Clovis

Scene 1: The Divided Franks

EXT. FRANKISH BATTLEFIELD - DAY

The year is 466 AD. A chaotic

battlefield sprawls across the

landscape. Roughly clad Frankish

warriors, their faces streaked with dirt

and blood, clash with crude weapons -

axes, swords, spears. The air is thick

with the smell of sweat, blood, and

smoke. A young boy, around ten years

old, watches from a slight rise, his

eyes wide and observant. This is CLOVIS,

future King of the Franks. His father,

CHILDRIC, King of the Salian Franks,

fights amongst them, his armor battered,

his movements slow with age.

CLOVIS

He grips a small, crudely fashioned

wooden sword.

CHILDRIC

(weary)

They will never unite, my son. Never.

CLOVIS

But why, Father? Why do they fight?

CHILDRIC

(gruffly)

For land. For power. For glory. Foolish things,

all of them.

Childeric wipes blood from his brow, his

gaze sweeping across the brutal scene.

He sighs, a deep sound of despair.

CHILDRIC

One day, you will learn that uniting them will

require more than a strong sword.

Clovis looks intently at his father, a

flicker of ambition in his young eyes.

He tightens his grip on his wooden

sword.

CLOVIS

I will unite them, Father. I will.

A particularly brutal clash erupts

nearby. Childeric is pushed back, almost

falling. Clovis flinches but remains

rooted to his spot, observing the chaos

with a grim determination.

CHILDRIC

(coughing)

Perhaps... perhaps you will.

FADE OUT.