A/N: As I read over one of my stories, I ended up with the idea for another. This is a sequel/side story of Only You, my Lyn/Kent/Eliwood story. I don't want to consider it another chapter of it since that story ended and a new one begins with this, but it does reference that story quite a bit. I had intended it to be a story that stood on its own, but it does have a bit of that story in it, like the Kent/Lyn bits. But I'd say it could still stand on its own. I hope you like it. Several times, I felt like I lost my train of thought with it, so I hope it's good.
P.S. Fixed some things that didn't work.
P.P.S. I've added an image to this story. As much as I'd like to take credit for it, I really can't. This image was made by a friend who isn't a member here, but he's good with images as you can see. You can know him as Shedralisk. Thanks a lot for doing this for me.
It was a clear summer's day with a bright and cheery sun over the heads of the land, yet for the house of Pherae, the day was quite dismal. It was a warm afternoon, yet so very cold to the castle and its lord. A cloud had long since settled about the castle, and a bitter rain fell in sheets upon the hearts of all within it. Even those who visited the house on this day seemed aware of it, and none felt the rains more than the master of the house. Few would argue that Eliwood had no reason for the foul mood that had taken his house without the need for sword or shield.
Alone in a private courtyard, the young lord stood before a solemn stone door. He spoke no words, for it was a place for silence for those who lived within its walls and those outside it. It was the entrance to the great tomb of those nobles who were dead. Eliwood had made it a daily duty to stand before this place, this final resting place, for all in his bloodline. He had stood here often after the death of his father, though he did not rest here, but in a commoner's grave upon Valor. Now, he had taken his place before the grave once again. Many knew why he stood in such a sober vigil, but few truly understood why he felt the need to do so.
Elsewhere in his house, his own son carried on in his childish ways despite the dreary days of his father's heart. He, too, had stood here, but his young heart soon found the comfort that often comes in time. In truth, Eliwood could not help but envy the boy, for he had not yet found such comfort and, in truth, he doubted such a luxury would ever be his. While he had many fleeting luxuries and comforts, he knew well that they could do little for him. Eliwood reasoned that the ease of his son's acceptance came as the result of his own wonderful ignorance, stemming from his tender age of six, and he counted Roy as fortunate that no one had told him the entire tale of those three years before his birth. Still, Eliwood had to confess such ignorance himself, though it was hardly the pure naivety of a child but rather the embittered uncertainty of a man.
"What is it that you kept from me, Lyndis?" he asked the grave before him. "What wrong did I commit that you never told me?"
He wondered what he would say to his wife if she had stood there before his eyes. What things might he have asked of her, and what things might she have told him? Yet deep within his heart of hearts, he was certain he knew the answers.
It was not an easy marriage that they shared. Sometimes, the young lord wondered if what he could truly call the years he had with Lyndis a marriage at all. He had offered her his hand after the death of the vile sage, Nergal. It was costly campaign against the magician. The war had demanded the lives of his father and so many others as well. With each death, Eliwood had often taken the pauses, stills before the thunders of battle, to think, to ponder, to examine his own life. With each idle moment, he had happened upon one thing time after time.
It was Lyndis that danced her way into his mind and heart as the dances of her people when she had described them. His head had advised him to put her aside, but his heart could not heed such counsel. He had even dreamed of her, and such dreams felt as honey to his thoughts. Even the hard and stale days of war seemed sweeter to him at the thought of the Lady of Caelin.
She was a striking woman, that much was certain, but Eliwood had found other things about her equally and even more lovely. Her beauty had captivated him, and her heart had moved him. He had known then that he would, one day, seek her. In those days, Eliwood had not understood the ways of love. He had always known the duty would fall upon him to take a woman for the sake of his seed, but never had he found a woman that he wished would stand by his side to take vows with him before Lyndis.
"I had such hopes for us," he said in a dulled voice, unable to shout or even cry, though he wished he could. "I thought you would be here with me. I thought you would watch our son grow into a man. But it was not to be, was it?"
Eliwood thought of those wearied days during the war. It was of little difficulty for him to find his lady, but always another was by her side. He had thought little of Kent's presence during the welcomed respites. He was her faithful knight, and surely, he stood by her side out of the necessity of his post. Eliwood had heard of knights who faced the whipping post at best and the noose at worst should their charges come to harm. Certainly, he thought a proper knight would see to his duty, and he considered Kent a knight among knights. Yet as those days continued, Eliwood had thought he saw a greater familiarity between Kent and Lady Lyndis.
They seemed far too close for mere duty. A look in his eye, concealed yet visible to the young lord, spoke much. A smile upon her face said more than any number of words ever could. A gentle gesture all but announced their true intentions, and often it made Eliwood quietly seethe, though he found such a heated notion shameful. He was not a man given to jealousy, yet he found himself often in moods of frustration at the position of the knight. Such notions, he quickly dismissed. Surely, it was the bonds of friendship that held the two together, he had reasoned.
Eliwood gazed at the fresh flowers laid before the tomb. They were the purple flowers Lyndis had long loved. He found the color rather sad, too sad for his taste although they were indeed beautiful, yet he was glad to have them added to his gardens for her. The Lord of Phare had placed them there himself just that morning, and Eliwood could not hold back a sigh as he looked at them. He knew they too would soon join in the eternal sleep of this place, for it was the price to pay for adorning any house. He thought of how he had hoped Lyndis would delight in the sight of her favored blossoms, and while she had in some way, she had seemed uncaring of them.
"Did you ever love anything here?" he asked, "or were you like a flower yourself; cut from its bush to last only a little while?"
Through the course of the war, he had sought her out. When Kent was not by her side, Eliwood had done his best to take his place. He knew that if he were to ask her grandfather, surely he would give Lyndis to him in betrothal. He, no doubt, would have seen the merit in such a match. It had been that way between Lord Elbert and Lady Eleanora, their son knew, and both had certainly grown together in love. Yet, Eliwood had thought it better to plunge his own sword through his heart than to take the heart of Lyndis through the use of politics; it would be better not to love at all than to use love as a mere tool. Therefore, he made every effort he knew to sway her. Yet, while she was a friend to him in all things, she had not once thought to love him in return, as Eliwood could easily recall.
He lightly kicked the ground once as he pondered those days, and the endless questions they seemed to birth in his mind. He knew it was hardly respectful to disturb the ground, but he felt the need to move even slightly too overwhelming to endure.
"If you had loved another, why did you not tell me? Was it never meant to be between us?"
When he had met the dragon maiden, Eliwood had felt his heart waver in his love for Lyndis. To say that Ninian was beautiful would hardly do her justice, so he had thought. He found her mesmerizing as though he were under some wonderful and yet terrible spell. He had seen many dancers upon the streets and lanes wherever the steps of the army took him, and Ninian could easily surpass them all in beauty and grace. Though she had enchanted the young lord, deep within his heart, Eliwood knew such a union could never be.
"Were you another Ninian to me, Lyndis?" he asked, turning his back on his wife's resting place for a moment. He turned back to face her everlasting bed with tears forming in his eyes. "Were you to be someone who could fill my head and my heart and leave me in the end?"
When the army had parted ways upon the just end of Nergal, Eliwood had again approached the lady. In the horrid aftermath of the battle, he had found her cradling Kent, and the knight knew it not. The look in the dark eyes of Lyndis told Eliwood all that her lips could not say: the brave knight of Caelin had fallen. Never could the victorious lord forget the look of defeat in her eyes or the tears that spilled forth just as Kent's blood had spilled upon the grass around them. Though he had not known the man well, surely, Eliwood knew, his death was a loss among the numerous losses. And so, when they had returned to their homeland, the new lord of Pherae had left the women he loved in peace, for a time.
"Were you more than friends?" he asked. "Did he excite you? Did he charm you?" He looked up as much as he dared towards the sun, smiling down upon his head. As he watched the light that fell in warm sheets around him, Eliwood scowled. He wished for cloud or rain or the dark of night to come and give company to the sadness this silent place brought him.
As he stood there, he thought more and more of those days before their wedding and the years after. He wondered why she had not looked him in the eye when she accepted his proposal of marriage. He wondered why she had only spoken her assent in a pitiable whisper. He wondered why she turned her lips away when he dared for even a small taste. He wondered why she had not let his hand brush against hers or their fingers come together until the appointed day. As he recalled her walking slowly towards him to take their vows, Eliwood now wished she had not agreed to marry him at all. Surely, it would have spared greater sorrows, he reasoned. And he remembered when he had come to her to at last bind her as his wife, she seemed to loathe it.
"Did you hate me, Lyndis?" he asked, now on the verge of tears. He knew it was a foolish question. He knew she most surely did not. "If you did not, then why did you never tell me otherwise?"
The years that followed their marriage were sweet and bitter to Eliwood, and he imagined they were hard on Lyndis as well. In her eyes, he could see that she felt stifled in his house. She had felt bound, as though her castle was but an ornate dungeon. He knew that she was part of the rolling fields of her birth. But more than that, she seemed so distant, as though she stood in a room yet she was not there. When he had learned she was with child, the worst of those years came from his peers.
"She cuckolds him," they said with voices of scorn. "Why I'm sure her child will look nothing like him. He will see. Maybe he'll put that savage back on the plains where she belongs."
On many occasions, Eliwood had wished he could have had them all put out of his house. His anger had raged that the name of his wife had suffered shame. Despite the anger he had felt, he wondered if there was a terrible truth in those hated whispers. When he considered the forlorn looks she often wore, he wondered if she truly wished to be the wife of another.
When he thought of that possibility, even now, Eliwood felt a slow anger burning at him. Did she think that even such a hope would not break the vows she took? Did she think it not unfaithful to wish that she were the bride of another man? It had angered him, yet he had never showed it. If Lyndis truly was bound to such a sad state, he reasoned, then he should keep her from the greatest sadness of all: his own doubts in her faithfulness. In all truth, Eliwood could not stay angry with Lyndis, especially now.
When the day of birth had come, Eliwood had set himself to fretful pacing as men had always done. He had counted the days that his wife had carried the child, and it seemed to him too soon, but he could not tell for certain. In the heat of the day, he had found Lyndis doubled over in greater pain than any wound she may have taken during the war could have given her. When the gaze of husband and wife met, he had seen only one thing looking back at him behind those beautiful eyes: fear. With as much speed as he could manage, he set the midwives to their task. In his thoughts, Eliwood saw every deed in terrible repetition. He recalled the same fear in her eyes stinging his heart as though an angered swarm set upon him. Did it take this long? He wished he could know. When at last the chief midwife came to him, he remembered the indiscernible face she wore.
He had hurried to his wife's bedside, and there she lay, still clad in her nightdress. Even if she did not love him, Eliwood could not hold it against her. He recalled how lovely she looked despite the many laborious hours. His eyes had fallen upon the newborn resting upon her breast, and his heart beamed when he saw the small traces of red hair upon the child's head. He knew then that the child was his seed and not that of some false union. Had it not been for the weakened look upon Lyndis, he wished he could have his councilors there to boast that all the things they had said were untrue.
"You have a son, my lord," one of the midwives told him with a joyful voice, yet her tone also carried a bitter hint of despair.
The words still echoed in the halls of his mind: a son. A son she had said; his son. But despite the joy he had felt, Eliwood could not help but think back to the sight of Lyndis and how her breath seemed to fade away. Again and again, he saw himself kneeling by her side and taking a hand in his own. He stroked her shimmering brow and whispered her name. Her head seemed weightier for she was slow in turning towards him. Her eyeslids appeared unable to withstand their own weight. Then he saw again her mouth moving to form a single word, but unable to speak it. And then she breathed her last.
He recalled how the midwives told him later that the birth was difficult for Lyndis, and that he should not think much of it. He knew well that this was a common occurrence, sad as it surely was. He had not discussed names with his wife, but he knew a name that he had wanted should the child be a son. It had been the name of a famed relative of his family. All who bore witness to the naming had given their approval, although none would dare challenge a widower.
As he stood before the grave, Eliwood pondered all of those events as he had in the years since that fateful night. The whispers of unfaithfulness had ended upon the death of Lyndis, and he was certain that their speakers decided not to trouble their lord any further. While he had been grateful for it, he still could not help but wonder if it was true, even in the slightest. He had wished such doubts away, but they lingered on to torment him. Though Roy bore a clear resemblance to his father and grandfather, Eliwood still found the movement of her lips before her passing a troubling memory.
"What did you try to say, Lyndis?" he asked. "What word or what name was on your lips that night?" He had hoped to learn what she might have said, but none of her servants could recall anything she had said in their presence. He often wondered if they spoke in truth or if only to preserve the memory of their dead mistress. "Were you trying to tell me you truly did love me? Or would rather tell me the name of the man you loved and thought of when you were with me?"
He thought back to Kent. He had always wondered if, by chance, he and Lyndis were indeed more than just bound by the familiar cords of duty. When the knight had died, he found the look of the lady of Caelin too grieved for the loss of one who was merely her protector or even her friend. Perhaps it was his name that she hoped to speak before she joined him, though Eliwood wished he could know for certain. If it was so, he pondered that he had forced her into unfaithfulness. It was not a thought he wished to dwell upon for too long. Instead, he found another notion more likely, though it was not without a saddening sting.
"Is it rather my lot to lose everyone I hold dear? Did fate see fit to rob me of everything?" Eliwood found it odd that he would rather fall victim to the mischievous notions and uncaring whims of destiny than think that his wife had given her love to another even before they had married. Surely, if his life was meant to occur in so sad a manner, Eliwood could accept it. If it were so, then he could also pardon himself for bringing greater harm into the life of Lyndis, but he doubted even such an absolution would ever make his load lighter to bear.
The light beats of nearing footsteps managed to pull his ears and his eyes from the all-too-quiet sounds and the cold sights of the family tomb. It was Roy with his nurse following dutifully behind him. Eliwood tried to manage a smile when he saw the boy, but he could not deny it was difficult. He knew not, at the first, if he could truly love his son. While he had managed, he sometimes found too much of Lyndis in him. For if he bore the look of his father then surely, he had the heart of his mother. Still, as the days passed into the months and the months passed into the years, he had grown accustomed and quite fond of that heart, for it was all he had left of the woman he had loved.
"Forgive the intrusion, my lord," said the nurse. "He wished to see you, and I know no one is to disturb you here. If you wish, you may take the offense out of my back." At once Roy looked upon his father with such sad eyes, for he did love her as any child would.
"I see no reason to punish you," Eliwood replied. "I am not that hard of a man." He knelt then to allow Roy to run to him, and when he had, Eliwood gathered his son into his arms. "What brings you here, Roy?"
The lad pushed away to look his father in the face. "I thought you might be sad out here, so I thought I'd try to cheer you up." Eliwood lightly shook his head at the pure thoughts of a child, but as he did, Roy went on. "Please don't be sad, Father. Mother wouldn't want you to be." Eliwood caught the boy staring past his face to peer at the grave behind them. "I know she wouldn't want you to be so sad. Why don't you come inside?"
With a nod, Eliwood rose and sent the pair inside, promising he would soon follow. He watched them until doors of his house closed. In spite of the sadness of the courtyard, his heart could not help but swell with the happiness of being the father of such a boy. Turning his head back towards his wife's resting place, he allowed himself the moment to speak different words in place of the meaningless questions of the dead.
"Even if we were not meant to be, Lyndis," he began. "I hope you know that I loved you. I hope you know that's all I ever did. And I hope you know that your son loves you too, or what he can love of you. Wherever you are, my dear wife, I hope you've found whatever I wasn't to you." He had to brush a fresh tear from his eye as he said those words, for he dared not to show such tears to Roy.
And then he followed in the footsteps of his son.
A/N: I thought I might give it a bit of a positive ending. I figured it would be just too sad if I didn't have Eliwood moving on in some small way.
Since Lyndis wasn't mentioned in FE6, I once read somewhere that it was likely that she died somewhere between the two games, and since it was pretty common for women to die in childbirth back then, I thought that would be a likely reason. I hope it turned out all right. It's been a while since I tried to combine the past and the present, so it might not have turned out as well as Only You did.
A big shout-out goes to Sardonic Kender Smile. Your insights helped me a lot with this piece.
Anyway, please R&R. Constructive criticism is welcome but not flames.