A Dog Among Princes

Chapter 9

“Well at least the hard part is done”

“What’s that?”

“Normally the hardest part of the process is teaching the learner, usually a child, the meanings of more and more complex words. Since you’re an adult we won’t need to worry about that as much.”

“Oh. What if I still don’t know the meaning of a word?”

“You can always come ask me.” Griffith looked up at Guts from his position in his lap. Guts felt like he was going to catch on fire. His brain was like cotton between his ears. He was simultaneously completely blindsided and incredulous that it’d taken so long. Guts knew how much he cared about Griffith, he was in his own head too much to not realize that at least. He’d both publicly and privately sworn his life to him, he wasn’t delusional. But Griffith had always seemed just out of Guts’s reach. He was somehow in a league beyond, untouchable to everyone else. Guts had planned on leaving the band specifically to become someone just as self assured and independent. Someone worthy of Griffith. But now Griffith was sitting contentedly in his lap having just kissed him. Any second now he was going to wake up. Any second now. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Now look, this won’t be too difficult. Each of these individual symbols refers to a different sound. It’s just a matter of remembering which symbol corresponds to which.” He pointed to a circular symbol with an “x” on top of it. “This one makes the same sound as the beginning of ‘that’ or ‘the’. This one next to it,” he pointed at a circular symbol that curled in on itself “this one represents both eh and ee depending on context.”

“What’s the context?”

“If it sounds right when you say it out loud.”

“Why not have a different letter for each sound then?”

“There are already twenty nine, it would start to get too complicated to memorize.”

“More complicated than having to say the word out loud to figure out which sound you should be using?”

“I didn’t invent it, I am simply telling you how it works.”

“Well it’s stupid.”

“Can you just try sounding out the word?”

“‘The’. It says ‘the’.”

“Was that really so hard?”

“...No.”

“Great, twenty seven letters to go.”

“Griffith?”

“Yes, Guts?”

“How the hell do you put up with me?”

“I could ask the same of you.” Griffith’s hand brushed over his. Guts took it in his own.

“We’re both pretty fucking screwed up huh.”

“Probably…” Griffith kissed Guts’s hand. “But at least we’re fucking screwed up together.” Griffith leaned into his chest. “When I leave can I borrow your cloak?”

“Sure, what do you need it for?”

“The Falcon and the Struggler grow closer by the day. The danger ebbs but the risk increases evermore.”

“I am begging you, please for once could you give me actionable information.”

“The Falcon discards his chance at kingship yet it will always return. He seeks guidance but fears the yoke of guilt. Yet it will crush him if he is left alone with it.” This was about the closest the Skull Knight could get to coherency in Cadogan’s experience. So to add to the list of things to do: find the Falcon (Sir Griffith? Someone else close by?). Whoever he was, he was looking for guidance, but guilt was holding him back. It would be difficult unless he caught him out somehow. Then there was the identity of the Struggler. They were very close to the Falcon, closer now apparently than they had been before. But of course that put them in incredible danger. The Skull Knight said the danger had decreased because of them, suggesting the relationship between the two kept the Falcon from desperation. However, he also said that the risk had increased. So, somehow this Struggler was vitally important. Something terrible would happen if they were sacrificed, or it would be costly to Cadogan personally. That left one obvious candidate, especially if Griffith was in fact the falcon. A branch cracked. The Skull Knight faded away. God damn it. He’d come all the way out beyond the walls, in the middle of the night, to seek counsel and there he went, disappearing at the slightest provocation. Another branch cracked. Cadogan strained his ears. Branches snapped and leaves crunched in a careful rhythm, the sound of something on two legs making its way through the undergrowth. Someone else was out there. He caught a glimpse of a figure in a black cloak and then a flash of silver slipped through the hood. Well that was either Sir Griffith or an incredibly spry old woman. Maybe the Skull Knight really had been helpful in his circuitous way.

Griffith took the behelit from his pocket. He was relatively sure no one had seen him leave. The only one that knew he was going beyond the walls that night was Guts and he had the grace not to ask why. One of the many things Griffith loved about him, Guts trusted him implicitly. He never asked where he was going or why, he just trusted that it was important and told him to stay safe. But of course that was only because Guts knew that Griffith trusted him in return. If it was anything dangerous he would’ve asked for Gut’s help, as he always had in the past. Griffith trusted him with his most sensitive and dangerous missions, even when they might be out of his wheelhouse, because he knew Guts would carry them out without judgment. He had seen the darkest parts of Griffith’s soul, even killed for him, and Guts had still accepted Griffith into his arms. He knew Guts loved him, but still the idea that he’d be willing to accept him after all he’d put him through. It was overwhelming to say the least.

Now it was time to repay his kindness. He wound up, spinning the Behelit above his head and then let go, launching it out into the darkness somewhere. Hopefully that would be the last he saw of the thing.

“It’s just going to come back, you know. Those things always return to their masters.” Griffith jumped out of his skin. Someone was out here with him. He drew his sword and shrugged off Guts’s cloak.

“You speak as if you know much, stranger.” His eyes darted through the undergrowth. Where was he?

“Oh ho! Now there’s a look I haven’t seen before! I can see now why the prince is so fond of you. That’s the look of a predator, not a tame falcon.” He followed him from the castle! It was imperative that this was dealt with now. But wait what had he just called him? He sheathed his sword. There was no one else that called him that, no one but-

“I see we have a mutual acquaintance.”

There it was, confirmation. Cadogan hadn’t intended to call him a falcon, it merely slipped out in the wake of his ruminations. But now he knew this young man had met with the Skull Knight and he was in fact the Falcon prophesied. He rose from his position crouched in the undergrowth.

“Indeed, he has informed me that you require counsel.” The young man seemed to feel no need to act anymore. It was strange, if Cadogan hadn’t seen how his posture changed now he would have never realized he was acting when they first met. He stood far less tightly for one. Before he held himself with what Cadogan would’ve called a casual military discipline. Very deliberate movements and well maintained posture that would have pointed to an upbringing as part of the knightly class. All subtle pieces of gestural language that directly contradicted what Cadogan knew of his background. Now he stood loosely, contra posed favoring his left leg. He wasn’t more relaxed, far from it his hand still hovered near his sword. But instead, this is what he looked like prepared to strike. Loose posture like a cat or a dancer, not locked into a specific stance or form but ready to leap into one at any given moment. The look in his eyes had also changed. Before, he averted his eyes and softened his gaze. It was polite and non-confrontational. The kind of look expected of subordinates at court. But now his blue eyes pierced through the darkness, practically glowing with intensity. His moniker, “the white hawk”, suddenly made far more sense. One could not be affixed with that gaze and not feel like a field mouse. The polite young man from before couldn’t have led the grim reapers of the battlefield. This young man standing in the light of the full moon was a reaper himself. He squinted his eyes, attempting to identify Cadogan in the dark as the king untangled his robes from the bushes. He suddenly dropped to his knees.

“Your majesty, I meant no offense.” His posture immediately changed back to that of a polite, young, ex-military noble. That was incredibly unsettling. Clearly he’d recognized him and was trying to salvage the image he had been attempting to cultivate. It was a bit too late for that now.

“Oh come off it already. Just help me get unstuck.” The false contrition left his expression as quickly as it entered.

“Apologies, I hope this does not impact your trust in me in the future. I often find it necessary to moderate myself when at court. Many find my unaltered demeanor rather distasteful.” He slipped easily back into the posture of the hawk. Even his voice changed subtly, increasing slightly in pitch and becoming less gravely. He’d even artificially lowered his voice. He was used to presenting himself in ways that were expected of him then.

“I prefer those around me to present themselves honestly. Especially when it makes me uncomfortable.” Griffith laughed coldly. Cadogan felt the barbs that hid behind it. He had heard laughter like that before. When one is expected to keep a smile one his face no matter what he is truly feeling, he’ll learn to smile with discontent.

“There are very few who share the same opinion and very little of those few count themselves among the nobility.” He looked up at the stars peeking between the branches of the canopy. “So what happens now? I read the texts on that thing in your library. I know what it would allow me to do. How would you prevent that from occurring? Lock me up? The rest of the band wouldn’t stand for it. You’d be better off executing me outright. I’m sure if you think about it long enough you can come up with a charge for me to be guilty of. I’d need to come up with something to tell your grandson though. He’d probably try to kill you if the reason wasn’t compelling enough.”

“I don’t intend to do anything, except offer advice and aid.” Out of anything the king could’ve said nothing would’ve prepared Griffith for that response. He found himself rushing forward, grabbing him by the front of his robes and shaking him.

“You understand as well as I what is at stake here! The fate of your kingdom could hang in the balance and all you plan to do is advise?” He took his sword from its scabbard and pressed it into the king’s hand. “No one has to know we met this evening. If you use my own sword you can say I was overpowered by bandits. You can stop it right now.” The king looked at the sword in his hand and cast it aside.

“That would only expedite the process. To give up what the ones who created the behelit would ask you to give up, one must be truly desperate. Generally those who make the choice are on the verge of death, imprisoned, grievously wounded, in bereavement or are otherwise made miserable by an uncontrollable outside force. It is then that they come for you.”

“Again you speak as if you know much.”

“I’ve lived through it before.” He pulled another behelit from his pocket, this one a muddy brown. Griffith dove for his sword. He wouldn’t be caught off guard by another monster. Faster than he could pick it up the king bit his thumb and let the blood run onto the amulet. Nothing happened. Its features remained just as jumbled, no mysterious demons appeared. “It isn’t mine, it belonged to my wife.”

They had first met when they were teenagers. Cadogan was a bookish young man, too interested in his studies of history and policy to dedicate as much time to combat training, or socializing as he should have. Already isolated due to his social standing, he found it difficult to relate to and communicate with his peers, making him turn shy and meek. Elaine was everything he couldn’t be. She was a gifted knight, having just started her training at the time. It was more out of obligation than real need, she came from one of the noble houses after all it was that or become a scholar like Cadogan, but she took to it like a fish took to water. On top of that however, she had social graces far beyond anything Cadogan was capable of. She could enter any room and leave with a new friend or ally. And that was to say nothing of her beauty. Elaine was tall and muscular, much like her grandson. She moved with a careful grace unique to soldiers, she could injure others easily with over exuberance and thus acted always with gentle restraint. Her dark eyes were honest and expressive. Cadogan could always tell at just a glance what she was feeling. And her laugh, it came from the deepest part of her. When he could draw it out of her Cadogan felt like the most important person in the world. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve her. They were a perfect match as leaders as well, leaning on each other’s strengths and compensating for each other’s weaknesses. Cadogan handled policy, speech drafting, finances, tax proposals, everything behind the scenes. Elaine was the public face of the monarchy, handling diplomacy and helping mediate public disputes. They were an incredibly effective team, and then Cerridwyn went missing.

Their daughter was a capable knight herself, although she preferred the grace of the sword to the blunt power of her mother’s mace. She was also possessed, however, of a great and fatal sense of justice. They had been informed of an inquisition just over the border in Midland. War breeds fear and discontent, and it is often the most vulnerable that become victims of it. In this case, it was a small community of pagans. Cerridwyn snuck away in the middle of the night with a small unit of her personal knights to offer refuge in York. Elaine and Cadogan had only initially worried about her unborn child, after all combat could not be good for the baby, but then the months stretched on and they received no word.

Eventually two knights returned alone, with a contingent of refugees, and no Cerridwyn. They said that they had been over their heads, there had been monsters stronger than any man, they were lucky to have escaped with their own lives. None of their words brought Cerridwyn back. Both of them took it hard. There had been a week during which Cadogan barely left their chambers. Elaine remained steadfast, her ordinarily expressive eyes turned to stone. Cadogan had initially believed this was due to her resolve to go on despite the death of their daughter. But found instead it was the result of an altogether different resolution.

There was a spring beneath the castle that all the aqueducts in the city were fed by. The two used to sneak down there all the time when they were younger and wanted time away from chaperones. Cadogan supposed her inviting him down there that day was meant to be a final kindness.

“You promise me that I’ll be able to bring her back.”

“Elaine, please this is madness! You can’t possibly believe these creatures!”

“That will be up to you. I see great potential within you. I imagine it wouldn’t be particularly difficult for the caliber of apostle you shall become. But it must be your choice. We cannot force you.” The demon with sewn shut eyes pronounced.

“Elaine?” He didn’t want to die. He was grieving, yes. He felt as if his heart had been torn, bleeding from his chest, yes. But he didn’t want to die. She looked back at him. Her eyes were full of tears but she was resolute.

“I-“

A suit of armor fell next to him. He heard an old woman shout “Put it on!” He quickly began donning it.

“Stop him!” He wasn’t paying attention to who was speaking anymore. Instinct told him this was his only hope. The helmet clamped down over his face and he felt something welling within him. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was red. The first thing he felt when he woke up again was the stickiness of blood on his hands. A life was exchanged for a life that day but not the one that had been intended. Although Cadogan was grateful for his life, he would regret what he had done for the rest of his days. Over and over again he ran through scenarios of what he could have done differently. If he could have been a better husband, a better father, a better king would it have changed anything? Would they still be alive if he wasn’t so weak? He knew it didn’t make sense to punish himself as he did, but he had been alone for so long. What else was there for him to do really, other than think through ways he could have averted the tragedy that left him in that state. But now he had a second chance. He would not let it slip away this time.

The man that stood before Griffith did not seem to be the meek hermit king Cadogan claimed to once have been. However Griffith was once yet another war orphan, Casca had been a vulnerable young girl, Judeau had been a circus performer, and Corkus had been a leader of men. Experience shaped people in strange ways.

“You truly plan only to advise?”

“Yes.” The King’s jaw visibly unclenched. “I’ve found the best way to defeat monsters is to prevent them from being born in the first place, as did my ancestors before me. The best way to do that is to try and keep you as safe and content as possible until the appointed time passes.”

“Your ancestors?”

“The kingdom of York was founded by those descended from King Gaiseric. The framers of our political and economic systems knew well the dangers inherent in the disparity present in other kingdoms. Behelits have a way of finding themselves in the hands of those who are most desperate. Therefore every citizen is given access to clean water, each family below a certain income level receives a yearly stipend taken from the taxes of the most wealthy, education and chances for political and economic advancement are made available to all who desire them, soldiers are given education in agriculture, engineering, and craftsmanship to prevent them from becoming bandits once conflicts end, those who are maimed or born without the use of their limbs or senses are also provided aid from the tax treasury. The system isn’t perfect by any means, and often undergoes change when necessary, but it was created in an attempt to prevent the most vulnerable from falling to the kind of desperation that would give rise to an apostle. There are only two conditions it is near impossible for us to account for.”

“Personal loss and near death.”

“Indeed. However, we still have very few reports of murders or mysterious disappearances that would suggest activity from apostles.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Griffith is your real name, you don’t operate under a pseudonym as some rumors suggested. You were born in the capital of Midland about twenty years ago. Your father was a soldier, declared dead nineteen years ago. Your mother was a seamstress, not that you’d remember she succumbed to an unknown illness when you were a year old. You were raised briefly in an orphanage run by the Holy See before you ran away. The earliest records of you on the battlefield start at thirteen and you were building the coalition of mercenaries that would become the band of the hawk by the time you were about fifteen. Does all that sound correct so far?”

“How did you-”

“I have a skilled network. I usually only use them to monitor threats within my borders, but I wanted to know just who my grandson had fallen in with before I allowed any of you to enter the country.” A fair point. Griffith best understood politics not spycraft, but he could still see that that was some incredible information gathering. So he was twenty, an interesting piece of trivia certainly, but his past rarely contained anything he could work off in the present.

“You may have discovered much about my past, but that hardly informs how I might act in the future. You said yourself, desperation is what most often causes a person to succumb. How can you be sure I will not act rashly given the need?” Griffith was being needlessly combative. He knew that. However the circumstances had changed. He needed to know there was a plan in place in case something unforeseen happened. Guts would be the one most in danger if he slipped. Griffith couldn’t afford to lose him, not now.

“What is your relationship with my grandson?” Griffith reeled.

“I’m sorry?”

“Surely you understand the relevance of that question, Griffith.”

“I- We-” He collected himself. “Guts has been my closest companion since he joined the band. I knew from the very minute we first spoke that I understood him and he understood me in ways that others simply couldn’t. I found myself telling him things about myself that I have never shared with anyone else. I could be honest with him about the parts of me that were strange or childish or cruel. He’s the one I most rely on in battle. I can always trust him to accomplish a goal, even if he feels he has to disobey orders to do so. In fact I draw most of my battle plans assuming he will at some point. However, it’s because he always understands just what I need in the moment, and isn’t afraid to go against me if he knows his ideas will have a more favorable outcome than mine. I often feel that he is the only one that truly knows my heart.”

“So you are in love with him.”

“If you want me to be blunt about it, yes. I’m in love with him.”

“And that’s why you threw away the behelit.”

“I threw it away because using it would be unconscionable. But yes, my care for his safety was part of it.” Honestly if the situation had been worse and Guts wasn’t involved he may have kept it, just to have as a backup. He would never use it of course, but it might be useful if he ran into Zodd again.

“You had the self control to throw it away once for his sake, you’ll just have to do it again.”

“And if I can’t?”

“The armor is still in my possession. The safest time to kill you would be immediately after activation. Not a moment before or after. My time is better spent trying my best to stop you from using it than risking activation here and now.”

“Then will you swear it? Will you swear to kill me if I falter?”

“I swear I will kill you. However I also swear that I will ensure it never comes to that.”