|Five Minutes With Hardwicke|
|Summary:||Benedict tries to be sociable with Terrick's Captain of the Guard. It goes as well as one might expect.|
|Terrick Campsite — Harlaw Isle|
|Mist and rocks.|
|20 February 289|
The collection of men at the Cape of Eagles encampment is a bit rag-tag, having taking in some of those men saved from the water when the ships were aflame and some of those on ships that landed near them in the harried disembarking into the foggy, craggy earth of Harlaw. Somewhere among the turmoil, a hedge knight enlisted into the Tully army has found himself among the Terrick camp, though he's done much as he can to keep out of the way and to himself. Benedict Lawson is returning from an early watch now, yawning and scratching at his hair beneath the coif of his maile.
Hardwicke is sitting near the edge of the camp, having found himself a rock to perch on. His blade is out, the steel still young despite its use through the war. He draws his whetstone down the edge of it, angle simultaneously precise and careless in his long years' of experience. His gaze barely flickers over to the hedge knight. "Ser."
"Captain," the hedge knight returns. "Next fellow's got my shift and all's been quiet." He watches the casual motion of the whetstone for a moment. "Anything else with which I could assist?"
"Not as such," Hardwicke rumbles. He looks Benedict over with a sweep of his dark gaze, something still grumblingly wary about his manner with the unknown hedge knight. Or maybe just grumbling in general.
Benedict nods, keeping still and holding Hardwicke's grumbly gaze as it raises to he. There's no challenge in Benedict's regard and no anxiety at the other man's displeasure. Just a calm, steady return of interest. "I hate the waiting," he offers at length.
"Who doesn't?" Hardwicke grouches as he looks back down to his sword. He is quiet a moment as he slides the whetstone down the blade. "Keep your focus," he advises.
Benedict huffs a faint laugh. "If I had a copper for every time I've heard that one," he muses with a small smirk. "There is a difference between focus and impatience."
"Probably why I used a different word," Hardwicke drawls in a dry voice.
"Mmm," Benedict replies, his own tone flat. "But you offered it as advice for reducing impatience. Or, at least, the stream of conversation would imply you did."
"I wasn't telling you how to be less impatient," Hardwicke says, a touch — impatiently. "I was telling you to keep your head together despite it."
"Ah, I see," Benedict replies. "I thank you, Captain, but that bit I have experience managing."
"As you say." Hardwicke gives him another look over as if Benedict were just a boy instead of the grown man he is. He is so grumpy today.
"So I do," is the hedge knight's reply along with a faint shrug. "Good morning, captain."
"Morning," Hardwicke rumbles as he continues to sharpen his blade.