A/N: This chapter took me a bit longer, as I've been working a lot lately-which is good, because I love my job and definitely need the money from it, but sometimes means I'm too tired to write. Also, I've been a bit blocked on where to go with this story, but hopefully once we get back to Britain it'll be a bit easier going! Thank you all for continuing to read and review! As always, I'd love to hear what you think about this chapter (even though I know this one kind of sucks) xD My next update might be in The Stories We Haven't Heard, as I have a few ideas for one-shots over there, although I do really want to keep moving with this story as well.
Disclaimer: Chapter 1.
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The road to the coast was a long one, especially with the slow carts and the members of the caravan who were on foot. The knights could sense Arthur's impatience growing day by day as they crept towards the sea, and it soon began to infect them as well. Galahad—often with Gawain or Elyan at his side—took to riding ahead in the evening as a scout, searching for a sign that they were nearing their destination, but none was forthcoming.
It took them far too long to reach the coast, as far as Arthur was concerned. It was already mid-afternoon when Galahad and Elyan came galloping back to the caravan to inform him that they had sighted the port. Arthur pushed the caravan far harder than usual that day, trying to get as close to the sea as possible before stopping for the night. In the morning, they found the city just visible on the horizon, and he took Galahad and Galeschin to ride into town with him, leaving Gawain and Bors in charge of the small collection of riders and wagons with instructions to meet them on the edge of the city.
The city was dirty—not that Arthur hadn't been expecting that; he had, after all, seen the port when he arrived from Britain. The biggest difference between then and now was the smell. When they had arrived, the city had stunk; they'd been able to smell it before the ship had even docked. Now, while the smell was still present, it was significantly less prevalent—in fact, it was almost tolerable now.
The three riders went straight to the docks, which were full. Arthur hoped that this was a good sign as he dismounted and headed for the harbor master's booth, Galahad and Galeschin behind him, leading the three horses.
"My good sir," Arthur inclined his head towards the harbor master. "My friends and I are looking to charter passage for ourselves and our families."
"Alright," the man nodded, pulling out a great ledger. "Where are ye heading? It may take a bit of time to get you on a ship, unless you have the money for a private vessel."
"We're heading for the isle of Britannia," Arthur replied. "And we can pay well for passage."
Before Arthur had even finished speaking, the man was shaking his head. "All ships north have stopped for the winter."
"There are no ships going to the north until the spring?" Arthur demanded, his heart dropping.
"None," the harbor master continued to shake his head, slamming the book shut.
"Not even if we pay well?" Arthur asked.
"No," the harbor master tucked the ledger away under his desk. "The winter storms have come early this year, and have already sunk two ships that tried to travel north. No captain will risk the voyage, no matter what you pay—and even if you could convince someone to take you, it would be foolish to try the journey. You'd be more likely to sink than to make it there alive."
Arthur nodded and headed back towards his companions and the horses.
"Well?" Galahad asked.
"When did you get so eager to get back to Britain?" Galeschin teased.
"Well, you'll have to contain your excitement," Arthur snapped. "All ships north have stopped for the winter."
"All ships?" Galahad repeated.
"All ships," Arthur grumbled, mounting his horse.
"So what are we going to do?" Galahad asked. "Stay in the port until the ships start again?"
"We could take everyone north along the and hope that we could find a ferry across the narrow point of the channel," Galeschin suggested. "Depending on the strength of the winter storms, they sometimes continue the ferry all through the season."
"According to the harbor master, the storms this season have already been very strong," Arthur sighed. "I doubt the ferries are running. And we can't stay in the city; we couldn't afford it."
"So what are we going to do?" Galahad challenged.
"I suppose we could camp outside of the city," Arthur mused. "There's a river there that should hold fish we could catch. We might even be able to gather some other food from the countryside to help tide us over."
"It'll be a cold winter," Galeschin mused. "But liveable."
"Probably not as bad as an outdoors winter in Britain," Galahad piped up.
"But bad enough," Arthur sighed.
"Our people are Sarmatian," Galeschin grinned. "They can make it through a Gaulish winter—trust me, I know."
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When Arthur returned to the camp, he pulled Gawain, Bors, Ban, Bors the Elder, and Pellinore aside and informed them of the situation. "As I see it, we have two options," he finished. "We can either camp here for the winter and live off the land, waiting for the ships to start again for the winter, or we can travel north along the coast to where the ferries cross the narrow point of the channel between Gaul and Britain, in the hopes that we would be able to take a ferry sooner than we would be able to take a ship."
Gawain and Bors traded glances. Both of them were eager to get home, but both understood the reasons they would have to winter in Gaul.
"I'd say go north," Bors said, shifting his weight, thumbs hooked in his belt. "We can spend some of the time we're waiting moving instead of sitting, and then have a shorter sea voyage once the ships are moving again."
"The problem with that is that Galeschin and the others don't have much experience with that part of Gaul," Gawain replied. "We don't know what sort of gathering or fishing we'd be able to do there. We can't be sure that we'd be able to eat through the winter."
"But just sitting here, in the same spot, for the whole winter?" Ban shook his head. "It might not be safe."
"The problem with travelling north, as well, is that, even if we are able to cross the channel early, we may not be able to get through Britain if the winter is a bad one," Pellinore added. "We all saw many bad winters during our time in Britain."
"That's true," Bors the Elder nodded in agreement.
"And the winter that far north in Gaul could be just as bad," Galeschin piped up. "The further north you get, the worse the winters get."
"If we did get stuck there for the whole winter, it would be just as bad as getting stuck in Britain during the winter," Gawain mused
"What if we camp here until the winter starts to let up," Ban suggested. "As soon as the first signs of spring start to arrive, we start north. By the time we get to the ferry point, it should be enough into summer that we can take it north and start to move through Britain."
"It would probably be less time than waiting for the ships to start and get through a sea voyage," Pellinore nodded.
"And we can gather food and fish to take with us, in case we can't find more along the road," Galahad piped up. "We won't have to worry about going hungry."
"We'll be worrying about going hungry the whole winter," Pellinore sighed, looking around. "There won't be enough to gather and fish to feed us all very well through the winter. It's going to be tight, and full of empty bellies."
"We'll all lose a few notches in our belts over the next few months," Ban agreed. "But we'll survive. Winters in Sarmatia are harsh, and there is little to eat there either. Our people can live through a Gaulish winter."
"Yes, we'll survive," Arthur nodded. "All of us. It will be as much a battle as those we fight with our swords, but we will survive