A Sword for Griffith (some fanfic)

Hi there! This is my first post here.
So let me say two things first:
a) I really admire the great job you are doing here, all the interesting posts and also the immense amount of work for creating those wonderful podcasts.
b) Please accept my apologies for my English. It is not my native language. I will to try to post here very carefully to avoid misunderstandings or even being rude to someone without realizing what I did.

As a tribute to this forum I would like to offer a small piece of a fanfic-story I am working on, and although it may be of minor quality, a lot of time and emotion went into the multiple chapters I have already written, thus I hope that you will accept this at least as a try to contribute to your wonderful forum.

So here it goes:


A Sword for Griffith

Chapter 1: The Cub

Charlotte woke up late in the morning. From the sounds that surrounded her, she realized that everybody else was already busy and she felt a little bit guilty. Yet she had been quite tired and had needed the sleep dearly. Griffith was still the same feral lover as he had been, when he had taken her maidenhood. Nevertheless he had put an immense gentleness into his bold approaches, when he had realized a couple of years ago, that Charlotte had become quite frail from having given birth to three children within the 14 years of their marriage. She loved him for that sign of respect and care more than she could ever tell him.

Suddenly the door was flung open. Griffith entered, clad in his famous Millennium Falcon armour. She smiled joyfully, when she saw him. Despite the fierce love she felt for him, it was always a pleasure to watch this beautiful person. Where she had aged within the past 14 years, Griffith had not changed at all, still looking like the hardly 20 years-old youth who had rescued her from the Kushan emperor. Yet, his eternal youth and angelic beauty was just one of the numerous miracles he had worked before her eyes.

She was pulled out of her thoughts, when she heard the bright jingle of his long spurs. That reminded her painfully of the fact, that he was about to set out today for another war. Griffith had hardly spent a couple of months per year with her in the past 14 years, spending the largest part of them on military campaigns. Yet, he had almost every night reappeared in her sleeping-room right out of the shadows, wherever and how far away ever his campaigns had led him, and having vanished again, when she woke up in the morning. Just one more of the miracles, he was able to work ...

This month he had spent entirely with her and the children, although he had been very busy preparing the campaign. But today he was about to leave again and she realized that it was now time to say farewell. He squatted on the bed besides her and carassed her face with his steel-clad hand so gently and carefully, that the gauntlet might well have been made of silk.

Charlotte clasped his hand. „So it is necessary? Will you be careful? This time especially careful?“ she asked Griffith, knowing the answer quite well. Griffith gently kissed her on her lips and she took it as a promise.
Yes, this time it was a very special occasion.
The reason for her questions entered right at this moment the sleeping-room.

Emrys was their oldest son. He was 13 and quite tall for his age, yet not overly so. He looked like a younger version of Griffith: the same angelic beauty, the same silver-white mane falling down almost to his belt, the same features, and moving as gracefully as his father. He was clad in a short woolen tunic, tight riding-breeches and thigh-length riding-boots. He wore spurs on his boots too. He was to accompany his father on this campaign and to fight in his first battle.

Although Charlotte knew, that Griffith had at this age already been leader of a small mercenary band, she nevertheless was terribly afraid for the cub, as Griffith used to call his eldest son. Emrys nevertheless had inherited the martial spirit of his father, like their other children had too, and was already expecting his first battle with great joy.

Those two children entered the room now also, as usual staying close to Emrys. Tam and Tara, the 10 years-old twins also looked like younger versions of Griffith, the girl just like a female variation of his features. Although Charlotte loved the three children with all the power of her heart, she sometimes regretted, that she was not able to find the faintest trace of some of her features at the children. She would never ever have gotten the idea or would have believed it if someone had told her the fact, that Griffith had had his hands in it, when he had planted their seeds into her womb ...

Emrys sat down at the side of his father after having given his mother a loving hug and the twins entered the bed, snuggling with loving care at the side of her mother. They all knew, that they had to be careful, since her mother was pregnant again, now being somewhere around her early seventh month of pregnancy. Charlotte dearly hoped, that this time the child would bear at least some faint traces of her features. Griffith knew about that, and this time he had chosen to arrange it this way. He could have done like on the previous occasions as well, yet he had made a different choice concerning this child, and had so far refused to think about the reasons, why he had done so this time.

The noise of the army which was to depart for the campaign was now getting louder and louder, everybody eager to set out for another victory under their famous leader, and Charlotte realised that Griffith and Emrys had now to leave her. One final hug, one final gentle kiss from each of them and then they left Charlotte and the twins.

Having been brought up as a princess of an ancient dynasty, she knew, that this was necessary. Griffith I., King of Midland, also called Griffith the Conqueror, had to take his oldest son at this age to his first battle, where the youth had to prove being worth and worthy enough as Prince of Midland and heir to the throne of the House of Falconia.

(to be continued)
 
A Sword for Griffith (pt. 2 of some fanfic)

A Sword for Griffith

Chapter 2: Setting the Stage

Griffith and his son Emrys left Falconia at the head of the large army. All the streets were crowded by thousands and thousands of inhabitants of the bright capital of Midland, cheering their glorious king and their 13 years-old beautiful prince.

In the past 14 years after his coronation Griffith had waged war after war against neighbouring countries, conquering them one after the other, never losing even a single battle. He had shown mercy to all those armies which had yielded, but had slaughtered all to the last man, who had persisted. Yet, he was a kind and benevolent king for all the citizens of those countries which had been made part of Midland after their conquest, bringing the strict but just laws he had established in Midland to them, as well as the efficient administration too, making those countries flourish like never before and making their citizens follow him eagerly into his next war, to participate in the glory of this meanwhile legendary warrior-king.

Those voices which admonished about all that, arguing that Griffith´s pursuit of his dream had already killed several hundred thousand people in all those wars, were silenced by the majority seeing only the ervergrowing power and glory of the kingdom Griffith was creating.
Additionally many of the critical voices who had tried to act against Griffith had vanished in the past years, some people even right out of their houses in the dark of the night; some were found dead in the forest outside of Falconia, obviously having commited suicide, when they had realized the foolishness of their actions; some were never ever seen again.

Having reached the outer gates of Falconia, the troops received their traditional blessing by Sonia, the Seeress of the Falcon, who was also kind of head of the administrative and spiritual personnel of the Cult of the Falcon which had replaced in the past ten or twelve years almost entirely the Church of the Holy See in Midland.

The old Holy Father had died a couple of days after he had celebrated the marriage-ceremony of Griffith and Charlotte and had put the new crown of Midland, the Crown of the Falcon, on Griffith´s head. Nobody was surprised about his death, because he had already been quite old and quite ill. Nobody was surprised either, when Federigo de Vandimion had run for the office then. Yet, even he was surprised about how many potential candidates died within the weeks until the election was to take place, and how many of the rest had turned mad, babbling something about haunting nightmares of huge sapphire blue cat-eyes they had encountered in the dark of the night, and about the moment, when they had looked into the pitch-black vertical pupils - making them fall into a bottomless abyss, and keeping on falling, and falling, and falling ...

Federigo de Vandimion was elected Holy Father; yet King Griffith did not show any signs of intending to follow the usual procedures of showing the traditional submission of the king of Midland under the authority of the Holy Father. He kept on using the great cathedral of Falconia for his regular gatherings with the citizens of Midland, every time letting them participate in the many smaller and larger miracles he worked in front of their very eyes. The priests of the Holy See had nothing to hold against but prayers and admonitions about sinful life and how people could be relieved from their sins by sharing their possessions with the Holy Mother Church.

When Vandimion tried to send the Holy Inquisition, they were intercepted by a detachment of the newly created police of Midland and arrrested. It had been one of Griffith´s first acts as king to abolish torture within his realm. Thus the delegation of the inquisition was tried at court in Falconia and then thrown into prison on long-term sentences. Vandimion had stayed in the palace of the Holy See far away, with fuming rage, and had not dared to travel to Falconia to challenge Griffith, since the young king had so much support from the entire population of his country.

Thus the influence of the Holy Father on Midland diminuished, also due to a certain illness which had struck him soon after these events. He withdrew from the public entirely, loosing thereby his most influential instrument of his ability to manipulate people, retreating entirely to a few rooms within the palace of the Holy See and receiving only a few trusted people whom he troubled with strange tales about some huge, incredibly beautiful sapphire blue cat-eyes he had encountered right in the middle of a terrrible thunderstorm in a winter-night, which had also brought down the largest bell of the church of the palace, making it break into hundreds of shards. Yet, warned by tales he remembered quite well, and aided by the strength of his own powerful will, he had been able to drag away his gaze from the vertical pitch-black pupils right in the last moment. But from that night on, he was a terrified, permanently shivering old man, horrified by the idea what might happen the next time, he would encounter those eyes, this time no longer able to drag away his gaze from those pupils ...

After the ceremony of farewell performed by Sonia, the army left the outskirts of Falconia, and after about two weeks of travelling they reached the border of Thrakia, a silvestran and quite rural country, with a small but ancient capital right at the sea, yet with only a small harbour. It would not have been amongst the primary targets of Griffith, if it were not the place, where an eclipse was about to take place within the next weeks.

This kind of instance was always a chance, to give a demonic entity a passage to enter this world and to pull down the barriers between this world and the world of demons a bit more. Additionally the king of this country had an extremely beautiful 15 years-old daughter, Griffith intended to introduce to his eldest son as a potential wife.

When the army of Midland had reached the outskirts of the vast forests of Thrakia, Griffith stood for quite a time at the top of the hill, where they had set up camp, looking at the forest next to them. He knew it quite well, although he had never been there before.

It had been about ten years ago, when Guts had made his last attempt to reach Falconia. He had tried several ways, several disguises and also the magical aid of Schierke, yet he had always encountered a large detachment of the army of Midland, waiting for him. The soldiers had never ever shown any sign of hostility, always paying great respect to him and their commander always offering him the greetings of Griffith, King of Midland, and the regrets, why the king was not able to receive him at this occasion. Since Guts always had Casca in tow, he never risked to engage with several divisions of Midland´s army on the spot, which usually waited for him, because he knew, they would have been both killed in such an encounter. After a certain time, it became obvious to him, that Griffith knew about every single movement he made and since he did not want to destroy Casca´s life to gain his revenge on Griffith, he decided to draw back and to spend the rest of his life there with eternal grief.

Thus Guts retreated with Casca to a hut within a forest in Thrakia, where Schierke had already found a place to stay, where she felt to be without reach of the Falcon of Darkness. After having stayed there for almost a year, he and Schierke began daring to stay away several times for a couple of days to explore the environment, leaving Casca and their hut in the custody of Isidro. One day they returned from one of their expeditions, everything had changed nevertheless. A military camp had been set up right besides the hut. Quite a lot of action was going on there, with about a hundred of soldiers of the army of Midland and also other personnel being busy.
Guts and Schierke watched quite perplexed, what was happening there.

A corral had been built right besides the hut, populated by quite a number of cattle, and goats too, a barn was being errected by carpenters as well, aided by some of the soldiers, some others carrying things into the hut from various carts, and lots of them standing guard in the entire valley surrounding the hut.
Guts did not hesitate to approach some of the guards directly, although Schierke desperately tried to hold him back. The soldiers were obviously well-trained and well-disciplined members of an elite-unit, dropping into fighting-stance the very moment they saw those two approaching. Just a moment later, it became obvious, that the soldiers recognized Guts from some description they had been given. Immediately they composed themselves and gathered into a posture of reverence and saluted Guts with lowered heads and lowered swords.

Guts, beeing taken by surprise, passed those sentries and moved closer to the hut. There he saw Isidro spending his time relaxed with some of the soldiers, Casca watching calmly some of them cooking their food in a huge kettle, and although being watched by them with some irritation nevertheless being treated with respect and politeness.
Then the commander of the soldiers approached; a young, handsome lad, introducing himself as „Mule“, offering the regards and greetings of Griffith, King of Midland, to „Guts, the Black Swordsman, and Schierke, the shy little bird.“
Guts was fuming with rage, yet, Schierke went pale and started to tremble to such an extent, that Guts had to help her, for the moment forgetting his plans to brain the young, highly decorated officer who wore the badge of the Band of the Falcon. Schierke had been terrified mortally, when she realized, that the Falcon had been able to recognize even the faint traces of her astral body in the little bird she had used to hide within, for watchig him, as he had encountered the Kushans for the first time in West-Midland.

When Schierke had recovered, she threw herself almost desparately in front of the young officer, to keep Guts from starting any violent action, and to protect Casca as well as Isidro, since the large number of well-trained soldiers would have easily dealt with them, before even Guts would have been able to kill them all. Guts, slowly realizing what his chances were, slowly retreated into the hut and never left it in the following three days, the soldiers needed to accomplish their task. He looked at the result of it, when they all had left, with a great rage. He knew that it had not been a kindhearted effort of Griffith to help them, but just a display of his powers and to make Guts aware, that he was nothing but a mouse on a string he held in his hand.

From that time on, he had left the hut only on few occasions, leaving the forest surrounding it never ever again.

Griffith withdrew his gaze from that forest and walked back to his tent, to meet his son and the war council, he was about to hold there, to introduce his cub to the rituals of a military campaign and to improve his evident potential as a warrior, worth to be a true son of his father.

(to be continued)
 
Top Bottom