A Dog Among Princes

Chapter 23

A letter finally returned from Midland. It was diplomatic, but that didn’t tell Cadogan much. For all he knew Midland’s king could’ve upended his desk immediately after writing it. He gave a short, lackluster, apology, insisting he hadn’t known Griffith had made his way into his kingdom, and offered congratulations on reuniting with his grandson. Based on his comment about having missed the resemblance, it appeared that he’d made the assumption Cadogan had hoped he would. The young fool was so easily out maneuvered. As he turned to thank the messenger he felt something land in his pocket. The man looked the other way pretending to be gazing at the high above aqueduct system but subtly inclined his head towards the knights that accompanied him. A message the king didn’t know about then. Perhaps from one of his informants in the court? He thanked the messenger for his service and waved until he and the detail of knights were out of sight. Cadogan quickly pulled the letter from his pocket. The name on the envelope was written in a small looping hand, “To Miss Casca”. He had planned to visit her anyway to see how she was settling in. There was much he wanted to ask her now that things had calmed down.

Casca felt swallowed by her own house. She hadn’t had a permanent one since she was a child and that had been a cottage with only a few rooms. The house she had inherited with her title was an estate. She had invited Judeau to live with her (for purely pragmatic reasons it wasn’t like she was that close to him or anything) because the quiet emptiness of so many rooms had been unsettling. He was a good housemate though. Accounting was apparently among the many skills he had collected throughout his life so he was able to help Casca work through some of the existing documentation surrounding the house. Its last occupant had lived without marrying, often entertaining friends, but not leaving behind any family to stake a claim on the property. Now it was Casca’s.

She’d thrown herself into yard work, taming the long abandoned gardens and cutting back the ivy that had begun to creep up the stone work. It was pretty certainly, but bad for the longevity of the house. Importantly it also kept her active. She’d found during her long bored period that inaction suited her poorly. She couldn’t just sit around and read and be content, she needed to be out and about doing something physical. The property was large enough that she might be able to hunt if she wanted. Perhaps that might occupy some of her time. Or maybe she’d take up the more recreational sort of gardening. She liked the feeling of dirt on her hands and the rush of satisfaction at seeing the progress she’d made. Casca enjoyed the tastes of sage and rose hips, perhaps she’d try to grow some.

“Casca, the King’s here!” Judeau called from the house. Casca clapped the dirt off her hands. She knew this conversation would have to happen someday. She’d prepared for it, figuring out exactly what she’d say, how much she thought she could reveal without upsetting him. But still her heart was in her throat as she entered her study.

“This came for you.” Cadogan extended a letter to her as she closed the door. Casca thought she recognized the handwriting, but she wouldn’t be sure until she read it.

“I’m going to assume that’s not the real reason you came, is it.”

“No, I’m afraid it is not.” She says down across from him, her hands clasped on her lap.

“Well then, what is it you wished to speak with me about?”

“My grandson,” he sighed, “there’s something wrong with him, isn’t there.”

“There’s a great many things wrong with him, his attitude for one, you’ll have to be more specific.” The corner of his mouth twitched. Before his expression descended back into grave solemnity.

“I remember after the first night he was here, the servant that woke him found him asleep, curled around his sword.”

“He does that when he has trouble sleeping.” She replied as if it was no big deal. It wasn’t really, was it? Aside from the fact that it was a deadly weapon rather than a blanket or pillow.

“His nightmares are so bad he injures himself.”

“He’s been hurting himself?” she whispered. He never used to do that, things must be more serious than she realized.

“No, no not intentionally. His eye for example.”

“Oh that, I’ve injured myself similarly by sneezing too hard.”

“But to incur an injury like that from stress alone. It speaks volumes about how serious it truly is.” He paused for a moment. “His name is Guts for god’s sake. I thought that was merely a nickname.”

“And you want to know why.”

“Yes. Then maybe I can help him.”

“Would you mind if I invite Judeau in? He is discreet.”

“Alright.”

Judeau was making tea when she fetched him and brought cups for all three of them when he joined them. “So you want to know what happened to Guts.” He sat down once he’d finished pouring for everyone. “Well unfortunately we don’t know very much about his past either.”

“He’s shared very little with any of us about his past,” Casca added. “Between us we have maybe four stories from before the band. We can tell you about the things that happened while he was with us, but most of his odd behavior was present before he joined.”

“If anything I think he got a little better over time.” Judeau interjected.

“Anything you might be able to tell me would be useful.”
Casca put her cup down. “I ought to warn you, your highness. Most of the things he told us about his past, though he apparently considered them minor, will be upsetting to hear.”

“I knew they likely would be.”

“As long as you understand.”

The two of them had taken the time to try and place each of the stories they knew chronologically in advance of the inevitable time they would be questioned. Judeau started with why he was named Guts, how it had been a cruel joke on the part of his father. They hadn’t known what either of his parents were called so he had been named after the place he had been found, a pile of entrails. Cadogan needed a moment after that one. She had been his daughter. Even without the family connection, Judeau had needed to stare at a wall for a bit after hearing that one for the first time. It was the casualness of the cruelty, he thought, that made it so terrible. When Cadogan returned Judeau was up again, this time with the first time Guts had ever been in battle. He’d been overwhelmed by all of the sights and sounds and smells of the battlefield and almost got his father killed by failing to hand him a spear in time. Of course he was only about six years old at the time, so it was insane to think that anyone would trust him to be able to do so. His father had knocked his tooth out for that one. When Guts told the story he always closed it with a laugh and an off hand “Thank god it was just a baby tooth”. After that one Cadogan indicated he could go on. Casca told the story of how he got the scar on his nose. He’d been expected to train with edged weapons even that young. Edged weapons sized for an adult. The same style he used today had been forced upon him as an incredibly young child. His father trained with him as if he were an adult as well, this time leaving him confined to his tent for days with a fever after the cut on his nose became infected. He brought him medicine for it days later while he trained alone. Guts treated it as some great kindness, latching onto it as proof somehow that his father cared about him at least a little bit. Then they had to jump forward to the most recent story Casca had heard, the one about Chitch.

“And that’s all we know.” she finished. “Unless you want to hear about the stuff that happened with the band, but we went through most of the same things and we’re perfectly fine.” Judeau certainly wouldn’t say that. Casca was clearly depressed, but she was good at guiding herself through it. Certainly better than Guts and Griffith were at times. Judeau had escaped with only a few minor ticks. He couldn’t be around fireworks, the smell of gunpowder and the booming noise conjured up the image of another young man he’d known. The cannonball had ripped through the front of his armor like it wasn’t there. They were low on equipment and he’d had to scrape the poor guy out of it so that they could recover the back plate.

“How old are you two again?” Cadogan asked. He didn’t fully believe that they were alright, but perhaps they were for their years. Experienced soldiers generally got worse with age.

“Casca is nineteen, I’m twenty next week.” The king always forgot how young they all were. They acted so maturely, but all of them were really just barely out of childhood. At that age he was failing to learn archery not leading an army.

“Well then, just to be sure, would you be willing to tell me about his time with all of you?” They told him what he was like when they first met him, effective but far more reckless than he was even now, as if he didn’t care whether he lived or died. How he and Casca used to fight all the time, partially due to her teenage crush on Griffith. Judeau managed to get a bit of teasing in about that before she punched him in the arm. He told Cadogan about how Guts used to have to be dragged off the roof to go to social events, before he slowly began to open up and showed up more and more uncoerced. They told him about the impossible odds he’d conquered, holding off Zodd alone and defending Casca from a hundred men by himself. How they sometimes faintly heard him crying in his sleep at night while at camp. How he hadn’t bowed to Midland’s king the first time they met until Griffith reminded him and tried to storm into his room while he was meeting with sympathetic nobles until Casca slapped him. They told him that Guts was always always the one that looked after Rickert whenever Pippin was injured. They were all kids themselves, nobody really wanted to look after the even younger kid, but Guts always stepped up. The same way he’d stepped up for Isidro. He could be difficult to deal with sometimes when he entered his periods of anger and brooding, and he seemed rude before you got used to his directness, but he was a good man and sometimes, even a good friend.

“While I’m glad to hear that he has been a good comrade and companion to you both, I’m afraid this does not give me the information I need to help him.”

“Didn’t think it would.” Judeau looked at his hands. “Me and Pippin have been trying for years to get something out of him, but we’ve never succeeded. I don’t know, it’s probably not good for him to keep all that bottled up, but it’s not like tearing it out of him would be any better.”

“Quite the conundrum.”

“Yeah it’s pretty damn frustrating.” Casca thumbed open the seal of the letter she’d received.

Dear Miss Casca,

I do apologize for writing to you despite how little we spoke previously, but to my deep regret there is no one else I believed I could turn to.

That was Charlotte, and it seemed as if she’d gotten herself into some trouble. “Excuse me for one moment.” She took the letter into the hallway.

Since the war has ended, my father has had time to allow his attention to drift elsewhere. This is difficult for me to admit, but I am afraid it has turned to me. My stepmother has managed to deter him for now, however she blames me for his perversity. I have evaluated my options carefully, and I believe it is for the best that I make my escape. I have neither the strength nor the guile to attempt a more direct solution to my problem, thus I must beg for your assistance. From His Highness’s letter of admonishment, I understand that Griffith is likely too important to risk. Aside from that he would be easily recognized if he were to attempt to come back to the capital. Therefore, I put my life in your hands. I will be in the Black Sheep at 7 o’clock in the company of my servant Anna in a week’s time (I arranged to receive a signal on the date this found you). We may discuss more details then.

My thanks for your discretion,
Princess Charlotte Beatrix Marie Rhody Wyndham

The Black Sheep was a soldier’s bar. A place Casca had often frequented. She didn’t know Charlotte knew that. Then again she hadn’t really paid much attention to who Charlotte was. She’d been too caught up in duty and resentment to really look at the princess for who she was. It was probably a trap, Casca knew that. But if what Charlotte said was true, she couldn’t just leave her there. She re-entered the study. “Your highness, how did you come about this letter?”

“It came with Midland’s formal apology for sending an invading force to my borders. The messenger slipped it to me out of the guards' notice. Why?”

“Could I request a week’s leave?”

There was more paperwork than Griffith had initially assumed involved with becoming someone’s betrothed. A lot of it was probably meant for those with inherited titles: questions regarding parentage, yearly income from taxes versus personal financial endeavors, familial oaths of allegiance, etc. He found himself marking quite a bit of it as non-applicable. He heard someone pounding on his door.

“Griffith, it’s me!” Casca sounded distressed about something. He stood, about time for a break anyway, and opened the door. “How long would it take you to fly to the capital of Midland?” Casca was not one to engage in idle lines of questioning. He had never gone such a distance before, but knowing his top speed he could calculate a rough estimate.

“About four hours, why?”

“I need you to take me to see Charlotte.”

“What for?” She handed him the letter. He quickly absorbed the text and passed it back to her. “You understand this is likely a trap right? They could be luring you there to try and get to me.”

“And if it isn’t?” She jutted out her chin. “You owe her at least that much.”

“I don’t quite follow.”

“You courted her for her status, knowing full well she was easily taken advantage of, and that your heart could never belong to her.”

“That is a rather uncharitable-“

“You. Owe. Her. I won’t hear any more excuses. Now, about how much can you carry?”

“More than one person would be difficult.”

“Well then I will have to return to her on horseback once we’ve conferred.” She challenged him to say something. She was right. He had been discourteous to the Princess.

“I could fetch her myself.” Casca looked him up and down. He wore a loose dressing gown over his bare skin. He’d never lacked confidence in his body exactly, but he’d found he was far more comfortable showing skin than he used to be. He certainly wasn’t the man Charlotte remembered. “Point taken.”

It was raining in Midland. All the better, for since Griffith left her it was always raining within Charlotte’s heart. He had abandoned her without a word to go chase his destiny. She knew this was his nature, that he was a man of dreams not of romance, but still she wished he had at least said goodbye. She sighed and wiped the tears from her eyes. She felt guilty for asking Casca to save her. Charlotte had seen the way she looked at her commander. She knew that Griffith was ever in her heart and yet Charlotte had fallen in love with him anyway. And now she begged the woman who she had betrayed for help. If she had read this in a romance she would think herself utterly shameless. Charlotte was in a way. She was so desperate to escape she was beyond shame.

A bolt of lightning illuminated a figure at her window. She recoiled in fear before discerning Casca’s dark skin through the water soaked glass. Charlotte rushed to the window and tore it open.

“I apologize for the lateness of the hour, your highness.” She swept her short wet hair from her eyes. Charlotte felt her heart leap into her throat. It was impossible that she could make it here so soon, she ought to have only received her letter this afternoon.

“Hurry inside before the guards see you.”

“I must warn you, I’ve brought another with me whose appearance may be unsettling to you. You must not scream, can you do that for me?” Charlotte nodded. Casca dipped inside, followed by a tall figure wrapped in a dark cloak. That was far too small to be Captain Guts.

“I apologize for dripping so much water into your chambers, your highness.” Charlotte recognized that voice.

“Griffith?” She whispered, just barely allowing herself to believe.

“I thought I ought to return this.” He handed Charlotte her mother’s lodestone pendant. “It was terrible of me to wait so long to do so.” It stuck slightly to his hand when she took it back. Even in the darkness she could see that he was no longer flesh and bone.

“You wear your seal upon the wrong finger,” she said instead of crying out. Instead of sobbing and begging to know what had happened to him in her absence and why he had left her.

“It isn’t mine,” he replied. She felt her heart break into pieces on the floor but still she held herself upright.

“To whom do you belong then?” She asked gently.

“Prince Guts the first, crown prince of York.” Charlotte met Casca’s eyes. She nodded. So they were both betrayed.

“Then as princess of Midland I extend my congratulations.” As Charlotte the girl, she could feel herself crumpling inwards. She was torn asunder. Wasn’t she good enough for him?

“Griffith, come back in about an hour, I wish to speak to the Princess alone.” He stepped onto the window sill and looked back at her apologetically before hopping out.

“Will he be alright out there alone?”

“Don’t worry about him,” Casca said gently. “You don’t need to worry about me either, Princess, I won’t be offended on his behalf.” She held on tightly to her small lodestone knight.

“Why would he-“ her eyes filled with tears and throat tightened.

“You ought to ask him that instead of me.”

“Is he happier?” Casca took Charlotte’s hand. A grave breach of etiquette under normal circumstances, but right now she was glad for it. Casca looked away from her crying face before speaking the word that would destroy her.

“Yes” Charlotte fell forward and Casca held her in her strong arms as she began to weep. Casca ran her hand over Charlotte’s hair and down her back. She too had loved him, it was shameful to be acting like this in front of her.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, “I know you loved him too but-“

“It’s alright. I’ve had more time to get over him. You’ve only just found out.”

“I knew that it would never work out between us, my father and stepmother would’ve forbade it, but when that letter came, I couldn’t help but hope. Clearly I wasn’t good enough.”

“Trust me, you are better than he deserves. It was incredibly cruel of him to string you along like that. There is no doubt in my mind that you will find someone better some day.”

“Maybe you could, but all I have to offer is the title I intend to abandon.”

“Your highness, Charlotte, you have lived a very sheltered life thus far. You most definitely have something that you can offer, you just haven’t been allowed to discover what it is yet.” Casca gently wiped her tears. “When Griffith returns we’ll discuss how best to get you out of here, but in the meantime, just let it all out.”

By the time Griffith tapped on her window Charlotte had calmed herself significantly. She opened it again, allowing him inside. The rain had stopped by now, but he shivered in the cold night air due to his wetness.

“Do you mind if I remove my cloak?” He asked. His voice was just as high and soft as she remembered, unlike those other boorish soldiers.

“You may.” He held the clasp of his cloak pin but did not yet remove it.

“Remember your promise not to scream.” He undid it, allowing the cloak to drop to the floor. As she suspected, from the neck down he was forged of metal. Cords of iron formed new muscles, now far more visible under his gleaming skin. It was off putting certainly but she felt no need to scream.

“This happened as a result of my father’s interference?” He nodded. “Then I shall understand it to be just payment. For toying with my heart, the body of the man I fell in love with has been destroyed.”

“You are too generous, your highness.” He bowed, much the same as he always had.

“That may be, but I do not wish for there to be lingering hatred between us.”

“I will be back in a week's time to collect you. How would you like to go about this?” Casca asked. She had asked if Charlotte would like to be taken away in the night with Griffith, but Charlotte would rather die on the road than allow Anna to be subject to her parent’s wrath when she disappeared.

“There is a secret passage that leads to the cemetery just outside the city. I found it playing by myself as a child, but I don’t believe anyone else knows it exists. I often used it to visit my mother… when I felt in need of guidance…” She would be unable to visit her mother again for quite some time, she realized.

“Perfect. Then I will meet you there at midnight.” Casca stepped onto the windowsill. “Hang on until then. Charlotte watched as the two arranged themselves on the tree outside, Griffith holding onto Casca by the shoulders with his talons, and then flew off into the night.

It was only sleepless hours later that the full weight of what she had heard sunk in. He was betrothed to Prince Guts. She had met the raid captain once or twice in passing, he was a frightening fellow, the last person she could see becoming a prince. However, importantly, he was also a man, yet somehow Griffith was betrothed to him? Why had it been his physique that put her off. He’d had claws for god’s sake and yet it had been because… She’d loved Griffith because he was unlike any other man she’d met, he was gentle, beautiful, almost like… Charlotte felt her face grow hot. No, that couldn’t be, that couldn’t be true. She imagined what he might look like if his form was softer, perhaps with a pair of shining breasts. Oh no. In the darkness of her room she remembered a word, a favorite of soldiers and mercenaries.

“Fuck.”