Chapter Text
Two lovers in a field, a Lord and his squire,
The universe above, a glittering choir,
Their spark, unmatched, by the nearby fire,
One of them pauses, hesitant to inquire...
"Does it ever scare you, Sir Hans? The night sky?"
Henry's question came at an awkward moment. They had settled on their patchwork of hides and furs an hour ago. After a round of terrible jokes and another cup of wine each, they fell into a long silence.
Hans didn't respond. Either he had fallen asleep, or was pretending to be.
"Because, I don't much understand it. What are they really, the stars? How are they there? Why do they only appear at night?"
Hans pretended to be asleep, letting out a loud sigh.
"I'm four cups deep and now you want to discuss the mysteries of the stars? Honestly, Hal."
"No, really. If I think about it too hard, or if I stare up at it for too long, it feels like I'll tip forward and fall into it like... like it were a great big lake!"
Hans knew the feeling, and it wasn't necessarily a pleasant one. Years spent staring up at the sky as a child through hairline windows in Polna made him feel a similar way. The expanse of the sky stretching from horizon to horizon, tens of thousands of pinprick stars that no one could explain, terrified him.
In his youth, fearing if he wasn't careful, he'd miraculously float up with no means of getting back down. Lost and alone in the mysterious, cold, infinite abyss. He always made sure he was tethered to something at night, be it his mother's hand, his dog's nape, fistfuls of grass if it came to it. Anything to stop him from accidentally floating up and away. If angels could exist, why not this?
How ridiculous, Hans thought, a distant memory now recalled. It brought a lopsided smile to his face, the two of them falling, or floating, into the sky.
"That sounds more like the wine's doing, Hal. "
"Pah! You're never any fun."
Henry rolled away onto his side. Arms crossed and knees pulled up like a petulant child.
Hans took the bait, he always did.
Turning towards Henry, he scooched closer, settling near the warm expanse of his back. Propping up on an elbow, he stared out into the shapeless night. Eyes darting left and right, a dragon protecting its most prized treasure. There was no one about, their location unknown to the world.
Hans dipped his chin, peering down at the side of Henry's face.
"Me?! No fun?! Oh Henry, I'll have you put in the stocks for that."
A light hand drifted up Henry's flank, all was peaceful until it stopped a small ways under his armpit.
"Don't you fucking dare." Henry whispered.
Silence.
"I said don't you fucking dare." Henry repeated.
"I haven't done anything."
"I'd have to kill you."
"I quite literally haven't done anything, Hal. What are you on about?"
3 charged seconds passed before Hans lunged. His fingers dug into the soft undersides of Henry's armpits, tapping along his ribs like harpsichord keys. Up now and crawling onto Henry's body, Hans wrestled to pin him under his weight.
They've done this dance before, and will do it many times more. Henry squirmed and contorted, barely able to breathe from both laughter and begging Hans to stop. Futile attempts were made at grabbing his wrists, his movements slowed, slurred, sloppy. Hans had the devastating advantage of simply being faster.
Tears welled in his eyes, his whole stomach tense from laughter, wheezing that it was enough, barely audible through the choir of crickets and cicadas.
Hans took pity, how could he not? A teary, red-faced turnip picker in dire need of a haircut who held Hans' whole, fragile world in the palm of his hands.
So he stopped, giving Henry enough time to muster the coordination to find his wrists and hold them still.
"Say I'm never any fun one more time." Hans spoke with surprising fondness, a love reserved only for the very few. It caught him off guard.
"Y-you are so much fun, my Lord. Buckets of it."
"I'm glad we've finally come to a mutually beneficial agreement."
With that, Hans crawled off Henry's body and lay back down, as if nothing had ever happened.
Precious minutes of silence passed until Henry piped up again.
"Okay but for real, Hans. What do you think the stars are? You can say literally anything and I'd believe you."
Hans' entire face scrunched in disbelief.
"Henry!"
"C'maaaaan! All those tutoring and philosophy lessons to turn you into a learned man and you haven't figured it out? Just give me your best guess."
Henry rolled onto his stomach and began crawling towards Hans with all the grace of a newborn calf. Strong arms pulling him forwards, he stopped when they were a breath apart.
But Henry didn't lean in.
He placed his head down on Hans' chest, in reverence, in fealty. His head and heart offered to his Lord, neck laid bare. His submission a silent request.
"If I give you an answer, will you finally stop asking?"
Henry smiled and gave a gentle nod. Hans felt it on his chest. His hands gravitated to the weight there, cupping a rough jaw, fingers woven through short brown hair. An anchor.
What to say. What to say. What did he even know about the stars? He never gave it much thought since he was a child, there were more important things to worry about, such as what was for dessert, or if he was finally big enough to ride a horse. But there was one thing he remembered, it was what his mother had told him. He must've asked the same question years ago that Henry was asking him now, though he never remembered doing so.
He didn't want to get sentimental. He didn't want to talk about his mother. Not now. How embarrassing.
The first word was always hardest to say.
"Mother… used to tell me they were the souls of heroes, or... warriors, great kings and captains who earned their place. Forever watching over us, reminding us of Him. It was her heaven."
Henry listened, held on to every word.
"That's what I believe, because it's what she believed. And my mother knew everything."
How awful, the sting of tears welling in the corners of his eyes. A full body reaction that formed a bruised pit below his stomach. Suddenly he missed her, desperately. The warmth of her hand, her face, her presence, her voice. He could hardly remember it now, what a terrible revelation.
His hand began twisting a small patch of hair on the back of Henry's head. A nervous habit Henry never noticed until now.
Hans closed his eyes, refusing to let the tear fall. A little boy who longed for his mother, a feeling he prayed to grow out of. Thirteen winters had passed since that night and the ache returned as it always did.
When he opened his eyes, they shined like pearls.
The stars reflected in them, millions upon millions, sparkling on the surface. Could one of them be hers?
"In that case, I'd wager you'd make it up there one day." Henry spoke carefully, gently.
A nervous laugh burst out of Hans. An abrupt little thing that forced the tear down his face. He wiped it away quickly, not wanting Henry to think him foolish. But if there was anyone who could understand this feeling, it was him.
"Well, I'd only want to be up there with you." Hans couldn't bear to look at Henry as he said that. He meant it with every word, but cringed at himself. Like a bad pick up line written by a failed minstrel.
"You say that to everyone you take on dates like this?"
Hans yanked the tuft of hair he was twisting.
