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On day three, it occurred to Hans that Henry must think he was a complete fop.
He'd been confined to bed rest for an entire fortnight on Hanush's orders, to ensure that he had no slow-acting injuries from the Cuman ambush. Henry, who'd been the one who'd actually fought the Cumans, had been put to work as soon as he'd slept off the evening. Hans hadn't seen him since, which was starting to feel rather pointed: no are you well my lord no what my lord, did Hanush find out you were with child and send you to bed, not even a provincial how's your balls, sir?
On day five, Hans wondered if maybe much of the day that he'd remembered was a product of his delirious mind, pain and hysteria creating a potent mix of misremembered camaraderie. He remembered one of Henry's ostentatiously thick arms sliding across his back, propping him up for the slow limp home. He remembered saying something about his girth in general, and Henry responding in a voice that trembled from laughing that he was thick all over and his lordship shouldn't worry so much. He remembered, in a breathless giggle half from the pain in his ribs and half overwhelming joy from the longest consecutive conversation he'd had with a boy his own age that hadn't yet ended with an annoyed click of the tongue or a tight-lipped, fawning smile, asking if his pizzle got worked out in the forge as well. Henry had very nearly toppled them both from his resounding, wheezing laugh—probably to do with the large bruise that seemed to go from his arm to his neck—tears building in the corners of his eyes. No sir, or else I'd forge myself a bigger one!
Hans had laughed so hard he thought he was going to die there, and at the same time felt like he was glowing with an ember that had finally been lit in him. One began to believe, after so many years of knowing that every conversation a person had was either so entirely false that Hans could say anything and receive the same answer, or already decided to the point that Hans could beg and whine and thrash and stamp his feet and never move Hanush to pity let alone to changing his opinion, that one was simply missing the part of themselves that induced others to treat them as a fellow human rather than a bothersome dog. How wrong he'd been: he could do just like other, realer people did. He made jokes, and Henry thought they were funny. He'd blustered at the Cumans, and Henry thought he was brave. He'd lost their little hare hunt, but instead of annoyed he'd been warmed all the way into his gut when Henry had beamed with pride.
And then it was day seven, and Hans was certain that Henry had been faking it. His laughter had been polite, his banter disinterested, and while the young lord had felt giddy, felt like someone was finally, finally looking at him—it'd been mostly concussion. The blacksmith boy had been relieved to be rid of him, annoyed that he hadn't listened to him about the boar, amused that Hans had been such an asshole about the horse and then been dragged off of his own, and content in the knowledge that he hadn't accidentally gotten Hans killed. He'd curled up in bed that day, frightening the maid they sent in to clean as she was sure his health had suddenly plummeted as he stared, red eyed, at the wall and refused to move or eat.
And then, like a vision, on day ten, Henry was there.
"Your noble arse numb from lying about all day yet, sir?" he asked, grinning from the doorway. Hans shot to his feet in excitement, then quickly rocked on his heels and dropped back down onto the bed as if it would fool Henry into forgetting what he'd just saw.
"My noble arse is numb from boredom. Where've you been?" he asked, gesturing for him to come and sit in the horrible sick-nest he'd been painstakingly creating for himself. Henry dropped, making the bed rise with a jolt that Hans felt in his bones.
"Sorry—really, I am. Right after they took you away, a group of bandits raided the Neuhof stables," he said, his face drawn. "I rode out with Captain Bernard right away."
"They sent you out?" he asked with a confused frown. Henry was his page, Hanush had said so. What business did he have running off to fight bandits with Bernard?
"Aye." Henry's big, moon face was beaming. "Sir Radzig took me into his personal service, for saving you."
Hans' smile faltered. "Oh."
Henry's face fell too. "Don't be embarrassed, sir, nobody thought any less of you for getting caught. Cumans are nasty fuckers, and I told them that I had to sneak up on them—"
"No, no don't downplay it," he protested, annoyed with himself for being so transparent. "The one caught you crouched in the bushes and you fended them off with a hunting sword and just your vambraces."
"I still got caught, and I was lucky to be so bad at archery that I was still wearing the damn things."
"You won the hunt!"
"I had Mutt."
"I had two dogs and you won," Hans insisted, brandishing a scolding finger at him. "You were very heroic and you deserved a reward. I just..." He trailed off, unsure if friends were supposed to be completely honest, or if there was some alchemy to the level of emotional frankness he was supposed to inherently understand. Maybe he'd already fucked it all up by saying anything in the first place. "If you're Sir Radzig's man, then I suppose you'll be gone quite a bit."
"Depends, I guess. I'm trying to get to the bottom of what went on in Neuhof, but after that...who knows?" He shifted, flinching and awkward in spite of his size. "I can still come and visit when I'm in town...if you wanted, that is."
"And we can go on hunts," Hans agreed, although the sourness in this mouth didn't abate. The one punishment that he could wholeheartedly agree had been for his own good, and Hanush had ripped it away as soon as it was more convenient for him to have Henry elsewhere: typical.
"Or the to tavern," Henry agreed with the ghost of a smile on his face.
"And I'll have to take you to the baths once I'm better," he said, electrified by the thought. "There's a maid there, Klara, and she's wonderful." Henry would surely agree with him that Klara was the most beautiful woman in Rattay. And he would love the warm steam and good wine, and they could play dice and get massages. His heart pounded as he drew out the picture in his mind—Henry's broad, bare shoulders peppered with charming freckles, thick hair in whorls all the way down his stomach. He would be impressed, no doubt, with Hans' lean muscle and even skin, and his access to the private baths and whatever maid he preferred.
He started to fidget, and Henry laughed. "Do you ever think about anything besides girls?" he teased, and Hans beamed. Even he was clever enough to not say you.