Reviews
Notsae: Yes, the time is almost at hand.
coduss: The significance of what Voldemort does with his Behelit will be revealed. I have an exact point and time in the story where it will all be revealed.
Greer123: No problem. I'm glad that you're invested.
Kabuto S. Inferno: Don't worry about being a bit late, I can relate. I'm happy to see you're enjoying the story and that there are fewer mistakes for me to edit out.
Guest: Thank you, I'm happy you think so.
Gracie15Trowa: Yes, Guts returning early was one of the things I've changed so far.
Pyromania101: I'm glad you think so. Avoiding bashing and building bonding moments are things that I've really tried to focus on.
Disclaimer-
Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.
Horses lightly kicked up truffles of snow as the assembled Band of the Hawk waited in the snowy field for Griffith's arrival. Last night a letter had been sent instructing them all to meet outside of Windham for reasons unknown.
Harry's breath was visible in the chilly air and he rubbed his hands together to keep warm. Near the center of the Hawks was Casca. Every now and again she would look angrily towards Guts as if to make sure he wouldn't leave again.
A change had occurred between the two of them Harry noted. When he had first met the both of them they bickered and argued like crazy. Then when they got separated after the battle with the Blue Whale Knights they appeared less hostile towards each other. Casca had become less standoffish towards Guts, who in turn seemed to have become a little more open. He had even spent most of his time at the ball with Casca than anyone else. Now, Casca seemed to be back to a cool attitude and Guts, despite being back, seemed more solitary than before.
Guts' decision to leave seemed to have a greater impact on everyone that he thought it would.
He rode over to where Guts was. "Have you thought about what you're going to say to him?" It wasn't much of a conversation starter, but he figured it might get Guts to open up a little.
"I'll just say what I mean," said Guts simply. "Griffith is sensible, he'll understand eventually. Besides, you still have to explain about that boneheaded knight."
Yeah, there was no getting around that one. How to explain that though? It wouldn't be that hard to believe, could it? Both Guts and Griffith had seen Zodd as a demon; would a mysterious Skull Knight be too far to comprehend? In fact, Harry shouldn't even be too worried about explaining it. Three people he trusted knew about his magic, maybe this Skull Knight was connected to that somehow. There was the matter of the warning both him and Guts received during the brief encounter, something about next year being the year of some sort of rare event.
A glint in the sky reflected off of Harry's lens. Actually, more than a few something's was catching the light of the sun. They looked almost like a flock of birds while in formation, but as they traveled downward Harry saw that that was not the case.
A volley of arrows fell into their ranks filling the snow with ammunition and worse, some of the Hawks. An ambush.
"Second volley!" An order was given from somewhere surrounding them and another wave of arrows came pouring down towards them. Completely caught off guard, many Hawks fell victim to the surprise attack. The white snow quickly became stained red with blood.
It was a sheer instinct that told Harry to ride left just as half a dozen arrows landed where he had been previously. His horse neighed and whined from the confusion and he almost lost hold of the reins. Who was doing this? Who was attacking them? It couldn't have been Chuder, the war was over and they had signed a non-aggression treaty. A mercenary band? It would be foolish of them to do so, the Hawks were a member of a larger force of Midland's armies.
More arrows fell taking the lives of more Hawks in their wake. "Agh!" Cried Casca, an arrow protruded from her shoulder. Both Harry and a nearby Judeau rode over to her.
"Casca!" Judeau exclaimed.
She wore a face of discomfort as she pulled the arrow out. Blood quickly began to soak her undershirt. "I'm fine, I'll live."
Maybe not. Half a volley was bearing straight down on them. Thunk!Thunk!Thunk!Thunk!Thunk!Thunk!Thunk!
Most of the arrows had embedded themselves in the shield Guts had grabbed from a fallen soldier, protecting them from the onslaught. But even that wasn't enough to stop one of the projectiles from hitting Guts in his forearm. He must have been doing a lot to numb out the pain he must be feeling.
"Raiders!" Guts shouted out for his group of men. "Surround and-!"
"No!" Casca canceled whatever order Guts was about to issue. "Guts, you and your Raiders get ready to make a break in the enemies' formation. Clear a path for us to regroup and gain our bearings! Judeau, you and Harry bring up the rear! Pippin, you assist Guts and his men!"
It might not have been Griffith giving the orders, but Casca knew what had to be done. There was no way they could stay here and get picked off, they had to retreat. But a retreat now didn't mean defeat. Whoever was attacking had spilled the blood of the Hawks; for that alone, they had to pay.
Corkus took a shot with a crossbow at where he thought an enemy archer to be hiding, and he cheered as his shot struck true. "Rickert! Hand some crossbows to the boys in the back! I know where the bastards are hiding now!"
"One volley only!" Casca ordered as Guts and his men charged an approaching mount of lance knights adding more bodies to the fallen in the snow. As the remainder of the Hawks began to follow after Guts and his Raiders, Casca gave the okay for Harry and the rest to fire their volley at the archers.
Some archers fell as well, but not nearly as many that had been lost to the Hawks already. As one of the archers dropped dead to the snowy ground, Harry was able to catch a fleeting glance of the sigil on his surcoat as he followed after the Hawk's Raiders. The sigil was that of Midland's Royal Army.
There was little light in his cell. The stone floor was cold against his naked flesh but welcomed a cooling element to his skin which had been pierced with hot spikes not an hour ago. His torturer made sure to prod him in areas that would be non-vital, but not un-painful. The torturer had even had the smiths make an iron helm to encase his head almost exactly similar to the one he used to wear in battle styled like a hawk.
Water from above dripped down one drop after another. A small puddle began to form in front of his face. He had trouble moving his body, it was still sore from the prodding. After much struggling and clawing his way forth, he was still unable to lap up the water. The helmet restricted his head movement, and his tongue just couldn't reach.
Another drop of water fell, this time hitting his flesh between the eyehole of the helm. It rolled down his cheek, close enough to his mouth for him to lick it. Two more drops fell in quick succession, granting him his only drink for the day.
This life… this life is… He shut his eyes and immersed himself in total darkness. What a fall from glory he had experienced. His dream had been everything; it had kept him going since he was still a child living in poverty. Where was his dream now?
Here in this dungeon, he saw only the cold stone walls around him, that castle he had always envisioned was all but a few lines and cracks in the masonry. And it was all because of one man- no! No, he was just as to blame as Guts was. The swordsman might have caused him to momentarily lose sight of what was important, but he had acted on his own misjudgments.
He had indeed flown too close to the sun.
Did he deserve this though? Did he deserve to be tortured for daring to dream? Every being had a dream even if they didn't know it; his problem was that he knew all too well what he was, and more horrifically, what had to be done to achieve it.
Count Julius, the Queen of Midland, they had been obstacles. All their lives they sneered down on those who dared wish to make their lives better, what did they know about the benefits of working towards a dream? They didn't, they never did.
All those who had followed him, who pledged their swords to his cause, those were the ones who knew. Their lives, their own dreams were his responsibility. Where were they now? Perhaps they were like the castle he had always pictured, now just cracks and lines in the masonry. Just like the stone that was being pushed out of the wall right now.
What?
Indeed, one of the stones in the wall was being pushed out from something on the other side. The stone fell from its slot allowing for whatever had been pushing it to slither out and onto the floor of his cell.
Out of the darkness came- a thing. He honestly had no godly way of saying what kind. It was small and blood red. Multiple small heads and limbs composed it, making it seem like a combination of small human children joined together by some unholy method. The dozens of small eyes stared into his piercing blue orbs and it began to crawl toward him with its stunted limbs.
This is… The creature neared his hand and with two of its stubby hands, hugged his index finger and brought it to its lipless mouth to kiss it.
What came next was the creature talking with a dozen small voices at once. "Sweet Prince! Oh, sweet prince of the eternally unforgiving. We have to come to pay respect and to marvel at what you have become."
Many of the small disfigured heads bowed to him and a dozen of their hands pointed to the way they had entered. His blue eyes followed their gesture, unable to move his body and escape.
From the darkness where it had crawled forth, a space of sorts started to become visible. It looked like a white corridor with dark archways on the walls and floors. He stared, captivated by the image, and the following voice that spoke from somewhere within. "We shall meet again, in another world." Whatever was speaking had a voice like a bottomless pit.
His imagination of whom or what it could become clearer as four shadowy figures materialized each in a different archway. Two of them were smaller and more rounded, the third was without a doubt the shadow of a woman, and the last one was the tallest and most likely the leader and the one who had spoken.
"We are kindred. Your kinsman."
A rattle of keys sounded, and when Griffith blinked, the grotesque disfigurement and the shadowy figures were gone, leaving the cell to just him and the arriving torturer. The latter happily played around with a pair of pliers, kneeling down in his line of sight to wave them around his face.
"You don't threem when I prod you," the torturer spoke with his lisp. "You's ghtss nice fingees. Tho well keept." He picked up Griffith's hand and positioned his fingernail between the pliers. Griffith never screamed as his nail was yanked from him, his eyes still gazed off into the darkness where those figures had been.
Another nail was lost. Just like those figures; just like his dream.
After the first initial ambush from the Midland army, the Hawk's numbers had suffered a severe blow. Nearly a hundred had been lost that first day, and then twenty when a group of riders tracked them down. After about a week of evading attacks, it became painfully obvious that Griffith was being kept prisoner, but for what reason was unknown.
Without Griffith's leadership, it fell on Casca, his right hand, to take up the mantle in his stead. She knew what she was doing, Harry didn't question it, but she didn't have the charisma that Griffith did. That alone cost them nearly a quarter of their remaining numbers as the men left believing the Hawks to be a lost cause without Griffith.
What numbers remained were subjected to a life of nomadic warriors, constantly being tailed by the Midland army, and having to fight for their lives. More men were lost this way; as without any income for food, some died of starvation when the hunting parties returned with less food than expected.
Those weeks on the run without a destination saw winter through to its end, and then spring, and then summer, and in a few more months, it would be fall once more. It had almost been an entire year.
For those who remained, they had to withstand another battle entirely, that between Guts and Casca. Both of them believed Griffith to be alive, both wanted him back, and both disagreed on how to handle it.
Guts wanted to just storm Windham the day after the ambush, but Casca insisted that they not rush headfirst into this, one wrong move could mean death for Griffith. Their arguments had gotten so heated that Harry feared Guts would leave them again, but he didn't. He would curse Casca out, call her names like stupid, crazy, and bitch; Casca would retaliate with ignorant, fool, and jackass.
It almost came to the point where other Hawks had to choose sides between the two. Those who wanted action instantly like Guts, or those who wanted to save what numbers remained and plan ahead like Casca. The problem with the latter as they hardly had any time to plan before fighting another raid from Midland's army.
The stress was starting to show on Casca as well. She would stay up all night, mapping out their next path while juggling Griffith rescue plans. When Harry saw her in the morning bags would be under her already dark eyes and her silky black hair would always be in a state of dishevel. This night was no exception.
He and Judeau lifted the flap to her tent and saw her sitting at her table resting her chin on it. A map of Midland lay before her, hastily spread out with different markings drawn over marking where they had been, where it was unsafe, and where they could go. She looked exhausted than ever.
"Casca," Judeau said handing her a blanket and wineskin filled with water. "You-are-exhausted."
She took a drink of the water. "Thanks. And it just comes with the title I suppose. I don't know how he managed it."
"You won't have to for much longer," Harry told her. "Judeau and I were talking, and we thinking of sneaking into Windham to-,"
"We've been over this before," Casca cut him off, "if we storm the capital it'll-,"
"That's not the idea," Judeau stopped her worrying. "With all of the running around we've been doing for the last couple of months, I hardly had the time check up on an old lead I had about an underground passage into the city."
That got her attention. "It was built when the war with Chuder broke out a hundred years ago as a means for the royal family to escape if the city fell under siege," Judeau continued. "It's built in a graveyard outside of the city, so we'd only be able to take a few. Maybe Harry, Corkus, and myself. We're lighter on our feet than the rest."
"We could find what cell he's in and break him out for good," Harry picked up.
"That's optimistic thinking," Casca finished the last of the water. "Rare to see that now." She rubbed Harry's head ruffling his already messy black hair. "Tomorrow night then. Take who you need, Judeau. I trust you."
Judeau smiled. "Will do, boss."
"I'm not your boss, you know that."
"You are until Griffith is with us safe and sound," Judeau argued. "And that's why you should get some rest already. You're no good to anyone if you're working yourself into the ground."
Casca put the blanket around her shoulders. "You guys are making me soft." Her eyes began to close.
"Let's let her have this," Judeau spoke softly and they took their leave.
A few fires had been lit already, what few men remained gathered around them, not telling jokes and stories like they once used to, they more or less just sat there in silence just lucky to be alive for this long. Corkus sat by himself against a tree, a half-empty wineskin sat in his lap.
"The Band of the Hawk, eh?" Corkus address them. "Mightiest warriors in all of Midland! Look at us now."
Judeau shook his head in disappointment. "Wine should be valued more, Corkus. Save it. We need you for an operation tomorrow."
Corkus fell into a series of hiccups. "You still think he's alive? Looks like I was wrong thinking Guts was the hardheaded one."
Harry quickly became fed up with Corkus' attitude. "Then why are you still here?"
Corkus eyed him shrewdly. "What'd ya mean?"
"Everyone who believed Griffith's dead already has left and the ones still here are the ones who know that he's not. So why are you still here? If all you're going to do is sit around and complain, why stay?"
"Harry," Judeau sounded concerned. "Leave him be."
"Why?" Harry asked. "What about all the nasty things he's said to Guts over the years? No one stopped him when he said those things."
Corkus spat and rose shakily to his feet. "You want to know why I've stayed." Harry looked at him defiantly. "Because if I leave, then I'm no better than he was back then. That's why." Corkus shouldered his way past them and toward the campfire.
"I don't recall you having that standoffishness when you were eleven," Judeau noted. Harry was going to say that he was still eleven, but this summer was almost over, he would be twelve now.
"Only to people who act like that," Harry rebutted. Corkus had always been a downer, now more than ever.
"And that person is bigger than you are," Judeau pointed out. "There's nothing wrong with sticking up for what's right, but do be smart about it. Even Guts would agree- to an extent."
That was Judeau for you, always trying to help out. "Do you have words of wisdom for everything?"
"No man can know everything."
Yup. Judeau. Helping out and being quick with his wit as he was with his knives.
"Hey!" One of the Hawks yelled. "Fire! It's spreading!"
Panicked, they both turned to where the campfire was- to see that it was under control. The fire that was spreading was due to flaming arrows raining down upon them. Another ambush. Casca was already rushing out of her tent yelling orders to the scrambled Hawks
"Pippin, you and your men take care of the fires! Judeau, form a defensive line! Guts, you and your Raiders take the offensive!"
Sprinting from the trees were not soldiers of Midland's armies. These men wore ragtag cowls and armor; their weapons looked in need of repair. Mercenaries. A bounty must have been placed so high that mercenaries had taken up arms.
As the battle commenced, a swishing sound cut through the air heading straight in Harry and Judeau's path. "Duck!" He pulled on Judeau's arm as a small metal ring cut through the air, taking a lock of Harry's hair.
Another disk flew through the air, but the other Hawk wasn't as lucky to just lose a lock of hair, he lost his life.
"Those disks," Judeau said. "I've heard about them." He drew his sword and Harry did as well. The two disks acted like a boomerang, arcing back to their thrower. A slim young man wearing desert-like clothing, light clothes and a white turban and lower face cowl. The skin visible around his dark eyes was a tanned bronze, the trademark of a Kushan.
The Kushan easily caught his disks as they flew back to him and pulled out two three-pronged blades. The way he moved, Harry observed, was completely unorthodox. He would use his pronged blades to catch swords mid-swing, and with a hidden blade in his shoe, he would deliver a lethal blow. His lithe arms moved like windmills cutting with precision and walking with a swagger of superiority as if he was confident he could defeat any whom he faced.
Casca, despite her fatigue, crossed blades with the Kushan warrior. She fared much better than the man's previous opponents, in terms of speed she was able to match the Kushan's swings. What threw her off was when the Kushan contorted his body and brought his foot up from behind his back to kick her on her chin. Casca staggered backward and lost her sword to the Kushan whacking it from her hands.
Harry could almost see the smirk from behind his cowl, but Casca soon wiped it from his face when she ducked under his swing and swept his feet from under him. It brought her enough time to retrieve her sword, but the Kushan jumped back to his feet a second later, now taking on a defensive stance.
"Impressive," he said in an accented voice. "I've never crossed blades with a woman before, I must say you fight quite like a man, a shame you have to die." The Kushan jumped and performed a spin kick, his boot blade nearly missing Casca's face.
Deciding enough was enough, Judeau handed Harry a throwing knife, and the both of them flung them at the Kushan. Much to his credit, the Kushan picked up on the new danger and back flipped out of harm's way. Now his attention was focused on the two of them.
"Interference?" He sounded insulted. "I would expect nothing less from those of Midland. So unable to understand the art of a battle." He posed his blades ready to attack.
As he lunged for them, the Kushan had to quickly redirect his blades as Guts' sword struck them, sending him flying off course. "I saw your disk trick," Guts stoically told the Kushan. "How about you show me how good you are with those blades?"
The Kushan scowled. "Another interference? It is a travesty that any of you are called warriors-very well." The Kushan crouched ready to spring. "Don't assume size gives you the advantage!"
He leaped, and soon found himself on his knees as Guts' following swing forced the Kushan to assume the defensive. The Kushan's eyes visibly widened as his pronged blades began to crack under pressure. He rolled back and Guts' sword came down on where he was previously.
"Your steel is crap," Guts eyed the Kushan who pulled out a whip-like weapon, but instead of leather lashes, this whip had long thin pieces of sharpened steel.
"And your tongue is sharp," the Kushan shot back. "Let's see how you fare against this."
With a flick of his wrists, the metal lashes tore their way towards Guts, who didn't even bother to move out of the way. He swung with the blunt of his sword, catching the lashes with his blade and forcing them off target.
Guts then took the offensive and charged the Kushan. He abandoned his whips and jumped out of the way of Guts, and then had to dodge Harry and Judeau who had been flanking him the entire time the fight was ongoing.
Casca surrounded him as well, and soon the Kushan found himself cornered. His black eyes darted around looking for an escape. "Do you yield?" Casca asked her sword level with the Kushan.
The Kushan squinted in contempt."You must be awfully arrogant to assume that-,"
"You might want to rethink whatever it is you're about to say," Judeau advised. "Look at what's left of your forces."
Despite being less in numbers, the Hawks still had some of the most capable fighters in Midland. While this Kushan's mercenary band might have gotten the initial drop on them, things had switched in the Hawks' favor.
He growled. "It is not often I find myself so… humiliated. What is your name?" He asked Guts.
"Why?"
"I want to know it," the Kushan said. "I'll give you mine; I am Silat of the Bakiraka clan."
"Guts," he gave his name.
"Hmm," Silat hummed. "Don't forget my name, Guts. I want you to remember it when I kill you." And Harry saw the small metal ball Silat held between two of his fingers.
"He's got a-!" A loud bang and cloud of thick heavy smoke beat Harry to the warning, and by the time the smoke cleared-Silat was gone.
"Leave it to a Kushan to rely on parlor tricks," Judeau said wiping his eyes clear.
In the hours after this latest ambush, Guts took the time to saunter off to a cliff near a waterfall ways away from their newest campsite. He examined his sword, perhaps Silat's steel had not been as crappy as he thought previous. The Kushan's blades had left a few chinks in his sword.
Perhaps he could have Godo make another one for him. The aged blacksmith wouldn't care if he or the Hawks were more or less outlaws in Midland now. As long as he got a payment out of it, he would do his work.
The waterfall behind him nearly drowned out the sound of approaching footsteps. Guts glanced over his shoulder. "What is it?"
Casca stood with her arms crossed. "I wanted to tell you that Judeau and Harry have a plan to rescue Griffith." Way to get his attention.
"When? Are we going to sit around and wait for months on end?" It was harsh and he knew it. If he had done things his way, Griffith would already be back among their ranks.
"Tomorrow," she sounded annoyed. "And you've expressed how you've felt about waiting before. No need to remind me."
"Really?" Guts stood up, his sword momentarily forgotten. "I would have thought if you had listened to what I had to say, then we might have done this much sooner. My mistake."
She was reaching her boiling point. "And do you why that is? Is that last raid not a perfect example why?" Her voice was rising. "Every day since Griffith was lost on us, we've had to keep moving, it was that or we die. Do you not think I want him back as much as you?!"
"I know you do, that's, why" Guts said.
"And I also want what's left of us to stay together!" she finally yelled. Tears were welling in her eyes and beginning to flow. For all the times they had argued, she hardly cried, this might be the first. "Do you know what's it like to worry about him day and night, while knowing that once we get him back you're just going to leave again?"
Guts found his words lost to him. After Griffith was rescued, he knew he would make right by his once leader, but after that? What about finding his own dream? Would Griffith understand then? He simply didn't bother to answer her.
Casca picked up on his silence as all the answer she needed. "You really are just like him, you know?" Her tears flowed freely now. "Just chasing after a dream."
"Casca-,"
She threw a punch at him, which he caught. Casca swung again, grabbing hold of both of her wrists. "Let go, you idiot!" She yelled. "Idiot! Idiot! Idiot. Idiot…" Her strength faded from her and she just butted her head against his chest. "Idiot. You really are."
For his part Guts did let go of her wrists, but she made no move to strike at him anymore. She just stood there, face buried in his shirt staining his shirt with her tears. She had meant it when she called him an idiot chasing after a dream. A conversation with Harry floated to his mind, about Harry telling him how Griffith believed there was something he just could not see.
Guts looked down and brought up a hand to Casca's head. He brushed some hair from her forehead, and much to his own surprise, leaned down to kiss it. She looked up, surprised herself, but stepped closer to him.
Hesitantly, Guts kissed her forehead again. She didn't refuse. He put an arm around her, and their lips met.
It was… it was… Guts had no idea how to describe it; he had nothing to compare it to. If it was good or bad, he didn't know. But it felt real. It probably sounded stupid to think of it like that, but if he was an idiot then it probably was. What he did know was that being here with Casca felt real.
His hand cupped her cheek and they found themselves seated on the grass, their clothing slowly being discarded and their positions shifted to resting against the trunk of a tree. A visible blush was present on Casca's mocha skin, but she moved her arms away from her breasts and began to open her legs.
He knew what to do- he had never done it, but he still knew what to do. Guts took her hand in his and kissed her once more. His hips moved closer to hers. Casca let out a sudden gasp as he began to enter her. Her hand clawed at his back and she gave a nod of her head for him to continue.
A feeling of some unknown bliss enveloped his senses, and Guts knew nothing apart from him and Casca. "Guts…" Her voice was softer than he ever heard it.
They kissed once more, their fingers intertwined as they enjoyed their time joined as one.
A/N: So that's it for this chapter. Sorry if it was a bit late, I had other papers to write, but I still managed to finish this as early as possible. Thank you for reading.