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    Summary

    “Who are you?” the newcomer grunts, gaze trailing up and down Hans’ body.
    Oh. Now that’s a question he hasn’t heard in… a while.
    “You don’t know who I am?” he blurts out, unable to hold his surprise back.
    The blacksmith removes a glove and wipes his forehead on the sleeve of a rundown, simple shirt.
    “Should I?”
    Well, that’s an obvious answer but… Hans takes a look at himself. His clothes are fine, yes, but not leagues more than a wealthy merchant’s, or a noble passing through town. He also hasn’t washed in two days, and his hair must be an incomprehensible mess. He will count himself lucky if he doesn’t have straw stuck in there.
    “Uh…”
    Only then does he notice just how clear the blacksmith’s eyes are. They blink, without ever moving away from Hans, awaiting an answer.
    He doesn’t know what possesses him to say:
    “I’m Hans.”

    --

    There is a new blacksmith in Rattay and Hans Capon, having deserted his duties as a lord, has nothing better to do than bother him, watch him work and feed him kolaches, in no particular order. If he pretends to be a filthy commoner while he does so, and Henry buys it, it shall not be used as any measure of either their intelligence.

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