Disclaimer: See Chapter I.

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Part II: Cat Out Of The Bag

Bors' pov:

It was over before I knew it.

I'd often been consumed by bloodlust during battle, but this was the first time I'd fallen victim to it against one of my own. A fellow knight and Sarmatian. Someone who was meant to be my brother ...

I was overcome by the red mist. Could feel nothing but disgust, rage and intense hatred toward the man who lay prone at my feet, groaning in agony and bleeding profusely. All I can remember is that I lost it. I'd lost all control. Was overwhelmed by a compulsive need to punish ... To inflict pain ... To avenge the huge slight to my kinsman ...

I recall hitting him. The immense satisfaction I felt when my fist connected hard with his lean body and darkly handsome face. How the first blow had felt and how I couldn't overcome the need to continue raining those blows on him. The itch in my fist intensified, rather than lessened, with every relentless, savage punch. And I revelled in the feel of my fist colliding repeatedly against him; the sound of bone sharply striking flesh and the sweet scent of blood in the air.

Then suddenly, there was nothing. I felt nothing. Except acute dismay, as I felt myself being wrenched away from my quarry by a pair of exceptionally strong, muscular arms. I began to struggle violently in protest. Intent on finishing what I'd started.

"Leave it ... Let it go, Bors," I heard Gawain hiss in my ear, his grip tightening relentlessly around me. "Please ..."

"I can't, Gawain," I panted, gasping for breath. I turned my head to look at him and saw nothing but genuine worry on his attractive face and deep concern in his cobalt eyes. "I can't drop it ... Not after what that little shit did to our Dag. The bastard deserves everything that's coming to him ..."

Gawain sighed heavily. "You think I don't know that, Bors ?" he replied softly, meeting and holding my accusing glare. "He deserved that and far more in my opinion, for what he did ... But think, man, this isn't the way to go about it. Think of Vanora and the children. Think of Dag ... Would they want you to get into trouble because of that arrogant sod ? Is the bugger really worth getting into so much strife ? And mark me well, Bors, you would be in trouble ... Being Arthur's second, he has his ear and he will use that to his advantage ... You know that as well as I do ..."

I slumped wearily against his tall, hard, muscular frame. The fight slowly draining away from me as I shook my head in despair. "I know that, Halani. I, I just can't ... Can't you see what's happening to Dag ? Don't you care ?"

The strapping blond watched me silently, his intense blue eyes clouding with sorrow. "Is that what you think ? Is that how low you truly believe me to be, Bors ?" he asked gravely. "That I don't care ? You are so wrong, Bors. So wrong ... Unlike you, Dag and I may not be tied by blood, but he's still my brother ... My family ... I care more than you know. I hate seeing Dag isolating himself because he's in so much pain. I'd give anything to have my brother back the way he was instead of like thi- ... For mercy's sake, Bors, this is slowly killing him ..."

I sighed deeply. "And that's why I can't drop it, Gawain. Don't ask that of me ..."

Gawain glared at me, his blue eyes narrowing with intent. "I have to, Bors. For Van and the children. For Dagonet. We've already lost both him and Tristan because of this. We can't lose you too and that's what'll happen. That bastard will have won, Bors and I don't want to see that. I won't see it happen ..."

I silently watched him. His pleas were genuine and came from the heart. Of that I had no doubt. Despite his reputation of not taking things seriously and acting the fool at times, the Halani truly cared about his brother knights and all of the dissension and ill-feeling was clearly taking its toll on him.

"Please, Bors ... If not for yourself or me, do it for them. We all need you ..." he said quietly, slowly releasing me from his iron grip. "I never beg, but for this I'll make an exception. Be the bigger man and walk away, Bors. Just let it go, for all of our sakes ..."

I stepped away out of his reach, then gingerly rubbed my bruised and bloody knuckles and spat at the ground by Lancelot's feet. I found myself reluctantly relenting and nodded my assent. For once, words weren't needed as a silent understanding passed between us. I shrugged my shoulders and Gawain gave me a crooked grin in acknowledgement. He knew how hard it had been for me to agree to his request and the growing respect in his cobalt eyes was hard to miss.

My attention was suddenly caught by a slight movement over Gawain's shoulder and that's when I saw him ... Dagonet.

It wasn't that my young cousin was hard to miss, not when he stood head and shoulders above everyone else. But his silent demeanour and his habit of staying in the shadows often made people overlook him. But I'd never been one to ignore Dagonet. He was far too important to me.

He looked like crap ! That's the only way I could describe it. I'd never seen him look so unkempt. So ill. Worringly so, if truth be told. Pale and gaunt, he looked at me and for a brief moment I dared to hope that the old Dagonet was back. Sorrow, confusion and pain flashed fleetingly within his silvery eyes. Going by the shock on his still attractive face, I realized then as his gaze flickered briefly to the floor that he knew what I'd done. That I'd done it for him ...

He gave a curt nod of acknowledgement. Then, just as quickly as those emotions had appeared, they were swiftly replaced by the frozen mask of indifference that he'd taken to wearing over the past six weeks. Dagonet suddenly turned on his heel and stalked away, clutching a large, red clay ewer of ale.

"Shit !" I hissed as soon as I saw the jug in his right hand. Wherever he was headed for - on his own - with all that ale, I knew the outcome wouldn't be good. "DA-AG !"

There was no way of knowing if he'd heard me. He just continued to unsteadily weave his way through the crowd and out of the tavern.

"Fuck !" Gawain muttered. He agitatedly scratched the back of his head as he watched Dagonet leave. "Maybe you should go after him, Bors. I've tried talking to him and had no luck. Was told in no uncertain terms that unless I wanted to end up in the valetudinarium for a week or so, to bugger off and leave him the hell alone ! You're his family, he might listen to you ..."

I nodded grimly. If Gawain had tried to reason with Dagonet - and the man was so persuasive and likable that he could charm the most virtuous and purest of wenches into his bed and still remain on good terms with them afterwards - and failed, maybe it was high time for the head of the family to have a go ...

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I eventually found him sitting on the ramparts, gazing blindly into the darkness and to my dismay, he was drinking heavily.

"Dag ?" I eased my large bulk to sit beside him and carefully placed my flagon down between us.

"I'm not in the mood for company, Bors," he muttered, raising his ewer to his mouth and drinking deeply from it. He savagely wiped the ale's foam from his lips with the sleeve of his leather surcoat.

"You haven't been "in the mood" for weeks now," I remarked mildly as he brooded and continued to stare straight ahead.

"I just want to be alone ... and to be left alone."

Rolling my stiff and aching shoulders, I sighed deeply. "Too much solitude isn't good for anyone, cousi- "

"Bors !" By now, Dagonet was beginning to sound pissed off and his pale eyes had narrowed angrily.

It was time to take the bull by the horns. I thought I'd done pretty well to last this long. After all, sensitivity, tact and diplomacy had never been my strong points. "This ends here - now ! What the fuck's going on between you and Tristan ?"

"Bloody hell, Bors !" There was a warning rumble in Dagonet's deep, rich voice. One which I chose to ignore.

"Well ? Have you and that damn Scout fallen out ? Is it over a wench ?" I persisted, knowing full well that it wasn't. I wasn't going to let the matter drop as I needed to hear the truth from Dagonet's own lips.

"Nothing's going on. Just drop it, Bors, for mercy's sake ..."

"The hell it is ... "Nothing's going on" be damned ! I may act like an idiot at times, Dag, but I'm no fool. I'm worried about you. Van's beside herself. You're the only family I've got left from home, man. I love you ..." I paused and decided to play dirty. "If you won't tell me why you're avoiding that Aorsi bastard, I'll just have to ask him ... I'll get it out of Tristan, even if I have to beat the fucking shit out of hi- "

"No !" Reluctantly, Dagonet finally met my gaze. His silver eyes were cloudy, tinged with confusion, panic, misery and pain. "No ... don't ... Please ?"

His response shocked me and I carefully removed the ewer from his hand and said gently, "Talk to me, cousin. I might be able to help ... or if you can't speak to me, talk to Vanora. You're like a brother to her and she cares about you. Please ... we both want the old Dag back - we miss him !"

Dagonet groaned softly and buried his face in both hands. "I can't, Bors ... I just can't be around him anymore. I, I don't know what to say to him or how to behave around him."

I silently drank some ale and savoured its bitter taste, then slowly turned to watch him. He looked so lost, dejected and vulnerable. The quiet, newly-confident, happy man that had returned to the fort with Gawain and myself six weeks ago was gone - never to return. In his place was a broken shell of a man and seeing him like that was breaking my heart.

"I know, Dag," I replied quietly. "I know ... I heard what happened that night ... At the tavern ..."

The sincerity in my voice must have struck a chord within him. Dagonet abruptly lifted his head and watched me warily with stricken eyes. "How ? How di- ?" he whispered hoarsely. "I never meant for you to know ... For you to find ou- "

Carefully, I moved my flagon to one side and leant towards him. "Does it matter how I know ?" I asked gruffly, steadily holding his gaze. "What matters Dag, is that you're not alone in this. Not anymore ... You have family to support you - whether you want us or not ..." I gave him a faint, wry grin. "Never hide from me, Dag, or feel any shame ... You shouldn't have to - you did nothing wrong. Remember that. You're a Roxolani - we do not hide or slink away in fear or shame. Roxolani do not break nor do we give in. We stand our ground and fight for what we believe in. For what we want. What we need ... and what or who we love ... Nothing or no one must ever come between that ..."

Dagonet was the first to break eye contact and to my horror, I could visibly see him shatter before me. He pulled back and reluctantly began to unfasten and strip off his leather and steel vambraces. He then removed the ornate, thick leather and metal belt from around his waist and shrugged off the brown leather surcoat, before rolling up the sleeves of his rust-coloured tunic.

Baffled by his actions, I shifted my bulk uneasily and wearily rubbed my nape. "Dag ... ?" Wordlessly, he moved closer to the torch that hung between us on the stone wall, both arms held outstretched in front of him beneath the flickering light. It was then I finally saw them ... What Dagonet had been deliberately concealing from me and the others over the past few weeks.

The myriad of long, vicious-looking, fading scars that criss-crossed his sinewy forearms sickened me to the pit of my stumoch. Wounds that I'd never seen before. Ones I hadn't known about. For once, I was completely at a loss and didn't know what to say.

"What the- ? Fucking hell, Dag !" I blurted out without thinking, when I finally found my voice. "For mercy's sake how di- ?" I reached for his right arm and forced myself to examine it more closely.

Sluggishly, Dag raised his head and hesitantly met my shocked gaze. For the first time since we were children, I saw actual fear, apprehension and shame on his face. It was then I realized how much pain he'd been suffering and that those wounds had been inflicted by his own hand ...

"It's too late, Bors," Dagonet spoke huskily, his voice roughened by tears. Tears which silently fell from his pale, intelligent eyes. "I'm already broken ... I'm a failure, cousin. There's nothing to fight for anymore. I haven't the strength or the will left to fight ... I've nothing left. Nothing to give ... Nothing to live for ..."

As I watched Dagonet, I could tell that he firmly believed what he'd said. The fire had died within him and his spirit was crushed. He was truly broken. Devastated. Exhausted. He tore his gaze away from mine and began to turn from me. Violent shudders began to course through his lean, powerful frame.

I immediately pulled him into my arms and held him close. The way he clung to me, so silent, childlike, innocent and trusting, reminded me of the times I'd embraced my youngest daughter and comforted her after the Scout stopped visiting. Funny really, how I ended up offering solace to the two people who'd been left utterly distraught by the same man ...

"It's never too late, Dag, and you're not a failure. Not as far as me and mine are concerned. You say you have nothing ? That's where you're wrong, see ? You have me, Van and the little bastards ... You still have your family," I growled as I rested my chin upon his stubbled scalp. "People who care about you ... who love you ... Who are willing to fight for you - to the death if need be ... You're my cousin. My kinsman. I'll always be here for you, Dag, no matter what. We're bonded for life, never forget that ... I'd follow you through hell and high water. We are tied by blood and I will always have your back ..."

And as I uttered those words, I vowed to myself that was one promise I intended to keep and only death would break it ...

Finis