The Parting Grass
The wind of the plains whipped the grass along like the waves of a great ocean, as it always had, spawning the greatest source of natural beauty in the entire continent. It was impossible not to drink in the richness of the fresh air that rolled in bundles over the ever-bowing figures of the blades of grass that danced to signify its entry. The wind rolled softly along the plains, gently caressing each little citizen of the grass as it blew past, bringing a moment's relief from the heat of the sun to all the plains' inhabitants, big or small. But, it being the wind, it had to carry on. In the path of that wind, two figures stood, conversing.
"I must leave."
Those were hardly the three words she was expecting to hear. "What?" the swordswoman didn't so much ask as exclaim.
"You have your grandfather now, right?" he answered, "You don't have any further need of a strategist, right? No wars left to plan, I should hope."
"Yes, but... you don't want to stay?" she persisted.
He hesitated, as if he were trying to visually perceive the words, "It's not that I don't want to..."
"Then what?" Lyn demanded, "Certainly no one is telling you to leave."
"I can't stay," he responded with intended finality, "I have to spend some time on my own."
"To recover your memories?" the emerald-haired plainswoman guessed.
"Perhaps," he folded his arms.
"Then I could be of service to that endeavor," offered the Sacaean woman.
"Lyn..." he pushed back irritably, as a father to a child.
"You'd abandon me as well as all of our new friends? Do they mean nothing to you?" she began to collect her audacity.
"They mean everything to me," replied her tactician, "but I can't be around them anymore."
Lyn frowned, "You aren't making any sense. Please just tell me what this is about."
"Lyn," there was a warmth about his eyes as his stare bore a hole through her heart, "You've already endured so much: you lost your parents and, for the longest time, believed yourself to be the last of the Lorca tribe. Even being a sole young woman left alone in the world, you held everything together and reached out to do a kindness to a stranger whose appearance brought you nothing but strife."
She cocked an eyebrow, "Surely you don't blame yourself for the actions of a few bandits and usurpers?"
"I don't remember much," was the tactician's non-response, "but I can't fight the sensation that my being here could be dangerous."
"That's ridiculous!" Lyn shouted, scowling, "I refuse to even let you think that! None of what has happened to me is your fault, and I would never have been given the grace of seeing my grandfather again if not for you. If anything, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."
He hung his head and flashed a curt smile, "I'm sorry, Lyn. I know you'll hate me for it, and you have every right, but I just have to leave. I won't feel right until I do."
"There's nothing I can do to convince you?" she pleaded, her eyes falling, "Nothing will make you stay?" The plainswoman smiled after a moment and added, "Even if I promise you the best room in my grandfather's castle?"
He chuckled at the joke, "That would probably be yours."
"I don't mind sharing a bed," replied the Sacaean girl with total sincerity.
The tactician blushed, then buried his face, "As tempting as it would be to remain... There's so much I have to sort out on my own, Lyn. And I don't want to drag your happiness through the mud to get through all of it."
"The halls will feel empty without you at my side as you always were," mused the emerald-haired girl, "I almost feel naked now, at the thought of not having you there to guide my hand."
"Your hand always followed the truest path, milady," he smiled, "I merely told it what to strike along the way. If you need someone to lean on, perhaps you could speak to Rath, him being the last of your tribe. Even that Hector fellow we met some time back seemed a stalwart sort. He dressed like a noble; perhaps you'll see him in some of your new duties."
Lyn bit her lip, "Perhaps. Will you never return to us?"
The tactician glanced out at the forest around him, "I don't know when or where... but I'm sure we'll meet again someday, Lyn."
"And on that day, will you stay with me then?" the plainswoman pressed.
"It all depends on what's in the cards," he shrugged.
"Well..." she sighed defeatedly, "I hope I've at least convinced you that you'll be missed dearly by everyone, myself and the marquess included."
"At least I'm leaving behind some memory of me," he smirked.
The lady of Caelin wanted to laugh at the joke, but found only sadness as she stared back at her companion. His countenance dropped, too, as she didn't respond. This was supposed to be a day of celebration, and now he'd gone and... and... A single tear traced a line down the swordswoman's face.
"For what it's worth, Lyn, I'm sorry," he wrung his hands, "If I felt it would be for the best, I would stay... I'm sure that seems crazy, and I don't blame you for hating me when I go."
"I could never hate you, don't you get it?!" she shouted, "I've been stalling you all this time because... because I..."
He stood still as a stone and prepared for the words that would crush him, but they never came out; the plainswoman broke down into sniffles and sobs before she could make her point.
"Dry your tears, Lyn," commanded the tactician, "They're ill-fitting someone of such naturally sunny beauty. Dourness just isn't appropriate on a face such as yours."
"You're beginning to sound like Sain," she calmed herself.
"Just... don't cry," he held his face back, "I couldn't bear to leave you crying. And this is not goodbye."
"I'll hold you to that," she inched closer.
"Farewell... for now, Lady Lyndis of Sacae, heiress to Marquess Caelin," he offered his hand.
The emerald-haired girl scoffed teasingly and wrapped him in a full-body hug, squeezing herself tightly against his chest. "Come back to me," she commanded.
He nodded, but didn't answer, and turned toward the endless sprawl of trees behind them.
Lyn brought her hand to her cheek and wiped another tear away.