Disclaimer: I own nothing, except for the delusional wistfulness that grates on even MY nerves.
Theirs was an arranged marriage. A typical, clichéd and skeevy ordeal of making two individuals' lives as miserable as possible for a long (maybe not that long, seeing as they had titans drooling just outside the wall, remaining military polices plotting their deaths in the most painful ways possible, and Captain Levi's patience getting thinner and thinner with age) period of time.
It made sense, really. The Queen of Human and the King of Titan (supposedly so, since titans were never that fond of crowning ceremonies and all). The ultimate ruler and the long-awaited hero. Because a young queen like her would not be enough to hold off the surge of resistance without a decent consort. And because an abnormality like him would only be abominated without an official title that could assure the overall population of his noble quest and absolute loyalty.
So, generally speaking, nobody was that shocked at Erwin's nonchalant suggestion (or was it an order? They never did find the distinction between the two whenever the Survey Corp's Captain were to involved).
He, being an excessive titan homicidal maniac that he was, didn't particularly see anything wrong with this whole arrangement. It wasn't as if he harbor any boiling dudgeon toward Historia, nor did it seem like he suffers from an extreme case of gamophobia. As long as he got to kill titans and find a way out of this sultry, cramped and affected wall, who cared whom and how he must marry?
She, on the other hand, did think about it. She thought of Ymir, of her smirks, her words, her sacrifices for the person she loved, and of her back as she flung away to help Reiner and Bertolt at those last moments. She thought of Eren, of his blue-green eyes that never seemed to see her, of his disdain disinterest in everything Krista did, of his nasty but somehow (and she berated herself severely for this thought) comforting smile he gave Historia the day he recognized her as a likable human being. And so she, too, did not find any apparent reason to object.
The wedding was more of a show than an actual happy occasion of uniting two people who were (according to popular belief) deeply and nauseatingly in love. Captain Levi was the one who led her down the aisle (with her father being a cursing, sputtering and begging-for-his-life bloody mess in the dungeon -why wouldn't they just kill him? She would be much more relieved if they did...) with his signature frown in place and killing intent leaking all over. The groom looked highly uncomfortable and somewhat constipated all throughout the ceremony (maybe it was his suit, she had never seen him in a suit -a pity, he actually looked quite nice in it). The marriage officiant seemed ready to bolt within a second notice even when the vows were exchanged in the earnest, he even stuttered at the end in the line 'You ma...may kiss the bride' and nearly suffered from a heart attack when Levi leveled a withering glare at him from the front seat. The ring was uneasily tight around her finger and the kiss was customarily awkward at best. But it was fine. She hadn't really expected much.
Still, he had expected even less. He didn't expected Armin's best-man speech to be so long, so emotional, and so embarrassing. Armin did know that this wedding was only a basis necessity, right? That they just had to endure it and wait for the next mission outside the wall to come? That no one was actually in love enough with anyone to enjoy hearing his/her humiliating experience when he/she was still in diapers and inexplicably fond of running naked in the rain? Apparently, Armin did not.
Nor did he expect Sasha and Connie's performance to be so excruciatingly terrible. Somebody (noted: his newlywed bride) should establish a law that ban compulsive food hoarder and transcendent imbecile with terrible impulse control from singing in public. Heaven knew how many more will perish after hearing it.
And so he stayed there, his face pained and resigned, his hand holding Historia's loosely (as was expected of him), and wished with all his heart that the whole ordeal would process much faster and over with.
Their wedding night was, for the lack of a better word, predictably uneventful. They sat stiffly beside each other on the bed, feeling more and more stupid as time went by. Fifteen minutes of unbearable silence, and she turned to find him starting to lay down. He chanced a side glance at her still-rigid form, shrugged almost unnoticeably, and closed his eyes. She was frankly confused by then. Should she feel offended? Most people would feel offended, right? But then again, this was Eren Yeager (homicidal maniac with renown titan obsession and all that), what did she expect? She shuffled a bit with the pillow, then laid down next to him. As expected, she didn't get much sleep, at all.
He, for his part, slept like a log. Not at first, no. He was too busy feeling ashamed of himself to actually do something useful for a change. It wasn't as if he didn't know what to do. He did attend the health education course back at the barrack (even though when fellow training soldiers were working their asses off drawing human anatomy, he was busying himself with vivid pictures of dead titans with organs and bones and spines splattered all over the place -it was the same day he found out that he did not possess even the slightest amount of art talent, and not nearly enough moral standard). But yes, the lack of actual practice manifested itself greatly in situations like this. Well, he didn't see her complain, did he? Maybe she was just as relieved as he was when nothing happened. Maybe. Moving a bit restlessly, he turned his back to her -again- rigid form, and willed himself to sleep.
She was the first to wake up. But then again, she hadn't really slept in the first place. Turning her gaze toward the ceiling, she started thinking. She thought of (once again) Ymir, and wondered briefly if the girl would snap at her for letting others talk her into doing this. She thought of Eren, still sleeping without a care in the world beside her (he didn't move that much, and didn't seem to possess any bad sleeping habit). She pondered over the mixed feeling she had due to what happened (or didn't happen) last night. Did she repulse him? She hoped not. Did she feel any relief at the lack of action that occured? No? What was this mixed feeling she having? Was it normal?
Her mind wandered then, just the slightest bit. For once, she allowed herself to think of Mikasa. What was she doing now, that girl? What was she doing after she had lost him to the hands of some delirious stranger with nothing but a cold crown and empty throne in her name?
Would it be cruel of her to pity the Arckerman girl?
He woke with a pounding headache (wedding or no, he will not allow Horse-face and Armin to talk him into drinking ever again!) and a half-confused state of conscious as his eyes frantically took in everything in front of him. Oh right. Wedding night. Private chamber of the Queen... Historia.
"Do you have a knife?" She asked, her voice low and strangely tired.
"... No? Why?" He turned to her, trying not to sound patronizing. It wasn't his fault that his natural voice had taken turn for the worst when puberty hit him in the face (with a loud loud smack).
She cleared her throat but strained her gaze steadily on his face:
"The sheet... People would expect certain things..."
"...to be found there. I see." He, too, cleared his throat and rolled up his sleeves.
She did not utter a word when he bit down at his hand (hard) and waited till the white sheet in the middle of the bed stained with blood. Krista would have exclaimed in surprise and volunteered to do so herself. But Historia, Historia only sat back almost expressionlessly and accepted that if one of them had to bleed, it was better to be the one that can heal. (No. Her sudden uncalled-for satisfaction had nothing to do with the selfish disappointment she felt yesterday when he turned his back to her and went to sleep. Erwin never did mention wedding night in his order, after all.)
Both of them got up from the bed after that. And though she knew she had no reason to, she somehow couldn't help the twinge of...something in her chest when she watched his back getting further and further from her.
He was in and out of her life like a dissolved reflection on the water all throughout the next two years. His missions took him further and further away from the wall, from the capital city, and from her. On the rare occasion they did meet, he would only greet her with a slight tilt of the head and a pretentious guileless smile that fooled no one (he got better, though, she'd known that for a fact; as of late, his smile looked sincere enough to fool even her). Their love life was basically non-existence, and even their heart-to-heart talks became scarce and in-between. She worked herself sick, just for the sake of having something to do aside from waiting fervently for mails and swallowing in self-pity. She had come to love that smile of his, the true, sardonic and utterly nasty smile he so often wore. She had come to love his straightforward stares and the way his startling eyes brightened whenever he talked about his trips outside the wall. She had come to love his cynical remarks and candid feelings. She, somehow, somewhere along the way, had come to love him. And greatly perturbed by this turn of event.
He didn't think much about her (not when he had titans and Hange's experiments and Levi's mood-swings and Horse-face's antics to worry about, no). But when he did think about her, he felt this unfamiliar feeling of longing spreading furiously across his chest. He missed her, sometimes. Her deadpan stares, her signature hauteur, her tenacious truculence... But he was young, and a bit inept when it came to inner emotions and sentimental depth. So he ignored it. The way he had so meticulously ignored Mikasa's affection for years, the way Jean's jealousy dissolved into nothingness in his eyes since forever, the way he had passed the pain he felt at Annie's betrayer off as the mourning for a loss of a friend. He, aside from being a titan obsessive freak with single-minded ferocity, was also an expert in disregarding mushy feelings in general.
And yet, some deep corner of his brain had taken to groaning in exasperation every time his thoughts strayed toward her. Because a part of him knew, somehow, that he was a already a goner.
Their real wedding night happened not long after that. Again, it was an awkward business (at first). She climbed on him, her face tight, unyielding and disturbingly accusing. Accusing him of what, even she could not place into words. And yet, for one reason or another, he seemed to know. Because he paused for just a second too soon, his face a perfect mixture of surprise, embarrassment, guilt, acceptance and determination. He pulled her tight toward him, dipped his head and kissed her hard on the mouth. Her response was just a tiny bit too eagerly, but she doubted he even notice it.
In the end, the whole thing wasn't quite what she'd expected. A lot less blood, a lot more pain, and a lot of strangled laughs as embarrassing mishaps and pleasure blurred together. He seemed to know what he was doing (somewhat; he either had an amazingly vivid imagination, or many productive experiences -she didn't know exactly how she feel if it was the latter case).
"I'm going tomorrow night." He said as morning came, "Captain Levi gave me three days off at most, and it will take half a day to travel back to the troop's hideout."
"... I see." And she did. Really.
The future of humanity inside these walls depended on him, after all. She wasn't in any position to demand his utmost attention, regardless of how much pain and loneliness it costs her.
His smile then was no longer pretentious, nor did it contain the signature sardonic edge.
It was the first time since Ymir's departure that she felt truly and idiotically happy.
She started thinking about Mikasa again. It wasn't jealousy, not really. Eren had never seemed to be the type to fall prey for such meager feeling as lust. And love would never be an accurate expression to describe what he had with the Ackerman girl, either.
Still, it was not fair, sometimes. It wasn't fair that Mikasa got to be with him all the time while she stayed helplessly at the palace waiting for mails that rarely came (Eren never did get into the habit of writing, he'd rather spend hours cleaning the post to sooth Levi's Molysomophobia and burning his face off in Hange's experiments). It wasn't fair that he only seemed to be in his liveliest mood when he was outside of the wall, with Mikasa by his side, and she miles away. It certainly was not fair that if anything had happened, Mikasa would have been the one who hold his hand and bid him farewell, while she (his wife) would have had the honor of receiving his cold body and crying alone afterward.
Yet again, she wasn't the one who had to stay on the side to watch him getting married to other girls. Nor was she the one who had to face him nearly everyday with the knowledge that he would never be hers.
Maybe being herself wasn't so bad, after all. She figured that hating Mikasa was as unnatural as hating herself. Knowing Eren, she might as well waste her energy hating the titans instead.
"She's pregnant, Historia." He said to his wife (his extremely pregnant wife), who stiffened immediately in his embrace.
They were cuddling on their bed, her back lying on his chest and his hands toying with her blonde strands of hair. That was before his confession. Now, she shied away from him, her face tight and unsurprisingly unreadable. He tugged her back, a bit more forcefully than he intended to.
"I will not try to excuse myself, love. What happened was...a two way process. And I figure... Well, I figure you might understand."
Understanding was rarely in her nature in the first place. And in this situation...
"And I wonder if slapping you now would serve any purpose at all. If it does, do grit your teeth tight, husband." Her words came out more abrasive than she expected it to.
He took her hands in his, his eyes bright and earnest (how the hell can he do that after cheating on his wife was beyond her):
"You know it is never my intention to hurt you."
No. No it is not.
She took a deep breath and clutched his hands tightly:
"Do you love her?" That was the most important question after all. For her, anyway.
He shook his head and put his forehead on hers:
"I love you, Historia."
She sucked in a shaky breath. This was the first time he said it.
"I know I never say it enough," (You never said it at all, you dimwit, she thought), "but I love you, truly so."
She cried then. Her eyes squeezed shut and her lips trembled. He put his arms around her and embraced her fully. She felt like such a baby.
After a while, she turn her face up from the crook of his neck, her voice calm and throaty from all the crying:
"How far along is she?" Because god forbid, if he impregnated Mikasa before he did her...
"About four months?"
Her child was seven months along the way.
"Is there anymore...encounter with her after that?" Did he sleep with her more than once?
He shifted a little as his bright gazes found her:
"No. Not at all."
She shifted, falling once more in his embrace and stiffing a sigh. Her mind wandered as his even breathing lulled them both into sleep.
Would Mikasa's child be a boy? Or a girl? Will that child be more beautiful than hers? Will that child, heaven forbid, look more like him than hers?
Her anger flared unexpectedly. At that moment, she decided that she did hate Mikasa after all.