The beginning of the creature known as Dame is a curious one. In what we today call Scotland, a snow leopard cub was found mewling in the winter wind, on the edge of a wooded hill. The female Druid that happened upon her, a wildcat, scooped the naked babe into her arms. The snow around her had vanished, as if it melted by the summer sun, and created a perfect circle of about three feet on either side. The wildcat, named Èibhlin, looked around her in wonder. There were no tracks, no signs of activity, nothing. Where this strange spotted cat had come from, she had no clue. But she wasn’t one to leave a helpless creature, and she surmised it to be a gift from the gods and goddesses, although she didn’t know why. Reflecting on this, she made her way back to her clan, swaddling the dark gray cub in her own cloak. If she survived, it’d be a surprise. But she did, and so she thrived

As a small child Fortan (meaning fortune) grew into a handful. Constantly jumping, roving, getting into trouble, and causing good sport among the other children of the clan. Èibhlin had hoped to teach her the ways of the druid, as she had been taught by her own family, but she could see how she was destined for other paths, that of the warrior class. However, in her mind, she thought of a new plan. What if she had not only the strength, courage, and leadership of a warrior, but also the wisdom of the world, healing nature, magic ability, and soul strength of a druid woman? Èibhlin started early, teaching her as early as possible the ways of her lifestyle, as much as she could, until she became of age to begin her training as a warrior, and stepped into a whole different world.

Fortan excelled in both fields, to a degree. As a youth in the training field, she’d often forget her earlier knowledge, becoming filled with dreams of battle and valor, but Èibhlin would often visit her to remind her. As an orphan, she hardly had any claims to nobility in the warrior class, but because of her strange and almost magical appearance into the lives of the clan, many families wanted to adopt her as a blood daughter in hope to create friendly ties to whatever being sent her. And so, Fortan gained the title of bean-uasal, or what one would call a gentlewoman, or lady, through many family ties.

At the age of seventeen summers, the rumors of an army spread throughout the clans. This army was large, efficient, and was sweeping across the countryside. For a while, the clan leaders met and whispered amongst themselves in serious meetings. Rumors fueled their talk, that of demons, of vast numbers. Fortan grew restless. Was she not taught to meet her enemies swiftly? She had already taken small parts in skirmishes against rival clans already, in archery and some limited swordplay. She was no heroine, but she wasn’t bad, no, she had survived this long against warriors much stronger and much swifter than herself. Èibhlin urged her to bide time, to let her first gain a husband (although she should have done that a few years ago, Fortan was just stubborn), before urging the clans to meet these “Romans”. But Fortan had no patience; she knew what Èibhlin was up to. Fortan knew Èibhlin’s intentions were good, but Fortan was too curious about these invaders. In the night, she set off with two of her favorite companions, a pine martin lad named Anndrais and his sister, called Eilidh, both cousins by blood oath. To be completely honest, they had no true idea of where they were riding off to. Only by rumor had they a clue, and no idea what to expect when they first found sight of these Romans. They had no plans of attacking however, if the rumors of hundreds of well-armed warriors rang true, there was no hope of survival except to stay out of view. They were told they had no honor, no valiance, and only defeating others by sheer numbers and strange tactics.

About a month later, they had their first experience with the Romans. Strange creatures (not even the strange species Fortan was herself, to her disappointment) were mingling in with a clan’s settlement. The trio could hear the strange accents from where they were lodging, early in the morning. It had been sudden, the three quietly gathered their things, then peeked through the door crack. Strange men, all in their twentieth year or so, stood in the square, surrounding the settlement’s leader. Fortan looked at her cousins grimly. What would happen when they exited the door? For now, the strangers looked passive enough, just very, very tired. Had they ridden all night?

The two pine martins wanted to stay hidden, to keep quiet until the right opportunity. In a way, Fortan knew they were right, it was the smarter decision, but as always, her curiosity got the best of her. Stepping from the building, she closed the door silently behind her. The village was just waking up, but those that opened the door to greet the day quickly shut it back again, with the exception of the few warriors the small village had. A bow on her back, she walked quietly in the dawn light, on the edge of the square. Her blue eyes flickered towards the strange men and one or two looked back, but she didn’t meet their gazes. There were no women in their party. The snow leopard walked swiftly between buildings, the hems of her skirt rustling over the trodden earth, catching the attention of two of the younger men in the group.

‘Curses.’ She thought as she glanced over her shoulder, pulling her long braid across her shoulder. They spoke amongst themselves quietly, in a language she did not understand. A slight prick of nervousness ran along her spine, she’d forgotten about their difference in tongue, it made the situation worse. As the alleyway got narrower, just enough room for one to pass, she turned, her chin held high as she regarded her followers. They were perhaps two years older, and slightly taller. But they were tired, and slower. Caught off guard by her abrupt halt and turn, the first stopped and the second bumped into the other, which caused both to fall down at her feet. Fortan couldn’t help but grin as she strung her bow, two arrows, and pointed them towards the Romans. There was no way she could miss.

Both some sort of wolf, they looked up with muzzles open. They started speaking fast then, making gestures with their hands, palms facing the arrow tips.

“Misericordia! Misericordia!” They muttered, scrabbling on the ground into a sitting position. The feline knew not what they were saying, but she slowly lowered her arrows, ever so slightly, from their bodies. They paused for a moment, and then slowly tried to rise, of which Fortan again raised her bow. They got the idea, and sat back down. Fortan didn’t know what to do about these two. She could let them go, which was a chance of getting caught by their companions, she could kill them, but there was a chance their companions had seen them go her direction, which might cause trouble for the village she was in, and she didn’t want that. More pressing was time. How long before another of their group wandered what they were up to? Fortan wasn’t sure of their intentions, but she could guess from the rumors that they weren’t absolutely pure of heart when it came down to admiring a woman, she imagined. That thought made her raise her bow again. ‘There are children living here. I can’t do that.If one of theirs died, they’d murder the whole town. Well, I am in a situation here.’ It must have been frustration that made her knees weaken, and the fur along her spine stand straight up. Her bow shifted to the right, half drawn, as she regained her balance. ‘And what was that? I better finish this quickly, try to hide their bodies. Before I lose my will.’ She drew her bow back up, and pulled it back to her anchor point.

The wolves, who now seemed to be brothers, flicked their ears back in fear. Fortan sighed, and spoke out loud in frustration. “What, are you children? Cowering in your mother’s bed skins?” Annoyed at their actions, she pressed her ears against her skull and bared her teeth. At this the brothers cocked their heads and their ears flicked forward.

“Did- did you just speak our tongue?” One of the brothers uttered.

“No, I am speaking my language. I don’t know your heathen words.” Fortan muttered, lowering the bow slightly, confused. ‘What is this?’ Her vision was blurring. “Have you poisoned me? You-“ Seeing their chance, the foremost brother pulled the arrows off the string, but the feline, stubborn as ever, wouldn’t let go of her bow, and collapsed forward unto the two young men. Later, she described the last thing she remembered being the two wolves looking down at her with confusion and surprisingly, concern.

“Ughhh, close the curtain, Èibhlin! It’s too bright…”

“I am not Èibhlin.” The voice was smooth like ice and rich like moist soil, and feminine. “And you are not at home, Fortan.”

The feline’s eyes adjusted in the brightness. Was she dead? There was nothing. She was laying on nothing. Everything was white, like the winter’s deepest snow. The sky, the ground… nothing was right.

But then everything plunged into navy darkness, and stars appeared all around her. Was she in the sky? She recognized no constellations. But she did recognize eyes. Piercing blue, in the distance. Fortan reached for her weapons, but she found herself nude. This wasn’t a problem; she had fought without clothing before, as was her custom. But at least then she had some sort of weapon.

“Cease your struggles, Fortan. Calm yourself.” There was that voice again, and Fortan listened. This was beyond her experiences, but Èibhlin had taught her enough to know she was in the presence of a deity.

“Might I ask why I am here?” Fortan spoke quietly, timidly, and above all respectfully.

“Because I have given you a gift, for the second time. The gift of tongues.” The voice seemed to be fading, but she glimpsed the black fur of a tall creature amid the stars. The rest started to fade as well.

“Wait…” Fortan heard her own voice turning into a whisper, beyond her own power. Her muzzle felt dry.

“Aemilius!” The name was unfamiliar to Fortan. “Hurry, she’s wakening.” Dazed, the feline started kicking and pushing, against anything her paws found resistance against.

“Ow! Calm yourself, woman.” Her vision was still blurry, but she sensed a body over her.

“Get off! The Romans, I-“ Fortan froze. ‘Wait. The lady in the stars said... language… the accent… this is a Roman.’ She blinked rapidly to clear her vision and struggled even harder against the paws that now held her down. A stranger held her down onto a pallet of bed linens, his face close to her shoulder.

“I said calm down!” The man, a large wolf with dusty brown markings growled. Fortan pulled up her lips in a hiss. Then promptly kneed his stomach.

The wolf grunted and doubled over, not wearing any armor, knocked breathless. For a moment, Fortan was free and sat up on her knees, and tried to gather her surroundings, but not before a golden furred blur hit her like a stone off a mountain. This time, it was Fortan whose breath escaped her.

“Aemilius –cough- get off her you big brute –cough- you’ll scare her to death if you don’t suffocate her –cough-first.” Fortan couldn’t see anything but blankets, pinned down as she was. Dazed, she struggled to take full breaths as she listened to the wolf speak to whatever had her held to the pallet. Her muzzle hurt, she sensed blood trickling from her nostrils. Grumbling could be heard as Fortan saw sparks of light, her head getting airy.

Suddenly her lungs filled with air again. She coughed, wiping away blood from her muzzle, and spitting out more- she had busted her muzzle being slammed to the ground.

“Fiery females, I swear.” The wolf paused near her, overlooking her. He’d recovered from the blow, but the leopardess had not as she glanced towards him warily. “Oh, now look at what you’ve done, both of you. Blood everywhere, poor girl.” The man rummaged in his cloak for a moment, and Fortan glanced around the room. A strange feline stood behind the wolf, his fur golden. Fortan narrowed her eyes at him and flicked her ears back against her hair. He growled softly in response. ‘Well, I don’t like you. That I know. But where the hell am I?’

Her attention was brought back to the wolf. He held out a cloth to her. “Your face is bloodied, girl.”

“I am no girl.” Fortan hissed, her pride getting the better of her, forgetting that her muzzle hurt momentarily as it crinkled in disgust. At least she still had all of her clothes on, as far as she knew, they didn’t take advantage of her.

“Fine then, a lady? Uh, noblewoman?” The wolf sighed, shaking the cloth out to her again. This time, she felt the blood trickle down her chin. She took the cloth, and leaned against the stone wall of the small building.

“A bean-uasal. I don’t know what you would call it.” Fortan looked straight in his eyes as she held the cloth to her nose. They were golden, like the sun. Eerily bright. He was wearing a tunic, no armor, and she could see his muscles clearly. Noticing her eyes, he cleared his throat, and wrapped his cloak around him as if he was cold.

“Well, you have pride like a woman of high birth, but from what I’ve seen pride runs thick in your women’s’ blood.” The wolf uttered as he turned his back to her. The feline behind him kept his eyes on her, and looked like he was ready to tackle her again at any moment. She tried to pay him no mind.

“As it should, and I imagine you’ve spilled enough of it to know.” Her voice was cold and flat, and she stared straight at his back. He turned, and looked at her, regarding her, calculating. She held his gaze, and put the cloth down. Her blood flowed freely, and dripped upon the ground. It was the only noise for a moment.

The spotted feline must have won the staring contest, because he sighed and looked away, and then paced the floor.

“What am I to do with this one, eh Aemilius?” The wolf glanced at his companion. The large male gave no response, knowing it was rhetorical. “She knows our language. She is useful.” He glanced at the woman, who still stared, watching him as if he were prey.

“I will be no man’s slave, or prisoner.” Fortan hissed quietly in the still air.

“That’s not-“ The wolf pressed his hands to his forehead, his dark brown wavy locks shifting as he sighed. “Look, my men are tired. We’ve been here too long, and we’re not going back any time soon. We need help. We need your people’s help. Your help; they have no idea what we’re saying. They only give us hostility.”

“Why shouldn’t they? All we know of you is violence. You are attacking our very homes.” Fortan spoke in irritation, a seething hatred borne of war. The wolf’s eyes locked onto her, but it wasn’t with frustration, or anger, just immense tiredness. An ache that had no name.

“What do you want me to say to that?” He spoke, softly now. It now seemed as if he looked through her. This pricked her interest, but his voice affected her vehemence. This wolf’s tiredness seemed to affect her own stamina, and she leaned against the wall. There was a great deal of quietness for a moment, heavy like cloud cover before a storm. What could the young woman tell him? The truth he knew, they all knew. That she blamed him? He also knew that.

“Why? Who are you people? You are not of us, and you attack us. You want our land, but it is not yours to own.” Fortan looked down at her hands, now bloodied. War was… well, war. Never before did she question why. “Before, it was different. Between ourselves, rivalries are at least small; the clans knew when to stop. But now…” She looked up at him, and felt the terror in her heart flow out her eyes. “We do not know you, cannot trust you to carry our lineage into the future. And you murder without knowledge of what you are killing. We do not know what you want, or why you want it, but from what we know of you… you can easily attain it. But it’s costing our lives. Fathers, mothers, daughters, sons. They die without discrimination. We speak as if we will never face death, but you have changed that.”

The wolf looked away then, and seemed to withdraw within himself. Fortan felt sick. It was as if they both suddenly remembered the people they killed in their lives. Who was she, to claim him a monstrosity, if she was also a monstrosity? But then, she had no choice, it was defense. Always defense. Him? This wasn’t his homeland. He wasn’t welcome here.

The wolf turned to leave, but as he reached the door, something made him stop.

“My name is Fortan.”

“Fortune?” The wolf looked over his shoulder at her, confused.

“In your way of speaking, I assume that is so. What is your calling?” The snow leopard couldn’t look at him any longer. She didn’t want to think.

“Caius Maccius Metellus.” His hand gripped the doorway as he turned and looked back at her, defeated on the floor.

“It’s very long.” Her voice was soft.

“Call me Caius, Lady Fortune.” Her ears swiveled and Fortan looked up slowly. It was the first time he addressed her of something akin to her class. He chuckled softly, and then turned his back to her. “Lady Luck….” Her tail tip flicked. ‘What a curious man…’ She thought, as both of the Romans walked into the sunlight, and locked the door behind them.