Title: And I Am the Dead Man's Son
Fandom: Vagrant Story
Rating: PG
Length: 735 words
Content notes: Dark themes, SERIOUS end-game spoilers if you read into it a little bit. Works on its own as a vignette - but I may wind up including this scene in another longer story I'd already been meaning to write.
Summary: The day Sydney's prophecies broke over the horizon.

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Spirits and dark powers had been his companions from early childhood. The visions and prophecies had come to him later, though while he was in his youth. In those early days, the dread they inspired could be put away, for there was time yet. His work had only just begun; what he had seen was still distant, well down the path set before him, invisible beyond the horizon of time.

But now he was grown, and though it still seemed no more than moments, he had been walking that path for years.

The years showed in the lines of the duke's face, the tremble in his withered hands, the rasp in his voice as he struggled to speak the words to Sydney, who sat at his bedside like a stone.

"You tell me... that my firstborn is dead, despite all I sacrificed to save his life... Yet you, Sydney Losstarot - you preach that the soul is eternal. If it is so... surely something of my son lingers."

The duke was an old man now, his life rapidly ebbing away. Soon he would join his firstborn, no doubt. It was no wonder that he might want the priest of his ancient faith at his side... and neither was it any wonder that he might long to reach out, seeking something of that lost soul that had long been separated from him.

It was perhaps a wonder that Sydney dared, this time, to entertain the thought. "And if it did...?"

The duke sighed heavily. He understood what Sydney was saying - and to his credit, he did not say so aloud. "...In spite of the sins of my past... I would hope that he might be moved to help his brother. To free him from the burden I bore, which I foolishly tried to place upon my firstborn."

Sydney almost asked, but the duke's heart spilled forth what it had been plotting during these weeks of bedrest. Sydney's first reaction was to recoil from the idea - yet after the initial horror had worn off at such a brazen plan of action... he had to concede that it seemed sound. Hardly the fleeting thoughts of a man whose mind had left him.

It must have managed to show itself through the facade of calm serenity Sydney adopted in his presence, for the duke nodded slowly, painfully. "I would have Joshua Bardorba be... only Joshua Bardorba. No less, but no more."

Given the recent actions of king and cardinal, Sydney had already recognized the imminent danger to the boy. He had been aware from Joshua's birth of the pressure that would be placed on him - in the absence of a father, soon enough, it would fall to someone else to ensure that the Bardorba bloodline continued on for future generations. It was a chore Sydney did not care to take upon himself - and so if there was in fact no necessity...

"...Think upon it," the duke advised him, lying back against his pillows, closing his eyes wearily. "Yet do not think for too long... I know not when my time shall come."

After a moment, Sydney nodded - and the duke's eyes fluttered open again in mild surprise at the touch of sharp metal upon the fragile skin of his own hands. "I do not think it will take me so long to come to a decision," Sydney murmured. In truth, he suspected he had already made up his mind.

From the hint of a sly grin - still himself, Duke Bardorba, even trapped within a failing body - Sydney suspected the duke had guessed as much. "Then we shall discuss the details at some later point... after I have rested," he mumbled. "But first and foremost... Joshua must be protected, or all of this will be for naught."

A fair assessment, and Sydney again nodded. The visions he had seen for so many years had been gathering at the duke's words, appearing above the horizon of time like a storm blowing inland from the sea. Those which had been of more personal torment to him during the last few years were swarming below them like an adversarial army, crossing the plains to meet him upon the path he walked... Yet he would continue to walk it, unyielding to storm or soldiery.

"...I know just the person to take charge of that matter," he whispered as the duke closed his eyes once more.