A/N: This is just some idea that spurred into my mind. Hopefully you all like it. I tried to incorporate some historical accuracies in this stories, but I took my liberties; so please, don't be offended (the movie itself wasn't accurate to begin with).

Chapter 1:

The grass tickled her feet as she ran. She ran as fast as her dainty bare feet could take her. Her brown locks were tangled in the wind, covering her face. She suddenly stopped to catch her breath. She looked back to scout for him. When their eyes met, she smiled and laughed

"You'll never catch me."

She picked up her skirts and started running again. But she was no match for him. He was older, faster and stronger. Before she could do anything, she felt his arms wrap around her waist. He lifted her up with ease. He placed his chin on her shoulder, and placed small kisses on her neck. She giggled in response.

"Let go of me!" she said between breathes. He gently placed her on the soft grass and hovered over her, placing each arm at the side of her head. She was still laughing, and he thought she was beautiful. He bent down to kiss her on the lips. He kissed her so softly and gently, it made her mad with desire and passion. She was quick to respond and deepened the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck; a silent demand: "I want you."

They were like this; entangled with each other, for quite some time. Eventually they tore their lips apart to catch their breath. She looked up in his deep brown eyes and smiled.

"Promise me you'll love me forever. No matter what happens," she whispered.

He bent down to kiss her neck, placing each kiss below her jaw line. She moaned in response. He was not one for words. His actions spoke for him. But ever so softly, between each kiss, he quietly whispered, "I promise."

Her eyes darted wide open. Her brow had broken a sweat. This was the third night in a row, that she had this dream. A dream of her past – a past she wished she could just simply forget. She looked outside and looked out to the city. Dawn had just broken, as the sun was beginning to peak from the mountains. Looking out her window, she could see the early merchants and traders coming in to set up their businesses. She saw a group of children walking to school. The early signs in life in the forum also meant it was time for her to begin her day as well.

She walked over to her basin and splashed some cold water on her face. She then proceeded to dress in her uniform. Another day, she thought. She had been doing the same thing everyday for the past thirteen or so years. Yet she never grew tired of it.

She walked out of her room and made her way to the courtyard, where her commander, and mentor, Marcus Gaius was sparring with the emperor's nephew. She observed her commander. He was a capable warrior, and a good leader. He was also very close to the Emperor, thus making him an abled politician. She thought, he made a better soldier. She had come to admire him. Afterall, it was Marcus who gave her a second life. She watched as Marcus was teaching the emperor's nephew a simple defence stance. clack clack clack. The wooden swords connected, and they began sparring again. In her eyes, it was like a dance. Fighting was a skilful art of dance. One had to move correctly, move quickly and move gracefully. If not, death was inevitable.

"I think that's enough for this morning," Marcus said to the young boy, much to his disappointment.

"Oh please, commander. I want to learn more!" The boy could not have been older than eight years old. She stifled a giggle. Marcus turned to her direction and he too, had laughed. She nodded at him – her version of good morning.

Marcus roughed up the young boy's hair. "Another time, my young apprentice. Go now, you will be late for your classes, and then I will get in trouble."

The young boy jumped in response and ran out of the courtyard, with his wooden sword.

"Isolde. It's wonderful to see you."

She slowly walked to him and drew her own sword from her back, "And it's always wonderful to beat your arse."

He raised an eyebrow at her. Was she challenging him? He smirked and drew his own sword from his waist. The circled around each other, sizing each other up, trying to predict each other moves.

Isolde had spent years studying Marcus' moves. She knew his strengths, and she knew his weaknesses. She predicted he'd make the first move.

She was right.

He moved to the right, hoping to disarm her. But she was quicker than that. Isolde easily blocked his move and counterattacked, deliberately aiming low. Marcus was a big man. Lunging towards the ground meant extra work for him. He may have been stronger, but Isolde was quicker on her feet.

They were at this for some time. It was a matter of time before one of them tired out. Marcus was quite impressed. With his mentoring, Isolde had become one of the finest soldiers in his century. Even though she was a woman, even though was Sarmatian, even though many regarded her as a slave of Rome, she was feared and respected throughout the military and the Senate.

Isolde lunged at his feet one more time, to which Marcus was slightly caught off guard. He stumbled back, which gave Isolde the opening she was looking for. She twisted her sword and use the hilt of her sword to hit his arm to disarm his sword. She kicked his shin, which caused Marcus to fall on one knee. Marcus, on the other hand, was expecting her to do that. He drew a dagger from his waist, ready to lunge at her again.

However, he was not quick enough. The dagger was kicked out of his hand, and he found himself staring into her sword.

"Do you yield?" she asked confidently. If she was expecting an easy victory, she was sadly mistaken.

"The real question is, do you yield?"

He looked down, to which Isolde followed suit. Marcus had taken out another dagger, and had it pointing at her stomach.

Isolde was baffled, "But how did you-"

Marcus withdrew his weapon, and replaced it to its hiding place. "You must always be wary of your surroundings Isolde. Your enemy has two hands. You may disarm one hand, but never forget the other."

Withdrawing her own sword, she took in what he said, "Perhaps next time then. Next time, I'll win."

He laughed, "Perhaps. Come now, we have a meeting with the Senate."

Isolde rolled her eyes and sighed. "What do those selfish pigs want now? Cut the military in half? Send us to Iberia to deal with the Visigoths?"

"Don't insult the Senate, Isolde." He said sternly. Marcus highly respected the Senate. He believed, that one day, Rome would return to its former glory and return to a Republic. Isolde thought Marcus was blind. She believed the Senate was useless. All they did was talk. Talk about their problems, do nothing about it, and blame each other for it.

"Do you ever miss it?" he asked.

Isolde turned to her counterpart, "Miss what?"

"Briton, of course."

She half-smiled, "No." She then remembered the dream she had. She pictured the young couple kissing in the grass. "I don't concern myself with the past."

The Senate. Full of old men who argued about nothing and everything. Isolde never understood why she was present at these assemblies. In their political eyes, she was nothing but a slave. Technically it was true. Isolde was taken from her homeland thirteen years ago, as part of an agreement between Sarmatia and Rome. Yet Marcus always made her attend to these meetings, for some reason she could not figure out.

Marcus and Isolde, stood by the wall. Since they were not members, they could sit down and actually debate. They were merely observing. From time to time, the emperor would ask for his military opinion, as they were good personal friends. But that was it.

The Emperor emerged and everyone was silenced. Isolde had subconsciously narrowed her eyes at him. Everybody knew he was a fool. A puppet. Ricimer, a powerful general that controlled most of the Roman military, controlled him. There was no denial that Ricimer wanted to rule as emperor himself. However, because of his Germanic background, he knew it was impossible.

The emperor cleared his throat, "W-what are the is-issues being addressed t-today?"

How pathetic, Isolde thought.

An elder man, who Isolde recognized as Senator Gracchus, stood up, "Sire, we need to resolve the impending invasions of the barbarians from Gaul and Germania. Our men are already strained from months of battle. Hundreds are beginning to desert. I have heard from various centurions that their men believe Rome is doomed. The moral is gone, sire. If we are to fight off these foreign invasions, we must provide an incentive!"

Another man, stood up from the back, "Senator Gracchus, then what do you suggest we do? Hand out money? Promise land? We have no more land to give out! We have no more money! I agree these are dark times, but we do not have the resources to bring up the troops morale. That should be the least of the emperor's worries. He has to look closer to home. Heretics speaking against the Church have been more daring. People following in Pelagius' steps. They will start riots, rebellions, revolts. They will put us in danger."

"Perhaps if you stopped spending so frivolously on whores, Senator Flavius, then maybe we'd have enough money for the army! With no army, Rome will fall! We must keep the invaders out!"

An roar of agreement supported Senator Gracchus, while a roar of protest supported Flavius. The voices started escalating, and soon everybody was standing up and started to yell at each other. Again, Isolde rolled her eyes. "All they do is bloody talk, " she muttered.

The emperor looked stressed already. It was clear to Isolde that he did not want to be here. He held up his hand, as a signal for silence.

"I…agree with Senator Flavius. Our treasury is almost empty, because of these invasions. It will be ex-extremely dif-difficult to hand out monet-tary incentives. Ricimer has not reported any troubles among his men. If what you say is true, Gracchus, then I would have personally heard it from him. I cannot supply the army with more troops or resources. I be-believe the best solution is to retreat back. Give up lands that have proved invaluable to Rome. The smaller the empire is, the better control we have."

"You still have faith in Ricimer? My sources tell me he does nothing. He's letting the barbarians win," protested Gracchus.

"Do not question my authority, Senator, or you will be removed from this house!"

The senator, clearly shocked in the sudden change of mood, silently sat down. The emperor turned his head slightly towards Marcus and Isolde's direction.

"Primus Pilus, have your men addressed you in their concerns?"

Marcus stood upright, and spoke with confidence and clarity. "Sire, during our campaign in Greece, there has been some questioning of wages and re-enforcements. But generally, my men have high spirits."

The emperor's eyes lit up. "See, there you go!"

"But," Marcus pressed on, "I personally believe that the problem of morale does not lie within the troops, but their leaders. If the commanders and generals lose faith in their campaigns, their men will follow suit. Perhaps then, the issues lies within the leaders."

The emperor took this in, as he nodded and seemed to absorb every word. He then looked at Isolde, "What is your opinion, Sarmatian?"

There was immediate protest. "Sire, she is a slave; a nobody! She shouldn't even be present in this assembly!"

"Indeed, she is not a citizen of Rome. But she has been to parts of the empire, where you have not even seen, Senator. She can accurately tell me about the condition of my empire, without any hidden agenda."

Isolde looked at Marcus for help, but she did not get any. She inwardly sighed. "Then I will not paint you a pretty picture. Your empire is falling, and the chances of revival is slim to none." She knew she was speaking boldly, from the looks of shock from various senators. But she continued. "The barbarians are strong in numbers, and are hungry for blood. Rome does nothing but sit and talk, while their men are in foreign lands doing nothing but awaiting orders. Fighting is not an option anymore. We had that chance, and we lost it. With each day, the Visigoths grow stronger. Our men will be crushed, and there is nothing we can do to stop it."

The emperor, clearly annoyed that a mere woman knew more about the circumstances on his own army than him, had no choice but to agree. "Then what do you suggest we do, Sarmatian." The last word was emphasized. Isolde knew she was silently being reminded of her position. She knew she had crossed the line.

She bowed her head slightly, "I'm not the emperor. It's not my place to say."

She retreated to her spot beside Marcus. "You should not have been so bold to Livius. You know he has a short temper," he whispered in her ear.

"The fool needs as much help as he can get. I'll bet you he'll run back to Ricimer after this meeting, asking for help and advice. He needs to get it through his head it's his decision, not Ricimer's. If you ask me, the real problem of this whole mess is that pompous fool himself."

Marcus smirked. He knew she was right, but wouldn't let him admit it her. "That's why no one asked you."

The senatorial meeting ended midday, which was a waste of a time, in Isolde's opinion. As usual, nothing was accomplished. "Explain to me why you make me attend those useless assemblies."

"A good warrior should not only be well-equipped with a sword, Isolde. They need to have the tongue; to conduct truces, stalemates, treaties. A good warrior is a good politician. When you are in the battlefield, you have to learn how to manipulate the situation into your favour. That's what politicians do. They manipulate and they scheme."

Isolde stopped in her tracks and turned to look at her mentor of thirteen years. In her eyes, he was perfect. She stifled a laugh, "Is that all?"

He looked in to her eyes, which made Isolde slightly uncomfortable. She noted that he had been aimlessly staring at her for the past couple of weeks like that; daydreaming. She knew he wanted to say something to her, but he never could.

He blinked himself out the reverie, and regained his composure. "Senator Gracchus quite admired your boldness. He has invited both of us to his house for dinner tonight. I have accepted, on your behalf."

"Marcus, you know I hate those things."

"I know."

"I really prefer to eat with the men. Titus still owes me 10 denarii from last night."

"But you're not eating with them. You're dining with the Senator. That's an order."

"Since when did you become so commanding?"

'I'm your commander. I'm suppose to command."

"Oh, very funny."

So what do you think? The story hasn't TRULY unfolded yet, maybe it 2-3 chapters.