He was doing the right thing. Surely he was. Hardin had told himself this same thing many times during the past few days, though his questioning continued. How could it not, when he'd chosen to spend his time in solitude?
It may well have been cowardice, Hardin admitted... No, there was no 'may well have been' - it was cowardice. Not only did he want to avoid Sydney, and of course Rosencrantz, but also anyone else who had witnessed their exchange. The others had been told to say nothing of what they'd caught Rosencrantz at, so they would not mention that mistake. Neither would they be likely to speak of the way Sydney had rebuked him, but that didn't matter. Even if they did not say a word, they had seen it, and the air would be thick with the unasked questions.
The same would happen if they found him sleeping in the barracks again, or in fact anywhere apart from Sydney's bedchamber. Therefore, Hardin had taken it upon himself to keep watch on the cellar again from the woods nearby, knowing the Blades were now aware of their ritual, a fortuitous time to mount an attack. Should they send out a scouting party, the first phase, Hardin would dispose of them quickly. He'd set magical snares and tripwires throughout the area, so that by day he could seek out more game to supplement the feast that was to take place, and by night he could sleep in a place where no one would find him to comment upon it. It was cowardice, but some good could be made of it.
No one had tripped any of his alarms until the second evening, while he was cooking a small portion of the day's catch for his own dinner. Feeling the burst of energy, undetectable to all but himself, he had scryed the location. No need to worry - it was only Aiden, bringing a message from Sydney. Sydney wanted to know if Hardin intended to take part in the seasonal rituals, Aiden had said, or if he should find another.
Hardin had held the element of earth in such rituals for the past few years, standing at Sydney's right hand as he represented the Dark. It was not a position he particularly wanted to be in at the moment, especially knowing how the magic affected Sydney - the two of them frequently spent such feast days having their fill of each other, rather than food. If that was what Sydney wanted... then he would oblige, if Sydney could stand this time to ignore the words of his heart. The thought only kindled Hardin's anger again.
On the other hand, the ritual itself had nothing to do with Sydney, or the tension between them. It was merely part of the role he played in their brotherhood, an offering to the gods they all served. There was no reason not to fulfill his usual duties just because he was angry with Sydney.
After considering, Hardin agreed. It was only a small request, after all. Admittedly, it would have been nice if Sydney himself had come to ask him, but Hardin had to admit that unless Sydney had brought at least an apology as well, he would not have been pleased to see him at the moment.
Aiden hesitated, as if he'd wanted to say something more before he returned to the city. "If there is something you wish to say," Hardin told him, seeing the conflict in his eyes, "you may as well speak. Unless it is about what happened two days past."
Aiden looked mildly guilty, and Hardin sighed. "I suspected as much."
"...No, not exactly. As he instructed me, I said nothing of it - but when he called me to him, he told me that none of us had lost favor in his eyes because of it, including you. It was an honest mistake, born from our zeal for protecting our brethren, and he is glad to have such vigilance at his command."
Hardin had meant the other part of what had happened, mostly, but he'd rather not have called attention to it. "...It would have been better to hear it from his own mouth."
"He also told me," Aiden added, somewhat more hesitantly, "that he knew of what I'd proposed the night before. No doubt he read the uncertainty in my heart."
"...He did, did he." That might have explained a great deal of what had happened, Hardin thought.
Or perhaps not. "He reassured me that he was not angry. If you found pleasure in me, then why would he deny you such? He has no claim to you beyond your oath."
That was exactly what Hardin would have expected Sydney to say, were he in a particularly bitter mood, which he was. The next part was more of a surprise, however.
"...He also said that even so, it was a foolish thing to ask. That you would consider it akin to treason, for your loyalty runs too deep, and would therefore never accept."
This was nearly the same reason Hardin had given himself, absent one particular word, but hearing that Sydney had spoken so on his behalf irritated him somehow. "...That may be true," he muttered. "But then, it may not."
Aiden threw him a sudden, sharp glance, and Hardin realized the implication he'd unwittingly offered with his ambivalence. He had no idea how to deny such a thing, or indeed if he wanted to. "It matters not. Go and tell him I shall take my place before dawn on the morrow - there is no need for another."
Aiden nodded. "I only wanted to make my apologies, Hardin, if I had offended you by asking. 'Twas not my intention."
"You did not offend me," Hardin replied, shaking his head. "I was merely surprised. I see no reason to be offended by such suggestions, offered with good will."
"Hmm..." At last, Aiden smiled slightly. "...Then perhaps I shall not offend you on some other day, should you continue to look so melancholy."
Hardin blinked, and Aiden smiled more broadly as he bowed his head respectfully and turned to make his way back into Leá Monde.
The next day, Hardin returned to the city and his fellows in the early morning, hours before dawn, having slept little. He would need to avail himself of the baths and a razor before he appeared at the ritual, he supposed, after a few days in the forest, and he would rather do this before most of the others woke. He did not care to have any attention drawn to his presence. Unfortunately, his presence was made conspicuous by his recent absence, and at his appearing, Duncan and Kermiak immediately came to greet him with good cheer and questions regarding his whereabouts. Hardin shrugged them off with vague answers about hunting, and needing to bathe before the ritual gave him a convenient excuse to duck out before the conversation progressed to more than small talk.
The others who were to hold the elements during the ritual were pleased to see him back as well, but they had little time to talk, as they donned the white ceremonial robes and began their preparation. Despite his disinclination to discuss his doings with anyone, Hardin supposed that it was nice enough to know that he'd been missed, but mostly he wondered if one specific person would be glad to see him.
Hardin knew his routine all too well after years together. Sydney would have spent most of the night in meditation and prayer, sometimes atop the city walls if the weather permitted. The night had been cold, however, so more likely he'd spent it in the temple. As always, he appeared shortly before the appointed time, with an unearthly serenity and encouraging words for all who were to take part in the ritual, each individually.
As always, he was smiling a distracted smile by the time he came to Hardin. "It was good of you to join us," he said, and aside from the light of the gods' presence, Hardin saw no warmth in his eyes. "There are none here stronger in earth than you."
...That was all? "As the gods require of me," Hardin replied evenly, with no warmth of his own, "so shall I do."
The distracted smile faltered so slightly that Hardin was likely the only one who could have seen it. "A commendable attitude," was all Sydney said in response, and moved on to another. Hardin closed his eyes, held his tongue, and spoke no more until it was required.
The next words he needed to speak were few and ceremonial, in the tongue of a long-dead people, and he did his best to focus his attention on the gods and their providence, the miracle and mystery of the seasons. It was difficult with Sydney standing there, speaking with grace the words that felt clumsy on Hardin's own tongue, until the sacred fire was ablaze and the sun arisen, signalling the ritual's end.
That was the signal, too, that he could speak again, and Duncan found him quickly afterwards, as Hardin was still deciding what to do with the rest of the day. Duncan's invitation to go down to the shore, fishing and relaxing, with a few of the others would have been appealing, had Hardin thought he could tolerate a day of casual conversation, especially one that carefully tread a path around a few select subjects which no one dared to speak of. Instead, he excused himself by saying that he'd not slept well, and would like to catch up.
"Ah, makes sense," Duncan agreed. "Ye wouldn't be missin' the dance later, nor the feast, no? Best to be rested for the real holiday to come."
...There was no way for him to gracefully avoid the evening's festivities, was there? The thought of the ritual dance, watching Sydney move around the fire... He knew the effect that it had on him, and usually it was not a problem, for Sydney was willing to indulge it - with that knowing, smug smirk that showed his pleasure over his being able to cause such a reaction. Just imagining it was arousing, and at the moment annoying. If Sydney tried to manipulate him in that way, Hardin was uncertain that he could resist.
His annoyance, however, might be enough to help in that regard, and it was expected of him to attend. "Of course." At least he'd be spared from a day of trying to make conversation. And truthfully, he was tired of being alone with his thoughts. The feast would do him good, if he could manage to collect himself enough to withstand the noise, after calm days alone in the woods.
And in the meantime, he could sleep. He was irritated with himself, however, when he found himself heading for Sydney's quarters within the keep, just out of habit. It was a tempting thought, to lie down and just sleep in the bed that they'd shared, as if he had as much right to be there as Sydney. He wondered if Sydney would agree, then had the thought that Sydney would not likely be there to notice. When Sydney was in his bed on feast days, it was usually because Hardin was there with him.
...Would he take another to his bed now, if Hardin did not present himself? Hardin quashed the thought, and the accompanying urge to scrye on Sydney's whereabouts, and made for the barracks. It was a far safer place to seek rest.
He was not the only one who intended to spend half the day in slumber; there were plenty among their number who cared not for rising before dawn, and had gone right back to bed after the ritual had concluded. The room was therefore quiet, and the beds blessedly soft after having spent the past few nights on the ground - an ideal environment for sleep, and one which he was glad to take advantage of.
Upon rising, everything seemed to be more tolerable - the troubles weighing on him, the task of conversing with his fellows, even the prospect of the ritual dance that evening, though he had to pause for a moment to be certain. In fact, the thought of encountering Sydney at all didn't bother him so much. The time away and a few hours of true rest must have been just what he'd needed. Now that he was firmly in control of himself once more, even if Sydney were to give him such a look as was his habit, staring deep into him...
...It was Sydney, Hardin admitted to himself with some embarrassment. He might be able to resist, but not easily. Sydney would know this, and would likely take advantage of it as always. Unless... No, a moment of scrying revealed that he was indeed in his bed, but alone and asleep.
The Sight lingered longer than he'd intended, showing how Sydney lay flat upon his stomach, blankets and sheets only half covering the dark mark upon his bare back, and the thin line of pale skin and flaxen hair that glowed with what little sunlight peeked through the drapes. It was as though Hardin were standing there beside him - and had his arm been an arm of flesh, he would not have been able to resist the urge to reach out a hand to trace the sleek line of his back.
Perhaps the night's dancing would not be so uncomplicated as he'd thought. Eager for distraction, Hardin scryed Duncan instead, and just as he'd expected, found that they were indeed still down at the shoreline. He might as well join them, for what daylight remained.
It was a relief to find that not all on the day's outing had been a part of their hunt; those who had been would not say a word about anything that had happened, not where others could hear. It was a relief, too, to be greeted so warmly, with no concern or question beyond his whereabouts for the past few days. Hardin replied that he'd been needing time alone before the holiday for meditation, to make sure that his heart was right. Some of the men nodded thoughtfully, agreeing that it was a noble cause... And then Kermiak remarked that perhaps more meditation would give Duncan the clarity of mind to get a fish on his hook, and that put a stop to any further serious conversation.
His excuse was close enough to the reality that no one questioned why Hardin's fellowship was quieter and more subdued even than his usual. In truth, despite the cheerful and sometimes noisy company, his mind couldn't help drifting from time to time. What was he doing, exactly, by avoiding Sydney? What was he hoping to accomplish? Sydney didn't need him, and therefore it would solve nothing but to drive them further apart. Perhaps he'd been overly harsh, when Sydney's behavior hadn't been particularly unusual for him. ...Perhaps that was exactly why he was being harsh. Even so, he didn't want much from Sydney, and it would take little to satisfy him to the point where they could put this behind them. Only... some understanding, instead of distance. That was all Hardin wanted.
If he was the one who continued to put distance between them, he acknowledged, he would indeed save himself from further hurt - but also remove all hope of reconciliation. He must appear at the fire that night, then. If this has come to an end, then it will not be my fault, he thought to himself with determination. The anger behind that determination made him uncertain of whether or not he meant it.
The ritual of dance was always an anticipated event, both for those who took part and for those who watched. This year, with the women having been sent away to safer havens, many of those who watched as the dancers wove their tapestry of movement would not find it quite so compelling. Most of the men among them did not share Sydney's taste.
And Hardin's as well? He couldn't be sure, for he'd thought only of Sydney for so long, it was difficult to imagine himself with anyone else, male or female. There was one woman in particular who he was sure he would once have taken an interest in, but before long he'd come to think of her more as a friend, perhaps even a sister, rather than a potential mate. As for men, he'd not thought about any other in such a way, until Aiden had suggested it. The thought had intrigued him, momentarily, but perhaps it had more to do with the nature of his proposal - nothing more than a moment of closeness, after which their lives would go on as they had. It was not Hardin's way in the least.
The dance was indeed different without the women, with the fire's light lending its illumination to naught but taller, more muscular bodies, some marred by the scars of old battle wounds. The fighters of Müllenkamp moved with a different sort of grace than the women - the grace of talented swordsmen in a duel, of beasts sizing each other up before an attack. It was less a dance of kinship and joy with just the men, somehow seeming more primal, even predatorial. To Hardin's surprise, he spotted Rosencrantz among the dancers, and the light steps of his feet reminded Hardin of a great cat, padding silently through the jungle after its prey. But of course - as a Riskbreaker, he must have been able to discipline his body, teach it to move exactly how it should.
As always, the music of the flutes gradually ceased, and with them the dancers, until only the beat of the drums accompanied the one who still remained before the fire. Sydney and their Lady, he had told Hardin long ago, shared a strange relationship. She was no goddess, but she remained to watch over them and guide them even so - and because she was no goddess, aspects of her continued to be very much human. She found Sydney interesting, she loved the dance. She enjoyed it when Sydney danced for her, and with her.
The first time Hardin had witnessed the ritual, he had seen the Lady appear in the fire. He'd been told that not everyone could see her, and not every time, but that she was always there. She revealed herself to a select few, those whose hope and faith were running out, as a sign that she still watched over them, that she knew what they needed and would provide.
Hardin had thought, all things considered, that he might see her this time. But no, Sydney stood alone in the center of the courtyard, glints of flame and spark sparkling off his fingertips as he raised his arms. This too might be a sign, Hardin thought. A sign that he needed no hope, that everything was fine as it was. It wasn't a comforting thought, if so.
The way that Sydney smiled as he gazed into the fire always made it clear that he enjoyed this ritual as much as his Lady. Hardin found himself remembering what Aiden had said, about Sydney not loving as mortal men, for he'd gone beyond. It was much like what Sydney had said of Müllenkamp. Not all of her high priests were so close to her as he was, but he was a different sort of priest - few had been granted immortality. His coming had been an omen of change, so the brethren had said. Hardin wondered if perhaps Aiden had been half-right, if Sydney was something more like Müllenkamp than a deity, but no longer entirely human despite a few remaining facets that made him appear so.
If that was the case, Hardin couldn't fault Sydney for being as he was. But then, couldn't he have told him? Whatever and whoever Sydney was, he knew the thoughts Hardin never spoke of, and never had he given confirmation or denial. He knew what Hardin wanted, and continued to hold it just out of Hardin's reach, but never said that it was useless to go on hoping. Even if it was, even if their relationship had been built on such a perilous foundation, Sydney would have known - and he had let Hardin go on believing.
It was not until the dance ended, and those around him began to rise, that Hardin realized that he'd not been tempted in the slightest, distracted as he was by anger. That in itself left him shocked and shamed.
One more chance, he thought, spotting Sydney from across the courtyard and rising to his feet. He must have heard all that was on Hardin's heart, and Hardin was willing to give him just one more chance. Their eyes met, and Hardin held his breath.
...Tell me what you are...
The breath Hardin held turned to a stone in his chest as Sydney turned away and disappeared into the crowd.
The feast too had a different atmosphere without the women - rougher and rowdier. Drink flowed more freely, less care was taken to keep the conversations from becoming coarse. The tables remained occupied late into the evening, for few were sneaking off to be alone with a lover.
Hardin was not enjoying the merriment so much as his companions. Having little appetite for food, and less for conversation, he remained in their company mostly because he knew better than to think that he could get away from his thoughts. At least here he had distraction. A few drinks had taken the edge off, allowed him to let the conversation wash over him peacefully rather than irritate him. Sitting there surrounded by noise and good cheer, while none of it touched him - it was a bit like meditation. He was far from drunk, however, as he knew from experience that it did little good, and often made things worse. No, he was only numb.
His thoughts were of Sydney, of course. Of what could become of them now, what never could, and just how tired he was of trying when Sydney did not seem to try at all. Of Sydney's whereabouts, for he was not present, and once again he was unable to scrye his location. Although no women remained among them, there were still a few who might have stolen away for a private meeting. Sydney's absence seemed particularly suspicious in that light.
Since he could not scrye Sydney, Hardin tried to seek out others who had been Sydney's consorts in the past, in case he could be given an answer secondhand. Dennys was still in the commons. Gwynn was... After a moment's shock at what the Dark showed him, Hardin realized that Gwynn had apparently managed to seduce Kieran after all. Hardin quickly tried to think of someone else to scrye instead, for the sight was too compelling - he'd become accustomed to this as a part of the holiday, and he did miss it terribly - and the one who came to mind, annoyingly enough, was Rosencrantz, though he'd never been one of Sydney's. He could not scrye Rosencrantz, which troubled him, but... he wouldn't, would he?
Hardin tried to remember who else might have been with Sydney in the past, though few still remained from the days before his arrival, so many had fallen to the king's men or the cardinal's. There was Aiden, of course, he remembered. Aiden was... right behind him, or would be soon.
He turned his head to look up as Aiden drew near. "You seem to have much on your mind," Aiden observed, taking a seat at Hardin's otherwise empty table, which had been abandoned for more talkative company some time back.
"Nothing worth mentioning."
"You've scarce said a word all evening," Aiden noted, lowering his voice. "Normally, the reason we hear nothing from you on feast nights is because you've found something else to do, or so I'd assume... The incident the other day did not end well, did it?"
"I'd prefer not to speak of it," Hardin said sharply. He'd been able to keep the talk from getting on his nerves, but only so long as it was not directed at him.
"...As you wish," Aiden agreed, and he fell silent. Only for a short time, though. "I warned you, did I not?"
"And did I not say that I would not speak of it?" Hardin growled.
"I speak of naught to do with Sydney," Aiden clarified, and Hardin found the small smile worrisome. Suddenly he knew what Aiden was referring to, but he said it anyhow. "I warned you that if your melancholy persisted, I might have to approach you again with certain suggestions."
Hardin said nothing, but merely thought. The vision he had seen only moments ago, of Gwynn and Kieran, was still fresh in his mind. Fresh, and extremely compelling. Two ordinary men, pleasing each other. Pleasing themselves. No mind games, no power struggles, no blood drawn. Although Hardin had learned that he enjoyed such things, much to his shame, the thought of stripping it all away and leaving only raw mutual pleasure had an appeal at the moment.
Aiden, watching him, abruptly grew more serious. "As you have yet to tell me nay, I can only assume you to be considering it this time."
"...I am... considering it," Hardin agreed gruffly. It was less an admission than a confirmation.
Aiden appeared to be unable to decide between amazement or sympathy. "Have you decided, then," he asked, "that I was correct about Sydney?"
"No," Hardin replied firmly. "On the contrary, I've decided that you were wrong - he does not know us so well as you believe he does. At the least, he does not know me."
"...Which means...?"
Hardin had known what he meant even before the cautious smile spread across Aiden's lips, but he still couldn't say it in so many words. "...Where? Not in the barracks, I imagine."
Aiden shook his head. "There are many places in the town for a man to hide, or even for two. Surely you were not unaware."
"I was not." Now that Hardin was thinking about it, there were many empty buildings, grassy knolls tucked away beside the rift in the earth, shadowed corners... He'd never considered making use of them for this purpose, seeing as Sydney had a private room.
"At the end of the Rue Sant d'Alsa," Aiden suggested, "there is a soft bit of earth behind a wall, not easily spotted by one who is not looking, and made much more palatable with a few blankets. It may be a bit cold, but did we not agree that a cold night on the ground is made better with company?"
Hardin nodded, quick and curt. He didn't want to think about it, now that he had decided. "I shall meet you there shortly."
"Myself, and the blankets," agreed Aiden. "I have but to gather a few things, and then I will go."
"Very good."
Aiden began to stand up, then hesitated and looked back. "And to be clear... this is for our pleasure, nothing more."
"Nothing more," Hardin echoed, and Aiden looked satisfied as he left. Nothing more, Hardin thought... except bitterness. Except evidence that Sydney did not control him, though he may own him. For Aiden, though, it would be pleasure, to the best of Hardin's ability. For himself...?
Hardin tried to imagine lying with Aiden. Not that the man was unattractive, in the least, but... being atop him, being inside him, or vice versa. Touching, and being touched. ...By hands of flesh. Someone other than Sydney, someone unlike Sydney.
He'd been right to tell Aiden to go on ahead - Hardin was going to need another drink or two to be able to cope with this.
Sydney had vacated the feast early on, and for what purpose? To sit in his room and watch the wine as it swirled lazily in his cup, it would seem. He was not at all in the mood for raucous celebration, feasting and toasting and all that went along with it. The brethren reveled in the occasion as if there would not be another. Sydney knew that this was all too likely.
Still, he would have been able to muster up enough enthusiasm to join them, had not Hardin remained. Though Sydney had tried to focus solely on the dance, Hardin's dissatisfaction had radiated more heat than the fire. No admiration, no lust - just a sad, jaded frustration. Hardin's heart had been repeating all the arguments that Sydney himself had used as defense when his own heart got carried away. Was he an ordinary man? Certainly not. He belonged to the gods, not their creations. This was what he'd wanted his partner to understand. He'd known, however, that it would hurt Hardin to accept it. He could not have stood for sitting in the commons with the others when that was present.
It was better this way. Much better for Hardin to have come to these conclusions on his own, rather than being rebuffed. He would, Sydney thought idly, have to think up some subtle way to reward Aiden for planting the seeds that he could not.
Then again, Sydney realized abruptly some time later, Aiden might have found his own reward. On a moment's whim, Sydney had tried to sense Hardin, the state of his heart. It would not be pleasant, he knew this, but how bad might it be? It wouldn't do for Hardin to do anything rash...
What he sensed from Hardin was not at all what he'd expected. There was anger, to be sure, but flaring into hatred - and entwined with it was ecstasy and desperation of a sort that Sydney knew well. As it was Hardin, there was also shame and self-loathing over what he was doing, so strong as to nearly overwhelm the positive sensations, but it served to fan the flames higher.
Sydney stopped his scrying at once, and poured himself more wine. It was better this way, for both himself and Hardin. And that was that.