Work Text:
It was just a bit of fun, really.
Henry wasn’t the best of friends with foreign languages, but this he could certainly do.
He mouthed the sentence silently to himself as he looked around the room and found Hans leaning against the windowsill, gazing out towards the scenic surroundings of Kuttenberg.
Henry’s breath hitched in his chest. The afternoon sun made Hans’ skin glow and his eyes glitter. His borrowed armour shone and sparkled with every little movement, and Henry stood staring for a moment too long.
Hans must have caught him in his peripheral vision, for he turned his head towards him, smiled gently and gave a nod as a greeting.
Suddenly this whole thing seemed terribly difficult – speaking a little Italian to his friend. Henry walked up to Hans with the confidence of someone who thought this was just a bit of fun.
“Hey, listen to what Brabant taught me…” Henry said casually. What a fun and silly joke, right?
Hans’ politely expectant expression and patient eyes almost made him forget what the fuck the sentence was supposed to be.
“La tua bellezza mi abbaglia.” It sounded alright – could have been worse at least. His hand didn’t shake if he put it on his hip.
A crooked smile tugged on the corner of Hans’ mouth. “Nice. What does it mean?”
Henry hadn’t thought about this being a possibility. The Hans in his mind never said that – he just smiled fondly. Henry didn’t think ahead enough. Actually, Henry was a bit stupid.
Henry resisted the urge to say uuh and ermm and said instead, “It’s supposed to mean you look good… more or less.”
A strange expression flitted across Hans’ face, and Henry’s stomach clenched.
“You mean in these clothes? Well, thank you!” Hans bowed his head in appreciation.
Henry distantly wiped a bead of sweat from his temple before it ran down his face.
For the length of two quick heartbeats, Hans smiled fondly, just like Henry had planned, and Henry’s heart leapt. This he could live with.
Then the brightness of the smile flickered and faltered as Hans averted his gaze.
Fuck. It was weird, a very weird thing to say to a mate. Not just friend – his lord. Henry had gotten too comfortable. His lord!
“I’ll… I’ll need to remember that one,” Hans said with a shake in his voice.
He was avoiding Henry’s eyes now.
“Or maybe not…” Hans took a long pause, scratching at a nail with his thumb. “I don’t know if anyone’s told you the news yet, but…” There was a strangely long pause where Henry’s stomach had the time to fill with dread. Then Henry fastened his eyes on Henry’s. “I’m getting married.”
Henry blinked and recoiled like Hans had just punched him in the face.
“What?” Henry laughed; it was startled out of him without possibility of stopping it.
Hans avoided his gaze and looked like he clearly didn’t think any of this was funny.
Henry stuttered and blinked rapidly. “I… what? When did this happen?” Something took hold of Henry’s insides, twisting and strangling to the point of pain.
“It was at the meeting at Raborsch… Apparently Uncle Hanush and Botschek of Kunstadt had the bright idea that I should marry his niece, Jitka.”
Henry cursed his father for sending him to the meeting with the wretched Sigismund, which had left him with a terrible taste in his mouth, instead of letting him attend the meeting at Raborsch.
“Just like that?” Henry spluttered, incredulous. “And you just accepted it?”
Hans straightened up, chin held high. “It’s not like they asked me! I found out at the same time as everyone else in the room when they announced it. It was rather humiliating, actually.”
“Did you try to tell them you didn’t want this?” Henry managed to keep most of his indignation out of his voice.
A slight desperation crept onto Hans’ face. “I did try to talk to my uncle, but he said the deal was done, and that I just had to do my duty. This was about the future of Rattay, he said, and I know what that means…”
There must have been some kind of demon that took over Henry in that moment, because all of Hell’s fury burnt in him and made him open his malicious mouth.
“Well, you’ll just have to suck it up then, won’t you?”
Hans knitted his brows together in resentful surprise, and it only spurred Henry on.
“Yeah, what did you expect? To chase after every skirt that passed through your line of vision forever? To have me stand outside windows singing like an idiot to angry fathers while you sneak into the bedrooms of maidens every night? Not really realistic, is it? I thought you were smarter than that.”
Henry’s heart pounded in his ears. Roaring hellfire.
Hans stood stunned with his lips slightly parted. Then he jutted his jaw to the side.
“I-I thought maybe…” The missing rest of the sentence tensed the air with a force so loud Henry felt it press into his ears.
“What?” Henry spat.
“That you would understand!” He loudly whispered it through clenched teeth. His eyes glittered angrily. They glittered and shimmered like a pond in the sun.
How was he supposed to understand? And what? Hans expected too much of him – he always fucking did.
“Well, you thought wrong; I don’t. I think you’re an idiot who needs to grow up.”
Hans’ eyes widened. He was clearly going for anger, but the hurt surmounted it.
The smell of rotten fruit floated to the back of Henry’s throat. The both of them in the stocks side by side as the people of Troskowitz mocked and laughed at them. Hans bringing up Henry’s dead parents and Henry telling Hans no one could ever be proud of him. A tiny spark of regret made him almost say that it wasn’t true – it was possible to be proud of Hans. Henry knew that. But that’s not what he said. The name Jitka, along with Kunstadt, had dislodged a part of a memory that might help him mend this.
“If it helps, Black Bartosch said she was beautiful, Jitka, so according to him, you’re a lucky fellah.”
Hans’ shoulders hiked up an almost unnoticeable amount. “Black Bartosch? Sir Otto von Bergow’s bodyguard?”
“Aye.”
Hans’ nostrils flared, and anger won over his face again. “Clearly you’re the idiot here, who listens to anything that slimy cockroach says.”
Henry really did think Jitka’s alleged beauty would cheer Hans up, but apparently not. He really did think superficial Hans would appreciate it. This hostility was confusing and a little aggravating. “Why would you say that?”
“He’s Sir Otto von Bergow’s man! You haven’t fucking forgotten what happened with him, have you?” Hans looked like he was moments away from strangling Henry, and that was the last drop.
“No, but clearly a bodyguard can be a good person despite the terrible noble they serve.”
Hans froze to ice before him. His face turned hard and steely, his jaw set, and any connection Henry felt to him was severed by his cold and glazed-over eyes.
“Get out of my sight,” Hans said, and sounded like an infuriated king suppressing his anger at a subject who he would have liked to throw in a dungeon but couldn’t.
“Yes, sir,” Henry said with as much vitriol as he felt almost spilling up into his mouth.
Henry walked off, clenching and unclenching his fists so he wouldn’t hit something he shouldn’t. Maybe the Dry Devil would let him duel him in the courtyard. The image of bashing his helmet into his skull with the pommel of his sword helped ease the rage a little.
Henry had to be losing his mind. They were stealing the king’s silver with the men who killed their friends from Rattay, Henry had stood face to face with the monster who ordered the attack on Skalitz, and Hans was getting married.
He needed to tear something to pieces – tear it all apart.
The thought of crushing the Dry Devil’ face resurfaced, and he was about to go upstairs to find him when something caught his eye.
Rosa.
On a bench before the lit fireplace at the other end of the room sat Rosa, reading a book, tucking a strand of red, glowing hair behind her ear. She would surely appreciate his efforts with learning another language – she was a smart girl.
He strode across the room to her.
“Good day,” Henry said, smiling, smiling.
Rosa looked up politely. She did look pleased to see him. “Good day, Henry.”
“I’d like to tell you something.”
Henry cast a glance around the room for one reason or another. There was no one there, no one he noticed over the blinding storm in his head anyway – he skipped over the man with good posture and his nose in the air by the window.
“What is it?” Rosa said with a tinge of curiosity.
“La tua bellezza mi abbaglia.” It rang out into the vastness of the empty room and left the air tense like before a thunderstorm, like he had cast a magic spell. Something skittered up Henry’s neck.
“Impressive. That sounded really good!” Rosa said and smiled.
Henry straightened his back and puffed out his chest. “Thanks. I could hardly get it past my lips,” he said, perhaps a bit coyly.
She looked up at him with devious eyes. “Ah, but you did. You’d better not look at me too much, lest you go into the Court blinded by my beauty.”
Henry’s smile dropped off his face. “Damn it, woman, you speak Italian? Is there something you can’t do?” She really was a smart one – and certainly pretty. Henry may be a bastard, but maybe he should take his own advice and grow up too…
“Hmmm, maybe resist handsome men who are skilled with the sword and can recite Italian phrases.”
Henry was glad he was wearing a helmet; his ears heated up like coals and would be bright red if visible. He threw a nervous look around the room again.
By the window, in the glowing afternoon sun, Hans sank together, armour clanking faintly at his arms. Any trace of a cocksure attitude vanished, his eyebrows wrinkled under his helmet, and he turned his face away. All of a sudden, he looked less like an Italian soldier and more like a chick with half an eggshell on his head.
Rosa smiled pleasantly up at Henry, and he was rotting on the inside – rotting and crumbling.
He never really got used to losing people.