**Don't own anything you recognize, but I do own my original characters**
This chapter picks up right where the last left off! Enjoy!
A/N: I'm going with the theory that only the Sarmatian Calvary's son's were taken into service and only the firstborn sons. Also when I say "___moons" I'm talking about a month and "half a cycle" is half of a moons cycle so two weeks or so. Also, going with the realization that the average age for weaning a child off of the mothers milk at that time was probably more like four years old, not trying to make a statement just going with what I've learned. Thanks! :)
A/N 2: Sorry, but I just also wanted to explain my idea for how they came up with 'marrying age'. For men it was after their fifteenth summer unless the father chose to hold them back, for the women it was after their third cycle(period). Again, this is just what makes the most sense to me considering the time period. Ok, thanks again! :) :) :)
"After they took you mama was inconsolable. She would wander in the middle of the night wailing.
Father sent me away for awhile, if it wasn't under those circumstances I would have been excited, my first hunting trip."
Lancelot burst into a quick grin
"When we got back mama was gone. She wandered off in the middle of the night and no one could find her. She didn't even take a horse, and she covered her tracks. A few moons later they found her in the forest to the south. She had been dead a few days. I think all the dead babies between you and me, plus the two after my birth and then the Romans taking you…it snapped her."
Aanya checked her brother, she knew she needed to tell him as much as possible before they got back to camp but she didn't want to overwhelm him. He nodded thoughtfully and motioned for her to continue, but she could see the veiled pain in his eyes.
"After that, I spent most of my days with Kay's wife and the new baby, a boy. Father stopped speaking and would leave for half a cycle or more with no word on where he was going. The Roman's came again a few summers after that, started measuring Kay's boy, talking about how big he needed to be for them to take him. When he was eight summers old Father rode in, apparently he had been with the Venedi and they had a boy the same age as Kay's son and another a few summers younger and the Roman's said they were coming for them. They wanted to fight them."
"What??" Lancelot gasped, rage seeping into his vision. His own father gives him up without a fight but another tribe's son a few summers younger was something to fight for?
"Shh, let me finish. These boys were only a few summers from their mother milk, the one in the Venedi's tribe wasn't even a cavalry's son. Just a young boy, and other things too, they began talking about taking the girls…me."
She paused and looked warily ahead.
"Your companions sister, and she wasn't even…never mind. We had to fight back, so we combined forces, combined camps. It was a disaster though, they killed Kay's wife and son, they other boys. There were….sacrifices…made for the women. I tried to stop it but the elders had taken us away, held us so we couldn't get back to help fight."
She touched her scar tenderly and shook her head.
"After that a few Romans were posted with us for a few seasons, to make sure we stayed in line. One tried to force himself on...another girl; I defended her and took the punishment."
Aanya took a deep breath as she saw the camp peeking over the horizon.
"By the next spring most of the elders had been made examples of, Father included. Most of the young men have had to grow up fast.
I dearly hope you didn't come here hoping to be welcomed like kings.
At best they'll admire you from a distance maybe ask for a little advice or a story, but most likely they'll resent you showing up too late.
It hasn't been that long since the Romans left us.
It would save a lot of trouble if you told your companion that, too."
Lancelot sighed and rubbed his forehead, this was going to get complicated.
"He's been listening this whole time."
Aanya's head snapped to the smirking man riding well out of hearing range. That would get annoying very quickly.
As they got closer to the camp, Raif called out to Aanya.
"I'm going to spread the word."
Aanya nodded silently and they all picked up the pace a bit as the boy sprinted towards the camp.
A few moments later Aanya watched as Raif pulled his sister out of their tent and pointed to the group.
Tristan's horse sped up almost instantaneously at the sight of her. She was three the last time he saw her, her long black hair in braids so similar to how she wore it now.
The moment his gray eyes met hers she knew who he was. That was something they all shared, the three left of their family, those stormy gray eyes.
After a moment Raif was no longer tugging her along, gradually getting faster she broke into a sprint when he jumped from his horse and began running to her.
Less than a moment later he had her in his arms, swinging her around tears cascading down their cheeks.
Sonia pulled away and touched her brother's face, so like her fathers, so like Raif's.
His mouth pulled into a wide smile and traced the tattoo's that were identical to all Venedi's.
Reaching behind her Sonia pulled Raif up to her chest tucking his head under her chin.
A warmth and sweetness began to spread through her chest. Her family, however small and decimated, was finally back together.
"Raif, this is our brother Tristan."
"Finally!" Tatiana whispered as the three riders came into view. Her son had gone on his daily path, scouting for the two boys that had been taken from their tribe almost sixteen years ago. Her face lit up with joy as her eldest came into view, the curly dark hair he shared with his father flapping in the wind.
The sight of the flaxen haired man next to him gave her heart a small tug as she remembered her brother and his wife, long lost to rampant fever.
A hand tugged on her arm and she looked over to see her husband's eye's proud and strong as usual but for the first time in what felt like years she saw hope.
"Gawain!!" the scream from the pregnant woman was unmistakable. Railen ran as fast as her body would allow.
Gawain looked up from his conversation with his cousin, Brenton.
He had just finished catching them up, however quickly, on the past fifteen years. There was a lot more death than Gawain thought, a lot more fighting between the southern tribes.
He smiled a bittersweet smile, his parents and brother were gone but his sister had found a man. Even though he also was gone now, the child she carried symbolized a future for their family.
He jumped from his horse and embraced her pulling her out to arms length and getting a good look at her.
"Railen, you look beautiful."
"I look like a heifer!" She exclaimed laughing a little and throwing an arm over her little brother.
Galahad jumped off his horse and ran into the love and safety of his mothers arms. He felt the last bit of anger and bitterness he'd been holding on to flow from his veins at her touch.
His relief at the knowledge of his families survival over these years was overwhelming, he couldn't help but tear up at the words his father whispered into his ear.
"You have brought honor to our name, son."
That night the fire burned brightly and the whole tribe gathered to welcome the returning sons.
Apparently Galahads mother had been so confident of their return that she had been brewing dandelion wine for the past year in preparation for this night.
The day had gone by fast; the joyful welcomes short lived before the work began. They spent the rest of the day building new tents, telling stories and listening to a long re-telling of ancient battles.
After the sunlight faded they lit the bon fire and began what Galahad referred to as the parade of potential wives.
Gawain and Galahad didn't remember the yearly ritual. They had been too young when they left to see it for themselves.
At the end of the night, after the fire's embers began to die down and the small children drifted off to sleep the young men of marrying age gathered around one side of the fire. Gawain and Galahad were not the oldest men there, but they were not the youngest by far.
The youngest was a boy who had just reached his fifteenth summer, the oldest a man of thirty four.
The marrying traditions in the Bastarnae tribe were a little different than some of the other tribes. The reasons for marrying or not were entirely up to the couple.
There was no pre-arrangement; and to marry, the couple had to petition in front of the tribal elders explaining why they wanted it. Then, after a small deliberation they would give their blessing.
The only time either of the men could remember the blessing being revoked was when the elders had found signs of abuse on the woman.
While the men sat around the fire drinking dandelion wine the women of marrying age would come out and sing a song. Sometimes it was a song of celebration after war, sometimes a lullaby, but always something dear to the tribe's heart.
After the women finished the men would pour them goblets of wine and perform a traditional dance of celebration, complete with chants and sometimes even an animal skin drum.
Then the women would re-fill their goblets and each woman would feed each man (barring relation) a sip of wine from their goblet.
While all this happened the older couples, usually the parents of the young men and women, would watch and clap and remember when they did this to each other.
After each man took a sip from each woman's goblet, the ritual was done and they would spend the rest of the night singing and dancing and drinking, usually until the sun began to creep into the morning sky.
As Galahad eyed a young auburn haired girl he remembered from his dreams he threw his arm around his cousin's shoulders.
"Why are you sulking man? The beautiful sarmatian women we always spoke of are surrounding us. That one over there, I used to dream about her."
Gawain shrugged Galahads arm off and gave him a small smile.
"Mine isn't here."
He shrugged and laughed at Galahads frozen form.
"I'm not trying to be difficult, cousin. I looked every maid in the eye tonight and," he swept a hand across his eyes "nothing. They are beautiful, but none are meant for me."
Galahad laughed and punched Gawain lightly on the shoulder.
"Say what you will, I'll not go back to Briton empty handed."
With a last pitying look back he sauntered over to his auburn beauty.