Chapter Text
Its a beautiful day in Rattay.
The first signs of spring are already blooming, with all its budding promises of a summer filled with naked feet sprinting across fields of grass and dandelions. The vines on the castle of Pirkstein are finally returning to their deep rich green color, and the servants have started to air out the remnants of stale and cold winter out of the carpets.
Hans lets his eyelashes be warmed by dapples of morning sun as he lounges in the inner courtyard, the book in his lap forgotten and closed. He smiles as he inhales the scent of lilacs and that distinct air of pollen, the one that makes their tutor sneeze.
”P-Pra-e..Praes..” His friend stutters over his words, and Hans squints one eye open to look over at the grammar book, *Doctrinale Puerorum.* Thank god their study is being aired out, so they were allowed to study without supervision outside.
“*Praesens huic…”* Hans recalls by heart, pronouncing the words slowly for Henry to follow.
”P-Praesens.. *huic..”* Henry tries to follow the text with his finger, listening and trying to follow along. The vellum is yellowed, aged from generations of boys forced to suffer as they have. There’s a small doodle in the corner of a rabbit sitting on a snail, and Henry usually finds himself more interested in the illuminations of the books than the actual text.
”*…operi sit gratia Pneumatis almi.”* Hans continues, leaning over and motioning for Henry to read it together, yet all the letters still keep swimming together into a mess of circles and lines. It’s a wonder he knows any letter at all, since tutor Prokop seems to think that whacking Henry over the head with the cane will somehow knock the letters into his head; which only leads to more stuttering.
It was only after Hans started to teach him how to write swear words that he understood letters could be fun too that it started to click, little by little. His favorite “poem” he has written was the one where tutor Prokop is compared to a donkey’s behind.
Henry sighs, closing the book and shaking his head. “I’m never going to be able to understand latin.” He slouches his shoulders and leans back against the stone wall.
”Not with this slop Prokop keeps insisting we read.” Hans takes their books and stacks them on the bench, stretching his limbs and peering through the sunshine to look up at the castle rising above them.
”Fret not my friend!” He waves to the inner courtyard and makes a grand sweep. “Soon, we won’t be reading dull texts written by old geezers-” Hans strides over to the fence and picks up a suitable looking stick.
”We’ll be knights!” He strikes a fearsome pose, holding the stick with as much reverence if it were a true greatsword “And save maidens-” He swings the stick, “And protect the realm!”
Henry giggles, and Hans feels his face redden, suddenly feeling a little childish. But his friend only picks something from the ground, his own weapon of leaves and birch.
”Yield, you scoundrel! We have you surrounded!” Henry mock shouts, preparing for battle. He adjusts his imaginary helmet, closing the guard.
Hans grins so wide his freckled cheeks turn red, until he remembers his role as a stoic knight and takes a protective stance, puffing out his chest.
”I will never yield to a dung grubber like you!” He insults, charging to battle.
With homework forgotten, the courtyard fills with sound of their brutal battle. The wooden clacking makes a bored guard chuckle and they continue until they’re both red faced and giggling.
As the dark knight finally, with a dramatic flare, stabs his enemy in the chest he roars with joy. The defeated knight grunts, holding his spewing wound, as Hans spectacularly staggers and goes down on one knee before dying with a loud wheezing gasp.
Henry throws away his stick, and looks at the tongue sticking out of Hans mouth. Hans squints, pretending to be dead.
”The tongue doesn’t do that.”
”W-Wadda yo mean?” Hans mumbles, but stops as he notices Henry’s smile has faded from his face. “Oh.”
Henry shakes his head to shake the memory from his mind, and helps his friend up from the ground. They wipe off their clothes, and as Hans is about to turn to his friend, he can hear a shout from the ramparts.
”Master Hans, your uncle is looking for you!” A guard calls out from above, pointing towards the higher quarters of the castle.
Hans nods, turning to Henry. “I wonder what he wants now.. Do you think he’s still angry for scaring the old cook half to death?” Henry covers his mouth as he recalls the look on her face as they pretended to be ghosts hiding in the outcropping above the kitchen.
”That or when he discovers you knighted the pig with his sword?” Henry giggles and Hans is about to recount their new plan- as the guard calls out again.
”Off you go, Master Hans!”
Hans waves as he sprints up the stairs, two at a time.
Henry watches him from below as he collects their books, before stopping to enjoy the sun for a little longer against his eyelids.
---
Hanush sits by his desk, not looking up directly when Hans enters. He’s surrounded by parchment and wax seals, all objects that used to surround his late father at this desk. Though, Hans has found it harder to recall the exact way his face looked, or his voice sounded. Would he frown as his uncle does now, or would he be met with a ruffle of his hair?
It’s been a little under three years ago, yet it feels like an eternity for Hans.
Hanush looks up, his jaw working as if he’s chewing on bitter words that must to be spoken aloud. But there’s something strange about him today. He’s not usually this quiet.
“Boy.” He starts, but winces as if he’s trying to find the right words. He settles on a softer; “Hans.” As he stands to leans against the wooden desk, hands hovering over a newly opened letter.
Oh, there’s *definitely* something wrong.
“Your mother has written,” He begins. “She is well, do not fret.”
“We have discussed, and decided that it is best for you to remain here in Rattay for the time being.”
Hans crosses his arms, raising a brow.
“…That is not news to me, uncle. I’d rather not visit aunt Marketa again, and Polná is so boring..”
Hanush makes a face that Hans can only describe as uncomfortable or pained. He takes a a deep breath before speaking, placing the letter back on the desk, out of Hans line of sight.
“Your mother will not return to Rattay, Hans. She has decided to remain in Polná.”
“For the summer?”
Mother has changed, that he knows. He used to get kisses and soft strokes on his cheek, but now its difficult to recall the last time she’d held him close, without that stiffness in her arms. Cold. She’d felt cold. And her letters, which used to come so often had become short and formal, just like her visits of late.
”And then she’ll come back?” Hans could feel his heart beating in his ears.
Hanush rubs his jaw, then straightens.
”I will speak plainly with you, Hans.”
”You are the heir and future lord of Rattay. You need no further coddling from your mother, and boys need to grow up around men.”
Hanush tries to pick his words. “You are a spitting image of your father, Hans…”
“And you must know it pains her so to be reminded of her husbands passing.”
“I see.” He breathes.
Hanush pats him on the shoulder, but hesitates to pull back.
His uncle’s big hand rests heavy on his shoulder, sitting there awkwardly, as if his uncle doesn’t know if he should do something else, something more.
He doesn’t. He simply squeezes once, before letting go.
Hans looks down at the floorboards. The oak wood is darker in a spot where he’d once spilled a cup of wine he’d stolen from the kitchens to bring to his father. They never got the spot out.
“Good lad. I knew you’d understand.”
---
It did not take long to for find Henry to find him.
Small pitiful whimpers, reminiscent of an injured dog, could be heard behind the thick stone wall.
The hideout was just a small path away from the castle, an outcropping with large trees overlooking the town. It was usually a great spot to hide from tutor Prokop, or other prying eyes that constantly followed them.
Henry knew the place well, since he’d himself used it when the memories of home came flooding back.
With light steps he rounded the corner and could see a small curled up form against the grey. Hans was hugging his knees and hiding his face, and It hit Henry how young he looked like this.
“Hans..” He reached out carefully, the gravel crunched his feet, making Hans go silent.
Hans quickly wiped his face with his red hood, looking away trying and trying to hide his puffy red eyes.
As Henry took another step, Hans spoke up.
“Go away.”
He hid his face in his knees again. “…I wish to be alone.” Hans said muffled into his arms.
“I’m so sorry Hans.” Henry stood still, not knowing what to do with his hands.
He waited a moment in silence before turning to leave, respecting Hans wish to be alone.
”She doesn’t even like Polná.”
Broken sobs escaped as Hans was biting down on his sleeve.
”Hans..”
As if unable to hold back any longer, a wave of ragged, broken sounds started shaking his entire body as Hans fought to damped the sound into his hood.
Henry took three long strides and embraced his friend, holding his form to his chest.
Hans let his grief overtake him fully, and a pained howl erupted from him, as if torn through his chest.
Hans clutched to Henry’s tunic, his entire body seizing as he wet the blue fabric of Henry’s cowl.
Henry held him.
He didn’t know what words he should be saying, but tried to remember the soothing rhythm of his mother’s voice when he’d had nightmares and woken up at night.
The soft words murmured into his hair would always calm him down, so he did the same to Hans.
Hans smelled like lavender and sun dried linen, dust from the courtyard and a hint of stable that always seemed to cling to their clothes. Henry realized it had begun to smell like something akin to home.
As the worst of his sobs started to die down, Henry stroked his arm, patiently waiting for him to settle.
“She does not want me.” Hans stated, plainly, as if he just realized this himself.
“Why does she not want me?” He questioned, looking up at Henry.
Tears had stopped falling from across his freckled face, instead leaving it streaky and red. Henry’s heart felt as if was squeezed until it would burst.
Henry wanted to lie, or soften the truth. But he understood as well as Hans it would not change her choice. That she did not want to see her son.
“I don’t know..” Henry said breathless.
They sat silently for a moment, Henry’s arms still around his best and only true friend.
Hans wiped his face with his sleeve.
”I hate her.”