[Vagrant Story] "Glimpses," Ashley/Sydney, not entirely worksafe Title: Glimpses Fandom: Vagrant Story Character/Pairing: Ashley/Sydney Rating: Not entirely worksafe Warnings: None Music: Belle & Sebastian - "Fiction" Note: Seriously AU. Sequel to "Etching." Er. Because this song so totally says "English Garden" to me, and this particular AU is the closest thing to an English garden I have that doesn't involve gunshots and repressed NATO officers. Summary: Forewarned does not necessarily equal forearmed.
Standing at the duke's bedside, Sydney stared down at the man unflinchingly, trying to see the powerful figure his father had been in the wasting body that remained. The man's angular, craggy face now sagged with tired flesh, his once-strong body no better, and though his eyes and mind were still as sharp as ever, he no longer had the energy to rise from his bed. Some days he could barely muster the strength to argue with the long-suffering doctor devoted to his care.
"Sydney," Aldous said without opening his eyes, big hands resting defenseless and still on the coverlet. It was, Sydney thought with neither panic nor disgust, not unlike hearing the dead talk. "I've spoken to Hardin about opening the house in town."
Sydney's mouth quirked fondly, knowing his father meant London, not the little town below the Bardorba estate. Dying his body might be, but his father's arrogance remained wonderfully intact. "I hardly think the air there will be better."
"Not for me. For you. I want you to take your brother with you."
He knew that. He'd known that for months, dreamed it waking and asleep.
"No."
"I won't have my sons watch me rot while I live."
"Not yet." He hadn't intended the words to come out so stiffly, so cold, but he had to force them through a jaw that had no intention of unclenching. He wasn't ready.
"Soon, then," his father said, and Sydney swallowed hard, nodded once when glassy grey eyes opened at last.
Soon. He'd known that too.
***
"Uncle Ashley!" Marco greeted him from the breakfast table, and Ashley ruffled the lad's hair in passing as he found his seat, Tia smiling warmly at them both as she poured him a cup of coffee.
"Morning," Tia's father said as he came in, the warm scent of his morning pipe still wreathing the air around him. "Sun's out already, today. Looks to be a fine one."
"Good day to make the rounds," Ashley agreed. Most of Jack Hollister's custom brought their horses to him to be shod, but there were always a few who needed to be seen at home. Ashley didn't mind taking those on; he was a lot younger than Hollister, and it got him out of the house. He never had minded a bit of travel now and then, or so his own family had told him; he couldn't really remember himself, but it felt right, at least.
And it put him out of the way of Tia's smiles, her hopeful looks, the explanation he didn't know how to give of why he wouldn't, couldn't pay court to her when he already had her father's still-unspoken blessing. It got him away from Hollister too, the awkward conversation he dreaded more by the day. His employer--his partner, now--was a good man, wouldn't turn him out just because a marriage wasn't in the cards. It was just that the only excuses he could give were poor ones when the truth itself wouldn't serve.
Of all the things to have forgotten about himself....
He trapped a sigh, took a sip of his coffee. It was less troublesome on the whole to think that maybe he'd never known.
***
The Bardorba stables were full of fine horses, rangy Thoroughbreds and sleek hunters, any of which would have been game for a gallop at any hour of the day or night, but when Sydney wanted to run like he could leave the world behind, only Dark would do. Hardin would scold him for risking such a valuable animal so, but Sydney's father, who cared for his horses like his own children, never said a word. Dark had been Sydney's since the moment he was foaled, and Sydney trusted to the beast's fleet-footed grace like he trusted little else. Dark never stumbled with Sydney on his back, never tired. They were never safer than when they were together.
Leaning over the beast's neck, Sydney let the stallion pick their course, all places one to him at the moment. It was memory he wanted to outrun, and foreknowledge, and the faint, sweet smell of death lurking in every corner of his father's bright, sunlit room. Three months, no longer, and Aldous would send his sons away. Three months, and they would never see him again.
It'd been a week since he'd stalled his father against sending them off at once, and he had yet to think of a way to break the news to Joshua. The boy only knew their father was sick. Being packed off to the city would only confuse him...but Aldous was right. Joshua shouldn't have to watch the end that Sydney had already foreseen.
Dark's stride shortened, the stallion plowing his way uphill now, and Sydney held tight with his knees, vaguely aware that they were heading towards town. Straightening as Dark crested the top of the rise, he kept his seat easily as the big horse abruptly checked himself, dancing in place, hooves churning the dew-damp grass. Down in the rolling hills below, the fog still clung in patches, but he could see the road that wound its way up to the manor clearly enough. The man trekking its path on foot would have gotten up an hour before dawn to make this march, but he never complained, left Jack Hollister's horse behind more often than not, never made any noises about buying one of his own. Riot lived simply from all Sydney could tell, though the man himself wasn't simple at all. He only seemed that way until you dug past the surface.
Sometimes Sydney wished for claws, the better to get inside the man. But that was just foolishness, the afterimages of dreams too strange even for him.
"Is this a hint?" Sydney asked Dark's pricked ears, realizing with a smile that his mount was watching the same man.
Dark answered with a snort, one pawing hoof gouging the grass, but stood like rock underneath him.
The lightest pressure of Sydney's legs was enough to send the beast racing down the hill, stride lengthening until they were almost flying, leaving the earth behind.
***
Straw poked into his back even through the thick horse blankets Sydney had spread in Dark's stall, but Ashley didn't mind. The way Sydney had looked at him not an hour ago, he could have pulled the duke's son from the saddle and rolled them both into the grass, trusting the damp and the fog to cover them. Innate caution had kept his hands at his sides, but then Sydney offered his own, invited him to come up, come along, and he went.
Sydney had been wild beneath him, rocking up into each stroke, trying to pull him even closer, half-lidded eyes feverish. Even now he looked preoccupied, even draped over Ashley where he seemed most comfortable, elegant fingers tracing absent patterns on Ashley's skin. Uncertain whether he should ask, half expecting Sydney to go more silent still, Ashley brushed clinging strands of gold from Sydney's face and said nothing in the end.
"It's my father," Sydney murmured after a moment, folding his arms on Ashley's chest and resting his chin on his wrists. "He's getting worse."
"I'm sorry."
"I don't want him to die."
"I know."
"I don't want to see it," he said, voice guilty and strained, and for a moment Ashley thought he understood. "But it's all I can see, over and over, and...he's going to die alone, and there's nothing I can do. Why do I have to see things I can't change?"
"I don't know." He barely understood Sydney as it was. All he could do was pull the younger man closer, pretend not to notice the rigid control in the stiff way Sydney lay against him, the convulsive tensing as emotion was swallowed, forced down between hitched breaths. Sydney's hair was soft as silk beneath his fingers, his skin softer still, his weight more comforting than a burden.
"We should get cleaned up," Sydney said after a while, making no move to rise.
"Yes." He should open the forge, talk to the grooms, see what needed to be done.
"I'll miss you too," Sydney said, eyes fixed on the hollow of Ashley's throat. "When I'm in the city. But it won't be long."
Not long enough, he meant to say, and that Ashley did understand.
***
He was saddling Dark when he heard the soft scrape of a footstep behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder to find Hardin silhouetted in the private stable's open door, the late morning sun peering over his strong, square shoulders. The man still had that careful look in his eyes, the one that twisted Sydney up inside, because he'd known, known he could have loved Hardin well, but only until the one he'd been waiting for came.
"There's a fair coming up in a fortnight," Hardin greeted him, business slowly taking the place of their easy friendship. "If you mean to show him," he said, nodding at Dark, "you'll want him fresh."
"He'll do better for a good run," Sydney replied, patting the beast's arched neck. "Don't worry so much."
"Habit," Hardin said with a faint smile, then quickly changed the subject. "How is Riot working out?"
"Very well, thank you; he knows horses."
"Yes."
It used to be that he could read Hardin easily; now he couldn't tell how much the man knew, what he thought or suspected, whether things would ever be normal again.
"Was there anything else?" he asked, smiling because Hardin deserved at least that much.
"Your brother was looking for you. He's in the garden."
It felt like fleeing, but his brother's company was a simpler thing than Hardin's, the lies and omissions he made for Joshua's sake of a different breed entirely. When he led Dark on foot through the hedges and found Joshua playing by the fountain at the garden's center, the boy looked up with uncomplicated delight, nothing but joy in his wide grey eyes.
"Sydney! Were you going riding? Is Ashley coming today?"
Sydney smiled. He might have known Riot would be good with children, that his quiet and his patience would charm Joshua immediately. His brother loved Hardin as well. "It's Saturday," he reminded and watched the boy's face fall. "But that doesn't mean we can't go see him. Would you like to?"
Dark dipped his head with ears pricked as Joshua ran up to them, arms already raised to be lifted into the saddle, and the boy giggled and squirmed as Dark nosed him over, blew puffs of warm breath into his hair.
***
"He was late getting to sleep," Tia had warned him on the way out the door, "so don't take him too far unless you want to carry him back."
But Marco was a bottomless well of energy, and though he'd begged Ashley to take him fishing, the boy spent more time in the water than on the banks, unused pole forgotten. Ashley didn't mind either way; even he remembered that the point of fishing wasn't always to catch things.
Watching the boy splash after frogs, turning over interesting stones and poking at things with sticks, Ashley sat back on his hands and mused that he would probably have enjoyed family life, if. If it weren't for Sydney, if he weren't a poor liar, if he weren't...the way he was. He thought sometimes that Tia knew, was willing to make the best of it, but it wouldn't be fair. He doubted Sydney would understand wanting a son enough to take the mother as well, regardless.
And here he was, ordering his life around the man, when nothing had really been spoken. You will be waiting, Sydney had asked, won't you? But no mention of how long he was expected to stay, or what Sydney would do when his own blood forced him to do what Ashley couldn't bring himself to. There was a younger brother, but Sydney was the heir. Things couldn't work out that neatly for them, could they?
Marco looked up suddenly with his hands cupped closed around something Ashley had been too preoccupied to catch, staring in wide-eyed fascination at something beyond Ashley's shoulder.
"Uncle Ashley? Whose horse is that?"
So used to hearing the beast come thundering up at an arrogant din, Ashley had forgotten Sydney's big Thoroughbred could move so quietly when it wanted to. It stood now at the top of the rise that led down to the stream, Sydney sitting perfectly at ease with his young brother seated before him. Though the boy was probably Marco's age, he had his brother's wiry build, the same clear grey eyes and fine blond hair, though his mild, sweet smile was a direct contrast with his brother's changeable expressions.
The smile and arched brow Sydney had aimed at Ashley was ironic but amused, and he could practically hear the younger man's question: Uncle Ashley?
"Good morning, Riot," Sydney greeted him pleasantly. He had one hand clasped lightly around Dark's reins, the other resting on Joshua's stomach to hold him in place, and he looked as relaxed in the saddle as if he'd been cast there in gold, part of the animal beneath him. "This must be Marco."
"Hollister's grandson," he agreed, rising to his feet as Marco clambered out of the water. "Marco, this is Sydney Bardorba and his brother, Joshua Bardorba."
"Pleased to meet you, Your Graces," Marco stammered, wide-eyed at the thought of meeting nobility, even their own familiar nobles.
"It's Sydney and Joshua, please," Sydney offered gently, holding Marco's eyes. "If you call me 'Your Grace,' I'll think you mean my father."
Marco nodded shyly as Sydney glanced a question down at his brother, receiving Joshua's hopeful grin in response. Moments later Sydney was sliding down Dark's side and reaching up to lift Joshua out of the saddle. "Then if you don't mind," Sydney said, turning to face him and setting Joshua carefully down, "perhaps we'll join you for a time."
"Be my guest," Ashley said, smiling faintly as he watched Marco and Joshua size each other up. There was nothing of Sydney's imperiousness in the younger Bardorba, but then, there was nothing of Ashley's wariness in Marco, either.
After a long, curious look, Marco thrust his cupped hands out as if offering a gift. "I have a frog," he said, a little uncertainly, as if he wasn't sure a duke's son would be interested in such things.
The eager way Joshua lit up put them all at ease.
"You should bring him sometime," Sydney offered after a while, sitting casually on the bank at Ashley's side. Both boys had already drenched themselves to the necks, and watching them laugh together like old friends, Ashley felt remarkably at peace. "Joshua loves the gardens; you can usually find him there."
"And you?"
Sydney smiled. "I might lead you a merry chase, Riot, but I'm easily found if you want me."
"So long as I can be sure of catching you."
Sydney didn't exactly go still at Ashley's words, but his smile softened, turned inward. "That," he murmured softly, "was never in question."
***
Though the big horse fair was still a week off, already business was picking up. There were feet needing to be trimmed, new shoes to be fit, a few special orders taken for old Tom's massive Shires. When he went up the hill to the duke's stables, there wasn't much time for anything but work, but Sydney visited him like clockwork, sitting in the shade and asking him the whys and wherefores of his trade, what he remembered about the village where he'd grown up, spinning tales of the place he'd made his home. Ashley had met very few of the duke's servants other than the stable hands, but Sydney's presence was apparently a stamp of approval, and one by one the others stopped by to make his acquaintance, invite him up to the big house for the noon meal, welcome him to the fold.
The duke's people are like family, Hardin had said, and Ashley began to believe it.
Tomorrow he'd head back up the hill, and maybe he'd meet Sydney on the way, or maybe Sydney would come find him later. Today there'd been work enough for three around Hollister's place, though he hadn't complained about the long hours he'd put in. It wasn't every day that the clouds broke in these parts, and Ashley hadn't minded taking on a bit of extra work if it meant he could spend the day outdoors without feeling he was shirking.
Now that the day was done, his mind was a peaceful blank as he swept up hoof trimmings, kept a close lookout for nails he might have missed, and listened to the birds caroling their satisfaction at having the sun on their feathers again. Though he'd expected to miss the heat when they sent him home from the war, this place was home and always would be, the so-called Greylands even more so. That didn't mean he wouldn't greet the sun with pleasure when it arrived; he was content, not foolish. Not entirely.
Hollister's wistful sigh shook him from his musings, and he glanced up to find the older man standing in the doorway of the forge, staring across the yard and shaking his head in vague disappointment. Puzzled, Ashley followed the man's gaze, but there was no one there but Tia, laughing shyly and tucking a stray lock behind her ear as the Cartwright boy grinned down at her, hat respectfully in hand.
The biggest surprise was that he wasn't surprised. Sydney had warned him, speaking the future with such certainty Ashley had believed him without question. "You'll lose your darling Tia," Sydney had said, lying atop him with nothing but skin and sweat between them, not meaning to wound and perhaps not realizing he hadn't. There'd been that hint of apology behind the wanting, the wariness, the need. It hadn't been necessary.
"Never mind, son," Hollister said with a faint, understanding smile. "I suppose some things weren't meant to be."
All Ashley could do was nod, not certain what else was required of him. Maybe nothing.
Maybe when he went up the hill tomorrow, he'd tell Sydney he'd been right, about Tia, Cartwright, all of it. And he'd tell Sydney that if he had to leave, Ashley would be waiting when he returned.
He'd had done with running when he settled here, had done with chasing somewhere in the black fog of his vanished memories. But he was reluctantly willing to be caught, and once caught, he would remain, and perhaps that would be enough.
Sydney had asked it of him, at least, as if he couldn't see that future clear, and amidst all the things Sydney didn't want to see, Ashley wouldn't mind being the one thing Sydney did.