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The tavern was dim, loud, and stinking of stale ale. Hans sat at a corner table, two local men on either side, half-drunk and still pretending they weren’t using him for free drinks. A half-finished pitcher stood on the table. Hans swirled his cup lazily, smirking, recounting a heroic tale of a pig and a monk.
Henry stood by the gate, stiff, already tired of the noise and the nobles pretending to be common. The innkeeper caught Henry’s eye. He seemed to know why Henry was here - it was after closing hours, after all - but at the same time doubtful Henry could be able to pull that off in the first place. But it couldn’t be helped. Henry had a duty to the bailiff, so he sighed and stepped forward. “Sir Hans, for give my intrusion,” he said flatly, forcing himself to bow. “But I need —”
Capon interrupted him instantly. “But what? You want to join us? Want to buy us a round?” He mocked Henry, right to his face. “I’m afraid we don’t drink with peasants. You’re not in your village now, boy!”
Henry tried to stand his ground without resorting to insults again, though this was proving to be harder each time he interacted with this man. “No, Sir,” he gritted out. “Curfew’s been rung. The alehouse is closing.”
Hans’ companions barked out a laugh and Capon himself leaned back on the bench. “Nothing closes while I’m sitting here. If that’s all, you’re dismissed.”
Henry clenched his fists, mind working, trying to figure out what to say or do next, when the innkeeper came up to him and whispered into his ear to just let it go and to not get on His Lordships bad side.
But Henry wasn’t one to give up easily, especially not when he had a job to do and to both prove and redeem himself. So, instead of walking away, he stepped closer. “The bailiff instructed me to close the tavern at the proper hour. He doesn’t want anyone disturbing the peace after curfew,” he insisted.
Hans crossed his arms, a sneer contorting his face so beautifully illuminated by the candle on the table. “The bailiff? The bailiff can kiss my arse! I trust you haven’t forgotten who’s the rightful Lord of Rattay.”
“No. It’s Sir Hanush,” Henry deadpanned.
Hans was taken aback, momentarily forgetting how to come up with a retort, but then got up, swaying a little, pretending to search for Hanush under the table and mocking him all the way. “He’s only in charge till I grow up!” He finally said, hands on the wood of the table.
“Which clearly hasn’t happened yet,” Henry replied dryly, an air about him that made him seem more mature than the young lord - which, to be fair, he probably was. But he had to admit, some part of him enjoyed this banter.
Hans, not so much. In anger, he slapped the table’s surface. “Enough!” he exclaimed, waving a finger at Henry. “You can’t talk to me like that! I’m a nobleman!”
The tension in the air rose. It was so thick you could cut it with a knife. The innkeeper stepped up and tried to calm the angered nobleman, but to no avail. Hans charged around the table. “This yokel needs to be taught his place!”
Henry didn’t move.
The blow to his face was fast and painful.
Henry stumbled back, got shoved by one of Hans’ companions. He went into fighting stance immediately. Fists flew. Henry ducked a punch, threw one back.
While Hans and he were locked in what looked like an embrace but was just a struggle for the upper hand, Hanush barged in, two guards trailing after him. “Krucifix! What in the name of Christ is happening here?!”
All of them froze.
The lord’s eyes scanned the damage, then narrowed at both of them. “You.” He pointed at Hans and scolded him for fighting in a tavern once more, for drinking with his subjects. Henry tried to step in to defend himself but Hanush cut him off. “You should thank your lucky stars you’re Radzig’s ward,” he yelled and scolded Henry now for raising his hand to a nobleman. Then he turned his attention back to Hans and scolded him some more.
Henry and Hans both stood there like small children getting yelled at for eating the last cookie.
It would’ve been funny had they not been two grown, if not reckless, men.
Eventually, Hanush sighed and said, “Hans, tomorrow you’ll go with me to a hearing. This will be an excellent lesson for you.”
“I had planned to go hunting,” Hans said, voice somewhat subdued but still full of fight.
“Oh, hunting ,” Hanush growled and performed a mocking bow. “Well, then, your Grace, I’ll tell you what: you can go hunting.” Hans’ eyes momentarily lit up - but then Hanush said, “And you can take Henry here as your page.” Hans’ face fell and he protested but Hanush didn’t let that stand. “You’ll do as I’ve commanded. It’s time you learned to lead people. Now get out of my sight.” With a last angry gaze at both of them, Hanush turned and left, guards in tow.
Hans looked like he’d swallowed a nail. Henry looked like he was ready to swing again.
Neither had a choice.
~*~
The road back to the Rattay upper castle was quiet. At first.
Hans stormed ahead, boots crunching on gravel, muttering curses under his breath. Henry trailed close behind, fists still tight from the fight. Both of them were bruised – their bodies and their egos, in ways neither would say aloud.
“Can’t believe I’m stuck with you tomorrow now, you insolent arse,” Hans barked at Henry, breaking the silence.
"You’re a damn idiot, you know that?" Henry snapped.
Hans didn’t stop walking. "And you’re insufferable."
"You started that fight!"
"You insulted me in front of half the bloody tavern!" Hans’ voice went higher than before.
"You were drunk off your arse and acting like a fool!"
"I was fine ," Hans growled, finally spinning on his heel to face him. “It’s not your job to play nursemaid.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Henry said, stepping closer. “Next time you try to start a tavern brawl with a man twice your size, I’ll just let him knock your teeth out.”
Hans scoffed. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen this week.”
That stopped Henry. Something flickered in his chest – recognition, maybe. Or pity. He hated both.
Hans turned again, walking. Slower now. “Hanush assigned you to me tomorrow just to punish me. Ruin the one good thing I have left in this world.” A bitter laugh. “He knows how much I love to hunt because it makes me forget… things.”
Henry matched his pace. “I’ll make sure to not get in your way too much.”
Hans glanced sideways. “Wonderful.”
The silence stretched again.
Then, Hans added softly, “Hanush really thinks I haven’t noticed. How they look at me. How they laugh when I leave the room.”
Henry frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Hans’ voice was low, a little slurred from the ale still in his system, but raw. “I drink because it makes me forget. The smirks. The whispers. That I’ll never be enough. Not for Rattay. Not for Hanush. Not for –” He bit off the words.
Henry stopped walking. “Hans.”
That name, just his name, cut through whatever fog Hans was wrapped in.
“You’re not as invisible as you think,” Henry said.
Hans laughed, mirthless. “No. Just seen for all the wrong things.”
They stood there for a long moment, under the moonlight, breathing heavily.
Then Hans’ gaze dropped. Lingering. Hesitant.
Henry caught it. Felt it settle like lightning just beneath his skin.
Finally, Hans spoke. "You always look at me like I’m the enemy."
Henry snorted. “You make it easy.”
Hans didn’t rise to the bait. Just walked another few steps, then stopped.
Henry, exasperated, sighed and let his arms fall to his sides with a thud . “What now?”
Hans’ voice was low. “Because I don’t know what you are. To me.”
Henry’s brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Hans’ jaw worked. Something inside him trembled, visible only in the way his shoulders dropped. “Neither do I.”
That caught Henry off guard. He studied him in the moonlight – the flushed face still carrying the shadow of the tavern brawl, the slight tremble in his fists like he was holding something back. The confidence was still there, but it flickered. A boy beneath the performance.
“What are you trying to say?” Henry asked, softer this time.
Hans didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m saying I pick fights with you because I don’t know what else to do.” He gave a bitter laugh. “You're loud. You're stubborn. You’re insolent and downright disrespecting me. You're everything I’ve been told to despise. And yet –” He stopped. Shook his head.
Henry took a slow breath. “Yet?”
Hans looked at him then. And there it was again – that same fragile thing Henry had seen once before: loneliness, hidden away by a carefully built wall. But as soon as Hans noticed that Henry had seen him, truly seen him , a flash of fear shot over his face and he hid behind a shield of insulting words again. “I don’t even know why I bother talking to you, blacksmith’s boy .” Hans saw the flicker of pain in Henry’s face and instantly hated himself for putting it there. But he didn’t know how to fix it. He only knew how to lash out. He had never learned how to fight with someone for something instead of against the other person. Had never known love. Kindness. Gentleness.
And even though Henry knew Hans didn’t mean it like that, that it was just a defensive reaction to protect his heart, it hurt . “You arrogant bastard,” Henry spat. “You think just because you’re some noble prick you can switch to insulting me whenever you want?”
Hans took the challenge. The hurt boy from mere moments ago was gone - the arrogant lordling was back, full force. “And you think just because you survived Skalitz, you can judge everyone else like you’re fucking untouchable?”
“At least I don’t drown myself in ale and start fights to feel better!” Henry stepped closer, pointing an accusing finger at Hans.
“Oh, fuck off!” Hans snapped. “You don’t know a thing about me!”
“I know you can’t go two days without acting like a spoiled child!”
They were chest to chest now, yelling into each other’s faces.
“You think you’re better than me?” Hans growled. “You think you’re righteous ? You’re just another broken boy trying to feel whole!”
Henry shoved him. “At least I’m not a coward hiding behind titles!”
Hans shoved back. “You don’t know what it’s like! What they’d do if they knew what I—” He stopped short. Breathing hard. Jaw clenched.
Henry blinked. “What?”
Hans didn’t answer. He just stared. Furious. Panicked. Then, suddenly, he barked a broken laugh. “Of course. You wouldn’t get it. You’d spit in my face like everyone else.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Bullshit.”
“I wouldn’t!” Henry snapped again, grabbing his shoulder. “You think I don’t know what it’s like? Hiding every goddamn day—?”
He didn’t finish.
Because Hans surged forward.
And this time, it wasn’t a punch. It was desperate. Messy. A kiss between two angry, trembling men who didn’t know how else to say I see you . It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t clean. But it was real. Desperate and soft at once. A clash of fear and longing in the dark.
When they broke apart, neither spoke for a long time.
Then Hans whispered, almost afraid: “We could be hanged for this.”
And Henry, voice hoarse, answered: “Then let it be worth it.”
~*~
They found shelter just off the road, beneath the trees and behind some bushes. Not much more than a patch of dry grass and shadow. But it was enough to hide them from the rest of the world.
Hans tugged Henry’s cloak from his shoulders with trembling fingers, slow like a question. Henry answered by pulling him in again.
It was clumsy, wordless, almost reverent – the kind of closeness you don’t plan, only fall into. Boots half off, breath catching in the quiet night. Hands in hair. A forehead pressed to a shoulder. A whispered curse. A quiet gasp.
Not everything was graceful. Not everything made sense.
But in the dark, their bodies aligned like two things that had always belonged together. And for a little while, the world outside didn't matter. Not Hanush. Not titles. Not gallows.
Just this: a warm chest beneath their palms. The sound of breathing. A heartbeat against their own.
Later, Hans whispered, half-asleep: “Do you think… it could be real? This?”
Henry didn’t answer with words.
Just pulled him closer, and held on.
