Finding Faith

by mistyfoxdreams

This is the rewrite for FFACB. Moqune was a priestess-in training in her village before she and others were captured by Romans to be handed over to Marius. This leads to a loss in faith. Disclaimer: I do not own King Arthur.

So here is Finding Faith the replacement one-shot for FFACB. FFACB will be deleted shortly once my previous readers know that Finding Faith is the replacement story. I researched up on Sarmatian culture and religion. I left footnotes for those of you that are interested. I can't remember small details from the film like who gets Guinevere out of the cell so I apologize for that. Anyway, Enjoy guys!

Finding Faith

Rough cloth was wrapped tightly around her eyes, hands, and feet. Although unable to move, she felt no fear because she knew Tabitti* was watching over her. Before the raid had started she had been at the shrine, praying to her patron goddess. The three fires that were kept burning by the younger trainees had suddenly surged up, dancing about the stone walls. The tablet that she had been trying to seer from cracked. Excited by such a sign she had know-towed* several times before rushing to find Mada the head-priestess. One gaze was all it took and Mada told her that although something terrible would happen to the village they would all come out of it safely. Those words, Moqune kept close to her heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Hours later~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her arms and legs tingled with every step of the horse and she fought with the discomfort. How long did these Romans plan to go? Puffing her cheeks out in irritation she tried to move herself into a better position. A heavy hand smashed into her face and caustic Latin words spewed from her belligerent attacker. Moqune couldn't understand a word but angrily she smashed her head forward and managed to strike his chin. Head still ringing, she was smacked again and again. The horse bucked wildly at the ruckus causing more Latin to spew forth viciously. Although Moqune had only been trained in the basics of fighting she knew the principle of giving up when at a disadvantage. Still angry, Moqune grudgingly allowed herself to be smacked. Finally the attacks ceased and she seethed inwardly. These Romans had no right to take them away from their home like they had done to countless other Sarmatian tribes on the steppe. Surely Tabitti would commit an act of vengeance upon them. Until that happened, Moqune would wait until she was called by the goddess to play her part in the upcoming events.

Her resolve quickly weakened when hours later the horse was still moving. Hunger had begun to gnaw at her stomach and her face burned as it rubbed against the coarse hair of the horse. Her throat itched – her tongue was swollen and stuck to the walls of her mouth. She knew her limbs were definitely asleep by now and a trickle of fear coiled in her stomach. 'I need to know what's going on,' she thought. 'Where are they taking us?'
Something must have happened as her attacker yelled something in Latin. The horse stopped and Moqune could hear the other Romans stopping their horses too. She was grabbed by the hair and hoisted off the horse and onto the ground where she lay helplessly. She grunted upon impact with her face and did not dare stir. Similar noises could be heard around her and she knew the other members of her tribe were suffering the same fate as she. 'Now what?' she thought. A hand came and ripped the blindfold off, leaving Moqune to the sight of a huge castle, a small village, and an underground prison. From within the castle, a short stout man wearing white robes strode arrogantly forward. "Recipiet genere. Spero te repugnantes interfecerunt omnia capiunt?" (Welcome back general, I trust you killed those that resisted and captured all?)

"Utique Dominus Marius. Circumuentus occiditur ulla vis? Iam audeo pro reliquis consilium mihi vultis facere?" (Of course Lord Marius. Are there any you wish to be killed on the spot? And for the remaining I dare say you already have plans that you wish for me to carry out?)

Thinking, Marius said, "Senes et infantes occidit. Puellae etatis quinque-duodecim ire statim ad monachorum. Parvulos et usque converti. Curabitur ut quidam dicunt rebelles tuos conuiuia perfecta. Si monachi non ego adepto an aliae convertere hebdomadam torqueri eos sicut ante facere vel moriantur. Viri similiter cum pueris praeter hominem debere facere. Nos sunt in tristis opus operarios. Bene, off tu." (Kill the elderly and the babies. The girls aged five-twelve should go immediately to the monks. They are still young and may yet be converted. I'd say some that resist might be perfect as entertainment for your men. If the monks cannot get the other women to convert within the week I'll probably just have them tortured until they do or just let them die. The same goes with the boys and the men, except the boys and men should be put to work. We are in sad need of laborers. Well, off you go.) Marius smiled coldly before returning into the castle.

Monks from the prison had silently been listening and now they stood gazing at the Sarmatians. Moqune felt the fear in her stomach grow. Whatever the man in robes had said, she knew that something was very wrong. Some of the women chattered nervously, "We're going to be raped. Haven't you heard what happened to the other tribe that lived near us? We'll be taken from our men. Oh!" Soon the monks and soldiers removed the bindings on their feet. Moqune was pushed to her feet which tingled painfully and could barely support her. A wave of nausea hit her as her empty stomach growled. Her attacker laughed uproariously and dragged her over to the other girls. The women were in their own group and the boys and men were in their separate groups too. The only ones still lying on the ground were the old and the babies. Shock ran through everyone as they were all pushed towards the prison. A small group of soldiers had gathered around the elderly and the young and everyone knew that they would never see them again. Cries broke out among them but the soldiers waved their swords bringing back order. Moqune was among those that had cried out for Mada was among the elderly. 'This was wrong! Hadn't Mada said that everyone would come out all right?'

Pushed forcefully down the stairs, cries of fear echoed off the stone walls and each of the four groups were shoved into a tiny cell. The stench of decaying bodies, feces, and blood ovverode everyone's senses. Moqune huddled as close to the other girls as possible. Only a few were priestesses-in-training. The rest were just being trained in the basics of fighting and would have become warrior women had the Romans not raided their village. Moqune rocked back and forth and silent tears sprang from her eyes. Her fellow trainees joined her and whispered a burial ritual for Mada. But as Moqune whispered the ritual along with the others, a seed of doubt had been planted, too small to be noticed, but big enough to make Moqune uncomfortable with the ritual without knowing why. Moqune knew that sometimes the tablets did not come true fully or could only come true partially. This was probably one of those times. Praying fervently to Tabitti, Moqune asked for protection for everyone and for vengeance against the Romans.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Days later ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Their numbers had dwindled away. The girls that came back were quiet and no longer prayed to their patron goddesses. Many were dragged out by the monks and never seen again. The same had happened to the women. Some came back while others were dragged outside screaming or they were tortured in the prison where their cries could beheard by everyone. Apparantly there was one monk who knew their language and he came everyday trying to persuade them to convert. He beguiled them with food and water which no one had had for more than a week. Many of the boys and men had disappeared. Their numbers combined were only 7 of the thirty. The girls and women numbered 8 of the 25. Moqune was one of the surviving girls and had not been taken out yet. She was the last one but she already knew of the horrors from her fellow trainees. They said that the monks would ask questions in Latin and because they did not understand they tried to ask the monk that knew their language but then they would be whipped or shackled to a wall by their arms, left to hang for an hour. The monk would translate and say they had to learn Latin but they were not taught and were punished for things they could not do or tried to do right. Many yelled that they would convert but the monk would wait to translate that to the others. They had heard that those who had been taken away had been turned into prostitutes for the soldiers.

Moqune didn't know which one was the better decision: convert and live or rebel and be a tool of pleasure. By now the seed of doubt had spouted and had become a hardy vine. It was rooted deeply inside of its host and took nutrients from the negative emotions. This time the tablet was wrong, oh so very wrong. Her tribe had been decimated and there would be no vengeance brought upon the Romans. 'I cannot live knowing I became a little more like the Romans nor can I live with their taste in my mouth and their seed in my body. There is only death for me.'
The monks came for her and she was brought into a room where torture devices hung against the walls, a table with straps lay in the middle, and a cauldron sat in a corner waiting to be used. Shivering from the cold Moqune swayed on her feet as the monks started to fire questions and commands at her.

"Tibi fecit arbitrio tamen?" (Have you made a decision yet?)

"Confiteri tuis iniuriis ad nos!" (Confess your wrongs to us!)

"Quin tu aliquid? (Why do you not say anything?)

"Te impudens parum canis! (You impudent little bitch!)

Moqune tried to say something but they grabbed her and hung her against the wall. Her arms protested at the strain and she struggled violently, her body pushing against the wall. When they brought out the whip, all resistance left Moqune. "Kill me!", she cried. The translator monk did not say anything. "Translate that to them! Please! Tell them to kill me now! Get it over with!" He did not say a word and helped prepare the whip. Moqune started to cry. She had thought that death would be easy to come by but now she realized that the torture she would have to resist was far more horrendous than she had imagined. And then she would be sent to the soldiers and there Moqune would have to find some way to kill herself without being raped first.

The first strike of the whip tore open her trainee robe, leaving her chest bare. Mortified, Moqune turned her head away from the lustful gazes of the monks. Though she was only 12, her body had developed quicker than the other girls and she was already sporting small pert breasts. One monk muttered to the other, "O desertum esset ibi corpus perdere operam facere militum." (It would be a sad waste to ruin her body where it could do much service to the soldiers.)

"Ergo conversus eius super et subvertet terga." (Then turn her over and we shall ruin her back.) replied the other monk.

One approached her and she kneed him in the groin. Furious he turned her over, grabbed the whip and lashed out drawing blood. Screaming, Moqune writhed against the straps which bit into her arms. The translator monk spoke up, "You should not have been so impudent."

"I did not say a word. How could I?" cried Moqune. He made a motion to the other monk. The ship was brought down again, etching an X into her back. She screamed, tears dribbling down her cheeks. Her arms strained and went lax as pain won her over.

"That impudence won't get you anywhere. You don't seem likely to convert at all at this rate. Unfortunately you'll probably be given as a gift to the soldiers," said the monk.

"Kill me," pleaded Moqune.

"See, it's that impudence that'll make your suffering worse. Conversion is easy. Just say it and we'll teach you the ways of God here until you are deemed successful enough to be let out into the world."

"That's equal to torture isn't it?" asked Moqune scathingly. Tutting, the monk made another motion. One monk strode forward with a bludgeon in his hand. Not sure as to what was going to happen next, Moqune gave another hoarse scream as he snapped her arm with it. No, she couldn't last like this and prostitution wasn't any better.

"Conversion! Conversion!" cried Moqune desperately. The translator did not translate and made another motion. The strap on her good arm was released and Moqune wept as she hung by her broken arm.

"Conversion...Conversion..." whispered Moqune weakly as they left the room leaving her there.

~~~~~~~~~~~ 1 hour later ~~~~~~~~~~~~

Moqune was placed back into her cell. Her back had been bandaged but her arm had been left the way it was. The translator had called it a "reminder" of her promise to convert. The other girls said nothing and neither did Moqune. The vine had grown. 'Why have you betrayed me?" was her last prayer to Tabitti.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1 week later ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Moqune was the only girl left. The others had not responded strongly enough to the monks' "lessons" and had been carried out to be given to the soldiers. She would be found to be at fault soon enough. She had been moved into the cell with the other two women who were sister priestesses. Another woman had also been placed into their cell. She was called Guinevere and knew tibits of their language. There was only one boy left and he had been moved into a small well as his cell.

Moqune hadn't eaten adequate food for over a month. Her bones showed through and her broken arm was healing crooked causing her imense pain. Greasy hair fell into her face frequently and she knew she smelled as bad as the dead, the rotten food, the blood, and the feces around her. Her back was festering because the monks had neglected to change her bandages. Guinevere did her best to clean her back but the fever had set in. Moqune was close to happy at that and waited patiently for death to come. But death would not come for her.

~~~~~~~~~~ Two Hours Later ~~~~~~~~~~~

A clamor broke through the prison. Voices could be heard yelling in Latin. The monks were yelling something back but Moqune struggled to push away the fevered haze that she was in. The priestesses gathered her up and because they were too weak, Guinevere called out, "Help!" in Latin. The voices came closer and Sarmatian soldiers came into view. 'They must have been drafted,' thought Moqune. One with a mass of curly black hair, a small moustache and a light beard ran towards them. He smashed the door open with with his body and helped Guinevere with Moqune and the other two. He took Moqune from the priestess sister known as Sarukê. Sarukê glanced at him and said, "You're Sarmatian aren't you?"

Shocked, he replied, "Yes. The other soldiers are also Sarmatian. Our tribes are part of the Alans."

"Ah, we are too! My name's Sarukê and my sister there is Storanê. The little one in your arms is Moqune."

Lancelot, although pleased at finding brethren was thoroughly angered that the Romans had taken down another tribe. Moqune was very still in his arms. Touching her forehead, his mouth formed a grim line. She needed medical help fast. Gallahad and Gawain came by with no survivors between them. Tristan had none either. Bors and Dagonet joined them all with Arthur trailing behind. They both had only found one boy, the boy that had been placed in the well to die. The look on Arthur's face was beyond the fury that any of them had witnessed and grief swam in his eyes. In the whole prison only five had survived.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Hours Later ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur had taken it upon himself to bring the villagers that had suffered under Marius along with Marius' family and soldiers back to Hadrian's Wall. His comrades agreed although they all knew that numbers meant slow progress which also meant that the Saxons could catch up to them at any moment. They had stopped to camp for the the night. Only about 5 fires burnt through that night as Arthur contemplated Rome and what it stood for. Where was God when these people needed him?

Meanwhile, one wagon had been arranged for the four females while the boy, who everyone knew as Lucan, followed Dagonet everywhere intent on staying by his side. Dagonet allowed him and had already begun to grow fond of the boy. In the wagon, the four females were waiting for medical attention. Marius' wife came by with a tub of warm water and soap. Moqune was cleaned first but neither her arm nor her back could be properly tended to until Arthur arrived. The other three washed themselves and dealt with their own wounds. Guinevere had broken fingers which needed to be set and the other two had burns on their arms. Marius' wife gazed sadly at them and whispered a forlorn apology in Latin that only Guinevere understood. Sarukê and Storanê though figured out the intent behind her words and each gently took a hand and smiled. Relieved, Marius' wife silently left the wagon.

At this point, Moqune had been drifting in and out of consciousness. She knew she was on a cot of some sort and that she had been washed. For once she smelled clean and her clothes had been changed too. She forced her eyes partially open and a pillow met her gaze. Of course, her back was festering still. Groaning she mumbled, "Where...?"

"We're out of that prison Moqune," said Sarukê. "A Roman official saved us with his Sarmatian soldiers."

A Roman official...Moqune went cold. "Roman...he's going to torture us..." moaned Moqune. Sarukê tried to comfort her, "No. No. He's a good person. Why else would he have bothered to save us? Plus his soldiers are very loyal to him." Tears crept into Moqune's eyes and she shuddered on the cot. Memories of her torture and the "lessons" ran through her head. After she had agreed to conversion the monks took her into another room everyday where they made her recite verses from the Bible in Latin. They gave her only a couple of minutes for each verse and if she did not recite it perfectly they made her renounce her patron goddess and slander her Sarmatian heritage. She did it all willingly and that was what hurt her the most. Moqune knew she had become a coward, unbefitting of the warrior women of her tribe.

A knock on the wagon brought the women's attention away from Moqune. Guinevere gestured for Arthur to enter. He bowed deeply towards Sarkuê and Storanê. "I apologize greatly for what Marius did to your tribe and to you two and the little one."

"Not all of you Romans are bad and there is no need for an apology. But we will never forgive Marius even if he should apologize," said Sarukê.

"I still feel the need to apologize though. My name's Arthur by the way."

"I am Sarukê and my sister here is Storanê. The little one is Moqune and that is

Guinevere."

"Lancelot told me Moqune was in need of dire attention. Will it be all right if I attended

to her first?"

All three nodded their heads. "She's terrified of Romans now though," whispered Sarukê. "Here, I'll try to rouse her a bit."

Sarukê gathered Moqune up into her lap and tucked her head against her shoulder. She cradled Moqune's broken arm. Arthur grimaced at the swelling and how crooked it was. Sarukê exposed Moqune's back and said, "This is the worst of it." Arthur winced even more at the way it was festering. Glancing at Moqune who refused to look at him at all he knew she would not accept his help.

"It'll be easier if I can hold her. Will you allow me to?" asked Arthur. Sarukê glanced uncertainly at Moqune who had frozen in her lap.

"No. How can any of you trust him? He's Roman. He preaches to that God who wants pagans who are happy the way they are to go against their heritage. Now I have no faith. I have no patron goddess nor god and I have renounced my Sarmatian roots in order to live. I don't know who I am anymore. And here's another Roman preaching about Roman justice and who knows the Sarmatian language and now I'm expected to go back to being just me again?" Moqune raged with as much strength as she could. Exhausted she dropped her head back down and whispered, "I wish death would come already."

Storanê erupted before Sarukê could say a word. "Do not think we have not suffered either. Our faith in our gods have been weakened too and yet we are still alive now. The tablet may have been wrong but we understand that the gods are strange beings and cannot always watch over us. What happened to our tribe was caused by one greedy man and not by any God or gods. You – "

"No. You shouldn't forgive my brethren nor should you accept my help. But I will not let another innocent die for the illusion called Roman justice. Hate me for it but I will save your life," replied Arthur, cutting Storanê off.

Moqune was silent and Arthur took her from Sarukê. She leaned forward against his chest, too tired to resist. Arthur lifted her tunic up and held it in place with a ribbon. Tristan dropped by then with a bowl of poultice. Arthur thanked him with a tilt of his head andTristan receded in the night. Taking a warm cloth from the basin he gently placed it over the X on Moqune's back. She gasped and pushed more into his chest. He gently rubbed a the X and Moqune fell into a pain-filled haze. She was only aware of the burning of her back and how she longed for somethign to cool it down. A hand brushed her hair out of her face and stayed there as if to check her temperature. Arthur knew she was still conscious. A few more strokes were needed to clean the wound. Arthur thanked God that they had not whipped her deeply. Smearing the poultice on his hands, he coated the wound before taking the clean bandages that he had brought with him and wrapping it around Moqune's back. Then he gingerly took her arm and after checking the length with the pieces of wood that he had brought he made a splint. He knew that the bone would need to be reset and he was not looking forward to it. Moqune seemed to know this too and she gripped his clothes harder with her right arm. Taking her arm, Arthur pushed with a quick motion, causing Moqune to give out a hoarse cry which turned into snifflings as she shook. That pain was like when that monk had bludgeoned it. Arthur wrapped the splint around her arm and rubbed her back soothingly. Moqune realized something: his hands were strong but kind. The vine started to wither just a little.

~~~~~~~~~~~ Days later ~~~~~~~~~~~

All of the refugees were beginning to flourish with food, water, and decent hygiene. Sarukê and Storanê stayed by Moqune while Guinevere frequently walked outside along the soldiers. Moqune was making slow progress and the two sisters were worried. Although her fever had gone down, her arm had stayed swollen and the X on her back was still oozing pus. Arthur would be coming by again, this time with the other soldiers to try out other remedies.

After Arthur had comforted her Moqune was quite decent towards him every time he came to check on her. What she couldn't understand though was the differing vision that he had of conversion from the monks. They sought to punish cruelly while he sought to enlighten. And it made Moqune question how religion came about. Who was really right? And if it did not matter as Arthur told her recently then that meant religion was in itself just an illusion too. It was something humans created and Moqune could not bear living such a lie.

Turning to gaze out of the moving wagon, she saw Arthur approaching with the other soldiers. All the other wagons had stopped. Apparantly it was break time. Sarukê and Storanê, knowing Moqune would be in good hands, left the wagon to take a brief walk. Moqune waited patiently as Arthur and the others clambered into the wagon. "If hasn't really gotten better," said Moqune as she moved closer to Arthur and showed him her arm.

"I'm planning to try this wrap that Tristan made. Dagonet, Gallahad, Gawain, Lancelot, and Bors managed to make a different type of poultice. I told really know how to apply these two remedies though which is why I've got all of them here," said Arthur. He cracked a wry smile and Moqune gave a brief one back. Arthur seemed different. She had heard from Guinevere that she had talked to Arthur last night. Whatever had transpired between the two of them, Arthur looked at peace but still slightly troubled. Moqune was still going to ask her question though.

"If religion was something we created then what do we live for?"

"That's a hard question to answer," murmured Arthur.

"Well I live" for – ", started Bors before being cut off by Dagonet.

"Ignore this idiot here," replied Dagonet. "I'd say we live for our beliefs and values. Religion is just another way of living for us. Even without it I suppose we could all go on with our codes of honor. But even if our religion was false, it doesn't matter because we believe it's true."

"That's very confusing Dagonet," replied Lancelot. "For me, I don't bother questioning. If all our Sarmatian gods and goddesses are fake I'll either continue praying to them or just stop. Doesn't matter to me."

"That's very typical of you Lancelot. More time for you to hunt for girls eh?" remarked Gawain.

Gallahad laughed, "I agree with you on that one Gawain."

Arthur had not spoken yet. He seemed to be quietly pondering. Finally he said, "If that one thing you believe in is false I think you can make it true. If you believe in that faith then it will work for you. For me I wanted to create a Rome worthy of God but when I saw what Marius did for God, I was revolted. The God he wanted to appease wasn't my God. His had been the God of Greed and Lust. It might tkae a long time but I want to create another kingdom where the God that I believe in can come forth. I think that your patron goddess did not abandon you. You are alive are you not? And the two sisters also prayed to the same goddess as you. I would assume the others had different patron gods or goddesses?"

"That's true...Everyone was given a different patron god or goddess that they worshipped. Many overlap though but there were four of us who prayed to Tabitti. Mada was one of them and she died with the elderly and the babies."

"But she suffered less did she not?" asked Arthur.

"That's right," said Moqune. Suddenly she smiled. Maybe sometimes the gods or goddesses were wrong and maybe she would never know why religion had been created but she would make her faith work. And even without it, she was strong. There were other things to live for, things that she may not have now but could find. 'Tabitti, maybe this had been a trial but lend me the power to help Sarukê and Storanê rebuild our home. May Lucan grow strong and may one of our neighbors help us in our time of need.'

Having finished tending to Moqune Arthur and the rest of the sodliers got up. Suddenly a yelling sounded through the camp. They all rushed out leaving Moqune wondering what had happened.

~~~~~~~~~~ 1 hour later ~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lucan was safe and Marius was dead. Just hearing that brought a sense of closure to Moqune. Then a murmur broke through the camp. The Saxons were coming.

~~~~~~~~~~ 3 hours later ~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Saxon drums finally ceased and Moqune waited for news. When it came she was devastated. Dagonet was dead. Lucan was brought over to the wagon and she comforted him with Sarmatian poems and riddles. Arthur said that Hadrian's Wall would be just up ahead. From there, Moqune and the sister priestesses could join the other soldiers to find their way back home to the steppe where they lived. However he said nothing about what he would do with the Saxon menace.

~~~~~~~~~~~ One day later ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hadrian's Wall was empty of Romans that had fled yesterday. Today Arthur and the Woads were planning to fight the Saxons off. Moqune prayed from within the safety of the Wall that things would go well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ After the battle ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

More had died and Moqune was struck with doubt. The vine that had died completely seemed to be coming back again. Then Arthur and the only surviving members: Bors, Gawain, and Gallahad asked for her to come to the burial site. They all sang a Sarmatian death song and Moqune realized that some thing's could not be prevented even by the gods and goddesses. She was only human and insignificant but Moqune knew she could make a difference. Her faith was in herself. Tabitti was her and she was Tabitti.

That's the end guys! I know the ending seemed rushed but I worked on this for pretty much the whole day. I find this better than FFACB in terms of clicheness but this story could have been better. Ah the plot bunnies of the young. My plot bunnies now are way better than the ones I used to have years ago. Reviews and criticisms are welcome!

*Tabitti is the sun and fire goddess for the Sarmation/Scythian people

*know-tow is to bow deeply with the forehead touching the floor. I'm not quite sure if Sarmatians did this though.

*I didn't put the asterisk next to their names but Sarukê and Storanê are actual Sarmatian names for women. I found a list on this website here: .

*Another note: Sarmatian women were warriors and some were priestesses too.