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Hans has always been a selfish man.
It is his right, after all, as a nobel. It is stitched into his very being to be selfish, and who would fault him for it? Does he not have the right to wine and wenches? Should he not expect those beneath him to perform tasks he cannot be bothered with?
It is his birthright to be selfish, and if he can’t yet inherit the lands that are rightfully his, or choose his own marriage partner, or travel for months to see the world like he so desperately wishes to, then he gets to be selfish when it comes to drink, sport, and all other manner of pleasures readily available to him.
For a long time, though, there had been one thing he’d selfishly longed for that he’d held back from. A line that should not be crossed - not because he didn’t believe he deserved it, mind you, but because the risks had been too insurmountable.
Hans has always been a selfish man. He enjoys receiving what he wants and hates being denied. And if confessing his urges will take Henry from him entirely, well. He would rather keep Henry close as a loyal friend than not have him at all.
If Henry hadn’t volunteered for a suicide mission, Hans doubts he would have had the courage to tell Henry about any of it. But at that point they’d been so fucked that really, what had there been to lose?
(He tries not to dwell on it - how for a brief moment the starvation and exhaustion and inevitable failure hadn’t mattered when Henry’s lips had first touched his. How when Henry had wrenched himself away, face twisting with anger and confusion, Hans had truly understood loss for the first time. Because there was no coming back from this, even if they survived. The horror of it had threatened to swallow him whole. It wasn’t dissimilar to how it had felt being crushed in Nebakov, only he’d brought it on himself and this time he’s sure the crushing pressure in his chest will never alleviate. Henry’s return, his searing kiss, had breathed life back into him. And something else, too. Something it took him weeks more to name.)
Hans’ life of selfishness, idleness, and disregard for his uncle’s wishes have served him well. He suspects Hanush is not at all surprised that Hans has refused his orders for the past two months. He’d accepted his complaints of illness easily enough, even if he likely didn’t believe them.
But Hanush is done waiting. His most recent letter had said as much. He’d sent one along to Henry, too, stating that if he didn’t drag Hans back before the month was out, that Hanush would send his own men to help.
There is no more delaying. No pretending that this engagement will simply go away, or that the lands will fall into enough chaos to push back the wedding further. No. Hans Capon is to be married. And soon.
No one at the Devil’s Den is surprised as he sulks about, temper short and mood foul. Hans sees the sympathy they direct Henry’s way for needing to put up with him, and even a dash of sympathy directed towards him for his forced nuptials. But what none of them know, maybe not even Henry, is that he’s not simply sulking.
He’s thinking.
He cannot put it off any longer. He needs to decide, once and for all, if he is going to get married, or if he’s going to ask Henry to run away with him.
“Let’s run away together.”
Hans had first floated the idea in a meadow one bright, sunny morning, his legs damp from wading through dewy grass as he watched Henry pluck chamomile flowerheads, leaving yellow pollen stains on the pads of his fingers.
It’s an idle thought. A wish, more than a request. As if it could ever be that simple. And yet the words, spoken aloud, shoots fear deep into his chest. What if Henry said no?
What if he said yes?
Henry chuckles, not even looking up from his work. “And run where, my lord?”
Hans shrugs, accepting the slimy stick Mutt had returned to him with a grimace. He tosses it father in an attempt to delay its inevitable return. Where would they go? If they ran, they’d certainly need to be more selective when it came to destinations. “We could travel west! See where the road takes us!” he declares.
“Isn’t that what maps are for?”
“Henry!”
Henry just smiles at him, expression fond as he plucks another bloom from the fields. “And what would we do out west?”
Hans shrugs, picking his way through the grass to stand by Henry’s side. “Try new tavern games and drink exotic wines! See if the stew at every tavern is nothing more than slop!” He pauses then, still shy in the wake of their new…situation. Hans Capon is not used to feeling flustered, but he’s come to find it happened a lot when Henry was involved. “Enjoy more privacy so I can express my appreciation for your efforts more vocally.”
Henry grins at him. “Aye, now that sounds like a good time.”He leans over to slip the stem of the chamomile in his hand behind Hans’ ear. Hans has half a mind to remind Henry he isn’t a blushing maid, but he’s fairly certain he is blushing, and he isn’t eager to risk washing that smile from Henry’s face. “You’re so chatty day-to-day that I imagine that translates to bed as well,” Henry adds.
Henry’s fingers linger and Hans, helpless not to, is drawn closer until their lips meet. Kissing Henry is different than kissing wenches, though he can’t say if it is because Henry is a man, or if it is because of the depth of Hans’ feelings for him. Whichever it may be, everything else fades away with Henry’s lips on his. There is nowhere he would rather be.
It isn’t until Mutt whines, nudging at his shin with the retrieved stick, that the two break apart, cheeks flushed and smiles on both their swollen lips.
“Well, we certainly have privacy here,” Hans says. “If you send that mutt of yours away, that is.”
It is difficult to dwell on maudlin thoughts with Henry’s calloused fingers clutching his hips and his mouth on his cock. But it does occur to Hans, after, draped across Henry's chest to escape the poking of the meadow grass, that just maybe, leaving Rattay behind could be worth it. For this.
The Emperor Charles Tavern is rowdy, the drinks are fine and flowing, and Henry’s cheeks are flushed from drink. He’s just finished a rousing rendition of…well, to be honest Hans isn’t sure what the song was meant to be. Henry’s such a laughably bad singer that it can be hard to tell.
Hans has been enjoying their stint in Kuttenberg. Henry had spent so much time in the city that he’d had an entire mental list of places he wanted to show Hans. It would take days to visit all of the various shops alone, not to mention the taverns to indulge in, the multiple bathhouses, and the fountain that Henry had dragged him to and couldn’t seem to stop staring at whenever they passed it.
Henry’s foot bumps his under the table. They’re in a back corner and the wine makes Hans bold, hooking an ankle around Henry’s and keeping it there. Henry glances around but no one is paying them any mind. Hans grins back at him. “This has been fun.” He’s impressed with how mild the slur in his voice is. Far more dignified for a man of his stature to be coherent even after several drinks.
Henry smiles back, eyes hazy. “Aye,” he agrees, louder than he meant to, since the sound of his own voice seems to spook him. His next words are quieter. “S’good. No tasks or errands!”
“Just drink and adventure,” Hans agrees.
Henry’s eyes dance in the firelight, his dopey smile incredibly fond. “And us.”
Hans’ heart flips at the tender words, at the sparkle in Henry’s eyes. And what’s stopping this from being their reality all the time? What’s to stop them from never returning to Devil’s Den, or Rattay? Why should they return, when he can have this instead? “We could run away t’gether,” Hans says.
Henry waves him off. “An’ what, put ya to work?” he asks with a snort. “You’d not even…even carry sacks .”
Hans huffs. “I could!” He imagines it for a moment - him in filthy peasant clothing, sweating and lugging a sack across town. No one knowing who he is, and each of them bold enough to disrespect him, as they had at the start of this adventure. Anger coils in his gut at the thought. “But maybe not sacks,” he adds.
Henry snorts. “What then? We’d need money y’know.”
“I know!” He points at Henry, accusing. “An’ I got it, didn’t I? Got to the wedding!”
“And Von Bergow almost got your neck.”
The wine sours in Hans’ stomach. Henry’s voice had been teasing, but his expression grows pinched. It’s no fond memory for either of them. Sometimes, if the tolling of bells comes when Hans is on the cusp of sleep, he still finds himself jerking awake, skin too warm and breaths too short.
Henry pushes his mug back with a grimace. “Think that’s enough fo’ tonight.”
“Agreed.” Hans sets his mug down. Suddenly, the tavern walls feel too close. The patron’s eyes too sharp. He unhooks his ankle, retreating to his side of the table.
Henry’s watching him, teeth gnawing at his bottom lip. Finally, he says, “would be nice, though. If we could.”
If. Because of course Hans can’t give up his lifestyle and his lands. Of course they can’t just go. Hans knows himself well enough to understand that the disrespect he’d need to endure as a peasant after a lifetime of being a lord would be nearly impossible to stomach.
And even if they did run off together, they’d not have this. Not the coin to indulge in expensive wine or the freedom to sit in a familiar tavern where anyone might recognize one of them.
On second thought, Hans isn’t drunk enough. He slams the rest of the mug, wine warm and acrid in his throat.
The air is crisp and tinged with woodsmoke and rot as Hans watches Henry butcher the hares from their latest archery competition. The light from the setting sun gives the trees the appearance that they’re aflame; reds, oranges, and yellows swirling together and glowing in the dying light.
“Leaves will be falling in bunches soon,” Henry says. Casual. As if either of them can forget that this could be their last hunting trip together for a very long time.
His uncle’s letter feels less like parchment and more like iron where it sits in his pouch. The weather’s not so fierce yet that it can be used as an excuse to remain here, either. He supposes he’ll state he’s fallen ill again and see if it works for a second time. “That they will.”
He hasn’t had enough time. Not enough adventure with Henry, whether it’s a competitive hunt or sharing a bed. Not enough time to enjoy his freedom of traveling Bohemia with his favorite person by his side. Not enough nights pressed against Henry, with nothing but skin between them.
It’s not been enough time.
He’s starting to think it never will be.
A gust of wind, sharp and cold, whips through the camp. Henry shivers, shoulders hunched against the barrage as he continues work on their supper. Hans tosses another piece of wood on the fire. After a moment, he pulls the parchment from his pouch. It crumples in his fist. He can feel Henry’s eyes on him as he tosses it into the flames, the wax of the Rattay seal bubbling and melting quickly in the presence of such heat.
Hans’ fingers clench around the fabric of his cloak. He can feel Henry’s eyes on him. Assessing, but patient. He takes up a stick to prod at the parchment, encouraging it to burn faster.
“Hans-”
“We should run away together.” Hans’ voice comes out sullen and ready for a fight. He doesn’t look away from the fire - doesn’t want to see Henry’s eyes, tinged with sadness, as they always are when he brings the idea up.
“We could.” Henry’s voice is neutral. Careful. Can sense Hans is ready to spit and howl back, if he’s not selective with his words. “You’d be free to do as you pleased.”
“I would.”
It’s silent for several long moments before Henry gets back to work, blade slicing through skin on the next hare. “You’d lose your estates in exchange.”
“I know.”
A pause. Then, “you’d have to live as a peasant.”
“I know , Henry.”
Henry quiets. Hans continues to glower at the flames.
Is it so wrong that he wants to keep all of it? To inherit the lands that are rightfully his without being forced into a marriage by his uncle? To begin his rule with Henry by his side, and no wife to get in the way of their blossoming relationship? To keep access to the money and respect owed to him as a nobleman, while also having the freedom to enjoy his life away from the walls of his castle if he so chooses? He’s young still. If nothing else shouldn’t he get at least a year of freedom after the Hell he’d gone through before he’s stuffed into a castle and forced into a political marriage?
Leaves crush beneath Henry’s boots as he stands, wiping his hands clean with a towel before crossing to sit beside Hans. His presence is steady beside him. Warm. Henry’s hand drops atop his own and gives it a firm squeeze. “No matter what,” he says, voice sure, “I will remain by your side.”
Hans squeezes his eyes shut. It’s not fair. Nothing about this is fair. “I know.”
“I know you need to marry. It won’t change anything between us.”
Hans laughs, but there’s no merriment in it. “How can it not?”
Henry sighs. “It will change circumstances,” he says. “How often we see each other, maybe. But it won’t change how I feel about you, Hans. I love you. I always will.”
Hans turns, pressing his face into the crook of Henry’s neck. The force of the emotions crashing over him is so much. Too much. “I love you too.”
“I know.”
“I want to run away with you.”
“I know.”
Henry tilts his head up and slots their lips together. They won’t have this forever - not like this - and so Hans forces the panic and despair clawing inside his chest back down.
Too much has been taken from him already. He won’t let these moments with Henry be taken from him, too.
Once Henry gets his own letter from Hanush, Hans knows their time is up.
The indignation sits heavy on his chest, the insults for Hanush loose on his lips. He grows bolder, with the quickly approaching deadline. He reaches for Henry’s hand beneath the table at the Devil’s Den. He leans in to kiss him by the archery range in the early morning light. His bare skin brushes Henry’s in the baths when they share a tub, even in broad daylight.
He’s out of time. They are out of time, and he doesn’t want to waste it.
Henry, of course, is far more careful. Distracting curious glances with daring tales or calling on Mutt to bark and draw away prying eyes. He’s stern as he reminds Hans of the obvious need for secrecy, but Hans can’t help it.
It was different, when the wedding was some distant duty. Now, the wedding is here. All of this will be gone soon and he doesn’t want to waste a moment of it.
Hans isn’t subtle that night as he stands from the table, giving a mighty stretch and false yawn as he states that he plans to turn in early, and really, Henry had barely slept the night before and he really could use to make it an early night as well.
He hears Henry mumbling something to Godwin, who they’d been sharing a table with, before Henry’s footfalls join him on the stairs. Hans is already shucking his belt by the time Henry enters their room behind him.
“Be sure to bolt the door,” Hans says by way of greeting.
Henry does, but his eyes hold sparks as he crosses to Hans, crowding him against the chest where he’s started to drop his things. “You’re being reckless.”
Hans scoffs. “You think this rabble is smart enough to know what’s going on?”
Henry’s expression doesn’t soften. “They’re more observant than you seem to think. What if someone figures us out?”
“And what will the den of criminals do?” Hans challenges. “Report me? They’d not get anything out of it even if they had proof.”
Henry pinches the flesh between his eyes. “Hans. I know you’re upset-”
“Upset?” he cries. “No, Henry, I don’t think ‘upset’ really covers it!” He drops the belt to the chest, fingers moving clumsily over the buttons of his purpoint. The heavy fabric suddenly feels constricting and the embroidery carefully stitched into it only serves to mock him. A reminder that his nobel blood is the reason he has to give this up. In his haste he rips one of the buttons clean off. It clatters across the wooden floor, leaving a hole and loose thread behind. “Dammit all!”
“Let me.” Henry tugs his fingers away, gentle. Hans wants to protest. He wants to snap, and be angry - wants Henry to be angry with him. But his hands drop to his side, the fight going out of him as quickly as it appeared under Henry’s careful touch.
Henry doesn’t stop at the purpoint, loosening the lacing of Hans’ shirt before moving on to his own coat and linen tunic. He doesn’t speak as he undresses them. His movements are so calm that Hans feels the rage leaving him more with every article of clothing shed. Henry trades off between the two of them until they’re in nothing but braies. Henry walks Hans backwards, toward the bed, his breath warm against Hans’ jaw. “I love you,” Henry breathes.
It’s something always felt, but not often said between them. Hans reaches for him, arms wrapping around broad shoulders, nails digging into Henry’s back. “I love you, too.”
It feels like a goodbye, but also like a promise. Affirmation that Henry won’t be going anywhere. That his steady presence will follow Hans’ steps no matter his situation, even when Hans is being reckless and unfair and selfish. Henry’s lips are insistent but unhurried, his touch firm as fingers explore Hans’ skin. Soon enough Hans finds himself on his back, hips bracketed by Henry’s thighs. Henry palms him through his braise and Hans is helpless to do anything but rock into his touch.
Henry’s fingers finally hook under the waistband of his braise, Hans lifting his hips to assist before reaching for Henry’s braise in return. Henry leans in, capturing Hans’ lips with his own. Henry’s hand draws a path down Hans’ side, drags along his hip until he takes them both in hand. Henry swallows Hans’ moan, hand working both of them slowly. Unhurried. Like they have all the time in the world.
But they don’t. They don’t.
Henry doesn’t allow those thoughts space to thrive, lips carving a path down his chest, his abdomen, his hip bone, lingering there until deep red blooms across Hans’ skin. “No matter what happens,” Henry breathes against the mark, “you are mine and I am yours.”
Hans’ hips jerk, his hands reaching for Henry, and Henry comes for him as he always does. As he always will.
Henry smells of sage, steel, and sweat. His skin is coarse beneath Hans’ hands, littered with scars earned in the forge, on the battlefield, and in Hans’ name. Hans shifts, seeking more friction, but it’s not enough by half. Henry seems to understand, leaving Hans’ side just long enough to retrieve a vial of oil to coat his fingers with. He works Hans open tenderly, pupils blown and skin damp. As if, even months later, he can’t believe he can take Hans apart this way.
Their eyes don’t stray as Henry breaches him. Hans couldn’t look away if he wanted to. They rock together, hands exploring, lips brushing, eventually foreheads pressing firmly together. Every inch of him is filled by Henry - his body, his thoughts, his heart.
How would it be possible to live without this? Why would he want to?
Henry coaxes Hans to completion first, grinding against his prostate, hand pumping in time to his motions. Hans locks his legs around him as he comes, holding Henry in place, soft gasps punching from his lungs as Henry thrusts against him before he too comes undone with a soft groan, muffled in Hans’ neck.
It takes a few moments for their breathing to even out. Finally Henry shifts, lying on his back and wrapping an arm around Hans until the nobleman rests against his chest. Henry’s skin is damp and warm against Hans’ cheek. A hand cards through Hans’ hair, the gesture so tender that Hans’ breath catches in his throat.
He will take whatever of Henry he can get. He’ll take stolen nights in between his duties as a lord and husband and Henry’s inevitable missions. He’ll take longing glances across banquet halls as his duties force him to place his priorities elsewhere. He’ll accept only getting extended alone time during occasional hunting trips, which will inevitably stop once he has a child to care for. If that’s all that remains for them, he’ll hold to it as tightly as he can and never release it.
But Hans is a selfish man.
He wants more. He wants this.
“Let's run away together.” It's not the first time he's said it, by a long shot, but it is the first time he's truly meant it with all his heart.
He’d thought speaking the words aloud with all the meaning behind them would be more frightening than it is. Instead it feels right. Obvious, in a way it never had been until now.
Henry smiles against his temple, but the tension in his shoulders tells another story. His lips press a soft kiss there. “A tempting thought, my lord.”
Henry’s responses have always been the same - neutral but positive. Practical but wanting. Knowing, Hans is sure, that Hans has never truly meant it.
He shifts in Henry’s arms, pulling away just far enough so he can meet his eyes. Henry’s lips are quirked up in a small smile, but his eyes give him away. There is resignation in them - of a battle already lost.
Henry has never given up on a battle before. Hans hates that it’s him who is making Henry start.
“I’m serious,” he says. Henry’s expression doesn’t change, and Hans’ tone sharpens without him meaning to. “We can go anywhere we want. Somewhere no one knows us. We can leave Bohemia all together.” Henry’s eyes don’t change, and Hans finds himself pulling back farther, propping himself up on an elbow. “We could journey south. See the ocean! Or head west! See if all of France is filled with traitorous scum!”
“Hans.” Henry’s lips twitch - downward. Frustration darts across his face for a moment just long enough for Hans to see. It smooths quickly. His voice is aggravatingly calm. Practical. “We’ll need to ride for Rattay in a few days, or your uncle will send men. Can we simply enjoy the few days we have left?”
“You’re not taking me seriously,” Hans says with a growl.
Henry sighs and reaches for him. As irritated as he is, Hans doesn’t pull away. Henry’s touch mollifies him in a way nothing else ever has. “I’ve already told you,” he says, voice low and earnest. “I will stand by your side no matter what is to come. Whether that is as a friend at the tavern, a loyal page on the battlefield, or a secret lover behind closed doors. Your wedding will not change that.”
“But it will change this,” Hans says. He gestures around them - the room in Devil’s Den, their things mixed together across tables and shelves. Hans’ bed, unused for months now, except by Mutt, on the evenings Henry convinces him to let the beast stay inside. To the clothes shed carelessly to the floor. To their bodies, bare save the remnants of their spend because neither could be convinced to untangle themselves from the other’s arms. And beyond the walls - to the endless woods filled with game and adventure. To meadows teeming with wildflowers where Henry would go herb hunting before lying Hans back in the grass, smelling of chamomile and marigold as his mouth ravished his lord’s skin. To towns they’d yet to see filled with taverns and shops and all manner of people to meet.
Instead it would be a woman he didn’t know shadowing his steps. Catering to the trivial problems of his people who thought where a piss pot was emptied was the height of offense. Facing a city of people who never wanted him to take control of his lands and would probably be thrilled if Hans just never came back. And Henry…
Henry, sent away on missions to God knows where and for God knows how long. Henry, forced to watch Hans marry, have children. Henry, who will kiss him only when they sneak off on hunts or into Hans’ personal chambers, with far less frequency than they’re able to now. Henry who will smile and bear it, but whose eyes will bear his anguish all the same.
He can’t do it. Not to himself and certainly not to Henry.
Henry sighs. It’s a deep and heavy sound. “Hans. I can’t keep listening to you offer this if you don’t mean it.” His voice is tinged with hurt. Hans hates that he’s put it there. “I understand you wish we could run off together, but I’d never ask you to give up everything just to do so. You have duties, a city, more money than I can imagine. You always knew you’d need to marry.”
“But I didn’t know I would fall in love,” Hans says.
“Plenty of people fall in love but marry within their station,” Henry says.
Hans reaches for him, taking Henry’s hands and squeezing them tight. He stares at him - at this infuriating man who never treated him as a title. Who brawled with him in the tavern and insulted him in the combat arena. Who tracked him down time and time again when Hans needed him. Who met him, then saw him, and decided Hans was worth it. Who has stayed by Hans’ side even when Hans has shown him nothing but the ugly sides of himself.
“Henry,” he says, voice steady as steel. “I’ve been thinking about this for months now. I’ve considered it time and time again. I understand what I am giving up. I can’t promise I’ll be gracious about everything. I’ll probably be a right bastard about it at times. But I would rather give all of it up to run away with you.” Henry’s staring at him, eyes widening. Hans gives his hands another tight squeeze. “Let’s head south,” he says. “Let’s get away from here before my uncle sends someone after us, and go from there.”
“You’re serious,” Henry says, disbelief coloring his voice. “You really mean to throw your life away for me?”
Hans grins. “Audentes fortuna iuvat, right?”
Henry laughs, a small, dazed little thing, and lurches forward, pulling Hans into a crushing embrace. “Really?” he asks.
Hans grins against his skin. “If you’re willing to follow me.”
Henry pulls back to gaze at him. “I’d have thought I made it clear by now, my lord, that I will follow you anywhere.”
Neither of them get much sleep that night. They decide to leave at dawn the following morning, giving them time to gather their things and say goodbye to the others - even if they’re the only ones who know they will be leaving.
If anyone thinks anything of Hans’ improved mood, they don’t comment on it. They take their breakfast with Katherine and Zizka and play dice with Janosh. They share stories with the Dry Devil and Kubyenka and drink with Godwin. It’s a bittersweet day, and Hans finds he’ll actually miss most members of this strange band of theirs.
They pack their things that night without words, though Hans finds he keeps meeting Henry’s eyes and grinning back at him. The things this man does to him.
They slip from their room as the first pinpricks of light begin to spill across the trees. Hans’ chest is fluttering with nerves and exhilaration. They’re actually going to do this. They’re actually going to run away together.
Neither of them expect anyone to be awake this early, so when they find Godwin outside, leaning near the horses, they both freeze. They exchange a quick look, Hans trying to temper the unease growing in his stomach. Godwin has already turned towards them, and it’s clear they have their things with them, so they can’t simply retreat inside and wait for him to leave.
Henry smiles at Godwin and nods. “Morning. Are you also going for an early morning ride?”
Godwin chuckles. “Come now, lad. Surely you can do better than that?”
Henry glances at him. Hans’ nerves threaten to turn to panic. What if Godwin tries to follow them, or shares with his uncle the direction they ride?
Godwin shakes his head slowly, expression fond. “Did you think the two of you would sneak out of here without a goodbye?”
“We weren’t sneaking-”
“We were just-”
Godwin holds up a hand and they both quiet. He’s still smiling. “I have come to wish you a safe journey, and a blessing before you depart, if you’ll permit it.”
Hans glances back at Henry, who nods after a moment. “Yes we would appreciate it,” Hans finally manages to say.
Godwin nods, making the sign of the cross before he begins speaking. “Lord, may you guide and protect these two young men on the journey they are about to undertake. Watch over them and protect them from accidents and misfortune. Guide their steps as they journey through life together and keep their love strong through all the seasons. Help them to grow together in mind, body, and spirit so they may withstand life’s trials united. In your holy name, Amen.”
Hans stares, shock rendering him silent. Henry recovers first, stepping forward with a wide smile to clasp Godwin on the shoulder. Godwin returns the gesture. “Look after each other,” Godwin says. “I pray our paths may cross again one day.”
“Thank you, Godwin,” Hans says finally. “We will.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Godwin says.
“Were we that obvious?” Hans asks. Maybe it had been, in the last couple of days when he’d grown too bold. Too careless.
“Only when you notice the signs,” Godwin says. “It takes an observant man to pick up on them.” His smile widens. “Also, when we drank in Suchdol you kept going on about how you couldn’t marry now that you knew Henry also had feelings for you.”
Henry’s jaw literally drops. Hans sputters, then finally manages, “and you never said anything? That was months ago!”
“Well, it really isn’t any of my business, is it?”
Henry has turned to stare at him now. “So what I’m hearing is you need to take it easy on the drinking,” he says.
“In my defense,” Hans says, “it was a lot of alcohol without any proper food for ages! And I was out of my mind with worry for you. It was a very specific circumstance.”
Godwin chuckles, hand falling to Hans’ shoulder and giving a fond squeeze. “Don’t be too hard on him, Henry. We’re all fools when we fall in love.”
They exchange goodbyes quickly, then, to avoid any additional surprise sendoffs. They saddle up, pausing to take one last look at the place they’ve called home the past few months. It really is incredible, how much can change in such a short period of time.
Henry turns to him with a smile - small and steady, his eyes bright with joy. “Ready to go?”
He smiles back, heart full. “Absolutely.” Nerves and anticipation rushes through him as they turn their horses towards the road. Towards the adventure awaiting both of them.
Hans has no idea what they’re running to, but as long as he is running with Henry, he knows he’s heading in the right direction.