Disclaimer: The KA lads never were mine, still aren't mine and never will be. Everything you recognize, belongs to Jerry Bruckheimer & Touchstone Pictures - godsdamnit ! No copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: This is the Bors-centric sequel to "The First Cut Is The Deepest" and deals with Bors' reactions to the fallout of "First Cut." It's not pretty ...

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Blood Ties

Part I: Out Of The Loop

Bors' pov:

Something had happened ... I could feel it in the air. It was tangible. A dark cloud of intensity hung over us all. One which had enveloped my cousin, Dagonet and was slowly smothering the life and soul out of him.

All I knew, that whatever it was, it was bad and I was going to get to the bottom of it - even if it bloody killed me ...

I could tell the others knew something was wrong; that they were deliberately keeping something from me, just by the bloody shifty way they acted when I was nearby. That somehow, it involved my beloved kinsman and our Scout, his lover. It revolved around the pair of them.

It hurt being purposefully kept out of the loop and that angered me greatly.

Oh, I tried asking Gawain, but the damn Halani could barely look me in the eye. Told me it wasn't his place to say anything and that I should speak to my cousin. And the Pup ? It seemed as if he'd been taking lessons in avoidance and stealth from the damned Scout. He was nowhere to be seen or if he was, made perfectly sure that I couldn't get to him. Tristan was never about ... and Dag ?

Dag was an absolute bloody mess. If he'd been shy and reserved before, it was nothing compared to what he was like now. He'd retreated further into his shell. Dag kept strictly to himself and avoided everyone. Was sullen and uncommunicative. Secretive and full of simmering rage. The glowing, vibrant spark of life had left his silvery eyes and they now appeared full of extreme anguish and endless pain.

The most shocking thing about him was his appearance. He hardly ate any more and drank far too much. More than was good for him. The weight soon dropped off Dag and for a tall man of six foot three, it was not a good thing. He looked haggard, extremely gaunt and his tanned skin no longer glowed with health. It was waxy and ashen. Even my Gilly had noticed. And I'm telling you, it's come to something when an eight year old remarks with the truthfulness only a child can possess, that his much loved uncle looks "like death."

Dag was fucking wasting away before my very eyes. Starving and drinking himself into an early grave. And it was breaking my fucking heart because I couldn't stop him ... I didn't know how to bloody stop him ...

The only thing I knew was that I had to stop him somehow. If not for his own sake, then for the rest of my family. The little bastards all adored him. If I'm honest, they damn near worshipped the man ... were forever clinging tightly to him or hanging on to his every word. Under normal circumstances, I would have been jealous, but the circumstances were far from normal. I'd have given anything now to have him here with us; playing with the little ones, quietly scolding them when the need arose or simply telling them a story and making them happy. The brood were clearly missing him and were heartbroken by his self-imposed absence.

My beloved, much put-upon Vanora meanwhile, tried to hide her feelings from us, but I could tell she too missed him desperately. Over the years, she and Dag had developed a deep, close friendship and Van loved him like a brother. His odd behaviour worried her intensely and she was deeply hurt and distressed when he began to shun us all. Yet despite everything, Van never stopped caring or fretting about him.

Even the aloof Scout had been welcomed into the fold, purely for the fact that he adored my cousin and made him happy. To our astonishment, the standoffish Aorsi's reserve seemed to thaw with the children and his golden gaze would soften with deep affection, when my youngest daughter would always insist on clambering upon his knee, then throw her chubby, little arms tightly around his neck to snuggle up against him before falling asleep in his embrace. Then, all of a sudden the Scout's visits stopped and now I find myself nursing my youngest in my arms every night as she sucks her thumb and cries herself to sleep, because she desperately misses her "nuncle Twistwan."

Strange really, but looking back, the visits just seemed to stop around six weeks ago, straight after the night Dag mysteriously disappeared. That was funny business, come to think of it and I never found out what happened then either. Nor why Dag insists on never removing his tunic, even when the weather's sweltering. Or why he refuses to go swimming with us, or tends to avoid the bath-house like the plague when any of us are there. I just can't help thinking all of these things are linked, yet for the life of me, I can't see the connection.

I hardly ever see Tristan these days - he's rarely at the fort anymore. It's as if he too, is intent on shunning us all. And when I do catch a glimpse of him, he seems positively wraith-like as he flits from the stables, to the bath-house; then to his quarters, only stopping briefly at the tavern to eat alone before hastily returning to the stables once more to ride out on yet another patrol.

That's another thing that's been preying on my mind lately. That the Scout's always patrolling and is no longer seen with my cousin. That the pair of them - who used to be inseparable - are as heartbroken as each other and are clearly miserable as sin apart ...

How that came to pass, I don't know. What I do know is that the stubborn buggers need to be together. They belong to each other. Any fool can see that. Hell ! Even I can see it, and I'm far from being the brightest and sharpest blade in the fucking armoury ...

Van has pleaded with me not to meddle ... not to interfere and there's nothing I'd like to do more than to heed her wise counsel and leave well alone. Yet, how can I ? How can I, in all honesty, do that when my beloved, young kinsman is suffering so much heartbreak and pain ? How could I live with myself and allow that to continue, for mercy's sake ?

The simple fact of the matter is that I can't ... I will not ... 'Cause I know, deep down in my heart - in my soul - that if our situations were reversed, Dag wouldn't hesitate for an instant ... He would be there for me ...

So, no ... I'm not going to piss about and do nothing. This shit's gone on for long enough. If no one can be arsed to tell me what's going on, then it looks like I'll have to take matters into my own hands, doesn't it ?

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TWO DAYS LATER

Well, it had to happen eventually. I was bound to find out. Surprizingly, in the end I didn't have to do any digging or snooping as I came across the truth entirely by accident. Thanks to a pair of loose-lipped serving wenches who happened to be gossiping outside the tavern. And the story I heard, definately wasn't to my liking.

I immediately stormed into the tavern, breathing fire and brimstone, past a bewildered Vanora who was cradling our youngest in her arms, in search of the culprit who had caused all of the mayhem. Ignoring her worried calls, I studied the room's occupants and soon spotted him. Not that he was making much of an effort to remain out of the public eye. Ever since I've known the arrogant sod, he's always had to be the centre of attention and would do almost anything to get it ...

All I could think of was that I was going to kill the conniving, selfish, fucking bastard. I was going to make him wish he'd never been born.

One of the wenches passed me, carrying a tray laden with tankards of ale. I grabbed one and swiftly downed its contents, then after I'd finished drinking, hastily wiped my mouth and chin with my right hand before slowly stalking past the customers towards my goal. Not once did I take my eyes off him, fearing if I did just for an instant, he would surely disappear.

I was dimly aware of Vanora frantically calling my name as I approached the table where he sat, right in the middle of the crowded room.

Bloody typical ! I thought, he just had to sit where everyone could see him. Still, that suited me just fine, especially when I considered what I had planned for him. He'd get plenty of attention alright, only it wouldn't be the sort he constantly craved and demanded.

People must have sensed my murderous intentions as they began to back away from me, leaving me with a clear path which led to my quarry. I soon found myself standing in front of the table, watching him through narrowed eyes.

One of the serving wenches - a comely, blonde lass - sat on his lap, giggling helplessly. The one Van always claimed to be far too gullible for her own good. Van had been right in her assessment of the girl, for if he was the company she willingly chose to keep, she was either very naive or just plain stupid. For her sake, I hoped it was the former, but deep down, I knew it was the latter.

She giggled once more as his black, leather-clad arm tightened around her slender waist. He lowered his dark, curly head to whisper in her ear before sweeping a swathe of fair hair away from her neck so that he could nuzzle her throat.

"Leave us," I growled softly, as I leant over the oak table. He eventually deigned to look at me, his dark gaze insolent and he had that infuriatingly smug grin on his handsome, bearded face - the one I'd always loathed. "You and I have business that needs sorti- "

"Huh ! ... Bors ... Can't you see that I'm busy here ? Come back later ..." He then turned his attention back to the girl on his lap, with a leer.

I felt the red mist descend upon me. It hungered for vengeance and it craved blood - his blood ... By now, I was trembling with barely suppressed rage and with my right arm I furiously swept aside the clay pitcher of ale and the tankards that were on the table. They fell onto the hard, stone floor with a loud crash.

"I said leave us - now ! Don't make me move you, girl ... " I hissed, noting with satisfaction the apprehension on her face as she swiftly disentangled herself from his grasp and hurried away completely flustered. He was instantly on his feet, tense with fury and frustration.

"You will pay for that, Bors," he spat, grasping the edge of the table so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"I will pay ?" I repeated softly, aware of the constant burning itch in my right fist. The itch that always warned me of my intense need to hit something or ... someone ... "I will pay, will I ? You sure about that ? After what you did six weeks ago ? To my family ? My cousin ? You'll be the one crawling on your hands and knees in the dirt "paying," not me !" The angrier I got, the louder my roar became. The tavern had become deadly silent and people weren't bothering to hide their curiosity and were openly listening, but by now I was beyond caring ... I was too far gone ...

"I never did anything t- " he began to deny, further incurring my wrath.

"That's a load of fucking bollocks and you fucking know it ! It's time you learnt a lesson, Lancelot. You can't go around creating mayhem and hurting people and still remain unscathed ... You need to learn you can't swan about the place, acting on your whims and then leave a trail of devastation in your wake ..." I moved around the table, closed the gap between us and really got into his face. "This godsdamned world doesn't owe you or anyone a single fucking thing. What makes you think you're so special, pretty boy ? More than the rest of us, huh ? I'll bloody tell you - nothing ! And you need to bloody realize that - pretty damn quick !"

The dark knight leaned forward and snarled, "Just fuck off, Bors. You bore me ..." He turned on his heel and was about to walk away, but I had other ideas. It was always a bad idea for someone to turn their back on me when I was itching for a good scrap.

Ignoring Van's furious call of "Bors - no ! You bloody idiot !" I tapped him on the shoulder.

"Gods ! What no- ?" He turned his head and before he was aware of what had happened, I'd raised my right fist and lashed out hard. Unlike my cousin, I never held back on a punch, especially if I felt the blow was justified. It caught him completely offguard. Dazed, he staggered, then fell on his arse onto the floor. His lower lip had split and was bleeding quite profusely. He slowly shook his head, stared blankly at me and raised the back of his right hand to press against his lip.

I stalked towards him, then looked down at him menacingly. "Want to know what's the biggest lesson you need to learn before I really start kicking your sorry, pathetic arse, you arrogant, little shit ?"

Mute, he eyed me warily.

"You forgot the most important bloody lesson," I roared, as I began to unwind the long, black woollen scarf from around my neck and slowly circled him, purely to intimidate. "You mess with my family, you mess with me ..."

TBC ...