[It’s a gorgeous day to be out hunting. There’s not a cloud in the sky as the hunting party delves into the forest. Hans keeps close to Henry as he rides, looking over every now and then as his noble arse aches with each bounce in the saddle. However, there is little game to be found.
Hans keeps his eyes peeled as he slows to a stop. It’s then that he spots a stag thirty feet out, but as he readies he hears a short whistle and then a searing pain pierces his throat. His bow drops from his hands as he panicks at his throat.
The tang of blood fills his mouth and then, before he knows it, he falls sideways from his horse into the foliage below.]
[ It's supposed to be a simple hunting trip, nothing where they'd be anticipating violence beyond that expected from killing game. It's admittedly nice to get out of that stuffy inn and enjoy the outdoors, and perhaps it's that feeling that keeps him unguarded for too long, because he doesn't notice the arrow coming until it pierces Hans' flesh.
The way he falls sinks a dreaded feeling right through Henry, like a cold stone dropped into his belly. For a split second he barely registers it, staring at the place where Hans was moments ago, and now isn't. He hears someone else from the party yell in the near distance but doesn't know what they're saying, tunnel vision striking him at once as realization dawns on him and he finds his voice to call out desperately: ] Hans? Hans!
[ Just like that, he stumbles out of his saddle and makes a beeline for the lord, counting on the others to handle whoever it was that attacked (or was it one of their own - an accident?). Hans is still moving and grasping for his throat, and there's so, so much blood. Henry's eyes are widened with panic as he kneels by him and hovers, not knowing what to do, hands steadying Hans's shoulders on the ground. ] Oh, fuck. Fuck. Here, I've got you.
[ Trying to be as calm as possible, he peels Hans' hands away to replace with his own, pressing down harder against the slashed wound there as he tries to figure out how bad this truly is. ]
[Hans stares up at the trees as he hears the voices all around him. Blood pumps out around the arrow and chokes Hans where he lays. It bubbles out from his lips even as Henry’s hands find the arrow as well.
He realizes as he tries to speak that no sound comes out. He attempts again and nothing but blood escapes his his lips. His teeth are stained crimson as he grits them. He can feel the feathers on the right side of his neck and the arrowhead on the left.
There is a continued fuss amongst the hunting party about accidents and stags, but Hans can barely hear it as his bloodied fingers reach up for Henry’s wrists to hold them still.]
[ This is not okay. The fucking thing is through Hans' neck. How is he still alive? How is he breathing? God, he has to focus. Widened eyes find Hans' panicked ones and he tries to keep calm for both their sakes, shaking his head. ]
You're alright. I need to- to push this out. [ Right? Right? For all his learned knowledge about field medicine on the fly, Henry has never been in a scenario like this. Normally, people hit so directly by an arrow like this would already be dead, but maybe God is truly looking down on Hans Capon for once, or fortuna finally caught up with him. He desperately wishes someone more capable like Musa or Katherine were here.
He hasn't even yet thought about who could have done this, hearing some yelling now as maybe the others have figured it out and are giving the bastard an earful. Henry is focused on Hans instead, reaching for the arrow shaft. ]
You're breathing, that's good. Keep doing that, alright? This may hurt, but I won't let you bleed out. [ It's as reassuring as he can manage, his own heartrate quickened with adrenaline. There's nothing to it though: he has to do this.
Without warning then, Henry snaps the feathered end of the arrow shaft until there's just enough to push, and he hopes to God no major artery is nicked as he slowly, gradually pushes, and then pulls from the arrow head until the whole thing comes out clean. Then, instantly, he's pulling off his own hood in lieu of bandages to press to either side of Hans' neck to staunch the bleeding. ] Breathe, Sir Hans. Please, God, please keep breathing.
[Hans has very little idea of how badly he’s been wounded. He tries to say something, anything, but not a sound comes out. He tries to shake his head but Henry’s hands are on either side of his neck on the shaft and it takes very little movement to earn a silent scream from Hans. The air moves through his ruined throat, but nothing but blood comes out.
Henry pulls the shaft out and suddenly Hans is drowning in his own blood as it floods his throat. He tries to shift, to turn himself, but Henry is there with his hood, trying to staunch the flow from outside. It helps, but Hans’s panic picks up again as he wonders if he’ll die like this, drowning because of some accident. He gurgles and there’s a sudden urgency in Hans’s movements.
There’s nothing to be done except turn on his side, despite Henry’s help, so he can spit up blood threatening his life. He doesn’t cough for fear of tearing something else.]
[ Shit. Shit. He hadn't thought that far ahead and his panic seizes him when Hans starts making those awful gurgling sounds. Henry doesn't try to stop Hans as he turns over to spit up blood, breathing hard and fast as he does his part in holding him steady. There's a ringing in his ears that pierces through all other sound, watching helplessly as Hans bleeds and bleeds and he doesn't know what to do. Suddenly, he's just some young lad from Skalitz staring at his parents getting run through, feet frozen in place, staring, staring, staring -
Someone approaches them at last and claps a strong hand onto Henry's shoulder, snapping him out of it. Glancing up, he sees Zizka there, the man saying something Henry's buzzing ears don't hear, he's in such shock. Before Henry can stop him, Zizka is shoving down to assess the damage himself, no medic, but he's certainly seen his fair share of battle wounds - more so than Henry ever will.
Before he knows it, there's clean bandages pressed to Hans' puncture wounds rather than his dirty hood, Zizka barking orders at someone else to come and help. Henry remains knelt at Hans' front, watching helplessly, before he reaches for one of Hans' hands to grasp and squeeze, while the men with more sense in their brains take to making sure Hans doesn't choke on his own blood. ]
[As Zizka pushes through, Hans's eyes remain fixed on Henry. If he's about to die, he wants his last thought, his last view to be of someone like Henry. Henry who is deeply unapologetic about fucking him too hard. Henry who is there to save him from the gallows. Henry who saved him from this very man when miscommunication could have killed both of them.
He barely registers Zizka's hands on him, at the change in fabric at his neck. He continues to watch Henry even as his vision seems to slowly fade at the edges. His eyelids begin to droop and he tries to say Henry's name, but once more he finds he can't even whisper.
Zizka shouts about a surgeon and it's the last thing Hans hears before the darkness claims him.
As Hans falls unconscious, everyone in the hunting group is spurred into motion. Bandages are tied down, the fletching of the errant arrow is scooped up from the forest floor to determine who will pay for this mistake. Then Hans is scooped up by Zizka and carried to his horse. Hans's limbs are lax in Zizka's carry, even as he's foisted up onto a horse. Without a moment more of hesitation, Zizka is off, riding at a blazing speed back to the Devil's Den. Once there, the surgeon is heralded to care for the young lord.
Soon enough, Hans is in the infirmary, quietly resting, with bandages pulled tight around his throat. He wakes slowly, drowsy and as if crawling through mud.]
[ It's an awful, terrible thing to have to sit and wait. It allows for too much time to get into his own head, to question why he froze when he'd devoted the last however many months to never ever running away again. He didn't run of course, but in the heat of the moment, he fucking froze. What would have happened if they were alone? Would Hans have bled out into the forest floor like the deer they were meant to be hunting?
The ride back to the Den feels like a blur and no one lets him in while the sawbones works on patching Hans up. Henry should have insisted they stay back after all. He should have pinned Hans down onto the bed and kept him there. He may as well walk himself to the gallows because Hanush will surely string him up for letting anything happen to Hans, as this is far from a simple flesh wound or broken bone. The fact that he's alive at all feels like a miracle.
He sits outside the infirmary and at some point Katherine checks in on him and wipes Hans' blood off of Henry's hands and face. She tries to get him to eat something too, being far too kind, and Henry feels like a child. He barely gets a bit of dried meat into his mouth.
It's later in the day when Hans finally comes to. At some point, Henry was finally allowed to sit at his side, and he's had his head bent into his hands with prayer nearly the entire time. That's what he's doing now, folded hands pressed to his forehead as he murmurs and pleas to God in the hopes that he'll be heard, unaware yet that Hans has woken. ]
[It's odd to wake up late in the evening, when all is dimmed and dark except for the candles nearby. He can make out the familiar shadow of Henry, bowed down in prayer. Hans tries to call for him, but once more his throat is empty. It hurts to talk, he realizes, if he can call his attempts to get Henry's attention talking. They're little more than gusts of air, drowned out by the endemic sounds of the night.
So, instead, Hans reaches up for Henry's wrist, attempts again to say his name and, when foiled, he gives Henry a gentle squeeze.
He wants to joke that there's no need for prayers, not for a sinner and a sodomite, but he can't. There's nothing he can inject into the night air but empty breath. Panic begins to simmer beneath his skin. Is he... voiceless? A mute?]
[ The touch to his wrist startles him out of his prayer, blinking into the dim light until it registers that Hans is the one gripping him, awake and alive. Instantly, Henry's expression turns to relief and he drops his hands to grip Hans' again, not caring where they are or who may see. It isn't unheard of. ]
Hans! You're awake. Thank the good Lord. [ His own voice is thick with exhaustion and joy, and he thinks he should probably go and get someone, but he can't be assed to move just yet. Hans looks understandably distressed. ]
You're alright. Probably hurts like nothing else, but you're alright. [ A gentle squeeze to Hans' hand, both of Henry's own held around it. ] Just relax...
[Relax? Hans wants to say. His lips move in silence and the anxiety creeps higher. How is he meant to relax when he can't even speak? Even babes can do more than him in this moment with their horrid cries and screams. What would Lord Hanush do now with a mute nephew? Strike him of his colors and arms? Toss him out into the street? What of the marriage Hans had been sold into? Would they accept a mute as their lord and husband?
The thought of not going through with the marriage is the most charming of all the possibilities, but he's too panicked to fully acknowledge it.
Instead Hans attempts again and again and again to say Henry's name and is met with silence time after time. The hand in between Henry's clenches tighter in his fear.]
[ The rising panic is expected and Henry does his best to be reassuring with calm words and the squeeze of his hands. He wishes he could do something to help more than this, to ease the pain, but he can't do much short of shoving potions down Hans' throat. For all he knows, Hans may not even be able to swallow anything for a little while. ]
They said you might not be able to talk for a little while, [ he starts to explain quickly, because maybe an explanation will lessen the anxiety (or make it worse, but he has to try). ] -but it might not be permanent. You just have to rest and heal until everything stitches back together again.
[Hans flops back down to his cot and immediately regrets doing so. He winces and shuts his eyes a moment to breathe through the pain. As soon as his eyes are open again, he has what he thinks is a grand idea. He takes one of Henry's hands, opens it to the palm and writes what happened with his finger over Henry's skin.
Perhaps having more answers would indeed help, if only to stem Hans's dizzy desire to be up and moving and not bound to a cot for however long the surgeon decides for him.
If he is to be resting somewhere, he'd rather it be in his bed, with Henry on top of him, neck wound or no neck wound.]
[ It takes Henry a minute too long to realize that Hans is writing something and not just tickling his palm, but he understands soon enough and nods as he thinks of how to explain. God, for all the months he's known Hans and wanted to make his chatty friend shut up, never did he want it to be like this. ]
It was an accident during the hunt. Someone's bow went off too early - one of the fellahs from the inn who tagged along. [ None of their close friends, thankfully, but Henry has no idea what's going to happen to the man now. Nearly killing a nobleman is a serious offense, accident or no accident.
His eyes fall to the bandages around Hans' neck and his expression pinches into something distressed. ] It went right through your neck. The sawbones said it's a miracle it didn't puncture anything important, you know? You could've-... It was close.
[ Close to losing Hans forever, and under Henry's care of all things. Henry would have never forgiven himself. The thought is upsetting enough for Henry's head to hang again, taking a deep breath. ]
Zizka came and saved you. I did my best but I- [ He shakes his head. ] It doesn't matter. What matters is that you're alive.
[Hans listens obediently, not wanting to miss an ounce of information. So some random man's bow fired too early? Or perhaps Hans rode right into the bowman's line of aim without meaning to? He remembers the sudden pain in his neck, how his hands found the shaft and fletching of the arrow without knowing how it got there.
He's never seen someone hit in the neck survive. It must be some kind of miracle that nothing truly important was hit. Only his voice. He wonders if Henry ever wished him to be mute, not knowing that this would happen some day. Hans pauses as he registers the notes of fear that string along Henry's voice.
Oh how he notices how resonant and warm Henry's voice is. Perhaps if Hans had shut up earlier, he would have noticed sooner.
Hans considers his next question before writing out, are you alright. He hopes that Henry doesn't blame himself in any way for the injury.]
[ He hopes to God this isn't permanent. For all his annoying qualities and quirks, Hans Capon is a good man with a big heart, and it would be a shame for the world to miss out on that spark. He could do good things as a proper lord sitting in his castle back in Rattay. He would help people, Henry thinks, and advocate for them, and make sure they lived decent lives under his leadership. He would. He'd be loud and brash and annoying too, but that's also part of what makes Hans who he is, and Henry wouldn't change him one bit.
The question written into his palm feels more poignant when Henry is the only one speaking, and the pause between the last letter and Henry's little nods is lengthy. It feels selfish to say he's anything but fine when Hans is the one injured and suffering far worse. ]
Don't worry about me, I'm always alright. [ Oh, what a bold faced lie, but he isn't going to sit here and mope when Hans is the one with the bandage wrapped around his neck.
The infirmary is empty save for the two of them right now but Henry still looks around quickly in the dim light, making sure they are truly alone, before he brings Hans' hand up to kiss his fingers, pressing them to his lips with an affectionate linger. When he speaks again his voice is quiet. ]
I should have been the one who rode you back to safety but I... I froze, Hans. I didn't know what to do.
[Hans watches Henry think, reads as much of his body language as he can in the relative silence. It's not a new skill, but certainly not one he's honed recently. He appreciates Henry's caution, even as Hans smiles softly, affectionately up at him. Hans raises his non-dominant hand to curl at Henry's cheek and with his right hand he scrawls more words into Henry's palm.
It's alright, he writes. I didn't know what to do either.
If their roles were switched, Hans likely would have been useless to help an injury such as an arrow to Henry's neck. He pauses before continuing, you didn't let me drown or bleed out.]
[ Henry's cheek leans into the touch, comforted by it, and he keeps his eyes on Hans and that smile until he starts writing again, the longer words taking time. Already, he's thinking of bringing some parchment and ink with him for the future, at least until Hans recovers. Because he's going to. He has to. ]
I didn't let you- no, no, 'course not. [ He repeats the words out loud to make sure he got that right, face pinching with distress as he meets Hans' eyes again. The image and sound of Hans choking on his own blood with red-stained teeth won't be leaving his head any time soon, joining the other bodies of loved ones he sees every damn night as it is. ]
Are you in pain? [ A stupid question of course, but he wants to know anyway. ] I can go get the sawbones. He'll want to know you're awake. Maybe he'll have something to help you quicker than my decoctions.
[Hans notes that pinched expression and rubs his thumb over Henry's cheek to try and grab Henry's attention back from the darkness. At the suggestion of getting the surgeon back, Hans gives the smallest of shakes of his head.
Let me be selfish. Hans writes. Let me steal a few more minutes with you alone.
After all, they were supposed to have most of the day to themselves, to lounge around in bed and be lazy, and now he's got stitches on either side of his neck. He still can't believe he survived. It must have been due to Henry's quick thinking. Froze, his arse.]
[ Henry murmurs everything Hans writes out loud to make sure he's got it all, and then nods, understanding. It's late anyway and if Hans isn't writhing in agony, then they can enjoy some time alone. No one is coming to bother them. Henry has been here since they first let him in, and Katherine stopped checking in once Henry ate something.
He is so tired, and after a few moments of contemplation, he decides to lean in and down until he can bend over Hans' bed and rest his head onto the lord's chest. Just for a few minutes. He wants to feel his breaths and hear the low thumping of his heartbeat. ]
[Hans is more than happy to give Henry room to rest; he looks like he needs it a great deal. Hans shifts to curl an arm around Henry, careful not to strain his neck in the process. He can't lie, it does hurt a considerable bit, but whatever salves and potions the sawbones put down him seem to be easing it enough to want company.
Through the fabric of Henry's tunic on his shoulder, Hans writes, Lay down with me. For a moment or two.
He wants nothing more than to comfort Henry right now.]
[ They've been through multiple sieges together. They've killed, and fought, and been ambushed, and kidnapped, and beaten, and all sorts of terrible things. The last thing Henry ever expected was for Hans to nearly die during something as innocuous as a regular hunting trip surrounded by people they know and trust. It is terrifying realizing how quickly Hans could have died, just like that, from nothing more than a simple accident, and Henry couldn't do anything but watch. Even more terrifying is realizing how much Henry fears losing him.
Henry's head tips up to look at Hans from this angle. There would be no good way to explain why Henry has crawled up into his lord's infirmary bed were someone to poke their head in, but it's easy enough not to care when Hans is urging him. ]
Alright. [ It's all he says before shifting to try and crawl up onto the bed without jostling Hans too much. It's a small space but they're used to cramming two grown bodies into a bed meant for one, and Henry is so very careful as he curls around Hans' side and rests his head against one of his shoulders instead. ]
[Hans lifts his arm to give Henry space to crawl up into the infirmary cot with him before he settles it again over Henry's shoulder. He knows they shouldn't do this, that anyone could walk in at a moment, but he's desperate for Henry to be comforted in this moment. He can always pass it off as some delusion of the mind after a near-fatal accident, he tells himself, should someone come in. After all, minds are incredibly delicate things.
Or so he can explain should the need come. Well, transcribe to Henry and then explained.
He tries to think of something to say to assuage both of their fears. His own dawning realization of what happened has his gut churning. He nearly died out there, from an accident during a casual hunting trip. This wasn't the battlefield. This wasn't Trosky. This was familiar terrain with loyal servants and friend.
And he'd nearly drowned in his own blood.
Despite the growing terror, Hans's body feels heavy, weighted down, exhausted. Perhaps it is the loss of blood or from the arrow itself.
Tell me a story? Hans writes when the weight of Henry on his shoulder is not enough to keep him calm.]
[The rain is truly a dreadful thing, Hans has decided. After two days of downpours, he is entirely sick of it. Everything seems to constantly be wet and Hans is soaked down to his braies more often than he'd like to admit. He supposes this may be God's way of punishing him for indulging with Henry but what else was he supposed to do? Henry was leaving and God did Hans quietly (or not so quietly) loved him too much to let him go without a proper goodbye.
Perhaps the only good part of the rain is sharing a tent with Henry. Limited supplies deemed that they do so and Hans can't complain about waking up curled into Henry as the chill of the dampness sets in again and again. Since they can't make much progress on a road that's more bog than path, they have been set in place for almost forty-eight hours. So much for making fast progress returning to the Den.
Hans wakes up earlier than he expects, stirring from a terrible dream of being washed away, and curls in tighter against Henry to keep warm. He tucks his head under Henry's chin and wraps and keeps his chilled hands between them in an attempt to warm them.]
[The last few months have certainly been an adventure. Beyond the usual of hiding his status, parading around as an proper alpha lord, they've been under siege. And being under siege meant a lack of supplies for his decoctions and he could only hide away for so long. It took a last moment impulse, a worry that their meeting could be the last, that finally lead Hans into Henry's arms.
Of course, Henry had known for months now that Hans was not in fact an alpha, but an omega. None of the hiding, the pretending, ever seemed to work on him. Henry could see through Hans's soul to the other side, but vowed to keep the secret. Hans thought it natural of his bodyguard to help him hide in plain sight; Lord Hanush placed him in service of Hans's protection for a reason.
As that night came, as the threat of never seeing Henry again shadowed him, Hans leaned in and took a chance. The next morning, Hans buttoned his collar over the mating bite and prayed for Henry's return.
And return he did, in spectacular fashion.
Today, however, they're facing the consequences of their indulgence. He wakes Henry at dawn and is insistent that they get away, that they take the time before the marriage to go 'hunting'. He's insufferable, grumpy, and he knows the signs of his heat coming better than anyone else, but he once more lacks a decoction.
They need room, space from Godwin and the others and how better to do it than out in the wild, like the animals they truly are.
As they near a clearing, Hans finally stops his inane bickering and sighs.] That's a better spot than we've seen all day. And we're far enough from the castle that no one should hear us.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
for @ferrarius
[It’s a gorgeous day to be out hunting. There’s not a cloud in the sky as the hunting party delves into the forest. Hans keeps close to Henry as he rides, looking over every now and then as his noble arse aches with each bounce in the saddle. However, there is little game to be found.
Hans keeps his eyes peeled as he slows to a stop. It’s then that he spots a stag thirty feet out, but as he readies he hears a short whistle and then a searing pain pierces his throat. His bow drops from his hands as he panicks at his throat.
The tang of blood fills his mouth and then, before he knows it, he falls sideways from his horse into the foliage below.]
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The way he falls sinks a dreaded feeling right through Henry, like a cold stone dropped into his belly. For a split second he barely registers it, staring at the place where Hans was moments ago, and now isn't. He hears someone else from the party yell in the near distance but doesn't know what they're saying, tunnel vision striking him at once as realization dawns on him and he finds his voice to call out desperately: ] Hans? Hans!
[ Just like that, he stumbles out of his saddle and makes a beeline for the lord, counting on the others to handle whoever it was that attacked (or was it one of their own - an accident?). Hans is still moving and grasping for his throat, and there's so, so much blood. Henry's eyes are widened with panic as he kneels by him and hovers, not knowing what to do, hands steadying Hans's shoulders on the ground. ] Oh, fuck. Fuck. Here, I've got you.
[ Trying to be as calm as possible, he peels Hans' hands away to replace with his own, pressing down harder against the slashed wound there as he tries to figure out how bad this truly is. ]
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He realizes as he tries to speak that no sound comes out. He attempts again and nothing but blood escapes his his lips. His teeth are stained crimson as he grits them. He can feel the feathers on the right side of his neck and the arrowhead on the left.
There is a continued fuss amongst the hunting party about accidents and stags, but Hans can barely hear it as his bloodied fingers reach up for Henry’s wrists to hold them still.]
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You're alright. I need to- to push this out. [ Right? Right? For all his learned knowledge about field medicine on the fly, Henry has never been in a scenario like this. Normally, people hit so directly by an arrow like this would already be dead, but maybe God is truly looking down on Hans Capon for once, or fortuna finally caught up with him. He desperately wishes someone more capable like Musa or Katherine were here.
He hasn't even yet thought about who could have done this, hearing some yelling now as maybe the others have figured it out and are giving the bastard an earful. Henry is focused on Hans instead, reaching for the arrow shaft. ]
You're breathing, that's good. Keep doing that, alright? This may hurt, but I won't let you bleed out. [ It's as reassuring as he can manage, his own heartrate quickened with adrenaline. There's nothing to it though: he has to do this.
Without warning then, Henry snaps the feathered end of the arrow shaft until there's just enough to push, and he hopes to God no major artery is nicked as he slowly, gradually pushes, and then pulls from the arrow head until the whole thing comes out clean. Then, instantly, he's pulling off his own hood in lieu of bandages to press to either side of Hans' neck to staunch the bleeding. ] Breathe, Sir Hans. Please, God, please keep breathing.
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Henry pulls the shaft out and suddenly Hans is drowning in his own blood as it floods his throat. He tries to shift, to turn himself, but Henry is there with his hood, trying to staunch the flow from outside. It helps, but Hans’s panic picks up again as he wonders if he’ll die like this, drowning because of some accident. He gurgles and there’s a sudden urgency in Hans’s movements.
There’s nothing to be done except turn on his side, despite Henry’s help, so he can spit up blood threatening his life. He doesn’t cough for fear of tearing something else.]
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Someone approaches them at last and claps a strong hand onto Henry's shoulder, snapping him out of it. Glancing up, he sees Zizka there, the man saying something Henry's buzzing ears don't hear, he's in such shock. Before Henry can stop him, Zizka is shoving down to assess the damage himself, no medic, but he's certainly seen his fair share of battle wounds - more so than Henry ever will.
Before he knows it, there's clean bandages pressed to Hans' puncture wounds rather than his dirty hood, Zizka barking orders at someone else to come and help. Henry remains knelt at Hans' front, watching helplessly, before he reaches for one of Hans' hands to grasp and squeeze, while the men with more sense in their brains take to making sure Hans doesn't choke on his own blood. ]
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He barely registers Zizka's hands on him, at the change in fabric at his neck. He continues to watch Henry even as his vision seems to slowly fade at the edges. His eyelids begin to droop and he tries to say Henry's name, but once more he finds he can't even whisper.
Zizka shouts about a surgeon and it's the last thing Hans hears before the darkness claims him.
As Hans falls unconscious, everyone in the hunting group is spurred into motion. Bandages are tied down, the fletching of the errant arrow is scooped up from the forest floor to determine who will pay for this mistake. Then Hans is scooped up by Zizka and carried to his horse. Hans's limbs are lax in Zizka's carry, even as he's foisted up onto a horse. Without a moment more of hesitation, Zizka is off, riding at a blazing speed back to the Devil's Den. Once there, the surgeon is heralded to care for the young lord.
Soon enough, Hans is in the infirmary, quietly resting, with bandages pulled tight around his throat. He wakes slowly, drowsy and as if crawling through mud.]
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The ride back to the Den feels like a blur and no one lets him in while the sawbones works on patching Hans up. Henry should have insisted they stay back after all. He should have pinned Hans down onto the bed and kept him there. He may as well walk himself to the gallows because Hanush will surely string him up for letting anything happen to Hans, as this is far from a simple flesh wound or broken bone. The fact that he's alive at all feels like a miracle.
He sits outside the infirmary and at some point Katherine checks in on him and wipes Hans' blood off of Henry's hands and face. She tries to get him to eat something too, being far too kind, and Henry feels like a child. He barely gets a bit of dried meat into his mouth.
It's later in the day when Hans finally comes to. At some point, Henry was finally allowed to sit at his side, and he's had his head bent into his hands with prayer nearly the entire time. That's what he's doing now, folded hands pressed to his forehead as he murmurs and pleas to God in the hopes that he'll be heard, unaware yet that Hans has woken. ]
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So, instead, Hans reaches up for Henry's wrist, attempts again to say his name and, when foiled, he gives Henry a gentle squeeze.
He wants to joke that there's no need for prayers, not for a sinner and a sodomite, but he can't. There's nothing he can inject into the night air but empty breath. Panic begins to simmer beneath his skin. Is he... voiceless? A mute?]
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Hans! You're awake. Thank the good Lord. [ His own voice is thick with exhaustion and joy, and he thinks he should probably go and get someone, but he can't be assed to move just yet. Hans looks understandably distressed. ]
You're alright. Probably hurts like nothing else, but you're alright. [ A gentle squeeze to Hans' hand, both of Henry's own held around it. ] Just relax...
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The thought of not going through with the marriage is the most charming of all the possibilities, but he's too panicked to fully acknowledge it.
Instead Hans attempts again and again and again to say Henry's name and is met with silence time after time. The hand in between Henry's clenches tighter in his fear.]
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They said you might not be able to talk for a little while, [ he starts to explain quickly, because maybe an explanation will lessen the anxiety (or make it worse, but he has to try). ] -but it might not be permanent. You just have to rest and heal until everything stitches back together again.
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Perhaps having more answers would indeed help, if only to stem Hans's dizzy desire to be up and moving and not bound to a cot for however long the surgeon decides for him.
If he is to be resting somewhere, he'd rather it be in his bed, with Henry on top of him, neck wound or no neck wound.]
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It was an accident during the hunt. Someone's bow went off too early - one of the fellahs from the inn who tagged along. [ None of their close friends, thankfully, but Henry has no idea what's going to happen to the man now. Nearly killing a nobleman is a serious offense, accident or no accident.
His eyes fall to the bandages around Hans' neck and his expression pinches into something distressed. ] It went right through your neck. The sawbones said it's a miracle it didn't puncture anything important, you know? You could've-... It was close.
[ Close to losing Hans forever, and under Henry's care of all things. Henry would have never forgiven himself. The thought is upsetting enough for Henry's head to hang again, taking a deep breath. ]
Zizka came and saved you. I did my best but I- [ He shakes his head. ] It doesn't matter. What matters is that you're alive.
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He's never seen someone hit in the neck survive. It must be some kind of miracle that nothing truly important was hit. Only his voice. He wonders if Henry ever wished him to be mute, not knowing that this would happen some day. Hans pauses as he registers the notes of fear that string along Henry's voice.
Oh how he notices how resonant and warm Henry's voice is. Perhaps if Hans had shut up earlier, he would have noticed sooner.
Hans considers his next question before writing out, are you alright. He hopes that Henry doesn't blame himself in any way for the injury.]
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The question written into his palm feels more poignant when Henry is the only one speaking, and the pause between the last letter and Henry's little nods is lengthy. It feels selfish to say he's anything but fine when Hans is the one injured and suffering far worse. ]
Don't worry about me, I'm always alright. [ Oh, what a bold faced lie, but he isn't going to sit here and mope when Hans is the one with the bandage wrapped around his neck.
The infirmary is empty save for the two of them right now but Henry still looks around quickly in the dim light, making sure they are truly alone, before he brings Hans' hand up to kiss his fingers, pressing them to his lips with an affectionate linger. When he speaks again his voice is quiet. ]
I should have been the one who rode you back to safety but I... I froze, Hans. I didn't know what to do.
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It's alright, he writes. I didn't know what to do either.
If their roles were switched, Hans likely would have been useless to help an injury such as an arrow to Henry's neck. He pauses before continuing, you didn't let me drown or bleed out.]
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I didn't let you- no, no, 'course not. [ He repeats the words out loud to make sure he got that right, face pinching with distress as he meets Hans' eyes again. The image and sound of Hans choking on his own blood with red-stained teeth won't be leaving his head any time soon, joining the other bodies of loved ones he sees every damn night as it is. ]
Are you in pain? [ A stupid question of course, but he wants to know anyway. ] I can go get the sawbones. He'll want to know you're awake. Maybe he'll have something to help you quicker than my decoctions.
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Let me be selfish. Hans writes. Let me steal a few more minutes with you alone.
After all, they were supposed to have most of the day to themselves, to lounge around in bed and be lazy, and now he's got stitches on either side of his neck. He still can't believe he survived. It must have been due to Henry's quick thinking. Froze, his arse.]
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He is so tired, and after a few moments of contemplation, he decides to lean in and down until he can bend over Hans' bed and rest his head onto the lord's chest. Just for a few minutes. He wants to feel his breaths and hear the low thumping of his heartbeat. ]
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Through the fabric of Henry's tunic on his shoulder, Hans writes, Lay down with me. For a moment or two.
He wants nothing more than to comfort Henry right now.]
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Henry's head tips up to look at Hans from this angle. There would be no good way to explain why Henry has crawled up into his lord's infirmary bed were someone to poke their head in, but it's easy enough not to care when Hans is urging him. ]
Alright. [ It's all he says before shifting to try and crawl up onto the bed without jostling Hans too much. It's a small space but they're used to cramming two grown bodies into a bed meant for one, and Henry is so very careful as he curls around Hans' side and rests his head against one of his shoulders instead. ]
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Or so he can explain should the need come. Well, transcribe to Henry and then explained.
He tries to think of something to say to assuage both of their fears. His own dawning realization of what happened has his gut churning. He nearly died out there, from an accident during a casual hunting trip. This wasn't the battlefield. This wasn't Trosky. This was familiar terrain with loyal servants and friend.
And he'd nearly drowned in his own blood.
Despite the growing terror, Hans's body feels heavy, weighted down, exhausted. Perhaps it is the loss of blood or from the arrow itself.
Tell me a story? Hans writes when the weight of Henry on his shoulder is not enough to keep him calm.]
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hope you are feeling better! <3
ty! much better
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for @kovarstvi
Perhaps the only good part of the rain is sharing a tent with Henry. Limited supplies deemed that they do so and Hans can't complain about waking up curled into Henry as the chill of the dampness sets in again and again. Since they can't make much progress on a road that's more bog than path, they have been set in place for almost forty-eight hours. So much for making fast progress returning to the Den.
Hans wakes up earlier than he expects, stirring from a terrible dream of being washed away, and curls in tighter against Henry to keep warm. He tucks his head under Henry's chin and wraps and keeps his chilled hands between them in an attempt to warm them.]
for @fortunaiuvat
Of course, Henry had known for months now that Hans was not in fact an alpha, but an omega. None of the hiding, the pretending, ever seemed to work on him. Henry could see through Hans's soul to the other side, but vowed to keep the secret. Hans thought it natural of his bodyguard to help him hide in plain sight; Lord Hanush placed him in service of Hans's protection for a reason.
As that night came, as the threat of never seeing Henry again shadowed him, Hans leaned in and took a chance. The next morning, Hans buttoned his collar over the mating bite and prayed for Henry's return.
And return he did, in spectacular fashion.
Today, however, they're facing the consequences of their indulgence. He wakes Henry at dawn and is insistent that they get away, that they take the time before the marriage to go 'hunting'. He's insufferable, grumpy, and he knows the signs of his heat coming better than anyone else, but he once more lacks a decoction.
They need room, space from Godwin and the others and how better to do it than out in the wild, like the animals they truly are.
As they near a clearing, Hans finally stops his inane bickering and sighs.] That's a better spot than we've seen all day. And we're far enough from the castle that no one should hear us.