Fic: "Blood Moon" for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
desire_billy in the 2009 Lotrips Slashaba
Dec. 31st, 2009 11:41 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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slashababyTitle: Blood Moon
Recipient:desire_billy
Author:sassywitch
Pairing: Viggo/Sean B, Viggo/Karl, Karl/Craig (implied), Viggo/Billy, Billy/Dom
Rating: R (to be safe)
Summary: Let's call it a Vampire roadfic, shall we?
Pre-reveal Notes: I've never written Vampires before so this was going to be an adventure for all of us. Funnily enough I had trouble reining the silly old muse in. So when it finished at 27K I had to shorten it somehow. This is officially the abridged version. With the recipient's permission sometime in the future I will post the original version if she'd like to see it. One tiny note that holds a great big WARNING, there are 2 fellowship deaths in this fic. Hope you like it.
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred, or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Memories were a funny thing. The longer you lived, the more you had, and the more important they all became. His had been a long life, if you could call death 'life'. His actual life had only been a scant 36 years. In the face of the length of his centuries-long existence, perhaps life was a poor choice of words.
It had been too many centuries since he was sired into his life of undeath, and really, over the fullness of time, there hadn't been much for him to regret. Truth be told, he barely remembered what it was like to be alive, to feel the blood pumping through his veins, his heart beating a steady tattoo in his chest and his lungs filling with clean fresh air. But then, such is death.
His sire hadn't been as lucky as he had been; Sean was gone less than a year after he had been created. Sean had been gone in the blink of an eye, the not so innocent victim of a hunter's stake. All that had been left of him was a smudge of charcoal-scented dust. Viggo had seen it happen, or he wouldn't have believed it himself.
The flash of surprise and even a glimpse of relief as the rosewood point of the intricately carved stake had pierced his cold dead heart, and then Sean had evaporated into a shower of fine charcoal powder. Viggo had stayed there in his perch high above until the hunter had collected herself and scuffed her heavy leather boot in the Sean-dust before she had slung her pack across her shoulder and walked away. When he had finally dropped soundlessly from the tree, Viggo knelt beside the dust and ran his own calloused fingertips through it. He kept a vial of that dust with him even now.
Maybe that was why Viggo always felt different to his brethren. He very rarely mixed with the rank and file of vampire society, and believe it, there was society. A dark, gritty underworld that existed in parallel to the sunlight filled world of the living masses, ignorant to the seething underbelly of non life that existed under their noses. There were councils and government and a community with its own rules and laws and just as with any gathering, there were both good and bad to be had.
It was often decades before Viggo felt a desperate need to not be alone anymore. Yet when he did it wasn't Vampire Company he was drawn to. People fascinated him, they always had, even before his transformation. Vampires were jaded, life nor death no longer held any mysteries for them, so they were cynical, cruel, but mainly bored. Besides, most of his own kind shunned him anyway. Because of his affection and soft spot for his former kind, he tried not to feed on humans. It didn't always work, sometimes the burning need to taste the sweet, power filled goodness of fresh human blood overrode even his most noble intentions. And yet other times, a near insatiable lust for a companion incited in him a bloodlust he couldn't deny and he would hunt voraciously for days until he found the One.
His fingers tightened around his paintbrush as he remembered the times his lust had overridden his judgment. When he had found his perfect target he stalked them for days, courting them almost until they succumbed to his charming virile appetites and he made them his in every way possible.
Viggo wiped his brush clean on a cloth and put it and his palette on the table at his side. Casting a critical eye over his painting thus far he couldn't help but think about its subject.
Five men, each an exquisite specimen in their own way, they were as close as he would ever come to a family. Whilst he hadn't sired all of them, they were all his Children. One of them had come willingly into their fold, fully cognizant of what he was getting himself into, blinded to his eternal damnation by his love for Viggo's favourite Childe.
Duchy of Normandy, 897AD
Viggo pushed through the underbrush quietly stalking his prey. The young buck had no idea he was trailing him, the moonlight reflecting off his four point antlers as he turned his head, sniffing the scents on the air almost casually. He grazed on the sweet leaves from over hanging branches as he moved slowly through the forest.
Sean had been gone for almost a year, and while Viggo was lonely, he was surviving. Often he saw signs of the Slayer that had taken Sean, but she didn't appear to hold any interest in him. Her presence was being felt throughout his community. Nests of his brethren were being eliminated with monotonous regularity, which did little to stabilize the hodge-podge of disorganized vampires and demons that fought for supremacy.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Viggo let his hair fall back into place and turned his attention back to the buck. He pulled the forest green hood back over his head, the shadows from the fabric shrouding his eyes from the weak light and detection. Hunger had driven him from his own dwelling; he refused to call his home a nest. His soft footfalls barely made a noise as he followed. A sharp crack in the undergrowth behind him caused him to drop to a crouch and spin, eyes desperately seeking the source of the noise. After long minutes of silence, he rose slowly to his feet, convinced that his memories of Sean had made him jumpy. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling of someone watching him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.
Thankfully the buck hadn't been as alarmed by the noise as Viggo was and still stood a few yards ahead, neck extended as he nibbled on the tender leaves of a low hanging branch.
Glancing furtively to his left and his right, Viggo was still uneasy about the odd noise and even more so the sudden silence, but hunger drove his attack. The speed of his movement was barely perceptible, his form little more than a blur as he flew into action. The buck's struggle was infinitesimal as Viggo wrapped strong arms around its neck and broke it with a snap that sounded as loud as a gunshot to his sensitive hearing. As the life began to ebb from the deer's body, Viggo's mouth closed on its neck, his teeth piercing the thick hide with less force than it took to bite a crisp apple and began siphoning the warm, viscous liquid from its veins, his endless appetite assuaged by feeding.
Hunger slaked, Viggo let the dead beast drop from his arms and knelt at its side, his mouth forming words of gratitude to the beast for giving its life to him. Standing, he wiped his forearm across his mouth, the trickle of blood at the corner taken by the fabric of his cloak.
Looking up, he looked directly into the eyes of a woman. A woman he knew. It was the same young woman who had effortlessly turned Sean to dust. His eyes widened in surprise as he watched, torn between admiring her beauty and fleeing to preserve his own existence from the same fate as his Sean. She was much more attractive from this angle; before all he had really seen was her dark blonde hair and lithe athletic body. She was young, much younger than he had anticipated. And beautiful. Large green eyes watched him, her wisdom outweighing her years. Even as he watched, she turned and ran quickly and quietly away.
Jerusalem, 1099 AD
Viggo wandered quietly, unobtrusively through the battleground. The moon had long since begun its illumination of the blood-soaked ground. Viggo inhaled the scent hungrily as what seemed like rivers of blood glistened in the silvery light. In a less disciplined being, the scent alone would have incited a blood lust that would not stop until quenched, but not in Viggo. He refused to relinquish his iron control on what he called his carnal desires. He had found a way to feed and not be the sole cause of loss of life. And, with men being men, his buffet table would never be closed.
At the end of every battle, when the silvered disc of the moon had risen high, the air filled with the coppery tang of blood and the moans of men as they begged for death to take them from their suffering, Viggo would roam the battlegrounds and feed, stopping the suffering of men who had no further hope. In some ways he could even be considered humane.
Usually he was the only one walking through the bodies and injured men, but tonight was different. Tonight there was a young barbarian also walking across the corpse strewn field, occasionally stopping to offer words of comfort to a dying man.
What really caught Viggo's attention was the aura of grief that surrounded the young man. His dark blond hair hung in damp locks around his head, his face and clothes smeared with dirt and dried blood. The once blue tabard he wore had been rent in a jagged tear across his back. The hair on the back of Viggo's neck rose as he realized how close the man had come to his own demise. Every now and again the weary crusader would sink to a squat, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands briefly unable to control the emotions that must be almost overwhelming.
Unthinking, Viggo moved towards him and pressed a cold hand of comfort to his shoulder.
He rose lithely to his feet and looked into Viggo's face. "Are you looking for someone too, friend?" he asked.
"Viggo." he introduced himself. "Was just trying to help." Viggo shrugged non-committally.
"My name is Karl." he nodded. "There is no help to be given here tonight, my friend." Karl sighed despondently, sliding one dirty, long-fingered hand through his hair.
Viggo's eyes were drawn to a long cut oozing dark blood that traversed the length of Karl's forearm. As the scent of his blood sang through Viggo's senses, his tongue flicked out to lick his lips slowly. "Perhaps I can help you search for your brother." he said, eyes transfixed on the bleeding wound as he willed himself not to act on the carnal need to feed that was making his hands tremble.
"It is not my brother I seek." Karl murmured, his voice filled with sorrow.
"Your father then?" Viggo questioned absently, his gaze fixed on the trickle of blood that ran down Karl's hand.
Karl looked up into Viggo's face defiantly. "Secrecy matters no more. I seek my lover." Karl shrugged, his shoulders squared as he waited for Viggo to respond. "There is nothing holding me to this fight any longer. Tomorrow will be a good day to die."
"Let me help you find him." Viggo spoke softly, reaching out he closed his hand around Karl's forearm, the blood of Karl's wound seeping through his fingers. A tremor ran down his spine as his bloodlust rose.
"No matter." Karl lifted solemn eyes to look into Viggo's. "I'll be joining him tomorrow."
"Then let us not waste your last night on the battlefield. Let me share your last meal with you." Viggo offered him, a plan formulating in his mind even as he spoke, his fingers moving across his arm, tracing the blood slowly.
Karl looked into Viggo's face and nodded slowly.
Viggo followed Karl from the field of battle, waiting as he stopped long enough to gather the reins of his horse and walk towards the ruined castle ramparts, protected from the enemy by the forces on the field they walked.
Dropping the reins to the ground, Karl turned to speak to Viggo, but was startled into silence by the expression in Viggo's eyes. Without speaking, Viggo lifted Karl's arm, his fingertips slipping through the congealing blood. His eyes met Karl's as he licked his forearm from elbow to wrist. Karl's blood was the headiest of aphrodisiacs. His nerves heightened, his body hardened, his eyes closed with the bliss of the power that surged through him.
"By the heavens, you taste exquisite." Viggo's voice was hoarse with need.
"What are you doing?" Karl snatched his hand back, his eyes wide.
"Saving you from wasting your life." Viggo moaned, his tongue licking a trace of blood off his bottom lip.
"To die defending your faith is no waste." Karl's conviction was less sure now.
"Possibly, but it is in this case, especially as that death will be yours." Viggo nodded, reaching for Karl's wounded arm again.
"Who are you? What are you?" Karl asked, his eyes transfixed by Viggo's as he watched his tongue flick across the wound.
"What I am is no matter, all you need to know is I will never leave you." Viggo murmured. One strong hand cupped Karl's face, his thumb tracing the lightly stubbled cheek. "I will never leave you again."
Durham, England 1346
Battlefields always reminded him of Karl. The stench of masculine sweat, the coppery tang of blood, the smell of the livestock, all of it a vivid memory of his Karl. He laughed mirthlessly at himself. He had been right about Karl, he had stayed at Viggo's side for almost a full hundred years after his siring, before he found his own love and they went their own way.
For a change of pace, following his food trail and men's inane need to best each other, after Karl's desertion, Viggo moved to England and travelled north, finally following the Scottish forces south to England. The need for a companion was again strong in Viggo, and one of the Scottish soldiers had caught his eye as he had surveyed the current battleground one starlit night. From that time he had tried to watch the battles when he could, just to make sure he could follow the young man's fate.
He didn't appear to be a nobleman, but he was certainly inside the inner circle of the battle leaders. A handsome man, indeed, copper coloured hair, bright green eyes and skin that seemed even paler than his countrymen yet faintly scattered with freckles. He was short in stature but had enough courage for an entire regiment, and he toiled tirelessly for his homeland. Fighting valiantly through each battle, he could be found after every skirmish helping wounded soldiers and moving the deceased from the field of battle.
So intrigued was Viggo by this young man, that one evening he had followed him and his companions into an inn, listening to the gentle brogues as they spoke of homes and families. After some urging, his young man, Billy they called him, was convinced to lead the men in a chorus of songs from their homeland. If Viggo hadn't seen Billy's ferocity in battle he would have said he thought he was an angel sent to earth as his voice filled the inn.
Later that same night, as Viggo roamed, seeking his own food, he was startled by a Scottish voice from the shadows of the scraggly forest.
"Ah'd thank ye to tell me who ye be?" Billy stepped forward his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
"I'm friend not foe, Billy." Viggo answered quietly.
"Aye, Ah ken that." Billy nodded, "But ah've bin watching ye. Ye're not like us."
"No, that I'm not." Viggo had responded truthfully, watching the reaction to his statement closely in Billy's searching eyes.
Billy watched him for long moments and nodded slowly, and with that their friendship was born.
Battle after battle they would meet by the light of the moon to wander the battlefield and save men where they could. Where they couldn't Viggo eased their suffering. Viggo's affection for the smaller man grew with every meeting. He would never ask how or what Viggo did and afforded him enough privacy that no explanation was needed.
In the middle of October, Billy's liege Niall Bruce of Carrick, had granted his men a night away from the front line of their war. Instead of spending the night in an inn with other soldiers, Billy had arrived at Viggo's doorstep, a leather bladder of whiskey under his arm.
"Dinnae care for company," Billy had stated blandly as he pushed past Viggo to enter the room he had taken.
"Aren't I company?" Viggo had grinned.
"Aye, but I want ye." Billy waited for Viggo to understand his words.
"Why didn't you say so before?" Viggo asked.
"Ah didna want ta lose me bollocks if ah was wrong." Billy shrugged, taking a long swallow from the cask and handing it to Viggo.
Viggo, who prided himself on his self control, could feel it slipping with every word and knew that before the night was through he would be very, very selfish.
Leaning forward, Viggo pressed his lips to Billy's, and was wholly unprepared for the delicious flavor of the smaller man. His lips slid wetly across Billy's as his tongue pushed into his mouth, one hand lifted to cup the back of Billy's head and pull him closer, deepening the kiss and closing the distance between their quickening bodies.
"Ye dinnae waste any time, do ye?" Billy gasped, Viggo's bearded chin rasping against his shoulder as he licked the pale skin there.
"You taste good." Viggo moaned, trembling with sudden burning hunger for the sweet blood he could feel thrumming through Billy's veins.
"Ah stink, need ta wash." Billy shrugged as his fingers pushed his clothes aside.
"No. You smell fucking wonderful." Viggo disagreed, walking Billy backwards toward the bed as his hands lent their assistance to removing Billy's kilt and shirt.
Viggo straddled Billy's thighs and bent his head lower to lick Billy's neck. His burning need to taste the sweet power of Billy's lifeblood overruled any sense of propriety and fair play. For the first time in almost 400 years, Viggo gave in to the vampiric bloodlust that ruled his race. His tongue licked a long wet lave across the freckled skin, seconds before his teeth pierced young Billy's neck, drinking hungrily of the blood that flowed into his mouth. Billy's struggles were in vain; Viggo's inhuman strength quickly overpowered his prey. As Billy's bloodloss mounted, his strength ebbed, his blood filling Viggo with a strength he had seldom known. Drunk on the sweet nectar of Billy's blood, Viggo barely restrained himself to stop before his life was extinguished.
London 1688
"Look at him, Vig." Billy's voice was filled with awe as they watched the young actors on the stage.
"Yes, I see him. Again." Viggo responded with a sigh.
Viggo could see exactly what was happening here. His Billy was infatuated with the young man on the stage. And while Viggo could see the attraction, he couldn't bear to see his Billy leave him, not for him and not after 300 years.
Watching the play in silence, Viggo appraised Billy's prey. He was too 'fancy' for Viggo's taste, his slightly off centre features only enhanced by the elaborate wig and powdered skin. A dark beauty spot marked the left of his face, painted on, Viggo was sure. His best feature was his smoky, blue-grey eyes, but Viggo could see an arrogance in him that lessened his appeal. His foppish satin and lace clothes enhanced a masculine frame but did nothing for his masculinity. Viggo's confusion mounted as he wondered how Billy's head could be turned so completely by his quarry.
"What are you going to do?" Viggo leaned in to ask as the young man on stage stepped through the curtain and took his ovation from the crowd.
"Ah'm going to ask him to drinks." Billy responded his eyes never leaving the man on stage. "See what happens." He shrugged, Viggo already forgotten as he walked forward and down the wide aisle to the steps at the side of the stage.
"This is not going to end well." Viggo sighed, following at a distance, his sad eyes on his companion of three hundred years.
So their life together began. Where life had been comfortable and easy, it was suddenly turned on its end. The inclusion of Dominic Monaghan into their family was nothing if not life changing. But any inconvenience was worth it for the happiness he gave Billy. He was like a young man again, not the jaded, world-weary soldier he had been. Dominic had given him a new lease on his undeath, his Billy almost glowed with happiness.
New York, January 1701
Happiness was such a fleeting thing. Even in a life that spanned centuries. Not two weeks after they had arrived in New York, following Dominic's oh so promising stage career, Billy's happiness was gone, expended in the blink of an eye and the scattering of fine charcoal dust.
Dominic was young, too young and too undisciplined. He couldn't or wouldn't be taught. He liked to live his life on the edge, and that included his hunger. He wouldn't feed from animals. Viggo didn't even think it was a need for human blood, it was the play and the game, it was the thrill of the chase.
At his announcement that he was going out to feed, a huge row had erupted. The argument ended in the door-slamming departure of Dominic from their home. As his fiery red headed temper cooled, Billy's anger turned into concern and concern to fear. Word on the streets was that a slayer was cleaning house in their new habitat. Dominic was yet to learn how to be discreet; Viggo wasn't sure that he ever would.
Unwilling to watch guilt eat at his young friend, Viggo had gone with him to find their headstrong companion.
However, when they arrived at the fashionable gentleman's club that was currently in vogue, they were too late. Dominic was leading a beautiful young blonde woman into the shadows of the alley beside the club. Viggo's brow furrowed in confused recognition as he watched the scene play out before him with rapt attention. He knew that woman, he had seen her before, at least twice. Even as he lifted his hand to wave and attract Dominic's attention, he knew it was too late. The battle for his very existence was beginning. They watched, Viggo's strong arms restraining Billy from joining the fray as Dominic fought for his life. In the end, his strength was not enough. As he snapped the young woman's neck she passed the stake under her own arm and into Dominic's heart. The young woman crumpled like a broken doll and Dominic erupted into a cascade of charcoal powder, the rosewood stake clattering to the ground as it fell from her lifeless fingers.
Billy's grief was palpable; he ran forward and fell to his knees, sobbing pitifully at the loss of his mate. Reaching out. he pushed the ashes together, begging Dominic to come back to him, but it was too late. Viggo knelt behind him, lifting the stake and slipping it into the inside pocket of his jacket. He reached out and touched the soft skin of the Slayer's face, if not impressed by her talent at least respectful of the skills that she had wielded for centuries. His hand passed slowly over her eyes, pushing them closed, and saying a silent prayer for her passing, Viggo wished her nothing but peace now that she could relax. Scooping up a handful of Dominic dust, Viggo slid it into his pocket for safe keeping and pulled Billy to his feet.
West Indies, December 1725
The hairs on the back of Viggo's neck were standing on end again. Glancing about, he saw the reason for his unease. It was the same young man who had been following him for over a week now. He was a fine looking young man too. Dark curls and deep chocolate brown eyes that Viggo could lose his soul in, if he had one. He was a little too thin but everyone here could use a good feed he had noticed.
It had been almost twenty-five years since Dominic's demise but in a life as long as theirs had been, it was just yesterday to Billy. He was still a broken man and Viggo wasn't sure he would ever be whole again. They had travelled the world, but Billy no longer saw the beauty. Taking full advantage of the heavily overcast day, Viggo had left Billy in their rooms and gone exploring to see how the daylight half of life on the islands lived.
Inexplicably annoyed by their beautiful shadow, Viggo turned and stalked back towards him.
"What do you want, lad?" he asked directly.
"To be like you." The young man pulled himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders.
"You should be careful what you wish for, lad." Viggo growled at him.
"I know what and who you are." He glanced about quickly, ensuring his voice would not be heard by passersby.
Viggo grabbed him by the worn cotton shirt he wore and dragged him into the mouth of an alley, hiding them both in the shadows.
"What do you know of me?"
"I know you are Viggo and I know you and Billy are the ones they all speak of. The ones that the slayers don't seek. You are the ones that don't hunt humans."
"How do you know this?" Viggo pressed him up against the wall, his strong fist curled in his shirt, lifting him off the ground.
"I've been a crewman on 'The Delight'. You'd be surprised at the men that crew there. Not many are what they seem. You are both legend and joke to those who sail on her." He answered honestly.
"Who are you?" Viggo shook his head, trying to clear his jumbled thoughts.
"My name is Orlando Bloom, and I wish to travel with you."
"You know what that means, don't you?" Viggo lowered him back to the ground and toying with Orlando, pushed the collar of his shirt open and inhaled deeply. He could smell sweet blood and the young man's appealing musky, sweaty scent.
To his credit, Orlando stood his ground, he even tilted his head, giving Viggo greater access to the bare flesh of his neck. "Aye, I do." Orlando answered, swallowing tightly. "It's better to forge my own path then be enslaved or worse."
"You'll do, lad." Viggo smiled, reaching out and grasping Orlando's hand in a tight manly handshake. "You'll do."
Recipient:
desire_billyAuthor:
sassywitchPairing: Viggo/Sean B, Viggo/Karl, Karl/Craig (implied), Viggo/Billy, Billy/Dom
Rating: R (to be safe)
Summary: Let's call it a Vampire roadfic, shall we?
Pre-reveal Notes: I've never written Vampires before so this was going to be an adventure for all of us. Funnily enough I had trouble reining the silly old muse in. So when it finished at 27K I had to shorten it somehow. This is officially the abridged version. With the recipient's permission sometime in the future I will post the original version if she'd like to see it. One tiny note that holds a great big WARNING, there are 2 fellowship deaths in this fic. Hope you like it.
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred, or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Memories were a funny thing. The longer you lived, the more you had, and the more important they all became. His had been a long life, if you could call death 'life'. His actual life had only been a scant 36 years. In the face of the length of his centuries-long existence, perhaps life was a poor choice of words.
It had been too many centuries since he was sired into his life of undeath, and really, over the fullness of time, there hadn't been much for him to regret. Truth be told, he barely remembered what it was like to be alive, to feel the blood pumping through his veins, his heart beating a steady tattoo in his chest and his lungs filling with clean fresh air. But then, such is death.
His sire hadn't been as lucky as he had been; Sean was gone less than a year after he had been created. Sean had been gone in the blink of an eye, the not so innocent victim of a hunter's stake. All that had been left of him was a smudge of charcoal-scented dust. Viggo had seen it happen, or he wouldn't have believed it himself.
The flash of surprise and even a glimpse of relief as the rosewood point of the intricately carved stake had pierced his cold dead heart, and then Sean had evaporated into a shower of fine charcoal powder. Viggo had stayed there in his perch high above until the hunter had collected herself and scuffed her heavy leather boot in the Sean-dust before she had slung her pack across her shoulder and walked away. When he had finally dropped soundlessly from the tree, Viggo knelt beside the dust and ran his own calloused fingertips through it. He kept a vial of that dust with him even now.
Maybe that was why Viggo always felt different to his brethren. He very rarely mixed with the rank and file of vampire society, and believe it, there was society. A dark, gritty underworld that existed in parallel to the sunlight filled world of the living masses, ignorant to the seething underbelly of non life that existed under their noses. There were councils and government and a community with its own rules and laws and just as with any gathering, there were both good and bad to be had.
It was often decades before Viggo felt a desperate need to not be alone anymore. Yet when he did it wasn't Vampire Company he was drawn to. People fascinated him, they always had, even before his transformation. Vampires were jaded, life nor death no longer held any mysteries for them, so they were cynical, cruel, but mainly bored. Besides, most of his own kind shunned him anyway. Because of his affection and soft spot for his former kind, he tried not to feed on humans. It didn't always work, sometimes the burning need to taste the sweet, power filled goodness of fresh human blood overrode even his most noble intentions. And yet other times, a near insatiable lust for a companion incited in him a bloodlust he couldn't deny and he would hunt voraciously for days until he found the One.
His fingers tightened around his paintbrush as he remembered the times his lust had overridden his judgment. When he had found his perfect target he stalked them for days, courting them almost until they succumbed to his charming virile appetites and he made them his in every way possible.
Viggo wiped his brush clean on a cloth and put it and his palette on the table at his side. Casting a critical eye over his painting thus far he couldn't help but think about its subject.
Five men, each an exquisite specimen in their own way, they were as close as he would ever come to a family. Whilst he hadn't sired all of them, they were all his Children. One of them had come willingly into their fold, fully cognizant of what he was getting himself into, blinded to his eternal damnation by his love for Viggo's favourite Childe.
Duchy of Normandy, 897AD
Viggo pushed through the underbrush quietly stalking his prey. The young buck had no idea he was trailing him, the moonlight reflecting off his four point antlers as he turned his head, sniffing the scents on the air almost casually. He grazed on the sweet leaves from over hanging branches as he moved slowly through the forest.
Sean had been gone for almost a year, and while Viggo was lonely, he was surviving. Often he saw signs of the Slayer that had taken Sean, but she didn't appear to hold any interest in him. Her presence was being felt throughout his community. Nests of his brethren were being eliminated with monotonous regularity, which did little to stabilize the hodge-podge of disorganized vampires and demons that fought for supremacy.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Viggo let his hair fall back into place and turned his attention back to the buck. He pulled the forest green hood back over his head, the shadows from the fabric shrouding his eyes from the weak light and detection. Hunger had driven him from his own dwelling; he refused to call his home a nest. His soft footfalls barely made a noise as he followed. A sharp crack in the undergrowth behind him caused him to drop to a crouch and spin, eyes desperately seeking the source of the noise. After long minutes of silence, he rose slowly to his feet, convinced that his memories of Sean had made him jumpy. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling of someone watching him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.
Thankfully the buck hadn't been as alarmed by the noise as Viggo was and still stood a few yards ahead, neck extended as he nibbled on the tender leaves of a low hanging branch.
Glancing furtively to his left and his right, Viggo was still uneasy about the odd noise and even more so the sudden silence, but hunger drove his attack. The speed of his movement was barely perceptible, his form little more than a blur as he flew into action. The buck's struggle was infinitesimal as Viggo wrapped strong arms around its neck and broke it with a snap that sounded as loud as a gunshot to his sensitive hearing. As the life began to ebb from the deer's body, Viggo's mouth closed on its neck, his teeth piercing the thick hide with less force than it took to bite a crisp apple and began siphoning the warm, viscous liquid from its veins, his endless appetite assuaged by feeding.
Hunger slaked, Viggo let the dead beast drop from his arms and knelt at its side, his mouth forming words of gratitude to the beast for giving its life to him. Standing, he wiped his forearm across his mouth, the trickle of blood at the corner taken by the fabric of his cloak.
Looking up, he looked directly into the eyes of a woman. A woman he knew. It was the same young woman who had effortlessly turned Sean to dust. His eyes widened in surprise as he watched, torn between admiring her beauty and fleeing to preserve his own existence from the same fate as his Sean. She was much more attractive from this angle; before all he had really seen was her dark blonde hair and lithe athletic body. She was young, much younger than he had anticipated. And beautiful. Large green eyes watched him, her wisdom outweighing her years. Even as he watched, she turned and ran quickly and quietly away.
Jerusalem, 1099 AD
Viggo wandered quietly, unobtrusively through the battleground. The moon had long since begun its illumination of the blood-soaked ground. Viggo inhaled the scent hungrily as what seemed like rivers of blood glistened in the silvery light. In a less disciplined being, the scent alone would have incited a blood lust that would not stop until quenched, but not in Viggo. He refused to relinquish his iron control on what he called his carnal desires. He had found a way to feed and not be the sole cause of loss of life. And, with men being men, his buffet table would never be closed.
At the end of every battle, when the silvered disc of the moon had risen high, the air filled with the coppery tang of blood and the moans of men as they begged for death to take them from their suffering, Viggo would roam the battlegrounds and feed, stopping the suffering of men who had no further hope. In some ways he could even be considered humane.
Usually he was the only one walking through the bodies and injured men, but tonight was different. Tonight there was a young barbarian also walking across the corpse strewn field, occasionally stopping to offer words of comfort to a dying man.
What really caught Viggo's attention was the aura of grief that surrounded the young man. His dark blond hair hung in damp locks around his head, his face and clothes smeared with dirt and dried blood. The once blue tabard he wore had been rent in a jagged tear across his back. The hair on the back of Viggo's neck rose as he realized how close the man had come to his own demise. Every now and again the weary crusader would sink to a squat, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands briefly unable to control the emotions that must be almost overwhelming.
Unthinking, Viggo moved towards him and pressed a cold hand of comfort to his shoulder.
He rose lithely to his feet and looked into Viggo's face. "Are you looking for someone too, friend?" he asked.
"Viggo." he introduced himself. "Was just trying to help." Viggo shrugged non-committally.
"My name is Karl." he nodded. "There is no help to be given here tonight, my friend." Karl sighed despondently, sliding one dirty, long-fingered hand through his hair.
Viggo's eyes were drawn to a long cut oozing dark blood that traversed the length of Karl's forearm. As the scent of his blood sang through Viggo's senses, his tongue flicked out to lick his lips slowly. "Perhaps I can help you search for your brother." he said, eyes transfixed on the bleeding wound as he willed himself not to act on the carnal need to feed that was making his hands tremble.
"It is not my brother I seek." Karl murmured, his voice filled with sorrow.
"Your father then?" Viggo questioned absently, his gaze fixed on the trickle of blood that ran down Karl's hand.
Karl looked up into Viggo's face defiantly. "Secrecy matters no more. I seek my lover." Karl shrugged, his shoulders squared as he waited for Viggo to respond. "There is nothing holding me to this fight any longer. Tomorrow will be a good day to die."
"Let me help you find him." Viggo spoke softly, reaching out he closed his hand around Karl's forearm, the blood of Karl's wound seeping through his fingers. A tremor ran down his spine as his bloodlust rose.
"No matter." Karl lifted solemn eyes to look into Viggo's. "I'll be joining him tomorrow."
"Then let us not waste your last night on the battlefield. Let me share your last meal with you." Viggo offered him, a plan formulating in his mind even as he spoke, his fingers moving across his arm, tracing the blood slowly.
Karl looked into Viggo's face and nodded slowly.
Viggo followed Karl from the field of battle, waiting as he stopped long enough to gather the reins of his horse and walk towards the ruined castle ramparts, protected from the enemy by the forces on the field they walked.
Dropping the reins to the ground, Karl turned to speak to Viggo, but was startled into silence by the expression in Viggo's eyes. Without speaking, Viggo lifted Karl's arm, his fingertips slipping through the congealing blood. His eyes met Karl's as he licked his forearm from elbow to wrist. Karl's blood was the headiest of aphrodisiacs. His nerves heightened, his body hardened, his eyes closed with the bliss of the power that surged through him.
"By the heavens, you taste exquisite." Viggo's voice was hoarse with need.
"What are you doing?" Karl snatched his hand back, his eyes wide.
"Saving you from wasting your life." Viggo moaned, his tongue licking a trace of blood off his bottom lip.
"To die defending your faith is no waste." Karl's conviction was less sure now.
"Possibly, but it is in this case, especially as that death will be yours." Viggo nodded, reaching for Karl's wounded arm again.
"Who are you? What are you?" Karl asked, his eyes transfixed by Viggo's as he watched his tongue flick across the wound.
"What I am is no matter, all you need to know is I will never leave you." Viggo murmured. One strong hand cupped Karl's face, his thumb tracing the lightly stubbled cheek. "I will never leave you again."
Durham, England 1346
Battlefields always reminded him of Karl. The stench of masculine sweat, the coppery tang of blood, the smell of the livestock, all of it a vivid memory of his Karl. He laughed mirthlessly at himself. He had been right about Karl, he had stayed at Viggo's side for almost a full hundred years after his siring, before he found his own love and they went their own way.
For a change of pace, following his food trail and men's inane need to best each other, after Karl's desertion, Viggo moved to England and travelled north, finally following the Scottish forces south to England. The need for a companion was again strong in Viggo, and one of the Scottish soldiers had caught his eye as he had surveyed the current battleground one starlit night. From that time he had tried to watch the battles when he could, just to make sure he could follow the young man's fate.
He didn't appear to be a nobleman, but he was certainly inside the inner circle of the battle leaders. A handsome man, indeed, copper coloured hair, bright green eyes and skin that seemed even paler than his countrymen yet faintly scattered with freckles. He was short in stature but had enough courage for an entire regiment, and he toiled tirelessly for his homeland. Fighting valiantly through each battle, he could be found after every skirmish helping wounded soldiers and moving the deceased from the field of battle.
So intrigued was Viggo by this young man, that one evening he had followed him and his companions into an inn, listening to the gentle brogues as they spoke of homes and families. After some urging, his young man, Billy they called him, was convinced to lead the men in a chorus of songs from their homeland. If Viggo hadn't seen Billy's ferocity in battle he would have said he thought he was an angel sent to earth as his voice filled the inn.
Later that same night, as Viggo roamed, seeking his own food, he was startled by a Scottish voice from the shadows of the scraggly forest.
"Ah'd thank ye to tell me who ye be?" Billy stepped forward his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
"I'm friend not foe, Billy." Viggo answered quietly.
"Aye, Ah ken that." Billy nodded, "But ah've bin watching ye. Ye're not like us."
"No, that I'm not." Viggo had responded truthfully, watching the reaction to his statement closely in Billy's searching eyes.
Billy watched him for long moments and nodded slowly, and with that their friendship was born.
Battle after battle they would meet by the light of the moon to wander the battlefield and save men where they could. Where they couldn't Viggo eased their suffering. Viggo's affection for the smaller man grew with every meeting. He would never ask how or what Viggo did and afforded him enough privacy that no explanation was needed.
In the middle of October, Billy's liege Niall Bruce of Carrick, had granted his men a night away from the front line of their war. Instead of spending the night in an inn with other soldiers, Billy had arrived at Viggo's doorstep, a leather bladder of whiskey under his arm.
"Dinnae care for company," Billy had stated blandly as he pushed past Viggo to enter the room he had taken.
"Aren't I company?" Viggo had grinned.
"Aye, but I want ye." Billy waited for Viggo to understand his words.
"Why didn't you say so before?" Viggo asked.
"Ah didna want ta lose me bollocks if ah was wrong." Billy shrugged, taking a long swallow from the cask and handing it to Viggo.
Viggo, who prided himself on his self control, could feel it slipping with every word and knew that before the night was through he would be very, very selfish.
Leaning forward, Viggo pressed his lips to Billy's, and was wholly unprepared for the delicious flavor of the smaller man. His lips slid wetly across Billy's as his tongue pushed into his mouth, one hand lifted to cup the back of Billy's head and pull him closer, deepening the kiss and closing the distance between their quickening bodies.
"Ye dinnae waste any time, do ye?" Billy gasped, Viggo's bearded chin rasping against his shoulder as he licked the pale skin there.
"You taste good." Viggo moaned, trembling with sudden burning hunger for the sweet blood he could feel thrumming through Billy's veins.
"Ah stink, need ta wash." Billy shrugged as his fingers pushed his clothes aside.
"No. You smell fucking wonderful." Viggo disagreed, walking Billy backwards toward the bed as his hands lent their assistance to removing Billy's kilt and shirt.
Viggo straddled Billy's thighs and bent his head lower to lick Billy's neck. His burning need to taste the sweet power of Billy's lifeblood overruled any sense of propriety and fair play. For the first time in almost 400 years, Viggo gave in to the vampiric bloodlust that ruled his race. His tongue licked a long wet lave across the freckled skin, seconds before his teeth pierced young Billy's neck, drinking hungrily of the blood that flowed into his mouth. Billy's struggles were in vain; Viggo's inhuman strength quickly overpowered his prey. As Billy's bloodloss mounted, his strength ebbed, his blood filling Viggo with a strength he had seldom known. Drunk on the sweet nectar of Billy's blood, Viggo barely restrained himself to stop before his life was extinguished.
London 1688
"Look at him, Vig." Billy's voice was filled with awe as they watched the young actors on the stage.
"Yes, I see him. Again." Viggo responded with a sigh.
Viggo could see exactly what was happening here. His Billy was infatuated with the young man on the stage. And while Viggo could see the attraction, he couldn't bear to see his Billy leave him, not for him and not after 300 years.
Watching the play in silence, Viggo appraised Billy's prey. He was too 'fancy' for Viggo's taste, his slightly off centre features only enhanced by the elaborate wig and powdered skin. A dark beauty spot marked the left of his face, painted on, Viggo was sure. His best feature was his smoky, blue-grey eyes, but Viggo could see an arrogance in him that lessened his appeal. His foppish satin and lace clothes enhanced a masculine frame but did nothing for his masculinity. Viggo's confusion mounted as he wondered how Billy's head could be turned so completely by his quarry.
"What are you going to do?" Viggo leaned in to ask as the young man on stage stepped through the curtain and took his ovation from the crowd.
"Ah'm going to ask him to drinks." Billy responded his eyes never leaving the man on stage. "See what happens." He shrugged, Viggo already forgotten as he walked forward and down the wide aisle to the steps at the side of the stage.
"This is not going to end well." Viggo sighed, following at a distance, his sad eyes on his companion of three hundred years.
So their life together began. Where life had been comfortable and easy, it was suddenly turned on its end. The inclusion of Dominic Monaghan into their family was nothing if not life changing. But any inconvenience was worth it for the happiness he gave Billy. He was like a young man again, not the jaded, world-weary soldier he had been. Dominic had given him a new lease on his undeath, his Billy almost glowed with happiness.
New York, January 1701
Happiness was such a fleeting thing. Even in a life that spanned centuries. Not two weeks after they had arrived in New York, following Dominic's oh so promising stage career, Billy's happiness was gone, expended in the blink of an eye and the scattering of fine charcoal dust.
Dominic was young, too young and too undisciplined. He couldn't or wouldn't be taught. He liked to live his life on the edge, and that included his hunger. He wouldn't feed from animals. Viggo didn't even think it was a need for human blood, it was the play and the game, it was the thrill of the chase.
At his announcement that he was going out to feed, a huge row had erupted. The argument ended in the door-slamming departure of Dominic from their home. As his fiery red headed temper cooled, Billy's anger turned into concern and concern to fear. Word on the streets was that a slayer was cleaning house in their new habitat. Dominic was yet to learn how to be discreet; Viggo wasn't sure that he ever would.
Unwilling to watch guilt eat at his young friend, Viggo had gone with him to find their headstrong companion.
However, when they arrived at the fashionable gentleman's club that was currently in vogue, they were too late. Dominic was leading a beautiful young blonde woman into the shadows of the alley beside the club. Viggo's brow furrowed in confused recognition as he watched the scene play out before him with rapt attention. He knew that woman, he had seen her before, at least twice. Even as he lifted his hand to wave and attract Dominic's attention, he knew it was too late. The battle for his very existence was beginning. They watched, Viggo's strong arms restraining Billy from joining the fray as Dominic fought for his life. In the end, his strength was not enough. As he snapped the young woman's neck she passed the stake under her own arm and into Dominic's heart. The young woman crumpled like a broken doll and Dominic erupted into a cascade of charcoal powder, the rosewood stake clattering to the ground as it fell from her lifeless fingers.
Billy's grief was palpable; he ran forward and fell to his knees, sobbing pitifully at the loss of his mate. Reaching out. he pushed the ashes together, begging Dominic to come back to him, but it was too late. Viggo knelt behind him, lifting the stake and slipping it into the inside pocket of his jacket. He reached out and touched the soft skin of the Slayer's face, if not impressed by her talent at least respectful of the skills that she had wielded for centuries. His hand passed slowly over her eyes, pushing them closed, and saying a silent prayer for her passing, Viggo wished her nothing but peace now that she could relax. Scooping up a handful of Dominic dust, Viggo slid it into his pocket for safe keeping and pulled Billy to his feet.
West Indies, December 1725
The hairs on the back of Viggo's neck were standing on end again. Glancing about, he saw the reason for his unease. It was the same young man who had been following him for over a week now. He was a fine looking young man too. Dark curls and deep chocolate brown eyes that Viggo could lose his soul in, if he had one. He was a little too thin but everyone here could use a good feed he had noticed.
It had been almost twenty-five years since Dominic's demise but in a life as long as theirs had been, it was just yesterday to Billy. He was still a broken man and Viggo wasn't sure he would ever be whole again. They had travelled the world, but Billy no longer saw the beauty. Taking full advantage of the heavily overcast day, Viggo had left Billy in their rooms and gone exploring to see how the daylight half of life on the islands lived.
Inexplicably annoyed by their beautiful shadow, Viggo turned and stalked back towards him.
"What do you want, lad?" he asked directly.
"To be like you." The young man pulled himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders.
"You should be careful what you wish for, lad." Viggo growled at him.
"I know what and who you are." He glanced about quickly, ensuring his voice would not be heard by passersby.
Viggo grabbed him by the worn cotton shirt he wore and dragged him into the mouth of an alley, hiding them both in the shadows.
"What do you know of me?"
"I know you are Viggo and I know you and Billy are the ones they all speak of. The ones that the slayers don't seek. You are the ones that don't hunt humans."
"How do you know this?" Viggo pressed him up against the wall, his strong fist curled in his shirt, lifting him off the ground.
"I've been a crewman on 'The Delight'. You'd be surprised at the men that crew there. Not many are what they seem. You are both legend and joke to those who sail on her." He answered honestly.
"Who are you?" Viggo shook his head, trying to clear his jumbled thoughts.
"My name is Orlando Bloom, and I wish to travel with you."
"You know what that means, don't you?" Viggo lowered him back to the ground and toying with Orlando, pushed the collar of his shirt open and inhaled deeply. He could smell sweet blood and the young man's appealing musky, sweaty scent.
To his credit, Orlando stood his ground, he even tilted his head, giving Viggo greater access to the bare flesh of his neck. "Aye, I do." Orlando answered, swallowing tightly. "It's better to forge my own path then be enslaved or worse."
"You'll do, lad." Viggo smiled, reaching out and grasping Orlando's hand in a tight manly handshake. "You'll do."
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Date: 2009-12-31 06:28 pm (UTC)I would love love love to read the extended version!!
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Date: 2010-01-01 12:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-01 01:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-02 04:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-03 06:18 pm (UTC)I love how you introduced each of the characters into the story over time, and how gritty yet velvety the entire delivery was.
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Date: 2010-01-12 05:11 am (UTC)