Eric

[loveisall]

Having a newborn is nothing like he thought it would be. Still, Eric's presence is soothing, and Godric's constant companion just makes each evening an adventure.

The night's cold, but Godric doesn't even act like he feels it. There's snow underneath his bare feet, but he doesn't make a sound as he walks, the scent of a campfire in the air. "How many are there?" he asks his companion softly, the trees the only thing able to hear them at this distance.

But they can hear them.

Three heartbeats, lazy with exhaustion and drink. One man, far up ahead, keeping watch over the his two sleeping companions. Easy prey if they wanted to kill them all, but the lesson today is control. While leaving a trail of bodies behind is easy, it's also messy, and if they intend to survive the winter, they need to do better than that.

Comments

[ericofthenorth]

Everything is still so new. It's all so beautifully intoxicating. Especially the feeding. It's like the first bite of a fresh stag, but the texture of heavy mead. No, better than that. There are no words, save that he knows it is the wine they serve in Valhalla.

Eric's eyes go wide at the question in attempt that he might see better. He already does, of course, but still it as if his body thinks it will aid in seeking those he cannot yet see. It turns out it is not as helpful as he'd hoped, so he closes them to sharpen his other senses. He hears the creak of the trees in the breeze, the soft impacts of snow clumps when they fall to the ground, having grown too heavy for their branches. There's the crackle of a fire. And then, the faint steps of a man walking.

Excitement pulls in his chest. It reads in his face as he turns to Godric with the cautious smile of hope in his answer. "One. Pacing at a fire." He'd heard it. The pride of his accomplishment is more rewarding than he expected.

[loveisall]

"Wrong," he tells him. "Listen." He stops them well back, putting one hand on Eric's chest in an attempt to push him back against a tree. There's no heartbeat there any longer; Godric had stolen that from him. But he hadn't stolen his senses. Eric is beautiful to him still, and now it is a matter of taming that beauty. Filing it down into something useful and independent.

Godric's eyes shine in the moonlight, bright and a little playful.

"There are two others, sleeping. You can hear their heartbeats. Slower than the one awake. If you wake them, you'll startle them. If you kill their companion, they'll wake and alert the village. So you're going to take the one awake, and you are not going to kill him."

He curls his fingers against his chest. "Do you understand?"

[ericofthenorth]

His frustration is readily apparent, and he frowns when Godric urges him against the tree. Eric understands the intent of the correction, as well as the value in it, but it doesn't make it any less unpleasant. His lips draw back, not as a snarl, more of an expression of his annoyance.

Once he settles, he refocuses, eyes shutting as he tries again. Pushing his senses, the fire sounds so loud. But under that...yes. There is something else. Two something elses. A small intake of breath confirms his realization, and he looks towards the direction of the humans.

Without warning, he senses something further. Something far more compelling. Hunger suddenly gnaws in him. Now all he can hear is the beating of those hearts and the hot blood they offer. Eric can't resist the urge to go forward, and he pushes hard against Godric's hand, trying to loosen it so he can race to the thing he craves so intensely. He's stronger now. Faster. He knows he can kill all three before there's time for them to give warning.

[loveisall]

Newborns.

They're so obvious in their urges and their desires and Godric can read him like a book. It's not hard. He can see the desire in his eyes, in the way his body tenses against him. He wants to run, to rip their throats out, and there's a part of Godric that wants it, too. To spill their blood onto the snow would be - beautiful. He can taste it, their blood warm and sweet in his mouth, but he has a thousand years of control over his sweet Eric.

And he uses it. He locks his arm against him, holding him fast to the tree.

"Eric - " There's more to the gentle warning than his sweet tone, though. While their first few days had been full of Godric physically holding Eric back, their time since then had been different. Better. He doesn't want to return to it, but there's always the inherent threat that he can, should he choose to.

"Rise above your urges. You are greater than what your body tells you. You can use those instincts, but you must be better than them. This is about survival in the long run. Not simply for tonight."

[ericofthenorth]

Eric's face twitches, his clenched jaw a crutch as he tries to obey his Maker. But it's so hard. He is able to ease his body enough that he's willing to rest against the tree without putting pressure on Godric's hand.

It takes a few seconds for him to calm enough to speak, but it's more difficult to keep his gaze on Godric. He finds it keeps darting between him and the direction of the men. Patience has never been his strong suit; it hadn't come with age, and constant indulgence in his own devices had done him no favors. How many times had his father cursed him for it? It seems his new father will as well.

He lets out a heavy sigh and manages to keep his focus on Godric's face. "And how are we to take him then?" There should be a couple of options. "Speed? Stealth? Luring him further into the woods?"

[loveisall]

"I want to see what you can do on your own," he says, finally loosening his grip. "I want to see what you can do with control." Out here in the woods, the stakes are lower. If Eric loses control, if he slaughters them all, the consequences will be minimal. They can abandon the bodies, make it look like an animal attack. No one will be the wiser.

"We are gods to them, Eric. Show them what merciful gods we can be." He lets him go, running his hand down his chest, stepping away with a feral sort of grin. As much as he pulls on his leash, as much as he exerts his will over Eric, he's always kept him loose. He's always always ensured that Eric's will never be broken. That is Godric's favorite part about him - his spirit.

He stands serenely in the snow, just as it starts to fall again, each flake landing and taking just a moment too long to melt on them.

[ericofthenorth]

Control.

Eric blinks slowly, committing the word's core to his mind, even as it swims with possibilities. Strategy had not been a particular strong suit in battle, for he had no real need of it, but now he finds himself bound to it with little preparation.

His eyes lower to the snow. They linger on Godric's feet. How strange it is to see them there, uncovered. Unmoved by the cold, untethered to the suffering of the common man. How like a god.

Lips parting, pieces start to come together. Godric's offering had been accepted out of desperation; Eric didn't want to die, but at the same time, it was a god that given him the choice. His Maker had always been that. Far more than human, exotic and divine. He knows he is not that--not yet--but he can be.

Without a word, Eric starts to remove his clothing, save for his leggings. Once done, he bites his thumb and sets to pressing its prints to his skin. They stand starkly against his flesh, which is so pale it is almost as white as the snow. The first to his sternum, then one on each side, starting an arch of dots that pay homage to Godric's own tattoo.

[loveisall]

Godric can't remember what it's like to have a heartbeat, but there's a stirring in his chest as he watches him in this moment, tilting his head to the side like an outsider, observing this strange ritual.

And then it comes together. He grins, fangs flashing in the pale light of the moon. How exquisite he is! How delightful! So very much like a child, and Godric is pleased to find that there is still capacity inside of himself to be joyful at a thought. He steps forward, between them, cutting a line of blood along his palm, offering his own blood to Eric as a palette, like he would to a painter.

"You will always be a warrior, I think," he tells him. "That is why I chose you."

[ericofthenorth]

It's hard to tell if Eric is first moved by his words or the scent of his sire's blood. Its potency calls to him always, and he longs so to have it again. His lashes flutter, the rest of him instinctively still as his eyes set on the blood in his hand.

Control.

He swallows against his urge, but takes a long moment before he dares to lift his hand toward Godric's. Eric cautiously dips the tip of his finger into the pool. It takes what will he has in the contact not to grab his Maker's hand and yank it to his lips, but he manages with slow controlled movements. He's sure not to press too deep, take too much; he only draws back with small circles of his fingertips, rather than the oval of a full print.

The first is placed slightly above his own, centered in his chest. The second right below it. Then softly to the middle of his brow. After the act, he can't help himself, and he puts the remnants just inside his lips. It's not a hungry act, though it does stir him to want more; but it's an act of reverence. Connection. For theirs is something far more intimate than he has ever experienced, no matter how warm the bosom or open the thighs. That all falls away when he is with him.

"Thank you," he manages to whisper, his eyes falling in humble respect.

[loveisall]

There's a part of him that knows he should discourage such indulgence, but he doesn't. He's determined that Eric should never feel the sting of loss that he had with his own Maker. That had been abusive. Sadistic. Cruel. He has never and will never raise a hand to Eric. The Maker power has never been used unjustly and never unless Eric's life was in danger. There are some lines Godric will not cross.

He drops his hand, the cut healing as he draws his tongue along the palm to clean the last remnants of blood from it.

"Go," he tells him, eager to see what he can do. "I know you are hungry." Godric's own hunger gnaws at him intently, but he can wait. He can always wait to ensure that Eric has what he needs first.

[ericofthenorth]

With a small nod, Eric turns back to the empty forest between them and the prey. His steps are each done with purpose; he prowls so quietly that only his Maker could note them with any meaning. The path he takes meanders through the trees. It allows him to place himself at the best advantage, to find a spot where the trees open just enough to frame him when he appears. One that's a little too far from the fire for the man to see him clearly, which will mandate him leaving its safety. Just far enough for him to be taken without immediately stirring the others. And if something does go awry, he and Godric will have the ability to flank them without trouble.

Even with the hunger calling louder to him, he makes sure that each motion is done with intent. Control. It feels like ages, though the whole effort takes only a few minutes. When all is set, he presses the ball of his foot down firmly on the branch beneath it.

The snap is clear, and while loud enough to be heard clearly, it's not something so bizarre it should immediately raise alarm. It does as it's meant to; the man on guard takes a few steps out. Then a few more, listening each time.

Eric whispers a rhythmic chant, reciting what stories from the Sagas he can put together in the moment. They're not meant to be heard as words, so much as to ride ethereally on the breeze that stirs the trees. Otherwise he is perfectly still, just waiting for the man. Each footfall of the guard thunders in Eric's ears and his muscles are taut in anticipation.

At last, the man steps to where Eric stands in view. His alabaster skin reflects the moonlight, the blood staining it in stark contrast. The guard is understandably confused, but the strangeness of the vision doesn't allow his mind to fully process the potential danger. Eric's unnatural stillness gives way to a fluid raising of his hand. He extends it to the man in invitation, his voice low but more audible.

"Come, brother. Glory awaits."

There's a long moment of hesitation, but the human takes two timid steps forward. And in that, Eric rushes him, clasping his hand firmly over the man's mouth, not only to silence him, but also to yank his head to the side so he can sink his fangs deep.

[loveisall]

Godric had called him beautiful once. And, in this, there is no question. Each movement Eric makes is exquisitely predatory and, as the older vampire fans out to observe, he finds that he can't take his eyes off of him. He looks at home in the forest, like the god Godric knew he could be. Breathless, entranced by him, he steps through the snow on light feet.

The snap brings him into focus and he grins as Eric's plan becomes clear. Clever. Clever. He assesses it from every single angle he can, watching the two sleeping, the man awake. Everything becomes clear. Everything comes into focus.

It had always been Godric's hope to change someone he could be with. Someone who would work in lockstep with him, complement him perfectly. Eric, he knew, could be that person. As he grabs his prey, Godric walks into the camp, the light from the fire reflecting his eyes for a moment as he breathes in the scent of him.

"Good," he says softly. "Hear his heartbeat. Wait for it to still. To slow. Then pull yourself away."

But if he doesn't, Godric is poised, ready to drag Eric away forcefully if need be.