Fan Fiction ❯ Burning Bridges ❯ Kindled By and Burning ( Chapter 9 )

Once they had been rejoined by their beloved leader, Müllenkamp's followers set out once more, moving onward towards their destination to the east. Sydney urged them to hurry, for the battle had cost them valuable time, and the brethren did so with heavy hearts. Padric had been well-liked by his companions, and he would be missed terribly.

Of course, Duncan was the one who had been hardest hit by the tragedy, and he walked along sullenly, not saying a word to anyone. It was very unlike him, but Hardin supposed he understood, and so he made no attempts to draw the redhead out of his dark mood - it would be better to let his grief wear itself out, he supposed.

Besides, he didn't trust himself not to say something that would make his friend feel worse. His talk with Sydney had left him angry, and even a bit afraid. He didn't want to believe in such things as prophecy or fate - it meant he had no say in the outcome of his life, didn't it? Maybe it meant that it hadn't been his own poor choices that had led to his imprisonment, or the death of his brother, but that was no real comfort when the alternative was that it had all been fabricated purposely by some divine being.

Whoever you are... whatever you are... just leave me alone.

As he silently kept pace alongside Duncan, just to let his friend know he was there, his confusion must have been apparent in his eyes, for Kirrienne quickened her steps to join them. "I'm sorry about Padric," she murmured to the two of them.

Duncan, lost in his somber thoughts, didn't seem to even hear her words, but Hardin turned to her and nodded his appreciation. "How are you doing?" she asked softly.

Without thinking, he gave her an automatic response. "Just fine."

She gave him a small, skeptical smile. "Of course you are." Reaching out to him, she laced her slender fingers through his large ones, squeezing his hand for a moment. "It happens, you know."

Somewhat startled by the physical contact, Hardin almost pulled away before she had a chance to release him on her own. In truth, he didn't mind, but he didn't want her to get the wrong idea, even if she was offering nothing but friendship. "What happens?" he asked, after he'd collected his thoughts.

"Casualties. Not that I have to tell you, I suppose," she acknowledged. "You were a soldier, so you know about battles. ...And I know it's probably not the best time to say such things," she admitted, her cheeks coloring faintly as Hardin looked at her absently, "but from where I and the others were, in the center, I saw a little of the battle. You're quite accomplished with a sword."

"I agree," Branla stated. She'd been walking a short distance ahead of them, and slowed somewhat to walk alongside Kirrienne. "And regardless of my criticism earlier, you did much better in your first battle with magic-users than many do."

"...Thank you." Kirrienne was right, it was not the best time to say such things, but it was kind of them regardless.

"Anyhow," Kirrienne continued, "what happened today isn't unusual, unfortunately. We come under attack often... and sometimes people die. Not as often as you might think, though - I say it is a miracle we are not all dead already."

"The cardinal hates us with a passion, it seems," Branla affirmed, "and no matter how his men outnumber us, yet we never have lost more than two of our brethren in a single battle. 'Tis uncanny, actually."

"Perhaps, but we do have the gods on our side," Kirrienne reminded her. "And even if not for them, then we would still have Sydney, and he is a miracle in himself." The raven-haired woman nodded in agreement.

Hardin did not particularly want to think about the gods or Sydney at the moment, and he found himself looking to Duncan's left, where Padric nearly always walked, thinking to strike up a less troubling conversation about swordfighting or the like. Duncan's somber expression reminded him abruptly of what had happened, and Hardin sighed, feeling foolish. Of course Padric wasn't there - Padric was dead.

...Padric was never going to be there again, no matter how many times he looked, Hardin realized suddenly. Padric really was gone. As angry as he had been earlier, he hadn't entirely comprehended it, but now that knowledge was sinking in, and it felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. Padric was gone, in the blink of an eye, without even leaving an empty shell behind to prove that he'd once existed. There had been no burial, no chance to pay him last respects - just like...

Hardin drew in a sharp breath suddenly, feeling suddenly dizzy and overwhelmed. He tried to ignore the realization, even to deny it or tell himself that it was nothing he hadn't already known, but the thought consumed him until it was all he could do to keep himself moving forward, placing one foot before the other.

Finally, knowing what was going to happen and that it was unavoidable, he dropped back from his place alongside Duncan and the two women, and stepped off the road. Lost in his own thoughts, Duncan didn't even seem to notice, but the women paused and turned back to him. "Hardin...? Are you all right?" Kirrienne inquired.

"I'll... be back in a moment," he murmured, his breath coming awkwardly with the effort to hold himself together. "I'm feeling a bit ill."

Branla's nod was sympathetic, though her voice was hard. "I understand - what we've seen today is enough to turn any man's stomach."

"Will you be all right alone?" Kirrienne asked.

He managed to nod. "I'll be fine."

Fortunately, they did not press the issue, and Hardin stepped into the underbrush, carelessly stumbling over exposed roots as he made his way deeper into the forest. With all his concentration spent on trying to keep his composure for just a little longer, until he was far beyond their hearing, he pushed his way past the bushes and stray branches in his path without even seeing them, until he could bear it no longer. Sinking down with his back against a tree, Hardin covered his eyes, and began to cry.

He hadn't cried, not really cried, for as long as he could remember. Despite all the hardships, all the difficult years, he'd never allowed himself the luxury of tears. He was too well-born for such childish behavior, and besides, Philip had needed him to be strong. But his family was gone now, the name remaining only with him, and tarnished by his disobedience. And Philip...

Since he hadn't been there when it had happened, since the only proof he had of his brother's death was an empty house and a headstone in a cemetary, it had never seemed entirely real to him. He might have known it, and even acted as if he believed it, but he'd been occupied with the need to flee the king's men, never taking a moment to truly think about it, much less accept that it had come to pass. By the time he'd encountered Müllenkamp on that stormy night, which seemed a lifetime ago now, the knowledge had been with him long enough that it had just become a part of him - something he repeated by habit. And now, as the tears came silently, they seemed such a ridiculously small display for one whom he'd cared so much for that it shamed him further. Even now, away from anyone who possibly could have seen, he instinctively fought the tears back as if his life depended on it.

Hardin had turned his back for a moment, and suddenly Padric was gone, never to return, though he hadn't seen it happen. And it was the same with Philip; his little brother, the one person he'd been closer to than anyone, his reason for all the things good and bad that he had done, was gone forever. He'd clung to that responsibility to keep himself occupied after their parents had died, so he would not have to think about it, and now even after Philip was gone, he'd fooled himself into thinking that he was still bound to that duty. Chasing foolishly after the quicksilver in the undercity, trying to comfort Sydney by taking him in his arms - it was because the entire sum of his life had been caring for Philip. He knew how to do little else aside from that task, and with that responsibility gone, nothing was left within him. Nothing at all.

Gods, why was he still alive? Why had he bothered to run from the king's guard, when he could have simply lived out the rest of his meaningless life effortlessly in a dungeon, or perhaps found a quick death at their hands? There was nothing remaining in him, and nothing remaining for him. Why could they have not just let him die?

Lost in his misery, Hardin didn't realize that he wasn't alone until a shadow fell across him, and he glanced up. Ordinarily he would have been disgusted with himself for not hearing Sydney's approach, but at the moment he failed to care. Besides, Sydney might have simply appeared from out of nowhere, as he was sometimes known to do. Either way, the mage stood above him now, gazing down at him. Hardin thought that perhaps he should have felt self-conscious for showing his weakness before him, but again, at the moment it just didn't seem to matter. "What is it?" he asked, his voice dulled by his pain. "Am I slowing you down? Then go on - leave me behind."

He hadn't really expected Sydney to do so, so he wasn't overly surprised when the mage instead sat down beside him, leaning back against the trunk of the tree. He said nothing, however, simply staring up into the tops of the trees above them, his legs crossed before him and his metal hands folded in his lap. Finally Hardin leaned back as well, staring into the treetops bleakly, unable to shed any more tears in front of Sydney - his dignity didn't allow it, even if he had been overwhelmed for a moment.

A few moments later, a soft clicking sound made Hardin turn his head, and he found Sydney opening a wine bottle. "I did not drink much after you left this morning," the mage said, taking the two cups Hardin had brought that morning from within the folds of his dark cloak. Setting them on the ground between himself and Hardin, he began to pour. "I suspected that someone might need it."

Hardin tried to pull himself together and accept the cup Sydney offered, but only stared down into the red liquid wordlessly as Sydney poured his own cup and took a long drink. He'd finished most of it before he nudged Hardin's arm, motioning with a metal claw to his cup. "Go on, Hardin - drink. The gods know you could stand to have a bit less self-control, and if it eases your mind, so much the better."

Hardin just shook his head, his eyes still filled with tears despite his resolve. "Why are you here, Sydney?"

Filling his cup again, Sydney kept his attentions on the wine as he replied. "What was it you said to me this morning...? 'Everyone needs a friend now and then'?" He took another long drink before continuing. "And perhaps a drink or two as well."

"It didn't seem to do you much good," Hardin murmured absently. Strange, but so much had happened that his visit to Sydney's bedchambers seemed as though it were a long time ago already.

"It did more good than you might think." Sydney paused, swirling the wine in his cup. "I do not speak only of the wine, of course. You are a good man, Hardin, and that is why I am with you now. You were kind to me when I needed a friend."

"You treat your friends oddly," Hardin muttered. He found that he was no longer angry with Sydney for rebuffing him so violently - but that might have been because he had much more to be upset about now, and the thought nearly made him start to cry again. Instead, he quickly took Sydney's advice and drank deeply, trying to blink back his tears and the tightness in his throat.

"You did nothing wrong, Hardin. To a normal man, your actions would have been most welcome, I imagine, but..." Sydney paused again, seemingly undecided as to whether he should say more. "...I have a... well..." he began, sounding almost self-conscious, and Hardin glanced over at him, curious. Finally the mage sighed. "Let us say that there are some things about me that are not entirely normal."

Hardin looked at the mage, and despite his anguish, abruptly began to laugh so hard that he nearly spilled his drink.

Sydney's eyes widened in alarm at the sudden noise, then narrowed in irritation. Hardin could not stop laughing helplessly, though he felt somewhat bad about it; Sydney had been attempting to explain a personal aspect of himself, and here he was roaring with laughter like a madman. He knew he really should apologize, but he could not stop laughing long enough.

Fortunately, Sydney seemed to decide it was of no consequence, and began to smile a little himself. "I suppose that was a bit of an understatement, wasn't it?" he commented.

Hardin couldn't manage a response, busy as he was attempting to catch his breath. It had undoubtedly been years since he'd laughed so hard, since he'd let himself go in that manner. Almost immediately, though, he recognized his error; with the rush of his chaotic emotions, his mirth turned to bitter sobs, and the tears he'd been trying to hold back for years streamed down his face.

Dimly he was aware of Sydney moving beside him, kneeling before him and taking the cup from him before his suddenly shaking hands dropped it. Arms of cold metal enfolded him, drawing him close, and Hardin let himself fall into that embrace.

Sydney was murmuring in his ear when his head had cleared enough that he was able to hear the words. "Ah, Hardin... always the comforter, always the caregiver... no one has ever comforted or cared for you since your childhood, have they? You give and give of all the good in yourself, keeping every unwelcome and unpleasant thought tucked away until it is all you have left... Did you not know that it is no shame to release those things? Anything a man keeps to himself for too long will eventually spoil and sour, turning to poison within... For a man who gives himself as you do, you have the right to share them, and to ask for what you may need to take..."

Sydney's voice was soft and soothing, and Hardin let his head rest upon the smaller man's shoulder as he listened, feeling a strange, hollow ache. With even his pain released at last, he felt almost like a shadow; there was nothing remaining in his heart to make him feel alive.

"Every man needs to take now and then - it is not a sign of weakness. It is all right, Hardin - all will be well. All will be well, my friend..." A stiff metal hand gently placed itself upon the back of Hardin's neck as he quieted. "Every man has needs, and desires, and... Hardin, please forgive me..."

Hardin raised his head to look at Sydney, about to ask what he would ask forgiveness for, and the mage's face lowered to meet his.

Sydney's lips were soft, warm, and comforting as those of any woman Hardin ever had kissed, and he let himself be lost in the powerful sensations they imparted in him. His mouth opened to drink them in, and Sydney's lips parted in response; he had the cool taste of red wine in his mouth, and Hardin savored the contrast between the sharpness of Sydney's teeth and the softness of his tongue pressing against his own. The rising feelings of desire began to melt the cold emptiness that so consumed him, and Hardin's left hand rose to cup the back of Sydney's head, tenderly stroking his hair as his right arm encircled Sydney's slender waist, pulling him closer.

Sydney was the one who finally let go, as he abruptly found the larger man pushing back the heavy cloak he wore, tugging at the fastenings that held it closed at the neck. "Hardin...?"

"This emptiness... I can't bear it, Sydney," Hardin said, his voice hoarse with desperation as he finally managed to loose the fastening and push Sydney's cloak off his shoulders, leaving the mage's upper body bare while he began to shrug off his own jacket. "There is nothing left of the man I once was..."

Sydney looked down in mild surprise as Hardin reached out to him again, his hands this time moving down to untie the cords that held the loose leather pants to the mage's hips. "This is not like you in the least," he reproved Hardin.

Even so, Sydney was unable to suppress a sharp breath of pleasure when Hardin's hands brushed against the sensitive skin below his waist, and Hardin felt a sharp glimmer of satisfaction through the barrenness in his heart. Only a spark, but he grasped at it desperately, aching to feel more, to drive back the emptiness that consumed him. "I know it is unlike me - and I don't care anymore, Sydney," he said vehemently, fumbling with the cords, only dimly seen through the tears in his eyes. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? As for me, I need to be filled again. I need to feel... something, anything... it doesn't matter..."

Metal hands covered those of flesh, squeezing them lightly. "The man you once were still exists - he has just retreated for a time, to recover what he has lost. When you come back to yourself, you would no doubt regret this."

"There is no way to recover what I have lost," Hardin muttered, ignoring Sydney's hands as he concentrated on undoing the baffling knots that impeded his progress. "Can you bring the dead back to life, prophet? Damn it! How can you tie so tight a knot with those claws of yours?"

"Hardin..." Sydney's grip grew tighter, and he pulled Hardin's hands away. "This is not you," he said gently, his eyes meeting Hardin's pained ones. "The man who desires me now is a stranger, and I would not make love to a stranger." He smiled faintly, an edge of mischief showing in his eyes. "Even if he has a very exciting kiss. But all this..." He sobered again, gesturing at the surrounding area. "These are not the actions of the man of whom I've grown so fond in the past weeks."

Looking around at his discarded jacket, the cloak he had roughly removed, the cup he had knocked over, the reality of what he was doing began to sink in, and Hardin recognized the truth in Sydney's words. As desolate and empty as he was, he could not even cry anymore; the raw pain and anger were lost in a dull ache, and so he only sat back against the tree wearily, disgusted by his own behavior. "Sydney..."

"I know." Sydney breathed a light sigh of relief, though a shaky one; apparently his own control had been disrupted in the face of Hardin's lack of it. "You will see; your life may have been torn apart, but your soul remains as strong as ever, and this can do nothing but make it stronger yet. But for now..." Giving Hardin an encouraging smile, Sydney sat down against the tree once more, slipping his arm around Hardin's shoulders. "Rest easy, Hardin. Rest easy, and know that all will be well in time."

Drained as he was, Hardin still cared nothing for propriety, and so he leaned his head wearily upon the mage's shoulder. He could not believe that all would be well as Sydney said, but yes, there was comfort in his faith, and in his gentle touch. Everything is wrong, Hardin thought to himself bleakly. Everything... except this.

Sydney reached over to take Hardin's left hand in his own, and though the metal was chill in the spring air, Hardin felt it warm gradually at his touch. It was strange - perhaps it was because he'd lost everything normal and familiar in his life that he could accept such an unusual kinship with such an unusual man.

"I know you are angry with the gods," Sydney said softly after a time. "But take comfort in this - if the gods I speak of exist, then an afterlife does as well. The gods take the innocent to themselves with open arms; Philip's suffering has ended, and he has entered into paradise. And as for Padric... those who serve the gods and the Dark have their options. His soul may live on as one of the wandering spirits, protecting the living from those menaces that are unseen to mortal eyes; or perhaps he will be reborn in time. Or it may be that he too is in paradise - perhaps even watching over Philip until you are to be reunited. The death of the body is but the start of many new paths, it is not such a terrible thing."

"Why then should I not take my own life today?"

"Because life can be a beautiful thing," the mage replied simply. "The most harsh discord that man causes can be resolved into resounding, full harmonies in the hands of one who makes such an effort - just as a bard who diligently studies his instrument. And just as no two instruments are alike, so are the lives of man. Even if you were to be reborn, thinking to get a fresh start, what you have learned thus far would be of no use."

"Hmm." Philip in paradise, and Padric's gentle soul living on, as a guardian or in a new body. Hardin wanted to be able to believe it...

"And besides," Sydney added, "would you have me mourn another today, as if it were not enough that I and the brethren have lost one companion?"

"No, of course not." Hardin smiled tiredly as Sydney's hand squeezed his, and he tightened his own in response, wondering if Sydney's artificial hand could even feel it.

Many moments of deliberation passed before Hardin spoke again. "Sydney," he murmured. "...Teach me about your gods."

Sydney turned his head, looking intently at Hardin with some strange, unidentifiable emotion on his face. After a moment, it resolved into one of his slight, melancholy smiles. "If that is what you desire," he agreed quietly. "And your first lesson is this..."

Turning to kneel beside Hardin, the mage pulled the larger man into an embrace as he had earlier. A feeling of peace settled upon Hardin, filling the empty longing in his heart completely as Sydney's arms gently encircled him - arms that this time did not seem to be composed of cold, hard metal, but of pure love, far beyond mortal comprehension. "If you learn nothing else of the gods, friend Hardin, remember this."

This time as Hardin wept, he felt no shame.

This chapter was originally intended to be flat-out yaoi... but Sydney was too darned insightful, and knew it wouldn't do Hardin any good. And then just when I thought I'd have to scrap this chapter, he went about getting the spiritual part of the plot taken care of. *sigh* He's one heck of a religious leader, all right. I should just let my muses take over from now on - they have better ideas than I do. ;)