Pam Swynford De Beaufort (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lazy_but_loyal) wrote2017-07-17 08:50 am
lazy_but_loyal) wrote2017-07-17 08:50 am
Entry tags:
- canon,
- eric northman,
- oom,
- s4
OOM - At Fangtasia with Eric
[Continued from here.]
Pam opens the Staff Only door onto the main room of Fangtasia. It's empty and quiet, though some of the lights are still on, illuminating the dance poles and the stage.
The stage glows a deep blood red, the throne stands without its sheriff.
Pam drifts toward the edge of the room. She keeps her distance from Eric, knowing that the smell of rotting flesh upsets him as much as it would anyone.
"This is your nightclub, Eric."
Pam opens the Staff Only door onto the main room of Fangtasia. It's empty and quiet, though some of the lights are still on, illuminating the dance poles and the stage.
The stage glows a deep blood red, the throne stands without its sheriff.
Pam drifts toward the edge of the room. She keeps her distance from Eric, knowing that the smell of rotting flesh upsets him as much as it would anyone.
"This is your nightclub, Eric."
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"I don't remember this," he murmurs.
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If he can't remember his life as a vampire or a human, what is there left of him? But Pam isn't going to give up on him. Not by a long shot.
"You were-- are the son of a Viking chief. Russell Edgington killed your family and stole the crown, but you got your revenge. Russell deserved everything you did to him."
Revenge, Eric. Remember how that feels?
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"I don't remember any of that," he whispers. "Just the sea. And the sand."
A pause.
"And the sun."
And he misses it. Even more so now.
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"You're a Viking, Eric. You know what Vikings did."
There are small paintings of longboats on the walls. Even a small model of one on another shelf. There's also a Viking sword displayed on the wall. Not real, obviously, but a replica Eric had deemed decent enough to buy.
"They raided villages, killed people, fought mercilessly in bloody battles. I can only imagine how beautiful you must have looked back then."
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They'd been surprised that he couldn't remember her, Jay and Emcee. But he doesn't remember her.
There isn't even an outline, a hole where the memory of her ought to be.
His mind is the ocean. Depths and sunlight and no empty spaces for anything that once was.
"I remember a ship," he says slowly. "A sail. Striped in red and white."
But no battles. No carnage. No blood.
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"Do you even remember Godric?"
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"No. Emcee thought I would. Because he was my Maker?"
Right?
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"Yes. He was."
There is barely anything left of Eric. But she'll be damned if she won't fight to get him back.
"I never knew him. But you thought he was the greatest vampire that ever existed."
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And obviously failing whatever this test is.
"I did?"
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She's not giving up on him. She's not.
Stepping back from the doorway in the shadows of the hall, she drifts away toward the Staff entrance door and waits for him.
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Then he follows her, down the hall, each step slightly hesitant.
A stranger in what should be his own space.
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Instead of the gothic silence of an after-hours Fangtasia, there's the din and chatter of a busy Milliways.
She pulls the door open wider, enough for Eric to pass through. And she looks up at him through the veil, standing partly behind the door. In the shadows.
"Be safe, Eric," she says quietly.
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In the shadows.
"I hope everything works out for you," he says. Shyly. "With - you know."
The rotting face and the witches and everything.
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Almost reminiscent of the type of response the old Eric, the real Eric, would have given.