First, a bit of explanation. I'd always liked Kyle and I play him in a Suikoden based RPG. After some group events, serious things happened to him that forced me to dig into his character. What I found intrigued me and I began building a past for him. It was a part of his character that went beyond, but didn't ignore, his playboy image. After a second playthrough of Suikoden V, I realized that it hints, but doesn't show entirely, the depths Kyle has. As I read more and more, it's what's implied about his character and how he became a knight that I thought was the most interesting.

What kind of background does someone obviously not noble have and somehow manage to become a Queen's Knight? Here's one interpretation and I hope you enjoy this series! As I keep thinking, I'll keep writing about it, even after Kyle gets to be a Queen's Knight.

Quite a few men grumbled into their cups at the tavern on one of Lelcar's many isles. Some would say war to be the cause, or the infighting between the island factions. That would be incorrect. One couldn't say the weather to be the cause as being the southernmost city in Falena, it enjoyed the lion's share of warmth. Shipping stayed constant, no storms had destroyed piers in a bit.

So why the grumbling? As the disgruntled men shared the news, the answer seemed to be something more basic. Madame Hyacinth's House of Delights opened its doors to no one that night. One would think something most dire had shaken the city into the Feitas. Barkeeps offered their sympathies to their customers and privately made the most of their increased clientele, even if only for a night.

"One of th' ladies prob'ly had a kid. They always shut down outta respect," said a grizzled barkeep, wiping spilled ale with a cloth.

"I know I wouldn't want to spend my money if a kid's bein' born in another room." A soldier at the bar shuddered and sipped his drink. "Better hope the kid lives this time. Last time it was near a week they mourned."

"Either way, kid's gonna be a poor bastard if a boy."

"Literally." The soldier slid over potch to the barkeep. "Bet you 10 potch she's a girl and another 10 she dies."

"Hmm. Now there's a good game t' get th' lads riled up." Raising his voice, the barkeep waved his hands in the ear. "Step up, lads! Takin' bets about the newest whore's get at the House of Delights. Boy or girl, live or dead, place y' bets!"

Two older women washing dishes clean in the back of the tavern dried their wrinkled hands and listened to the commotion. "I hate it when he does that," one woman said. "Betting on a child's life."

"Think of it this way," replied her companion. "More money spent means more cut for us. I hope that child doesn't make it. What kind of life is a whore's child anyway?" Sighing, she tucked a graying lock of hair behind an ear. "Either boy or girl, they'll end up like their mother anyway."

"I suppose you're right. Hand me that burned pot, would you?"

In the darkest hour of night, a woman sat up in bed, sweat dampening her hair. Her clothes looked plastered on in the heat but she ignored all those things. Instead, she patted her newborn son's hairless head with a featherlight touch as he nursed.

The ladies of the House of Delights sat on either edge of the bed, cooing and offering their support to the new mother. "He's so perfect," said one.

"Now, now, girls, let's allow Rosemary some time to be with her son." Madame Hyacinth, an imposing figure in a royal purple bustier and a feather headdress, shooed away the girls. When they left, she pulled up a chair next to the new mother. "So. Now you're stuck with him. Tell me. Was it all worth it to have his baby?"

Rosemary didn't answer at first. She placed a cloth on her shoulder and hoisted up her son, patting him on the back. After a few moments, a hearty belch erupted from the little newborn. "Goodness! What a healthy sound."

Hyacinth reached over to pat the newborn's back, waiting for an answer.

"To tell the truth, I don't know what I feel. Sore, mostly. I know he's gone and won't be coming back, but I have his child. He left me something precious behind." Rosemary's blue eyes watered and she wiped them with her free hand. "I know I have caused you endless trouble because of my decision. But you understand, don't you? He was kind. He would have cared for this child were he alive."

Indeed, he would have. The passing mercenary wanted no one but Rosemary while his brigade remained in southern Falena. Whores scoffed at the concept of love until it appeared in front of them. He acted always the gentleman and speculation ran to when he'd take Rosemary away to someplace more "proper" for a woman. Then, about the same time Rosemary found herself with child, she'd received a note. Her man died on the fields of battle far away, but had written a will and given her all his potch. Determined to keep what remained of him, she used quite a bit of the nest egg to pay Hyacinth for the time she couldn't work.

Now an entire life with a new son stretched before her. Rosemary's resolve wavered. She couldn't just be a 20-year-old whore. She was someone's mother now. She'd do anything to give the child, his child, all she could.

Carrying the now drowsing baby, Hyacinth placed him in a cradle bought by a few of the girls, excited at the thought of practicing motherhood. Rosemary watched her, eyes tired and drooping.

"Have you thought of a name yet? His, maybe?"

The new mother shook her head. "That would be too much to saddle a child with. I haven't even thought about a name. Do you know of a good name, my lady?"

The madame considered this as she tied a cloth diaper around the little one. "Best to give him a good name. Let's see...ah! How about this? My husband's family, Sun rest his soul, told stories of an ancestor. General Kyle Liernest. Supposedly a canny old man but with good character and led his troops bravely."

"Kyle? Oh, that sounds like a good name. Sleep well, little Kyle." Rosemary sank deeper into her bed and fell into a deep slumber.

Hyacinth looked down at the sleeping infant. "Little Kyle, I give you a blessing, like those fairy godmothers do in the stories of old. Be a better man than the ones we usually see and me and your mother will be happy."

So named, Kyle slept the rest of the night, tired from being born into a new place.

"Yup, so 'tis. Delivered early even. Here's somethin' extra for your trouble, kid."

Four-year-old Kyle caught the potch coins neatly and grinned. "Thank'ee mister." He slipped the coins into a special pouch sewn into his tunic. No one living in the back streets of Lelcar kept money in pouches or pockets lest it be stolen. Kyle opted to keep rocks in his pockets just in case he needed to chase off anyone suspicious.

The irregularity of meals and money did little to repress a genuine love of life. Surrounded by the pagodas of the nobles and the run down tenements of the poor folk, he grew and thrived. The prostitutes and the destitute were his neighbors and sources of wisdom. Kind weather allowed both groups to eke out a living even if their home depended on where they slept that night.

Fortunately for Kyle, his mother earned enough money to rent a small set of rooms in warehouse. He normally would head that way after running messages for taverns and bars, but his mother had a client. That meant work and she did not want to be disturbed while working.

His mom kept a level head over many things, but she scared Kyle with her anger and insistence he stay far away from her while she worked. So he didn't quite know what she did, but it involved Men visiting her and offering money for something only she could do with her body. Sometimes she would be tired after work, other times pleased with a job well done.

By the angle of the shadows of the alley, it still wasn't time to go home, so Kyle wandered his way to Auntie Hyacinth's place. If the ladies were in a good mood, he might get a few treats to give to mom.

"Oh hello Kyle! Come to pay a visit?" Ivy, a woman draped in greens, poked her head out the window of the House of Delights. Her hair lay straight on one side and tangled on the other.

"Yup! Can I come in?"

"Give me a second. The other girls would love to say hello as well."

Minutes later Kyle sat at a table in the bustling parlor, munching on not too stale cake. Ladies in various states of makeup and undress looked at mirrors and in slow steps, transformed themselves into creatures ready to serve Men. All of them, named after various flowers and herbs, knew Kyle and knew his mom.

"You know, it's a shame Rosemary moved down the way. I understand the need for privacy for a child but he could be a big help," said a girl named Carnation, wrapping her torso in pink flimsy gauze.

"Can't mess with a mother's wish." This from an older woman who helped the girls into costume and cosmetics. "Besides, she probably doesn't want the clients thinking he's for sale too."

"We're not that kind of place. It's the House of Delights, not Heart's Desire." At the statement from Ivy, all the girls murmured agreement. In as much as Kyle understood, Heart's Desire catered to Men who wanted little children for the same reasons other Men liked ladies. Every woman on the avenue threatened to beat him bloody if he ever so much as walked in front of that particular establishment.

"I really wish they would shut that place down." Thorn, one of the few men (not Men) who served as bouncer and occasional help for special clients, entered the room and shut the door. He pulled a chair and sat down, cradling his head in his hands.

"Mister Thorn, what's wrong?" Kyle asked, swallowing his cake.

"They caught another one of those skulking around that part of town. Feitas and the Sun." Thorn's broken voice caught the attention of every lady in the room, who stopped what they were doing to comfort the man.

Kyle's blue eyes widened. Everyone knew what those were. Sometimes Men were especially mean and vile and liked to beat women to a pulp. Usually it was before, during or after having paid them for their services. The ladies of the evening trembled in fear when a Beater and Killer stalked the streets.

"Did the guards catch him?"

"How many did he kill?"

Thorn's voice sunk to a whisper. "Five girls and a boy before the guards got to him. What's worse, not even all of them worked at Desire. One of them was Kail, the fisher's son down the way. Wrong place at the wrong time and..."

A wail erupted from a few throats, one of them Kyle's. He'd just talked to Kail two days ago when they spent time throwing rocks at the birds by the shore. They'd had such a good time! "Oh, oh Kyle, was he a friend of yours? Oh honey, baby..." Ivy put an arm around his shoulders.

Hiccuping his sobs, Kyle cried into the whore's shoulder. Beaters and Killers were such vile, evil Men. He missed how the Lelcar guardsmen caught the Man, still crying over his lost friend.

"What the Feitas gives, the Feitas takes away," Thorn murmured. Everyone echoed the sentiment.

"Sun above, I don't know how we're going to get any work done today. Oooh!" Carnation stamped a foot. "If there's a public hanging, I say we all throw rocks at that dark-hearted bastard!"

"I agree. Kyle, you better get home to your mom. The streets will be unsafe while this news ripples around and you wouldn't want your mom to worry." Ivy wiped his eyes with a lacy handkerchief and patted his cheek. "There'll be a ceremony later for your friend, I'm sure. We'll be sure to let you know when it is."

"Thank you." Lacking any appetite now, he wrapped the remainder of his cake in a napkin and tucked it into his pocket. He shook the rocks around to make room and not squish the gift for his mother.

"Kyle, I better take you home. I'd hate to have you wander the streets right now by yourself. Ladies, tell Madame Hyacinth I'll be a little late." Thorn swiped his eyes angrily with his arm and stood abruptly from his chair. "Let's go."

Waving goodbye and getting a few hugs from the ladies, Kyle followed, taking hold of Thorn's hand. Glad of adult company, the child didn't let go. It appeared the story about the murderer had run rampant in the street as no one traveled alone. Ladies in their evening wear kept together like schools of shimmering fish.

Uncertainty crushed his chest for breath. Beaters and Killers, the visitors, the troublemakers, all of them were Men. Spoken in equal parts scorn for their behavior and reverence for their coin, they represented a great unknown in Kyle's life. Some Men could be kind, most were ignorant, a few liked to bruise the ladies. In the mornings it wasn't uncommon to see the ladies rub bloodshot eyes, shake off the experiences of the night before to square themselves away for another day of earning coin.

All Men did revolved around women, using them, hurting them, paying them and then tossing them aside. Not many peeps of complaints could be heard, but you could tell the truth from a downturned glance, a bruised cheek. Kyle squeezed his eyes and wished to be a woman. If being a boy meant turning into a Man, he wanted no part of it. Maybe there was a trick to avoid growing up a Man. Thorn lived like one of the ladies and suffered with them as a man.

"Thorn?"

"Hmmm?"

"Can I be like you?"

Thorn stopped in his tracks. "Why in the name of Feitas would you want that?"

"I don't want to be like the Men. You're not like them; you're strong and kind. Do I have to work with Auntie Hyacinth for that?"

Apparently the question caught the bouncer off guard for he thought about it, tongue poking into his teeth. "I admit, Madame Hyacinth is a fair hostess and treats all the same. But you don't have to be like me to be strong and kind. If you were going to be like me, you'd have to serve clients and I don't think your mother wants you doing that."

Oooh. Kyle forgot about that. Serving clients meant serving Men. "But maybe when I'm bigger, it'll be all right. I don't want to be a bad man when I'm big."

Thorn knelt down in the street and placed both his hands on the child's shoulders. Kyle stood still when his caretaker touched his matted blond hair, bound into a tiny horsetail at the nape of his neck. "You know, you will probably grow up and turn heads the way the ladies do if you were cleaned up."

"Really?"

"Mmhmm. But I have a hunch you won't like serving men the way I do. It's bad enough doing it when you don't mind halfway. It's terrible when you're doing it just for the sake of coin. That's not a good way to be a good man."

The uncertain note in his voice prompted Kyle wrap his arms around the older man. "You're plenty good! That's why I want to be like you!"

"Oh, child." Kyle didn't understand why Thorn sounded like he was about to cry, but he kept hugging his caretaker until the older man let go. Sniffing, he stood up. "Thank you. But I think if you don't want to work like I do and you don't want to be a person who beats up on women, you'll need to be a different kind of man."

"Oh." Taking hold of Thorn's hand once more, they walked the rest of the way to his mother's house in silence.

That evening, Kyle presented his mother with the stale cake in his pocket. He puffed up as his mother patted his head and told him thank you. She looked tired and her lips bruised, but no great marks across her face or arms. "I'm glad Thorn walked you home. I'd hate to have anything happen to you, my little Feitas fish." The nickname referred to Kyle's love of jumping into Falena's great river and swimming like he belonged there. "I'm sorry that your friend was killed. We'll both go together to the ceremony and throw flower petals on the river. He'd like that."

Kyle nodded. Everyone knew, or at least said, when you died, your soul sunk into the Feitas and traveled a special tributary to wonderful lands beyond life. The flowers thrown on the river would sink and the soul would catch them, knowing they were missed and loved by those still alive. "Mommy, I want to know something important."

"What's that, dear?" Rosemary cut mold off a chunk of bread and placed a few scraps of meat on top, making dinner.

"Will I be bad when I grow up?"

The knife in Rosemary's hand clattered to the table. "Why in the world would you think you'd grow up bad?"
In fits and starts, Kyle pieced together the convoluted mess of his thoughts to his mother. "So if I don't want to be a Man and Thorn says I can't be like him, what can I be?"

His mother didn't answer at first, continuing to put together portions of meat and bread and dividing it between them. After they ate the meal in silence, Rosemary wiped her hands on her shift. "I think you should grow up to be a good man. Not like Thorn, but your own kind of good man."

"How do I do that?" Kyle brightened. He should have talked to his mom before! She always knew the answer to everything.

"Here's what I think you should do if you want to be a good man and not like the kind you see here in the neighborhood. Treat women with respect and kindness. For the women here, we get so many who think little of hitting and hurting. Never make a woman cry if you can help it at all. And if you can, help a woman in need. I think if you do all those things, you will truly be a good man. Like..." She trailed off, closing her eyes.

"Like who?"

"Like a kind man I once knew. He visited the neighborhood, but he did all the things I just told you. I liked him a lot and knew he was a better man. But...he died before you were born. I think you would have liked him a lot."

"Well, if he was good, I would like him," Kyle said, sounding most self-assured for someone only four. "If he made you happy, mommy, he was good!"

His mother smiled and hugged him hard. "Yes. Yes he was. You try your very best to be like that kind of man, okay?"

Why did everyone sound like crying today? The Beater and Killer made everybody very scared, he decided. Gripping his mother tight he said, "I will, mommy. I promise to be a good man."

Twirling the broomstick in his hands, Kyle grinned to himself. After delivering messages for two years and more, one of the bar keepers started giving weapons lessons in thanks. True, it was just using a broom, but the old man said anything could be made a weapon if you thought hard enough.

Not everybody carried a sword or could be skilled enough to use one, but nearly every house had a broom. Why not use what you already have? The words still rolled around in Kyle's mind. He was just glad his mom let him take lessons from the bar keeper. At six years old, he couldn't be pushed around as much. He'd taken his promise to heart and done whatever he could to help his mom and the ladies of the House of Delights.

He'd be a different man then the Men. It was all a part of Kyle's hazy plan. If he didn't want to be like those Men and he didn't want clients like Thorn, he'd take another way. The bar keeper told him he might get really tall and strong as he got older. Both things were good for using weapons. If he got bigger and stronger and more skilled at things besides broom sticks, he could be a bouncer, guard or soldier in town. He'd make enough money and get his mom someplace far away so she'd never have to worry about serving clients again. She'd do something...momlike. Make clothes or cook. Something like that. It'd all work out.

Maybe if he got more money, he'd take Thorn and Ivy and Auntie Hyacinth all away. Yeah, that'd be even better! They'd all live together in one house with the money Kyle would make being a good man.

Sidetracked with his visions of the future, he got home late, the night a few hours old. So eager to tell his mom his plans, it didn't dawn on him at first when the warehouse door opened at a simple touch. His spine prickled when a shard of broken glass nearly pierced through his rope sandals. Someone had broken the lamp in the hallway. "Mom?"

Nothing. Odd. Maybe there'd been an accident? Squeezing through crates and turning a corner led to their rented room. The door hung at a crazy angle, barely connected to its hinge. "Mom?" Kyle asked again, fear tinging his voice.

A soft sound. "Mom!"

The rope soles slapped into something wet. In fact, illuminated in the rapidly fading light of a broken lamp, the walls shimmered with wet. Had there been a flood? Nothing seemed to piece itself together in his head. Why was his mom's bed shredded, feathers strewn everywhere? Who broke all the dishes? He whimpered where he stood, unable to move.

"Mommy? Why are your legs bent like that? Did you fall?"

His mom leveled her body up a fraction with her arms. Though streaks of darkness ran through her hair, it didn't affect the cool clarity of her eyes, the same shade of blue he inherited. "Kyle...oh..."

"Mommy, I'll go get help!" That much was understood. Thorn or Madame Hyacinth would know what to do! They always knew what to do!

"No...Kyle...false...false..."

Oh! He knew what she wanted to say. Ignoring the trembling in his hands, he swept away the wreckage of their closet. Ruined costumes and rent tunics landed on the ground to soak up the wet. If you didn't know it was there, you'd never know about the false wall in the bottom of the closet. Inside sat a leather drawstring purse filled with emergency potch and a few necklaces of his mom's. "Okay! I got it, mom!" Just like they planned, he slipped it over his head, around his neck and under his threadbare tunic.

"Kyle...my baby..." Riveted by her eyes, he couldn't help but stare. And kept staring at the mess. "...run..."

"But, mom!"

"Run like the wind! Don't let him catch you!"

Nearly tripping over discarded clothes, he ran for the door, scurried through the hallway and bolted into the night. Blind animal panic took over as he raced turn after turn through the Lelcar slums. Two words haunted his mind, in time with his frantic gasps for air.

Beater. Killer. Beater. Killer. Don't let him catch you! Don't let him catch you!

Wheezing, he finally halted his breakneck sprint in a deserted alley. Even he didn't quite know where he'd ended up. He scraped his sandals against a wall, trying to get off that terrible liquid soaked into the rope. He had to find the House of Delights or even the old man at the bar. They'd know what to do.

That's right. They'd know what to do. Kyle forced himself to calm down. He didn't want to leave his mom there, but with a Beater and Killer, you couldn't fight him! He did exactly what his mom always taught him in case of emergency. Their treasures were safe, hanging under his tunic. She'd told him to run and that's what he did. If he didn't know where he was, no way the Beater and Killer could know either.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here? A little street urchin, hmm?"

Yelping, Kyle whirled around. A tall man with shoulder length dark hair leaned against the entrance to the alley. Not much more could be seen, save he seemed to be clothed better than a denizen of the streets. The stranger's face lit up when the naked blade he carried in his grip caught the light of the moon. "Or maybe...you look familiar."

Kyle edged into the shadows of the alley, moving backward step by slow step. His chest throbbed in time with his laboring heart.

"Yeah, you look familiar." The man shifted his sword to his shoulders, slapping the dull edge against his clothes. "You got her eyes and you kinda look like her." The sharp edge of the blade didn't reflect as much light, coated with something dark.

For every reason and no reason at all, Kyle's mind flashed back two years ago when he heard the fisherman's boy met his end. Now it was his turn. Not even Thorn, the bravest man he knew, could save him now.

The stranger stalked into the alley, laughing to himself. "So that whore bitch had a little whore son, hunh? Tell me, boy, do you give a good lay like her? How do you take it, hunh? You can tell me."

Frightened to stillness, he couldn't move, couldn't speak, not even when the Beater and Killer sprinted forward and grabbed his tunic. Right over his mother's treasured money pouch. "Aha! So that's where it is! Left it with her whore son. Give me the money!" The Beater pinned Kyle to the wall and tickled the blade at the child's throat. "Give it to me now if you don't want to die!"

Don't want to die! Don't want to die! Don't want to die! No, no, no, no!

Remember, son, anything can be a weapon if you think hard enough.

Snapped from paralysis, the child reached into pocket. Didn't he always carry rocks in case this happened? They were weapons! Fueled by fear, he threw chunks of stone at the Beater's face, striking him near the eye. "God DAMN!" The sword clattered to the ground.

Kyle slid down to his rear end, lacking any strength to stand. He'd hit the Beater enough to send him reeling for a moment. Anything can be a weapon. He reached over for the sword. Wrapping his hands around the hilt, he managed to lift it barely off the ground before it fell.

"Oh, I'd say you're beyond dead now. I'm going to cut you up like your mom and get off on your corpse. Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you? Die you little shit!"

A primal urge to live surged through Kyle's body. With a heave of his entire body, he swung the sword high into the air. It stayed there, sheathed in the flesh impaled on its length. The Beater looked down at the steel impaled in his gut and fell on his back.

Unable to turn his eyes away, Kyle's trembling hands scrabbled behind him, trying to pull himself up. "You...no...way...stabbed by...a little kid? Ha...ha...no way...." The Beater groaned and ripped the blade from his gut. "Little...shit...lost count...how many whores...I got...but I get done in...by a stupid kid?"

The rambling of the Beater, since meeting him in the alley, made little sense while it happened. Now, with his thoughts catching up to the present, something cold cracked open in his heart. "You...you hurt my mommy."

"Oh..s-so...saw that, did you? Yeah. Got that bitch good." The Beater winced and tried to sit up.

"You hurt a lot of women." Small hands picked up the hilt of the sword again. "You're one of those bad Men." Kyle looked down at the wretch of a Man and swung the blade up high. "You're never hurting them again."

"What the...what the hell...what's wrong with your eyes?!"

Crack.

With barely a ripple in the water, the child swam away from the island of his birth and set out for a new one. Not a far swim for anyone, as many islands formed the town of Lelcar. Kyle swam for the nearest one. His mother had taken him shopping once when they'd been really good with money. Maybe that would be a safe place.

He didn't have anything else now. His mom, his friends, his life, they were all gone. He left behind his soaked sandals and spattered tunic, stuffed at the bottom of a dump heap. All he had was a loincloth and his mom's precious bag of treasure. His mind didn't, or couldn't, comprehend what he'd done. The most important thing now was finding a place to hide.

It felt good to swim. His mother always said the Feitas washed away everything bad and left it pure again. Kyle stopped swimming and sank underwater.

Oh Feitas, let me be clean. That's all I want.