Levi stood in the crowd, clad in a cloak of black, which mimicked the general mood of the people gathering in this oversized market square on the dismal day in early March. The overcast clouds threatened those who dared to stand beneath them with long showers of heavy rain, deep thunderous shouts and lightening which could brighten the night sky of even the darkest village.
The hood of his cloak concealed his face for the most part, only permitting his dull grey orbs a line of sight to the attraction which stood before him. The sight before him being the hangman's gallows and the man condemned to death no less than the commander of the Scouting Legion. The corporal of the disgraced legion could not fathom how this could be considered entertainment, yet the nobles of the walls mingled here with the masses of townspeople, all fighting to witness the dishonoured leader fall to his death.
Despite all of the jostling, he holds firm, his feet cemented to the cobbled grounds of the street beneath him as he remains in his position, resisting the force of the pushing throng around him. His eyes are transfixed as he sees the once so very proud man, in a weak and dishevelled state as he is lead to the platform. No bindings are around his wrists; there is no need for them here. As a result of his dedication to the legion, his arm had been lost in battle—Something that Levi bitterly resented, having been unable to help his superior, hindered by his own injury, a consequence of his own lack of thought and brash actions.
His own body is still, much unlike that of the horde that surrounds him, who is no longer silent; instead there is the meld of alternate cries. Some shout for the freedom of the commander, loudly proclaiming their loyalty to their fallen leader, but their calls soon die down as the offenders are dragged away by the Military Police. The other, more predominant cheers are for the life of the commander. Insults are being hurled and the remainder of his dignity is stamped upon. Loathing rises in his throat, like disgusting bile as he soon realises that the vast majority of the shouts of hatred are from none other than the Military Police, who stand here to execute a man who was once a trainee with them and a valiant leader. Despite his revulsion, he does not look away.
His eyes are fixed on Erwin as he stands beside Nile, who has begun to read the list of offenses, for which Erwin has been declared guilty of and stands to die for. The crowd at last falls silent as Nile opens his mouth to speak; he emits the same commanding presence which Erwin is most notable for. Even standing here now, side-by-side, it is clear to see that the dishonoured and allegiant are cut from the same cloth.
His eyes scan the length of Erwin's body, as he looks for any hint of fear or regret; the signs of a broken man. But neither is present here as the staunch man stands tall, head raised as he stares into the crowd, surveying all who stand here to witness him die. His stare alone seems to dare people to stand against him, even now, his aura demanding respect.
"—Treason-, conspiring against the crown-, murder-." Each offense is heard clearly, resonating across the gathering, read by the monotonous tone of the commander of the Military Police. Executions were not generally within the remit of the Military Police and certainly not of someone who was as high within the ranks as the commander; however Nile stood here today out of pity and respect. They are both friends and comrades through the year. Yet Nile is aware of the brutal and humiliating nature of being set to die publicly.
Were it not for the standing of their friendship, Nile would not be here today, stood as the executioner of sorts. However for the alleged crimes that Erwin is here for and the new light in which the Scouting Legion is perceived, Nile is here to maintain the final shreds of dignity that may remain in the man stood next to him. Whilst he is able to defend against the hateful jibes of the Military Police, he was unable to prevent the torture that Erwin has played victim to, at the hands of the crown.
Nile offers the formality of a priest to read him his final rites, to atone for his sins against the gods and his own people, Levi watches as Erwin's face appears to twist into a vague smile, "I have witnessed the deaths of many men," Erwin begins, eyes searching through the crowd for one particular individual, "I have listened to their prayers, begging for life," he pauses as he finally finds who he was searching for; Levi. His eyes clasp upon the smaller corporal, his expression softening into slight relief, yet his heart sinks slightly in concern, as he fears for the consequences if he is found amidst the gathering. Levi nods a mere once in acknowledgement, so as to not draw attention to him, yet to give comfort to his friend. "But I can stand here and with confidence tell you, prayers fall upon deaf ears."
Erwin stands tall as the noose is placed around his neck, "whether or not there is a heaven or hell," he decrees as the waxed rope is tightened by the deft hands of Nile, "I am certain that heaven is not the place where I belong—Not for the crimes that I stand accused of, but for the men that I have sent to die, without thought." Levi watches as Nile takes a step back, he nods and raises his hand. There is stillness within the crowd, as coarse, black cotton is draped across Erwin's eyes, preventing his vision, knotting in his unusually untamed strands of hair. Nile kneels, binding thick rope around his ankles, knotting it twice.
The hush is disturbed as Levi moves, turning. Those around him part as his cloak moves, wrapping around his body, mimicking a shadow, he begins to walk away. His position is soon taken in a last-moment scrap for a better vantage point. Erwin's body relaxes, finally wholly at ease with the situation.
Nile's hand drops and the trapdoor moves from beneath Erwin's bound feet. A wail of horror is heard—But Levi does not look back. He never looks back.