Archive of Our Own

The door closed with a loud thud, resonating through the hall and leaving behind a tension that crackled in the air like the burning logs in the open fireplace.

Henry stared at the heavy oak panels that Hans had just disappeared beyond.

The look he had worn on his face, the expression in these sky-blue eyes as he had stormed out of the knight’s hall of Sukdol castle, the flickering gaze he had cast at Henry on his way out.

Yes, those eyes had been full of rage, full of arrogant pride and Hans surely knew all too well how to play the game. How to make everyone think he was just a presumptuous jerk, only knowing how to rant as soon as he felt his noble status hurt in the slightest.

But that’s not it…not this time.

Beneath the rage, Henry had seen the fear creeping into Hans’ eyes just a few moments ago. He had heard the subtle quiver in Capon’s voice betraying his outward self-confidence. He had sensed the veneer of arrogance cracking, revealing his insecurity. Recognising this, Hans had reacted in the only way he knew — by retreating into the familiar territory and doing what he was best in.

He behaved like a spoiled brat.

Shouting and blaming and throwing a tantrum because that way he got the exit he needed right now - to stop himself from coming apart.

A compassionate boom behind Henry’s rips, a dull ache.

Probably Hans was kneeling in his room right now and – no…Hans wasn’t fond of being locked inside a room to put it lightly. Not even when he had not been forced to. So, it was much more likely for him to retreat somewhere outside the walls of Rattay, probably to a clearing in the nearby forests around Sukdol.

Henry imagined him sitting there…on cold hard earth, sucking every warmth out of him, both hands clasped around his hanging head, his body bent forwards against his knees, dying leaves tumbling down around him like a rustling chorus, lips parted around a silent roar, the eyes wide and vast and searching for...

Fuck. He shouldn’t be alone with this.

Without even thinking about it, Henry’s body was already turning towards the door, his armoured foot lifting off the floor with an audible clatter of plates and joints to take the first driven step.

A resigned sigh came from the other side of the room.

„Henry. Wait.“

But Henry did not stop. With wide strides he rounded the table located in the middle of the wide hall, seeming to stand like an barrier between him and the door.

He glanced at the burly man to the left side of the table, both hands still on the wooden surface where he had slammed his fists down in rage only moments ago. His dark beard still quivered with agitated breaths as the Lord of Leipa struggled to get his composure back.

But Henry found himself devoid of any words or actions as a response for Hanush and pressed on, his thoughts singularly focused on reaching Capon, his left hand gripping the hilt of his sword tightly.

The metallic clang of his leg plates reverberated through the room, sharp and insistent like an alarm bell, amplifying the urgency that propelled him forward. His right hand already reached for the door’s handle.

„Sir Hanush, I need to-“

„I said, wait! God damn it, is everyone determined to defy my orders?“

The thunderous words hit Henry like the crack of a bullwhip, sharp and stinging, causing his spine to tense as if struck physically. His fingers, which had just grazed the cold, unyielding iron of the door’s bolt, recoiled and curled back into his palm, forming a clenched fist of defeat. Slowly, he straightened his posture, the tension visible in his shoulders, and turned his head to face the man who was fuming with anger, eyes blazing.

The air was thick with the scent of burning wood from the fireplace, mingling with the metallic tang of Henry's armour. The lingering stench of anger and frustration from the Lord of Leipa hung around him, overshadowing the vanishing hint of leather and a mix of ginger, citrus and pine. 

Galangal.

Completely unbidden and inappropriate, a memory played out in Henry’s mind. He recalled the moment he had stood in the doorway, only a few days before their departure to deliver this cursed letter, shaking his head in disbelief as he had watched Hans casually tossing several slices of this rare, fragrant tuber into his steaming bath. The citrusy, woody aroma had mingled with the steam, creating a luxurious cloud that clung to the air and Hans’ lean body. The droplets on pale skin and shifting muscles shimmering in the light akin to a sacred monstrance cradling the rarest and most precious relic, casting an almost ethereal glow around him. 

And Henry had watched…spellbound and torn between awe and the unsettling feeling that he shouldn't be witnessing such a moment. 

The first step on a godforsaken path…the first punishing flagellating of shame and guilt for the sin etching itself into his heart.

From that day forward, whenever Henry caught a whiff of that distinctive scent, he couldn't help but think of the young nobleman, feeling a throb in his heart and a warmth in his blood.

But this scent quickly faded away now, leaving only the iron sting of metal and the bitter hint of confrontation behind, accompanied by a palpable tension as both men eyed each other warily.

Henry’s fingers flexed around the hilt of his sword, causing the blade to move subtly and the scabbard's leather to emit a soft, strained creak.

Hanush’s sharp brown eyes flicked toward the slight motion, then he let out a tired sigh, his lips curling into a fatigued smirk. “What’s going on, Henry? Are you seriously contemplating drawing your sword against me? Are you worried I’ll command you to commit injustice to Lord Capon? But on the other hand, you already think it’s injustice to Lord Capon that I ordered you to make sure this wedding will take place, don’t you?”

Gradually, Henry loosened the tight grip he had on his sword and took a sobering breath, shaking his head slowly. „Of course I would never raise my sword against you, Lord Hanush, except you really were about to bring harm to Lord Capon. But I don’t think that is what you intend.” He hesitated, uncertain if he should voice his next thoughts given his position as a mere squire, yet he spoke them nonetheless: “Although I have to admit that I don’t think it is right to force Hans into this marriage straight away.“

Lord Hanush pushed himself off the table to stand tall as he fixed his piercing gaze on him, the intensity of his stare almost tangible. His voice emerged as a low, frustrated growl, laced with a simmering tension that seemed to vibrate in the air around them: "Watch your mouth, Henry, this decision is solely up to me. My stubborn nephew finally needs to accept to take up the mantle of responsibility that’s been laid at his feet – the responsibilities he himself wanted. I had hoped that everything that transpired in the past months would compel him to shed his bloody immaturity. He’s supposed to be a leader, for God's sake!” 

But in the next moment, while he pinched the bridge of his nose, Hanush’s eyes closed and a soft snort escaped his lips, a gentle sound that seemed to unravel something within him, as his shoulders eased down from their rigid stance. Shaking his head, the Lord of Leipa turned towards one of the small windows behind him to push it open, inviting a cool breeze to meander into the room. The refreshing air swept in, washing away the residual strain from the heated argument with Capon, leaving the atmosphere lighter. 

Yet the urgency within Henry simmered, compelling him to cut this conversation short and trail after Hans to ensure his Lord's well-being. But he couldn’t just dash out of the room like Hans had done earlier. Torn between duties, he wrestled with his instincts.

And maybe…just maybe, this situation at hand was a chance against all odds for Henry to get Hans some reprieve before he was really forced into marriage and all the complications and boundaries that come with it. So that his Lord had some time to recover properly after all that had happened and to get his real self-confidence back. Time to overcome his insecurities and yes…also to be able to spend life just like he had ever wanted to, even though only for a while; seeing more of the world than just Rattay and its surroundings and to go on adventures. 

And maybe…just maybe, there was also another reason for Henry to try to sway Hanush into giving Hans a reprieve from his burdens a little longer. A selfish reason that clawed at Henry's insides, making his skin crawl and his heart pound with a feverish intensity, a wild fusion of searing warmth and icy dread.

It was a knowing, a truth he had buried deep in the shadowy crevasses of his aching soul and heart. A truth he would fight tooth and nail to protect and defend, because acknowledging it was painful enough, knowing it could never become reality. He kept it locked behind closed and heavily guarded doors. A fragile, unholy ornament, crafted from fleeting gazes, lingering touches and stolen moments. Opening the doors would risk letting in a gust that would sweep this ornament off the altar where Henry had placed it inside him, making it shatter into thousands of tiny shards; pieces impossible to reassemble, destined to inflict wounds which could never heal, but let him bleed dry. And Henry would rather cut his own throat with the blade of his father than to ever allow this to happen. 

And so, he deliberately redirected his thoughts and pulled them away from the gnawing concern about Hans to concentrate fully on the immediate task. He needed to confront Hanush and persuade him to ease up on his nephew, to grant him a reprieve and a little more time.

He opened the mouth to speak, but Hanush beat him to it as the older man turned to him again, leaning his hips back against the windows sill and crossing his arms.

“Gods. What should I do with this brat? Finally I am prepared to entrust these significant responsibilities step by step to him by arranging his marriage to the daughter of a prominent and influential family, allowing him to establish his own alliances and secure the future of his house. And all he does is to persist in voicing his complaints and stubbornly refuses to acknowledge this carefully negotiated agreement with the Kunstadt family. His resistance is as unyielding as a stone wall, and his reluctance to embrace this opportunity is both baffling and frustrating.”

Henry turned these words over in his head, searching for an opening to persuade Hanush. He needed to navigate these treacherous waters with the utmost caution, but fortunately Godwin and Hans had told him what had happened during the gathering in Raborsch. Maybe he could use this knowledge to his advantage. 

With a contemplating pause he shifted his weight onto one leg, tucking at his bottom lip, before lifting his head slightly to meet the gaze of brown eyes surveying him.

Here we go.

"My Lord, can I speak freely?“, he asked.

„You may“, Hanush answered with a wink of his hand.

„With all due respect, Sir, as I heard it appears that the so-called 'carefully negotiated agreement' was more akin to an impromptu proposal made during the meeting in Raborsch aiming to gain the allegiance of Lord Botschek von Kunstadt, wasn’t it?”

Hanush’s brow furrowed and his lips parted on a probably cutting response, but Henry boldly didn't give him the time. 

“It also appears that in this agreement there was little to no direct communication between you and Lord Botschek, let alone Capon. Is it truly this surprising that Hans, often perceived as a presumptuous, arrogant young man, feels as though he has been treated like a mere commodity?”

Hanush’s gaze darkened warningly, a growl catching behind his teeth: “Be very careful, Henry. It’s customary procedure to marry off descendants of a house without their co-determination; after all, this is not simply a matter of personal preference, but of politics and economics.”

Nodding in a show of understanding and agreement, Henry came forward a step. 

"I understand, Lord Hanush, and I hope you won't take offense at my curiosity, for I am merely a humble blacksmith eager to expand my knowledge. From what I have gathered, it is recognized that individuals, especially in aristocratic circles, often have limited say in choosing their spouse. I respect this. However, marriage arrangements generally involve extensive, careful negotiation, don’t they? Including detailed discussions about the marriage terms, dowry, and even the thirds, particularly when noble families are involved. If I am correct, these discussions have yet to occur. Given that such negotiations require time and your esteemed expertise as the experienced head of House Leipa, would it not be reasonable to allow Capon this time to acquaint himself with his future role and all it entails? While I do not presume to be an expert in the complex politics of nobility, acknowledging these traditional practices seems crucial. And it would allow Sir Hans to come to terms with this new situation. Of course, you still have my word, that I will make sure that Hans’ wedding will take place. Couldn’t that perhaps be considered a beneficial outcome for all parties involved?"

Silence. 

Only the sounds of clearing and repair work in the castle courtyard and the crackling of the fire in the chimney could be heard as both men eyed each other. Hanush’s gaze darkened even more.

Henry continued to watch him in silence but intently, waiting nervously to decipher the Lord of Leipa’s thoughts. Would his daring strategy win over Hanush or would it backfire spectacularly? The tension was palpable with the very real possibility that the Lord would lash out in anger at Henry's audacity, casting him out into the cold without a second thought.

The Lord of Leipa broke the stare with a deep furrow between his brows. As if caught between too many emotions and thoughts to be able to process them.

“Well, I must hand it to you, blacksmith’s boy. You've got some guts talking to me like that and meddling in affairs that are none of your concern whatsoever. Your boldness is astounding and I can’t decide wether I should be impressed or infuriated by your audacity.”

Henry offered nothing as a response, giving the nobleman time to turn his words over in his mind. 

“Christ Almighty, Radzig and Godwin had warned me. About you and that damn silver tongue of yours”, he mumbled gloomily into his dark beard, but Henry meant to hear a begrudging respect weaving through the rusty tones, a sparkle of admiring bemusement dancing in his eyes.

And then he laughed softly, the frown on his face disappearing.

It made Henry relax significantly, both mentally and physically, his breath loosened and the tension in his shoulders and spine eased. But he still didn’t dare to let his guard down completely. With a quiet chuckle he inclined his head in Hanush’s direction, closing his eyes with a smile. 

“I take this as a compliment, my Lord.”

“You better should. For not many men can claim to have talked to me like that and got away safe and sound. But as it happens, I wasted all my anger on Capon and his antics earlier… and I can't deny your logic and line of reasoning…”

A relieved sigh escaped Henry, but as he opened his eyes again and met Hanush’s gaze, he felt his heart sink. The expression the Lord wore was way too serious yet again.

“…but.” The word fell off Hanush’s lips like a verdict, making Henry flinch slightly and tense with alert. As if Hanush had taken a blow in a feint, only to manoeuvre his sword with expert precision, bringing the blade straight back swiftly and firmly against Henry's neck in a skilful turn. 

Without taking his eyes off Henry, Hanush uncrossed his arms and walked to him with slow but firm steps. 

Directly in front of him Hanush halted, pinning the young squire with a stare so intense it made Henrys skin crawl.

“Tell me, Henry”, Hanush began, clocking Henry's every move, no matter how small. “Don't you think Hans has had more than enough time to indulge in life’s pleasures and brace himself for his duties? It's not as if all these responsibilities appeared from thin air. He also knew that he would have to get married at some point. So why are you so adamant about me granting Hans yet another reprieve? Spare me the nonsense about etiquette and formalities. Although everything you said is true, I hardly believe these are the true motivations of yours. So, tell me. Only then I might consider granting your request."

Fuck.

Henry should have known that it wouldn’t be that easy to convince Hanush to cut Capon some slack. 

He gulped, the sound audible in the tense silence. It was as though those piercing brown hawk-eyes tried to cut him open, to find all the hidden secrets Henry kept so well secured. 

His mind raced, eyes flickering around the room, noticing the overturned, abandoned silver goblet from which Capon had been drinking earlier. It had toppled over when Hanush had slammed his fists on the table with a thunderous force, causing the rich, deep red wine to pool around it, soaking into the grain of the wooden table like a dark stain of blood. And beyond that, his eyes landed on a book resting on a soft deerskin nestled in one of the window niches.

A book with heroes’ epics. 

The wheels spinning in Henry’s mind stopped.

“Are you familiar with the tale of Erec, one of the knights of the round table? The heroes’ epic originally written by Chrétien de Troyes?”, he asked suddenly, his eyes darting back to one waiting Hanush. 

The Lord's head jerked back slightly in confusion and a bewildered frown spread across his face. “How is this related to Capon?”

“Are you?”, Henry insisted without thinking. 

And maybe Hanush was too tired to push for an answer or to scold Henry, or perhaps he acknowledged the tone of urgency in Henrys firm voice. Whatever the reason, Hanush exhaled a long, weary sigh before finally responding: “I sure am. As a young man I tended to read everything of this sort. For numerous nobles, the legendary tales of the knights of the round table serve as a guideline, an ideal to be pursued. They inspire them to strive for greatness in their own lives. I confess I even imagined myself going on adventures like that.”

“Just like Capon!”, Henry exclaimed. "Do you recall the moment when Erec was humiliated by the dwarf at the beginning of the tale? How the sting of disgrace compelled him to ride forth, determined to restore his honour? He embarked on a quest, driven by the desire to prove his worth and rightfully earn his place among the noble knights at Arthur's legendary Round Table."

"Of course I remember!" Hanush snapped. "But those are tales. And I still can't fathom how any of this has anything to do with Capon!"

With one hand, Henry combed his fingers back through his thick brown hair, trying to find the right words. But in the end, honesty surely was the best way to play this, so he took a steadying breath.

“Lord Hanush…the truth is, I'm worried about Hans. He's struggling and while he might mask it well, the weight of everything that happened during the mission to deliver that cursed letter to Lord von Bergow is crushing him. He was held hostage for what must have felt like an eternity, humiliated by being pelted with filth, and evaded the noose by a hair’s breadth. He tries to brush these experiences aside and soldier on. But to me, this is as devastating as the utter humiliation Erec suffered with the dwarf. Hans has been stripped of his self-confidence, his honour, and his pride. And you know Hans — he is nothing without them. And he is desperate to restore all this, to be successful, to prove himself worthy of this mantle of responsibility laid at his feet - to make you proud.“

The eyes of the Lord of Leipa widened a little bit, smoothing out the wrinkles in his brow and at the corner of his eyes. Realisation dawned, but at the same time, a trace of perplexity darted over his face like a ripple. 

He averted his gaze, as if he searched for an explanation in his mind, but seemingly coming back empty handed. 

“I think I see what you mean. But on the other hand, nobody could have foreseen what happened and, unlike Hans, many other men would not have made it through alive. And Hans also grew from these situations. He just needs to get off his arse, he doesn't need to prove anything to me.”

Henry shook his head intensely. “I know that, my Lord. I know that there’s no need for him to prove this to you. And I think, deep down, Hans also knows. But that’s not the point." His stare became even more vigorous as he cited: “‘His lyf hym thoughte al lost and lorne. Til honour cam to hym yborne’His life seemed completely lost to him. Until honour returned to him’. The point is, my Lord…Hans needs to prove all this to himself.”

XXX

The foliage crackled beneath the dull thud of the hooves, crushing the curled leaves like the carcasses of animals that’d died centuries ago. The light of the first sun of the day glimmered through the branches, casting a pattern of shadow and gold on the path ahead like finest damask.

With every heavy step the dun stallion neared the top of the little knoll, the shadowy surroundings gradually becoming lighter as the forest thinned, merging with the open fields that waited just outside the edge of the woods.

It was as if the world opened its arms to the new traveller, the gnarled branches of two ancient beeches stretching over and along the path like two guards, welcoming the newcomer with a soft bow and greeting rustle, guiding him onwards into the light.

The fingers around the soft leather of the reins tightened fleetingly, lean calves clad in dark turquoise pressing gently into the flanks of the horse to conquer the small hill overwatching the land to its feet. A soft snort loosened itself from furry nostrils with a milky cloud, riding away and vanishing in the crisp morning air as the steed shook his head slightly before the shifted weight of his rider and a gentle pull at the reins made him stop at the top of mound.

The young rider watched.

He took in the scenery that stretched out before him. The world was still asleep, resting beneath the mellow blanket of the morning mist, painted by the buttery sunlight, accentuating the carpet of fog into waves of orange and blueish grey, making it look like a serene ocean.

One day, I will see the real ocean.

Closing his eyes, the young Lord of Pirkstein lifted his face up in the caressing glow, letting the warmth melt over his chiselled features, seeping into his skin and chasing away the cold of the autumn morning.

Soon winter would approach like a silent thief, already stealing the vibrant green of summer and replacing it with rich shades of yellow and red. The change was nearly palpable on the cool wind and the first smell of frost.

And Hans felt this change in his very being. It went deep, sowed itself right into his marrow, creeped into the furthest corners of his mind – and weaved itself through his heartstrings with an aching pull.

Behind him, he could hear the trot of another horse, accompanied by a quiet whistling.

The sound pulled a smile on Hans’ lips, the soft tune merry and light, as if the man from whom those sounds came hadn’t endured and survived so many battles and hardships.

It made Hans realise again and again, that there was something good in this world.

Still smiling, he opened his eyes again, turning his head just enough to get a glimpse of the rider coming to a stop left of him, petting his grey mare on the neck and whispering soft words of praise.

“Good girl, Pebbles.”

Hans watched as the horse snorted, craning her neck sideways as if she expected the armoured man on her back to give her some treats. And of course she was not let down, because a hand immediately rummaged through the leather saddlebag and shortly afterwards held out a dried apple to her, which quickly disappeared into the soft mouth and was munched with a satisfied nod of the head.

That done, the rider put his hand back into the saddlebag, fishing out a big piece of sausage while giving a sharp short whistle.

“Mutt, come here, look what I’ve got for you”, he called and was answered by loud barking and rustling in the nearby bushes. With an eager jump a large white-brown dog emerged out of the undergrowth, wagging his tail happily as Henry threw the sausage to his dog’s feet.

Shaking his head, Hans looked on as his squire focused his full attention on the happy chewing noises of his animal companions. Scoffing, he scolded: “Jesus, Henry. You need to stop to indulge your pets that much. Soon your horse won’t go a single step without getting her treat first and Mutt will be too fat and sluggish to be of any help in hunting prey or guarding at night.”

With one hand Henry combed through the thick dark mane affectionately before he straightened in his saddle, chuckling quietly. He turned his helmeted head in Hans’ direction, his dark blue eyes glinting with bemusement as he said: “Well well, look at that. Is our mighty noble Sir Hans Capon, Lord of Pirkstein, upset he’s not the only one being spoiled and treated as someone special? Is he jealous? But do not worry, Sir, what kind of squire would I be if I forgot about my Lord?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, as I would ever be jealous of a dog”, Hans replied, not liking how defensive he sounded. Frowning, he eyed Henry, who rumoured through a linen bag hanging at the front of his saddle. After a short while he pulled out a small package wrapped in a clean white cloth and secured by a simple cord.

With a gentle push of his thighs, Henry guided Pebbles a little closer and leant over in the saddle to hand him the bundle over the distance, the leather creaking protestingly.

Eyeing his squire sceptically, Hans leant over as well, picking up the truss with two fingers. “What is this? Some peasant’s meal out of a shabby village’s tavern? I still want to throw up when I think of this muck from Troskowitz.”

Henry rolled his eyes skywards. “Just try it, for Christ’s sake.”

Carefully Hans placed the bundle in his left palm, opening the cord with nimble fingers and shedding the layers of white cloth to reveal something that looked like a small pastry. The dough had an appetizing golden-brown baking colour with some dark spots at the side, where something of the filling had probably leaked out during the baking process.

Scrutinising the pasted from all sides, Hans could see how Henry passed a hand over his twitching lips as if trying to smother a laugh.

Hans eyes narrowed. “Are you yanking my noble pizzle here, Henry? Or are you just making fun of me because I don’t stuff everything in my mouth just because it looks almost edible – like you?”

Henry’s eyes widened comically and a puffing laugh erupted, before he hurriedly cleared his throat while putting on a dead serious expression; although his lips still twitched with withhold laughter. “I’d never dare, my Lord!”

A fine golden brow lifted, but Hans turned his attention back to the pastry, taking a small sniff. It smelled really good to be honest, the buttery scent of the dough mingling with a hearty aroma.

Shrugging, Hans brought the pasted to his mouth, taking a testing bite.

A rich, savoury taste flooded his mouth, mixing with the soft texture of the dough. The pastry was filled with little chunks of roasted meat, wrapped in thick gravy. The meat was extremely tender, as if it had been cooked for a long time in the heavy sauce before being baked in the batter. Hans could taste onions, carrots, thyme and the simple, malty flavour of dark beer, which gave the whole thing an unexpected intensity.

Holy mother of God, he thought, staring at the bitten pastry. This was fucking delicious. Without even thinking about it, he devoured the whole thing, not caring that the dark sauce ran down the corners of his mouth as he shoved the whole thing between his lips, chewing with stuffed cheeks and groaning delightfully.

Only when a quiet chuckle reached his ears as he licked his sauce-stained fingers, he froze as if caught red-handed in committing a wanton crime.

“I knew you would like this”, Henry laughed.

A little bit indignant, Hans cleared his throat before meeting Henry’s gaze. “I have to admit, this really is to my taste.” And then, trying to sound as casually as possible, he added: “Where would you be able to get those pastries?”

With a raised brow, Henry crossed his wrists on top of his saddle, swaying a little bit back and forth because Pebbles began to scrape one hoof impatiently over the cold earth.

With a playful smirk he answered: “This, my Lord, shall be my secret alone. But who knows, maybe one day I’ll let you in on it.” But then his voice became more serious again as he straightened, making the leather of the saddle scrunch. “But let's be real, Hans. You'll have to get used to the idea of eating things that aren't specially prepared for noble palates in the next few days. As well as not sleeping in a feather bed, but sometimes just in a simple camp in the forest. This is not a trip where everything is carried after you, you know that. You wanted this, now you have it. With all the consequences.”

The firm tone accompanied by the pointed stare of those blue eyes brought Hans back down to earth. Henry was right after all, Capon knew all too well that this was the chance he’d ever wanted – to go on adventures.

Even if it was his last chance, and only for a short amount of time, he really was grateful for this.

His gaze wandered off into the distance, where the fog begun to lift, waking the world slowly from its slumber.

Hans’ lashes lowered over eyes the colour of a clear summer day. Yes, he was thankful for the reprieve he had received so unexpectedly from Hanush. It gave him time to regain his composure, allowed his wounds to heal – both the external and internal.

Except for one.

His eyes lifted just a little bit, so that he was able to gaze sideways to the man in heavy armour, the features hard and war-drawn with too old eyes which had seen too much for his young age. The hands scarred by countless battles and soaked in blood, the invisible dirt of ash and black earth ever-present under his nails from burying his parents in a burned down home. But the spine upright, the chin held high, as if no burden – no matter how heavy – and no fight – no matter how hard - could defeat him.

And Hans was desperate to believe that Henry was indeed invincible. Because the thought of losing him?

A violent sting in the left side of his chest, the pain shooting through his body like an arrow released from an over-strung war bow, piercing this open wound deeper, drawing more unseen blood.

‘Henry, if anything happens to you, then…then…’

And it was not only that. Not only the fear of losing Henry to war and death. But also, the fear of losing him to life. To a life where they both were forced to go their separate ways, living their separate lives…without each other.

It had already begun…the moment Hanush had announced this damned wedding with Jitka of Kunstadt.

Hans’ throat tightened, a burning pressure building behind his eyes while the pain in his chest grew, the unseen blood dripping, dripping, dripping…

Gods…

No. This wound would never heal. All he could do, was tending and guarding it so no further harm would be done.

Involuntarily, his right hand wandered to his heart, clutching the yellow-gold fabric of his padded pourpoint as he inhaled sharply, clenching his eyes shut.

“Sir Hans? Are you alright?”, Henry’s worried voice called out to him.

“Yeah, I’m fine” was what Hans wanted to say, opening his mouth, his hand falling back on top of the saddle. But then the ringing of a bell resonated through the morning air.

Hans froze.

The dull sound rang out, seeming to stir up the fog blanketing the surroundings, chasing ripples through the mist that reached Hans with a chilling tremble.

It has been weeks already, but he still gets haunted by that sound – probably always would be.

Because the sound was more than a reminder of an unpleasant experience. It was a trigger, kicking open barred doors to let fear out.

And not just any fear.

Atavistic fear.

It took over Hans’ body immediately. His spine stiffened in alert, his blood running cold, draining his face off all its colour, leaving it ashen and frightened, every muscle in his body strung too tight like a buck in the face of the hunter, ready to bolt at every moment.

His thighs tensed, putting pressure to the flanks of his horse, making it prance nervously, ears spinning with alert.

“Hans?”

He couldn’t hear a single thing besides the reverberating toll of this bell.

His fingers twitched with the forcefully suppressed urge to search for the rope around his neck, sensing the phantom stricture of the bast fibre pressing against his throat as the knot was pulled tight.

Movement and the crunching of stones and leaves; just outside the periphery of his senses.

His hands cramped around the soft leather of the reins, already covered in cold sweat. With afford he swallowed, feeling his air pipe convulsing.

Unbidden, his eyes went wide, his pulse pounding visibly at the side of his neck, emphasising how the wheels in his mind threatened to spin out of control, his heartbeat galloping straight towards the red zone of panic.

Fuck. Get a grip.

He tried.

A short, charred intake of breath, a weak attempt to stop himself from tumbling over this edge.

He couldn’t hear the soft snort of Pebbles or the thud of hooves.

I need to…

He didn’t.

Because there suddenly appeared the comforting presence of something…someone.

“Hans.”

Henry.

Finally, the softly spoken word pierced through the red veil in front of Hans’ eyes, bringing the clamour in his head to a stop, the ringing of the bell fading away.

Henry was even closer now, so close that their legs touched and the blacksmith was able to reach out with his right hand, laying it on Hans left thigh.

Grounding, reassuring, warm…just like in this night. This one special night not too long ago; that had changed nothing…and everything all the same.

Capon’s swimming gaze refocussed, zoning in on this strong hand, the thumb of it drawing soothing circles on the fabric of his hose.

“Everything will be alright”, Henry continued gently. “You’re safe. I promise.”

Hans lifted his gaze higher, looking in the serene blue depths of Henry’s eyes. Eyes so calming and patient they managed to still the storm raging inside Capon, guiding him back to steady ground, saving him out of the deep end…again.

‘Why can’t I safe you once for a change?’

An agonised, desperate laugh died in his burning throat, the irony sour on his tongue. With trembling fingers, Capon combed through his hair, tilting his head back while he clenched his teeth to hold in the devastating sob trying to claw its way out of him.

Pathetic…you can’t even move on from this minor incident.

Shaking his head, Capon exhaled a long, sobering breath through his nose, meeting Henry’s gaze and holding it for a long moment, before he gave a firm nod.

Henry didn’t pull his hand back. “You good?”, he wanted to know, eyeing Capon warily.

Well done, idiot. Now he thinks you’re weak…

Although Hans knew, this thought wasn’t true at all, he hated himself for nearly coming apart in front of Henry. Although he was more than thankful for the blacksmith’s grounding presence, he loathed the fact, that it was once again Henry who needed to save him.

I will make it up to you…I promise!

But for now, he needed to cover this slip as soon as possible. Needed to be the Sir Hans Capon everyone saw in him and so he snorted: “Of course I am. What do you think, blacksmith’s boy? Do you think someone like me is frightened by a little bell-ringing? Come on, I-”

“Don’t.”

The harsh voice cut off his words like an executioner’s axe.

Hans’ mouth opened in a false show of disbelief. “How dare you speaking to me like-”

“Don’t!”, Henry repeated low and slowly, the fingers at Hans’ thigh clutching violently as he levelled Capon with an intense stare, his voice a near growl, heavy with supressed emotions. “Don’t do this. Not with me. Never with me. Not after everything that had happened to you – to us. Not after -”

He broke off, leaving the last words unspoken, but Hans heard them nonetheless…

Not after everything that had happened between us.

Hans closed his mouth, his gaze going soft as he placed his left hand over Henry’s, squeezing lightly.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just…”

I’m so weak.

But Henry shook his head as if he’d sensed what Hans was going to say.

“I know what you think. But I’ll tell you now and as often as needs be: You are not! If you want to talk about it, I’m here and we’ll prove you together, that this is not true at all. Greater men than I wouldn’t have survived what you survived. You saved my life, carried me to Bozhena. Every time you fall, you get up again and you take responsibility for your mistakes. You honour your friends and you keep your word. And you had the strength for something I’d never found the courage for... If all of this isn’t strength, Hans – then nothing is. And I’m here with you to make sure that you realise this.”

With a stern face Henry watched Hans, wanting to see if his words had been heard while he pulled his hand back, the warmth of his touch fading.

Hans did hear. And it eased his mind. Even though the words couldn’t heal what was broken inside him, they convinced him that he indeed would heal.

One day after another. One step at a time. But not alone.

He held Henry’s gaze, feeling the unwavering certainty in those eyes, the support, the promise…

‘You have my word as a blacksmith that’ll stand by you, even if it isn’t always easy going.’

Capon laughed softly at the memory. “Well, nevertheless I sure should be thankful that I have such a good guardian angel with me.”

Henry kept still for a short moment, before closing his eyes, tilting his head back in laughter. “I would be a sorry excuse for a guardian angel”, he chuckled darkly, but then his eyes lost their focus fleetingly, drifting off, then fixing on Capon.

“God knows, I’m fallen, Hans. I surely did a lot of things to earn myself a place in hell.”

For an instant, silence reigned, only the rustling of the foliage in the wind could be heard…quiet witnesses of this bitter truth.

You’re not the only one.

“Do you regret those things?”, Hans asked quietly, needing to know.

A contemplative incline of this helmeted head, the morning sun reflecting off the polished steel like a cutting blade. But when Henry rose his face up into the kiss of golden light, this blade turned into a blessing, melting his hard contours into a softness rarely seen.

Hans watched as Henry let his gaze wander up into the heavens, following the idle circles of a falcon searching for prey.

Henry smiled. So relaxed. So freely.

A sight the blacksmith allowed only a few people to witness.

All guards down. No shields, no defences.

Just…Henry.

And then Henry turned to Capon, his expression so full of open affection it grabbed Hans by the throat.

His heart swelled against his ribcage.

“No. I don’t regret them”, the squire answered at last. “The things I’ve done. The people I’ve killed. I did this not purely as an act of revenge, even though I probably used to believe that. I wanted to bring justice for the murdering of my parents, I won’t deny this, but…I came to understand that my main motivation wasn’t destruction - but preservation. I want to protect what is most dear to me in life; no matter the cost. Even when I can’t have it like I wanted to.” At these words, Henry’s lips twitched sorrowful. “I know it makes me a selfish bastard but guess what…I don’t give a shit. Maybe if I were a greater man, I wouldn’t talk like that, fearing that the weight of my sins would crush me down from my honourable stand. But as it happens, I’m already on my knees and if God can’t forgive me, I’ll gladly accept my punishment. I’d always rather burn in hell then to forsake that one thing that is my peace in this war-torn world…that one person.”

Hans eyes widened, his lips parting, stunned by those words and their meaning.

“You…”, he started, but Henry leaned over to him, reached out with one hand to place it at the side of Hans neck, the thumb stroking softly beneath his jaw, brushing the pulse point with its hammering tact.

Gentle as if handling something holy, Henry pulled Hans to himself, closing his eyes as he rested his forehead against Capons.

Cold steel and burning skin.

A quivering breath tumbled from Hans’ lips, his lashes flickering shut. He should have pushed Henry away. He should have told him that a squire should not behave so familiarly towards his Lord. That it was dangerous to show this kind of affection openly.

But he couldn't... didn't want to.

Only the forest watched, only the sun and the birds listened as Hans relaxed in the touch, murmuring softly: “We’re damned, aren’t we? Damned to live a second life, to wear a second skin, a mask we show to the world. I wish we just could cut and run, leaving everything behind. And even though I’m grateful for the opportunity to live just like I always wanted to just for a little while longer, deep down I know I can’t run forever.”

“I know”, Henry whispered back, his breath feathering against Hans lips like a phantom kiss. “And you don’t have to. When we return, we’ll manage all our duties, we will do what’s necessary. Together. I won’t let you alone with this, I’ll stay by your side. I promised, do you remember?”

“I do.”

“Then do not worry about what is to come and what must happen either way. This, this very moment right now, is everything that matters. Tomorrow we’ll take on our duties, but today…we are free.”

Yes. And that really was all that ever mattered.

They would do what was expected from them, but today, all of this lay behind…and the world ahead.

Then, Henry broke the connection, his hand wandering higher to the back of Capons head, urging it to a slight tilt with the softest pressure.

Chapped, warm lips settled gently against Hans’ forehead before mouthing silent words, while Hans himself placed his right hand at the side of Henry’s neck, anchoring them together and feeling the steady, calming rhythm of a life-affirming pulse.

For a while, they stayed this way, the world around lost to them.

Hans smiled, framing this moment in his mind, keeping it secured in the depths of his beating heart.

At the same time, they pulled away, the connection disappearing from Hans’ brow, but leaving behind a lingering warmth.

Both straightened in their saddles, turning their gazes to the path laying in front of them. The fog had nearly completely lifted now, raising like a veil to let both travellers pass.

A few steps ahead of them Mutt stood on the trail, the gaze turned back at them, tail wagging and barking impatiently.

“Very well, then let’s go, Lancelot”, Hans teased, inhaling the clear air with a deep breath.

Henry smiled at the name. “Yeah, we really should get going, eh?”, he answered, nudging his heels carefully into Pebbles’ sides to urge his horse to an idle trot. “But let’s take a break soon. Maybe there’s a tavern in the village down there in the alley.”

Hans watched him as he clicked his tongue to wake his own horse out of his dozing, catching up to Henry.

“Oh yeah? Why should we take a break this soon? It’s just early morning”, Capon asked with a smirk, already knowing the answer as they rode side by side down the knoll, Mutt jumping happily around them.

“Well, it’s just”, Henry returned, rubbing one hand over his stomach, pursing his lips into something like a pout. “I feel quite hungry.”