Chapter Text
“Stop laughing,” Hans said with annoyance so visible it only made Henry howl harder.
Hans had a profound knack for landing himself in trouble, however mundane it was, so getting his leg stuck in the ground while they were simply having a walk near the Devil’s Den should come as no surprise, perhaps.
It was a lovely day. The kind with a slightly cloudy sky that still allowed for lots of sunlight. The air was warm and fragrant, the birdsong was almost deafening, and the slight breeze kept them from feeling too hot.
They were having a nice stroll about, chatting about this and that, throwing a stick for Mutt and enjoying post-siege life in general.
Until Hans got his leg stuck in a hole.
There was a cavern somewhere below them, most likely created by the stream washing out the soil. Hans, with his lucky star being as bright as Musa’s goddamned ballsack, had stepped right into an opening hidden within the grass and had buried himself calf-deep with an undignified yelp.
That’s why Henry was currently clutching his stomach, bent in half with uncontrollable laughter.
Hans grunted as he tried to dislodge himself to no avail. “Henry, you massive cabbage, help me out!”
Another fit of laughter ripped itself out of him when Hans fell on his arse with a shouted curse.
“Come over here so I can smack you,” Hans growled at him. “My leg is freezing, why is it so cold in there?!”
Henry finally managed to get a hold of himself, although barely. He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “Here, here,” he managed to choke out and kneeled next to him. A huge grin split his face when he put his hands on Hans’ knee. “If I pluck you out of there, does it mean I’ll be the rightful king?”
Hans looked at him with a flabbergasted face before groaning in embarrassment. He swatted at Henry’s back. “I regret giving you that book so much.”
“No you don’t. Now shhh, be a good little sword!” his voice shook with mirth as he probed the cavity, trying to loosen its grip. There was some soil there that could be loosened, but most of it looked like an opening in solid stone.
Mutt came over, sniffing. He barked once, sniffed again and started circling it on stiff paws.
“Ack!” Hans screamed and jumped, startling both him and Mutt. “I think there’s something in there!” he said, sounding decidedly unsettled.
Henry got serious. “Alright, I will get you out, just let me see—”
“My shoe’s fucking gone , Henry!” Hans’ voice went uncharacteristically high. “Oh, Christ, oh, kurva, something just— get me the hell out of there !” he went on in genuine panic.
Henry’s blood rushed, as it always did when Hans sounded frantic. He forced himself to focus. “It might hurt,” he warned, and without waiting for a reaction, he pulled hard at the stuck leg, breaking it free. The shoe was indeed gone.
Hans hissed at him. And so did the hole.
He flinched away from it in surprise, while Mutt began growling. There really must have been an animal in there. He scurried away from it, dragging Hans along. They toppled over together a couple paces away.
Mutt disengaged too with on last bark, attempting instead to lick at Hans’ face, much to the nobleman’s chagrin.
“Yuck, whatever lives there is absolutely disgusting,” Hans grimaced, staring at his wet and slightly scratched foot, while trying to keep the furry snout away. His ankle had a bleeding gash on it, but it didn’t look too deep. “I swear something licked me in there. What the hell has a cold tongue, for fuck’s sake?”
“Maybe it wasn’t a tongue, could be a giant worm,” Henry suggested jokingly.
Hans went a little green at that, then stood up resolutely. “Let’s get the hell away, shall we?” he said, hopping away. The sight of it nearly sent Henry into yet another fit. “And I’m afraid you’ve just acquired a new task, my dear.”
That stopped him in his tracks.
“What? What task?” he asked, confused. He followed slightly behind, ready to catch any inevitable stumbles. He whistled at the hound to follow, more out of a habit than need, really. Mutt would do it anyway.
“Somebody needs to go buy me new boots,” Hans informed him with a smirk and a wink, before whirling away.
As gracefully as one could on one leg.
Henry groaned to himself, thinking that Hans was really lucky his brain had tricked itself into thinking he was charming.
When Henry came back from the cobbler with a new pair of leather boots that were a little too stiff to comfortably wear—Hans was not looking forward to breaking them in, already bemoaning the future sores—he had thanked him with a kiss that left them both breathless and flushed.
Prying himself away, while Henry was trying his darndest to melt their bodies together against the wall, was the hardest thing he had done all week.
Alas, it was necessary. They both needed a bath. Desperately.
As they sat in neighbouring tubs, gently ribbing at each other and pretending not to look at their exposed flesh, something caught Hans’ attention.
There was an old woman making rounds around the tents, swinging a pine branch that was sending droplets scattering to the ground. And by old, Hans really did mean old. Her hair was pure white and frizzy, and her back was hunched. She had more wrinkles than Henry had swords, and there were dried herbs attached to her belt.
Hans watched curiously, praying she wasn’t hired there.
The wenches seemed to know her well, and even welcomed her presence as she walked around the tents, swinging that branch and examining the trees.
Hans looked at Henry questioningly, but only got a shrug in response.
“Father Teodor has been bedridden for a while, sweethearts, so do remember to be careful,” the woman said, dipping the branch in some kind of metal bucket. Her voice was remarkable—she didn’t sound frail or scratchy, she commanded attention instead. “Get some fresh rosemary, the old bunches have lost their fragrance,” she continued, examining some sprigs hanging from a nearby tree, before moving once again.
“Aye, Miss,” one of the girls nodded. “Although it’s been peaceful for some time now.”
“Nonsense,” the crone scoffed. “Be vigilant. Only faith and preparation will keep the evil at bay.”
“Aye, Miss,” the girl repeated, looking chastised.
Henry raised an eyebrow at him. “Is she talking about Hynek?” Henry mouthed, making him snicker.
“I don’t think holy water works on that bastard, but rosemary might,” Hans whispered back.
“How so?” Henry frowned.
“He seems to abhor smelling nice,” he retorted and enjoyed the resulting snort.
They washed, leaving some of their clothes to dry. Henry, of course, couldn’t contain his curiosity.
“Marta, what was that old woman about?” he asked one of the wenches.
“Oh, Miss Barbora?” she asked and Henry nodded. “She is the local herb woman. Well, used to be. Had to move out of the woods after her hip gave out.”
“And what was she doing with that branch?”
“It’s for protection,” the girl rolled her eyes, but her mouth was curved into a smile. “This is the Devil’s Den, after all,” she added and walked away with a basket of linen cloths.
They looked at each other, before shrugging.
Soon enough, they sat in the inn with a bowl of Janosh’s suspicious but delicious stew, throwing heated glances at each other and the encounter had, sadly, left both of their minds.