Perhaps, Hardin thought, he'd overreacted just a bit. Rather, he'd directed his anger, which was perfectly justified, at the wrong person. As bewildered as he'd been by Sydney's nonchalance, he knew that Sydney was to be trusted. It was Rosencrantz - or possibly someone else, though Hardin thought it unlikely - who was untrustworthy. Sydney had always dealt with such people as they deserved.

Having come to this conclusion late in the day, Hardin chose not to further the distance between them by sleeping in the barracks again. He would go to Sydney's room, and lie down and wait. When Sydney came, he would apologize, and then offer his body to be used as Sydney saw fit. Never mind that it seemed to be pleasure as well as penance, for it was pleasure to Sydney also.

He waited until past the darkest hours, but he was left slightly less determined about his apology when Sydney did not appear, that night or the next.

Had he angered Sydney so much? This was puzzling, for although Sydney's temper could be violent, he normally put it behind him before long. It might be that he was simply busy, still investigating the traitor among them - but at all hours? Hardin could not imagine what he could be doing about it in the middle of the night.

As for the prime suspect, anytime Hardin managed to scrye him, he seemed to be going about his business normally, with no sign that he'd been approached about such treachery. This was more than Hardin could say for himself. Distracted by alternating bouts of guilt and frustration, and intermittently checking to see if he could scrye Sydney yet, the men's training regimen was going poorly.

Everyone was slightly distracted, however, for the nights were growing cooler and longer with the approach of autumn. It was only a few days until the start of the seasonal ritual. Even in wartime, Sydney would not neglect the gods' ceremonies. Especially in wartime, neither would even the less pious men let the chance for the traditional revelry pass by without observation.

"Seeing as the knights have pulled back," Kermiak was saying that night at dinner, "we've been given permission to leave the city for a hunt. Sydney's blessing goes with our bows - he's said that the winter will be harsh, and our resources meager, as we dared not leave the city this summer."

"A much-needed respite, indeed," said Hardin. Sydney's blessing, was it? He'd begun to wonder if Sydney had left Lea Monde, so elusive was he. Evidently he had not.

"You're welcome to join our party," Kermiak suggested. "Duncan, Aryn, Domenic, Aiden, and myself. Those who have long followed Sydney - the brethren have acquired so many new faces."

"An' lost so many of the old ones," Duncan muttered. A few others at the table nodded, remembering past hunts.

"If I may say so, Hardin," Aiden spoke up, sounding almost concerned, "I believe you should join us. You've been looking more and more tense of late, and you could use the respite more than any of us."

Hardin looked over to him, somewhat embarrassed - was it so obvious? "...I cannot. There are matters I must attend to."

"Matters of such importance that you could not be away for a day or so?"

"Not precisely, no, but..." Hardin almost said that he must remain close, in support of Sydney. ...A man who had hidden himself from Hardin for the past few days?

"Come now, Hardin," Kermiak urged him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "It is not as if we will go far, or that the city would be left unprotected. Even if not for Sydney, plenty of the newcomers show promise. That Rosencrantz fellow is a natural, for instance."

Hardin nearly bristled. They hadn't the slightest idea... and suddenly he was all that much more wary of leaving the city, what with a traitor among them. "...I would not be so certain that he's staying on with us."

"Be it so?" Duncan looked curious. "He's got a tale or two behind him, no? Anything ye could share?"

Perhaps that two of their intended hunting party would have been slain due to the man's plotting, if not for Sydney's prophecy and Hardin's intervention? Hardin would have been quite happy to share that particular insight. Sydney was taking care of it, however. "Nothing I could share in good conscience, I'm afraid."

"But you do not trust him," Aiden observed.

Hardin looked to him again, this time more puzzled. He seemed not to be alone, for Kermiak chuckled. "Has the Dark gifted you with another talent, Aiden? You've not joined the ranks of the heartseers, have you, that you know what a man does not say..."

Aiden shook his head. "'Twas only a guess. I apologize for my presumptions, Hardin."

"...There is no need." There was no point in denying it. "Your presumption was correct anyhow - I do not trust him."

"That bein' the part ye can't share, I suppose," said Duncan. "I'll say that Sydney seems fond enough of 'im..."

"...I could not speak for Sydney." At the moment, Hardin wished he could. If Sydney seemed to accept Rosencrantz, then the brethren would as well, and that could be dangerous.

"Some o' us've been wonderin'..." Duncan said slowly. He looked almost painfully curious, but hesitant as well. "It be, uh, none of our business, truth, but... how to put it..."

Hardin was all the more puzzled, until Kermiak shrugged. "As you've started, Duncan, you may as well say it straight. You're none too subtle when it involves a woman."

The others chuckled - except for Hardin, who abruptly realized what Duncan was trying to ask. "If I'm correct about what you're asking," he spoke up quickly and bluntly, before Duncan could say more, "I doubt that very much." And to his amazement, that was the truth. Even his wariness towards Rosencrantz was not so powerful as to let him suspect Sydney of sinking so low.

Kermiak chuckled again, and clapped Duncan on the back. "It seems you should leave the presumptions to Aiden, friend."

This got a laugh from those around them, though Aiden heaved a sigh of mock exasperation. "Anyhow, consider the hunt. It would do you good, and certainly Sydney could defend the city should something happen. If it were not so, he would know, besides. Why not ask him yourself, if it would set your mind at ease?"

"I agree," Kermiak put in. "It's not been the same without you."

Hardin did consider it. "...When would we depart, and for how long?"

"We'd thought to get our things together tonight, an' take our leave in the morn, for two days - but if ye be needin' more time to decide..."

Hardin shook his head. "I think that would be fine." He didn't need to ask Sydney. By Sydney's own reasoning, he would know if anything was to go wrong. If it was something to do with those who remained, Sydney could protect them at least as well as Hardin could have. At times, Hardin still found himself awestruck at Sydney's power, even after the years he'd followed him. And if Sydney did not approve, if there was some reason he might see that Hardin should not go, he would have the night to say so.

If Sydney didn't approve, if he saw anything, he did not tell Hardin. He did not even bother to show himself in his own quarters once again. Hardin was glad to have an excuse to sleep elsewhere, somewhere he would not have to concern himself with such thoughts. Even sleeping on the ground would be preferable.

The day dawned grey and dreary, but it did little to dampen the spirits of their hunting party. Although Leá Monde was close enough to a home for them, and all knew that they were safer there than anywhere else, it was good to have time away - a time of relative normalcy, Hardin thought. They spoke not of gods and sorcery and immortality, but such ordinary subjects as tracking, and boasting over their last catch - which was also likely more ordinary than the teller of the tale made it sound. For a little whole, they were as any other man.

Well, somewhat, Hardin admitted. Ordinary men did not spark the cooking fire with no more than a thought, nor did they set a magical web around the area of their encampment upon deciding that they had all woken up much too early for anyone to want to stay up for a watch.

Nor did they lie awake, frustrated that they had forgotten the chill of sleeping on the ground alone. It had been a long time since Hardin had made up his travelling blankets without Sydney at his side, and despite the way the metal limbs were always as cold as the night air around them at first, the bedroll warmed up faster with two.

So much for being too tired to keep the watch. After tossing and turning and freezing, Hardin gave in and went to sit by the small fire. During the daylight hours, while there was game to catch and conversation to distract him, it had been simple enough to forget about the thoughts that troubled him. In the solitary darkness, however, with only a dim flame for company... A different sort of chill caught Hardin suddenly, and he looked up at the cloudy sky, wishing all the more that Sydney was there to curl up next to. At least he was no longer in a cell, he thought.

And perhaps not so solitary as he'd thought. The fire's crackling did not quite camouflage the sound of rustling blankets nearby, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Aiden sitting up. "Sleep does not come easily?"

"Not tonight," Hardin agreed, turning his face back to the fire. "And you?"

The woolen blankets rustled again as Aiden stood, and settled himself down beside the fire as well, still wrapped in them. "I suppose it's a bit embarrassing to discover that you are no longer accustomed to finding sleep alone on a cold night."

Hardin stiffened at his words. "...Perhaps. Have you indeed learned to scrye a man's heart?"

"I was speaking of myself," Aiden murmured. He looked up as Hardin regarded him dubiously. "Given my own experience with such things, it seemed not an unreasonable conclusion to draw about others, however." Hardin made a soft noise of mild irritation. This was certainly not a normal conversation to be having beside the hunters' campfire.

Unfortunately, Aiden did not seem to agree. "I suppose, too, that it is improper for a soldier to suggest such to his commander, but tonight we are on a holiday, and rank is irrelevant... Would you care to share blankets? Perhaps a bit further away, if it pleases you."

Hardin would have protested, immediately and vehemently, if he had not been so startled by the suggestion. By the time had worn off enough to allow him a reaction, he'd recalled that others were sleeping nearby. "...Why would you ask such a question?" he asked quietly, staring into the fire. "Seeing as you guessed accurately enough what troubled me..."

"Is that not all the reason required?" Aiden replied with a shrug. "Neither of us has slept alone on the ground for some time. I am cold. You are cold."

"Obviously you are no heartseer," Hardin muttered, "or you would know why your invitation could never be accepted.

"No, but I suspected as much. ...You love him, do you not?"

Instinct told Hardin to deny it, but... his heart had long been forced to keep silent in regards to that word, to deny it against his will. Given the opportunity, it grew defiant. "...Yes," he murmured. "I love him."

He'd never said it out loud before. He'd never been permitted to say it where it would matter, and anywhere else it didn't. Now that he'd had the chance, and had spoken the word, it somehow gave him an uneasy feeling, as if he'd done something very wrong. He tried to remind himself that he hadn't. There was no need for a feeling of impending doom.

"And he you," said Aiden, "but differently. He loves us all, as the gods love their children. He does not love as men love - he has gone far beyond that."

"Naught but your opinion," Hardin growled.

"It was a lesson I had to learn," Aiden told him, softly but firmly. "It was no simple task. He knows us more deeply than anyone has ever known us - more deeply than we know ourselves - and still he accepts us. He gives us a unique purpose, he makes us believe that we are special. But he knows and accepts all of us. Though he may single one out for a time, he has no true favorite. I was not the first who had to come to terms with this, and those who came before explained it to me."

Again Hardin wanted to protest, to say that it was different with him, but the idea of having to accept such a thing himself held him back. Wouldn't it be better for Aiden to believe this rather than to discover that Sydney just hadn't loved him, had simply been willing to accept an offer? Not that Sydney had ever confessed anything more to Hardin, or allowed Hardin to make such confessions to him. "Why do you bother me thus? It does not concern you."

"We've all noticed how you've grown more and more tense of late," Aiden stated, "and particularly in regards to him. All we could assume was that he is falling short of your expectations in some way. Given who he is, there are few enough other ways for him to fall short of anyone's expectations."

This was the prominent difference in their reasoning - Hardin was the only one among them who did not see Sydney as far more than a man, only one step removed from godhood. It was almost certainly why Sydney had allowed him so close - he saw what others did not. With his talent, it was to be expected.

And yet, he could not argue the point. Not by his own will, but out of necessity. Sydney's reputation as something beyond humanity was a part of the mystique which allowed them to increase in number even as the bounty on their heads grew. Dispelling the myth could lead to dissension, and ultimately to defeat. "...So this is a conspiracy, is it?" was all he asked.

Aiden gave him a soft, helpless laugh in reply. "Not quite. Although the matter was discussed, I've acted on my own. None other in our party has been in such a position. Leastwise, not with Sydney."

This was true - Hardin would never have expected such frank discussion on the subject from anyone else now among them. Certainly not the first part. "And your suggestion that we share blankets?"

"A test, for the most part," Aiden admitted, "but if you had accepted, I would not have rescinded my offer, nor would there have been any further obligations. With lives like ours, we should take comfort where we can find it."

Just as Sydney had, until Hardin had happened to cross paths with him. It was no surprise that the followers who idolized him should follow suit, though they did not know just how similar their situation was. "It is not a way that everyone can live," Hardin told him, steadfastly ignoring a small, perverse voice in the back of his mind which seemed to find the idea not only sensible, but... rather appealing.

"Very well," Aiden sighed, shifting his blankets to stand again. "...I once believed myself envious of you, Hardin. Now... I rather pity you."

"Your concern is a credit to you," Hardin said stiffly, "but misplaced. I am aware of... the complications involved, and need no counsel."

"As you will," said Aiden, with a small, respectful nod. "Then I'll offer naught but good wishes for the both of you. You too have been a blessing to our brethren."

"...Thank you." Hardin wished he could believe that their conversation had been born of jealousy, but he knew Aiden to be telling the truth. He truly believed what he was saying. It was a logical view of the situation to hold. In fact, it was logical enough that it left him uneasy and frustrated to have it stated out loud, so that he was forced to consider it.

He knew better. He'd seen more of Sydney than anyone else. Of course, that could have been because it was unavoidable. Because of his talent, he saw more than anyone in almost all cases. Sydney had never before had to defend himself against one who could see through the doors he locked himself behind in his moments of weakness. Perhaps the best defense had been full disclosure.

Hardin found that thought more disturbing than the last - for what did it say about the few intimacies that only they had shared?

This was supposed to be a holiday, a distraction. There was no sense lying awake and going over the same worries that kept him from sleep on a usual night, Hardin told himself irritably, going back to his own blankets.

It didn't help when his semiconscious thoughts went in a different direction, wondering if it would have been so terrible to accept Aiden's offer. Sydney likely would have said nothing, since he had never allowed any sort of arrangement to be formalized between the two of them - and there was no doubt at all that it would have been that much warmer.