Chapter 1: Fear and Aches
Chapter Text
Once upon a time, he used to be faster. A strike comes from above. He managed to sidestep it but only barely. He used to have more stamina. Some quick sword manoeuvring means that he can go in and ram his opponent back to make space between them so he can catch a break. His pulse is thumping away. It’s awfully loud under the padded coif and bassinet. It didn’t used to be this loud.
The man across from him is more agile. He got age on his side, but that leaves a lack of experience, and that Henry got in spades. They start circling. Gravel crunches beneath their feet. The man is looking for openings, but Henry has always been patient. He runs the risk and rolls his shoulders in an attempt to loosen them from their stiffness. It’s the old injury from when he got shot back when he was a boy on that disastrous letter delivery with Hans, that is acting up. It didn't use to hold him back, but compounded with 20 years of more fights and injuries that he can count, it leaves its mark. His knee aches. Same goes for his back, where old scars pull at the skin and muscle groups take turns complaining. It gets especially bad when the cold sets in, and this time of year, when the leaves have long since fallen off the trees, he can feel everyone.
The man grabs the opportunity and lunges. Henry is prepared, but he is still a beat slower than he would like to be before he manages to sidestep. Though he still manages to get a good jab into his opponent's unguarded ribs. Pain flares up in his lower back with the motion. He ignores it.
Hans has suggested pulling back a bit. Pass some of his duties as captain off to the men he has been training up. Hans is inquiring about a possible successor.
Over his dead body.
The man hisses as he loses his footing, and that’s all it takes for Henry to go in for the kill. His wrists and shoulders are stiffer than they used to be. He can't manoeuvre the longsword as easily as he used to, but that doesn't mean that he can’t push back with a swift series of strikes.
A feigned jab to the shoulder, pommel strikes his opponent's helmet, and while he scrambles to reorient himself, Henry breaks through his defence. If he wanted to, Henry could have gone for the neck and lodged his sword between the plate of his opponent's armour and the helmet. He can almost imagine the spray of the blood painting the training yard red, but it’s not that kind of fight.
That break in his collarbone that never properly healed, twinges as he slams his armoured shoulder into his opponent’s chest. The man goes down. His sword clatters to the ground a bit further away. The thump of wood, not the clink of steel. He lands heavy like a sack of shit, and he does not get up.
A loud groan echoes from the houndskull on the ground, but it’s drowned in sudden clapping coming from behind them. Henry sheds his own helmet and looks towards Rattay’s northern gate. Despite his age, Hans still moves like a young man. There is a bit more gravitas, what with his red billowing cloak with the fur collar and his now more solid frame, but there is a smoothness in his steps that Henry refuses to admit he struggles to keep up with.
“Don't break the lad yet!” He shouts, and Henry snorts, and nearly chokes on it. He’s forcing air down his lungs in a quivering but tightly maintained rhythm. He refuses to pant like a dog in front of his Lord or his men. His armour covers the slight tremor in his frame. They have been going about it for most of the morning. With his jaw clenched and helmet under his arm, he walks over to the young man on the ground and extends a hand that the lad gladly takes. Hauling him up might pull uncomfortably at his upper back, but only for a short bit. He pats him on the shoulder and dismisses him. When he turns around, he finds Hans leaning on the fence, marking out the rink.
“What’s the verdict?” He drawls. Henry takes the time that it takes to put the wooden sword away to catch his breath and think about it. Does he tell him that the kid almost had him? Or is it just another brick in the road that will get him retired?
“Cocky, but Artur’s not stupid.”
“That sounds familiar.” He grins in that smug way that makes Henry itch to smooth it out, but the yard is not safe. It might look empty, but you never know if someone is watching. He will save it when they are back behind locked doors. Whenever that happens to be nowadays. They are both busy men. Hans got his land and his family, Henry got the guard to train and command.
“If I manage to bash some patience into him, we’ll make a fine knight out of him.” Hans hum inquisitively.
“High praise,” he says with feigned nonchalance. Henry looks away. His gauntlet catches on a rivet on his helmet. He should get it repaired soon. Hans tsks and walks over to take it out of his hand. Standing this close in front of one another with both their hands holding the helmet. Hans’ breath clouds the air. If he wanted to, Henry could lean over and rest his forehead against the soft rabbit fur at his collar. Henry shot the rabbits himself. He can almost feel the guard hairs, and the smell of Hans’ rose oil he stains his neck with, tickles his nose. Hans' eyes trail up as he dares him to do so.
“Could he shape up to be a fine successor?” Hans asks, and the snarky reply dies in Henry’s throat.
“He’ll need some more years before I would even consider it.” He gets out. He takes a step back, helmet still in hand. Hans is hanging in the air, before he catches himself and pulls his cloak closer around himself instead. Like it just struck him that the wind is biting cold. Henry is still warm from the practice lesson, but his hands are numb in his gloves.
“Henry, he’s our best knight.”
“And still wet behind his ears,” he says over his shoulder as he walks towards the guard's tower. Hans walks after him.
“Then what about Janush?” Hans exclaims over the noise of the city in full swing. Henry nods as two guards salute him as they pass him. He steps around a woman carefully walking with a filled basket. The nights are cold now. On some mornings, you wake up to puddles frozen solid. Snow will come soon enough.
“Too disorganised.” He shouts behind him. The sound of Hans’ steps is uneven as he sidesteps around the woman.
“Jan?” Hans shouts as he tries to catch up.
“Which one of them?” he shouts back.
“Any of them!” At the staircase to the tower, Henry takes the steps in twos. He’s about to shoulder the door open when Hans lurches and grabs ahold of his gauntlet, tethering him in place. Henry looks down on Hans’ pleading expression.
“I can handle it.” He says as much as he can, and he hates that Hans does not look convinced.
“Henry.” This close, he can see the grey in Hans’ hair. His pale locks hide them better than his own dark hair does. Hans doesn’t tease him as much about it as he used to.
“If Sir Artur is not yet good enough, then why don’t you take him under your wing personally? Like Benard did to you! Train him up properly, then. The lad thinks the world of you. You'll not find a more eager student!”
“We are not having this conversation.” Henry tries to pull his gauntlet out of Hans’ grasp, but he just follows him up the step. For a moment, with the bustling city around them, they just breathe in tandem.
“You should come and eat with us.” Hans bursts out. Words tumble at a speed that makes Henry blink in surprise. His answer is stuck somewhere down in his stomach.
“For tonight's supper, that is. A Lord would come to think his own captain is ignoring him! That would be unfortunate, would it not?” Henry thinks about all the meals he has taken in the barracks among his men, or in his room as he planned the guard rotations and training schedules or took inventory. How he still have to do that. He thinks about why he does it.
“Aye,” Henry says flatly. He swallows. Hans averts his face, but he still keeps looking in his direction. Henry has a bad feeling. He takes a deep breath before he shoves his yearning back to where it tries to flee from and pushes the door open to get back to work.
“Irina misses her uncle!” The hand stills its motion. Hans looks up like a fisherman who felt his line pull.
“She has asked for you. Would you, as the noble knight that you are, deny a young maiden her heartfelt wish?” Henry imagines the little girl with her mother's freckles and brown calf-like gaze, and her father's smooth, dark blond hair and mischievous streak.
Hook, line, sinker.
Henry sighs as Hans straightens up and hides a smirk behind his fists. He shuffles a bit in his cloak.
“Jitka would love to see you, too.” Henry winces. Ah yes. The wife, the mother, to Henry’s lover’s child. Said lover, who is also Henry’s Lord. That woman.
“Sure, she will.”
“Oh, drop that expression. She’s not gonna tear off your balls. She’ll probably enjoy listening to something more exciting than me complaining about the latest dispute about field allotments." He prattles. Henry doubts it.
Henry and Jitkas’ relationship is complicated. She is Hans’ sworn before God wife, and Henry is the lover of her husband and the man Hans would rather sleep beside. Hans and Henry did their best to keep their affair quiet, but then you can only have so many stolen moments and hunting trips before truth shows its shape by the space that is missing. Jitka is shrewd enough that she could probably have gotten something out of revealing her husband to be a sodomite. His lover hanged for starters. For some reason, she didn’t.
Hans and Jitka did not have an easy start. Both of them, too young to marry and right cross about how the choice of who it was to was taken out of their hands. In that first period, being in the same room as them and their loaded silence was oppressive. Between the choice of infiltrating another enemy camp or being trapped behind the same castle walls, while they prowled the halls trying to avoid one another, he would choose the camp. Having Hanush and Jitkas' minders breathe down their necks until they could produce an heir probably did not help.
The town practically shook on its foundation when they finally got into the row.
How they even managed to conceive Heinrich is a miracle, but it was probably what made everything slot into place. When he came, they grew with the assignment. They might not have loved each other before, but they did come to do so in the end. The second child, Irina, was almost a given.
Henry might love Hans with all of his heart, but Hans can’t love him with his. He can’t fault him for it, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn't hurt.
Jitkas and Henry tolerate one another. They even respect each other and their respective lots in life, but at the end of the day, they are both people trying to hog as much of Hans as they can. Henry’s bed might be the one Hans crawls into when he finds the time for himself or is too overwhelmed to do anything else, but at the end of the day, Hans’ wedding bed is nicer, and circumstances don't force him to sneak in and out of it.
“When the bell tolls 6 then. Otherwise, I suppose a guard will know where to find you?”
“Aye”, he says. He schools his expression. Hans lingers for a moment longer, like he wants to add something before he turns on his heel. Henry tries to refrain from looking after him as he slips away. He fails. His expression falls into grim folds as he finally slips into the empty tower.
The thing is pulling at him. His head hurts.
-
Irina is delighted to see him, just as Hans said. She nearly topples him over when she spots him in the yard of the southern castle. She’s not as light as she used to be, but Henry will be damned not to pick her up and swing her around to make her giggle, even if it is the thing that will break his back. Jitka's greeting is a lot more reserved, but warm nonetheless. They are well past the point where he will bow to her, but he takes the hand that she offers him. Hans greets him like he hasn’t seen him in ages. His hand is firmly planted on his shoulder until he sits him down in the dining hall.
The supper in itself is a quiet affair. The spread is simple for nobles, but still a lot more elaborate than Henry’s usual fare. Hans must have informed the kitchen of his visits because his favourite dishes are on the table. Slow cooked game, and hard cheese with spiced apple preserve. Roasted vegetables with butter. Fresh bread. Hans keeps filling his plate, like he’s trying to fatten him up for the winter feast. They talk about the weather and the last outrageous dispute. Hans might have gained patience with age when having to deal with them, but not the deft hand of a mediator. That’s where Jitka comes in, and as long as Hans seals the verdict, then nobody will have to know. Henry loathes to admit that he zoned out for parts of it, but he still manages to plot in the appropriate reactions, and Hans seems satisfied enough as he prattles on.
Jitka keeps quiet for most of the meal, but she does inform him of the dealings of the household and the plans for the city come spring.
Irina seems to have a long list of happenings that are crucial for Henry to be updated on. General gossip and updates on her Latin lessons and the tapestry she’s working on. She asks him if he could take her with him when he goes out to harvest potion ingredients in spring. He sends Jitka and Hans a questioning look and gets a nod back before he promises her anything. There is still loads of time before the time comes.
Henry informs them of the more interesting pieces of the recent investigations. Things have calmed down a lot since their youth. Fewer bandits, as an example, but too many political factions are vying for power. Irina hangs on his words as he tells them of the more exciting details of the last investigation that busted a rowing gang plundering travelling merchants. Hans doesn't seem far off either. Since he took over the full responsibility of Rattay, he hasn't seen much action. He does not tell them of the part where he nearly got gutted when he took on an absolute brute of a man.
He asks them if they have gotten words from Heinrich, who is still in Prague. He sends his regards to Henry, whom he claims is still the best swordmaster he has trained under, even today.
The evening is nice, but as much as they try to keep him involved, it’s always clear that he is a separate party to the family. It’s a pretty one. Something Half of Rattay seems to agree on. Despite the circumstances, Hans has done well for himself. Henry decides to retreat before they run out of things to talk about, and the quiet sets in.
It's on the way through the dark to his room in the upper castle that the thing stirs in his chest. He stops in the middle of the street to look around. It has started snowing, but the thing in his chest takes up too much space to let the cold penetrate, but his feet and fingers have gone numb. It is pulling at him. Henry doesn't know when the thing made its home in his body. He doesn't know if it grew or if it settled. It’s just there. It moves around. Most days, it is settled in his stomach like a weight that shifts around awkwardly as he moves. Sometimes it makes its way down to his feet as a ball and chain, other times it weighs down his arms and hands, making him slow in his upswings. The worst days are when it settles in his head. It clouds his thoughts and vision. It whispers and has only gotten louder with time, but mostly it just rests painfully behind his forehead. It is heavy, but he refuses to let it make him bend his head.
He lets it lead him on, and he keeps walking, but instead of continuing on into the countryside like his feet want to, he veers off just in time. His head quiets down when he can shut his door behind him.
Chapter 2: Into The Woods
Summary:
“Today was an accident, but tomorrow? I don’t want to see you dead by something that could have been avoided. For once in your life, put your needs before everyone else's. Be selfish."
Notes:
It is sheer coincidence that I actually managed to pull this together for St. Nicholas Day. It was not planned. Happy accidents and all that, so Happy St. Nicholas Day for those of my fellow Europeans who celebrate it. I hope you get something brilliant today.
Cheers.
Chapter Text
St. Mikuláš is around the corner, which means that the city is as busy as it will ever be in winter outside of an emergency. People are readying wares for the market, and the children are practising limericks for when the angel, demon and St. Mikuláš come knocking. Hans has already offered him the role of Mikuláš twice. The second time, in front of a gaggle of children and their mothers, because he is a bastard like that.
Henry is busy as ever. Assignments and odd jobs are coming in from all sides, to the point where it is like a stream that might wash him away. It is endless and unyielding, so he grits his teeth and goes where he is needed.
He is going over the fortifications with Hans and a master mason to figure out what needs repairs and what can wait. He is here as a consultant, but mostly he just watches Hans. Henry always knew that Hans had it in him to be a good leader, but he is still amazed at just how well responsibility suits him. Gone is the young man who desperately wanted to show that he should be taken seriously. Here is a man who understands the value of when to step in and when to let another better suited for the job take over. Hans no longer sneaks nervous looks at him like he’s asking for guidance. Henry is so damn proud of him, it sometimes takes him by surprise. He could have kept quietly admiring him, but the thing in his chest suddenly squirms so violently that he takes a step back.
It’s not a new development. It has gotten more active as of recently. Out of the blue, the thing will rear up. His skin feels horribly thin with the thing coursing under it. It will glide just below it, like a fish’s back grazing the surface of a lake.
He’s so lost in the unpleasant feelings that he doesn't realise that they have asked him something, before they turn to look at him. It only strikes him then that he has no idea what they have been talking about for a while. He understands the bits, but not how they fit together. His tongue has tied itself into a knot. He waves at them to continue.
It keeps happening. Henry doesn't have the time for this.
The distant cousin and previous minder of Jitka turns up at their door. The Capons have to play host, so Henry spends his evenings playing statue in the corner. Jitka's cousin is a boisterous man, and far removed from the controlled grace of Jitka. He might be friendly, but it is with a nasty glint in his eyes, and a blaze attitude that can turn on a dime. Henry can see how Hans might have once, upon a time, wanted to gain the approval of a fellow noble, who is even around his own age to boot, but Jitka is getting smaller and smaller in her chair. Hans’ hand finds hers on the table. He purses his mouth in that way that means that he’s gritting his teeth. The man keeps trying to tempt Irina into the conversation. She’s been poking at the same piece of vegetable for most of the evening. She keeps glancing deer like towards Henry.
If it wasn’t because it would ruin an already precarious alliance, Henry would have gone over and stabbed the man with his own damn serving knife. Instead, he can only stand in the corner and seethe.
The cousin looks on with a satisfied glint in his eyes. He asks how Irina is doing. She’s on the cusp of going from child to young woman, he says. Have they started thinking about suitable matches? He tells them he has a couple of suggestions for men looking for new wives. Hans puts down his goblet a bit harder than necessary, while Jitka straightens up. Irina keeps her gaze on the plate. The man laughs at them and waves his hand like he’s parsing off a joke that nobody understood. Henry would like to stomp his head in.
The wine has flowed like water through the whole meal, so when the man stands up, he has to be helped to his room. That job comes down to Henry. Hans sends him a look as Henry eases a shoulder under the very drunk man's arm. He nods in return.
Then he makes sure that Jitka's cousin has the most uncomfortable trip to his room as humanly possible. He makes sure to take two wrong turns, he lurches into every swing or staircase, and he does not warn him of the extra step or the low beam over his door. At the end, he looks like he is barely holding in his supper. He leaves the window open and kicks the chamber pot further under the bed.
-
If a river rushes with enough force, you would never guess there is a bottom until the river pushes you under and flings you headfirst into a rock.
The sky is blue, and so vast it kinda seizes him for a moment. Then he realises that he’s lying on the ground. The rushing he’s hearing is not his blood, or the thing whispering in his ear, it’s boots running towards him as a crowd forms. Two arms try to help him up, but he resists and pushes them away. At least he tries to, but in the end, they overpower him and haul him up on two unsteady feet.
Jesus, everything is swimming. A man broad as a barn door is standing in front of him. He looks at him wide eyed, as he nervously wrings his hands around a wooden sword. The edge is bloody. Henry raises his hand to press on the section that is pulsing in pain. His hair is wet. The thing presses at his throat like it wants to wail in rage. He manages to keep that down, but not his lunch.
He’s not quite sure what happens from there. Hands grab him again and drag him away. He puts up a fight, but the hands just keep their hold on him, and mumble sympathies as they pat him on the back like a child doing a good job.
He’s in his bed. Someone has pried off his boots and gambeson. There is a bandage around his head. His head is boiling. He doesn't know if it is nausea, or the thing that still hasn't stopped its hissing. A man is bent over him. Henry blinks hard, and suddenly he’s gone along with the daylight.
The darkness is oppressive. Nobody has even cared to light a candle. He stares at the ceiling. Something flickers. It creates whorl like patterns. The closer he looks, the more it starts looking like foliage in the wind.
The need to scratch at his skin until he can no longer feel every hair on his body is overwhelming. He’s about to start with his head when the door swings open, and light breaks the oppressive darkness.
“When I tell you to take a break, I don't mean like this.” It’s Hans. His familiar hair shines under the candlelight. As he comes closer, he can see his face laid in concerned folds, and Henry hates it. The thing in his chest agrees. Hans puts the candleholder down on the nearby table and kneels by the bed.
”Christ, he could have taken your scalp off. You were lucky that it was wooden swords and not steel.” Henry’s hand is still on his bandaged head, ready to start scratching. Hans grabs it to nest between his own instead with a sigh. He brings it up to his face so he can press his lips against his knuckles.
“What did the physician say?” Henry asks. He hates downtime. Especially in his later years. After the early basking in the glory of sleeping in, boredom typically sets in. The restlessness. The guards have already learned to turn him away on his days off. Sometimes, he wishes that he still had the forge in Kuttenberg. He looks down where Hans is sitting in contemplative silence. He looks like he’s praying. Then he remembers why he gave it up.
“Concussion and a torn scalp, but you should live.” Hans looks him over before he turns his head to scowl at him.
"Move over.”
“So why are you here?” Henry wishes he could, but his body feels like a sack of sand. Hans is impatiently rocking back and forth like a dog waiting for the command to lurch. He loses his patience and climbs over Henry instead. Henry winces when Hans’ knee pops with the motion.
“Christ almighty. To make sure you don't choke on your own vomit.” Hans shifts his frame so he’s resting on his side before he settles down behind him, like they have done a thousand times over. Be it in forest clearing or rented rooms, or their own bed chambers. If not face to face, then Hans will lay his claim and cradle him.
“What about Jitka?” He whispers.
“Jitka will live,” Hans mumbles into his skin.
“Who will sort out the patrol shifts tomorrow?”
“You can’t be serious, Henry. Rest. I beg of you. Stay in bed. The world will continue to run even without your purview.” Henry knows. That's the issue. It keeps fucking running, and soon he will be left in the dust. Hans is quiet behind him. His warm breath ghosts over his neck. His fingers slide over his chest to rest at his belly. Henry shifts so Hans' fingers don't discover the bandages hiding the jagged wound from the investigation.
“For how long then?”
“Henry”
“How long do you expect me to just lie around and rot?” Hans is fiddling with the golden chain he keeps hidden under his shirt. On it hangs a Saint Joseph medallion. A favour by Hans as a reward for his first year of official service. Just before Hans got married.
“Hal.” Henry already has a bad feeling about this. Hans tugs offhandedly at the chain.
“I want you to retire.” Henry freezes. His breath is lodged in his throat, and Hans's hand lets go to tighten across his chest.
“Out of the question.”
“I’m not saying we are clearing out your office as we speak.”
“I said it’s not happening.”
“Hal.”
“No.” Hans shifts behind him. Henry wants to shift over so he can look him in the eyes, but everything is swimming. He has no clue what is up or down.
“God sake, you are not the only capable man on God's green earth." Hans hisses into his ear, and for a moment, Henry feels completely laid bare. He knows, if he ever was, then he certainly isn’t now, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt coming from Hans.
“There comes a time when you will have to acknowledge that you have done what you could. Do you not think I see the limp in your gait? The way you hesitate before every action. I recognise it, and so will others, and they might use it against you.”
“Today was an accident, but tomorrow? I don’t want to see you dead by something that could have been avoided. For once in your life, put your needs before everyone else's. Be selfish." Hans' forehead is resting against his nape. His fingers are digging uncomfortably into his chest, but he lets him be. He tenses up for a moment before he lets it melt.
He lets go. Move back. Henry’s back is getting cold. Hans let out a great sigh, like he’s trying to find the patience to deal with a child.
“I didn’t come here to argue or upset you. Let’s save it for tomorrow so we are both clear headed. Let’s discuss options,” Henry just nods. He tries to at least. It probably comes across as more of a hitch.
They lay there in silence. Henry barely dares to breathe out until he hears Hans' faint snoring. A part of him wishes he could just slip away that easily, but this might be his last hours at Hans’ side. He spent 20 years getting here. To have a place where he could belong in Hans’ life, even at the edge of the perisphere as he is. Tomorrow he will be done. Jesus, with nothing else to think about, pain creeps up like the point was to drag out the humiliation. It hurts. Everything fucking hurts.
The feeling blooms like water from a spring in the ground. It trickles into his limb, cools the aches in his body and soothes his overheating head.
He’s conscious but not in control. It moves on its own. He feels it when it rolls out from the warm embrace of Hans. A part of him is resisting. It doesn’t want to leave the warmth, but the rest of him carries on. He wants the creaking floor beneath his feet to wake up Hans so he can stop him, but for once, Hans sleeps too deeply to do anything. He feels the smooth surface of the wooden floor give way to the cool of the stone staircase, and suddenly, there is gravel under his bare feet and the onslaught of the cold night wind. Stones and the cold bite into his flesh. He understands intellectually that he will die if he carries on, but the thing just keeps walking. The part that is him wants to curl up to escape the onslaught of the outside.
So that's what he does.
The thing he recognises as himself retreats. He slides out of his hands and feet like they were gloves and boots. Limps are drawn upward until everything he recognises as him is curled into a ball, and whatever the thing is, cradles him like he is something precious. It keeps him warm.
Like a shade in the night, they slip out of the city. Like this, he is carried into the unknown.
Chapter 3: The River Between Us
Summary:
“Take the gold, and hang me for all I care, but I want that thing out of my woods.”
Chapter Text
When Hans awakens the next morning, it’s to an empty bed. He slides his hand over the spot where Henry should be, it only reveals a cold mattress. He sits up with a sigh to rub his hands over his face with a grimace. It is in character for Henry to get up and carry on as soon as he can stand. He takes a moment to just stare bleary eyed at the wall. Looking out the window, light is spilling in so he must have overslept. He only heard about the accident when the guard standing in for Henry at the evening meal informed them of the reason for his absence. He spent most of it in stunned disbelief. Jitka’s cousin Dominik didn’t seem to notice the tension across the dinner table. Or maybe he just didn’t care. Too occupied with prattling on. Jitka keeps glancing in his direction with a concerned look. Irina has completely abandoned her meal. In the end, Jitka is the one calling the dinner to an end. Making up an excuse that she is tired, Hans follows it up by claiming that he still has some work to sort out for the night. Her cousin scowls at her but concurs. It takes all of his strength not to just storm out of the room.
Hans has never been more glad that he keeps his office in the northern castle, where Henry’s room is located. It means that nobody bats an eye when he arrives. He does go to his office to at least pretend that he’s there for official business, but as soon as he has a reasonable alibi, he takes a candlestick and slinks onward towards Henry’s room.
He’s glad to find him awake. He is concerned about the sluggishness of the way he turns his head towards him. When he comes closer, he can see the fogginess in his eyes, but he is looking at him. He tracks his movements as he kneels by the bed. He even musters up a vague smile, even if it mostly comes across as a pained grimace. Blood has seeped through the bandage on his head. It’s a grizzly sight, but most head injuries are. Tomorrow, he will ask the physician for a report. He has other priorities tonight. He climbs over and buries himself behind him as closely as he can. With his hand resting over Henry’s heart, he can feel his heartbeat. It’s pounding away just a bit too fast.
Hans grit his teeth. Hans should have rehearsed this bit. But as always, when it comes to important conversations, he clumsily barrels straight into it.
Hans is not dumb. Nor is he blind, especially when it comes to Henry. He might not want to admit to it, but he’s slowing down. In his prime, Henry carried himself with the kind of steady grace only people who know they can roll with the punches and come out on top managed to. Head up, back straight, and alert, and always analysing his surroundings. Nowadays, there’s something off about him. He forgets things. Sometimes it feels like he drifts off. Like he’s sleepwalking through his tasks. The young Henry would never have accidentally drifted so close to a man with a sword that he got struck down by it. Nor would it have taken him to the ground, but neither he nor Henry is in their prime. They aren’t decrepit, but even Hans, who has not had to work as Henry has, can feel it.
An accident was inevitable. And so is this conversation. He spills his guts and hopes that Henry understands. That he doesn’t want to see him hurt. That he’s trying to protect him, even if it is going to be unpleasant. Henry has stood by his side through trial after trial. The least he could do is make sure he has a home, a comfortable future and a long life. For both of their sakes. Hans doesn’t know what he would do without him.
Henry is silent under his whole blubbering onslaught. But then again, he is concussed, so it will probably be better to leave the conversation for tomorrow. They have options. Henry can retire with a confidence that he will relinquish his duties to capable hands.
Right now, he would rather just be able to reassure himself that Henry is alive and will be okay. It’s been a while since they lay like this. Hans takes comfort in his steady presence. He presses tighter into enveloping Henry’s broader frame as much as possible. If Hans cannot protect him in the day to day, then he can do so in the night.
Hans is exhausted, he doesn't even notice when he drifts off.
-
Hans gets up, there is much to see to as the Lord of a city, so even if he would rather look for Henry, he has things he has to deal with first. If Henry is out and about, then he must be fine, and if he isn’t, he trusts the guard to get him back to bed. Henry might be an authority figure, but he is beloved. By the guard he trains, down to the citizens he protects. Hans is pretty sure he hasn’t paid the full price of any service in years.
The day goes by. He does manage to catch the physician just before he closes down for the day. According to him, then it’s not great, but he should live as long as he rests properly. Hans asks him if he has seen Henry, but the man has not.
He goes back to his castle. He got to entertain his guest. Being honoured to host other nobles is a farce that every noble must take part in. One thing was back when Radzig took over his castle as a refuge, another is when a distant relative decides to impose on your hospitality. Both Jitka and he are counting down the days until the bastard Dominik leaves them. He despises the way he looks at Irina, he hates how he keeps glancing at Jitka with a leer and how he keeps bringing up the abandoned silver mines in what used to be Skalitz. Henry has to listen to this brute talk about the burning down of Skalitz as the unfortunate loss of revenue, and not like the tragedy of a war that is still raging. The man has heard of Hans’ proves with a bow, so he insists they must go hunting. So Hans has to put his duties and Henry aside to entertain him. He is on the verge of kicking him out himself, damn the consequences. When they finally do manage to rid themself of him, three days have passed.
That's when he finds out that nobody has seen Henry in three days. Note it down as Henry’s impeccable planning that the guards have carried on without their captain for three days without supervision. They thought he was resting, while Hans thought he was with them. When they check his chamber, there is still no sign that anything has been moved since Hans left it all those days ago.
Hans sounds the alarm.
They go through the city, but no merchant or bathwoman has seen him in days. Henry has a tendency to wander. He has curbed it after he came back to Rattay, but maybe he has picked it up again after the conversation they had. Hans is ashamed that his words have driven him off like this. He always returns on his own. This time, Hans isn’t planning on waiting for it. They ask at the mill and ride on to the next town over, but no one has seen the hide or hair of the man.
They start combing the forest.
It’s the gamekeeper who finally brings results. He found the clothing hanging on a low branch. It’s ripped to shreds like something got pulled out of it. He had prepared to find the remains of a corpse, torn apart by wolves, but there was no blood or even a trail outside of deer prints. He brought the cloth with him. When Hans is alone, he brings it up to his nose. The smell is deluded by its time outside, but it is undeniably Henry's. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know what to do. If Henry were here, he would have. He would probably be delighted at this mystery.
-
Weeks go by, but Hans keeps looking. The mystery surrounding the case of his disappearance has lost its lustre. Interest moves on. He refuses to let go. His search means that he has been neglecting his duties as lord. Jitka takes over as much as she can, but there are things that need a man's attention.
If the position had been reversed, he knew Henry would have kept looking until he found him. Henry has done more extreme things in the name of keeping Hans safe. He owes him the same, so whatever the price may be, Hans will bring him home. Jitka understands, but she has always been the more pragmatic of the two of them. She has breached the topic that what they might be looking for is not a man, but a corpse. Hans refuses to speak with her for two days.
The thing that has pushed Henry out of the minds of people is a rumour about a white deer of all things. Hans doesn't see what the fuss is about. He does understand that some people might find the notion romantic. A white deer with antlers tipped in gold, this close to St. Mikuláš. It sounds like something from a fairytale.
The problem is that it is also giving people ideas. It is Jitka who brings the petition. Well, it's Jitka who is relaying it. An old woman came to seek an audience with her specifically. She is complaining about the rise of poachers in her forest. Apparently, not an insignificant part of the population has gotten into their head that they can earn a fair bit of Groshen or his favour if they bring him the golden antlers.
Hans couldn't care less.
Hans is ready to forget about the whole thing, but the old crone is relentless. She turns up every day. Ready to accost anyone willing to stop. She is a herb woman living in a hut in the woods. Men are prowling in the forest looking for a glimmer of white. They are poaching her chickens as an easy meal. Someone nearly shot her. With that being said, it is also not only for her own peace. People are getting hurt. The forest is fighting back. Boars and deer are getting more aggressive. The bird has started swooping down after people. She wants the people to leave the forest alone for their own sake. Jitka informs him that people have started approaching the guard to send out search parties to retrieve would-be poachers, who have gotten lost in woods they should know like the back of their hand. Hans gives them permission for the sake of getting some peace in his own search. They might also find a clue as to what happened to Henry.
-
Hans would have kept his head down in his own mission had it not been for the man who stagger into his halls in the middle of his dinner.
The man comes barreling in with a guard on each side pulling at him like he’s a rabid dog. He looks like he took a tumble down a hill. He is covered in dried blood, but by the way the man moves, Hans doubts it is his own. Jitka stands up and pulls a stunned Irina into her side. Hans follows as the guards manage to wrestle the man down to his knees. The man is holding onto something with a white knuckles grip. A golden antler. A guard wrestles it out of his hands and passes it over to Hans.
He turns it over in his hands. A part of him is stunned at the proof that a white deer with golden antlers exists. because it is gold. Pure as he has ever seen it. It practically radiates in the candlelight. But that doesn't matter. What matters is what is wrapped around it.
A golden chain. On it, a pendant depicting Saint Joseph, he knows that pendant as if it were his own. It should be hanging around Henry’s neck.
“How did you get that?” Hans sneers. The man cowers at his feet. A guard pokes at him with a halberd.
“Speak, you fool.” He barks. The man flinches. He looks up, opens and closes his mouth like he’s trying to force words out. A croak slips out. He wets his lips.
“The stag.”
“How?”
“Michal, my brother, heard about it down at the alehouse. This massive stag, up for grabs for anyone brave enough to try,” he laughs self-deprecatingly. There is a hysterical edge to it.
“We wanted to sell the skin to a merchant and the antlers to a jeweller. You should have seen the full crown of that thing.” Hans is already standing with half of it. By the size of it, it's a big stag. Far larger than he has ever seen.
“It took some days, but we found it” He gets a faraway look in his eyes. Hans wants to fucking shake him to get him to go on with the story.
“We shot it through the throat. It kept running, but we followed the trail of blood until we found it on the ground. The wound had already stopped spewing blood when we caught up to it, so we thought it to be dead.”
“What happened then?” The poacher lets out an ugly laugh. Jitka grimaces and pulls Irina tighter into her skirt. The man keeps hysterically laughing until a guard makes a move to step in, but then he breaks into a gasping sob.
“The monster got up,” he says with a whimper.
“Michal was holding the head while I sawed off the antlers. The damn thing lurched and gored him. ”
It got up, with him still impaled. Tore through his guts like a hunting knife–”
“Hans”
“God’s teeth, the screaming—"
“Hans”, his head jerks to the side. He has been so enraptured by this clue that might lead him to Henry that he didn’t notice Jitka. Her hands are slotted over Irina’s ears, but he doubts it shielded her from the details. It does not shield her from the view of this grown man, covered in his brother's blood, howling in sorrow.
“Take the gold, and hang me for all I care, but I want that thing out of my woods.”
Chapter 4: The Burrow in the Woods
Summary:
“If you keep going, that deer will drag you down beside him.”
“Let it do its worst–” He stands up. Jitka is a small woman, but that has never stopped her from looming over people.
“You think Henry would have wanted you to go on a fool’s errand that might get you killed for nothing?” He would not, but he is not here to judge him now, is he?
Notes:
EDIT: Apologize for the reupload. As it turns out my doc had not saved the editing and I didn't have the time to correct it that day, so I had to pull it for the time being.
Warnings include: Mild gore and animal death.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The man is led out, and the hall is silent again. Irina left for her room, white as a sheet and shaken. Hans didn’t want her to be introduced to the cruel concept of death like this. God, he needs a drink. He needs Henry to talk it over with him. Hans drops down on the bench and blindly reaches for his cup. Before it touches his lips, Jitka has taken it out of his hand and put it down out of reach.
“What are the chances that we can just chalk it up to the man getting what he deserved?” She says in her short and concise manner. Straight to the point, His Jitka ever is.
“Christ, look at the size of this thing”, she continues. Hans agrees. The stag must be the size of a horse. The prongs are wide and unnaturally pointed. Hans can see how a beast like this could lift a man off the ground. What a horrid way to go. Turning it around in his hands, he checks the point where the cut has been made. Solid gold, and as pure as he has ever seen it. With the right buyer, the payout would be the kind of funds you could comfortably retire on.
“What’s the thing you always say? Don’t pick a fight with a beast you can’t win.”
“That man wasn’t a hunter.” He says as he turns his head to stare towards the window. Snow is quietly falling. It’s cold enough that it will stay on the ground. Good conditions for tracking, bad for the actual conditions you will hunt under. Especially if the hunt drags out.
“He should have left it alone.” Jitka retorts. Hans unwinds the chain from the antler and leaves the antler on the table. Someone else can deal with it.
“I’m going after the stag” Whatever happened to Henry, that deer was involved, and Hans will get to the bottom of it.
“You can’t let a mankiller wander around the forest,” Hans says. Jitka looks at him in astonishment.
“Let the gamekeeper earn his pay then.”
“I am not arguing with you about this. I’m going after that stag.”
‘Is your plan to comb through the forest for a single deer, just to prove you can kill it?”
”It’s an arrogant man's errand. You can’t just leave for a hunt that might take days. You’re letting your own interest outweigh your duty to your people,” she snaps. Her gaze drifts down, and he can see the moment she notices the chain, and it clicks.
“You think it got Henry, don't you?”
“I’m not abandoning him.” Jitka is staring at him incredulously, her mouth in a thin, disappointed line.
“If you keep going, that deer will drag you down beside him.”
“Let it do its worst–” He stands up. Jitka is a small woman, but that has never stopped her from looming over people.
“You think Henry would have wanted you to go on a fool’s errand that might get you killed for nothing?” He would not, but he is not here to judge him now, is he?
“Where would you even start this search?" she exclaims.
-
Hans starts at the source. The old woman. Finding her place is harder than expected. People know of her, but not where she lives. She keeps to herself and has made her home quite far away from any trail. The closest anyone can say is to find the spring and follow the flow. So that’s what he does. The creek that flows from it has yet to freeze over, so he can watch it move and follow the sound of it. It has carved itself into the landscape like a thin groove. Following and keeping tabs on where he is takes patience and diligence. Hans has hunted in this forest since he was a boy, but even he finds it hard to orient himself on the way. It’s like the forest has shuffled around the usual landmark. Down a hill and among knotted roots and shrubbery, he finds a grove. The hut is half buried into a hillside like some demented combination of a badger's hollow and a house. It’s fenced in by braided willow branches. The small yard contains a hen house, a garden plot with winter proof vegetables, and small bushes along the edge that he does not recognise. Henry probably would have. He still prefers to make his own potions himself, despite earning enough to just buy them from the apothecary. Not strong enough, he will say, and then brew something that might as well be pure snaps. He ties his horse to a nearby tree and walks through the small gate. Inside, he finds the old crone sitting on a bench and plucking a chicken.
“Are you ready to talk with an old woman?” she calls from her bench without looking up from her work. From the way Jitka had described her, Hans thought that she would be more intimidating. She has an immensely big and fluffy fox pelt slung over her shoulders. It makes her look twice as big as she probably is. With that being said, it is still not that big. Hans has seen dogs heavier than her. Even with her multiple layers of skirts under a thick woollen dress and multiple shawls, she is still skinny as a hare in spring. Long, dark and silver streaked hair hangs around pinched features. The wrinkles hide it well, but in her youth, she was probably beautiful.
“I’m here for the deer problem," she scoffs. A piercing gaze meets him when she finally looks up. She might be old, but her fingers nimbly pick at the feathers at an impressive speed. Pinion and tail features are carefully pried out and tucked safely into a bag on the side, while the rest is disposed of in a crate.
“Is this about the fella who got gored? He’s still lying out there. You should send someone before the wolves get to him. Not that you would know the difference, considering the state of him. They really went at one another.”
“I’ll see to it, but I am here for the deer.” He tries to keep his tone measured. Imbue it with as much authority as he can.
“The deer isn’t the issue. The men are.” She raises the chicken from her lap and gestures with it. Its chest is torn wide open. Insides have turned to mush. Someone has used a piercing arrow on a bird.
“This poor thing was still alive when I found it skewered to the ground. The forest is littered with abandoned quarry. Do you know how many arrows I’ve had to pull out of deer who survived their encounters?”
“Getting rid of one will solve the other.” He said. The old woman throws the bird back into the crate with a scoff. She’s about to drag her fingers through her hair, but at the last moment remembers that they are covered in viscera. With a tsks sound, she drags them across her apron to get rid of the worst of it. It looks like bloody claw marks.
“What did that deer do to you except be a commodity?”
“Do you speak on behalf of it?”
“It’s a deer. Someone has to,” she says with a sniff. Something is off about the way she says it. There is something almost theatrical about the way she bends down to pick up the crate with the bird, before she walks off.
“If I have to, I'll speak on behalf of the forest residents. I want your men out of our woods. Call them off. Hang someone for poaching or something. There is enough to choose from,” she calls over her shoulder. For an old woman, she moves surprisingly fast. Her back might be bent, but she moves with the smooth gait of a much younger woman.
“It’s not that easy.” She walks into the hut, and Hans is concerned that she is about to barricade herself in there, but she comes back out again sans crate. In her grasp is a sickle and a basket. She starts walking towards the gate out of the fenced area.
“Then make it so. Hans follows after her. She looks back over her shoulder with a scowl. They are walking deeper into the forest.
“If you speak on behalf of the forest’s residents, then you’re taking on the responsibility of their actions.” He shouts. She stops to look back in disbelief.
“Are you threatening an old woman?” she says with a guffaw. Hans is very aware of the sickle.
“I could have you hanged for man slaughter." He wouldn’t. He doesn't even believe he could get it past Jitka. But any peasant knows that lords can be cruel.
“You can try. But if you ever want to set foot in this forest again, I would try something else.” She calls over her shoulder as she keeps walking.
“Is that deer really worth dying over!” he exclaims. She stops to turn around.
“It's a special deer. It deserves to be left in peace. It’s been through enough as it is,” she says in a measured tone. There is something sad about it.
“I heard it can’t die,” he tries carefully.
“People have certainly tried.” She laughs rather humorlessly and shrugs her shoulders.
“Do you know how many arrows I've pulled out of its hide? It’s enough kindling for the rest of the season.”
“It comes to you?” He tries in a careful tone.
“Sometimes. Or sometimes I find it on my rounds. It’s a kind beast.” Hans thinks about the dead man and his brother.
“What if I promised I won't hurt it?” he tries.
“What if I swear an oath to you and the forest? I won't hurt it if it gives me the answer I’m seeking.”
“Which is?” Hans pulls out the Saint Joseph pendant from around his neck.
“I’m looking for a man. I need to know what happened to him. If he’s dead or alive.”
“And if he’s dead?” Hans doesn’t want to entertain the thought. It’s like standing by a pit he knows he won't get out of if he falls over the edge.
“Then I will leave the forest in peace,” he presses out from behind the want to dispute it as absurd lodged in his throat.
“As the minder of the forest, I agree to your terms.”
“Then how do I find it?”
“You have a daughter. I assume she’s a virgin?”
“She’s twelve years old.”
“Do you have a black stallion that has yet to be mated?”
“I can get one.” Even if he has to ride around to every stud farm in the region.
“To find the deer, your daughter has to ride the beast. No saddle or reins. Follow them, and together they will lead the way.” Hans is about to call her out on her nonsense, but the crone catches him with a look.
“In your house, you expect guests to follow your terms. Same goes for the forest.” Hans wants to point out that he owns the land, but he doubts it will go well with the crone. This is his only lead.
“Do you understand the terms?”
“Yes”
-
Hans doesn't believe in sentient forests, he doesn’t believe that they can have intent. But getting out of the forest is a lot easier than getting in. It’s like he is being pushed, or carried out on a river. All the usual markers are still not where they are supposed to be, but he does get out. Suddenly, he just breaches the edge, and he’s back on the trail, then the forest edge at the hunting camp. He finds two would-be poachers in it. They look up at him like two children caught in an act. There is fear in their eyes, but Hans doesn't have time for this, so he waves them away with a stern talking to.
He goes home. Hans is prepared for a fight with Jitka about letting Irina join him on an excursion to the forest. He breaches the topic as they go to bed, but he doesn’t tell her it’s about the deer. She scowls at him with suspicion and refuses to meet his eyes as she works on unbuttoning all the small buttons and ties in her dress. She refuses to get a maid for this task in the evenings, so Hans is usually the one helping her. The frustration makes her fingers clumsy. When they get to the corset, she gives up and lets Hans take over, loosening the lacing. The dress hits the floor.
“If anything happens to her, I will skin you alive and hang your hide from the flagpole.” Hans expects nothing less. Heck, he will provide the knife if it comes down to it.
He goes to Neuhof to buy a horse. It is by sheer luck that it turns out that one of their mares had a foal last summer that fits the criteria. The colt is young. It’s a warhorse, so it’s a sturdy beast, but it still has the gangly quality to it. It is a good size for a twelve year old and he believes he can control it if something goes wrong and the horse gets spooked.
Convincing Irina is a breeze. Even when he tells her that they will be looking for the deer. Irina has always been braver than what her lot in life will ever demand of her. He will give the credit for fostering that to Jitka. Just as he will give the credit for her stubbornness and sense of justice to Henry.
-
With the stallion tied securely to the saddle of Hans' most trusted steed, they make their way to the forest. Irina is sitting with him. Safely bundled up in winter clothes and with her back to him, she is tucked under his own cloak just as an extra measure. It’s like having a cat tucked snugly against his stomach. Irina is practically purring in contentment. It strikes him that they haven't actually spent much time together since Henry disappeared.
“So… how is that tapestry coming along?” Irina hums thoughtfully before she shrugs her shoulders.
“I have reached the wings of the dragon. So maybe a third of the tapestry.” She kicks her feet. It lets a breeze under the cloak. Hans makes sure to secure his grip better on her.
“That’s very good,” he starts. She shrugs again.
“I’ve been thinking about redoing it.” She says after a moment of silence. Hans raises an eyebrow in surprise. Irina had been very excited to do it. She has been obsessed with doing that tapestry since she saw that reproduction of Saint George and the Dragon in a book. She spent ages planning and procuring the right kind of thread.
“Why so?”
“It just doesn't feel right. Why does the dragon have to die?”
“It kidnaps virgins? Hoard gold and all that.”
“But do we know that?”
“It’s a fairytale. It’s not real, so why should we concern ourselves with what is true and not? As long as it is a good story.” Irina goes silent again. She fiddles with the hem of the cloak.
“Maybe I'm getting too old for fairytales then.”
“Then what kind of stories do you want to hear then?”
“Real ones! About valiant knights fighting bandits and whatnot.” Hans doesn't have the heart to tell her that most of those might as well be as true as fairy tales. Most of them, but he knows a couple that aren’t.
“Do you know the story of how Henry and I came to be friends?” Irina turns her head so she can look up at him. She knows a bit of it. Hans has always been very open to talking about Henry’s adventures. He has always taken great pleasure in seeing Henry’s bashful expression when Hans lauds his numerous deeds. Hans has held back this one because he is still partially embarrassed about the whole thing, but she is old enough to know that her father can be a bit of a knobhead.
So he tells her about the hunting trip. About their less than ideal first meeting. She snorts when he tells her about two stupid boys brawling in a tavern, and she goes quiet in disbelief when he tells her about a young fool who thought he could hunt a boar with a bow and arrow. He feels her tensing up and clutches at the edge of his cloak when he gets to the part where Henry comes barreling into the camp and manages to beat both Cumans with nothing but a hunting sword and one training lesson with Bernard.
“What happened then?”
“We walked home. They killed the horse, and Henry didn't have one to begin with. He practically carried me for the last bit, but that’s where blacksmith shoulders come in handy.”
“You made him walk to Rattay forest.” She says in an unimpressed tone. Hans winches.
“I wasn't the most considerate young man.” His horse takes the moment to let out a snort and shake out its head under like it is agreeing. That’s what Hans gets for letting Henry spoil it, along with his own horse with treats. A traitor.
“Henry was a good influence,” he tells her in truth.
“What happened then?”
A lot happened after that. More than can be told in one ride, and some of it is not suited for a child. He does tell her about the daring rescue mission at Maleshov and a bit about the Suchdol siege. He mostly focuses on the part where Henry returns as the knight in shining armour with an army to save their hides.
Henry stayed around for the year it took to finalise the marriage agreement. Short of the births of his two children, he will easily call it the happiest time of his life. He took Hans out the day before the wedding to go drinking and then “hunting” in the forest.
There is a break in time after, where he doesn't actually know what happened. Henry left to settle in Kuttenberg with his forge. He assumes he settled down for smithing, but knowing Henry, he probably left quite a bit out of his tales. It only really strikes him now how little he actually knows from that time. He stayed away, the new duties and building some kind of truce with Jitka kept him busy. To some extent, maybe he didn’t want to know what kind of life Henry could build without him.
When Hans finally called for him years later, when Bernard decided to retire around the time of Irina's birth, he still came back. Hans doesn't know what he would have done if he didn't.
Hans abandons his musings. Irina has gone quiet in the saddle.
“Mother thinks he’s dead.” She says in a small voice, and Hans sobers up. He had been concerned that he would have to be the one to explain the concept of the death of a loved one. He vaguely remembers how it felt when he was a boy, but he was also too small to truly understand it. He’s more familiar with mourning the absence of the living, what with his mother abandoning him as a child. He doubts he will feel much when she finally passes. He mourned the passing of Bernard, a man he had known for most of his life, but he was not prepared to let go of someone as precious as Henry. He’s even less prepared to try to guide someone else through it. Hans got vaguely used to living without him when he settled in Kuttenberg, but that was with the knowledge that he knew he was within reach should the need be dire.
“Your mother doesn't know everything”, he settles on. They have reached the hunting camp. There is yet again proof that someone has stayed here recently, but no things have been left, so hopefully they got out of the forest again. He gets down from the horse so he can help Irina down. Her legs are unsteady after so long on the horse, but she finds her balance soon enough.
“Are you ready?” She hums. Hans takes his time to remove the reins from the stallion and fold the halter rope to collect himself. For all he knows, the old crone is pulling his leg, and they will be wandering around the forest like idiots. But should she be right? Then what? Is he prepared for whatever he will find? He checks the shortsword he has tucked into his side again. It’s one of Henry’s. It bears his maker's mark and has a short inscription under the leather wrap of the handle. His excuse is that you never know what might meet you on the road, but in truth, he’s not gonna jeopardise Irina's safety, oath be damned.
He helps Irina up on the horse and gives it a pat on the flank to get it moving. He gives them a head start before he follows them on his own horse. The forest is silent and almost windstill. Even the sound of the hoofbeats is close to nonexistence after the snowfall the day before. Hans fears what it is gonna do to the chances of spotting the creature.
The stallion keeps drifting. It’s not used to being out without someone to guide it, so it keeps looking back after the other horse. When it gets comfortable enough with being on its own, it starts exploring. Every so often, it suddenly takes a turn like a dog caught on a scent. Hans gets his hope up only to be let down. One time, it’s because of an old, shrunken apple still hanging on a tree branch. Another time, it got spooked by a pheasant running across the clearing.
Time drags on.
Irina is starting to slump on the horse's back. Her eyes are still fixed on the horizon. He can practically see her ears turn in the direction of every squeak or rustle. But she is getting tired as well. A powerful wind knocked the horse off its course, taking them by surprise. Irina nearly slides off its back. Hans is about to call it quits when something changes.
It's an almost imperceptible change in the air. Hans wouldn’t have noticed it if it weren't for the way the horse and girl suddenly stop. There's a tension in his ear. Like a sudden realisation that there is a sound just low enough that he can’t make it out. The horse’s ears perk to the left at the same time as Irina turns her head in the same direction. Irina leans in the same moment the stallion takes off in a trot. Hans follows.
Hans can’t find the rhyme or reason behind whatever the thing is that pulls the horse and the girl. One moment they’re walking in one direction, the next they take a sharp turn to the left. Hans has long since given up on keeping tabs on where they are. All the usual landmarks are gone. It’s just them and the clusters of similar looking naked trees.
They continue to walk. The snow is getting denser. Hans doesn't even think he has seen this much snow since he was a child.
Hans is taken out of his thoughts when the horse suddenly decides to take off in a gallop. Irina shrieks but manages to cling on. Hans spurs on his own horse, but whatever is driving the stallion is quicker. One moment the pair is there, and suddenly they’re gone.
Hans has never appreciated snow more than in this moment, where he can follow the clear prints of the horse. It still does not mean that he is terrified that the horse and girl might just have disappeared like everything else seems to have in this god forsaken part of the forest.
Apparently, whatever pulled the horse has driven them through a thicket. His own horse is not much for following, and Hans isn’t either, but a stern nudge in the ribs does make it comply. One moment, he’s trying to keep branches from poking his eyes out, the next, he’s in a clearing.
Hans knows for a fact that this clearing should not exist. He would have known about a cluster of trees so thick it could hide the presence of a giant weeping willow like the one in front of him, but those are thoughts for another day.
They are standing under it like some inverted mirage. The black stallion and the white stag. To his great relief, Irina is still on the back of the horse. She’s leaning so far towards the deer that she looks like she is about to climb over. Deer and girl both stare transfixed by one another. She reaches out to touch the deer. It moves closer to let her run her fingers over its shoulders. Her hand trails up its neck. It lowers its head so she can touch the golden antler.
Hans gets off his horse.
The sound of snow and gravel shifting startles the trio. Irina breaks into a smile at seeing him. She sends him an expression of wide eyed wonder. The horse snorts and shifts in place. The stag does not move further.
Slowly, he makes his way towards them. He was not far off when he guessed it to be the size of a horse. The stallion is big for a colt, but beside the stag, it looks almost feeble. The stag is easily the size of a warhorse. Include its single antler, and it towers over them, but it doesn't seem to intimidate Irina in the slightest.
Its eyes are a clear blue, and with the tilt of them and with the long eyelashes, it makes it look heart achingly sad.
It’s a familiar gaze.
Hans would like to claim that he’s pretty good at reading the body language of deer. He has to after years of hunting and stalking prey. Which means that he sees the moment the deer decides to attack.
That’s the only reason why he manages to get out of the way when the stag charges. The deer doesn't as much as snort before it goes for him. He can feel its mass pass by him as it lunges. The snow makes it harder to turn around, which means that Hans has just enough time to prepare himself for the next lunge.
As the stag tries again, he manages to step to the side, grab it by the single antler and throw it of course. Maybe the deer wasn't prepared for such a direct confrontation, or maybe the missing antler throws off its balance just enough, but the deer goes down with a barking howl. A hauntingly human sound that no deer should be making.
Irina is shrieking, but the horse has the sense to stay away from the confrontation. Hans makes as much space between himself and the deer as he can. The deer staggers back up. Its panting breath comes out as great clouds between them. It shakes out its fur and throws its head threateningly. Man and deer size one another up. Hans tries to keep Irina in sight so the deer doesn't charge in their direction. His hand finds its way to the sword at his hip. His hands are shaking.
The deer charges.
He pulls the sword as the deer is about to come bearing down on him. It rears up at the sight of it. In an attempt to avoid the swinging hooves, he loses his footing and falls to the ground.
He rolls and manages to avoid the dancing hooves. When it tries to stomp his head in, he swats a leg away with the sword. The blade cuts into the meat of the leg. It hits bone. Blood spews, but the injury does not deter the beast.
He manages to get back up and narrowly avoids the antler swinging at his face. In his haste to get out of the way, the sword scores across the ribs and shoulders of the beast. Blood rushes. The deer goes down on its front legs.
His shoulders are straining under the tension of his body. He’s not sure if he will hold up if the damn thing charges again, he’s done. The deer moans. Hans lets his hands drop.
Only for the deer to lurch. It is by old, but well practised training, that he manages to get the blade between him and the antler, and divert it away from his face before the deer goes down again. Hans follows suit.
He pants on the ground and spits out the snow from his mouth. Beside him, the deer stirs. Whoever gets up first deals the killing blow.
Except, Hans knows the deer can’t die, meanwhile he can’t feel his arms, and the sword was swiped out of his hand in the last parry. Something in his chest is not moving as it should, and everything in his back complains as he tries to roll over so he can get up. Meanwhile, the deer has gotten its leg under itself. Blood might be gushing from its side from where the sword carved through, and from what he can see, the gash in its leg have cut through muscle and sinew, but that doesn’t stop it.
Hans collapses back into the snow as the stag gets up.
He hopes that Irina will make it back. That the stupid stallion will have enough sense to follow his horse and make it back to Rattay. He hopes that Irina will one day forgive her stupid old man for dying for something as reckless as this. Hans isn’t sorry about why he did it, but if he burns in hell for the family and the duties he leaves behind, then he will deserve it.
He feels the ground shake as the deer staggers up. He hears it scrape its hooves against the ground as it collects itself for one last charge. He waits for his skull to split or to be ripped into by an antler.
Instead, he gets a face of hot, wet breath.
The animal snorts. He opens his eyes.
The deer’s muzzle is barely a hand's breadth away. He stares into one single and archingly familiar blue eye that does not see him. Then he looks up.
Irina got both hands tangled in the antlers as she clutched it to her chest. She’s crying. Large hitching sobs shake her frame. He gets up slowly. Eyes trained on the deer in case it should try anything. The deer follows him with its eyes. It snorts, and a shiver goes down its whole body, but it does not try to pull itself free.
He makes his way behind it to grab Irina by the shoulders to pull her away. Slowly, she let go. The deer staggers away, it doesn't as much as look behind itself as it leaves.
“We need to go,” he says as he pats her shoulder and tries his best not to sound like he just saw his life flash behind his eyes. He swallows thickly.
It should be a testament to the Neuhof stock that neither Hans' horse nor the stallion has left the clearing despite the commotion. He makes short work of tying the stallion back to his own horse. He gets Irina settled in the saddle before he swings himself into it, and then they are off.
Hans hurt the deer, which means that he half expects the woods to turn against them. The darker it gets, the more assured he is that the forest is gonna swallow them whole or turn them around for all of eternity. The forest does neither. It is deceptively easy to leave compared to how hard and how long it took to reach the place. One minute, they are surrounded by dense trees, the next, they hit the road with familiar landmarks in the distance. Hans sends a silent prayer to the heavens and nudges the horse into a trot.
They continue to ride in silence.
“When we get back—” He starts. We will not be telling your mother about it”
“I wasn’t ever in danger or anything.” She answers in a voice so sullen that he can only let out a strangled noise in disbelief.
“You threw yourself at a raging stag the size of a horse. He could have hurt you.” Irina stops fiddling with the mane of the horse to look up at him. Big brown eyes meet him with the kind of steadfast conviction that she did not inherit from either him or her mother.
“Why would Henry hurt me?” And it is as simple as that, but that leaves the question. Why did it try to hurt him?
Notes:
I don’t wanna make any promises, but this thing should be done before the end of the year.
Cheers!