Title: The Lion, the Wolf and the Hawk
Type: friendship; romance
Summary: Where two friends seek solace in each other after the fallout of "The First Cut Is The Deepest."

Disclaimer: The lads still belong to Jerry Bruckheimer & Touchstone Pictures - more's the pity ... anything you don't recognize can by blamed on my warped imagination ! If they were mine, both Tristan and Dag would still be with us, for mercy's sake ... No copyright infringement is intended.

Warning: contains slash and strong language.

A/N: Please note this is a revised version of "The Lion and The Wolf." I've been pretty bored lately and ended up re-writing/editing some of my fics and their plots. This one inevitably got, as Bors would say, "hacked 'n' slashed" simply 'cause I was at a loose end ...

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The Lion, the Wolf and the Hawk

Chapter I

Gawain's pov:

Two days earlier:

Gods ! Galahad can be such a child at times ... A petulant one with no sense of humour. For mercy's sake, it was only a bit of fun ! An innocent prank. How the hell was I to know that it was going to misfire ? Admittedly, Bors took things a bit too far, but I never thought Galahad would break things off with me. And all because of that godsdamn kilt ...

It's been three weeks now since it happened and he's still not talking to me. In fact, things are so bad between us that he's avoiding me like the plague and has even started accompaning Tristan on his patrols rather than be with me. Tristan, of all people ! It seems he'd rather snipe and bicker with our Scout than let me try to make amends.

Well, fine ... if that's how my stubborn Pup wants to be, fair enough. I'm not going to chase after him ... See if I care ... He'll come running back with his tail between his legs when he realizes that he misses me and can't be without me. 'Til then I'll bide my time and carry on with my duties.

XXXXX

Present time:

I hate seeing how unhappy and withdrawn Dag's become. He's not been the same since he broke up with Tristan. Being with Raven seemed to do him a world of good and he was happier for a while. For one so young, she was a wise girl and although I could tell she was madly in love with him, she knew Tristan still held Dagonet's heart. In the end, she sacrificed her own happiness and set Dag free.

We all expected Dag and Tris to settle their differences. To kiss and make up. But it didn't happen. Dagonet was wary and feared the Scout would break his heart again. Surprizingly - and much to Dagonet's dismay - Tristan kept to himself and would vanish like an inish rather than keep company with the rest of us. He no longer came to the tavern and when he had to stay at the fort, kept to his quarters, the armoury or the stables. In fact, the only one he'd spend time with was Galahad and that was when they had to patrol together. I could tell he too, was suffering from the anguish of a broken heart after his shieldmate took the Celtic beauty as a lover.

The sad thing was, Raven, Vanora, Bors, Galahad and myself could see that although they were still in love, they were too stubborn and proud or feared further heartache to even make an attempt at a reconciliation.

Despite all the efforts Bors and I took to distract Dagonet from the Aorsi's deliberate elusiveness, it was obvious that our Roxolani Healer was very lonely and desperately missing the enigmatic Scout. Although Bors' intentions towards his young cousin were well-meaning, Dag began to feel stifled by his constant presence and in the end Bors was told in no uncertain terms to "bugger off and leave me the hell alone so I can breathe."

Strangely, I was tolerated - probably because I didn't crowd him and allowed him his privacy. It was only after the unfortunate prank on Galahad and his decision to leave me, that Dag and I began to spend more time together and got to know each other better. After all, we were both kindred spirits. Abandoned and ignored by the ones we loved.

We began to request patrol duty together. It made sense. Dag was avoiding Bors. Galahad wanted nothing to do with me. Tristan would only patrol with Galahad and none of us wanted to be paired up with Lancelot. Dag refused point blank to spend any time whatsoever with Arthur's second-in-command and seeing as Lancelot was the cause of his separation from Tristan, who could honestly blame him ? Galahad despised Lancelot for what he'd done to Dagonet; Bors went as far as saying he'd rather patrol with the Romans, or he'd end up throttling Lancelot; Tristan actually threatened to kill him and Arthur wisely - for once - decided it was best to keep the Scout and his favourite apart. And me ? I never could stand the smug Iazyges bastard. And considering how gravely he'd hurt my friend - well, he'd deliberately gone out of his way to hurt Dag in his pursuit of Tristan - I hated Lancelot with an intense, burning passion.

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It was late in the evening and we'd both decided to set up camp for the night. I'd left Dag to deal with the horses as I went to collect firewood and to refill our water skins from a nearby river.

When I got back, both horses had been watered, unsaddled, rubbed down, tethered and were now grazing contentedly. Clad in a green undershirt which skimmed his leather-clad hips, Dagonet sat on an old, dead tree trunk, carefully cleaning the large bastard sword he favoured. Lost in concentration and deep in thought.

I leant against an oak and silently watched him. He looked tired. Haggard and drawn. Six months had passed since he'd parted ways with Tristan. And that time had clearly taken its toll on the pair of them.

Dag had always been a shy, quiet man and unlike his kinsman, skilfully avoided being the centre of attention. But his relationship with the Scout had been good for him. The enigmatic Aorsi had succeeded where everyone else had failed and drawn my friend out of his protective shell. Our gifted Healer had become more confident in himself, more at ease and self-assured.

But what had astounded us all, had been Dag's influence upon the mercurial, temperamental Scout. Tristan had always been a cold, reserved, sarcastic bastard and at first, Bors and myself had doubted Dagonet's wisdom in taking our resident deathdealer as his lover. But Tristan perversely, proved us wrong.

To our surprize, our Scout fell deeply and hard for Dag. Really hard. In fact, I'm not sure who was more astonished by it, me and Bors, Dag or even Tris himself. No matter ... Falling for our Roxolani Healer turned out to be a very good thing for him. Tristan became so much easier to deal with and to be around. He was still the same aloof, sarcastic bugger, but his remarks and wit had less bite. In Dagonet's company, he was a different man. We got to see another side of him - and it was one we rarely got the privilege to witness. He was warm, sincere, devoted, gentle and loving. He adored Dagonet with a genuine passion and that's why we all couldn't understand why he ended up hurting the one he professed to love so dearly.

Things were never right between them after that. Dagonet reverted to his old self and lost all of the confidence which had made him so appealing. He took to drinking heavily in order to forget. To try to dull the pain of losing Tristan. The weight soon dropped off him, as he often forgot to eat or just couldn't be bothered to make the effort. It was heartbreaking to see the change in him.

Then Raven happened ...

I don't want to be disloyal to Tristan, but the lovely, young Celt was a mixed blessing. Like I said, we had hoped, once the dust had settled, that Tristan and Dagonet would reconcile, but nothing came of it. Raven, thankfully, befriended Dag at a time when he truly needed someone. At first, her motives were genuine, all she offered was friendship. She cared for him and hated the way he was drinking himself into an early grave. They became close and Dagonet, because he was lonely, took her to his bed. But then, the poor lass fucked up ... She fell in love with him. Raven quickly realized that Dagonet's heart belonged to Tristan and that he'd never be completely hers. In the end, she let him go, even though it broke her heart to do so ...

So now, Dag's alone once more. Lonely, withdrawn, unhappy and pining for his love. Desperately missing his Tristan. But Tristan's become a wraith. Flitting in the shadows. Nursing a broken heart, he refuses to have anything to do with Dagonet. Tristan's hurting badly and when Tris hurts, he lashes out like a wild animal. And that's why he's ignoring Dag. He avoids the one he loves, in order to stop himself from hurting him. No matter which way I look at it, the situation between them is completely fucked up.

Dag and I have always got on. I'd trust the big man with my life and he's the one I turn to for advice and guidance. I value both his opinions and his friendship. He's a kind, gentle soul who longs for peace, yet is one of the bravest men I have the privilege to know. His courage on the battlefield is unequalled and his loyalty to his friends and loved ones is unswerving. In all honesty, I couldn't ask for a better or truer friend.

In this hell we've been forced to live in, Dagonet has become my family. My brother. My confidante. And my rock.

Suddenly, Dagonet looked up, his wise, sorrowful, silver gaze colliding with my startled blue.

"You're back, brother," he stated calmly, the tone of his deep voice soft as it interrupted my thoughts. "Wasn't expecting you so soon ..."

Approaching him silently and at a leisurely pace, I smiled faintly, shrugged my shoulders and dropped the kindling on the ground. I knelt down and began to dig a hole in the soft earth with my axe, then placed some rocks around it, before filling the scrape with dry moss and twigs. Because the earth and the wood were dry, it didn't take long for the tiny spark I'd created with my piece of flint to take hold and turn into a raging fire. I sat back on my heels and grinned in satisfaction.

"Is there anything to eat ?" I saw him shake his head and roll his eyes in bemusement. He sighed and reached for the nearest saddlebag.

"You and your appetite ..." he muttered huskily. "You're almost as bad as Bors."

"Hey ! I could never be as bad as your cousin. Don't know how poor Van copes with him." I grinned as he brought the saddlebag to me. Shaking his head, Dag handed me the bag and shrugged his impressively broad shoulders.

"I've often wondered how the lass puts up with him. It's a wonder she hasn't turned on him by now," he remarked idly. "That wench is far too good for him and I hope he realizes it. How bloody lucky he is to have her ..."

I opened the saddlebag and peered into it, then pulled out its contents. Along with the fresh water skins, there was a flagon of ale, some fresh bread, dried meat and a couple of apples.

"Will you eat, brother ? You look as if you could use a good meal- "

He slowly shook his head. "Maybe later, Gawain ... After I've bathed. But if you wish to eat, I won't stand in your way. Eat, my friend. I won't be long ..."

Dagonet moved away and bent down to where his saddle lay to pick up a spare bedroll. It was only then I picked up a change in his actions. Normally, he moved with a silent, fluid, wolf-like grace, but as I continued to study him, I noticed Dag give an imperceptible wince, then gingerly rub the small of his back. Then just as quickly, he hid whatever pain he'd felt and for a strappingly built man leapt nimbly to his feet.

"I won't be far, brother. Call if you need me ..." And with that remark, he turned on his heel and briskly headed for the river, with my puzzled, watchful gaze firmly fixed upon his retreating figure.

XXXXX

Time passed and Dagonet still hadn't returned. Worried, as the light was fading, I checked that the horses were still firmly tethered then picked up my broadsword and sheathed a dagger at my waist, before going in search of my friend. It was unlike him to be late. Of all of the Sarmatian knights, Dagonet was the most reliable and the one least likely to break his word. I began to fear something had happened to him.

For once, I decided to err on the side of caution and warily kept to the safety of the wood's treeline, which ran parallel to the rapidly flowing river. At first, I failed to see him. Then a slight movement caught my eye.

Standing tall at the water's edge, our Healer appeared lost and vulnerable as he stared into the distance. He appeared desperately lonely and full of sorrow. It was getting late and the sun was low in the sky, its fading brilliance casting light and shadow upon his powerful, naked torso.

That's when I first noticed the white cloth which he slowly and tentatively unwound from around his lean waist. The pale scrap of material contrasted sharply with his tanned skin. He gasped sharply in pain. As the cloth loosened, I saw that it was freshly stained. A deep scarlet. I could've sworn on my life that he hadn't been wearing that bloodsoaked binding two days ago. We'd been involved in a bit of a skirmish earlier this morning with a couple of rogue Woads. Dag had fought hard and bravely, yet I couldn't recall him sustaining any injuries. But seeing the large, painful bruise on his lower back and the gaping, bloody wound on his right flank proved me wrong.

In hindsight, I should've realized something was wrong with him earlier. He had been favouring his right side during the day and his left hand had often drifted to clutch his flank when he believed I hadn't been paying attention. At times, the deathly pallor of his skin made the cruel scar that marred his face appear very livid. It was like Tristan often remarked, I'd looked but I'd failed to see what was going on before my very eyes. I couldn't believe that Dag had been hurt without my knowledge. That I'd been completely unaware of it. Huh ! Some friend I'd been ...

Now, if I'd been wounded, Dagonet would've known instantly. Being a Healer, it was something he was instinctively aware of and he would've played merry hell with me, if I'd tried to hide any injuries. But my friend had become a bit of an enigma over the past six months. And a recluse. One who was very adept at hiding things. He'd become like the beast Tristan had named him. A wolf. Secretive. Wary. Guarded. And solitary. He was still my friend. My brother. But I grieved for the brother and friend that I'd loved and lost.

Kicking myself for being so blind and so stupid, I silently sheathed my broadsword and decided to make my presence known.

"Dag, you fool ... Why didn't you say something ? You should've told me you were injured. That you're in fucking pain. You're a healer for mercy's sake and you should know better than to hide something like that ! What the hell were you thinking of, man ?" I was furious, yet I wasn't angry with him. I was livid with myself for not watching my brother's back. For failing to protect him.

"I ... I ..." Dagonet swayed unsteadily, his pale eyes glazed and unfocused. His formidable strength abandoned him, his knees buckled and those long, strong, sinewy legs gave way beneath him and he began to fall. Mercifully, he never struck the surface of the water.

Shocked, I managed to drag him over to the bank. He felt like dead weight. In all the years I'd known him, Dagonet had never collapsed like that. He was one of the strongest people I knew and to see him like this, in such a hellishly bad way, scared the fucking shit out of me.

The wound had opened again and was bleeding freely. I was no healer, but even I could tell this was bad. That it would need cleaning, suturing and binding. That for once, Dagonet would need to be cared for instead of being the one who always tended to and put others first. Ahead of himself.

Worried, I ran my hand through my messy, blond hair and stared down at Dag, assessing him. His sallow skin felt cold and clammy. The daft idiot had clearly lost more blood than he'd let on and going by his rapid, shallow breathing he was in severe pain. Frowning, I grabbed hold of the makeshift binding he'd worn, dipped it into the clear water and carefully began to swab the wound clean. Although I was careful, I felt him flinch at my touch. The taut muscles of his abdomen clenched and trembled as the wet cloth dabbed his now crimson-stained flesh. I was so caught up in the act of cleaning the wound, that I was unaware of the mild scrutiny which came from a pair of half-closed, silver eyes.

"I ... I'm sorry, Gawain," his hoarsely whispered admission startled me. "I didn't think the wound was so bad. I'd hoped ... I'd hoped to be back to the fort before anything like this happened. I didn't want to burden you with this, my friend- "

I sadly shook my head in disbelief. "Dag, you daft git ... You're family. My brother. If you can't impose on a friend at times like this, then ... Shit !" The wound continued to bleed and I found myself pressing the cloth against it to staunch the flow, hating the way the red seeped through the material and stained my fingers. "We can't stay here. It's far too exposed ..." With my free hand, I slung his bedroll and dark green undershirt - avoiding looking at the now obvious, large bloodstain which marred the garment - over my shoulder and eyed him with concern. "If I help, do you think you can make it back to camp ?"

Dagonet silently dipped his cropped head in acknowledgement and struggled to his feet. He grimaced with pain and immediately closed his eyes.

"Fuck !" he hissed through gritted teeth. His warm hand instantly went to his side, covering mine. The unexpected contact made me feel as if I'd been struck by lightning, reminding me of how the tiny flint spark earlier had swiftly turned the kindling into a roaring fire.

Wide-eyed and stunned by my new-found discovery, I hesitantly met Dag's mildly curious, yet warm gaze. Bemused, he watched me, head tilted to one side, his brow lightly furrowed as he tried to work out what was going on in my head.

"Gawain- ?" he began warily.

I slid my right arm around his waist to prop him up and felt his warm, hard, lithe body slump against mine. My hand pressed the cloth firmly to his injured side and I felt his hot breath briefly caress my cheek as he murmured, "Sorry ..."

I gave him a faint, half-hearted grin, one which did not reach my eyes that he, thankfully, didn't seem to notice. "'S all right, Dag. I've got you ..."

"Gawain ... ?"

"Aye ?"

"Thank you."

Confused by the sudden onslaught of emotions that I felt towards him and not knowing quite what to say, I shrugged my shoulders. Avoiding those intelligent, yet inquisitive, eyes once more, I muttered gruffly, "Aye ... well ... never mind all that. Best get you back to camp and see to that wound of yours, eh ?"