Work Text:
I’m endlessly grateful to @playpausephoto for capturing them in this moment — in a way that has truly left me speechless.
Morning hadn’t yet reached the room. The air hung cold and still, and through a narrow gap in the shutters came a pale suggestion of brightness — not light itself, only its promise.
Henry was already awake. He lay motionless for a while, facing Hans.
Still asleep, undisturbed, one arm curled beneath his head, the blanket slipped down to his waist. His breathing was slow. Face softened, unguarded — as if whatever dream held him, it asked nothing of him.
Henry watched him for a long time. Then he reached out and gently drew the blanket back up over Hans’s shoulder. His fingertips brushed skin that still held the weight of the past days. Hans stirred. Just barely — but he did.
“Is it morning already?” Hans asked, his voice hoarse with sleep, eyes still closed.
“Not quite,” Henry whispered. “But I signed up for the first watch.”
Hans blinked, turning slowly toward the sound of his voice. “Wait… I can go too.”
“No,” Henry said gently, almost smiling. “You stay right here.”
“But I—” Hans rubbed at his eyes and pushed himself halfway up on one elbow. “I don’t want to just lie here and leave you—”
“Hans.” Henry came back to the bed and crouched beside him. “I saw you yesterday. I see you now. You need a few more hours. Take them.”
Hans didn’t answer. He stayed propped up for a moment longer, then sank back down — a little reluctant, a little grateful.
“That felt like an order,” he mumbled, eyes already drifting shut.
Henry smiled. “Someone has to give them while you’re asleep.”
Hans let out a quiet sound — somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.
Henry’s hand passed softly through his hair.
“I’ll be back before the sun climbs past the trees.”
Hans was nearly asleep, but even so — barely audible, as if he weren’t quite speaking to Henry — he murmured:
“Don’t go far… even if it’s just a while.”
Henry looked at him for a moment, quiet.
Then he leaned down and pressed a kiss into his hair — a silent promise that asked for no reply.
He rose and left. The door clicked shut, soft as breath.
The forest was quiet. Still breathing the night.
Drops of dew clung to the grass and low branches, the air cool and damp — not in a cruel way, but like the first breath after a long day. Cleansing, not cutting.
Henry walked slowly. Mutt trotted a few steps ahead, silent but alert. Now and then he looked back, as if just checking that everything was still as it should be.
They were alone. And the woods didn’t argue.
A quiet crack in a patch of bark.
A bird lifting from a distant branch.
Then nothing again.
Henry kept walking. He didn’t try to think. He just let himself feel.
The soft give of damp earth beneath his boots.
The scent of pine and rotting leaves.
The sound of Mutt’s careful steps — the way he paused when he caught a new scent, then moved on.
It was ordinary.
And it was within that very ordinariness that it returned — not suddenly, but as if it had always been waiting.
All at once, he wasn’t in the forest.
Or maybe he was, but only partly — the rest of him caught in memory.
In that ruined farmstead, where Hans had tended to his wound after saving his life.
In the yard, where he’d wiped him clean — quietly, without a word — and touched him in a way Henry had never known before.
By the graves of the two bandits Hans had buried alone, so Henry could rest.
In Hans’s arms, when they’d danced without music under the summer sky.
In the dark cellar, where they’d held each other while the storm screamed outside.
On the edge of the future, where Hans had stood and made it clear: whatever came, he saw Henry in it.
Henry exhaled slowly.
Only when the trees began to part and the land opened out did he notice where his feet had taken him.
A rise above Devil’s Den.
The outlines of the inn rising in the morning mist, still and quiet.
The sun had reached this place. It warmed the stone, washed pale light over moss and grass.
Henry sat down.
Mutt joined him at once, sitting in the dew, head turned toward the wind.
Henry reached out and ran his fingers behind the dog’s ears — not rough, not purposeful.
Just the kind of touch that happens when your hand is full and your mind is free.
They sat like that for a while, with only the quiet between them.
Only breath.
And sunlight.
And in that quiet, his thoughts drifted back to Hans.
Hans — who once had been all mischief and deflection,
a young noble who could turn anything into a joke, a question, a laugh —
is a man now.
With his feet on the ground.
Steady. Kind. And wiser now, in ways Henry hadn’t seen at first.
And still — just as sensitive. Just as keen.
Maybe even more than before.
That dazzling scoundrel hadn’t vanished.
He was still there.
Not quite the same — but unmistakably him.
Still the one who had caught Henry’s heart off guard
before he’d even realised it was happening.
And yet…
something in him had changed.
Not with time. But along the way.
Through what he’d endured.
And how he had borne it.
The lightness he’d once worn like a banner was still there — but no longer leading.
No longer a mask. No longer a shield.
Just one of the truths that had stayed.
The impossible boy he once brawled with in a tavern in Rattay
had become a man he would trust with his whole life —
and at that moment, Henry realised — he already had.
He stayed where he was. Didn’t move.
Mutt breathed softly beside him.
A bird landed on a branch just above.
A woodwele.
Henry looked up at it.
Bright yellow feathers. Black wings. An eye like a bead of jet.
Mutt gave a small bark.
Henry turned his head.
When he looked back, the branch was bare.
He stayed sitting. Just a while longer.
Then he rose, and began the walk back.
The sun was high, the dew was gone now.
Step by step, the silence of the hill gave way to the stillness of the inn below.
From a distance came the sound of voices — calm, steady, absorbed in the day’s work.
Someone was chopping wood nearby.
Someone else hauled a bucket of water from the stream.
Janosh stepped out of the shadows, carrying a large bowl filled with sausages.
For a moment, he lifted his head and caught Henry’s eye — and gave a slow, deliberate nod.
Henry returned it with a faint smile.
Mutt stayed close by his side, content and quiet.
Above the inn, a thin plume of smoke curled toward the sky.
The day was moving — softly, simply, in its ordinary rhythm.
The room was tidy.
The bed made, the blankets straightened, everything in its place.
But Hans was gone.
On Henry’s pillow lay a wreath.
Daisies, cornflowers, woven with blades of grass.
He stood in the doorway for a moment.
Just looking — quietly — at the wordless invitation left there for him.
Then he stepped closer.
Lifted the wreath into his hands.
Held it for a moment, his thumb brushing a stem.
And then he smiled.
Turned, slipped the wreath gently onto his belt — and stepped outside.
He knew exactly where to go.
The ravine opened before him in silence.
The stream ran between the stones, sunlight flickering on its surface. The air smelled of pine and water.
Everything was the same as before — and yet not quite.
Hans sat by the bank, his feet in the stream.
Shirt sleeves rolled up, hair tousled.
A small cloth bundle lay in the grass beside him.
He looked up just as Henry stepped from the trees.
And the moment he saw him, he smiled.
“Took you long enough,” he called out.
“I was about to come looking.”
“Well, I managed not to come looking for you for two whole days,” Henry grinned. “You could’ve lasted a moment longer.”
Hans raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, I heard you nearly got into a fight with Zizka when he tried to keep you here,” he said, barely hiding a smirk.
They met halfway.
Henry pulled him into his arms.
“You’re getting cheeky, Sir Capon.”
And kissed him — long and deep.
Hans gave a crooked grin.
„Says the cheekiest squire of them all.”
Henry rolled his eyes, laughed, and pulled him in tighter.
For a moment, they just stood there — close, breathing the same air.
It was Hans who drew back first. Just slightly.
“You should eat,” he said.
“Before you faint from happiness.”
He nodded towards the canvas bundle in the grass.
“Pork. Fresh bread. Beer. Everything I could seize without a fight.”
Henry smiled.
“You’re telling me you managed all that without threatening anyone?”
Hans raised both hands, mock-innocent.
“Not a soul. I was all charm.”
They sat down in the grass.
Henry undid the ties and unwrapped the bundle, revealing its neatly packed contents.
The scent of meat, bread, and hops rose between them — plain, honest, and all the more welcome for it.
They ate in silence for a long while.
Just small movements, the occasional smile, a sip of beer.
The sound of the stream and the wind in the trees.
Later, after they’d finished eating, Hans dipped his feet into the stream again.
He leaned back, head tilted toward the sky, eyes half-closed against the light.
“Everything feels so different,” he said after a while.
“Like we’ve been away for a month.”
Henry nodded.
“Strange, isn’t it?”
Hans looked around, his gaze drifting across the quiet grove.
“There’s something about this place today… reminds me of that crumbling farmhouse. When it was just us. The way we made it our own.”
Henry gave a quiet smile.
“I was thinking about it too, earlier today.”
A pause.
“Do you think we’ll ever go back there? To our… retreat?”
Hans tilted his head slightly, as if tasting the word.
“Our retreat — the Henry and Hans Retreat… You know what? Maybe we should call it that,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“Or simply… Retreat,” Henry offered.
“Maybe,” Hans nodded. “Though if we ever return? I’m not sure. Probably not.
After that storm… who knows what’s still standing. Maybe just the cellar,” he added with a small shrug.
Henry was silent for a moment.
“Or maybe we will. We never really know where God’s roads might lead us,” he said.
“And if we don’t — it’s still with me. Wherever you are.”
He leaned in.
Hans let out a low breath of a laugh.
“And you claim you’re not a romantic,” he murmured, before kissing him.
“Then I must’ve learned it from someone,” Henry smiled.
Hans gave him a look — dry, almost accusing.
“You realise that was worse than poetry.”
And before Henry could reply, he leaned toward the stream and, without even pretending to be subtle, sent a splash of water in his direction.
“Really?”
Henry turned with a mock-offended scowl.
“Is that your new way of apologizing for leaving me in limbo for two days?”
„Oh, come on… don’t be mad, river sprite.“
Henry responded with a quiet splash of his own — right to the chest.
Moments later, they were both on their feet, soaked and breathless with laughter, blades of grass clinging to their trousers, sleeves dripping with water.
Eventually, Henry pulled off his shirt, wet and clinging to his skin.
He turned to Hans, tossed it aside, and gave him a sly, sidelong grin.
“You only started all this to get me out of it, didn’t you?”
Hans pulled his soaked shirt over his head, let it fall into the grass, and stepped closer to Henry.
He reached out and gently ran his fingers through the hair on Henry’s chest.
“I’m not sure I’ll even try to deny it,” he said with feigned dignity.
“But can you blame me, with you being such a damn handsome blacksmith?”
Henry chuckled.
“Handsome, huh?”
The next moment, Hans let out a startled yelp — Henry had lifted him up like a sack of hay and stepped ankle-deep into the stream.
“Henry!”
Hans instinctively clung to his neck.
“You can’t be—”
“I haven’t dropped you yet,” Henry replied with mock severity, his face deadpan.
But then the expression softened.
He looked at Hans — up close — a faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
“You’re lucky I love you this much, you menace.”
And there, above the water, wrapped in his arms, he kissed him.
Long and soft.
Hans pressed closer, arms still looped around Henry’s neck.
He said nothing — but every line of his body made it clear he didn’t want to be anywhere else.
Henry drew a breath, still holding him.
“But a warrior like you… you’re not exactly light.”
They laughed. Together. Unburdened.
Then Henry stepped out of the water and gently set Hans down in the grass.
He lay down beside him.
They stayed silent.
Henry’s eyes were closed, his head tilted gently against Hans’s chest.
Hans’s fingers moved through his hair — slow, quiet, like they had nowhere else to be. Sometimes he paused; sometimes his touch strayed all the way to Henry’s temple.
Henry let out a quiet, contented hum. Like a cat that had found a patch of sunlight.
Hans smiled.
Then his fingers shifted — not by chance, not quite innocent.
He let them drift behind Henry’s ear, where skin met hairline.
Close. Deliberate.
Then he leaned in — let his breath linger just a moment — and kissed him there.
Soft. Precise.
Henry shivered.
Not sharply — more like a wave that rippled through to the tips of his fingers.
Then he smiled. Slowly opened his eyes.
“You know exactly what that does to me, Hans…”
Hans leaned back slightly, but stayed close.
His eyes were steady.
“I know it perfectly well,” he said.
Then added, with laughter threading his voice:
“But I have a feeling you’ve read me even better.”
Henry shifted.
Turned onto his side and propped himself up on one elbow to look at him.
His gaze was calm, his smile quiet.
„I try,“ he said softly.
“But you keep making me feel like I’ve only just begun.”
Hans looked at him.
He didn’t move — only his eyes shimmered faintly.
Henry glanced away for a moment — then paused.
He reached down to his belt, where he had hung the flower crown.
Lifted his gaze back to Hans.
“Why did you leave it there?” he asked quietly.
“On the pillow.”
Hans smiled, gave a small shrug.
“No reason.”
Henry smiled back.
Held the crown in his hands for a moment, then placed it gently on his head.
No flourish, no irony.
Just green grass, white daisies, and cornflower blue.
Hans watched him for a moment — then smiled again.
“Looks good on you.”
He leaned in and kissed him. Softly.
Henry gave him a look — serious, almost solemn.
“Well… do I look like a fairy?”
Hans burst out laughing.
“A fairy with stubble and shoulders broad enough to knock over a doorway?”
Henry put on an offended expression.
“Well, excuse me…”
“No, wait,” Hans gasped, still catching his breath.
“The finest fairy ever to stand at a forge.”
“That’s better,” Henry replied.
He pressed a gentle kiss to Hans’s chest, then rested his head there again.
Hans grew thoughtful.
“You know… if you really were a fairy, you’d be bound to grant people’s wishes,” he said with a grin.
Henry snorted.
“What, like chasing off a pack of wolves?
Painting someone’s bull with dye?
Finding sheep guts for fiddle strings?”
He gave Hans a look, half teasing, half serious.
“Because that’s about my range, really.”
Hans laughed — low and fond — then shook his head.
“I meant real wishes. Not… ordinary things. Not things with answers.”
Henry looked at him for a moment.
“And you?” he asked, more softly now. “You got one of those?”
Hans didn’t answer right away.
His fingers drifted along Henry’s arm — absentminded, like tracing a thought rather than making a gesture.
Then he spoke — a little quieter, a little more certain.
“You know, *Jindro*… if I had just one wish…”
Henry turned to him and looked into his eyes, saying nothing.
Hans held his gaze, a quiet certainty behind the words.
“It would be to be the one you call your man.”
Henry looked at him for a long moment.
No smile, no words — just a gaze that held everything.
Then he moved.
Reached out, and laid his hand gently on Hans’s cheek.
“Your wish has already come true,” he said.
“Not now. Long ago.”
Hans didn’t move. Only his eyes shimmered.
And his lips shaped a quiet smile that didn’t quite hold.
He leaned in closer.
They kissed.
Then Henry stayed quiet for a moment longer.
But before their foreheads drifted apart again, he added:
“And I’m yours.
Your man.”
Hans drew him closer.
They kissed again.
Slowly.
Unhurried.
Then Henry rested his head on Hans’s chest again.
Hans wrapped one arm around him — steady, warm — and let the other stay tangled in his hair.
Sunlight drifted down the grass.
A bird sang somewhere in the branches above.
Henry closed his eyes.
So did Hans.
For a while, there was only the sound of the birds above, the grass shifting with the breeze.
Then Hans spoke — his voice barely above a murmur.
“Do you have a wish, Henry?”
Henry didn’t open his eyes.
He thought for a moment — then gave a small shake of the head.
“No,” he said quietly. “I already have everything.”
He shifted slightly —
and without thinking, rested his head a little lower,
right over the place where Hans’s heart was beating.
Everything fell quiet.
Inside and out.
Not like a void — but like harmony.
As if the breath had slowed to stillness.
As if the heart kept beating only to echo the peace around them.
And there was nothing left to think.
Just this body. This touch. This chest. This heartbeat.
No pressure, no tension, no after.
Only this single moment — and in it, everything ever needed.
They were.
Together.
Full and silent.
As if the world had turned inward for a while.
And they lay within it — still, complete.
Time lingered with them for a while.
As if it, too, was reluctant to move on.
But the light had shifted.
Not suddenly — just stretched a little.
Grew warmer, yet lost its brightness.
The grass no longer warmed — it only held the heat.
Hans moved his head.
Henry felt the rise of his chest beneath his cheek.
“It’s getting late,” Hans said softly.
“Or so I think. Hard to tell these days.”
They rose slowly.
Their shirts, left to dry in the sun, were warm to the touch now.
They pulled them on — lazily, without hurry.
Henry reached into the grass beside him and carefully picked up the flower crown.
It was a bit crumpled, but it still held its shape. Smiling, he placed it back on his head.
Hans gave him a once-over.
“Still a fairy worth sinning for.”
Henry snorted.
“Come on — so some minstrel can write a ballad one day. About two knights who walked into the woods at dusk…”
Hans glanced at him, voice low.
“…and found each other.”
Henry turned to him — and laced their fingers together.
They set off.
Hand in hand, they walked through the dusk-dappled woods.
After a moment’s thought, Henry glanced at Hans with a quiet smile.
“Does it bother you… that your man isn’t noble-born?”
Hans stopped. Still holding his hand, he looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
“Seriously, Henry?
Not that it matters — but the only thing formally keeping you from being noble-born is Radzig not putting it in writing.”
He kissed Henry’s cheek.
“But more importantly — if anyone ever did live like a knight… with honour, with dignity… then it’s you. The man I love.”
Henry blinked.
“So don’t start pestering me with questions like that again,” Hans added with a grin, and gave him a swat on the arse.
Henry shrugged and smiled. “I’ll behave.”
When the trees began to thin and the path grew brighter, they slowed.
They were no longer lost in the green. No longer alone.
They let go of each other’s hands without a word.
Not like parting.
More like stepping back into a world where silence had always been their shield.
Just a glance.
And the quiet certainty that nothing between them had faded.
Evening had settled over the land.
Around the inn, all was quiet — that soft stillness of the day’s end.
From the door spilled the scent of food, herbs, and smoke.
They didn’t look at anyone too long.
And no one looked too long at them.
They stepped inside and headed to their room.
When they entered, Henry’s gaze landed on the table —
a piece of paper, carefully folded several times, sealed with red wax.
“Who’s writing to us?” he muttered.
“What?” Hans stepped over and picked it up.
He traced the seal with his fingertips.
There was no need to study it — the peacock feathers, the fish, the helm, or the shield.
He’d been surrounded by those emblems since childhood.
He turned to Henry slowly, his eyes unreadable.
“Hanush.”
❧ ❧ ❧