A Dog Among Princes

Chapter 10

Casca was bored out of her goddamn mind. She’d taken over running exercises while Griffith was out doing god knows what, but she could only run combat drills for so long before everyone else got tired. She and Judeau mostly just ended up shooting the shit together by the end of it anyways. They weren’t at war anymore, it didn’t really matter. Some people had already begun the process of setting up shops or even pursuing education with sponsorship from the crown. They all seemed to have things they wanted to do or people they knew they could become now that the fighting was over. Casca was a blade and now she was stuck firmly within her sheath. She wouldn’t change who she was for the world. She often imagined what her life might’ve been if her parents hadn’t given her up or if she’d been born to a wealthy family. However she’d always come to the same conclusion, there was no life that she could imagine for herself that would suit her better than her life by the sword. Of course that had led her to where she was now, bored in her room, but it was better than being miserable. She heard a knock at the door. That was probably Judeau. He’d been trying to make sure she stayed active despite her listlessness. He was a good friend. She was lucky to have his company.

“Apologies for the intrusion, Miss Casca.” It was one of the knights they traveled with. What was his name? She knew it started with a “G”, Garret? Gerald? “My name is Gerralt, I don’t believe I ever properly introduced myself.” Well that answered one question, but what the hell was he doing here?

“Is there something I can help you with?” One of the men probably did something, didn't they. She started concocting potential alibis in her head.

“I was wondering if you’d be willing to tell me anything about the captain.”

“What captain?” That narrowed things down a bit. Now, who was it that had been appointed to Guts’s position? She was reasonably sure it was Pippin but he wasn’t usually the type to get into trouble with the guards.

“Sorry, his highness, I should have specified.” Ah of course. Like everything else it was about Guts. “I came to be aware of him as the Band of the Hawk’s raid captain and it’s difficult to train away those associations.”

“Have we met before?”

“No, I’m afraid not. I was once a mercenary myself. My band served with yours in maybe one or two battles, but we never interacted. I heard more from rumors than anything else really. I caught enough glimpses for a few of you to stick in my mind though. It was years ago and I don’t imagine what you saw of me was particularly memorable.” He was right, she didn’t remember him. She’d seen so many soldiers over the years, only the truly skilled stuck in her mind. She considered Bazuso for a moment. Well, the truly skilled or the truly obnoxious. Honestly the man had been so truly repulsive and annoying it was almost a skill in and of itself.

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t have any memory of you.”

“Well, as I said, I wasn’t particularly memorable. I was certainly not a swordsman of your or the captain’s caliber. I’d be happy today to be as good a swordsman as you were then.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, sir”

“No, I am utterly serious. I’ve seen the way the prince fights, even faced him in a spar myself. He is truly a swordsman without match. I know of only two soldiers that managed to trade blows with him in a serious bout and leave with their lives intact. Griffith the White Hawk and yourself.”

“Please, I fought him once when we were practically children. I managed to injure him but he defeated me soundly.”

“You use a single handed blade do you not? And yet the stories I’ve heard from those who were there suggest it never left your hand. His highness’s blade is heavy and he understands how best to utilize that weight. It takes immense strength to keep hold of your blade in the face of that with two hands, but you did it with one.”

“How could I call myself a soldier if I couldn’t.” She would never relinquish the blade Griffith had placed in her hands. No matter how overwhelming the opposing force she faced was.

“Then there are many who should be unable to call themselves soldiers by that metric. Quite a few of our knights for example.”
“I meant no offense”

“None taken, you have been around warriors of much higher caliber than the average knight for most of your career. It makes sense that your idea of what constitutes basic skill would be radically different than most.” It didn’t seem like flattery to Casca anymore. If anything the knight seemed legitimately starstruck.

“Didn’t you need something from me.”

“Right, yes!” He clapped his hands. “I was told you and Commander Griffith were his highness’s closest friends. Would you say that’s accurate?” Well Casca had considered herself Guts’s closest rival until relatively recently and while she wasn’t exactly sure what kind of relationship Guts and Griffith had it was certainly more than friends.

“I would say it is in the broad strokes, yes.”

“My superiors want to know more about his highness.”

“Why not ask him yourselves?”

“Well that’s sort of the problem, they have no idea how to get close.” Casca sometimes forgot how unapproachable Guts was. He towered over most and his face tended to relax into a scowl. Not to mention his gruff and terse way of speaking. Sometimes new recruits to the band would try to leap to her defense when the two argued, thinking that she somehow needed to be defended from him, only to be torn apart by them both for getting in between them.

“Well there isn’t much I can suggest to you that wouldn’t likely offend your superiors’ sense of etiquette. He generally keeps to himself unless forced to socialize, usually physically.”

“Physically?”

“The first night after he joined the band we had a party, partially to celebrate a successful raid and partially to welcome him to the group. He stayed up on the battlements by himself until one of our band picked him up and carried him to the party. He’s gotten marginally better since then, but he’ll require more coaxing than simply standing there and staring at him and hoping he says something.” The young man laughed.

“It certainly sounds that way. From what the older knights have told me it seems his mother was far more gregarious.”
“His mother?”

“Yes, The crown princess was the founder of our order. Did no one tell any of you?” Now that certainly grabbed Casca’s attention.

“The crown princess was the leader of an order of knights?”

“Yes?”

“Are you a religious order?”

“Not as far as I’m aware.”

“And no one had anything to say about it?”

“Well there were some that thought it an unnecessary dalliance given that the country was not at war.”

“And for no other reason?”

“What other reason would there be? Oh right! Because she was a woman! That’s not particularly unusual in this kingdom.” So she had a chance. A small chance but a chance. This conversation had taught her a few things: one, she was a warrior of some renown. She’d known that people knew of her purely due to the novelty of a female commander existing on a battlefield but it seemed that beyond that, she was somewhat well respected for her swordsmanship outside the band as well. Two, commoners could be elevated to knighthood here. In Midland she had been content knowing she would only ever be a reasonably successful mercenary. But here she could theoretically be elevated to knighthood, especially if someone like Gerralt who claimed to be far less skilled could do the same. Three it was not unusual for women to be knights or even leaders of knights here. She knew Griffith had been studying policy. She hadn’t asked but Casca knew him well enough to be sure. She was going to have to break her self-imposed exile.

“Is that all you needed me for?”

“Yes, well unless-“

“Unless?”

“Would you like to come spar some time?”

“I’ll think about it.” She shut her door and crawled back into bed. That was a problem for tomorrow’s Casca. Today’s Casca was going to sleep in the middle of the day for the sheer luxury of it. She heard someone knocking on her window. Her room was on the highest floor of the castle, there was only one person that could be. She opened her window.

“I think this castle already has enough gargoyles. Unless you really need the money, Guts.” The corners of his mouth twitched but he was practically curled into a ball on the roof.

“How’ve you been doing Casca?”

“Well enough, and yourself?” She knew the real answer was “not great”. She also knew the answer Guts was going to give her wasn’t going to be “not great”, but she asked anyway.

“I’m alright.” He paused for a moment and turned around to look out off the roof instead of at her. “I have something I need to tell you and I think it might hurt you pretty bad to hear. Especially since it’s from me.” He took another long pause seemingly expecting Casca to say something. She kept quiet. If he came alone, more importantly came alone after or in the middle of one of his introspective periods on the roof it was best to just let him say what he had to say before he lost his nerve. “Just, promise me you won’t push me off the roof?”

“I don’t know what you have to tell me yet.”

“Fuck! Sorry, it’s just hard to say. I- we’ve actually started being friends lately and I don’t want to screw that up.” His voice wavered just a little bit. Shit that was scary. He never showed emotion like that. At least not in front of her. Whatever it was was serious.

“I won’t push you off the roof. I also promise to reserve judgment until you’ve finished saying whatever it is you have to say.”

“Griffith kissed me.”

“What!” Damn he moved fast.

“I know you’ve liked him since before we even met and it was probably a shitty thing to do but, I really fuckin like him, Casca. And I know I shouldn’t since we’re both guys but,”

“But you care about him.” She couldn’t find it in herself to be angry anymore. She’d known it was going to end up this way from the moment Griffith challenged Guts to that duel. “I understand. I always told you you’re his favorite.” Her voice wavered a bit as well now. Come on now, she’d promised herself she wouldn’t shed any more tears because of them.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, it's just how things ended up.”

“And you’re not disgusted with me?” Casca paused before answering.

“Why would you think I would be disgusted?” She asked gently.

“Lotta people might’ve been. Hell, I might’ve been if I wasn’t…” he trailed off. “Look I don’t have a problem with myself but I’ve lived in camps my whole life. Sure some guys got up to shit, but the general expectation was that once you went home you went back to screwing women.”

“You ever have a problem with Griffith?”

“No, well I mean I might’ve said some shit when we first met, but after that first fight I spent more of that energy beating myself up for how I felt about him.” Casca vaguely remembered restraining herself from attacking him before that duel when Guts asked Griffith something to that effect.

“Look, the band has always been alright with it. Griffith was, well Griffith, and you proved yourself well enough, even if you don’t listen to orders.” Guts’s back stiffened.

“You guys knew?”

“Of course we knew, you idiot. Why the hell do you think I used to give you such a hard time? You and him were always hanging off each other and acting like goddamn newly weds. It was a wonder I ever thought I had a chance.” Her voice broke. Guts turned around and she covered her face. He bent to fit through the window and gently took her arms from in front of her face. His eyes were just as red as hers. He pulled her into a hug and she cried into his shoulder.

“I really am sorry.” She punched his back.

“Idiot! You’re supposed to be happy dammit!” She punched him again. “I can’t be fucking miserable if you’re miserable too!” This was stupid. This was so goddamn stupid it was almost funny. Both of the men she loved had ended up in each other's arms and now one of them was trying to console her after he’d taken the risk of being incredibly vulnerable in front of her. Casca started laughing. She couldn’t think of anything else to do. Guts held her closer. It was over, truly over. At now least she knew he gave good hugs.