Title: Every Man Has a Price
Fandom: Vagrant Story
Rating: PG-13ish maybe?
Length: 1500ish words
Content notes: Violence, not terribly graphic
Author notes: Assuming this must take place not long after Sydney and Hardin met, since Hardin does not yet have a sizable bounty on his own head for being Sydney's second. ;)
(Quick notes for those not familiar with the canon: Sydney Losstarot is an immortal prophet who leads a doomsday cult, John Hardin is his "partner"; the king and the heads of the dominant religion find this cult very ...interesting... to put it mildly.)
Summary: Set upon by bounty hunters seeking Sydney, Hardin is given an unexpected offer.

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In spite of their caution and their talents, sometimes the two of them could still be taken by surprise. It did not help that this lot had tried to take them in their sleep.

It might have even worked, had their primary target not been immortal. Hardin had readied himself for battle far more quickly than Sydney, having been a soldier in his past, and Sydney had fallen to them before he'd had a chance to do more than reach for the sword by his side of the bed. Not the king's men nor the cardinal's this time, overwhelming them by numbers; these few unarmored men were no doubt bounty hunters, skilled at hand-to-hand battle, but Hardin had driven them back from where Sydney's body lay, lest they escape with it. They would have gotten a surprise if they had, but Hardin would not take chances.

They received their surprise anyhow, when one of the three hunters turned his attention from Hardin for a moment. "...He's gone. Losstarot's bloody gone!"

The two still facing Hardin, already close to overcoming him in his sleep-muddled state, knew what to do and turned their offense from an intent to kill to subdue instead. When they had him up against the wall, arms firmly in their grasp, knife to his throat, the third returned from closing the door and locking it. "Where would he have gone, with such a wound as we dealt him?"

"How the hell should I know?" Hardin growled. Skilled as the three were at tracking and fighting, they apparently knew little of the Dark; if Sydney truly had been killed, there would have been no body for them to present to the authorities. But Hardin knew better; Sydney's death had lasted but a moment, and he had escaped. Surely he would not have gone far, however, for if he were able to move, he would not have left Hardin to face them alone. He dared not turn his attention from these men to scrye Sydney's location, however.

The third hunter, the one who appeared to be the ringleader, considered for a moment. "You're no starry-eyed peasant, taken by his pretty words about gods and spirits, are you...? No, you're like us... You've seen battle, you deal in harsh realities. A hired bodyguard, perhaps?"

Hardin wondered if they had not realized that he'd been sleeping beside Sydney in the bed when they'd entered. "What does it matter?"

"I have a proposition for you," said the hunter. "Perhaps you were unaware that the bounty on Losstarot's head is... considerably more than whatever he might be paying you. Even divided multiple ways - enough gold to live comfortably on for a year. Or more, depending upon your vices."

The idea repulsed Hardin. To think that he would ever sell Sydney out for money... Yet a part of his revulsion was because he knew - he had once been faced with a similar choice, and to his shame, he had chosen the money over his companions. Or the hope thereof; these men were even more likely to double-cross him than the king's men, had he thought even for a moment of making the same mistake when it was Sydney's fate in play. He would sooner have handed himself over to the authorities than Sydney.

Apparently the hunter took his lack of response to mean that he was considering it, rather than being stunned by the audacity of the suggestion. "All you need do is point us in the right direction... or bring him back here, while we wait. His bounty truly is impressive for merely another madman pretending at divinity - I assure you, you will be compensated."

"...Hmm..." Seeing as they were willing to wait for a response, Hardin let them believe him to be weighing his options, and took a moment to scrye. ...As he might have expected. Hardin smiled grimly. "Your offer is unexpected, but interesting. ...I promise, you shall not have to wait long."

The ringleader nodded and took a step back, while his fellows lessened their grip on Hardin's arms. "So you know where he has gone? Or will you find him and bring him back for us?"

Hardin shook his head. "There is no need."

"What are you-"

The man at Hardin's right, who had been holding the knife, abruptly dropped it, his hands rising to clutch at his own throat. Startled as the other two were, Hardin could easily wrest himself free of the man at his left, punching him in the face while he was still reeling.

The third was not so close, and thus the dark forces could engulf him without harming Hardin, who quickly took up the knife dropped by the hunter who had suddenly choked. All three soon lay lifeless upon the floor of the dark room.

On a table on the other side, a lamp suddenly flickered to life, illuminating Sydney - his chest dark with blood, breathing a bit too heavily, but wearing a sly smile. "Nicely done."

Hardin breathed a sigh of relief, looking over Sydney carefully. No matter how many times he saw Sydney die and live again, he might never be quite convinced. "You are... well?"

Sydney shrugged slightly, and offered a wry look. "As well as can be expected, all things considered."

Definitely well enough, to be making such jest. Hardin knelt, wiping the blade of the knife on the hunter's own shirt. "That was too close for comfort. If they had not thought you had fled..." Rising again, he looked about at the scene. "...Perhaps we should leave extra coin for the innkeeper when we depart."

Sydney shook his head, sitting down at the table and resting his head in one hand briefly before taking up the pitcher of water that sat beside the lamp. "The innkeeper has already been given recompense for the trouble; that is how they were able to enter our room."

"...Of course." One more inn at which they would not be spending another night.

As Sydney washed the blood from his skin, Hardin looked over the bodies of the bounty hunters. "Either they were foolish enough to bring more with them than they required," he remarked, "or they'd recently cashed something in - this one's purse is full to bursting."

"Good," Sydney replied easily. "It shall help us keep our brethren well-fed over the winter. But first, come here."

Neither did Hardin have any qualms about taking blood money and putting it to better use, but for the moment he left the hunters' bodies and obediently came to stand before Sydney. A few murmured words, and Hardin felt the magic swirling around him, seeking out the minor wounds that had been inflicted during the battle and mending them as Sydney had commanded.

When the work was done, Sydney looked up to Hardin with a fond smile, taking Hardin's hands in his own, strange and cold. "I am grateful to have you here," he said quietly.

Hardin was sure Sydney would have managed on his own somehow, given his immortality, but he only nodded. It would likely have been far more troublesome if he had not been present to give Sydney time to recover. "And I am very glad that you reappeared when you did."

"You might yet have stalled them for a time," Sydney observed. "Men who allow themselves to be bought for a price seldom understand - there are some who will never sell."

"Indeed... though some such men may come to that understanding, given reason." If he had not met Sydney when he did, Hardin might have been one much like these men... perhaps even seeking Sydney's life himself, in his desperation for such a fine reward. Enough to keep well stocked in the elixirs that had eased his brother's pain, allowed him to sleep through the night.

That desperation had caused him to lose everything... but then he had met Sydney, and his soul had been transformed. Hardin leaned forward, pressing his lips against the top of Sydney's head, the pale hair that gleamed in the dim lamplight. ...This was the gold he now lusted after, he thought - the gold by which he lived.