Barbaric Charm

For Qieru, on her birthday

The evening air was cool, and Kent found it easy to believe that he was merely going for a stroll, rather than making his rounds. Although the night was young yet, the deep purple sky was scattered with bright stars and the moon had already risen. Kent's boots thudded gently against the stone walkway as he paced through Castle Caelin's gardens—the rhythmic sound calmed him, although he kept himself alert for any noise that might seem out of the usual.

It was because of this mild caution that he even detected another sound at all: the ghost of a woman's voice, breathing just a tad too heavily, gasping once to cut off a sob. Kent bit his lower lip, partly in confusion and partly in concern, and touched the hilt of his sword as he left the solid path and ventured into the grass. The woman was close, he knew, and it wasn't long before he spotted her--a white figure sitting on the ground beneath an ancient oak tree, amidst a tangle of roots and a puddle of ivory skirts. Her shoulders trembled with an effort to keep her weeping silent, and her face was hidden by her hands, but Kent knew that voice all the same, knew the long and tangled hair that streamed down her back.

"Lady Lyndis?" he gasped, and instantly knew that he had made a mistake.

The woman's head shot up quickly, causing Kent's heart to lurch. She was indeed his liege…and her dark eyes were filled with tears, one of which had managed to escape and trace its way down her face. Those eyes quickly widened in fear as she realized that he noticed.

"Lady Lyndis!" he cried again, and hastened to her side, dropping to his knees before her as he beat back waves of panic. In all the time he had known her—which, admittedly, was hardly even a year, though Kent couldn't exactly remember what his life had been like before he had met her—he had never seen her cry. Not once. She had survived the massacre of her people, dealt with the poisoning of her dear grandfather, and endured countless wounds by countless weapons to finally reach Caelin, but she had kept her head up through every ordeal. Though Kent searched her face hard during those weeks, knowing that her well-being was his responsibility, he had never seen tears. Sorrow, often, and occasionally even something akin to despair…but not tears.

"What is the matter?" he asked her urgently. He acted before he thought, gripping her shoulders for a purpose even he wasn't quite sure of—to search for wounds, to steady her, to reassure himself. "Are you ill? Are you hurt? Elimine, tell me, milady--!"

"Kent," she said, her face surprised, "No, I'm…I'm fine."

"You're weeping," he whispered.

She grasped his wrists, though she didn't push away from his grip on her. "Really—I'm fine. I promise."

She smiled up at him then, gently, but Kent was no less baffled or concerned.

"But…but what happened, my lady?"

Her eyes, still glistening with tears, quickly hardened as she scowled and turned her pouting face away. "Nothing."

If you say so, my liege. That was the answer that Kent was supposed to give, but the words sat upon his tongue, hesitating. Spending so many months with her, traveling and eating and fighting, he had come to learn that his duty to her happiness and peace of mind was a lot more important than an adherence to protocol. After a moment, he settled himself down into the cool grass—a respectable distance away, of course—and sat quietly for a long moment. Lyn did not cry again, but she drew up her knees and hugged her arms and frowned off into the distance. Finally, Kent ventured,

"Forgive my impudence in asking, but…are you sure that nothing is the matter, Lady Lyndis?"

Her glare rounded on him, sparing the innocent moon that had previously been subject to it. "Of course I'm sure! Do you think I would lie to you, Kent?"

"Of course not," he assured her softly, "I just--"

Lyn would have none of his backtracking, however, and she shifted to her knees, leaning forwards and balancing on her fingertips to bring her face closer to his. "I'm crying over 'nothing' because it was so insignificant that I could hardly call it anything. And I don't lie. Do you know why that is, Kent?"

Her voice was quiet and lethal; she continued to get closer to him so that she might continue to drive her point home, leaning forward an inch for every inch he leaned backward, uncomfortable. Kent could soon feel her breath on his face, and his mind quickly went blank. He fumbled for a way to answer her.

"I-I--"

"I'll tell you why," she hissed, mercifully cutting him off. Kent saw her angry face melt suddenly, into something soft and sad and confused—and lonely, lonely most of all. She lowered her voice to a whisper:

"It's because I'm Sacaen."

Kent felt his brow knit in response to this sudden, sorrowful change in mood. "I…I don't understand, Lady Lyndis."

"What does it matter?" Lyn leaned back suddenly, until she was sitting where she had been before, and waved a careless hand in his direction. "Nobody in Lycia understands."

"Milady," he murmured, and fell silent, waiting for her to continue. She pressed her lips together in a thin line and for a long time there was only silence between them.

"…You know that my grandfather is hosting some royalty from Thria," she said finally.

Kent nodded. "Yes, milady."

She sighed and turned her gaze back up to the moon. "Marquess Thria brought his nephew with him…the boy is about my age. And the first thing he said to me…" She broke off to chuckle mirthlessly. "He told me, 'It's so wonderful to see that you're finally civilized!'"

"Finally…civilized?" Kent asked, baffled. "What could he have meant by that?"

Lyn flicked an irritated glance his way. "Shall I keep on? Perhaps this will explain…when he saw the look of disbelief on my face, he amended, 'No one could possibly blame you for growing up a savage, of course…that was your father's fault, not yours'."

She spat the word out, bitterly, and Kent felt horror rise within him as he finally understood.

"Oh, Lady Lyndis…" he said gently, but it was too late—he had already gotten her started, and she shifted herself up onto her knees, her fists clenched and her eyes sparkling with fury.

"I couldn't refute that, Kent! I couldn't smack him for his disrespect, couldn't say a single word to let him know how deeply I'd been offended, or to offend him in return! And Grandfather…he just looked at me, knowing what was going on in my head, but warning me with his eyes to stay silent! Because I would dishonour him and myself by protecting my honour!"

Her face was very close to his again, her voice rising with ever word she spoke, silent and bitter tears spilling from her eyes once more. "You Lycians trap each other with words! There was nothing I could say or do to defend myself—my homeland, my heritage, my own parents!"

Before Kent even knew it, his fingers had wrapped around the hilt of his sword, squeezing hard. "I will not let such an insult stand against milady. This cad must be made to apologize immediately--"

"But he's not a cad!" Lyn interrupted, sounding even more frustrated than before. "He's a very sweet young man! He gave up a chair in the receiving room so that his uncle could sit…and he looked me in the eye when I spoke to him…and what's more, Kent, what's more is that he meant his words to be kind!"

"Kind?" Kent repeated, feeling his chest heave once with a silent breath of disbelief. "Lady Lyndis…forgive me, but now I feel that I understand even less than before."

"Barbaric charm," she whispered, leaning back to let her head rest against the dark bark of the oak tree. She had closed her eyes, but crystalline tears still slid from between them, sliding town her cheeks. Kent almost—almost—reached out to wipe them away as they gathered against the delicate line of her jaw.

"Milady?"

"That's what he said to me. He was trying to pay me a compliment…the look in his eyes was so innocent, so sincere…he said, 'It's easy to tell you're Sacaen—you look like your father. Oh, but don't get me wrong…your mother's looks balance you out so well. You have a sort of…barbaric charm. It's lovely to see that your royal blood shines through even an upbringing as a savage'."

"He…said a lot," Kent murmured after a moment's thought. A lot for her to remember, to relay it to me…and a lot about how we are, in this country.

"I will never forget those words," replied Lyn tightly. Silence settled between them again, but this time it was different—awkward, painful. Kent knew that his liege had something else on her mind, though he didn't want to press her…but was spared when she suddenly turned on him, demanding,

"Were you expecting me to be a savage?"

"Was I wh-what?"

Her voice softened sadly. "You and Sain, in Bulgar, before you met me…is that what you thought I'd be?"

Kent wasn't sure how to respond. He certainly hadn't been expecting such a thing, but he could not deny that the thought had at least crossed his mind. All he had known of Sacae, before setting out with Sain, had been the words spoken here and there by others with skin and hair and eyes like his own: they don't know how to read or write. They keep the heads of their slain enemies—horrific! Stand still when attention is called, squire, don't wander like a Sacaen!

"I…did not know what to expect," he finally answered quietly.

"Because you didn't know if you'd find my mother's daughter or my father's daughter?" she shot back, just as softly. There was no malice behind her voice, merely a sorrowful wisdom, but it hurt Kent all the same. No words were able to claw themselves up his throat to protest; he could not force his tongue to move. They sat in silence again.

"I'm sorry that you had to see me this way," she finally murmured. "Crying about such a trivial thing as an unintended insult…crying never helps, anyway. I was just…so frustrated. Not because he insulted me, but because he did so accidentally. He didn't even realize that his words were hurtful." She closed her eyes again and took a deep breath. "It's just a mindset here—a given belief that Sacaens are worth nothing. It's nobody's fault, it's just…the way you all were raised. Even the nobles, my peers…and Kent, there's nothing I can do about it!"

Her eyes flew open and she locked her gaze on the moon again. Kent peered at her closely in alarm, yet found that while her eyes were full of anguish, she was not weeping this time.

"Lady Lyndis…"

"I don't know how I could possibly change generations of thinking this way!" she insisted, refusing to lower her eyes to look at him. "I can't see how I'll ever be able to fit in the way Grandfather wants me to, or even if I'll be able to rule Caelin! Who will accept it?"

For once, Kent found his answer right away: "I will."

She finally glanced down and met his eyes. "That's your duty, Kent."

"No." He noticed her tense up as he reached for her, but did not back down until he had gently thumbed the tear tracks from her face—drawing back his hand the moment he was done, of course. "Lady Lyndis, you must know that even in Lycia, there are those who like you for exactly who you are. All of who you are."

"Or do they simply like the Lycian in me enough to tolerate the Sacaen?"

"Sacaen, Lycian…I do not think that it even matters, truly." Kent rested his arms on his knees as he thought of how to phrase himself properly. "You should not have to align yourself with anywhere, or anyone. All that matters is who you are—Lady Lyndis. The liege that so many of us have come to love."

"Kent…" she whispered, but the words that had failed him before were now burning in his chest, and would not be denied their chance at freedom.

"Milady, heritage does not determine leadership, or kindness, or diplomacy. Only you can determine that—and you have done an admirable job, thus far."

He might have kept going, plunging into a list of all her admirable qualities—since she had so many—but the sudden warmth of Lyn's hand on his shoulder made him stop short.

"Thank you, Kent," she said simply. He could only swallow hard and stare back into her dark eyes—her mother's eyes, but the colour of the plains. He hardly realized it when she took her fingers from his arm.

"It's kind of you to say, Kent, but…I'm starting to learn that nothing is that simple." Her eyes took on a somber cast again. "I still have to be a part of the court, and so much of that is based on appearances." She gestured to her lacy white dress, now covered in smudges of dirt and blades of grass from sitting amidst the oak tree's roots, and admitted, "I am what I am, but if part of what I am is 'barbaric charm', I won't be able to hide it easily."

"That is not a part of what you are," Kent said softly. He almost didn't dare to continue speaking, but knew deep down that what he had to say was important. She had to know it, too. "Lady Lyndis…you are beautiful—by any standard, through any eyes. And you must never let anyone tell you otherwise."

For a long moment, she simply stared at him and didn't say anything at all. Finally, she smiled slightly—though it was the first sincere smile he had seen from her all night. "Kent..."

"Come," he murmured, rising to his feet and extending a hand down to help her do the same. "I should think that you will be missed inside."

She did not pull away from his hold—in fact, she continued to hold his hand until they had walked all the way to the castle's garden entrance, until he was more than a bit uncomfortable and feared that he should remove his hand for propriety's sake.

"I'm going to try my best," she told him as they stood there before the doorway. Her eyes were sparkling again—not with tears, this time, but with her usual fierce determination. His heart warmed to see that. "I don't care what prejudices exist, and I don't care how much they anger me…I'm going to work to change all of that."

"I will be here," Kent told her quietly, "should you ever need help in your endeavors."

She simply smiled up at him, and he watched the moonlight trace the contours of her face, the depths of her eyes, the curve of her lips. He almost pressed his own lips to hers in that moment, nearly overcome by her strength and his own desire to help her…but he had more presence of mind than that, and lifted the hand he was still holding to kiss her fingers, instead.

She still had bits of grass threaded through her lacy hem, Kent noticed as she pulled open the door and warm orange torchlight washed over her, but he hadn't the heart to tell her so. Lyndis could never truly look right in only that unblemished, ivory dress…it wasn't who she was, and not simply because of her Sacaen ancestry. It just wasn't like Lyn to have a dress without a bit of mud on the hem—she never minded, and because of that, he couldn't see why anyone else should.

She shut the heavy wooden door behind her, and Kent walked away from it, into the night, to resume his patrol.

A/N: And once again, Kender had way too much fun with symbolism. Anyways…this was an idea that I luckily got just in time for a special day (hooray, Qieru!). Everybody go wish her well…and please drop a review if you see something that could be improved!