A Dog Among Princes

Chapter 12

Guts was already there when Casca got to the library. The king had asked her to meet with him insisting it was a matter of utmost importance and utmost delicacy. Sure Guts might’ve been important but delicate? She couldn’t imagine him carrying out any mission of sufficient delicacy. He was a diplomatic nightmare waiting to happen. She almost didn’t notice that he was wearing new clothes. He had been outfitted in a style somewhat below his station as crown prince, but that better suited his physique and preferred level of activity. He wore a loose black tunic belted at the waist, and loose black pants. It wasn’t incredibly dissimilar from what he normally wore, aside from the increased saturation of the dye and the tighter weave of the fabric telling her the materials were much higher quality. He’d also received a new cloak it seemed. She couldn’t blame him for wearing it inside, it had been fairly chilly this morning. Winter was creeping ever closer. A piece like that seemed best for inside use anyway. It was soft velvet, good for keeping warm when it’s dry but not great for keeping out the wet like wool was. Guts’s chipped and scratched winged-sword brooch looked strangely out of place securing the sumptuous fabric. Like an old and battered warhorse pulling a noble lady’s carriage. He also wore a simple iron band on his head, informal but still a crown nonetheless. His boots were the same though, scuffed and christened with the mud of so many battles it was difficult to tell where leather and dirt and blood began and ended. He pulled at the edges of his sleeves, still somewhat unused to having them.

“What are you doing here?” Casca’s question made him look up.

“Griffith asked to meet me. What are you doing here?”

“Your grandfather wanted to ask me a favor and said he’d explain the specifics here.” Now that she thought about it, hadn’t those two been together when Guts had put on that cursed armor? Griffith also said he knew about him and Guts. Casca wondered what could’ve happened to bring them so close in such a short period of time. Then again, if Guts was also here, maybe she was about to find out.

Griffith hesitated at the door. He wasn’t going to back out, he wasn’t a coward. It was merely a difficult thing he had to tell them. He’d initially only intended to tell Guts but Cadogan insisted Casca should be involved after seeing how calmly she handled things with the Berserker armor. He was right to do so, the more skilled warriors they had on hand the better, but she had been distant lately. Even before he’d believed her faith in him would be more easily shaken than Guts’s. It wasn’t that he thought she was less loyal or less of a comrade, but her faith in him was attached to a single act. His gift of the sword. If he did or said something contrary to her perception of him as the man who had given her that power he was certain that faith would crumble. His hand twitched, clawing at air. The itch in the back of his mind wanted to feel skin underneath his nails. Griffith balled his hands into fists. Now wasn’t the time for this. He should’ve brought gloves.

“You don’t need to tell them now if you don’t want to.” Griffith jumped. The old man was too quiet for his own good. “It would be better to. They ought to at least be made aware of the risk to them. But, it is your decision.” Griffith punched the stone wall as hard as he could to steel himself. It was not done to demonstrate his strength or out of some wild hope he could damage the castle walls. It was to feel the shock of pain that erupted from the meeting of flesh and stone. It grounded him. His knuckles popped against the implacable wall and the force of his own muscles. The king startled at the sudden movement. Griffith shook off his hand and cracked his knuckles back into place.

“I’m fine,” he smiled. “It was a mere lapse in courage.”

That didn’t seem fine to Cadogan. But he wasn’t going to argue with the man who had just tried to break his own hand. He hadn’t restrained himself when he punched. He probably would have followed through too if the wall moved. Instead he’d let all that force ring back up through his arm. That had to have hurt like hell but Griffith looked just as placid as always. If anything his nerves seemed to have calmed. Just what was Cadogan getting into here.

“So first things first,” Cadogan had cleared the library of everyone but the four of them before Griffith started speaking. This really was deadly serious, Casca thought. “There is a non-zero chance that I will kill everyone in this room in about a year.” Guts started laughing.

“Don’t tell me you’re that sick of me already.” Griffith didn’t join in. He kept his gaze calm and even.

“You’re serious. You’re actually serious!” Casca’s hand instinctively darted to her left hip to grasp the hilt of a sword that wasn’t there. Griffith tracked the movement with his eyes. She felt a little guilty, but he had just announced his plans to murder her.

“Why?” Guts was outwardly calm, stating his question with a flat inflection but Casca could see the roiling confusion in his eyes.
“The reasoning is beyond me, all I know is that it is prophesied to occur.”

“You’re going to kill us and you don’t know why?!”

“I’m trying very hard to prevent it from happening, but yes I do know why I just don’t understand how I could ever make that choice.”

“What choice! You should have to choose whether or not to kill your comrades!”

“I had to make that choice every day, Casca! That is the burden of a commander!”

“I think we’re getting off topic.” Guts put his hand on Casca’s shoulder. “Griffith, could you explain what you meant by ‘prophesied’ and Casca, can you give him a moment to explain himself? Maybe it’ll make more sense when he’s done.” It was rare Guts took the lead in managing conflict. Keeping control of emotions was hardly a strong suit when it came to himself. But he wasn’t going to find anything out if they just kept shouting at each other. He trusted Griffith, the explanation wasn’t going to be logical but he was sure there would be one. Griffith took a deep breath.

“You both may have noticed I stopped wearing the behelit. Well, there’s a reason for that.”

He slowly began to tell them everything that had transpired, with some details repeated for Cadogan’s benefit and some newly offered. How he’d received the amulet from an old seer who told him it would make him a king, the strange dreams in the palace of stairs, what he’d read in the strange old book in the language he shouldn’t have been able to understand. Yes he was destined to become a king, but he would not be a lord of men. Instead, Griffith would become a lord of monsters. This transformation into his destined role was not to be without sacrifice, however. As Griffith had been told by the seer, it would require him to sacrifice his flesh and blood. His metaphorical flesh and blood. Those closest to him would be condemned to eternal torment in exchange for unimaginable power. He didn’t want to do it. The very idea of it was abhorrent to him but-

“It seems those who are chosen are rarely given a choice in the matter,” he concluded.

“So you will be forced to do it by this godhand?” Casca asked.

“No, they aren’t allowed to force the decisions of one of their own.” Cadogan added. “However, they often manipulate the surrounding circumstances, driving the destined into desperation powerful enough to cause them to forget themselves. The best way to prevent that from happening is to keep him as safe as possible as the destined time approaches. If he is in a relatively stable state of mind, we should be able to subvert fate.”

“And if we can’t, King Cadogan managed to survive a sacrifice once through use of the Berserker armor.”

“The armor from the tower.” Guts was starting to remember what he’d done while he’d been wearing it. He knew he was strong but he hadn’t realized human strength was sufficient to rip joints from sockets and break bones if the muscles were forced to move that fast. It hadn’t just been his legs. His body had torn itself apart in its mad dash down the tower. He remembered biting Griffith’s sword. They were going to have fun! Just like the old times! That was what he remembered most about the experience. The battle high was more powerful than anything he’d ever experienced. So much so that he didn’t notice the wounds until the armor had been pulled off and he felt the residual pain left over from healing.

“Yes. With that armor, one of you three should be able to kill me.”

“Although that has its own risks, If the attack is attempted before the appointed time, it could trigger his transformation early, if it’s too late, we all die anyway, and if it succeeds, we still have to take the armor off whoever is wearing it.”

“How did the king get it off? He was alone wasn’t he?” Casca asked.

“I had the aid of a powerful witch, Schierke’s teacher, Flora. However, she's been getting up in years. Hell, she was up in years when she helped me. It would be too much of a risk to her safety to allow her to help. Schierke might be able to do it in ten years, but she’s just a child. I would not have her put in that situation. If I fail in my goal to avert the disaster before it happens, it will fall to us to remove the armor from whoever dons it.”

This was an awful situation. Guts had been in some pretty awful situations in the past but this was a new fucking low. Just when things were starting to look up, the universe had to take yet another steaming hot dump right down his throat. All logic and instinct told him it would make the most sense to just grab his sword and put on that fucking armor right now and end this before it could happen. But it was Griffith. Guts knew Griffith could do it if pushed to the brink. He knew him better than anyone, he’d seen the talons he kept carefully sheathed. Zodd’s warning still echoed through his mind. Griffith would kill him if it came to that. But it was Griffith. The same man he’d loved since he was fifteen, who could be sweet and childish just as easily as he could be conniving and cruel. The man who loved him and who he loved in return. The man who was sometimes so delicate and vulnerable Guts felt like taking him in his arms was like holding a baby bird in the palm of his hands.

“So we need to figure out a way to keep your ambition from collapsing then right?” Everyone looked at Guts. He crossed his arms. “No offense Griffith, but I think the quickest way you could fall into a dark place is if we left you alone without anything to scheme about.” While Griffith had been explaining his situation his arms had wrapped tighter and tighter around himself, his fingers twitching slightly. Now they slowly began to drift back to his sides.

“Thank you, Guts.”

“What for?”

“Just for being yourself.” Casca had thought they were obnoxious before. God, they were going to be insufferable now that they were formally together.

“Your majesty, are there any delicate political or martial situations he could be placed in charge of?” Casca asked. “As his second in command, I can vouch for his effectiveness in both spheres.” It was risky but it was better than near inescapable death at the hands of demons or Guts wearing that accursed armor.

“I can offer you something better.” The king pulled a piece of paper from his voluminous pockets. “There’s to be a tournament in a few months.” He spread it out on the table. It advertised a combat tournament, accepting all comers regardless of rank or origin. “Normally it is used as a tool to recruit knights. The best warriors are offered a place among the royal guard or whatever military post they so desire.” Casca perked up in interest. “Of course that’s not all it’s used for. Traditionally the husband or wife of the king or queen is specifically chosen because they are deemed to be an equal or perfect complement to their partner. This can be related to skill, knowledge, personality, etcetera etcetera.” The King made a circular motion with his hand. “From what I understand both of you are incredibly skilled combatants. Theoretically the best way to legally establish that you have no equals but each other would be through combat. Not to mention, all three of you’s renown as warriors would make any of you incredibly popular entries.” Guts was familiar enough with the tournament scene. It was a good way to make money when he wasn’t in combat. Even without renown, he, Griffith and Casca would’ve turned heads. Guts was huge and had a weapon practically the same size as himself, Griffith was ethereally beautiful and fought with the grace and confidence of a cat, and Casca with her unassuming but brutally effective style and unmatched tenacity made her the consummate dark horse competitor.

“If that’s the case you’ve got a lot of training to do,” Guts smirked.

“Excuse me? You remember how you first entered into my service don’t you?” Griffith grinned.

“Oh you mean when I dueled you injured and still managed to knock you to the ground? And back then I was what, maybe an inch taller than you with a sword about four feet long? I’d like to see you try to get close now, asshole.”

“Pride comes before a fall.”

“I’m sorry, which of us fought off one hundred men by himself in a single night? Hey, Casca you were there. Was it Griffith?”

“Oh for god’s sake will you two quit flirting!”

“Out of curiosity, how did you enter Griffith’s service?”

“Oh, he won my life in a duel. I was the one that set the terms so it’s my own fault really.”

“Please, you practically rigged it to fail from the start.” Casca rolled her eyes. “You’d been bedridden for three days, bleeding out to the point where someone had to make sure you didn’t freeze, and the second you wake up you wager a chance to wound your opponent in exchange for your life? You may have been too prideful to admit you wanted to join us but you certainly made your desire apparent. And besides that you said, and I quote, ‘you can make me your soldier or your fag-boy or whatever’ completely unprompted. It was pretty obvious you liked him but didn’t know what to do about it.” Guts’s cheeks turned bright red.

“Why the hell do you remember that?”

“In any case, Griffith has never managed to beat him in a fair fight.” A crash suddenly resounded through the library. A bird burst through the windows and landed on their meeting table. It twitched and began bleeding out as the group backed away.

“There’s something caught in its throat.” Cadogan said quietly. Griffith took a knife from his boot and quickly cut the bird’s head off, putting it out of its misery. An egg shaped talisman slipped out of its neck and onto the table.

“Holy shit,” Guts whispered. Griffith made to lob it out the broken window but Cadogan stopped him.

“Wait, it will just make its way back to you again. At least now we know it won’t get up to anymore mischief out of sight. Besides,” he pointed at the dead bird, “this was a warning. We’ll need to be careful to avoid their attention from now on.”