PLEASE READ: This is actually relevant to the story. Alright, so before you begin reading, I know that everyone is here for the Ereri/Riren. Don't panic when they're not in the first chapter. Please stick with me, I promise you everything is relevant to the story line! This is a reincarnation fic, so it's told in two separate timelines, the old timeline, which jumps around sporadically (anachronistic), and the modern day timeline which is told in a traditional chronological and linear fashion. I will switch back and forth between the two timelines each chapter. Haha, more info on that after this story. ENJOYYYYY~~~~

A long, long time ago,

There was a city behind high walls.

Beasts, these walls guarded,

Until the day they fall.

A long, long time ago,

In a land far, far away,

Was a man strong as hundreds,

Who warred 'til th' break of day

A long, long time ago,

The walls crumbled and fell.

And out came all the children,

Deserting their old shell.

So, let there be song, my love,

To commemorate the tears,

Shed by the solitude which guarded,

The grave of children's fears.

Chapter 1: Traveler

Part 1

Year 907

Historia was a small speck of a town a few days' journey to the south of a Rinaz1 River tributary, located on a flat stretch of land surrounded by rocky hills of green. The local trade was textile manufacture, and that was how most of the people got by. The men worked the fields, where the cotton and flax were nurtured with the utmost patience and attentiveness, season after season of laborious toil. The women spun and weaved the threads into fabric, the harsh work prickling and bruising their tender, young palms until they were old and coarse. And when the season was right, there would be flocks of traders, merchants who bargained for the textiles at the lowest prices possible. That was when the town was its most lively, for the high-strung din of merchants and weavers exchanging spit resounding down the town's little dirt streets made for the mouths of thousands.

But that was when the season was right. During any other season, its population was but a measly 2000.

The traveler had not planned on a prolonged stay in Historia, but the rain had come down hard for the third day in a row. Since the path he had to take to reach the Capital passed through the hills, he had no choice but to wait for the rain to stop. It was too dangerous to seek passage through the hilly terrain during and immediately after a downpour such as this. There would be mudslides at every turn of the road.

Nonetheless, the traveler was impatient. He had come up from miles and miles of rugged peaks in the south, and now he was close—so close to his destination, only to be deterred by a monstrous rainstorm that seemed to have been an ambush set by heaven itself. So for now, he could only sit and read.

The traveler had taken lodgings in a local home. The house had rough walls that failed to keep out the cold and too little space to call leg room, especially with the five children that the family supported. The food was bland and the water tasted stale. Even so, it was something, and the traveler was content (he had spent too many a night without a bed).

Yes, for now, I can only sit here and read, he mumbled inside his the wooden bed was unforgiving, and irritated his back no matter what position he sat in.

"Mister?"

The door creaked open as a young girl, no older than ten years old with short, lopsided braids sprouting from her head like beanstalks, scooted into the room carrying a tray containing a bowl and a piece of bread on the side.

"Mister, Mama told me to bring you your lunch." She gave him a dimpled smile and set the tray down on the table beside the bed.

"Thank you," he answered politely, then returned to his book. He had expected the girl to leave, but the book had caught her eye.

"What is it you're reading, Mister?"

He peered up again, carefully hiding his irritation behind steady eyes.

"A Study of the Human Mind."

The girl's eyes grew round like grapes.

"By Mr. Arlert?"

The traveler quirked an eyebrow. He had not expected the girl to be literate, let alone know Armin Arlert's works on human psychology. He decided to test the girl.

"You've read it?" There was no way she had.

"N-no, Mister. Haha, of course not," she laughed sheepishly. "I can only read a little."

"Ah." But the traveler would not let her go so easily. He was curious, and the afternoon was dull. "So how did you come by this book?"

"Umm…I…" He could tell that the girl was regretting ever mentioning the book by the way she shifted her weight awkwardly from foot to foot. "I…well…if I tell you, you have to promise not to say anything once you leave this town."

"Oh?" The traveler set down the book to listen to the girl more intently. "By all means."

"Are you…a fan of Mr. Arlert's?" She was testing the waters with her question.

"Yes. Very much. I've read all his works. I am only rereading this one because I find it the most fascinating."

"Oh. Ok then." The girl seemed relieved. "Well…you see, Mr. Arlert showed me the book himself. He actually lives on the outskirts of town, right outside the cotton fields. The townspeople all know not to say anything, even though he's really well-known. Even us children."

The traveler shot her an astonished, albeit disbelieving, glance. "You are sure the man is Armin Arlert?" Armin Arlert had long since retired from the renowned Royal Academy's circle of prestigious scholars. There had been no new works of his published for nearly twenty years, nor had there been any general news of his whereabouts. For the traveler, who was barely over the age of twenty himself, Armin Arlert was more history than man.

The girl nodded, eager to defend her claim. "It's him, I swear! All the children go to his house every Sunday night to listen to his stories. I've known him since I was three years old!"

The traveler's brows furrowed at the thought. Armin Arlert—the respected scholar who wrote a massive collection of some of the most sophisticated and insightful studies on the social sciences from contemporary history to psychology— was living as but a simple old man who idled away telling children fairytales. It was, to say the least, rather unexpected.

" I'll…I'll take you to see him," the girl abruptly declared.

"Oh? You will?" The traveler decided to play along just a little longer.

"You don't believe me, right? I can tell, you don't believe me." The girl's tiny lips twisted into a pout as she crossed her arms in an uncharacteristically adult-like manner.

"Well, then. Take me to see him."

Outside, the rain had calmed to a mollifying drizzle. The girl led him across town and past the fields, just as she had described, and by the time they had reached the dilapidated outskirts (the woods in the distance were marred with several mudslides already), their boots had been reduced to nothing but slimy, mud-encrusted pieces of damp leather.

"There." The girl pointed out a weathered, brick-walled cottage concealed behind a cluster of trees.

The traveler followed the girl into the yard overgrown with tomato plants that had toppled over from its grower's neglect to harvest them. And then, there was a strange twist in his stomach. Something about this place was different. It was only a few steps before he reached the door when he realized that it was the smell.

Grass. A powerful, musty fragrance of grass that leaked from behind the door.

Before the traveler could reach the door, the girl had already stepped right up and gave it a few resounding knocks. "Mr. Arlert? Mr. Arlert, it's Mila."

A slight pause.

"Come in," was the weak reply from what sounded like a few rooms away.

With some difficulty, the girl opened the thickset door, then slipped inside. The traveler tentatively pushed the door open further and followed.

At first, there was only quiet. The traveler was sure that he was alone, like no other moment in his life. Never in his peaceful childhood spent on the free ranges of the southern mountain valleys or during his inexhaustible travels across the most treacherous peaks and the most fearsome rivers, had he been as alone as that moment when that door shut with a heavy thud from behind. He was sure that there had been nothing at all that could possibly have disturbed his solitude. It was just him, and the scent of musty grass, somewhere safe on the familiar mountain ranges in his memory.

Only when the moment eclipsed him did he find himself mistaken. There was not a blade of grass in sight. Instead, there were books. Books, in neat stacks, flanking the narrow hall, some rising all the way to the low, stone ceiling, threatening to topple.

The traveler's breath hitched in his throat.

There were so many books. He had never seen so many books gathered in a single place before. Books, after all, were rare items. To the poor, they were useless, worth as much as firewood during the winter. To the rich, they were coveted treasures for the valuable fragments of the world they captured within their thin pages. The traveler had been places poor, prosperous, plain, and wondrous, but he knew that all the knowledge he had gathered could not compare to any of the volumes of paper bound by string and leather within these stacks.

Meanwhile, Mila had already scampered down the hall and made a turn into a room at the end. The traveler trailed slowly after, pausing with each step to marvel at the multitude of titles that formed towers upon towers of text.

"Mister? Hurry up!" Mila poked her head out from down the hall.

The traveler smiled apologetically as he finally reached the end of the hall.

"What? Did you bring someone else, Mila?" The voice that spoke was frail, yet carried a certain harmony that rung true with the serene solitude.

"I apologize for the abrupt visit, Mr. Arlert." The traveler stepped in the room, and amongst the looming bookshelves sat a petite figure, hunched over the desk piled high with parchment and papers. The traveler was suddenly reminded of the gnarled bough of an ancient, willow he had come upon beside the road some years ago.

The figure turned until he was piercing the traveler with a composed gaze. His eyes were a noticeably light color—light, but faded. Ah. They must've been blue or green when he was younger. Either blue or green.

"Sorry, Mr. Arlert…I know you said not to tell anybody passing through…" Mila mumbled guiltily. "But he wouldn't believe me when I said you lived here…"

"That is quite alright, child." The scholar smiled at the girl, age crinkling at the corners of his eyes. "In fact, I'm rather glad you brought him to me."

The little girl puffed up her cheeks in defiance. "You lied, Mr. Arlert."

"Haha, you could say so. In that case, then, I apologize." Armin Arlert patted the girl's head, then once again fixed his gaze on the traveler. The traveler knew that that tranquil, mirror-like gaze was studying him, disassembling him cautiously yet scrupulously, like reversing a complicated puzzle. It was the most basic and original form of analysis known to man.

Armin Arlert said nothing. Instead, he turned back to the girl. "Mila, Mrs. Berg will be getting worried. It's time to go back."

"Huh? But I came all the way out here to see you…" Mila pouted.

"I know, and that's why I mustn't keep you for so long. Your mama needs your help around the house, too." He gave the sulking girl a last pat on her skinny shoulder. "Take care, now. Be sure to take care of your brothers and sisters, too."

"Yeah, I know, Mr. Arlert. You say that every time…Goodbye." With one last wave at the old man at the door, she left (and didn't forget to stick her tongue out at the traveler on the way out, just to prove her point).

As the door shut behind him, the traveler felt it again. Solitude. Tranquil solitude, the sensation of singularity. He raised his head and found Armin Arlert's pale eyes boring into his own. They were not intense, like they must have been years ago, and neither did they carry any inkling of malice or elation. They were only calm, just as the solitude and seclusion sheathed between the countless pages in this unnoticeable, brick house.

"It's truly an honor to meet you, Mr. Arlert. I'm a big fan," the traveler began with a cordial smile.

Armin Arlert remained silent to study him some more. The traveler held steady under his scrutinizing stare.

Only after a good five minutes did the elderly scholar finally say, as if in conclusion, "Forgive me for my rudeness. It's just that…Haha, you've really traveled very far, haven't you? Please, sit." He gestured to a roughly-carved chair pushed up against a bookshelf. The traveler nodded and pulled the chair over so they could sit across the desk from one another.

"If you don't mind me asking, how old are you?" Armin Arlert asked as soon as he settled, albeit awkwardly, into the chair.

"Twenty-two."

"Twenty-two, hm…younger than I had expected…and you have read my works?"

"Yes. They are fascinating."

The scholar gave the softest of laughs. "Thank you. I see you are a man of few words."

"I say everything that needs to be said, Mr. Arlert." A pause. "I've been travelling alone since I was fifteen. There is not much that one needs to say when one is simply trying to reach a destination." However, there was a spark of knowledge leaking from in those faded eyes that made the traveler certain there was much more that this elderly man in front of him needed to say, despite having said so much throughout his prolific life.

"I see…for so long on your own, and so young…In fact, I have an old friend who is a traveler like you. I wonder where she is now. It has been too long…An old friend, yes…I'm so sorry. Please excuse me. And, where did you say you hailed from? The south?"

"You have a sharp eye, Mr. Arlert. My homeland is the southern ranges. I was born and raised on a ranch in the mountains."

"A ranch…hmm…" Armin Arlert considered the idea for a moment. "That's an interesting occupation…"

"It's quite common, actually, especially in the south."

"No, no, I wasn't talking about that…excuse my being blunt, but…does your surname happen to be…ah, Smith?"

The traveler blinked, caught off guard. How did he…I guess it's a common name but despite that…

"Judging by your expression, I would say I guessed correctly?" The old man chuckled. "I do have to say, you resemble your grandfather, although you are still young."

"…Grandfather?" The word "grandfather" struck a tense nerve. Because even though his grandfather had passed long before he was born, the traveler could still remember distinctly the warnings his mother gave him as a child. 'Never ask about him again, nor speak about him, understand? He was a great man of his day, but it is no longer safe to speak about him. It is better you know nothing.'

Armin Arlert's white brows pinched into a frown, sending wrinkles rippling across his forehead. "No? Was I wrong? Great Uncle then? Although he never mentioned having a brother…He can't possibly be your father…"

"I'm sorry, but…who is 'he' whom you refer to?"

"Erwin Smith, of course."

Ah, that's right. His given name was 'Erwin.' It really has been a long time since I've heard that name.

"…Yes. He is my grandfather." The traveler could feel the cold, slippery grasp of portentousness gripe at his chest. Ever since he was young, this feeling that would revisit him when certain subjects were trespassed upon in his family. Certain subjects not to be discussed. "You know him personally, Mr. Arlert?" The traveler's throat grew dry. Nervousness had become a natural reaction after years of warily treading around the same "certain subjects."

"No need to be anxious, young man. We have much time at our leisure to talk, do we not?" The aged scholar smiled. He smiled with the sort of fatigued benevolence that was unforgettable to the eye. Then, he stood up, only to sit back down a few moments later after setting a chessboard on the desk between them. "How about a game?"

The traveler watched as the old man began to set up the pieces with knotted, leathery hands. "I do not know the game well," the traveler said, but did not complain as the scholar set up the black pieces for himself and the white for his guest.

"I'm sure you play just fine. Now. Please begin."

1 Rinaz- Proto-Germanic for Rhein, or Rhine.

Author's Notes:

Disclaimer: I do not own SNK. The awesome Isayama does.

Ha. First snk fanfic ever heehee. I hope you guys liked old!Armin. I really do try my best with characterizations.

The next chapter will be the modern timeline. Yes, Levi will be in the next chapter.

Regarding the grass reference: I've done some research on this and the "old book smell" is apparently grass with a hint of vanilla. So there's your imagery for Armin's house.

Thanks for reading! Comments, likes, suggestions, concerns, etc. all welcomed.