Reviews

Gracie15Trowa: Don't worry I have the beginning to a resolution this chapter. And it's alright if you don't like a character, it's your opinion.

Guest: Thank you, glad you enjoyed it.

Greer123: No problem. Glad you're enjoying it.

Lawbringer: Glad to see you enjoy it. And this chapter is the longest yet.

DoctorDandy: I agree that destiny by itself is a boring concept, but one of the main themes of Berserk that I plan to write about is the idea of choice and going against what fate is supposed to mean.

Devilboy101: Don't worry, I plan to. I'm glad to see that you're eager.

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

"He was talking to a snake?" Guts asked, repeating what Casca had reported. Casca had been in quite a fluster when she had come barging into Griffith's solar within his quarters of the barracks. The only reason Guts was there with him was because Griffith wanted to personally tell him that they would be joining the king on the next upcoming hunt, an event usually held exclusively for members of the nobility. Then Casca came running in claiming she had urgent news. She began telling Griffith of how she witnessed Harry talking to a snake, who seemed to understand him. "Big deal," Guts brushed the story aside. "Kids get bored right? They talk to animals all the time."

Casca shook her head. "Not like this. This was- he was speaking another language, okay."

"What, like Kushan speak? They're supposed to be snake charmers right?"

She denied that notion as well. "No. It was like- like he was actually speaking snake; and the snake was speaking back."

"…You on your period or something?" Guts asked. "Because that doesn't make a lick of damn sense."

"Shut your mouth!" Casca snapped at him. "You weren't there, you didn't hear it!"

"You're right," Guts admitted as much, "I wasn't. And that's why I find it hard to believe that an eleven-year-old can talk to snakes. He was probably just trying to impress you or something."

"You didn't see his face after," Casca told him. "He looked surprised when he began talking to it. It was like he didn't even know he could do it until right then. When he saw how I reacted he just looked confused. He must have thought that I could understand what was being said."

"So… he can talk to snakes, and didn't know about 'til now?" Guts asked skeptically.

"I know it sounds crazy, but it happened," Casca insisted. "It was just like- like…"

"Magic?" Griffith asked, speaking for the first time. He had been quite, listening to Casca tell her story. "That is what you were going to say, right?"

Casca remained silent, but her eyes conveyed all the meaning where her voice was silent.

"Come on!" Guts insisted. "You don't actually believe that, do you, Griffith?"

"Did Judeau ever tell you what he did before joining my band?" Griffith evaded the question. "He used to be part of a traveling performing troupe. And then one day an elf supposedly fell into their company." Griffith paused. "How did he describe it? Oh, yes; "small, blue, playful, and borderline annoying."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Guts asked.

Griffith shrugged. "Just that our world isn't as plain as we believe it to be. I thought you would know that after our encounter with Zodd."

Guts was silent for a moment. "So let's say for a minute that this is true; what in the hell do we do about it?"

"Well we can't exactly have everyone else know about it," Casca said. "I know my reaction probably didn't give him a peace of mind, but imagine if someone like Corkus were to find out. He'd be stammering and freaking out and maybe claim it's a Kushan trick. Or if someone from the nobility were to find out…"

"Then the boy would be burned at the stake," Griffith concluded.

Casca nodded. "And from what I know, The Holy See religious organization has an inquisitor that specializes in witch hunts; and torture."

"So we're going to just keep it a secret, is that it?" Guts asked. "If this really is… magic then-,"

"Then we'll have to confirm our suspicions, won't we?" Griffith finished for him. "But for the time that he has been with us, Harry has given us no reason to suspect him of being malicious towards us. Where is he now anyways?"

"I took him back to his barracks," Casca informed. "I told him to wait there until- well I didn't exactly say when."

Griffith nodded in understanding. "Could you go fetch him, please? We should discuss this next part with him."

Despite having a candle lit, the room seemed dark. Harry sat alone on his bunk while Casca had run off, most likely towards Griffith. It bothered him. Not so much the fact that they were probably talking about him right now, but because of the way Casca had looked at him afterward. Her face full of shock and fear over what had happened. It had almost reminded him of-,

"We will meet again, Wizard."

The Skull Knights parting words to him came back to the forefront of his mind, pushing his previous recollection aside. Wizard, that's what he had been called. Wizard… magic. There is no such thing as magic. Magic is just make-believe, only freaks believe in magic. Freaks… like him.

The door to the barrack opened. Anxiety gripped at his heart, but a soft voice said, "Harry?" It was just Rickert. "What're you doing in here all by yourself?"

"Oh," Harry let out a short breath of relief. "Nothing really I guess. Just… waiting."

"Waiting for what?" Rickert asked, sitting on the bunk opposite him.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know."

Rickert tilted his head in confusion. "Are you in trouble or something?"

Once again, Harry shrugged. "Maybe."

"Well, what'd you do?" Rickert inquired further.

"I… just something freakish," Harry settled on.

"Like spying on Corkus when he trims his huge toenails?"

No," Harry said nearly failing to fight off the smile that tried creeping its way onto his face. "Nothing like that."

"Well that's about the only freakish thing I can think of," Rickert slumped in defeat. "But I'm sure you won't be in that much trouble."

"Huh, why's that?"

"Because you're one of us, that's why," Rickert said as if were the most obvious thing in the world. "You've been with us enough to know that we look out for each other. Whatever it is that you did I'm sure that-," The door opened with a creek, interrupting the boys' conversation. Casca peeked her head into the room.

"Hey, could I borrow you for a second, Harry?" He noted that she seemed nowhere near as nervous as she had been previously. "We just want to talk for a bit, that's it."

We? Harry picked up on. "Uh… sure, alright." He sat up on his bunk and cast a glance over his shoulder to see Rickert giving him an encouraging kind of half smile. Closing the door behind him Harry was surprised to see that alongside Casca there was Guts and Griffith as well. Guts was casually leaning against a wall with his arms crossed, and Griffith was surveying him with an inquisitive look; not necessarily threatening just curious, with a tinge of ambition.

"So," Griffith began, "Casca has told us quite the story regarding you and a snake. She said that you seemed to be speaking with it, is that true?"

"Well…" Harry was a bit unsure of what to answer that with. "It was more like it was talking to me first." He hoped that would pass for an acceptable answer.

"In another language?" Griffith surmised.

"It- sounded normal to me," Harry was quick to point out. "I thought she could understand it too. That's why I was so surprised when I saw her reaction." He looked to Casca to see she actually looked a bit embarrassed herself. "I didn't mean to scare you like that though, I didn't think I was even speaking differently. I'm sorry. I'm sorry if you think I'm a freak after this."

He averted his gaze away from Casca and to the ground, so it came as a surprise to him when he felt a comforting hand placed on top of his head. Harry looked up to see it was Casca, who then gave him a gentle pat.

"Look, Harry," she said. "I know that the way I reacted wasn't the most- er- comforting back then."

"Tch," Guts snarked.

"But it just- caught me off guard is all," she continued. "And I'm sorry if I made you feel like you were a freak because of that."

"But you just said you couldn't understand it," Harry recalled. "It was only me. So what does that make me if not a freak?"

"That is exactly what we intend to find out," Griffith spoke again. "While you were waiting in your barrack we were discussing a few things amongst ourselves. And… we only have guessed."

"Oh," Harry said, not exactly sure how to feel about that. Harry had discovered that he hated being left out of stuff that included him, so to find out that the three people who were just talking about him had no idea what to think of him was a disappointment, to say the least.

"But none of them involve you being a freak," Griffith assured him. "And until further notice, we ask that you try to keep this… talent of yours a secret."

"Yeah," Guts agreed. "A lot of people might get the wrong impression if they see you doing what you can do."

"Indeed," Griffith agreed. "And that's why I'll have you and Casca pay a visit to Windham's library first opportunity you get to look into this "snake speak" further." Guts nodded, but he didn't seem too thrilled at the prospect, Casca too.

Elsewhere in Windham Castle

It's a mockery! A complete disgrace of tradition! Count Julius thought angrily as he strode the castle. To think a mere commoner like that white haired cur will be partaking in the royal hunt is a disgrace! What is my brother thinking inviting Sir Griffith and his men?! If Father were alive he'd name me heir in a heartbeat after hearing that news.

To Julius, he had every right to be angry. Griffith, a common born young man from the slums who was raised to Knight Status in just a few short years was nothing short of a miracle; an idea for peasants to get behind. And he hated it!

Peasants were peasants for a reason, just as the nobility ruled for a reason: because it was their right to do so. Griffith was disillusioning himself into believing any different, and if he had any sort of respect for Midland at all then he would go back to whatever back alley gutter he was raised in and live out the rest of his days as he was meant.

Whatever does a commoner know of being a Knight? Whatever does he know of being in the presence of his superiors except for when to kneel? Julius fumed. All this frustration building inside of him, it wasn't healthy. Perhaps he should pay a visit to the queen to help relieve some of his stress. She shared the same mindset as him in regards to one's social standing, she would understand; she had before.

Julius knew that his brother cared little for his wife, only marrying her for political security and only consummating the marriage once on their wedding night. After the death of Charlotte's mother, it was only fitting for his brother to remarry. It was a loveless marriage, but that didn't mean the queen was without needs. And with his own wife dead as well, Julius experienced urges of his own.

However, any fantasy Julius was about to imagine between himself and his brother's wife was interrupted by the sight of the short and bald Minister Foss looking out of a window. "Lovely time for a stroll, Count Julius."

"A lovely time for me to retire to my chambers, Minister Foss."

"A tad early, something troubling you?" Foss inquired, but the tone of his voice made it clear he knew full well what was raging through Julius' mind. "I do hope that whatever it does not keep you distracted during the upcoming hunt. Many an accident could happen to those who don't pay attention."

"What are you insinuating?" Julius demanded of the short minister.

"Only that hunts are just as dangerous for people as the animals," Foss slyly replied. "A stray arrow dipped in poison could end the promising career of a young up and coming knight, who if the rumor I heard was true could soon become a general in status."

Julius instantly knew of who Foss spoke of. "Someone like him as the rank of General?! I won't allow it!"

"I thought not," Foss replied evenly. "For what does a commoner know of responsibility such as that? But, I suppose it is up to men like us who do not wish to see this country disgraced to take action."

Julius mulled the thought over. "A poison arrow?"

"Completely untraceable," Foss assured, to which Julius chuckled. It would be such a fitting end to that white-haired commoner.

Hogwarts was living up to the magical hype his grandmother had promised. But, Neville just wished he had the aptitude to live up to all of it. To start off, the common room was only accessible behind a painting of The Fat Lady who would only open if you had the password; and Neville had forgotten it on the first day. Next was navigating the maze that was Hogwarts itself. Twice in one day he had got turned around and found himself on the first floor when he needed to be on the fourth. Then there were the actual classes themselves.

Transfiguration with McGonagall was alright. She was fair to all students and even revealed herself to be an animagus on their first day of lessons. When he failed on multiple attempts to transfigure his matchstick into a needle, she had given him five points for effort, but also additional practice as homework.

Charms with Flitwick was fun, the professor would always beam positivity at his students while looking up at them (he was quite short), and offer help where needed. He was probably over by Neville's seat the most going over the proper wand movements with him until he was sure that Neville would not forget.

Herbology was probably his favorite out of all the classes. Professor Sprout seemed determined to give them very hands on teaching experience, and Neville actually found it enjoyable. Unlike the rest of the classes, this required little to no wand usage and was possibly the reason he enjoyed it as much as he did. Even Professor Sprout seemed to like him, always giving Gryffindor points when he correctly treated one of the magical plants.

But for every moment Neville enjoyed in Herbology, he dreaded in Potions with Professor Snape. Compared to the rest of Hogwarts the dungeons were dark, damp, and depressing, and the same could be said for Slytherin's head of house. Each class Snape would hover over the Gryffindor's side of the room and nitpick their potions while showing blatant favoritism to his own Slytherin's.

"What's this?" The oily-haired professor asked as he leered of Neville's potion. "Tell me, Longbottom, can you read?" Neville heard snickering going on from the other side of the room, and could practically see Draco Malfoy's smirking face.

"Y-yes, Professor Snape."

"Then tell me, what does it say up on the board step four is for brewing The Draught of Living Death?" Another Gryffindor raised her hand to answer for Neville, but Snape paid her no mind.

"To turn, er- stir three times counterclockwise," Neville recited from the instructions written up front.

"And if you had done that then why is your potion the color of mud and not a dark purple?" Snape pressed him.

"I-er, um," Neville fumbled for his words.

Snape sneered at his stuttering. "Pathetic." With a wave of his wand, Neville's cauldron emptied itself. "It is clear to me that you lack the etiquette of potions making. Do I need to assign you a supervisor, Longbottom?"

"…N-no, Professor."

"Not quite sounding so sure of yourself," Snape observed. "Not at all like a Gryffindor. Did the Sorting Hat make a mistake sorting you, Longbottom?" Malfoy and his cronies openly laughed.

"…W-well-," Snape held up a hand to silence him.

"Since you are so inept at this very simple task, you will be working alongside someone I know not to be a dunderhead such as yourself. You will be working with Miss. Davis." Neville looked to the Slytherin side to see one of the girls he had met on the Hogwarts Express.

"Are you expecting her to move to your side, Longbottom?" Snape asked when Neville made no move to get up. "Five points from Gryffindor, for lack of manners."

Neville was aware of everyone's eyes on him as he packed up his things and moved across the room to where Tracey was. He still kept his head down and muttered a very brief, "Hello," making sure to avoid eye contact.

"Hey, I remember you," Tracey recalled. "You're that weird kid from the train, the one who lost his toad."

"Um, yeah," Neville confirmed, still not looking at her. She already knows that I'm weird.

"Do you plan on reading the board with your head down?" Tracey asked after a minute of very awkward silence. "I don't want to get a bad grade because you're not doing your work."

"S-sorry," Neville muttered as he began the first step.

Not a minute later Tracey was asking, "What are you doing?"

Neville looked back and forth between the board and his cauldron. "Well, I-er, was just…"

"You were about to add the wrong ingredient," she informed. "Look before you add, like I said, I don't want to get a bad grade because of you." She pointed out the correct first ingredient for him. "Now add crushed Mandrake leaves."

"Those are these ones," Neville pointed to the next batch. Tracey actually looked a bit surprised.

"You knew that one?"

"Well, I read about it," Neville meekly admitted. "I- um, like Herbology and, well I just kinda knew what it looked like."

"Hm," Tracey just nodded and continued to work on her own potion, occasionally correcting Neville whenever he was about to make a mistake. At the end of the lesson, Snape observed all the potions and simply said that Neville's was good… for a dunderhead. That caused another chuckle from the majority of his Slytherin's.

As the class was dismissed, and Neville made his way back to the Gryffindor Common Room he heard a student cast a spell. "Diffindo!"

Next thing Neville knew part of his robes were ripped and the bottom part of his trousers had been cut off, exposing part of his underwear. He was thankful that he actually remembered to wear underwear today. The corridor immediately erupted in laughter as Neville's face turned beat red in embarrassment. But the loudest laughter of all came from the spell's castor.

Draco Malfoy was clutching his stomach as he roared with laughter at Neville's exposed state. "Look boys! He really does have a long-bottom! You were right Crabbe!" As if his red face wasn't humiliating enough, his eyes began to feel very puffy all of a sudden.

"I-is there a pr-problem h-here gentlemen?"

Neville never thought he would be so glad to hear the stuttering voice of the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirrell before. Malfoy and his cronies eased up on their taunting.

"Not at all, Professor," Malfoy said, wearing a proud smile. "Longbottom just had a misfire with his wand was all."

"A-ah, th-that does tend to happen to f-first years o-often, eh?" Quirrell seemed to believe Malfoy's lie. "N-now why d-don't we all keep a m-move on? Don't w-want to h-hold up the c-corridor, eh?"

The cluster of students began moving once again, and Malfoy sent Neville a smug grin as he departed. Quirrell turned to Neville and muttered a spell that instantly repaired his torn robe and trousers.

"F-first year j-jitters? I had t-them my-myself," Quirrell told him kindly.

"Yeah, sure," Neville mumbled. "Thank you, Professor Quirrell."

"N-no problem. None at a-all." Quirrell smiled at him and walked back to his own empty classroom. Unbeknownst to Neville, Quirrell's stuttering act dropped the minute he closed the office door behind him.

"Weak little brat," Quirrell uttered when he was sure he was alone. Well- as alone as he could be. Walking over to a wall mounted mirror, Quirrell began to undo the purple turban that he wore every day. With one last twirl, the face that was growing out of the back of his head was free.

It was pale and reptilian in appearance and had slits for nostrils where a nose should have been. Red eyes blinked to adjust to the light. It was the face of Voldemort, or what was left of him,

"Halloween is only a few weeks away, My Lord," Quirrell spoke with the face on the back of his head. "I am ready to make our move then."

"Excellent," Voldemort rasped out. "Dumbledore was a fool if he believed hiding the stone here was the safest move. For a man who claims to love his students, he has put every one of them at risk with this ploy of his."

"I agree," Quirrell said. "The man is going senile in his old age. When the stone is ours you will be back to your original glory. Dumbledore won't stand a chance."

"Dumbledore will fall, I will see it through to fruition," Voldemort said with determination. "But not before I torture him within an inch of his life. I want to hear him confess where he has hidden the boy all these years."

"B-but My Lord," Quirrell stuttered, genuine this time. "The boy is missing. No one knows where he is."

"Do not believe those lies in the Daily Prophet!" Voldemort reprimanded him. "Dumbledore knows. He must. And even if he doesn't, I will find him myself. Potter can't stay hidden forever."

Thud! The thickly bound leather book made quite the sound as Guts plopped it down on the desk Casca sat at. For the past two hours they had spent in Windham's library they had found little as to what Harry's "talent," as Griffith had called it, could possibly be. And both of their frustration was beginning to surface.

"Could you be quieter?" Casca asked, clenching a fist. "This is still a library after all."

"Doesn't seem busy to me," Guts observed the near desolate hall, the exception being an old man a few tables away that looked more asleep than awake. Casca just shook her head and opened the book he had placed before her.

"This is a history of Midland," Casca read the title.

"Yeah, so?"

She sighed. "Nothing. Good to see you're still an uncooperative jackass."

"Heh. Good to see you're still an unappreciative bitch," Guts shot back. He could tolerate Casca well enough on good days, but only for so long.

Instead of arguing further, Casca let out a very long sigh and began to flip through the book. This had been the cycle for the last two hours. Guts would pick a book for the surrounding shelves and Casca would skim through it for information. A stack of discarded books sat on the floor beside the desk, nearly reaching as high by now. Usually, Casca had power skimmed through each of the text, but she seemed to be taking her time with this one.

"What's taking you so long?" Guts asked. "Find anything?"

She ran a hand through her dark hair. "I don't know, maybe. This is an old text, the first few chapters are speculations about old King Gaiseric and then a list of his rumored descendants."

"Who?" Guts asked, unfamiliar with the name.

"You know, King Gaiseric?" Casca repeated. "He was the one who united the entire continent. He was known for wearing a skull like helm into battle. Apparently, the royal family of Midland is descended from him."

"That has anything to do with what we're supposed to be looking for?"

"I'm still looking," she replied. "It wouldn't hurt if you helped read through a few too."

"You seem to be doing an alright job," Guts said. She looked like she was about to retort, but restrained herself in the end and continued to flip through.

"Wait," she said after a few more minutes of looking. "I think I might have found something."

"What is it?"

"Come here, look for yourself."

"Just tell me, you're the one holding the damn book," Guts further argued.

"Yeah, well-," she paused. "Hold on. Can you- can you read?"

"What makes you ask that?" Guts answered with a question.

"Every book you've picked out, you've given to me to read. After awhile I began to wonder if you were even looking at the title. It would explain why one of the books you grabbed was one filled with children's fairy tales."

"I know enough words," Guts said. "I can read if I try hard enough, but it's not something I need. I'm not about to throw books at people in battle, am I?"

She looked at him strangely, before sliding the book over so the both of them could look at it. "Do you know what that says?" She asked. Guts looked at the word in concentration trying to make sense of the way the letters were arranged on the parchment. He was able to recognize the first letter easily enough, it was a capital after all. M.

The letters following he recognized as well, but they didn't form any word that he knew already. "That someone's name or something?" Guts asked. "Murr," he tried sounding it out.

"I think its pronounced Merlin," Casca read as well.

"So what's so special about him?"

Casca pointed to another passage. "Court order from the king of that time. One day a man arrived at Windham castle seeking an audience with the king. The king's wife had fallen deathly sick and had put the word out all over the nation for the best healers to come and heal his beloved. When this Merlin arrived he claimed to have been a great friend and advisor to the king of his realm and promised to do all in his power to help. A day later, the queen was back to full health. Some in the court accused Merlin of witchcraft, and he made no move to deny any of them, but the king refused to have him killed on account of what he had done. The king only wanted to know why a stranger from a distant land would want to help. Merlin was quoted with the following, "Stranger? None of us are strangers. We may come from different lands, but I choose to see the world as a tree that connects us all, like how I came to visit this land. We each have a choice, and I choose to help; not strangers, but my fellow man."

"They thought this guy was a wizard?" Guts said after Casca had recited the text. "He sounds more like a washed out poet."

She slammed the book shut. "Still it's the closest thing we've managed to find, aside from the record of witch burnings held at The Tower of Conviction. It's a start, but if Griffith wants us to dig into this Merlin character further, we won't find it here. Chances are anything else about him might be held in the royal family's private library." She packed the book in her rucksack. "Still worth hanging onto I suppose."

It was a good day for a hunt. At least that's what all the lords seemed to think. This hunt was one of tradition as it was hosted by the king himself and featured many members of the nobility. But by royal decree, The Band of the Hawk was cordially invited to join as well. Or so many of them believed.

"So we're not actually doing any hunting?" Asked Harry from horseback.

"More like shepherding," Guts surmised from his mount as well. "Nobility can't break all their stupid tradition."

His placement alongside Guts was not by coincidence. After "the incident," as Harry came to refer to it as, it was decided that he should stick close to either Guts, Casca, or Griffith in case any other new "talents" popped up. Harry was actually glad he was with Guts today. The swordsman seemed skeptical if his "talent" was real or not and didn't make any mention of bringing it up. Of course Harry had nothing against being with Casca or Griffith, but even though Casca meant well, she could still be overbearing at times. And Griffith…

Well, Griffith kept his mount by the king, and by extent next to Princess Charlotte. The entire time the hunt had been taking place, Harry noted Charlotte to seem nervous whenever an arrow would be fired at an animal, to then letting out a sigh of relief when it missed. As a way to help ease her nerves, Griffith was showing her how to get a leaf to whistle. She seemed to be enjoying it.

"Is he trying to woo her or just enjoying the little things?" Harry wondered.

"Both," Guts replied. A fox ran in their direction. "C'mon." The pair of them rode forward and cut the fox off. Startled, it ran off in another direction.

"Nicely done, lads!" A noble said, riding after the prey.

"Lads?" Harry repeated. "He doesn't know our names, does he?" He felt a tad insulted.

"Why would he?" Guts sounded put out, but for another reason. "We could've killed that fox if we were allowed."

They should have. The direction the fox fled was right past Charlotte's horse, spooking it and causing it to run off. "Aaaaah!" She wailed as her horse ran off with her. Acting fast, Griffith gave chase after.

"We're going after them, right?" Harry turned to Guts for guidance.

"Hell yeah, we are. C'mon!" Guts spurred his horse after them as well, Harry following close behind.

Charlotte's horse had a head start, but they were quickly able to catch up to them after Griffith had ridden up alongside her and grabbed the reigns to help steady the spooked horse. Griffith dismounted and tied the reigns to a nearby tree branch to ensure the horse would not run off again.

"Are you alright?" He asked Charlotte, who much to his surprise jumped down from her horse to wrap her arms around him, trembling as she shook from fear. He gently patted her head to sooth her. "It's alright, princess. Horses might be majestic, but spook quite easily."

"T-thank you, Sir Griffith." She smiled up at him.

"Now, why don't I escort you back to your father and-,"

Thunk!

As Harry and Guts rode to where Griffith and Charlotte were a cry of, "HELP!" rang through the air. Getting closer they saw a terrified Charlotte standing next to Griffith, who had an arrow protruding from his breastplate.

"Griffith!" Guts rode down to him.

"Crap!" Harry lightly cursed, following suit.

"Someone shot at him!" Charlotte panicked. "He had just saved me and then-,"

"Did you see where?!" Guts demanded, approaching the already scared Charlotte. "Where'd it come from?!"

"I-I don't… I didn't see until… until after!" Charlotte became more panicked.

"Guts, you're scaring her," Harry reached out to calm Guts down, only to have the swordsman pull away before it could happen like he was expecting something bad to happen if he did.

"Don't worry about me, worry about-,"

"Griffith!" Soon Casca and a few Hawks were riding down to them, as well as the king and a few nobles.

"What is the meaning of this?!" The king demanded.

"Ugh!" Griffith groaned as he pulled the arrow free of his breastplate. "I'm fine." He pulled the crimson red bauble free from beneath his armor. "If it hadn't hit this I would be done for. My luck holds out again."

"Someone shot at him, father!" Charlotte explained. "My horse had been spooked and Sir Griffith had come to my rescue when-," the king had one of the nobles give his daughter a cloak to wrap around herself.

"Escort my daughter back to the castle at once," he ordered. "Everyone else, search the area. We may be dealing with a Chuder assassin."

As a chorus of "Yes, Your Highness!" rang out, Harry saw Griffith staring at one of the noble lords. He man had a well-pampered mane of reddish brown hair and the look of someone who had been sucking on a lemon. The lord stared back at Griffith, before riding to escort Charlotte back to the castle.

Hours later

Guts watched Griffith as he flipped through a book within the latter's solar. "We didn't find who shot at you, if that's why you called me here," Guts told his leader.

"No, I wouldn't think so," Griffith replied nonchalantly as if he had not almost been killed hours ago. "I have just been reading up on something that might be of interest to us. You recall the name of that man you and Casca had discovered in your research?"

"That Merlin guy? Yeah," Guts recalled. "Why?"

Griffith held up the book he was reading. "From the royal family's private collection."

"How'd you get that?" Guts questioned.

"Well, the king was most grateful for my helping his daughter that he was quite easy to persuade into allowing me access."

"What'd you find?"

Griffith smiled softly. "Quite a few things. I plan on lending this text to Casca so she and Harry can go over it together."

"And, you want me to run it over to them or something?" Guts asked. "You're lazy if you don't feel like giving it to them yourself."

Griffith lightly chuckled. "No. That's not the reason why either. I… have a favor to ask of you."

Guts shrugged. "So, do it. If you need me to do something, just say so. Don't be so damn hesitant; it isn't like you at all."

Upon hearing his words, Griffith smiled. But like that one time before this one wasn't childish at all. It was more a smirk filled with a hidden dark intent that only surfaced like a sharks fin above the water, you never knew it was there until it was. It was… creepy.

"I'd like you to kill a man for me."

A/N: So there's chapter 8. I made mention to Merlin having crossed over into Midland in previous chapters, and without giving away any spoliers, I can say that it will be an important plot point in the future. Thank you for reading.