Fic: Hero (True Blood; Godric, Pam, Sophie-Anne)
Written for missnyah, who asked for a scene with Pam and Godric together, so I've only half-filled her request. I think in show canon, these two probably never met, but it's fun to imagine what they'd think of each other. I'm going to take Eric's word for it that he didn't see Godric for over 100 years before the show. Spoilers up to 2x09.
Godric(/Eric), Pam and Sophie-Anne. PG. Say good-bye, and mean it.
I grant the sea's not fit for swimming:
but last night the wind became more gentle.
Why did you neglect it? Why didn't you dare to come?
- Ovid, The Heroides XIX
Hero
I
Eric has chosen well for himself.
Patience, guidance: these things are owed. The blood-bound duty of a maker to the creature he rescues from soil and clay. In return the undead heart makes no promises, obeys no longer the animal instincts, the tender nature that moves a lioness to protect her cubs. Though it can be commanded, it cannot be made to love.
Yet even from this careful distance you see - in the graceful tilt of her head as his voice reaches her ear, and the joy that lights her features when she succeeds in making him laugh - that she does love him.
But then, and you are not unprejudiced, that is true: who could not?
II
'There's the lucky father.'
Louisiana appears beside you, arrival utterly silent. 'Little boy's big day,' she teases with deliberate artlessness, 'and him only a thousand years old. You must be very proud.'
'I am.' You are reluctant to play her game.
Why Eric has given his allegiance to this cruel, capricious Queen, you cannot pretend to understand. You wait a minute more with her. Under the full moon, you watch the revelry in the palace grounds below. She is hardly the severe, lofty monarch, because Sophie-Anne's dress is already dark with blood. Dripping with it. It is time for you to make your escape.
'Pardon me, your majesty, I must go,' you tell her, polite but not overly familiar. Eric's business is none of yours, she would want to be sure of that. 'Thank you for inviting me, but I would appreciate you not informing Eric that I was here.'
Sophie-Anne makes a great show of rolling her eyes. 'I don't know why I even bother.'
A small bow, a mere formality on your part. You turn in the direction of the river, wanting to avoid the heavy security at the gate, but not before you hear her say, thoughtfully: 'I should just have you staked, Godric. It would be much less trouble in the long run.' Her directness is refreshing.
'Perhaps you are right.' You don't look back.
III
'A phone call, you just missed it.' Your deputy hands you a folded slip of paper. 'Do we know someone called Pamela?' she asks.
You open it and read Isabel's elegant copperplate, hearing a stranger's voice:
I know you were here. Eric knows. Don't come again unless you mean to stay.
'No reply,' you say to Isabel, and throw the note into the fireplace.
THE END
29 September 2009
Godric(/Eric), Pam and Sophie-Anne. PG. Say good-bye, and mean it.
I grant the sea's not fit for swimming:
but last night the wind became more gentle.
Why did you neglect it? Why didn't you dare to come?
- Ovid, The Heroides XIX
Hero
I
Eric has chosen well for himself.
Patience, guidance: these things are owed. The blood-bound duty of a maker to the creature he rescues from soil and clay. In return the undead heart makes no promises, obeys no longer the animal instincts, the tender nature that moves a lioness to protect her cubs. Though it can be commanded, it cannot be made to love.
Yet even from this careful distance you see - in the graceful tilt of her head as his voice reaches her ear, and the joy that lights her features when she succeeds in making him laugh - that she does love him.
But then, and you are not unprejudiced, that is true: who could not?
II
'There's the lucky father.'
Louisiana appears beside you, arrival utterly silent. 'Little boy's big day,' she teases with deliberate artlessness, 'and him only a thousand years old. You must be very proud.'
'I am.' You are reluctant to play her game.
Why Eric has given his allegiance to this cruel, capricious Queen, you cannot pretend to understand. You wait a minute more with her. Under the full moon, you watch the revelry in the palace grounds below. She is hardly the severe, lofty monarch, because Sophie-Anne's dress is already dark with blood. Dripping with it. It is time for you to make your escape.
'Pardon me, your majesty, I must go,' you tell her, polite but not overly familiar. Eric's business is none of yours, she would want to be sure of that. 'Thank you for inviting me, but I would appreciate you not informing Eric that I was here.'
Sophie-Anne makes a great show of rolling her eyes. 'I don't know why I even bother.'
A small bow, a mere formality on your part. You turn in the direction of the river, wanting to avoid the heavy security at the gate, but not before you hear her say, thoughtfully: 'I should just have you staked, Godric. It would be much less trouble in the long run.' Her directness is refreshing.
'Perhaps you are right.' You don't look back.
III
'A phone call, you just missed it.' Your deputy hands you a folded slip of paper. 'Do we know someone called Pamela?' she asks.
You open it and read Isabel's elegant copperplate, hearing a stranger's voice:
I know you were here. Eric knows. Don't come again unless you mean to stay.
'No reply,' you say to Isabel, and throw the note into the fireplace.
THE END
29 September 2009