Been working on this off and on for about a week, just for fun. Let me know what you think, as usual :). I don't want to fall into writing boring, cliched stuff. DR

Grandchildren

Lord Wyldon of Cavall was frantic, and it unsettled him. He had led armies into battle, jousted with the best knights in Tortall and defeated them, all without hardly batting an eyelash. But for once his cool, stoic demeanor had deserted him, and he felt his heart rate begin to climb as he tiptoed through the empty hallways of the royal palace.

It was the middle of summer, and far too quiet. The royal family was in King's Reach for the hottest months of the year, and much of the Court had also left for their own estates; he, of course, was kept busy in the capital. Just because he was retired didn't mean there weren't plenty of useful things for him to do pertaining to the realm and his own fief.

Wyldon paused and turned his head, listening. His left ear was discernably less sharp than it had been in his younger days, but his right was just as keen, and it had detected a faint giggle.

Aha.

With catlike tread, Wyldon moved out of the hall, through a half-open door, and into the bright, clear sunlight of a courtyard garden. It was quite a tangle, with the four walls nearly hidden by rambling rose vines. Several fruit trees rose above the riotous color, making it difficult to see far in any direction. But the childish laughter was closer now, and he followed it to its source. What he saw gave him pause, and he hesitated in the shadow of a gnarled pear to take in the scene before him.

Sitting on a stone bench with her back to him was an older woman – at least, he assumed she was older. He couldn't see her face, but her hair was almost completely white, with silver and pale blonde strands creating an unusual dappled effect. It was cut short, unlike the long style most Court women preferred, falling in feathery layers to her earlobes. He would have thought her a servant but for the silk summer gown she wore, a rosy-peach color that set off her unusual hair. More importantly, several young children were clustered around her, playing with sticks and other amusing finds. A curly-headed child, no more than two years old or so, was in her lap.

The child was clearly enraptured with whatever tale she was telling – Wyldon couldn't quite make out her words from this distance – but suddenly those big gray eyes caught sight of him over her shoulder, and he shrieked.

"Pa! Pa!" With frantic movements, the little boy tumbled from her lap and charged towards Wyldon. The old knight bent with only a slight protest from his joints, and swept the toddler into his arms.

"There you are, cheeky boy," he said sternly, tweaking the tot's upturned nose. "What did your mama say about staying close?"

"Wanna play," the child protested, beginning to squirm. "Lissen astory."

"Listening to a story, hmm?" Wyldon let the boy slide down to the ground and run back to his benefactor. Having stood from her seat, the woman picked the toddler up with ease and situated him on her hip. "You'll have to forgive the boy his pertinence, my lady," Wyldon said with a formal bow, not really looking at her face.

The woman laughed, startlingly familiar. "It's all right, my lord. I'm used to children."

Wyldon stepped closer, eyes widening. He knew those hazel eyes, even with the delicate crows-feet forming at the corners, and that full mouth parted in humor, even with the laugh lines carved where none had been before. "Mindelan?"

She curtseyed smilingly, managing quite well even with little Ewan tucked against her side. "The very same, my lord. It's been a few years."

"Forgive me for not recognizing you," he said, joining her on the bench.

"It's the hair." Kel sighed, rueful. "From behind I look like just another court spinster – which I suppose I am," she laughed. She jostled her burden gently, making him giggle with delight. "This little one must be a handful."

Wyldon regarded the child on her lap with fondness. "He's a hellion, certainly, but well worth it. The only heir, unfortunately, so his mama has me keep a strict eye on him."

Kel's hazel eyes widened slightly as she looked toward the curly-haired tot and back up at him. "He's yours? Forgive me, my lord, I didn't realize you had remarried."

"Mine? Gods, no," Wyldon said quickly. "This is Ewan, Jesslaw's youngest. My grandson," he clarified, as if she'd forgotten that his daughter had married one of her dear friends.

A wash of pink crept up her cheeks, and she smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, my lord."

"No offense taken," Wyldon replied, waving side her hasty conclusion. "It would take quite a woman to convince me to remarry, at my age."

"You can't be a day over fifty," Kel said tartly.

"A couple of days, actually – more than a couple. I'm fifty-two."

"You don't look it," she told him frankly.

Before he could reply, Ewan began to fuss, and so she set him down to play with the other youngsters. There were six of them: two with blazing red hair, one with a Bazhir's complexion, one so freckled she was nearly brown, another with riotous curly black hair, and the last with black hair and slanted Yamani eyes. Although they were of varying ages, all somewhere between four and eight, they accepted the two-year-old into their game quite readily, leaving the adults to talk.

"I consider myself lucky, really," Kel said, lifting calloused, scarred fingers to run through her silver-blonde locks. "My mother was completely white by the time she was my age. No doubt from having so many children."

"None of these are yours?" Wyldon asked, looking over the motley group.

"Goodness, no!" Keladry exclaimed with a laugh. "Those two are Merric of Hollyrose's twins, those two belong to Esmond and Seaver respectively, the curly lad belongs to Raoul, and this young lady here is Neal's. I've just returned to Corus after completing my duties on the Tyran border, and I offered to watch the children so their parents could… reunite in privacy." Her tone of voice suggested that the type of reuniting going on was not safe for children's eyes or ears.

"I thought I had heard somewhere that you had a child with your late husband."

Kel shook her head. "Dom never gave me children – though I'm sure he would have if I'd agreed." She fingered a gold chain around her neck that disappeared beneath her dress. He had assumed it was a charm of protection or a good-luck trinket, but her words suggested it was a charm to prevent pregnancy.

"Forgive me for bringing him up, if…"

"It's all right," she interrupted, smiling comfortably. "It was a long time ago, and we shared five wonderful years together before the Black God took him. I don't regret what happened."

Wyldon let his eyes travel over the youngsters playing at their feet, and wondered if she didn't regret more than she let on. The lady knight seemed to possess a remarkable way with children – she would have made a wonderful mother. As if sensing his thoughts, Kel broke them with a touch on his hand.

"I don't take it back – I don't regret never having children," she told him seriously. "Do I wish I had young ones of my own? Of course. But ten years ago wasn't the right time. There was the Scanran War, and the immortals still roaming the countryside, and First Company to command."

"And what about now?" he asked, turning to face her more fully. "Had you a choice, would you decide to start a family?"

"Starting a family would require someone to lead it, my lord," she said wryly. "Thirty-seven is a bit late to begin looking for a husband."

"As I recall, your knight-master thought similarly," Wyldon observed, dead-pan.

Kel laughed. "That is true enough. I don't think he was expecting Buri to be so… prolific… later in life."

"Indeed." He realized her hand was still on his, and wondered if he ought to pull away. But then he remembered the barest flash of pain in her eyes when she spoke of her dead spouse, and he did not remove it. "About your hair, Keladry – if it makes you feel any better, I started losing mine when I was younger than you."

She gaped, and the mood was broken. "Really?"

He smiled crookedly. "Unfortunately, yes. And it's been a slow and steady decline ever since."

"Then I'm doubly thankful, I suppose. I'd rather go white prematurely than start losing my hair." Her dubious expression made him laugh, startling a couple of sparrows that had decided to land on her lap.

"Women rarely do, so I doubt you have anything to worry about," he assured her, holding out a curious finger to the birds. "Still keeping your pets about you, I see."

"Of course. I've lost track of the generations, but they're descendants of the original flock," she said, watching the birds flutter about. One, with a crooked black collar, pecked Wyldon's finger experimentally before deciding to hop aboard. "Well, would you look at that. Lancelot likes you."

A startled laugh escaped him before he could contain it, but the sparrow merely cheeped at him in irritation. "Lancelot? Why call him that?"

"Because he's always perched on my lance before a joust," Kel explained, close to laughter herself. "He's quite a stern little character. I'm not surprised he's taken to you – he's always reminded me of you, in some ways."

"Compared to a sparrow? I'm honored," he said drily, coaxing more laughter from her. For some reason, knowing that he could make her laugh was more rewarding than whatever conversation they were having – he'd half-forgotten it already.

"I don't mean to offend," she said, falsely contrite. "It's just that he's very much a personal training master. Always pushing me when I'm tired, and hopping about on the lance and cheeping furiously when I miss a pass. Of course, he's always careful to pick imaginary bugs out of my hair afterward, which you never did."

"Thank Mithros," Wyldon muttered, looking down at the sparrow investigating his sleeve with the sternness of a royal inspector.

They sat for a while in companionable silence, watching the children play. After a little while, Ewan tired, and he crawled back up into Kel's lap. At first, the sparrows protested; however, once they discovered that his curls made for splendid napping of their own, they settled down.

"They won't leave droppings in his hair," Kel assured him when he made as if to protest. Her scarred hands stroked the sleeping boy's cheek gently. "They know better."

"Of course." He hesitated. "Keladry, may I ask you a personal question?"

Eyes bright with curiosity, she looked up at him. "Certainly."

"Do you intend to remarry?"

Her gaze fell back to Ewan as she formulated a reply. "At the moment, no. I suppose – as you said – it would take quite a man to convince me. I am content with my situation in life, as it stands now. Sometimes," and a faint blush appeared on her freckled cheeks, "I think it would be nice to have… someone. I don't mean in a sexual sense, exactly, but just someone to be able to talk to, someone who understands that I can't always be at home because of my oath to serve the Crown. Someone to be close to."

"An intimate friend," Wyldon said when she fell silent, keeping his voice soft for the sake of his sleeping grandson.

"Yes, exactly," she said, meeting his eyes eagerly. "You know what I mean."

The twist of his mouth was wry. "I do."

Her fingers ran absently through Ewan's unoccupied curls, though her gaze never left his face. "Isn't it strange that two people who are so different can come to the same exact place in their lives?"

"I do not think we're so very different, lady knight," he said. "But, yes. For all the years that separate us, we each seem to have a keen understanding of the other."

"We're friends, then."

Wyldon inclined his head. "I believe so."

She arched a brow. "Intimate friends?"

He couldn't resist a chuckle at her impertinence. "Are you asking me to court you, lady knight?"

"Are you asking for permission to court me?" she shot back.

Gods, the banter was refreshing. "If I was, what would you say to me?"

Now she turned thoughtful, though she didn't take her eyes away. "I would ask for your reasons. If you merely sought a means to an heir, not companionship, I would decline."

"And if companionship was my first priority?"

Her full mouth twitched, and an inordinate desire to kiss it leaped into his awareness. Mithros, you're not eighteen and looking for a roll in the hay to take off the pre-Ordeal jitters, he reminded himself.

"Then I wound consider it," she said, successfully distracting him from his untoward thoughts. "But, of course, neither of us is asking those things."

He raised his eyebrows. "So we just experienced a hypothetical situation, did we?"

"Of course." But the pink that stole across her cheeks and neck belied her words.

"I do have grandchildren, after all," he mused, looking at the slumbering Ewan.

"I have nieces and nephews," she countered, surprising them both with her defense of the idea.

"Nieces and nephews are not the same as grandchildren."

"I have white hair, Wyldon."

"And I'm nearly bald, Keladry, not that that has anything to do with anything." He cocked an eyebrow. "Why the sudden interest in a –"

"If you say anything about how old you are, I'm going to have to challenge you to a joust," she interrupted.

"You can't. I'm retired."

"Ha! I came in last night – I saw you this morning, running the curtain wall back and forth like you always did. If you're not just as fit as you were as my training master, I'll be much surprised," Kel informed him.

Wyldon only just managed to hide his smile behind one large hand, and he cleared his throat a little more forcefully than strictly necessary. "I thank you for the compliment. Perhaps you'd like to find that out for yourself?"

Her mouth dropped open, and the slight tinge of pink deepened into a dull red. "I beg your pardon?"

"Forgive me, have I offended you? I was merely wondering whether or not you'd care to face me in the practice courts sometime." His voice was pure innocence, but he let her see the way he laughed inside.

"You are incorrigible," she muttered, looking away from him so that he barely caught her words.

"I try my best." Turning serious at last, he placed his hand over hers where it rested on her full skirts. "To be honest, Keladry, I'm not sure how we even began to have this conversation. But I don't find the idea all that impossible."

Her teeth appeared to worry her bottom lip, and he wondered if she was doing it on purpose. "Nor do I," she said at last, her voice very soft. A self-deprecating smile appeared, and she fixed her eyes on the youngsters playing at their feet. "I fancied myself in love with you, once. During the war."

He rocked back in surprise, but managed to keep his own voice steady. "You did? Why didn't you say anything?"

"You were married," she reminded him dryly. "I managed to distract myself with my work, and eventually Dom entered the picture. But I don't think I ever truly forgot you." Her hand tightened over his, and she looked up at him frankly. "So where does that leave us?"

Wyldon lifted her hand and pressed it to his mouth in a courtly kiss. "Will you marry me, Keladry? For the sake of companionship, and chasing away loneliness, and someone to warm my bed at night?"

She laughed. "At least you're honest."

"I'm too –" He saw the look in her eyes and corrected himself hastily. "I've seen too much of life to care for dancing around a topic. I would be lying if I said I didn't find you attractive – lovely, even." He let his fingers move lightly through her unusual hair. "And if we were married, why shouldn't we share a bedchamber?"

"Why not indeed?" Her eyes ran over his lithe frame openly, and rose to meet his with laughter dancing behind those lashes. "Then I accept, though it is perhaps the most unusual proposal of marriage I've ever heard."

"Received a good deal of them, have you?" he drawled, and was rewarded with more laughter.

Her fingers twined with his on the bench as she replied, "Enough." Her eyes darkened to an expression he knew well. It was an invitation, and who was he to refuse?

"Then I'm honored that you've chosen to accept mine," he said, the words a murmur against her mouth. He could feel the curve of her lips intimately when she smiled, although they were still a hairsbreadth away from truly kissing.

"As I am honored to have received it." They were so close that the light in her hazel eyes was blurred, and her delicate nose was tucked against the side of his. He lifted a hand to cradle her face, but before he could make another move, they were rudely interrupted.

"Ew, they're kissing!"

Kel jerked back, startled, and then burst into laughter. "Not quite, master Gawain."

Wyldon turned to see the entire group staring openly. The strapping black-haired fellow, nearly eight, was clearly Goldenlake's, and he smirked at them with knowingness in his dark eyes. Another, younger girl, with flaming red hair, tugged at Keladry's skirts.

"Who's he, Aunt Kel? Are you married?" she wanted to know.

"Not yet, but I expect we soon will be," she answered patiently. She turned to Wyldon, apology warring with amusement on her face. "I'm sorry for their impertinence –"

"Don't be," he interrupted, squeezing her hand once more before letting it go. "I have grandchildren, remember?"