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Chapter Text

Alula, companion of / Amissus, lover of / Hal, friend of

Henry stopped just down the path from the encampment. Even this far into the night rowdy cheering and booming voices flowed out of the camp, their lanterns were lighting the whole hillside. Sneaking in would be near impossible. But most of the men were unquestionably drunk, he just needed to get in and not make a scene. 

At the main gate two guards stood and chatted, unbothered by his approach, he had to clear his throat to get their attention, as he led Wraith closer. “Hey you- Where do  you think you’re going?” The heftier guard on the left demanded. 

“Into the camp of course” Henry replied calmly,  as if he belonged there and entering the camp was a part of his regular day.  The man squinted, eyeing Henry’s finely crafted armour, far too expensive for a foot soldier. A mistake.  The guard’s armor in comparison was worn, the chainmail missing a few rings with a tattered gambeson beneath, along with poorly mended shoes. His companion wasn’t in any better condition. It seemed Sigismund didn’t just have problems with paying his Cumans.

Henry placed a demonstrative hand on his belt, right above his purse.

“Look, I’d like to take a walk around your camp but my coin bag is too heavy.” The men's eyes lit up at the mention of silver. 

They looked at each other. “As good christians, we should help out our fellow man. Don’t want to leave you overburdened.” They waved for Henry to get closer. “Just don’t cause any trouble.” The warning was loud and clear, just like their greed. Henry reached into his saddle bag, dividing what silver he had; it was more than enough for both men to buy new sets of armour and still have some left over for a small feast. 

“I’ll be as a shadow.” 

The men looked straight ahead as Henry walked past them into the camp. 

Wagons lined the path on one side, brightly colored tents on the other. A makeshift tavern lay dead ahead, the main source of noise. Henry headed up the hill, towards the heart of the camp.  

The wounded would be near there if the camp leader had any sense. 

He kept in Wraith’s shadow, the less people that got a direct look at him the better. 

His path led him past the smithy, quite large for a temporary setup.  He let his eyes roam over the wide tables of disorganized broken gear and metal with professional curiosity and a touch of wistfulness, it had been so long since he felt the call to craft. Katherine had insisted he return to it, to what he enjoyed, but he was only able to produce poorly crafted daggers and hunting knives. Then his gaze caught on a black brigandine. It was foolish to stop and take a closer look at it; there had to be more than a dozen of these in this camp alone. This one had rough stitching over a puncture in the bottom, left side. Hans never told him the placement of the wound, just the severity. It felt like a bad omen.   

 He hastened up the hill, past the second gate, and into the inner fortifications. A field chapel sat to the right side of the entrance, firelight flickering across the golden cross, giving it an eerie but enchanting glow. Something a good christian would see as a sign, but to him it felt like judgement. He had killed so many for the better, then killed more cause he could- cause he wanted, and now he rushed through the darkness in search of his male lover. 

 Henry turned away from the cross without a second thought, spotting the large white tent on the other side. Tables lined its entrance, covered with folded linen. A curtain hung on a line, dividing the front half of the tent from the back. Someone groaned inside, followed by rough coughing. This had to be the infirmary. 

A miasma of inflection, vomit and blood assaulted his nose as he entered And it only got worse the farther he went.  He counted six men on makeshift straw beds, some squirming in pain, others stiff as a board. Each of them, a stranger. 

He didn't want to acknowledge the growing pit in his stomach; he had been so sure he’d find Bartosch here, if he wasn’t… then he has to be already dead. “A noble sleeping in a room with common soldiers?” he looked for Toth, out of habit, before realizing that that had been Hans’ voice. He almost smiled as he made his way to the back half of the tent. 

Here, someone had opened one side of the tent, letting moonlight and a breeze in. Three more bodies lined the walls motionless, pale. The nearest one had flaxen hair and bore a face of stone. Beside him a man with dark rusted hair, blood soaked bandages wrapped every limb; he was a shield used then tossed to the side, left to die. 

Two he didn’t care for and at the far back… They had stripped him of his dignity, leaving him bare for the world. No amount of torch light could bring the warmth back to his ghostly skin and the moon only enhanced its spectral appearance. 

Henry’s heart sank. He took hollow steps to the edge of the mat they left Bartosch on. The pain barely registered as he dropped to his knees, nor the dull ache in his thigh as he slumped back onto his haunches, until only his armor kept him upright. 

Henry didn’t want to touch him, didn’t want to know why he was so still. Yet every fibre of his being longed to reach out and touch him. He’d been so close. To know, he’d been alive and well with just just for him to die all over again, leaving Henry to helplessly watch. This was a new way to bleed. Not even his newly bred hate for Erik could hold him together, couldn’t stop the silent tears from falling. 

With a jagged breath he removed his gauntlets. “You weren’t supposed to yourself kill… you reckless fool.” 

His fingers brushed against one of the linen sheets piled around Bartosch, it was damp and cool. Henry pulled it over Bartosch's lower half. His wound was skillfully bound, and his midsection clean compared to the rest of him. His hands were neatly wrapped. All signs of a well-knowledged healer. 

Henry's hand went to Bartosch's cheek, startling away as Bartosch flinched from the contact. 

“He’s alive,” clicked into Henry’s mind. 

He placed his hand on Bartosch’s forehead and found his skin was ablaze and slick with moisture. 

“Alive!” rang through his mind again. 

He had pondered leaving Wraith in the woods, but he’d had an inkling he might need the invaluable supplies in the horse’s saddlebags. 

 He didn’t have any fever tonicum readily made but he did have the ingredients, and a healer worth his money would have alchemy supplies near, or he’d have to return to Devil’s Den. Supplies in hand, Henry spotted a small tent behind the Infirmary, if it was the healer’s, there was a good chance that’s where he needed to go. 

God, it seemed, hadn’t yet given up on him, or on Bartosch. An Alchemy bench set along the back wall of the tent. Henry brought the flame back to life and went about  brewing a large batch of fever tonicum, along with something for the pain.  While he waited for the potions to cool enough to be safe for Bartosch, he had a look around the rest of the tent. There were books and scrolls, some in a language he had never seen before. But the one that laid open on a podium, he could read just fine. It contained a list of names and their ailments along with treatments. Henry had to flip back two pages to find the name Lord Bartoschek. Underneath his name it read: laceration to both palms, large puncture wound just above the ridge of the hip, left side. Severe bleeding. Treatment: wounds cleaned and stitched. Tonicum for pain and fever. At the very bottom in bold letters: treatment stopped. 

It had hardly been two days and they were already abandoning him to die. Henry blew out an angry breath. This wasn’t going to do. If no one was caring for Bartosch during the day, what he could achieve at night wouldn’t be enough in his condition, and Henry couldn’t move him. So, the healer would have to be convinced.  

He returned to Bartosch with the potion and knelt above his head,  placing both knees on either side of the man’s head. Then he tilted his chin back with gentle fingers, hoping this would go smoothly. But even as weak as he was, Bartosch still tried to fight back. Henry knew why and the guilt ate at him, having to hold Bartosch down, having to force him to do something he didn’t want to. It was for the right reason but it felt profoundly wrong forcing the tonic into his mouth. He coughed and gagged but Henry held him firm, bit by bit until Bartosch had taken every drop. 

His brows creased and his eyes flickered open, briefly glaring at Henry with hazy rage. 

“It’s alright,” Henry murmured, “it’s just me.” He brushed his thumb over  the knight’s cheek, waiting for him to soothe back to sleep. 

Next, Henry placed a wet rag on Bartosch’s brow. Henry wetted another rag and wiped the sweat from Bartosch's body starting with his chest. The knight shuddered under the cool cloth, groaning softly as Henry continued upwards to his neck then down his shoulder to his arm. 

Henry stayed with him well into the witching hours. Eventually, choose to lay by Bartosch's side, keeping a safe space between them, wanting to be closer but couldn’t. And it was easier to blame the fever over the fact he couldn’t quite move past the overwhelming feeling the touch gave him. 

He watched his chest move with each breath until they became quieter, less shallow, the fever had not gone but tamed. It was all Henry could do and he had to go. 

He rested his hand against Bartosch's cheek once more, brushing his thumb along the cheekbone and turned the man's face towards him. He rested his forehand against Bartosch’s. “I'll be back,” he promised softly.

He stayed like that a few seconds more before he forced himself upright and his feet to move, lest his heart led him back to the ground. There was the healer to deal with and his promise to Hans. Looking back one more time, he had the urge to pray, to beg for Bartosch's life, but who would listen?  

 Henry stalked back to the healers tent, looking for the entrance in the back that led to his private sleeping area. Inside, he found a man unlike any he had ever seen. At first, in the dark, he thought someone had burned him and placed him back on his bed. But coming closer, he turned out to be just a sleeping man. Henry remembered the books in the other part of the tent. There were so many questions he wanted to ask. But this wasn’t the time to be curious. 

His hand gripped the hilt of his dagger, silently unsheathing it as he stepped up to the bed. In one swift movement Henry flipped the man onto his chest, shoved his knees into the man's back and pressed a dagger to his neck. 

“Do as I say or die, ” he growled. 

The man went stiff underneath him. 

“Are you the healer of this camp?”

The man shook underneath Henry's weight. His voice strained. “I am.” 

“Why did you stop treating Lord Bartoschek?”

Even in this darkness Henry could see the whites of the man’s eyes widened. “Henry, I assume?  He's called for you a few times in his dreams.”

Henry increased the pressure of  the blade. “Answer my question.”

The healer drew back his head as far as possible to avoid the dagger. “His wound is severe, our resources are finite.”   

“It's hardly been two days and you've given up? He is nobility.” Did that not mean anything to these people?  Bartosch was from a lower family- not wealthy. That had to be the reason, in the end silver always mattered more. 

The man swallowed shallowly against the blade. “I would try to save him. But it is not my decision. I was ordered to move on, all I can do is make him comfortable as he passes.” 

Henry's knuckles went white as he pressed the dagger in, drawing blood. 

“Who ordered it?” he snapped. “And why? “

“The Prague Captain, Katz. He's close friends with the head of the Drahonitz family-” Henry twisted his arm. “-his father wants him dead.” 

Just like that two more men were added to the ever growing list of those who needed to die. The one beneath him, teetered on joining them depending if he could still be useful or not. 

Henry lowered himself to the man’s ear. “Did you hear about the noble that was butchered in Kuttenberg?” 

The man nodded carefully, eyes wide with fear. 

“That is what happened to the last person that hurt him, that is what will happen to you and your captain of anything befalls him.” 

The healer closed his eyes and released a shuddering breath. When he opened them again, there was a resolve there, as if he had come to a decision. 

“I am a healer,” he said. “I want to save him. But I am the only healer. I will also not be able to use camp resources.”

Henry pressed his lips in a thin line. A faint voice at the back of his brain pointed out that this might be a trap. The voice sounded like Toth. 

The healer’s voice sounded so very sincere. 

“Tell me what you need. I will leave everything in the infirmary chest. But be warned, if you betray me or him, I promise. will kill you before they find me.”

He pushed off the man and stood, still holding the blade as a silent warning.

“I have no ill will against your friend or you. But he is in poor condition. I can't promise he'll live.”

“Do everything you can, and if he dies it'll be your captain’s head instead of yours.”

The healer’s wishes weren’t truly out of the ordinary - sleep tonics, healing tea, pain relief, fever tonic, clean bandages. 

But if he was the only healer, then time was his most precious resource. 

Outside, the sky dimmed towards the darkest hour, the drunken shenanigans in the tavern quieted.

“I will be using your alchemy bench. Don’t follow me.”

By the time he was done, the camp lay in deep silence. He stashed everything in the chest, as promised. Then he knelt before Bartosch once more, placing a gentle kiss on his brow.

 “You better be here when I return.” 

The sun barely colored the horizon, as he crawled back to the Den, to Hans. Henry had always looked forward to seeing him, but he didn’t know what to make of everything that happened at the camp. Hans knew he was broken, but he still cared for him, still offered that strange relationship; said that thing that made Henry’s skin crawl in excitement and in trepidation. 

Wraith’s feet hit water flooding the path just before the Den, ever-growing and waning from the bathhouse excessive dumping. Lanterns and torches still burned brightly but the tables were empty, the air silent. Henry stopped in front of the tavern and led Wraith to a trough. Tying him up, the horse immediately started gulping up water as Henry went to the saddle. Not wanting to carry the saddle inside he opened the bag, checking for anything he may need to bring inside. 

The letters. 

He had forgotten about them. He took them from the bag with care and slowly turned them between his fingers. Each had his name neatly written but distinct to the writer: Hans’ striking as always, with elaborate loops. His father’s was bold, sharp, clear of any excessive decoration. And Bartosch was delicate, flowing. 

Keeping the letters in hand, Henry removed the saddle, throwing it over the hitching post, then headed inside. Just as outside the tables were bare, but the room was well lit. Henry sat on top of the nearest table, choosing to start with Hans’ letter. He had said it was in case he ran off, so it was a safe bet it would be the least shocking. 

He was wrong, the words were equally sweet as they were bitter. Calling him dearest friend, claiming to miss him every day, taking the responsibility for his actions. Even pleading for him to forgive Bartosch. So much of his Lord had changed just from loving the knight, and it was brutally unfair. Had he not given him enough, sacrificed enough? 

Folding the letter back up, he tossed it onto the table instead of the fireplace where he wanted it to go. 

He opened Radzig’s next. It would be new orders or remains of his duty perhaps, even some Lordly wisdom- not feelings or broken hearts and that was what he wanted:  A task. A job. A distraction.         

My son,

 It was my desire to be there when you joined us in Raborsch but fate and duty had other plans. Sir Hanush and I still agree you should remain here and protect Lord Capon, for that, there is no one more capable than you. I have unquestionable trust in you and your abilities, son. 

There were times I should have been there for you when I wasn’t, but if you will, let me be there for you now. Henry, you can overcome these problems you’re facing now, it will only serve to better yourself, but this does not mean you have to face them alone. When the weight on your soul becomes too much to bear, return to my side. No matter the cause I will be there; I’d have my son over a broken warrior.  

For the knight: Tread with care, there will be no mercy if anything befalls my son.

Henry read that last sentence several times more. Coming to the same conclusion each time: He knows.

His hands hit the tabletop, the paper clutched in his fingers. 

“He doesn’t hate me.”

He always expected to be shunned if he was found out. Hated. But here was his father, threatening that fool who broke his heart. 

Rereading the letter he could almost hear Radzig’s voice: “...does not mean you have to face them alone… I will be there… I’d have my son over a broken warrior.” 

A son. Not a weapon. Not a tool to be used and placed aside, but a person. Someone to be loved. He wanted that; to be loved again, to have someone looking forward, for him to return home. 

“Henry?” Soft steps descend the stairs. “I’ve been waiting for you, why didn’t you come upstairs?” Hans practically pranced over, hair mussed and half dressed his bright blue eyes weighed down by dark rings, but nothing could dull his warm smile. 

“Ahh, reading the letters.” 

Henry’s gaze shifted down to the black hose on the Lord over his typical teal ones. 

Hans ducked his head. “I’m just borrowing them. You don’t mind, right?”

Henry couldn’t ignore the fact his pants looked good on Hans, and the shirtlessness wasn’t helping. All his hurt feelings started to dull, reinforcing once more the fact that he really couldn’t say no to Hans or even stay rightfully upset.

“What is mine is obviously yours,” Henry said without much thought. 

His face dropped remembering just how much he was sharing with his Lord these days. Hans huffed then started laughing like some bashful wench, and went as red as a beet. 

 Hans eyed the letter in Henry’s hands. “Did you get to read his yet?”

“Not yet. Do you want to tell me how Radzig found out about him?” 

The smile left Hans’ face. “Let’s go upstairs and talk.”

Upstairs, the Lord plopped down on his bed, wrapping his blanket around himself before sitting up with his legs crossed. 

“Cold?” Henry asked.

Hans shrugged. “A bit. Come over here.” 

Henry instinctively followed the order, moving to the end of Hans bed. 

“So, how is he?” 

Henry narrowed his eyes. “I thought you were going to tell me how my father knows.” 

Hans pouted, pleading with doe eyes. And, of course, Henry gave in. “He’s… alive but it’s not good. They weren’t treating him… I had-”

“What! Why?” Hans brows pinched upwards, his pout turned into a deep frown. “I shouldn’t have sent him there. God have mercy!” He hid his face in his hands and stammered on before Henry had a chance to ask any questions.  

“I- It was between Kuttenberg and the camp, the healer there was meant to be better so I thought-” 

Henry grabbed Hans’ shoulder.

“Enough! Listen. It had nothing to do with the healer, but his father’s influence.” 

His Lord’s face twisted in disgust.  

“You know something…”

Hans ran a hand through his hair with a sigh.

“Yeah, his father beat him and threw him out when he found out. Though I didn’t know it was this bad, I figured he just disowned him.” Hans met his eyes. “He’s not safe there.”

Henry already knew what Hans was going to ask. “He can’t be moved, Hans.”

“We have to do something!” Hans’ fiery temper filled the words, ready to fight Henry.

“I’m handling it. I made a deal with the healer, but I need to return to the camp. The situation is precarious.” Henry eyed him carefully looking for the return of that famed Hans temper, but it didn’t.

Hans just nodded. “Alright. But return to me, ok?”

Henry couldn’t help but wonder what the hell Bartosch did to tame the haughty man. And if all Hans' problems were related to his suppressed desires, or if it was simply love that soothed him to being reasonable.

“Ok?” Hans repeated.

“Ahh, yeah. There’s a camp by the road not too far down from the war camp, I’ll bring Mutt so he knows the way; We can communicate through him.”

He had planned to walk to the camp to give Wraith a break but seeing how calm and reasonable Hans was behaving, Henry decided to push his luck. “Can I borrow your horse? Mine is rather spent.” 

Hans didn’t hesitate. “Of course.” 

“Really?” The last time he asked to borrow a horse Hans refused and made Henry trot beside him on that fateful hunting trip.  

“Yeah. I can’t have you walking around like some commoner… and I am borrowing your clothes- well hose. I didn’t want to dig around too much.” 

Henry clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. Hans blinked. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Nothing!” Henry pushed off the bed. 

He walked to his storage chest, lifting the heavy lid, already knowing what to look for. A collared pourpoint with black sleeves and golden brocade. Its quality should be good enough for his lordship’s taste. He could hear Hans’ approach and looked over his shoulder. Henry tossed the clothing item to him and returned to his search.

“My superior taste has rubbed off on you finally,” Hans commented and Henry didn’t need to look to know how smug he looked.

Henry gathered another pair of black hose and garters, this pair a bit too long for himself so it should suit Bartosch just fine. The last item from the box was a red pourpoint.

“That’s his.” Hans whispered.

“He gave it to me back in Trosky, I never got the chance to return it.” Its scent had long faded, but it still brought back tender memories of their moments together. “They took all of his things, so I thought I’d bring him some in case he wakes up.” 

“All of his things? Even your father’s ring- and the drawing?” 

Henry just shrugged, “I’ll ask the healer when I go back.” He didn’t want to tell Hans how he found Bartosch, who knew which of the soldiers was currently wearing his actual clothes. 

Returning to his task he grabbed a pair of black courtier shoes from under his bed, and a spare dagger from his nightstand then headed to the door. Hans watched him from the end of his bed, leaning back on his hands. He had put the pourpoint on but left it unbuttoned,  his chest completely open. 

He smiled at the handful of items. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate the black and red. And he’ll be a sight to behold in tight hose and garters.” 

Henry took a long look down then back up. “Like the ones you're wearing?” Hans crossed his legs and arms, a blush creeping onto his face. “The ones I wear.” 

Henry clicked his tongue at Hans before grabbing the door handle. 

“Don’t forget to read his letter,” Hans called before the door shut.       

The roadside camp was a small thing, with a poorly constructed firepit and a bed that reeked of mildew and sweat. The log by the fire would have to do for a place to rest and it wasn’t much better but at least it smelled of earthy musk instead of unwashed men. 

Dawn just touched the horizon when Henry finally laid down. Resting his head on the log with Mutt’s head on his thigh. He had been avoiding opening the last letter but ran out of reason to put it off. If Bartosch died, these would be the last words he’d have from him. He wanted them to be good, but Bartosch was too honorable to not tell the truth. 

With a slight twitch in his hand, he opened the letter. The first few lines were in Latin, he could only understand Hans and the Latin word for love. He closed the parchment, letting out a ragged sigh as stinging pain built in his eyes. Stilling himself, he opened it again, bending the top part back so he didn’t have to look at it.        

  Sweet Henry,

If you are reading this then I can only assume something terrible has fallen to me once more, and do not concern yourself with the Latin above. It's just instructions for Hans to give this to you and not be a pain. If he did not find the courage to tell you then this will be a terrible way for you to find out but you deserve to know. In the month we mourned you, we crossed an unforgivable line. And as much as I want to tell you I regret it, I don’t. I am a fool and a coward. I fell in love with the perfect man that gave me everything I’ve always wanted in such a small amount of time, and I relived those short moments until the loneliness was killing me. And as I did in the past, the fear of being alone and unloved put me on a path of ruin but this time it wasn’t my life I’ve ruined. Don’t blame yourself for our poor choices; you could not have been more of a loyal, gentle companion. I will not ask for forgiveness, I would not forgive me if I was you; Alive or not we dishonoured you and your memory. And yet I’m still too selfish to not hope you will agree to Hans’ idea. You know me to be honorable and selective with my words: I did and still love you. You are beloved- not only by me.

Henry folded the letter, keeping it tightly in his hand; he'd wait. Wait to see if the man lives before accepting his words.

Bartosch’s eyes opened to a black canopy, blinking a few times before it came into complete focus. The muscles in his neck were painfully stiff as he looked around, trying to get a sense of his whereabouts. He was in a tent, besides his bed he could only spy a small table and chair. His last memories were with Hans in Maleshov- Erik! Launching himself upright into agony, memories of him being stabbed flooding his mind along with the pain. 

A hand touched the back of his shoulder. “I wouldn’t do that.” 

The stranger helped lower him back down. “I gave you something for the pain but you need to lie still.”  

Bartosch didn’t see him before and it was unnerving to think he was this vulnerable to not notice someone so near. The waves of pain started to subside. Bartosch stared at the man, his mind still trying to make sense of things.

“A fever had you at death’s door, and it only recently broke, so go slow.” 

He was a foreigner, a moor, handsome with bright, friendly eyes, under a dark blue scarf that he wore wrapped around his head. He looked like a depiction of Saint Maurice brought to life, and for a moment, Bartosch was convinced he was  still in a fever dream. Maybe in Prague, or in Italy not in…

“How…?” It hurt to talk, his throat dry and hoarse. “How long…? Where?”

“Five days tonight.” A sly grin crossed the man’s face. “You had quite the guardian angel… well maybe hellhound would be more accurate.” 

Bartosch knew immediately who he was talking about. Who else would come for him but Henry. 

“Maybe he’ll frighten us with his presence again,” the man added. 

“Frightened?” Not charming, or persuasive. That would mean Henry is mad. 

The healer shifted his weight. “Let’s just say I’ve hardly slept since his blade was at my throat. But you do owe him your life, if not for his intervention you certainly would be dead.”

Mad but not enough to let him die, that was at least something. “Thank you…?”

“Musa. Your …friend also brought some clothes for you. They are in that chest, along with more bandages.” He pointed to the small storage chest next to the bed. “When you need them. I can help you if you like.” 

“No, that will be alright.” It might not be wise but he wanted to try to move on his own.  

Musa’s smile turned into a smirk. “And no overly straining activities tonight,” he added and quickly left, closing the curtain behind him.

Bartosch grimaced while muttering to himself. “Blatant as always, Henry...” 

He would have to teach him better… again. If Henry even wanted him after everything. 

And Hans... Fear clawed down his back at the thought of what happened to Hans. Maybe he was still locked up at Maleshov, alone with Erik. But if Henry was here then he had to have found him… But what did he do to him then… What if Henry doesn’t know yet and that’s the only reason why he came. 

“Would you really doom me to tell him?” he murmured into thin air. There was no answer, except for the one he knew within his heart: Hans was painfully unable to keep a secret from Henry. There was no way that Henry didn’t know.. 

Bartosch tried to sit up again. Taking his time, using his arms to push up instead of his abdomen. Each breath, each twitch of muscle felt like glass embedded into his side overshadowing the sting in both his palms. A wave of dizziness hit him, the world tilting precariously for a moment before it rightened itself again. 

Bartosch slid to the edge of the bed planting his feet firmly into the ground. He wore neither shoes nor clothes, just a loose pair of braies. He hoped the chest had something decent to wear in it. Placing a bit of weight on his legs, just to test them, proved as not such a good idea; the pain shot through his torso, locking up his whole rib cage until his vision blurred. Bartosch clenched his jaw, trying to breathe through the pain. He’d been through worse, and like then, he sent his senses outward, focusing on the noises and smells around him. 

Chatter, orders, complaints and the distinct noise of armoured men walking about. The smell of horses and mud, the smoke of the smithy that hung over everything, and beer. He was at the war camp. Heavily armored steps walked just past the side of his tent, stopping near the entrance to be, directly across from him.

“Stay,” a too familiar voice ordered, followed by the soft nicker of a horse.

Every muscle in Bartosch’s body seized. 

It was too soon. He wasn’t ready. His fingers gripped the edge of the bed until the scabs on his hands started to split. 

His eyes firmly fixed onto the sliver of early evening sunlight that painted the ground golden when the entrance to his tent opened. Bartosch refused to look up, too afraid to be wrong. The light faded. The silence between them stretched, so thick it was hard to breathe. His heart was pounding. The metal figure shifted announcing his presence. 

Bartosch slowly raised his gaze, facing the man he betrayed. 

Henry stood, a fortress of iron with a hand on the hilt of his sword. A ghost made flesh, donned in the most exquisite burnished armor. He couldn’t help but notice the overcoat, a shade warmer than violet; the very color Henry chose to represent him. Henry was still as beautiful as the last time Bartosch saw him. 

But the longer he looked, the more Bartosch noticed the changes in him. His blue eyes were dull, empty of the gentleness they once held. His beard had grown out, becoming unruly along with his hair. Dark shadows sat heavily under his eyes. He looked so broken, abandoned, a moment from passing out. 

Then he shifted, taking a step forward before stopping, looking for something in Bartosch's face. But all Bartosch could think of was the hand that still sat on the sword. Bartosch didn’t think Henry would hurt him, but he’d deserve it if he did. 

The only sound in the tent was the creaking leather of Henry's gloves as  he tightened his grip around the hilt. 

“Henry…,” Bartosch said. His voice was small. Meek.

Henry crossed the distance between them with three rapid steps. Bartosch’s heart jumped and instinct took over.  He leaned back, away from the approaching man, even trying to push himself farther onto the bed. But Henry stopped just in front of him and dropped to his knees. 

He pressed his head into Bartosch's collarbone then nuzzled into the small of his neck, whispering. “Please don't leave me…”

Chapter Text

“Please return to me…” - Hans

Henry didn’t move, didn’t say anything else. His head rested nestled against Bartosch’s neck, but, Bartosch noticed, he was careful to not put his weight on him. Nor did Henry wrap his arms around him, placing them on the bed instead. 

It wasn’t enough, Bartosch needed to feel that he was alive. 

His fingers delicately touched Henry's jaw, tracing up to his cheekbones. The familiar feeling of his skin, his breath on Bartosch's neck, it was overwhelmingly good. Not taking another moment more, Bartosch wrapped an arm around Henry’s shoulder, letting the other travel into his hair. He needed him closer, to feel the warmth of his body, to hear the beating of his heart. 

“I won't ever leave you,” he whispered. 

They sat like this in silence until something warm and wet dripped onto Bartosch's chest. He moved his hand back to Henry's cheek, touching remnants of tears. “Henry?” 

 Henry jerked back. For a moment, Bartosch saw the pain on his face, then he twisted out of Bartosch’s grip and sat heavily on the ground, his back to the bed. He took sharp deep breaths broken by rapid gasps.

Bartosch reached for him. “It's alright, Henry. You don't have to hide from me.” 

“Don't…” Henry leaned away and moved just out of arms reach. “Just... I need a moment.” 

He hated that Henry didn't feel safe enough to cry in front of him. If he wasn't considered safe then there was little chance anyone else was. 

“There are no words for how glad I am to see you,” Bartosch tried again.

Henry remained unresponsive. 

Bartosch’s fingers itched with the urge to touch him, to no longer deny himself what he had believed he lost for the better part of a month. But this was walking on thin ice over a bottomless lake. 

Instead of pushing, Bartosch chose to lay down and wait. He placed his head next to Henry’s, shuffling to make sure his presence was known.

Henry peered over, spying Bartosch laying just behind his shoulders. His gentle blue eyes shifted over Bartosch’s face as if he tried to memorize every detail, before his gaze dropped away again. 

When Henry finally spoke, his voice was a defeated whisper. “I couldn't convince myself you were truly alive. I saw you. But it wasn't real. No joy, no relief, nothing.” Henry's voice rose as he went on. “I was told, then I went from one slaughter to another, then another, each worse than the last. Then, when I thought I'd get to see you again, Hans drags me off to tell me about your escapades at Maleshov… You went from being dead, to maybe alive. Then letting my friend fuck you, to dying again. All in a month, hell a week.” 

There was a deafening silence, filling the void between them. Bartosch couldn't find a single word to ease the suffering soul in front of him. There was no sorry that could undo the absolute hell he caused. No removing the damage done. 

The faintest of whispers, just brush against the soundless barrier. “Bartosch. I'm so tired.”

“Then rest.” That, he could give him. “Take all that off and come lay down with me.” Henry didn't move, didn't even look at him. “I know you’re not happy with me but I want what's best for you. Please.”

Henry leaned his head back against the bed. “We are in a camp of a hundred, maybe more men, it wouldn't be wise to get that close to you.”

“Maybe not, but you're well worth the risk.” Bartosch ran his finger down the shorter hairs on Henry's head. “And it'll be dark enough soon. Let me hold you, comfort you as I did before.” 

Henry still didn't move, staring blankly at the canopy. “You love him,” he said. Not a question, a fact.

“I do, but I love you too.” 

Henry turned his head into Bartosch's hand and closed his eyes. But that didn't hide the pain, the pinnacle of despair that made itself home of his gentle features. His stormy eyes opened, becoming more glossy. 

“I'm glad you had each other to grieve with, over being alone. And I guess there is some good in it. Hans has matured with you in a way I tried to get him to but never managed.”  

“Henry….” Bartosch moved down to rest his cheek against the top of Henry's head. Running his fingers down his cheek. “Sweet beloved Henry, forgive me for saying this but your head is as thick as steel is hard. He changed because he lost you.” 

His hands went down Henry’s shoulders, over his chest, feeling the thick layers of cloth and armour keeping him from feeling what he needed; the beat of his heart. 

“For days, he didn’t eat, barely drank. He moved around like an empty shell, impossible to reach. I only coaxed him back with what small pieces of information he wanted to know about you. And I only let him in so he could live in my pain rather than die in his.” He removed his hands and sat up with a sharp wince. “It was all I had to offer… I didn’t want to fail you again.” 

“Again?” Henry turned to face him, with a disbelieving shake of his head. “You never failed me.” 

His fingers trembled as he took Bartosch’s hand. He watched as their fingering laced together, from there Henry’s eyes trailed up until they met Bartosch’s. The shadow of a cautious smile lay on his lips. Bartosch smiled back, warmth and hope blooming in his chest. 

Henry broke their connection only to do away with the gauntlet, then he worked open the straps on his arm, letting the metal pieces fall to the ground. He stroked the top of Barotsch’s hand once more before moving to unfasten the overcoat, tossing it on the end of the bed. The last piece removed was his cuirass. As Henry rose from the ground Bartosch moved back, giving him space to slide into the bed. His heart raced as the bed bent beneath Henry’s weight. 

“Come.” Henry laid on his side with his arms opened. 

Bartosch eagerly obeyed. Henry tensed when they finally touched, but before Bartosch could stop to question it, a hand wrapped around his back and led him in closer. It was intoxicating being so near him again, to feel his warmth; the softness of his breath on his neck. Even the earthy scent that was overwhelmingly Henry. It was reassuring to see the gentler, caring side of Henry; the one that always wanted to comfort. The one he really needed right now but felt completely unworthy of. 

“I was meant to protect you,” he whispered his shame. 

Henry's hand found its way to his chin, tilting it upwards. “You were charged to kill me…do you not remember?” 

“I’m not talking about orders.” Bartosch looked away, unable to handle the intensity of Henry’s gaze. “I failed to protect the one I love, there isn’t a worse failure.” 

Henry nudged his chin upwards again. “I understand.”

And he could see it in every speck of blue and amber; in the deep rings. His thoughts originally went to Henry’s family but the longer he looked into the softened gaze the more it became apparent. He was talking about Bartosch’s own brush with death.

“Bartosch, I would never blame you for what happened… for Trosky.” He spoke as if the words hurt but Henry's hand gently stroked along his cheek. 

 “I don't deserve you.” It was his voice but his father’s echo. “You shouldn’t be here… comforting me. Are you just here cause Hans cares-”

“Cause I care…” Henry rolled his eyes, but his lips curled into a small smile. “Who’s the dense one now?” 

“You still do?” 

“No… I snuck into a war camp to nurse you back to health so I can send you to hell myself. Obviously." 

The smile faded as Henry looked away, a small grimace not masking subtle blush in his cheeks. “We can't just return to what we were. But I'm not going to let you go so easily either. If you still want me, you’ll have to earn me.”

"Earn you? You'd let me court you?" Bartosch smiled. "I like that. It will be nice to get you to fall in love with me as much as I am with you." Nestling his head back into Henry's chest. “Will you stay?”

“For now. Rest. I promise I won't sneak off.” A hand ruffled his hair before settling there.

Three days…

Hans slumped down on the bench, his head using the table as a pillow. His hand wrapped around another, now empty cup of beer.

Three days since he last saw Henry. 

“Henry… Why am I wasting all my time on a peasant that’s not here?” he whined each syllable into the wood.

He had gotten a third of the way through Bartosch’s book, translating and transcribing it into another. His gift for Henry. It would allow him to see their grief but also their love for him. Maybe Henry could add to the poems the way Hans and Bartosch had done. But doing this task made the pit in his heart grow, knowing he couldn’t find the poem’s writer. 

Last Hans heard from Henry, Bartosch was doing better, the fever had broken. But it was Mutt that brought the news, scribbled on torn parchment coated in slobber. 

Hans closed the books, calling it a night. A part of him was mad at Henry for being so distant, so complicated, but he had to accept it, because the alternative was significantly worse. But couldn't he stay near at least?

Hans rose. Henry was doing what he was told- saving Bartosch, resenting him was stupid. Hans just wanted to snatch Bartosch from the camp already, then everything would sort itself out. Maybe then Henry would bring it up- the it Hans spat out and ran away from. So far Henry acted like it never happened. Maybe he should just say it plainly, maybe Henry was too tired to understand, or too distracted with everything that just happened. There were too many possibilities and no way to figure it out because the man refused to be in the same vicinity as Hans. And it wasn’t something he could pass in a letter.  

Hans let his body fall into the bed, sinking his face into the pillow. He wished it would smell like Bartosch or Henry… He sat back up. The room spun but his eyes locked onto the bed across the room. 

It was as if the bed called to him and his feet couldn’t resist. The bad idea and booze lead the way, floor boards creaked announcing his intrusion into Henry’s space. Hans looked to the door like the noise was to summon the blacksmith from Hell. Nothing, apart from the constant humming of noise from the lower floor. 

“Ah, fuck it!” He flopped down onto the bed, “He never comes home- home?” This place certainly wasn’t a home.

Hans kicked off his shoes moving farther into the bed, following Henry's sweet but earthy scent to the pillow, until he could pick out the different flowers, mostly the chamomile. His hand searched for the blanket, wrapping it around himself until he could smell nothing but Henry, and the warmth lulled him to sleep. 

A kick to the bedframe and rough voice jerked him from his peace. “The Prince of poaching, do you usually invade my bruder’s bed?”

Without thinking Hans tossed the pillow at the voice, only to be hit in the face by the same pillow twice as hard. Hans shot up, aghast. “You can’t hit a nobleman!” 

He leaped to his feet to look down at Samuel but they were the same height; so instead, he was left staring into Samuel’s unmovable, hard-as-week-old-stale-bread face. The only sign of agitation was a singular arched brow of judgement. 

Since Samuel joined them three days ago he had been following Hans like a shadow. Henry's doing .

“You’re a nobody.” Hans looked Henry’s step-brother up and down. “And I can sleep where I like!” 

One side of Samuel’s mouth joined the brow tilting upwards. “Of course.” He said mildly. “I only thought you’d like to know the dog came back.” 

“Mutt?” Hans’ annoyance dissipated and so did his interest in Samuel,  he grabbed his shoes, stumbling as he tried to pull them on, already half way out the door. 

He didn't care if anybody noticed. Hans blew past all the faces downstairs, tossing the front door open in search for the familiar companion sitting pretty with a rolled up letter in his jaws. 

“Good doggy.” He took the letter and rubbed the top of the dog's head. “Free.” Mutt bolted off, relieved from his duty.

Oh, God he just wanted to rip the thing open there but it was too open, too vulnerable. He turned on his heel heading back upstairs. 

Samuel had left their door open, with their books on the table for anyone to see. Hans slammed the door shut behind him. The books looked how he left them, but his memory was hazy at best. It couldn't be helped and he has more pressing matters to attend.

My heart,

I’ve returned from my feverish hell. Hal is here with me, and I can’t say I’m particularly delighted about this dog idea but for you I’ll bear the creature’s presence. And I would love to know how his father found out about my influence in Hal’s life? Lord help me, why did I fall in love with two fools with the subtlety of a war horn. Scolding aside for now, I’ve missed you more than a featherless bird misses flight. It pains me that I can’t go to you, but I can not yet move around. Hopefully in a day or so. 

I love you, and will eagerly await your reply.

It took every piece of practiced, rarely used self-control to not mount up and bolt into the night. Only the thought of Henry held him back; they were shaky enough as it was. 

Still, the thought of Bartosch unable to move worried him, who was helping him when Henry wasn't there- some camp wench? Someone who didn't know him, didn't care about him and, most of all, didn't respect his boundaries. 

Hans placed the letter down, took two long strides to Henry's chest in search of the parchment he’d seen in there. It was still neatly tucked to one side, but there was an addition to the pile; a folded letter. His finger touched the edge, high quality. Radzig's letter.  

His finger hovered over it for several seconds before he took it.

The bottom third was torn off, but the rest remained untouched.

As his eyes went down the page, the pain in his heart grew. There were times when he wondered, even directly questioned Radzig's care for Henry. But now…  now he was giving Henry permission to leave, to abandon his duties. 

“He could leave…” It was a haunting thought. 

His hands trembled while folding the letter back up, returning it. It was just another worrying thought to add to the list of Henry problems. Between Henry seeing things and Godwin’s suspicions, the stresses of sharing a lover, and now a way out, if he deemed it necessary…

 And Bartosch didn't know any of it. Hans needed Bartosch to return, he'd know what to do and how to go about it. Or maybe even Godwin, if only he would return from Raborsch. 

Hans took a clean page and ink back to the table. This was becoming too much to keep to himself.

Bartosch stared at the man next to him. 

Henry kept trying to get him to sleep but he couldn’t. He had hoped that penning a quick letter to Hans would convince his mind that everything was alright and he could rest, but the moment he closed his eyes, he was assaulted by the fear that Henry wasn’t truly here. So he tore them open again and found Henry’s sleeping face right there in front of him, the steady, soothing beat of his heart right under his ear. Bartosch’s finger traced along the opening of the yellow gambeson Henry wore, running over the eyelets. His fingers undid the first string almost without his conscious decision. It wasn’t sexual in nature, all he needed was to know that Henry was alright, or what they had done to him. He slipped his hand down to the next string, swiftly undoing it and continued downwards, bending back the freed material to expose Henry’s left side. 

His fingers brushed first over warm, familiar skin. He could almost convince himself that all was well, when his fingertips ran over a thin, barely there ridge, uneven and too thin, like all scars. Fresh. He held his breath and continued, finding another right next to the first, and another. He stopped on each one; the image burning behind his eyes of Henry strung up in a damp, dark cell, enduring each one of these cuts. No one came for him. No one saved him. 

“It would appear Hans influenced you as well,” Henry grumbled, but didn’t stop him. 

Bartosch’s hand stilled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to ask… didn’t want to upset you.” He waited for Henry to tell him to stop. When that didn’t happen, his hand wandered lower, until it brushed against a jagged scar on Henry’s hip. 

That’s where Henry snatched his hand, removing it from his body. “Don’t.” Henry brought his hand to his heart. “I’ve always respected your boundaries, now this one is mine. I won’t talk about it, and if you want this to work, you won’t ask me.” 

It didn't feel right to leave Henry alone to suffer with these thoughts and memories, but he wasn't going to force it. Instead he’d just leave that path open so Henry could cross it when he was ready.

“Of course, Henry. But if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here for you- no matter how bad it may be I'm not going to leave you. And if you want I’ll tell you about my past, all of it.” 

Henry closed his fingers a little tighter around Bartosch’s hand. “There is no need for you to talk about that .” 

“So he told you?” 

Henry sighed but didn’t say anything. 

“I’m not… mad at you for what you did,” Bartosch said “I’d do the same if someone hurt you or Hans.”

“Hmm… no.” Henry’s hand caressed his cheek trailing down into his beard and tilted his chin up. “You’re not allowed to be like me, neither of you are. In this strange relationship, let revenge be mine.” 

Henry lifted Bartosch’s hand, putting the wound in his palm on display. “And I’ll be the shield.”

“And what are we? Damsels? This is dim-witted and an excellent way to get yourself killed- And I won’t be going through that again, ever!”  

“I’m not going to die, but there is no need for you to dirty yourself with these things.” He rested his forehead against Bartosch’s. “I see your resilience, the proof that no matter the horror you live through… you don’t have to become worse than it. You can be better. It’s beautiful and inspiring… you're beautiful and inspiring. Stay you.”

“You don't have to let this world ruin you either. Don't let it take your  compassion and generosity. It's not easy but let me help you.”

Henry looked away with a sigh. “Maybe.” After a few moments of silence he added: “I have to go.”

He moved to the edge of the bed, picking his armour off the ground. Bartosch bit down on his tongue to distract himself; he just watched piece by piece until it became unbearable. 

Bartosch rose, moving behind Henry wrapping his arms around and rested his head on him. “I can’t stand the thought of what might happen to you if I let you go.”

He couldn’t stay; they both knew it. 

“I’ll be back tonight.” A hand touched his; Henry looked over his shoulder. “Let go, Bartosch.” Henry said as fragile as he felt.  

He held on a little tighter before he released his hands. There was a lot he wanted to say, but all of it was embarrassing and none of it could change the circumstances. How it has to be.

Henry seemed to understand. “Soon, I promise.” Henry patted his hand before stepping away. 

He lifted the cuirass. Bartosch leaned back to give him space to align the front and back pieces.

“Let me help,” he whispered.

His fingers felt for the leather straps; the stinging pain in his palms grew as he pulled them through the buckles, fastening them. He pulled on the plate one last time, making sure it sat right. His side protested, but he didn’t care.

Henry stood. “Thank you.” 

He touched Bartosch’s cheek tracing down once more lingering with a soft smile before breaking away. “I'll be back.” 

His face hardened as he pulled his gauntlets on, stalking towards the darkness. Each step determined to conquer the night.   

Chapter Text

“Good Doggy.” - Hans

Bartosch slowly lowered back into the bed, watching the flap of the tent crack open and close in the breeze until the night finally broke to dawn. 

He wasn't returning. 

It went better than he expected but it hurt nonetheless when Henry left. Bartosch didn't want to be patient anymore, didn't want to waste another second on being apart. He would have found a way to walk out of the camp with him, if he thought Henry would allow it. But it wasn’t possible. Bartosch could hardly move with a pain suppressant and now with whatever concoction Musa had given him was starting to wear off, making even breathing a hellish task.

Bartosch took steady breaths through the waves of agony, returning to the noise outside the black canopy. To be interrupted by heavy, wet panting. His head snapped to the side to be greeted by a slobbering canine grin. Its nose was an eyelash's length away. Bartosch gagged, jerking away from its hot, humid breath. He shivered in disgust, eyeing the creature for the letter it better have. Mutt backed off, walking around then nudging the rolled parchment on the ground. Even from here he could see the wetness and the dirt coating it. 

“Of course…” Bartosch sighed, reaching out with a groan to retrieve it.

Amissus,

I do not wish to burden you while you’re recovering but you must return to me soon, things are worse than you know. And I do not know what to do. This goes beyond my abilities. 

We could lose him.

His eyes narrowed on the last sentence. They had already discussed this before so why did Hans feel the need to bring it up again. And from what Henry said it didn’t seem likely anymore. 

The tent flap rustled.

“You're awake… and there is a dog.” Musa took soft steps around Mutt. “It would appear your paramour visited you last night.” 

Bartosch followed the man’s gaze to the table that Henry had moved to the end of the bed so Bartosch could write to Hans easier. 

Musa’s eyes went to the note in his hands. “Do you need help with a reply?”

“I can manage. Thank you.” Respectful but short.

He wasn’t sure what to make of Musa just yet, only that he knew too much and could easily be threatened to obey. If the wrong people broke him, it could end very poorly for Henry and him.

Musa hummed in good humour as he knelt and opened the chest, retrieving bandages. 

“Are you going to let me help, or can you manage?” He mimicked Barotsch’s tone.

Bartosch sighed and slowly moved to sit on the edge of the bed. 

Musa walked over, laying bandages down on the table. His fingers went into his bag next removing a phial. He added it to the other supplies. 

“Your hands first.” Musa instructed.

Bartosch offered his right first. Musa took his hand, palm up, and went to untie the bandage.  Mutt growled. Mutt sat next to the tent entrance, teeth bared.. Musa dropped Bartosch’s hand and the growling ceased. 

Musa nervously huffed, “Bit protective?" 

“I apologize, he is not mine.” He couldn’t send Mutt away without a letter or Hans would be devastated. “Could you return later, hopefully I’ll be rid of him shortly.” 

Musa’s eyes stayed on the dog but his hand reached for Bartosch’s shoulder, this time a low grumble came from Mutt, building into a snarl when Musa touched him again. 

He removed his hand. “It would appear you have a bodyguard, and I’ll be too busy to return, but I’ll send for a wench to assist you.” 

“Of course.”

“Take this for the pain.” Musa tapped the phial before heading towards the entrance. “And do try to eat something.”

Bartosch nodded politely, but eyed the dog with disdain, “Sorry again for the mutt.”

“Ah, it’s of little consequence to me.” Musa peered back with that same amused smirk, “His master’s love must be strong to influence the creature so,” he said, with a trace of low laughter as he left the tent. 

Hans laid listening to the birds chirping and the maids complaining about the mess from the night before. It was just another day he’d listen for the sound of hooves or pattering paws. Perhaps a bark or howl. Just another morning he dreaded getting up, to be ended with another night he could barely sleep through. 

Henry never showed. And Mutt couldn’t run fast enough. 

He rolled over in his too firm bed. The sun was well into the sky by now, but he wasn’t in any rush to get up. There was little point, nothing to do, nowhere to go. No one to talk to. He could only picture Bartosch’s warm smile, or Henry’s husky laugh beside him. 

“Aww, good doggy!” The innkeeper called out drawing Hans from his cursed thoughts. 

He finally rolled from the bed and got dressed while Mutt below their veranda barked and barked. There were no sounds of hooves. If Henry had returned the others surely would have greeted him by now. But they didn't. 

In one way, Hans should be happy. It was Bartosch that sent something for him, but the disappointment burrowed deep, turning into pain. When Hans opened their door that led to the outside veranda and looked over the railing, Mutt sat pawing at the ground. Zizka was just patting the dog’s dusty head and took the letter from his mouth.

“I take it, it's for you,” he called up. 

It made Hans a little uncomfortable that Zizka knew he would be there with such confidence he didn’t bother to look up before talking. 

“Aye.” 

Without waiting for the response Hans turned and towards the interior stairway that would finally lead him to the door to the courtyard. Zizka waited for him at the first table beyond the door, the letter sitting beside the man's plate. Hans didn't wait for his permission to take it, he just turned and walked back inside. Once safely in their room he unrolled the muddy scroll. 

Gentle Alula,

You must calm yourself, my dear. Hal did not give me the impression he was planning on leaving. What has happened to make you feel this way? And what is worse? You must clarify so I can help. And if you cannot write it here, then know that you’re fully capable of dealing with these delicate situations yourself. Do you not remember caring for me when I needed it? That you got me to open up with the slight entrance I offered. It was a dance between us through the poems. Just think of it as one of our dances but this time you need to lead. To give a little and wait for him to give back. 

I am here, and I will help you, but you need to cast off this self-doubt. It will help no one.    

Han’s uncertainty started to wane reading those words. ‘I am here-I will help’ was exactly what he needed to hear. Bartosch had been his shelter in the worst storm, now a source of comfort… what Henry tried to be after the ambush, at Trosky, but he didn’t make it easy for Henry back then. That had to be what Bartosch was referring to. But things were different now. Back at the camp, Henry seemed soothed by their connection. Hans just needed to focus on that, forging those small connections. 

But Bartosch deserved to know something; they both would suffer if Henry chose to leave.  

Bartosch tried to stand again, using the table to balance his weight. But he just couldn’t, blinding pain shot through him, forcing him to abandon his attempts. He needed to stand, needed to return to Hans and figure out whatever these horrid ‘things’ were. If need be, protect Henry for a change.

When he first read it, he just dismissed it as old worries, but more he thought about it, the more the thought took hold - what if Henry was going to leave? Even though he promised to return it would be like Henry to nurse him back to health before going. But Henry said he could court him, so he had to remain… 

“Damnit Hans… you couldn’t have just spoken plainly,” he grumbled. 

The sun had peaked and started its slow descent with no sign of Mutt. Never in his life did he think he’d be waiting in anticipation for a dog. 

Every thought was haunted by a what if, and each scenario made him dread the time passing by. There was this feeling of impending doom Bartosch couldn’t shake, as if death was bound to reap the fragile hope they built last night. 

So he returned to his habit of comfort: grim poetry.  But even that failed. 

It would be nice to write something for Henry or at least try, but every verse he wrote was in complete shambles. He couldn’t lace two words together without doubting his every thought. Bartosch laid back onto the bed, thoroughly giving up on this idea, he'd needed to find something else to do or for this sun to set already so Henry could return. 

His eyes sat on the thinning sunlight peeking into the tent, still looking for some way to show his affection given his limited state. A little shadow disturbed the light, growing larger until Bartosch could hear the sounds of paws squishing into the mud. 

“Mutt?” he called.

The dog pattered over and dropped the letter on the bed, his head cocked sideways with a woof. 

Bartosch took the letter, “Thanks.” 

Woof… woof

“Humph.” 

Sunlight poured into the space as the door flap was pulled back. Bartosch's hand tightened around the letter. A delicate hand held the curtain open, her cold eyes narrowed onto him. 

Her lip curled, “I should have known.”

“You!” 

The vivid memories of the woman came back. At Trosky she was always in the background, and he could only remember her face thanks to the surrounding ‘gentleman’ antics. Even the other so-called knights rambled things better left unsaid about her, Katherine. 

That she was here, bold enough to approach him left only one conclusion: “You’re a spy.” 

“Oh… you're just now putting that together? I expected more of you.”

She walked into the tent with swaying hips, with each step claiming the space as hers. “He is a fool… and you… I should cut your balls off for what you did.”

The curl to her lip stayed firmly in place, she looked at him like filth and he couldn’t even find the pride to feel offended.  

“He told you?” 

“He didn't need to.” Katherine placed a hand on her hip  “The  way he looked at Hans was enough. I've seen that type of betrayal before… and after all the hell he's been through.” she snapped. 

“I'm trying to make it right, but I-”

“Shut your mouth! I don't want to hear your excuses, and you will not get any sympathy from me.” Her scowl twisted into a mournful, “that poor boy. Do you even care about him?” 

“More than you'll ever know, and it's no business of yours.” 

Her lips curled into a vicious smile as she shifted her weight to the other side. With an agile step she was on him, her dagger on his throat. Bartosch grabbed her hand in the nick of time, forcing it back with ease but not without hurting. This wasn’t good. If someone saw this, they’d haul her off without a second thought. Having the death of women would be horrid enough but someone Henry care for-  

“Stop this,” keeping his grip firm but not to the point it would cause discomfort. He pushed against her weight, hissing through the burning pain. “Just because I'm injured doesn't make me defens-.” 

A knee went into his side forcing him to recoil in pain. 

“If I wanted to, I could. Hurt him again,” she inched closer, “and next time you won't see my blade coming. We clear?”

He gasped, “Aye…” To bare his heart to a stranger was near intolerable, but he wasn’t going to give her any space to doubt him. “I love him, and it was never my intention to hurt him.” 

Katherine searched his face for a hint of a lie. With a sigh she pulled away, returning the dagger to its hidden spot. It felt more like a stay of execution than a not guilty verdict. 

“So what’s in the letter?” she asked. 

The letter. He had almost forgotten about it. It now lay crumbled up on the floor. Katherine quickly snatched it off the ground but to his surprise she handed it over with another ‘if I wanted to, I could’ expression.

Amissus,

I want to try but Hal doesn’t look at me like that anymore, I’m afraid I've become nothing more than his Lord and even that is on borrowed time. His father wants him back, all he has to do is ask and we’ll lose him. That is all I can say here… perhaps I can fix our friendship but there are things I don't know how to go about, now thinking about it I'm not sure you would either.

“Bad?” Katherine asked.

He regarded her for a moment. She was still wearing a bright blue dress, cut to low in the front. What would be a typical man’s dream- it made sense the fools were too busy looking to realize her spying. But instead of doing her duties, she is here, threatening him for Henry.

“How close are you two?” She must like him well for her to defend him so fiercely but Bartosch needed to hear it.

Katherine shifted her weight with a humph. “It was I that kept him going, made sure he was fed, cleaned him up when he drank himself to sleep, tended his wounds the few times he allowed me near- did he always hate to be touched this much?”

Henry seemed normal enough given the circumstances. There was that brief moment when he shied from touch the night before, but after torture he wouldn’t really expect Henry to be unaffected. 

But he hadn’t forgotten Erik’s vicious words either…“Perhaps he’s to busy fucking that Henry of yours.” 

“I wouldn't call it hate but he was wary of it when we first met… do you know what happened at Trosky?” 

“They tortured them, and-” She locked eyes with him, “do not tell him you know this, understand?”

“Whatever you tell me, will remain between us. You have my word.”

“Zizka said they dragged him off some time before I got there, when he returned- he wasn’t right. When I saw him… he had this dazed look of madness and hopelessness. I didn’t see it, but I could hear it, he ripped those men apart.” She whispered: “I could never get him to tell me what happened… I don’t think he should be in a relationship of any sort.”

Behind her, the tentflap fluttered with the breeze. The only sound between them. 

“Thank you for taking care of him,” he finally said. “I will mend this. I promise.” Then he lifted the letter. “Sir Hans believes Henry may return to his liege’s side.”

“Oh, great! Another Lord to use him as a play thing. You two weren’t enough? He needs to be cared for- not be someone’s minion.”

“And I plan to do just that. He won’t ever be a plaything for anyone again, I’ll make sure of it.” 

Katherine panned down, a touch of pity cracking the coldness in her eyes when she spotted Bartosch’s wounds. With a long sigh she stepped forward and grabbed the bandages from the table. 

He didn’t move, unsure if he should accept or decline her help. She took a seat beside him and started to unravel the bloodied wrap with delicate fingers. 

“How did you get this?” 

“Erik. Toth’s minion went after Sir Hans. I gave Henry my word I’d protect him…” Katherine’s knowing glare was enough to stop talking. 

It didn’t take long before she was done cleaning and binding his wounds. They didn’t speak and Mutt didn’t seem to mind, which he found rather interesting while equally annoying. Her eyes scanned the table, at his horrible broken verses and the letters beside them. 

“Write something back to that little bird of yours, then we need to plan something for Henry.” He almost gasped. 

“Don’t look at me like that, my help comes with conditions and I won’t be telling them to you until later.” Katherine stood. “Now write. I’ll be back… and when Henry comes don’t speak about any of this, treading on those types of memories don’t help.” 

“I know.” 

The weight of his words made Katherine pause. 

She looked at Bartosch as if she truly saw him for the first time. Then she nodded sadly and left.   

It was just dusk when Henry returned to the gates of the camp. That is where a familiar figure in blue stood with the eyes of a disappointed matron. 

His face cracked into a wide, nervous smile. “Hello, my lovely.” 

“Don’t you lovely me, get over here,” she ordered.

Henry listened without questioning. 

It was strange that she was here but not out of the question. Of course Zizka would send her here to spy on the camp. Must be a part of a new mad plan to end Sigismund’s reign. 

“So what brings you here?” he asked.

“You. And the Captain. You would have known about my whereabouts if you weren't avoiding him- but it's not him you're avoiding is it?” She smirked, “More like you’re avoiding your lord and visiting a friend.” Her lips curled at the word. 

Despite her smile, her brows creased with worry.

Henry shifted on his feet. “I was going to tell you, but after everything, I just wanted some time to think.” 

To decide. But she didn't need to know that. 

Katherine uncrossed her arms and motioned for him to follow. “So, you and them… did you think about it truly? You’re charging into rarely traveled with your eyes closed.” 

“I know.”

But the moment he saw Bartosch awake, with his name on his lips– He couldn't let him go again. To hell with the past; they'd find a way around it somehow. 

“It's messy and I'm not sure how it'll turn out, but he's alive. How can I not try?” 

“I understand. He's also rather charming, and pleasant enough to look at. He might even have some intelligence behind those deep eyes. Might,” she teased, still leading him to where the baths were. “And what about your Lord?” 

Henry blew out a low breath. “It's complicated. But I'll settle it. Eventually.” Hans would get what he wanted soon enough, and Henry could enjoy having Bartosch to himself a little longer. “Why are we going this way?” 

“Cause you reek, and I see you hurt your hand too.” She offered her hand to see his. “Fighting?”

“Blacksmithing.”

“One night with the knight and you're already back at it? You better not reopen  his wound.” 

“Oh God! We didn't… nothing happened. Just talking.” He paused. “We are… uhm, taking things slow.” 

“That’s wise… but I give it a week.” She stopped at a tent. “Now get in. You didn't happen to bring better clothing, did you?”

“I left them on Wraith, he is by the front gate. I'll go back-”

She threw her arm out, blocking him. “No. I'll go. now hurry it up,” she shooed him onwards. 

Night had taken hold by the time Henry was done bathing, dressed and outside Bartosch’s tent. He couldn’t quite shake the butterflies in his stomach.. It was silly, just clothing but Henry never dressed up for anyone before. Never because he just cared, cause he just liked them. 

He ran his hand through his freshly cut hair, back to its familiar length. This felt like too much. He said they take it slow now… well there’s nothing wrong with wanting to look nice-

“Stop overthinking and just get in there,” Katherine hissed. 

Henry looked back at her standing just down the path with a smile, giving him another encouraging wave. 

With a deep breath Henry crossed the threshold. 

A few candles emitted a soft ambient glow, their light flickered across copper plates and cups on a table set for two. At the center sat a crown woven from deep violets and bright white flowers, a slip of parchment with delicate script nestled in the middle. 

The butterflies instantly burned into a steaming blush. Henry turned his face away to hide it, but when he carefully peeked over, he found Bartosch laid on a pile of pillows,blissfully asleep. With a few silent steps Henry was at Bartosch's bed site and carefully sat beside him. He was beautiful like this - resting, just breathing. 

He startled awake when Henry, unable to resist the pull, placed his hand on Bartosch's. But he settled just as quickly once their eyes met. 

“Sukra… I’m sorry, Henry,” Bartosch said softly. 

Bartosch rolled to his side before he pushed himself to sit up. As the blanket fell, he shivered; the night was cold and he was still in nothing but his braies. Without thinking Henry reached to touch him, feeling his forehead, cheek and the side of his neck searching for a sign of a fever. 

Bartosch caught his hand against his cheek. “I’m fine.”

“I didn't mean to wake you up.” Henry looked him over again; he looked better- more lively. 

“I’m glad you did. I-” Bartosch stopped mid sentence, his eyes fixed on Henry. Fingers brushed against his chest trailing across, dipping into the quilted grooves on his pourpoint. He had come to favor the violet shade of his overcoat and had this made to match. Unlike the coat, it was of higher quality and tailored to fit Henry perfectly. 

Something Bartosch seemed to be completely mesmerized by. His hands gracefully moved upwards gently scratching through Henry’s beard, caressing his cheek next. “You’re absolutely magnificent, and you got all dressed up for me.” 

“As if you didn't know. I can't believe you and her are conspiring against me.” Henry grabbed the blanket with a low laugh and wrapped it around Bartosch's shoulders. 

Bartosch hummed with amusement. “I think it would be more accurate to say it's a reluctant partnership, and I'm greatly indebted to her.”

Henry smiled. “Katherine is great.” 

“Hmm… bit of a she-wolf, but I can't disagree.” 

Bartosch shifted a little closer causing the sheet to fall off his shoulders, twitching as the cold air touched his skin. Of course, no one helped him dress. Henry knew better than to rely on others and should have done it last night.

“Why don't we dress you?” He moved off the bed towards the chest. “I brought you clothes, I thought Musa would have told you.”

“He did… I just… I can't bend over right now.” Bartosch spoke like it shamed his soul. “I can't even stand, Henry.”

“And your lordship couldn’t ask for help?”    

Bartosch made a face but said nothing. 

Henry grabbed the hose, garters and oddly enough the gambeson was missing.

“Come here.” He went to kneel beside the bed, “You’re still healing, so stop being so hard on yourself.” 

 Bartosch tenderly slid to the edge, glancing down at Henry then off to the side. His mouth opened then shut just as quickly. 

Henry always found Bartosch’s shy, nervous side profoundly adorable. Not that he got to see it often but now, now he wanted to draw it out- make him squirm a bit. 

“Enjoying the view?” he teased, pulling the hose over Bartosch’s foot. 

Henry smoothed the fabric over his calf, enjoying the little tensing of his muscles. Then he mimicked the motion. It was nice, comforting. Knowing Bartosch would never push him, it made him feel bolder. He slid up, dipping his fingers in the warm skin towards Bartosch’s hips.  

“Henry!” Bartosch whined.

“What?” With his best innocent voice, “I’m just being helpful.” 

He pulled Bartosch’s hip farther off the bed so he could slide the hose up, tucking the ending of his braies in. 

“I’m going to help you stand. Just put your weight on your good side- I’ll lift.” 

Bartosch glared but placed his hands on Henry’s shoulders. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

He could feel the tightness in Bartosch’s hands, see it in his arms. Even his face looked more ready for battle than something as small as standing. 

“You can, I have you,” Henry reassured him. 

Placing his hands on Bartosch’s side,  he lifted him as gently as possible. Bartosch groaned, his fingers digging into Henry’s shoulders but he stood. His head dropped, bracing onto Henry. 

Henry cursed himself and his stubbornness. “Let me lay you back down”

“No…” Bartosch winced, but held firm. “Just don’t let me go.” 

Henry wrapped his arms around Bartosch, holding his weight up with ease, the fever and blood loss had cost him, but not even that could explain how much weight he had lost. Hans hadn’t been eating, he said, but it seemed he wasn’t the only one. 

Time passed, but finally Bartosch gently shifted his weight back onto his foot. 

Henry relaxed a little. “Look at that. The lovely Lord can stand.” He pressed a kiss to Bartosch’s temple. 

Bartosch shied away from the kiss. “Lovely? In this state?” 

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen you completely messy, barely able to walk.” Henry leaned his forehead against the spot he kissed. “You’re still too perfect to be anything but a dream.” 

He knew how much the line meant to Bartosch the first time, and it felt right to say again. It didn’t matter how rough his exterior became, it was the affectionate way Bartosch looked at him, the warmth of his touch, just his very presence; was perfection. Everything about Bartosch brought him peace. 

Now, he muttered: “I thought I was meant to do the courting here.” 

“Habit… or maybe you just have that effect on me.” Henry slid a hand down Bartosch’s waist. “Do you think you can balance for a bit?” 

“Yeah.” 

He bent over to grab the hose, hiking them the rest of the way up. 

“Ah! Too high!,” Bartosch hissed at him. 

Henry snickered. “My bad. I'll let you adjust yourself, I won't let you fall.” 

Bartosch did just that, along with tucking the rest of his braies in. Then he placed his hands back onto Henry’s shoulders. Henry guided him back down to the bed, then kneeled to place the garters. 

“We will never talk about this again, especially to Hans.” Bartosch’s cheeks burned looking down at Henry. “Do I make myself clear?” 

Henry grinning from ear to ear. “As you say noble Lord, I will only inform sir Hans when I remove your hose instead of putting them on.” 

Bartosch rolled his eyes. “Arse.” Putting a foot on Henry's chest he tried to shove him away. 

Henry placed a hand on his shin pushing the leg down but not completely away. With his other hand, he took a garter and fastened it around Bartosch's leg. He let his touch linger again before moving to the other leg, finishing his task. 

His hand traveled up the outside of Bartosch's thigh, gently pressing into the muscles. He couldn't help but enjoy watching the shades of red spreading down Bartosch's cheeks, along with the heated glance exposing his private thoughts.  

“I prefer it when you're like this, all flustered and pinch-browed” 

Henry stood. “Shall we eat?”

“You’re rather terrible at letting people do things for you, you know? But…” Bartosch shifted closer to the table, picking up the flower crown. “I made you one of these for a change.”

Henry took it from him, gently turning it in his hands. It was made with care, not a single petal bent but extra and uneven folds in the stems showed struggle, maybe uncertainty. 

If only there was a way he could preserve it.

Bartosch looked up at him through his lashes. “You like it?” 

Henry turned it over once more before placing it on his head. “More than I have words for.” 

Without hesitation he slid in behind Bartosch, carefully moving him to sit between his thighs; the action earned him a smile. Henry wanted him closer, and Bartosch seemed to agree, leaning back to let their bodies melt together. 

“You're cold.” Henry found the blanket again and wrapped it around the both of them. “Bring your legs up, too.” 

Bartosch did as told, shifting around until they were both comfortable. His hands reached for one of the plates of food, snatching a pretzel off of it. 

“Here.” He tore it in half, bringing a piece over his shoulder so Henry could bite it.

He gladly let Bartosch feed him, and pour him cups of wine. They just held each other until the wine had the room swaying and Bartosch in a happy daze in his arms. Maybe this was the closest to heaven he's ever been, Henry thought, his fingers languidly caressing Bartosch’s hand that still held the wine cup. To be safe, warm and cared for. 

“Thank you, Bartosch,” he whispered in his ear. 

Bartosch just hummed but his eyes found Henry's then trailed down locking on his lips. There they lingered. A part of Henry, long dormant scratched at his mind. It encouraged him to lean into this, to kiss him. To touch him. But something deeper raked away those thoughts. Reminding him of the darkness in his nightmares; they took a part of him, violated it. Leaving him to be nothing more than a wounded creature, unable to move forward but too afraid to retreat. So he froze, just waiting for something to happen. 

Bartosch blinked, his eyes widened; the comfortably drunken haze chased away by concern. “Henry? It's alright… I'm sorry.”

He tried to move away but Henry held onto him. 

“Don't leave! I feel better when you're near. Safer.” He rested his head on Bartosch's back. “I'm not upset, you just caught me off guard that's all.”

It was a poor explanation, and Bartosch was too clever to not notice. After he snapped at him about the scar- it was only a matter of time before Bartosch put it together if he hadn't already. 

Just don't ask. 

Just give me time. I can fix myself.

“I won't leave, and you'll always be safe with me,” Bartosch said softly. “No one is ever going to hurt you again.” 

Bartosch stayed still until the tight rigidness in Henry’s body calmed. Then he slowly leaned forward grabbing the parchment that had been sitting with the flower crown and handed it to him, half turning to watch his reaction. 

 “I had hoped to make you something unique, but it would appear I'm not quite there yet. This is a poem me and Hans made about the three of us- actually it's how I realized you were alive. Hal.” 

His old name on Bartosch’s lips snapped Henry out of the daze. Though Bartosch didn’t sound like anyone from back then, it reminded Henry of home. He just wanted to go home. Only home was gone, and the only thing that came to mind was Hans. And now, Bartosch too.   

He gently took the paper, turning it in his hands, before he began to read. It was a long and very complicated poem. Almost like a puzzle, but you had to break each piece apart and put it together to get the full meaning. At the bottom was signed two names he didn't recognize and his familiar name. 

“I guess I should have written down one of the more light-hearted ones… I just wanted you to know how much we thought about you. How much you mean to us.” Softly, “We'll stay together right?” 

“It's perfect– complicated but it represents us well.” Looking back at Bartosch. He could barely recognize his voice, too close to a broken whisper. “And of course I'm staying, have I not asked you enough times, too?” 

Henry folded the poem, opening his bag to safely put it away, only to be greeted by two more slips of parchment. The longsword sketch and another poem in Latin, written by Hans. These were the only things Musa saved from being looted by Sigismund’s men, along with a ring. A golden wedding band, simple, but with the name of his mother engraved inside. Martin’s lost ring.It sat in a bag on his hip for days like stolen contraband, not quite feeling like his regardless of whose name it carried..   

He rubbed his thumb over the smooth metal and smiled then he took the pages and handed them over. “Here, I meant to return them to you earlier.”

Bartosch mirrored Henry’s smile as he unfolded the pages, looking at them with the utmost fondness. He opened his mouth but Henry cut in before he could talk. “Why do you think I'd leave?” He already had a feeling where that was coming from.

Bartosch sighed and grimaced. “Umm… well Hans…” 

Henry rolled his eyes before he could stop himself. 

Bartosch hummed in fond annoyance and spilled the rest.  “He said your father gave you permission to leave- return to his side.” 

“So…? I'm still here with you, aren't I?” And while Radzig’s offer meant something, he couldn’t fill the spot of those two. “I’m not leaving, Bartosch.”

Bartosch nodded, relaxing instantly at Henry’s words. “Sorry, we just don't want to lose you again.” 

Henry found the ring again and once again rubbed his thumb over the smooth surface. Perhaps it was too soon but, in some way, the ring already belonged to Bartosch.  This was the price for his life, so they could have these brief moments of happiness, so Henry could feel- know what it’s like to be loved. 

Henry loosely curled his fist by his side, the ring safely tucked into his palm. 

“Things between us may never return to how they were,” he began softly. “I just can't, not now, but maybe in time if you’ll wait.” 

He hoped Bartosch would understand what he really meant.

Bartosch smiled. “Henry, if our days look similar to this then I'll be very happy.” 

As always, Bartosch removed all the pressure and made things safe again. As if he knew what Henry needed:  Just to be safe and cared for; everything else could be sorted out later.

Henry took Bartosch's hand. “Then, I want you to hold onto this for me,” he slipped the ring onto his finger. “So long as you are wearing it, there's no need for you to worry about me leaving.”

Bartosch froze, mouth open. “I shouldn't-” He blinked rapidly. “It's yours,” he said wetly. “I'm significantly more attracted to the person wearing it.” Gently wrapping his arms back around Bartosch. “Him saving you… you're the most precious thing he left behind for me and there wouldn't be a me without you, nor Hans for that matter. 

The tears finally fell. “I don't deserve this, Henry. I don't deserve you.” 

“Hush your noble soul.” Henry caressed his cheek, then took the ringed hand and placed it on his heart. “It is mine but I decide who deserves it, and I've chosen you.” 

“You'll never know how much I love you, but I'll spend every day trying to show you.” Bartosch's arms went around his neck, snuggling up against him. 

Henry leaned back, placing a hand on the small of Bartosch's back, guiding him to lay down onto the bed next to  him. 

“I don't need anything extravagant, just accept me for who I am, for what I can give, and I'll always love you.”

Chapter Text

“You need him…” - Bartosch

“Henry…” A whisper lured him awake, a faint touch to his cheek. “Wake up, you.”

Henry peeked up to catch a glimpse of Bartosch sitting beside him. The bed was warm and soft, safe in a way he hadn’t felt since the night before Nebakov. Henry smiled as he let sleep pull him back under. Another nudge to his shoulder, this time Henry grabbed the hand pulling its owner into his arms. 

Bartosch hissed in pain. 

With that, Henry woke instantly. “I’m sorry, I forgot.”

“It’s fine.” Bartosch grumbled. “The dog is back, and you’re in the way.”

Henry leaned back, extending an arm. “Mutt.”

Padded feet approached and a soggy scroll was placed in his hand. He relayed it to Bartosch, who carefully pinched it from the edges and unrolled the letter, holding it so they both could read. 

It was a complete mess, not a single word was the same size as the one before or after. On top of that, not a single line was straight. Like a child just learning to write.  

To the arsehole who has forgotten about me,

I’m not the Lord of Waiting on peasants, and I know for a fact you’re not with him all day. You haven’t even checked on me once, what if I needed you? Did you forget who you're sworn to protect?! Should I remind you what YOU said at Maleshov? At Trosky? 

Fine, maybe I’m just your Lord to you now, but you could at least tell me you're alive. I don’t need Radzig on my arse- better yet just go back to him.

No longer your Lord,

Hans

Henry rolled his eyes, ignoring the stinging in his chest. 

“Oh, look at that. The noble Lord doesn’t get what he wants and ditches me again, color me shocked. He’s clearly drunk so just ignore it.”

Henry managed to make it sound unaffected - barely. His heart hammered against his breastbone at the thought of facing Hans.  There was just too much going on, he needed more time. He couldn’t deal with another bratty fit.      

“You two are…” Bartosch sighed. “ You already know he’s afraid you're going to leave him, so of course he’s going to lash out and try to beat you to it. And he’s right, you are avoiding him.” 

Henry turned away from Bartosch, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to sit. Mutt immediately pressed his snout against his hands for pets. This wasn't something he wanted to talk about, not now, especially not with Bartosch. They should be resting, enjoying each other's company for as long as they could. Hans would get what he wanted eventually- he always did, at least from Henry, he did.   

“And now that he has hurt your feelings you’re going to shut down.” Bartosch’s arms carefully wrapped around him from behind. “Henry, are you still mad at him?”

Henry said nothing. 

“I understand if you are,” Bartosch added.

“Not really.” It was the first time Henry really admitted it to himself. “It’s just odd… I feel like I should be pissed at him but I’m not, but it doesn’t feel right to return to how things were… especially after…” He swallowed the rest of his words. 

Hans simply saw too much, knew too much. He would try to talk about it if Henry went back. 

Bartosch’s hands slide to the top of Henry’s shoulders, getting him to look back. “After what? Did you two fight?” 

“A bit.”

“Love? Whatever happened, whatever it is- we’ll make it right.”

He said it too softly, with too much concern for Henry to stay silent. “The sleepwalking… it’s gotten worse. So, when Hans told me about the two of you, I-“ Henry hesitated, “collapsed.”

Bartosch blurted out: “You what?” 

“Too tired I think.” Henry rubbed his hands over his face, buying time to look for the right words to control what he gave away. “I was just tired.  It was a very long night. Day. Night again.” 

As he spoke it all came back; the blood, all the bodies, that God awful smell. That apparition; it looked just like him. And Hans. He left him there all by himself, surrounded by bandits and murderers. What if- Arms wrapped around his waist; when he looked down, all he saw were his own hands trembling.

Bartosch gently covered them with his own. In that moment, every secret could have been his, if he pushed just a bit more. 

“It’s alright. You’re not there anymore, you’re here with me.” 

He didn’t push, and a small part of Henry wished he did. 

“The sleepwalking. You haven’t done that the last two nights you’ve slept here.” 

“It hasn’t happened since I saved Hans… or maybe since I’ve seen you. I didn’t sleep in between.” His fingers went over the ring on Bartosch’s finger. The smooth gold instantly warmed to his touch. This was alright, he was safe here.

“And the nightmares?” Bartosch gently pressed. 

Henry interwhined their fingers. “Not when I’m beside you, so far.” 

“Good. Now, if only I could sleep beside you every night of your life. We need to put this to the test, to better understand what causes it and what helps.”

Henry groaned and glared back at Bartosch.

“Is this some long ploy to get me to talk to Hans?” 

“Never.” Bartosch’s face broke into a grin. “But I am serious about finding out what’s causing this. How to help, and if Hans has the same effect as me.”       

It was a convenient excuse to go and see Hans. If Henry was being honest with himself; he really missed him. That fiery spirit of his that just melted through all of Henry’s defences.

“Fine.” Henry quickly added: “But only because you asked.” 

Bartosch hugged him a little tighter. “Good. I know how much he means to you, and if you allow me, I’d see things are made right between the two of you.”

Henry moved to stand but Bartosch grabbed his arm. “I promise we’ll figure out these sleep problems… perhaps Musa-”

“Bartosch. There’s no fixing me.” He sighed. “This is me.”

Bartosch stared up at him from where he sat, lopsided because he was heavily favoring his wounded side. His beautiful eyes seemed to look into Henry’s soul and the sadness in his smile made Henry afraid of what he saw there. But as before, Bartosch didn’t press.

“Alright, then we’ll take the necessary precautions to keep you safe,” he said and pressed a kiss to Henry’s hand. “I just want to protect you. You watch over me, I watch over you-”

“And we both watch over Hans?” Henry finished. 

Bartosch’s smile grew a little deprecating, they both knew Hans, after all. 

The thought reminded him of something. “Before I go, what happened to your gambeson?” 

Bartosch’s eyes slightly widened. With a nervous laugh, “Katherine ah… it got confiscated- not her fault” 

Katherine, of course. She knew very well how much he hated the color red since Trosky. He wasn’t sure what she thought to achieve by tossing out the item he had brought here himself, but it would serve no purpose to call out the obvious lie, and could start an argument he wasn’t in the mood for. The item was easy enough to replace. For now Henry started unbuttoning his long pourpoint. He could feel Bartosch’s eyes on him immediately, when he looked, those eyes went elsewhere. But the pink hue remained in Bartosch's cheeks. 

He slid the pourpoint off, and tossed it around Bartosch’s shoulders. “Don’t lose this one or I’ll be very upset. Keep Mutt here tonight, and I’ll ask Katherine to come help you stand again.” 

Bartosch wrinkles his nose. “I can’t wait… Are you really going to walk about half dressed?” 

“Jealous?” Henry teased him.

“Perhaps.” 

Henry rolled his eyes. “I have my armour, and the yellow gambeson. I’ll be fine.” 

“You’re going back in full armour? Is it that far?” Bartosch went all pinched-browed again. 

“Not really, bit farther than Suchdol but there are ambushes at every cross road and overgrown path. So, best to assume I’ll be attacked, but don’t worry, it’s only ever been an inconvenience."  

“Well, I pity the fool who tries.” Bartosch smiled confidently. “I’ll send a letter to you in the morning?”

Henry nodded. “I’ll be back.” 

Not surprising, the Devil’s Den was still lively well into the night. Even Godwin was still attempting to drink, while half asleep on a table. A few others Henry didn't recognize laid about; most thoroughly boozed out. But he could still hear plenty of shouting coming from inside. 

He dismounted Wraith and led him to the spot beside Hans’s stallion,removed his saddle, throwing it up on his shoulder and headed inside. 

“HENRY!” Dry Devil shouted. Slamming a freshly filled mug on the table, spilling some of its contents. “Here for the princess!” Barking laughter filled the room.

Henry rolled his eyes at the vile man. Hynek, the only reason he went to Suchdol to seek asylum for Bartosch. And Peter of Pisek appeared to be an honest and trustworthy person. Just like Trosky, he needed forge work done. The whole land holding supplies for war made Henry’s skills more valuable, something he could use for Bartosch’s and Hans' benefit.     

He made his way across the room, taking careful steps through the mess, beer and other unknown liquids sticking to the floor. This building always smelled sour from either vomit or piss, perhaps both. Henry ascended the steps, his armour clashing and clanking. It didn’t disturbed the men playing dice on the second floor, more quiet than the bottom. 

If Hans wasn’t drinking or playing then he had to be asleep. 

The danger on the ride over and a short fight with bandits had distracted him from his nerves, but now that he was in front of the door to their shared room, they were back in full force.  He had let too much of himself out the last time, and had failed to guard his secret. The idea of Hans coming face to face with his spectres had been terrifying, but his reaction had been the opposite of what Henry expected. . No judgement, no mockery. Hans had cared. And that was almost worse. The hope that Hans cared about him that deeply drove him forward. The thought that Hans could deny him…  

No running, he reminded himself and pushed against their door. It didn't budge, the lock rattled. 

He's done with you. whispered a voice from the darkest recesses of his mind.  

Henry pulled the room key from his collection, ignoring his shaking fingers as he turned the lock as quietly as he could before peeking into the room. Hans laid on his bed, on his stomach, one arm dangling to the floor, still touching an empty bottle of spirits Henry recognized from his stash.   

With a heavy sigh Henry’s nerves settled, tired irritation bubbled up instead. “Rushed all the way here for him to be out cold,” he grumbled to himself.

But it didn't last. 

The soft candle light danced on Hans’ face, highlighting his high cheekbones and noble nose. His full lips were gently parted, and even if he drooled a little, it was no wonder he was so popular with the wenches, and the men too. Henry couldn’t help but to smile as he grabbed the Lord’s blanket from the floor and laid it across Hans’ back. Hopefully whatever drunken rage he felt when he sent that letter would be slept off, then they could talk in the morning.  

Henry stopped at the table to clean the mess Hans had left on it. 

Ink spilled across its surface onto some scattered parchments. Two books were stacked on top of each other, precariously close to the stains,  another laid face down. Splashes of ink stained its plain leather binding. Henry turned it over, and it was opened to the first page. There was a poem in a familiar handwriting. 

“The knight got into bed with his squire..” 

A few weeks ago, he would never expect to read something like this from Hans, the famous skirt chaser. But now, with Bartosch, he couldn’t help but wonder if Hans always had different interests and hid them or if he enjoyed both people equally. 

“With his squire…” 

It felt oddly personal to Henry, yet wrong at the same time. Hans never called him a squire- well, once, at the Rattay tourney but that was to cover his own arse. There were a lot of other titles Hans used for him: Page, escort, bodyguard, peasant, minion… So many but squire wasn’t among them. He also never showed the slightest interest in Henry. He had ample time to try something before this whole mess. Enough time to look at the old Henry like he was someone worth pursuing. He pursued Bartosch instead.

Unless, a dangerous thought; Hans only started to like men recently.  

Henry closed the book and that thought. They would need to discuss keeping these types of things more private. If someone else had found that book, there’s no telling what would happen. He frowned, looking back to Hans still in a deep messy sleep, but somehow still completely alluring with his soft golden hair, bright blue eyes and sharp witted tongue. How could he not long for him, even in his broken form, even with the strange entanglement with Bartosch. No, Henry knew exactly what would happen. He’d lay waste to every man, burning their castles to the ground, lose every part of himself before he’d let Hans stand on another scaffolding.   

“Now you’re starting to understand,” Toth whispered. 

Was that what Toth was doing in his own twisted, disgusting way? 

He was too exhausted for these thoughts, and it didn’t matter, Erik would come for him. When that day came, he’d be ready. 

Henry moved to his side of the room, removing his belt and sword as he went, placing it against the wall. He undid his long coat just enough to awkwardly unstrap and yank his chest plate off, leaning it next to the sword. Then he reached down to unbuckle the blackened cuisses, unbuckling two of the six straps before calling quits. At least he wouldn't have to dress tomorrow and if he had another nighttime walk, he’d be ready for trouble. He sat at the end of his bed, leaning against the wall, watching stars as he drifted to sleep.

Hans’ skull hammered like  a drum, his throat felt like he gargled glass, he peeled his eyes open and saw the floor. He was hanging half way off the bed but still somehow wrapped in his blanket. As his head started to settle the first thing that struck him as odd were rusty brown foot prints right beside his bed. For all the stains he accounted for these were certainly new. 

He slowly turned his head to follow the trail of blood and landed on  Henry’s bed. The great iron man sat slumped over against the wall, blood splatters painted his gear. 

“Henry?” His voice cracked. 

Fear doused his excitement.

He jumped out of bed, awkwardly stumbling into the table, before rushing to Henry’s side. 

“Henry!” Hans crawled onto the bed, eyes roaming over Henry’s haphazardly removed armor, looking for fresh blood. 

He shook his shoulder, but got only a grumble in response. With a curse, he pulled away Henry's overcoat, already half unbuttoned. There were no signs of fresh bleeding through the chainmail. And no way for him to remove it. So, Hans moved to unstrap his cuisses, running his fingers along the backside of Henry’s leg. Even with the quilted trousers between them he could still feel and appreciate the firm muscles. Thoughts to keep for later. Hans quickly removed the first strap, and continued downwards. With a loud clank the metal fell to the floor and Henry startled awake.

His blue eyes lazily watched Hans, not quite awake. Without hesitation Hans switched to the other leg. His fingers wrapped around Henry’s inner thigh, feeling for the first strap. 

“Hans!” Henry stiffened He pulled his leg up and out of Hans grip

Hans leaped off the bed. “It's not like that. I.. I was just removing the armor.” He directed Henry to the pile of gear on the floor. 

“The blood.. I thought you were injured.” When Henry didn’t answer, Hans looked away and cleared his throat, “Are you hurt?” 

Henry studied him carefully, finally chuckling as he removed the rest of the leg gear. 

“I'm alright, Thank you.” 

He let the metal plate fall to the floor. 

“Good,” Hans said, followed by an awkward pause, when he ran out of words to say that wouldn’t embarrass him. 

 “So…,” he finally went on, while Henry sorted the rest of his gear. “Are you going to explain why you've tracked blood all over the floor? And why does it pool at my bedside?” 

Henry looked past him to the bed. “Uhhh” 

“Ummm .. what? And who's blood is that anyways?” Hans leaned against the table. 

The sunlight just crested the horizon, flooding their room in golden light. Henry’s eyes lingered on him, appearing completely mesmerised and lost in thought. It wasn’t long before they noticeably traveled downwards. Hans suddenly became very aware of his half dressed state and crossed his arms.

“What are you looking at?” His voice was too high pitched to be dignified. 

With a nervous laugh, Henry rubbed his head. “Sorry. I haven't slept much these past days.” He paused as if he was trying to remember the question. “The blood was from some ballsy cutthroats I met on the way here last night. For the blood near your bed. You had thrown your covers to the ground. Wouldn't want to get ill and puke on them.” 

Of course, Henry had to play the mother hen. 

Hans watched as Henry unfastened the  rest of his armor, then stood to pull the long bloodied chainmail over his head. And tossed it down. Henry rose with a muffled groan, rolling his shoulders in the movement. 

Hans hadn’t moved from his spot, tentatively watching Henry untie his gambeson and peel off the bloodied yellow fabric exposing fresh bruising across mostly his right ribs. There were more scars, more bruising. It covered most of Henry’s body, all in various stages of healing. He looked less tired than the last time but nowhere near as rested as Hans would like. It couldn’t be helped, he'd just have to order Henry to remain here and rest.

“What you wrote in the letter, did you mean it?” Henry’s grave tone interrupted his musings. 

“What letter?” he responded without thought, shaking himself back to the present.

There was a long sigh from Henry. He slumped back onto the bed with frown lines etched onto his face.

Hans couldn’t remember much from the night before, just that he drank and drank until he felt numb. But whatever he did disturbed Henry enough for him to actually appear. He grabbed Henry’s belt from the floor, searching for the letter. He found it in the pouch.. 

The pit in his stomach grew as he read the spiteful words.

“I- I didn’t mean this, Henry.” Hans closed the space between them, wanting to touch him, reassure him. But instead he searched for forgiveness in his friend’s features.

Henry remained quiet for too long. The pained expression deepened as if he was remembering every hateful word over and over again. It was like watching water come to a boil, and as the temperature rose Hans froze.  

The silence broke with a harsh bitter whisper, “And yet you still sent it.” He snapped: “You’re so careless with your words. Did it even cross your mind how- you know what it doesn’t matter. It never did!” 

“It matters! Just tell me,” Hans ordered.

Henry’s never been the one to cause or encourage a fight when it came to them. He always made it a point to try to be reasonable, talk it out. Now Henry looked ready to tear Hans apart. 

“You and him harass me with your paranoia about me leaving and yet you’re the first one to turn your back on me. Does your word mean so little, or is it because I’m me and not Bartosch?” 

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Hans snapped back. “I already said I didn’t mean it…”

He forced himself to take a breath. It was just a stupid misunderstanding that could be easily cleared up. 

The calm didn’t come easy to him, but he forced his voice to sound even as he spoke. “Look I know I behaved terribly… again, but I’m trying.”

There was something there like disbelief, or perhaps betrayal in Henry’s expression. But why? He was making things right, being reasonable for once. Why was Henry going so hard on something so minor, in the grand scheme of fuck ups.  

Henry huffed. “That’s hardly an apology, maybe I should take Radzig’s offer. Then you two can stop forcing space for me just to dampen your guilty concussion.”

The words cut Hans to his core. “That’s a horrible thing to say…,” he tried, but his voice gave out. The thought that Henry might be looking for a reason stole all the air from his lungs, until there was nothing left but pain. And the pain turned into burning rage.

“Fine! Leave!” He snapped back, and instantly hated himself for it.

Henry’s lip curled, his eyes narrowed with bitter rage. “As you command, my Lord.”

No!  

This wasn’t right. They weren’t meant to be fighting. He was meant to help Henry, it was his turn to do the saving. Now, Henry shoved his feet into his shoes, not wasting time to grab a tunic as he stormed towards the door. 

And Hans just watched him go. While his heart pounded, his feet were frozen and the taste of blood filled his mouth. The pain finally jerked him from his stupor, without another thought he raced after Henry. 

Sunlight peeked through the cracked door before his arm shot past Henry and slammed it shut, pinning Henry against it. 

“I didn’t mean it,” Hans whispered. 

Tears burned his eyes but for once Hans didn’t care, it wouldn't be the first time Henry saw him fall apart. There was no one more important or worthy of his emotional state than Henry.  

The wooden door creaked beneath his palms as Henry turned to face him. He looked too frightened. Too vulnerable. All Hans wanted was to help and remove this pain.  

Yet, even at this moment Henry still showed him tenderness.   

“You’re bleeding” he said, his finger brushing Hans’ lip.

Hans leaned into the touch like a flower turning towards the sun. He needed this, he ached for it. He had been miserably alone, going from being wrapped around Bartosch every night to having only the Dry Devil’s disdain for constant company. 

And here Henry was: brave, handsome, wounded. Hans couldn’t have resisted his warmth if his life depended on it. He had to lean closer, place his hand over Henry’s. 

Those sad blue eyes darted to the touch. If Henry had moved, Hans would’ve let him go. But he didn’t. And the longer Hans held him there, the more he relaxed into the touch. 

Henry had seen the worst parts of him and still chose to stay, still looked at him with such care. He was the reason Hans’s heart fluttered against his breast bone, fragile and hopeful like a butterfly’s wings. 

A softness whittled away at the fear on Henry’s face.  

Hans could never find the right words like Bartosch but this- this felt right. And so tender one wrong move could shatter it. 

Henry blushed under Hans’ gaze, looking away then down to the ground. 

This wasn't going to do. Hans wanted those eyes on him. Letting go of the hand on his cheek, Hans gently tilted Henry’s chin back up and was met with a pair of wide, stunned eyes.  Henry’s gaze trailed down to the fresh cut on Hans’ lip. Then flicked back up when Hans’ thumb softly traced the corner of Henry’s mouth  

“Hans-”

Before Henry could speak of rejection, Hans frantically pressed their lips together. 

Henry stiffened. His lips stayed firmly shut but he didn’t pull away. Hans pulled back just enough to take in his expression; concerned and bewildered. But no anger, no more hurt. 

A smile formed on Hans’ lips as he gently kissed him again, waiting for Henry to do the same.

The hand on Hans’ cheek fell to his shoulder, fingers pressing into the skin there but they didn't push him away. Warmth washed over him. His hands went to Henry's cheeks, angling his head so he could deepen the kiss. 

With the taste of his own blood on his tongue, he licked for Henry to open his mouth. Henry’s lips parted ever so slightly, faintly moaning as Hans entered the space. Immediately Hans could taste the wine on his tongue. 

The hand on his shoulder almost encouraged him to move closer and as he pressed Henry against the door something finally gave. Henry’s tongue met his slowly falling into the rhythm he set.  

Heat enveloped his thoughts and melted into his core. Hans followed him, bringing his body flush against Henry’s. One hand dropped Henry’s chest and the other went to the nape of Henry’s neck. Henry tensed, but before Hans could pull away, he relaxed again.  So, Hans continued, meticulously taking in every dip and ridge of Henry's chest, running his fingertips through the soft hairs. 

Fingers brushed against Hans’ side, tentatively trailing up and around to the small of his back, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Finally, after everything, after all the fire and death, after losing Henry, and his miraculous survival, he finally got to have this. Both of his hands dropped to Henry’s hips, pinning them in place to roll his hips against him.  

Henry froze.

So did Hans.

That wasn’t right. Hans moved back, still holding the kiss, but giving Henry room,  hoping that would be enough to make Henry comfortable again.  

Two solid knocks shook the door from the other side. Hans jerked away, coming vis-a-vis with Henry's deathly pale, wide-eyed face.

Chapter Text

“... even if it’s not always easy going…” - Henry

“Is Henry in there?” Zizka’s commanding voice broke Henry’s trance. 

A wall dropped over all the fear and sadness, Henry shifted back to the stoic warrior. The door opened to the Captain. 

“I'm here.” He said calmly. 

“Glad to hear it. There’s a meeting we’ve been waiting for you to have- I’m not interrupting anything am I?” Zizka grumbled. 

“Not at all.” His voice rang clear. “I was just getting up and will be down shortly.”   

Hans grabbed the golden pourpoint from the end of his bed. While buttoning up to the collar, steps past behind him. The captain had left but the door had remained open. All the noise from outside flooded in but couldn’t pierce the deathly silence between them. The kiss felt good but he went too far, way too fast. And it left them reeling, unsure what to say or do now. Hans wanted to close that door, and beg for forgiveness. But he stepped outside, giving Henry some space instead. 

There was a chill to the air, clouds moved in to claim the sky. Even the wind was starting to pick up. It had to be a bad omen. 

As if on cue, a coat draped over his shoulders from steps too silent to be heard. It could only be from one but still he glanced over. Henry walked down the corridor dressed in black, his hair slicked back visibly wet. 

“Henry?”

He peeked back. “We can’t have his lordship getting ill.” 

Henry opened the door at the end of the hall. Then turned on his heel, to lean against the wall. Those eyes kept to themselves as he waited for Hans. 

The coat went to his calves and not surprisingly, pitch black. But he couldn’t complain. As he pulled the garment on it fit him perfectly. Even the length of it was suspiciously correct. Hans inspected it farther, nice wool, lined, perhaps missing some embroidery but suitable for a proper nobleman. 

Taking one deep breath, Hans placed his emotions in a small box and buried them. He quickly made his way towards the door, through the second room and down the stairs, while being shadowed by Henry. 

Zizka had cleaned out the bottom floor of all the guests, even the Innkeeper and wenches were missing. The captain stood by the center table, chairs already filled by other members of the pack. Most Hans only knew by name besides Samuel. Henry stood at his side, placing himself between Hans and the front door like a good guard. 

“Right, gentlemen.” Zizka stood at the head of the table, commanding the room’s attention. “After Raborsch, and the sacking of the Jewish Quarters. We need to discuss what to do next.”

Samuel spoke first. “I want to know now how you all intend to avenge my people.”

“Well, what do you have in mind?” The Devil practically spat on Samuel. 

To Hans' surprise, Henry tensed up, as if he already decided whose side he was on if it came to blows. 

“Sigismund has the League of Lords and a whole fucking army. And what do you have? Fuck all!” Hynek shouted at them. “Jobst will bring his army soon-”

“It might take weeks for them to arrive.” Hynek glared back at him but he continued. “Von Bergow will have found and caught us by then. We have to get rid of von Bergow. It’s because of him that we’re in the situation we’re in, after all.” 

The Devil’s eyes stayed on him, an unspoken command for him to back off. One that had Hans wanting to peek over to Henry. But he didn’t want to appear weak, so he kept staring back.   

“Sir Hans is right.” Henry backed him. 

With that, Hynek’s gaze darted to Henry. And he couldn’t help but to look up. Henry was unbothered by the Devil’s intimidation, if anything he matched the man’s hateful looks. And Sam, who stood a little way from Henry, just laid his hand on the hit of his sword. As if it was a natural resting spot but the tension in the man’s fingers gave away his intention. These two already moved as one; Henry straightforward, and Samuel silently waiting for an exposed back.    

Janosh abruptly ended the standoff. “Why kill him? You know what ransom we can get for that bastard?”

“Are you all fucking daft?” Hynek glanced at Godwin standing off to his side. 

Hans didn’t know what to make of it; a threat or was he making a decision. Whatever it was, the Devil continued. “Von Bergow is holed up in Maleshov! So unless any of you can fly, we can’t get to him.”

“That’s true. To take a castle like that we’d need a dozen men, ladders…” Kuybenka droned on. “And maybe a trebuchet or cannon.” 

“There’s no maybe about it - we’d certainly need a cannon!” The Devil snapped. 

“So we steal the one von Bergow use at Nebakov.” Janosh countered. 

Through clenched teeth Hynek mocked. “Why don’t we just steal all the silver from the Italian Court and buy our own, eh? Use your head before you open your-” 

“Hang on…” Zizka cut him off. “Maybe Janosh’s idea isn’t all that bad. Katherine is already spying on Sigismund’s military camp. She told me von Bergow has his cannon stashed away there but it seems things are getting a bit out of hand there. So the Prague regiment he’s in charge of is going to move it to Sedletz. And it might not be that well-guarded along the way.”

“So we’ll steal it, right?” Henry scanned the room. “We’ll wait till they go through some ravine and we’ll shoot at them from the rocks. The way you did to us before Nebakov.”

The Captain smiled, looking far too proud of himself. “I’ve seen you’ve learned something from me. But it’s not that simple. What we need is for one of us to get amongst the Praguers, so he can keep an eye open and tell us when they’re moving out.”

“And if we succeed, what then? There’s five and a half of us. Even with a cannon, that’s not enough to take Maleshov.” Hynek protested again. 

It was getting odd that he was so determined to shoot down any and all ideas. 

Henry bit back, “So we do nothing?”

“That’s enough! Von Bergow has to die. Painfully, and above all as soon as possible…” Samuel tossed a coin purse onto the table. “And if there are not enough of you, this might help.”

“Thank you, Sam.” Henry spoke softly. 

Instantly Hans felt agitated. He couldn’t stay the soft, concerned expression Henry gave the other man. They hardly knew each other, so why did they seem so familiar? 

Something nudged his side, breaking him away from the pair to be greeted with Brabant’s crooked smile.

“If you will permit, messieurs.” Brabant addressed the room but glanced at Hans. “I knew a few mercenaries in these parts. They may not be the La Cavalerie Royale, but for such a purse they will gladly tear Maleshov down stone by stone.” 

“A company of mercenaries, a surprise attack and a cannon in reserve. We could do something with that, couldn’t we?” Zizka spoke to himself.

Hans went back to watching Henry from the corner of his eye. The page took a few steps away opening the front door, padded feet and a wagging tail entered. Mutt dropped a letter in Henry’s hand, and he immediately handed it over to Hans. 

Before Hans could open the letter, Zizka continued. “We’ll find a good spot for an ambush and send someone into the camp to spy on them.”

The Captain’s eyes landed on Henry. Of course, he wanted to scream. Who else would they send into danger, not that he could argue. Henry had already infiltrated the camp more than once. But he wanted him here, and for fuck sake’s was Henry not his. Who are they to send him off?

“Alright.” Henry spoke up.

Zizka didn’t even have to ask. Henry wanted to leave him-

“But… I have some unfinished work I need to complete first so I’ll go to the camp first thing after tomorrow.” He informed them. 

With some reluctance, Zizka nodded. “That’s settled then: In the meantime, Adder here can go to Maleshov and find out how von Bergow and his people are stationed there. But look, don’t touch.”

Adder grumbled something harsh that had Janosh grinning ear to ear. But the rest of the group ignored them. His hands went back to unrolling the parchment as Zizka went on again.  

“A lot of soldiers need a lot to eat. We’ll have to stock up.” He scanned the room for another volunteer.

This time Hans gladly did. “I’ll go hunting. This tavern’s a bit crammed for my liking as it is.” 

A low groan came from the side Henry was on but he was done with distractions; now focusing solely on the page in front of him.

Alula and Hal,

Goodmorning Loves, I do hope you two are getting along. And Alula you better have apologized by night for what you did last night. I’ve already told you to stay away from the booze and look at the trouble it’s caused. Hurt feelings, and most likely another fight. If I find out you haven’t made this right by now you best hope I stay in this bed. 

Besides that, I’ve missed you dearly. Perhaps you should send me some poetry or better yet make some together with Hal then send it to me. I’d love to see what the two of you will do together. 

And Hal, please answer what we discussed last night.

Be kind to each other, Amissus  

“Well… What the fuck are you all sitting here for?” Hynek’s rough voice ended the meeting. “Didn’t you hear? The fun’s about to start!”

“Hey, Henry.” Hans called. 

The man was already walking off towards Samuel, acting as if he didn’t hear anything. A coat and agreeing with him wasn’t exactly ‘I forgive you’ but Hans had hoped it was. 

Hans stood, walking over to the pair. “Henry. It’s for you, and we need to talk.” 

“Thanks…” He stumbled over the words, “I promise Sam I’d help him. Can we talk later?” 

Samuel cocked a brow at Henry. 

With a sigh, “If this noble gentleman doesn’t mind. Henry had promised we’d talk about our father, Martin.” 

Perhaps it wasn’t a lie but he knew Henry better. This was just his reason to avoid talking about it. And to Samuel’s credit, he picked the right thing to get him to back off. 

“Of course, afterwards but make sure you write back to him.” Hans forced the paper into his hands, and retreated back upstairs to mend his wounded heart.  

He spent the entire day and evening with Sam, answering all of his questions about Martin. To his surprise he came to realize how little he actually knew about his stepfather’s past. But that didn’t dim Sam’s spirit, they turned into a game; for each question Henry couldn’t answer they drank. 

If it wasn't for the lingering taste of Hans on his lips, and the phantom touch on his body; he could almost forget the storm awaiting upstairs. Or the panicked letter he sent to Bartosch telling him what happened and then instantly regretted involving him.  

Sam placed his cup down. “So? Are you finally going to tell me what happened with his highness?”

“Must we?” Henry dropped his forehead to the rim of his mug and closed his eyes, hoping against any hope that Sam would let it go. 

“I’m the only person you can talk to about it… so, let your bruder give you some advice,” Sam grinned the honest concern in his voice away, turning the ring on his small finger. 

Henry slumped down in his seat. On one hand Sam was right; he was the only person that truly understood and wasn’t a part of this mess. On the other; Henry really didn’t want to tell him at least half of what was going on.

Sam leaned in and whispered with a gleam in his eyes: “Is it about the third?” He grinned. “At last tell me his name, or something.”

Henry sighed, resigning himself to his fate. With secrets, Sam was like a bloodhound.

“His name is Bartosch, he’s ah… knight… lower nobility…” That was about as much as Henry dared to give away, without risking Sam knowing Bartosch's whole family history tomorrow. 

Luckily, it seemed enough.

“Ha- two nobles? Impressive. I got my hands full with one. Two will be… near impossible-”

“Not helpful…” Henry groaned “It’s so complicated Sam.”

“I wasn’t done. Are you certain you need both? There’s not one you lean towards… I’d pick the one more easy-going.” 

“You don’t understand. It’s not me that has two sweethearts, it’s Bartosch. And a whole host of messy feelings between me and Hans.” The words kept pouring out, “I never thought I could have anything with him and now- now I don’t know if I can for a different reason… There are moments I think maybe I should remove myself, that they, being nobles and being normal, would be happier for it-”

Henry froze. Listening to the words he spilled. Too late to reel them back in..   

Sam regarded him with his shrewd eyes. “Answer me this. Can you be happy with your Lord? Without your Knight?” He continued before Henry could. “No. You can’t. I’ve seen it and everyone else sees it too. They may not know why, but you’re more at peace in the middle of this so-called mess than when I first met you in Kuttenberg.” 

Peace wasn’t the word Henry would use to describe himself, less angry, just confused and worried. Maybe a little less broken. 

“Henry. Stop running. Your fragile hearted prince and absentee knight obviously want you. “ He laughed softly. “I only feel bad for the dog.” 

“Pfft… Mutt prefers playing messenger over being swung at by bandits trust me. On top of that he usually chases me on horseback, so this is nothing for him.”  

“Sounds like a lot of justifications to me.” Sam put both hands up. “But. I’ll take your word for it. Now stop buying time and go upstairs. Fix whatever is going on… you’re not going to war Henry - You’re in love.”

Sam wore a self-satisfied smirk, taking his cup off the table and finishing it off. Faint barking could be heard in the distance, fast approaching. With a silent prayer he stood, hoping that Bartosch sent some calming words or wisdom for his plight.

“War is somehow more straightforward…” He grumbled.

The door opened to a stormy day, and a wet pup, shaking the water off. Henry tossed a plate of sausage on the ground, then picked up the letter. By the grace of God, the ink hadn’t run too much. The words were boldly written and missing a header:

He did what! What possessed him to do something so fucking– stupid. Was he drinking again, or perhaps he was still drunk? 

I’m sorry, this was a line he shouldn’t have crossed. I’ll deal with that fool in time and I will not be upset with you if you come to me tonight. Just please make sure he’s safe before you do, it’s inexcusable but he means well. That doesn’t mean I expect you to forgive him, or be anything besides pissed at him. Please just come to me. 

Henry stood in the middle of the room, and read the letter again. It wasn’t quite what he expected, he figured Bartosch would encourage him to fix it, to be the bigger person. But here he was only worried about him.

No more running.

Henry moved to the center table where parchment and ink still waited, scribbling a quick response. Mutt had already finished his meal and sat, tail wagging, for an order.

“Good boy.” Henry patted the fuzzy head. “Back to Bartosch.”

Mutt snatched up the letter and bolted out the door like a hound chasing a hare. He would get his break staying with Bartosch tonight, and tomorrow. After they reunited he’d give the pup a proper day off.

Sam still watched him, then nodded towards the stairs. No help there.

Without another delay Henry headed upstairs to find his Lord.

Coming eye to eye with the door he had been pinned against some hours ago had him already questioning his decision. He expected to feel upset but in truth, he just was just egregiously uncomfortable. There was no going back after what happened but he didn’t know how to move forward either. 

There was no noise coming from the other side, so maybe… just maybe he could get off easy. 

Henry peeked into the room; his mess of a Lord sat in a chair slumped over onto the table. Bottles of booze he could easily presume were empty lined the old wooden top around Hans. With a sigh he entered the room, walking around to Hans' side.

Gently calling to him, “Hans?” 

Hans didn't move or even twitch; he was out cold with a red puffy face. 

“So much for talking.” Henry ruffled the golden hair. 

His fingers trailed through the strands from back to front and back again. A smile worked itself onto Henry’s lips as Hans slowly stirred. Even now Hans was too beautiful, too mesmerizing. If he had to guess what angels looked like, only his men would come to mind. 

“Bart?” Hans mumbled. 

Henry patted his cheek causing his eyes to snap open. “Nope. Sorry to disappoint, it's just your good minion.” 

There was a moment of silence as Hans blinked a few times. A deep frown formed on his handsome face, his eyes welled up. 

“’m sorry,” he sniffleded. “I fucked up again?” 

Henry sighed, continuously running his hand through Hans’ hair. A few more tears ran down Hans’ cheeks as he closed his eyes. The crease in his brow softened, sleep was claiming him once more.  

“Come on, let me help you to bed.” 

Henry grabbed Hans’ arm pulling it over his shoulder, forcing Hans to his feet. “I doubt you’ll remember come morning but Bartosch is rather mad at you.”

No response came from Hans, he just leaned into Henry as he stumbled towards the bed. Henry made him sit, then proceeded to remove the coat he bought for Hans. After that, his fingers went to unfasten the golden buttons of his pourpoint. He slid the garment off of Hans’ shoulders exposing a red bandana on his forearm. In the same shade of red as the one that was wrapped around Bartosch’s personal items. Henry’s fingers brushed over the fabric wondering if he should remove it or not.    

Hans whispered: “D’you hate me?”

“No. Never.” Henry placed his hands on Hans' shoulders helping him lower down into the bed. “Now sleep, we can talk in the morning.” 

“Don't want to,” he slurred. “Want to fix this.” 

Hans tried to remove Henry’s hands but missed; his arms dropping back to his side with the most pitiful pout. 

“There’s nothing to fix.” 

Henry yanked the blanket up to cover Hans, only for his Lord to kick it off, attempting to grab his arm again. This time Henry took Hans’ hand bringing it back down. Hans took this opportunity to lace their fingers together and hold on for dear life.

“Can’t lose you again,” he said. “I’ll die.” His voice was too small, too full of fear.   

Henry cupped Hans’ cheek, getting their eyes to meet. “Hans, I’m not going anywhere. I'll stand by you, even if it isn't always easy going, remember?”

Hans gave him a little nod. 

“It’s obvious you’re missing Bartosch, and that’s fine. I’ll get him back–”

“No. Not Bartosch. You!” His words slurred together. “I want you.”

That is what he was afraid of. He loved Hans. Loved Bartosch. But they just didn't understand how broken he really was. And Henry didn't know how to tell them without hurting them. 

Hans' voice cracked, “But! I did it the wrong way. I’m sorry.”

That was the second apology he’d gotten from Hans. Each one made him feel a bit better. Even back in the Trosky cells Hans refused to actually say sorry, hell even this morning he refused. But now he was practically begging for forgiveness. 

Henry said tenderly: “You’re very drunk, and I doubt you’ll remember any of this come morning-”

“Tha’s the best time to talk-” Hans brought their hands to his chest. “Say what you want – don’ worry. Jus’ tell me what’s in that great blacksmith’s maid… mind.” 

“It’s too much to talk about right now.” Tears swelled up in Hans’ eyes. “No, don't do that. Everything is fine.”

Hans finally let him go. Somehow looking worse now than on the day they tried to hang him.   

With a heavy sigh Henry climbed over Hans onto the bed, scooping the Lordling into his arms. 

“You know, I thought I was meant to be the upset one,” he snorted. 

“Is fine. Go head. Be upset-” Hans abruptly switched his tone. “You used to want me… Bartosch is allowed back. But not me. Like I'm the plague. It’s not fine. We aren’t fine.” He got louder with every word, until there was a real risk someone downstairs heard them. 

Henry placed a hand over his mouth. “Fine, you want to know why?” 

Hans blinked up at him with big, wet eyes and nodded. 

Henry drew a long breath. “You picked him…,” he finally confessed. “I was right there. I did everything for you, and I always came back no matter what. I was willing to die for you, but only after you fucked Bartosch did you realize I might be worth your efforts. What am I supposed to think about that, Hans?” 

Hans stared and frantically shook his head. “Is not-” Then he hid his face against Henry’s chest. He whispered, “I wanted you. But you were with him. That hurt,” he stated emphatically. “And then you were gone.”

Henry paused. “You saw us?” he whispered, the embarrassment already burning his face. 

“Didn’t mean to.”  

Henry didn't know what to say, how to feel. Unintentionally sure, but still horrifically humiliating. And he knew immediately when that was. It explained why Hans was in such a mood that morning and why he kept asking if Henry was going to leave him. And most of all, why Hans was so understanding when he was grieving.  

“Only came to realize I liked you before Trosky, at the wedding,” Hans mumbled on. “Bartosch wanted me to say something…” Hans whined, “I’m a coward. Have to be drunk to tell you.”

There were so many times he almost spilled out the truth, the closest being at the poachers camp. He was just so happy to find him alive and well again. But he made Hans uncomfortable. Then there was the time before the ambush where Hans knew, he could see it in his eyes but neither one of them would put it in words. Just two frightened souls, in love but dancing around each other. Too afraid to touch.  

“I’m not much better when it comes to this…” He trailed off, noticing Hans was thoroughly invested in his gambeson. And it didn’t take long before his Lord acted on it.

With a soft hum, Hans’ hand went to Henry’s chest pausing just before. “May I?”  

Henry took his hand placing it on his chest. 

Hans’ fingers caressed the black gambeson, tracing down the front hooking a finger around the bottom lace. “This reeks. Remove it?”   

“You really are a brat, but…” He sat up already untying the gambeson. He removed it, then tossed it to the floor. “Better?” 

Without a doubt Henry knew he wasn’t the one that smelled, and Hans’ gleeful grin confirmed his sneaking suspicion. Shaking his head, Henry lowered himself back down, where Hans’ curious fingers awaited. 

“You’re beautiful. My gallant knight. Hmm… Would have made love right against the door.”

Henry’s heart hummed to life with the compliment only to turn into a panicked pace shortly afterwards. Twitching started in his hand, and it didn’t go unnoticed. Hans face went pale and his eyes wide.

“No. Not like that. I didn’t mean it! I’m sorry– forgive me?”  

Henry let his head fall heavily onto the thin pillow. “Hans I don’t know if I can be with you, or even Bartosch. Or if you two should even want to be with someone like me.”

“Like what?”

“I'm a bastard– a nobody with so much blood on my hands I could drown in it, and now I'm broken… Bartosch would leave me if he knew.” Stinging pain attacked Henry’s eyes as he gave his fears a voice. 

“Nonsense, I haven’t left you.” Hans wrapped his arm around Henry’s side. “He would never leave you.” 

He confessed, “I can’t be physical with either of you. Who would want someone like that?”

Hans looked at him with so much sadness, so much knowing in his eyes, that it broke Henry’s heart. This was exactly why he avoided him. He’d seen far too much in the roadside camp and Henry didn’t know how to deal with their pain.

“Doesn’t matter, we want you,” Hans whispered like a solemn vow. “Maybe it can change but if it doesn’t we’ll find another way to love you.”

Henry watched him in the dim like, the big eyes, the beautiful lips that he wanted to kiss so badly but didn’t dare to, the painful hope on his face. 

“I want to give us a chance…” 

Hans’ face lit up. 

“- but you need to let me lead in this. No rushing me.” 

The excitement faded, but the hope stayed.

“Alright. I give my word, you lead- I follow.” Not words Henry ever thought he’d hear Hans say but they made him feel important; seen. 

 Hans hid his face again, but Henry could still see the blood rushing to the Lordling’s ears. “Soo… we are together now?”

Henry placed a hand gently on Hans' cheek. “As long as you'll have me.”                  

The tender vow earned him a heartfelt smile. Hans pressed his head against the center of Henry’s chest; their bodies completely intertwined. Finally letting all that tension settle to a peaceful silence. This was right, almost perfect with only one thing missing. Bartosch.

Chapter Text

“Let your hair down.” Hans

For the second day in a row Hans awoke to a head pounding like he'd been kicked by a horse. Sweat soaked his backside and the mattress beneath him. His stomach tensed, aching while a wretched queasiness built. A faint tickle of breath on his chest caught his focus  as his mind and body tried to right themselves. A few shallow breaths later, Hans began to notice how the ends of his fingers were tingling. A warm weight rested on his arm, stretched along his side. That same heat touched the underside of his leg; It rested on the source, rising and fell with what was clearly  breathing. It came to him like a hymn: Henry. 

Hans wrapped his leg a little tighter around him, shifting his hips to seek a shred of pleasure. 

A hand smacked his backside. “Stop,” Henry groaned.  

Hans mumbled an apology and curled closer around Henry. His face rested against the top of Henry's head, his hair brushing against Hans’ nose. He would like to think Henry smelled nice, but he reeked as much as Hans did. 

“Bath?” Hans croaked. 

There was a grumble but Henry remained unmoved, keeping Hans in place with his head and arm. With a gentle smile Hans’ fingers grazed against Henry’s jaw, scratching his fingers through the stubble  to the other side then tilting his head towards him. His lashes fanned over rosy skin, for once, no lines of strain marred his face, completely at rest.. 

“Henry?” Han spoke softly. “At least let me up, I need to go hunting today.”

Henry hummed. A hand trailed up Hans’ leg, tracing the contours of his thigh. Hans’ stomach tensed, blood rushing downwards as he came to the realization he was not clothed. The hand continued upwards to his hip. Henry turned towards him, moving in closer. Hans grimaced at the sweaty slick flesh but Henry didn’t seem to notice or simply didn’t care. 

“Just stay,” he whispered into Hans’ chest. The silence stretched until Hans thought Henry fell back asleep, but then he muttered. “Baths first, then you can come with me today.”

“Oh? And where are you planning to take your Lord?”

“Hunting of course.” Henry pushed Hans' leg off his waist, then sat up on the bed’s edge. “I’m going after some poachers for Peter of Pisek, figured you can just take what they have or kill a deer and frame them for it. Avoid any poaching claims.”

Hans pulled the blanket over his exposed body. “Clever. But why are you working for Pisek? What about Zizka’s plan and  most of all Bartosch?” 

“Because...” Henry glanced back with a smile. “Suchdol is where I intend to take him.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” Hans sat up as he spoke. “Henry, Sir Radzig gave me permission to use his name to protect Bartosch. There’s no need for you to run around to win favor.” 

“What?” Henry stared at him, open-mouthed. 

What Hans thought was going to be good news was met with a growing silence. Hans traced his index finger down Henry's shoulder to the arrow scar. There was a notable twitch before Henry pulled away. 

Hans moved closer, not permitting any growing distance. “This is good, Henry.” 

“Yeah, it is,” he whispered. 

“Then why do you sound so disappointed?” Hans leaned around him, trying to gauge his emotions but Henry kept his face turned away. 

Pursing his lips as his mind meticulously searched for an answer. Then he tested the first though he had. “We can still go hunting together…” 

Immediately, Henry turned to him with the faintest curl in the sides of his lips. 

Hans continued: “It would be rude to not finish your task.”

“And offending an ally wouldn’t be idle,” Henry added. 

Henry’s reaction warmed his heart, his not so secret desire to spend time together. Bartosch would just have to wait one more day, but he was in a safe place for now, and Hans doubted the knight would mind. Then coming together is what he wanted after all. 

“So, do you want to eat first or-” Henry asked.

“No food.” Just the thought of eating made Hans ill. “To the baths.” 

Henry hummed and glanced down with a cocked brow. Then he stood fetching the discarded braies from across the room, and tossing them back to Hans. 

“Thanks, ahh… Why am I in the nude?” He couldn't imagine something had happened between them but he was also certain he went to bed in hose.

His friend gathered fresh clothing and soap, ignoring the question until his eyes met Hans’ still waiting for an answer. Henry exhaled. “His Lordship got too warm last night, and so he discarded his clothing. Upon this I moved to my bed then he got a chill and followed.”

With a shy smile. “Sorry… ah you wouldn’t mind not telling Bartosch I was drinking, would you?”

He already fucked up with the kiss, now with the drinking on top of it. One thing after another and no matter of longing was going to tame the absolute arse kicking Hans was going to endure once he's reunited with Bartosch.  

“I won’t tell him.” That was one nice thing about Henry, he could keep a secret. “But.” 

“But?”

“No more drinking, unless it's a special occasion. Or one of us is with you. It's not good for you, and not safe.” 

“Really?” Hans hissed. “You’re going to treat me like a child too?”

“Not at all. I’m treating you like someone I care for,” Henry said calmly. 

Just like that, Henry was singlehandedly disarming all the haughty spirit Hans had in him, leaving the simple phrase: Someone I care for.

With the warmth of the words washing over him, Hans gave in. “Alright.” 

Hans trailed Henry to the baths. It wasn't long until a large hot bath was drawn for the both of them. The maid even offered to assist them in disrobing but they quickly put an end to that. If anyone was going to remove his clothing it would have to be Henry and Bartosch. 

When they were finally alone, Hans promptly forgot most of everything, including words, when he came face to face with a half-dressed Henry. 

“Are you going to get in?” Henry finally asked with cocked brows.

Hans blinked a few times, trying to tear his gaze off the deliciously toned man in front of him. He released a barely auditable, “Eh?” 

“You’ve been just staring at me this whole time.” Henry proceeded to unlace his hose. 

Hans shook his head to clear it. A smile cracked on his lips. “My bad.” But his eyes lingered still. 

He would have to pluck out both eyes to redeem himself from the thoughts bubbling up. And the hardness growing in his braies. 

“Do you want help?” Henry asked. 

He couldn’t tell if Henry's voice was being seductive or his brain was just in the gutter. Either way, all he could handle was a simple nod. Henry’s hands went to Hans’ pourpoint with a pleased hum. Hans stood very still as Henry undid the golden buttons one at a time. And if a  finger or two occasionally slipped past the fabric and glided down his chest And if his body twitched at the touch, neither of them mentioned it. 

The fingers stopped on his abdomen, tracing the scar from the sword he took to protect Henry’s life. 

“I wish you didn’t have this,” Henry whispered remorsefully. 

Hans let the pourpoint slide off of his shoulders to the ground.

“Well I was protecting my fierce and most loyal companion, so it was worth the price. Besides, it’s not the first scar I’ve gotten,” he cheerfully reminded Henry.

“Right,” Henry dragged the word. 

His hand went to Hans’ hose, unlacing them. Lucky for Hans he didn’t seem to notice the Lord’s tender state as those fingers slipped into the rim going around to the back.            

Before Henry could notice anything, Hans stripped his hose off and leaped into the hot water. He hissed at the stinging heat but kept his knees up as he sat waiting. It wasn't long until his friend joined. 

“There’s plenty of space, Hans,” Henry said, once he had settled into the warm water. 

But Hans didn't move. 

Henry shifted his legs over even more, giving him even more space but still Hans stayed curled up. 

“So…” Henry dragged the word, still eyeing Hans’ knees. “I’m thinking after today, I’ll go to the war camp before sunrise. Would you like to come along?” 

“Really? The over-bearing protector is letting up a bit?” Hans teased. 

Henry chuckled. “Arse. Perhaps I’ll leave Bartosch there for another day or two.” 

He snapped while kicking at Henry. “Not fair!”  

A strong hand grabbed his leg then yanked his arse from underneath him. Hot water reached his ears before his arms stopped the fall but the pull brought him between Henry’s legs. Their legs were over-lapping, as that misbehaving hand dragged upwards and wrapped around his waist.  

with a whisper so hushed it sent shivers down Hans’ spine. “You’ll be reunited with your love soon enough.”

There wasn’t enough space between them, but he couldn’t move away. Henry grabbed a rag from the tub’s rim, wetting it in the hot water before bringing it to Hans’ shoulder. Meticulous, Henry washed down his arm then moved to the other. His eyes were intense, focused as if Hans was some sort of masterpiece that needed polishing.    

“Henry?” he panted. 

His hips shifted uncomfortable on the hard wooden bottom, in a fight to move away or wrap his legs around the man. They already agreed Henry would lead but he couldn’t trust himself to behave if they were this intimately close. Hands went to his hip, stilling him. 

“It’s fine, Hans.” Henry glanced down making it obvious he knew of Hans’ sensitive state, then back. “I want to… see what I can do.” 

“That’s umm… good, but Henry, I might not be the best for this.” He leaned back. “I don’t want to mess up again- make things worse. Bartosch-”

Henry placed a hand on his mouth. “He’s not here, you are. Yesterday was… complicated but not bad.” 

His heart sang. “Alright, but maybe we should start with something simple.” 

Hans scooped up some water pouring it onto Henry’s head with a smile. Water dripped down Henry’s smooth cheeks into his beard where Hans’ finger awaited. They brushed through the rough bristles, back up into the hair. Henry leaned his head into the touch as Hans continued to scrub through the long brown hairs, not stopping until he was sure every single strain smelled of the mint and sage oil. Hans’ chosen scent.   

Henry’s hands returned to Hans’ body, gliding along his collar bone. Hans mimicked the touch on Henry and continued onwards to his shoulders. Taking precious time to remember every dip, ridge and scar, that even in complete darkness Hans would always recognize him. Against better judgement Hans’ gave in, wrapping his legs around Henry and pulling their bodies together. As before, Hans pulled back to ensure this was okay, to only be greeted with a brimming curiosity with just a touch of uncertainty. 

Henry pulled him back in, his nose brushed against Hans’ neck. A gentle exhale had his heart racing and a fluttering filled his abdomen as that touch trailed upwards. This was too much; Henry smelled like him, wanted him, was touching him. 

“Please, tell me to stop,” Hans begged. 

As if Henry was trying to convince them both, he said: “This is fine, harmless.” Lips pressed to the corner of his jaw. 

Hans’ hips instinctively rolled into Henry’s. There was a sharp breath and brief pause before those lips continued to work his neck. Each suck or press of a tongue against Hans’ skin added to the arching in his loins. Hans forced himself to still, hanging on to that last shred of control. All of his senses narrowed in onto that hot wet mouth caressing his neck. Henry stopped just above Hans’ collarbone, sucking the skin between his teeth, until Hans moaned his name.. He knew this would leave a mark and wanted another. 

Henry cupped his cheek as he pulled away, a deep blush painting his cheeks. Their eyes locked. Hans could count the rapid beats of Henry’s heart where it hammered against his throat. With a swallow he leaned forward while leading Hans into him. He tenderly pressed his mouth to Hans’, before pulling back just eyelash’s length away. 

Henry’s lips had hints of valerian, and something else too subtle to make out. But his heart under Hans’ hand raced like a panicked horse and that curious expression started to look lost, frightened. 

Hans leaned their foreheads together. “It’s alright, we don’t have to,” he said as he put a bit of space between them.           

Henry’s head dropped to his shoulder with a defeated sigh. “I’m sorry.” 

The heated tension between them simmered away, leaving a broken man trying to force himself back together. It wasn’t fair and not his fault but Henry seemed to blame himself anyways. 

“Don’t apologize, this was nice. And progress.” Hans gave him a cheerful smile. 

It was the truth and Henry needed to hear it. Know it. But it was only met with a solemn hum, and Henry’s back being turned to him, his arms resting on his knees. Hans shifted back, making sure to put enough space between them to not add to Henry’s discomfort. 

Finally Henry spoke. “You don’t understand how infuriating it is to have everything I’ve wanted right in front of me– finally willing– wanting, and I can’t. It has to be a curse.” 

“You’re not cursed. Henry, it's barely been over a month. Give yourself time. I’m not going anywhere, and you’re still my bodyguard for now and forever so we have time. I’ll wait,” he promised.

Hans’ hand found the wash rag floating away in the water. When he brought it to Henry’s back, it earned him a suspicious peek over the shoulder. 

“I might as well finish what I started, and we still have work to do today,” Hans reminded him. 

Henry didn’t say anything, just sulked as Hans washed him down. As the rag went over the arrow scar Henry flinched away. It was an ugly jagged thing; the arrow must have been rather broad, for wounding. Hans traced the outline with his index finger and again Henry shifted away without saying anything.

“Does it still hurt or… bad memories?” Hans whispered.

“It hurts, most of my shoulder does. Worst after a day in armour,” Henry grumbled. 

With a drawn-out hum Hans felt his shoulder; all the muscles there were as tight as a bowstring. Hans placed his hand on the top of Henry’s shoulder, using his thumbs to massage the knots. Henry groaned, then hissed as he neared the scar. 

“Oh, don’t be a baby,” Hans teased and continued. 

The water was almost completely cool by the time Hans stopped, letting his arms fall around Henry's sides, hugging him from behind. Henry leaned back, resting against Hans and pinning him to the tub’s wall. 

He muttered a low “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Hans nuzzled his head against Henry’s. “But we need to get going.” 

Henry sunk in more. 

“Oh, come on, the faster we get through today the faster we get to see Bartosch tomorrow. And I get to go hunting!” Hans cheered. 

With a grumble and sigh, Henry rose from the tub. 

A cool breeze rushed through their hair as they had passed Raborsch. Clouds from last night’s storm still blocked out the sky, giving the air a crisp moist feel. Henry watched the clouds swirl by, mixes of grays and whites. The memories of yesterday and this morning replayed in his head until all that was left was a messy array of emotions. Not, unlike the sky above.    

“I hope it doesn’t rain on us,” Hans chirped beside him.          

 Hans wore the black long coat Henry had given him, topped off with his stable red hood and a smile that could have broken the worst of storms. 

“We are almost there, worse comes to worse we can stay at the camp until the rain stops,” he suggested. 

“Hmm, this isn’t another attempt to spend more alone time with me is it?” Hans flashed him a teasing smile. 

Henry choked, waving his hand aimlessly eventually settling on the sky. 

“Of course not. I just didn’t want you to get wet.” 

Hans narrowed his eyes at the last word. 

Henry groaned. “Bah! Can you stop making this weird?” Blood rushed to his cheeks, the rapid pounding in his chest filled his ears. But he couldn’t help but seek out Hans' expression. Hans sat tall, golden locks blowing in the breeze, thriving under the world sky like a bird set free. But eventually he peeked over, watching Henry melt from the corner of his eyes.  

His sly smile deepened. “I didn’t do anything.” 

After a few more moments of silence, they entered a forested path. Henry kept his eyes focused on the trees, searching for signs of an ambush, silently cursing he didn’t have Mutt with him. The hooves of their horses splashed into a river overflowing onto the path. From all the time Henry spent hunting bandits and poachers, he found most liked to settle near water or a quick walk away. So starting the search here would be ideal. 

He pulled the reins bringing Wraith to a halt. And hissed: “Well, ready your bow while you're doing nothing.”

The bow was drawn before he could finish his sentence. And Hans was already eagerly hopping off his horse, stalking off into the woods without a word. 

“Hans,” he grumbled. 

Of course he wasn't going to wait. Hans was practically vibrating with excitement since they first rode out. 

Leaping off of Wraith, Henry chased after him. He enjoyed the freedom of his light-weight armour over his normal heavy duty. But it was odd not being covered head to toe in metal plates. Hans was right, his shoulder felt immensely better. And it made catching up to his Lord easy. 

Like a swift little fox, Hans crept through the forest checking every tree trunk, crouching down into the mud searching for the slightest hint of tracks. Occasionally he’d look far into the distance, before prancing off to another spot. 

It amazed him how much energy Hans had for the hunt, but then he’d completely collapsed at any sign of real work. 

Hans popped off the ground. “This way.” 

“You found something already?” Henry walked over scanning the ground he was just hunched over. 

“No, but I noticed that slight ridge.” Hans pointed across the river and sure enough rocky mounds could be seen through the leaves. “And I was thinking it could make good cover for…”

“Poaching?” 

Hans cracked a smile, patting Henry’s shoulder as he walked by to the river side. They continued up the river until Hans found a spot to cross without getting wet. With small leaps he went from one small rock to the other. Henry rolled his eyes, doing his best to ignore the cute and somewhat childish behavior. 

“Isn’t this nice? Me and you, out in the woods- God! We need Bartosch here. Then it’ll be perfect,” Hans shouted back as Henry crossed the water. 

“Not so loud, Hans.” He shook his leg, now wet up to the knees. 

But the prince didn’t pay him any mind. His bright blue eyes were focused on something in the distance. Following his line of sight, Henry searched the forest in front of them. A small whip of fabric blowing in the wind caught his eye. 

That had to be the camp.

“So…” Hans looked at him. “I’ll go and scout it out, see how many there are.” 

Henry’s face dropped. “No! That’s dangerous.” 

“Dangerous? If I wasn’t here, you’d just charge in and hack away,” Hans grumbled. 

“That’s me… I’m… nothing compared to you,” he trailed off.

Henry didn’t finish the words before a hand connected to his cheek with a large smack. Furious eyes burrowed into him. 

With more ire than than Henry had ever heard, Hans said: “Don’t you ever say that again! You don’t get to play the self-sacrificing pawn anymore!”

Hans looked more than ready to brawl with him, but all Henry could think of was the camp full of an unknown amount of enemies just a little ways away. It would only take one well placed arrow.  

“Hans,” he said in a hushed whisper. “They’ll hear.” 

“I don’t give a damn who hears. After everything we went through– How many times do I have to say I can’t do it again!” Tears welled up in his eyes. 

It broke Henry’s heart to see Hans in that much pain at the slightest thought of something happening to him. Henry pulled him into an embrace, then placed a hand gently over his mouth. 

“Alright, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He confessed: “it just comes naturally to me.” 

Fingers brushed against the hand then pulled it away. “Not anymore. Never again.” 

Hans leaned into him, nuzzling his head into the small of Henry’s neck. The winds picked up around them, blowing the loose leaves from the trees. They swirled around them in a messy dance, a beautiful splash of color on a gloomy day.  

Distant voices approached from the ridge. Henry immediately turned them, placing himself between Hans and them. His eyes scanned their surroundings, spotting a large boulder just a bit away. 

“Up there.” He nudged Hans towards it. “Cover me.” 

Hans gave him an annoyed-pinched expression but listened. Henry waited until he was in place, then  turned back around waiting for the poachers, his sword in hand. 

Three men moved through the brush until they spotted him. 

“Hey, you!” 

Henry snorted. No professional soldier would call out to someone they were about to attack. He had time to measure their gear as they hurried over - pieced together and badly maintained. They also looked like they hadn’t seen a bathhouse in a while.  

One stopped in front of Henry, the others paced back and forth. If their intent was to intimidate him, it failed. They were thin, desperate, and poorly equipped. He could kill these fools blindfolded, half-asleep. 

Henry flicked his sword up-wards and an arrow followed as it fell, piercing the closest man’s breast. Before the other two could react another arrow flew, finishing off the first man. 

The scrawnier of the two immediately swiveled his bow towards Hans. Furiously, Henry stormed forward. The man scrambled back, the arrow fell from his grasp as he raised his bow to block Henry’s strike. Henry’s long sword cut through the shaft of the bow with too much ease. 

The third tried to high-tail it, only to get an arrow in the back. 

With the three bodies on the ground, soft steps approached. “Well this was pathetic.” 

“Did you really expect a challenging fight out of poachers?” Henry cocked a brow at Hans.

He glared back, then mocked Henry’s previous tone, “It’s dangerous!”

“Oh, shut it.” Henry took his hand. “I’m always going to worry about your safety, no matter the threat.” A wicked smile crossed Henry’s lips. “Even from those pesky demon-filled carrots.”    

Deep red filled Hans’ face making those blue eyes appear brighter. “I should have never told you that story!” He stomped towards the camp, and Henry shadowed him, grinning ear to ear. 

They searched the camp briefly, most of it was broken goods, cheap knock offs and a few pelts ruined with arrow holes. But they did find a locked chest that had to hold the albino pelt Peter of Pisek was looking for. 

Hans crouched beside him, studying Henry’s hands as he picked the lock. With a click the lock fell to the ground, opened. And the lid was quickly lifted off by Hans. Hans stared at it with awe and wonder as he held up the silvery furred-hide. 

“Such a shame,” he mourned. “It was so beautiful.”

Henry smiled gently; the way Hans mourned the pelt had to be the way he himself looked at poorly kept swords. It was sweet and a little sad. 

“It is a pity, and you look like you want to keep it,” Henry teased.

“Steal? From a noble? I’d never… but maybe it gets misplaced and found by us later on. And so I’d hold onto it with every intention to return it.” 

“Ahh, I see. How noble of you.” Henry ran his fingers down Hans’ arm, before hugging him from behind. “You can keep it. I’ll have an easy enough time lying about it not being found– already sold, whatever is needed.” 

Hans hummed happily, leaning his head back onto Henry’s shoulder. “How sweet of you.” 

With the way Hans rested against him, Henry could see a little mark poking out from his hood. The heated memories warmed his chest. He left more than a few marks on the noble's neck. It was shameful but a small, teeny-tiny part of Henry felt proud that this beautiful man was his for better or worse. 

“Would you like to race back to the Den?” Henry asked. 

Hans pursed his lips. “Nah, I‘m enjoying being outside too much to rush back now, especially with such good company.” 

Thunder rumbled through the clouds.

“We should at least start to head back.” He broke away but took Hans’ hand with him.

The noble trailed beside him, leaning in ever so often as they followed the river back out of the forest. Little droplets of water fell onto his cheeks, a fog was rolling through the trees. But it didn’t matter, nothing could ruin this day. He merely pulled Hans hood up, and brought him closer to keep him warm. 

Just before the forest broke to the path, fingers tightened around his hand. Hans inhaled sharply. He searched the wood but with the fog blanketing the world Henry could just barely spot a large roebuck. It took a few steps  towards them, that’s when Henry realized its silvery hide reflecting in the low-light. Just then sunlight peeked through the storm above like a divine being demanding to be seen. It simply radiated as its majestic blue eyes locked onto the couple.  

“It’s so beautiful.” Hans leaned his head back onto his shoulder, their hand still tightly intertwined. 

Henry brought Hans’ hand to his lips. “Now there’s two gorgeous things wandering the woods.”

“Henry.” He rolled his name, shying away. 

The deer leapt across the river continuing into the woods, looking back once more before running off. As if it was on cue the rain started down, hard.                                    

Back at the Den, both men stripped down to their braies. While Henry sat on the edge of his bed wringing out their clothing into a bow, Hans was bundled up in a blanket on the bench at the table, scribbling away in some book. Where l. 

Much to both their annoyance this room lacked a fireplace, leaving them to make do with thinly made blankets and towels. One towel still sat on Hans’ head doing very little to dry the drops running down his cheeks. 

Henry laid Hans’ gambeson out on the end of his bed frame, before he went and joined Hans. Taking the towel from Hans’ head, Henry replaced it with his own which was more dry. Then he rubbed it through the golden strands making sure to get the longer pieces dripping down the front. Hans leaned towards him but didn’t stop the constant scribbling. 

“So… what is this?” Henry shifted closer until Hans sat between his legs. 

Hans responded without looking away from the book. “A gift.” 

A book written in Latin was propped up against a few more books. The one Hans was writing in was in Czech. He kept the same strange format with lines of poetry divided vertically and followed by more lines. But it was the handwriting in the latin book that caught Henry’s attention. The second half was unmistakingly Hans but the first half; elegant and flowy. It had to be Bartosch’s. 

“These.” His fingers touch the rim of the Latin book. “You both made these?” 

“Hmm… yeah. It was how we dealt with things– the grief. This one…” Hans tapped the book in front of him. “Is for you. I thought you would like to read it, and maybe it could help you too.”

His arms slowly found their way around Hans waist, while his eyes traced the words being written. He didn’t bother to read them just yet, figuring it would be best to wait until the book was completed. Lulled by the warmth, Henry rested his head against Hans. 

The last smidge of daylight faded away and Henry’s eyelids grew heavy. He almost drifted off, lulled to sleep by the soft scent of Hans and the rhythmic scratching of the pen, but before he could give in, a distant yapping broke the spell. He sat up. They both looked at each other, listening as the dog approached, unmistakably Mutt. 

“Maybe he’s checking on us?” Hans whispered.

With a tight-lipped grin, Henry rose from the bench quickly dressed in the only dry clothing he had. They so happened to be the fine clothing he wore on that date with Bartosch. Hans had also dressed in his staple outfit of golden and teal. His hood was left behind, still wet. 

Both quickly descended the steps, Henry found himself skipping a few. He had asked Bartosch to keep Mutt with him until Henry came to him. So for the pup to be here now… 

Pushing the front door open, Mutt sat with a tag wagging. There was nothing in his mouth as he patted forward to greet Henry. As the pup neared, rusty colored water dripped from his fur. When he sat, crimson patches covered his belly. 

Hans steps landed beside him. His panicked voice rang over the empty yard. “Henry– why is he covered in blood?”

Chapter Text

“Together at last.” - Bartosch

A few hours before Mutt arrives at Devil’s Den

Bartosch couldn't unclench his jaw, his thoughts twisted by the panicked words in Henry's letter. He knew Hans could be careless, blind even, but to fuck up to this magnitude. Only the darkness of night hid his anger and utmost disappointment in Hans. 

His fingers brushed over the words of the letter again:

Bartosch,

I’m sorry I brought you into this. Though we agreed to be in this complicated relationship, it was in poor taste to cause a conflict between you two. But thank you for worrying about me. I’m going to attempt to fix or smooth this over, myself. I’m okay.

Please keep Mutt with you, I’ll be coming for you and him.

We’ll be together soon, Henry 

Okay. Henry should be more than just okay– what if Henry was just hiding his feelings again? There was simply no way, after everything he saw during their last time together, that Henry was ‘just fine’ with someone forcing his attention. The only way to gauge his true feelings was to see him. But who knows when soon would be. 

So Bartosch sat, waited, and went mad with every frustrated thought. Katherine came by every few hours to “help” by forcing him to his feet and having him walk a few paces in each direction. It was horrible and agonizing, but a good distraction. And with each step it got a bit more tolerable. Katherine made it a point to move the table away from the bed again,  along with the chairs, to encourage him farther. She was stern but caring, and even if it certainly came from her concern for Henry; it was nonetheless nice. 

Bartosch felt tempted to tell her about Henry and Hans, have her go and sort the young Lord out;  she would have no trouble doing it. Only Bartosch’s love for Hans stopped him. 

It was a strange predicament: To miss someone so much, and yet be so enraged by their actions. He craved the warm softness of Hans' skin, the way they would share their closeness through the night. Hans, refusing to let that darkness back in. The tenderness of Hans' lips haunted his thoughts. Not to mention the relentless neediness. He was a beautiful work of art, and the space around Bartosch felt colder, colorless, compared to when they were together. But there was also the strong desire to smack him over the head.

Maybe he’d send a letter just to ask how Henry’s doing. It might frustrate Henry; he did ask Bartosch to keep the pup but his nerve couldn't settle. He needed to see Henry was okay. 

“What do you think? Mind running one last letter?” he asked Mutt. 

His eyes went to the gap in the tent's opening, night had already fallen and rumbling from the sky could be heard from above. 

“Maybe tomorrow.”

The pup cocked its head with a whine. He laid by a bowl of water and a plate of half gnawed chicken legs. It seemed like a suitable meal for the creature, but now, looking at his bloated belly and lop-sided grin. Bartosch, unintentionally, but most definitely, spoiled him. 

With a sigh, he resigned himself to calling it a night. What else could he do besides wait? He placed the letter under the mattress before moving to the center of the bed, laying down on the lumpy thin mat. 

“God, let Henry appear quickly so can sleep on a real bed…” he mumbled as he arranged his aching body. 

It was no use. He rolled onto this side, then the other, only to end up on his back staring at the canopy, his wandering thoughts returning to Hans’ lips. 

Without having to open his eyes, Bartosch knew he was in Henry’s room back at Trosky. He could feel the warmth of a man lying next to him, taking soft breaths. Fingers brushed his cheek, tucking his hair behind his ear. Bartosch leaned closer searching for the warmth moving away from the… cold.

“It’s cold here… why is it cold?” He whispered. 

Lips met his; they were soft, supple and tasting of sweet wine. A knee pushed in-between his legs nudging them wider apart. The space quickly filled in by a warm body, grinding into his groin. Bartosch’s hand slid down the sculpted muscles of the man’s back to his arse, feeling a little star-shaped scar. 

Bartosch broke their kiss. “Hans? How did you get here?” 

“You wanted me here.” His lips pressed back to Bartosch’s. 

Hans’ tongue slipped into his mouth, warming his insides. Their hips lousy grinded together. Something cold and wet poked his cheek causing him to jerk away. His hand touched the spot, there was nothing. 

“It’s alright. Stay here with me.” Hans’ forehead pressed to his.

Their lips brushed again. Abrupt, sounds of rain pounded outside and rattled the door. Hans jerked back. His eyes locked onto the door, it groaned, the handle shook. 

The person who looked back was Henry. 

“Get up. Wake up!”

His eyes shot open to the sound of tearing canvas. The burned-down stump of the candle barely illuminated the tent anymore. Everything existed more in shadows than in the light. 

When Bartosch forced his aching body up on an elbow, he came face to face with a tall figure. Low light bounced off of the crimson red and the white towers of Prague, the metal pieces of his armour reflected the candle’s fiery light. Along with a dagger, gleaming in his hand. 

From the corner of his eye, Bartosch caught Mutt underneath the table. The hound crouched in the shadows, readying to pounce.

“That woke you?” A stranger’s voice could just be heard over the downpour. Then he quickly added, “It doesn’t matter.”  

The man leapt on Bartosch; metal and leather slammed into his damaged frame. The pain blinded him for a moment, and he barely managed to block the dagger aimed for his heart. The impact vibrated through his forearm. The blade pressed against his chest, blocked by Henry’s gambeson. But as the man leaned onto the hilt, Bartosch’s strength waned quickly. The pressure against his ribs grew. 

Now, eye to eye with his would-be assassin, Bartosch realized his father’s hand. He might not intentionally have chosen a brown-eyed, black-haired man with sun-touched skin; but his would-be murderer’s look made it easy for Bartosch to see the real face behind this. Who else would waste their time hiring an assassin for him. The years of bitter rage helped drown out the pain wrecking his body but it wasn’t enough to get the man off of him. 

Bartosch hated his father, hated this world for not accepting him, and hated himself for being too weak. Now, all that would be waiting for Henry was his lifeless body. Henry would kill them all and whatever was left of his beloved would be destroyed. A crest of blood would be made on this hill if they didn’t claim his life first.  

Bartosch pushed back with a snarl.

“Just die already!” the killer hissed, adding another hand to the dagger’s hilt. 

A growl so low only Bartosch heard it. 

Mutt. 

“Sic’,” he choked out. 

Claws scratched the ground. The man howled. The dagger against Bartosch’s chest slipped as the man’s body thrashed above him,  sounds of fabric being shredded filled the air. The man screamed again.

Bartosch jerked to the left, letting the man’s arm go. The dagger went into the mattress. Desperate fingers clawed at Bartosch’s gambeson as Mutt dragged the attacker off the bed. 

He pulled Bartosch with him, his fingers holding on to the gambeson with a death grip, terrified eyes locked onto Bartosch’s face.  

“Please,” he whispered. 

Mutt released his ankle, placing a paw on the man’s back and the other on the bed. He snarled, blood and saliva dripping onto the man under him. 

A small part of Bartosch naturally wanted to spare him. That honorable part that knew; this man was most likely a poor fool just looking for a way to eat. And with the damage Mutt caused to his ankle there was little chance he’d be walking out of here. He was no longer a threat. But. If he had succeeded, those he loved the most would have suffered.

“Sic’.”

A quiver formed in the stranger’s lip, his eyes widened as a snarl built in Mutt’s throat. Jaws snapped shut around the soft neck, blood squirted out as Mutt pulled the stranger to the ground. Bartosch fell with him, choking on pain as he hit the ground. Mutt continued to rip and tear, sounds of gargling and panting filled the space. The grip on Bartosch’s gambeson weakened, then released. Mutt dragged the body halfway out of the tent. Only when the body stopped twitching did the pup let go. 

Bartosch pushed himself upright, hissing in pain. The world around him swam in and out of focus. With one hand, Bartosch searched for the bed, slowly he slid across the ground to rest his head on the edge. Each breath Bartosch took was jagged and met with stabbing pain, too much, to the point he couldn’t tell if he sustained a new injury or just reopened the old ones. 

Licking his lips, Mutt walked back to Bartosch. The pup gave him a few sniffs before laying down and resting his head on Bartosch’s thigh with a tail wagging back and forth, watching him. 

“Good boy.” Bartosch found his head, petting him a few times. “I need you to get Henry.” 

He just wanted to see them again, just one more time.

Mutt head lifted, blinking a few times. “To Devil’s Den, to Henry, Mutt.” 

With a whine the pup stood, darting off into the raining night. 

Bartosch listened to the pattering rain. His head fell back onto the bed, too dizzy, vision blurring.  

Then it darkened.

“Get up.” 

Something warm, and soft touched his cheeks, willing him to wake.  

“Get. Up!” she ordered.

Bartosch’s eyes snapped open to Katherine; her delicate brows crossed and her lips in a thin line. With a deep breath he groaned, the pain still burning through his side. He couldn’t tell how long he was out just that the tent remained dark.  

“Why are you here?” he said through clenched teeth.  

“A woman's intuition, Now, on your feet.” She pulled his arm over her shoulder. “You sent Mutt to Henry, right?”

Bartosch put his other hand on the bed, pushing through his heels while steadying himself against Katherine. She got him upright and held on while the room spun.   

“Yes,” he whispered.  

“Good, there’s a camp nearby, we’ll wait for him there.” 

She led him forward, and he took one sluggish step with a grunt. This attack sent him back to barely being able to lift his right leg, let alone putting any weight on it. He tried again, most of his weight went into Katherine who stumbled but kept him upright.  

“You just have to make it to Pebbles.” 

Pebbles. Henry’s horse. Bartosch faltered. Here he was - dragged to Henry’s horse by Henry’s friend, wearing Henry’s gambeson after being saved by Henry’s dog. One of the best fighters of Bohemia and Moravia, in truth, he was reduced to being Henry’s burden.

Katherine hissed, “Bartosch, you don’t get to leave him and I’m certainly not dying here with you.”

Her small shoulder rammed back into his side with a stormy but determined expression. A lady who barely knew him was risking herself, maybe even hurting herself and here he was, whining. 

He didn’t get to be like this. 

It wouldn’t bring him any relief; it didn’t before. 

“Forgive me. You are right.” Bartosch planted his right foot, shifting his weight from her to the leg. 

 He won’t ever leave them again and he doesn’t get to die while that bastard of a father gets to live.

While Hans readied the horses, Henry retrieved their swords from upstairs. When he returned,  a storm was brewing in his eyes, the same type Hans saw during the ambush: it guaranteed a massacre. Hans thought he should say something, tell Henry to not blame the entirety of the camp, just the guilty ones. Something Bartosch would wisely say but this time, he was right there with Henry.

Now, they were riding hard into the darkness of night. Icy rain stung Hans’ eyes and skin. His aching fingers clutched the reins of his horse as he guided it to follow what little of Henry he could see. Between his dark clothing and pitch-furred horse, only the small pieces of metal on him and the horse's bridle gave him away. Luckily for both of them they had Mutt, bright furred and yapping. The pup led them safely from path to path until they reached the wide main road. 

Hans’s heart pounded in his chest; already preparing for the fatal blow. They had no plan, no time to discuss anything. But Hans expected he would have to stay behind while Henry went into the camp, left to pray he would return with or without Bartosch. Then and only then would they either plan their future or the demise of the whole camp.   

Mutt’s excited bark brought their race through the darkness to an abrupt halt. He stopped, then darted towards the small flicker of light of a campfire in the distance, his tail wagging happily.  As they came closer, a woman called Henry’s name.  

Henry jerked. Wraith to an abrupt halt and Hans flew past them. Before he could turn Atheon back, Henry had dismounted and rushed to the woman. Mutt raced past them  into the woods. 

When Hans reached them, the heard only the tail end of the conversation. “... he’s in a lot of pain but he’ll be fine.”

He?  

 “Thank you, Katherine,” Henry murmured with relief. 

It had to be Bartosch. Hans dismount, abandoning his horse on the road. She led them down the same overgrown path Mutt had taken. And there, resting against a fallen log, just barely illuminated by a lantern, was Bartosch. 

Hans felt weightless. At the same time, his guts were twisting themselves into knots. Booze and Henry had distracted him from what happened at Maleshov, but now, seeing Bartosch, thin, tired, almost lifeless, he would have been on knees, begging for forgiveness if it wasn’t for the stranger standing beside Henry. 

Then Bartosch’s eyes met his and a thin smile graced his lips. “Come here,” he said.   

Hans rushed forward and knelt down into the mud, taking in the bloodied and soaked gambeson clinging to Bartosch’s skin. 

“I’m so sorry.” He reached for Bartosch's but stopped. If he hadn’t opened that door, Bartosch wouldn’t have had to sacrifice himself to Erik’s blade.. They would have both been there when Henry came. Bartosch would have been there to help Henry. And he wouldn’t have allowed Hans to fuck up like he did. 

Hans’ eyes fell to the ground, wanting nothing more than to close the space in-between them. But with the stranger still whispering to Henry, he didn’t want to fuck up again. 

Bartosch took his hand, rubbing his thumb over the top. 

Sternly, he said, “Next time, do what I tell you.”   

With a faint nod, Hans tried to pull his hand away but Bartosch held firm. Uneasiness built in Hans’ chest; he glanced back at the woman. 

“It’s alright, she knows,” Bartosch said.

That was all Hans needed. His arms tenderly wrapped around Bartosch’s sides and he carefully pulled him in until he sat nestled between Hans’ thighs. Cold wet fabric pressed into the center of Hans’ chest, Bartosch was shivering. Rain splattered against the leaves above and dripped down onto them. Hans brought Bartosch as close as he could, giving him whatever warmth was left in his body. They needed to leave, to get him somewhere warm and dry. 

“Henry,” he called. 

Hans didn’t even get a chance to look over before Henry was already there, kneeling down beside them. In his hands a blanket that he wrapped around the pair. It was shockingly dry and warm. 

“I’m going to take Katherine back to the camp, then we’ll go to Suchdol.” Henry caressed Bartosch's cheek; he leaned into the touch with a smile. “Then you’ll explain to me what happened?” 

“Aye, I will. Please hurry now before we all freeze.”         

Henry turned and left without another word, escorting Katherine out of the camp. But Mutt stayed by their side, shivering in the rain; a vigilant watcher. 

Delicately, fingers brushed Hans’ neck tracing over a few select spots. Bartosch’s eyes narrowed. “And how did you come to get these?” 

“Ahh… I had a bath-,” Hans began. Bartosch’s lip curled into a scowl. 

Hans backtracked immediately. “No! Not like that. It was with Henry. We …cuddled a bit. It was really nice,” he trailed off. 

“Hmm, I don’t recall ever getting marks from cuddling.” Bartosch grumbled, with his arms crossed.

Hans gaped. “Are you jealous?”

“Absolutely not,” Bartosch looked away.. “I just- you didn’t make him uncomfortable again, did you?” 

“I did not., We agreed he’d lead and he wanted to try,” Hans explained. “So much has happened in the last day.”

They fell silent, each following their own thoughts, but it was impossible to miss the small, hopeful smile on Bartosch’s lips.

“How are you feeling– your wound?” Hans finally asked when the silence dragged on. When Bartosch didn’t answer quickly enough for him, he leaned away. His fingers touched the opening on Bartosch’s gambeson. 

Bartosch stopped him. 

“Katherine looked me over. It hurts but I’ll be fine.” Bartosch placed both hands on Hans’ cheeks. “I’m still mad at you.”  

Hans opened his mouth to apologize again. A thumb pressed against his lips.

“Hush,” Bartosch whispered. 

Bartosch’s finger glided across his bottom lip. Instinctively, Hans tilted his head, earning him a hungry grin from Bartosch. He waited this time, letting Bartosch make the first move. Bartosch’s mouth went to those little marks on his neck, kissing each one. 

“You’re so precious to me,” Bartosch whispered. His lips barely touched Hans’ before Mutt jumped up, cheerfully greeting its master. 

Henry stood at the border of the lantern light, the fire flickered in his eyes made it easy to track his gaze. Just as before, Henry’s attention jumped to random spots behind them before settling on Hans. Bartosch’s lips just parted as Henry turned on his heel, heading back to the horses. Bartosch’s face fell.  

“He didn’t even greet me and now he doesn’t even want to look at me.” 

“It’s, ahh..” Hans tucked Bartosch's wet strains behind his ear, while he searched for the right words. Henry didn’t want him knowing about the visions, no doubt he didn’t want Bartosch to know either. “I don’t think it’s us… or you. He was frightened and enraged when he saw Mutt… We thought you were gone, again.” 

“But I’m not-”

Hans mimicked Bartosch’s move from before, placing his thumb to the man’s lips. “You know how he can be, let’s just give him some time to settle. I’m sure once he sees you safe and all, he’ll calm down.” 

Hans stood, extending an arm for Bartosch. “Come on, let’s go.” 

Bartosch glared at the hand as if it personally offended him, but he took it, groaning as he got to his feet. Hans grabbed the lantern then placed an arm around Bartosch’s waist.

“I’m fine, Hans. If I can walk through a war camp, I believe I can manage a hill,”  Bartosch complained. 

Hans squashed the urge to tell him to get over himself.  

“Just ask for help when you need it. The last thing we need is for you to get worse, that will be more of a bother than assisting you.” Hans leaned over and gave another kiss before moving away, still within reaching distance. 

Bartosch grumbled, traversing the hill at a crawling pace, favoring his right side. Once they got to the road, Henry was waiting, Pebbles  laying down next to him, patiently waiting for Bartosch to mount. Which had Bartosch mumbling ‘this isn’t necessary’ in latin low enough it went unheard by Henry.

“Thank you, Henry.”

Henry didn’t say anything as he helped Bartosch into the saddle and led Pebbles up and over to Wraith. Bartosch glared daggers into his back but kept his lips in a tight thin line. It only just dawned on Hans; these two were just too alike. Both pulled back and put walls up when feeling vulnerable and both became overly protective and caring when a loved one was upset or injured. And now both were pushing each other away while simultaneously trying to care for the other. 

Hans slumped into his saddle; they were going to fight and he– he was the worst one when it came to fixing delicate things like this. Should he intervene or let them come to blows, or maybe just maybe they talk it out would themselves. They were both significantly better at communicating than him, just not when it came to themselves. 

He continued to mull this over as they rode. The rain had lessened to a thick mist, light from Henry’s lantern eerily glowed as they trailed through the witching hours. Hans came to one conclusion: he’d have to be the bridge here.

Bartosch expected more of a resistance from the Keep’s guards, but one kind grin from Henry and they waved them through without a second thought. He even informed them they would be using the baths services before the Sun had a chance to touch the sky. They didn’t even bat an eye while giving him the keys. And Hans merely shrugged. This was just another of those normal-for-Henry things that was completely abnormal. 

Henry led them to the stables finally releasing Pebbles’ reins to dismount and led Wraith inside before coming back to Bartosch’s side. Henry kept a hand out in case he fell. 

“Do you want me to make her kneel?” Henry asked.

He grumbled, “No. I can do this.” 

There was no way down without causing pain. If he put his weight into his good leg, he’d have to drop on the bad one and the other way around would force his leg into his bad side. 

“Just put your weight into your left, and fall back onto me. I’ll lower you,” Henry said, already moving into place.  

It was the first words Henry spoke to him since they met at the roadside camp. And another wound to his quiet pride. But he couldn’t see another way so Bartosch did as Henry suggested. Bartosch awkwardly shuffled his right leg over the saddle, holding on for dear life. He had to bite his tongue to silence the sounds of pain lodged in his throat whenever he tensed his muscles, and by the time he managed to lower himself, he was sweating profusely. A knight that couldn’t even dismount, falling into his lover’s arms like some damsel. How was he going to protect them if he couldn’t do anything for himself, if he was this useless.  

Hans silently led Pebbles off to the side, giving them a brief moment to themselves. Bartosch awkwardly turned in Henry’s arms to get a glimpse at his closed off face. He didn’t look angry. He looked sulled, withdrawn, and he still avoided Bartosch’s gaze. 

“Are you upset at us?” Bartosch asked, choosing his words carefully. 

“No,” Henry said plainly. 

“Then why have you been acting so oddly?” Bartosch reached for his face but Henry grabbed his hand, only to let go of it as if he burned himself.

With a long sigh, he murmured. “I’m just tired. You need to bathe, and take care of your wound.” 

“Ahh, bath time with Henry. It will certainly improve an otherwise abysmal day.” Maybe it was just that, and Bartoschhe was reading into it. Henry needed some respite, some light-hearted distraction.

Henry shook his head, then huffed, “Perhaps, or I can leave you two to it.” 

“As I heard it, you quite liked the baths last time,” he teased. “I wasn’t the one that left him all marked up, but I’m glad you two are exploring each other. Maybe… if you’re comfortable with it, we– the three of us can try some more?” 

Henry raised a brow. “I’m certainly going to have my hands full.”

“Do you mean that literally? Cause we would both love that.” He gave Henry a sly grin. 

Henry frowned.

The guilt stabbed Bartosch’s heart. This was a mistake, he was being too bold. What was wrong with him; he knew better and yet here he was fucking up. As if the moment that blade pierced his flesh he fell and continued to do so. It was simply difficult to not yearn for that normalcy; to flirt and be flirted with. The forced distance was painful. But he was being selfish.

Useless and selfish.  

Henry tapped his hand then walked away, crossing the courtyard to a small shack. He pushed the door open waiting for Bartosch to enter. 

As he walked past Henry. “I was teasing– I thought it would be okay.” 

“It’s fine, Bartosch, just give me a chance to calm my nerves.” Henry held the door until Hans slipped in as well. 

Hans gave him a bright smile and something in Henry’s expression softened. Immediately, a bitterness filled Bartosch’s mouth; of course, Hans always brought that lightness to Henry. He’d always been Henry’s first choice. Bartosch took a few steps back, stumbling into a bench he mindlessly dropped onto. His fingers went to the ring, spinning it as Henry took on the servant’s task of filling the baths. They had to be on equal grounds for this to work; no favoritism. Hans joined him on the bench, snuggling against his good side. But he felt out of place. 

His bright eyes went to the ring. “So, are you two betrothed now?” 

The room froze, Henry glanced over to Bartosch, then to Hans, looking rather dumbfounded. Did it really never dawn on him that’s what this looked like?  

A small, embarrassed smile bloomed on Henry’s face, as he scratched his head. “I didn’t really ask you properly, so I guess not.”

The words cut deeply. To Bartosch, receiving that ring had meant everything. To Henry, it seemed, it had not. “Do you intend on asking me properly?” Bartosch asked, bitterness coating his tongue. 

The tone had Henry turning around,  with a concerned expression. “Did you think it meant that– cause it can. I just thought you would want something more official.”

“It’s fine, I’m to be courting you while you feast on Hans’ neck. Makes sense.” His own spiteful tone appalled himself. 

He told Hans that he wasn’t jealous. But he was, bitterly so; not that the two had a moment but he didn’t get to have one too. On the ride over he told himself he had the ring. It represented Henry’s affection more than any sort of kissing, that would just naturally come in time. 

The ring was a promise, Henry would always return; but Bartosch wanted it to mean more. To feel, to be just as connected to Henry as Hans was. He wanted to be worthy. 

Instead, he was this, wretched and disgusting. 

“So much for being happy for us,” Hans muttered next to him.

How could he, the poet, have a mouth full of daggers and a tongue of lead. 

“That was low of me,” Bartosch forced out. 

Henry’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re done with your fit, can you get in the bath? Or is there more?” 

Bartosch clenched his jaw shut and rose from the bench. He kept his eyes to himself. Both men remained dead silent as he removed his clothing exposing his wilting filthy body. The reflection in the water only went to prove how he’s fallen, ragged, skin pale, eyes sunken; the shame choked him. He didn’t want to be seen. But Bartosch forced the fine gambeson Henry had given him off, it was now tattered and stained beyond saving. Henry had wanted it back, but this was what he got instead. Bartosch tossed it down with ‘how fitting’ mumbling in his thoughts. Henry still stood by the bath’s side, extending a hand to help Bartosch in, that just made the guilt worse.

But he took it, desperate for some sort of connection after his betrayal. 

The tub was just barely filled with warm water, sitting in it, it didn’t even touch his hip. Just enough water to clean but not enjoy. At least it smelled nice, his favoured scent of sweetened cloves. He just wanted to drown himself. 

Hans undressed as well and took to the tub next to his, those blue eyes bouncing between them but he lips remained silent.  

“How soaked through are those?” Henry gestured to his bandages.

Bartosch hesitated not trusting his own mouth to not betray him again. 

“Not too bad, your gambeson and Katherine's extra bandages did well to protect it.” Bartosch looked back to the heap of red on the floor. “I’m sorry for its abysmal state.” 

“Right, the gambeson, my true beloved,” Henry quipped. “The only reason I hauled arse through storm and night. If only I had the mere hundred or so groschen or the ability to slip in and steal another.” 

He proceeded to ruffle Bartosch’s hair until it was an unrecognisable mess. “I don’t care about the fucking gambeson.”

“Oh, lay off him will you. Let Prince Perfect be messy for once. God knows after the week he’s had he deserves a fit or two.” Hans flashed them a toothy grin. 

“Yeah- yeah.” Henry reached down. “Now, hold still and stop all your 

fidgeting." 

Bartosch didn’t know what to say, so, this time, he wisely said nothing as Henry gently unwrapped the wound, making sure nothing touched the water. The skin underneath the bandages was a bit damp but dry compared to the rest of him and most importantly the scab remained sealed, no new bleeding. He had been very lucky. 

“We should let it dry out some. Then we can clean and bind it but you’ll have to do it yourself. I have to leave soon.” 

Henry grabbed a rag and started to wash Bartosch’s back. “Zizka?” Hans  called. Henry hummed in agreement while he carefully washed the parts of Bartosch’s body that he himself would have trouble reaching.Hans continued, “I guess you put it off long enough, just don’t get yourself killed now that we are mostly together.” 

With Katherine already spying on the camp, it chilled Bartosch’s bones to think what they planned on Henry doing there. “So you’re returning to the camp?”

“Yes. Zizka helped with getting Hans back so I owe him,” he explained.              

There it was again, that bitterness, the source of which Bartosch couldn’t really name, but that squeezed his heart until it left him breathless. 

“So you’re to be his spy, his saboteur? To the same man who almost killed us?”

“Are you really trying to defend people who tried to kill you?” Henry asked while washing his leg. 

“One tried, and he’s been dealt with.” Now thinking back it was better he ordered the man’s death, recalling Henry’s lapses in judgement with the Butcher. “A fool, on the whims of my father’s influence, most likely through Katz. It’s hardly a reason to raze the whole place.”

Henry went rigid, every muscle in his face tight. When he looked up, the blue of his eyes had almost been taken over by his pupils, nothing but pools of pitch black darkness full of malice. 

“You do know we are at war, right?” Hans chimed in. 

But Bartosch didn’t look away from the vengeful monster that growled through his teeth, “Your father?”    

“Henry,” Bartosch warned. “I know what you’re thinking. You are to do nothing.”

“Nothing?” Henry hissed. “You almost died– everything you’ve suffered was all due to him. I should rip his throat out.”

“I’m ordering you to do nothing,” Bartosch snapped back.

Henry stood. “Ordering? You of all people are pulling rank on me?”

Henry towered over him a monstrous wolf gnashing its chains. But Bartosch knew better than to look away; he’d gladly be the line, the leash that kept Henry safely in place.  

“You cannot go around and kill every person that wrongs you. Be better than them, not like them.”

Henry’s face twisted. “Like who?” He snapped, “Erik? Toth?”

“This has nothing to do with them," Bartosch countered. “You think death is the worst punishment for him? It is not! That bastard will live out his days knowing I'm alive, I bear his name and his blood– That I will be happy and persevere, despite him. He'll die a slow, lonely death knowing his family name ends with me." 

Henry walked away, then back, pacing the too small  room. In the corner of Bartosch’s eye, Hans was moving. He was also oddly quiet. When Bartosch looked over he was tracking Henry’s every move.  

Before Bartosch could  ask why Henry snapped at him again. “Fine, I’ll go tell Zizka we should be indifferent to the army until they eventually fucks off and dies.” 

“Thats not what I said,” Bartosch huffed back. 

Whatever Hans was searching for or seeing, Bartosch couldn’t. Henry looked like Henry. Then he froze his eyes locked onto the wall, quickly flickering to Bartosch. Hans sucked in a sharp breath as Henry practically bared his teeth at Bartosch. 

“But it is… I promise I won't touch him so long as you're still breathing.” Henry paused. “After that I’ll tear him apart in the worst ways I can imagine just to spite you for leaving me again. I’m just like Erik– just like Toth.-”

“That’s not-” 

“A murderous villain, twisting and deceiving his way into places to destroy them! Best you wash your precious noble hands of me. You both would be better for it!” 

“If that’s how you really see yourself then fine!” Bartosch hissed. As soon as the words were spoken, he snapped his mouth shut, but the damage was done. 

Henry looked as if he’d been run through. He stopped in his tracks, his eyes closed, as if that might hide the pain on his face.  

“I didn’t mean that–” Bartosch forced himself to his knees but Henry was already heading for the door. Bartosch called in a panic, “Henry! Don’t leave!”

“Enough!” Hans commanded.

Henry stood in the doorway, his blue eyes pleading. “I have to go.” 

“For fuck’s sake. I’m your Lord, you are sworn to me, so sit. down. Henry.” And just like that he was brought to heel, slamming his weight down so hard the bench groaned. Hans watched him for a few seconds more until he was satisfied. 

His piercing gaze found Bartosch. “Now. I’m sorry, but your father deserves some retribution. And you!” He turned back to Henry. “I may agree with you but it’s his family so stand down.” 

Hans stood, stepping out of the bath. They stayed silent as the Lord dried and dressed. Only once he stood by the door did he continued, “We are finally together and you two want to fuck it all up with your hurt feelings? No. I’m going to step out, and you two are going to make peace or you, my dear Henry, won’t be going anywhere tonight.” 

The door shut behind Hans leaving them in silence. Bartosch stared after him, torn between pride at the show of command, and wounded pride at being reprimanded. Hans was right, though. 

He finally turned to Henry. “I don’t think you’re anything like them,” he said.

When Henry still didn’t talk, Bartosch forced himself over the tub’s wall, to limp over to Henry and take a place next to him. “I just don’t want to lose you to that thirst for blood.”

“Do you really have so little faith in me?” Henry muttered. “You think I’m out here slaughtering the innocent?”

“Of course not.” 

“I’ve only killed those who deserve to die, those who wouldn’t have had a second thought about killing you or Hans, or anyone else for that matter. And I know you see this as dirty work, and I won’t ever ask you to stain your hands. But you of all people know that sometimes the best thing a person can do is die.” 

Henry rested his arms on his legs, hunched over, defeated.  

Bartosch touched his forearm, gliding down, lacing their fingers together. Every fiber of his being wanted to pull away, too disgusted in himself to be touched, especially not by Henry.  

How could he explain himself, make Henry understand everything that was consuming him. None of this was Henry’s fault. 

Bartosch licked his lips and started slowly. “Stained hands are not my concern. I was just trying to preserve you, protect you as I said I would… but I can’t.” 

The more he realized it and the more it choked him. Bartosch tried to force the maddening spiral to stop. He took a shallow breath. “You need a break, Henry. A real one, not some brief pause…”

It grabbed him ever tighter, squeezing his chest and lungs. ‘Not now, not now’ he told the rush of emotions. He couldn’t do it anymore. There was no more space to push these feelings lower. 

“Selfish and useless.” 

A deafening chant suffocating all reasonable thoughts. A demon of despair ripping through all the foundations he so carefully laid. 

“You’re selfish. You’re useless.” This was his father’s voice, laced with the same hate that still followed him across the lands. He’d do anything for it to stop, to leave his mind, a break from the constant haunting from that hateful monster. 

In a broken whisper, Bartosch said, “I need one too.” From himself. 

The dam finally broke, tears streamed down as Bartosch tried to force a smile. “Maybe that makes me a coward but I just want to rest and I want you and Hans with me.”

Henry was fully looking at him with those wide, overly-concerned eyes. He felt too naked, too exposed. This weakness wasn’t meant to be seen.  

“You’re not a coward.” Henry attempted to wipe the tears away, but nothing was going to stop the unravelling. 

“I’m so sorry. So sorry,” Bartosch muttered. 

Henry turned his body towards him, trying to bring Bartosch into an embrace. “These last few weeks have been hell.” 

“Don’t.” Bartosch put his hand out to stop him. “Don’t comfort me. I don’t deserve it.” 

“I didn’t ask if you deserved it, most of you bratty nobles don’t.” Henry snapped. Bartosch couldn’t find it in him to argue, there was no lie. With a frustrated sigh, Henry took his hands and continued. “But then maybe if you weren’t so starved for it, you wouldn’t be so bratty to begin with.”

Bartosch recoiled, that touched something he didn’t know how to face. How to soothe. 

“Damn it, Bartosch, why can’t we comfort each other? Don’t you think I might want some comfort?” Henry asked gently, still touched with frustration. 

That finally made him give. All he wanted was to make Henry feel better, stop falling, stop ruining what they had.

Bartosch leaned into Henry, whispering into his chest. “I’m sorry.” 

“Just don’t send me from your side ever again, and I’ll let this go.”

“Never Henry. For the rest of my days, I plan to be by your side… and Hans.” Bartosch pulled back to look him in the eyes. “I never meant for all this to happen, to be so wretched towards you.”   

Henry pressed his forehead to Bartosch’s. “A bad day is just a bad day.” 

The warmth and gentleness was just what he needed. And Henry stayed there soothing him through the waves of hurt. 

“I need to go, see this task through then there will be time for us.”

Finally Bartosch spoke; his voice a broken whisper. “Please come back quickly.”

“I’ll try.” Henry pulled back. Then he paused.

“One more thing. Please don’t be upset about the Hans… feasting. I was just trying to see if I could– I wanted to…” Henry stumbled on each word progressively turning redder with each word. He whispered, “...be intimate with you and him.”

Of course he was thinking about them, forcing himself into discomfort to tend to their needs. How foolishly Henry… 

Wanted.

Was this what Henry wanted? 

“Henry, I know it doesn’t seem like it now but I did mean what I said; I am happy for you and him… it shames, but I was jealous and acted foolishly.” He gently confessed, “I miss your touch.” 

With revived determination, Henry placed both hands on either side of Bartosch’s cheeks, bringing them so close their noses brushed. Henry’s eyes trailed down to his lips, wetting his own.

“Please don’t force yourself.” His words hid a hundred more concerns.

Henry smiled. “I’m not. You are safe.” 

He tilted Bartosch’s head slightly, “You’re safe and you’re mine.” He barely got the last word out before pressing their lips together.

Just like their first kiss, Henry paused, tasting his lips before bringing Bartosch in closer, lifting him into his lap. Their mouths pressed back together, so warm, so soft and familiar. Bartosch wanted to deepen the kiss, chase that warmth. Most of all he wanted to grind into Henry's ridiculously firm core. 

Henry’s tongue slid past his teeth while his hands trailed down to Bartosch’s arse and pressed him closer. He broke away with a huff. “Fuck, she was right…”

“What?”

“Nothing, sorry.” He led Bartosch back into the kiss.

With encouragement from Henry's hands, he rubbed against him, but faltered when sharp pain attacked his side. With a groan, Bartosch tried to break away, but Henry kept him firmly in place, his hands lifting Bartosch to take the strain off his muscles, taking it upon himself to help Bartosch rock softly into him. 

The door creaked open to a smirking Hans. “Ahh, I see it’s been settled.” 

They both groaned and broke apart.

Henry looked past Hans to the sky, soft pinks and violets touched its surface. The great storm above broke to dawn.  

With a sigh he turned back into the dutiful man, carefully slid Bartosch off of his lap. “There’s a room, just at the top of the second floor with a green wreath. I already took the liberty of adding a second bed, just in case one of us wanted to stay with you.” 

Hans' eyes hungrily took Bartosch in, smirking at his flustered state. Though both of them had seen him in the nude many times, being the only one made it more than awkward.   

Henry blocked Hans' view, finishing his explanation. “Everything you could need is in the chest, the key is under the bedframe.”

“I’ll take care of him, Henry,” Hans reassured him. “And we will talk when you come back. Make sure to rest.”

He gave Hans a serious nod. 

Henry took Bartosch's hand once more and placed a single kiss just above the ring. “Until next time my lovely,” he smiled, “betrothed.”

Chapter Text

“What was needed to be done…” - Henry

Two Days Later...

“You fucking traitor!” Katz shouted. The old commander kneeled, surrounded by the carnage of his broken forces. Their blood soaked his legs where they touched the ground. 

The ravine is full of corpses wearing the crest of Prague, the same crest that was sewn into his coat. But Crow didn’t feel any sort of way about this; he had already secured his side of the deal with the black-powder explosion. And Henry, the brightest and newest recruit, got what he wanted. 

The bombard.   

Now Henry stalked around Katz, a wolf that had hobbled its prey after the long hunt, savoring the moment. 

Nothing like the man he watched for three days. He took it upon himself to vet the stranger in the camp; Henry had a charming smile with a tongue of silver, befriended all that looked his way, all the while working his way up the ladder like a snake through grass. And when those brilliant blue eyes landed on him, Crow couldn’t deny he was intrigued and irritated. This could compromise his task. So he brought the young man to Katz. Crow had been certain Katz would have sent him from the camp, and in a way, he did, with a task no other could complete. He thought that was that, but…

That same day, he had watched Henry leave the camp just before noon, at dusk, as the last bit of Sun was swallowed by the horizon, Henry reappeared. 

Not once in Crow’s life had he been superstitious; God and the Devil were just ways to control the weak-minded, but this. But. It was as if the night summoned him; Henry rode in on a stallion dark as coals and covered in scars. His armor was slick with what Crow assumed was blood. Its darkened surface rough with scrapes, a new dent pierced the upper left side of Henry’s cuirass. But that didn’t stop him from dismounting with grace, taking long, proud strides into the commander’s tent. Just as Henry passed, his eyes flickered to Crow. A soft smirk touched the corner of his lips as if he was pleased. 

There was no way Henry could have seen his curious eyes in the dark, but still, he felt seen dangerously. 

“It didn’t matter,” he told himself. 

Tonight, he would blow up the black-powder and leave, or at least that’s what he had thought. Instead, it fucked it up. And the handsome lad caught on very quickly; he was the one who killed the Cuman leader, Chertan. To his fortune, Henry was after something too, and they framed the camp’s Lord and leader, Grozav. And that’s how he ended up here, in this ravine, after Henry’s men sprung the perfect ambush.          

Crow now sat just close enough to overhear as the men gathered around the Commander.  

“He could be useful,” a hoarse voice began. The man had a mop of copper hair, cropped, with the face of a crone. He continued, “Make him talk. Find out what the ginger bastard is planning.” 

Heavy clanging of steps approached; the man they belonged to had a long, tired expression, intense gaze, and a heavy mace. He stood just behind Henry. “He'd die before he says anything useful. Anyways, I already promised the pup he could have him.” 

Henry couched, becoming eye to eye. He whispered so low that Crow almost leaned in. “The moment you order his assassination… ”

Crow couldn’t make out the rest, but Katz’s old gray eyes squinted, his jaw went slack. “You. You're why he lived. You filthy sodomite!”

“Hmm.” Henry cocked his head, amused. “I am.” 

The ginger huffed, grumbling something with a crooked smirk. No one said anything. No one cared. Not the strange blonde who spoke a language Crow didn’t recognize, not the drunken in green with oily black hair, not even their Commander had flinched. 

With a wicked smile, Henry jeered, “Say it as loud as you like; no one cares.”

“I will not be stuck down by such filth. I demand an honorable duel,” Katz shouted at their leader’s back. 

Henry followed his eyes and looked back with a shrug. “Honestly, you should be grateful to Lord Bartosch.”

That name, Crow, has heard about him, well endured Katz's ranting and raving about the vile knight with the taste for men. “A stain on his Lord father’s name.” It only got worse when the knight awoke, growing stronger with each passing day. Lord Otto even asked about his well-being himself, for Katz to put off answering that letter until they discovered Lord Bartosch’s tent in disarray and a bloodied body at its entrance. 

And Henry appeared the day after. 

He came back for some lover’s revenge?

With a metallic hand, Henry grabbed Katz’s face, forcing his eyes to meet his. “Just so you know what you are being spared from. It was I who butchered all of Trosky, Maleshov, and that Prague Lord in Kuttenberg.”

The color drained from the Commander's face as Henry listed his sins. A deep carnal part of Crow enjoyed watching this display of absolute power. Blatant, cold, so unforgiving; An indomitable force that he would gladly give himself to. 

“I’m going to show you mercy, Katz.” Henry stood, picking a bow up from the ground. “My Lord, Sir Hans had a bow quite similar to this one. I won it off of him when we first met.” 

Henry droned on, his hands gliding across the shaft. A gleam in his eyes was building as they flickered to a spot past the kneeling noble. 

“I’ll give you a chance I never gave the others, a chance to save yourself. There’s a large pond just over there.” Henry grabbed him again, forcing Katz to turn and look. “You can see the sun glistening on its surface, shallow enough for you to walk through. Cross the lake and you live,” Henry said so casually.

“I’m not a coward! I’ll die with my men,” Katz retorted.

“Stay here and I’ll flay you. It would send quite the message to that prick in Prague,” Henry hummed. 

Katz wobbled to his feet and started down the path, panting. 

“Twisted, maddog!” The ginger shouted with a laugh. He was currently leaning against a tree. 

There was no response back, not even a glance. Henry kneeled, grabbing three arrows, placing two in the hand that held the bow, and the other he nocked. The Commander’s heavy frame barreled down the hill, his eyes glancing over his shoulder as Henry aimed. 

At this range, target downhill; It should be an easy, clean shot. Henry held the arrow longer than one should, eyes locked onto Katz; the smallest of smirks building, smug and satisfied. Then he aimed more to the left, releasing the arrow. It wheezed past Katz’s shoulder. In a panic, he stumbled, falling to the ground. 

With a tsk-tsk of a disappointed parent, Henry watched Katz haul his lumbering body upward. 

That soulless, twisted smile on Henry’s face was divine, his brown hair now rusty red, sleeked back besides a few rebellious strands dripping crimson liquid down his cheeks. The sunlight hit Henry’s eyes perfectly, giving them the appearance of glowing, radiating ferocity in a cold steel blue. 

At an unhurried pace, that glorious man nocked another arrow. Katz finally reached a distance Crow had to stand so he could continue tracking. That moment got Henry to tilt his chin towards him, narrowing his eyes as if he was deciding something. A crease in his brows formed, but soon his attention went back to the game. 

Again, he drew the bow, holding the string for too long; the arrow landed short of the target. Henry sighed and took a few steps forward. That playfully dark persona cooled to deathly seriousness. Katz had reached the basin of the hill, only a few meters from the pond, and he hurried to a narrow pier. It was remarkable how quickly, if you could call it that, the old man was moving in full gear. 

In a full fluid motion, Henry drew the bow and released the last arrow. The arrow was lost in the sun’s glow until it arched back to the ground. Katz had reached the pier, diving in, the arrow landed just on the wooden rim. 

He missed. 

But Henry didn’t appear bothered by it. 

“All of that for you to miss!” The ginger shouted.

“I wasn’t trying to hit him,” he corrected him, his eyes not breaking from the lake’s surface. There was no movement, no man crawling out the other side, just a still surface reflecting light. Too much time had passed. 

Katz drowned?

“I thought-” Crow started, then gave pause as Henry glared at him as if he was intruding. He started again, “Didn’t you say the water was shallow?” 

“A pier? In shallow water?” Henry mocked. “Full plate, chainmail in water. It should have been obvious.”

“Your words killed him.” The crone-faced gentleman walked over.

“His orders killed him.”

Bartosch rolled over, sunlight caressing his skin, his warm eyes taking in Hans’ mostly bare form. Hans adored the way Bartosch would lick his lips before pressing them to his collarbone. The way he trailed the tip of his nose up his neck, following the pattern Henry had left before. Bartosch peppered with playful hot kisses until it aroused Hans’ desperate need to be fucked, something they had yet to accomplish. 

During their first night together here, they spent it finding out what was okay and not okay for Bartosch to do, which, sadly, was most things. And Bartosch was more than frustrated with himself, bringing back remnants of that pitiful man from the baths. But by God, he wasn’t going to sit through another evening of Bartosch tearing himself apart. So while the knight was dramatically lying across their bed, mid-monologue of hate, Hans yanked his hose down and sucked him into his mouth so quickly Bartosch could do nothing but choke on his words.  

It still wasn’t enough for both of them, but Hans didn't complain. 

It didn’t help. 

Bartosch was restless, agitated, and insufferable. They would bounce from passionately touching each other, whispering sweet nothings, giving too big promises, to flat-out ignoring each other. 

Hans knew Bartosch’s struggle, knew what it was like to have your entire value based on your performance. It was terribly unfair and significantly more present in Bartosch, who just couldn’t see past his carefully tailored persona that he believes is of his own design, but it was his father’s pattern. There were no words to explain that to Bartosch without tearing him down more. 

At least that’s what Hans originally thought, and on the surface, it was very true. But that night, Hans realized the truth: Bartosch felt powerless, unable to save himself just like that night.

It was unlikely Bartosch even noticed, or he was choosing not to notice, just like the strange, rigid behavior back in Maleshov. Something that was there, but was to remain unspoken about. Only to become evident in his muffled cries for help from his nightmares. 

Hans held him through the worst of the trembling, and when Bartosch woke in a cold sweat, they didn’t talk. But Hans kept him firmly in place; there would be no retreating, no suffering alone. Eventually, after a few silent tears, Bartosch fell back to sleep, and he stayed up through the night, wishing Henry were there in his place; Henry was good at making you feel safe and protected. Their frightening, adoring hellhound.   

Come morning, Bartosch was too upset to eat; he just retreated to himself, spinning the godforsaken ring on his hand. Hans would be happy about it if it weren’t a constant reminder of his own pending marriage. Something neither Henry nor Bartosch knew yet. Both of them were rightfully too engrossed in themselves. 

He had to tell them, but when?

There was simply too much going on, too many problems, like a dam leaking from every spot, and Hans was exhausting himself patching them back up. He couldn’t let them drown. And in these deafening thoughts is when Bartosch came back to his bed from the one on the floor he retreated to this morning. 

It was there that Bartosch rolled over and playfully kissed his neck. His skin was absorbing the daylight like the beautiful sun angel he was. 

Bartosch’s lips worked up his neck again; this time he was methodical, tender, in a way Hans knew he was readying to apologize. 

“I’m sorry for earlier, love,” Bartosch whispered in his ear. “I know I’ve been miserable to be around. And I know you’re keeping something from me, or holding back. Please just talk to me.”

“Bart, you don’t need to apologize, and just let it be.” Hans tucked his hair behind his ear, just something to show Bartosch he wasn’t upset. 

Bartosch sat up. “You’ve never softened or held back on me before. You’re mad. I know you are, I can take it. Stop treating me like I’m some useless thing to tend to whenever it whines.” 

“A baby?” Hans cocked a brow at him; it was meant with a spiteful glare. “Fine. You sure you want the truth?”

“Yes.”

They studied each other, Bartosch's brown eyes determined to find the source of their disconnection. Maybe if he left out the dream and his earlier observation, it would serve to help Bartosch in the long run. One thing at a time. 

“No one fell in love with you cause you’re good with a sword. No one needs you to protect them, at least not physically. You want to be useful, do something meaningful? Then cut the self-pity and trust us.” He spoke softly, but it didn’t make the words any softer. 

Bartosch moved away from Hans, leaning against the footboard. 

He meant every word, but maybe he should have said it differently, kinder. But then again, this could be what Bartosch needed; wasn’t that what he was used to? 

Hans recoiled from that thought. He didn’t want to hurt him, be anywhere near cruel like those in his past. 

Hans sat up and moved to grab his hand, Bartosch’s eyes meant his; empty and sad. “Listen. Truly listen to me,” he pleaded.

“You’re beautifully skilled with a sword, but when it comes to me, I fell in love with the poet.” Hans brushed his fingers down Bartosch’s cheek, feeling his own face burning up as he continued. “In love with the man that made me feel safe. Not for his fighting abilities but his tenderness, his acceptance. You gave us something more precious than any learned skill, and I’m certain Henry would agree.”

There was a glow in Bartosch’s eye that he hadn’t seen since Henry left. But that little knot still in Bartosch’s brow still troubled him. Hans needed to make him laugh and smile again. In a grand move, Hans scooped him up, pulling him into his lap, still being wary of the wounded side.   

Hans pressed his forehead to Bartosch’s, making sure his eyes were focused on him. “Aw damnit, Bartosch, I’d go to war for you. Conquer all of Bohemia just to feel your love.”

“Hush!” Bartosch placed his hands on Hans’ mouth, going as red as a rose. “That’s complete foolishness.”

He tried to move away, but Hans didn’t let him get too far. Bring Bartosch right back, then rested his chin on his lover’s shoulder. Hans waited for Bartosch to settle before continuing, “Just give us your love, that wonderful mind that so easily makes us feel at home no matter where we are. In time, I know you’ll pick up the sword again.”

“I’ll never be as good,” he argued.

With a quick peek at the cheek, “Nonsense. You’ll be better, you won’t be alone.” 

Now fully leaning against Hans, Bartosch reached up, twirling his finger through one of Hans’ wayward curls. “I am proud of you, the bath, these last few days, even now. You’ve been holding us together, something I thought you would be doing. Not the problem.” 

“You are not the problem- you have a problem, but it’ll get better, you’ll see.” His wound was serious, but it could heal. Henry, on the other hand, kept Hans lost in thought. How could he get help for his friend without endangering him with accusations of insanity or demon possession? His hope lay in what knowledge or connection Bartosch could hold. “Please don’t think I’m dismissing your struggle, but I think we need to focus on Henry. He’s not well.” 

Bartosch turned in his arms to face him. “I know, the nightmares, the sleepwalking… Trosky. Can we please go see him?” 

“It’s not a good idea. The Devil’s Den is no place for you, especially when you’re hurt.” Hans placed his hands tenderly onto Bartosch’s shoulders. “Henry will return, he always does.”

“You said so yourself, something is wrong, and there’s enough daylight to go and come back. Hell, you can blame it on me, I had another fit, or whatever.” Bartosch grabbed his hand and gave Hans a squinted look, which he came to recognize meant that if he disagreed, they would argue. 

With a sigh, “To think you’re the brat of this relationship… Fine. But if he’s not there, we are leaving immediately without arguing, got it?”

“Yes, Love.” Bartosch pressed a kiss to his lips, keeping him there briefly. “Thank you.”   

The skies were clear, a refreshing breeze blowing through their hair. Mutt was gleefully chasing every scent and sign of life, and Bartosch wasn’t much better. Thank God for Pebbles, who got lazy during her week off. Anytime Bartosh would encourage her to a canter, she snorted, ignoring him. But her defiance made Bartosch laugh, and smiling so brightly it warmed Hans’ heart. Hans was glad for his stubborn heart; if not for that, he was certain he’d be chasing the black-haired beauty down the path. 

It was good to do something peaceful and not be under all those stones. His lovers may occupy every thread of thought, but that innate fear of something falling onto him was still very much alive. Hans was thrilled to be outside, but he wished he didn’t have to watch every tree and leaf for signs of danger. This had to be how Henry felt watching over him; then again, Bartosch was more timid even when excited.  

They just reached the last turn, and the tavern slowly came into view through the trees. Hans brought them to a halt, searching for the huge, hideous horse before they continued. 

It wasn’t there.

Nor were Zizka’s horse and most of the others, all missing.

“What’s wrong?” Bartosch asked.

Hans didn't answer, his eyes locked on the wench in blue. Katherine. She would know what’s going on or confirm what he expected. 

“Hans? I don’t see his horse. Are we going back?” 

“Not yet.” Hans pointed to Katherine; it struck him a bit odd that Bartosch didn’t notice her, but he hadn’t been in his right mind of late. “She might know where he is and the others.”

Bartosch followed his hand with a silent, “Right.” 

Mutt was the first to break form, charging towards Katherine, bouncing with his tail wagging. She scoffed, but dropped something on the ground that caught the pup's attention, then her eyes followed the dog’s path back to us. Her slender hand waved at them to come closer. 

Bartosch waited for Hans to move first. And he checked their surroundings once more before nudging the horse again.

“Good evening,” Hans greeted as they reached the hitching post. 

Katherine gave a thin smile. “I’m glad you two came. Before anything else, they all left for the ambush this morning, and he’s not doing well.”

“Ambush?” Bartosch glared at both of them, still on horseback. “Hans, is this what you’ve been keeping from me?”

“You didn’t tell him?” Katherine snapped. She rolled her eyes, in the tone of a scowling mother, “These fools are off ambushing the Prague men moving the bombard to Sedletz. And the way Henry looked at me before they took off…”

“Fuck I didn’t think about that.” He dropped to the ground as the words left his mouth. 

Henry was already in a bad way when he left. 

The visions. He didn’t get a chance to ask if they stopped or let up after the fight was resolved. But that horrible day did give Hans some insight into what causes them: emotional distress, specifically losing or seeing a loved one in danger. And that made perfect sense for Henry. It all started with him reliving Skalitz, losing his parents. Then Bartosch. But when did they get to this point? He seemed normal at the wedding and at Trosky. They kept putting this vital conversation off; neither wanted to confront it, and he had no idea how to help.  

“Hans! Are you going to answer me or stare into the void again?” Bartosch was fiercely glaring at him. “Why didn’t you tell me about this? I knew you were keeping things from me– what else aren’t you telling me?”

Bartosch stood beside him now. He got down by himself. A small accomplishment he was certain Bartosch would brush over later. 

Katherine leaned in, placing a hand on Bartosch’s shoulder. “Calm yourself, shouting will not help anything. And Henry doesn’t need you dogging on him more for what he’s done.”

Bartosch shied away from that with shame-filled eyes.

“Listen to me,” Katherine demanded. “You’re nobles, aren’t you meant to lead? So lead. Henry needs a bit of guidance, someone to force him to stop and rest. Someone to force him to put the sword down and be a person again.”

Be a person again. It struck him as an odd thing to say, and yet he couldn’t argue. Without a doubt, Henry wasn’t going to stop until he joined the dead. But they were at war. This wasn’t something he could control or stop. 

Katherine tapped his elbow, dragging him from his thoughts again. He cleared his throat, “I didn’t tell you, Bart, 'cause I didn’t know it was going to happen so soon. I thought someone would have told me- us.” Hans softly admits his fuck up. “But I’m sure they’ll be back soon, right?” Hans looked to Katherine for confirmation. 

“I don’t know, but it’s been some time, so surely we’ll hear something.” Katherine looked them over, mostly Bartosch, then continued, “Let’s get you inside and something to eat.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to stay out here, and I think Hans would too. The fresh air is nice since being in that camp, then that stuffy fort.” Hans gave him a side-eye; no one was meant to know that. 

She nodded, then left.  

They took a seat at the first table. Hans got a little too comfortable, and Bartosch had to nudge him away. It wasn't long until Katherine returned with two bowls of food, some dark, meaty stew with lentils and carrots, significantly better smelling than that pale mush Henry and he had been doomed to eat just before the pillory. 

Bartosch took a small bite, then quickly he had another. He locked eyes with Hans and licked the tip of the spoon in a way that could only be described as dirty. 

“Is someone wanting to go upstairs?” Hans teased. 

Bartosch hummed pleasantly, then in Latin, “Only if I'm the one that gets to do the sucking.” 

“So eager to kneel for me,” he answered back in Bartosch's chosen language. 

“Good Lord!” Godwin bellowed from above. “Do you have no shame? In the sacred language?” 

“As if you have any right to speak!” Katherine called back. She sat a few tables back from them, eating her own food. But now her piercing gaze was on the priest. “You were telling me about minoman, magically sex with a bull. I'm certain whatever they were saying couldn't be half as bad as that.” 

“That was a story, and this is dangerous. Especially for Hans with his engagement.” Godwin snapped. 

His instincts were to berate or even throttle the old man. 

“I–,” Hans shuddered, taking in Bartosch's face. It was empty, all the joy from their trip here, the playful flirting, gone. There wasn't even disappointment or betrayal. Bartosch was completely withdrawing. 

The world went silent for far too long. Hans' heart was pounding; he craved the bottle in such a disgusting, desperate way that he knew Henry was right. But what else was he to do? Everything was falling apart again.

“Are you happy with yourself now?” Katherine shouted at Godwin. “This world is miserable, and you have to drown anything good!”

Godwin opened his mouth, but didn't get to say anything as Katherine went on.

“Don't you bring God into this! Your Lord is the bottle and lust. And most of the men here are murderers.” She huffed, hitting him back with a verse. “Worry about the log in your eye.” 

In a defeated whisper, “It’s fine. I already knew this was going to happen, just thought we would have more time.” 

Hans didn’t know what to say; he didn’t want to marry, didn’t want Bartosch to have to relive watching his lover tie the knot. And Henry. They haven’t had the time to explore their feelings for each other. Trosky might have made that impossible for some time. But he couldn’t say that aloud; it was cruel and unfair. 

“Hans, could we go somewhere private, please?” Bartosch asked. 

With a somber nod, Hans stood, and Bartosch followed. They entered the side door, and Hans trailed behind Bartosch as he climbed the stairs to the second floor at a crawling pace. On flat ground, he moved around pretty well, not as swiftly or gracefully, but if Hans didn’t know him, he wouldn't have noticed. 

They crossed the room and out to the terrace. “It’s the last day.” Hans entrusted Bartosch, intentionally walking a bit slower. Godwin still stood leaning against the railing; Hans stopped beside him. 

“Henry may be fond of you, but if you do something like that again, I will overlook that.” He had no real desire to do anything and hoped his postering would be enough.

“Really,” Godwin hissed. “Regardless of my personal beliefs, which I wasn’t even considering when I spoke out. I don’t want to see you, Henry, or that Prague knight excommunicated at best and hanged at worst. Especially young Henry, who’s not a noble, I should remind you.” 

“If you’re so worried about him, why don’t you help us?” he retorted. 

“I am. Separate. Marry your wife, have heirs. Leave Henry out of your wicked games; he needs peace.” Godwin pressed.

From the corner of his eyes, Hans could see Bartosch leaning against the door frame, waiting. “He is at peace with us,” Hans snapped before walking off.

Who was he to say what Henry needed? He wasn’t his father or guardian; he was nothing. Just a drunken priest. They needed Henry just as much as he needed them. 

Hans slammed the door open.

Bartosch gave him a grim but sympathetic smile. “Arguing with a priest about our desires is like pouring oil on a fire. They will never see reason. Even those who considered themselves most holy but live a life of debauchery will see themselves as our betters.” 

“Do you ever worry about it– going to Heaven, being a good Christian?” As Hans spoke, he moved to sit on his bed. 

“Not at all.” Bartosch locked the door.

It wasn’t something he, himself, thought about often, but it was just one more thing piled onto the ever-growing list of things to worry about. And the idea that Henry would suffer more for their affections– this all felt so hopeless.  

“Hans,” he called gently. “You cannot avoid sin, only choose the ones you’re okay with living with. And if all those terribly righteous men get to ascend to Heaven, then I have no worries. You have nothing to worry about.” 

Bartosch climbed onto his bed, looking deeply into his eyes before wrapping his arms around Hans, bringing him to his chest. “With the war about, I highly doubt God is concerned about little nobodies such as ourselves.”

“But what about Henry?”

“Henry is hurt, and he just needs time to heal. We both know his true heart, anyway; he has us now. We’ll take care of him and lead him back to the right path,” Bartosch reassured him. 

This was nice, Bartosch seemed like himself again. Calm, comforting, and the voice of reason, Hans so desperately needed. 

A hand moved to the first button of Hans’s pourpoint. Hans looked up to be greeted with that little devious grin from before. Quickly, Bartosch undid the first couple of buttons, sliding his hand into the fabric to caress his chest. 

With a hum, Bartosch whispered sweetly, “Why worry when Heaven is so easily made right here with you?” 

“Bart,” Hans dragged. “We shouldn’t–”

A hand landed on his mouth. “For fuck sake, Hans, you will not be running off to get married before I get to have you.”

At first, shame and worry tightened his core, but Bartosch was still smiling, still holding him. Whatever hurt feelings he had before, he did away with, leaving only desire and the utmost tender loving gaze.    

“Then I guess we should avoid it a bit longer,” he snarked.

“O, you arse!” Bartosch pounced on him, pinning Hans to the bed underneath him. “I will have you.” 

Hans laughed. A fluttering filled his stomach, barring his throat for his vicious love to claim. And Bartosch did just that, leaning in to nip his neck while grinding their hips together. His body was quick to respond under the friction. But Bartosch still paused, briefly checking for signs to stop. 

He didn't want it to stop. This bold playfulness was refreshing.

Hans dramatically squirmed under Bartosch, which resulted in more blatant and intentional grinding. It only took Bartosch a few seconds to catch on. Then continued their little game with renewed confidence, starting by unfastening every button that kept them apart. 

Once they removed their gambesons, Bartosch quickly moved to the lace on Hans’s hose. 

In that same snarky tone, “How bold of you, a simple knight trying to mount his Lord.”

“Ha!” Bartosch grabbed his hardened cock through the fabric. “You’re really enjoying me being in control, aren't you?” 

Still playful, but Hans could easily hear the uncertainty in his tone. Bartosch was naturally giving when they were intimate, placing Hans’ desires above his own. Even when Hans encouraged him to be more dominant, a little rougher and playful, Bartosch always seemed put off, nervous, needing more reassurance; that this is what Hans wanted. 

It completely thrilled him that Bartosch started it this time. He just needed a little more encouragement. So Hans placed his hands on Bartosch's thighs, tracing the firm muscles upwards to undo the hose laces.   

“You’re such a good Lord to us,” Bartosch teased. 

His cheeks burned. “Hm, I am… I still don’t think we can do anything just yet. But I can please you at least.” 

Bartosch grumbled, “And here I thought you were going to be a good Lord for me and let me fuck you.” 

“Bart-” 

“What about with my fingers?” He grinned at the suggestion. “We both know you won’t be sated without some penetration.” 

Every word the knight was saying sent his head in a spiral. Of course, he wanted to be touched, to be entered, but he was trying to be a good, reasonable, and caring lover. Something that Bartosch seemed equally grateful for and annoyed, especially when it came to ‘you’re hurt, please don't do that’.  

Bartosch’s hand glided down Hans’ torso and started to play with him while still very much trapped in his hose. 

“Bartosch,” Hans dragged his name, trying to be assertive. But it came out as weak and wanting. 

Even his traitorous body shifted into Bartosch, chasing that touch.

Those warm, devious eyes matched his growing smirk. Bartosch kept petting him until there was no resistance left in his body. And Hans found himself making reasons why it would be okay this one time. 

As if he could sense Hans’ wavering, Bartosch leaned back in, his lips dragged up Hans’ neck. Teeth bite down just enough to cause him to gasp and set his already aching body on fire.  

“That's it, be good for me,” Bartosch purred. 

Hans couldn’t think through the heated haze to form a sentence; he needed him. And Bartosch was all too aware of it. 

“Roll over,” he ordered in a tender tone.

Hans was quick to listen, lying flat on his stomach with Bartosch straddling his legs. Firm hands grabbed the top of his hose, pulling them down to his knees. 

They should stop.

A hot, wet tongue connected to his arse cheek. 

Hans jumped, propping himself up onto his elbows, then looked over his shoulder to see all too happy Bartosch staring right back at him. 

“What?” Bartosch said so innocently. 

His eyes widened, trying to figure out exactly what the naughty knight was planning. Bartosch smiled at him, “You say no cock and no fingers. So tongue it is.” 

Hans gasped, smashing his reddening face into a pillow. 

The embarrassment choked him. His stomach clenched, and his cock twitched in anticipation. This man was going to be the end of him.

“Aww, don't be shy,” Bartosch chuckled, then bit into Hans’s left cheek, causing him to jolt. 

Hans could feel the bed dip where a hand landed beside him. Bartosch's breath was on his neck, then a kiss landed on the corner of Hans’ jaw. The lips moved down working him until he was overly sensitive. 

Now the only thing Hans could think of was how good that wet tongue felt against his skin and just how great it would feel elsewhere. And Bartosch only encouraged those thoughts by rolling his tongue, then sucking the skin as he went down Hans’ back. A knee parted his legs wide enough for Bartosch to lie between them. One part of Hans wanted to tell him to stop, and the other to hurry it up. He needed to know what it would feel like. That fluttering feel returned in full force as Bartosch neared the apex of his right cheek, and a hand grabbed the left.  

Bartosch abruptly stopped. Then he sat up.

“Mutt is barking,” he muttered. 

Hans wanted to say ‘who cares’ but Bartosch was already up and dressed before the words could form in his mouth. So he settled for groaning into the pillow and cursing the pup’s bad timing. 

A hand landed in his hair, ruffling his golden strands. “Let me go and check. If it's nothing, we'll continue.” 

Hans grumbled back. 

A blanket was tossed over him, then a creak from the door opening let in the evening sun. 

“It better be Henry,” Hans finally mumbled to himself. 

A flood of hooves beating the ground broke through Hans’ haziness. He leaped up, yanking his hose up, fastening them, and searching for his pourpoint. ‘It better be Henry, ’ repeated in his mind again with fear. 

Once dressed, he found Bartosch leaning against the railing just outside the door, intensely watching the men pour in from the road. They rode in two columns,  six in front of a long wagon with Zizka leading and eight in the back. At the tail end, riding beside a too-happy stranger was Henry. 

He looked like a true knight, donned in the most lovely armour while riding tall on his war horse. Fresh from the battle, but had a smile so charming. With the vivid memories of their time in the bath, the kissing that had him melting, all the wet grinding– Henry could take him over anything, not wasting time with the armour or the witnesses. 

Hans squeezed his eyes shut, pushing all of his heated thoughts into the void before he did something stupid again. Whinging to himself, ‘This was all the sexed up knight’s fault.’ His eyes snapped up to find Bartosch still leaning against the railing, glaring at the rider at Henry’s side. The very one he was still too distracted with to notice them standing on the terrace. 

“Why not just call out to him?” Hans remarked. 

With a huff, “I do not chase like some dog, wagging its tag when its master nears.”

Hans hummed to stifle his laughter.  

“You’re right– you stalk and pounce like the good kitty you are.” Bartosch hissed, readying to mouth off, but Hans interrupted. “God, Lord Henry! Did you kill them all yourself?”

Henry beamed up at them, his eyes wide but his smile wider. 

“The one man army, Henry of Skalitz,” Hans cheered. “Now get up here and greet your Lord properly.” 

“Can my good Lord permit me to bathe first and perhaps some food?” Henry asked, his eyes shifted to Bartosch. That was some confusion there between his brows. 

With a dramatic sigh, “Make it quick.” 

Henry dismounted, tying his horse up, and talked to that stranger again. It didn’t look like any of Brabant’s men, and he, too, was wearing Prague colors. But the others accepted him. 

“Do you know him?” Bartosch asked and didn’t have to specify who.

They both watched the men walk off towards the baths before Hans answered. “No.”    

The skies were turning shades of violet and deep pinks when Henry came stumbling in, still laughing at the conversation he was previously having. He brought a plate of food filled to the rim, and a cup of what Bartosch presumed was beer. 

“Took your time, blacksmith's boy,” Hans was still snippy from earlier. 

He wanted to continue after Henry took off to the baths, but Bartosch just wasn’t in the mood anymore. Between Zizka's plans for tomorrow and that stranger–

That man wanted Henry.

And Henry didn’t even notice. 

Not that it was his fault. Henry didn’t even realize when Bartosch first flirted with him. But it still boiled his blood. And Hans thinks he’s upset because Henry didn’t greet him. Bartosch didn’t want to risk starting an argument by telling him the truth, which might bite him on the arse. 

Henry blinked a few times. “Um.. sorry?” 

“It’s fine.” Bartosch glared at Hans as he spoke. “Are you alright, no injuries?” 

“Some scrapes and bruises, nothing too bad. And you? You seem to be moving around quite well now.” Henry gave him a little hopeful grin while taking a seat at their table. 

“Walking is alright, stairs are still uncomfortable. But I still haven’t tried to lift a sword yet,” he said, eyeing the fancy blade on Henry’s hip. 

He had heard plenty about the blade from Hans, and he only got glances of the weapon when Henry visited him at the camp. Better to talk about the sword than argue, but if Bartosch was being honest with himself, he just wanted to hold the pretty sword.

Hans huffed, “I doubt he’ll let you touch it; he’s very attached to that sword.” 

Henry took a bite of food before unfastening his sword belt and handing the whole thing over. His hands gripped the hilt wrapped in a dusty violet leather. It was lighter than the average blade, similar to the one Henry made him. A dull ache spread from his palm; the wounds were still very sensitive, but this felt nice, natural. 

“Seems like you can hold it just fine,” Henry said proudly. 

“Oh wow, he loves you more than his sword. Now that's something.” Hans mocked, then mumbled the rest in Latin, “Why do you always get to hold his swords?”

It took every ounce of patience not to smack himself on the head or, better yet, swat Hans for his nonsense. At least Henry doesn't understand Latin. 

Henry gave him a crossed look before saying, “You can hold it too, you know.”

That was a subtle pink to Henry's cheeks, but it quickly faded. 

Bartosch smirked and handed the weapon off to an awe-touched Hans. The way Hans took the blade so gently, he might as well have been holding onto a piece of Henry’s soul. It was too sweet. 

Hans moved to sit on Henry's bed, and he joined Henry at the table, taking the spoon from his hand. 

“Let me.” 

“I can feed myself, Bartosch,” he mumbled, cheeks going pink again. 

“Aye, but I want to.” 

Henry sighed, going a few shades darker, then turned to face him. It didn't take him long to finish the food off. Then he insisted that Henry show him all of his wounds regardless of their seriousness. Hans broke away from admiring the sword to worship an almost bare Henry. 

It would have been nice to spend more time together, but Henry looked exhausted. And already drifting to sleep in his bed. 

Bartosch lay against Henry's side, with his head on his chest, trying to memorize the sound of Henry's heart. They both would be leaving him again, very early in the morning. He couldn't shake the dread, but wanted to simply enjoy the fact that they were all together now. 

And Hans must have felt the same; he still sat at the end of Henry's bed. Then, eventually, he chose to lie across their legs rather than leave their sides. It was crowded and uncomfortable, but still in an odd way completely comfortable. He felt good, he felt safe, and for the first time, he felt at home. 

They just had to get through tomorrow. 

Chapter Text

“I’m the fucking Lord of Pirkstein…” - Hans

Hans was already up, getting ready; the distinct sound of chainmail and metal plates clashing together was what woke him. They weren’t supposed to be here, but Henry couldn't have been happier for it. Nothing compared to being able to hold them both in peace, to just sleep without worrying about who’s where and if anyone is in danger. 

But now he would have to return to the fray. And Hans insisted on going with him. Not only did Hans flat out ignore his concern, Bartosch had also supported the idea with a: “someone has to bring you back.”

It was a hopeless argument, one Hans woke him up to and he didn’t want to have it in the middle of the night. With a begrudged agreement, they all went back to sleep.

Henry gently slid out from Bartosch’s side, letting a pillow replace where his chest was. Bartosch’s warm eyes fluttered open, his brows creased in their typical worried way. 

“So soon?” His voice is soft, mournful. 

He was slow to sit up, still stiff on the one side. His eyes wandered past him to Hans, still donning his armour. It was a painful sight; the fear in Bartosch's eyes, the tension in his jaw. Henry traced a hand down and through Bartosch’s beard, grabbing him by the chin. He then bent down, pressing a kiss to his brow.  

“Don’t worry, with a bit of luck it’ll all be over before you wake,” he said with a smile. 

Bartosch huffed, “Before I wake? Am I not already? And there is no way I’ll be slumbering while you two are off at war.” 

“Katherine will be heading to Suchdol. Will you go with her?” Henry didn’t want to ask him to go or imply any sort of expectation. Complete annoyance graced Bartosch’s features; his shoulders slumped. “I’ll go with Katherine, but I'd better see you and Hans before nightfall, no excuses.” 

“As my Lord commands.” Henry bowed.

A hand smacked his backside before he could straighten out. “Did you hit your head during that ambush? I’m your Lord,” Hans sassed. “We'll return, and promptly at that.”  

“You’re our Lord, technically…” Bartosch grabbed Hans’ hand, leading him closer, giving him a small tug so he would kneel. “And yet, I can still get you on your knees.” 

Hans scoffed, ears going red. “Your Lord will be back later, and he encourages you to finish what you started.” 

Bartosch wrapped his arms around Hans, pressing a kiss to his cheek with a devious smile.

Whatever the good Lords were planning, Henry would make sure to avoid them until it was safely over. Or perhaps prevent it now. Bartosch's hands started down Hans’ back, their lips found each other. 

“No-No, save it for later. A treat for not dying.” Henry grabbed a handful of golden hair, leading Hans’ head gently away from Bartosch. 

Hans groaned, “Just a bit more.” 

“He’s right. I’d like to get up so I can wait for Katherine downstairs- no need for her to fetch me.” 

Bartosch patted Hans’ cheek, then stood.     

Downstairs, Henry found, Katherine had prepared food for select individuals, leaving the rest to bitch and moan. They so happened to be a part of her favored people at the Den. All her protesting, and yet she still treated his significant ones kindly. He’d need to do some special for her, something to show his gratitude for everything she has done. 

 His two gentlemen sat together scarfing down the food. Besides, Hans had packed a bag for Bartosch with all of the things he wanted to move to Suchdol, which consisted of his three books, or two books and their shared one. Bartosch was absolutely thrilled about the idea of translating the Latin book for him, praising Hans to no end. 

He stood at the end of the table, shifting to the other foot, doing his best to ignore the extra weight of the shield hanging off his shoulders. It wasn’t something he carried around often, but a castle meant narrow halls, and a short sword and shield worked better. So he brought both: his father’s sword and a nice short sword he crafted a while back.

He was hungry, but his stomach was in knots. At least his demon was silent this morning– for now. 

Zizka went over the important details; lure them men out, spring the trap, lastly climb the wall and get into the inner court before they can raise the drawbridge. Simple? As Zizka droned on, Bartosch slowed to eat, dropping the spoon altogether. He didn’t give anything away to the room of people, just enough for Henry and Hans to notice. 

“We’ll be fine, I have the unstoppable minion at my side,” Hans teased with a smile. 

Bartosch's jaw clenched, his eyes argued, but the silence held firm. 

“It’s a pity,” Hynek said as he approached, “I’ve been wanting to see you fight. Now you’re just a wounded bird,” he mocked, eyeing Bartosch. 

Henry’s first instinct was to defend Bartosch, but that would only prove Hynek right and further damage Bartosch’s pride. So he waited, studying Bartosch for a sign he could throttle this man. But it was Hans who broke first.

“Of course, the honorless mocks the honorable-”

“Don’t waste your time on him, Sir Hans,” Bartosch said and dismissed Hynek with a glance. 

“So high and mighty! …for a turncoat.” 

Bartosch sipped his tea, the devil nothing more than an apparition. 

So Hynek prodded again. “If he turned once-”

“Leave them be,” Zizka interrupted. “You know your tasks, now let’s get to it.” 

The men left one by one, leaving to take the rear. If Hynek’s comments got to Bartosch, he didn’t show it, which oddly gave Henry some hope he was returning to his normal self. 

“Alula,” Bartosch called, as they were heading for the door. Hans turned.

“Cura ut ad me redeas, lumina mea parva.” Bartosch's tone was sweet, fragile. 

If only Bartosch spoke it in a language Henry had a better understanding of. He could pick up on a word here or there. Like last night, Hans’ odd sword comment, Henry could make out just enough to know it wasn’t actually about a sword. But this time, these words were mostly a mystery. But Hans' soft gaze, and the subtle way he brushed his fingers against Bartosch's hand made it pretty clear. 

Bartosch's eyes flicked to Henry.

“I'll let him know,” Hans assured him. Then walked towards the horses.

Henry grumbled, “Or he can just speak normally.” 

“Sorry, I wasn't trying to make you feel left out. I just– just keep your promise,” Bartosch whispered to him as he passed the threshold of the door. 

With a hum, “I will. See you soon.” 

They mounted their horses while Bartosch remained in the door with a hardened expression. It couldn’t be easy for him to watch, to do nothing. Henry would have gone mad if their place had been revised. 

“Come on, Henry,” Hans called, his horse taking slow steps. But Henry couldn’t look away just yet, scouring his mind for something to make the knight smile one last time.

“Until next time, Amor.” Latin sounded weird, unnatural on his tongue, and he couldn’t be sure he said it properly, but it accomplished what he wanted; Bartosch’s eyes went wide, his cheeks deep red. That miserable expression softened to something sweet and tender. 

Henry gave Wraith a little kick to catch up with a gasping Hans. “What?”

“You're learning,” he spoke, eyes swelling with pride. 

“Oh, get moving.” Henry smacked Aethon’s hind leg, sending the horse bolting.     

As the trail of men closed in on their target, they split into three groups, giving Henry the perfect opportunity to ask Samuel for another favor: keep Hans safe if he couldn’t, even if that means they have to leave him behind. Sam did push back on this, but after mentioning a what-if with John, Sam gave in. 

To their annoyance, Zizka placed them in the group led by the Devil while Hans remained in another with Godwin. The third group consists of those responsible for the bombard, Brabant, Crow, and a few strong men. 

Sam and Henry were sent to do the dirty work of luring the men from the keep.  

Through the woods they descended from a hill. At the base, a bright light glared in the dark; a guard. Hynek crept forward, ahead of the group. His arm glowed as it came over the man’s shoulder and around his throat. The guard jerked and twisted in a way Henry knew he was finished. Poor luck for him to be there as they appeared. 

“Just how many poor souls happened to be in your path?” Toth’s icy voice said what he was actively trying not to think. 

It was a guard. They chose this, knew the risk. 

“The risk of being slaughtered by shameless bandits? What would that honorable sweetheart of yours think?” Henry could feel that smug smirk widening. “You’re just doing what you have to, I understand… Play the game.” 

Why did it feel like Toth knew something he didn’t? This felt familiar. 

“Torch the village.” 

What? His thoughts scrambled; this was so obviously in front of him, but he just didn’t want to see it, but his monster had. 

Hynek coldly added, “No prisoners.” 

Bile rose in Henry’s throat at the thought alone. 

“Oh, don’t be like that. What happened to burning castles? You know what Sir Otto did to your lovely sweet Lord-s… who knows what will happen to Bartosch now he’s a turncoat.” 

Bartosch would never want this, no matter the circumstances. There was a long, tedious list of twisted things Henry had done, but never to the innocent. 

“Are you so certain?” 

“Have you all lost your minds?” Henry snapped as the man gathered torches while the Devil was pointing out homes to burn, “We are not going to murder innocent peasants.” 

“What of it? You got kin down there?” the Devil mocked. 

He knew very well what happened to Henry’s family. Icy calm settled over him. If Hynek was testing him, he would gladly fail.

“We are not burning the village,” he ordered the men. 

Samuel gave him a relieved nod and grabbed the torches from two of the men, then tossed them to the ground.

Behind Henry, the devil snarled. He turned just in time to duck from an incoming sword. It was close, too close. 

He had been foolish to look away from the man swinging it. 

The pile of torches lit the perfect arena. Hynek couldn’t match his nickname any more than he did in that moment with fire lighting his eyes and casting twisting shadow over his scared face. Behind his snarling lips, his teeth looked like jagged fangs. 

“You want to command?” Dry Devil snapped. “Let us see how you do it from the grave-” 

He lunged forward with a long, low slash intended to gut him. Henry reared back. Pressed hard by Hynek’s rapid slashes. The old bandit was fast, vicious, and unpredictable. Henry couldn’t stop dodging long enough to unsheath his own sword. 

“Would that have stopped you if he were me?” The monster wasn’t trying to help him, not truly. It wanted– needed bloodshed. 

His heart was pounding, trapped in his metal shell, the monster clawing from the inside. Hynek wasn’t an innocent.  

Henry stilled. 

Hynek swung high, bringing the blade down with both hands. The flames still danced in his wild eyes, a confident twisted smirk on his lips. 

Henry’s hands shot up and grabbed both arms just below the wrist, stopping him mid-arch. Hynek tried to jerk away, but Henry’s fingers dug into the devil’s flesh with the brute strength of years spent at the forge. Henry relished the pain in the Devil’s eyes, knowing there would be bruises in the form of his fingers tomorrow.

With a hiss, the devil jerked and flailed around, his sword dropping harmlessly to the ground. All that stood now was a bitter old man.

“Fight me like a real man!” he spat. 

“Like a real man? Big words from the one who swung at an ally’s back.” Henry almost felt bad for him; he lost, and he knew it. To an unarmed man, a so-called youngster. “Even in an honest fight, you’d still lose.” 

“Let go of me, and we’ll see about that.” 

The moment Henry lets go, Hynek would grab the sword at their feet and stab him with it. There would be no chance for Henry to arm himself. So, Henry planted a foot onto Hynek’s chest, kicking the man back. 

Hynek stumbled to the ground, giving Henry just enough time to draw his sword.

Unlike the Devil, Henry allowed him to arm himself. 

“Henry, this is a waste of time,” Samuel complained. 

“It won’t be long.” 

Hynek spat, “you got that right.”

In a burst of speed, Hynek slashed at him. Henry parried. The onslaught continued, six rapid strikes before the Devil slowed. He could match his speed just so. 

Henry swung at his left then right, feinting left, but the Devil saw through it. They circled each other, both looking for an opening, a weakness. The Devil lurched towards him again, each strike faster and harder than the last. With a thud, his sword connected to Henry’s shoulder; ringlets fell, bouncing, and the leather holding his chestplate split. 

Hynek pulled back, smug and satisfied with the damage he caused. 

Henry pulled the hanging armour off, tossing it to the ground. His eyes remained firmly on his opponent.       

There was a pattern in his attacks, one Henry could just barely see. Dry Devil didn’t fight like Zizka, who was a wall of strength similar to himself, nor was he quite like Bartosch. Fast and agile. Oddly enough, his fighting style reminded him of Hans the most. It followed its own beat, sometimes predictable, then abrupt, hotheaded almost. But unlike Hans, there was a cunning edge to him. A tamed madness. 

“Doubting yourself?” 

Henry huffed, “Na, I’m just starting to figure you out.”

This time, Henry closed the space, not allowing Hynek the time to start another frenzy. His speed built on itself, so to win this duel, Henry had to prevent it. Then wear him down as any other man. 

Metal rang out clear and loud, a messy beat. They slashed, hacked, and parried until they were both panting, but Henry kept on him. There would be no breaks, no moments to catch your breath. And it was working.

Hynek was retreating, searching for a way to put space between them. And he almost did, rounding a large oak. Henry felt as if he was chasing a fox attempting to give him the slip. 

“Stop running! And fight me like a real man,” Henry mocked him. 

The Devil let out a guttural snarl, leaping at him and leaving himself open. Henry seized this opportunity to drive his sword into Hynek’s arm, forcing him to drop his weapon, but the man kept coming. 

Henry realized his mistake the moment a sharp pain shot up his side: Unlike Hans, the Devil didn't fight with honor. Hynek jerked back, ripping the dagger out and driving it home again. Henry dropped his sword, socking Hynek on the jaw. The force sent the man to the ground flat out. But he didn’t stop there. Henry straddled him, punching him again and again. Letting his fury fuel each strike. Maybe he’d die, but he deserved no better. 

“Henry!” Sam called, then again. 

The man beneath him coughed, choking on blood. 

“Stop it!” Sam stayed his arm this time. 

His blood boiled. 

Toth whispered encouragements. He could do it, kill him easily, perhaps Zizka and anyone else who would protest the monster’s death. Killing a so-called ally. Henry froze. Hynek’s face couldn’t get any uglier now coated in blood, and the swelling was already starting to take. 

All his rage turned into disgust. 

Henry rose to his knees, then stood over him. “You’re a coward, with no honor.”

He pulled the dagger from his side, tossing it into the woods behind them. Henry stumbled back, away from the scene, steadying himself against that oak tree. 

Sam came to him with his sword and discarded armour. “Are you alright, bruder?”

“Yeah, it’s nothing. We are going to go around the village, I want words with Zizka.” Henry took the sword, sheathing it and then the armour. A leather strap would be quick enough to mend while the Devil came to. 

Henry dug into his bag, pulling out a repair kit and a phial of chamomile concoction. “Here, give this to the Devil.” 

“You keep showing him mercy, and he’ll really kill you one day.” Sam grumbled. 

But Henry ignored him, focusing solely on the armour. They needed to move soon.           

Standing in the dark, waiting for a village to catch flame wasn’t something Hans ever thought he would be a part of. The lure wasn’t explained as much as the rest of the task. And when it came to light that Henry would be told to put a town to the torch– God damnit, why couldn’t he have been with him? Or better yet, take them to Rattay instead of lingering here with these bandits. But to much of his surprise and Zizka’s rage, those sparks of flames never came. 

Torchlight glowed like fresh copper on Hynek’s cropped hair. His split lip curled into a snarl with each step. Early stages of bruising covered most of Hynek’s face. 

“What’s going on, Devil? What the fuck are you doing?” Zizka snapped.

Humbled. It wasn’t something he thought to see on the Devil, but he shifted a side. The men following him gathered on the hilltop all looking wary and unsure. Samuel trailed beside Henry, his head tilted downwards, eyeing Henry’s waist. As the dark gave way with their approach, a deep grimace was etched into Henry’s face. He was in pain. But from where?   

The Devil cleared his throat. “I had a bit of a disagreement with this brat here.” 

Of course, Henry went against orders. 

“This is your plan? To burn down the village?” Henry stood apart from them, casting judgment. 

There were wet smears of what had to be blood covering his cuirass. Hans followed it, looking for a source, finding a gash in his chainmail, one he knew wasn’t there before. But the wound under it wasn’t visible in the low light. 

Zizka glared back. “What of it? We’re at war, if you haven’t fucking noticed?” 

His stomach turned at how carelessly Zizka dismissed the well-being of those people. Their lives were nothing so long as their task was met. And Henry wasn’t having any of it.  

“There’s innocent people there!” 

Sending someone who had their village burned down to burn villages; You'd think the captain would have considered that when picking people.

“Do you think I don't know? But better them than us! They’d run for the woods before we started anyway.” Zizka sounded too sure of himself. What about those who couldn’t run? Or those who would stay and fight. There are always those who will fight for their homes. Their loved ones.

“Are you serious?” Henry snapped back. “It is the Law of God!” All these nobles, and a priest; it took a bastard, a peasant, to stand up for the right thing. “We are at war here, not those peasants!” 

Henry grabbed the hilt of his sword, willing to be the wall against the heartless nobles. 

Zizka’s eyes followed Henry’s hands. Then his scared eye flickered to Samuel, to Godwin, then to Hans. There was a brief moment, a consideration.  

“Fuck this fucking shit!” Zizka cursed them. 

He must have learned from their first duel to beware of Henry. Hans hid his little proud smile.

“Well... It's too late to go back now.” Zizka added.

“But that fortress is still full of men,” Godwin protested. Surely, wanting to make a run for it again, just like Nebakov.  

“There’s another way to do this. I’ll take care of the first gate.” Henry was giving the commands this time. “You’ll have the element of surprise.”

“Fine, Henry. You’ve made your bed, now lie in it,” Zizka warned, “But if any of us die today because of you... I’ll gut you myself!” 

Hans instinctively went for his sword; they would all fall, be damn the consequences.  

The Devil muttered, “Fuck.”

“You need to sneak quietly over the wall, youngsters,” Zizka said through his teeth.

“It’s still dark. That’ll give us cover.” Henry rolled his shoulders, his eyes narrowed slightly. 

‘It hurts more in armour’ was what Henry said back in the baths, referring to the damaged shoulder. Now, with whatever wound the Devil inflicted on him– they need a moment alone, so Hans could check on him. 

“I’ll go with them,” Godwin added; maybe he had picked up the signs, too? Did they know each other that much?

“I appreciate it, but this is not for you.” Zizka pinned the older man with his eyes. 

With Henry’s rebellion on their already hairy history, along with the Devil’s concern about Bartosch, they were looking more like enemies than allies. 

To prevent any more suspicion, Hans spoke. “Easy, Father. We’re trying not to die here.” 

If all three of them left together, there would be no guarantees they would even come back, leaving Zizka with the mess. So, keeping Godwin here meant they had to play their part. That’s how the captain's mind worked, from what Hans has witnessed. And looking at Godwin, it was clear they were thinking the same.    

“I’m giving them my best men. That will have to do, friend.” Zizka choked out the last word. 

“Hmph! I'd like to see what they look like,” Godwin huffed, his eyes looking at Henry’s side, fresh blood could be seen dripping through the chainmail. 

“Here I am, chalani!” Janosh chimed in with some nonsense that Hans didn’t understand. “We got ladder, and Adder go ahead to check out fortress.” 

“Good, Janosh.” Hans gave him a tight smile, then returned to Henry. “We’ll take care of the drawbridge.” Henry’s eyes hadn’t moved from Zizka’s. “And you, Henry, open up the first gate for Zizka.” 

The stronger men will be closer to Sir Otto, so the outer gate should be easier for Henry to deal with in his condition. 

“And then we’ll storm in there like a fox into a chicken coop!” Hans looked over the men, waiting for Henry to break away. “Let’s go.” 

With his order, Henry finally broke the standoff. Hans led them away. 

Their group walked around to the southern side of the fort, where the rock bed extended past the walls, making the distance to climb shorter. Janosh and Adder walked ahead of them with the ladder, Samuel just behind them, occasionally looking over his shoulder with a narrow glance at Henry. 

“Henry,” Hans whispered. 

He noticed a slight limp developing in Henry’s left side as they went. But he went on without a complaint. Hans just wanted to ask him how he was, if he was well enough to complete their mission. But the words froze in his mouth. And Henry caught him looking.

He grumbled, “I’m fine, Hans.”

“Just let me look at it.” His hand went to Henry’s side. 

Henry grabbed the limb and brought it to their side, continuing to trail after the others. “Not here, later.” 

The metal and leather made for a firm barrier between their hands, but Hans still held on. Henry slowed and leaned in. 

Hans’ face warmed. Was he?

With a dumb grin, Henry bumped his shoulder into him and then moved away. He even had the gall to chuckle. 

“Arse,” Hans grumbled. 

He tucked Hans’ hand, bringing him close again. “We can do that later, too. Just no dying.”

“Bart might get jealous again,” he teased. 

“He can join,” Henry quickly countered. “Well, I guess we’ll have to take turns, I don’t think you can kiss two at once…,” Henry trailed off.

“You’re such a– ughh, come on, let’s get this over with.” Hans quickened his feet, dragging Henry along with him. 

The quicker they snagged Sir Otto, the sooner he’d get to return to Bartosch. And there was absolutely no way he was going to miss this opportunity to have them. He’d take them both. 

What? 

His heart thumped away, singing his dirty thought to be a true one. That dreadful dream, Bartosch’s smirking, winking, handsome face. Oh, God, he screamed into his mind. 

“Hans, get over here,” Henry called from where he stood beside Samuel as the other two positioned the ladder. 

This wasn’t the time for this, Hans told himself over and over as he joined them, crouching against the wall. But he chose to keep a safe distance from his friend, just in case. Not that Henry would force things like that, but he’d clearly see something was amiss. 

With the ladder in place, Samuel turned to Henry. “You go first. Watch out for the guards.” There was a slight glance from Henry to him, and Samuel gave him a nod.

Henry ascended the ladder, Hans as second, and then by Sam. All the men made the climb safely and most shockingly undiscovered, so far. 

“Now for the worst part, Henry. You go and open the gate on the left. We’ll take the drawbridge on the right. Be careful. There’s guards on patrol in the courtyard and shooters up on the galleries.” 

Henry crept forward, down the steps, looking around the corner before coming back. 

“What’s-”

“There’s quite a few more than last time we were here. I’m going to lead them into the hut. Sneaking around won’t work, and they can’t shoot me from there.” Janosh and Addler nodded, pleased with the idea. “When they chase me in there, you guys go around them to the drawbridge.”

“I’ll go with you,” Hans said. He shouldn’t have to go without backup. 

Henry sheathed his longsword, switching to the Lord's of Leipa shield and a short sword. Rarely did Hans ever see him use anything else besides a longsword, but it would be better in the tight space.   

“I need you with them. If things go wrong, it’ll be easier for you to escape with them.” He moved closer to Hans, “I trust you to not fuck this up.” 

“Right, I’ll watch the yokels. Don’t die,” Hans whispered. 

Henry smiled, giving him a nod. 

He dropped his visor and marched down the stairs to the courtyard. Now out of sight but not earshot. “Come on, arseholes!” 

Not missing a heartbeat, a distinct thumping of arrows hitting a shield. It made his blood rise. 

They crept down the other stairs, Adder leading the way. They went around the small stables following the dry moat. Only a few steps to the drawbridge. 

Hans took a risky glance towards the front gates, and just as Henry planned, all the men guarding the front ran for the hut. Shrieks of agony lingered on the wind. The guards were still pushing in, so Henry had to be alive. Or at least that’s what he wanted to believe. He had so easily gotten distracted by the teasing that  Hans forgot about the wound.   

“Move,” Samuel ordered. 

This wasn’t the time. 

His thoughts snapped back to the task. They rushed the drawbridge. It was still down, so they could make it, succeed. Adder’s foot took on step onto its wood before freezing, and sending an arm to stop Janosh. A dozen men waited for them on the other side. 

“Fuck! Get back!” Samuel shouted and captured the attention of those still waiting for their turn on Henry. He grabbed Hans’ hoo,d yanking him back to the stairs. Then shoved him up the steps, “Down the ladder now!” 

“Henry? He’s your brother, you can't leave him!” Hans pushed against him.

“I gave him my word, now move or we’ll drag you down.” Samuel motioned to Adder. 

“Then drag me!” He spat back.

And they did, tossed over Adder like a sack of grain. Then dragged through the ravine back up into the woods. They dropped him into the mud. He could just bring himself to kneel; his heart threatened to explode. They left him to die. Alone. Air wasn’t enough to stop the suffocation choking him. 

A hand landed on his shoulder, “Calm yourself.” Samuel ordered. 

Hans smacked his hand away.

“When!” He choked out. “When did he make you promise?”

“When we were separated into the groups, but even before that.” He watched the walls, adding, “I owed him for saving my people. Between your secret knight and Zizka– well, he didn’t want to leave you unguarded. So I’ve been watching his highness for him.” 

Alarm bells rang at the castle. “They are raising the bridge? Why… unless.” 

They started running back. Hans stumbled after him, chasing him to the rest of Zizka’s men, just outside the gate.

“What the fuck are you guys doing out here?” The captain was practically screaming. 

“Henry’s still inside!” Hans answered. 

It got quiet, a thump. Then another. More arrows? Zizka and the Devil approached the gate, giving it a shove. 

It opened. 

“Fuck! That fucker did it!” The Devil rushed in. 

Bodies trailing from the house to the center. They were maimed beyond recognition; some holding their guts in, others their necks or faces. More bodies piled up just beyond the hut's door. Where a river of blood ran from the home, downhill to the gate. Hans counted fifteen easily; there appeared to be more limbs than bodies visible. Amidst the gore, leaning heavily on his broken sword was Henry with a shield full of arrows. 

“Henry?” He didn’t move. 

Hans rushed to his side, wrapping an arm around him. His weight dropped into Hans at the touch. 

“Damnit,” Hans grunted.  

Zizka shouted, “get those wagons moved there! Hynek! Get to Brabant.”

The men quickly followed orders, moving the wagons in a line parallel to the wall, a makeshift shield from the archers above. Hynek hauled arse out of the gate. Brabant stayed back with some men, along with Crow with the bombard. They need it now if they are going to get any farther in. 

Samuel grabbed Henry's other side; they dragged him to the wagons. Blood ran from that same gash from before. He didn’t seem so bad before, so why was it worse now? Hans lifted Henry’s visor; he looked barely lucid. 

Samuel pushed past him, reaching into Henry's bags, pulling out bandages. Then he removed a phial, opening it to smell it, then placed it back, searching for another. 

“Here.” He handed Hans a phial. “Make him drink it.” 

Then he poured another over the wound and started binding it.

Hans leaned Henry’s head back as far as the helmet and chainmail would allow, pouring the phial’s contents down as slowly as he could. Liquid ran down Henry’s chin, but he managed to give Hans a half snarl. 

Not dead yet.

“That will get him up, but he’s going to need stitches… that fucking devil.” 

As if he heard him, a thunderous boom sent piercing pain raking through his ears. The world shook as rock and wooden splinters flew. Soon followed by the wooden bridge crashing down. 

“Stay here with him.” Samuel bolted off, chasing the chaos.

The first savager landed on the pile of corpses, its accursed black wings flicking blood as it tore into flesh. 

“Get up, Henry,” he whispered to him. “You promised me some affection later, you arse.

The teasing tone died on his lips. 

“I wish you two were a little more selfish and less self-sacrificing. As if I’d want to remain here. Alone. It wouldn’t be living…” His fingers found Henry’s. It was all he dared to do, now dawn was breaking. 

A cough followed by a wince, his brows crossed, but his eyes opened. “Shredding tears for a minion? What happened to my vicious love?” 

His hand went straight to his cheeks, and sure enough hot, wet trails.

“That’s not– don’t call me that here.” He turned away. 

Love.

Such a simple word held complete power over him. 

“Hans.” His voice is faint. “Can you make them move any faster?” 

“Of course, let me go see.” He stood still, holding his hand. “I’ll be right back.”              

Henry hummed, closing his eyes. 

The journey to Suchdol while his lovers rode off to war was as miserable as he thought it would be. But at least physically it went easily enough. A bit of soreness from the bouncing, but nothing compared to how he felt a few days ago. Things were getting easier, even the stairs.    

Now he sat at a long empty table, in a room full of long empty tables. Everyone was busy, leaving him to suffer with his thoughts alone. This was worse than sitting in that godforsaken tent. 

At least the wine was good.

Bartosch swayed a little, planting his elbows on the table to still himself. The grip on his cup, loosening. How many cups did he have? Two? Three?

It didn’t seem like a lot, but the effects were catching up on him. 

He placed the cup down, pushing off the table with both hands. A bit of fresh air would do him some good. The last thing he needed to be was encouragement towards Hans’ ‘over-indulgence.’ 

Hans. He was always a pleasant thought. And they had some entertainment planned for his return. If only there were a comfortable way to include Henry. 

Bartosch mulled some gentle ideas over as his feet dragged closer to the exit. His hand pushed the door open to a sun-filled courtyard, and guards shouted, calling for their Lord. 

Two horsemen charged into the courtyard, one the stranger, Crow. The other unknown. Crow rounded his horse, looking back through the gate. A large black horse came next with another in a bright yellow caparison. Hans and Henry. 

Henry was slumped down in his saddle, leaning over the horn. His leg lifted out of the stirrup, and his body fell to the ground with a hard thump. Hans jumped out of his seat, quickly kneeling at Henry’s side. 

Bartosch quickened.

Hans glared back through the gate, his face red, looking ready to attack whoever came next.

Chapter Text

“You!” Hans shouted. “This is all your doing! You no-good fucking bandit!”

The Dry Devil and Zizka rode in. Hans launched himself towards Hynek, grabbing him by the leg, yanking the man to the ground. They went down together. The riderless horse bolted forward at the sound of the thump. 

Bartosch rounded Zizka’s horse. 

“Don’t!” The captain ordered him. 

Hans was on top of Hynek, pounding him into the ground. Bartosch caught a shade of blue moving towards Henry; he’s still down. One part of him wanted to join Hans and the other to see Henry; that part won. 

Bartosch kneeled beside him, and Katherine was already removing the blood-soaked bandages. 

“Is he-”

“No– help me with the armour.” She ordered.  

He rolled Henry to his side, unstrapping the chest piece. Katherine pulled it off and placed it to the side. There wasn’t much they could do about the chainmail besides hiking it up. Bartosch moved to strip the rest of the armour off of Henry’s arms and legs, searching for any more bleeding. There was no way of telling what was from Hynek or the battle, but each cut, bruise, or damaged piece of gear had his blood boiling. 

His eyes snapped to Hynek just in time to see Hans leap off him; a dagger slashed the air. 

Hans stood, jaw and hands clenched, blood dripped from his knuckles. 

“I’ve taken enough shit from uppity brats today.” Dry Devil pointed he dagger at him. 

“Good.” Bartosch grabbed his arm, pivoting around Hynek, twisting the arm behind his back while simultaneously pulling the dagger free. Bartosch held the dagger to Hynek’s throat, the tip piercing the flesh.

“Don’t!” Hans panicked. His hand didn’t want to stop. Hynek jerked in his grip, snarling. “Let him go, Bartosch.” 

“Listen to your Lord, bitch.” Hynek spat. 

His eyes went back to Henry, still motionless; he didn’t protect him the first time, and failed again. This man should die. But Hans didn’t want this; there had to be a good reason for that. 

The dagger pressed deeper.  

Zizka rounded them, standing beside Hans, who had been observing silently this whole time and whatever he saw; he seemed oddly pleased. “Let’s not make hasty decisions. Hynek fucked up, and Henry disobeyed orders. Both are in the wrong, both paid for it.”

What was he trying to gain?

“Let me be clear. I am sworn to protect Sir Hans. I do not care what side you’re playing on.” Bartosch stated. Whatever the Captain wanted or was playing at didn’t concern him at the end of the day. 

“Noted.” 

Bartosch’s answer didn’t dampen Zizka’s mood. It just went to unnerve him more.

 He released Hynek and retreated to Henry’s side.

Hans left his room, heading upstairs to Henry’s and Bartosch’s. He already expected to find either Kathrine or Rosa. The two women took turns watching over him the last day and night. And for some godforsaken reason, Bartosch tolerated it. He couldn’t argue with Kathrine; it made sense. She at least had some experience with wounds. But Rosa’s persistence to be beside Henry just annoyed him. She’d dismiss everyone else, consistently behaving as if it were her own personal room. Henry never even spoke of her, so why was she acting so… damn entitled to him?  

Opening the door, there sat the redhead and no Bartosch. It made his eyes roll, and his hand dropped from the door, leaving it open. “You can leave.” He demanded.  

The lady scoffed, “As if you know how to care for him. I’m certain you’ve never done anything for yourself.” 

“Aye, and you're a bonesaw?” With a long sigh, “You've hardly known me for a day.” Hans was exhausted.

“And you were going to let the Dry Devil burn me alive.” Rosa snapped back. It was a bluff, but the Lady didn’t care. He already apologized, but it didn’t matter to her. 

“This is a waste of time. You can leave.” He insisted.  

Henry hadn't woken since the fall, and though Katherine said he was just exhausted and the wound to his side wasn’t too concerning unless it became infected. Hans still couldn’t relax enough to find any rest last night, nor could he sit by Henry’s side thanks to a certain Lady. All of his noble patience was wearing thin. 

“Katherine said he’s fine, so you’re not needed.” He bit out.   

With a hmph, “If it wasn't for me. You'd still be locked up, waiting for ransom.” She held her head high, trying to claim credit for all the work Henry had done. 

Hans was sick of people, sick of being indoors, and sick of feeling so fucking useless. And the last thing anyone was going to do was take any more from Henry. 

“Ha! Henry would have ripped the walls down, stone by stone, for me. All you did was spare the walls.” If Rosa could get any more mad, Hans didn’t care to notice. “...Until we blow it to smithereens with the bombard.”

“Hans.” Bartosch walked in with a cocked brow. “That’s no way to speak to a lady.”

Rosa smirked. “It makes sense you’re his tutor; he has no manners.” 

She ate their lie up without a second thought.

“They are hosting quite the feast downstairs. Would you like me to escort you?” Bartosch smiled. 

He was as charming as ever and even offered her a hand. And she gladly took it. It was all fake, another performance. Hans remembered just how much he hated it back in Maleshov; pretending to be anything else besides what they were, just hurt. Now he had to watch that woman cling to Bartosch’s arm, ignore the wanton looks she gave to both of his men. 

“Would you like me to bring you something, Sir Hans?” Bartosch asked too formally. 

“Yes. And be quick about it.” He snapped back.

“He must be paying you well to put up with all that– rudeness… Perhaps once Henry saves my father, we could arrange a better agreement.” Rosa gave Hans a side-eye.

Bartosch sighed.

“Henry will be doing no such thing for you or for anyone, and Bartosch is mine– They are both sworn to me, so go find your own servants, instead of stealing mine.” Hans let all the venom flow out. 

“My Lord, Henry is trying to rest, so could you lower your tone?” He dropped his tone as he spoke. There was no doubt going to be a lecture from him once he returned, but Hans held his tongue as the couple left the room.    

He took a seat on the little stool beside Henry’s bed; Hans grabbed his hand and intertwined their fingers. Even lightly dressed, just in his hose, Henry’s skin was damp with sweat, but he didn't care; the soft comfort it brought to be near him was enough to overlook everything else. Henry’s hand twitches, but his eyes remain closed. His brows frowned, and a soft groaning came from his mouth. 

Another nightmare or just pain? 

Hans rubbed his fingers on the top of Henry's hand, hoping it would soothe him. It wasn’t long before the door creaked open again, and Bartosch took a seat on the bed with a plate of food.

“Here you go, eat up.” 

“Oh, no charming smile for me?” he grumbled back.

Bartosch picked a piece of melon off the plate, bringing it to Hans’ lips, “Open.” He glared back but eventually gave in, letting the cold melon slip into his mouth. Only then did Bartosch give him a charming smirk. “Jealousy puts most off, but I find it rather endearing on you, though it’s wasted on Rosa.” 

“Ugh–” He didn’t want to hear that name or any other. “Perhaps you should tell her that.” 

“Hmm, I could, but she is the daughter of a powerful noble, and that type of influence is useful as you know… How are your hands?”

He just shrugged; they hurt, but not enough to cause a fuss about it. 

“Hans, I know you’re having a bad time with everything, but we can’t afford to slip up here.” Bartosch placed the plate down as he stood. “You need to eat. I’m going to rest for a bit. Make sure to lock the door if you want to join.”

Hans waited a few moments, long enough for Bartosch to assume he was listening about the food, then moved the plate to the desk near the entrance and locked the door. He walked to the other side of Henry’s bed, where Bartosch’s mattress lay adjacent, against the wall, leaving a few paces between them. 

Bartosch lay facing the wall, his bare shoulders popping out from under the blanket. Hans didn’t hesitate to remove his pourpoint and slide in behind him. 

“I hate that I can’t just touch you, kiss you without the world turning against us.” He whispered, pressing his forehead into Bartosch’s back. “I hate he’s hurt again, and we are stuck in this fucking castle. It’s like my skin is just crawling with agitation.” 

Bartosch rolled over, placing a hand on Hans’ cheek. “I know, you wear your emotions vividly. Let me rest and I’ll ease your worries later, okay?” 

He pressed a gentle kiss to Hans’ lip before leading him to rest on his chest. It was soothing to hear Bartosch’s heartbeat and the hand brushing through his hair, but it didn’t last. His poor knight passed out. Hans forced his eyes shut, but sleep just wouldn’t come.     

There were only a few hours of sunlight left when a soft rustling came from the bed behind a drawn curtain. Henry. The noise stirred Bartosch from his nap; both men had been resting peacefully the majority of the day. Hans took to watching over them, dismissing anyone who would bother them under the guise that he was studying with Bartosch, who so happened to share a space with Henry. An excellent little lie the pair made together. 

Bartosch blinked a few times, and before he could make a sound, Hans brushed his hand down Bartosch's cheek, gently placing his hand over his mouth. Then brought his finger to his own lips, motioning for him to stay quiet. 

He had been thinking about this for a while, how to tell Bartosch about Henry’s condition without him knowing and not completely breaking his word. This could be the best opportunity, and if he couldn’t convince Henry to tell him, then, as shitty as it was, he planned to have Bartosch overhear them. 

Hans rolled back, sitting up on the edge of the mattress, then stood. His fingers traced down the golden curtain before pulling it gently back. It made a crack just wide enough for Hans to take a seat at the foot of the bed, leaving the curtain open just enough so he could gauge Bartosch’s emotions. 

Henry’s eyes were immediately on him. 

“Are you still alive, Blacksmith’s boy?” Hans asked charmingly and sweetly with a touch of teasing. 

Henry ignored his question. “You’re alright?” He asked, sitting up.

“I am, and Bart is resting before you ask. He’s a bit sore from the toss with Hynek. But fine.” Hans emphasised fine, he’d never talk if he was worrying about someone else. “How are you feeling… You took another bad fall.” 

“I landed mostly on my shoulder, which definitely hurts. But I’ve had worse.” Henry dismissed Hans’ concerns, and as usual, minimised his own pain. 

Hans hummed his urge to disagree away, and this could be dealt with later. “Henry, we need to talk about it.” 

The recoil was instant. “Not now, not with him so near.”

“He’s asleep, and he’ll find out soon enough. You need help.” Hans tried to reach for him, to touch his hand, but Henry pulled away. “Not talking about it obviously isn’t fixing anything.” 

“Fixing, I need fixing?” His eyes narrowed.  

Hans couldn’t help but look to the side, wanting Bartosch’s help but knowing he couldn’t have it. Bartosch did look ready to come over on a moment's notice. His warm eyes narrowed onto Hans, unlike Henry’s, he searched for an answer.  

Hans swallowed, lowering his hand to motion for Bartosch to stay put.  “That’s not how I mean it… Maybe he could help or know who we could go to.” 

Henry glared coldly. There was no way he would be telling Bartosch like Hans had hoped he would. He sighed. Now for the betrayal. 

“Fine, don’t tell him.” Hans caught a slight movement from Bartosch, making him quickly add, “But– if you don’t answer my questions, then I will. And don’t waste your time getting offended. If neither of you can just ask or accept help, then I’ll be there to force it… I’m sick of watching you suffer.”

He hissed, “Brat.” 

“Arse.” Hans quipped with a gentle smile. “Come on, Henry. Let one of us in, please.” 

Henry’s eyes flickered to him, his gaze softening. 

“Please,” Hans whispered. Henry brought his legs up, resting his arms on his knees, giving Hans a nod. “When… we were at the camp, you started talking to someone; who was it?” 

Henry hunched over, keeping his eyes on the bed. “Toth.” 

That name soured his already aching stomach. There was no keeping a straight face, just hoping Henry didn’t notice. Hans peeked towards Bartosch; his face was drained of color, his eyes on the curtain where Henry sat on the other side. 

Hans swallowed the bile burning his throat. “...even from the grave… is it ever anyone else?”

“Sometimes, but not usually.” Henry rambled, “At the baths, it was him, at the camp, then the ambush.” 

“So it didn’t stop after you two made peace?”

“Hrm… it did for a little while, but I went back to his tent to burn any letters from you.” Henry’s face scrunched. “Seeing all that blood, the clear signs of struggle, knowing he almost died– the voice.” He gestured to his head. “It just got too loud.”

He didn’t want to know what Henry did to Katz. And Hans wanted him equally dead, but if it only furthered Henry’s suffering, then it would have been better avoided. 

“Did it start after you killed him?” Hans avoided Toth’s name.  

Henry hesitated, “I started seeing things a bit before. He’s taken everything from me: my home, my family, my sanity, and… myself.”

There were no words he could say, and Bartosch had rolled over, facing the wall. His chest expanded in deep, jagged breaths. Hans could only imagine what was going through his mind.    

“I know it’s not the same,” Hans started. Both Henry and Bartosch looked towards him. They both need sometime of guidance or comfort. “...but Rattay can be your home, and we, Bartosch and I, your family.”

That was all he could offer, and it wasn’t enough. Even so, Henry took a glance at the divider, and Bartosch gave a little nod of approval. This was a start, something to build on until Henry felt better.  

“Henry, each time I’ve seen you have one of these events, you’re always in some emotional distress-”

“Sleep.” He cut Hans off. “It’s worse without it.”

“Right. So we just need to return to Rattay and make sure you sleep. No more adventures or warring for that matter.” They would live a peaceful and simple life, and as much as Hans hated it, the marriage would make the dramatic change appear normal. Unless the marriage finally pushes Henry over the edge. 

Henry frowned. “We have no idea when we’ll return to Rattay, or if Hanush will even let Bartosch come. Radzig’s protection isn’t his acceptance.” 

“Bartosch will be coming with us, or I won’t be returning until I kick him from my estates. Those are Lord problems, so let your Lord worry about it, aye?” 

Henry huffed, but the corners of his smile curled gently. “Nice to have such a good, caring Lord on my side for a change.” 

Somehow, just somehow, Henry had to step on that little devious side of him. The compliment went straight to his pride and desires, but he quickly stifled it.  

“Hans, can we just not talk about this anymore? I’d like to enjoy what I can before I completely lose it…” Henry was almost pleading. “I did promise you some affections, remember?” 

“Us,” he reminded. “And you’re not losing it, just having a bad day-s.” 

Hans glanced at Bartosch again; he was now sitting up on the edge of the bed. “You really should tell him.” 

“I will…” Bartosch glanced between them. “I promise I will, just not now.” 

Hans wanted to argue, convince him, but Bartosch shook his head; this was enough for now. 

“Alright.”

Hans kept glancing off to the side, and Henry knew in his gut why, but it didn’t matter; one more pitiful glance from either of them was going to drive him over the edge. He didn't want to talk about it, didn’t want to be treated like the broken thing he was. Just let him pretend he was okay until something sticks. Let these moments with them be the dreams, giving him respite from his personal hell. 

He moved closer to Hans just enough that he could comfortably lean over and grab his hand, searching for a connection, needing to feel something good. Hans gave him a little head tilt of ‘really,’ Then added a huff and glare as Henry brought the hand to his lips. 

“How about a kiss?” Henry whispered with a smile.

Hans pressed his lips into a tight line, then wet them.  The glare softened, replaced by a mischievousness. Hans crawled towards him, eagerly taking up the space between his legs, letting his own legs overlap Henry's thighs.

With his arms wrapped around Henry’s neck. “We should wake, Bartosch. He’ll be all jealous again if we don’t.” 

“Let him rest. He can join once he’s up.” Henry placed his fingers along Hans’ jaw. 

Hans pulled away. “Bart!” 

Hardly a second had passed before a graceful as ever Bartosch pulled the curtain open and slid in behind Henry. In one fluid motion, his hands brushed along Henry’s sides, wrapping around the front. His left hand continued upwards, guiding Henry’s head back and over. Lips pressed to his exposed neck, trailing up, stopping at the corner of his jaw. 

“Just in time for the Henry feasting,” Bartosch whispered into his ear. 

“Good Lord,” he whined, now firmly stuck between the pair. 

Hans wore a smile like he had just conquered the world. “See, this is right where you belong.” 

There was no helping the heat spreading across his face. 

The pair shifted, and Hans lifted his legs over Bartosch's, giving him the means to move closer. Nothing could hide the excitement growing in both men's bodies. 

“Is this okay?” Bartosch asked, peeking over his shoulder. 

Henry looked back, and there were hints of red around Bartosch's eyes. It hurt to see it, but he couldn't talk about those things any longer. He needed a break from all the pain, and they deserved something good too. So Henry gave him a subtle nod, pretending not to notice. Then he leaned slightly into him. Bartosch's warm eyes went down to Henry's lips. This time, there was no hesitation, just the need to feel him again. He let the desires lead him, brushing their lips together before committing fully. 

Bartosch tasted of wine and chamomile. Their lips opened, returning to where they left off in the baths. His tongue rolled against Bartosch’s, kissing him through the wave of excitement and sadness from missing him. 

Bartosch parted with a soft smile, looking over his face before pressing another kiss to his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere. You are stuck with us like vines on a tree.” 

The cold metal of the wedding band rested against his waist. His eyes wanted to weep, but happiness swelled in his chest. Bartosch rested his head against his cheek for a moment more. Hans leaned into his other side, pressing a kiss or two to his collarbone. 

“Our hero Henry.” Hans smiled into his chest.   

Humming in amusement, Bartosch's lips found his again. The soft wisps of Bartosch's facial hair brushed against his sent bolts of excitement down his body. 

Henry's hands went to Hans' legs, urging him more forward. Hans answered him by rolling his hips into him. Hans’ hands went around his waist, one held onto his shoulder, and the other went down between him and Bartosch. The way Bartosch's legs tensed as he gasped and broke from their kiss, Henry could easily guess what Hans was up to.  

And Hans didn’t hesitate to replace Bartosch’s lips, kissing him with confidence and zeal. The hands on his waist moved, coming up from behind him to his cheeks, tilting his head again. Bartosch’s lip pressed to his neck, working slowly down his shoulder. He winced as the touch brushed the sore spots of his back. 

“You're hurting, love?” Bartosch's voice was soft but full of concern.  

Hans broke away from his lips, moving back to the other side of his neck, giving him the chance to answer. 

“Just sore, it's fine.” It was all he could manage to say. 

His skin and mind were on fire, and Hans wasn't letting up. The only thing that was grounding him was the pinches of pain from Bartosch. Who was tracing his fingers over the whole of his back, feeling each spot with care. 

Eventually, Hans grew curious enough to stop and peek over his shoulder. 

“Should we stop?” Hans was clearly asking Bartosch. 

He should be happy they cared so much, but it really was nothing, bruising at most.  

Bartosch chucked, “No. Well, unless Henry says otherwise?” 

“I'm alright.” The hands that had been firmly grasping Hans' thighs slid up just a tad more to get his attention. Hans perked up, eyeing him with renewed interest. 

Hans’ nose tracing up Henry’s neck; a pair of lips brushed the other side. It didn’t take much to get back into it, and altogether they started onto him. Their lips worked him into a heated haze. It was so good. Too good, being feathered with all their touches. The soft grinding, the gentle hands caressing his body, still mindful not to cross any lines. He wanted more but wasn’t quite sure what he wanted or how to ask, just more. That feeling built until his hand settled on Hans’ rear, holding him in place so he could grind into him. And he did just that.

Hans froze. So did Henry. 

It felt good, but his head didn’t seem to know what to do with that information. And why did Hans react poorly to it? 

“Sorry.” Henry barely mouthed. 

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.” Hans was red to the tips of his ears, eyes flickering to Bartosch. “Just uhh… do what you like-”

Bartosch continued for him. “This is about you, Henry. We’ll do whatever you like, at whatever pace you want.” 

“You didn’t seem to like it,” he whispered to Hans. 

“Oh, he liked it. He’s just being shy.” Bartosch placed his hands on Hans’ hips. His fingertips just barely touched Henry's palms. “Do you want to try again?”

He searched Hans for an answer.

Hans’ blush deepened as he gave a little nod. He leaned back on his palms, adding a little distance between them. The pose flexed his chest and placed every beautifully sculptured muscle down his body on display. 

“Whenever you're ready, love.” Bartosch pressed his lips to his shoulder. 

There was no pressure in Bartosch's voice, just a gentle reminder he was in control. And if he wanted, if he could, this magnificent man in front of him would be his. 

To have Hans.

Henry's fingers pressed into the nice curves of Hans’ arse, then relaxed. He repeated a few times, loving the way Hans' eyes would flicker to him then away, how his body would twitch, the crease in his brow from trying to stay composed. 

This couldn’t be easy for him; Hans was always so loudly himself. And he had been so caring and patient with him. “Thank you, Hans. You've been very good for me.” 

Just then, Henry could feel the lips pressed to his back, smile, followed by a soft chuckle. 

Hans flopped backwards. “Good God, Henry…” he muttered the rest in Latin that earned a few more laughs from Bartosch. 

“Did I do something wrong?”

The bulge in Hans’ hose was still very prominent, but he was covering his face with his hands. There was almost a shudder or a tremble in the Lord’s legs. 

Henry quickly withdrew his hands. 

“No-no, you said everything just right,” Bartosch reassured. “He enjoys being complimented and teased.” 

“O?” he looked back at Bartosch. 

His smile widened. “Watch.” Bartosch's hand went from Hans’ hip to his groin, rubbing him through the hose. “Behave for our dear Henry, and I promise to finish what I started.” 

There was an audible gasp from Hans; his hips rose, meeting the hand eagerly. Bartosch continued to rub him with long, leisurely strokes. Hans moaned, his body trembled, and his legs tightened around them. Even his hands sought something to grasp, clenching Henry’s thighs. Hans was ascending into heaven, panting, moaning, and falling apart. 

It was every ounce of perfection he knew it would be. Henry wanted nothing more than to be able to do that to Hans himself. 

He traced the outer of Hans’ legs back to his hips. Hans was too lost in Bartosch to notice until his hip was realigned with Henry’s. His bright eyes met Henry’s with a sly smile; there was no mistaking that look, simply: ‘that’s right, take me’. 

Henry’s core clenched, his hips thrust forward, pressing into Hans. A moan escaped his lips, then another as he rolled into him again. Each time his body screamed more, but the fabric was too tight, dulling the sensation he was starved of. But Henry continued to grind into him, faster, more determined to chase that pleasure. The fabric clung to their skin, progressively getting damper as they went. It made a perfect outline of Hans’ body. And he could only imagine how good Bartosch looked behind him. 

Bartosch’s forehead pressed to the center of his back; the exhales from his panting blew down his spine. He sat just off-center enough to grind gently into one of Henry’s cheeks. Each time Henry shifted forward, then back, he’d moan. Eventually, a warm hand retreated from Hans’ groin back to Henry’s waist; the finger tracing the fine hairs down to the rim of his hose. 

“May I touch you?” Bartosch asked tenderly. 

He could quite hide the urgent, neediness of his tone, but Henry could tell just how hard he was trying. With one last grind into Hans, he released him. One of his hands landed onto Bartosch's, and the other reached back searching for him. Henry turned just enough to catch Bartosch’s lips.     

Just barely breaking away, Henry moaned, “Please,” while leading Bartosch’s hand down into his hose. 

He took a deep breath as Bartosch's delicate fingers wrapped him. This was okay, this felt nice, but he couldn't quite help feeling a sharp thread of fear, wiggling its way through his thoughts. And it must have shown.

“It's alright, Henry. You're with us.” Hans sat up and took his hand. “Bart and I are going to take care of you.” 

Gently, Hans pressed his lips to Henry's. This time, Hans took things slow, more deliberate. 

Bartosch ran his thumb down Henry's cock, with tender repetitive strokes, before rubbing the tip. “Does this feel good?”

He moaned in response. 

“I'm just going to untie these to have a little more room,” Bartosch told him, but didn’t move. It was just like him to wait for permission, but Henry was too deep into Hans’ mouth to remember words. 

It was Hans who stopped to unlace his hose and braies, freeing both Bartosch's hand and himself. Bartosch took full advantage of the freedom, stroking Henry from top to base. 

With his forehead resting on Henry's chest, Hans muttered, “He's so b–”

“Beautiful,” Bartosch finished, then continued, matching a stroke to each word, “handsome, and one of the most lovely men you'll ever see.” 

Hans smiled as he melted into Bartosch’s arms. His Lord rose to his knees, now just a tad higher than him, with eyes full of admiration and need.  Hans' hands guided up through his beard until they were on his cheeks. 

“You look so good like this,” Hans whispered. 

Henry didn't want this to ever end. 

“Our beloved.” Bartosch kissed up his neck. “Would you like Hans to join?” 

At his name, Henry sought Hans’ hips out. 

“Wait– let me-” Hans moved away, unlacing and tossing his remaining clothing to the floor. A completely flushed Hans slid back between his thighs, letting their bodies meld with a soft groan. “This is okay… yeah?” 

Bartosch hummed, “As gracefully as ever, Alula.” His hand quickly brought Hans into their embrace. 

Hans squirmed, thrusting into Bartosch's hand, adding more of that delicious friction Henry so needed. 

Henry grabbed him, pressing a needy, hot kiss to Hans’ lips as his hands dragged down Hans’ back. All the years and practice with the bow made it an absolute masterpiece to feel. With each trace of his fingers, Hans twitched, gasping and moaning, as Henry continued down until his fingers found the star-shaped scar on the Lord’s arsecheek. 

With a handful of cheek, he encouraged Hans to thrust again and again, moaning together until hot, wet liquid splattered against his chest, running down his abs. Hans broke away from their kiss, eyes wide and apologetic. 

Before he could speak, Henry kissed him again. “It’s fine. We've been teasing you enough with it.”

Bartosch let them go, chuckling to himself. 

“This is humiliating…” Hans whined, hiding his face into Henry's shoulder. 

“Just switch spots with me, Hans. Then we can keep going, right?” Bartosch was already shifting over, but paused. Hans peeked up at Henry. 

“Yeah, of course.” Henry grabbed Bartosch's hand. “Come here.”

Bartosch stood, undressing as Hans moved away, taking his previous spot behind Henry. Both hands reached around his waist, abruptly, one scooped up his balls, causing Henry to jump out of his skin. 

“Hans!” 

The other hand wrapped around his cock, squeezing. “You feel so nice.” 

“Arse...” He partially moaned. 

Hans pumped him a few times, whispering into Henry’s ear, “You like it.” And Henry couldn’t find a shred of a lie in it. 

Bartosch rejoined them on the bed. “Hm, greedy brat.” 

“Oh, give me your cock and be silent already.” Hans retorted.  

Bart huffed as Hans smushed them together, eagerly beginning to stroke. And he gave no mercy, already having Bartosch hunched over, panting onto Henry's shoulder. His moans just as beautiful as their last time together. 

With tender hands, Bartosch brushed up his chest, caressing his shoulders. Bartosch panted, “You're feeling good, right?” 

He couldn’t help but find Bart’s uncertainty-mixed-moan, adorable. Not only that, but the very fact that Bartosch was on the edge and his comfort was still the most important thing brought so much warmth to him. Hans was right; this is where he belonged. 

Henry pressed his lips to Bartosch's, his fingers landed in his hair, playing with the long strands. There was no need for words; Bartosch felt so good against him. 

“Henry,” Bartosch moaned, breaking their kiss. His fingers pressed into Henry's shoulders. 

Bartosch rolled his hips, slowly. It wasn’t enough, not for him and not for Bartosch. But he wasn’t going to do more unless encouraged; with that in mind, Henry wrapped his fingers around Bartosch's thighs, squeezing the muscles until he moaned. 

“Faster… louder,” Henry purred. 

Hans scoffed, taking his words personally, and increased his stroking.    

“Don’t stop, Hans,” Bartosch commanded. 

The crease in his brow grew along with his thrusting. His own seed joined Hans’ painting Henry’s waist, but Hans didn’t stop. Merely letting Bartosch go, focusing solely on Henry.   

After catching his breath, Bartosch shifted positions, lying flat on his stomach. He didn’t ask, just gave a questioning glance up. Henry smiled back, his hands resting on Bartosch's shoulders, nudging him downwards.

The tip of Bartosch’s tongue meant the tip of Henry’s cock, with a brief pause before his mouth sucked Henry in. Hans still stroked the bottom half, occasionally overlapping with Bartosch’s tongue, slicking his hand. Henry grabbed handfuls of silky black hair, grinding into Bartosch’s mouth. His own body sliding down Hans until he was practically lying in his lap. With the growing distance Hans took to grabbing up his chest, while watching the other man work. Henry moved a hand to the back of Hans’ neck, forcing him into an awkward kiss. 

As they broke away, Hans licked his lips and whispered, “Can I try?” 

The intensity of Hans' gaze sent fluttering down his waist; he couldn’t manage a word, just a meek nod. Hans pressed a kiss to his throat, then joined Bartosch, lying at the end of the bed. 

Henry shifted higher up on the bed, moved one leg off the bed, and bent the other at the knee to make more room. His back rested against the pillows, giving him the perfect support to watch them; both now lay between his legs. 

Hans pressed a wet kiss to the spot where his groin meets his leg, his tongue dragged over, licking at the base, while the rest currently sat deeply in Bartosch's throat. As Bartosch went up, Hans’ mouth followed, sucking along the side. Between the sight and the feeling, he was certain he was going to die or faint at the very least. It didn’t help that Bartosch picked that very moment to look up at him through his lashes. As Bartosch’s mouth released him, Hans sucked him back in. He could have very well finished right there if Hans hadn’t abruptly stopped and gagged. 

Bartosch snickered, “Too much for our greedy Lord?” 

Those blue eyes narrowed. “Sorry, I’m not the God of Poetry and… Swordplay.”

“Swordplay?” Henry barked, laughing. 

“How clever, but if I’m a God, then you're my devotee.” A sly grin spread across his face, his hand landed on Hans’ head, grabbing a handful of gold, pushing their Lord back down. “Now open.”

Hans swallowed before obeying, licking then sucking on his tip. Butterflies flooded his stomach again. This was Hans, his Lord, his first love and closest friend, now doing his most forbidden desires, together. That thought alone was enough to bring him so close to the edge that it drove him mad. 

And Bartosch was smugly aware of it, keeping his hand on Hans, guiding him down and up until he could take him fully with a “good Lord.” Only when he looked satisfied with Hans’ performance did Bartosch release him and turn to Henry with a kiss. His tongue sought Henry’s, muffling each and every moan he made. Almost. 

“Hush now.” Bartosch amused. 

He moved down, worshipping Henry’s body with his mouth until he was back between Henry’s legs. As before, they switched spots smoothly. Hans pulled away with a trail of saliva, and Bartosch sucked him in with ease. Their Lord took a pause, just resting his head on Henry’s thigh. Henry bit his lip, but it did very little to quiet himself. And that seemed to inspire Hans, his lips attacked Bartosch’s neck until he moved off. 

Henry muttered, “Fucking hell, you two.” 

“Shh,” Bartosch purred, “ just finish in your pretty Lord’s mouth.” 

Only if. It was right there. Hans’ tight wet throat wrapped around him, all the sloppy sucking noises, the panting and moaning, it should have been easy, but the nerves were eating him alive. 

He groaned, feeling defeated and disappointed in himself. 

A tongue licked straight up his balls, making him jump, his eyes locking onto Bart. With a smirk, he did it again, then sucked. Neither partner let up, both eagerly determined. They were his, and he loved them to the point it hurt. His thoughts went back to Bartosch’s words, focusing on them until they overwhelmed him. 

With a too loud moan, Henry grabbed Hans' head with both hands, thrusting into him, faster and harder until his seed was spilling out of Hans’ mouth. Hans pulled away, panting, swallowing what was left. Quickly, Bartosch's tongue meant were it spilled out, following the trail into Hans’ mouth. 

They both sat up without breaking the kiss, all wrapped around each other. His poor body even tried to twitch at the sight. But the haziness of relief took over, his eyes closed, but he could still feel them moving. And soon a weight straddled his hips, and teeth grazed his pec with a lick. He peeked, and the top of a golden-haired head lay on his breast. 

“Henry.” Bartosch lulled. “Would it be okay if I fulfill my promise to Hans?”

Hans responded, “No, it’s okay.”

“Humph, are you both going to sleep?” Bartosch teased, lying beside them, resting his head on Henry’s shoulder. 

Neither answered. And Bartosch hummed some hymn until the sleep took hold. 

Fingers went through his hair, and the head on his chest shook back and forth. “Hans, you have to go now.”

“No.” Hans held onto Henry a bit tighter. 

Henry forced his eyes open, and Bartosch sat beside them half-dressed with a sad smile. There was no light left in the sky. Hans was still fighting to stay asleep and on him. 

Bartosch got up, walking to the desk, pausing before pivoting on his feet. With his eyes narrowed. “You didn’t eat your food.”

Hans snapped awake, leaping off the bed, snatching his clothing off the ground. 

“Hans?” Bartosch practically growled.

“I ate!” Hans protested while simultaneously yanking his clothing on. 

Bartosch moved in front of the door. “Henry doesn’t count.” 

And with that, Henry grabbed the edge of the curtain, closing it, and rolled over.    

Weight in their bed shifted, Bartosch’s eye peeked open enough to see Henry getting up, his mind still too much in a sleepy haze to fully wake. He rolled over into the warm spot the man had left, slipping back into a sleep. 

The door rattled, Bartosch jumped up, his heart racing while he searched for an intruder, before spotting, once again, Henry. He stood at the door, one hand on the handle, trying to yank it open, the other sliding across its surface, feeling for the latch. 

“Henry?” 

There was no reaction. 

A weight grew in Bartosch’s stomach, more sleepwalking. Bartosch walked around the bed, staying an arm's length away in the hopes he wouldn’t get tossed to the ground like the first time. 

“Dear Henry, come back to bed.” 

His hands fell from the door, then his sluggish frame turned towards Bartosch. Henry’s eyes were open, he even blinked and stepped forward, but there was an absence in his face as if he was seeing through Bartosch. 

He whispered, “We have to leave, it’s not safe here.” 

“And where are we, love?” Bartosch touched his shoulder gently, leading him into an embrace. 

Henry rested his head on Bartosch's shoulder. “Can’t you see? Trosky. I can’t leave, help me leave. Please, Bartosch,” he pleaded.

“It’s alright.” Bartosch tried to lead them to the bed, but he jerked back. “Easy. You’re safe with me–”

“But Hans,” Henry argued.

He held Henry’s hand tightly, making sure he couldn’t wiggle away. “Hans is downstairs resting– I can go get him if you promise to stay put.”

That soothed Henry enough for him to follow Bartosch back to the bed. He helped lower him down to rest, bringing the blanket over his half-dressed form. It almost looked as if he was going back to a peaceful sleep. But Bartosch already said he’d get Hans, and he, too, wanted him here. 

He unlocked the door, glancing back to ensure Henry remained in bed before opening the door and taking a step out. At the bottom of the stairway, their Lord was already standing, looking just as shocked as Bartosch felt. But neither spoke as Hans ascended the stairs and filed back into the room. 

“Guess no one is sleeping,” Bartosch dryly teased.

“Sleeping alone just feels wrong, but why are you two up? I could hear the door rattling and shuffling feet.” 

“Hm, he’s sleepwalking again… trying to escape that fucking castle.” Hans inhaled deeply, moving towards the bed. “I just got him to lie back down.” 

Henry popped up, grabbing Hans and pulling him into his lap. “You’re here.” Henry nuzzled his face into Hans’ neck, earning him a tender smile. 

“Can you stop being so difficult for Bartosch and go back to bed?” Hans patted his head.  

Henry peered up, eyes wide. “You can see him too?”

Chapter Text

“You wouldn’t understand!” - Erik

“What do you mean, Henry? Of course, I can see him.” Hans said, his brows crossed. 

Henry’s happy expression fell with a whisper, “So you're not real.”

It broke Bart’s heart to hear that. They are things he saw before Toth; they were the things. Henry asked him to help him escape. Did he do that before, in the dungeon? And no one came for him. No one saved him to the point that he was seeing ghosts. 

His heart raced more with each thought.  

“We're real, you're just… a little confused.” Hans glanced at Bartosch. “Lay back down, when you wake up, everything will make sense.” 

Hans pushed him down gently, and he lay, but Henry didn’t let Hans go. Bartosch moved to the edge of the bed, facing away from them, trying to soothe the arching in his heart. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed until Hans moved beside him. 

“I know what you're thinking. We promised to take care of him now, and that’s what we need to focus on.” Hans wrapped an arm around him, encouraging Bartosch to lean on him. 

And he did just that, resting his head on Hans’ shoulder. “I don’t know how to help him. Hans, I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t label him a madman and lock him up. Perhaps they would call in a priest.”

“Do you think that could help?”

“I doubt it,” he whispered. 

He didn’t mean to sound so hopeless, but he was. This was something he had no idea, no experience that ended well for the person, nothing. He had nothing. 

“I’m not giving up on him!” Hans hissed. “I’ll find something, or I’ll figure it out… do the research myself so no one knows.” 

Bartosch wrapped his arms around Hans this time. “And I’ll be there right with you. I’m a bit down right, but I’m not giving up on him.” 

“Barto...ss…” Henry grumbled behind them. 

Sighing, “You should go back downstairs. I’ll stay up with him for the rest of the night.” 

“Are you sure? I can stay. I want to stay.” Hans whispered, almost pleading. 

He wanted him to stay, too, but they couldn’t; this was already risky enough. They needed to put some more space between them if anything. But he didn’t have the heart to tell Hans that now. 

“We’ll be alright, all of us. Go on now, it’s not long until morning, and I’ll see you then.” 

Bartosch gripped Hans’ hand and led him to the door. He kissed the top of that hand before letting him go and opening the door for him. 

“If it happens again, you’ll get me?” It almost sounded like an order. 

“I gave you my word, I will. Now go and rest.” Bartosch quickly brushed his fingers down Hans’ cheek. “You need it.” 

A deep frown creased Hans’ lips as he turned away. Bartosch watched him as he descended the steps, making sure he wouldn’t try to come back. Even waited to hear Hans’ door squeak open and close before he returned to Henry’s side. 

Henry couldn’t remember the last time he slept so peacefully. The sun was shining, the birds chirping, and even the morning air had a crisp, fresh scent of wildflowers and some meat roasting. 

He rolled over, facing Bartosch, who was fast asleep up against the headboard. As beautiful as he looked with the sun glowing off of his skin, the rings around his eyes, and the position. 

Henry gently wrapped his arms around him, bringing him off the board and into an embrace. Bartosch didn’t even stir. God, he must be truly tired, and he was a bit cold, too. Henry pulled the covers over him, then pressed a kiss to his brow. This beloved man was truly his. He smiled, pressing another kiss onto him. There weren’t words for how happy this all made him feel, how full. And yesterday. Yesterday went perfectly. 

The only small problem was, how was to to face Hans with a straight face? He fucked his Lord in the mouth; there was no getting around that. Just the memories of that mouth had him hot and bothered. 

Henry hid his face in the silky black hair. He stayed there until he calmed down again. Then slowly pulled back, checking Bartosch again. He was certain Bartosch didn’t have a fever, but the fear of it returning hadn’t left him yet, nor the idea of Bartosch bleeding again. 

So, he moved away, checking the wound the best he could without disturbing Bart. Everything looked okay. He watched him for a moment more, just to savour, he was alive, they were alive. Bartosch, Hans, and somehow himself too. 

“I love you.” 

The words just spilled out of him. Heat and fluttering filled him immediately. 

He couldn’t remember if he ever said that to either of them. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal; he’s said it indirectly, implied, and even through his actions. But it felt more solid, certified. Well, he was asleep, so… it doesn’t count. But his heart was still fluttering, and blood still rushed to his face. In that moment, he felt whole, saw a path forward where he could leave all the darkness behind. 

“I’ll tell you again, when you wake up,” he whispered. And maybe he’d go tell Hans too. 

He made sure the blanket covered Bart completely, then closed the bed's curtains. He even went to the window to close it, blocking some of the light and courtyard noises. Now it was time to go find food and Zizka. 

The kitchen was on the bottom floor, which could only be accessed by going outside and down some stairs. A cook was standing just outside, roasting what appeared to be pork. His mouth was instantly watering. 

“Good morning,” he said in a cheerful tone. “That wouldn’t happen to be for all of us guests, would it?” 

The young woman turned to him with a giggle. “For you, Henry, sure, but I don’t want a piece going to that ruffian with the red hair. Drank all of our good wine already…” She continued to mumble some curses under her breath. 

“Hynek can be a pain, and if he causes you too much trouble, just let me or Lord Bartosch know.” 

She smiled with a little nod. “He’s quite handsome, that knight, and your Lord! Why couldn’t I serve in his castle? Would they like some too? I’m sure Lord Peter wouldn’t mind. Sir Otto had already made us set the roast up.”

Sir Otto. That shouldn’t have come as a shock. Of course, he needed roasted meat first thing in the morning on day one. 

“If it won’t get you in trouble, I’d appreciate it.” 

She nodded. “Come back in a little bit, and I’ll have a plate for the three of you.” 

“Thank you.” 

Henry walked into the dining hall, where he found Zizka and Katherine sitting a bit too close. A little smirk crossed his lips, and he turned on his heel to let them have their moment.

“Uh-Henry,” Zizka called. When he turned back around, Katherine had moved away, her cheeks pink. “We need to talk.” 

He went over to take a seat across from Katherine, raising a brow at her. She kicked him and looked away. 

“So, with Hynek yesterday. I want you to make peace with him. Your actions could have cost us our mission yesterday-” Katherine made a humph noise, causing Zizka to pause, almost stumble on his words. “But he shouldn’t have attacked you. When he wakes, I’ll have words with him; he’s to play nice with you and your Lords.” 

Zizka looked nervous, which was odd to say the least. And Katherine was very satisfied. He obviously had her to thank yet again. 

“Sounds good.” Henry took Katherine’s hand in his. “Thank you… Have we gotten anything out of Otto yet?” 

The captain huffed, and Kat laughed. 

“No, he needs ‘respite’ from the attack. And Peter has no interest in pushing the matter. To be fair, we all could use a day or so of recovery…” Zizka lowered his voice. “I may not care for your choice of company, but I like you, Henry. Be. Careful.” 

Katherine nodded in agreement. 

“I will. I need to bring some food to Hans. You two have a good morning.” 

Henry stood from the table, just before he was out of earshot, Zizka mumbled, “Is that what they are calling it?” Katherine giggled.

His step quickened, right back to the cook who had everything ready. Three plates of food and a fresh pitcher of water. She offered to help him, but it was rather easy to hold the three plates by overlapping the edges, and the pitcher could easily be hugged to his chest or in the other hand. 

He knocked on Hans’ door softly before just opening it. Even his Lord was still in bed. Did they go at it again last night? That would make the most sense. His eyes went to Hans’ lips; the memories they had him blushing and turning away. Henry placed the pitcher and one plate down on the near table. The little knock on the wood had the blue-eyed beauty popping up. 

“Henry? You actually awake this time?” Hans sat up to stretch while eyeing what Henry was doing. 

“This time?” That joy in him dimmed.

“Is he awake?” Hans asked, standing and moving towards the table.

“No, he isn't… I’m sorry.”   

“You really worried us. I’m pretty sure Bartosch thinks it’s our fault, or is blaming himself.” Hans looked and sounded so tired. 

“No- It had nothing to do with that… Hans, please don’t let it ruin our moment.” But he could tell by Hans’ expression that it already did. 

A lump formed in his throat; it wasn’t meant to be like this. Everything was meant to be good from here on out, at least between them. God knows the world was a mess.

He whispered this time, “I’m sorry, Hans.” 

But just then, Hans went pink. He took the plates from Henry, putting them down. Then turned back to Henry. His hands went around Henry’s sides, bringing him into a complete embrace. Hans was so close he didn’t know what to do. Blood rushed to his cheeks, and his heart was already racing. 

Hans rested his head on Henry’s shoulder. He spoke softly, “No one is upset at you, you know. I’m really worried about you.”

Everything just went silent and peaceful again.

Henry wrapped his arms around him, keeping Hans firmly in place. The small breaths of air warming his neck just made him crave more. And Hans hasn’t pulled away yet, so this had to be okay. He leaned in, nuzzling his head into the crook of Hans’ neck. 

“I really am alright, Hans. It’s a pain, but it means nothing.”    

He needed time to think, away from them. 

“You go and see him. I have work at the forge today.” 

The blacksmith liked him enough and always needed help, so it would work out. Hopefully, between tasks, he could slip away and find a better solution for all this. 

Hans pulled back just enough to glare at him, looking more than ready to argue, but only sighed. 

“Fine.” It dripped with reluctance and annoyance. “But no leaving the castle grounds, not even to the town. That’s an order, Henry.”

Fine, that’s fine. There was plenty of work around here he could distract himself with. And so long as they didn’t know about it, it would be okay to have an outing or two. It was for their betterment, hopefully. 

“Thank you, Hans.” 

“Two days. It’s been two days, and all he does is hammer away, pretending we don’t exist.” Hans complained. 

And Bartosch hummed with his nose in a book. 

Hans continued, “You really don’t care?” He figured Bartosch would be on his side, but he didn’t seem eager to engage in any sort of talk with Henry himself. 

After he let Henry run off to the forge, hoping the air would help cool the tension, it somehow got worse. Now, between Crow, Rosa, and Samuel, plus Henry’s deep love for his craft, he wasn’t to be seen. 

Hans came to dislike the three of Henry's 'followers’, where Bartosch only intervened when Crow got too chatty. That he had to admit was a bit entertaining; Bartosch would find odd, tedious tasks for the man to do. That usually ends up with him having to leave the castle. But Crow learned very quickly to look busy when Bartosch came around. Not that that worked on Bartosch, he’d just add the task to be finished after the man’s false ones. 

But when it came to Henry, Bartosch didn’t try. 

“He’s avoiding us, Hans-”

“Obviously!” He snapped. Bartosch closed his book, cocking a brow at him. Hans quickly followed with, “Sorry.” 

He turned away from Bartosch, not wanting to cause another fight. They squabbled a few times already about this. Instead, Hans just stared out the window, watching the trees and flocks of birds soaring. What he wouldn’t give to be among them over this wood and stone cage. 

Steps approached him from behind, arms went around him, and Bartosch pressed a kiss to his cheek. “If he needs time, we have to give it to him. Plus, he’s happy talking to Samuel.” Bartosch said. 

Where the other two lingered mostly ignored, Samuel seemed to have developed some type of hold on Henry. Influencing him even. It made him nervous. What if Samuel convinced him they weren’t good together? God knows the man didn’t like him. 

Hans turned in his arms. “What about us? What about our happiness? Don’t act like this doesn't upset you.”   

“Of course, it upset me… maybe if he didn’t know we caught him sleepwalking, things would be different,” Bartosch trailed off. 

He had the same thought many times, but he just didn’t want to say it aloud. And it hurt to hear Bartosch was thinking, blaming him for the same thing.

“So it’s my fault? How was I to know he’d freak-” Bartosch placed a hand over his mouth.

“I didn’t say that… look, I talked to Katherine yesterday and this is the most forge work he’s done since everything went to shit. So maybe it’s a good sign. He’s settling and may need a bit more time to settle with us.” Bartosch pressed a quick kiss to his lips and cupped his face. “It was also your first time together… he could just be shy.”  

That all sounded good and was better than Henry's previous activities. Plus, Henry’s love for the craft renewing was a good sign no matter how he looked at it. Hell, if Henry wasn’t avoiding them, Hans would just be cheering him on.

Cheering Henry on… actually wasn’t a bad idea, and a good middle ground. “What if we go visit him at the forge, instead of waiting for him to just appear, take an interest in his passions and whatnot?” 

“That’s not a bad idea.” Bartosch smiled and even looked proud of him. 

Hans squinted. This whole idea did sound like something Bart would do, so why didn’t he? Actually, come to think about it, Bartosch had done very little to influence their relationship, where before, at least in the letters, he was very encouraging. And they do share a room, so what if they are talking and just pretending not to be?

“Are you two doing something?” 

“Doing what?” Bartosch blinked, looking confused. “Let’s just go and see him.” 

Bartosch grabbed his hand, yanking him a bit before letting go and leaving the room. 

Hans followed him out to the courtyard, then to the outer fortifications, where the forge lay near the stables. It was just that Samuel lingered around Henry today. They both wore smiles as Henry hammered a horseshoe. 

“There’s my favorite blacksmith’s boy,” he called out as they walked up. 

Henry’s eyes immediately went to him, then snapped back to the anvil. Deep pink hues splashed across his cheeks. Samuel chuckled, which turned into flat-out laughter the deeper the pink went. 

“So they finally appear,” Samuel amused through the snorts of laughter. 

Henry reached over, swatting the man. “Oh, shut it!” 

Hans couldn’t help his eyes from locking on Henry’s bare arm. Their firmness, the strength he knew they had. It was so natural to follow them to his chest, where his tunic clung to every dip of muscle. For some odd reason, the leather apron only added to the vision.

A flick smacked the back of his head. “Behave,” Bartosch reminded him. 

Right, they are in public, and Henry is already being distant, but could he really be blamed? That was the exact face he gave Bartosch, who was… doing the same thing!? 

“Really? Me? You are just as bad.”

“Hans?” Henry called, ending the back and forth. “Did you… Need something?” 

“Uh…” he stalled, before blaring out, “I need a new dagger.”

Every pair of eyes within earshot landed on the decorative dagger that sat on Hans’ belt. Samuel’s lips were sealed, but he looked like he was about to burst. Even Bartosch let out a long sigh and chuckled. 

“Let me just take this.” Bartosch’s hands unstrapped the dagger from Hans' side, then he turned back to the pair by the forge. “Would you like to go for a drink, Samuel?” 

“What?” Hans asked, not about to back out of it now. “I don’t like that one, it goes dull too quickly.” 

It wasn’t a complete lie; the dagger came from von Bergow’s stash and was heavily just a decorative piece.

“Aye, I bet it does,” Bartosch spoke with a smile. “Sam?” 

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to talk to you anyway.” Samuel pushed off the beam he was leaning against. 

Samuel, meaning to talk to Bartosch, gave Hans a sour feeling. But his knight didn’t look bothered, perhaps even amused by Samuel’s words. Hell, Henry looked a bit more concerned than either of them. 

Sam flashed a grin. “Oh, don’t worry, just doing my duty as your bruder.”             

The pair walked off, and Henry’s face fell. Seeing that, knowing that Henry was upset to be left with him, stung. What did he do to earn this? 

Hans just stood in silence, trying to figure out what to do with these wretched feelings without them blowing up into an argument. 

“Is there a specific type of dagger, my Lord would like?” 

Henry turned away, took two steps to a chest, and pulled out two different daggers. It was a silly gesture, as if Hans wasn’t very familiar with side arms and weapons. But he still went over, taking a seat on the work table. 

“Here.” Henry placed the daggers on the table beside Hans. “Your standard trusty dagger.”

A simple piece of iron, nothing special besides the fact that Henry was talking about it.  

“I can make it a bit more Lordy for you.”

Hans scoffed, but smiled. He took the blade into his hands; it was well-made, balanced, razor-sharp, and the leather was evenly wrapped. And it didn’t need a master's mark for him to know it was crafted by Henry.

“And this one.” Henry handed him the other, brushing against Hans’ hands as he swapped the daggers. “It's similar to the one you had previously, but I can make it more durable. Maybe even engrave it if you like.” 

Hans turned the blade, examining every aspect of it. This one already felt much better in his hands; it was near perfection. But not what he wanted. He honestly didn’t know what he wanted, just to be around Henry.

“What about that dagger you wear? It’s bigger than both of these.”

“You want my dagger?”

“I would like to see it…” Hans mumbled. “At least.” 

Henry narrowed his eyes at Hans. But reached around his apron, unsheathing the dagger. Its triangular-shaped blade made it very unique, but he had seen one like this before. He couldn’t quite place where, though. 

“It’s a very sturdy dagger, pierces armour and chaimail better than any other I’ve found.” Henry was admiring it just as much as he was. 

“You found this?”

“Yeah, remember when that mad painter back at Trosky?” Henry paused, blinking a few times before adding, “I found this while searching for some landmarks for him.”

“Can you make it?” Seemed like a silly question. What couldn’t Henry make? 

But the blacksmith hummed. “Maybe. I’m willing to try for you.”

Hans leaned back on his hands, getting comfortable. “Well? Get to it.”

Henry rubbed the back of his head, looking off into the distance. Then shook his head, adjusting his apron and pulling his leather gloves on. From there, he grabbed a long, flat piece of steel, measuring it to the dagger. 

The sun peaked, then started its descent when Henry with satisfied with the dagger’s shape. Hans stayed on the table, having servants fetch him wine and food, chatting away as Henry worked. He even through in a few flirts with some passing wenches just to not look suspicious. It felt seriously wrong, but Henry didn’t say anything, just glanced with a subtle nod. 

Hans had shoved most of the blacksmithing tools behind him or over to the farthest edge. Comfortably taking up as much space as he could. Bartosch didn’t make an appearance yet, but they always eat supper together, and Hans planned on dragging Henry with him this time.          

Henry placed the dagger on the anvil, walking to the table he was currently sitting on. “The prince of poachers is sitting in my way,” he teased.

“Ha- What a pity for you, blacksmith's boy, guess you'll have to reach around me…” With a devilish grin. “Or move me, if you dare.” 

“Nah,” Henry placed both of his hands on either side of Hans, matching Hans' grin with his own wolfy one. “I don't mind this little bird.” 

Hans almost laughed at the irony if he wasn’t so busy trying not to blush. Hesitating, Hans took a glance at the courtyard; most of the castle residents must have turned in to eat. So he rubbed his leg up Henry’s. His lovely blacksmith leaned in more, reaching around, grabbing something from behind Hans. Now eye to eye. It would have been so easy to lean in, but Henry yanked away, eyeing the item he grabbed. 

It was a block of wood. Of course, his advances were ignored for forging nonsense. The only reason he was here, sweating to death, was to watch Henry… well, watching him forge the dagger was interesting too. 

“Would you like to make your own handle?” Henry’s word caught him off guard. “You whittle, quite well, I’ve noticed.”

“Noticed? I think the last time I’ve whittled anything was… back at Rattay. And I don’t recall doing it that often in front of you.” Hans narrowed his eyes on Henry. 

Bartosch did mention Henry liked him back then, and they never spoke about it. Hell, maybe Henry doesn’t even know he knows about that. Which may explain the awkward display in front of him now. Henry was bright red, leaning against the anvil, turning the wooden block in his hand. 

“I have a rough idea, but mark how it’s meant to be and I’ll do it.” Henry was practically glowing, sketching guidelines before Hans could finish the thought. 

Making his own hilt, what type of Lord was he? But Henry looked so pleased, excited, even placing the wood and carving knife in Hans’ hands. Then he returned to leaning on the anvil, watching Hans this time. 

Hans turned the block in his hands, taking in the charcoal lines, placing the knife, and making the first shaving. 

“And… I noticed cause you're good.” Henry finally spoke. “I can appreciate good craftsmanship.” 

“Aww, so just enjoying my abilities. Nothing else?” Hans peered up, their eyes locked. His brows raised, and Hans’ little devilish smirk came back. “My wood is down here.” 

Henry choked. “You're such an arse!... and I’ve seen plenty of your wood.”  

“Sir Hans, Henry!” Zizka called as he approached. “The interrogation is about to begin. Care to join?”

Of course, they were finally having a moment again, and this had to happen. And the only interrogation that could be happening is Sir Otto’s, so that was important. 

“Yeah, we're coming,” Hans called back.  

Henry changed and followed Hans into the meeting room. Bartosch was beyond pissed to be left upstairs. But Peter, Hynek, and Zizka all agreed it looked bad to have him there. A turncoat. As if Bartosch was the only one among them with the title but arguing with three of them would be pointless. Not that Hans wasn’t going to try. It took both Henry and Bartosch to convince Hans to let it go. 

“Welcome to Suchdol, Lord von Bergow.” Lord Pisek announced, then added. “Despite the circumstances that brought you here.”

“It is an honour, Peter. Compared to what I had to endure from Zizka and Kunstadt, your good manners are a welcome change.” Otto returned the pleasantries. 

“I’ll do my best to make you, ahem.. Involuntary stay is no more inconvenient than it has to be.” Peter replied. 

Henry stood near Hans, along with Godwin. They placed Sir Otto the farthest away from his page, but it did very little for the tension there. Henry looked at the Lord like a thing to destroy, the gentle craftsman Hans’ was just with was completely gone. And von Bergow seemed pleased, smiling smugly at him. 

Rosa spoke with every ounce of kindness the room had. “Aren’t you being a bit too welcoming, Sir Peter?”

“Just what I was thinking.” Dry Devil was quick to add on, and of course, it couldn’t stay proper. “Fuck that bollocks! He’s a captive, not some busty wench.” 

Hynek leaned in, towards the captive. “He’s only alive to squeal what he knows. It’d be quicker if I just beat it out of him.” 

“That’s right!” Henry snapped. “He treated us like cattle. He was completely ruthless, as Zizka could tell you.” 

All the hate Henry had for Toth was clearly in his face as he stared the Lord down. And after what had happened to him, who could really blame him? The only difference is that Henry couldn’t go for blood. They couldn’t let him.  

Godwin placed a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Calm down, now! We should hold back until Jobst arrives.”

“Fuck this shit! The longer I listen to this bastard, the more my fist itch.” Hynek hissed, and Henry nodded. 

Nodded? To something that man was saying. Then there it was, a little twitch, a flicker of madness. It was a mistake letting him be here. Henry really needed to calm down or go. Hans tapped the side of the table leg, trying to get his attention. But nothing was breaking that eye contact.  

“Instead of these pathetic threats,” Otto held Henry’s gaze. “Why do you not make me an offer? You do know that I am-” 

“Shut your trap, Otto!” Right now you’re nothing!” Hans was almost grateful to Hynek in that moment. He drew most of the attention in the room, far away from the odd tension between his page and the old Lord. 

Godwin leaned close, whispering something into Henry’s ear that had him backing up a bit. His expression calmed a bit, more somber. But he seemed okay for the meeting to continue. Hans just wished Henry would look at him just once, but he refused to. Maybe they could all talk after this, no, they needed to. 

“I’ll kill him for this… he’ll pay you’ll see,” Erik muttered to the cross. 

He was a lord, and they buried him like a peasant. At the sight of his murder, his blood still dashed across the rocks. No ceremonies, no dignity of a decent grave. And all of Istvan’s friends were nowhere to be seen now that his use has been used up. But that’s how it was, that’s exactly what he was taught to expect. Toth had prepared him for this as much as he could. How many times had they almost lost each other? It was only a matter of time before one of them didn’t come back. 

But that bastard… alive… with his lover.

It wasn’t right. 

One of them had to die. 

He’d pick Hans, killing the Lord slowly. Perhaps even throw him from his own castle tower and then wait for Henry to find him. But. There were a few reasons why Erik hesitated. Hans was simply more valuable alive, and as Toth had taught him, capturing Hans and bringing him to the King would do better for him than killing him.

And the lesser reason, one that he knew better to let influence him, was Lord Bartosch. He killed him. It felt dirty to walk over his last will, especially when the knight was vulnerable with him, kind even. He wanted to help him, even if Erik didn’t need it. He didn’t need it. 

Erik stood, pushing through the aching in his knees. The failure of capturing John of Lichtenstein, tossed him out of favor with most of the Lords besides Markvart, who was constantly looking for new talent. So that’s where he would go. He’d let the man use his talents for killing until they found Henry again. And seeing how all their leads placed both Sir Hans and Henry in the same group with Zizka. Their clash was destined to happen. 

“Come on, Stein.” Erik patted the snow white horse, waking him from his sleep. 

The horse was Toth’s last gift to him, ‘a true knight’s mount’. 

Erik mounted, nudging Stein into a trot back towards Kuttenberg.

“Have you two lost your fucking minds?” Bartosch snapped. “Stealing from the Italian court, listening to von Bergow, who’s obviously planning on betraying you again!” 

He sat waiting for the bloody meeting to be over, for the pair to return upstairs, Hans looking pale and Henry withdrawn. After they told him their clever scheme, Bartosch had half the mind to go down there and call them all dimwitted. Von Bergow would never ‘switch sides’. They were all going to die. 

“Henry, listen to me.” He grabbed the sides of Henry’s arms. “He’s playing you both just like in Trosky.” 

“I know!… I know, but the plan could work if we’re careful-”

Bartosch stormed away, pacing back and forth. 

“This is all about revenge again, isn’t it! Charge in, act the fool, and die!” They were both going and leaving him here. “How is it they’ll take that man’s words, but I’m not trustworthy enough to go?”

Just another kick in the face. No doubt the Devil had something to do with it. He should have slit his throat when he had the chance… not that it would have made a difference. 

“Bart, it’ll be alright. I’m going ahead and preparing everything, and if it seems too risky. I’ll call it off.” Henry tried to touch him, comfort him, but he wasn’t having it. Bartosch moved back, waving him away. “Come on, you know I’d never risk Hans’ life.” 

He was risking his own right now. “How the fuck is Hans going to get through the tunnels? That’s why you're so quiet, right?”

Bartosch glared at Hans, silently sitting on the desk. The ghostly express still lingered enough to make Bart soften and walk over. His hands trailed up Hans’ side, up into his hair, where he brought him into an embrace. 

“Why don’t you stay here with me? Leave this madness to these bandits.” 

“Henry isn’t a bandit, and I’m just as much of a fighter as the rest of them… something I think both of you forget.” Hans leaned into him, bringing his arms around his waist. “I know you're just worried and pissed you're not going, but you’re still healing. If the worst happens…”

“I’m a liability now? Have you forgotten I’m fluent in Latin and Italian? Who’s going to help you, Brabant? Another traitor!” He pulled away from Hans. 

This was all out of their hands, but they could choose not to go. But they wouldn’t, and Bartosch knew that. He closed his eyes. It was pointless arguing. His wound was considered too much, but Henry’s visions– How were they ever going to help him… That night… he couldn’t move past what Henry said. And they just kept throwing him at things. 

“Bartosch,” Henry said softly. “I can handle this, we can handle this.”

“If you don’t–” 

Hans interrupted, “We’re both coming back. There are a few days before the delegation gets, so let's enjoy the time we have… maybe even go hunting.” 

Chapter Text

“I’ll tell you again, when you wake up.” - Henry

“O, Come on! It'll be fun... just the three of us. Together in the woods, alone...” Hans smirked. 

He continued to pester them about a ‘hunting’ trip all afternoon. As if that was going to fix things. Their little argument sent Bartosch from the room; he went out of his way to avoid them, but they did not allow it. They followed him to the lower main hall to supper, where Zizka rambled about ideas to improve the plan, what-ifs, and what to do if it happened. It was like Maleshov all over again, but worse. 

Bartosch had been quiet, and Hans too talkative. And he was far too numb. Between Godwin’s judgement and Bartosch’s disappointment… he felt lost.   

Hans grabbed his hand, “Henry,” he whined sweetly. “Tell him how fun our hunting trips were. This will be good for us.” 

Hans pleaded with those bright blue eyes, squeezing Henry’s hand a bit. He knew what this was about; things were getting to be too much, and Hans was looking for an out just like in Rattay. The idea wasn’t a bad one; they would have plenty of privacy to just be. But dark, warm eyes glared at him, daring Henry to speak. Bartosch had a deep aversion to hunting; they were just finding out about it. But he had yet to explain why, which annoyed Hans even more. How dare someone dislike his favorite pastime? 

Henry decided it was safer to just ignore the bickering and focus on more important things. He sat across from Bartosch, encouraging the knight to eat more with squinted looks. The pair both needed to eat more. Hans seemed to be making up for it now, whereas Bartosch ignored it for the most part.

Hans and Bartosch had been going at each other like cats and dogs, thinking he was too distracted to notice. Then they made up for it once night fell. It’s only been a few days into this, so it was bound to have some problems. And Henry had no desire to face these problems right now… mostly because the problems centered around him. 

The only little ‘maybe’ way forward was the conversation he had earlier with Hans. Voyta, the painter. He worked in Kuttenberg now and struggled with his own demons. Henry just needed a way to get there without alerting his lovers.

Hans turned to Bartosch and hissed, “Ei proderit! Fortasse tibi quoque!” ”  

Henry fucking hated it when they did this. Each time he went to them, he overheard the bickering, mostly in Latin, and then decided to just leave. A small part of him resented them for it. He was already fighting himself to feel a part of this relationship, and they only made it worse. 

But then Hans came to him. 

That little moment in the forge, having Hans watch him again. It made the bitter feelings a bit easier to swallow. But now… 

He slumped down in his seat, becoming fascinated by their surroundings, while ignoring the pending argument and bitter feelings growing. The room still had a few men in it, guards mostly, eating before taking their night post. Zizka and his men were starting to break away, leaving in pairs or small groups, probably off to the tavern in town.  

Hans said something else that finally pissed Bartosch off enough for him to snap back. “Nēuter nostrum vult hoc facere, et quemadmodum errāre per silvās cūnctīs prōdest?” 

Henry couldn't deny that Latin sounded beautiful on his tongue, but it still enraged him. This whole noninteraction soured the evening further. He stood, leaving his unfinished food at the table. 

“Henry?” Hans pouted; his sad blue eyes followed him.

“Ughh, just go back to your Latin shit!” Henry let the bitterness bite. 

He caught Bartosch's hurt expression as he turned away from them. 

Now riddled with guilt and ascending to their room. He slammed their door and flopped down into his bed, the mattress on the floor. After he woke from his wounded state, Bartosch and he switched beds. It wouldn’t be proper for a squire to be treated better than a knight. 

The mattress was still soft and comfortable, and all of his thoughts weighed down any gripes he’d have about the sleeping arrangements. He couldn’t help but feel they would be happier without him. Every interaction they had was always filled with life, but with him, they seemed to walk on glass, like he was a breath away from breaking.

All their conflicts were caused by him. 

He is the problem… with no clear solution.

Henry grasped the phial hidden between the wall and mattress, taking a large drink, finishing it off. Then wrapped himself back up in the hurt and emptiness, closing his eyes, praying to wake as his former self.        

Bartosch cursed at himself for the fuck up. The plan, their terrible idea of stealing the silver. He didn’t want to talk to them right now, didn’t want to argue about it, but that’s all that would happen if he opened his mouth. But he didn't mean to make Henry feel like an outcast. 

He grumbled a few curses. “I’m beyond upset, but this is only making things worse. And I’d like to no longer be a liability before we wander around the woods riddled with bandits.” 

“Fair enough,” Hans sighed, “So what do you suggest?” 

“No more arguing and no more Latin.” Hans looked shocked; it was the heart of their connection, at least in the beginning. “It’s not forever, just until things calm down. How’s the book coming along anyway?”

“It’s coming along. Rewriting thirty-odd poems is a bit time-consuming, but I can have it done soon… He seemed better at the forge. We were having a good time until the meeting.”

“I'm certain von Bergow doesn’t inspire the best of memories. I’ll go and check on him; maybe we can find something else we can all do together. Hmm?” Bartosch spoke softly. 

“Why…” Hans hummed, pondering whatever was on his tongue. “Ask him to train with you. 

The rest just poured out of the Lord’s mouth, “That’s what built your friendship; it would also remind him of the better times and could help you feel better about yourself.” 

“And what about you? You’ll join, right?” 

Hans waved that away. “It’s fine. I’ll focus on the book and watch… Just like old times,” he amused. 

“With occasional jealous glares?”

“Of course,” Hans cheered. “And if you ask nicely, I’ll even yell at you.” 

“Please… but only if it’s constructive yelling.” Bartosch snickered, standing and pushing his chair in. “I’ll see you tomorrow, my Lord. Make sure you get some rest.”     

He was glad to find the door unlocked; it crossed his mind while walking up the stairs that it might not be. 

The sweet man was sleeping already. His brows scrunched, looking ready for a fight; this was the second night in a row Henry was having nightmares. Bartosch just wanted to go to him, lie beside him again. To hold each other through the painful memories, but with his recent distant behaviour, no one dared venture into his bed. 

“Maybe that was the problem.” He whispered to himself.

It might make Henry a bit uncomfortable, but it would show he still cared, still wanted to be near him, comfort him. 

Every nerve tensed in his body as he crawled into the bed, wrapping an arm tenderly around the man, placing his head on Henry's chest. He waited for Henry to jump awake, maybe even pull away, but it never came. Instead, a hand went to his hair, running through the long black strands. 

“I’m sorry for earlier.” Bart tightened his arm around Henry a bit more. 

Henry just hummed, running his hand from Bartosch’s hair down his back. He knew better to get excited from this touch, knew Henry was checking his physique, nothing more. Though he didn’t ask, Bartosch knew Henry was checking up on him often; either a glance when Bart was changing the bandages or checking his forehead when Henry thought he was asleep. 

“When are we leaving?” Bart peeked up at Henry as he spoke. “Not that it matters, but I think this is a terrible idea.” 

“Actually, I talked him out of the hunting trip,” Bartosch answered.

“Making him more promises?”

He snickered, “Not quite. I just pointed out that a forest full of bandits and a man who can’t fight isn’t the best idea.” 

“'Cause Hans, Mutt, and me, wouldn’t be enough?” Henry's voice softened, “You just didn’t want to go… and that’s fine.” 

He couldn’t help the corners of his lips from turning upwards. Of course, Henry was on his side; he’d have Bartosch bedridden still. 

Bartosch popped up on his elbows to face Henry. “I have a different idea. I'd like your support, even though I know you may disagree with it. Just don’t get upset.”

Henry sighed, closing his eyes. 

“It’s not that serious. I want to get my armour replaced, and I’d like to start training again… take it slow, see what I can do. And I thought you would be the best one to practice with.”

“Oh? That’s…” Henry paused long enough to make his nerves squirm. His eyes softened, whispering, “Could I go? I get a good discount from an armoursmith in Kuttenberg.”

It was nice to see him like this; he expected nothing but pushback. But Henry seemed interested, maybe a bit too much. Why Kuttenberg?

“That’s far… Sir Peter gets most of the gear for his men from the town.”

“I know, but I’ve sold there before, and he’s not the best. You can just tell me what you want, and I’ll retrieve it.” Henry insisted. 

“Henry?” Bartosch dragged his name.

“This falls in the squire's duties.”

His arm went back around Henry, just wanting to keep him in place. And nearby. “There has to be a suitable shop closer than Kuttenberg, though.”  

“I'm the blacksmith here, shouldn't you trust me, and as your future husband,” he pressed. 

‘Husband’ brought blood to his cheeks. Henry was completely determined to go, and Bartosch wasn't naive enough to think this was all about armour. He was well aware that Hans told Henry to stay put.

“You really want to go…” He could just let him, but the why… “Henry, tell me what's in Kuttenberg you want so badly, and I'll support you.”

Henry’s brows frowned, and a stillness came over him. Those blue eyes observed Bartosch so intensely. The war for the truth, for him to open up, silenced their conversation. 

“If I'm to trust you, you need to trust me too…” Bartosch started gently, “...if it was the other way around-”

Henry spoke quickly and quietly, “Do you remember that painter, Voyta. He may…” The rest of the words died on his tongue.

But Bartosch made the connection anyway. “You think he'll have a way to help you. I want to go with you, or Hans, or someone. You shouldn't have to do this alone, but… you'll probably go alone.” 

Henry tucked a piece of hair behind Bart's ear. “I’ll be fine. I wasn't lying about the armour, I'll get it and once I'm back-”

“You'll tell me everything and don't do anything before that. Please.”

“That, and I was going to say we'd have a practice round or two.” He smiled as he spoke. “You'll get Hans off my back, right?” 

“You're going for me and so happened to come across the painter, okay?” 

Henry laughed. 

Letting Hans find out after the fact would be best. He could be supportive, or he could be difficult, and there wasn't much time to deal with that. Not that Bartosch would ever voice it, but there was no reason to raise their hopes too high when the outcome was filled with so much certainty. 

“I’ll ride out first thing in the morning.” 

Henry pressed a kiss to Bartosch’s cheek, then another, trailing closer to the man’s lips. Almost three days since their last kiss, he was beyond excited that Henry was showing some affection. 

His lips parted in anticipation. Fingers traced his cheeks down to his jaw. One hand slid along that bone to the back of his back, leading Bartosch closer. Henry's lips tasted of chamomile and valerian. So soft and warm, a welcoming feeling. 

“Come here,” Henry whispered.

Henry led him closer, his hands went to Bartosch's hips, gently turning them so they were flush against his. 

“What-” Henry kissed the words off his lips. 

His hips grinded against Bartosch's rear. A hand stayed in his hip, but the other moved to wrap underneath Bart, keeping him as close as possible while supporting his head, allowing Henry to kiss him slowly from behind. That hand on his hip slid smoothly to his belly, following the tuffs of hair downward. 

Henry broke away. “May I?” He kissed the bottom of his lip, waiting for an answer. 

“Of course.” 

His body responded as he spoke. As Henry crossed that line into his braies. As Henry tasted him while his fingers wrapped around his member. Needed hips still grinded away at his backside. His hand reached back, grabbing at that hip, pulling himself against that harness there. 

“You feel so nice,” he moaned softly. 

Henry smiled. “I could say the same.” His hand stroked to the tip, rubbing his thumb over the sensitive nerves. 

“Oh, Henry…” he moaned. 

Bartosch thrust into his hand; his wound still stung when doing that motion, and it hurt more than the other day. He couldn't quite figure out what made some days hurt more than others, or even some moments, but he just grimaced through them. 

Henry stilled him, whispering in his ear, “Easy, I have you.” 

He kissed Bartosch's cheek, then his jaw just past where his beard ended. Henry moved the long hair hiding Bart's neck with his nose, caressing the exposed skin with his lips. 

“You're such a beautiful man,” he said quietly. 

Those words filled him with fluttering and a desperate need to have Henry. His fingers dipped into the side of Henry's firm rear as he grinded back in earnest. His love gasped, stroking him a bit faster. 

Bartosch released Henry just to untie and push down the braies clinging to his skin, getting in the way. His hand went back, trying to feel for Henry's laces.

He chuckled, “Not tonight. Though I do want you to think about it… How badly you want it, how good it'll feel once I'm finally in you again.” Henry's hips were a relentless reminder as he spoke. 

“You're so playful tonight,” Bartosch whimpered.

But Henry didn't need to play these games; he remembered just how good it felt. To be able to tremble and lose himself in that man… His body ached to feel the stretch of his love filling him again.

Henry sucked on his neck, giving him a trail of kisses down his shoulder. “How can I not be with such a lovely lord in my bed?” 

How could one man remove the stain of self-hate branded into his flesh, making him feel beautiful again? Pure again. 

Fingers brushed his jaw, nudging him to look back more. Henry captured his lips again, a deep, leisurely kiss that had Bartosch now tasting honey. 

With each stroke, Bartosch clung more to Henry, filling the breaks in their kisses with little moans and gasps. Eventually, Bartosch stopped altogether, biting his lips not to call out Henry's name. It barely helped.  

“My Henry… my-” Henry pressed his hand to Bartosch's lips, muffling the rest.

Henry held him through the mind-melting pleasure. As he collected himself, he turned towards Henry, giving him a tender kiss. 

Those bright blue eyes were filled with such fondness. In the most broken but sweetest tone, Henry whispered in Latin.

“I love you.”

Chapter Text

“Never let go.” - Hans

Those gentle words swam around Bartosch's head, keeping him awake, smiling long into the night. Henry had fallen peacefully asleep beside him. With no signs of nightmares returning. 

Love had finally found him, not once but twice. It felt like an award or the world trying to make up for all the hurt he's been through. Just seeing Henry’s face red as poppy flowers, stumbling on those too tender words was enough. 

And he would get to tell Hans tomorrow. Maybe soon, Henry would also be ready to express his affections to him, too… perhaps with some gentle encouragement. 

“I shall never leave your side, and love you always.” He pressed his lips to Henry's cheek, sealing the promise. 

The next morning, Henry had already left, silent as a cat. All the warmth from their gentle words still filled Bartosch's body. He was quick to get up, searching for suitable clothing in Henry's large stash. Most of the fabric was black, gold or that mulberry colour. 

He naturally went for the black, but a pale gold caught his eye. It was brocaded with a vine and leaf pattern, subtle but nice. Bartosch lifted it, caressing its silky surface, this certainly above Henry's station and almost his. And yet he couldn't help but pull the fancy garment on. 

It fit him nicely enough, a bit long in the arms. He wasn't entirely sure if he'd wear it, but decided to see what it would be like in a completed outfit. So he pulled on his black hose, fastening the garters. Even slipped on his shoes when a knock came from the door. 

“It's open,” he called. 

Hans peered in, taking in his outfit with a growing grin. With a few silent steps, he entered and shut the door behind him. 

“You look good. And should wear my colours more often.” 

“I believe this was meant for you.” Bartosch tugged on the extra length. “Henry must have spent a small fortune for your comfort alone.” 

Hans made a ‘isk’ noise while running his hands across Bartosch's chest, flattening the golden fabric. Morning sun shimmered off the silky fabric, highlighting the designs. Hans traced the delicate vines until his hands settled around Bartosch's waist. 

“What about your own house?” He squinted at that question, but Hans continued, “I never asked what their motif is- their colours?”

No, he hasn't told them, or worn his house crest since his last tourney. And he left a little slip of parchment for Henry, instructing him to only buy pieces in black. To avoid representing any house just yet.

“It's a silver arrow on a field of sable.” He couldn't help the bitter smile. “He'd get so crossed, and yet I'd wear every chance I got. I was his son, nothing could change that.” 

Hans gave him a sympathetic grin that quickly fell to a frown. As quickly as the smile fell, Bartosch pressed a kiss to the Lord's cheek. “Though I guess I should get used to gold now,” he sighed. 

“You say that with dread, not your favourite?” 

“I'll suffer it for you.” Bartosch started fastening the buttons starting at the end. “Before you go searching for our beloved Henry, I sent him to go get me some armour. He'll be back this evening.” 

Hans grumbled, pursing his lips, but didn't say what was clearly written on his face: pissed off. 

Henry made it to Kuttenberg just as the markets were opening. The streets are full of people, full of need in an endless cycle of consuming and tossing aside. The city reeked worse than Rattay. His first time seeing a big city impressed him, but Martin gave him little time to explore back then. But now… now he longed to go back to the forge. To home. 

Sure, things were a bit out of the way, limited options compared to here. But there it was quiet, and the air smelled of fresh grass, spring flowers and warm bread. 

Maybe he craved home too much or simply realised just how high the shit really came up in a place like this. But with Hans, he'd always be in a castle, not that Hans himself wanted to be in one. 

He huffed at that, dismounting Wraith. It was easier to lead the horse than to try to ride through the crowds. 

The artist lived near the fountain entrance, but the armoursmith Henry sought was on the other side, near the Eagle Iron tavern. Master Nicholas bought a few of his works and even offered him an apprenticeship. Henry didn't have the heart to tell him that it wasn't even his best when he turned the offer down. 

He tied Wraith to a trough and went into the saddlebags for extra groschen. There, the little folded-up sketch still stuck out, still waiting for Henry to forge the idea into a real blade. One day. He closed the pack and went inside. 

“Good morning, Henry.” Nicholas greeted. 

Henry grinned, walking up to the counter. “Morning, I have quite a big order for you.” The man smiled, pleased. “I'm in the midst of serving a Lord and a knight; they could both use some armour.” 

“That sounds like an experience affair, one I'll gladly help out with.” Henry huffed with a smile, following the blacksmith to the back of the shop. Here, the man had displays of full armour sets. “Do you know their measurements?” 

“The knight is about aye high.” Henry raised his hand to about where Bartosch stood and moved higher for Hans. “My Lord is about here. Rather long in the arms, too.” 

“A mighty Lord you have, but this is the only set that might work for such a man.” 

It was a Saxon set, with red accents. The cuirass was simple, covering the chest and back, but wasn't extended, leaving an exposed area just above the groin until you reached the cuisses. It wasn't ideal, but better than nothing. 

“We have some good chainmail and gambesons to cover this zone here.” The armourer knew exactly what Henry was concerned about. “If you have time, we could forge a noble cuirass just for your Lord.” 

They were to leave soon enough, and Hans definitely needed some protection. 

“Another day, certainly. Could you stitch a badge for the Lords of Lepia on the helmet? And for the knight, he favours brigandine.” 

The older gentleman nodded; his helper already started removing the set, placing the pieces into a large sack. It was a good thing riding Wraith became a habit; Pebbles would rebel and bolt with the weight of three sets of armour. 

Henry followed the Armourer back to the front, where he removed select pieces from a large oak chest. “House of Lepia? Gold and Sable.” 

Nicholas covered the counter with pieces of armour. Not all, but some of the leather binding the small plates of metal, were dyed accordingly. Henry chose the brigandine legs, almost identical to the ones Bartosch previously owned. Sable leather with brass fasteners. Black and Gold ironically. A sign from the start, perhaps- but a common enough piece of equipment to not be. 

“Unless your knight needs his own house colours?” 

“He's of Drahonitz, I'm not entirely sure what his is.” Not that Henry would ever purchase something marked by that family. Bartosch could adopt a new motif, just for himself. 

“That wouldn't be Bartoschek of Drahonitz?” The young lad brought over the sack of armour. “I got to see him at the Prague tourney last Autumn. Sable and silver, well white. With an arrowhead. That evening, he wore his silver plate set, all the leather detailings were of coal black along with his tabard. That only had a silver arrowhead on his chest.” 

The lad spoke with such admiration that it made Henry smile. Silver plate? So much for the poor knight. Perhaps he had to sell it. 

“The way that metal shone in the sunlight, and all the blood… It was a brutal fight,” He continued.

“He's a fierce fighter, but I don't think he's going for anything that fancy. I would like you to keep the leather pieces in the coal black. Dye them if you need, and the metal, could you plate them with brass so they match?” 

“That'll cost you more, and won't be ready for a little bit,” Nicholas said. 

Henry nodded. “I know, I have some other affairs I need to deal with. I'll be back. I'll pay half now and the rest later.” 

“Of course, see you this afternoon.” The master motioned for the lad to move the armour back of the counter, into a safe spot for later. Henry felt a bit bad to make him waste his time like that. But such valuable items on a horse in this city… best to wait until he's about to ride back. 

“I told him he wasn't to leave. And you told him to go?” 

Bartosch touched his cheek with a soft grin. “If he can conquer Maleshov twice for you, he can make it to Kuttenberg and back for me. Plus, let's not even bring up the silver-” Hans placed his hands on Bartosch's mouth.

“Trust me when I say I don't want him involved in that either… but maybe it's better he's not here right now. I've been thinking more about the marriage and when I should tell him. After this mission, when everything settles, and we are safe…” Hans trailed off, his shoulders slumping. 

“That's a good idea, no need to upset him if you all die,” Bartosch mused. “We'll do it together, hopefully it won't be as bad as the camp.”

Hans huffed, throwing his arms out. “No! It'll be worse… Henry is going to lose it. I'm going to be the reason-”

“Enough of that. It won't help. We can't let him find out on his own without proper support and privacy. Just in case.” Bartosch pulled Hans in a bit more. “After and together. For now, let's enjoy what we can have, like he said, hmm?” 

They held each other for a moment more. Bartosch's hand found Hans’ chin, tilting it upwards for a kiss. “My sweet Alula, don't fret. I won't let him fall.” 

Voyta’s shop. Somehow, the mad artist got a spot near the main entrance, not far from the fountain, no less. The foundation that made less and less sense each time he saw it. 

“Voyta,” he called, pushing the door open. There was no one to be seen. “Voyta! It's Henry, from Trosky.” 

“Henry?” A mouse of a voice called, somewhere farther in. 

The air was sour, acrid, and full of dust. All signs of abandonment, and yet he did hear someone, right? 

“Over here,” the voice muttered. 

Henry took one last breath of clean air before stepping farther inward. The voice came from what appeared to be Voyta's main workspace. Where an easel was positioned perfectly to capture the daylight flooding through the window. There were two long tables, one with a sheet sat just under the window and the other against the adjacent wall; both covered in tinctures and palettes of pigments. 

“Voyta?” Henry called again.

An eye poked out from below, through the cracks of the sheeted table. Henry kneeled, grabbing the hem and pulling it to the side. Voyta gasped, desperately trying to pull the fabric back in place. 

“It'll see!” He shouted, “It'll see!” 

This time, he pointed, and Henry followed it to the painted skull. An odd work of art, one that intrigued him back at Trosky. 

“Be quiet!”

The old painter was now yelling at it. Henry's face fell, knowing all too well what this looked like. 

“Easy, old man.” Henry placed a hand on his shoulder, then took his arm, helping him out and to his feet. “We need to talk.” 

Once Voyta felt steady, Henry released him. And went to move the skull. Its rusty red surface appeared recently retouched. The green wreath is delicately painted around the back, overall a lovely piece. Henry grabbed a silk cloth laying it over the macabre scene. 

Turning back to the painter, who was now sitting on a stool with his hand placed over his eyes. Dry paint coated his hands, dotted his clothing, no better than the room around them. 

“When was the last time you slept, ate… bathed? This place reeks.” Henry asked, walking back over. “Do you hear me?” 

Voyta glanced at him, nodding slowly. “I um… I'm not too sure,” he grumbled. He peered up again. “You wanted something?”

Henry crouched in front of him; he seemed dazed, hollowed in the cheeks and a bit pale. Unwell. Was there one here to care for him? Check in on him? 

“Let's get you fixed up, good food. Water. Maybe clean up a bit.” Voyta didn't respond this time, staying slumped over on the chair. 

It was midday, and Henry had cleaned the filthiest parts in the painter's home. It consists mostly of rotten food, crusty tables and a few buckets of watery paint reeking of mildew. A mess through and through. There was still plenty left to clean. But he just didn't have the time. 

 He did find time to buy fresh bread, cheese and some eggs for the man. Even cooked a stew with the ingredients he had on Wraith. 

“You're very kind,” Voyta whispered.

“Nah, it's the least I could do. I need your help anyway.” Henry took a seat at the small dining table. “Now eat, and drink this. It'll help give you some energy.” 

It was a simple tea with a healthy amount of honey in it. After a few bites and sips of tea, that dazed expression waned. And the man seemed more aware of Henry's presence. 

“So what was it that brought you here? Not to clean and care for me, certainly?” He teased him. 

“No, as I said before, I need your help.” Voyta remained quiet, waiting for Henry to continue, but the word just didn't want to come out. But he had to try; this was his best chance at having an answer. “Uhm… I've been hearing things… and seeing things too.”

Voyta's eyes went wide, grabbing Henry's hand almost frantically. “You're touched like me?” 

‘With madness.’ But he didn't say that even if it's the truth. “Aye, something like that. I need it to stop. How do you get it to stop?” 

The artist leaned back, dragging a hand through his beard. Too slowly, he started, “There is a potion… but it might not work for you.” 

“I'll take it! I'll try anything.” 

Voyta nodded, then shrugged. Amused but also dismissive. A complete mess to read. The older gentleman got up, crossing the room to the kitchen side, opening up a cupboard. Inside were red phials of strangely marked potions. 

“I don't have much left, and I expect you to gather the ingredients for me to replenish my stocks or at least pay for them to be.” He grabbed one phial and brought it back over to Henry. “It's made with mandrake, poisonous if made wrong or you consume too much.”

Henry took the phial, turning it in his hands. Poisonous. He knew enough about alchemy to know some poisons are useful, like with dollmaker. It was decent at preventing him from getting up and walking off in the middle of the night. But he would only use it under complete confidence that he was safe. 

“It'll make you very tired; if you don't have nightmares, you will. But come morning, the voices aren't so bad.” 

It couldn't make them that much worse, could it? 

“Thank you, I'll give you groschen and if it works. When I gather myself some, I'll get you some too.” 

He stood from the table, and a hand grabbed him. Voyta stared dead up at him. 

“Henry, it is decay. Like an old painting withering from time. You can cover up the cracks, paint over them in hopes no one will look close enough to see. But in time, it will only grow until it becomes too tedious to hide.” 

Henry swallowed, expecting as much but not wanting to hear it. “Are you certain-”

“The potion is a bandage on an unhealing wound.” He released him, leaning back in the chair. “You seem like a good lad. I'll tell you something I wish I had known. Something that would have prevented much pain: keep away from others.” 

His heart sank. 

In a haze, he returned to the armoursmith, forced a smile, purchased the goods and left. Wraith walked on the dusty path back to them. But Henry's heart continued to fall. 

Keep away.

They had only gotten to be together, now it must end? Because of him. All because of him. He never should have agreed to it from the start. It would have hurt them less if he hadn't. Or if he fell at Maleshov… or Trosky. 

Keep away. Keep away.

It repeated and repeated until he couldn't take it anymore. He turned Wraith off the path into the woods. Henry dismounted, gasping for air. The weight of it all. Too much. He held onto the saddle, letting his companion keep him upright. 

What was he to do, burden his lovers as he forsakes sanity with age? Or break their hearts and abandon them. They had each other. He could survive being alone. He has. Had to. 

Henry sank to his knees. 

Fate seemed determined to break them apart. If he had to be alone, tormented every waking day, then let him fall. Let them be free of him. 

“Pretty bold of you to kneel in these woods.” A voice called somewhere behind him. Right, these were the very woods Matthew’s pack ravaged. “Are you going to answer me?” 

Henry sighed, “I'm really not in the mood for this.” But perhaps this was God's answer. 

Steps inched closer, but he didn't move. 

“He must be cracked.” Another voice called out, more pitchy. 

The first one hummed, agreeing. Three pairs of feet now moved. A hand grabbed Wraith's reins, his horse snorted, stomping its hooves. 

What if he didn't move? What if he let this be it? Hans and Bartosch were safely in Suchdol. They would send out some search parties, ending Zizka's current plan. His death would no doubt cause Sir Hanush to summon Hans home. There, they would both be safer. 

Keep them away.

“Do you want to die?” The bandit sounded confused and weary, even. Henry settled into the earthy soil, lowering his head to expose his neck. “Very well.”

Radzig didn't want a broken soldier back. This will be better in the grand scheme of things. 

Steps landed right beside him. His body tensed, and his hand itched to jump to his hilt. But he took a breath, willing himself to remain still. 

Cold steel touched the back of his neck. 

The wolf in him urged him to fight. To tear these people to pieces. But he closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of the forest: birds chirping, the leaves blowing.

Hans, teasing him to keep up.

He didn't want to go just yet, didn't want to be alone. 

As the bandit's sword swung down, Henry unsheathed his dagger, burying it in the man's thigh. He screamed, stumbling back. 

Henry ripped it out. Blood splurted out as he forced himself up, ramming his shoulder into the man, sending him to the ground. 

Henry followed, climbing on top of him, stabbing the dagger back into the bandit's guts, repetitively, ripping the man apart until he lay like limp ribbons. 

The other must have fled; he didn't spot them over his shoulders. And he wasn't going to bother chasing them down. So he stayed hunched over that fresh corpse, the taste of iron on his tongue. 

He didn't know how to die but didn't want to be this; a madman, a murderer. Just another monster.