Disclaimer: I own nothing original of either Underworld or The Lord of the Rings who belong to Len Wiseman and J.R.R. Tolkien (and quite a few others, I'm certain) respectively. I own the main character, a few other minor ones, and the plot of this story.
Synopsis: Kassandra was a soldier for almost seven centuries, a Death Dealer. Her purpose was to track down and kill the sworn enemy of her species known as the lycans (werewolves). Somehow, in the midst of a battle in the underground lair of the lycan leader Lucian in modern times, she is transported to another world. Though some aspects of this strange world are eerily similar to the one her mortal birth had taken place in, she is desperate for a way to return home. Within the realm of Lórien, time is suspended from reality as days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months, and months turn into years. Kassandra's strange elven hosts tutor her in the ways of Middle Earth, teaching her their language, their history, and about the war that is soon to come. The last thing she wants to do is get involved in a conflict that has nothing to do with her. But soon she'll find that lending her aid in this war against Mordor may be her only way to return home, provided she survives it.
Timeline: On the Underworld side of the matter, the year is late 2003 just like in the first movie. Selene has led all the Death Dealers down beneath the city of Budapest to fight the lycan rebels, and Kassandra is one of the Death Dealers who goes. Now, in Middle Earth, Kassandra arrives in Lórien ten years prior to the council of Elrond and the forming of the Fellowship of the Ring, which sets us at about 3008 T.A. (Third Age). The story chapters don't exactly flow chronologically, we will jump back and forth from past, to present, to future…well, I suppose it would only be past to present. The first chapter is set in 3009 T.A., roughly a year after Kassandra was found in Lórien.
If you have problems with just about anything in this story, you will find I actually don't give a shit. Helpful suggestions and all that will be welcomed though. Go ahead and flame and see how much good it'll do you. I dare you. They usually tend to be poorly spelled, grammatically incorrect rants that are surprisingly anonymous.
If you have not seen Underworld and were just enticed by the idea of a vampire in Middle Earth, just ask away via review or email and I'll explain what you want to know.
Chapter One: A Year Has Passed
A year has passed.
I can barely get my mind to accept the fact that I've been here for an entire fucking year. Incidentally, it took me about that long to finally compose a journal of sorts. This is my first entry. I'm not sure if it is a year to the day, for time in this place seems to not exist. I suppose for a race of immortals cloistered away in a deep forest, cut off from most of the world outside their realm, time is something of a trivial concept. I know time did not have as much value for my kind as it did for our mortal neighbors.
How much time has passed in my world? Has a year passed there also? Have ten or twenty years passed? Or has no time at all passed? If I ever return, will I find myself in the same situation I was when I was whisked away to this world? Will none of my comrades realize I was even gone? These questions often haunt my sleep, insinuating themselves into my dreams…and nightmares. I've done my best to only focus on each day at a time. Thinking about the future and how ambiguous my place is in it is all too much for me to comprehend. I still don't understand how I got here or why I am here—provided there is a reason for it. There must be a reason. I can't accept the fact that I was a victim of an event probably only discussed by the craziest of theoretical physicists. All right, I concede that after what I've experienced in the past year that could be possible…but somehow I doubt it. And the fact that I doubt I was a victim of circumstance, coincidence, and heinously bad luck in favor of some higher power is alone very frightening to me. I, who have denied the existence of a god for as long as I have been a vampire.
You have no idea how much the sight of familiar letters, even if by my own hand, soothes me. It has taken me quite a while to grasp the language of my hosts. I always considered myself to have a knack for languages. Hell, I speak over half a dozen of them. When I first came here, the language thing was probably the biggest obstacle to overcome. I'm told I've learned quickly for one who had not learned at a very young age. They still have trouble thinking of me as an immortal of nigh on seven centuries old. They look at me and they see a pale, raven-haired, mortal maiden of only seventeen or eighteen years of age. Compared to them I am still a youngster though. The Lord and Lady of this realm I've learned are several thousand years old, and yet they retain so much youth and beauty. Their eyes and demeanors betray them, however. I could tell they were far older than they looked from the first time I saw them.
As bizarre as it sounds, my hosts are actually elves. They call themselves the Eldar…and a long string of other titles I really can't remember. They are absolutely nothing like the creatures humans have imagined them to be in their fairytales and stories. As opposed to Santa's elves, I have yet to see a toy maker. Furthermore, they are unbelievably tall and there is nothing childlike about them. And though there are quite a few who have sunny, cheerful dispositions, overall they are a very introspective and somber race. It could be said that time had tamed them like it did for the Elders. Nothing has been said to me directly, but I sense some kind of sadness, a subtle melancholy if you will, about them.
The ones of this realm resemble each other in the minimal ways that would intimate a common ancestor. All of them are fair of skin, though by no means as pale as me. They are all flaxen -haired, though the shades of blonde differ. They range from golden blonde to silvery blonde to everything in between. Their eyes are all shades of grey, blue, green, and I've seen a few hazel ones. Oh, can't forget the ears. They do have pointy ears, something the myths of my world got right, apparently. Imagine, then, how exotic I look compared to them. Me with my alabaster skin, my jet black hair, my dark brown eyes, and my round, human ears. If they had small children here, I'm sure I would have been the subject of many stares and whispers.
I wonder about the lack of small offspring. Is reproducing hard for elves? Does immortality make prolificacy an afterthought? It is hard for vampires to reproduce in either turning humans or reproducing in the traditional manner. A trade-off, I guess, for eternal life. Maybe it has something to do with balance and such rot. I know there had to be elven children at one point and time, for I see so many portraits of young elflings who remind me of all those cherubic baby angel paintings in my world. And they have to come from somewhere. Elves can't just sprout out of the ground like the trees they live in…can they? A question I will reserve for my hosts.
Oh yes, they live in trees. I'm living in a tree, as a matter of fact. However, these structures they live in are far too exquisitely and brilliantly designed to ever be simply deigned a tree-house. Their word for it is telain. And I often had to revert back to skills I thought had long been delegated obsolete in modern times, for there are no such things as plumbing or electricity here. It actually was easier than I thought to delve back into my memories of how I lived as a mortal and my early Death Dealer days. It's like riding a bike, I guess. Their lifestyles, their clothing, their weaponry, their tools, even their speech is all disturbingly similar to the age I had been born in as both a human and a vampire. Obviously there are notable differences. For one thing, there seems to be no rigid definition for gender roles in this society. Now there are a lot more male warriors than females, but I think that has more to do with choice than any societal norm. The fact that there are female warriors in high-ranking positions alone shows how little the Eldar care about the issue of gender. The elleths seem as capable as the male elves. By the way, elleth is a term for an elf-maid. The females do mostly don gowns, but there are quite a few who wear the breeches and tunics fitted for feminine form. I have taken to wearing their gowns more often. Even as a mortal I never wore such finery, and I doubt even the high-born women of the middle-ages boasted garments such as these. The material is silk, or something very close to it. Yet the way in which the elves craft it is astounding. It conforms to my body in all the right places and feels like I am wearing practically nothing at all. This is not limited to the very beautiful, but still impractical, gowns. The more masculine outfits are very comfortable and flexible as well.
And unlike the world I had been born into, everyone here seems to be intelligent and well-educated. Poverty is a foreign concept to them. No elf here lives in filth and scarcity, which was so commonplace in the world of my birth. My mortal birth was one into poverty, labor, and ignorance. I could not read, could barely figure numbers, and only spoke the language of my forefathers before I became a vampire. Well, I suppose saying I was born into poverty is the wrong way to put it. I was actually better off than many of my neighbors. My father had farmed his own land and we had a small number of livestock. We did well enough for ourselves. Well enough to survive. At the time, that was enough for us.
You wouldn't believe this…well, of course you wouldn't because you are not a sentient being, just a journal. All the same, it is still very surreal for me to be sitting out here in the open in the middle of the day. I don't know how or why…as usual…but the rays of the sun in this world do not burn my vampire skin. It has been almost seven-hundred-years since I could feel the warmth of daylight on my skin. I cried the first time I realized I could walk in the light of day and not fear a very painful death. I wept with joy the first time I saw a sunset in over six-and-a-half centuries. After my mind adjusted to this incredibly bizarre (but very welcome) change I spent all my time outdoors in the sunlight, just laying on the grass and basking in the warmth I had missed for so long. Even after a year, I still spend all the time outdoors that I can. Many of the elves here did not understand why it meant so much to me that I could fearlessly trot around in the daylight. After I learned how to speak their language, I gave them the explanations they no doubt craved. However solemn and pensive they like to portray themselves, I know an anomaly like myself has to stimulate a dormant curiosity.
It just occurred to me that it would have made more sense for me to open with that stunning revelation. Oh well, this is a journal. I highly doubt anyone other than me is going to be reading it. I'm not very good at teaching, and none of my hosts seem to expect that I teach them my language and writing. I can't even fathom their writing. It is too complicated for me to grasp, and I hardly want to take the time to learn if there is a way I can get back home soon. I still have no concrete memories of what was going on just before I ended up in these woods. I know what I was supposed to be doing, so I have made assumptions from there. I remember preparing for an attack on the lycans, who apparently had not been almost extinct like we had assumed. The council members had been assassinated and Amelia, who had been on her way to awaken Lord Marcus, had been bled dry. Kraven had been unmasked as a traitor and a coward—the latter of which I always knew him to be and the former not altogether shocking. I was always skeptical about his account on Lucian's "death". But of course I never questioned it since all the Elders took his word for it.
I remember being extremely shell-shocked about Selene brazenly breaking the covenant and awaking Lord Viktor on her own. While I couldn't actually go so far to say that Selene was my friend, I respected her and admired her as a fellow warrior. We were comrades. We had watched each other's backs for years. Though I am older than she is, I am willing to admit she was the better fighter. She had a drive, a smoldering hatred and thirst for vengeance within her towards lycans that gave her an unnatural edge I was never able to replicate. I just followed orders. She lived for the kill. That made all the difference. But she was definitely not stupid and I never knew her to carry a death wish. Therefore I knew she had to have had a damn good reason to wake up Viktor, knowing what peril she was inviting. It turns out her reason was even better than I thought. I hope she survived and got a chance to give Kraven his due reward for such treachery. A pity I probably won't be there to see it. Kraven's fate is sealed either way. If Selene doesn't find him and kill him, Viktor surely will take care of him. If ever there is one to hold a grudge, Viktor is it. He never forgives betrayal…and since this betrayal led to Amelia's death, I am confident Kraven's death will not be very merciful. Serves the lecherous bastard right.
I also remember that the human Selene had brought to Ordoghaz…the human named Michael who actually turned out to be a werewolf was targeted by the lycans for some reason. None of it was explained in full detail during our very cursory briefing by Kahn. Our orders were to go down under the ground into the lycans' lair and kill them all. Simple enough. We didn't need to know about Lucian's plans for Michael, or what exactly he and Kraven had come to a deal on. All we needed to know was they were to all be killed or we would suffer a similar fate. Not so simple this time. They had more advanced weaponry than the last time vampires and werewolves engaged in direct combat. Ultraviolet ammunition I know had already taken the life of one Death Dealer. Selene, Rigel, and Nathaniel had been tracking lycans into a subway terminal and the lycans opened fire on them in full view of humans. I heard a couple humans even got caught in the crossfire. Selene had explained in graphic detail how Rigel had been hit by the lycan rounds and had burned from the inside out. As far as I know, Nathaniel was never found. If they do find him, I doubt he'll be alive.
Wow, writing this down rather than going over it my mind puts an added clarity to my thoughts and memories. There seems to be more coherence to them. I should have done this earlier.
I'm certain I was underground in the midst of battle when I was…well, right before I ended up here. I don't recall much beyond scattered sounds and images, but they are punctured with gunshots, screams of agony from vampires and lycans, and werewolf howls. I can also remember the vivid smell of burnt flesh, no doubt from those unlucky comrades of mine who met with UV tracer rounds. This was the first time in a long time I had gone into battle without a distinct advantage. All we had were customary silver rounds, which could be dug out if not embedded deeply enough. And it really only slowed them down even then. We normally had to edge in repeated lethal shots to the head or the chest to really make a kill. We vampires always had the advantage of numbers and stealth. Now the tables had turned on us. Perhaps we were due for a real challenge. After all, what better way to make an end of the Death Dealers than to heroically die in combat with the enemy? I would have preferred that end than to what was in store for us if we really had killed off all lycans. If all the Death Dealers are dead and the lycans have beaten us, I hope all those gluttonous sycophants who have done nothing in their entire immortal lives save pursue hedonistic pleasures (usually blood orgy after blood orgy) are ripped to pieces. Words cannot express my loathing for those faux aristocrats who called themselves the "elite". Kraven was one of them. They never looked upon us Death Dealers with anything but disdain. They had no appreciation for the fact that their comfortable lives of decadence would not be possible were it not for us…were it not for the Death Dealers whose lives were sacrificed over the years for the Coven. The Coven and its security were built upon the blood and bones of Death Dealers…and what did we have to show for it? A future where we would become obsolete and disregarded, that's what. Perhaps we did our jobs too well.
Hmmm…well, I guess being here has not erased my resentment.
The possibility that I had been hit by a UV round had crossed my mind. I did think that Haldir, Rúmil, and Orophin were angels…albeit avenging angels since they had bows and swords pointed at me when we first met. I had become an agnostic bordering on atheism over the centuries. So, initially, belief in angels was not something I possessed. I actually still think organized religion is mankind's worst invention. Believing in a deity is one thing. I always thought if you wanted to, go ahead. But enforcing that belief on others and actually killing in the name of said belief was madness, pure and simple. And I grew up in the middle-ages, when believing in a better world after the shithole of mortal life was all most people really had. Then I became a vampire. It was my personal Renaissance. Without imminent death looming on my horizon, my beliefs grew stale until they eventually died out. Most vampires have the same outlook. There are a few who cling to their religious inclinations out of a desperate attempt to cling to their mortal innocence. Most of us just outgrew it, in a manner of speaking.
But I guess miniscule remnants of my long-dead religious beliefs as a mortal had survived. Because when I saw the weapons being pointed at me by three tall men with long blonde hair, slightly glowing skin, and features that were effeminate and masculine at the same time, the first thing I thought was that I had been killed and was now being punished for turning against my Christian upbringing. Well, I was obviously very worried indeed…and more than a little pissed off about the situation. Until such time that I figured out they were not actually angels, and I was not really dead, and they knew absolutely nothing about me beyond that I was an intruder and a possible enemy. All that I had to gather from inference because we didn't speak a common language.
Actually, I think it was their pointed ears that really shed doubt on the angel theory. For some reason I could not really see angels as having pointed ears.
Haldir, Rúmil, and Orophin are marchwardens, elven warriors who patrol the borders of this forest realm, which is called Lórien. They are brothers as well, and the first elves I knew in this strange land. They were the ones to escort me to Caras Galadhon, the city at the heart of the forest where the rulers of Lórien dwelt. The Lady Galadriel and her husband, Lord Celeborn, are the protectors and rulers of this realm. I've sometimes heard Lady Galadriel referred to as the Lady of the Wood, or the Golden Lady…which means she must be the one running the show. She and her husband have been very hospitable to someone like me, a stranger stranded in a foreign land who not only didn't speak the language, but can't even eat their food.
Yeah, that was not a very nice experience. I was foolish enough to think that if I could walk in their sunlight, I could also consume their food. I paid for my stupidity by vomiting up everything and suffering with stomach pains and headaches for two days afterwards. And it was no picnic to get them to comprehend the fact that I could only subsist on the blood of living things. This is the part of living in the modern world that I am really missing. No plumbing and no electricity I can handle. However, I became instantly spoiled by synthetic plasma and then cloned blood. It was like fast food for the undead, I swear. And there was no need to pillage livestock. We had set up strict rules against feeding off of humans. For one thing, we needed to preserve our existence and feeding off of a lot of humans is a good way to get yourself noticed. Another thing is a lot of us just couldn't stomach the thought. Unlike how legends, books, and television shows have portrayed us, we still have souls…or, rather, consciences. Okay, there are a few bad eggs like Kraven, Soren, and those idiot aristocrats. It's really no different than the dynamics of good and evil in humans.
I've fed off of humans before, and most of them I regret. Now maybe a few murderous Nazi soldiers found themselves on my menu and other disreputable human beings who have crossed my path. If you feel a need to feed off of humans, you should at least go for the ones who deserve it, I always say. Some believe all humans should be off limits. Maybe they're right…who am I to say what's right and what's wrong here? I actually only fed off a Nazi soldier because he was the only living thing around at the time. You know, desperate times and everything. He was going to die anyway. The others just happened to be in my way of tracking down some lycans…and they also happened to be carting a truckload full of gypsies for what I believe would have been a systematic execution. So I've deviated a bit from the rules of the Coven, but I wasn't alone. The point is that I was never caught, and I never went of rampages of bloodlust.
Now I am back to hunting down my dinner, which is such an uncharacteristic bother. I never thought I would let myself become so complacent about something as essential as food. Sometimes Haldir or one his brothers will bring me live animals, but they are unnerved by my feeding habits. They never stick around to watch. I can't say I blame them. It isn't a pretty sight for someone who hasn't done it for hundreds of years. I wonder why they haven't turned me out for this. I felt sure I would be labeled a demon or whatever their equivalent is here for having to feed on blood. They were disgusted, to be sure. But they seemed to adjust really quickly. It was…unexpected. I'm still not sure what the deal is.
Galadriel and Celeborn are teaching me the language of the mortal race of Man, which I think is their term for humans. I can't say if they're anything like the humans from my world because I haven't come across one yet. The language is called Westron, which is supposedly the common tongue of that race. The elves speak Sindarin, and there is another language that I think is equivalent to Latin. It is called Quenyan. I'm also learning a bit of the history of the elves and such. For instance, I know that Galadriel and Celeborn were actually born in a land called Valinor, which is apparently west across the sea and only accessible to elves and wizards…who are called the Istari or Maiar. This land is called Arda by the elves and Middle-Earth in Westron. I think Celeborn is doing it because he likes to pass on knowledge. I can tell he's enthusiastic about these lessons, and ever since I became a vampire and had my eyes opened to all the world's infinite possibilities, I was always curious and hungry for scholarly pursuits. It helps pass the time until Galadriel can figure out a way to send me back. I think that's what she's said she's doing. Magic apparently exists here. I found that easier to believe once I understood that I was going to be living with actual fricking elves for a while. When you accept one crazy thing, you can't do much but accept other crazy things. What other choice do I have? It's not like I can leave this forest. I wouldn't know where the hell to go or what to do with myself. Besides, everyone here is at least polite to me, if not very amiable. I can't be sure I'll find that anywhere else. And Galadriel might be the only one able to send me back…unless she can hook me up with one of those wizard fellows.
A part of me doesn't even want to leave. If indeed our conflict with the lycans is over, I'll have no purpose back home. Then again, I don't have much of a purpose here either, do I? For my entire immortal life all I've done is hunt down and kill lycans. Maybe it wasn't the most glorified of existences, but it is really the only thing I've known. I suppose I could dedicate my life to my true passion of intellectual pursuit. I would definitely not be sticking around the Coven, that's for sure. If Death Dealers are no longer needed, I don't want to be around to be reminded of that fact. But what if I go back and am the only one of my comrades left alive? Everyone I know and care about dead and gone…I would be alone. No Kahn. No Selene. None of the ones I could come close to say were friends in the limited way a Death Dealer can be a friend.
Therefore the question has become not if I can get back but if there is anything to go back to. Amelia, the one who turned me, I know is already dead. I allowed myself no room for grief and sorrow when I first heard the news because I had a job to do. Being here has loosened my resolve against these emotions. I mourned her and then moved on.
A part of me wishes to stay, the part of me that I think is my heart. My head, however, keeps telling me that I don't belong here. Seriously, I'm an aberration of nature in my world alone. I don't wish to upset some sort of balance or whatnot here. My kind does not exist here. I'm fairly certain lycans don't either. Then again…if I don't belong here…why am I here? If there isn't a reason, then how the hell did I get here?
I'm right back where I started this entry. Damn.
Maybe I ought to record all my lessons and what I've learned from now on along with a journal. If I do go back, I can write up some memoirs or something as a tribute to the time I spent here in Lórien amongst the elves. To avoid sounding crazy, I'll just slap a fictional disclaimer on it. If it sells well I can use it to find my own place in the world and leave my Death Dealer days and the Coven behind. I can't see myself having anything more to do with them if the war is over and Amelia is dead. It's funny. I never would have dreamt about leaving the Coven behind for any reason until now.
Heh. I've just reread all that I've written and I see I've contradicted myself. I wrote that thinking of the future is too mind-bending and then I just made up a plan of sorts. Well, this is a very mind-boggling situation. I think I'm permitted some leeway for self-contradiction here.
A handmaiden is calling for me. I think it's something about Galadriel wanting to see me. Maybe she's got some semi-happy news for me. Cross your fingers.
Dear god. Now I'm really losing it. I just told an inanimate object to cross its fingers.
Kassandra, Master Death Dealer
3009 of the Third Age in Arda
Hopefully still 2003 A.D. in Budapest