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Day ??
Bump, bump, bump, SLAM - Hans is jerked awake momentarily. He’s in…a cart? His head hurts and he can’t seem to make sense of where he is. There was…a cannon?
“Ah, the little prince has woken up,” someone above him says. Hans squints his eyes up to the source of the voice, but it takes more energy than he has to do even that. He feels his head loll as fatigue seems to set in. Soon, he passes right back out.
Bump, bump, bump.
Day 1
Hans doesn’t know how long he sleeps after that fleeting lapse in consciousness. When he finally can open his eyes and not feel like minutes drag between each blink, he’s in some chamber he does not recognize.
Memories begin to piece together: Nebakov. A cannon. A beam.
The memory of the beam falling on him jolts the pain on his chest - as if it was waiting for an acknowledgement. He feels as though he’s been kicked in the chest by a hundred horses. He groans as he tries to haul himself up a little to examine the room.
The room they stuffed Hans in is big enough for two people, yet there's only the one canopy bed that he’s currently occupying. He pushes past his screaming body to get up and begins inspecting the room. There’s a single window that flares out into the room, bringing in streams of light. The sun has started to descend, painting the room a deep amber.
Before he has a chance to continue his snooping, the door opens and von Bergow, flanked by two guards, strolls into the room. He wonders if they were listening for movement before making some sort of grand entrance.
"So, Sir Hans," von Bergow rumbles, taking a seat at the table. He gestures for Hans to join him, but Hans refuses, preferring to stand instead. "How do you like Maleshov?"
Silence. Hans turns slightly to gaze at the window - the sun is setting and a golden glow softens the wooden frame. Maleshov. Fuck, that’s…the Ruthard’s palace. He racks his brain as he tries to remember whose allegiance the Ruthards have. It’s so far from Trosky, so far from… Henry.
It’s the first time he’s thought of his squire since waking, and guilt lances through his chest. Henry, good God, what became of him after the tower fell?
"It's useless to stay silent, sir. Sooner or later your accomplices will tell us all they know. Torture will break any man, no matter how long it takes, and I am a patient man,” von Bergow continues, breaking Hans’ thoughts. He turns and sees von Bergow staring placidly back at Hans.
Still, Hans says nothing, even as the thought of torture begins to swirl in Hans’ mind. Is Henry one of the so-called accomplices von Bergow mentioned? He turns completely away from von Bergow and steps toward the window. A flock of birds takes off from the forest as a faint howl from a wolf cries in the distance. Hans curls his fingers along the windowsill. What if Henry was just left rotting at the top of the tower? No Christian burial, and stuck forever in purgatory? How could Hans abandon him like that?
As thoughts upon miserable thoughts spiral in Hans’ mind, he vaguely hears the door close. When Hans turns, he sees a pitcher of wine that was not there before, and an assortment of breads and cheeses.
A gilded cage, indeed. Cautiously, Hans lifts the pitcher and smells the supplied wine. Acrid and sour notes of the wine fill his nostrils, making Hans gag. Somehow they have found something worse than the pitiful wine served at the Rattay bathhouse. The fleeting thought has Hans grinning to himself before his thoughts stray inevitably back to Henry. God, he hopes Henry is alive. He doesn't remember much after the beam fell on him. Who was taken from the wreckage? Who else would Hans have to lose after Oats and the other men? If Henry didn't survive, then...
"Please, God," Hans exhales softly. He cannot even begin to entertain the idea of a life without Henry.
Henry, who managed to worm himself so quickly into Hans' life. Henry, who has taught Hans what it means to have a real friendship and not someone who uses Hans for favors simply because he’s a lord. Hans will never know another friendship like the one he has with Henry.
"Please, please let him be alive," Hans prays quietly. He can't lose Henry. After their fight in Trosky, Hans will not lose Henry again. That's why - that's why - Henry has to be alive.
Day Five
Life as a prisoner feels almost as mundane as living in Rattay under Hanush's watchful eye. Except now, Hans doesn't get to distract himself at the tavern or by hunting. Von Bergow hasn't been by since the first day. Random guards will come in to deliver food or empty the chamberpot. There are four guards that Hans has come to know as morning guard, afternoon guard, evening guard, and night guard.
He sometimes sings to himself as he lies on the bed and stares at the canopied ceiling to distract from his boredom. Other times, he looks at the meager book offerings the guards leave on the table. Most are exceedingly boring history books that remind Hans of when he was a lad and would be forced to recite history to his tutor.
Some days, the guards will question Hans on what he knows. And Hans refuses to answer each question, and on those days, the food rations are halved or, on some occasions, entirely skipped. The hunger gnaws at Hans, but it feels like a small price compared to what Henry may be going through.
Most days, Henry occupies his thoughts. It's been at least five days since they’ve been parted - if Henry is alive, is he still being tortured? What if he was killed like the bandit he and Henry interrogated? Clumsy hands not knowing how to torture but determined to get answers. It would be divine retribution if that were the case.
And Toth... that conniving bastard, he has a score to settle with Henry. If it were up to Toth - if Henry had survived Nebakov - then there was no guarantee he would spare Henry.
What ifs plague Hans' entire being - each scenario worse than the previous. If Hans hadn't dragged Henry on this mission. If he hadn't jumped to prove himself to von Bergow.
If, if, if. That word seems to be both comfort and despair for Hans. Life used to feel absolute, but the hole Henry has left in Hans' soul has him questioning and questioning and questioning.
There are some nights since arriving, when Hans is jolted awake by the memory of the beam falling on top of him. Those nights seem to freeze his entire body - as if he is once again trapped under the heavy beam. In some cases, when he can't seem to move at all, he sees a shadow in the corner of the room. Hans is never sure if the shadow is real or not - if it's staring at Hans or not - but he feels as though his blood turns to ice. His body is rebelling against him and the devil or some emissary of his has come to drag Hans to hell.
He knows he should say a prayer for protection, but instead, he blasphemes by saying a prayer to Henry. If Henry were here, Hans would feel safer. He can't rely on his body, but his bodyguard would protect him. It's usually those thoughts that calm Hans' nerves and he's able to fall asleep again. Nightmares turning into pleasanter dreams.
And always of Henry, always.
Day Ten
One innocuous day, afternoon guard comes into Hans’ room with a pinched face. He's earlier than his usual lunchtime visit and holds no tray of food. Despite himself, trepidation begins to fill Hans.
"Lord Bergow has granted you a short horse ride around the fortress,” the guard finally says, his voice more nasally than Hans expected. Cautiously, Hans gets up and follows the guard out. He immediately begins to catalog everything his eyes land on. He’s on the third floor; there are guards he’s never seen stationed at each floor. All of them staring at Hans as he passes by.
When he sees two horses saddled and ready for riding, Hans tries not to show how elated it makes him. It’s been too long since he’s been on a horse. His heart pangs for Aethon, hoping that boy is okay and safe after Nebakov.
The sun is especially bright - though Hans doesn't know if that's just due to being stuck inside most days. He tugs at the horse's reins gently to get her to a slow canter. The guard behind him mutters something no doubt derisive, but Hans pays it no heed. There's a gentle breeze that makes the grass sway.
Hans closes his eyes and lets the breeze caress his face as he takes a deep breath of fresh air. The air fills his chest and he can smell something distinctly floral. He abruptly thinks of Henry and the flowers he picked for Klara.
"Fuck," Hans mutters, squeezing his eyes. Is there nothing that will remind him of Henry? He opens his eyes and looks up at the sky, his hand going up to shade his eyes. What happened after Nebakov? What happened to him and the others? Where is he now?
"Come on your lordship, time to go back,” the guard says behind him, sounding bored. Hans doesn’t respond, and instead gazes out towards the forest.
“Are ya deaf? I said it’s time to go back!” The guard moves his horse next to Hans. He has a small sneer on his face, no doubt feeling superior for being able to yell at a nobleman. Hans says nothing, but looks out to the forest one last time.
If he were braver - like Henry - he'd spur the horse and flee from the hell he's in. Henry is most likely dead, who’s to say an arrow to his back would be all that bad if it means being reunited with the blacksmith's boy? But he doesn't, instead he maneuvers the reins and gets the horse moving into a gallop back to his gilded cage.
Day Sixteen
"Hail Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death," Hans murmurs, his lips brushing over his fingers as he prays to the Virgin Mother. He hesitates a little before plowing on. “Dear lady, Our protector, if he's still alive, please intercede on his behalf and keep him safe."
Every night ends the same way: a Hail Mary and an additional prayer for Henry's safety. But every time it comes to say Henry's name aloud, he chokes up. The last time Hans called for Henry was in Nebakov, everyone disoriented after the cannon blasted through the tower.
Henry could have been dead while Hans cried out for him. That thought haunts him to the point of feeling unworthy to speak Henry’s name.
Still, he hopes the Virgin Mother knows who it is Hans is talking about and will continue to keep him safe. "And if he's dead... please O Mother, allow him into the Kingdom of Heaven. He's the best of men. Dear God, he's the best of us all," Hans chokes on the last bit. He won't cry. Because Henry is not dead. He didn't survive Skalitz and everything else to have died by a stupid fucking...cannon.
"Fuck," Hans covers his mouth at the thought. No, no. Henry is alive. He does another Hail Mary for good measure.
Day Twenty
Markvart and Erik both have made themselves comfortable in the fortress. Some evenings, Hans will sit by the window and gaze out to the main bailey. Among the Prague flags and tents, he's seen that little rat Erik and bastard Markvart. They mostly keep to themselves, but sometimes, he sees them drink wine together. It makes Hans want to shout down at them, but the delusional hope that Hans clings to that Henry may possibly be alive quiets his tongue.
Instead, he sits and observes. If he is to rot in this cage, he may as well try to gather information. Should he get freed somehow - well, he won't come out being useless. There's not much he can really discern, but he watches guards' patrols and patterns. Counts how many tents he can see, and watches whenever people come in and out of the fortress.
He wonders if Hanush has learned of his imprisonment. If he has, he’s probably disappointed, or even worse, not surprised. Always the layabout heir, the failure, the incompetent messenger.
When those thoughts begin to haunt him, Hans goes back and sits at the window, watching and memorizing. In some cases, it is as though Markvart can feel Hans’ gaze, and he will look up to the tower. Henry’s devil. Hans defiantly stares back until something or someone grabs Markvart’s attention and the moment passes.
Day Twenty-Five
The cry of anguish followed immediately by a deafening whimper from a dog has Hans scrambling to the window. Men are gathered below but Hans cannot make out anything that could have caused such a chain of distressing reactions. A lone horse tears out of the fortress, while others begin scrambling around the bailey. Soon, a retinue of men and horses speed out behind the first rider. Something has happened. Good? Bad? Hans isn't sure.
Before he can spy further, the doorknob rattles and opens to reveal a guard. His sour face turns to a sneer when he sees Hans by the window.
"Thinking about jumping? It’d save us a lot of trouble," he mocks. This is not a guard that Hans recognizes, further confirming something has happened. He enters the room and unceremoniously drops a plate of dried fruits, bread, and honey; some of the food rolls off the plate from the force with which the guard deposits the plate. Without another word, he turns around and begins to stalk out of the room.
"You better pray your guardian decides to pay up. Your days are becoming numbered," he parts with a final shot and slams the door shut before Hans can snipe back.
It must have been bad news, then, Hans muses to himself as he drags himself over to the food. His stomach grumbles in anticipation but his mind freezes him to the spot. The poor offering of food is a welcome sight after two days of skipped meals. However, the thought of eating something as rich as the honey and fruit makes Hans feel sick. He reaches for the bread, hoping that this will calm his food anxiety. The bread is stale and hard, so he takes a goblet of old wine hoping it will help him choke it down. The wine has steadily gotten worse the longer he’s been here, and this glass tastes more vinegary than sweet. The combination of these opposing tastes has him dry heaving and gagging.
Hans picks up a dried plum and walks back towards the window. From both the retinue and the number of torches patrolling the battlements, there are decidedly much fewer guards than ever before. Now would be the best time to try an escape. His usual guards seem to be part of the company that left. He looks out the window and sees no safe landing if he were to try to escape through the window. He takes a bite of the plum as he tries to come up with a way to escape.
The sound of the door rattling again startles Hans out of his thoughts. It’s far too soon for someone to come again. What is happening? Maybe the guard was just going to kill Hans now. However…this may be Hans’ opening - he could try to escape now. He might not have Henry’s skill of stealth, but an idea begins to form in his mind.
He places the plum on the windowsill, runs to get the pitcher of wine from the table, then crouches behind one of the dressers.
When the doorknob finally stops turning, and the distinct sound of the door opens, Hans is confused not to hear surprise at the empty room. Still, Hans remains crouching and quiet, waiting for the guard to turn his back and give the opening Hans needs. The quiet footfall of the guard is different than other times, unnerving Hans further. Something is different. Maybe the guard was right - Hans' days have been numbered. Already, an entire moon phase has passed and still no word from Hanush. Does that mean Hanush intends not to pay? Try to get Hans out of the way so that he could rule Rattay?
Fuck, this isn't the time to start spiraling, Hans admonishes himself. He needs to focus and try to knock out the guard so he can escape.
The guard walks to the window and examines the abandoned plum. With his back towards Hans, he takes a deep breath, tightens his hold of the pitcher and takes careful steps to the guard. The first thing Hans notices is the outfit this guard - fuck no, this intruder. It's not the Maleshov colors. Just as the realization that this man is not who Hans thought he was, the man turns around - somehow hearing Hans. When he faces Hans, the sound of a metal pitcher rings through the room as shock renders Hans dumbfounded. Standing before him, after thinking and agonizing for days, is Henry.
"Hans?" Henry breaks the silence with the most blinding smile Hans has ever seen. He feels his own smile splitting his face as he takes in the blacksmith's boy. The boy who continues to rise from ashes. The relief that floods through Hans is something he's never felt before.
Without thinking, he closes the gap between them and wraps his arms around Henry. Soon, he feels Henry's own arms around Hans. And Hans? Hans could fucking cry he's so overjoyed and relieved.
"How?" Hans manages to ask around a lump in his throat.
"It's a long story," Henry says, and dear God does his voice only make Hans want to start crying even more. He pulls away from Henry's hug to take in a proper look at Henry. The shadows obscure some of his face, but he looks mostly the same. There's a small cut running along Henry's jaw that has Hans unconsciously reach out and touch it. Henry inhales quietly but otherwise doesn't react. After a beat, Hans realizes he's essentially caressing Henry's face. Hastily, Hans removes his hand from Henry's face, and pats Henry's shoulder awkwardly, lamely. Henry continues to smile at Hans before looking away at the discarded pitcher.
"Do I want to know what you were going to do with that?” Henry asks with a rueful chuckle. It's so very Henry, and Hans still feels on the verge of crying. He has missed this so much.
"If you must know, I was hoping you were a guard and I was going to whack you with it, steal the keys, and finally get the fuck out of here," Hans explains, sniffing. He pretends the sniff is a form of haughtiness and not the threat of Hans crying. He doesn't think he succeeds as he notices Henry's face softening.
"Good thing I heard you then, eh?" Henry quips back, stepping a little closer to Hans.
"Fuck Henry," Hans bursts out, hugging Henry again, “I thought you were dead. I had no idea what happened after the tower fell.”
“Toth took us back to Trosky, but we escaped and came to Suchdol. I’ve been searching for you this whole time,” Henry summarizes, but it leaves Hans with so many more questions. Who was ‘we’, how did they escape Trosky, how did Henry find him?
“I helped the Ruthards, and they told me how to get to the fortress through a secret passageway. Von Bergow knows nothing about it!” Henry continues, oblivious to Han’s spiral.
“Wait, wait. A passageway, you say? A dark, narrow passageway?” Trepidation begins to fill Hans. It’s that same feeling like when he’s awoken from nightmares of Nebakov.
“You can forget about it, I'm not going through any passageway,” Hans is finally able to get out, breaking free from his frozen fear.
“What?” Henry sounds incredulous, but Hans is not paying attention to that, all he feels is the anxiety choking him.
“Let me repeat: No passageway, for me!” He knows he sounds irrational, but it’s almost like the shadow stands there behind Henry, watching and waiting for his answer. “It’s, it’s not the chivalrous way,” he adds lamely when Henry just continues to stare at him.
“Don’t worry, just trust me. Remember what I said at Trosky? I won’t allow anything to happen to you. We’ll manage it together.” Henry takes a step towards Hans, and this time it is he who reaches up and touches Hans’ face. With that small gesture, the shadow almost seems to vanish.
“B-but if I go mad in there?” Hans asks, his resolve seeming to break now that the demon is no longer there to taunt him.
“Then you just have to hold my hand,” Henry quips back with a smile.
A nameless emotion begins to bubble in Hans’ chest, he turns away, feeling the loss of Henry’s touch as he does so. This feeling…he’s never felt it before. He doesn’t understand it. The relief of seeing Henry again has gone to his head, and now he feels lightheaded.
“Henry…” Hans says to the floor, not daring to look back at him. He has waited and prayed for Henry to be here and alive, and now after all this time, “I trust you.”
The admission seems to spring Henry into action. He presses a reassuring hand to Hans’ shoulder before pulling out a sword. “I grabbed this for you. In case we run into anyone. I was lucky not to get spotted getting up here.”
“Half the garrison is gone, yes? I know their patterns, I can help get us out of here,” Hans says, perking up. Finally, he can be of use. He quickly gives Henry the rundown of everything he has observed during his imprisonment, and he can't help but feel pride when he sees how impressed Henry looks.
When it’s time to finally leave, Hans takes one last look at the room that’s been his prison for the last month. He won’t miss it. Not the endless boring days, or the hungry evenings, or the absolute fear that Henry may be dead and rotting away. The last thought leaves Hans breathless, and he reaches out to Henry helplessly.
“Henry?” Hans says, voice sticking to the back of his throat. Henry turns and gives an expectant, yet impatient look. “Nothing, never mind. I’m just so thankful you found me.”
Henry’s face softens at the words. “I would do anything for you, Hans,” he responds, and there isn’t a trace of humor nor irony in his statement. He believes fully what he says, and Hans feels that nameless emotion creep into his body again.
The devotion they have for one another sometimes feels as though taken right out of an epic. He wonders fleetingly if every knight and squire feel this sort of devotion and friendship. Hans would do anything for Henry, and now seeing him before Hans, he knows that Henry would do anything for Hans. It goes beyond duty, beyond anything Hans has felt for anyone in his life.
As they make their way down the tower, suddenly Hans is reminded of a story from a French minstrel. Perhaps…perhaps.