Somewhere on the outskirts of Puzzlewood, Forests of Dean in England, the film set for [The Promised Queen] buzzed with a quiet energy.
Crew members moved with purpose, lighting rigs were being adjusted between branches, cables were carefully threaded along the ground and a camera team meandered near a dolly track laid just off of the main path where a regal yet medieval looking carriage stood.
Inside the carriage, a ceiling-mounted camera rig had been secured in place as crew members made final adjustments to ensure it was properly aligned and stable.
As for the scenery around said carriage, it was as mesmerizing as nature could be.
Gnarled, ancient-looking trees arched and stretched overhead, each one bending inwardly over the moderately-wide winding path below where thick irregular patches of grass grew.
Moss-covered rocks sparsely dotted the region in the backdrop, the bulging, twisted roots adding an ancient yet enchanting allure to the environment.
Honestly, it was the kind of place that didn’t need much dressing, though the production team had still added subtle touches in the form of banners, weathered props, and carefully placed set pieces that blended naturally into the landscape.
That said, closer to one of the camera setups, Ivelia stood with the cinematographer, exchanging inputs with one another whilst studying the framing of the scene through a monitor in an effort to get it just right.
As for the main cast, albeit they were already in their costumes, they lingered about the set, each involved in one thing or the other as they awaited the signal for shooting to begin.
David leaned against one of the larger trees, adjusting the clasp at his shoulder with one hand while gently stroking his horse’s mane with the other as he conversed with Gareth.
Nearby, a bunch of supporting actors also conversed quietly while others reviewed their lines under their breaths, each and every single one of them holding on tightly to the reins of their horses.
All of them were cloaked in black long robes, prop swords fastened to their waist, and a silver brooch of a dragon insignia clipping the robes at the neck.
Their metallic shoulder clasps equally also caught the slightest rays of sunlight through the forest as the leather elements of their outfits and boots creased faintly against the dirt.
A short distance away, seated in the carriage alongside the actors whom would be playing the King and Queen, Emily absentmindedly stared out the window, only for her gaze to settle on a familiar frame.
Leaning on a tall, uneven rock a few meters away, his horse letting out a gentle, quiet exhale, the lead actress watched with curiosity as he continuously scribbled something in a little journal at brief intervals.
It had been a month and a half since the script reading session had happened.
Filming had begun two weeks ago, with some scenes already shot, the first of which had actually been the banquet scene where the betrayal had happened.
Today though, they would be shooting the very first scene of the movie.
Yet, the influence of Niall’s inputs in refining the script couldn’t be understated.
Asides from simply cleaning up a few plot holes here and there, Igraine’s, Uther’s and even Gareth’s role had been finetuned.
But probably the biggest change to the script, asides the bold suggestion the young actor had made, was a partial revamp of Julien’s character.
Upon reading his new lines, Emily was genuinely impressed to see him evolve from a worried, overly protective childhood friend who often compromised for Igraine into a quiet, stoic, yet still protective knight who never wavered in his duty to her.
Now, his role didn’t feel forgettable, not in the slightest.
It also helped that the pseudo ’love triangle’ that Emily couldn’t help but feel was shoehorned into the story, now felt like a natural progression of the plot.
Whatever the outcome of the conversation he and the director had had, Emily was glad it improved upon an already good script.
That said, given Ivelia’s work ethic demanded no phones on set, a rule she’d put in place to avoid unnecessary distractions, Niall had taken to using a journal as a worthwhile substitute.
Besides, it was doing a pretty good job of helping him with his outlines.
ACT II – STIRRINGS OF A STRANGER (contd.)
Ch. 9 - In the Shadows
News spreads that key envoys are dead in the individual factions. Alliances falter and crumble. Insurrections erupt. The result becomes catastrophic. It’s no longer just the little guys. It’s all of Aelderon.
Ch. 10 - The Cost of Choosing
Tristan refuses to get involved in the war, then helps anyway. At the defensive lines of Vaelund, a widely known nation of mixed races in Aelderon, the token begins to reveal more of its powers. Tristan shows prowess with it. The frontline is saved. The tales of a new hero spreads.
END OFACT II
’Hmmm,’ Niall mused to himself, tapping his pen lightly on the page.
’Which act do I reveal that Rayleigh’s actually the culprit that assassinated the key envoys--’
Niall hadn’t finished his thoughts when the director’s authoritative voice bled into his ears.
"Alright, everyone. Five minutes to the first shot of the day. Let’s tighten up and get into position." she gestured with a twirl of her finger.
In an instant, conversations dwindled to a hush.
Scripts were handed off to the production assistants. Some final adjustments were made to the cameras. Costumes were straightened. Certain surreptitiously-placed marks on the forest floor were checked.
David rolled his shoulders once, glanced at the path ahead, then towards the others as he settled into Uther Pendragon, Duke of the Pendragon Household and Vice-captain of Camelot’s knight order.
Emily on the other hand exhaled slowly, her expression morphing into the practiced boredom of a princess who had it all, a stark contrast to the actors playing the King and Queen next to her whose expressions had sharpened slightly, their regal demeanor on full display.
Niall on the other hand, tucked the little journal and pen into his pocket, climbed onto his horse in a single smooth motion and then, moved into position with the steed.
By the time he’d joined up with the other knights, a stolid expression had taken hold of his striking features, his cool-gray irises aloof.
Sweeping her gaze across the set, ensuring that everyone was in position and was at the ready, Ivelia gestured with a casual wave;
"Slate,"
"The Promised Queen. Act 1. Scene 1. Take 1." a clapperloader popped into frame, casually released the stick with a soft clack and popped right out.
"Action!" Ivelia followed up instantly.
The wheels of a plush-looking carriage belonging to nobility trundled through the woods, flinging small clumps of dirt and tiny strips of grass.
And with it,
A loud groan. One enough to garner the attention of the entourage accompanying them.
"Do we really have to go on a Royal Progress?" a feminine voice dripping with the silken tongue of nobility spoke.
"I mean, if we won the war, what’s the point of all these mind games?" the voice continued in an unlady-like drone, her gaze peering through the windows.
"Igraine!" her mother, the Queen, chastised quietly, her expression stern.
"You’re a Princess, for heaven’s sake. Sit like one and speak like one!" she admonished.
"The Kingdom of Lancelot has been a thorn in our sides for far too long," her father on the other hand, casually remarked as he reviewed a parchment before signing.
"This Royal Progress is to send a message,"
"A warning, not just to Lancelot, but to whomever it may concern that Camelot bows to no one,"
"They shall prepare, and we shall feast on what they prepare. Not just today, but for as long as Camelot stands." the King concluded, already vetting another document with a practiced motion.
"Sounds like a hassle," Igraine half-heartedly replied to which she then queried her Personal Knight whom was riding just outside her window.
"Don’t you think so, Julien?"
Gently riding his horse, his gaze trained straight ahead, the knight in question glanced over to her for a brief moment, his expression blasé.
Then, facing forwards once more, he kept his response simple and respectful;
"It’s dangerous to poke your head out the carriage, Your Highness."
"You and mother are cut out of the very same silk. No fun at all." Igraine squinted at him disapprovingly, her expression shifting from bored to sour in an instant.
To that, her father simply chuckled in amusement.
Her mother on the other hand, looked like she had swallowed the sourest of limes.
"My word, Igraine!" she struggled to restrain the frustrated huff in her tone and then turned to face the King.
"Amlawdd! You spoil her too much!" she complained, her own tone characteristically becoming less queen-like.
"And you, worry too much, my dear," Amlawdd simply replied, glancing over to her briefly with an amused smile.
It was evident he seemed to be enjoying seeing his wife squirm uncomfortably.
However, before he could placate her as he usually did,
"Your Highness," a gritty, firm voice came from the opposite side of the carriage.
"We have arrived at the outskirts of the Kingdom of Lancelot." the rugged-looking knight informed the King.
"Duke Morlund’s gone ahead to inform them of our arrival." he added in a respectful yet even tone.
"Your vigilance is appreciated, Uther," the King responded and then asked;
"Morlund says you’re capable enough to take the title of Captain from him," Amlawdd made small talk as he picked up another document.
"Duke Morlund is too kind, Your Highness." Uther simply responded.
To that, the King smiled softly and then remarked;
"Humility despite being the youngest Vice-Captain in the history of the Knight Order,"
"I can see why he’s pushing for you," Amlawdd thoughtfully added, after which he then queried;
"Speaking of Morlund, don’t you think he’s being a bit too much of a worrywart?"
"I doubt there’s ever a thing as too much caution, Your Highness," Uther replied respectfully.
"Besides, Duke Morlund’s known for being overly cautious. It only makes sense that he’d be even more cautious given some of Lancelot’s deserters might be planning an ambush."
Giving a little nod of acknowledgement in response to that and equally opting to leave things on that note, Amlawdd resumed vetting the next document.
However, amidst the conversation between the King and the Duke, Igraine had suddenly gone quiet, a development her mother was genuinely thankful for.
Curiously, this was because the princess had been secretly stealing glances at the rugged-looking duke through the window.
"Cut!"
"That was a great take," Ivelia remarked with a satisfied nod.
"Keep this up and we should clock out earlier today," she added and the actors looked evidently glad to hear that.
"Alright. Everyone, take ten." she gestured vaguely with a wave of her hands.
"We’ll proceed to the next scene of the day afterwards."
In response to that, the actors dispersed around the film set, a few production assistants offering bottles of mineral water to them.
As for Niall, a faint smile of accomplishment traced his lips. Had been since they’d started filming two weeks ago, really.
A week before filming had begun, Ivelia had met up with the top guns at Silver-Crest Studios for another meeting.
The basis of said meeting, had been to review the changes she’d made to the script... changes which had been met with a green light.
As a result, it only made perfect sense that Niall was glad he wouldn’t exactly be pigeonholed into playing the exact same character he’d been known for.
Rather, he’d be playing a different variation of his typecast... which on paper didn’t sound like much, but in the grand scheme of things, was a step in the right direction.
That said, shifting his thoughts over to something else,
’Fourth act. Definitely the fourth act.’ Niall quietly nodded to himself as he came to a decision regarding his novel.