A Dog Among Princes

Chapter 2

Guts was glad none of the fancy clothes the knights had brought fit him. Casca and Griffth had insisted he should play along, since he was meeting a king and all, and dress nice. Luckily for him everything the knights had on offer was made for a normal young nobleman not a giant. He’d been threatened with tailors when they reached the capital but for now he was allowed to keep his own clothes. He had always made his own clothes, always had to make his own clothes. When he was a child it was always because there wasn’t anything in the supplies of the various mercenary groups he’d lived in that fit an eleven year old. But as he got older and taller, and the effects of wielding a sword as long as he was tall had begun to show, there wasn’t really anything that fit him period. Even when making shirts himself he left off the sleeves. It was too much of a hassle to deal with mending the seams every few weeks, better to just put on a cloak. He wondered if he could ask whoever they planned to hire to leave them off as well.

Fuck, that was still too strange to think about. Even after three years Guts was still barely used to having friends. Now he’d probably have servants. He remembered all the bullshit Griffith had to deal with going to meetings and kissing ass. He was probably going to have to deal with that shit now too. Although, Guts guessed he was going to be on the receiving end. He wasn’t sure if he felt better or worse about that. Guts thought about how Griffith had knelt to him days before and kissed his hand. How when he spoke to a noble he was trying to petition funds from, he always made them feel like they were the center of his world. How he’d looked at him with half lidded eyes. When he last caught a glimpse of him naked. And he was ending that train of thought right there!

“You seem to be taking this pretty hard.” Guts nearly jumped out of his skin at Judeau’s voice. He’d intentionally ridden far out ahead of everybody else to be alone. The Knights from York had protested initially but eventually relented after Judeau and Rickert told them about how Guts had gone toe to toe with Nosferatu Zodd and how he’d earned the title of One Hundred Man Slayer. He was grateful that Judeau had given him the opportunity to be in his own head for a bit. But of course he knew it was a matter of time before he came to pull him from his brooding. He’d brought Pippin, Corkus, and Rickert with him. Pippin and Rickert he understood, but Guts always figured Corkus hated him.

“Taking what hard? He just found out he’s goddamn royalty! He should be celebrating!” Corkus clapped him on the back. Guts glared at him and Corkus quickly withdrew his hand.

“He has a right to mixed feelings. We don’t know anything about the political situation we’re walking into.” Judeau played around with one of his throwing knives. “We don’t know what the succession situation was like before Guts was discovered or what it's going to look like now. He might have people after him now.”

“I’ve always had people after me,” Guts growled. “I killed my first man before I turned ten years old.” He let his words hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “I don’t know. Lately I’ve been trying to figure out what I want to do with my life. I figured after the siege I'd try and find something to work towards. Something more meaningful than blind violence. I wanted to find something I wanted to fight for.”

“And you’re worried as a prince you won’t be able to do that.” Pippin added. He didn’t talk much but he was a good listener. He was always good at helping Guts sort out his thoughts.

“I always thought royals could do whatever they want. Isn’t that why Griffith wanted his own country?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that, Rickert.” Judeau explained. “You have to balance the whims of the nobles, the needs of the regular people, and what you actually want to do to get anything done. Somebody charismatic like Griffith could do it but…” Guts sat hunched over his horse glaring at the others. He didn’t mean to glare most of the time; his face was just set into a semi-permanent scowl.

“I don’t know anything about this country or its people.” Guts started counting on his hand, “I’ve never lived in a house let alone learned how to behave at court. I don’t even know how to fucking read! Being charismatic is barely a god damn factor.”

“It seems like you’re on the right track at least.” Guts looked at Judeau like he’d grown a second head. “No, seriously. It’s good that you’re actually thinking about this kind of stuff. It means you’re taking this seriously. Corkus here would probably be trying to figure out just how much of the royal coffers he’d have to spend to bathe in champagne every night.”

“I resent that accusation” Corkus shot back. “I’d be trying to figure out how much I’d need to spend to sleep on a new feather bed every night.” Guts barked out a laugh.

“Have you talked to Griffith about any of this? He’s probably more equipped to help you than any of us.”

“No, he’s been acting weird lately. Around me I mean.” It had been strange enough that he’d uprooted the whole band, leaving his chance for promotion to follow Guts to a foreign country.

“In what way?”

“Like I’m a kid or something I guess. He keeps trying to do things like help me off my horse. Shit he’s seen me do no problem in the past.” Judeau looked lost in thought. “Is something wrong?”

“No it’s no problem just ignore me.”

Judeau tracked down Griffith as soon as they made camp for the night. He was chatting up the Rose Knights trying to build rapport as usual.

“Hey Commander, can I talk to you for a minute alone?” He wasn’t quite as good at modulating his tone as Griffith was but he tried to make it sound as dire as possible. Griffith politely excused himself and allowed Judeau to lead him away.

“What did you need me for?”

“Why are you treating Guts like Charlotte?”

“Excuse me?” Judeau had genuinely caught him off guard.

“You heard me. I don’t know if you’re doing it on purpose or not but you’ve been treating Guts like he’s a sheltered princess and even he’s started to notice.”

“I-”

“Look, I wouldn’t have brought it up ordinarily, but you’re his best friend. Guts is in a rough place right now and he needs something stable to grab onto. You suddenly completely changing how you act around him isn’t helping.” Griffith blinked once and re-composed himself.

“I’ll take that under advisement.”

Alright Judeau pull back, stroke his ego a little bit to smooth things over. Don’t make it seem like you think you’re closer to him than Griffith.

“He wants to learn how to read. I figure you’re probably the best one to teach him right? He’s concerned about how he’s going to be perceived at court given, well, given he’s Guts.”

“He told you this?” Griffith left off the unspoken and not me.

“Like I said, he noticed you’re treating him differently.” Griffith gave him a small smile. The kind that Judeau knew said “you’re right but I refuse to admit it out loud”.

“I’ll keep that in mind when I next speak to him.”

Guts still didn’t feel like he had his head on straight as he stared into the campfire that night. He hadn’t had much time to himself recently so he’d taken to staying up later and later. As he watched the fire he heard a rustle of cloth next to him.

“You’re more quiet than I thought you’d be.” It was the young witch. Her name was Schierke if he remembered right.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“I-it’s not a bad thing or anything I just didn’t expect it knowing your grandfather and all.”

“What kind of man is he?” Guts shuffled. “My grandfather.”

“Well he tends to talk a lot now. Apparently a few years ago, when he was in mourning, things were different. He seemed nice the times I spoke to him. Although that could’ve been out of courtesy to my Mistress. He never talked down to me though, that’s more than I can say for most.”

“As in he wasn’t a dick to you because you’re a kid, or as in he treated you like an adult?”

“I don’t know if I understand the question.” Guts’s shoulders relaxed.

“That’s good. You shouldn’t.”

“I’ve never known ignorance to be a good thing, your majesty.” The hair on the back of Guts’s neck stood up at the honorific.

“Look, there’s just some things you shouldn’t have to learn at your age.”

“You’re not that much older than I am.”

“No, I guess I’m not.” Guts stood up. “I think I’m going to go to sleep.”

As Schierke watched his retreating back she felt an overwhelming curiosity overtake her. What could just a small peek hurt? She did need to do her due diligence after all. She reached out with her magic towards the flow of his Od. She felt his presence, the one she’d been tracking for the past month or so, then let herself go a little bit deeper until she felt the edge of his memory.

Suddenly she was falling further than her small body was ever meant to fall. She landed on something wet and squishy. She felt herself start screaming not knowing why, feeling like someone was missing and not knowing who until she was lifted by a pair of trembling hands. Her nose still hurt where Gambino cut it. The ointment helped but she knew it was really only meant to keep out disease not numb the pain. The eyes of the dead man stared back, accusing her. She felt like she was going to cry until his comrade struck back. Gambino berated her for freezing up. She desperately tried to bite her tongue around the gag. She knew she wasn't strong but at least this way she could escape. Gambino's blood dripped down her sword and onto her hands. The wolf had thrown itself on top of her sword. Why wouldn’t god let her die? Griffith dislocated her shoulder easily. Like her arm was a doll’s. She felt something break when Zod tossed her against the pillar. She hoped it was her ribs. If it was her back she couldn’t keep fighting. “Do I have to have a reason every time I put my life on the line for you?” Griffith smiled and she felt like they were the only two people in the world. Charlotte and Griffith giggled in front of the fountain. The river water was cold and she struggled to pull both her and Casca to shore with their armor on. 86, 87, 88, 89 they just kept coming. She'd killed so many and they still kept coming. She felt her sword cut through the necks of both knight and rider. Was she really living for herself?

Guts felt a chill run up his spine. He heard the witch fall off the log she was sitting on. He turned back. She was shaking.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes everything’s fine.” She jammed her hat back on her head. Her voice was trembling.

“You sure?”

“Yes absolutely.” He decided not to push it. He was a stranger. If she wanted to talk about it she’d talk about it.

“Well goodnight then.” Guts shrugged.

“Goodnight.” Schierke wondered how he was still standing. Why he wasn’t curled into a ball on the ground screaming.

Casca voluntarily took the night watch that night. She knew Guts would always look for the nearest roof when he was upset so maybe there was something to stewing in her misery alone. She was going to lose both of them now. Griffith had always had a soft spot for Guts. The only thing that had stopped him before was his pursuit of his dream, even then his conviction had always been shaky when it came to the swordsman. She knew she and Guts only really started to become closer after they both realized Griffith wouldn’t give up his chance at power with Charlotte. She would be alright just staying friends with him. Their relationship hadn’t evolved much past that anyway. Her face felt wet.

Why was she crying? She should be happy! Guts would finally be able to put down his sword and Griffith had a real chance at ruling a kingdom with someone he actually cared about. But still the tears kept falling. God damn it. She dug her nails into her palms. An old trick she’d learned to keep herself centered. She would give herself one night. One night to cry and be miserable and feel sorry for herself, then it was back to being everybody’s big sister. Was that all she was ever going to be? Everybody’s big sister? She kicked a rock and watched it sail into the darkness.

Casca remembered when she and Guts had sat on that hill top looking out on the camp talking about everybody else’s dreams. He’d said that he felt like he wasn’t working towards anything and that swinging his sword was just his nature. But wasn’t she the same? She had acted as Griffith’s sword for most of her life, letting him be her reason for fighting. Was that really any better than Guts? She looked up at the stars twinkling like so many distant fires, so many distant dreams. She’d said he sounded like a princess then. The irony wasn’t lost on her now. In a world where a rabid dog could become a prince, she didn’t see why she couldn’t find her own reason to swing a sword.