DISCLAIMER: I do not own "The Heir Trilogy", "The Sookie Stackhouse Novels", or "True Blood"

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, this is my first fic inthis department, so go easy on me. I know that this story is under The Heir Trilogy and Southern Vampire Mysterious Crossover, but some bits of True Blood will be featured in this. For example, in this, Godric is Eric's maker, which is from True Blood. That's pretty much all the True Blood bits I'll be using. So, enjoy!

P.S. This story starts in the middle of "Dead in Dallas" and "Club Dead"

SUMMARY: Eric Northman, the all powerful big bad sheriff of Area 9, suddenly finds himself saddled with an old "witch" of a friend who has always had an act of dragging all of her problems into his already chaotic life. And vice versa.

CHAPTER 1

Eric had been dwelling on this night, this very hour, for weeks. He still wasn't sure what his opinion on the matter was, however. When he first discovered that he was the one who was to be shouldered with this responsibility, he wished he was human only for the purpose of drowning himself. But, after some calming down, and a not so peppy pep talk from Pam, he began to think over the matter. A person of this...power (and annoyance) would be a great addition to his magical arsenal. Even though she probably wouldn't agree. She wouldn't agree with anything he ever said.

Suddenly, Pam was in the door way of his office, leaning against the door frame, her arms crossed casually over her chest. She was dressed rather casually this Friday evening in early fall: a bright pink, cashmere turtle neck, skin tight, denim jeans, and dark brown boots, given to her as a gift from Sookie. Her long, blond hair was thickly curled, shaping her beautiful, pale face, giving it a deadly shadow. He couldn't help but smile as he stared at his loyal child of many centuries.

"She's here." she said in a monotonous voice. Eric's smile dropped.

"Of course she is. Where is she?" he asked, turning off his open laptop, and closing in roughly.

"Her cab just pulled up. How long has it been, anyway?" she asked, chewing obnoxiously on a large stick of bubble gum. Eric stared off into the distance for a moment, as if he was looking back in time. After a long beat of silence, he sighed heavily.

"Too long. I'll be there shortly." Pam nodded, taking the cue, and left the doorway. Eric stood up, stretching his arms behind his head. He suddenly remembered how Sookie practically moaned when he did that. He checked himself in this rectangular, full length mirror; smoothing his suit jacket, straightening his tie, and left his office, a smirk still on his face.

His steps felt slow and heavy, like there were anchors attatched to his ankles. He told himself that he didn't want to do this, that brining up such a complicated past like this was certainly not what he needed at the moment, but, in the back of his mind, he felt slightly excited about this. He hadn't seen this girl in one hundred years. Now, she was being dumped on him like some long last adolescent cousin. He snickered when he realized that that was pretty much their situation.

Pam stood at the front door of the bar, leaning against the wall, along with his newest loyal follower, Chow. They both stood up straight when they saw their master approaching. Eric stood before the door, and took hold of the handle. He turned to Pam, and took a long, deep breath. She smiled slightly at his obvious hesitation.

"Ya ready?" she asked with an almost cruel half smile. Eric grinned broadly, showing some of his brilliant white teeth.

"Not in a thousand years." With this, he opened the door, and there she stood. Her back was facing him when he opened the door, but she immediately turned to face him. She was holding an old fashioned, 1920's suitcase in front of her with both hands, and Eric couldn't help but notice how it was covered with post cards from all over the world. He smiled inside when he realized that he had sent her most of those post cards. Hell, he had bought her that suitcase.

She looked exactly the same as she had the first time he saw her, three hundred years ago. Her dark, mahogany skin reminded him of brown silk of the richest degree. Her face was sculpted by the gods themselves, he believed, for he never before or after had seen a face with such sharp and brilliant angles. Her large brown eyes seemed to swim, and bore into his very soul. She wore a pair of large bell bottom denim jeans with a loose fitting tunic over it. Her long hair was in micro braids, and hung down to her waist. She looked like a seventeen year old. She had always looked like a seventeen year old. This was odd for a sorcerer, for they weren't immortal like their cousins, Wizards, but Leila in herself was just odd. But in a startlingly beautiful way.

Eric sighed as his eyes came back to look into hers, and he smiled sincerely.

"Welcome, Leila." Her eyes quickly scanned his tall, strong, 6'6" of viking beauty, but with as little physical appreciation of a Republican from Texas.

"Beowulf." she said, her voice even and warm, like a comforting cup of tea, with just a little bit of a frosty chill on the edge. Eric only noticed her voice for a moment before he realized what she had called him. She had always called him Beowulf in pure mockery. She also called him Braveheart for a while, but he corrected her by stating that Braveheart was Irish, not Nordic.

Eric gave her a quick look, warning her to watch her choice of words. She rolled her eyes in annoyance, and groaned loudly.

"Fine, okay, hello Eric. Look at you. Moving up in the world, aren't ya? Isn't it just wonderful that I show up now, of all times?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. She always had a love for sarcasm. Yes, this certainly would be an interesting few weeks--months? God forbid years. Oh crap...she would be with him forever.

AN: Alright, there you go! I know this chapter was short, but I'm just kinda testing the waters with this right now. Please review, if you like, I'd really appreciate it!