Summary: Where Bors finally succeeds by devious means, to get both Healer and Scout to talk ... albeit reluctantly ...
Comments & Reviews: positive comments welcomed
Disclaimer: Despite my flights of fancy, sadly the boys aren't mine. They belong to Jerry Bruckheimer & Touchstone Pictures - more's the pity ...

Warning: This does contain "slashy" themes. If this offends, please avoid like the plague ...

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Part III - Actions Speak Louder Than Words ...

The following evening:

" When I get out of here, I'm going to bloody kill him ... " the tall, scarred knight muttered, as he paced agitatedly across the stable floor.

To put it mildly, Dagonet, uncharacteristically, was fuming. Normally a very placid, gentle-natured soul - except when in battle and consumed by bloodlust - he was known for his composure and that he rarely, if ever, lost his temper. But now he was building up a head of steam, and the cause of his anger ? His meddling cousin, Bors ...

Earlier that evening, Gawain had sought him out. The Halani had merely said that Bors was at the stables and wished to see him. The fun-loving blond had been fairly vague about the details, and had mentioned something about "a lame horse" and "wanting a second opinion."

That was how the mild-mannered healer ended up in his current predicament. Never one who liked to see any unnecessary suffering, whether to man or beast, Dagonet had gone to the stables, thinking it wouldn't be fair to the animal to cope with lameness and his cousin's bulk. Once he'd ascertained the black gelding had seemingly pulled a muscle, he advised Bors to rest the destrier for a few days, before turning to leave for his quarters.

It was then Bors had left him stunned and frozen in his tracks.

" Why haven't you said anything yet ? " the older man had asked quietly, as he ran a big hand gently across the horse's sleek withers.

Dagonet had met his cousin's gaze with guarded grey eyes and replied hesitantly, " Said what ? To who ? "

" Oh, come, cousin ... " Bors had simply raised an eyebrow and calmly studied the younger knight, who was becoming increasingly flustered beneath the constant scrutiny. " Thought you would have spoken to the person that's the cause of this affliction of yours by now. "

" M-My affliction ? "

Bors sighed heavily, " Your lovesickness - "

" My WHAT ? " To say Dagonet looked horror-struck would have been an understatement.

His shocked denial, had Bors sadly shaking his head, and unusually, he replied patiently and calmly, as if he were talking to one of his little bastards, " Da-ag, why are you doing this to yourself ? Why do you deny your feelings when it's so obvious that you care for him ? "

" I ... uh, I'm not - " Dagonet began, only for Bors to groan in pure frustration.

" For the love of gods, Dag ! I've seen how you look at Tristan when you think he's not looking. You want him as much as he wants yo- "

Dagonet stared miserably at his feet and whispered brokenly, " That's not true, Bors. Tris doesn't see me that way. He doesn't want m- "

Bors glared at him and rolled his eyes. " Are you blind, cousin ? I may be stupid and ignorant at times, but I have noticed how our Scout watches you lately and it's with hunger ... and it's not the kind of look he gives a large bag of apples either ! That Aorsi covets you ... wants you. He cares for you, Dag ! "

There was an awkward pause. Then suddenly, the pair of them heard a gentle thud come from the vicinity of the loft. Dagonet immediately glanced upwards, his toned body full of tension.

" It's nothing, " Bors muttered hurriedly, surreptitiously edging his way towards the stable door, as Dagonet suspiciously glared at the loft. " Probably just another of those damn stable cats. Bloody things are taking over the place, just like those damn Romans ! "

Seeing the Healer preoccupied, Bors grinned and silently slipped through the door, which Dagonet had previously left ajar. " I mean it, Dag, " he said, " even if you won't admit it to yourself, you owe it to Tristan. He deserves to know how you truly feel about him ... That you love him, or I should say, that you're in love with him ... "

And before Dagonet realized what had happened, a chuckling Bors had swiftly locked him inside the stables.

" Damn it, Bors ! ... Open the bloody door, you daft git ! Let me out - NOW ! " he roared in increasing frustration and annoyance, only to hear his cousin walk away, still laughing.

Five minutes later, it was clear Bors had absolutely no intention of returning to let him out. Dagonet paced angrily and kicked a pail - hard - across the stone floor until it crashed into a nearby wall and splintered into pieces.

" Bastard ! " he muttered furiously. " Bloody bastard ... Just wait until I get my hands on him. I'm going to string him up, rip his bloody balls off and force-feed them to him ... "

" Sounds painful ... " a quietly amused and very familiar voice remarked behind him.

The hairs on the back of Dagonet's neck stood on end. Without thinking, the tall Roxolani spun around and froze. Shock made the colour rapidly drain from his face, leaving him looking ashen and haggard.

There, standing in front of him. as clear as day, was the subject of Bors' earlier conversation - Tristan.

To the Healer's acute discomfort and embarrassment, he became increasingly aware that the Scout had been in the stable the whole time and had, most likely, overheard Bors giving him advice on his lovelife, or lack of one. Completely mortified, Dagonet shifted uneasily and found himself unable to meet Tristan's mild, curious gaze.

" It's no more than Bors deserves, " Dagonet finally mumbled, his grey eyes stormy and ominous. " If he thinks I'm daft enough to let him get away with this ... " he paused, then somehow found the courage to look at his friend. " I ... I take it you heard everything then ? "

The Scout leisurely unsheathed a fine, bone-handled throwing knife from his belt and calmly used it to clean under his nails. He silently nodded, whilst studying the Healer through a dark mass of tousled hair. Tristan's lean, noble face was impassive as usual, yet his sharp golden eyes flickered with an emotion Dagonet hadn't seen before in them.

" Couldn't really miss hearing it, " the Aorsi huskily confessed. " Bors isn't known for being quiet or discreet, is he ? "

"Huh ! Bors isn't usually so perceptive either, " Dagonet reluctantly replied as he wearily rubbed his nape. " He's too busy being loud, obnoxious and annoying most of the time ... "

Somehow, without Dagonet noticing it, Tristan had closed the gap between them and was almost within touching distance.

" I fear your cousin's too old to change his ways, my friend, " he remarked idly as he wiped the knife clean and returned it to its sheath, before glancing at the tall Sarmatian in front of him. " So, what Bors said earlier ... ? "

" Bors said a lot earlier, " Dagonet seemed nervous, " far too much ... "

Tristan sighed, then shifted his weight onto one hip and tilted his head. He appeared thoughtful. Then, having suddenly come to a decision, quietly asked, " Was there any truth in what Bors said ? ... About how you feel about me, Dag ? "

The Roxolani immediately looked vulnerable and exposed. He had not expected the Scout to ask him outright about his feelings and it left him feeling hunted and unsure of himself. He bit his lip and looked away, a slight flush of colour stained his cheekbones. Both shyness and insecurity made him want to flee from the object of his affections.
Matters weren't helped when the handsome Aorsi further invaded his personal space, watching him closely with what suspiciously appeared to be hope, in his glittering golden eyes. Tristan reached out his right hand and lightly grazed its knuckles down the cruel scar which ran down the left side of Dagonet's attractive face.

The big man's breath hitched and he suddenly lost what tenuous hold he had on his composure. Abruptly, he turned away and was barely able to suppress the tremor of longing and need that racked his powerful physique.

" Uh, don't ... please, Tristan ... " his anguished plea was a broken whisper. " If you care at all about our friendship, or about me, I beg of you - don't ... Don't play games with me ... "

T. B. C.