Hardin might have confronted Sydney about what he'd seen, even risking Sydney's temper, which seemed to grow shorter and shorter. He wanted to know for certain what Sydney was doing with Rosencrantz. Surely the discovery of another instance of listening in would not do much damage... assuming that Sydney hadn't known he was listening in all along, which occurred to Hardin as he kept watch on the cellar entrance. It gave him a great deal of time during which to wonder what Sydney might have been trying to get across if so, and whether or not it would be wise to ask.
He might have asked... if he could have found Sydney anywhere. The Dark could not locate him all that day, nor did Hardin happen to see him in the keep. This was not particularly unusual, what with the way Sydney had been keeping to himself, and so Hardin counted it as a fine reason not to have to make a decision. Besides, perhaps he would find out more if he spent another night in the barracks.
This time, Rosencrantz was there by the time he entered, Hardin found as he made a quick sweep of the room. Perhaps not fully asleep, but already dozing. He seemed to be sleeping more soundly by the time Hardin drifted off, and though Hardin checked now and then during bouts of restlessness, it did not seem that Sydney had visited him again. He was still there in the early hours of the morning, when Hardin grew weary of tossing and turning and decided to rise. As for Sydney, there was still no sign of him, even as Hardin headed through the tunnels to the cellar once more.
His scrying was to be put to other purposes, of course, and although he didn't expect any trouble from the Blades so early, it was calming to stand on the hill and watch the sun rising over Leá Monde beyond the bay. It was easy to see, at such times, the beauty of the legendary city.
His meditation was interrupted abruptly by the sound of a door opening - not from the hillside, but in the room where his physical body remained. He let the vision dissolve immediately, his hand at once on the hilt of his sword, as he whirled to find... Rosencrantz, entering not from the direction in which he'd been scrying, but from the tunnels that led back to the city. "My, my," the man said, shaking his head as if disappointed. "Did I manage to take you by surprise? If I'd been the Blades, you'd be dead now."
"If you'd been the Blades, you would have entered through the other door," Hardin pointed out grimly. "What business have you, that you would suddenly leave Leá Monde at dawn?"
"Hmm. Am I a prisoner, that I cannot come and go as I please?" Rosencrantz inquired. "But as it so happens, I go on orders from Sydney."
"What orders are these?"
Rosencrantz raised an eyebrow. "Oh... Did he not tell you? I had thought you were already informed, if you had not assisted him in making these plans..."
Hardin was not going to admit that he hadn't spoken to Sydney in the last day or so, so the only reply he could offer was a rather flat "No."
"Mm, well," Rosencrantz murmured, as if to himself, "perhaps he has a reason for not even letting his second know... Who am I to say? And of course, who am I to betray his confidence, repeating what he asked of me in private? I dare say you should ask him yourself. Or does he now frighten you - you who once said you were lovers?"
Hardin's eyes narrowed, and he shifted slightly as Rosencrantz stepped closer to the doorway. "...I ask again, Hardin - am I Müllenkamp's prisoner?" he asked, pausing. "Even if I were not on Sydney's business - and I would not attempt to impede anything he wants done - may I not come and go whenever I wish?"
Unfortunately, he was correct - Hardin had never heard a word from Sydney implying that he could not leave if he wished, and it would be unwise to stand in the way of anything Sydney wanted done. Hardin reluctantly gave Rosencrantz a nod, standing aside. Rosencrantz gave him a smile in return, and strode past him through the doorway.
Well then, Hardin thought cynically. Now he had a perfectly good excuse to find Sydney and ask what he had planned for Rosencrantz.
To his surprise, he found Sydney in his room - their room? - when he returned early in the evening and looked with the Sight just on the chance he might be present. The first glimpse told him at once why he hadn't been able to find Sydney the day before; dressed in a loose robe, he was slumped in a chair at their table, shakily propping his head up with one hand as he sipped at a cup of water. From all appearances, he would have seemed weak if not for his eyes. Hardin recognized the residual traces of divine power at once, having seen it so many times before.
Perhaps this was not the best time to ask anything of Sydney, Hardin noted as Sydney rose, restless, and went to gaze out the window. He would be easily distracted, if not outright irritable, and it was possible that he would want only release, not conversation. The thought made Hardin hesitate, uncertain... and when he realized it, he grew even more uncertain. It hadn't been so long ago that he had offered his body to be used in whatever way Sydney fancied - he'd even found pleasure in it - but now it made him wary? It would be better if it were myself, rather than another, he thought to himself. Once it had been justification for his selfishness, now it was cynicism.
It may have been telling of Sydney's state of mind that he hadn't closed himself off from the Sight. Either he didn't mind, or there was too much magical energy surrounding him for him to pick out Hardin's scrying among it. Hardin hoped for the former, for he was going to take the chance. It was only proper that he know what was being plotted, for the sake of his own tactical decisions.
"So you show yourself at last," Sydney muttered absently, opening the door to Hardin's knock. Hardin thought this may not be a good omen, seeing as he couldn't tell whether Sydney's penetrating gaze was a sign of anger or of the gods' omniscience.
He'd ignore the difficult questions for the time being, and begin with the obvious. "You've been in communion with the gods?" he asked, taking a step inside as Sydney stood back. "...Did they reveal anything important?"
"All they reveal is important," Sydney replied, almost a rebuke, as he returned to the window for a moment, then turned again. "On occasion, there is the question of how and why, but they do not speak thus needlessly."
He sounded slightly frustrated, but Hardin knew that it was not directed at him. He sighed and sat down at the table, watching Sydney pace aimlessly, and somewhat unsteadily. It was always awe-inspiring when the gods descended on Sydney to speak through him... but seeing the price that was paid afterwards, that left him more protective than impressed. Though Sydney would soon collapse, perhaps for a full day or more, Hardin knew better by now than to suggest that he try to rest.
Sydney did not seem likely to explain whatever it was that had caused him to go so deep, besides. Hardin watched him pace for a little longer, then - before he could open his mouth to speak, Sydney halted and turned to face him. "On the matter of Rosencrantz - did I not ask that you trust me?"
Hardin should have known better than to think that he was anything less than transparent to the prophet in his current state. "...He said he was leaving on your orders. You'd mentioned no plan for him - not to me."
"All I can tell you is that you must trust me," Sydney repeated.
The look Sydney was levelling at him, with some of the force of the gods behind it as well, left Hardin feeling as if he were pinned to his seat for interrogation. "I do trust you," he said quickly. "It is him that I cannot trust."
"Is that so?" Sydney smirked briefly, coming to rest his hands on the back of the other chair, facing Hardin. "Whose words made you come to me today? Whose words are you questioning, Hardin?"
...He did have a point. "I apologize. I am trying to keep faith, Sydney, but... it seems that everything has grown complicated."
"Indeed it has," Sydney agreed quietly. "More complicated than you know."
Coming from Sydney, it was almost a moment of vulnerability. "You could tell me," Hardin suggested, but Sydney shook his bowed head.
This is even more absurd than it was when we met. Hardin didn't care that Sydney must hear every thought as clearly as if he'd said it aloud. Let him. Then, I had yet to prove myself. Have I not managed it, even now? Or is something terrible happening, that you would choose to withdraw from me again?
Sydney still said nothing. "Would you like me to come to you after dinner?" Hardin asked at last.
"If you wish," Sydney murmured in reply. "I'm unlikely to stay awake for long," he added as Hardin nodded.
"That's fine."
Sydney glanced up at him, looking serious. "That's preferable, rather."
As always, he was correct - it hadn't escaped Hardin's notice that Sydney had answered none of his questions, which didn't make Hardin feel any less as if he was being toyed with.
But I will not give up, he reminded himself.
True to his word, Sydney was only semi-conscious when Hardin returned. He lay twisted beneath the bedsheets, as if he wanted to curl into himself, but the metal limbs made it uncomfortable. Hardin, who had much experience with Sydney in various stages of discomfort, knew just where to touch, just how to soothe the tensed muscles. Soon, Sydney was sound asleep in his arms, head nestled into Hardin's shoulder. As Hardin was himself not particularly tired, he lay awake and thought.
...He'd had far too much time to think of late.
Sydney, on the other hand, was all too ready to take the time to think about what he'd learned, under the guise of exhaustion. And what had he learned? That Rosencrantz was a vital part of the equation, regardless of his fickle allegiances. That he was in some way connected to the next Keeper - the man with the sword that had once belonged to the Lady. That he was to die, that the Duke was to die, that Hardin was to die - things he already knew. It hadn't taken the gods' revelations, either, to tell him that time was rapidly running out. And yet, there was so much left to do...
Most of it would have to wait, however - wait until he put a few more pieces of the puzzle in place. That he could not do until more was revealed. He already had a contingency plan in mind, in case they were not revealed quickly enough, though it might not be worth even trying if the circumstances changed. It would be a setback, besides, of everything the Duke was trying to accomplish.
...He did not want to think about that anymore. But there was little to be done if he did not, there was little time left in which to do so, and there were far less pleasant ways to go about thinking than while lying in bed with Hardin, even if Hardin's heart was currently brimming over with uncertainty that Sydney could not speak to.
Why was he still so eager to please with his actions, Sydney wondered, when his heart was reluctant? It would have been simpler for both of them if Hardin had fallen back into the role of second-in-command of their company, a talented officer whose objective was to win the war, and no more. He was nothing like Rosencrantz, offering alliance only if it had a direct benefit to himself; Hardin had given an oath, and he would serve Sydney even if he grew to hate him. Perhaps even if he were to go mad from the Dark, become a demon. While Hardin's mind prized freedom, his soul yearned for a master.
Was that not the same sort of fanaticism his other followers offered, in essence? There was a difference, easy enough for Sydney to spot in the details, but hard to define overall. If he were to be overcome by the Dark, Hardin, unlike the rest, would recognize his madness. But like the rest, he would continue to follow.
There was a simple answer - deceptively, foolishly simple - but Sydney did not like to think upon such things. Better it was by far to accept Hardin's offerings - cold water, a steady arm, the gentle touch of his lips and his hands. As the hours passed, one day becoming another as Sydney drifted between weary contentment and unconsciousness, he could feel Hardin settling. This is as it was, came the thought, and the peace it brought was a welcome lie to them both.
It was half a day after Sydney had begun to feel less empty and mortal, and was still taking advantage of his need for bedrest to have some time to himself to just think, when a knock came on the door. The knock was not quiet, but neither was it impolitely loud.
Hardin seemed not to agree with this assessment, casting a protective glance at Sydney in the bed at the sudden noise. He'd been sitting at the table in the room with a cup of light wine, silently reviewing some reports that had come in from distant allies. Now Sydney could sense his indignation at their visitor's thoughtlessness, and it abruptly turned to outright irritation as he seemingly scryed the hallway. I might have known. Just from this, Sydney could guess who had knocked.
He opened his eyes, just a little, as Hardin hesitated and stood, then hesitated again, and finally went to answer the door. Now that Sydney knew what to look for, he felt the sudden jolt of shock, which was quickly muted as Rosencrantz closed himself off from the Dark again as harshly as if he were slamming something shut. Obviously he had not expected to find Hardin there - particularly not like this, as Hardin's underlying smugness plainly told Sydney that he had quite deliberately not put on a shirt before answering the door.
"Good evening, Hardin." Rosencrantz recovered himself quickly, if it had been at all apparent to anyone but a heartseer that he had faltered in the first place. "Might you be able to tell me where I could find Sydney?"
"He's in his bed." Hardin nodded vaguely over his shoulder. "I will let him know in the morning that you've returned."
"I see... He sleeps, then? I hope my knocking did not disturb him."
"It would seem not," Hardin replied flatly, much to Sydney's amusement. "And no surprise. He was rather worn out."
"Apparently so..." Rosencrantz murmured. "I shall look forward to speaking with him on the morrow, then?"
"Indeed. If that is all..."
"Yes - that is all. Good night, then, to the two of you."
"Good night, Rosencrantz."
The door shut. Through half-closed eyelids, Sydney watched as Hardin returned to the table and sat down, picking up a paper to continue where he'd left off. It was as if nothing of consequence had happened at all, to the eyes of an observer. But for an observer who observed with more than the eyes... It would have been impossible for Sydney not to see that Hardin was filled with vindictive satisfaction.
Sydney couldn't help himself; he started to laugh.
Hardin looked up in surprise, and narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Sydney's mirth. After a moment, though, he gave in with a wry, self-conscious smile of his own. "I don't see that it was all that amusing," he muttered in half-hearted protest.
He was right in a way, Sydney thought, for it wouldn't have been nearly as amusing if it had been anyone other than Hardin - stern, dignified John Hardin, who used to flush with anger and embarrassment if anyone so much as implied anything about the two of them. "You're lying," he informed Hardin, still chuckling. "You enjoyed that very much."
"...Yes," Hardin admitted, the reluctant smile growing wider as he came to sit on the bed next to Sydney. "Am I to take this to mean that you've recovered?"
"For the most part, though I feel parched. And I've grown weary of water," he added, as Hardin began to reach for the pitcher. "I'd much prefer the wine you opened earlier, if you're willing to share."
"Not before you've eaten something - it would only put you to sleep again. Would you eat something if I brought it?"
"I would love to." Sydney found that he was ravenous, as well. How long had it been since he'd had solid food? He'd completely lost track of time, but it must have passed if Rosencrantz had already returned.
"I will see what might remain of dinner, then. It isn't long past the hour."
Hardin hesitated, suddenly once more indecisive. Sydney chose to take the decision from him, and reached up to draw Hardin down with the flat of his palm, angling his own face upwards. Hardin responded with relief and gratitude, with a kiss deeper than he'd intended.
This is how it should be, came the thought again.
Fate would say otherwise, Sydney thought to himself. But fate had not come calling. Not quite yet.