Privilege (Tales from Falconia)

by Inky_Blackheart

Summary:

Life continues after the Eclipse. Charlotte and Guts fall into the new roles they're meant to play, and Griffith basks in the light of his kingdom.

These are stories from the realm of Falconia.

Chapter 1: Pride

Summary:

Griffith searches the battlefield for gifts for his two fiances and contemplates his love for one in particular.

Notes:

CW: The aftermath of battle, discussion of death, borderline imprisonment

PRIDE

The battlefield Griffith found himself on was not the battlefields of yore, with pointless bloodshed, endless heaps of broken bodies rife with loot, and a mix of incompetence and over-zealousness. No, the battles Griffith found himself in now that he had achieved the power that was always meant to be his were more elegant affairs. His archers? Impeccable, fantastic aim. His warriors? Fearsome beasts united for one purpose, difficult to predict or stop. Even his human soldiers had the fanatical devotion to him that the old Hawks never quite managed. As Guinevere trotted through the fields where they had done battle with the Kushan, all he saw made him glow with pride.

“Boss.” Nosferatu Zodd landed beside him in his fully bestial form. “I picked off those attempting to retreat, as you said to. We left two alive to tell the story of our battle here today.”

“Good.” Guinevere snorted at the sight of Zodd, taking one step back. She wasn't his biggest fan, even now. “And our losses?”

Zodd scoffed. “You know I don't care about that. Don't ask me such things.”

Griffith bristled at that. He knew Zodd served him because Griffith had wounded him before, and because another war with opponents both mortal and supernatural was of interest to him. However, his loyalty was not absolute. When he was no longer amused or intrigued, who knew if the great beast could be counted on. Still, to Griffith twas better to have him on his side than opposed. “I will not. I will find someone who does know.”

“Locus or Irvine would.” Zodd informed him. His massive tail twitched.

“Did you not get your fill of battle today?” Griffith asked, narrowing his eyes. “You are restless.”

“When are you going to let the black swordsman join us?” Zodd regarded Griffith with his yellow eyes, pupils in slits. “He's alive, is he not? Why does he sit behind the walls of Falconia, when his true strength would be better served here?”

Griffith's grip tightened on Guinevere's reins. He started straight ahead, at the rapidly descending sun, rather than look at Zodd. “Because I don't want him here.”

“Why not? Scared of sharing the glory?”

Griffith shook his head. “No. I wouldn't have to. He doesn't have the power I now possess, even with his skill. He is content to serve as my sword, should I need him to.” He thought of how he left Guts before coming here, how he had to sneak out before his love woke so he didn't have to listen to Guts asking him to stay or begging to come with. Sometimes, he considered staying with him, but his burden was too great. It was why he'd waited until he'd made significant progress in pushing back the Kushan before he'd retrieved his two fiances, Charlotte and Guts. He did not need distractions as he secured his place on the battlefield and in the hearts and minds of Falconia.

But the morning he was to leave, Griffith woke to his love's large body wrapped around him in sleep. Guts had had looked so sweet, so gentle, that it was easy to forget his deformities and the fact that he was very, very hard to control. He'd always been that way, but since they'd been imprisoned he was frightening, almost a berserker in any conflict, determined to tear whoever threatened Griffith apart. The fool would get himself killed, and then Griffith would lose those mornings together, when Guts's warmth breath was on his neck, his huge body a protective blanket. “I love him,” Griffith admitted. Becoming a member of the God Hand hadn't changed that. “I don't want to see him killed.”

Zodd scoffed. “Thought you'd be a bit less soft about it.”

“There's nothing soft about being in love.” Griffith lifted his head to look Zodd in the eyes. “I speak truly. Love is difficult. It is exhausting. It is draining and energizing all at once, a source of great joy and crushing sorrow. It is all-consuming, and requires more sacrifice than you could ever know. There is nothing soft about it.”

“If you say so.” Zodd didn't sound convinced. It didn't matter. “I thought he was there to protect your other love. Guess I was wrong.”

“That is part of it. He's desperate for companionship. I knew he'd latch onto her with the absence of anyone else to give him attention. It will reduce conflict between them in the future.” Griffith looked out at the field once more, spotting Irvine stepping around the fallen bodies to retrieve his arrows. “Is there anything else you'd like to tell me, Zodd the Immortal?”

The great beast shook his head. “No. I'll stop by the camp and then find somewhere to sleep tonight. See if they have anything to eat.”

“We move out...”

“If you move out without me, I'll catch up.” With a flap of his wings Zodd was airborne, looking down at Griffith. Griffith didn't enjoy that. He felt as though Zodd wanted him to remember his strength, his power, his position as a mighty warrior. Griffith did not like being looked down on. He'd spent his human life being treated as though he were under those in power, and now that he had power no one would look down on him again. If Zodd made such power plays again, he'd chop off his wings. “But ponder this, Hawk of Light; the black swordsman is not a princess in a tower. He thirsts for battle, the same as we do. One day, he will have to fight again. It is in his nature.” Before Griffith could reply, Zodd had taken off, the beating of his wings rippling Guine's mane and scattering leaves around them, taking off into the sky and vanishing from Griffith's sight.

It was just as well. Griffith did not kindly take to being told what to do with his possessions.

He knew Guts did not see it that way, would hate being called a possession. Charlotte, for all her sweetness and childish ideas of romance, would hate it too. But he was no longer human, so they could not be called his equals. They were the two most valuable humans in his life—while Falconia was his priority now, he still could not neglect them. Perhaps eventually he would bring them here, to the land outside their city, but for now...it was just better that they stayed safely hidden behind the walls of Falconia, whether they liked it or not. Charlotte wouldn't mind, but Guts was a restless sort of man. Perhaps, if he could get himself under control, Griffith could give him a role to keep him busy, keep him placated. After the wedding...

The wedding. It brought a smile to Griffith's face. Any other thoughts vanished. He rarely felt emotions that most humans would, but the thought of his upcoming nuptials made him very, very happy. He gave Guinevere a light nudge to get her moving, sauntering over to Irvine, stepping over their fallen foes. “Hello, Sir Irvine.”

The archer looked up with his blank white eyes. “Hale to you, Lord Griffith.” He had no emotion when he spoke, but that was not surprising. Most of these apostles either cared a great deal about his mission or didn't care at all about anything but battle. “How do you fare?”

“I am well pleased with the battle today.” He looked down. “Do you know if there were causalities?”

“Locus mentioned that there were but ten horses with no riders. Who knows where they fell.”

Ten. That would require the usual theatrics. How bothersome. But, if it appeased his people, it would be done. “Do any of these Kushans have intact swords?”

Irvine bent, pulling two arrows out of the same man before moving to the sword belt at his side. “This one does.”

“Excellent. May I have it?”

Irvine nodded, picking it up and handing it to his leader. Griffith examined the blade. It was long, curved as most Kushan swords were, and decorated with a semi-precious stone placed in the hilt. Perhaps it was a gift for this man, a charm of sorts. It was clean of blood, showing it had not been drawn before this man was killed. Perhaps Guts would want one with a bit more...character.

“Is it not to your liking, my lord?”

“I'm looking for a gift for my fiance.”

“The princess, or the swordsman?”

“The swordsman.” Though if he took a gift for Guts, he would need to take a gift for Charlotte. He wasn't sure what he could bring for her that wouldn't make her sad. Even her enemies, those who had held her captive for months, she still had empathy for. How troublesome. He'd find a flower or something like that. She'd enjoy such a thing. And Guts would want a sword. “This blade doesn't seem like something he would want. It's too...pristine.”

Irvine nodded. “I understand. Perhaps, if you ventured closer to the front, you'd find one that has those qualities you seek. I will keep this one, in case you find none you like better.”

“My thanks.” Griffith started to trot further through the battlefield, scanning for bodies more bloody than the others. He'd find his perfect man his perfect sword. Perhaps it would assuage the guilt he felt, leaving his love at home while he fought alongside monsters. He waved and nodded at more of his soldiers as he journeyed, monster and man alike. They'd done so much more than what was possible in the old Hawks. The sacrifice was well worth it. Things could not be as they were before. This was no ragtag band of misfits united for a common goal; this was a force unlike any the world had ever seen, and he was on the precipice of getting everything he'd ever wanted. Guts would have to accept his new life before he joined Griffith on the battlefield, lest the shock damage his already shaky psyche.

Griffith thought he saw a man with skull-faced armour and a woman in a long cloak on a hill overlooking their battleground, but they were gone when he looked once more. It mattered not. He already suspected who it was. They could not defeat him when he became Femto, they could not defeat him now.

Yet another reason to keep Guts in the palace. If Griffith was correct in his assumptions as to the identities of his stalkers, Guts could not see them. Ever. Seeing his old friend would hurt Guts in a way that he might not heal from, especially if she should tell him the toll Griffith paid for their new lives.

And no one hurt his Guts, not while he yet drew breath.

#

Guts was in bed when Griffith arrived back at the castle, the same as he was when he left. The only difference was where he laid. Griffith wished that Guts was allowed to sleep in their chambers, as it would be nice to greet both his loves at once. Charlotte either slept in their shared bed or in her private room, depending on her activities that day. A day spent painting meant she fell asleep in her room, only a few steps from her easel. A day spent with diplomacy had her sleeping in the larger bed in their shared chambers that allowed her to toss and turn without falling off. The servants insisted that Guts sleep in “his room” while Griffith was away. His room was a generous way to describe his cell. Despite it having the opulence and elegance of the rest of the palace, it had a thick door with locks and bolts and boards keeping the Mad Dog of Falconia on his leash. Griffith hated that nickname for his love. Once he found who had coined it, he'd have them thrown to his apostles. Griffith pushed the door open, his armour already discarded for his sleeping clothes, and crept through the room. With a snap of his fingers the lanterns were burning, casting the room in a warm glow. He knelt beside the bed and stroked Guts's hair, cooing at him softly like the pretty bird Guts often told him he was.

Guts rolled over in his sleep, facing Griffith and not the wall. His face was relaxed, open. Griffith shifted closer and kissed him on the forehead. Most emotions were more trouble than they were worth to him, but the love he felt for Guts was one he allowed himself to indulge in. Guts's eye fluttered open, taking in Griffith before him. “Am I dreaming?” He mumbled.

“No, pet. I've returned.”

Guts yawned. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, ever so much.”

“Should be with you.” Guts murmured, sitting up and stretching. Griffith watched the motion with rapt interest. He could go get Charlotte later. He wanted to indulge himself in this lovely form before he switched to a sweeter persona for her. “I can fight.”

“I'm not arguing about this.”

“I know.” Guts finally opened his eye all the way. “I don't wanna argue either. Don't know when you'll be leaving again.”

“Soon, but I'll have a few days to spend with you before I return.” Griffith sat, no longer kneeling between Gut's legs, to kiss him on the mouth. Guts moaned, reaching out and trying to pull Griffith into his lap. Griffith resisted. “This bed is too small for us, my love.”

“I know. It's barely big enough for me.” Guts stood himself, giving Griffith a kiss on his own. “I love you, Griff. Even if I'm pissed off I can't fight with ya, I still love you.”

“I love you too.” Griffith smiled, letting Guts stroke the wispy white strands of his hair that weren't pulled back and tied with a ribbon. “I brought you a present.”

“A present? Why?”

“I thought you'd like it, that's all. Can't I do something kind for you without it being called into question?” Griffith teased.

“Fine, fine. Thanks.” Guts grinned. “Should we....go to our room?”

Griffith nodded, putting his hands on Guts's hips. While his dream was his dream alone, it was nice to have someone to return to while he worked to achieve it. It was dangerous to spend too much time at home, however. Just looking up at this man's brown eyes, letting him shower Griffith in kisses and pick him up and carry him with his remaining arm, made him forget his dream for a few precious moments. He would not give up Guts to reach his goals, and that should have frightened him. However, when Guts laid him down on their bed with gentleness he should not have been capable of, Griffith couldn't find it in him to be afraid at all.

Notes:

Welcome to Falconia.

I see a lot of fics about before the Eclipse (where everything goes wrong) but I don't see many dealing with after. Which is a bit of a bummer, as the post-Eclipse stuff is some of my favourite Berserk stuff. I initially wanted to end the series with Pain, but then I started thinking about what it would be like if the story continued after Pain and Guts lived in Falconia....and here we are now.

This story will alternate POV between Griffith, Charlotte and Guts. I wanted to post them one at a time to make it less congested, but I am open to feedback about my posting schedule.

This is a bit out of the ordinary from what I've done so far and it probably won't get read, but it was fun to write and I hope it is fun to read.

My Tumblr: https://inkyblacc.tumblr.com/
Fic Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2F9QSVpSNlqQowtpPvSt2C?si=2b47898588a142c7
My YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC97JcI76oZWkH25xm3BHRPQ
My TikTok, because I am now cool: https://www.tiktok.com/@inkyblackheart

Chapter 2: Playmate

Summary:

Griffith and Guts have the opportunity to wed. Like all things in Falconia, this is bittersweet for Guts.

Notes:

CW: Guts contemplates lashing out at Charlotte briefly.

There is also a wedding in this chapter, and it's not a storybook one. Not sure if that's content warning worthy or not.

PLAYMATE

The wedding was small. Larger than Guts expected, but small. Much like the feeling of carrying the new queen of Falconia on his back to her room. She sang drunkenly in his ear, putting his name into her songs when she forgot the words. She was still a small girl, but even small people felt larger when you had to support their entire weight. She was hot on his back, both from mead and from dancing with Rickert and Erica. Her hands were clammy where they locked around his neck. His fine wedding clothes were going to be damp by the time he got to the bed chambers. It was fitting, given how the day had gone, that Charlotte was dampening his spirits.

Though it was not truly her fault.

Griffith marrying Charlotte had been a grand affair, with parties in the kingdom lasting the whole week, before and after the nuptials. She'd looked real pretty in her dress, like a little doll with her hair curled and her veil on. And damn, was that thing a pain to pin on. Anna had to get Guts to help her, and that wasn't something anyone did unless they were desperate. But Charlotte didn't care. She was so happy, bouncing with joy, making it even harder to get her into her fine clothes. She'd been so grateful for Guts's help that she gave him a kiss on the cheek. Guts had wondered if that was what having a sister was like. He'd walked her down the aisle, her father being passed for a year now. She'd wanted Anna, her servant, to do it, but the pope said a man had to, and Guts was the only man Griffith would allow to touch his fiance, now wife. It had been in the grand chapel, and the whole damn place had been decorated with flowers and ribbons. There'd been fanfare, an orchestra, a feast. A royal wedding was always a grand affair, if the books Guts had been reading were any indication. And Griffith seemed to be determined to put any work of fiction to shame.

His own wedding, however, was in a much smaller chapel. There was a band, but no orchestra. There were some flowers but no ribbons. Some of the guests looked happy—Erica and Rickert sure had. Godot sent word with his grand-daughter that weddings were stupid and he'd just sent a big sword as a gift. It was a shame, that he couldn't drag himself off his mountain to come, but the sword would serve him well when Guts was allowed into combat again. But some of the guests looked conflicted, like they weren't sure they should like what they were seeing. Sodomy was legal in Falconia, as was being a sapphist, but the good Christians settling there weren't sure what to make of that. So they sat, watching their king marry their new prince, smiling when they had to, clapping when appropriate, and looking a little like they were going to be sick.

Guts stumbled with Charlotte, almost dropping her. A traitorous thought crossed his mind. If the Hawks were still alive, the wedding would have been a disaster, but the best kind. Guts would have stayed sober long enough to exchange vows, but he would have had his friends shoving drinks in his hand as the band played. He might even be drunk enough to dance. Casca would be on the ballroom floor with him, teasing him about having two left feet, and....

The previous Band of the Hawk wasn't to be mentioned. Ever. It probably made Griffith too sad to think about, so Guts stayed quiet. Having Griffith back at all was a blessing, one apparently granted to him by the divine. He wasn't going to mess that up. He adjusted Charlotte's weight to his metal arm and continued on.

After the ceremony, Griffith held a small dinner. Guts was at least grateful for that. No more barely concealed looks of disgust, no more polite congratulations, and no strangers. Griffith knew what he'd want. Gathering around a table with his new husband, his....he wasn't sure what to call Charlotte, his sister wife perhaps, with Rickert, Erica, Anna, Hawisa and some of Griffith's new soldiers. They were quiet, odd, very devoted and honoured to be there. A lone pianist played for them while they ate. The food was good. The cake was good. Then Charlotte got drunk on mead, and Guts had to carry her back to her room before joining Griffith in the royal bed chambers.

The day was fine. It wasn't what he wanted, and it wasn't what he'd dreamed of, but it was fine. Dreams were pointless. He'd be happy looking back on it. That was what mattered.

He finally made it to her door. He'd gotten lost twice, but that was probably why Griffith asked him to take her and not Rickert; the poor kid would lose himself in the labyrinth of hallways and they'd never see him again. Guts slowly knelt, sliding Charlotte off his back and onto the floor. When he set her down, she looked up at him, suddenly lucid. Her eyes lacked the unfocused nature that drink brought. “I'm not your wife.”

“I know.”

“I'm Griffith's wife.”

Guts tried to remember that she was very drunk and that lashing out at drunk women was not a princely thing to do. And he was one of those, now. God damn it. “I know.”

“And you're Griffith's husband.”

“Yeah, what's your point?”

Charlotte shrugged. She was wearing another very nice dress, blue this time, the same colour as Griffith's eyes. Her hair was half-up but falling out of her ornate braids after a day of busyness. He liked this look better than the wedding dress, personally, but he was biased. “I don't want to lay with you. You're scary.” Guts grunted. She wasn't wrong. “But I think we should be friends. Griffith has scary friends, so I think I can do it too. Can I be your friend?”

Guts patted her on the head. “Sure. Whatever you say, princess.”

“I'm a queen now!” She whined.

“Right. Sorry.”

“It's okay. I like it when you call me that.” Charlotte said, her smile wide and dopey. She was an honest drunk. Guts would have to remember that. “Go and do the wedding night thing. I guess you've already done the...the, uh...” She blushed. He wondered if she thought about it, from time to time, what he did with Griffith. Maybe she hated it. Maybe she didn't. It didn't matter, as long as she played nice and shared. “But I guess you've still gotta consummate, and all that, or the pope will be mad.”

“The pope's already mad, since we got married in the first place.” And he'd been real mad, too. Hard to convince people of their perfect fucking messiah when he was married to two people, one being a man, but there was nothing he could do about it. He'd tried to avoid the whole affair and get a bishop to officiate, but Griffith insisted the pope himself officiate. Guts knew how persuasive Griffith could be. A new church was already being built, the price that Falconia was paying for Griffith's stubbornness.

“Oh. You should consummate reeeaaaal hard, so he gets so mad he pops.” Charlotte giggled.

Guts laughed. “Hey now, isn't that sacrilege?”

“The pope's not Jesus. He thinks he is, but he's not.” Charlotte replied, smiling like she'd cracked a real tough code. “But he thinks Griffith's Jesus too. How does that work? My head hurts.” Charlotte swayed, nearly falling. Guts tried to catch her, but the door frame beat him to it. He let out a sigh of relief.

“You should get some rest, princess.”

“Yeah! So we can get up early and steal the leftover cake, just like we did after my wedding.”

“No. No way. We almost got in big trouble with the cook last time.”

“Yeah, but this time we won't get caught.” Charlotte grinned. “Come on. Please?”

“We'll see.” The look on her face said that she thought “we'll see” meant “we'll do it”. Sometimes she was such a grown, mature leader, and other times she was a kid trying to make some mischief. Guts wondered if this was how he could have been, were he raised with a parent who gave a shit. “Goodnight, Charlotte. See you in the morning.”

“Goodnight!” She said, opening her door with a bang. She took two steps into her room and flopped onto the floor. Guts shook his head. Some people just couldn't hold their drink. He picked her up, put her on her bed, and quickly left. He didn't need to be seen coming out of Charlotte's room on his wedding night. The servants already didn't like him. He didn't need those kind of rumours. He'd get set off and it would be a big damn disaster.

Griffith was waiting in the bedchambers, stretched out on the massive bed with sheets covering his body. “I thought I'd fall asleep waiting, my pet.” He purred as Guts sat on the edge of the bed to take off his shoes. “Did you get lost?”

“No!”

“...you did, didn't you.”

“...yes.” Guts admitted. “I ain't used to this place yet, and neither is Charlotte. It's hard to get around if you don't know exactly where you're going.”

“There's no shame in that. I wanted opulence, to prove myself as a king greater than any other. I may have, accidentally, made things a bit too grand.”

“Nah. I'll get used to it.” Guts started undressing. He wasn't sure how he was feeling, but he did want to consummate. He'd been thinking about it for years, how they'd do this. Starting with idle talk wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind. “Eventually.”

“You will. You're smart.” Griffith smiled. It wasn't...right. It never was. But it was as close to right as it could get these days, and it was at the very least warm. “How is our dear queen?”

“Out cold.” Guts worked his jacket off.

Griffith laughed. “She truly cannot hold her drink.” He threw the sheets off and crawled towards Guts. “Here, pet. Let me help.”

“It's fine, Griffith. I don't need...” The words died in his throat as he took in the sight of his now husband. Griffith wore lingerie, gleaming white, hugging his body like it was made for him. He was in gloves, long gloves, a corset, bloomers, stockings and garters, and he had a ribbon tied around his neck. He'd been hiding under the sheets, waiting to surprise him, Guts realized. “I...uh....”

“Do you like it? It's my wedding present to you. Since you wore something similar to this in the past for me, and I liked it ever so much.” He shuffled closer, letting Guts take him in, his pink nipples just visible under the corset's edge. “I know things weren't as you wished them to be. I know that. But I'm so happy to be able to wed, even if it's not perfect.”

“Don't worry, Griff. I ain't a woman, I don't need a storybook wedding.” It would have been nice, though, even if it would have been hollow without the Hawks. “I love you. That's all I need.” He stood, allowing Griffith to sit on the bed in front of him, undoing his ties and laces with deft fingers. Guts was already hard in his slacks, just looking at Griffith in front of him in his lace and ribbons. He was having trouble processing the sight before him him. Maybe it was the blood rapidly leaving his brain for his dick. “Where did you get this? I had to steal mine.”

“I wish you would have kept it...but I suppose we broke it.” Griffith tapped Guts's arm, getting him to take the last bits of his top clothing off himself.

“Do you want me to leave the arm on, or...”

“I still have a mark from where it pinched me last time.”

“So that's a no.” Guts teased, unstrapping his prosthetic and setting it by the bed. He was glad he'd gotten undressed first. Taking fancy clothes off with one arm was difficult. “You didn't answer my question.”

“I am king. I had it specially made, just for me.”

“Damn. I wish I would have known there was a place that did that. I would have tried to get some to wear for you too.”

“I'll give you the name of the seamstress later.” Griffith unlaced his new husband's pants and pulled them off, Guts stepping out of them once they hit the floor. “Now...let's consummate.” He leaned forward, kissed Guts's belly button, and then bent down to suckle the tip of Guts's cock into his mouth.

Guts's hand flew down to grip Griffith's hair. He tried not to tug, but he couldn't help it. He'd remembered talking about this in simpler times, and he always liked it when Griffith did this to him. It didn't happen often, and he still couldn't believe that a king was sucking him off, but he was going to enjoy this as much as possible.

It was over too quickly. After a particularly hard suck, Guts came, thrusting into Griffith's mouth until his legs stopped shaking.

Griffith met his eyes and licked his lips. “What did you go and do that for?” Guts asked.

Griffith pulled a small vial from his corset. How it hadn't gotten crushed Guts didn't know. “An aphrodisiac,” Griffith explained. “From one of our allies, as a gift to our kingdom for the wedding of the king.”

“For me, or Charlotte?”

“There's enough to share.” Griffith said casually. Guts bristled. Griffith, wisely, dropped it. He uncorked the vial and drank some down, handing the rest to Guts. “Here, my angel of death. Drink and be merry.”

“Whatever you say.” Guts took a long sip, finishing the contents. As far as he knew, Griffith wouldn't need it for another wedding. It tasted sweet, too sweet, but with a spice to it that made it bearable. He started to feel tingly, and he looked down and saw his cock rising proudly, despite emptying a moment ago. “Whoa.”

“I told you.” Griffith laid on the bed and opened his arms. “Now come here and make love to me as my husband.”

Guts smiled and tossed the vial somewhere behind him. He'd deal with it tomorrow. Right now, he had a marriage to consummate.

Notes:

Never thought you'd see a GutsGriff with a wedding, did ya? Or Guts being a prince? Well, here you go. Expect the unexpected from Tales from Falconia.

It was a fun little thought experiment, to imagine what it would be like for Guts and Griffith to get married. In canon it could never happen, despite the fact that gay weddings were a thing at some point in the middle ages. It's true. The church was cool with homosexuality for a while, same with priests being married and having children. Some of the sources I saw said that changed when the church realized that the priest's families were inheriting their wealth once the priest passed away and they thought that their money and land should go to the church. Not sure if that was the same for gay couples as well.

Also happy new year, enjoy the image of Griffith in lingerie.

My Tumblr: https://inkyblacc.tumblr.com/
Fic Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2F9QSVpSNlqQowtpPvSt2C?si=2b47898588a142c7
My YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC97JcI76oZWkH25xm3BHRPQ
My TikTok, because I am now cool: https://www.tiktok.com/@inkyblackheart

Chapter 3: Peaceful

Summary:

Charlotte visits Guts while Griffith is away at battle.

Notes:

CW: Imprisonment, severe mental health issues. black out

PEACEFUL

Charlotte held her breath as she turned the key in the lock. Her other hand, holding a torch and a basket of food, shook as she did. She could hear her charge shuffling behind the door, and she realized she should have knocked first. She didn't want to scare him, not like yesterday. The bruise on her wrist didn't even hurt anymore, but yet she still did not want to repeat the experience. The sight of her charge silently screaming as he looked at what he'd done had cut her to the core. She stopped the door from opening with her small foot, knocked twice on the thick wood, and called into the darkness. “Captain? It's Charlotte. Are you awake?”

She heard Guts move closer to the door. She opened it further, letting the light from the hall in. Guts was sitting up in bed, waiting for her to come in. He was cross-legged, his hair mussed from sleep, blinking blearily as he adapted to the light. Charlotte smiled at him, setting the torch in it's holder and letting the warm light fill the room. Guts yawned and stretched. “Hey Princess,” he said, swinging his legs over the bed with some difficulty. He grit his teeth to silence a wince. They'd need to bring those healers back in to look at Gut's muscles again, which meant that either she or Griffith would need to be there to keep Guts calm enough to be treated. Perhaps they could find some elf dust and skip the need for others entirely. Charlotte had never believed in such silly things, but in this new world of gods and monsters anything was possible.

“I'm sorry to wake you. I thought you might be hungry.” Charlotte held up the basket.

“Where's Griffith?” Guts asked. Charlotte spotted his pupils dilate, could hear the moment his breathing shifted. His strong hand, though still healing, tried to grab the bed for comfort. “Why am I in this room?”

Charlotte walked over cautiously. The truth was that Griffith's servants were terrified of Guts, and they wanted him locked up while Griffith wasn't there to control him. It troubled her that he didn't remember, though she told him herself three days prior, but she knew he must still be tired. “He's away from the palace tonight again. He's battling the Kushan in the valley, a few days ride from here. He'll be back soon. Do you remember?”

Guts's breathing returned to normal. “Yeah,” he said, “I do.” He leaned forward, putting his head in his hand. His stump hung at his side. Charlotte set the basket down and went to Guts's wooden chest and pulled out his prosthetic, bringing it over and fastening it to his shoulder for him. She liked to think that their bond was strong, now, after all this time. He barely flinched when she did this for him, and he seemed grateful to have it. “I hope he comes back soon. I hate being locked up in here. I'm a prince, goddamn it. That's gotta be worth something.”

“I hate it too.” Charlotte sighed, retrieving the food and bringing some to him. While Guts dug into his bread and soup she pulled a chair over and grabbed her own. It was a big room, all things considered, much bigger than the cell Lady Casca had rescued him from. Charlotte bit her lip to think of her friend, the knight. Griffith hated the mention of her, suddenly growing cold and withdrawn if she were to be mentioned, and Guts always grew sad and looked as if someone had punched him in the stomach when Casca came up. She must have done something bad, to have them react in such a way, but it didn't seem like her....no, Charlotte wouldn't think of it. Truth be told, it made her sad too.

Still, the room was very nice, almost the size of hers at the old palace. Griffith had spared no expense for his two loves. “You should be in our room, in our bed.”

And it was their bed, wasn't it. Griffith took them each to it separately, sending one to their own room far from the royal bedchambers when he wanted to partake in the other, but once the deed was done they all slept in the same bed. Charlotte could see why Griffith wanted it that way, but Guts was more of a puzzle. But he told her why, once. He didn't mind her being there, but he said that mentally he couldn't fall asleep on his own unless he knew Griffith was there. Physically, he was so used to sleeping next to Griffith that his body wouldn't let him do otherwise. Charlotte slept in the bed with them because she quite liked the scandal of it all, and because she was determined not to be like her frigid stepmother. She'd gotten used to Guts too, though he was on the other side of the mattress. Griffith's breathing was so even and smooth, like a stone skipping over water. Guts's was harsh and guttural but soothing, almost like the purr of a large alley cat.

“Yeah, well...I know the servants don't want me breaking shit in the middle of the night again.” Guts said sadly, sopping up the last of his soup with his bread. Charlotte passed him an apple. “Or...the other things.”

“I wish they'd be a bit kinder about it,” Charlotte said, shaking her head. “I know you don't mean to hurt anyone. You just get a little scared sometimes, that's all.”

Guts gave her a long look before taking a bite of his apple. “I guess so. I still hurt you.”

“You didn't mean to. You're not stupid enough to bite the hand that feeds you.”

Guts smirked at that. “Thanks for bringing me something to eat. I was famished.”

“You're welcome.” Charlotte used both hands to hold her apple as she bit into her stubborn, under-ripe fruit. They ate in silence for a few moments.

“You don't think I'm crazy, right Princess?”

She was queen now, but that didn't matter. She didn't expect Guts to be formal whatsoever, and she knew that “Princess” was a term of endearment more than a title to her friend. “Of course not.” Charlotte patted Guts' leg. “You're just a little bit lost, that's all.”

Guts sighed and leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. “You're a good kid, Charlotte.” He let his neck fall lazily towards her. “Did you finish that picture you told me about? The one of Guinevere?”

“Yes! I think you'll like it. I hope Griffith does too. I would have brought it here, but the paint is still drying. Tomorrow we can go look at it.”

“Tomorrow?” Guts asked. “But Griffith won't be back yet.”

“That's correct.”

Guts blinked. “I can...leave?”

“I say you can, so you shall. The servants will just have to deal with it, as I am their queen.” Charlotte adjusted in her seat, attempting to give herself the royal bearing she'd need to convince Griffith's servants that her word was law. She so hated to do it, wanting instead to work with the people to make Griffith's dream a reality, but it would not do to keep the Prince Consort (though no one ever used that title) locked up like a common criminal. After what he'd endured, it seemed most unfair and more than a little heartless. “I'm hoping that, once they see that you are not a wild beast, you can come and sleep in our bed again.”

“You're wrong about that.”

“How so?” Charlotte asked.

“I am a wild beast.” Guts looked at his prosthetic hand, outfitted with a crossbow and a cannon at Guts's request. “No point denying it. They're right. It's what I am. It's all I've ever been.”

“You don't really believe that, do you?” Charlotte tilted her head. “You're a good man, Captain.” She emphasized the man part, making sure he couldn't miss her point. “Griffith says many bad things have happened to you, even before...before you were taken away,” Charlotte didn't want to remind him of that horrible ordeal. She hated to remind herself too. She remembered when she'd helped rescue them, how thin they both were, how Guts was naked but so scabbed and scarred and cut that his skin was almost entirely caked in dried blood. She remembered the bloody hole where his eye used to be, and how Griffith looked like a monster from a storybook. “He said that you were sad when you two met, because you were in pain. And yet still you were a soldier, and you were one of the best. You were kind to others, in your own way. Even to me, your...romantic rival, I suppose. You've just been hurt, that's all. It's alright. I know in my heart that you'll find peace.”

Guts met her eyes. “Thank you.” He said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You're welcome.” Charlotte wanted to hug Guts, who seemed so vulnerable despite their size difference, but knew she shouldn't. He didn't take comfort from touch the same way others did. She settled for putting her hand over Guts's real one, a bit of a stretch but she didn't mind. He tensed, but released it with a deep exhale, allowing the small comfort. The skin of his knuckles were still rough, but his hand was warm, solid, present. When the muscles healed, he'd be able to swing his sword again. He could hold Griffith's hand again. Perhaps he could help her with her hair when Griffith was away and Anna was busy. “I care for you, Guts. You're a good friend. I just want you to know that.”

“I know you care.” Guts said, finally smiling. “It's pretty clear with all the shit you do for me. I...I care about you too, Charlotte.” A faint blush dusted Guts's still-gaunt cheeks. “I ain't good at this, but...I'm glad you came to see me, for more than just the food. It's lonely in here, some times. I like knowing that you give a shit, for more than just Griffith's sake.”

Charlotte smiled at Guts. Something in her told her that Guts wasn't used to people caring, and that nearly broke her heart.

She wasn't entirely sure what that said about Griffith.

Notes:

Well.

While I'm sure that the majority of readers are just happy to see that the fic is updated, I feel an explanation might be in order. It's kind of a cliche that AO3 writers have crazy shit happen to them and either update through it or come back and just casually mention what happened like it was no big thing....in my case, it wasn't anything crazy, it was a combination of health issues, mental health issues and stress from switching work and finishing grad school. Life just...happened. But I always had in the back of my mind that I wanted to update this fic and finish it. It's not the most popular thing I've ever done but I enjoyed creating it and hope that these little AU snips provide some sort of entertainment for the fine folks of the internet. I'm hoping to finish this fic (and the other unfinished fic in the Power and Control series) by the end of the year.

See you soon.

My Tumblr: https://inkyblacc.tumblr.com/
Fic Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2F9QSVpSNlqQowtpPvSt2C?si=2b47898588a142c7
My YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC97JcI76oZWkH25xm3BHRPQ
My TikTok, because I am now cool: https://www.tiktok.com/@inkyblackheart

Chapter 4: Prince

Summary:

Guts never imagined being a prince, and he isn't sure he enjoys the role he's been placed in. A phantom from the past makes him question his place in Falconia further.

Notes:

CW: Alcohol drunk out of boredom, gaslighting (from Griffith to Guts, surprise surprise)

PRINCE

 

“Your majesty?”

It took Guts a few seconds to figure out that the knight, dressed in the gleaming white armour of the Falconia royal guards, was speaking to him. Your majesty. It still felt like a bad joke. “Yeah? Sorry. I was, uh....do you need something?”

“I brought you the reports from the days patrols.” The knight was wary, slowly moving towards the door. His eyes were wide, watching Guts shift in his chair. His hand moved towards his sword, fingers twitching as the knight tried to decipher if today was one of...those days or not. The days that usually had Guts locked in his room until either Griffith was available to calm him or Charlotte came to escort him around the grounds. The knight needn't have worried. Charlotte had to really fight to allow him to be let out of his room without supervision. He wasn't going to mess that up.

“Is it that time already?” Guts ran a hand through his hair. The thick black locks were starting to grey, and with every pass through the strands it seemed like more and more was revealed. Griffith seemed to like it, but to Guts it was a sign that he was getting old before his time. He could hear the other knight outside, a “precaution” because of the last time someone had surprised him in his study. And the time before that. And the time before that. “Shit. Thanks, Sir....”

“Sir Kent.”

“Sir Kent. Thank you. Anything out of the ordinary?”

“We spotted some more refugees approaching from the North. Of course, that's Queen Charlotte's responsibility, but we will need to search these people once they arrive.”

“Charlotte doesn't like that.”

Sir Kent's jaw twitched at 'Charlotte'. The knight outside shifted. “No, she does not. But it's necessary.”

“I don't like going behind her back.” Guts sighed. “It feels like...that just isn't right to me.”

“With all due respect, sir, you have more responsibilities than just catering to your own comfort. You're the Captain Overseer of the royal guard. We don't answer to her highness. We answer to you.”

Guts met Sir Kent's eyes. He knew the knight meant well, but he served under the old king of Midland. This place wasn't like the old regime. They were supposed to be better. Guts wouldn't be like Foss or Count Julian. He'd be honest to a fault, even if it made his charges uncomfortable. “Search the refugees, but Charlotte is going to know about it. This won't come back on you, since I'm the one telling you to do it. She can yell at me all she likes, but I'm looking out for her people.”

“Of course, sir.” Sir Kent seemed relieved at that. It was amazing how much people wanted to shove off their responsibilities onto someone else. They had high ideals, real lofty like, but they wanted someone else to give them permission to make those ideals reality.

“Any signs of the Kushans? Or any new monsters?”

“No sir. Nothing suspicious.”

“Hmm.” Guts thought. That was...odd. They were probably planning something. He knew that the Kushans had all manner of assassins and stealthy warriors. Even the rustling of trees could be a sign they were approaching. Strategy was usually Griffith's thing, but he'd been given permission to run the knights in the city how he saw fit. However he saw fit. “Do we have any knights we can spare for the forested border? If I were planning an attack, that's where I'd try to get in.”

“We do, sir. But if there's no activity....”

“We're still increasing patrols. I'd rather have more people there before something happens rather than reacting when our borders are breached.”

“Very good, sir.” It didn't sound like Sir Kent agreed it was very good, but as prince consort Guts's word was law.

“The knights here need something to do, after all. Peace ain't a bad thing. Lord knows...I shouldn't say much else. We're blessed to live here.” Guts's hands tightened. He felt for his sword at his back with his flesh hand. The weight of it was comforting, a reminder that, as pent up as he felt, he was still a warrior.

“We certainly are,” Sir Kent agreed.

“Which means we have to make sure it stays that way.”

That seemed to make it click for Sir Kent. His smile seemed less forced, his shoulders less tense. “Yes. You're right, your highness. Forgive me, I...”

“If that's all, you're dismissed. Grab some good wine for your men from the kitchen on the way out.”

Sir Kent smiled and bowed, leaving Guts's little 'war room' and shutting the door behind him. He could hear the clanking of the armour as both men walked down the hallway and up the stairs, out of the lower floors of Falconia Castle.

Guts retrieved his own stash of good wine, uncorking it and drinking it straight from the bottle. Griffith didn't like it when he drank on the job, but Guts had been going into battle drunk since he'd discovered what booze was. He survived just fine then, only stopping when he joined the Hawks and suddenly had someone around him at all times who hardly drank. This was the only way he survived the miserable role he'd been forced into. Before Sir Kent arrived, he'd been napping at his desk. This time, it was intentional. Usually it was because reading the reports he received put him right out. He tried, he really did, but he still wasn't great at reading. He knew what the words were, but it took him a while and it took a lot out of him. He tugged at his collar, the wine suddenly making him way too hot. This damn pompous outfit was stupid. The buttons dug into his neck, he hated the leggings, and he had shoes with big gaudy buckles now. The only thing he liked was his big thick jacket, and that was because it made an excellent blanket. He could take or leave the lace.

Peace, Guts decided, was boring as shit. Sure, the kingdom was happy and all that bullshit, but there was still fighting going on, and he wanted to be out there swinging his sword. Griffith had recruited Nosferatu Zodd. Nosferatu fucking Zodd was out fighting and Guts was sitting at his desk, drinking wine and napping. The life of a Prince Consort was misery. The fact that he knew that most of the Band of the Hawk would have killed to have his job was the only thing keeping him from demanding Griffith give him something else to do. He understood that Griffith was afraid of losing him to this battle, and while that was sweet....it was also really demeaning. Guts wasn't that much of an invalid. Right?

He sighed and stood, setting his wine glass down. He might as well go for a walk around the castle. Shit else to do around here.

Guts stood and stretched, his joints popping as he did. It took a few attempts to flex his prostheses for the thing to actually respond to him. He needed to oil the joints, but he wasn't as good at it as Godo or Rickert. He'd send for Rickert to come to the palace and do it for him, give him someone to talk to that wasn't one of his subjects or a(nother) royal. If Rickert would even come if summoned. He was uncomfortable in the palace, Guts could tell. He wasn't great with people, but he could tell that. Maybe it was the ever-present danger lurking outside the splendour of the palace. Maybe it was that Griffith wasn't around, and Guts wasn't quite who he remembered him to be. It could also be his simple roots, making it seem odd to be around such grandiose things. Guts was trying to think more...positively. Rickert liked him fine, probably better now that he had an arm again and didn't spend all his time pining. The journey was long, and tiring, and Falconia wasn't Rickert's home. That was it. It had to be.

Charlotte was always on his ass about being happy and cheerful and a good example to his people. He had to start with himself, she'd told him. It felt dishonest and he didn't like it, but he was doing his best to be more approachable, at the least. Put the servants at ease, show them they were right to let the Mad Dog out of his cage, even if he were still on a leash.

A good queen could never be happy, she'd told him. Maybe a good prince couldn't either. If having to pretend to be friendly was the biggest sacrifice he had to make...he'd make it. For her. For Griffith. For himself.

Guts looked over Dragon Slayer, resting against the wall. He didn't really need it. He doubted he'd see anything warranting swinging it. But...the weight of it comforted him. Reminded him that he was still himself, born from a massacre and fighting every day since. He slung it over his back. Instantly, his breathing changed. It was rougher, his chest having to push against the weight on his back to move, but it felt right. More right than anything did, these days. He loosened a button on his stuffy shirt and left his office, slamming the door behind him.

#

The walls were quiet. Of course they were. They were so high above the city that Guts needed an eyepiece to see all the way to the ground. Most of the monsters he knew to be lurking in the forest couldn't even scale them. The ones who could fly were easy to shoot down before they even got close to the guard towers, armed with harpoons for us that purpose. That had been his idea. He'd been reading mythology from some long-lost civilization to the east with Charlotte, and he'd read about the king of the gods striking down his enemies with lightning. They didn't have that at their disposal, but they did have harpoons. He knighted some refugees from closer to the coast who helped with setting it all up. He waved at some of the towers as he passed, using his good eye to check from a distance that they were loading correctly. They waved past, some confused to see the prince out and about, some just...happy. How odd. To just be happy to be waiting for an attack. He wondered what kind of shit the knights had escaped, that they were just happy to have armour against the monsters now.

He was starting to get sore. He was only halfway around the wall, but he'd been sitting so much lately that his feet weren't used to walking the same way. He wasn't sure how to feel about that. He'd make his way around the whole thing, he promised himself. He wasn't that weak, not yet. He wouldn't be, if he could just keep moving forward.

Guts looked out at the mountains. Building so close to them had been a real risk. It was great for defence, of course. But they made it hard for the citizens of Falconia to leave and harder for refugees to arrive. People still travelled from far and wide to get there, braving the mountains and risking the monsters around the wall. Guts admired that. He wondered if that was what it was like to have a dream. He'd had one, once. Being a swordsman. Ha. He had a whole city of people who would tell him he was a great swordsman without ever seeing him lift so much as a butter knife. How would he ever know if he was the greatest swordsman in the world with his status? Or maybe he'd already achieved it. He was married to the love of his life, after all. Maybe he'd traded one dream for the other. He needed to stop feeling sorry for himself. He'd never had time to do that, always moving from one battle to the next. It would have been worthless then, and it would be pointless now. He had a good life.

And yet.

Something was approaching the city. Not to the gates, but to the wall. Guts frowned, trying to spot. It was something, not somethings. They were alone. He wondered if it was an animal. They didn't see those much anymore, not this close to the city. It wasn't. It was walking, their footsteps quick and deliberate. Something glinted on their back. The gait was off for an animal, but not for a man. He realized quickly that he was looking at a lone person, approaching on foot. They carried a sword. Multiple, if he could see right.

He wasn't sure if he should sound the alarm. If one person was brave enough to try to approach, maybe they had it in them to be a threat. But something in the way they moved was familiar. It put him at ease, as if he'd walked beside them many times. He pulled his eyepiece out, given to him as a present by Griffith to enhance his remaining eye, trying to focus it on the figure. He spotted the shine of black hair, tied back and swaying as they moved. As they got closer, he could see a dark skinned hand, calloused and scarred by years of battle, gripping one of the blades so tightly that their knuckles shook. The blade was thin but not elegant, efficient and not pretty. He knew that blade. It had cross in front of him many times. It had been pointed at him many times as well. The face was unmistakable. “Casca?!”

Casca stopped, looking up at Guts. There was no way she could have heard him. He was too high up. He hadn't even heard her footsteps as she approached, had only spotted her by the rustling of her clothing. Her eyes went wide, as if she could sense that she'd been spotted. She looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand. Guts put his eyepiece down. There was no way. She'd left him. Left them. Griffith said she'd probably died in the woods on her own, seeking what could not be found. Yet there she was, looking right at Guts as if she could see his face.

He wanted to call out to her, invite her in. He couldn't get down to her, and she couldn't get up to him. But if he called out loud enough, he could tell her to meet him at the gate.

It occurred to him that he wasn't sure why she wasn't using the gate in the first place. She'd be welcomed! The army could use a soldier like her, tough and brave and smart. He could use more knights with her work ethic under his command. They'd done great things once. They could do it again. “CASCA!” He called out again. She blinked. He was sure, and he couldn't figure out why, that she could see him. Hear him. Recognize him. “CASCA!” He smiled, ear to ear. “MY FRIEND!”

That....He pulled out his eyepiece again. Casca looked stricken. She had to have heard him. Tears built in her eyes but did not fall. She shook her head. She said nothing.

Just like before. She'd left without a word, left him alone until Griffith found him and brought him to Falconia. When he'd needed her most, she wasn't there. That was what Griffith had said, too. That Casca hadn't cared about either of them, if she was willing to abandon them to the pits, and abandon Guts to his fever. He didn't want to believe that. He'd let himself trust and he'd gained Griffith, and Charlotte, and the Hawks. He didn't want to go back to his paranoia and fear. He didn't want to be the mad dog anymore, lashing out at any fingers that drew too close to his mouth. “Don't abandon me again,” he whispered to himself.

Casca threw something to the ground and took off running, disappearing from whence she'd came. No. Anger surged in Guts. He wanted answers. He deserved answers. He ran to the nearest patrolling guard and ordered them down the wall to intercept a fleeing assassin. They didn't question him, obeying instantly. He knew it was fruitless. By the time they made it down, she'd be long gone.

Just like before. Guts clenched his fists and watched Casca run, his breath a ragged, sickly pant and his teeth grinding so hard they hurt.

#

“Your highness!” A knight ran up to him. A lady knight. Young but tall and limber, coming to a sliding stop in front of him and saluting. “Captain Vogt reporting!”

Captain. This was practically a child. How bad had things gotten around here? Peace, it seemed, had its own problems. “At ease.”

Captain Vogt put her arm down. “We were unable to capture the assassin. You were lucky you were able to scare them off! The last commander of the guard....wasn't so. Uh. Fortunate.”

That should have been frightening. Instead, it made Guts's blood pump, made his heart pound. So there was danger in this job after all. There was risk. He wasn't a glorified paper signer. He smirked, his hand moving to his sword. Vogt looked a bit uncomfortable. His battle-ready grin tended to do that to people. “Lucky me.”

“Don't know what we'd do without you, your majesty! You're way better at your job than him anyways.” Captain Vogt said, still uneasy.

“Were they able to figure out where she was going?”

“She?” Vogt asked. Guts tapped the eyepiece sticking out of his pocket. Vogt cleared her throat. “We spotted her disappearing into the mountains. There was a party of people waiting for her. We'll have to increase patrols along that wall for sure, if these assassins are getting even more brazen.”

“I will approve that as soon as I can. I want these people captured. We can't risk anyone threatening our knights.”

Vogt just smiled wider at that. “Sir yes sir!” She patted her pocket. “We found this, on the ground. We thought you'd want to see it.”

Guts raised an eyebrow. “And why's that?”

“It, uh, has your name on it, sir.” Vogt passed over a piece of parchment. Guts hesitantly took it from her hands. It indeed had his name written on it. He wasn't aware that Casca was able to read or write, but hey. Maybe she'd learned that while she was away. He opened the folded paper, his scowl deepening. “Your highness? Is it a written threat?”

Guts let out a long exhale through his nose. “No. It is not.”

“Then what...”

“It's just...illegible scribbles. She probably started writing it and had to drop it as she fled.”

“Sure thing. Sir.” Captain Vogt clearly didn't believe him, but she was also smart enough not to question him. “I'll escort you back to the castle. Wouldn't want any more trouble, right?”

Guts took one last look over the wall. Casca was long gone. His chest hurt the longer he stared over the wall at where she'd last stood. He tore his eyes away. “Right. No more trouble today.”

#

The parchment was thick in his pocket. He unfolded it again. It smelled like rust and leather. The words taunted him. What did Casca know? She didn't know how he'd suffered. She'd left.

But so had Griffith.

“He's not what he seems” was scrawled across the page. Spelled badly, but it was still clear. He's not what he seems. It had to be referring to Griffith. And it had to be wrong.

Guts threw his uniform to the ground. He'd ordered the servants not to disturb him. He'd given the excuse of Griffith coming back and wanting to have space to himself to prepare himself. He'd allowed the servants and guards to decide what that meant for themselves and he was sure that he wouldn't be bothered. He didn't like giving orders, but if he was a prince, maybe it was time he acted like one. He crumpled the page and threw it to the ground, kicking it under his jacket.

What did Casca know, anyway. She hadn't been there when he needed her. When Griffith needed her. She didn't understand love. Not like he did. Sure, things weren't perfect. Sure, Griffith wasn't always himself. But power changed people. She'd be naive to think otherwise.

And yet.

He heard a knock at the door. He growled, expecting that the servants had ignored him, as usual. He heard a gentle laugh as the door creaked open. “What did I do now, my angel of death? Is your job that frustrating that you must take it out on your husband.”

Guts stood half-dressed, still in his knickers and an undershirt, face flushed with anger. Griffith looked an angel more than he did, his white gleaming armour shed for a flowing shirt and pants that looked softer than lamb's wool. His hair was tied back with a ribbon, his big blue eyes staring Guts down with a soft gaze. “Sorry, Griff. I told the servants to leave me alone while I got dressed. Thought they weren't listening.”

“If they want to take in my beloved in his nearly-nude glory...they'll meet my blade.” Griffith crossed the room as if he was floating. Guts scoffed internally. Isn't what he seems. Well, he seemed a perfect king. In this room, Griffith wasn't. Still ethereal, but most “messiahs” didn't threaten to kill their servants for making a move on their man. “I was hoping to see you in the uniform I picked out for you, though this will suffice.”

“Ha! For all the work it took to get out of it, I ain't putting it back on. Should have been back earlier.”

“Heavy is the head, pet.” Griffith flopped backwards onto the bed. “Charlotte is mad at you. Thought you'd wish to know.”

“She can be whatever she wants to be. I'm just keeping the kingdom safe.”

“That's what I told her.” Griffith reached for him. “You seem troubled, my angel. Come, lay with me.”

Guts didn't need to be told twice. He was on the bed next to Griffith, pressing his body close. Griffith was colder than he should have been, but he was still smiling at him, so sweetly that it made Guts's teeth hurt, like he'd bitten into honeyed fruit that was allowed to go a bit too hard. He draped his metal arm over Griffith, letting his flesh one hang between them and hold Griffith's hand. “Missed you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to Griffith's temple.

“As I missed you. Is that what's troubling you?” Griffith asked. “Oh, were this war to be over. I miss you so terribly when I'm on the battlefield, as I know you long for me here. In truth, it makes me want to fight harder.”

Guts shook his head. “It doesn't matter. Just...be with me, okay?”

“I can do that.” Griffith didn't move closer. Guts did, shifting forwards and throwing a leg over Griffith's hips. Griffith stroked Guts's hair absentmindedly. It seemed like something was on his mind too.

“Hey, Griffith.”

“Yes, pet?”

“Have you heard any rumours about, uh...Casca?” Guts said as gently as he could. Griffith's face darkened. “Forget it. I know it makes you mad.”

“As it should you. What brought this on?”

Guts was surprised by the venom in his voice. If he was just upset that Casca had abandoned Guts when he needed her, being angry for him, it was surprising to hear him speak like he wished her dead. Especially when Guts didn't. “I was just thinking about her,” he lied. “I had a dream about her. That's all.”

“Hmm.” Griffith turned to Guts and looked into his eyes. “I haven't, no. And I hope for her sake that I do not.” Griffith rolled over to his side and took Guts's hands. “You are stronger than you've ever been. The only person you need is me.”

Guts wasn't sure he liked how that sounded, despite how his heart leapt in his chest. He kissed Griffith on the nose, then the lips, and Griffith let him. This was better than talking. He could feel what Griffith felt best when they joined like the husbands they were now.

And yet.

And yet.

And yet.

Notes:

Is it realistic that Casca can hear him? Probably not. Do I care? Not really.

So I'm not dead. There's that. It's been a busy year with a lot of real-life things going on. Most of it good, like getting a job in my field, planning a wedding and getting a lot done on my original work, but a lot of change in a short amount of time. I'm hoping to get back to updating more regularly again. I'm not sure that I have more Berserk work after this piece concludes, but time will tell.

My Tumblr: https://inkyblacc.tumblr.com/
Fic Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2F9QSVpSNlqQowtpPvSt2C?si=2b47898588a142c7
My YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC97JcI76oZWkH25xm3BHRPQ
My TikTok, because I am now cool: https://www.tiktok.com/@inkyblackheart

Chapter 5: Polish

Summary:

Griffith, fearing that Guts is pulling away from him in the wake of his new life, takes his husband out for a date.

Notes:

CW: References to self-harm, Griffith's...non-human thought process, references to eating horses, possessiveness

This piece is directly inspired by KillerBambi's doujinshi "Lightning", available for reading at many places fine yaoi is offered (if only all their work was translated. Alas). This one does not end in sex, but theirs does. If that's something you're interested in. Who am I kidding. We're 13 fics in. Of course you are ;)

POLISH

 

Guts was starting to notice that something was different about Griffith, and it was unnerving Griffith far more than it was unnerving Guts.

Charlotte, bless her heart, didn't seem to be able to tell that Griffith was a bit less...human, than he used to be. Perhaps because she'd spent less time with him before he was reborn, her perception of him clouded by her youthful daydreams of a romantic courtship. She was content to love him from afar, always at a distance. She'd never known the real him, not like his darling Guts had. He'd slept beside Guts for years. Guts seemed to notice every minute change to his breathing, the way Griffith's pupils didn't quite dilate, how Griffith's voice didn't have a lot of emotion in it most of the time. Perhaps he'd once brushed it off as the after effects of his torture, perhaps of his divine mission. But now, his Guts was starting to pull away.

Griffith couldn't let that happen. This had all been for Guts, in some ways. Partly, for Guts. If he were being honest. But the part he fought hardest for was for Guts. So he could live in a world where no one would be jailed for being in love, so he could have power, and luxury, and live a life where he had more to do than swing a sword. It wouldn't be worthless without him, but he would lose the will to fight the same way for the ungrateful insects scurrying in Falconia below him.

Griffith lay awake, curled away from Guts towards Charlotte. Even she had rolled away from him, as if in sleep she could sense what she denied awake. If Guts left him...he'd break down. He knew that. He'd never recover. He knew Guts wouldn't leave him physically, but...Guts was at the edge of the bed, about to fall off. Every time he reached for him Guts moved further away. Griffith felt a familiar urge to tear at his arms with his nails, with his claws, until he had clawed away every part that Guts found hard to love. That wasn't human.

No. He would not be reduced to such weakness. This wasn't Guts's fault. Nor was it his. It was easier to want someone to blame rather than to accept that.

Griffith rolled to his back. Sometimes he longed for the simple times, when he and Guts were deeply in love and had no one to answer to but one another, when they would buy each other gifts and walk together through the castle grounds, watched over by his beautiful wife, when they'd just make love because they were bored. How much a luxury boredom seemed now. But he had his dream now. He had to love it. He'd made the sacrifice for it, after all. He had to believe in it now more than ever.

But...his Guts was still here. Still sleeping next to him. His simple, no-nonsense way of looking at the world was valuable now, more than ever. As long as he had this man, nothing was impossible.

Was there a way to capture those times again, even for a few scant hours? Griffith laid awake. He didn't need to sleep, not really. These hours when the light had left the sky were either for the best or worst thinking, and nothing in between. And he had the feeling that by the time Guts woke, he'd have thought of an idea on how to make Guts see him as he once was, or at least see that Griffith was still the man he fell in love with. With his new power, surely that wouldn't be that hard.

#

 

Griffith was bouncing as he waited for Guts in their shared room. He was pacing, swinging his arms, nearly skipping like a child. His outfit felt out of place, but that was the fun of it. It was a costume, after all. Today, he'd be playing a part.

He hadn't seen his consort all day, and he knew Guts would be training until he was too hungry to continue. Anna had been all too happy to send his message to Guts. She'd been skeptical when he'd asked her to tell to meet him in the bedroom when he was done changing, but when he'd explained that he was taking the prince out on a date in disguise she'd fallen all over herself, telling him how romantic it all was. He'd miss seeing the look on Guts's face when she told him, but he'd see much of his face today. That made up for it. He looked lovingly at the clothes he'd laid out on their bed, a disguise for his love. It would be a surprise, and Guts was ever so cute when he was surprised. Yes, the sun was shining outside and it was promising to be a good day.

Charlotte would not be left out, either. Guts was always concerned about that, and Charlotte for Guts's sake. It was sweet, really, so he'd made sure they'd all have a happy day. He'd given Anna a significant purse laden with coin and told her to take Charlotte out in the royal carriage, show her the city, take her to the market or the new pubs or to the green square he was setting up in the middle of Falconia. Perhaps even stop by one of the bakeries and commission the baker to make sweets for the orphans. She'd like that. The baker would too, and would possibly do it for free. Everyone in his kingdom had a healthy love for the little ones. Anyone with an unhealthy love was swiftly fed to the apostles.

The door opened and Guts stepped inside. He rolled his shoulder, the joint popping as he did. Griffith winced. Guts was aging. He was not. How long would it be before Guts noticed that? It wouldn't happen. If he could bring back the dead, he could stop Guts from getting older. Of that he was sure. Guts raised an eyebrow at Griffith's attire. “What the hell are you wearing?”

“A disguise, naturally.” Griffith said, toying with a strand of white hair poking out of his hat. Guts's eyes drifted from him to the outfit Griffith had laid out for him. “We're going out.”

“Uh-huh. And what law are we breaking?”

“Breaking the law?”

“These are commoner clothes. You clearly don't want to be recognized. So what law are we breaking?” Guts asked. Griffith noted that he was still getting undressed, pulling his training tunic over his head and tossing it to the floor.

Griffith allowed himself to be briefly mesmerized by a drop of sweat making it's way from Guts's collarbone down his pectorals, almost but not quite evaporated by the time it reached Guts's abdominals. He could see the jut of a hipbone over the top of Guts's drooping leggings. He considered just staying here and riding Guts until they were both tired and bruised. But he'd gone through a lot of effort to find a cart in the city selling Kushan style kabobs and he wanted Guts to try them. He'd braided his own hair, for crying out loud, and he could feel it pressing against the back of his hat. “Unless having delicious food is a crime, we will not risk arrest today.”

“...don't we have food here?”

Griffith rolled his eyes. “Guts. I want to take you out. Like if we'd been allowed to court properly. But I don't want to be mobbed by my subjects, so we're going to wear disguises.”

“Oh.” Guts walked over to the bed, looking over his clothes. He smiled softly, reaching out for the cloak with his fingertips. “This looks like my old one.” His eyes lit up when he finally, finally, noticed the hat on Griffith's head. “And that looks just like the one I bought you.”

“The first gift you ever gave me. Other than yourself.” Griffith returned Guts's whimsical, soft expression. “As we lost the old ones, I had these made for us by my favourite tailor. The one who made your wedding present.”

“And your anniversary gift.” Guts added, his eyes ever so subtly glancing at the closet where that was hidden. Guts's face turned such a pretty shade of red. “And why would you ask him to do something like that?”

“That hat meant a lot to me, because you mean a lot to me. For one day, I wanted to pretend we were the only two people in the world, just like it felt that day.”

Guts groaned. “How am I supposed to say no to that, Griff?”

“You're not.”

“Shouldn't I bathe first? I've been training with my sword all morning.” Guts gestured to his shirtless form. Yes, he was sweaty. Yes, princes usually were encouraged not to be. But he smelled human. He looked human. Exactly as Griffith wanted him to. The more human Guts was, the more human he could be. He could mimic it, but it was easier to copy what was beside you, what you enjoyed watching.

“I don't think so. We won't be gone long.” Griffith crossed his legs at the ankle, grinning at Guts.

“Where are we going?”

“It's a surprise, but I know you'll like it. Come, my love. You trust me, right?”

“Course I do.” No hesitation. Good. Guts sat on the bed next to Griffith, leaning forward to give him a kiss. Griffith leaned into it. The idea of going out was getting less and less appealing. He remembered a distant past of having to argue with Guts about any show of physical expression. Now, Guts was kissing him. He'd gotten so much more affectionate after two prolonged periods of being apart, learning just how much they needed each other. It was one of Griffith's few remaining human needs. He was one of Griffith's few remaining human needs. “Are you sure it can't wait?”

“Yep!” Griffith shot up, out of the way of Guts's sinful, sinful grip. “We can enjoy each other when we get back. Come now, Guts! We need to hurry!”

Guts groaned. “Fine. You win.” He grabbed the boots Griffith had selected, a pair of his old training boots—not supportive enough to train in any longer, but soft enough to look like something any Falconian citizen would wear and easy to walk in. He laced his boots, stealing glances at Griffith. “You come up with the strangest ideas, Pretty Bird.”

“And it took you this long to realize that. Goodness.”

“Shut up.” Guts teased, finally finishing with his boots. “Alright, I'll get the cloak on. This better be good, Griff. The things I do for you.”

Griffith knew those things all too well. He held out a hand to Guts, helping him stand and finish dressing.

#

Guts's hand was warm in Griffith's as they waited in line. Griffith leaned against him. While he knew a few people were staring, he also knew they were smart enough to stay quiet. Sodomy was legal in Falconia. Griffith would spot at least one other couple like him and Guts, and one female couple of the same persuasion. He tried to spot if it was Hawisa and her new lady. Charlotte wasn't her biggest fan, and Griffith was intrigued. Alas, it wasn't her. Guts was looking around, his grip on Griffith tight. “It's sunny, but it ain't that warm.”

“I think autumn will be upon us soon.”

“Hmm. That'd be nice. It's a pretty season.” Guts leaned back. Griffith followed his line of sight. A blacksmith. Of course. Maybe if he was good. Guts's stomach growled. “I'm so hungry I could eat a horse.”

“I don't miss that,” Griffith mused. “I much prefer having beef or mutton proper. Even chicken.”

“Ha, yeah.” Guts shook his head, almost shaking his hat off. Griffith reached up and adjusted it, keeping it at just the right angle to hide Guts's face with shadow. “You know what I do miss? Fresh fish, caught right from the stream. Can't beat that.”

“Me too,” Griffith admitted. They took a step forwards. “I should see if the chef would be willing to procure us some. I bet our Charlotte would like it too.”

“I think we should go out and catch it. There's a river close by, right? We can fish there. Just the two of us. Charlotte would get bored.” Guts paused. “Or we can bring her and her easel, and she can paint while we fish.”

Griffith smiled. Their little family. It had all gone just as he'd hoped. Guts had taken Charlotte as a sister of sorts, and Charlotte cared for Guts as a brother. One day, their little band would get bigger, but for now...the three of them were just fine. “I'd like that. If only the Kushans weren't approaching.”

“I could protect you. That's all I've ever done.”

Griffith squeezed his hand. “Have I ever told you....”

“Excuse me, sir!” Ah, yes. Their task. Griffith turned to the master of the cart. A handsome young man with thick dark hair poking out from his head scarf, he had the same happy smile as many refugees who found their way to Falconia did. Griffith liked these people best of all. The Midlanders he could take or leave, but the people who had journeyed to bask in his splendour? Their gratitude was just what he deserved. “What would you like?”

“Hmm. My husband and I haven't had kabobs before. What do you recommend?” Griffith asked, putting on a bit of an accent. He'd picked it up from Sonia, a young psychic and one of his most loyal soldiers. She didn't like Charlotte much, but she wanted to meet the prince badly. Soon.

“Well,” the young man said, “today I have chicken with sweet peppers and fragrant herbs, and I have lamb with new tomatoes and a dusting of spice. I can also offer you some honey cakes. Whatever you'd like!”

“Oh, I can't decide. Should we get it all, my sweet?”

Guts nodded. “Sounds great!” His accent wasn't as good, but it had enough of his natural rough mercenary style of speaking that it disguised him well. “That's real nice of you, my love.”

“Oh, stop.” Griffith dug out the appropriate amount of coin and passed it to the young man, receiving one of each kind of kabob and two honey cakes. “Thank you sir!”

“My pleasure!” The man gave them a little bow. He knew not who they really were, but he was happy to treat them like royalty regardless. Guts waved to him as they walked away, taking a kabob from Griffith as they moved away from the line.

“So, uh, how do you eat this?” Guts asked. “Is this Kushan food?”

“Sure is! I've been intrigued by it for a while, but I don't know many places in the city that sell it. So once I found one, I knew I had to take you.” Griffith nibbled the first piece of chicken off the sanded stick it was hanging off of. Guts followed his lead, trying to eat with one hand and keep holding Griffith's hand with the other. Griffith slid a piece of sweet pepper off his kabob and put it in Guts's mouth. “What do you think?”

“It's got a real flavour to it.” Guts said, chewing with his mouth half open. Perfect. “But not in a bad way. It's good stuff.”

They ate in silence, strolling through the small market place that had sprung up so close to the palace. Griffith wasn't sure he liked that, but he did like how easy it was for him to get the goods he desired. Small evils for grand mercies. He spotted some new ones, like a doll shop selling very pretty wooden replicas of the princess. If Charlotte didn't pick one up herself, he'd get her one tomorrow. He also noticed Guts subtly leading him towards the smith shop, because Guts lacked all subtlety. The large man cleared his throat, looking down at Griffith. “Thanks, Pretty Bird.”

“What for?”

“This has been...nice.” Guts smiled at him. “I thought you'd forgotten all about the old days, to be honest. It was nice to just go out and be ourselves for a bit. And the kabobs were really good.”

“I agree. I might have to ask that nice young man to come and cook for us once a week.” Griffith mused. He bumped into Guts, earning a chuckle. “And I did not forget. Having my dream doesn't make me a different person. Just a much busier one.”

Guts's smile felt forced, but neither commented. Griffith pulled him past the smith shop. “I wasn't that clever, was I?” Guts laughed. “I'll go on my own tomorrow.”

“I'd appreciate that.” Griffith looked Guts up and down. He had a faint flush dusting his cheek from their brisk pace. He looked so comfortable in his cloak, more comfortable than Griffith ever saw him without a sword. Had his jaw always been so chiselled, his shoulders so broad? His hand was strong as it ever was. Had Guts's eyes always been like smokey quartz, so many shades of brown within them, as alluring as looking into a precious stone. He'd had this man for years, and now they were wed. Had he been so blinded by his dream all this time that he'd never seen how beautiful Guts was?

Griffith spotted an alley and started tugging Guts down it. Guts followed, as he always did, but he was confused, his steps unsteady as he tripped over them in his haste to keep up with Griffith. “What's wrong, Griff? Did someone see us?”

Griffith spun him around with strength he'd never had, pinning Guts to the wall. Griffith plucked the hat from Guts's head, as it would be easier getting Guts's hair back under it than his own, and used it to hide their face from the street, holding it against their cheeks. “No, but I see you.”

“What the hell are you...” Guts's words died quickly, the second Griffith pressed their lips together. He nudged at Guts's closed mouth with his tongue, and was granted instant access. Guts moaned as Griffith slid against him, their bodies pressed so close that it didn't matter that Griffith ran cold. Their heat was shared, where one ended and the other began unclear. Griffith stroked Guts's face in his free hand, letting Guts wrap his big strong arms around his shoulders. “What brought this on?”

“Do I need a reason to be attracted to the man I married?”

“Yeah,” Guts joked, pecking Griffith on the nose, “because I have no idea what you see in a roughneck like me, even now.”

“And I've no idea what you see in a monster like me.”

“You're no monster, Griff.” Guts assured him, squeezing him tighter.

“You don't think so?”

“Sure, you're not always...the person I remember, but we've been through hell. Of course we're different now. I think I am too, but it's hard to tell.”

“You are.” Griffith kissed Guts just below his lips, and then right to the side, right on a dimple. “I wasn't sure you'd accept how I am now. I want to be the one you loved.”

“You're the one I love, Griffith.” Guts tucked a lock of escaped hair back under Griffith's hat. “Always.”

Griffith wondered if Guts would feel the same way if he knew all he'd done. It would almost be a tragedy if he did, considering how monstrous it had all been. He didn't want Guts attached to him at the cost of...no. He was perfectly willing to keep Guts with him, even if Guts feared him as much as he loved him. Even hate was better than apathy. But as long as Guts knew that he was different, but that what was left of his heart still beat for him, that was enough. He had no dream without the man before him, and it terrified him now as it had then. “And you are mine. Now, then. Forever.”

“That's what the ring is for, ain't it?” Guts kissed him deeply. He tasted like honey and spices and sweat. He smelled like dirt and dust and musk. Guts was so alive, still alive. Griffith surrendered to the kiss, leaning into Guts, letting his love hold up upright. “Want to go home, pretty bird? Or did you have somewhere else you wanted to lead me?”

“If I did, would you follow me?”

“Always.”

Those words held more danger than Guts realized. Than either of them did. So Griffith said nothing. He only led Guts out of the alley, taking the long way back to the palace, letting Guts tell him about training and rant about work and the weather and everything and nothing, his hand warm and solid in Griffith's. He was reminded of a line from an epic he'd been reading to Guts and Charlotte in the evenings, and as he did he feared that Guts would meet the same fate as Enkidu. But he'd conquered death before. If Guts was struck down, he'd strike back with a force ten times greater and then resurrect Guts as he was. Still, the line was in his head, looping, cycling.

Hold my hand in yours, and we will not fear what hands like ours can do.

Notes:

I'm still alive. Que the Pearl Jam.

I'm still adapting to my new job and now the wedding is, at time of posting, less than two months out. My thanks to my fiancé, for many things, but in this case for helping me edit the works in this series despite not liking Berserk. He's a keeper.

I'm working hard on the magnum opus chapter of the request/AU fic, and oh boy. It's so stupid. But...I feel that I might have to end this one with a confrontation, and perhaps on a cliffhanger. I don't know if I have more Berserk in me left once this all is done, but it's Berserk. I'll always be back.

My Tumblr: https://inkyblacc.tumblr.com/
Fic Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2F9QSVpSNlqQowtpPvSt2C?si=2b47898588a142c7
My YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC97JcI76oZWkH25xm3BHRPQ
My TikTok, because I am now cool: https://www.tiktok.com/@inkyblackheart

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 13 of Power (And Control)