Berserk Fan Fiction ❯ Possession ❯ Doridorai ( Chapter 1 )

First the warnings and disclaimers. I do not own the characters in this story. I wish I did. This story has foul language, violence, a pedophile and his kinks. Come on people, you've all seen the anime, right? So I don't even have to go into the spoilers and all that. This story is unfinished but is heading towards nonconsensual yaoi and possibly some consensual, too. An AU. Of course.

Possession

Chapter One: Doridorai

Griffith parried the pike and allowed his blade to slide down the shaft to give the Pikesman time to lean into his death. A flick of the wrist and another Chudan infantryman was down. The sandstorm that has been much of this morning's tactics was dying down, and the battlefield that was revealed was very much to Griffith's liking. General Boscogne had released his troops to flood onto the field, a stupid move that left the plum of Doridorai open to Caska and her light raiders.

Poor Boscogne, a good military mind stifled by Chudan politics. Gennon's doing, of course.

There was no doubt that Caska would take Doridorai. Some of the Senior Hawks, including Caska herself, were a little surprised when he had assigned the difficult task to her instead of Gatts. But Griffith knew Gennon, and he knew Caska hated Gennon, so even if the old pervert didn't take the bait, Caska would devote her all to her revenge. Strange how one night of discomfort had served him so well for so many years.

A little more than discomfort, really.

Griffith wrenched his mind away from unpleasant memories and focused on the battle. Boscogne was bearing down on Gatts, the real reason he hadn't send his best sword into Doridorai. All the dangerous fighters were out here.

Looking for me.

The tide of soldiers swirled around Griffith, effectively held off by his oldest comrades. He caught a complaint from Korkus during a lull.

"God's Balls, how much did the old fuck offer for you?"

"Enough to tempt even you!" Griffith laughed and urged his mount forward, to a slight rise.

The wind dropped suddenly and with it all obscuring sand. Both armies blinked for a heartbeat, the waves of sound falling off. In the sudden silence, Griffith heard a terrible sound, a crack like a thunder.

A sword breaking.

No no no no

Griffith stood up in the stirrups and looked back over his shoulder to Gatts. The dark haired boy, unhorsed again, was just staring at the broken shard of sword still attached to the hilt in his hand. In his peripheral vision, Griffith saw Boscogne bearing down for the kill.

"Gattsu!" He screamed, trying to wake them both up from what was rapidly becoming a nightmare. Griffith pulled hard on the reins, willing his scrambling horse to stay upright in the sliding sand, trying to calculate the angles and vectors necessary to intercept Boscogne, to throw Gatts his own sword, to do something.

If he falls, we're lost, I'm lost, I've lost, lost!

He saw Gatts throw the broken sword away and pull his saddle knife. He saw the glittering edge of Boscogne's great axe as it swung. He heard a horse scream. Hope surged.

Boscogne's?

No, his. The fancy barding hindering more than helping, Griffith's beautiful white horse went down in the treacherous sand. He was still standing in the stirrups, a bad position to be in, already he could feel his spurs catching, tangling, he was going down with Quicksilver and he was going to be trapped. Hating the available choices, Griffith took the only logical one and dropped his sword, pulling his own saddle knife and cutting himself free.

There was no way to roll gracefully to his feet in full field plate in deep sand with a bloody damn horse on half his cape. Griffith slashed at the eager hands reaching for him and broke loose his cape clasp with his other hand. He slid down the slight hill and struggled to stand. Grinning Chudans surrounded him instantly.

"Old Gennon said we could name our price."

"We'll be rich, rich men."

"Gold. for the White Hawk."

"You'll be spending it in Hell!" Griffith pulled the closest man to him and slashed his throat. He cradled the corpse in his left arm to use as a shield, strength coming from anger.

And fear.

He glanced up at Doridorai, praying to see the Hawks banner on the walls. The Chudan flags still flew.

One of the men laughed at him. "Your Hundred Man Killer is dead, White Hawk. You've lost."

Gatts. Dead?

Griffith dropped the dead man and pulled his belt knife. He stood, fighting fear and despair, a knife in each hand.

"Come and get me, then."

Korkus cursed. He'd taken his eyes off their leader for an instant, mesmerized as everyone else by the great General Boscogne riding down on Gatts, and the dumb bastard just standing there with his triple damned knife and where the fuck was Griffith??! He heard screams of a wounded horse and knew true fear when he saw that horse was Quicksilver. He saw flashes of silver in a knot of Chudans. Forcing his way over there, fighting as he never had before, Korkus succeeded only in rescuing a few pieces of Griffith's silvered armor. He scanned the crowds, trying to spot white hair, silver plate, anything.

The wind picked up and the sand lifted with it. Korkus pulled his kerchief over his mouth and nose and squinted into the dust.

Where the fuck did he go?

Gennon shifted his weight from foot to foot and patted his pudgy fingers together. Logically, he knew he should deal with the matter at hand in the prescribed manner, paying the men off, having his new prize transported and prepared for the evenings delights. But after 6 years, he found he just couldn't wait.

"Where is he? He's unharmed, I hope?" Gennon's voice hinted at reprisals if the goods weren't in acceptable condition.

"Pretty much," the leader said. "He fought like a tiger, so we had to restrain him a little." His comrades snickered.

A gesture and a bundle wrapped in dusty canvas was brought forward, thrown down at Gennon's feet. Gennon suppressed a wince at the muffled whimper from under the cloth. He frowned down at the smears of blood and other indistinguishable streaks on the packaging. He never should have done this personally. It was going to get unpleasant. It would color The Reunion. "I trust no unwarranted liberties were taken."

Offended, the Leader said, "That's your vice, Old man. Don't ascribe it to us." Good sense or greed made him add in a more conciliatory tone, "Anyway, we knew you'd want to be the first."

Gennon's mood softened, remembering The First Time. Eyes blue as the sky over the sea, wide with fear, heavy with lovemaking. He shivered, suddenly in a rush to get rid of these ruffians and see his beloved.

He gestured his silent servants forward to unwrap the gift before him. Gennon went back to patting his hands, nervous. How would He react? Gennon had saved him from death, from torture and imprisonment. The White Hawk should be, must be . grateful. He moistened his lips, imagining the form of gratitude would take.

The servant hesitated before removing the last of the wrapping, looking up at Gennon. He nodded, trying to remain dignified although his heart was pounding. The canvas was whisked away, revealing Griffith, naked, bruised, bloody and filthy, his arms cruelly tied to bar behind his back.

Griffith gulped air and slowly turned his head towards Gennon.

Gennon frowned, greatly dissatisfied. Griffith's lovely white hair was matted with blood and a hideous purple bruise marred his perfect face. "You hurt him!"

"He killed six of us!"

"Gennon." Griffith whispered hoarsely. He forced his eyes to open, to focus. He looked up at his captor.

Gennon fell into eyes blue like an endless summer day. "Name your price."

A rustle moved through the group. "Five thousand gold."

"Each," another voice added.

Without looking up, Gennon said, "Done. Now get out."

Griffith closed his eyes. There were 5, 6, still alive from the group that had ended up with him? Twenty five thousand gold pieces was far more that Midland would pay for any mere Viscount, no matter how valuable a general he might have been. Certainly none of his friends could touch that price. There was no chance, no chance at all that he would be ransomed.

He felt Gennon kneel heavily on the floor near him, the scent of Gennon's perfumes choking him. Griffith sagged forward with a sigh as his bonds were cut.

"Fools, " Gennon muttered. "I paid more for a single night with the White Hawk."

Perversity made Griffith whisper back, "I was much younger then."

Dissatisfaction returned. No, he should never have deviated from the routine at all. Gennon gestured to a servant. "Take Lord White Hawk and make him presentable." Most disappointing reunion.

Griffith had no intentions of giving the quiet servant boys any trouble. He wasn't sure he could. His head wouldn't stop spinning since the leader had hit him with the hilt of his sword. And he would dearly love a bath. The tears would be unnoticed there.

Tears for himself. Tears for his dream - not even his god-egg remained. He'd spend the rest of his life in Gennon's harem, enduring his caresses until he could get a weapon and slit his own throat.

No, no, he'd survive, he always did, he'd be all right, Gennon loved him, would never hurt him. He'd survive.

Tears for the Hawks, all the ones who fell believing in him. The ones he let down. Caska. the Chudan flags were still proud over Doridorai and that meant Caska...

Tears for Gatts. Of all that he'd never have, now, the loss of Gatts hurt the most. Sobs slipped out and he hunched up in the bath, unable to think anymore.

"That's enough of that," a crisp voice said.

Griffith blinked up at a plump woman who reminded him oddly of Princess Charlotte's nanny. He took her offered hand and was surprised by her strength as she hauled him out of the now cold bath.

"No more tears. It mars your looks. " She examined him critically. Griffith had no modesty but disliked being judged on his physical appearance. Especially when he was admittedly not at his best.

She made him sit on a chaise and tip his head back. Griffith clenched his teeth as the spinning inside his head flipped his stomach. She prodded the wound over his right eye gently, causing him to clutch the arms of the chaise and gasp.

"Your skull isn't broken. But you're concussed, aren't you? Well, I'll tell His Excellency that it will take a few days to make your presentable. Which it will." She pressed a rag full snow over the wound.

"Will Gennon take your advice?"

"Most of the time. He's anxious after you, though. I'll see what I can do."

Griffith tried to relax and let her tend his wounds. "What is your name?"

"Madame Aing. I am the Harem Mistress here. You will do as I say."

"Thus far, it has been my pleasure."

"Humph." Madame Aing opened a box and withdrew a few leeches, placing them carefully on Griffith's bruised wrists and ribs.

Griffith shuddered. He knew the cosmetic properties of leeches well enough, but he hated the feel of the slimy things. He hated most slimy things, actually. He gripped the arms of the chaise again, his flesh goosepimpling and crawling.

When she tried placing a leech on his face, Griffith's control broke and he shoved her away from him. He sat up in the chaise and tried to get a grip on the bloated bastards and get them off of him. Madame Aing backhanded Griffith hard enough to knock him back into a reclined position. Lightening flashed behind his eyes. He blinked at Aing, astonished, and fell into the lurking darkness.