Work Text:
the light of the morning sun stretches across the dining room, shining in through the window opposite the head of the table where the lord of rattay breaks his fast. hans basks in the warm glow of it, like a cat curling up to sleep precisely where the sun touches.
his wife and son were off braving the market. jitka would typically have one of the servants do the shopping, but she had heard of a traveling craftsman displaying his brand new jewels. despite hans’ insistence that they could simply ask the sasau craftsman to make anything jitka could possibly desire, she was determined to buy from this one, and hans could rarely talk her out of anything. he’d sent them off with a hug and a kiss on the head each.
it feels strange to have such a quiet, lonesome morning.
the first meal of the day is usually a hectic family affair, with jitka trying to get a full meal into an excitable and eager heinrich that wants to get outside as soon as possible to flee to the training grounds and practice his archery. it’s certainly where he’s heading after the shopping is done.
heinrich’s uncle henry gifted him with a bow for his twelfth summer. as the gift came with a story about how it once belonged to heinrich’s lord father before henry won it off of him in a not-so-friendly competition, the bow had instantly become quite dear to him. the tale was heard with smiles so wide they hurt, with happy tears that pricked at the corner of their eyes.
henry and hans had been lying in hans’ bed, bare legs tangled, when henry asked if such a present was a good idea. if hans would be upset with him for giving it away. the fact that henry had kept it after all these years felt like a gift on its own to hans and he rewarded henry with a kiss for it.
a knock on the door takes hans out of his reverie.
“enter,” he commands, with a mouth full of food.
a messenger in leipa colours enters, bowing low in greeting.
“what news?” hans asks, more interested in shoving buttered bread down his gullet.
the room is silent for a beat too long, other than an awkward cough. it’s then that hans really looks up and begins to take notice. the messenger shifts uncomfortably, blatantly nervous about delivering this information. nervous about how hans will react to it.
he swallows hard. “go on, then.”
“i bear distressing news from kuttenberg, my lord.”
the lump in his throat could be from swallowing a too big bite, or from the abject fear he is suddenly gripped by. he clutches onto the edge of the table with both hands, knuckles white. his ears start to ring.
henry is in kuttenberg.
he and his father had stopped in rattay for not even two hours on their way to kuttenberg from chocerady. it was a small detour that henry insisted upon for no reason other than to see hans. they were traveling on official business for the king, accompanied by a dozen of radzig's men, but henry still wanted to take the time to visit. heinrich was so excited that he dragged his uncle and father to the archery range to show off his practiced form. he'd be able to use his new bow any day now, heinrich promised them.
henry and hans shared a brief and dangerous kiss in the corridor before henry left and hans had to watch him go.
“what is it.” it’s barely posed as a question. stated flatly.
“lord radzig kobyla and company were murdered yesterday.”
the ringing grows deafening. no doubt he misses key parts of the information being shared as he is rocked by this revelation. perhaps his ears are trying to protect him from hearing the news that shatters his world in a mere matter of seconds.
henry. henry. henry. henry. henry.
“sir?”
“what happened?” it’s a cold rage that sweeps over him first.
“um. well.” the messenger inhales deeply. “as i was saying. a mob of miners were set upon them, at the inn in which they were staying. it seems that they are not as fond of jan hus as lord radzig was.”
this was because radzig was a hussite? all he had done was go to kuttenberg to collect taxes for wenceslas – not spread hussite propaganda.
hans grits his teeth. “his company. were there any survivors? any at all?”
“it is unlikely, my lord, but it’s hard to say.”
“how can it be “hard to say”?” a question stemming from genuine confusion and morbid curiosity.
“the bodies of the men were… torn apart. the remains desecrated. there was not much that could be recovered, or identified, i’m afraid.”
torn apart remains.
how will they be buried? all their unidentifiable bits and pieces tossed into one big hole in the ground? will they be buried at all? have their limbs and guts already been discarded like garbage? fed to livestock?
will hans never lay eyes upon henry again? will hans’ last image of him forever be henry walking away?
hans is going to be sick.
“nothing of radzig’s son?” he asks. the table creaks in his grasp.
it’s a last ditch effort at finding good news, as though perhaps the messenger forgot something. as though he might say ‘of course, my lord, i am such a fool! i failed to mention that henry survived! he is here, whole and well! right behind me too – look!’
the messenger does not say any of those things.
“i’m truly sorry, sir.” he shakes his head, solemn. “i inquired about him but heard nothing.
it’s no secret that hans and henry are close – nearly attached at the hip. even though it’s been years since henry left rattay for castle vesele with radzig, it’s not uncommon for him to be seen with the lord of leipa. he’s young heinrich’s uncle, after all.
“thank you,” hans manages to get out. “now leave me.”
a bow that hans does not see, a door swung open and shut, and he is alone again.
the guards posted outside must’ve heard the news as well, given that no one rushes in when hans sends his plate clattering against the wall.
henry would have come to check.
but henry is dead. henry might not be dead. henry is very likely dead.
if radzig is dead, henry couldn’t possibly be alive.
for thirteen years, he has held onto his mantra. henry of skalitz would never again run from a fight. in the end, of course it would be the thing to get him killed.
it was noble. it was fucking foolish. hans loves him for it. hans fucking hates him for it.
when jitka comes home, she finds that her husband has been drowning himself in his cups, silver goblet tipped over and blood red wine staining their table. his face hidden in his hands, body shaking.
she doesn’t speak until she’s next to him, hand hovering over his shoulder, not sure if she should touch. her voice is soft when she calls, “my love?”
hans’ body tenses as he peels his hands away, looking up at his wife with bloodshot eyes.
“what ever is the matter?” the concern she displays makes him want to cry again, but the fact that she asks means that no one has told her. that he has to tell her.
“henry is gone. dead. as is his father,” hans croaks. his chin falls to his chest, unable to keep his head up.
he hears jitka gasp. slightly muffled as though her hands are pressed to her mouth.
“no. it can’t be.”
hans wants to scream that it can. that it is. instead, he just sobs.
he’s dragged into jitka’s embrace, his head pressed to her navel. his arms wrap around her waist to bring her closer, dampening her pretty dress with his tears. he doesn’t feel jitka’s own tears dripping down onto his head, not as her fingers brush through her husband's hair as an attempt to soothe.
“i’m sorry, hans. i’m so sorry.”