Chapter Text
Winter can be a cruel time for those whose bodies have borne the brunt of battlefields. Cold sinks through flesh and bites deep into long-healed bones, minds turn to darker memories in the chill of the long dark nights.
But here, Winter can find no purchase.
The cottage is small, and simple, and certainly no castle. But the walls are sturdy, and the roof is strong, and a fire crackles merrily in the hearth.
Hans is sleeping, head tucked against Henry's shoulder, while the firelight dances over his face. At peace, at last.
Henry doesn't think he's ever felt warmer.