A Dog Among Princes

Chapter 5

The mysterious knight’s warning buzzed around in the back of Griffith’s head. He hadn’t given him much to work with, but the details he could glean unsettled him. The Band of the Hawk was in danger, he had a year to figure out what that danger was, and somehow he was at the center of it. He grasped the crimson behelit that hung around his neck. It had given him luck so far, hopefully it would afford him some again to manage this new crisis.

“Hey Griffith! We can see the city from here. Come take a look!” He slipped the amulet back under his armor. Judeau waved to him from just a bit further up the hill. Alright a year. He was used to impossible odds. With the resources afforded a court attendant he’d hopefully be able to scrounge up some kind of information. He urged his horse forward to join the rest of the group looking out onto the city.

It was bigger than Casca had expected. Going in she hadn’t known very much about York. She knew it was a relatively small kingdom and that they’d stayed neutral in the conflict between Midland and Tudor. She felt like she remembered something about Midland and York having been part of the same empire at some point in history, but the details were foggy. She had assumed that given the relative size of the kingdom, the capital would be smaller. However, the city rivaled the size of Midland's. It was surrounded by a high stone wall. While most of the city was hidden behind, it she could see the tips of ornate spires peeking over the edge of the walls. Elevated above the wall on what looked to be a hill at the center of the city, stood a castle. Even from a distance she could see its high turrets and massive, arched, stained-glass windows. If she hadn’t known any better she might’ve thought it was a cathedral. It was an older city then, she thought, and a prosperous one to afford all that stone. Or at least it was when it was built. It was funny to think of Guts, as rough as he was, ruling over such an adorned city. As Griffith rode up to join them she turned towards Guts to ask him what he thought. He stared ahead impassively. As hard to read as ever.

It was a strange feeling. Guts was looking at a place that was supposed to be his home, but nothing about it was familiar. What he could see of it bled grandeur. Like the churches he’d never prayed in. What use did he have after for a god that never listened to him? Better to put his faith in his blade, something that was tangible.

The captain of the Rose Knights, Elias. He had to remember these things now. Remember, his name is Elias. Elias had sent a pigeon out the previous night announcing their arrival. Apparently they wanted to hold a parade to celebrate his arrival. Guts had no clue what to expect from the people of York, but he knew for certain he wasn’t going to be what they expected. Hell, people barely expected him on a battlefield. He was starting to hear the name "the Hundred Man Slayer" whispered in the same breath as Zod’s these days. As if his existence was just as terrifying to people as that monster’s. He still remembered seeing him for the first time. He was already imposing as a human, but when he transformed it was like all the air had been sucked out of the room. It had felt as if the world shattered apart at that very moment. How could it still be the world he knew if things like Zod could exist within it? Is that what he’d become? Someone who broke apart others’ very understanding of how the world was supposed to work?

He shifted in his saddle and the hilt of his sword passed through the edge of his peripheral vision. He supposed he always had. When he killed Bazuso at just 15, he remembered the stares. Sure there was some respect, some elation, but, in the rabid state he was in back then, what he noticed most was the fear. Now he was grown and had killed many more knights of similar stature. Men of far more means, training, and experience. He’d cut down Boscogn and his horse with a single swing. A man and horse in heavy armor and he’d done it in one stroke. He didn’t feel bad about it. It was something that had to happen. One of them had to die. But by all metrics that anyone could have thought to measure, he shouldn’t have won that fight. A lone swordsman should not have been able to win against the best cavalry fighter in Tudor’s army. He’d seen similar upsets happen in the past. Battlefields were chaotic, sometimes a soldier would get lucky. But that didn’t stop it from affecting morale. Seeing your general cut down by a nobody could instill greater fear than anything else. He was even reasonably sure the sword that he had killed him with was Zod’s. Even in the haze of battle he had recognized the blade that was tossed in front of him. They brought it with them now as a gift for his grandfather. He wasn’t sure if the sword of a demon was an appropriate tribute for a king, but it was the most valuable thing he owned.

Guts dismounted his horse. He didn’t like being the center of attention. It meant being subject to others’ judgment, others’ fear, others’ resentment, a hand struck him he couldn’t do anything about it he was too small even when he lifted a hand to defend himself it was torn away blood ran down his hand oh god he’d

“Guts are you alright?” Casca looked down at him from her mount.

“I’m fine. Just tired is all.”

“Are you sure? You look pale.”

“I’m just tired.” He glared up at her. Casca’s concerned expression changed into one of mild frustration. He knew he was being difficult and he knew it annoyed her when he acted like this, but he didn't want to talk about it. He’d gotten this far without telling anyone about his past. If it was up to him it would stay that way. It was probably cruel of him to think this way, but hearing about Griffith’s past had let him begin to think of the man as a person. That small bit of vulnerability told him that Griffith wasn’t an untouchable god, he was just a man. Guts was already too human. His friends could think what they wanted about him sleeping with a sword or his aversion to being touched by strangers. If they knew why, they’d only pity him and he’d rather be seen as a fucking asshole with a few loose screws than be pitied. Griffith and Casca were different. Casca proved every day just by being there that she couldn’t be taken lightly and Griffith, well, Griffith was practically a god to the band. Guts knew he didn’t occupy the same position of respect.

Guts was a fucking asshole. Casca had bared her soul to him, bared Griffth’s soul to him, when they went over the cliff together months ago. And he never told her anything. She knew it was probably wrong to think of it transactionally and that she should give him space to tell them what was going on with him on his own time, but fuck that! They’d known each other for three years now! She trusted him, why couldn’t he trust her! Griffith joined them before she could storm off as she usually would've.

“Everything alright, you too?” They were fighting again. Well at least that was back to normal.

“I’m fine. What about you, Guts”

“I’m tired, that’s it,” Guts shot back. Ah, so it was over him pretending nothing was wrong again, a common topic of their fights. Griffith wasn’t blind, he knew something terrible must have happened to Guts in the past. Hell, they’d been at war for three years and he’d gotten better than he was when he first joined the hawks. But, it wasn’t Griffith or Casca’s place to draw that painful history out of him. He would tell him eventually. Despite the change in their stations, Guts was still his. Every part of him. Even the parts that were still jagged from where someone else had broken off a piece. He’d lovingly sand him down and reconstruct him until he felt whole enough again to tell Griffith who had done this to him. Guts had killed plenty of people for Griffith, he wouldn’t mind returning the favor if they were still around. But for now he would allow Guts his privacy. Pushing him when he wasn’t ready would only drive him away.

“Nervous about meeting your grandfather?”

Casca gave him a withering look that meant Of course that’s not it you idiot.

He shrugged back to say What do you expect me to say? We know you’re fucked up and we’d like you to tell us why?

“I guess. I just don’t think I’m really what he’d expect from a prince.” Judeau laughed a few feet away and attempted to cover it up with a cough. Now it was his turn to be on the receiving end of one of Casca’s famous glares.

“Elias sent forward a report upon finding you did he not? I’m sure the court had time to adjust themselves to the idea that you would be a hardened mercenary.”

“You’re also a hardened mercenary.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.” Griffith said atop his white horse, his silver hair flowing in the wind.

“Look, just because you don’t look suited to the job doesn’t mean you won’t be with a little time and help,” Casca interjected. “As long as you’re willing to communicate what you need and how others can best assist you,” she added pointedly.

“Yes but,” Corkus clapped Guts on the back, interrupting him.

“You’ll never know until you head down there right? City looks spooky enough,” one of the Rose Knights glanced over at them, “no offense meant. Who knows, maybe the girls there are into gloomy guys like you?” Guts grimaced.

“Gaston made the clothes you’ll be wearing today right?” Judeau asked, mercifully changing the subject.

“Yes he did. I can see why he wants to be a tailor, he has a gift for it.” He’d made him a fine blue and red coat and breeches, tailored closer to military garb and looser than the tight clothes more common among the nobility. Guts had originally commissioned the clothes due to the looming possibility that he would be forced to attend a formal event. He’d thought it would be better to ask one of his own men, a person he trusted, to make it for him. He still insisted on keeping his clothes on for the fitting process though. It was already too intimate with clothes on. “I should probably get changed shouldn’t I.”

The rest of the group watched Guts leave before quickly bunching together and sending Rickert to be their look out.

“He’s not going to be able to keep that up when we get to York, is he?” Judeau asked.

“Probably not, he’s been lucky he’s been able to keep most of his past obscured up to this point. I doubt the king will accept him as a potential heir without proof, even if the witch vouches for him.” Griffith glanced at Rickert, making sure he wasn’t giving the sign that meant Guts was coming back. “He hasn’t even told me or Casca yet.”

“You think he killed somebody?” The rest of the group turned towards Corkus. “I mean outside of war. Like illegally killed someone.”

“I don’t know, he never seemed to feel bad about that sort of thing in the past.” Casca looked deep in thought. He hadn’t reacted particularly strongly when he’d heard what happened to her and Griffith when they were children. He’d only expressed disbelief that something like that could happen to Griffith, since he always seemed so untouchable. When he first came to them he always reacted violently when he was touched…

“Standing around and speculating won’t help anything.” Judeau shook his head. “There’s got to be something we can do to make this whole thing easier on him.” Rickert started waving his arms rapidly near Gut’s tent.

“We’ll have to come up with a plan later, for now, disperse. This conversation never happened.” Griffith waved everyone away.

Guts stepped out of his tent. It felt strange to have his sword on his back over such fine clothes, but he supposed he’d just have to get used to it. Rickert waved his arms around and upon seeing Guts, bent forward to touch his toes.

“What are you doing there, Rickert?”

“Just getting some stretches in before we go. I want to be in top shape before we leave.”

“Right.” He glanced up at the hill. Griffith looked at him and waved. Casca looked at him and then looked away. So they were talking about him. He was used to it. Mercenaries liked to gossip and Guts was a pretty easy subject for it. He was huge, had an unusual fighting style, an obscure past, and was undeniably effective. He’d heard the One Hundred Man Slayer was a warrior secretly trained in the far east, that he was half giant, and even that he was a wayward prince who had run away from a noble house (well he guessed that one was half true now). He didn’t like to think that his friends would talk about him behind his back, but given how little he let slip about himself it was bound to happen.

“You look good!” It was strange for Griffith to see Guts in formal clothes, but not a bad strange. It was a shame he couldn’t see his arms, but the way his muscles strained the fabric was appealing in its own way.

“You think so?” Casca decided to go make herself useful somewhere else. Just because she’d resolved herself to the idea that they’d probably end up together now that Guts was royalty, didn’t mean she had to watch them eyefucking each other. However as she made to leave a dove landed on the waiting arm of the Rose Knight Captain.

“That’s the signal. Are you ready, your majesty?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be I guess.”

The gates of the city opened to thunderous applause and cheers. Guts guessed it wasn’t every day the people who lived here got to welcome back a prince long thought dead. Griffith had insisted on switching horses. He supposed it would be easier for people to accept him as the prince if he literally rode in on a white horse. He wasn’t used to this many stares. Even when on parade with the Band of the Hawk, most of the audience’s stares would be concentrated on Griffith. But now people clamored to get a good look at Guts.

The people at least seemed genuinely elated to see him. He waved awkwardly at the crowd as the public looked on in amazement and tossed flowers onto their path. Underneath the cheering he heard some vague chatter, “sword is huge! More like a,” “The spitting image of,” “was apparently the raid captain of”. The people seemed overall well dressed and happy too. The parade didn’t have the same mania barely disguising fear that military parades back in Midland used to have. This Kingdom was more stable than its neighbors, its citizens still untouched by the horrors of the battlefield and decades of years of war. Many of them wore warm yellow clothes. Maybe that was the custom for festivals here?

Guts was pulled out of his thoughts suddenly when a young child ran out into the center of the street. He pulled Griffith’s horse to an abrupt stop to avoid trampling the kid and dismounted.

“Are you alright? You could’ve been really hurt!” The child stared up at him, star struck. “Are your parents around here?” The child realized where he was and what he had been doing before the prince stood beside him and started crying.

“I- I can’t find them!” Guts interpreted between sobs.

“Hold on a second.” He bent down and picked the child up and placed him on his shoulders. He then drew himself back up to his full height. “Can you see them now?” The crowd began to cheer even louder than they had before. Guts felt the tops of his ears burning.

“Over there!” The child pointed to a young couple trying to push their way to the front of the crowd. He stepped forward towards the sea of spectators and they eagerly parted to let him through. He quickly reached the young couple and lifted the child off his shoulders and gave him back to his parents. Both bowed deeply upon getting their son back.

“We can’t thank you enough, your majesty. If you are ever in need of a farrier, please don’t hesitate to visit my workshop. I would be honored to repay this kindness,” the man offered.

“There’s really no need for that.” He looked at the young boy. “Just make sure to stay near your parents next time okay.” He nodded solemnly. Guts smiled and walked back through the crowd to Griffith’s horse. He remounted and the parade resumed.

Judeau had no idea what Guts had been worried about in terms of not being what people expected. Guts was very clearly not what these people expected, but they thought him much better for it. He was rough around the edges sure, but he actually looked like he had lived among the common people. He had gotten off his horse to help return a kid to his family for god’s sake! If it were someone like the King’s late brother Julius the boy would’ve probably been run over. But Guts not only stopped, he personally picked the kid up and brought him back to his parents. As far as first impressions went, he was already proving himself a true man of the people.

Judeau noticed curious eyes drawn to their winged sword emblem. So even in a peaceful place like this they’d heard of the band. Griffith kept his helmet on to avoid drawing attention away from Guts, but Judeau still heard voices in the crowd mention his name. A dedicated hoard of young women was already following Casca through the crowd, trying to get a glimpse of The Hawks’ female commander. Casca had fan girls in every city. Not that he could blame them. She’d accepted a wreath of flowers from a young girl in the crowd and wore it around her neck. The chain of yellow and orange daisies highlighted the warm undertones of her skin. She laughed at a joke Pippin told her and Judeau felt his face heat up. One of these days he’d work up the courage. Not today, but one of these days.

Griffith was glad to not be the center of attention for a little while. It gave him time to appreciate and analyze his surroundings when he would’ve previously been forced to work the crowd.

The buildings in the city were mostly stone like the ones they’d seen over the wall. Griffith recognized the style from some architecture books he’d purchased. The buildings in Midland’s capital were newer. A symptom of the city being sacked and burned once during the long conflict with Tudor. The city seemed less haphazardly planned as well. The streets were wide and ample alleys existed between buildings. However, individual houses were connected high up at the rooftops by a system of aqueducts all leading back to the castle in the center of the city. The streets were bent upward slightly in the center, with troughs leading into sewer grates to better drain water from the roads. Over all it seemed rather well constructed compared to most major cities he was in. It even seemed, based on the small amounts of trash in the alleyways, that they had some kind of sanitation department in place to clear away refuse.

He couldn’t help but be struck by the castle on the hill. Not so much for its grandeur but for how closely it mirrored the castle he dreamt of as a child. The one he still found himself running towards every night in his sleep. Perhaps this was fate. Griffith smiled to himself. He would have to familiarize himself with York’s legal and political systems as soon as possible. That way he could find out what the best court position he could badger Guts into offering him was. Even if he couldn’t be king in name, he was perfectly alright with being king in practice.

It was nice to be back somewhere safe and clean after the journey through Midland. Shiercke knew her mistress wanted her to go out and experience some of the world herself and that guarded by the Black Rose Knights it was as controlled a situation as she could ask for. However it still didn’t change all that she had seen in Midland. Even though they had managed to stay away from battlefields for the most part Schierke was still forced to reckon with what war had wrought on the lives of average people. There were villages of just women and children, the men all dead or drafted. There were ruins of towns abandoned, some clearly for years, some still smoldering. The people themselves were haggard and distrustful of strangers. War breeds fear of outsiders and she and the knights she traveled with certainly fit the bill. Everyone also seemed so exhausted as if the war drew something out of them like a vampire. That wasn’t even touching on what she’d seen in the prince’s memories.

“Why’s your hair green?”

“Excuse me?” They’d only known each other for a few days but Guts’s squire was already starting to get on her nerves. Or would he be a page? She was pretty sure it was a squire for a knight and a page for a noble. Was there a tangible difference really?

“I’ve never seen anyone with green hair before. Does it grow like that?”

“Yes, ever since I was a baby.”

“Weird.” He made a face. She was tempted to hit him with her staff.

Eventually the procession climbed higher and higher until they reached the gates of the distant castle. Elias rode to the front of the group.

“Announcing Prince Guts, raid captain of the Band of the Hawk seeking audience with King Cadogan the stalwart.” The gates creaked open and the procession filed inside.