Chapter 18: Armistice With The Dawn
Midland, Later In the Night
Far from the sight of the Primrose Hall, a man galloped away from the city, feeling fairly decently about his future chances. All he had to do tonight was slip a little something into the right cup and get out. Easy.
'And look at that. So little work for more than a commoner like me would make in 10 years. Farewell, dishwashing. All that's left is to lay low and…'
He grunted in confusion as he saw a cloaked man standing in the middle of the road with… was that a pole? He couldn't tell in this darkness.
Then, the blade the man wielded, his face obscured by a wide-brimmed hat, glinted in the moonlight as it flashed up towards him, the servant's eyes going wide.
Whatever the man could have thought at the moment, the man who killed him, watching his head roll to a stop on the ground as the now riderless horse sped off into the dark, didn't really think about it much.
. . .
In a somewhat squat, rather unremarkable tower well away from all the chaos that had just ensued only a few hours before and left completely alone, a conspiracy met to gloat over their all-too-easy victory.
"Well," one of the conspirators scoffed, "I must admit, I didn't expect it all to go this smoothly. It's almost… too easy."
"Well, everything went according to Minister Foss' arrangements." another pointed out, gesturing to the thus far silent man as he regarded him. "Truly, sir, your skills are most impressive."
"Oh, no," Foss replied as he put forth a staying hand. "It is chance as much as planning that makes such things work so well."
"Your humility does you credit." Queen Amandine interjected. "To bring us all together thus and end the greatest threat to our nation's stability is insightful and decisive."
"Thank you, My Lady," Foss said quietly. "I'm grateful for your kind words.
Amandine frowned, an action that set the already tense Foss further on edge. "What's wrong? Your face is pale. Have you fallen ill?"
"To some extent, yes." Foss chuckled, taking the opening as he saw it. "Such stressful situations as these do sometimes wear me thin."
"Even still," one of the conspirators interjected, "Such attention as to stress is warranted, I think. Are we really safe here? If the servant who we paid tries to work that to his advantage, or if he is captured, then he might make our names public in his desperation."
"You needn't worry," Foss assured the man, feeling nothing of what was in his voice for himself. Was that someone moving downstairs? The others didn't seem to notice what he strained to hear.
"A little while ago," he continued, "I received a report from one of the scouts in my employ that was roaming the area. He has been disposed of."
A slight gasp went up around the gathered noblemen, murmurs of admiration passing over the table like a spreading mist. Foss knew that their lauding of him was a hollow thing. He had set this up. He had set up the thing that was warming this room even now. He needed to get out.
"Well, my lords, Your Majesty," he said, trying not to bolt as he rose and made his way to the door, "I suppose someone has to keep an eye on the pandemonium outside. Good evening to you all."
He closed the door behind him, his facade of a slight smile finally dropping as his eyes darted to a chair in the corner.
. . .
Back in the clueless room, the nobles continued in Foss' absence. "Now," said a portly nobleman, "our army can maintain the noble dignity of its royal standard."
As another nodded in agreement with him, a third turned to his neighbor. "Would you have believed it? A White general raised from the peasantry? It would have been utterly outrageous. No common soldier should be allowed such arrogance. It would have made for a heinous precedent."
His neighbor nodded emphatically. "The center of government must stay with those from sure, dignified bloodlines, regardless of one's fancy. To imagine a man with no family or dynasty such as him… what do the people he comes from know of governing? It would have made us the laughingstock of the world."
"My fellow lords," Amandine said, bringing the attention of all present to her. "Now that this task is done, I thank you all for your willingness to serve your kingdom and the sacredness of our nobility."
"Thank us?" one dared to say aloud. "All this was made possible by your backing, My Lady."
Amandine nodded slightly, closing her eyes as she sighed quietly. 'At the very least,' she mused, 'he can rest well now that he is avenged.'
Then, she smelled something. Her eyes snapped open as she looked around, finally spotting a whisp of smoke rising from a crack in the floorboards. Alongside several others surrounding them.
The nobles began to rise from the table, murmurs of confusion beginning to build into shouts of alarm as one of the conspirators, followed closely behind by another, slammed into the door with his shoulder. "Something's been pushed against the door!" the man shouted. "It won't budge!"
Another man joined him in his effort for a moment before a third conspirator picked up one of the chairs that they had been sitting on. "Stand aside!" he shouted urgently. The men followed his lead as he heaved the chair back, then slammed it into the door, cracking the stout wooden beam as it opened just a few inches.
A few inches was all the wave of flame seemed to need as it consumed the door, then the four men standing in front of it, in a flash, the shadows of the men before it screaming in agony for moments before they went silent.
"Fire!" one of the surviving conspirators shouted rather unhelpfully, and Amandine stepped away in horror at the sight.
"What the…" she said, her voice a shout over the crackling roar of the flames. Looking around, she made her way to the window. Looking out across the courtyard, she saw the base of the tower consumed in the inferno, throwing shadows across the stairs leading up to the courtyard.
As she looked around, she spotted someone, alone in the stone courtyard. Before she could call out, she paused, her eyes going wide at the sight before her. The sight of someone impossible.
"Griffith…" she whispered.
. . .
Griffith looked up at the top of the burning tower, the building bright against the night, as he silently mused on the shock all too apparent in the queen's face.
"Griffith!" the queen shouted down. "How do you live? No one could survive that poison, the doctors were sure of it!"
"It would have seemed that way, would it not?" Griffith replied, his voice raised in a way that had rang across many a battlefield. "That is how I arranged it."
"But your poison did not pass my lips." he continued. "Your servant instead gave me Nostrum, an extract that grants its drinker the sleep of near death. One must be careful not to consume a fatal dose of it. But it was worth the risk, to gather you all and deal with the lot of you."
Before Amandine could reply, one of their conspirators pushed his way to the window. "Lord Griffith!" the sycophant shouted. "Spare me! I was simply called upon by the queen and Minister Foss! I hold no ill will for you!"
"Silence, you fool!" Amandine said as she shoved the man to the floor before looking back out at Griffith.
"In any case," Griffith said airily, "you all have become too accustomed to scheming in backrooms and over desks. But this is not any mere scheme."
Griffith locked his gaze with her, that utterly intense gaze that Amandine had only heard of in whispers. "This is war," he said. "And there are no spectator seats on the battlefield."
The words stoked something within Amandine, a rage building in her as she gripped the ledge. "So that is it? You're going to kill me as you killed Julius? A mere commoner burning the queen of a royal dynasty to death? I won't allow it! I won't acknowledge it!"
Griffith shook his head slightly. "Those who die on the battlefield are not noble, merchant, or peasant. They are simply the defeated."
Amandine began to speak further, but a series of terrible cracks drew her attention to the ceiling, just before it fell on all of them. Her scream was cut short, added to the roar of the flame as she finally joined the kindling.
Griffith watched for a moment more as the fire began to consume the tower in its entirety, then turned to walk down the stairs.
As he reached a landing, he looked behind a statue, seeing the small, shivering man cowering behind it. "It's over," he said calmly, the little man flinching slightly before looking up at him.
"What's the matter?" Griffith asked casually. "It's odd, to see a man of your… stature, trembling so. Are you frightened by the potential reprisal that comes from betraying your brothers? Or have you fully realized your complicity in the assassination of a queen?"
It took long moments for Foss to look up at Griffith. "I… I need to ask you one thing. How? How did you come to know of the plan against your life?"
Griffith pondered the question for a moment, then shrugged. "I didn't know about it at first."
"Then… why me?" Foss said, gaping in shock. "What singled me out?"
"Because you are different, Minister Foss." Griffith began, turning his gaze on the man. "I predicted you would be my enemy, ever since that day when I deployed to march to Doldrey."
Foss thought back to that moment, that moment that was beginning to mirror itself in the light of the funerary pye beside them, as Griffith continued. "I knew, the moment you met my eyes, that you would never permit my existence."
"How?" Foss whispered.
"In that instant, your eyes betrayed your fear."
Griffith's stare was pinning him to the spot again, growing in intensity as he was framed behind the flames. "A man cannot ignore something he fears. He only has two choices." Griffith declared. "Either he must bend the knee and become subservient, or strike out to wipe the object of his fear from existence."
To Foss, it seemed that those eyes glowed with a hellish flame, the night and the firelight cloaking Griffith in utter shadow. All except for the gleam of his eyes.
"I've long suspected that there would be a few conservatives who would try the latter." Griffith began. "I would not have the time or focus to identify them all before someone tried something. But I knew that someone as shrewd as you would make my task easier, gathering them all to make your attempt. Though I must admit, to involve the queen herself was an interesting turn of events."
Foss quailed before the mighty mind, almost sharper than his now famous blade. 'It can't be! All this, from just meeting each other's gaze for a moment? Have I been dancing to his tune since that moment?'
'And yet…'
Foss thought as his knees began to tremble, 'I don't tremble for the betrayal of my comrades. Not for my complicity in the queen's death. It's him! That… man!'
Finally, his legs could bear no more, his fear bending him to kneel before the man. So it was for long moments, the silence between them only broken by the flames.
Foss, his head bowed to break the gaze that had held him spellbound, only looked up as he heard paper shuffling. "So," Griffith said, drawing Foss' gaze back up to him and the parchment he held, "I can see we have little need of this blood oath that I have confiscated."
As he spoke, he tore the document to shreds, tossing them towards the flames. Then, he did the last thing Foss ever expected. He smiled. "I hope we can be a little more amicable henceforth."
Foss gaped in amazement at the man. 'How could he smile so easily, so innocently, after that?'
The smile, however, faltered as Griffith looked past Foss. Behind him. Something made Griffith take a step back.
Foss, his eyes wide, looked back… and saw two figures approaching them, their forms just now becoming clear in the firelight. And their weapons gleamed.
. . .
Griffith watched the strange figures approach, one that looked like what he'd heard whispers of the strange warriors that Midlandian forces had at times encountered, a metal mask covered by two pieces of cloth pined together into a veil. The armored person, a woman, cut a striking figure. As did her teardrop-shaped mace, and the sword belted on her waist.
The other figure had no face that Griffith could discern, the head of the man a blurred mass of spinning lines. The man, that being his guess, wielded the strange curved sword that he'd heard young Lord Adonis describe.
Foss, his fear getting the better of him, rose to newly strengthened legs and fled into the night, leaving Griffith alone to face these two mysterious foes.
They regarded each other silently for a moment, then the swordsman dashed forward, Griffith charging towards, then past him. Griffith took advantage of the moment of confusion to charge at the woman with the sword at her side.
The woman swung her mace at Griffith, who ducked under the blow as he slammed into her, reaching for the blade and wrenching it free of its strap. The next blow leveled at him he batted aside, the cure of the blade weeping away from him as opposed to towards him as the man held his sword.
The man acted, grabbing his blade and somehow stretching it before he sent the now whip-like blade flashing towards Griffith, who put his blade in the way of the wildly strange attacks, a cut slipping past his guard and slicing through his coat to bite into his upper arm.
The attacks finally paused, Griffith gaining a moment's respite as he focused on the man, stepping forward to begin a charge. Before he could take another step, however, the mace swept in from behind him, catching Griffith in the side and shoving him into the pillar beside him, driving the air from his lungs and sending him slumping to the ground, the sword clattering to his side.
Griffith struggled for a moment to rise to his feet, the man approaching with his sword poised to strike.
"Monster!"
The cry drew the attention of all there to the charging young man, ornate sword in his hands raised to strike at the man. He parried the strike aside as Adonis engaged him, drawing his attention away as he engaged in a duel that, clearly, the young man was hopelessly outmatched in.
The distraction, as momentary as it was, was all that Griffith needed, taking up the sword at his feet once again, pressing the attack on the woman before him. The strange weapons clashed in the night, a strange ringing accompanying them that no other weapon Griffith had wielded or struck could replicate.
The woman with the mace took one step back, then another, dodging and blocking as best she could. Griffith pressed forward a little more, then, batting aside a strike, threw the sword and began dashing away, passing by the man and Adonis.
"No!" the man said, his shout a warped, rasping growl as he tried to push past Adonis to pursue Griffith.
But Adonis stood firm, interposing himself between the creature that he remembered standing over his father's corpse. "I won't let you kill again. Guards! Guards! To me!"
As Adonis continued to shout, the would-be assassins looked at each other and then fled into the night. Adonis would find any further searches fruitless, as if they'd just… disappeared.
. . .
Minister Foss, in an action that would have been far beneath his station at any other time, cowered behind an empty stall, the only one that had not yet been taken down as the week of festivities reached its end. What happened? Where had it all gone so, so utterly out of his control? Were those… monsters Sir Theisman's supposed solution? If so, had they succeeded? If one of them was able to stymie so many guards in the palace of Julius, one man would surely fall, no matter his skill… wouldn't he?
"Minister Foss."
The voice, one a part of him hadn't expected to hear again, made him jump in fright before he looked up to see… Griffith. Not only Griffith but a largely unscathed man for one who had been unarmed as he was. What had happened?
"How…"
"Come with me." Griffith's voice was one that brooked obedience, and Foss expected he had no choice but to obey. "We're going to ensure that your family is free."
Foss' eyes went wide, but he nodded regardless. Finally, an end to all this madness.
They took a long, winding route through the largely silent city, a clamor in the distance centered on what Foss was sure was the still burning tower. They left the city bounds, the cold of night now making Foss begin to shudder. The moon was still shining, though looming clouds threatened to bring an early snow.
Finally, they came upon his manor, Griffith going ahead as he waited at the door. He tensed up as five men streamed out past him, Griffith seemingly shepherding them out before, at last, a familiar, beloved young face, carved in relief, charged into his arms. "Father!"
"Elise!" Foss said as he embraced his daughter, tears in his eyes. "It's going to be alright. You don't need to worry. Everything's over now."
The words, as much as they were a statement of relief, couldn't help but still be bitter.
A ways apart, watching the scene unfold, was Griffith and his hirelings. "Aw," one of them said, "what a cute little scene."
He looked over at Griffith. "But it was a tough little job. Stake out the manor, make sure guards were… disposed of, shall we say."
"And the family?" Griffith asked archly.
"As promised," another spoke up, "we kept them unharmed. Didn't even spank the girl to stop her from crying."
Griffith nodded, pulling a hefty pouch from his coat. "Very well. As promised, your payment."
He tossed it deftly towards the group, trusting, not without cause, that one of them would catch it, open it, and allow all of them to wonder at the gold gleaming in the moonlight. One of their number managed to tear his eyes away from the lucrative sight to regard Griffith. "Please, my lord," he said in mock deference, "if you need anything else done, please, do not be afraid to call on us."
"Well," the man continued as his fellows began to depart, "good evening to you."
Griffith watched on, sighing quietly. There were… many things swirling about his mind tonight. The assassination attempt, if it was truly such, had simply added to the remarkably large pile. But here, at least, one of those loose ends that nagged at him would be tied up shortly.
. . .
As the mercenaries walked away, splitting their reward between them as they saw fit, they gloated in their easy job. "What a take-home." one of them chuckled as he counted out his cut. "Hope he hires us again."
"He'll have to." one of his compatriots said. "If he doesn't, well… I'm sure some people'd love to hear about how he resorts to kidnapping…"
Then, the group stumbled to a stop as they saw the shadowed figure standing before them, barring the way to their hideout in the city.
The half-dozen cutthroats drew their swords. "Who the hell are you?" their leader said. "Get the hell out of our way."
The man stepped forward. The first thing they caught in the moonlight was the glint of his eyes. Then the glint of his… sword… his massive sword…
It was over in moments, Guts barely winded from the 'effort' of splaying the gore of the vagabonds across the ground. Now, he simply waited for a moment.
"Well, then," Griffith said as he emerged from the darkness. "Looks like you finished things up quickly."
"Yeah." Guts said as he sheathed his sword. "Looks like that takes care of everything. Right?"
Guts frowned as Griffith hesitated. "Something wrong?"
Griffith's lips pursed. "It seems the story of the creature that assassinated Lord Julius has more merit to it than I expected."
Guts' jaw clenched as he remembered that night. "I remember it. It didn't have a face."
Griffith nodded. "And it wasn't alone."
Guts fist clenched in turn. "That thing had friends?"
"Just one. But the timely intervention of young Lord Adonis gave me a chance to escape."
Guts nodded. "I see." the emotions he had surrounding the kid were less now. A little better defined, even if he still couldn't fully untangle them.
It was silent for a moment before he sighed and shook his head, crouching down by the man that held the bag that held his 'reward'. "To think they threw their lives away for the royal equivalent of chump change. At least it beats a soldier's pay."
As he reached for the pouch, Griffith's voice gave him pause. "Leave it." it was silent for a moment as Guts looked up at him. "They earned it. It's theirs by right. Leave it with them."
Guts shrugged, standing again. "Well, I guess money is the key to all doors," he grumbled. "Hell of a waste, though…"
Guts looked back to where they had come from. "So, is it safe to let the little bald guy live?"
Griffith looked back with Guts. "I think so, yes. He's learned his lesson tonight. I can't predict the future, but probably…"
He trailed off, his expression becoming pensive. "Probably…?" Guts said meaningfully.
The question seemed to snap Griffith out of his reverie, and he smiled slightly. "Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
They turned, the tower a bright spot in the night compared to the ever more obscuring moon. "The nobles are gonna be up in arms over all this. A mountain of dead bodies with the queen perched on it like her throne. The only thing you might need to worry about is those… things."
"With Adonis having engaged them in combat, the city will be on high alert for their kind," Griffith said assuredly. "I doubt they'll be able to make it back into the city if they escape at all."
Guts hummed. "Then it's all good. No one who would point a finger at you is still alive. And I doubt anyone would suspect the person that nearly died."
It was silent for the briefest of moments. Then, Griffith broke the silence. "Does it seem cruel?"
Guts glanced over at Griffith, who looked at him intently. "I involved you in this scheme," Griffith continued, "and didn't even intend to dirty my hands. All the dangerous, taxing work, I left to you."
He paused. "So… do you think I'm cruel?"
Guts considered the question silently for a moment then scoffed. "C'mon. You're a general, aren't you? And this is just a different kind of war, isn't it? One I've got to get used to, but you already seem pretty good at it. What kind of question is that to ask someone who's killed a hundred men?"
"Besides," Guts said, a little less brashly, "it's all a part of your dream, isn't it? So why start doubting now, of all times?"
Griffith sighed, a slight smile on his face as he nodded. "You're right."
Guts nodded as he slapped Griffith's shoulder. "So, come on. Dead men don't walk around. Besides, we should get you back quick so that Casca and the others stop worrying."
They walked along for a little way before Guts spoke up again. "Seeing as you were 'dead', you probably didn't see."
"See what?" Griffith said, somewhat confused.
"Casca's dress. It was nice."
"Was it now?"
. . .
The room in the newly minted White Phoenix Knight's barracks was empty. Then, with a hollow tearing sound, two figures, bereft of the weapons and clothing that had made them so distinct tonight, appeared.
Daniel, deactivating the necklace that concealed his face, strode to the door as he removed it, opening it to check the hallway. Empty. Good. Everyone was likely down in the common area waiting for Guts and Griffith.
He closed the door with a heavy sigh. "Damn it. Damn it!"
As Daniel stormed over to his bed, dropping onto it and putting his head in his hands, Anaa'ri looked on with no small amount of concern. "Is there no other way to reach him before everything goes wrong?" Rhia asked.
Daniel shook his head. "No. From here on out, Griffith is either going to be surrounded by other Falcons or so far out of reach that trying to get to him would be ludicrous."
Daniel scrubbed his face then rested his chin on his clasped hands. "Unless…"
"Unless what?" Rhia asked. She was silent for a moment, then another voice spoke up. "Are you perhaps suggesting… during the Eclipse?"
Daniel took a deep breath. "It would be the only time I think I could convince anyone of his danger. Right before they're to be sacrificed. It's the closest anyone could cut it while he's still… well, mortal for lack of a better term."
"It will be… difficult still." Another voice that Daniel hadn't heard for a while. Ulikam, the War Master. "These men are loyal to their leader. What pertinent points I see from the records that you showed us make it seem that Guts has every possibility of turning his blade on you for the sake of his friend."
Daniel nodded. "Yes. But right now… we have other events to be worrying about soon."
Daniel stood from his bed, making his way to the door and into the hallway, Anaa'ri following after. "Is there perhaps a chance to stop what comes without violence?" Rhia asked. "All we have tried to do thus far is end Griffith's path. Could we perhaps divert it?"
Daniel was silent for a moment. "It is possible. Hardly as simple as ending his life, but we both know how hard it is to make that happen. We'll have to act soon, and subtly, if we wish to do so."
They paused at the entrance to the common room, descending into it quickly as they watched the door. No sooner had they made their way to Casca and the other unit commanders, clearly anxious and worried, than the door opened, Griffith striding into the shocked silence.
Casca was the first to break it as she ran forward. "Griffith!" she shouted, seemingly dragging the others behind her like a wave.
She collided with Griffith, taking him in an embrace as those Falcons who could get close surrounded him. Griffith spent several moments reassuring those around him, giving a brief explanation of his evening, missing several key details that Daniel and Anna both noticed as they slipped through the crowd that gave them some deference as they passed.
"Griffith…" Casca said, sniffling.
"I must have really worried you to have you like this, Casca," Griffith said gently.
Casca looked up at him as he smiled slightly. "It was terrible." Poor little Rickert, seemingly on the edge of tears, said as he wiped his eyes. "Casca hasn't been herself since you fainted."
Griffith nodded, looking back at Casca. "I'm sorry I didn't notice," he said quietly.
As Casca hummed in confusion, Griffith's smile widened slightly. "This dress does look good on you."
With that, he returned her embrace. And, as those around the pair gawked at the sight, Guts watched on from the doorway. He smiled slightly and started to turn away.
"Guts."
Guts paused, looking back at Daniel, who now stood in the doorway. "Where did you disappear off to when Griffith fainted?"
The question immediately caused Guts' brow to furl in confusion. Besides him, and until now, Griffith hadn't let anyone else in on the plan. "I was out doing some things for Griffith," he said nonchalantly as he walked towards another, less crowded side entrance.
Daniel fell in alongside him, walking for a little way until the crowd that surrounded Griffith began to fade. "It wouldn't have anything to do with that fire that lit up tonight, would it?"
"No." Guts knew it was the truth, very technically speaking. He doubted Daniel would buy it.
As to whether he did or not, Daniel didn't show as he took a deep breath and sighed. "Whatever else, I'm glad you're safe, wherever you went. This sort of politicking and stabbing in the dark was never really for me. But I guess I'll just have to learn my way around it, same as you."
Guts chuckled softly. "If there's anyone who can do it, it's you. Besides, if you can teach it, it sounds a little more useful than just ballroom dancing."
"And yet, you looked pretty happy dancing with Casca, didn't you?" Daniel grinned.
Guts blushed. "Aw, come on. It's not like you knew that would happen or anything."
Daniel shrugged. "I don't know. She's a terribly nice woman, after all. I could see something coming out of tonight."
"Shut up." Guts said as his blush deepened.
. . .
1 Month Later
The funeral and entombment of Queen Amandine of the house of Halbrand, an ostentatious and solemn affair, had come only a few days later after that fateful night, along with the postponement of the ceremony that would officially raise the Falcon's commanders to the peerage. Full of pomp and circumstance, it was the first of several funerals.
Rumors, as they tended to do, swirled around the events of that night. The death of the queen, several of the more outspoken critics of Griffith's ascension to the peerage, and yet his attempted assassination all on the same night? Who could it have been? Tudor hardliners? Some third party seeking to sow chaos? An elaborate ruse?
None knew. The discovery of several bodies beyond the perimeter of the city did nothing to illuminate matters. Thus, the truth of it all vanished into the darkness of that night, the whispers of rumor and conspiracy following after it in time.
Now, though, winter had come on in its boreal majesty. A blanket of snow covered the ground, the trees, and the buildings, even the husk of that tower that had burned down given a cold, pale softness to its blackened and charred edges.
It was early in the morning of one such day that Guts, who had received his own room as the unit commander of the Raiders, rose quietly, packing his things in silence. He'd stayed around this long, for those he'd come to care about more than anything else. But now, it was time.
As he slung his bag over his shoulder, he paused at the door, looking back at the now mostly bare table in the light of the candle mounted on the wall. On the table were two items. One, a battered chestplate that Daniel had long since helped him replace during their time here. Another was the hilt and what remained of the blade of his old sword. That sword that had served him well ever since he'd joined the Falcons.
He regarded them for a long, silent moment, smiling slightly at the good memories that those two pieces of shaped metal now held. But now, he would leave them in Daniel's care. He blew out the candle as he opened the door, and made his way into the night.
As he left, however, there was one thing that he did not count on. He was not the only one awake this early in the morning.
Casca, still used to rising early to prepare for a day's march, studied a simple book that Griffith had recommended to her by the light of a fireplace, sitting on a long ledge next to a window into the night.
At the moment, she looked out into the snowy landscape, wondering at how it changed the feeling of the city around her as the flakes came down. 'It's amazing what it looks like to see falling snow. I don't think I've ever seen it quite like this…'
Then, she noticed a figure walking away from the building. 'Who's out this early in the morning?' she wondered as she pressed her face to the window to better see.
Then, she recognized the sword on the figure's back. Onhis back. Her eyes went wide. "Now?" she said incredulously as she set the book aside, hurrying to make her way out to confront Guts.
With a coat on and shoes on her feet, she dashed through the barracks. As she ran, she came upon, then passed Judeau and Corkus, likely passing time as they got up around the same time as she did. Whatever they might have said was lost on her as she dashed out into the night, following his tracks as best she could.
Finally, she drew near the calmly walking figure. "Guts!" she called out.
Guts paused, looking back at Casca, who was panting for breath now. "Are… you…" Casca said, her words muffled by the snow.
"Are you leaving now?" Casca finally said after catching her breath. "Without even saying goodbye?"
Guts looked away, and Casca stepped forward. "I know we've not always gotten along." she continued. "But things were getting better between us. I… I enjoyed dancing with you. Like you said, we're getting to see just how far the Falcons can go. How far we can go. And now… now is when you want to leave. Without even telling… anyone?"
Guts sighed quietly. "You know I made my mind up about it."
It was silent between them for a moment. "I hope…" Guts began, pausing somewhat awkwardly. "I hope things go well… between you and Griffith."
Casca looked away, her face scrunching up, and Guts wondered if he'd said something wrong.
"Hey." another familiar voice called out, both Guts and Casca turning to see Judeau and Corkus approaching.
The pair walked past Casca, Judeau nodding forward as he approached Guts. "Let's talk for a little bit."
Guts shrugged and followed after Judeau, Corkus following behind. As they departed into the night, Casca watched on, hating how helpless she felt as she tried to find some sort of solution. Then, two people came to mind. 'If there's anyone who can keep Guts from leaving, it's Griffith and Daniel!'
She turned back to the barracks, shivering slightly as she began to run again.
. . .
As Guts walked with Judeau and Corkus, they walked into the only open tavern on the street, several early morning workers eating their breakfast as the trio sat at a table.
Immediately, they were recognized, and Guts felt himself shrinking inward as Corkus lapped up the attention.
"Ah, give it a rest right now, Corkus," Judeau said as platters of food, on the house, arrived.
Corkus didn't really seem to care as he tried to get the attention of an attractive serving woman, and Judeau shook his head slightly as he turned his attention back to Guts. "So, why now?" he said. "I mean, it's awful sudden to just up and leave, now especially…"
"It's not sudden." Guts said. "I decided on it before we arrived at Doldrey."
"So… are you dissatisfied?" Judeau asked.
Guts shook his head, smiling slightly. "Not at all. The Falcons gave me and Daniel comradery, a chance to be something more than we were. Or at least, for Daniel, be something he hasn't been in a while."
The answer seemed to satisfy Judeau somehow, a slight smile on his face. "That's not something the old Guts would have said."
"Yeah, I guess so." Guts replied. "These last three years have been good. Like that festival last month. No. No way I'm dissatisfied."
"So why're you doing this now?"
Corkus, having apparently gotten what he was looking for with the serving woman, leaned on the table as he continued. "I mean, look at it. We're almost Sirs, now. People who wouldn't have given me a second thought are now absolutely into me. Stroll into any other bar, and you get service like we just got. Hell, just walk down the street, and women and children swarm you. And for good reason. We're the heroes of the kingdom! And last month was just a taste of the smooth sailing we can look forward to."
His eyes narrowed as he paused. "We couldn't have ever gotten any of this normally. Commoners like us? Hell, we couldn't even dream of it seriously. But we got it. After all the swords that almost took our heads off, after all the times we had one foot in the grave, we finally got it."
Corkus' lips twisted into a scowl. "And you want to throw it all away. Like tossing out old clothes. I thought Daniel taught you to be smarter than that."
"Corkus…" Judeau said.
Corkus scoffed. "I mean, he taught you how to swing a sword and swing a lady, right along with us. Is that really all he taught you?"
"No." Guts finally said. "He might have taught me how to kind of dance, but all I really know how to do is swing a sword. When I first killed a man, I barely knew right from left. Other than what Daniel's taught me, I haven't learned anything off the battlefield since."
"But…" Guts said after a moment. "As long as I had someone to look up to, it was enough. First, it was Daniel. Now, though… I've got someone else to look up to. Someone I wanted to really see me."
He recalled, all those years ago, first seeing Griffith on his horse. "He had nothing, and yet he wanted everything he could grasp. And something about him made you think it could really happen. But in order for him to aim so high, he had to make himself the best. Hold others to that standard. There couldn't be any room at his side for the weak. Strangely though, the clearer that becomes, the more dazzling it is. And now… I've had enough looking up from inside Griffith's dream."
He paused. "I want to stand beside him, reaching for and getting something of my own. Now… I want to be Griffith's equal. I can't stand the thought of him looking down at me."
It was silent at that table for a moment. Then, Corkus shook his head. "You can't be serious," he said incredulously. "Griffith's… equal?"
His face twitched as if he were getting angry, then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Look, I'm gonna teach you one more thing. Griffith's special. You get that much. He's different from us. You only got to be commander of the Raiders because of Griffith. You didn't even deserve it then."
"I'm not interested in class or rank." Guts replied calmly. "I want something else. Something I can win for myself."
"Come on!" Corkus shouted in exasperation, drawing the attention of those patrons who remained in the tavern's warmth as he stood and slapped the table. "You sound like a brat! Something you can win for yourself? If something like that were easy to find, then no one would have to suffer! Besides, even if you're lucky, only a small handful get to be winners! Normal people like us? We have to use all our strength and talents to accept reality and move on!"
"The people who say all you need is a dream?" Corkus continued. "It makes me sick to hear assholes who spout that! 'All you need's a dream'. That's just a load of shit straight out of the horse's ass!"
"Corkus," Judeau said more firmly.
"So," Guts interjected, "you don't have something like that?"
Corkus opened his mouth, then shut it silently. "Y'know what?" he finally said quietly as pinched the bridge of his nose. "To hell with this."
He began to walk away. "I'm done hanging around with the naive child, Judeau. He's all yours."
Guts watched as Corkus stalked out the door. "You know," Judeau said after a moment, "in spite of all of that, he used to lead a band of thieves. Not a lot. 10 of them, at the most. Times were tough, after all. Kind of surprised me when they tried to cross the Band. But we put them in their place, and he's been with us ever since. So… maybe there was something, once, that he wanted for himself."
As Guts pondered what he'd just heard, Judeau continued, playing with his carving knife and spinning it around. "As for me, I've been a jack of all trades. Swords and knives come easy, and I have a sharper wit than most. Not to boast or anything."
"But," he said quietly as he put the knife down, "I've never been the best at anything. So, if that was the case, I'd fly in the wake of someone that was. There's nobody who never wanted something, after all."
It was silent again, then Judeau leaned back and smiled. "Don't get me wrong, though. Things are good, and I'm pretty happy with my situation."
He paused as his smile faded slightly. "Well, from one perspective, I guess that's not all true."
"To sacrifice your status as commander of the Raiders, the promise of peerage and knighthood right in front of you, all for some vague thing…" Judeau paused. "I wonder if something's wrong."
Judeau's expression became thoughtful. "But then again, maybe there's something wrong with everyone. Dreams. Win or lose, I'm sure you could spend a lifetime chasing one."
Judeau regarded Guts intently. "Remember three years ago, when I said you'd find a place here? I guess I was wrong."
Judeau nodded slightly, then stood. "So, I'll see you off. I do hope you find it. Your… something."
Guts smiled slightly, and they left the tavern, emerging into the pre-dawn light. As they walked, Judeau looked over at Guts. "There is one more thing I want to ask you."
"Hm?"
"What's up with you and Casca?" Judeau said with a slight smile.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Guts said incredulously.
"Ever since you two fell off that cliff, you've gotten closer to each other. A lot closer." Judeau's smile widened.
Guts pondered the words silently for a moment. "Well, a lot's happened with her." he finally said.
The smile on Judeau's face became a grin. "What's that look for?" Gut said somewhat uneasily.
"Why not try your luck with her?" Judeau asked.
Guts sighed quietly. "You're not the only one to imply that," he said wearily.
"Oh, good," Judeau said. "I'm not the only one to have working eyes that know what they're seeing."
"Besides," Guts said with a roll of his eyes, "every old dog in the Band knows that she and Griffith…"
"Well…" Judeau said. "Casca can't really be with Griffith now. Chances are…"
"Hm?"
"Like you said," Judeau began, "Griffith had nothing. And even still, he became a general of Midland. That's practically a miracle already. Something you find yourself satisfied with and not hoping for much more than that. But… Griffith won't stop. His goal… it's one of a kind."
Guts listened silently as he pondered, and Judeau continued. "With things being peaceful, hopefully for a while, he won't be able to distinguish himself in battle. Any further promotion there is a slim chance. Even as a general, he's still just a soldier. He needs a trump card for one last push…"
Guts' brow furrowed in confusion, and Judeau smiled ruefully. "Don't you get it? It's the princess."
The pieces finally began to click as Judeau continued. "Getting her hand in marriage is the fastest way to what Griffith wants. It's also the only way. And with General Julius out of the way, and Adonis seemingly not all that interested in Charlotte, he's got a real shot at it. Not only that, but the queen and all the old guard against Griffith burned up when he was almost assassinated."
Judeau paused, his brow furrowing as he looked over at Guts. "You wouldn't…" he trailed off, then shook his head. "No."
Then he shrugged. "Oh, well!"
Guts couldn't help but think of that night last month as they walked home.
"Guts," Griffith had said, "don't tell the others anything."
"It's not that I don't trust them," he clarified, "the Falcons, after all, are bound to one fate. But I don't want to reveal the dirty side of this work just yet. They need to feel as though our star keeps rising. You're rough enough to share this with. To the very end."
"In any case," Judeau said, pulling Guts from the memory as they passed the edge of the city, "everyone who might interfere with Griffith's ambitions is either out of the way or dead. The princess… she's in love with him. That's probably be design… but even still, there's no way he'll miss his chance. With Casca, she doesn't just love him for what he's done for her. It's almost like she worships him. Yet despite all that, she can't find happiness in being a woman longing for someone she can't have. Moreover, beside her is the woman who can grant him the thing he most desires. The one thing that Casca can't give him. It must be unbearable."
He paused as he looked over at Guts. "So, how about it? Ever think you'd like to hold her?"
Guts considered the question. "I…" he took a deep breath. "Casca's a fine woman. Better than any of those noble ladies who only know how to dress up. It's tough, finding someone who'll watch your back like she can. But… she's a comrade."
"So?" Judeau asked as they paused at the foot of a hill.
Guts was once again silent. "No, I guess that's not it. But the one who has her eye is Griffith. Always has been. I'm no good to her like this."
Judeau regarded Guts curiously for a moment, then smiled slightly. "Gotcha."
They began to climb the hill, the last obstacle to the wider world. "It really seemed like there was hope for you, though."
Guts shook his head. "Right now, I've got my hands full dealing with just me."
He paused towards the top, looking over at Judeau. "This is far enough. Thanks for…"
He trailed off as he noticed a group waiting for him at the top of the hill. Five people stood by the lone tree at the top of the hill, dressed warmly. Pippin and Corkus both regarded him silently, one more mullish than the other. Casca looked on with wide, somewhat relieved eyes. Daniel, strangest of all, seemed like he… expected this.
Rickert, however, stole the show, running towards Guts with tears in his eyes. "How could you, Guts?" he shouted as he tugged on the taller man's cloak. "Leaving without even saying anything! Why? Don't you like the Band of the Falcon?"
"Rickert…" Guts began, but he looked up to see Casca meet his eyes, then look away. What was that look in her eyes? Was Judeau…
Then, from behind the tree, one last person emerged. Griffith stared at him levelly as he came to Casca's side. They stared at each other silently for long moments. "Are you leaving?" Griffith asked softly.
"Yeah." Guts replied.
"You mean to leave behind the Band of the Falcon?" Griffith said.
For the briefest of moments, Guts felt… ashamed. "I'm sorry."
Griffith's piercing stare bored into him. But Rickert held his attention for the moment. "That doesn't explain anything!" the boy said. "Tell us why! Aren't the Falcons like family to you? Isn't Daniel? Why throw it all away?"
"Rickert," Judeau said calmly, "cut it out. It's a man's decision. Let him go."
Rickert looked over at Daniel, who nodded. "Judeau's right, Rickert," he said. "Every man must be able to make his own decisions. If this is Guts', then I won't stand in his way."
"But…" Rickert said, pouting. "This is bad for all of us, right?" Guts is the commander of the Raiders! He's vital! We can't just… let him leave!"
Corkus scoffed. "We were doing just fine before he joined. He's not the only reason we're strong."
"Yeah, but-" Rickert began.
"Shut up!" Corkus said, stalking towards Guts. Guts noticed that Daniel, his sword and dagger at his side, grabbed the scabbard.
"You listen here." Corkus spat as he leaned into Guts. "I don't care what kind of sob story your life's been. It doesn't make you any better than us. We've all had it tough. Your scowling mug pissed me off from the start. Acting like your agony made you special. Don't be so proud! I don't buy it."
He leaned in still further. "You can never become like Griffith," he growled.
Guts, disregarding Corkus' angry words entirely, looked at the other Falcons. All of them seemed shocked to some extent or another except Judeau, Daniel, and… Griffith. Griffith, who seemed to bore into him with that stare.
Corkus scoffed after a moment. "Well, since you're going through with this, watch your back if we ever meet in battle again."
Finally, the man stepped aside, and Guts regarded them all silently for a moment. "Guts…" Rickert said.
"Thank you all." Guts finally said. "For everything."
He looked at Casca, who now stood next to him, looking at him with almost pleading eyes. "Casca can't be with Griffith. Chances are…" the memory of Judeau said in Guts' mind once again. "Why not try your luck with her?"
He looked at Judeau, standing in front of Pippin. "Ever think you'd like to hold her?"
'Not now. Not yet.'
Guts walked past Casca, who gasped from behind him. Then, he paused, as steel rasped against a scabbard, and a drawn blade stood in front of him. His eyes went wide as Griffith, with a now ornate sword, barred his path.
"Griffith…" Guts said, a warning edge to his voice.
"I told you then," Griffith said, "that you belong to me."
He lifted his blade, bringing it to point at Guts. "I won you with this. Your strength, and your death. I hold both. If you want to leave my grasp, then it will be in the same way you entered it."
"Wrest yourself away by your sword."
It was still for a moment. "Griffith!" Rickert shouted, breaking the silence. Casca gasped quietly.
Guts simply regarded Griffith. "I guess we can't just smile and say 'take care' then?" he asked levelly. Griffith just remained silent, his blade aimed at Guts' heart.
Guts sighed quietly. "You're really serious, then."
He dropped his sack in the snow, striding forward a few paces before pausing, drawing his sword as the rays of the sunrise glinted off the snow and their blades.
Finally, someone moved. "Wait!" Casca shouted, dashing forward and putting herself in front of Guts. "Are you two serious? You two could die! Griffith, if you sheathe your sword, we can talk!"
Griffith simply flourished his blade, and Casca's mouth dropped open in shock.
"Get back, Casca." Guts said, turning her attention to him. She saw the determination on his face, to a depth that she had never seen in battle before. "Don't get in our way."
"What are you thinking?" Casca said incredulously. "If you really do this, then both of you…"
She found herself cut off as a firm grasp on her upper arm led her away. She looked over to see Daniel guiding her. "What are you doing?" she asked incredulously.
"Guts won't kill Griffith," Daniel replied firmly. "Not even for this."
"You can't know that!" Casca said, desperately looking to the others to try and help her, at Pippin, the only person who might be able to stop this…
But Pippin simply shook his head emphatically. "They have to do this, now," Judeau said in his stead, studying the two duelists as Rickert simply looked on in fright.
"Maybe he'll get some sense beaten into his head," Corkus said with a grin. A grin that disappeared as he looked over at a thoroughly unamused Daniel with a hand on the hilt of his dagger.
"What's wrong with all of you?" Casca said. "This is a duel! If we don't stop them…"
"We can't interfere," Judeau said emphatically.
"But…"
"What are the rest of us gonna do without swords, anyway?" Corkus said. "Daniel here…"
He trailed off as he met Daniel's stare again, Judeau continuing regardless. "Living in the lap of luxury might have made you forget how this started, Casca. What's taken by the sword is recovered by it. That's how mercenaries have always done it. That's how we've always done it, ever since before we came to Midland. Mercenaries have their own ways of doing things. You know how true that is."
"But…" Casca said, her expression falling as despair draped over it. "But…"
'She really has changed.' Judeau pondered. 'The old Casca would never have cared to what lengths Griffith pushed her to. Even if it meant losing comrades, or even her own life. Is she even aware of what she's become?'
Casca had no idea, embroiled in her own worries as she regarded the two men staring each other down in the snow. 'No… maybe that's still the truth. But…'
. . .
Griffith stared down the man that was his. That tried now to escape his grasp. 'It's almost like you're staring at an enemy. It makes sense. Your expectations, your view of me as your superior is vanishing into thin air. I can't complain if you resent me.'
'But even still…'
he mused. 'Even if I'm hated, or a traitor…'
Then, in an instant, words that were never meant for Guts returned to Griffith's mind. "...someone who would never simply depend on another's dream. Who would not be driven like cattle, but drive forward themselves in determining their reason for living."
'So that's why…'
Griffith finally realized.
Guts, across from him, unknowingly completed the man's statement. "Someone who, if one threatened that dream, even if that one were myself, would oppose them, body and soul."
"What I think a friend is, Charlotte, is one who is my equal."
'That's why I have to go, Griffith.'
Guts thought.
. . .
As all of them waited for the pair to strike, to even move, Judeau watched and wondered. 'Griffith's still a master of swordplay. But Guts has been training on the battlefield relentlessly. I can't see any of Guts' anger. And Griffith… he doesn't have his usual composure. Could they be… equally matched?'
Casca watched on, hoping against hope. 'Guts is strong. So much stronger than before. But Griffith's grown stronger alongside him. He can stop him! He can keep things the way they've been.'
She realized what she was hoping for, and found herself… stunned. 'Is that my wish? Do I want him to stay?'
Guts, his temper cool as the snow around him, analyzed the man that, once again, he faced in a fateful duel. 'It's strange that I'm this calm going up against Griffith again. But I can't drop my guard. Funny. It ends the way it started. Daniel'd call that poetic. But at least it fits more than some half-hearted farewell. And if nothing else, this means I'm still worth spilling blood for to you.'
Griffith's mind was hardly so calm, his mind racing as plan after plan was made and discarded. 'Your eyes are calm. Poised. Devoid of your typical brazenness. So that's how firm your resolve is. Do you really want to go? Is this how badly you want to leave my grasp? Slip free of my control?'
The idea lit a fire in his chest that blazed in his eyes. 'No. No! I won't have it!'
His mind finally settled on something useful. A single strike, the only one he might get on this footing and against Guts' strength. A wounding one, to the shoulder, as he deflected the blade. He couldn't afford even a second more or less than perfection. If something went even the slightest bit wrong, he'd kill him. 'But if I can't have him… I don't care!'
At last, a shift in footing, a crouch from Griffith, and he dashed forward, his blade a blur as he brought it up to chop down. Guts met the motion in kind, just as Griffith needed. The ringing of steel clashing, the blade bending…
Then snapping.
And shock and resignation and terror filled Griffith's eyes as Guts' strike went through. He could almost see the blade coming down towards his sword arm before it stopped dead in its tracks.
It was silent again, the only thing breaking the shocked void the soft, puffing clatter of the top of Griffith's sword hitting the ground. Then, the hilt slipped out of Griffith's seemingly numb fingers, landing on the ground mere moments before Griffith's knees followed suit.
Finally, a voice. "Griffith!" Casca shouted as the Falcons made their way over to Griffith. He never saw them. He simply stared at the ground, wondering how he was still alive, barely even noticing Guts walking past him.
"Take care." Guts said as he walked away.
Griffith's eyes went wide. How casual. How… uncaring.
"Griffith…" Casca said again before looking out at the retreating figure. She hesitated for a moment.
"Guts," she called out. "Guts!"
He didn't even look back. He simply continued.
"Guts!"
Finally, Guts paused, and Casca looked over to see Daniel marching over to the man.
. . .
Daniel walked over, surprised that Guts had even thought to stop when he called, making his way in front of him.
It was silent for a moment. "You gonna try and stop me?" Guts asked. "Now?"
"No," Daniel replied. "All I want to do is ask a question. Will I see you again?"
Guts seemed somewhat surprised. "I mean, it's in the cards."
He paused for a moment. "You could always come with me."
Daniel smiled slightly. "There comes a time when every son must make a path that is different from his father's. This seems to be yours. So, go. With the closest I can give you to a father's blessing."
The smile widened, and he stepped forward and hugged Guts. "I love you, son. Never forget that."
Guts, somewhat shocked for a moment, finally returned the embrace. "I love you, too," he said quietly.
They stood there for long moments, then they parted, and Daniel stepped aside. "When I see you again, tell me what you found. I'd like to know."
Guts nodded, then began to walk again.
Daniel watched on, knowing what the boy was thinking as he looked back at Griffith.
'It's alright.' Guts thought. 'It's like stumbling on a stone on the side of the road. The place you want to go is beyond it. So… it's alright. You'll stand up. And you'll keep walking.'
'It's what you do.'
. . .
Daniel kept vigil for a little longer, then turned and walked back up the hill. There, Griffith still knelt, surrounded by the Falcons. Now, though, Anna had arrived, looking at him curiously.
"So, Guts is gone," Anna said simply.
Daniel nodded. "For now."
He paused by Griffith, going to a knee to face him. "He'll make his way back, Lord Griffith. I can promise that. You, and everyone here, mean too much to him for him to just stay away."
With that, he stood, looking at the gathered Falcons. "Come on. Let's get going."