An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Henry’s been different, lately. He has been ever since he rescued Hans from Maleshov, but now even more so since he returned from Sigismund’s camp. Since he beat the Devil and refused to put the torch to a sleepy little town, too much like the one Skalitz must have been. Hans watches the change, and wonders how he can approach the man who seems to think that all burdens must be shouldered alone.
But when a captured Otto von Bergow refuses to speak and the Pack finds itself without a plan of action, maybe there’s an opportunity there, in disguise – Hans has always wanted to see Kuttenberg, and maybe Henry can relax without the mantle of duty weighing so heavily on his shoulders. Except, someone’s been asking around for Henry – asking for him by name.
-x-
At his side, Henry shifts uncomfortably; his eyes too sharp, his shoulders too tense. His palm rests atop the pommel of his sword, the habit of man too used to violence. “But, Sir–”
“And stop calling me ‘sir!’ Isn’t that the whole point of me wearing this? Playing the vagabond?” Hans snaps, fingers plucking at his gambeson. With some effort, he reigns himself in, and tries to keep his voice low. “Have you ever seen a vagabond with a bodyguard, Henry?”
It’s not often that he sees Henry flustered; he’d enjoy it more if this wasn’t something that had been grating on him for ages. “Well, no, my lord, but–”
“Henry.”
Henry’s jaw snaps shut. “Listen,” he starts, but then he falters, and Hans watches his throat bob as the words fail to come to him. After a long moment, Henry sighs. “I… It, it just isn’t proper.”
“Since when have you ever cared for propriety? Have you forgotten how we met?” Hans scoffs. Henry averts his gaze, eyes drifting back to the crowd; it’s a thinly veiled excuse to not look at him and they both know it, but at least he’s being more discreet this time. Hans pushes on, “Listen, I know that when we’re in front of the others, of course appearances must be kept, but certainly you can see why we must make exceptions here?”
Wide blue eyes glance his way for but a moment. Why is he so hesitant?
Hans swallows roughly. He won’t give up so easily. “...For me, please?”
Henry bows his head, as if deep in solemn thought, but just when Hans thinks he will deny his request – or worse, pretend he never heard it – Henry clenches his eyes shut, and nods. “...Fine. Yes my– Hans. Alright.”