Chapter Text
“Hallelujah! I thought you'd never wake.”
Scarlet before Henry's eyes gave way to warm dimness of a room lit only by a flickering hearth. He blinked a couple of times, trying to chase away the last of the red vision from under his eyelids.
A face appeared in his view. Scarce light and the remnants of the dream played cruel tricks on his mind and for a second he could swear it was his mother who sat by his bed, as she often would.
Henry rubbed a hand across his face; the illusion faded but the woman remained.
“You must be Pavlena, right?” he groaned, sitting up.
“That's right. I came in the evening while you were asleep. Ma told me what happened and I helped her take care of your friend.”
“Hans? He's alive?” Henry smiled with relief. “How is he?”
“Have no fear, he’s alive, alright,” Pavlena's hand flew up to fiddle with the hem of her kerchief. “It's just that... Before you see him…”
“What is it?” Henry asked, all relief from a moment before chased out of his mind. “He's fine, yes? His wounds – they will heal?”
“Yes, yes,” Pavlena spoke quickly, “Ma did all she could and his injuries have healed... A bit better than expected.”
“How do you mean?” Henry frowned.
“Well... she had to use an entire bottle of lethean potion on him and it's known to have some... usually temporary... side effects.”
“Side effects?”
“He's...” Pavlena sighed. “Maybe it's better if you see for yourself after all. Just don't act... don't scare him.”
“Scare..?”
Pavlena stood up and headed to the door, glancing back at Henry expectantly. Henry followed, full of misgivings. If sir Hans was alive, that's all that mattered but... well, that was that. What but could there be?
He wasn't familiar with the effects of lethean potion — never used it himself. He recalled the time when he brought Capon his accursed Musk of Infinite Allure and whatever crap it was gave him a nasty rash. If it was only something like that, surely it wouldn't be so bad – although Henry will have to put up with Capon lamenting his pretty face all the way to Trosky.
They walked outside, the sudden switch between the dim room and the sunny morning causing Henry to shield his eyes with one hand, squinting. He heard Bozhena's greeting; the older woman was sitting by the table where Pavlena joined her. He couldn't see Capon.
“Well, what did I say?” Bozhena asked. “I told you your knight wouldn't keep us waiting long.”
Henry took a couple of steps towards the table and froze in his tracks.
A pair of blue eyes was giving him a measuring look from somewhere around Bozhena's elbow. The eyes belonged to a chubby face, as did a small, upturned nose and mouth pursed in thought. Golden hair tucked behind tiny ears glowed in the sunlight.
The child was wearing a linen shirt clearly meant for someone twice his size, tied in the middle with a thin belt which had to circle the boy's body twice in order to be fastened.
“He doesn't look like a knight,” the boy spoke critically.
“Well, you don't look much like a nobleman,” Bozhena replied. “Nothing that a proper bath and a change of clothes can’t help.”
Henry realised his mouth was hanging open.
“Where is your sword?” the golden-haired child demanded.
“I've, uh... I've lost it.” he stuttered, as soon as he remembered how to speak.
“How are you going to fight?” the boy asked.
“I will make do with my fists.”
The boy shrugged. His interest faded as fast as it appeared and he returned to tearing apart a piece of bread, dipping it in milk and then stuffing it into his mouth.
Henry forced his feet to carry him forward and he sat heavily on the bench next to Pavlena, his eyes still fixed in the golden-haired boy on the opposite side of the table. Bozhena offered him a bowl of porridge and some honey, which Henry mechanically accepted.
“Hans wasn't able to tell me much about what you two have been through,” Bozhena said, “but judging from the state you were in when he brought you to our hut, it must have been quite an encounter.”
“Aye, we uh...” Henry forced himself to tear his eyes away from the child, “we were attacked by bandits near the pond. They killed all of our men. We barely managed to get out.”
“And one of them followed you here,” Pavlena said with an audible reproach in her voice. “Your friend defended you and Ma, but he got battered just as bad as you.”
“I had to pour a couple of different potions into him to keep him alive,” Bozhena added. “As you can see... it worked.”
Henry's eyes returned to the child. It was obvious from the first glance – if he stumbled upon the golden-haired toddler in the streets of Rattay, he would bet his father's sword that the child was a fruit of Capon’s many amorous adventures. The resemblance was too uncanny.
Here, it wasn't an option but what Bozhena and Pavlena were hinting at seemed too fantastical to be true.
“How... how is this possible?” he uttered.
“The lethean potion is almost as dangerous as any poison,” Bozhena said, “it can turn a man back from the brink of death or push him over it. And in case in case of the former... It is known to sometimes cause additional complications.”
“Like amnesia or blindness,” Pavlena helpfully provided, “but they usually pass after a while though.”
“How long of a while?” Henry asked.
“That is impossible to estimate,” Bozhena said. “Could be a day, a week, a month.”
“Could be never?” Henry asked.
“Could be,” Bozhena said in a quiet voice.
“Better that than if he died,” Pavlena said defensively, glancing at the boy who seemed not to have realised they were talking about him.
Henry took a deep breath.
She's right. He's alive and unharmed, that is the most important thing. And not so obvious, given their chances that night.
“I'm sorry if I... I am really grateful to both of you," he said "My Lord and I are in your debt.”
“Your Lord?” Pavlena tilted her head. “So he's not making it up?”
“No. I am in service of Sir Hans Capon of Pirkstein.”
The boy raised his head and the last remnants of doubt Henry still desperately held onto disappeared.
A child.
Capon was a child.
Capon was a tiny human and had no idea who Henry was.
“We were supposed to deliver a message to sir Otto von Bergow,” Henry added. “I have to get to the castle.”
“If you do,” Bozhena said, “I've heard there’s a learned alchemist in the fortress. I'm just a simple herbswoman, but he might be knowledgeable enough to tell you more about your friend's condition — or how to undo it.”
“Don't sell yourself short,” Henry said, reaching out to place his hand on Bozhena’s. “You saved both of our lives and it must have been truly divine intervention that have led us to your door.”
He realised how bad it might have sounded, given the danger their arrival put Bozhena in, so he quickly added:
“I won't forget this debt. As soon as I can, I'll pay you back for all trouble we put you through. Blacksmith’s word.”
“I thought you were a knight.” Pavlena smirked.
“I am a man of many hats,” Henry replied, “though I have to admit, I have little experience in child rearing.”
“It's something everyone has to learn on the go.” Bozhena chuckled. “Though I suppose you might have to learn faster than most.”
“That's one thing I'm good at.” Henry smiled. “Besides, I can't imagine dealing with his lordship will be much different now that he's an actual child.”
***
Henry was soon made to eat his words.
He could complain about Capon being a spoiled brat all he wanted, but at least in his regular version the nobleman didn't stop to look at every other flower they passed, or complain about his legs being tired some thirty minutes into the walk, or demand to be carried not long after.
“It's just a little bit further,” Henry said. “Come now, on we go.”
He walked a dozen steps before realizing that Hans wasn’t following him.
Henry turned around and was greeted by the sight of tiny fists clenched, lips pursed and little eyebrows forming a most formidable frown indeed.
Henry sighed. It was going to be a long day.
He walked back to where Hans stood, kneeling by the boy’s side.
“Alright, but just for a bit until your legs rest, yes?” he asked as the boy climbed into his lap, wrapping his arms around Henry's neck.
“Alright,” Hans said.
Henry shifted his hold on the package with provisions they received from Bozhena and stood up, supporting Hans with one arm.
“You should have a horse,” the boy said as they resumed their walk.
“I had one,” Henry agreed, “but I lost her together with all our other stuff.”
“I'm going to have lots of horses,” Hans informed him. “You could pick one, I will let you.”
“Why, thank you, your lordship.” Henry chuckled. “But what I would really like is to have my own horse and my own dog back.”
“Where is your dog?”
“I think he ran off somewhere to the forest,” Henry said, “I hope he's alright.”
“Should we look for him?”
“I would like that, but first we have to make it to the castle.”
“Bozhena let me pet Growler, you know?” Hans said. “He's got big teeth.”
“He sure does.” Henry nodded. “Weren't you scared?”
“No.” Hans shook his head. “She said Growler likes to be scratched behind the ear so I scratched him behind the ear and he was happy.”
“I see.”
“Bozhena has chickens and pigs too.”
“She does.”
“There are chickens and pigs at home as well, and there's sheep and cows,” Hans counted. “Ma has two dogs too.”
“What kind of dogs?”
“Black.” Hans frowned. “She takes them hunting, but doesn't allow them on the bed. Oh, and Petr has a falcon too. He lets me feed her sometimes. She eats raw meat and dead mice, it's really gross. Petr sometimes lets me pet her too and…”
Hans paused briefly to take a breath and continued:
“...her feathers are really soft. Petr says when I grow bigger he will teach me how to hunt with falcons and train one just for me.”
“That sounds fun,” Henry said.
“Yeah. I'm thirsty.”
“I'm not surprised.”
“There's a stream here,” Hans pointed.
“We're not drinking from the stream,” Henry said, shifting his hold so that he could meet Hans’s eyes, “it's dirty. There could be a dead animal somewhere upstream and what then?”
“Yuck!”
“Aye, yuck!” Henry said, setting Hans on the ground. “Let's see what Bozhena has packed us.”
To his relief, their provisions did include a small waterskin. Hans drank half of it without pausing for breath and Henry was beginning to wonder if he would have to wrestle a five year old for the water. That hardly seemed responsible.
Noble or not he'd have little qualms wrestling his usual Capon.
He wished he was here. The proper, grown up nobleman.
Everything had gone to shit so fast that Henry barely had the opportunity to feel relief at being able to deal with the awful fix they had found themselves in together with Capon. Past few months got him used to being sent away from the security of Rattay with orders to follow and close to little guidance on how to deal with whatever he was tasked with.
Now, well. Things were as bad as they could be and, worst of all, not only did he have to once more figure out what to do on his own, but also he had the little nobleman to worry about.
One step at a time, Henry told himself. First, get to the alchemist in Trosky. Capon will be back to his normal shape before you know it.
“Shall we go?” Henry asked after drinking his fill.
***
Henry hadn't really realised how much slower travelling on foot with a child would be.
Not only were the boy’s short legs unable to keep up with Henry's long stride, but also Hans wasn’t capable of going a stone's throw without getting distracted; Henry felt he spent more time waiting for Hans to catch up then actually walking.
When the boy wasn't admiring this or that insect, he was talking and he was only able to go a short while talking and walking simultaneously before he grew tired and needed to be carried.
That was when they managed to cover the most distance and probably the only reason they made it to the gates of Trosky before the sunset.
Only to find them closed.
“It's closed,” Hans pointed out as Henry set him on the ground.
“Aye, it is.” he nodded, frowning at the door.
It wasn’t unusual for a fortress to close its gates in the evening, but it wasn't that late. Hans picked up a stone and threw it at the gate. It bounced off with a quiet knock.
“I need to pee,” he announced.
“Uh... just give me a moment,” Henry said, walking to the gate and slamming his fist against it a few times. “Hello?! Anyone there? We—… I am a messenger from Rattay!”
For a moment, there was silence, before heavy steps sounded from above Henry's head. Henry took a few paces back to make sure the guard will see him, standing next to Hans.
Huh. Having a small child with himself probably didn't do much for his credibility. Neither did his—
Oh shit!
The bucket and its contents caught him off guard and Henry used the second he had to react to step in front of Hans, turn away and cover his own face with one arm.
The stench of shit and urine engulfed him, together with the sickening feeling of a warm, thick liquid flowing down the back of his head and neck.
“Scram, you filthy beggar! Go bother someone else!” came from the gate.
Henry swallowed the bile rising in his throat and turned back to respond:
“I'm not a beggar! I'm carrying a message from Lords of Leipa. We've been ambushed on the road!”
“Get lost!”
“We met your Captain Thomas on our way. He can testify to who we – I – am. He saw our message and its seal!”
“Even if that were true, Captain Thomas has also been attacked by outlaws. He returned to the castle badly wounded and has been delirious for three days” the guard said, not without a hint of satisfaction at refuting Henry’s claim so easily. Henry bet that’s the most powerful the fucker has felt in a while.
“And regardless of that,” the guard added with a smirk, “we are under strict orders not to let any strangers into the castle. Get. Lost.”
With that, the guard lost interest in the short entertainment that Henry provided and walked away. Henry had a feeling he could spend the next hour hollering at the gate and no one would even bother to answer anymore. Unless they had a second bucket at hand.
He sighed. If he learned anything from Captain Bernard these past few months, now was the time to fall back, regroup and figure out a new strategy.
“Hop on, we’ll be faster,” Henry said, crouching so that Hans can climb into his arms.
“No!” Hans exclaimed. “You stink!”
“What, this?” Henry asked, swiping his hand across the back of his neck and extending it towards Hans “Is your lordship afraid of getting stinky too?”
“Yes!!!” Hans squeaked and jumped away from Henry.
“Really?”
“Yeah!” Hans giggled as he turned to run, luckily in the direction Henry had to chase him down anyway.
“Oh, come on, it's just a little bit of poo!” Henry called, chasing after Hans.
“Yuck!”
This way, the road down from Trosky took them half as long as climbing up. The few minutes of running after Hans down the hill while the boy’s loud laughter startled pheasants scattered around nearby meadows chased away the dark thoughts from Henry's head, if only for a bit.
They returned as soon as the two of them walked into Troskowitz, gathering around Henry’s head like storm clouds. Hans was still giggling, while Henry washed himself in the first trough he found.
He gave himself a few seconds of standing hunched above the water to collect his thoughts.
They were banned from entering the castle. The only person who can confirm who they – he – was, was sick, feverish, and possibly dying. Hans was still a child and the only person who maybe could undo that was in the very place Henry and Hans couldn't get into.
If before they were in deep shit, now they somehow managed to sink a bit deeper still.
He felt a tiny hand tug at the hem of his shirt.
“I need to pee,” Hans reminded him, “and I'm hungry.”
Right. One step at a time. For now, the priority was keeping Capon alive and safe. Von Bergow can wait.
“All right,” Henry said, turning towards the boy, “first things first.”
A short while later they were sitting in the tavern sharing a bowl of stew that the innkeeper implied – none too subtly – was worth more than the few groschen Henry could spare.
“Ew,” Hans said, as Henry offered him a spoonful.
“No, not ew,” Henry said. “We cannot be picky right now, alright, my lord?”
Hans pursed his lips and frowned at the portion of stew. With two fingers he picked a slice of carrot and threw it back into the bowl with an expression of deep offence.
“I'd rather have chicken. With beets,” he informed Henry.
“We’ll try to find chicken with beets next,” Henry lied smoothly. “I thought you said you were hungry.”
Hans sighed heavily, making it clear that Henry cannot possibly grasp the magnitude of sacrifice he was asking of him and then graciously allowed Henry to feed him a spoonful of stew.
“When can we go home?” he asked with his mouth full.
Henry swallowed his own portion before scooping some more for Hans, trying to avoid carrots.
“As soon as we deliver the message to Lord von Bergow,” he replied. “Until then, we have to stay here.”
“Can I have my clothes back?”
“Well... not for now. We lost them together with our horses and weapons.”
“I have to wear these?” Hans asked.
“Why, have you never heard tales of princes in disguise or beautiful maidens forced to wear rags by jealous relatives?” Henry asked. “We are knights on a secret mission and as such we must be prepared to wear different clothes than we're used to.”
“Oh?” Hans asked, staring at Henry with wide eyes and even forgetting to grimace as Henry fed him another spoonful of the stew.
“For now, we must act like commoners, clothes and all,” Henry added in a conspirational whisper, “and when the time comes we will reveal ourselves.”
“I see,” Hans replied, his eyes shining with excitement.
Henry was disgruntled to realise that his lie may yet prove more true than he'd like. Von Bergow aside, he has to find them some place to wait until Hans's condition wears off. Little Capon probably wouldn’t be much happier about having to live a commoner's life than the grown-up one, but maybe he'll be more receptive to Henry's attempts of putting a more positive spin on the situation. God willing.
A loud whistle caught Henry's attention. He raised his head to see a pair of guards making faces at a woman who walked into the courtyard. The brown braid thrown over her shoulder and the deep blue dress looked familiar, but where…
Water. Screams in the distance. Two soldiers grabbing a woman. Capon’s angry hiss. Sharp pain in his shoulder…
Henry stood up.
“Come with me,” he said.
Hans was climbing down from the bench painfully slowly, so, without thinking, Henry just picked him up and settled the boy against his hip, walking towards the woman from the pond who just handed the innkeeper a pitcher for wine.
“Sorry to bother you,” Henry said, “but I’ve seen you before.”
The woman turned her head towards him, her expression anything but welcoming. She gave Henry a critical once-over and frowned at the child in his arms.
“And... where am I supposed to know you from?” she asked in a disinterested tone.
“We saw each other at the pond.”
“What pond? I haven’t been at any pond.”
There was a barely audible warning note in her voice and maybe Henry would pay more mind to it, if his circumstances were any less desperate.
“You and some other women were attacked by bandits,” Henry said. “A couple of them grabbed you, but their leader put a stop to it. It was all very strange.”
“Shut up, for God’s sake!” the woman hissed, leaning towards Henry “Someone will hear you! I wasn’t at any pond, and that’s that. And don’t ever mention it again. To me, or anyone else.”
“I...”
“And where did you get the child?” the woman asked.
“If we haven’t seen each other at the pond, how do you know he wasn’t with me the whole time?” Henry asked.
The woman squinted her eyes.
“He doesn't look like he's yours,” she said.
“He is mine,” Henry said, tightening his hold around the boy, “for now at least. I'm taking care of him.”
“And do you know anything about taking care of children?”
“I know a thing or two about taking care of this one,” Henry replied.
The innkeeper walked out of the building carrying the pitcher, by now probably full.
“Is this vagabond bothering you?” she asked, handing the brown-haired woman the container and glaring at Henry.
“I know how to handle the likes of him,” the woman replied. “Thanks for the wine.”
“Wait, please!” Henry called, as she turned to leave. “Please, we need to get to von Bergow and you’re the only one who can confirm who we are!”
Before the woman could reply, hoofbeats sounded from outside the gate and a rider flew past the inn.
The woman took half a step towards Henry.
“You can't get into the castle,” she hissed. “And even if you could, that was the King's messenger. Von Bergow is getting ready to ride out.”
Henry glanced back at the gate, where the dust was already settling behind the messenger’s horse.
“Shit,” he murmured.
“If you need to speak to him, the best place would be Semine’s wedding. He'll be there, for sure.” she said. “And the boy has some stew on his chin.”
With those words she turned away and left.
“What's a Semine wedding?” Hans asked, as Henry licked his finger to clean the his face.
“We will have to find out, I guess.” Henry replied.
***
Taking pity probably more on Hans than on Henry, the innkeeper allowed them to spend the night on the pile of fresh hay in the shed.
The shed was dry, the night was warm and there was a roof over their heads, so Henry considered that pretty decent lodgings for a night, especially since they had no money to their name anymore.
“Tell me a story,” Hans demanded, after they settled on the hay.
“A story?” Henry groaned.
“Magda always comes to tell me a story. I will not sleep if you don’t tell me one,” Hans threatened.
“Who’s Magda?”
“My servant. She helps me dress and get to bed,” Hans explained. “And tells me stories.”
There was emphasis put on the last sentence, making it clear Hans didn’t want Henry to get too sidetracked.
“What about your Ma?” Henry asked. “Does she not come to tell you stories?”
“No. Says she doesn’t know any.”
“Ah.”
Henry glanced at Hans’s face, but the child seemed to be pretty indifferent towards his mother sending a servant instead of putting the boy to bed herself. Perhaps that’s how things were with nobility.
Henry settled more comfortably on the hay.
“Well… once upon a time, there was a blacksmith...” he started. “He lived in a nice little village that he loved, but one day... he decided to go and to see the world outside his home as well. He packed some food and set off.
“He walked for a day, and shortly before the sun set he saw a huge castle. He walked up to the gate and asked the guards ‘Who lives in this castle?’. ‘The prince and his family, of course’ they replied. The blacksmith decided he should very much like to see a prince, since he never met one before.”
“Does he meet the prince?” Hans asked, in too awake of a tone for Henry's liking.
“Yes, he—... I was just getting to that,” Henry said. “The blacksmith walked through the castle, looking at all of the decorated rooms and... uh, riches around him. He reached the library and walked in. Inside sat a boy around his age, reading a book. ‘Are you the prince?’ asked the blacksmith. ‘Yes’ said the boy ‘Who are you?’. The blacksmith introduced himself and asked if the prince wants to be his friend. ‘I don't make friends with just anyone’ the prince said, his nose tilted up high ‘If you want to be my friend, you have to prove yourself’.”
Hans settled comfortably against Henry’s side, his eyes fixed in the man’s face. Henry sighed and continued:
“The prince said that the blacksmith has to pass three trials: best him at archery, defeat him in combat and prove a better huntsman than the prince,” he said “The blacksmith was not happy. He wasn’t too good at archery, he only knew a little bit of sword fighting and he wasn't much of a hunter either.”
Henry noticed Hans’s eyelids finally begin to droop.
Thank God, maybe he’ll fall asleep before I have to figure out the ending.
“But the blacksmith was never one to turn down a challenge,” Henry spoke, fighting a yawn, “so the next morning he met the prince at the castle’s archery range. The prince handed him a bow – better than any of the bows the blacksmith has ever used. They took their positions and at the signal began shooting. The prince has been training since birth, so obviously all of his arrows hit the target in the very centre, even before the blacksmith finished shooting. Next, they went to the field to fight with swords. It didn't take long for the prince to disarm the blacksmith who was, well, a blacksmith and not a knight from birth.”
“What was the third trial?” Hans murmured, his eyes already closed.
“They went to the forest to hunt,” Henry replied, resting his head on the soft hay and closing his eyes. “They decided that whoever catches the most game in the next three hours wins. The blacksmith barely managed to shoot a single skinny hare, while the prince soon showed up with a whole bunch of fat hares and partridges.
“The blacksmith was disappointed – he wasted an entire day only to lose all the trials that the prince set up. He turned away to leave and look for adventure somewhere else, but the prince stopped him. ‘Would you come tomorrow as well?’ he asked. ‘But I lost all three times’ the blacksmith replied. ‘I have never had so much fun’ the prince said, ‘there's no one here to play with me. If you come tomorrow, I could teach you to shoot and to fight with a sword and show you the best spots for game.’ And the blacksmith promised he would come the next day, because he also hadn't had so much fun in a while.”
Trying not to move too much, Henry glanced down at Hans’s face and, to his relief, saw the boy sound asleep, quiet snores coming from his half-open mouth.
Thank Christ, he thought. He had no idea how to continue the story, but now he had an entire day to figure out the next part. Or maybe he'll just repeat this one. Will the kid even notice?
He wrapped one arm around Hans’s tiny body, resting his chin against the top of the boy’s head.
Perhaps, when he wakes up, his friend will be back to his usual shape. He’ll grumble at Henry for letting them spend the night in such shabby conditions and immediately demand of Henry to find him some food and decent clothing.
And they'll figure everything out somehow. Together.
See you in the morning, Capon.