Work Text:
“The leaf whistles
between your full red lips:
breath of life.”
(@darcyanthos)
In the court of the Kingdom of Midland, spring had only just arrived. The air was mild, scented with damp grass and the first flowers in the castle’s inner gardens. The afternoon sun rested at an angle against the white walls and tall windows, the pale stone reflecting a light that seemed almost golden.
Guts did not like castles. They were places that were too lavish and too quiet, full of eyes that watched and judged. He stood apart in the inner courtyard, leaning against a stone column with his arms crossed. His sword was with him, behind his back, though it was not well regarded inside the castle. That was another reason why he mostly stayed outside, the feeling of being without that familiar weight on his shoulders irritated him more than he wanted to admit.
This time his gaze wasn’t on the nobles. It was fixed a little farther ahead, precisely at the center of the garden, where, among rose bushes and gravel pathways, Griffith was speaking with Princess Charlotte. As always, unlike him, Griffith seemed to belong in a place like that. The pale afternoon light rested on his white hair, making it shine. The cloak of the Band of the Hawk fell across his shoulders with an elegance no soldier should have had. The princess watched him with that shy, enchanted expression she always had when he spoke to her. Probably, beyond Griffith’s almost ethereal beauty, she was also drawn to the dangerous life he lived, a reality so distant from the one she was used to.
Guts quietly snorted to himself. He didn’t even know why he was still standing there watching. He was about to look away when Griffith bent slightly toward the ground. Guts narrowed his eyes to see what he was doing and watched him pick something up: leaves. His brow furrowed, unable to understand why.
Griffith brought one to his lips and blew. A thin, clear sound vibrated through the air of the garden. It wasn’t loud, but it was as clear as a bird’s song among the trees.
Charlotte’s eyes widened. “It’s wonderful!” She exclaimed, smiling in surprise.
Griffith tilted his head with that gentle calm he used only with her. “It’s simple, Princess.” Then he gently took her hand and offered her a leaf, showing her how to fold it between her fingers. “Like this.”
Guts kept watching the scene. To his own surprise, he found himself smiling briefly, before feeling stupid about it and realizing he had no reason to. His brows drew together again.
Charlotte tried to blow, but no sound came out, only a ridiculous puff of air. She blushed slightly in embarrassment.
Griffith laughed. It was a light laugh, a rare one that Guts only heard sometimes.
“Not so hard.” Griffith explained. “Just let the air pass between your lips.”
Guts turned his gaze away with a grimace.
Tsk.
He hadn’t known Griffith could do something like that. And he didn’t even know why it irritated him.
He pushed himself away from the column he’d been leaning on and walked off.
-🍃-
The camp of the Band of the Hawk had quieted. Soldiers slept in their tents or around fires that were slowly dying out. The sky above them was clear and full of stars.
Guts found him.
Griffith was sitting a little away from the rest of the camp, on a small grassy rise. His knees were bent, his hands resting behind him, his head tilted back as he looked up at the dark sky.
He seemed absorbed, as if he were far from the place where he sat.
Guts climbed the slope without making noise. He didn’t want to disturb the quiet. The grass under his boots rustled faintly.
Griffith spoke before even turning: “Can’t sleep?”
Guts stopped, then sat beside him, bending one leg and resting his arm on his knee. “Apparently neither can you.”
Griffith smiled faintly. “That’s true.”
For a few moments they remained silent. The night wind moved the grass slowly, just as it shifted the pale strands of Griffith’s hair.
Guts slipped a hand into his cloak pocket and pulled something out: A leaf.
He held it between two fingers with a slightly annoyed expression. “Hey.”
Griffith turned toward him at last. “Yes, Guts?”
“A while back… remember that thing you did with this?” Guts lifted the leaf, as if simply showing it explained everything he meant. Some time had passed since that day. There hadn’t been a chance to ask him before. They had rushed straight into battle, and they hadn’t had a quiet moment like this in a long time.
Griffith tilted his head slightly, curious, and shifted onto his side to face him.“You mean playing it?”
“Yeah.” Guts grimaced. “You never told me you could do that.” The moment the words left his mouth, he felt stupid for saying them out loud.
For a moment Griffith remained silent. His pale eyes drifted to the leaf, then back to Guts. He seemed mildly surprised. “I see,” he said after a while, as if he had taken a moment to evaluate something only he understood.
Guts shrugged. “I saw you teaching the princess.” As if adding information made him feel more confident about what he was saying. But the way he said “princess” sounded almost like a growl, and Griffith noticed it, of course. He noticed everything. Every detail, even the smallest, even the ones that seemed insignificant.
Griffith lowered his gaze thoughtfully. It was unusual for Guts to speak about such trivial things, unusual for him to ask him anything of his own initiative that wasn’t about fighting or battle. “I thought…” he said after a moment in a calm voice, “that a soldier wouldn’t care about things like that.”
Guts stared at him, frowning. “What kind of answer is that?”
Griffith raised his eyes slightly toward him. There was no sarcasm in his gaze, only calm reflection. “It’s the truth.” He reached for the leaf. His slender fingers brushed Guts’s when he took it. The contact lasted only an instant, but Guts felt it clearly. They were used to sharing space, fighting together, living in camp, training side by side. but that kind of touch was different. Then again, had Griffith ever been like anyone else?
Griffith looked at the leaf between his fingers. “When I first met you, you were just a man with an enormous sword who fought like a beast.”
Guts snorted. “Still going on about that?”
A hint of a smile crossed Griffith’s lips. “Perhaps.” Then he brought the leaf to his lips and blew. The same clear note vibrated in the silent night—much louder than the one Guts had heard that day. It drifted away and seemed almost to vanish among the stars above them.
Then Griffith lowered the leaf and looked back at Guts. “I didn’t think you cared about things this… simple.” He handed him the leaf. “I was mistaken.”
Guts took it with a brusque movement. “It’s not like I care.” He muttered.
Griffith said nothing, he waited.
Guts looked at the leaf as if it were a suspicious object. “So how the hell do you do it?”
Griffith shifted slightly closer. “Hold it like this.” He took Guts’s hands again and positioned the leaf between his fingers.
His fingers were colder and lighter than the other man’s rough hands. “You need to leave a space here.”
Griffith’s face was close now. Too close. Guts could feel his breath. And he could see how the starlight failed to reflect in his eyes, they were so pale they almost seemed like stars themselves.
“Then blow.”
Guts tried to do as he was told. A miserable, strangled noise came out.
Griffith laughed quietly.
Guts shot him a glare. “Shut up.”
“Again.” Griffith urged.
Guts tried again. This time a wavering note came out. Short, but real. It lingered in the air for a second before fading. Guts blinked. Griffith was watching him with that calm expression he had when something intrigued him. “See?”
Guts slowly lowered the leaf. “It’s nothing special.”
Griffith shook his head slightly. “No.” His gaze remained on him. “It isn’t.” But the way he said it sounded different, like he wasn’t talking about the leaf at all.
Guts stayed silent for a few seconds with the leaf between his fingers. Then he realized they had both touched it with their lips, and suddenly the gesture felt more intimate. He hadn’t done that with the princess. They had used two different leaves, he remembered suddenly, as if that detail mattered more than anything else.
A stronger gust of warm wind passed over the hill’s grass, moving Griffith’s hair again like waves.
The leaf trembled slightly between Guts’s fingers. “Guess it’s not really my talent.”
Griffith lowered his gaze to the leaf, then lifted it back to Guts. “You give up quickly for someone who faces a hundred men in battle.”
“Fighting is different.” Guts said.
“I know.” Griffith replied, understanding perfectly what he meant.
For a moment silence returned. The two of them remained side by side looking up at the sky. There were many stars that night.
After a while, Guts spoke without looking at him. “Anyway…”
Griffith tilted his head slightly, as if encouraging him to continue.
“It’s strange.” Guts said.
“What?” Griffith asked.
Guts scratched the back of his neck with an irritated expression. “That thing with the princess.”
An almost imperceptible smile brushed Griffith’s lips. “Strange in what way?”
“I’d never seen you do something so… calm.” Guts explained.
Griffith seemed thoughtful for a moment. “Charlotte lives in a golden cage.” He said at last. “Simple things are rare for her.”
Guts glanced sideways. “And they’re not rare for us?”
Griffith didn’t answer immediately. His gaze shifted toward the camp of the Band of the Hawk, toward the tents faintly lit by the dying firelight. “For us…” he said “…it’s different.”
Guts frowned. “What does that mean?”
Griffith lowered his gaze to his hands. “When you’re a soldier, simplicity becomes something you observe from afar.” Then he looked at him. “You don’t seek it.”
Guts grimaced. “I don’t have time for that kind of nonsense.”
Griffith watched him for a few seconds. “And yet you came here with a leaf.”
“Tsk. Don’t think too much about it.” Guts said, as another gust of wind passed between them.
Griffith laughed. It wasn’t the light laugh he had used with Charlotte, this one was lower, more sincere.
Guts looked at him. “What’s so funny?” He asked.
Griffith leaned forward slightly and closed his fingers around the grass beneath him. “Guts.”
“Mm?”
“Have you ever wondered why I wanted you in the Band of the Hawk?”
Guts frowned. “Because you saw me fight.”
“Not only that.” Griffith lifted his gaze to him. His pale eyes seemed even brighter in the night. “Because you’re not like the others.” His voice was calm.
“The others follow me. They admire me. They believe in my dream. You don’t.”
“Should I?” Guts asked.
“Not necessarily. But that’s exactly the point.” Griffith smiled faintly “I thought you were just a soldier. A force I could use. I was wrong.” His words were calm. There was no cruelty in them.
Guts looked at him. For once there was no arrogance in Griffith’s voice, only a kind of sincere reflection.
“So what am I then?” Guts asked instinctively.
Griffith lifted his eyes. For a moment he almost seemed to hesitate, then he leaned slightly closer.
Close enough for his shoulder to brush against Guts’s. “Someone I want beside me.”
The wind passed through the grass again. Guts’s heart made a strange leap in his chest, something that irritated him immediately. “If that’s another way of saying I’m your war dog—”
Griffith gently shook his head. “No.” His voice was low. “It isn’t.”
They stayed like that for a few seconds.
Then Griffith said: “Want to try again?”
Guts sighed heavily. “If I make another ridiculous noise I’m punching you.”
Griffith smiled. “I accept the risk.”
Guts lift the leaf and this time, when he brought it to his lips, Griffith remained close. Close enough to lightly guide the position of his fingers. Guts blew. The note came out. Clear. Steady. It hung in the night air for a moment before dissolving into the fields, carried by the wind. Guts slowly lowered the leaf.
Griffith was watching him with that strange expression in his eyes, the one he only had sometimes, when he was looking at something that already belonged to his future.
“See?” He said, as if confirming that he had done it.
“Don’t tell anyone.” Guts muttered with a scowl, though a half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Griffith tilted his head. “What?”
“That I learned something this stupid.” Guts explained.
Griffith’s smile widened slightly. “It will be my secret.” He placed a hand over his heart, as if making a vow.
For a moment, under that sky full of stars, there were no dreams of kingdoms, no battles, no destiny, only two men sitting in the grass, enjoying the rare simplicity of life.
The wind had picked up a little. It made the grass of the hill sway and carried with it the smell of the campfires that were almost out. Somewhere farther below, a horse snorted in its sleep.
Guts turned the leaf between his fingers once more, then looked at it as if it were a strange object that had ended up in his hands by mistake, something that didn’t belong to him.
“Tomorrow I’ll forget about it.” He said.
Beside him, Griffith tilted his head slightly. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve got more important things to think about. It’s just a leaf.” Guts replied.
Griffith didn’t answer immediately. His gaze was turned far away, toward the dark horizon where earth and sky blurred together, toward a future he had always been chasing.
Then he stood up. “We should go back to camp.” He said simply.
Guts nodded but didn’t move right away. When Griffith passed beside him to walk down the hill, he stopped for a moment. Just a moment. His pale eyes rested on Guts, and for an instant it seemed as if he was about to say something.
But he didn’t, he kept walking.
Guts remained seated for a few seconds longer. He looked at the leaf, now slightly bent between his fingers, then he brought it to his lips. Once more. He blew. The note came out again, clear in the silent night.
Ahead of him, Griffith stopped, he didn’t turn around, but a faint smile appeared on his lips. After a moment, he resumed walking toward the camp.
Above them, the stars remained still in the sky. And among the distant sounds of grass and trees moved by the wind, the small note of the leaf slowly faded into the night, but it continued to resonate inside them.
When Guts finally came down the hill, the camp was almost completely silent. Griffith was already near the tents, his pale figure faintly lit by the red glow of the last embers of the fires.
Guts reached him without saying anything, then he slipped a hand into the pocket of his cloak and pulled out the now-crumpled leaf. He took a moment to look at it. He was about to throw it away, then he hesitated, and instead slipped it back into his pocket with a quick motion.
Griffith followed the movement with his eyes. Before entering his tent, he turned toward him and gave him a faint smile. “It’s just a leaf.”
Guts stood there for a moment in front of the tent flap as it closed. He thought about answering, but the moment had already passed, so he remained silent, with the strange certainty that neither of them truly believed those words.
It was never about leaves.