Disclaimer: I own nothing. Shakespeare owns all.

I played Quintus as a female character earlier on in the year, and ever since landing the role I was interested in the exploration of her experiences pre-play. This is my take on things. Our production was very much ensemble-based which meant having as many characters involved in the goings-on on stage as possible even if the script didn't necessarily cater to this. Because of this, parts of the story may be slightly different to what you remember them as in terms of timescale and location. There will be little to none of the original Shakespeare text included in this story. Reviews & constructive welcomed whole-heartedly, flames shall be treated in the style of most of the characters in the play this is based on (for those who don't know, Titus Andronicus).

Quintus

Chapter 1: My Beginning

I was six when the war began. Too young to fight. I watched all my elder brothers head off, spears in hand, heads held high to the deafening sound of the Roman applause. I wanted so badly to go with them, to be one marching proudly and triumphantly to battle. Instead, I stood to the side with my older sisters Lavinia and Martius, my hands dangling limply from their tight grasps as I stared transfixed at my brave brothers. It really was an awe-inspiring sight for a six year old.

My oldest brother, Lucius, left behind a newborn son of the same name. I remember the prospect of having a baby to help care for was only slightly less exciting than that of imagining my brothers triumphantly fighting romanticised battles - (which always somehow took place in the ruins of a courtyard overgrown with roses and a dragon circling overhead.)

I come from a big family by anyone's standards and remember the only brothers I had who didn't go to war straight away were Marinus, Tatius, Magnus and Vitus; they were too young, just like me. Marinus went to war the following year at the age of thirteen – he couldn't wait. I was so jealous, I even sneaked into his room in the wee hours to try on his armour before he left! He caught me in the act and found the image of all this huge, heavy armour swallowing me up so funny that he could only stop laughing long enough to grab his camera and take a quick picture before collapsing on his bed in hysterics once again. I wanted so much to be taken seriously, but Marinus' laughter was so infectious I couldn't help but join in, eventually falling in a heap on the floor, sweaty and red-faced beneath the dense metal. I didn't cry when he left; the thought of death apparently doesn't manifest itself in the minds of seven year olds.

Then Tatius left only a few months later. He wasn't so amused when he caught me playing with his sword; I received a swift swat on the backside for my fun and a reminder that 'things with sharp edges aren't toys!' So I reminded him that warriors don't wear glasses. That little gem got me chased through the corridors and out into the courtyard before the maid broke us up. Really I was doing him a favour – did he want the other warriors calling him four-eyes?! And that's only the names that our side would have used!

Martius had to leave when she was only twelve; we received word that Marinus would not be returning and our numbers were depleting rapidly. I still remember that feeling – the first time death brushed against my life. I didn't understand straight away; what did they mean Marinus wasn't coming home? Why? Where else was he going? Had he forgotten there was a war on? He was always very forgetful – he almost forgot his helmet and sword the day he left! I went thundering after him as he went marching off with Uncle Marcus, waving the sword before dropping it, promptly tripping over it and smashing my temple against the helmet. I still have the scar.

But when I voiced my questions, Lavinia started crying and even Martius' lower lip began to quiver. Martius never likes to cry in front of people, even now. In fact, I don't think she likes to cry ever.

I started to get angry then – why would no one answer my questions? And who did Marinus think he was, upsetting my siblings so much? Why couldn't he just come home?! I felt my fists automatically clench and my jaw lock, back teeth grinding into each other. Mother always told me off for doing that before she went away. I wondered vaguely whether Marinus had gone to visit her.

'Well? Did he?' I asked insistently, gazing up into Martius' and Lavinia's shocked faces. At least Lavinia has stopped bawling at any rate; I adored my big sister, but she did cry quite lot.

'Quinta…' She muttered, staring at me with wide eyes – 'What do you know about Mother?'

'Not much,' I shrugged, the anger dissipating rather quickly now they had stopped ignoring me. 'Just that she went away right before Dad went to fight the Goth-things and nobody talks about her anymore.' I paused, suddenly struck with a new thought. 'Lavinia, why does no one talk about her anymore?'

She seemed stuck for words, so I waited patiently (or at least patiently for an eight year old), before continuing on.

'I mean, she didn't even say goodbye. Yes, that's where Marinus has gone!' I smiled brightly, pleased with myself to figuring it out. 'Marinus has gone to visit Mother! So all we need to do is find Mother and bring Marinus back home. Can we bring Mother too?' I asked hopefully, watching their reactions carefully.

I expected them to be at least happy that I had so cleverly found a solution to the problem. Instead, my genius solution was met with stony silence. I was never told that my mother was dead. Nobody ever explained the death of my brothers. After a while it just sort of washed over me that the reason they weren't returning was because they were now in a place that was reachable only by the taking of your own life. I didn't cry.

Lavinia never went to war – she was dating the Emperor's youngest son by the age of thirteen. I use the term 'dating' loosely; the three of us would play together every day but even so, the Emperor adored her gentle influence on this son and refused to allow her to be put in danger. She was only three years older than me, but Lavinia acted like my mother. She painted my days in soft pink and lace with trips to the lake and tea parties in shade of the old oak tree in the back garden. I remember Bassianus chasing her through forest backing onto the lake with me hoisted up onto his shoulders. He ran so fast that the trees blurred into a browny-green splodgy mess like one of those Van Gough paintings. My art teacher told me off once for referring to them as a 'mess', even though they were. She made a right scene and all the other kids turned up their noses at me. I started skipping classes after that – went to hang out with Bassianus instead. He had his own tutor so didn't have to bother with other kids – maybe he was happy for the comradery of another kid. I don't think he ever told Lavinia I was skipping classes. That was the summer before I had to leave for war.

I got the call to war when I was thirteen. It was something I had been heavily anticipating – the letters I had received from my brothers detailed tale upon tale of duelling with pirates, shooting down dragons and battling ogres and other such demons. I saved all of the letters, pouring over each of them every night before bed so that when I finally fell asleep, dreams of battling such monsters invaded my mind. I always emerged the victor, naturally. This sugar-coated view of war had me on tenterhooks awaiting the time when I could finally forge my own adventure.

I read the letter telling me it was time to serve over and over, my heart racing so hard I thought it might actually burst through my chest. Excitement doesn't describe how I felt – to claim I was over the moon would have been an understatement! My own adventure. Finally, it was about to begin. One great big adventure.

A/N: I'm aware this is a lot of background. There will be much more action in the following chapters - remember, every book needs the set-up to begin somewhere! :) Once again, reviews are most welcome. Thank you!