Chapter Text
A thick canopy of various shades of green, dotted with the yellow glitter of afternoon sun: not the worst view to wake up to, even with a head pounding like a church bell. Hans raised himself up a little, dust rising as he dragged a pained arm through the sand.
Where the fuck?
His hunting bow lay beside him, the string snapped in what looked to have been a violent blow. When he noticed something push up on his lower back he pulled it free, positively surprised to find his trusty wine skin. Without further ado, he took one long drink of what turned out to be disappointingly warm piss. No, not piss. This was Sylvan Red. Huh. He hadn’t got his hands onto that in, what? Months? Probably Hal’s doing. Sweet, stupid Hal always turning up with gifts as if he still needed to win his heart. Or perhaps as apology for disappearing too long and too often. That was warranted.
‘Henry?!’ he called out.
Nothing but the rustle of trees and songs of birds greeted him. And what lovely songs they were—the birds seemed to be in the mood for spring even before the winter had set in. With the way he himself had been acting, Hans could hardly blame them.
‘Hal?!’ he called again, in no doubt he’d come running the moment he determined where Hans was.
They’d gone hunting. That much was clear. Given they’d gone through the effort to get Sylvan Red, it surely wasn’t intended as just a practical outing. Where? No clue. By the state of his bow and his - fuck, his hand hurt. As did his head. He must’ve fallen off his horse. He never did get used to that bloody useless nag they found at Maleshov. You can dress it up like Aethon but it will never be-
Hans’s eyes locked onto a bright yellow shape, gently trotting toward him. Its gait was calculated, practised, majestic.
‘Aethon?’ Hans whispered, wincing as he slowly rose up to meet the creature.
‘God's teeth, boy, I was sure you were-’ He’d seen the poor animal get shot during the ambush by Nebakov. Right?
Silently brushing Aethon’s manes, Hans tried to think. To remember. Yes. Indeed, they had gone hunting. But not wherever this was. And certainly not with Aethon.
So where the hell was he, anyway? And—Hans looked to his belt to find his sword and dagger both missing, Only now did he notice that he was barefoot. Fucking. Hell.
Feeling not well enough to ride, Hans took Aethon’s reins and slowly limped north, shoeless like some repentant simpleton. At least he found some comfort in babbling at his beloved courser.
While the hills made Hans feel right at home, they were rather difficult to traverse in his current state. He let out a sigh of relief, then, when the land finally flattened out and the woods opened up to reveal…
Rovna?
Hans shared a confused glance with his horse. What was he doing here? Certain his eyes were deceiving him as to the floral blanket before him, Hans let his gaze slip down to the ground to see a few blooming poppies stick out from under his toes. …In the spring?
Jesus Christ, he was probably married by now. While he didn’t necessarily mind having forgotten that God forsaken farce in itself, it would’ve been nice to know what else had happened in the past few months. At least this bizarre gap in his recollection explained how Hal’d had time to look for Aethon.
Hans hoped he hadn’t taken up this task in order to escape on account of the cursed wedding. The squire had been so convincing in his reassurances that the whole marriage mattered little to him, Hans had grown to believe him.
Hans looked to Rovna again. He thought they’d abandoned the sorry little backwater. Then again, it was as good a place as any to relocate the villagers—close enough to make use of Pribyslavitz. Bailiff Henry, Hans chuckled to himself. Poor Divish had truly given half his life to that boy.
Hans was about to disturb a villager with questions when something else caught his eye.
‘No,’ Hans gasped.
There, in the distance, he was sure he saw Skalitz Castle. Unscathed. Radzig’s colours flying proudly. No fucking way they’d rebuilt it in just a few months. Feeling his heart thump in his chest, Hans climbed Aethon, pain be damned.
Head pounding and eyes squinted, a blur of noise, colours and a general stink was all Hans perceived of Skalitz as he rode through the gate. Seemed there was some semblance of a market going on today. But as he turned up the road toward the castle, an unmistakable sound reached his ears. Henry’s laughter.
Riding past bleating people as well as sheep with quickened step, he made his way to a pen occupied with two figures, enthralled in a fierce battle. He saw the back of a tattered green shirt that should’ve been thrown out long ago, just under light brown hair cropped just a little too short.
‘Hal,’ Hans mumbled under his breath, his mind racing.
A girl stood opposite him, wooden sword in hand as she lunged at the smith, which he clumsily blocked before striking back with little technique. Hal looked thin, weak—an image not improved by a sharp yelp, to which the girl reacted by jumping to his side, fussing with his hand.
‘You know what they say... Those who live by the sword...’ the girl said cheekily.
‘Die by the splinter?’ Henry said with that stupid peasant charm of his.
Something was so very wrong.
The world slanted as the girl marched in Hans’s direction, pulling a tankard to her lips as she noticed Hans, smiling kindly at him in silent question.
‘Hal?’ Hans managed to mumble through the block in his throat.
The girl looked at him with some concern and then looked to Henry.
‘Yes?’ Henry’s voice echoed as he took a few steps toward Hans.
Hal’s eyes were entirely, completely and unmistakably void of recognition.
‘I don’t feel so-’
The world went white and still.
Hans felt a drip of water run down his neck into the soaked collar of his linen shirt. A thick smell of lentils and coal and fire hung in the air. It reminded him of the chapel by the Upper Castle. On some days the waft from the smithy would-
Hans’s eyes sprang open.
‘Hal?’
A middle-aged woman jumped up as Hans tried to sit up, gently pushing him back down onto straw bedding, pressing the cold side of a wet rag back to his forehead.
‘Easy, lad,’ she said, her voice kind but firm. ‘You seem to be in a pretty bad state.’
Hans was in what seemed to be an attic, a small rush light by his bed illuminating the pointed roof above him. Everything was about to make sense now, Hans reassured himself. Surely.
‘Is he awake?’ Henry’s voice sounded just before his head popped up the side of the loft.
‘Come on over, sweetheart,’ the woman said, shuffling to the side to make space for Henry, who put down a bowl by the side of the bed.
‘You doing any better?’ Henry said, his brows knit and his mouth slightly hanging open in concern.
Hans took a good look at Henry. He looked so young. Cute rather than the rugged handsome Hans had gotten used to. ‘This is going to sound… rather odd,’ Hans said tentatively. ‘But. What year is it?’
Henry shared a concerned glance with the woman.
‘1403?’ the woman said softly.
‘Fuck,’ Hans groaned. ‘I fucking thought so.’
‘Well, eh. That’s at least something,’ Henry said as he handed Hans a bowl of goop that made Hans’s stomach turn. Henry didn’t seem bothered at Hans’s immediate and perhaps somewhat rude refusal, happily proceeding to spoon the stuff into his own mouth.
‘What’s your name, lad?’ the woman inquired, her eyes shifting between Henry’s intense eating and her guest.
‘Hans. I’m… Hans.’
‘So… you were looking for me?’ Hal said, his voice muffled and distorted.
‘Yes.’ Hans dragged his eyes back to the woman, greatly dreading the expected answer as he forced out the words, ‘and you are?’
‘My name is Jana. I’m Henry’s mother.’
‘Of course you are,’ Hans groaned, the pounding in his head increasing tenfold as he felt the world slip away once again.
It was night when he next awoke. He was now alone, save for a pair of boots, an apple and a honk of cheese placed beside the bed. Waiting a moment to determine the state of his head, he carefully climbed down the ladder, following the muffled sounds of relaxed conversation into the adjoined room.
‘There he is,’ Henry’s mother said, jolting up as if to catch him if needed. ‘How’s your head, lad?’
A broad, bearded figure sat by her side, a tankard in his hand, a half-eaten sausage and a game of nine men’s morris on the table behind them. ‘You sleep almost as much as my son does,’ the man said, his voice was rather harsh but his eyes betrayed the comment to have been in jest.
‘You’re Martin, then,’ Hans mumbled to himself without thinking.
‘I suppose my fame has spread far and wide,’ Martin said, unbothered. ‘But you didn’t answer the question. We’d rather not haul you up there again.’
‘Thank you,’ Hans said softly. ‘I’m… sorry you’ve had to do that. I’m fine, I think.’
Jana waved away his apology. ‘I’m glad you’re looking better. You can spend the night here if you like. What was it you needed Henry for, anyway?’
‘Did he mess up a delivery again?’ Martin added.
‘No, he’s… Look, I need to talk to him. Where is he?’
Henry’s mother theatrically cupped her ear, prompting Hans to listen to the distant sounds of laughter, lively music and idle chatter. ‘He’s at the tavern. Sir Radzig authorised a party for our chief engineer.’
There was a moment of understanding shared between the couple, Martin all but eye-rolling at something.
‘Thank you, Goodwife, Goodman,’ Hans said. ‘I’ll look for him there.’
Hans greedily inhaled the crisp night air as he shuffled out of the little house. He passed a forge—surely the one where Henry learned his trade, the one intended for him. Pushing away several scenarios creeping up on his conscience, Hans found Aethon at the stables nearby, giving the beast another pat and the apple.
He continued toward the music, closing in on an orange glow when he was stopped by the sight of a young woman, clinging to a large cart. She remained still as she stared at the festivities.
Hans cleared his throat to announce his presence, accidentally startling the girl.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ she gasped. ‘How are you?’
It was the girl from earlier, Hans now noticed. ‘Better, I think.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
A heavy silence settled between them. Hans noticed a shimmer in the corner of the girl’s eye as she looked away.
‘Not in the mood for celebration?’
She gave a silent nod. Hans followed her gaze as it flicked back to the festivities. He didn’t need to look long before he saw Hal with his arm around some wench, his smile easy, comfortable. Loved. Hans felt acid rise in his chest. Jesus Christ, he really had to get a grip.
‘Feel like a walk?’ Hans said, trying to tear his eyes from the suffocating sight.
‘Sure,’ she said, her voice brittle. Casting a few questioning glances, she started and he followed her as they made their way back up the hill. ‘My name is Theresa, by the way.’
‘Are you Theresa from the mill?’ A famed figure from Hal’s tales. Not only the toughest she-wolf that ever lived, but also kind, funny and blessed with the rare ability to know when to let go.
‘Yes. Though probably not for long if my father finds out.’
‘Finds out what?’
‘That I’m not marrying a man I don’t know who could just as well have been my grandfather.’
‘Ah. I know what that’s like.’
Theresa looked at him sceptically, then looked back at an older richly dressed man, stood just out of reach of the party, cradling his hurt back.
‘Well, not the grandfather bit.’
‘No, I suspect not.’
‘I know what the marriage bit is like, is what I mean.’
‘Really?’ Theresa looked as if marrying off men was something never seen on God’s green Earth. ‘You must have rather strict parents.’
‘It’s more so being a noble that puts me in this position,’ Hans said, in no mood to bring up his late parents.
‘You’re a noble? Dressed like that? Looking for Hal?’
‘I was hunting, thank you very much.’ When Theresa gave him no response other than an incredulous smile, he added, ‘Sir Hans Capon of Pirkstein, heir to Rattay and Polna,’ he gave a small bow in greeting.
‘Are you going to continue to make less and less sense, Sir?’
‘Yes, probably,’ Hans sighed. ‘What I was trying to say,’ he continued, ignoring the thick cloud of doubt obscuring anything he was about to add, ‘we get traded like cattle just the same as you.’
‘So… you’re married?’
‘I…’ Hans stopped to restructure the theories he’d formed since waking up in the woods. ‘No, I think not. But I was going to be.’
‘Hah. Did you flee?’
‘Not consciously, but it seems I sort of did,’ Hans said. ‘I did of course consider packing our things and running off, but it simply isn’t an option. Life as a peasant is really not for me, I’m afraid.’
Theresa’s frown deepened. ‘So, Sir,’ she said, her tone indicating she thought she was playing along with some silly game. ‘Did you court another lovely maiden before they gave away your noble hand? If I understand you weren’t planning to pack just your own things, I mean.’
‘Yes,’ Hans said, thinking carefully about his phrasing. ‘We’d only known each other a few months, but it’s the real thing.’
‘She must be lucky for a nobleman to want to run off with her.’
‘I wonder about that,’ he sighed. ‘I think she could’ve had a much easier life and never met me.’ He was glad for the darkness to obscure his bitter smile as his mind wandered back to the party.
Theresa hummed softly in response.
They passed the castle onto a small path in pondering silence, a soft spring wind rustling their hair as they descended the hill, the glow of the moon reflecting in the little stream below.
‘You know,’ Theresa said finally. She seemed to have settled on a measured anger rather than her previous melancholy. It looked well on her. ‘It’s not even the fact that I can’t choose who to marry. I know we need the money, I know my father wants what’s best and that best takes more into account than whether I like the fellow. It’s just that they’re arranging it behind my back. As if I’m not trusted to think about my own situation.’
Hans nodded. ‘My marriage was arranged at a party by a drunken priest with what I’m sure were also the best intentions and no fucking regard for me. They announced it right in front of a crowd. I learned of my future at the same time as Hynek of fucking Kunstadt,’ Hans released a long breath. ‘I… was more trusting before that night.’
Theresa looked at him with a frown, seemingly processing his words a little more seriously than before. ‘I hope you get to regain some of that trust,’ she said, slowing her pace to a stop as they reached the mill. ‘And… I’m glad you got away,’ she murmured, looking at nothing in particular.
‘I think you can, too,’ Hans said, thinking back to Hal’s incredulous stories. He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Give yourself some credit. By all accounts you’re a right legend.’
Theresa gave a humourless chuckle. ‘Thank you for the walk,’ she said, her eyes back on him, earnest. ‘Good night.’
‘Good night.’
Back at Hal’s house, Hans found a simple bedroll left for him by the embers in the fireplace. He took another look around the simple room, unsure whether he was about to sleep or wake as he lay down.
Hans awoke on the dirt floor of Hal’s hovel. Getting over the shock of this dream still not being over a little quicker than the last few times he’d been conscious, he found the pounding of his head to have lessened. He heard a familiar snore behind him and turned toward it, seeing Henry curiously propped up on a plain bench, looking quite homeless inside his own home. Endlessly selfless Hal must’ve given up his bedroll to their odd guest. …Or maybe Hans had just taken his without thinking.
Hans gave himself a moment to think as he looked at Hal. Supposing all this was real, what was the reason for his being here? Did God want to give Henry the peaceful, happy life he truly deserved? Then why was Hans seemingly the only person in this village who noticed the change? Was it Hans who had to make the change?
Clenching his jaw, he pushed away the thought. No. It wasn’t that.
‘Glad to see you’re all up, Hans,’ Henry’s mother said as she entered the house carrying a large basket of firewood. She put it beside him and walked up to Henry with a deep sigh, her hands in her sides.
‘Henry! Get up now! There’s work to be done.’
An adorably pathetic sound came out of Hal as he stretched in a manner befitting Mutt.
‘Get up or I’ll come get you up, you slugabed,’ Martin’s voice boomed in through the window.
Hans observed the scene before him as if watching a play—a rather sweet one at that. Henry’s caring nature fell right into place as he got the gentlest, most loving scolding Hans had seen in his life. He must’ve looked quite silly, smiling like an idiot, finally appreciating some aspect of the bizarre situation he had found himself in.
This peace was short-lived, however, as Henry’s mother’s next words landed one by one.
‘Yesterday you promised him you’d help finish that sword for Sir Radzig.’
Hans felt the blood drain from his face.
What.
What?!