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The ocean is loud and big, is Henry's main impression. The constant crashing of waves and screeching of seagulls gets overwhelming fast. And that's just on its own. It gets exponentially worse as soon as they hit a port town with all the bustle of constant trade and transport and people.
The good news is that no one seems to care much about them here. It's a very different environment to Kuttenberg or even Prague, and not just because it's Germany rather than Bohemia. Even Hans has to stare at the very obviously displayed options for some paid male attention at the bath houses, and even sometimes on street corners. Not hidden away and by request only like where they're from.
That said, they're not stupid enough to advertise what they're doing, always making sure to rent rooms with separate beds, even if they only ever use one of them.
It's an adventure for sure, just like Henry always dreamed, and they spend a few weeks there, just experiencing everything and seeing the sights. But it gets tiresome eventually, even Hans' thirst for new ale houses and fighting rings dwindling as time goes on.
So they head inland again, back towards Bohemia and more familiar lands. They still see many interesting sights and meet many new people, but at least the language slowly becomes less German and more Czech again, so they don't have to rely exclusively on Hans' only just passable German skills. Henry is getting better, but it's slow going. He's also trying to learn Latin, but that one's even harder to wrap his head around.
They still have a decent amount of money, but Henry can't help but think about the future, and starts looking around for opportunities to make a little extra. He helps out blacksmiths in several villages, does whatever manual labor he happens to come across, and even does some guarding or bounty hunting as needed.
As for Hans... it is indeed an adjustment. Never having had to even consider how to get himself a job, it takes him a while to settle with the idea, and then even longer for him to learn how to navigate through the process of taking on a menial task and doing it within an expected time frame for someone who, in his old life, he would never have had to even talk to, much less take orders from.
“Laboratores indeed,” he mutters to himself as he writes out a seemingly endless number of copies of a letter someone paid him to write and send to several different people. He grumbles about how his back hurts from sitting hunched over the little table in their room for several hours, but he doesn't pause his work, he maintains the same neat lettering and careful attention through every single page, and, once he's finally done, Henry hauls him to bed for a thorough reward. Because he's really proud of him.
“You know what, I could get used to this,” Hans wheezes afterwards, sweat curling his hair and his eyes crossing slightly.
“Don't expect a reward like this every time,” Henry warns, but he's honestly not even sure he'll stick to that threat. As it turns out, it really gets him going to see Hans be responsible and kind. Or just display all his better qualities in general.
They keep traveling for a while, and summer slowly arrives around them. Their horses refuse to do anything more than a canter in the heat, and since there's also nowhere they really need to be, it becomes the slowest sightseeing trip through Germany as they near the Bohemian border.
They're in a peaceful area, at least, the unrest at home so far away that people around here barely realize it's even happening. It's like a completely different world, yet also the same. People are the same everywhere, fields grow heavy with grains, dogs bark, children scream and laugh, and Henry's ears still prick up every time he hears the clanging of hammer on steel in every village they go through.
They end up at a crossroads, one way leading towards Bohemia, the other leading back along the German border, and they exchange looks as they steer back towards Germany. At least for a while. They're not ready to return, even after the better part of a year away. They both still wake up screaming in the middle of the night every so often.
A few villages onwards, and they're offered a ratty little hut when they ask around for a place to stay for a while.
“If you can fix it up a little I'll charge you half,” the miller says, and, true to his miller nature, he gets the long end of the stick, because the hut is in such bad shape it basically needs to be rebuilt from the ground up. But it has a roof, and it's in the middle of summer, so it's honestly no problem to sleep basically outdoors for a few weeks while they do some repairs.
It's a little out of the way, an old fisherman's hut near a lake, and since Hans is genuinely a hazard to them both when doing anything with a hammer, he ends up spending far more time on practicing his fishing while Henry rebuilds walls and levels the floor. Hans' fishing skills aren't great, he's far better at hunting, but he knows the basics, and before long he's bringing home dinner from the lake pretty consistently.
“Hey, Hans,” Henry calls soft across the fire one night, a fat fish rotating on the spit between them.
“Hm?”
“Carp diem.”
Hans stares at him for a moment and then snorts so hard it sounds painful. “God, Henry, you're the worst.”
“Maybe. But you love me.”
“God knows why,” Hans says, which isn't a denial, of course.
The words don't come easy between them, but they both know. They made this choice, after all.
It wasn't their intention to stay here, but Henry takes on a more long term job for the local blacksmith, and Hans ends up mostly making friends and doing odd jobs wherever they pop up. He's becoming a half decent fisherman, and while at least some people in the village could cobble together a fish trap or spend a little time fishing with rods, they haven't had a dedicated fisherman in town since the previous owner of the hut died, and by the time the trees are yellowing, Hans is hawking fish most mornings outside the tavern, crawfish wriggling around in his baskets, and shiny carp or trout on display, depending on his luck.
He stinks at trading at first, frankly, having to learn from scratch how haggling is supposed to work. But thanks to being an easygoing guy who's generous at the tavern most nights, people don't take too much advantage, and he slowly comes to grips with it.
It's only when the innkeeper asks them if they've got the hut ready for winter yet that it dawns on them that they've been here a while, and are in no hurry to leave.
“Could this be home?” Henry whispers into the darkness as they cuddle up for the night, a cool draft finding its way in through a gap somewhere Henry hasn't found yet.
“I dunno. Maybe. We could still take trips if we get bored, I guess,” Hans mutters, and tucks his cold nose under the covers. Henry tugs him closer, and the cold nose finds his neck instead. Not that he minds. He's always run hot as the forge anyway.
“You're not yet bored? Just fishing?”
“A little. But I won't be able to fish much in the winter anyway, once the lake freezes over. I'll have to think of something else to do. The shepherd was going on about wolf problems near his grazing. Maybe I can convince him to pay me something to put a few arrows in them.”
“Just don't get kidnapped,” Henry says, and Hans pinches his nipple none too gently.
“You'll never let me hear the end of that, will you?”
Henry winces and then snorts, and curls his arms even tighter around his cold bed mate. “Never.”
Hans is settling into his new life remarkably well, all things considered. But he's still himself, and often ends up in stupid arguments with someone he considers an imbecile, whether they are or not. He's also far too chatty when he's had a few ales, and Henry is well aware that most people in the village know that Hans isn't like them. That he's at the very least educated and full of himself, and, crucially, rich.
No one has been giving them trouble, but Henry has taken extra precautions with their little bundle of valuables, just in case. They have a decent chunk of groschen, still, but by far the most value is in the trinkets and jewels that Hans ferreted away for himself over the years. For what purpose, even he himself is unsure. Perhaps he's a magpie at heart. Or, just as likely, he understood far too young that Hanush would likely never give him his rightful inheritance.
Whatever the case, their wealth could be easily stolen if word got around, so most of it remains buried under a gnarled tree, and they both make an effort to not throw money around. Except at the tavern. Even if Hans could be convinced to stop buying rounds for everyone all the time, just because he loves people and raucous activities, Henry agrees that it's an easy way to buy some good will in town.
They're still strangers, after all. They need all the good will they can get just for that alone. Not to mention the entire reason they're here.
The fact that Hans is wealthy and not really one of them is one thing. Being a sodomite is an entirely different matter.
The miller happily takes their money, of course, but if they're going to stay here on a more permanent basis… Henry can't help but worry. Whatever they manage to build up could so easily crumble, just from someone seeing them share the smallest kiss.
So Henry goes the extra mile to be helpful and friendly. Not that it’s a chore, it comes pretty naturally to him, at least when he’s not actively grieving. The town blacksmith has made good use of his help, and he already feels pretty at home there, but also helps out wherever needed. Sometimes for pay, sometimes not.
A side effect of that is that Henry ends up pretty familiar with almost everyone in town, and by the time the first snow flurries start falling he’s already feeling more at home here than he ever really expected to feel anywhere, after Skalitz.
“Brr, I’m freezing my fucking balls off,” Hans grouses as he hurries into their hut. “I think maybe we need to see a tailor about some cloaks or something.”
There’s no tailor in town, they’d need to go a few towns over for that, and Henry isn’t opposed to a little trip. He’s been working hard to fix up the hut, and it would be nice to just be out in the world for a few days, Pebbles under him, Hans and Mutt by his side.
“Sounds good. Can’t have your balls drop off.”
“I know you’re joking, but don’t. I need them.”
Henry snorts, and keeps poking at his boot. They might need a cobbler too. “For what? You’re not making heirs now.”
“I mean… true enough. But I still need them.” He casts a cheeky glance at Henry. “And maybe someone else would miss them.”
“Aye, true enough,” Henry concedes. Lord knows he’s spent more than a little time getting very closely acquainted with all of Hans’ tackle, and had a great time doing so, too.
“August had a word with me on my way back,” Hans says as he shrugs off the gambeson he's been wearing lately to keep warm, and Henry perks up. He's very familiar with August the blacksmith, but he hasn't needed Henry's help for about a week, and had anyone told Henry only a couple of years ago that he'd miss working at a forge if denied it for just a week he would have laughed his head off. He'd been so eager to get away and do literally anything else. How things change.
“Well, I'm not busy.”
“Funny enough, he wasn't asking for you. He wanted me to write a letter for him.”
“Huh. To who?”
Hans rolls his eyes. “What kind of scribe would I be if I just blurted out people's private business like that? No one would trust me to write for them again!”
“But you're not a scribe, and you tell me everything anyway,” Henry points out with a grin, but Hans doesn't grin back.
“I think this time maybe I shouldn't, though.”
“Why?”
“Because he might ask you about something in a little while, and it would be pretty awkward if you already knew.”
That sure does sound intriguing, and Henry would let it lie. But Hans brought it up. There’s something here he wants to share.
“Come now, my lord,” Henry says, voice soft and lashes lowered, the way he knows always gets Hans going. “People believed I was a monk for about a week, even though I didn't know a lick of latin. I'm sure I can look proper surprised.”
“Well…” Hans says slowly, biting his lip, and Henry can see his resolve crumbling. “Alright, but if you don't pull it off convincingly, I'm telling him you got it out of me by force.”
“Because I'm so big and strong and manly, right?” Henry teases, leaning in close enough for a kiss, only to get shoved away with a palm to the face.
“Shut up, I can take you in a fight any day, peasant.”
“You can take me in all sorts of ways, my lord,” Henry purrs, eyebrows waggling, and Hans snorts.
“Damn right. And don't you forget it.”
He's not likely to anytime soon. He's always aching somewhere from their passions, their fires still burning so hot for each other it's hard to hold back. Not that he wants to. There's something deeply satisfying about seeing a bruise and knowing that fierce lovemaking put it there. To feel a twinge in his back and know it was from giving Hans pleasure until he passed out.
These are definitely far better pains to have than the war wounds he got all too accustomed to.
“So, it turns out August and his daughter had a falling out after his wife died. He didn't tell me the particulars, but she blamed him for it for some reason, so she left home to go marry some tradesman in Prague. But then her man died, and now she's alone with three children, and she sent August a letter about a week ago asking if he'd be willing to try and mend fences, and maybe come and help out her and the little ones for a while.”
“He did mention he had a daughter,” Henry murmurs. “So you think he might ask me to take over the forge for a while?”
“Well… he didn't say so outright, but… Henry, I think he might move there. Permanently. He kept talking about how he'd missed so much of his daughter's life and the birth of his grandkids, and how he didn't want to miss another minute. And then he asked in sort of a joking manner if I'd happen to know anyone willing to buy a smithy, fully outfitted,” Hans says, worrying his lip. “What if he does ask you to buy it? What do you wanna do?”
Henry reaches over to squeeze his hand. “Hey. We're together in this. It's not about what I wanna do. It's about what we wanna do. And it's your money anyway.”
“Nonsense, it's our money!”
“So it only makes sense that it should be our joint decision. Do you… like it here? Enough to stay?”
“Do you?” Hans asks, but he doesn't really need to. Henry has made no secret of how comfortable he feels here, and, as the first snow set in, he started pondering building a proper house in the spring.
“Yes. I like the place and I like the people. Even if half of them are German,” he says with a grin. “I think I'd be happy here.”
“I… I think I could be happy here too,” Hans says carefully. “But I don't know if I'm ready yet. To settle down, I mean. There's still so much of the world to see.”
“But we can still go on trips. And… even if I'm tied down at the smithy, you can still travel.” He's very careful to keep his tone of voice pleasant, even though the thought of letting Hans leave, for months or even years, feels like having his guts torn out.
From the horrified look on Hans’ face, however, he's feeling it too. “Leave you behind?! After throwing away my entire life so we could be together?! Are you outta your peasant mind, Henry?!”
“It was just a suggestion-”
“A dumb one! Don't make it again! Got it!?”
“Of course, my lord,” Henry says meekly, but can't help smiling from ear to ear. It just makes him so damn happy every time it's made clear that Hans is in this as deep as Henry is. There'll never be anyone else for him. He knows it in his soul.
“Good,” Hans says, but his frown stays on his face. “I dunno, Henry. I don't know what I want.”
“Well, you'll have time to think about it. Just getting letters to Prague takes a while, and maybe there'll be a few letters back and forth before anything's settled. If it even will be. We don't know for sure yet, after all.”
“No, I suppose not.” Hans sighs and shakes his head, as if to shake away his thoughts. “Well, I'll start dinner if you start packing for the trip. We might as well head out for the tailor at first light, if it gets any colder soon my balls will drop off, and neither of us want that, Hal!”
“Perish the thought,” Henry agrees with a grin and starts checking that their bedrolls and preserved foods are in order for a trip.
As much as Hans had said “first light” it's mid morning by the time they set out, August's letter in Hans’ bag to be sent onwards from the nearest big town.
Not that the town they're going to is huge or anything, but it's more than the smattering of farmhouses around a tavern and a few shops where they start from. It's not even that long of a trip, and, had they truly set out at first light they could have made it there in time to get a room at the inn.
But Henry suspects with some degree of certainty that Hans dallied in part because he wanted to have a night outdoors under the stars.
Despite his constant complaints about the cold he's still more comfortable outdoors, and chats happily about nothing as they make camp in the late afternoon. It gets dark early, so they camp early as well. Hans manages to shoot a fluffy rabbit and Henry is more than happy to praise his hunting prowess, just to see him smile, and bask in the easy cheer of him.
They huddle in one bedroll for the night, too cold for anything more than kisses, but Henry takes those anyway, making them slow and tender just to watch Hans’ pale cheeks blush from more than the cold.
“Insatiable,” Hans complains lightly, even though Henry would argue that, out of the two of them, Hans is the one who can barely go a single night without lovemaking.
They arrive in town before noon, and make the tailor their first stop. Having cloaks made will take a couple of days, as will the boots Henry orders from the cobbler, so they get a room at the inn, and set about exploring the town.
It's one they passed through on their way back towards Bohemia, and Henry is recognized by the blacksmith and pulled into conversation while Hans plays dice at the inn.
It's almost like they're back on their trip, just wandering, seeing new things and meeting new people, but also not. As eager as Henry had been only a couple of years ago to leave home and see the world, he's just as eager now to get back to their little shack in their little town and maybe get more work at the smithy.
Home. He's eager to get home.
It's unclear if the same goes for Hans, and Henry is a little afraid to ask. So he doesn't.
On day two of their stay, a group of soldiers ride into town, and Hans tenses opposite Henry at the table. The weather is nice and sunny, and they've been enjoying some warm stew for lunch outside the inn.
Henry turns to glance at the group, and spots the obvious leader, his armor much shinier than the rest, colorful waffenrock with yellow flowers on top of a decadent breastplate. From all the trimmings, his decorated horse and ring-heavy fingers, it's obvious he's a noble, and Hans remains tense until the man turns towards the rathaus with most of his men in tow.
“Someone you know?” Henry asks carefully, and Hans gives a tiny shake of the head.
“No. Only his colors. I… I guess part of me still worries someone will recognize me and send word to Hanush.”
It's unlikely. During the time they've been traveling, Hans has changed. He's grown a mustache he's still debating whether to keep or not. He's wearing sturdier clothes in almost every color except yellow, and even let his hair grow out a bit, though he assures Henry it's only for the winter. Henry hopes he'll keep it, though. It's very nice to tug during… certain times.
Of course, should he happen to run straight into a visiting nobleman from Bohemia, they might still recognise his face. But Hans has yet to truly understand just how invisible he is to nobles now. Even after everything.
The nobleman briefly comes to the inn for more wine for his trip, and Hans politely bows his head like everyone else around him. Henry can almost feel Hans holding his breath, and his shoulders sag as soon as the party leaves again. There was no real risk, Hans said he didn’t know the man, and, like every noble, he didn’t even acknowledge anyone but the innkeeper he needed to talk to. Everyone else is irrelevant. But Henry understands the fear. Especially after his stint as wine servant for Sigismund. There was no reason for anyone to recognise him, except perhaps Markvart, but he was still shaking the whole time.
And while the consequences for Hans wouldn’t be death, it might as well be, in a social and emotional sense. Henry can’t imagine that what Hans would be doing if he was discovered and dragged back home would be living.
The group rides off, and Hans pokes at his stew, clearly not hungry anymore. He does drink, though, and Henry makes a mental note to stop him if he goes for a third tankard. They don’t need another tavern brawl on their record. A third would be pushing it.
Their cloaks won’t be ready for at least another day, so they set out on the town again after lunch. Henry gets roped into more conversation, and Hans tells him to enjoy himself, and wanders off. Henry watches him go with some measure of worry, but he doesn’t seem to be heading back to the tavern, so he forces himself to stay calm about it. Despite it all, Hans can actually take care of himself.
Which is proven beyond all doubt when he finds Henry later, and off-handedly mentions that he spent his time doing some work for the bailiff, because the scribe was ill and he needed some things written up. Henry wants to kiss him so badly, but they’re in the middle of the street, so he holds it in until they get back to the inn.
Only a year ago Hans would have buried his negative feelings in booze or women or perhaps in sparring with Henry or whoever was closest. Now he seeks out honest work, and Henry pours all his pride into making love that night, forcing Hans to bite down on the blanket to not make enough noise to alert the whole inn.
If Henry is a little - or a lot - smug after that, he figures he’s allowed.
Maybe in part because of that performance, Hans is in a great mood the next day. They pick up their cloaks and boots and turn the horses towards home. Snow is coming down in a slow drizzle mixed with rain, but their new clothes keep them warm, and they don’t hurry.
“Henry, why don’t we make camp early,” Hans says while the sun is still quite a ways above the horizon. “We won’t make it home before nightfall anyway, right?”
They could make it home before midnight, only having to ride a couple of hours in darkness, and even less if they went faster while they still had light. But Henry understands that Hans is probably still restless. Like he said, he’s not sure he’s ready to settle down, and Henry doesn’t begrudge him a little adventure.
They find a nice little cliff overhang, and while they didn’t have luck hunting they have plenty of rations, and Henry smiles as Hans throws his cloak over both of them as they sit by the fire. The rain turns into proper snow, and they sit, warm and cozy under the cliff, and watch darkness fall, and snow settle on the ground.
“Hal,” Hans calls gently. “There’s something I’ve been thinking about.”
“Oh?”
“If… if August does make the offer… I think we should take it.”
Henry’s gut swoops. “You sure?”
“Yeah. This whole trip… I wasn’t sure how I felt. I was so happy to be away, so fucking happy to just… head out with you again. But when I saw that nobleman…” He huddles closer to Henry under the cloak, and Henry snakes his arm around Hans’ waist.
“I think it made me realize that, when I’m scared… when I’m not sure what to do… I look to you. And I wanted you to take me home. To tuck me away in your pocket where no one could find me.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t still enjoy some adventure, though,” Henry points out, even as he’s scolding himself for arguing against his own wishes. But he would feel miserable if Hans gave up his dreams for Henry.
“Of course. But I think this trip made me realize that adventure is only good when you have a home to return to. I was happy to be out, but only because I knew our shitty little shack was there. I was so glad to know you’d be taking me home. That tomorrow we’ll be back in that cold hole in the ground. With that silly swirly door latch you smithed, and the wobbly stool I tried to whittle.”
“It’s not that wobbly…”
Hans snorts. “Love makes a liar out of you, Henry. But it’s ours. And even though it’s good to be away… it’ll also be good to be home. And if I ever get hungry for adventure again, I figure it’s nothing a little trip like this won’t cure. Or perhaps a week in Berlin. One I’ll only fully enjoy because I know I have a home to return to. With you.” He turns to look at Henry, eyes overflowing with so much affection that Henry can barely stand it, and has to kiss him.
“By God, I wish I could marry you,” he murmurs into the kiss, and Hans huffs.
“You can always smith me a ring, blacksmith.”
“Only if you want a bent nail. I’m a swordsmith, not a silversmith, remember?”
Hans breathes out a soft laugh. “I’d wear a bent nail for you, Hal. Maybe under my shirt, but still.”
It’s Henry’s turn to laugh. “Of course. Never mind being sodomites, we can’t have people think you’re unfashionable.”
“Eeeeexactly,” Hans drawls, and pulls Henry in for another smiling kiss.
Henry resolves then and there to smith Hans something. Perhaps a pendant or a dagger. Something to present to him at some pagan shrine or other. Anything to symbolize that he’s in this forever. As if buying an actual home and business together wasn’t enough of a statement, but Henry was always a romantic at heart.
They return home, to their swirly door latch and wobbly stool, and settle in for the winter.
And perhaps before the first deep frost a letter will arrive and an offer will be made. Perhaps, by the spring, promises are exchanged in front of an ancient stone statue deep in the woods. Perhaps a random village on the Bohemian border becomes a home for two men who ran away from everything.
Perhaps Lancelot and Galehaut get their happy ending.
Perhaps.
End.