Archive of Our Own

“Aleksander has not sent any coin this moon,” Ulric grumbled.
Godfrey made a non-committal sound. If he wanted to sleep under a roof tonight, he had to tread carefully to not make his father angry. Anything could, these days.
“’Hum’. ’Hum’. That is all you are good for, isn’t it?” His father spat on the ground.
Godfrey said nothing. He tried to not eat too hastily - meat was precious even in the home of a butcher - but years of experience told him that he had better hurry if he wanted to enjoy it for even a moment longer.
“Well? I asked you a question, so say something!”
Godfrey tensed up. Whatever had kept swelling up and swirling in him all these years was fighting for a way out. Damned be the consequences, slowly, with hands shaking, he put the food back down on a plate. “Alright. I will say something,” he finally dared to raise his head to meet his father’s eyes. “Alek ran away. He doesn’t want either me or you to know where to find him and only kept sending money to keep you placated. And if you ask me, he did the right thing.”
Ulric froze mid-movement. “What did you just say?” His voice was quiet, threatening.
Godfrey stopped caring.
“You heard me. Alek got out, away from this shithole, away from his dead-end of a father...“
“WHAT?! One son ran away to fuck whores or get fucked himself like one - gods only know how he gets the money! - and the other… the other is... “ Ulric slammed his fists on the table and stood up. The chair clattered to the floor.
Godfrey felt the familiar urge to cower clutch at his insides. But he has had enough.
“At least I didn’t drive my own wife away from me because I couldn’t keep my dick to myself!”
The pitcher hit him in the face. He could feel the pain spread hot across his mouth, and tasted the blood inside.
“You ungrateful brat! You will never appreciate what I did for you!”
Godfrey was not planning on staying and seeing what Ulric, spit flying from his mouth, wanted to do to him this time. He pushed the table in his way in one swift, powerful motion, and all but dove out of the door.
And if his vision became blurred with tears, it might have as well been from how fast he ran.

“Thank you, Kadmila. I won’t ever be able to repay you for all the good you did to me.”
“Oh, Godfrey. Do not be ridiculous. I simply let you sleep in the barn. Besides, you did me good, too. How else would an old widow like me get by if you didn’t make sure I had dry firewood in winter, if you didn’t bring me water from the well… ,“ she sighed. “But I know you can not stay here forever. People would talk,” she nudged his ribs with her elbow, and he saw the wrinkles around her eyes fan out as she smiled.
“Tonight, the baron and his retinue feast. Everybody, even the soldiers and the guards, will be drunk. I will try to leave then.”
“... Oh,” Kadmila’s eyes flickered to the ground.
“What is the matter, Elder?”
“I admit… I didn’t think it would be so soon.”
“It is as you said. I have to go.”
“I know. I know. Oh, come here,” Kadmila outstretched her arms towards him, and he leaned into the embrace. Her shoulders shook with a few quiet snobs.
“Do not cry, please. Or I will stay no matter what the people think.”
Kadmila laughed at that, though still sniffling. “There only ever was and will be only one man in my life, and you know that, Godfrey. But I will miss you. Who will help me around the house and with the chores? Who will come visit and talk to an old woman?” She shook her head. “No, no, do not be concerned on my behalf. It’s just that the village won’t be the same without you. Godfrey. Godfrey, look at me,” she reached out and lifted his chin up. “Just because your father is an old arse, it doesn’t mean that all the people are the same. They are just as afraid of him - ah, do not try to hide it, Godfrey, do you think I’d laugh? - as you are. Everybody hates him and everybody, not just this old crone, adores you. You are a good young man, Godfrey. Do not let whatever fate decides to throw at you spoil it.”
Godfrey closed his eyes as she kissed his forehead and patted his cheek.
“Now. Since this might be the last time you see me, let me bake a little something for you for the journey. I insist!”

“Godfreyyy!”
“Ana! What are you doing here alone? Do your parents know where you have gone? It’s almost dark!”
“Uhm. Mama sent me. Everybody is saying that you are leaving. Is that true?”
Godfrey laughed. “Rumors do travel fast. It’s true, little one.”
“Well, mama asked if you wouldn’t change your mind. She said you could work at uncle’s mill, or even with Josef at the smithy! She said you are strong enough, so they will surely not turn you away, and she said that she will put in a good word for you, too!”
Godfrey smiled and crouched down to tousle the girl’s hair. “Your mama is a very kind and generous woman, Ana. Tell her that I appreciate it, but I can’t stay anywhere near the village, alright? Tell her that I will be forever thankful, and I will always think of her and you. Don’t be sad, Ana. Come on,” he picked the girl up by the waist and spinned her around until she laughed. “I know you will grow up as strong as she is, and you will be a great boyar like her, right? And I promise that I will come and visit if- when I can. Do we have a deal? Can we shake hands on it?”
Ana, hiding her hands behind her back, pouted, thinking the offer over for a moment. Eventually, she blew the air out of her cheeks in resignation. “Ugh. Mama always said you were too stubborn for your own good.”
“Oh! Is that what mama said?” Godfrey laughed and shook the offered hand. “That is good to know. Now, scarper before a nightwraith crawls out of the woods and finds you out of bed, alright?”
“Ugh, fine. I just have to tell you one more thing.”
“Yes?”
Ana rolled her eyes. “It’s a secret. I have to whisper it in your ear!”
“Oh, right, forgive me,” Godfrey obediently knelt down on one knee so that the girl could reach him. But instead, Ana threw her arms around his neck, buried her face in his hair, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before running up the road towards the village, leaving Godfrey stunned - and almost beginning to believe that perhaps there were at least a few people here that truly did not hate him.
He did not make it farther than a few hundred feet before he heard the barking.

He ran.
“Ana, oh no. No, no, no! Ana!”
But the barks grew louder and then quiet, and then he heard the scream. It was inhuman, unlike anything he has heard before, and he felt his stomach turn.
“ANA!”
The dogs caught her just off the road. She was smart, tried to climb a tree, but they dragged her off it to the ground and shook her like a rat. The tree bark scratches covered the palms of her hands, blood covered half of her face. If Godfrey didn’t see it, if she laid on the other side, if her unseeing eyes weren’t blindly fixed on him in a silent accusation, he could have convinced himself that she was still alive.
The hounds spotted him standing there with mouth half-open in horror, eyes wide, hands half outstretched towards her - as if he could help, now. He couldn't. But he could do something. Live.
He set his jaw and put a hand on the hilt of his knife just as one of the beasts bit into his forearm and immediately bit him again. Sharp pain pierced his limb and his stomach, where the dog tried to gain leverage with its claws, and it almost blinded him, but he managed to keep his hold on the weapon and stab the beast, once, twice in a quick succession, and it let go, before the other dog sank its fangs into his leg and pulled.
Godfrey fell on the ground and the beast was on him the blink of an eye. In its fervent effort to tear into him, it bit the blade of the knife he held in front of his face, and he squeezed the soft part of its torso between his legs. The dog turned to free itself with a whimper, and Godfrey seized the opportunity. The knife sank with a sickening ripping sound deep under the skin between its ribs.
His stomach coiled once again as the dog yelped, released him, and fell off him. What kind of a sick bastard would teach these animals to do this?
Not yet steady, he almost fell on the first one, trying to rub the blood out of its now non-existent eye with its paw, and he wrapped the bitten arm around its neck to cut its throat. It frantically tried to pull free, but as it gurgled its own blood, its attempts grew weaker, and weaker, until they stopped.

As if in a haze, he realized that blood is slowly, but steadily streaming down his limbs. He clasped a palm over his forearm and pressed down, just wishing over and over that he would not die here, in the dark forest, all alone with only the wide-eyed, lifeless body of Ana. His senses must have deceived him, however, or he was already dying, for when he pulled the hand away again, the wounds were gone.

He carried Ana to the only priestess in the village. He told her what happened, he told her how it happened, he told her it was his fault.
“Your fault? Your fault?! Were those monsters yours? Did you teach them how flesh tastes on beggars? Was it you that sicced them on the hunt? What was that? Louder, boy, godsdammit! No? Well, there you go, I guess. The blame lies entirely with the baron,” she spat on the ground and he flinched.

“Olszanik will pay for this.”

Godfrey watched the face of Ana’s mother, determined, serious, and now uncharastically devout of emotion. He listened to her voice, cold and hard and as sure as stone, and he knew that this was either going to be true, or she will die trying to make it so.
“Lady Katya… “
“Hush now. What happened, happened, and we can not take that back. The only thing in our hands now is our own fates. Will you join me?”
“I… I will do everything in my power to avenge Ana and achieve justice.”
She scoffed. “There will be no justice in this. They will come down to punish us, to kill, enslave, steal and burn the village to the ground. There will only be a massacre.”

Most of the elderly and children had left the village by now. Only the ones capable and willing to fight stayed behind.
For once, he was glad that his father was who he was, and scarpered as soon as he heard of the baron’s wrath.
Around him, the village was fervently preparing for battle. Katya, moving around and giving orders like a commander on a battlefield, was the only one who had a proper armor and weapon, the rest were in their usual clothes, with clubs, shovels, pitchforks and scythes and some spears in their hands, and axes, daggers and knives behind their belts. A few boys and girls that barely reached adulthood had slings and pouches filled with stones or small metal balls, and fewer people yet wielded the odd bow.
Godfrey felt his heart pounding in his ears. While they were not preparing for a direct confrontation, they made quite the pathetic army.
While some hastily dag ditches in the ground, others stretched ropes across the road, and others yet prepared other traps. People were barricading alleys with wagons and doors with furniture. Katya gave out instructions on where to pour tar and oil on the ground and where to put packets of dry straw and wet wood.
To think that only a few hours ago, he was on his way to another barony, and now everybody was united under Katya to avenge her daughter and all the unlawfulness the baron has committed against them over the years. The cup of their patience overflowed, and blood will be pouring over the edge.
As it will soon be pouring on the ground.

When the attack began, there was no time to think. Someone yelled, and then horses and their fiendish riders burst out of the darkness and smoke like demons, and Godfrey fought.

They lost. Of course they would.
More people were wounded then dead, but if there were dead, it was not Olszanik’s men. Seeing the bodies on the ground was jarring. His neighbours, his friends, Olshava, Rakolub, Medeja… there will be a few new graves dug in the following days.
A few too many.
Godfrey looked around the tiny village square where the ones that the baron’s men managed to catch still standing were being rounded up.
“Alright now, you ungrateful swine!” the baron yelled, as his horse pranced in front of the imprisoned. Godfrey had never seen him up so close. The man could have been in his forties. Deep lines ran across his face in a frown. His eyes were hard as a stone, and black and cold like a mountain lake in moonlight. His moustache curled down to the corners of his mouth and then up, resembling wild boar tusks. His voice was like a thunder, even if still slurred from the drinking he had done earlier that evening. In the darkness, on his black stallion, with a fur hat and fine clothes, he towered over all. “One of you killed my dogs. My favorite pets! A highly prospective breeding pair, which you could of course never understand, since you fuck amongst your own brothers and sisters like the rats you really are! Tell me who it was, and maybe I will let you get out with your skin whole and head still on your shoulders.”
Nobody made a move. The baron sneered.
“I should have expected you to be this stupid.” His eyes searched the group until they stopped on the man two over to Godfrey’s left. He could see him trembling, grinding his teeth so that he could not hear their chatter. “Take him,” the baron barked out an order and the young man winced, “strip him and tie him up.”
Godfrey watched with mounting terror as the commands were carried out. He wanted to speak up, confess, but the words would not leave his mouth. He could only witness what was happening, as if he was frozen, glued to the ground.
One end of a long rope was tied around the young man’s hands, while the baron snatched the other and began tying it around the pommel of the saddle. Godfrey’s stomach sank. This can’t be true, this can not be happening right now.
The baron spurred the horse by kicking its flanks and it was propelled forward by its hind legs, digging into the ground, its back curved with the force of a sudden movement. The young man was yanked forward behind it, flying through the air shortly before being flung hard on the dirt and rocks of the road.
Everybody in the group moved as if one, Godfrey’s voice was drowned out by the screams of his fellow captives and those of the young man being dragged behind the horse.
He kneed one of the baron’s men in the stomach and ran forward, but he didn’t get too far before being stopped by an overwhelming strength of hands. Punches and kicks rained upon him as they brought him to the ground.
By the time the tussle had died down and he was shoved back into the group, the baron had finished his round around the square.
“I am giving you a second chance! I will give you as many chances as you want. We’ll see who lasts the longest, hm? I ask you again - WHO DARED TOUCH MY PROPERTY?!”
The square fell silent. Even the young man stayed quiet on the ground, unmoving. Godfrey couldn’t bear the thought that he might be dead, might have died because of him and his cowardice. He spared one look at the other villagers, nursing their own or each other’s wounds, subdued, before turning his gaze upon Olszanik, waiting for a response on his horse. Their eyes met.
He moved before he knew he made the decision to do so, opened his mouth - but then the baron jerked, turning his head and horse away. It took Godfrey another heartbeat before he too heard what must have disturbed the baron - the sound of hooves, slowly but surely approaching.
With but a look and a wave of the hand, Olszanik ordered his men to prepare for the encounter. The square became a hive of activity as the men-at-arms moved to their positions. The villagers were only guarded by a handful men now, and started exchanging glances, before a few started to slink away while the baron’s men’s attention was not on them.
Godfrey couldn’t. Whoever, whatever was coming, the distraction they or it provided, was his chance to help the young man.
If he yet lived.
He barely spared the rider a look when he emerged from the darkness and smoke and fire. It was another knight, perhaps even another noble - his features, well-made armor, weapon, and steed suggested so, at least - and Godfrey couldn’t expect any help or mercy from the likes of him. Likely, it was just another of Olszanik’s friends, who fell behind on the hunt drowned in fine wine, ale or mead.
He focused instead on grabbing the rope so that the baron would not be alerted to his knife cutting through it as he spoke with the stranger. He only quickly looked up when the baron’s voice rose and his horse danced on the spot, uneasy under the agitated man on his back. The newcomer stood calmly, weathering this like a man unbothered by a storm, because it can not hurt him. Godfrey didn’t have time to think about how odd that was just then. He turned back to the rope just as his knife cut through the last thread.
His hands got bloody as he freed the man’s, but he didn’t care, he turned him over as gently as he could.
The man shuddered out a slow, shallow breath.
“Joska. Joska, stay with me, I am going to get you out of here, I promise, you will be alright, you will be fine, I swear it by all the gods, just don’t give up now, fight it,” Godfrey chanted under his breath, unsure that the man could even process his words.
He whipped his head around, but there was no one close by, all the villagers had fled and all the baron’s men were slowly enclosing upon the newcomer.
He still seemed unbothered, even as the baron was smugly boasting about something to him now.
Godfrey watched, but nobody watched them, and so he put Joska’s hand over his shoulder, and half-crouching, began dragging him away into one of the side alleys.

The priestess laid slain in the pool of her own blood in the village square, and so it was him who had to help.
They made it to one of the more remote, now abandoned buildings; it was still too close. He could hear the baron’s shouting, muffled, as he patted the young man down for injuries, not daring to light even a candle, assisted only by moonlight. He was still able to find water and cloth. He could wrap Joska’s wounds, but not do anything about injuries deeper than a scrape on a skin.
“I am so sorry, Joska,” Godfrey muttered, but something in him had hardened on that day. He would neither cry, nor despair - instead he worked, quietly, efficiently, cleaning and bandaging fast.
His head snapped up once, pausing when he heard the sound of hooves. Barely breathing, he waited for them to come closer, for baron’s men to kick down the door or throw a torch in through the windows, but instead, the noise ever so slowly faded in the distance.
Godfrey breathed out in relief and continued his work.
You will be well, he repeated his oath in his mind. Suddenly, it felt as if he wasn’t trying to patch the young man up with his hands anymore, as much as will him into health and life. He kept up the effort, tolling and exhausting as it was. He didn’t even realize he had been muttering the words he thought over and over again. “You will be well. You will be well. You w-what? Joska? Joska!”
His hands jerked away as if burnt when the young man stirred again, but he immediately reached for him again as he, slumped against the wall, started sliding to the side.
“Godfrey,” the man breathed and his eyes fluttered, though he couldn’t quite open them yet.
“I am here. Stay still and do not talk, Joska, you are injured.”
Joska simply groaned in response. Godfrey took it as agreement and soon, the young man’s ragged breath evened out as he dozed off.
Godfrey hoped it was a good sign.
There wasn’t much more he could do for him, but wait.
He finished dressing Joska into new clothes - the ones he had previously on were soaked in blood and torn, falling apart - and sat on the floor across from him.His body ached. Even the dog bite wounds that were healed. He couldn’t have made it up, but he doubted himself still. Godfrey leaned back against the wall, throwing back his head to relieve his neck and shoulders. It was all too much. He had to close his eyes for at least a heartbeat. Just for a-

Godfrey startled awake, immediately aware of being observed.
He scrambled to his feet before fully coming to, his vision not yet focused, and pressed his back and hands against the wall to steady himself on shaky legs. His eyes darted back and forth, before landing on a figure that was crouched next to Joska’s form.
Godfrey’s jaw set and he grabbed the handle of his knife. Noone would harm or hurt Joska again, not if he could prevent it. Carefully, freeing the knife from behind his belt, he stepped forward.
The man next to Joska suddenly stood in his full height, not too tall, but imposing nonetheless, and his eyes fixed firmly on Godfrey, who caught, felt his tongue darted between his dry lips. Only then did the stranger from earlier that night relax and release the handle of the sword by his side. Instead, he held his hands up in the gesture of surrender, as if Godfrey would have stood a chance against him with his simple blade. He frowned.
“How?” the knight asked eventually. His voice was much quieter and calmer than Godfrey expected. But he did not let go of the knife.
“How?” he echoed warily.
“How did you heal this young man?”
“I did not-”
“Hm. Look closer.”
Godfrey grew annoyed, well-aware that this feeling stemmed from feeling threatened, from the ridiculous imbalance in power between the two of them, and a lack of choice that he had. He growled defiantly, but quietly, and he did turn his head to Joska, though his intention was to watch the stranger out of the corner of his eye.
That was all but forgotten when his eyes finally landed on the young villager.
It was undoubtedly him, Joska, but not the Joska from a few hours ago. That man was bruised and battered, swollen, his skin cracked open. This one’s skin was smooth, except for some discoloration and a few scars.
Godfrey’s widened eyes fell to his own forearm and he ran his fingers over the skin there. That too was hardened and raised where the dogs sank their fangs into his flesh. His eyes snapped back up to look at the stranger.
He seemed amused. “I expect it is you who wants to ask how now, but we mustn’t linger for much longer. I can not be sure that baron Olszanik won’t return to search for the two of you.”
“You are the reason he-”
“Yes. I am. Do not let what I did be in vain. Wake the young man and help me bring him to my horse. I will explain everything - or as much as I am able to,” he said, holding his hands up to stop Godfrey from speaking as he opened his mouth, “but not just yet. We have to leave. Now. But,” the knight went to put a hand on his shoulder, although he stopped when Godfrey winced, “I would like to ask a question you might be with to answer.”
Godfrey raised his eyebrows and, after only a moment of hesitation, nodded.
“Why?”
He knows. He knows, Godfrey thought, watching the knight watch him with a knowing expression. He swallowed hard, but didn’t avoid the knight’s eyes. “It was me who killed the baron’s dogs, and so it was my place to suffer the consequences, not his. Or anyone else’s.”
Godfrey was almost startled when the knight only nodded. He opened his mouth to talk, then closed it, stunned. Instead, he forced himself to crouch in front of Joska and tap him on the shoulder, then gently shake him when the man only groaned sleepily. “Wake up, Joska. We need to move on. Joska!” he hissed as the young man’s head lulled to the side, and finally, his eyes opened.
“What, what is happening, is he here… ?” Joska murmured, only half-awake, but already trying to get up to his feet.
“No, no, he left, but we must too, before he comes back.”
Joska froze when he saw the stranger. But before Godfrey could soothe him, Joska said: “You watched us. When Godfrey was dragging me away. I saw you.”
The knight hummed in agreement, and Godfrey’s eyes darted between the two of them. “Now is not the time,” he reluctantly nodded towards the knight, who nodded back.
“Aye, I wouldn’t mind getting out of here, to be quite honest,” Joska agreed.
When they crossed the village square, Joska, still unsteady, on horseback, the first light of dawn glistened on the armor and blades of few of baron Olszanik’s men, sprawled in the blood-stained dirt next to the bodies of the villagers. Godfrey heard a sharp inhale of air and a quick prayer Joska muttered, but all that he felt was joyless satisfaction.
Neither of them spoke of what the stranger did while Joska was there.

“Are you sure you will be able to find your way to where the rest of the village are hidden?” the knight asked.
“I am a hunter’s son through-and-through, sir. I know the woods like the back of my hand. I will be alright.” Joska bowed. “Thank you for your help. Without you, I - well, both of us - would have been lost for sure.”
“It’s your friend you have to thank, not me,” the knight tossed his head towards Godfrey.
Joska managed a fleeting, if unsure smile, when he turned towards Godfrey, who had, until now, walked and stood silent. “I don’t know how you did it, but you saved my life. I am in your debt, Godfrey.”
“You wouldn’t have ended up the way you did if it wasn’t for me,” he said, hard.
“Godfrey, listen to me. If anything, you did the right thing. It wasn’t you who killed Ana. If you hadn’t slaughtered those beasts, Katya surely would have - or she would have charged at the baron himself, and all the village would have rallied behind her. It was only a matter of time before something that would be the last straw happened, and you know that as well as anyone - anyone else with their head out of their arse. Right?” Godfrey didn’t answer and Joska sighed heavily. “I hope you will see this as I do one day, my friend. Goodbye.”
“Joska, wait. Kadmila is all alone… “
“I will take care of her. Don’t you worry.”
Godfrey only nodded and soon, Joska turned away and was swallowed by the forest.

Hours had passed before the knight broke the silence. “What is your name?”
“Godfrey.”
“No last name? Who was your father?”
“I do not have one.” Godfrey knew this was going to be his answer even before he opened his mouth. He had half-expected the words to be harsh and cold, but instead, he heard his voice state it in a matter-of-factly manner.
The knight seemed to accept it, as if it concurred with whatever he had been thinking about as they walked the road. “You didn’t object when I suggested that you leave the village with me, instead of joining Joska.” It was a statement, an answer to a question the knight didn’t ask aloud, so Godfrey didn’t answer, and the knight hung his head low, seemingly lost in thought again.
Godfrey didn’t have the strength to care anymore.

“Have you ever heard about the Order of the Silver Dragon?”
“Your order?” Godfrey guessed dryly.
“An astute observation.”
The knight mocked him, he knew, for the white dragon was painted on the knight’s shield on a field of blue. But there was no malicious intent behind the teasing, and so Godfrey only bit his cheek to prevent himself from offering a snarky remark.
“Would you like to accompany me there?”
Godfrey stopped walking and eyed the man suspiciously. “Why would I be welcomed there?”
“Privy-scrubbers are always needed,” the knight replied without missing a beat, “and I’d prefer it that way. The baron has no jurisdiction over the order, and although I hadn’t planned to return just yet, it would be much more convenient to teach you there. Unless, of course, you want to pursue another option.”
What other option did he have?
And why would he refuse this one? he realized with a start.
“I want to change things,” he said, firmly, sternly, as if expecting the knight to defy him.
“I thought you might.”
“Tell me about the Order, Sir,” Godfrey asked.
“Vladimir.”
“Vladimir,” Godfrey echoed absent-mindedly, head bowed low and eyes on the ground. He never saw Vladimir's smile.