Crimson & Clover {OC x GUTS} Berserk

1. The Man With the Greatsword

"Isn't the princess known to be a bit...guarded?" Rickert asked as the Band of the Hawk approached Midland's capital.

"Just say it. She's a bitch," Guts cut in.

"Guts! You can't speak that way of royalty!" Casca scolded.

"The older one, most definitely. They say that's why her father is marrying her off to the Kushan," Corkus said as he leaned his head back, "Princess Charlotte, on the other hand, she is younger, sweeter, greener. Griffith could definitely get her to open up, if you know what I mean."

"Hn," Guts crossed his arms, hearing Corkus's voice ruined every conversation for him. Princesses, castles, and kings weren't his thing. All he could think about was the next battle. The next time he could swing his blade and lose his thoughts in the art of survival.

His mind drifted back to the battle with Nosferatu Zodd. His words...not threats. He spoke in prophecy.

A death you cannot escape...

~~~

Goosebumps spread across Marcella's skin when the bedsheet she had hung over her mirror fell down. She couldn't bear to see her own reflection. Bruises covered her body. They weren't big. Each bruise represented the remnants of the fingerprints that had been dug into her flesh.

The thought of her future husband finding out her purity had not been saved for him made her sick. There wasn't a date set. It had been decided that she would marry when the war ended.

The air in her room was now too suffocating. Marcella quickly draped the bedsheet back over the mirror and got herself dressed.

Under her flowing skirts, Marcella wore a pair of tight fitting pants. Once she got to the crypts, they would be the best thing for her to train in. Her tunic was tucked up under the layers of fabric that were nowhere near the richness of what the Queen and Charlotte wore.

In perfect timing, Marcella looked up to see her sister, Princess Charlotte, making her way to the library.

"Charlotte, greetings," Marcella curtsied before her.

"Marcella," she said, her nose slightly upturned and pointed away.

"Would you care to join me on a walk?"

"No, thank you," Charlotte said, a bit more insecurely, before continuing on her path.

Not even a second thought, nor a nod of apology.

It always went like this. Marcella's eyes stung. She dug her thumbnail into her index finger, biting back the tears threatening to spill over her lashes.

Breathe.

Marcella knew she should be used to treatment by now. Perhaps she was daft for even attempting to speak to Charlotte and here she was instead – inviting her for a walk. Marcella held out for her sisters love even though she had long given up on ever receiving affection from the King and Queen.

As she walked, Marcella thought back to the day Charlotte was born. She was overcome with joy and was even allowed inside of the Queen's birthing chamber to help. Charlotte was a beautiful newborn. She wasn't red or smushed-looking like Marcella had feared. No, Charlotte was perfection, just as her mother was. She was like an angel to Marcella, as she barely remembered her own mother, the King's first wife who died when Princess Marcella was only five. Only a month later, Charlotte was born, the new mother was crowned queen.

It happened suddenly. The King never loved his first wife, the arrangement was purely political. It was the reason she distanced herself from Marcella. Yet, the King truly loved Charlotte's mother. His love and indiscretion was punished when the new Queen died shortly after Princess Charlotte's birth. It was then that he cast aside Princess Marcella and praised Princess Charlotte as Midland's one true heir.

It was a full year after the second Queen's death that Midland's King was urged to take another wife. Midland's third queen had barely glanced in Marcella's direction before deciding that she, just like the King, would cast her aside. She took an instant liking to the babe, Princess Charlotte. Or rather, liked the fact that this one was more vulnerable – moldable.

The sisters passed in an awkward silence. Charlotte's heels clicked against the vast marble floor. She was too focused on getting away from Marcella to notice her sister's lack of clicking. For under her skirts, Marcella wore flat boots. Marcella focused her mind back on the task at hand – the reason why she hid a pair of beat up boots – training with the Bakiraka clan.

She pulled a shawl around her shoulders and made her way down to the gardens. Through the rose bushes lay a hidden pathway to the crypts. As she walked through the rows of grape vines, towards the roses, she saw a shimmer of light. It blinded her and then disappeared, leaving her with stars in her eyes. Just as she regained her vision, it reappeared, blinding her once more before disappearing yet again.

Annoying.

She made her way closer to the source of the shimmer to find a soldier. Not a Midland soldier. He wouldn't have been here if he were a mere soldier. No, this was one of the mercenaries she had been hearing so much about. She watched from the shadows as he swung the largest sword she had ever seen.

His muscles rippled each time his arms raised and lowered. She envied him. He was strong and clearly didn't give a fuck about court etiquette.

What would life have been like had she been born into that body? Well, this body wouldn't have those bruises on it, for one.

Another man approached and as he got closer, Marcella was able to see that this was the esteemed Griffith. The man her father had spoken more and more about with each day. Perhaps she was biased – she didn't like him. Right away this man, Griffith, made her skin crawl. And for a brief moment, she couldn't tell if that was her own feeling or just her nature to hold disdain for anything her father liked?

She watched as the two men talked before realizing that she wasn't the only one watching in secret.

Charlotte stood behind the pillar as the King approached the two mercenaries.

Marcella rolled her eyes listening to Griffith speak. He was really laying it on thick for the King. And the King, her father, was drinking it all up.

Perhaps the Band of the Hawk really would be the answer Midland was searching for though. Their feats were already astonishing. But, the sooner the war ended, the sooner she would be wedded to the Kushan.

Oh, this Griffith guy was good. He just caught Charlotte, mid-fall. Like some romance book in the library. The handsome knight who rescues the princess, dipping her low, and staring into her eyes. But, he was no knight. Marcella stared, still hidden among the vines, and she decided that she really didn't like this man.

She flushed pale when Lord Julius stormed over the Griffith who helped Charlotte regain her footing. The bruises matched the size of his fingertips. She pressed her eyes shut, trying to block out the image of her uncle hovering over her.

"You bastard!" Julius shouted as he slapped Griffith, drawing blood.

"Hey, pal!" the man with the giant sword stepped forward, tightening his grip.

Yes. Yes. Take his head off oh noble sword-bearing man. That would be my kind of romance novel.

Marcella couldn't help but smile. This man with the giant sword truly possessed no regard for court etiquette. In this moment, all at once a desire swirled within her. She longed for the moment she could escape beyond these walls, Marcella desired to be powerful like the man with the greatsword.

Marcella inched closer to the entrance hidden in the roses. She wanted more than anything to be strong and to make the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks disappear. The more she tried not to think of it, the more her mind became obsessed over it.

When the secret entrance closed behind her, an idea struck her.

What would that man do to someone who dared to strike him?

He would probably, no, he would definitely kill the perpetrator.

It was decided then. Charlotte's Ball would provide the perfect cover for Marcella to kill Julius. She would end his abuse, once and for all. Karma. A word the Bakiraka had taught her.