A/N: Sarmatia! Yay! This is so exciting! Until I started writing this part, I had no idea how I was going to start writing this part xD I'm still not really sure how I'm going to keep on with it; I only have a rough outline (Why do y'all think I wrote the whole Britain part first?) Anyways, enjoy the first of the knights' families!
Side note: My goal is to upload the final chapter of this fic on 5/5, because that will be exactly two years after I posted the first chapter. I know, it's been so long! That date might change though if I keep on this writing roll I've been on. We'll see!
Disclaimer: see Chapter 1
.*.*.*.*.*.
Gawain stared out across the waving grasslands of his homeland. The knights had just crested a hill, and could do nothing but gape at the great expanse of waving grass that was so distinctive to Sarmatia.
"So this is where you come from," Arthur murmured softly.
Gawain spared him a glance and a smile. "Apparently."
Arthur grinned and spurred his horse, leading the small convoy down into the reeds. Bors rode beside their king, for once silent as they grew nearer and nearer to the home he barely remembered. Galeschin, Ewan, and Lamorak rode side by side behind the monarch and Bors, while Galahad, Gawain, and Aggravaine brought up the rear.
Gawain spared a glance at Galahad beside him. "What do you think?"
"It's even more beautiful than I remember," Galahad grinned. "But I still can't imagine it covered in snow."
Gawain threw his head back and laughed, remembering the many conversations over the years in which the older knights insisted that Sarmatia had extremely snowy winters, while the younger knights were consistently unable to remember any sort of snow covering on the great plains.
"What's so funny?" Grav asked, leaning forward to peer around his older brother.
"Nothing, really," Gawain admitted. "Just remembering old friends."
Grav smiled. "I see."
"Which village should we reach first?" Galahad asked, looking at the plains around them as if he could hardly imagine finding a village anywhere in the long grasses.
"Bors's, I think," Gawain replied.
Grav shrugged. "Arthur said we would follow a Roman route, so as long as it's the same one the Romans who took the lot of you followed, we should reach the villages in reverse order."
"And I think Bors and Dagonet were from the last village we passed through," Galahad agreed with Gawain.
"If we took the same route as you, we should be getting close, then," Grav supplied. "I think we've travelled about as long as my group did between the last village and the port."
"How can you possibly remember that after ten years?" Gawain asked his younger brother.
"I just do," Grav laughed with a shrug. "I've always had a good memory."
"Looks like you were right," Galahad said as they crested another hill and saw a small village huddled in the distance.
The knights fanned out into a line on top of the hill, Arthur in the center. Gawain noted with a slight smile that his brother and the other younger boys had fallen into the habit just like the older knights did, as he found himself between Galeschin and Galahad.
"Home," Bors's murmured so softly that only Arthur and Lamorak, those on either side of him, heard the word.
"Let's go," Arthur said after a moment, spurring his horse down the hill. The knights followed suit, falling into line behind the king.
For someone who doesn't want to be a leader, he sure is a natural, Gawain couldn't help but think, another smile crossing his face as he fell in behind Galeschin.
.*.*.*.*.*.
"Grandfather!"
Bors the Elder stood at the call, straightening up slowly. Much to his chagrin, the action was far more difficult than it used to be. It wasn't hard to find the source of the shout; Bors saw his grandson racing towards him, eyes wild and hair flying behind him.
"What is it, lad?" the old man asked crossly, scowling. The boy had something of a predilection to exaggeration, something which had driven his grandfather half mad through the boy's twenty years of life.
"Riders!" Elyan gasped, skidding to a halt by his grandfather's side. "There are eight men in armor riding towards the village."
"Romans?" Bors growled, reaching for the spear he always kept by his side.
"I don't think so," Elyan looked back over his shoulder. The dark patch on the hillside had separated into eight individual forms, even to Bors the Elder's old eyes, and continued to grow closer. "They're not wearing Roman armor," Elyan continued belatedly. "It almost looks like the armor we wear."
"Returning knights," Bors the Elder nodded sagely. "Good," he snapped, beginning to make towards the entrance towards the village. "Come along, boy," he called over his shoulder. "Keep up! They've waited long enough; they don't need to wait for you too."
.*.*.*.*.*.
As the knights came up to the village, most of them fell back to allow Bors to take the lead, Arthur just behind him. They reigned in their horses, slowing to a walk as they hit the packed-dirt path that ran through the center of the village, partially to avoid trampling an old man and teenage boy who stood in the middle of the road.
"Stop!" the old man called authoritatively, if belatedly.
The knights traded bemused glances as they once again fanned out into a line, behind Arthur and Bors.
Arthur walked his horse forward to a few paces in front of the old man. "I am Artorius Castus, king of Al"—he was interrupted as the old man turned to the side, hawked mightily, and spat towards the nearest house.
"No Latin here, Roman," the man glowered. "Speak Sarmatian, or nothing at all."
Bors rolled his eyes and walked his horse forward. "Enough, old man," he rumbled, speaking the language the man had requested—if slightly poorly. "Arthur here's one of us."
The old man narrowed his eyes and glared up at Bors. "Get down off yer horse and look an old man in the eyes."
Grumbling, Bors dismounted. "I'm looking for someone," he said. "I doubt he's alive any longer, but I might as well ask. After that, we have news for the families of men taken twenty years ago."
"Who are you looking for?" the boy stepped forward, interrupting a probably nasty retort from the old man.
"My father," Bors said. "He was called Bors, and I was called after him."
The knights watched as all of the color drained from the old man's face. The boy looked equally shocked, but reached out to catch the old man as he staggered forwards, afraid that he was falling. The man pushed him aside and continued forward, arms outstretched towards Bors. The other knights hardly heard the words the man sobbed into the big knight's shoulder: "My son."
.*.*.*.*.*.
Bors the Elder brought his son, Arthur, and the other knights back to his home. "Doesn't look much different," Bors chuckled, looking around.
"Why change something that's just fine as it is?" Bors the Elder grumbled.
Arthur eyed up the boy who followed Bors the Elder like a shadow. He wasn't tall, at least a solid inch or two shorter than Bors and Galahad, and he was slight, if muscular. He had long, curly, fair hair the color of straw and pale blue eyes set in tan, weathered skin.
"Your mother's dead," Bors the Elder continued, speaking over his shoulder to his son as he searched for something against the wall.
"So's your other son," Bors replied, staring around the room. "The others too." There was a pause, and then: "Dag nearly made it back."
Silence fell again as Bors the Elder bustled about. He asked no questions about the deaths of the others, and Bors didn't ask about the death of his mother. The boy stood awkwardly, alternating glances between both Bors, with a few subtly cast towards Arthur and the knights.
"Out," Bors the Elder ordered suddenly, turning around, his arms now laden with a variety of small bundles. He herded the knights out of the hut, followed by the boy, who broke off and headed for a pile of firewood near the hut. Bors the Elder set about separating the packets while the boy returned and worked on building a small fire. "And who are the rest of ye?" Bors the Elder didn't look up when he asked the question.
"I am Arthur Castus," Arthur spoke first.
"Ah, yes, the Roman," Bors the Elder sneered.
"I was your sons' commander in Britain," Arthur continued.
"When we were freed, Arthur invited us to stay in Britain," Bors said, then paused. "I didn't think I had anyone left here, so I did."
"Well, your son might've had something to say about that," Bors the Elder grumbled. The boy suddenly looked very uncomfortable.
"My… what?" Bors looked incredibly confused.
"Elyan," Bors the Elder nodded towards the boy building the fire.
"He's…" Bors gaped at the boy.
"Claire's boy," Bors the Elder rolled his eyes. "The one she was carrying when you left."
"But—you said"—Bors stammered. "I got a message from you saying she'd died in childbirth."
"And?" Bors the Elder said expectantly.
"There was no word of the child, so I thought…" Bors continued to stare at the boy, who squirmed slightly.
"You thought he died too," Bors the Elder finished. "Well, he didn't." He reached over and smacked Bors upside the head. "And what about your father?"
"I figured you'd be dead by now, old man," Bors growled.
"Well, I'm not!" Bors the Elder snapped. "How do you feel about that?"
Bors's face softened. "Glad."
Bors the Elder nodded, apparently satisfied. "And the rest of you; Sarmatian?" He glanced up to see their nods, and nodded himself. "You all stayed with your commander when you were freed?"
"Actually," Galeschin said, "some of us were stationed in Gaul, not Britain. We went there to find our brothers who had been taken before us, and found Arthur instead. Well, Grav found his brother." He grinned at Gawain and Aggravaine. "The rest of us found a place we wanted to make into a home."
"So what are you doing here?" Bors the Elder grumbled. "If this Britain and Arthur are so wonderful, why come back?"
"Our families deserve to know what happened to us, and the families of those we lost deserve the same," Ewan replied.
Bors the Elder nodded slowly. "So now what will you do?"
"We've all decided to return to Britain with Arthur and the others," Galeschin explained.
"I'm going back too," Bors said sheepishly. "I have… a family there."
"A family?" Bors the Elder scoffed. "With who, a Roman whore?"
"No," Bors growled darkly. "And if she were, it wouldn't matter."
"So, you fell in love again after hearing about Claire? How long did it take you, a week?" Bors the Elder retorted. "You never were much of a faithful one."
Arthur thought Bors might explode, his face grew so red, but he calmed down quickly. "It was a mistake, at first. Over a year after we were there, I slept with her one night. I hadn't planned for it to go past that, but then she was with child, and… well, the more time we spent together, the more I fell for her. We got married after I was freed."
"The children were certainly happy about that," Galahad remarked cheekily.
"There was more than one?" Elyan said, speaking for the first time.
"Uh… Eleven," Bors admitted.
"Thirteen," Gawain corrected.
"That can't be right," Bors furrowed his brow, concentrating.
"Well, there will be by the time we get back," Gawain amended.
"Oh, right," Bors nodded.
"Thirteen children?" Elyan gaped.
Bors the Elder opened his mouth to comment, but thought better of it after a wicked glare from his son. "Congratulations," he said snidely.
"They're good kids," Bors shrugged. "Well, mostly."
"Gilly's not," Galahad teased.
"Or Lancelot," Gawain added.
"Or"—Galeschin started
"Enough!" Bors interrupted, glaring at each of the others in turn. "They're good fighters, at least."
"Can't deny that," Grav nodded.
Bors the Elder nodded abruptly. "Well, at least you're training them up right."
"You know, you're welcome to come back with me and meet them," Bors said, eyeing his father up. "Both of you," he added, turning to Elyan.
"Why would we want to go to this 'Britain' just to meet your brats?" Bors the Elder grumbled.
"Britain isn't really so bad," Galahad piped up. "I mean, it's wet, and muddy, and cold, and the sun never seems to stay out for more than a few hours."
"And the Woads are still trying to kill us," Gawain added.
"But the beer's decent," Grav said.
"The women are attractive… well, some of them are," Ewan said.
"And the king isn't all bad," Bors grinned at Arthur. "He's definitely someone worth following."
"Not to mention, family aren't something to take for granted," Grav said softly, trading glances with his brother. "Once you've found them, you don't want to lose them again."
Silence fell again over the group as Bors the Elder added ingredients to a pot of water that Elyan had set to boil over the fire. "And I suppose you're definitely going back?" Bors the Elder said.
"Yes," Bors said firmly.
"I'd like to go," Elyan said shyly. Every pair of eyes around the fire turned to stare at him. "There's nothing for me here," he said defensively. "There's almost no-one left in the village. Pretty much every girl around is already spoken for. Grandfather will be dead soon—ow!" He was too slow to avoid a hard slap on the head from Bors the Elder, and the knights hid smiles. "If I stay here, one day the Romans will take me to serve them. If I come with you, I get to choose who I serve—and I get a family out of it. That is," he looked shyly at Bors, "if you'll take me."
Bors's face softened. "Of course. Van'll love you. Bran'll kick your ass and decide she loves you. The little ones might try to kill you, but only because they're testing you. They'll love having another big brother to torment."
"Isn't that supposed to be the other way around?" Grav wondered.
"Not with Bors and Vanora's kids," Gawain said solemnly.
"When we get back, ask Dag or Lancelot to show you their scars," Galahad added.
"Or Branwyr," Bors added. "Hers is the worst."
"I think anyone who knows those children has scars from them," Arthur laughed.
"Cymbeline still has teethmarks on her left forearm from when Corentin tried to take a bite out of it a few years ago," Gawain said.
"He broke a tooth doing that," Bors put in.
Aggravaine and Elyan both looked suddenly terrified.
"They're good kids, really," Bors asserted.
"Just… vicious…" Gawain laughed.
"Sometimes," Bors said. He looked at his father. "I think they'd love to have a grandfather, too."
"Will they try to kill me?" Bors the Elder asked sarcastically.
"Probably not," Bors shrugged. "But I make no promises for the little ones. They're unpredictable."
Bors the Elder traded a glance with Elyan, before nodding slowly. "Then I suppose we'll both be coming with you. After all, we can't leave those kids without some sort of a good influence."