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"Go get some rest, son. In the morning, you ride for Talmberg," Radzig said gently, reaching out to clap Henry directly on a bruise. He swallowed the yelp of pain, swallowed the moan of terror, swallowed the nausea and hurt, and let one thing remain.
Fury.
"Yes, my lor—father." That was, apparently, how he was meant to address Radzig now. The man nodded shortly and waved his hand, and Henry bowed deeply and left without a second glance back. He had a goal, suddenly, an ill advised and reckless goal, which seemed to be a running theme with him since he'd left Skalitz.
Rather than going down to the shed that he slept in—was he annoyed that apparently he'd been a noble bastard the whole time and still slept in a shed like livestock? Not really, not more than he was incensed that everybody on God's green fucking earth had known except him—he took a sharp turn and jogged up the stairs, firmly elbowing by a few guards and maids who huffed but let him pass. He climbed to the battlements and then opened the door, skidding to a halt in the quiet hall of the stuffy little lordling.
He pounded on the wood.
"What the fuc—who is it?" Hans called, having evidently been startled from sleep, and Henry kicked the door behind him closed to try and give himself an extra minute and a half before one of the guards heard the idiot bleating. He pounded on the wood again. "Jesus Christ, I'm coming—" The door opened and Henry took Capon in. He was in his braies, his wheat-brown hair dishevelled and nettle-green eyes bleary as he squinted, trying to comprehend why Henry was standing in his doorway in the wee hours. "Hal? You look like shit."
"Did you know?" he asked, breathless.
"Did I know what?" He leaned against the doorway, bracing himself and letting his arms tense. On another man, Henry might have taken it for a sign of aggression—Hans was just showing off, a toothy grin on his face.
"Did you fucking know?" he shouted, and Hans quickly went pale.
"Are you fucking insane? Keep your voice down, you complete barbarian."
"That's the fucking joke, isn't it?" he asked, not keeping quiet at all. The only other person who could be nearby at this time was Radzig, who was off making war plans with Hanush. "Did you have fun? Was it funny that you knew and I didn't?"
Hans' head darted out into the hall, glancing back and forth before quickly grabbing Henry's arm. He ripped it away and Hans scowled. "Would you shut up? Get in here before someone sees you and stop yelling."
"Why the fuck should I?" he demanded, and Hans pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are you going to throw me in the stocks?"
"For the love of God Henry, if someone catches you yelling at me like you've gone completely insane then they will put you in the stocks. I am asking you to come in and explain what this fit is about before they do that." Henry clenched his fist as hard as he could, feeling some of the anger leak out through the stretch of skin and tense muscle. He felt his mouth go dry—if he lost the anger, then all that would be left—"Henry, are you—"
"No. I'm not." He was. His eyes blurred with tears and he felt them burn like onions. "I'm not."
"Hal get into this fucking room or I'm going to kill you," Hans hissed, reaching for his arm again. This time Henry went, staggering into the bedroom and turning to the fire, his back to Hans so the other boy wouldn't see him—...he wasn't. He wasn't. "What the fuck is going on? Where have you even been, it's been days since they sent you to Vranik?"
Henry struggled to speak around the tears lodged in his throat. "I got captured at the bandit camp," he said, breathy and uneven.
"Those bastards! Couldn't hold you long though, could they?"
"A couple days. They tortured me." He wished he could see Hans' expression, but could only hear the rustle of him standing from the bed.
"Did they really?" he asked quietly, and Henry huffed.
"No, I'm making it up to impress you."
"Have you been treated?" he asked.
"I was supposed to go get looked at." He'd forgotten almost as soon as Radzig had said it. "I came here first."
Hans shifted again, this time heading towards the door. For a second Henry thought—he didn't even know why, but he was suddenly sure that Hans was going to start yelling for help. He didn't move, and Hans didn't yell: instead, he stopped a maid. "You there! I require a warm basin and some cloths and bandages." A murmured conversation ensued, and Henry stood stock still at the fireplace even as the woman came in, filled the basin, left the supplies Capon had asked for, and left again. "Go on and strip, Henry," he ordered, and Henry felt a twist of panicked repulsion.
"No. It has to stay on."
"Well how the fuck are we supposed to fix you if you won't take off your armour?" Hans asked, but Henry shook his head again. "Be reasonable, Hal. You don't need it and you're probably headed to bed anyway."
"I'll sleep in it."
"You'll break your back doing that, and then what?" Then no Talmberg, Vranik would remain untouched, Toth would move on—
"Fine. Okay. Fine." His hands still didn't move, and he nearly jolted when he felt Hans' fingers on the buckles. "What are you doing?"
"Stripping for you," he said, annoyed. "Some blacksmith boys would be grateful that their liege lord would stoop so bloody low."
Henry felt the same agonizing twist in his gut that had brought him to Hans in the first place. "I'm not," he whispered, and the young lord snorted.
"I can tell."
"I meant I'm not—I'm not the blacksmith boy." He caught his cuirass as it fell over him, the desire to help not imbuing Hans with the skill to do so. He set it aside and felt Hans frowning at him.
"What on earth are you talking about?" he asked, making far quicker work of the pauldrons while Henry finally felt his numb arms move to help with the chausses. He didn't answer, pulling layers until he was standing in his tunic and hose, which Hans impatiently gestured for him to take off as well. He obeyed, feeling suddenly...vulnerable. Too big, too broad, too bloodied, too...naked. Hans whistled. "What a mess."
"Mm." Hans went to the basin and wet a cloth, bringing it back to brush over an old, itching patch of dried dirt and blood. Feeling the young lord's hand on his skin, he felt a horrible stab of panic. He shouldn't be doing this. Why was he doing this? "Stop."
"Shut up. You're welcome," he tsked. "I told you, peasants should be grateful."
"Radzig is my father," he blurted, and Hans froze. He frowned, opened his mouth, then closed it with wide eyes.
"You do look—" he stammered, but the expression on Henry's face made him stop. "But when would he have...?" Henry shrugged—before he was born, obviously. "Why did he never...?" He looked away; if he knew, they wouldn't have been sitting here wondering about it. "I did think he was being—" Hans cut himself off before he could say something rude, but Henry knew well that Hans had always thought Radzig was bizarrely permissive towards him. "You thought I knew?" he asked, and Henry's eyes drifted to the floor.
"Everyone else seems to have," he murmured. "Your uncle, Istvan Toth, his crony Erik. I dread riding to Talmberg only to find out that Sir Divish and Lady Stephanie knew too."
"Well...I didn't," Hans said quietly, moving on to a different patch of dirt and blood. There were enough to choose from. "I probably would have said something as soon as you pissed me off badly enough, which I guess is why they didn't tell me."
"I couldn't...I suddenly thought that if you knew the whole time and were...mocking me..." The thought had been unbearable: he gave Hans a hard time that he richly deserved, but he considered them...friends. Evidently Hans did too, still gently wiping him down. "You do that like a bath maid, you know?" he asked.
"You can't afford me," he shot back easily, and Henry felt himself flush so hot that his chest turned colour.
"When I get a healer, he usually scrubs me down like he has to throttle the infection off of me before it can take hold. You're just washing me."
"And you should be—"
"Grateful. I know. Thanks, Hans," he murmured. Hans' fingers lingered a moment on his spine before continuing without comment. "Sorry I was yelling at you."
"I'd be angry too, I suppose, if I thought you hid something from me." Henry briefly tried to search his mind for something he hadn't told Hans. There's one thing, his subconscious reminded him, but he pushed that away and down, hopefully hard enough to smother it. It could stay well away in a small, dark room with Hans' hands on him and both of them stripped to the skivvies. "Sir Radzig, huh? Did he say anything about legitimizing you?"
"H'm?" he asked inelegantly.
"You know. Claiming you as his heir."
Henry felt his throat close. "No. Christ no."
"You don't want him to?"
"No. No? What would be the point?"
"Do you see a line of half-brothers queuing to claim his title and estates when he dies?" Hans asked pointedly, and Henry stared down at the floor.
"He can't. I can't. I'm no one, I can barely—I only just learned to read."
"By yourself, with no help. Radzig could do worse; then maybe you'll move into these rooms and Hanush will have me sleeping in the shed." Henry laughed just as Hans pressed the warm cloth to the lower back, his thumb almost absently digging into—he stood abruptly.
"I have to sleep," he said shortly. "I have to ride for Talmberg at first light."
"Christ you're erratic tonight," Hans groused, tossing the rag back towards the basin. "We hardly tended your wounds."
"I'll live."
"You have to ride a horse to Talmberg."
"I'll manage."
"You're insufferable. At least sleep up here instead of down by the stables," he said, pointing at the spare bed.
"I-I...I couldn't."
"For fuck's sake Hal, why not?" he asked, his patience for being denied clearly wearing thin. Henry could hardly explain it succinctly, even his mind flinching away from because I'm sad and afraid and angry and it's dark and warm and the bed is soft and your hands are soft and I'm being erratic. "Lie down."
"What if someone comes in?" he asked faintly.
"Who fucking cares? I'm the Lord of Pirkstein and you're acting bizarre. I assume you have some sort of fever and need to be monitored lest you start speaking in tongues and crawling on the ceiling. Now lie down: your lord commands it." Christ help me, Henry thought, only half irritated by Hans' pigheadedness. The other half felt something better—worse. Worse, he reminded himself unconvincingly.
He crawled into Hans' spare bed, his body tense and uncomfortable against the soft mattress and fine blankets. It was warm and cold at the same time, creating a sort of equilibrium which was maybe the most comfortable thing that Henry'd ever felt: he might've hated it. "Thanks, Hans," he remembered to add, and watched the shadow of Hans' hand wave against the wall.
"Congratulations, I guess," he said, and Henry frowned. "For finding your father."
"I had a father," he said quietly, trying not to think of Martin at all. He wanted the man's memory to be carved into his head like stone—unchanging.
"Now you've got two, and hey—Radzig seems very fond of you." Something that'd annoyed him all those months ago.
"I don't know why he likes me at all," Henry admitted in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. He'd never known. Every I'm proud of you, had felt strange and unnecessary.
"I do," Hans replied, just as quiet.