AN: It's been a while, since I wrote a fan fiction, but this series simply inspires me and especially Vex. Not enough stories with him yet, so I try to help a bit with that. Please be merciful with me, English is not my mother tongue, but I try my best. Not betaed, if anyone is interested in the job, please PM me!

AN2: WARNING: Spoilers to all aired episodes (atm that would be till episode S04E12).

Disclaimer: All rights to Showcase, except the idea of the story.

Comments are LOVE!

Blood Oath

„Do you know the feeling of being helpless?

Do you know, how it is, to feel frozen, not be able to move one limb?

Do you know the feeling of having no real clue how to survive?

Do you know, do you know, do you know?"

Being helpless was not something he was still used to, but damn, he knew the feeling too bloody well. Sure, it was a long time ago, centuries, but this feeling; it was burned into his inner core, melted with his pure being. Something that he would never ever get rid of. So he learned to protect himself. Protect his life. He was a survivor and would do, what was necessary.

He would not end like his family, like his father, who he had thought to be useless, before he was proved wrong by the Blood King. His brother, the stern one, but always smiling, even when they were hunted. Or his mother, his sweet mother, strict, very strict, but caring. He still remembered the moment; the light truly left her eyes.

He was at her side, caressing her cheek, missing the hands that had hold him, when he was even younger, that had punished him, when he was naughty, but caressed him later, when his fathers vented his wrath on him. She always had whispered, how he reminded her of her own father, his grandfather.

Someone he never met killed before he was even born, a Trickster, being full of mischief. Those stories had left him longing; this longing to meet someone, who would get him, who would laugh at his jokes or even better, was challenging him. But the longing died with the light in his mother's eyes, when she faded away into nothingness. It was the day he became hard, the day that marked the end of his youth, the day he closed his heart.

Therefore he became a servant of The Dark doing everyone and everything they demanded, everything they wished him to do. Never high on morals, the last bit drained away with those first kills. A mere fledgling, nothing else he was back in those days. The youngest child, his powers had just manifested the summer before. But he was a natural and he learned fast, practised his abilities till no one could resist him. The Elders began to appreciate his talents, appreciating him.

The last of the Mesmer.

He was lucky, that they never started a breeding program, when they realised, how good he was. It was much easier to keep him alive. Alive and alone, no one to have confidence in, no one to trust, no one to rely on. A bit like "Lonesome George", kept and nourished, provided with playthings, everything except true freedom. But he was alive, not like his family, not like any other Mesmer. So he was arranging himself with the situation.

There had always been a slightly sadistic streak in him and oh, an eccentric one as well. If he couldn't feel, he would express himself otherwise. The night terrors had stopped over the years and the screams of his victims where music, the music he truly enjoyed. Their fear, their pain, it was his elixir, it kept him going, it showed him, what he would never ever become.

Over the centuries he learned, that it wasn't enough. Too much pressure, too many things he suppressed. Slowly it sneaked up to him, insanity. Something everyone, who had no real expiring date, feared. His grandmother had gone mad; he remembered her mumblings and her screams.

Mad, bad, dangerous to know, a line he believed to be true about him. But never would he turn into a slobbering, mumbling shell; he fought, he survived, that was his way of life! So he tried to find an outlet, tried to control his mood swings, at least to some degree, a degree that still gave him control.

An encounter with a wicked witch helped him with discovering his outlet. As assassin of the Dark Fae Elders, they had ordered him to execute her for interfering too much in their own businesses. What he hadn't expected was the trap she had set up for him. One moment he was marching into her hut, the next he was hanging upside down; first only his feet bind, just to find his arms secured seconds later. There was this feeling of helplessness that he bloody despised, but when the ropes cut into his flesh and her dagger scratched the skin on his neck, blimey, there was a rush like nothing else before. Of course, he had killed her in the end; she was just a weak human after all.

But the rush had given him an idea and he began to pay women to fulfil his desires and slowly he gained control with giving it up for a short span of time. Not that he stopped having fits of anger or mood swings, but they were controllable, which secured his standing with the Elders. Controlled helplessness, the key to his success.

Today's culture gave him so many outlets; it had overwhelmed him in the beginning. In the 18th century the establishments tending to his needs were hidden, exclusive clubs of the rich and eccentric. Well, there were still some of those around, but overall, it was more established and Goth culture, he had found his perfect haven!

His clubs, they gave him a home, attention besides being feared. Never would he breathe a word about it, but he cherished the position as famous club owner. It amused him to no end, when a young pretty thing tried her or his best to charm him to get into the VIP restricted area.

The Elders valued him even more, too. He had created a perfect cover, a feeding ground and amusement, all in one. There were the various hit jobs for The Morrigan; they made sure, no one forgot that he wasn't just a mad man, but a trained and lethal assassin. As long as they feared him, he was safe.

And than there was his ward, the boy he never wanted, but who had grown onto him. A human, an orphan like himself, well almost an orphan, but with a mother like his, she hardly counted. A father, never the role he had pictured himself in. A killer, an interrogator, a torturer, yes; but a father? Not really his pair of shoes.

Everything, that had happened, proving that he had done a lousy job with it. He wasn't sure, if it was his fault, that the boy was insane or if it was the cursed blood of his mother. Cursed blood, cursed blood oath. Everything came down to blood, even their laws, Blood Laws, thanks to the Blood King, a Blood Sage. Blood being spilled from his mother's mouth.

Today his blood would be spilled. But for a good cause. Not for greed, not for selfish reasons. OK, maybe a bit selfish, but not much. It was for the one who had understood him, the one who was there, the one who saw the little boy, screaming in his loneliness. The one who had melted the ice, for centuries protecting his heart since the day he became the only Mesmer in existence. The one, that revoke the longing again, the one he had betrayed, which caused him more pain, than the torture of the Una Mens.

A bloody human, stronger than most Faes combined, who had a big heart, while being sarcastic and cheeky. Others were allies to the bloody succubus, his alliances lay elsewhere. Oh, not with the Elders and never with The Morrigan, she was just a tolerated, necessary evil. No, if he had to choose, no former blood oath considered, there was only one, he would choose. Kenzi.

And he would help her to become Fae, to take revenge. Blood oaths be damned!

AN3: The line: "Mad, bad, dangerous to know" was said by Caroline Lamb about Lord Byron