Thank you for the tag @misstwistedmind! Thank God you're pushing your luck for snippets of this fic at just the right time, I just got some more words down yesterday :P.
This is from my current WIP, a very angsty Hansry MCD fic.
Hans finds himself wandering the corridors aimlessly whenever there is nothing else to occupy his mind. At first he does not fully understand why. The corridors are empty as long as no-one is hurrying through them, there are no decorations, no paintings. Nothing but plain stone and slits for windows.
But then, after perhaps the first month, he comes to the conclusion that he searches them out because they are, essentially, a place of transition. A corridor is only ever a means to an end, a way to reach a destination beyond.
And isn't that just what this is?
Hans is waiting, caught in transition until Henry inevitably returns and marks Hans’ destination beyond. Because this? This is no life. Without Henry around there is no destination beyond, nothing to reach.
There is just this.
Plain walls, and slits for windows.
Dullness, and slivers of hope too small to be worth living for. Though the slivers are still enough to paint shadows in the dullness, to mark the hole of Henry's absence in his life.
Perhaps it would be better if there was no light at all.
Hans stands in the corridor where they have said their farewells. He looks at the wall and remembers the shadow of his love against the stone—remembers wishing to trace it.
He does not.
He leaves the corridor although it feels like home.
And for one single year, Hans is still the man everyone wishes for him to be. A lord worthy of his station, a husband worthy of his wife and, of course, a father worthy of his son.
Even if his soul keeps wandering the corridors aimlessly, tracing shadows with his eyes.
Tagging @nathalaia in this, if you're not already working on your exchange WIP :33
Thank you for the tag @misstwistedmind , I'm excited for this littl tag game! Ten first lines are quite a lot, I'll have to see which fics those are even from... tagging @nathalaia to try this as well!
1. "Of course, Henry can't catch a fucking break." (From a yet unnamed WIP, whose working title is "I do not fear the judgement of historians, although I am one myself")
2. "It was a warm and sunny morning as Hans and Henry took their now common route towards the market square of Skalitz." (From the 8th Chapter of Blackberries and Honey)
3. "Henry wakes to the rafters of his room cast in the darkness of a moonless night." (From Nighttime Lullaby)
4. "Snowflakes drift lazily through the air, swirling on a breeze before settling on earth as cold as ice." (From Fortuna's Blessing)
5. "The world is a rush of colour." (From the 2nd Chapter of Darkness and Hope)
6. "The streets of Rattay were usually rather quiet by night." (From Spilled Blood)
7. "Grief is the mightiest of God's swords." (From God's Sword)
8. "The ride to Talmberg was an agonisingly slow one." (From the 11th Chapter of Sunshine and a Silver Arrow)
9. "Thunder growls in the distance, wind whips through the treetops and lightning cracks through the sky." (From A Thunderstorm of Grief)
10. "Grey skies, black smoke, and the rotten stink of blood and shit were the only things left after the battle." (From Never far Apart, Even in Death)
Summary: Once Hynce is old enough to look after Rattay for a while, Henry surprises Hans with a trip to the medieval equivalent of a christmas market in Munich.
Read below or on ao3!
Snowflakes drift lazily through the air, swirling on a breeze before settling on earth as cold as ice. The town of Rattay slowly turns into a sea of white as Hans watches from the window of his chambers in the upper castle, a quill hanging forgotten between his fingers.
He no longer resides within the halls of Pirkstein, not since he has finally been granted his inheritance and a grumbling Hanush left him to rule Rattay as he sees fit. These days, Pirkstein serves mostly as housing for visiting nobles, or, during winters such as this, as a refuge for those unfortunate enough to otherwise fall prey to the cold—an idea that garnered him much ridicule from Hanush when he first proposed it, but earned him the respect of the entire Rattay townsfolk when he finally announced it to them.
Gracious, they call him these days. No longer arrogant and childish and spoiled, but a man worthy of the power he holds. Hans likes to think that he is trying his best to stay true to their opinion of him, to be a lord holding the respect of his people not out of fear, but out of loyalty.
A soft knock sounds from the door, pulling his gaze from the gathering snow. It is a knock that has become familiar over the past few years, although it serves more as a warning than a request. Henry knows well that he is always welcome in Hans’ chambers.
Snowflakes still cling to Henry's hair and furs as he steps into the room, speaking of his recent venture outside. He shakes them off with a huff, closing the door behind himself, and raises an eyebrow at Hans. Or, rather, the decidedly unfinished paperwork lying before him on the desk.
“Did the beauty of winter enthrall you so thoroughly, my lord, that it has rendered you incapable of work?” The tease is obvious in his voice, and fondness just as clear in his eyes. Still, Hans feels himself blush with the truth of it.
“It is still a rare opportunity, to be able to bask in such beauty without the threat of death hanging over the town.” This earns Hans a soft kiss to his forehead, the brush of lips making him smile. “Everyone is safe and out of the cold, I assume?”
Henry nods in response and moves to stand behind Hans, his hands coming down to rest on his shoulders and gently massage the tension from his stubborn muscles. Hans melts into it, closing his eyes and letting a sigh spill from his lips.
“Everyone but the kids, of course. They're having a blast, the snow is just right for throwing.”
“And you would know that because…” Hans opens one eye in time to see Henry sit down across from him with a wicked little grin spread over his lips, and can't help but breathe out a laugh. His lover is a right menace to the children of this town.
A foot nudges his own beneath the table, and Hans opens both eyes to fully look at Henry. There is a twinkle in the blue of his eyes, a sort of excitement that speaks of news greater than those of snowball fights.
“Come on, spit it out. I can see you're dying to say something.”
Henry leans forward onto the table and props up an arm to support his head, grinning at Hans. “I have a surprise for you, my heart.”
Interest piqued, Hans mirrors Henry's pose, which renders their faces only inches apart. He squints at his lover.
“I adore surprises.”
“You do.”
“You will not tell me what it is.”
“Absolutely not.”
Hans supposes it would be a poor surprise if Henry simply told him of its nature. Still, he pouts.
“Fine. Do I have to prepare something?”
The grin on Henry's face spreads even further, and the twinkle in his eyes grows ever brighter. He seems much too proud of himself.
“Everything is taken care of. Hynce knows not to expect us back for a few weeks, and he will take care of business here. The horses are ready. We'll ride out tomorrow at sunrise.”
Lord above, but Hans adores this man. He's been dying for a chance to get out of Rattay, to stretch his legs and be on the road for a while. And, of course, Henry read him like an open book.
Hans surges forward to claim Henry's lips in a desperate kiss, biting down on his lip just enough to hear his lover groan.
“I love you,” he murmurs, as softly as a prayer, and Henry pulls away enough to cradle his cheek in one hand.
“And I you, my heart.”
—
The following morning Hans wakes bright and early to a bed devoid of his lover's warmth. The sheets by his side are cold from the night air, and Hans allows himself a moment to pout at Henry's absence. Winter mornings are much more bothersome without those warm hands on his skin, and without soft kisses to coax him out from beneath the covers.
Hans does manage, eventually, to drag himself out of their bed and dress in clothes warm enough for travel. The pelt weighs heavily on his shoulders, grounding him, and Hans pulls it tighter around himself as he steps out of the castle and makes his way over to the stables.
There Henry is already waiting for him, although he's not alone. Hynce stands tall and bright beside him, a smile playing on his lips as he listens to whatever it is Henry has to say to him. The smile brightens considerably as he spots Hans across the courtyard, and the lord pretends that his heart does not clench painfully with the love he holds for his son.
“Good morning, Pa!” the boy, or rather young man, calls out to him. “I thought I'd see you two off, make sure Uncle Hal is not abducting you someplace against your will.”
Hans snorts and pulls his son into his arms for a tight embrace, relishing the way Hynce slumps against him with a content sigh as if he was still six summers old.
“I thought we established that Henry cannot abduct me, for I would follow him anywhere willingly, even to the very Gates of Hell.”
Hynce wrinkles his nose at the declaration, unimpressed by his father's dramatics. “I highly doubt that you'll pass the Gates of Hell on your journey, Pa. Bohemia has not yet become that much of a shithole.”
A chuckle escapes Henry's lips at that, which serves to draw both father's and son's attention to the man standing beside them. “Let's hope we also won't cross it once we're outside of the kingdom then.”
Wide eyes snap up to lock with Henry's.
They will be travelling far enough to leave Bohemia.
Hans has never been this far away from home. Of course he dreamed of it, back then. When Henry and him were younger and the world seemed endless, before the war and the wedding and Hynce's birth, before Jitka passed and left Hans alone with their only son and a city to lead on his own. Such responsibilities left little time for things such as travel, and by the time he thought Hynce would be old enough to take over, he imagined himself too old and frail for such ventures.
Though now that the time has come, he does not feel as old and frail as he always imagined men of forty years to feel.
“Where are we going?” he asks, the excitement making him bounce on his feet like a child at Saint John's Eve. His smile is just as wide, and Henry looks upon him with a fondness that warms his heart.
“I'll tell you once we're on the road. Come on, let's saddle up.”
Those words are more than enough to make Hans move. He presses a last kiss to Hynce's cheek and swings himself up onto the back of his horse. He is already halfway across the courtyard before Henry even has a chance to follow.
“Take care, the two of you!” Hynce calls after them with a laugh, and Hans waves at his son over his shoulder as Henry catches up to him and they ride out the upper gate side by side.
Hans manages to keep his curiosity at bay up until they pass the stud farm at Neuhof, though the glances he casts in Henry's direction are anything but subtle, if his lover's widening grin is anything to go by.
Still, Henry remains stubbornly silent, clearly testing out Hans’ patience.
“You're a right tease, blacksmith's boy,” Hans huffs eventually, squirming in his saddle and making Henry chuckle.
“I grant you three guesses, my lord.”
Three guesses.
Well, at least there aren't too many kingdoms near Bohemia that can be reached in about a week or two.
“Poland,” Hans blurts out, the first thing coming to his mind. Too far away in weather like this, perhaps. Snow makes everything about travel take so much longer.
“Two more tries, your lordship!”
Henry sounds too smug as he draws out the formal address like a melody, and Hans scrunches his nose up in thought.
“Moravia?”
A better guess. Closer, and somewhat familiar. They've met quite a few Moravians over the years, though none Hans feels very inclined to visit.
“Wrong again! Last guess better be good.”
Hans purses his lips and squints his eyes, now finally focusing on giving Henry an answer worth more than a second's thought. After all, Henry is first and foremost a thoughtful lover. It is only fair that Hans put some actual consideration into his answer.
So, what else would Henry give thought to when choosing a location for them to travel to, besides its familiarity and distance?
The answer is so obvious it makes Hans smile, bright and wide, and he looks at his lover with a twinkle in his eyes. Henry would take him to a place he believes worthy of such a surprise. And, really, there is only one such destination—said to be the most beautiful in the throes of winter, holding the greatest craftsmen and merchants of the whole empire, if not the entire world.
A place Henry would consider a worthy surprise for Hans.
“You're taking me to Bavaria, aren't you Hal?”
It is Henry's turn to grin, though it is a soft thing on him, love and devotion all tangled up in the blue of his eyes and the tilt of his lips.
“I am indeed, my heart.”
“Nuremberg?” Curiosity and giddiness clearly colour Hans’ voice, drawing Henry closer until he can press a kiss to one frosty cheek as he shakes his head.
“Perhaps next time.” Hans tries and fails not to sit up straighter upon hearing that this might not be a one-time trip. Henry only grins brighter. “This time, I've sent word ahead to a quiet inn just outside of Munich. No-one will look twice at some travelling foreigners there, sharing a room and bed.”
Something within Hans unravels at Henry's admission. Care and consideration: the two constants Hans has come to expect since becoming someone Henry believes worthy of his love. It is his way of expressing it, to watch and listen and accommodate.
And Henry knows that Hans will be calmer if they lodge outside the city, where there are less people and less walls. He also knows that Hans cares more for them sharing a room than sleeping in the most luxurious of beds. And so he planned accordingly, sent out word of their arrival weeks ago.
“I don't know what I did right for Lady Fortune to bless me with your love.”
“Well, audentes fortuna iuvat, does she not? I'd say you were and still are the bravest man I know. I certainly couldn't have done what you did back at Suchdol.”
Hans snorts, masking that old wound with familiar humour. “What, sit on your arse and wait for someone to come save you? Or kiss your best friend out of a fit of desperation?”
“Hope, Hans,” Henry replies sternly, seeing right through his half-hearted attempt at hiding past hurts. “Hoping is the bravest thing a man can do. You never lost your hope, not after a month of starvation, not when I climbed down that wall and left you behind, not even when misplaced hope could have meant ridicule and death.
“And you taught me how to hope once more as well. After Skalitz. For a future made up of more than just fire and smoke and blood. For love I once thought myself incapable and undeserving of.”
Hans does not try and hide the tears that escape down his cheeks at Henry's words. Really, he's become a softer man since meeting his love.
So instead he rides close enough to brush his hand against Henry's, letting the words settle like a warm heavy blanket around them as they truly begin their journey.
—
Travelling anywhere further than the closer Sasau region during winter proves to be as much of a challenge as Hans expected it to be. The trodden streets are covered in white from recent snowfalls that brought with them thin sheets of ice, leaving the horses slightly unsteady on their feet. Darkness also falls upon them sooner, forcing them to step off the road and into the warmth of an inn earlier than Hans is used to from his past travels during summer months. Though, thankfully, Henry let scouts mark inns on their route on a map weeks ago, so that neither nightfall nor another heavy snowfall might catch them unprepared to find shelter.
One such snowfall delays their travels for a whole day, winds whipping outside their room and making the shutters clatter much like their teeth would if they were to step outside. But neither of them particularly minds, bundled up with blankets and furs in front of the room’s hearth as they are. They take turns reading pages from a book of Arthurian legends to the other, the parchment of the chapters on Galehaut and Lancelot well-loved and worn beneath their fingertips. Though after so many years, reading has turned more into reciting, and oftentimes wrongly at that, which leaves them both giggling like young boys deep into the nightly hours.
Other than the forces of nature, their way to Munich is a blessedly uneventful one. No bandits lie in wait out in this cold, as even they are too busy huddling around a fire to spend much time awaiting the few unsuspecting journeymen that travel the countryside. Instead the trip is marked by quiet conversation; about Rattay and Hynce and memories long since past—the life they’ve shared thus far, and the many years hopefully still ahead of them.
In the end, Hans and Henry spend a week and a half on the road before they can finally make out the city walls of Munich in the distance. A strange wave of excitement passes through Hans at the sight of snow-covered roofs and towers, merchants and townsfolk scurrying along the streets like ants in their burrow. The city is a beauty to behold even from afar, and Hans cannot wait to explore those streets with Henry by his side.
—
“There’s still a surprise I have not told you about,” Henry murmurs as they pass the city gates for the first time the next morning, and Hans’ gaze snaps to that of his lover as they are swept further into town by a lazy river of people around them.
“What more could you have possibly planned, Hal?”
A little huff passes Henry’s lips, pulling his lips upward as he cranes his neck to see beyond the people in front of them. “It’s not my doing in particular, but I did choose this time of year for a reason.” With those words he takes Hans’ hand in his and weaves through the crowd until they reach a quiet alley turning away from the main road.
A part of Hans notices absently that Henry leading him through hidden passages in an unknown city with such confidence implies that his lover spent some hours studying maps in preparation for this trip. Of course, Henry is never one to leave anything up to chance, not when it involves Hans’ safety. Hans has no doubt in his mind that if Henry had come here on his own, it wouldn’t have taken more than ten minutes for him to crawl into some abandoned underground tunnel and be lost for a fortnight. He’d never let such a thing happen with Hans by his side though, and the certainty of Henry’s care warms Hans’ soul despite the freezing cold.
“What’s so special about this time of year?” he muses eventually, less a question than it is a statement of his curiosity.
Nevertheless, Henry answers with a grin on his lips as they round corner after corner. “There’s a custom in these parts during the month leading up to the birth of Christ. Some of the travelling merchants back in Kuttenberg told me of it: a grand market attracting only the finest craftsmen of Bavaria and even some from the furthest corners of the Empire. A celebration of craftsmanship and community, all under the humble name of the Saint Nicholas Market.”
Just as those last few words echo between the walls of the houses around them the alley opens up into an enormous market square. The space seems almost as big as the entirety of Rattay. Lines upon lines of wooden stalls stretch out along its length, leaving only thin stretches of space for townsfolk to mingle and assess the wares. Smoke rises from several bonfires around the edge of the market with people huddling together on benches around them, steaming clay mugs in their hands and joyful smiles on their lips. Somewhere in the distance Hans can make out the soft tunes of a flute, lifting the spirits of even the gloomiest of men as they tap their feet to its rhythm.
“This is incredible,” Hans breathes as he takes it all in, near child-like wonder bubbling beneath his skin, threatening to spill over. “Henry, I-”
The words hang abandoned in the air, woefully inadequate. Instead of finishing that thought, Hans looks around to make sure they are alone in that alleyway, far away from prying eyes, and pulls Henry into a quick but bruising kiss. He hopes that the quick press of lips—the rush of shared breath—conveys even half of the gratitude that has grasped his heart in this moment.
“I adore to see you happy,” Henry murmurs as they part, fond and warm, and his thumb brushes Hans’ temple where crow's feet frame his eyes. Even after twenty years it does not fail to make Hans blush to be touched with such gentleness and reverence. Henry's words do not particularly help the matter.
“You make me happy, Hal,” Hans counters, delighting at seeing that same blush now spread down Henry's neck and towards his ears, which were already tinged a light red due to the cold. “Come on now, let's explore this market! I bet we will need a whole week to see it all!”
And with those words Hans takes Henry's hand and drags him around the corner and into the crowd. Within the first stall they cross, an older woman leans against a wooden counter lined with square bundles wrapped in cloth. A strong scent comes from the unsuspecting packages, and Hans steps closer to inspect the wares offered.
“God be with you, goodwife!” he greets with a most charming smile on his lips, perfected over decades, and the woman returns it with a huff.
“And with you, sir,” she responds, her Czech tinged with a heavy Italian accent that makes Hans wish that he kept up with his Italian lessons over the years. Alas, the duties of a lord leave little time for studies.
“What wares are you selling here?”
The woman turns to pick up something from a shelf behind her, a little white square that she places in Hans’ hands. It's firm and smells strongly of rosemary, a little like the stews Henry bothers the cooks of Rattay to make every once in a while.
“These are soaps,” the woman explains, gesturing to the little block, “scented with herbs and flowers. The one you’re holding is rosemary. There are also some scented with rose, thyme and…” She squints, picks up one of the bundles and places it in Hans’ other hand. “We call it limone. Sour fruit, it doesn't grow so far north.”
Hans brings the little package up to his nose and inhales deeply, expecting a scent comparable to green apple, or perhaps unripe plum. Something sour yet pleasant, refreshing like a quick dip of bare toes into a pond on a hot summer's day. Instead, he feels like he's dived into an ice-cold pond head first and resurfaced feeling like an entirely new man. Refreshed, in a way few things can.
“Oh this is delightful,” he announces excitedly, inhaling once more and enjoying the sharp, tangy scent for another moment before holding it out for Henry to smell. “What do you say?”
Ever the dutiful lover Henry does so without question, blinking a few times as he inhales, but smiling something bright and fond as he looks back at Hans. “Aye, this fits you well.”
The blush that spreads over Hans’ cheeks is entirely unwarranted, but Henry says those words like he means something more, something entirely too sweet and sincere for Hans’ poor heart to take. He can decipher such meaning even without hearing the words these days, which is likely a fair sign that Henry is spoiling him rotten with compliments.
“I'll take two of these,” he announces after clearing his throat, quickly hiding the blush behind a dip of his head as he hands over a handful of silver coins to the saleswoman.
They're barely out of earshot before Hans chances a curious glance at Henry, who has the audacity to grin and wink back at him.
“Fishing for compliments is unbecoming, my lord.”
“It's your fault I'm spoiled, Hal,” Hans retorts immediately and digs his finger into Henry's side, which makes the other man squirm and bat his hand away with a laugh.
“Stop that, you menace!” A quick twist of his wrist and Henry wrenches his hand away from his side. It's an excuse for them to hold onto each other, if just for a moment. A familiar play at camaraderie to hide that which lies beyond from prying eyes.
“Tell me what thoughts were plaguing that thick peasants’ head of yours, then.”
Henry lets their shoulders brush as they walk, humming to himself for a moment before answering in that damned honest tone of his. The one that made Hans’ knees buckle as Henry swore his fealty to him before the entirety of Rattay as Hans made him his knight.
“I was thinking that you're the brightest person I've ever met, perhaps only rivalled by the sun herself.” Damned be Hans for ever telling Henry of his weakness for poetry. How should he have guessed then that Henry would abuse it one day to humiliate him like this in public?
“Lord have mercy,” Hans bemoans, regret clear in his voice as he lets his head fall briefly against Henry's shoulder. The blush that spreads down his neck and warms his ears is embarrassing enough already, but Henry, the total arse, simply keeps going.
“You're bright, sharp, all-consuming. Once you enter a room there's just you, everything else fades away into nothingness.”
So, he's… a lot. Too much, perhaps. Henry makes it sound like a virtue.
“Your taste in men is horrific,” Hans murmurs, and Henry presses their shoulders together once more.
“Absolutely dreadful," his lover agrees, yet it sounds so fond it might as well be another compliment.
There is no way to tell Henry that he loves him, not so openly out here on this market. Their conversation is already a risk, even when they are speaking so quietly and those around them likely do not understand their language. Still, he hopes that Henry hears the words as he lets their fingers brush and he pulls the man to another stall.
Tools for smithing: scraps and metals and decorated hilts. Henry lights up seeing the displayed wares, and Hans enjoys buying him whichever materials he might desire for his smithy back home in Rattay. After all, he, too, can spoil Henry a little out here, where no-one might question it.
And it's this more than anything that Hans comes to love about this trip. Finding this joy in Henry's eyes as they cross the market, and finding a similar joy as he allows himself to be a little more unguarded in his affections. It is peaceful, nigh domestic in its serenity. They exist together in their own bubble of love and warmth amidst the cold, amidst strangers who care not for smiles too bright and glances too fond.
Not even when they share a bench around one of the bonfires with some locals does this bubble of theirs burst. They hold steaming spiced wine in their hands and let broken German spill from their lips as they tell stories of Bohemia, of Rattay and Talmberg and Suchdol. Henry stumbles over his words as he talks about Hynce as if he were his own—mein Junge instead of der Junge—and no-one bats an eye when Hans does the same.
Drunk foreigners, that is all they are here. Eccentric, amusing, forgettable. They are taken as seriously as Adder and Janosh were taken back then, and Hans wonders if some of their quirks had been something more, too.
When the bells of the Saint Peter's church across the market ring a little too loud then and Henry holds him a little too tight in response, the people around them pay them no mind, already engaged in another conversation with foreigners drunker and louder than them.
“Let's go to bed,” Henry whispers near Hans’ ear as a round of laughter erupts around them, and Hans nods, leaning heavily into his lover although he has barely drunk enough to warrant it.
“Thank you, Hal,” he murmurs once they're upright. For helping him up. For holding him steady. For this trip, the surprise.
I was tagged by my wonderful @seiya-starsniper , love you friend!
RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous and tag as many people as you have WIPs. People send an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then you post a snippet or tell them something about it.
I am keeping myself BACK atm with new WIPs, so I don't have too many I've actually started. BUT my ideas obviously are going as rampart as ever, so I will throw in a few I haven't started yet. Also these are all Hansry (the Gay Knights), I'm in deep.
Omegaverse angst yayyyyy (Blackberries and Honey)
Merry Crism
Wingfic II.
Pit to Hell fic
Forge DLC with Hans
Hans sings
I'll leave it at those, ask away if any of these sound interesting! :))
Im tagging @im-not-corrupted @pumpkinkingsalem and @nathalaia
One night as a younger Henry walks back home from Samopesh, he stumbles upon a frightened and injured boy in the forest. Unable to simply leave the other kid out there for the wolves to get, he decides to take him home to his parents.
The following years hold many challanges and memories for Henry and Hans, and when Skalitz gets raided by Cumans, they both lose everything, except each other.
Chapter 7: Brave and Bold
It was weeks later, when the sun had been replaced almost completely by clouds and rain and the pain in Hans’ foot had been reduced to almost none, that he was sent to join Henry on errands for the very first time. Christine and Martin had both run a comforting hand through his hair, smiling those indulgent smiles of theirs, and seen them off at the door.
“Take it easy, boys.” Christine had said.
“And be back before nightfall.”
Henry had grinned wide at his father's instruction. “No more surprises?”
“No more surprises.”
Hans doubted that the chances that they might find another exiled omega lord in the woods were incredibly high. Nevertheless, he nodded when Martin looked at him expectantly.
He, too, would be glad if there were no more surprises in his life going forward.
“Good. Off you go then.”
And with that, Henry grabbed his hand and dragged him through the inner gate and into Skalitz proper. Hans hadn't been further than the gate ever since Henry first carried him into the city, his injury keeping him bound to the forge and gardens, and so even stepping out of the immediate range of his new home felt monumental.
The streets were bustling with people — merchants tending to their stalls, people buying groceries or haggling over tools, children weaving through adults’ legs with laughter on their lips. It was loud, louder than Hans remembered Rattay, but in a way that lifted his spirits rather than overwhelm him.
Folk were… happier, out here. The air was light, and minds seemed to be as well. He overheard a woman telling the grocer of her newborn's health, love and pride shining in her eyes.
A healthy girl! Oh, she's so beautiful. I will bring her along soon, so you can see her!
The grocer smiled, honest, and nodded enthusiastically. Hans had never witnessed such joy over the birth of a girl. Her secondary gender had not even been mentioned.
“Come,” Henry tugged at his hand, and Hans followed him easily. They walked up to the woman and the grocer, who smiled at them when he noticed their approach.
“Good morning, Henry!” the grocer greeted, and Henry bowed his head in response.
“Good morning, goodman! And you, Vera! Everything went well with the birth, I see!”
The woman, Vera, lit up even more at Henry's comment, if that was even possible. To see such pride in a mother… Hans couldn't help but smile as she replied.
“It was over before I even fully realised it had begun! Your mother's advice was worth my little Agnes’ weight in silver, Henry. I wish I had a way to repay you.”
Henry waved those words off with such ease that Hans believed he had been prepared to hear them.
“No need. Is there anything else you could use help with? I imagine the babe takes up a lot of your time.”
Adoration shone so clearly in Vera's eyes as she looked down upon Henry, who so easily offered help to a neighbour even when there was nothing for him to gain. Hans understood that adoration very well; he couldn't quite believe that Henry walked the same earth as him either.
“I think we're alright, Henry. But tell us, who's that friend of yours?”
Almost immediately Henry perked up and pulled Hans closer, smiling as brightly as Vera had when she talked about her daughter.
His scent was sweet with joy, a thick and sugary honey that melted slowly in the summer's heat.
“This is Hans! We took him in some time ago, and he's finally well enough that I can show him around and introduce him.”
“Oh that's lovely!” Vera ran a hand over Hans’ head in that way mothers seemed to have here in Skalitz. “You're quite the lucky young man then, Hans! Martin and Christine are good people, and even better parents.”
Really, the only thing Hans could do in response to that was nod, because so far he had only seen proof for those words being true. “They are, and I am eternally grateful for everything they do for me. And Henry, too.”
The boy in question had a smile so wide on his lips Hans felt he was looking at the sun, only that the sun could never make him feel as warm as Henry did.
“You're a polite little one, Hans,” the trader smiled, pulling out two apples and holding them out to them. “Here, a little treat for you both. As a welcome gift.”
Henry and Hans both bowed their heads in thanks before taking the offered fruit. The apples were beautiful — shiny and red and juicy sweet as they both took a bite out of them with a pleased hum.
“Thank you, goodman!” Henry said, words obscured by the bite of the apple he had yet to swallow.
“Now be off, you two! And greet your parents from us!” The trader called after them as Henry started pulling Hans away from the stall.
The rest of the day was much of the same, and yet Hans could not seem to get used to the interactions they had. At least half of the village seemed to recognise him from some story Henry had told them on a previous errand, and they greeted him like an old friend. The innkeep handed them each a piece of fresh bread and homemade cheese, which Henry accepted with a big grateful smile and Hans with pink cheeks. The miller waved Henry off as he tried to pay him for the flour, saying he surely still owed Martin for some favour or other.
And every single person they met asked them about their day and Hans’ time in Skalitz so far. Did he enjoy living here? Did Martin and Christine treat him well? Were they feeding him enough, he was only skin and bones! Not one of them mentioned the circumstances that must have gotten him here, or his noble heritage. He was an omega, quite obviously so, and yet they did not treat him differently than they did Henry or each other.
Hans had not quite known that villagers were so… communal. Back in Rattay, peasants had only ever greeted him from a distance, with curt bows and too-bright smiles. Their real joy and trust was reserved for those they considered one of theirs, and a noble boy was certainly not that. Now, here in Skalitz, he was one of them, and so he was on the receiving end of their trust and kindness just as much as Henry was.
It was… nice.
Hans had not known that socialising could be something he might enjoy. He'd always thought himself a bit of a lone spirit, feeling better when he could simply hide away in his chambers and not talk to anyone for a few precious hours. But on his first day out in Skalitz, Hans realised that it had not been the socialising that had been draining him, only the people he had had to be social with.
The people of Skalitz did not drain him.
On the contrary, with every errand they completed Hans felt a little less shy, a little less exhausted. He tried himself on a joke with the butcher, a whispered little thing that sent the man into a fit of laughter and made Henry giggle. The man ruffled his hair with a smile, calling him a fine kid. The smell of honey filling Hans’ every sense at all times turned sweeter still with Henry's pride.
They arrived back home as the sun finally dipped down beneath the cloudy horizon and the first stars sprinkled over the sky. Martin and Christine sat at the table beneath the linden tree with a candle nestled between them, their hands touching on top of the rough wood. They smiled at each other, eyes twinkling, and Christine leaned forward to press a kiss on Martin's cheek that brightened his smile tenfold.
Hans watched their interaction, the easy adoration these two shared, and pulled Henry closer by the hand to press a kiss of his own on the boy's cheek. And just as his father's, his smile brightened to challenge the sun itself.
Hans wanted to see that smile every day, be the reason for it as often as he could. He would be brave and bold, if only to make Henry happy and proud.
When Martin and Christine noticed their approach they turned towards them, eyes shining with as much adoration for them as they held for each other.
“How was your day, boys?”
“Brilliant,” Hans answered immediately, his voice more sure than he remembered it being ever since he stepped foot into this village. “The people here are amazing! Oh, we met Vera at the market today, she sends her regards.”
And with that Hans fell into an energetic recollection of today's adventures, a waterfall of words falling from his lips. The honey-sweet scent of Henry's pride grew ever stronger with each moment he spoke, and bolstered Hans to go on and on, until he was flushed with excitement and energy, beaming at Christine and Martin.
And they in turn looked at him like he was something precious, something to treasure, and pulled him into a hug so tight Hans felt his heart soar out of his chest.
His happiness brought them joy. Hans thought he might actually believe that given some time.
One night as a younger Henry walks back home from Samopesh, he stumbles upon a frightened and injured boy in the forest. Unable to simply leave the other kid out there for the wolves to get, he decides to take him home to his parents.
The following years hold many challanges and memories for Henry and Hans, and when Skalitz gets raided by Cumans, they both lose everything, except each other.
Chapter 6: A Father's Lot
“Hans!” a low voice called from outside the house, and Hans quickly looked up from where he was stirring the stew for today’s dinner by Christine’s side. “I could use a hand over at the smithy! Come out here for a moment!”
Hans threw a sideways glance at Christine, asking wordlessly if it was alright for him to leave before he stepped away from his task to join Martin outside. And just as Hans had come to expect from her, Christine sent him off with a nod and a kiss to the head, smiling softly as he limped for the door.
It was… nice, to hope for love and receive it.
It certainly wasn't a thing Hans was used to. He remembered little from the time when his parents had still been alive, but he did remember that they had not been the most loving of people, and not the most caring of parents. They had tried, of course they had. But neither of them had had the patience for a child, and so Hans remembered being denied physical affection or simple kindness more often than not. He tried to cling to those memories in which his mother had held him close or fuzzed over him with worry after scraping his knee, but those were few and far between, fading at the edges as time brought distance.
In comparison, Christine offered her affections almost too easily. She smiled at him, with care and love and pride, while Hans remembered his mother only ever smiling tightly, with barely concealed annoyance. Nicknames and forehead kisses and hugs were now a part of his everyday life. Hans could barely remember the last time he had experienced any of those things before Henry found him.
Outside of the house, Martin greeted Hans with similar warmth. Although the man showed his affection differently than Christine, Hans found that it was easier to spot with every day. Martin’s care was a quiet thing, built on poise and steadiness. Not once had the man raised his voice in Hans’ presence, and never had he seemed to be anything but composed. He was an anchor, unchanging and predictable, when Hans’ life was currently anything but. Henry came after his father in that sense.
“How can I be of help, Sir?”
Martin smiled indulgently at him from the smithy, his features softened by the glow of the forge. He pulled the thick leathery gloves from his hands, the ones that protected him against burns from flying sparks, and stepped around to meet Hans a few steps away from the forge itself. Here, the heat was still bearable.
“I'd like for you to help me with the sword handle, so we actually finish this in time for Sir Radzig to pick it up this afternoon.”
Hans nodded quickly, eager to please as much as he was eager to learn. And, after all, this sword was important. It would mean that there was once more enough food on the table for the hunger to stop clawing at their stomachs.
“What do you need me to do?”
At that Martin turned around and approached a chest to the side of the forge, taking out a dark wooden block and a small knife. Then he sat and gestured for Hans to come sit on his lap, which the young boy did easily.
Gently, he placed the knife and block in Hans’ hands and then took them into his own so he could guide his movements. Together they began whittling at the wooden block, forming first a hole in the middle and then rounding it off until it resembled a very rough sword handle. Hans listened dutifully when Martin corrected the angle of the knife or the pressure with which he pushed it along the wood, and by the end of it, he was doing most of the work himself.
It was easy to learn from Martin — almost as easy as it had been to learn from Christine. He was patient and calm, and he clearly knew his trade well. His low voice carried gently through the spring air, mixing easily with the chirping of birds and the laughter of children outside of the inner walls.
“Now, I reckon that's enough. It feels good in my hand, and when we wrap it with a leather band, it'll have a nice grip to it.”
Martin sounded pleased, a soft lilt to his voice that hadn't been there before, and Hans lit up upon hearing it. He couldn't remember the last time his uncle or father had sounded pleased at anything he did.
“What else can I help you with, Sir?”
Martin's smile at his enthusiasm was gentle, and he pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head as he set him down from his lap.
“I fear you're still a little too young to actually help me in the forge, birdie. But as long as you promise to keep your distance, I could show you how I put the sword together.”
Hans nodded quickly, excited to learn, to be taught. With every new thing he learned he made himself more worthy of the care and love of his new family and it became more and more likely that they would keep him around. At least that was what he hoped for.
He watched as Martin moved towards the forge and heated the part of the sword that would connect to the handle in the hot coals. A few pulls of the bellows turned the metal first red and then yellow, the air around it flickering and hissing angrily. Hans could feel the heat of it several steps away, sending goosebumps up his spine.
Martin then pushed the wooden handle onto the hot metal, making a cloud of smoke rise from it that swirled and danced in the air.
The heat of the metal widened the hole of the handle just enough for it to slip on. Once it had all cooled down again, Martin added the sword guard and pommel to the handle, completing his work with a few precise strikes of his hammer that locked the pieces in place.
As a last step he wrapped a leather band around the rough wood, nailing it in place and smiling to himself, clearly satisfied.
“That's that, then.”
Hans carefully stepped closer to Martin then, curious eyes glancing at the sword he had helped to craft. It was beautiful, even more so than the sword he had seen his uncle wear on the few occasions where he had accompanied his garrison to a dispute beyond the castle walls.
“Well don't be a spoilsport, Martin! Let the boy hold it!”
–
Radzig had been watching Martin and the strange boy for a while now, leaning against the palisade only a few paces away from the blacksmith's forge. He'd gone entirely unnoticed, focused as the two of them had been on their work, and so he had decided to stand back and watch.
Mostly, he was interested in that boy Martin had tiptoeing around his forge like he was his newest apprentice. He couldn't remember signing off any paperwork on some new residents moving to Skalitz, but surely the boy didn't simply show up on Martin's doorstep all on his own.
At the sound of his voice the boy seemed to freeze, his shoulders hunching up and his hands clenching into fists at his sides as he slowly turned around to face him. There was fear in his eyes; the kind that had Radzig stand up straight and move back a step, as if to prove that he was no threat.
An omega boy then.
Radzig had been wondering why the boy's face seemed so familiar, why he felt like he should be able to place that pointy nose and pouty mouth somehow. But stripped from his clothes and title, the young Lord Capon was barely recognisable as the haughty, arrogant child he had once met at Rattay.
Radzig kept his expression friendly and calm, and his tone light as he spoke next. “You haven't mentioned that you took in another ward, Martin!”
The blacksmith nodded curtly, placing a hand on the young Lord Capon’s shoulder in silent comfort. “Aye, my Lord. I thought it best not to trouble you with that before the sword you ordered was finished and you planned to meet me anyway.”
“And who is this young man you've taken in? Did he just show up on your doorstep one night?”
Martin smiled weakly at that and squeezed the boy's shoulder. Of course, with the knowledge that the young Lord seemed to have presented as an omega Radzig had his suspicions, but surely his old friend Hanush would not have…
No. Surely not. Hanush was a right moody bastard, but he wouldn't just abandon a child.
“You're not too far off from the truth, Sir. Henry found Hans on his way back from the herbalist in Samopesh, out in the forests, and carried him all the way back here. Christine and I decided to take him in as our own.”
Radzig felt his teeth scrape against each other with how hard he clenched his jaw at those words. To think what fate would have almost befallen that poor boy at the hands of that bastard friend of his. Thank the Lord that Martin had raised Henry to be a better man. Young Capon would be in good hands with the blacksmith.
“A commendable decision of yours, Master blacksmith. I'll make sure that the bailiff is informed, and if you ever need anything, you know where to find me.”
With those words, he stepped closer and let a pouch of silver fall into Martin's hands that was considerably heavier than their agreed upon amount for the sword. Twice the amount, to tide them over for some time.
Martin noticed almost immediately and opened his mouth to point it out, but Radzig only nodded towards the young omega boy hiding behind the blacksmith's legs. They would need the money, and well did Martin know it. So instead, he simply nodded his head in thanks and handed over the sword, quiet gratitude in his eyes.
As Radzig turned to leave back towards the bridge to the castle, he chanced one last look over his shoulder at the boy just to see that he was throwing himself at Henry, who had just come back from an odd errand or other. His face was buried in the other boy's neck, chest heaving like he was trying to calm himself down by drowning himself in Henry's scent.
One look back at Martin told him everything he needed to know.
May the Lord watch over these two.
True mates, and at that age, were a rarity indeed.
One night as a younger Henry walks back home from Samopesh, he stumbles upon a frightened and injured boy in the forest. Unable to simply leave the other kid out there for the wolves to get, he decides to take him home to his parents.
The following years hold many challanges and memories for Henry and Hans, and when Skalitz gets raided by Cumans, they both lose everything, except each other.
Chapter 5: Mending the Broken
In the next couple of days, Hans experienced many a thing for the first time in his life.
He experienced what it was like to share; a house, a bed, his food. As a young Lord, there had never been a need for sharing, and his spoiled little ego wouldn't have done well with the prospect anyway. He would have kicked and screamed and pouted until everything he wanted was his, and his alone.
He also experienced what it was like to eat, but never enough to truly feel sated. It came with the sharing; with the silent agreement he had formed with Henry and his family over these past days. Hans had never gone hungry, not for a day in his life. The kitchens of Rattay had always been filled with food aplenty, and as a lord he had had the right to take however much he could wish for.
He learned quickly that hunger was no easy pain to endure. It gnawed at everything; stomach, limbs, heart and resolve. A silent companion, but one that wore him out bit by bit with every day that passed.
But he also learned what it was like to be so filled with love that he did not feel the cold of his loneliness or the gnawing of hunger any longer.
And, on one memorable day, he learned how to mend that which was broken.
“Be careful how you hold the needle, little bird,” Christine reminded him for perhaps the fifth time that day, her tone still as patient as when she had said it the first time. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m trying.”
If Hanush could see him right now Hans thought that his uncle would probably just pass away from embarrassment. The future lord of Rattay, sitting on the lap of a poor townswoman, trying to hold a needle between clumsy fingers in an attempt to patch a hole in his hose from when he had tripped in the woods That Night. Christine had laundered the garment down at the river just yesterday, revealing a big ugly hole just at the knee. Fixing it with hands as untrained as his would likely ruin the cut of the whole thing, but Hans found that he cared little for looks as long as it meant that he could be of some use to this family. Even if it was only mending his own clothes.
And Christine was a wonderful teacher. Her patience seemed endless, her hands were steady and her instructions simple. Hold it between your thumb and pointer finger she had said. Like a quill? Hans had wanted to ask, before he remembered that a woman of Christine’s station would never have held a quill in her entire life.
Nevertheless, it was not all too different from holding a quill. Sewing required the same steadiness and concentration as writing did, at least. Hans worried his bottom lip with his teeth as he carefully stabbed the linen of his hose with the metal needle, careful not to accidentally prick himself on the pointy end. The thread he used was made of sheep’s wool, and Christine had spun it herself with the wool she got from the local shepherd a month ago. Another one on the long list of skills Hans had to learn if he ever wanted to become someone useful enough to keep around.
“Well done, love,” Christine murmured as Hans completed his first stitch. She placed a kiss in his hair, which warmed Hans even more than the sun itself ever could. “Now we want to try to keep all the stitches in a straight line, alright? That way it will look neat and orderly when we tighten the thread in the end.”
Hans nodded seriously at her instructions, and Christine indicated with her finger where the next stitch should go. Bottom lip between his teeth, Hans shakily pushed the needle through the cloth once more, then again, and again. Christine adjusted his grip when needed, whispered instructions and advice and in the end the line of his stitches was only slightly crooked.
It was a good first attempt, and Hans felt some pride swell in his chest over that.
“I was younger than you are now when I first learned how to sew,” Christine recounted afterwards, and Hans listened dutifully. “My pa would sit me on his lap just like this. But I was a much slower learner than you are.”
“Your… your father taught you how to sew?”
Christine smiled at the hesitant question, her eyes twinkling in a way which made Hans believe that she knew exactly why he had asked it. “It doesn’t matter that much who or what you are out here, little bird. There is work, and that work must get done. It does not really matter who does what at the end of the day as long as there is food on the table and a roof over your head.”
But it isn’t proper! Hans’ mind wanted to argue, but even he could hear how entitled that thought sounded in the face of Christine’s pragmatism. Of course the common folk had no time to spend much thought on propriety when every day was a struggle for survival. The fact that nobility valued the roles of men, women, alphas and omegas so highly likely spoke of how little actual problems they faced in their daily lives.
“Does that mean I could become a hunter? If I wanted to? Or a blacksmith, like Martin?”
Christine pressed a kiss to his temple, to his cheek and finally to the tip of his nose.
“You could become anything you want, little bird.”
–
Later that same day, when the sun finally began her descent from her throne in the sky, Hans found himself knee-deep in dirt, sweat beading on his brows and his hands aching with exertion. Christine had dragged him along into their little adjacent garden, claiming that she could use his help with weeding. And since Henry had been gone all day running errands in neighbouring villages, Hans had hesitantly agreed.
He wouldn’t exactly say that he was regretting it — sticking his hands into dirt and feeling the coolness of the earth against his fingertips was a surprisingly grounding experience — but he did start to feel the exhaustion of physical labour dragging at his limbs. Still, he tried to concentrate on Christine’s instructions as best he could, even if it felt like he was wading through shallow water.
“The biggest culprits are always dandelion and thistle. They grow everywhere, and fast at that. If there’s too many of them, our vegetables won’t have enough room and water to grow.”
“How do I recognize dandelion and thistle, ma'am?”
Christine crouched down to pick two kinds of weeds from between what Hans assumed were cabbages and held them out for him to inspect. “Dandelions are a fluffy yellow flower, and their leaves look a little bit like arrowheads. And thistle has a barbed bulb beneath a spiky purple flower.”
And with that, they began to work. Hans was slow with his task, checking in with Christine every other minute to make sure he wasn't mistakenly getting rid of anything he shouldn't. With every hour that passed the sun dipped down further towards the horizon, and Hans’ eyelids began to drop more and more, until he could barely keep himself from falling asleep with his face in the dirt.
Still, he did not complain. He shook himself awake time and time again, working with trembling hands to rip out one pesky weed at a time, until he heard an excited voice carrying through the late evening air.
“I'm back!”
Almost immediately a long and exhausted yawn escaped Hans’ lips, his fatigue hitting him like a galloping horse the moment his mind was ripped from his work. Christine chuckled softly beside him.
“I think I've worn you out enough for one day, little bird. Go wash up and rest. You've done more than enough for today.”
Hans hesitated for a long moment, but then eventually decided to follow her instructions just as he had done all day.
“Thank you for your patience, ma'am,” he replied with a small bow, his voice more sincere than he could ever remember it being when saying something akin to this. “I… I learned a lot today.”
Christine's only answer was a kiss to his forehead and a hand ruffling his sweat-soaked hair. Towards the entrance of the garden Henry stood leaning against a wooden fencepost, a wide grin on his face and too much energy hiding behind those dark blue eyes considering the hour of the day.
“You look like you're about to start sleep-walking, Honza.”
The nickname made Hans halt on his way towards Henry. He blinked once, then again. Had he ever been given such a nickname? One that marked him not as young or entitled or inexperienced, but just as family?
“I might have, if you hadn't come back from your errand soon,” he murmured eventually as he closed the final distance between himself and Henry. Hans let his head thump against the other boy's shoulder, exhaustion and hunger tearing at him in equal measures as he pressed his nose to the alpha's neck, desperate for just the smallest measure of comfort after such a long day.
He found it, as so often these days, in the smell of honey filling his senses. And when Hans felt something cold pressed to his own neck and Henry inhaled deeply against his skin, he thought that maybe the other boy found some comfort in his presence as well.
“Sometimes I feel like my fingers should be stained red and purple after every time I touch you. And yet when I look down at my hands, you never even leave a mark.” At Hans’ inquiring hum in response to that statement, Henry chuckled and continued with a smile obvious in his tone. “You smell like a whole bush of ripe blackberries. The kind that bursts with sugary red juice the moment you pick them.”
Somehow that wasn't what Hans had expected his scent to be. He'd have expected… woodsmoke, perhaps. Pines, grass. Something neutral, but pleasant enough to stand. Nothing quite so… sweet. And pungent.
“You smell like honey and meadows full of flowers.”
Henry huffed a little laugh, which tickled the sensitive skin of Hans’ neck and made him laugh as well.
“Together we'd make some great jam.” That thought only made Hans laugh harder, and for a moment he could feel the exhaustion lift a little from his shoulders, and the hunger seemed further away than only a moment before. “Come now, we should get cleaned up a little before dinner.”
One night as a younger Henry walks back home from Samopesh, he stumbles upon a frightened and injured boy in the forest. Unable to simply leave the other kid out there for the wolves to get, he decides to take him home to his parents.
The following years hold many challanges and memories for Henry and Hans, and when Skalitz gets raided by Cumans, they both lose everything, except each other.
Chapter 4: Kindness for Kindess' sake
The next morning started very similarly to that first one. Hans woke up next to Henry, him lying on a bench while the young alpha rested his head against his thigh. Honey and meadows was all he could smell, and the sun was shining through the windows of the small cabin, its light catching on the dust dancing in the cool morning air.
It was peaceful.
Hans couldn’t remember ever taking a moment to appreciate such a morning, although he was quite sure that there had been a lot of them back in Rattay. Outside the cabin, Hans could hear Henry's parents speak softly to one another, and he sat up to take a look at them through the window.
They were sitting on a bench beneath the linden tree, smiling and laughing and looking at each other with a kind of love in their eyes that Hans couldn't remember ever seeing with his parents when they had still been alive. No, his parents had only ever been polite with one another — a marriage built on necessity rather than love. Hans didn't know if his father had ever laughed in his presence. Had his mother ever looked as happy as Henry's mother did, looking upon her husband?
But while the thought of his parents’ unhappiness hurt to consider, seeing the love between Henry's parents made a spark of hope light up in his chest. Perhaps… Perhaps he could be as happy as they were, one day. Be with someone he actually liked… maybe even loved.
His gaze drifted to the boy resting beside him. Steady. Kind. Caring.
Perhaps, one day.
For now, he extracted himself slowly from Henry's presence, careful not to wake the other boy from his slumber. His foot didn't hurt nearly as bad today as it had only the day before, but he still limped on his way to the door, grimacing with every step he took.
He'd have to get used to living with some pain, seeing as he was to live life as a peasant from now on. Peasants worked, day in and day out, and physical work always meant being in some amount of pain. Be it from strained muscles or burns or scratches, from accidents or overworking. There were reasons, after all, why nobility scoffed at the idea of performing labour, their blue blood too refined to allow any undue discomfort to overcome them. At most, a nobleman would get injured training with a sword or on a hunt, or, in more grave circumstances, in battle. But those were noble pursuits, and so the pain was seen as proof of their strength of will and their vigor in battle, unlike the bone-deep pain that came with labour.
Such pain was only ever seen as proof of poverty.
When Hans finally stepped outside the little cabin, Henry’s parents noticed him almost immediately. Their heads turned towards him, conversation forgotten, and they watched his limping approach with soft smiles on their faces.
“Good morning, little bird,” the mother greeted as he gingerly sat down next to her on the bench. She ruffled his hair a little, fluffing it and putting strands back into place. Hans relaxed at her easy touch, the familiarity with which she greeted him, as if he had always been a part of their little family.
“Good morning, ma'am,” he greeted in turn, then chanced a glance at Henry’s father, who was already smiling softly at him. “Sir,” He paused for a moment. “I apologise for my previous misstep, but I realised that I have not properly asked your names before.”
The two of them laughed at that, a quiet sort of sound that carried through the summer air and danced up into the blue sky. It made Hans relax, just the slightest bit.
“Don't you worry about that, little one. My name’s Christine, and my husband’s name is Martin.”
Hans nodded at that, repeating the names a few times in his head so he wouldn't forget them. Simple names, for simple people. No last names, no titles, no monikers. But they were his people now.
“I… I wanted to thank you. For taking me in, and offering me that I could stay with you.” Christine squeezed his shoulder at that, the softness in her eyes never wavering. “I'm not sure what I would have done otherwise. After my– my uncle–”
Hans hated how those words alone forced tears back into his eyes, the sudden urge to weep stronger than his composure. He was weak. Weak and pathetic when he was supposed to be strong and resilient.
“Shhh,” Christine shushed him as she pulled him onto her lap, her delicate hand rubbing circles into his back and softly rocking him back and forth. It helped, which only made Hans feel even more pathetic. Shushed and rocked like a toddler. “It's alright, love. We know.”
It wasn't alright. Nothing was alright, and Hans hated that he couldn't form the words to explain why. Hiccuping sobs were shaking his body and the memories of That Night flashed behind his eyes, making him choke on any sound that tried to make it past his lips.
That was until another hand joined Christine's, smaller, steadier, more familiar. Golden honey enveloped him, freeing his throat from the invisible noose that was keeping air and words locked inside his chest.
“He– He rode into the woods with me at nightfall,” Hans whispered eventually, his chest tight and voice trembling. “I had just presented that morning, I– I hadn't–” He took a deep breath, wrapping his arms around himself in much the same fashion as he had in the woods. “He was so disgusted when he saw me. Smelled me. My– My uncle had never been very fond of me, but he didn't even look at me when he dragged me from my room.”
Silence reigned as Hans’ voice broke once more, memories still too fresh on his mind.
“I was too scared to scream. Or cry. I had heard what they did to children like me, that they just disappeared suddenly.”
“I tried to run after him, but he had the horse and I– I tripped. I tripped and he rode away and then it was too dark and too quiet and I couldn't stop crying.”
No words fell as Hans’ sobs slowly calmed into little hiccups, the tears drying on his cheeks and his breath evening out. Henry's and Christine's hands remained a steady anchor on his back, keeping him grounded in the here and now. Here, beneath the linden tree in front of the little cabin, enveloped in sunshine and honey and the love of three people who couldn’t care less about what he was.
“I'm glad I found you,” Henry whispered after a while, sniffing slightly, and when Hans looked up at him he saw that the other boy, the alpha, had tears in his eyes too. “Your uncle is a horrible person! How could he just- just leave you there? You could have died!”
Hans thought that Hanush had probably hoped that he would die. That abandoning him in the woods would rid him of the embarrassment that was an heir presenting as an omega, and also freeing the position for someone more suitable. Perhaps his uncle would gift Rattay to some aspiring alpha lordling when the time came, to form an alliance or other, and no-one would ever think of him, Hans Capon of Pirkstein, ever again. He'd be a long forgotten memory to the people of Rattay, a town legend. The heir that suddenly disappeared.
“There are horrible people in this world, Hal,” Martin answered his son eventually, his voice rough and tone calm. “All we can do is make sure that we continue to stay kind, and help those who suffer under these horrible people.”
Somehow, Hans had managed to be taken in by a family that valued kindness above all else. Not power, not silver, not legacy. Simple kindness, just as the parish priest in Rattay had always preached. He'd thought it a fluke, all those years. All kindness had motive, no-one he'd ever known had shown kindness just out of the goodness of their heart. Lords were kind to the peasantry so that the common folk were content and loyal, they were kind to fellow lords in hopes of building new alliances, they drowned margraves and kings in kindness in hopes of receiving higher status, more land or more riches.
But these people gained nothing from their kindness. And still, they kept being kind.
It was a mystery to Hans, but not one he was in any hurry to figure out.
“What do my boys say to some breakfast?” Christine asked after a moment, pressing a kiss to each of their cheeks, the soft smile never leaving her eyes.
“What about you two?” Hans replied carefully, yesterday's conversation he had overheard still fresh in his mind.
“We already ate, little bird.”
The lie was said so easily, so nonchalantly, Hans almost believed it. But Christine's smile wavered for a single second, trembling born from exhaustion and hunger. She was a good liar.
When she placed a bowl of stew before them, a slice of bread each, Hans felt the guilt gnaw at his gut more than the hunger. He ate one bite, then another. Looked up at Christine, who ran her hand through his hair with endless care, and decided that perhaps he did understand these people’s kindness after all.
He ate half of his bowl, half of his piece of bread, and then nudged the other half towards Christine.
“I think I'm full,” he lied. His smile wavered in much the same way as hers.
“Are you sure, little bird?”
Hans nodded, and from the corner of his eyes he could see Henry pushing the other half of his bowl towards Martin as well with a wavering little smile on his face. There was a silent sort of understanding between them all as Henry's parents looked down upon the food, their shoulders slumping slightly as they let go of the pretense and ate, holding onto their boys with all the love they could muster.
