UFP

The geography of Britain north of Hadrian’s Wall could not have been more suited to being the womb of rebellion. It was a wild place covered by dense forests, unfeeling rocks and covered in that inescapable fog which made it seem so unnatural. There was no other place on earth that lent itself so well to the idea that it was infused with magic. Nor had anyone tried harder to debunk that idea than Roman generals and their army of engineers. Every undertaking, building project and fifty mile forced march was aimed at taking the mystique out of their conquered land and for centuries they had been unable to do so. No instance was more piquant than that of the Antonine Wall which lay one hundred turbid miles north of that grand construction that bore emperor Hadrian’s name.
As the Roman legions began to beat back the Briton rebels who had taken refuge in the still free north, they began to believe that their primacy was more secure than it really was. In the name of Antoninus Pius, then the emperor of the Roman Empire, they began to construct a new wall in the area of the Damnonii, one of the many free tribes of Britain. It was to be as impressive of Roman power as the old wall and was built accordingly - thirty-nine miles across the land from the west coast to the east, thirteen feet high all of turf on stone, with forts every two miles along its massive line. Typically, it was a high, steep bank designed to force the enemy to traverse a large ditch and then scale the wall at a sheer angle which made it easier for the defenders to kill their attackers. It was indeed a tribute to the ingenuity of an Empire.
Yet the Antonine Wall was more a tribute to the unquenchable furiousness with which the Britons attacked their enemy. The Damnonii, the Votadini, the Novante, the Selgovae all went down against the tramping squares of legionaries. These fierce tribes of free men found that force nigh unstoppable, if not unbeatable, and they left their impression. But when it came to the Caledonii, there was an end to that unbearable sound of foot soldiers marching. They Caledonian people fought back so hard that they drove the legions back behind Hadrian’s Wall after a mere twenty years of occupation. That was certainly the shortest time any legion had spent in a new territory and it was a great victory for the Britons. The already conquered tribes could not shrug off their neighbors easily, so they became a marginally governed buffer between Roman Britain and the land that came to be called Caledonia after those fierce warriors who had accomplished the unthinkable.
That same “buffer,” however, became a breeding ground for unsatisfied Britons who soon became freedom fighters under a new leader: the enigmatic Merlyn. The truth of Merlyn’s origins were unknown, though legend had enough to say about it. One such said that he had been a powerful bard to a king of the Carvetii. After a battle, Merlyn went mad and fled to the forests in the north, the forests of Caledonia. More mystic legends claimed that he was the son of a king’s daughter who had been taken by a demon. He had been endowed with the gifts of prophecy by his father and he practiced dark magic in the forests. He was immortal and treacherous. The truth of even the most likely of these stories was questionable and as far as anyone knew, Merlyn himself did not speak of his history or parentage. He had come to the Britons at a time when they most needed a strong leader, that was enough for most. As for the Romans, they called him Merlinus Caledonensis, Merlin of the Caledonians, and they feared him with good reason.
Along with Merlyn, one of Caledonia’s native children was Guinevere herself. She was a daughter of a Votadini nobleman who lived very much as a Roman citizen would do. The Votadini, whose name meant “fort dwellers,” were a rich people with many resources of precious metals so prized by the Romans. Subsequently, there was a lot of trade between them and the Wall, which led to an ever increasing amount of Romanization of their lives. Guinevere, whose patriotism was fueled by the stories she heard about rebels such as Merlyn, had long since grown dissatisfied with her life as a quasi-Roman citizen. In her fourteenth year, construction began on a Roman fort where she lived with her father providing much of the needed gold to build it. Unable to bear it any longer, she left with a group of angry Briton countrymen and went to find Merlyn in the forests of Caledonia.
It was not long after she became part of Merlyn’s company that Guinevere became Cador’s mother. A woman stumbled into their camp one night and demanded to see Merlyn. This was not an uncommon occurrence in itself; many people wanted to see him for reasons of their own and most were denied for reasons Merlyn kept to himself. But this woman was not quite like those others. She bore the marks of having traveled far on foot with her tiny child in her arms. She shivered with an intense fever, her skin paler than the mist itself. Merlyn was informed of this unusual visitor and saw her straight away, speaking to her alone in a secluded area. The woman handed her child over to him and died only a few hours later. Of all the women who were loyal to the free Britain Merlyn promised, Guinevere could never understand why he chose her to be the infant’s foster mother. Thinking back on it in the present time, she seemed much to young and unwise to have been given such a large responsibility. Yet, somehow and not without a little help, she and the child had managed rather well, both growing to be the full flower of the free Briton peoples.
This story accounted for the lack of resemblance between mother and son. She considered it now as they rode together with Arthur on subtle paths through the beauty of the forest. She was tall and lithe, like a runner, with brown hair that looked red in the sun. Her skin was tanned brown from many days in the sun and her eyes were a bright shade of green. Many who had seen her described her as the daughter of Gobannos, one of the ancient gods who was reported to have had the most beautiful children of all. However, this was said more often than not in order to ignore her unfortunate relationship with her real father, who was viewed by everyone as a traitor to his people.
Cador was tall like the majority of his people and he bore the distinctively well muscled frame of a man whose main occupation was that of the warrior. His proportions were long and elegant, which balanced out the otherwise burly impression his broad chest and shoulders gave. His eyes and hair were black, or nearly so, which was uncommon so far north. It served as a reminder that he was not from there nor even the son of the woman he called his mother, but one of the Dumnonii from the south, one of the largest tribes in Britain. The Dumnonii were famed for being the tribe of many great heroes and leaders and when the Romans first came over from Gaul, they were looked to as the leaders of the war. Instead, they submitted without too much fighting, thus ending such hopes of leadership. Cador was one of the last members of the royal house of Rhiwallon, the king who had been reigning at the time of the invasion by Rome. When he was a child, this pedigree had led many, Merlyn and Guinevere included, to regard him as the future king of Britain who would eventually unite all under one banner and drive the Romans out at the point of his sword.
Obviously, Guinevere thought to herself, things had not happened quite like they imagined. Now she looked at her husband, Arthur, King of the Britons, and no man could have looked as though he deserved that title less. He was stocky, with the olive complexion of a Roman born. He did not have the long lines of a Briton, instead favoring the very compact frame of a man with a large amount of muscle. Still, he was not entirely Roman. His long flowing hair was the color of flax and very soft to the touch, just as his mother‘s had been. She had been a Briton herself and, luckily, left her son the legacy of her best feature. His face was clean shaven and open with a ready smile and brown eyes that bore the truth in their very pupils. She knew from experience that he was a terrible liar. More than that, however, his eyes looked as though they could see through anyone. Arthur’s powers of observation were considerable, making him an excellent judge of character, a talent which had served him well over the years. He made the most striking contrast next to Cador.

Well, if this feels like a lot to chew through, it is. I have my sources for most of the actual information given here strewn about me like the dying leaves of some researcher's tree. I could probably write a research paper on this subject by now. Whew! By the way, if any of the stuff in this post or any other of the UFP (Ubiquitous Fiction Piece) posts is unknown, foreign, or just plain weird, I encourage you to GOOGLE IT! I am using it to further my own fictitious ends, so don't take my word for a lot of it.
Oh, and sorry about the meltdown over the weekend. Thanks to my friend who saved my ass. She prefers to remain Anonymous.