For Kender, as a part of the Holiday Gift Exchange. You can thank/blame Manna for this.
All of my thanks to Manna for her beta assistance, and all of the encouragement offered.
This story changed drastically from conception to completion. I struggled with how to end it, but I hope you can enjoy the finished product.
Lyn loved stories.
She was raised on stories of how Mother Earth and Father Sky had brought the world into being. How the wind first brought the life-giving rain. How the first horse was born of wind and clay from the womb of Mother Earth.
Stories taught her the way of the world and the nature of all creatures.
Stories gave a sense of community in the telling, a bond between the teller and the audience.
She asked each of her traveling companions for their stories, and she treasured them all; each revealed insight.
She heard of Sain's ludicrous exploits with his siblings, how Rath had gone from abandoned toddler on the plains to Lycian captain, and she'd laughed herself breathless at Hector's retelling of his unlikely friendship with Eliwood. She knew so many stories, but there was one she had never heard, despite many nights' wheedling. "Tell me your story, Kent," she had asked, many times over. He only responded with a tight smile and a frustratingly predictable, "There is not much to tell, Lady Lyndis." Eventually, she stopped asking, but was still unwilling to give up on Kent entirely. Each night he isolated himself just outside of the encampment with self-assigned chores made her more determined to know him.
Valor offered Lyn another opportunity to try. She followed Kent away from the warmth and safety of the fire and settled beside him in the cool grass.
"You shouldn't go off alone." She offered in explanation. "I'm sure they call it the Dread Isle for a reason." It was a sensible argument; Ninian seemed somehow haunted by the place. Her memories were still weak where the island was concerned, but she was obviously anxious, no matter how many reassurances Eliwood offered her.
He had nodded in silent agreement, and Lyn searched his face, relaxing when she saw no resentment at her presence. Kent only listened to her ramble about whatever came to mind: the unsettling fog, the terrible state of the evening's rations, and her concerns over what they would find when they returned to Caelin. He listened gently and carefully, offering all of the proper advice and assurances, his hands still methodically working on armor, sword, or, most often, saddle.
In a very short time, though, she had said all she could think to say. The distress of discovering Leila's body, grotesquely posed to greet them, was too difficult to discuss, and he already knew her, her stories, and all her worries. She had nothing more to offer. Still she came each night, lying beside him in companionable silence as he diligently cleaned, sorted, or polished.
His silence was different on the night they faced Uhai. Leading comments on the night's burned stew and newfound direction in their search for the Dragon's Gate did no good. Only mentioning Uhai earned a response: yet another frustrating apology for not protecting her better. Eventually, Lyn began to ask questions just to draw Kent from his reticence.
"What's your favorite color?" She asked, pushing her luck with personal questions.
"Green."
Lyn's surprise at the answer was outweighed by satisfaction that he had answered. Sain would have been thrilled.
"Do you have any siblings?" He hadn't mentioned any.
"Yes." Lyn started to ask for more details before he offered "A young half-sister."
Yes, he had always wanted to be a knight. He had known Sain about thirteen years. His hair had even been brighter when he was a child. Lyn wasn't sure she believed that one; it was hard to imagine him being even more visible in the faint firelight. Still, she collected these details happily, thinking that Kent might even seem a little less sullen than before. She resolved to draw even more from him the next night.
She followed through on her resolution, considering how best to get Kent talking. He oiled his sword with the usual care, and she thought of her own. Kent had been there, then, and reassured her that taking the sword wouldn't be sacrilegious.
"What did you mean," she asked, propping her head up on one hand, "when you said there were other stories about weapons choosing their wielder?"
He paused at that, weapon poised above the whetstone. "In Bulgar." She clarified.
"At the temple." He nodded, remembering the events if not his exact words. "You haven't heard the legends?"
Lyn merely shook her head and adjusted into a half-seated position, truly curious at the surprise in his voice.
"Tell me."
He breathed out slowly, considering. "Well, these are stories every child in Lycia hears growing up. In fact, several among our party are even named for them…"
She scooted closer, resting arms and chin on her knees. "Who?"
"Well, Lord Hector, of course. Lucius, Merlinus…." He trailed off, adding "Ninian" after a brief pause. The girl was new to their party, found adrift near the coast only three days before.
As he picked up work with his whetstone again, he began the story. He was mechanical at first, but as he settled into the rhythm of the familiar tale, it flowed freely. He told her of a warlord whose only son was hidden away by a wise wizard, leaving the fate of the nation, and selection of its ruler, to the wielder chosen by a magic sword. Lyn thought that was an awfully silly way to choose a leader, but didn't dare interrupt, for fear she'd break whatever spell had come over the knight.
"The strongest men came from across Elibe, " he continued on, and Lyn thought for the first time what a nice voice he had.
Eventually, though, the story came to its conclusion, with the young son of a king drawing the blade from its granite scabbard, reclaiming a heritage unknown even to him. The story, while initially uninteresting and nonsensical to Lyn, had seemed to become more absorbing as the telling progressed. Kent finished, mopping at the keen blade one last time. He ended the tale with a lame "….and then he was king."
"Is that it?" Lyn's surprise must have been evident in her voice
"Well…there are other stories about his reign," Kent corrected, but didn't offer further details.
Lyn took the hint, brushing loose grass from her hair as she rocked reluctantly to her feet. They would both need their rest for the coming battle.
The next night, their camp was somber. Lyn had stolen a few hours' rest after the battle, but it was tense and intermittent. The rush of adrenaline and panic of battle had yet to fade. She tried to occupy herself as the healers tended to the wounded.
Lyn sat with Florina for a while as Serra worked to dislodge an arrow from her thigh. She tried to be comforting, but her efforts felt useless. Florina was far more concerned about Hector, who boomed from the next cot that he was absolutely fine, though he made no effort to leave. Lyn thought his protests were probably for show, since they lacked the bullheaded conviction she would've expected of him in good health.
On the whole, things could have been much worse. There had only been one casualty, Lord Elbert, and Lyn tried to suppress her relief that the one lost was a man she hadn't known. She felt for Eliwood, understanding the sudden loss of a parent. She'd tried to offer her sympathy over his loss personally, but Eliwood had seemed to stare right through her, accepting her condolences with a perfect, frosty courtesy that put her on edge. She left him alone to grieve.
She looked for Kent, then, justifying that someone should probably check on him. As usual, she found him at the outermost reaches of the firelight, where he oiled his saddle. She joined him, and the sharp scent of the leather oil made her light headed as she settled down beside him. He started at her sudden presence. He must be tired, she thought, if he hadn't heard her approach.
She bumped against his shoulder in as convincing an imitation of lightness as she could manage, ignoring the soreness in her limbs.
"You didn't tell me what happened after the sword."
"Well...he became king."
"And then what?" Lyn's feigned exasperation was moderated with a weary smile as she met Kent's tired eyes. "You're not going to leave me wondering, are you, Kent?"
She couldn't tell if his expression was surprise or curiosity before he turned his gaze downward once again.
"They were large boots to fill, for a boy…" He began, the intensity of his polishing relaxing as his voice settled into the familiar, reciting tone. It was more than his tone, she realized in wonder. He worked smoothly, the tension gone from his shoulders, his posture relaxed. He seemed…not like a different person, exactly, but changed. Calm in the awkward peace that followed a battle.
"I apologize, milady. I must be boring you." She realized she had begun to lean into him.
"Hn? No!" Lyn protested, realizing she'd been paying more attention to the knight than his tale. "No, please continue." He did, with less hesitation than she expected, though Lyn found she'd missed out on why the two kings were fighting.
The return voyage by sea was worse than Lyn remembered. The instability of the deck beneath her feet, and the musty odor that seemed the have permeated every inch of the ship made her feel ill. Most of their party was below deck, still exhausted from fighting and travel, but the hold made Lyn even more miserable. She lingered on deck, enjoying the clean air as best she could when it stirred up harsh spray that stung her skin. Those that couldn't sleep, or were tempted by the view of the seascape, gathered at the bow, but Lyn found Kent exactly where she expected to: alone on the fantail. She joined him, hating the way her light footsteps thudded loudly on the deck, announcing her approach like a stampede.
Kent had shucked his armor, Lyn noticed as she stood beside him. She was certain it was tucked away safely below deck, wrapped protectively against the corrosive salt air.
Unsatisfied with merely admiring the effect, she leaned against him. The deck suddenly rocked beneath her, and she groaned as her stomach seemed to writhe at the shift.
"Milady?" His voice was strained.
"Just talk to me, Kent." She tried not to be too pleased at his concern, burying the faint traces of a smile in his shoulder. To her surprise, he indulged her, reciting yet another story. The story of a bride cursed with ugliness and the husband still determined to treat her with honor amazed her with its sweetness.
Kent's stories continued well into their travels when they were back on solid ground, despite Lyn's concerns that they would run out.
The tales of knights, Lyn noticed in time, delved into greater detail and seemed to outlast those of kings and magic, and one knight in particular seemed to dominate the legends. She asked Kent about it when they were back in Lycia. He leaned against a lone, twisted tree, working diligently at the saddle spread across his lap. Lyn rested in front of him, head leaning back against his knee.
"So, that one was just the king's nephew, right? An awful lot of these stories seem to be about him…" Kent didn't answer immediately, and at his silence, Lyn contorted her neck to see his face. When she saw the flush on his face, she was glad she had.
"He…was always my favorite." Kent confessed.
Lyn grinned freely at the mental images conjured by this admission, imagining a young Kent hanging on to every word of the stories about his hero. It must have taken countless sittings to commit them to memory so thoroughly.
"Why?" Lyn ventured at this rare bit of personal information he had offered.
"He was the perfect example of chivalry. He was brave, kind, honorable, fair…" Lyn could almost hear the excited boy speaking the words, despite the moderate fondness in the man's voice.
"He sounds like you." Lyn answered simply.
"Thank you, milady, " Kent managed, and Lyn could sense his unformed protests, and silenced them before they could be made.
"Besides, wasn't he the only one brave enough to handle the Green Knight?" Lyn asked, the question strangely slow and precise. She glanced at Kent for an answer.
"Yes," Kent confirmed, an edge of confusion in his voice. "It was his greatest feat."
"Yet another thing you have in common." Lyn concluded.
It took a moment for her meaning to sink in, but Kent actually laughed, and Lyn beamed in triumph. Her jab at Sain hadn't even been particularly funny.
"And what are you two up to out here alone?"An extremely familiar voice broke the illusion of solitude, and Kent jerked, displacing Lyn's head. With Kent hindered by the saddle in his lap, she turned to face the intruder. Sain slouched against the tree behind them, as if summoned by Lyn's mention of him. She could not begin to guess how long he must have been there
Sain ignored the sour look Lyn shot him.
"Doing some work. I'm not surprised you're unfamiliar with it." Kent answered dryly.
"You seem to have an awful lot of work lately." Sain trailed off. There was a brief pause before he agreed. "Fine, fine. I can take a hint. I'll leave you two alone to…work." He finished with infuriating slyness.
Sain started to leave, but suddenly hesitated and turned back.
"Oh, and be careful, Kent." He continued. Kent and Lyn both froze as Sain seemed to slip into a rare moment of seriousness. Then he grinned, breaking the solemn façade.
"If you oil that saddle any more, you're going to slide right off of it!"
Lyn had not thought it possible for anyone to turn such a brilliant shade of red.