Chapter 8: From Ashen Flakes, a Blade of Silver
Castle Meryn, Midland
Guts looked over the camp from a spot on the castle wall, watching a spot be cleared for their new arrival to prove herself. She'd come in with Daniel from his thankfully successful (and eventually delicious) hunt, causing quite a stir among the rest of the Band as he introduced her to Griffith over their meal.
Apparently, her name was Anna, a displaced, and probably disgraced, Tudor nobleman's daughter who'd been taught the sword behind her father's back. She seemed to have little love lost for the Tudors, and more likely than not was at least going to be a decent bargaining chip if all else failed. Then again, Griffith had been more than willing to test her. And Casca, who would be her opponent, was no one to underestimate, either.
His thoughts shifted fully to Griffith for a moment, to what he'd said to him as they returned to the castle.
He'd sent Judeau ahead to make sure his men were ready. "What I have to say is for you and you alone." he'd said with the stern face that Guts had seen when he was commanding his men. "Knowing you, you're likely still wondering why I came back and made sure you were in good hands."
"Well, yeah, kinda." he'd replied. "So… what's the answer to that?"
"You are an excellent soldier. I had no intention of losing you in so petty an action as simply watching our backs."
Griffith had paused then, turning to him as the sun shone down on him through a break in the trees. "I wanted to make sure you could come along with me."
He'd looked around, taking in the place that had been their battlefield. "What happened here last night was merely a single step. This battle, every battle, has simply been a step forward. What comes to us because of them… will make it all worth it."
Griffith had nodded and had seemed to fix him to the spot with a gaze that was full of steel, and yet impossibly warm. "With these battles, I will gain my own kingdom. And you will fight for my cause. Because with our duel, you belong to me."
It was silent for a moment. "Yes. I will decide the place where you die."
'Is that what conviction looks like?'
he pondered as he watched Daniel, Casca, and this Anna lady step into the circle, more than a few soldiers crowding around to watch. 'He isn't even a knight, let alone nobility. But even still… he seems so sure he'll get that kingdom…'
He found that surety… inspiring, in all actuality. 3 years of wandering from battlefield to battlefield, from side to side in this war that had been going on for his entire life, had worn such a concept to the nub. The only thing that had been keeping it from disappearing entirely had been… Daniel. His firm example and seemingly boundless optimism. 'How do I get that?'
The question would remain unanswered for the moment as Anna's test seemed to begin. She studied the longsword in her hand for a moment, swinging it in a series of elaborate, almost swirling patterns.
"Fancy moves won't keep you alive on the battlefield." he heard Casca say, barely above the din of the muttering soldiers that surrounded them.
As Guts stood and made his way toward the ring, he heard Anna's reply. "I've learned that quite well on my way here."
Casca said nothing, simply raising her sword to guard and advancing slowly. Neither woman wore armor, a fact that he was sure both knew. Anna, however, seemed to disregard that fact, angling her blade high like a striking snake, seeming to want to get over a nonexistent shield to get at Casca.
They stepped forward once, twice, then stopped their advance only a few feet apart from each other, circling slowly as their guards changed once, then twice, Casca's blade nearly behind her head in a high striking position as Anna lowered hers in seeming invitation.
Then, Anna darted forward, her blade flashing up towards Casca's stomach before it was batted aside by Casca, a counter-strike guarded in the nick of time to prevent the tip of Casca's blade from nicking her cheek.
Their blades clashed a few times more before the two stepped back from each other, circling again as Guts came to the edge of the circle pushing through to get a better look. As he breached the line, they clashed again, the quick, almost too quick exchange ending with their swords placed precariously on each other, Anna's sword at Casca's throat while Casca's sword tip rested on Anna's sternum near her heart.
'Damn. She isn't half bad.' Guts thought as the two backed off, Casca lowering her sword as she took a few breaths.
"I'm impressed," she said. "Whoever taught you how to use that knew what he was doing."
"Indeed they did," Anna replied.
Casca nodded as she looked over at Griffith, who stood across from Guts in the circle. "I don't see why she shouldn't join," she said with a slight shrug.
Griffith nodded in turn. "Very well. I trust the judgment of one of my best captains. From this day forward, you are a Falcon."
Anna smiled slightly as she walked over toward Daniel, who looked over to Griffith. "I'll make sure she gets kitted out with whatever she needs."
With that, they made their way out of the circle, most of it now grumbling as it dispersed about the shortness of the test, some within the group reminding their compatriots that she had managed to end an otherwise deadly duel with Casca in a tie.
As Guts walked over towards Daniel and Anna, he found himself intercepted by Rickert. "Hey, sir. Glad I could catch you here. I've got some exciting news for you!"
"And what's that?" Guts arched a brow slightly.
"Griffith's placed ten men under your command!" Rickert said with a big smile. "It's barely been more than two weeks since you joined us. I wouldn't be surprised if he gives you a hundred more after a year!"
Guts nodded, sighing quietly. "Just call me Guts, kid."
Rickert nodded. "Certainly, Guts, sir!"
Guts sighed again and nodded, Rickert returning to whatever duties he had as Guts walked over to where Daniel had most likely taken their new comrade: the blacksmith of the Falcons, a man named Yarrick.
As he drew closer, he saw Griffith exit the tent that was set aside for Yarrick, walking away from him and smiling slightly. 'What's that all about?' he wondered as he pushed his way into the tent.
Racks of spears, swords, and shields lined the inside of the tent, and a few stands of armor that the blacksmith was working on in one way or another were clustered to his left. To the right of the tent, Yarrick, a stout man with a worn black apron and dark hair and a beard cut close to his head, went around the new girl making his measurements with a steady, quick hand as he jotted down the results.
Standing next to the new girl, Daniel turned around to see him enter and smiled slightly as he nodded. "Hey there, Guts. What's got you coming here?"
"Apparently, I'm in charge of about a dozen other guys now as well." Guts replied with a shrug. "All this trust in me… it's a little weird, I'm not going to lie."
Daniel turned fully to face him as Anna and Casca looked back at him as well, his smile growing. "I'm inclined to think otherwise, Guts. Given enough time, I'm sure that you'll prove yourself able to handle however many men get placed under your command… captain."
Guts' brow furrowed, then his eyes went wide. "You're kidding me. Is that why he was here? You should be the one in command, not me."
Daniel shook his head as he put a hand on Guts' shoulder. "I'm here to support you, of course. But it was really only a matter of time before you got some great responsibility where I'd have to step back and let you take the reins. I trust your judgment, Guts. Enough to call whatever bullshit might come and let you grow."
Guts was silent for a moment, then chuckled. "Figures you'd trust me out of all the people here."
Daniel nodded, looking over at Casca and Anna. "Come on. Let's go see the rest of your men. Anna will be along after we're done here."
. . .
3 Years Later
It had been a hundred years now since this war was said to have started.
Daniel pondered the idea of it for a moment as he sat astride his horse, making his way through the hills and shallow valleys between them with the rest of the Band of the Falcon's forces toward the raging battle. A war so long in its prosecution, an entire generation had passed it on to those who would spend their entire lives knowing nothing but strife and pain. At least, so it would be for most in this world.
He'd fought in such wars before. Ones that dwarfed the scale and the length of this one many, many times over. But those ones weren't the ones that mattered beyond passing thought right now, a brief remembrance of days of blood and fire, of friend and foe, lost to the ashes.
He looked over at Guts, astride his horse and leading his men whose ranks had now grown to nearly 150 in number around a flank as Griffith had ordered them, where most of them would dismount and hold one of the hills, raining down crossbow fire on anyone who would be approaching the castle and town behind them. He was in his 18th year now, and well on his way to passing Daniel in height,
This war was one of many now, each even in their little qualities of uniqueness bleeding into the other, but it was always the men that fought them, that he stood beside and against, that would be etched into his memory even as battlefields and tactics blurred together.
They reached the top of their hill, one of the taller ones in the area, which allowed them to look down at the vast plains that led to their position, two forces arrayed against each other apparent on the field.
The crimson banners of Midland, a rampart with a crown over it in the center of a black circle, surrounded by the sun, moon, and stars, flapped closest to them, standing firm against the patchwork of house standards that made up the Tudor Empire, all united under a banner of blue and white with a maiden bearing a sword in its center.
Of course, both were bolstered by dozens, even hundreds of mercenary companies large and small, the banners of the warring nations in the center of each army surrounded by the mercs like corpses swarmed by crows. That the comparison was becoming more and more apt for the nations involved was one best kept to oneself if they wanted any chance of payment. So long had they fought now, Daniel could identify several of the mercenaries on both sides by the flags that rose over them. The Vipersworn, the Stone-shatterers, the Blessed of the Dusk…
All were far away from them, and their focus was on perhaps the most notable task: protecting King Adamar of Midland, who was visiting the lines personally today. And the mercenaries would not be the focus of his concern, however, as the battle commenced, the companies all charged as the regulars held back to let them slaughter each other, cannon fire and archers filling the air with metal and thunder and the stench of smoke that would almost cover the blood and viscera, as the lines met with a thunderous crash. His focus, instead, was on an easily spotted black patch, moving quickly towards their lines like a swarm of locusts.
The thunder of their horses, a dull rumble, took the place of the staccato cannonades as they intermittently fell silent, seeming to be as much a weapon as their lances, spearhead formations stabbing deep into the sides and through the thinner portions of the Midlandian line. And Daniel didn't need to see the elaborately worked helms, or the pair of sable, curled horns on their banner, to know that their allies were going to be in for a thrashing.
Anaa'ri, now thoroughly settled into their role as the Falcon Anna, sighed quietly. "And we face yet another battle against this calvary force," she said as she shook her head, a slight drawl to the words. "It's almost like they're following us sometimes." Daniel was still somewhat impressed by how natural she sounded, even with her history around humanity.
"I mean, they're the Black Rams," Gaston, who Guts had appointed as his second in command after Daniel declined the position, said as he readied a crossbow. "The premier cavalry force of the Tudors. There's no way they weren't going to show today, especially with the banner of the king flying behind us."
"Even still," Daniel said as he shifted the quiver of his crossbow bolts, his swordspear strapped to the side of Shadowdanse, "we're here for a reason. This pass seems to be the only easy way to the king. If they want to get to him and his honor guard, they have to get past all of us."
He rode forward to Guts, noting that he hadn't readied his crossbow or drawn the massive sword from his back. "What are your orders, sir? Reading the situation personally, I'd recommend we hang back, pick off anyone daring enough to break through the main force, and give it a go."
Guts hummed quietly. "These Black Ram guys have really been sticking in my craw, though. Especially since that field battle 3 months ago where we got to the field too late. If we fight them, we wipe them out, or we don't even bother." he glanced over at Daniel. "You know what I prefer."
Daniel sighed quietly and nodded. "You have my recommendation, sir. What you ask us to do is up to you."
Guts looked out over the battlefield as the knights wheeled away from a block of spearmen coming up to intercept them, elements of the Black Rams weaving to the sides of the spearmen and beginning to grind them down under their lances. "Right now…" he said after long moments of silence. "Stay here."
"Guts…" Daniel began as the young man urged his horse down toward the battlefield, any other words he might have said missed as Guts charged down the hill.
He sighed, shaking his head as Anna came up beside him. "How many times is that, now?" she asked as she stowed a lance that she'd taken a shine to whenever she was on horseback in favor of a hammer sure to crack through armor.
"Less than you know about," Daniel replied wearily as he stowed his crossbow, looking back at Gaston as he retrieved his swordspear. "We'll go watch Guts' back, sir!"
Gaston nodded. "Get to it if you don't want him hogging all the glory!" he said with a slight smile, now thoroughly used to his commanding officer's heroics. "I'll watch your backs, make sure that you have the long-range support you might want."
Daniel nodded as he urged Shadowdanse forward, Anna following behind on her own roan mare as they made their way to Guts' side. Already, the Black Rams had broken through a thin point in the lines ahead of them, the bulk of them streaming through to wreak havoc on the back lines. As they came to a stop by his side, one knight, then a few more, spotted the lone rider, and the two others that came to assist him. One of them, most likely, was the leader of the knightly company, and Daniel heard the shouts to the other knights, a few trumpets blowing, as he came to a stop at Guts' left, Anna on the young man's right.
"You guys should get back to the others," he said as he unsheathed his greatsword, the blade a far broader thing than most, and hefted it with an easy strength that surpassed all but Pippin's.
"We should," Daniel admitted as he shifted his grip on his swordspear. "But we figured, as always, you could use the help in order to make sure you don't get killed."
They'd said words like those countless times in those three years. And, as Guts' scoffed, they'd all grown at least a little tired of saying them. Guts didn't make them leave, though. He seemed to get close to it sometimes, but he never did it outright.
Such things were concerns for later, though, as Daniel focused on the oncoming tide of sable knights, moving aside slightly to give Guts room to maneuver with his sword. Anna did the same, and they all braced for the impact as the very air seemed to vibrate with the combined charge of almost 3,000 horsemen.
Then, the riders were upon them, Guts turning and urging his horse on before the as he cleaved into their leader, the force of the blow dismounting the leader of the Black Rams as Daniel and Anna followed Guts' lead.
They began to lead the knights that followed them in circles, blade and hammerhead stabbing and smashing into knight after knight, the bodies of man and horse causing their fellows to trip and create a rough field for their other opponents. Daniel spared little thought for the men that had iron-shod hooves trampling over them, their plate armor protection only for a few blows before it was breached. He couldn't afford to think of them in the moment of the press, the chase. Their mourning would come later.
As men fell beside and behind them, Daniel looked over at Guts and Anna, the two of them peeling away from the Black Rams… towards the king. He knew, logically, what was going on. What was likely about to happen. 'Still doesn't make this a particularly great idea!' he thought as he urged Shadowdanse on.
They began to dash through the valleys, Daniel looking to his left as Gaston and the rest of the Raiders began to pepper the ranks behind him with crossbow fire, more and more knights falling behind them as they ran on. Anna caught what must have been a lieutenant with a solid smack to the head with her hammer after batting away his lance with her shield, putting a sizable dent in the helm and likely in his head as the foe dropped his lance and swayed, almost falling off his horse as Daniel looked back ahead.
He saw another wave of knights, Griffith at their head, coming toward them before another wave of arrows and crossbow bolts joining the Raiders', charging over a shallow brook that cut across their path like a starting line, their goal to slam into the remaining knights that hadn't been thinned out. 'Let's not get caught in the crush, then!'
He looked over at Guts, who looked up at the oncoming Falcons. "I'm breaking right!" he shouted, uncaring of whether Guts heard him as he began to guide Shadowdanse out of the line of fire. He looked back as several knights followed him, dropping their lances as they unsheathed swords.
The knights just barely escaped the clash between the Falcons and the Rams, a great crunch filling the air as the two forces collided. Daniel's focus couldn't stay on the still easily discernible Griffith as he slashed his way through the Rams however, as he prepared to face the 5 knights that now approached, the blade of his swordspear dripping from the blood of their fallen comrades.
There was no recourse for diplomacy here, no chance to perhaps turn them away with words. He was familiar with the doctrines of the Black Rams, having served beside them in the early days of his time here. Once one killed a Ram, they were ever an enemy, to be slain without hesitation.
'Besides, it's a battlefield.' he mused as he leveled his swordspear, the blade toward the closest one. 'They wouldn't hear me anyway.'
As one and with a mighty shout, the knights charged, and Shadowdanse dashed to the side as Daniel began a silent, concerted culling of the knights. One by one, the knights began to fall, heads leaning to the side as blood gushed from them, trampled underfoot by Shadowdanse or even by their friend's horses.
As he wheeled his horse to face the last man, he paused, watching his foe hesitate, then do something he'd never seen a Black Ram do before; he turned and began to run.
Daniel looked around the battlefield, watching as the Rams, so reduced from the sable tide that they were only a few minutes ago, turned. And as the fleeing Rams raced past the Midlandian lines, then the Tudor lines, the Tudors began to break as well.
The battle was won, and as Daniel looked around, he saw that Guts had more than likely accounted for many of the early losses of the Rams, easily outstripping either he or Anna. He watched as Griffith rode up to Guts, the rest of the Raiders flowing down the hill to praise their leaders.
Anna made her way to Daniel's side as he approached slowly through the quickly growing mass of Midlandian soldiers and Falcons. She took off her helm, a mop of sweat-soaked hair as black as the banners of the Rams had been combed through with a gauntleted hand as she looked at him with a grin.
"Oh good," she said, barely heard over the mass of cheering soldiers, "looks like I'm still winning that bet with Guts, and the one with Corkus."
Daniel barked out a laugh. "It was always a sure thing that he'd pile up just a few more bodies than you and survive the task. You've just managed to back the right odds."
Anna nodded surely. "Of course. Intuition's served me well thus far."
"This hair, on the other hand," Rhia continued, speaking through a link far more fundamental than the physical world they occupied, "is quite the annoyance, even still."
Daniel's smile didn't waver. "You'll get used to it. It's even quite fetching, with what's coming up."
He looked away from Guts and Griffith towards the banner of the king as it approached them. Had they really gotten that close to the king's honor guard? "You might want to talk to Casca, or perhaps one of the ladies at court in order to figure out how to do up your hair so that it looks pleasing. The king will likely honor us."
That would come later, though, once they'd made a triumphant parade back to their base of operations.
. . .
A cheer went up as Griffith led the way through the gates of the recently liberated city of Lomara, a city that was the center of a line of Midlandian-controlled lands now only a few days' march away from the old borders of the Tudor Empire.
Such concerns were far from the minds of the soldiers for the moment, as they celebrated their victory against one of the largest, most dangerous offensive forces that the Tudor Houses could muster. And, most pertinent to the men that Griffith commanded, the king himself had been defended with vigor and strength nearly unmatched by, of all things, a mercenary band.
Of particular acclaim within that mercenary band, the grumblings and mutterings of those looking on at them unheeded, were three soldiers of the Band of the Falcon's Raiders, their vanguard force.
Guts took the shouted praises of his comrades with a weary acceptance as he stepped off his horse, looking over at Daniel as he gently pushed him into the oncoming crowd with a bemused smile. He'd get back at him someday for that.
He conveniently ignored the last several times he'd thought that about Daniel as Gaston and several of his lieutenants clustered around him, almost acting like a barrier between him and the other Falcons. One, in particular, made his way to Guts' side, slapping his shoulder with a strength that pushed the tall, imposing young man aside a little.
"And so my running bet with Corkus remains safe with me!" Gaston said with a hearty chuckle. "I knew getting into your corner was a good idea. Just like I'm sure you're the best leader we Raiders have ever had!"
A concerted cheer went up even as Guts kept his annoyance and, something that no one else would ever know of, his insecurity, at bay as they began to walk. "C'mon, guys. A good leader doesn't go charging out on his own like I do."
"But you do it so well!" Gaston laughed as they began to go past a tower with an adjoining bridge to the castle far above them. "We're able to boast about you to all the other units over drinks tonight!"
As they passed by the entrance of the tower, a staircase going up to it, a voice, one that all of them were accustomed to obeying, called out clearly. "Captain Guts."
The procession paused, and all looked up to see Casca, waiting halfway up the stairs with her helm in the crook of her arm. Her posture was relaxed, in control, and she looked at the man
"Unit Commander Casca." Gaston said, stifling the man next to him ready to call her "big sis" with a firm hand on his shoulder. "Good to see you alive."
"Good to be alive, Gaston," Casca replied. "Can I speak to your captain in private?"
Guts regarded Casca for a moment, still quite mystified as to what, exactly, her deal was. She seemed almost, but not quite distant, concerned for him and at the same time… seemingly annoyed with everything he did.
Even still, she was second in command to Griffith for a reason. He began to climb the stairs, pausing to look back at his men. "Go get the party started without me. I'll be along when I can."
As the men agreed and began to disperse, they both heard the mutters. There were rumors swirling about the two of them, for this was not the first time that Casca had pulled Guts, and Daniel and Anna far less often, into personal meetings. Did they fight? Did they go on dates of some kind? Did they even have the time or the inclination to do that sort of thing in the first place?
Regardless, the world was made, if not silent, at least quiet by the closing of the door. Without a word, Casca made her way up the stairs of the tower, Guts following behind until they reached the top, the roof little more than a canopy that was held up by pillars stretching across the way into the castle itself. Casca walked about halfway across the bridge before stopping and finally turning to Guts. "Why?"
Guts blinked in surprise and confusion at her expression, an unreadable thing. "Whadya mean 'why'?"
"Why do you throw yourself into battle?"
Guts sighed. This question had been asked what felt like a dozen times before. Casca simply continued into the silence. "Are you trying to be a hero? Do you have a death wish? It has to be something. Otherwise, you wouldn't be ignoring your job this often."
Her brow furrowed, though not as deeply as it had when she'd first pulled him aside after a battle. "You're the captain of the Raiders now, not some hotshot loner. You have a Band of Falcons and a group of men you are responsible for. I would have thought Daniel had taught you something about that."
She stepped forward, grabbing the neck of his cloak as her voice grew lower, and just a little harder. "If you get any of those men killed, or put Griffith in more danger than you already have, you will answer to me."
Guts' jaw clenched, but he restrained his urge to bat her away as he had everyone else before and waited for her to let go of him. As he did, he let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. "I'll try not to get anyone killed."
Casca sighed. "That can only last for so long. Griffith sees so much in you, even though you haven't changed much in the last three years. Even if you only enjoy crossing swords with the enemy, he sees you as more than just simply concerned about yourself, a mad dog-"
Guts' jaw clenched again as anger, quick and hot, flowed through his veins and made him step forward, Casca pausing as he did so. "Say that again."
Casca, almost impossibly, took a step back, mouth somewhat agape. Guts realized what he'd done after a moment, then took a deep breath and turned away. "I'll keep your words in mind," he said as offhandedly as he could.
"I hope I'm not interrupting something."
Both Guts and Casca looked back across the way toward the castle and saw Griffith a little ways away from them, a slight smile on his face. "I'd like to have a little talk with Guts, Casca."
Casca looked back at Guts for a moment, her expression unreadable, then nodded. "Yes, sir."
As she walked past, Guts, once again, found himself confused. 'Why was she blushing?'
He didn't know, and he didn't really care at the moment as Griffith approached. Women were weird anyways.
. . .
As Casca left the confines of the tower, she found herself stepping past several soldiers. Corkus among them leaned against the tower wall in a relaxed pose, arms crossed and seemingly waiting for her.
"Man, it's almost every time with you two," the man said with a shake of his head. "Griffith stepped in again, didn't he?"
Casca said nothing as she began to go down the stairs past him, and Corkus seemed to take it as permission to continue. "Y'know, if you ever want him gone, just say the word. The bastard's had it coming since he ran into us any-"
As she passed Corkus, Casca hooked her foot just so under his legs, tripping him and sending him falling down the stairs. "You should watch your tongue," she said as airily as she could. "Griffith doesn't like us badmouthing each other."
. . .
"I never really know what to make of you two," Griffith said with a slight chuckle as he stepped towards Guts. "Every time you interact, I can't help but wonder if you're going to try and hold each other's hands or punch each other. To think it's been three years of it…"
"She's wrong. I have changed."
Griffith tilted his head slightly, allowing Guts to continue into the silence. "I do care about my men. They may be a little pushy sometimes, but… they're good."
It was silent for a moment before Griffith chuckled, walking past Guts and patting his shoulder, the man tensing slightly as he did so. "Come on, Guts. There's still some wine and mead for us, I'm sure. Besides, we have a big day coming up."
Guts nodded as he followed after, still confused. 'Big day? With who? Is there another battle coming up?'
He wasn't sure. But if Griffith was happy about it, then it couldn't be that bad, really.
. . .
Two days later, after the drinking and hangovers had been well and truly gotten past, the captains and commanders were all ordered to come together in the courtyard by Griffith, all of them being shepherded into orderly ranks by Daniel. Guts and Casca were not spared from this seeming exercise in tedium, though Casca bore it with more patience than most.
"Look," Judeau said, "I'm not mad to get some time in ranks in a way that's off the battlefield, but where's the rest of our soldiers?"
Daniel smiled as he came around to the front of the men. Guts noticed he was wearing his formal, almost ceremonial armor, white coat and pants under black armor. "The reason is simple. The ceremony we're going to isn't going to fit all of them in there."
"A ceremony?" Corkus said with a roll of his eyes. "C'mon, we've got better things to do than stand around and watch something happen we can barely understand. I don't really follow the Way of White, after all."
Daniel chuckled. "You'll like this one. What I'm about to say stays in these ranks. No discussing it with your men tonight, nor with the Midlandian regulars."
He paused for dramatic effect. "Griffith is being knighted tomorrow. Not only that but he's being made a viscount of a province near the capital. Not only will we have a home base, a castle surrounded by several towns, but we'll also become a part of the regular army."
As the commanders and captains gasped and began to murmur amongst each other excitedly, Daniel gave them a moment before he cleared his throat, the action somehow bringing everyone's attention back to him. "So, as many of you have probably guessed by now, I used to be a knight of decent standing, where and when doesn't matter anymore."
"Having been so, I understand the deep importance of this ceremony. Thus, our image becomes as much a weapon as our blades. How we behave and comport ourselves becomes of the utmost importance. We will be professional soldiers soon, and expected to act as such."
He paused again, his expression becoming serious. "So, thus empowered by Griffith, if I see any acting out during the ceremony, it won't matter if you report to Guts, Judeau, Casca, or Griffith himself. Your ass will take the place of a cookpot over my evening fire until it is fully roasted. Have I made myself clear?"
More than a few uneasy looks and nods presaged Daniel smiling slightly as his posture relaxed slightly. "With that in mind, I'm here to give you some pointers. First, relax, just a little. Being too stiff will hurt us and our perception just as much as being not stiff enough. We're competent and respectful, not wax figures for Griffith's amusement."
A few nods, less uneasy this time, preceded a slight slackening in shoulders and knees. Daniel smiled slightly. There was still work to be done, of course, but there were harder tasks than this that would come if things went well, he was sure.
. . .
The ceremony took place within the city's grand cathedral, the king standing at the front on a raised section of the floor joined to the rest of the room by a small set of stairs. To the king's right stood the head clerics of the cathedral, who had given the ceremony their blessing. To his left were the city's lords, honored to be in such a place as beside the king.
In front of King Adamar was Griffith, resplendent in his armor, his helm by his side as he knelt before his own blade, raised in the hands of the king as he spoke.
Before them stood the royal knights of the king's army, behind them the gathered Band of the Falcon in the best, cleanest clothing they all could muster. Daniel was actually quite proud of them for being this well-behaved with only a day's work. They stood at parade rest from the attention they were at when the king and Griffith entered the hall, and not a person from their ranks whispered in the hallowed space. Even Guts, the most aloof of them from the nonsense that was royal display, was acquitting himself quite well. That he was there at all instead of training made Daniel quite thankful for the all-too-rare occasion.
Of course, that didn't stop the noble knights ahead of them from murmuring as well. The stillness of the Falcons made it easy for Daniel to listen in to their whispers.
"This is utterly unprecedented," One noble, a captain of horse in the king's army, said to another. "A mere commoner with no background gaining a knighthood and a noble title? It's dangerous thinking, even from the king."
"Besides," another chimed in, "they'd be nothing without this war but thieves and murderers. They'd be nothing without us."
"Even still," a third said warningly, "we cannot afford to brush them off. Whenever he makes his move, we must be ready."
Daniel glanced to the side as the whispering began to subside, at the commanding officers that stood beside them. With their calm silence, they'd managed to catch at least a little of what had been said as well. There was concern in the eyes of most, downright indignation in Corkus'. And Guts… he couldn't quite tell what Guts was thinking. His expression was one of distant thought, the look of a man who would rather be somewhere else entirely.
The murmurs, however, could not drown out the king's proclamation as he tapped Griffith's shoulder. "In the name of the White God and by his guiding grace, I bestow upon thee the titles of sir knight and lord viscount. For the sake of Midland, carry yourself with all due grace, and be valiant in thy service and faith."
The blade rose, and Griffith took it in a gauntleted hand to kiss the flat of the blade in deference. He stood, taking his sword from the king as he turned to face the crowd. Clapping filled the room with noise as he waved to his Falcons, the noble knights doing it more out of politeness than anything else.
Daniel smiled. But within, he could not help but see in Griffith, buried under that seemingly sacred white, something else. Something he was intimately, terribly familiar with. It scared him. The eyes would return tonight, reminding him of why that was. For now, though, there was the task of whipping these rowdy mercenaries, skilled in battle, into being a cohesive unit both on and off the battlefield, able to work with experienced regulars, the sons of noble houses, that would not trust them. That familiarity, at least, was comforting.
A/N: As some of you might know, I haven't been saying much about this story. I decided to take a Christmas break and devote myself to some of my other stories. I will admit, it's been difficult to get much writing done at all with my life's circumstances being what they are. Doing some more experimentation with my writing, we'll be transitioning over to a monthly release of ASGBSM chapters. That should give me the room to do both of my currently ongoing stories at once without burning me out too much. Thanks for hanging on, and I'll see you guys in the next chapter!