Obeisance

14

Wittenberg is a fever dream back on schedule.

The first ten hours are spent catching up on sleep. At four in the morning, Horatio is already making significant progress digging up the supplies in the cemetery. As expected, the snow is deeper, and unforgiving against his gloved hands. It takes an adequate amount of time to put things back where they belong in his flat, neat and secure.

By the time the sun rises over the historical town of Wittenberg, Horatio is by the window, blankly staring at the snow on buildings and the sleepy streets below. He's not usually one to have expectations, but for the rest of the term it should go smoothly. Time has a tendency to fly by when it comes to institutions. Exams are around the corner, and the asset should be busy. Busy with normal things, safe respectable things.

Should.

>

The errant thought about having the fencing blades sharpened without anybody's knowledge is mildly amusing. Though belatedly concerning. Adjusting to the calm monotony of Wittenberg might just be challenging after weeks of back to back missions filled with violence and dark humour with handlers.

Such a temperament should dissipate soon in the dull routine of maintaining his fencing gear. One would argue it is a hypnotising form of time travel.

"...You really are in here at five in the morning..." The disbelieving murmur gives him pause. It's clearly meant to be a taunt, but the groggy sleepiness there undercuts the attempt. "...Polishing your sword."

Horatio keeps his gaze on the blade before sullenly continuing the task, scrubbing at a tiny speck of rust. It is too soon to be dealing with him. That's meant to be the day after tomorrow. No one has notified him about any schedule changes.

Unfortunately, the presence doesn't leave in spite of his insistent avoidance. Horatio sighs. "And you're here, at five in the morning, watching me polish my sword, why?"

The snort is rather unexpected. "Palace schedule has me awake early. My body holds me hostage."

Horatio's brows furrow, and he finally looks at the asset. "The first day we met, you complained about having class at ten in the morning."

There's a lopsided smile as he looks at the floor, and he shrugs with his arms crossed from where he's leaning against the doorway. Despite having the same exact features as the person Horatio had seen on television a few days back, the Crown Prince of Denmark looks different. Perhaps it's the cosy sweats, or the rather unruly bed hair growing a little too long. The very distinct ring on his right hand, however, is new. "I had a specific vision of how my life would be here. I'm still working on it."

Ominous.

The asset hums and nods at him. "What's with your ring? Germans and Danes wear their wedding ring on the same hand, yes? Did you get married over winter? Again?"

Horatio blinks, looking down at his hand. His signet ring is still there, comfortable as it has been over the years. "Again?"

"You had a mark on the same spot before," He answers, almost hesitant, as if any skill perceived is something he doesn't wish to advertise. Even more of a reminder not to underestimate him.

"It's my work ring. I'm married to my work."

"What a coincidence," He huffs, sardonic. "I'm married to Denmark." The asset takes off his own ring and puts it in his pocket. "Any news of Cesario?"

"You think I would have that information, why?"

The asset only shrugs in reply.

"What did you want with Cesario?"