**A/N: An apology and a reminder: I’m sorry that sometimes it takes a while for chapters of this story to magically appear, but remember – chapters of this story will be appearing on an erratic basis since it’s one of my two “time-out/brain break” fics (To Dream Again is the other slow-loader). And for those who wonder – Eric WILL HAVE his Sookie HEA (like I could do otherwise with that hunk’a hunk’a burnin’ BAMFVILTF…)… Not beta’d, mistakes my own, I own nothing but the OCs, backgrounds, and plots, yadda Prada… Shoo! Go read!**
And so they went to fight.
After arriving at what the invading party of vampires had thought to be a safe house, Roscourt and a half-dozen Palace guards scattered to lie in wait while Godric, Eric, and King Stan himself rose to perform their aerial surveillance.
Their maneuvers, practiced and perfected over the centuries, were performed in silence as they parted ways and inspected the general area. Once satisfied with their recon mission, the three landed and almost as silently compared notes.
Eric committed to memory the almost feral glee pulsing through his Maker over the upcoming fight. Godric, sans shoes but otherwise clad the same as his progeny in tight black t-shirt and what they all laughingly called “combat pants”, remained absolutely still with all senses on high alert.
His tow-headed pup of a Brother, however, couldn’t remain still if he were frozen in a block of ice in the center of the ever-changing North Pole while being sat on by Donner and Vixen themselves, he decided as even Stan’s kneecaps kept bouncing in anticipation of the fight. He saw the hilt of the Damascus steel blade, forged back before the technique was supposedly lost, that Stan had chosen for the evening peeping over his shoulder. It was ready to sing in the vampire’s surprisingly gifted left sword hand.
Naturally the little freak was a leftie with a sword and a rightie with most everything else.
In a way he felt for the little twerp. He understood wanting to take care of things alone, to do for himself and not be coddled by well over 3,000 years of combined experience and familial concern.
Tough shit, little brother, tough shit.
He shrugged his wide shoulders and felt the comforting weight of his massive sword settling exactly where it should. As with his Maker and his brother-by-turning, he could feel the lust for battle – any battle – flooding through his veins. Never more at home than when in the midst of bloodshed, he swore his fangs couldn’t descend any further than they currently were.
This was just the thing he needed to help sweep away the frustrations and aggravations of having to deal with those useless motherfuckers determined to drive that fucked up show into the ground.
As a small snarl slipped past his lips, his Maker turned to look at him, and arched a brow in his direction
Fuck, now I’m weaving just as much as the pup!
With a huff, Eric decided he had best calm his muscular and very masculine tits as Pam would say.
At a nod from their Maker, Stan once again rose into the air, this time aiming directly for the fortuitously unscreened chimney rising from the house they had surrounded.
Once of his chosen cures for boredom happened to be the research and development of what he called “boom toys” – grenades and bombs of various size, strength, volume, and purpose.
For this evening’s excursion he had chosen one of his later prototypes – a highly effective yet surprisingly silent fire-starter. Thirty seconds after Stan returned to their location near the front door, the house was ablaze and vampires were scurrying out like ants running from a hill.
The sight of the enemy bursting forth from the house brought to the forefront Godric’s anger – his seething rage – that any one of those unworthy creatures would dare lay even a finger on his Child. With a laughing snarl that sent chills down the spines of all who heard, Death came out to play.
Eric saw this and rolled his eyes. He almost started to grumble.
Well there went any chance of a decent fight now!
Stan, however, gleefully grabbed his sword and started ‘dancing’ – a macabre dance that sent hands and arms, and a head or two, flying to the corners of the yard.
“I shall liberate the poor vampire’s body of the foulness of his head,” he was heard to say as he dove quite efficiently into the fray.
Just as Eric gave up hope for any sort fun that evening, twenty more vampires suddenly approached and surrounded the house. Instead of standing around wondering where they had come from, Eric grinned.
Long, heavy broadsword in hand, the Viking, tall, strong, and proud, had come to join the party.
In short but gruesome order, Death and The Viking, both dripping with satisfaction and the blood of their enemies, and a surprisingly clean King Stan were surrounded by quickly decomposing bits and pieces of would-be invaders. The rising sun would clean the filth before them in a few hours.
Just as they had expected, in the end Roscourt and the half-dozen Palace guards had been left with little to do but ensure that none of the “invaders” escaped. As the structure was entirely destroyed by the results of Stan’s hobby, all they had left to do was collect any bits of clothing or weaponry that the sun’s rays wouldn’t turn to ash.
After the three ancients had flown off to feed, clean up, and decompress, the gossiping guards decided that Eric and Stan had given new meaning to the concept of bowling with vampire…heads, and that Godric was, indeed, Death come to life and was quite greedily adept in his affinity toward dismemberment.
It had been the bloodiest fifteen minutes any of them had ever witnessed.
Even after sampling and glamouring – but not fucking – some rather drunken revelers, it was still technically early evening when they returned to the Palace. They decided to meet back in Godric’s office after bathing as, unfortunately, the Fairy Problem wasn’t going to go away anytime soon.
As Godric sped through his shower, he realized that while he was thankful that “the boys” were old enough to no longer have to waste time with an after-battle fuck with their feed, in some ways he did miss times gone by. Still as recently as a couple centuries ago, after a battle even as paltry as this one, for hours upon hours the three of them could easily be found “releasing their tensions” the old-fashioned way – fucking, feeding, and glamouring their way through the prettiest offerings of whatever village or settlement they happened to be near.
Sometimes they would pair off with their dalliances, other times they might not, however now, both gladly and sadly, they were all old enough to easily temper their bodies’ instinctive bloodlust.
Eric, however, enjoyed the bloodlust that came even from a fight that short and pathetic. Had their Maker not been along, he was certain that Stan wouldn’t have minded finding a fuck or two of his own while Eric investigated the local female population. Just because he was old enough to ignore the desires in no way meant he wanted to, dammit.
Fifty minutes and a slightly tired wrist later, Stan exited his own shower. Fucking bloodlust.
As Eric settled into a chair in Godric’s office, he could tell that his Maker was more irritated and amused by the Fae problem than truly concerned, but he also knew how his forthright Maker dealt with annoyances.
He had read over several items relevant to the upcoming Fairy Fiasco while Godric tended to other business and Stan did whatever Stans did.
“So Prince Niall and entourage are scheduled to arrive on Friday,” Eric confirmed blandly. He and his Maker both shared a certain innate distrust of the entire Fae species, although, for what it was worth, old Niall Brigant seemed to be the ‘least bad’ of the bunch.
Too bad that wasn’t saying much.
Having endured the trials and triumphs of The Fairy Wars, and here Eric paused to wonder rather irreverently if the Fae called them ‘The Vampire Wars’, both Maker and Eldest Child knew that Niall was every bit as cold, cunning, and vicious as the worst of that species. The old fairy would have been the perfect vampire, a fact that would have made such traits enviable, even laudable. Instead, they made him even more irritating…except to Stan.
Naturally his younger Brother was excited to meet the incoming Fairy delegation. Eric mentally shook his head. Stan must have been dropped on his head as an infant.
“How many will he bring?” Eric’s voice was the perfect embodiment of longsuffering.
Leaning back in his chair behind his large desk with his legs stretched out before him and his hands folded across his lean stomach, Godric snorted. “Himself, two of his heirs,” he said the word with derision for the elder fairy’s grandiose tendencies, “and three guards.”
Godric liked the word Eric’s Pamela used to describe his relationship with the Fairy Prince: frienemy. In a life or death situation he knew he could probably trust the old goat, but he also knew the old man would not hesitate to best him in any other situation.
The ancient vampire was also enough of a survivalist to automatically distrust any creature who wielded a magic that he did not possess, and he refused to admit he rather liked the challenge of dealing with someone almost as deviously calculating as he, himself, could be.
“Three guards? That’s not many,” Stan remarked from the sofa where he was quickly, some (meaning Eric) would say haphazardly, “doing King Business” on his tablet. His fingers were a blur on the device created specifically for the much faster movements of vampires.
Of course he had his own offices, actually three of them for some reason, but, with the convenience of modern technology, he could just as easily oversee most of his duties from the comfort of his Maker’s sofa.
It also wasn’t unusual for him to make highly influential ‘state’ decisions while in the midst of a totally unrelated activity. Just last week he had chosen to lower vampire taxes in his kingdom by 5% during a rousing game of Monopoly with his Sire and two guards.
He never saw the point in taking forever to make a proper choice, but merely because he had a decisive personality didn’t mean he considered his duties or the results of his edicts unimportant, either. He simply thought quickly and therefore chose and acted quickly. Just because his stodgy older Brother sat around and brooded for hours over every little thing didn’t mean he had to! And here he thought Vikings were all decisive…pfft!
“We’re crawling alive with vampires ’round these parts,” he added with an overblown Texan accent, “and don’t Fairies smell better’n barbeque t’us?” Humm, maybe he might dine locally again the next night…
Used to Stan’s version of humor, both older vampires laughed.
“Besides, if Fairies don’t want younger vampires to know they truly do exist, then why are they coming here in person?”
Eric raised his brows. That was an excellent question.
**A/N: BadAss’dMotherFuckingVampireI’dLoveToFuck. So, what’d ja think?**