Title: A Draught of Bittersweet Memory
Fandom: Vagrant Story
Rating: PG13ish?
Length: 8300ish words
Content notes: Physical and magical battle, and the aftermath thereof.
Author's notes: I had two ideas immediately upon seeing this prompt. And then I had an idea that would let me combine them, though it would take... some set-up. Thus we have a lengthy sword-and-sorcery action sequence too - but it should be abundantly obvious where the prompt comes in. ;)
Presumably this is another one that takes place early in the timeline of the stories I've written for these two, since otherwise Hardin would be used to this by now, if still disapproving.
Summary: After a battle more intense than expected, amidst a haze of potions and delirium, Sydney dreams a dream that is not his own.

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"Hardin, I require your assistance."

Hardin had looked up before Sydney had finished speaking his name, though Sydney's words were as brisk and urgent as his gait as he strode through the courtyard. The dinner hour approached, and Hardin had finished working with those among their number he was training in swordplay; though he had believed he had a bit of time to simply relax under the open sky, his expression grew immediately hard at the tone of Sydney's voice. "You have it. What has happened?"

"One of our scouting parties has been discovered."

That, combined with Sydney's mannerisms, was enough for Hardin to immediately turn and head back the way he had just come, falling into step with Sydney as they entered the halls of the keep. "I take it we are to bring them safely home. Is there anything more I must know?"

"I know little more myself." Sydney had been in prayer, in communion with the gods - and then he had heard, and he had known, but none of the details had been given him. "When you have made your preparations, meet me in the tunnels, and we will take horses. As I know so little about our brothers' circumstances, haste seems wise." Hardin did not pause or further question, but simply nodded and parted ways with Sydney, making for the armory while Sydney continued on his own route. First to find Domenic and ask him to ready two horses as quickly as was possible, then to retrieve a few items of his own.

It was a relief, Sydney thought, to have someone like Hardin as his second - someone who was so quick to intuit the gravity of a situation and able to respond accordingly on instinct. He could trust Hardin to swiftly manage the preparations for the physical aspects of their unexpected outing, finding weapons and light armor while Sydney handled the... less physical aspects. Sydney himself needed little preparation for battle, seeing as his preference was to use the Dark - but as he did not know the condition of his men, he would take up the satchel he often carried and go to their storeroom, picking out the potions and tinctures that might aid a man in healing, refresh his energy, soothe the disquiet that came with extended use of the Dark.

Hardin arrived in their makeshift stable only shortly after Sydney, and said nothing before tossing Sydney the scabbard containing his favored sword - just as Sydney had expected of Hardin, for he'd been sure Hardin would notice that it remained in the armory. He smiled slightly as he belted it to his waist, Hardin busying himself with untying the horses as Domenic finished adjusting the tack. "Only the two of us?" Hardin asked.

"The gods will lead me to our brethren in need, just as they informed me," Sydney replied. "Your talent will be helpful, a watchful eye to determine the situation before we arrive, so that we may immediately act." It was not arrogant of him, but only the truth that he spoke: "My power should be sufficient."

"I should think so."

"They're ready," Domenic spoke up, approaching from the far side of one of the two horses he had chosen. "And I told them they must run swift, for our friends are in danger. Godspeed to all of you."

"My thanks for your assistance, and your good wishes," Sydney told the boy with a smile that was somewhat lighter than his own current thoughts, as Hardin took the reins of both horses in hand. Domenic was inherently cheerful, and he used his talent to speak with animals to befriend them, making the horses much more inclined to trust and obedience than if they had been merely mounts. "I expect we shall not be too terribly long, particularly if the horses are in agreement about the urgency."

The tunnels below Leá Monde held a portal that they made use of when bringing larger items to and from the city, and Sydney used his magic to go ahead and unlock the gates that marked the other end, on the cliffs beyond the city walls. Once Hardin had brought the two horses through, and Sydney had locked it again behind them, they were off along the old roads that would lead them towards their kindred.

As Sydney and the brethren of Müllenkamp had been more often staying within Leá Monde of late, to avoid the knights who hunted them, the cardinal had grown bold in sending his men closer to the ruined city. Though they had yet to seriously seek entry, parties of the Crimson Blades wandered by far more often than they had any business. Not only did it mean the brethren might be at risk if they left the city unaware, but Sydney had seen it in his dreams - men in the templars' armor roaming the streets, and he knew it was only a matter of time. It was therefore reasonable that he should send his own men out to watch those who watched them in return, that the brethren might be forewarned of such an attempt.

There were a few such scouting parties scattered among the cliffs and forests and hills near Leá Monde upon this day, and though Sydney knew that trouble had come to one of them, he could not have said which. Yet as he had expected, if he quieted his heart and listened for direction, the gods granted it. At a junction between two disused roads, he was moved to turn away from the path that led into the mountains, instead heading for the forested valleys. So then, it was Aryn's party in danger... A short distance behind him, he could sense that Hardin had guessed the same, for he grew suddenly more tense. Duncan had gone with Aryn - both men had been among the first to welcome Hardin among their number, and they had become fast friends.

Just as there had been no need for Sydney to instruct Hardin on what to do before they set out, there was no need for him to tell Hardin what he was to do while they sought out their brethren. Hardin rode in silence a short distance behind, letting Sydney lead the way, and allowed his horse to do most of the work of picking their path through the uneven ground once they had left the roads. His attention was elsewhere, searching with the Sight granted him by the Dark, until at last...

Sydney had not even time to look back and ask what Hardin had seen that he should suddenly feel such alarm. "Aryn is wounded, and badly," Hardin called ahead to him as he turned his head. "Not only was their presence discovered, but they appear to have engaged the enemy."

"Not by their choice, I expect." It was well that Sydney had brought his potions, then.

"I could not say. Duncan is with him, and seems well enough, but Aryn cannot walk, nor even stand. Were we not so close," Hardin said solemnly, urging his horse to pull ahead to Sydney's side, "I would judge it a mortal wound."

Sydney shook his head. "Not upon this day." They would not be long, and he had not only his potions for healing, but his magic. Yet there was another factor to consider. "And the Blades?" He had been about to ask if Hardin could tell if those who had wounded Aryn were now dead or retreated, but before he could speak further, the Dark answered for him. "They are still about - the Dark can feel their desire for the battle. Be watchful, and be ready." Hardin hardly needed to be told, but he nodded, his expression grim.

They were close enough now that Sydney could sense the echoes of the Dark that the two men ahead had been baptized into, as if it were a scent upon the wind telling him precisely where to go, while Hardin scryed the surrounding area. It was Duncan who spotted them first, rising from where he had been crouched low to the ground to wave at the approaching horses. "Gods be praised - Aryn's in a bad way, nothin' we brought be makin' a lick o' difference," he called urgently. "Was all I could do t' get him into the brush to keep us hidden, nothin' more we could do but pray for rescue."

"And the gods heard your prayers," Sydney affirmed, climbing down from the horse as he and Hardin came to a halt a few paces from where Duncan knelt. "I will handle this - Hardin, continue to keep watch."

Aryn was of a size with Hardin and just as sturdy, not unaccustomed to injuries acquired in battle, for he had sought his fortune as a mercenary before finding something worth fighting for in Müllenkamp. Even so, his eyes were squeezed shut in pain, his shaking hands clasped over the wound in his side, which by now had bled out considerably as he lay in the tall grass. "Ah... Sydney..." was all he could manage to gasp, opening his eyes briefly as Sydney knelt beside him, opening his satchel.

"Can you drink?" Sydney asked, drawing forth one of the potions. "This will begin its work immediately; regardless, we shall have you on your feet again soon."

At Aryn's nod, Sydney uncorked it, raising the bottle to Aryn's lips to help him. When he was finished, Aryn let out his breath in a bitter laugh. "My thanks... I was certain... I still might have something left to offer you... before my time comes."

Sydney nodded, giving him a small, reassuring smile. "It seems the gods agree. Relax, Aryn - the potion will help to ease the pain while the magic does its work."

The damage was extensive, and given how much blood Aryn had already lost, it would require more than a single spell of healing. Sydney closed his eyes to focus, drawing the power to him, letting it flow through him with the incantation. Even after the first, he could hear Aryn's breaths grow slower, calmer...

And Hardin knew well enough to wait until Sydney's pause between incantations to speak up. "Sydney, there are more of the Crimson Blades coming this way. One party of eight a short distance to the north, another of... nine, a bit further to the east, but all approaching."

"Aryn and I took out three o' the Blades that saw us and gave chase," Duncan explained. "But there were two others that fled - must've been goin' for help."

That was a reasonable assumption, considering that the brethren made use of the Dark; a single unarmed man or woman among Müllenkamp's number might take out half a dozen knights before they were close enough to use a sword. But they likely didn't expect Sydney to have arrived in support of his two lone followers, one of whom they had already gravely wounded, or to have brought Hardin with him. Sydney smirked slightly. "They should have sought more before returning," he said wryly. "What think you, Hardin?"

"I think we may require your assistance with this lot, unless you would rather they come close enough that Duncan can also engage them hand to hand."

Duncan had some magic, but his talents lay more in stealth and trickery than in offensive power, and while he was indeed proficient enough in physical combat, he had recently spent what magical energy he had. Aryn was not yet recovered enough that he might fight again, and thus Hardin's own magic was otherwise all they had with which to keep the knights at a distance if Sydney was occupied with healing. "Not a particularly appealing option," Sydney agreed, looking over Aryn's wound. He was more stable now, at least - the bleeding had stopped, but he was weakened. "How long do we have before they are close enough that we might engage them?"

Hardin paused, traversing the space between himself and the knights with his spirit. "Perhaps a count of one hundred fifty before the knights to the north are close enough to strike. Another fifty for those to the east. We might acquire more time by keeping low, but we can do nothing about the horses."

In that case, Sydney did not waste time by explaining his intentions, but began another healing incantation. Before the energy had fully settled upon Aryn, he looked up to Duncan. "We have no time to fully heal Aryn's wound - the two of you will take my horse, and Hardin and I will deal with the Blades." He turned back to Aryn. "Assuming you are able and willing to ride?"

Aryn nodded, still wincing slightly as he pushed himself upright in preparation to stand. "I will manage - thanks to the healing you have already provided."

"Help him up," Sydney told Hardin and Duncan, going through his satchel again as they approached. "Another of these should further ease the discomfort, well before you have reached Leá Monde... and here, the key to unlock the gate, so that you may enter at once. There is no need to close it behind you, for we shall be following shortly."

Having helped to ease Aryn into the saddle, Duncan turned to accept what Sydney offered, then handed the potion up to Aryn while slipping the key into his own pocket. "Suppose I need not be sayin' 'Gods be with ye,' or anything o' the sort," he remarked with a wry smile as he himself began to climb up behind Aryn. "E'en so."

"Indeed," said Sydney, accepting the sentiment with a nod. "And may they go also with the two of you."

"And go swiftly," Hardin put in. "They've spotted-" He interrupted himself abruptly. "They have bows."

"Now," Sydney ordered. They obliged, Duncan starting the horse off at a gallop as soon as the reins were in his hand, and Sydney turned back towards the knights, just barely visible, cresting the hill a short distance to the north. His own hand was raised, and he began a chant - a different incantation than the one he had intended to use first, but he had not expected archers.

The words were spoken just in time; perhaps half a dozen arrows crackled and burned into smoke before them, meeting the unseen barrier Sydney had set. At his side, Hardin had his sword in hand and stood ready for combat or spellcasting, waiting for Sydney's instruction - or perhaps simply permission. Sydney smirked faintly as he drew his own sword. "As pleases you, Hardin."

Hardin had an affinity for fire, and at his command, a burst of flame erupted among the approaching knights - presumably, given Hardin's additional affinity for tactical strikes, doing damage to at least some of the archers. Not all, for another arrow fizzled overhead - and then, unexpectedly, another shot past Sydney's ear from another direction.

It did not escape Hardin's notice either. "They must have seen their comrades' arrows and made haste to join the battle," he said quickly, before another spell was upon his lips.

Sydney would have replied, telling Hardin to focus on those to the north while he handled those to the east, but he had no time, for there was more than one archer among the newcomers. Another barrier coalesced to the east of Sydney and Hardin, stopping the arrows that followed in the wake of the first - but now the knights had ceased fire, seeing that their arrows were of no use, and were rushing forth to engage.

After Hardin's first spell, those who remained in the battle had put distance between themselves so as not to be caught in a single spell again; he and Sydney would each be able to pick off a few at distance, perhaps, but it was inevitable that several would reach melee range. Coming from different directions, closing in around them... Sydney quickly gauged the strength that remained in him after the healing incantations, how much would be required to do what had just occurred to him. He could at least drop the two barriers he had wrought, and he might greatly lessen the necessary power by making one small omission. He made his decision. "Prepare to signal to the horse."

"What?"

The spell Sydney cast was not offensive magic, and required considerably more energy, but it would give them a defensive advantage; through his magic, he and Hardin were transported a few hundred paces away - and now they were no longer in danger of being surrounded, for all the approaching Blades lay in approximately the same direction. Though Hardin had not understood what Sydney was intending, he did as asked, sounding a shrill whistle to call the horse to their new position as Sydney immediately began still another chant. He and Hardin could continue to pick off a knight or two at a time at distance, or... he could provide them with some assistance.

Between the healing and the teleportation and the defensive magic he had already used, summoning would be something of a strain, but it would mean less energy and more certainty overall than simply casting offensive spells repeatedly. Hardin was still doing precisely that, once the horse had come to them and was no longer in danger of being caught in the crossfire. Eventually he would tire - and knowing Hardin, he would press on regardless and do himself harm. From the sidelong glance and sense of relief Sydney received from Hardin when Hardin recognized the incantation, Hardin had been aware of the same possibility. Better that Sydney should take that risk upon himself.

As was so often the case, the spell of summoning caused the knights to momentarily stop in their tracks before the creature had even appeared, for the gate through which the creature would enter their world shone brightly overhead. Even Hardin partially shielded his eyes - while taking advantage of the knights' surprise to pick off another.

Once the Dullahan had dropped through, however, the battle resumed. A giant suit of armor inhabited by nothing more than the Dark, wielding a sword so large that few ordinary men could have managed to swing it, it paid little heed to the weapons of the Blades that thought to attack it outright. Perhaps the Blades had been learning, however, for few of them actively engaged the creature - and those who did seemed to be trying to draw its attention, while the rest of the knights made a wide berth around it, trying to get past to where Sydney and Hardin stood. It was well that Sydney had summoned before waiting for Hardin's strength to become exhausted, for his attention was on controlling the Dullahan - which was no easy task without a circle to bear some of the power that bound summon to summoner - and it was left to Hardin to dispatch the knights who did make it past the Dullahan, intent on their true enemy. From what Sydney could hear in their hearts, while they had not expected to face Sydney, they understood what laud and honor they would receive should they be able to take him captive, and they were pleased already to have the opportunity.

With his attention focused on the Dullahan, and the knowledge that the Blades were not prepared to face him, it took Sydney by surprise somewhat when Hardin spoke up. With the Dullahan doing most of the work, he had spared a few moments to scrye. "Sydney, there are more on the way. From the north, seemingly having followed the first party."

"Ah, of course there are." Sydney's sarcasm was not aimed at Hardin, however - it was naught but fate and chance that wore on his patience. "How many?"

"I see but six."

"And how do you fare?"

"Well enough," Hardin remarked. "Had you not summoned, I fear the Dark would by this time no longer answer my call, but I might yet cast some more."

"Excellent - that was my intention in summoning." As for his own spellcasting... Sydney could control the Dullahan, and even that control was becoming somewhat shaky. Hardin need not know, however. Sydney could withstand it, and would, for as long as it was necessary - for Aryn and Duncan's safe return to Leá Monde was more certain the longer he and Hardin attracted the attention of any knights in the area. "Let them come. The more of these tin-clad fools attempting to trouble us now, the less there will be to trouble us in the future."

"I had thought the same," Hardin muttered before raising his hand to cast again, at the latest knight to make his way toward them past the Dullahan.

At last the stragglers arrived - and by the time they did, there were only two left from the original two attacking parties, each striking to draw the Dullahan's attention from the other, so that they might alternate in doing the creature damage. They were having only moderate success until their comrades spotted the battle and rushed in. While the Dullahan could handle more than two without much difficulty, being the target of eight trained knights after already fighting at length was enough to overwhelm it, and soon it had fallen to its knees. With that battle seemingly all but won, some of the knights then turned their attention to Sydney and Hardin. Though another burst of fire from Hardin engulfed two knights side by side as they sought to finish off the Dullahan, four more approached with weapons at the ready. No time for Hardin to cast again, and he stepped between the knights and Sydney, setting his feet and raising his sword.

Skilled a fighter as Hardin was, Sydney had no intention of allowing him to face four Crimson Blades alone, and he himself was not so nearly as skilled with a sword. Best to have it over with now, he decided, and let go of his control over the damaged Dullahan, speaking another word of command. The ground erupted below the knights' feet, the reverberations causing Hardin to nearly stumble back into him as well. It gave them time, and Sydney stretched his hand towards the disoriented knights to cast once more, engulfing them in tendrils of dark energies.

All was suddenly very quiet, aside from the wind howling across the hills. ...Or was it wind? The smoke rising from the charred corpses of the knights did not seem to indicate more than a light breeze...

Hardin had sheathed his sword and turned back to Sydney with a look of grim satisfaction - which was replaced by concern as he found Sydney lowering himself to the ground. "Sydney?"

Beyond the sound of the illusory wind in his ears, Hardin's voice sounded oddly distant, which meant it was well that Sydney had thought to seat himself. "Even I have my limits, Hardin, when it comes to the Dark." Even his own words sounded distant, and his hands were not quite so cooperative as he fumbled through the satchel he had brought. "Yet it is of no concern. The powers I serve are able to sustain me well past the ability of mortal man."

Would he have died...? Sydney heard the epiphany in Hardin's heart as Hardin knelt beside him. "What can I do?"

"Wait, and continue to keep watch." Finding the bottle he sought, Sydney struggled to grip the cork in his bladed fingers before he managed to yank it free. "Nothing will heal this particular affliction but time," he murmured. "More time than we should be spending here - I will try to make myself right for travel."

Hardin glanced out over the hills, and back towards Leá Monde, doubtless looking with more than his physical eyes. "...I would not object to staying until you have recovered."

"You might not say so if you knew how long that might take." That was untrue - Hardin would have stayed for a day or more; he would have stayed for weeks, and Sydney knew it. But it was not necessary. Sydney took a small, cautious drink from the bottle, making sure that his throat could swallow without choking, testing the ability of his stomach, uneasy as it was. The draught felt soothing rather than unpleasant, fortunately; he had not pushed himself that far beyond his ability. "I need not recover fully - only enough to sit a horse. This should help."

Hardin's hand came to rest upon his shoulder. "Truly, there is nothing I can do? I see no more of the Blades nearby..."

Sydney shook his head, even as he considered... It was difficult to think clearly over the noise of the Dark cackling in his head, the sound of blood pounding in his ears. "...Make a circle," he suggested at last. "There may be no Blades nearby now, but if more should come-"

"You will not summon again," Hardin told him firmly.

It was almost laughable - Hardin giving him orders? In his discomfort, Sydney only smiled vaguely. "You are correct - I should not summon further, but you may best use your remaining energy in such a way if it becomes necessary. And unlike myself, you would need a circle to do so."

Hardin made a quiet, thoughtful noise, then nodded his agreement and rose.

While Hardin was etching a circle before them, aided by the dagger in his boot, Sydney sometimes watched absently, sometimes simply listened to the scratching sounds as he gazed listlessly at the ground - the long grass just barely waving in the breeze in a distracting fashion. The potion was beginning to do its work, smoothing out the discord of his mind and relaxing his physical body, leaving Sydney less uncomfortable but slightly disoriented, as if he was not quite there. Better than having himself all there and fully aware of his condition, he supposed - though it did feel a bit surreal when Hardin had finished and sat down beside him again, resting a hand lightly on Sydney's back.

At last, with a sigh of resignation, Sydney sat up straighter and looked around. His eyes took their time focusing, but it was tolerable. "I suppose the potion has done as much as it can. Let us go."

"Are you certain?" Hardin inquired softly. "I don't mind waiting a bit longer."

Even had Sydney's mind not been so wide open to the Dark in this condition, hearing every slight murmuring of Hardin's heart, he might have guessed that Hardin was remembering his own brief experiences with using the Dark beyond his ability, when he had been but a student. Hardin had not pushed very far before he had stopped, but even that had been unpleasant enough to serve as a reminder not to do it again. And just as at that time, Sydney would not soften the truth. "If we wait too long, the effects will wear off. Best to ride now, and be back before it does."

Of course - Hardin had thought the potion would cure him, not simply stave off the effects for a time. But with the explanation, Hardin was in agreement. "If I can do something more, you need only ask," he told Sydney, offering his hand to help him to his feet. There would be nothing Hardin could do for him, Sydney was certain, but he nodded nonetheless.

After helping Sydney mount the remaining horse, and settling behind him to hold him steady, Hardin set a slower pace for their return to the city. Sydney could not bring himself to object, though he had hoped to be home and in his bed soon. The pace was more gentle than Sydney was accustomed to, not so jarring as he had braced himself for. If he closed his eyes and simply rested back against Hardin's chest, he could almost find it soothing. Hardin's concern for him, unhidden behind his usual defenses, left it falling somewhat short of peaceful.

Even so, he found he must have nearly fallen asleep, for suddenly he was aware of their proximity to Leá Monde. The Dark within seethed, seeking escape from the paling that held it captive. At the moment, Sydney was rather sympathetic, for with the fading of the potion's effects, he too felt as if he did not quite fit within his body. As if his very soul might burst forth...

And his body felt as if it did not quite fit atop the horse, or within Hardin's embrace as Hardin brought the horse to a slow walk before the portal, the gates to which still lay open as Sydney had instructed. At the lifting of Sydney's head, Hardin's arm tightened around him slightly. "Feeling any better?"

Sydney opted not to answer directly. "If you please... once we are within the city, seek out Duncan, and the key I gave him. I'm sure you can handle locking the gates and making your way back."

Hardin nodded. "And you?"

"I will make certain that Aryn has been tended to - I expect another of our healers has taken care of his wound by now." He could, of course, hear the questions Hardin wanted to ask, and did not ask aloud. "And then I will sleep. Once the portal has been secured, you may do as you please - but I would suggest resting also, for you also used much of the Dark."

Sydney was well enough to sit straight in the saddle as they passed through the portal, mindful that others might be awaiting their return. Indeed, Hardin did not have far to go to find Duncan, as he had been waiting for them after helping Aryn back to the keep - and someone had already gone in search of one of the brethren who were skilled in healing before he had returned to wait, which simplified Sydney's intended task also. And Sydney was well enough to walk back to the keep, while Hardin and Duncan went to lock the gates; well enough to check in on Aryn, receive the assurance that he had been healed fully and now was only resting. Well enough to take another potion from the storeroom, uncork it despite the trembling of his already unwieldy fingers, and swallow a bit before moving on.

Well enough to remove his boots and set the satchel aside upon entering his room, before letting himself down on the bed, allowing his mind and his body to relax and rest as well as they could manage. Exhausted as Sydney was, it was not sleep that he lacked, nor would sleep solve the matter - but it would pass the time as the effects faded.

Sleep was another thing that did not quite seem to be working in its usual fashion, to Sydney's mind. Time passed suddenly, without any of the dreams or visions that usually dominated his slumber. And then there were moments when he was surely awake, aware of his surroundings; even the sheet that covered him felt awkward and heavy, the mattress below him a crushing weight, and he hardly dared to move, for it felt like he might fall to pieces. And then there were the times where he was not asleep, but neither was he conscious. His thoughts drifted aimlessly, and in moments of clarity he could recognize they were not all his thoughts, but also the thoughts of others nearby, passing in the hallway. Usually to sense the familiar hearts of those who he called brethren, fellow disciples of Müllenkamp, it was a comforting sensation. It was not so comforting when he could not tell them apart - when he could not immediately remember which parts of what casually passed through his mind were himself, and not someone else.

Just as his brethren in the hallway, he told himself when he had the capacity for coherent thought - it would pass. It had happened before, and likely it would happen again, for it was better that he suffer this dissonance for a time rather than to have one of his brethren destroy themselves doing the same. The Dark respected him, the gods sustained him; he would be uncomfortable, but he would not die from handling the Dark in excess.

In the meantime, Sydney would sleep, or not sleep, and it would make little difference aside from being somewhat backwards. When he slept, he did not dream, and when he did not sleep, what he was seeing in his mind was not his reality. This will pass... It will pass, and my brethren are safe, and when I wake from this dream I shall find myself again.

But before that came to be, Sydney found a dream that was not his own.

He knew the boy who lay sleeping uneasily in the large bed before him. Sydney had seen only glimpses of him before, slight and dark-haired, not only too pale but also too small for the age he appeared now. Oft enough the boy had been younger when Sydney had seen him - but perhaps he would have understood from the context alone, had Sydney not now been the boy's elder brother, keeping watch over his slumber with both concern and a hint of anticipation that was almost... mischievous. He both hoped that the boy would wake and immediately disavowed that hope, for surely it would be best if Philip could manage to sleep through the night. Realistically the chance was slim, so perhaps he could be forgiven. And beyond only the surprise that lay in store, if Philip did wake, there might be something he could do other than simply... watch him sleep.

There was no soul-searching, however, when the boy's breath caught in his throat, and the next came as a wheeze. Immediately the man whom Sydney now was rose from the nearby chair, moving to sit on the bed beside the boy, lifting him to a sitting position, tilting the boy's head at the angle he knew would offer the least resistance as the boy choked, coughed, gasped to fill his lungs...

But when at last he caught his breath enough to lift his head, he wore a smile, and there was a look of wonder in his eyes. "...John!" he managed, still panting even as he threw his arms around his elder brother's waist. "I thought you were... Where is Sofia?"

"My unit finished our task ahead of schedule," Hardin replied, resting a hand lightly atop the boy's head. "I returned late in the evening, and bade Sofia get some rest. Your wellbeing is my responsibility, after all." There was a measure of relief behind his words, for now Hardin could offer Sofia a wage more worthy of caring for his brother when he was away, for a time at least - yet also there was an undercurrent of guilt regarding how, which Hardin did his best to quash. He had reason enough, better than most of his fellows.

It was simple enough not to dwell on the matter when Philip was so relieved to have him home, and Hardin rubbed his back lightly before taking the younger boy by the shoulders, freeing himself so that he could reach back towards the chair where he had been sitting. "I brought something back for you as well."

"Oh?" Philip's expression brightened, though he was still wheezing - and then it turned almost comically skeptical when he saw what Hardin held. "...More medicine?" he groaned.

"It means that we no longer have to ration what was left," Hardin pointed out, setting it on the small table beside the bed that had once belonged to their parents, next to a similar bottle which was nearly empty. No small purchase, for the herbs that boosted its efficacy, he was told, could not be grown in Valendia. "I assume Sofia gave you some before bed?"

"Just a spoonful," Philip replied with a reluctant nod.

"We will try another," Hardin told him, easing him back among the pillows. "Perhaps it will help you to sleep through the rest of the night."

"But what if I don't wish to sleep?" Philip asked. "You're gone so often... but you're home now..."

"I shall still be home when you wake," Hardin assured him, and another twinge of guilt nagged at him. He ignored it, reaching for the bottle that had already been opened and the spoon that lay beside it. "If all goes according to plan, I should be spending less time away from now on."

Again Philip began to smile, but only for a moment until he remembered. "But... didn't you say you needed the money? And you just bought more medicine for me..."

"I did." Hardin did not meet Philip's eyes, but kept them on the elixir he was pouring. It was convenient. "I've taken a second job, you might say."

"How does that mean you'll be home more?"

"As it so happens, I can do the other work while I am on duty with the PeaceGuard." It was true enough. "Earning twice as much while I am away means I need not volunteer for every assignment - I can earn as much pay, perhaps more, and yet spend more time at home with you."

That made Philip grin in earnest, even as Hardin offered him the spoon full of bitter medicine - he no longer complained of the taste after so long, but still grimaced slightly as he swallowed. "I'm glad... Sofia will be glad too," Philip remarked, relaxing back upon the pillows. "Whenever I tell her I wish you were here, she says she wishes that too. I think she's missed you almost as much as I."

Hardin wasn't sure what to say of that, for even his thoughts took a turn for the awkward and pensive at the idea of Sofia saying such things. It was no matter, certainly nothing that he needed to consider now. He only reached out to lightly tousle Philip's hair. "You'll both see plenty of me for a little while, I suppose - but ideally not at such an hour as this." ...Not Philip, at least. Sofia... Perhaps someday, if things went well. "Go on and sleep - we can talk over breakfast."

Philip made a vaguely disappointed sound, but his eyes were already half-closed again. "You'll tell me tales of the campaign?"

Hardin nodded. ...He would tell some of them. Even if he were to tell Philip the whole story, surely a boy his age would not understand. To be honest, Philip would understand very little of the sort of work he had been doing with the PeaceGuard - but Hardin could tell him of the lands through which he had traveled, some of his fellows' jokes and exploits... and something occurred to him that made him smile curiously. "If you were disappointed that I brought you medicine... what manner of souvenir were you expecting?"

"...I don't know..." Philip yawned, and it still held a faint wheeze, though his breathing had greatly improved. "Maybe a sword."

Hardin was momentarily taken aback - but again, Philip couldn't know. And that he would even think such a thing... Hardin found himself stifling an incredulous chuckle. "And what would you do, boy, with a sword?"

"When I feel better, we could fight, like we used to," Philip said drowsily. "You could teach me how to use it, how to really use it instead of just playing. And then someday I could go with you and fight at your side. And then you would never have to worry about money again."

...It was touching, truly, but it shamed Hardin further. That his young brother, already burdened with the lingering effects of the plague that had taken their parents, would think that he might need to help provide for them... It only proved that he was doing the right thing, he told himself with sudden, firm resolution. He would never again talk of financial woes before Philip - and likely he would not need to. And by no means would he allow his brother to march off to battle, if by some miracle this affliction did pass - Philip had had struggle enough in the early years of his life. "With both of us gone campaigning," Hardin pointed out, "who would oversee the household? Better that I serve for our coin, and you remain to use it wisely."

"Sofia could do it," Philip answered, and again yawned; the medicine was beginning its work already, it seemed. "She said she'd stay even if I got better, if you would let her, and if her mother agreed."

...Well now. That certainly made Hardin's thoughts about the girl turn more awkward, but admittedly somewhat less pensive. But he would consider how he might approach Sofia later - she was sleeping, his brother should be doing likewise, and perhaps he should find some sleep as well. And neither did Philip have to be concerned about what was to become of their household. "We can consider it when it comes to pass," he assured Philip, rising from his place on the bed. "And it will only come to pass if you sleep, and become well."

Philip nodded. "I'll try. But... John?"

His voice sounded less sleepy, much smaller all of a sudden, and Hardin paused.

"...I don't much like to sleep anymore, even when I'm tired," Philip admitted quietly. "Either I wake and I'm scared because I can't breathe, or it's hard to wake at all. Sometimes the dreams are so bad... Sometimes I'm so tired, but I can't sleep because I'm scared of the dreams, or... or that I won't wake up..."

The plaintive admission made Hardin's heart ache, but his expression remained stoic. ...It wouldn't do to let the boy know that such thoughts came to him as well, and frightened him just as much.

But in the meantime, there was something he might do. "You will," Hardin told Philip, walking around the end of the bed to sit on the other side, leaning down to remove his boots. "I promise - I will be here next to you. If you cannot breathe, I will be here to help; I will wake you if your dreams trouble you, and I will make certain you wake in the morn. After all, I also promised to tell you tales of the campaign over breakfast."

That seemed to satisfy his brother, at least to the point that Philip nodded and gave him a tired smile, reached a hand out toward him. It was too thin, too frail when Hardin took it, wrapping his warmer fingers around the boy's cold ones. "I will be here if you have need of me," he assured Philip again, shifting to lie down.

Again Philip nodded, this time more groggily, and closed his eyes. It seemed he had taken his brother at his word. "...Good night, John."

"Good night, Philip."

Hardin was still fully dressed, though he had at least changed out of his travel garb, and he would not disturb his brother's comfort by taking any of the pillows or shifting to get beneath the blankets. He'd become accustomed to sleeping with few accommodations on the road, and having a mattress below and a roof overhead seemed a luxury. He was more than comfortable enough as it was, lying there atop the blankets, his hand resting upon Philip's.

Indeed, what kept him awake was the worry that there might very well come a day when he could not keep his word, and his determination to keep it for this night, at the least...

Sydney was not at all surprised to sense Hardin nearby when he woke truly in his own room, given how obvious it was that he had accidentally been drawn into memories that had been roused in Hardin's heart. It was perhaps also obvious why, for Hardin sat in a chair at the small table near the bed, the usual pitcher of water and cups accompanied by a few small bottles. A fire had been lit in the hearth, but flickered low; Hardin himself was half-dozing with a book still in hand, a candle burned nearly all the way down beside him. Sydney found himself mildly amused, for Hardin had not even bothered to choose his own reading material, but taken up the book Sydney himself had been reading on previous evenings, the marker still set at a later page.

He was not sleeping, however, but only allowing the memories to drift through his drowsy mind, for his head lifted at the sound of Sydney turning over. His expression was almost puzzled - as if he had forgotten where he was, or perhaps when - but after a moment, he asked, "How are you feeling?"

Hardin was one of very few who could render Sydney awkwardly speechless. Sydney knew not what to say to him, having witnessed such a personal scene... but then, he remembered, Hardin had no way of knowing what Sydney had seen, the excess of power and the relaxation of his boundaries making him an unwitting voyeur. "Clearly still not at my best," Sydney muttered, rubbing at his forehead with the heel of his palm before starting to sit up. "How long has it been since we returned?"

"We returned yesterday evening - now it is nearing the second morn." Hardin glanced down at the book he held as if he didn't recognize it, then set it aside, reaching instead for the pitcher. "Can I get you a drink? Or something else?"

"...A moment to consider," Sydney murmured. He was still disoriented enough that he was uncertain whether he could drink - but Hardin seemed to have intended the drink he poured for himself. Of course, Hardin too had been half-asleep, perhaps for a long while. "You haven't been here the entire time...?"

"Not the entire time," Hardin confirmed, setting the cup aside again. "I went about my usual duties for most of the day, and given my talent, it was simple enough to look in on you every so often." Foolish as it was, I had to be certain you still breathed.

With the doors of his mind still thrown wide to the Dark, Sydney heard the thought of Hardin's heart just as he had seen Hardin's memory, unintentionally. It was, as Hardin acknowledged, foolish - but at the moment Sydney understood why.

"I told anyone who asked that you were occupied with some private matter," Hardin continued, unaware of his heart's interjection. "Whether your own or the gods' business I could not say."

Sydney smiled faintly - it was close enough to the truth. "Very clever."

"I suspected you would prefer no one know there had been any trouble."

"You suspected right - and there was little enough trouble besides. Although drawing too deeply upon the Dark might be dangerous or even fatal to others, I have certain... protections that you and the rest of our brethren do not." Sydney rested his head in his hands; not fatal in his case, nor permanently damaging, but the overflow was unpleasant in the moment. "And... yes, I should drink something."

"There is water heating in the hearth if you would prefer tea," Hardin offered, reaching for the other cup. "I also... I wasn't certain which of your potions and tinctures it was that had eased your discomfort enough for travel, so I brought several. If there is something else in our stores that might be of more use, I will fetch it."

To anyone else, it probably should have seemed welcome, this devoted attention and determination to be of help - yet Sydney found it somewhat irritating at the moment. Patronizing, after what he had seen. He was not Hardin's young brother, frail and fearful and unable to care for himself...

...But Hardin was the sort of man who would willingly watch over those he held dear, neglecting his own comfort to comfort others, offering all he could think of - even lying and stealing and betraying if it was necessary. That was why Hardin was there with potions and tea, reading a book in which he had no particular interest in his attempt to stay awake, awaiting the waking of one who could certainly care for himself. One who knew this, because... never had anyone thought to care for him in such a way since he was very small.

And it would be cruel to refuse what Hardin offered, Sydney acknowledged, his heart calming again. In the vision he had been shown, he had seen through Hardin's eyes, felt what was in Hardin's heart as he cared for his brother. This was not mocking, or opportunistic - it was Hardin's kindness, and the kindest thing Sydney could offer him in return was to simply accept it. "I believe I have recovered enough that there is no further need for our potions," he said, arching his back to stretch cautiously. "I have but to regain my strength - and tea will do nicely, thank you."

As for what he had seen... Sydney would not mention it. Just as he did not mention the frequent nightmares of a cell in the king's prison, for Hardin did not wish to speak of them, just as he had never spoken in depth of his brother. Sydney had only seen the briefest glimpses of the boy in Hardin's heart, where he kept the memories locked away tightly, moments for him alone to retrieve and treasure.

Though Sydney sometimes teased Hardin, as he seemed to understand Sydney better than anyone had a right to, that perhaps he too was a heartseer, it was well that he was not. For as they sat together in silence, sipping the tea that Hardin brewed, Sydney's thoughts returned to the scene, remembering the tenderness, the guilt and determination he had felt in Hardin. It was much the same as he witnessed in Hardin with his own eyes.

Perhaps he too would hide this memory away in his own heart, this unintended glimpse into who Hardin had been before they met. Before everything in Hardin's life had changed - yet Hardin himself, Sydney thought, the core of his spirit, remained as he had always been.