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justinp
03-10-2011, 12:21 PM
I must confess to having wasted a good two hours of my time watching Antoine Fuqua's desultory effort at reimagining the legend of King Arthur back in 2004. Having more than a passing interest in the Arthurian period, I could write a very long post about how Fuqua and team's interpretation fails on so many levels. However, I thought I'd have a go at rewriting parts of the movie to my own personal (uh) satisfaction instead...

I'm going to start a few days/weeks before King Arthur (Clive Owen) and his cohort of stout-hearted knights reach the Roman estate of Marius Honorius (Ken Stott), situated somewhat surreally in the wilderness north of what is today known as Hadrian's Wall in the north of England. Arthur encounters and subsequently beds Guinevere (Keira Knightley), a young woman of the Woad tribe, followed by a series of much more harrowing encounters with the brutish Saxon invaders Cerdic (Stellan Skarsgaard) and company. This story, however, focuses on the lovely Keira in her role as Guinevere.

Feedback, suggestions and comments in general are most earnestly solicited. Let me know if those two hours weren't a complete waste of time after all!

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King Arthur: Guinevere's Adventures

Part 1 - The Estate beyond the Wall

Evening shadows were deepening into night around the estate of Marius Honorius. The serfs had left their work in the fields, and lights had been glowing from the windows of the Roman style mansion for some time now. The grounds of the estate were quiet and its every appearance was that of the residence of a Roman patrician, such as in that era were found throughout the length and breath of the Empire, from Alexandria to Gaul and from Jerusalem to Britain. Yet this scene of Roman civilization lay on the very fringes of empire. From beyond the distant hills came the howl of a wolf, joined by another and yet another in ringing chorus as the distant pack began the ritual of calling and greeting that preceded a hunt. Yet things wilder even than the wolf pack lurked out there, in the hills and forests outside Hadrian's Wall where Marius had chosen to establish his estate.

One of these creatures of the wild was even now watching the estate of Marius Honorius with eyes as keen in the night as any other predator of the forest...

This far north the evenings were chilly as soon as the sun disappeared, and the drizzle that had been coming down for most of the day now turned into rain. Not a night, then, to be out and about in the wilderness beyond Hadrian's Wall. Yet the girl crouched like a stalking lynx in the shadows of the wood that fringed Marius Honorius' estate, though clad only in knee length doeskin leggings and a halter of plaited leather straps to which were attached her weapons, ignored the cold and the rain and the discomfort. The intricate designs painted in blue on the ivory-white skin of her face, arms and body broke up her outline, camouflaging her against the tangled undergrowth in the same way as the stripes of a tigress. Her dark eyes, fixed intently on the Roman estate that had been hewed out from the British wilderness, were wild as the wolves that she could hear in the distance. Like them, the painted girl was a hunter, patient as death; and to the civilized Romans and Britons south of the wall, she and her folk were as much a part of the wilderness beyond Hadrian's Wall as the wolf, wild boar and lynx: for she was a Woad, one of the fierce tribes that lurked in the forests of the north, emerging now and then to raid and steal from civilized men just as the wild wolves did. Her kind was more alien to the people of Roman Britain even than the raiders from beyond the northern seas, that Britons had contended with for the last two or three hundred years. The Saxons, Angles and Jutes were barbarians, worshipping bloody gods of battle and maurauding both on land and far afield in their dragon-prowed ships, stealing treasure and cattle and slaves. But they had settlements and homesteads of their own, and sometimes they came as traders. The forest tribes - Picts and Woads and others whose names were too strange for civilized folk to pronounce, were altogether different - living in the deep forests beyond the reach of civilized men, and avoiding all contact with civilization except the occasional raid. They were thought of more as spirits of the forest, or wild animals, than men.

The Woad girl lay silent and hidden for the next two hours. Then, as the lights in Marius Honorius' house flickered and went out, she crept closer to the estate. Her approach was made with great stealth, and the darkness and the rain that was still falling steadily made her practically invisible. Soon she was within twenty yards of the outermost buildings.

Should I go further? the girl thought to herself. Merlin had given her the task of learning more about this place the Outsiders had built. There had been no outbuildings and no Roman mansion the previous winter, just a clearing in the forest. But the old shaman knew from long experience how quickly the habitations of the Outsiders could appear. These were the people that had over centuries of settlement, taken over much of the land that tribes such as his had once hunted - hewing down forests, ploughing fields and building villages and towns. Beyond Hadrian's Wall, however, settlements like the one that the painted girl was looking upon were very few. That wall was the boundary of the Roman empire, beyond which only the hardiest, or most desperate, would choose to live. For the last forty or fifty years of Merlin's long lifetime this area had been free from any presence of the Outsiders. So he had sent the girl, Guinevere, to scout out the estate, to learn as much about its occupiers as she could.

The girl had carefully counted maybe fifty or sixty serfs working the fields that surrounded the estate; and maybe a dozen guardsmen that stood watch against any attack from the woods, as well as to prevent any serfs that might think to brave those wild woods from escaping. There were twenty head of cattle and maybe twice that many sheep.

From one of the outbuildings, very faintly because of the sound of the rain and wind, came a plantive lullaby in a woman's voice. One of the serfs was singing her child to sleep. Guinevere listened in silence, not understanding the words, but finding the melody, though very different to the songs of her tribe, strangely compelling.

I should get closer, she thought to herself. The big white house, Marius Honorius' residence, intrigued her. She knew enough of civilized men to know that the mansion must be the dwelling place of the leader of these Outsiders. If she could find out what manner of man he was, and, maybe, something of his plans...

Suddenly the night was split by furious barking. Guards clattered out of two of the outbuildings and released the watchdogs that had been tethered outside. Aware of their presence, Guinevere had made her approach downwind, but a sudden shift of the wind had betrayed her. Realizing that she would get no further, Guinevere took to her heels, racing for the shelter of the forest. She ran like a fleeing doe, but the guard dogs were faster yet. Guinevere spun around and loosed an arrow from the bow that appeared in her hand in a single movement, catching the first mastiff in the throat as it leaped at her. But the second dog was upon her too quickly for her to use her bow. Dropping the weapon, she drew the dagger at her belt and as the huge dog leapt upon her, ducked and sent the keen blade ripping upwards. She felt the dagger bite home all the way into the animal's heart, but the impetus of its charge carried it forward so that she was bowled over by the dog even as the fierce light in its eyes faded. Guinevere was knocked backwards and struck the ground hard, gasping as the breath was forced out of her lungs. The painted girl wrestled free from underneath the mastiff's body and twisted herself to her feet like a cat, but the several seconds it had taken for her to deal with the two dogs had allowed the guards to catch up to her. Guinevere suddenly became aware of a black blur in the air. She ducked but it was too late. Her vision exploded in a brilliant burst of stars as the thrown club struck her head. She staggered, but snarling in defiance, hurled herself at the first of the men that ran at her. She was as quick and savage as a wildcat, but the man wielded the cudgel in his hand expertly. Before her dagger could bite, she was knocked sideways, spinning around with a cry of pain. Fingers closed on her knife wrist like a vise, tightening and twisting cruelly so that she shrieked and dropped her weapon. Guinevere continued fighting, struggling like a fox in a trap, but more hands were upon her and her wiry strength was no match for theirs. Desperate, she sank her teeth into one man's forearm. He swore furiously and cuffed her sharply on the side of her head, and she blacked out.

The guards stood over her crumpled form, peering down at the motionless girl.

"What on God's earth is this?" one asked, nudging Guinevere with a booted foot.

"Look at the way she's painted," another, more familiar with the wild people who lived beyond the wall, said. "She must be a Woad."

The guards immediately looked around, fearing that the night might hold any number of painted savages with arrows on the string.

"What shall we do with her?" one of the guards asked.

"Cut the bitch's throat," the man whom Guinevere had bitten rasped, clutching his forearm.

"If this is Woad country it might be our throats that'll end up getting cut if we do," another guard said, and there was an uneasy silence.

"Better take her to Marius," the first guard said at last. "Let him decide."

There was muffled agreement. They were, after all, in the patrician's employment; he would want to be informed of this development. Two men reached down and used their belts to tie Guinevere hand and foot; then, slung over one broad shoulder like a captured doe, she was carried away.

----------------------------------------------------

Blackness. Deep dark nothingness. Oblivion. Then suddenly... ice-cold shock, numbing, chilling to the bone. Fear surged over her - fear of drowning, fear of water - and she was suddenly conscious of her breath gasping and struggling. Pain, sharp stabbing pain in her wrist and intense throbing pain in her head; firelight, and voices - then, as Guinevere's consciousness was coming back to her piece by piece, another bucket of cold water was flung into her face and she gasped and coughed, spluttering back into full consciousness.

Before her stood two men. One was a Briton, one of the guards that had captured her, a burly man with a hard face, a short sword sheathed by his side. The other man was shorter in stature. Guinevere knew at once, even though she had never seen one before, that this man had to be a Roman. There was a different look to his features and his flowing garments were of a kind that Guinevere had never seen before. He was well-built - no, plump - in a way that the Woad girl had never seen amongst her tribal people. Even most of the Outsiders she had seen had been peasants ekeing their existence from the soil. This man's plumpness was as alien to her as the painted designs on her face and body were to him. His dark Mediterranean eyes were looking at those designs now. Finally they met those of the painted girl. Only a few feet of distance separated the Roman patrician and the captured Woad girl, but the differences of culture and perception between them spanned centuries and civilisations.

Marius Honorius had, of course, heard tales of the wild Picts and Woads for most of the time he had spent in Britain. But this painted girl was the very first of her people that he had ever seen. The Roman patrician was by no means alone in that. South of Hadrian's Wall the forest tribes had been exterminated, or driven back into the wild valleys of the Westcountry. Very many Britons that lived in the south had never seen one. Many of the citizens of Londinium, hundreds of miles south of the wall, knew of them only in stories. On his journey north, Marius had noticed a different look to some of the inhabitants, a fey look that had struck the civilized Roman as different. There was Pictish or Woad blood in some of the people in the north of Britain, it was said. But here before him was a living, breathing Woad from the wild wood. Marius could see that the painted designs on her face and arms covered her entire body, for the guards had removed all her gear and clothing, leaving her completely naked. She had been tied to the T-frame where misbehaving serfs were whipped, with her back to the frame so that she faced the patrician; her arms spread out, feet tied together. Marius gazed at the intricate patterns painted on her body in fascination. The contrast between the blue paint and the ivory whiteness of the girl's skin was vivid...and, he realized, strangely alluring. He had never even entertained the idea of consorting with a tribeswoman before, but as he studied his captive it was obvious that she was very attractive. She was around twenty or so and her body, displayed in complete nakedness before him, was lithe, firm, and toned as a greyhound's - very different from the soft roundness of his wife, or most of the courtesans in Londinium, for that matter. Her face was exquisitely featured and her eyes were beautiful, large and dark. Within them though was not the subservience of a slave but the fire of a wild creature, unlike any woman he had ever met. He felt a pleasurable wave of warmth pass through his body, and his cock began to stiffen as he imagined enjoying the painted girl.

Guinevere flushed as she saw the Roman's dark eyes roam over her naked body. His growing lust was plain to see in his eyes and the rosy blood that was beginning to suffuse his jowls. Her muscles tightened, but the cords that bound here were too strong.

"Thank you, Aulus," Marius said to the guard, who bowed and stepped back.

"Be careful, sir," Aulus warned, sensing what his master had in mind. But the patrician only smiled. "Don't worry, my good man. You'll be well rewarded for this night's work."

Aulus bowed again and withdrew. The door closed, leaving Marius and Guinevere alone in the building.

Watching the Roman through eyes narrowed like a trapped lynx's, Guinevere saw the podgy patrician reach into his robes and withdraw something. She saw a glint of gold in his hand for just a moment before he turned back to her and gazed directly at her. Now there was no mistaking the expression of hungry lust glowing in his dark eyes. Guinevere strained against her bonds as he took a step closer. He was close enough now so that she could smell him; and his scent was very different to the other civilized men, who mostly reeked of firesmoke and sweat and beer. The patrician smelled of hot baths and perfumed oil and clean robes. Marius, lacking her wild animal keeness of nose, could nonetheless smell her scent and it too was unlike any woman he had ever been with. She smelt like grass and wind and clean cold rain, with the tinge of deeper, more personal scents in her nightshade-dark hair and the faint sheen of sweat that gilded her flanks and belly. Droplets of the water that Aulus had splashed on her face to bring her to consciousness still clung to her small but shapely breasts, which rose and fell shallowly with her breathing, and as he watched, two or three drops rolled down her belly to be captured in the tangled ringlets of her pubic hair, where they glittered like diamonds.

Marius was now fully aroused, his phallus throbbing hard and demanding in the folds of his robes. But he doubted if he could physically subdue the painted girl nor, although he was devious, manipulative and greedy to a fault, neither did he relish taking his women by force. Fortunately, he had other methods of having his way. His hand closed around the golden object he had taken out of his pocket as he wondered whether it would work this time. This fey creature was so different to all the others, but she was still a woman and the priestess of Ishtar had told him, all those years ago, that her goddess had power over all women. It had never failed him, even though over twenty years had passed since he had received the medallion of the goddess, and he had travelled hundreds upon hundreds of miles from the ancient, secret temple of Ishtar in distant Bactria. So he held up the medallion of Ishtar, with the symbol of the eight-pointed star worked in gold. Guinevere's dark eyes went straight to it in surprise, then as he began to chant the ancient Assyrian incantation, they widened and fixed upon the medallion in Marius's hand without blinking.

smexy-love
03-10-2011, 08:53 PM
I can't wait for more! Great start to the story!