And Hans instantly fires back with irreverence. He is going to go up against Henry even if it gets him in trouble

You couldn't ask for a better demonstration of him clawing at reality for some amount of agency. Later on Henry learns that he's far from the exception here:

Who is Hans to himself? Very little, as we've already found in part 1. In many ways, Hans only knows himself in comparison to others. Whether that's comparing himself to Hanush specifically (as per part 2), other nobles in general (as per part 1), or even his subjects. If all he needs to do to stop feeling so damn insecure is beat little upstarts like Henry then great! He can do that and prove he's his own person all in one go!

Shame that it doesn't work that way.

It's unfortunate that the things in which Hans sees his own agency are precisely those that Hanush takes away from him when he steps out of line. His attempts to reclaim agency are often precisely those things that result in him being punished.

Which is where we need to pull Henry in.

As Hans tells him, he's a bit of everything—Laborator, Orator, Bellator— and that has lent him a fair amount of social mobility. In a lot of ways, Henry always lives on the fringes of society, able to flit back and forth over the boundary freely in all the ways that Hans deeply envies. He can have a Jewish brother and a nobleman for a father. He goes against direct orders from his liege lord and not only gets away with it, he gets promoted. Like, of course he hates this little shit who gets to have all the things he ever wanted and gets praised for every misstep to boot.

But then, something interesting happens.

I know we make fun of Hans for being a damsel in distress, but I think there's actually a narrative purpose to this besides showing us that he's the narrative's favorite. As Hanush tells him after his fight with Henry, Hans was supposed to go settle a dispute between some landowner. But then, Henry is the reason that he gets to go out hunting after all.

And then, while they're on their hunt, Henry rescues him again, this time from the Cumans. Henry rescues him when Arse-n-balls tries to drown him and then later when he gets shot in the ass. Throughout KCD1 (and you'll find that this theme carries on in KCD2!) Henry ensures and represents freedom for Hans. A return of some manner of agency.

It's no great surprise then that separations from Henry generally lead to a loss of freedom as well. When he rides off to go after the boar, he's captured. The noose tightens around his neck as soon as Henry was removed from the prison cell with him. Henry fights Zizka in order to try and keep Hans safe and out of captivity. His entire time imprisoned in Maleshov resulted from him being forcibly parted from Henry. Right after, they're forced apart once more, only for Hans' freedom and agency to be torn from him in the most acute way, by being betrothed against his will.

This is a crucial turning point. It's almost as if Hans catches on to the fact that being apart from Henry is a threat to his freedom and does everything in his power to prevent it.

Only to be stopped at every. fucking. turn.

Exhibit A, at Raborsch before the pogrom:

Exhibit B, at Ruthard Palace before they go after the legate:

Exhibit C, at Suchdol before the suicide mission:

He's shot down at every possible turn. Everyone treats him as some precious porcelain doll that has to be handled with tremendous care. If something happens to him, it could be costly, either on account of a ransom or because Hanush won't get the money from Hans marrying Jitka. Hans isn't his own person. What fucking agency does he have over his own body? Kissing Henry is one of the most agency-affirming things that boy could possibly do.

And it's interesting that even if you don't romance him, Hans expresses his frustration with exactly this lack of agency:

There is so much freedom to be found in accompanying Henry here, in being given the chance to not only protect Henry, but to die by his side on his own terms.

The end conversations with Hanush feel like a final fuck you to his attempts at cementing any amount of agency for himself. And it's here that you really see him fight tooth and nail against what his uncle is trying to push on him (some excerpts included here and here). His opponent just happens to be, well... his uncle, most stubborn man alive. Hans knows this, and inevitably gives in knowing that arguing any longer would lead nowhere.

Does that mean he's given up, as this anon fears? Definitely not (and certainly not if he's been romanced; he seems a lot more eager to fight in that case). Hans is a mimic. I have lost count of the number of times that conversations between him and Henry have gone as follows:

Hans: What would you do about [thing]?

Henry: I would do [option].

Hans: Are you sure? But what about [counterargument]?

Henry: I still think it's the right way to go because of [reason].

Hans: You're right, I'll go with your decision.

The exchange that sticks out to me most in recent memory is what happens to Arse-n-balls. The conversation starts as follows (and you'll have to forgive my crude photoshopping their names on to help here):

You then are given two options. You tell him to punish him or let him off the hook. Here's what happens if you tell Hans to punish him:

And here's what happens if you tell him to go easy on him:

This boy is so moldable. So easily influenced and always looking to Henry for guidance. Why? Because the lack of agency means that he's never really had to make his own decisions ever before, they were always made for him. And when he did make decisions, they were often punished.

It doesn't surprise me one bit that talking to Hanush left Hans feeling extremely hopeless. His conversation with Henry afterward has Henry asking what they're going to do about the wedding, and Hans, understandably, says that they can't do anything, not in the face of the browbeating he was just treated to. He's trying to make the best of a shit situation (promising to name his son after Henry), and anyone watching this could easily assume that he's fully resigned himself. But he hasn't.

As Henry talks to him, not only does he realize that he does actually have two options and not just one...

... he starts brainstorming ways out with Henry:

I think this is especially relevant here because it feels like a pretty clear and deliberate callback to the romance-exclusive dialogue:

This is the answer. Trying to figure out ways in which to at least put off the wedding is part of waiting and seeing how things turn out. Seems like he actually is sure of what he wants to do. He's just had his agency taken from him so many times that he second-guesses himself at every turn and ends up looking to those most important to him for guidance, Henry and Hanush. Devastated as he seems after his/their conversation with Hanush, he seems equally uplifted and hopeful after talking to Henry about the whole thing.

Hans spends the whole second game discovering his agency (that it exists at all in concept!) only to watch it be repeatedly torn from him over and over again. Loving Henry is the one thing he chooses for himself. And after that, it's on Henry to remind him that that's okay.

And let's be honest, even if it wouldn't have been better or different at all (let alone in any significant way), the fact is that Hans knows that something better could have been. It's even possible that he could have ended up with siblings to play with at some point! The idea of potential denied or just out of grasp for him is a theme that comes up quite frequently for him!

We know that Hans grew up under Hanush's tutelage if not in his love and affection. For Hans, that meant learning about how to govern a territory and learning to read and write, Latin and other languages included… but little else. I can say this with some amount of confidence because Hans wasn't taught social skills. At all. One of the most tragic visual examples of this comes from the meeting(s) at Raborsch. While Jobst makes his announcements, Hans is busy watching the other adults around him to see how they act and doing his best to mirror their behavior. This is heartbreaking.

@codeword-art made an amazing post recently about how incredibly lonely Hans is, and by god, they are correct. There are so many good points made in that post, many of which point to the fact that Hans has a LOT of learned behaviors. I've touched on this before in my Hanush meta, but @georgecostanzaatemysoup brought up the very good point that Hans most likely learned that negative behavior got him attention. But that's far from the only thing he's learned. As @codeword-art pointed out, Hans has learned that people treat him either like a "troublesome child" or like something precious to be protected. And when people default to treating him that way, even people who don't know him (!), he falls back into old habits. This is how life is, how life has always been, and how life will always be. The way Hans is treated has pretty directly affected and even shaped his personality.

This goes hand-in-hand with one of my all-time favorite meta posts in this entire fandom, which is this one by @antivanwine14. They make the incredible point that boar hunts were very social activities for nobles at the time. And that as soon as Hans finds his first actual friend in Henry he immediately goes to take him boar hunting. Hans has spent his entire life learning by watching and doing his best to echo what he sees.

You want to know where Hans got his personality from? I would bet good money that he saw the kind of commanding presence that his uncle bore and did his best to learn. Hanush is, in many ways, quite bratty himself. He's loud, boisterous, and gets what he wants. Hans got used to being called useless and did his best to be better. To be more like his uncle. Here's what Henry is told by the innkeep right before the boys start fighting:

Does that... remind you of anyone? Because it reminds me of Hanush!

Of course, that didn't get his uncle's approval either. So when that didn't work, he turned into a self-fulfilling prophecy. A kid can only be told he's a useless little waste of space so often before he starts to not only believe it in earnest but also leans into the suggestion.

@codeword-art made this point absolutely beautifully here as well where they talk about how people view him throughout Rattay and what sort of effect that would also have on him. In Hans' eyes, no one aside from Captain Bernard and Oats think he's worth anything. Yet that isn't even entirely true. When Henry is given the tour of Rattay by Nightingale, he ends up learning the following:

But there's no doubt in my mind that Hans isn't hearing "Hanush should hand over the fiefdom to you, my lord" but rather Nightingale's comment about how these people are fools. It's not surprising then that this fake persona that Hans projects is just a protective facade that he puts in place when he has to interact with the outside world.

Hanush shouldn't be part of that category, and yet he inevitably is because he pushes his nephew away emotionally at all times.

Need I remind you that when Henry goes to check on Hans at the beginning of Next to Godliness... this is how Hans responds:

Okay. Reread that.

Hanush. wouldn't. let. anyone. near him????????????

Like…… why?????? Hanush wouldn't let anyone near him except the priest who treated him like he was already dead???????? No doubt growing up in the castle must have felt a bit like being dead too! He cared about the friends he was drinking with the night he got in that fight with Henry so much that they literally never came up ever again. This boy was never socialized! He is so lonely he has no one to even spend time with, if Hanush would even let him! So whom does he even have to impress?

Hanush. Just Hanush.

And this comes up quite a lot.

Because he wants so badly to be loved by his uncle.

This is what really gets me in terms of his relationship to Hanush. Hanush is an objectively terrible parent. And even in spite of this Hans very clearly wants to categorize him as his uncle instead of just as his guardian, this far more personal thing, but still feels compelled to restrain himself from that in everyday conversation. Even if that conversation happens to be with the guy who is rapidly sliding into the position of Hans' best friend.

Moreover, we know that Hans calls him uncle when that isn't actually his role in Hans' life:

I've noticed that Henry does a lot of code-switching depending on whom he's speaking to. In a lot of ways, even despite the irreverence he exhibits at times he treats Hans much nicer than he does most people. The annoyance that comes up with others does not generally show up with Hans.

And there is a lot of variance in how Henry treats the people around him outside of that. He knows how to juggle the different worlds he traverses in his myriad social roles that he occupies simultaneously.

Meanwhile, Hans only has two settings: deep and vulnerable and personal... and everyone else.

Hanush sits pretty solidly in the latter category. In fact, I would go so far as to say that Henry's existence alone created the first category to begin with. Without him, it would not exist. Hans doesn't let down his walls until he meets Henry because he doesn't even know he has them.

Only at his most emotionally vulnerable, usually with the people he cares about most (and vice versa), does Hans open up. At the end of KCD2, while he's drinking with Godwin and lamenting the fact that his soulmate might die out there, we learn the truth of why he decided to take the message to Trosky to begin with:

I mentioned in part 1 of my analysis that he's talking about nobles as a whole here. If only he took the message to von Bergow, everyone would finally take him seriously and stop treating him like a child.

As he puts it when he meets Henry in front of his room at Suchdol:

But Hanush is at the heart of all of this.

Let's rewind a bit to KCD1 again.

I know we joke a fair amount about Clothes Make the Man and how quickly Hans starts throwing his gifting love language at Henry and latches onto him plus playing dress-up with Henry but there's a lot more going here.

The opening already gets me. It takes him 0.2 seconds to turn Henry into his emotional rock.

It's pretty transparent that this is at least in part about wanting to throw presents at Henry to make sure that he stays around (consider also the timing: he does this right before he knows they're both going to get a talking-to from his uncle... it's like he's trying to butter Henry up in advance of that meeting to make sure it doesn't freak him out. He didn't have to put Henry into his own clothes!!), but the fear of looking bad in front of Hanush isn't an excuse. That is a real fear here.

And we know these sorts of lectures are far from rare; if anything, they're a common occurrence!

So much so that it even comes up again in KCD2 where Brabant drops this line post-Maleshov:

Implying that Hans talked to Brabant quite a bit about his concerns regarding precisely this while they were both in captivity. This was clearly something that weighed on him heavily, so much so that Brabant remembered it well enough to bring up here!

This isn't particularly surprising. From the very beginning, he's genuinely invested in his uncle's opinion of him (not that that comes as much of a surprise) and ends up viewing the trip as a sort of test that he can either pass or fail:

If you look at his growth through that lens it is quite frankly heartbreaking to watch him go through all that he suffers.

At the tavern in Troskowitz, Henry suggests going back to Rattay, and Hans immediately shoots that down because they'd be a laughing stock and Hanush would never let him forget about his failure:

The fear here is net negative approval.

By the time the lads are riding out to deal with Nebakov, he's come to terms with the fact that this will right the initial wrongs and things will return to normal!

I think this is very telling. The best he's hoping for at this point is a net zero approval gain.

The prospect of Hanush having to pay a ransom for him briefly pops up while they're locked up at Nebakov. And then Godwin shows up, reminding him that he can't even deliver a letter. We're back to net negative approval.

Henry reminds him that it's fine! At least they're alive!

And then we're treated to a strangely somber look from Hans and silence, one that Henry also notices and responds to by trying to inject a spot of good news (their return to Rattay):

Hans knows how his uncle reacts to failure. Not just here, but in general. He's generally not given the chance to plead his case. Case in point? After Next to Godliness, he tries to explain the situation to his uncle:

And... Hanush doesn't believe him:

He knows that optics are everything here. If it looks like he fucked up, that's how it'll be taken. To that point, the night before Nebakov Hans points out to Henry that he suffered all of those situations just because he was "trying to do the responsible thing."

Okay, now we're getting somewhere! He's honestly been trying here, all for the benefit of his uncle. Henry can even ask if he isn't worried about Hanush will say, given that it's pretty obvious that that is precisely what he's worried about:

With that, we're back to net zero gain in approval. Which is quickly turned into a net negative again the day after when he's taken hostage. Again.

And then gets to spend at least a week (possibly several) thinking about how badly he fucked up and how much Hanush might have to pay in ransom to get him back. As we noted earlier, it's fairly obvious just how much Hans cares about that as per his conversation with Henry and Brabant after the escape from Maleshov:

At this point he tells his uncle that he fucked everything up (which just isn't fucking true, Hans, you are way too hard on yourself) and Hanush is quick to reassure him that it's fine:

Even he recognizes that Hans has grown at this point! Or... at least he says as much. I think this gave Hans a sliver of hope that he could actually earn his uncle's approval.

Of course, later on Hanush reveals how he really feels about the matter and this is, of course, what leads to the Devil's recommendation to just marry him off. My beloved mutual @audentesfortunaiuvattwrote an excellent post about how infuriating this whole conversation is, and I agree 100% with her argument and the follow-up.

Hans' real feelings on the matter are revealed after the announcement, only while he's absolutely sloshed:

Henry tries to point out to him later on after von Bergow's interrogation that he would have gotten Hanush's approval after his work at Maleshov, and it just...

... doesn't land. A part of me wonders if the announcement of the betrothal swept the rug so solidly out from under his feet that he lost any hope that he could have ever gotten his uncle's approval by his own merit. Which is also why he ends up sounding so resigned when he ends up talking to him later. Like he expected it to turn into an argument.

It's kind of heartbreaking to watch honestly. Because every time that Hanush is in the picture, you get to play witness to Hans grasping for his approval again with just that tiniest sliver of hope reawakening. While they're at Suchdol, that doesn't factor in at all. In this timeframe, Hans and Henry both exist in a space outside of society. As I stated in part 1, nobility and social stratification are meaningless in the face of, uh, hunger and despair. But as soon as Hanush returns, with him come the demands of the society around them.

All I see here is someone who desperately wants to impress his uncle. This is the sliver of hope.

Only for it to be promptly shattered into pieces.

And by the time of their end conversations, there's no repairing it anymore. Which is fucking tragic, because if you pay attention to Hanush, he clearly has no idea how to parent Hans. After giving Hans and Henry that lecture following Next to Godliness, this is his expression when Hans leaves:

I say "excuse" in quotes because the more time you spend talking to Hans the more it becomes obvious that he actually believes what he's saying. All that stuff about the three states of man is 100% something that he was either taught directly or overheard. It's entirely possible that he once tried to help out the castle staff and was told he wasn't allowed to do that because it went against the will of God. Like I fucking love AUs where Hans and Henry met as kids, but there's a non-zero chance that any attempt to do so, if not simply preempted, would have been shut down by Hanush and the others around him. This is what it means to be a noble, Hans. You're not allowed to do any of these fun things. You have a job to do. You're going to rule Rattay someday and that comes with certain responsibilities.

Here are some choice excerpts from that conversation:

I want to draw special attention here to the role that Hans places himself in, the role of the Bellator, a protector of others. This is what he's allowed to do. Remember that for later.

The other thing I want to draw attention to is this bit:

This isn't just about losing face. This is about the fact that he grew up hearing how wrong it would be for him to do peasant work. This is about the fact that he was told that if he did this, he'd be going against God, and everyone would think less of him for not acting as he's supposed to / required to. Not just in the eyes of God, but in the eyes of society.

Remember how I said that Hans has an idealized notion of nobility? That applies here as well. As the codex entry on the Three States of Man tells us, this is the ideal medieval society, one that is meant to be conducive to peace. That lack of social mobility and freedom that Hans has been chained by his whole life has a purpose: to ensure harmony.

But the script he's so used to, that he clings to so desperately, fails him. Harmony could not be further from his reality. Case in point, at the beginning he tells Henry that he can protect him with his name and therefore his own noble status:

But then, that doesn't turn out to be true. He does everything in his power to declare his noble status, to invoke his name, even places his arm behind his back and attempts to bow in order to properly present himself as nobility to the guards at the Trosky Castle gates—all for naught. No one cares. Hans tries so fucking hard to stick to the script he's been taught his whole life, and no one gives a shit. Svatya makes fun of him, refuses to apologize, and then physically assaults him. Instead of seeing Svatya getting clapped in the pillory, he is.

During the divorce era, he once again tries to grasp for any amount of familiarity from his old life by turning to hunting. It's a noble sport and something he's good at. Camping and going out to hunt, being out in nature over an extended period of time, these are all things he's done before. Things he can comfortably fall back on. If he forgets about the fact that he's alone—no Henry, no horse, no hunting dogs—he can almost pretend he's back in his old life.

Even his attempt at romancing Enneleyn at the wedding fits into this desperate attempt to cleave to his understanding of his noble title. (This is a point that also crops up in this fantastic analysis of Hans' character by @codeword-art, that Hans knows what people think nobles should be like, this including a love for women. This post and the one that preceded it are analyzed in greater depth in part two of this analysis.)

And then even that is torn from him when he's told he'll hang for poaching. Nobility was the one thing that was supposed to act as a get-out-of-jail-free card for him, his guaranteed fallback. Nobility was meant to remove the noose from around his neck... and then failed to do so. What's the point of being a noble if no one believes that you are one? What's the point of being a noble if it only comes with a lack of social skills, a lack of relationships, and a lack of freedom? What's the point of sticking to a script if everyone refuses to play their parts? Growing up, nobility always acted as a panopticon for him, surrounded by people's judgments of him. His character, his aptitude, was always everybody's business. But that pain, that judgment, always came with benefits before.

This illustrates for Hans, quite clearly, how quickly those benefits can be stripped for him and made meaningless. Nobility can't save him. Nobility has only ever taken from him, and then, when he needed it most, it wasn't there for him as a parachute.

At the end of Next to Godliness we can talk to Hans about what he's going to do with Arse-n-balls. And if Henry advises Hans to punish him, first Hans tries to defend him.

At which point Henry invokes his noble status and suggests that letting this transgression go unpunished would lead to people questioning him in his position:

At which point Hans folds quite quickly:

How much do you reckon Hans' worldview was shaken in hindsight, upon realizing the reality of the punishments he might have subjected people to. A day in the stocks or pillory? Being hanged for poaching? Suddenly he's seeing these things from the perspective of a peasant and what that might feel like.

Nobles are meant to protect people and dole out punishments only when necessary. But this whole system is so easily upended the second corruption gets involved.

He's next confronted with this issue in a big way if you decide to sell out Olda and go to Semine with Hashek. Despite von Bergow's wishes, Hashek wants to burn the place down to the ground along with all the people in it. Everyone is to die. This isn't what von Bergow wanted (and if you do agree to Hashek's plan, he is appropriately outraged after) and while Hans questions if the two of you did the right thing if you decide to go against Hashek's wishes, he's quite distressed if you don't go against his wishes and kill everyone. It puts him into a funk for quite a while after and leaves him viewing himself as inherently tainted by the experience.

Horrified as he is that Olda, as a nobleman, would side with Zizka and co (and expresses this right after the possible torturing if the truth is discovered), he's just as horrified that Hashek, a nobleman, would order the slaughter of innocents. He objects on several occasions but mostly goes along with what Henry says, only questioning what the right decision was after.

Nobles are supposed to be better than this. If he was expected to do better, to be better, to live up to all these unachievable ideals, why does no one else give a shit?

The next time this crops up in a big way is after the Maleshov rescue when Hans become quite upset at the sight of a destroyed village. A conversation with Brabant follows that showcase a number of Hans' feelings on the matter:

This is unjust, he says. Because in his eyes, the nobility should be above such dirty, underhanded tricks to get what they want. Brabant insists that the village will be resettled before long ("people die, it's what they do" etc etc) and that this is just how war is.

Hans, however, is unsatisfied:

Here too we see his idea of the Bellator and what that means for him as a noble. In Hans' eyes, their job is to protect the common people. To do everything in his power to make sure that these atrocities don't happen.

If Henry then agrees with him, Hans says something else telling (regardless of what happens with Semine):

These things happen because of his failure. He's a Bellator, a noble who should be capable of protecting people. Instead they failed at Nebakov and he was captured. The death of these people, to Hans, is on his own head.

We know that our boy Luke lost rizz points with pretty much everyone because he decided to burn down the village near Maleshov during the siege, but this too is a moment that's worth remarking on. In the moment, Hans defers to Henry and insists that well, they're in a war, aren't they? But after von Bergow's interrogation, he has quite a few things to say to Henry:

On the flipside, if Henry goes against Dry Devil, Hans praises his actions while simultaneously acknowledging that he wouldn't have been strong enough to do the same:

It's interesting that at this point in the story he trusts Henry (not a noble) with ethical judgments far more than either himself or other noblemen. Deferring to Henry isn't entirely new for him, but that's another post entirely. What matters here is that we're witnessing the wool being pulled from Hans' eyes in real time here: the inherent superiority of nobles is rapidly evaporating.

In addition to that, the fact that he's constantly put into the position of damsel in distress means that he's frequently saved or protected by Henry. He's not the Bellator of his own life. Henry is. Henry is more noble in Hans' eyes than any noble he's ever met. This even comes up at one point early in the game, following their first romance option:

I'm sure I don't need to point out how this means that Henry effectively dismantles Hans' sense of self only to build it up again. All his self-esteem was rooted in the fact that he's a capable Bellator, a defender of the people and worthy of his position as a noble. Then Henry comes in, does it all better despite his peasant upbringing, and then shows Hans that he has value in spite of what he perceived all his faults to be.

Even before the siege on Maleshov, Hans is slowly starting to build up an increasingly robust view of himself as a Laborator. I talked about this in more detail here, where we see Hans volunteer himself for manual labor that we see no one else in the game do other than Henry. In fact, it's something that is often (and jokingly at that) offloaded onto Henry. But here, Hans presents the far more noble position (in this case, dealing with the hunted game) to Henry while taking the manual labor task for himself.

With what noblesse oblige is Hans left with then? Stripped of all the artifice, what remains?

Just his word. The word of a nobleman.

Hans and Henry both get into an argument with Hanush at the end of KCD1 when he gives Toth his word that his safety will be ensured if he lets Radzig and Lady Stephanie go. Henry is (understandably) upset that Hanush will just let Toth go, but Hanush insists that his word as a nobleman is his bond. At which point Hans steps in to argue that they may as well not honor that bond:

Henry also argues, but Hanush ultimately comes back with this:

It's a point that sticks with Hans, and we see it invoked fairly early on in the game:

It's also challenged right toward the beginning as well. Henry responds to what Hans says with something that makes no sense, invoking the idea of one's word but here in the name of him being a blacksmith:

Someone recently made a post about precisely this, and I unfortunately cannot for the life of me recall who it was, so you'll have to forgive me for making the same point (and if someone knows the post I'm talking about, please link me so I can reference it here!). In short, however, the post beautifully summarized that yes, this doesn't make sense. There's no such thing as the word of a blacksmith. It doesn't carry the same weight whatsoever. But Hans decides to take it that way regardless:

No pretension, no posturing about the importance of a noble's words over those of a peasant. Either Henry has been elevated in Hans' mind (no doubt) or nobility is losing the special, unique lustre that it might have once held for him (almost certainly true as well).

We fast-forward a bit. His next encounter with the word of a nobleman is at Raborsch, where his word is given... for him, when he's engaged against his will. If you ask me, this changes things. In a big way. Hans has very little, but the one thing that he thought he had was his word to give. Every thing he swears by from that point forward serves as a reclamation.

And the first thing he does with that reclamation is swear that he'll be there for Henry just as Henry was there for him:

(and then he did, etc etc)

I do find it curious here that he doesn't invoke the word of a nobleman here in this promise to Henry. Instead, he swears by God, their mutual belief system. Giving Henry his word isn't enough anymore. As if Henry has outranked it in his eyes. I wonder if he thought back to the moment when Henry responded to Hans' word as a noble with the word of a blacksmith here. Unlike social stratification, this is a place where they are on equal footing.

The next time that Hans does give his word is at Maleshov during the siege: von Bergow's safety in exchange for both Rosa's safety and von Bergow's agreement to switch sides.

This makes sense. He's speaking to another nobleman here, someone who would understand what it means if the word of a noble is given.

And it is, of course, then immediately put in danger by Sam:

If Sam kills von Bergow here, he takes the last remaining vestiges of any sort of sense of self or identity from Hans. Nobility is losing its lustre, he's not a worthy Bellator and instead always has to have Henry saving his ass, and this is all that remains. What is a noble without his word? As Hanush told him very clearly at the end of the first game, his word is his honor. And without honor, he's nothing.

What's left if the artifice is stripped away? If all he has left to him is his word, if that too is rendered meaningless, Hans, in his mind, will be left as nothing.

It should also be noted here that Sam is not held back by the rules of this society that Hans is so solidly part of. Much like queerness, he exists well outside of it, as both Jews and sodomites were considered heretics. Sam has that freedom that Hans so badly longs for, but it comes at a considerable cost, that of oppression. It's risky to exist at the fringes of society.

As @hallowedlore perfectly put it (in private conversation), when Sam attacks von Bergow, a statement throwing into question why he should care about the rules of their fancy nobility, the only thing that stop him is the threat of violence from Zizka. Death, not social decorum.

Hans is clinging on to this bit of identity with all his might here as though it's a life-raft. And Godwin immediately backs him up, reminding him that what he did there mattered.

But it doesn't get him very far. And certainly not with Sam, who couldn't care less about pleasing a Christian god. It strikes me as curious (and topical) here that he comes away from the big roundtable discussion with von Bergow and the other nobles feeling like insignificant shit while their talk at the Devil's Den did not leave him feeling that way.

Being a nobleman was meaningless here too. His nobility didn't matter one bit, all that mattered was being the strongest personality in the room. And Hans is anything but that. That boy is made of insecurities, his outward facing personality all a mask behind which is only hot air.

Only his jealousy regarding Sam's inbuilt relationship with Henry makes him turn back to old patterns:

See, Henry? He's different from us. But the argument doesn't work on Henry and barely even works on himself.

Increasingly, Hans realizes that the nobility isn't where he feels like he belongs the most. This worldview of his is fucked and all wrong. Who went and decided that he should be a Bellator while someone like Henry isn't?

Because he does associate Henry with nobility in a big way. When Henry goes to ask Hans what he should do about Erik's offer of a duel, Hans thinks it over and then comes back with this:

These are different times. Are they? Or is it just Hans' heart that has changed here? Because right after this, he asks Henry to stay. To forgo honor and nobility and not put himself in unnecessary danger.

The aftermath of the silver heist likewise serves as a painful reminder of what is waiting for him on the other side of all this: a marriage that he doesn't want to a woman he doesn't know. What benefits remain of nobility? All he'd see by this point is obligations. No one listens to him, no one cares what he has to say except for Henry. All the bluster is ultimately meaningless. He doesn't belong with the other nobles, and all his best attempts at fitting into the mold fail him. All his life he's spent his time trying to be like those around him, trying to be someone he isn't, and it's never good enough.

The people he feels most comfortable around, Henry and Godwin, are both people with ties to nobility while wanting as little to do with titles and related obligations as possible. They both have social mobility to a certain extent. The opposite of nobility, to Hans, is freedom.

Shorty after the attack by the Praguers, Hans goes to wait for Henry in front of his room. When Henry asks him how he's doing, because he's clearly got experience leading troops, Hans laughs it off:

If there was any doubt left that he views himself as an incapable Bellator, this is excellent proof, backed up even more later on following the suicide mission:

This is what being a noble has gotten him. People's judgments and expectations, obligation to marry and carry on a family line, and the ability to play God and decide who gets to live and who dies. All he wanted was to protect people. Instead he gets to send them to their deaths.

This will come up again in part two, but it bears mentioning here as well. After getting laid, Hans vents to Godwin about how much he hates that no one ever treats him like an adult. He's a noble and an adult, and none of it ever seems to matter:

Who's "they"? Because the rest of what he says mentions that he thought the Trosky delivery would make "them" take him seriously. This isn't just about Hanush. This is about all nobles. That he'd finally fit in.

But he doesn't, and he won't.

When Hanush arrives at Suchdol, he highlights that everyone there is a hero for their deeds there, but it doesn't matter. Hans once more has his noble obligations shoved down his throat, which effectively feels like the last straw in this disillusionment. Nobility has granted him nothing but pain and any child of his would suffer the same fate. There's even some easily missed idle dialogue you can walk in on where they're arguing about precisely that. It doesn't matter what he does, how heroic he is, how many good deeds he performs, at the end of the day none of it ever mattered (read left to right):

It always strikes me in that conversation how unbelievably bitchy Hans sounds here. The "I'm glad you noticed" could not be cuntier. He is not happy. And even then, Hanush barely offers him any guarantees.

Effectively, this leaves Hans open to questioning the harmony of society as it was taught to him and, in questioning it, realizing that that harmony never existed to begin with. He spends the whole game realizing that the social order he's been subjected to and thought he fit into perfectly is not only illogical but also something he has despised his whole life. This is discovered not only because he was shown an alternative in his own shift into more of a Laborator beside Henry (who to him embodies the qualities of a Bellator far better than he), but also in his own queerness.

It doesn't escape me that there's something to be said about Suchdol here. During the siege, Henry and Hans effectively live outside of the bounds of nobility or social stratification. Everyone is equal in the face of Hunger and Despair. And it's only in this space, this place outside of what is and isn't deemed acceptable by society, that Hans finds it in himself to kiss Henry. To breach every code of conduct he's ever known. Because they're already in the space outside of social acceptability. Hell, the entire Devil's Band is situated in precisely this space just by going against Sigismund. You couldn't ask for a more perfect environment for Hans to step outside of the bounds that have held him since birth.

This is even shown even more starkly with this anon's point in mind about how it goes if you don't romance Hans:

This is unjust. Henry is only in danger because he's not a noble. There's something to be said about agency here, but that discussion has to wait for part three of this analysis triptych. Nothing about this social stratification serves him any longer, all the more so when he romances Henry. It's also why he seems so uncertain about the two of them when Henry returns, and they are meant to return to reality and the expected social order.

Hans had not met Zizka under the most ideal circumstances. 

Face down in the mud and moderately concussed is not a great way to make any new acquaintance, let alone one who wants to take you hostage. His duel with Henry had Hans’ heart pounding so hard in his breast that he feared he might pass out from its pressure. Henry, precious man, already tired from the battle to get even this close to the fortress. Terribly loyal Henry, already battered and bloodied, hands slipping on the grip of his sword and eyesight marred by blood leaking from a cut above his brow.

Henry, the one man Hans trusted without question, even during their stupid fight after the night spent in the stocks, refused to stand down, pacing angrily in front of his fallen lord. Henry, more precious to Hans than anything else in this world, was going to die.  

Henry was going to die at this man’s hands, and Hans would spend every remaining second of his life trying to kill him in return. 

And yet Henry must have had some reserve of monstrous strength because by God’s merciful light, he won. He won, and took the bandit’s eye to boot. The victory was short-lived, as Henry blacked out shortly after their escort carried them past the gates of Nebakov. They had been thrown in a cell together, one of two, though Hans couldn’t bring himself to take note of the occupants of the other. It wasn’t until Henry awoke that Hans felt he could finally breathe fully again, and after that he seemed to be little more than a decoration for the events at Nebakov. Godwin swept in and saved their asses from the fire, leaving them to find occupation around the fort. Henry of course had slipped right into place among the ragtag group there, but Hans had felt as painfully out of place as a pebble in your boot. 

He has nothing meaningful to contribute, so he spent his time recovering his composure, catching Godwin up on their misadventures, and drowning his sorrows in what ended up being some pretty piss-poor wine. A few games of dice later and he was announcing to Henry that honestly, it had been a bad fucking day and he just wanted to sleep. So he did. 

When the Praguers came with Von Bergow, it was clear that Zizka didn’t think much of Hans’ usefulness in the fight, but he needed every man he could get. 

“Put me on the wall with the archers,” Hans said, testing the bow he’d been given. It wasn’t bad, raided from the fortress’s armory, but it certainly wasn’t a stand-out example of the bowyer’s art. “I’m a good shot.”

Zizka’s face said it all. “No offense, sir Capon, but as a noble-”

“Give the lad arrows and put him on the wall,” Godwin rolled his eyes. “Noble blood doesn’t mean shit right now. He’s the most skilled archer in Rattay. Let him lead the archers at the gate.”

“Very well. I don’t suppose I need to tell you how important it is to keep men off the gates.”

It was only by reminding himself of his vow to be worthy of Henry that Hans managed to bite back his sarcastic response and said only, “I’ll do my best.” He didn’t even snap at Zizka’s obviously skeptical expression; merely turned and climbed to his position above the gates with the other archers. Hans rather felt he was already making massive strides towards self-improvement.

Nebakov wasn’t the end of it, though. When he had first met Zizka at the Devil’s Den, it was clear their acquaintance was not improving. Not that it was souring, necessarily. Hans had a grudging respect for the man, who fought and led his men with skill and conviction. But something about Zizka’s rough and hard-calculating ways rubbed Hans wrong, and it was also clear that something in Hans made Zizka hide a patronizing frown whenever he spoke up during meetings. And he did have to hand it to Zizka on that one, he did hide them. Hans only caught glimpses of them in passing moments. 

Every time he volunteered to do something, to take a mission, go on an errand, to do something helpful of substance, Zizka was there to shoot him down. Hans was fairly certain, he reflected with surly gloom from the balcony as he very pointedly didn’t glare down at where Zizka sat, he might stab the next person who told him he was too valuable to be helpful. He was beginning to think it was sheer divine intervention that he was even allowed to go out on his hunting trips as he was, though he supposed the inn needed more food than usual these days and without his regular contributions, things might get much more tight come mealtimes. 

He didn’t notice Godwin come to rest beside him until the man nudged his shoulder with his own. “Your lad will be back soon, don’t fret.”

Hans snorted, taking a long drink from the tankard he’d been nursing. “I of all people should know Henry’s capable,” he said. 

Godwin drank from his own tankard and shrugged in return. “And yet here you are, sulking alone and staring out at the road like an abandoned lover.”

That time Hans snorted his ale, spraying it out over the railing so it fell in a disgusting mist on the table below, who yelled in annoyance. Hans ignored them, turning to stare at Godwin. “I beg your pardon?!”

“Henry will come back.”

“I know that!” Hans ignored the way his voice rose an octave. “I think out of everyone here I probably know that the best!”

“Oh, it’s that way, is it?” Godwin asked, the ghost of a smirk on his aging features. 

“What way?”

“You know Henry best, do you?”

“That’s not what-” Hans snapped his jaw shut and took a deep breath. “What I meant was that I’ve seen Henry accomplish some of the most idiotic, suicidal, impossible tasks. They may all have faith because they’ve seen some of what he can do, but-” Hans gestured widely at the crowd slowly building beneath them, “they haven’t even seen the half of it yet.”

Godwin took his time with his drink, an eyebrow raised at Hans’ statement, but not quite directing it at him. “You’re bragging about him now, eh?”

“Bragging abo-” Hans turned in indignation. “You’d be bragging about him too if you were the type, father.”

“Aye, I might at that,” Godwin conceded. “Although I’d brag about you too, come to think of it.”

“Yeah, sure,” Hans snorted, his sour mood returning instantly. “Pull the other one, it's got bells on.”

“I would, lad.”

“Don’t lie on my account.”

Godwin frowned and turned to look at Hans more closely now. He had initially thought that perhaps the young man was lonely, watching Henry ride off again and leaving him behind with a group of hooligans that Hans would have a hard time fitting in with. Perhaps there was more to it than that, though. “If I were going to lie to you, I’d tell a better one. You’ve done a lot to be proud of.”

“Aye, well, feel free to start singing my praises any day then. Maybe if an angelic choir came down upon my shoulders Zizka would actually let me do something for damn once.”

Ah. The missing piece was found at last, Godwin realized. 

“Jan Zizka is a tough man to get along with,” he said. “He’s a man who is used to his command, and is perhaps unused to impertinent young nobles with a history of being kidnapped.”

“He seems to value Henry well enough,” Hans snarled. 

Godwin winced. He wasn’t drunk enough for this. “Aye, well, Henry is… When it comes to Henry, you know, he’s…”

Hans flopped down onto the floor of the balcony, letting his legs slot through the railing and kicking his feet fitfully. “Henry is Henry,” he said ruefully. “And I’m well aware that I’m not.”

“No, you’re not Henry-”

“Oi-!”

“-you’re something better. Because you’re someone Henry trusts and respects. And we both know that he doesn’t have too many names on that list.”

They fell silent, staring out at the darkening forest for a while before Godwin took a deep breath. “I won’t pretend I have some insight into Zizka and why he keeps tying you down, Hans, but I suspect it does have something to do with Henry.”

“What, sacrifice the peasant so the valuable noble gets to live? What rot.”

Godwin snorted. “Hardly. I think it’s because he knows if you’re taken again, or hurt, or – heaven and all the Saints forbid it – killed… Henry would be beyond Zizka’s control.”

Hans looked up at the old priest with confusion clear in his eyes. “What?”

“You were locked away so of course you wouldn’t know, but while he was working to save you, Henry was at odds with everyone every step of the way. Zizka and the Devil kept telling him to leave you where you were; you’re a noble, they wouldn’t hurt a valuable prisoner. His mission to get you was done entirely without Zizka’s permission or knowledge.”

“What does that have to do with-”

“You’re a valuable captive, Capon, but the question you aren’t asking yourself is, to who?” Zizka emerged from the doorway, bandage slightly askew on his head. Hans stood quickly, brushing himself off. 

“Hanush is the one paying my ran-” Hans faltered at Zizka’s expression. “What?”

Godwin clapped a hand on their shoulders. “I… am not drunk enough for this. You two have fun,” he grumbled before making haste back inside to seek out ale.

Zizka frowned after him, and Hans took a perverse sort of joy in seeing that expression pointed at someone else for once. He turned back to Hans, scratching idly at his cheek under the bandage where his wound was still healing. “Hanush would pay a handsome ransom for you, that’s true,” Zizka said, leaning against the wall. “But what would happen then?” 

Hans scoffed. “He'd drag me all the way back to Rattay by my ear, of course. I'm not a fool, I know he thinks I'm just a foolish child-”

“Aye, Hanush might. But despite what you think, I don't. You held together better than most at Nebakov, and Henry and Godwin have spoken very highly of you. I believe you do have skill. But you get taken ransom, and Hanush retrieves you – if he'd even be allowed to – and then you get dragged away. And Henry goes with you.” 

Hans raised his eyebrows, figuring his yes, and? was fairly clear. 

“Henry is a one-man army,” Zizka said. 

“So instead of letting one of Sigismund's lackeys hold me hostage, you're holding me hostage instead, so Henry will work for you.” Hans’ eyes narrowed. “I'm not sure how this is supposed to look any better for you.” 

“No, that’s not-!” Zizka sighed, crossing his arms in tense frustration. “You're no prisoner here. You know we let you come and go as you wish.”

“I'm just not allowed to ever actually help with anything.” 

“Because if something happened to you, Henry would stop listening to reason,” Zizka growled. 

Hans blinked in surprise. “If something happened to me, he'd be yours to hold.”

“No, he wouldn't,” the older man said, shaking his head. “I considered you a fairly intelligent man, Lord Capon but I'm reconsidering that. Do you really think that Henry thinks so little of you he'd run off to a new master the second you were gone?” 

There wasn't really an adequate response to that, so Hans didn't bother coming up with one. In his mind, though, images of Henry were flashing past. Untying his wrists with Cuman blood still warm on his hands. Dragging him through Talmberg to safety. Pacing in front of where he lay on the ground. Immediately pinning Brabant with a dagger to his throat, demanding information. The strength of the hug when Hans emerged from the shadows to greet him. 

“If you were injured, Henry would kill everyone around you and then ignore all else to carry you to safety. If you died-” Hans huffed a sigh as Zizka cut himself off, shaking his head before continuing, “I don't know if he could be stopped. I'm not sure he'd know friend from foe, at that point.”

Hans tries to say something, but after several seconds of trying to find words, he lets his jaw close and stares down into his empty tankard. 

“So no, Lord Capon, we’re not holding you here like a prisoner. What we’re trying to do is keep you safe so that Henry doesn’t… doesn’t slip his leash. The lad’s only a half step from feral most days, and you being safe is the last log holding the dam back.”

That was going a step too far, in Hans’ opinion, and his head snapped up to glare. “If he seems that way, maybe you should give him a day’s rest once in a while! Those circles under his eyes don’t just appear there! If he’s running himself into the ground, it’s on your orders, Zizka! So you keep me here to keep him from going wild but it seems to me that letting him get a full night’s sleep on an actual bed and maybe three full meals and a bath might do just as much good!”

Zizka blinked, his eyebrows raised in surprise, and it wasn’t until he paused to catch his breath that Hans realized he’d been slowly advancing on the man. “...I see.”

Hans squinted, unwilling to surrender the momentum he’d gained. “And what do you see, sir?”

Zizka was unwilling to be cowed quite so easily, though, and he narrowed his eyes in return. “It seems you two are quite the pair. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a squire so devoted to his lord… and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a lord so devoted in return.” 

“We make a good team,” Hans said quietly. “If you’d ever give us the chance to show you.”

Zizka took a deep breath and heaved it out in one great whoosh. “I won’t promise you anything, lad. But perhaps I’ll consider what you’ve said.” 

“I’m not asking you for anything. I am telling you that the next time Henry returns, he will remain here for at least a day before he is sent off again. No!” Hans raised his hand to cut off Zizka, who had opened his mouth to say something dismissive by his expression. “No. I am not asking. This is not a request. I am telling you what is going to happen. I’m not here to upset your command of your men, but Henry is not your man, he is mine, and his well being is my concern. And we both know, if it comes down to it, whose orders he will follow.”

Silence fell between the pair. After several long moments, Hans pulled himself in, regaining some of his usual calm demeanor. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to go bathe my feet in the stream for a bit. It’s been a long day, and I think I fancy an evening of watching the fireflies. God be with you, sir.”

Hans stepped around him and disappeared into the building, leaving Zizka to stare off down the road into the distance. Godwin appeared a short while later, two tankards in hand. He passed one to Zizka with a chuckle. “I warned you not to underestimate him.”

“You warned me about Henry,” Zizka said, taking a drink. “You didn’t say anything about Capon.”

Godwin leaned out over the railing, watching as Hans slung a wineskin over his shoulder and snagged a couple of bread rolls off a table before striding off into the trees towards the stream. “If you’ll recall, I told you that they were very close friends. Quite willing to go to war for each other. I did mean both of them. Hans may seem like an indulgent sop, but he’s got steel in his core.”

“Aye, and I can see Henry’s put his smith’s hands to work on it.”

“They’re as bad as each other, those two. Be careful you don’t rile Hans like that again, or you may lose him. And you know that where he goes-”

1: Hans

Hans was an expert at denial. It was perhaps the only true and consistent thing about himself, he felt. Of course, he would never say that out loud. But he knew, deep within his churning heart, that he was extremely good at ignoring things he did not want to acknowledge.

He had first noticed it in Nebakov. Well, no. That wasn’t true, but Hans wasn’t willing to admit that he’d actually observed the phenomenon happening not long after Henry had been assigned to serve him. But he had ignored it because Hans was, as previously stated, an expert in denial. Which was why he found himself watching in fascination as Henry ambled around the fort making himself useful, and that was probably the secret to it. Hans was decorative. Maybe that was the second true thing about Hans; his use was limited and everyone around him seemed to know it too. Except Henry, who seemed to value Hans higher than anything else.

Henry made friends everywhere. Even in places that, by all rights, should be extraordinarily hostile towards him. Hans didn’t make friends. But Henry did, and Hans had the feeling he didn’t actually know even half of the adventures and mischief he’d gotten up to while Hans was away from him To begin with, Henry had very plainly already had an in with that herbalist, Klara. She had greeted him with relief, and they chatted like old friends as she listed all the many things she had to do. Henry had promptly offered to tend to some of the wounded for her, and Hans had wondered briefly when Henry had developed his medicinal skills. Then he had seen Henry speaking hesitantly with the blacksmith whose name Hans had never bothered to ask. The man had an aura of belligerent busyness that encompassed the entire smithy and Hans had reflected that actually, his armor didn’t really need those minor repairs right now. When he had wandered past barely an hour later, Henry was hammering away at something on the anvil as the smith sat at the grindwheel, the two of them shouting a conversation back and forth over the noise of their work.

It was like his special power or something. A blessing from God, maybe, to make up for his unfortunate beginnings in life. Henry could charm almost anyone simply by being himself, and those he couldn’t charm he managed to get around anyway somehow. Hans, on the other hand, barely seemed able to charm anyone as himself. Oh he charmed them, definitely. He was good at it, even. But he charmed people as Lord Capon, as the reasonably rich noble Lord of Pirkstein. No one was ever charmed by Hans.

Except Henry.

Henry, who laughed at Hans’ jokes, even the stupid ones. Who asked for his advice and seemed to actually place value in it, considering what Hans had to say before making a decision. Henry, who did small things to make Hans' already easy life even easier, just because he liked when Hans smiled. Henry, who genuinely seemed to actually see something worth caring about in Hans Capon. It was baffling. Henry could have had anyone in the world, gone and done anything he wanted on the power of his sincerity and smile alone, and he chose… to stay. With Hans. A useless, stupid, spoiled brat of a man. He just didn’t get it.

Hans was no stranger to feeling inadequate. It was one of the things he was the best at ignoring. He had grown up spoiled, sheltered, held apart, never given anything of substance on which to value himself. Oh, he believed Hanush had his best interests at heart, but Hans also believed that Hanush had his own interests even deeper at heart, and Hanush’s interests didn’t involve Hans actually growing into a person worthy of taking charge of Pirkstein and Rattay. And so Hans had been raised into a somewhat indolent, idle prick of a man, and it wasn’t until Henry appeared in his life that Hans began to truly see what he was becoming. Because he knew. Hans knew exactly what was happening to him, but he had also never been taught to care so he ignored it. Then some impertinent peasant boy had stood in front of him, unwilling to be cowed by the title or threats of violence. Hans had been confronted by a mirror, a reflection of himself in Henry’s angry eyes. And it was terrible, waking up from that warm slow existence to the cold truth of his own insufficiency.

So he kept ignoring it. He went on as he had been, treating Henry more or less poorly, even after he had saved his life more than once. Because he was still in denial. Hans had been in denial about his situation all the way to the moment at the Semine wedding when he found himself launching a punch at a man approaching Henry from behind. Found himself thinking that was his bodyguard, damn it, how dare they try and hurt him.

Then they’d come to in the Trosky dungeon and Hans was staring down his own inadequacy again, seeing his own pathetic reflection in Henry’s eyes. His apology had been poorly executed and Henry had accepted it anyway, forgiven him for everything at the drop of a hat, and that was also the moment when Hans realized he was well and truly fucked because he hadn’t planned on this. Hadn’t planned on falling in love with the god damn impertinent peasant boy who looked at him like he was worth something.

When he had been younger Hans had heard a visiting lord say that a man’s worth could be measured in blood, and Hans had assumed he’d meant the strength of the noble blood. Or that perhaps it was meant to describe soldiers, and the amount of blood a man shed from his enemies. But now? God in heaven, now Hans knew. Whatever that lord had meant, he knew that he could measure the worth of a man by how much blood he would shed to keep him safe by his side, forever.

Hans would shed a lot of blood, to keep Henry safe with him. Because God have mercy on his sinning soul, Hans was in love with Henry, and he had spent all the rest of his time since that moment trying to become the sort of man Henry deserved by his side.