Wow. Another update so soon. It must be a miracle. First True Blood Fic!
Title: Light My Way
Author: asphyxiate_muse aka. ryukoishida
Fandom: True Blood (Show-verse)
Spoilers: Up to Season 2 Episode 9
Part: Standalone
Genre: Friendship, angst
Rating: PG-13
Character(s)/Pairing: Eric-centric, Godric
Summary: He brought him into darkness decades ago, but he was unwilling to let him fade into the light now.
Word count: 991
Disclaimer: Show belongs to HBO; books belong to Charlaine Harris; I own nothing.
A/N: My first True Blood fanfic! Yay! I just finished watching this episode and damn, I feel so depressed. Godric is becoming my second favorite character after Eric - I’m so sad to see him go so soon. I want to write something pertaining to Eric’s emotions to Godric’s death because I always see him as this confident, ruthless vampire who only looks after his own well-being, so the relationship between him and Godric really fascinates me.
***
Death in a façade of an angelic face and black eyes dark as midnight absent of stars - that was the first impression of Godric that Eric could still remember to this day. The contrasting fierce redness of the blood on his lips had only heightened his inhuman beauty in his clouded eyes.
“I’ll be your father, your brother, your son,” he had promised with a silken whisper, those opaque irises seemed to glimmer ever so slightly by the flickering of the dying ashes around them. This boy (he was so young) - this god of death - had given him another option, one that could even cheat himself out of the eternal slumber. He was glad he took it; he was glad he chose life and embraced the darkness that was the price.
As long as he was still alive.
As long as he was here in the now.
And so with an almost cruel twitch of the corner of his blood-tainted lips - the slightest hint of the boy’s pleasure - he was snatched into the jaws of endless black.
Now, he was about to let the light devour (destroy) his maker.
He had reasoned, argued, begged, and lastly, shed tears. Eric didn’t remember the last time he had cried (had let loose of his self-control like this and present himself as such a vulnerable being - but in front of Godric, that was all he was beneath all the harsh exterior).
It had truly been too long.
Eric dropped to his knees and felt his maker’s tender fingers digging into his locks and leaving ghostly trails on his neck affectionately, wordlessly telling him that this was his choice, and he had a right to choose like his child did centuries ago. He knew he was fighting a lost cause.
The dark blue sky was getting lighter and was beginning to turn pearl grey - dawn was crawling closer and he could feel a pang of panic for him. But Eric knew, when he looked at Godric through a red film of his tears straight into his honest, black eyes, that he really wanted this (and it was hurting him, too).
He tried to search for any signs of fear or hesitance on his maker’s face, yet all he saw was a strange, peaceful smile settled on his pale expression (always perfect). At this sight, Eric felt torn inside. On one hand, ancient grief carved itself deeply because of the inevitable; on the other, Godric’s courage to face the unknown had just increased Eric’s admiration for his maker even more, if that was possible.
The command was resolute; his intent was never clearer.
While his legs moved against his will, the steps on the concrete echoed emptily in his ears, like the staccato tattoo of his non-beating heart - stiff and absolute. As he numbly walked back to his room, Eric could hardly register anything in his mind except to count down the minutes until sunrise (until his creator was no more).
Past the elevators, past the numerous of doors on either sides, through the threshold of his room, he went on. The edges of the world that used to be so sharp and real (so graspable and within his reach) was slowly slipping away from his weakened fingers, hazy and dream-like. All the mental strength that was holding him up until this point was failing him, and he sank.
‘Almost time,’ Eric found himself thinking automatically, and he wondered why he could still feel the stiff material of the carpet digging against the skin of his cloth-covered knees. What a stupid thing to be feeling, he was thinking.
He imagined in his chaotic mind: how the first ray of the sun would spill its poisonous light and scatter all over Godric’s pale body, ornamented by the ancient blue tattoos, and how he would feel the prickling pain, and how he would be consumed soon before he could change his mind, and how he would burn. Burn. Flames eating away his flesh. Burn. Taking away what was left of his humanity (a physical shell, yes, but that was still something). Burn.
It was eons ago when Eric had last seen sunlight, and he wondered if it was still the same. ‘Never the same.’ Not since he was brought into the life of night.
His brain shut down at the horrifying images it was providing him.
In a swift moment, before he could even try to comprehend that involuntary gasp he released from his tightened throat, Eric felt it.
A part of himself that was so intricately entwined with his maker (he wasn’t sure whether it was from the infinity of the blood Godric had instilled in him from so long ago, or something so natural, so human, that he had always feared) - somewhere buried deep beneath, unreachable, untouchable - was ripped away.
Hot blood dripped on to the cream-colored floor from his eyes, and he watched as the droplets of ruby fell into a seemingly frenzied pattern, blurred and connected, and formed an obscenely beautiful red flower.
He might never understand the motivation behind Godric’s decision - never approved of it. But who was he to judge?
He perceived he might never be able to fill up this foreign, nameless emptiness inside of him anymore. Godric was his savior, father, brother, son, friend… He was all these things but he was so much more than that, too.
Eric couldn’t put this sentiment into words, and he could just see, at the back of his mind some memories ago, Godric chuckling at his inability to voice out his ideas properly for once in his very long life (and it would be that quiet, gentle twitch of sculpted lips and deep boyish vibrations of tone that were so, so rare).
So long a life Eric had survived in the darkest of nights, and Godric had been there to light his way. Now, it was his turn to smile, and let go.
***
Another A/N: Well, that had to be the worst ending lines I had come up with. Oh well. It’s late and I want to just finish this up. Comments and con-crit are very welcome and appreciated.