Chapter Three: Depredation
Their boots softly padded the earth, furs and leathers rustling as they moved silently through the night. They moved on instinct, blind in the dark, surrounded by the familiar trees.
The leader came to an abrupt halt, signaling with an open hand for the group to stop. Up front, built in a clear in the forest, was their prey's nest. The leader could see two watchtowers, a large tent, a wooden structure with various horses in it and other smaller tents with bedrolls inside. There was a spiked barricade surrounding the camp.
They had chopped wood, the leader noted, to make a fire. A kettle was cooking something above the flames. The air smelled of military stew and burning wood. The horses would occasionally neigh or puff air through their nostrils. Soldiers were hugging their cloaks, huddled around the fire, idly chatting as mugs and water-skins got warmer in their gloved hands.
Such ignorant prey… thinking of such a beautiful night as cold.
To the leader, the silver moon warmed him like a mother's embrace.
He looked back at his kin.
"You five, take this side. The rest come with me."
They conceded to the orders with nods. Steel silently caressed scabbards or arrows were pulled from their quivers and tested against old bow string.
He walked away.
He brought his hands to his hips and drew his daggers, the grip comforting his large hands. His pupils dilated like a predator's, his feet stepping over dirt and grass without a sound. His veins bulged and throbbed with adrenaline, and he could hear his heart pulsing in his ears, feel the sweat coating his neck and back.
He reached his destination.
The watchtower, and its four occupants, was visible, as were the three soldiers patrolling on the ground, behind the barricade, warmed by the light of a burning pyre, close to them.
He shifted the knives in his hands, so the tips are facing the ground, and kneeled. Looking back, he saw two of his comrades readying their bows horizontally, strings clicking with pressure as the arrows were pulled back. One of his comrades released the bindings of his battle-axe, beefy hands roughly gripping the heavy weapon. The remaining warrior hadn't equipped himself yet, but the leader knew no reason to worry.
He nodded at the group.
The strings bobbed as they were released, arrows cutting through air and faint smoke before hitting their targets. Red exploded from the throat of one of the soldiers, painting the side of one of his comrades. Stupefied and alarmed, he yelped as the body fell and paralyzed as he watched the other soldier touch the arrow with shaky fingers, and splutter blood and gasp final breaths. He grunted and fell on his back when the arrow hit his chest. The two remaining archers barely had time to register that two of their comrades had died.
Another round of arrows had already been readied.
The leader dashed, along with his comrades, towards his own targets, skipping as he ran, teeth clenched with excitement, forcing himself not to grin.
He heard another pair of arrows being shot and piercing cloth and chainmail, and he heard gasps and swears and echoes through wooden ground as bodies heavily fell.
By the time he had reached the entrance of the camp, the enemy had already drawn its swords and readied its shields, entering a battle stance. They barked orders and warnings, their eyes bearing a defying look, their bodies tense and warm with the heat of battle.
The leader's ears ringed consistently. He did not hear a single word the soldiers had uttered.
He could only hear that constant, disturbing ring. And see the soldiers, and feel the bindings of his gauntlets, and the handle of his knives. He could smell the sweat, the smoke, the stew, the comforting smell of bear and wolf pelts and leather of his armor. And soon he would taste blood on his tongue.
He ran, carefully jumping over the barricade and, three steps later, he was at arm's length from a soldier.
A sword was aimed at his shoulder. The warrior hopped in the opposite direction, then stabbed the soldier in joint of his arm, chainmail proving little to no resistance to the quick strike. As the strike staggered the soldier, the warrior shifted the blade's grip in his other hand and gashed at his neck, drawing a thin, red line. The soldier's eyes rolled in their sockets, life spilling from the wound and spotting his armor.
He could see another soldier growing cold in the ground with three throwing knives stuck into his chest. The warrior with the axe had rampaged against the remaining soldier, destroying part of the barricade in his path and hacking at the man. The round, metal shield of the soldier had been heavily dented while blocking the berserker's attacks, as had been his rib cage, now a mess of abused flesh and broken bone, scarlet coating cloth and grass.
Chaos settled. Boots frenetically hammered the ground, bodies clashed against bodies as panic clouded their minds. But the prey was numerous, so many managed to front the hunters.
He could hear battle cries on the other side of the camp, too, where the rest of his group was engaging more soldiers.
An unexplainable exhilaration grew inside the leader. Ecstasy for battle. So he discarded his knives, brought his hands to his back and unsheathed a sword and an axe, blades shimmering in the fire and star light, hands clutching to them with hunger. Then, like his accompanying kin, he roared like an animal and hurled himself at his enemies.
Dry impact, followed by a guttural grunt. He looked to his left, to find a long arrow digging into the shoulder of the warrior with the axe, shot by a calm blonde woman standing near the large tent he had seen before, though his companion kept on running. She readied another arrow and fired. The berserker froze at the sharp pain in his chest- golden seconds for the archer. The third arrow burst his cheek. The burly warrior fell without much manifestation.
But the leader didn't stop.
He ran, fueled by rage and bloodlust, swinging against the opposing soldiers, his steel clashing against steel, flashes lighting the night as swords brutally barged against each other. Red rivulets and droplets sprayed from flesh, painting men, ground and blades.
A blonde man, impressively broad and tall, roared his own battle cry as he engaged the knife-throwing warrior, now armed with a long dagger and a sword. The soldier swung his great-sword at him, but the warrior, slick and agile, danced away from his strikes, the enormous blade slicing thick air.
The warrior attempted an oblique slash, aiming a shoulder with his sword. The soldier parried, his strong physique repelling the warrior. He then shifted his weight on his legs, raised his arms, screamed and swung. The warrior quickly hopped out of reach before half of his body had been guillotined.
The attack had been a dud. Taking advantage of the opening his enemy had provided, the blonde lunged, blade ripping tender flesh and shaking muscles before protruding out of the warrior's back. With the force of the blow, the soldier had lifted the dying man, holding him painfully as he screamed and spat, eyes hazy and tinted red, fingers tearing as they feebly attempted at removing the cold monster of a sword.
He held him for a few seconds before letting the body fall from the great-sword.
He returned to a fighting stance, heart pumping adrenaline.
His sharp eyes fixed coldly on the skilled warrior as he sliced the neck of one of his fellow comrades.
The warrior discarded the corpse of his previous prey, eying the murderer of one of his kin.
Looking around, he found himself surrounded of at least twenty more prey. Close to him, remained only two more companions. One of them had an arrow on his arm, the other was exhausted, barely standing.
"Put those down, scum." The large blonde demanded. Looking in the distance, the leader could see the other archer-blonde still safe, close to the tent, an arrow ready to be shot. Close to her, a dozen other archers mimicked her.
"Surrender now, while you still have the chance." He continued.
The leader relaxed his muscles. He cleaned impurities from his face and caught his breath. Beside him, his companions remained tense. Looking back at the serious soldiers, he laughed.
It was a continuous and raspy sound, bitter and mocking. That overthrew the soldiers. Some grunted, others uttered profanities, a few managed to suppress their true intentions, the rest were just too engrossed in the fight to think of anything else.
"What makes you think…" he spoke, venom in his words "…that you are in any position to say that?"
He smelled the hesitance on the large blonde.
He took a step forward, grip on his weapons tightening once more, conscious of the wary looks from the soldiers.
"Why do you think… that you have the upper hand?" he continued "In this fight, or any other?"
The blonde's eyes showed a mix of hesitance and anger.
"You never had a chance. You're fighting to die." He took another step "You should join us. You've got nothing to win on that side."
"… what?!"
"Join the Free People," the warrior spoke neutrally "survive. End with the unjust monarchy. Live your life and not the life society planned out for you."
His dark eyes scanned the appalled faces of the remaining soldiers as they faltered by his speech. The blonde's stance loosened. The warrior took another step closer.
"Be free."
The woman huffed before releasing her arrow, aiming for the throat. The leader incredulously fell on his side, the metallic taste filling his mouth, choking on the warm and dense liquid, gurgling as he felt himself grow numb.
Watching their leader twitch on the ground made the remaining warriors ponder their charge, fighting spirit still hyperactive, but the desire to survive burned just as brightly.
The burly blonde stepped forward, face serene, eyes cautious.
"Well what's it going to be? Will you accept my offer or will you follow your leader?"
The warriors did not respond.
"Well…?"
Thum… thum. Thum… thum.
The buzz on his brain, as well as the ringing on his ears stopped abruptly, as shock invaded his senses, taking over the battle heat he had once been feeling. He sniffed consecutively, brows furrowed, dark blonde locks sticking to the sweat coating his forehead and temples.
He gasped, turning on his feet faster than he thought he could, looking in all directions.
Thum… thum. Thum… thum.
The earth rumbled. Trees fell lifelessly, wood cracked, roots were ripped apart from their earthy confinements. Booming sounds echoed before reaching the shocked occupants of the camp.
Thum… thum. Thum… thum.
The warriors laughed and danced on their feet.
Thum… thum. Thum… thum.
"The hell is that…?"
"Like fuck I know."
"W-we should retreat…"
"Orders… sir?"
"Stay put. Are you soldiers or mice?"
"Y-yes, sir."
"But, Squad Leader…!"
THUM… THUM. THUM… THUM.
An eerie silence fell upon the group of soldiers. They listened as hard as they could, but heard only their hammering hearts. They dared not breathe. Their eyes would quickly shift angles.
The blonde squad leader felt as if a banshee was floating behind him, breathing on his nape.
THUM… THUM. THUM…
Three seconds passed and the fourth loud, earth shaking sound did not come.
A blink, a drop of sweat sliding down the bridge of the blonde's nose, a deep but hesitant inhale.
Five seconds.
Close to the tent, the archers' fingers grew numb as they restrained their arrows. The woman's thin lips were brushing against the bow string. Her bow-arm slightly trembled.
Seven seconds.
The warriors were laughing uncontrollably by now, giggling and snorting in place. Their weapons were low, they were unguarded and uncaring in front of a group of trained soldiers.
If only they didn't seem so dumbfounded.
Ten seconds.
"GRAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!"
The scream provoked fear and dread in the tightened hearts of the soldiers, causing the fragile organs to pump erratically in their chests.
They stormed out of the trees, destroying branches and trunks, ruining foliage, crushing the barricades, not even flinching as the spikes dug into their fat, three-fingered feet and small legs.
They were two.
Bodies were massacred as their heavy clubs flew at them mercilessly. Screams died abruptly as bones were crushed, sacks of flesh flayed through the air before landing painfully, dirt and rock were dented by the angry swings of the large clubs.
The warriors only laughed louder as they heard the panicked screams of the soldiers as they faced both trolls.
Then, from the breach the trolls had created, roaring warriors swarmed the camp. So many of them, equaling the numbers of the soldiers. They trampled over each other, weapons dancing in the air as they ran, as they roared and yelled, no different from the fat, ugly monsters, only wanting to slaughter and destroy.
The blonde soldier had never felt so much in a disadvantage before in his life.
"RETREAT! GET YOUR HORSES! RETREAT TO THE CLOSEST CAMP!" he stepped back, controlling himself not to run as he watched the two trolls step close to him. He quickly glanced back.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WAITING FOR?! MOVE, MOVE!"
His sharp blue eyes returned to the warriors and trolls, swallowing all the fear, shock and confusion, gripping his great-sword tighter, clenching his teeth, watching them as they approached.
An arrow connected with one of the beasts' neck, it spat and roared, small eyes constricting.
"Don't just stand there!"
He heard the blonde archer order. His attention diverted from the beasts back to his comrade for brief seconds, only to find her running full speed in his direction.
"MIKE, LOOK OUT!"
He looked back in front of him, heart squeezing at the sight of the beast towering over him, the arrow on his neck not bothering it much. Its breath stinks, the greenish liquid that is sliding down its neck smells even worse, like aging corpses. It growls lowly before unleashing a bellowing scream as it lowers the club towards him.
Mike's soldier instincts function just in time as he runs towards the beast, feeling the rush of air as the club crushes the ground where he once had stood. To the closeness, his nose wrinkles further at its filthy stench.
The soldier instincts take full effect.
He shrieks as he slashes one of the legs, just below its knee, making the monster fall and support itself on its free limb and healthy leg. Its yellow teeth are sickeningly close to Mike, it spits and screams as it bleeds from its leg.
A second rush of hesitation strikes the burly blonde as he watched this monster in front of him. And he wastes precious seconds pondering reality, instead of rushing into a horse, reuniting with his troops and retreat. And it's those brief seconds that allowed the beast to raise its free hand, open palm facing him.
"MIKE!" The blonde woman screeches, as she runs. She shoulders the man with all of her weight, catching him off guard in his fear induced daze. He huffs as the air gets knocked out of his lungs, upon landing on his back. They share glances for half a second, eyes wide and terrified as he pronounced the initial letters of her name.
She doesn't see the rest.
The impact was brutal. A crushing, otherworldly force against her mortal body. She doesn't feel her right arm, her chest is burning intensely from lack of oxygen, she doesn't know the condition of her head. She feels herself flying for a couple of meters, limply flipping in the air. It's her left foot that first comes into contact with the ground. Her ankle explodes and burns, and the pain spreads and stings, and she wishes her leg gone as she feels liquid fire flowing in her veins, scorching her muscles, melting her bones. She feels the same fire on her shoulder next, down her arm.
But she doesn't shrill or wail. And she can't feel if she's crying or not, or can't feel her leggings drenching, her blood warm against her skin. Her mind is blank, her ears are ringing. She's starting to see light spots in front of her eyes.
Before passing out, she feels herself being roughly lifted and positioned atop a frenetic horse.
He ushers her name many, many times. And she can't muster the strength to tell him not to worry.
…That morning…
Levi beckoned for his horse to run faster. It was exhausted, grunting and struggling to breathe properly. But Levi didn't care, he was in a hurry. Petra Ral followed close behind him, feeling sadistic for making her horse run for this long at this constant speed.
Levi mentally sighed in relief when Hanji's camp was in view. A fortified camp, deep in the wilds. Sunlight bathed the camp, the forest was silent despite the commotion inside the military settlement, songs from birds were heard and so was the gentle flowing of a river, close by.
Levi would have enjoyed the peace of the forest, if he weren't in such a stressful position.
He rushed inside the camp, lowering his speed as he trotted towards the stables. He hopped off, handing the reins to a nearby soldier, ordering without words for him to tether his horse, stopping him mid-greeting. Petra apologized, offering a shy smile, for the Lieutenant's behavior as well as her own, as she did the same and walked off hurriedly after him.
"LEVI!" Hanji called, spotting him when he had entered her camp "There you are! What took you so damn-"
"Where are Mike and Nanaba?" Levi interrupted her, voice cold and vicious.
"Well, someone is in a bad mood."
"Hanji." He warned.
"Alright, alright! They're with the wounded, at the end of the camp. Try not to take long there, I really need your help – our defense is a fucking mess!"
He answered with a huff, then walked off. Petra stuttered a greeting to her superior, then, slightly jogged to keep up the pace with the storming prodigy. Petra worried; he bore the same stoic and stern facial expression as ever, but preoccupation glimmered on his often cold eyes, and as he walked, she could sense how stiff he were due to uneasiness. Fragility like this was very rare on the Lieutenant… and Petra couldn't guess where it had stemmed from, if from the well-being of his friends, or from the ambush.
After a few rows of empty tents and bypassing soldiers, the large tent of the wounded was in sight. They entered.
Pained groans and moans filled the tent. Soldiers lay in messy sheets, some with amputated limbs, some with bloodied bandages and some fighting diseases, collateral damage from the battle wounds. Doctors attended the soldiers' needs, faces impassive and focused, overalls painted with brown dry blood, sleeves rolled up to their elbows. A male physician ordered around the doctors while, at the same time, tending to patients of his own. The air was heavy and dense, retching of flavorless soups, medicinal ointments and vomit, blood and sweat.
Still, in the presence of such shocking sights, both soldiers showed themselves respectful towards these brave survivors.
"Can I help you?" a busy woman asked the pair, cleaning her hands with a towel, tossing it aside afterwards into a pile of dirty clothes, sheets and bandages.
"We're looking for Mike Zacharius and Nanaba."
"Last bed, to the left." She turned, pointing in the direction "Squad Leader Nanaba is unconscious, though."
"Thank you." Levi stormed past her, shrugging off her polite response.
Petra jogged again to reach the Lieutenant. His eyes were fixed straight ahead, not sparing a glance at the morbidly wounded soldiers. Petra lifted her soldier veil, acting as if she weren't disturbed by dying men and rotten flesh.
A minute of walking marked their arrival.
Mike was sitting next to the bed, back a curved line, elbows resting on his knees, hands still and dangling almost lifelessly. His head was lowered, hair dirty, sand on his undercut, bangs curtaining his face.
Then they looked at the blonde on the bed.
Petra felt an excruciatingly heavy weight inside of her. Levi's bored expression withered away instantly, jaws clenched tight.
Nanaba's right arm was secured by two wooden planks, tethered with various layers of bandages. The blanket on her bed wasn't covering her left leg. A similar splint to the one she had on her arm was present along her thigh. The rest of her leg was covered in bandages, dirtied red. Something seemed to be protruding out of her lower leg, the bandages forming a salient ball at the middle of her calf.
Levi swallowed.
'That's her bone.'
Her foot lay in an unnatural, sharp angle. To breathe seemed to hurt Nanaba, her forehead glistened from a thin blanket of sweat. A fever; the heavy wound on her leg was infecting.
Levi was no doctor, but he had a hunch of what would be for the best in this situation.
"S-Sir Mike Zacharius…" Petra's voice was a pained whisper "Milord, forgive me… Lieutenant Levi is here for you."
Mike slowly raised his head, eying the pair with sunken eyes, his usually light blue seeming dark, almost grey.
"Hey, Levi. Petra."
An unsettling silence filled the trio. Levi was dumbfounded, at loss of words, feeling stupid if he were to offer something as cheap as a worthless apology. Mike was too shattered to speak. Petra felt uncomfortable in the presence of the two veterans, plus the heavily wounded one on the bed, three friends from long, she couldn't help but feel like an intruder.
She struggled to find an opportune time to speak, deeply afraid to, sincerely. But she couldn't take it anymore, she needed to breathe, and all the dying and wailing and morbid smells and her hurting superior and these two men obviously needing to talk weren't really helping.
"Milord… may I take my leave…?"
Levi seemed to have been pulled out of hypnosis, blinking at her words.
"Sure." He didn't look at her as he answered "Go help Hanji."
She bowed to both soldiers, politely backing away before stepping quickly outside of the depressive atmosphere of the tent.
Another heavy silence settled. Levi could have sat down next to the broad man, but really didn't want to. Mike returned to bowing his head. The shorter of the two slowly crossed his arms, as he felt himself recover from his initial shock, his stony gaze returned to his eyes.
"Mike."
The blonde didn't move an inch, his fingers intertwining with each other. Levi waited patiently for any sort of answer or a sign that he had heard him at all. It did not come.
"Mike." He repeated, voice steady and low "Tell me what happened."
Levi saw the way the soldier's hands were gripping each other, how his back lowered another notch. He imagined the torrent of memories crossing his mind. He wondered if his hand should be in his shoulder right now, or if it was inhumane from his part to ask these questions so soon.
Nothing was ever clear to Levi in terms of showing emotion.
On the other hand, everything was as clear as water when it was war related. According to those terms, there was no time for these moments of weakness. While Mike succumbs to self-loathing and despair, there was a lot they could be doing for the good of the Realm and its people.
But, for the sake of comradery and compassion, he waited a few more seconds.
Which dragged on to a full minute.
"Mike."
"I told you everything on the letter."
Levi blinked at the prompt answer, at his evened voice. At how he seemed on the verge of breaking but remained strong.
"You told me you were ambushed. I want to know how many enemies and what tactics did they use." He explained "I want to know how many casualties, how many wounded. I want to know the extent of Nanaba's injury and when will she be able to return to battle, if she will ever be able to."
Mike looked up at him, mouth agape towards his deadpan look and emotionless speech.
"Mike, don't look at me like that. You're a Scout, act like one. There are more pressing matters than your personal concerns. You know that."
"I… I know. But, still… Levi, you can't expect to survive what I just survived and… and act like it was nothing. Nanaba…" he lowered his head once more, voice a thin, fragile whisper "…she could've-"
"Stop it."
Mike's eyes opened wide when he felt Levi's hand grip his slumping shoulder. It was rough, strong, not tender or caring. But it was the closest thing to affection Mike had ever gotten from the Lieutenant in a while.
"Don't go there. When you accepted being a soldier, you accepted a life of loss. Things like this are bound to happen. Don't let them get the better of you. I need you as a soldier," he ordered vehemently, tightening his grip "Not as a depressed girl with over-grown biceps."
Mike exhaled a laugh, relaxing in his seat. He looked up towards the tired and sick look of the wounded blonde, remembering how she had gotten there in the first place. He remembered the monsters, the countless warriors, the slaughter… the fear.
Because of fear they had lost. Because of his fear, Nanaba had been seriously injured.
The war had only just begun. More of last night, or worse, will come. He couldn't cower in a chair, if he's able to fight for those who can't.
"Fine. I'll keep it together."
"Good." Levi said, unimpressed "Now, tell me what happened."
Ymir woke up, exalted, chest heaving, hair sticking to her neck.
She sat, ignoring the fact that she didn't remember she had lied down on a bed last night at all. She buried her face on her trembling hands, groaning and moaning.
"What… the fuck…"
She had never been the kind to have nightmares, especially as bizarre and supernatural as the one she just had, at least the blurry fragments she remembered.
But dwelling on dreams was useless, she thought. Still, she gave herself a minute before sighing, placing her hands on her thighs and checking her surroundings. She chuckled heartily as she closed her eyes, preferring not to panic in her current health crisis, if she could call it that. She had the same three symptoms from the previous time.
She didn't know where she was.
She was naked.
She didn't remember last night.
But this time she had awoken on a bed; a well-proportioned, mid-quality bed, with clean, white sheets and a warm blanket.
Looking around, there were various beds like her own and next to the beds, a small, bed-side table with two drawers and an oil lamp. She looked to her sides to check her table. There was a small loaf of bread and a mug of what she thought was ale. Only after gazing dreamily at the food did she realize how hungry and thirsty she was.
Just like last time.
And, just like last time, she pushed her doubts behind her in favor of silencing her stomach's needs.
The brunette roughly grabbed the mug, drinking with fervor, a liquid trail sliding down the corner of her mouth. She finished drinking, wiped her mouth then proceeded to wolf down the bread loaf.
Less than a minute she spent on eating, burping casually once she had finished.
"Okay… now… I should find out where the hell am I."
She slid off her bed, leaving the furnace that seemed to be her sheets. Her eyes noticed some piece of clothing neatly folded at the end of her bed. She irked an eyebrow, reaching for the article. Her first impression was that it was soft to the touch, unlike most of the rags she had dressed so far in her life. Grabbing it with one hand, she let the garments unfold in front of her eyes.
She furrowed.
"A dress." Ymir deadpanned "No way am I wearing this."
She threw it on her bed and proceeded to look into her drawers. Empty. She checked the one next to her bed, to find personal objects of the occupant. She checked another one, to have the same results.
She crossed the room, opened the door and popped her head outside. An empty corridor; floor covered by an expensive rug, walls painted a common color, other doors along it. Unlit torches hung on the wall. Light was cast towards a stairway, at the end of the corridor.
Ymir pondered if she should check the other rooms in search of clothes.
"Bah. I'll just wear the damn thing until I find something more comfortable." She stomped back towards her bed, placing the dress in front of her eyes once more.
She cringed.
"Okay, c'mon. I have to cover my ass with something. Wouldn't want people drooling over my pretty freckles so soon."
The dress was simple and didn't expose much of her body, except for the chest area, where it hugged her features in a comfortable embrace. It covered her legs entirely and, by taking a few trial steps, Ymir liked the fact that the garment didn't get in the way of her walking. The sleeves ended at her elbows, probably to facilitate handiwork. The attire was complete with an apron and brown shoes.
"Okay… Let's go…"
The brunette exited the room, but out of curiosity checked one of the many doors on the hallway. They were bedded rooms, like her own. She suddenly remembered the chat she had had with the drunk yesterday.
"…so there's this family that lives not far from here, maybe a couple of hours on horseback to get there. They are filthy rich, rumor has it they are as rich as the king… They are also known to accept the poor and homeless into their castle, giving them a nice life as servants to the family…"
Now she was far too confused.
"This… must be the Reiss Manor he was talking about…. to which I conceded to visit. These have to be rooms of the servants and maids…"
She swallowed, then gripped her head, growling "… so the question remains… how the hell did I get here?!"
She closed the door, a hand still pressed against her face. She gritted her teeth as she seethed.
"What the hell is wrong with me…?!"
"Are… you alright…?"
Ymir looked up, eyes wide, heart beating fast. An older woman was slowly walking down the stairs, eying her cautiously. As she walked closer to her, Ymir noticed her grayed hair and the webbing of wrinkles decorating her face. Her hands were calloused, bones salient.
"Can you hear me?" she spoke again. Her voice was raspy, yet strong.
"Yeah… I can." Ymir spoke, straightening her back, eyes adopting her usual bored look, hands relaxed at her sides as she gazed down at the old woman.
"Good. We were worried."
"We?"
"Myself and Lady Historia. We found you collapsed on the gardens, this morning. Your skin was feverish and you were moaning and breathing harshly in your sleep, as if you were in pain. Lady Historia demanded that you were taken inside."
Ymir parted her lips as the information sunk in. She was more puzzled by the second, and it made her itch in places she couldn't scratch.
"Since you are feeling better, for starters, I'd like to know what were you doing naked in the middle of the gardens."
"H-huh… well, I…" she coughed "I sincerely don't know. I can't remember."
"Did you drink?"
"Perhaps…?"
She snorted "Not a very good first impression for the Reiss family. Lady Historia was shocked to no end."
To that, Ymir couldn't help but chuckle throatily.
"Was she, now?" she broadened her smirk "Lucky me. One night and I already have an admirer. I really am a hot mess."
The woman's eyes adopted a cold demeanor at Ymir's flirtatious words. The younger one didn't waver, though. Instead, she kept on rambling.
"Didn't know nobles were so kinky… getting all hot and bothered by a naked girl… is that even allowed here…? For her to like other girls, I mean…? This… Lady History?"
"It's Lady Historia." She corrected "And watch your mouth."
"Oh-oh. But I intended to let it loose…"
And she would have kept on uttering sultry words, if her cheek weren't stinging so much, red finger marks and a scarlet blotch marring her face.
"Ow…?"
The woman got closer, eyes piercing Ymir's relaxed ones, words like knives "If you disrespect Lady Historia, or any of the Reiss family members, again, you won't get out with just a slap. Was I clear?"
Ymir brought a hand to massage her jaw "What are the threats for? I don't even work here. I can say whatever the hell I want."
The woman backed off, laughed bitterly then judged Ymir with her eyes.
"I'm sorry, I had deduced you wanted to be hired… since you were sleeping in the gardens… sick… and with no clothes to speak of. Gave me the impression you were with difficulties surviving the taxes and diseases and wars… apparently you have it all under control."
Ymir's eyes were now aggressive and she felt like kicking the old hag for mocking her. She hated to be wrong.
The woman turned on her heels.
"Come," she ordered "Lady Beatrix has assigned you as Lady Historia's personal maid." She then lowered her voice to a murmur "Milady has never made a more unfortunate choice."
As the woman climbed up the stairs, Ymir followed. Not because she had lost the argument, but because she was in need of answers, and since her first objective, to reach the Reiss Manor, had apparently been achieved, she should now proceed to her second one, to know what is wrong with her. Meanwhile, she should also learn about this family she was serving. She had already caused a good impression on 'Lady Historia', whoever she was, now the rest.
Reaching the upper level of the building she was in, she could find other rooms, like a dining room and a kitchen. They walked in silence until they left the building, the light of day blinding Ymir's eyes as they walked through the gardens Ymir has heard so much about lately. She wasn't particularly impressed by the bright green leaves or the dying summer colors from the flowers, or the various fountains.
"Who's 'Lady Beatrix'?" she finally asked.
"You've never heard of the Reisses?" she inquired, surprised.
"That's why I asked."
"… you're not from here, are you?"
"Are you going to answer my questions, or are you just going to stall me?"
"We're going to have to work on your manners… urgently… if you are going to stay." She noted. Then sighed, as if thinking where to start "Duke Frendel Reiss is one of the richest men on the Realm, owner of a lot of companies producing what you see on the market. He's a duke, he is rich, he is close friends to the king, he highly influences the kingdom."
They reached the manor itself. Its stone walls were battered by the ages, moss grew along them, close to the many windows. Large double doors formed the entrance, opened by the old woman as she pushed one of the doors. Ymir did not help moving the heavy door.
They entered the great hall. Occupied with high quality furniture, walls decorated with expensive paintings or impressive armor sets or sculptures. Unlit torches hung on the walls, chandeliers painful to light pended from the ceiling. An enormous hearth occupied most of one of the walls. The whole room was clean, smelling pleasantly.
The woman kept walking fast, pass the hall and into another hallway. Ymir didn't have much time to memorize the route or which rooms she passed by. Before she knew it, she was walking up another row of stairs, although these were a lot more decorated and spacious than the others.
"He's married to Lady Beatrix," the maid continued "who you'll find often around the manor, especially on the gardens. You'll find other family members around the manor as well. Bow to them always."
"Yeah, got it." She dismissed the tutoring with a roll of her eyes "Why did this Beatrix pick me as the girl's maid, by the way? Doesn't she have one already?"
"No, she doesn't. She had a number of maids aiding her with her every day routine, but not a personal maid, that she never had." She answered "As for your first question, I don't know. Lady Beatrix just looked at you, while you were unconscious, and said nothing. This morning, milady came to me and said you would be Lady Historia's personal maid from now on, offering no explanations. Rather odd."
"Odd indeed. I don't even know her and she's already assigning me with tasks like these. What, does she have a thing for me too?"
The woman decided it would be better to just ignore Ymir's disrespectful personality for now.
"You ought to meet her soon… what's your name?"
"Ymir."
She fell silent for a few seconds.
"Definitely foreigner." She commented "No last name?"
"I never met my parents. Grew up on the streets." She answered nonchalantly "You?"
"Isolde." She said "My last name doesn't matter."
"Oh, a bastard." She smirked "Like me, probably. Lovely name, by the way."
"Do you want another slap?"
"No, thanks. I'm fine with just one."
A minute of silence followed. They walked through a richly decorated hallway, quiet, with soft chatter heard in some rooms. The freckled girl deduced these were the family chambers. They passed by a bored guard and climbed up a claustrophobic snail stairway, stopping in front of a partially closed door. It was very quiet. Seconds of silence made Ymir hear the gentle, almost inaudible, tune coming from inside the room.
"Lady Historia's room." She announced, pointing with her head at the door "She's Lord Frendel and Lady Beatrix's only daughter. She's the heiress to the family's fortune and mercantile empire, respect her for that."
Ymir hummed tiredly.
The woman knocked twice, opening the door as soon as she was allowed to. Ymir peeped past the shoulder of the maid, curious to look at her sinful, guardian angel.
A small girl sat on the bed, needle and linen in hands, sewing what seemed to be some piece of clothing. Her puffy cheeks had a rosy tint on them as she gazed quizzically at them both with the bluest and biggest eyes Ymir had ever seen. Her nose was small and chubby, her lips were full and pink, parted, forming an 'o'. Golden locks framed her round face, a fringe irritatingly hung in front of her nose. She seemed serene and benevolent in her seemingly expensive dress.
'So… tiny… she's small everywhere… except for the eyes.' Ymir analyzed 'I bet both her hands fill one of mine. I bet she only reaches me by the shoulder.'
"Lady Historia," the maid bowed "This is Ymir, your new personal maid."
The small girl interlocked eyes with the brunette, standing from the bed, letting go of the sewing tools.
"Hello, Ymir." Her voice was very feminine, very noble. Ymir thought she found an ounce of hesitance, too, strangely. And yes, indeed, the girl reached Ymir's shoulder level.
"Hi."
Seconds passed and the brunette felt holes being bored into her skin. She turned to the old woman and eyed her strangely once she saw Isolde fuming considerably.
"Hi?!" she incredulously repeated.
"Huh… should I have said 'hello' instead…?"
There was the cold, scary look again.
"Bow. Down."
Ymir stuttered, looked at the curious blonde and her big, blue pools and wondered if she should humiliate herself so much as to bow down to such a child. At least she seemed to be one, but maybe she was older than she appeared.
This was against everything she ever stood for. But feeling the maid mentally stabbing her made her curve her back and lower her head in what she thought was a respectful act.
She heard a soft giggle. And an angry intake of air from Isolde.
"That was the worst bow I have ever seen. You're a disgrace." She said "Forgive me, milady. Please, let me teach her the basics before she insults you any further."
Ymir straightened her back, angry eyes fixed on her shoes.
'I must look like such an idiot. Stupid dress. Stupid hag. Stupid squirt. What the hell did I put myself into?!'
"It's alright, Isolde. Please, do not trouble yourself with us any longer, you've done enough."
The maid bowed down respectfully, shot a glare at Ymir and excused herself, leaving the two young women alone.
The freckled brunette watched the older woman leave, craning her neck as she heard the door click. She wasn't comfortable in the presence of the noble girl, didn't know how to act or what to say or not without smearing her morals too much.
"Look, you do it like this," Historia said kindly "you straighten your back, slightly bend your knees and lower your head – Just like this, see?"
Ymir watched in silence as she demonstrated.
"Okay, I've… memorized it."
'Still feel like an idiot, though.'
The blonde watched her expectantly. The brunette deduced she was waiting for her to bow, as if showing she had learned but she thought she had humiliated herself enough.
"So," the taller one started "What am I supposed to do…?"
"Keep me company, basically."
"…Only that?"
"No, you should do my bed, comb my hair, help me dress…" she tapped her small finger on her cheek thoughtfully "Stuff like that."
Ymir raised an eyebrow.
"I'm going to help you dress…?"
"Hmm… yes…"
She tilted her head, now.
"… really?"
"Yes!" she raised her voice "Is something wrong with that?"
"Oh, no. Not at all." She looked away, smirked then looked down at the heiress "Not with me at least."
'Should I be making flirty jokes at this point…?'
The blonde seemed to sense the undertones though, shrinking under the smug gaze of the taller girl. She turned her back to her, walking towards a window. Ymir watched her curiously, silently enjoying teasing the small girl, taking mental notes of what made the girl tick.
"Are you feeling alright?" Historia asked, changing the topic "You were suffering quite the fever…"
"I feel better."
"Are you comfortable?"
"I'd prefer pants."
"I… could try getting you a few pairs…"
"Please, do."
"Do you have any questions?"
"I'll ask if I have any."
"I see. So… where do you come from? Why did you seek refuge here?"
Ymir narrowed her eyes "Talkative, aren't we?"
She seemed taken aback.
"I'm- I'm sorry, I… I'm just trying to keep conversation… I… didn't mean to pry."
"Yes, you did."
The blonde looked up at her in bewilderment. Ymir probably wasn't being as respectful towards the Reisses as she should be. Isolde would kill her. She wasn't here though, so Ymir was free to do her bidding.
"Ex-excuse me?"
"You did mean to pry, that's why you asked." Ymir answered nonchalantly.
"I'm sorry…"
"I've heard you the first time."
Historia seemed saddened and ashamed of herself, avoiding Ymir's judgmental gaze. The brunette was appalled at how easily she could switch the roles of vassal and noble, how submissive to her stony answers Historia seemed to be. Like she didn't want to get Ymir to hate her, to leave her side. So, in order to repel loneliness, she would be willing to allow her maid to treat her as an equal?
This was a question Ymir would have to answer in time. But, if her deduction was right, then this girl would be a world of fun for the opportunistic woman.
"So… Historia, right?" she nodded silently "Why don't I ask the questions instead, from now on?"
…The next day…
Silence ruled Levi's tent, disturbed only by the night wind or the restless soldiers going about their lives. His uniform was still on, although he had left his gloves aside to better use his fingers. His sword was still strapped to his belt, Levi was now extremely reluctant to let go of his trusty blade, essentially due to the escalation of the war.
He was carefully analyzing the war-map, the weak lights from the oil-lamp casting shadows on the wrinkled paper.
The Realm, as it was known, was vast; stretching far towards the ocean-bathed lands of Maria, the port-city, occupying the grassy plains dotted with towns, big and small, but none comparing to Castle Rose, built in the center of the country.
And then, to the extreme South, built on a spacious area, close to resources, stood Sina, the massive capital.
Close to Sina, on the outskirts of the worker region outside of the walls, grew a forest that occupied most of the country. The forest, its caves and vales, were home to the Savages. Due to this, they were basically uncharted territory now; people would steer clear of the wilderness, much preferring the safety of the patrolled road while travelling. Or just stay inside their houses, behind the safety of walls.
Aside from being their home, it was also the battlefield of the Savage war.
Deep into the forest, there were few remaining Soldier camps. Hanji's, the one where he was currently at, was one of the few remaining ones. They were losing territory and men were dying at a quick rate, not only because of the war. They didn't know how to survive in a wild environment, like the enemy did; food was limited, water was a disease inducer and illnesses were easily caught and hardly fought.
"Milord?"
Levi lifted his head to gaze at Petra at the entrance of the tent.
"May I come in?"
"Sure." He answered curtly.
She managed a short smile and entered the warmth of the tent, bathed in the dim light. She was fully uniformed, cloak too. On her small hands, she carried a wooden plate with bread and cheese. As she approached, Levi noted her disheveled hair and her tired eyes, dark circles adorning her eyelids.
Made him reconsider his choice of leaving the rest of his squad in Sina and bring only Petra with him as his assistant. But he had been in a hurry to leave once he had received the horrific news from Mike, no time to collect his whole squad.
"I brought you something to eat, Milord." She placed the plate atop the table, avoiding the map "I also managed some water… if you'd like some. Don't worry, the physician says it's drinkable."
He placed his hands atop the surface of the table, looking at the girl as she retrieved a water-skin from beneath her cloak, handing it to him, kind smile on her face. Gently, he grabbed the water container, thanking her with his eyes.
"I noticed you skipped supper, milord."
"I wasn't hungry."
Her eyes softened "Please, eat. Do not deprive yourself of food."
He sighed.
"I can take care of myself." He took a bite from the bread, noticing the brightening on his assistant's face "What are you, my mom?"
She chuckled at his dry humor. She took a few steps closer to join him by the map. Affected by her presence, Levi watched her from the corner of his eyes, capturing the details of her focused expression: the pattern of lines that formed on her forehead as she frowned, the shadows that her eyelashes casted upon her big, light-brown eyes.
"Milord…" she said "How fares the war…? In what conditions are we- wait, I… I shouldn't ask these things. Forgive me."
She bowed, short hair hiding her face.
"Why shouldn't you know? You are fighting in the war, you should know the details."
She slightly lifted her head, eyes avoiding him.
"A soldier shouldn't ask questions to a superior in rank… not without permission at least."
"Petra…" he sighed loudly "… do you really think I care about differences in rank? Especially with you? You've been with me since the start. Don't be so formal. Why you still call me 'Milord' and 'Sir' is beyond me."
She relaxed, but tensed up in embarrassment at his accusations.
"I'm sorry… I got used to it."
He huffed, dismissing her apologies "Keep the titles to the field and reunions."
He took another bite from the sandwich.
She hummed and nodded. Looking down at her, he felt some unknown satisfaction in seeing that she had returned to her normal self. He decided to address the topic she had brought up.
"We're losing, basically." He started. He pointed with his index finger towards the deeper regions of the forest "We're slowly losing our fortified positions in the depths of the forest. Our western flank, belonging to Mike and Nanaba, is exposed due to the loss there. Fifty soldiers; ten Scouts, the rest, Garrison. Seventeen survivors, Squad Leaders included." He drank "You've seen how they are. Few were seriously wounded, aside from Nanaba. But their morale is broken after they've seen what they're fighting against; quickly spreading rumors across the camp… trying to flee…"
"Encouraging speeches?"
"I've lost count. Mike is losing patience. And Hanji, that I've seen, as punched two of her men and kicked one in the balls, saying she was 'verifying if he really had them' when I interrogated her about it."
"Orthodox method for raising morale…"
"Efficient, really."
There was another pause as he drank and Petra eyed the ground thoughtfully.
"How…" she murmured tentatively "… how are Squad Leaders Mike and Nanaba…?"
His response came significant seconds later, but he answered with a face blank of emotion, as usual. He wasn't looking at her as he spoke.
"Mike is being true to his word. Keeping it together, leading his men through successful recon missions, not getting distracted during a fight… but his mind is buzzing. He doesn't know what he's fighting anymore, or what to believe in. Sometimes I see him day-dreaming. Many times I see him with drink in his hands." He looks her in the eyes "He was very pissed to know that we have kept the trolls a secret. Almost started a rage fest in the middle of the tent."
"How did that work out?"
"Encouraging speech."
"Oh…"
"I kicked him."
She opened her eyes wider.
"Not in the balls, though." He reassured "In the shins; a reminder that he's at war. He could be fighting talking goats, he still has a people to protect and that's what he should focus on."
He paused, knowing the second topic would be even more depressing to talk about. Perhaps even shocking to the emotional woman. But she was a soldier, she's been through similar emotionally gripping situations.
Levi blinked, noticing that 'he' or 'she was a soldier' was starting to become his common excuse whenever he was going to deliver bad news.
"Nanaba is getting sicker by the day. She drifts in and out of consciousness, suffers from high fevers and her wound on her left leg is infecting dangerously." He explains "Her right arm is healing steadily, the other cuts and bruises too, without taking much of a toll on her. The leg's the problem… the physician as talked to me about the solution… Mike too, but he vehemently refuses it. Begging for time. Fool… he doesn't realize Nanaba doesn't have time."
Petra felt an eerie feeling at the pit of her stomach.
"A-amputation…?"
His sharp eyes divert back to hers "It's the only way. She's only getting worse, that leg needs to go."
She swallows dryly, nodding in understanding.
"Aside from that… there hasn't been much change in the war. They got us pinned down by their crushing numbers, the men's morale is weakened, we have no knowledge of the terrain… we're sitting ducks. Our only advantage is our recon ability, to which we use to prepare ourselves for their next attack."
"There's no offensive from our part?"
"There was in the beginning, the camps in the outskirts of the forest were easily won and their attacks are most of the time easily repelled. But when they come at us, hundreds of them plus monsters… there's not much we can do. That's how we're losing our fortified positions, they decided to let the secret out."
She bit her lip thoughtfully, allowing a few seconds of silence between them.
"Mi-Levi," she corrected "Why not retreat…?"
"We are retreating."
She blinked in bewilderment.
"W-what?"
"I was going to get to that eventually, but you beat me to it." Levi backed away from the table to walk towards a desk, messy with copious amounts of written, dirty parchment and black spots from ink. He grabbed one of them, after rummaging through the various letters, walking back towards her and handing it to Petra.
"Read it."
She, still incredulous to the new information, had a difficult time performing the Lieutenant's command and moving her frozen limbs to grab the piece of paper hanging from his fingers. She placed it at eye level and coughed twice before starting to read aloud.
"Levi, retreat request accepted. I've already sent a raven to High Constable Zacklay, you know that his word is final, let's hope that Lord Darius is feeling compassionate. Reasons for retreat were crushing enemy numbers, low morale and rapid decrease of men in our lines. I've obviously omitted the trolls. Keep the current tactics and try to calm down the men as I wait for a response from the High Constable. Pixis wrote. 150 men are coming your way, divide accordingly throughout the camps. I'm sorry to hear of Nanaba, I hope the doctors are doing what they can. Don't let that affect Mike."
She paused to assess the information.
"On another topic, tomorrow will be the presentation of the military branches to the new trainees, which I will be attending personally. I intend to bring them to the camp you are at, give them a glimpse of war, appeal to their honor and courage in order to persuade them into choosing the Scouts. Best regards, Erwin."
He looked at her as she found herself speechless.
"We're… not… retreating."
"I hope we are. It's been eight months in this shit, that fat fuck must have some consideration for his men."
"And… Erwin is bringing the kids here…? Won't that… scare them away?"
"That's what I think, too."
"Then… what is the Commander thinking?"
"I don't know, I never do." He swallowed the rest of the bread. Took a few gulps of water. Sighed in satisfaction at the nourishment "Thank you for the food, by the way."
"You're welcome." She answered simply, still appalled by the message from Erwin.
Seeing her thoughtful once more, perturbed mind racing, with that same facial features from before, made something snap in the battle-worn man. Something told him that he should reassure her, that being troubled wasn't something pleasant and, since he was here, he should do something. It was the same thing that had forced him into gripping Mike's shoulder a day ago, when he had visited Nanaba.
Only this time he wasn't sure if a manly gesture like that would be a good idea on Petra Ral. So he opted for words.
"Erwin can seem to be a big fucking idiot at times, I know."
The curse word caught her attention, so he went on.
"But it's at those times when he proves to be an equally big fucking genius."
I couldn't find older, SNK characters that could fit the old, maid character... so I created Isolde. I also took the liberty of naming Historia's parents with medieval names, since I couldn't learn how they're called. I hope that doesn't offend any one.