Disclaimer: Mr Bruckheimer & Touchstone Pictures absolutely refuse to play ball and part with them. They're still not mine, although not for the want of trying ... Lucan though, definitely belongs to me.
Warning: Strictly AU. Contains strong language, shape-shifting and slash. This will contain angst and hurt comfort, so you have been warned ...
A/N: This opening chapter is a re-working of two chapters from another story I recently deleted, but sets the mood pretty well for this one. The rest ? A completely new fic, plus two non-movie knights, Lamorak and Ywain's !
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Chapter I
The tall, powerful body flipped itself over upon the mattress until it lay on its side. A hand fumbled and skittered blindly across the surface, seeking what it needed. What it craved. When it failed to find what it sought, the hand froze abruptly causing the bed's sole occupant to suddenly wake.
Dagonet's silver eyes suddenly opened, instantly darting to the cold empty space beside him. The room was still shrouded in darkness, although he could barely make out the shapes of the oak furniture, thanks to the moonlight casting its rays faintly through the oak slats of the shuttered windows. Shifting, he sat up, causing the thick, sleek furs to slide down golden skin which covered a toned, muscular torso that was riddled with faint, silvery cicatrices.
It was happening again. Despite everything they'd talked of. All that had been said. An anguished sigh shuddered through the rugged frame and Dagonet's pale, striking orbs closed in despair as he covered his scarred face with both hands. Misery and pain emanated from him. Overwhelmed with sorrow, he silently wept as the barely visible cracks on his heart finally and irrevocably shattered.
"How could you do this to me ?" he whispered, his husky voice rasped rawly. "How could you ? You promised me, you bastard … Fucking swore on your life that you'd never do this to me again … That you'd do anything not to hurt me …" Dagonet inhaled shakily and sadly shook his cropped head. "Well, no more you selfish, cheating, lying sod … You don't get to cuckold me again. As of now, it ends. For good ..."
Suddenly exhausted, he dashed an angry hand across his face to wipe away the tears and fell back upon the furs, only to stare blindly at the ceiling as sleep, like his errant lover, eluded him.
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Earlier that night ...
Bors sighed heavily and ran a tired hand down his face as he watched his younger kinsman storm out of the tavern. He just couldn't understand how a simple meal and a tankard or two shared with his brethren could've turned into such a gods-damned mess in such a short space of time. And it was all thanks to that highly-strung, irritating Whelp who'd recklessly let his yap run away from him.
Scowling fiercely at the cause of the problem, Bors sighed once more as Galahad whined plaintively to his fellow Halani, Gawain.
"Well, how the bloody hell was I meant to know ? I thought Dag … Somehow, I thought he knew about Tristan and La- "
Bors instantly rose to his feet and furiously swept a tankard aside, causing it to crash upon the stone slabs beneath the table. "For once, just for once, in your bloody life couldn't you control yourself and keep that fucking trap of yours shut, you foolish Whelp ?" he snarled, skewering the dark-haired young man with a vicious glare. "Would it have killed you to think before you spoke ? Or was that too great a challenge for you to endure ?"
Gawain immediately rose to his shield-mate's defence, his blond mane brushing against his brown tunic. For once, his dancing, mischievous blue eyes were grave and his attractive, usually good-humoured countenance both angry and serious.
"Now Bors, you know as well as I do, that Galahad meant no harm … that he didn't mean to cause Dag any pain. It was the ale talking. Not malice or spite. Gal would nev- "
"No, you listen to me, Gawain. I don't fucking care what made your Whelp spew his thoughts where Dag could hear him. All I know is that my cousin's hurting beyond belief. That he's been regularly betrayed by the one person who's supposed to love and cherish him above all others. And you have the fucking nerve to sit there … and … and do nothing …" The fort's prize-pugilist suddenly struck the knotted oak surface of the table with a thick and heavy fist, barely able to contain his rage and disgust. "And d'ya know what's the worst thing about all this fucking shit ? The fact that you – both of you – damn well knew this had been going on for bloody months. That fucking Tristan had been carrying on with that conniving Iazyges son-of-a-bitch all this time behind our Dag's back after promising him that he'd truly broken things off with that prick … and you did or said nothing to stop it … You both claim to be Dag's friend - that you're loyal to him - yet you still allowed this to continue and didn't warn him ? What sort of brothers are you, hmmm ...?"
The stocky, shaven-headed warrior's eyes narrowed in sheer fury; he could feel a burning itch in his palms, an ominous sign that he desperately yearned to lash out. To strike something - or someone - hard.
"It wasn't our place to say anything to Dag," Gawain replied warily, noting the way the older knight kept agitatedly clenching and unclenching those deadly fists of his. The last thing Gawain wanted was to be on the receiving end of those fists. He knew just how lethal they could be. If Bors had a grievance or was out for blood and meant to dole out punishment then … Well, let's just say he could be an absolute bastard who'd eagerly and happily inflict a world of pain on whoever was unfortunate enough to cross him. And a sure-fire way for anyone to earn that beating was to harm or cause pain to his kin. A slight to them, was a slight to him and a gross offence in the tenacious, loud-mouthed pugilist's eyes.
The Roxolani were a tribe renowned for deep, abiding loyalty and respect for their kin. Nothing was more important than the love they had for their closest relatives. And Bors was no different. He loved his family above all others. Would do anything to ensure their continued happiness and safety. And if those virtues were threatened or harmed in any way, the man could be downright unrelenting and vindictive when it came to avenging them.
"It was Tristan's pla- " Galahad began only to cower back in his seat as Bors leant forward, resting his palms upon the table. Bors' stance was menacing as he loomed above both men, eyes narrowed and head tilted to one side.
"You," he stared down the Whelp, "shut your bloody yap. You've done enough damage for one evening. And you," Bors' attention swung to the stocky, fair-haired Sarmatian, "I expected better from you, Gawain. I trusted you to have Dag's back at all times. That you'd be a true brother to him …" He paused and shook his head incredulously. "I never once dreamt that you'd fail him this way … Aye, it was that damn fool Aorsi's place to be honest with Dag and the bastard should've come clean about what was going on … but he didn't. But one of you should've found the guts to say something to Dagonet, before things got so fucked up."
Gawain bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He knew Bors was right. They should've said something. Tried to reason with Tristan. Make him see sense that his fooling around – his bloody infatuation - with the dark knight would cause nothing but pain and trouble. Yet both he and Galahad had done naught. Had merely sat back in the vain hope that the Scout would see the error of his ways. But Tristan had not. He'd become even more enthralled - more captivated - by Arthur's right hand man, who'd only been too eager to take advantage of the situation. And the Scout, despite all of his promises to his loyal Healer, had been too weak to resist and couldn't stay away from temptation. Ever the opportunist, Lancelot, like the sun had blinded the Aorsi; made him fail to see that the best thing in this life was already his. The smooth-talking, handsome Iazyges had eclipsed the strong, silent, shy Roxolani and mesmerized Tristan … leaving poor Dagonet to pay the price.
"I … we … we regret that more than anything, Bors." Gawain admitted haltingly, his blue eyes full of regret. "We just hoped Tris would see the light … realize that Dagonet was the one. That's why we didn't meddle … did nothing …"
Galahad leaned forward, dark eyes guilt-ridden and contrite. "The last thing any of us wanted was this, I swear on my life, Bors … I'd do anything to change things, to turn back time and not see Dag suffer like this, but I- "
Bors' broad shoulders suddenly slumped in defeat and his voice was low and tired. "But you can't, y'daft bugger. Can't you see that ? It's too fucking late. Damage has been done … And right now, I can't be here yammering with you. You've not only let my cousin down, you've also let me down … I'm ashamed to call you my brethren ..."
He suddenly reached out and grabbed a full ewer off the table and began to walk away without a backward glance. All he could think of was finding his kinsman - before Dagonet got it into his head to do something stupid ...
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It took a while, but Bors finally tracked down his errant cousin.
After traipsing across most of the fort, visiting the younger Roxolani's usual haunts of the valetudinarium and the bath-house and failing to find him, Bors finally went to the last place he suspected Dagonet would retreat to when seeking peace. The ramparts. Wearily, Bors strode up the stone stairway, huffing and puffing as he cursed his brethren for being such bloody idiots. Once he reached the top, he saw that he was alone. That Dagonet had indeed stolen away like an injured beast to lick his wounds in private. Bors groaned. He had no further ideas where to go and look for his kinsman. And that worried him. Deeply.
He suddenly felt tired. And old. I'm too old to deal with all this shit ! he muttered to himself. I really don't need this ... Then an image of Dagonet's distressed face crossed his mind; a recollection of the agony and despair which clouded the youngling's - as Bors was often wont to think of him - eyes; Dag's golden skin had taken on a pallid tint that contrasted vividly against the dark stubble that shadowed his firm jaw-line and the vicious scar that marred his ruggedly attractive countenance. Bors immediately reprimanded himself for being so selfish, so heartless, as he slowly crossed the ramparts to look over the walls.
He leant heavily against the stone walls and as dusk slowly fell into night, Bors began to muse over the latest comings and goings at the fort. Vanora and the brood were happy and well; the tavern continued to rake in plenty of coin to keep his tempestuous, flame-haired lover content. Arthur remained as clueless as ever in regard to what was meant to be going on. Bors gave an amused snort. No change there then, he thought with a satisfied smirk. And apart from all the shit going on between Bors' kinsman, said kinsman's unfaithful, death-dealing lover and that arrogant, no-good Iazyges fucker, Lancelot, life was goo- ... had been good to them all. And hopefully, after tomorrow, things would only get better for both him and his cousin.
As he continued to stare absently at the surrounding countryside, a slight movement glimpsed out of the corner of his eye distracted the Roxolani. There, weaving its way unsteadily towards the knights' cemetery on the hill, was a tall, strapping, familiar figure. The cause of all of Bors' anxiety.
Dagonet.
Going by the younger man's state and by the large leather ale skin he carried, it was apparent that the Healer intended to get "rat-arsed" at the earliest opportunity. Groaning softly, a drained Bors hurried down the rampart steps, striding briskly out of the fort's gates in the same direction he'd seen his cousin take. And once the sentries on guard duty noticed the "don't-fucking-mess-with-me-unless-you-want-your-a rse-handed-to-you" expression on Bors' face, they hastily allowed him to pass through the fort's portal without question or challenge. As he got nearer to his quarry, he saw his kinsman sink down, lacking his usual grace, between two familiar mounds. The resting places of two of their brethren. Good men. Honourable men. Men of courage and wisdom. Two who, many moons ago, had been their mentors. Kinsmen that had been trusted implicitly for their guidance and loved like brothers ... and to this day, both he and Dagonet continued to grieve for and miss. Ector and Tor.
Head bowed, broad shoulders slumped dejectedly, Dagonet leant against Tor's grave for support. His eyes were tightly closed and he breathed deeply and raggedly in a vain attempt to calm himself. The sight of him tore at the elder Roxolani. Bors had never seen his kinsman look so ... distraught. Or so lonely. Strangely enough, the skin of ale lay unopened, against the large shield which shrouded Ector's grave. Dagonet appeared to be in a world of his own and if he'd heard Bors' approach or was aware of his presence, he gave no indication.
Bors frowned. What really gave him cause for concern and worried him greatly, apart from his cousin's listlessness, was the fact that such an intelligent, careful man as Dagonet was half-pissed with his guard down, exposed to any lurking enemies with no cover, alone and completely unarmed. That he had such little regard for his own welfare that he left himself vulnerable and defenceless ... easy pickings for any Woad. Bors sighed deeply and trudged over to where Dagonet sat.
"Dag ?"
There was no response. No reaction whatsoever.
"DAGONET !" Bors growled loudly, settling his stocky carcass as comfortably as he could next to his kinsman. "What the bloody buggering hell d'ya think you're playing at ? Sitting here alone, for fuck's sak- ?"
The younger Sarmatian raised his head and eyed the elder through glazed, lifeless eyes and finally acknowledged Bors' presence. He gave a low groan. Much as he dearly loved Bors, all he wanted, all he craved right now, was to be alone. To have some semblance peace. To be able to muse quietly and rearrange his chaotic thoughts ... and to try and make sense as to why two of his brethren - aside from his unfaithful lover - whom he'd trusted implicitly had also betrayed him. The fact that they'd known for quite a while of Tristan's continuous infidelity and kept silent about it, hurt. Deeply. That both Gawain and Galahad - whom he, Dagonet, loved as kin - had kept that vital piece of intelligence to themselves and couldn't be arsed to say something ... That they didn't care enough to warn him that he was being played and taken for a fool by his fickle Scout and the dark knight.
Dagonet ran an unsteady hand over the back of his stubbled scalp as he struggled to comprehend this latest blow he'd been dealt. All he now knew was that he'd been let down badly by people he called friends. By ones he'd considered family. Brothers even. And that was something he'd find very hard to forgive, let alone forget. He inhaled deeply, realizing unhappily, that the only one, apart from Bors, that he could really trust was himself ... and no one else. Yet, as he continued to mull things over, he began to think that his own judgement was severely impaired ... for continually and misguidedly placing trust and keeping faith in people who let him down. Ones who were meant to care for him and watch his back at all times.
"What ?" Dagonet murmured distractedly. He idly plucked at the grass that covered where Tor lay, completely unaware of how gravely his apathy upset Bors.
"What's up with you, cousin ? This isn't like you ... to take off without warning ... To place yourself at risk. Without any weapons. Shit ! You don't even have a bloody dagger or hunting knife on you ... Can't you see you're like a sitting duck ? Any of those blue bastards could've snuck up and taken you out, for fuck's sake ! What were you fucking thinkin- ?"
"I ... I wasn'- "
"Bloody hell, you'd even dropped your guard, y'daft bugger ! Did you even hear me coming ?" Bors spat, his arms gesticulating wildly. His usually good-natured, rugged features crumpled with worry. "D'ya have any idea what Tor would think if he knew you'd done that ? What Ector would say ? They'd ... They'd be gutted that their favourite pupil had so little regard or care for himself ..."
Shame-faced, Dagonet closed his eyes once more. Bors was right. Every single word that he'd uttered was the truth. A truth Dagonet couldn't possibly deny. It was all to easy to imagine his mentors' reaction to his recent neglectful behaviour. He could almost feel Tor's silent, reproachful, pale gaze fixed sorrowfully upon him. Piercing him to his soul. Never mind hear Ector's soft-spoken, rich baritone conveying his dismayed disbelief. Telling Dagonet in no uncertain terms how disappointed he was in him. And the last thing Dagonet ever wanted was to let down and disappoint his mentors. He flushed with guilt, despising himself for what he'd done. In all the years since he'd been forced to serve the Romans, Dagonet had never been alone, without a weapon of some sort to defend himself and his only excuse for such a grave error of judgement, for such a lapse, was that his mind was focused elsewhere.
"Fuck ! For mercy's sake, Dag ..." Bors spluttered. He eyed Dagonet helplessly; he had no idea what to say or do and the whole situation made him feel clearly and uncomfortably out of his depth. It was at times like these, even though he knew Dagonet was suffering greatly and was in a great deal of pain, that he wished he could just ask Vanora to take over and sort everything out as she so effortlessly did. It wasn't that Bors was a coward by any means. He feared nothing. No one. It was simply the mere fact that, no matter how deeply he cared or how good his intentions were, when it came to dealing with anything sensitive, delicate or remotely emotional, he was as clueless as a new-born babe ... and he always ended up sounding off or putting his foot right in it, inevitably making the situation even worse.
Dagonet hesitantly met Bors' worried gaze and replied softly, "I heard you. Knew it was you - couldn't be anyone else traipsing noisily in that flat-footed way except you- "
"Don't be so fucking flippant, you stupid prat !" Bors retorted gruffly. "D'ya see me laughing ? Well, d'ya ?" He paused briefly and watched Dagonet reach for his ale skin before continuing. "What if ... what if it had been anyone else, huh ? A Woad party, gods forbid ? And don't you dare fucking say they'd never venture so close to the fort ... 'cause they would. The buggers have been getting even cockier lately. I've even seen the whites of those blue bastards' eyes before now ... Dag, you could've been fucking kill- "
"Aye, I know. I could've been killed," Dagonet snarled. A sudden spark of fire, glacial but still fire, appeared in his cold, emotionless, silver eyes. The first sign of any feeling Bors had witnessed in him since all this shit had transpired between his kinsman and the Aorsi Scout. "I'd be dead. So fucking what ? 'S not as if I've got anyone to care enough to miss me if that happened. In way, I wish to gods it had ... then I wouldn't feel the way I do now. I wouldn't feel so bloody worthless ... so fucking humiliated and betrayed ... Wouldn't be in so much pain ..."
Aghast by such a claim, Bors could only watch the younger knight in silent disbelief. It only took one look at Dagonet to show that he'd meant every single word he'd said. That he was deadly serious and genuinely believed his own words. The anguish and pain he continued to suffer was all too clear to see in every fine line and curve of his strapping frame, as well as his ravaged, weary face.
"You can't seriously mean that ?" Bors spoke quietly. Dagonet nodded silently. His silver eyes had darkened ominously as if daring his kinsman to dispute what he'd said. And typically, Bors, who could never refuse such a challenge, did so. "That's a load of bollocks, Dag and y'know it !"
"Is it ? Is it really ?"
"You bloody well know it is ! Van'd miss you. So would the little 'uns. And y'know that I'd miss you more than anyone. You're my kinsman, Dag. My cousin ... Probably my only living blood kin ... You're my blood, y'daft, soft bugger ... My blood ..." he ran a tired hand down the lower part of his face, all too aware of how badly shaken Dagonet's claim had left him. He rasped softly, his voice almost a whisper. "My blood. If anything happened to you, even though I have Van 'n' the little bastards ... it'd break me, Dag. You're so damn wrong when you say that no one would care enough to miss you. I bloody care ... I'd fucking miss you ..."
Dagonet gave an indifferent shrug and was about to uncork the ale skin only to have his cousin furiously slap it out of his hand. It fell with a dull thud upon the mound on which it'd previously rested. Dagonet glowered at Bors in annoyance, then sighed heavily and shook his head in denial.
"'Tis not the same, Bors, no matter how badly I wished it were." Inhaling deeply, the Healer slowly rubbed his eyelids with his thumb and forefinger, then suddenly announced with a passion Bors had rarely heard from him, "Is it so fucking wrong of me to want what everyone else has ? To love someone of my own and be loved in return ? To have someone to come home to at night or after a rough day ? Someone to confide in ... to laugh with ? Is there something wrong with me ? What have I done in this life or in a past life that's so wrong that I end up losing every single person that I care about ? That I end up losing them to other people or have death steal them away from me ? Am I such a bad person for mercy's sake, that everyone ends up leaving me ?"
Bors immediately leant forward, closing the gap between them and stared intently at Dagonet. "You're mistaken, Dag. There's nothing wrong with you, I swear- "
"You would say that ... you're family. And you're thinking like a Roxolani."
Bors merely grinned and shrugged his thick-set shoulders nonchalantly. "Oi ... it's the truth and I speak as I find." His reply had Dagonet responding with a groan and rolling his eyes. There was a long pause and the two tribesmen sat together in companionable silence. After a while, Dagonet sighed and his husky voice softly broke the peace.
"I ... I thought I had all that with Tristan ... Genuinely believed he loved me as I loved him. That we'd return home to Sarmatia and grow old together. I honestly believed he was the one. Just goes to show how fucking wrong I got that ... How messed up my bloody life's become." Dagonet absently rubbed his nape then whispered, "I envy you ..."
"Huh ? You. Envy. Me ?" Stunned, Bors could only gawp at him. "How in the goddess' name d'ya work that out ?"
Dagonet shifted slightly and rolled his shoulders to stop his muscles from cramping and sighed gently. He stared pensively towards the treeline of the forest on the horizon, before replying softly, "You have everything I ever wanted. Ever dreamt of having. Something I can only hope of gaining, yet deep down know I'll never possess ... You have someone to care for and love and those feelings are returned. Van loves you, Bors. Passionately. And without reservation. Hell ! I know you both bicker and scrap like cat and dog, but she respects and is unswervingly loyal to you. Van would die rather than see you hurt or suffer in any way and I wish ..." Dagonet swallowed hard and moistened his lower lip as he fought to regain his composure. "No matter ... Take no notice of me. I'm maudlin and this is the ale talking, not me ... Trust me, Bors, you don't know how lucky you are. Make the most of your time together, cherish and love your woman and never ever take her or what you both have for granted. Life's too short and unless you're careful, it can turn around and bite you on the arse all too easily ... and believe me, that's the last thing you want."
An amused snort escaped the older Roxolani's lips. "If there's one thing I've learnt, Dag, it's never to take my Van for granted. Ever ! Be more than my life's worth. I may be daft, but I ain't no fool ... But you're right about Van. I love that flame-haired, fiery bint. Would do anything she wanted. Fuck ! I'd kill for her if she asked it of me. She's my life ..." Bors suddenly glanced at his cousin, who had a melancholy air about him. " Besides, you could easily have what I do, if you put your mind to it."
Dagonet raised a bemused eyebrow and was seemingly at a loss at where Bors was heading with his final remark.
"I mean ..." Bors grinned wickedly, "if you took half as much interest in chasing skirt as you do in studying men's leathers then ..." To Dagonet's disbelief, Bors actually waggled his eyebrows suggestively, causing his kinsman to groan and much to Bors' amusement, flush with embarrassment. "Well, 'tis the truth, cousin. If you spent more time thinking of pussy rather than cock, you'd have everything you wanted ... Plenty of young lasses here would be more than happy to take to your bed and let you claim them as your woman and you know it ... and it's not your coin they're interested in either. If you don't believe me, ask Van. She'll set you straight on the matter."
Flustered, Dagonet hastily scrambled to his feet and grabbed the ale skin and glared at the gobby knight who openly smirked at him. "Bors ..."
"Aye ?"
"Just ... Just shut the fuck up, will you ?" he growled in exasperation as he avoided his kinsman's knowing gaze. To Dag's astonishment, his garrulous, insensitive cousin had somehow, unwittingly, provided him with enough food for thought through his gentle teasing, even though he knew he'd never act upon it. Would never take a woman to his bed and claim her as his own. And Dag also knew Bors knew that his preference in bed companions would never change.
Silently, Dagonet began to stalk down the hill, shaking his head and muttering furiously, studiously ignoring a sniggering Bors who leisurely ambled after him back towards the fort. They parted company in front of the tavern, but not before Bors had pulled the younger Sarmatian into a fierce bear hug while gruffly imparting the following piece of advice.
"All I ask is that you don't act in haste, cousin. That you don't do anything rash. Sleep on it ... things'll probably look better in the morning, once you've rested. After all, tomorrow's going to be a big day for us both ..."
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In the end, sleep wasn't forthcoming. Despite feeling tired, Dagonet was plagued by images of his lover, Tristan, betraying him with the dark knight. Images which varied constantly, yet one thing remained the same ... Tristan was unfaithful to him and that his promises to remain true were just platitudes. Pathetic, meaningless words. Ones which came to naught and only ended up rubbing salt into the wound.
Dagonet snorted, then wearily hauled his strapping, naked frame out of bed. Beams of sunlight began to stream weakly between window shutters' slats, casting light and shade into the neat, spartan room. With a heavy sigh, he stalked to the opposite end of the chamber. Yawning, he reached for a pitcher and began to pour some water into a wooden basin that sat on a small, rickety table and carefully began to wash. As he did so, Dagonet silently mulled over Bors' words from the night before and gave another incredulous snort.
He'd slept poorly and felt far from rested. And no matter what Bors had said, his situation hadn't improved. Things did not "look better" in the morning. There'd been no change and he certainly didn't feel better and gravely doubted that he ever would. What he did know was that he wasn't about to act hastily or do anything rash. He knew exactly what he was about to do. For once in his life, he was going to put himself first and to hell with everyone else. Bors was right, today was going to be a big day for them both ... It marked a new beginning. A new dawn. A fresh start. And a new life ...
Today, marked an end of an era. For today, unlike the rest of their brethren, both he and his cousin were to receive their release papers. Today was the day he'd yearned for. Had been longing for over the past fifteen years, ever since he'd been conscripted as a fourteen year old to serve the Romans. Today equalled freedom. And he could almost taste it. Could almost savour its sweetness. Could almost touch it as it was flirted within his grasp.
Today would be the first day of the rest of his life ...