The Forgotten Commandment

by hellsheep

Summary:

Suchdol and everything that had happened was just a couple of hours on the back of their horses ago and yet to Henry, it felt so far away. Even though his whole body ached and begged for rest, he felt light. Like something so heavy had finally dropped from his shoulders, like an old, ugly coat.

And the thirst of revenge, that had kept his heart beating all this time and had kept him alive against all odds, has now been replaced by something else.

Notes:

Here we are. I can't believe that one of my favourite ships, Hans and Henry from KCD, became a reality in KCD2.
I have a one shot collection in mind, with the stories loosely related to each other but we'll see how much I end up writing.
I advice to read this once you finished the main story because it is set right after those events.
Read at your own risk.
I need to develop a feeling for writing these two, so the first one shot is rather short - sorry! I hope I nailed them, though I understand that Henry can be highly individual, depending on the choice we make and the way we play him.
Also please note that English isn't my native language, so forgive me my mistakes - but feel free to show them to me!
Also I play the game in German - so if I made any mistakes regarding names of people and places to their English version, please be so kind and let me know.

Chapter 1: Cupid's arrow through the shoulder

 

It was early evening at the Devil's Den. Suchdol and everything that had happened was just a couple of hours on the back of their horses ago and yet to Henry, it felt so far away. Even though his whole body ached and begged for rest, he felt light. Like something so heavy had finally dropped from his shoulders, like an old, ugly coat.

And the thirst of revenge, that had kept his heart beating all this time and had kept him alive against all odds, has now been replaced by something else.

He could hear the usual chatter and giggling of the bathhouse girls but Hans was nowhere to be seen.

“Pardon me,” he asked Smolka, “I'm looking for Sir Capon, he said he would be here, but...”

“Oh, sure,” she interrupted Henry with rolling eyes and a snarl. “The fine Sir sits in the last tent and of course asked for my sweetest girl. As always.”

Something in Henry's stomach suddenly cramped and he had to swallow to get rid of a weird feeling in his throat.

“Thanks,” he said with a forced smile and turned on his heels, maybe a bit too hasty, maybe a bit too tense.

He marched over to the tents with long steps and could indeed hear muffled voices behind a closed, white curtain of one of them. One voice clearly belonged to Hans.

“Oh help me, quick, fair Lady! I got hit by Cupid's arrow and only you can help me!” He said in an almost theatrical way. The girl giggled.

Henry let out a sigh and shook his head. Very declaring and very loud, he cleared his throat and waited a few seconds before he carefully parted the curtains blocking the entrance and peaked inside.

He could see Hans soaking in the bath tube with a barely clad girl just pouring in another bucket of steaming, hot water.

Both turned their heads.

The girl frowned slightly, disappointed maybe, while Hans just spread his arms and beamed a wide smile at Henry.

“There you are! Took your sweet time, dear squire!”

Henry rolled his eyes but couldn't help but smirk. And yet, when he looked back at Hans, sitting there in this wooden tube, steam rising and huddling against his very naked form, caressing that wiry yet athletic body... Henry couldn't help but feel a sudden shame for staring.

As if a Lady wasn't modest and he had to turn away for her dignity's sake.

This was so stupid.

He'd seen Hans naked so many times, heck, he's been sitting, totally cramped, with him in such a bath tube and every single time it had been fine.

But things had changed... and now the sight of a naked Hans, grinning at him like that, elicited quite different feelings and urges deep inside of him. He would probably burn in Hell for these thoughts alone. He just wondered why something that felt so right should be so wrong in God's eyes. But maybe, he thought, it was just the Bible and the priests that were wrong and not God.

“Henry, you're still with us?” Hans' voice cut through his thoughts and Henry suddenly became painfully aware that he was standing completely vacantly in the tents entrance, probably with the facial expression of a dead fish.

“Uh... sure,” he blinked. “Just tired. That's all.”

Hans frowned, he didn't seem to buy it and gave the girl a nod.

“You can go,” he told her.

“But-” she started.

“Did I stutter? You can go. I will call you when you're needed.”

She seemed to hesitate for a second but then pressed her lips into a thin line, threw Henry a glance, dropped a curtsy and left the tent.

“And close the curtains behind you, I don't want all the nice, hot air to escape!” Hans threw his final words after her.

 

Henry now stepped fully inside and watched the maiden leave with raised eyebrows before he turned towards Hans with a questioning look.

“Guess she'd hoped for something else,” Hans hummed and closed his eyes, sinking deeper into the water again. He made an inviting motion towards Henry, who sat down on the little wood stool next to the tub.

“Who can blame her. Working at the Devil's Den bathhouse, I doubt she gets a lot of handsome guests to treat,” Henry chuckled. He could see a smile curl up on Hans' face.

“And speaking of treatment,” Henry continued in a more serious tone, “I told you I would take a look at your wound.”

“You know, I kinda had hoped you would maybe say that but mean something different,” Hans said without opening his eyes and the tone in his voice sent a pleasant shiver over Henry's spine.

“No, I... actually meant what I said,” Henry mumbled and took off his gloves. “And honestly, from the look of it, someone should've taken care of it much earlier already.”

He frowned and leaned in, gently touching the small, punctured wound in Hans' collarbone. So close to a lethal shot to the heart... Henry shuddered slightly under that thought.

“Hm. The edge of the wound is red, it's probably a bit inflamed... does it hurt when I apply pressure?” Henry asked and drew a hiss from Hans.

“Shit, yes, it does! Since when are you a medicus anyway?” He opened his eyes and threw a side glance at Henry.

“I picked up this and that on my journeys...” Henry said slowly and took a bottle from his belt.

“This and that,” Hans stated flatly.

“Well, I met herbwomen and alchemists, I spoke to many soldiers and saw many different types of injuries... eventually you pick up what kills you and what doesn't. I wouldn't be here if I wouldn't know how to do a makeshift dressing!” Henry explained and searched for some clean bandages.

Hans was oddly silent.

“This will hurt now. I'm sorry,” Henry announced and drenched the cloth in liquid from his bottle. The sharp scent of pure alcohol filled his nose for a moment.

He carefully watched Hans' features, who suddenly didn't seem to be that chipper any more and started to clean the wound. There was a twitch or two on Hans' face but otherwise he was surprisingly calm.

Thankfully that arrow shot indeed wasn't very deep and neither big and Henry was done cleaning it soon. He would have to apply a bandage once Hans came out of the water.

“Ah, great, it started bleeding again...” Hans muttered and turned his head and Henry wondered if he'd missed something.

“Well yes, you're sitting in hot water, that gets the blood running again... plus me cleaning the wound...” Henry explained.

“It was fine until you meddled with it,” Hans stated, head still turned away.

Henry frowned slightly but decided not to comment on whatever peeved Hans now again.

“Well, get out of the water and I put a bandage around it,” Henry said softly and stepped away from the tube.

Hans splashed some water, half-heartedly aimed at Henry's direction but otherwise didn't move.

“You're out on all these... adventures. And me... I'm stuck being the fucking damsel in distress... or the fucking bird in the cage. And when I just want to be at your side... there's Zizka telling me that I can't risk getting captured, or else they could hold me to ransom. Again.” He threw his arms into the air, accompanied by another splash of water. “And now Hanush and his stupid wedding...! I'm a fucking political token.”

“Hans...” Henry started softly but Hans cut him off.

“Forget my rant,” he sighed frustrated and suddenly stood up.

 

A warm feeling nestled in Henry's stomach as he watched Hans rising out of the bathtub, glittering pearls of water running down his chest. Henry traced them with his eyes, watched their slow race over Hans' body before he became self aware and blinked.

He reached for a piece of clean cloth and handed it Hans to dry himself while he prepared a bandage.

“Let me put this around quickly and-” Henry started but something in Hans' eyes made him freeze.

“They talk about ransom... meanwhile you... you could've died,” Hans said.

“But I made it. Like I promised,” Henry said and carefully started to wrap the cloth around Hans' shoulder.

His fingers lingered longer on Hans' warm skin than what would deemed to be necessary.

 

“I was really worried about you.” And bold as he was, Hans grabbed Henry and kissed him.

Henry felt dizzy. The warmth in his stomach started to spread, turning into a tingling sensation all over his body. Just as the first time, his feelings started to stir heavily, as confusion and desire clashed against each other.

“Likewise...” Henry mumbled against Hans' lips and stroke his hair, before claiming another, deeper kiss.

No. Something that felt so right... could not be wrong.

He couldn't help but think about Theresa. How different she'd felt, her kisses so shy, her lips so soft and with a taste of pear. She loved pears.

Hans was bold. Eager. Assertive. His lips more coarse, with a taste of wine on them. It was intoxicating.

Henry liked Theresa. His Theresa. Brave, amazing Theresa. But that was exactly the problem. It would never be more than liking her and right now, with Hans in his arms, eagerly exploring each others mouths, tongues, lips, Henry knew that for certain.

Hopefully she could forgive him one day, that is, if he ever saw her again. She deserved better.

This was also nothing like Black Bartosch. Or Peter, the shoemaker's son, with whom Henry had... played, back in Skalitz, behind the barn, when they were not yet men, but also no boys any more.

Fumbling around, exploring a curiosity, sating an urge, looking for stress relief – call it whatever you wanted, Henry has never wasted much thought on it. However, he'd never kissed them. It would've never crossed his mind to even try. The implication of what it could mean...

 

They parted eventually, breathlessly holding each others gaze for a few seconds, until Henry's eyes wandered off to the fresh bandage.

“How's your shoulder? Does it still hurt?” he asked.

“Not really,” Hans shook his head. “But I think I might've bruised my rips... it hurts underneath?”

Henry frowned. Hopefully it wasn't an infection from a dirty arrow head that had spread!

His hand slipped from Hans' shoulder and down his side. Carefully he applied some pressure.
“Here?”

Hans shook his head.

“A bit lower.”

Henry raised an eyebrow but obeyed.

“Lower...”

Henry's hand reached Hans' hip when he finally understood the game that was being played on him.

Heat shot into his cheeks.

“Hans...!” he scolded with hushed voice.

“What?” Hans answered amused. “You can't kiss me like that and not expect me to get a boner!” he laughed.

“Hans!” Henry just insisted again, “what if someone hears you... or sees us?”

“Who – bathhouse wenches?” Hans replied, raising his eyebrows. “Bathhouse wenches of the Devil's Den...? Who cares! The people here are not exactly the supporting pillar of moral and society. But you're right. I have a reputation to lose,” he hummed and started to get dressed, eyed by Henry.

“Reputation as a serial womanizer, sure,” Henry scoffed amused. “I got hit by Cupid's arrow and only you can help me! Has that ever worked on any girl?” he mocked Hans' words from earlier and earned a light punch against the shoulder, which only made him laugh.

“Well, obviously a peasant like you knows nothing about the fine nuances of courtship,” Hans said and Henry could swear that he sounded a tad offended. It made him grin. Some things would never change.

“I do, actually. Remember the butcher's daughter in Rattay...? I've went through it all with you just so you could have a hook up!” Henry said.

Hans smirked on the memories, a smirk that slowly turned into a warm smile as he looked at Henry with something oh so soft in his blue eyes.

“Yeah... I remember. Feels like it's been years ago, doesn't it...” Hans mused and put his shirt on.

Henry hummed in agreement.

“Besides...” he said and dropped his gaze for a moment, “... I don't think I have any need for any... courtship any longer.” He didn't know why but those words came out so bumpy, that he felt the need to clear his throat.

Hans perked up and studied Henry's face for a moment but said nothing.

“We... should meet in our room later, at night. Just for me to check the bandage and perhaps make a new one,” Henry said, now with confidence again. “There we'll have some more... privacy.”

Hans smirked.

“I can't wait to get that arrow shot checked again,” he said lightly and put a hand over his heart.

“My Lord...” Henry said and bowed in a clearly playful manner.

“My Henry...” Hans replied likewise and somehow, these words made Henry happier than he could ever express.

Henry parted the veil of the tent and stepped outside. He took a deep breath and let a hand run through his hair. It felt slightly damp, from all the steam inside of the tent.

It was such a nice day. The evening sun broke through the deep green treetops and some magpies shrieked above his head. The scent of soap, perfume and the alchemists dried herbs lingered in the air and in the distance he could hear Zizka and Janosh laugh.

Henry smiled. The light, warm feeling in his stomach remained, just like the taste of Hans' lips on his own. In the corner of his eyes, he noticed the girl from earlier. He gave her a quick, friendly nod and then went on his way.

Still, as he left, he could hear bits of the conversation between her ans Hans.

“Oh!” the girl exclaimed, barely hiding her disappointment. “you're... already dressed again...”

“My, your observation skills are surely unmatched,” Hans said annoyed.

“But... you said earlier...” the girl stuttered but more Henry didn't hear.

 

He looked forward to tonight. To hold Hans' slender body in his arms again, pushed into the cushions of a single bed, much too small for two.

And he knew.

No matter what the priests preached, what the Bible said.

Something that felt so right could not be wrong.

 

 

---

 

 

The Forgotten Commandment demands us to live

As if death awaits tomorrow, already awaits tomorrow

Yes, the Forgotten Commandment demands us to love

And to burn up in blazing flames

Yes, so it is written in the Forgotten Commandment

 

Notes:

The last lines are taken from Feuerschwanz' "Das Elfte Gebot", translated by me.

Chapter 2: At Night

Notes:

I'm currently battling a writers block so I tried to just write a small scene here. Nothing big or exciting.
It's a story about men that do not talk about the fears and nightmares - but sometimes don't have to.

Red, hot fear.

And smoke.

So much smoke.

He was suffocating, buried under a mount of corpses that all wore his face.

You killed my son, one said without moving its lips.

You killed my father, said another one.

You killed my son, you killed my son, you killed my son.

I had to, he wanted to say, it is war, after all, I had no choice, they became deserters, they became soldiers, they became bandits. They became guards... they became beggars. They became fathers to a son. A killed son, a killed son, a killed-

 

Henry's eyes shot open and with a gasp, he sat up straight and too fast. His breath was heavy, his heart racing. He rubbed his chest, it felt like something tied up his lungs.

Henry got up and walked over to the window, to take a deep breath of the chill night air. The moon was bright but clouds tried to cover the sky and he could barely see any stars. The wind murmured through the tree tops and somewhere, an owl broke the silence. Henry's breath slowly became steady again and he leaned against the window frame, eyes closed, to let the cold air caress his face.

 

Quiet snoring finally caught his attention and Henry turned around. A cloud decided to move and the moonlight fell through the window, right into Hans' bed. He lay on his back, one hand resting on his stomach, sleeping tight and peacefully, his naked chest only half covered by the blanket. Henry watched how the pale moonlight gently framed Hans' slender body, how he moved lightly in his sleep, how his fingers twitched a bit. He enjoyed that view more than he would ever admit.

 

He was indecisive but after this dream, he felt the need for the warmth of a human body now more than ever. No – not just some human body. Hans' body.

That thought still had to settle in. It felt weird, still. But good. Comforting.

Quietly, yes almost stealthy, he snuck over to Hans' bed and sat down on the edge, trying to figure out how he should swoop under the much too small blanket into that much too small bed without waking up Hans.

He came to the conclusion that it wasn't possible.

 

“Hrmpf... Henry... wha' the fuck... areyoudoin'...” muttered a drowsy Hans before his eyes shot open. “Fuck, Henry, don't ram your knee into my pizzle!”

“Sorry,” mumbled Henry.

“God have mercy with me,” groaned Hans and rubbed his face. He frowned at the sight of Henry, who had tried to curl up next to him like a scared kitten.

Hans scooted towards the wall, to make some more space in the bed, even though it felt pointless. The beds in the Devil's Den were barely enough for one man to sleep on his back.

“Just... be careful with your legs,” Hans sighed and wrapped his arms around Henry.

 

It was now that Henry realized that his body shivered. And cursed be the devil, that meant Hans must feel it too. What would he think of him? That he was some fool, who woke up from a nightmare and was now shivering in fear like a frightened maiden who needed to be hold by her knight in shining armour?

He pressed his mouth into a thin line and tried to regain control over his own body. He wasn't afraid! Or was he...?

 

Yet Hans was generous and said nothing.

 

Instead they just lay in silence. Half next to each other, half on top of each other, a bundle of body parts. It seemed that Hans was about to slip back into his sleep and so Henry decided to just listen to the night and to Hans' slow and steady breath. One hand rested on Hans' side, the other tightly clinched into a fist against his own chest.

Henry felt how the tension left his body, ever so slowly, with every silent minute that passed.

Hans was so warm. His skin surprisingly soft. Or, well, maybe it wasn't that surprising, considering how he seemed to visit the bathhouse every other day...

He noticed the blonde hair on Hans' chest and noticed how it was less than on his own and for some reason, it made him smile, he didn't even know why.

Lost in thought, his hand started to wander. Over Hans' ribs and lower. Trailing over his waist and letting his thumb brush a circle over Hans' hips.

 

“Henry.” Hans voice was low. Not a whisper yet but lacking the usual commanding or annoyed tone. Henry lifted his head and propped himself up on one arm, so he could throw Hans a questioning look.

“I was careful with my legs, I hope I didn't-” Henry started but got cut off by Hans.

“It's fine,” Hans said. “Everything is... and will be... fine.”

Henry felt a shiver running over his spine, again, how weak he was. He tilted his head to avoid Hans' gaze but a hand got placed on his cheek and turned his face back.

Hans smiled. He looked like he wanted to say more but lacked the right words and so he just pulled Henry's head down and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

Henry felt his quickened heartbeat, followed by nervous anticipation and then just sudden calm that enveloped him.

He lowered himself down on Hans, until there was no more air between their bare chests and let his head slip right next to Hans', nuzzled into his hair.

 

And Henry knew, before the morning broke, he would've have to be back in his own bed. And when he walked out of this door, he would have to pretend that Hans was nothing more than a friend and he would have to be careful not to steal too many glances into his direction and that he wouldn't smile like a fool every time Hans walked by.

But he also knew that, when the morning broke, his nightmare wouldn't be more than a faint memory and its bad aftertaste replaced by the taste of Hans' lips on his own.