Summary: Where Gawain gives a confused Scout some much needed advice ...
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 I - Brotherly Advice

It was a warm, late summer's evening, and a lone, dark-haired man sat on a bench in the shade of the stables. Oblivious to the compound's numerous inhabitants who went about their business, he remained quietly engrossed in his work.

Laid out at his side on the narrow oak bench, were the tools of his trade, varying from several hunting and throwing knives to the elegant, yet deadly dao which he studied in silent reverence. The pale evening light danced along the oriental sword's long, thin, gleaming blade and he lightly ran the ball of his thumb across it to gauge its sharpness.

A slight movement distracted him and uncharacteristically, he placed too much pressure onto the lethal, slightly curved blade. Immediately, a scarlet bead broke through the calloused skin and with a faint smirk, Tristan raised the weeping digit to his mouth and delicately licked the blood away.

Eventually, the handsome Aorsi looked up. His keen, intelligent, golden eyes stalked the cause of his mishap. He sighed softly, eyes full of longing and hunger and his noble brow furrowed with rare uncertainty.

The subject of his steady gaze was completely unaware of the intense scrutiny. Tristan sighed once more as he watched the tall, muscular Roxolani Healer tie up a powerful, jet-black warhorse to a post and calmly remove its saddle, before soothing the magnificent animal with soft-spoken words and firm, gentle hands.

Out of all of his fellow knights, Tristan mused, he'd always been closest to their Healer. Dagonet. For a solitary man, who preferred the company of his hawk and his beautiful, grey destrier, the dark-haired, tattooed Aorsi rarely gave his trust to anyone. Yet, ever since that fateful day - fifteen years ago - when the Romans had forced him into conscription, the seventeen year old Dagonet had taken Tristan under his wing and protected him. In doing so, he had won the younger boy's unswerving loyalty and devotion. Over the years, nothing had changed, and both men had remained close and true to each other. Only now, with just a few months left before they would finally be given their release papers, Tristan had become increasingly aware of a definite change in his feelings towards his best friend.

The knights had become his family, and like all siblings, they often argued, fought, trusted, relied upon and above all, loved each other. But now, in all honesty, what he was starting to feel for the scarred, shaven-headed warrior - who was his elder by three years - was new, intense ... And far from brotherly ...

Tristan sighed heavily, then wearily rubbed his nape before reaching for a fine, bone-handled throwing knife and carefully, began to whet its blade.

As he silently brooded, Gawain, a fellow knight and friend, strode out of the stable, bearing his battleaxes and a large broadsword and quietly sat down on the bench. They both worked in companionable silence, competely at ease with each other's presence, whilst Tristan continued to covertly watch the Roxolani's every move from the corner of his hooded eyes.

For a big man, Dagonet moved with fluid, silent, wolf-like grace and despite himself, Tristan couldn't take his eyes off him. As it was a warm, sultry evening, the healer had already shrugged off his long, brown leather surcoat and tossed it on top of a nearby stone wall, before fetching a large pail of water to cool down his horse. It did not take long for a rust-coloured tunic to join the surcoat, revealing a hard, muscular torso glistening with perspiration.

By now, the Scout had given up all pretence of work, and the hand which still held the throwing knife, fell limply between his parted thighs, as he gazed transfixed at the sheer masculine beauty of the rugged, gentle giant.

Truth be told, Tristan had always thought Dagonet to be a handsome man, despite the cruel scar that his friend firmly considered to be a stigma. In fact, rather than detracting from his appearance, it enhanced Dagonet's masculinity and gave the man an air of mystery and danger. But semi-clad in thick boots and brown leather breeches, that lovingly encased taut buttocks, lean hips, toned thighs and long legs, the Healer was truly a sight to behold. Like all of the knights, Dagonet's smooth skin bore the scars of battle; but the man's toned physique, broad shoulders, muscular arms, chest and flat stumoch was sheer perfection in the scout's eyes.

Spellbound by the sight in front of him and for once, with his guard down, Tristan gasped sharply, then licked his dry lips thoughtfully, as he uneasily shifted his weight on the bench.

On hearing Tristan's sudden intake of breath, Gawain looked up to study his companion and slowly followed the Scout's gaze which rested hungrily upon Dagonet as he briskly rubbed down the destrier. Tristan was riveted by the sleek muscles that slid easily beneath the older knight's taut, naked, golden skin. Slowly shaking his head in both wonder and amusement, the blond, shaggy-haired Halani leaned towards the Aorsi.

" Shut your mouth, man - you're drooling ! " Gawain growled lightheartedly, his deep blue eyes twinkled mischievously. Startled, having forgotten about his friend's presence, Tristan turned abruptly to face him, his lean, noble features swiftly masking his true feelings. Although Gawain had a reputation for being fun-loving and a bit of a prankster, there was something innately trustworthy about the man, that Tristan couldn't help but like him.

" You want him, " the burly knight remarked astutely, pensively stroking his beard as he watched Dagonet tend the destrier. " Have you told Dag how you feel about him ? You know ... talking ? Opening that trap of yours ... ? Allowing intelligible sounds out, which aren't laced with sarcasm ! "

Tristan shook his head in denial, his golden eyes wide and tinged with horror. " He doesn't know, Gawain ... Dag can't find out about this. I mean it, " he replied huskily, his face anguished. " Knowing how I truly feel would sicken him and I do not wish to lose the friendship or respect of the one man I value the most in this godsforsaken hole ... He's the one person who makes life bearable here ... "

It was ironic, the attractive, kindly Halani mused, that their handsome, bloodthirsty Scout had - if not fallen for - developed strong feelings for the one man all of the knights held in the highest regard and deepest affection. For Dagonet was deeply loved for his kindly, gentle nature; for being both confidante and counsellor - their rock. He was respected and admired for his intelligence, considerable skill and aptitude for healing and for his honesty, loyalty and courage.

Tristan was going to discover just how hard caring for someone who was equally defensive, if not more guarded about his privacy, could be. Dagonet would not be an easy conquest ...

" You should tell him, Tris, " Gawain said gruffly, " believe me, it'll eat you up inside if you don't. It will tear you apart ... "

Tristan shook his head furiously, causing the long hair to fall messily across his eyes. His skin was pale and the tattooed stripes stood out prominently on his high cheekbones, in sharp contrast to the dark mane and neat, greying beard.

" I can't ! " he hissed. " I will not risk losing him ... I would rather slit my own throat than lose his friendship, " Tristan met Gawain's mild, steady gaze unwaveringly. " Dag is my guiding light in this hell and I would rather have him as my friend, Gawain, than endure life without him ... " He turned away abruptly, and feared he'd revealed far more than he'd intended, when he saw the warm compassion on his friend's good-natured face.

" Do not pity me, Halani, " he growled softly. " NEVER pity me ... "

But it wasn't pity Gawain felt, but sadness and shock. Shock of seeing the reserved Aorsi with his guard down, displaying a vulnerability he never imagined possible.

" I do not pity you, Scout. I just want you to be happy. You are entitled to that as much as the next man and I mean to see you get it ! "

The Scout gazed up at him once more and impatiently swept his hair away from his dull, unhappy eyes. He looked tired and bewildered.

" Do not meddle, " Tristan warned wearily, " I know you mean well, friend, but ... but some things are best left well alone ... "

Gawain had always been a shrewd man and although the Scout bore a resolute expression, the younger knight did not believe him for an instant and a brief glance at Tristan's pale, miserable countenance told him that he wasn't the only one unconvinced by what had been said.

Shaking his fair head sadly, Gawain decided to back off for the time being. The Aorsi was a proud, headstrong man, who seldom changed his mind once he'd come to a decision. Pushing Tristan into doing so, well ... would be sheer folly and Gawain was neither mad nor suicidal. An annoyed Scout could easily become an angry one, and an incensed Tristan was both unpredictable and extremely dangerous.

Resting a hand lightly on Tristan's left shoulder, Gawain grinned and rose to his feet. " Come, brother ... You need a distraction. Bors said Vanora's made some goat stew and I know you haven't eaten anything since this morning, except for some apples. So, will you come ? "

Nodding wearily, the Aorsi grinned ruefully. Gracefully, he stood up, tucked the knives down the sides of his leather boots and at his low slung belt, then reached for the dao. With one final, hungry, lingering look at the Roxolani, he followed the tall, lion-maned Sarmatian to the tavern.

T. B. C.