Chapter Text
Hans let out a deep, satisfied breath. His blood was still roaring in his ears from exertion. Happiness settled on his shoulders like a cloak. He glanced at Henry beside him, smiling and sweaty, and felt that his cheeks would crack from the force of his own grin.
“Alright, you got lucky this time.”
“And the last!”
Hans scoffed. “Well, while you've been riding all over the region, I've been cooped up in one place after another. I mean, this will be the first time I've entered Kuttenberg! Through the gates, that is.” He cast a sideways glance at Henry as they approached the city proper. “Anyway, since when do you have such a fine horse?”
Henry jerked around, looking affronted. “There's no need to jest– you're hardly unfamiliar with Pebbles.”
“Pebbles? Your old nag? You're joking.” The horse beneath Henry was beautiful, with a sleek coat and swift feet. Yes, she was a dappled gray mare, but the nag Henry had insisted on calling “Pebbles” had been a tired old thing hardly worth her meat.
“You're just saying that because you never believed in her. But give her some love and she'll rise to the occasion, eh old girl?” Henry crooned to the horse and patted her neck affectionately. Hans might have found the display slightly embarrassing if it were not so endearing. It would seem Henry had a talent for picking up strays and polishing them up.
Mutt barked merrily from the side of the road. Much to his irritation, his companion dismounted and went over to the dog.
“What've you found boy? Good Mutt!”
Hans heaved a sigh. “Henry, come on! I thought you were eager to show me this place! We'll get there next week if we have to stop every time Mutt barks at something,” he whined.
“Well if that's how you feel, then I suppose you won't mind if I don't share.” Henry emerged from a bush improbably hefting a small purse jangling with coin and dropped a silver ring inside before stowing it in his saddlebags.
“Well I believe you're charged with my well-being, and my being would be very well if you used some of that coin to buy me some beer.” Hans smirked. “Come on, then. Let's see this city!”
The two of them trotted eagerly until reaching the gate. Foot traffic increased greatly and it seemed every other step of their horses risked knocking one person or another down. Great walls rose over them and houses shouldered together like drunks in the tavern– close together and some of them a bit crooked. The smell of the place was nearly overwhelming. The last time Hans had moved through this city during the day he had been playing Italian entourage for Godwin on the way to the mint. He had been so busy trying not to cock up another mission that there had been little enough time to gape at the sights.
Hans noted with delight the number of taverns, vendors, and people. He liked Kuttenberg.
As they wove their way past the butchers, one of them scowled at Henry from his storefront.
“What do you reckon is his problem?”
“Oh him? We, uh, got into a bit of a fight a while back.” Henry scratched the back of his neck. “It's a bit of a long story, but basically he set me off on a fool's errand just for a laugh. I might've lost my temper a bit.”
“What, did you say something rude about his mother?”
“No, I challenged him to a fight and thrashed him in front of his shop.”
Hans whistled. “Embarrassed him in front of his neighbors? Should've known who he was messing with, eh?” He laughed. “That temper of yours will get us into trouble someday.”
“My lord, your temper gets us into trouble nearly every day.”
Cheeky bugger!
“Is that anyway to talk to a noble?” Hans pressed his hand to his chest in mock offense.
They passed a large and bustling market, hugging the outskirts near the town hall.
“Fine day, for fine wares!”
“Nails! Horseshoes!”
Over the din a pleasant melody chimed out at surprising volume. Hans craned back and saw an enormous and complex looking clock.
“God's blood, Henry. Would you look at that?” He squinted against the sun. “Who do you reckon built it?”
“It's an astronomical clock.” Henry's voice was surprisingly soft. Hans looked over to him and saw his friend's eyes trained on the complex mechanism, a faraway expression on his face. Perhaps it was the sun, but it almost looked like his eyes were misty.
“Henry?”
He blinked and looked back at Hans. “Sorry. Just… ha, well it's another long story.” The corners of his lips quirked. “My pa worked on that clock.”
“Martin? Truly?”
“Yeah. He and some friends, back when he was a journeyman. Mind you, they were trying to repair it at the time. Someone else built it first, then it broke. Then there was some business with Italians destroying the machine. Martin had dreams of fixing it up when he was working under a master just outside the walls. He told me once that those were the happiest years of his life.”
Henry sighed wistfully. “It's why I want to bring Sam here, when they can spare him in Kolin. Not that he hasn't been in Kuttenberg, obviously, but I doubt he knew about the clock either. And the forge has so much of Martin's history…”
Heat flashed up Hans’ cheeks. “Well I'm ever so glad you made time to take me on the tour, too.”
“He's my brother.”
“I–” Something about the expression on Henry's face cut him off short. Something sour squirmed in his guts but Hans tamped it down firmly. “I know.”
How Henry could trust that man so completely when they barely knew each other, and they had started out so badly, Hans couldn't understand. Not to mention he was completely hot-headed and frequently pulling Henry into greater danger than necessary! But there was no denying how important Samuel was to Henry, blood or not. As frustrating as he found him, Hans would be friendly. Or at least keep a friendly eye on him.
As they neared the forge and its neighborhood, boasting the city baths and a place Henry had cheerfully referred to as “The Hole in the Wall,” Hans tried once again to picture the place. He had been told sparingly little. Allegedly it was to be a surprise. Hans had seen a number of smithies. He'd largely found them to be wide, flat buildings of a slightly larger size than the others in most villages. Hardly in line with the tall buildings of Kuttenberg, but things did seem to spread out a bit here.
Do you think he's put up any shelves yet? I wonder what color bedsheets he would have picked for himself.
So lost in thought was he that Hans nearly rode past the building entirely. He stopped a few lengths after Henry and turned in his saddle. “What is it?”
“We're here.”
Hans followed his arm to a two storey building painted a cheerful blue and yellow. The frames were painted a lively checked pattern and the heady smell of hops drifted from the vines growing up the building. Heavy gates reinforced with metal stood open to a yard with several outbuildings. The industrious sound of rhythmic hammer taps came from inside as Mutt trotted through the gate, tail waving like a banner.
“This is your forge?”
Henry gave him a shy smile and nodded.
“It's a lot nicer than I expected! Not that I expected someplace awful, of course. But you've really put your stamp on this place.”
With a pointed shake of his head and a sigh, Henry urged his horse through the gate. “Come on, I'll give you the tour.”
The buildings on the right turned out to be the source of industry as they passed two men who Henry introduced as his apprentices. Apprentices? One of them, though, was middle aged and had been friends with Martin. The rest of the yard opened up into and revealed a chicken coop, beehives, a table laden with food, dice, and Christ did Hans hear a cow? Yes, there was indeed a cow housed next to the small stable where they dismounted.
An older woman, he learned her name was Magdalena, greeted Henry warmly. After some introductions, she passed some coin and a request on to Henry.
“Things are selling well. Word's gotten out that there's a blacksmith with talent in this forge.”
Hans enjoyed watching him blush and wave the woman off. Henry was doing well for himself here. It looked good on him. A pang passed through him. Where had he been during all this? Cooped up in the Devil's Den? Maleshov? This place was a quiet haven close to the thrumming heart of the city, so far removed from the endless dull daysHans had spent looking for something to do that wouldn't get him caught again. A man can only ride the same roads so many times. And their room had felt both too empty and too small without Henry’s reassuring snoring from across the room.
The tour continued with the kitchen (neat and small), the cellar (Henry has been making beer?), and the forge (well appointed, boiling, but no shop front to speak of). Then Henry showed him to his bedroom.
The room was well decorated with a large stove made from green tile and a handsomely carved four-point bed. Weapons and shields hung from the walls, as well as a few trophies Hans recognized. The far side of the room was dominated by a heavy wooden table bearing careful ledgers, records, cheeses and cured meats. A painted chest sat behind it next to a cage containing what seemed to be a live crow– or was it a raven?
“I'm teaching him to speak,” Henry said excitedly. “Say, Hans. Hans!”
The bird looked at them sideways and croaked, “Kurva!”
Henry flushed. “He’s uh, still learning.”
Hans tried to stifle his laughter. “I don’t know, Henry. I think he’s got a good handle on things.” They caught each other's eye and broke into laughter properly. Henry’s laughter was like sunshine after days of rain. Too often his companion was weighed down with the worries of others and the weight of his own grief and duty. It gladdened the heart to see the deep furrows in his brown replaced by something more joyful. Those hands had shed more blood than either of them could account for, yet now they reached through the bars and provided gentle and tender affection to the mouthy bird within.
Not wanting to examine that thought much deeper, Hans turned to the rest of the room. While much of the accents were green, which he had come to associate with his friend, Hans noted with a flutter in his chest how much yellow was also present. A coincidence, certainly, he chastised himself.
Something by the bed caught Hans’ eye. He crossed over and ran his fingers gently over the arc of the bow hanging by Henry's bedside. It was the one he had given to him after Maleshov. Curiosity seized him and Hans began to examine the books on the bedside table. With delight he discovered a book of romantic poetry. Then, he recognized the item and felt heat pass through his face again. Hans snapped the book shut and placed it gently back on the nightstand.
The ghost of a touch traced his spine. “I missed you, you know. When you were at Maleshov and then stuck back at the Den. It was like every time we were back together again, something new took us off in different directions.”
“I know what you mean.” Hans swallowed and glanced at the door. Locked. His shoulders relaxed a fraction. “I… I often thought about it, you know. What I said that night in Suchdol. I was… There never seemed to be the right words, and it seemed foolish to say them. I fear that if none of it had happened as it did… Henry I don’t know if I would have ever been brave enough to say any of it.”
Hans clenched and unclenched his hand, willing them more steady. Henry gently took one in his own and ran his thumb along Hans’ tenderly. “And I nearly lacked the courage to stay, even though it was what I wanted most.” He kissed his palm almost reverently and turned Hans to face him. “But I swore I would never run again. And no matter what time we are afforded–” Henry swallowed hard “-- I will cherish every moment of it. Always. Audentes Fortuna Iu–”
Hans cut him off with a kiss. His hands shook worse than ever, so he buried them in Henry’s hair. He kissed him until his lungs burned and his lips were tender. The problem with kissing men, Hans decided, was their beards were just too scratchy. Still, he whined when Henry pushed him back a few inches, panting for air. Hans pouted and Henry grinned and ran a thumb over his bottom lip.
“You’re incorrigible. What am I supposed to do with you?”
“Well if that’s true, I can think of a few things…” He looped his first two fingers into Henry’s belt and crowded closer into his personal space. His friend grinned, tugging playfully on Hans’ own belt as well. Henry’s eyes were dark as he ran them over the length of him, making Hans shiver, despite being fully dressed.
“And what would you have me do with you, m’lord?” His voice had dropped into a velvety tone that went right to his cock. Though, that might have also been the way Henry had slipped a couple of fingers into the top of his hose and begun to stroke the back of his thigh.
“You’re a fucking tease, Henry.”
“On the contrary, I think I’m being rather direct. Don’t you?” A fingertip passed the edge of his braies and stroked bare skin. Hans shuddered and pressed himself tighter against Henry. He pressed his face between his shoulder and neck, breathing in the smell of him. “Besides, you like it when I talk back, don’t you?” Teeth scraped his ear and Hans hissed. “I bet you’d like it even more if I took you downstairs, bent you over the anvil, and fucked you until you couldn’t stand straight, too.”
Hans nearly choked on his own tongue.
“What, you want to mount me like some– some common bitch in heat?”
“Not a common one.” A smirk. He was smirking!
“And how exactly do you plan to make that work? It may have escaped your attention last time, but there are certain anatomical features I lack for that kind of thing.”
Henry hesitated, resting his hand on Hans’ hip. “Well, there are a few ways around that. Some might be less comfortable for, ah, beginners.”
“Beginners?” Hans laughed, then paused. “Wait, do you mean to imply that excludes you? Have you…?”
Henry blushed, then shrugged. “Once or twice.”
Heat rushed to his face. “Wha– with who? Do I know them?!”
“Are– Are you jealous?” Henry looked like a cat in a henhouse.
“No! Of course not! No. Why would I be–? Me? Jealous?”
“Oh, good. Because I was worried for a moment that you, the one who has often bragged about his romantic adventures, was jealous that I was not coming to you as a blushing virgin.”
Hans opened his mouth to retort but luckily found himself to be at a loss for words. Instead he moved to lean against the bedside cabinet and crossed his arms. His nails were unaccountably grubby, he decided. He really should wash them. After picking some dirt from a nailbed, he shrugged in a way intended to be casual. “Well I suppose if you prefer to keep that information to yourself, I have no right to demand it of you.”
Henry heaved a sigh and came to sit at the head of the bed, next to where Hans was leaning. If he noticed that the corner of one of the books was digging sharply into Hans’ ass, he graciously chose not to mention it.
“There’s some that aren’t truly worth mentioning, but let’s say that I knew young enough that it wasn’t just a pretty lass that could turn my head. I did very little about it, with few exceptions. But… well, you do know one person who I– have history with.”
There was a very stubborn piece of grit under this nail, Hans realized. It required a lot of attention to remove, and a fair amount of pressure, too. “Oh?” he inquired.
“Do you remember Bartosh?”
Bartosh? Hans' mind flipped through his memory frantically. Bartosh… where had he– “Black Bartosh? Von Bergow’s man?”
An image of a dark haired man with equally dark eyes and facial hair one of the ladies had called “stylish” rose to the front of his mind. Hans had never cared for him much as there was something in his expression that made the man look perpetually a little bit amused. By all accounts he was an expert swordsman from Prague as well as a learned man and had the eye of more than a few women in the castle. Who had been an occasional companion of Henry’s in the ring and at the dice table. One of the few who survive the ambush at Nebakov, too.
“Yes, though we thought we were on the same side at the time.”
“When did you even have time?”
Henry looked a little embarrassed. “You remember the night of the feast?”
The night before everything went to shit in Nebakov, when Zizka had ambushed them. Hans had been in a rotten mood, chaffing at the dismissal by Von Bergow and his steward. After all they had put him through and the information he and Henry had been able to provide, still no one gave a shit what he had to say. If he couldn’t prove himself to strangers, how would he ever prove himself to Hanush? He recalled standing in a near identical position to his current one, looking for Henry. He had been drawn away after their conversation with Von Bergow and when Hans finally spotted him, Henry was across the room talking with… yes. He had been talking with Bartosh. Leaning against the wine keg and smiling, actually. It had irritated him further and he had called out for him, accusing Henry of ignoring him.
Ah. It finally occurred to Hans that he might have been jealous of the man, though he hadn’t realized it at the time. Then he thought of the way Bartosh had always seemed vaguely amused when they spoke, and felt his face heat again, much worse than before.
“So you snuck away for a roll in the hay in the middle of the party? I wouldn’t have thought that was your style, Henry.”
“Not exactly. I took care of everything first– the wine, your armor, repairing it because the blacksmith didn’t have anything in the sort of condition for you to ride out with.” Hans raised an eyebrow. “Anyway, I made sure things were set before stepping out. And we didn’t exactly go back to the feast. By the time I returned to my bed, the whole castle would’ve been asleep aside from the night watch.”
“The whole castle? My god, how long were you there?”
“I… I dunno. Maybe… eight, nine hours?”
“Eight or nine hours?” They were going to have to mine to find Hans’ jaw. “Christ’s wounds, Henry! What does anyone do for nine hours? Nine hours.”
A tiny, smug smirk formed at the corner of Henry’s mouth. “It was a very educational evening.”
Hans tossed his hands up. “I’m surprised you had anything left in you to ride out in the morning! Hang on– you rode out in the morning. Both of you. If you had– wouldn’t you have been sore?”
“Only a little. Not really if you do it right. You just need a little oil and some patience.” The blood in his body went several directions quickly as Hans tried and failed not to imagine Henry learning about that. In front of him, he shrugged. “And that’s far from the only thing two men can do together. Things that take less time, too, if necessary.”
Hans chuckled. “I thought that the idea of coming here was to have more time, not less.”
“True, but that might be a fast way to start off. Like you said, we have more time so we don’t have to rush it.”
“So we work up to you fucking me on the anvil then?” It was Henry’s turn to blush. It spread prettily down his face and across his collarbones peeking out of his tunic. Despite his blush, Henry ran his hands up the outside of Hans’ thighs and cupped his arse.
“Yeah, exactly."
“I’ll hold you to your word, blacksmith’s boy.”