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Then:
There was one unforeseen problem about Hans’s epiphany on bad days and it was that in order for everything to be better in the morning he had to sleep, and in order for him to sleep Godwin needed to shut the fuck up.
“Godwin!” he hissed at his snoring friend, fast asleep in the bed on the other side of the room.
The priest groaned and stirred but did not wake. As if in unconscious protest, his snoring grew louder.
“Christ’s wounds… Godwin! Shut it, will you?”
“Two and a half badgers, thanks,” Godwin mumbled off-handedly, like he was giving his order to a bartender, still deeply and enviably asleep.
“Godwin,” Hans pleaded. “Roll over at least!”
The older man grumbled something unintelligible and turned to face the wall, burying his face in his pillow in a resentful manner. His snoring ceased and for a few blissful seconds, Hans enjoyed some silence then… Ting! Ting! Ting!
“Jesus Christ preserve me,” Hans whispered in anguish, taking a deep breath and pinching the bridge of his nose. He waited for the blacksmith outside to finish hammering whatever rubbish he was making and go away, but alas, such mercies were not granted him this day.
As soon as the blacksmith finished quenching the workpiece (yes, Hans did actually pay attention when Henry talked about smithing), instead of giving the whole business a rest, he immediately set about making a bloody heaving racket with the bellows to ready another piece.
Hans shut his eyes and tried to ignore the noise. He was well aware that he was on thin ice here among Zizka’s rotten cutthroats. Losing his temper would get him nowhere. Worse than nowhere! It'd get him back in a jail cell to spend the night with moldy hay, a bucket of piss, and his mind clawing itself to pieces. Even being in that horrible, cramped space for a few hours earlier had made him feel like a bag stuffed full of cats.
Ting! Ting! Ting!
Hans took another deep, measured breath to calm himself and exhaled slowly. He lay back down on his cot and relaxed. He was almost starting to achieve some modicum of serenity when God apparently thought of another sin Hans Capon needed punishing for and the blacksmith started whistling.
Hans kicked the blanket off himself viciously and leapt to his feet. Shoeless and bare-chested, he lunged over to the door and threw it open.
“My good man, please explain what the fuck you are doing making such a racket at this hour?” he said. In his head it had sounded almost polite – or at least a far bit more polite than the situation warranted and thus practically an act of generosity. However, judging by the man’s sour expression, it was not received in the spirit it was intended.
“Doing my job,” the blacksmith answered brusquely.
“And when will you be done?”
“When I’m done.”
“It’s getting dark out,” Hans said.
The man gestured at the lamp on his worktable as if baffled by Hans’s stupidity.
Oh fuck this.
Hans stood up straight and lifted his chin. “The hour has grown late enough that you are disturbing the sleep of a noble guest. Close up your forge and go home for the night. Whatever work you have can wait for morning.”
“Captain asked me to finish these.”
“And I am telling you it can wait!” Hans replied. “Do you know who I am? Do you know what refusing a direct order from a nobleman leads to?”
“The stocks if I’m lucky,” the man said. “So I’d better finish up the captain’s orders, seeing as he’s a noble.”
Hans seethed hotter than the glowing coals under the bellows. He could go storm over to wherever Zizka was and demand better lodgings, but Hans had seen Nebakov. There were no better lodgings except for the room Zizka was in, and Hans knew that demanding that would get him a swift kick in the arse from the unscrupulous brute.
Hans sighed. “Where have you lot put up my squire for the night?”
“Who?” the blacksmith said, returning to his hammering.
“His name’s Henry. He’s my escort.”
“Your what?” the man hollered over the noise.
“Escort!”
Ting! “Don’t know him.” Ting!
“Stocky fellow, brown hair, talks like a country bumpkin?”
Ting! The blacksmith shook his head. Ting! To be fair, that did describe most of the men here. Ting!
“Eyes like a kicked puppy?” Hans added.
The blacksmith paused with his hammer upraised and chuckled. “Oh, you mean Henry. Why didn’t you say so? He’s over in Klara’s little hut, right over yonder.”
With monumental effort, Hans restrained the urge to grab the hammer from the man’s hand and beat him with it.
“Well,” he said at last, voice a little pitchier than he would have liked. “What are you standing around with that look on your face for? Get back to work and finish your job, blacksmith. Can’t keep your lord waiting.”
Hans turned on his heel and shut the door behind him, flinching as the sharp clang of the hammer resumed. He put on an undershirt and some hose, shot one last perturbed look at Godwin who was still slumbering peacefully somehow, then left the cabin and set out across the courtyard towards the ramshackle hut. It looked hardly better than an outhouse and Hans felt a pang of despair. He had hoped swapping beds with Henry would lead to a better chance at a good night’s sleep, but maybe that was a foolish hope. Unfortunately, it was the only hope he had.
Hans walked over to the door but paused as he reached for the handle when he heard a woman’s voice coming from within. He raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t realized that Klara came along with the shack. Lucky Henry. Hans certainly hadn’t been offered a wench to warm his bed, not that he would have taken a woman up on the offer anyways. His mind was far too scattered and his body too sore for pleasurable company of any kind. He just wanted to be alone and to sleep and to get this hellish day over with.
He should have either burst into the shack or walked away. Instead, Hans chose to lean closer to the door to try to overhear what they were saying. It was not the dignified choice, but curiosity had always been Hans’s undoing, especially when it came to Henry.
Henry and Klara were talking in low tones and Hans couldn’t make out the words but he could hear a charming gentleness in Henry’s voice that made his heart lurch. Henry had been speaking to him in that special tone just this morning. Apparently he went around speaking to everyone in it.
Whatever dumb thing Henry said must have been amusing because Klara laughed. It was a sweet laugh with a hint of sadness – exactly the kind of laugh that made a man want to take a woman in his arms and tell her everything would be alright because she was with him now and he’d keep her safe. That kind of laugh would work on a sucker like Henry in a heartbeat. If Klara was in there trying to seduce him (and what else could she possibly be doing?) she had just landed upon a foolproof strategy. She might as well just start taking her clothes off now; her work was done. Henry would fall hook, line, and sinker for that wounded-creature-in-need-of-love shit. He did not have Hans’s worldly experience.
Hans raised his fist to knock on the door and interrupt whatever was going on inside, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it and hesitated with his hand a few inches from the door. He was perfectly justified in interrupting them and yet…
A man strode past the hut on his way down the hillside and cast a strange glance at Hans as he walked by. Hans yanked his hand away from the door and wrapped his arms around himself, anxiety making his already-uneasy stomach tie itself into knots.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he whispered under his breath.
The truth was that he didn’t want to see Henry like this, that for some reason he would rather walk in on him fucking a woman than him wooing one. The sight of him balls-deep in some wench would be less horrible than the sight of him gazing sweetly at one with those big wildflower blue eyes of his and hearing him talk in that warm, husky tone.
So lost in his confusing thoughts, Hans did not notice in time that Henry and Klara’s voices had grown closer and they were saying goodbyes. Then Henry opened the door for Klara to leave and Hans found himself face-to-face with the girl.
“Oh!” Klara gasped. “I’m sorry, my lord. I didn’t-”
“Is something wrong, Sir Hans?” Henry asked, stepping closer with a worried frown.
“I need to talk to you,” Hans said, trying to look as if he had very grim and important news for Henry’s ears only.
Klara glanced between them with an anxious expression then bid them a quick goodnight and left. As she walked away, Hans stepped past Henry into the hut.
“Has there been word from Trosky?” Henry asked. “Is von Bergow planning some revenge? Surely he doesn’t have the numbers to attack us yet.”
“No, no, nothing of the sort. Don’t worry your thick head about it,” Hans said, waving away Henry’s concern. “I just have a favor to ask of you.”
“A favor?” Henry raised his eyebrows.
“I want to switch lodgings. They set me up in the cabin by the forge and that damn blacksmith’s hammering away like he’s got a whole herd of horses to shoe by morning. I can’t possibly sleep with that racket, but surely you’re used to it. So what do you say?”
Henry’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Isn’t Godwin sleeping there as well?”
Hans gave a vague shrug. “Maybe.”
“You couldn’t pay me to sleep in the same room as that man even if you offered me all of Pirkstein. The snoring? I’d go mad within an hour,” Henry said.
“Fine, if you won’t do it as a favor then you’ll do it as an order. Pack your things, my stubborn squire, and go,” Hans replied. He tried to say it in a jovial sort of way not a demanding one, at least. He didn’t actually wish to impose on his friend if it could be helped and had hoped that Henry simply wouldn’t mind switching with him.
Henry lay down on the bed, closed his eyes, and yawned. “Apologies, my lord. What did you say? I’m not sure I heard you properly. It sounded like you were banishing the brave man who almost died saving your life today from his own bed. But since I know you to be a just and generous lord, I must’ve misheard you.”
Hans huffed in annoyance and a slight smile tugged at the corner of Henry’s lips in response, although he was still feigning being half-asleep.
“Fine. You don’t want to sleep with Godwin, then go sleep with that wench of yours,” Hans said.
“Is that another order from his lordship?” Henry replied dryly.
“No! I just-” Hans gave up. With a sigh of frustration, he flopped down next to Henry on the bed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Where you sleep is your own business, but I am sleeping here. It’s quiet and all the herbs smell rather nice, actually. Zizka must like you a fair bit more than me. That blacksmith’s room smells like a horse’s arse.”
“Aye, it does smell nice here,” Henry agreed with no sign of moving.
Hans had expected Henry to get out of the bed when he lay down in it, but instead Henry just rolled over to face away and made no protest. Stunned, Hans faltered for a second, unsure of what to do. Then he decided that Henry must simply be teasing him and he would relent if Hans pushed back.
WIth a loud, exaggerated yawn, Hans stretched and sprawled out, throwing his leg across Henry’s and shoving his elbow into his back. Henry responded merely by scooting closer to the edge of the bed to make room to accommodate Hans.
“The bed is better in my room, you know,” Hans said. “Much more comfortable. I’d be doing you a favor, really…”
No reply.
“Damn it, Henry! Why are you so determined to stay here? How can it possibly be unreasonable to ask a blacksmith’s boy to sleep near a forge? You’re just being pig-headed about this to irk me, aren’t you?”
“That doesn’t sound at all like something I’d do,” Henry said quietly, his tone strained as if he were trying to hold in a laugh.
Hans elbowed him. “You are unbelievable.”
Henry’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, which Hans should have found infuriating but unfortunately just found incredibly endearing.
“Well then, suit yourself,” Hans told him. “If you are so determined to stay, then stay. I won’t stop you.”
“So gracious, my lord,” Henry mumbled. “Thank you, my lord.”
Hans scoffed at him and kicked off his shoes. He shifted around restlessly, waiting for Henry to finally be done having fun with his joke and leave. But Henry only relaxed more, nestling into his side of the pillow. Hans realized with a stab of alarm that Henry was falling asleep.
He froze, suddenly unsure of himself. The bed was quite small for two grown men. There was no way they could both lie comfortably without brushing against each other. They barely fit as they were now with Hans’s leg draped over Henry and his shoulder resting against his back, and he certainly couldn’t stay like this. In fact, he’d better sort out this leg situation immediately. It was thoughtless of him to have left it there this whole time. Why hadn’t Henry shoved him off?
Hans rolled onto his side facing away from Henry and moved to the edge of the bed to put as much distance between them as possible. It was not nearly enough. Hans could still feel the heat of Henry’s body. Hell, he could practically hear his heartbeat he was so close, although perhaps that was his imagination. Or his own heart, which was pounding quite loudly, actually.
“Alright, you win,” Henry said all of a sudden and sat up. He was breathing a little fast and his whole body was tense. “Damn your stubborn noble arse. I’ll go sleep by the forge.”
A stab of remorse struck Hans. His stubborn noble arse did feel a bit damnable. This was no way to repay Henry for doing the most beautifully heroic thing Hans had ever seen a man do earlier today when he stood between him and Zizka’s ruffians.
“Stay,” Hans said, touching Henry’s arm to stop him before he climbed out of the bed. “We both need our sleep. I don’t relish the thought of sharing a bed, but you’re quiet at least. There’s no reason we both shouldn’t sleep well. God knows you’ve earned it.”
Henry glanced anxiously at the door. “Are you sure it won’t look… odd?”
“We shared a room in Trosky the other night after Semine and no one batted an eyelash,” Hans said.
“A room, not a bed.”
“No one else knew that, unless they assume you slept at my feet like a hound.”
“Don’t get any ideas,” Henry grumbled.
Hans chuckled. “You know, my feet do get quite cold sometimes…”
“I can call in Mutt if you want, but he does fart something terrible in his sleep,” Henry said.
Hans groaned. “Don’t you dare bring that beast in here.”
Henry paused for a moment then said in a more serious tone, “Maybe it’s not such a bad idea for you to have your bodyguard around, though. I stand by our decision to join Zizka but that doesn’t mean I trust him.” Henry lay back down, his limbs pressed stiffly to his sides as he tried to make his thick, muscular body as small as possible to not take up too much room. It was almost comical. He shifted awkwardly and said, “I’m not sleeping at your feet, but I suppose I could sleep on the floor. You did take quite the blow today. You need to be able to rest undisturbed.”
Hans gave an exasperated sigh. “You’re not sleeping on the floor, Hal. Jesus Christ. Just be quiet and stop worrying.”
Telling Henry not to worry was a waste of breath but Hans had to say it every so often on principle.
Henry was silent for a long moment then he tucked his arm under his head, curled up tighter into himself, and murmured, “G'night then.”
“Goodnight.”
Hans exhaled a tired sigh and adjusted until he found a position that wasn’t too uncomfortable. He closed his eyes and tried to quiet his mind, but he was too distracted by the soft rustle of Henry’s breath and the creak of the rickety bedframe whenever his heavy body shifted even slightly.
Hans was always attuned to Henry’s presence when close to him but this was different. He didn’t just feel aware of Henry’s nearness, his mind felt completely mesmerized by it. He could barely breathe. Even with his eyes closed, he could have mapped every single inch of Henry’s body next to him.
Henry took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly and his rigid manner relaxed. Hans tried to do the same but he couldn’t get the knot of tension low in his stomach to ease or his hands to relinquish their white-knuckled grip on the edge of the pillow.
This was a bad idea.
This was a very bad idea. He should leave.
God damn it. Hans couldn’t have made himself get out of this bed even with the muzzle of a pistole pressed to his head. It wasn’t about the noise of the blacksmith anymore. It was the idea of going back to cold sheets that didn’t smell like Henry. Hans didn’t understand why that thought was suddenly unbearable but it was.
He wasn’t used to sleeping beside someone. While traveling, he had his own tent, and at home the only person who would end up in his bed would be a lover and Hans wouldn’t dare let some village girl stay the night to be caught in the morning and cause a scandal.
No, Hans couldn’t remember ever sharing a bed with someone like this, but what he did remember were all the nights he had lain awake wishing he could have someone next to him because he’d never fully gotten over his fear of the dark and he hated, hated, being stuck awake while the whole world slept.
Henry was surely used to this, though. Peasants were always packed into houses too small for them. Although initially agitated by Hans’s presence, he now seemed to have settled into acceptance of it. He certainly wasn’t lying there on pins and needles, aware in a tortuous way of every inch of his own body and all the places they weren’t touching and all the places they so very nearly were. In fact, he probably wasn’t thinking of Hans at all.
“Hans?” Henry whispered.
Startled from his spiral of thoughts, Hans tried to reply but his throat was too dry to speak. He swallowed nervously and said in what he was glad ended up sounding like a nonchalant tone, “What?”
“Your head. Did you need more painkiller? Or I’ve got some chamomile decoction if there’s any swelling.”
Hans smiled faintly. Some of the discomfort slipped from him at the sound of Henry’s worried tone (gentler than when he talked to Klara, Hans was petty enough to note). It was a relief to know that Henry was not annoyed with him but rather concerned.
“The one you gave me earlier hasn’t worn off yet,” he assured his attentive squire.
“Wake me if it does,” Henry said. “Head injuries aren’t to be trifled with. I should know.”
“Stop fretting over me like an old woman and go to sleep, Henry.”
Hans felt a shift and glanced over his shoulder to see that Henry had turned onto his back. He took up a bit more room on the bed this way and cast an apologetic look at Hans when their eyes met.
“Hurts to sleep on my side,” he explained, gesturing at the arrow wound in his shoulder that had never healed quite right.
Hans did not reply. He was staring at the swell of Henry’s chest rising and falling softly with his breath and the glimpse of skin and body hair visible through the gap in his half-unbuttoned shirt. What would it feel like to run his fingers across Henry’s chest? Hans’s own skin was fairly smooth. He wondered what the texture of Henry’s would be like. He knew it would be warm to the touch, though. Henry was always warm. He had a little forge of his own inside him, that man. Hans imagined that it would be extremely comforting to place his palm on Henry’s chest on a winter morning and feel it soothed by that wonderful heat, or better yet to nuzzle his face in when his cheeks and nose were cold after a ride in the brisk wind. Henry always smelled nice, too – earthy and sweet. Henry had not expected a man to smell like that. Ever since the first time he’d gotten close enough to Henry to notice that scent, it was all he could notice now.
Hans coughed (what was wrong with his throat?) and swallowed again then turned over to face the wall once more. He stared with wide, faraway eyes into the shadows for a few minutes as he wrestled his thoughts back under control.
Not that there was anything untoward about them, though. Of course not. It was only natural curiosity to want to touch Henry. An excellent specimen of the masculine body was an eye-catching thing to anyone, like a fine sculpture. It was natural to stop and admire it a little. Everyone did that. Even Henry did it. Hans had caught him staring a bit overlong on several occasions when they were in various states of undress. Hans was a fine specimen of the masculine body too, albeit in a different sort of build than Henry – nobler, more refined. Of course Henry stared sometimes. And if Henry did it, it must not be improper. Henry wasn’t… like him. He only had eyes for women. Not that Hans didn’t. He just… Well, lately sometimes he wondered… He’d had that one dream and woken up from it-
Shit. Don’t think about that right now.
The faintest hint of a wuffling little snore came from Henry’s side of the bed. Hans peeked over his shoulder and saw that he was fast asleep. Slowly, terrified of waking him, Hans turned around to lie facing Henry so he could study the look of peace that had fallen across his friend’s expression.
A bittersweet feeling ached in Hans’s heart and the preoccupation he had felt a minute ago when looking at Henry slipped away, replaced by something far more pure and fond. He had not quite realized until this moment how much Henry had grown up as of late, natural aging hastened on by more stress and hardship than was his share. Hans had also not realized how much he missed awkward Hal, with his gangly limbs and fluttery eyelashes. Henry’s body had filled out significantly and the lines of his face had hardened, but it was more than that. Despite his easy smile and dry humor, Henry’s countenance bore the strain of more sorrow and responsibility than one his age should have endured. Free of its burden now as he slept, he looked so much softer, so innocent.
Hans was possessed with the inexplicable urge to brush the hair off his brow and tuck the blanket in around him like some nursemaid. His hand reached out of its own accord and just barely touched the messy curls of Henry’s hair when he caught himself and yanked it away.
Hans rolled onto his back and lay his arms safely down at his sides, hands clutching fistfuls of the sheets. Closing his eyes, he made a determined effort to fall asleep.
At first he couldn’t do anything but lie stock still. Then at last the scent of sage and mint and the calming rhythm of Henry’s slumbering breaths worked their magic and Hans’s mind surrendered his body to the gentle reprieve of sleep.
Everything wasn’t better in the morning, it turned out. It was worse. Much worse. About as bad as it could get, actually.
For many a lonely night after, Hans was glad for the Nebakov blacksmith and Klara’s little hut with only one bed because it meant that he had known, for one night at least, how warm a bed could feel with someone beside him in it and the extraordinary sense of safety and trust that came from that person being Henry. It broke his heart during the long nights of grief in captivity, but Hans would not have surrendered the memory for anything.
Now:
“Hans?” Henry whispered tentatively. “Are you asleep?”
It was an hour or two past midnight and Hans wished he was asleep but the unfortunate truth was that he was clearly and agonizingly awake. His mind was wandering around too much to rest. Such had always been his way. As a child, he would lie awake for hours after being sent to bed, staring up at the ceiling and telling himself stories of valiant knights and harrowing adventures. He still did that sometimes, although he’d certainly never admit it. It was preferable to what he did more often than not, though, which was think. Thinking truly was the most wretched of pastimes.
He had been remembering something very foolish he had said once when he was fifteen or sixteen to a boy he now realized he had fancied but at the time had been too naive to understand his feelings as anything other than a strange desperate need to be noticed. Hans had tried to impress the boy but every single fucking thing he said only dug himself deeper into a hole of absolute stupidity. If Hans could go back in time and meet that younger version of himself, he would give him a good solid thrashing.
“Yes, I’m awake,” Hans murmured bitterly. “What of it?”
Henry rolled onto his side to face Hans, hugging a pillow to his chest. “I was just thinking about that night in Nebakov before the siege. Do you remember?”
The anxiety and frustration that had held Hans in its sleepless grip for the past few hours eased slightly. “I spent a lot of time remembering that night for quite a while after it,” he said with a faint smile. “Why do you ask?”
Henry hid his face in the pillow for a second then looked up at Hans with big, sheepish eyes. “I have a confession.”
A lot of their conversations had started this way lately. There was much to confess after hiding their feelings from themselves and each other for so long.
Hans reached out and stroked his fingers through Henry’s hair and caressed his head reassuringly. “What is it? Tell me.”
“There was a second bed up in the loft,” Henry said.
Hans raised his eyebrows. “Why Henry, you sly dog! You just couldn’t resist me being in your bed, could you?”
Henry groaned in embarrassment. “It wasn’t like that. I just…”
“Took advantage of your poor concussed friend needing somewhere quiet to sleep?”
“No! I promise you, I had no designs upon you of any kind! I just liked you being there. It felt… nice.”
“Why did you almost bolt out of bed at one point then?”
There he went again, hiding his face in the pillow like a blushing maid. Hans wanted to tackle him and kiss him breathless.
“Maybe it felt a little too nice,” Henry mumbled.
Hans laughed and Henry looked up from the pillow at him.
“Good God, Henry…” he said, wrenching the pillow out of his arms and tossing it aside so he could pull him close. “Every fucking time I think I can’t love you any more than I already do, you say something ridiculous like this and I find that I was wrong.”
Henry chuckled, a warm rumble against Hans’s chest. “I love you too.”
“Damn you, always making a fool out of me."
Henry hid his face against Hans’s neck. “I tried to never let myself even think about wanting you, but I was weak that night. I couldn't stop thinking about putting my arms around you and kissing the back of your neck. It killed me to lay there and not touch you.”
“Don't bemoan your sufferings to me! I was in the same boat. You know how uncomfortable it is to wake up hard as rocks and have to immediately stuff yourself into tight chausses and armor and go into battle still at half mast? That morning was agony for me!”
Henry chuckled and pressed an apologetic kiss to Hans’s neck. “I promise I’ll never leave you high and dry like that again.”
“You’d better not. You have duties, you know. As my squire.”
“Oh as your squire, eh? I don’t remember that being in the training.”
Hans smirked at him. “I don’t know what you mean. I think I’ve trained you quite well.”
“Could always use more practice, though…”
“Henry, it’s the middle of the night. It’s-”
Henry grinned at Hans and ducked beneath the covers.
“Henry! You- fuck! Oh Christ...”
A fond laugh rumbled under the blankets and Hans closed his eyes, his head falling back against the pillow and his lips parting in a moan.
“I’ll consider this-” Hans gasped. “-your apology then.”
“Aye, my lord,” came from between his legs, followed by another laugh.