Fanfiction: New
Title: New
Pairing: Godric/Eric
Chapter: 3/8 of Dýr
Rating: NC-15 (just to be safe)
Warnings: Spoilers for canon events up to season 3, bloodplay, slash, very subtly implied non-con (about half a sentence) and other dubious stuff.
Disclaimer: Godric, Eric and everything related to True Blood belongs to HBO, Allan Ball and Charlene Harris. This is, however, my own take on how Godric was made and does not necessarily coincide with the canon of the books (which I have not read). No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.
Wordcount: 1.707
Summary: Eric manages to bring Godric back, but at what cost?
Notes: If you’re new to this story, you should probably read the first two chapters.
Previous Chapter Next Chapter
Aurelius has not changed. He awaits his guests in an exquisitely decorated, extravagant entrance hall and greets them from a distance when they enter the mansion. But Eric is no longer the easily impressionable vampire he once was and Pam probably wouldn’t have been impressed had she been alive.
“Aurelius, my lord,” Eric says in an almost bored, monotonous voice, “How very nice to see you are still well. Pam, my progeny.” He nods towards Pam, who gives a subtle smile. Luckily Pam is a centenarian and Aurelius’ pride allows him to recognise her as an established vampire. Eric remembers asking Godric, many centuries ago, why Aurelius did not feel younger vampires needed to be respected. Godric had replied that most vampires died in their first year. It was only a natural consequence that old vampires like Aurelius didn’t feel the need to get too acquainted. And Aurelius, of course, had been someone who believed in a firmly enforced class system even while he was still alive.
“It is always an honour to have guests. I see you have done well for yourself, Eric Northman. My child must have been proud,” Aurelius acknowledges in his deep, authority-inducing voice, “Come, dine with me. I have exsanguinated a young girl from Naples for the occasion. The blood is still warm.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Eric replies with a calculated smile. Pam must have caught his expression from the corner of her eye because he can feel a slight twinge of exasperation from her.
They follow Aurelius into the dining room, which is superfluous with trophies of all shapes and sizes. In a way Aurelius’ mansion is very similar to that of the Vampire King of Mississippi. And yet there is a certain European chique, a pretentious intellectual vibe that in the great and vast US of A would be extremely hard to find. Pam feels at home instantly, Eric can sense it. She elegantly moves to sit on one of the mahogany chairs adorning a large table. There are chalices filled to the brim with deliciously-scented blood on the table. Apart from Aurelius, who takes his place at the far end of the table, an all too familiar vampire is in the room, now sitting next to Pam. It is Marcus. His eyes are emptier still than the last time Eric met the vampire who resembles a 14-year-old boy, his demeanour is aloof and the coldness he radiates is so tangible that for a moment Eric thinks he can see Pam shiver. Marcus shifts uncomfortably when Eric takes his seat at the table. He probably still remembers their last encounter. Eric can only guess that Marcus had to take the fall when he managed to escape with Godric that night.
“I love what you’ve done with the place”, Pam compliments. For once, she is not being sarcastic.
“Oh, love, this is nothing,” Aurelius replies, taking a sip of blood, “You should see what my mansion in Paris looks like...”
“Oh yes”, Eric says, smiling, looking Pam directly in the eye, “Aurelius has always had an acquired taste.”
They dabble for a while, exchanging meaningless stories of previous years and centuries. Aurelius brow rises in suspicion when Eric talks about Soekie Stackhouse, but it’s a brief, barely recognisable shift in his features. It is so brief in fact that Eric thinks he might have imagined it. Finally, after an hour or so, Aurelius changes the topic to Godric.
“I heard that my Child has met the final death. I felt it, a twinge, a few weeks ago. Is it true?”
Aurelius is clearly amused. His aristocratic features appear more arrogant than ever. Eric can barely control his emotions. He does not take well to being toyed with. Pam lifts an eyebrow in question, but before she can jump in and say something that will almost certainly get her staked, Eric places a hand onto hers underneath the table.
“Yes, my lord,” he replies, cautiously, “It is true.”
“And your visit has to do with that unfortunate fact, does it not?” Aurelius asks.
“Yes,” Eric whispers, “I will bring him back.”
“And, pray tell, how do you plan on doing such a thing?” Aurelius is definitely taunting him now. Oh, to hell with it. Pam’s eyes widen in alarm, but it’s too late. Eric turns his head towards her and mutters: “Plan B.”
Then he looks Aurelius directly in the eye.
“With your blood, Aurelius.”
Eric’s fangs extend with an audible click.
In the end, there are several casualties, including both Marcus and Antonio, but Azeleth and Leiramesh, the two vampires Eric had hired for the job - two very old vampires whose progenies Aurelius delivered to an untimely death some centuries ago - are just in time to save Eric from a long and gruesome night of prolonged torture and a highly likely final death. He’s lying underneath Aurelius, who for the sake of power-play has made him the unlucky exception to his questionable tastes, and his position is compromising to say the least, but Eric can’t help smirking when he hears the unmistakable sounds of a fight from outside. He will never forget Aurelius look of surprise right before the stake is driven through his dead, soulless heart. It is Leiramesh who kills him. The ancient vampire, with his wild, black hair and his glistening eyes, looks like a God of Death and War, blood-spattered and grinning insanely. Eric gathers as much of Aurelius’ remains as he can into a metal box and thanks Azeleth and Leiramesh. He’s not sure they can understand him without a translator - they almost exclusively speak Old Persian, and Eric has never felt the need to learn the language - but they seem satisfied. Pam of course is positively furious.
“Plan B, Eric? Really? In the future, if you plan on going with a non-existent Plan B, please let me know more than a minute beforehand,” she hisses. She’s being utterly disrespectful, but Eric supposes it can be forgiven given the fact that a psycho-vampire with the face of a child just pulled out her fingernails... amongst other things. He kisses her pale, cool forehead gently.
“Luckily Aurelius’ death fits into the scheme of modern vampire politics, otherwise we would be in quite some trouble,” he says, “I have what I need now, Pam, don’t worry.”
“Then don’t make me worry, Eric.”
Isabel is not exactly delighted, but she doesn’t object to his plans, either. Six weeks after Godric’s act of selfishness, Eric is standing on the roof of the hotel in Texas where his maker ended himself. A witch, a Chinese, elderly woman with gray hair and a frail body, is standing next to him. Isabel gathered what little dust they could find of Godric after he met the sun and gave it to Eric. And now a dead, nude 16-year-old boy with blond hair and dull, green eyes is lying in a circle drawn out of salt in the very spot Eric’s maker turned into dust.
“You must pour Aurelius’ essence into the vehicle”, the witch mutters, and continues chanting in Chinese. Eric supposes she means he has to force dead vampire remains down the poor dead soul’s throat. He’s gone this far; no need to suddenly grow a conscience now. He kneels beside the body, takes the foul-smelling mess out of the metal box and opens the boy’s mouth to slowly push it inside.
“Cover his face with your maker’s essence and your blood,” the woman says, interrupting her chants once more. Eric gives her a quizzical look.
“Your maker’s dust and your blood. Onto the vehicle’s face,” the witch clarifies.
Eric opens the small flask with Godric’s dust and bites into his arm without hesitation. Blood immediately seeps out of the wound and he quickly gathers it into his free hand. Then he mixes the dust with his blood and smears it onto the dead boy’s face. It’s a sticky substance that clings to his fingers; all in all, this ritual is turning out to be a rather horrendous affair.
“Step outside of the circle,” the witch instructs, “And think of your maker.”
‘This better work,’ Eric thinks, as he carefully steps over the salt, and then he closes his eyes and concentrates on Godric. For a moment, there is nothing, absolutely nothing. And then, suddenly, he feels his maker’s presence. First it is only a small twitch, something barely recognisable. Then it grows stronger, like small explosive bursts of energy on the outskirts of his consciousness. Finally, it is unmistakable, it is there, it is Godric. Eric tears his eyes open and rushes into the circle. The dead boy’s features have shifted. He doesn’t understand the magic, not at all, but here before him lies Godric, his maker. The blood and the dust seem to have seeped underneath his skin, his lips are probably a bit bluer on the edges than usual, but it is most definitely Godric.
“Godric, Godric...,” he gasps, and he is unaware of everything else around him, of the way the Chinese woman discreetly retreats and disappears, of his own shaking hands and the blood dripping continuously from his eyes. Godric doesn’t move, and for a desperate moment Eric thinks that his maker’s mind might not have returned with his body. But then, quite suddenly, Godric’s eyes open. There is no sharp intake of unnecessary breath, no panicked flicker of the eyes. Godric merely looks at Eric, tiredly.
“I am,” he says softly.
“Yes, Godric, yes, you are with me,” Eric whispers urgently, ecstatic and desperate and incredibly overwhelmed as he presses his maker’s unresisting body close to his.
“Eric,” Godric replies, and only now does Eric catch the hint of disappointment, the hint of desperation in his maker’s voice and mind, “Eric, what have you done?”
Pairing: Godric/Eric
Chapter: 3/8 of Dýr
Rating: NC-15 (just to be safe)
Warnings: Spoilers for canon events up to season 3, bloodplay, slash, very subtly implied non-con (about half a sentence) and other dubious stuff.
Disclaimer: Godric, Eric and everything related to True Blood belongs to HBO, Allan Ball and Charlene Harris. This is, however, my own take on how Godric was made and does not necessarily coincide with the canon of the books (which I have not read). No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.
Wordcount: 1.707
Summary: Eric manages to bring Godric back, but at what cost?
Notes: If you’re new to this story, you should probably read the first two chapters.
Previous Chapter Next Chapter
Aurelius has not changed. He awaits his guests in an exquisitely decorated, extravagant entrance hall and greets them from a distance when they enter the mansion. But Eric is no longer the easily impressionable vampire he once was and Pam probably wouldn’t have been impressed had she been alive.
“Aurelius, my lord,” Eric says in an almost bored, monotonous voice, “How very nice to see you are still well. Pam, my progeny.” He nods towards Pam, who gives a subtle smile. Luckily Pam is a centenarian and Aurelius’ pride allows him to recognise her as an established vampire. Eric remembers asking Godric, many centuries ago, why Aurelius did not feel younger vampires needed to be respected. Godric had replied that most vampires died in their first year. It was only a natural consequence that old vampires like Aurelius didn’t feel the need to get too acquainted. And Aurelius, of course, had been someone who believed in a firmly enforced class system even while he was still alive.
“It is always an honour to have guests. I see you have done well for yourself, Eric Northman. My child must have been proud,” Aurelius acknowledges in his deep, authority-inducing voice, “Come, dine with me. I have exsanguinated a young girl from Naples for the occasion. The blood is still warm.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Eric replies with a calculated smile. Pam must have caught his expression from the corner of her eye because he can feel a slight twinge of exasperation from her.
They follow Aurelius into the dining room, which is superfluous with trophies of all shapes and sizes. In a way Aurelius’ mansion is very similar to that of the Vampire King of Mississippi. And yet there is a certain European chique, a pretentious intellectual vibe that in the great and vast US of A would be extremely hard to find. Pam feels at home instantly, Eric can sense it. She elegantly moves to sit on one of the mahogany chairs adorning a large table. There are chalices filled to the brim with deliciously-scented blood on the table. Apart from Aurelius, who takes his place at the far end of the table, an all too familiar vampire is in the room, now sitting next to Pam. It is Marcus. His eyes are emptier still than the last time Eric met the vampire who resembles a 14-year-old boy, his demeanour is aloof and the coldness he radiates is so tangible that for a moment Eric thinks he can see Pam shiver. Marcus shifts uncomfortably when Eric takes his seat at the table. He probably still remembers their last encounter. Eric can only guess that Marcus had to take the fall when he managed to escape with Godric that night.
“I love what you’ve done with the place”, Pam compliments. For once, she is not being sarcastic.
“Oh, love, this is nothing,” Aurelius replies, taking a sip of blood, “You should see what my mansion in Paris looks like...”
“Oh yes”, Eric says, smiling, looking Pam directly in the eye, “Aurelius has always had an acquired taste.”
They dabble for a while, exchanging meaningless stories of previous years and centuries. Aurelius brow rises in suspicion when Eric talks about Soekie Stackhouse, but it’s a brief, barely recognisable shift in his features. It is so brief in fact that Eric thinks he might have imagined it. Finally, after an hour or so, Aurelius changes the topic to Godric.
“I heard that my Child has met the final death. I felt it, a twinge, a few weeks ago. Is it true?”
Aurelius is clearly amused. His aristocratic features appear more arrogant than ever. Eric can barely control his emotions. He does not take well to being toyed with. Pam lifts an eyebrow in question, but before she can jump in and say something that will almost certainly get her staked, Eric places a hand onto hers underneath the table.
“Yes, my lord,” he replies, cautiously, “It is true.”
“And your visit has to do with that unfortunate fact, does it not?” Aurelius asks.
“Yes,” Eric whispers, “I will bring him back.”
“And, pray tell, how do you plan on doing such a thing?” Aurelius is definitely taunting him now. Oh, to hell with it. Pam’s eyes widen in alarm, but it’s too late. Eric turns his head towards her and mutters: “Plan B.”
Then he looks Aurelius directly in the eye.
“With your blood, Aurelius.”
Eric’s fangs extend with an audible click.
In the end, there are several casualties, including both Marcus and Antonio, but Azeleth and Leiramesh, the two vampires Eric had hired for the job - two very old vampires whose progenies Aurelius delivered to an untimely death some centuries ago - are just in time to save Eric from a long and gruesome night of prolonged torture and a highly likely final death. He’s lying underneath Aurelius, who for the sake of power-play has made him the unlucky exception to his questionable tastes, and his position is compromising to say the least, but Eric can’t help smirking when he hears the unmistakable sounds of a fight from outside. He will never forget Aurelius look of surprise right before the stake is driven through his dead, soulless heart. It is Leiramesh who kills him. The ancient vampire, with his wild, black hair and his glistening eyes, looks like a God of Death and War, blood-spattered and grinning insanely. Eric gathers as much of Aurelius’ remains as he can into a metal box and thanks Azeleth and Leiramesh. He’s not sure they can understand him without a translator - they almost exclusively speak Old Persian, and Eric has never felt the need to learn the language - but they seem satisfied. Pam of course is positively furious.
“Plan B, Eric? Really? In the future, if you plan on going with a non-existent Plan B, please let me know more than a minute beforehand,” she hisses. She’s being utterly disrespectful, but Eric supposes it can be forgiven given the fact that a psycho-vampire with the face of a child just pulled out her fingernails... amongst other things. He kisses her pale, cool forehead gently.
“Luckily Aurelius’ death fits into the scheme of modern vampire politics, otherwise we would be in quite some trouble,” he says, “I have what I need now, Pam, don’t worry.”
“Then don’t make me worry, Eric.”
Isabel is not exactly delighted, but she doesn’t object to his plans, either. Six weeks after Godric’s act of selfishness, Eric is standing on the roof of the hotel in Texas where his maker ended himself. A witch, a Chinese, elderly woman with gray hair and a frail body, is standing next to him. Isabel gathered what little dust they could find of Godric after he met the sun and gave it to Eric. And now a dead, nude 16-year-old boy with blond hair and dull, green eyes is lying in a circle drawn out of salt in the very spot Eric’s maker turned into dust.
“You must pour Aurelius’ essence into the vehicle”, the witch mutters, and continues chanting in Chinese. Eric supposes she means he has to force dead vampire remains down the poor dead soul’s throat. He’s gone this far; no need to suddenly grow a conscience now. He kneels beside the body, takes the foul-smelling mess out of the metal box and opens the boy’s mouth to slowly push it inside.
“Cover his face with your maker’s essence and your blood,” the woman says, interrupting her chants once more. Eric gives her a quizzical look.
“Your maker’s dust and your blood. Onto the vehicle’s face,” the witch clarifies.
Eric opens the small flask with Godric’s dust and bites into his arm without hesitation. Blood immediately seeps out of the wound and he quickly gathers it into his free hand. Then he mixes the dust with his blood and smears it onto the dead boy’s face. It’s a sticky substance that clings to his fingers; all in all, this ritual is turning out to be a rather horrendous affair.
“Step outside of the circle,” the witch instructs, “And think of your maker.”
‘This better work,’ Eric thinks, as he carefully steps over the salt, and then he closes his eyes and concentrates on Godric. For a moment, there is nothing, absolutely nothing. And then, suddenly, he feels his maker’s presence. First it is only a small twitch, something barely recognisable. Then it grows stronger, like small explosive bursts of energy on the outskirts of his consciousness. Finally, it is unmistakable, it is there, it is Godric. Eric tears his eyes open and rushes into the circle. The dead boy’s features have shifted. He doesn’t understand the magic, not at all, but here before him lies Godric, his maker. The blood and the dust seem to have seeped underneath his skin, his lips are probably a bit bluer on the edges than usual, but it is most definitely Godric.
“Godric, Godric...,” he gasps, and he is unaware of everything else around him, of the way the Chinese woman discreetly retreats and disappears, of his own shaking hands and the blood dripping continuously from his eyes. Godric doesn’t move, and for a desperate moment Eric thinks that his maker’s mind might not have returned with his body. But then, quite suddenly, Godric’s eyes open. There is no sharp intake of unnecessary breath, no panicked flicker of the eyes. Godric merely looks at Eric, tiredly.
“I am,” he says softly.
“Yes, Godric, yes, you are with me,” Eric whispers urgently, ecstatic and desperate and incredibly overwhelmed as he presses his maker’s unresisting body close to his.
“Eric,” Godric replies, and only now does Eric catch the hint of disappointment, the hint of desperation in his maker’s voice and mind, “Eric, what have you done?”