Castoff: Who You Were (ch. 27) (Patreon)

"I can't believe you talked me into wearing this thing," Guts grumbled as he picked at the cuff of what he could only describe as a doublet. Black and gold were the coloring with the gold coming from fine embroidery that ran along the hem and his sleeves. The man in the mirror was an unfamiliar one -- he was starting to get used to the finery, shockingly. But the reason he still struggled to recognize himself was the absence of the dark bags underneath his eyes.

A hand went up to his neck, touching where the Brand should be, and yet he only felt smooth skin. It was gone. The last vestige of the Eclipse was gone.

"Really? I believe it. I just have to flutter my eyelashes at you, and you melt like snow on a summer's day," Casca remarked from behind him, sounding far too amused for her own good. He glanced at her through the mirror to see that she was leaning on the door. She was beautiful, dressed in a fine gown that was primarily gold with black highlights. To compliment each other's outfits, she had said.

However, what most drew his attention about her was the hand on her round stomach.

A lot had changed in a year.

"Half the Empire is terrified of you, and all it takes is a pretty face and you fold like a linen sheet," Casca continued to tease.

"No. Just your face," Guts replied, and he got the reaction that he wanted when her dark skin darkened a hue further before she rolled her eyes. He gave his own reflection a lingering look, still not quite recognizing himself before he turned to Casca. "Why are these people bothering us in the first place?" He asked, offering an arm and Casca gave him a dry look, but accepted it all the same.

"It's Judeau's birthday celebration. It didn't mean anything to us growing up, but it's important for nobility. Which we are, Grand Duke," she stressed his title as if he had forgotten it. Honestly, he almost wished that he could. The sniveling made him miss the days on the road where everything in the shadows wanted to kill him. At least then it wasn't considered impolite to kill them back. "I had to run logistics for the entire thing, you know. We have upper nobility from across the Empire showing up just to rub shoulders. It was a nightmare -- it was easier planning battles."

An elbow dug into his ribs, "You had better enjoy yourself."

"I won't strangle anyone, Grand Duchess," Guts replied, and that was the best she was going to get. He sent her a look as he stressed her title, getting a small twitch of her lips before the two of them shared a chuckle. They left their quarters -- a bedroom that was larger than most of the peasant homes he came across in his travels. The hallway was made of marble flooring and granite walls, both tiled with mosaics. They walked the hallways that still didn't quite feel familiar to Guts even though he walked them at least twice a day.

An open window let him glance out at the surrounding terrain -- rolling hills that were covered in trees, with a great river running between them. Beyond the hills, he caught a reflection of the ocean itself. It was a beautiful view. And the man in the mirror was the kind of man that could understand beauty when he saw it. Much closer to the castle was the castle town that surrounded them, sprawling out around the hill the castle was built on.

He saw that the celebrations were already well underway. Wasn't much of a surprise there. People always looked for a reason to cast off their worldly concerns and get drunk. Still, it was… something, he supposed, that the reason that they had an excuse to party today was that this was the day his and Casca's kid had been born. At the very least it was better than his birthdays. Guts wasn't sure when exactly he was born, but odds were that day Gambino was trying to kill him.

"My feet are already killing me," Casca complained as they arrived at the grand hall. It was done up with decorations and luxuries -- some magical in nature, Guts noted as a fountain turned water into wine. "I'm almost glad we skipped over all this when it came to Judeau," she added, and Guts heard a clamor in another room that he was nearly certain was Judeau and the kids. The orphans that they had saved at Crookback Bog, though it wasn't really a bog anymore.

As if to confirm it, he saw the lot of them stream out of the backroom as if the devil himself was nipping at their heels, darting around servants who nearly tripped over them. Guts saw Judeau among them, his expression one of intense concentration with Puck riding on his shoulder. "Cheese it! Run! Run away!" Puck exclaimed, catching sight of the two of them and the kids vanished behind a door.

"We can't see it, so it's not our problem," Casca reasoned, earning a rumbling chuckle from Guts. He looked at the hall -- white marble, more gray walls, all of it decorated with rich tapestries with a large hearth on the far wall across from a large set of double doors. Every time he stepped into the room, he was washed with the same sense of unease that he felt way back when they had been invited to that celebration back in Midland. A feeling of not belonging. Wealth was nothing he particularly cared about before -- it had just been a means to an end.

Now, he was wealthy. He was a Grand Duke, second only to the royal family. To Ciri. And a year wasn't enough time for him to not feel like an imposter.

"You sure you're up for this? I can deal with them while you rest," Guts offered, making Casca laugh as his attention went down to her swollen stomach. Their child. Their second one. With Judeau, Guts had only known after the Eclipse and… well… with their second kid on the way, Guts had had about seven months to stew in new anxieties and fears that he had missed out on.

His gaze flickered to a door, knowing what was beyond it because he put it there. Just in case.

Dragonslayer.

"I'll be fine," Casca reassured. "If it ever gets too annoying, I'll call you over to growl at them." That worked for him. Then she patted him on the shoulder, "Come on. It's about time that we make them stop waiting."

With that, the large double doors swung open, and their majordomo began to announce the attendees. Name, noble rank, and lands beholden to them. Naturally, the important ones came first. Other Dukes and Duchesses -- they approached with smiles that didn't match their eyes, words as sweet as poison, making idle chatter as they probed for weakness. They didn't find any. Casca, as it turned out, was pretty diplomatic when she wanted to be.

It also helped that they were terrified of him.

The next batch of people welcomed were more of interest to Guts -- direct vassals to him. Or the newly risen. They stepped into the grand hall, looking every bit as uncomfortable as Guts felt. A year wasn't enough time for them either. A year ago, they had been peasants. Now, they were nobility. Some of them even high nobility.

It was one of the best decisions Ciri had made so far, in his opinion. After the battle, there had been an odd five thousand left of the fifteen thousand army. The remaining third of the army was rewarded for their bravery and valor. They were given lands, they were made knights, and a few became nobility to fill the void in the North and to replace those purged in Nilfgaard. Guts had a number of them sworn to him.

"Lord Duke," One of them greeted with an easy smile, holding up a bottle of cheap rum. "A gift for the parents. My boy was an angel until my wife and I gave him a brother. Then the two became hellions," he said with a laugh. The old blood sneered but Guts took the bottle of rum quite happily. He'd had fine wines, but so far, nothing had managed to beat the taste of cheap rum.

"Well, here's hoping for a sister," Casca replied dryly, earning a few laughs. Some more genuine than others.

Guts was on better terms with the new blood than the old blood. And they… well, they had seen first hand what he was capable of. They had said it more times than he cared to hear, and the tales spiraled out of control into outright impossibility -- that he won the battle singlehandedly. That he slaughtered hundreds of demons with every swing of his blade. Ciri got what she wanted, he supposed.

The old blood was being drowned out by the new. And after what they saw… if they didn't listen to Ciri, then they listened to him.

"Welcoming Yennefer of Vengerberg! First Sorcereres and Hero of the White Night. Accompanied by her paramore, Geralt of Rivia, a Hero of the White Night and a Master Witcher," the majordomo announced, breaking Guts free of his thoughts to look over at the two. They were arm in arm, and Yennefer looked right at home with the attention. Geralt looked like he was silently hoping for a monster attack.

Both of them looked well, though. The magic side of things wasn't something that Guts really concerned himself with, but Ciri managed to impose order on the mages with the help of Yennefer and Triss. They got more freedoms than they did under old Nilfgaard, but not complete freedom like some wanted. Novigrad was home for most, and as for those that felt any oversight was too demanding, they ended up fucking off to Kovir.

Time world tell how well things would work out, but at the very least, any overly ambitious mage would have to get through Yennefer. And looking at her, Guts didn't see that happening easily.

"I see he's no better than Geralt when it comes to finery," Yennefer remarked as they approached. The words might have carried an edge, but the amused smile on her lips took the bite out of them.

As if on cue, Geralt rolled his shoulders, "You paid someone to stitch wires in this thing," he accused without any real heat, nodding a greeting at Guts. Guts held up the bottle of rum and he offered a thin smile as a waiter poured him a cup. He would never get used to having servants, but he couldn't deny that they were convenient. "Big crowd. Birthday boy decided parties aren't for him?"

"Hm. Decided they were boring and ran off with the others," Guts agreed.

"Clever kid," Geralt praised.

"Really, you two have to get used to this. You aren't on the Path hunting monsters anymore," Yennefer pointed out. That was a little less true in Geralt's case, but not false enough that she didn't have a point. One of the very first things that Ciri did was overhaul how Witchers were treated. Contracts were subsidized, they received a Guildhall in every city and villagers would be reimbursed by the crown for providing food and lodging. It was already being abused, but it was for coppers out of gold.

Geralt himself had essentially retired from the life. The only dabbling that he did was overseeing a hunt for the various knight orders that popped up to deal with more mundane monsters like drowners.

"Not if I can help it," Geralt replied dryly.

Before Guts could reply, a voice caught his attention. Or, rather, a lyric.

"Our hero, our hero -- one of stout heart and endless courage~!" Guts heard, immediately recognizing the lyric. He looked over to see that the music was coming from Priscilla and Dandelion, the two performing a duo with Dandelion strumming his lute. He noticed Guts' expression and tossed a wink his way, a thoroughly unrepentant smile on his face.

Then he sang, "A veritable wall and an unbreakable spear~!" He said the next line, and Geralt chuckled.

"You get used to it," he offered, earning a grunt from Guts.

"I'd rather not," he decided. It was a strange thing to have a song written about him. He might have inspired one or two back in Midland, but he was willing to bet that he was the monster in those songs. This song was a popular one when it first sung, and a year later, it had only gotten more so. A song about the battle to save the world. In hindsight, perhaps it wasn't such a surprise the battle would inspire such songs, but it was rather uncomfortable to be the main focal point for a lot of them.

The music, however, proved to be a cue because not a second later, the majordomo spoke out again. "Introducing her Imperial Majesty Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon -- Empress of the North and Nilfgaard and Grand Duchess of Cintra. Accompanied by her Imperial Father, Emhyr var Emreis, Grand Vizier of Nilfgaard." The most important guests of the evening, and Guts was looking forward to meeting one of them a great deal more than the other.

The two strode through the double doors, which had been closed just so they could be opened dramatically for them. Ciri wore a silver and white gown, a thin band of silver and gold on her head to make sure it was clear that she was the queen. The make up around her eyes was dark, done professionally rather than whatever she had done before. Her hair was a bit longer, done up, and she made no effort to hide the scar on her cheek.

She did a good job of looking regal, at least until their gazes met and she cracked a sly looking smile. Her father was as dour as he ever was, wearing black and white, his expression utterly blank.

He had lost his title as Emperor, and instead took up the title of Vizier. A title that allowed him to oversee the original territories of Nilfgaard. A title that would pass to Ciri upon his death, so she could issue it to someone else if there was ever a need. And if Guts was her blunt hammer, then her father was her knife in the dark.

A year had passed and the unification of the North and Nilfgaard had been anything but smooth. Even now, there were those in the room that were probing. Poking. Trying to gauge the temperament of everyone in the room because Ciri's entrance had the same effect as a stone tossed into a lake. There were loyalists, traditionalists, and opportunists. Everyone watched her every move as she approached, with Yennefer greeting her warmly.

"Ciri! You look lovely," Yennefer said, freely wrapping her in a hug before she openly glared over Ciri's shoulder at a few in particular. It was hard to keep secrets from someone who could read minds, Guts imagined. It was a good thing that he didn't have any secrets that would interest Yennefer.

"Thank you. Hearing that makes the three hours putting it all together worth it," Ciri replied with dry humor, pulling back. She favored Geralt, who had gotten into a glaring contest with Emhyr, with a smile before she turned to him and Casca. Her eyes lit up when she saw Casca, "You've gotten so much bigger! The little one was just a bump last I saw you," Ciri greeted Casca with the same warmth she greeted Yennefer with.

"Don't I know it," Casca sighed with a smile. Early on, the fussing at her pregnancy caused no end of annoyance, but by now she had gotten used to it. "You look well, your highness."

"Ugh, please, don't call me that," Ciri made a dramatic face and Guts heard the quiet sigh her father let out. "Only for official stuff. This is a birthday, so it doesn't count. Speaking of which, where is the little guy?"

"Probably taking turns beating every wit out of his head with the other kids," Casca replied bluntly, much to Ciri's amusement.

"Sounds like they have the right idea," Ciri remarked with a teasing smile. "If little Judeau is half as hard headed as this one, then the stick is more likely to break." She added, the casual remark a little stilted. Tense. That was her realizing how many eyes were cast in their direction, noting the familiar way they spoke. Guts couldn't give less of a shit about social hierarchies if he actively tried, but he wasn't blind to them either.

Others looked on, from the outside, and only saw their closeness. They plotted how to drive a wedge between them, how to get as close as Guts and Yennefer were to the Empress, and thought of all the things they would do with the Empress' friendship. And, from the looks of it, Ciri realized it too.

"How about we find somewhere a little more private to talk? Oh, and I can give Judeau his gift!" Ciri ventured, throwing on a smile that seemed a little diminished to Guts' eyes.

"I wouldn't recommend it, daughter," Emhyr said, his voice dry and flat. He already knew what the response would be.

"Let them talk. If having a private conversation with my friends is a step too far for some, then they're welcome to speak up," Ciri replied. Despite Emhyr's evident displeasure, Guts was relieved to see that being Empress hadn't changed Ciri much. She was still unrepentantly herself.

There were some mutterings -- Yennefer and Casca walked off to find wherever the kids had gotten off to while Geralt remained behind to make sure that Emhyr remained honest. Leaving Ciri and Guts finding a rare moment of privacy as they headed off to a balcony that overlooked the courtyard of the castle.

"You look well," Ciri greeted, dropping all pretenses as she leaned unceremoniously against the stone railing. "Glad to see I'm not the only one that can't stand banquets."

Guts grunted, "Misery loves company." He acknowledged. "How are things on your end? I have a bet with Geralt that you'd be tearing out your hair by the first year."

Ciri shot him a smile that was downright smug. "You owe him money, then. Things are going fabulously," she replied triumphantly. Then she chuckled, "Next year is going to be different. This year has been about mending bridges and burying axes. To limited degrees of success," she admitted with a shrug.

"You can't make people forget about hate so easily," Guts conceded, his gaze going to his own flickering shadow due to the torches that flanked the doorway to the balcony. The edges might flicker, but the core of it was solid and after a year, he could see the cursed armor looking back at him. Waiting. Wanting.

"Maybe not," Ciri agreed. "Does it get any easier to bear?" She asked, her tone curious despite herself.

Was it any easier to bear? "Sometimes," Guts admitted after a moment, tearing his gaze away from the shadow to the sky above to see that the stars were starting to emerge. "Sometimes, I wake up and I'm filled with hate. Like how I was back when we first met. I didn't care if I lived or died, just so long as I was spitting in his eye." He admitted, oddly discomforted by the casualness of his tone. For years, he hadn't been able to so much as think about Griffith without seeing red.

"Other days, I barely think about him at all. He's stuck in a hell of his own making now. That dream he sacrificed us all for… he'll never realize it. Might mean it was all for nothing, but it also means he didn't gain anything from it either," Guts continued. Part of him wished he could have been there, standing before Griffith. To make him pay. To strike him down.

He always had to push those thoughts to the side. His wishes came with a cost, and that was the curse that he would bear until his dying day.

Then he shrugged, "I have more good days than bad days now." And that was still a novelty.

Ciri hummed in response, "We'll do it the right way. The hard way," Ciri spoke up, looking across the courtyard and beyond the walls. "This was the easy part. It's all uphill from here. I'm going to start exploring the Spheres for things and information we can use here. If you think making a Northling and Nilfgaardian get along was tough, you haven't seen anything yet. They're going to fight us every step of the way about every change we make."

We.

That was the difference between Ciri and Griffith, when it came right down to it. For all that they were similar…

Ciri used we and Griffith used I.

"If change was so easy, you'd be a dignified Empress by now," Guts remarked, looking back at her and receiving an indignant expression.

"... what's that supposed to mean, you borderline vagabond?" Ciri asked, cocking an eyebrow at him. The only thing that Guts resented in the remark was the borderline. "But, point taken. It's not so easy to change your stripes."

As she spoke, the kids came into view as they broke out in a dead sprint, laughing all the while. Their numbers had grown, likely due to blue blood parents trying to get their kids to strike up a friendship with the next Grand Duke. Who they were running from was obvious enough when Casca and Yennefer stepped into view.

His gaze lingered on Casca's face, her annoyed expression doing a poor job of hiding her amusement. Of Judeau, who openly smiled, his joy evident as the sun in a cloudless day.

His swordhand itched, aching for the comfortable weight of Dragonslayer. To be on the road. To be in the middle of the fight -- any fight would do. His life had become something wholly unfamiliar to him. The only thing that was familiar at this point was the ache for vengeance, but it had already been taken. Guts closed his hand into a fist, looking down at the two most important people in the world to him. Two, and within a few months, it would be three.

Maybe four, if he felt like counting Puck.

Puck likely sensed his emotions because he looked up, "Guts!" He called out, the small wind spirit waving at him, "Come play tag with us!"

A simple childish game. Guts felt the weight of Dragonslayer behind him -- hidden away in a closet, just in case he needed it. A sword that hadn't left his side for years.

Guts gripped the stone railing, "You're right," he admitted to her as he stepped onto it, a decision made. "But it's worth trying, when it's for the right reasons," he continued before throwing himself over the side to land on the ground a dozen feet down, much to the astonishment of the kids who promptly cheered. Above him, he heard Ciri laughing.

The past was dead. The Black Swordsman was dead.

Guts wasn't entirely sure who he would become in the future, but for now… For now, he wanted to become the kind of husband and father that would play a game of tag with his family. If he managed that much… then Guts would know he had accomplished all that he needed to.

And more than he ever dreamed.

…

So ends Castoff, my third story to earn a Complete tag. Overall, I’m pretty satisfied with it. It was a commissioned work, so I paid a lot more attention to the word count than I otherwise might have, but that let me focus on the main plot rather than get distracted with side stuff as I typically do. Either way, it's more or less what I set out to write.

I know some were disappointed with Guts not being the one to strike Griffith down, but the entire point of the story was Guts letting go of vengeance to embrace life. For most of his life, he lived for the sake of living, or for the sake of vengeance. Now, he has reasons to not just be alive, but live. He has a family. He has a future. And that’s the biggest ‘fuck you’ he could realistically give Griffith because, one day, Guts won’t think about him at all and Griffith will be trapped with his own failures for the next billion years.

As for the future -- Guts and Ciri both have a long life ahead of them. It won’t be a story of ‘things were happily ever after forever.’ There will be highs and lows, successes and tribulations. But, I do think that they would come out with history recalling them quite fondly even if the utopia that Ciri set out to create wasn’t fully realized. In their generation, at least.

And that’s about it for Castoff. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it.