to show her his thanks for making his heart beat again.
Sookie pressed her forehead against his, he felt her tongue swipe at his blood tears. He didn't realized he even wept. She captured his lips with hers and he felt her salty tears mix with his. She whispered her thanks and held him close.
She had already told him her story. Her parents death, her disability and the horror of her uncle. This was the one thing he was grateful for Compton's more basic instincts. It was one of the partial reasons why he gave him a quick release to peace. Even though her pain did not reach over seas of time it was just as painful, a pawn in a war she never deserved to be part of. Shunned because of a natural gift meant to protect her. But always smiling and being strong the face of so much destruction. She truly matched him in passion and power.
He let her pull him down to floor in front of the fire, soft light playing along her skin as he move above and around her. Elegant slight fingers traced along his spine, washing away ghosts of long ago strokes. He nipped and sucked. Swallowed cries and moans. His own growls answering her gasps.
Later after he carried up stairs after a short pause on the stairway that involved a sharp thunk of Sookie's head on a stair as he took her from behind, her hair pouring down her back as it arched into his chest resulting in the almost concussion she received. She turned to him a question in her eye," You and Eric really were lovers?' She asked shyly.
"Mmmmhhhmmm," he murmured. She stifled a giggle. His head shot up from where is was placed nestled between her breast. His eyebrow cocked as she broke in too a full out laugh. "I just can't imagine you cuddling him like this."
He grinned wickedly," What exactly can you imagine. What different ways I took him or him me?" her blushes crept to where he was still propped. She only nodded as her breath became hitched. She reached up to play with his hair. "You've though of this before, yes?" he questioned while his hand dwelt southward, reaching to feel how much she had in fact thought about it.
Licking his fingers he leaned forward, "Maybe when I am ready I'll share, if you can bear sharing me."
Sookie thought maybe if she died then it make the greatest obituary ever.