Title: Brothers

Chapter: 1/?

Rating: PG

Summary: Bors and Tristan meet for the first time.

Warnings: None, except that if I decide I hate this story I may revamp it later.

Author Notes: This is the beginning of Tristan and Bors' friendship. It takes place nine years before "By Our Own Hands".

Ban watched his youngest son with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. Bors was struggling with the fishing net and cursing loudly, something he would never have dared if his mother were in earshot. Luckily for the fifteen-year-old, Elaine had decided to stay at home and was not at the river with them. It would be a good day for fishing, and an excellent exercise for Bors in humility. He had been ill for quite some time, and because of his frail health, had become spoiled. Now that he was fit and healthy, the lad showed absolutely no inclination to do much of anything other than sit and be churlish when things didn't go his way.

Bors stomped over to his father, and with a final colorful curse, tossed down the still-tangled net and scowled. "I don't see why I had to come," he muttered sullenly. "You know I do not have the skills of a fisherman." Ban's amusement quickly evaporated and he narrowed his eyes at his son.

"You also appear to lack the skills of a hunter, a smith, or a tanner," Ban retorted. Bors' own expression went from petulant to angry. This was an old argument between the two of them, and it was a lecture Bors could recite from memory. His scowl deepened as his father continued. "You can't carve, you didn't want to learn to read or write, even when given the opportunity to be taught. You can't even do a womanly task such as mend your own clothes."

The young man rolled his eyes and Ban grabbed his son by the shoulders and shook him, infuriated by the disrespect the boy was showing him. "You've been well now for nearly one and a half years, Bors. You persist in doing absolutely nothing and I'm tired of it. You need to take some responsibility and –"

He stopped speaking abruptly and released Bors, his hand flying to the sword hanging on his belt. Something had moved down by the edge of the river, and there had been a faint sound, almost like a moan. Bors looked down at the bank as well, hoping to see whatever it was move again. After a minute of no movement, Ban was about to relax when they heard it. There was another soft moan, weaker than before. It was coming from behind a large rock that sat in the shallow water.

"Stay behind me, Bors," Ban warned, and then he moved cautiously toward the source of the noise. Bors followed behind eagerly. He wanted to prove to his father that he was not entirely useless. He knew he could fight; had in fact pounded a few boys who had been mocking his smaller cousin Dagonet just last week. As they drew nearer to the rock Bors' heart pounded with excitement. Maybe they'd find a wounded animal, or maybe it was a bandit who was trying to trick them. Maybe it would be…

A boy? Bors had to fight down the disappointment that flooded through him at the sight he was greeted with. A small boy was huddled against the rock, his hands clinging to a few jagged pieces of wood. Large golden eyes stared fearfully up at them through a tangled mop of dark hair. Obviously frightened by the two giants standing in front of him, the child whimpered and curled up a little more, apparently not caring that he was sitting in two inches of cold water.

Ban's fatherly instincts seemed to be activated at the soft sound, and his heart went out to the forlorn figure at his feet. "He's not much to look at," Bors snorted softly, and was rewarded by a sharp slap on the back of his head.

"Shut up, Bors," his father warned, then he carefully squatted down beside intimidated boy. "I am called Ban," he said in the quiet voice he used to work with the wild horses. It worked on them, and surely it would work on this small slip of a boy. "What is your name?"

The strangely colored eyes tracked back and forth between father and son, the terror in them reminding Bors of a cornered animal that was trying to decide if it should flee or fight. "It's all right," Bors encouraged him, his heart finally softening toward the thin waif. It may not have turned out to be a fine adventure, but it could become an interesting story to regale the others with at the fireside. "You are safe now."

Ban smiled at the child to reassure him, and this at last seemed to alleviate the worst of the fear, because the boy smiled back him and opened his mouth to respond. All he managed was a faint croak and a cough as his teeth started chattering. Bors removed his cloak and stood ready to hand it to his father, who was attempting to get the boy to let go of the wood. "It's all right, here let me help…"

The little fingers were stiff and frozen from cold and fear, so Ban had to gently pry the urchin's hands off the remnants of wood. Carefully he lifted the small body and wrapped it in the cloak Bors handed him. He felt the boy wince and for the first time Ban noticed the bruising on the small face, and the tattoos, almost like tiger stripes, on the boy's cheeks,

A quick examination of the hands showed several deep gashes and torn fingernails. The boy's neck was bruised and scraped, and Ban suspected the soaked shirt and breeches hid even more injuries.

The tall man tucked the cold hands into the folds of the cloak and handed the light burden to Bors. "Get him back to the settlement," Ban said. His voice was calm but the urgency on his face told Bors not to even think about arguing. "I will look for other survivors and meet you back there."

For the first time Bors noticed that there were many broken bits of wood, pottery and other goods along the banks of the river. He looked down at the small boy, who was lying quietly in his arms, and then back, at his father. While there was a lot of debris, he didn't see any other people, not even bodies. Ban shook his head and motioned for Bors to leave, and so with a final glance at his father, Bors walked briskly back toward the settlement.

It was a twenty-minute walk at a brisk pace, and he silently cursed his father for having them take the journey without the horses. The only animal they had brought with them was a donkey to carry the fish back to the encampment. Muttering under his breath, Bors walked as quickly as he could without jarring the boy in his arms. He too had noticed the bruising on the boy's face, and he knew that if the face was bruised after being in the choppy waters of the river, the rest of the boy was probably bruised as well.

The child was shivering so hard that it seemed to Bors as if his fragile little body would shake to pieces before he reached home. He paused for a moment and set the boy down, unwrapped the cloak and quickly folding it in half, then he wrapped it tightly once more around the boy. The child had remained quiet, simply watching Bors with tired eyes, and when Bors had picked him back up he wiggled a little to nestle closer to Bors' chest.

"Better?" Bors asked in amusement. The child nodded, his eyes drooping closed. They weren't far now from the encampment but Bors knew he could not let the child sleep just yet. He gently shook the boy and said softly, "My name is Bors. Thanks to you, I got out of fishing."

The boy grinned shyly and shivered before he whispered in a drowsy voice, "I-I'm Tristan." A bout of coughing left the child weak and gasping for breath, and the trembling was intensifying by the minute. Bors could see that a crowd was gathering at the edge of the encampment and he snorted. Didn't these 'hard-working people', as his father was so fond of calling them, have anything better to do than to gape at him?

Elaine pushed her way through the crowd, her face wreathed with concern. "Bors, what's happened? Where is your father?" she asked, peering down at the bundle in her son's grasp. Tristan looked up at her with wide eyes before turning his face to press it against Bors' chest as another coughing fit hit him. Bors explained briefly what had happened, though he did not mention that he doubted there would be any other survivors. Tristan was already upset enough and there was no need to agitate the boy further.

Tristan whimpered as the Elaine pulled him from his protector. She murmured softly to him and carried him inside the hut. Too tired to fight, the little boy lay passively in her arms. He wearily dropped his head on her shoulder, the rest of his slender body going lax in her arms though he was battling mightily to stay awake. He didn't know these people and he was afraid. "Want my parents," he whispered fitfully in between coughing and shivering.

"I know, little one," Elaine said gently as she carried Tristan inside the warm hut. She laid him down on the furs near the fire and looked up at Bors, who had followed closely behind her. "Fetch Madiha and Dagonet," she ordered softly. "And hurry."

Bors nodded in agreement, running quickly through the encampment to the healer's home. Dagonet had his lessons today with their aunt, and the two of them rarely let anything distract them. They were probably completely oblivious of the newcomer, even though the entire encampment was buzzing about it. That didn't matter though; though she paid little attention to the goings-on of the outside world, Madiha was the best healer in the entire region. If anyone would be able to help Tristan, it would be Madiha.

tbc...