Hardin remained unconvinced that he would be able to let himself do what he had agreed to do, even after another, stronger drink. His suspicion, as he made his way through the dark streets, was that he might need to be near senseless before he could stop himself from having second thoughts.
It was only natural that he should have second thoughts. He'd been with Sydney for a long time, and although their relationship had never been formally acknowledged as having begun, neither had it been formally acknowledged as having ended. It still felt like betrayal, like treason. Sydney had been right about that part of it. Hardin supposed he would get over it, someday.
Further, this was not in his nature. Had his life gone without incident, he'd have been a young lord, likely sought after by many women. There had been more than enough when he'd been only another soldier far from home, during his days in the PeaceGuard. Even then, any courtship had been done properly - no carousing, no whoring. He might have found a young lady who shared his heart on such things, and treated her respectfully... Never had he guessed that he might find himself taking such a shallow road as this. But then, he'd never guessed a great many things about what his life had held thus far.
He would do this, though. To prove it to himself, to prove it to Sydney. There was more to him than what he and Sydney had shared, and life would go on, albeit differently. He could take pleasure in another - he'd even managed to build his determination up to the point where he wanted Aiden. Or someone, at any rate. Imagining how it might be, with nothing between himself and a lover but a mutual desire... His heart shrank away from it, but something deeper craved the raw, primal instinct that such thoughts had awakened.
So distracted was he by his thoughts that when he heard the sound of his name, whispered loudly from an open doorway he was passing by, he simply followed it. Aiden must have found somewhere more comfortable than the ground, he supposed.
He suddenly became more wary when the door closed tight with a click behind him. Aiden was not the type to move so quickly - or without warning, but almost before Hardin could find the other person in the dark, they were upon him, pushing him back against the door with a fierce kiss. That was certainly not the way Aiden would have handled him, and after his initial shock, he began to struggle, trying to find the other person's arms to disentangle himself. Breathing heavily from more than the struggle, Hardin finally managed, and illuminated the room with a word.
...It was none other than Rosencrantz he held almost at arm's length. "Surprised?" inquired the man, with an unkind smirk.
Hardin tried to shove him away, but Rosencrantz gripped his wrists skillfully and pushed him back against the wall. Hardin would have none of it, and threw him off with a shove that would have left most men reeling. Rosencrantz regained his balance effortlessly, much to his annoyance, but at least he had let go. "What are you doing here?" Hardin demanded, somewhat out of breath.
"Something I'm sure you can relate to," Rosencrantz remarked casually, as if they were not . "I overheard a conversation - a conversation which made me believe that someone might be playing Sydney false. Yet in your case, I can't imagine that you're doing so on Sydney's orders, or that he is even aware of what business you might have in town tonight."
...He'd been close by, then, when he and Aiden were speaking. Hardin had not thought to hide their words, when no one about them had seemed to be paying attention to anything but their own conversations. "If he wished to be aware of it, he would be aware of it. He needs not even ask before my heart would give answer."
"Well! So this is open rebellion, is it?" Rosencrantz inquired, tilting his head curiously. "I daresay this tryst of yours should be reported."
"Do as you please," Hardin growled. After working up his courage, this interruption was making him impatient - to say nothing of the heat of the kiss before he'd discovered whose lips had been pressed against his own. "At the moment, you've nothing to report but words."
"Yet I would have had more, had I left you to your path," Rosencrantz mused. "Or would you have turned aside at the last moment? He did tell me that you were his most faithful. It would seem that he believes you to be more faithful than they are. So much for infallibility..."
Hardin fixed him with a hateful look, though Rosencrantz's words cut deep. "You know nothing of Sydney and myself."
"I may not know, but I can imagine." Hardin abruptly found himself being shoved up against the wall again, this time hard enough to make him lose his breath. "I listen to everything, Hardin," Rosencrantz hissed in his ear as he coughed. "They say that you like it rough - that there are shouts in the night, that the bedsheets are often torn and bloodied." There was something against Hardin's wrist, cold and sharp - Rosencrantz was armed, and the tip of the dagger grazed Hardin's skin. Hardin couldn't quite suppress a shudder. "You enjoy pain, don't you, Hardin? You like what those hands can do to you... Such unusual vices, I've heard, can cause a man to be easily controlled."
Hardin was having a very difficult time thinking straight, but he knew he dared not move, not with Rosencrantz armed. In the haze of surprise and anger and conflicting sensation, he wasn't entirely sure whether he was stopping himself from moving away from the blade or into it. "He doesn't control me," he growled.
"Apparently not, or you wouldn't be slipping away for a little rendezvous, would you?" Rosencrantz murmured, and Hardin gasped as the tip of the dagger bit into skin, ever so slightly. "Was your little friend willing to cut you as well? He didn't seem the type."
Rosencrantz's body pressed closer, his breath hot against Hardin's neck. Between this and the teasing with the dagger, Hardin found that his body was enjoying this despite his disgust. That realization was enough to bring him back to his senses, and now it was Rosencrantz's turn to be thrown back against the wall, with a roar of rage from Hardin. "No one touches me like that!" he shouted, his face only inches from Rosencrantz's as he held him pinned. "None but Sydney!"
Rosencrantz seemed unconcerned about the position he was in, though he did wince slightly as Hardin shook him, knocking his head against the wall again. Still, he wore the smirk. "So you were seeking another kind of pleasure, were you? Something more ordinary? All these years, none but your own hands have touched you, is it not so?"
Hardin was suddenly all too aware of Rosencrantz's hands, and how they were placed on his sides, presumably to brace himself for another struggle - or possibly only to grip there, fingers pressing into the small of Hardin's back... sliding down towards his hips. He found himself shuddering, startled by how alien was the sensation of human hands, blunt and safe and warm, touching him where Sydney dared not, below the waist. It was as foreign to him now as Sydney's touch had been at first. Somewhere, deep down, he had obviously not forgotten. His hips tried to buck forward...
With Rosencrantz, though, it made no sense. Their loathing for each other was mutual, he was sure. Yet he could not have imagined this intensity between himself and Aiden, a man with whom he shared mutual respect. He hadn't even been sure that he could have gone through with it in the end. With Rosencrantz, infuriating and untrustworthy...
What better way, Hardin thought in a moment of twisted logic, to vent all his anger? Anger at Rosencrantz, anger at himself, anger at Sydney - anger at Sydney for treating him much the same way.
This time, Rosencrantz lost his smirk as Hardin grabbed him by the shirt and flung him against the adjacent wall. Hardin heard the crack of the man's head hitting brick, but cared not - one advantage was that he could be as rough as he wanted with Rosencrantz, with no guilt. "Do what you will," he growled, glaring at the man.
The smirk returned as Rosencrantz regained his bearings, looking up at Hardin's glare through half-lidded eyes. "...I always do."
There was a metallic clank as the dagger, at last, fell from Rosencrantz's hands.
Afterwards, while still sitting in the corner catching his breath, Rosencrantz began to laugh.
Sydney had sometimes laughed afterwards too, long ago - when he was in an especially good mood, or when a poorly thought-out attempt at some new twist had not worked quite as they'd expected, whether it had been better or worse. Even when some such mishap had been Hardin's doing, and he felt a fool, he couldn't help but smile when Sydney laughed, for Sydney's laughter lay the blame at no one's feet. Often enough, it had been good-naturedly aimed at himself, for underestimating what he was capable of.
The way Rosencrantz was laughing was nothing like Sydney's laughter. It was laughter at some private joke he did not wish to share, laughter that mocked. It suggested that everything had gone just as he'd planned.
Hardin froze, realizing just what sort of trap he'd willingly fallen into. Then, with one last glare of disgust, he gathered his clothes and left Rosencrantz to his mirth.
He wasn't sure what he wanted to do now. Oblivion, or at least unconsciousness, sounded appealing. There was one thing he needed to do before even thinking of what came next, and that was wash. He was a mess, and in more ways than one. He would be bruised tomorrow. So would Rosencrantz, but no doubt he would make good use of them as evidence for his case.
Not wanting to cross paths with anyone at the moment, Hardin decided that cold river water would have to be good enough. If anyone happened to see him washing in the river in the middle of the night, they would likely be in such a state that they would think nothing of it. Or it would be Rosencrantz, and in regards to Rosencrantz, Hardin supposed that not much more damage could be done. Rosencrantz had clearly intended to report what he was doing, and no doubt a firsthand account of Hardin's infidelity suited his purpose even better than simply catching Hardin about to act. Hardin could scarcely bring himself to care anymore. He wouldn't have been able to hide it from Sydney if he had been with Aiden, and he wouldn't have cared. Did it make any difference if it was Rosencrantz instead?
Either way, and whichever reaction Sydney might have to this news, he'd damned himself. If Sydney cared not, as Hardin suspected, then nothing would get better. If there had been anything left between himself and Sydney, as Rosencrantz seemed to believe, then he'd destroyed it. ...If there had been anything left, Hardin reminded himself, Sydney could have saved it, and he had chosen otherwise. This was not his fault. The guilt overwhelmed him anyway.
Guilt, and disgust. He might not have been bothered so much by the lingering memories of hands - real hands, warm and harmless, if unfamiliar - if those hands hadn't belonged to Rosencrantz. Instead of just washing up, Hardin decided he'd do better to simply wade in and immerse himself in the river. It was cold, yes, but after the initial moment of shock, Hardin could bear it. Sydney had taught him how, long ago. ...Sydney had taught him to bear many things. Though there was a dark part of his soul that suggested that now his oath might be most easily fulfilled by falling on his sword, Hardin shut it away. He could bear this too.
Despite the chill in the air and the heightened discomfort that came from being out in it with wet hair, Hardin didn't return to the keep once he'd finished bathing. He simply dressed himself and sat down against what remained of an ancient wall nearby, watching the river flow in the moonlight. If he thought about nothing besides the shimmering reflections, he might find rest.
He was indeed half asleep when a voice nearby roused him. "Hardin...?"
Hardin opened his eyes again and turned his head to see Aiden making his way down the banks. "I wondered where you'd gotten off to. I waited for some time, but... Is all well with you?"
He really shouldn't have left Aiden waiting with no explanation, but Hardin had completely forgotten. "Well enough. ...Too much drink, it seems," he mumbled. It was an easy excuse on a feast night. He probably even looked the part, slumped against the wall. "I apologize."
Aiden looked at him more thoughtfully, and shook his head. "No, I apologize. You were not ready, were you?"
"...No," Hardin acknowledged. "But you are not to blame."
Though Aiden didn't look as if he agreed, he wisely let it go. "If you need any assistance, getting back to the keep..."
"No, thank you - I'd rather stay here for a time."
"It is cold," Aiden said, dubious.
"I could use the air," Hardin muttered, resting his head in one hand. "I feel a bit ill." He did, after what he'd done.
Aiden nodded reluctantly. "Very well..." He gave Hardin a half-hearted, hesitant smile. "Keep yourself safe, Hardin - we could not stand to lose you."
Hardin's only reply was a heavy sigh, and so after lingering a moment, Aiden went on his way. The brethren truly did need him, Hardin supposed, even if Sydney didn't. Yes, there would be no falling on his sword, no drowning in the river, not even running away unless Sydney ordered him to do so. There was far more than Sydney binding him, and honor obligated him to see this rebellion through to the end - for his sake, for his late brother's sake, for the sake of all those who had suffered under a corrupt church and a puppet monarch.
To do so, though, he would have to come face to face with Sydney again. He was not looking forward to it.