A/N: So this was originally a single oneshot, but it was quite long, so I decided to split it into three parts. But still, think of it as a single whole. My first Lyn/Hector piece; I've always loved them. So I hope you enjoy, and please leave a review!

If you already read this when it was a single oneshot, I have edited a little bit in this update but not signifigantly. This is NOT a new story, or an updated one, it's just been rearraged!

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to Nintendo, etc., not to me.

It was a bright, hot midday, and the camp bustled with its usual tense, nervous fervor. Even in the sweltering oven that was noon, everyone was still working on their training or preparations. No one could rest during a war. Hector found a rock the perfect size for sitting and settled himself on it to sharpen his axe.

As the day wore on, he moved on to the task of shining his armor and repairing any dents. He even attempted to sew up tears in his clothing, but after a few hours' struggle, he glanced at his sorry handiwork and figured that the stitching would be better left to someone far more skilled in such an art. He'd have to steal a cake from Merlinus, offer it to Serra or Priscilla, and hope that one of them would take pity on him.

But still, amidst all the work, Hector was immeasurably glad to be in the middle of things.

Nils came by and sat down on the grass at the base of Hector's seat – the boy's head barely reached the top of the rock – and practiced his flute for all to hear. Hector ruffled the boy's sea-green hair affectionately before he danced away to perform for another part of the camp. After that, Serra came by, closely followed by an exhausted-looking Erk. She over-graciously accepted Hector's torn clothing without him even needing to mention a cake.

"It would be my pleasure, Lord Hector!" she cried happily. Behind her, Erk rubbed his forehead. "I am a prodigy at sewing. If you ever have anything you need, come to me as your personal seamstress. Why, I even stitched the very cloak that Erk here is wearing now, after he had gone and lost the one he used to wear! If I say so myself, this new piece is much finer than his old rag."

"Serra – come, give the lord a rest," Erk said tiredly. Hector shot him a sympathetic glance.

"Many thanks, Serra," Hector said as the cleric pranced away with Erk at her heels. As the afternoon wore on, a cool wind picked up, blowing the whole camp into an odd tornado of loose leaves. Picking up his axe, armor, and supplies, Hector brushed some grass out of his hair and fell into step beside Eliwood. Just as they were about to enter their respective tents, Hector saw a flash out of the corner of his eye. He whipped around, but there was no one in sight. Frowning, Hector walked back out towards the edge of camp, waving absently to Eliwood.

"I'll just be a moment," Hector called. He didn't hear his friend's response, if there was one. Dodging between the sparring Sain and Kent, ducking under the low-flying hooves of one of the Ilia sisters' pegasi, and pushing his way through the tangle of brush surrounding their camp, Hector was finally free of the bustle and noise. But – as he had expected – he was not alone on the isle's open beach.

Lyn was standing on the beach, training on her own, her blade spinning with her as she practiced a graceful sort of fighting. It had to be Sacaen. Her movement reminded him of swaying grasses – the way her arms and legs bent into the turns, and how her body turned when she swung her blade around in a full circle, beautiful but deadly. Her hair even whirled around her like a field of grass all on its own. When she was done, there was a long, sandy trail of footsteps behind her.

A wave soon crashed onto the sore and smoothed her tracks completely away. Lyn jumped to avoid the water.

Grinning, Hector began to clap, ready to announce his presence so that she wouldn't be taken too much by surprise. Still, she did a double-take when she saw him, and crossed her arms stubbornly. "When I want to train by myself," she said, emphasizing the last two words with a glare and a pointed finger, "that generally means I do not want to be accompanied, Hector."

"My apologies," Hector said, holding up his hands. He walked over to her and stood close beside her, but she didn't budge an inch, still glaring tenaciously up at him."But, Lyn, if you would like to know, it was gorgeous. Your work, I mean. And you, too, for that matter."

"Flattery will not make me forgive you."

"What about the truth, then? It was quite beautiful. So are you."

"It won't work," she said coolly. But all the same, her posture loosened, and Hector could see a grudging smile on her face. "Why are you here, Hector?"

"It's exposed out here. Neither of us should be here, really. I was going to ask you to come back into the main camp."

Lyn's gaze dropped and turned towards the wide, tumultuous ocean. "I like it out here."

There was a long pause filled by the steady crashing and falling of waves on the sandy shore. With a sideways glance at her – her face glowing orange in the setting sun – Hector was struck, as always, by her unique beauty. Eliwood had been right, when he'd spoken about her so long ago – her heritage made her striking. Without meaning to – without really deciding to do it, Hector slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in to his side.

She didn't move an inch. Slowly – his heart matching the waves' quick but steady rhythm – Hector leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Lyn twisted out of his grasp like a fox. Her long hair spun around with her, whipping Hector across the face. Lyn's eyes were bright and narrowed, and she was standing tensely, her hand on her sword hilt. "You know we don't have time for this, Hector," she said quietly. The salty breeze caught her words and carried them very clearly to Hector's ears.

"What do you mean, I know?" Hector replied. "I know we don't have much time, in general. But perhaps there is time for something more than just fighting and preparing and then fighting again. You despise such constant battling."

"Of course I do. But that does not mean that I forget its importance," she hissed. With that, she turned away from him, walking as if she were flying back towards camp.

"Lyn, wait!"

Hector ran and caught her by the elbow, pulling her back to face him. But she ripped her arm away at once. "Don't you dare," she hissed. Her face was inches away from his as they both froze in their tracks. She was standing on her toes, her finger extended dangerously. Her eyes flashed emerald. "Don't you even try."

For the second time, her hair slapped across Hector's face as she turned and stalked off. Hector remained on the edge of the beach, the sun sinking into the deep ocean. The water looked almost like blood in its glow. In front of him, his shadow stretched further and further towards the campsite before darkening as night began to fall. Hector started and realized that he had to return. Places such as this were open and vulnerable. He needed to return to the campsite, where there was nothing more than war preparation all around, as always.

And as much as he enjoyed being a part of the group, Hector felt an old loneliness as he entered his tent. His mended clothes were lying on his bed, with a note and a chocolate sweet from Serra. Placing them on his bedside table, Hector inspected his freshly sewn clothes – they were indeed very well done, with only a few stitches out of place. He'd have to thank Serra later.

But for now, all he wanted to do was sleep.