picture in my mind

*spoilers for Checkmate, Lymond Chronicles

I was walking (part of my work involves a lot of walking) and then I suddenly recalled something from Lymond -- and I realise I do this a lot. Beautiful pieces of literature that I have subconsciously consumed at some point earlier in life, are evoked later in my mind, after an experience, or on reflection. And that's the mark of good art, isn't it. That they are only deeply understood over time, and with maturity.

The famous Lymond-Philippa confrontation scene that I love has a line that always stuck with me, that as a 15-year-old, I perhaps could not fully appreciate. But then now, it suddenly took on a fuller dimension; oh, Lymond, I do hate and love him at the same time. It's frustrating, but I get him here; I really do. He's right, isn't he? It makes me realise that that whole period of time might have been quite worse for Lymond than Philippa although on the surface, he was such an ass to her. I mean, of course, wonderfully, it appears he was wrong about Philippa, but his fear is legitimate. I want to cry thinking about it.

"Do you know, Philippa, what an unsuitable match is? It isn't the kind I shall have with Catherine d'Albon, or even the kind you'll make with young Allendale. When one human being is trapped in the net of another's grand passion: then it comes about, and it is tragedy. It happened to Gavin and Sybilla. It is happening to Jerott and Marthe..."

"I had no expectations," Philippa said. The tears stood still on her face. "This is one lesson I know by heart already."

Of course, Philippa had to wrap her head around the fact that Lymond was talking about himself, not her; goodness, this unbelievably confusing and frustrating man. But however convoluted it all was, I'm so happy it ended well; these two will eternally be my favourite fictional couple.

And as I was hunting for the above quote, I brushed over certain other portions of the book, and I realise how much I love Philippa. I really think I do love Philippa more than Lymond. I don't know. I love her so much, seriously. She is a beautiful character; just so much pluck and love in all of her being.

Like this adorable bit, when Philippa hilariously quells Piero Strozzi's bluntness about attempting to ask Lymond about his 'son' by stomping on his foot -- it's her way of politely saying, shut up don't you dare ask that of Lymond, you insensitive block-headed person! I literally said out loud, "Ohmygod, I love you, Philippa." The things she does that speak of her love for other people, and the courage she has to do it, in service of that love and of honour and of dignity.

(Lymond has a soft moment where he decides to help one of the struggling serving boys during a royal banquet) This made me laugh but also gave me such fuzzy feelings of love for her:

"Oh Christ, he's going to spill jelly all over us" He switched to French. "I see, mon cher, you carry this as the King's pages do. I know a better way. Hold it thus, and thus. You see? And smile. The King likes smiling faces."

Piero Strozzi closed his mouth, which had fallen ajar. "Of course," he said. "You have a son, don't..."

He roared. "I beg your pardon. My foot slipped," said Philippa. "Have a date flan, and don't talk so much while the hautboys are playing. If you lose your voice, none of us will know what to do."

And this bit as well, makes me love Philippa even more (it's far too hard to explain the context; if you read Checkmate, you'd know this highly-charged scene, instigated by Marthe -- another character that evokes such conflicting feelings in me):

"Look at her," to her brother. "You drunken fool, why do you think she follows you? To be lectured, to take arms, to care for your bastards? She loves you. She's ripe for you. What have you to lose? Embrace her. Then take her home and see if I am right or not," Her voice thickened. "Remember me?" she said. "The marriage will stand."

Philippa dropped her hands and turning, walked to the fireplace. "Thank you," she said to the wall.

Face to face, Francis Crawford and his sister looked at one another.

"And thank you from me," said Lymond pleasantly. "You are an expert in love? In morality? In Christian conscience? How? From the stews of a fortune-teller's in Lyon? From your years as a Muslim, scouring the Levant for money? From your marriage to --"

"Stop it," said Philippa. She had turned.

"...from your marriage to Jerott?" Lymond said. "Go on. Be our guide. Look about. What other paramours can you find for me, sister?"

"Stop it!" said Philippa, at the top of her voice this time. She faced them, breathing quickly. "None of you knows what you're doing. Be quiet. If nothing will end it but someone's pride being broken, then as usual, it had better be mine. Mr Crawford, I am sorry to be lacking a beard, but if you will briefly be Jason, I shall do what I can with Medea. With the utmost distaste, let us embrace one another."

---

And in the spirit of giving tribute to my favourite fictional heroes, 

here's another:

Dean Winchester!

(I am about to start Season 13 soon....)