Once again, I own nothing to do with True Blood or the characters. I am just messing with them :-)

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Chapter Four

"Eric," he said slowly, and he took one of her hands in his, holding it over the left side of his chest, where his heart would have beaten underneath. He left her hand there where it was and moved his down, touching her stomach through her white gown with eagerly splayed fingertips. His touching there seemed to make her queasy."And you are Sookie, Princess."

The words were nothing more but a deep rumble through his chest that reverberated right through her fingers. Sookie felt herself smiling slightly. "Yes," she breathed, and she laughed quietly. "Yes, I'm Sookie, Princess of the Faeries, and you are Eric. You're a real fast learner."

At least he understood certain things she was trying to say, namely introductions. It was even better than she had imagined.

Eric leaned into her and pressed his lips to hers. Sookie had never entirely experienced what it was like to be kissed passionately by a man; No less with a man who had whiskers. He felt scratchy, like his kisses could buff her skin into redness, but with the movements of his lips, it was sensual, soft, and tender. She could feel the warmth of his breath and as he moved in closer, sliding his chest up against her, she began to feel a little breathy. His large hands roamed around her shoulders, touching her in places she hadn't been touched before and seemingly without her control, Sookie's back arched.

She got a glimpse or two of what he was thinking courtesy of his touch, and he let out a gruff moan into her mouth.

Sookie wasn't sure what she was supposed to do; She knew she was supposed to be this man's wife- a man she had no idea about- but an uncomfortable gnawing feeling in her belly told her the time wasn't right now to give herself completely away to him.

Although she stood very still and unsure, her weight supported by the rough bark of the tree behind her, with his lips on hers she felt something she hadn't felt before.

Desire.

Sookie moved her lips a little, trying to get used to it and overcome the depths of her inexperience.

When his lips left hers and she felt him touch her hair with his hand, she was panting hard for such a small kiss. She felt hot and cold, all at once. Her heart was pounding in her ears and her knees felt weak. It was unlike anything she had felt before.

But those doubtful feelings still came to her. She had a duty, and that was to make sure the Vikings were on Kingdom's side. She had to make sure there was a treaty formed with the Vikings, so that her people would never get hurt again. Her heart told her this wasn't the way to go, and she listened to it. She couldn't give herself away to him, not wholly, until everything was done.

He was still very much a confusing stranger to her, after all.

She could see Eric's eyes, bright and eager, as he tried to start kissing her all over again when he lowered his head.

"Wait," she cried out weakly, pulling back from him.

He whispered an inaudible something and bowed his head, kissing around her neck and running his calloused hands up and down her arms.

Another flash of his thoughts tore right before her very eyes, and she knew his intentions.

He wanted to have her now, his thoughts were slow and foggy with desire, and his hands were restless. She knew his body was ready for it when he pressed up against her, and she felt his hardness straining through his trousers. She brought her hands slowly to his head, curling her fingers through the strands of his long hair, pushing him back. He was far too busy licking, kissing, and sucking every inch of her collarbone for it to fully settle in, so she tried once more.

Once he finally understood, he pulled his head back to gaze down at her questioningly.

"No," she said strongly, and shook her head to give it more impact. "I don't know what practices you have in your world, but I won't fully give myself over to you until we are wed, like my Grandfather wanted."

Eric couldn't help it; Laughter bubbled in his throat over the girl's absurd words, yet, when he studied her carefully, he saw nothing but truth on her features. She truly meant what she was saying. And how ridiculous was that?

Many women, at home, in his village, would have died to be in her position. Some women- mostly infatuated over his status as near-King- had thrown themselves at him and fawned over him for his time and attention, no matter how pathetic it was.

He scrutinized this Faery girl more carefully in the dark as she remained where she was, silent as a mouse, leaning by that tree; He knew she regarded him and his men as nothing more than uneducated savages.

If he had to be honest himself, he saw her kind as nothing more than strange, abnormal men and women whose closest ancestors were probably aliens. Come to think of it, looking at this girl, he saw nothing manmade about her. She had a faint peculiar glow to her skin that made her almost ethereal and the hair that was cascading around her face and back was pale as anything. The tips of her delicate ears had a slight point to them and her eyes were wide and doe-like. She was beautiful in a way he wasn't used to, an entirely unique beauty.

Yet he was expected to enter a union with this girl?

He sure felt ready to take her, if the aching in his loins was anything to go by, yet she was almost fiercely resistant. Eric might have been many things; a bastard, a naughty little heathen- by his mother's words- and was unashamed of it... but taking a girl against her will wasn't one of those things.

The howling of wolves suddenly broke out into the night and he had difficulty schooling his face of any amusement as the girl reeled with fear. His expression did not go unnoticed to Sookie, who felt tears burn in her eyes as she heard his soft gulp of laughter. He evidently thought her nothing more but an easily frightened girl, a damsel in distress, with no backbone.

"Don't you dare laugh at me," she warned him stiffly. "I'm not a fan of being laughed at!"

Wolves started again somewhere closer to them, and Sookie felt the Viking stiffen. She kept her eyes on him, waiting to hear his laughter again all at her expense, only it never came. Instead his face turned rather sombre quickly and he turned to look around them, his hand resting idly on the shank of his sword. She thought he looked in defensive mode, as if he was preparing himself for any harm that might have come their way; His feet a width apart and his shoulders squared, but as Sookie used her ears shrewdly to judge their surroundings, she couldn't hear anything as far as she was concerned.

But the crying of wild wolves had clearly set him off, and she wasn't sure why.

The boy she had talked to had made it perfectly obvious to her that they did not fear any wild creatures of the night, and that they could have easily defended themselves from an attack. But was he doubting that?

Without any control on it, Sookie blindly reached out to find one of his hands. The instance her fingers touched his knuckles, a great flash happened before her very own eyes.

She wasn't the prettiest servant in the house-hold, but Eric thought she was good-enough. It didn't really matter to him what his conquests looked like, so long as they were women, with generously sized breasts and luscious long hair. He needed something to take his mind off the argument he had just had with his father over his becoming a married man; To his father, a man was only worthy of ruling men when he was married and had a wife and children to care for.

He was close to getting the woman naked, and he had her pushed up against the wall. He pushed his hand down between her long legs, and the moans she gave off, low in her throat, was like a beautiful song to him.

He was just feeling her wetness with his fingers, when he heard an alarming sound. He heard growls, and a cry that sounded like his father.

He sprang away from the servant and Eric sped into the room, taking his sword with him.

He stiffened as he inspected his surroundings anxiously. The main room was in an obvious state of distress. A jug of mead that his father, Ulfrik had previously been drinking out of, had been knocked off the table bench, spilling all over the floor. Pots and pans were lying on the ground. Drawing his sword higher into the air, he got into a defensive stance, his feet a length apart as he stepped over the sticky pool of mead gathering on the floor. At first, his King father and Queen mother were nowhere to be found.

But when he looked over into the direction where the little fire was burning, he discovered his father lying long ways on the ground near it. He appeared almost to be resting; Eric could hear him wheezing quietly, and he had a hand squeezing his throat tightly.

Ulfrik's long hair was splayed out around his head and his crown gone from its rightful place atop his head.

As Eric gauged his surroundings again and considered it finally safe, he lowered his sword and stepped closer towards his father's body. He crouched down over him, resting his sword by his fathers body. Eric looked his father over carefully and his eyes widened. He realized he was mistaken; His father was not resting, nor was he in any fine state. The hand that was pinching his throat tightly was covered in thick, deep red blood, and Eric finally realized his father was attempting to staunch a deep wound.

"Father," he whispered softly, shaking his head in sheer confusion. Hardly minutes ago, they had argued. Now here his Viking warrior father was, lying on the floor in an odd position, with a hand wrapped tightly over his throat, his fingers coated in his own slick blood. "Father, what happened?"

At first, he feared his father had already passed. His eyes were clenched tightly closed, tears were streaming down the lines of his face from the pain, and he was having difficulty breathing. But when Ulfrik slowly opened his eyes and they focused on his sons face bleakly, Eric sighed deeply with relief. His father was not dead yet, but his time was possibly fast approaching.

A tired smile came across his father's lips. He opened his mouth, striving to talk, but all Eric heard was a gurgled, choking sound erupting from him. He looked at his father closer and saw that the hand that was lying on the floor limply had bite marks on it, potentially from some type of animal. A wild dog, maybe. Hesitantly, he reached out and took the hand, holding it tightly between his fingers. His father's skin felt dry, and clammy. Weak. A heavy feeling weighed down on Eric's heart- he felt as if someone had reached deepest inside of him to take their hand to his heart, clenching it with their fist agonizingly- and he felt his eyes burn as he bent down to lay a few kisses around his father's battered knuckles.

"Talk to me, father," he begged, breathing heavily into his father's hand. "Please, talk to me. What has happened to you? How did you get like this?"

"Son," his father sighed wearily. "They encroached on our territory. They brought them in here, a pack of them. I could not hold them back, even with my sword at my side. One lunged, bit at me. I striked the bitch, again and again, but she did not falter. Some gathered around your mother and did it to her, too." His father's glance strayed towards the ceiling. Eric could tell he was drifting. "I think this is farewell at last, my son. I cannot conquer this one."

"No," Eric said firmly, and he tightened his clasp on his father's hand, hoping to bring him out of it. He wiped stray hairs out of his fathers eyes and bent down low to bestow a kiss on his father's forehead. "You can't leave me, father. Not yet. Please, stay with me." He leaned back on his knees to look down at him.

Ulfrik gave a slow, empty smile. Blood was staining his teeth.

"Valhalla calls to me, my lad," he said slowly, peacefully. "The feast is ready. Men await me, with tables and tables of food and drink. Your mother... She beckons me to join her. I must go. This is farewell."

His father was drifting more and more. Eric let go of his hand, clasped his hands over his father's face desperately, and gave him a little shake.

"But who did this to you? Tell me! Let me understand, father!"

"Wolves." His father closed his eyes wearily. He did not open them again. "They... they set them on us."

"But who? Who did, father?"

"They took my... my crown. Your crown."

Eric couldn't give a mares ass about the crown. What he wanted, most of all, was for his father to be alive and well again. "Who did? Who set wolves on us? Who, father? The Faeries?"

Ulfrik did not speak again. He remained still, a small smile on his face.

He was gone. Ulfrik; chieftain, King of the Vikings of the North, was gone. Ulfrik Northman, rumored the unconquerable, was now conquered.

Grief settled in and took home on Eric's heart. For a long time, he sat, his head bowed and resting against his father's forehead, weeping in despair. Slowly his father's dying words came back to him. Someone had set wolves on them. They had lured them into the Kingdom to murder his father, his mother. Possibly even Eric himself. But they had failed; They may have succeeded in bringing down his father and mother, but Eric was still alive. And if he was still alive, he could make sure these murderers paid. A sudden fire settled in Eric's gut, overpowering his grief. The fire seemed to spread throughout him and, along with it, he had an idea. He knew what had to be done.

He would go after those who set the wolves on his family. And he would make them pay a long, arduously painful death. He would slice off fingers and toes, and then he would cut off tongues. He would make them suffer as long as possible. The idea seemed the best one he had ever had, and the possibility of succeeding in his vengeance was fulfilling, addictive.

Rising to his feet, he wiped his eyes quickly before walking around the room to find his mother. She had died a less merciful death. Her tiara was still on her forehead, the jewels glinting at him from where he stood over her. But when the wolves had attacked her, they had done it brutally and viciously. Her dress was torn apart at the side and they had managed to feast on the warm, soft flesh of her hip. Blood was smeared all over her dress. They had let her bleed-out. But most sad of all, was how she lay there; Her eyes open, staring vacantly upon him where he stood, unseeing and wet.

He tightened his hands into fists as he forced himself to stare long and hard at her corpse.

His decision was made, and there was no way in hell of ever going back. He would gather an army, and they would set off to destroy those who had murdered his parents by setting wild wolves onto them. In his mind, he had a faint idea that it was the Faeries that were behind this, although he could not be entirely sure. He had heard his father speak of them, of how they argued and failed to see his father's side. Taking one last look at his mother, he turned and strode over to collect his sword off the floor. Then with determination he went, to find men who would be willing to go off with him and potentially risk their lives all in the name of retaliation.

Eric would have his revenge on the Faeries for setting wolves onto his family.

He would take his crown back, what was rightfully his from the beginning.

And the Faeries would pay. He would have his vengeance.

With a great crash, Sookie was brought back into the now, into the present.

And, in the present, a tall giant of a man was standing over her, while tearing his hand out of her grasp. His look at her was unpleasant and harsh, and immediately Sookie knew that he knew what she had done, what she had seen; And apparently it wasn't something he had wanted her to know.

She clamped her hands in front of her stomach, feeling ashamed with herself.

It was a habit she had only ever known; In using her gift of telepathy to gain proper insight into what lurks in a person's deepest, darkest part of their soul.

At least now she knew his motivations into trekking into her lands, starting a war with her Grandfather that had lasted almost ever since she was a little girl of ten, and slaughtering some of her kin.

But that didn't mean he was right, or that what he did was justified. She couldn't deny what she had just seen was tragic, with what had happened to his family, but... he had gone about it in the completely wrong way.

He was seeking vengeance on the wrong people.

"I'm sorry for what I just did and if it offended you," she said quietly. She fought hard against the tremor in her voice. "But everything you've done has been wrong."

Eric did not say a word to her, but she caught it quite plainly when he drew his long sword and held it at his side. She swallowed dryly as her eyes focused on the long piece of steel. It seemed to grin at her in the dark menacingly as it reflected off the moonlight. He might have had a sharp sword to pierce and murder her with, but Sookie had a defence equally as effective as his own method. Sucking in a deep breath and holding her hands out in front of her, each fingertip touching, she channelled all her energy inwards- all her fury, her fears- until she felt her fingers grow warm.

Eric took a few startled steps backwards away from her and the loud, nervous intake of breath he made caused her to almost smile triumphantly.

"Don't think of hurting me," she warned him. Her voice trembled; Something she wasn't too proud of. "You may have your sword and you may have won heaps of battles, but I have my light as well."

He chuckled humorlessly.

She wasn't entirely sure if he understood what she was saying, but she hoped with all her might she wouldn't have to be forced into using her light against him. She had seen what had happened, once or twice, if a Faeries light crashed into a human being. It would send them flying meters high into the air, and though she knew and felt hardly nothing so far of the Viking standing before her, causing him unnecessary harm was the very last thing she wanted to do. Perhaps it was a Faery thing, but she hated confrontation and violence with a passion.

"My family never set wolves on yours," she continued, stepping forward a few paces, her hands still out in front of her and her light beaming. She noticed him stiffen defensively as he rose the thin blade of his sword level to her head, her neck. "Despite what you might think, my family nor my people believe in using wolves or any other animals as our slaves and we don't live like that. If you're searching for the people that did this and are trying to make them pay, then you've got the wrong ones."

Her hands began trembling and she could feel her light dying to be released.

"You started a war on the wrong people."

He didn't seem to comprehend the danger he was in, or if he did, he just didn't care. Another step was taken towards her defiantly and to hold in her light was beginning to feel draining on her- mind and body.

"I can hurt you with this and badly," she went on, dipping her chin down towards the ball of light forming in her hands. "So trust in me when I say this; It's best you keep away. I don't want to hurt you."

He was standing close enough now that she could feel the cold tip of his blade barely touching her neck.

She stiffened and much to her dismay, a rush of tears prickled in her eyes.

"Please, stop being so foolish and put your weapon down. Killing me or hurting me will just start a war up all over again, and my Grandfather will only just hit it where it hurts even harder if you do."

Finally, an emotion broke through his hard, unidentifiable demeanour. She thought she saw a shimmer of defeat in his eyes. "But you killed my family," he muttered, his voice rasping.

"And you speak English," she said quietly, as the realization suddenly struck her. "Why didn't you tell me the instance you took me with you?"

He snorted. "Because it was funny."

"You've been searching for the people that murdered your family, that took your crown," she continued, ignoring his comment, "But those people aren't my kind, I can promise you. I know it wasn't my people. We never would have wanted a war on our hands, or any casualties."

His sword fell from her neck to her side in resignation, but he didn't stop stalking closer towards her. It occurred to her with some uneasiness that her ball of light was that close to touching his chest. Inches from it. The very last thing she was wanting.

"Liar," he spat out in a sudden rage. "Your kind set wolves on my family. Your kind massacred my entire family. You wanted my father's crown for your own gains."

"But we didn't," she insisted. "And we don't have wolves."

The seriousness in her eyes shook him.

But he couldn't have been wrong... could he? He couldn't have sent his men off all those years, only to be attacking the wrong people responsible?

"I have been by my Grandfather's side for years, ever since I can remember," she went on nervously, "And not once did I hear him send out orders to intentionally do anything to you, your family, or your people. It was only when you gathered an Army and sent them off into our lands that you forced his hand into hitting you back."

He had heard enough. He couldn't tell whether there was truth in her words or not, but he was growing tired of listening. It all happened so quickly. In one fluid movement Eric's hand moved up, knocking her light and sending it off, and he had only just dodged out of the way before it smashed into a tree, shaking leaves and branches about roughly.

Then he pounced.

Before Sookie could comprehend what was going on, she was knocked to the ground and he was on top of her, forcing her into the hard earth beneath her. She struggled against him, trying to work light into her fingers again, but she was no match to his superior strength.

"Don't lie," he growled in her ear, "Tell me the truth and then... maybe I won't behead you right now and send your head back to your Grandfather on a stick!"

Sookie fought for breath, feeling tears sting her eyes. She clawed at his forearm, his face, yanked at his straggly hair even, but he seemed to effortlessly ignore her struggles.

"The truth!" he demanded.

"It... it is," she rasped out. With an exasperated sound, he finally moved off of her and Sookie drew in a few deep, calming breaths. "It's the truth-"

"Well, I don't believe you," he cut over her in a shout. "Why should I believe you? Your people have killed my men since..." He trailed off slowly, and Sookie felt him stiffen as it finally sunk into his brain.

"Since you started it by sending your men into our lands," she finished for him weakly. "It was only when you did so that we did something back to you. We would have preferred nothing else but peace, but you, jumping to conclusions, started a war!"

She trembled when she saw him pick up his sword from the ground with a low oath. Only he didn't return the sharpest edge to her neck again. His breathing was ragged, matching hers from the sudden scuffle. But when he looked down at her quickly, she saw something closely resembling embarrassment and regret in his eyes.

"So it wasn't the Faeries," he said slowly, with a heavy sigh.

"No," she said firmly. "It wasn't us."

"Then who? Who would want to have my family killed by wolves and loot my father's crown?"

Sookie gave nothing more than a silent shrug from where she was huddled on the ground. The answer to that wasn't one she knew of herself.

Thank you guys :) I hope you enjoyed this one? Or if not, I'm sorry! Feel free to let me know your thoughts, as I loved them!