The Eagle and the Tiger's Rise and Fall
Summary: An emperor. A merchant turned slave. An empire that hoards all that it sees. All is entwined into a tale of love and betrayal, knowing no bounds, even in the clutches of death.
He lived a life of luxury behind the palace walls
And had a faithful general who gave him his all
Eren is thrown in a dark room, illuminated by candles that smell very much like rose oil.
"Get in there, you scum," one of the guards snarls. And another one, the spearman, tries to diffuse the irritation of the guard.
"Hey, stop it, Reiner. He says that we shouldn't treat him bad—"
"Easy for you to say because it wasn't you who got their arm bitten. Get out of the way, Bert. I'll teach him a lesson—"
"Reiner."
The guard stops, and glares at the spearman, and seeing that he wouldn't back down, Reiner sighs, and resorts to stare down at the wheezing boy on the floor.
"I don't know the reason why the emperor chose you for this room. No one has ever lived here. Not even once. Take it as an act of generosity from him."
And with that, the guards take their leave and shut the door, abandoning Eren in the cold room.
It isn't until he feels the weight on his body being lightened that he raises his self, and takes in the sights of the room.
Heavily curtained windows. Maroon-painted walls. Warm air bathing everything in soft candlelight. A large bed big enough to fit three people. A large mirror by the nightstand. Another set of curtains, thin and white, leading to another room.
Eren weakly stands and wanders, begrudgingly, he says to himself, and sees the adjoining room is actually a bathroom—two statues carved into the shape of women carrying jars that stream out water stand behind the large pool in the middle of the room, and on the side, lined with marble, is a set of oils placed in glass bottles. He inspects them one by one—jasmine, acanthus, rose, gardenia, and all other nice scents that he is not familiar with. There are twenty bottles in all, all of them filled to the brim. His fingers slide on each one, and for the first time since he arrived in the castle five days ago, he realizes how filthy he has become. He notes his fingers, sees the dirt gathering under his nails, and he cringes.
Should his mother see them, he would not live to see another day.
He hesitantly looks at the pool of clean water, then at his clothes and his unkempt state, then at the bottles filled with oils.
He runs back to the doors of the room, and finds it closed.
He quickly returns to the bath, grabs one bottle, and sniffs it—bergamot—and he carefully strips himself and dips into the water, and he places the flask near his discarded clothes.
He sighs as the water licks his skin, eyeing the wide, marbled ceilings painted in eggshell white, and he idly remembers how he ended up in the hands of the Eagle country.
He had lived with his family—his mother, father, and adopted sister—in the center of the Tiger country. A peaceful and benign country that specialized in trade and was bountiful in resources, the ruler had his country running smoothly, one might even call it Paradise itself. The Tiger country had had a vast amount of alliances in the neighboring kingdoms—among them is the Eagle country.
Benevolent and kind emperor that he was, the Tiger country had welcomed the Eagle country as its alliance, and sought to expand its resources with the help of the Eagle's ruler.
But a few months prior, something had shifted the balance of the alliance. Corrupt officials have slithered its way to the Tiger's land, black markets have been built, sidelong glances have been made to the ruler's throne—and before they knew it, spies from the neighboring kingdom have infiltrated the palace and have secretly spread their influence on the right-minded officials, bribing them with more land at the cost of money, more resources at the cost of salt, more livestock, more weapons for war, more everything.
The scale of balance between the rich and the poor had slowly tipped.
One thing had led to another, and soon after, chaos had disturbed the country.
Those who oppose the officials have had their houses burned. Those who have had tried to raise a rebellion are quelled at the cost of their families being burned alive. Those who tried and sided with the king have had their heads cut off.
The king and his family have escaped the night the Tiger country wailed its last cry. Its people had seen their land burn to ashes in the dead of a night, have seen their loved ones scream and cry for help as corpses piled high on the ashes. Either burning or a spear to the head killed those who have tried to escape, and those who the soldiers think as exceptional in beauty, they captured and were served as slaves to the emperor of Eagle.
Eren is one of those captured.
He grumbles. How he has ended up here, he cannot remember vividly, as he had been blindfolded and gagged for the past few days. A slip of water and occasional gruel and some chicken has slipped in between his abused lips during the time of his captivity. Despite not even tasting the food down his throat, he has savored all that he could.
Eat to survive, those words have been said to him by his late sister—and those words are now ringing in his ears more than ever.
He vividly remembers the moment his mother had pushed him far from her, to save him from the falling rubble of what had once been their house. He saw her get crushed by the chimney and her blood splattered all over his face. He remembers how his father had taken him and his sister away from their house, and how they have been seen by one of the spearmen burning down the houses. He remembers having his father ripped away from his hands, and saw how they have stabbed him in the head. He remembers having a loss of his own voice from screaming, trembling and alone as he recalls his sister being tied up and tossed in the fire, burning her alive in the pyre that had housed the corpses.
"How could I even survive in this place, Mikasa," he slouches as a tear slips from his eye, runs his fingers through his hair, and swims over to the cascading water, letting it flow down his body. He hasn't bathed like this ever since he could remember. Sure, he used to be in a merchant family, but even their wealth has its limits. Despite the urgency to quickly kill the man who has taken away everything that he has held dear, Eren knows he will die in the palace in no time if he makes the wrong move.
Eren growls, pulls at his hair with an angry cry of frustration. He is livid, and refuses to admit that he has lost his family and his friends. He cups his face in his hands, finally sobbing freely in the silence of the room, and idly wonders if taking his own life by drowning is the only way he can achieve salvation.
The water blankets his skin with warmth, and seems to calm him down after what he deems as hours of crying, even though it has only been a few minutes. He pays it no mind as his fingers start to wrinkle under the water, and he decides to wash himself with the oil he has grabbed earlier.
In a moment's abandon, Eren fails to notice a figure lurking by the corner, watching his every move with narrow, silver eyes.
Eren first thinks of a life in slavery as something so repulsive, having to work day in and day out, breaking all the bones in your body just to please someone—but never has he thought of it as, dare he say it, uplifting.
He has been in the palace for ten months now, and has started to take in the rules of the palace. Every morning at dawn, he wakes up, bathes, eats, cleans after himself—as he has requested since his official first day—and faces the palace with his head hold high.
He has made a number of acquaintances, some servants, some courtesans, some faceless, some not—he has not gotten the time to remember all of them, as they are too busy to prepare their selves for the emperor.
Soldiers bearing the flag of the Eagle country fly high as they march around the castle, boosting the people's morale with their words claiming freedom for all. An evergreen robe-clad Eren passes by a storage room, and huffs upon hearing the soldiers' cries. Freedom is not to be achieved in such a place, he muses.
He glances back, to where his recent confrère, a boy by the name of Armin, follows him. Eren, at first, brushes him off as a nuisance, but when he has been told that it is an order from the emperor himself that Eren is to have a helper of his own, Eren reconsiders his thoughts.
"Are you well today, Armin?" he asks, turning to fully face the bowing boy. He is meek, rarely speaks unless he is spoken to, and Eren likes that. The boy simply nods, but doesn't meet his gaze. Eren hums and sighs, and resumes walking.
He can never really get a real sentence out of him.
He passes by a pair of guards, and Eren ignores the stares he receives. Since he has lived in the paramour hall, and has been taught by the mentor of all courtesans in the palace, all he has ever been given are the sneaky sidelong glances from the soldiers he passes by, and he notes their interest with ever-growing boredom. Though he keeps a smile on his face as he interacts with others, when it comes to the soldiers, he mood turns instantly sour, probably because of the way he had been treated initially.
One certain soldier sees Eren pass by the dining hall, and he splutters his drink to another soldier.
"Hey, did you see that?" Reiner hastily taps Bertolt on the shoulder, his eyes never leaving the stern-faced Eren. Bertolt, slightly miffed at the beer that has just been spluttered to his face, trails his eyes to where Reiner points, and Bertolt shrugs as he wipes his face.
"It's Eren. What about it?"
And Reiner looks at his friend like he has just declared something surprising. "I know that's him. But what I mean is," he gestures wildly, pointing to the retreating Eren, then waves his hands downwards, "when did he become so—so—"
"Attractive? Seductive? The emperor's jewel?"
Reiner quickly nods dumbly, not trusting his mouth to spout words on how to describe the way Eren has just transformed into something so otherworldly in a matter of months.
"That's Lady Petra's work for you. She has molded him from a rock and foulmouthed heap to a refined and graceful courtesan worthy of the emperor's attention. Why? You suddenly found a fancy for him?" Bertolt leans back and tuts, and laughs at the way Reiner splutters incoherencies and denies such an accusation.
"How could I even—I'm not like him!" he almost shouts, and lowers his voice in a harsh whisper as he shakes Bertolt's shoulders with a red face. "Don't compare me to him."
"Who says I'm comparing him to you?" Bertolt asks, and smiles at his companion. "You're the one who declares comparing yourself to him." And he laughs upon seeing Reiner's eyes go wide, and he buries his face in his hands.
"Don't mention that to the emperor. He'll kill me," he says in a resigned sigh, and Bertolt shrugs once more.
"I never plan to."
And a comfortable silence settles over them, and both look at Eren, the previously filthy, vulgar and unkempt Eren. He now dons flowing robes that conceal his tanned body, the top layer being a striking evergreen one, a strike contrast to the dirty thing that he first came in with. His hair shines in the reflection of the light, creating a halo over him if the sunrays hit him just right. He has grown taller in a matter of few months, and is now leaner, tanner, and handsomer, and he carries himself with confidence as he strides down the halls with a purpose.
And that purpose is to go to the place where he currently resides.
The doors to the room open, and in comes Eren striding into the emperor's quarters, beryl eyes set hard and determined with each step as he strides closer to the emperor who is currently sprawled all over his throne—his daily habit. The emperor's robe is slipped down his shoulders as usual, revealing a sheer amount of marbled skin. Eren makes sure not to distract himself with the sight of it like last time, where he almost crawled his hands all over the emperor's chest—
"Your Highness," he starts, huffing out his title like it sounded disgusting to his ears, "why have you been avoiding my visits to your quarters recently? Do you not want me anymore?"
At the question, the emperor slowly opens his eyes, and regards Eren with his usual bored stare.
The boy is as direct as ever.
"We are currently in the middle of another war. There is no time to waste by—"
"But you are seeking the company of others. Have I finally fallen from your favor? Thrown and cast away like how you did with the others?" And Eren crosses his arms and taps his foot, and looks down on the emperor like how a wife would to an unfaithful husband. He hears the emperor sigh and chuckle, and the ruler closes his eyes for a moment, only for them to snap open when he feels a familiar weight settling on his stomach.
A grumpy Eren straddles his middle, still with his arms crossed. "Don't laugh at me," he says sternly, "and don't dodge the question."
The emperor lazily blinks, his face as stoic as ever even as he feels the whole room has their eyes on them. He almost shrugs at their appalled faces, especially the new ones.
"I cannot have you yet," the emperor says simply, "it's not the right time."
"Then when is? I've followed all that you asked me to, and more. Let myself be taught by the head courtesan. Let myself be trained as a whore—"
"Stop that. You are not like that."
"Then what am I, Levi."
The room grows heavily silent, feels the room become smaller as the one who sits on him says his name.
He repeats the question.
"Levi, what am I to you?"
A hand settles on his hip, "Eren. Get off."
"Oh I will if you tell me what I am to you."
The emperor sighs, and shuts his eyes as he heaves a deep breath, and from an earshot, Eren hears a whisper.
"He just called the emperor by his name."
Eren's brow rises.
"Do you think nothing of me, after all?"
The emperor's face scrunches, and looks at him with irritation. "It is not like that. Stop acting like a needy little—"
His words are cut off as Eren coils his fists on his robe and pulls him away from the armrest.
"Listen here, you—"
The guards instantly yell out, and are about to take out their weapons to kill Eren there and then, but they are stopped by one deadly glare from both the emperor and the courtesan.
Eren's glare return to him, and he hisses, spits out his words. "I will act however I want, Your Highness. I refuse to be tied down, remember? If you weren't so keen as to ignore me for the past few months, you should've just killed me when you first saw me as I am clearly of no use to you whatsoever."
"Eren, shut up."
"Tell me why."
Now, normally the emperor would have had whoever dared to cross him beheaded, but here he is, currently being straddled and yelled at by a merchant-turned-courtesan, and being humiliated in front of his guards, no less. He should feel anger, but no—all he feels is an odd calm.
He idly wonders if that's a good thing or not.
The emperor's about to reply when the doors open once more, and the general of the armies enter the room.
"Your Highness, we have finally succeeded in—what is going on here?"
The guards hold their breath as General Erwin's eyes fall on the emperor—the emperor who is supposed to be lazily lounging on his throne—
His eyes sharply turn to the other man that Erwin supposes is the attacker. He points to Eren, "Get him out of here—"
"Don't even think about trying to touch him."
The words are slipped from the emperor's mouth, and all eyes fall on him, looking at him as though he has just gone crazy.
"Sheathe your weapons, all of you. Erwin. What happened to the counterattack?" He talks as if nothing is out of the ordinary, as if he isn't being weighed down and choked by someone bigger than him.
The emperor wonders if it is a mistake.
The aforementioned general blinks, opens his mouth, closes it, and finally speaks lowly.
"Your Highness, what is the meaning of this."
Trust Erwin not to let go of things without an argument.
"What is the meaning of what, Erwin. And don't change the topic," the emperor coolly replies, never turning his eyes from Eren the whole time.
The two glare at each other, silently daring the other to attack at any moment. Eren's grip on his robe never once loosens, and the emperor's grip on the courtesan's waist tightens, makes sure enough to leave a bruise on that sun-kissed skin.
They hear the general take in a deep breath, and they sense his tension from his words.
Not that they will avert their glares from each other.
"Your Highness, please stop frolicking around."
"I am not," the emperor retorts, and he sees Eren scoff at the obvious lie.
There is a resigned sigh from the general, as though he were already used to seeing such a display everyday.
With a displeased look at the two on the throne, he speaks.
"We have conquered the neighboring state."
"And the king?"
"Dead. As you ordered."
The emperor smirks at Eren's bubbling rage.
"Pompous little bastard," he hisses, and the emperor merely shrugs, clearly not denying the supposed insult.
"I'll take that as a compliment," and he finally turns away from him, looks at the general standing just a few feet away from him, and hums to himself.
The general looks dashing, as always. With his handsome face and his blond hair pulled back, and with his platinum armor covering his well-built body, he looks like the impeccable and strict man that he is. With piercing eyes that are of the summer sky, the emperor is sure that women from far and wide swoon at his feet on a daily basis. He huffs either way.
They will never have him, anyway. He belongs to the emperor—not that he has taken a claim on him.
The ruler hears a deep growl from above him, and he glances at the boy gnashing his teeth.
"What."
"You didn't answer my question, Your Highness."
The general gasps, and opens his mouth to cut in at the blatant disrespectful tone—
"I will answer you in due time."
"Why not now."
"Because you are to prepare for the celebration in next few weeks. For us getting another mass of land."
"You are full of yourself. Insatiable and utterly disgusting."
"Thank you."
Eren growls and lets go of the emperor's robe roughly, and his gaze lingers a moment too long at his currently rumpled appearance—he curses himself.
He notices the emperor still staring at him, and he scoffs and removes himself from him.
Straightening his robe, he glares back at the now smirking emperor, still reclining on the armrests like a drunken man. And Eren mutters a curse and an insult only for the emperor to hear. He grunts, and looks at Armin, who has stood in a corner the whole time, visibly shaking and looking quite frightened for reasons unknown to him. Eren cocks his head, confused, and walks back to him, sparing the general a sidelong glare as he passes by.
"Come, Armin," and he saunters away in the same dignified manner he has walked in before, leaving the general and the emperor and a couple of guards in the room. Armin squeaks and nods and follows after him with clumsy steps, trying to keep up with the courtesan's long strides.
Erwin's eyes run after the retreating figure, notices how the boy's robes bellow in the wind with each confident step.
It is long before he realizes that the boy is gone, and it is only then that the emperor speaks up with amusement lacing his tone.
"Interesting one, isn't he?"
Blue eyes lock with silver ones, and Erwin's lips set into a thin line, hinting his disapproval. And as though sensing the impending lecture, the emperor faces his palms upwards and shrugs.
"What? He is interesting to me."
"Your Highness, could you please stop all this playing around you've been doing? You've been sitting here for too long, entertaining yourself with men and women—"
The emperor sighs and rolls his eyes, muttering. "Not again."
"—and now I see you being degraded by some wretched whore you have picked up—!"
"Don't even think of him that way, Erwin. He is not what you think he is."
Silence settles in the room, and the guards sense the clouds gathering over the general and emperor's heads.
Stubborn beings, they are.
"Then what is he to you?"
"Again with that question. Why does everyone ask me this today?"
"By everyone, you mean the boy that just left."
The emperor crosses his arms and looks at the ceiling, rolls the joints of his feet, and hums, not saying anything else.
"Was that the new boy you've been talking about? The one who spat on you?"
"Why make it a big deal," he replies, looking at his nails in boredom, "not that we don't know that the people outside want to do more than just spit on me, anyway. Besides, I won't die from that—" He laughs in morbid amusement at the memory of the boy, "Though I admit, it really was disgusting."
"That's not the point, Levi."
The emperor's laugh turns into a snarl, and sharply turns to Erwin.
The guards look at each other and nod to themselves, quickly making a quick exit before everything turns ugly.
They all know that once the general utters the emperor's name, it could only mean that it involves a serious matter—and they want no part of it.
"Then what is." He rocks his feet, impatient. He is now irritable, and he blames it on the fact that Erwin has chosen the wrong time to barge in. He was about to have some fun—!
"You have given him the grandest room next to yours."
A twitch on an eyebrow. "And?"
"You treat him differently than the others, yet you haven't laid down with him for sexual favors, only seeking his company to talk about trifle matters. It puzzles me and the ranks."
"What I do in my free time is not for you lot to decide and scrutinize on. Besides, I'm not here to please any of you sweat-drenched pawns."
Erwin's brows curl downwards, his face set in deep concentration, trying to decipher the odd behavior of his emperor.
He has seen it before, how the emperor treats his paramours. Men and women drape on him like blankets on a bed, lavishing him with undivided attention as they lay their naked bodies on his barely-clad self. He has seen how rough and hard he could be when he takes in a consort, how he could be strange and shocking in having multiple people on him at once—on his leaking sex, on his face, on his heaving chest. He remains completely unfazed even as a random guard accidentally barges in and splutters apologies in his wake. He keeps on going, his face and neck red and his body glistening in sweat by the candlelight as he grunts and groans, unrestrained in his voice as he rams into a faceless man, woman, or both. He remains relentless, choosing passion over the urgency to actually rule a country—though his iron fist makes up for it.
The emperor cares not of what other people think of him, and yet they don't question him out loud—on why their ruler is a shameless monarch, why he has chosen to lay not only with women, but also with men, and he makes no effort to hide it. In fact, he shows it to all. He doesn't hide in the shadows when he seeks someone's company, and often leaves the doors to his quarters open for all to see. He does not care if anyone sees him in the nude, does not care if he puts on a brazen display to his officials.
He is his own self, not tied by the rules of his own kingdom.
And Erwin oftentimes thinks if his emperor is a loon. Surely, one as influential as the Eagle country's emperor would be considered a lunatic if they are to be seen buck-naked and rutting a prostitute in his own bedroom and not feeling the slightest bit of embarrassment for it when it ends.
How the emperor treats the new courtesan, however, is on a different scale.
He has never been seen with him for more than two hours. And at the rare times that they are seen together, they simply talk—one haughty and narcissistic, and one brash and impulsive. Never has anyone seen him try and touch the courtesan in a lecherous manner, and they all wonder why, for usually, the emperor, upon seeing a pretty face, would ceaselessly seduce him or her and take them to his quarters from morning till night.
It is the first time that the emperor has refused to lay down with a courtesan that he has chosen.
The soldiers and guards and officials have had an unspoken agreement never to say anything about the matter, if they want to keep their lives, that is.
Erwin sighs as he looks at the stubborn pout that has formed on the emperor's face, sees his brows furrow, and sees his hands cross over his chest.
A stubborn being, he is.
"Just be sure to never let your guard down, Your Highness." And General Erwin leaves with a half-hearted salute.
The emperor is left alone in the large, silent room.
And just like that, he reverts to his actual self, to one lonely Levi—and not the one that holds an entire empire in the palm of his hand.
"You don't decide what I get to do," he whispers to himself.
He took over a country that once was Equine land
All then was ruled by the tyrannical man
This is like, my fastest update since ever. Please, plot bunnies, let me finish a full multi-fic for once. Chapter 3 is on the works. :3