Disclaimer: Shingeki no Kyojin belongs to Hajime Isayama. No copyright infringement is intended.
Note: Not beta-ed. If you find any mistakes, do tell.
AND I KNOW IT'S A TRAGIC FANDOM ALREADY I'M SORRY ;_;
The price of freedom is steep.
Sometimes he wondered whether if this all was worth it, yet every time that thought passed, he felt stupid. Like that statement should not even cross his mind.
Of course this was all worth it. Hours turned to days, to weeks, to months and to years and most of them had just stopped counting and given up altogether.
He never did, though. The clock, the calendar, the names, the bodies. Eventually he found comfort in numbers, something he nearly had back before Irvin found him. The numbers, they never got smaller, always bigger, always more—injuries, wounds, crippled soldiers; while at the same time more and more Titans crushed, wider area reclaimed.
There was a closet back in his room that had no articles of clothing but was instead stacked with boxes inside. Folders and books and papers, some that he took from Hanji's place, because she would always have more than enough, some that were his own… but he had learned ages ago that it would not be enough.
The Walls were no more, lands reclaimed and Titans annihilated, the last he had made sure of it himself. Because they all had time (he rarely thought so), they had the means (though most of the times it did not mean much), they swung with the wings of freedom.
Even if no winds were blowing, they flew together and on their own, and now that the winds did, he swung alone.
They had him, Humanity's Strongest Soldier—short (he admitted it sometimes, yes) and rude he might be, but he still survived. And lived.
Because survival did not always equal to living, and being alive did not necessarily mean okay.
It had been, what, about four decades? since he first saw the World with his eyes. A closed-off World, a World of cages. Underground, the other criminals; above, the government and the fucking Titans, there was never a moment where he could see no enemies.
But then the Walls were breached, and though those monstrosities were a very obvious threat, he could not deny a little spark of excitement when a part of something beyond the Walls could be seen.
It was short-lived, though, very short-lived.
He had slain Titans. His comrades had, his superiors had, his subordinates had. They had seen the World.
But what they began together, he finished alone.
Not exactly alone, if one was being extremely picky—he could see Ackerman from his place, sitting with her chin on her knees.
Her scarf had long ago faded, the red dulled, the ends frayed. He knew this because he saw her often, because they were the ones that usually came back last, because they couldn't stop and turn and leave the other alone, because—
There were times that he loathed the title bestowed upon him. He had always had an inkling that words could be heavy, but he never understood the meaning until he felt it himself, the invisible weight bearing down on his shoulders.
(At times when they did not have to do anything, a forgotten time long past, Irvin had sometimes joked that maybe it was why he was rather short. He had thrown a wet mop at him.)
As he walked towards where the girl was sitting, he kept his pace steady and his face forward, the faintest scent of rain as his company.
Levi stopped three steps behind her. He knew she knew he was there, as she knew he knew that she would be there.
At this time there was very rarely anyone else but the two of them. He would always arrive first, and they would cross paths, ending with her leaving last.
He always came before dark while she always left after.
He remembered—when exactly, he couldn't pinpoint—just nights after Wall Maria was taken and the holes sealed off, whether all this caged area would be big enough for the graves of the dead men.
-.-.-.-.-
The two of them were around the middle of what used to be the King's castle. It had crumbled, along with the last of the Titans, and the two of them had instantly claimed the ground for themselves. There had been no protests, just solemn faces and somber eyes. Not even from the Military Police.
He and Ackerman had been the last men standing, and they had an unspoken truce that none will ever say a word about the tears that fell to the dusty ground.
The next time he had opened his eyes, the sun had merely been an orange blob halfway through the horizon, and he'd had the worst crick on his neck.
His back had been warm, though, despite the chilly dawn.
There were no 'he suddenly remembered,' because his dream had been a replay of the war waged by men against those monsters; of the fire, of the cries the blood the body the eyesandthelives.
All he did when he had woken up was to take a deep breath and help her to her feet.
The castle was huge, and its perimeters were marked neither by woods nor stones, but chipped and rusty blades of the soldiers that died at this place. He had not particularly care if it was symbolic or not, it was what they all had agreed on.
There were trees, separated quite far from each other, but she had claimed the spot right under the biggest tree, and he had not seen any reasons why she could not.
Every once in a while, she came with Eren, but he could count on two hands the occasion they were both there. Because as much as she would like to have her adopted brother by her side every time she came up here, his well-being was still her priority, and coming up the hill with crutches was not an easy task.
He knew this because she had told him, when they were in the same room with no one else. With only the light from the flickering candle and steaming cups of tea in front of them.
Levi also visited this spot often, but not as much as she; because Arlert might be physically weak, but after the Commander of the Recon Corps was gone, he had been the one to finish the last planning effort to exterminate the Titans.
And he understood who he ought to give his respect to, age and gender notwithstanding.
She still did not move when he retreated to his usual spot just outside the shadow of the tree that grew right on the middle of the area.
He stood before a slab of stone planted firmly on the ground, and stared at the crossed blades. Seconds or minutes passed, he did not pay it any heed.
His pocket felt heavily light, and Levi took out a worn emblem of the blue-and-white wings. It fluttered slightly on his hands, then he knelt and tied it where the blades met.
Another rather strong breeze blew, and he watched as the piece of clothing whipped around like it was attempting to escape.
He thought it was fitting—the Wings of Freedom, trying to fly towards the endless sky.
Countless names and years after the first act of War, Lance Corporal Levi placed his hand on top of the gravestone, closing his eyes.
His whisper was soft: for the ears of his Commander that was no longer with him, of his comrades that put their trust on him, of his subordinates that placed their hope on him.
"It's lonely, you know."
Men cry not for themselves, but for their comrades.