set the fields on fire (let the devil come, let him come); True Blood; Eric & Godric
Title: set the fields on fire (let the devil come, let him come)
Fandom: True Blood
Charcters/Pairing: Eric, Godric (blink and you'll miss it slash)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Eric and Godric roam London in 1666 at the height of the Great Plague.
Warnings: not 100% historically accurate & disturbing imagery.
Eric is having the time of his life.
It does him well to be so free, killing and feasting whenever he likes. He thinks that he will always miss the ability to leave fresh corpses in the street, never looking back over his shoulder, never wondering if he will be burnt alive while he sleeps.
Godric is a different matter. In many ways, Eric feels he will never understand Godric, but this is as it should be, in his opinion. Godric watches all of the chaos, not with joy or abandon, but pensively, eating whatever Eric brings to him and never hunting, preferring solitary walks along the Thames, throwing stones and counting the dead as they are piled for mass burial.
They step through fields of bodies, going where others fear to tread; they are dead and do not fear the Plague. Eric watches Godric’s face during these outings: his expression almost never wavers. He always has the same face as he counts, marking down nothing, simply counting and counting, night after night.
*
One day, they come upon a small girl, no older then six. The dirty child is in tears, her matted hair forming a mad corona around her small head. She is holding a doll, swathed in a dirty blue cloth. She grips it with all her might and every angle of her body suggests to Eric that she will die before it is taken from her. Godric kneels down, wiping away her tears. She stares into his face, terrified. He smiles at her, beatifically. “Why are you weeping child?”
“My f-f-father…my m-m-mother…my b-baby b-brother…” She stammers. Both men understand what she is saying. Godric peeks inside the blue swaddled bundle and looks away. Eric immediately understands that there is no doll inside. He looks into the child’s eyes and sees the heat of madness there, fueled by the bright glow of fever. Godric is looking into her eyes now and Eric sees the child relax, glamoured.
“What is your name?” Godric’s face is so close to hers that they could be kissing. “Grizel.” “That’s very pretty. Scottish?” She nods. “Yes sir. My mother was from Polwerth.” “That’s lovely. Do you know that you’re sick with the plague?” She nods again. “I wasn’t sure, but I thought so.”
Godric smiles at her. It is a strange smile and Eric can see pain in his friend’s face. “You’re quite bright aren’t you?” She shakes her head, no. “I’m just a girl, sir.” It is then that Eric sees the dark purple spot on her neck. He knows that she will die soon and painfully as well.
“Do you want to die, Grizel?”
Eric stares at Godric. He touches his shoulder. “Godric, this girl is infected with Plague. The humans say that marks like the ones this girl has signify Plague of the worst kind. We should leave her.”
“Do not presume to tell me what to do, Childe. Leave us be, as your Maker I command you!”
Eric is hurt by his scorn but feels his feet carrying him away of their own volition; he looks over his shoulder to see Godric holding the girl close to him. He watches her face as she embraces his Master, embracing Death as he could never really do. The expression on her face is one of complete bliss and her eyes go blank, staring into a future even more uncertain then that of London itself.
*
The priests that have not fled stand in the street, shrieking for repentance. They flagellate themselves, telling parishioners that they are doomed, that God is their only savior. They will be happier in Heaven.
Godric puts this to the test one night, coming upon one of them in the street. “Do you want to die?” he asks the glamoured man. The priest is shaking, tears streaming down his face. “No, no, no, please, no!” Godric smirks at him.
“I am disappointed. A small child dies better then you will.” Eric watches Godric tear the priest to pieces, not drinking a single drop of the hot blood that gushes forth, turning the dirt street into a puddle of black mud.
*
“You didn’t have to drink her.”
Godric is sick. Both of them know it is nothing serious. This seems to make Godric even more despondent then before. Eric waits for Godric to answer, but he only stares into space. They are sitting in the apartments of a dead cleric. He was a rich man and his rooms reflect it. It makes Eric happy to see Godric in the lap of luxury. Godric tells him repeatedly that it is because Eric is young still, still holding on to the vestiges of his humanity.
Godric continues to stare. Eric looks down the line of his friend’s sight. He is staring out the window, out at the smoke filled sky. “I never thought…” he stops. Eric looks at him, waiting. He will wait for a hundred years if necessary. Godric’s eyes are filled with blood, threatening to spill over his lashes. “I never thought that I would live to see the end times. I thought…I thought that….”
Without thinking, Eric crushes his friend into an embrace. The sobs wracking his friend’s body are muffled by it, but Eric can still feel them radiating through his body as if they were his own.
The smoke from fires all around the city builds in the air outside.
*
“You cannot do this.”
“Do not presume to command me, Childe.” Godric narrows his eyes at him. They are standing in the street next to a raging fire, set by the City Corporation to attempt to clean the air, along with over a hundred fires burning all over London. Godric’s eyes glow fever bright, the sickness not having left him yet. He has not eaten in two nights.
He and Eric were in their lodging. Godric had seen a pit being dug outside for the dead. Before Eric could restrain him, Godric had been gone in the blink of an eye. Eric had chased him here to Pudding Lane. They stood in front of a bakery, the windows dark, all those inside asleep in the apartments above.
“It is not our place to do anything! They are just humans! We will live on, long after this city!”
Godric bends down, taking a long piece of lit kindling from the fire. “I will burn this city before I see the world end because of it.”
“The world is not ending! Come, Godric, let us away, to Italy or to the frozen ends of the Land of the Russe for all I care! Please…I beg you.” Eric falls to his knees before Godric. “Please…Master…I do not want to die.”
Godric’s face softens. “I will protect you my Childe.” He puts his hand on Eric’s head and tosses the torch into the bakery. The building bursts into flames as Eric and his master leave, silently and with such speed that no one ever knew they were there.
Fandom: True Blood
Charcters/Pairing: Eric, Godric (blink and you'll miss it slash)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Eric and Godric roam London in 1666 at the height of the Great Plague.
Warnings: not 100% historically accurate & disturbing imagery.
Eric is having the time of his life.
It does him well to be so free, killing and feasting whenever he likes. He thinks that he will always miss the ability to leave fresh corpses in the street, never looking back over his shoulder, never wondering if he will be burnt alive while he sleeps.
Godric is a different matter. In many ways, Eric feels he will never understand Godric, but this is as it should be, in his opinion. Godric watches all of the chaos, not with joy or abandon, but pensively, eating whatever Eric brings to him and never hunting, preferring solitary walks along the Thames, throwing stones and counting the dead as they are piled for mass burial.
They step through fields of bodies, going where others fear to tread; they are dead and do not fear the Plague. Eric watches Godric’s face during these outings: his expression almost never wavers. He always has the same face as he counts, marking down nothing, simply counting and counting, night after night.
*
One day, they come upon a small girl, no older then six. The dirty child is in tears, her matted hair forming a mad corona around her small head. She is holding a doll, swathed in a dirty blue cloth. She grips it with all her might and every angle of her body suggests to Eric that she will die before it is taken from her. Godric kneels down, wiping away her tears. She stares into his face, terrified. He smiles at her, beatifically. “Why are you weeping child?”
“My f-f-father…my m-m-mother…my b-baby b-brother…” She stammers. Both men understand what she is saying. Godric peeks inside the blue swaddled bundle and looks away. Eric immediately understands that there is no doll inside. He looks into the child’s eyes and sees the heat of madness there, fueled by the bright glow of fever. Godric is looking into her eyes now and Eric sees the child relax, glamoured.
“What is your name?” Godric’s face is so close to hers that they could be kissing. “Grizel.” “That’s very pretty. Scottish?” She nods. “Yes sir. My mother was from Polwerth.” “That’s lovely. Do you know that you’re sick with the plague?” She nods again. “I wasn’t sure, but I thought so.”
Godric smiles at her. It is a strange smile and Eric can see pain in his friend’s face. “You’re quite bright aren’t you?” She shakes her head, no. “I’m just a girl, sir.” It is then that Eric sees the dark purple spot on her neck. He knows that she will die soon and painfully as well.
“Do you want to die, Grizel?”
Eric stares at Godric. He touches his shoulder. “Godric, this girl is infected with Plague. The humans say that marks like the ones this girl has signify Plague of the worst kind. We should leave her.”
“Do not presume to tell me what to do, Childe. Leave us be, as your Maker I command you!”
Eric is hurt by his scorn but feels his feet carrying him away of their own volition; he looks over his shoulder to see Godric holding the girl close to him. He watches her face as she embraces his Master, embracing Death as he could never really do. The expression on her face is one of complete bliss and her eyes go blank, staring into a future even more uncertain then that of London itself.
*
The priests that have not fled stand in the street, shrieking for repentance. They flagellate themselves, telling parishioners that they are doomed, that God is their only savior. They will be happier in Heaven.
Godric puts this to the test one night, coming upon one of them in the street. “Do you want to die?” he asks the glamoured man. The priest is shaking, tears streaming down his face. “No, no, no, please, no!” Godric smirks at him.
“I am disappointed. A small child dies better then you will.” Eric watches Godric tear the priest to pieces, not drinking a single drop of the hot blood that gushes forth, turning the dirt street into a puddle of black mud.
*
“You didn’t have to drink her.”
Godric is sick. Both of them know it is nothing serious. This seems to make Godric even more despondent then before. Eric waits for Godric to answer, but he only stares into space. They are sitting in the apartments of a dead cleric. He was a rich man and his rooms reflect it. It makes Eric happy to see Godric in the lap of luxury. Godric tells him repeatedly that it is because Eric is young still, still holding on to the vestiges of his humanity.
Godric continues to stare. Eric looks down the line of his friend’s sight. He is staring out the window, out at the smoke filled sky. “I never thought…” he stops. Eric looks at him, waiting. He will wait for a hundred years if necessary. Godric’s eyes are filled with blood, threatening to spill over his lashes. “I never thought that I would live to see the end times. I thought…I thought that….”
Without thinking, Eric crushes his friend into an embrace. The sobs wracking his friend’s body are muffled by it, but Eric can still feel them radiating through his body as if they were his own.
The smoke from fires all around the city builds in the air outside.
*
“You cannot do this.”
“Do not presume to command me, Childe.” Godric narrows his eyes at him. They are standing in the street next to a raging fire, set by the City Corporation to attempt to clean the air, along with over a hundred fires burning all over London. Godric’s eyes glow fever bright, the sickness not having left him yet. He has not eaten in two nights.
He and Eric were in their lodging. Godric had seen a pit being dug outside for the dead. Before Eric could restrain him, Godric had been gone in the blink of an eye. Eric had chased him here to Pudding Lane. They stood in front of a bakery, the windows dark, all those inside asleep in the apartments above.
“It is not our place to do anything! They are just humans! We will live on, long after this city!”
Godric bends down, taking a long piece of lit kindling from the fire. “I will burn this city before I see the world end because of it.”
“The world is not ending! Come, Godric, let us away, to Italy or to the frozen ends of the Land of the Russe for all I care! Please…I beg you.” Eric falls to his knees before Godric. “Please…Master…I do not want to die.”
Godric’s face softens. “I will protect you my Childe.” He puts his hand on Eric’s head and tosses the torch into the bakery. The building bursts into flames as Eric and his master leave, silently and with such speed that no one ever knew they were there.