Inspired by the song The Night We Met, Lord Huron.

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I've been searching for a trail to follow, again…
Take me back to the night we met…

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This is the ocean. Armin had told her.

Historia had never heard the boy's voice so filled with longing, like he was looking for something to appear on the liquid sky stretching beyond the horizon. If she cared a little more, she might have asked what he was searching for.

If she did.

Truth was she was distracted by her own wants, searching for the shadow of the land that devoured the best thing that ever happened to her. Maybe if she had seen it, she would feel less trapped. Maybe the broken pieces of her heart would finally shatter completely, and she would not feel this incomplete.

When exactly did it happen? She wanted to know. They said when two people shared a special connection, they were supposed to feel it in their heart when something bad happened...

Historia wondered if it didn't happen to her because she had handed her heart over a long time ago.

"Do you think she suffered?"

The question slipped out expectantly. Armin snapped his eyes back from the glittering waves in surprise. She was shocked too, but she did not let it show.

Somewhere above them, the clouds shifted. Sunlight shone down on the dancing waves. They were so bright. Too bright to look at. Like that farewell smile atop a crumbling tower, against the light of dawn, a thousand years ago when they were still together. Her eyes burned.

Live. She heard the ocean whispers. When it washed over the sand. When it crashed on stone. Live your life proudly.

Except it was not dawn. It was nearly dusk. Her loyal subjects spent the entire morning sweeping the area to make sure it was safe. Armin was sent to accompany her while others worked. He had been quiet up until he suddenly looked up from her book, and asked whether she would like to see the sunset with him.

She agreed, and did not ask him why.

"I don't know." The boy answered truthfully. He turned back toward the vastness after he spoke. They stood side by side in silence.

"You don't have to hold back." She told him. "The people who know the truth is on the other end of this endless lake. So just… just tell me what you think."

Armin stood motionless, expressionless. Historia waited until she was certain he meant not to answer.

"It's an ocean." He corrected timidly.

To Historia, the term meant nothing. But obviously it did to Armin. Names are such strange creatures. She reflected. When she was still Krista, she was content with living in the shadow. She wanted to die. But when her true name left her lips for the first time in four long years, she became someone else. Historia did not want to die. Historia wanted to fight for everything she treasured and live to find happiness.

"…I don't know if she did. I hope it was quick and painless." He whispered, like he's afraid his words would hurt her. Historia contemplated telling him the truth, that there was not enough left of her to be hurt. He continued before she said anything. "But I think… I think maybe she welcomed the end."

It was her turn to stare.

Armin noticed, looked at her, and quickly dropped his gaze. "I'm sorry." He mumbled shamefully. "I don't mean to throw salt on the wound."

"No, it's okay. Please continue."

She smiled the perfect, benevolent smile of the queen. It had become second nature. A mask that had melted onto her skin.

Armin raised his eyes to meet hers, and studied her like he was only seeing her for the first time.

"Even if she remembered none of it, she still ate another human being." Finally he said, quietly. He looked away again, like he was pained by what he saw. "That guilt never fades. The blood won't cleanse. All those memories and emotions of the person you consume eventually catch up. Things start to blend together, and sometimes you forget who you really are when you wake up. Sometimes you don't think you ever woke up from the nightmare."

She felt bad for him. He never asked for this power. He had already decided to give up everything, to be rid of this cruel world, and because of someone's selfishness, he was dragged back through mud and blood.

"Do you think it will be worth it in the end?"

Armin hesitated, seemingly reluctant to answer.

"It has to be." He said. "It has to. Otherwise, what the hell are we fighting for?"

Historia did not reply. Just like Armin, she was afraid of the answer.

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When the night was full of terrors…

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She was not sure what made her dizzy. The flickering flame, the dancing shadows, or the voices humming words in the distance.

It had been a while since she sat with other soldiers at mealtime. Not because her advisors instructed her not to, but because she no longer felt she belong.

That, and because she was afraid of precisely what was happening now.

Somebody had the brilliant idea of smuggling ales into the platoon caravan. No one knew who the culprit was. No one would admit it. Although Historia saw some of her former comrades throwing suspicious glances at Sasha.

She told them to break the cask at dinner. When Hanji tried to argue, she simply smiled and told her it was past time the hardworking soldiers got their rewards. Some of them never tasted alcohol, sticklers to rules they were, and she didn't think it would be such a bad idea.

At first.

Then she took a sip like everyone else did and almost spit it right out.

It was wrong, wrong, wrong.

Not the choice of ale. The brew gave a burning sensation when you chug too fast, and left an herbal aftertaste in the mouth. The recipe was simple. They sold similar ales at most taverns in all cities and villages across the land. It was cheaply done and easily accessible by people of all social status and wealth.

Ah, yes. So common in fact, that trainees used to sneak them in under packages of food and ammunitions in the supply carts.

She remembered her first time tasting it. Someone pinched her nose and forced the mug to her lips. She flailed and failed at fighting back the strong arms pinning her to her chair.

The room span now just as it span then, after she gulped down and nearly choked on the liquor. A strong arm patted her back. A voice laughed and cooed that she did a good job. She felt dizzy. She threw her tiny fists up to hit that person's chest, afraid that headbutting might cause her to throw up.

There was no one sitting next to her.

She stood from the bench and quickly excused herself. Commander Hanji asked if she was okay, and she smiled the same empty smile of the queen. The excuse of needing some fresh air always worked.

She felt their eyes on her as she left. The ghostly laughter followed behind.

Historia told it to shut up. Of course it did not.

The salt in the wind was faint under the delicious smell of smoked meat. And burning firewood. She looked around and spotted the guards keeping watch for the camp almost instantly.

They did not see her. They were still huddled around the fire, humming while poking the fire with a stick.

When you had not touched me yet…

She slipped away without them noticing. The low chuckle of someone who wasn't there covered her footsteps. Or maybe it was just the wind.

It was probably just the wind.

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She didn't hear Mikasa approach.

"I thought I would find you here." The older woman said softly, but it still startled her.

"I'm sorry." She blurted out, wiping her eyes with her sleeve before turning around. "Commander Hanji didn't give those guards a hard time, did she? I didn't mean to worry anyone."

"I told her I would escort you." Mikasa interrupted. "I was worried."

She didn't know what to say.

"You don't have to."

"But I do." Her red scarf flopped in the breeze. She tucked behind loose strands of hair. "May I sit?"

Historia scooted, though she didn't really need to. There was plenty of space around. Mikasa kept a respectable space between them before she took her place on the rock.

"You don't look well." She said.

"I'm just tired." Historia pulled up her knees and buried half of her face in them. "It's the travel and the ale. That's all."

She was not sobbing uncontrollably on top of a rock, thinking about someone she would never see again. She could not.

"You haven't been well." Mikasa paused, and elaborated. "You haven't been well since she left."

"I'm fine."

"Everyone's worried."

"Everyone who?"

Mikasa shrugged. "Eren, Armin, and others."

She smiled despite herself. Mikasa was still the same Mikasa. Her entire world consisted of a small group of selected people. They were all that mattered to her, and she never thought to pretend otherwise.

Sometimes Historia was so jealous of her.

"I'm okay." She repeated. "Seriously. There's nothing to worry about."

Mikasa ignored her.

"This world is cruel." She touched the scarf as she spoke. "But to me at least, it's all worth it."

Historia did not bother to ask how. It's unfair. Eren was still here. She pulled her knees higher and buried her head deeper. It was a selfish thought, she knew. Eren would not be here for long. The clock was ticking.

She was suffocating like all the air in the world just got sucked away from her.

If that idiot hadn't gone ahead and sacrificed herself, how long would they still have?

The music from the camp drifted to her with the wind.

I had all and then most of you,
Some and now, none of you.

She wanted a lifetime.

"I chose this path. And she chose that one." She mumbled. "It can't be helped."

"Doesn't mean it hurt any less." Mikasa put a hand on her shoulder. She didn't even realize she was trembling. "The point is, it's okay to hurt, as long as you don't do it by yourself."

"I'm not hurting." She said stubbornly.

"Then why did you stop saying her name?"

"I didn't."

"Then say it." Mikasa squeezed. "Say her name."

The stars shone like fireflies. Moonlight scattered diamonds on the water. She opened and closed her mouth several times, like a fish on land.

It was not supposed to be this hard.

She had called that name countless times before. She had cried it out when she woke from the nightmare every night. Once upon a time it was as easy and natural as breathing.

So why couldn't she now?

Someone ruffled her hair. Not Mikasa. Her hand still rested on her shoulder, waiting. It was the weight of the whole world, and light as nothing.

Nothing. There was nothing there. The hand that always mussed her hair with a bright teasing smile was gone. She choked back a sob.

"It's okay."

It's not.

"You'll be okay."

She never will again.

"It won't be any easier." Mikasa said. "But you have to at least try."

She sucked in a deep breath. She didn't believe it would make any difference, but if this would get Mikasa to be quiet – if this would get people to stop looking at her funny, that would be enough for now.

She opened her mouth again and tried hard not to think about all the times she called out, expecting to see the tall, freckled girl standing right by her side.

"Y-"

She could only manage that much. As soon as the sound left her lips, it shattered into nothing.

What's wrong, Historia? She heard her say, laughing at nothing and everything. Forgot my name already?

Except she never said that to her, ever. She didn't know her real name until it was almost too late. And the name Historia was associated with heartache and goodbyes.

She would give it up all over again if it meant one more moment with her. She would go back to be Krista forever if that meant Ymir would return to her.

And there it was.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do,
Haunted by the ghost of you…

"Ymir."

She choked. And the castles and walls she so carefully built collapsed like a house of cards. She wept and sobbed and wailed.

"Ymir."

It's amazing how she could still feel anything after she had given her heart out. How Ymir could break her heart and yet she still loved her with all the rest she had.

"She's a bloody fool." She said to no one in particular. "Such a bloody fool."

She clutched at the letter that never left her side anymore. That was the last piece of Ymir she had left.

"Why couldn't she wait until I say yes?" She gripped the cloak until it began to tear. "Why couldn't she stay like we both wanted her to? Why did she have to go get herself killed?"

They were supposed to be selfish for once. That meant they were supposed to, finally, get the happiness they always wanted.

Liar. Cheater. Heartless.

She wanted the chance to yell those insults at her, face-to-face.

She didn't care if there would be more complication. Her royal duty could go to hell with all the rest of her kingdom. She could give everything up for Ymir too. All she needed was a chance to prove it.

All she needed was to start over. And then, this time, she would not let anyone or anything stop her from taking what's rightfully hers.

"I miss you." She said to the nonexistent person still gently ruffling her hair.

I know.

"I want to go back."

Me too.

"And I will tell you, I don't want to be a do-gooder. I don't want to do what I was told."

Let it go.

And even though she just swore she wasn't going to do what she was told, she obeyed. Her fingers unwrapped around the paper, and the wind lifted it from under her cloak.

She watched it soar into the air, drifting out of her reach. And the song that's now stuck in her mind echoed, from earth to sky, to wherever the lost ones go.

Take me back to the night we met…
Take me back to the night we met…