Underworld: Beginnings
Sep. 6th, 2007 08:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lothoroFanfiction: This is the story of how Amelia's knights get turned and the subtle undercurrents of tension between the elders.
31st December 1201
“Must he take out his inadequacies on them?”
Viktor gave Amelia a curt smile in agreement as he stood by her side in the castles bowels. The stonewalls were moist with a thin layer of frost from a particularly brutal winter as small icicles bit into the corners of the stone where the wind whistled through. The flames from the torches around the large room hissed and swayed madly as they were caught in the draft brought from the dark forest outside. Best not to venture through those woods if you didn’t want the growing Lycan horde to devour you alive. And so it was that Amelia commanded her townspeople not to go out at night looking for missing family members. Curfew was set a dusk, not that it mattered for the Lycan, but it gave the local townspeople a false perception of safety. Also, it allowed the Elders to go hunting the horde without too much unwanted attention.
“Why must he be so violent with them? What is he trying to prove? Hmmm? Think he might be bitter about…” she let her voice trail off, knowing that Viktor would understand but it was best not to say the words out loud lest someone overheard them as their whispers hissed around the large room. Amelia grimaced slightly in disgust as Marcus tore into yet another neck. “He does understand that they will working for his benefit, no? One might think he would have an inkling about how a measure of kindness might work for rather than against him in the future.”
Viktor glanced at her and chuckled briefly with a slight scoff. “You forget my dear Amelia, he was neither a warrior nor a diplomat. We are skilled in both war and diplomacy. Tell me, what is his skill besides lamenting about his brother?” Amelia quipped a brow as she returned his sly smile. It wasn’t exactly true, but it was you said if you wanted to slowly rewrite history. Looking back at the long line of soldiers, she watched as he grew weary of biting them in an unkind procession of pain. The ones who survived were not given instruction of what to do at all and some shook with the hunger that was overtaking them. Weeping they tore at their hair as they tried to fight rushing at each other.
“For the love of God, Marcus,” an exasperated sigh left her mouth as she rolled her eyes and walked forward towards the mess. Looking over the Death Dealer’s who had been turned a fortnight ago she asked, “Are you well? Is the urge gone?” The fledging nodded his head. “Good, then take the others into the Great Hall. Have them feed.”
31st December 1201
“Must he take out his inadequacies on them?”
Viktor gave Amelia a curt smile in agreement as he stood by her side in the castles bowels. The stonewalls were moist with a thin layer of frost from a particularly brutal winter as small icicles bit into the corners of the stone where the wind whistled through. The flames from the torches around the large room hissed and swayed madly as they were caught in the draft brought from the dark forest outside. Best not to venture through those woods if you didn’t want the growing Lycan horde to devour you alive. And so it was that Amelia commanded her townspeople not to go out at night looking for missing family members. Curfew was set a dusk, not that it mattered for the Lycan, but it gave the local townspeople a false perception of safety. Also, it allowed the Elders to go hunting the horde without too much unwanted attention.
“Why must he be so violent with them? What is he trying to prove? Hmmm? Think he might be bitter about…” she let her voice trail off, knowing that Viktor would understand but it was best not to say the words out loud lest someone overheard them as their whispers hissed around the large room. Amelia grimaced slightly in disgust as Marcus tore into yet another neck. “He does understand that they will working for his benefit, no? One might think he would have an inkling about how a measure of kindness might work for rather than against him in the future.”
Viktor glanced at her and chuckled briefly with a slight scoff. “You forget my dear Amelia, he was neither a warrior nor a diplomat. We are skilled in both war and diplomacy. Tell me, what is his skill besides lamenting about his brother?” Amelia quipped a brow as she returned his sly smile. It wasn’t exactly true, but it was you said if you wanted to slowly rewrite history. Looking back at the long line of soldiers, she watched as he grew weary of biting them in an unkind procession of pain. The ones who survived were not given instruction of what to do at all and some shook with the hunger that was overtaking them. Weeping they tore at their hair as they tried to fight rushing at each other.
“For the love of God, Marcus,” an exasperated sigh left her mouth as she rolled her eyes and walked forward towards the mess. Looking over the Death Dealer’s who had been turned a fortnight ago she asked, “Are you well? Is the urge gone?” The fledging nodded his head. “Good, then take the others into the Great Hall. Have them feed.”
“Not on other mortals”, spat out Marcus, turning with blood stained lips long enough to bark out his command. Viktor turned away at that moment as if he silently disagreed while he focused in on his brooding seethe. Looking at the procession he saw soldiers staring at the litter of bodies being taken away from those in his contingent that were not strong enough to make it. Good. He didn’t need the weak and frail to survive. Still, some of the soldiers although resolved and strong looked extremely nervous. Not that it would do them any good, the Elder had locked the castle doors. Some men prayed, begging to be released so that the darkness that Marcus was spreading would not infect them. There were a few groups that stood resolved and calm, ready to meet whatever end was written for them. One particular group stood steadfast through the screams. “What about them?” He asked pointing to a group of nine warriors dressed in black with Amelia’s family crest lightly raised from the breastplate of black leather. Amelia turned around while her heart pounded faster in her chest. These weren’t men without names, without identities, without history. She knew them all well. The Royal Knights: Lothoro, Dariusz, Vasquil, Thasos, Lazar, Janos, Andras, Jacob and Matayas.
Matayas. She had not seen them all in a long time. Eight years exactly since they had left to fight over Zadar, a city in Croatia, for the Hungarian princess. The Royal Knights were trying to secure it against the invading fourth crusaders who were trying to claim the land for Venice under the Doge. Although Amelia did not know it now, she would lose that land in 1202. No coincidence, really. There was a bigger battle to fight right here at home. Her sentry must have recalled them home as Marcus had requested. She looked at each one of them and nodded but averted her eyes when she briefly glanced at Matayas. She did not want to know what they thought of her transformation, about the monster she allowed herself to be persuaded to become. And now she stood idle as she let Marcus do the same thing to Viktor’s soldiers and her Royal contingents. No, she scolded herself. This was absolutely necessary despite the fact that half did not know what they were to become or what they were going to fight. Finally, she met his eyes and nodded in greeting, not to do so would literally be a great shame upon him. Having saved her life once, she was not willing to damn him in such a way.
“Yes, them. Well, step up, don’t be afraid.” The way Marcus had said that seemed as if he had wished them all to shiver in their boots. Matayas grunted in answer while his expression looked utterly unamused. His heavy footsteps walked up to Marcus slowly, with a gait of rebellion. Marcus reached for him, only to have his hand stopped in mid-air. “My Lord, though it would be a great honour to be sired by you, as Princess Amelia’s Royal Knights, we must respectfully decline.” The words were clipped by distaste for this man; Amelia could hear it in his voice. Turning her head she gazed at Viktor who was watching the show with great interest. He lifted a brow and threw her a look and whispered, “you’re men are either very brave or very foolish.” But even he looked impressed. Bravery in any form was respected by Viktor, unless you were challenging him, then it was your grave you were digging. The rest of the Knights stepped forward to lend their support behind Matayas. “Our families have served Amelia and her noble family for many generations and we have sworn an oath to the King that we would protect her for as long as she draws breath. We were all knighted by Amelia or her father, we would be much obliged if you allowed us to continue our traditions.” It sounded more like a stubborn declaration of what was going to happen masked in a kind formality. Words Amelia understood very well but were also not lost on Marcus, whose eyes flashed dangerously in a way that suggested that he wasn’t yet mad, but it would not take long to get there. Perhaps Marcus has been more sensitive to challenge ever since he had turned Viktor and felt his power slip away from him.
Amelia held her breath. Everything around them was quiet while only the wind whistled through the castle. Marcus and Matayas stared at each other for what seemed like hours.
Marcus was going to end him; Amelia could see it in his eyes. Why not? After all, he was only a troublesome mortal to him. Her mind reached for a way to interject, to somehow to turn this situation into something amicable, something…
“Marcus, perhaps he is right.” Viktor spoke with conviction and needed no diplomatic rationale to speak his mind. He would tell it as it is in his own way. Walking up to the first vampire, he whispered into Marcus’ ear. “It would be prudent of you to allow us to change some of them. We don’t know what would happen to the rest of us if something happened to you. We might all die…or, because our blood is mixed with yours it created some sort of alteration. If so, some of us would survive to take care of your brother if something were to happen to you.” His words came out with biting clarity, as they made no effort at sympathy. Marcus looked at Viktor, unpleased, but said nothing as a sigh escaped his mouth. He was right of course. Even if he was lying through his teeth, he was right. There was that possibility. Marcus beckoned Amelia to him with a glance and she joined him in front of her knights. The way they lined up in front of her with complete trust and dedication made her innards churn with disgust of herself. Did they not understand that she was about to inflict the greatest curse on them? The insatiable hunger for blood for Christ’s sake would be infused into each cell that would scream out in pain if its sanguine addiction were not curbed. The urge to feed off mortals that had to be tempered would be a goal hardest to achieve, that is, if they survived her bite.
Janos smiled at her, trying to put her mind at ease. He was and would remain the most human out of all of them. His humour and light-hearted approach to life was so disarming as to put a dying man to ease with his fate. “Come now Lady Amelia, please do not take the pleasure of having a reason not to get up in the morning away from me.” Or perhaps it was the mead talking. Either way, he was seemingly carefree. Drawing close to him, she tilted his to the side to reveal his neck. No need to bite there, really, but whom at that time knew? Her fangs sunk into the soft spot where the neck connected with the shoulder. She didn’t need to taste the blood to transmit the virus but to do so, would provide her with a blood connection to them. The warm rush of blood bathed her mouth and slid down her throat, coating it like silk. It was disgusting to even entertain thoughts of enjoying it. Rather, it was just something she needed to do. Any other thoughts would be somberly dampened by realizing that she had just passed the virus onto the few dear to her. Would they grow to hate her? In time, would she even care? Over his shoulder, she saw the other knights stare at her. Surely, she could guess their thoughts even though she would have been wrong-for most of them.
Jacob suddenly took a step back in revulsion and bumped into Matayas. “I-I cannot allow this. You are of the devil! I will not be tainted. The devil took you. You are damned! Damned! You shall never enter the gates of heaven. Princess Amelia is dead and you are a soulless creature in her place.” Jacob was both wrong and right in his righteous blathering. Yet how to answer the accusations? The sounds of Janos in the throes of the subtle change highlighted Jacob’s accusations but it was Matayas that answered by pulling out his sword and pressing it to the chest of the other. “Knight, are you going against the oath you took to protect the princess and her lands as long as she lives?” Jacob’s bewildered gaze settled on his brother as his arm gestured toward Amelia. “I doubt this is what our forefathers had in mind when they wrote the oath. Do you not fear going to hell? God has forsaken her, who are we to follow her into damnation?”
“Are…you…going…against the oath you took?” Jacob looked at the sword pointed to his chest and back at Matayas. His eyes begged for some sort of understanding. “Brother please, do you not see how she will corrupt-” The sword thrust into his gut and a gurgling sound came from blood stained lips as Matayas twisted the blade to the side. Falling to the wayside, the knight was discarded as Matayas stepped up to Amelia with that same rebellious gait that he approached Marcus with. Marcus leaned towards Viktor. “That one will bring trouble. I know it.” Viktor couldn’t help but agree.
Pulling his hair back, Amelia glanced into his dark eyes but noticed that he was looking at someone behind her¬–Kraven. Amelia didn’t realize that they had known each other. By his expression, there was no kinship there. Matayas’ eyes traveled back to Amelia’s. No words needed to be uttered. He was ready. As the crimson river flowed into her mouth, his memories burned through her mind. They were memories she only tried too hard to suppress over the years. They were not bad, at least not most of them but…some of them were of her. As they flooded through her, she quickly pulled back, her face slightly flushed a tint of red. One by one, bite by bite, their most intimate secrets, profound experiences, worst fears, became hers to shelter. Lightly wiping the corner of her mouth, she turned to see how they fared.
Janos grinned at her and threw her a look that said, ‘no worries. What’s the big deal about?’ He tossed his reddish-blond hair behind his shoulder. She neglected to mention that, most likely, he’d never drink mead again. That would have surely put a damper on his eternal existence. Lothoro seemed fascinated by the new fangs in his mouth and kept running his tongue over his teeth, until he accidentally nicked his tongue. Matayas tried his best to ignore what was happening to him and eyed his brothers carefully to check on their ‘progress’. Vasquil, however, continued to spasm on the ground and convulse. Grabbing at his midsection, he grunted in pain as the virus attacked the muscles and tissues in his body and fed off of them. It felt like being eaten alive…from the inside. Grimacing, his canines began to grow in but stopped before they were formed. Sweat tickled down his brow as his body shook violently with a relentless fever. Blood started to pour out of his nose and his skin took on a reddish tint as his blood cells began bursting underneath his skin.
“He’s not going to make it.” Viktor stated to the princess. He was right. Turning his back to the dying knight, Marcus and him continued with the others. Matayas watched Vasquil die. Huh, the man who had rushed at an armed Turkish horde to save him with nothing more than a sword and a war cry, was dying from the poisonous bit of a beautiful viper.
Only the strong survive.
Matayas. She had not seen them all in a long time. Eight years exactly since they had left to fight over Zadar, a city in Croatia, for the Hungarian princess. The Royal Knights were trying to secure it against the invading fourth crusaders who were trying to claim the land for Venice under the Doge. Although Amelia did not know it now, she would lose that land in 1202. No coincidence, really. There was a bigger battle to fight right here at home. Her sentry must have recalled them home as Marcus had requested. She looked at each one of them and nodded but averted her eyes when she briefly glanced at Matayas. She did not want to know what they thought of her transformation, about the monster she allowed herself to be persuaded to become. And now she stood idle as she let Marcus do the same thing to Viktor’s soldiers and her Royal contingents. No, she scolded herself. This was absolutely necessary despite the fact that half did not know what they were to become or what they were going to fight. Finally, she met his eyes and nodded in greeting, not to do so would literally be a great shame upon him. Having saved her life once, she was not willing to damn him in such a way.
“Yes, them. Well, step up, don’t be afraid.” The way Marcus had said that seemed as if he had wished them all to shiver in their boots. Matayas grunted in answer while his expression looked utterly unamused. His heavy footsteps walked up to Marcus slowly, with a gait of rebellion. Marcus reached for him, only to have his hand stopped in mid-air. “My Lord, though it would be a great honour to be sired by you, as Princess Amelia’s Royal Knights, we must respectfully decline.” The words were clipped by distaste for this man; Amelia could hear it in his voice. Turning her head she gazed at Viktor who was watching the show with great interest. He lifted a brow and threw her a look and whispered, “you’re men are either very brave or very foolish.” But even he looked impressed. Bravery in any form was respected by Viktor, unless you were challenging him, then it was your grave you were digging. The rest of the Knights stepped forward to lend their support behind Matayas. “Our families have served Amelia and her noble family for many generations and we have sworn an oath to the King that we would protect her for as long as she draws breath. We were all knighted by Amelia or her father, we would be much obliged if you allowed us to continue our traditions.” It sounded more like a stubborn declaration of what was going to happen masked in a kind formality. Words Amelia understood very well but were also not lost on Marcus, whose eyes flashed dangerously in a way that suggested that he wasn’t yet mad, but it would not take long to get there. Perhaps Marcus has been more sensitive to challenge ever since he had turned Viktor and felt his power slip away from him.
Amelia held her breath. Everything around them was quiet while only the wind whistled through the castle. Marcus and Matayas stared at each other for what seemed like hours.
Marcus was going to end him; Amelia could see it in his eyes. Why not? After all, he was only a troublesome mortal to him. Her mind reached for a way to interject, to somehow to turn this situation into something amicable, something…
“Marcus, perhaps he is right.” Viktor spoke with conviction and needed no diplomatic rationale to speak his mind. He would tell it as it is in his own way. Walking up to the first vampire, he whispered into Marcus’ ear. “It would be prudent of you to allow us to change some of them. We don’t know what would happen to the rest of us if something happened to you. We might all die…or, because our blood is mixed with yours it created some sort of alteration. If so, some of us would survive to take care of your brother if something were to happen to you.” His words came out with biting clarity, as they made no effort at sympathy. Marcus looked at Viktor, unpleased, but said nothing as a sigh escaped his mouth. He was right of course. Even if he was lying through his teeth, he was right. There was that possibility. Marcus beckoned Amelia to him with a glance and she joined him in front of her knights. The way they lined up in front of her with complete trust and dedication made her innards churn with disgust of herself. Did they not understand that she was about to inflict the greatest curse on them? The insatiable hunger for blood for Christ’s sake would be infused into each cell that would scream out in pain if its sanguine addiction were not curbed. The urge to feed off mortals that had to be tempered would be a goal hardest to achieve, that is, if they survived her bite.
Janos smiled at her, trying to put her mind at ease. He was and would remain the most human out of all of them. His humour and light-hearted approach to life was so disarming as to put a dying man to ease with his fate. “Come now Lady Amelia, please do not take the pleasure of having a reason not to get up in the morning away from me.” Or perhaps it was the mead talking. Either way, he was seemingly carefree. Drawing close to him, she tilted his to the side to reveal his neck. No need to bite there, really, but whom at that time knew? Her fangs sunk into the soft spot where the neck connected with the shoulder. She didn’t need to taste the blood to transmit the virus but to do so, would provide her with a blood connection to them. The warm rush of blood bathed her mouth and slid down her throat, coating it like silk. It was disgusting to even entertain thoughts of enjoying it. Rather, it was just something she needed to do. Any other thoughts would be somberly dampened by realizing that she had just passed the virus onto the few dear to her. Would they grow to hate her? In time, would she even care? Over his shoulder, she saw the other knights stare at her. Surely, she could guess their thoughts even though she would have been wrong-for most of them.
Jacob suddenly took a step back in revulsion and bumped into Matayas. “I-I cannot allow this. You are of the devil! I will not be tainted. The devil took you. You are damned! Damned! You shall never enter the gates of heaven. Princess Amelia is dead and you are a soulless creature in her place.” Jacob was both wrong and right in his righteous blathering. Yet how to answer the accusations? The sounds of Janos in the throes of the subtle change highlighted Jacob’s accusations but it was Matayas that answered by pulling out his sword and pressing it to the chest of the other. “Knight, are you going against the oath you took to protect the princess and her lands as long as she lives?” Jacob’s bewildered gaze settled on his brother as his arm gestured toward Amelia. “I doubt this is what our forefathers had in mind when they wrote the oath. Do you not fear going to hell? God has forsaken her, who are we to follow her into damnation?”
“Are…you…going…against the oath you took?” Jacob looked at the sword pointed to his chest and back at Matayas. His eyes begged for some sort of understanding. “Brother please, do you not see how she will corrupt-” The sword thrust into his gut and a gurgling sound came from blood stained lips as Matayas twisted the blade to the side. Falling to the wayside, the knight was discarded as Matayas stepped up to Amelia with that same rebellious gait that he approached Marcus with. Marcus leaned towards Viktor. “That one will bring trouble. I know it.” Viktor couldn’t help but agree.
Pulling his hair back, Amelia glanced into his dark eyes but noticed that he was looking at someone behind her¬–Kraven. Amelia didn’t realize that they had known each other. By his expression, there was no kinship there. Matayas’ eyes traveled back to Amelia’s. No words needed to be uttered. He was ready. As the crimson river flowed into her mouth, his memories burned through her mind. They were memories she only tried too hard to suppress over the years. They were not bad, at least not most of them but…some of them were of her. As they flooded through her, she quickly pulled back, her face slightly flushed a tint of red. One by one, bite by bite, their most intimate secrets, profound experiences, worst fears, became hers to shelter. Lightly wiping the corner of her mouth, she turned to see how they fared.
Janos grinned at her and threw her a look that said, ‘no worries. What’s the big deal about?’ He tossed his reddish-blond hair behind his shoulder. She neglected to mention that, most likely, he’d never drink mead again. That would have surely put a damper on his eternal existence. Lothoro seemed fascinated by the new fangs in his mouth and kept running his tongue over his teeth, until he accidentally nicked his tongue. Matayas tried his best to ignore what was happening to him and eyed his brothers carefully to check on their ‘progress’. Vasquil, however, continued to spasm on the ground and convulse. Grabbing at his midsection, he grunted in pain as the virus attacked the muscles and tissues in his body and fed off of them. It felt like being eaten alive…from the inside. Grimacing, his canines began to grow in but stopped before they were formed. Sweat tickled down his brow as his body shook violently with a relentless fever. Blood started to pour out of his nose and his skin took on a reddish tint as his blood cells began bursting underneath his skin.
“He’s not going to make it.” Viktor stated to the princess. He was right. Turning his back to the dying knight, Marcus and him continued with the others. Matayas watched Vasquil die. Huh, the man who had rushed at an armed Turkish horde to save him with nothing more than a sword and a war cry, was dying from the poisonous bit of a beautiful viper.
Only the strong survive.
