Chapter Text
When the first chill of winter descended upon the Kuttenberg region, Henry of Skalitz was squatting ankle-deep in a stream located next to a campsite southeast of Miskowitz. He held underneath the stream’s gentle current a hunting knife of his own making, a gift for his lord, Hans Capon. It had seemed, at the time, to be such a perfect and thoughtful gift due to Hans’s passion for the hunt. However, Hans’s fondness for hunting had not extended to the preparation of his game. Henry had spent the better part of the past half hour rinsing them of the remaining animal detritus left behind by Hans’s attempted preparation of the two doe and three hare that they had managed to hunt that day.
“You’d think that for how much the man loves to hunt, poach even, he would have learned to butcher his game properly by now.” Henry muttered to himself, taking proper care to ensure that all the blood, meat, and fur had been removed from the knife. Once clean he dried the excess water and laid it on the cloth spread on the shore nearby with the remainder of the freshly cleaned hunting tools. He adjusted his gambeson and hose back into their proper positions, their displacement owed to the ill-fit of his clothes brought on by a growing belly from months of nightly revelry in the Devil’s Den.
“Henry!” Hans called from his place at their nearby campfire, “Have you finished with those tools yet? Your stew is getting cold.”
Henry furrowed his brow and turned to face the campsite he had previously kept to his back. When he had last been by the fire he had volunteered to clean Hans’s tools for him, as any loyal squire would, and left his lord to finish preparing their dinner. Now Hans sat on a makeshift bench by the fire, halfway through his own bowl of stew while next to him rested Henry’s bowl from which wafted a weak trail of steam.
“Are you serious? You poured my share already? Could you not have waited to eat ‘till I was done?”
“Henry,” Hans began, putting his hands up in mock defense, “I simply did not think that it would take you the better part of an hour to finish cleaning a simple set of hunting gear!”
“Oh, it’s my fault, is it?” Henry quipped, “Cleaning tools and keeping their shape preserved takes time, and it’d take a lot less time if it weren’t for a certain lord who loves to hunt but botches the butchering of every animal he kills!”
“Well excuse me for wanting to do my squire the honor of having his lord prepare his dinner! You’d think you’d be grateful!” Hans snarked.
“Oh, grateful! Grateful is what I should be?” Henry’s mouth hung open in a disbelieving smile, “Grateful that I volunteered to clean the results of your savagery from your tools in this creek that’s cold as the grave and all I have to look forward to once I get out is an equally cold bowl of stew?”
Hans’s lips curled into a half-grin, as they always had when he was about to say something cheeky. “Not all! The night is still young, our wineskins still full, plenty enough meat for another pot of stew should we wish it, and- “He made eye contact with Henry, raising his eyebrows suggestively, “the night ahead promises to be a cold one. I’ll need more than just this stew and some wine to keep me warm this evening.”
Henry scoffed his disbelieving smile into a laugh. Hans was a savant at using his silver tongue to be just as endearing as he could be frustrating. Rather than take his place next to Hans on the bench, Henry knelt behind him, wrapped Hans in his arms, placed a kiss on his cheek, and taking an extra moment to scrape the soft surface with the roughness of his short scruff just to be a little extra irritating.
“I’m glad to see your spirits have improved since this morning milord. You were downright sulky on the ride out this morning.”
Hans let out a small sigh, “Aye, well waking up knowing that this is his last day of freedom has a way of dampening a man's spirits. Especially when that man was also kept awake all night by the relentless snoring of a certain blacksmith's boy, ” Hans grasped Henry’s clasped hands resting over his abdomen with one hand and reached behind Henry’s head to pull it forward so that Hans could return a kiss on Henry’s own cheek, “And sometimes all it takes is a good hunt and a good fuck to pull him back out of the damp.”
Henry beamed with pride at the thought that he was responsible for turning his lord’s day around, something he knew Hans would most certainly take an embarrassed offense to had he been able to see it, “A good fuck, eh? I reckon that I’ve got one of those left in me.”
“Just one?” Hans huffed, laughing. He slapped the space on the bench beside him, “Then you best climb onto this bench and eat your cold stew! I intend on putting you to work all night, and as I said, it is still young. So, you best come eat your fill, you’ll need your strength.”
Henry, still beaming, gave Hans a satisfied pat on his back before picking up his bowl and taking his place next to Hans on the bench. He took his first spoonful of the stew Hans had prepared for him; it was rich with meat, full of hearty vegetables, salted just right, and above all else…cold as the grave, just as he had half-joked moments before. He uttered no complaints, nor did any occur to him. No dinner could be so cold that it could cool Henry while he basked in the warmth of Hans’s good mood.
“Actually, now that I am l am getting a better look at you maybe what you need is more training. You’ve clearly been slacking.” Hans said, playfully poking a finger into Henry’s beer belly, “Peacetime has done a number on you! The buttons on your gambeson will thank me.”
“Aye, you’re one to talk,” Henry retorted, “I saw how you struggled all day to draw your bow. Peacetime has done a number on you just as well.” Henry stared straight at Hans as he took another spoonful, “And besides, I haven’t heard you complain yet. You did say it’d take more than just the stew and some wine to keep you warm tonight.”
Hans placed his now-empty bowl on the ground, got to his feet to stand tall before Henry, and flashed him a cheeky smile. “Aye, I must admit that your presence in my bed as these nights grow colder has been most welcome,” he began, removing Henry’s own bowl and stepping across the bench to straddle and mount Henry’s lap. He leaned in close, until their noses were only just touching, “but I will not have the nobility of Rattay spreading the gossip that Lord Hans Capon of Pirkstein is soft on his squire. Can’t have a rumor like that sullying my reputation before I even get to take hold of my lordship! Chivalry demands that I put you through your paces lest you bring dishonor to my name.”
Henry scoffed again and moved to grasp his hands firmly on each of Hans’s thighs, taking a moment to enjoy their firmness with his fingertips as he followed their length until reaching Hans’s arse where each hand greedily feasted upon the supple muscle. “Well, that’s the last thing I’d want to do.” He pulled Hans closer, until each word formed by the damp heat of his breath caressed Hans’s ear, “So, where should we start?”
“I think we should start with your swordplay.” Hans put forth as he reached for the tie of Henry’s braies.
“Oh, have you been displeased with the way I handle my blade?” Henry purred flirtatiously into Hans’s ear as he reached his hands under the back of Hans’s hose.
“I am very pleased with your technique. It’s your stamina that worries me. It’s your vigor that suffers first when one falters in their training.”
“You find my stamina lacking, do you? I think I’ve heard the apothecaries recommend Buck’s Blood for that.”
“Ah, you see Henry,” Hans started, “that’s the boon to having such a thoughtful lord, as I just so happen to have more than enough on hand to last us through an entire night of crossing swords.” Having finally loosened Henry’s braies, Hans reached within to grasp ahold of the prize he sought.
Instead, Henry tightened his grip on each of Hans’s bare haunches and pulled their bodies together. The suddenness of Henry’s action broke through Hans’s confident smile to elicit a wince that was not entirely due to pain. “Careful there, Sir Hans,” Henry taunted, “don’t want to give yourself more reasons to be weak in the knees while you’re walking down the aisle.”
Henry felt the tension of their flirtations release immediately as soon as the words had reached Hans’s ears causing him to deflate in Henry’s arms. As Hans sat back, Henry looked concerningly into the somber expression that had spread across Hans’s face. It was an expression that Henry had not seen since he went to Hans’s room that night in Suchdol, the last time that they thought they might be spending their last night together.
The night that had changed everything between them.
“The wedding? Is that what got to you this morning?”
Hans removed his hands from Henry’s breeches and threw them up in exasperation, “It’s not just the wedding!”
“So, what is it then? What’s got you in such a mood? It isn’t like you to be so sulky on a day you get to hunt.”
Hans dismounted from Henry’s lap and returned to his place on the bench. He stared into the flames of their campfire as he spoke, rather than at Henry, “When I awoke this morning, I realized this was going to be my last day of freedom for some time. My last day when I got to decide for myself how I was going to spend it, and I spent it exactly as I wanted to. I got to go on a hunt, a very successful one at that.”
He reached for his wineskin by his side, and stole a sip as he continued, “Drank plenty of good wine,” he wrapped his arm around Henry’s waist and pulled him close, “and only the best company. Yet, as I sit here knowing it is slowly drawing to close it still does not feel like enough.”
Henry nodded in understanding, not sure at first how to respond. He placed his own arm around Hans and rubbed his shoulder hoping that Hans may find the intimate gesture comforting. The words to accompany such a gesture escaped him because nothing Hans had said was wrong or even an exaggeration. Hans had managed to put off their return to Rattay for the summer, as he said he would do after Hanush left Suchdol. The first excuse had been illness. Then it was rumors of increased bandit activity on the roads that made the journey unsafe. The last, and most apparent, excuse had been that the Devils had lost a man and that Hans and Henry wanted time to mourn him. That had been the final straw, as Hanush’s last letter had clearly spelled out. Between strings of curses and castigations so vulgar they’d have made even Dry Devil himself blush; Hanush had announced that he would be dispatching Captain Bernard himself to drag Hans back to Rattay. Hanush had also declared that Bernard would be accompanied by a small company of men as well as a cart so that no matter how dangerous the roads or how ill Hans’s health there would be no excuse to delay their return.
“I told you we needed to think of a name for a made-up man that’s less obviously made-up than Jan Novák .” Henry had joked in some vain attempt to ease Hans’s distress. The joke had failed to elicit the desired effect and Hans had spent the rest of the day tossed with wine. At one point, while several drinks deep, he had promised the residents of the Devil’s Den a feast of fresh game on his last night as a guest. Not that Henry had minded Hans’s announcement, their hunts had been his happiest moments that he could remember since Skalitz.
Henry could not help but wonder at the somber state Hans was in, did this…whatever it was they had, mean just as much to Hans as it did to him? He brushed the question aside and held Hans tighter, “Hey it’ll be alright. I told you not to worry about the wedding and I meant it. We still have many hunts ahead of us after tonight. We will just have to get through this first.”
Hans stood suddenly and faced Henry, looming over him with a look that had changed from somber to intense, “And just what do you mean by “this,” Henry? My marriage? Settling back into Rattay? Spending the rest of our lives hiding our sin so I can keep my people’s confidence and you can keep your head? Which of these insurmountable obstacles laid before us are you referring to?”
Henry furrowed his brow quizzically at the complete turn in Hans’s mood. He was no stranger to Hans’s moodiness; it was usually part of his charm. This felt different, like something that had been eating at Hans was finally bursting forth from his chest. How long had Hans been hiding such worries from him? The hurt at the revelation became anger that leaked out in his reply, “Sin? Is that how you truly feel about us?”
“Yes! No! I don’t-“ Hans paused for just a moment to avert his eyes from looking into Henry’s own, “How I feel does not matter. The problem is that no matter how I feel, the people will not feel the same about what we have.”
There it was again: “what we have.” Tonight was not the first time they had used the phrase to refer to their relationship, or what it had evolved into over the past months. They had never felt so significant before, a vague description that had never demanded definition. But in light of Hans’s doubts those words had opened a wound between them, a wound that had been unknowingly festering: what exactly was it that they had?
For a second time Henry brushed the thought aside, banishing it to the far reaches of his mind. Hans needed his strength right now and his own doubts and emotions would only compromise that. After all, if Henry could not stand steady for Hans to lean on in his weakest moments, who else would? “Hey, come on now. We’ve done alright so far. We will just be smart about it. This is nothing compared to everything we’ve been through.” He said hopefully, forcing a smile across his face to match the objective of his words.
Hans crumpled to the bench beside Henry once more and buried his face in his hands. “This is different, Henry, and you know it. All our affections will have to be consigned to the shadows, all our moments together stolen, all our friends potential enemies. That will be our lives once we go back and I am wed. These past few months have felt like a chapter from a legendary romance, a beautiful fantasy, but real life is coming for us, Henry. We will be fortunate to have a true moment to ourselves once in several days, maybe even once a month. Is that something you can be happy with?”
Something in Hans’s words planted a dark feeling that took root within Henry, though at the moment he was not exactly sure what it was. He looked at Hans quizzically, as he himself had never considered an alternative to the life for them that Hans had spelled out, “What do you mean? I never had any illusions about how difficult this would be. I’m not stupid.”
Hans thrust his hands to his side and threw his head back to the sky, “But will you be happy with that, Henry? Will you be happy with such a life that you would have with me when you could retire to a simple, more rewarding life plying your trade as a blacksmith with someone like Theresa?”
“Theresa? What's she got to do with this?” Henry asked, perplexed.
“You’re not answering the question.”
Henry had not thought about Theresa in some time, and not thought of courting her in even longer, “Theresa doesn’t want to be with a man like me. She deserves a man who can be there for her.”
“Fine.” Hans began, standing once more and waving his hand at Henry in presentation, “Some other girl then.”
Hans’s pushing was bewildering to Henry. Sure, he had once considered settling down for a quiet life with Theresa once he had avenged his parents. It would have surely made them happy, but Henry had not realized until recently how much the thought left him discontented. The thought of settling into the mill or into a smithy with Theresa as his wife felt more like an expectation than a desire. The thought of a home with Theresa or any other girl did not fill him with the same thrill of possibility as pondering his next hunting trip with Hans. He opened his mouth to say just as much, but the words caught in his throat and instead what emerged was just a redirection.
“Would you be happier with a simple life with Jitka?” Henry asked accusingly.
“It’s different for me, Henry!” he answered. “I am a noble. My wife was always meant to be decided for standing over love, as much as I tried to fool myself into thinking otherwise. In my case it was decided without my knowledge. It isn’t too late for you; you have the freedom to choose the life that you want.”
Henry stood and placed his hand comfortingly on Hans’s shoulder, “I’m happy with this, Hans.”
Rather than be calmed by Henry’s touch, Hans exploded. “But for how long? What will happen once we’re back in Rattay? When our moments together less frequent? When the wrong set of eyes on us could mean your death and my banishment? When I am walking with Jitka down the aisle?” Hans turned away from Henry as he continued, “What about then? Will you still be happy with me? Happy enough to stay?”
The feeling in his chest threatened to choke the words from his throat, but Henry forced them anyway, “’Course I will. I told you there’s no one else I’d rather have by my side and I meant it.” He drew Hans into a hug, “I’m never running from anything again, that includes this.”
Hans pushed Henry away as if Henry’s embrace were tainted with plague, “But for how long? How long before you-?”
“Before I what?”
Hans opened his mouth to speak but instead turned away from Henry and walked towards the stream.
“Before I what, Hans?”
Hans continued silently.
“Hans?”
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An answer eluded Henry once more, as the dream of his last hunt with Hans was interrupted by a thud that resonated within his own skull. The noise accompanied by a blunt pain that jolted him awake from his deep slumber. Before he even opened his eyes, he felt his face wet with his own drool that had spilled from his mouth and pooled onto the table underneath his head. He peeled his face up from its surface where it had laid for so long he could feel the creases the wood grain left on his skin. Before him rested an empty bowl, as well as an empty tankard resting on its side. He straightened and stretched his back that had been stiffened from the unknown amount of time that he must have spent passed out and hunched over.
The alehouse maid that he had yet to notice struck the back of his head with another thump on the same spot as the last. The assault only worsened the wrath that the entire day’s drinking was unleashing inside his throbbing veins. The maid stepped into his field of view and he recognized her as the same maid that had woken him in this same spot the previous night, “Glad to see you’ve rejoined us in the land of the living, lad.” Her taunting smile transformed into a scowl, “Curfew’s bein’ called, and you still owe the tab for your dinner and drinks. Now do I have to fetch a catchpole to carry ya out again or can ya settle up and leave on your own tonight?”
Henry held an open hand towards the woman, “Sorry ma’am, of course I’ll settle up.” He stuttered nervously reaching for his pouch. He grabbed a number of groschen that he did not count, but more than enough to pay for his dinner and drinks and spilled them onto the table. “And no need for the catchpole. I’ll remove myself tonight. Sorry for the trouble.”
The world spun as Henry got to his feet causing him to stumble once, but he held up his hand again towards the maid even though she had not moved to help him. He felt much more capable and sober than the previous night had found him at curfew. Passing out early had afforded him enough time to sober up that he could at least save himself the shame of being carried back to his shack beneath Pirkstein. The dryness of his mouth and the pain in his head told him the hangover was already beginning, a small price to pay. What would Hans think had he found out that Henry, a man Hans had once compared to Lancelot, had been so drunk that he had to be carried back to his bed by the town guard? Not that he had any reason to believe that Hans was even giving him a thought.
“Hopefully he would just laugh at me.” Henry thought. At least if Hans found humor in the sad state that Henry had found himself yesterday then he would know nothing between them had changed.
“Sir! You can’t walk around at night without a light!” a youthful and slightly nervous sounding guard broke through Henry’s train of thought.
Henry nodded in greeting towards the guard, “Sorry, sir. Can I borrow your li-?” the nausea hit Henry like the blow of a cudgel and he broke away from the young man to wretch in the nearby alley next to the general store.
The guard nearly leapt off his feet in surprise, “Christ alive! Sir, are you alright? Do you need help?”
As the boy got close Henry caught sight of him in the torchlight. He was young, and clearly very nervous. Probably barely old enough to join the guard. Involuntarily, his thoughts wandered to his own first night on the Rattay guard, the night that he had confronted a drunk and belligerent Hans. That Henry would have never believed that just a few months later that frivolous and moody lord would become the closest friend that he had since Skalitz burned, maybe even before that too. The only friend who had stayed with him, at least until now. The thought left Henry with a pain in his chest.
Reflexively Henry raised one hand to keep the young guard back and wiped his mouth with the other, standing from the kneeling position in which he had found himself while vomiting, “I’m alright. Sorry to trouble you, master guard. Would you mind letting me borrow the light of your torch for my lantern?”
The guard acquiesced, holding his torch forward for Henry to illuminate his lantern. “I appreciate it. I won’t trouble you any further; I’ll be on my way.”
“Of course, sir, it’s my job! May God grant you safe passage home.” The boy waved as Henry walked away.
“And may God grant you an uneventful shift!” Henry bid farewell. He continued on his way through the gallows square. Now with a light in hand the few people walking the way paid him no heed. The moments to himself allowed him the opportunity to numb the pain that had been building in his chest as he snuffed out the memories from the night his friendship with Hans had begun. By the time he made it to his room in the shadow of Pirkstein the emotions that had been welling up within had been contained once more in the pit of his stomach and locked away.
The shack was undisturbed since he had left it early that afternoon. It had become his home once more in the five days since his return to Rattay, but no matter how many times he returned it did not feel like the home it had been before the ride to Trosky. It felt emptier, quieter, colder…
Lonelier.
Henry undressed to his undergarments and drained the remaining contents of his waterskin, both wetting his dry mouth and washing away the remaining taste of vomit. He laid down in his bed, but sleep did not come as easy as it had when he was drunk. Without the aid of drink his thoughts, much like his dreams, would wander back to that conversation with Hans at the campsite.
When Hans had finally returned to the fire that night Hans had apologized for his outburst and asked if they could just forget about it and enjoy the remainder of their evening. Henry had not objected, but the moment kept returning to the front of his mind as he lay alone in bed each night unable to calm himself to sleep. Not because of Hans’s absence from his bed, that was to be expected, but because of Hans’s complete absence from his life entirely since their return. They had bid each other good night on the night of their arrival and that was the last Henry had exchanged words with him.
The following day Hanush had Hans up and about before Henry himself had risen. Between preparations for a wedding and for future lordship Henry had expected that Hans would have nary an unplanned moment to spare for Henry. In fact, Henry had enjoyed having that first day simply to rest. It was not until the second day had passed with no word from Hans that the dark feeling of dread had returned for the first time since the hunt. Surely, even if Hans were busy with his duties he would want Henry by his side even in just Henry’s capacity as his squire, right?
On the third day Henry found himself at the Trader’s Tavern by the Upper Castle, the same tavern Hans had spent his days while Henry was out in the field performing his own duties in Radzig’s service. Henry had hoped against hope that if Hans had even a moment for himself this would be where he ended up. Hans had not stopped by the tavern, but he did ride by the tavern with Hanush on their way to the tourney grounds where the wedding would be held just days from now.
Hans’s bright yellow caparison was so noticeable that it had not escaped Henry’s periphery even while engrossed in a game of dice. Hans had not even looked his way. Perhaps it was the influence of booze, and perhaps it was unfair, but Henry could not help but feel that it was deliberate. Reflecting on the moment now, there was a part of Henry that had a mind to walk up the stairs to Pirkstein, kick in Hans’s door, and demand an explanation. Or kiss him, Henry was not sure. Probably both. However, if their relationship, whatever it was, was to continue then Henry knew he must stay in Hans’s service and service demanded that he wait dutifully until called upon. No matter how much he missed Hans’s warmth. No matter how much he missed Hans’s touch. No matter how he missed Hans’s embrace. In this moment he would even welcome the hard punch in his ribs Hans would give him when he snored too loudly. At least it would mean Hans was once again in his arm’s reach.
Drink was the only thing that quieted the pain in his chest, and he had continued to seek that numbness at the Trader’s Tavern hoping still that maybe Hans might show. Hans was sure to eventually need an ale if he was to stand Hanush’s presence this long, wouldn’t he? On the fourth day Henry had even resorted to inquiring after Hans at the bathhouse only to find he had not been showing there either. It was after that Henry, feeling truly alone once more, overdid it at the tavern leading to the previous night’s shame.
Was Hans just too burdened by duty to pay Henry any mind? Was he up there at the top of Pirkstein lying in his bed and thinking about Henry as Henry thought of him? Did he miss him too?
“Is he trying to leave you behind?”
Henry had not realized that he had finally fallen asleep until he was jolted awake a second time by a pounding on the door of his shed. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and squinted into the rim of sunlight breaching around the doorway.
“What is it?” he asked, agitated.
“Sorry for disturbing you so early, sir.” A man’s voice said apologetically, “May I enter?”
Henry’s head still throbbed painfully, and the thought of sunlight spilling through his doorway and bathing the room was not a pleasant one in his current state. “I am only just waking up and have not yet dressed. You may speak from there.”
“Yes, sir. I have a summons for you from Pirkstein. The lords are convening over breakfast and request you attend them once their business has concluded at noon.”
The fire lit in Henry’s chest made the pain in his head feel a distant memory, “Hans?”
“Um,” the man started nervously, “I am unsure if Lord Capon himself made the request. My superior just asked me to pass the summons along this morning in case we were unable to locate you this afternoon.”
Henry covered his face with his hands and exhaled a sigh of relief that was almost a laugh. For the first time in almost a week he smiled and the tightness in his chest diminished so that it felt as if his lungs were filling with fresh air for the first time in days.
“Thank you. You may let them know that I will answer their summons.”
“Yes, sir.”