A/N: So it's been a while since I've written anything for this series, and the fandom is greatly changed since the last time I ventured here - but still, I hope this small fic is enjoyed by fans old and new. Just some Barda/Lindal fluff set after the third series.
Scars
Sometimes, in the early morning hours, Lindal would count Barda's scars.
She got a different number every time, because some were hidden in the poor light and somehow she was constantly discovering new ones. There was a story behind every one, though Barda could not always remember all of them. Countless nicks from sword points during his training as a boy, a thin white line where a blade had cut through his skin, wielded by a clumsy hand. Faint marks across his knuckles from a lifetime of fighting other boys and other men. The fainter ones were older – accidents as a young child, like the tiny mark above one eye where Barda had told her he'd walked into the corner of a cupboard from a time before he could remember.
When she could, she would trace each pale mark and remember how it had come to be. The brutal slash over one shoulder where a Vraal had struck him on DreadMountain, a tale which never got old with the children – although aspects of the story constantly changed to keep their attention. Gently, so as not to wake him, her fingers travelled down from his shoulder, along the inside of one arm, until they found the marks on his wrist. Gripper field. There were matching marks on his other wrist, and around both ankles, evidence of a terrifying experience that nearly cost him his life.
Her fingers left his arm, and found the thin white line on his chest, where a sword had been plunged mercilessly long before she'd known him. Thanks only to the healing powers of the Lilies of Life, and Jasmine's quick thinking, he had survived the otherwise fatal strike. She did not like to think about what would have happened if Jasmine had not noticed the Lilies blooming. There was a matching thin white line on his back, though a little smaller. The sword had cut clean through. To distract her mind, her hand travelled up, and her fingertips gently brushed the marks that littered his throat. She remembered this wound in particular. More specifically, she remembered waking from the effects of the 'Toran plague' to find Barda asleep in a chair beside the bed, almost certainly uncomfortable, his throat bandaged and his hand loosely curled around hers.
A smile pulled at her lips at the memory, and her hand lifted to gently trace the strong line of his jaw, only lightly covered with coarse stubble. Her husband was still very much a handsome man, and Sharn had once told her that she was the envy of a few women of the palace because she was the only one Barda had eyes for. She'd laughed it off at the time to avoid an embarrassing public display of emotion, putting it down to a typical interest regarding a man in uniform, but in private she had smiled and considered herself lucky.
She'd never bothered much with boys growing up, because there was little interest there for her. She enjoyed them as playmates – and later as sparring partners – and she liked their company in the tavern, but they had never been more than friends to her. Female friends she'd had growing up started to marry and begin families, and more than once she'd been asked when she intended to do the same. Every time, she had laughed and told them she would marry when she found a man who could fight her. She was certain everyone in Broome had given up thinking she would ever settle down with a man, and she had believed the same. Not that there was anything wrong with that, of course – she had been quite happy either way. She had merely doubted the existence of a man she could see herself spending the rest of her life with.
And then Barda had entered her life, and she questioned that earlier doubt.
At first she had disliked him, purely because he was bigger than she (a rare thing for a woman her size) and he wore the uniform of a palace guard, and that clearly meant he was an arrogant palace boy with a stick shoved up an unmentionable place, and he must surely look down his nose at everyone else. Then they had argued, and although she was angry she had realised that maybe he wasn't what she'd thought he was after all. She liked a man who challenged her. After that initial dislike faded, she came to enjoy his company. He wasn't as arrogant as she'd assumed – though he did snark and was very sarcastic even if only subtly, which Lindal actually found amusing and endearing – and he concealed a gentle heart behind a tough exterior.
She hadn't been blind, either, and although it was something she would rather die than voice aloud, she hadn't missed that he was rather pleasing to the eye, even after days of travelling had left him looking somewhat untidy. She had been glad when the three of them had decided to rest up in Broome after the incident with the fake Ruby dragon, and she'd offered out her home to them in an instant. Coincidentally, that had been the first time she counted Barda's scars.
Insisting that she take a look at his injuries, despite still suffering from her own, he had given in and sat himself down in her kitchen, and almost shyly he had removed his shirt. He avoided looking at her as he did so, kept his eyes firmly fixed on the table, and he'd shifted uncomfortably as she'd moved closer to check him over. Both of them had thanked the stars that Lief and Jasmine were elsewhere in Broome, though not aloud and neither had known the other was thinking the same. When she'd touched a hand to the scar on his shoulder and asked what had left such a mark, he had told her of the Vraal on DreadMountain. As she tended to his wounds – all minor, but she took extra care regardless – he told her the stories behind the other scars she pointed out, and she fell in love. She didn't realise what had happened until the very last night, when Barda had sat down beside her in the town hall and flashed a charming smile that made her stomach twist itself into knots.
When he pressed his hands to hers in silent goodbye, she had prayed to whatever power there was that he would come back alive.
And clearly someone or something had heard, and listened, because here he was beside her, in one piece and sleeping rather peacefully. As morning light filtered through their bedroom window, she propped herself up on one arm and leant down to brush her lips against his cheek. He stirred instantly, as he always did, and she smiled as his eyes opened just enough to show a flash of deep blue, and his lips pulled into a slow, lazy smile. It was rare for Lindal to feel something so typically womanly – and rarer still for her to admit it – but the very sight of that lazy smile gave her butterflies, even after so long.
They had shared their first kiss after a lazy smile like that. After she had woken in the palace to find him keeping watch at her side, she had gently roused him, though she hadn't wanted to disturb him. He had woken with a start, his first instinct telling him there was danger, but he had paused with one hand on his sword as he'd realised there was no immediate threat. And then he had smiled. She had seen such raw relief and happiness in his eyes, and such love, too, and she had forced herself up and reached for him. He had met her halfway, and the kiss had been short and sweet, and everything Lindal hadn't realised she wanted.
But then there was danger, and a dragon, and the next time Lindal saw him he was blind and terrified for her safety. She had taken his searching hands and she had pulled him close, and he had kissed her – in front of his men – to confirm she was alright. Later, much later, after Lief and Jasmine had been married and the celebrations were well under way, Barda had taken her out into the palace gardens and asked her to marry him.
"I would marry you, Lindal of Broome, if you would have me."
They married that summer. There was no one else Lindal would ever dream of having.
"Good morning." She smiled fondly as he forced himself awake, dragging one hand across his eyes and then up to sweep his hair out of his face.
"Morning." His voice was rough and husky, as it was every morning, and with a yawn he pushed himself up, stretching his back until something clicked. She sat up with him, one hand immediately moving to flatten his hair, which was starting to get long again, falling almost to his shoulders. "I do not suppose there is much chance of going back to sleep?" She laughed, resting her hand in the space between his shoulder-blades, and shook her head.
"Not likely. The youngest of our brood will be awake shortly, if not already, and if you are not out of bed they are likely to come in and jump on you." Barda smiled at that, and gave a slight nod.
"I thought not." With movements that were definitely forced, he pushed back the sheets, and rose from the bed. Lindal remained where she was for a moment, allowing herself to enjoy the view of the man she called her husband. When Marilen had asked how it was that they came to have six children, Lindal had merely smiled knowingly and asked her if she'd actually seen her husband, and that was all the answer Marilen had needed. She rose as he dressed, favouring loose, comfortable clothes that suggested he intended to have a nice day relaxing at home, and when he dragged a hand through his untidy hair, she rolled her eyes and moved to flatten it once more. He surprised her by catching her around the waist and half dipping her for a kiss that left her a bit breathless – and then there was a knock at their bedroom door and it opened to allow a young boy into the room. With a smile that would light up the darkest of rooms, Barda turned and swept the boy up into his arms, balancing him expertly on one hip.
Barda was a natural, and a wonderful father. When the first of their brood came along he had worried that he would do something wrong, but from the moment he first held his son, he had known exactly what to do. Scout had adored his father from the start, and still did – although they did butt heads now and again, as any father would with his teenage son. As their family grew larger and larger, Lindal worried that it would be too much for them – but Barda only grew happier with every child they had, and his experience in commanding an entire company of palace guards proved to be useful in controlling their five sons when they got out of hand.
Lindal was glad she had managed to give Barda at least one daughter, though she knew he would not have minded either way. Min, born two years after Scout, was the very image of her father in so many ways. When Lindal had presented him with his daughter and suggested they call her Min, Barda had cried. She was his angel, his precious baby girl, and Lindal knew she always would be. She also had Barda entirely wrapped around her little finger, and everyone knew it – Barda included. He would do anything for his girl, and all she'd have to do is smile for him.
"I shall start breakfast." He told her as he carried Felix, barely four, out into the hallway. "If you will rouse the dead?" He gave a nod in the direction of the room at the end of the hall, and Lindal laughed, knowing he referred to Scout, who was almost impossible to wake.
"I shall try my best." He leant in for another kiss, shifted Felix to his other hip, and flashed her that charming smile before he carried their son downstairs. Not long after he had disappeared down the stairs, another door opened and Lazarus, their fifth child, darted around her legs and chased after his father.
Lazarus and Felix, or Five and Six as Doom fondly called them from time to time, had been unexpected but wonderful surprises. After 'Three and Four', they hadn't had plans for more children - but they'd been thrilled nonetheless when Lazarus came along, and again when Felix came into the world. Lazarus, now six, was proving to be a rather curious and adventurous boy, constantly bringing home strange lizards and spiders that he'd found outside. More than once Barda had tried to tell the boy that such things could be dangerous, but Laz never seemed to be discouraged. Lindal only hoped he wouldn't get his hands on a Plains scorpion one day.
As her first attempts to rouse the eldest from his sleep failed, Lindal decided to employ a cruel but efficient tactic. She turned from Scout's bedroom door and crossed the hall to another, knocking before entering. In beds that had once been bunk-beds but now stood on opposite sides of the room (which Barda had dismantled and set up himself after one too many fights on who got the top bunk) were children number Three and Four – the twins. Each named after a grandfather, Jay and David were identical right down to the sly little smile each of them got when they were plotting mischief, of which they were very fond. They also had a rather frustrating habit of bickering and arguing – and more recently, fighting – with each other, though it never lasted for long. They were forever causing trouble, even as young as nine, but sometimes their love of mischief proved useful in family life.
Like now, for example. Lindal woke both boys, and shushed their sleepy complaints by giving them permission to go and cause mischief for their older brother. If they could wake him and bring him down for breakfast, they would each get an extra cookie at lunch. Still in their nightclothes – Jay in blue, David in red – they bolted out of bed and rushed to Scout's door. Leaving them to it, Lindal left their room, and headed downstairs to the rest of her family.
She wasn't surprised to see Min already awake and entertaining Felix at the kitchen table whilst her father made breakfast. She stepped up behind Barda and leant in to kiss his cheek, smiling when he leant back into her very slightly.
"I have set the twins on Scout. I have no doubt all three will be down shortly." As Barda laughed, she turned and glanced at the table. "Where is Laz?"
"In the yard, investigating insects." Barda told her, with a sigh to his voice that suggested he had attempted to stop him from doing so. "I informed him that if he eats any, there will be trouble."
"I shall fetch him inside." As she passed by the table, Min looked up and gave her mother a smile almost identical to her father's. Lindal passed a hand over her untidy head of hair – which she still longed to cut in the tradition of Broome women, though Barda assured her no dragon would carry their daughter off – and returned her smile. As much as she feared dragons, Lindal knew Barda was right. If Min later chose to follow tradition, then that would be her choice, but it would not be forced upon her. They had agreed on that from the moment she had discovered she was pregnant with Scout – nothing would be forced upon their children. They would be allowed to make their own decisions.
By the time she had coaxed Lazarus inside and persuaded him to leave the jumping insect he'd found outside, the twins had successfully woken Scout and were sat pulling faces at each other across the table. Scout had slumped into a chair, his head resting on the table, still half-asleep. He had the same untidy hair as his father and sister, and it now stuck up at all sorts of unusual angles. Like Min, Scout was the very image of his father, a fact almost everyone commented on with every passing year. He was already tall for fourteen, bigger than most boys his age, and Barda had joked once that they would blink one day and he would be taller than both of them.
She watched as Barda served breakfast to the family, starting with the youngest and working his way up to the eldest. She smiled as he warned the twins that the food was to stay on the plate and not to be thrown, giving them the look that had been fondly nicknamed the 'Stern Chief' look. It was a look that none of the children disobeyed. As he served Min, he bent to kiss her hair, and she turned in her seat to hug his waist – and Lindal's smile grew. She adored the close bond between father and daughter. Scout had to be nudged, and he groaned as he lifted his head, thanking his father in a rough, sleepy voice not unlike the voice Barda spoke with every morning shortly after waking. Lindal had no doubt that, when Scout was a man, it would be as though someone had turned back time and a younger Barda was amongst them as opposed to his son.
She took her place at one end of the table, and met Barda's eyes across their large and wonderful family – and when he grinned, she returned it. Barda had many great tales to tell, and many more great accomplishments, but as he always said, this family was his greatest.
And it was hers, too.