where thistles bloom

by Katharina_von_Bingen

Summary:

More than six years have passed since the wedding.
But Hanush of Leipa still hasn't fully passed the inheritance to Hans Capon, even though he had long since taken on the obligations. Finally, Hans made a decision. He would fight for his rights in court in Prague.
When he arrived, he was irritated to discover that his appointment with the judge had been postponed.
And all because of a major tournament.
Well, he had wanted to show his son the capital, so he decided to make a virtue of necessity and took him to visit it instead.
What harm could come of it?
But suddenly there was this black knight who drew everyone's attention. And paid him none whatsoever.

Chapter 1: Tournament Day 1 - dogs of war

Notes:

My dear readers,

I know I still have some work to do on the translation, but my fingers were itching. I had to start a new story.
Please forgive me.

In fact, I was so passionate about this story idea that I didn't even have anyone beta read it. Please bear with me!

The quality will be refined further.

Edit: It is a sequel to ‘I gave you all’, but I don't think you necessarily need to have read that one first.
To catch you up: minor spoiler for 'I gave you all': Hans and Henry haven't seen each other in six years. They entered into a relationship after Suchdol, but it didn't survive the wedding. What happened in between? We'll probably find out here.

---

 

Prague, 8th of April in the year of our Lord,  1410

 

He didn’t know why he had come to see the tournament. After all it had been the reason why he was stuck in this enormously vast and dense city for another week. For months, he had corresponded with the court of the land administration and finally received his first appointment to present his case.  So he set off for Prague with his small entourage, leaving Easter celebrations at home early in order to arrive in the city in time. 

How foolish he had felt the moment he had entered the crowded city.   He should have realized beforehand that it would be boiling over with aristocrats, burghers, merchants, and clergymen at this time of the year. 

But no one had warned him that King Wenceslas would also be holding a tournament right after Easter. That occasion was reason enough for the court to postpone the hearing for another week. 

- these ignorant bureaucrats - 

Well, he had wanted to show Heinrich the capital city, so he decided to make a virtue of necessity. Therefore, he reserved good seats at the festival instead. And “tournament” was a word that hardly did justice to the spectacle that unfolded before his eyes.  

His visits to Kuttenberg had already accustomed him to the sight of winding cobbled streets lined with ornate townhouses, towers and city walls, but the sheer size of Prague and its population overwhelmed him. The way from their lodgings in the old town over King Charles bridge and up to the castles hill had taken them an absurdly long hour.

-absurd-  

Hans Capon clicked his tongue. He had been using the word in his mind for days to describe the city. Sometimes he wondered if he had buried his literary skills along the way as well as his high spirits. But it was fitting to it so nicely.  As it did to the tournament grounds he now stood on. Right In the shadow of Prague Castle, just behind the fortifications, between the royal park and the royal stables, lay a square so large that it could accommodate Rattay’s market, including half of the lower town. 

Just having such a place paved must have cost a fortune. 

Opposite the stables, the actual tournament arena had been set up, with huge wooden tribunes curving their way up three storeys, encircling the rectangular fighting arena in the middle like walls around a barrel base.  The centre had been filled with sand, probably to protect riders, horses and tournament participants from injury in the event of a fall and shield them from the hard stones. 

-Absurd. - He grumbled to himself in frustration. 

The stands were divided into separate areas by banners and were generally decorated in bright colours. The roof, consisting of solid tent coverings in the same colours, extended far out, seeming to protect every wealthy burgher and even wealthier noble from the Czech weather, except for those in the front rows. 

He studied the clouds above. The grey figures moved quickly over the castle hill, with a few rays of sunshine peeking through the cracks. He shook his head. I wouldn't be surprised if they eventually built a palace hall large enough for jousting tournaments.     

Behind the tournament grounds stood tents of all kinds. On one side, it consisted of market vendors selling food and drinks and there was a display of the armour and weapons used in the upcoming event. On the other side, behind a smithy stood a denser camp made up of many colourful smaller tents. Due to the many different banners and coat of arms, those must serve as accommodations for the fighters and tournament participants. 

He would have enjoyed the view more, if the square hadn't been almost completely full of people. 

He grabbed the hilt of his sword tightly and sighed.  Kryštof und Bohumil, two of his escorts he had taken along, pushed their way through the crowded forecourt. Unconsciously, he grabbed the shoulder of his son tighter and pulled him closer right in between himself and his guards. 

A strange feeling spread through his stomach. 

Half the town was gathered here, and almost the other half stood guard around the square. He looked uneasily over his shoulder. The sight of the guards should have reassured him, but ever since Heinz was born, a certain fear had become his constant companion. He was not taken in by it, but he had become cautious.

Jitka had once told him that becoming a parent meant exactly that. He sighed. 

The woman was right more often than he would have liked. But deep down, he knew that the attack years ago at Rock Tower Pond had left its mark on him.

“Father, that hurts.” Heinrich looked up to him. “Besides, I can hardly see anything!” the boy complained. 

He looked down. Pale blue, almost ice-blue eyes pierced him, but the child's flushed face revealed that he was far too excited to pout. A broad smile flitted across his soft cheeks. The mischief in his features immediately betrayed the five summers the boy had seen. For him, everything was a playground just waiting to be conquered.  His blond short curls were straw-yellow to almost white. A colour his own hair must have had in childhood, too. According to what people in Rattay said, the boy was the spitting image of him. 

A proud smile formed on his lips. Hopefully he took after him more in appearance and would grow up with a more balanced character, like his mother. –God forbid, don’t let him take after his great-uncle. - 

The freckles on Heinz's nose twitched as the boy wrinkled his nose again. “Father, is this the entrance?” 

He looked in front, where a small number of nobles queued before a big staircase. Two royal guards stood in front of it and checked the reservations by comparing the names and crests on a list. 

He nodded. “Yes, son.”

“I can’t see!” 

He rolled his eyes. The next moment, he grabbed his son behind the arms and lifted him onto his shoulders. 

The boy giggled. His son had become very good at playing him.  He swallowed his own irritation.

He held him by the ankles. “My God, you've gotten heavy, Heinz. You're eating too much.”  His boy's boots already stained his dark green fur-trimmed coat.   Now he was eager to complain. “I'll only carry you until we're allowed in. Just to be clear.” 

“Thanks, Father.” He would have smiled proudly again, pleased that the boy had at least not forgotten his manners, but his high pitched voice clearly revealed that his attention was already elsewhere. 

Right next to the entrance to their box on the tribunes – if he would later find out - a gate squeezed between two stands. The gates stood wide open, behind them lay the arena which was increasingly filled with knights and their horses. The participants were already warming up themselves and their mounts. 

“Father! Look!” His son cried out. Overenthusiastic, he leaned forward and pointed to the many riders. He had trouble keeping him on his shoulders.  A small hand cupped his face clinging to him for more stability.  

The number of knights alone was more than 40. The majority of great helmets were artistically decorated. The crest on the helmet thus reproduced the coat of arms of each knight as it was custom.  The variety of heraldic animals and decorations, like feathers or deer antlers in bright colours matched the richly dressed horses in magnificent saddlecloths. Only a few were more modest in appearance. 

The stark wind of April caught in the canvases, the banners wrapped themselves around the poles, the horses snorted with every gallop, the clatter of armour klinged in his ears. All this drowned out the murmur of the crowd as he focused on it.

Even in him, the little boy from the past was slowly being awakened. The sight of the armed men in their polished armour riding their horses, reminded him of the numerous knight legends and sagas he had read as a child and which he had also read to Heinz from time to time. He glanced up, his son's face was beaming. 

He nodded to himself. It had been a good decision to spend the money to buy seats for all four tournament days, after all.     

 

~+* -----*+~

 

Their box in the upper stands was large enough, the seats were reasonably comfortable, and there was even a small table between the two benches. Of course, a banner with his coat of arms had been put up. Kryštof and Bohumil took their seats behind them. 

The two men laughed quietly, he looked over his shoulder and gave them a questioning look. “What ‘s so funny?” He leaned back in his seat. 

“You don't see something like that every day, Sir.” said Bohumil. Then he suppressed a grin. 

Kryštof shook his head. “Nobles who spend their free time dressing all up to beat the shit out of each other and betting on it at the same time, you mean?”  he looked at his comrade. 

Bohumil was a couple of years younger than himself. Kryštof was older than him. He couldn’t remember their age exactly but they were commoners. Obviously to them that whole event seemed like an excessive display of wealth and titles.  

Hans grimaced. The two wouldn't understand the splendour and concept of such a tournament, even if he explained it to them. - Pearls before swine.- 

“If I may…”  His son's high-pitched voice rang out above the hustle and bustle of the square. “I think it's a.. dignified way to show off your skills." He was amazed at how his son tried to sound like an adult. He wasn't the only one. His two guards also raised their eyebrows. The fact that the word - dignified- even existed in his vocabulary made him realise once again, how much the boy picked up on. 

Heinz looked up at him the moment he had finished speaking. He was obviously expecting a reaction from his father. 

But Kryštof beat him to it. "Aye, young Lord, but eventually someone always dies in it. And losing an eye to a tournament lance or perishing by one is rarely a dignified thing.” 

Hans turned around.  There was cheekiness in his voice. “That's something a priest would argue.” 

Kryštof scratched his stubble on his cheek. He had obviously left him defenceless.

Bohumil laughed and nudged his comrade with his elbow. “Be careful, or someone might consider you boring.” 

He waved him off. “Kryštof, isn’t wrong, but neither are you.”  Instead, he looked at his son. “But, as a friend of mine said once: There is rarely anything dignified about death.”

~

A memory flickered before his eyes. He saw that lopsided grin, that walnut brown hair, the broad shoulders. His friend, - no - his partner, leaning forth on the table next to him, his gaze fixed on the horizon.  The next moment his leg brushed against his under the table. The steel-blue eyes darted around, settling on his, their depth washing over him.

~

He exhaled. His breath trembled strangely.

“Sir Henry.”

“What?” he jumped, blinked and looked to his right. The young Bohumil had spoken. He watched as the man’s face blushed, as the man noticed in shame that he had startled him. “I meant, he said that, right, Sir Hans?” he swallowed audibly. “At the victory celebration in Suchdol?...” 

He swallowed, feeling his chest tighten. “Right. He did.” 

-How long has it been now... over six years?- 

Bohumil had fought under his command during the siege, and months later had sought him out in Rattay and asked to be allowed to serve him. 

A deep feeling came over him, wearing him down. Subconsciously, he grabbed his long sword and felt the leather wrapping around the hilt. 

 -Hal… hope you have escaped death this far. - 

“Sir Henry?”  He blinked again, once again, he was torn from his thoughts. He saw that open smile on the child’s face. “The knight who saved your life?”

“Aye.” The smile infected him. “Well, back then he was still my squire.” He paused and sought another topic of conversation. “Anyway…more importantly, there are exactly five reasons why a nobleman participates in a tournament.”  

His son furrowed his brow but he did not let that deter him. 

“Out of joy, for the sake of benefit, of love, of practice...” He looked at his son to confirm his earlier statement. “And for the sake of honour.”

His son shifted around on his bench, stretching to see better over the rows in front of him. “So every knight in the arena is fighting because of all of that?”  

“Because of those reasons. Yes. But one alone is reason enough." he corrected.

His gaze jumped to the side as a fanfare sounded. At the other end of the arena, two heralds entered the grandstand at the front. Above it, a pavilion in bright colours with the imperial coat of arms in red and white and blue and white patterns towered above.   

“Hear ye! Hear ye! My honoured lords and ladies, in the name of King Wenceslas, the solemn Ludi equestres shall be opened today!”

“Ludi-what?”

He suppressed a smile. “Remind me, that I speak to your latin tutor, when we get back home.”

A fanfare sounded once more. And as if called to battle, a change swept through the showground. The spectators in the stands fell silent, the mounted riders in the arena parried and came to a halt, lined up side by side like a perfect cavalry on the central axis of the sanded arena.  

“Father, is the King watching?” Heinz whispered. His son's face was filled with great awe. In fact, from where they were sitting, they couldn't see the platform beneath the royal tent.

“He'll make his appearance when the time is right.” he promised. 

The noble Lord in the box to his left, judging by his crest, a noble from the north of Bavaria gave him a soft smile. “Is this the first tournament for your son, Sir?” 

“Yes.” He nodded politely. “May I introduce myself, Hans Capon of Pirkstein.”

 “Stephan Hofer von Lobenstein, at your service.” The elder man twirled the tip of his white goatee as if trying to remember. “Forgive me, but when I saw your coat of arms, I thought of the Lords of Leipa.” 

“You are right. I am a descendant of the family.” he nodded.  

“I see, your family is indeed widely branched.” He saw that twinkle in the older man’s eye. He studied the man beside him. His dark blue chaperon twitched as he pushed his eyebrows into his wrinkled forehead.  

Hans smirked. The joke was not lost on him. “Do you often come to Prague, visiting tournaments?” 

Sir Hofer nodded. “Aye. One of my sons joined the Bavarian tournament company. But since this is held by the King himself, he won’t ride today.” 

“I see.” 

Bohemian and Moravian coats of arms were displayed in the arena. There were also a few knights in Hungarian colours. The king had probably allowed the Hungarians to participate for the sake of peace with his brother Sigismund. 

Only now did he notice that there were some knights who wore a simple crest on their great helmets, but the coat of arms itself was not displayed on the parapet like the others. There were seven knights, all of them dressed in the same Bohemian colours of red and white. “Are black knights allowed to enter the tournament?”

The noble beside him shrugged. “Officially yes. Unofficially everyone is registered by name. The heralds make no exceptions when it comes to testing tournament eligibility.” Sir Hofer put on his spectacles and cleared his throat.

There was a tug on his coat sleeve. “You mean there are black knights here, like Lancelot… like in the story you told me?” Heinz had moved closer to him. He was whispering, as if he were revealing a secret.

-Lancelot and Galehaut - 

He swallowed the feeling that crept on his heart before answering. “Well, yes. But don't get your hopes up, son. Lancelot will not be among them. Nor any other knight from the round table.” He gritted his teeth. “Those are stories of the past.”

~+* -----*+~

 

Horses broke through formations, neighing and shaking their heads, while riders attempted to control the space and maintain an overview. The chaos of the mass battle was perfect.

He immediately understood why the tournament had been opened with it. The knights had previously been divided into two companies. Each horse had been marked with a corresponding pennant to assign the knight to one side. An area had been cordoned off on each side of the fighting ground to serve as a retreat for each party. A large group of squires and foot soldiers also waited there.  

The rules had been briefly explained to all spectators. The knights were armed with clubs. Each knight could capture another knight alone or in cooperation with his comrades. The ransom that each knight had deposited at the start of the tournament was considered an honourable tribute payment. Quite a few poorer knights would have their sights set on it. 

However, the overall goal was to reach the golden sword Excalibur in the centre of the arena, remove it from its post and present it to the King himself. 

- so much for old stories -  

Hans laughed softly. The official tournament announcement had included a story loosely based on the Arthurian legend.  This seemed to be the theme of the battle. He hadn't bothered to read it.

The time limit was set to half an hour.  But the second the fanfare sounded, a shake ran through the arena, accompanied by clattering, the beating of horses' hooves and battle cries. The horsemen in red charged their opponents in green. 

He knew only too well how little one could see through the slits in the helmet.  

A small hand tugged at his sleeve. He looked over. Heinz had jumped up, watching the battle with his mouth open and his eyes wide. 

Suddenly, two knights collided right in front of their grandstand. His son flinched, closed his eyes briefly out of reflex, and then stared spellbound at the knight in simple red and white who had knocked the other knight from Moravia off his horse.  

Hans clicked his tongue in appreciation. 

The knight with the red and white feathers on his helmet had steered his horse to the side at the last second and brought it to a complete halt. The knight from Moravia, a member of the red company, couldn't react anymore, had flown out of the saddle almost without slowing down.  A loud clang confirmed the hard impact. Two foot soldiers immediately came and took him prisoner. 

His neighbour began to applaud, as did many spectators. His son let out a cry of “Woa!” 

He grinned quietly, then applauded too when he saw how fast the black knight in red and white colours turned his horse around on its hind legs and stormed off again.  

“In situations like this, the grain quickly separates from the chaff.” commented his sitting neighbour in an excited loud tone.

“I agree,” he answered. He remembered the battle rush quite well. His fingers itched. Excitement rose in his blood.  

His son was still following the black knight with his eyes. The knight's waffenrock was completely monochrome on one side of his body, dyed in a midnight blue that looked almost black. It was a humble design that contrasted the bohemian chequerboard pattern on his left side wonderfully and fitted the colour of his black mount. Not only did it look good, it looked dashing. 

The open battlefield was erupting as the green company gathered again.

By now, some knights had either been lifted from their saddles or had retreated to the safety zone. He shook his head. He didn't want to make fun of it, but Sir Hofer was right. Anyone who had ever ridden into battle in full armour knew how quickly the air became thin under the visor, how quickly one sweated under the weight of the full plate. And how exhausting each new attack was, let alone keep oneself steady in the saddle and evade the counterattacks.    

“You see, the dogs of war know how to win something like this.” Sir Hofer pointed out. 

About four knights in the green company gathered, one of them was the black knight in the night-blue attire, the next moment they rode fiercely into a new charge. 

-Dogs of war, mmh?-     

He grinned again. The hair in his neck stood up. Only now did he realise how much he missed the fighting. He still trained from time to time, but his duties were increasingly confined to his desk. He rarely had the opportunity to hunt on his lands anymore let alone spar with his knights. 

The red company tried to regroup, but they were disrupted. A Hungarian knight broke away from the group with another Bohemian knight and tried to reach the golden sword. 

“What are dogs of war?” His son asked. He tried to raise his voice above the battle cries.

 “Sir Hofer refers to knights who fought in a lot of battles or in war. Like some knights of the lower nobility who become masters in the art of warfare.” he explained. 

The elder man nodded and studied him for a moment. “Have you fought in many battles, Sir Capon?” 

“Aye. I fought in the war against Sigismund, years ago."   

The elder grinned. “So you are a master yourself?” he shouted.

Once again his eyes fell on the knight in the night-blue waffenrock and the red and white feathers decorating his great helmet as he rode past their tribune. 

More and more he admired his way of fighting. He was strong and determined in his actions. The attacks he carried out were meaningful not just for himself but for the company. He had a good eye for the room between opponents. None of his actions seemed wasted or hasty, but rather well measured. Nevertheless, he did not shy away from risk.  

Hans sighed.

Deep down he knew that he would be equal in technique and riding skill. But when it came down to strength and endurance he was coming shorter, without a doubt.  “Not anymore, I am afraid.”   

Once again, the remaining knights regrouped. By now, perhaps less than half of them were left.    

The Hungarian horseman from the red company tried once again to get close to the post in the middle, but the black knight was there again. He defended the sword, but did not seem interested in it himself.  

- He is waiting for the right opportunity - 

And it came. 

One of his comrades broke through and charged in, and so did he.  There was a short commotion as the Hungarian knight and another two from the red company tried to lure them away. He turned his horse around and spurred it on. He nearly knocked over the post as he stopped beside it at full gallop and grabbed the golden sword.

-This knight is a master indeed. -   He broke a smirk.

The crowd cheered, almost every spectator jumped to their feet and so did he.

“Did you see that, Heinz?” he shouted. 

There was no answer. 

He blinked and turned. 

The bench beside him was empty.

The smirk on his face died in the same instant. An unyielding fear came over him as the blood drained from his body.  “Heinz?” 

He was already on his feet and jumped onto the bench. His two escorts hadn't noticed anything either, but they also called out for his son.

He looked around. Fear gnawed at his composure. But he gritted his teeth. The boy had surely just run off somewhere.

He wasn't in their stand. He squeezed past the person sitting next to him and pushed his way through the other spectators to the stairs.

Once again, the crowd cheered in excitement.  He couldn't look back at the arena now. In one leap, he jumped down half a flight of stairs, his hand grabbing the wet piece of wood on the handrail. He spun around and looked over the many heads in the lower grandstand. But his son was nowhere to be seen. He pushed his way past, muttering apologies, and heard Bohumil's voice behind him calling for Heinrich again.

Suddenly he saw a blond head at the front of the balustrade. Again, a figure pushed in front of it. 

“Heinz!”  He had a very bad feeling in his stomach. 

Then he saw him climbing onto the barrier. 

“No! Leave it…”  

He wouldn't hear him.

He rammed his shoulder into the nearest burgher, roughly pushing him aside. He didn't apologise anymore. First he had to get him, and then had to give his son, his brat, a good telling-off...

 

His gaze fell on the balustrade. 

It was empty...

Notes:

Notes
1: I've been to Prague twice this year. And what can I say? I've somehow fallen in love with the city. I hope I'm not annoying you with my insider tourist knowledge. I am trying to keep it to a bare minimum in the story.
2: I watched a 1.5-hour documentary about tournaments in the High and Late Middle Ages. And now I feel even more uncertain than before about my knowledge of the subject. Thanks anyway to Andréj from Geschichtsfenster

Chapter 2: a little bird

Notes:

Soo (as a German would say... and I demonstratively tap my thigh at this point)

My dear readers,
I didn't expect to receive so much positive feedback in the form of subscriptions so quickly. Thank You all!

I didn't actually think I would be able to add another chapter so soon, but this time I decided to make a chapter break every time the POV changes. That's why there may be shorter chapters in this story than you're used to from me. (8-12k words per chapter is otherwise a lot.)

As always, I had a lot of musical inspiration. (Black country)
Check out: Blues Saraceno - Dogs of War and Heroes Dress in Black. Devils got you beat... okay I like them all XP

Enjoy reading!

Chapter 2 - a little bird

 

 

His heart was pounding wildly in his chest, his vision focused, he perceived everything as if the world was submerged in leaden water.   The rush of battle broke him open, all his senses were set loose like a pack of wolves. His mind was clear and ice-cold.

He felt the horse leap forward beneath him and his knees pressed tightly against the animal. His heels rolled over the horse’s belly spurring it on. He could barely hear the snorting of the nostrils over the cheers of the spectators. It all blurred to the insignificant background as his instincts took over. 

The weight of the sword in his hand felt heavy. The gold of the pommel glinted in the sun, then he turned his attention back to the front.  

A crooked wide grin stole across his face. - The fight isn’t over yet. -

He collected his horse once again, two knights broke through his comrades and charged towards him. His only free hand was now armed with the sword. A weapon he was not allowed to use since it was meant for the king only. 

His eyes scanned his surroundings like a hawk.

The bright band that was his field of vision left him little opportunity to observe his surroundings. But he was used to it. He didn't need to see everything. He could already hear his pursuers catching up.

The cool air burned in his lungs. Something wet ran down his chest under the gambeson. 

Behind the opponents, a comrade got ready and took off. He understood immediately. He steered his horse into a tight circle, squeezed past the first opponent, took a blow from his club which bounced off his plate armour and rode on ahead. 

The excitement over his lead pushed him over his limits, an enveloping high followed it. 

His horse leapt forward powerfully, he shifted his weight and pushed himself up from the saddle as he stormed along the long side of the arena. But the Hungarian Rider had already jumped into his riding lane and was charging toward him.

- He wants to challenge me again?-  the grin widened.  - Let him come.- 

He shifted his weight outwards and steered his horse tightly inwards with the next jump, zigzagging close around the next opponent. 

A comrade appeared at his side. He glanced over and the other knight nodded discreetly, but he saw it nonetheless. The knight would clear the way for him. Behind the Hungarian was the safety zone. If he reached it, his company would have won the game.  

 

Suddenly, something caught his eye, or rather, it fell directly into his line of sight. 

At first, it looked like a colorful bundle falling from the spectator stands over the balustrade. But the red bundle was a coat, the straw-yellow was hair and little arms were rowing underneath. 

A child.

His blood rushed to his head. New instincts took over his actions in the same breath. 

The fall was not steep, barely a man's height into the soft broken surface of sand. The child's voice was inaudible to him as it landed on all fours. But the horror was written all over its face.

The cold broke out of his thoughts. His first impulse was to stop his horse and the game...

But the Hungarian rider in his path was inevitably rushing forward, towards him, towards the small kid at full speed.  His instinct told him that this man would not hold back, would not care.

There was no sound of fanfare. The heralds hadn’t noticed the new seriousness of the situation. Instead everyone was fixed on him and his pursuers. 

He couldn't think.  

He had to do something. 

He threw the sword to his comrade without looking. He didn't even know if he had caught it, but he needed his hand free. He spurred his stallion on; he had to get the child out of harm. 

The boy seemed to understand the danger and quickly sat up in the sand, his eyes unable to decide which direction to run. 

Only now did the first spectators seem to react to the new situation. But he had no time to listen to their cries. 

The Hungarian continued to rush towards him paying no attention to the child. He narrowed his eyes. “Sakra!” he cursed.

His horse shook its head, sensing that something was wrong, even though it could see little through its blinders. 

“Hold on!” he shouted to the edge of his lungs. The new emptiness inside barely filled up under the helmet. 

In the next second, he leaned as far forward to the left as possible. The child, no, the boy understood, turned towards him and threw his arms up, full of trust. 

His outstretched arm grabbed him…

…and together with him, he pulled himself back into the saddle. 

Muscles ached under the weight of himself, the kid, his armour. He groaned, his tendons were tensing painfully.  Just barely he had managed to grasp the boy with no more than three fingers. Tucked under his arm, he pulled him in front of his torso, shielding him with his shoulder and flank.

He looked ahead just in time. The Hungarian tore on his horse's reins, it jumped to the side and at the last moment they avoided the collision.  His opponent's leg struck his left knee, a sharp pain shot through it, hissed all the way up to his hip, then was barely noticeable. 

His arm pressed the child fearlessly against himself.

The boy gasped, holding on to him tightly, just as he did. 

Then he reined in his horse. He had reached the safety zone. 

Fresh air rushed through the many small holes in his helmet, and for the first time it flushed his lungs fully. 

Cheering erupted. The whole square was suddenly a wall of noise, crushing down on him. 

He glanced to his sides. 

The same comrade as before came to a halt beside him. The golden sword glinted in the few rays of sunlight as it swung to the sky. 

Only now did he notice how quick he gasped for air, how much his body vibrated.  Every last fibre was tense up to the fingers that held on to the boy in his arms. 

 

~+* -----*+~

 

The boy seemed to catch up to his new reality faster than he had expected. 

He climbed onto the saddle in front of him. Without realising it, he continued to steady him on the big horse by embracing him around the middle. A soft smile tugged on his lips as the blood pressure in his veins calmed down. 

The kid was safe. 

A warmth nested in him as he realized that the fight, or better the sport of it, wasn't as meaningless as he sometimes believed it to be. He still had it in himself to make a difference. 

The boy grabbed his arm and turned to look up over his shoulder to him. His eyes were focusing on the visual slit in his great helmet, searching in the dark for a pair of eyes. 

He studied him as best he could. The little one must have been five or six years old. 

“You… you are the knight who got Excalibur.” The lad's intimidation vanished into thin air. The fact that he had almost been run over just a moment ago, hardly seemed to bother him any longer. 

“Aye.”  

Suddenly a shiver ran down his neck. 

He looked around and stared at the Hungarian knight. The man had come to a halt in the middle of the field. Though his horse was tossing its head, rising from the ground, startled by the crashing noise of the crowd, he didn't stop looking his way. 

A veil feeling boiled up in his stomach. 

The horse seemed nervous earlier, but not out of control. The knight could have avoided the boy or slowed the animal down. He hadn't seen it clearly due to the limited view his helmet provided, but had he used his spurs instead? In any case, he had shown no compassion whatsoever.

“One of Sigismund's lackeys,” he muttered to himself with utter disgust.  

“Pardon?”

A fanfare sounded, signalling the end of the grand spectacle. The heralds announced the intermission and the honours that would take place in the afternoon after a break. The formations of the last knights and foot soldiers broke up into a relaxed bustle. Everyone now had a task to carry out.

Only now did some other thoughts barge into his mind. He looked down at the kid again. The boy didn't look frightened but rather pleased with himself as he rode with him through the arena once more. The crowd cheered until they reached the other end of the fighting grounds. 

-Why is he in the arena in the first place? - To his own surprise, anger came over him. The rescue had been bloody close. What if he himself had run him over? 

His voice sounded sharper than he had intended. “You shouldn't be jumping headlong into the arena!”   -Fuck.- He wasn't this boy's father. He had to pull himself together. Otherwise, he would end up getting scolded by the boy's mother.    

Undeterred, the kid shook his head. “I climbed onto the barrier to see better and… must have slipped.” The boy was obviously nervous but not lying. The words just bubbled out of him. 

“Same thing. You could have been run over, and killed ….” he looked him over once more. His elegantly cut clothing made of expensive fabrics were unmistakable. “...young lord.”  

The boy smiled contentedly at his proper greeting. He felt the urge to run his hand over his face. The sweat tensed his skin as his eyebrow twitched upwards. 

- Goodness, the brat has a talent for provoking someo…- The young eyes sparkled with pride. The kid curled his lips in a wide, self-satisfied manner. 

He snapped. “Is this a joke to you?” A blush formed on the young face as the smile died abruptly. “Do you know how many people are trampled to death by carriages or horses every day in Prague alone? There is rarely dignity in death but certainly none in scraping someone like that off the street, to find something to bury. I can tell you that!”

He gritted his teeth. -So much for it being none of my business. - 

He loosened his grip on the reins and guided his horse at a slow trot towards the exit gates. Hopefully he would find a parent of this brat soon. Inevitably he took another glance down at his companion. 

-Have I been too strict?-

The silence stretched uncomfortably for a moment. 

“But you saved me!” The boy's face that had turned red in shame for one moment, was now beaming again. 

-Obviously not.-

“Thank you, Sir Knight!” The bright voice was sincere. The sparkle in his eyes testified to this. He didn’t want to admit it, but the words had a calming effect on him. 

He sighed. Meanwhile, they rode further along the sandy path onto the forecourt of the tournament. More and more visitors came down from the stands. 

But the boy clung to his appearance. “Are you Sir Lancelot?”

He shook his head slightly. “I’m afraid not.”

“Then…What is your name Sir knight?” 

A grin formed on his own lips. -Good try.- “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret any longer.” 

 Despite his age, the young man had an astonishing talent for steering conversations in his favour. “But it could be our secret?”

An open laughter broke through his throat. The boy pouted visibly since he wasn't being taken seriously. 

“Will you tell me the name of your horse? Instead?”

He looked at the blue roan, almost black stallion, which flickered its ears to them. The boy was holding onto its mane with curiosity, patting its neck. 

“Basalt.” He answered sparsely. 

The boy twisted his mouth in disappointment. “That is a dull name.” 

“He looks like it.” he murmured under his helmet. 

“You should name a horse …after its ability or character.  That's what Father told me. “ 

Why should he justify his choice to a noble brat? He shrugged. “I prefer to keep its name humble.” He explained courtly. 

The boy stared up at him again. “Oh I get it. You are too! That's why you don't want anyone to know your name!”

“It's one of knights' virtues, after all.” 

“But it's also boring.” 

He laughed heartily again and shook his head slightly. - this turnes out to be entertaining-

“You can take my word for it, I won't tell anyone your name.“ The boy tried to put on his best smile. “Please, Sir Knight!“

“Then, tell me young lord, what is yours and I will consider telling you mine.” Why did he always let himself be persuaded..

“I am Heinz.”  Then the boy stretched himself in the saddle, seeming to remember his manners. "Well. Heinrich Capon of Prikstein.” 

-W…What? - 

“...”

The air got stuck in his throat, he coughed. 

-No… this.. -

His horse threw its head up, the boy in his arm flinched as the animal came abruptly to a halt. 

-This can’t be - 

He blinked.  His heart suddenly began to beat wildly up to his throat.

Basalt twitched, stiffened up and took a few steps back. Only now he was noticing how much he had leaned backwards and how tightly he had pulled on the reins. 

-That can’t be true.-    

Heinz looked up expectantly at him over his shoulder.

-...over six years.- 

But the boy with the blond locks and the ice-blue eyes studied him, his nose twitched and then he raised his left eyebrow. “Well?” The corner of his mouth curled slightly. His eyes flashed beneath half-closed lids. 

- Sakra-

He had seen this a hundred times before. This gesture, this cheeky little manner… He had always looked at him the same way when he had challenged him.

There was no doubt about it.

“We have something in common, then.” He answered before he finished his thought. 

Heinz eyed him briefly and then his face started to shine brightly. “Your name is Heinrich too?” 

-He actually named his son like he said…– 

His mind was still blank. “More or less. My name is Hen….”

“Heinz!”  A voice echoed across the square. 

A familiar voice. 

“Father!” The boy shouted back.

-God, no - 

Why did his hands suddenly become cold? Why was his breath trembling? He closed his eyes.  - Calm down. It’s been six years. -

“Heinz! Holy mother Mary…”

Both their heads darted around. 

 

~+* -----*+~

 

He pushed his way through the people coming down from the stands. He recognised him immediately. He would have recognised him anywhere. 

It wasn't his now dark blond, shorter hair, tousled by the wind. It wasn't his reddened features, which were strikingly framed by a short beard, or the area around his eyes, which had gained a few wrinkles. It wasn't the elegant fir-green coat, nor the elaborate red double with gold embroidery on the sleeves that appeared underneath when he reached out his hands to his son. 

It was the way he lifted the boy from the horse, took him in his arms and hugged him close. The soft smile that pulled on Hans’ lips, the way he closed his eyes with the greatest relief and snuggled his face in the boy's neck and coat. 

A lump formed in his throat. He had to look away. 

His pulse was racing in his ears. His breath was shaking pitifully. - Put yourself together…- 

A cartload of emotions he had long locked up and buried away came rushing back to him. Above everything hovered this anger…that damn anger he had swallowed down years ago.  

He closed his eyes. He felt his teeth grinding as he clenched them together.

“Father, the black knight saved me!”

“I know..I know…I saw you fall…but…we… “ His voice was trembling with worry. There was a brief silence. He must have overcome the majority of it as he continued.. “We will talk later, son.“ 

He opened his eyes again. Out of the corner of them he watched as Hans' facial expression changed. He set his kid back on its feet, holding on tightly to the small wrist. He shook his head, obviously he was fighting down his own temperament. The boy would also hear a lecture from him, that was as clear as day.

-why can I still read him that easily? For fucks sake- 

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am, Sir.” He heard his voice again as he set his light blue eyes on him.  “You have earned my fullest respect. Your achievements alone on the tournament ground were remarkable, a most commendable display of spirit, I must say, but rescuing my son above …” 

Rage boiled up in him. Why was Hans reacting so stiff and talking in this well-bred manner, was he…

- Kurva... he can’t recognise me… He doesn't know who I am. -  His great helmet was still on his head, which covered his features entirely. He didn't wear any sign of his coat of arms on him. For him he could be anyone, even a noble higher in rank and title.

His hand, already on his helmet to reveal himself, suddenly stopped.

-That means...- He could get out of this ironic situation without giving himself away. His arm slipped down again.

Another shaking breath escaped his dry lips. 

One last time he turned to him. There still was that want, the urge in him to take one last…brief look at his former... friend.. partner… lo…-

But Hans' eyes caught him and whatever praise about his fighting style or strength he was about to express he suddenly stopped mid sentence.        

Their eyes locked.

His heart skipped a beat. He hissed as his chest tightened. 

The blond stared up at him for a second longer. The silence stretched uncomfortably. As Hans noticed that he had not finished his last sentence, he blushed. 

Hans Capon blushed, in front of him. -No- he admonished himself for his stupidity. He had blushed in front of  a complete stranger. 

Why was he filled with such bitterness? Why was he being stepped over by all these old emotions? 

“I fear I have been rather carried away…” Then Capon smiled one of his charming superior smiles, that sent a sparkle to Hans’ eyes and a sharp pain to his own ribs. “I do tend to talk too much when the subject pleases me.”

-oh watching a complete stranger fighting in the arena and rescuing your son from certain death pleases you…-

Had he flattered him? The grin that pulled on his lips curved downwards again. No. Not him exactly. 

-That damn flirt…-   The feeling in his stomach that had tickled his nerves, sank down to his guts, meeting an old disgusting emotion from the past.

-Why is this happening to me? After all these good damn years of peace? -

The rage overpowered him. “Couldn't you have taken better notice of your son?” he barked. -And anyway... hadn't he taken any guards with him to do the job?-

Hans leaned back in shock, like the smile had been slapped off his face. “Excuse me?” Hans' expressions became distorted. He certainly hadn't expected that the mysterious, honorable knight would attack him like that. Neither did the boy on his side.

Silence… 

 - Kurva..-   That came out wrong. But he wasn't planning on apologising either for speaking the bare truth.

“I certainly didn’t intend to cause any offence.” he added quickly, his voice muffled by his helmet just as before. His manner of speaking corresponded to the noble dialect of Prague that he had adopted over the past years. “I do understand boys that age are difficult to handle.”

Hans nodded slightly but utterly confused. 

He tapped his helmet where a visor would be in return, showing a simple greeting gesture. All he could do next, was pull his horse's head around and spur it on into a jog.

He gripped the reins tightly, his gauntlets were clattering, as he increased the longing distance between them.  

As he left his former partner behind, he locked him away together with his memories where he belonged - in the past. His mind went blank. But his heart was still beating wildly.

~+* -----*+~

Notes:

Did you like it? What do you think of my brain banana with the illustration at the end?
Write it in the comments XD

Notes:
3. Perhaps you're wondering how I came up with Heinrichs nickname? The historical figure is known as Hynce Ptáček of Pirkštejn. Hynce is a Czech short form of Heinrich/Henry. And since I'm not sure how it's pronounced, ( Hains, Hyns?) opted for the German ‘Heinz’ (Hains) version. I also wanted to distance the name more from Hynek, as the association with the Dry Devil was bothering me. Sorry for that.

Chapter 3: thorns of the past

Notes:

Sooo, dear readers,
here comes the next chapter, "fresh off the press."
There is still no beta reading, so please forgive the inconvenience.

I'm very happy to read that you liked my little brain banana at the end of the last one. Unfortunately, I don't always manage to include a drawing like that at the end of every chapter.
But I'm even happier that you've taken Heinz into your hearts just as much as I have. I'm glad that he doesn't bore you. In fact, it's super difficult but totally appealing to put yourself in the shoes of a child of that age.

Chapter 3- thorns of the past

 

The black horse snorted contentedly as the black knight trotted away.  

 “That has been …” He sighed. -rude?-  

He couldn't tear his gaze from his back, nor close his mouth. The whole situation felt somewhat ridiculous to him. The man in the night-blue waffenrock had become the knight of the match. Not only had he dominated the battle ground, conquered the golden sword, but rescued a child that had fallen over the railings from a tragic accident, even death.   

-But why? - He felt himself frowning. Frowning over a complete and utterly unpolished unknown knight and his behaviour. In one moment he had been deeply impressed with his selfless actions, the breathtaking rescue, had wanted to express his gratitude and admiration to him…and then he was yelled at like that.  

The knight didn't look back, the opposite was the case. He stirred his horse further away, further towards the royal stables. Why did he expect this man to feel regret about what he had said? 

Without hesitation, the man had thrown down the sword he had captured in order to pull his son out of the dust. If he had seen correctly, he had just barely managed to avoid colliding with the Hungarian. He had risked everything, including himself. 

The crowd had been beside themselves, calling out for him. 

Almost no one was interested in the sword anymore, once he had reached the zone with Heinz in his arms. And the stranger hadn't waved or hadn't been absorbed by the attention. None of that! 

Instead, he had seemed indifferent to the masses and had immediately brought his son to safety outside the arena. 

-After all these years, you think you know people. - 

He had been firmly convinced that the man not only looked like an honourable knight, one whose principles, sense of justice and charity were his greatest assets, but that he actually was one! He had even hoped to get to know him, convinced that he would find, if not a wonderful person per sé, then at least a sublime noble.        

-how wrong you can be-

Heinz cried out in excitement. “...Interesting, was it?” 

A smile pulled on his lips as he closed his grip around the small hand of his son. The fear he had felt for him had vanished. Instead, he was relieved and overjoyed to have the boy back in one piece. If only it weren't for this...  -Intense?-  situation.

-Who is this man?-  

Was Sir Hofer right and he was a battle-hardened fellow, undeniably good in combat, but who had unlearned how to behave among nobility jet alone people? 

-Not even the apology was genuine - Actually, it sounded more like he was accusing him of being incapable of looking after his own son. His stomach tightened. 

That implication wouldn't have stung as much if Heinz hadn't almost been run over a few minutes earlier. He really hadn't been paying attention to him. -It has only been a mere moment of carelessness, for christ sake!- 

The anger that had previously incited him rose again. Even though he didn't want to admit it, it hurt that this man hadn't shown any interest in him, at all. He had even deprived him of the opportunity to introduce himself.  

- Too bad for him -  

He hastily tore his gaze away. 
“What a brute..." he spat and swore to his inner self to appease his wounded pride.

Heinz still had his eyes fixed on his savior. “I like him...”  A friendly smile reappeared on his reddened cheeks, his eyes were shining as the cold breeze lifted his short blond curls. 

He huffed. “You can’t hardly mean that yapping dog of a knight?”

“He was nice, he even laughed, but he yelled at me too.” His kid shrugged.

“He dared to…” he already felt a heat of anger stepping over his countenance. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was a stranger's presumption towards his child. 

Heinz interrupted him. “He was right, though." 

- Wait. Is…  Hainz defending him?-  His son suddenly appeared remorseful. A state he rarely saw.  “About what?” he asked instead. 

“Well...” The five- year-old avoided his gaze. He was blushing, looking at his own feet instead in shame. “About the fact that I could have died and shouldn't climb on barriers again. He was angry, because I was reckless…” 

“...and?” He asked. He didn't want to admit it, but so far, he had already mentally prepared similar words for the upcoming telling-off.  But how could one explain the serious danger to a child who had no concept of death nor what the loss would mean to a father? 

His son had difficulty repeating everything. “Something about dignity in death and scraping scattered corpses off roads…?” 

He blinked. - What, in the name of God?-  

“Anyway… it wouldn't be nice... to find me like that... I guess?” His son stuttered and looked up at him out of the blue. “I am sorry Father. I didn't mean to frighten you.” Small hands clung to the hem of his coat. 

He blinked again, then gasped and closed his mouth with a “huh”. 

The horror at the words his son had heard and which were completely unsuitable for a child, settled like a lump in his throat. The urge to complain about it dried up on his tongue. Then he swallowed.

He should be grateful. 

Probably. 

A deep breath calmed him down again. - How can you make sense of someone like that…-

He pulled his child into an embrace once more. “I am glad you understand your mistake. I'm still angry, though.”  

The rumbling of a stomach sounded very clearly, sending a smile to his face. “But…Let's go grab a bite, shall we?”

“Oh Yes!”

Once more he looked over his shoulder searching for the strange black knight. But he had long since disappeared from view.  

 

  

~+* -----*+~

 

“And then, he just grabbed me!” Heinz’ was in a state of great excitement as he recounted his experiences. He even made a strange noise to feign the energy of the moment. “He pulled me up, and then the other horse jumped out of the way. But the knight in green still collided with…him!”

He paused. Had the black knight really still clashed with the Hungarian? His son tended to exaggerate.  Nonetheless it really had seemed dangerously close. 

He looked at his guards across the table. Bohumil and Kryštof listened politely. They had both already endured a scolding and a look from him that was equivalent to a lash of the whip.

“That must have hurt. What a great knight he is, don’t you think?” Heinz cheered. 

-How long has this been going on?- His frustration with the knight's behaviour had now been overtaken by sheer annoyance.  

If those two idiots had done their job, he wouldn't have to listen to all this praise now.  He seriously considered chaining them to his son to ensure they did their duty. 

Bohumil looked over at him and blushed again. He must have glared at his subordinates grimly.   The chap was clearly embarrassed that a five-year-old child had run away right under his nose.  Kryštof, on the other hand, had been watching the boy intently ever since. He had obviously taken the lecture to heart and decided to do justice to his position. 

-As long as you still have them…-  Both men suddenly avoided his gaze. 

“You know, Father… “ His son chewed on a chicken leg. “He was nice, until you showed up.” 

“Ahhhem.” he sighed, trying to ignore his son's statement. “Weren't you taught any table manners?”He grabbed his knife, stabbed some suckling pig onto the tip and brought it to his mouth. The meat tasted juicy and rich.  

He leaned back in the chair. It was nice to sit in the elegantly furnished dining tent, close to a fire basket and away from the harsh wind. The sun had almost completely disappeared behind a thick blanket of clouds. It wouldn't take much for them to break. The air was damp and ice cold. Spring had not defeated winter, jet. 

The boy continued chewing undeterred and spoke with his mouth open. “Maybe you offended him, somehow.” 

“Me?” He choked, grabbed his cup and gulped down the watered wine. “This is absurd...” he dismissed it. 

Heinz swallowed, wiped his chin on a napkin and looked up at him. “You've showered him with so much praise.” He saw the serious, almost deadly grave face of his son. “He's really modest, you know.”

He paused and finally laughed. The logic of a child was sometimes astonishing. 

“He really is!” His son argued. 

“Oh I bet on it!” The grin on his face widened. 

“Believe me Father. He gave his horse the oddest name. Something like black rock?...” he furrowed his brow. “He didn't care about fame and… he didn't want to tell me his name, either. But he was very kind when he said no. He...”

“Of course. Why would he tell you, when there is a whole town at the tournament grounds he hides it from?”   

His son suddenly fell silent. Then he blushed. “Because it's a secret.” His eyes fell to the tabletop.

“Exactly.” He shook his head. “Now eat your root vegetables. Chop chop!”

A small frown was audible as he let his gaze wander. 

The tent was not quite as crowded as the rest of the event. It was reserved for nobles and their entourages. Only a few lords had brought their children with them. Almost exclusively older boys by the age of 14 accompanied their parents. Apparently, a squirehood was sought for most of them.  And every nobleman wanted to see his son placed with the most famous and honorable knights in the land. 

Then there were quite a few young ladies of marriageable age. Tournaments had become an opportunity for them to look for future husbands without appearing indecent. 

He smirked as one of them glanced his way with a shy smile. His lips curled as his grin spread into his dimples. He let his eyes linger on her longer than necessary, seeking her eye contact. She blushed the next second and turned away. So did he. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her trying to get his attention again.

His charms hadn’t lost any appeal, it seemed. - at least not with the wenches. -  The rude knight crossed his thoughts again.  He shook it off.

The lords, meanwhile, were able to conclude business deals, establish contacts and discuss politics, while everyone was in high spirits. Lent was over, and the upcoming spring promised an exciting season at court. 

-And on top of that, you can also watch hardened men bash each other's heads in for honour and everyone's entertainment. The timing for it is tremendously well chosen. -

A small dog barked brightly and excited in the back corner of the tent, drawing his attention away. He looked over. Indeed, the brown-spotted dog was still a puppy. Its paws, still too big for the rest of the body, scratched across the floor. Its tail was almost dark brown to black, the floppy ears were long. 

A boy of Heinz's age was playing with him. He rolled a ball across the wide wooden floorboards.

Suddenly, another three-year-old child joined them. From their appearance, they were probably brothers. 

A lump formed in his throat. 

The upcoming thoughts pulled down his smile as the joy vanished out of his heart. Heinz would also have had a brother if the boy hadn’t been stillborn. He felt the wood of his armrests as he gripped them more tightly. 
That happened two years ago. Jitka had never quite recovered from her grief, since. 

“Father?” he was torn from his thoughts. “Can I go play with them?” 

Heinz already slipped restlessly back and forth in his chair. 

"Don't you have a dog of your own?” 

Heinz pulled his eyebrows down as if he had stated something utterly silly. “Mutt is old.”  

The said hunting dog truly spent most of the day lying by the fireplace more than anything else. He looked over once more. The boy, who was the same age, laughed heartily as he wrestled with the lively animal. 

His son didn't have many playmates at home. 

Although he had denied the thought of finding  happiness in the role of a father in the past, he would now have liked to have more children. One reason was that he wished for Heinz to grow up with siblings. 

He had always been an only child and had been lonely likewise. But his wife seemed to be far from warming herself up to the idea. 
He didn't want to destroy the trust or the fragile partnership they had formed over the years, so he gave her the space and time she needed. Well, they were both still young enough. Heinz was strong and healthy. There was no reason to rush. She was a wonderful mother and loved children. She would come around eventually. On the other hand, their lukewarm marital bed had remained as good as cold ever since. 

He sighed and waved. 

“Thanks, Father.” 

He glanced at Kryštof and nodded to him. The guard stood up and followed his son closely. 

He, on the other hand, took another sip of wine and watched as his son approached the other boy. It didn't take a minute before they were giggling. He was amazed, as he always was. His boy was truly outstanding in one thing: He was quick to make friends among other kids. 

-Especially to those who are also cooking up new misdeeds every moment. -

The other boy with the reddish-brown hair grinned crookedly at something he said. Then they laughed together at the puppy trying to bite their boots.

 

He shivered.

A cold feeling stroked the back of his neck and ran down his spine, the hairs stood on end. He fought the urge to shake himself. 

Instead, he furtively checked his surroundings. His instincts had not dulled over the years he had spent away from serious combat. He knew when he was being watched. 

Behind him in the seating area sat a group of ladies. Wrapped up warm in fur coats, they sat together, chattering away like geese about things that were already too boring for him to overhear. 

-Not that - 

A few pieces of plate armour clattered, the sound of chainmail clanked. Buhumil slid quietly on his chair. His gaze was fixed on his drink, but he knew the soldier in him was unsettled. He listened intently. The redhead had ears as good as a rabbit's. He had noticed something too.   

He did not know when his hand had moved to the hilt of his sword. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his son still playing with the other two boys. Kryštof stood next to them like a pillar. Observing. 

His gaze wandered further. 

Three tables away sat two noblemen. Judging by their dialect, they were from Prague, arguing about the King and his successors. Apparently, one of them longed for the days when Emperor Charles was not only Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire of German Nations but also King of Bohemia. The other eagerly awaited the day when a new German king would finally be elected. Everyone knew that not only Jobst, but also Sigismund would try to obtain the German crown. Both gathered electors around them like sheep nowadays. 

He let his eyes travel further as he listened. 

The younger of the two made no secret of the fact that he wanted Sigismund to claim the Bohemian crown if he was successful.   The man hoped that Sigismund would bring new glory to the empire and to Bohemia.

-Sigismund, the man who brings salvation? Don't make me laugh. -

 The older one was against it. The Land had only just survived the gruelling Margrave War four years earlier.  He wanted to continue ranting about Sigismund’s plans and further conflicts, but two other knights dressed in cherry red and yellow waffenrocks joined them. 

There was an exchange of glances between them, then the older one took his hat, stood up and nodded. “Sir Rosenberg.”

“Sir Duba.” greeted Sir Rosenberg in return as the said noble took his leave.  

Hans hissed as he exhaled. The two lords were well known, the Rosenbergs for their wealth and their avowed support for Sigismund. Sir Duba was more of a moderate lord who was known for his diplomacy. 

Finally, he heard the newly arrived men speaking Hungarian. 

He glanced over again and saw the taller knight looking at him and Bohumil. His guard was, of course, dressed in the colours of Leipa. Once again, he felt the cold stare on his back.

He swallowed.

“Come on. My mood has just been ruined.” He stood and wanted to fetch his son, but the lad came already his way.  

He was amazed. Heinz rarely stopped voluntarily once he had sunk into a game. The two boys and the dog were shortly visible on their way outside before they disappeared behind the tent canvas.  

“That was fun. But unfortunately, the boys' parents wanted to leave.” Heinz shrugged. 

“I see,” he said curtly.  "We can have a stroll, if you like.  There's still some time before the honoring ceremony."   

 He did not look back as they pulled their cloaks tighter around themselves and left the tent. 

 

~+* -----*+~

 

The wind was freezing cold. He put on his gloves, took his son by the hand and strolled unperturbed along the market stalls. 

At first he was annoyed, then somewhat amazed. His son stopped at almost every stall, watching the people trading, haggling, examining the wares. And he himself had to admit that the tailors, saddlers and craftsmen were selling a wide variety of goods.  

They passed a stall of another tailor. He had always had a great interest in clothing. But the sight that met his eyes captivated him for a moment longer. 

Fashion never really stood still. For a couple of years a pair of hoses were now worn as a connected pair again. Only the loincloth could still be opened. But the cuts had also been improved. The legs now seemed to fit more snugly and smoothly. In return, the doublets and gambesons had become shorter, as well as the breeches. The latter were now worn so tight and so short that they did not even reach halfway down the thigh. 

He smiled knowingly. Before heading home, he planned on visiting the tailor in town.  

The hammering of a blacksmith reached his ears. It was not an unusual sound. Two tents away, a smithy had been set up. He nodded inwardly. At a tournament, there was plenty of work for a blacksmith. 

But he didn't need any new equipment. And even though he was tempted by the idea that he would soon be able to commission his son's first sword, the thought was strange to bear. 

He told himself that he didn't want his little son to reach that age too soon. But his gut feeling made him feel queasy. 

His thumb ran over the pommel of his long sword. 

After all these years, one would think he would no longer be tempted to compare every piece of blacksmithing he saw with Henry's. Surely that was all it was. Surely he just didn't dare order a sword from another blacksmith because…

he might discover that Henry's work wasn't as unique as he had always thought. 

-Or because you can't bear the thought that he will never forge a sword for you again…and you're still hoping for it, like a damn pathetic fool…- 

He had already turned away… when he heard a whistle. 

A melody was forming, together with the rhythm of the blacksmith's hammer. His mind followed the melody, then he hummed along without meaning to. 

- That can’t be…-

He knew this tune!  

It was the kind of song that made you forget the monotony of the work. Like an endless loop. The activity, the precision of each stroke, sounded bright in contrast. 

All his thoughts came to halt. He listened again. 

-Its’ his tune..- 

There was no doubt. 

Henry used to whistle this tune. -His friend… his partner… his…-

“Why did we stop?” His son asked. 

He blinked. -We stopped?-  He wanted to answer, but his mouth had run dry. His heart was beating heavily against his ribcage. 

“...Let’s take a look at the smithy.” he murmured in return. 

As he began to turn around his breath became short. He instinctively clasped his son's hand tighter. 

He took the steps towards the large tent, which had been erected around a small furnace, slowly at first, then faster and faster. 

The whistling could still be heard.

-This can't be... He… -

When he was almost there, he breathed heavily through his mouth. His breath came tremulously over his lips, and unjustifiably, the rest of his body had tensed up. He stepped under the loosely opened tent flap into the makeshift workshop. The warmth of the forge immediately enveloped them. 

He scanned the tent, saw the display, the work tables and workbenches, the multitude of pliers and tools. 

He must have held his breath. 

When he saw the older armourer at the mushroom-shaped anvil denting out a piece of armour, he slumped his shoulders. The man was over 40 years old and had a moustache.  

The overflowing disappointment was already flushing over him, his breathing painfully resumed, when the whistling could be heard again. 

His gaze shot past the older master. Behind him, at the forge anvil, stood a young man. He was tall and had broad shoulders. The thick woollen shirt was rolled up at the arms. His apron and gloves were stained with soot, illuminated each time a new hammer blow struck the hot iron.

He couldn't see his face. The man had his back to him.

-That can't be true.-

Carefully he took a step forward. He was about to speak to the man when the lad picked up the horseshoe and examined it in the light. As he did so, he turned towards him.

“Master, how many should I make for your friend?”

-It's not him.- 

The young man might have been of similar build, but he was perhaps 19 years old and apparently an apprentice of the armourer. He didn't even look like him. 

“Only two. The horse nearly kicked one off in the arena. But let me see the shoes before you bring them to him.” The old man muttered to himself. Then he broke into a broad grin. “He knows the craft better than you think. Your best will be just good enough.”  

A pain pierced his tightened chest, one he thought he had long forgotten. 

- Of course he won’t be here. -  He ran his trembling hand through his hair. -He became a knight. He rides under the king's banner.  He could be involved in any campaign nationwide at the moment. You know, that he sold his smithy in Kuttenberg years ago. Why for gods sake, should he be working in one in Prague?- 

A bleakly honest thought made its way into his mind. Reality took hold of him once again as he understood that Henry was not here. The emptiness that overwhelmed him tore open a wound of sorrow which he had mended a long time ago. 

Henry had left him. 

He felt no sense of fury. Only an all-consuming blankness. 

He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.  Then he laughed without humour. That sort of mistake hadn't happened to him in a long time. 

A moment later he moved his gaze away.     

“Father, what's going on?” Heinz gave him a questioning look. One that reminded him of Jitka.

He was almost startled.  “Nothing. I mistook someone for someone else.” 

 

~+* -----*+~

 

 

 

Notes:

This chapter ends on a bit of a downer... bear with me. The next one will be ... different.. But I wonder... did you spot the three hints?
Write it in the comments! XD

Notes:
4: I like it in KCD2 when Henry loses his temper and intimidates people. Especially if those are just stupid folk and he does it for the greater good. It surely is a very personal decision how someone likes to play him. But in my HC in both games, he is developing his alignment from the Skalitz lawful good lad to a chaotic good warrior. That he snaps and yells at Heinz by using an ugly truth to set him straight, is my way of showing it.
But check this out: https://youtu.be/q4L2BHz_Azs?si=7BFJRJUwHI_tnGll. It's enormously funny and amazingly performed by Tom Mckay.
Vote for him folks!

Chapter 4: the lion's roar

Notes:

Dear readers!

Thanks to everyone who commented on my last chapter! I am very honoured!

A week has passed and now the next chapter is fresh off the press... It's long... probably the longest I've planned...
But I wanted to give you the opportunity to delve deeper into Henry. But buckle up! and well... read for yourself.

The whole mood of this chapter is captured very well by a song that I love. The lions roar - by First Aid Kit. A shout-out to the Swedes among us. I simply love this music for its honesty.

+-~

Chapter 4 - the lion's roar

 

Basalt shook his neck and snorted. A ghost of a smile scurried over his lips as he stroked the animal's mane. “Well done, buddy.” strangely his praise did not sound very joyful in his ears, quite unlike the voice he recognised shortly afterwards.

“You were brilliant, Sir!” 

He looked up. The stable was bustling with people, especially with his fellow competitors. But a young man with black curly hair, a thick grey coat and a pointed black hat had stepped in front of him. He grabbed the reins of his horse, ready to take the animal. He nodded to his squire. “It didn't quite go as planned…” he paused. “...Thank you George.”

“But the rescue of the boy was impressive! That has already made news throughout half the castle, Sir!”  The lad was beaming all over his stubbled face that had turned red. He must have run up to the stables as fast as possible to catch up to him.

He was annoyed though. 

He would have preferred to forget everything, especially the conversation he had just fended off with a certain noble.  At least his anonymous participation meant that no one else at court would bring it up with him. -I'm glad I made that decision.-  He rolled his eyes.

Finally, he swung himself out of the saddle energetically as usual, his armour clanking slightly. 

His feet touched the hard plaster, but the momentum suddenly faltered in his left knee and a sharp pain shot up his leg. 

He hissed audibly.

“Sir?” The seventeen year old squire stepped closer to his side. 

All he managed was a dismissive nod.  He slowly began walking. He could put weight on his leg. But the pain returned. - kurva- 

Basalt was nudging him gently with his head against his arm.  He took his time and looked down at his horse. “Since the last turn, he stepped a bit short at the back…” 

His squire stared at him, then his gaze returned to the mount.  The boy was hard-working and good-natured. With a few simple steps, he examined Basalt by lifting up the legs.  “One of the irons got loose, Sir.” 

 "I figured as much.” He sighed. “Do me a favour and take him to Fly later, alright? Thomas should be able to handle it by now."

“Not to the stable master?" The young face slipped into confusion. 

He tilted his head back. His limbs slowly grew heavy, the sweat began to cool his body more than was comfortable in the strong winter wind. - But really-  he just wanted to finally take off that heavy helmet.

He slumped his shoulders. The boy had to learn.  “Look at his handiwork. Do you notice anything odd?”

The young man tilted his head as he held the horse's hoof in his hand. “I'm not sure.”

He leaned forward, his finger pointed at the thickening end of the iron. “He meant well with the studs, in fact it would be perfect for Pebbles or any other army horse that walks on hard plaster, but not on sandy tournament ground. The hoof needs to be able to dig in and slide when stopping. But those make him stop abruptly.” He grumbled. -I should have checked that myself beforehand.- “One more fight or jousting match with them and Basalt will be lame.” 

George put the horseleg down again.  “I understand.”

A quiet groan escaped him as he stretched in a straight position again. “Have him completely reshoed at the back. I will head back to my tent.” 

His squire nodded, but hesitated. “Won’t you need me, Sir?” 

He shook his head. “I am good. Feed him well and help yourself to something to eat as well." One last time he turned on his heel. “And George, Thomas has no Idea I am participating. Fly has to do it himself. Otherwise he would recognise Basalt immediately." 

The lad smiled. “I figured as much, Sir.” 

Then he set off for his tent. 

 

*+~

The side path led behind a barrier away from the arena to the tournament participants' tents. 

Every other step sent a dull pain shooting up his leg. He could put his full weight on his knee, but his instinct told him he shouldn’t overdo it. 

He shook his head. The fact that he had been looking forward to this spectacle for months and now he had been injured in his first fight, scratched his ego. 

As he took a glance over the grounds, the magnificently decorated stands and tents, the sheer size of the event, he laughed witlessly.  The helmet decorations, the painted shields, the banners, everything had been prepared and customised just for this. And in less than a week, it would all be over.  

Of course, he hadn't exactly looked forward to the circus. No matter how long he had been at court, he never quite got used to the scale and wastefulness of it all. 

Sometimes he wondered whether he would be better off on military campaigns, patrols and operations. He felt more at home in a tent than in a palace room. Then again he had truly seen enough of war. 

However, the new silence that surrounded him brought the recent events back to his mind. Every step he took seemed to shake his spirit anew. 

~

“I fear I have been rather carried away…” He saw Hans’ dark blond hair tousled by the wind, the rosy colour of his blushed cheeks.  “I do tend to talk too much when the subject pleases me.” That radiant, charming smile flashed before his eyes.

~

The blood rushed inside him. His heart leapt from his chest, his muscles tensed. 

He hardly noticed that he was still clenching his teeth. - This Idiot, this… -  

His strides grew longer.

A short time later, he swung the canvas flap of his tent aside. He dragged himself inside and sat down on a wooden bench next to a table. 

-How unlucky can you actually be?- 

Well, to be precise, it wasn't unlucky to have saved a boy's life, but of all things, that. -Hans' son.-

He took off his gauntlets, threw them on the table next to him and fiddled with the straps of his helmet. The great helmet with its feather decoration came off. With a soft scratch, he placed it on the bench next to him.

His fingers began to tremble, but not because of the cold.

-What a load of horseshit. -

The helmet guard underneath took hardly any less time. He threw it to the ground, feeling even more sullen.  

Finally, the weight was off, finally he could breathe the cold air freely. But this did not bring the relief he had hoped for. 

He stretched out his left leg. By now, his knee was throbbing painfully under the armour.  A few moments later, he had also taken off his waffenrock and the rest of his protection. His gambeson was soaked with sweat, just as he had expected. His padded trousers were no better but also sandy. 

He ran both hands over his short beard and shaved temples to the back of his head, clasping his hands behind it as he leaned forward.

- Just forget it, Henry. -  

A shaky  breath escaped him while he shut his eyes. He breathed in and out a few times. But his abdomen and chest was cramped. The anger boiling inside him could not be suppressed. 

-That's old shit. It has nothing to do with you anymore.- 

He slipped out of his hose.  Another pain shook him. “Sakra.” His knee was already swollen and discoloured. If he was lucky, it was just a bruise. 

He stripped down to his braies, then glanced at the large wash tub in the corner. The icy cold water would do his knee good as well as his stench. - And maybe it will finally drive away those stupid thoughts, too. - 

Without hesitation, he overcame the distance and jumped in with one fluid movement. 

His body screamed, his breath hitched, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Then a violent shivering befell him. The water was barely warmer than the air around him. 

Fingers clung to the wooden edge, holding him fast as his body resisted. He gritted his teeth. Then, after a few minutes, he gave in and shot out.

The empty feeling, the numbness that now surrounded him was bittersweet. Slowly, calm returned to his innermost being. 

He dried himself with a few fresh linen towels and bandaged his knee for support.  His skin had turned fire red by now. His body was already fighting the cold out of his veins. The bloodthirsty muscles, still working from the fight, did the rest. 

A pair of black hoses, a fine shirt and doublé in a dark vine-red pattern was easily drawn from his chest. He slipped into the elegant clothes, closed the weapon belt around himself and attached his pouch and dagger to it. 

As he grabbed his cloak from a rack he paused. The pain he had felt in his knee fired up again as he turned too quickly. 

A sigh escaped him. - So much for good luck -  He searched in his pouch and found a small flask. 

The tent was spacious enough and contained all kinds of useful furniture, such as seating, armour stands and a wash tub. In addition to his personal chest, he had also had a simple frame bed set up. Now he sat down on the thick straw mattress and took another deep breath. His body was no longer trembling, neither from cold nor from anger. Shortly afterwards, he put the flask to his lips. The sharp drink tasted of poppy, marigold and comfrey.

His gaze fell to the side, next to a frame bed leaned his sword against a chair. The sword of his fathers. 

He reached over, grabbed the scabbard and pulled the familiar weight towards him. Subconsciously, he tilted his head as his fingers traced down the pommel and closed around the hilt. He felt the leather wrapping, the fine wire chains that held it in place. 

For a moment, the emptiness receded. A faint feeling of home came over him. Then he remembered a conversation from earlier that morning and smiled faintly. 

-I should get something to eat too. -

In the next movement he hooked the holster of his sword onto his weapon belt, grabbed a hunter's cap from the stand and set off.          

 

~+* -----*+~

As he stepped into the well-appointed dining tent, his hand reached for the hilt of his sword. Carefully he looked around beneath the tip of his hat. There was a certain noble he had to avoid at any cost. 

It wasn't too crowded yet. Hans had always been a tall man, even slightly taller than him and since he knew what he was wearing he would have noticed him right away. Luckily the blond hair couldn't be spotted. He sighed and his fingers relaxed around the hilt again.

A familiar hubbub of voices, laughter, conversation and the clattering of crockery could be heard. And then there was this wonderful smell... His stomach growled so loudly that he could almost hear it beneath the noise. After a few breaths, a pleasant warmth crept through his thick clothes. Finally he stepped inside. The canvas wall closed behind him with a flap. 

He tugged at his dark blue cloak, loosening it. 

When he noticed a certain woman, a ghost of a smile formed on his lips.  

-There she is. - 

His gaze wandered over the petite figure wearing a green velvet bonnet over her dark red hair, sitting at a table not far from him. He slowly approached, but she wasn't aware, seemed to be all taken by her own thoughts while her eyes rested on something else.

After he had covered the last distance he poked her gently in the side. She almost jumped off the bench, looked around abruptly and rolled her eyes. 

“Goodness, Henry! How old are you?” She clicked her tongue. 

He chuckled softly as he sat down opposite her, “still young enough to tease my wife.”  The joy of having startled her so much did him surprisingly good.      

“And once again, you are the living evidence that men reach the age of twelve and then merely grow taller.” Rosa’s lips curled slightly but her tone was as pompous as usual. 

He felt a mischievous grin on his lips. “And still three years ago your answer was yes.”  

Rosa shook her head slightly and looked at him through half-closed eyelids. “Only that second time. Clearly one of my less favourable decisions.”  A cheeky gleam flashed in her eyes. “I have become richer in both worries and heart attacks since then.” 

-Rosa is rarely worried. -  

It was one of the things he liked about her. She might seem aloof or cold to outsiders, but she was also strong minded, unshakeable and independent.    He willingly let her have the last word in their exchange of teases. 

He raised an eyebrow and studied her face. She really did look concerned. Perhaps it also had something to do with the task she had set herself in the tournament committee?  

Then he studied his surroundings. The tent was filled with many well known noblemen and ladies. The mood at court had been cheerful in recent days, but the political situation was becoming increasingly tense. 

Sigismund or Jobst. 

One of them would be chosen as German King. And everything he had heard previously indicated that Sigismund still had enough supporters among the Prague nobility. A fact he still found difficult to bear let alone deal with. 

Rosa had grown to be much wiser and more tactful than he was in this regard. She had certainly been a woman of strong opinions in the past, loudly expressing her resentment with Sigismund and his supporters.  Now, however, she effortlessly juggled conversations on the subject at court without making enemies. 

She supported him and cultivated many contacts with like-minded lords and ladies. Without that network, one could not remain successful at court.  Even if one had the king's trust and held an important military position in the king's guard, just as he had.  

On the other hand, he had always encouraged her in her writing. In fact, he had even smuggled her into King Charles University for a couple of weeks, disguised as a young scholar.   

 

She looked at him again, with a mixture of reproach and helplessness.  “While we're on the subject. Saving the boy like that was…” She made a pause, composing her next words. “...rather heroic and clearly honourable, but also breathtakingly reckless.” 

He grinned. “Were you frightened for me?” He leaned in. “Did you faint?” 

“Oh, please.” Her voice sounded dry. “I know… you know what you're capable of. But…”  She looked around. He followed her gaze, his grin changed to a warm smile. She lowered her voice. “I shouldn't remind you of your responsa...”

 “I am aware.” he cut her short, sharper as he had intended. 

Her eyes flew back to him, lingered on him for a while. Then she handed him a plate and her knife. “Oh my, someone's more hungry than usual.”

He frowned, took the plate, pierced a piece of meat with her knife from the platter in front of him and ate it …while ignoring her snicker.

There was something between them that someone might call love. But there was no bittersweet longing, no romantic feeling of unshakeable closeness and bliss and no maddening desire for intimacy and connection. - no- Instead, there was trust, friendship, joy, chemistry and occasionally, want.

Fortunately, neither of them wished for anything more. He was content, sometimes happy. That was more than enough.

They looked at each other for a moment, then smiled. 

“I spoke with the others in the tournament committee. That whole affair is a disgrace. We are considering issuing the Hungarian with a penalty, perhaps even disqualifying him for continuing charging.”  Her voice barely betrayed any emotion, but he knew how appalled she was. 

“From what I've seen, it would be justified. It's a tournament not a battleground.”  he murmured deadpan. 

She stared at him again, about to disagree, but then changed her mind. She understood what he was implying. 

Yes, in war, the lives of children and women counted for little or nothing.  

Until the End of 1406, he had been part of the royal officers and delegation that the king had sent to war in support of his cousin Jobst. The margrave wars had officially ended in 1405. Jobst had become the sole margrave, had been formally reconciled with King Wenceslas, Sigismund had once again been repelled and Jobst's brother Prokop had died. However the region had suffered greatly during the many years of war. For almost two more years, they had fought to put a stop to robber barons and had helped to stabilise the devastated region again. Then the king had ordered him back to court. 

The suffering and crimes he had witnessed over those years were beyond description. Even though he never again had to face a church set on fire, where women and children had sought shelter in vain. No, the attack on Skalitz and Rowna was unmatched in that respect.  

- I have seen enough of that. -

She sounded more relieved than disappointed as she continued. “Anyway…I am glad no one got hurt. Shame about the prize money, though.“ 

His thoughts immediately turned to his swollen knee. But then he dismissed the idea of telling her. At least he had no intention of withdrawing from the tournament because of it. “Sure… but we are doing good, better than ever.” He shrugged. “We don’t need it.” 

Rosa nodded. “Who was the boy, anyway?” she asked. 

He wolfed another piece of meat down and ignored her horrified expression at his table manners. But all he cared about was pleasing his hunger. Now that he had started eating, the emptiness of his stomach weighed even heavier. It was no surprise, considering all the energy and effort he had put into the mass battle. 

He grabbed a cup of watered wine and washed it down. “That's a story you wouldn't believe me.” 

She raised an eyebrow and her voice likewise. “Oh?”

He let his gaze wander around the tent, recognising some other couple of noble lords and ladies from the royal court while he considered telling her.  But…

… he couldn't even bring himself to speak his name aloud. As if his tongue had unlearned how to form it or rather had been trained to avoid it altogether.

Suddenly, he noticed a guard in a grain-yellow waffenrock sitting down in a seating area at the other end of the tent, on the lower part of which, the coat of arms of Leipa was prominently displayed. 

He could only see it for a short time, before another noble blocked his sight, but Hans was sitting down in the same corner with another guard of his. His son's straw-blond hair bounced as he ran towards his father.    

“Sakra.”  he sighed. - Of course they would have lunch here. - 

Rosa turned slightly, following his eyes this time. “Isn’t that…?” She audibly drew in her breath.

“Yes. It is.” He turned away, pulling his hunter's cap down lower in his face. “I said, you wouldn’t believe me.” 

“Sir Hans Capon’s son? Of all people you rescued his boy?” He could feel her gaze resting on him. He couldn't risk looking her in the eyes. She was clever. Sometimes too clever for his liking. And over the years, she had become proficient at reading him, too. 

“You didn't give me any details back then.” She looked at him questioningly, almost curious.  “I know you two have… fallen out.” 

He huffed with the same anger as before.

“Alright, he did you wrong.” She sighed and continued  “But when was that, five years ago?” 

“Almost Six and a half.” he growled.  

Rosa's look told him that she was rather baffled by his strong reaction. She nodded slightly and ignored the correction.  “Why don't you go over there, Henry? Talk, settle things. Catch up maybe.”

His heart stumbled at her words, then he swallowed down the roll he had dipped into the gravy and stuffed in his mouth. “No.” He couldn't help but cast another cold glance into the far corner of the space once more before looking back at her.  “I am better off without him in my life.” 

A feeling from the past seized him again... tugged at his mind and gnawed at his heart.

For a moment he saw a spark of a decision in her eyes. She was about to get up, then he held her wrist gently. He stared at her meaningfully.  - And I wish you to respect that. -  

“Fine.” She looked puzzled in return for a moment.  Her gaze on the other hand was loaded with implication as a warm almost compassionate smile curled on her lips and her eyes filled with just enough empathy. 

He rolled his eyes. “Please, Rosa, don't read me like one of your books.”

“Oh, really?” She giggled. “But you behave so beautifully, like a knight in a tragic tale…” once again she lifted her eyebrows.  “...or like a defiant boy…, if you so prefer.” Her voice revealed her opinion on both options. 

It had been obvious that she would tease him. A grumble escaped his throat once again, however he came up with a counterattack and smirked.  “I thought you liked knights in tragic tales.”

She nodded and finally rested her chin on her hand, fixating him with her ivory green eyes. “I do let you believe that.”   

A bright laughter escaped his lips. He had understood the hint. -It wasn't to my disadvantage at the time.- 

The heavy, aching feeling that had overcome him, faded into a veil of sentimentality. The bite of his anger, which he had been carrying around with him since meeting Hans, had also disappeared.
He looked at her gratefully. 

She was good for him. That was what he liked most about her. 

Once again, he dared to glance over at the distant group at the table. 

He watched as Hans scanned the dining tent and surveyed the other guests. He exchanged glances with a young lady. 

- did he just wink at her?-  He couldn't help but raise his upper lip in annoyance. -He hasn't changed a bit. -

He heard him laugh and saw his son engage him in conversation. He smiled warmly as he spoke. Afterwards his son jumped up and ran towards the other two boys. 

The dog barked excitedly. 

- I wonder if Mutt is still alive…-  

A few seconds later, the kids were playing together. The beautiful sound of children's laughter erupted. 

He swallowed hard at the sight. But a stupid feeling of sorrow and regret came over him, regardless. 

Hans' expression had changed, too. He bit his lower lip. Out of the blue there was a certain sadness in his features.  He couldn't tear his eyes away as the dim feeling also catched up on him. 

-Why does this sight hurt? -

All of a sudden his former partner blinked once and turned in his direction. He must have noticed something.

He quickly drew away. 

“... you later, Henry.” Rosa’s voice broke him out of his fixation. He heard the rustling of robes. She pulled her cloak more tightly around her shoulders. 

“Pardon?” 

Instead of repeating herself, she got up from the table and squeezed his shoulder as she walked past him. “Take care.” 

He turned to face her once more. “Will you watch the honoring?” 

“I can hardly prevent it.” She smiled. “Will you also fight today in the combat à l’épée?” 

He shook his head slightly. Latin was all well and good. After three years at court and just as many years of marriage to Rosa, he had learned enough of it that he could almost hold his own with the likes of Godwin.  But French? He had tried. For her sake, but every time he did, his tongue felt as if it were made of steel, too hard to take on the momentum of that language without breaking apart.  But he understood what she meant anyway. 

“According to the notice, I am part of the first draw today.” He nodded. “So I’ll probably be home late.” 

She waved him off. “Thats hardly news.” But then a smile tugged on her lips.  Once more, she squeezed his shoulder, gave him a peck on the cheek. “Enjoy your fight.” she whispered. 

 

~+* -----*+~

The ceremony had just ended, the spectators were applauding and shouting, the fanfare resounded, and music was being played. The air was filled with noise, and the scene was rich with stimuli.  

He glanced up at the royal pavilion once more. The King had appeared for the ceremony. He had been unsure until the last minute, but King Wenceslas also enjoyed good entertainment. The King was dressed appropriately pompously, just as everyone expected him to be. 

He looked through his visor at his flanks. The same was true for him and his fellow competitors. Every knight had appeared in full plate armour to live up to the honour. Quite a few wore elaborately decorated belts, cloaks and jewellery. If the weather had been better, every spectator would undoubtedly have been dazzled by the sight. 

The King had received the golden sword from the winner of the tournament, had given a short speech and then left it to a herald to hand over the prize money to the winner. Now he sat down again in the shade of the red-speckled tent cover and looked impassively at the square. 

40 marks of silver. 

His lips twisted. Nearly 3,000 groschen. He could have done a lot with that. His thoughts raced for a moment to the smithy, then to his town house, and finally to the more modern equipment his squire would soon need.  

Finally, he nodded contentedly to himself . With the ransom money alone, he had earned 20 marks of silver.  Either way, the tournament had already been worth it.

More speeches and introductions followed, then each tournament participant bowed and left the arena in an orderly fashion. 

As he set off, his gaze fell on the spectator stands. He recognised the spot where Hans’ son had fallen over the railing. His gaze wandered and, one row above, he noticed Leipa's banner without a doubt. The grain-yellow fabric fluttered with the other banners in the fierce wind. 

He tore his gaze away. 

When the arena gate disappeared behind him, he breathed a sigh of relief. 

In the shadow of it, right next to the side gate, lay the small forecourt he now stood on. The few knights who were still fighting today retired to their tents. The others quickly left the grounds with their squires. He could guess why. He cracked his neck. A hot bath or a jug of beer would have suited him now, too. 

He wasn't due to fight until the next round. Until then, he had to find somewhere to keep warm. The tournament sword at his side felt oddly weighted. He stretched his legs and arms. Fortunately, the painkiller potion was still working well. The dull stabbing pain had faded to a small throbbing ache. 

He was about to get back to a training pen to meet with George when another knight approached him, flanked by his entourage. 

The knight was slightly shorter than him, but his imposing armor was painted white. His surcoat bore a coat of arms with a black swan holding a snake in its beak. The checkered pattern of the garment was otherwise green, white, and red.   

He frowned. Wasn't that the knight who had almost run over Hans’ son in the arena? 

“It seems that neither of us got the grand prize today.” The Hungarian laughed mockingly. 

He stopped, still looking over his shoulder. “Excuse me, Sir?”

The Hungarian paused. “Anthony of Somkerék,” he snorted. “But I don't see why I should introduce myself to someone who prefers to remain incognito.” 

-He wants to provoke me. -

They stood a couple of steps away, so he closed the distance with well-measured strides.  His body language changed. He suddenly felt cold as his muscles stiffened up. “I would do you the honour, if you hadn’t given me a reason to doubt your’s.” He tried to sound indifferent, but he didn't succeed.

The knight laughed nastily. “Oh, dear. My Bohemian neighbors always tend to dramatise.” He had obviously understood what he had been hinting at.     

He knew that the Hungarian was just looking for a fight, hoping he would make a mistake. And, for heaven's sake, he had better things to do than bother with him. 

But the man had unnecessarily endangered a child in the arena. And that scratched his ego. Of course, it had nothing to do with whose child it was. He swallowed hard. - No, but that makes it just more annoying. -

A growl escaped him. Then he lifted his chin and looked down at the Hungarian through the slit in his visor.  “I would certainly describe my disgust at endangering a child's life in order to get closer to prize money, as dramatic. I agree.” He flipped his head to the side as he spoke.

The squelching sound of footsteps on the rough pavement rang out, someone else was approaching. For a brief moment, he glanced to the side without turning away from his opponent.

He was astonished when he saw Hans Capon standing just a few steps away. 

-What is he doing here? -

In the next moment he flinched. Then he remembered. Hans wouldn't be able to recognise him. He was already dressed for the upcoming fight, wearing his full plate armour, neutral waffenrock and the close combat bascinet. He just had to be careful with his voice.

But his former partner hardly seemed to pay him attention; instead, he was staring at the Hungarian. Hans was clenching his teeth. His light blue eyes had turned ice-cold. He could see the muscles in his jaw working. From the looks of it, he had overheard everything.

The Hungarian cleared his throat. He clearly did not want to be disturbed by the new observer. “Do you play chess, my honourable knight? I merely threw a child like a pawn into the balance to test my theory.” An arrogant, disgusting expression appeared on the nobleman's face. “I figured you wouldn’t be capable of doing the same. And I was right!”  Sir Anthony finally laughed.  “And if your comrade hadn’t beaten me to it, my gamble would have paid off nicely.”

Hans could no longer stand still and listen; instead, he closed the remaining distance between them. “Do not make the same mistake as your most honorable King Sigismund and confuse honour and kindness with weakness, Sir Anthony.” His words may have been courteously correct, but his tone was razor sharp and stern. 

His head darted around with a clatter of his bascinet. - Is he defending me? He doesn't know anything about me… I yelled at him and offended him… he- 

But the Hungarian knight waved him off. “Don’t waste your efforts, Sirs but King Sigismund is above such assessments.”

He couldn't let that stand.

The next second he discarded part of court etiquette and confronted him with brutal honesty. “Twice he sent his dogs through our country, killing, raping and pillaging. Yet twice he found himself driven back across his own borders, with his tail between his legs. One wonders why?”  Then he laughed. It was a short, cold sound that escaped his throat. “I took care of it personally, together with my countrymen…” He paused.  

He could sense Hans' gaze wandering over him for a mere second. There it was. A sense of respect and gratitude lay in his eyes. But also something else. 

- He must feel indebted to me because I rescued Heinz. - A certain shiver accompanied the feeling of his lingering gaze on him, as he continued. “..I am capable of dealing with him or any of his henchmen at any time again.” 

“My honourable Sir Knight, that has the distinct flavour of a threat. Let me remind you of your other qualities. Such as restraint and mercy.” Anthony tilted his head back in amusement. 

“Mercy should come before justice. Yes. But I won’t waste it on men who are undeserving of it.” He stepped even closer, his voice was low and more of a whisper “Noble blood spills no slower than that of lesser men, I assure you.”

“Huh.” Sir Anthony  gave a most contented smile. “Indeed.” he stepped to the side, “I bid you farewell.” he nodded to his entourage, took another glance at Capon and left.

Hans looked after the group, but he couldn’t help himself but study his former friend. They both exhaled their tension in unison. 

“It seems I arrived at just the right moment to overhear this.” Hans’ blue eyes darted around, without warning. “Sir Knight. I wanted to seek you out, to show my gratitude properly this time…” Capon  paused. -Does Hans want to offer me a reward or compensation?-  

It took him a while to find his voice again. Why was he so overrun, so startled by the fact to run into him a second time.  “That won't be necessary.” he managed.

“I must say…someone” he saw that twitch in his eyebrows “ may not have been in the best of spirits this morning. But with those opponents in the tournament, I'm not surprised.” Once more his former partner looked after the Hungarian knight. “Further I feel more indebted to you than before.” Capon looked over at him again, seemed to find his eyes without difficulty. 

His breathing hitched. 

“I am glad that there are still decent and loyal nobles among us.” A polite smile flitted across Hans’ face but his posture had become sort of relaxed. He clearly considered the ‘exchange’ with the Hungarian a success and him an ally.

-Why does he always act as if the world is at his feet? And why is he so talkative with me? He doesn't know who I am. Who he's dealing with. -  He swallowed as he became aware. - Neither do I anymore. - the bitter thought nagged at his calmness. What else did he know about him that could have proven different or wrong by now?

He stared at him. “Sir Capon of Pirkstein, if I remember correctly?” This time, he gratefully accepted the act. 

Hans nodded contentedly at the greeting. A smile grew on his face. - Just like his son -  He shook his head slightly in disbelief.

The smile faded as he took two large steps to him. “You don't know me.” They weren't rushed but he must have sensed his anger and the tension that bolted through his body.  Hans stiffened up. The Energy around them changed. “Nor should you trust me.” 

His former partner's behaviour changed. His features lost their relaxed composure the moment he intimidated him. He took a step back. Behind him was only the cladding of the back of the grandstand. Although he was uncomfortable with the cornered situation, he recovered surprisingly quickly.  

But now his gaze darkened. Hans stared into the blackness of his eye slit, his eyes searching within it. His grin returned.  

He could have rammed a dagger between the ribs of his former partner without hesitation. He gritted his teeth as he became angry. Hans should exercise caution instead of allowing himself to be tempted. 

But then he looked at him closely for the first time in years. 

His features had matured over time. The slightly shorter hair that wasn't shaved at his sides and his short full beard flattered him in a different matter. He didn't look like a freshly knighted lording any longer. His physique, as far as he could assess it, was not as slim as before, but straight and tall. He no longer seemed lively and restless. Instead, he made a firm and steadfast impression. Whereas he might once have been unsure how to prove his sharp mind and skill, Capon now knew that he no longer needed to.  He had a feeling that he would be able to silence someone with his smile as much as putting a foot down. And something told him that his subordinates felt the same.  

His sky blue eyes however hadn't changed much. There was still that wit, that haughtiness in the spark. But they had lost their ease. 

The distance was only an arm's length between them. His voice was stern and crisp, yet quieter than before.  “You do irritate me, Sir knight” Hans however didn't back away further. “True, your words and manners don't quite correspond with your actions. I didn't fail to notice.” he smirked, “but I trust my guts, that an honourable man stands before me. Further you make no secret of your opinion on Sigismund and I find that open resentment…“ His smile broadened, the sparkle infected his eyes.  “...very refreshing.”

He could hardly bear to look at him. His manner drove him almost mad. The shallow humour in his remarks, then this strange way he had of paying him compliments which sounded like insults and flirtations at the same time. 

The anger that had been brewing in his stomach until just a moment ago settled deeper, in a messy part of his body. Heat erupted there.

He closed the distance with another small step. He didn’t intend to play that game of court any longer. He needed to know. “And where do you stand in this, Sir Capon? As far as I heard Hanush of Leipa had once been a turncoat in the past and is now reaching out to Sigismund’s allies again.” 

He studied him carefully. The broad smile that he wore like an armour, lost its shine temporarily. 

- I hit a nerve -    

Gratefully Hans couldn’t see his nasty lopsided grin as he continued. “Kunstadt however is still loyal to our King and the margrave. But since the Margrave wars, Moravia has been a mere shadow of its former self.” He stood so close to him now, that he could almost smell him. “Where do you stand?” 

But for some reason, Hans' expression became more intense. His eyes darkened. His smile grew warmer. “I have never stood on Sigismund's side. And you have my word, I never will if I can prevent it.” 

An old bitter pain shot through him. -Oh, I had your word before. -  

~

A sharp memory flickered before his eyes. 

He saw the letter in his hands again, the one in which Hans had agreed to the king's request, to release him from his service so he could serve the crown instead. The one letter with Hans’ signature on it. 

There would have been nothing wrong with it, if he had asked for the release and transfer himself. Instead, this correspondence had taken place behind his back while he had recovered from injury.
Only afterwards did the royal scribe show him the documents.  Only because he had refused to believe the Royal Chamberlain, when he told him about his new position.

The parchment shook in his hands. His eyes fixated on the words “…Generous support, reassurance of loyalty to the crown, strong alliance, compensation … “ the words stung in his eyes.

Hans had not fought for him nor neglected the request. It has been his first and final answer so he had not even tried to refuse. No. Instead he had shoved him aside, had handed his knight, his friend, his partner over like a horse he no longer had use for.

Hans had overrun him, and he had been presented with a completed fact, without being considered, without receiving a letter beforehand. Without a word of explanation or excuse from him in six and a half years...

~

He swallowed, his voice dropped as he almost whispered. “One doesn't need much to turn a man around.”  

Hans' cheeks flushed. He felt offended. That much was clear but to his surprise he kept listening. 

"In fact, for some, a few years are sufficient to completely forget the horrors of Sigismund's invasion…” He punched the wall next to him with his fist. Hans flinched but didn’t break eye contact. ”...For others the prospect of coin and influence is reason enough.." his fists trembled, as the old rage overcame him again. 

“As I thought you misjudged me, but you don't know me well.” His voice didn’t sound angry but rather agitated. “How could I side with Sigismund or his allies if my neighbourhood, such as Silver Skalitz, still lies in ruins?” 

His heart missed a beat. 

His breathing stopped. 

“...Not only would I betray myself, but also those who were murdered and buried under the rubble and the survivors who live now under my protection."  

Hans swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbed as he stared at him. For the first time, his speech had lost most of its superficiality.  He was sincere. He could see it in his eyes. The mischief and humour had completely disappeared. Instead, it involved responsibility and compassion. 

It had caught him off guard completely. “Maybe I did.” he whispered unemotionally, then he took a step away. “Maybe I didn't." 

His mind was running wild, just like his heartbeat. 

 

~+* -----*+~

 

Now the pale morning sings of forgotten things
She plays a tune for those who wish to overlook
The fact that they've been blindly deceived
By those who preach and pray and teach
But she falls short and the night explodes in laughter

 

But don't you come here and say I didn't warn you
About the way your world can alter
And oh how you try to command it all still
Every single time it all shifts one way or the other

 

And I'm a goddamn coward, but then again so are you
And the lion's roar, the lion's roar
Has me evading and hollering for you
And I never really knew what to do

 

Now I guess sometimes I wish you were a little more predictable
That I could read you just like a book
For now I can only guess what's coming next
By examining your timid smile
And the ways of the old, old winds blowing you back 'round

 

And I'm a goddamn fool, but then again so are you
And the lion's roar, the lion's roar
Has me seeking out and searching for you
And I never really knew what to do

 

Sometimes I wish I could find my Rosemary Hill
I'd sit there and look at the deserted lakes and I'd sing
And every once in a while I'd sing a song for you
That would rise above the mountains and the stars and the sea
And if I wanted it to it would lead you back to me

 

And the lion's roar, the lion's roar
Is something that I have heard before
A children's tale, the lonesome wail of a lion's roar

 

~+* -----*+~

Notes:

Sooo...
I know I promised that the next chapter would be different... at least it didn't end so sadly, right? *clears throat* This was probably the one with the most brooding in it.
The mood is definitly changing in the next one, I promise!

But oh my God... I know I've dropped a few hard nuts here. Some hints about the past, some about Henrys wife or his present life...

Please don't hate me for making a Post Canon decision for Henry that I haven't read anywhere else. Yes, he's married. I'm sorry, but I couldn't imagine that this warm, sociable guy, who grew up so sheltered, would remain alone forever. I think loneliness is his greatest enemy. And he well knows about it.

 
What is your opinion on it?
Write your thoughts in the comments XD:

Important Notice: The next chapter is expected to be published in more than two weeks. I haven't written anything about it yet. But I'm on holiday with my family.

Notes:
5.: In short what I know about the Magrave wars:
After his release, King Wenceslas supported his cousin Jobst as the rightful Margrave against his brother Prokop. Prokop was captured and weakened by Jobst, but the conflicts continued. Sigismund also did not cease to lay claim to the region. This was perhaps because Sigismund's allies, such as the Rosenberg family, were also attacked by Prokop's mercenaries, and he hoped to occupy Moravia himself.
King Wenceslas supported Jobst in the final years of the war, particularly by securing important infrastructure and border regions and providing coin and military supplies. Although he was unable to gaffer and send his own armies, it is known that he sent Bohemian and Moravian officers to serve under Jobst. In my story, Henry was part of all that.
The Margrave wars had more or less reduced half of Moravia (the southwestern part) to rubble and ashes. The only thing I know (from information available online) about the military conflicts is mainly how this war ended. Sigismund had (once again XD) besieged a castle (Znojmo (summer 1404)) for over two months. (wich was held by Prokops allies such as John Sokol of Lamberg (A friend of Radzig and Žižka) and the Dry Devil (once again) https://pictura-prints.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/04/pco-21739.jpg
Ultimately, the siege was abandoned when both he and his ally, Austrian Duke Albrecht IV, fell ill. The latter died.
Afterwards, large parts of the region were unstable, robber barons ran rampant, infrastructure had been destroyed, and the rural population had suffered greatly.

Chapter 5: You see that stranger

Notes:

My dear readers,
did I say two weeks? *cough* well...
let's make it one.
Instead, I've split the planned chapter. I hope you're not angry with me. But after thinking about it for a moment, I thought... well... read for yourselves.
I had to update the tags. There should be a Shondaland-style warning, right?

 

Chapter 5 - You see that stranger

 

“That won't be necessary.”  The dark and muffled voice of the black knight rang out after a brief hesitation.  

He studied the unknown knight closely for a second. He was dressed in a dark polished full plate armour, which was different from the riding armour he had worn before. Instead of the great helmet with its towering decoration, he now wore a bascinet with the visor down. 

The waffenrock had also changed, he had swapped it to a longer and more suitable for close combat. The design was almost the same. The midnight blue color contrasted beautifully with the broad dark-red decorated weapon belt. The cloak that fell over his shoulder was lined with a dark red patterned fabric on the inside. The outer layer was a dense and tightly woven cross pattern made of wool in the same dark blue. 

The garments did indeed appear restrained, even though the armor and weapons were clearly state-of-the-art and of high quality. There were just enough details and tasteful decorations along the edges that it would be considered befitting for a knight. But there was hardly any needless pomp and circumstance in the rest of his attire. 

He had certainly cut a rare but undoubtedly fine figure at the ceremony from afar, but up close, he couldn’t deny that the man looked impressively steadfast and chivalrous. A smile tugged on his lips. 

-I can see why Heinz looks up to him. - 

So he pulled himself together, suppressed his indignation at the other man's rudeness, but not without letting slip one more pointed remark.  “I must say…someone” - obviously you - He tried to hide a cheeky grin.“ may not have been in the best of spirits this morning. But with those opponents in the tournament, I'm not surprised.” He looked after the Hungarian once more. Not because he still cared much about that scoundrel. No, instead, he found it difficult to organise his thoughts. 

The moment he had learned during the honouring what reward the knight had missed out on to save Heinz, he felt somewhat ashamed. He had come here to offer the man compensation because his honour was demanding it. Even though this brute had hurt his pride, he hadn't wanted to owe him out of spite as well. But now…

After what he had heard, his opinion of the man had once again been shaken. He felt once again truly grateful to him and desired sincerely to repay him.  

 “...Further I feel more indebted to you than before.” He looked up, gazing unhindered into the slit of the visor. He wanted to finally see and get to know the person behind it.  

But the man hardly moved. - Why isn't he saying anything? -

He slumped his shoulders. Perhaps his son was right and the man really was a humble person? Did his praise simply annoyed him before? He smiled and settled on something more vague. “I am glad that there are still decent and loyal nobles among us.” 

Finally, there was a response. The stranger bowed his head slightly. His voice sounded deep and measured. “Sir Capon of Pirkstein, if I remember correctly?” 

He was pleasantly surprised and nodded.  A smile grew on his face. - Well, who would have thought? Heinz properly introduced himself and he remembers? - 

Suddenly something changed about the stranger. “You don't know me.” His body language was reduced, tense. He barely noticed how the knight took two steps towards him like a predator without revealing much movement. But then he was already standing right in front of him.  The hairs on his nape stood on end. He instinctively stepped back. The unrecognisable voice revealed little more.  “Nor should you trust me.” 

He swallowed slightly. The man was not wrong. 

He resisted the urge to glance to the side, well aware that there was hardly any space left between him and the back wall of the grandstand behind him.  As his fingers reached for the hilt of his sword, he hesitated.

The knight was without a doubt intimidating and seemed cold at first, but his instincts did not alarm him. He narrowed his eyes, trying to make out a pair of eyes in the vision cutout.

- Who is he? - 

Judging by everything he had said to the Hungarians, it did not sound as if he had only pursued the Margrave War from his writing desk. He had certainly fought in it for a long time. 

-unlike me...-  

No. This man was used to fighting on the front line. He had probably served in Jobst's army. And if he understood correctly, he did not fear nobles who had usurped the law and bent it to their advantage. On the contrary. Upholding honour and the law was so important to him that he would shed noble blood just as readily as that of any other criminal to seek justice.

-He is certainly dangerous, but he acts sincere and righteous as well. -

Then there was something else that drew him in. 

Something he hardly dared admit to himself. As intimidating and unapproachable as he was, he was also mysterious. Although he would have normally grown tired of the person, the more he came to know about him, the opposite was the case with him. 

The sight for once captivated him: The man was tall, possibly just as tall as him, but he had an immense presence. Just like a knight who had seen many battles. The dark tunic fell long over his slim waist, his broad shoulders stood in beautiful contrast to it, his arms and legs were powerfully defined measured by the size of the plates that covered him, but he was not overly bulky. Instead, this robust figure stood before him. Something told him that it was not only his sword arm that was mighty. No, he would also possess enormous skill and technique.  And from what he had seen on the tournament grounds, he was agile and quick as lightning in his reactions. The man must still be young. Perhaps even under 30 or similar to his age. 

-He is a bulwark.-

And there was more. The way he had responded to the Hungarian, told him that he was sharp-witted as well. 

But the stranger had also paused, scrutinising him. Nothing seemed to escape his piercing gaze. 

A shiver ran down his spine, when he realised that he was now very much being noticed by him, compared to the morning.  Perhaps his charms had not been lost on him after all? 

 “You do irritate me, Sir knight” The feeling of intimidation altered in him. Instead, something darker stirred within, along with a naughty grin on his face. Heat gathered in his body, dropping down to his loins.

-If only I could see behind that visor.-  

He continued “True, your words and manners don't quite correspond with your actions. I didn't fail to notice.” he smirked, “but I trust my guts, that an honourable man stands before me. Further you make no secret of your opinion on Sigismund and I find that open resentment…“ - Hmm, maybe I can coax him out of his shell again? Maybe he will reveal something more?-    “...very refreshing.”

The black knight closed the last distance between them, stepped into his personal space. But the dangerous closeness that unsettled him also fuelled the thrill in his body.. -He took the bait. -  His cheeks tensed as the grin spread across his face.  

There was little emotion in the voice broken by the helmet, but the direct address made it clear to him that the man was tired of beating around the bush.  “And where do you stand in this, Sir Capon? As far as I heard Hanush of Leipa had once been a turncoat in the past and is now reaching out to Sigismund’s allies again.” 

His breath caught in his throat. -How does he know about that? Has this already made news to court?- But his smile had not faded, even though the man had landed a blow on him.   - touché - 

The black knight must have guessed that he had rattled him, though. “Kunstadt however is still loyal to our King and the margrave. But since the margrave wars, Moravia has been a mere shadow of its former self.” 

The man was not only clever but also well informed about the political situation.  So he also knew that his allies currently had little leverage.  

“...Where do you stand?” Suddenly, however, the stranger's tone had changed. And then it dawned on him. He wasn't asking out of political interest, but out of personal conviction. Perhaps, like him, he had seen too much of Sigismund's raids, perhaps he had suffered personal losses.  And now he wanted to know if he was trustworthy. 

- A man with red lines and principles -  He bit his bottom lip. The stranger fascinated him even more.  “I have never stood on Sigismund's side. And you have my word, I never will if I can prevent it.” 

The black knight huffed resentfully and tilted his head to him. The energy between them changed again. The tension returned as the knight stiffened.  Then he almost whispered. “One doesn't need much to turn a man around.”  

The speech resembled almost a threat, or a mockery.. -He doesn't believe my words.- 

"In fact, for some, a few years are sufficient to completely forget the horrors of Sigismund's invasion…” The knight smacked his fist next to him against the wall. He flinched out of instinct and hated himself for it. His eyes however remained fixed on the other man’s, hidden in the shadow of the visor. ”...For others the prospect of coin and influence is reason enough.." He noticed how angry the man in front of him had become and finally he got an insight into why this man behaved around him this way. 

- He thinks I consider switching sides, just like so many others did… just as my uncle did. Perhaps he had heard false rumours. And since he himself fought in the war, he must despise turncoats as traitors.   - “As I thought you misjudged me, but you don't know me well.”

-But how can I convince him?-

~

A memory flashed before his inner eye.

He had been there just last autumn. On the day before his wedding anniversary, to be precise. For a long time, he hadn't found the strength to do it, but finally he had ridden there. 

To Skalitz. 

Perhaps it was the loneliness he always felt particularly strongly on that day of the year, perhaps it was the defiance within him, or his bitterness. 

If he was going to think about him all day anyway, he might as well visit his old home, right?  In the best case, he would find comfort there; in the worst case, no one would see him shed tears over longing for his best friend, partner and love of his life. 

At least, that's what he had convinced himself of.  

Ultimately, however, even after six years, the sight was just as bleak as before. 

After the war, the king had transferred the Skalitz lands to another lower nobleman, who was oddly enough a friend to Sir Radzig, but little had been done since then. The castle still lay in ruins, as did the village and what remained of the enclosure. 

Only a few farmsteads and the settlement around the old church in Rovna were sparsely populated again. 

He had ridden by many times over the years but never been there with him. But Henry had told him about his home, in the golden days of summer, after the siege. 

The old, broken-down smithy where Henry had grown up, was barely recognisable. 

Some things had been salvaged from there over the years. Reusable building materials had been removed. And so the little that remained of the houses had now been overgrown by nature. Perhaps he would have walked past them, if it hadn’t been for the tree. 

The strikingly yellow leaves stood out against the pale autumn sky. The westerly wind rustled through them, knocking some to the ground sending them to a last peaceful dance. 

-The same yellow as in my coat of arms.- 

He smiled. A certain warmth nested in him. It was good that he had come here. 

Only the linden tree towered above the devastating scene, providing the only remaining roof and shelter from the weather within a mile.  

The grave of Henry's parents was still there. The wooden cross in the shade of the tree was intact. Beneath it, he found something he hadn't expected. A former bouquet of flowers, now wilted and dried up, next to a small wrought-iron cross on the overgrown patch of earth. 

-He or Radzig must have been here in the summer. -

He read the inscription:  

John 10:28. 

‘I give them eternal life, 

they will never be lost, 

and no one will tear them away from me.’

 

A sad smile crossed his face. Henry had definitely been here.

~

 

His voice didn’t sound angry but rather agitated. “How could I side with Sigismund or his allies if my neighbourhood, such as Silver Skalitz, still lies in ruins?” 

The black knight froze.

“...Not only would I betray myself, but also those who were murdered and buried under the rubble, and the survivors who live now under my protection."  - and I would betray Henry too.-

He swallowed and stared at him expectantly. Had he finally convinced him?

Silence stretched once more.

The black knight breathed audibly and had his temper under control again.  “Maybe I did.” he whispered deadpan as he took a step away respectfully. 

He wondered if his words must've won his trust.

“Maybe I didn't."  The man added either to save face or to appease himself.

The strange tension between them vanished as quickly as it had come. 

He cracked a timid smile again. Of course, the knight would not expose himself further.  Whatever had seized him, whatever had caused him to reveal his personality just a moment ago, had now disappeared behind his iron mask once more. 

Something had changed, though. 

Now he didn’t want him to withdraw from him. The distance seemed almost more unpleasant than the forced closeness before. He wanted to know his name, see his face and learn more about his past. This new curiosity almost took him by surprise.

But a relief came over him regardless.  That ugly misunderstanding was now cleaned up. “Then that's settled!” He straightened his posture, wore his best smile as easily as his favourite coat. “As for that other topic: To whom should I address that reward of yours to ease my conscience?” He spoke of it as if it were the smallest of trivialities.
Had he set a trap to find out his name? Certainly. 

There was a brief moment of silence.

Out of the blue something happened that he hadn't expected. The knight broke up in a small laugh while shaking his head slightly.

The laugh was surprisingly catchy, he felt a small chuckle roll over himself and a blush returning to his face. -It was worth a try- 

The unknown knight found his voice again quickly. “In the collection box of the nearest church or, for all I care, to the charity convent for war invalids.” Even though his voice still sounded irritated, it had lost its bite. 

“Well I am afraid I don't have that amount of coin on me, now.” he tried to explain his intention to save face. However, his smile had given him away. 

He searched for his eyes in the visor slit, and for a moment there was a connection. Then the man turned away again, fighting back a laugh of speechlessness once more.  

“Allow me to repeat myself more clearly…” The knight took a glance to the side and found him again. “I don't want your coin, …Sir.”

Why was his heart beating so wildly the moment his gaze locked onto him again? Why did his words feel so important?

A timid thought gave him an answer right away. 

-Oh, I am attracted to him.-  

The realisation should have shaken him, but actually it didn't bother him much. Perhaps it was his age that meant he no longer questioned it, even though it was forbidden. He stood by his feelings since... 

Over six years had passed since …  

He didn't even want to think about it, but he had never stopped fantasising about the same sex in this particular manner. …Although he had never felt that attraction, this racing heartbeat since… Henry.  

But after all those years, his heart deserved a little crush, right? And maybe, it was good this way.

“But how can I repay your noble act? What is it you want?” He knew he had crossed a line, with that impertinent question. “If you don't mind me asking, Sir?” A sly expression swept over his face hinting the flirt his body demanded of him.

“I don't, as long as you don't mind me not answering.” Somehow he knew that the man was fighting down a smirk behind that helmet. 

- Wait, had he simply accepted his allusion and had he just rejected him in the cheekiest way possible? Or did he miss it altogether?-  The man was terribly irritating.

A fanfare could be heard. 

Apparently, the previous round in the tourney had come to an end.  The spectators accompanied the signal with enthusiastic clapping and cheering. The next bracket of fighters would now compete against each other in a duel. 

“I wonder…” His crooked smile widened. “Do you riposte in fencing as cunningly as you respond in conversation, Sir Knight?”

“I guess, you will soon be able to ease your tremendous curiosity, regarding at least that.” The knight nodded to him. “You will need to excuse me, Sir Capon.”

He hesitated then responded likewise. “If I must, Sir.”  Then he couldn't help but test his son's theory once again. “But who am I to deprive you from victory?”  

There was a grumble of annoyance that ended in a huff, then the knight turned on his heel. 

-Heinz was partly right. At the very least, he has an aversion to sycophancy.

He watched him leave, looked after him as he entered the arena. He didn't look back. 

- ‘till I meet you again… mysterious black knight.- 

 

~+* -----*+~

A little later, he had made his way back to his lodge on the grandstand. He was pleased to see Heinz sitting next to his two guards, unharmed and being closely watched. 

He greeted Sir Hofer briefly as he passed him and then settled into his seat. His banner flattered in the icy wind which blew unpredictably through their rows. 

Heinz looked at him over his reddened cheeks, his ears glowing, but the young lad didn't seem to notice the cold. “Father, you missed a lot! I didn't know where to look first!”

A smile tugged at his lips. It had been wise not to tell him what he had been up to. Otherwise, the boy would have wanted to come along, or would now be pestering him with tiresome questions. He simply nodded. Then he wrapped part of his cloak around the boy and pulled him closer.  

His gaze swept over the rows in front of them, over the barrier and down to the tournament field. Four separate combat zones had been set up. So eight noblemen could compete against each other at the same time. That must have been what his son was talking about. 

Some may be surprised that not every duel was guaranteed the audience's full attention. But it was only too understandable. The arena was large and designed for mounted combat. To ensure that every spectator could see at least one duel clearly, several had to take place at the same time. On the other hand, over 40 knights had taken part in the mass battle alone. The combat à l’épée would have just as many participants, maybe even more. 

As far as he remembered, this form of duelling would continue for the next two days. He was glad that it would involve fighting with a long sword. The supreme discipline, at least in his opinion.  Duels with axes however, became more common in tournaments these days. 

He narrowed his eyes as those naturally recognised the midnight blue waffenrock with the Bohemian caro pattern upon the knights. 

The unknown knight had taken his place in front of one of the four combat fences.  It wasn't the furthest one from them, but he wouldn't be able to see him fight properly. 

A sigh escaped him.    

Nevertheless, he glanced over and watched him. The knight was accompanied by a squire, but, as expected, the lad also bore no indication of his master's identity. The sign that had been hung up for each fighter by the fence was also a simple Bohemian coat of arms that represented him.  The man loosened up briefly, doing a few deep squats. He must have cooled down during their conversation.  

“Father, you haven't been listening to me at all.”

He threw his head back towards Heinz and squinted downwards. His son wrinkled his nose. 

“I'm glad you had fun.” he said curtly.

But Heinz whispered disappointedly, “I asked what you were doing…”

- Oh - He twisted his mouth. But then he brought himself to tell the truth. “I went to speak to the black knight.”  

His son cracked a smile that reminded him of himself. 

He knew what questions must have been running through the boy’s mind at that moment.  Probably so many that he was hardly able to formulate one of them. 

He explained. "Very briefly. You weren't wrong. He really does seem to be modest in his own cheerful way.” He rolled his eyes as the word cheerful passed his lips.  “Even though our first encounter was a bit difficult, I must admit that he is a righteous noble.” 

Heinz opted for a question he hadn't expected. “Has he told you his name, too?”

 

- What…? 

too? - 

He needed a moment to collect himself.  His features must have spoken volumes. 

His son suddenly stared at him with equal shock. 

The murmuring of the square was interrupted by a fanfare. Suddenly, the musical instruments of the bard group sounded. Bagpipes, lutes, drums and shawms filled the square with a rousing atmosphere. 

Only when a herald took the podium again, introducing the eight fighters one by one. He could speak just loud enough to hear himself without shouting. “Heinz, what did you mean, with ‘too’?”

His son avoided his gaze. 

There was something he was keeping from him. That much was clear.  But then his son was visibly frustrated. “I mean, he didn't tell you too, did he?” 

He narrowed his eyes again. But his son didn't bat an eyelid.  “No, he laughed, he….”  The laughter had been short but warm-hearted. He swallowed as it rushed through his memory once again. Something echoed inside him again. A strange emotion he couldn't name. 

Heinz however turned and studied the arena.  He was torn from his thoughts in the same instant. 

The herald pointed to the unknown knight. "... is competing against the black knight, a knight from Bohemia who wishes to remain anonymous. But we already had the honour of meeting him.  The same person who proved his virtues this morning by saving a boy from a serious accident in the arena." 

The applause of the crowd was unmistakable. The knight, however, nodded gratefully and took his place in the corner of the ring without further ado. 

 

~+* -----*+~

 

With a squeak, Hans opened the heavy wooden door to his apartment.  Heinz shuffled his feet as he stepped in ahead of him. Evening had already fallen. The sky had swallowed up the last colours of the day and the panelled room was pleasantly lit by the lantern in his hand and the fireplace, which a servant had previously stoked. 

The accommodation they had moved into in the old town had lived up to its reputation. They had enjoyed an excellent dinner in the guest hall, warmed themselves up as much as possible, and now, full and exhausted, they had climbed the wide oak staircase of the stone house to the upper floor. 

He, on the other hand, paused once more on the threshold and looked back to Bohumil, who had stopped in front of another landing.  “Do you need anything else, Sir?” 

He shook his head. “Good night.” and waved dismissably. 

“Good night, Sir.” His guard continued ascending the narrow staircase but he no longer saw it. 

He had barely closed the door behind him when his gaze fell on the large spotted dog on the thick pine floorboards. 

The animal was lying lazily on its side, close to the lit fireplace, looking over at them with drooping chaps and folded ears.  

“Hello, Mutt!” His son kicked off his boots, which he commented on with a mere mutter in disapproval. Heinz looked over his shoulder and carefully put them aside without being asked. Then he ran towards the dog. The old dog pushed himself up, stretched and trotted towards him with an enthusiasm that could hardly be described as such. 

He stretched himself too, ran his fingers through his blonde hair and sat down on an upholstered chair to slip out of his own shoes. 

Suddenly, the soft crackling of the fireplace and his boy's giggling were interrupted by deafening barking and whining. 

He stared and couldn't understand the scene before his eyes. 

The dog was utterly beside himself!  

Mutt was jumping up and down, had knocked Heinz, who probably weighed only half as much as him, over, sniffing him up and down, barking and whining excitedly. 

His son giggled at first, then pushed himself up. But he couldn't manage to push past the hunting dog which was still standing over him. The tail wagging had become so strong that half of the animal's torso was swaying. Its ears were humbly laid back. Then it jumped around in circles again. 

The boy still couldn't get up. “Father, what's wrong with him?”  The dog licked his son's face, then his hands. “Do I smell funny?!” He almost burst out laughing. The animal did not calm down. 

“I have no idea…” He strode resolutely towards the dog. “Mutt, back off!” he scolded. 

The dog growled in disapproval.  

But then he retreated back to his place next to the fireplace. He surveyed them both expectantly as he sat, barking once more. His fawn-brown eyes shone.

He stood there and examined the animal sceptically. “Perhaps he really is getting too old.” 

 

  ~+* -----*+~

 

Hours later, he stretched out on the soft feather mattress. His son had been so excited for half the evening that he could barely settle down, let alone fall asleep. Even a hot bath in the tub hadn't stopped him from talking about the tournament over and over again. The maid had taken it all in with a smile, while he had barely been able to concentrate on his correspondence. 

He huffed with frustration. Now he lay awake in his chamber, for an hour or more, while his child slept peacefully in the room next door.  

It wasn't because he was lying alone in his bed. In fact, he had his own bedroom at home in Pirkstein. Even though he had often shared Jitka's with her in the past. 

But for years, he had spent most nights alone. Sure, there had been the occasional distracting visit to the bathhouses, too but even there... 

Even there, some of his desires would not be understood, no, they would most likely be condemned. 

Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw the duel before him. 

And what a duel it had been. 

He hadn't seen any details; due to the distance and angle of his viewpoint. But it had left an impression on him, nonetheless.

The black knight's opponent had been a skilled fighter, he could tell that much. But it didn't look like it on the surface. For the unknown knight had defied him with bravado. 

As if he hadn't already guessed, the knight was a master of his own style. Rarely had he seen anything like it. He was cool and focused, had assessed his opponent, studied him, and then struck at the decisive moment. He had revealed little about himself, even though his opponent had challenged him several times. 

The way he had dodged or parried his opponent's sword swings had been mercilessly efficient. 

But that wasn't all. 

There had been a brief  moment of carelessness, and the knight had taken advantage of it. He had landed three masterly blows in quick succession with such ease that his blood had stirred in his veins. A battle rush had swept over him although he had just been a spectator.

His opponent's reaction, a surrender, did him credit. The fight was over faster than he had thought. 

He swallowed. No, he would not have given up so quickly; he would have celebrated each of these encounters inwardly and relished them. And he would have wanted to feel the power of every blow the black knight struck against his own sword. He would have tried to lure the stranger out. 

His body grew warm, a rush of longing sensation coursed through him. But it wasn't just a good fight he missed. 

The events of the day came flooding back to him. First and foremost, the encounter with the unknown knight, right behind the stands.  

The feeling when he had cornered him, intimidated him, then his observations about his fighting skills, his strong physique. His sharp gaze as he looked him up and down.

His heart was pounding in his ears, the heat of his body was centralising. 

- Fuck-  

What could have happened? The unknown knight could have pinned him against the wall, and he would have been at his mercy. 

-Christ - He wanted to be at his mercy. 

Even though he was only slightly outmatched in terms of physique, he had not been as well -equipped as... 

A shudder ran through him. His hip throbbed while a grin flitted across his lips. - I wonder how well- equipped he is... -

His hand slowly stroked his own belly, down below the hem of his braies. 

The memory continued to play. Then there was the knight's deep voice, his mysterious answers, his reluctance, his conviction, his laughter, his anger, his enormous presence. 

He closed his eyes, as his fingers found their way down his hairline to his rockhard cock.  His length twitched under his touch, he hissed slightly the moment they closed around it.  

What could the knight have done to him? So many fantasies come to mind. 

The man may not have been corruptible with coin... but perhaps… A sly grin spread over his lips once again. 

His hand moved in new stroking movements. His breathing quickened.

He could have annoyed the strong knight even more, and he would have grabbed him, overpowered him, right there and then. Maybe he would have dragged him behind the façade of the grandstand and then...

-If only he knew... - 

Then he moistened two fingers in his mouth, let them wander under the fabric again, and this time reached even deeper. 

He still remembered how quickly he could unfasten a man's trousers, even if he was wearing a gambeson over them. And he still remembered how quickly someone could be pulling his own down. He still remembered what it felt like to have his face pressed against a wall while someone bit his neck. He felt wet fingers preparing him, while others enveloped eagerly around his leaking front. 

His breathing was ragged. He curled up on his stomach. He stifled his moans in the pillows. 

The knight's voice rang out in his fantasy. "You know what I want." 

With trembling hands, he fumbled for a smooth object in his bedside table. The thick, slightly curved rod felt comfortable in his hand. He moistened it. Then he pushed it down, past his buttocks. 

The new invading feeling sent waves of euphoria up his spine.  

 

 

 

  ~+* -----*+~

Notes:

Sooo---
my small contribution to Kinktober. *cough* well... Had I planned five chapters for the first day of the tournament? No.

Anyway, I didn't think the first part of the chapter would take up so much space. But after that, I was finally able to pick up the pace a bit.
I hope that didn't throw you off.

What were your thoughts on this chapter?
Let me know in the comments!

Chapter 6: Fools in love

Notes:

Dear readers,

Thank you for the kudos and comments! I will try to respond to them all! But rest assured that I enjoy reading every word!

Here is the second part of Hans' chapter. I had to update the tag warning again. I wonder why it gets so naughty with him so often. *cough*

Chapter 6 - Fools in love

 

 

 

A buzzing sound cut through the air, the clang of metal rang out, then an object hit the soft forest floor. 

His partner landed in the dirt in front of him, but instead of getting angry, he looked up at him. His walnut-brown hair was slightly tousled, glistening in the warm light. A fire blazed in his steel-blue eyes, which were twisted with joy. A shallow pink veil covered his high cheekbones. A crooked grin broke into a deep laugh. 

What a wonderful sound that was. 

So open-hearted and warm. 

He felt a broad smile spread across his cheeks, the warm sun on his face and infinite lightness within him. The colours of summer surrounded him, the tones and shadows were lush and sharp. Even the air was so rich with scents that it lifted him up. 

Then he realised -I have won!-

A mocking chuckle took hold of himself. “Hal, what in God’s name…was that?” He was laughing so hard that he could barely put his sword back in its sheath. 

He stepped towards him, his shadow falling over him to help him up, but Henry let himself fall back into the grass, disarmed. “Well, I... I had an idea…” He put one arm over his face as he tried desperately to stifle his giggles. 

Once again, a wave of laughter washed over him.  “An idea about how to lose your sword as quickly as possible?” 

His partner was still laughing, but tried to explain himself. “I wanted to strike from the other side after... what's it called... zwerch-hau?” 

- That's almost impossible…even he couldn't shift his weight that quickly - 

Henry seeked his eyes once more. 

There it was again, that boyish grin. 

He had missed this for a long time in the months leading up to the siege. And now that they had left Devils Den and were travelling alone, he saw it every day. 

His heart, still gripped by the exertion of the fight, suddenly felt as light as a feather. 

But his giggling wouldn't stop, his shoulders were still shaking. “Maybe you should study the theory before you start inventing your own techniques.” 

His friend waved him off, pulled himself up to a sitting position. Next he grabbed his outstretched hand gratefully and let him pull him back to his feet. 

But instead of leaning away, he let himself be pulled in by him, felt Henry's large hands on his waist, then his strong body fell against his hips. He took a step back to stabilise them both.  

Their eyes locked.  

His happy heart leapt. 

The smile on his cheeks grew so big it hurt. His stomach was still churning. 

He felt Henry's breath on his face and the warmth and closeness took hold of him.  The battle frenzy that had just consumed him shifted, and another instinct boiled up from the inside.  He glanced at him challengingly. 

His partner watched his expression closely, narrowed his eyes.  “You win for the first time in four sparring matches and you're already acting cocky again.” At first, his voice sounded amused, then the tone dropped.  Henry's fingers ran along his side. As if he suddenly had something else on his mind. 

Since when was he holding Henry so tightly? Was pulling him so close that he could feel the heat of his sweating body.  

His fingers dug into him, closing around his doublet, felt the strong muscles beneath.  Another cheeky remark came to mind. “You can always learn something new from your personal sword-fighting-master.”  

“From whom exactly? I had many… Robard, Bernard, Tomcat, Dry Devil, Master Menhard...even that bodyguard of Von Bergow… What was his name?” 

He knew that tone of voice. He wanted to yank his pizzle. -yeah. Of course he would mention even that Black Bartosh type but leave me out to annoy me.-  He tipped his chin forward. “so manny and jet you couldn't beat me.” 

“Today.” Hal bit back with a smirk. 

He moved closer to his ear as he challenged his pride.  “Who said, I didn't let you win the other times to get in bed with you?” 

Henry raised an eyebrow. “Kiss my arse.” His expression changed to a mixture of annoyance and tension. 

“Is that an invitation?” He tilted his head, waiting for the appropriate reaction as he spoke. “But since I won, shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

Henry broke eye contact for a second, he was blushing in the cutest way. “You're the most horny rotten stag, I know, you realise that?”

-That's hardly news. -  He felt the corners of his mouth turn into a lopsided nasty grin. 

His gaze quickly swept over their surroundings. They had set up camp the day before in a small forest. The thicket around their clearing was densely overgrown. No one would see them.  “It's a shame we didn't bet on something, I already have some ideas on how you could get some extra tuition from me.”  

Henry snorted, narrowed his eyes once more, “In which subject should I still require tutoring from you?”  his hands suddenly wandered down from his waist to his hips. “Let's leave out the stupid German names for striking techniques, for once…”

He studied his freshly knighted partner closely “And Latin, and French …”

“Obviously…those too. ” 

When had his left hand moved from Henry's collar to his nape? His other hand was already around his shoulders, striding down. -  holy mother Mary-  He loved those upper arms.

He swallowed his excitement and couldn’t hide his sly smirk. “In yielding to a member of nobility, for example.” 

Silence - Another twisted grin shot over Henry's face.

"Aye, I admit, you're better at that…” Henry leaned forward, his eyes wandered downwards, his outrageously long eyelashes were fluttering as he looked at his lips. 

Suddenly one leg was pushed between his. Then his partner nudged him. A very deliberate touch on his loins followed, sending a shockwave through his body. He stepped back with him. “...But unlike me, you enjoy being pampered far too much as to work hard for the both of us, so what choice do I have?”

-Oh please, you prefer fucking me, just the same as I prefer being fucked- 

He closed the last distance between them so that their noses almost touched. "True, but it's your fault, I enjoy your labour far too much."

Their lips touched tentatively at first, but soon they fell passionately against each other. The warm, moist feeling made him melt, the scratching of his stubble sent a tingling sensation straight to his cock. 

He hadn't even noticed how they had suddenly come to a halt against a tree, the rough bark was pressed into his back but he couldn’t care less. The kiss and everything it promised was incredibly addictive. 

Nevertheless, his grin suddenly returned to his face. He pushed him away for an almost unbearable moment.  “Say, when did you become so good at distracting me from your debts?”

Henry's crooked grin was accompanied by a coquettish raise of the eyebrow. “What debt? We didn’t bet on anything.” 

Their lips found each other again. This time the touch grew deeper, their tongues met with want. And Henry? He almost ambushed him with his search for intimacy.  No one had ever kissed him like he did. That was one thing he loved about him. Even back then in Suchdol. Henry didn't do things by halves. He undoubtedly desired him just as much as he craved him.

He pulled away this time. But now he was breathing heavily through his smirk. Perhaps he could try his luck once more. “But I've still got something on you, haven't I? For winning I mean.” 

“You’d like that…” He saw a look in his darkened, large eyes that clearly said, ‘You won't give up on that idea, won't you?’ 

“What do you think?” 

Had he just felt his lover's hands travelling under his belt? -Fuck- His own hands were already on Henry's, too.

His hoses suddenly hung looser around his hips. “What does his lordship have in mind?...” A large hand had slipped under his waistband, grasping his throbbing length. 

-When had he become this hard?-

But before he could answer to him, Henry kissed him once again.

As he moaned softly against the mouth of his lover his cock twitched under his touch.

A wild pounding pierced in his chest.  He was pushed roughly against the tree bark. The next moment his trousers were pulled down, along with his breeches. 

The gentle summer breeze caressed his bare skin.

The blood in his veins began to thicken as Henry sank down onto one knee before him. His bouncing cock came promisingly close to his face.  “...Or does he desire to surrender himself completely to his knight and bodyguard?” 

- That smug grin.  - He knew that he was utterly at his mercy.

Two strong hands pinned his hips against the tree, its surface pricking his buttocks and then Henry’s fingers moved deliberately along his sensitive waistline.  

Henry opened his mouth, tilted his head …

…and bit him in the crook between his pubic bone and thigh. 

A gasp escaped him. - Fuck!... that bastard! -  But even that little sting electrified him. 

He heard a smirk. 

But the bite changed, became softer, and he felt lips moving across his skin. A couple of bites were placed next to the other, but this time he didn't flinch; instead, he wanted to press himself against the sensation.  

The blood rushed to his head, warmth, softness and divine wetness enveloped him next, where his cock was already red and desperate. Then came the tightness and pressure and a caressing slick embrace that captured more and more of him. 

His pleasurable moans were almost drowned out by the surrounding music of the forest. His environment faded away dizzyingly beneath his fluttering eyelids.

Everything in his perception focused on his partner and his wonderful play around his manhood.

- Christ - Is that his tongue too? -

Everything merged into an electric tremor inside him. The steady rhythm that enveloped him was almost torturously slow, yet it drove him out of his senses. 

And then that sight. 

He couldn't stop looking down. The parted lips and open jaw, the slight blush on the stubbled face, the drawn-in cheeks and ears flushed with blood. The raised, broad eyebrows.

-Godness - 

Seeing him take his cock, as if it gave him just as much pleasure to serf him, drove him mad. And still there was a fond cheekiness that did not disappear from Henry's features, even though they were focused on him with ambition. 

The wave built up far too quickly. 

Trembling, he reached for his hand. Signaling him that he was getting close. 

But also he didn't want him to jerk off beneath him. 

A grin spread over his face once more. 

No, he wanted all of his attention. After that he would take care of his desire. And he would repay him tenfold for this …. 

He felt the lovely chestnut brown hair between the fingers of his other hand, which followed Henry's every movement. 

When it broke, Henry gripped him tightly at the bucking hips, yet held him softly with his mouth, guiding him through the ecstasy and took everything from him.   

 

~+* -----*+~

 

The skin under his fingers was pleasantly warm, he felt the dark brown short belly hair curling under his wandering touch, the muscle under the strokes relaxed with a stretch. Henry exhaled, grumbling with utmost satisfaction. The few rays of sunshine that fell through the canopy of leaves danced with the breeze on their naked bodies.

He lifted his head from his partner's chest, leaned forward and bent his head over him. 

His knight looked at him from under drooping, relaxed eyelids. He was still caught up in bliss. 

"You know what I like about us?" He heard his own voice, so clear and carefree. 

The relaxed facial features stirred, the long eyelashes fluttered, he saw a spark flash in the steel blue eyes. "Enlighten me."

Weeks ago, they'd promised not to say a word about his responsibilities and inevitable upcoming wedding. And instead, they'd simply done whatever they felt like doing. They had gone hunting, gone drunk, visited bathhouses, attended farmers' harvest celebrations, slept on the simple forest floor and competed in horse races. He had never been bored during all that time, even though they had lived simply on the food the wilderness and local markets provided and quietly like hunters for the most part.  

He exhaled.  "That I can just be myself with you." 

The soft corners of Henry's mouth twitched suspiciously. "Your dirty horny self, you mean?"

He had to chuckle. "That's part of it. Surprisingly so, only a secondary matter." 

“Look who's talking..” He had expected to hear a huff or see a facial expression that mocked it, but nothing of the sort. Instead his Partner smiled warmly. 

For a moment, he sank into it. 

Then he laid his head back on his lover's chest, not without noticing his happy heartbeat. Or was it his own? Henry's arm enclosed him in an embrace. 

Everything felt good. He knew he could lie there forever. 

Then suddenly Henry started to chuckle.  

“What?” He raised an eyebrow and peaked through the treetops.  The midday sun shone above them, but the September day had now lost the heat of summer. 

“I just remembered what you shouted from the battlements of Nebakov back then.”

“What do you mean? ‘Kiss our arses?’” 

Henry sniggered again. His whole body trembled beneath his face. 

“Yeah, and how you were the only one who refused to give Toth any title of honour.”   Oh, now he remembered too. The way he had approached him. - Toth! You treacherous shit. -  It had been one of his best negotiations. 

He grinned broadly. “What about it?” Once again, he propped himself up on his elbow and looked over his shoulder into Henry's steel-blue eyes. His long blond strands fell loose in his eyebrows. 

A lopsided smile spread across Hal's face as he gently brushed them aside. “I think I fell in love with you, back then.” 

The eye contact deepened between them, suddenly he had to turn away. Something stirred within him so strongly that his eyes burned. Tears pushed through his self-control, which he actually had no reason to uphold in Henry's presence.  

- I love you too. - 

He had heard similar things from him before, and every time it caught him off guard. - Fuck - this man could just say things like that out of the blue. Just as if he were talking about the weather or medicinal herbs.  

Why did he find it so difficult? What was he afraid of?

But he didn't want to ruin this beautiful moment of peace by crying. Instead he put on his best smile. 

But Henry must have sensed something. He pulled him close once again and chuckled. 

“You are full of knightly virtues, well-bred manner of speaking and fashionable garments ..,” Henry rose under him slightly, bedded him down and leaned over him this time.  “but deep down you are just a loyal, good hearted, swearing and boozing boy from Moravia.” 

The giggle that caught up on both of them distracted him from his crumbling composure.

“You got me. Spoken by the son of a blacksmith, who possesses more honour and integrity than many born noblemen..” -No one else deserved that knighting more than you.- he looked up in those puppy eyes. “Although we have more than common ground when it comes to swearing and boozing. There is not one wicked bone in your body.” 

Henry looked at him with a mixture of modesty and doubt. He exhaled audibly with annoyance. Then he giggled again. “I wish I could say the same thing about you, but I know about just one.” he saw that challenging raise of an eyebrow.

“You little bastard.” he huffed. “I take it all back and claim the opposite!” He objected. “And besides, penises have no bones.” 

But Henry fell back on his back and burst out laughing.

“Stupid turnip puller…” 

He leaned to the side, slid onto his knees and began to get dressed. "That reminds me. Let's get back to your tutoring.” He pulled his braies and hoses back over his bottom, sensing Henry’s staring  eyes on him. “The strike you tried earlier..."

Henry laughed softly. "I knew you wouldn't be able to let it go." Judging by his tone he must have rolled his big blue eyes. 

He looked back and grinned. "It's your own fault for trying a zornhau after a left-handed zwerchhau. You know my counterattack can only come from the top right, after that." 

"I wanted to pre-empt it." His partner ran his hand over his face, banishing the tiredness from it. Then he too pushed himself up from the mossy ground. 

"But then you'd have to step back at the same time while your weight is still shifted forward." He looked down and tied his belt. When he glanced up again, Henry was almost dressed in the same way. 

-Damn, I didn't see him put it away.-

"Aye." Henry stopped in front of him, picked up their scattered shirts from the forest floor, and shook off the pine needles. 

He casually took a shirt from his hand. "That's almost impossible." - And you know it - 

His friend looked at him, half amused, half affectionate and pointed to the item of clothing he was holding in his hand. It wasn't his, but his partner’s. He shrugged. -All the better, I like his musk scent- He smiled back. He knew he was blushing. But he didn't give the item back. 

Henry grinned cheekily right in his face and picked up the conversation again. "But if I had managed that, I would have left you defenceless.” 

They stuck their arms in the sleeves in unison, pulled their shirts over their heads, immediately afterwards. “But you didn't.”  He countered with a flimsy argument. He brushed his hair back. Now the grin of wickedness suited him much better. 

“Not this time.” The dark voice rose mockingly. He walked past him, taking a few steps back to the spot where he had lost his sword. 

“God, you're stubborn.” He shook his head. Regardless he watched his partner walk away. The sun, breaking through the illuminated leaves above them in patches, bathed Henry’s broad shoulders in an enchanting glow.  A smile curved on his face.  

He observed him as he fished the sword out of the grass and straightened his back again. Henry looked contentedly at the weapon in his hand. At the weapon he had received from his father Radzig and which was now his. He had undoubtedly earned it.  He was almost whispering. “It got me quite far in life, don't you think, Hans?” 

He grinned in joy. Not so much at his answer as at the way he had said his name. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his partner flipping the sword hilt over in his hand. 

-He does that every time, when he adjusts a sword or hammer in his grip. - 

He had seen it hundreds of times before. As if he were checking his work, the condition of the blade, the leather wrapping, the grip, the weight and balance. 

-Once a blacksmith, always a blacksmith, huh?-

Suddenly, he heard the loud barking of a dog. 

Henry looked up. “Mutt!” he called loudly. 

His own gaze wandered to the edge of the forest.  He couldn't see the fleabag anywhere. 

His partner called for the animal again, but his voice had changed. 

It sounded like a child's voice. 

"Mutt, stop it! That tickles!" 

He blinked,  but there was no forest around him anymore.  Instead, he saw lots of different tents, beautifully coloured banners flapping in a sharp wind and a large tournament ground stretched out behind them.

He glanced back over his shoulder. Henry turned away from him. Since when was he fully armoured? Over his cuirass he wore a long waffenrock. A garment in midnight blue. 

- The colour matches his eyes. -

“Father!” -Again that cheerful childish voice rang out. -  “Wake up, it's already past nine!” 

 

~+* -----*+~

He was startled and bolted upright. 

The first thing he saw was his son's face. His ice-blue eyes shone with joy, his straw-blond hair was still tousled from the night and stuck out in all directions. 

“Heinz.” His voice sounded strangely hoarse. 

Heinz climbed onto the edge of his bed. “We're already running late. The first fights start at ten.”

He studied the room. His chamber in their small apartment was still the same: the fireplace, the wall panelling and painting on the ceiling, the wild boar skin on the floorboards, the writing desk and the little dining table in the other two corners. Heinz had opened a window shutter. Fresh cold air and daylight streamed in.  

He swallowed hard and took a breath. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't detect the smell of pine needles and forest soil or his scent on his shirt. 

The dream had been a memory. 

A lump formed in his throat. He closed his eyes for a moment. This reality felt strangely out of place. 

 

Henry's voice echoed inside him. “I think I fell in love with you, back then.” 

-Why couldn't I say it back?- In fact he never had used those three words. Had never said it directly to him.  - I loved him, too. Damn it. - Would that have changed anything? 

“Father?” His son looked at him strangely, empathetically. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“No.”

His son tilted his head and focussed intently at his cheeks. Only then did he notice the tears running down them.

-For the love of God, that was so long ago. - He wiped them vigorously from his face.

He still owed his son an explanation. “I just dreamt about someone I haven't seen in a long time.” Sin son wrinkled his forehead in question. “My best friend..Sir Henry.” He didn't even know why he had mentioned his Name to his son. 

Heinz nodded. “You miss him?” 

Now he nodded too. 

“Then why don't you write him a letter?” 

A smile shot on his face and died down the next second. A child's logic. “That won't be enough.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I don't know where to send it.” -Besides I tried it once.- 

Tired and worn out, he squeezed past his son and swung his feet out of bed. "Come on, let's hurry. You want to see sword fights, don't you?" 

The boy hesitated. Then he hopped off the mattress after him. “I'm going to get dressed!” he chirped. 

He swallowed again. He would have liked to stay in bed. But then he would spend half the day dwelling on his thoughts anyway. And he had been through it all before.  The old ifs and buts. 

No. The distraction would do him good. And who knows, maybe he would see the grumpy chivalrous knight fight again.   

A smile tugged on his lips. 

 

~+* -----*+~

 

Notes:

I will add a few more notes later today. But time is short this weekend. That's another reason why the correction is even shorter.

I hope you liked the chapter. Let me know in the comments.

Chapter 7: coming with the hellfire

Notes:

My dear readers!
First of all, I would like to thank you all so much for your lovely comments and kudos. OMG. The pressure is slowly mounting.
Your comments give me so many new ideas, inspiration... insights... I love it!

This upcoming longer chapter took a lot of effort. I don't know how many times I reworked the first scene alone... Well... I'm still not satisfied. That's why I've just published it now.

Sorry about that.

As always, there was plenty of musical inspiration. ‘A Hard Teacher’ by Hans Zimmer, followed later by the track ‘Coming with the Hellfire’ by Nineoneone and 'Ramund' by Myrkur

Enjoy the chapter.

Chapter 7 - coming with the hellfire

~+* -----*+~

 

He gently opened the door to his study. With a lantern in one hand and a bag of utensils in the other, he stepped inside and reverently closed the oak door behind him. It was already past ten. He didn't want to wake anyone in the house. 

A whimper came from the other side of the door. He smiled softly, opened it a crack again and let the young brown-spotted dog slip through.  Paws scratched familiarly on the floorboards as the animal dragged itself sleepily onto a fur rug next to the tiled stove, which radiated a cosy warmth by now. 

He closed the door again, turned on his heel and breathed deeply.

-What a day.-

Since the duel, his head had been astonishingly empty, his heart numb. He swallowed. No, he didn't want to think about Hans anymore. He just wanted to…

…find some rest.

Normally he would have crawled into bed next to his wife, but this evening he did not feel like it.  

The chamber was not large, but it was sufficient. Compared to his room above the smithy in Kuttenberg, it was a bit smaller.  

But he had everything he needed for day-to-day tasks right here.  A desk for correspondence and bookkeeping, a wall cupboard, his wardrobe, a few bookshelves, though not nearly as many as his wife had. There was a chest and a single bed pressed against a wall where he could rest when he needed to or when he returned late from some missions or campaigns.  

Beyond these superficial things and their usefulness, the room had mainly become his private retreat. A place where he kept all the things that just belonged to him.  

One glance would reveal it to any visitor. 

All kinds of swords hung neatly lined up on the walls. Most of them were unique pieces or study projects that he had made during his time as a blacksmith in Kuttenberg. Some, however, were rare collector's items. -How many were there... 32?-  The painted wall almost faded behind the glistening of steel. 

He heard Rosa chuckling in his head. “Goodness gracious, Henry. Is this your study or the king's weapon chamber?” She had wanted to tease him, but actually she didn't mind and understood his enthusiasm for this possession. 

The townhouse itself had been in his ownership for three years, now. It was large enough for their status and befitted Rosa's background in particular, but not ostentatious. The plot adjoined another one at the end, which belonged to the craftsmen's district.
Joining the blacksmith guild in Prague however had proved more difficult than it did in Kuttenberg. The burghers were quite prejudiced when it came to a lower nobleman mastering craft that was entitled to them. He had eventually proven himself and was able to acquire that property along with the old smithy that stood on it a year later.   Only then did he sell the forge in Kuttenberg. 

At first, Rosa had wondered why he still clung to his craft, as if his status were now above it, but then she understood the passion it inspired in him. 

-Either that, or she has seen the old sales books. - he laughed shortly to himself. She wouldn't be happy about that assumption even if there was some truth to it.

In reality, however, he stood behind the anvil far too rarely. The demands of his position and rank in the royal guard left him little time for anything else.  He had even considered training his own apprentice so that his stepfather's knowledge would not be lost... but then never pursued the idea. Instead he had been lucky to persuade Fly and his apprentice Thomas to move to Prague. Their work was almost completely dominating the workshop, now. 

Lowering himself into the upholstered armchair by the desk, he grimaced as a sharp pain shot through his leg. The lantern clinked softly as he set it aside to light the candle holder. 

His knee was now more swollen than before. The painkiller potion had worn off. Without thinking, he began to knead the joint, one hand already searching the drawer for another vial. 

- Where did I put it… -

He rummaged through it, but apart from all kinds of medicines, he couldn't find what he was looking for... but then... arnica flower and comfrey tincture. That wasn't bad either. 

He set the bottle on the desk and loosened his hose. The bandage came away with it, revealing a knee mottled in dark blues and purples. After watering a linen cloth with the tincture, his fingers pressed it on the bruised and swollen limb. The coolness spread slowly, the scent of herbs and sharp alcohol filled the air. Finally, he wrapped the joint with a clean strip of bandage. 

Another pain shot through it as he tested his leg. But the range of its movement hadn't changed. -At least nothing is damaged permanently.- 

Slowly, he raised his head. Maybe he still had some potions stored somewhere else. 

A grumble escaped him as he wrinkled his forehead in exhaustion. He had never been particularly organised and he rarely threw anything away... but he could have sworn... 

Two more drawers did not contain it. - Perhaps in the wardrobe?-  The engraved door creaked tellingly. -The bolt needs oiling. - All kinds of clothes he rarely needed were lying there, neatly folded and stacked. 

-here it is! -

He grabbed the promising wooden box from the top shelf and pulled it out…

…then flinched.

-God no. - 

The immediate realisation hit him hard, but it took him a couple of deep breaths to fight against the inner turmoil that rose in him. 

Whatever he had been seeking before, the thought was lost. 

As if controlled by an outside force, he stumbled backwards and let himself fall back into the chair. The box in his hand was as big as a wine crate. Perhaps it had once been one. He didn't remember.

There was an item of clothing that had been folded up and put away inside years ago. 

The brick-red fabric felt soft against his hand. The woollen material was barely creased, the white lining still white. His fingers slid in one of the folds, pulled out the hood that unfolded with some delay.

It still felt strangely familiar. 

His thumb stroked the embroidery, tracing the ivy leaves depicted on it with golden threads.  

His other hand began to tremble, the box fell from his lab down to the floor. The puppy startled, nudged the box and sat down again, closer to him for comfort. But all of it slipped quietly out of focus.

-Kurva-  

His heart felt weighed down and yet empty. -Of all days…-

 

He still remembered the moment he had taken Hans's chaperone. 

It had been the morning after the wedding when he had placed his wedding gift, the long sword he had crafted for him, on his desk. His gaze had fallen on his hood. Anger and grief had overcome him. But also the desire to possess something of him. A keepsake to carry with him on the mission. Until they would meet again eventually. 

A dull feeling seized him, his hands clawed at the piece of clothing until his knuckles stood out. 

And for those dumb sentimental reasons, he had snatched it and put it in his saddlebags a little later. He had even hidden it from his father. Knowing full well what holding a momento of his lord would have looked like. Everyone who knew Hans would have recognised his hood anywhere. Unfortunately, as he had later learned, his caution had come too late, Radzig had already found out about his immoral relationship with him. 

He swallowed hard. But the lump in his throat would not go away. 

All the memories of the day before the wedding came flooding back to his mind. 

Hans’ angry voice echoed in him from afar. 

“If it weren't for you, all this might just annoy me…” 

“I wouldn't know what it's like, to be free of this role or these damn expectations.” 

“I wouldn't know what it's like to wake up next to someone in the morning, whom I miss for the rest of my life.” 

“If it weren't for you, I would sleep with my bride tomorrow night, just like with any other wench, without longing for you, without feeling like a coward and a cheat at the same bloody time!”

~

Hans had been full of pain and rage at that moment of the argument, had screamed those words at him while shoving him backwards. 

Those words had shaken him to the core and had pushed him over the cliff of self doubt and loneliness. As if he hadn't already blamed himself for Hans’ suffering for weeks, wouldn’t have despised himself for not being able to save his partner from it.

He gathered himself once more. But the stream of thoughts did not stop. 

Deep down after all these years, those cutting painful words had become less sharp. He had managed to gain another perspective into what those words had meant. Hans had been suffering not because of him, but because he had been in love with him. 

No one was to blame.

But how wrong it still felt that he had said it to him that way. With alcohol-fuelled reproach and bitterness in his voice and pain in his eyes. 

As soon as the gate of Poděbrady had appeared over their heads like the sword of Damocles, Hans had closed himself off from him. Had refused to talk to him, had even tried to appease him with the same damn superficial smile as anyone else. Had drunk himself into a stupor over days. 

Of course they were both at the mercy of the situation and were sent like lamps to the slaughter. The marriage had been inevitable. But it would have been somewhat bearable if he had talked and opened up. 

Maybe they could have found a way to make things work… maybe…

-Whatever-  

He ran his hand over the bridge of his nose.

In the end, he had seen no other option but to leave. 

To no longer stand in his way as an unwanted reminder of the obligation he felt towards him. 

It wasn’t merely the wish to escape their suffering and helplessness.  He had fled as well, wounded and feeling no longer needed. 

So he had set off on the risky mission, the success of which no one knew, nor how long it would take before the king would finally sit on his throne in Prague again. 

Yet he had hoped to succeed and survive, to come back to him, continue his service for him after those months of distance. Had hoped that the flame between them would not burn them alive anymore.  

What he would have given to set things right, or simply to be with him again.

Nethertheless Hans had deprived them both of that by giving into the King's offer within less than a fortnight. 

-There is nothing that can be done to change that, now - 

The aching head weighed heavily. He leaned forward on the desk, resting his temple in his arm, the garment still clutched in his hands. 

The anger, the pure rage that had overwhelmed him the whole day, however had settled down to a feeling of painful emptiness by now. 

Why did everything feel so worn out and blunt?

Suddenly Hans' older features shot through his thoughts. The serious and determined impression loaded with responsibility. The situation, which had only occurred a few hours earlier, replayed. 

“How could I side with Sigismund or his allies if my neighbourhood, such as Silver Skalitz, still lies in ruins?” 

-Why on earth had he mentioned Skalitz to me, an unidentified stranger? -

“...Not only would I betray myself, but also those who were murdered and buried under the rubble, and the survivors who live now under my protection.”

He blinked, his eyes stung. 

-Why would it betray him?- As far as he knew, Hans never really had been there and neither had kin from there.

-Was he referring to…me?-  Bitterness welled up inside him. - Don't fool yourself.  He removed you from his service, without a word. Why would he care about your history, then?  - 

The embroidery on the hood became blurred.  

Another thought came to mind, a painful doubt which had been scratching him all day.

The feeling of betrayal rooted deep in him.

But wasn't he also betraying himself by holding on to his hurt and overflowing  rage and disappointment? Didn't he also undermine the beautiful memories like that? 

-Long before Suchdol, we have also been friends. We always had each other’s backs, then. -  

He could still hear Hans’ worried voice. “Everything will be alright, Henry! I’ve got you.”

…the sound of his punch at Semine's wedding feast.

“Someone’s been coveting his neighbour's wife, ey? Not that I blame you - but you might have waited until this lot went home!”

A shadow of his own snickering voice -A demon.-  

“Stop it you madman!”

“My loyal companion.”

…The memories came rushing back to him…tumbled over one another…

“I wouldn't want anyone else by my side.”

“Let's spur these horses on. What do you say?”

“I don't think Henry is planning to hang you. More likely to rip your gut open! …And I’ll be glad to help him.”

“Toth! You treacherous shit!”

“Kiss our arses!”

“Henry, what are you doing here?”

“My noble arse thanks you!”

“Let's get them Henry!”

“so manny and yet you couldn't beat me.” 

“Stupid turnip puller…” 

 

He swallowed again, his chest widened in relief as some of the bitter gloom lifted.  

The light in the room flickered strangely.  

Somewhere between Trosky and Suchdol their friendship had shifted to something else…To longing, to comforting closeness and joy, to trusting glances, to sense of belonging, to desire. Eventually that one evening had revealed all of that. 

-We were so happy before the wedding.-  

Their trip in September had merged in his memories into a bright picture of laughter, innocence and affection. They had been joined at the hip, spending starry nights in each other's arms, living for the moment, chasing pleasure, sleeping under the open sky in endless bliss and waking up to each other's gaze and belly aching snickering, ... and simply being happy.

A smile fought his way back on his face as an enormous weight pulled on his limbs and slowed his thoughts.

Once again he heard Hans’ dropped voice from the back of his mind. 

  “I care about you, too. Even if I don't always show it.” 

“Henry if anything happens to you…then…”

"But what about you, Hal? Don't you matter?”

“I've been sure of it for months…”

a deliciously sweet sigh, “God, you're going to kill me one day!”

“Take me…I want you to.”

“You oaf…“ that heartfelt blissful giggle.. ”are you falling asleep on top of me?”

“Henry.”

“...I was so worried about you.”

"You know what I like about us?" "...that I can just be myself with you." 

 

-There …- … the faint scent of pine needles and forest soil. 

~+* -----*+~

 

The weather today felt even more merciless than yesterday. The wind blew icily between every fold of fabric, the dampness penetrated every weave, even the thickest wool. 

The banners and tent tarpaulins fluttered in an almost indefinable rhythm, reminiscent of the waves of the Vltava River, which lapped against the banks just a few miles below the tournament ground. 

Although the midday sun was at its zenith, it had hardly tempered the morning temperatures. 

There had been ground frost again during the night. Pebbles' hooves nearly slipped on the cobbled streets on the way up to the castle hill. 

A glance at the sky told him another story. 

The clouds from the day before had thickened and pushed together into a single expanse. Soon they would break. But his breath, which froze in the air, told him that if it did, there would be sleet or maybe even snow. 

“One more time!” His voice sounded a bit hoarse today, even deeper than usual. He had probably put too much intensity into his battle cries yesterday. 

His squire nodded. Protected by a bascinet and armour, he looked a little more grown-up than usual, but the ratio of his height to his width was typical for his 17 years: still awkward and lanky. 

An expectantly tense breath escaped his lips as the training sword lowered. 

George gripped the hilt more tightly. -He always does that before striking. -

Then he swung and struck a high cut straight at him. He parried, George caught his sword, used the momentum as he had learned, turned the blade around the sword axis and slashed from the left side across. He stepped back, the blade whizzed past his chest, giving the boy room to execute another strike. George shifted his weight again and stepped forward, closing the distance, but too far. His next Mittelhau from below would not land.

Pulling his upper body in the opposite direction, he took a quick step sideways past the lad and struck with his fist against his back shoulder.

George stumbled backwards, lost his balance but immediately positioned his sword in front of him again. 

“Good!” A faint smile played across his lips. 

As if it were second nature, muscle used the practised sequence, his counterattack, a side blow were straight out of the textbook. - How about that?-

George barely managed to parry the blow and had lost control over his form.

As easily as thinking, his feet covered the distance to him, then he rammed his shoulder into the boy. Who fell flat on his bottom in the dirt. 

The tension eased from the muscle and his sword arm sank down again.

A second later, he was at his side, helping him back to his feet. “So?” 

The boy gasped for breath but recovered faster than he thought he would. "I got too close.”

“Right.  And then?” 

Struggling to find an answer he swallowed. “I left my side unprotected.”  

He nodded. “You caught yourself there, but why didn't you take a step back right after? Regaining distance and lowering your weight helps recover your defence.” 

 

The hesitation in George's reaction was speaking for itself. The boy fell quiet, looked past him and nodded eventually.  His pupil's training sword was still lying in the mud. He bent down and picked it up. It was covered by dirt. Suddenly, he looked even more discouraged. 

The surrounding training area was not very busy, but there were enough knights and members of the Royal Guard nearby who would recognise him immediately. He would not be able to take off his bascinet to talk to him face to face. 

He sighed. 

Gently, he patted him on the shoulder.  “When you make a mistake, you mustn't hesitate, and certainly not in retreat. Your technique is good, but your footwork needs improvement. You're young and fast, so use that to your advantage.”

The squire pushed up his visor. “Thank you Sir.” The gaze above that strained red face wandered  gratefully up to him. 

He waved it off. “I'm probably not the best teacher when it comes to footwork, anyway. My former master would have been better at it.”  - Hans was always brilliant at it.-  he rolled his eyes. And Hans had loved explaining things, too. -As if I didn't know how to walk.-

Shoulders slumped heavily. The thought had suddenly come to him, without any anger or bitterness. 

George smiled. “You are too modest, Sir!”   

“Nah. One should just remember that everyone started out humbly at some point.” He leaned against the fence separating the area from the path leading to the arena. 

More and more spectators filled the forecourt. His next duel would begin soon. 

When he took the weight off his left leg, his knee throbbed uncomfortably, but the bandages from the previous evening had helped.  New painkiller potions were stored away in his pouch, since that morning, but he had not yet taken any.  

However, the cold inevitably returned to his body. A shiver ran down his spine. 

 

“Father, come on!” That child’s voice… “Let's greet him!”

The blond mop of hair was impossible to miss. 

The boy was already climbing onto the fence just a couple of steps away, to look over the top rail.

For whatever reason, he was less shocked today to see his former partner and his son than he was yesterday. No intense feelings of betrayal or anger boiled up inside him anymore. Everything had shrunk into a strange knot in his stomach that weighed heavier the moment he noticed them. 

This time, father and son were accompanied by their two guards.  Nevertheless, the boy had broken free and was quite a distance ahead of the others. 

“Heinz. What in god's name... You shouldn't impose.” Hans was definitely frustrated as he yelled after him. 

“Greetings, Sir Knight!” The boy didn't even blink as he ignored his father's demands. 

The kid’s naughty behaviour amused him. He cracked his neck while closing the distance.  “Greetings to you too. How are you feeling today, young lord?”

“Splendid!” The boy cracked a smile which he had to mirror.

-The resemblance is outrageous. -

His Father caught up to them with his guards respectfully two strides behind him. He couldn't help but study Hans’ features. Compared to the day before, he looked more tired than before. Perhaps the boy had been dancing around him for half the morning?

His former partner straightened his posture. “Good day to you, Sir Knight. I am sorry to intrude, my son might have watched you training your squire …”

The moment Hans’ gaze met his, he froze, a warm smile pushed into his dimples, the bright blue eyes filled with a kind of joy he hadn’t expected. 

Something told him that it wasn't just his son who had been watching them. Even though he fought his breathing down, his heart rate shot up. 

“...We've only just arrived. I hope you haven't fought your second duel yet? It would be a shame if I missed it.” Although the question sounded like casual small talk, somehow there seemed to be more to it than that.

He examined him again. There was that sparkle in his eyes once more. The slightly raised eyebrow, the way he tiled his head in admiration.  

-is he flirting with me again?-

The day before, he had this strange feeling, not taken seriously. But now he felt that certain crackling in the air again, that sensation that touched the hairs on the back of his neck and let his heart leap. 

He was convinced that Hans treated everyone this way, charming everyone who he saw fit. That was his way of moving through the world, like a fish in water. He made a mental note: Seen in this way, the crest on top of his coat of arms suited him perfectly. 

His response came insubstantial over his lips. “No need to worry, my match is coming up.”  But instead of offending the nobleman with his bluntness, it seemed to bother him little. 

Instead, he filled the place with his elegant and confident presence as always.

-kurva, he's annoying. -

“Thank God!” That cheerful high voice rang out. “Father overslept, you know, but luckily Mutt woke me up.” 

Unable to suppress his amusement he burst out laughing. What a satisfaction it was that the kid had immediately dampened Hans and his ego.

“Heinz!”  His former partner gave a hiss. A blush shot almost imperceptibly into his reddened ears. 

He quickly managed to fight his giggle down, but his smile didn’t fade. -So Mutt is still walking this earth .- That was wonderful news. Even though the fleabag had refused to come with him back then, he still felt connected to this old companion. 

As much as Hans’ presence annoyed him, chatting carefree with his little rascal however, did him surprisingly good. “Do you like your dog?” He had to admit, he was growing increasingly fond of the boy.

Heinz nodded. “But it's not mine exactly.” 

Right. He looked over from the boy to his father. -At least he took care of Mutt all this time. - The latter smiled lovingly down at his son, even though he had been exposed earlier. 

There was something soothing about this sight.

Trying to sound as casual as before, he noted. “Of course it's your father's…” 

“No, it's Sir Henry's dog!” The boy interrupted him. “A friend of my father’s.” 

…

Had he not just looked into Hans's features, he would have thought he had overlooked something. But the expression did not change. Rather, the proud yet warm gaze gained depth. The smile, however, froze, just like his own.

As if he had stated the most trivial thing in the world, Heinz nodded smugly.

The steady pounding in his chest jumped up to his throat.  

No reasonable thought came to mind. 

-What?- 

a small “huh..” escaped his mouth.

-He knows about me…-

“Do you also like dogs, Sir?” The sincere question, so innocent and cute, was hard to avoid. 

“Aye. Always have…” he cleared his throat, but the lump didn't go away. “I have one myself.”

The boy was beaming all over his face. “What's its name?”

-Beaver- 

“Heinz, please don't bore the nobleman with such questions.” Hans once again tried his best to talk some manners into his son. 

Right, his restrained behaviour must seem like he had no longer interest in continuing their conversation.

Suddenly he felt the cold of the harsh wind again. The muscle was feeling tense, his fingers numb.

Only then did he remember that he was not alone with them on the square. A person approached cautiously.  “Sir, if I may, there isn't much time.” George stepped closer. 

He blinked and found his voice again. “You're right.” He let his gaze wander over the two blondes once more. “It was nice chatting with you…but I must warm up properly...” he managed to say tight lipped. 

-Why does his kid know my name? - 

His thoughts seemed as if they were stuck in a mill wheel...  - Why would he tell his son? He was born after I left, after he discharged me …Why does he know about me? - 

Absent-minded, he felt the mud beneath his feet as he turned on his heel. 

“If I may, Sir Knight, I would offer some help with that.”  Hans' sincere interest pulled him out of his thoughts.

He had listened to him, but wasn’t trusting his mind, that he had understood correctly. “Pardon?” 

“Would you do me the honor of helping you warm up for your next duel, by sparring with me?”

He blinked several times. 

The expression on his face under the bascinet must have been the same as that of the boy.   

Hans, however, had put on a meaningful smile. Was he trying to prove something, or was he simply bored? Was he flirting again? Why on earth was he so persistent, and so interested in him, a stranger? Hans had been charming, smug and smooth in the past, but never intrusive, unless…

-Fuck- He was attracted to him!  

“Why would I need that?“ His response was completely lacking in politeness. He did not want to fight him for his personal pleasure, to play the role of a mysterious knight he felt drawn to.  

“With due respect Sir. But practising with a young squire is hardly enough. You’d need someone more of your caliber.” He smirked cunningly. “It's the least I can do to be of service to the saviour of my son. This way I can release my heart from some of the debt I owe you, by sending you well prepared into your next match.” 

A huff escaped his lips. 

That was typical. He could even sell someone a gelding as a stud horse. The worst thing was, he wasn't even wrong. George was good for a boy his age, but he was by no means a true opponent. 

-Oh, I can play that game too, you charming slag. -

A mischievous grin spread across his lips. By the sound of it it reached his speech likewise. “Why should I spar with a Lord that has, I suspect, not troubled himself with such exercises, since he ended his squirehood?” 

But the spark in Hans's eyes flashed. 

- Fuck, I went along with his proposal. - 

His former partner simply ignored the mild insult. “I promise you, that I am rather capable of holding my own. The way I see it, you either warm up faster than you expect or you give someone else a lecture in the art of fencing.” he grinned, his lids fluttered in an ambiguous nature. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw strangely questioning faces. 

Heinz’ gaze moved away from him and back to his father. George raised his eyebrow.  To the outside, their exchange of banter must have seemed almost like that of rowdy teenagers. 

Only the two guards stood by impassively and watched, as Hans already put down his cloak on the rail and jumped over the same in the next move.

Even though he wasn't as slim as he used to be, he was still in good shape and attractive in a disgustingly graceful way. Why was his gaze suddenly drawn to his bottom? 

- Alright, let my squire watch me kick your nice little arse.- That would also be his personal satisfaction. 

He knew his smirk could be heard in his voice, and he stepped closer to him. “Remind me Sir Capon, why giving you a lesson still counts as repayment for your debt, then?“

And Hans? He laughed politely, yet amused. “Feel free to consider it another great deed of yours and not as a favour to me, if you so prefer, Sir Knight.” 

Why was this character always one step ahead, twisting everything around to suit himself?   -That pain in the …-  However, Hans must have taken his shaking of the head as an agreement.

Now he laughed forebodingly with him. 

A determination fueled his body, his fighting spirit suddenly surged within him.  “I am not going to fight a man that doesn’t wear proper protection.” 

Hans’ smile grew wide. “Don't worry. I’ll see to that.” He looked at his men and clapped twice. The younger started to untie his armour right away. Hadn't he seen him somewhere before?

George however looked up at him questioningly. 

He sighed, then nodded to him. The boy immediately helped the pompous nobleman put on the pieces of armour. At least the lad wasn't offended. Rather, he seemed happy to leave the fighting area to the older gentlemen. 

Heinz seemed to understand only half of the conversation. He looked from him to his father and back again, his face beaming. His father's good spirit was enough for him to light his own. Being in the front row for a sparring duel however seemed to fill him with so much excitement that he became fidgety. 

Hans raises his eye brow. “Real swords? Or blunt swords?” 

“I'll stick with the tournament sword. But I can't recommend it. Choose whatever suits your abilities… Sir Capon.” The pointed remark had been more malicious, but he knew that Hans would not be particularly irritated by it. In old times, the opposite had been the case. 

“Ha! Then I choose my own. One of the best I assure you.” 

His fur-trimmed green cloak had concealed it all along. But why had he looked down at that moment?

There it hung, as if it belonged there, at his hip. The long sword he had forged for him. The details couldn't be seen, but the dark red leather, the hilt, the crossguard, the pommel. He would have recognised his work anywhere. 

It was as if reality briefly receded before his eyes. The icy wind died down, and the smell of autumn sky, ashes and leather filled the air. 

-He held on to it.- It suited him damn well. 

He bit his lower lip and tore his gaze away. However, his thoughts shot around in circles again. 

“Sir?” His upper body twitched barely noticeably as his squire addressed him and shook him out of his stupor once more. The lad was holding a neck guard and a bascinet in his hands. Obviously he should offer them to the noble lord, as George was too shy to do it. 

Gathering himself, he took them without further ado and handed them over.  “Here put this on. I’d hate for that pretty head of yours to come to any harm.”  Then he added slyly. “Society would never recover.” 

“I am wounded. Sir.“ Hans clicked his tongue. “And here I was imagining your concern was for me alone,  when all the while it was the tender hearts at court you sought to spare.”

 

~+* -----*+~

 

Steel struck steel, footsteps squelched in the mud.

“I must admit, you are quite capable.” He swung for a diagonal upward blow. 

All background noises had faded to a blur. 

There was only… Hans. 

Hans parried, skilfully deflected it, stepped forward, shifted his weight and attacked from the left. “Upon my honour, I would never lie about it.”

Anticipating the strike he made a quick turn, his sword found the other and the moment he felt the power of Hans sword arm he redirected it. A sharp scrape, and the blades were free again and they re-established distance.

His focus was tightly fixed on him, his senses grew more sensible than they had been in years.  

Air was flowing deep in his lungs, blood pulsed through the veins, muscles reacted sharply to every change in his opponent. 

His cheeks ached. Not from exertion, but because a grin had settled there since some time in the sparring match now. 

At first, their advances had been tentative; they had circled each other, measuring, sized each other up, and exchanged friendly striking techniques and counterattacks. 

The moment however their limbs and muscles had dispelled the stiff cold, they had engaged into something else. 

Several times now, Hans had challenged him with a few swings that had given him the opportunity to riposte. But his gut feeling had told him that Hans was just trying to impose his style of play on him. 

So he went along with it. 

But not with the kind of counterattack he would find in a textbook. Those he had chosen instead had been learned and mastered during the Margrave Wars. They were reckless and efficient. 

He had already put his former partner in a tight spot twice, but the fellow had just chuckled, dodged nimbly as ever, and repositioned himself anew.  

He laughed. 

-Godness he is annoying -

Hopefully his squire had been watching closely enough. That footwork was unfortunately enviable, as always. 

Hans attempted a feint, but he had anticipated the possibility. 

The parry missed its mark as expected, he stepped closer, shortened his sword, and Hans' next attack was already flying past him. 

However, he did have one advantage. Hans was breathing heavily by now. He no longer had the stamina he used to have. 

“What do you say, shall we step it up a notch?” He mocked him. 

He knew only too well what kind of grin was flashing beneath the other man's helmet. 

“I thought you'd never ask.” 

-well, than let’s see if you have improved too…-

He came in with maximum force in the opening blow, Hans dodged, knowing full well that it would cost him too much to parry it. 

An overhead strike came in response across his flank. His shoulder turned as intended, and the tournament sword trembled as it took Hans' blow and deflected it to the side.  

His body worked as usual, the thrill of battle enveloped him like an old friend. His muscles meshed together like gears. Another step to attack him in close combat...then… he would be closer to him than he had been in years. 

At the last moment, he hesitated. 

Nevertheless, he rammed into him, his flank hitting his, their shoulder plates crashing together.

For a tiny moment, there was the body heat of him, the power and tension of his muscles underneath that armour, the steadfastness, the fire, the same breathing air.

The sensation resonated in him. 

Then they bounced off each other, cool air cut through them like an ice pick through snow. 

The impact however only caused Hans to stagger slightly. 

Once again, steel clanged, the song of their swords resounding in a rhythm that was no longer comprehensible to outsiders.  

More and more their match felt no longer like a friendly spar, it had shifted to an exchange. No, there was something deeper. An old connection he couldn't deny. 

The weight of Hans’ sword against his blade was familiar, the sound of his footsteps, the force and resistance of each blow. It was almost so intimate that it hurt, yet it set him on fire. 

They both lunged forward simultaneously, their swords clashing as they met in the middle. He could see every scratch on his helmet,  almost the bright blue eyes sparkling behind the visor slit as he came close to touching his body. 

Then Hans pushed himself away from him again, he needed all his strength in his legs to balance his weight and power. 

An easy one, he took a slight step,  then… his left knee gave way. 

The pain shooting up his leg was telling enough.

- Sakra - He had completely forgotten about his injury. 

His former partner must have noticed the suffering of his form for that brief moment. The riposte was spot on.  

Another exchange of blows, then he realised that he had enjoyed it all too much. 

He had to get this over with. Hans stepped forward, but he beat him to it. Coming from the left, he struck a zwerchhau across his midsection.

Hans parried skilfully. However, his counterattack from the top right seemed slower than before, or perhaps he had become faster in all the years. He stepped back, ignored his throbbing knee, shifted his body weight backwards in a single fluid movement and struck one last furious blow, a zornhau.

There was a bright crash, then a sword sliced through the air. With a smack, it landed a few steps away, point first, in the morass. 

All he could see was the frozen figure of his opponent; he could hear both of them breathing, heard Hans panting.

Then, suddenly, there was a cheerful clatter of applause. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that it wasn't just the two guards, George and Heinz, standing by the fence. A few others, knights and guards had also gathered there. 

His feet found the respectful distance again that had previously been between them. 

Hans let his shoulders slump, and then in the next moment he laughed. It was a genuine, liberated sound. Almost youthful. 

-I won.- The laughter was contagious, and so he too chuckled quietly to himself. 

A quick fumble with the buckles, and the blond man had already pulled the bascinet off his head. The red colour of his face testified to the effort, but the sparkle, no the radiance in his sky-blue eyes captivated him with a might that swept him off his feet.

Only now did another thought occur to him. Shouldn't Hans have realised it was him? - Fuck - Especially the last counter... he could have recognised it, should have recognised it….

“Thank you for this fencing lesson.” Hans swallowed hard, breathing rapidly. But his smile immediately returned to his face. “Sir Knight!” 

Nothing but sincere joy and gratitude lay in his expression. 

Relief spread through his veins, his body was working heavily inside him, sweat ran down his chest.

“Yet I warmed up fast. Lord Capon.” he admitted warmly. “I should also thank you.”

Hans’ smile grew magnificent with his words. His mask, the haughty, conceited manner in his smile had completely disappeared. In all openness, his face now reflected honest feelings, a slight regret that he had lost the fight when the sword had been knocked out of his hand. But this was overshadowed by youthful ambition and absolute happiness...

The pounding in his chest, that had calmed down, fired up again.

 -Fuck-  he had to tear his eyes away from him.

He glanced casually across the training field. Then his gaze was drawn to his sword. 

His steps drew him there almost automatically. He didn't even question whether he should do it. After all, it was customary among friends to pick up the weapon of one's training partner in the spirit of sportsmanship. 

Just as the sword was about to sink into the soft ground and threaten to fall over, he pulled it out. 

The grin on his face faded.  

He tried to swallow the old feelings that pulled on his thoughts.

The sight of the engraved crossguard brought back an old, dull pain. The wild boar galloping away from two bows, leaning against a tree… the jumping puppy and the singing bird in the forest...

He bit his lower lip, flipped the hilt in his hand, let his gaze glide over the blade and assessed the familiar feeling of balance and equilibrium of the weapon in his hand to calm his mind. 

The blade was still razor sharp. There were hardly any signs of damage. In general, it looked as if it were only a few days older. 

Then he approached his former partner again and handed him the sword. “Indeed..a beautiful peace.”

Their fingers brushed as he took it. 

Only then did he look up. 

Hans' expression, which had been so cheerful and benevolent, froze. His eyes widened. The heat and redness drained from his face.

Suddenly, Hans seeked his eyes in the shadow of his visor and found them, his gaze became bottomless and meaningful altogether. A pain flared up in them but also so much more. 

Then he tiled his head, his eyebrows drawing together in an expression that reflected pure shock and confusion.

 

A lump formed in his throat, his heart stopped as a chill ran down his spine. 

-He knows.-

 

 

 

Notes:

Soooo--- sorry about the cliffhanger...

Why are Henry's chapters always so long?
What do you think about this chapter? Hans Hood... for example... did you realise back then that Henry had bagged it? XD (Oh, I'm so happy "like a schnitzel in a pan" that I was finally able to weave in the thread. )

Let me know in the comments!

Notes:
6: To be honest, I love researching, but for the first time I came across a topic that gave me the coup de grâce: Medieval historical longsword fencing. Or f.e. HEMA.
(to be clear: The only bit of sword fighting that ever came close to happening in my life was when I trained in Japanese sword fighting ( kendo) for a year. )
But that… Just the many German terms alone, which all differ depending on the school. I'll be honest, I read up on it for a while, watched a couple of videos and then thought, even if I learn all this, no one will understand it when they read it anyway. Not to mention that it's not much fun to describe something like this by using the correct names. So, I took great creative liberty here. XP Sorry not sorry.

7:Hans Hood. One topic that confused me once again was the question: What is it now? Is it a chaperone or a hood?
In German, there is the umbrella term ‘Gugel’ for the piece of garment because a chaperone is actually nothing more than a hood that has been rolled up and has a long scarf at the tip that can be worn artfully. But neither the terms used in the game nor what I found online were particularly helpful in determining whether this term also exists in English. Then Hans Hood clearly has this long tip too. So I decided that it is both. I hope it didn't confuse you.

Chapter 8: This time I'll make it last

Notes:

My dear readers,
I have to stop writing such long chapters—groan—
and then... WHAT? 8k words? Anyway... I'm not questioning it anymore.

First of all, thank you for these wonderful comments and for bearing with me for so long.
I'll reply over the weekend, but time is a bit scarce at the moment.
The cliffhanger... I'm sorry.
I have to say that I'm also finding it particularly difficult to be patient today and not immediately bombard you with the chapter.
Even though I know what happens, I'm slowly getting excited too. Strange, isn't it?

But enough talk, there are a looooot of notes at the end today. Sorry, not sorry.

---

Chapter 8 - This time I'll make it last

 

Another laughter washed over him. The defeat did not diminish his almost childlike joy, instead he couldn't stop grinning like one, either. “Thank you for this fencing lesson.” His body struggled desperately to breathe through what he had said. “Sir Knight!” 

He had lost, but why did he feel so successful? -God,- he had enjoyed this fight. 

A lightness surrounded him, the heart was pounding up to his throat. 

The man before him lowered his sword. There was undoubtedly a smile in his strained breath. Then a chuckle escaped him, too. 

The sound was …heartfelt. Not challenging as before, but rather like the mood he radiated: boyish, and released. 

“...Yet I warmed up fast. Sir Capon.” the unknown knight admitted warmly. As if he had broken through a wall, that the man in front of him had been holding up before the fight. “I should also thank you.” his voice sounded so...different, so real and genuine. Even the Prague dialect was hardly to be heard anymore.   

Blood was still roaring in his ears. The exuberant atmosphere lifted him up to a degree he hadn't felt since…six years.

 -It is… absurd…- fighting against the urge to shake his head over the word, his grin widened as he looked at the man in armour. 

Just like all the other times before, his attention remained fixed on the helmet visor, searching in the shadows of the eye slits for the contact he so …craved. It had long since ceased to be a curiosity. The hairs on his nape stood on end and a warm shiver showered over him. His heart knew even before his eyes that he had caught his gaze. 

-Why did the sparring match feel so effortless, so fluid…as-  

Every exchange of blows, every step, every riposte and movement had felt as familiar to him as jumping into a big lake warmed by the first summer sun, after a long, icy winter. The surprise about it, the amazement and rush hadn't vanished, it embraced him. 

He couldn't stop smiling nor feeling so alive and vibrant. 

Likewise the fight echoed within his body. Even when the knight turned away and walked over to his sword, probably in a sporting gesture to pull it out of the dirt for him…one of the latest memories drew him in. 

At that precise second in their fight, when he had collided with him, all the unnecessary weight had disappeared completely: the armour, the bascinet, but also the weight of the gloom he hadn’t been able to shake off all morning. All thoughts had come to a standstill. 

Something had shifted since then. Why had the impact not been as harsh as he had expected? Had the man held back or had he been considerate? No, the reason was different... in nature, but also…

-the closeness…- 

Whether intentional or not. 

-It felt…familiar…- 

The weight of the knight's body, the warmth, the sound of his footsteps, even the tension of his muscles, his way of breathing, the faint smell he had noticed for a moment..

Somewhere, a sword was pulled out of the mud...

He blinked... The nameless knight came back into focus.  

The way the man held the weapon in his hand, tilted it, inspecting the cross guard, the balance, the pommel…

He almost didn't see it…

… well he had seen it, but would have paid it almost no attention if it hadn't been for...

that feeling of connection …or rather remembering…recognition! 

No…He would have recognised it anywhere.  

He blinked again... 

All thoughts raced with a sudden, indefinable rush, while reality flowed past his eyes like a viscous sea of lead. 

He knew what was going to happen: 

The man's head tilted slightly upwards, his focus running over the blade up to the tip. Next his thumb would roll against the hilt, his hand would creep beneath as the sword flipped and his fingers would grip the weapon as steady and securely as they always would.

And precisely like that it happened.

-Once a blacksmith, always a blacksmith.- 

 

The thought struck him like a bolt from a crossbow. 

 

The knight’s presence, his tall and broad figure, his fighting style, the last technique, his voice distorted by his helmet and other intonation, yet all of it belonged to him. 

It was… And above everything the lack of fear he had felt under his intimidation, the attraction and connection he had felt to him since yesterday evening. His heart had remembered, had known long before he had seen the signs…

-This can't be true..-  The air stumbled in his throat.

He tried to swallow against his leaping heart. Steady the trembling of his hands.

-My mind is playing a trick on me again, isn’t it?- 

The weight of his body felt heavy on his weakening legs.

He would have reached for the hilt of his sword, to find the security, the reassurance, but the stranger still carried it back to him. The useless fingers reached for nothing.

Even before the man handed him the sword, his hand was already outstretched to receive it. 

“Indeed..a beautiful peace.” The deep voice had been stripped of all its humour, all its joy. It sounded sincere and meaningful. 

-Why do his words matter so much to me?-

Their fingers brushed as he took it out of his hands and the stranger looked up to meet his gaze in all openness. 

His heart skipped a beat, his lungs ached as he drowned them with air. The beating came back with a disarming power. 

The might of certain knowledge in his body however, didn't back down.  

 

-...Hal.- 

 

Blood pressure shot up, energy surged through the veins, but at the same time the shock stuttered over his soul. 

-…. This….He is … Christ it’s you…Henry…-  

Lungs emptied explosively. 

A tug burned in his eyes, as tears pushed to the surface. 

-It is you!-  

A warmth swelled inside of him again. The happiness to realize that he would finally meet him, that he stood in front of him… after all these years... 

Then a poisonous thought suddenly stabbed through it. 

-He knows it’s me. He did not reveal his identity to me... instead he…-  

Almost all positive feelings washed away in him.  

-He avoided me at first. He had been cold and cautious, had questioned my convictions... he… - 

The pain was so intense that he took half a step back.  -He didn't want to meet me. -

 

His gaze pierced through him, his mind completing the picture of him hidden behind the armour and helmet. But the face of the young man, with the heart warm fire in his eyes, that boyish grin and that carefree laughter, that he had known years ago no longer fitted to the man standing in front of him. Instead it changed to the face he had seen last on his wedding day: carved in stone, tight lipped, tensed working jaw muscles and a cold and hurt steelblue lingering in the eyes of a beaten puppy.  

Simultaneously, the stranger, no... Henry also turned away. 

He swallowed hard against his clumsy tongue. 

His throat tightened and the chest constricted, hands, one of which was still holding the gifted sword, fell down, the tremble was no longer controllable. 

“You even beat Father!” a high pitched voice shouted.

Heinz’ adorable giggle snapped him out of his stupor, and moments later he saw the boy jump over the fence, land in the mud and run over to Henry.

 “You are truly Lancelot, Sir!”  the boy beamed in admiration. 

Leaning on his tournament sword, Henry sank to one knee, he positioned himself at eye level directly in front of his son, tilted his head and looked him over. 

The sight broke something inside him open. 

“We talked about this. That's not my name, young lord.”  The warmth in his voice as he spoke to Heinz…was unbearably beautiful.

He could hardly pay attention to any detail. All he could do was watch and listen. 

His son nodded energetically. “I know. I remember.”  

“Good.” 

His son once jumped up and down on the spot. A displacement activity that he had not yet outgrown. “Can I become your squire, right away?” The question itself was bittersweet. The boy had no idea who was standing in front of him. Had no idea that as his father, he had caught himself dreaming about this impossible ideal years ago… 

"I already have one."  You could sense a certain reserve in the knight’s reaction. But no rejection. 

The pout was inevitable, though. 

He heard his former partner sigh. “Once you come of age…you can ask me again.” 

“I have one condition though…” The bright voice turned deadly serious. 

Finally, a smile stole across his lips.
His son still had a lot to learn when it came to negotiating skills. 

He continued with the greatest determination “I want to choose the name of my pony myself.” 

For a split second, nobody said a word. There was only the steady flapping of the banners and tents, shaking by the wind, murmur in the background.

Then Henry burst into liberated laughter.  It was loving and yet so honest. 

His tension and shock were dispelled. -Strange, isn't it?- After all these years, the sound still had that power over him. He knew it by heart. 

Then the knight pushed himself back up. Shook his head.  

“I meant it!” Heinz pressed the point. He clearly felt he was not being taken seriously. 

But he knew that laugh, that specific shake of the head. Henry had already given in. That was how he used to react when he couldn't refuse him anything.

The smile on his lips dimmed. Once he explained to his son that a squire would usually not own a horse of his own for a long time, he would be devastated. 

But Henry didn’t answer, sheathed his sword and looked towards his squire, who interrupted them.

“It’s time, Sir!” The young man glanced over his shoulder towards the arena.   

Once again his eyes blinked and that scene, which had just enveloped him so warmly, washing away his doubts, dissolved into the cold emptiness of before. 

“I am afraid, I have to leave you now, Sir.” Henry glanced briefly at him, taking great care not to look him in the eye. Everything about him had disappeared behind that wall again, behind the role he had played so wonderfully until their fight. 

Panic suddenly shot through him. 

-No, he's leaving…-

He took a few steps, but then his former partner jumped over the fence. From the corner of his eye, he saw that he was landing strangely on his left foot afterwards.

But there was no time. “Wait!” His own voice sounded somehow unfamiliar.

A fear from the past overcame him. 

Somewhere in the distance there was a singing of a signal or a fanfare.  Was it even real or did it belong to his mind? He didn't care. 

He didn't care about anything but him staying. 

Now he looked at his back. 

Watched him leave. 

Just like in all these other painful moments. Like back then in Poděbrady when he had left the room, after their bitter argument and their last intimate encounter... or on his wedding day, when Henry had pulled him out of his panic and calmed him down, after their last kiss. 

All he could do, all he had always managed, was stare at his broad shoulders and straight back and stand by while he left him.  Although he himself had not been able to bear this sight in Suchdol and had pulled him pack, had kissed him, in the end he had never been able to do anything else. 

-Why am I so incapable?-

Like a loyal dog, Henry had always come back to him… 

…until he didn't. 

The voice of his uncle ripped through his heart. “Did you beat your most loyal dog?”

-I did - 

The old lingering pain was cruel. But it had been the truth he carried with him for all this time just like the short letter Henry had left behind with his present on his wedding day. He didn't know how many times he had read the little letter... over and over for weeks... for months? 

He remembered everything, word for word but must of all a couple of phrases had haunted him ever since. 

…
You probably don't remember what you said during our fight... but you were right. I am the reason for your suffering.  And I am sorry that I inflicted you so much pain.

 

Reading this letter had been a torture. 

Henry never had inflicted anything on him, on the contrary, he had been the reason why he had survived everything and had not broken down during that time.
The dark foreboding had overtaken him all day after his wedding; deep down, he knew that he had accused him of something terribly cruel. Even the end of the letter, as conciliatory as it sounded, had not been able to dispel this feeling. 

 

…
I have no solution for any of this.. but to leave. At least for the time being you can try to adapt to your life again, without me standing between you and her.  

God only knows when or if this mission will succeed and I will be able to come back to you. I deeply hope I will.

Always yours. 

Audentes fortuna iuvat

H.

 

 

For a long time, alcohol had clouded those memories of the wedding days, and then, like one nightmare after another, all these old scenes had come back to him.  Just like the fight itself. 

So too the knowledge that his uncle had been right. 

-Him of all people.-

He thought of Henry's eyes again, the ones he had seen in the church on his wedding day. 

When Henry started loading all the blame upon himself, he had been ignorant and blinded by his own pain, had also stood by and watched as a victim without taking responsibility for his own actions.

He should have known…damnit…

God he should have seen it coming….that was typical Henry. Whether it was the attack on Skalitz, the death of his parents or the dilemma in Maleshov, where he had stood up to Dry Devil and claimed responsibility for their greater losses. He always used to blame himself first. 

At that particular moment in the church, he had seen that look again. Consumed by self-hatred and doubt.

And the worst part was, that during their fight the day before he had blamed Henry too.

The shame of it had become his shadow ever since. 

Regret over his own misconduct had preoccupied him for years, and now it was back again and froze his body and mind. 

Henry’s response to this accusation had burned itself deep into his soul. 

“Do you think it's easy for me to see you and her together? Not to think about, that you have to lay with her tomorrow evening?  Do you think it doesn't torture me, to have to share you my whole life? Or to be not allowed to love you like I want to?” Henry had growled through his teeth. “It rips me apart to see you suffer, because of us!”

 

No, that marriage of his, was his cage, not Henry's. 

There had been no future ahead of them, where he was allowed to love Henry, like he deserves. 

Stolen moments in the dark, keeping a friendly but respectable distance by day, occasionally going on hunting trips with him alone… Those would have never done him justice, when at the same time there was a wife standing at his side in the open and society demanding him to fulfil marital duties and build a relationship with her in order to produce offspring. 

Their fight had revealed all of this. 

Not to mention the pain it had caused his partner, who had slept under the same roof where he bedded his wife. - worse - Henry had been trapped in the situation not by society but by duty, for he had pledged to serve him and couldn't escape or deny him anything, nor leave, without neglecting those. Without the outside questioning his honour.

This power imbalance had always complicated their relationship. Only after Suchdol during those blissful weeks in September they had been free of that, had been truly equals.

 

The guilt however had made him realise one thing: He didn't want to chain him to himself.

-Henry had suffered enough.- So he had let the man he loved more than anything, go. 

When the dreadful letter from the king's chamberlain arrived with the request… he had stared at it for a week. A part of him had waited for a letter from Henry, which never came.

In the end, he had signed the obsequious, fawning reply that his uncle's secretary had prepared.  

He even let his uncle squeeze money out of the king for stealing Henry from him. He hadn't cared about any of that… Instead, he had been lost in self-pity for months. 

A gust of wind caught him, ruffling his hair. Breathing life into him again.

Still watching him as he resolutely continued down the path leading to the arena, accompanied by more fighters and pages, he asked himself one question: 

-Do I have a right to drag him back in now, after all these years? What if he doesn’t even want to…-

The hilt of his sword threatened to slip out of his fingers. He grabbed it emphatically and looked down at the weapon Henry had forged for him. 

The engraving spoke back to him.

 

+ Audentes  Fortuna  Iuvat +

 

He could still feel the weight of Henry's sword arm against his, still feel the lost happiness of the match tickling his fingers. His laughter in his ears. He hadn't imagined the feeling of connection. 

Courage came flowing, fueling his veins.

For years he hadn't been able to come to terms with how they had parted. Hadn't been able to choke the last bits of hope he carried in his heart.

He needed to find out.

 

~+* -----*+~

 

I've sat at the bleachers watching life unfold
I've been a bystander to a sight to behold
I've played the victim, I'm the one who let it burn
If you don't fuck up, well, then you'll never learn

And I've been ruminating
Things I never said

We used to chase the sun
We used to have our fun
We were two young fools, oh, kids in love
Before your change of heart
Before it all got dark
We were two young fools, oh, kids in love

Oh, I-I-I'm still living there
This time I'll make it last

Now you're the perfect father to kids that aren't mine
Saw you got married, so handsome in your suit and tie
And you couldn't help me
I'd make it up to you if you were by my side

And I've been ruminating
Things I never said

We used to chase the sun
We used to have our fun
We were two young fools, oh, kids in love
Before your change of heart
Before it all got dark
We were two young fools, oh, kids in love

Oh, I-I-I'm still living there
This time I'll make it last

And I will never give up
You will never know, mm
I'll keep living in my mind still
Where our love grows old and just goes on and on and

We used to chase the sun
We used to have our fun
We were two young fools, oh, kids in love
Before your change of heart
Before it all got dark
We were two young fools, oh, kids in love

Oh, I-I-I'm still living there…

This time I'll make it last

 

~+* -----*+~

 

They had taken their seats in the stands shortly after he had stripped off the armour. He was drenched in sweat from the brief fight and the icy wind cooled him down faster than he would have liked. 

One hand clutched his sword, the other pulled his thick fur-trimmed cloak tighter around him. 

But the cold couldn't numb the overwhelming feeling inside him or distract him from his fixation on Henry's figure in the arena. 

He didn't let on, but he knew his former partner had interpreted his reaction. He had been honest and obvious in his shock.

No, Henry knew he had been found out.

A drumbeat flooded through the place. The musicians on stage filled the cold air with passionate sounds, the bagpipes buzzed so loudly that the wooden stands threatened to vibrate along with them. 

The fighters' introduction faded into the background. He didn't need to hear anything more superficial about this stranger. He knew who he was... no, who he had been. 

Cool and calculating, Henry took his place on the fighting area and shook his opponent's hand. The midnight blue tunic fluttered in a gust of wind, the Bohemian check pattern on the side billowing as the wind swept past.

A grin flitted across his face. This time, he fought in the area directly in front of them. 

In the meantime, other thoughts had occurred to him. Now that he saw him fighting, he wondered how he had failed to recognise him until then. 

Sure, there were so many strikes and techniques he had never seen before, but there were also some of the old techniques he had learned from Captain Bernard, he knew by heart.

Another thought had settled in his mind and pushed some of his doubts aside: 

Henry had been dismissive and cold, but every time they had met, they had been in public, too. He had a reason for fighting as a black knight. 

Perhaps that was precisely the reason that had prevented him from revealing himself as well? 

He laughed bitterly. -That's what you hope, Capon.-  He had always been good at filling his own pockets with shit. 

“I wonder what the reason is…” he muttered to himself…

Sir Hofer leaned in his direction. “Pardon?” 

- Fuck - He hadn't wanted to start a conversation now. “I am sorry, Sir. I was just wondering what reasons a man might have for competing anonymously?”

The old man laughed. “You listed the typical ones yesterday yourself, Sir Capon... which ones are left?”

-joy, benefit, love, practice and honour.-  If one crossed everything from that list that no longer made sense, if the Knight remained unrecognised, then all that remained was: “Joy, Benefit and Practice.” he sighed.  “But I spoke  and sparred with him. He needs neither money nor practice.”

Sir Hofer clicked his tongue. “There you have your answer.”  

He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. One could enjoy a duel and reveal one's identity. Yes, Joy in testing one’s abilities might be the reason he competed, but not the reason he chose to do it that way. -There must be more to it than that.- 

“You know, what father?”

Normally, there would have appeared a smile on his lips, but the tension in him was holding on so tight, he could hardly concentrate on his son. “Tell me.”

“I really like that knight, and I am glad you do, too now.”  

The image from before appeared before his inner eye. 

Henry and Heinrich. 

Henry kneeling before him in armour, Heinz smiling back at him. That's how he had wished it to be all these years. This grotesque image of a man of strength and stature bending down to meet this little boy, not even a third his weight and half his size at eye level. The two people who meant the most to him. 

“Me too, son.” he nodded briefly.

Suddenly, he remembered the conversation he had had with Heinz the previous afternoon and turned to him fully.  “But he told you his name, Heinz. Didn’t he?” He almost choked on his dry tongue. 

The answer was unnecessary. His son turned bright red from being caught. “It’s our secret!” he retorted in his defence. 

“I knew it…” he sighed.  He wasn't angry, but disappointed that Heinz thought he had to keep something from him. 

“Even if he did, he didn't tell me exactly.” The boy tried to talk his way out of it.

“What do you mean?”

His son nervously ran his fingers through his hair. "I introduced myself properly. And then he finally said we had something in common." 

“He said that exactly?”

“Yes, so I asked if his name was Heinrich too, but then you showed up.” Heinz gasped. “He said more or less…What ever that means.” 

-Holy mother Marry, I could have found out yesterday.- 

“What else did he tell you, Heinrich?” he pressed.

His son seemed uncertain. “Father, did I do something wrong?” 

He had used his baptismal name. Something he did very rarely and usually when he was giving him a stern warning.  

“No…” Finally he forced himself to calm down… “No… I just wished you had told me earlier…” 

His son looked at him questioningly. Out of the corner of his eye, he also saw the questioning faces of his guards... He knew that he was behaving very strangely since the sparring fight. 

“He gave me the lecture I already told you about…” His son continued.  He frowned and touched his chin, which had been reddened by the wind. A gesture that did not suit a boy of five, almost six years at all. “Oh, Yes, and he told me the name of his horse!"

He bit his lip, raised his left eyebrow defiantly and looked at his son with a serious expression.  

“It was boring…matched just the colour of the stallion” His boy pondered. “Something like a black rock or stone?” 

-Christ’s wounds… I could have definitely found out yesterday. -   He suppressed the urge to tear his hair. 

-Black rock mmh? - The horse's colour had been almost black but still a blue roan. Darker as Pebbles… “Obsidian, Onyx…” he guessed, Heinz looked at him even more uncertainly. - All too fancy. -  “what about… Granite, Slate…Basalt..”

“Yes!”  Heinz was beaming. “That was it!”

Like a crazy teenager he grinned just the same and absorbed everything he could learn about him. -I am going mad. -

Nevertheless, a gentle smile spread across his face next and remained. -Boring names for his horses and pets...mmh…?- That's just how Henry was.  His humble upbringing came to the fore in things like this. He had always smiled at it.

But his former partner never wanted to give Mutt any other name, either. He had asked him so many times during the summer. The sound of Henry’s annoyed voice still echoed in his mind.

“What's wrong with ‘Mutt’? That's what he is!”

Suddenly, the last piece of the puzzle fell into place inside him. 

- Mutt - 

The dog had been so excited yesterday evening, licking Heinz from head to toe... because he had recognised Henry's scent on him. 

- Good old silly doggie... -  That dog remembered and had missed him for all those years...

“Whoaw!”  

Distracted, he had stopped watching the arena until Heinz suddenly exclaimed excitedly. 

“What?” his eyes darted around. 

The spectators had all reacted in a similar manner. A murmur of delight rippled through the rows. A short fanfare sounded; Henry had already won his duel. 

 The opponent was lying on the ground, he must have landed an impressive riposte. But something wasn't right. Henry was barely putting any weight on his left leg. 

“Was he hit?” 

Krýstof cleared his throat behind them. “If I may, Sir, he wasn't hit, but instead his knee buckled during the last block.” 

Then he remembered his own sparring fight with him. There had been a moment when he had pushed himself away from him with full force. There, too, Henry had briefly slumped to the left side. 

“Oh …That's my fault.” His son's voice was barely audible. Regret lay therein.

 He furrowed his brows and pulled the boy gently towards him. “Bullocks... Why do you think that, Heinz?”

“I told you, Father. He collided with the other horse yesterday.” The boy suddenly appeared very small. “So he is injured after all.”

He glanced ahead. His former partner walked over to a bench with a noticeable limp. There he sat and waited, seemingly calm, until the other participants had finished their rounds.

However, he kept the leg in question slightly stretched out from him. His son was right. He really was injured.

Only then did he manage to look down at Heinz. “Come on, little one, it won't be that bad if he continues to participate in the tournament.”    

A small thought occurred to him. Henry had always been stubborn as hell. He also would never want to drop out because of an injury on the first day of such an event. Suddenly, there it was, that old enormous feeling of concern for him. 

His son attempted a tentative smile. 

Then he rubbed the little delicate back encouragingly. “I was planning to seek him out again anyway…I will ask him about it.”

“Can I come with you?” Two ice-blue eyes looked up at him. 

“No.”  he said without hesitation. He didn't want to explain to his son which knight was behind the visor... That would only make everything infinitely more complicated. “There’s something else I need to discuss, that only concerns knights and lords. You stay with the others.” 

Once again, he looked down into the arena. Had Henry just glanced in their direction? The Leipa banner fluttered conspicuously above their heads.

He heard his son take a breath to argue again. 

But his voice brooked no contradiction. “You stay put. It won't take long, I promise.”

 

 

~+* -----*+~

 

His heart was pounding, his breathing was ragged. He ran purposefully but not recklessly down the steps of the grandstand. The last group of fighters had left the arena barely a minute earlier. Fortunately, the gate was right next to the staircase. He had to intercept him. Once he lost sight of him, he would have almost no chance of finding him again. 

He stopped abruptly when he saw Henry over the railing of the upper staircase still standing quite near the gates. His squire ran towards him. The young man seemed excited. One of the heralds was walking up to them.   

Ducking back behind the façade of the grandstand he watched them carefully. 

As the lad reached him, he spoke up instantly with a nervous voice. “Sir, Sir Charles has an important message for you.” 

The official master of ceremonies stood to attention before Henry. Henry shook his head. They greeted each other with a handshake. 

-That's right, Sir Hofer said that officially all participants are listed by name.- So those in charge knew very well who he was. But is his rank above the masters of ceremonies?

The man handed Henry a letter. Judging by its appearance, it was a dispatch, and the seal on it made it highly official. 

Henry appeared calm on the outside, but the way he clenched the letter in his fist after reading it betrayed his displeasure. 

“Again…” He sighed. “You'd think that the burghers would at least refrain from picking fights with the clergy during the tournament.” 

The herald shrugged. “The dispute has escalated to such an extent that you are personally requested to mediate.” 

He slammed his shoulders and looked to the sky. Then he handed the tournament sword to his squire and loosened his waffenrock. “Because the king knows that I am in sympathy with the Hussites, but I do not tolerate crimes no matter which side. The clergy will certainly send someone themselves. Do we know who it is?”  

“Not yet.” The herald shook his head. “We hope you can sort things out before it comes to that.”

“Alright.” He pulled at the midnight blue garment and suddenly stood there without colours, dressed only in armour. 

“Shall I get everything ready?” The squire took the garment from him and handed him another piece of clothing. In his arm however he carried a weapon belt and a long sword, hanging from it were a knight’s seal and a pennant with – he swallowed at the sight – Henry's coat of arms. 

-now there is no doubt anymore - 

“Yes.” He nodded and fastened the cloak around his shoulders.

Once again, the herald addressed him. “You have time, Henry. It won't be your turn again until tomorrow. I am just sorry I have to summon you, right after your duel..But, well fought, as expected.”

“Thank you, Charles.” 

Out of the blue Henry glanced over his shoulder right up in his direction. 

He retreated behind the panelling of the grandstand just at the right time. -Has he noticed me?-

By the sound of it two people were leaving the small forecourt. 

The pounding in his chest jumped up to his throat. He laughed inwardly over his own behavior. That was ridiculous. He couldn't spy on him after all and hide in the bushes like a weasel. 

Plucking up his courage again, he stepped forward and proceeded his way down the stairs. 

How surprised he was, to find just the herald standing alone on the forecourt. 

Henry and his page had left.  

He gritted his teeth, took off himself and almost collided with a knight in a deep red surcoat. 

A white flower in the centre was the only distinguishing feature. -A Rosenberg?-

He turned towards the path.

Well, he had heard enough to know where he was headed. He didn't care that Henry had been summoned; he just knew that this time he wasn't going to stand idly by and watch him turn his back on him.  

 

It didn't take long before he spotted Henry and his squire on the path to the royal stables. Although Henry's limp was barely noticeable anymore the latter had handed him the bundle and was running ahead. 

Nodding to himself his strides grew longer. Even though he felt bad about eavesdropping, he had already guessed that Henry needed to get on his horse quickly. But he still didn't understand why this matter with the hussites, burgers and clergy concerned him. The last he knew, he had served as a middle-ranking officer for the king, but that information was older as Heinz. Then, just the day before, he himself had hinted that he had fought in the Margrave Wars. 

He tensed at the memory. 

The way Henry had threatened the Hungarian still sent a shiver down his spine. 

No, he must have experienced a lot since then. 

The image of the boyishly grinning lad from Skalitz, who had just turned 21, emptied a beer mug and burped while sitting in the same tub as him, appeared before his eyes. Henry had already changed since then and had become a fearless warrior during their fight with the Devils Pack against Sigismund, but he had never lost his warmth during all that time, nor his sense of justice. Was he still the same?

The energetic footsteps from before grew shorter. He was overcome with a silly fear that nothing remained of this lad, with fire in his eyes, love of justice in his heart, and ideals on his tongue. 

He shook off the thought. He himself had changed too. The world used to be much simpler, his view more black and white. 

-I have to stop questioning things so much.-

The large gate of the royal stables loomed over Henry as he caught up to him, just ten paces away.

“Wait!”  he exclaimed. His own voice sounded strangely hollow. 

He saw a brief turn of the bascinet to the side as Henry looked over his shoulder. But he did not stop. 

-That stubborn man. -

Why, on the other hand, had he been standing still? 

He followed him again, they walked past some stables, passed a small paddock and finally entered a small courtyard inside the two-storey complex. They were not alone; there was quite a commotion inside. A dozen Royal guards were arming themselves, servants were preparing horses. 

“I need to talk to you.” he tried again. “Please hear me out.”

Suddenly, Henry stopped and turned on his heel. “I don't have time for that, Sir. I need to ask you to leave.”  His tone was serious and dismissive. Quite a few heads turned towards them. 

But suddenly a horse was neighing. 

He almost didn't look, but there she was, his grey mare standing at a rail, already saddled by his page, shaking her head widely at him. 

“Pebbles?“ He recognized her immediately. Had this loyal animal just recognised him too after all these years?

Henry flinched noticeably. And then he turned on his heel and headed for a door on his left.  

“Stop! I know it's you…” He knew he was crossing a line. But he had made up his mind. What he had to say to him, he had to say face to face while he still had the chance. “Hal!”

He didn't even know why he had grabbed him by the arm. He recognised the sword he held together with a couple of clothing under it. It was the same one for which Henry had torn half of Bohemia apart in 1403. 

The tension between them was also noticeable to the others. A royal guard intervened. “Is there a problem Sir?”  

The lump in his throat grew so large that he could no longer swallow. He felt the courage drain from his body. - God. I am almost making a scene. -  He closed his eyes for a moment, embarrassment washed over him.  

“No, Jarek. There isn’t. Get everything ready. I'll be back with you in a minute.” 

He didn't have time to ask what he was up to. As Henry opened the door to the inside with his free hand and then shoved him inside by the shoulder. His heart jumped up to his throat. Rough Stone touched his back as he was pressed against it. 

The door slammed shut, the impact made his heart skip a beat. 

They were alone. For the first time in over six years. Nervousness was a word that did not do justice to his feelings.  

The surprisingly large chamber was dimly lit by two small windows facing the courtyard. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the scant light. 

It was something like an armoury, but not quite. A sign hung on the wall next to the door, clearly visible to everyone. It was Henry's coat of arms, but something was missing. 

The bastard thread. 

Seen in this way, it was the same coat of arms that had always belonged to the Koybla family. 

Next to it stood several armour stands, one of which was almost empty. The other held equipment that could have belonged to a high-ranking officer of the royal guard. But he could not assign any meaning to the insignia displayed on the surcoat. Next to it stood a wooden table and a map of Bohemia hung on the wall opposite. A chest rested at the back of the room. Next to it stood two wooden trestles, one holding a saddle and bridal, the other was empty. And there was something else. Hunting equipment he hadn't expected.  -Wasn't that Margraf Jobst's bow? He still has it?-

This was not just any armoury or saddle chamber, it was Henry’s personal one.

His heart was beating so hard that it was difficult for him to breathe. 

He could still feel his grip on his shoulder, then the pressing touch disappeared. Speechless, he looked him over, unable to say another word, watching as he slowly stepped further into the room, threw his belongings on the table and started to undo the buckles that connected the bascinet to his neck guard. 

It took forever.    

Two gauntlets flew onto the table, the cloak was laid down over a rag. Right after he saw bare large hands he recognised in an instant, reaching for the helmet.

Finally, the covering piece of steel was removed. With a clatter, it was placed on the table in front of him. 

And Henry slowly turned to face him.

Had he not already been standing with his back against the wall and leaning against it, he would have collapsed. 

 

~+* -----*+~

 

-Henry.-

… but he had changed.

The hair on the crown of his head was just as long as it used to be, chestnut brown and slightly curly,  but his temples and nape were shaven. A scar diagonally above his left ear, as wide as two fingers he didn't recognise, marked one side of his head. His face was adorned with a short-trimmed beard.

He had matured. 

The few boyish features he still had with twentyone were almost completely gone. His cheeks, once soft and kindly rounded, were now sharper and slimmer, his high cheekbones and jawline stood out more clearly.  

Only now he realised that his build had gotten broader, his body language was reduced to a bare minimum. His blazing eyes were a cold steel blue. The broad eyebrows, once lovingly curved, were now sceptically drawn downwards. 

His presence was truly intimidating, but he couldn't deny that it had more impact on him as he would have thought. The sight, the change, had frightened him at first, but then it had drawn him in. 

The silence between them stretched uncomfortably. 

Whatever he wanted to say, whatever he had to say to him, he had forgotten.

His thoughts were racing.

How could he bridge this distance when so much had remained unsaid between them?

“Well, I guess, now you know...” Henry sighed and turned away. He walked over to his armour rack.  

 A big step then he grabbed his arm again to turn him back around. “Give me a moment, would you…” - for christ’ sake- Henry tensed under his touch. 

They looked at each other, their eyes met. His heart leaped, his breathing hitched. 

-Fuck - 

He withdrew his hand when he realised his mistake.  “I …I guess I should… I wanted to thank you for saving Heinz, face to face...” It was an excuse. But he couldn't think of anything better. 

“You already thanked me.”  Henry's eyes softened. Only now did he notice how tired and worn out he looked. 

He couldn't take his eyes off him. “But I mean it. You risked your neck for him.” 

“Please. Don't make a fuss about it, Hans.“ His voice sounded neutral, no longer as annoyed as before. 

A shiver ran down his spine. Henry had said his name.  

He tried to gather his thoughts, glancing briefly over his shoulder at the wall.  “As far as I can see…you’ve been hurt during the rescue to the point of limping today. If you drop out of the tournament because of this…”

Suddenly, Henry took a step back, as if he had only just realised that the nearness was now making him uncomfortable. “I don’t need compensation payment.” 

He saw his jaw muscles working, noticed how anger simmered beneath the tight lipped response, which he did not understand. 

“I didn't mean to insult… I can see that you're not participating in the tournament for the money. But I still owe you…”         

“You don’t owe me anything.” His former partner sighed. As if he too were at a loss, he finally turned his attention to the reason he was in this room. He obviously had to rearm himself.  “...Look, I just put your son out of danger. I had no idea who he was.”  He pulled the surcoat from the stand and threw it around himself. The royal colours, the Bohemian lion in red and white, and the fine gold thread hemming gave him even more grace than before. The finely embroidered badge on his upper chest shimmered in the low twilight.    

“I know, but..” 

“Every honorable knight would have done the same.” With a few practised movements he closed the garment over his cuirass. The weapon belt together with the longsword of his father was attached to his hip.

He felt himself shaking his head slightly. “No, not everyone. But you did.”  

He hadn't expected Henry to look at him again. The steel blue had lost none of its depth over the years. - Fuck, am I blushing? -  A bitter laugh escaped him before he knew it. “You kind of have an old habit of rescuing Capons.” 

Henry huffed “The irony is noteworthy.” Why was Henry tearing his gaze away again? 

Only then did he see one of those wry smiles on his lips. “He's a good kid. Reminds me of you. Foolhardy like his father…” 

-The same warmth in this voice from midday-. And his words weren't just about Heinz. 

Some of the tension eased away in him. 

“...The moment he fell into the arena…He scared me to death, though.”  there was an ironic raising of the eyebrow.

“Tell me about it.” He laughed inaudibly as he met Henry’s gaze again. “But, whatever lecture you told him, he took it to heart.”

Another huff but also a quiet chuckle escaped his former partner “Guess you will find out about that, sooner than later.” Then he placed his armoured feet one after the other on a chair and strapped on his spurs.  

“Right.” He understood Henry's allusion. The boy would mess up again soon enough. A dull, wistful pain mingled with his thoughts. -Why do you already understand him better than many others?-  “You see, he's the best thing I have.”   

Henry straightened up again and nodded. “I get that.” The big eyes had gained a fire, a purpose he hadn't seen before, once again he managed to meet them again. -He really does. - Contrary to expectations, his response was so understanding, as if...

There was a knock at the door. 

He flinched, Henry closed his eyes for a brief moment.

“Enter!” He liked how annoyed Henry barked.

A soldier from the royal guard opened the door and immediately stood to attention.

"Court Marshal, there have been new developments. Apparently, the church has been stormed, Sir.”

He swore. “Sakra!”  He cleared his throat and addressed him again. “I need to get to my horse…."

“Why are you fighting like a black knight?” The question burst out of him. He had the urge to keep talking, to prevent him from leaving again. 

“I don't think I owe you an explanation.” Suddenly, there was that wall again that Henry had built between them. This time, he felt it very clearly. 

“No...” - Not to that- 

Nevertheless, when Henry had wrapped his cloak around himself again and was just about to put on his helmet, he hesitated in his movements. 

“When can I see you again?”  He tried. “I mean, I want to see you again.” 

There was this shaking of his head again. But this time he wasn’t sure about the meaning.  

“It’s been over six years, Hal. I don't want to dig up the past. We could just…talk….catch up a little.” 

He had already taken a step outside and sighed. “Alright.” 

When had his own steps carried him to the threshold? “Then where?” 

“Probably at the grand reception and dinner at the castle halls.“  He looked over his shoulder one last time. 

“You mean today's?” He suddenly remembered the invitation he had received the previous morning. 

“Hopefully I’ll be back later this evening, after dinner.” Then he turned away, put on his helmet, walked over to Pebbles and swung himself into the saddle in one powerful movement.

One last look as he turned his horse around.  “...But, don’t follow me again. I'll find you.”

The visor was lowered with a snap, he saw a hand signal to depart, and then he set off with the troop of cavalry.

A horse whinnied, the clatter of hooves echoed away on the cobbles.

~+* -----*+~

Notes:

Sooo...
The song in the middle of the chapter is 'Kids in love' by P!ink and First Aid Kit, which I dicovered by accident. I thought the text and the overall feeling matched this chapter perfectly.

Are you looking forward to the next chapter? A festive dinner, a reception, and all of that in the great hall of the royal castle? *swoon*
To be honest, I don't know how long it will be. It's quite possible that Henry's next chapter will be a little shorter.

How did you like this one?
I tip my hat to DigitalMetronome at this point. It's been correctly guessed that Hans deliberately “released” Henry from him.

Let me know in the comments!

Notes:
8. Hans’ crest: For those who don't know…
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crest_(heraldry) Yeah I just looked up all the english terms for all parts of the coat of arms again.. And I realised that I made a mistake. I described Hans' crest in the previous chapter with the wrong term and somehow just translated it directly to “treasure”. (In German, the heraldry name for the crest is ‘Kleinod’, which means little treasure or small jewel. My sincere apologies.
Now to the point: the crest on his coat of arms is a red fish behind green peacock feathers. Yes, you heard right. Do the colours look familiar? Take a look at his signature clothing.
https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/4/46/Arms_of_Lipa.png
Almost all branches of the Ronovci family (German Ronau or Ronow) have this heraldic animal. Apparently, the fish stands for adaptability. The exceptions are the Dauba (Dubé) and Krzineczky of Ronow (Křinečtí z Ronova).

 

9:So I finally wrote down Henry's letter he left behind years ago for this chapter, BUT it would have ruined the flow of the first scene... So I decided against posting all of it... If you want to read it, here it is:

 

Hans,
I'm at a loss. You're right if you blame me for leaving like that.
You probably don't remember what you said during our fight... but you were right.
I am the reason for your suffering.
Believe me, I would have done everything to save you from this wedding.
But all I was allowed to do, was to stand by and watch while this marriage tears you apart.
To tell the truth, I can't bear to do nothing any longer either. Not to be able to protect you from this, from us, from me, is a torment.
Nor do I want to stand by as a reminder of our blissful time in the summer, if the memories torment you just the same.
I have no solution for any of this.. but to leave. At least for the time being you can try to adapt to your life again, without me standing between you and her.
God only knows when or if this mission will succeed and I will be able to come back to you. I deeply hope I will.
Always yours.
Audentes fortuna iuvat
H.

10. A SMALL SPOILER about the psychology of the characters, as I understand them in my story:
I thought long and hard about how the journey might continue for the two idiots after their break-up or pause. It was clear to me that, unfortunately, they had not managed to find their way back to understanding each other after the wedding, due to multiple reasons.
But Love means: putting someone before your own needs, not instead of them. (quote Jonathan Decker - lis. Family therapist - cinema therapie)

Just like in real life, small misunderstandings accumulate, everyone carries their own personal baggage (like deep rooted beliefs, guilt and shame) and not everyone manages to listen when the other person needs it. Then sometimes your surroundings just get in the way as well, pushing you further down the darkness. And when a crisis challenges us, we fall back on old learned behaviours (blaming others, blaming ourselves when there is no one else to blame, shutting out the people we love, aso.)
Behind many things lies the eternal doubt that one is not good enough.
Even years later, both of those two Idiots still carry the baggage of their break-up with them. Then everyone deals with loss in their own way: Hans may never have completely moved beyond the stage of denial. Even though he is clearly overcome by the depression of loss he still lives in the past.
Henry has not completed the grieving process either. He was initially hopeful of finding a way forward, was in the bargaining phase, until he was so deeply hurt by the notice, that his anger and bitterness about the perceived injustice turned into wounded pride and defiance.
But neither of them could ever bring themselves to close the door to “their” past completely...
Lucky for us, isn't it? XP

Chapter 9: The Curtain

Notes:

Dear readers,
I know it's a little late this time. But I'm completely caught up in a whirlwind of far too many colds and everyday life.

Please bare with me, I will honour your lovely comments tomorrow and reply! But be assured that those comments and kudos give me so much energy every time I read them.

I've just written the last few sentences.
To be honest, when I started writing on this, I had something completely different in mind for this chapter, but then I decided against it and stuck to the old plan. But read for yourself.

The inspiration for this chapter was the music of Dario Marianelli, my love, once again. But given the theme of the chapter, how could I not listen to the track ‘Curtain’ over and over again? I hope you can't hear the waltz in my choice of words.

Now I'm presenting myself as a little victim of costume dramas. But wasn't that already clear? LMOA.

Chapter 9 - Curtain

~+* -----*+~

 

 

Pebbles trotted wearily beneath him forward. The horse wasn't enthusiastic about reaching their goal. The castle hill, Hradčany, came into view as he steered her over the Charles Bridge along the winding street uphill. Maybe the reason was that he wasn't enthusiastic himself to reach it either. 

The lanterns along important crossroads had already been lit, and the houses along the street were only dimly visible in the almost dark evening sky. The torch in his hand flickered in the wind.  Moisture stuck to the air which had dropped below freezing. The flames struggled to feed on the fuel.

The day wasn't even over yet, but the experiences were enough to fill a week. 

He had managed with great difficulty to settle the dispute between the burghers, Hussites and the clerks, had arrested a few Hussites who had clearly broken the law because they had stormed the church and seized church property to demonstrate against the clergy. 

On the other hand, he had offered protection to the priest as long as he didn't incite violence. 

The poor man was threatened by the strictly Roman Catholic nobility, only because he had been conducting his mass in accordance with the teachings and sermons of Jan Huss. 

All in all it had been a futile balancing act. 

A sigh escaped from his lips. The breath crystallised in the air. 

The small cavalry unit must have long since returned with the prisoners to the castle, only he had made a stopover at his home. 

A warm bath and a little while later, he had changed his clothes to something that was more appropriate to the upcoming pompous court event. 

The feeling of Rosa's hands on his neck and shoulders still lingered on him. 

She had sought him out in the hallway just before he had departed.

 

~

“You look good, Henry.” 

She had fiddled with the badge above his chest, next with the red sash and finally straightened his collar. Apparently, his appearance hadn't been to her satisfaction yet. 

Rolling his shoulders, he fastened his midnight blue cloak with a ridiculous expensive brooch and ran his fingers through his still damp hair. “Please, let it be. Rosa. I am already late.” He hated being dressed up like that. 

The tightly tailored sleeves of his shirt merely gave him enough room. The fabric stretched across the back as he grabbed his hat from a hanger.

He suppressed a sigh. - Fresh from the tailor, and after a few days in the tournament, it no longer fits. -  

Over it he wore a brocade grey-white and embroidered doublet that was just softly padded.  Even though the pattern, woven with just a few silver threads and the hemming edged with red and gold tendrils, looked expensive, it was still restrained enough to be considered modest.  An attentive observer would have noticed of course, that these were also his coat of arms colours. 

All in all it fitted like a glove, hugging his slim waist and his muscular abs tightly but offered enough space for his broad shoulders.   

The tabard over it was equally form-fitting but fell more loosely from the hips downwards. A knee reaching long garment, not unlike a waffenrock, but made of ocean-blue high-quality fabric. Fortunately, he had decided against sleeves when he had it made by the tailor.  -the third layer of sleeves would have made me mad by now. - It was slit along the sides from the hips down and decorated with wide fur trimmed edges at the bottom. 

The hoses were a tight-fitting connected pair of dark grey as was customary, although he felt less like a tied-up parcel in them. The boots were equally understated but had been thoroughly cleaned and freshly greased. He would not be seen wearing those frilly ones with the rolled-up toes. -Only over my dead body.- 

The knightly belt, a decorated black girdle together with the weight of his sword, pouch and dagger felt comfortable around his hips.

Once again, he stretched and rotated his forearms.  “I can't wait to get out of this, again.”

There was another reason behind his complaint and discomfort.

“You are unusually tense. You don't care about the circus so what's the matter?”
The hallway was adequately lit by a candleholder at the wall and a lantern Rosa had placed on the side table. However, the heavy wooden beam ceiling and the sandstone floor shimmered warmly.

He raised an eyebrow sceptically at his wife. She would always sense every change in his behaviour. “... Sir Hans…” Struggling with himself, the words came out grumbling from his lips. “He recognised me… then followed and intercepted me at the royal stables…he was kind of persistent.”

“Oh!” Her dress rustled, her shoes clicked as she stepped back slightly, her hands folded together.  “What did he want?” There was an undertone in her voice, a mixture of astuteness and amusement.

“...to meet and talk.” Sternly, he looked at the beret, a cap in a matching mid blue with a small gold badge on one side, symbolising his knighthood status,  and put it on. 

She looked at him questioningly. “And?”

“Well I had to put him off until tonight.” 

 She looked at him strangely ambiguously. “That's good, isn't it?” Apparently, she was not very pleased with his reaction. 

Why had he given in on meeting him? “Tell me again why I do this…” He paused and glanced sideways at her.

He saw that look on her face, that clearly said that she knew every one of those reasons. 

“Because you listened to my advice to settle things with Sir Hans and meet with him to catch up?” she suppressed a little snort. 

He flared his nostrils. “What would I do without you?” He rolled his eyes demonstratively.

She smiled warmly. “You are a kind man Henry.” There was a coquette raise of an eyebrow. “But, a stubborn mule too.” 

She giggled a little bit again, it was surprisingly catchy. He suppressed his own laugh after he had swallowed down his wounded pride. His comment came back deliberately ironic. “Since when did you become such a people person?” 

Rosa laughed. “Since I am married to one…and you know..” she looked to the side of the hallway. 

He followed her gaze. 

A smile spread on his face and mirrored hers. Now that he was standing in his home, he noticed how astonishingly quiet it was in the house. Suddenly, he wanted to leave his home even less than before. 

“Henry?”

He looked down at her again.

“Please try to listen to whatever he wants to say. Maybe he will surprise you.” Her left eyebrow twitched knowingly.

His mind was blank. “What do you mean?” 

Her features changed along her tonation to a seriousness. “Have you ever thought about the possibility that he might deeply regret whatever it is he did to you?”  

The point struck him for a moment. After a second he shook his head once.-Bollocks if that's true then he could have contacted me years ago. -  

But her tone of voice became softer again. “Hear him out, at least for your own peace, alright?” 

He analysed her and knew what she was implying. He didn't need to ask. He was speechless for a moment and anger boiled up inside him.

"If you think I still care about him or our past..." His heart suddenly began beating so wildly that it frightened him. He had to push down his upstreaming anger. “After how he treated me...”

“But you still do.” She said it in a neutral tone, without reproach. 

The breath got stuck in his throat. He tore his gaze away from her for another deep inhale.  

“You are just too stubborn to admit it to yourself.” 

Everything in him rebelled against her statement. 

His innermost being had been on a wild ride since he had met Hans the day before. Even though most of the rage had faded to a controllable dumb sensation in his stomach... Now the memories of their past weighed all the more bitterly on him. “..I..” he had to swallow. He wanted to contradict her, but couldn't.  

Right. He didn't want to lie to her, either. 

That was something they had promised each other before their engagement and he would not go back on his words now.

Even if he still cared about their past, as she claimed, he wasn’t sure if it was simply the carefree happiness of their time before Hans’ wedding he now missed or the friendship they had shared. 

The fresh experience of their sparring match however slipped in his mind and heart. The lopsided grin he hadn't been able to fight off as well as the sight of Hans’ radiant smile sent a nervous tickle to his belly for a moment which then subsided into a warm sensation he hated in every way.

He closed his eyes. The moment he opened them he saw the gentle smile in Rosa’s features. 

Brushing one last time over his shoulders, she smiled again, this time more meaningful and in a sly manner. “Your appearance in this attire will certainly make him question his old behavior, at least the moment he sees you tonight. I am sure of it.” 

God, her teasing was annoying. 

Just now, however, he regretted a little having confirmed her assumption about the nature of his past relationship to Hans all those years ago. She had never judged him for it, though. 

Nethertheless a dark blaze fleshed in her eyes likewise. -Oh I know that smirk - A wry grin tugged at his lips. 

But cynicism weighed heavily on his mood to get engaged in her flirty gaze. “Since you already know everything, you can come with me and keep him at a distance for me. Before I drown him in the wine decanter.” he mocked her.

She snorted. “I am sure you will manage to scare him away just fine with that fierce stare of yours alone.”

“Pff,” he pushed the air out.  Now that he thought about it, even his troop had been strangely subdued and meek all afternoon. 

-She might be right. As always.-  

“Enjoy the evening, Henry.” She pulled at his arm and he leaned down towards her with a warm smile.  The embrace that followed felt relieving. He pressed her graceful body against him, while she snuggled herself between his arms. The gentle warmth and closeness captivated him for a moment. Only then did he realise how little time he had spent at home recently.   

She withdrew at first. 

One last time he looked down at her somewhat puzzled and gratefully, then he let go of her hand, turned on his heel and opened the wide front door to the outside. Immediately the hallway was flooded with ice cold air. “I will probably be back in three hours or most unlikely….” he fought the urge to roll his eyes again.

There was a loud bang upstairs, followed by a commotion. 

Simultaneously they both looked up at the ceiling. Nothing else could be heard, except for the barking of a dog and the patter of little feet. They exchanged one last knowing glance.

“or..way past midnight. I thought so much.”  Continuing for him she smiled, pulled her fur-lined stole tighter around herself and had left the hallway before he had.

 

~

Pebbles panted heavily as she took the last few steps to the enormous castle gate. 

Hooves clattered over the cobblestones, then faded away muffled over the large drawbridge. 

The moment he nodded to the two gate guards, both of whom stood to attention. “Sir Marshal!” They greeted him immediately. 

He halted briefly and looked into their faces, reddened by the cold. “Havel,” he said, looking at the other. “Bořek.” Both nodded. “Anything unusual?”

The men looked back at him without delay. “Except for the pompous event and the hustle tonight, everything is quiet and in order, Sir.”  Bořek answered. 

“It's going to be cold tonight. I hope you have a quiet watch.”    

“Thank you Sir!”

Spurring his horse on again his gaze wandered up to the towers of the second defensive wall. The position of the guards was easy to make out by the moving torchlight and lanterns. 

He crossed the bridge over the inner moat and passed through another gate. 

The tall courtyard buildings and offices on both sides framed the street that led further uphill. Pebbles raised her head; she knew the lantern-lit forecourt to his right all too well. The courthouse and prison buildings stretched along the inner castle wall. Right next to them were the quarters for the troops and middle-ranking officials. 

He shook his head. 

To this day, he wondered which idiot of an official had ever thought this proximity was a good idea. Even today, inmates of rank and name tried to bribe the court servants and guards. The fact that they also lived near the cells made it difficult for the officials to fight corruption. 

But the whole court was a place full of contradictions. 

A single bell ring echoed from one of the towers. It made him jump. “Sakra”  The reception must be over by now. In half an hour, the grand dinner would begin. 

He nudged Pebbles in the flanks again. The mare broke into a gentle gallop, snorting, and carried him further up the road towards the palace. 

Passing the monastery and St. George's Basilica, a row of carriages and those prepared for noble ladies, he finally came to a halt in front of the side aisle of the royal palace. The side gate was guarded as planned. 

Contentedly, he nodded to the royal guards. One greeted him back, knocked on the door and announced his arrival. 

Before he made his way up to the entrance, he shot one lingering glance, as always, to the cathedral construction site. Katedrála sv. Víta. He had already seen a few, but the sheer size and scale surpassed even the construction of St. Barbara's Cathedral in Kutterberg. The clustered pillars and arches of the choir building shimmered faintly in the evening sky. Had it been a clear night, the moon would have illuminated the building even more impressively.  

-I wonder if it will ever be finished?-

A shiver ran down his spine. The night was not particularly cold for winter conditions, but the dampness crept between all layers. A crisp smell hung in the air, almost followed by a crackling sensation. The forecourt was not as brisk as he had expected. The wind had died down.

-It's definitely going to snow tonight.-

He dismounted, the left knee hurt slightly as he sat down on the pavement, but the painkiller potion seemed to help.  

Pebbles snorted and nudged him. He patted her neck, where she loved it and gave a little smile.  “Good old girl.”

A stable boy came running down the front steps, closely followed by a man in finer robes and uniform.

-Oh no.- His secretary looked stressed, as always.   “Sir Court Marschal!” 

He handed the reins and torch to the stable boy and came up the stairs to meet his secretary halfway.

The latter fell into step with his quick pace and almost stumbled as he turned around.

“You are expected, Sir.” 

“I know.” 

The large, heavy door leaf was opened. They entered, he threw his cloak open, and, as was customary, folded it back over one shoulder and slipped off his gloves.

“His Majesty desires a report, Sir. We have already heard from the troops that you were able to resolve the matter…” 

-His Majesty...- So the King was present as planned. 

A page stepped forward, lighting their way and two guards from the entrance hall fell in behind and accompanied them as required by court protocol. Their footsteps echoed across the polished stone floor. The cross-vaulted ceilings above them flickered in the glow of the candles and the elaborately crafted bronze lantern.

Hardly noticing the guards in the entrance hall who straightened in his presence he took a side glance at his secretary. “Does His Grace wish to be informed immediately?”

The older man nodded, already out of breath.

They passed through an antechamber. The medium-sized room was furnished with a row of decorated tables. On each of them, banners were laid out in neat rows. Each one represented the coats of arms of the invitees. Swords or longswords belonging to the guests had been placed on many of these. 

This room served the purpose of politely disarming anyone without a right to bear arms in the palace. Only a dagger for self-defence was allowed to be taken to the banquet hall. 

A scribe and two court servants were in charge of everything. The guards nodded to him. Everything went according to plan. 

He was about to move on when his gaze fell on a particular sword laid down on a grain- yellow banner. The Leipa coat of arms. 

The wine-red leather, the lily-shaped pommel, the engraved crossguard. It was placed so that the jumping dog and the little bird could be seen. 

So Hans had come. 

A hint of a smile flitted across his face and then disappeared again. It was strange to see his sword here, in a place of his daily routine. As if his past and present had had no connection all those years before, he suddenly found it difficult to comprehend the last few days. 

He swallowed and tore himself away. 

Their hurried footsteps echoed even more loudly as they climbed the semi-circular staircase to the Piano nobile. 

Piano nobile- Level of distinction. The term had become so familiar to him that it unsettled the humble black smith in himself. It was the stately floor just a man's height above the forecourt level. It certainly served many architectural purposes that were beyond his limited schooling. Silently, however, he thought to himself that it was simply a sign of the royal court's desire to rise above the world once again, and, that was the real reason, for making each of the guests feel this superiority very clearly.

The ceiling height on this floor was so high that the old Skaliz forge, complete with its chimney, would have easily fit inside. The same was almost true of the wide corridors, where anyone visiting for the first time could easily get lost. On the other hand, these halls never got properly warm in winter and it cost a fortune to light them. The contradiction was so... -What was the word again?- 

Undeterred, they turned left, made another turn and walked towards more double doors. 

Judging by the noise, the celebrations were in full swing. 

He smiled the moment he saw Charles, the herald, standing next to the entrance nodding politely in his direction. “So, everything went well, as I hear, Henry?”

The elder man, in his courtly ceremonial attire, had almost become a friend in the last couple of years. By the time he returned from Moravia in 1406 and had to take up his new post, he had simply been overwhelmed by all of it. The man had to explain several times everything about etiquette and court rules to him and had done so with the devotion and patience of a monk. He would be eternally grateful to him.

He managed to bring a smile to his face. “Do you see any remains of pitchforks stuck in me?”

The man laughed warmly and grabbed his outstretched hand. He looked down at his notebook and  took a step closer to him. “His Majesty is in high spirits tonight.”

He nodded. “He must be relieved that relations with House Rosenberg have cooled or rather deteriorated to such an extent that he had no reason to invite them.”

Charles nodded in turn. “It's just a shame that they are still participating in the tournament.”

“We just mustn't give them the stage.”

Charles grinned mockingly. “Or a certain black knight will throw them all out of the next round.” 

He cracked a little laugh. “He will be willing, but…” and shifted his weight off his left leg. “Man proposes, God disposes…” 

The older man who had seen over fifty summers studied him briefly, was about to ask a question, but then decided against it. 

Finally, he looked at a wall clock. “Come, I'll accompany you inside. Dinner will be served shortly.” Charles drew out the word dinner with a smile. 

A huff escaped him. Dinner was a word hardly doing justice to this. 

Two pages opened the swing doors. 

 

Instantly, his senses were overwhelmed. Laughter and loud snatches of conversation crashed towards him accompanied by a constant undertone of clattering cups.  Bright candlelight reflected off countless glass crystals beneath the chandeliers and ornate furniture, almost blinding him, while the sweet smell of beeswax mingled with the tickling scent of fine perfumes and heavy wine. 

Next, warmth washed over him. The large hall was heated on many sides by several fireplaces decorated with intricate ironwork. 

He took a deep breath in and out.     

Sighing he glanced back over his shoulder at his scribe and the two guards who had to stay behind, then finally entered together with the herald. 

 

~+* -----*+~

The guests in the hall were dressed impressively, their colourful robes filling the view, while the lively conversations, amused faces and shouts barely concealed how much the wine and the tournament had already fired up their spirits. 

The hall, supported by large pillars in the centre, was elaborately painted and panelled. A pleasant sound of lutes, fiddles and small drums underlined the scene. 

Overall, the hall was so spacious that the large tables in the centre provided enough room for the nearly 80 people who filled it.  Among them were the highest officials of the court, then the noble lords and guests accompanied partly by their wives, followed by the members of the knighthood and close confidants of the King.  

They politely made their way past the small groups that had formed. As they did so, he kept stealing glances between the guests. 

-Where are you, Hans?-  

Then he tore his gaze away again. Why was he looking for him? Shouldn't he actually be indifferent? A shallow nervousness crept  under his skin. He swallowed and grabbed the hilt of his sword. In situations like this, he was glad of his privilege to bear arms.  

Suddenly, Charles stopped. A page had intercepted him. “Excuse me, Henry, I have to take care of something.” 

He followed his gaze over to the tables. Apparently, there was some problem with the arrangement of the cutlery. 

He sighed. He could never have dealt with something like that without bursting out laughing. Fortunately, his job was to ensure safety and smooth processes inside and outside the palace. 

There was a yapping sound. 

They both looked over their shoulders. The king's hunting dogs were somewhere at the other end of the room. Wherever the dogs were, their master was not far away. He nodded inwardly, happy about his task of reporting to the king to keep him occupied from his thoughts. A new zest for action came over him. 

So he turned and continued on his way with great strides. 

He almost collided with the very short court chaplain. “Forgive me, Reverendus Dominus.”  He immediately stepped down from his houppelande.

"Court marshal." The man nodded, almost bowed with satisfaction at the correct address, straightened his floor-length robe and gave him no further attention. 

He looked over some of the shorter people again. But he could not see the King, nor his closest servants or bodyguards, nor Hans. 

One of the King's dogs reappeared among the guests to his left.  There was nothing else for him to do but continue on his way. He passed another group, this time of high-born ladies. He quickly walked past them. Some of them were Rosa's closest acquaintances. And he certainly didn't want to get involved in a conversation with them.

The space suddenly cleared behind a sturdy pillar, and then he understood why. Behind two servants who were refilling the wine decanter and arranging cups on a table he spotted him. 

None other than King Wenceslas stood prominently in the middle of the room. Dressed in the finest robes and colours in purple and blue, embroidered with golden threads, a houppelande so long that it alone was enough to ensure that no one came too close to him.  He was accompanied by a page, and two bodyguards stood two steps behind him.

Charles had not exaggerated. His Majesty did indeed seem content, if not cheerful. 

Standing at a respectful distance from the King were the Lord High Chamberlain named Peter of Konopiště of Sternberg, Hermann of Dubá and... 

Hans. 

For a moment that felt far too long, he couldn't tear his gaze away from him. 

He stood there as if he had always belonged there. 

Engrossed in lively conversation, he undoubtedly presented a steadfastly serious yet graceful light footed appearance that only he could call his own.  

His clothing, a dark red tappert decorated with gold thread embroidery, reflected his high status. In keeping with the fashion, he no longer wore a padded pourpoint underneath, but a doublet in a richly decorated warm white.  The multitude of buttons on his sleeves from the past had been reduced, and instead the sleeves began to fall in elaborate folds above the elbow and shoulders. Over everything he wore a fur-trimmed coat folded and held in place by an ornate chain. The fabric of it was elaborately woven – deep green almost black on the outside and lined with yellow-gold brocade on the inside. The Leipa colours.  The matching tight dark green hoses fit perfectly, as expected.  

His richly decorated girdle and shoes, made of dark red leather, provided a fitting finishing touch.

The conversation between them seemed superficial. “...the tournament is truly outstanding in every respect, the celebration of the year. Your Majesty.” Sir Hemann of Duba spoke up. 

Hans nodded confidently. “I can only agree with my cousin. Your Majesty.” 

-Cousin? - He had almost forgotten that the Duba family, like the Leipa and Pirkstein families, belonged to the Ronovice clan. They all had the same tree branches on a yellow background in their coats of arms. Even if ‘cousin’ was not the correct term, subtleties mattered little at court. Hanus of Leipa had also never been a direct brother of Hans' father Jan Jesek Capon, but was the son of Hans’ great-uncle Jindrich the III of Leipa on his father's side. 

As he was about to shorten the distance and respectfully join the gentlemen, he suddenly paused and listened. 

“I thank you for your kind words, Sir Duba and Sir Capon. The day's triumphs are shared with the knights and those who laboured to make it so.” The King smiled contentedly, yet impenetrably.  He was used to flattery. That is precisely why he spoke carefully and without placing too much emphasis on it. 

A servant suddenly appeared in front of him. The young page looked nervous, almost fearful, as he turned his gaze towards him. “May I offer you a glass of wine, Sir?” 

-Do I really look that intimidating?-

“Yes,” he said curtly, took the cup and tried to smile. “Thank you.” 

The boy nodded visibly relieved, but he was already fixated on the other gentlemen. 

Sir of Sternberg gladly took this up, saying, “Then, with your permission, Your Majesty, I will pass on these thanks to the Court Marshal, himself.” 

Peter of Konopiště of Sternberg was a stubborn man, not without prejudice against the knighthood. But he was fair and just, even though he rarely forgave men who had once fallen out of favour. Although their working relationship had not always been easy, since the office of Lord High Marshal had been vacant for years, the Lord High Chamberlain had taken on a number of additional ceremonial duties at court and the associated judicial tasks. He had passed on everything else to him. But the mere fact that he mentioned him was a sign of respect. 

The King merely nodded in agreement. 

“That reminds me of something, Cousin. Wasn't the Court Marshal in your service years ago?” Sir Duba addressed his relative directly. 

“Indeed.” Hans smiled politely and reservedly. 

His heart suddenly leapt into his throat. 

He took a small step back behind the bundle pillar and continued to concentrate on the conversation which took place on the other side. Even the wine cup in his hand was forgotten. 

The Lord Chamberlain suddenly laughed. “Then I suppose an apology is in order, Lord Capon, for suggesting to His Majesty to steal him at that time.” 

There it was again….this peculiarity of the high nobility to speak of knighthood and lower nobility as if they were possessions just because they did not have 300 years of ancestry or land. And Hans right in the middle of it all. 

“There is no need for that, Lord High Chamberlain.” Hans sounded terse. He even joined in the laughter a little. 

He felt sick. 

Of course even King Wenceslas sounded amused. “Well, I am partly to blame, too, Sir Sternberg. Sir Kobyla saved me from great harm during my escape from Vienna. Such loyalty and honour are rare to find.”

He swallowed. The king's praise would have put him in an extremely good mood, if he hadn't actually hoped...

-... hoped for what? Don't be so naive, Henry -  

“He is indeed a true knight and nobleman, your Majesty.”  Suddenly Hans's voice changed, the cheerful, almost amused tone darkened to a more serious one. “Sir Kobyla saved my life during the war many times over. I am glad that I once had the privilege of calling him my brother in arms but also my friend.”

His heart was beating so violently it hurt. 

“Forgive my curiosity, Lord Capon, but if that's true, why did you agree to release him?” The High Chamberlain asked bluntly. However, there was another questionable motivation behind this. 

Anger rushed through his veins. - Yes. Why did you do it, then? - He swallowed and didn't dare look past the pillar. 

“For that very reason. He deserved that generous offer more than anyone.”  He endeavoured to maintain a neutral tone of voice without any restraint. 

There was a brief silence. No one seemed to have expected such a sincere and honourable, even selfless answer. 

Hans' tone changed back to his usual charming singsong. “So who am I, to stand in the way of such a future and honourable position in the service of our Majesty?” 

He didn't hear the words that followed, nor did he understand the laughter afterwards. 

The anger, the uncontrollable rage that had fueled his body for the last days, drained away. 

 

-What … the hell?-  

 

Why had Hans sounded in one second so serious, so meaningful, as if... he meant it exactly that way. Was it just his imagination, or had he sounded vulnerable and wanted to play it down in the end? 

-That doesn’t make sense… - His thoughts were racing. -You didn't make such an irrevocable decision on your own and over my head for the both of us ... just because…you meant well..-  

His hand clenched around the goblet until it trembled. 

-What a load of horseshit. -

The hand around his sword hilt traced the leather wrapping, brushing the crossguard and finally fell empty to his side. 

Tired, he straightened his back and closed his eyes for a second. 

Suddenly he remembered why he had originally sought out the King.  - It doesn't matter what Hans’ intentions were. It's in the past. -  He had a mission, a position, and he would fulfil it. 

Without being seen by the men, he walked around the pillar and approached the gentlemen and his King from the other side. 

He did not need to clear his throat. 

The gentlemen noticed his presence right away.

Hans stopped mid-sentence the moment he saw him. 

“Your Majesty….”  But he obstinately looked past him at his Highness and spoke matter-of-factly and respectfully after bowing.  “...You wished to speak to me immediately, Sire.”

“Sir Henry.” His Majesty looked at him with satisfaction. “Speaking of the devil.”   

Only then did he turn to the other gentlemen to greet them respectfully. “Lord High Chamberlain, Lord Duba, Lord Capon…” He blinked, felt Hans' gaze on him, and then couldn't help but look at him anyway. 

Their eyes met. 

A reddish veil crept over Hans' face. A timid smile joined it.

His heart was pounding wildly, the tingling sensation in his belly joined in. 

Hans' light blue eyes were shining irresistibly.  His words from earlier echoed inside him and suddenly an old memory flickered in his mind.  

 

“I care about you too, even if I don't always show it.”

 

A warm feeling washed over him that he couldn't fight down any longer. 

Then he smiled slightly in return.

- curva-  He no longer knew which feeling to believe. Everything felt so... ambivalent.

It was even hard to concentrate on anything else anymore. The king's next words echoed strangely distorted in his head.

All he knew was …that somehow he cared less about their past but… 

…he still cared about Hans. 

~+* -----*+~

How fickle my heart and how woozy my eyes

I struggle to find any truth in your lies

And now my heart stumbles on things I don′t know

My weakness I feel I must finally show

~+* -----*+~

“Court Marshal. I understand that everything I requested has been taken care of, but I would like to hear a few details.” 

He blinked again and snapped out of his stupor.

Exhaling he straightened up even more, and turned his gaze away from Hans back to the King. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

The King suddenly waved him off. “But not now. We can discuss it over dinner.” 

He was briefly puzzled, then he understood immediately.. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, I am neither in the position nor do I have the appropriate status and it will certainly offend the high lords and I should most humbly advise against …” 

The King clapped his hands. “Nonsense, Marshal, you will be sitting at my table tonight.”     

– Oh no – 

He was about to bow gratefully when the King turned away to the other men. “Everyone has already spoken highly of you.” 

The gentlemen addressed nodded. What else could they do?  

“Thank you, Your Majesty, for bestowing this honour upon me.” He had no choice but to accept it. 

The King laughed again. “Besides, I had a splendid conversation with your former Lord Capon, who I invited to the table just before your arrival. And if I am not mistaken, I sense a few stories from the time when the both of you drove King Sigismund out of Kuttenberg in 1403.” 

- Oh God, No- 

The king nodded to the group and strode past them. Charles the herald caught up with him and seemed to inform him about the status of the banquet. The king's new requests for changes to the seating arrangement however hardly seemed to faze the old master of ceremonies. 

Momentarily at a loss, he had no choice but to watch the King walk away. 

Only then did he sense a presence beside him and realise that Hans had stepped up to him, still facing the highest noble in the Kingdom. 

He exhaled and looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “Did you plan for this?”

Hans did the same, looking back at him from under his raised eyebrow, but unable to hide his sparkling grin. “I wouldn't dream of it.” 

He stifled a snort. “Oh, please.” and resisted the urge to look at him again. 

However, his heart continued to pound in his throat.

Suddenly, there was a short fanfare, then a bell rang. 

The king solemnly opened the banquet and was the first to sit down at the raised table in the middle. Now it was their turn to follow him along the other high lords. 

But Hans hesitated. Despite his noble blood, he had never been part of such a banquet before. 

“Come…” he said curtly. Then they walked side by side the short distance to the table. 

Their shoulders brushed gently against each other as they fell into step. 

 

~+* -----*+~

 

 

Notes:

Sooo, and here we are again with a kind of cliffhanger... I tried, I really did!
But to be honest, this tension is likely to continue for quite some time from now on.

How did you like it?
What is your opinion of Rosa?

Write it in the comments!

Notes:

10a The term ‘royal guard’ did not exist at that time. However, I decided to use it here because many fantasy books have firmly established such roles in our minds and most people know what is meant by it. In terms of content, however, there were the court guards and armed forces (mercenaries and commoner guards), riding units (knighthood) as well as the personal security officers (the king's closest confidants and knights) who were responsible for his direct safety and accompanied him on hunting trips, for example.

10b. The court offices! OMG, what a rabbit hole. I ended up making an Excel spreadsheet. I tried to find out which noble actually had the position in that year, but apparently every information except for the burgrave wasn't reliable. So I tried to find existing lords from that period who might have been responsible but everything else is fictional.

Further Info to the marshals: In short: the Lord High Marshal is something like the interior minister (Home Secretary) of the royal court. The Court Marshal was his deputy and the first executive officer in the exercise of the corresponding duties. Simply put, the Lord High Marshal told his deputy what the objective was and the court marshal had to know how to ensure that it was accomplished.

In long: The Lord High Marshal had the following duties: in addition to matters of internal security and protection of the king, he was responsible for overseeing court operations and ceremonies, and he had court jurisdiction in the sense of judicial authority over the court staff. Because this highly political office, to which the king could appoint someone, went hand in hand with judicial authority over the security staff, it was traditionally only held by members of the high nobility who had the corresponding political power and allies.
For his deputy the court marshal,(Henry in our case) this meant that he was responsible for the daily routine and the security regarding it (agenda, room planning, servants) and supervised the door guards, gate guards, knights and armed servants and their allocation. (The Commander of all court guards and members of the entourage, so to speak.) He also had to carry out the instructions of the Lord High Marshal and was his first point of contact. This meant that he was also responsible in particular for ensuring order during court receptions, large festivities or tournaments.
According to an internet source, his position would also have been responsible for travel arrangements, planning marching routes and campsites during the king's travels. However, there were conflicting sources on this, as there was also the position of army/camp marshal. Furthermore, King Wenceslas hardly ever undertook any real journeys.

11.Some of the inspiration for the fashion and the festival etc. comes from the Très Riches Heures (Les Très Riches Heures du duc de Berry) https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/8a/Les_Tr%C3%A8s_Riches_Heures_du_duc_de_Berry_Janvier.jpg
Others I have added more freely.

Chapter 10: awake my soul ~ Part 1

Notes:

Hey everybody!

Thank you all and those who have commented. I know the last chapter must have been a bit frustrating.
Many things remained left open, a lot was touched on and Henry seemed to be so stubborn...
But some of you may have noticed that he is struggling with himself and maybe all he needs is a little push.

But read for yourself! *chuckle*

Chapter 10 - Awake my soul - Part 1

He had fought against the urge to stare at him throughout the banquet. 

It had been a torture.

Henry sat opposite him at the wide table, looking steadfast, mighty and chivalrous in his figure underlining attire. 

Was it the doublet or had his shoulders and back even gotten broader in comparison to the afternoon? 

His short trimmed beard, the shaven temples and sides of his head gave his face the sharp cut appearance of a knight.  The scar behind his ear right under the edge of the barrett however shifted the impression to one of a rough and battle experienced warrior.

Though the garments were fine cut and of expensive quality they weren't extravagant. He knew Henry didn't care much about new fashion unless it suited and didn't annoy him. 

-God It was embarrassing -

The moment he had stepped before him, his heart had shot up his throat and then the blood pressure had dropped down to his loins. 

The fact that the king had addressed him familiarly as ‘Sir Henry’ at the beginning was proof that he was held in high regard. If his assumptions were correct, and Henry's hunting equipment in his armoury suggested so, he was certainly one of the knights who regularly accompanied the king on hunting trips to ensure his safety.

He gritted his teeth. 

The stupid, nasty feeling that had settled in his gut was all too familiar. -Damn it,- he was jealous. But not of Henry, but of the king, who had access to him, whenever he so liked. 

Henry hadn't even batted an eyelid about the greeting. 

-Holy mother mary-, He wished his breathing were calmer. 

A servant came around and filled his cup with red wine.  Immediately a heavy scent of berries,  wood and earth erupted from his goblet.

The liquid slid roughly over his tongue. Then he put down the almost absurdly decorated goblet again. 

Now he desperately tried to concentrate more on Henry's behaviour than his breathtaking appearance.

Because everything else about Henry raised so many questions and so much uncertainty in him. 

No sooner had he digested the information in the afternoon that during the six years of their separation, Henry had worked his way up to become Court Marshal, one of the twelve highest offices in the country, than he noticed new things about him that he couldn't quite place. 

There was so much, yet so many little things too. So many facets of him he had never seen before.

The way he took to all the courtly rules with ease, having taken off his long sword before sitting down and handed it, as a matter of course, to a standby servant, was only one example.

He was accustomed to these attentions, to his position, and played by the rules he had once ridiculed. The lad who had never used serving cutlery until he came to Pirkstein in the early summer of 1403 now a man, used it with ease to help himself to the food and ate almost elegantly, with his own knife. 

  His Majesty, as was customary, had steered the conversation towards serious topics between the courses and had asked for Henry’s brief report. And so he had done as asked, and had answered to the king in his deep, calming voice.

Henry had eloquently explained the conflict with the Hussites at the church in a nutshell. The fact that he had been entrusted with the situation spoke in his favour. But that he had actually been able to de-escalate the situation,  had just arrested a few - fuck he could nowadays just arrest people in the name of the king! -  was testament to his diplomatic skills. 

However, he answered the king's questions neutrally without letting his personal opinion influence his answers. The mouthy Henry of earlier days would certainly not have been able to keep this completely under wraps. 

So it was no coincidence that the whole table had listened to him with ease. 

He smiled to himself. 

Even Heinz enjoyed listening to him, and the boy had an attention span that put even the King in the shade. 

His presence was so engaging, but much more pleasant than the moment he had intercepted him at the royal stables. 

Strangely enough the Prague dialect was now omnipresent again. 

And so he fitted into this image of the royal court like a model representative of his knighthood.

But in all those years, his words had not lost their warmth and humanity. Even when he made a little joke about the poor priest they had had to pull out from under the altar, shivering. 

And he himself had no chance but to smile broadly at him about the remark too. 

The moment Henry cracked one of his small laughs, his eyes, accentuated even more by his ocean-blue tappert, had been that blazing steel blue he had fallen in love with all those years ago.

And then for some reason… 

…he had smiled his way.

As if Henry had fallen out of his role and back to their past, he had sought his gaze.  

…and he had been so blindsided by it the same way as trying to shoot a bird from the sky and accidentally looking into the sun. 

The crooked grin had caught him off guard, the following tingling sensation had spread through his entire body.

As his warm smile vanished, his face relievingly didn't change to one carved of cold stone, but rather to one of uncertainty.  

After that he did not tear his attention away with force, but now and then tried to read his gestures without giving much away himself.

But why was he still holding on to that wall between them?

It hurt, but not because it felt natural, but because Henry maintained it so unnecessarily cruel.

-Why is he keeping himself so distant from me?-

The unrest of that would not let go of his thoughts. 

They still had this chemistry of the past, as the sparring match had shown earlier that day. Likewise all their heated verbal exchanges had shown that there still was that fiery dynamic between them, and he hadn’t even recognised Henry under that bascinet at that time but still had felt that old connection.

-Why are you acting so reserved... .. completely different from back then?- 

And then a thought came to him that suddenly opened up a new perspective. 

-Maybe he is just as lost and confused in this as I am…But why is he so excessively wary..? -

If only he knew what was going on inside his head. 

 

~+* -----*+~

 

The main course was almost over, and the company laughed heartily at a remark made by the castellan, Sir Krawarn of Helfenstein. 

It had been some joke about an anecdote from the Italian court. He smiled politely, but his heart would not calm down. 

The red wine served with the main course, was dry and heavy, and although Henry wouldn't have touched anything like that in their youth, he now drank it without wrinkling his nose. 

-Have you really changed this much, Hal?-

But suddenly he noticed how much water he was drinking along with it. 

With a tiny smile brushing over his lips he teared his gaze away from him only to keep watching him out of the corner of his eyes. 

Perhaps he had simply allowed himself to be unsettled, had not looked closely enough, had stopped trusting his gut feeling?

Maybe Henry was still the blacksmith's boy from their past, only he had become wonderfully adept at hiding it. 

-Then, why am I so agitated? - What am I afraid of ?-

The memory of his uncle's words shot through him. But he fought them back. -Right, you don't want to ruin it again.- 

Then he swallowed. 

In other words, hadn't he already done so? 

-So what do I have left to lose? That silly hope that had left me with nothing but longing and pain?- 

 

A clattering sound startled him out of his thoughts.

The food platters were cleared away, and now he could see the annoyed, almost angry frown on Henry's forehead for a split second. 

In keeping with his rank, he had been served as one of the last at the table, but the King obviously did not have the same appetite as a knight of Henry's stature and had finished his meal early.
According to the rules, no one ate anymore once the king had finished. And so Henry too had to comply. 

For a brief moment, he saw that honest side of Henry who didn't take kindly to questions about food and hunger. 

A soft chuckle escaped his throat and before he knew otherwise he fired a mischievous look at him. 

Henry raised his prominent eyebrows at him, then rolled his big blue eyes in annoyance.

Years ago he would have teased him…but … why should he hold back now? Maybe he would come out of his shell, would reveal his character as openly again as in 1403.

Without hesitation, he pushed his plate over to him. There was still a proper piece of roast pork on it, which he had taken too much of.

He knew Henry wasn't allowed to take it. Court etiquette forbade it. And Henry knew too.

But that angry stare he threw back at him was priceless.

The smug grin on his lips widened as Henry cracked one of his knuckles. -Fuck- he was even more handsome when he was hangry.

He leaned a little forth on his chair and gave him another challenging look.

Henry smirked and…

Bam  

 gave him a kick to the shin under the table.  A gesture he certainly hadn't seen coming.

-bloody hell, he didn’t even hold back.-  

But instead of being silenced by the kick, it had almost the opposite effect.  

He chuckled briefly like a boy in communion class, then bit his lip. 

Sir Krawarn turned in his chair. “Would you like to share that amusing story with us, Lord Capon?” 

- Fuck -

He glanced over briefly to the high Lord but his eyes peered over to Henry once again. 

Henry's expression had changed. His small lopsided smile suddenly transformed to that broad naughty boyish grin. 

The heart was jumping with joy, a tickling rush flooded his belly. 

The broadest smile shot over his own burning cheeks in return before he even noticed. 

He couldn't take his eyes off him. The sharp edges of his face had softened and so he looked just like that young blacksmith boy who had walked the first time into Pirkstein all those years ago. 

“...Lord Capon?” 

The embarrassment rose to his ears but he managed to play it down by stroking his short beard and gazing appealingly to the high lords and ladies at the table.

“I am sorry. Sir Court Marshal reminded me of a silly story, which I may impose on you, Lord Castellan.”  His charm and impeccable manners slipped over him like one of his favourite garments. “But my hesitation lay in the worry to upset this noble company while doing so; the tender-hearted among us may not want to hear about our moves against Sigismund in the summer of 1403.” 

King Wenceslas looked at them sincerely. “No, no, Lord Capon, please share it!”

And so he did. 

He told of how they had tried to weaken King Sigismund's allies, of the gathering of all King Wenceslas' supporters in Raborsch, which had been violently crushed by the Prague milizia, and finally of the capture of Von Bergow in Maleshov and the infiltration of the Italian court. 

Henry listened to him, glancing over at him while raising an eyebrow now and then in annoyance or cracking a small smirk occasionally. 

He smiled in return, knowing that he had embellished or deliberately omitted a few details. 

But especially the moment when he mentioned Zizka, he had felt Henry's leg pressing a warning against his under the table. 

The touch shot through him like a thunderstruck, leaving him with goose bumps right away, but he didn't pull back or let it on.

He was somewhat aware that Jan Žižka of Trocnov did not currently enjoy the best reputation in the empire even though he had been officially pardoned by the King.  His strategies and fighting methods were considered unchivalrous despite the successes, and therefore controversial. So he described their alliance at the time as a matter of difficult necessity.  

"...And so, disguised as the knightly entourage of the Italian cardinal, we entered the Italian court and took Sigismund's guards by surprise.”

“Goodness gracious! It's almost like in the tales of Troy!” The wife of the Lord high Cupbearer Magdalena of Wartenberg hung on his every word.  “I didn't know you could speak italien, Sir Court Marshal?” 

Henry shook his head dismissively and smiled. “Not a single word at that time, in fact.” 

Skeptical, he studied his reaction. - As if it's any different now?- 

Henry's eyebrow twitched defiantly meeting his gaze, as if to say, ’You'd like to know, wouldn't you?'   

“Do you speak it, Lord Capon?” The lady's facial features betrayed her disbelief. 

“Fortunately, just as well or as poorly as the gentlemen whom Sigismund had entrusted with the protection of the court.” He had to laugh. “But one of us spoke it quite well. He mimicked a phenomenal authentic cardinal. Godwin Oderin of Raborsch.”

The group laughed. Even the King burst into hearty laughter. “Unimaginable. The audacity alone.”

He saw that prominent raised eyebrow in Henry's face, that clearly said. ‘Well, if the original cardinal was also an alcoholic boozing and whouring priest, you're right.’ 

Biting his lip for a second he drew his attention back to the audience.

Vividly, he continued his story. “As it turned out, the Prague militia was already hot on our trail. They cut off our main route through the gates, so we escaped with the silver through the catacombs to the outside. But before that, our Court Marshal was able to free our allies, safe and sound.” 

The guests at the table looked at Henry in astonishment, yet nodded in approvement.  So did the King. 

Only the Lord High Chamberlain wrinkled his nose. “One can argue that one hardly needs chivalrous qualities for such a questionable undertaking.”

Hans frowned. That was an indirect attack against his and Henry's honour and undermined his credibility. Lord of Sternberg was more sceptical of Henry than he had previously let on. Either that or he had other political reasons.

He was about to object when he felt Henry's leg press against his again. 

The King himself clearly knew how to handle the tension very well.  “Zizka's style of command and methods are indeed not very chivalrous, High Chamberlain. We all agree.” Then, however, he turned to the group and almost giggled.  “But for my part, I am glad to have chosen a knight for the security of my court who could identify the weak points of the Italian in a single day. Wouldn’t you agree?" 

The dinner party laughed along with him and so did he after a while. 

He had to admit to himself that the King, against all rumours, was very capable of charmingly dominating the table and, on top of that, distinguishing himself in the process. 

He stole a glance over at Henry. He gave him a knowing ghost of a smile which he understood immediately.   

Simultaneously they grabbed their wine goblets and let the affair be. 

Vinzent of Wartenberg broke the silence again. “And how did this undertaking end, Lord Capon?”

“Thank you Lord High Cupbearer for granting me the chance to finish the story…”  As natural as ever, he regained the attention of the people at the table. He barely noticed Henry's brief huff and smirk. “We managed to bring the silver to the fortress of Suchdol not without a fight and some bitter loss.”  

Henry raised his drink to him. He hadn’t said a word but he understood the intention that flashed through Henry's eyes over the rim of his goblet only too well.

-let’s toast to Adder…-   

Their cups met with an almost silent ring.

“...But even though Sigismund returned with his army to Hungary afterwards with no Groschen left in his war funds, the Prague militia blocked all roads and besieged us for months.” He continued the story. This time, he was unable to maintain his cheerful tone. 

“Good Lord! A siege!” The wife of the castellan sighed. 

Her husband nodded. “They must have been eager for his Grace's Silver.” he huffed. “But what a disgrace to fall back on besieging a castle for it.” 

The High Chamberlain agreed. “Wearing down one's enemy in this manner is not a valuable victory.”

“I’d like to agree, Lord High Chamberlain.” Henry spoke calmly. “I fear that in such situations, to most men the end simply justifies the means. And as you stated correctly earlier, our alliance given Sigismund's superior forces had not covered itself in pure glory, either.” 

“Spoken like a true diplomat, Sir Court Marshal.” Vinzent of Wartenberg noted. 

But his wife chimed in. “But how did your troops survive the siege? It must have been horrendous!”

“Brace your tender heart, Madame, that it was.”  He answered her warmly and with a sincere voice but paused for a moment to built up tension. 

The touch of Henry's leg against his calf still lingered gently. His warmth spread through the hoses over his skin. 

His heartbeat was racing. 

Why wasn't he withdrawing his foot? 

Did he not trust him with telling the story without stepping on the high lord's toes or ruining his reputation?

He simply couldn't figure him out.

“The fortress hadn’t been well prepared for it.” He continued. “Rations were almost exhausted after three weeks and there were numerous wounded. Worse still, our request for reinforcements had not reached Lord Margrave Jobst and his alliance army, so he was still in Moravia and unable to come to our aid.” 

“Good Lord!” The lady was practically gasping for breath. “But what did you live on afterwards?”

"Not much." Without thinking about it, he shot a glance over at Henry, unsure whether he should go into detail or not. But Henry nodded, almost not visible.

Or is he still looking out for me?

So he took a chance as he didn’t notice any pressure against his leg. His voice was rich with amusement. "Luckily, the Court Marshal spared me most of this information. But when our situation seemed almost hopeless, he volunteered on this suicide mission to bring reinforcements and left me behind on Zizkas command. After that I was enlightened that we feeded on cooked leather straps by then."  

Those present sighed and turned away in shock then fell along with him into laughter. 

To his surprise Henry joined in. How wonderful it was to hear him chuckle so freely. Still smiling, he added.. “In my defence, to save him from starvation, I had left Lord Capon my dog to slaughter before I left, but he refused it.” 

-Aye, you did - 

Their little giggles faded away as they looked into each other's eyes.  For years, he had pictured himself telling this story with him.

Odd was it not? The time in Suchdol had been one of hardship, despair and worries. But just one glance, one shared laugh with Henry had been enough to overcome even the grief of buried brothers in arms.  They had pulled through. Together. Several times.

His heart was bursting with a bittersweet happiness at these memories, but even more so at sharing them together with him. And for the first time, Henry's demeanour was no longer reserved. His lips were curved to a heartfelt smile. His steel blue eyes, an endless depth.

From somewhere came a short laugh of appreciation from the King. “A true proof of loyalty and love among brothers in arms, when one is willing to sacrifice even one's dog for the other.” 

However the moment the words loyalty and love filled the room, the fiery steel blue of Henry's eyes clouded over, revealing a vulnerability he had not expected to witness. 

The joyful leaping of his heart turned into stabbing beating, the air in his lungs seemed no longer to be enough.  

“True words, Your Majesty.” Then he saw a flicker, and Henry’s previously open expression disappeared behind a crooked smile, leaving only the strained working of his jaw as he turned to the king with a sad laugh that didn't fit him.  “In the end, I reached the army camp, and the Margrave's bannermen broke the siege just in time and the silver was saved.” 

He could only swallow and smile feebly. 

Finally he understood why Henry had been this cold and distant. Why he had avoided him like the plague.

Six years ago, he must have hurt him more deeply and persistently than he had feared.  

 

~+* -----*+~

 

How fickle my heart and how woozy my eyes

I struggle to find any truth in your lies

And now my heart stumbles on things I don′t know

My weakness I feel I must finally show

 

Lend me your hand and we'll conquer them all

But lend me your heart and I′ll just let you fall

Lend me your eyes I can change what you see

But your soul you must keep, totally free

 

Har har, har har, har har, har har

~+* -----*+~

 

The night sky hung low and cloudy over Prague. The wind had died down and the air crackled as he exhaled. 

The stone of the balustrade in front of him felt heavy and cold as ancient ice against his hands. He wanted to embrace that coldness, hoping it would calm him.

The banquet was officially over, the King had retired to a smaller room with a few of the guests and some of the company were still lingering in the hall. 

He breathed in and out shakily and dug his heels into the terrace paved with large sandstone slabs. The garden in front of him was terraced, with trees and plants stretching out behind it, as far as he could see in the flickering torchlights. The towers of the castle wall glistened silver in the few moonbeams.   

Somewhere, a door creaked open. Surely the heat, the wine, or both had gone to the heads of other guests in the hall as well. 

“Did you enjoy the dinner?” 

Startled, he looked over his shoulders. Henry was nearing himself and came to stand beside him. 

However, his gaze passed him by. Always observing his surroundings. 

He turned back to the garden and overcame his shock and huffed. “Definitely more than the one on Trosky.”

Henry chuckled softly. “Right. This time, there was no one present who had wanted to hang you shortly before.” 

“Are you sure?” He looked at him sarcastically.  - Don’t you hate me? - 

Henry turned towards him with a twinkle in his eye.  "Now the Chamberlain dislikes me for being merely a knight who is trusted by the King.  But he only finds your charm annoying. That's an improvement."      

His heart beat faster with a strange mixture of joy and nervousness, but at the same time a warmth spread through him. Henry was here standing next to him, talking to him. Without any formalities or reserves. 

Just like Henry…

It felt wonderfully relieving. 

A broad grin spread across his cheeks. “Fortunately, he was the only one at that table who held that opinion.”

Henry snorted.

“What?”

“You haven't heard my opinion yet.” He grinned cheekily.

“You wouldn't dare..." He gave him a stern glare but his amusement didn't leave his voice and curled lips.

But suddenly Henry straightened and stepped in front of him. “What wouldn't I dare?” His presence changed in the blink of an eye. 

The gentle warmth left him at the same time as the personality of his former partner changed to the intimidating commander of the Royal Guard. 

The sudden proximity was completely unexpected. He leaned back and stared at him in shock. 

All humour had vanished from Henry's features. - What the…-

An ice cold shiver ran over him.

“..you shouldn’t dare to threaten the Court Marshal in the royal palace.”   Henry's gaze had darkened to a dangerous glare. That friendly smile had completely fallen from his features as he pierced him with his steel cold eyes. 

Nevertheless, the hairs on his nape stood up.

His heart raced, his breathing hitched. - I don’t understand, we were just joking…-

Henry must have misunderstood him! 

Suddenly, there was a clattering of armour somewhere. Steel rang.  The guards nearby readied their weapons.

He swallowed hard. “...Hal?”   

The tension was so high you could cut it between them.

He just kept staring into his clear and cold eyes, studying his relations in an absolute lack of words.

And then… 

Henry turned away and …

…Laughed! 

Loud and cheerful.

“...”

 “By God…” He barely managed to contain the heavy shaking of his laughter. His usual grounding deep voice shot up to that higher pitched sniggering. “...you should have seen your face!”

-WHAT? - 

It had been a bluff, a joke, a…. He felt all his features slip away.

A shaking gasp of relief escaped him next. Breathing in the lost air again he managed a faint. "...You devil…”  

Henry was still fighting against his giggle.

He shook his head in disbelief “You... mean dog….you bastard...”  Anger boiled up inside him and then disappeared again. 

Because he saw him laughing, so freely... 

… so heartbreakingly, like a lad who had pulled off the greatest of pranks. 

- I guess… I deserved that. -

Henry made a tiny hand gesture and the two guards at the door stirred, sheathed their swords and disappeared behind the door into the hall.  Henry gave a very self-satisfied sigh. “You actually fell for it and froze." 

“No, I didn't …” 

“Yes you did.” Henry chuckled. 

“That is a brash exaggeration...” he managed grumpily. “I was merely speechless…”

Henry looked at him still beaming and leaned on the balustrade. “It was a brash exaggeration to describe Godwin as a phenomenal authentic cardinal in front of the King.” 

“Well, then it's unfortunate that the real one didn't survive to ever prove the opposite.” he replied quick-wittedly, unfortunately unable not to mirror his grin. 

"Sakra...Hans…”Henry shook his head slightly, still chuckling. 

A sparkling sensation rolled over his skin the moment he said his name.  

Steel blue eyes locked in on him. “...You're still sooo..." 

He smirked and cut him short. “What? Eloquent, charming, sharp…”

“Brazen, smug, annoying.” His former partner glanced at him with a raised eyebrow then looked towards the battlements behind the garden.    

There was a small rustle as Henry’s hand brushed over the hilt of his sword while his gaze wandered over their surroundings. “But you also mentioned our fallen brothers in arms. That was noble of you.”

The joke faded between them. And with it, some of the light-heartedness. 

They breathed in silence a few times.

 

Now would have been the time. 

 To say…

-What?-

That he had missed him terribly? 

Could he even throw these words at him after what he had said to him in the past? After his cruel behavior had driven him away? 

So much was on the tip of his tongue... but he didn't want to destroy this gentle moment either. 

He leaned his backside against the balustrade and looked in the opposite direction for a moment.  

The elaborately masoned stone walls of the palace, the ornate window frames and Gothic gables towered impressively above them. The flickering lights of the hall shimmered brightly through the large open glass windows. 

Even though the frosty night blew clear air around them,  there was a lingering hint of wine and open fire in the air. 

Only then did he glance furtively over his shoulder.

Henry's features were warmly lit by the torches, a barely noticeable crease pulling the corners of his mouth into a warm expression. His eyebrows were relaxed, but his gaze was... absent.

Only now did he notice how tired he looked. -You work hard. -  Henry bore a great deal of responsibility nowadays. - You can be proud, Hal. - 

He still couldn't believe it, though. “Court Marshal, mmh?” 

Henry turned slightly towards him and looked at him expectantly.  

“You built quite a life for yourself, Henry. One of the twelve highest offices...” he held his gaze for a moment then he had to grin and turned to the door of the banquet hall, trying not to blush.  “...and an important one with responsibility at that…” mockingly he continued. “Whatever a high Lord Cupbearer is needed for..." 

“Well…for…” Henry started but then laughed almost inaudibly. “Even after three years at court, I still don't quite understand it.” 

He let out air through his nose in amusement. “Three years? And before that?”

“Royal Guard for a couple of months, then the Margrave war.” He explained plainly.

He raised an eyebrow at him, now it was Henry who avoided his gaze.

“Before I knew it…King Wenceslas lent me to Jobst. I served under his command till 1406 to support him in the war in the name of the King. You know best how these changes of personnel are decided....” Henry's voice had sounded bitter but then he swallowed and struggled with himself for some reason. 

The pause felt uncomfortable. And somehow there was more meaning to that last sentence.

But then he continued in a neutral tone.  “..At first I supervised the supply trains from central Bohemia to Brünn for him, after that I commanded a troop, then troops and protected the border areas in the name of the King…” He huffed. “Most of the time I tried to survive ambushes of robber knights and protect the poor rural population."    

He simply nodded. That explained a lot. These experiences must have had a huge impact on him.

“And you?” Henry glanced over his shoulder.  “Why have you come to Prague?”

“My uncle.. I finally decided to remove him from my so-called guardianship by court order.” 

Henry nodded. “I heard rumours about him. Mostly about reaching out to Sigismund's allies again. But also…” He paused significantly.

“He is in close contact with many of those noble families because he owes them great amounts, yes. I know.”  He swallowed and told him without hesitation. “Although it took me two years to find that out.”

The next words almost bubbled out of him.  “...After that, I took everything upon myself and managed it as is my right. But he still thinks he's in the right to plunder Ratay's coffers to pay off his debts. Some of those are older than myself. God knows where he spent that amount in the first place." It really did feel good to be able to talk to someone about it. 

“I am sorry to hear that.” 

There had been a moment when he would have shied away from dragging Hanush in front of the Lord High judge at court. As strained as their family relationship was, he had raised him and his sense of honour had long resisted it. 

But that was long gone. “Don't be. It is overdue.”  He sighed. "It's not so much about the fraud, but more about the fact that the money belongs where it was earned. I could have used it to renovate the bridge to Ledetschko, invest it into Neuhof’s stables or in a bigger grain silo for times of famine.  Anything would have been better than putting it towards some war debts that were incurred long before my time." 

Henry looked at him sympathetically. "You're right." But he could also read something else in Henry's eyes. Was it recognition?

A slight mockery washed over himself. “But, the Lord High Judge postponed my hearing for the time being, so I am left in Prague with not much else to do then watch the tournament with Heinrich.” 

“I see.” Henry smiled quietly. 

With a scraping he turned and looked again over the balustrade into the royal garden. Only one small step separated them now. 

A light breeze blew through his hair. Then there was almost no wind again. Every thought he wanted to form dried up. 

It just felt good to be near him and yet...

Henry broke the silence, almost reluctantly. “You really named him like you said.” 

He swallowed. The significance of his next words made it difficult to utter them. Softly he managed. “I promised you, didn't I?”

After a second he dared to look over at Henry. But his former partner stared straight ahead. Only his jaw muscles twitched. “Aye...you did.” he whispered.

…and yet he still longed for him at the same time.  

He watched him still. Henry's long dark eyelashes twitched, his ears had turned to a reddish colour due to the cold. 

The lungs opened deep but surprisingly calm, the heart was beating strong with certainty. 

-I love him -  

Everything he felt was exactly what he had felt six and a half years ago. 

In the meantime, there had been days when he had convinced himself that he might not even love him anymore, let alone like him. Or that this sinfully addictive attraction to him might have withered like a flower. 

He swallowed again. If anything, these feelings had matured like good wine and gained depth and even more meaning.  

If only he could tell him.

Suddenly, something disturbed his view. 

White snowflakes drifted down from the black sky, glistening in the warm light of the torches and landing on the fine fibres of Henry's dark blue cloak. 

Simultaneously, they straightened and looked up at the night sky. 

More and more white dots danced down. They mingled with the visible breath clouds escaping their lips.

-Snow after Easter.-   That was rare.

Only now did he realise how the cold had overcome him and made his fingers numb.  

A small warm laugh escaped Henry's throat. 

He faced him. Joy shot into his own question. “What is it?” 

But Henry looked back in all openness. A fire in his steel-blue eyes and a slight curl on his lips. He hesitated and then settled on: “Nothing.”

The eye contact remained, then Henry cleared his throat and looked over his shoulder. “We should call it a night before the roads are snowed in or worse.”

“Are you joking?” Sceptically, he studied the sky again. The snowflakes were increasing, clumping together into large bouquets and falling faster to the ground. 

-Maybe he is right.- 

Long footsteps scuffed across the floor.

When he looked back, Henry was already at the large hall door and reaching for the enormous iron handle. 

 -No! He is leaving, he... - 

His heart, which had last been beaten with angelic tranquillity, leapt back into his throat. Unease crept into his bones. 

Suddenly Henry turned his shoulder back and looked around for him with a smirk.  “Are you coming, or what?”

A sparkling joy washed over his system and he didn’t care that his face was showing it.  Before he knew it, he grabbed the door leaf that Henry was already holding for him.

Their fingers touched accidentally. He swallowed. Henry's hands had always been like a forge, almost radiating his heat even in the coldest of nights. Now it wasn’t any different.

A trusting sensation came over him, like one that reminds you of home, one that embraces your inner self and relieves you of worry.  A heavy but grounding warmth.

Only he was certain that it was not coming from inside the hall. 

And then they stepped back inside. 

 

~+* -----*+~

 

How fickle my heart and how woozy my eyes

I struggle to find any truth in your lies

And now my heart stumbles on things I don′t know

My weakness I feel I must finally show

 

Lend me your hand and we'll conquer them all

But lend me your heart and I′ll just let you fall

Lend me your eyes I can change what you see

But your soul you must keep, totally free

 

Har har, har har, har har, har har

 

Awake my soul

Awake my soul

 

~+* -----*+~

Notes:

I thought long and hard about whether or not to split the chapter and share this one early. After all, the title alone tells you what I decided.
But don't get confused. Henry will tell the story the next time. But both chapters are very closely interwoven.

But I couldn't keep you waiting any longer and let this piece sit like a fresh loaf of bread on the board. I needed to sell it XD
I am honest. Christmas is coming up in leaps and bounds and I probably won't be able to finish the next chapter before then.

The song that sets the mood not only for this chapter but for the whole evening in the palace is: Awake my soul by Momford & and Sons.

It actually triggered and inspired me to write this story for the first time months ago. It's like the key to it. And it's so nice that I can finally share it with you.

I wish you happy holidays !

Notes:
12: Sam and the silver.
I'm sorry, warhorse, but that's the one thing that always seemed very forced to me.
Although I understand and respect the decision based on game mechanics and tension.
I decided for myself in my other story months ago
that I find this either/or situation not credible.
In my story, Sam survives and the silver is saved. Because Henry simply took him to safety with friends along the way. Because there are plenty.

Notes:

Comments and Kudos are Love!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of thistle and weeds