Disclaimer: I don't own any of the King Arthur characters. The only ones I own are the ones out of my own imagination, Brenna, Maelgwyn, Atoll, all of Brenna's animals and any others not out of the movie, that I may add as I see fit, as well as the plot.

Authors Note: This is the first fanfic, or any story that I have written for anyone other than myself or my best friend to read. I have always loved to write but have been too shy to share them ;) I hope you all like my story and that none of the events and such have been done before, it is entirely out of my overactive imagination. .lol. The stories I have read on this site are an inspiration, I only hope my own offering is worthy. Please read and review but be gentle, I'm still new at this.

Summary: This is the story of one girl, of one spirit that refused to be broken by Saxon captors. This is the journey of Brenna, of her captivity and torment at the hands of the Saxons, of a friend and mentor, of a brother found, and of a love that fairytales are made of. A love that heals all wounds. A love that would last an eternity. This is the story of One Sarmatian. Rated to be safe, for violence, some language, and suggestive themes.

Prologue

The Saxon army encampment sat nestled against the foot of the mountains. A forest at the north edge and rolling green hills flowing into the distance to the south. After months of raiding and pillaging throughout parts of Sarmatia and their neighboring lands, they had set up a base camp to wait out the winter before returning to Saxony to rejoin the larger military contingent. Theirs had been a mission to gather wealth and slaves to fund their campaigns in Britain and the rest of the world, a mission at which they had succeeded.

At least, they thought they had succeeded. They had made one serious misjudgment however, one that they would continue to make again and again. They thought that by brute strength and overwhelming numbers that they could break their enemies and anyone who would oppose them. But what they did not realize was that some hearts could not be broken, nor some spirits tamed.

There was one slave in particular that they would come to wish they had either killed when they had the chance, or never laid eyes upon. One slave who would help change the course of everything to come. One slave who would become part of their worst nightmare.

One Sarmatian.

Chapter One : Saxon Slave

Brenna pushed back a stray lock of raven colored hair with a bruised hand and sighed softly to herself. It had been nearly a year since the Saxons had attacked her small Sarmatian village, killing most everyone in sight, including her parents, and enslaving the few remaining.

A year of hell, of beatings and of being forced to lie night after long night with the brutal leader, Atoll. Just the thought of his name sent an involuntary shiver down her spine, as she pulled her thin woolen cloak more tightly about her battered body, to ward off the chill of wind that swept through the camp.

A burning fire of hatred flared in Brenna's green eyes as she narrowed them and gazed through the early morning mists. At the edge of the forest Atoll stood like a king amongst his lieutenants, barking out orders in his harsh, gravelly voice. His monstrous frame stood well above the tallest of his army, and the heavy cloak of leather and firs made him appear even larger. He was a demon straight out of hell with his wild mane of dark hair, long beard, evil black eyes and vile disposition. How she longed to have her bow and arrows or even a sword, it would be worth it to die if she took him with her.

Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by a heavy hand smacking her across the back of the head,

"Watch what you're doing wench, Atoll'll not be happy with burnt stew ta fill his belly. Ye know what happens when Atoll's not happy don't you. . . Sarmatian whore. "

"Yes my lord", she choked out, forcing a look of broken obedience into her eyes as she looked up at the man who'd hit her. "It won't happen again my lord."

"See that it doesn't." With a smug smile the man, Andsaca, continued on to his own stew pot, where he plunked himself down and gave her an evil grin.

Turning from the man, Brenna returned her attention to the pot in front of her. She added some more herbs for seasoning and gave it a good stir, then sighed and stretched her aching body.

She hated Andsaca, hated them all, and dreamed of the day when she would make her escape. Always she watched and listened for her chance. For months now she had been slowly trying to gain their trust, allowing them to think her will was breaking. She'd perfected the look of humble obedience and had even stopped fighting when Atoll had his way with her. All the while though, her spirit, that of the great Sarmatian warriors before her, burned deep within. She longed for the day when she could pick up bow and sword and axe, climb on the back of a mighty war horse and ride free with the wind.

As if on cue, the enraged scream of a horse could be heard in the distance, followed shortly by the pounding of many hooves. She looked toward the sound and soon, over the crest of a hill, a small herd of wild horses could be seen as they were being driven towards the encampment.

Dragged in their wake by four Saxons on horseback, was what was obviously the lead stallion of the herd. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the fuming, kicking, shrieking piece of horseflesh. He was magnificent. Huge and perfectly formed, he had a long well crested neck that flowed into a short back, before ending in broad, powerful hindquarters. The rising sun caught his coat and made it shine in brilliance. A pure shimmering silver with a long, thick, mane and tail of jet black, swirling around black stockinged legs that lashed out at all who attempted to approach him.

The Saxons tried to drag him into a small pen but as soon as the ropes were handed to men on the ground he bolted. Smashing his way through the flimsy poles he took off, dragging the unlucky Saxons holding the ropes. A group of men on horseback quickly moved to block his exit, while others swung more ropes over his head. After several moments they had him somewhat restrained and began to pull him back across the camp.

Her stewpot forgotten, Brenna stood staring after the horse, oblivious to the commotion around her. She was quickly snapped back to reality however as Atoll's voice boomed over the campsite,

"Build a stronger pen, and tie him to the trees until you do. This one is MINE! I'll tame the beast!"

Turning, he picked up the nearest person and threw him in the direction of the forest. "I said NOW!"

The Saxons scrambled to obey, lest they personally incur the wrath of their commander. Several of them jumping up and heading for the forest to chop trees for poles. The rest rushing around going about their duties, before his rage turned in their direction.

"Now where is my food?" His black eyes narrowing in on the cookfire in front of his tent, where Brenna scurried to dish his food into a rough wooden bowl.

"Stupid Sarmatian whore, can you do nothing right?" He strode towards her, an evil glint in his eye. "Must I do everything myself?"

Atoll growled, snatching the bowl from her hand as she held in out to him, head bowed in submission.

"I'm sorry my lord, I'll do better next time. I promise, my lord." Brenna nearly gagged on the words, as she tried to placate the beast.

"Sorry's not good enough, I think you need another beating."

With a wicked smile, he dropped the bowl, grabbed her by the hair and dragged her to her feet.

"Still haven't learned your place."

As he drew back his hand to hit her, a commotion arose across the way as the hounds took to baying and straining at their tethers.

"What is going on now?" Without a glance at Brenna he threw her to the ground and strode off across the camp.

"Get back to your chores, whore."

Brenna pulled herself gingerly to her feet, unhealed wounds throbbing, and looked off in the direction of the dogs. She just barely caught a glimpse of fluffy brown rabbit tail as it disappeared into the trees in the direction of the pond.

'I shall have to thank him later' She thought to herself, a slight smile grazing her lips. Then, ducking her head to hide the grin, she hobbled off as fast as the ropes at her ankles would allow. Setting off to go about the aforementioned chores.

Late that evening Brenna huddled in her tent, her body wracked with a whole new set of aches and pains. Atoll'd left her but moments ago, after yet another brutal attack. He was always in a sour mood but tonight had been worse. Some men he'd sent out on a reconnaissance mission days ago, still had not yet returned and Atoll was furious. As usual he took his temper out on Brenna, savagely beating her as he had his way with her.

"Wonder what he did before I came along?" she softly questioned the night air.

"Squeak." Came the tiny reply. Brenna gave a smile of happiness and reached toward the small brown mouse. It was quickly replaced by a grimace however as pain shot through her side like a knife. Holding one hand to her injured ribcage, she scooped up her tiny friend with the other.

"Looks like another cracked rib is the injury of the hour, my love." She whispered, to be interrupted by the tent flap flinging back.

"Who are you talking to wench?" The guard sneered, leering eyes searching the small prison.

"No. .no one my lord, I must have spoken aloud in my sleep." Head downcast, her long matted curls hid the mouse from view as she quickly placed him within the folds of her cloak.

"Well be quiet!" With that he wrenched the flap back down, leaving her in darkness once again.

She waited a moment to be sure he would not return, then held her small friend up in front of her. He looked at her, eyes sparkling inquisitively in the firelight sneaking through the cracks in the tent. She smiled at him once again, placed a kiss on the top of his furry little head, and set him down on the ground. Reaching into the pocket of her cloak, she withdrew a small crust of dried bread that she had saved from her meager dinner. Brenna held it out to her friend and he took the offering, then scampered back out under the wall of the tent.

Wrapping her thin cloak as tightly about her body as she could, Brenna lay back down on the cold, hard ground. She could hear the sounds of the men in camp. Laughing and talking as they ate hearty meals whilst she was given thin gruel and dried crusts of bread, barely enough to keep her mouse friend alive. As she sat shivering in bare feet, a thin dress and cloak, they lounged at fireside in heavy wool and fur cloaks and warm leather boots.

Atoll's voice boomed suddenly across the camp, "Silence!"

Shaking her head, she pushed such thoughts out of her mind. Imagining instead that she was home again, a child warm in her bed. Her twin brother next to her as they laughed at a story their mother was telling them. Their father sitting across the room in his chair, smiling at them. Brenna fell asleep with a smile on her face, horrors of the present momentarily forgotten. Safe for the moment in the arms of love, if only in her dreams.

Unbeknownst to all in the encampment, a pair of eyes watched silently from the forest.

Observing all.

Watching and waiting.