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fan_flashworks2022-09-30 12:14 am
pantswarrior) wrote in fan_flashworks2022-09-30 12:14 am
Entry tags:
Vagrant Story: Fanfic: Home, Home Again
Title: Home, Home Again
Fandom: Vagrant Story
Characters/Pairing: Sydney Losstarot/John Hardin
Rating: T
Length: 900ish words
Summary: Hardin has become very familiar with Sydney's private room - familiar enough that he notices at once when something is different.
-----
In spite of Sydney's status among his followers, the charisma that enabled him to draw attention with hardly a word spoken, and the immense power granted him by the gods he served, his private quarters in Leá Monde were not overly large, and its furnishings sparse and humble. An old and rugged bed, covered with worn blankets, a wooden chest at the end for the storage of clothing. A threadbare rug before the hearth. A single rough-hewn chair beside a small table of the same make, which normally held nothing more than a candle and perhaps a book, possibly an unadorned clay pitcher of water and a cup.
Though far from luxurious, certainly no match for the guest rooms at the duke's manor or even many of the inns where they had stayed during Sydney's wanderings throughout the land, Hardin had come to think of the room fondly. After having been welcomed into Sydney's presence there so many times, having spent several nights lying against him among the simple bedding, such an unimpressive room had become the setting of many memories - nearly all of them good. It was familiar, made more comfortable by its familiarity and Hardin's familiarity with its usual occupant. No longer had he the right to return to his own family's estate, and thus Leá Monde was the closest thing to a home that remained for Hardin - and though he continued to sleep with the other brethren in the barracks unless invited, Sydney's room felt very much like home.
Home was a yearning that had been very much on Hardin's mind of late, since he and Sydney and a hand-picked entourage had been away from the city for days on a journey to seek, to preach, to liberate. Though Hardin understood the importance of such outings, it was still a welcome relief to be back within the walls of Leá Monde, greeted by those brothers and sisters who had remained behind, to eat dinner amidst conversation in the hall. And although his bed in the barracks awaited him after the meal, he suspected that it would remain untouched that night, for he and Sydney had not enjoyed much in the way of privacy during their travels. It was not unusual that Sydney might think to celebrate their 'homecoming' in a more intimate way.
So indeed, after he had seen to things that had needed seeing to after their time away, when the sky had darkened, Hardin found himself knocking on the door as per Sydney's earlier suggestion. It was a comforting, familiar routine - including the usual nonchalant reply as he was given permission to enter, and it left him with a sense of anticipation as he turned his hand on the latch.
After closing the door behind him, however, Hardin paused. Something was... different. Yet whatever may have changed about the room, dimly lit as it so often was when he was present there, the difference was not immediately obvious. There was the bed, freshly made, and the hearth with its fire burning low and efficient; Sydney sat at the small table with its lit candle, a book in his hands.
Unperturbed as always, Sydney did not seem to consider anything out of the ordinary, at least not enough to pay any mind to. "Do come in, my dear Hardin," he said lightly as he marked his place in his book and looked up. "Sit, if it pleases you - you have been invited, after all."
At the casual gesture of his hand, Hardin abruptly realized what it was that had changed. Sydney was, as usual, sitting in the chair beside the table... yet the motion was in the direction of a second rough wooden chair on the opposite side, still vacant.
...Hardin had never objected to sitting on the rug before the hearth, or upon the bed, or simply standing against the wall while he and Sydney spoke. He'd certainly never suggested that any sort of accommodation for his presence in Sydney's room was necessary.
His thoughts were, of course, not hidden from Sydney, who lifted his chin ever so slightly, just enough to give the appearance of stubbornness; Hardin was not, he understood from such a look, to say anything of it. "Or if it pleases you to stand," Sydney added, "that too is perfectly fine."
If Hardin had been a more emotive man, he might not have been able to stifle a chuckle. As it was, he swallowed the burst of delighted amusement, and gave Sydney a simple nod of acknowledgement as he stepped away from the door. "I'll sit, thank you."
"We have been on our feet for some time, have we not?" Sydney mused, setting his book aside. As Hardin settled in his own chair, he could now see that in addition to the second chair, the table also held a second cup - and beside the two of them, a bottle of wine which Sydney now reached for. "Though we mustn't let ourselves become idle, there is no sin in resting from time to time, when there is a pause in our work."
"I should think not," Hardin agreed, accepting the cup Sydney offered as well - and saying nothing at all of it.
Nor did he mention it when next he entered to find that the second chair had remained - and though an unexpected gesture at first, in time it pleased him anew to discover that it too had become familiar and comfortable.
Fandom: Vagrant Story
Characters/Pairing: Sydney Losstarot/John Hardin
Rating: T
Length: 900ish words
Summary: Hardin has become very familiar with Sydney's private room - familiar enough that he notices at once when something is different.
-----
In spite of Sydney's status among his followers, the charisma that enabled him to draw attention with hardly a word spoken, and the immense power granted him by the gods he served, his private quarters in Leá Monde were not overly large, and its furnishings sparse and humble. An old and rugged bed, covered with worn blankets, a wooden chest at the end for the storage of clothing. A threadbare rug before the hearth. A single rough-hewn chair beside a small table of the same make, which normally held nothing more than a candle and perhaps a book, possibly an unadorned clay pitcher of water and a cup.
Though far from luxurious, certainly no match for the guest rooms at the duke's manor or even many of the inns where they had stayed during Sydney's wanderings throughout the land, Hardin had come to think of the room fondly. After having been welcomed into Sydney's presence there so many times, having spent several nights lying against him among the simple bedding, such an unimpressive room had become the setting of many memories - nearly all of them good. It was familiar, made more comfortable by its familiarity and Hardin's familiarity with its usual occupant. No longer had he the right to return to his own family's estate, and thus Leá Monde was the closest thing to a home that remained for Hardin - and though he continued to sleep with the other brethren in the barracks unless invited, Sydney's room felt very much like home.
Home was a yearning that had been very much on Hardin's mind of late, since he and Sydney and a hand-picked entourage had been away from the city for days on a journey to seek, to preach, to liberate. Though Hardin understood the importance of such outings, it was still a welcome relief to be back within the walls of Leá Monde, greeted by those brothers and sisters who had remained behind, to eat dinner amidst conversation in the hall. And although his bed in the barracks awaited him after the meal, he suspected that it would remain untouched that night, for he and Sydney had not enjoyed much in the way of privacy during their travels. It was not unusual that Sydney might think to celebrate their 'homecoming' in a more intimate way.
So indeed, after he had seen to things that had needed seeing to after their time away, when the sky had darkened, Hardin found himself knocking on the door as per Sydney's earlier suggestion. It was a comforting, familiar routine - including the usual nonchalant reply as he was given permission to enter, and it left him with a sense of anticipation as he turned his hand on the latch.
After closing the door behind him, however, Hardin paused. Something was... different. Yet whatever may have changed about the room, dimly lit as it so often was when he was present there, the difference was not immediately obvious. There was the bed, freshly made, and the hearth with its fire burning low and efficient; Sydney sat at the small table with its lit candle, a book in his hands.
Unperturbed as always, Sydney did not seem to consider anything out of the ordinary, at least not enough to pay any mind to. "Do come in, my dear Hardin," he said lightly as he marked his place in his book and looked up. "Sit, if it pleases you - you have been invited, after all."
At the casual gesture of his hand, Hardin abruptly realized what it was that had changed. Sydney was, as usual, sitting in the chair beside the table... yet the motion was in the direction of a second rough wooden chair on the opposite side, still vacant.
...Hardin had never objected to sitting on the rug before the hearth, or upon the bed, or simply standing against the wall while he and Sydney spoke. He'd certainly never suggested that any sort of accommodation for his presence in Sydney's room was necessary.
His thoughts were, of course, not hidden from Sydney, who lifted his chin ever so slightly, just enough to give the appearance of stubbornness; Hardin was not, he understood from such a look, to say anything of it. "Or if it pleases you to stand," Sydney added, "that too is perfectly fine."
If Hardin had been a more emotive man, he might not have been able to stifle a chuckle. As it was, he swallowed the burst of delighted amusement, and gave Sydney a simple nod of acknowledgement as he stepped away from the door. "I'll sit, thank you."
"We have been on our feet for some time, have we not?" Sydney mused, setting his book aside. As Hardin settled in his own chair, he could now see that in addition to the second chair, the table also held a second cup - and beside the two of them, a bottle of wine which Sydney now reached for. "Though we mustn't let ourselves become idle, there is no sin in resting from time to time, when there is a pause in our work."
"I should think not," Hardin agreed, accepting the cup Sydney offered as well - and saying nothing at all of it.
Nor did he mention it when next he entered to find that the second chair had remained - and though an unexpected gesture at first, in time it pleased him anew to discover that it too had become familiar and comfortable.