Chapter Text
They decide to forgo taking the horses. Too many bodies in such a narrow battlefield would only hinder them. A stray kick from any horse they ride could very well hit one of their own. So, plate noisily shuddering and heart in his throat, Hans guides the group of guards and Uzhitz people down the hill and to the village green.
Beside him, Alexander keeps step with him, and Hans knows Sam brings up the rear, keeping an eye out for any sneaking bandit ambush from the alleys. Hans hasn’t seen any indication of such—most of the spaces between buildings are barricaded or their doors locked to save the entrances to houses within. Hans doesn’t let his guard down, however.
The closer they get to the village green, the harder it is to breathe. Fire has clawed its way across wooden structures and thatch roofs. Smoke lifts from dancing flame, depositing ash and detritus into the air. Hans locks his jaw to keep from inhaling, knowing his tongue would only burn if he did.
Behind him, a rough cough echoes out from an alpha who hadn’t thought that far.
Alexander jars into action at the sound. He wears a Leipa-black hood around his shoulders. With quick fingers, he tugs it up and, before tying it in place, shouts, “Mouths closed! Wrap your waffenrock or hoods around your head if you need to!”
Hans follows suit. He pulls his waffenrock up above his nose and ties the back until it fits securely in place. For good measure, he tucks it beneath the lip of his helmet to stay up. Pulling his arms through the holes, the waffenrock turns into a makeshift hood.
They collide with Order forces faster than Hans can process.
Vision in the village green itself is next to nothing with the weak breeze unable to carry the smoke away quick enough. Only vague shapes and shadows move through the thick brown miasma. Yells and screams from the villagers who stayed behind pierce through the gloom from what feels like every fucking angle.
Hans abruptly rams his shoulder into a black and white-covered chest. They both are shocked at the sudden meeting—though Hans draws his sword first. Metal maile links part as Hans uses both hands and his entire body weight to ram the tip of his blade into the bandit’s gut. He twists as he rips it free, not willing to have this man to suffer through a slow gut death.
Blood soaks into his front as the man’s insides leave his body. His maile catches most of it.
Violence erupts around him with the force of a spark to black powder. Guttural yells of battle echo around the burning village green, catching on smoldering buildings and crackling straw. There are pointed commands given from the depths, the words lost to the clamor of steel.
Another Order knight rushes to meet him once Hans shoves the now limp corpse on his blade to the side. Swords noisily jar against one another as his opponent lunges forward. They stumble back at the force and the idiot’s toe catching on his friend’s body. There’s no breath to yell in surprise.
Bell-like and loud enough to hurt, Hans’ elbow slams into the side of the man’s head. His couter dents the side of his helmet and effectively knocks him to the side. Momentum forces them both to stumble further.
“—to leave!” A voice snaps out above the rest. Not one Hans recognizes. “Let’s GO, Fritz!”
Fritz? Why the fuck did that sound so familiar?
Hans grips the tip and hilt of his sword, slamming the pommel into the same place he hit with his elbow. Blood drips down past steel as it dents even more. The man snarls in pain and catches Hans around the waist to throw him to the ground.
Breath loud in his ears, Hans’ back hits dirt and cobblestone. His helmet shudders at the impact of his head, but arrests any further force. Dizzy, breathless, and aching, Hans uses all of his strength and weight and energy to flip them over.
His sword is lost to the dirt. Hans brings his fist down. Again. Blood sinks into the joints of his gauntlet. He feels bone and tissue give with one last slam of his knuckles against the mess his opponent’s face as become.
Scrambling for the hilt of a nearby blade, Hans grabs it and slams the end through the bandit’s skull and into the dirt beyond.
Breathless, Hans curses as he uses the now stuck sword to stand. The weight of his armor hangs heavy on his limbs. He could get used to the heft all he wanted, but the reality of moving under a load the same heaviness as an entire other man will never not be difficult.
“Lord Capon!” Alexander’s found him in the haze. A hand around Hans’ arm, he yanks him the rest of the way to his feet. “Fuck, am I glad to see you.”
“I can’t see goddamn shit in this smoke,” Hans growls around a reedy cough. “What’s going on?”
“I’m in no better shape than you,” Alexander replies with a cough of his own. He looks down at the sword-pinned corpse. “Christ.”
“He fucking threw me to the ground.” Petty anger has Hans’ jaw clenching. “Stupid cunt.”
“Come, let’s find—”
Reflexive instinct has Hans lifting his arm and catching the falling sword in the divot of his couter. It glances off, metal squealing against itself as it slides. Grimacing, Hans scrambles back to get space between him and his assailant.
“Fuckin’ Lord Capon.”
The pure venom in the thick voice that thunders through the smoke surprises Hans. He doesn’t recognize this voice any more than any other.
“It’s your fuckin’ fault.”
Again, the blade comes down. Hans grunts as he lifts his arms, catching the blade and shoving it aside once again. Whoever is attacking him is tall. Big, too. A fucking bull of a man.
“If you hadn’t gotten your fuckin’ knot stuck in Hal—”
Hal? What the fuck—
Hans yelps as the sword hammers down on him once again. He’s too slow to lift his arms and the blade scores down his chest, his maile and chest plate allowing it to slide down. His clavicle screams at the initial impact.
“—and made him go fuckin’ soft—”
A sharp tip comes lunging at his gut and Hans has to throw himself to the side to keep from getting caught on it. His shoulder meets the side of a building, but it’s enough movement to evade the eager stab.
“—then we would be fine!”
Hans kind of doubts that. Not that he has much space to think at all as the blade falls again. This time, something most definitely snaps in his chest as it lands.
“Fuck!” he snarls, teeth bearing. “Who the fuck are you!?”
The laugh that echoes from beyond the haze is full of raw, frustrated fury. Disbelief. Hans grips his arm to keep it in place, knowing letting it go would pull at whatever the fuck broke. At least he can still move his fingers. He’s not out of the fight yet.
“And you don’t even know who I am.” In front of Hans, a shadow swells and breaks through the smoke. The man is certainly fucking big. Tall, wide, and with a braid lining the top of his head like some tribal warrior. “D’ya even recognize the name Fritz?”
Clenching his jaw around a weary, sarcastic laugh, Hans says, “Sorry, pal. Not ringing a bell.”
It only makes the behemoth angrier. Unsurprising, but Hans still curses himself for being such an arse in the face of an already incensed bull.
“PAL!?” Instead of a blade, a fist flies through the air. Hans hisses and bends his knees to duck beneath the swinging club of an arm. “FUCK YOURSELF, HANS CAPON! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!”
“I haven’t done shit—”
The sharp shriek of a horse sounds from down the hill. It’s a distinct noise—he’s never heard it from any other being on Earth. A handful of other scared, pained screams follow. Then, the thundering of hooves.
This Fritz doesn’t seem to care. His other fist catches Hans’ distracted temple. Hans hits the other side of the alley he’s been forced into. His own scream of pain joins the Hellish chorus from below.
“You took Hal from us,” Fritz snarls. It holds no power besides the anger of a madman—which is more than enough in Hans’ opinion. “You put that little demon in his belly for what? Was his cunt really that good?”
Pain radiates through Hans’ entire body. Thoughts come slow and stuttering.
“What are you talking about?” How does he even know about that? “Where is Henry!?”
Thunder swells. The air itself feels as if it shudders with the noise. Smoke heaves and shifts as wind is shoved along the thoroughfare. Confusion joins pain in dancing across Hans’ consciousness.
“Stampede! Move!” Alexander’s voice lifts above the Heavens in his alarm.
A fucking stampede?
What the hell is going on!?
The ground trembles beneath their boots. Smoke blows past them, allowing decent visibility for the first time since they arrived. In the golden glow of the dying sun, a mass of horses rushes by, a river’s rapids among the stones of Uzhitz’s burning buildings.
Wait. Hans watches with wide eyes as his own stallion rockets by, head tossing in the air and the whites of his eyes visible in stark relief to his black hide. Something terrified him. Something caused this.
“Bali—”
What he sees next has Hans’ heart rocketing into his throat.
A massive, pale form stands apart from the rest of the herd. The beast is big and broad, its head pulled high but tucked in—determined rather than terrified. And on it’s back?
“Anna!”
Before he can move, a fist collides with his head again. Hans groans around a guttural snarl as his skull bounces off the side of the building. There’s only so much a helmet can protect against—and having his entire head grabbed and ground into the stone isn’t something it was built for. Hans can hear the metal scream as it flexes beneath Fritz’ immense strength.
Lashing out does nothing. His bloody metal knuckles glance off maile and muscle, unable to hit with any power. A kick is much of the same: his heel slamming into padded hose and catching in the fabric.
“Fucking—Let me go!”
“Yeah?” Fritz sounds almost excited in his rage. “You sound a lot like that pup of yours, my lord.”
“Fuck you!”
“He squealed real fuckin’ nice when his skull caved in.”
Hans roars as he grabs at the fucker’s face. His finger catches on bone and Hans digs in. Fritz lets out a bloodcurdling scream that easily rises above the horse’s panic as his eye bursts beneath Hans’ finger.
Finally released as Fritz reels back, Hans follows. He sinks his teeth, sharp and fully extended, into Fritz’s fucking face. Blood fills his mouth and drips down his tongue. The man’s yells make his entire being shudder. Fritz tries to yank his head away, he tries to stop the animal from tearing his nose from his skull.
He fails.
When Hans’ teeth rip free, they take skin and tissue with them. He quickly spits it out and gags around the blood coating his mouth. Stumbling away, Hans fumbles with his misshapen helmet before being able to tear it off with his one uninjured hand. He tosses it aside and leans over to vomit.
Blood and stew and stomach bile pool on the dirt. Hans doesn’t look at it after spitting out the remaining mess in his mouth.
Looking at Fritz isn’t much better.
The man is curled up against the wall, panting in pure agony as he cups the remnants of his eye and nose. Bone can be seen between torn, ripped flesh. Fritz sobs in great heaves, his remaining eye wide and unseeing.
Hans doesn’t care about his pain. The earthquake caused by the stampede has ceased. Some horses still squeal beyond sight, but what remains of the herd has gone by. In the lingering smoke and dust, lit like fire itself as the sun sets, Hans stalks toward Fritz. His ears ring in the relative silence.
“Where is Henry?” he growls. “Where the fuck is Henry!?”
The eye rolls in its socket before snapping to Hans’ face.
“You—You fuckin’ bit—“
“Where’s Henry!?”
“I…” Somehow, tears still flow from the gore of Fritz’s left eye. They dribble down his cheek in fat drops, taking thick blood and more gelatinous liquid with it. “I—I’m sorry—“
Hans’ bellow echoes, deafening in its righteous anger. “TELL ME!”
“Wit—With Matthew!” Fritz sobs, both hands now trying to keep his face together. “Matthew! They’re goin’ to goddamn Sigismund!”
For a moment, Hans’ anger stalls and stops short. Sigismund?
“Fucking Matthew,” Fritz continues, his own anger mixing with pain and sorrow. “Fucking cunt! I sh-should’ve never fuckin’ listened to him—GODDAMNIT!”
Hans watches as Fritz hunches over. His yell makes the air shake, much like the pounding sound of the stampede.
“I fucked everything up,” Fritz whines, sobbing like a child. “I shoulda—fuck, I shoulda—“
“Where is Henry now?” Hans isn't going to stick around to watch this man regret the path he’s been set on in life. He’s uninterested. If he didn’t have to get information, Hans would end his sorry life and spare him the misery of his own actions—if just to have him stop whining.
“Iunnoooo,” Fritz moans. “I dunno! Th-The camp? Iunno…”
It’s a place to start.
Just as his fist rears back to finish what he started, a hand catches his forearm. Hans spins to snarl at whoever stopped him—but freezes when he sees Sam there, face covered in soot and blood.
“You’ve done enough, Capon,” he rumbles. “Go. Anna’s with Alexander.”
All thoughts of ending this pathetic man’s life leave Hans’ mind. Breathless, he whispers, “She’s okay?”
“The stampede split once it reached the village green.” Sam sighs as he releases Hans’ arm. “Now we have scared horses and trampled men on our hands.”
“Our own?” Hans asks. His breath continues to come in hard. “And the fires?”
“Some. Mostly his.” Sam’s jaw juts toward Fritz. “The fires will burn until they don’t. There’s no stopping them now, only keeping them from spreading.”
Right.
Right…
Hans tears the remnants of his waffenrock off his body. It had been torn by the blade that came down on him. Whatever relief it offers is moot when it’s no better than rags.
“Anna,” Hans pants. “Alexander.”
“Yes. Go. I want to ask this one some questions.”
He goes. He stumbles from the alley. The evening breeze has picked up, encouraged by the billowing smoke. The haze is still difficult to see through, but bodies moving about and water being thrown clears it bit by bit.
The first step Hans takes reminds him that something important is broken in his chest. Pain cracks against his mind and Hans has to stop moving or he’ll fall right over.
He needs to immobilize his arm. He has no sling, no splint…
Around his waist, the scabbard that once held his sword hangs empty. The belt it’s attached to is flexible and long, tucked over itself to stay out of the way.
Using his good hand, Hans yanks the belt free. The sheath is sewn into it, so he uses the length of it to stabilize his upper arm. Yanking the rest around his body and the lower portion of his arm, Hans straps the useless thing securely to his chest. It hurts and is probably far from conducive to good healing, but at least walking isn't agony anymore.
Hans spots the horse first. The massive mare stands beside the pillory, head lowered to avoid the smoke and nibble at the blood-fed grass at the bottom of the supports. On her back, a small form sits and shivers. Next to her, Alexander.
“Anna!” Hans nearly trips over a very much dead Order knight as he runs over. Catching himself makes his shoulder scream, but that doesn’t matter. “Anna!”
Her small round face turns to him and tears immediately burst from her eyes.
“Hans,” she whines, her arms reaching out. Hans easily catches her as she slips from the horse’s back, wrapping his arm around her small body and holding her close. Ignoring the burgeoning agony in his chest and shoulder is easily with Anna against him. “I-I—“
“Easy, love. Breathe.” Hans lifts his head and looks to Alexander, who politely brushes his fingers through the mare’s mane instead of watching them. “Alexander. What happened?”
His captain stands at attention. The mare’s ear shifts in his direction curiously as if she wants to know as well.
“There were more of the Order than we expected, and we were pushed back into the main thoroughfare,” Alexander begins his report. “The smoke is thickest there, so we couldn’t tell the stampede was happening until it was on us. I managed to get… many guards out of the way. The Order wasn’t able to move fast enough—and once the herd got to the green, they split up and covered the entire area. Not a lot of places to run when horses are galloping from every angle through dense smoke.”
“Jesus,” Hans mutters. “That’s terrifying.”
“I imagine so… I was stuck in a niche as they went by.” A breathless laugh leaks out of Alexander. It sounds nearly hysterical. “I was damn worried I might get caught by a stray hoof.”
“I don’t blame you.” Looking down, Hans can only see ash-covered golden locks. “Darling.”
Anna shivers against him.
“Anna, did you make them stampede? Or did something happen?”
Anna shakes her head, rubbing it against his hauberk. It can’t be a very nice sensation.
“That doesn’t answer my question, Birdie.” It’s so odd, referring to his daughter by his own childhood nickname. “Come on, be brave for me, my girl.”
After one long, shuddering breath, Anna pushes herself upright. Her narrow chest expands as she breathes steadily. Her poor cheeks are soaked with tears.
“I-I started th-the stampede,” she whispers. “I was just tryin’ to help.”
God, save him from his own blood. Though, Hans will gladly blame Henry more for this particular quirk.
“You did,” Hans truthfully replies. “You did help. Anna.”
Blue eyes lower, refusing to look up.
Hans keeps his voice gentle. “Anna, look at me.”
Slowly, she does. The whites of her eyes are bright red from smoke and tears. He wipes the smears of waterlogged ash from her cheeks with a tender thumb.
“You did so good, my girl. That was a very, very smart idea.” Risky as all fuck and capable of going wrong in a million different ways, but ultimately smart. “You did good. You helped. I’m proud of your ingenuity, Anna. Truly.”
All he can hope is that the fresh wave of sobs are happier than the last. Anna collapses back into him, her little shoulders shaking with her cries.
As he cards his fingers through her hair—palm slipping down to her nape before he lifts his hand to start the circuit again—Hans looks up to find Alexander watching him. There’s a look in his eye. A curious one.
Hans doesn’t address it. Not now.
“That man I fought against—“
“I’m sorry about that, by the way.” Alexander looks startled at himself when he interrupts. His hand lifts to rub at the back of his neck. “Sorry. I mean. For not being able to help.”
How can one man be so sweet? If Henry and a saint made a child, it would be Alexander from Alexandria.
“Don’t worry,” Hans says. “Battles are a mess in the best of circumstances. Come, let’s get out of the smoke and talk more.”
All four of them—Hans, Anna, Alexander, and the horse—make their limping way to one of the paths that leads out of the village. They walk toward the breeze, happy to finally be able to breathe without tasting ash immediately.
They come to stop by the road that lines the eastern side of the town, the same one Anna showed them on the map.
“That man I fought against,” Hans starts again. “He seems to know their leader fairly well… and Henry.”
Alarm catches Alexander’s lips. “What? Sir Henry?”
Hans doesn’t correct him.
“Mm. Said… things that implied he knew him before this.” Hans looks down at Anna. Her cries have eased into tiny hiccups.
He squealed real fuckin’ nice when his skull caved in.
No. He’s not going to believe that monster’s cruel words. Heinrich is alive. Henry is alive.
“He said Henry is with Matthew. My guess is he’s the leader. Fritz talked of him like one would a saint or something.” A saint that betrayed them, but a saint nonetheless. “He also said Henry was still at the camp. Presumably with Heinrich.”
Alexander nods slowly, peering down the long, straight road that leads north.
“If I were a mad bandit—“ Hans chuckles at Alexander’s dry tone. “—then I’d treat them both fairly well. Ransom alone could make them rich with Heinrich, and I doubt Henry would be a good prisoner with no collateral.”
“You talk as if you know him,” Hans says, amusement heavy on his tired tongue.
Alexander’s eyes widen again. “No! Oh, no, of course not. I-I apologize—“
“What I’m saying is that you aren’t wrong. Henry is an awful prisoner. Can’t keep that one in a cage for long without the lock being broken and a corner being pissed in.” After sharing a handful of cells with Henry, Hans knows this to be true. “So, aye, I think keeping them both safe and locked up would be most beneficial. Though, that’s assuming these men are thinking at all.”
“Every move has been calculated in some way,” Alexander counters. “Someone is thinking in that camp, even if it wasn’t…”
They both look back to the town. Guards and Uzhitz townspeople are gathering waterlogged blankets to drape on the sides of burning buildings, trying to prevent the embers from landing on other roofs. God speed.
“Yeah, he’s certainly not one of the thinkers,” Hans mutters. “Alright. Well. I’m going to find Henry. I would enjoy some company.”
“I could send some men with you…” Alexander shifts on his feet. He looks relatively unharmed with the exception of a shallow cut beneath his eye. A sword must have glanced off his helmet. “Or I could go with you myself.”
“You just want to meet your hero.”
“Lord Capon!”
Hans coughs out a chuckle. “I’m teasing. I wouldn’t mind your company at all, Alexander. Could you fetch Samuel of Kuttenberg as well? I left him with Fritz—that bull of a man.”
Who is hopefully bereft of life now. Hans doesn’t want to think about the agony of living with a gouged out eye and bitten-off nose. The thought almost makes him feel bad. Almost.
“Yes, Sir.” Alexander pounds his chest once in a slightly sloppy salute. “Anyone else?”
“If you can think of anyone who hasn’t been majorly hurt or isn’t helping with the fires, sure.”
“Alright. I’ll be back with Samuel… and a couple of horses.”
Hans watches him scuttle off. The man seems to be running on adrenaline and nerves. He’ll sleep like a babe after this, that’s for sure.
Huffing out another chuckle, Hans looks back at Anna. She’s stopped crying all together. Now, she looks mildly embarrassed. Hans gets it. He hates crying.
“Alright, love?”
Anna slowly nods against his belly. She’s careful to not lean on his strapped up arm.
After a beat, her small voice asks, “Are we gonna get Pa…?”
“I am, along with Captain Alexander and your Uncle Sam.”
Her spine stiffens. “I’m comin’.”
Honestly, Hans should have expected that. “Anna…”
“You can’t stop me!” Little fangs peek from between her lips. “I’m comin’!”
Well, that’s certainly the fucking truth. Any attempt to kennel this girl has been met with (usually stupid) action.
“She’s good with a bow,” Samuel states as he jogs to join them. “Are you alright, Anna?”
To Hans’ surprise, she doesn’t let go of him for Samuel’s arms instead. Anna continues to hold onto his hauberk with one hand, bracing herself on his hip.
“Yeah, Uncle Sam.”
Samuel’s lips twitch. The scar through them makes even his smile look like a grimace. “You’re fucking insane, y’know that? Proud of you.”
Wordless grumbles leak from Anna as she pouts.
“That’s right… You did tell me you were a decent archer.” Hans looks to the town. “Do we have any bows she could use?”
The chances of an eleven year-old girl being able to pull a war- or longbow is laughably low. A hare-hunting bow or crossbow? Potentially. Then again, she’d need two working feet to use a crossbow properly. Hans doubts there’s any of those fancy self-arming ones around here.
“I’m sure,” Samuel says. “I’ll be back.”
Once again, they are left alone.
“So…” Hans looks to the horse that has been haunting his peripheral. The bulky mare is chomping away at some grass, looking utterly at peace. “Who’s this?”
“Daisy.”
The mare lifts her head to look at Anna, obviously recognizing her name. Hans snickers.
“Daisy’s a good name for her, I think,” he says. “They’re hardy flowers. Miss Daisy here is certainly hardy.”
Anna is quiet. Then, “Heiny said the same thing…”
Fuck.
Immediately, Hans folds her against his belly once again. His hand fits around the back of her neck. He knows he’s scenting her, their fragrances twisting into a mess of florals and silver. He can’t help it. Not when sadness is painted so plainly on her face.
“We’ll save them, my girl,” Hans murmurs. “I can guarantee you that.”
While Anna doesn’t respond, Hans can feel a bit of hope bloom in them both.