Title: Worth the Wait
Author: homesweethomicide13
Rating: T
Pairing: BardaLindal
Warning: Minor profanity
Disclaimer: Not mine. (Except David, Falker, Zeke, Gareth, Lilith and Lord Alkan)
Summary: No matter what happened, Barda did not want to be 40 and still living with his mother. Mostly pre-series 1, with some post-series 3 at the end. BardaLindal.
Author's Note: Okay, so this was just a little something to get me back into writing Deltora Quest stories, as some of you may have noticed my absence for some time. This started out as just a little Younger!Barda fun, but gradually became more serious and ended up being BardaLindal at the end. It's also a semi-re-write of my story A New Life, since the ending of this is pretty much a better version of that... I do love writing Younger!Barda though, so expect more now and then. Until then, enjoy!
Worth the Wait
A single beam of sunlight poked through the dark curtains, illuminating a path towards a bundle of dark bed sheets and over a silky mop of dark hair. There was a muffled groan from beneath the bed sheets, and a lightly tanned hand emerged, grabbing the corner of a nearby pillow and pulling it over the mop of hair. The arm wrapped itself around the pillow, holding it down. There was blissful silence for a few minutes before the sound of knuckles on wood echoed throughout the room, and a feminine voice called out from the opposite side of the door.
"Time to wake up, sweetheart!" There came another muffled groan, fainter than the first one, and the bundle of sheets shifted slightly. A pause, and then more light flooded the room as the door was opened. "Now!"
"Five more minutes!" The voice, muffled, was masculine, the sort of voice you'd expect to hear from a young man just out of his teens. The owner of the feminine voice stepped into the room, making her way over to the bed.
"In five minutes you will be running late." She prodded at the bundle with one hand. "Up, now." When there was no movement, she crossed to the window, and yanked open the curtains. There was a dismayed yell from the bed, and the pillow was tugged further down. With strength you'd not expect to see in such a small woman, she grabbed the pillow and wrenched it away. "Up." The sheets were pulled up to replace the stolen pillow. "Oh no you do not." She now took hold of the sheets and yanked them away, exposing the slim, lanky figure beneath. Said lanky figure quickly curled up into a defensive ball, arms wrapped around his head, knees pulled up tightly to his chest. "Do not make me drag you out of bed, young man." Her voice now held an edge of authority, the sort you wouldn't want to disobey.
"No fair." The young man whined, yet he made no move to get up. With a roll of her eyes, the woman reached down, closed her hand around one of his ankles, and tugged. His arms flailed out to grab the frame above his head as his whole body slipped towards the edge of the bed, but his fingers closed around thin air and he soon found himself in a heap on the hard, wooden floor. "Ow."
"I told you to get up." She stood above him, hands on her hips. "Now, I expect to see you in the kitchen in five minutes or less." She turned and left the room, closing the door behind her with a soft 'click'. With a groan, the young man sat up, scowling at the door. With slow movements, he stood up, stretched with a yawn, and grabbed a t-shirt from the floor of the room. He sniffed at it cautiously, then shrugged and tugged it over his head to cover his bare chest. His mother objected to him walking around their home half-naked. With another yawn, he walked across the room to the door, and stepped out into the open-plan lounge. Due to his mother's (and deceased father's) status in the palace, he lived in quite a decent home, despite being born into a servant family. It was nothing like the homes of the nobles – the Lords and Ladies of the palace – but in comparison to lower status servants, it was pretty spectacular. Everything except the bedrooms and bathroom was open-plan, and he could see his mother standing in the kitchen, no doubt fixing his breakfast, as was the morning ritual.
She turned, sensing his approach, and flashed him a smile. He attempted a smile in return, but only managed another yawn. He ran a hand through his untidy hair – sticking up in odd angles, as always – and ruffled it slightly, knowing it would take him, yet again, several minutes to tame it enough to be presentable.
"Sit down." His mother ordered softly, gesturing to their small kitchen table. He did so, slumping into a chair and leaning forward, resting his head on his folded arms on the table top. "And what time did you get home last night?" She asked, a hint of disapproval in her voice.
"Not sure. Late." He muttered in response. "Or early, depending on your interpretation." She turned and fixed him with a disapproving frown.
"Well, that was hardly good thinking on your part." She set a bowl of fresh fruit in front of him, and a glass of orange juice, slapping gently at his folded arms to get him to straighten up. "I must say, young man, those new friends of yours are a bad influence."
"Mother, I am not a child." He rolled his eyes. "I am allowed to enjoy a few drinks with friends after work." He picked up his fork and speared a slice of pear onto the prongs, lifting it in front of his eyes as though inspecting it. "And there is nothing wrong with Falker, Zeke and Gareth." He scowled.
"Do not scowl." She chided, sitting opposite him. "I just think they are teaching you bad habits." She took a sip from her own glass of orange juice. "Now, remember you finish work early this afternoon, as your presence is required elsewhere." He nodded, only half-listening, as he lifted his glass to his lips and drank. "I have promised Lord Alkan that you and I will visit so that you can meet his daughter." He slammed the glass down onto the table, choking slightly.
"W-What?" He gasped out. "Why am I meeting some Lord's daughter?" He demanded, wiping a trickle of orange juice from the corner of his mouth. She tutted and frowned a little.
"How many times must I tell you not to speak of other people in such a tone?" She scolded him. "Lord Alkan is well-respected, and he is looking for a suitable husband for his daughter. She is your age, very beautiful, and very talented."
"Oh, for the love of…" He sighed in frustration. "Mother, how many times must I tell you that I have no wish to get married yet?"
"It has to happen sooner or later, you know. The sooner the better, in my opinion. You should not leave having children too late." He almost choked again.
"C-Children?" He looked horrified. "I am too young for that!"
"Nonsense." She said firmly. "Some couples are known to have children younger than you are now." She told him matter-of-factly, delicately eating a slice of apple. He simply stared back, one eyebrow cocked.
"You and father took your merry little time in having me." She met his eyes easily, a faint smile on her face.
"That is an entirely different matter. Things kept getting in the way." She paused. "But that is not the point here, we are not discussing my life choices, but yours. Do you honestly want to be forty and still living with your mother?"
"Mother, I am nowhere near forty." He rolled his eyes.
"You are halfway there." He scowled again. She ignored it, and carried on. "Lilith is a fine young woman, and you should be honoured that Lord Alkan is even considering you as a potential husband. Most Lords do not give servant-born boys a second glance."
"That is a point. Why is he even bothering?" He speared another piece of fruit on his fork a little harder than he had first intended. "Why not marry her off to some noble man?"
"You are becoming quite the celebrity." She smiled now, full of pride. "Only just twenty years old and already a favourite to become the next palace guard chief."
"Ah. I see. He only wants me for my status, for my name. Well, I will refuse." He finished his breakfast and rose from the table. "Father married for love. I intend to do the same." He turned and walked towards the bathroom, not waiting to hear his mother's response.
He emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later, wet hair dripping onto the t-shirt, which he'd tugged back over his head after quickly washing his hair. He didn't have time for a bath – he never did in the morning – but he always found time to wash his hair. He went straight to his bedroom and sighed softly when he saw his uniform neatly laid out on his bed – which had been made. Quickly, he towel-dried his hair and combed it through, taming it as best he could. He tugged off the t-shirt, tossing it down onto the floor where he'd found it, and began pulling on his uniform. He left the jacket off whilst he laced up his boots and buckled his sword onto his belt. Doing a final check in the mirror, he grabbed his jacket and left the room.
His mother was in the kitchen again, washing up the dishes from breakfast. He strode over, all six foot six of him towering over her as he stood beside her, and bent to kiss her cheek. With no words exchanged between them, she turned and handed him his lunch – neatly wrapped and in a brown paper bag – and a bottle of water, then ruffled his hair fondly and returned his kiss on the cheek.
"Where is your jacket?" She murmured, smoothing out his shirt and tugging a little at the shoulders, as if not satisfied with his appearance.
"In my hand. I will put it on later." He replied. If he was honest, he hated the thing. It was heavy and sat awkwardly on his shoulders, and it was far too hot.
"You will set a bad example for the younger guards." She was now smoothing down his hair, a slight frown of annoyance on her face as it refused to do what she wanted.
"Mother, stop fussing." He sighed, ducking his head away from her hands. "I will see you after work."
"Have a good day, sweetheart, and keep safe." She watched him walk towards the front door, noticed that one of his shirt tails was sticking out at the back of his trousers, and smiled with amusement. Her boy had never been a morning person, and he had always been a little untidy in appearance. He got it all from his father, of course, which was no surprise. He was looking more like him with every year that passed. As she watched her son wave goodbye at the door, she touched a hand to the smiling face of a man in a framed portrait on the wall, and sighed. One day she would lose her boy, just as she lost her David.
She glanced at the portrait, at the handsome man holding a young boy in his arms, and her hand lifted to her chest, palm flat over her heart. Her son had been right – she and David had left things too late. They'd both wanted a big family, as they had both grown up amongst many brothers and sisters, but not long after their first – and only – child's seventh birthday, David had been taken from them. It still ached, like a hole in her heart, whenever she thought of him.
That ache grew each and every time Barda would grin at her, just as David used to.
Barda leant back in his chair and kicked his feet up onto the table, crossing them at the ankles. His jacket was draped over the back of the chair, his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows, top two buttons undone. He'd finished work for the day, hence the untidy state of his uniform, and he was having a relaxing drink in the tavern with a few of his friends. Sat opposite him, uniform in a similar state, was Zeke, a young blonde guard he'd met through Gareth, the brunette sat to his right.
Another brunette guard tripped slightly on another chair as he walked over carrying four over-flowing mugs, which he set on top of the table, some of the liquid spilling over and pooling around the base of the mugs. Gareth laughed and reached forward, grabbing one of the mugs. Zeke clapped sarcastically as the newcomer slumped into the remaining chair, and he scowled at him.
"For that, Zippy, you can buy the next round." Falker growled, passing a mug to Barda before sliding a third towards Zeke, sniggering as it nearly shot off the table into the blonde's lap. Gareth snorted into his mug as he tried to bite back laughter. Barda just smirked as he lifted the mug to his lips to take a swig. The familiar taste of apples flooded his mouth and he smiled with slight pleasure. He did enjoy a good, strong cider now and then.
"Piss off, Falcon." Zeke growled back, kicking Falker under the table. The older brunette hissed in pain and swung his arm around, catching Zeke's shoulder with a balled fist. Gareth rolled his eyes and slammed his mug onto the table, the sudden 'bang' attracting the attention of the squabbling guards.
"Save it, ladies." He said to them with a smirk. Both of them sent dark looks his way, but Gareth just shrugged and picked up his mug again. Zeke, who had more sense than Falker at the best of times, took the hint in Gareth's tone, and changed the subject to avoid another fight with Falker.
"So, Barda, I hear your mother is setting you up with Lady Lilith." He smirked, leaning back in his chair. "You lucky, lucky man." Falker grinned and leaned forward on the table.
"Really? Lilith is a mighty fine lady." Barda just rolled his eyes and said nothing, taking another swig of his cider. Gareth nudged him in the ribs and winked.
"Bet you cannot wait to meet her, aye?"
"Actually I have already decided to decline the offer." Barda muttered, staring down at the table to avoid the shocked eyes of his three new friends. He knew for a fact that all three of them would be staring at him as if he'd just kicked a puppy.
"Wait, wait…" Falker said after a long pause. "Let me get this straight. You… are giving up the chance to marry possibly the best looking lady in this entire palace?"
"Barda, come on, you have to really think about this. I mean… imagine what your kids would be like!" Gareth grinned. "Lilith is beautiful, and you… well, you know that the ladies are calling you the palace's latest heartthrob, right?"
"Of course he does. The guy practically salivates over the attention." Zeke laughed. Barda tried to hide his smirk behind the mug of cider. It was true that he did enjoy the attention, and he knew he wasn't bad-looking. By Adin, he was told enough times!
"Probably the hair. Girls these days are suckers for some really great hair." Gareth laughed.
"No, got to be the eyes. I keep hearing them go on about his eyes." Falker shook his head. Zeke rolled his eyes.
"More like his smile, actually. They all melt at his feet if he flashes them that naughty little smile of his." The blonde smirked. It was Barda's turn to roll his eyes.
"Can we stop talking about me like I am not here?" He muttered. "I am well aware of what everyone says about me. In any case, I have no interest in marriage, not now. I still have my whole life ahead of me, and I would rather spend it having fun than tied to one woman and having all the responsibilities of a husband and, in time, a father."
"So, you are going to be forty and still living with your mother?" Gareth said bluntly, staring at him with raised eyebrows.
"Why does everyone assume I am going to wait that long?" Barda scowled. "Am I not allowed to want a bit of fun? Besides, you three can hardly talk. You are all older than me, and none of you are married or even in a committed relationship." The three exchanged glances, then shrugged.
"He has a point." Falker muttered.
"Cannot argue with that." Gareth agreed.
"I am only a year older." Zeke scowled. Barda finished off his cider and swung his legs off the table top, standing up.
"Well, boys, I have to be off. I have to go and refuse marriage to Lord What's-his-face." He smirked. "Zippy, I will see you later this evening. Falcon, Gaz, I will probably see you during break tomorrow."
"Later, Bear!" Falker grinned, holding up one hand. Barda smirked and high-five'd him, before bumping fists with Zeke, and low-fiving Gareth. He picked his jacket up from the back of his chair and slung it over one shoulder. Giving a half-salute to the three men still seated, he turned and left the tavern, heading up towards the section of the palace given to the noble families. He spotted his mother pacing near the staircase, and smiled.
"Mother." He walked over. She turned to him, and sighed.
"Oh, Barda… you could have at least made yourself presentable, and…" She paused, leaned closer, and sniffed. "Is that cider? Have you been drinking?"
"I had one drink with friends after work. Is that so bad?" He muttered. "Can we just get this over with?"
"Will you at least be polite?" She sighed. She'd already resigned herself to the fact that Barda wasn't going to marry Lilith.
"Of course, what kind of man do you take me for?"
"Come on then, they are waiting." She slipped her arm through his and led him towards the home of Lord Alkan. They were shown into the main lounge area by a young female servant, and Barda got his first look at the infamous Lilith. She was a slim young woman, with long blonde hair and soft green eyes. Her skin was pale, and she had a pixie-like face, with a gentle smile. She was beautiful, there was no doubt, and he could see the appeal so many other men saw. He almost felt bad about declining. Almost.
"Ah, my lady Min." Lord Alkan smiled, taking her hand and kissing it. Barda felt a twinge of anger flare up in his chest. How dare this man touch his mother like that, and in front of him too? "Ah, yes. You must be Barda." The smile faded as he looked Barda up and down, disapproval in his eyes instantly. "You do not look like what I have been told." He muttered. That twinge of anger returned, sharper this time. "Are you always this untidy?"
"I have just come off a long shift." He growled out. "Excuse me for wanting to be comfortable." He ignored his mother's warning glance, but managed to add a 'sir' through gritted teeth.
"Well, moving on from that." Lord Alkan said sharply, turning and beckoning to Lilith. "I think an introduction is in order. Barda, meet my dearest daughter, Lilith." The beautiful blonde blushed a little as she curtseyed shyly. Ever the gentleman, Barda took her hand and kissed it softly, as he had been brought up to do.
"A pleasure, I am sure." He murmured. Lilith's blush deepened and she averted her eyes timidly.
"We shall allow you two some space to get to know each other. My lady, if you would care to accompany me through to the other room, we will discuss arrangements." Barda shared a look with his mother before she followed Alkan out of the room. Feeling awkward, Barda turned his attention back to Lilith.
"Ah, this is a bit awkward for me to say, but… I am afraid I am declining the offer to marry you." Lilith's head shot up in surprise, her green eyes widening in shock as they fixed on his face. "I am sorry, but I am not ready to marry."
"Father told me everything was decided already. I was told that I would be meeting you as my intended." Barda groaned softly and covered his eyes with his hand. "Is there something wrong with me, Barda? Is that why you do not want to marry me? Am I not good enough?" Her voice was soft, and her eyes were filmed over, tears about to fall.
"No, no not at all!" He said quickly, taking both of her hands in his. "I am sure you would make a fine wife, Lilith, but… as I said just now, I am not ready for such a commitment. We are both so young."
"When father told me you were my intended, I was so pleased." She admitted shyly, staring at her shoes. "I have often heard the other women talk about you." Barda bit his lip, feeling awful about declining, as he had suspected he would. "I hoped I could be a good wife for you."
"I am sure you will make a man very happy one day. Unfortunately, that man cannot be me." He sighed. "Please understand, Lilith. My decision is not based on a fault of yours, but on a fault of mine."
"Father is going to be angry. He was under the impression you would not even consider saying no."
"No one should ever assume, nor promise, without first confirming the truth." Barda said softly. "The thing is, Lilith… I have always wanted to marry for love."
"Are you saying you could not love me?" Her voice was shaky, and she looked about ready to cry again.
"No! I am not saying any such thing…" He trailed off, sighed. "I just imagined that I would meet someone first, and then the decision to marry would be made by both of us, when we were both ready. I never liked the thought of arranged marriages." He took a deep breath. "Perhaps I could love you eventually, but I would not want to promise anything to you."
"I already lo-" Barda put a finger to her lips to stop her from finishing her sentence – to stop her from finishing that word.
"Please, do not say that." He whispered. She looked at him with watery eyes. "I feel terrible enough as it is." He sighed and stepped back. "Your father will find you someone else, and you will love him."
"I do not want anyone else." Barda groaned, inwardly this time. It would seem that Lilith had already fallen in love – not necessarily with him, but with the idea of him as her husband, as the father to her children, which she may already have named.
"No, Lilith. You want someone with a high status, with a good name and good fortune. Someone who will make a wonderful home for you and your family." He told her. "I am not the right man for you."
"You have status, Barda. Your father's name is well-respected, and therefore so is yours. In less than a year, you could become the new chief of the palace guards, which pays well." She met his eyes. "Love is the foundation for a good family home, and from what I have heard, you have a great heart." She stepped closer to him, her eyes still locked onto his. "Please reconsider your decision."
"Lilith, I cannot." He murmured.
"Then I shall convince you to do so." Before he could question her, she had leant up on her toes – for he was much taller than she – and pressed soft lips to his. He was caught unawares and so remained that way for some time before he pulled away. He gently touched a hand to her cheek and wiped away a stray tear with his thumb.
"I am sorry, Lilith." He murmured softly. "I cannot marry you now."
"Then I shall wait." She replied, determination in her voice. "I will wait until you feel ready to marry me."
"No, Lilith, you must move on. You could be waiting a long time."
"You are worth the wait, Barda." He was touched by her words, and fell silent, unsure of what he could say to her now. Thankfully, the door opened and his mother entered the room, along with a fuming Lord Alkan.
"Lilith!" He barked. "Go to your room." With a final longing glance at Barda, she turned and disappeared through another door. Lord Alkan turned on Barda. "I hope you are happy, young man. You have just broken an innocent girl's heart for your own selfish reasons. Please remove your presence from my sight." Barda didn't wait to be told twice. He turned and strode out, his mother following a moment later. They walked back to their home in silence, Min watching her son closely, sensing that he was troubled.
"I am going to take a bath." Barda murmured when they walked through their front door. He did not wait for a response from her, and instead made a beeline for the bathroom, dropping his jacket over the back of a chair at the kitchen table as he passed. Min sighed and picked it up, hanging it up on the coat hooks by the front door. She knew better than to try and get him to talk now – he would talk when he was ready.
He didn't talk until much later that evening, when he was curled up on their sofa, dressed only in a sleeveless black shirt and black knee-length shorts, a book in one hand. Min was sat at her sewing machine, fixing a tear in his spare uniform. He sighed, loud enough for her to hear, and put the book down on the cushion beside him.
"She told me she would wait for me." He said quietly. Min, who had been waiting for him to speak, stopped what she was doing and turned to face him. "Lilith." He went on. "She said that she would wait until I was ready to marry her."
"She did seem rather fond of you. Her father mentioned that she was nervous about meeting you."
"He told her I was confirmed as her intended."
"He was wrong to do so, but he was quite certain you would not dream of declining." She got up and walked towards him, perching on the arm of the sofa. As she had predicted, he shifted position and leant against her, needing the comfort of his mother. She ran a hand through his unruly hair, soothing him. "Are you having second thoughts about your decision, sweetheart?"
"No. Well, not exactly. I just feel awful." He sighed. "Lord Alkan was right, I broke her heart." Min smiled.
"I am sure you would have broken many more had you accepted the offer." As always, she knew just the right thing to say to make him feel better. He lifted his head and flashed her a grin.
"I suppose so."
"I know so." She smiled back. "Perhaps I was wrong to try and force the idea of marriage upon you so soon. I know, if he were here, your father would have taken your side of things. He rebelled against his parents when they tried to marry him off at sixteen. He never stopped, even when his father was long dead and his mother had given up."
"Is that why it took you and father so long to get married?" Barda wondered aloud, meeting her eyes.
"Twelve years I waited for him." She said softly. "And he was worth every second." Barda dropped his head onto her stomach again, and she resumed stroking his hair. "Of course, once we had wed, we wasted no time in starting our family. You are, and always will be, the best thing that ever happened to David and I." She waited a beat. "He would be so proud of you right now. You always were his little soldier." Barda smiled, remembering.
"I know." He fell silent, and didn't move for some time. Finally, he straightened up, and got up. "I have to go. I promised Zeke I would train with him tonight." She nodded and returned to her sewing machine. Barda paused, his hand on his bedroom door handle, and turned to look at her. "Do not worry, mother. I will take a wife one day. You may just have to wait a while."
"I am sure, as I was with your father, that it will be worth every second."
Twenty years later…
Barda pushed open the familiar door and stepped into the open-plan room on the other side. Memories swam to the surface as he gazed around at the almost empty room. He wandered further in, gazing at the lone chair at the kitchen table, at the coat hooks by the door, the table upon which his mother's sewing machine would once have sat. He hadn't been back here until now, believing it to be too painful. Trying to ignore the emptiness of the open-plan room, he walked towards his old bedroom door, pushed it open.
The frame of the bed was still pushed against one wall, but the mattress was missing. His wardrobe was tipped onto one side, one door missing, the contents long since removed. Anything and everything he'd left behind was gone. With a sigh, he turned and left the room, walking past the bathroom and towards the only other door. This was going to be the hardest thing he'd ever done. With a tightness in his chest he tried to ignore, he pushed open the door to what had once been his mother's bedroom.
Her bed was still intact and in the room, along with her wardrobe and dresser. There were no personal belongings or anything to indicate the room had once been inhabited, just like his own room. Everything had been removed. Curiosity led him towards the wardrobe, pushed him to open the doors. He didn't know what he'd expected to find, but there was nothing in there. No, wait. There was something. He reached in, and his hand closed on something that felt like cloth, with something firm beneath it. Frowning slightly, he pulled it out and inspected it in the light. It was something flat, and hard, beneath a cloth cover. His heart pounding in his chest, he tugged the cover off.
And let it drop to the floor when he realised what he was looking at.
The frame had seen better days, and needed replacing, but the portrait was still in great condition. He sank down onto the bed, his eyes locked upon the three smiling faces. His mother, standing with her arm around his father, her head on his shoulder. His father, one arm around his mother's shoulders, the other holding a boy of about six or seven on his hip. A boy with a grin that matched the father's, with an awfully familiar unruly mop of silky black hair.
He touched two fingers to his father's face, then slowly moved them down to his mother's face. Tears stung his eyes as he stared at the last piece of evidence of his family – he vaguely recalled this family portrait being painted not long before his father had died. Some dust had managed to get past the cover, and he moved to brush it aside. He stopped, staring at his empty ring finger, and his breath hitched in his throat as he recalled the words he'd spoken to his mother around twenty years ago.
"Do not worry, mother. I will take a wife one day. You may just have to wait a while."
"I made you wait too long." He whispered, letting the tears fall. He recalled Gareth's joke, echoing his mother's words, about him being forty years old and still living with his mother. "Looks like that prediction came true… sort of." He sighed. "I left it too late, mother. I should have married Lilith when I had the chance." His shoulders shook as more tears spilled over, and he clutched the portrait to his chest. He tensed and turned sharply as he sensed someone watching him, and his breath caught in his throat when he spotted Lindal standing in the doorway of the room.
"Sharn said you would be here." Lindal murmured softly, no hint of her usual gruff tone. "She also hinted that you might need a friend… a shoulder to cry on." Barda relaxed and looked away, but he glanced back at her and then to the space beside him, a silent gesture that she could come closer. She took a seat next to him, and was silent for a moment. "This was your old home?"
"Yes, it was." He hated how shaky his voice was. He'd never liked showing weakness, and he'd always hated people seeing him cry. Lindal reached over, gently pulled the portrait away from his chest so that she could see it, and he surprised himself by letting her.
"Seems like a nice family. You look like your father." He frowned in surprise, and she smiled. "It was not that hard to work out. You were clutching it so tightly I knew it meant an awful lot to you, and… you still have the same smile." She grinned. "And the same unruly hair." That brought a smile to his face. "My other clue was your eyes. All three of you have the same eyes, thought yours and your mother's are slightly bluer than your father's."
"I have her eyes." He whispered. "My father always used to tell me that. 'You look like me, talk like me, think like me… but you have your mother's eyes, and your mother's heart'." He recited from memory, his voice cracking slightly towards the end. He blinked, and more tears escaped. He quickly tried to look away, to hide them, but Lindal caught his chin in one hand and turned his head so he was looking at her. Slightly shocked, he froze up as she lifted a hand and brushed away his tears.
And that's when he remembered something else his friends had said.
"Probably the hair. Girls these days are suckers for some really great hair."
"No, got to be the eyes. I keep hearing them go on about his eyes."
"More like his smile, actually. They all melt at his feet if he flashes them that naughty little smile of his."
The three things Lindal had mentioned when explaining how she had known the portrait was of his family. The three things she had clearly noticed in him, to notice the similarity between the young boy in the portrait, and the man she knew. His heart once again pounding in his chest, he leant in slowly, and brushed his lips over hers. There was no reaction from her for a few moments, and he began to panic, thinking he'd made a mistake, and then she was kissing him back. The kiss was soft, and short, but it said everything. When he pulled back, he stared at her, not quite believing what had just happened, and not quite knowing why he hadn't realised sooner.
"Well, it took you long enough." Lindal smirked. "I thought you were never going to make the first move. I was almost ready to do it myself." Barda's lips twitched into a smile, and once he started smiling, he couldn't stop the smile from turning into that oh-so-familiar grin. He trailed his fingertips down the inside of her forearm, danced them over her wrist before slipping his hand into hers.
"I guess I was a little scared to." He murmured. "You can be quite intimidating, you know." Lindal grinned back at him.
"Good to know." Her eyes flickered briefly, and Barda saw her usual confidence fall away to be replaced with rare uncertainty. "Do you think… perhaps, we may have left things too late?" Barda stood up, tucking the portrait under one arm, and tugged her to her feet.
"Not if it was worth the wait." He said softly, with a smile. "And, Lindal of Broome, I am sure you are worth every second." Lindal stared at him in surprise for a moment, before she smirked and that familiar confidence was back in place.
"You sap." She laughed, shoving him playfully. He felt a giddy, happy childishness rise up in him, and he chased her out of his old home, and towards a new life. He paused by the front door, gave one last sweep of the room, and smiled.
"You were right, mother. It really is worth the wait." He whispered, before Lindal was back at his side and dragging him away.
In ten years time, his old family portrait would hang on the wall in his new home, sitting proudly beside the new family portrait. He would sit in his favourite chair, and watch all six of his children play. And when his oldest son would turn to him and flash him a grin from behind an unruly mop of silky dark hair, Barda would see himself, and see his father. And when his oldest daughter would look up at him with her big blue eyes, he would see the loving gaze of his mother, and remember her words.
"I am sure, as I was with your father, that it will be worth every second."
And it was.
Author's Note: So there you have it. I made Barda's father nice in this one... I feel like I abuse David too much. (See my other stories for details). Some of you may recognise Falker from my story 'Alcoholic Experiences', as he featured in that one too. Zeke (aka Zippy) might reappear, because I like him. I might write up a story where Lilith reappears, because that could be quite amusing, and embarrassing, for Barda. So yes, that was Worth the Wait, and I sure hope you thought it was too! Okay, bad pun... but, please review and let me know what you think. I know it's quite long, but my mind kept going off on tangents...
- homesweethomicide13