Archive of Our Own ^beta

He doesn’t know, Erik! Nobody told him!

Henry groaned, leaning heavily against the angled platform they’d hastily put together for him. It hurt to be upright, but laying down hurt more. 

Your father, your real father is alive. You even know him.

His entire back half stung like the devil, and the foul-smelling ointment they’d smeared on the weltering burn didn’t seem to be helping the pain any. Not that it was surprising, none of Sir Radzig’s… his fa-... Sir Radzig’s surgeons ever seemed to know what to do with him. And he’d lost the healing potions and salves he’d made for himself. He supposed it was only luck they hadn’t broken one of his legs, or he’d never have been able to escape, even with Zbyshek’s help.

“Henry? Are you here? They told me you were back, but I haven’t seen… you…” 

Hans didn’t knock before he entered, he never did. It didn’t usually bother Henry, who, up until the attack on Skalitz, had never had a space to himself that included some small form of privacy. But he didn’t want Hans to see him like this. Henry felt sore down to his marrow, like a bruised apple fallen from a tree and kicked around until it was half mush. He didn’t bother moving, but he did open his eyes to look up as Hans entered. 

There was a second or two of tense silence in which Henry couldn’t meet Hans’ widening eyes. He was frozen there in the doorway, not moving at all, and then with a shaking gasp Hans seemed to remember how to breathe. He rushed over, falling to his knees on the mattress they’d laid on the floor for Henry, looking over the various bandages and bruises that littered his body. Hans’ hands hovered a few inches from his skin, like he was frantic to smooth them over the muddy, bloody patches in his coat but was too afraid to touch. “Dear God, Henry, what happened to you?! Who did this?”

Although, how much can he really care about you?

“... Toth,” Henry mumbled. And then added, “I’m not gonna fall apart if you touch me.”

Immediately Hans’ hands came to rest high on his lower shoulder, the barest of touches, but it was warm and comforting amidst the pain. His voice was low and uneven when he finally said, “Istvan Toth did this?”

Henry nodded, shifting slightly so he could turn his upper body to see Hans next to him. “Not directly, of course. Well, not most of it. The br– the bu– that injury there, that’s his work.”

Could it be that he’s ashamed of you?

Hans shuffled down the length of Henry’s body to see what he was talking about, and Henry heard him exhale sharply. “He didn’t. That’s not–”

Henry didn’t respond. He knew Hans wouldn’t recognize the significance of the mark burned into his skin because he had never seen the sword Istvan had stolen. But he would understand the mark itself. Hans walked on his knees back to Henry’s front, leaving small reassuring touches all along his flank as he went, checking on the bandages and peering under blood spots to make sure nothing was missed. Henry’s throat tightened under his ministrations, even as he felt some of the tension in his body loosening.

Both your parents are dead and he still didn’t tell you the truth of why you’re like this?   

“Henry?” Hans had felt his muscles tighten again. 

“I’m okay, it’s just… Istvan, he…”

Hans appeared in his view, eyes wide with alarm. “He didn’t hurt you anywhere else, did he?!”

“No, no. Not… not like that.”

Your father, your real father…

Hans’ hands began smoothing over his upper back gently, and Henry wished he’d put his tunic back on when he’d laid down. The touch was raising goosebumps and making it harder than it already was to speak. “He… When Istvan discovered I was in the camp, he had me captured and locked up. Hobbled, and strung up by my wrists so I couldn’t fight back.”

“We always knew he was a bastard, he just loves taking every chance to prove it, doesn’t he?”

You even know him.

“Funny thing about that,” Henry said, sitting upright finally. Hans grabbed the lone chair left in the room and set it down in front of him, sitting where Henry could see him without having to twist. “He had… He told me that…”

Cursed for being a noble’s bastard

Hans reached out and took one of his hands, gently massaging it the way he would sometimes when Hans brushed him down after a mission. He didn’t speak, didn’t even make eye contact, simply sat and held Henry’s hand. It was the kind of thing you did for skittish animals and Henry hated it. He hated it, because it worked. Every time. 

Your father

“He told me he would keep me. Break me. Wondered if– if my fa–” Henry took a deep breath, clenching his fists and unintentionally grabbing Hans’ hands at the same time. “He wondered if my father would pay a ransom for me.”

No wonder he still hasn’t acknowledged you

Hans blinked up at him. “You know he would, right?” 

Your real father

The world stopped. “What?”

He doesn’t know, Erik! Nobody told him!

“Your father, he would pay a ransom for you. I don’t think anyone doubts that.”

“Hans, my father is dead.” Henry pulled his hand away. 

“What?”

Noble’s bastard

Dread began settling in Henry’s stomach like a lead weight. It was hot and heavy and stirred his blood. “My father was the blacksmith of Skalitz,” he ground out, breath starting to come short. 

Hans frowned. “Martin, yes of course.”

“My father is dead.”

Cursed

“Henry, I know.”

“My father can’t pay a ransom for me, because my father is dead .” 

Hans paused in the middle of reaching out to take Henry’s hand again. “Henry, you know he meant Sir Radzig.”

Henry was horrified to discover that the bile he thought had been gathering in his throat was actually tears, and they were beginning to flood his eyes. “You knew?”

“I can put two and two together Henry, of course I knew. Didn’t-” Hans paused, and Henry might have been gratified to see the horror dawning across Hans’ face if he wasn’t already so angry. “...Didn’t you? Henry? You knew, didn’t you?”

“No one ever told me,” Henry said, his voice high and tight as he struggled to hold back the hot tears and even hotter surge of anger. “It was always just a curse. No one ever told me different.”

“No one told–” Hans huffed out a breath. “You really didn’t know?”

“How in the hell would I?!” Henry snapped, trying to shift his weight slightly away from Hans. “All I knew was that I was cursed to be this- this- this !” he gestured behind him to his horse body. 

“It’s a curse on all the noble families,” Hans said quietly. “I knew as soon as I saw you. And then I saw the way Radzig treated you and I just… it made sense. I understood.”

“All this time, I thought I was being punished for something, something I’d never done, some made-up misdeed, and here it’s just because Sir Radzig Kobyla couldn’t keep his hands off a woman!” 

“Henry-”

Didn’t tell you the truth of why you’re like this?   

“And all this time, you knew? You knew, and you never said?!”

Hans scooted backward, trying to give Henry the space he was seeking. “I thought you knew, Henry. Radzig favored you so clearly, I thought it was obvious!”

“You never thought to bring it up in conversation?!” 

Hans threw his hands into the air in frustration. “It’s not the sort of thing we talk about! Henry, I grew up hearing horror stories about children like you. My nurse used to tell me that if I touched my- my pizzle before I was married, it would shoot out monsters!”

Could it be that he’s ashamed of you?

Henry glowered and turned his head to stare at the wall. “Trust me, I’m very familiar with the horror stories about children like me .”

Cursed for being a noble’s bastard.

“That’s not what I meant! Henry, please-” Hans shifted, trying to catch his eye again. “It’s not like I can just go around asking you how it feels to be Sir Radzig’s bastard. I’m sorry you didn’t know, but it’s not my fault!”

“How did that whoreson Toth know, but I seem to be the only one who didn’t?!” Henry wheezed. His skin itched now, crawling with pain and the tickle of his unbrushed coat. 

“I don’t know! It’s not like I told him! Now stop acting like a fool before you hurt yourself!”

“Why do you even care?!” Henry snapped, rounding on Hans again. The blood was roaring in his head, drowning out the echoing voice of Istvan Toth. “Why do you care, huh? After all, I’m just some noble’s bastard, just some cursed peasant! A monster, only good for carrying the gear and charging the enemy!”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Henry! It’s really fucked up that no one ever told you, but perhaps you should take that up with the ghost of your mother!” 

Henry moved before he even realized it and Hans was sent stumbling backwards, clutching his jaw. “Don’t you ever say another word about my parents.”

Hans looked up with an expression Henry had never seen on his face before. It took several pounding heartbeats to realize it was fear. His hand began to ache where the punch had connected. 

The reaction was immediate. Henry rolled a little, flailing to get his feet under him properly and struggling to lift his weight with his lame back leg. He heard the mattress beneath him tearing with the wild movement. 

“Henry, wait! Stop, you idiot! Let me-”
“Don’t you fucking touch me!” Henry snapped as Hans came forward. He finally managed to stand, wavering slightly as he hesitated to set his rear left leg on the ground. The muscle burned with every movement, but he turned anyway. 

“Where are you going? Henry, you need to re-”

“What I need is for you to get the fuck away from me!” He turned slowly, leaning his upper body forward to take some weight off his back legs. It helped a little, but he knew his upper back would start to hurt if he did it for too long. 

“You had better not be here when I get back.” Henry limped slowly out the door, his back legs moving stiffly as he tried not to rest too much of his weight on the bad one. He didn't bother to close the door behind him as he headed out into the night. A bandage that had been wrapped poorly around his foreleg was coming loose, but he didn’t care. He needed to be out, to be away. To clear away the rage and resentment that had been building. He would have run if he could, but the stiffness of his body and the limp of his back legs warned him it would be a terrible idea. 

He didn’t know how long he wandered the back alleys and streets of Rattay, but Henry was shivering and thirsty and his body hurt worse than ever by the time he finally returned to his room. He was limping so badly on his hind leg that he barely made it through the door without falling into the lintel. The space had been straightened, he noticed; on a tray on his chest was a collection of small bottles and a few rolls of bandages. The torn mattress had been replaced, and a softer blanket was folded over the reclining platform he used. On the floor by his platform was a pitcher of water and a plate with a bread roll, two entire legs of roasted chicken, and a single fucking dandelion.

He didn’t say anything, but he did replace the bandage that had been slipping off. 

The dandelion was fresh and delicious.