Fan Fiction ❯ Burning Bridges ❯ Beyond the Gilded Cage ( Chapter 13 )

As the morning sun drifted between the curtains of the guest rooms, Hardin found he had awoken before Sydney. His sleep had been particularly refreshing, and he fought the urge to stretch, not wishing to disturb the blonde whose head rested so lightly upon his arm. The mage had turned over in his sleep, apparently, for now one metal arm rested between the two of them, and his thin legs curled against Hardin's own as he faced the larger man.

Hardin had a clear view of his face now, and was glad to see that Sydney looked peaceful for once. No more the weeping angel he remembered from weeks past, Sydney looked almost childishly innocent in his slumber, with his mussed hair and lips parted ever so slightly. Hardin remained still, watching Sydney sleep in silent wonder. The steady rise and fall of Sydney's chest beneath his arm was strangely hypnotic - with every breath, the steel of Sydney's carelessly draped arm pressed awkwardly against his stomach, and yet Hardin would have been content to let it continue all morning. Many times he'd seen Sydney sleeping, of course, but never so peacefully, and never so close.

A small lapse in Sydney's even breathing some time later told Hardin that the mage was waking up, but he remained unmoving and silent as Sydney began to stir. His mouth opened in a yawn before his eyes, less than a handsbreadth from Hardin's own. Upon seeing whose arms were beneath his head and around his waist, he gave Hardin a smile, albeit a drowsy one. "Good morning, Hardin."

"Are you feeling better now?" Hardin asked softly, unwilling to disturb the quiet peacefulness they shared.

Sydney's smile slipped as he came more fully awake and took in his surroundings, but he nodded. "Much," he murmured, wriggling a bit as he moved his metal limbs to a more comfortable position.

"That's good." The movement made Hardin acutely aware of the mage's body, and it suddenly occurred to him just how close they were, lying against each other in the softness of a fine mattress and smooth sheets. Without thinking about it, he let the hand at Sydney's waist drift up to touch the mage's cheek, to caress the pale, flawless skin. Sydney raised a bemused eyebrow at him, but it made his face all that much more charming, and no less captivating. Their eyes locked, and Hardin was forcibly reminded of the dream he'd had upon his arrival. Only one thought was in his head, and it was a rather vehement one.

Sydney obviously picked up on it, for after a moment, he gave an exasperated sigh and rolled onto his back. "Why is it you can never get these urges at an appropriate time and place?" he asked with a chuckle.

With a smile, Hardin pushed himself up to lean upon one elbow, looking down at Sydney beside him. "Someday, I suppose I will."

Sydney looked much more like his usual self when he flashed a coy smile at Hardin. "And then what will you do?"

Hardin shrugged lightly. "Whatever my heart tells me."

Suddenly, Hardin found himself being shoved roughly onto his back as Sydney rolled on top of him, their legs intertwining. Trapping Hardin with a metal hand on either side of his head, the mage paused and looked down at the larger man with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Hardin was not unhappy about this development at all. Somehow, this seemed too familiar, and not just because of the dream he'd had; there was another memory buried somewhere, albeit deep. He could not identify it with any of the women who had ever shared his bed, though, and after a moment, a possible explanation occurred to him. With a mixture of wariness and the barest threads of hope, he spoke.

"This has happened before, hasn't it?"

Sydney's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Perhaps it has."

Regardless of Hardin's discomfort at the thought, he could not deny that he wanted Sydney badly, particularly now that the mage was lying atop him, their legs tangled together between the sheets. His intense gaze remained fixed upon Hardin, who simply waited with growing anticipation to see what Sydney would do next.

Just when he thought he couldn't bear it any longer, Sydney finally spoke - and his words were the last ones Hardin was expecting. "I believe I'll go take a bath before I speak with the duke." With an impish grin, he rolled over the top of Hardin, disentangling himself from the sheets with ease as he stood and stretched casually.

"...Damn you," Hardin murmured breathlessly, and Sydney's grin only widened as he vanished through the door to the washroom. At least he was acting like his normal irritating self, Hardin thought ruefully.

Though he hadn't taken much note of it earlier, Hardin realized as he stretched and rose that there was actual sunlight outside - a weak, watery sunlight, but still more sunlight than he'd seen since he and Sydney had set out on this journey. Leaving the door wide open behind him to let in more of the light, he stepped out onto the balcony, letting himself enjoy it to the best of his ability, relaxing even while he watched the servants scurrying about below, beginning the day's chores. Between the sunshine and waking up next to a much-improved and nearly affectionate Sydney, the day seemed to hold the possibility of being a good one, for a change.

A knock at the door sent him back inside, and he opened it to find one of the maids bearing a tray of breakfast. The cook had heard that Sydney was ill, she said, and had sent along breakfast for the both of them, as Hardin certainly would be tending to his friend in their rooms. Hardin nodded and thanked her. Even if Sydney was already feeling much better, it would be much nicer to eat in the comfortable privacy of their suite than in a formal dining hall.

Hardin was laying out their meal on the small table in their suite when Sydney emerged from the bath wrapped in a robe, his hair still damp. "Feeling up to eating something?"

Sydney hesitated a moment, then nodded slightly. "A little something, perhaps," he agreed, sitting down. A faint smile crossed his lips as he looked over the food that Hardin was placing upon the table. "Ah, Maeta..." he murmured. "She knows exactly what will tempt me to eat when this has come over me."

"The cook?" Hardin asked, sitting down across from Sydney. "I spoke to her briefly, she seemed quite kind."

"Yes, she is," he agreed, reaching out to take a slice of some sweet bread from one of the platters between them. It was still warm, and smelled faintly of fruit, Hardin found when he did likewise. "Wise, also - in matters of the spirit as well as matters of the kitchen. Maeta is one of the few in this place who have ever made me feel that I am welcome."

Hardin had filled his plate with other delicacies already, but Sydney's claws simply broke a bite-size portion of the dark bread, and he partook almost gingerly. He was still not well, Hardin thought. "You did not tell me last night... why does this place bother you so? Why would you have come here, if it causes you such distress?"

"As for why it bothers me, simply think about how we have been treated since our arrival," Sydney said dryly. "And as for why I come here... I did tell you last night that it was a long story."

"We have plenty of time," Hardin pointed out, "so I suppose you simply do not want to tell me this long story."

Sydney's eyes remained on the bread in his hands, his fingers glinting a little in the light as he broke off another morsel. "You suppose right."

A slight breeze from the open door to the balcony ruffled his drying hair, and once again Hardin found himself struck by how odd the whole situation was. That he should be sitting casually at a table in a guest room at Duke Bardorba's manor, sharing breakfast with the prophet from some apocalyptic cult, who had metal blades for fingers... and moreover, that this strange man was very nearly his lover - that a man should be nearly a lover at all... A year ago, he would have scoffed if someone had suggested the possibility of any one of these elements, and yet it felt like the most natural, comfortable thing that could happen. Sydney smiled vaguely, and Hardin wondered if he'd heard the thought or if his mind was on something else. If he had heard, he chose not to comment.

Hardin had not yet finished eating when Sydney stood, excusing himself to dress for his meeting with the duke. The way his head was lowered ever so slightly, his eyes downcast, told Hardin that he was not looking forward to it, but when Hardin began to rise to assist him in any way he could, Sydney assured him that it wasn't necessary, and he should finish his meal. When he emerged once more from the bedroom, the change was subtle but still striking to Hardin; his chin was lifted with dignity, his face perfectly cold and full of grace, just as it usually was. Even so, the sudden change was enough to make Hardin want to take him into his arms again, for he knew the mage was simply masking his discomfort. He stifled it though, and Sydney said nothing before he set out for the duke's chambers.

Long hours passed, and Hardin refused to give in to his urge to scrye upon Sydney, to see if all was well. He knew by now that Sydney wanted to keep his dealings with the duke between only the two of them. Still, he found himself growing a little concerned as the day wore on, seeing his shadow upon the stone of the balcony grow shorter and then begin to grow longer again, as the sun passed its peak in the sky. This was not a simple request for money, he thought, or it would have been over in no time.

When he finally heard the door to their suite open again, he looked back to see Sydney heading for the bedroom, not sparing a word for him. Hardin followed him anyway. "How was it?" he asked.

"It was not so bad." Sydney did not elaborate further, but knelt beside his bed, pulling the pack he'd carried during their journey out from underneath it. "Are your things packed?"

"Ah, no... I didn't know that we-"

"Well then, pack them." His voice was not harsh or rude, but in fact almost pleased. "We can leave as soon as we've gathered our things."

"So your business is concluded?" Hardin asked. "In one simple meeting...?"

"Both the duke and myself prefer not to waste time." Bladed fingers reached into a small pouch that hung at his waist, and drew forth a large green gem with a flourish. The mage's face remained unchanged, though, and before Hardin could exclaim his surprise over the small fortune such an emerald must be worth, it was replaced in the pouch. As Sydney's fingers dropped it back into its place, Hardin thought he saw the glitter of other gemstones within, but the drawstring was pulled tight again before he could be certain. "The brethren shall eat - and so shall we, for Maeta is putting together a few things for our journey."

Hardin just shook his head in amazement. "The duke is a generous man."

"He can be, yes. Regardless, pack," Sydney reminded him. "The sooner we leave this place behind us, the better."

Striking out on their journey back to the hilly country to the east, to gather up Sydney's followers again, Hardin found himself growing more and more tense as the walls of the duke's manor faded further into indistinction behind them. He and Sydney had been alone together for just as long on the journey into the Graylands, of course, but now that so much had been laid bare between them, things had changed. At least, Hardin thought they had. Thinking back to all the times before that he'd found himself so close to the mage, only to have Sydney withdraw so thoroughly, he would not have been surprised had Sydney decided not to speak to him again for the whole of their journey. But this time when Hardin had freely offered his desire to help, Sydney had accepted it, even acknowledging his own frailties - and that had never happened before. There was nothing between them now, for the few barriers that might have remained after the previous night had certainly crumbled the moment Hardin had looked up into Sydney's eyes as he lay atop him.

All things considered, Hardin had half-expected Sydney to say something, though he could not have said what, as soon as they were well away from the manor and into the forest, but just as he'd feared, Sydney remained silent, picking a path through the underbrush methodically. Each time Hardin caught a glimpse of Sydney's face, it appeared just as cold and distant as he'd been when he went to speak to the duke, and Hardin's heart sank a little further.

Finally, he gathered up enough courage to say it outright. "Sydney, do not do this to me again."

Sydney glanced back at him idly. "Do what?"

"This." Hardin halted, and Sydney did as well. "This... distancing. Every single time you and I reach a new understanding, you distance yourself... you retreat and hide within yourself so that I cannot find the man who..."

Sydney waited, but Hardin could not find the words. "The man who what, Hardin?"

"I'm not sure," Hardin muttered. "The man who... fascinates me. Who makes me feel as though I have a true friend, perhaps more."

Sydney's posture relaxed as he turned to face Hardin, arms crossed over his chest, and Hardin let out a relieved breath, seeing that the mage intended to hear him out. "This... this phantom man... he seems to exist only for a split second, and just when I realize he is there, just when I reach out to touch him... he leaves me. When he leaves me, all I can think is that he must be playing some kind of game with me, for I know how he loves his games. ...I begin to wonder if I am just one of his toys."

He hesitated, hoping for some response from Sydney, some reassurance that this was not the case at all. Instead, Sydney simply nodded in acknowledgement. "But...?"

Hardin threw up his hands in annoyance. "See? This is precisely what I'm talking about, Sydney! The man I've seen vanishes, and none of his warmth remains in the shell he leaves behind. It looks like him, it walks like him and talks like him, but it doesn't care for or feel anything at all. Sometimes I wonder if he even exists, or if that too is part of some game."

His tirade ended, and he waited for whatever Sydney might say, reassuring or hurtful - nothing would surprise him now. The mage still looked perfectly cold, perfectly distant, when Hardin gave him a sideways glance. "But?" he repeated.

"But..." Hardin agreed with a sigh - he could not hide anything from Sydney. "...When this man makes himself known to me... beyond all doubt, I know that this is who he is. He has done more for me than anyone else in this life," he said fervently, meeting Sydney's shielded eyes, "and all I desire is to care for him the way he has cared for me."

"You have," Sydney responded softly. "But the man is no more honest an entity than the shell. They are two halves of a whole, and you cannot have one without the other."

"Then that means that you are in there, even now," Hardin stated. "I understand, truly I do, but you have nothing to fear from me... I will not add to the burdens you bear, for I know how difficult it must-"

He was cut off by a hollow laugh. "You do, do you?" Sydney asked with a bitter smile. "Hardin, you understand nothing."

"Then help me to understand."

Sydney shook his head, suddenly serious once more. "The gods tell me many things, most of which are meant for my ears alone. I would not break their confidence."

"Then tell me something that does not come from the gods," Hardin said firmly. "You know all of my secrets, Sydney - my heart was laid out before you long ago, and yet I've learned next to nothing of you, in all these months. I want to know you... to understand you."

"Did it ever occur to you that I might not want or need to be 'understood'?" Sydney asked. "Perhaps I am content to remain alone."

"Yes, it did occur to me - and I discarded the notion almost immediately," Hardin replied. "I've seen you night after night, crying silently in your sleep, waking to take what comfort you can in the embrace of anyone willing to share your bed. And yet you keep them at arm's length, never letting them see your tears... After what I felt when your mind connected with mine last night, it made me all the more certain; deep down, you need to know that someone cares for you - for you, not for your power or your position! Sydney, I will not fault you for your tears, or your uncertainties... they make you real."

"What is it that you want from me?" Sydney asked him impatiently, tapping one metal claw upon the other arm. "We have a journey to make, and this is wasting our time."

Hardin sighed in frustration; Sydney was not being responsive at all. "I want you to let me in," he muttered. "Only a little, if that is all you would be comfortable with. I want to learn things about you that are not obvious to everyone. That is all."

"And if I tell you something about myself, can we end this discussion and move on?"

The suggestion of compromise surprised Hardin, for he had learned by now that Sydney never compromised, particularly when he was being pressured. "Well... yes," he agreed. This was a welcome bargain, and he was not going to ruin it by pushing for more.

"All right, then." Sydney paused, thinking for a moment. "When I was younger, I played the harp. It was a refuge of sorts... very calming."

Hardin blinked. That hadn't been the sort of personal information he'd meant, but it intrigued him nonetheless. It seemed bizarre at first that such an intense person as Sydney would have played such a peaceful, delicate instrument, but then upon trying to picture the mage sitting at a harp, he found the image surprisingly fitting - both he and a harp's music were elegant, richly layered, and terribly beautiful. Besides, he already looked angelic...

"I had to leave it behind when I left my home," Sydney continued. "Given the life I lead now, such a large musical instrument is unnecessary - just another thing to have to carry, and our burdens are already heavy enough. And besides, once I'd gotten these hands of mine," he added, glancing down at the tapping claw of his right hand, "it became next to impossible to play anything involving strings."

The mental image Hardin had changed abruptly as he pictured what would happen were Sydney to attempt it with his bladed hands, and he bit his lip suddenly. Noticing his discomfort, Sydney smiled. "Feel free to laugh, Hardin - it is a rather amusing thought."

At Sydney's assurance, Hardin let himself chuckle. "Even so, it is a pity that you should be left unable to do something that once brought you joy."

The mage sobered. "I do miss it terribly sometimes," he admitted. "But it was perhaps the smallest sacrifice of those I have made."

Hardin knew how private Sydney was, and so he did not ask - Sydney had already offered a great deal more than he usually would. "I wish I'd been able to hear you play," was all he said.

Sydney's slight smile returned as he shrugged his shoulders faintly, then looked up to meet Hardin's eyes. "Now, can we move on?"

"Aye, that is what we agreed." As Sydney set out on his plotted course once again, Hardin waited for a moment before following, taking in the sight of the dappled sunlight catching Sydney's pale hair, and the unnatural grace of his artificial limbs as he walked. "Sydney?" Hardin said, lengthening his own stride to catch up.

Sydney glanced back at him, and Hardin found his face as distant as it had been before their conversation. It didn't bother him at all this time, though - he'd gotten Sydney to lower his barriers once already, and it was more than he'd expected. "Thank you."

Sydney simply nodded and continued on his way, silent once more.

He did not speak again until early the next morning, as the two of them returned to the schedule they had followed on their journey to the duke's manor, travelling through the night and making camp just before dawn. By this time, Hardin was accustomed to the routine; no words were necessary as they each carried out their own tasks - preparing the campsite, lighting the fire, and cooking a light meal with some of the supplies Maeta had given them just before their departure.

It was only after the fire had been doused, and they lay in their blankets in the dim light of approaching dawn, that the silence between them was broken. Hardin was restless despite being tired, listening idly to the smatterings of birdsong that erupted just before the sky began to lighten, when he heard Sydney's blankets rustle a short distance away. "Hardin?"

"Hmm?"

There was a pause. "It's a bit cold, is it not?"

"I suppose it is."

Sydney said nothing in response, and Hardin was left wondering what his point had been, until a short time later, the mage spoke again. "I was thinking... about what you said earlier."

"Hmm." It was nice to think that anything he'd said had actually gotten through, much less had occupied Sydney's thoughts. "And?"

Another pause, this time longer. "Perhaps it's only that I'm tired... or because my mind is still weak from having to endure that place, but..."

Hardin waited a moment before asking. "But what?"

"...Nothing much, I suppose. It's foolish."

His indecision was so severe that he sounded almost pained, and Hardin pitied him rather than being annoyed at his sudden change of heart. "Is it a sin in your faith to be foolish now and then?" he asked. "Only I and the gods are here to hear your words now - and I will not fault you for something said in a moment of weakness."

There was a faint sigh. "Weakness... yes. Unlike you or the gods, I can't abide it in myself, John."

His first name again. It seemed so much more intimate, particularly as even Hardin himself did not think of himself by that name anymore, and he smiled at it. "So although you're only a man, you are more demanding than the gods themselves," he pointed out.

Sydney gave a quiet laugh, almost silent. "I am," he murmured. "I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize - you wrong yourself, not I," Hardin told him, rolling to his side. The sky was a deep blue now, instead of the black of true night, and he could make out Sydney's delicate features in the dim light. "I'll ask for nothing that would hurt you, Sydney, but if it pains you to remain silent, then please... talk to me. I won't judge you."

"And besides, now you're curious."

Hardin nodded at the blunt words. "That also is true," he admitted.

Sydney remained lying on his back, staring up into the patches of lightening sky through the trees, and finally spoke. "I was thinking that... perhaps you are right."

"About?"

"...Perhaps I do want to be understood... by someone." He smiled a little, self-consciously, and shrugged his shoulders beneath the blanket. "The notion will pass, though - it is rare that I should think such a thing."

"That doesn't mean that you have to smother it when it comes," Hardin softly assured him. "Any time you wish to explain yourself, just speak to me - I..." He stopped abruptly, not wanting to pressure the mage. "I shall always be willing to hear you out."

"I know," Sydney murmured, and again he fell silent for a moment. "I don't believe I ever thanked you for last night's care."

"It was no trouble - think nothing of it," Hardin told him, rolling onto his back once more to regard the sky above them, just as Sydney was doing. He was beginning to wonder if, after his captivity, he would ever again not find the simple sight of the open sky and the clouds to be a miracle.

"You enjoyed it, did you?"

Hardin chuckled at the straightforwardness of the question. "If you had not been in such pain, it would have been far more enjoyable. I'm afraid I was too worried about you to truly enjoy it... but in a sense, yes."

He glanced over at Sydney to find the mage watching him, his face carefully expressionless. Suddenly he understood, and he decided to let Sydney's pride remain intact - in the last day, he had already made far more admissions than he was comfortable with. "You were right - it is cold," he commented. "The chill seems to be seeping right through my blankets. It might be more pleasant for the both of us were we to share... May I, Sydney?"

Sydney nodded and smiled faintly, appreciative of Hardin's willingness to indulge him. "You may," he replied, as Hardin gathered up his own blankets to spread over the top of Sydney's.

Lying down next to the mage, Hardin took him into his arms as he'd done the night before, wrapping him in a perfectly chaste embrace. Although Hardin hadn't honestly been bothered much by the cold, the soft warmth of Sydney's body through the clothes they wore was a welcome addition to his own, and he tugged the blankets up to cover the two of them almost completely, preserving as much of that warmth as possible. "Ah, much better," the mage murmured against Hardin's shoulder. "Thank you, John..."

"No need for thank yous," Hardin assured him with a yawn. "You'll keep me warm as well..."

He could feel the slight puff of breath against his chest, as Sydney gave an inaudible chuckle. "Indeed."

After Sydney's admission, the rest of their journey was far more pleasant than it had been on their way to the duke's manor. Though not many words passed between them, it didn't seem to matter so much - Sydney seemed much more accessible and familiar to Hardin, now that he had been granted the freedom to simply... touch him.

Physically, it went no further over the next days, despite the fact that they had the privacy which they'd both wished for only a handful of days past. At times, when they stopped for a quick meal, moments of tenderness would pass between them - the resting of metal hand upon leather-clad arm, or a moment of eye contact that seemed to stretch on forever - but Hardin wasn't sure what was allowed of him, and before long, Sydney withdrew into his emotional isolation again.

It was all right, though - he almost certainly must have had a difficult life, Hardin thought - likely more difficult than his own. Sydney never spoke of his family or homelands, and then there were the arms... Even if Hardin had lost everything else in his life, at least his body was intact. And at least he didn't have the burden of prophecy to deal with - often he wondered what the gods might have shown Sydney of his own future, that he would be so haunted.

There were a million reasons a man such as Sydney might hide himself away, and so it was a blessing even for Hardin to lie beside him in the vague light before dawn, lying against the unnatural stiffness of his metal arm, drifting off to sleep to the gently pulsing rhythm of his breathing, and waking to find him still fast asleep. The tears Hardin had seen before never came again, though, as often as he woke and watched. Sydney was at peace, and therefore Hardin was as well.

Just as he'd feared, however, it could not last forever. He'd prayed fervently to the gods whom he'd only so recently become acquainted with, that they would have mercy on their prophet and allow him rest without the terrible visions - in his arms, Sydney seemed so delicate that he could not help but feel protective - and for a time they seemed to be listening. Even his own nightmares subsided, giving way to more normal dreams: jumbled, vague, and forgotten only moments after waking.

Then one day, he woke at mid-day to find his arms empty.

Even in such a short time, he'd become accustomed to the feel of Sydney beside him when he awoke, and the abrupt absence surprised him. Sitting up drowsily, he took a glance around the small clearing they'd made amongst the thick brush, but Sydney was nowhere to be seen. Still half-asleep, he was already standing up to go look for the mage when he recalled that he didn't have to.

Still shaking his head in exasperation with himself, he concentrated on Sydney, and found him a short distance off, beyond the bushes they'd concealed themselves in for the night. Immediately he knew something was strange by the way that Sydney was posed - sitting down upon his heels and hunched over. One arm was wrapped around his knees, holding them tight against his chest, while the other swished back and forth, the blades slicing the earth in idle lines and circles. The intense look upon the mage's face, when Hardin's phantom self knelt down to get a better look, only confirmed his suspicions: Something was not right.

Physically this time, he sought out the place where Sydney crouched, and the mage looked up at the sound of rustling brush as he approached. "Ah, you are awake. We must depart, Hardin."

There outside the thickest of the forest, the bright sunlight of daytime made Hardin squint; he was now accustomed to sleeping through it while on the road. "Now, Sydney? In broad daylight?"

"Now." Sydney stood, giving Hardin a look that made him flinch, though the intensity was not actually directed at him. "Set about gathering our things."

He stalked back towards their small camp, and Hardin obediently followed. "You've seen something, haven't you?"

"Quite observant," Sydney muttered as he began to roll up his blankets for packing. "We are close to one of the brethren's small parties, and we must reach them immediately."

Hardin decided to take the time to put on a fresh shirt before replacing his own equipment in his pack. "Would you mind telling me what this is about?"

"There is no point in discussing it," Sydney told him. "Save your breath, Hardin - you shall need it before this day is through."

"As you wish, then," Hardin agreed reluctantly - he was extremely curious about what the mage might have seen, but if what Sydney said was true, that was a good enough reason for him, particularly as he'd not gotten as much sleep as usual. The look on Sydney's face, though, worried him. "But Sydney," he added, "what of you? Are you all right?"

"Does it matter?" The mage furiously tugged at the straps on his pack, drawing them tighter, and his face darkened as a careless claw severed one halfway. With an almost feral growl, he hurled the pack away from him, narrowly missing Hardin's head before it landed in a nearby bush. His anger still not sated, Sydney swung his fist around to strike the tree behind him, and bits of shattered bark went flying at the impact.

Hardin's heart went out to Sydney as he sunk down beside the damaged tree, head in hands. "...Yes," Hardin replied softly, only momentarily taken back by Sydney's tantrum. "Yes, it does."

Sydney did not even look up, shaking with frustration. Hardin began to kneel beside him, to reach out and hold him, but was forced to jump back by another sudden angry swipe of metal claws. "Don't touch me, Hardin." The words were bitter poison, the dark eyes peering through blonde bangs like shards of ice. "It does not matter. Collect your things."

Much to his surprise, Hardin found himself swallowing hard before he could respond. "Y... yes, Sydney," he mumbled quickly, pulling himself away from that cold stare. Sydney would not really have struck him, would he, he wondered nervously as he finished packing their belongings. Especially not now, and Sydney had never hurt him before... aside from that single time, the night before Padric's death...

That was it, he realized. He knew he'd seen that look of pure, almost maddened fury in Sydney's eyes before, and in much the same context. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Sydney still huddled against the base of the tree, his head buried in his arms. Yes - whatever he'd seen had to be nearly as terrible as that vision, if not worse. Someone was going to die, if they were not already dead, and the only question was who.

Having finished packing, he went to Sydney's side, wondering if he dared try to console the mage again. Sydney rose abruptly before he'd had the chance to make up his mind, and retrieved the pack he'd flung away in anger. "We must hurry," he stated, turning back to Hardin. His face was again carefully blank, but in the eyes, rage still smoldered. "We are late already."

"...For...?"

Sydney had already turned in a flutter of dark cloth, stalking off to the east, heedless of the branches and brush cracking in his wake as he pushed them aside. Before, they'd always been careful not to leave an obvious trail for anyone to follow, but apparently speed was now more important than stealth, Hardin observed as he hurried to follow before he lost sight of Sydney.

Though he'd been slowly building himself up over the past months, and by this time was nearly as strong as he'd ever been, Hardin found it difficult to keep up with the mage. Impatience and anger were driving him onwards at a swift pace, though his grace remained in such a way that he didn't appear to be in much of a hurry at all. As the afternoon passed. Hardin found himself breathing heavily with the exertion and trailing behind by several paces, but he was not going to ask Sydney to wait while he caught his breath.

Focusing most of his attention on the simple task of not falling too far behind, Hardin almost didn't hear the sound of snapping twigs and the rustling of leaves somewhere ahead of them, and when he did, he barely had the breath to softly call out a warning to Sydney that someone else was coming - and quickly, at the sound of it. Sydney paid it no mind though, and continued onward, halting only when a small, slight figure emerged from the underbrush just a short distance beyond him, quickly followed by a taller one.

"Sydney!"

"Oh, thank the gods we've found you..."

The exhausted declaration came from Branla, who nearly collapsed against Sydney as his arms surrounded her, but pulled herself together enough to stand straight again, accepting a brief kiss from his lips before he moved on to regard Kirrienne. The blonde's dress was ragged and worn, and she did not seem to be in much better shape herself as Sydney gathered her into his arms, stroking wayward locks of her hair as she sobbed into his shoulder. Whatever had happened, at least she was safe, Hardin thought as he looked on awkwardly.

After a few moments, her sobs subsided, and Sydney turned her aside, leading her a short distance away so that they could speak privately. He appeared to ask her a question, but she shook her head, trembling hands covering her face helplessly. Sydney gently caught Kirrienne's wrists in his hands, holding her still as he spoke soft, reassuring words into her teary eyes. She murmured something in response, breaking down again, and Sydney shook his head, again offering quiet, urgent words of assurance. It was a complete turnaround from the impatience he'd shown Hardin, and he couldn't help but feel a bit jealous - why was the mage so cold to him when the situation had made itself known, but so kind to her?

Branla seemed perfectly calm as she stood by, watching the exchange with little interest, and Hardin was baffled. "Branla, what happened?" he asked.

She looked up at him listlessly. "Oh... Hardin. I'm sorry, I... heh." She shook her head wearily. "We've not slept for the last two days... the knights are on the rampage, it seems. Did you know that the church dared to pin the burning of Fentegel on Müllenkamp?"

"What in the hell...?" Hardin was furious. "What reason do they give? Why do they claim Sydney would burn a village?"

The young woman laughed bitterly. "What reason do they need? All they need say is 'he is evil', and the entire nation would readily turn against him. And, in turn, against us."

"So they've been pursuing you, then."

"Aye... Any battle of significant size wears a spellcaster down little by little, and we'd been trying to shake a squadron of the scoundrels nearly since you and Sydney left us. Only a day ago, Jared and Theonas told us to go on ahead - that they would... distract them, hold them as long as they could, while Kirri and I escaped... She is not strong in the Dark, nor is she acquainted with any manner of weaponry, so we protect her."

So that was why Kirrienne was so upset, Hardin thought - her friends had given their lives. "But it did not help much," he concluded.

"Nay, it did not. Jared and Theonas took out many of them, but as soon as their attention was occupied, perhaps a half-dozen that were not involved ignored the skirmish entirely and continued to give chase. They haven't come close enough to do damage as of yet, but now, without sleep, I find I can't call the elements at all any longer. I'm not so good with a sword just yet, only a student... and so we have run. Not that there is much left within us to go on running with..." She sat down against a nearby tree, leaning back with a sigh. "Thank the gods we came upon you when we did - now Sydney will set things right. Though... I fear that this may be what they intended all along."

"What do you mean?"

"They were likely expecting that we would go running to Sydney when it became obvious we were outclassed," she explained. "And now we have led them straight to him... You heard the father's speech on the road from Leá Monde - they care nothing for us. Sydney is their true prey, and we... we are merely the squirrels they encounter while they are on their foxhunt. It would explain why they have not overtaken us, for certainly trained soldiers should be quicker than Kirri and I." She shook her head in resignation. "I should have realized this before, but now it is too late."

Hardin sighed in frustration; it disgusted him to think that the people who would do such things were revered throughout the land for their justice and their righteousness. "By the gods..." he muttered. "If they show themselves now, I shall show them just how dangerous a 'squirrel' can be."

As they were talking, he had still kept his eyes on Kirrienne and Sydney. The woman had calmed a great deal as she listened to the mage, and though he still clutched her hands in his own, she was nodding at his soothing words. Finally Sydney nodded as well, and reached out to her, giving her a light kiss upon the forehead before leading her beneath the tree where Hardin and Branla were speaking. "Take care of her, Hardin," Sydney instructed him, and Kirrienne reached out to take Hardin's hand in her own, still teary-eyed and fearful. "Take care of both of them, and I shall deal with this myself." Shrugging off the pack he carried, he carelessly dropped it beside Hardin. "Keep watch for our pursuers while they sleep - once Branla has rested, she should prove to be quite useful to you. I shall be gone for perhaps a few days."

Hardin was about to agree, when the last sentence caught him off guard and he stumbled over the words. "...A few days?" Hardin had expected that he was simply going to wipe out the last of the squadron, but that wouldn't have taken so long, considering what he'd seen on the road from Leá Monde. "What do you intend to do, Sydney?"

"What I must." As he loosened his sword in its sheath, the mage's matter-of-fact words carried rather ominous overtones.

"But Sydney!" Hardin protested. "A few days? I don't think-"

The mage's eyes met Hardin's, driving any thoughts of protest from his mind with their ferocity. "Do you defy me, Hardin? Or do you doubt me?"

Hardin shook his head, unnerved by the icy anger in Sydney's eyes and his voice. "No, neither," he said quickly. He knew that Sydney could take care of himself, but if the knights truly were prowling, Hardin wasn't sure he could hold them off alone with only his sword, were they to come upon him before Branla had rested sufficiently to use her magic. "I... I doubt myself," he admitted.

"Then you doubt my judgment." With that, Sydney turned to leave, the dark cloak flowing behind him in the breeze.

Hardin stared after him in disbelief. "Sydney!" he called out after the mage, but there was no response. Hardin couldn't fathom it - only a few hours before, this same man who was carelessly leaving him amidst his doubts had been curled in his arms, asleep. How could Sydney go from being so close to so cold in such a short period of time?

He couldn't understand it. He needed that understanding, and so despite his mind telling him firmly to stay where he was and do as Sydney had asked, as vague as that was, his heart caused him to do something else entirely.

With a quick nod of apology to the women, he hurried off after Sydney, and caught up to him a short distance into the trees. The mage paused, turning slightly at his approach. "Sydney," Hardin repeated. He opened his mouth to say more, but was unsure of what, precisely, he intended to ask.

"This is not about my instructions to you," Sydney observed.

He asked the only question he could think of that seemed appropriate. "Why do you do this to me? You know that I..."

"Am uncertain?" Sydney finished his sentence. "Or I know that you need me?"

Hardin was unsure of the answer himself. "Both, perhaps..."

Sydney regarded him with cold eyes, but gave no answer. Hardin was about to repeat his plea for an answer, when one metal hand snaked out from beneath Sydney's dark cloak, taking him by surprise as it gripped the front of his shirt. He was too surprised to react when Sydney pulled him closer, bending him down to kiss him.

Soft lips pressed tenderly against his for the space of a few heartbeats, and then Sydney released his grip, turning to leave once again as Hardin stared at him in surprise. "We've no time for this," the mage said firmly, not even bothering to look over his shoulder at the man he addressed.

Breathless, Hardin nearly raised a hand to his lips, wondering if such an odd thing had truly taken place at all. But that was exactly what Sydney had likely intended to do, he realized - throw him off balance. "Is that it, then, Sydney?" Hardin called after him, suddenly furious. "Does this make it all right?"

The dark figure disappeared amidst the trees, never having responded.

He would have done a fair amount of cursing once the mage had vanished, if he had not needed to return to Kirrienne and Branla. After days of comfortable companionship, and finally allowing Hardin some of the closeness that he craved - that they both craved, he now knew - Sydney had left him with barely a word, not even sparing the time to give him any real instruction. He didn't even know what he was to do for those few days until Sydney's return.

And it irritated him to no end that despite the fact he knew for certain that Sydney bore him no malice, just a certain look in his dark eyes could still put the fear of the gods into him.

He had other things to think about, though; Kirrienne was still pale and anxious, her hand intertwined with his once more as soon as he'd returned. He sighed in resignation and patted it absently with his free hand, in what he hoped was a comforting manner. Considering the mood he was in, he couldn't be sure. "As he said, you two should rest. I'll keep watch."

Branla nodded and began to untie the roll of blankets she carried, but Kirrienne shivered. "Hardin... I don't think I can sleep..."

"From the look upon your face, I don't think you can help but sleep," he commented. "Come - I'll help you lay out your bedding, over here." The small hollow within the particularly thick growth of bushes and small trees had caught his eye earlier, as it made for an excellent hiding place, even if it was a bit dirty. With any luck, even if the knights did come upon them while the two women slept, he thought that perhaps they would not be found even if he was. If such an occasion did arise, he would get as far away from them as possible before he fell to the knights' blades. A pessimistic thought, perhaps, but considering the situation Sydney had dropped him into, he had to think like a good soldier and consider all the possibilities.

Kirrienne followed obediently as he bent the brush back for her to pass without breaking the limbs and leaving an obvious mark of passage. "Indeed, all I want to do is lie down and close my eyes," she admitted as he went to kneel beside Branla, who had already pulled her own blankets from the roll. "But... I keep thinking about Jared and Theodas..."

"I know," he cut her off. "Branla told me. These things happen - you told me that yourself."

"Yes, I remember," she said with a shaky laugh. "Even so..."

He nodded, not looking up from the blankets he was smoothing out at her feet. "I understand. Regardless, you need to sleep... and things may seem more clear once you've gotten some rest, trust me." Branla was already finished with her own blankets, he discovered when he glanced over, feeling a little odd at speaking comforting words to Kirrienne and yet none to her, when the smaller woman had been through the same. "And is all well with you, Branla? Is there anything you would have me do?"

She shook her head mechanically. "I need no kindnesses now - I fear I'm so tired I would not appreciate them anyhow," she added with a faint smile as she slipped beneath her covers. "But thank you."

"Hardin...?" He turned back to the tall blonde, and found her looking anxious. "While you're keeping watch... please be careful. It's dangerous to be walking about all alone, with the Blades nearby..."

He nodded again. "I will be." Something occurred to him then, and he chuckled. "In fact, you've no need to worry - I can keep watch for some distance around us without moving from this spot. Go on, lie down."

She did so, joining Branla, who already appeared to be dozing off. "Your talent, then...?"

"Ah, yes..." Hardin replied, sitting down beside her. "I suppose we haven't spoken of the powers that the Dark granted me, have we?"

They talked for a bit longer, speaking quietly so as not to disturb Branla, until finally Kirrienne was calm enough to close her eyes and sleep. This left Hardin alone with his thoughts, and this did not please him one bit after Sydney's sudden departure and the sharp words he'd left behind, despite the kiss. In fact, that had made him all the more confused. It might have been the last time he'd see the mage, considering the danger they were in now, and Sydney had to know that as well...

Well, perhaps he knew otherwise, Hardin told himself. Perhaps Sydney was unafraid of leaving him to guard these two followers of his because he'd seen his future... hell, perhaps he'd seen him living to a fine old age, and thus knew that he was safe.

Or maybe he'd seen Hardin's imminent death, and could no more stop it than he could have stopped Padric's death. And maybe he was refusing to let himself believe he cared, because then it would hurt him all the more.

Or maybe he was analyzing too much, and Sydney simply trusted his judgment and abilities. The gods only knew.

His mind occupied with thoughts of Sydney, as well as his watch upon the surrounding area as he scryed the perimeter, it took him a moment before he noticed the eerie feeling of someone's eyes on him. Glancing around with his normal sight, he found Branla regarding him seriously from her place on the other side of Kirrienne. "You're a kind man, Hardin."

"Thank you," he replied after a moment's startled hesitation.

She smiled faintly at him. "He'll be fine, you know," she murmured, eyeing Kirrienne to make sure her words did not awaken the blonde, "and I'm certain we shall as well. He seems to trust you a great deal."

"Or he had no choice," Hardin muttered.

"I doubt that. I think he would have stayed with us himself if he did not have complete faith that you could protect us," the raven-haired woman pointed out. She raised herself up a bit, leaning upon one elbow to look at him curiously. "You care a great deal for him, do you not?"

Hardin looked at her sharply, his eyes narrowing at the unexpected question, and recalled that the two had been heading straight for himself and Sydney when they encountered each other. It was no coincidence, he'd have wagered. "I don't appreciate your kind spying upon my thoughts," he told her firmly.

She shook her head. "I am no heartseer, Hardin. It was plain upon your face as you watched him leave, then went chasing after him like a lovesick youth, only to return looking thoroughly distracted." Giving him a sly smile, she peered at him a little closer. "So, have you shared his bed?"

Hardin froze, barely refraining from exclaiming a denial. "...You should be sleeping," he said finally, uncertain of what he could say that would be neither misleading or a lie.

"My mind is still racing from all that has happened," she told him quietly. "I'm sure you know how it is, being a soldier - you cannot go from fighting or fleeing to sleeping so easily... or perhaps, being more of a soldier than I, it has become an easy thing for you. At any rate, I care little whether you have or not - I was simply curious. I've lain with him myself, you know, and I do not find it shameful."

Of course she would not know that he had already known, that he had seen him asleep in her arms many weeks before. "That's different, for you're a woman. It's... well, natural."

She smirked a bit at his words. "Not so natural as you would think, I suppose - I've preferred women to men since I was quite young."

"...Oh." That thought certainly had never occurred to him.

Her smirk subsided a little as her face grew serious. "Until I met Sydney, in every man I saw the faces of those who abused me in my youth. I could not look upon them with civility, let alone desire. Sydney has... healed me, you could say, though the scars remain. I don't imagine I'll ever find myself drawn to a man."

"And yet, you and Sydney...?"

"I suppose I never considered Sydney to be 'a man', precisely," she mused. "He is simply... Sydney. A singular being. Perhaps it would be easier on you if you thought of him the same way."

"I'm afraid I'm not so open-minded as you are," he admitted. In fact, his mind was still turning over the idea that Branla was... He shook his head; it wasn't any of his concern. "He is a man, after all."

She raised an eyebrow. "So you have shared his bed - otherwise you would not know for certain, would you?" At his dour look, she gave him a softer smile. "Only teasing, Hardin. Either way, this is irrelevant. What I mean to say is that I know you care for him. Though I know not what you think of our gods, have faith in him. If you cannot trust him, why would you care for him?"

"The gods only know," he muttered. After the way Sydney had left him so coldly, that question was once again pushed to the front of Hardin's mind, though he'd thought it answered by the mage's more vulnerable moments in the last few days.

Branla gave him a sympathetic look. "Listen, Hardin - it is obvious that he trusts you, or he would not have left us in your charge. If he trusts you, that is good enough for me, and I shall trust you as well. His judgment has always been flawless in the past."

Actually, it hadn't, and Hardin knew how Sydney second-guessed his decisions, the way he berated himself for not making precisely the right move at precisely the right time - the night of the spring festival had shown him that, as had the burning of Fentegel. But if not flawless, his judgment was the best that could be managed for anyone who was not omniscient, and he nodded. "It doesn't matter," he added. "What's done is done, and I can change nothing. Sleep, Branla... I will keep watch as I was told."

She nodded. "I shall try. And Hardin...?" she added. "Thank you for doing this, when you are not even one of us."

"That doesn't matter," he assured her. "You are in need of help, and so I shall help you."

And besides, he had told him to. Hardin didn't like to think that that was the reason he was sitting in the dirt, alone with his anxiety - he'd have aided Kirrienne and Branla no matter who they were, for they needed someone to protect them - but he couldn't deny that things might have been better for all of them if he'd simply had the nerve to tell Sydney that he would not do as asked, that Sydney needed to remain with them himself, to offer better protection than he could. But no - a mere look, and he'd been completely disarmed. And the kiss... gods, did Sydney honestly think that he could be bought off with a kiss?

This was not going to happen again, he vowed. The next time Sydney tried to bully or entice him into doing something, he would stand up to him.

Between his anxiety and his anger, Hardin was beginning to hope that the knights would stumble across him; he would have welcomed an excuse to use his sword.