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!

 

[StriderInCosmos]

Chapter 22: Contests

Crag-step Forest, 4 Days Later

Casca let her gaze wander as she took in the all-too-familiar surrounds, memories flickering in and out of her mind like shadows around a candlelight as they found a path for the whole force and their recently liberated supply train to descend into the green expanse below them.

For now, she simply waited in place, watching the lines of men, horses, and wagons flowing past her like the stream, engorged now in the spring to almost be a mighty river, that was below them. Every now and then, she would glance over her shoulder to where they had come from, watching the horizon for riders of any kind, whether the tenacious Raiders that were their screening force… or the Midlandian cavalry that would have overwhelmed them.

Solders, her soldiers, continued to pass her by, calling out to their big sis with reports or words of encouragement. She smiled briefly at them as she saluted back, the smile vanishing as the man that she saluted passed on. Sometimes, it seemed all she had the strength to do these days.

She glanced back once again, her eyes narrowing slightly as she saw the shades of figures approaching them, too quick to be on foot. She wheeled her horse about, continuing to watch as she put a hand on the hilt of her sword.

Soon enough, the riders fully came into view, one of them hoisting a banner and waving it for a moment. A banner that made Casca sigh as she let her hand fall from her sword. The Raiders had returned.

They joined the rest of the column, some of them bloodied, but most having escaped whatever battle that they'd engaged in with what was likely a scouting force of Midland. Breaking away from them, two riders made their way over to her position, Daniel and Gaston coming to a stop in front of her as they took off their helmets.

"Your men look like they met some resistance," Casca said as she wheeled her horse around to begin following the rest of the Falcons. "Any significant losses?"

Gaston shook his head. "Not too many, General," he began. "We did lose about half a dozen in the initial engagement, but it was just a scouting force for the White Tigers. We drove them back a fair ways before we started riding for the column."

"Any chance they might know where we're going?"

"Probably not," Daniel replied. "At least, nothing definitive. They know we're heading in this general direction, but that's likely about it. We should be able to disappear into the forest fairly easily. I'd recommend holding off on campfires for a few days, though, to give any scouts that follow after us the chance to pass us by."

"My thoughts exactly," Casca said as they began to go down the slope towards the river, to a somewhat shallow crossing that they could still take advantage of. "We'll need that long to fully take stock of our supplies and divvy out tents. We might not have taken enough to house all of us, but we can set up a system easily enough."

They made their way across the river, into the dense forest beyond alongside the rear third of the Falcons. A place that would, hopefully, conceal them for long enough to get their bearings and figure out where to go next.

. . .

Daniel found himself reminiscing as he considered the dense woodland that now surrounded the Band of the Falcon, torches beginning to flicker as they sprang to life. the 'road' that they traveled on could barely be considered such, the wagons having no small amount of trouble making their way through the roots and rocks that were scattered along their path.

'I wonder if we'll pass by that clearing,' he idly thought as his hand went to the necklace that was under his chestplate. The well-carved wooden sword that hung from a leather cord found its way into Daniel's hand as he began to rub at it gently, focusing on its companion, so far away.

The distance of the link made it so that he had to concentrate deeply, but he began to feel what Guts was feeling, at least. A focus, a sense of preparation for… something.

'Likely a tournament or two around where he is,' Daniel thought as he took solace in Guts' surety. 'It seems to be the season for it, at least.'

"What is that?"

Daniel looked over to see Casca and Anna next to him, Gaston having moved on to the rest of the Raiders. Both were looking down at the pendant, then back to Daniel.

Daniel smiled ruefully, holding the pendant out as he considered it. "I carved this as a companion to one that I gave to Guts as a child. I'd like to think there's a magic that connects us, even this far apart. It might have helped lead us to you when we were last here."

"I see," Casca said, her expression neutral. "I guess I have your craftsmanship to thank in some small part."

Daniel smiled slightly. "It kept us from running into that massive bear, at least. Not that the runebear tried particularly hard to hide."

Both Anna and Casca's expressions became ones of concern. "Is that monster still around?" Casca asked. "We'll need to keep a sharp eye out for it. It's remarkably dangerous."

"That doesn't surprise me," Daniel said. "I did take your word on the aftermath of the bear's attack on your pursuers. But we're more than just 45 or so unprepared mercenaries."

"True," Anna said. "But skill requires knowledge to be used effectively. We should let the rest of the Falcons know that this runebear could potentially still be in this forest."

"It'll be done at the end of the night," Daniel said.

Before the conversation could continue much longer, a rider began to approach them from up ahead of the column. "We've found a suitable clearing to put the command staff and the supply wagons, ma'am," the soldier said. "We can start diverting the wagons over there immediately."

Casca nodded. "Lead on."

The soldier led the trio, along with what wagons he could convince to follow, to a fairly decent-sized clearing, a few cart horses already being unlimbered under the watchful stewardship of Judeau, Rickert, and Pippin.

The rest of the day was spent in the necessary tedium of fully documenting their supplies, giving out tents and bedding as best they could, and setting up for the night. As expected, there weren't enough tents for everyone, but the mood surrounding the news was more… amused than anything. Daniel caught among those Raiders that were to be going without a roof over their heads for the moment the notion that they should perhaps strike out at whatever forces pursued them, if only for the sake of getting a decent place to sleep.

When he mentioned it to Casca, her lips twitched into a smile for a moment. "You know," she replied, "that doesn't sound like a bad idea at all."

At last, as night fell in earnest and the woods became cloaked in shadow, the commanders of the Band of the Falcon met in what was now the command tent. Being the only largely spacious tent they'd managed to capture, it was now the only tent that had a table that doubled as a desk, maps of several kinds splayed across it, sitting at its center.

Most prominent among them was one of the city of Wyndham, detailed as best as all of them could remember it. Even still, there were many places that it was frustratingly vague. Most importantly, in the details of the Court of White Carnations. And its dungeons.

"We'll need to slip back in, try to do some scouting," Corkus began. "It's probably going to be kind of difficult, but they couldn't have gotten the faces of all of us on wanted posters."

"That's not a bad idea," Casca said quietly. "How far into the castle could they get, though?"

"Further than we got officially."

Corkus grimaced slightly but nodded. "I'll take that, I guess."

"Anything else we can try to do?" Judeau asked. "Security will be tight around the castle. Mainly because I think the king might be prepared for us to try something daring."

"I'm not sure what more we can do, really," Casca admitted. "We need to be ready to have this take time. Corkus, pick your best men and get them ready to ride back to the city. We'll start planning how to sustain ourselves while you do that."

"Give me a second to think about who to send," Corkus replied, remaining where he was. "They'll be on their way by sunrise."

Casca nodded. "Good. Any other ideas or recommendations?"

"Well," Rickert began. "We could…"

He trailed off, his gaze darting to Corkus for a moment before it fell. "What idea do you have, Rickert?" Judeau said gently. "Speak up. I doubt much of anything is a truly bad idea at the moment."

Rickert was still hesitant. "Well… we could send someone, maybe Gaston or Daniel, and they could go and find Guts…"

Corkus' response was immediate. "Will you stop it with Guts, kid?" he said with a mighty sigh. "The arrogant bastard isn't coming back. And even if he does, he turned his back on us. He's not a Falcon anymore."

Rickert began to speak up, but Judeau put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Regardless of what you think of him, Corkus, he's a powerful warrior," Judeau said calmly.

Corkus' expression tightened as his jaw clenched. "So what? We've gotten this far without him. And we can get Griffith back without him. He can keep chasing whatever stupid dream is bouncing around in his head while we get the real work done."

"Come on, Corkus," Casca said quietly. "What reason is there to turn someone who cares about us away? He used what you taught him to keep us alive in this very forest. Why teach him if you hate him so much?"

"I was trying to start drilling some sense into the kid's head," Corkus replied. "Teach him how the world actually works. But it didn't get through his thick skull. I'm impressed, really. I thought he'd actually get it, with what he says he's been through."

"What?" Rickert asked. "What are you talking about?"

"You never heard his sob story?" Corkus said. "Lucky you. He's probably making most of it up, anyway. Not like he was going to earn any sympathy for anyone actually intelligent. Next, he'll probably say someone forced herself on him as a child because of how absolutely skilled and strong he was. He's delirious. It didn't matter how good he was at swinging a sword, he's never going to know what the real world looks like."

As Corkus spoke, intently focused on the quivering, somewhat teary Rickert and the incensed Judeau, Daniel slowly, silently made his way around the table, his expression completely level. As Corkus finished speaking, he glanced over to his left, turning to face Daniel with an impetuous expression.

"And what is daddy going to do now?" Corkus began, his voice dripping with mockery. "Give me a stern talking to about how I should be nice to-"

Daniel interjected with a blur of a right hook, cutting Corkus off by sending him tumbling onto his ass, the shock on the man's face reflected by the rest who occupied the now dead-silent tent.

Daniel continued by stepping forward and planting his boot on Corkus' chest, shoving him onto his back. As Corkus fully hit the floor, he finally seemed to regain his voice, his arms coming up to try and defend himself. "What the hell are you doing?"

Daniel continued in silence for the moment, gathering Corkus' arms and pinning them to his chest with a knee, continuing to press down on him until the thinner, lighter man began to wheeze slightly.

Finally, as Corkus continued to squirm, Daniel spoke. "You are a sad, jealous insect of a man, aren't you?"

Corkus' expression again twisted, from shock to anger. "Get the fuck off me, and we can settle this like-"

"Be silent," Daniel whispered, his words carrying a compulsion beyond anything Corkus had ever experienced.

Corkus, his eyes now bulging with the flickering embers of fear, stopped speaking.

"You believe yourself so enlightened as to the hard, callous state of this world," Daniel continued in a whisper. "A real philosopher among soldiers. But you're just a prisoner watching a shadowplay, convinced it's the real world in its entirety. Content to mock those who dare break the mold you've put around the way the world works. But you envy them, don't you?"

Then, he fell silent. As seconds stretched into minutes, the rest of the tent began to regard each other with no small amount of unease but remained where they were, unwilling to break the silence for one reason or another.

At last, Daniel let his knee off Corkus' chest, pulling the man to his feet. "Don't make me do that again," he said, his voice hard and sharp.

Corkus nodded somewhat jerkily. "Got it," he said huskily, wiping at eyes that, incredibly, were wet with tears.

Corkus cleared his throat as he looked over at Casca. "I'll go and get some men ready to go, ma'am."

With that, he turned and left the tent. Daniel took a deep breath, then turned back and walked to the table.

"What… did you do?" Judeau asked hesitantly.

"I believe we've come to an understanding," Daniel said.

He looked over at Rickert. "Getting Guts back here is hardly a bad idea, Rickert. Especially if things go sideways and we need to swing a big sword. But I don't think we'll be able to find him easily. We may have watched him walk away from that snowy hill, but there's no telling what direction he might have chosen to go in the days and weeks after. It'll take months to try and find him."

"So what do we do then?" Rickert said, his expression teetering on the edge of helplessness.

"We give him time to make his way back to us," Daniel said. "With the war having decimated the army as it has, and with the fact that the war is now over, even keeping the White Tigers and Dragons out for as long as they have is likely starting to strain the coffers of Midland. That, and the soldiers likely wanting to finally go home and see their families again, will put pressure on the king to let the Tigers and Dragons return to reserve status. The king will likely have to resort to those much cheaper mercenary units that weren't decimated in the war."

"How does that help us?" Casca asked. "We'll still be pursued by people out to kill us."

"Yes," Daniel replied. "But they'll need to put an open call out for willing mercenary outfits instead of simply issuing orders to a general."

"A call which Guts will likely hear about," Judeau said slowly, nodding. "When he finds out we're being hunted…"

"He'll return," Daniel said with absolute surety. "We just need to be patient."

. . .

1 Week Later

Guts considered the humble tournament grounds, a circle and a jousting ring, set up on the outskirts of the town. A couple dozen people, some kind of familiar from his trips into town, some not, were present, two men already dueling in the ring.

"You know," Erica said as she stood beside Guts and studied the scene with a critical eye, "the tournaments I've heard of are usually a lot bigger than this."

"This is probably some sort of qualifier," Guts replied. "Winner goes to a bigger tournament."

"Looks like they've already started, too," Erica said as they continued to walk into town. "Think you'll be able to get in?"

"Quiet little town like this?" Guts said with a slight smile. "I'm sure they'll take all the excitement they can get."

They made their way to the ring, Erica making her way over to the stands, Guts making his way over to the soldier standing guard, a rather stocky man who was clearly trying desperately not to be bored.

"You look like a real threat," the guard said. "You want in, I'm presuming?"

"Yeah," was Guts' only reply.

The guard shrugged. "Let's hope you can swing your sword well enough to overcome the current champion. He's been sweeping the ground with everyone for the last while.

Guts looked out at the arena and saw who was likely the man in question, his armor well-maintained as he wielded a bastard sword and a decently-sized heater shield. Clearly a veteran of the Hundred-Year War, but not anything remarkable from what he'd dealt with. His opponent was about his size, wielding a rather large warhammer and forsaking a shield as they circled each other. It was clear, though, that the hammer wielder was losing the fight, his movements slow and his strikes jerky and wild compared to the smooth, confident strikes of his opponent.

"I think I can handle him," Guts replied.

The soldier shrugged. "Hope you can back those words up, kid."

He turned, and the two of them watched as the swordsman patiently took apart the hammerer's defenses, a shield bash finally sending the man to his knees as the swordsman leveled his blade at the hammerer's neck.

The gathered crowd clapped, and who was likely the organizer of the tournament, a rail-thin man with an equally thin, sharp face, wearing clothes that immediately marked him as being too rich to be from this town, stood. "Again, our guardian champion stands victorious!" he proclaimed. "Who among you will prove yourselves worthy to accompany him to the greater tournament?"

"We have another challenger here, sir!" the guard called out to the organizer, drawing the attention of the crowd to him and Guts. "Big lad with a big sword!"

"Then let him enter and take his chance," the organizer said.

Guts entered the ring as the hammerer was ushered out, and Guts unsheathed his brand new sword, a far simpler thing than the rather ostentatious blade he'd come to this place with. It was ready just in time for the tournament.

The man who stood before him saluted with his blade. "Well met, swordsman!" he said. "I look forward to seeing how you fare."

The voice sounded… familiar. Distantly so. But right now, Guts needed to focus on the fact that he was, once again, facing a living, breathing person. He had to remember and be ready.

"The duel is until one is defeated, young man," the organizer said. "Such defeat is determined to be a crippling or killing blow. Take care not to inflict any grievous wounds, as our current champion will need his strength. Should you prevail, you shall have the chance to accompany us to Castle Garenrel, where the greater contest is currently being held."

"Alright," Guts replied, settling into a ready stance after lowering his helmet's visor. "Can we get started already?"

The organizer nodded, even though he appeared at least a little miffed. "Let the duel begin!"

Guts and his foe spent a few moments circling each other, sizing each other up. Finally, the swordsman darted forward with a lunging stab. Guts parried the blow aside, and the match began.

Strike and counterstrike, back and forth, saw Guts one again settling into that familiar rhythm, the flow of combat coming to him as easily as it ever had. This time, though, he paid attention to those rare moments when sparks flew from the strikes they made. The briefest flashes of life, and its struggle, condensed into a moment of pure light.

The swordsman was good, trying to close the distance that Guts' sword offered and using his shield to negate and divert the blows that his sword couldn't catch. But Guts was wise to this sort of tactic of deflection and precision. Though this man was no Griffith, he'd learned how to pry apart that sort of defense.

It took time, and it took patience, but eventually, the swordsman's legs were open. Guts took the chance as it presented itself, using the flat of his blade to smack into, and sweep through, the stance of the swordsman.

It didn't immediately take him off his feet, but the swordsman stumbled, giving Guts the moment that he needed to charge into him, the body slam sending the man sprawling. Before he could try and lift himself from the ground, the tip of Guts' sword was at his neck, and the crowd was cheering.

After long moments, the tournament organizer managed to quiet the crowd. "Well fought, young man!" the organizer said. "You now have the opportunity to prove yourself further at Castle Garenrel, should you so desire. Will you accompany our champion there?"

Guts scanned the crowd, found Erica watching him. He saw the excitement on her face. How it gave way to apprehension and more than a little sadness. He found it… remarkably tough to leave.

'Ah, it won't be long,' he decided. 'I'll be back after this is done, and I'll tell them when I intend to really go.'

"How long is this trip going to take?" he asked.

"Castle Garenrel is 2 month's journey from this place," the organizer replied. "And the tournament is still gathering its contestants from across Midland for the purpose this tournament serves. Will you still accept this invitation?"

'Well,' Guts mused. 'That's a little longer than I was expecting.'

But to get to see his friends in the Falcons again…

"Alright. I'll go."

The crowd clapped and cheered as Guts exited the ring.

As he began to make his way to the edge of town, Erica following after, the swordsman apparently was following along too. "Guts!"

Guts stopped, turning to face the swordsman as he took his helmet off. The hair had more gray in it than he remembered, but the gray eyes and the scar were unmistakable.

"Willem?" Guts said somewhat incredulously. "What are you doing all the way out here?"

"My job, really," Willem replied. "I'm hooked into the tourneys that go on throughout the kingdom for any jobs that need doing." he paused as he sighed quietly. "It's good to see you're doing well. I must admit, it's strange to see you not at Daniel's side."

Guts shrugged. "He's doing fine without me. Probably bored out of his skull managing some land somewhere as a noble of Midland with the rest of the Band of the Falcon, or the Phoenix Knights, or whatever they're called these days."

Willem's expression darkened. "You mean… you haven't heard the news?"

Guts' brow furrowed in concern. "What happened?"

Willem was silent for long moments, seeming to grapple with what he was about to say before sighing heavily. "Lord Griffith was declared a traitor by the king and imprisoned. The Band of the Falcon was stripped of their titles and are on the run. The tenure point of this contest is to gather the best mercenaries into a band that can chase down and exterminate them and their lady commander Casca."

Guts' eyes went wide, and he barely registered the nearly dramatic gasp of shock that came from Erica. "You're kidding," Guts said incredulously. "Griffith wouldn't do that. He… he…"

"I don't think it matters anymore what Lord Griffith would or wouldn't do," Willem said. "All that matters right now is that your friends are in danger. Daniel is in danger. And we have the chance to do something about it."

Guts was silent for long moments, then sighed quietly. "Do you know where they are?"

Willem shook his head. "Not at all. Commander Casca's been remarkably wily thus far. Part of the whole reason for this series of tournaments is to gather up mercenaries to go and find them."

Guts nodded slightly. "Alright. Give me some time to pack, and I'll go with you."

Willem smiled slightly. "We'll make sure Daniel and company are safe, son. I can assure you that."

Guts nodded, going up the hill. There was a lot to think about, his head a spinning mess.

. . .

The little room that Godot had offered Guts was swiftly made bare once again. Unlike the last time that he left a barren room, however, Guts took a moment to sit on the stripped bed and think.

Had he found what he needed here?

It was such a simple question, with so many implications. Godot had shown him a path to go down. Now, his friends were in danger. His father was in danger. An old path to being a sword for someone.

'But here, I choose to go back,' Guts thought. 'I'm not bowing to some request or losing some contest. Whether they like it or not, I'm coming to help.'

He smiled slightly at the thought of Corkus' face when he'd get there. Thought about what the others would think. How would being gone for so long make things? Who was still there? Who had changed?

Who was gone?

'Not Daniel,' Guts thought as he looked down at the simple wooden sword that had been around his neck for so long. 'If there's anyone who can survive anything, it's him.'

"What's that?"

Guts looked up to see Erica standing in the doorway, looking intently at the necklace.

"This?" Guts said, letting the pendant dangle so she could see more clearly. "It's an old gift from my father. Daniel."

"He's part of the Band of the Falcon, right?" she asked as she approached to get a better look at the pendant.

Guts was silent for a while before sighing quietly. "Yeah. But he wouldn't be there if I wasn't young and stupid. But it's not just him that's in danger because of me, I think."

"What do you mean?"

Guts grimaced. "I think… I think this was all caused by me leaving, somehow. I don't know what happened, or who did what. But I left, and now everything my friends have worked for is gone."

"Then it's up to you to go and fix it," Erica said matter-of-factly, her hands on her hips and a serious look in her eyes.

Guts smiled slightly as, after a moment, he patted Erica's head. "You aren't saying anything I haven't already decided, kiddo. Think you'll be okay without me?"

"We did fine before you came here," Erica said reassuringly. "We'll do fine until you get back."

"You sure?" Guts asked levelly. "I'm probably going to be gone for a while."

"We'll make it work," Erica insisted.

Guts nodded, watching tears well up in the girl's eyes. Then, she shocked him somewhat as she charged in and did her best to envelop his torso in a hug.

"Stay safe," Erica whispered through a sniffle.

After long moments, Guts returned the hug. "I'll try my best to," he said quietly.

Erica finally let him go, and Guts gathered his things, making his way to the door. He paused for a moment as he passed the forge, seeing Godot at the anvil as usual.

'Nah, I won't disturb him.' Guts decided, beginning to make his way to the door again. 'He knows I'm leaving anyway.'

"Good luck, son," Godot said simply. "Don't die."

Guts paused again for the briefest of seconds, then smiled slightly. "I'll try not to, Gramps."

With that, Guts was out the door, closing it to the sight of Willem with his gear on one of two horses.

"You ready to go?" Willem asked.

Guts nodded. "Let's not drag this out any more than it already has."

Willem nodded. "I understand that. Just… be prepared for this to take a while."

. . .

Crag-step Forest, 4 Months Later

Daniel found night watch duties to be remarkably calming, all told. Even with the possibility of a massive creature roaming around the woods at night, at the very least it was quiet now. The night's life chirped and hooted and buzzed and called out to itself, covering the forest in a comforting blanket of quiet but vibrant noise.

Tonight, Daniel sat on a felled log next to Pippin, staring out into the night. He hadn't spent much time with the looming, but quiet man that was the leader of the Hammerheads, their heavy cavalry force. Tonight presented a remarkably rare occasion.

"I don't believe I've talked to you much," Daniel said after a moment's thought, "but I must admit something struck me, many months ago."

Pippin looked over at Daniel levelly. "What would that be?" he asked quietly.

"You have a knowledge, to some extent or another, of architecture," Daniel said. "As well as picking up dancing as easily as you did, it leads me to suspect you have at least some connection to nobility. Am I on the right trail?"

Pippin hummed softly before nodding. "You're not wrong," he said.

It was silent between them for long moments. "Would you be willing to elaborate on that?" Daniel asked quietly.

Again, silence reigned as Pippin considered the question. Moments stretched into minutes, and Daniel considered simply leaving the matter. It was just curiosity, after all.

"I was a minor noble in the duchy of Morgar," Pippin finally said, drawing Daniel's attention back to him. "The second son of the former duke. With my brother as heir to my father's titles, I was expected to join the military."

Pippin paused. "I wanted something else. To chase my dream."

'As expected,' Daniel mused, 'Griffith drew in a dreamer.'

"What is your dream?" he asked.

"To build something worth remembering," Pippin replied, that distant, fond look in his eyes that all had when remembering something cherished. "My mentor was the royal architect for Morgar, and he explained much of his craft to me. How the castle that I lived in was built, the foundations, the walls, the compromises between functionality and regality. It… spoke to me in a way that the military never could."

"So why join the Falcons, then?" Daniel asked. "How could becoming a mercenary help you accomplish your dream?"

"It allowed me to travel, to see examples of other architecture. The Court of White Carnations was particularly inspiring with its tasteful use of flying buttresses and pure marble. Its design lent it a holiness similar to a cathedral. The intention was obvious."

Daniel nodded. "I see. Is there any building in particular that inspires you?"

Pippin nodded, smiling slightly. "The Cathedral of the Seven Virtues, centerpiece of the holy city of the Way of White. Seven domes surrounding a central eighth, different stones for the outer walls ascending in purity until the peak is made of the most pale marble, stained glasswork that is the envy of all the world. All those reasons and so much more about it are what I aspire towards. If I made something even a fraction as memorable and striking as that, I would be satisfied."

"You've seen it then?"

Pippin shook his head. "Only heard tell of it and seen angles on sacred artwork. I think, if things had not changed so much as they have, that I might have gotten to see that remarkable edifice."

Daniel nodded, swallowing as best he could the pill of sorrow that formed in his gut. "Perhaps someday, we still might."

Once again, the night was silent, the pair considering what had just been spoken to one extent or another.

Then, a rustle in the woods. Not unusual on its own, but drawing closer. Not turning away.

Daniel frowned slightly as he stood, a hand going to his sword. "Wonder who that might be," he said quietly.

"Too small to be your bear, I would think," Pippin said as he grabbed his mace and stood.

Daniel drew his sword, holding it out to the still approaching sound. "We'll see," he replied.

They stood at the ready for long moments, a nickering from a horse cutting through the cicadas and crickets. The branches began to rustle, a shadow making itself seen in the faraway light of the few campfires allowed to burn. Then…

A horse's head parted the brush before them, slowing to a stop at the edge of the clearing about 10 feet away from Daniel and Pippin. Its rider was cloaked, their dark garb concealing their frame.

"Who are you?" Daniel ventured, stepping forward. "How did you find us?"

"Please, don't hurt me," a woman's voice called out from beneath a hood, thin and dainty hands reaching up to pull it down and reveal a fair face framed by dark curls. "I am an envoy of Princess Charlotte, one of her trusted handmaidens. I've not been followed, I promise."

Daniel and Pippin glanced at each other for a moment before returning their attention to the young woman. "And how can we verify that you speak the truth?"

The woman grimmaced. "Unfortunately, there is no way that I can definitively do so. You will have to trust that I am an agent of the Princess, and not a pawn of the king."

The pair, once again, looked at each other for long moments, both chewing on the handmaiden's words. Finally, Daniel sighed quietly. "Go wake Casca. I'll keep an eye on our visitor."

Pippin nodded, turning and jogging over to the command tent.

Daniel returned his gaze to the handmaiden, looking on her with a greater Sight than most would know as discretely as possible.

'She speaks the truth,' Daniel realized with no small amount of relief.

"I hope you will be able to convince the rest of the command staff of your sincerity," he said to the handmaiden.

The handmaiden nodded. "The princess swore me to this task and to secrecy concerning it. I made my promise not only to my princess… but to my dear friend."

Daniel smiled slightly. "Then I think you'll do just fine."

 

[StriderInCosmos]

Chapter 23: Reunions, Long-Awaited

Camp of the Falcons, Crag-step Forest

Daniel accompanied the handmaiden to the command tent, parting it to reveal Casca in her nightclothes, standing and waiting for them. "What's going on?" she asked.

"I'll let her explain when the others arrive," Daniel replied. "She's not here to hurt anyone."

Casca looked rather unconvinced, even as the rest of the command staff filed into the tent. "Alright," she said as everyone settled in, "talk."

"I am Handmaiden Lorelle of Princess Charlotte, ma'am," the handmaiden said. "She has asked me to come and offer her assistance in freeing Sir Griffith."

Casca's expression twitched for a moment before it smoothed over again, but Daniel could still see the conflict in her eyes. "What does Princess Charlotte have to offer?"

"Information," Lorelle replied. "It can be assumed you're unaware of Sir Griffith's location?"

"He's in a dungeon inside the castle grounds, we know that much for sure," Corkus, clearly still somewhat bleary-eyed, said with no small amount of annoyance. "We can work from there."

"Not just any dungeon, sir," Lorelle replied. "The Tower of Rebirth. Its lowest level."

"The Tower of Rebirth…" Judeau said quietly.

"What's that?" Rickert, who had tagged along, asked.

"The oldest tower in Wyndham, said even to be older than Midland itself," Judeau replied. "In ancient times of war, prisoners were kept there. During the Sunlit Inquisition, those decreed heretics by the Way of White joined them."

"So they still keep prisoners there," Daniel mused.

"To ensure they might never escape," Lorelle said, clutching her hands to her chest as if to ward off the very thought of the place. "None have ever managed to infiltrate it and emerge alive in all of its history."

It was silent for long moments as the gathered Falcons considered the task before them. "Is there a way we can infiltrate the castle?" Daniel prompted. "As long as we can mask our path to and from, we might have a chance at escape."

"There are a few ways," Lorelle admitted after a moment's hesitation. "Please, allow me to write them down, if you will."

Casca gestured to a quill, ink, and stack of parchment on the table, Lorelle taking a piece of parchment before leaning over and beginning to write quickly.

"What's Griffith's condition?" Gaston asked. "Do you know?"

Lorelle's writing paused for a moment, a long silence making the tension in the tent begin to squeeze in on its occupants. "King Adamar ordered that he be tortured severely for a year, and to be kept alive during and after such torture. From what little I've dared to hear, the torturer tasked with such has been… successful."

The claw of tension grasping all seemed to squeeze the breath out of all others in the tent. "How is that possible?" Corkus asked incredulously. "Even someone as healthy and strong as Griffith couldn't last half that long."

"I shudder at the creativity of this jailer," Daniel said darkly. "But… there are ways. Ways I wish I'd never known."

Lorelle finished writing what was a remarkably comprehensive list and straightened up. "I have given you all I know," she said. "I fear I've already tarried too long. Thank you for receiving me."

"And thank you for being willing to assist us," Casca said. "Send our thanks to the Princess as well."

Lorelle nodded. "I shall. And to Lord Adonis, as well. His most loyal scouts, to both himself and Sir Griffith, have been following at a distance. They have been sworn to secrecy. They are who allowed me to find you and relay this message."

That had many of the commanders casting uneasy glances at each other, Daniel's brows simply arching. "He risks much for Sir Griffith's sake," he said quietly.

Lorelle looked over at Daniel. "For how he and his men saved him, he must feel he owes a debt of gratitude. I do not know why he does these things. You will likely have to ask him yourself."

"I suppose we will," Casca said. "Go, quickly. You know a way to avoid the inevitable patrols looking out for us?"

Lorelle smiled slightly. "My father was the royal cartographer. There are family secrets no official map of these lands has for me to take advantage of. I'll manage."

Casca nodded, and Lorelle curtsied before she turned and made her way out of the tent. It left the Falcons to silently consider what had just transpired.

"Well," Judeau finally said, "we have someone on the inside. That's going to speed things up considerably."

"We still need to put such things into action, however," Casca replied. "So until we can be sure that the camp won't get hit by a mercenary attack while the team is gone, we have to remain patient."

"How much longer can we do that, huh?" Corkus said. "We know where Griffith is, why not just go and get him, and damn the mercenaries?"

"Because more likely than not, a significant part of our command staff is going to be going on this rescue mission," Casca replied. "We can't afford to slip up on a mission like this, even once. So, we take only our most experienced. And that means most of the command staff."

Corkus almost leered at Casca. "Including you?" he asked somewhat incredulously.

"Including me," Casca said firmly.

She cast her gaze around the tent. "Which means that until that time, all of you need to get your rest. We all need to be at our best for when we go to save Griffith."

"Who stays behind to ensure chain of command?" Gaston asked.

Casca sighed quietly. "From within this tent?"

She paused for a moment. "Corkus, you'll be among the most experienced of those who I won't take. I'll need you to stay here with Gaston and Anna. If we don't return… you'll be the new chain of command."

Corkus' eyes went wide at the idea, his shock shared by more than a few within the tent. "You're sure about this?" he said quietly, a quiver fighting its way into his voice.
"I have to be," Casca replied. "Now go, get back to sleep."

Slowly, almost hesitantly, the group began to file out of the tent. Only Daniel remained after a few moments, regarding Casca levelly. "You should follow your own orders," he said meaningfully. "You've been running yourself ragged, and this sort of thing was the only thing I would wake you up for."

"And here I thought I was your commanding officer," Casca said rather wryly. "Who gave you the right to issue orders to me?"

"I'd say by dint of being the oldest person in the camp, with the most life experience," Daniel replied with a slight smile, "that makes me the camp's old codger of a dad. A role I take with no small amount of seriousness."

Casca finally smiled, slight though it was. "Alright, alright. I suppose I can't argue with that. Good night, Daniel."

"Good night, Casca," Daniel replied as he made his way to the tent door. He paused for a moment at it as he looked back. "I'll see you in the morning to coordinate where people go from here."

With that, he returned to the night, grateful that this little adventure took up the last portion of his time on night watch.

. . .

1 Month Later

Guts sat at one of the tents reserved for tournament combatants, taking a piece of wood from one of the campfires that he and Willem had started, and focusing on it intently as he held a knife in his other hand. He had, thus far, the rudimentary shape of a person, a ghost of a sword and shield in its hand and by one of its legs.

He'd been working on it since he'd started his journey with Willem. Why was still a question he hadn't been able to answer quite yet, but it seemed… soothing.

'I guess I can see why Daniel does it,' he mused as he continued to shave the black walnut wood with intention. 'There's something… calming about this.'

It wasn't the same sort of calm he found in swinging his sword, but he had something to focus on. Something to accomplish before going out and facing the world.

He paused for a moment, studying the figure in his hands. It seemed… almost familiar. Still rough, but…

The tent flap rustled open, and Guts looked up to see Willem. "Am I up?" he asked, setting woodwork in his bag as he sheathed his knife.

"You're next," Willem said. "Figured you'd want to get a lay of the land. Your opponent might be… an interesting one."

Guts arched a brow as he rose, taking his sword, a simple thing with a blade that went almost to the hilt, the 'crossguard' simply wrappings of thicker metal that extended half a foot from where the hilt met its blade, and exiting from the tent as the pair made their way to the castle grounds proper.

Castle Garenrel looked much like any other castle Guts might have laid siege to during the war. Hell, he might have sieged this one at some point or another. They all kind of blurred together by this point. What mattered most, at the moment, was what went on within.

As they passed through the gate, they saw well-built stands, covered in colorful cloth and filled with a cheering crowd, the main attraction they were cheering on the duel taking place in a ring of sand picketed by a simple wooden fence.

Guts watched intently as he and Willem came to a stop at the fenceline, sizing up the two duelists as they circled each other.

One, the larger of the two by no small amount, wore a patchwork of armor that told Guts what side he favored in a fight, his helmet a strange, almost archaic design that only covered the top half of his face. This, as the announcer had proclaimed loudly, was the mercenary captain Valancia, the Lord of Slaughter. His claim to fame was a kill count of 130 men killed throughout his time in the Hundred-Year War. Guts had heard of him before, but never faced him in battle. He wielded a broad arming sword, keeping his guard up against the man that he faced off.

The man opposite him, as Willem said, was quite an oddity in comparison. He was slim, almost slight, and seemingly his only armor was a sleeveless leather gambeson, a single metal plate over his chest. his head was wrapped by an ivory cloth that concealed his hair and much of his face, and he wielded a pair of strange, three-bladed daggers, their hilts arrayed in such a fashion that they almost seemed like overwrought knuckle-dusters.

This, the announcer proclaimed, was the foreign warrior known only as Silat, the dark horse of the tournament thus far. Looking closer, Guts saw the dark eyes and deeply tanned skin of Silat. 'I wonder if he's from the same place as Casca,' he wondered as, at last, the match began in earnest.

Valancia charged forward, his sword a blur as he did his best to lay into the smaller man. Silat, though, simply darted back, each strike missing him even if only by inches. 'With armor like that,' Guts mused, 'I'd get pretty damn good at dodging too.'

Valancia, obviously, tired of this quickly, trying to stab Silat with a shout. As Guts blinked, however, Silat's strange blades intercepted the sword, turning to lock with the blade as Valancia tried to pull it back.

Then, a gasp went up in the stands as Silat's foot darted up into a remarkably high kick that struck Valancia in the chin, sending him stumbling back, the lock on his sword holding firm.

As Valancia tried to pull his sword back from Silat, Silat jumped and spun in the air, twisting the sword out of the massive man's hands, and tossed it aside as he landed. As Valancia shook his head, Silat advanced, pausing with his blades under the man's throat.

It was still for long moments, then Valancia, growled though they were, said the words everyone was waiting for. "Alright, I yield."

The crowd clapped and cheered, and the presenter stood once again. "Again, Silat proves the power of his remarkable martial arts! What a stunning display. Can our next and final challenger stand against such mystifying tactics? Perhaps the Greatswordsman will win the day where others have failed!"

Guts continued to roll his eyes at the moniker. It seemed so… unnecessary, really. He was just a man good at swinging big swords. There wasn't any need for a ridiculous title like that.

But still, it was his turn to face this fire-stepping warrior, regardless of what he thought of the title. Stepping onto the sand, he unsheathed his sword, and leveled it at Silat.

"The martial arts of this land seem so simple and narrow-minded," Silat said, his voice laced with an accent that Guts couldn't place. "It seems you will be no different, like a child swinging a particularly large stick. Either way…"

Silat settled into a low stance, seeming ready to pounce with his weapons poised like claws. "Prepare yourself!"

Guts, however, simply put the blade on his shoulder. "Whenever you're ready," he said with a slight smile.

Silat's eyes widened as he scoffed. "I can see through you easily enough," he said. "You mean to use the length of your weapon to keep me out of reach, and my guard lowered with your seeming lack of stance."

Guts shrugged. "That would track with my narrow-mindedness or whatever. Stop sweating the details and just go with it. This is just a tournament after all."

Silat was silent for a moment before he nodded. "Very well," he said quietly. "A tournament with no blood is a boring affair, after all…"

Guts readied himself, but even his reflexes only barely prepared him for the blaze of movement that Silat proved to be in his charge. He could almost feel the parting of the air as the strange sword passed his face by mere inches, the lowest of the blades scratching his shoulder plate.

He continued to dodge, the crowd cheering and throwing so much useless encouragement at the both of them as he focused on the man right in front of him.

He heard the clicking pop of something below his line of sight as he watched Silat aim another high kick. He caught the glint of metal, a boot blade, coming up on his right. In a split-second of decision, instead of moving his head, he shifted his sword, the hilt and his hand catching the ankle and stopping the blade which was surely just short.

That didn't seem to stop Silat, however, another boot blade popping out on the other foot as, incredibly, he lifted his other foot off the ground, using Guts' hilt as an anchor for his other foot. Guts' eyes went wide, and his gauntleted arm moved to intercept this one, now catching Silat's foot with time to spare. He was used to this man's speed now.

Caught as the man was, however, Silat seemed to have a well of tenacity within him, bending himself backward to try and lunge at him with his blades, shouting a cry in a foreign language. "Jin Mhakarha!"

Guts decided, at that moment, to take a step back and pivot, lowering his sword arm as he did. The action seemed to have its intended effect, throwing Silat off balance as he went flying off of Guts' body. He hit the ground and rolled, Guts bringing his sword to bear and leveling the tip at Silat's face.

"You'd make a killing as a street performer," he said as Silat froze from getting to his feet. "And I didn't even have to use my simple, narrow-minded sword arts."

He could almost make out Silat's jaw clenching before he released one of his blades to raise a staying hand. "Very well. I yield."

The words elicited a wild cheer as Guts let Silat get to his feet and walk away, looking around at the people who clamored after him. Who must have been the tournament's organizer made his way down from his box in the stands and hurried his way over to Guts.

"What a splendid show!" the nobleman said with no small amount of glee. "You'll have your prize money, that much is for certain, you and the other runners-up, but I also want you to be among the first of this tournament to know of the opportunity before you and a select few."

Guts already had an idea of what the man had in mind, but there was no reason to show his hand here. "And what would that be?"

"Another reason for this tournament and many others is to collect capable soldiers who are willing to be paid handsomely for their time," the nobleman said. "The king has issued a decree to begin a bandit hunt. One that happens to fall within my territories."

"And what if I'm not interested?" Guts said offhandedly as he contained his emotions as best he could. "I'm just looking for strong opponents. Bandits don't exactly strike me as 'strong'."

"Ah, the words of, perhaps, a knight in the midst of peregrination?" the nobleman said.

"Something like that," Guts said, not fully grasping the meaning of the stuffy, likely overcomplicated word.

"Don't you worry then!" the nobleman replied. "If it's a test of strength you're looking for, then the woman boss of this army of bandits has been reputed to be able to best even ten hearty men!"

"A woman boss?" Guts said as Willem joined him by his side.

"Yes, indeed," the nobleman said. "This bandit group used to be a mercenary outfit during the Hundred-Year War. Surely tales of them have reached your ears even as long as you might have been gone? Those of the Band of the Falcon and their lady commander Casca?"

Guts' brow rose slightly. "Alright," he said after a moment, "say I am interested. When do we go and get these guys?"

"Well," the nobleman said with some hesitation, "our first step is to gather a sufficient force and find them. They have proven remarkably wily thus far."

"Find them?" Willem said, seemingly incredulously. "You mean to say that a mercenary band of a size to defeat the soldiers of the Falcon would have to waste time finding them first?"

The nobleman put up his hands. "It would require some time, but I am certain we can find them and crush them in due time. You would be paid handsomely for your time, from both my coffers and a fund set aside by the king."

Guts looked at Willem rather skeptically, then shrugged. "Well, as long as it doesn't take forever."

. . .

1 Month Later

Daniel held his wooden pendant gently, probing Guts' feelings as he sat smack in the middle of another night watch. More fires had been allowed to spring up, drawing back the darkness before them, and more tents and supplies had been gained. Costly though this might have been.

Guts was on the move now, largely bored but also rather on edge. He was likely to be looking for them now, moving either on his own or with others. He would be here soon, Daniel reckoned. It had nearly been a year since that day. Now, things would move in earnest soon enough. Very soon.

"What do you feel?"

Daniel blinked as he looked over at Anaa'ri, who had joined him during this night watch. "Guts is moving now, Rhia," he said quietly. "We will likely be moving to free Griffith soon."

"That we shall," Rhia replied.

Daniel was silent for a moment. "How likely do you think it is that we can somehow talk him out of what comes next, really?" he asked. "In his state…"

"It seems hard to believe," Rhia replied. "We have been in… talks within the vessel. These debates have become heated, at times."

"That bad, huh?"

Rhia was silent. "We are divided as to whether or not we should try and preserve Griffith or to kill him in the time before the Eclipse. Both methods have their merits."

"Perhaps they do," Daniel said. "But if we kill Griffith now, the hand behind the Eclipse may well choose another to take his place. Should we heal him and take them away…"

"How long would that forestall things?" another voice chimed in. Nimira was silent for a moment before continuing. "It would leave open the potential of Griffith succumbing to the Crimson Beherit at another time and place, and all that would be gained are a few years, at most."

"A lot can happen in a few years, Nimira," Daniel said meaningfully. "It gives us time to prepare. To get some distance while we wait things out as they happen in Midland."

"And what will those few years look like on a strategic scale?" Ulikam said, Anna's jaw clenching slightly. "There is every chance that, should the Band of the Falcon survive the coming Eclipse, it will continue to be hounded until it is ground to dust, whether by Midland or another force."

"The potential always exists for such," Daniel admitted. "It's the risk that comes with our line of work, after all."

He paused for a moment. "And what of you, Firathi? Do you take Rhia's side as well?"

Anna's expression became neutral, seemingly teetering on the edge of slack. "The fact of the matter is simple," the Memory Seer replied. "The Godhand is not an infallible force. Our very presence alone already deviates from their desired course. Further action would likely upset their plans completely."

Daniel nodded as he looked back into the night. "No. They aren't infallible, are they?"

Before he could continue, he caught something in between the coverage of the trees. Deep, glowing red eyes within a humanoid shadow. They were being watched as well, were they?

Daniel stood from the stump of a tree that had been felled for firewood and to clear space, Anna looking up at him. "What is it?" Rhia asked.

"Speaking of eldritch beings…" Daniel replied as he stepped forward. "I think I'm going to try having a conversation with this one."

With that, he advanced into the woods, the light of camp dimming as Daniel's eyes adjusted with an almost unnatural speed. It allowed him to see the being that awaited him now, standing still on horseback. Its gaze held on him with an unnatural steadiness, the face a graven, skeletal mask.

Daniel came to a stop about a dozen yards away from the Skeleton Knight, regarding him with a relaxed expression. "I see you take time away from studying Guts to survey the Band of the Falcon," he said. "Fascinating."

"Who are you, to approach so boldly?" the Knight asked.

"I'm Daniel Theisman, the Midnight Dragon," Daniel replied. "Guts' adoptive father."

It was silent for the space of a heartbeat. "Such things are within the scope of Causality," the Knight said. "What is somewhat beyond its scope are the events that have transpired recently."

"Indeed?" Daniel said. "The flight of the Falcons on the word of a noble boy who should be dead, avoiding a culling ambush? Their much more hale and hearty state of affairs? These are according to my design. As is the hope to remove Griffith as a pawn of the Godhand, one way or another."

This time, the silence stretched for far longer, Daniel not missing the hand the Skeleton Knight rested on the hilt of his sword. "What are you, to know of such things? An Apostle somehow dissenting from its masters?"

"I am not an Apostle," Daniel replied. "I am merely the captain of my soul. As well as afforded the knowledge of what is supposed to come next. What is supposed to transpire during the Eclipse. And I intend to ensure that things continue to change."

The hand on the hilt tightened, the sword at the Skeleton Knight's side beginning to slip free from its sheath. "You are from another world as well. You will die like the rest, however frenzied they may be," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

"Frenzy…" Daniel said, his brow furrowing. "You've encountered the Flame of Frenzy? A yellow-red fire that burns away all that divides and distinguishes, that chaos may take the world?"

The sword paused a few inches out of the scabbard, and the Knight maintained that seemingly soulless gaze of his. "You are familiar with such a power," he said after long moments.

"Yes," Daniel replied, "and not taken by it as others might be. It tells me that the coming conjunction of worlds is closer at hand than I first thought."

"You speak of a Conjunction. How would this come to pass?" the Knight asked, Daniel quite grateful he also saw the sword return fully to its sheath.

"The explanation would take more time than just a single night," Daniel said. "Suffice to say, two worlds shall become one, bleeding into one another until they are fully intermingled. Seek me after the Eclipse. I know you will find Guts in the mountain home of the elves. There will I strive to be also."

With that, Daniel turned and walked back, leaving the Skeleton Knight to watch him silently as he returned to Anna's side.

"How did it go?" Rhia asked.

"Decently enough," Daniel replied. "We have both learned things from each other. Such as what might be the cause of these worlds coming together."

"How do you mean?"

"Remember what you saw when you came to this Echo when crossing the Worldsea? The color of the great mass you passed?"

"Red and yellow…" Rhia said slowly. "Like a burning flame…"

"A Flame of Frenzy," Daniel said grimly. "One that the Skeleton Knight has been dealing with in the background all this time. I can't help but fear somewhat about what might come next if such a world as that consumed by the Flame of Frenzy will unite with this one."

The pair went silent, and Daniel looked out to see the Skeleton Knight turning away and leaving them. It would not be the last time that they met. Daniel was sure of that much, at least.

. . .

2 Weeks Later

Casca poured over a map, rubbing her eyes. Daniel wasn't on night duty tonight. That meant that he wouldn't pop in, as he sometimes did, to chastise her about her lack of sleep and concern over the minor details of the camp.

Not that they felt minor at this point. For the Band's part, now fully a third of them had been wounded in one way or another, a fourth of that number grievously. 30 more men had left over the last month, bringing their current numbers down to a little over 3,500. There were medical supplies and rations to… retrieve, so to speak, and coordinate, sleeping arrangements and night watch to confirm…

Something within her whispered that, had events gone as the White Tigers might have wished, the situation would be far, far worse for her and Daniel to manage.

"Daniel's right, you know."

Casca tensed slightly before sighing quietly, remaining silent as Judeau continued. "You keep pulling all-nighters like this, we're going to have to worry about you more than you worry about us."

"Daniel's message, I would imagine?" she said as she turned to see the simple stew that Judeau carried and set down on the table she studied at. Even that was starting to become a luxury, simpler foodstuffs that could be taken or foraged often taking its place to preserve it.

"Common sense," Judeau corrected. "It doesn't take Daniel letting us know to see that you're running yourself ragged since you took leadership last year. If you collapse now, it sends a message to the rest of the group. Just… keep that in mind. Please."

Casca took a deep breath and nodded, taking the stew and beginning to eat. "Is that all?"

Judeau shook his head. "Word just came in from our contingent in Wyndham."

Casca perked up as Judeau continued, his expression grim. "They've confirmed what the handmaiden Lorelle said. Griffith is being kept in the Tower of Rebirth. Those they've been able to catch and talk to who've been in there say that, for the last year, they've heard… something in between screaming and moaning from his cell. But apparently… that's stopped this past month, too."

Casca's expression mirrored Judeau's. "Is he even still alive?" she wondered aloud, silently cursing the thought. "If he is… we'll have to hurry."

"We will," Judeau said. "You've finalized the plans to spring Griffith by now? With this long, they'll probably be foolproof!"

He stepped forward and put a hand on Casca's shoulder. "But you'll need to be at the top of your game to make sure things go well when we go."

Casca took a deep breath and nodded. "Thank you for the stew, Judeau," she said quietly.

"Don't sweat it, Casca," Judeau replied with a slight smile.

Then, the contemplative silence was broken by a horn, blaring three times before a voice shouted.

"Night raid! Night rai-"

Casca nearly leaped to her feet, grabbing her sword as Judeau dashed out of the tent, the clamor of battle rising like a sudden cloudburst to cover the camp in sound and fury.

Unsheathing her sword and tossing the scabbard aside, Casca dashed out of the tent, taking stock of the situation as quickly as her still-tired mind allowed.

As she finished processing things, she began to give her orders to the still scattered, though quickly forming, Falcon defense. "The attack is from the north-west! Raiders, Hammerheads, form ranks and make a wall! Vanguards, Arrowheads, get the wounded onto carts and horses and give them a chance to escape!"

Before she could continue, a strange voice cut her off. "Near-immediate adaptation and command. Impressive, gahanak, and in keeping with the rumors surrounding the woman commander of the Falcons."

Casca turned to see a man in strange armor and a head-wrapping that covered most of his face, except for eyes and the skin around him that looked remarkably like hers. He wielded strange blades that were now leveled at her. "But," the man continued, "we both know when the head is cut off, the battle is decided. Prepare yourself!"

With that, the man charged at her with a remarkable speed, Casca's blade only deflecting the strange weapons by the barest of margins. The assault continued for long, agonizing seconds as she searched for a way to pry apart his defenses, but trying was like trying to pull apart the wind one breeze at a time. This foe flowed and shifted and crashed against her like a wave of water, keeping her on the retreat.

A boot blade flashed up from her left, causing Casca to lean back from the daring strike. As it passed her head, however, the man pivoted, the high kick flowing into a backward kick that landed squarely on her chest, sending her to the ground and knocking the breath from her lungs.

The man, with a shout of triumph, loomed over her, his blades poised to strike down and end this all-too-brief duel here and now.

A black-coated blur had other plans, however, slamming into the warrior and throwing him aside with a shout of effort.

Casca looked up at Daniel, partially armored and wielding his swordspear, its blade already stained with blood. "Get out of here!" he shouted.

It was all he had time to say before the warrior was back on his feet, aimed at Casca. Daniel interposed himself quickly, however, the clash of their blades giving her the chance to get to her feet to try and support Daniel.

Their blades were almost blurs, Daniel's speed seeming to match with the warrior's blow for blow, keeping him at a distance. Casca couldn't see a way into the duel that would help Daniel at all. If he could hold his own…

She began to turn, then saw a gleam of metal flash in a nearby firelight. Almost as quickly as she saw it, Daniel reacted, batting away what looked like a ring of metal with a pealing ring, the potential weapon tumbling away.

It distracted Daniel for the briefest second. The warrior, however, took full advantage of it, dashing forward and sweeping Daniel's legs from under him. As he hit the ground, his weapon skewing away, the warrior leaped down on him, the blades crossing over Daniel's neck.

Casca began to advance on the warrior, but he saw her advance. "Stop! Or he will die."

Casca paused, and the warrior continued. "You have two choices before you. Either you will call on your troops to surrender, or I shall behead the Midnight Dragon before me. I shall even be generous to you, gahanak, and give you the count of three."

Casca looked down at Daniel as the warrior began to count, and found the man… smiling. What? Why?

"One," the warrior said. "Two. Three…"

"Four."

Casca blinked as a dark boot shoved aside the warrior, looking up to see…

"Damn, old man. It really took that little to get you on the ground? A street performer?"

Daniel chuckled, taking Guts' helping hand to get to his feet. "What can I say? Rather me than someone else."

Guts looked over at Casca, who continued to stare almost in awe at him, and smiled slightly. "Good to see you."

Finally, others began to notice the man who loomed large within their ranks. Soon, Guts' name became a rallying cry, the Falcons rallying and pressing against their attackers all the harder.

The warrior slowly got to his feet. "So," he said, "you are the Hundred-Man Killer, captain of the Raiders of the Band of the Falcon. Such would explain your strength."

Guts nodded as he stepped towards the warrior, another man coming up behind Guts as the pair drew themselves apart from the rest of the scuffle. As Casca prepared to intercept him, Daniel, of all people, put a staying hand across her. "Wait," he said, his eyes wide. "Willem?"

"Good to see you well, Daniel!" the man replied, taking off his helmet to give them a better look. "Shall we go help Guts ensure Silat is dealt with?"

Daniel looked over at the pair, shaking his head. "He can take care of it. We have other pressing matters to attend to."

He looked back to Casca. "What are our orders?"

. . .

Guts considered Silat as the warrior backed away. "Perhaps this, too is a form of divine grace," the man said, reaching into his armor and pulling out two metal rings that he began to spin on each index finger. "Now, I can reclaim my grace lost at the tournament."
"You really are a street performer," Guts said as he readied his sword. "You really don't seem to cut it as a swordsman."

"I wouldn't scoff too quickly," Silat replied. "After all…"

His eyes darted around as he tensed himself. "When these chakram fly off my hands, they shall become your angel's halos!"

With that he tossed them to the sides, the rings flying high into the air.

"And what are you up to now?" Guts asked, catching the rings as they reached their apex… and began to angle towards him.

"Your doom."

Guts waited patiently for the rings to continue closer and closer, his eyes darting between each. Almost… almost…

In an instant, his arms became almost a blur and the two discs clanged… and began to spin inside his free hand's finger and the hilt of his sword.

Silat's eyes went wide. "Impossible! To keep a steady track of such weapons…"

"It's a lot like swatting flies," Guts replied as he let the chakram on his hilt drop to the dirt. "I'm just letting you get your tricks out of you now."

He tried to mimic Silat's method of throwing, aiming straight at the man, but Silat stepped aside to easily dodge the rather sloppy throw.

The man hummed, and then his hands gripped a second set of hilts hanging from his waist. "Very well. Let us add a few more blades then."

He pulled the hilts out, and the firelight of the camp glittered on the remarkably flexible blades the flowed like streams from their source.

"Behold!" Silat proclaimed. "The Hands of Hashnu Gupanya! Each blade is a bolt of lightning from her thundercloud fortress! And they shall drink deeply from you!"

'He even talks like an entertainer…' Guts thought as he watched the blades dance and swirl around Silat. Then, with a flick of his wrist, five blades slithered and darted out towards him, seeming almost to try at enveloping him.

Guts jumped back, the tips of the blades barely missing as they scratched against his armor. Silat seemed… amused by this, more than anything.

"Well done!" he said. "The urumi is no small feat to evade. But that was only the first. Shall you manage to slip through ten blade blades at once?"

With that, the dance began, Guts focusing on step and counterstep, dodge, duck, and weave as he slowly made his way to Silat. Even still, the tips or edges of the blades caught him where they could and cut shallowly.

'It's like trying to wrangle a wild weasel!' Guts thought as he watched Silat slowly back away from his advance. As he did, he watched an enemy soldier, either brave enough or stupid enough not to wear a helmet, stray back just that little bit too far, looking back to see the whirlwind coming towards him.

In an instant, his head was a mess of slices, blood spilling out as he fell back gurgling blood. The poor bastard may have been dead, but if Guts wasn't careful, he'd tire out and fall not too far behind the man.

So, he backed off, Silat slowing, then stopping his mad dance as they once again faced off against each other. "You are remarkable," Silat said, "to avoid the full touch of the urumi for this long. But like this poor soldier, you will end up with your skin flayed in due time."

Guts was silent, considering his options and, rather unsurprisingly, settling on the most risky one. 'One of these days…'

He settled into a low stance, his sword held behind him at the ready.

The sight made Silat tilt his head slightly. "You think to use your blade against mine? You should know such is impossible! Have you truly thrown this fight away?"

'Like hell,' Guts thought. 'Come and get me.'

Across from him, unable to perceive, Silat's mind was shot through with incredulity at Guts' sheer focus. 'Those aren't the eyes of one who counts himself dead.'

"Very well," Silat said. "I accept your challenge! Let her thunder ripple through your flesh!"

The blades came up, danced in a cloud over Silat's head, flew towards Guts…

And Guts, waiting until the last moment, put his plan into action, his sword coming up and catching the blades, gathering them into a single stream which he caught under his left arm as he rotated, locking the blades in place as he pulled Silat towards him, aiming an almost wild chop with the sword.

Silat, his eyes wide at the frankly insane strategy that had worked in Guts' favor, dropped the hilts of his urumi before he could get dragged too much farther, his hands darting to his punching blades and drawing them before he realized blocking the great blade coming towards him would leave him worse than simply open.

So he jumped back, the tip of the blade just barely striking his head-wrapping and tearing through it.

Then, the clash was over, Guts letting the blades drop from his arm. "Not bad, switching weapons that quickly," he said to Silat, watching as the cloth on his head began to unravel.

After a moment, it fell away, revealing a young man with black hair, a thin, sharp face mired by the rivulet of blood that ran down from the slight cut on his forehead.

"Filthy cur…" Silat spat, taking a step forward.

"Sir! Master Silat!"

The cry drew both Silat and Guts' attention to the mercenaries standing behind Silat. And the scattered lines of mercenaries that were fleeing behind them. "We can't hold out! We've got to go!"

Silat growled as he looked back at Guts. "So," he said, "you are Guts. I will make sure to remember your name. And your power."

With that, Silat turned and retreated with the rest of the mercenaries that had attacked the Band of the Falcon.

The battle was over, and Guts took a deep breath as he turned back to look at the camp. For a moment, next to Daniel and Willem, he saw Casca, standing within the camp and regarding him with a level expression that hid something behind her eyes. What was that? Gratitude?

Guts had little time to ponder though, as what must have been a good third of the Band rushed over to him, cheers and shouts of joy, shouts of his name, making the air thrum with relief. And, for once… he didn't mind being surrounded like this.

First to catch him in an embrace was little Rickert, well past the verge of tears of happiness. "Guts… sir…"
"Hey, Rickert. Good to see you're holding up," Guts replied, ruffling the boy's hair as he looked around. After a moment, he found Pippin and Judeau, a little ways away. Both smiled, and Judeau flashed a thumbs up, Guts returning the gesture with a slight smile.

The smile disappeared as he saw the least likely of people approaching him, coming through the crowd slowly, a remarkably somber expression on his face.

Corkus came to a stop in front of him, regarding him silently for a moment, the crowd around them quieting slightly as they waited for what might come next.

"So," Corkus finally said, his voice calm and rather subdued, "find what you were looking for out there?"

Guts blinked as surprise rippled through him. 'What happened?'

After a moment, he shrugged. "Not all of it, I think. But enough to tell me I needed to come back here."

Corkus hummed quietly. "Fair enough, I suppose."

Corkus looked away as Guts continued to wonder just what the hell might have happened, and Guts looked with him to see one last group charging toward him with wide smiles and teary eyes.

"Well, well," he said as his smile returned, briefly noting Corkus stepping back, "if it isn't the Raiders…"

Gaston, leading the charge, threw his arm around Guts' shoulder as the other Raiders surrounded him, asking after him in a tide of words that Guts couldn't quite make out.

What he and everyone else heard clearly, though, was a clear, commanding voice cutting through the nose almost effortlessly. "That's enough for now!"

All eyes returned to Casca as she continued. "We have no guarantee they're the only force after us, or that they won't return! Pack up and prepare to move out!"

As Casca continued to issue orders, the men following her commands instantly, Guts noticed she did not meet his gaze, avoiding looking at him now.

"Casca…" Rickert said, likely wondering the same thing.

Guts put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "She's right," he said. "We'll have time to figure things out once we're out of danger."

. . .

The camp relocated with the sort of speed and efficiency that Guts expected from the Band of the Falcon. He saw fewer than he'd expected, however, and all too many with wounds that would have had them on rest in the rear lines. But they didn't have that luxury now.

Now, he sat in view of a grand, majestic waterfall, his compatriots filling him in on the details of what had transpired over the last year.

Daniel watched on, sitting on a fallen log, noting Corkus within the circle and talking to Guts. 'Good. I'd hoped what I showed him stuck,' he mused.

"This is a hell of a company," Willem, sitting next to him, remarked, Daniel glancing over to see him looking around their new camp. "No wonder it gained such a mighty reputation. Even in exile, they hold themselves higher than many soldiers. Much in thanks to you, I'd think."

Daniel chuckled, smiling slightly as he nodded. "Please, spare yourself the glad-handing. But to some extent, they certainly are. And all of them are as close as siblings. An unbreakable bond combined with an iron will… that was what carried us to greatness then."

Daniel regarded Willem intently. "But enough about us. What have you been up to?"

Willem sighed and smiled. "I got married to my fair lady, Josephine. We have a little holding we bought with the money I made as a mercenary. We have a daughter, a real rascal of a girl. Takes after her father too much, if you ask me."

Daniel chuckled. "What's her name?"

"Adelle," Willem said with a distant smile. "And she just became an older sister to a fine, calm baby boy. Our strapping young man Alaric."

Willem sighed quietly. "I wish you could meet them. Show them how true the tales I tell of you are."

"Maybe someday," Daniel replied, his tone slightly distant.

After a moment, Daniel's brow furled slightly. "And how did you come to hear about our plight? You should be at home, raising a lovely family."

"A little over a year ago, I found myself earning a little extra on the side as part of the yearly tournaments that went on near my town, a good supplement for a town guard," Willem explained. "It was only a month or two before I found out about King Adamar's proclamation denouncing the Band of the Falcon, listing you among the arch-traitors to be captured or killed."

Willem nodded slightly. "I knew right from the start how much of a crock of shit it was. Calumny at its worst," he said assuredly.

"And how is that?" Daniel asked.

"No people you call comrades would ever truly stoop so low if you had any say about it as I think you have," Willem said. "That alone told me that there was more at play than any Midlandian authorities would truly say."

"And how did you manage to run into Guts?" Daniel asked. "What way did you figure he'd be out and going to such events?"

"I didn't, frankly," Willem said. "Before I found Guts out, I was going to come and stand with you on my own, accompanying the force that was being assembled. His appearance at one of our outermost qualifiers… well, that was a stroke of the damnedest luck."

"So it would seem," Daniel said. "And how was he as a traveling companion, if I may be so brazen?"

"Not much in the way of a conversationalist," Willem said with a chuckle. "Some days it was a blessing, some a curse. He was certainly self-sufficient and remarkably skilled with that greatsword of his. You trained him well."

Willem's smile became a grin. "He's even taken up woodworking, following in your footsteps. He found a piece of dark wood early in our journey, started working on it with a carving knife a blacksmith had spare. He's been working some figure out of it whenever he has the spare time and inclination."

He paused for a moment, his gaze falling on Casca. "Come to think of it… the figure manages to look remarkably like her."

Daniel smiled, chuckling softly. "Is that so?"

It was silent again for a moment as Daniel contemplated what would come next. "So," he said, "when will you return to your family? We're rather safe now, all told, especially now that Guts is back with us."

"I figured I'd stick around for the short time it'd take for you and yours to clear your good name," Willem replied with a wry grin. After a moment, he sighed quietly. "It's been a good while since I've been with them, but Josephine and the children are strong. They can bear the wait a little longer."

"No," Daniel said quickly, his blood running chill. "Your family needs you. We'll be fine without you. Go home, please."

"I can't just abandon you and yours," Willem argued. "Your band lost almost 50 men in this attack. You'll need every able-bodied man you can get."

Daniel spared a moment to look around, seeing the rest of the band occupied in some way or another, attending to other business or celebrating Guts' return. He returned his focus to Willem, lowering his voice nearly to a whisper as he did. "Something is coming. Something that will see most of this band dead. You shouldn't abandon your wife and children like that."

Willem's eyes went wide. "And I can't abandon the man who helped me become what I am today," he hissed. "I-"

"Your presence would only add another body to the field so many would lay on," Daniel said urgently. "I can't fully say what it is now, only that it is utterly beyond my power to circumvent."

He paused for a moment. "Willem… please. When the coming Eclipse has passed, I may well find you and tell you the whole truth of it. Right now… trust that I would rather you be with your wife and children, where I know you'll be safe."

"Daniel…" Willem said, his expression one of growing desperation.

"In all the time I've spent with Guts," Daniel said quietly, looking back at the man who was the center of celebration, "I've come to fully realize that the best thing a good man can be to his children is a father, not a memory."

He looked back at the now-silent Willem. "Please, Willem. Don't just be a memory to your wife, your son and daughter, this soon."

They stared at each other in silence, Willem closing his eyes and sighing heavily. "Very well."

He stood, remaining where he was for a moment. "Do you think you will survive this coming eclipse?"

Daniel smiled wanly. "I'll do my best to."

Willem grew a warm smile of his own. "Then I'll take it as gospel. If there's anything you and Guts can do, it's crawl out of any situation, dragging whom you so please with you. One way or another."

Daniel chuckled softly, despairing silently. 'Were it so easy.'

"Give my love and regards to your family," he said aloud. "Along with my regrets that I could not meet them just yet."

Willem scoffed. "As if I would forget? Consider it already done."

Willem's smile faded after a moment. "Farewell, Daniel. And good luck."

"And to you, Willem."

With that, Willem walked away, and Daniel allowed himself a quiet sigh of relief.

"Who might that have been?"

Daniel looked up to see Anna, approaching him as she drew herself apart from the festivities. She took the seat Willem had been sitting on.

Daniel took a deep breath. "Willem is an old friend from when Guts was a child growing up in the Thunderbolts. When I first met him soon after he joined, he was a decent man, but desperate to find a better life. Reckless, to an extent."

He paused for a moment to scoff. "Something he hasn't fully shaken off, it seems."

"But I took him under my wing," he continued. "He was the sort a mercenary band like that would have ground into corpse paste. But by my side, he became my trusted second in command. And now, he's a husband, a father, a man with a home and a decent, likely rather quiet job."

Daniel's slight smile faded away. "The sort of man who shouldn't be caught up with us in the coming days."

"I see," Anna said quietly.

They looked out at the Band of the Falcon, wounded, weary, but in high spirits. "He does indeed seem a good man, if he was willing to risk so much for you and those you stand with."

"A time will come when that is needed," Daniel said. "But for this… charnel tempest that looms over us…"

He shook his head at a loss for words. So, he simply studied Guts and Judeau and Rickert and Pippin, all surrounded by celebrating comrades.
"Come along," Anna finally said, standing and beckoning Daniel. "Let's join the festivities. Have a little joy while we can."

Daniel nodded, standing with her. "That sounds like as good an idea as any," he replied as they approached the near-raucous group, a cheer going up as they joined.

. . .

The night wore on, and eventually, the Band of the Falcon, for the most part, drifted off to sleep, one way or another.

One of the very few who waited to watch the sunrise was Guts, some of his armor set aside for the moment as he leaned on one of the trees and watched the rays of light hitting the waterfall before them, brilliant little rainbows leaping off the waterfall.

It was a remarkable sight. One that Guts, as far as he could tell, appreciated alone.

Then, from behind him, he heard footsteps approaching, waiting and continuing his vigil until he saw Casca walk past the tree he leaned on.

She looked back at him for the briefest of moments, then nodded forward as she caught his gaze. "Come with me for a little while."

Guts' brow furrowed slightly as Casca continued on, following her after a moment.

They walked for far longer than Guts was expecting, entering a little clearing that was a decent ways away from camp. Whatever Casca wanted to say, she wanted it to remain private.

The first words she spoke as they came to the middle of the clearing were the last he ever expected to hear.

"Defend yourself."

Guts blinked. "What? What can I defend? Everything went wrong when I left. Hell, I don't even know what-"

He found himself cut off as he realized, in the instant that Casca drew her sword and pivoted with utter focus in her eyes, that her words were far more literal than he first thought.

'The hell?' he thought as he pivoted, putting a hand on the end of his hilt to tilt it just so, his blade's guard meeting her blade with the clang of ringing steel.

As Casca pulled back, guts backed away. "Wait a minute! Time out! That strike… you trying to kill me?"

"Defend yourself, damn it!" Casca shouted, charging forward to try at a lunging stab.

Guts responded by continuing to retreat, Casca coming after him doggedly. 'I'm not going to hurt her like this!' he promised himself.

"Stop fooling around!" Casca snarled. "Draw your sword!"

Again she tried to charge into a stab, but Guts simply stepped aside and held out his foot, sending Casca sprawling into the grass.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" Guts asked. "Even with everything I know I messed up, it seems like so much to try and kill me."

He sighed as he shook his head. "What's going on?"

"It is your fault," Casca growled as she picked herself up and threw herself at Guts. "All of it! Everything we've lost!"

Finally, Guts drew his sword, the blades themselves clashing. "All of it?" Guts asked.

"Yes," Casca said, her voice low. "Midland, the Falcons, Griffith… all because you left us! Because you abandoned Griffith!"

Guts stepped back, catching the hilt of Casca's sword in one hand. "Abandon…"

Guts clenched his jaw as he saw an image of Griffith, kneeling in the snow as he walked away. "All because I walked away? I somehow abandoned him?"

Casca's face twisted, anguish added to her rage. "You really are a fool."

Guts pushed her back as he released her sword, and she tried for an upward lunge at Guts' face. "I thought I told you back then!" she shouted. "To accomplish something so grand, he has to endure so much more than with any other dream!"

"But you…" Casca said, her anger bleeding into sorrow. "You made Griffith weak! He's no…"

Casca reached the peak of her attack, leveling her sword at him for another stab. "We were no good without you!"

Guts' eyes went wide at what she really must have meant, the image of Griffith in the snow joined by… her.

Guts barely even felt the sword enter his side, scraping off his chestplate and sliding over his ribs for a moment before it stopped. He only saw her eyes, wide with shock as she looked into his, his eyes which he felt were dead.

Casca began to pull the blade from his side, but Guts grabbed it, holding it still.

"Guts…" Casca said, her anger having flickered out for embers of dull shock. "You should have been able to dodge that. Why?"

She tried again, Guts keeping the blade where it was. "Guts," Casca said, desperation beginning to take anger's place. "Let it go!"

"What else should I have done?" Guts asked quietly.

Casca paused for a moment. "Guts, if we don't patch that up-"

"I'm only doing what Griffith would have done," Guts interjected. "Finding my own way. Doing my own thing."

"What else should I have done?"

Casca, tears welling in her eyes, began to pull at the blade again. "Alright, I get it! Let go, you fool! Please!"

Finally, Guts' grip slackened enough for her to stumble back, falling to the ground and sitting there for a moment. They remained there, silent, for one heartbeat. Then another.

Finally, Casca made a sound somewhere between sighing and chuckling. "You know…" she said, all emotion gone from her voice, "I know you're right. I really do. It's just…"

She looked up at him, and Guts couldn't help but feel a chill trickle down his spine at how… empty Casca's eyes were. "I just can't take it anymore."

She slowly got to her feet as she continued. "You remember how I wanted to be Griffith's sword."

Guts nodded. "Yeah. I do."

"That woman… the woman who wanted to become that… She was bluffing, then."

Casca looked down at the ground. "I'm sure I truly meant it at first, but I also realized back then that Griffith wasn't a god. And that I was a woman."

She shook her head. "How easy would it be if I could just… will my heart to feel as I wanted it to? But I'm not a fool. That night on the stairway, I think I first realized that if Griffith set his sights on the throne, then Princess Charlotte was his quickest way there. Knowing Griffith… he would reach for it someday."

She paused for a moment. "I thought, for the briefest moment, I could bear the weight of this tragedy too. I wanted to believe that, even if I couldn't be his sword, or his woman, I could still at least be indispensable to the realization of his dream."

Casca slowly began stepping back. "But that day, standing in the snow and watching you leave… I finally realized that there wasn't room by Griffith's side like there used to be. My dreams had ended."

She sighed, the sound almost lost in the rush of the waterfall behind them. "I can't do it anymore," she admitted. "Desperately protecting the Band of the Falcon, desperately hanging on to a fruitless hope like I might disappear… but enough's enough."

Guts slowly began to step forward as Casca stood at the edge of the long drop into the water. "I couldn't be a woman, or a sword, or something invaluable," Casca said. "To keep protecting the cracked dream of a man who might not even be alive… I just… can't…"

Finally, she looked up at Guts and smiled, her eyes a void. "I'm so tired… you and Daniel… you can take care of it…"

Then she closed her eyes and began to lean back.

. . .

Casca would take just a few more secrets to her death as she prepared for it. Just a few more things she knew Guts could figure out. 'I realized something else, that day. Even though he destroyed everything we worked for… even though his blood stained my sword… even though I hate him, feel like I want to kill him… I can't.'

'More than Griffith kneeling on the field of his first defeat, I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. Walking away, without even looking back.'

'I didn't want to admit what I'd become. That the me I'd been since I'd met Griffith, that her feelings would be false. So I lived by my sword. Willing to die by it for my unrequited feelings.'

'There was honesty in the way I lived. That alone was my pride, a gift given by Griffith. But now… I guess it doesn't matter, does it?'

She found the edge of the cliff… let herself go…

Then, she felt a vice grip on her hand, her body slamming against the cliffside before she opened her eyes, and looked up at… him.

'Why?' she thought as she watched Guts strain to pull her up, grabbing her shoulders and tossing her away from the long drop she had resigned herself to.

"Damn it!" she heard him shout. "You need to just stay away from cliffs! I can't keep throwing myself to my potential death like that!"

She heard him wince in pain, and with that simplest noise, the dam finally broke.

"You fool…"

"Huh?" Guts stood still as she turned and approached him, placing a hand over the one that covered the wound she'd given him.

"Every time with us…" she said. "You're always getting hurt. Always bleeding. Because of me."

She looked up to him, stifling a sob no longer. "You're a fool," she said, and she was sure that Guts saw through her eyes her very soul, grief and guilt and resignation all mixed up within her.

She slumped forward, her head hitting his chest as everything, seemingly beyond her will, finally clicked into place. "Fool," she muttered, her sobs gone to weeping.

. . .

Guts stood there silently for a moment, then raised a calloused hand to gently wipe the tears from Casca's face. He wiped each cheek, then kept wiping until they stayed dry. At last, he gently bowed his head, gently kissing her hair. His lips wandered down, forehead, the bridge of her nose, then he paused as she gently lifted her face, his lips just gently brushing the tip of her nose as he hesitated.

They looked at each other, all that they had gone through, all that they hadn't said reflected in each other. And amazingly, he knew they both knew it.

His hand brushed down to cup her chin, a rough thumb going past smooth, soft lips as he gently lifted her to him, not knowing quite how they'd come to sit on the soft grass.

Then, their lips met softly, and they became strangers to each other in a way that fighting side by side for years could never have dispelled. But here, now, they could find out the end of that path that had started so long ago in the hollow of those roots.

. . .

It had been a process that had been strangely quick, strangely slow, getting their armor off, then their clothes, as if time had begun to wander away from them. Now, the gentle roar of the waterfall next to them a blanket of noise, Guts gently laid Casca down in between the roots of a great tree. She covered her chest, seemingly one last piece of armor for them to try and break, as she looked up at him with a hesitant expectation that he knew he mirrored.

It felt so strange, to loom over her like this, watching as she glanced away with a slight blush on her cheeks.

"You're shaking," he said quietly as he brushed her cheek, feeling her trembling. "Are you scared?"

It was silent for a moment before she nodded. "I think I am…" she said hesitantly. "Even with all we know about each other, I still wonder how I'm going to change, being with you like this. If everything will start to become a lie."

She shook her head as she looked up, her eyes squeezing shut in a way that twisted at Guts' heart. "Like everything's going to fade away and be gone forever…" she whispered.

It was silent again for a moment, Guts drawing closer and taking in the smell of Casca that seemed to overpower all else here. "I'm such a coward…" Casca whispered again as Guts studied her for a moment, her body laid out before him.

Muscles and scars, built up by years of fighting, became roads and channels for Guts' finger to trace gently down, feeling where he touched quiver gently in his wake. It was strange, almost, how this body he'd lifted from time to time felt so different like this. "These scars…" he said as his finger circled the jagged marks. "These must be from recent battles."

"And these…" he traced up and down her body, gently, slowly. "Big and little, all from your time…"

He flinched slightly as she sat up, huddling in on herself slightly as she blushed a little deeper. "C'mon, Casca." Guts said with a quiet sigh. "No point in hiding them. You wear them like those commendations all the other soldiers get."

"Maybe," Casca said hotly, then faltered. "But even I'm… I'm a… woman. They don't…"

"I know what you are." Guts said firmly. "You get all jealous, can get real angry, and can throw a mean punch. That's plenty womanly for you. But more than that, I feel it. How serious you were. How serious you are."

He looked at her, into those eyes that had entranced him now. "I understand," he said, the words becoming weary. "Nobody lies their way into a body with this many scars."

It was silent between them for a moment, then Guts took Casca by the shoulders. "If you spend too much time on the dead, the broken, some say, you'll find death perched on your shoulder. He was on yours earlier, I think."

He pulled her into an embrace, feeling her sweat as he breathed it in, the scent mixing with his. "Don't think about those things. Right now, all you need to do is feel alive."

He felt her relax, her arms coming up to feel his as he kissed her again, laying her back on the ground as his hands began to wander her body again alongside his lips.

He heard her sigh as he went, down and down and down, shifting himself on the grass that now gently needled his legs and hips as he descended. Her breath hitched as he gently kissed her other lips, breathing still more of her in as he kissed her again.

He took a deep breath as he rose after what felt like forever and a moment. "Alright," he said quietly, steadying himself as he placed himself in front of her again. "Here I go…"

He was in, and she gasped, and Guts found himself fumbling silently within himself as he tried to figure out what to do next. He'd heard the mercenaries around him growing up describing what this felt like to their comrades at one point or another, but here, now, all he had was instinct.

It was a somewhat frantic thing at first, in and in and in, the times between punctuated by Casca's little gasps and moans that urged him on. "W-wait!" she finally said after a moment, Guts pausing for a moment as she caught her breath. "Please… a little… a little gentler…" she whispered.

Guts looked at her as he nodded once, the effort of slowing his pace becoming almost second nature as they continued.

Their passion seemed to make them climb the tree as they shifted one way or another, Guts feeling the warmth of his blood, driven by a heartbeat that was still running wild, going down her body as she turned and he began again.

Guts' mind, for a moment, simply drifted within the strange calmness he found here, an oneness that seemed utterly inexplicable. Then, he looked at Casca's face…

It wasn't Casca's face anymore. It was him, that wad of cloth a gag in his mouth he could feel, and he felt… monstrous. Something was behind him. He was behind him again!

"Yer ass got sold out, kid…"

The forest was gone, Casca was gone, and Gambino now loomed over him, that tree he'd been found under behind. "You should have died."

"Guts?"

He focused, saw that boy looking back at him. What was he doing? Why wasn't he doing anything?

He finally gained the strength to do what Gambino said. Like a good soldier. His hands reached out, grasped the boy's neck, began to squeeze…

"You should have died."

Over and over again, the words echoed, the blade going into Gambino's heart over and over again. A soldier didn't kill his commanding officer. A son didn't kill the man who gave him life. Gambino was better than this…

Then, finally, Casca cried out in pain, and he blinked, his eyes going wide as he realized what, exactly, he was doing.

He let go, stepping back as he began to tremble. He was supposed to let go. Why couldn't he let go?

"Guts?" he heard Casca ask plaintively. "Why…"

He cut her off as he strode forward, slamming the tree as his eyes darted to and fro, trying desperately to look at anything but her. "I didn't mean it," he muttered. "I just did what I was trained to do. I… I didn't mean to kill you, Gambino…"

"Gambino…" Casca said. " Guts, you can't…"

"He tried to murder me." Guts growled. "He gave me up to Donovan. I was pinned despite everything I'd been trained to do, and he took me right there, and I couldn't do a goddamned thing!"

His breath heaved, and he leaned back as he laughed almost deliriously. "But he still saved my ass from Wyald. Gave Daniel a chance to drive him off. Gave me medicine for the cut he gave me across my nose. It doesn't make sense."

"Guts," Casca said gently, "you defended yourself…"

Guts' hands slammed into the tree again, on either side of Casca's head, the stinging in his palms an almost welcome feeling. "No! It's not that simple! He should have been better than that! He still knew how to swing a sword without his leg. He should have stopped me."

He sank to his hands and knees in front of her as it all continued to pour out. "But he was always drinking. He'd talk to that dog of his. 'Shisu, Shisu'. He only ever acknowledged me when I could help him with something. Then, he…"

"Attacked you."

Guts looked up at Casca, eyes wide with shock as he took in her sympathetic expression. "Daniel told me about it. When you first met us."

It was silent again before Guts gave a choked chuckle. "He should have parried me. He taught me how to do that from the ground. But my sword was there. In his heart…"

He shook his head as he looked at the ground again. "It doesn't make sense," he muttered softly. "It doesn't make sense."

He felt tears, hot and prickly and confusing as all hell, beginning to flow. Then, he jumped as he felt Casca's hand on his shoulder, straightening up and looking at her for a moment, kneeling towards him.

He stood, sighing as he covered his face. "S… Sorry. I did something horrible to you. I… Sorry."

His mind was a mess and his heart ached. "This was your first time. And I did… that…"

"Guts-" Casca began, then jumped slightly as Guts turned and threw her cloak over her in one smooth motion.

He turned away, beginning to walk. "I can't just say forget about it now. I'll go if you tell me to get lost. Otherwise, I swear I'll make it up to you on the battlefield."

"Guts." he heard Casca say firmly, hearing the cloak shifting as she likely stood. "You defended yourself. You did what you had to do. You couldn't figure for what came next."

He stood in place, pondering the words for a moment as he looked out at the tranquil forest. "I'm supposed to get over it." Guts said. "Daniel said that's what you do after something like that. And this past year, I thought I finally did it. So… why'd it come back now?"

He felt like he was babbling, but he continued regardless. "It's laughable, really. I've killed so many people. More than I can count now. So why? Why him? Gambino? It's such…"

He paused as he felt Casca, warm, soft somehow, pressed against his back, her arms wrapping around him.

Guts opened his mouth, then sighed quietly. "Don't worry about it," he said quietly. "It'd just be us licking each other's wounds instead of something actually special."

"Would it not be something special anyway?" Casca retorted.

Guts had no answer as she continued. "Even if that's all that, it's… it's fine. I've already shown you my weakness. I've shown you everything I am, now. Somehow… I feel like we're finally even."

Guts felt Casca's arms begin to shift, her hands tracing the scars on his body as he shivered at the sensation. "You've bled so much for me," she whispered. "These wounds… they're from the 150-man battle, aren't they?"

He raised an arm as she walked around him, her hand coming up under the still-tender gash she'd given him with that stab, roughly dressed before all this truly started. "Even the wound I gave you…" she said, before gently kissing it, once, then again.

She fully circled in front of him as she embraced him again. "Licking wounds is fine by me," she said before looking up at him. "You can give me a wound too. And I'd be proud of it."

He lost himself in her eyes, then her lips, then her body again, as they both lost themselves to each other, the gentle breeze softly stroking their bodies as they intertwined, became something more than they ever were apart. Every movement, every breath, solidified it, solidified them, before at last, exhausted, they drifted off to a moment's sleep entwined in each other's arms.

 

[Warmachine375]

"We are divided as to whether or not we should try and preserve Griffith or to kill him in the time before the Eclipse. Both methods have their merits."

Click to shrink...

Keep Griffith on the good side would be the best and it would certainly deny the Godhand that their scheme of getting him as their new member was ruined.

"There is every chance that, should the Band of the Falcon survive the coming Eclipse, it will continue to be hounded until it is ground to dust, whether by Midland or another force."

Click to shrink...

Midland would probably have bigger problems in form of the Kushan Empire invading them which would allow the Band of Falcon to eventually recover and regain their strength and numbers to make a comeback and save the day especially after the king dies of old age and isolation while Princess Charlotte let Griffith have the throne after marriage.

"The Godhand is not an infallible force. Our very presence alone already deviates from their desired course. Further action would likely upset their plans completely."

Click to shrink...

Godhand might take it as a threat and have their Apostles like Zodd or even some would-be members of Neo Band of Falcon to correct that.

"You are from another world as well. You will die like the rest, however frenzied they may be," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

Click to shrink...

Skull Knight has no idea of other powers far greater than the Frenzied Flame from the Lands Between and Land of Shadows as well. Especially the Outer Gods.

Anyway, this is a really awesome crossover story so far and I will be watching for more with great interest.

 

[StriderInCosmos]

Chapter 24: Unions of Utmost Consequence

Crag-step Forest

Casca's eyes slowly opened as she found herself… warm. Comfortable. The sun was bright as she looked up from where she lay, even filtering through the trees as the rays brushed them like gentle fingertips.

Them. She looked over, Guts looking up at the sky as well. 'Amazing…' she thought as she pondered on what they had just done together. 'It's like my body's completely different…'

"So," she said after a moment, shifting herself to look more directly to regard Guts with a slight grin, "that was your first time too, then?"

Guts didn't look at her directly, but his expression tightening up told her everything that she needed to know.

As Guts turned away from her, she continued. "I mean, you were so rough and frantic at first. But, after all you've gone through…"

Her grin vanished as she paused. "I'm not surprised you only let Daniel touch you for more than a moment."

"It never mattered with you, either," Guts finally said.

Casca's brows rose in surprise as he continued. "After all we've done together… it was fine. But only with you."

Casca smiled slightly as she leaned over to gently kiss Guts' cheek. That was a rare privilege. 'Though after this, it's probably a little tame,' she mused silently.

After a few more minutes, they sat up together, regarding the nature that surrounded them. "So," Casca finally said, "do you think you'll stay with the Falcons after we rescue Griffith? It'll be nice. You and Judeau, Pippin, Rickert… even Gaston. It'll be as close to the old days as we'll get now."

Guts was silent for a moment as he pondered the question. "Maybe," he finally said. "It'll be nice to be able to protect more than just myself again, I think. But as for how long that'll last…"

Casca looked over at Guts, her brow furrowing as he continued. "I don't know if my place is truly here. Sure, the people I want to protect are here right now, but… something tells me we won't be here forever. We'll have to move on, some time or another. Besides…"

Guts looked over at the waterfall that had provided a calming wall of sound, a contemplative look in his eyes. "There's a waterfall like that over where I spent a lot of time training."

And, for a little while, Guts told her of his travels. Of the people he'd met. Of the elderly blacksmith and his adoptive daughter he'd begun to find his dream with. Casca listened intently as Guts just… talked openly.

"I've gotta admit, I don't know if I've found my own dream completely, or even if it's worthwhile, but at least I'm close. Whether I find the rest of it here, or I have to go somewhere else, I'll go where I need to go. I'll stick around and help rescue Griffith, but after that… I can't make any guarantees."

Casca kept her expression level even as her soul twisted in an old, familiar anguish at the possibility. 'Not again…'

"You and Griffith really are alike," she said as she shifted to put herself in front of Guts. She chuckled after a moment. "Something like that must have taken all the brains you had before you left."

In an instant, her face flashed into anger as she took a handful of leaves and threw them into Guts' face. "It's all the same with you two!" she shouted as she stood. "All about your dreams, what you want! It's almost like it doesn't matter if I'm around or not!"

As Guts stood, she continued. "Fine, then! You can go out and throw yourself in front of whatever monsters are out there and die with your precious sword, if that's what you're…"

She was cut off by Guts putting a hand on her shoulder. "Then…" Guts said, far more hesitantly than she was expecting at first before pausing for a moment.

"Come with me," he said firmly.

Casca's mouth fell open in shock at the request as Guts continued. "I don't know what comes next, whether I'll be with the Falcons for long or whatever. But if there's anything that I've learned, it's that you won't get in the way of my dream."

"Besides," Guts said as he stepped closer, "right now, I can't get enough of you. I want this hundreds, thousands of times, now. And being able to count on you in a fight is one hell of a bonus."

Casca looked away, feeling her cheeks flush. "You fool…" she whispered.

"Come on," Guts said, Casca able to hear the quiet smile on the man's face. "You know better than that."

She looked back up to him and saw the resolve in his eyes. He… he meant it.

She smiled slightly, and they shared a quiet kiss in the light of the dying day.

. . .

Deep in the Tower of Rebirth, Griffith lay in the dark of a bare stone room, the only covering of his now-ruined body he had a helmet. It was a plain, bare, smooth mockery of the helmet he had worn into battle, secured around his head with a padlock.

Time had lost all meaning, the passing of days or centuries seeming equally likely, and the smothering shadows that filled the entire room had become a canvas for his memories.

The streets of a castle town, its buildings' high walls that made the stone paths that divided them a valley through which he'd cavorted as a child. The little battles of childhood, and the spoils of meaningless, trivial 'wars' fought for pleasure.

And the castle… that castle that he could never seem to tear his eyes off of when it came into sight. It shone and glimmered in the shining sun, set upon the hill that lent it its commanding presence.

That was the spark that had lit up his dream. That would be his prize, above the scraps and disused toys he was used to winning.

What had happened? He still couldn't fully wrap his head around it. His body had lost nearly all sensation, and he seemed almost to float even as he knew he lay on the ground.

But one thing remained clear. The face. His face.

The face of a man who stirred a fiery maelstrom of emotions within him, joy and regret, hatred and tenderness, hunger and gnawing pain, all the threads that stitched his likely fraying sanity together to keep it from coming apart.

Others he could keep his cool with, mold like clay their goodwill or their animosity to serve his ends, their endpoints either loyalty or fear. But Guts…

'Why do I lose all composure concerning him?' he couldn't help but wonder. By all rights, he should curse the name and the back the man had turned on him until his dying breath. But Guts, at the same time, sustained him. How?

How had the man who was among his simplest tools, easiest to direct, taken such a hold upon his mind? How had the light of that man made his dream, that shining moment he'd reached for his whole life, seem so… dull?

It was all a far greater, sweeter agony than any pain the seemingly infinitely creative torturer could inflict on him.

Then, he heard a sound. The first sound other than his breathing he'd caught inside this cell. The sound of a wall… cracking. Of a stone sliding free.

He looked around for the source of the sound, and impossibly, found it. Even with no source of light within the cell, he could see… what were those?

It, and he was sure it was an it, was a mass of dark flesh, twisting and writhing as faces, mouths, and noses appeared and disappeared. It slithered out of the wall, little arms appearing to help drag it forward for a moment before they disappeared back into its body as it crawled toward his hand.

Then… it… spoke? "Oh, prince…" a raspy voice whispered.

'Prince?' Griffith thought incredulously as it continued to approach.

"Prince of us, the unforgiven," the voice continued as it paused in front of his index finger, a pair of tiny hands gently lifting it to a pair of lips in a gentle kiss. "We seek an audience with thee."

Griffith watched this display of obeisance with no small amount of shock, then glanced back at the hole. Where had this creature come from?

Another voice, deeper, stronger, seemed to reverberate through the cell. "We await thee."

Griffith's eyes went wide as he saw… an impossible space within the hole, the voice, belonging to one of the four equally impossible beings within, continuing heedless of his awe. "In that time and place shall we meet. For we are kinsmen, O blessed King of Longing."

. . .

Daniel watched the camp as it concerned itself with one of the halves of the Band packing up and getting ready to move out. They would go to the border of the Morgar to meet with those who would go to rescue Griffith. The rest would remain here to keep watch for any Midlandian forces that might try and destroy them in the meantime.

Anna intently watched the carefully orchestrated chaos alongside him, a grim expression on her face.

"To see so many unaware of their impending doom…" she said, Rhia the main voice at the moment. "It seems a terrible burden to bear for one such as we are."

"That it is," Daniel replied quietly. This world was not the only one he had seen the destiny of, however obscured or changed it might have been. Each weighed on him in dreadfully unique ways.

Daniel shook his head slightly. "So, you up to leading these men while we're gone?"

"We'll manage," Rhia replied. "Ulikam, at the very least, will allow us to manage. I am surprised, however, that little Rickert will still remain behind, despite being uninjured."

Daniel shrugged slightly. "He's our sharpest lookout, and the quickest on his feet. If there's anyone who can get to us with urgent news, it's going to be him. If nothing else, that was going to stay his feet while we traveled to Wyndham."

He looked over at Anna with a sure expression that was nevertheless tinged with sorrow. "And regardless of what happens next… he will likely escape to find us again."

Anna nodded, then stood. "Very well. I suppose I should return to Gaston's side before we leave. I shall see you again."

"That you shall," Daniel replied. "One way or another."

"And Griffith?"

Daniel cupped his chin thoughtfully as he considered the question, ramifications of all kinds looming large in his mind. "You have a connection with nature, with living things," he finally said. "Does that extend to healing living creatures?"

Anna nodded after a moment. "We will have to stir one of the other souls within who knows of such things. It will take time. But we will likely be ready when you arrive."

Daniel nodded in turn. "Very well. They will be a greatly appreciated help alongside what little I can offer in that regard."

Before either could continue, a voice cut through the noisy air. "I want everyone who's saddled up and moved out by noon! Make haste for the border! We who will rescue Griffith will be going now, so heed the orders of those placed in command of you!"

Daniel looked for the source of the voice, watching for a moment as Casca stood by her horse on a hill, mounting it rather tenderly.

Daniel smiled slightly as he made his way over to Shadowdanse, mounting her and making his way over to Guts' side. "Ready to go, ma'am?" he called out as they rode up beside Casca.

Casca looked over at Guts and Daniel with a slight, but burning glare, but nodded regardless. "We have to be. At the pace our group can get to, Wyndham is only three day's ride."

With that, they got on their way, Daniel falling in behind Guts and Casca as they led the charge. He glanced over to see, looking out at the pair, Judeau. His expression was pensive, almost distant.

As the leading pair drew ahead, Daniel took the opportunity. "A coin for your thoughts, Judeau?" he asked.

Judeau looked over at him with some slight surprise. "It's just… good to see Guts back with us. Casca in particular seems to have bounced back some."

"But I'm guessing that's not why you're so hawk-like in your focus," Daniel said quietly.

Judeau looked down at his saddlehorn for long moments. "There are…" he began, trailing off.

"Your words are safe with me, son," Daniel replied. "Speak when you're ready."

Even with such assurance, Judeau remained silent for moments, then minutes, then hours.

Daniel nodded, looking back to the road as he watched the sun begin its exodus to the horizon. 'Don't worry,' Daniel thought. 'I already know.'

. . .

3 Days Later

The sun dipped past the horizon, walls once inviting and assuring now a looming, dangerous redoubt cloaked in shadow.

But, as the group dismounted well beyond them, and Casca lit a hooded lamp to advance into the night, Guts found himself rather… unsure of what they were doing. Or, at the very least, where they were going to do it.

The headstones of the graveyard seemed to stretch endlessly into the night, the light of Casca's lamp, dim though it might have been, drawing a curtain of shadow around them which those stones they passed seemed to vanish in.

"So," he said, brow furled as he kept himself ready to draw his sword, "what are we doing skulking around a graveyard? I doubt we're out here trying to visit someone's grandpa."

"We're looking for a secret passage," Daniel replied. "One of a few into and out of the city proper."

"This one," Judeau rejoined, "should take us the closest to where Griffith is."

Guts nodded. "Fair enough, I guess. But a place as big as this, we can't find one secret passage that easily, I'll hang up my sword-"

"Stop," Casca said, kneeling in front of a decently-sized headstone, her hand brushing past a strange mark carved into the top right. "Right here."

Guts sighed quietly as he rolled his eyes, Daniel chuckling softly. "Retirement it is, it seems…"

Casca nodded, standing back. "Pippin?"

Pippin nodded in turn, stepping forward and placing his massive hands on the stones, beginning to strain. After a few moments, the stone began to grind free, rocking back and forth. Then, with a final grunt, he pushed it over, revealing a worked stairway leading into shadow beyond.

"Alright, let's go," Casca said, stepping down into the hole that had been made.

Before she could fully descend into the earth, however, a voice stopped her. "Hold on a moment," Guts said.

All eyes turned to him as he continued. "What gives with you charging in there? You're our leader. Why not have Pippin or Judeau go first?"

"How much does this matter?" Casca replied as he looked back. "Every one of us is among the most skilled warriors in the Band. Even with whatever training you did, I don't think you could manage this all on your own."

She stood, turning to face Guts and drawing close to him. "But that isn't the problem, is it?" she said at nearly a whisper. "You're worried, aren't you?"

"Of course, I'm worried about my commanding officer!" Guts shot back. "I'm already worried about the one we're going to rescue. Putting yourself in danger does nothing productive. I'm a bigger slab of meat for swords to hit, anyway."

Casca was silent for a moment, then sighed quietly. "You've thought about this," she said, handing the lantern over to Guts. "Follow my directions, and I'll watch your back."

She said this last part with a slight smile and stepped aside to let Guts step into the hole.

As Guts did so, he glanced back at the rest of the group. Caught the slight grins of Judeau and Pippin. And the warm, slight smile that Daniel had.

The others followed after him, and they made their way into the dark. Every few minutes, as they came to a turn or fork, Casca would speak. "To the left. Stay straight. Right here."

The voice didn't even echo, even as the hallway widened, allowing Casca to come up to Guts' side and lead him more easily. "So who gave you guys the secret to this?" he asked.

"We had a woman on the inside," Judeau said. "One of the handmaidens gave us a direction to go."

Guts hummed softly before they stopped at a stairwell, a stone arch leading up into darkness.

Casca now led the way up the stairs, pausing as they came to a stop under a uniform slab of what looked like marble. Again, Pippin moved to the fore, pressing his hands against the 'ceiling' and pushing up.

The ceiling slid away, allowing them to clamber out of… a tomb. "A mausoleum…" Pippin said quietly. "An ominous portent."

"So we go from the grave to the grave," Casca said, her tone trying to break the almost oppressive atmosphere.

Guts, for one, was rather unimpressed. "That was weak."

"At least we're walking around," Daniel replied. "We've got that over the stiffs here, royal blood or no."

Guts shrugged as he continued to look around. Then, another pinprick of light manifested at the far end of the massive chamber. "Who's there?" a rather tentative voice asked.

'Damn it!' Guts thought as his hand went to the hilt of his sword, holding out the lantern to Casca to give him the use of both hands. 'We're found!'

"Wait," Casca said firmly, putting a hand on Guts' arm even as she took the lantern. "I recognize that voice."

Guts, against his judgment, waited, the steady light resolving itself into two figures concealed in hooded cloaks, a potential third in the shadows behind them. "The Band of the Falcon arrives at last," one of the figures said, a woman pulling her hood back, revealing a face framed in dark black curls. "I recognize a few of you."

With that, the figure behind the duo, cloaked as the other two women were, stepped forward. "Thank goodness," a voice that scraped on the edge of familiarity for Guts said. "I could only fearfully wonder what would come to pass were you not to arrive."

Guts frowned slightly. "And who're you?"

It was silent for a moment, then the woman nodded slightly. "Ah. That's right. You're the one who spoke so roughly with Julius that day so long ago when you were with Griffith. 'Hey, pal', as I recall your words were."

Guts' brow furled slightly as the young woman reached for her hood, drawing it back and revealing a face that made everything click. "I do not know if you recall me," the young woman said, "but I am Charlotte. How do you do?"

Guts nodded slightly. "Y'know… I kind of figured, honestly."

Before he could continue, he felt himself being pulled into a bow by a hand on the edge of his breastplate. "Show some respect for a second!" Casca scolded.

Casca willingly followed Guts' lead after a moment as Charlotte tried, and failed, to object. "I am Casca, Lieutenant Commander of the Band of the Falcon and second in command to Griffith. I thank you for Your Highness' devotion to ensuring we could undertake this task."

Charlotte nodded. "I see. I remember you too."

Guts saw Casca start slightly as Charlotte continued. "You were with Sir Theisman when your company set out for Doldrey."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "I did not notice before… but I see it clearly now. You are a woman…"

Casca hesitated for a moment, and Guts grinned as he looked over at Judeau. "It's dark enough anyone could be confused, after all."

Casca's only response was to swing the metal lantern up, smacking Guts squarely in the face. As Guts stepped back and winced audibly, Casca nodded.

"We can't waste any more time on pleasantries here," she said. "There isn't much more time until dawn."

Charlotte took a deep breath and nodded. "Very well. Follow me."

 

[Anu-El]

Noooooooo damn you cursed cliffhanger!!

 

[Mynameisunimport]

I'm reallyhoping that when Griffith trys to ascend Daniel kills him no holding back just all out