A/N: WARNING: Involves m/m rape. I don't go into detail, but if this offends you/disturbs you, then by all means, don't read it.

My explanation for being so mean to Tristan is at the bottom.


Lost Myself And I Am Nowhere To Be Found

Tristan's POV

I was young when it happened. My tribe had taught me how to scout, how to be one with the forest. I was better then the others when we were taken, but I was not yet a master. That could only come with time.

Arthur had me scouting ahead. I was supposed to find a rumored encampment of Saxons, estimate their numbers, and report back.

They were easy to find. Saxons are hardly a subtle race. I could hear them laughing and fighting amongst themselves a mile away. I had climbed a tree, peering out over their camp and counting tents, when one of them looked up.

Perhaps it was lucky timing on his part. Perhaps I was not as good of a scout as I had thought.

I was pulled out of the tree before I could blink and dragged into their camp. I struggled, yes, but I did not yell for help. That wasn't my way even then.

I was interrogated in the normal Saxon way. Jabbed with rusty daggers, burned, hit...

I didn't care about pain.

Their leader, Cerdic, realized that soon enough.

I was dragged to his tent, wrists tied behind my back.

He ran his eyes down my body. I knew already what was going to happen.

My face was shoved to the floor, each thrust into me caused me to inhale more dirt.

My fingernails dug bloody crescents into my palms.

I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to tear away flesh.

My entire world shattered into jagged pieces behind my closed eyes.

I suppose I should have felt a flicker of hope when I heard the screaming of dying Saxons and Bors' battle cry, but it was too late. I cared not about the injuries to my body, but Cerdic had taken my pride. My pride was the only thing I had been able to keep from the Romans, and instead I lost it to a filthy Saxon.

He stood, lacing up his trousers calmly. He would escape into the night with his remaining men, and we both knew it. He glanced out into the night and gave me a nod. We would meet again.

He left me bound and naked for my brother knights to find.

Of all the people who could've found me, of all the people I would rather it had been, Bors walked in on me first. I had enough time to cringe, bracing myself for what he would say. Instead, he took one look at me and had me untied and dressed before the other men caught up, all without a word.

As the other men swarmed in, asking what had happened to me, Bors stood at the back of them all quietly. I shrugged them off, and heard them whispering about Saxon torture techniques as I left.

When we made camp that night, I snuck off to a nearby lake, plunging myself in. It was freezing. I stayed in far longer then I should have, scrubbing at my skin. I couldn't get rid of the feeling of him touching me, even as I scraped my skin with sand and pebbles.

I stood in that lake for hours, staring at my waving reflection. I jumped when Bors laid a hand on my shoulder. I hadn't even heard him splashing through the lake to get to me. He led me back to the beach, wrapped me in one of his spare cloaks, and led me back to camp where he forced me to eat, all without a word.

When we got back to the fort, he was back to his usual self. Obnoxiously loud, telling jokes, nudging me in the ribs with his elbow and waggling his eyebrows as he laughed about Galahad's kilt.

Though I had originally wished for someone like Dagonet to find me, it was a relief for it to be Bors. It was impossible to tell if he had truly forgotten what had happened (wouldn't be surprising with all the head injuries he sustained at Vanora's hands), or if he was just that good at covering his reaction.

I rode into the forest one night, Arthur had finally deemed me ready for scouting again. I was supposed to investigate a village that was supposedly being terrorized by Woads, instead I found myself sitting at a pond, looking at my reflection.

I didn't recognize the man staring back at me.

I didn't want to.


A/N: I swear, I really do like Tristan. He's just so easy to inflict pain on, what with being so broody and insane. This chapter actually came to being because I was thinking about the Tristan and Cerdic ending in the movie. I personally thought that Tristan would have known Arthur wanted to kill Cerdic himself, so why would Tristan attack him? ...And this would be my reason why.

Also, I think Bors isn't as much of an idiot as he makes himself out to be.