Fan Fiction ❯ Burning Bridges ❯ The Walls That Once Were High ( Chapter 12 )

Hardin woke early the next morning, feeling almost fully refreshed, thanks to a good night's sleep in a soft, warm bed - dreamless, for once, which was a vast relief. Sydney was gone already, though it was barely dawn, and Hardin frowned thoughtfully. He'd had no sleep at all the day before, and Hardin knew perfectly well that he wasn't doing anything urgent. Indeed, another viewing showed him that Sydney had gone back to the desk in the library, and was reading by candlelight.

With his head clearer, though, Hardin began to take notice of a few of the smaller details he'd not noticed the day before. Sydney looked exhausted; the previous night's dark circles under his eyes had not gone away, and he was staring down at the book with a look of frustration on his face, as if it angered him. And by Hardin's estimation, Sydney could not have been past the fiftieth page, though he'd been reading almost since their arrival the previous morning, and he knew for a fact that Sydney was a quick reader. Sydney's concentration was not on the book at all, regardless of how intently he stared at it; this observation was confirmed as Hardin continued to watch him, for Sydney's eyes did not appear to be moving across the page at all, and as long as Hardin watched, he did not turn to the next.

Something was definitely on Sydney's mind, and despite the cold reception he'd received the day before, Hardin decided to try again to talk to him. The mage wasn't eating, he wasn't sleeping, and the things they'd been through in the last ten days were enough to drive any man to the brink of emotional and physical collapse. Immortal or not, Hardin wasn't sure how long Sydney could go on like this.

By the time Hardin arrived in the library, Sydney had given up any pretense of reading and simply rested his chin in one hand, staring blankly off into space. He didn't even seem to notice Hardin's approach until the larger man spoke. "Sydney, what's wrong?" he asked bluntly. "And don't tell me nothing is wrong."

Sydney didn't say anything of the sort, as he lowered his head with a sigh. "Hardin," he said softly, "please... just leave me alone."

Whatever Hardin had been expecting, it was not that, and the mild request puzzled him. Even so, he nodded; whatever might draw Sydney out of this dark mood. "All right... if that is what you want. But Sydney... if you ever do decide you'd like to talk..."

"I will not," Sydney murmured wearily, "but thank you." Though this time it was not rude, the words were still a dismissal, and so Hardin obeyed.

The breakfast served not much later was delicious enough, but it did nothing to raise Hardin's spirits, concerned as he was. Without Sydney's guidance, he did not know where he was or was not allowed to go within the walls of the duke's manor, or what there might be to do, and therefore he chose to remain in their suite alone as the day advanced. Ironic, he thought, that he'd gone from withering away slowly within a crude prison cell to being trapped, for all intents and purposes, within the most luxurious surroundings he'd ever found himself in. Having no way to distract himself from the worries that preoccupied him, and the rain preventing him from remaining out on the balcony where he might feel less claustrophobic, Hardin simply lay on his back on his bed, allowing the Sight to take him where it would; if only this talent had been available to him while he'd been in prison.

More often than not, the Sight led him to Sydney, and Hardin was silently and invisibly at his side as the mage closed the book that lay before him, irritably giving up on the pretense of reading. Instead, he took to prowling the halls aimlessly, pausing to regard a painting hung in a hallway or the view from a window for a few moments here and there. Never did any emotion touch his face, no matter how beautiful Hardin found the things that lay before him, and he moved on restlessly, though he didn't seem to have any particular destination in mind.

After one such pause, Sydney set out with more purpose, and Hardin recognized the hall he walked as the one leading to their rooms. He broke off the viewing instinctively, somewhat guilty about his spying, and soon the door opened.

"The duke and duchess are drawing near; we should be ready to greet them upon their arrival."

Hardin rolled to a sitting position as Sydney entered and began going through the pile of clothing Hardin had found draped across a chair when he'd awakened that morning. Holding up a shirt of green silk, he paused to consider it for a moment before shaking his head and tossing it onto the bed. "It is more fortunate than I'd have thought that I did not allow you to buy peasant garb those months ago - when one is in the company of such nobility, one must look suitable, and I'm not sure that any of the Bardorbas' servants would have anything in the proper size."

That must have been where Sydney had gotten the clothing he was now rummaging through, for Hardin had never seen him wear anything of the sort before, nor had he seen him even pack such costly attire. Following Sydney's lead, he opened the chest where he'd placed the clothing he'd brought, and looked through it for the best shirt he had. He had nothing so fine as the silks Sydney was going through, but a carefully woven linen would do well enough, he decided. "How is this?"

Sydney glanced over and nodded. "Do wear that jacket we bought you, as well - it suits you." He paused again, regarding a black shirt with interest before reluctantly tossing it onto the bed with the green. The cream-colored silk beneath it seemed to catch his attention, though, and finally he nodded, satisfied.

The metal blades of his hands seemed precariously close to catching in the expensive fabric as the mage shrugged off the white robe he'd taken to wearing around the manor and placed one arm through a sleeve of the fresh garment. "Here - let me help," Hardin suggested, taking hold of the other sleeve; Sydney rarely wore shirts, most likely because the nature of his arms and hands made it difficult. He was mildly surprised when Sydney did not object, particularly after his outburst the previous night, but simply allowed him to guide his left hand safely through.

When Hardin's hands went to the cord on the front, however, Sydney shrugged them away. "I can manage, thank you," he remarked, deftly lacing the cord along the front of the shirt on his own. "I've had these limbs for some time now, and I am used to them. You should tend to your own preparations."

Hardin nodded, and went about changing his own shirt as Sydney finished lacing his. The loose cut looked good on the mage, hiding the strange planes and curves of his artificial limbs in gracefully draped fabric, causing him to look quite normal, and surprisingly aristocratic.

Opening the door to the balcony, Sydney stepped outside, the rain having stopped for the time being in the early afternoon, though the skies remained grey and hazy. The mage stepped to the railing and glanced out over the land beyond the walls, nodding to himself. "The carriage is already within sight. It will not be long now."

Hardin stepped outside to look as well once he had changed, and immediately spotted the carriage in the distance, for it stood out sharply against the pale stone road. "So then, what is to happen when the duke and duchess arrive?" he inquired.

"Someone will tell them of our presence, I suppose," Sydney replied, absently straightening his shirtsleeves. "Then the duke, and perhaps his wife with him, will hold a short audience to greet us and ask us what our business is, and invite us to dine with them tonight. I'm sure you're familiar with such formalities."

"Aye, though I've never met with someone of high rank under such circumstances as these."

"There is not much difference between this and any other social visit," Sydney assured him, "for the duke and I know each other quite well. No need to worry - I will handle the details." The mage still wore a vague look of anxiety that made it difficult for Hardin to trust his words so easily, but at least he was no longer snapping at him, and that seemed to indicate that he was more comfortable with the situation than he had been.

Looking out to the road once again, Sydney watched the carriage's approach with a slight frown. Hardin would have asked what was the matter, had he not known by this time that he would get no answer.

Just as Sydney had predicted, not long after the carriage had entered the gates, a knock came upon the door - a young man informing them that the duke wished to see them in his sitting room shortly. It mildly surprised Hardin that things should happen so quickly, as the duke undoubtedly was weary from his travels. He must have considered Sydney very important, to meet with him immediately. Sydney was not surprised in the least, but simply nodded in acknowledgement and assured the servant that he knew the way.

The mage remained silent as he strode through the hallways, Hardin following just behind, until they entered the duke's sitting room. The furnishings were not unlike those of the suite in which they stayed, all luxurious velvet and gilt and leather. Duke Bardorba himself looked no less splendid, seated upon one of the large leather couches; he looked a great deal older than Hardin remembered from his youth, and wore more simple, practical garments than the ornate robes he wore for formal audiences, but the duke had an stern air of dignity that Hardin imagined would make the man imposing regardless of his appearance. Standing behind the couch was a slightly younger woman clothed in pale silks, her dark blonde hair pulled back into a long braid that was just beginning to be touched by threads of silver. Even had Hardin not recognized her after a moment's thought - she'd made few appearances while the duke had discussed matters of state - the haughty look, marring her handsome face with faint lines, marked her as the duchess, Lady Ellemir.

Upon entering, Sydney offered the duke and duchess a low and gracious bow, and Hardin followed his lead. "'Tis an honor to be once again in your presence, my lord, my lady."

"Well met, Sydney," the duke greeted him, inclining his head slightly in a gesture of respect. His wife made no such move, but peered at Sydney with a mild look of disapproval. Already Hardin knew he did not like her. "It has been quite some time since you've come calling - and I'm afraid I do not know your companion."

"Yes, my work has kept me busy," Sydney replied with impeccable politeness. "And as for my companion, this is John Hardin."

The duke's eyes fell with a curious sharpness on Hardin's face, but he simply nodded. "A pleasure, John Hardin," was his only response.

Hardin glanced over at Sydney, surprised; he hadn't expected Sydney to give his real name to the duke. Though his face could have gone unrecognized, his name - especially his family name - would not, and Hardin was sure Sydney knew it. "I am honored, my lord," he murmured politely. At least the duchess didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary.

"So, Sydney," the duke continued, turning back to the mage. "What business brings you here after so long?"

Sydney bowed his head with a humility that seemed very uncharacteristic of him, though the Duke likely would not know any better, Hardin guessed. "The brethren and I have been through many trials in the years since we last met, my lord," he began. "Even so, we have been able to manage well enough until this past week, when a rather severe tragedy occurred. I was hoping that you might hear the tale, and be moved to assist us in some way, however small."

The duchess sniffed haughtily, drawing a stern look from her husband and a startled one from Sydney. She did not appear to notice, but kept her gaze on Sydney, who composed himself again swiftly.

"I regret to hear it," the Duke replied. "I am curious to hear what has happened, but we have been travelling this day, and these old bones of mine are crying out for a warm bath and some quiet - shall we speak of the matter after dinner tonight, in private? I trust the two of you shall be joining us for the evening's meal."

"You honor me with your hospitality in these times." Sydney gave a slight, graceful bow. "Of course we would be delighted - and of course after dinner would be suitable." He hesitated for a moment. "If I may ask, my lord... have you been enjoying good health since we last spoke?"

"Indeed, indeed," the duke affirmed, nodding. "A few aches and pains here and there, but nothing unusual for a man of my age - I am not as young as I once was."

Sydney nodded, and his eyes went to the duchess, who still looked down her nose at the two of them as though they were insects. "And you, Lady Ellemir?"

She seemed to be caught off guard by the question, but collected her thoughts quickly enough to give a short, stiff answer. "I've been well enough, thank you."

Sydney's eyes were cold and brittle as glass. "I'm pleased to hear it," he said formally. "Now, I suppose we shall leave my lord and lady to attend to their business?"

"Yes, thank you," the duke replied. "So then, Sydney - we shall see you at dinner?"

Sydney nodded. "You shall, my lord."

Once they'd left the chamber, out of sight of the duke and duchess, the harsh grating sound of metal against metal sounded as Sydney's hands clenched into tight fists. Hardin paused in mid-stride, quite curious by this time as to what had the mage so on edge. "Sydney...?"

A shake of his blonde head was the only reply he made, and he did not so much as look back at Hardin. With a shrug, Hardin set off after the mage once more as he stalked through the halls back to their suite.

Once they'd arrived and Hardin had closed the door behind them, Sydney irritably seated himself in one of the rich leather chairs that furnished the room, sinking his head into his hands. Hardin stood by, uncertain of what he should do or say, and finally Sydney looked up, resting his cheek wearily in one metal palm as he answered Hardin's unspoken question. "Lady Ellemir is with child."

"What?" Hardin was stunned. Duke Bardorba had to have been in his late fifties, if not early sixties by this time, and though his wife was perhaps fifteen years younger, it was still unusual that she should have a child at her age. Besides, the duke's sad tale was known throughout the land; he had had an heir, once - the son of his first marriage. The birth had been a difficult one, leaving both mother and child weak, and the duchess had died when the child was still quite young, having never fully recovered. As well, the boy was sickly, and rarely seen in public before he finally succumbed to some illness in his teenage years. Though the duke had married again to Lady Ellemir long before, everyone had come to assume that she was barren, for they never produced another heir.

It had seemed as though the duke would be the last of the distinguished Bardorba lineage, and upon his death, the properties and titles held by his family for centuries would be relinquished to the royal family. "How fortunate for him, that he should sire a child in his old age," Hardin remarked. "After living nearly his entire life with no heir..."

"I don't believe he knows yet, nor even the duchess herself. You forget, Hardin, that I possess senses much sharper than those of ordinary men and women..." He sighed, and Hardin wanted to cringe at the sight of blade-like fingers fretfully tapping upon the arm of the chair in which the mage sat, threatening to puncture the expensive leather. Sydney certainly didn't appear to be pleased with the news. "The child will be a boy, and I do not envy him." Standing again, Sydney began to pace back and forth across the chamber, punctuating his words with irritable gestures. "Always coddled, always smothered - always stifled! They'll cling so tightly to the boy that he'll never understand the world outside these walls, and his head will be filled with that woman's religious nonsense without even knowing that it is but one faith among many! And the gods forbid he should ever be bright enough to dare question what he is told..."

Hardin followed as Sydney flung the door to the balcony open angrily and went to lean upon the railing, gazing down over the courtyards below with bitterness. "To a woman such as the duchess, a son is no more than a puppet - a precious, cherub-faced puppet, but a puppet nonetheless," he said softly. "If he does not dance as she wishes him to, she will not only cut his strings, but strangle him with them."

Somewhat unnerved by Sydney's sudden fervor, Hardin hesitated before joining the mage at the railing. "Is this a prophecy?"

"Gods, I hope not." Having vented his anger, the bitterness began to leave Sydney's face, leaving him looking as distant as ever, if exhausted. "I hope not."

Looking upon the outwardly calm demeanor Sydney had regained, Hardin could not help but feel amazed, as though he had witnessed something precious. He cares so much, he thought to himself, even about this one child who has yet to be born... and no one seems to see how much he cares but I. He's so cold, so very cold, but so beautiful within...

Suddenly Hardin felt a strong need to touch him, not only to comfort the mage, but to confirm for himself that such a creature as he really existed, that he was truly there. Rather than waste time agonizing over it, this time Hardin reached out with little hesitation, resting a hand upon the silk shirt. Beneath, he could feel the hardness of Sydney's metal shoulder, and in search of something more accessible, his fingers drifted further left, towards the center of the mage's back. Stiff metal gave way to the softness of flesh beneath the thin fabric, and Hardin felt Sydney tense at the touch of his fingers. He waited for a reaction, whether it be a rebuke or an affirmation, but Sydney's expression did not change. However, neither did he protest, and so Hardin continued the motion, sweeping away the strands of pale hair, until the tips of his fingers rested at the base of Sydney's neck.

Sydney's muscles were still taut below his touch, and instinctively Hardin caressed him gently, his thumb moving in small circles upon the mage's upper back, just where he knew the tip of the inverted rood must lie. Sydney remained silent and unmoving, though Hardin heard the sound of his breath grow deeper, quicker. He was pretending not to notice or care, Hardin thought, but he knew what to look for by now.

"Gods, but you're tense," he murmured absently in surprise. It seemed strange to him that a soul so fey and untouchable should be rooted within a tangible body, much less one so stiff with tension, and as he stepped behind Sydney, his other hand lifted to mirror the subtle motions of his right hand as it rested upon Sydney's shoulder. Unconsciously, Sydney lowered his head, leaning back into the gentle massage. His fine hair brushed Hardin's hands, tickling faintly, and Hardin could not resist sliding his hands up further beneath that hair, past the collar of his shirt to bare skin, continuing the circular motions at the nape of Sydney's neck.

Sydney drew in a deep breath, his back arching ever so slightly as he leaned further into the massage, and in response, Hardin pressed harder, kneading the muscles of Sydney's neck and shoulders. How tight they were, he thought in sympathy. And no wonder, after his long hours bent over a book in the library, and nights sleeping upon uneven ground before that.

"Hardin."

The mage's voice was cold as ever, though slightly breathless, and Hardin paused. "Yes?"

"Stop."

It had been a bit presumptuous, he supposed, to touch him at all, let alone in such an intimate way, and he obediently removed his hands. "I'm sorry... I just..." He faltered, unsure of what he could say that could not be taken the wrong way.

"It's all right."

Those three words, spoken mildly, meant more to Hardin than he'd have thought possible, and he smiled faintly as he stepped forward again to lean upon the railing beside Sydney. Without the rain falling, he could see a long way, he discovered. There was not much to see aside from forest and grey sky, but that was all right too.

A glance at Sydney revealed the mage's weary eyes to be downcast, regarding the courtyards below rather than the land beyond the walls of the manor. Hardin lowered his eyes as well, watching the servants bustle about in what he assumed to be their usual daily routines - carrying water and firewood, leading horses, keeping watch at the gates. He'd once lived in this world, he thought, but it seemed a lifetime ago. Aside from missing his brother terribly, he found that he did not regret its loss; a life lived within walls left little opportunity to accomplish much of anything, and the past months with Mullenkamp had let him feel real freedom for the first time - freedom not only to do as he wished, but to be what he was... whatever precisely that may have been.

Sydney seemed to be preoccupied, and unwilling to either disturb him or leave him alone with his worries, Hardin said nothing, choosing to remain by his side in silence until the servants came to inform them that it was time for dinner.

The atmosphere in the dining hall was much more formal than it had been on the previous night, now that the duke and duchess had returned from their holiday. No servants were seen, except for those who brought the trays of food and then vanished, returning only to clear away the emptied trays and refill wineglasses as needed, and so Sydney and Hardin were left alone with their two hosts.

The duke greeted them upon their arrival, inviting them to sit and partake, and though Sydney accepted that invitation, seating himself across from the duke and duchess in the center of the long table, his face showed none of the gratitude or the grace he'd shown at their previous meeting. Under the disapproving eyes of the duchess, Hardin also found it difficult to feel at ease, but he'd expected more from Sydney. The mage remained quiet and distant as he filled his plate with the food the duke's servants had prepared, and again Hardin chose to follow his lead. Not that it took much effort - the cooks had apparently gone all out to provide quite a feast despite the fact that there were only four people present, and everything looked and smelled wonderful.

Even so, Sydney did not eat much of his meal, Hardin noticed, but before long lapsed into simply moving the food around on his plate, and occasionally fiddling with a crust of bread. When he did take a bite, it was though he was not tasting the food at all, but chewing and swallowing mechanically. Neither did he say much, though it seemed odd for him to be so quiet in a social setting, even when faced with someone who so obviously did not care for him or his teachings. Or perhaps especially - usually he enjoyed provoking such people.

For her part, the duchess pointedly ignored the mage, not adding a word into the duke's occasional attempts to make small talk with Sydney and Hardin. She ate in stern-faced silence, not speaking even to her husband until Sydney had lapsed back into silence, ending the thin threads of conversation between them, and then often turned the subject to something more to her liking - the behavior of nobles at the latest balls, or the doings of the church. Upon these subjects she was rather talkative, smiling and laughing with her husband as they discussed such matters, leaving Sydney and Hardin completely secluded from the conversation. Hardin would not have minded, having little to say to the two nobles, if it did not seem to bother Sydney so; the mage grew almost visibly more tense each time the duchess broke their uneasy silence.

In the middle of one such exchange, while the duchess laughed in reminiscing the antics of a certain drunken count, Sydney abruptly stood. "Excuse me," he murmured under his breath as he quickly left the dining room. The duchess paused at the interruption, gave a haughty sniff at the mage's lack of manners, and returned to what she was saying. The duke's eyebrows furrowed a bit, but he said nothing.

Since neither of them was speaking to Hardin at the moment, he followed Sydney with the Sight, curious as to where the mage was going. He found Sydney pacing restlessly in a grassy courtyard, his breath quick and ragged. The struggle for control was visible on his face and in the way his fingers clenched and unclenched nervously, and finally he gave up. Bracing himself against a wall with one metal arm, he bent over and was quietly sick in the corner.

Hardin was somewhat alarmed; any other man might have caught a chill from the cold and fatigue, and picked up some malaise... but this was Sydney. Sydney, who could scarcely be paused by a sword through the gut! It seemed rather odd that he should be ill, and Hardin considered leaving the table to go to him. But it would be rather rude to also leave the table in the middle of a meal as Sydney had done, and no doubt the duchess would think even less of them than she already did. Instead, he simply watched with the Sight as Sydney sat down on the grass wearily, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes as his lips moved in silent prayer.

As preoccupied as he was, the duke's voice almost startled Hardin out of the scrying, despite the control he'd learned. "So, John Hardin... if you don't object to my asking, how is it that you fell in with Mullenkamp?"

Not surprising that he was curious, Hardin supposed, considering that the duke almost certainly knew of the scandal he'd been involved in. But although Sydney had trusted the duke enough to introduce him by his real name, Hardin did not particularly want to go into the details of his recent life; if he knew of the scandal already, there was no need to recount it for him, and if he did not, he did not want to have to explain. "Not at all, my lord, though there is not much to the telling," he said, dropping the scrying so that he could better concentrate. Sydney could take care of himself, after all, and he knew it, even as concerned as he was. "I'd made some poor choices in the past years... I was penniless and a wanderer, little more than a common rogue, when I chanced to encounter the brethren. Sydney took me in, offering me much needed food and shelter. I remained with Mullenkamp both to repay his kindness in labor, and because I had noplace else to go."

"So you are not one of Sydney's cultists, then?" the duchess asked, peering at him with sudden interest over the rim of her wine glass.

"Not formally, no," Hardin affirmed. "I've made no vows or pledges to him or his religion."

The duchess nodded in approval, a slightly smug smile upon her lips. "A wise choice, I believe."

It was a bit of an effort for Hardin not to grimace in sudden anger - he did not like the woman at all. "Not a wise choice, my lady, for I have made no choice at all as of yet - I am still making up my mind."

She made no effort to hide her displeased frown, but the duke cut in before she could say anything. "Sydney must think a great deal of you, then, that he should bring you alone as his escort to this place, despite you not being one of his sworn men."

"I would like to think so, my lord," Hardin replied, grateful for the intervention. "In truth, I owe him much. Though I have taken no vows, I would not hesitate to give my life defending his, and I would hope that he knows that." Obviously he did, of course, but Hardin was not likely to make any mention of Sydney's abilities in the presence of such a pious and haughty person as the duchess.

"I see," said the duke with an approving nod, which was much at odds with the expression on his wife's face. "Sydney is fortunate to have such a faithful friend at his side."

The duchess murmured something, and this time even the duke frowned. It was difficult for Hardin to keep his face neutral, as he'd caught a bit of what she'd said - something that hinted at exactly when and where he might be "at Sydney's side". How dare that woman make such intimations, even if there was some truth to it? It was none of her business, and nothing to be taunted over, besides. For the sake of propriety, he pretended he hadn't heard, but inside he was seething.

"You hail from the north, do you not?" the duke asked, tactfully cutting off any more commentary on the matter. "From Bervenia, if I remember your family's holdings correctly. I've been there many a time - a lovely land much different from the Graylands."

"Indeed, quite different," Hardin agreed, once again grateful for the change of topic. "Though my work has taken me through the Graylands many times, so it does not seem foreign to me."

As Hardin and the duke exchanged casual conversation about their homelands, Sydney returned, sitting down beside Hardin without saying a word. The duke was speaking at the moment, and so Hardin took a moment to glance over at Sydney curiously. The mage did not meet his eyes, and merely picked up his wineglass to sip at his drink, still looking a bit shaky. Before you ask, his voice said softly within Hardin's mind, yes - I am fine. Go on about your conversation.

Hardin did as Sydney asked, responding to the duke's question about Bervenian winters, and neither the duke nor the duchess commented upon Sydney's return. "They are not so bad as most would say - though since I spent my childhood there, I am perhaps not the best judge of such things."

"Ah, then perhaps you find summers here in the lowlands overly warm for your taste? Or have you yet to spend a summer here?"

"Aye, my work brought me here three years ago in the midst of the warm season. It is not so bad, though; our summers in Bervenia are not so much cooler, though we have the advantage of the air being quite dry."

"Indeed, indeed - I do recall that from the last journey I made."

Hardin found it terribly ironic that despite Sydney's acquaintance with the duke, and his usual grace in social situations, he himself was doing most of the conversing over dinner. Still, Sydney did not seem to be well, and if it made things easier on the mage to carry the bulk of the conversation, then Hardin would do so willingly. Besides, the duke was not an unpleasant person to speak with, he'd discovered, though his high rank still made the man somewhat intimidating.

The duchess, on the other hand, had remained silent, almost sulky, ever since the duke's wordless rebuke. She seemed to be concerning herself with the tapestries that hung upon the walls, avoiding even the slightest eye contact with the two cultists across the table. As cold and stern as the duke was, somehow he seemed to be a gracious man, and Hardin wondered how he'd come to be married to such a shrew. Between her unfriendliness and Sydney's obvious discomfort, even the mild conversation was a strain to continue, so tight was the tension in the room, but Hardin tried his best to follow Duke Bardorba's lead. Far worse would it be if the room were to once again lapse into uncomfortable silence.

Soon the conversation had turned to local politics and then militias, a topic Hardin was somewhat reluctant to discuss in depth, due to his crimes, but the duke skillfully avoided the specifics. "I've heard that your superiors thought it a great loss when you left the PeaceGuard," he commented. "They say you had a natural aptitude for swordplay."

"I'm flattered, my lord," Hardin responded, a bit surprised by the compliment - particularly coming from those who had lied to him and left him to rot in prison. "But I would not say that I had any great aptitude, to be honest. I was simply diligent with my training."

"That is perhaps more admirable," the duke commented with a nod. "I would say that it is a greater feat to become talented at some skill through determination, as opposed to simply being born with that talent."

"Have you remained well-practiced in your swordsmanship?" the duchess asked, rejoining their conversation suddenly.

"I spent quite some time away from the sword in the past few years," Hardin admitted, trying not to show his surprise at her question. "After having picked it up again recently, though, it seems as though my sword-arm has forgotten little of what it once knew."

"It seems you have many options, then," the duchess suggested. "Travellers and merchants are always picking up guards to protect them on their journeys, as many bandits and rogues roam free. You might put your skill to good use once again."

Ah, so that was why she was butting in now, Hardin realized - to give the poor, wayward soul who had taken up with a cult of heretics a more righteous way out. It may have been meant as simply a kind gesture, he supposed, but her arrogant piety grated on his nerves. "The suggestion is appreciated, my lady, but for the time being I am content to remain as I am. Travellers and merchants are not the only ones who need protection in these troubled times." Some of the others needed protection from her flock, he thought with irritation.

"Hmm. I see."

Her words were cut off by a sudden motion, and Hardin glanced up to see Sydney rise, abruptly leaving the table for the second time - this time without so much as a murmured apology or a nod. He did not look ill as he had before, when Hardin caught a glimpse of his face; instead, his face was carefully devoid of any expression as he strode quickly from the room.

Hardin watched Sydney go, then glanced back to the duke and duchess, who looked only mildly surprised at the sudden departure. Remembering Sydney's state the last time he'd left the table, Hardin looked over his shoulder once again to where Sydney had vanished. He really should go to him, he thought, to see if there was anything that he could do. "...Excuse us for a moment," he muttered, as he stood to follow Sydney, mentally cursing himself for being such a mother hen.

Keeping a quick pace, he caught up to the mage easily as he stalked through the halls, anger apparent in his posture. "Sydney, are you all right?" Hardin asked, worried, as he fell into Sydney's stride.

Sydney shook his head, dismissing Hardin's concern. "I am fine, Hardin. I just..." Moments passed, and he threw his hands up in frustration, apparently unable to find the words he sought.

Hardin's worry didn't lessen a bit. "What is this? I know you were ill earlier, but this is the second time tonight you've simply walked out on the duke and duchess. Rather impolite..."

"Yes, tell them that," Sydney muttered. "Tell them that I am ill, and I will speak with Duke Bardorba tomorrow, if it suits him."

"Sydney..." Hardin reached out to place a comforting hand on Sydney's back, but the mage pushed it away roughly. "...All right, then," he agreed. "Whatever you wish." Sydney said not a word as Hardin stopped to go back to the hall where the duke and duchess were waiting for them.

The two nobles looked up questioningly as he entered, and he hesitated, feeling the full force of their rank. "Sydney is not feeling well," he said finally, nodding his head in apology. "Would it be acceptable to speak to him tomorrow instead?"

The duke nodded. "Perfectly acceptable, if he is up to it. My best to him, for a quick recovery."

To Hardin's annoyance, the duchess almost smirked. "I'm sure he'd have a quick recovery indeed, if he would repent of his dark ways. This malady of his is likely punishment from God."

"Ellemir, you know as well as I do that such a notion is absurd," the duke rebuked her, and she frowned, almost pouting. Hardin left quickly, thinking it would be best to leave them to their argument in private. A truly odd couple, those two were.

Entering their rooms, Hardin found Sydney already undressed and in bed, lying on his side under the covers, though he was not asleep. Instead, he seemed to simply be staring into space, as if deep in thought - and from the expression on his face, the thoughts were not pleasant ones. "Sydney, what is it?" Hardin asked. "You've not been yourself since our arrival."

Sydney didn't even look at him, much less respond, and Hardin sighed. "Sydney..." he began, kneeling down beside his bed to come eye to eye with the mage. "Are you ill? If there is anything I can do..."

His voice trailed off into silence as he realized Sydney was still simply staring into space, and didn't seem to be listening to him. "Sydney? Sydney..."

Sydney still didn't look up, even when Hardin touched his forehead lightly, checking for fever. Thus he was only slightly relieved that Sydney did not feel feverish - on the contrary, his skin felt eerily cold. "What is this, Sydney?" Hardin asked, more forcefully. "It is no illness, is it?" He still received no response, and looked Sydney over again.

There was something strange and yet familiar about the dull, stormy look in his eyes, and Hardin looked closer for a few moments before recognizing it. He'd seen the same look upon the faces of some of his fellow prisoners: a depression so severe that the mind simply shut down beneath its weight. It was not something he'd ever wanted to see in anyone's eyes again, much less someone close to him.

It would likely pass, given time - he had seen it happen often enough - but seeing Sydney so lost, perhaps more than half dead to the world, terrified him. Not knowing how else to get through to Sydney, Hardin steeled himself for the mental contact he hated so, and poured all his anxiety into a sharp, desperate silent cry. Sydney! Talk to me!

Sydney blinked, and his dark eyes flickered over to look into Hardin's, only inches from his face. Hardin had left his mind wide open for the rapport Sydney could form between them, and instead of the words he'd expected, suddenly he was flooded with overwhelming emotions - shame, loneliness, anger, and to his surprise, even fear.

"Gods... Sydney..." The mage gave a slight sigh and closed his eyes as Hardin reached out to touch his face gently. If Sydney had been ill, there might have been something he could do for him, but what could be done for a pain that existed only in the heart?

There was only one thing Hardin could think of to do - the only thing that had ever truly made him feel useful to someone. Rising to sit on the bed, he slipped an arm under Sydney's shoulder, lifting him so that he could hold him close until his anguish passed. Sydney's body was limp in his arms, and though the mage did not overtly respond at all, through the mental rapport they shared, Hardin sensed a great rush of gratitude mingling with Sydney's pain.

They remained that way for quite some time, the mage's head leaning against his shoulder as the small patch of sky seen through the window darkened into the blackness of night. At last Sydney stirred in his arms, trying to settle his mechanical limbs in a more comfortable position. The blades of his fingers had been pricking Hardin through his shirt, but he hadn't minded, really. He loosened his embrace so that Sydney could move more freely, and found Sydney looking up at him. His mouth opened to speak, but it was a moment before he managed to get the words out.

"I hate this place, Hardin," he whispered breathlessly, barely audible. "I hate it."

"Why? What happened here?"

"...It's complicated." Sydney smiled a faint smile. "The duke and I... we have a long history. The duchess as well."

Through the rapport, Hardin felt a sharp pang of bitterness that made him flinch. "Say the word and we will leave," he told Sydney firmly. "Even if I must carry you in my arms."

Sydney shook his head slightly. "My flock is in danger, and I will not leave them to be preyed upon. The duke almost certainly will assist us, if I explain the matter to him."

"In this condition, Sydney?"

"It passes," Sydney's faint whisper came again. "It always does. I thank you for the kindness, Hardin, but it is late. Go to your bed - I will be better in the morning, I'm sure."

Hardin hesitated; through their rapport, he could feel the sense of relief that flowed over Sydney with his touch, and the faint spark of fear at the thought of being alone again, despite his words. He reached his decision quickly enough, and continued to cradle Sydney in one arm as he reached down with the other to remove the boots he wore.

Perfectly aware of what Hardin was doing, Sydney shook his head slightly, snapping the threads of their rapport just a moment too late. "Hardin..."

"It's all right," Hardin assured him, easing him back down upon the pillow while he removed his jacket. "I'm not afraid anymore... not of you nor I. ...Nor you and I." It was the truth - ever since that near-encounter beneath the tree, the day of Padric's death, Hardin had accepted that possibility. Padric's last words to him had urged him to trust in his heart, and now he found that his heart was for Sydney, as a follower, a friend, or whatever else Sydney needed him to be. As he'd said to the Duke at dinner, the vows he had not taken meant nothing when compared to something more basic - the honest desire to serve and protect out of friendship and respect. "Besides, I mean only to hold you - no more. Do you deny that it would make your night pass easier?"

"No, but..." Sydney sighed faintly. "It is too dangerous here. You know that the duchess frowns on... such things. I must speak to the duke, but if she were to look in on us, or one of her loyal servants - even as we were moments ago - she would doubtless throw us out of-"

It was ridiculously unlike the Sydney that he knew, to be so meek in the face of one of Iocus' followers, that Hardin surprised even himself by bending over and defiantly kissing the mage full on the mouth to shut him up. "To hell with the damn duchess."

Expecting more arguments, Hardin was surprised when Sydney's shoulders began to shake in silent laughter. Hardin was left utterly baffled. "What...?"

"If you only knew," Sydney said between bursts of laughter, "how many times I have wanted to express that exact sentiment. And to think, I thought you were too dull and well-mannered to express it in such a precisely fitting way..."

Hardin wasn't sure whether to be flattered or offended. At least Sydney seemed to be feeling a bit better now, he thought with an exasperated sigh, and that was certainly a good thing.

Settling himself back down against the pillow once more, Sydney's laughter ceased, and he looked up at Hardin, melancholy once more. "This really is too dangerous, you know," he repeated as Hardin pulled back the blankets to lie down beside him.

"And I could not care less." Pillowing Sydney's head upon his arm, Hardin laid the other across the mage's waist protectively, drawing him close beneath the covers. The mage's back was warm and snug against Hardin's chest, and he let the tension slip out of his body, relaxing in the peaceful intimacy of the embrace. He was glad when Sydney made no further protests - though perhaps a bit troubled by the fact that the mage actually was upset enough to concede defeat.

He was dozing, nearly asleep, when he suddenly became aware that Sydney was trembling in his arms. With his back turned, the mage's face was not visible, and Hardin's concern brought him partially awake again. "Sydney?" he murmured drowsily.

"John... I..."

The sound of his first name, whispered in Sydney's broken voice for the first time, startled and enchanted him so that he could not speak.

"...I'm sorry."

He sounded as if he were crying, perhaps. "For what?" Hardin asked gently.

He waited, but it became apparent he would receive no answer aside from Sydney's continued trembling. At last Hardin simply pulled him closer, his arms tight around the mage as he pressed his lips to the top of Sydney's head, kissing the soft, fine hair.

With time, Sydney calmed, and from the deep, even breaths he took, Hardin knew he'd fallen asleep at last. Relieved, he too drifted off into dreams - and this time, they were not unpleasant.