Author: Miluielwen
Genre: angst, drama
Characters: Bors, dead!Dagonet
Summary: Looking out over his village, Bors reminiscences on life and the best friend he lost.
Disclaimer: Oh, please. Do I look like Jerry Bruckheimer?
Dedication: All of you who have stuck around long enough to see the end of this. I hope it does not disappoint.
A/N: Well, it's been over two years since I've started this and to say a lot has happened since then would be an understatement. =) This may consequently be ever so slightly different in style, but I've tried to keep it in tone with the rest of chapters while also attempting to wrap things up at last. I'm not sure I like it; it seems a tad erratic and is un-beta'd, but I fear that if I don't post this now I'll never get around to it!
Thank you for all your very generous reviews -- you have been a fantastic audience. I'm currently working on my first real multi-chapter work, "Behind Every Great Man", also available on this site. Have a look if you'd like; I'm currently working on a new chapter but research is taking quite some time. (Yes, I know the movie isn't very historically accurate to begin with, but I'd like to incorporate at least some elements of truth...)
Last but not least: the title of this (entire) piece, as you may have guessed, originates from Loreena McKennit's "Dante's Prayer".
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We'll have the run of all this place. I'll be governor of my own village.
It had been more of a jest than anything else then, a joke to lighten his brothers' spirits. It seemed almost surreal now that he stood on top of the grassy slope overlooking the small village that had been his home and domain for the past few years.
Life had a strange way of working sometimes.
And Dagonet will be my personal guard and royal arse-kisser!
Even then, the big knight had looked away, almost as if he had known the uncertainty of the future. He had been taken from them even before Arthur became king and all of Britain had rallied under the Roman's dragon standard; a time that at once was so far away and yet never far from his mind. For all the prosperity and happiness they had found in their new lives, the knights had never forgotten those that had fallen in their long years of service.
Bors sometimes wandered what would have happened had they not gone on that faithful last mission; would they have become embroiled in yet another war that wasn't their own, defending the very people they had fought for over a decade?
But it was too late for what-ifs and might-have-beens. The fact of the matter was that his friend was never coming back and that he would have to find his own way now.
Not that he had easily accepted that notion or wouldn't miss his would be bodyguard every single day for the rest of his life.
Stay with me, Dagonet! Stay with me!
Oh, how he had begged; how he had wept when first returning to the fort after the battle on the ice. With all the fighting and rebuilding that had to be done, however, he had not truly noticed just how much of a gaping hole Dagonet had left. Now that the numbness of loss had passed and he finally allowed himself to calm and remember, it became obvious how much they had depended on him.
He wasn't the only one that had lost a friend when the ice had cracked that day.
Arthur, for one, had lost a trusted advisor and ally. Dagonet had ever been at his side, unwavering in his support and belief in their commander, even in those early days when most had still been hostile towards the fresh-faced Roman. He had seen in him what many others now saw as well: a great leader of men destined to rule.
We have the word of Arthur. That is good enough.
How many times had he convinced them to listen to their supposed leader? Bors could not remember, but did know that they would heed his advise with only very few exceptions. He was their voice of reason, their guiding light even in the most impenetrable darkness, quiet but bright as a candle in the night.
The younger ones had looked to him for assurance; the elders for wisdom and strength. He had ever been his brothers' keeper. Though they knew eternity was only an illusion, he had been enough of a rock to all of them that life without his support had seemed to be near impossible. He would take care of them as he always had.
Won't you, Dag?
Badon Hill had changed their lives in so many ways. They had known things would change, but the situation they now found themselves in was beyond what they could have ever imagined. He was a proper father now, married to his long-time love and delighting in playing with his children. He retained some of his rough ways, certainly, and the gods knew he needed them occasionally when dealing with matters of state; but old age, it seemed, had softened him, and he secretly did not mind it.
She wants to get married. Give the children names.
It was sad, really, that Dagonet had never married: he would have made a wonderful parent, something that had been evident from the day he took One on his shoulders while rocking Two in his cradle, smiling fondly at the two babes. It had been hard to tell his children of their beloved uncle's death, but perhaps even harder to see young Lucan orphaned once more when by all means he should have had a substitute father.
With a heart as big as the gentle giant's had been, had he ever truly loved a woman? Surely he must have, yet Bors did not know. Perhaps he had been so adamant in loving as many as he could in his mild mannered ways that he could not love one and one alone; or perhaps the other knights had been so caught up in their own lives and business that they had simply never noticed.
You'd miss them too much.
They wouldn't leave the island they had once hated so much, not when their lives where so thoroughly invested in its people and their past so undeniably buried in its soil. He knew that now and was glad for it. Britain wasn't so bad, really. He had his family and his friends and he had his position at Arthur's court. Leaving to return to a place he only vaguely remembered and a people that definitely would not remember him was no longer an option.
He would miss his home too much.
Here. Now.
For indeed, this was home; the home that Dagonet had once confided him had dreamed of. A land of peace and justice; a land of friends and family and joy. Overwhelmed by the sense of understanding that came over him, the ageing knight was forced to sit, plopping down on the dewy grass.
Right here, right now was where he belonged, and he'd be damned if he did not live every day to the fullest to honour his fallen comrades.
For Dagonet.
He would live; for Lancelot, for Tristran, and most of all, for Dagonet.
We will go home across the mountains.
And by doing so, living by their example and telling his children of their valour and benevolence, he would keep their memory alive until one day he would join them across the mountains.
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