NOTE: This story and author does not claim any rights to The Vampire Diaries or The Walking Dead franchises.

_-_EMERALD RAGE_-_

Prologue

[The Civil Wars – Kingdom Come]

1488, Somewhere in Eastern Europe

Fog rolled over the still glass surface. The only disturbance came from the port side with the cranking of the reels and the soaked rope breaking through. The nets left a shower of water droplets.

He wasn't looking at any of that though. His hands ran over the wooden railing of the commandeered fishing vessel. It was eerily beautiful to see one of few known inlands lakes of this kind so still. He couldn't see the shore line. It was blanketed in the thick fog.

However, he could see the rise of the mountain range above it. For days, he had watched those mountains, waiting for them to strike his vision the way he recalled it.

Voices rose from the net that was emerging from the depths of the water. He turned away from the bow of the ship and watched as they dropped it on deck. Even though they had been met by days of disappointment so far, he couldn't help the swelling in his chest with anxious trepidation while he waited. Each time it rose with his shoulders.

Each time, a deckhand soaked up to the forearms and slicken with sweat and exhaustion came to him. "Nothing, your Majesty," He would be informed.

While he was not dressed befitting of royalty at the moment, it ran through his veins. The others had warned him about being out in the brisk air in just the white tunic. "Keep searching," He would answer them.

The servitude's shoulders would sag and he would trot back over to the others, giving a rolling hand gesture for them to go again.

It wasn't long before the few stray fish were emptied from the net and it was dropped into the water again, sending a rippling of rings out from the vessel. At least the men would not have empty stomachs to go with their heavy hearts.

"Do you think he's actually lost his mind?" One of the deckhands asked another. The wariness of the travel and time spent away from their homeland was beginning to show in their appearance, their unruly beards and gaunt expressions.

"He lost it the first night we arrived," His companion answered in a low voice. The two men discreetly glanced to the bow of the ship, where the lone and lost Lord stood, staring at the mountain. That was all he did the first day. He just stood there, waiting for something and what none of his men knew.

"This is a fool's errand," The second man harped with the sentiments that were beginning to build on the ship with each passing day.

"Five days, six nights we've wasted upon these shores and these waters," He prattled on, his agitation showing in each yanking of the ropes after they let the net sink as far as it would.

"And for what? Scrapping our nets against this salty abyss while those hellish creatures attack our kinsmen?" The man shook his head. His accent, like the rest of the crew, spoke to how unbefitting this land was for them. While they were used to the overcast gloom in their homeland, it was still foreign and unwelcoming – especially with each moment they waste and more of their own could be lost.

The first man didn't disagree with them. Everyone was beginning to have their doubts about this journey. They had given into idealistic dictation and charisma of the leader, but now they were left with chilled bones and despair.

He would not be discouraged though. He was aware of the dwindling morale amongst his men. He admired their loyalty to him and the flag. But he was drawn out here for a reason, he would not leave until he found it.

Gazing to the mountains, he absently ran his thumb over the cross around his neck. There had to be a sign somewhere.

"Sir!"

He pulled away from the railing and looked to his small crew of men. The shouts that came with the normal rising of the net came more strained than usual. He could see their muscles and expressions taunt with exertion, having to put more strength than normal into bringing the net to the surface.

"Come quickly!"

"What is that?"

"We found something!"

He couldn't discern the voices from another, but it didn't matter. The flutter and rise in his chest was stronger than ever, leaving his heart pounding loudly. He approached the group of men gathered around the net. The mesh bowed heavily from the weight of its contents before it was dumped upon the deck.

Everyone had to step back to avoid the net. A few fish flopped in vain against the waterlogged boards.

Barely a second passed before there were a series of perverse swears and rushed uttering of prayers. Between shoulders, he could see a few men dazed with horror and muttering the Lord's name, crossing their chests and touching their forehead.

"My God, what is this?" One of them exclaimed.

"Step aside," Their Lord had to order, nudging his men by the elbow to let him through. What has all these men shaking like maidens?

He knew the moment it became clear to him what they discovered. He almost joined them.

He froze, staring down at the mass tangled in the fishing net. At first, he couldn't possibly distinguish what it was, but there was the discolored and stained fabric draped across the figure. At one point, the fabric may have been a white or cream color, but now it was nearly black with the dirt of the lake bottom and moss of other worldly plant life that was growing down there.

That wasn't nearly as alarmingly as realizing that it was a gown of a feminine figure. At least, he had to guess it was female, but it honestly hard to tell. Two limps were gathered at the chest. The feet were barely visible blow the hem of the gown with equally tarnished remains of shoes. The face of the creature was frightening at best.

"Is that human?" A sickly paled voice said somewhere behind the Lord, but he wasn't paying attention.

Numbly, he stepped forward to the figure lying on her back and knelt down beside it. What he guessed to be flesh was wrinkled and sunk, instead of being bloated, because of the heavy salt in these waters. The flesh was a greyish and black deathly color. Her eyes were shut and her lips pulled back around her teeth, her cheeks almost hollow. The remains of hair were knotted in some sort of tangled braid or such over her shoulder, almost waist long.

"I do not believe it to be human," The Lord announced. He had seen a many of corpses and never knew one to decompose in such a way as this. While she was gnarly and unsightly, the skin of her arm was smooth to the touch. Some of the men cringed when he touched her. He expected it to give and squish in a stomach churning way.

Instead it was the opposite, it left the Lord furrowing his brows thoughtfully. "I believe… it may be stone," He voiced aloud with realization. The flesh didn't give at all and with the heavy black veins reminded him of marble in a way.

What a grotesque statue to carve.

And why would anyone leave it in the depths of these waters?

His eyes moved up along her arms to the center of her chest, where her hands were gathered. What caught the eye of most of the men was the gleaming hilt that protruded from between her fingers.

"Look at those jewels!" One of the deckhands commented with envy at the rubies and colorful stones embedded into the silver hilt. Naturally, it gleamed brightly contrast to the unusual corpse.

The Lord was drawn to it, like many of the men, but he was intrigued. What was such an obviously rich item doing with this monstrous looking being? To many of the men, it looked like the hands wrapped around the blade were clutching it to her bosom. To the Lord, the hands looked like an offering of the blade to him.

Hesitantly with half a dozen pair of eyes on him, the Lord reached for the hilt of the blade. His fingers wrapped around it and he prepared to use great strength to free the blade, but it slide out smoothly.

Compared to the vessel that brought the blade, it was untouched and awe-inspiring to him. The blade was no longer than a dagger, but bore no apparent imperfections. He placed it lightly in his palm. He could feel that the edge was still very sharp.

Absently, the Lord rose to his feet. The men's eyes were on him, waiting for a word or a revelation. Some of them glanced back and forth to the corpse on the deck. He turned away and they parted for him as he took dazed steps towards the bow of the ship. He turned the blade over this way and that.

Was this blade the sign he had been waiting for?

Seeing that their lordship was not mentally with them again, the six men closed in around the corpse with curiosity – morbid intrigue.

[ThePianoGuys – Bring Him Home]

Moments ticked by with nothing.

No call of birds carrying over the water from the forest around the massive lake. There was no rip of water or sloshing of the heavy ropes and nets against the deck. Not a single whisper or a lost deckhand wondering what they should do with the remains.

The Lord raised his head, snapping away from his thoughts and realizing that it was too silent. He didn't really know how long had passed before he noticed it.

He turned around back to his crew and gave a gasp. The stony figure was gone from the center of the net catch. More importantly, his men were collapsed on the deck in various states of unconsciousness.

"My Lord!" He exclaimed, too appalled to utter anything more eloquent. The blade was forgotten in his hands as he took in the horrifying sight of not knowing whether his men were alive or dead.

They were all so pale and unmoving. He could see some of the crimson oozing from a few of their necks. Not a one of them had uttered a word.

"What demonic spell is this?!"

His eyes wandered over each, taking numb steps forward until he settled on the one furthest away. He could only see the legs of the man. The rest was shrouded.

A voice answered him, but it wasn't of his men. It was low and feminine. However, he couldn't understand it at all. Deep down, he felt like it was the English he was familiar with, but it just wasn't quite right though.

But it didn't matter, he wasn't really listening when the figure crouched over his companion turned around on her heel.

The dark shroud was the gown that had been hugging the frame of the woman they pulled from the lake. Except, now she looked nothing like that grotesque creature. Her skin was smooth and warm with life.

His mouth fell open at the wide emerald eyes that stared back at him. He didn't even notice the tongue that darted out to the crimson of her lips and the dainty fingers that wiped against the corner of her mouth. Her chestnut hair was indeed pulled into a waist length braid. Her cheeks were round with the suggestion of freckles.

She seemed as startled and surprised to see him as he was of her.

Slowly, she rose to her feet, shaking hands against her chest. He didn't understand the language she spoke, but the word she uttered while looking at him he knew must have been a name.

"Silas?"

The smile that rose on her face was radiant, like the hope that filled him each time they dropped the net to the bottom.

"No, m'lady," He answered her, having to clear his voice. Wherever the ghastly statue upon his deck had gone and done to his men, this vision had taken its place. She started to approach him, her head tilting with curiosity.

"My name is Arthur…" His voice trailed, forgetting the formal introduction of his family title the moment hands touched his cheek. It didn't even occur to him to use the blade in defense. She moved with a swift grace, despite the impediment of her wet clothing. Her hands were warm against his cheeks.

He swallowed thickly, being able to see her natural beauty up close. He saw the flecks of gold in her eyes and the rose beginning to color her cheeks from the crisp mountainous air.

What he didn't know was that his thoughts were no longer his the moment she touched him. His memories were no longer a privilege.

The smile fell off her face. Her eyes darted from his honey filled ones, darting over the scruff of his features and dark chocolate locks. "Forgive me, my lord," She answered him in his language. He did not recognize the accent, but it was type that could wrap him up in a warm blanket on a frigid winter night.

"I am mistaken. I thought you were someone else," She forced a smile back on her lips, but the obvious sadness remained in her eyes.

"Who are you?" Arthur wondered.

Her fingers trailed away from his face. "My name is Magdalene," She answered him before offering a coy grin, "But you may call me Mary."

She took a respective step back from the stranger, now that it was established this wasn't the one she sought. He was different. He appeared to be several harvests older than she recalled.

Arthur struggled with believing what he saw in front of him, but he did. He wanted to ask more, but his rational mind beckoned at the sickly men around him. "My men…" He broke away from her gaze, staring in revolt and at a loss of what to do. "What has happened to them?"

"Oh my, yes…" Magdalene murmured allowed, covering a regretful hand over her mouth. In a clear light, she frowned at what had become of them.

"I can help them," She offered instead of explaining, looking to Arthur for affirmation.

The lost Lord just stared back at her blankly. He didn't know what had happened, never mind how to advise it.

Taking his lack of objection as agreement, she urged him, "Find me a chalice!"

"I beg your pardon?" The Lord made a face at being ordered by this mysterious woman, but she didn't wait long enough to see it. She hurried over to the first man and crouched down at him.

"Quickly!" She specified, he still hadn't moved.

She searched the man and found a pocket knife at his belt.

Despite his insult, Arthur disappeared for a moment and produced a simple drinking glass one of the men had been using some vile liquid remedy. He held it out to her and Magdalene made no waste in snatching it. Because of the crouch of her body, he had a hard time seeing her run the blade of the knife over her own wrist.

He gasped at seeing her squeeze her own veins into cup. He clutched to the blade at his side, simply to have something to hold onto to when he couldn't find his voice.

Helplessly, he watched her raise the blood filled chalice to the lips of the first man. He was also struck by her care. Her expression was twisted with concern and sympathy as she cradled the back of the man's head. She smoothed out some of his hairs while the cup tilted.

Arthur marveled over the wound on his neck closing up before his eyes. Even more, the wound on her wrist where she had originally run the blade over it was gone too!

Was this because of the chalice or because of her?

He couldn't be sure which.

With astonishment, he watched her repeat the process with each of his men. He could see they were very much alive and breathing before she moved onto the next.

"Do not fret, they will awake unharmed," Magdalene answered his unspoken question from his mind. She flashed a brief smile in his direction. The relief was evident throughout her body language and the color of her eyes that no one had died. When she went from man to man, she noticed the differences from how she remembered things. Their language was unusual and their clothing even more.

"I have witnessed many a remarkable events in my life, but none such as this," He commented truthfully.

"And yet you have no doubt of it," Magdalene pointed out with curiosity. He was so calm, although clearly in shock, through the process.

"Aye, I have faith in many things, m'lady Mary, and one of them is that there are things in this glorious world far beyond my comprehension," He declared honestly, his free hand absently reaching up to touch the cross at his neck. "And I would declare what I've witnessed here today to be one. May I ask how this is possible?"

As Maglene was tending to the last man, she threw a cautious glance over her shoulder at the blade Arthur held, almost forgotten.

"I was ensnared by that weapon," She nodded towards the offensive object before looking back to her patient.

"For how long?" Arthur still had trouble contextualize the marble creature had been this radiant woman in front of him.

"That would depend on what the year is," Magdalene countered him while studying the bite mark close on the man's neck. Perhaps it was best that Arthur did not look too closely.

"Fourteen, eighty-eight of our Good lord," He answered her instantly.

Magdalene's hands still at the man's shoulders. Her back was to Arthur and he couldn't see the despair that washed over her.

He frowned, seeing she wasn't moving, but something told him not to urge her.

Slowly, she set the drinking cup down beside her, not having a firm grip on it anymore.

"Then that…" She had to pause to keep her voice from cracking, "Your Majesty, is your answer."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Arthur blurted out immediately.

Magdalene pulled her hands in front of her mouth, for a moment closing her eyes and controlling the knotting of emotions that threatened to create a lump in her throat. Reluctantly, she rose up to her feet once more. Only when she was sure she could contain herself, she turned to face Arthur.

"One thousand," She stated slowly, trying to convince herself of the truth. "Four hundred and eighty-eight years I've been trapped in the bottom of this lake by that dagger," She pointed a shaky finger towards it.

His gave shifted down to the weapon in question with anew awe. "It has the power to do that?" He still tried to wrap his head around all of this. Was this the sign he was looking for? What might this could bring.

"Yes," Magdalene confirmed, "And much worse to a lesser creature."

Arthur's eyes snapped up, narrowing on the term creature. That was one way they had described the atrocities commented against his people. No humane person would possibly be capable of it. It occurred to him then for the first time, was she not human? Was she not bewitched solely by the blade or the chalice of these sacred waters? Was she something more? Something greater based on what she implied?

"Are you…" His mouth fell open, realizing she had to be something magnificent. "An angel?"

Surely, only angel would have such divine ability to save his men from this mystery aliment that befell them and be so beautiful.

Magdalene had to fight the smile off her lips. "No," She answered him and approached slowly. While he was not the man she adored, she did find him a little endearing.

"Are you certain?" Arthur pressed. This must be the trial he was granted to go through. She must be the sign he was waiting for.

Magdalene nodded her head firmly, although saying, "You are too kind, sir." If only he knew the circumstances of which she had been born into this life and what she was capable of.

Arthur sighed thoughtfully. His gaze faltered from her intensity. She watched him. He didn't feel offended by her attention, but it did make him anxious. He glanced down to the blade still being caressed delicately in his hands.

What Magdalene was not aware of was the legends that would arise of this moment.

.

A legend of a blade that would aid a Lord to defeat armies of any hellish and unholy creatures or men.

A blade that had been offered to him by a mysterious lady of the lake and pulled from stone no other man would touch.

A chalice which offered the life source of a divine vessel with the ability to heal no wound too great or disease too far.

A Lord who would bring greatness and security back to his kingdom with the aid of an Angel.

.

Magdalene was only concerned with one legend in that moment. "Tell me, Sir Arthur," She drew his name carefully off her tongue as she stared into the mirrored eyes of her old lover.

"What do you know about doppelgangers?"

Author's Note: Hello my darlings, miss me?

So as you can see, I decided to surprise everyone by posting the prologue of Emerald Rage earlier. I've been excited to post this for some time – simply to provide some mythology and history to Emerald Rage.

Yes there's no Kol, Maggie or the rest of the gang yet. That will come in the next chapter, which I do not have a schedule for posting yet. This is just a short prologue, the other chapters will be longer. But anyway, please leave me a review and let me know what you think! Can you pick up on which legends were tied into this prologue? (Yes, some of them I took artistic liberties with but they were myths to begin with so whatever)

At the moment, I plan to continue posting in IRR, You Deserve More and Emerald Rage on any given day that the urge strikes me. I realize I was giving myself more stress by trying to plan and coordinate everything out and I should just get back to the basics – writing and posting for the sheer enjoyment of it.

One thing to note with changes in the chapters, I will no longer post the music lists at the top of the chapter. Instead I am going to insert them in italics and brackets where I imagine the songs going in the chapter. All the music can be found on YouTube by searching the title listed. Let me know if you do or do not like this!