A Dog Among Princes

Chapter 19

Cadogan received a pigeon from Casca along with his breakfast. “Everyone safe. Rickert staying, secured apprenticeship. No fanfare upon return. Griffith might unsettle. Not dangerous!” She’d underlined that three times, “will return this evening.” Her prose was economical as always.

That was sooner than he’d expected. He wouldn’t have time to prepare anything for their arrival, although that’s probably why she waited so long to inform him. He’d been planning to finally try and have Guts’s formal introduction to the court upon their return, but he supposed that could wait until after the tournament. It would save his grandson from having to fend off suitors at least.

Cadogan had been able to stall Guts’s entry into high society thanks to his inexperience and lack of education. He’d been able to insist on a year at least to prepare him. In reality most of that time had been spent getting Griffith up to snuff in combat. Both Cadogan and Griffith had done their best with the remaining time to educate Guts on court policy and etiquette but avoiding an eclipse situation overrode everything else. He’d gotten markedly better from when he first arrived, but it was still obvious that he was completely uneducated. There was also no changing some of, what Cadogan had come to realize were, nervous tendencies. If Guts acted like a sheltered young lord, people might write off his aversion to touch or his moody trips up to the roof as the kind of strangeness that tends to emerge in those with incredibly privileged upbringings. However, Guts was an accomplished warrior well accustomed to living with and around other people. His aversions would likely be seen as rudeness rather than discomfort. Yes perhaps it would be better to wait until they could go public with his courtship with Griffith. No matter how unsettling he was in private, he understood the game well. His tact and ambition would serve them both well. Even without the threat of an eclipse a man like that was dangerous. But if he was by Guts’s side, he’d at least be a dangerous man in their corner.

Something nagged at the back of his mind about Casca’s letter. “Griffith might unsettle.” What did that mean? His ability to seamlessly transform himself from knight, to mercenary commander, to whoever it was that Cadogan had met under the cover of night all those months ago was already unsettling enough. Was he that badly scarred? He hadn’t stayed very long after everyone’s safety had been ensured, he had a kingdom to run after all. However, because of that he hadn’t seen the extent of Griffith’s injuries. Clearly they must’ve been severe if Gaiseric had felt the need to involve Flora in all this. He had seen the devastation a canon could wreak upon the human body. Wounds like that were certainly unpleasant to behold, even when healed, but he felt more pity than fear for the victims. He would hope Casca didn’t think battlescars were unsightly to him. Now it was going to bother him. He hated not knowing these kinds of things.

The party of mercenaries arrived that evening, true to Casca’s word. Guts rode near to the front carrying a large bundle on his back. Was that Griffith? Oh dear.

“Guts, welcome back! How is Sir Griffith?”

“He’s alright. He said he’d meet us inside, all the horses were scared of him.” That was certainly not promising.

“What is it that you’re carrying?”

“Oh this?” He unwrapped the bundle

“What the hell is that thing?!” Casca dismounted.

“What, you mean my new sword?” Guts looked at Casca strangely, seemingly not seeing the problem.

“I don’t you can really call that a sword anymore, Guts. Maybe a door but certainly not a sword.” Judeau rapped the metal slab in Guts’s hands. The damn thing was as big as Casca. Godot left the blade without a fuller preserving the dark stain of quenching oil on the flat of the blade. It created an imposing silhouette alongside the polished edge. However, crucially, the blade had no fuller. There was nothing to reduce the weight of that hunk of iron, and this time it was almost a foot wide. That was a battering ram not a sword.

“The old one was feeling a bit small for me.”

“Small?!” Casca choked.

“I haven’t gotten it resized in a few years.”

“How on earth are you supposed to wield that thing?”

“With two hands.”

“I’d imagine even then, the heft would make it quite difficult.” Cadogan inspected the edge. Even though the weight alone was more than enough to kill, it was still quite sharp.

“Well it shouldn’t be easy to use. It’s an instrument of death.”

“While I admire your philosophy on the matter, to my understanding, people covet weapons for their ease of use.”

“Your poor horse.” Judeau shook his head.

“So, when will Sir Griffith be arriving?”

“He should already be inside,” Guts rewrapped his sword.

“No one came to the gates before you. Is it possible he was waylaid on the road?” Casca barked out a laugh.

“There’s little chance of that.” She glanced upwards. One open window. “Looks like he’s in his room. Griffith sat calmly at his desk when everyone else arrived. He’d already made himself a cup of chamomile tea and picked up the book he’d been reading before he left.

“Your majesty.” He bowed his head in the direction of the king but didn’t get up. “What took you all so long? I got here over an hour ago.” He put his cup down as if he hadn’t easily snuck into a room on the top floor of a fully guarded royal palace without being detected. As if he hadn’t somehow gotten here on foot faster than horses.

“I didn’t see you enter, Sir Griffith. I would’ve come to meet with you earlier if I’d known you were here.” He’d draped his cape over the back of his chair. It looked new, silvery white silk with faint red, branch-like embroidery. Maybe he was afraid of it tearing. He was still wearing armor for some reason as well, and underneath his clothes no less. It was certainly odd behavior but Cadogan wasn’t sure he’d call that unsettling. He looked and acted exactly as he did before.

“I’m afraid that was intentional, I wished to conceal my presence here at least until the others arrived.” His cape twitched. Oh god that wasn’t embroidery. Griffith stood from his chair. That wasn’t armor either. “I wanted to ensure that no rash decisions would be made in their absence.” So this had been a power play. He snuck in to show Cadogan that he could, but waited to reveal himself until Guts arrived to ensure the king’s continued cooperation. He’d likely reasoned Cadogan would be less likely to kill him for the offense in front of his extremely volatile grandson. His precautions were a bit over the top, but Griffith wasn’t one for half measures. Cadogan could also understand his reasoning. Now that the eclipse was over, there was no reason Griffith couldn’t be disposed of if Cadogan deemed him too much of a threat.

Griffith was a man of unchecked ambition, willing to tear his own arm off if it would allow him to claw his way to the top. On top of that he had shown himself to be incredibly charismatic, being able to raise and command an army as a mere teenager. There was also his grandson’s fondness for him. Although not dangerous, it did remove the possibility of placing him in a more politically advantageous marriage. He was around the same age as Charlotte of Midland, and the armistice had certainly made a union between their two houses more economically viable. If Cadogan was a different king he might’ve already begun planning an assassination. However, despite himself, he’d grown quite fond of the boy. He was a megalomaniac, but he wasn’t unpleasant company. He’d also, in all likelihood, make an excellent king consort, provided they could spin this right.

“All of this was by your own hand, this wasn’t a curse placed upon you?”

“Yes.” Griffith seemed to dare him to say something.

“Well then, I believe the story should be as follows: you were gravely injured while repelling an incursion from the Midland army and were then healed thanks to the work of Flora as well as Guts’s blacksmith friend. No one needs to know any more than that.”

“Understood.” Griffith grinned widely, not bothering to be coy with his perceived success. Ah he might as well be boastful about his victory. It was hard won after all.

I address this missive to the crown of Midland,

For I have no desire to refer to you by your name after your recent incursion upon my borders. In sending you this warning I offer you courtesy far greater than that which was extended to me. I have no quarrel with you or your people, in fact I had hoped to extend my hand in friendship to the nation that raised my grandson, the crown prince. However, your disrespect for our borders and the licentiousness with which you unleashed that mad dog upon my people is inexcusable. Rest assured he has been dealt with by my grandson and his comrades. Given that you have lost such a valuable fighting force I am willing to overlook your aggression without seeking retribution. Know that in the future I shall not be so merciful.

His Majesty King Cadogan of York Third of his name

Cadogan put down his pen. That was probably good enough as a warning. He’d also left off just enough detail that it was unclear exactly who his grandson was. If the King of Midland thought it was Griffith and decided that even sending more discrete forces would cause an international incident, then that was his fault for making assumptions. He was getting bold, too used to winning. Arrogant enough to think he could secure a victory against the fighting force that had won him the armistice. Then again it could have also been humiliation that made his blood run so hot. He had elevated Griffith to knighthood, despite his common birth, in a country where birth mattered above all else. Was the peerage truly worth anything if a common soldier would so willingly walk away from it? Oh he was probably seething right now thinking about the insult. Cadogan folded the letter and attached his seal. It would probably be best not to get too comfortable. He wasn’t personally familiar with Midland’s royal family but the rumors suggested that they were extremely petty. He hoped at least that after a hundred years of war, they’d be reluctant to start another one over a single man.

I can protect you. Let me shoulder all your burdens. There is still so much that torments you. Let me take it all. Return to my arms. Let yourself become carefree.

Guts woke up with his hand already reaching for the handle of the door. Where was he? He wasn’t usually a sleepwalker. A spiral staircase stretched down behind him. He tentatively opened the door he had been reaching for in his sleep. A single room, nothing in it but a figure covered in a sheet. The edges of the fabric fluttered slightly when he opened the door as if what was underneath was beckoning to him.

Nope! He shut the door. Better not screw around with that fucking thing. As he retreated back down the stairs he remembered something the young witch said. “It feeds on the wearer’s pain and misery”. No wonder the stupid thing kept trying to grab him. He was probably the best meal it had ever had.

It’s not that he wasn’t safe or didn’t have anything to be happy about. He’d had good luck in spades over the past year. If anything that made it worse. He’d been through so much miserable shit, seen other people go through so much miserable shit and now when he’d finally gotten out of it, he had the gall to still feel this awful. It was fucking selfish. He’d have done anything to have this kind of life as a kid and now here he was wasting it by feeling like shit all the time. It was bullshit, he wasn’t supposed to be one of those spoiled nobles who whined about how hard their lives were over caviar. He was supposed to be fine now. He had to be. He didn’t have the right not to.