A Star, Glimmering Between Sun and Moon

[Anu-El]

thanks for the chapter

 

[StriderInCosmos]

Life, as we all know, is a remarkably busy beast at times. For me, it has only gotten even more so in recent times. And with the Christmas season upon us, there are some things that I'll be putting on the backburner for the month of December. I'm going to be pausing any publishing on my stories for the month and taking something of a break (though I'm sure I'll still be writing more content for all my stories in the meantime). I'll still be active elsewhere on the site, perhaps doing omakes from time to time for the Starfleet Design Bureau. We will return to our regularly scheduled program beginning to mid-January of the New Year. Same bat-time, same bat-channel.

Happy Holidays!

 

[StriderInCosmos]

Chapter 19: Clouds Before the Sun

Wyndham, 1 and a Half Months Later

The first winter snows, harsh and biting, had now given way to somewhat more measured weather, the snowy days now mixing at times with a cold rain that never quite froze in the daylight. It had spoiled the pristine quality of the snow-covered ground and made it a sodden, sometimes frozen mess that was at times treacherous to go out in if one was not careful.

It was a stark, depressing reflection of the current situation, Daniel thought as he watched the on-again, off-again rain that made today so gray. He sighed quietly as he turned away from the window of the White Phoenix's barracks. It was official, now. They were noblemen and women of the realm of Midland, with all the rights and duties that came with it. He'd been informed that he was the local lord of some spit of land to the north that focused on ore mining in the hills and mountains only a few days ago and that it was ready for his review as he so desired.

But it all felt so… hollow. It was a feeling that none of the commanders of the former Band of the Falcon could escape. Not even Corkus, so haughty as he had been in the days after the departure and especially on the day that they had been raised to the peerage, could fully escape the strange sensation that had come with the absence of Guts.

Daniel took a deep breath. 'It's good for him.' he mused as he stood from his seat by the window, ready to find something else to do. 'He'll find his purpose out there. Or at least the start of it.'

Then, there was a knock at the door, Daniel's focus drawn to the present place from his reverie. "Come in."

The door opened, and Daniel found himself somewhat surprised to see Griffith stepping through. It was the first time since the ceremony 2 weeks ago that he'd seen him. And he'd only seen him once before that. "Lord Griffith? Can I help you?"

Griffith took a deep, weary breath as he closed the door, looking at Daniel with eyes that, while skilled at deception, could not help but betray his exhaustion to Daniel. "I have some questions that I must ask you," Griffith said as he took a seat in one of the open chairs next to the writing desk that had been moved into his room without him asking for it.

"What might those be?" Daniel took a seat himself.

"Guts…" the first word, even without all other context, told Daniel everything he needed to know. "Did he speak to you about leaving the Band of the Falcon?"

Daniel considered the question for a silent moment. Here was a chance to try and steer things. One that he'd been looking for for what felt like ages now. "To some extent or another, yes. Since he's met you, he's become more and more concerned about not being looked down on by you. He sees you as someone he wants to be a friend to. Something greater than he already was."

"But he was already useful," Griffith said, his look uncharacteristically puzzled. "He was a vital part of all my plans."

"Yes," Daniel admitted. "But it's only human to want to be something more than a tool. You and your friendly company with him inspired him in a way that I don't think I ever fully could as a parent."

Griffith still seemed puzzled. "He had a place in the Band of the Falcon. He had a place at my side. Could he not find his dream here, with us?"

"I will tell you what I told him that day. That every man's path must diverge from those he cares about at some point, in some way. It is the only way for one to control their destiny, their dream, after all."

Again, it was silent as Griffith took in the words, an implacable expression allowing Daniel to see little more than the gleam of continued confusion in his eyes. "Destiny can only be controlled by so many." Griffith surmised quietly. "We see that here in Midland, and I have seen that in every nation that I have traveled to with the Band. The only chance to control one's life is here."

"Is that really so?" Daniel ventured. "Were you not the masters of your destiny, able to take your pay from whomever you so pleased, when we were but mercenaries?"

"Mercenaries depend on the generosity or necessity of others to survive." Griffith countered. "Even the other nobles here require fealty to the king of this land. There is only one way to truly control one's life in this place that I know of."

"Even the king requires the bounty of his lands, the loyalty of those around him, to ensure his place as the ruler of this kingdom. After all, did nobility save the queen from the flames of her tower?"

Griffith's gaze darted up at him for a moment, and Daniel held a level expression as he wondered what might have been given away, if anything, of that night.

Finally, Daniel continued. "In fact, I would even hazard to say that, in some form or another, Guts is more free than any of us here. He simply pursues his dream, his desire to be your friend, without restraint or enforced direction. He has no one, not even me, to tell him where he must go. Only he decides what he will, now."

Griffith looked down at the floor, and Daniel accepted the long, calm silence as it stretched on. Finally, Griffith stood. "I see," he said quietly. "Thank you for… enlightening me."

With that, he turned and walked out the door, leaving Daniel alone once again. He wondered if his words, far more than his strength of arms, might have helped Griffith stray a little from the path his story dictated he should wander to.

He wondered if such help for Griffith was even possible now.

. . .

Far, far away from such worries, Guts sat down on a felled tree, doing his best to piece together a fire to combat the cold night. He'd been walking for… a while, now. Going from town to town, doing small things to keep himself fed. But none of that had brought him much closer to what he was looking for.

The night, like most of them had been thus far thankfully, was lit up as Guts tended to the nascent fire, watching as it grew. His sword and pack rested at his side as he watched, calmed by the flickering, crackling flames.

A rustle of the branches behind him sent his heart racing as he grabbed for his sword, turning back to see… the shadow of a wolf darting away from the firelight.

He took a deep breath, his hand slipping from the hilt of his sword only after long moments. 'What's got me so scared?' he mused. 'It's not like I've never seen a wolf before.'

He pondered on the thought for a moment. 'But it is the first time I've acted largely on my own… ever. It's still weird.'

He looked up at a gap in the treetops, out into the night sky. 'I forgot the night was this dark. This deep. Ever since that time when we started wandering.'

Those harsh, early days in the aftermath of their leaving the Thunderbolts were stuck in his mind now. How they contrasted with those days surrounded by Falcons. 'Am I throwing something away I can't get back?'

He reached out to the fire. 'There'll be time to think about that later. Right now, isn't it enough that I'm warm?'

Even still, he felt that creeping, nagging doubt as he looked around the silent forest after long moments contemplating the question. 'Am I just throwing away some irreplaceable today for a vague tomorrow I might not even see? If it even exists at all? Even without some big dream, people just… keep on living. Daniel, with that simple dream, just… keeps on living.'

'Am I even out here because I wanted to be?' Guts mused as the fire began to die down, the man reaching for a stick to break into kindling. 'All this happened because of what Griffith said that night. So can I really say I struck out and left of my own will?'

He contemplated the man he hoped to become equal to. Who had barred his way in what he now realized was fear. Not a jagged, terrified one, at first. But a fear nonetheless.

Corkus' words flashed through his memory for a moment. "You can never become like Griffith."

'That's not today anymore, though.' Guts thought. 'That's the past. I've made my choice.'

Then, as a mist began to creep across his little camp, vine-like tendrils crawling and writing around him, Guts felt something behind him. Something… monstrous.

Quickly, he took up his sword, turning to stand and facing…an empty forest. 'What is that? Bloodthirst? Sheer power? Wait a minute… I remember this.'

He remembered Zodd. He remembered Wyald, all those years ago. 'That savagery that clings to your skin… could it be?'

Then, he felt the crushing weight of some vast power behind him, Guts almost able to see the eyes that bored into the back of his skull. 'How did it get behind me?' he wondered. 'He was just in front of me.'

He trembled slightly as his mind, a somewhat jumbled mess, tried to sort out a way to strike. 'If I move, it almost feels like I'll die. But if I do this right…'

After resolving what he was going to do, he pivoted on his back foot, ducking as he swung his sword at the legs of…

Nothing. The only thing that seemed affected was his guttering fire. The mist now seemed to smother the world around him, anything past the immediate trees surrounding him having vanished into the sea of fog.

Then… something emerged from the shallow end of a misty wave. A shadow, a shape… a skull.

The rest of the figure, and the massive horse that it rode on, emerged fully into the lonely light of the fire, revealing a similarly skeletal armor, with strange, thorny shapes for the shoulder guards, from which a dark cape flowed, and the gambeson, a smoothly sloped tall collar with those same thorns that adorned his shoulders and ringed the skull-like helmet like a crown.

'Who the hell are you?' Guts wondered at the strange being. 'And how did you make me misread where you are twice?'

The air was thick with tension, a feeling of unease stretching with the silence between them that seemed to engulf… everything.

"So," the figure finally said, his voice echoing and booming as though it came from deep within the armor he wore, "the gears have indeed begun to turn."

'What the hell does that even mean?' Guts wondered.

"You. Struggler. Take heed." the figure once again spoke, his tone one of proclamation. "One year hence shall be the time of the Eclipse. You and your friends, those of ephemeral flesh, and that unkingly half of yours. All will be gathered then in their place. A torrent of madness, a tempest of death and the rending of flesh, from which no body can atone, will sweep over you all."

"But… be warned, struggler." the skeletal knight seemed to hesitate for a moment. "There are other forces that intrude upon this world."

Guts finally seeming to get his wits about him, shook his head slightly. "What do you mean? Who the hell are you, even?"

It was silent again for a moment, as if the knight had not expected him to speak. "Foes beyond the ken of the Apostles, or any being of this world, mortal or otherwise, have I slain. Many are tainted with a fire, a flame that chars the mind even as it burns the body. A Flame of Frenzy, they call it before they perish."

"That still doesn't tell me what you are." Guts said challengingly.

"Take heed, struggler!" the knight continued. "You are one born from a corpse, having taken your first breath in entrails. You are closer to death than any in this world. You excel in escaping it. Struggle, contend, persevere! For that is the sword of one who confronts death. Never forget this."

With that, the knight began to turn away, Guts, incredibly, taking a step after him. "Who the hell are you?" he shouted.

The knight only paused to look at him again. "In the abyss of despair, only he who stands with a broken sword… perhaps…"

Then, the knight fully turned his horse, and walked away, disappearing into the night as the mist began to clear from the campsite. Guts watched intently, looking around him before walking slowly over to where the knight had stood. 'Was that an illusion? Am I going crazy already?'

Then he came to a stop as he looked upon, imprinted in the still somewhat damp dirt, the form of a horseshoe. 'No.' he realized. 'That Skeleton Knight… he was real.'

He didn't know what any of what the knight had said meant. But with how closely it sounded like Zodd…

. . .

The rumble of thunder that hummed through the barracks' stone walls made Daniel uneasy, even in present company. But, with all his experience, he hid it well.

"So, Rickert," he said over a largely quiet meal, "heard anything new from your more reputable sources?"

"Not much that would probably interest you," Rickert admitted, "but with soldiers coming back from the front and cycling through the capital, I've heard some things that sound… well, kind of weird."

"Kinda weird seems to be what most soldiers like to share," Corkus said from a table over. "Especially when it looks like Zodd."

He said the name quickly as if wanting to cast it away. It seemed that the encounter had stuck with him even still. Daniel returned his focus back to Rickert, who ate next to Judeau and Pippin. "Well, don't leave us in suspense. What strange sights have Midland's soldiers seen now?"

Rickert leaned on the table, his usual excited gleam in his eyes. "Well, the weirdest one I've heard so far was from a bunch of soldiers making sure an abandoned fort was cleared of any traps. They swear up and down that they ran into these… living jars with wax on their tops, walking towards them and smacking them with arms and legs of hardened clay."

"They must be nuts, then," Corkus once again interjected from his table.

"That does seem a little far-fetched," Judeau admitted.

"That's not even the craziest part!" Rickert said emphatically. "They said once they shattered them, blood and guts spilled out of them. I don't know if these guys should be swinging swords around anymore, but there's enough of them that say they saw them and destroyed them that people are noticing."

"Living jars…" Daniel pondered, looking over at Anna and Casca, who ate with them. "Well, compared to Zodd, that sounds downright tame."

"They do, don't they?" Anna said, chewing thoughtfully. Unbidden as it usually was, Daniel wondered what happened with all the food she ate, and decided he didn't need to find out any time soon.

"There's also been talk of some new knights roaming around." Rickert continued. "Whatever they are, they aren't Tudors."

'More Nox?' Daniel wasn't even sure how the Nox had made it from their Echo of origin in the Lands Between into this one in the first place. From what he could tell from Anaa'ri's memory, the Echoes were barely even brushing against each other, let alone merged to such an extent as to allow visitors.

Theorycrafting for another time. "What kind of knights?" Daniel asked.

"Well, there's two kinds a bunch of patrols have seen prowling around." Rickert began. "One is tall and slim, carrying these curved swords and shields most of the time. They have these little golden crowns on their heads. The others are more… beastly. Jumping at things like dogs even in full armor, wielding just a longsword."

"Huh," Daniel said quietly. They sounded so familiar. And yet… "Was there anything else about them?"

"Well," Rickert said, "the soldiers that came across them always swore it was colder around them, even in the dead of a snowy night. The beastly ones even looked like frost and snow was coming off of them."

It clicked, and old memories, old fears and hatreds, gripped Daniel's heart. "Pontiff Sulyvahn's…" he whispered aloud without realizing.

"Who?" Pippin asked, and Daniel had to stop himself from jumping slightly.

"No one worth mentioning, really," Daniel replied. "It's just strange that his forces are around when they shouldn't even exist here. Anymore, at least."

The table was silent, and even Corkus was looking at Daniel curiously. He kept a somewhat curious, confused expression on his face as he dealt with the burning anger that warmed his entire body, almost seeming physical as it threatened to consume him. 'Damn you, Sulyvahn. Damn you! No running from you or skulking by this time. If you're really here, this time, you're mine, and you're dead.'

Then, he saw a soldier enter the room. Several people, including most of the command staff, looked over at him. They were the only ones who still did anymore. And, as always, the soldier had a confused, disheartened look on his face.

No one had seen Griffith exit his rather opulent room since he'd talked with Daniel nearly 2 and a half weeks ago. They'd started taking his food up to him just to see him but to little avail. He'd only open the door after someone had walked away, taking the meal and shutting it without a word.

The soldier began to speak softly to his companions, and Casca looked over at Daniel with a heavy sigh. "I wish Guts was still here," she said softly. "Then… maybe Griffith would still be alright."

Daniel regarded Casca intently. "Griffith simply needs to be patient. Guts will come back, and I think that he'll find that not as much has changed as one might expect."

"How can you be so sure?" Casca asked him. It was not the first time that she had asked him that question. Each time afterward, it had become less and less acerbic.

"Because sometimes, all you need is a reminder of why you do what you do," Daniel said assuredly. "Sometimes, the dream you're trying to find is just a part of what you've already done."

"Have you always been so damn cryptic?" Corkus interjected. "He ran off, and he's probably not coming back. Why keep worrying about him so much?"

"Because then what does Griffith's promise to us mean?" Casca said challengingly. "'A Falcon will always be such'. That's what he's promised all of us. Even with this, do you think he'd go back on it?"

"He's not what he once was."

The words barely registered for a moment before all turned to a random soldier, one who was next to the man who had taken Griffith his dinner. "And he's getting worse as time goes on. Garith here stuck around for 10 minutes waiting for the door to open. It never did. He went back, never even heard a sound."

Casca stood, then Daniel, the commanding officers of the Falcons all making a quick march towards the room of their general. Casca reached the door first, opening it and stepping over the still untouched food to find the massive, well-furnished room… empty.

"Where could he have gone?" Rickert asked as they spread out. "Maybe out the back door?"

"Someone would have seen him," Judeau said, his brow furled in confusion.

Daniel walked over to one of the windows and saw that it was unlatched, just a little ajar from its frame. He pushed it open gently, allowing the quiet hiss of rain to become the driving downpour that it actually was.

Daniel's jaw clenched as the others began to gather around him, all of them looking at the tree that was next to the window. "Did he… climb down?" Corkus said incredulously. "In this torrent?"

"It's the only plausible explanation for why this window would be open now, of all times," Daniel said. He'd wondered if this day would come. He dreaded what was sure to come next.

. . .

Across the city, watching from an equally opulent room, Princess Charlotte watched the rain pouring and hoped that Griffith was well. It had been so long since she'd seen him… anywhere. That pillar of stability, the light in the darkness he'd become after her family had been so ravaged in the last few years… she found more and more that she needed it.

"Your Highness?" one of her chambermaids said. "Come retire to your bed, at least. We would hate for you to catch a cold."

"I'll be along soon," Charlotte said. "You're dismissed for the day."

The two maids nodded, and as they retreated, Charlotte continued to watch the driving rain, flashes of lightning peeling away the darkness or brief moments before the blanket of shadows fell again with the thunder's rumbling crash.

Then the lightning flashed again, and Charlotte's eyes went wide as she saw a sight that seemed impossible. Hanging in the branches, looking in at her, was Griffith.

She gasped softly, putting a hand over her mouth as she glanced at the door, hoping her maids hadn't heard. After a moment of shock, she went to the window, unlatching and opening it. "Lord Griffith! What are you doing out in this deluge? And at this hour?"

"Good evening, my lady," Griffith said calmly.

"If anyone saw you here like this at this hour, alone at that…" Charlotte began to say.

"It thus stands to reason that, if someone were to see me in this position, it would tarnish your honor as well," Griffith said. "So, may I come in?"

Charlotte hesitated for a moment. Griffith took the moment to slip in. "Your pardon," he said as he stepped inside, closing the window behind him.

"Do forgive me for dripping so much water into your quarters," Griffith said. "And for visiting at such a late hour."

Before he could continue, he found himself almost bowled over by Charlotte as she embraced him tightly, unconcerned with his soaked clothes as her tears joined the rain within them. "I've missed you," she said quietly. "Ever since that attempt on your life, the Queen dying… everything's been in chaos. It's been so long since I've seen you, and I've been so… alone."

She shook her head. "Why have you waited all this time to come see me?"

Griffith said nothing, simply looking down at her as she looked up at him. Then, he pressed her closer to him, her quiet gasp stifled by his lips locking with hers. They stood there silently for a moment before she began to pull away.

She managed it, a startled look on her face. "Griffith, wait…"

"Please."

It was such a simple word. One that Charlotte had heard all her life. But coming from someone such as she knew Griffith to be, tinged with such desperation…

The next she knew, she was walking back, falling back onto her bed. Griffith loomed over her, his eyes boring into hers. "Are you afraid?" he whispered.

She was shuddering, unable to do anything as he drew slowly closer. "Take everything that frightens or saddens you," he said as she felt his hand, cold and slightly trembling, begin to hitch up her dress, "and cast them into the fire."

Slowly, unsurely, Charlotte fell into Griffith, baring herself in this most fundamental way for the first time… ever.

. . .

The night grew long, and those in the White Phoenix Knights barracks felt the passing of the time in agonizing fashion. The commanding officers sat around a table in a now empty mess hall, silent as the rain continued to drum at the stone halls and shadowed windows.

"Where could he have gone in this sort of storm?" Judeau finally asked.

"Whre's 'ven close?" Corkus slurred, having not let go of a bottle for longer than it took to grab the next. "'S not like he would go n' train or sumthn. He's not like that bastard Guts."

His eyes, hazy though they were, slowly managed to focus on Daniel, who regarded him with a largely level stare. "He wuldn't be like this if it wasn't for your damn kid getting shit stuffed into his head. Maybe it's your…"

Before Corkus could continue, Daniel's hand flashed out to the man's collar, standing as he dragged the still rather thin man to his feet. The silence that fell across the room was tense, and it wasn't long before everyone else was on their feet.

"The past is," Daniel said calmly, quietly, to a clearly rattled Corkus. "Now, it is up to you to decide what the future will look like, in your own little way."

Corkus' jaw clenched silently, then he finally shook his head. "Can y' just let me finish my beer before I decide?"

Daniel took a deep breath and released him, walking away as he shook his head. "Something's coming. I can feel it in my bones. My very soul. If Griffith doesn't make it back soon…"

He couldn't say. So much as he wanted to.

He walked out from the mess hall, making his way to somewhere… different, wherever that might be. As he opened the door before him, however, he came into a remarkably different room than his. He paused at the door, what light could pass from behind him making the chestplate and broken blade upon it gleam.

Daniel took a deep breath as he stepped in slowly, pausing before the table and drawing a finger across the fuller of the blade. So much of what would come did rest on Guts' decision to leave, it was true. A part of him wondered…

"You miss him too."

Daniel looked back to see Casca standing in the doorway, who walked in slowly as she placed a candle in the holder by the door. "If he hadn't left… would all this be what it is?"

"To some extent," Daniel admitted as Casca entered fully, coming to Daniel's side as they both regarded what was left behind of the man for them. "But his destiny was always his to determine by then. Even if I didn't want him to finally find out who he was for himself, I wouldn't have been able to stop him."

'Even if it meant saving the lives of everyone here?' a part of him whispered soundlessly as Casca brushed her fingers across the broken sword, picking it up and beginning to clutch it to her chest. 'Even if it meant he might not be able to stand up to what now inevitably comes next?'

'I would protect him.' He clenched his jaw. 'I always have. And I always will.'

'Right up until you can't.'

He did his best to turn away from that line of thought as he looked over at Casca, who, somewhat surprisingly, looked at him somewhat expectantly. "So," she asked quietly, "you're really sure he'll come back?"

Daniel nodded slowly. "Yes. He cares about us too much to leave us forever." he paused, then smiled slightly. "He cares about you more than he cares to admit."

Casca was silent even as she blushed slightly. "Then why did he go?" she whispered.

It was silent between them for a moment. "Because he wants to be worthy of you as much as he wants to be worthy of Griffith."

Again, it was silent, save for the slightly slackening rain.

. . .

He couldn't get him out of his head.

It didn't matter what he did, what position he took, what pliant pleasure he extracted from the heir of an entire kingdom… Griffith couldn't stop thinking about him. Him.

That night when everything had come together, when everyone against him had been cleared away from his path. "So, why start doubting now, of all times?"

That morning when everything had fallen apart. When he'd had proven how far he'd come… and walked away. "Take care."

The words pounded in his head in time with his heart, mixing with feelings he'd never been able to figure out since that fateful day when they had met. A part of him, its whisper lost in the maelstrom of heat and sweat and passion, urged him to be careful, to ensure that no handmaiden might wander over to the door and find them out. But such a seemingly trifling thing didn't matter when he had some semblance of control again. This choice was his, and she was his.

Finally, though, they were both spent. Charlotte sprawled on the sweat-soaked sheets, quickly slipping into sleep. Griffith remained alone in his wakefulness, staring into the fire as tears still welled in his eyes, eyes that had tried to focus on this moment of sublime dominion. Eyes that could only see Guts. Could only see him walking away.

He curled into himself, spent and alone on a battlefield he had seemingly no hope of conquering.

He didn't know how long he sat like that, stewing in his mind's chaos, but eventually, he began to see the light of dawn begin to make its way through the windows. He dressed as quietly as possibly could and slipped out into the fog-wreathed day.

Finally, as Griffith crept out of the castle ground and the day grew steadily brighter, Charlotte slowly stirred and stretched. She found no other body, warm and inviting, waiting for her. "Griffith…"

As she sat up in bed, she found something else, small and familiar. Her hand clasped around the lodestone necklace she had given as a gift to Griffith. "Griffith…"

As she shifted, she winced in pain, lifting the sheets to see blood on them. Blood that could only have been hers.

'Oh, no…' Charlotte thought, her mind whirling as she tried to come up with some suitable explanation.

Heedless of Charlotte's plight, Griffith clambered the last wall in his way, dropping to the misty ground as he looked around him. The mist began to part, one person approaching. Then another, then several more. All were palace guards, and all leveled their pikes at him.

Then, from behind the hedge of blades, a somewhat better-armored man stepped through. The captain of these guards, most likely. "Lord Griffith. I must admit, I find it strange to see you around here at this early hour." the man said rather airily.

Griffith, on instinct, reached for his belt. An empty belt. "There's been a break-in of the castle, near Princess Charlotte's quarters. At the moment, my lord, you happen to be the prime suspect. Therefore, until we can ascertain the truth, we will have to take you into custody. Guards, take him away!"

As Griffith began to be led away, there was some small part of him that knew it was over. But this had been his choice. He had taken control of a life again, for a fleeting moment.

. . .

King Adamar strode down the hall, a cluster of followers trailing behind him. One of them had been speaking all this time. "My lord, I must urge you to remain calm. There is no need to completely trust the word of one novice handmaiden. I am sure Princess Charlotte has some sort of explanation for what might have been seen."

Adamar opened the doors to his daughter's stately room and saw Charlotte rise. "Father!" Charlotte said. "I must ask what has you bursting in so early in the morning."

Adamar simply looked around the room, spotting first the slightly opened window, then the slight puddles of water leading over to Charlotte's bed. "Did your window come unlatched last night?" he asked, his tone purposefully level.

"Well," Charlotte said bashfully as she threw the sheets aside and slightly stumbled out of bed, "I saw this poor, pitiful cat on the tree outside. I tried to bring it in and have one of the handmaids warm it up, but it scampered away."

Adamar nodded, then glanced over at the sheets. Blood. "And why is there blood on your sheets?"

Charlotte blushed slightly. "Well, it is that time of the month. I hitched up my nightgown to combat the heat and forgot I hadn't put a rag on. Really, Father, must you ask such embarrassing questions?"

Adamar blushed slightly himself. It was… a decent enough story. But there was one more way to confirm the story that the frantic handmaid had told him. "That is well enough, I must guess. However, the palace guards apprehended Lord Griffith for trespassing. Apparently, there was a break-in and he may have been involved."

Charlotte's eyes went wide and a hand went to an open mouth. "How could that be the case when Lord Griffith was-"

She paused, going pale, and Adamar's jaw clenched. "Where was he, Charlotte?" he asked softly, dangerously.

She blushed silently, and it was all the confirmation that Adamar needed. "So the handmaid's tale is true. That man Griffith stole into your chambers and took advantage of you."

His heart and head were pounding now, a rage he hadn't felt since his days on the battlefield muffling Charlotte's cries as he turned and stalked towards the dungeons. He had punishment to mete out.

 

[LordofTentacles]

Damn fine fic, I can't believe it doesn't get more attention. Good job!

 

[Maximum Power]

I think it's genuinely incredible how you're able to make "following the stations of canon" into a brilliant piece on the struggle to defy fate. Even little changes like the survival of Adonis cannot fully stem the tide of destiny, it would seem, yet with each desperate effort I can feel my hopes rising. Griffith may have once more made his fatal mistake and been caught, but who's to say it will remain so?

I'm eager to find out how Sir Theisman will unravel this particular conundrum. After all, he has just decided to try helping Griffith instead of plotting his death. Or is he too dancing at the whims of Causality? I really wonder.

 

[StriderInCosmos]

Chapter 20: Iconoclasm

The Deep Dungeons, Below Midland

Griffith didn't know how long it had been since he'd been moved from the cells in the castle proper to this darker, far more secure place. He could guess that it had been close to a day now, perhaps two. Cold comfort that he'd lived this long, surrounded as he now was by implements of pain and suffering and hanging from the ceiling in manacles.

But the door opened, and Griffith squinted slightly as the man stepped into the moody darkness of the room. The shadows, however, could not obscure the regal form of King Adamar. Nor the whip that he held in his hand whose coils slipped free to the floor. He was crownless and bereft of much of his typical royal garb here, much of his regality missing alongside the crown that hid a balding head, its brow now creased as he regarded him, Griffith regarding him silently in turn.

"Griffith." Adamar finally said with a heavy sigh, slowly stepping forward. "I'd hoped, one day, that you might perhaps become the supreme general of Midland's armies, making them into a force that I could truly promise would bring the Tudors to heel. That much is no fiction, as I must at times give to the common people that make us what we are."

"You know as well as I that there were not a few that slandered you." he continued, slowly circling around Griffith as the whip dragged behind him, hissing softly like a cornered serpent. "But I disregarded their spurious claims. Each victory you gave us on the battlefield made their protests ever more baseless."

He slowed to a stop, nearly nose-to-nose with Griffith. "For quite some time now, I've held the assertation that it is not from lineage or social position from which a knight or general derives their merit, but on action, wisdom, and judicious use of resources."

As he spoke, he backed away. As he finished, he regarded Griffith silently.

"But a thief is still a thief!" Adamar shouted as the whip whirled to life, cracking as the tip slashed through his side and left a shallow gash. "Were your great achievements not enough?"

As quickly as his temper rose, it seemed to subside. "My daughter is so rash at times. As if she chooses to not understand the weight of her status. The importance of the succession of royal blood…"

He shook his head. "The princess of an entire kingdom, going on a dalliance like a town girl. Such excessive frivolity…"

Again, Adamar's eyes flashed as the whip cracked again, and again, and again, striking only his torso over and over. "Even so, even the foolish, frivolous girl is everything to me! I would give myself, this whole kingdom, in exchange for her! She is and shall be my whole life!"

The whip worked its bloody song as Adamar gave the haphazard tune words at a shout. "What value is there in this world? Wars rage on and people become insects in the farmer's field as he spreads the sulfur! And now, for a brief instant, we've built a time of peace on the corpses of thousands. Tens of thousands! And yet, we've only buried war alive, leaving it waiting for new sustenance."

At last, Griffith began to openly wince as Adamar continued. "In the face of that, the will of a single king is useless! The wisdom of one man utter folly! And yet, that does not keep me from being king! Nothing can surmount that!"

Finally, the whipping slowed, then ceased, Adamar looking upon the glazed, unfocused eyes of Griffith as his own face began to lose its scowl. "In this bloodstained, meaningless world, if there is one solitary ray of light to be found… it is warmth. Only that covers and protects me from this fallen world."

Griffith's only reply was to silently tilt his head back, his eyes seeming to look at Adamar. After a moment's silence, unseen to Griffith's addled eyes, the king finally gained an expression of… shame.

"And yet," he said softly, nearly whispered, "she shared that warmth with you. Openly. Freely."

He shook his head as it began to dip. "Alas… my poor Charlotte. She did not care that you were only of common birth before I raised you to the peerage. She saw that noble look you now give me. And she gave you what Tisiphone gave me, as a sign of her love for me. Something that she has given to no other man."

A hand covered Adamar's face. "And with all I've given you in return for loving my daughter… I'd rather… rather that…"

It was at this moment, with those four words, that Griffith's eyes finally came back into focus. "That you'd rather…" he said softly.

As Adamar's gaze slowly returned to Griffith, the man continued. "Have Charlotte for yourself? No…" Griffith slurred slightly. "That you'd want her to have you?"

Adamar, shocked into silence, began to tremble slightly as Griffith continued. "I had thought it somewhat strange. In Charlotte's 17 years, surely there were tempting proposals, one such that could have perhaps ended the war. And yet, you refused to release her."

Griffith paused for a moment. "The great king Adamar, renowned with majesty throughout the lands… is actually nothing more than a lonely, miserable old man, unable to find any reason beyond his beloved daughter to even live. Resigning yourself to the monster you envision, yet taking no steps to truly harness it."

"How dare you…" Adamar whispered.

"While you were born to the sword called the throne and held it," Griffith continued, heedless of Adamar's words, "you've done nothing more than keep from failing."

Griffith smiled slightly. "How worthless…"

Finally, wrath roared to life in Adamar's eyes, his face twisting as he raised the whip once again. "ENOUGH!"

He laid into Griffith with a renewed vigor, a strength that he'd long resigned to days past on the battlefield, caring not at all anymore where the whip landed. "Silence!" he shouted. "Silence! Silence! BE SILENT!"

"What do you know?" he continued. "What does a fool like you know of kinghood? The land! The history! The lives of all the people on your shoulders… what do you know?!"

The lashing continued for long, agonizing minutes until, at last, Adamar let the whip drop to the floor, bloodstained as the room around Griffith was. Adamar looked into the eyes of Griffith, those intense eyes that had signaled the doom of his enemies. And he still found some spark of defiance in them.

Adamar scoffed as he turned towards the door. "Very well. We'll see how long that look will last. Torturer!" he cried.

After a moment, the door opened, a somewhat misshapen figure making his way forward. "Yesh, shire…" he said, stepping into the light and revealing an equally misshapen face, a cleft lip making the smile he leveled at the king a broken thing, his hunched back leaving him about a head shorter than the king, and stooping him still lower as he bowed to the king. "What ish your wish?"

"Do what you wish with this man," Adamar said quietly. "He has sinned gravely against the royal house."

The torturer's grin widened as he looked around at his many, many tools. "But!" Adamar said pointedly. "You must do all in your power to keep him alive. He must live another year in his agony as he sees the gravity of his crimes."

"Yesh, shire." the torturer's grin threatened to split his face still further as he moved on to his tools.

Adamar nodded, returning to the doorway and pausing at it as he opened it, looking back at Griffith. "You are young," he said. "No doubt your heart burned with dreams and ambitions that led you to this place. If you had exercised restraint, you may have even achieved them."

He shook his head slightly. "It makes it an ever more naked disappointment. The White Hawk of the battlefield, destroying himself over such a trifling matter. Now, the Hawk has fallen to the earth, never to rise again."

With that, he left Griffith to his awaiting agonies.

. . .

As Adamar walked through the halls of his palace, his heart still continued to smolder with rage. It left him almost dizzy in a way that he'd rarely experienced before.

"My lord? Are you… alright?"

He blinked, focusing on the handmaiden, and her shocked stare, before looking down at his robes. Indeed, the hem was stained with blood. His blood.

"Yes. I am fine," he answered. "I just had some business to attend to. And I have further business still."

"Father?"

Adamar turned to see Charlotte, dear Charlotte, standing behind him, regarding his robes, the ire which sat heavy on his brow, with no small amount of shock. "What happened? Where is Griffith?"

The name. Even just the name stirred the coals in his heart and produced a lick of flame-hot anger. "He is receiving his due justice for stealing in here and defiling you so, setting the entire royal family for naught."

Charlotte's eyes went wide. "Father…" she nearly whispered as tears began to well in her eyes. "You haven't… you haven't…"

"No." Adamar's jaw felt like lead as he said the word, clenched tight as he saw the obvious relief spread across his daughter's face. "He will live through what comes next. The torturer shall ensure that much."

Charlotte gasped in shock. "Father… no…"

"No?" Adamar said imperiously as he stepped towards his daughter. "I am the king of these lands. I am your father. I shall do what I please with those who have wronged me thus! And I will ensure those confederate with this cur shall be punished for their part in bringing him to this place as well."

Charlotte finally took a step back as Adamar stepped closer. "You can't!" she shouted. "His knights are innocent in all this! Why take their lives as well?"

"Because Griffith has taken from me what was most precious in all this world. Your sanctity. Your purity." Adamar said, a haunted, almost inhuman look lit up in his eyes. "So I will now take from him the instrument of his dreams as well."

Adamar reached out to take hold of his daughter once again, find some stability in this now insane world, but Charlotte slapped his hands away as she stepped back again. "Stop!"

Admar persevered, heedless of his daughter's cries. "Charlotte…" he said dangerously.

"No! I hate you!" Charlotte shouted, turning and running back from whence she came.

"Charlotte! Get back here!" Adamar shouted after her. "Or I'll…"

He trailed off as he realized what he was saying. What he'd done to his daughter. 'No.' a part of his mind whispered. 'It was Griffith. Griffith turned her against you.'

Even still… he had been so close to forgiving the young man. But now, there was no turning back. A king could not afford to appear weak. Least of all in front of those that were his closest subjects.

He took a deep breath and turned back to go to his study. "Inform the captain of the guard," he said to the handmaiden as he passed her. "Triple the guard compliment around the castle. None who I do not give express permission to enter will be allowed in."

"Yes, my lord." the woman said, curtseying and making her way quickly away from him. Not that it mattered much that there was fear in her eyes. He had another task to ensure the completion of.

. . .

Griffith was in a cell again near the torture chamber. There was no cot, instead a thin layer of straw for him to sit upon as his arms were manacled up and away from him to the wall. The only source of light was a small aperture, its other side a slanted tunnel that allowed some small sliver of light in.

A part of Griffith wondered at what he'd said. What he'd done. Did he regret it, as some small part of his soul had that night he'd spent taken by LeMuer?

No.

No, because there was… nothing, now. Shame, concern, all had taken their flight from him, leaving in the direction of Guts.

"Yes." he rasped, his whisper roughened by a parched throat. "This is worthless."

He paused, considering the word for a moment. "Worthless…"

. . .

The barracks of the White Phoenix Knights were a silent, solemn affair this evening. Even Corkus had lost all his bluster from the day before, the confidence in Griffith's return reduced now to silent worrying in the company of those who were more openly anxious.

Daniel, however, was anxious for entirely different reasons, watching the door for a messenger to step through.

Surely enough, the door opened after a knock, and the commanders of the White Phoenix stood and regarded the man wearing the colors of the royal house. "A message from Lord Griffith," he said, holding a roll of parchment in his hands. "He relays that he is residing at the palace for the moment, to explain his present absence."

Immediately there was a sigh of relief. "There!" Corkus was first to say. "I knew there was an explanation. He probably just had a little too much fun and has been resting up."

The messenger stepped forward and handed the parchment to Casca. "He wanted to present you with these orders."

Casca unfurled the parchment, nodding to the messenger, who turned and left.

Corkus scoffed. "Must've forgotten we're royalty now, to not bow at least a little. Anyway, what're our orders?"

Casca was silent for a moment as she scanned the parchment. "We're to go out to the far fields of Jutland, a town beyond the city, to do maneuvering drills early tomorrow morning. No need for armor or weapons."

"Fair enough, I guess," Judeau said with a shrug. "If we're just worrying about getting into positions and marching orders, then we wouldn't want to exhaust ourselves too much."

"But where is General Griffith?" Gaston, sitting in silence with Daniel as his fellow Raider, said somewhat testily. "Why not deliver this message himself?"

"Maybe he's dealing with a bad hangover or something," Corkus said with a heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes. "Surely, you've drunk enough to have one of those, right?"

"Rickert," Daniel said quietly, "have you heard any word of anyone else doing these sorts of drills? Usually, if one unit is doing them, the others are at least preparing to do the same. Or something similar."

Rickert was quiet for a moment. "Not really. Not that I've checked recently or anything," he said.

Corkus groaned. "Come on. Why are you so damn paranoid? It's not like we're going to get ambushed or turned on. We're royals of Midland!"

'And that's exactly what the king's likely counting on.' Daniel thought darkly.

But before he could open his mouth, there was another knock at the door. The gathered commanders looked over at it as it opened again. This time, there was a somewhat smaller figure in a dark cloak. One whose hood came off to reveal the young Lord Adonis.

"Lord Adonis?" Daniel said, slowly moving towards him and noting the harried, somewhat scared expression on the young man's face. "What brings you here like this?"

Adonis looked around the room at the confused Phoenix Knights. "I know what happened to Griffith. And those orders are not his, but the king's."

"What?" Casca said, her brow furling further still.

"Sir Griffith stole into the palace two nights ago to lay with Princess Charlotte. He was apprehended in the morning and taken to the dungeon. I don't know what happened there, but the king attended to him personally and had his wrath stirred enough that he penned those orders to draw you out of the city while he tortured Sir Griffith. He drafted another set of orders to the White Tigers to meet you out there, surround you… and slaughter you to the last."

A dread silence fell over the room for long moments. "You're kidding me," Corkus said. "You're lying. You've gotta be."

"I wish I was," Adonis said heavily. "I was there when Lord Harrison received his orders and the truth of what had transpired. For Sir Griffith's sake, for Sir Guts' sake, and yours, I couldn't in good conscience let such a terrible thing come to pass."

Daniel put a hand on Adonis' shoulder, amazed at what such a simple change had wrought. "Thank you, young lord. We have preparations to make now, I'm sure. Go, quickly. You don't want to be seen around here."

Adonis nodded. "Wherever you go… good luck."

With that, he turned and quickly made his way back out into the waiting night.

"My god…" Casca said as she nearly collapsed into her chair. "Griffith…"

"Casca…" Daniel said as he made his way through the stupified commanders, sparing glances at their horrified expressions. "What are your orders?"

Casca regarded Daniel with no small amount of shock. "Is… is there any way we can perhaps find Griffith, free him?"

"If we try anything now, we risk tipping our hand, facing off with soldiers here in the streets, or even here in our barracks, instead of at a place of our choosing."

"Wait a minute, you bastard!" Corkus, shaken from his stupor, said as he grabbed Daniel's shoulder. "You'd just up and abandon Griffith like that! Run away like a coward?"

Daniel grabbed Corkus' arm. "We don't even know where he is! Where would we go? To the palace, laying siege to it as all the armies of Midland fall on our heads? What madness is that?"

Corkus was silent for a moment before he opened his mouth to argue further.

"Enough," Casca said, cutting Corkus off as she stood. "We can come back for Griffith and rescue him after we're secure. Right now, we're in an exposed position. We need to wake the others, and leave the city in squads at separate times to not raise any suspicions."

"But the gate's closed for the night," Judeau said. "Circumstances being what they are, we're trapped into following our orders, as that's probably what the gate watch has been told to expect."

Casca was silent for a moment. "Then we deceive them," she said, turning to go towards the bunk rooms. The others followed after her, following her into what used to be Griffith's room as she pulled down a leather map tube, taking the map of Midland from within and spreading it across the wide table. She glanced at the parchment, slightly crinkled now, then back to the map before pointing at the town in question. "Here's Jutland. A hilly space with open plains perfect for an ambush. The White Tigers will probably be using this copse of trees near the town to their advantage."

She scanned the map with discerning eyes, pointing to a decently sized forest nearer to Wyndham. "We could go there out of our armor, pause in the forest to arm and armor ourselves, and see where we can go from there."

"We seem to have plenty of options if nothing else," Daniel said. "I'd be dicey of trying our chances with the Tudors, but we could make our way towards Kushan after we've secured Griffith, lay low there."

"Not a bad idea," Casca replied. "But we'll need somewhere that can conceal over 5,000 men while still being close enough to Wyndham when we find a way to get Griffith back. Maybe…"

She scanned the map once again before her eyes narrowed on one particular place. "There." she pointed to a massive forest at the bottom of a cliff, a familiar place to all of them. "We can go down there into the valley, have advance warning of anyone trying to reach us from the cliff. And it's two day's march to get around the cliff and go into the forest any other way."

"We'll also have a wall to our back though, won't we?" Rickert asked. "I'd hate to get pinned in there."

"We won't let ourselves get pinned in," Judeau said assuringly. "We're smart enough to give ourselves a route to escape through."

"Then it's decided," Casca said as she rolled up the map. "Wake the others, and tell them to pack their armor and weapons quickly so that they can pass a visual inspection without raising notice. We'll leave at dawn and angle towards our first stopping point once we're out of sight of the city."

Everyone nodded and made their way to their company's sections. As Daniel walked with Gaston, the other man chuckled. "Man, lucky us that we had someone on our side to tip us off, right?"

Daniel nodded slightly. "That it is," he said quietly.

They split off, going from room to room and waking their men, giving brief explanations and orders. The men all reacted with some form or another of shock and dismay, but they still got to the task assigned to them with a speed and efficiency that time in the city hadn't dulled.

As Daniel got to Anna's room, she opened her eyes and sat up in her bed. Daniel was fairly confident that Anaa'ri didn't actually sleep. "It's happening." was all he said.

"We march out to an ambush, then?" Rhia asked.

Daniel smiled slightly. "Not exactly. Adonis tipped us off. We'll be marching to a far different place with our armor and weapons in tow."

"I see." Anaa'ri rose as they began to prepare. "I see your decision to spare Adonis' life paid dividends to us."

"And may still do so." Daniel mused. "For now, let's just focus on surviving, shall we?"

. . .

Somewhere in the Foothills of Midland

Guts rested at the base of a tree at the top of a hill, looking over the path that he'd taken from the last town. As he looked out over the hilly scene, he chewed absentmindedly on some jerky that a village a few days back had given him for chasing away a large pack of wolves.

'It's been a while since I've seen anyone around.' he mused as he took in the noonday forest. 'As lonely as it is… it's nice to have space to think. There's something about not being able to ask someone for an answer. Try and figure things out for yourself.'

Before he could pontificate further, he heard something rustling in the bushes. It had become a common sound in his time within the forests here. But then the sound drew closer. And was bigger than some bird or squirrel.

'A wolf maybe?' Guts wondered as he rose slowly, reaching for his sword and trying to make as little sound as possible. He looked intently at the clump of bushes that were close by where the sound was coming from as he drew his sword and slowly approached.

He paused in front of the bushes, ready to strike, but rather puzzled. 'What kind of animal is this? If it was a wolf, it would have attacked, but if it was anything else it would have run. Does it just not notice me?'

It drew closer, and Guts decided to push the bush aside to try and see what was so intent on doing… whatever it was in there. He pushed the brush aside…

And came face to face with a young girl. She wore a plain dress, her light brown hair done up in a bun as she regarded him for an instant with wide green eyes before shouting in fright and scrambling away for a moment.

Guts, more than anything, was rather confused. 'No one said there were any other villages out this way. Were they wrong?'

"Who're you?"

Guts blinked and looked down at the girl, who had returned and looked at him with open curiosity.

"Name's Guts." the man finally decided to say.

"That's a weird name."

If Guts had a gold coin for every time he'd heard that name since leaving, he'd be one of the wealthiest men in the land. "Yeah." Guts said with a shrug. "But it's what my mom gave me."

"Huh." the girl shrugged in turn. "I'm Erica."

"Alright. Is there a village around here? No one else seemed to mention it."

"Nope," Erica replied. "But I live with my father further up the mountain. He's a blacksmith."

That sounded eminently useful. If he could get into this blacksmith's good graces, it would make maintaining his gear easier. "Alright. Think you could lead me to him?"

"Sure," Erica replied, taking a moment to gather a basket of berries that she had likely been gathering before his interruption. "Follow me."

Guts' confusion began to deepen as he eventually went after the girl. "You're awfully trusting. How do you know I'm not a bandit here to take advantage of you?"

"Bandits don't really come up here," Erica said frankly. "Mostly, it's just hunters or people that like to go to my father for specific stuff."

"Well, there's a first time for everything." Guts said warningly.

"Maybe." Erica looked back at him with a grin. "But you aren't threatening to kill me or steal my stuff, so I think I'm okay."

'Man, she is young…' Guts thought as they continued up the slope. 'I… never got to think like that.'

It was a sobering realization that left the pair in silence as they came into a largely open mountaintop, a simple, well-worn wooden cottage with a brick chimney that had smoke rising and twisting out of it into the clear mountain sky. 'Nice and tucked away.' Guts said. 'It looks… comfortable.'

They came to the door, Erica opening the door and ushering him into the well-lit space. "Father!" Erica called. "I'm home. I've got someone with me."

A remarkably old man emerged from some back room of the cottage, with long hair and an almost equally long beard that was now a stark white framing a weathered, tanned face with dark green eyes that squinted at him. "Damn you, child," he said in a deep, gruff voice. "It's a little early for you to be bringing men home like him."

Guts' lips twitched into a smile for a moment as Erica looked confused. "Father?" she said.

The old man scoffed and waved her off. "You'll get it someday. Who are you, young man, and what business do you have wielding that fine of a sword around here?"

Guts glanced at his blade before sheathing it again. "I'm Guts."

"Strange name."

"I've heard." Guts sighed quietly. "I'm on a journey to find…"

Guts trailed off. He'd never had to fully explain himself, or why he was so far away from any of his friends. It seemed… daunting now.

"To find what?" the old man asked as he made his way over to an anvil, his broad body nearly covering it as he picked up what looked like some sort of hinge.

"Well… I've never had to explain it before." Guts said with a shrug as the man began to work on it. "I started out trying to find a dream of my own, but now… it's more. What that means, I don't know."

The old man regarded Guts with a critical eye for a moment, his face unreadable before he hummed. "Alright. Well, until you're ready to tell me about whatever it is you're looking for, go and hunt something for us before it gets dark. Erica'll check the traps around here. If'n you're going to be here, make yourself useful."

Guts, somewhat confused, did still agree with the idea of dinner. "I'll see what I can do," he said, turning and readying a crossbow and a pouch of bolts.

"Good." the old man replied. "Name's Godot."

Godot. Good to know. Guts returned to the wild, task in mind. This wasn't a bad place to stay for a little while, anyway. Maybe he could get in a little training.

. . .

Outside Wyndham

Casca looked back at the brilliant city in the distance that they had marched into only months ago at the head of a triumphant army. Now, the White Phoenix Knights, the Band of the Falcon, slunk away in shame. Leaderless. Hunted. Alone. And looking back… the brilliance of that city had dimmed, somewhat, though whether that was her perception or the product of an overcast sky, she couldn't fully say.

'We'll come back, Griffith. I promise.' Casca swore.

Her reverie was interrupted by Daniel as he rode up next to her on Shadowdanse. "The Raiders are in fighting shape, ma'am," he reported. "We've had to make sure a few of the more rowdy ones didn't try and go back into the city and drag everyone else with them, but they understand how important leaving right now is."

Casca did her best to smile, even if it only came out to a slight grimace. "Thank you, Daniel. If you could go get a report from Judeau and Corkus, they haven't sent anyone ahead yet. The Daggerhearts can be somewhat lax, even after all this time."

Daniel nodded. "Yes, ma'am. If I may ask, why send a Raider to check up on them?"

"Because I need a second in command, Daniel," Casca replied. "I can't be everywhere at once with over 5,000 men. So I release you from your position as a Raider. As for how good or ill that is, that's going to be up to you."

Daniel bowed slightly in his saddle. "Good to know, Commander. I'll make my way to them immediately."

With that, Daniel rode off, and Casca urged her horse on, the crown jewel of Midland disappearing behind her.

They marched for about an hour more before diverting their course, angling towards the forest that was their first goal. It was a long march, but not one they weren't used to. Daniel, now her second, rode by her side, at times going from company to company to gather updates or check on troops.

After a few hours, Casca glanced over at Daniel, how… relaxed he seemed. "You look like this isn't new to you," she said, gaining Daniel's attention. "Have you… done something like this before?"

Daniel's expression darkened somewhat. It was a look she wasn't used to seeing, but that felt… natural to him, somehow. "Yes," he said quietly. "This is a familiar set of circumstances to me. I fled a city once before, in shame. I left those I cared for behind as well."

There were long, silent moments between them. "What was it like?" Casca asked quietly.

Daniel seemed to turn the question in his mind for several moments, a conflicted look on his face. "It was…"

"Big sis!"

The shout drew Casca and Daniel's attention to the soldier who rode hard toward them. His sword was out. And it was bloody. "There was a scout from the White Tigers. Dallet and I dealt with him, but there might have been another scout that saw us."

"Damn!" Casca said, looking out to the other soldiers as conversation already began to spread like a plague. "Send word up and down the line! We make for the Shade-earth Forest with all haste! Do your best to retain your marching order!"

As those around them began to follow Casca's command, she looked over at Daniel. "The story can wait until we're safe. Go make sure that the tail of the column knows what's going on."

Daniel nodded, turning his horse and galloping towards the back of the Falcon's ranks. As he dashed into the distance, Casca prodded her horse to a trot, thinking and hoping that she could see the treetops in the distance.

. . .

Casca felt, for the first time in a long, long while, completely afraid of the soldiers that were after them. She hadn't felt such fear since she was a young girl first beginning her service in the Band. Now, though, she had to fear her former compatriots. At the very least, they had some idea of what was coming for them. At least they had some figure on the enemy general, even without Griffith's near-mystical insight.

They'd made it to the forest now, the brush slowing their horses and forcing most of them onto hunting paths that threatened to separate them. Casca kept a stern vigilance, hoping against hope that they wouldn't run into one of those massive bears she and Guts had run into.

After what almost felt like days in the forest, however, she made her way into a clearing where soldiers were beginning to congregate, dismounting their horses and beginning to don their armor and arm themselves.

She looked around at the men as they helped each other prepare themselves, then looked to see Judeau riding towards her from up ahead of them. "Oh, good," he said as he dismounted his horse. "We seem to be scattering through several clearings, but we should be safe for the moment."

"We'll need to find somewhere to consolidate," Casca replied as she began to don her own armor. "We don't have tents or more than a day's worth of provisions, so we'll need to raid whatever force comes after us, White Tigers or otherwise."

"That's a dicey prospect if they weren't figuring on more than a day's work," Judeau said, pausing for a moment as he focused on a few straps for his chestplate, Casca hurrying over to help him. "We might be roughing it for a few days."

"Nothing we haven't dealt with before," Casca said as she finished, feeling far more secure now in her armor. "Search for a large clearing, someplace we can stay for the night and make a few fires in. When you do, start leading people towards it."

Judeau nodded, mounting his horse and 'tipping' the brim of his helmet before making his way back out into the darkening woods.

Casca mounted her horse after a moment, seeing the others around her in twos and threes doing the same. "We'll stay here for now," she said to those who seemed ready to follow Judeau. "No sense in getting lost in the forest. Besides, General Harrison isn't one for night attacks."

She hoped that remained true as the night continued to press on them, the trees beginning to loom. As they waited, Casca did her best to put on a brave face. She could tell some of the soldiers here, no more than two dozen, were skittish. If not afraid. They'd look to her, even in the dying light, for assurance. She got the feeling that would be the norm.

Finally, she caught from the corner of her eye a torch heading towards them. As its wielder stepped into the grove, he revealed himself to be Daniel, his horse blending in almost to make him seem to float in the air, and his armor rendering a helmetless head almost the effect of floating all on its own. "Good. You're still here. Judeau found a place for us to camp tonight. If you'll all follow me?"

"We'd love to," Casca said with a slight smile. "All of you, on me."

Daniel turned Shadowdanse around and began to lead them through the maze of trees, doing their best to not lose track of the singular floating light source. Eventually, however, they came to the edge of a wide clearing, likely having been used either as a logging camp or a temporary watch station during the war. There were a scattering of campfires already, with more going up.

"This is the main camp, as it were," Daniel said as he dismounted and led his horse over to a tree where a few other horses were lashed. "We've got secondary camps close by and watch camps on the periphery."

"Good," Casca said as Daniel snuffed out his torch with a damp towel proffered by another soldier. "Are the other company commanders here?"

"They should be around, or at least in one of the secondary camps," Daniel replied.

"Good. Gather them up. We'll need to talk next steps."

. . .

Within the darkness of the dungeons of Wyndham, Griffith found himself in the now familiar position of being chained to the ceiling. His feet were anchored to the floor by an iron weight, and he had small, remarkably sharp iron spikes lodged throughout his body, now completely bare. The pain of it all burned like the fire in the corner that heated a few of the torturer's other implements.

"Truly," the torturer said as he paused to take Griffith in, "you're shpectacular. All this, and not even a shound. I shuppose that's the White Falcon for you."

A tear began to roll down the man's cheek. "The king truly ish gracious, letting me exshperiment as I please with you. Marring such a shplendid beauty…"

Then he paused, his eyes narrowing as he reached up to Griffith's chest. To the one thing that had not been taken from him. The torturer hummed quietly as he quickly plucked the Crimson Beherit from around Griffith's neck. "What a whork of art!" he said as he admired the blood-red pendant. "Pherhaps I'll kheep it…"

Griffith, only barely able to perceive the world around him through the pain that seemed to smolder in his skull, looked down as best he could, helpless to stop him. And helpless to do naught but watch as the eyes of the Beherit suddenly opened.

The torturer shouted in fright, the Beherit slipping out of his hand… and bouncing into a grate in the floor, a quiet splash to be heard as the talisman likely landed in a flowing drain.

"Oh, no!" the torturer said as he scrabbled over to the grate, peering in. "Ah, whell. It'sh gone now. What a shame."

And with the Beherit, went the last of Griffith's hope. The last tenuous grip he had on a childhood he wanted to remember. The promise that a fortuneteller had made that had been nothing but true thus far.

'Was that a lie?' Griffith managed to wonder. 'Was everything that came after really all just chance?'

He didn't want to know. Because now, really, what did it matter?

 

[Maximum Power]

Looks like Adonis really is making a difference! I wonder how his life being saved affected his destiny within the world? Maybe he's like Guts, not quite unbound but able to struggle against fate.

Whatever the case, this was a wonderful update and I'm feeling quite optimistic about the current situation with the Hawks!

 

[StriderInCosmos]

To keep a long story exceptionally short, my life has been remarkably busy, stressful, and rather sick since the beginning of this year. I'd love to be able to get a new chapter to you lovely readers at the pace I usually go at, but at the moment, I only have the time and energy to focus on one project at a time. So, until I'm able to get my life in something closer to the order, I'm putting this fic on a temporary hiatus. I don't anticipate more than a month or two's downtime, maybe three on the outset. Thank you for sticking around thus far, and I hope you'll be here when I start publishing the continued story!

 

[StriderInCosmos]

Chapter 21: Sparks of Swordtips

Shade-earth Forest, Midland

The morning was wreathed in mist even in the darkness of the forest. The sun might have been peeking over the hills now, but in the depths of the forest, it would take quite some time to dispel the fog.

Such fog, as fine as it was at concealing them from whatever enemies might try to come in and surprise them, managed to make a rather unprepared Band of the Falcon weather a damp, rather miserable night. Casca rose and stretched as best she could, her muscles cramped and slightly knotted from what little sleep she'd been able to get in the roots of what must have been a particularly old tree. In the all-too-dim light of the dawn, she looked at the 'bed' she'd laid in, and couldn't help but think back to another tree's roots.

Melancholy settled over the memories of those strange, truth-bearing days much like the mist that surrounded her, and she couldn't help but sigh quietly. 'What would Guts do if he was here?' she wondered. Lead a brash charge back to Wyndham at the first possible moment. Use that mighty sword of his to tear through whatever obstacle, man or beast stood in his way. Give anything for the man who had given him a place here, the chance to lead and befriend.

But he wasn't here. He was gone. And now, because of that, Griffith had thrown himself away. For what? 'Damn him for leaving. Damn him!'

The words were well worn into her mind, mixed with something she still struggled to untangle even now. But those thoughts, those emotions, would have to wait until they were safe.

As she walked through the clumps of men that constituted their 'main camp', Daniel, along with Judeau, Pippin, and Rickert, walked over to her. "Anything new from the lookouts?" she asked.

The trio looked at each other uneasily. "Corkus and company do have something to show you," Daniel replied. His tone was somewhat grim. Casca had expected that, somewhat. It didn't make the words any less uncomfortable.

. . .

After a few moments, Casca, along with Daniel, Corkus, and one of the captains of the Daggerhearts were as close to the edge of the forest as they dared set up. They could see decently well out into the wider world while still retaining their concealment. It allowed them to see the ring of soldiers that stretched around the forest, the ring lost from sight.

"Why haven't they just set the forest to the torch yet?" Corkus' bluster was gone, replaced with a professional calculation that was tinged with no small amount of puzzlement. "Even if they don't set anything on fire, they'd at least stand a chance of smoking us out."

"They want something from us, maybe." the Daggerheart captain replied. "Prisoners? To march us back and execute us now that the secret's out?"

"Or just trophies," Casca said grimly. What worse to parade before Griffith in his imprisonment? "They're settling in for a siege now. Tents, supplies. I'm almost surprised that they don't have cannons with them."

"There might be another reason," Daniel said, his eyes narrowed as he scanned the soldiers before pointing at a group of them. "Look there. See their banner?"
Casca followed his direction and saw the men, rather heavily armored, in front of a cluster of tents. Above which the banner of a pale dragon waved. "What are Lord Adonis' forces doing here?" she asked.

"Perhaps he insisted on coming along," Daniel surmised. Either way, as long as Adonis is here, we might actually have a chance at escaping."

"Yeah?" Corkus said, pointing to several groups of men, all of them White Tigers, seemingly in the act of preparing to enter the forest. "We'll have to deal with them first."

"Should we move any of the other soldiers up, ma'am?" Daniel asked Casca.

"Nah," Corkus said confidently, a slight, somewhat evil grin on his face. "Leave it to the Daggerhearts. This is our territory, and we know exactly how to handle a bunch of damn fools swaggering in here unprepared."

"Then we'll leave you to it," Casca said after a moment. "Let us know if you need any support."

Casca and Daniel stood, slowly making their way back into the forest as the Daggerheart captain looked over at Corkus. "What's the plan, sir?" he asked.

"Remember when I taught you guys the Beartrap strategy, Simon?" Corkus replied. "That's what we're gonna do. Let the others know."

. . .

Lieutenant Tirell of the White Tigers marched with his men into the forest and didn't feel good about the action in the slightest. This sort of terrain, splitting them up into small groups of as little as less than a dozen, was almost exactly antithetical to their general strategy. They were made and trained to march on clear, open fields, calvary on the wings, archers and arquebusiers behind their well-armored infantry. Skulking through the mist here… something had to be wrong.

"Why didn't we burn this place down?" one of his men griped. "We'd get them into a much better position in an instant."

"Lord General Harrison was ordered to capture the commanders of the White Phoenix Knights alive." Tirell nearly snapped back. "We eliminate what pockets of resistance we find, and we-"

There was a hooting sound off to their right that made them all pause, the rustling of other soldiers around them beginning to stop as well before starting again as other animal sounds, deer and sparrows and still more owls, began to echo all around them.

"Are they trying to spook us?" one of his men said as they began, slowly now, to walk into the forest again.

"Maybe so. Keep your guard up." Tirell replied. Something was wrong. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but the amount of rustling from around them was… greater somehow… did the General send more troops in after them?

The brush erupted around him, men draped in mottled cloaks that blended into the forest they traveled through dashing towards them, weapons bared and at the ready. Swords, hammers, and daggers. How long had they been following them?

Tirell never got the chance to ponder on that as a wiry man drove a dagger through his visor and into his eye socket.

. . .

Casca watched and waited, patient but still tense, as the screams drifted in towards the main camp, now packed with soldiers as the fires that had been cooking breakfast now lay extinguished.

"How many people could they have sent in?" Rickert asked as he blanched slightly at the cries of pain and terror.

"As many as it'll take to flush us out," Judeau said grimly. "We can't sit here forever and let Corkus and his men take a beating. What do we do next?"

"We'll need to grab supplies, first and foremost," Casca replied. "With how they were setting up… I think we could use a good, old-fashioned night raid."

The others around her nodded with varying levels of grins on their faces. Casca's expression was grim and stoic. "We'll need to start with scouting out the perimeter, see where would be easiest to strike. Then we'll plan later in the evening."

. . .

Far away in the mountains, Guts faced the stout tree before him, stripped to the waist and wielding his blade. Godot had managed to keep it in remarkably good condition as he trained and hunted for the strange little family.

The tree before him was one he'd been training in front of for the last few weeks, its sides and front furrowed with where his blade had struck it. He warmed himself up, letting his blade sweep through the open air in front of the tree before getting to work. Daniel had shown him the 8-Point Star that he used as the basis for all his attacks, sweeping the blade through each line as he traced the star out before him. The tree's furrows grew deeper still.

Finally, as he traced a diagonal swing from his left, the tree creaked rather more loudly than it had before, then cracked as it fell, crashing dramatically into the brush.

Guts wiped his brow and rubbed at aching muscles as he inspected his handiwork. This one had been tougher than some of the others. It was a shame to lose it. Maybe he could set up a training post…

"Wow," Erica said as she sat on one of the stumps that more and more often began to surround him. "I don't know what you did before, but you'd make a good living as a lumberjack, I think."

Guts looked around himself, saw the progress he'd made through this copse of trees. "I guess I would," he said quietly.

It seemed like such a mundane thing. He needed the fight, to have his blood boil as he dared to risk spilling it against a foe. This… just this would drive him mad after a while. So… no.

'Besides,' Guts thought as he began to inspect his sword, 'I need to get back to the others. The more I think about it… the more it makes sense. I won't leave Griffith or Casca behind now.'

As he inspected the blade, he found his thoughts drawn to it. Another nick, one that was added to a growing collection. More and more, Godot had been grumbling about putting that sword aside, and simply using a new one. "The more you train and train with that one, the more likely it'll break when you need it most."

It had been a princely gift to him from the armory of Wyndham. His last connection now to those days. But Guts, as silently sentimental as he was, was first and foremost a rather practical man. 'I suppose one more training with it wouldn't hurt once Godot's got it fixed up.' Guts decided, setting it aside in its sheath as he picked up the tree to haul it towards what was now, more and more, becoming home. 'I don't even have to hit something with it to train.'

He began the long haul up the hill towards the clearing, to where Godot was keeping the other logs that Guts had chopped down and began to break into further firewood or furnace fuel.

As he placed the tree next to the rest of the pile, he got the stirrings of an idea. There was a waterfall further up the hill, about knee-deep at the bottom. With all these logs…

He put that away for now, entering the warm, rather dry heat of the smithy. Godot, working on creating some nails from scrap metal that a runner from the village below had run up to them, looked back at Guts for a moment before looking back at his rather delicate work. "So," the old man said, "what's the problem with your sword this time?"

"Another nick in the blade," Guts answered honestly.

Godot sighed quietly. "Well, put it on the table, and I'll take a look at it, see what I can do. If it's small, then I'll just start sharpening it out. If it's big… you know my thoughts on the matter."

Guts nodded, setting the sword on the table and taking a seat, listening to what was now a rather soothing sound of hot coals rustling, the hammer clinking softly on delicate work, then clattering much harder as he set the nails aside and began working on what looked like a plow blade.

Erica brought him a mug of water and a small bowl of bread and cheese, which he accepted, watching as Godot worked. The sparks flying from heated metal, flashing for the briefest of moments before disappearing, mesmerized him as he looked at them. They reminded him of the sparks he sometimes saw in battle. To think that they could be seen here, peacefully…

It stirred the young man's thoughts deeply.

. . .

As the light of the sun began to be replaced with torches, Casca, along with her unit commanders, stood over a roughly sketched map of the Shade-earth Forest's perimeter, already sealed with a thin layer of lacquer, blocks with a series of letters within them representing formations of men, their allegiances, and what kind of supplies they might have that could easily be taken. Notes, somewhat hasty but still legible, were scrawled on the margins.

Unsurprisingly, the majority of the White Tigers had been set up on the far side of the forest, where they surmised that the Falcons might try and escape. The Dragons were largely set up on the side of the forest that faced the rest of Midland, and the direction they'd entered the forest from.

The Dragons' lines were thinner, the army stance of a rearguard. Much easier to break through where the White Tigers presented a stout defense. It would be an easier escape, even if they didn't make it out with as many supplies. But how was that any way to repay Adonis when his word was what had allowed them to escape in the first place?

"I don't see why we can't just punch through the Dragons' lines," Corkus said once again, his voice tinged with exasperation. "If we're so worried about casualties, the side with the least troops would be the way to go, wouldn't it?"

"When we've only gotten this far and as we are because of their commander?" Judeau said, shaking his head and casting a glare that was itself somewhat tired. "Then all we do is validate the suspicion that we're nothing more than traitors."

"So what do we do then?" Rickert said. "Do we… do we try and tell the truth? That we don't want to hurt them, but don't want to die?"

Casca sighed quietly. "I wish it was that simple," she said quietly.

She continued to scan the map, trying to find a way to make all of this work. What would Griffith do in a situation like this?

Daniel leaned over the map, then pointed at the White Dragons' lines. "Wait a minute. Why do the Dragons on this flank have just as many supplies as the Tigers and Dragons do on the opposite flank?"

Casca blinked weary eyes. "What?"

She looked back at the map, studied it for a few moments… and Daniel was right. Tents, food, water, firewood, feed, most of it, according to what little the scouts could see, still in carts, still hitched to horses…

Why?" Corkus said, peering at the map as well. "Why make himself such an obvious target? Either this kid doesn't have a damn clue how logistics works…"

"Or it's on purpose," Gaston said quietly.

The idea of it silenced all of them as they considered it. "Lord Adonis wants us to go through his lines," Casca said quietly. "He's left all these resources for us out in the open so that we can take them and run."

"Or it's a trap," Corkus said with no small amount of annoyance. "Come on, people, how is that not the most obvious answer in the world? We get caught up trying to take all this stuff, and the Tigers swing around and pin us. It's not like a night raid's a completely unexpected move from us now."

"Even so," Judeau said, "trying to go through the Tigers' lines would be the next best thing to suicide. They know we're trying to escape, so they've blocked off the most obvious route for us to take. Trying to pierce through that will just bog us down."

Corkus' jaw clenched. "Well…" he sighed. "It's still a long hook to get to where we're going. We'll be taking on at least an extra day or two to the journey over to our next destination."

It was a weak counterargument, and Corkus knew it. "We'll go through the White Dragons' lines tomorrow evening, snatch the supplies, and start marching," Casca said as firmly as she could. "Relay this to the men; the White Dragons are as close as we're going to get to friendly soldiers out here. Don't kill unless you're absolutely forced to. Push them aside, defend yourselves, but every death just gives the Midlandians a reason to chase us all the harder."

The looks that the unit commanders exchanged were hesitant. Daniel, her second in command, was simply calm, so seemingly sure of things at the moment. Would that she could share in that serenity, Casca mused.

"Alright," Judeau said. "We'll make sure the rest of the men know."

With that, and a gesture from Casca, the meeting dispersed, leaving only Casca and Daniel in the small clearing that was close by to the main camp.

Casca sighed wearily, rubbing her eyes as she rolled the map up and put it back in one of the map tubes that had been brought to keep the map in.

She didn't even flinch as Daniel put a hand on her shoulder. "You should rest," he said quietly. "Especially if we're going to be going on a night raid."

"I don't have time to rest," she said, as much to herself as she did to Daniel. "I have men to lead, a rescue to plan out…"

"A rescue that needs a clear mind and a sharp wit," Daniel retorted. "You can't get that when you haven't slept for days. I can take care of the men while you sleep. I've led rowdier before."

Casca looked at Daniel, saw the surety in his eyes. Then, after long moments, she sighed as she nodded. "You're right," she conceded. "You're right. I just wish…"

"I know," Daniel said quietly. "I think we all do."

Casca wondered what his tone meant. "Do you not miss Griffith?" she asked, her brow furrowing as a tired flicker of anger stirred in her.

"I miss the tactician who has seen us through thick and thin," Daniel said calmly. "The man who threw all of this away for a night with Charlotte… I can only hope we rescue him quickly so that he has time to reflect on his mistakes. Become better for them."

Casca's jaw clenched. "None of this would have happened if you'd have gotten Guts to stay. We'd all be fine. I…"

"Would have Guts?" Daniel asked.

Casca faltered, felt herself blush, and hated herself for it. "I…"

"You like him," Daniel said. "You think you're starting to love him."
"What makes you say that?" Casca said hotly. "Do you think you can read my mind?"

"I can see with my eyes and rely on far more experience than you might think," Daniel said calmly. "I was out and about for a moment that evening. I heard your words to Guts. Those aren't the words of someone who's about to lose just a friend."

Casca looked away from Daniel. "Damn you… damn him…"

"He'll come back when we need him," Daniel said assuringly. "If there's one thing he won't abandon, it's his family. The people he cares for."

Casca turned and began to walk away. Her head was a mess. Her feelings were a mess. Some sleep would probably help sort this out. Daniel was right about that, at least.

As Casca made her way out of the clearing, Daniel pondered silently on the matter. Wondered if he was a hypocrite. 'Maybe I am,' he decided. 'Or perhaps Guts and I are alike in that way.'

He wondered if Eleanor would agree.

. . .

Guts, over the past three days, had carefully dragged every log that he could spare up the mountain to the peak of the waterfall. Erica, skilled with ropes and knots, had devised a little woven net to keep the logs contained in the rather fast-running stream until he called for her to release it.

Now, he stood at the bottom a little ways away from the waterfall's base. This, he decided, was going to be a test of his footwork and skills of dodging and deflection. Was it wise? Likely not, but quite frankly, he was running out of ideas for honing his skills. And he still hadn't fully found out what he had come out here for.

There was time to think about that later. If he lost his focus too much, he'd slip into the stream.

"Are you ready?" Erica asked with a shout.

"Ready!" Guts replied.

"Here they come!"

With that, he waited, watching the top of the waterfall. His patience was rewarded as he saw the first log coming down. It tumbled end over end toward him, and he stepped aside as quickly as he could, using the flat of the blade to push the log out of the way. A second log came falling towards him, the task of moving aside more difficult this time.

Then, he looked up… and saw a wall of logs coming towards him. 'I guess this is where I stand firm,' he thought, bracing himself as he raised his sword to a guard position.

The logs, however, had other plans. Slamming into him as one, the wall of wood sent Guts sprawling into the water, his grip on his sword slipping as it splashed in with him. As his head went under the water, he could swear he heard a muffled crack, and he winced internally.

After long seconds, he dragged his head out of the water, coughing up the water that had taken the place of the air driven from his lungs.

"Guts!" he heard Erica say, her voice clearly filled with worry. "Are you alright?"

Guts nodded. "I'll be okay," he shouted back as best he could.

He got to his feet again, with no small amount of effort, and began feeling around for his sword. After a moment, he found the hilt, lifting from the water… about a third of the blade.

He looked at it for a moment and wondered if it meant something greater than just the loss of his weapon. 'I guess Godot doesn't need to worry about repairing it anymore,' he mused.

"Oh, no…"

Guts looked over to see Erica, who looked at the broken sword rather sympathetically. "Maybe Father can reforge it? He's really good at that."

Guts considered it for a moment, bent to pick up the rest of the blade. "I think…" he said quietly. "I think this was meant to happen. Which means I'll need a new sword."

"Father can do that too," Erica said uncertainly. After a moment, though, she shook her head. "We'd better go get those logs. This stream runs to Father's waterwheel. I'd hate for it to break without us meaning to do it."

Guts nodded, setting the sword on the bank of the stream. "Agreed. Let's go get those."

After some time, the logs were regathered before they could reach the waterwheel and set back in their place. Guts retrieved his sword, walking into the smithy and seeing Godot, unsurprisingly, at work.

Godot spared a glance back. "I wondered when that would happen," he said levelly. "I could repair it for you. But it'll be a little weaker than it was before. With how you swing a sword, it's that much more liable to break at that point. I could forge you a new one."
Guts looked down at the drying, somewhat tarnished hilt and the remnant of the blade. How much the finery of the crossguard and hilt had diminished in his time away. It all seemed so silly to have on something that was supposed to be a weapon, a tool.

"I would like a new sword," Guts said. "This one… this one's done."

Godot grunted. "Alright. You can help me then. You're young and strong. And this is going to take a little while, so you can get those wounds patched up while I look for some stock to make a billet."

Guts looked down at Erica, who looked up at him challengingly as Godot left the room. "Well? You heard Father. Sit down and let me work on you."

Guts looked down at the cuts and bruises that went up and down his chest and arms. They were trifling things compared to the wounds he'd gotten on the battlefield. But Erica could be remarkably persistent.

So, he decided to sit on the stool in the smithy as Erice went and fetched some first-aid supplies. As he waited, Godot returned, a chunk of metal in his arms that already had a handle that he hefted into the now-lit furnace. "Lucky you, boy. I already had a billet ready to go for the sort of sword you like to wield."

Guts was silent as Erica returned, watching as Godot got to work heating the metal. He lifted the billet from the furnace and started working the metal out into a blade, hammering it intently as he settled into his usual rhythm.

Again, the sparks began to fly. And Guts decided that they'd known each other long enough to ask the question that had been on his mind since they'd first met. "So, why are you a blacksmith up here in the mountains?"
"Cause I like being left alone, and there's good ore in these hills," Godot answered off-handedly. "They say elves used to bless this place by living here. But you don't seem like the sort to just accept answers like that. You want something more."

Guts looked intently at the old man who had begun work on his sword, ignoring the little pains of Erica working on his wounds. "Why are you a blacksmith?"

"Huh," Godot went. It seemed that the question was utterly novel to him.

"My family's been blacksmiths since the days of my great-grandfather," Godot finally replied as he set the cooling billet back into the furnace.

"Do you like doing it?" Guts asked.

Godot shrugged as he watched the billet intently. "Dunno."

"Dunno?" Guts echoed somewhat incredulously.

"I think it's neat," Erica said confidently. "I'm going to be a blacksmith someday too."

Guts smiled slightly at the girl's tenacity as Godot got the billet out again and began to hammer at it. He paused for a moment, holding out the hammer he was working with.

"Ever since I could walk, I held this," the old man said before getting back to hammering. "Before I could decide if I liked it or not, I was hitting the metal in front of me. After that… I was so focused on improving myself and my craft that one day, I woke up an old man."

Godot chuckled softly at that, then there was little more than the clanging of metal meeting metal for long moments.

"Come on," Godot said as he glanced back from the now largely dark metal, "Come and pick this up with the tongs, put it back in the furnace. You don't want to burn yourself. Hold it right there."

Guts stood, taking the proffered tongs and picking up the metal that would become his sword. Even as rather unbalanced as it was at the moment, it was easy work to slide it back into the brilliant coals.

Godot returned to watching the rapidly heating metal. "Ever since I was little," he said as he watched, "I've been striking the iron. Just like folks don't fully know why they're alive, I don't know why I keep on hammerin'."

As it began to turn almost white-hot, he had Guts pull it back out, the young man holding it still as Godot worked, made sparks fly. "There is one thing I like about blacksmithing," Godot said as if coming to a realization.

"What's that?" Guts asked.

"Sparks."

Guts frowned slightly, listening intently as Godot continued, his voice changed, softened, just so. "When I get engulfed in them, it feels like my own life… just for an instant… is springing up before my very eyes. It's not much — it never is — but… if I stopped seeing sparks every time I hit the metal… I'm not sure what I'd do."

Guts was silent as he watched his new sword coming into being, pondering on what he'd heard.

"Y'know," Godot said after long moments of silence, "it's getting to be about the season for tournaments. You want some good training? Get it with someone else in front of you. There's only so much good to get from swinging swords at wood all day, I think."

Eventually, they had to stop for the day, Godot tiring out and needing to rest for the night. Guts, still thinking about what Godot had said, took what was now his second broken sword and walked out into the rather rocky clearing that the house stood on to watch the sunset.

Sitting on one of the taller rocks, he watched the valley below as it began to slip into night, then looked down at the hilt in his hand.

'In the end… this is all there is for me, isn't there? This is my hammer.'

His mind wandered back to his childhood. Took an ambling path to the reason why he was out here. 'Dreams… is this what a dream is to me?'

He thought about the dream that had inspired him to start dreaming in the first place, out there all those years ago as Griffith stood before him. "I will get my own kingdom."

'What is my dream?' Guts wondered. 'It's not a clear path with something at its end, like Griffith's. Nothing as glorious or lofty as that.'

He focused for a moment on what remained of the blade. 'This, though… this has been closer. Almost a part of my own body. Through more moments than I can count, a blade's kept me alive. Because this was there, I could throw myself into the jaws of death again and again. Everything I've gone through, everyone I've ever met… it's a path carved through my life by the tip of my sword.'

"But why?" he asked aloud. "What keeps me here? What keeps this in my hand?"

He pondered for a moment on what Godot had told him kept him at the forge, day in and day out. "Sparks. When I get engulfed in them, it feels like my own life… just for an instant… is springing up before my very eyes."

"Sparks…" he whispered. It was so simple.

'Maybe I'm drawn to sparks as well,' Guts mused. 'The sparks that flash from time to time on the battlefield. Your thoughts, your life, that of your enemy's… all held in those for the briefest moments.'

"There's a way to see life you can't find anywhere else," Guts whispered. "On the cusp of death."

'I wield the sword,' Guts realized. 'It isn't the sort of dream that Griffith has… but this, now, without being swept up by someone else, I've decided.'

'I'll make my own sparks. Even if it's only for an instant at a time.'

It felt… right. But there was one last part. One more piece of his dream that he needed…

'I want to keep him safe someday.'

Guts blinked. It was almost right, but it felt… small. Childish. He'd already accomplished that dream a hundred times over. But Judeau, Pippin, Rickert, Gaston… Casca…

'I want to keep them all safe. Whatever I care for. I'll give everything, see as many sparks as I need, to make sure they live.'

Quiet, but noble, he was sure Daniel would probably say. But right now, the valley was almost completely veiled by night, the towns below beginning to light up with the warm glow of torches.

It was time to pack it in and get some rest. Maybe find out a little more about those tournaments.

. . .

The night was growing dark, and the camps of the forces of Midland were lighting their fires.

That, of course, meant night watch, with all the annoyance that came with it.

The first watch in the thinned lines of the White Dragons passed without issue, as did much of the second.

Two of the guardsmen who kept an eye on the forest leaned on their spears with no small amount of boredom, as most watchmen usually did.

Finally, however, the silence got to at least one of them. "You ever wonder why we're here?" one of them asked.

"It's a good question, isn't it?" his compatriot said with a rather more distant gaze than even his bored companion.

"Oh, quit playing the philosopher, Korbin," the first guard said, punching Korbin in the arm, the man reacting with a yelp. "I mean what are we doing keeping an eye on this godforsaken part of the treeline? The traitorous bastards haven't budged for two days since we got here. What's to say they're going to do anything in the middle of the night?"

"No need to punch me, Gerrick," Korbin muttered. "And I wouldn't be so sure. I had a cousin out at Meryn back a year ago or so, and he said they pulled off a night raid against a Tudor force 4 times their number!"

Gerrick rolled his eyes. "Everybody puts so much stock into the Band of the Falcon's wondrous acts during the war. But you know how stories grow. Who's to say they didn't tell the tale to your cousin themselves?"

"They won us the war, didn't they?" Korbin retorted. "Got knighted, then made nobles. Why turn on us now?"

"I don't know," Gerrick said in exasperation. "I'm here to stab people, not talk about what happened up above our station."

Gerrick prepared to continue, but Korbin put a hand on the man's shoulder. "Wait a minute. I think I just saw something."

"If you want to get out of me talking…" Gerrick began.

"Shut up!" Korbin hissed, which, remarkably, had its intended effect. Then, he pointed towards the underbrush. "There! Something's moving."

Gerrick shook his head, looking over to where Korbin was pointing…

As the brush exploded with neighs and hoof-drums and the clattering of armor and swords.

Gerrick and Korbin shouted as they turned and ran, splitting off and raising the alarm as the Falcons thundered on.

After long moments of the other soldiers dragging themselves to consciousness, the camp began to become a little more lively even than it already was, men with spears and halberds and billhooks bravely intercepting the riders. Both Garrick and Korbin saw, though, that those who managed to make it to the lines of riders that made their headlong charge through the camp simply had their weapons batted aside.

"Wait a minute," Korbin realized as he saw, once again, a polearm go flying back from its strike without reprisal. "They aren't fighting us."

"Why?"

It was a question that spread like wildfire through the camp as those now awake realized the lengths that the Falcons were going to in order to make their way out of the camp without bloodshed.

Soon enough, however, the Falcons were through the camp, disappearing into the night.

Korbin and Garrick once again joined each other, making their way toward the outer edge of the camp and watching as torches began to light up like brand-new stars.

"Damn…" Garrick said, pausing for a moment before his eyes widened. "They took our fresh supplies! The bastards."

"Is anyone hurt where you were?" Korbin asked. "Anything besides maybe a few bumps from falling over?"

Garrick opened his mouth, then closed it as he took a moment to think. "Well… no, actually. No one's dead."

"Why do you suppose that?"

Garrick shook his head. "Hell if I know. What I do know is that these Falcons are mad bastards, the lot of them."

 

[Anu-El]

Happy to have you back once more. Nice chapter

 

[LordofTentacles]

Good work, great to see you back!