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Greer123: I know we PMed about this, but the behelit is on the HP side of things. And yes, I am having fun writing this story. Thank you for reading it.
Guest: Thank you, glad you're enjoying it.
FuZzvKiNgZz: That's a good guess. You'll find out soon enough.
Lawbringer: I'm glad you like it, I hope the wait for this one wasn't too long.
Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.
It seemed that Hogwarts was abuzz in the days following the Halloween incident, as it quickly became a major topic of conversation among the student body population. Neville had no idea how many rumors were flying around, but if the resident gossiping Gryffindor's, Pavarti and Lavender were an indication, there were more than necessary.
"The troll was twelve feet tall, at least," Lavender whispered to Pavarti in the Gryffindor common room.
"And it had a club that was half its height," Pavarti whispered back.
"How do you think it got in?"
"Maybe someone let it in."
"No. Who would do that?"
"Probably a seventh year, they thought it would make a good prank."
"Well it wasn't funny," Lavender concluded. "I mean, did you hear about what almost happened with that girl in our year? She almost got killed by it."
"In the bathroom?" Pavarti asked. "She was in there all day after Weasley insulted her after Charms."
"Uh-huh," Lavender nodded. "Maybe he let the troll in. You know, to mess with her some more? He can be really mean most of the time."
Pavarti shook her head. "No. That isn't like the Weasley in our year. "His brother's maybe. They pull pranks like there's no tomorrow."
Neville knew the two Weasley's through reputation. Fred and George Weasley were two years ahead of him and spent a majority of their time slacking off in the common room, and planning pranks with another friend of theirs, Lee Jordan. When they weren't doing that, they were practicing their game out on the Quidditch field. They were a total opposite of their older brother, Percy, the Gryffindor Prefect and a stickler for the rules.
"I think you may be right," Lavender agreed, "they would find this funny. Did you see how they laughed about Quirrell passing out?"
"I did. One of these days their pranks will get the better of them." Even Neville was surprised at how quick their conversation had turned direction. The only reason he was listening to what they were saying was because they had sat in the armchair next to him, and talked louder than they thought.
"Is she alright, though?" Neville decided to ask. It was a strange bout of courage that compelled him to ask, but he was curious, and hearing the two girls just gloss over the subject and onto another one so seamlessly.
The both of them looked at him, as if just realizing that he was there all this time. "You're Neville, right?" Pavarti asked him, to which he nodded. "Yeah, she's alright, just resting in the hospital wing with Madam Pomfrey."
"Do you know if her parents know what happened?" Neville further inquired. With a student in the hospital wing it would only be fitting to notify someone back home of what happened. And considering a troll was involved in the mix, who knows how they would react.
"Maybe," Lavender answered. "She's from a non-magical family so no one can really say what's going to happen. They might just pull her out of school if they hear about it. Getting attacked by a troll and being picked on by Weasley, why would she want to stay after that?"
"Oh," Neville solemnly said. "That's… too bad."
"Wait," Lavender said, seemingly examining his face. "Neville, do you like her?"
The suddenness of the question as well as its nature threw him off, and he felt heat rising to his face. How and why would she ask him that question?! It had absolutely nothing to do with what they were just talking about. "W-what?" Neville asked confused. "No. I don't. I mean I don't even- I don't even know her really."
His response had both girls looking to each other before descending into a fit of giggles. "It's so cute," he heard Lavender whisper (not so quietly) to Pavarti. "Do you see how red he just got?"
"I know," Pavarti whisper-talked back, "he must really like her."
Neville face palmed. All he had been trying to do was find out if the girl was okay or not; and now he was most likely going to end up the center for a love story in the Hogwarts rumor mill, courtesy of his two house mates. His motives for asking in the first place had nothing to do with what Lavender and Pavarti assumed; it was entirely different.
It had little to nothing to do with romantic feelings, but just that of understanding. He was there in class that day that Weasley had remarked that she had no friends, and he had seen her run off crying because of it. And he knew what it felt like. Neville knew that he was not popular by any means here at Hogwarts, but even he got along well with the people he did know. Seamus and Dean, his fellow dorm mates were easy enough to talk to, and were always good for a conversation, but he wasn't best friends with them by any means. He had gotten the impression they talked to him because he was in their house and their year, and they might have even felt a little sorry for him seeing his lack of real friends. Maybe they knew that Neville was only one insult away from running off and crying like she had. Perhaps given the chance he and the girl could relate to the other.
But surprisingly enough, that didn't mean that Neville didn't know people from outside of Gryffindor. In Hufflepuff house, there was Susan Bones, a girl he had seen a few times when his gran hosted dinner parties. Apparently his gran and Susan's aunt knew each other quite well from fighting together against You-Know-Who's forces. From what he recalled, Susan looked like a miniature version of her aunt.
He had stumbled upon the Hufflepuff at the library, sitting at a table with two of her housemates, Ernie and Hannah. The three of them were holding their wands over a piece of parchment and seemed to be trying to figure out how to enchant it.
"Uh, hello," Neville meekly greeted. The three Hufflepuff's lifted their heads to acknowledge him.
"Hi, Neville," Susan warmly greeted. "It's nice to see you out of class. You know Hannah and Ernie, right?"
"Yeah," Neville recalled. "We have Herbology together."
"Oh, yeah!" Ernie exclaimed, before being silenced by the librarian, Madam Pince. "You have a natural green thumb. I actually know what to do most of the time watching what you do."
"…Really?" Neville asked, not sure if what he said was true or not. Ernie didn't strike him as a liar, but he didn't want to be the bottom of an inside joke.
"Really," Hannah confirmed. "Professor Sprout is always saying good things about you. I think she wants you to be a Hufflepuff instead."
"She did?" Neville felt a swelling of pride towards his Herbology professor. The stout witch always tried to be fair with all students present, but he never would have guessed she would value the work he did that much. "Well, now that you mention it, the Sorting Hat did consider putting me in Hufflepuff."
"You're joking?! Really?!" Ernie asked, earning another shush from the librarian.
"Yeah…" Neville trailed. "It told me I would do good there, but it chose Gryffindor in the end."
"Well no wonder Professor Sprout took such a liking to you, you're a badger at heart," Ernie declared.
"Maybe," Neville somewhat agreed, shying away from their looks before asking, "What is it that you were working on?"
Susan held up the piece of parchment, "It's a get well card, for the girl who got attacked by the troll. You're in her house."
"We were trying to get it to when she opens it, our names will write themselves out," Hannah explained. "We don't think anyone's stopped by to say anything yet, so we wanted to be the first."
"Do you want to sign too, Neville?" Susan asked laying it down for him to write out him name.
"Sure, yeah," Neville agreed. It seemed like Susan was still the kind girl he knew from those dinner parties back then. Her and her friends struck him as being good people, maybe even as being friends later on.
But aside from Susan and her group of friends, the only person Neville had a somewhat civil acquaintance with was the Slytherin, Tracey Davis. Unlike Malfoy and his two goons, she didn't seem interested in harassing him, as Neville noted on that one day Snape made him work with her. And while she might not go out of her way to tease him like Malfoy, Neville still felt a bit uncomfortable with the way she looked at him, it made him feel as if he had done something wrong but he didn't know what.
She threw him for an even bigger loop when she had pulled him aside after another dreadful Potions class to talk to him. "Still terrified of Professor Snape." The manner in which she said it made Neville realize that it was not a question.
"I never stopped being," Neville admitted, adverting his gaze away from hers. She had that exact look right now. "He really hates Gryffindor."
Tracey just shrugged, not denying it at all. "No thanks to your skills, right?" Neville's lack of response was all the answer she needed. "Maybe I could help you out." She fished a note page from her robe and handed it to him. "Daphne and I took notes on how to brew all the potions up until this point." She offered him the notes.
"Um, thank you," Neville hesitantly accepted the notes. "Where were you keeping them until now?"
"In my bra," Tracey casually said. Neville instantly paled and the notes fell from his hands.
"W-what?"
She shook her head. "I'm joking."
It wasn't funny, Neville kept his thought to himself. "…Alright, but why are you giving this to me?"
"Think of it as an exchange," she explained. "You're terrible at Potions and I could use a few pointers in Herbology; notes for notes. Daphne and I trade ours all the time."
"So you do this with your friend too?"
"I do, but we've known each other since we were four," Tracey elaborated. "Because she and I are friends we share without an alternative means."
"It's just about notes then?" Neville asked. He wasn't opposed to sharing what notes he did have, but he didn't expect her to treat it like a business deal of some kind.
"What did you expect?" She asked, not seeing an issue with her offer. "That's how we usually do exchanges in Slytherin, best to know someone else's motives up front than risk getting double crossed."
"I understand that much," Neville truthfully did. "But you could have just always asked me for them, I don't have a reason to say no."
"You mean like doing good just to do good?" Tracey tilted her head.
"Well…" Neville didn't finish his sentence, but his expression must have told the rest of his unspoken statement.
"Heh," Tracey laughed lightly.
"What's funny?" Neville asked.
"Nothing," she told him, her face a mask. "But you really do belong in Gryffindor."
Before Neville could ask her what she meant by that a new voice interjected. "What are you doing, Longbottom?" The pompous and arrogant tone could only belong to one student at Hogwarts. The blonde scion, flanked by his gorilla like goons approached a very nervous Neville.
"Is this Gryffindor," Malfoy spat the word as if it were poison, "bothering you, Davis?" Both Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles to further intimidate Neville, who looked between the pair nervously.
"Its fine, Malfoy," Tracey told her fellow Slytherin. "Longbottom was just asking for some tips in potion making. I told him to just go ask Professor Snape."
"Really?" Malfoy asked. "Longbottom had to courage to actually ask a Slytherin for help?"
"That's what happened," Tracey lied.
Malfoy chuckled in mock pity. "You really are pathetic, aren't you Longbottom? I'm surprised they even let you into this school. Are you sure you're not a squib?"
Neville chose to remain silent. Malfoy's father was rumored to have a silver tongue, and if he was anything like his father then any comeback Neville could think of would probably be combated with more fury.
"Don't ever let me see you socializing with a Slytherin again," Malfoy warned his gray eyes boring into Neville. "Come on, Davis, let's return to the common room."
"I don't need an escort, Malfoy," Tracey denied the offer. "My legs can walk on their own."
"Hmpf," Malfoy snorted at her refusal. "Suit yourself. Come on then boys." Crabbe and Goyle followed behind Malfoy like two trained dogs.
Once they were out of sight, Neville turned to face Tracey again. "Thank you. For handling Malfoy back there."
"Do you know how you can really thank me?" Tracey asked, sounding a little too innocent. "Some nice Herbology notes, if you would." She didn't wait for an answer as she already began walking away leaving Neville behind to consider her offer. He wouldn't exactly call her a friend because of it, but it was still something.
The sounds of steel against steel rang throughout the courtyard almost as a callback to the mournful sounds of the church bells when Count Julius' funeral was held a few days prior for both himself and his young son, Adonis. But this was a far less gloomy occasion than a funeral for the king's brother, and yet it still presented a challenge for Harry who had managed to just barely knock Guts' blade aside for what felt like the hundredth time that morning.
True to his word, Guts had taken to showing Harry how to properly defend against a powerful lunge attack. Why Guts had him parrying, dodging, and blocking that particular kind of attack was lost logic to him, Guts was not one to offer specific help in just one kind of defense, he hardly offered any at all. When Harry had asked him why he would take the time to do this he had responded with, "Got nothing better to do."
That might have been a very Guts answer to the question, but Harry suspected that there was something else to it as well, whether it was overhearing the words Griffith had spoken to Charlotte or just something else entirely.
Even if he may never get the answer as to why, Harry had an inkling that the swordsman was beginning to warm up, if just a bit. During their training session, Guts was not telling him to stop hesitating with how he would evade or block the incoming attack. He would tell him which one he wanted done and trusted Harry enough to handle it. On the occasions where Harry would miss a swing or a sidestep, Guts demonstrated a mastery over his sword arm by stopping the blade mere inches from where his chest would have been. When that happened Guts would have him do it over until he got it right.
It was grueling, tedious, and exhausting; Harry could feel that intense burn in his limbs after a while of wielding his sword. He kept hearing that it was a good thing, and although it hurt, he could feel the muscles in his arms begin to tear and strengthen to accommodate his training.
Despite the growing burning sensation in his arm, Harry managed the strength to strike the incoming blade from below, giving him time to duck under the lunge. Guts looked down at him, perspiration evident on his brow making some of the black hair cling to his forehead. "That's enough for today," Guts simply stated, hefting his blade and sheathing it. "We ride out in a few hours, best save our strength for the coming battle."
"Right," Harry nodded, feeling how parched his throat truly was. Guts didn't take his hand, but instead grasped him by his forearm to pull him up. It seemed to Harry that Guts wanted to avoid being touched, like some sort of compulsion on his end.
Harry brushed that concern aside as he donned the rest of his armor. The rest of the band seemed to already be saddled up and ready to depart. True to what he agreed on, Harry sought out Casca, who would keep an eye on him during the upcoming battle.
He knew as soon as he saw her that something was wrong. She was breathing heavily, as if dehydrated. Perspiration doted her brow, but it was not from training nor the heat, it was a cloudy day and looked as if it could rain.
"Casca?" He asked, concerned. She took deep breaths but did not answer. "Casca?" He asked again. No answer. "Casca?"
"What?!" She all but snapped at him causing Harry to flinch.
"I just… are you feeling alright?"
She inhaled deeply through her nose. "Fine. Just a head cold, it'll pass."
Truthfully, he had no idea if that were true, and he didn't have time to dwell on it as Griffith issued the command, "Forward, time to depart!" And the band followed along.
The battle was set to take place against the Blue Whale Knights, led by the Chuder commander Sir Adon. Reports stated that Sir Adon's forces were spotted to the south, along a Cliffside overlooking a river. And the reports were correct. The Blue Whale Knights were every bit as the name described them to be, large and imposing, and donning blue armor with whale shaped helms.
Even with the Hawks receiving additional forces from a band of knights led by a man named Sir Owen, a young man with his blonde hair cut to just above his ears, the fight would appear to have equal numbers.
"You ready?" Rickert asked, handing him a spare crossbow.
"Harry accepted. "If I wasn't by now I'm not sure what I'd be doing here."
Griffith's silver armor shone in what sunlight escaped from the clouds overhead as he rode his horse to the front rank. "Vanguard, break their right flank!"
"You heard him!" Casca yelled, her voice not betrayed by her appearance. "My men with me!" She was quick to follow Griffith's command.
Riders from the enemy flank rode forth to meet them head-on in their charge, leading to Harry and some of the other crossbowman to send a volley of bolts their way. The armor on the Whale Knights proved to be as strong as their namesake, save for the slits on the helms. While the design for the rest of the armor was superb, the slits were far too wide and open and made them an easy target to be penetrated.
After the suppressing fire from the crossbows, it came time to physical side to the battle. Swords clashed and shields were splintered from the impact of maces that were flung around. But Harry made sure to keep in formation with the surrounding charge, never swinging at the heavy armor of the Whale Knights, but instead at their horses. If their mounts were cut down then they would fall as well.
That fact proved all too true when Harry saw Casca's horse get slain from under her. She jumped from the saddle and into a roll to avoid being crushed under her dead horse. The culprit behind killing her horse was a large man wearing the more upgraded armor than the rest of the Whale Knights, as well as a cape that held some sort of family insignia. If Harry had to guess, this was Sir Adon.
"Ahaha!" Sir Adon laughed. "You're a woman?! What are you doing on the battlefield? You disgrace it with your very presence! If you seek to be around soldiers that much you should just let them have their way with you!"
Casca's anger flared at Sir Adon's insults as she rose to her feet. This is it! Harry thought, eager to see her put Adon in his place. His eagerness quickly turned south when he saw that Casca was not moving at her regular pace. Her moves were slow, uncoordinated, and sloppy. And worst of all, she wasn't thinking clearly. Her anger towards Sir Adon was clouding her judgment, and it showed.
Every swing of her sword was easily knocked aside by his weapon of choice, a three pronged trident. He caught her blade between two of his prongs and twisted the blade from her hand. She was losing.
"C'mon!" Someone shouted to Harry's left, and he and a small group rode forth to assist Casca against her opponent.
"No interference!" Sir Adon shouted as he swung his trident around in an arc and cut through the advancing unit. Harry would have been one of them, had his horse not reared up and taken the blow in his stead, throwing him to the ground. "Now then, woman," Adon turned his attention back to Casca, "if you surrender now I'll allow you to live the rest of your days as my personal concubine."
Casca spat at his feet. "Go to hell!"
"Insolent wench!" Adon yelled. "You want to play the part of a warrior?! Then allow me to grant you- Arrrrgh!"
Adon was cut off as Guts rode forward and brought his sword up and cut through his helm, tearing it off as well as a majority of his teeth. Adon fell from his horse grasping at his damaged face. Harry would have smiled at the sight, if he hadn't caught sight of Casca beforehand. Whatever was wrong with her seemed to be far more than a head cold, as she swayed on her feet dangerously close to the cliffs edge.
"Casca!" Harry yelled. Guts turned to see the state she was in and rode to grasp her hand before she could fall off. That proved to be a fatal move as the fallen Sir Adon retrieved his trident and threw it, killing Guts' horse and sending both he and Casca over the cliff.
"Ahaha!" Adon laughed. "Serves that bitch rig-,"
Harry had enough of Adon's gloating. He didn't think twice as he felt a rage take hold of him at hearing that laugh, at hearing him insult Casca like that. He brought his sword down, cutting Adon's right hand off. Some blood sprayed him, surprising him that he had that in him. Adon's armor was heavy and thick, how had he-?
A glance at his blade showed that it seemed to glow like it were in a blacksmith's shop fresh out of the embers. Some steam wavered off as Adon's blood began to evaporate. Had he- somehow heated his sword?
"Aaaaaaaghhhhhhhhh!" Sir Adon wailed as he clutched his bleeding stump. "You cut my hand, you disgraceful twat!"
"Maybe you should watch your mouth," Harry advised in a tone that sounded much more mature than he thought possible, "I'm cutting it next."
He hadn't even took a step forward when a barrage of arrows came raining down between him and Sir Adon. The remainder of the Blue Whale Knights had taken a defensive position and their archers were providing cover fire as two men rushed forth to help Sir Adon mount a horse.
"Retreat!" Adon ordered. "All of you, fall back!" Harry was prepared to mount up and make chase after them, but some archers continued to fire at him even from horseback, causing him to retreat.
"Harry!" He heard his name being called, probably by Rickert, but he paid it no mind as he instead ran over to the Cliffside to look down. It was a good fall down to the river below, and it was fast moving on top of that. His eyes scanned the riverbank, looking for the glimmer of armor or something to break the surface of the water. Much to his dismay, nothing of the sort happened.
"Harry!" It was not Rickert, but Griffith. Riding up to dismount next to him, he knelt down. "What happened?"
"Guts and Casca!" He exclaimed. "Something was wrong with Casca, she and Guts fell off the cliff!" More gathered around the two of them.
"From here?" Corkus looked down the edge. "No way they could have survived that."
"I would be too sure of that, Corkus," Judeau contemplated. "They're both stubborn in their own right, together; it'll take more than that to kill them."
"They're alive," Harry insisted. "I know it!"
"I hate to interrupt," Sir Owen rode to join them, "but the king will want us to return as soon as possible. He told me so before I made my departure."
Harry wasn't willing to give up so easily. "But what about-?!"
"I cannot refuse a summons from the king," Griffith said, killing a portion of his hope. Without Griffith who was going to save the two of them. "I'll return to the capital with Sir Owen, the rest of you set up camp in a secure location."
"But Guts and Casca are-!"
"Valuable members to our band," Griffith finished for him. "While I may not be able to refuse a royal summons, I do not intent to leave them behind." Relief washed over Harry, knowing that Griffith didn't plan to just abandon them. But in the back of his mind, Griffith's previous words played reciting what he considered a true friend. "I instead leave that task to you."
Harry looked to see who Griffith was referring to but saw that Judeau's, Rickert's, Corkus', and even Pippin's eyes were on him. "Me?"
"You show the most conviction," Griffith observed. "Take a few dozen men with you to form a search party." Judeau and Rickert gave him a reassuring nod. "I trust you with this." Griffith turned to ride with Sir Owen back to Windham. The sight of Griffith's white hair billowing behind him as he rode towards the stormy horizon was like something right out of a painting.
"Bahaaa!" Guts coughed up a mouthful of water as his head breached the river's surface. He kicked himself to the shore, dragging an unconscious Casca in his wake. He had done all he could to try and keep her head above water, but with both of their armor weighting them down, he might have failed in that regard. Guts removed her breastplate and pushed down with his hands until Casca coughed up a stream of water. However her eyes did not open to signal she was awake.
In fact she had been acting weird all day, if guts recalled. He put a hand to her forehead. She's burning up, he realized. If she had some kind of sickness then lying around in her soaked clothing and armor wasn't going to help. The sound of thunder rolled across the sky. "Great," Guts said to himself, as he carried the limp form of Casca a ways into the surrounding forest until stumbling onto a tree with a hollowed out trunk that was large enough for the both of them to take shelter in.
Guts stripped himself of his soaked armor and clothes so they could dry, and started to do the same to Casca. He felt a bit uncomfortable doing so, but he was at least glad she wasn't able to chew him out on it. She would feel even worse if she stayed in her wet clothes anyway. He piled her clothed and armor next to his own, and he caught sight of something red and warm while taking off her boots and breeches.
Blood, Guts realized as his fingers came into contact with the liquid. Had she taken a hit in the fight, or from the impact of falling into the river? He stopped his internal line of questioning when he saw that it was trailing from between her legs.
Oh. Ohhh. "Oh," he said out loud, it suddenly all made sense. "So that's what it is." What the hell was she thinking, going into battle with… this going on?! Just what the hell was she trying to prove?
Guts grabbed his breastplate and went out back to the river. Rain fell onto his head as he brought his armor piece up, water gathered in the center. He brought in back to the hollow tree and rubbed some water on her forehead. She stirred a bit in her sleep, but did not wake. Guts propped her up in his arms as the rain began to pour outside.
The rain began as a drizzle, but soon erupted into an all out thunderstorm and the rain fell hard enough that Harry could feel it through his hood. Pippin attached a lantern and hung it at the end of his massive mace, but the rain continued to extinguish it after every few minutes. Harry was grateful that Pippin didn't need to be told to stop trying to light it after a few more tries, it would have felt awfully uncomfortable if he had.
It didn't mean Harry was opposed to having people with him search for Guts and Casca, but more the fact that they were following him that struck him as odd. He got on well enough with Pippin, Judeau, Rickert, and even Corkus, but they were all older than him; even Rickert was a year his senior. Of course he would feel overwhelmed at being in command of them and a few additional men.
He had laughed with them, trained with them, fought alongside them, but everyone in the Hawks had done so. What had he done to constitute this responsibility? Griffith had said that he had trusted him, but why? Harry had overheard what Griffith considered a friend, an equal, he didn't meet that standard. There was no dream that he held that he could use to support himself, no goal in sight that he could see burning like a flame. So why? As far as Griffith should have been concerned Harry was just a boy who could talk to snakes.
And heat up a blade, a voice spoke within his mind. But even that could not equate to an ultimate goal in life. Any and all magic powers, could they really hold true if he had no purpose or desire to use them?
"Worried about them?" Judeau asked, cutting into his train of thought. Harry looked to see a rain drop fall from the tip of Judeau's nose.
"Oh, yeah," Harry answered. "I was just wondering- wondering why-,"
"Why Griffith chose you for this?" Judeau correctly guessed.
"Yeah," Harry affirmed. "I mean I'm all for looking for them and all, but…"
"You just feel that there are others more qualified to do so?" Judeau inferred.
"You're good at that," Harry told him.
Judeau shrugged. "You're actually pretty easy to read. But I get where you're coming from."
"You do?" Harry asked, quizzically. "How?"
"When Griffith asked me to become one of his captains," Judeau explained. "Of course I was one of the earlier ones to join up, but it still took me by surprise. I was just a young performer with a few knife tricks and a pouch of elf dust."
"Elves?" Harry asked, his interest peaked and not minding the change of topic.
"One fell in with my former acting troupe," Judeau explained. "As far as I know, he's still there. But I do know what you're feeling. The self-doubt and uncertainty, believe me, I know."
A sense of appreciation swelled inside him. "So, any pointers then?"
"Well… if they washed ashore, they'd be downstream. If we follow the river we might find a slope that we can descend down with our horses," Judeau advised.
"And that's what we should do?" Harry asked.
Judeau put his hands up. "You're in charge for now. I'm just giving a pointer. We won't go through with it without your word."
"Alright then," Harry nodded, his voice betraying no emotion. "We'll do it."
A bundled up cloak served as a pillow for Casca, while Guts wrung out his breeches and shook water out of his boots. Much to his benefit his breeches were dry enough for him to put back on, and while his boots were still a bit soggy, they were far from the worst they could have been. Guts partially dressed himself and reclined against the interior of the hollow tree; the rain was finally starting to let up.
"Hnnnn," Guts tilted his head to see Casca begin to stir from her dark eyes fluttered open as she took in her new surroundings.
"You're awake," Guts observed. "We're safe for now, the current of the river carried us downstream, but I wouldn't put it past ours or Chuder to have sent out a few scouts to look for us." She didn't answer; instead, she looked at him with an unreadable expression. "What?" Guts asked, confused by her lack of response.
Guts soon found himself scrambling out of the tree as Casca began to throw pieces of discarded armor his way. "Will you cut it-?!" He narrowly ducked his head as a dagger came flying at him, just missing the top of his head. "What the hell's wrong with you, you crazy bitch?!"
Casca stood with her cloak pillow draped around her form, clearly embarrassed to be in such a state. "Look away," she ordered as she began to sort through her clothing.
"Don't flatter yourself," Guts quipped but turned away all the same.
"My clothes are all soaked," she called to him.
"Yeah, that happens when you fall into the water," Guts sarcastically said.
"How is it yours are almost dry then?" She questioned.
"I wrung them out, any other questions?"
"…You can come back in now," she told him. As Guts climbed back inside he took notice of Casca wearing his sleeveless tunic, her legs pulled up to her chest. He rolled his eyes at the sight.
"Comfortable?" He asked.
"I'd be better if my clothes were dry."
"That's not what I mean," Guts corrected. "You know what I'm talking about."
She looked away in embarrassment, clearly not a subject she wanted to talk about. "Why do you care?"
"I don't really," Guts replied. "But when I get caught up in it, that's a different story." She briefly looked at him. "Why'd you do it? Why ride into battle when you knew you were going trough that? Aren't you always saying not to go charging in?"
"Because Griffith relies on me, that's why" Casca curtly replied. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."
"I'm pretty sure the same could be said for anyone," Guts objected. "We're all here to get him to his dream, right?"
Casca scoffed. "Like I said, you wouldn't understand."
Guts was generally confused. "What? You're not making-,"
"Because everyone pledged themselves to him willingly, except for you!" She nearly shouted at him. Her words reminded him of that day when Griffith had beaten him in their first initial fight. Griffith's words from that day still stood out to him, "From now, you belong to me."
"And yet," Casca continued, "somehow he trusts you over everyone else. You're his favorite, and you don't even care about it."
Guts stared her down for a moment, as if waiting for her to continue to rant. "So that's it?" He asked. "You risked your life to prove yourself over your feelings of jealousy? That's stupid." Casca glared at him
"That's just like you to say. You don't appreciate what you have and look down on someone who wants what you have," Casca looked close form tears; weather they were from the hormones of her monthly bleeding or her personal stake in the argument, Guts didn't know.
"Just why the hell does it matter so much to you anyway? You just said you know I don't care about any of that."
"Because!" She yelled. "Because I want to feel that way again. You have no idea the life I lived before this, do you?"
You have no idea the life I lived before this, Guts thought but kept silent, not wanting to talk about any of that.
"I came from a small farm, with parents who had too many children than they could afford. To pay for the farm we all had to pitch in to work in the field, then one day a noble lord came to our farmstead with an offer to take me to his castle as a new servant. My parents agreed with his price and I agreed like the naïve little girl I was. Who was I to know what his true intentions were, until he tried to have me in his carriage." For the briefest of minutes Guts saw an image of Donovan, the man who violated him as a child, flash through his mind.
"And that's when I met Griffith," Casca continued. "He cut off the noble's ear and threw a sword at my feet. I finished the deed and pledged to live my life by the sword if Griffith would have me. And he did. For once in my life I had control over my own life, I wasn't powerless. So yes, it's selfish of me to feel that way, but it is what it is." She turned away from him. "Like I said, I wouldn't expect you to understand."
No wonder she's so attached to him, Guts realized. In Casca's mind, Griffith was her literal knight-in-shining-armor. "No," Guts said, much to her surprise. "I know exactly what you're talking about. And I don't plan on ever feeling that way again."
They waited until the rest of Casca's clothes had dried before setting off from their tree, although the sun had already set by that time. It might have been a hasty decision, but if they didn't move then they risked getting left behind by their band if they hadn't already set up camp back up on the other side of the river and cliff.
Their trek through the woods proved especially difficult on Casca, who was still experiencing the effects of her monthly cycle. She was always a few paces behind Guts, her ragged breathing cutting through the silence of the forest. More than once she looked close to collapsing, but a few snide comments on Guts' end seemed to motivate her to prove that she wasn't weak. Guts could respect that, but he didn't believe he should have to be doing it in the first place. They were in this situation largely in part to her to begin with.
But apart from Casca's uneven breathing, the forest was dead silent, the rain having stopped hours ago. It was quiet to the point where Guts could hear the subtle sounds going on around, much like the sound of an extra pair of footsteps coming up from behind them. He spun around and knocked Casca aside from the spear that came from behind. Guts was quick to draw his sword and cut the intruder down.
"His armor," Casca noted as she shakily rose to her feet. "He's a sellsword." As the intruder's body fell limp, the forest became alive with the noises with more people rushing to their location. Casca drew her sword, as well as the two of them, became encircled by a variety of men, maybe even a hundred or more.
"Ahahaha!" Laughter erupted from the surrounding men. Making his way to stand on the exposed root of a tree was Sir Adon. His face was largely covered in bandage, and Guts noted that one of his hands to be missing and bandaged as well. How had he lost that? "I had a gut feeling that the two of you were alive! I wouldn't let those who humiliated an esteemed knight like myself to escape with their lives."
"And do you expect to kill us?" Guts challenged. "You've seen better days, I'd say you're on your last legs. One good hit and you're done."
"No thanks to you and that little shit!" Adon bellowed. "And as for killing you, my offer before for the woman still stands. The men could use some stress relief and she fits the position perfectly."
Casca spat once more. "Fuck you, cockbite."
Adon bristled at her response. "Suit yourself, you've chosen your own demise then. Sampson!" The ground seemed to quake as the largest man of the bunch emerged. He wore heavy Blue Whale armor and carried a massive spiked flail. "Allow me to introduce my younger brother, Sampson!" He might have been younger, but he was not smaller. "Sampson, bring honor to the Corbowitz family and slay these two degenerates!"
Sampson stepped forth, swinging his flail and launching it straight towards the pair of them. Guts sword came swinging to meet the spiked ball and sent it off course, striking and killing one of Adon's men.
"He knocked Sampson's attack aside," whispers broke out amongst the assembled men.
Flail attack was flung one after the other, but Guts sword matched every swing, never missing a beat. This can't go on forever, Guts realized. One of our weapons in bound to give way sooner or later, and I know which. To the onlookers it appeared that Guts was just matching Sampson's attacks, but that was only the surface of it. His counter attacks were used to measure weak points in the flail. And he found one.
As the next attack came swinging down on him, Guts reared back and swung overhead with all his might, striking just between two of the spikes. As expected, the flail shattered. Guts couldn't see Sampson's eyes from behind his whale helm, but he got a good look at them when he rushed forth and drove his sword through the large slits.
"S-Sampson?" Adon looked down at his fallen brother. "Bastard! A thousand pieces of gold to whoever brings me that man's head!"
The fear at seeing their largest fall vanished at the prospect of gold and a line of sword and pike man rushed to meet them. Guts wasted no time in cutting down any who got within range of his sword, their blood drenching his blade in hot red liquid.
"Hyahh!" His back bumped into another, and a turn of his head recognized it as Casca. A few bodies lay at her feet who would have attacked him from behind. She was sweating and breathing heavily, but she was fighting with him. "I got your back, alright?" He gave a curt nod, and the both of them cut down a foolhardy man.
"What is this?!" Sir Adon yelled at his men. "There are just two of them! Shoot them already!" A group of half-a-dozen crossbowmen took aim and fired. Guts tilted his sword to its broad side and allowed the bolts to deflect off of his blade, but one found its mark and stuck through his left hand. His sword faltered.
"Ha!" Adon exclaimed. "He's wounded; no way he can lift that blade now. Hurry and finish him off!"
The crossbowmen were too caught up in the fact that they had landed a blow, that they neglected to reload as Guts shot toward them and cut them down in the midst of their excitement. Casca was locking blades with another man, but she managed to maneuver her blade under an upcoming strike and cut the man's throat. A few more corpses piled at her feet, but Guts could tell she was still not up to her normal standards. He met with her once again and they stood back to back.
"Get ready to run," Guts spoke to her. He could feel her eyes on the back of his head. "I'll clear a path for you, after that run as fast as you can."
"Are you mad?!" Casca questioned, sounding insulted. "You expect me to just leave you here to fight them by yourself?! That's not brave, that's suicide!"
"Hey!" Guts snapped, silencing her from protesting further. "You want to live right? You want to be of use to him, right? Then trust me on this. I'm just the guy who's best at swinging his sword around, right? This is where I'm most alive. So when I tell you to run, you run; run back to him."
Knocking a spear aside, Guts cut down another man, and another, and two more, enough to create a breech in their lines for Casca to run past. "Go!" Guts shouted. "Get out of here!"
She hesitated but moved to the opening he had created. Running off, Guts thought he heard her shout, "Stay alive! I'll find them and bring them back for you!"
"Fools!" Adon pointed to the fleeing Casca. "You're letting her get away! Go after, pursue!" Some men made chase after, but Guts was quick to blindside them and impale them one after the other on his sword. Adon growled in frustration. "And someone kill this man!"
The forest roared with the yells of men as they rushed Guts, most of their attacks he blocked and cut his assailants down, but a spear got lucky and cut him across the cheek. Then another cut just above his knee, and then across his arm.
"Arrrgh!" Guts roared as he brought his sword up, down, and center, killing his attackers with one swing each.
"Unbelievable," Adon grimaced. "Despite his wounds, he's killed nearly half of my hundred men."
"What's that?" Guts asked. "You mean there are still fifty of you left? At this rate, it'll be dawn before I get a chance to crack open all of your skulls."
"Kill him!" Adon shouted. "Kill him this instant!" A collective roar was bellowed from the assembled men as they began to pour down on Guts in droves. Guts dashed past spears and sword strikes and brought his sword behind his head to block an ax that would have split his skull open.
What am I doing here, in this miserable place? Guts questioned as more men died by his hand. Is this worth risking my life for? Blood sprayed as he severed a man's leg. Am I fighting for Casca? No, that can't be it. Three, four, five more dead. This is no time to be thinking about that. I just need to focus on wielding my sword, and how I'll kill them. Blood drenched his hair and ran down into his line of vision as his sword became a whirlwind of death. Nothing more.
"You really think we'll find them all the way out here?" Corkus questioned Harry as they rode through a dense wood located near the river by the cliff. Harry sighed. Corkus had been the most skeptical about finding them.
"This is where they could have taken shelter by the storm," Harry pointed out. "They could have found a cave or something to hide out in."
"Maybe," Corkus said, not sounding all too convinced. "But let's say that they didn't make it."
"Don't talk like that, Corkus," Rickert scolded the older man. "They're two of our strongest; they can make it for a few hours alone." Harry looked to the sky, a few hours looked like it would be turning into dawn soon. They had been looking for almost the whole night.
"Harry," Judeau called to him, a hand on one of his throwing knives, "do you hear that?"
Harry listened to what Judeau was talking about, and sure enough he heard a few voices, they sounded to be men's.
"Hold her still," one voice said, following the sound of fabric ripping.
Curious, Harry dismounted and crept alongside Judeau to peer through a nearby shrub. On the other side, three men in armor loomed over Casca, who laid on her back with her hands being pinned under one of the men's feet. The sight reignited that previous anger Harry had felt earlier when he had cut Sir Adon, and he rushed from the bush. Judeau saw this and threw one of his knives, killing one of the men.
Casca used this opportunity to grab her fallen sword and cut another's throat. Harry meanwhile engaged the third in a sword fight. His opponent was far larger than he was, but Harry was faster. Their swords clashed, and the man pulled back to deliver a finishing blow, but his practice with Guts had prepared him just for this.
Harry ducked under the lunge, and drove his sword through a chink in the man's armor. The anger he had towards this man and his companions seemed to manifest in his blade and Harry swore he felt the hilt heat in his grasp. He pulled his sword out, or at least what remained of it. A jagged slab of iron was all that was left attached to his hilt, while the rest of the blade remained lodged in the assailants' stomach, steam lightly drifting from the metal.
"Casca!" Harry turned to help her up. "Are you-?" Harry quickly averted his eyes and felt heat rushing to his face when he realized that the front of Casca's shirt was ripped, exposing her chest. He had heard talk from Corkus of his experiences in brothels, and how women took jobs to expose themselves, but seeing Casca in a state like that made him feel… just wrong. He was glad that they had killed those men before anything else could happen to her.
"Here," Harry unclasped his cloak and handed it to Casca to wrap around herself. She accepted.
"C'mon!" She grasped his wrist and began to drag him through the woods. "Judeau, Rickert, everyone, follow me!"
"Where are you leading us?" Harry asked. "Where's Guts?"
"He stayed behind to let me escape," Casca explained as they ran. "We have to hurry! He's all by himself, fighting those men!"
Time seemed to fly by as the sunlight began to stream through the tree branches, but Casca was insistent on making it back as soon as possible. And then the smell of death assaulted all of their noses. Dead men lay scattered everywhere Harry turned his head. Swordsmen, pike men, crossbowmen, all lay dead. Their blood staining the forest floor. And he lay amongst them, slumped against a tree, multiple wounds across his face, arms, and legs. His overly large sword coated in blood and resting against his shoulder.
"Guts!" Harry and Casca cried as they rushed to his side. For what felt like an eternity, Harry believed him to be dead. The strong man that he had known, looked no better than a corpse at this moment. That was until he moved his hand to pat Casca on her shoulder. His brown eyes opening to their relieved faces.
A full day had passed since the battle in the forest, and despite the healer's wishes, Guts was already up and walking around. His destination of choice, a hill overlooking the current campsite. The night air was cool on his bandaged torso, but the heat blowing from the campfires below helped to balance the chill out.
New scars adorned his body since that fight, some more serious than others, maybe they would fade. But even if they didn't it made little difference; the fight was over and he had come out alive. That's all that ever mattered in a fight and no matter how many opponents there were would change that.
"Hey," a voice said from behind him. He looked back to see Casca holding a pouch of something. "Do you have a minute?"
Guts eyed her and the pouch she carried. "Not doing anything else, why?" She walked up behind him and stuck her hand in the pouch when she pulled her hand out her fingers were coated in some sort of sparkling jell.
"Hold still then." She reached out to his bare back.
"Hey! What're you-?" Guts began.
"Just hold still, please," Casca ordered as her fingers coated in the jell brushed their way across one of the scars on his back. Guts half expected himself to flinch from her touch, but he didn't. Any pain that came from the wound she touched seemed to be fading fast.
"What is that?" Guts asked about the sparkling jell.
"Elf dust," Casca said. "Judeau had some from his encounter with one. He said this might help." He watched as she put more of it on his wounds. "Why'd you do it?" She finally asked. "Why'd you stay behind to fight?"
Guts looked out over the camp. "You know, there's nothing for you to worry yourself over. I only did that for my own sake. I'd rather fight with my sword than run away. It's in my nature."
"That's it?" Casca asked, looking him in the eye. "You fought a hundred men because it's in your nature?"
The sound of crickets chirping filled the silence between them. "Yeah, that's it," Guts confirmed. "Plus I wanted to give that Adon bastard some payback."
"Did you kill him too?"
"I got so caught up in swinging my sword I lost track," Guts affirmed. "But all the while I was doing that, fighting, I couldn't get something out of my head. Fighting a hundred men means nothing, compared to what you're doing." Casca listened. "And not just you, Griffith too. You two have something important to stake your lives on. I think it's great," he offered a small smile, uncommon for him. "I mean it." Another silence fell between them. "Some view, huh?" Guts referred to the camp below.
"Some view," Casca concurred looking out with him.
"You know, Gaston plans on opening a tailoring business after the war," Guts told her. "He might not look it but he's good with his hands. Nicholas plans to get promoted so he can marry a woman who rejected him. Even Harry seems to be studying over that one book about that wizard guy. Looking at them from here, it's like I can see each of their desires flickering in the light."
"A bonfire of dreams then," Casca compared.
"Nice comparison, something a princess would say," he teased.
"As if!" She suppressed a laugh. "But you're right. They each shine when gathered like that."
"Yeah, and to keep burning they join with the brightest one of all," Guts referred to to the fire that was Griffith's ambition. "But, I don't see my light amongst theirs. I'm more like someone who stopped by the bonfire to warm up." Casca looked at him, concerned. He lifted his sword from the ground to hold in front of him. "As long as I've had my sword, I know I could survive any battle, that's all the mercenary leader who took me in taught me. I fight because it's all I know how to do, I've always fought for people with purpose, never knowing myself what I fight for myself."
"Heh," he finally gave a small chuckle. "I guess I must sound pretty stupid right now, makes me wonder why I told you all of that."
"Maybe you're right," Casca said, but she didn't laugh with him. "But you know, what you just said about fighting being all you know, why don't I… teach you how to read."
"I know how."
"You said you know enough words," Casca recalled. "Just consider it my way of saying thanks, for what you did earlier." Guts stood up shouldering his sword. "Who know," Casca continued, "maybe you'll find your flame."
The heat from the nearby fires warmed Harry in the cool night air. He wasn't sitting next to any one fire, but rested his back against a tent recalling earlier events. His sword breaking being the key one in particular. Had it been some manifestation of magic that had heated the blade to such a degree? What else but? He would have to look over that book again, maybe the answer would lie somewhere in there. Could magic just be the answer to everything then? Why his sword broke? Perhaps even a dream he could pursue?
"Something troubling you?" The voice of Griffith spoke to his side. Harry rose to his instantly, not even aware that Griffith had returned from the capital.
"No," Harry told him. "Just thinking, that's all." Harry found it a bit difficult to look Griffith in his piercing blue eyes, once again remembering what Griffith had spoken to with Charlotte when he though no one near.
"Hm, well why not join in the other's celebration? You did find them in the end after all."
"Yeah, maybe."
Griffith stared at him for a minute. "Very well, if you wish to remain here, you're free to do so." He began to walk away.
"Actually," Harry said, making Griffith stop. "There was something that was bothering me." Griffith looked back at him. "I just wanted to ask you… are we your friends?"
Griffith looked perplexed. "What? What makes you ask that?" His answer wasn't an immediate yes.
"Just… something you once said about dreams," Harry left the explanation vague. But Griffith seemed to know exactly what he was talking about.
"Oh. You heard that?" Harry nodded. "Well to tell you the truth, I meant what I said to Charlotte." Harry internally deflated. "But that does not mean that I don't hold you all in high regard and think any less of you all."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked.
"Everyone here has a dream they aspire to," Griffith told him. "It might not be as grand as having their own kingdom, but it is something they are working towards obtaining by being here. And for that I have the upmost respect for them. And there's no one else I would want with me in a fight."
"Not everyone," Harry sullenly said.
To his surprise, Griffith chuckled at him. "You mean you don't see it?"
"See what?"
Griffith shook his head. "I don't think I ever said this, but you and Guts are very much alike. Look around." Harry looked at the assembled bonfires, and the people crowded around. "Even if you don't see it, it's there. It's always been there. Why else would you have joined." Harry continued to stare at the mass of people milling about. Trying to see the hidden message Griffith was hinting at. "I'll tell you this much, there was a reason I chose you to search for the two of them. For what it's worth."
Harry spotted Guts walking through the crowds, still covered in bandages. "Why not talk to him yourself?" Griffith suggested. "You might just figure it out."
As Harry approached the larger man he noticed that Guts seemed different in a way. His usual reserved walls seemed to have been lifted for tonight, as a genuine smile was worn on his face.
"Hey, Harry," Guts greeted.
"Hey," Harry greeted back. Rickert came up to the both of them and handed them a flagon each. Guts downed his, but Harry just stared at the liquid within.
"You ever have ale before?" Guts asked.
"I've never had any alcohol before," Harry confessed much to many of the men's shock. That was apparently going to change as the men began to chant his name, urging him to take a sip. It was both the best and worst taste he ever experienced.
A/N: Sorry if this chapter took a bit longer than the others. The lenght of it is the longest yet, and I just recently had eye surgery so looking at a computer screen took time getting used to. Thank you for reading.