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When Hans woke up that morning, he expected it to be to gorgeous, warming sunshine, streaming in through his bedroom window, hitting his bed just so and waking him up slowly. He did not expect to be drooled on by an overenthusiastic Mutt, slobbering kisses over his face whilst the sky outside was barely lightening.
He moaned as he pushed the dog off him, face pulling into a disgusted frown at the sensation of the wet slobber that remained, slowly dripping down his cheek. "Mutt," he groaned, "Who let you in here, you disgusting beast?"
"Sorry about that, Sir Hans. He followed the scent of a chicken leg and ran off before I could stop him."
Christ's wounds, he wished he could be angry at Hal, but one look at that ugly mug of his and any thought Hans had of scolding him flew straight out the window. Zdena called it his 'dopey smile', whatever that meant; apparently, he wore it every time he invited Henry to the baths with him.
Lovesick, Godwin had called it when he cornered Hans after they all arrived back from Kuttenberg. The ex-priest had decided that Rattay was to be his home for the foreseeable, and Hans could do nothing but grin and bear unwanted advice.
"Wipe that smile off your face, young man," he had said in hushed whispers when Henry walked into the hall for breakfast one morning. Apparently, he failed, because Godwin rolled his eyes at him before crossing himself and burying his face in his hands. "Saints preserve me, just don't let Hanush see it. You'll be off to the monastery faster than you can say your Hail Marys."
That advice he took to heart; though he highly doubted he would be carted off to a monastery like Godwin said, Henry had no such assurances of his station. Hans loved him far too much to dare risk him, so he took a trip to the baths and pestered Zdena about it until he was confident in his ability not to look at Henry that way unless they were alone. Like they were right at that moment—Mutt hardly counted, after all.
He swung himself out of bed as the door clicked shut behind Henry—who was ordering the dog out of the room—and Hans practically launched himself onto the man, sharing Mutt's slobber as he planted a messy kiss of his own, then retreating with a wide, teasing smile. "Good morning."
Henry, curse him, didn't even grimace; he just reached out, latching it onto Hans' sleeping shirt, and pulled him back in for another, deeper kiss. Suddenly, Henry was wearing too many layers. They were both wearing too many layers, but his was at least easy to rectify as he walked them back to the bed to fall onto it. Henry had far too many buttons, something he was more than happy to moan about even as their deft fingers made light work of the pourpoint.
Golden rays finally streamed in through the window as Hans happily panted in Henry's embrace. He'd never get used to being able to have this—to holding Henry in the warm morning sun, to kissing him goodnight as the final rays set over the horizon, and to standing beside him every moment in between.
He dared not think of what the future would bring them; instead, he curled further into the man's side and asked, "To what do I owe the pleasure this morning?"
Henry chuckled—the sound reverberating through both of them—and he pulled Hans closer still, placing a kiss on his hair where he had buried his face in Henry's neck.
"Well… I found a treasure map the last time I was in Sasau, and thought you may like to accompany me today to get your mind off… things."
"A treasure map?" he scoffed in reply, abruptly sitting up, and scanning the room enough to see a piece of parchment peaking out from Henry's belt pouch. Of course Hal would fall for such a ridiculous notion as a treasure map, but at the same time, even if they were fruitlessly searching for treasure, then that was a day spent with Henry away from… well, everything.
He sighed, hopefully dramatically enough to let Henry know that he would concede to accompanying him, but he would not, under any circumstances, do any of the work. "Why not? I'd rather not listen to Hanush and Botschek debate which draperies to hang for the wedding and which to keep for the feast."
He snatched the parchment from Henry's pouch and unfolded it on his lap.
For a crude drawing, it certainly got its point across. The mill where Theresa lived with her unscrupulous uncle was obviously situated on the Sasau River, with a red line running from it, across the bridges towards Ledetchko, then turning east, past the woodcutter's camp from which they sourced their wood to repair the mouldering timbers in Pirkstein's roof.
Hans didn't know much about what was past there. Hanush had forbidden him to hunt across the river, claiming the woods weren't safe, and instead sent him up towards Talmberg. But, wherever this map was pointing, it was to an apparent ruin, though it was less "x marks the spot" and more "weird-almost-pointing-fingers-but-not marks the spot".
"What does this mean, Henry?" He asked, pointing at the weird symbol.
Henry barely glanced at it before his ears blushed a bright red, "Aw, nothing that we need mind ourselves with, sir, I'm sure."
"Fine, keep your secrets. I will join you in the stables once I have readied myself. Is there anything in particular I should bring?"
Henry's soft smile almost had him chaging his mind and refusing to let either of them leave his room all day, but the man had piqued his interest, so Hans merely let it warm his chest from the cool morning draught through his window.
Henry started quickly dressing himself, dusting his discarded clothing off and shaking his head, "Just yourself, Sir Hans, I'll make sure to get everything else."
"Suit yourself, Henry," he said, happily watching the other man's inadvertent show, waiting until he was finished and presentable once more before stealing another chaste kiss, "I'll be quick."
Hans had never dressed himself so quickly—even though his pourpoint had more buttons on it than Henry's did—time alone together was a good motivator, and he was jogging down the stairs to the stable no more than ten minutes after Henry left.
"What are you doing with that?" he asked when Henry strapped a hulking spade onto Pebbles.
The man paused and turned slowly towards him, eyes darting around in confusion as to what Hans could possibly be talking about. "For the treasure?" he said, with a rising tone that stung in his chest. Hans was being stupid again, apparently.
Hal couldn't truly believe the tales of buried treasure, could he? He had thought the notion a jest, and that the map would maybe lead to a stash or a camp if they were lucky. Who would bury their treasures out in the woods only to draw a very obvious map leading to it? Peasants? Who could read and write?
Perposterous.
And no noble worth their name would do something so foolish as to draw a map and leave it lying around for anyone to pick up and follow. No, it was truly a ridiculous notion, but if Henry wanted to burden his poor horse by bringing a spade along, then so be it.
Then, an even worse thought came to his mind: what if these were graves?
It would make much more sense to draw a map to a loved one buried hastily away from sanctified ground so they could be found and reburied later.
He would not be grave robbing, thank you very much indeed.
The thought that they could be expected to disturb someone's eternal rest plagued him until they reached the spot marked on the map, an abandoned building, left to ruin. His heart leapt at the patch of recently disturbed earth; had something been here? Were they too late?
The thrill of the hunt suddenly shifted into nervous anxiety mixed with petulant fury at the thought that the treasure map was real, but someone had got to it before them. It was not well hidden; directly in the middle of the largest room still marked out by crumbling walls, any passerby would be able to tell there was something there.
He looked at Henry, who didn't seem phased by the fresh dirt or bad hiding place; he just unstrapped the spade from Pebbles and began digging.
Hans dismounted, curiosity getting the better of him, and he desperately wanted to see what Henry was unearthing—if anything.
No more than ten minutes later, Hans heard the distinct thud of the spade against wood, and he shot up from where he had eventually sat himself down, bored.
"Is that?"
Henry smiled up at him, frantically digging away at the dirt around the chest and dragging it to the surface. He dusted it off and turned back to Hans with an even broader smile etched onto his face, "Well, would you like to do the honours, Sir Hans?"
The chest itself didn't look like an ancient relic; the metal bands weren't rusted enough, nor was the wood rotten enough, but he humoured Hal anyway, pulling the chest open with a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head.
Inside was a battered beige rag, and in that, a piece of parchment was tucked into a beautiful pair of gauntlets—shiny, substantial, and most importantly: new.
"Hal, what is this?" he asked, holding the gauntlets up, feeling their weight, knowing immediately they were his size. Polished steel shone in the morning sun—they were so shiny it almost blinded him as he inspected the gauntlets. Hans was surprised to discover that the joints were practically silent as they moved over one another when he turned them over in his hands. He saw Henry's maker's mark etched into a tucked-away corner—unbelievable. God, he loved that idiot.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Sir," his lopsided grin never leaving his face.
"Hal."
"Hans."
"Hal."
"Hans."
The stubborn fool wouldn't give up, grin fixed in place, despite his pestering. Hans rolled his eyes and let it go. He would have plenty of time for an interrogation later.
"An ancient treasure map?" he asked instead.
"Yep," Henry said, popping the 'p'. "Bought it in Sasau from Brother Nicodemus."
Hans gave him his best noble glare, but the other man wouldn't budge, and, again, he decided to leave it and just enjoy their day together, opening up the parchment that was tucked into the gauntlets.
The next map was different from the first; the parchment was newer, it didn't feel like it would disintegrate in his hands at any moment, and the ink was distinctly darker, far less time had passed to fade it. It pictured Rattay, crudely drawn, but recognisable. A line of red ink ran along the road to Neuhof, before turning left, down into the forest where an 'x' was marked at the source of the stream that flowed to Kohelnitz's mill.
Signs for 'Rattay' and 'Neuhof' were written in familiar penmanship, and Hans smiled. Heart growing ever heavier with love. What a ridiculous man.
"Well, are you coming, Hal?" He said, swinging himself back into Atheon's saddle with a laugh.
The man in question looked at him with an endearing smile, "Aye, sir, let me just get our things ready."
One look at how much the man had to reattach to poor Pebble's saddle, and an evil, evil thought came to Hans' mind.
"Race you back to Rattay, loser has to dig up the next treasure chest," he shouted as he spurred Atheon into a gallop and laughed at the offended splutters Henry let out.
"Wait, Sir Hans, I still have…" The rest of Henry's sentence was lost to distance and the thunder of hooves. It had been months since Hans had last felt free enough to let himself go and just ride—their race from Trosky to Nebakov, such a brief moment of blissful freedom sandwiched between so much death. Hans put it out of his mind as Atheon clattered across the bridge over the Sasau River and started up the hill to Rattay's southern gate. There was no point dwelling on such things, not when he had the whole day ahead of him to spend with Hal and Hal alone, finding whatever treasure the man had set out for him.
Hans had dismounted, walked to Pirkstein, found a couple of apples, and walked back to the gate before Henry and Pebbles arrived, harried.
"That wasn't fair, and you know it," Henry said in lieu of a greeting, breathing hard as he too dismounted.
Hans laughed, tossing him an apple as he fed another to Atheon, "Oh, come now, Henry. It was just a bit of fun. We both know you'd be digging up the next chest anyway."
Henry did dig up the next chest, and the one after that, and the one after that, not only without complaint, but with a small, smug smile on his lips.
Hans caught him looking every so often—mostly when he thought Hans was decidedly not looking in his direction—with an expression so soft he would have gone weak at the knees were he not firmly seated on Atheon at the time. They both knew what was going on, but neither would—no, could—break the magic Hal had conjured around them that day.
The maps took them north from Rattay, to Neuhof, then to the Inn at the Glade, then as far as a dugout near Talmberg, each completing another stunning piece of full plate armour—gauntlets, legs and arms, head, and chest. And God, he'd need Hal to remind him he was but human the next time he needed to be dressed for battle, if he were to wear it unsupervised, he'd think himself immortal with how well made it was.
To his surprise, inside the brigandine was another parchment.
He narrowed his eyes at Hal, waving the parchment at him, "We've already found an entire set of armour, what could possibly be there?"
The sly grin returned as Henry crossed his arms, "I dunno, Sir Hans, guess we'll have to find out."
Was it…? Could it be…? "If this is another sword, Henry, I'll… well, I'll… fuck."
He dragged a hand down his face.
Ever since the man had opened a forge in Kuttenberg, he always returned from visiting it with another weapon for Hans to add to his collection. Axes, daggers, shortswords, you name it, Hans had an exquisite collection to choose from, but the man always said he hadn't found the right materials to make him a longsword yet.
Hans' heart skipped a beat as they followed the map to the next destination. The things this man did to him should come with a physician's warning for his health.
The clearing they ended up in was familiar in a way Hans couldn't quite pinpoint. Well trodden in dirt hosting the remnants of a few make-shift lean-tos, a cooking pit (lacking the pot) to one side, and a lone, very straight tree on the other. Then it hit him.
"Wait. This isn't. Hal, tell me we aren't where I think we are."
The accursed Cuman camp—where Hans spent the better part of an afternoon tied up after thoroughly embarrassing himself in front of Henry.
"I could, sir, but that would be lying," Henry said.
"Eat shit, Hal," he replied with a smile and no bite. Henry only laughed at him, picking up the shovel and digging into the overturned dirt just far enough away from the tree where he was held captive not to draw his ire.
The chest that emerged was exactly the same as all the others, and Hans eagerly opened the catch, heart racing as he lifted the lid and pulled out the sack nestled within— gasping when he withdrew his prize.
Christ! The sword was beautiful, even more so than the armour… than any of Hal's previous works if he was being honest—the work of a true master: perfectly balanced, not too heavy, sharp as a razor. The dying sunlight glittered off its surface, intricate swirls patterned the blade around the careful etching of Henry's maker's mark, catching the light as he twisted it to and fro in his inspection—Damascus steel. Strong. Supple. Expensive. Dastardly to work with and yet Hans knew from the moment he looked at it that it would fit perfectly in his hands. That it would sing for him in ways no other sword had.
Hans turned the sword again and almost dropped it as the engraving across the blade came into view.
Audentes•Fortuna•Iuvat
It was everything.
It was too much.
"Hal," he choked out, the words tangled in a thousand emotions caught at the back of his throat, "What—?"
"Do you like it, Sir Hans?"
That sly dog, asking him if he liked it. How dare he!
Hans wheeled on him, letting the sword drop to the side, loosely grasped in one hand as he reached out and grabbed a handful of pourpoint with the other, dragging Henry into a searing kiss.
"Do I like it? He asks," Hans said with a roll of his eyes and another deep kiss. "You absolute imbecile. Of course, I like it. Liking it is an understatement if anything!" His voice held no bite, each word whispered against Henry's wind-chapped lips.
"Good." Henry sounded drunk; he drew the single word out into a long, drawling hum as his fingers tangled themselves in Hans' hair.
Hans couldn't help but meet him halfway, moaning along with him as their kisses deepened with every moment. He fully dropped the sword, preferring instead to let his hands roam over Hal's stubbled jaw, moving down to his strong shoulders and across his chest until finally finding his prey.
Those loathsome buttons.
He had made it through five before his mind came back to him, and he stopped—pulling away and pushing Henry back in equal measure.
"Wait, we need to stop," Hans said, breathless, trying to regain some composure. Composure that crumbled when he looked up from straightening his own pourpoint to see the despondent look of rejection plastered across Henry's face.
Hans shook his head, taking a step towards Henry, only allowing himself to reach for Hal's hand, because if he were to go any further, he knew he wouldn't be able to tear his hands off him for a second time.
"I need you, Hal," he quickly assured, "you ridiculous blacksmith's boy, but I refuse to use this camp. A matter of pride, you see."
Henry's frown turned into a relieved laugh, and he smirked, "And here I thought you would be wanting to assert your dominance over it."
Hans squarked, slapping Henry's arm with the back of his hand, "Excuse you! I have far more taste than that! Anyway, it's too open here. I dread to think about a poacher stumbling upon us in such a precarious position."
Henry brought Hans' palm to his lips, kissing it tenderly, "I had a plan for that as well."
"Really? Well, do lead on, my brave knight."
"Gladly, my lord."
Henry led him to his hunting camp, where he had taken down the rough lean-tos and erected an entire tent in their place, including a wooden frame bed and clay heating stove to chase away the cold, late autumn nights.
Just how long had he been planning this?
He barely heard Hal telling him to make himself comfortable as he hitched the horses, far too focused on believing what his eyes were seeing. So focused, in fact, that he almost hit his head on the crossbar of the tent with how high he jumped when Henry appeared beside him, placing their bags down and loading the stove with charcoal to get the fire going quickly.
Hans couldn't help himself; he kissed Henry again the moment he stood up.
"I need to get the food on," Henry said breathlessly between kisses.
"The food can wait, I can't," Hans moaned in reply, tugging lightly, but insistently on his pourpoint.
Henry laughed at that, pulling both of them over to the entrance so he could close them off to the outside world, and then allowing himself to be pulled down onto the bed.
Later, lying in each other's embrace, once they had had their fill of both each other and the roe deer ribs Henry had brought along with him, happily naked as the day they were born and thriving off the closeness that made them feel; Hans finally asked the question he had been dying to since he opened that first chest.
"So, treasure maps?"
Henry chuckled, the sound vibrating in his chest, and Hans could feel the man's smile as he pressed his lips into Hans' hair.
"They really were treasure maps, at least the first one we followed was. I kept finding them when I was running 'round after Toth in the spring. Found some good stuff too. Runt would've run me through without some of that battered armour."
Hans winced. That wasn't a cheery thought at all. "Surely we provided you with better armour than that? You were assigned as a guard, were you not?"
"Hans, you kit your town guards out in light armour and bludgeons. They're needed to stop tavern brawls, not attacking bandit camps."
Hans felt his cheeks heating at the light chastisement. He had never really put much thought into exactly what the town peacekeepers were wearing—though he supposed there was no time like the present, especially if he was going to take over running Rattay once he was married.
"I see," he said with a cough, "I'll be sure to consult Bernard over it. Why get them out again now?" He asked, picking the first map up and turning it over in his hands.
"Well, I found them again when we got back to Pirkstein. They were buried at the bottom of my chest, and I thought we could make a good day of it. Get you out. Spend some time alone. But they're all in really inconvenient places, so I drew up my own."
"And the armour?"
"You lost your best set in the ambush," Henry shrugged, as though he hadn't made him a set fit for the king, "and Standa has been dying to teach me armourcraft for months."
Of course, he had managed to perfect it in what must have been only a few weeks. That just seemed to be the rule of things where Henry was concerned. He would be worried if they were enemies. "You're ridiculous," he said, instead.
"Aye, but that's why you love me." Henry's smile was so soft, vulnerable in an honest way. Not seeking reciprocation, but pulling it from Hans' heart nonetheless.
He smiled, tears pooling in his eyes as the events of the day hit him all at once, "I do. I love your ridiculousness. I love your talent. I love your generosity. I love you."
"I love you too, Hans."
He couldn't help but cast his eyes over his pile of presents, pulling Henry into another deep kiss, "I would never have guessed."