Please note that I do not own any of the characters, plot, or script from the film, King Arthur. I do, however, own the fluff that surrounds the greatness, including any OC introduced in the story.
I have been privileged to be inspired by the story and history behind the King Arthur film and the actual legends. I've also been inspired by the many talented writers here on this board. I've been thinking of this story for quite a while and have just now put it all down on paper. Thank you to my bestest of friends, NayNay, for being my first bouncing board and reader/reviewer. I wouldn't have had the courage to post anything if you hadn't supported me!
Quick Summary:What if the stories the bards sang of weren't entirely true? What if there was another that held the heart of our First Knight? What if her journey changed the course of history? In this creation, by a miracle, Lancelot lives! We follow our knights from the holy dungeon of Marius Honorius' to the end of the movie and beyond. I've finished a considerable amount of this story and only started out with a small portion to test the waters.
Please rate and review! Feedback is greatly appreciated!
~Finding Home
Green hills, as far as the eye could see, dotted here and there with stone and weed. A breeze blew, cool and fresh, filling ones lungs with the very essence of sun and earth. Home.
A shrill cry interrupted her vision. Blackness. Another cry. The stench of death and decay seeped back into her consciousness. A blade was drawn slowly down her cheek, tracing a line down the side of her neck, her ribs, till it rested at the crook of her hip. Her senses brought her to full alert, eyes snapping open as another scream came from deep within the compound. She braced herself for what she knew was coming next. She thought to herself, she would rather be bound and stretched on their evil contraption than endure another moment of sick indulgences.
What seemed like hours later was really minutes. Her tormentor was done and she heard the rustling of feet. Cracking a swollen eye open she saw the priests and their Roman minions bringing back the pict girl. Her they had decided to torture with their contraptions. A blessing, she thought, from the sick form of torture they had inflicted on her. As they shoved the girl back into her cell, darkness took her again. She was so tired.
Time passed. She could never tell anymore how much, she had been there so long. She heard the dull thud of stones from somewhere in the distance. She smelled the smoke of scorching incense as the delirious priest chanted in Latin and asked for forgiveness for his prisoner. Ironic, she thought, that the man asked forgiveness of others when he was the one who needed it most.
Sounds of smashing now echoed into the darkness. Then there were footsteps getting closer and closer. She braced herself against what she thought was coming. It was then that she heard the priest's infernal chanting stop.
"Who are these defilers of the Lord's temple?" the skinny imp of a man demanded.
"Out of the way," she heard another voice commanding.
She cracked open an eye once more and blinked as the flames of torches lit the cold, dark room. Knights! Her heart skipped a beat. Sarmatian Knights! Had her gods heard her prayers?
"The work of your God. Is this how he answers your prayers?" the darkest of the knights asked his commanding officer angrily. She could see the officer was of Roman descent.
"See if there's any still alive," the Roman officer commanded and his Sarmatian Knights jumped to it.
She heard the sharp clang of sword against chain and the gates of cells dropping open. She saw the figure of the dark knight approach her. He lifted her chin ever so slightly and saw that she breathed. His eyes, pools of dark glass, grew wide.
"How dare you set foot in this holy place!" she heard one of the vile priests protest and then saw the dark Sarmatian knight lose his patience. He stood and spun around, burying his sword to the hilt in the priests gut with a sickening squish.
"That was a man of God!" the other priest said.
"Not my God!" the dark knight yelled and pointed a finger at the priest before turning back to her.
She felt his arm slip around her waist and heard his mighty sword crash against metal as he cut her chains from the wall. As she dropped to the ground he caught her. Another creak, she could hear the boy being lifted from the pit. Another crash, the Roman brought the pict girl out of her cell. They were the only three alive in this infernal place. All the others that had been there much longer than them and had rotted away from starvation and torture.
Moments later she was being carried out of the darkness. Reaching the light, she took a deep breath in and looked up at her savior. His dark curls framed brooding eyes and a jaw set in disgust at what he had just emerged from. She breathed in clean air at last and tried to grasp what shreds of her clothing remained and save what little of her pride she had left. As the knight set her on the ground, the wife of the head of the household ran over and draped her cloak over her shaking body.
"Water!" she heard the commander shout, "Give me some water!"
Skins of water were produced and she felt the thin hands of the lady hold the nozzle to her lips. She drank hungrily, trying to wash away the taste of filth from her mouth. She opened her eyes once more to see the dark knight stand and walk a few paces away before turning and looking at her one more time. His eyes were a flame, and that was the last thing she saw before consciousness slipped from her grasp once more.
She woke hours later to a cool cloth wiping her brow. Smells of medicinal herbs and oils filled her senses. Opening her eyes she realized they were no longer swollen. She could see perfectly. Her senses sharpened as the cool air wafted in from the open flap.
"How are you feeling?" the soft, thick voice of the Roman lady of the house asked.
"Better," she said weakly.
"I am Fulcinia," the lady said, "What is your name?"
"Evony," her voice was hoarse.
"Evony, what a beautiful name," Fulcinia commented as she wiped Evony's brow again.
Evony looked around. They had placed her in a cart with the pict girl and the little boy. The Pict lay sleeping quietly in a corner under a pile of furs. The boy looked feverish and was being attended to by the giant knight.
"Drink this," Fulcinia held a cup of steaming liquid to her lips.
Evony took a sip and immediately choked and sputtered from the thick, bitter taste.
"Please, dear, you need to drink it all. It is to cleanse your body. I know what they did to you," Fulcinia said, her brow wrinkled.
Evony met her gaze and realized exactly what the Roman woman meant. Holding her breath, she quickly took the cup from Fulcinia's hands and downed the liquid as fast as she could. She knew that she would rather handle the bitter taste of the concoction than take a chance.
"Your wounds were minor," Fulcinia said, taking the cup from Evony's shaking hands, "I've cleaned your cuts and taken care of the swelling from your eyes…"
"Why would you help me?" Evony asked, her voice raspy as it tried to regain its strength. She wanted to know, why would this woman, the Roman Devil's wife, help the likes of her? Especially since it was her husband that gave the order for Evony's defilement.
"Because, my dear, I am not my husband," the woman simply said. The expression on her face was pained and Evony realized that she had been as much of a prisoner to this man as any of them.
Evony turned her head and looked out of the flap in the cart. She could see her rescuers, heavily clad in armor, riding their grand warhorses beside the cart. The dark one with the curly hair rode up, peering inside at her. His gaze met hers for the briefest moment, trying to study her with his brooding eyes before he moved on.
"They call him Lancelot," Fulcinia informed her, "The Empire has sent Artorius Castus and his Sarmatian Knights to rescue us from the Saxons."
"Artorius….Arthur," Evony repeated. She had heard of the legendary Arthur and his knights. The Sarmatian knights that had fought fiercest of all in history, and with more honor. The dark one, Lancelot, was Arthur's First Knight. He was said to be the fiercest of them all, and he had rescued her from the cruel hands of the Priests.
A moment later the pict girl awoke. She stared at Evony from under her furs.
"I am sorry," she said, plainly and simply.
"For what?" Evony asked, no emotion apparent.
"For what they did to you," the pict said, a kind of sadness entering her eyes. She had been in that hell longer than Evony, but never had the priests or the soldiers subjected her to their sick desires.
Evony turned her head to look at the falling snow, "Devils will be devils."
Devils indeed. Evony knew that in this world a man's actions determined his nature. The Roman mercenaries, the priests, and the Roman Head of Household, Marius Honorius, had but devils in their nature. Therefore, devil's they would be.
"I am Guinevere," the pict girl introduced herself.
"Evony," the girl said, "How are your hands?"
"They will heal. Arthur set them while you slept." Guinevere said as she moved closer to the open flap for fresh air.
The path that the company took was long and slow. Evony kept to herself as much as she could until she heard Guinevere talking to Arthur. At that conversation she could not help but eavesdrop.
"My father told me great tales of you," Guinevere said, catching the attention of the great Commander.
"Really," Arthur said, riding just ahead of the wagon without turning his back, "And what did you hear?"
"Fairy tales," Guinevere said wistfully, "the kind you hear about people so brave, so selfless, that they can't be real. Arthur and his knights. A leader both Briton and Roman." Here she paused for the smallest of moments and let the irony slip off her tongue like honey, "And yet you chose your allegiance to Rome. To those who take what does not belong to them. The same Rome that took your men from their homeland."
This last statement angered Arthur. Evony listened as his words laced with annoyance, "Listen, Lady, do not pretend you know anything about me or my men."
At this, Guinevere let her boldness spill off her lips, "How many Britons have you killed?"
"As many as tried to kill me. It's the natural state of any man to want to live," Arthur answered sharply.
"Animals live. It's a natural state of any man to want to live free in their own country," Guinevere let her words shoot daggers towards the half-breed Roman before softening her tone of voice and regaining her composure, "I belong to this land. Where do you belong, Arthur?"
"How's your hand?" Arthur quickly changed the subject.
Evony smirked to herself inside the cart. Of course Arthur couldn't answer that question. He, like so many she had known before, did not have a place to belong to. It was the consequence of being in the Roman military. Some men found it easier than others to remember what they had left had been home. Others, like herself, like Arthur, and surely like some of his knights, knew what home should be, but felt no ties to that land or this one for that matter. Lost souls in search of belonging. It was their curse, and Evony could sympathize whole heartedly.
"I'll live, I promise you," Guinevere smiled at him from her furs before saying, "Is there nothing about my land that appeals to your heart? Your own father married a Briton. Even he must have found something to his liking."
With that, Evony could hear Arthur lead his horse away from the cart. Moments later the caravan of people came to a halt.
"You ask a lot of him," Evony finally said.
Guinevere peered at her with a knowing smile, "Because he is a man who can save this land."
"He cannot save what he does not feel he belongs to," Evony told her.
"We all belong to something. He belongs to Briton more than he does Rome. He just doesn't know it yet," the pict girl said with a devious smile.
"Are all pict girls so bold to flirt with a Roman officer?" Evony asked, raising an eyebrow.
Guinevere blushed and then challenged, "It is our boldness that makes us as fierce as our men and equally a part of this land. Do you take issue with a woman who speaks her mind?"
Evony let the corner of her mouth turn up in amusement, "If I did, I would not have met you in that dungeon. I am as guilty as you."
The two women exchanged knowing smiles before falling silent as they waited for the caravan to move again.
As night fell, the caravan made camp in a forest of pine and spruce. Men and women huddled around their little fires, trying to beat out the cold. Dagonet, the giant knight that had saved the boy, Lucan, had retired to a makeshift tent outside. Lucan had followed. The boy had formed a bond with Dagonet and would not leave the knight's side.
"Evony, come. Let me bathe you," Fulcinia said, readying a bowl of warm water and a cloth.
The main flap of the cart was open for air, but the Roman Lady had pinned her gauzy robes over the openings for modesty. A small lamp was lit for light and an oilskin was laid on the floor to catch any water.
Evony let her furs fall to the floor and peeled her soiled shreds of clothing off. Fulcinia took the shreds and threw them out of the cart.
"I have clothing for you and the pict princess," Fulcinia said, "You will wear something befitting a lady. You are not slaves or animals."
Evony caught the hint of anger in the stoic woman's voice as she motioned for Evony to take a seat on the oilskin. She gave her a simple cloth to cover herself and began to dab at Evony's back with a wet sponge. The water was warm and felt soothing on Evony's achy muscles. She had never had someone else wash her before, let alone have the privilege of warm water more than a handful of times in her life. She felt Fulcinia run the sponge over scratches on the flesh of her shoulder blades and winced. Though she had not been subject to the priest's evil machines, they did take the liberty to whip her while they had her chained to the wall.
"Your scars, you have many, child. Old ones even. You have had a hard life. For that I wish it was different," Fulcinia said as she re-cleaned Evony's wounds and placed healing balm on them.
Evony said nothing. Her life had been anything but simple. In some ways, she felt she was exactly like the knights, indentured to a life of servitude. Only her servitude, as did her fathers, had lasted longer than 15 years. Instead of answering, Evony turned her sad brown eyes and peered through the thin fabric the breeze had been trying to blow away. Her long, dark brown hair fell gracefully in platelets over her shoulder. She could see in the darkness, under cover of shadow from the trees, a lone knight staring at her with intensity. She could see his deep brown eyes fighting the inner struggle to maintain honor or give into the demands of a man. At the same time, his eyes studied her as if she was a creature of wonder. She met his gaze, startling him and locking him where he stood for the smallest of moments. His eyes held many questions. If he were lucky, maybe one day she would answer them. For now, they would need to wait. Evony let his gaze falter and he snapped back to attention, bowing his head and walking further into the trees to finish his patrol.
Fulcinia continued her work, massaging scented oils into Evony's skin and brushing the muck out of her hair. When she was finished with her work, she held out a pair of leather boots and a fine gown of red silk. Though the gown was beautiful, Evony couldn't bring herself to wear the thing. She may be a lady, but they were running from Saxons. Fine dresses would not save them. Instead, she wished to be practical. Trousers and a tunic would suit her best, but she had none. Fulcinia was hurt at first, but didn't argue. What right did she have to argue when it was her husbands cruelty that had given the girl most of her scars. Fulcinia swore silently as she went and fetched a parcel on the other side of the wagon.
"The peasant, Ganis, brought this while you slept. He said that you would want it when you were able." Fulcinia pulled the string that held the parcel together. As the leather of the package fell away, Evony saw the most perfect articles of clothing folded neatly in a small pile.
She smiled, thanking the Gods that Ganis had saved what clothing she had left behind. Ganis – he was a good man. One of the few that had helped her when she had come to the compound. One of the few that cared to help anyone. She would have to thank him later.
Evony held up a small undershirt, tunic, trousers, wrist cuffs and leather jerkin. Amongst the meager belongings she also found the small stone pendant that her father had worn. It was a gift from her mother. A deep green stone, worn and shaped in the form of a shiny teardrop. The only prized possession that her family had ever owned.
Fulcinia frowned at the attire but Evony smiled with satisfaction and dressed quickly.
"Don't worry, Fulcinia," Guinevere cheekily said, "I will wear whatever gown you give me."
Evony looked at the Pict Princess, "To charm your commander, no doubt! I, on the other hand, wish to be able to live and fight if need be. A dress will not help me run from the Saxons any faster. I have had enough of men who are savages."
The women fell silent for a moment, letting the words sink in. They knew the Saxons were on their tail. They knew the chatter among the knights and knew they may not make it to the Wall before the savages were upon them. But they did not want to think about what would happen if they did. Evony knew what the Saxon creed was. Kill everything. Leave no man, woman, or child alive. As much as she wanted to live, she at least took a little comfort in the fact that they chose death for their victims instead of cruel forms of torture. Never the less, Evony wouldn't go down without a fight.
Fulcinia broke the silence, motioning for Guinevere to take her turn and be bathed. As the pict took her position, Evony grabbed up a thick fur and left the comfort of the cart to stretch her legs. She was in great need to work out the kinks and knots in her muscles.
The air was crisp, the wind whipping snow carelessly about. Evony walked along silently, avoiding campfires, and finally found herself standing beside a velvety black mare.
"Shhhh, shhhhh," she cooed to the animal, holding her hand out in front of her.
The mare stomped her hooves restlessly before sniffing and nuzzling her hand. She was a beautiful warhorse. Her mane was like silk and her body solid and agile. Evony caressed the animal's head, letting it nuzzle her furs as it searched her for food.
"She likes you," Evony jumped at the sudden voice behind her. She turned swiftly to meet the dark gaze of the First Knight.
"She doesn't like many people," he continued, watching her with a slight smile.
"I'm sure she has her reasons to be wary of others," Evony replied, continuing to pet the animal's nose.
Lancelot walked forward and held out an apple for his steed. She hungrily ate the ruby red fruit from his hand, crunching and licking up every little morsel.
"I am Lancelot," he introduced himself.
"Evony," she replied, "Thank you, sir, for saving my life this day." She hadn't been able to thank him before.
"It is but my duty, dear Lady," he said, looking at her thoughtfully, "What, pray tell, were you doing down there anyway?"
"Lord Marius dislikes women who speak their mind," Evony looked away, "And for a woman who refuses to share his bed, he takes it upon himself and his men to teach them a lesson." Evony met Lancelot's eyes once more, letting the anger she felt for the disgusting excuse of a man go unhidden.
"He is as many Romans are. I am sorry you had to endure such pain," Lancelot's words softened her rage.
Evony swallowed the knot of pain that had suddenly welled in her throat and turned her attention back to the horse as she asked, "And your Arthur? What of him? Is he not a Roman?"
To this, Lancelot smiled, "Arthur is a Roman and a Briton. He longs for a Rome that does not exist. I am not sure it ever truly existed in the first place. But he is an honorable knight and a good friend. He is a rarity among both his people."
"Guinevere seems to think him a savior," Evony prodded.
Lancelot smirked and offered another smile, "Arthur does not think himself a savior, just a visionary. But the Woad girl may be the end of him. I cannot blame him when confronted with such beauty. He is a man, just like I."
Evony felt that intense gaze once more, searching for a response. Her eyes raised to his for one instant.
"I should get back to the wagon. The hour grows late and I am sure we will be making an early morning of it. Excuse me, my lord." Evony bowed her head and departed.