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“I need you to take this seriously.” Schierke repeats and she struggles to maintain her composure, she’s not sure how she ended up scolding a man that must look terrifying to most.
“And I’m telling you there’s no use, you’ve always pulled me back alright – you don’t need this.”
“Guts! Last time I almost lost you! I couldn’t find anything to latch on to keep you from losing yourself completely, it was a miracle we didn’t all end up dead.”
“You said it yourself. A miracle. That’s what I need. Not – this.”
“Will you listen to me? We need to find something to anchor you to reality otherwise next time you use that armour I might not be able to help you.”
Guts sighs, deeply, “and you need a memory for that?”
“Yes. A happy one. Something that can act as thread, something you can always find so that you will not lose yourself into the darkness. Can you please think of something?” Shierke pleads and she could see Guts was genuinely distressed.
“I don’t know? My life wasn’t exactly dandy.” He tries to brush her off again.
“Guts!”
“Okay! I don’t know? The other day when we all ate together? We were alive and unharmed, and we were eating decent food? I was pretty content I guess.”
“Guts…” Schierke lowers her voice, she doesn’t want Guts to think she’s pitying him, “that’s not what I meant. I need something stronger – meaningful…” she trails off, at loss on how else to explain herself.
There’s a pause. Heavy. Tense.
“When we reached the sea. I watched you play in the water, Casca was laughing. I never thought I’d see her laugh like that again. I-” he pauses as though searching for the right words, “I wasn’t exactly happy, but I felt – something.”
Schierke’s feels a pang in her heart. “Okay, that might work.” She reaches out trying to put a name to Guts feelings, there was no happiness indeed, if she were to assign a colour to the emotion evoked by that memory it would be a blue with grey undertones – melancholia. But to contrast the pitch black of the beast of darkness she needed white. It doesn’t necessarily have to be happy, but it must convey safeness, calm, peace. All that the berserker armour was not.
Did Guts truly not remember what safeness felt like?
The conflict must’ve shown on her face for Guts lifts a questioning eyebrow at her, “what’s wrong? That was the best one I had.”
“Say, would you allow me to look for the right thread in your subconscious – sometimes our minds hide things from us-”
“Yeah, because maybe we don’t want to remember, mmh? Trust me kid, you don’t wanna go there, my mind – it ain’t a nice place.”
Schierke gives him an unimpressed stare, “I can be in your mind when you’re under the influence of the armour, but I can’t get into your regular mind? You’re implying you’re somehow worse than a cursed object like that?”
Guts flinches at her words, it’s a subtle thing but Schierke notices, she doesn’t question it though, pretending she hadn’t seen his mask slip.
“I don’t-” Guts sighs, “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Another pause, Schierke is ready to press again but Guts shakes his head, “but I trust you. If you say that’s the best solution, then do your thing. Find this… thread.”
Schierke is taken aback, she fights down the blush threatening to creep on her cheeks at his declaration of trust and nods vigorously before managing to answer. “Thank you. I promise I won’t evoke any painful memory.”
Guts doesn’t say anything, he just nods at her with a tight smile.
Schierke lets herself be pulled down into Guts’ subconscious, following him down the path of dreams to a place she hopes he can find shelter from the horrors of life. It’s all blurry at first and she can’t make out much of the forming surroundings that gradually built the scene around them. Grass, some trees, the hills hiding the horizon from sight and a great number of tents – it looked like a soldiers’ camp. Schierke knows Guts had been a mercenary at some point in his life, but he refuses to talk about his years as a soldier, so she had guessed he mustn’t think fondly of them. And yet everything about the scene around them seemed to emanate a sense of calmness.
Schierke can hear the fait buzz of chatter coming from around them but can’t distinguish any dialogue in particular, everything seems muffled, from the voices to the faces of the people who Schierke imagined had been Guts’ comrades. Through the haziness of she can make out a tent who looks clearer than the others. She follows Guts as he makes his way towards it. Schierke can’t help but feel curious, she often wondered what kind of person Guts had been, before whatever happened to him that made him the solitary swordsman she knew, and maybe seeing the inside of his tent would tell her something more about him. Did he have many belongings? Did he keep war trophies? Was he messy or tidy?
All those questions flew out of the metaphoric window of her brain when they enter said tent.
It wasn’t Guts’. Another man sits at an improvised desk, crouching over a map, his features hidden by a curtain of silver hair, but he immediately lifts his head when he hears Guts enter his tent. Schierke is sure she would’ve gasped if she was there with her physical body.
It's the Hawk. The creature who fractured reality and merged their world to the astral plane. The thing that Guts wanted to kill above all.
Schierke tries to recollect herself, it makes sense he would find solace in a dream where he could reach him and put an end to its existence like any other human. But revenge isn’t exactly what she was looking for.
Guts walks over. Schierke, although her astral body doesn’t need air, holds her breath. She doesn’t know what to expect but she’s left speechless as she looks Guts clapping a hand on the Hawk’s shoulder and shake him playfully. They’re both smiling.
“Griffith. You never stop scheming, do you? The others are celebrating the victory and you’re cooped here already planning the next battle.”
“I have to, so that we may celebrate that one too. You on the other hand, have no reason not to be out there drinking yourself stupid with the others.”
Guts shakes his head, still smiling. His hand is still on the Hawk’s shoulder, and he gives a little squeeze – something passes between them, quick and unspoken. They share a tiny smile and just like that Guts flops down on the cot and stares at the ceiling of the tent, lit by a couple of lanterns whose flames paints playful shadows all around.
“You sure you don’t want to go back to the others? I’ll join you in a little.”
“You want me out of your hair so badly?” Guts pulls himself in a sitting position with a grunt and the Hawk hastily stands up too, as though ready to physically stop Guts from moving, “no, that’s not what I meant!” He says a tad too quickly and his voice a tad too loud too sound casual. Guts looks up at him and for a second Griffith looks almost awkward on his feet, Guts offers him a smile and Griffith visibly relaxes, he sits back on his stool and Guts lies back down. There’s a beat of silence. Schierke looks at the two men, who don’t seem to find the silence uncomfortable but rather they appear to be basking in each other company. The Hawk returns his attention to the map, turning his back to Guts. He’s unarmed, his swords and armour laying close to where Guts is resting. Guts, who hasn’t got his sword with him.
Schierke has never seen him go anywhere without his sword.
She doesn’t know what happened between them, but for Guts to trust someone so blindly to let his guard down while unarmed…
The surroundings start to become blurry again and Schierke momentarily panics thinking that Guts may be waking up. She already feels terribly like an intruder, she couldn’t bear the thought of having to tell Guts all this had been completely useless.
It takes her a moment to realise Guts was asleep in the memory, that’s why it had gotten all dark all of sudden. Schierke wonders if what she’s looking for may be a memory of another dream. Sadly, it takes her only a few more seconds to realise what they’re retracing is not a dream but a nightmare. She can’t make out anything precisely, just shadows – big and ominous, following, chasing, haunting. She feels trapped, although she knows nothing can actually harm her, she feels dread clogging her throat and she realises it’s not hers but Guts’. He wakes with a start. Something is shaking him. Someone his touching him. His hand darts out grasping blindly, he grabs them by the neck and only then his eyes start to focus. Schierke watches petrified as Guts holds the Hawk – Griffith, by the throat.
He could kill him.
One, two, three seconds. They stay stills as statues then Guts hastily lets go and scrambles back. Griffith rubs idly at his neck, but otherwise doesn’t seem upset nor too surprised by Guts’ reaction.
It’s like he knew this could happened but decided to approach him anyway.
“I’m sorry I startled you, but you didn’t look like you were having a pleasant dream, I thought I’d wake you up.”
“What are you doing here?” Guts asks, ignoring Griffith words. He still looks disoriented and Schierke can see he’s looking for his sword.
Griffith arches an eyebrow, “well this is my tent so-”
“Your tent?” Guts interrupts him looking more confused than ever. “Yes, my tent, you came here last evening and fell asleep before I finished with the map, I didn’t want to disturb you but then – well you looked pained and…” he shrugs as though implying what happened after that.
Guts looks around, his eyes lingering on the small, improvised desk, the few belongings scattered here and there, Griffith’s helmet and sword resting near the cot where he’s currently sitting. He groans.
“I’m sorry I almost choked you. God, I don’t know what got into me I’m-”
“Don’t worry, it’s my fault. I know you don’t like to be touched.”
“It’s not that, I don’t mind it when it’s you.” He pauses, as realising a second too late what he said. Schierke can see a light blush creeping on his cheeks. Griffith looks surprised too by his words. “I was just – well, sleeping and I didn’t…” Guts trails off and gestures vaguely with his hand, “but thanks for waking me, it was-” another pause, “it was a nasty nightmare. I haven’t gotten one like that for a while now, so I guess I’m not used to them anymore.”
“Don’t worry, we all have those. It happens to the best of us.” Griffith offers him a reassuring smile and Guts visibly relaxes, then he immediately tenses up again as he seems to finally gather his bearings. “Fuck. Sorry! I- you probably wanted to go to sleep!” He hastily gets up from the cot and looks at anything but Griffith who is standing still as a statue in front of him, looking positively taken aback this time. Guts takes a step towards the exit of the tent and for the second time Griffith stops him, “you don’t have to leave. I mean if you don’t want to – that is.” This time it is Griffith who avoids Guts’ eyes, Schierke would’ve never thought a creature like him, with such regal poise and overall intimidating aura could look so… awkward.
Then again, the young man now standing in front of Guts seems to be just that, a young man.
Not an otherworldly – or even God-like creature.
Guts is staring at him and for a moment Schierke is sure he’s going to leave, but after some awkward shuffling on his feet he sits back down with a huff. Griffith stares at him with his mouth half open, apparently, he too thought Guts would’ve left.
“Mmh,”
Griffith takes a few steps towards the cot, “may I?” he asks then and Guts looks up at him bewildered, “uh? Yeah of course-” he shuffles a bit to the side to make more room, “it’s your bed.” He adds with a small chuckle. Griffith sits down beside him and nudges him with his shoulder, “want to talk about it?” Guts seems to consider it for a moment, then he shakes his head, “nah, you already have plenty of stuff to think about. Don’t worry about it.” Guts smirks and claps a hand on the other’s shoulder, Griffith doesn’t look convinced in the slightest but doesn’t press.
Schierke feels something twist in her chest at the display. It’s not a particular gesture or word, it’s the quiet affection, the unspoken care, the unmistakable trust.
“Want to sleep here tonight?” Griffith asks and Guts’ eyes widen, “I personally hate being alone with my nightmares.” Griffith adds, clearly trying to make Guts more at ease. It seems to work – surprisingly – Schierke would’ve never thought Guts could be so easily convinced.
“If you don’t mind…”
“I wouldn’t have asked.” Griffith flashes him a smile and Guts smiles back immediately, like he couldn’t help himself.
They lay down facing each other in silence and Schierke feels awfully like an intruder, like she’s witnessing something sacred that wasn’t meant for anyone but those two souls.
She finds herself metaphorically holding her breath once again as Griffith raises one of his hands and lets it hoover for a moment above Guts head, as though giving him time to pull away, then lowers it gently on his cheek, stroking it gently with his thumb. Guts closes his eyes and leans into the touch.
Schierke had never seen him so at ease.
Griffith then combs his fingers through his hair and Guts tucks his head in the crook of his neck, he lets himself be pulled towards the other and Schierke’s heart squeezes at the sight. It hurts to see a man like Guts trying to make himself as small as possible, letting himself be held like that.
She can feel his emotions too, a sense of calmness and contentment washing over him. Here, in the arms of his sworn enemy he had once felt safe and utterly at peace. Like nothing in the world could hurt him.
Schierke aches for him, for the happiness he was denied, for the love he had lost.
Love.
Somehow the realisation doesn’t come as a shock to Schierke, it makes sense – in the cruel way destiny often does – that the person who now Guts hates the most was the one he had once held closest to his heart. For nothing but love could leave behind such deep wounds, scars that will never truly heal.
Schierke had often wondered whether Guts had ever loved, been loved in return. But bearing witness to this scene she has no doubt and she’s left wondering whether it is better to live with the bleeding gashes left by such feelings or to never know them at all. Was it really worth it? To endure a life of pain and struggle but to say to have known love – and what is it if not a few fleeting memories that like thorns leave the soul bruised, open, raw every time one dares to linger upon them?
Guts body is littered in scars, but Schierke knows that while the skin heals the soul is a more complicated matter – it may scar and scab but once thorn it rarely heals. As those thoughts clog her mind, she barely notices the darkness falling around her once more – for this is nothing like the suffocating, haunting darkness from the nightmare. This time the shadows feel like a cocoon, a safe place to hide.
She thinks this is a good moment to pull back, she found what she needed although she’s not quite sure how to confront Guts about it, but then there’s a jolt, darkness starts to dissipate, and curiosity gets the best of her.
What woke Guts was the painful knocking of knees against knees, he groans and tries to move but something’s holding him down. He opens his eyes and the first thing he sees is a mop of white hair, he lifts his head and sees that the thing that’s holding him in place is Griffith’s arm thrown haphazardly over his middle.
Schierke expects a pang of panic, agitation. She expects Guts to leave before the other wakes but what happens leaves her interdicted once more. Guts drops his head back where it was pillowed by Griffith other arm and unceremoniously kicks him in the shins.
“Ouch!” Griffith winches, “what was that for?”
“Get your knees away from mine.” Guts grunts as he shuffles around to untangle their legs, Schierke would’ve blushed at their intimate position, but their behaviour luckily stirred her away from improper thoughts.
“You’re the one kicking me!”
Guts grunts again and lifts himself on his elbow, but Griffith grabs his arm before he could make another move, “don’t leave.” Suddenly the playfulness of a moment before dissipates, leaving place for a heavy silence that betrays a vulnerableness that is usually meticulously concealed. Guts looks taken aback but immediately lies back down, “I’m not going anywhere, ‘was just turning around,” he gently nudges at Griffith’s temple with his own head “or we can keep kicking each other if you prefer.” Guts grins playfully and just like that the tension dissolves, Griffith returns the grin and tightens his hold on Guts middle. Guts lets himself be pulled until he’s once again flush against Griffith, “I did not fancy waking up with a mouthful of your hair, you know?”
“I protect you from nightmares and this is the thanks I get?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, my saviour.”
Griffith scoffs, “you should be.” He says and pinches Guts’ waist, who flinches and swats Griffith’s ear in return. They scuffle playfully for a bit and when they calm down, they’re both panting and smiling.
Schierke thinks they both look like overgrown children and yet she knows this memory cannot belong to a distant past since Guts is still young despite his worn appearance. She shivers at the thought that only a few years separate this Guts from the one she knows.
She’s brought back to the scene in front of her by the sound of Guts’ voice, “but seriously, thanks for letting me stay, I- I slept well.”
Griffith smiles fondly and shrugs, “anytime.” He says, and presses a kiss to Guts’ temple, who in return makes a strangled noise and hides his face in the pillow. “Shouldn’t we get up?” He asks then, voice muffled by the fabric.
“Not necessarily.”
“No?”
“That’s the perk of being the leader, you get to decide when it’s time to get up. Do you want to get up?”
“Not particularly.”
“Good. Me neither.” And with that they fall silent, only the faint rustling of fabric can be heard as they burrow deeper into the covers and tangle their limbs in the limited space. Guts presses his forehead against Griffith’s, and he returns the nudge gently. “Go back to sleep.” Griffith says and Guts lets out a soft laugh, “yessir.” And with that he tucks his head into Griffith’s neck again and closes his eyes.
Schierke does retreat this time, pulling away from Guts’ subconscious. Once she regains her bearings of her physical body, she quickly seeks Guts’ eye. He’s not looking at her. He’s staring at his hands with a pained look and Schierke has no idea how to approach him, and the silence stretching between them grows heavier by the second.
“I’m sorry.” Schierke whispers. For your loss, for digging up those memories, for the pain you must be feeling, for the cruel fate you were handed.
Guts lets out a humourless chuckle, “I should be the one apologising, Grif- the Hawk took away your mentor, your home and here I am clinging to memories like a pathetic lovesick fool.”
“I already knew you used to be… close.”
“Close. That’s one way to put it, I guess. We were… yeah- we were close.”
“Do you love him?” The question leaves her lips before she could stop herself.
They stare at each other for a moment, both equally taken aback.
Schierke is sure Guts would brush off the question, or lie or straight up ignore it, instead he laughs – it a bitter sound.
“I hate him. I hate him more than I ever hated anything in my entire life – and I assure you I hated many things with a passion – I hate him for what he did, to Casca, to our friends and to me. And I hate him because even after all he’s done, I don’t know if I will never be able to let go of what we once had.”
Schierke could hear the strain behind Guts’ words, she wants to offer him comfort, but she isn’t sure she could.
“I-” she begins but pauses, looking for the right words, “I cannot know what it’s like to carry such burden, but please, if those memories still carry a meaning to you don’t let go of them. Don’t lose them, don’t relinquish the light they carry, not if their dearth leaves little more than darkness.”
Guts lifts his gaze from his hands and gives her a long look before shaking his head, a grim smile on his lips.
“Worry not, his light will not be easily extinguished.”
Shierke isn’t sure what he means with those words, but she knows he won’t delve into his feelings any deeper, not now. But she now knows what to look for and can only hope that light will keep shining through.