Disclaimer:- I do not own any of the characters, situations or ideas pertaining to the 2004 King Arthur motion picture or the Arthurian Legends which may at some point have input and reference to the future plot of this story. This fan fiction is solely for the purpose of entertainment for both myself and others and I do not have any intention to make money from it; neither is it my intention to offend any one connected in any way to the film. The original characters and plot line come from my mind alone and therefore any similarities with other fictional works or otherwise (e.g. Names of real people, descriptions, locations etc.) are purely coincidental and are not meant to cause harm. Thank you.
This work of fan fiction has been rated M initially as a caution for possible death, violence, sexual situations (including rape), bad language and self harm. Reader's discretion advised. Please review, assistance in the form of constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated and I don't mind flames as long as the flamer gives sound point and judgement for their complaint. I am happy to answer and questions or queries readers may have. I think it is important that it is noted that although I have tried to keep this story as historically accurate as I could there are areas which are not (and I am aware about), but these inaccuracies were vital for the plot line; because of this I have tried to explain them without taking away from the story. Death Becomes You takes place after the defeat of the Saxons at Badon Hill, Arthur has now been King for about a year and also those knights who died in the film are alive. Sorry if this annoys anyone but it is also slightly necessary for them to be around. I hope you enjoy.
By the way, the quote in the summary is from RENT- I thought it apt.
Death Becomes You
By Sairalinde Ancalime
Prologue
Death. It has been my waking thoughts and my sleeping dreams for almost ten years now. The blood, the stench, the screams, the rotting flesh, the heat of a blade as it skewers my enemy. Each moment has been inked into my mind for eternity, so much so I could describe to you every single man I killed, the look on his face, the colour of his eyes- all of it.
It is wrong, my owner always told me to forget it all, to move on- look forward. But it is the one thing I cannot do. I did not ask for this, none of this. I have a mind for detail, in every thing I do, its always the little things, the obscure or flippant things that grab my eye, that sear themselves into my soul. That is why I cannot forget, I want to, Gods I do but I can't, Fate won't let me and I won't let myself.
I never fully understood what my mother meant when she said that your life can be turned on it's head in just one day, until it finally happened. I was fourteen, young and foolish, my head filled with dreams of marriage to a fine man and the raising of as many children as I could bear.
The Romans always travelled through my village, stopping on its outskirts to allow the Sarmatian boys to rest the night. We were used to it, watching them eat and sleep just yards from our very homes. I felt for them, I really did but I was always glad it was them and not me being taken from the ones I loved. I never envied them, not once. Sometimes they did not make it, it did not shock us to see little boys' bodies being dumped in unmarked graves; we would keep our distance but say a little prayer to the Gods- they may not have been of our land but they were buried in it none the less. As quickly as they came, they were gone. Split up and sent across the Empire to do their duty as their forefathers had pledged. I never thought life came with a price, but it does, they could tell you that- I could tell you that.
But they had stopped riding through my little world when I was eleven summers. Whispers spread of Hun uprisings and no more did we see the Sarmatians. The Romans passed through on occasion and it was on one of these that my life changed dramatically- for the good or bad I still cannot say. I was fetching eggs, there were seven of them; all large, slightly rounded and brown. I never got to taste them.
The party was standing in the square, all mounted apart from two inexperienced looking soldiers who fidgeted with their cloaks and moved back and forth from foot to foot. My father was talking to whom I could only presume was their Commander. He was angry, I always knew when my father was angry no matter how far away I was from him. The closer I got the more I could see their conversation was heated, the Commander seemed to remain rather stoic in his expression but my father was flushed, his gestures erratic. I did not continue towards them, instead I turned down a side alley towards our home, to where my mother and brother waited for me to return with the eggs.
My mother was crying when I entered, I had never seen her cry before, not in all my years. My brother did not look much better, his face was ashen, his eyes wide with fear as he tried to comfort my mother. If I had known what was wrong I would have fled, it would have been the only rational thing to do; but I did not know and did not run. She looked up at me from her position next to the hearth, for once her face unreadable and she looked old, truly old. My mother had always been so beautiful, youthful. To look at her you would think her royalty of some kind, so much elegance within one face. I am not like my mother, and for that I must thank the Gods, for if I was I fear my life would have turned out worse than it did.
Her eyes looked passed me and it was then that I noticed the shadow which blotted out the light from the door behind me. Slowly I turned to see my father looming as only he could, tall and strong with an air of cruelty around him. Not that he was a cruel, well he wasn't usually. Though on occasion his temper did best him and he could terrify even the bravest of men from our village and beyond. He studied me for a moment before taking the basket of eggs from my hands and turning me to face my mother.
"Get her ready." He ordered, no emotion in his voice at all. I wondered what he meant, as far as I knew nothing special was supposed to be happening that day.
Mother took me by the hand and led me into the back room. It was cold in there, my skin pimpled as she helped me undress, I did nothing to stop her I do not know why but it was as if my mind was frozen like the water troughs outside. Silently she handed me a pair of my brother's breeches and boots, I put them on as she turned and prepared a length of linen. My fingers fumbled with the laces but I soon had them done up, mother sighed and shook her head. She bid me raise my arms which I did obediently as she began to wrap the linen around my chest, binding down my barely developing breasts. It hurt at first, the tightness of the material pinched and pressed against the delicate skin but I said nothing of the discomfort; mother did not seem to be in the best of moods that day. I slipped on the dark green shirt and jerkin that were shoved into my grasp, subconsciously stepping back when I saw mother hold up a pair of shears. My hair had always been my pride and joy, long luscious locks almost white in colour; everyone I had ever encountered had always fawned over how lovely it was. And within a breath my mother cut it all off, leaving me with hair so short you would think me a boy.
It was then that I grasped what was happening, they were turning me into a boy, saving my brother from an unknown fate. In his place I was sacrificed, after all it did make sense. I was merely a girl, my brother was the one with a useful future, I was in the way and nothing more. Mother hurried me back into the main room, my father nodded his approval and walked back out of our home. My brother, a full one year older than me looked at me sadly; he knew what was happening- father had told him. He stepped up to me, handing me a leather roll containing all I would need, I swallowed the sob which threatened to reveal itself. It wasn't fair, I was but a child, a little girl with hopes and dreams being sent off as a martyr in her brother's place. Was it right? No, not at all but what could be done? It was what my parents wished and I was a good child, I would do as they said.
I rode away that day and never once looked back; I can still remember the taste of the salty tears that ran down my cheeks and coated my dry lips. That day I headed to Rome, to a new world, a new life where I was no longer little Senka but Radovan, the brave son of a Pannonian blacksmith.
I never did find out why I was taken by the Romans, it never came up in conversation and I was wary to ask. So instead I lived as they wished it and became what I am today, the very thing I will never escape. I have seen the length and breadth of the Empire- Thracia, Macedonia, Dalmatia, Syria, Arabia, Aegyptus, Mauritania, Carthage, Lusitania, Baetica; so many places, so many climates and not once can I say that I enjoyed my travels. No matter what they say, Rome is not great, it is not free of sin and it is not civilised. For beyond that image shown to the world is something darker, something barbaric in its need for more; a world I have seen because I lived it. I was it. They wanted it and I gave them release. They wanted death, they wanted blood, they wanted sacrifice and I gave it all to them. In the amphitheatre I was omnipotent, they worshipped me, feared me and lusted after me. But I was just a helpless pawn in their little games, once I left the protection of that ring of death I was nothing. They wanted blood, they wanted power- I could do nothing but yield. I was seventeen summers when I entered the arena, no one expected I would reach the twenty-five that I did. For eight years, five more than the old law dictated, I entertained the citizens of the Empire, I was taken where I was required, where the coins were best and flowed freely. None seemed to care the bloodsports had been banned nearly a century before, not even the authorities who were meant to uphold the decrees of Rome. Wherever we went a blind eye was turned to our presence, we appeared, did what we came to do and then left like ghosts. Forgotten like dust in the wind. Only the fortune they made mattered.
I remember the day I was granted my freedom, my owner Ajax looked upon me with sorrow and guilt, emotions stemming from his regret that he was losing a fine profit maker. And all I felt was fear- what would become of me now?
It was a question I was reluctant to answer but knew I must. I thought about returning home, yet I never did. My heart begged me to run, so I listened; I made my way back across the Roman Empire travelling until I could no more. Tirelessly I kept on going, until there was no more Empire to cross- until I had reached Britain.