The new beginning of a three part series I've been working on for quite some time now. (more info found on my homepage) This takes place a few years before the battle for the Wall but well after the knights have begun their training. A complete character list can be found on my homepage along with other random bits and things. I plan to have another chapter out within a week or so, but I hope this is enough to stem curiosities. Knights will be joining in a few chapters. Reviews are always more than welcome.

I own nothing that you may recognize from the movie, the legend of Knight Arthur, or from any other literary source, etc etc.
I do own the rights to Elena and any other characters not from the aforementioned sources.

Chapter One

She watched as the village was engulfed in flames, sending smoke into the night sky, and clouded the moon from view. She slowly sank to the ground and pulled her knees to her chest. Her hands left gray imprints on the fresh snow, marring the perfect features of the nature that surrounded the chaos. She watched in silence as all she knew was burned before her eyes. It was gone. It was lost in the smoke that mixed with cold winter air. In only a few small hours, there would be nothing left to see. Nothing but floating memories and haunted air.

Rows of small huts were overcome by the fire, unable to fight against the fiery inferno coming to destroy them. They did nothing as it swallowed them whole, leaving nothing but burned frames or embers behind in the wake of the flames. It didn't take long for the entire village to be taken by the flames, to be one step closer towards being forgotten. Some day soon a strong southern wind would come through the valley, taking with it the ashes of the village. After years of the weather attacking the village sit, there would be nothing left to see. The place would be nothing more than a memory to those who had lived there. And even they were slowly being erased with the flames.

Elena did nothing as her village was destroyed before her, not bothering to wipe away the single tear trailing down her face, living a clean trail through the mixture of smoke and ash plastered to her face. There was nothing that she could do to stop the fire; there was nothing that she could do to stop her village from being destroyed. There was no amount of water that would put out the flames. She couldn't even handle a sword to extract vengeance against the men who had caused her people so much pain. She was helpless to do anything and she hated herself for it.

She was not a child, she was not ill; she was not missing an arm or a leg. No, she was a perfectly fit and able bodied to learn how to defend herself. But she was a woman and a Roman and to both of those things at once made it impossible for her to get anywhere near a weapon, nevertheless learn how to wield one properly. Her mother had bristled at the mere thought of her only child, a daughter no less, wanting to train to be 'a heathen warrior and become an egotistical male swinging around a metal poker'. Her mother had been a woman of colorful words.

Portia Romano met her would be husband, Macula Avouris, at the young age of twelve when she developed a crush on the much older man of twenty three. When she proposed multiple times, to her family's embarrassment, and was denied every time with a smile and pat to the head, a heartbroken Portia moved on until five years later when Macula returned to Rome on business. Macula worked for his father, who was a prominent merchant who dealt mostly in the sea trades between Italy and Asia Minor and on occasion, Macula would be sent to Rome to ensure their investors of financial stabilities. It was on one such trip that Macula Avouris was reunited with Portia Romano, who was no longer a child and instead a young woman. He fell heels over head for her in moments and within a month they were properly married by the church. Nine months later a daughter was born to them.

It pained Elena to realize numbly that her mother was dead. Everyone was dead. Her mother and father were gone. Her small brother, Silas; gone. The girls fed the chickens outside her gate; gone. The handsome young man who would sometimes deliver parcels and slip her a smile before riding out of the village was gone. Everyone was gone. Every last man, woman, and child had been killed or were wounded and dying. There was nothing left for her to save.

When the attack started she had been in the cellar with Ava, a servant in her household. Ava's entire family worked for the Avouris, all eight of them. On dull mornings Elena would spend a few hours helping Ava with the laundry and simply relishing the time spent with another girl her own age. They had been laughing and giggling at the idea of Ava's eldest sister, Gelda, courting the village idiot, Harding. They had been so caught up in their childish fantasizing that they hadn't heard the alarm sound over their laughter until the Saxons were almost upon the village. By the time she and Ava had run out of the cellar and into the courtyard, it was too late.

The straw roofs of huts all across the village were alight with flames and all around the two girls was terror. Ava was shaking and sobbing as they stood in the middle of the chaos, unable to move while their minds screamed at them to do so. Neither could look away from the burning buildings and the Saxons plowing through their homes. Elena was broken out of her awe when she heard a loud war cry and looked behind them just in time to see a Saxon coming towards them, thick blade above his head and poised to strike them down. With a scream, she pushed herself away from Ava and knocked her to the side just as the Saxon brought his sword down where they had been only moments before.

"Run!"

It was the only competent thing Elena could think to say to her friend as they scrambled away from the Saxon who was turning on them both. Ava only stared at her for a moment before she turned and ran off into the smoke. Elena watched her run off and quickly followed her own advice. She fled as the Saxon cries and the villager's screams followed after her.

Rather than listen to the small voice in her mind that told her to run and never look back, Elena could not bring herself to run out of the burning village. Instead, she ran to through the burning gates of her home and sprinted up the front steps. The estate was surrounded by flames much like the rest of the village but it alone was not overrun by Saxon brutes. She pushed open the heavy front doors and started calling out the names of her family.

"Mother!" she screamed. Coughs wracked her body as she inhaled the smoke but she would not leave without them. "Silas!"

Elena made her way through the smoldering home to the room of her parents. Even in the smoke she could tell that the door had been broken down and not simply attacked by the fire. She coughed and entered the room, calling for her parents. There was no response to her frantic shouts. It was near the fire place that she found the mangled body of her father and close to the window, her mother's. Sobbing, Elena knelt beside her mother's body, afraid to touch her. Portia's eyes were wide and while they were pointed to the ceiling, they were unfocused.

"Oh, Mother," Elena whispered as she used a shaking hand to close the woman's eyes. She stood to stumble over to her father where she did the same. She looked at her father and covered her mouth with a hand, stifling her cries. Before standing, she touched a hand to his forehead and whispered a soft prayer for both her fallen parents. They were with God now, she reasoned. He would care for them now.

A few moments she stumbled from the burning estate and fell into the snow outside, sobs overtaking her body. She shook and could do nothing to control her sobs. Shouts nearby alerted her of the danger she was in and slowly Elena stumbled away from her life's wreckage.

The place had been overrun by brutes and screams filled the already smoke filled air. The next hour was a blur of running, screaming, and sobbing. Somehow Elena had found herself alone on the small hill overlooking her home. She knew that anyone below her would see her but she cared little. She sat in the cold snow in her thin dress and soft slippers and waited. There was nothing to do but wait for her fate to be served.

To the north were more Saxons, as were they to the east and west. To the south was another Roman home which belonged to a family close to the pope. It was said that their son, who was no older than Silas, was destined to take the Pope's place when the time came. Elena remembered meeting the family once when she and her family passed through on their way to their new home from Rome. She didn't like father much and welcomed the time when they left. Even if she had been willing to go there for aid, the fellow Romans were miles from her home and in the snow, it would be near impossible to reach. She didn't have anywhere to go.

There was nowhere to run and no reason to try.

I I I I

She didn't change her line of sight from the burning village as yells sounded behind her and the snow crunched beneath the feet of the attackers. She didn't protest or fight against the rough hands that grabbed her under the arms and pulled her to her feet. There was no point to fighting, not when they outnumbered her in bodies and weapons alike.

She didn't look away from what was left of her life burning away as the Saxon pulled her roughly towards the forest. Walking calmly between the two Saxons, Elena followed them towards an empty clearing where the rest of their party awaited them. A wince overcame Elena's face as the man twisted her wrist, forcing her to the ground on her knees. The man stared down at her with malice, a smirk painted on the Saxon's face perfectly. It was as if he practiced in the reflection of a stream. He spoke to her in a foreign tongue and she didn't spare the energy to be confused.

It didn't take long for the man to become angry and he backhanded the girl across the face, throwing her into the snow painfully. Elena stayed where she had fallen, too exhausted to move, the nights ordeal attacking her senses and making her numb. She could no longer feel her fingers and her legs were starting to tingle.

Another man yelled at her, frustrated by her chosen silence, and kicked her forcefully in the side. Elena felt tears start to fall over her face and curled into a ball, ready to protect herself from further attacks. The men seemed to lose interest in her quickly and moved on to building camp. A fire was built, casting its shadows on Elena's face, flashing images of her burning home seared her mind and she looked away.

It did not take the Saxon group long to prepare their encampment but Elena paid no heed to them. She stared blankly at a patch of darkness between the trees. She wondered how long it would take to run into the darkness, to be lost in the arms of the forest. Where she would go was unknown, she had no family, no friends to go to for help. There was no one beyond the walls of her imprisonment that would be willing to help her. She was alone.

A rough hand grasped the young girl's arm, forcing her to stand. Another Saxon man pulled her through the small camp, and she was forced to skip a few steps in attempts to keep on up the larger, longer strode man. He paused at the entrance of a tent; the one that seemed to be largest out of the others surrounding it. No doubt it held the leader of the party. A bark of command called out from within and the man pushed Elena towards the flaps, ushering her forward. She stared back at the darkness again, bidding it farewell. There was nothing for her there, in the unknown. She had better chances with the monster of a man residing in the tent before her than in the frozen emptiness of the forest.

Elena allowed the man to push her into the room, not bothering to cause a scene. Nothing but cooperation would help her now. A wall of heat hit her in the face harshly, like a slap to face rather than the welcoming hug of a family member. She walked across the purposefully laid furs that separated her feet from the cold ground and was surprised by the man before her.

He was only a few years older than herself and stared at her scornfully from his place from a beautifully crafted wooden chair. He stood from his throne with almost a flourish and waved the man behind Elena away lazily. She felt the man nod and hurry from the room, letting in a wave of cold air into the overly warm tent as he left.

The man walked close to her, almost daring Elena to back away, to show her fright like all of the other people he had pillaged had before her. She felt her stomach drop and her head grow light from the fear overcoming her body but willed herself to remain normal, to prove the man before her wrong. She flinched as he reached out a steady hand and grabbed a lock of her dark hair, pulling it up to his nose and sniffed it. He dropped it carelessly, and looked at Elena, smirk still faint on his face.

"What is your name, girl?" he asked in a surprisingly quiet tone, causing her to jump at the sound of his voice. His smirk widened at the sight of her fear and surprise but he said nothing more, waiting for an answer. She studied him carefully, taking in the light head of hair and piercing blue eyes, rugged and worn boots and the clearly used sword that hung grandly on his hip. It mocked her, showing how very small she was in the eyes on the man waiting for her name.

She allowed her eyes to trail down the man's form, looking for more hidden weapons, and saw the hilt of a dagger protruding from his boot. She was in no doubt that more lay hidden beneath his heavy winter gear, close at hand for whenever the time called upon them. She looked back at the man's waiting blue eyes and knew he was becoming impatient with her, his nose twitched in apprehension.

"Elena," she said finally, her voice low from the lack of use and coverage of grunge. Her voice sounded small in comparison to his.

The man held out his hand to her, and Elena backed a step back in reflex. "Stefan," he inferred, hand still waiting for hers, palm up.

Elena looked at it uncertainly, not at all sure what cruelty would ensue the moment she put his hand in hers. She knew that a man such as Stefan could not be trusted; he was a murderer, the man that had just destroyed her one and only home. He did not deserve her trust; neither would he ever earn it. A man such as himself knew that as well, knowing his tries for trust would always be in vain.

After a few moments and realizing that Elena had no intention of taking his hand, Stefan let it fall to his side with a frown. He gave a small shrug and turned away from her, walking to a table that held a map upon it. His fingers danced across the smooth surface and he turned back to flash a small grin. "I am truly sorry if any of my men cause you harm. They do not always listen to my orders as they should. Feel comforted, young Elena, that should you die upon to sword of one of my men, they shall die upon my sword as punishment. I am unable to give you anything more than such."

Elena looked at Stefan in slight shock, not bothering to keep her face blank. She supposed his promise should have come to no surprise, but she couldn't help but be just that. If his promise was to be of an assurance, it was doing a foul job of doing so.

He surprised her even further by continuing. "I would also wish to give you my sorrows at the loss of your family. It is an unfortunate occurrence when one's family is taken before you. I hope you find it in yourself to one day forgive me for what has happened here tonight."

She had no words to fill her gaping mouth. She did not know whether to be angry, offended, or somehow comforted by his words. How dare he say such things to her when he was the one who ordered her family dead. How dare he assume that he had the right to comfort her while still holding her hostage. She wished there was something sharp in her hand that she could stab into his chest.

Stefan gave her an unreadable look when she still could say nothing back to him. "I'm trying to make things right with you, young one," he said, walking closer still. "My soul is black enough without the added guilt of a girl. I wanted to do this before you're given away, to know that this was not intended, and that I am sorry."

Elena looked at him confused. She did not have time to question Stefan's words before the flap of his tent was lifted and two men entered into the room, a tall man between them. Elena felt her heart go cold at the sight of the tallest man, knowing without hearing his name who he was. Everyone north of Hadrian's Wall knew who the man was and even the bravest of men paled at the sound of his name.

Cerdic paid no attention to Elena as he briskly walked into the room, his hunched stature frightening her to the core. The commander of the Saxons stopped before Stefan who looked slightly sick to his stomach at the sight of the older man. She jumped as Cerdic lashed out and backhanded him across the face and began yelling at him in Saxon. Stefan did nothing to defend himself against the words of abuse coming from his better, only standing tall and waiting for Cerdic to cease in his ranting. Elena watched in awe as he stared straight ahead, focusing all his attention on the tent wall just above Cerdic's head, appearing as though he was paying close attention to raving man.

Cerdic leaned in close to Stefan maliciously, and whispered threateningly to him before turning away. He gestured to the two guards behind Elena and she felt her body grow cold at the feel of their hands on her arms. She looked to Stefan pleadingly only to find his back to her as he concentrated on the maps laid out on the table.

"You have my apologies," he called to her as Cerdic walked from the tent and the two guards started pulling Elena along forcefully, she looked back at Stefan a last time before the warm tent was left behind and Elena was face to face with the cold once more.

The two men were easily stronger than Elena, and she knew any attempts to fight would futile. She walked limply between them and allowed them to push her into a barred wagon, and fell to the dirtied, wooden floor in a heap. Pulling her torn sleeves further down her hair-raised arms, Elena crawled into a corner of the wagon, resting her head against the bars tiredly. She jerked against the wall as the wagon started to move out of camp.

"They got you as well?" a voice asked from the opposite corner of the wagon, startling Elena.

A boy, a year or so older than herself stared out at her under a mop of brown unruly hair. He would be a tall lad, Elena guessed, if he wouldn't be cramped into the small corner; strong as well. Obviously he was well trained, possibly a farmer or soldier. He was easily not a Saxon, the hair gave him away, and his position of imprisonment confused Elena. Could he be another survivor of an attack issued by Stefan or Cerdic? The idea of a fellow survivor was surprisingly a comforting thought as selfish as it would seem.

The boy's pale eyes stared at her unguarded, awaiting her answer. It seemed that everyone that night wanted one thing or another from her. "Yes," she answered finally. "They burned my village."

He nodded his shaggy head. "I am Collin," he supplied while giving her small smile.

"Elena," she said softly, glancing out towards the snow covered landscape as it passed by the wagon peacefully. If only she could be out in the snow, free like a bird.

"Don't waste your thoughts on escaping," Collin warned. He had caught her staring wistfully out at the snow as they passed. "A few have tried before. They broke through the bars and we all watched them run south. A small party was sent out after them and by that following night, we watched their bodies burn."

The shiver that crawled up her spine was unstoppable. "They were killed?" It was a stupid question to ask, especially when she already knew the answer but Elena couldn't help herself from asking. She was slowly coming out of her numb state and the night's events were taking a toll. Collin didn't seem to mind her dunce like question and nodded in response solemnly.

He was slow to speak. "All of them, yes."

Elena did not know whether her urge to cry would win over the urge to become sick. She was happy for the darkness that covered them. She inhaled sharply and shook her head to rid the light feeling that was starting to ebb at her. She had cried enough for one day. "Were you close to any who escaped?" she asked.

"Nay, they were a close group that did not like outsiders. I had only been captured for a few days before they left," he said. "There was no time to become close with any of them."

She took a moment to wonder if in a few days, would she be burning as well? The thought gave her no comfort in the winter air. The two captives fell into silence that was neither awkward of comfortable but somehow it was nice none the less. It was the first silence Elena had heard since she had awoken that morning. There were no screams, no crackles of flames, and no thunderous shouts from the Saxons. There was nothing but the sound of the wheels rattling over the frozen ground, leading them to God only knew where. It was the sound of Elena leaving her home, her family, her shattered life behind. She did not know it should be a comforting or terrifying sound.

"Are you afraid?" Collin asked, breaking the rattling silence.

Elena thought on it for a moment before answering. "I am afraid the unknown, yes. I am afraid of not knowing where they are bring us and how long it may be before they tire of us and decide to kill us. I am afraid of what it is they want with us because I do not know. But I am not afraid of death because at the moment, it is the only absolute answer I have to rely on. Some day I will die and see my family once more and I will be taken into Heaven by God and that will be the end of it. I am simply afraid of whatever may go on in between now and then."

Collin was silent for a moment and she worried that maybe she had said too much. "Do you believe a word of what you just said?" he asked, his voice hard. "You are a very young and naïve little girl is you believe your 'God' will save you. Here, there is no God. There is only men who have the power to make your life miserable and a living Hell. You have every right to be afraid of the events leading to your death because I can promise you that they will be unpleasant."

She was shocked and frightened. "You do not believe in God?" she asked in a small voice.

A short snort was her answer. "I have more faith in flesh and blood with a sword in my hand more than I believe in a talking sky faerie. I have seen enough to know better then to believe such foolish tales."

Elena did not know what to say in response. What was there to say to a boy not much older than her who so blatantly denounced all that she had been brought up being taught? Her family was Roman; Christian. The brother of her mother was a high ranking Bishop and she had been taught that anyone who did not believe in God was a sinner and would be sent to Hell upon their death. Yes, she had sometimes shirked her prayers some days to go with Ava to market or at night when she was too tired to recite her evening prayers. But surely that would not deter God from saving her soul when the time came.

And yet, she could not help but think of Silas. Dear young Silas who was only just nearly five years of age. He was nothing but a child and yet God had allowed him to die, to be taken from her. How could a just God, a loving God, take such a sweet boy from the world in such a horrific fashion? Why had he not saved them, she wondered.

"You have to believe in something," she said finally. "You cannot go believing in naught and live a full life. It is impossible."

Silence came from his corner of the wagon. It was quiet for so long that Elena wondered if he was ignoring her or if he had somehow fallen asleep. She was about to attempt sleep when he finally spoke to her again. "I believe that when in battle you can depend on no one but the brother fighting beside you. I believe that life is meant to be lived and not watched. I believe that love must be given and yet it must be fought for. I believe that I will survive this place and that you too, young Elena, will as well. That is my promise to you."

Elena looked to the corner of the wagon where she knew Collin was crowed into. "My father used to tell me never to give another human being a promise that I did not know I could faithfully keep."

"I would expect nothing less of an honorable man. Do not waste your time making sore plans of escape, Elena. Focus instead on keeping yourself alive and help those around you to do the same," Collin said. Rustling came from his corner that was closely followed by a yawn. "We are no better than the Saxons if we do not help those worse off than ourselves."

This person speaking so sagely to her could not be only a year or so her senior. She decided this as she followed his example and tried to find comfort in the solid wall behind her. It was cold as everything around her was and for a moment, she wished she too had been swallowed by the flames that had taken so much from her that night. As she fell into a shallow sleep, she did not think to say her evening prayers.

I I I I

Elena blew on her frozen fingers and inched closer to Collin. He lifted his arm and wrapped it around her, pulling her closer still to share what little heat he had. Crystals formed when they breathed and everyone in the wagon was closely huddled together in packs. Elena felt as if her bones themselves were frozen and would crack at any moment while her feet and muscles ached. It felt as if they had crossed the length of northern Britain five times over already and this way only her third day of full walking. The wagon was only for night travel since it seemed as though the Saxons who had captured her could walk until the end of the earth without a single day of rest. They however did not believe their lowly prisoners could do the same and stuffed all twenty some of them into three wagons. Since she had been captured eight new prisoners were added to their small group alone. Collin told her that there were ever more other wagons and groups scattered among the Saxon army and that the number of servants and slaves was uncountable. His words were little reassurance.

Collin had kept his promise to her though, and so far no harm had befallen her. They did not always have the luxury of walking together during the day but he would always find her before the day was over. Together they would claim a part of one of the wagons as their own and eat their meager meals of water and stale biscuits. Sometimes later in the night they would hold conversations but mostly they simply sat in silence and relished the break from walking. None of the Saxons cared much what the two captives did, so long as they stayed out from underfoot.

She had no reasonable ideas behind why they were kept alive. It seemed as though no one knew what they were being kept for, not even Collin as far as she could tell. And if he did, he did not share his knowledge with her. She didn't understand it at all. If no one needed them, why keep them hostage? Cerdic had made no attempts to contact them and while it was a relief, her fears of what to come were still close at hand and she almost wished the Saxon leader would tell them of their purpose.

"I heard the guards talk of making camp this night."

The announcement came from an older man who was a more recent catch than Elena was and went by the name, Pav. Upon everyone hearing his words, the wagon burst into chatter. Even someone who had been a captive for more than a month, like Collin, could not remember the last time the Saxons had made camp. While the others spoke among themselves, Elena looked up at Collin, teeth clinking together from the cold.

"Do you think it's true?" she asked. She tried to keep the hope from her voice but failed to keep all of it in her mind. Collin hesitated which made her stomach lurch in excitement as he glanced down at her. She pulled out from under his arm and sat on her knees in front of him, bouncing with new found hope. "You do! You must know something that I don't! Tell me, Collin, tell me!"

He looked at her for a moment before looking away quickly, still not speaking. The excitement in her chest was bubbling down and she slowly stopped her bouncing.

"It's bad, isn't it?" It was more of statement than a question but Collin nodded his head slowly besides. The cold somehow found a way back into her heart as he did so. She stared at him and couldn't keep herself from asking. "How bad?"

Collin took a deep breath which shuddered as the cold air invaded his lungs. "We are stopping to make camp. That much is true."

"But there is more, isn't there?" she questioned when he said nothing more. She could sense his unease.

An almost desperate look entered the older boy's eyes and she was suddenly frightened. He took her shaking hands in both of his much larger ones and rubbed them in a vain attempt to warm them. "A small party will take the wagons and make camp outside a small village where there is a trading outpost. They mean to sell us there."

Air stopped filling her lungs. They were going to sell them, like pigs in a live auction? They couldn't! They weren't animals, they were human beings! They had rights; they couldn't just be sold to the highest bidder! It was against the law. Elena voiced as much to Collin in a hushed voice, not wanting to alarm those around them and cause an uproar from the other prisoners.

He just shook her head at her with sad eyes. "They're Saxons, Elena. They don't have laws or rules or morals. They're savages who kill all those who have the misfortune of crossing their path. To them we're just a payload to fund their next raid. They don't care about us! We are their property and they will do with us what they want. There's nothing we can do."

Elena was past being frightened and scared, she was gut wrenching terrified now. Tomorrow she would be taken to auction and sold like an animal and like Collin had said, there was nothing she or anyone else could do to stop it. She was subject to anything the Saxons asked to do because whether she resisted it or not, she was their property. If they wanted to sell her, they would. Not even Collin could protect her from that, no matter how honorable his promises were.

"We're going to be separated," she said after a few moments.

He sighed. "It's possible."

"No, it's probable," Elena said with resign. "No one is going to buy two slaves simply because they want to stay together. They would laugh if we even proposed such a question."

The arm around her shoulders tightened. "We will never know unless we try. There could always be a rich Roman looking for two good workers. Maybe if we promise to not cause trouble, they will buy us both. There is always hope, Lena. Always hope."

There was a small note of hope in Collin's voice and Elena knew the words he spoke were not just for her.

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