Kent had always heard that loving someone made everything easier.

So why then, he thought, did he find it so very difficult to agree to go to Sacae with Lyndis, whom he claimed to care about so very much?

Did he not care for her enough? No, no, that couldn't be it. He cared for her so much and longed for her so badly sometimes that it was almost a physical pain.

But still, he was afraid. He had never taken well to change—Sain likened him to the earth, saying that he was, "very sturdy but unlikely to budge", and perhaps Kent's own fear of change was what had him nervously backing against a wall.

It would be so different out there, he thought. Nothing would be the same.

He glanced out of the window he found himself standing beside and tried, again, to come to a firm decision on the matter. Lyndis had been very bold to ask him to accompany her, and though his heart leapt in excitement at the thought of continuing to be with her, it also ached terribly.

As diligently as Sain worked to try and describe how love worked, and as many ballads as were sung on the subject, Kent still found all of them lacking immensely in heart.

His fingers brushed against the scarf tied around his arm, over his armor.


...-...-...

The crescent moon hung overhead as heavily as the silence between them. The garden was still but for the occasional hoot of an owl or warble of a sleepy bird. Finally, she stopped and turned to him. "Have you—?" she began, but he cut her off with a shake of his head.

"I know that it should be an easy decision, but I regret to say that it is not."

"It's been a week," she said, and he could see, plainly in the light, the disappointment in her eyes.

"Sain would tell me to go," he tried, forcing a short bark of a laugh to exit his throat. "But Sain would go anywhere, follow anyone, for love."

"And you wouldn't?" she asked, smiling, but he could see the smile wasn't one a truly happy woman would wear, and he felt terrible that he was the one to cause it.

"Forgive me, but I do not believe things are so simple."

She fingered the scarf around his arm, the one she had first tied there herself months ago. "Do you want me to take it back?" she asked of him seriously, the tips of her fingers digging into the knot.

"N-No," he answered, his voice wavering slightly in fear or uncertainty or perhaps just anxiousness. "You offered it in good faith and affection and I accepted it for the same reasons. I just…" He paused, his hand covering hers and squeezing it. "Was it this hard? To leave everything you knew to come here?"

"You forget," she said, tilting her head, "that I was leaving, anyway. That I had already lost…everything."

"Forgive me," he said, holding her hand more securely. "Still, it must have been difficult for you. Everything changed so suddenly."

"I left behind memories, not the reality," she whispered, tugging on their joined hands to encourage him to continue their walk.

He thought of his mother and half-sister, and wondered what they would do if he decided to leave. Who would provide for them, he worried, if not him? If he gave them all he had, would it be enough to keep the roof from leaking? To keep food on the table? To allow them to fetch a doctor if they needed one?

"Kent," said she, breaking him out of his thoughts. "I would not have asked you to come if I did not truly mean it, but I wonder if it was too selfish of me to expect you to make a decision such as this, to force you to choose, but I want you to know that no matter what you decide, I will accept it."

He did not think her selfish at all, and so he shook his head, but he wondered to himself if he was being the selfish one—it seemed no matter which decision he made, he would be hurting someone, and deep down the very last person he wanted to hurt was himself.

And letting her go without him, wondering until the day he died what had become of her—not being a part of her life—would hurt him more than enduring any other type of change life could throw at him.

So, when they had walked a bit further, and his mind had thought a bit more on the subject, he stopped and looked to her out of the corner of his eyes. "Lyn," he said, feeling as if a weight was being lifted from his shoulders, "I accept."

"Are you certain?" she asked after a moment of silence, and he could tell by the look on her face that it was a question she didn't want answered if he was going to say no.

"I… I'll need some time," he said truthfully, "to set things in order. To make sure that everything—everyone—is taken care of."

"I will help as best I can." Her hands found both of his, clasping them tightly. "But are you certain? Are you very certain?"

"I want to go," he assured her. "And I will. I will go. But everything will change, and I—"

"I'll teach you," she said, as if all his anxieties were laid bare before her to see and examine and understand. "I'll teach you everything you need to know, starting with the most important thing."

"What?" he asked almost breathlessly, his throat closing up.

"You and I aren't going to change at all."

His voice cracked as he whispered a fierce, "Thank you," and held her against him.


...-...-...

Notes:

Originally I posted this on another account, but I decided I preferred it to be here. As you can see, another change has taken place—my pen name is back to its original.

This story came about because it's always something I've wanted to cover in a Kent/Lyn story, but never had the chance to try. I say this because I had saved all of my ideas for a long piece, but most of you know I lean toward writing short stories, so all of my fun ideas were being saved instead of written.

Anyone who thinks Kent would have an easy time deciding to go to Sacae with Lyndis should stop and think again. People are willing to do a lot for love, but that doesn't mean there's no hesitation in making the decision. In fact, someone who doesn't think about it beforehand is probably being careless.