Type: a mixed bag of angst, romance, h/c and friendship. I know ... I just couldn't decide.
Disclaimer: Still NOT mine - though not for the want of wishing, hoping & trying. Still Jerry Bruckheimer's & Touchstone Pictures' boys, godsdammit !
Warning: contains mild slashy themes and curtesy of one very gobby, hacked off Bors, some pretty strong language ... Plus, not a story for Arthur lovers.
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Part I - War Wounds
"Tristan ... Wait !" Arthur began cautiously only cower inwardly when he was skewered by an extremely baleful glare from the Aorsi Scout.
"This is all your fault, Arthur. You care more for complete strangers, these damn Woads and your fucking Rome than you do for your own men. If you'd fucking listened to me earlier instead of that conniving Woad bitch, this wouldn't have happened. Dag would've been unharmed. But no, you took the advice of a stranger over someone with years of scouting experience. I blame you personally for this and if anything happens to Dag - if I lose him - I swear on all that's sacred I won't be responsible for my actions !"
In a shockingly, uncharacteristic display of barely restrained emotion, a furious Tristan bent down over Dagonet's inert body, pulled out a sharp knife and carefully used it to cut through the arrow shafts that protruded from the Roxolani Healer's torso. As he did so, he was stunned by a slight movement from his fallen comrade.
Slowly, Dagonet's large hand slid to cover the back of his and wide-eyed Tristan's stunned, yet relieved golden gaze fell upon him. The gentle giant watched him with narrowed, pain-filled silver eyes and joked feebly, "Can't a man die in peace ?"
"D-Dag ?"
"I close my eyes only for a moment to try to catch my breath and you, my stubborn, bloodthirsty Scout, are playing merry hell with everyone," Dagonet reproached him, his voice faint and hoarse with pain. Yet the look he gave the younger knight conveyed far more than anything he could ever say. It held a smidgen of fond exasperation combined with a great deal of trust and above all, love.
Despite the gravity of Dagonet's condition, Bors and Gawain couldn't help exchanging a relieved grin at the Healer's attempt at humour. It was so bloody typical of the man to try and spare their feelings, to protect them, rather than put his own wellbeing first.
Uncaring of the other knights presence, Tristan lowered his dark head and tenderly brushed his lips against Dagonet's forehead.
"Never ... ever do that to me again, Dag. D'ya hear me ? Gods ! You scared me half to death pulling a stunt like that," the Aorsi groused, worry making his voice huskier and his faint accent even more pronounced. "I mean it ... If anything happened to you it ... it'd fucking kill me ... "
"You're not getting rid of me that easily, Tris. Can't lose you. Not now. Damn it ! I won't lose you ... You're far too important to me." The tall warrior's voice began to fade and his powerful physique trembled violently with cold.
Concerned, Tristan immediately stripped off his thick, brown, woollen cloak and wrapped it carefully around the ailing Healer. The tattooed Sarmatian felt a gentle nudge at his shoulder and looked up to find Bors and Gawain had also removed their cloaks and silently offered them to him.
"Here, lad, take 'em," Bors said gruffly. "Dag needs 'em more than we do."
Gawain knelt down beside Tristan to carefully drape his cloak around Dagonet's shoulders, his shrewd blue eyes anxious. "We'll soon have you up 'n' about, old friend," the Halani's good-natured, attractive face broke into a reassuring grin. "Tris'll make damn sure you heal 'n' get well ... or our lives won't be worth living !"
The Roxolani had a slight smile and met Gawain's worried gaze steadily. "Then I'd better heal. Fast," he rasped. He looked pale and exhausted. "I'm sorry for being a burden ... Forgive me, friend ?"
Gawain shook his blond head and replied softly, "There's nowt to forgive, brother. If you hadn't acted so quickly, the Whelp would surely be lost to us all ... If it hadn't been for your courage ... No, I can't, won't, hold your actions against you - even if you did put the fear of the gods in us all, especially your Scout !" Gawain teased gently, drawing another faint smile from the injured man.
"I'd laugh," Dagonet quietly confided, "but it hurts too much." He gazed fondly at the glowering, over-protective Scout, then shivered once more from the cold. Dagonet began to cough violently, sending his body into painful spasms that had the Aorsi clearly worried.
"We should move him, Arthur," Bors stated bluntly. "Otherwise Dag'll freeze to death before Gawain here gets a chance to dig out those bloody arrows."
Arthur had been silently observing the interaction between the four Sarmatians in front of him. He slowly nodded his dark head, then came to a decision. "Bors, you and Gawain move Dagonet to the wagon and get him settled. Tristan, I need you to ride on ahead and keep me informed of any trouble we may come across- "
On hearing his name, Tristan's head jerked upwards. A feral gleam shone in his golden eyes. And the look he gave Arthur was long, unforgiving and full of pure hatred. Both Gawain and Bors winced at its intensity.
"No !" he growled. "I'm not leaving him. My place is at Dagonet's side- "
"Tristan !" Arthur's voice was stern and indicated he'd tolerate no argument, even from his trusted, deathdealing Scout. "You will ride ahead and you will report back to me. Is that understood ?"
It was blindingly obvious to the other three Sarmatians that the normally deeply private Scout was torn. Torn between his duty to Arthur and the intense desire to care for and protect his lover. To say Tristan was a far from happy man at that moment was an understatement.
Dagonet felt the lean, athletic figure that was tenderly cradling him, tense in ice-cold rage and not wanting their hapless leader to bear the brunt of Tristan's all-consuming wrath calmly made the Scout's decision for him.
"Go, Tris, please ... Once I'm in the wagon, I'll be fine ..."
"Well you don't bloody look it," Tristan's reply was straight and to the point. His eyes softened as he watched Dagonet carefully for any sign of increasing pain or distress, his chin still raised in obstinate defiance.
Feeling inexplicably tired and in a great deal of pain - which he stubbornly tried to conceal from his all-too-observant Scout - Dagonet sighed heavily. "Please, Tris ... if not for Arthur, just do this one thing for me ... I beg of you. The sooner you ride out, the sooner you get back ..." He deliberately left the sentence unfinished, knowing full well that the Aorsi would immediately realize that he wanted him to return safely so that they could be together. Alone ...
Tristan relented, albeit with extreme reluctance. He gave his wounded lover a fleeting, bitter-sweet smile.
"I only do this because you ask it of me, Wolf. I'm not happy about it, but if it brings you peace and makes you happy then ..." Tristan elegantly shrugged his shoulders and, ignoring the other men, added with unfeigned candour, "Just remember, you're the most important person in my life, brother and I love you above all others."
Then, unable to deny himself, Tristan gently caressed his rugged Healer's scarred cheek with a calloused thumb before kissing him affectionately on his brow, much to the bemusement of the other knights.
To hell with it ! Tristan thought. He felt no shame or embarrassment about his feelings for the striking, Roxolani. If anything, he was delighted and if truth be told extremely proud that this brave, gentle, endearingly shy, intensely private man had accepted him as his lover.
Although he ferociously guarded his own privacy, Tristan genuinely adored the strapping, cropped-haired knight and had come to love him more than life itself. Life without Dagonet would truly be unthinkable. Unbearable. Meaningless. The Healer had turned him into a better man, of that he had no doubt.
Tristan gently transferred his Healer into Bors' capable hands and muttered, "Look after him for me, Bors. See that he has no pain or discomfort. Please ..."
Treated to a rare glimpse of the tender, caring side of the Scout's nature had left the older, vociferous Roxolani dumbfounded and at a loss. He could only nod in silence.
"Tristan ... ?"
The younger man turned to look at the younger Roxolani. He raised his eyebrow questioningly, "Aye ?"
"Take care of yourself ... Don't ... Don't do anything stupid- "
"Hell, Dag ! Who the fuck d'ya think I am ?" Tristan gave a sudden grin of pure devilry that lit up his stern, handsome countenance. "Galahad ? Huh ! Rat Boy ?"
Despite the agonizing pain he felt, the Healer laughed softly in genuine amusement at the blatant insult Tristan dealt Arthur's second-in-command and replied, "I mean it, Scout. Come back to me safe and well ..."
Nimbly leaping to his feet with a feline grace, Tristan smiled sadly and nodded. Silently, he turned on his heel and without sparing a backward glance at Arthur, reluctantly left to do his beloved Roxolani Healer's bidding.
T. B. C.