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.
A/N: If anyone would like to ask why I have written this fic, I guess it's all thanks to my recent liking of Vocaloid songs with stories. The songs, Daughter of Evil and The Madness of Duke Venomania are my main inspirations for this story. Along with a manga, Chang Ge Xing, and, of course, the Korean movie, Hwang Jin-Yi, ideas blossomed, and then this piece comes into writing. (=w=)
The courtesan of Eagle then took notice and
Saw for the first time that the ruler repented
Silver eyes scan over the lavishness of the banquet, his throat getting more and more constricted as he tries to get a glimpse of a certain teal-eyed courtesan.
The festivity remains in full swing, he observes from afar. Hearty laughs fill up the air as songs and music from the musicians lift the palace in merriment. The emperor cares not for them all, and he grits his teeth in frustration.
"He is not here, if that is what you're thinking."
The emperor turns, and glares at the general standing right behind him, "Where is he."
The blond shrugs, his expression nonchalant, "He has left to take care of certain things. A trip to his room to relieve himself, perhaps? That's what his servant told me when I tried to summon Eren to the officials, anyway. 'If the emperor cannot be with his lieges, then it is for the Emperor's Jewel to take his place'. That is what you said before, am I right?" His tone is light, humorous, and the emperor finds it irritating.
"Don't spit my words back to my throat."
Erwin smirks. "You had fun back there, I assume? Seeing as you're not as high-strung as earlier," he observes, his words slithering to the emperor's ears with a stinging bite.
The smaller man shrugs and looks away, tapping his forefinger on his hipbone as he purses his lips, "It was enough to keep me sated until night, at most."
The general scoffs and wrinkles his nose, "I'll never understand you and your wicked games. When will you ever get satisfied?"
"A rhetoric question, that is. You know I'll never get satisfied—"
"How about Eren? Will he be able to satisfy you and your unquenchable thirst?"
The emperor's eyes harden at the question. "Don't ever talk of him like that."
"Like what?"
The ruler clenches his jaw and grinds his teeth, his words clamping up in restraint, the whole fiber of his being trying not to yell at the general's apparent insolence.
Erwin has been doing that to him a lot lately.
"What is it? Talk of him like what? Say it, Levi," the general taunts, cocking his head as his eyebrows rise. Openly ruffling the ruler's plush feathers has always been, and will always be, his favorite pastime.
The emperor's breathing becomes shallower each passing second, his nostrils flaring as he stomps over to him and jabs a finger on Erwin's armored chest. "Don't—ever—mock me."
"Ah, but you can mock others, is that it?" Erwin lets it slide for now, purposely turns a deaf ear to his avoidance of the question.
The emperor snarls.
"He has seen you earlier, you know. You and the stray you have brought to your quarters a few hours ago." The general crosses his arms, looks at him like a parent disappointed at his child, "Why don't you just settle matters with him so you can finally put an end to this madness you have created within yourself? The palace is watching your every move. Another war with another country is on the way—a country much larger than Tiger land is ahead." Erwin angles his head at the emperor's unwavering stance, staring him down with much equal force as he lowly growls, "And we cannot have the ruler of this country in a complete disarray all because of a lowly slave."
"He is not a lowly slave."
"But you turned him into one."
The emperor falls silent, and the general sighs.
"Levi, why do you refuse to lay down with him?"
The emperor looks away and hisses, cursing the feel of his hammering heart as the words start to flow from him, "Because he deserves someone better than me."
Blue eyes blink, and he watches the words of the man—so proud and ruthless and greedy and broken—surge from his small and trembling lips.
He is unsure, for once. The ruler of Eagle country is staggering in his current ways. Should an enemy see him of this, he will become the weakest target. Erwin watches as the emperor he holds dear falls apart right in front of his very eyes. And the blond holds in a bated breath as the pale man's jaws clench and those small hands ball into tight fists.
He asks in a soft voice, "Why do you think so?"
The dam of unspoken words breaks, and the emperor—the broken man—has no power to stop his suppressed thoughts now dying to be let out.
"I gave him all that he could ever need. A place in the palace that replaces the home he has lost. Clothes more than enough to last him a lifetime. A loyal servant at his every beck and call. A lofty throne in my palace so he couldn't be touched and looked down on. A house that I built outside the palace, in his hometown, for him to have peace in his heart should he feel the need to be alone. It is all for him. Anything just to make him stay with me. But I could never make him mine."
Erwin closes his eyes and holds in a sigh—he has never been completely the type to give advice of the heart. He is a military man, a tactician, a soldier—a monster. The soldier of a country mirrors that of the country itself, strong, unyielding, unfeeling—yet here stands his emperor, all frail and trusting and softhearted, who pours out his whole heart to him with no ounce of self-regard to what people may think of him.
The emperor he sees now is merely a shadow of the man that had once been the cruelest of them all.
This small and pale man holds an entire country in his spidery palm, sitting atop of a lordly throne built from a wall of repressed emotions that are slowly crumbling each moment he speaks.
The general knows him well, it is better to let him talk now than not let him talk at all.
"Why can't you?" Erwin mumbles, his tone sending a wave of calm over the emperor for the briefest of moments, and he observes the way the smaller man hugs himself, unsure and insecure at something that the general cannot comprehend.
"Because he is longing for freedom," the emperor breathes out, the first words of his admission spilling like a shattering chain that he wants to be freed from. He glances at those blue eyes, and looks away at a distance, "If I make him mine completely, he will ask of these things. Ask things of the world and of liberty—he will ask them with no end. And I, in my moment of weakness for him, will someday have to inevitably come and listen to his pleas. I am afraid, Erwin. I am afraid that someday, in my want to give him all the happiness he could ever have, I might give him the strongest of desires that he wishes to obtain. That desire will make him happy, and that, will make me not. I cannot give him what he truly wants. I cannot get him close to me, to my heart—"
A shuddering sigh slips past the emperor's lips as his shoulders quiver, and his voice cracks as he closes his eyes and lets a silent tear fall.
"—because I am completely enamored of him. I love him to no end." He lets out a wry laugh that is completely resigned and humorless, his voice getting more hoarse as he stares at the loafers adorning his feet. "I would rather see this country burn into dust than give him his beloved freedom—because I am a selfish man, and I want him more than anything in this world."
Erwin finally lets out the sigh he has been holding, and a small smile curls from his lips upon hearing his confession. He looks at him proudly, as he has always have since they first met, and even though the emperor standing now is seemingly fragile, one must never let their guard down—for Emperor Levi, behind his mask of greed and lust and sloth and all things sinful, lies a man capable of bringing any enemy down to his knees with a snap of his finger.
The general observes the way he heaves a woeful sigh, and at the sight of him furrowing his brows, Erwin is reminded just why he had given up everything to let this man be the emperor of Eagle land.
Erwin had once been a blacksmith, a proud and gallant one at that. He had lived with his wife, an equally strong and fearsome woman dreaded by many all because of her eccentricity, but the people loved them well all the same. Everything had been done in routine: create new swords and blades for the soldiers in the land, sell them to those who are willing and worthy to pay the price, and make new ones after that. He had been content in living that way, as long as he and his wife could get by, then all was fine.
But then a widespread tragedy had shaken the nation he once lived in—disputes over lands terrorized the powerless people, a kingdom from the far north had taken its hold on the staggering nation, and it slain more lives than he could count. He had sworn revenge over the injustice of it all.
And there came the time when he met someone that had turned Erwin's morals into a sturdy foundation.
Erwin and his wife have been packing up that day, to finally get away from the madness of the country they were in—and a man, thinner and smaller than he, approached him, demanding to give him the strongest sword he had ever made.
He had laughed at the seemingly lunatic man, saying that the man was out of his mind, and the man, who Erwin had noticed was draped in a tattered clothing of cotton and covered in soot and blood, had yelled at him—"Die running away from your country, or die trying to defend it!"
Those words have shaken him to the very core, and before he could even fathom what he did, he had taken the lives of many of the soldiers trying to kill his fellow countrymen. He had killed them all with the help of his too-enthusiastic wife and the then scrawny man with eyes bearing the color of the sharpest, molten blades. They have gathered and created a slew of bandits and orphans and slaves over time, and turned them into rebel soldiers wanting vengeance for what they have lost—and they slaughtered countless of men bearing the insignia of the Stallion.
Swift had been their victory the day the man with steel eyes had taken the head of the ruler of the Stallion country. Roars and victorious cries of freedom have quaked the land, and soon after, the people that he and Erwin have gathered started to beseech a ruler for the overthrown kingdom. Sides have been taken in a matter of weeks as the people began to argue who would govern over the nameless country. Some have said it should be the once gentle man who turned into a fiend the moment he swings his sword in the air. Some have said it should be the loud woman standing by the fiend, manically piercing through every enemy with blazing eyes and a laugh that matches her insanity. Some have said it should be the man standing behind the fiend in the shadows, serving as the deadliest assassin the rebel army had known, who had danced and sung and heartlessly bathed his battles in blood with the ceaseless spinning of his blades.
The three brave rebels have talked in the palace that had once housed the ruler of Stallion, looking at the fields of people that grew more and more restless as time went by. They have thought of what the future held in the country they have taken over.
Mutual agreements have been made. The wife of the blacksmith had receded behind the two men, and decided to govern over the town where she and her husband had once lived. The two men, who had by then developed a mutual bond of trust thicker than blood, have agreed to split their duties—the fiend of a man became a general of the armies that led many nations into submission in a matter of months, and the man who had lurked in the shadows became the country's ruler, a tyrant, who governed over everyone with an iron fist.
The country of Stallion then became to be known as the country of Eagle, a nation vying for justice and freedom—
—everything that the nation screamed to have.
The tyrannical ruler of Eagle had been dominating for eleven years, and counting. The then brash and gaunt 16-year-old had turned into a fine and fierce young warrior, slaughtering anything and everything that dared blocked his way in regaining the lost territories of his once-hometown. All the while, the merciless devil of a man stood by him at all times, protecting the ruler with all his might.
Nevertheless, a sliver of their almost-lost humanity shows and slips through at rare times.
Just like now.
"Would you be willing to die for the sake of this one man?" Erwin asks, and he is not surprised when the emperor nods weakly, as though he has finally reconciled with his tumultuous thoughts—and the general smiles in relief. "Good to know the real you is still in there behind the rotten heart you had developed."
The emperor laughs, a real one, and he looks at Erwin with something akin to joy, something that the general has thought he would never see again.
"I am still here, hidden behind my heartlessness."
They share a moment of mirth, something that they rarely do, and they return to the banquet with a comfortable silence.
Erwin's eyes slide to the servant girl that the emperor has just sullied, and he fights back a frown.
Emperor Levi will have to deal with his unspeakable debauchery soon enough, not that he openly thinks of complaining about it.
The emperor scans the people as soon as he returns to his seat, and sees a robe-clad and smiling Eren crossing his arms. He laughs along with a flustered Armin, and the emperor sighs as he realizes that they are too far from him to hear their voices. He holds in a breath nonetheless, as Eren happily talks to his servant, and Levi nods to himself, smiling a small smile at what he sees.
Two weeks are long and gone, and the emperor is slowly reaching his limit.
He has been stalking the courtesan to no end for the past two weeks, slipping from his meetings with the officials and leaving everything to Erwin, and at one point, to Erwin's wife—Hange, her name was—who had recently dropped by to visit her husband. There have been times when he ordered Erwin to secretly check on the courtesan, much to the general's amusement; he follows his orders, nonetheless. But the emperor, still far too doubtful of Erwin's reports, decides to take it upon himself to the task of keeping a close eye on Eren.
Today marks the sixteenth day he has stalked Eren, and the emperor is starting to grow weary upon being rejected over and over again whenever he wishes to have an audience with him.
He may be the emperor of Eagle land, but when it comes to Eren and his desire to get to know him, he realizes over time that what they have been going on about was nothing but their constant rounds of stalemate in the heat of their puffed up pride and arguments. One will not yield to the other—and it has become the palace's most sought-after form of entertainment, going as far as to make the officials secretly take bets on who will crack first.
The emperor knows of this very well, but he does not mind. Eren also knows of it, but decides to avert his ears and eyes at the folly of it all.
"Is this what I've been doing to him all this time?" he wonders to himself as he discreetly hides and peeks behind a pillar, observing Eren chatting with his servant near a pond.
A pair of wide, blue eyes darts his way, and the emperor's heart hammers in his chest as he quickly conceals himself. He waits for a few minutes, lets his hearing become sharper as he slyly peers behind the pillar once more.
And there, he sees, not a pair of teal eyes, but a pair of cerulean ones, blinking and staring straight at his face.
The emperor jerks away from the servant looking at him with innocence.
"Is there something the matter, Your Highness?" Armin pipes out, his hands placed behind his back as he tilts his head at the way the ruler clutches onto his bosom and heaves out—the very picture of a nervous wrack. "Are you spying on Eren again, Your Highness?" he asks bluntly, and the emperor, in his fit of surprise at having being discovered by a mere servant, instantly snarls at him.
"How did you know?" he growls out and narrows his eyes at the blond, quickly recovering as he steps over to a still blinking Armin.
"Well," the servant starts, tapping his finger on his chin thoughtfully, "first off, your gaudy, maroon wardrobe is a huge clue. Plus, those two guards always follow you, Your Highness." And he points to where the pair of guards stands not far away—and the emperor knocks his temple and lets out a frustrated sigh.
"I'm getting rusty in following people," he comments to himself in a low voice, and the emperor slowly looks at those mirthful and knowing eyes. "Don't tell him anything about this."
"Oh, I won't, Your Highness," Armin says, his face contorted into an awkward slip of a mask of feigned ignorance as he holds back a laugh. The emperor's jaw slackens, his silver eyes wide as Armin turns around and tries to stifle his snickers, but to no avail. A few steps away, the pair of guards following the emperor clamps their mouths shut in a futile attempt to stop the laughter bubbling from their lips.
The emperor scoffs, and a lopsided smile graces his usually stoic face. Normally, he would have had those who dare to cross him be put to death, but now—
He laughs, and it is the most relaxing thing he had ever done in a long while.
He hasn't felt this free since he had taken the throne years ago.
"Your Highness, is there any reason why you are tailing him?" Armin smiles, a lilting edge teetering his voice as he playfully laughs and glances at an oblivious Eren. The servant strongly believes he knows why, but the need to hear it straight from the man himself is stronger.
"No particular reason," the emperor says, blinking and looking away. Armin stifles a giggle, but says nothing of it.
"Well, if it really isn't anything to be afraid of, I think it's safe to say that I will be accompanying Eren to his house today. Those clients of his are becoming more demanding, you see." He bows, "Good day, Your Highness," and he turns around, letting the smallest of smirks paint his face as he goes away and returns to Eren, who has been unaware of everything the whole time. The courtesan has been picking oranges from a nearby tree in the short time that Armin was away, and the emperor muses just how oblivious the young man can be at times.
The courtesan and the servant walk away, leaving the emperor standing under the shade of a pillar with the pair of bumbling guards.
"Silence," he orders, and the guards hastily obey.
The emperor continuously seeks favor in Eren's eyes, tailing him more openly, even going as far as to try and go to the House of Tiger himself just to spare a glance at the dancing courtesan smiling away in front of men who only know of him from the deeds that he does in the privacy of his brothel.
Eren, by now, has finally noticed the odd behavior of the emperor, but takes no notice of it all the same.
"Let him suffer just as how I have suffered," he once said to Armin.
So Eren does it like that. He has even informed Jean that a man who frequents the House of Tiger wearing a blue smock-frock must only be observing from the outside, never to be allowed to enter.
"Um, Your Highness," Jean hesitantly stammers as he looks at the wrinkled brows on the disguised emperor's face, "why have you been observing him too much lately?"
The emperor does not hide his bubbling rage, and he hisses at the guard, "If you know your place, soldier, you better not blab that horse mouth of yours. Also, don't call me by my title when I am out of the palace."
Jean whimpers and looks away, his whole frame quivering at the glare being sent his way.
Levi fixes his stares back at the still smiling and dancing Eren, and imprints in his mind the image of the graceful courtesan, void of his usual anger and hate that are always directed towards him.
Levi feels remorse, and so he decides to resort to one last tactic.
"A summons to his quarters?"
Armin nods, "A servant of his told me to tell it to you. Says it is urgent."
Eren looks at him, skeptical about the strange request, "I have rejected him just as he had rejected me. What makes this one so important?"
Armin shrugs and offers him a reassuring smile, "It couldn't be that bad, Eren. Maybe he's finally seeing all the efforts you have done to make him notice you—"
"Well, he had his chance. It's all water under the bridge now."
A voice speaks out from outside his room, a call for a summons for one Eren.
Teal eyes meet blue, and they slowly nod—a resigned sigh escapes their lips, and Eren is gone after being bidden a quiet good luck.
The air is cold in the space that houses the emperor's quarters, and that is, so far, the strangest thing that the teal-eyed courtesan has ever experienced in his many times of being there.
His steps are quiet, as they have always been, and he darts his eyes towards the four guards that are on duty tonight. He takes no notice of their stares, nor at the way they lick their lips upon seeing an indecent amount of shoulders and back.
The shade of maroon brings out the liveliness of his sun-kissed skin, and he does all he can to flaunt it. A fluttering bat of eyelashes here, a flash of a coy smile there, and he has every man swooning at his feet—it is a power that he has learned to use and abuse in the times of him being a plaything for all men.
He nears the quarters of the tyrant ruler, and tries to make any sound of the usual cacophony of shameful noises that never fails to make his ears go red—he hears none, and Eren stops in his tracks, cocks his head, and assumes the emperor is not in for the night. For a good measure, he goes back to the hallways to where the guards are still hanging on to his every step and sway and asks them if the emperor is asleep.
"He is waiting for you inside, Mistress," says one guard breathlessly, who cannot help but rake his eyes all over his glowing form. A gulp from another guard is heard, trying hard not to look away at the smooth and round shoulders and the tantalizing collarbones that the courtesan possesses. And Eren crosses his arms, looks at them skeptically, and shrugs as he turns around and mutters something inaudible to himself.
He marches back to the familiar halls, and glares at the sliding doors, as though he is offended at the mere sight of it. Something is lacking, and the absence of the familiar sounds of pleasure from the room sets Eren on edge—as to why, he doesn't know.
He waits not for an announcement of his arrival, and he simply slides the doors open and enters inside with an air of grace. And there, he sees the emperor on the plush duvet, all sprawled and somber and beautiful and ethereal—it seems just like any other day when Eren drops by for his (always rejected) visits. Only—
"Why are you adamant on making me go here?" he bluntly grits out.
The emperor smiles, and his slim fingers slide to a little table, where the usual glass of wine sits, all for his consumption.
As much as Eren hates to admit it, he forces himself not to be affected by the way the ruler languidly drinks his wine. He tries not to gulp as the liquid glides down that slender and bobbing throat. Eren closes his eyes, and denies that has just burned the image of the emperor in his mind. He denies that he has just seen an inappropriate amount of alabaster skin—that pale chest illuminated in the soft candlelight, and that thrumming, white flesh that is simply—
"Like what you see?"
Eren jolts and yelps at the sudden intrusion by a pair of glinting silver eyes hovering too close on his face.
"Wh-what?" he stammers out, cursing himself for letting his guard down. His teal eyes are wide in surprise, his body tenses as he accidentally takes in the scent of the barely-clad emperor—a gentle whiff of the night jasmine and gardenia. Eren blinks. "You have a very feminine scent there," he blurts out, and the emperor merely shrugs and leans back, and takes no offense at the comment.
"It is a lovely scent, though," he smiles, and regards the courtesan with approving eyes. "Is that plumeria I smell on you?" And he gives him a cheeky grin, eyes dancing with mirth as he chuckles and watches him go red.
Eren looks away, and is sheepish in his reply. "L-look, I just like the smell, all right," he weakly explains, and the emperor laughs, "What is so funny?"
The emperor clutches his sides as he belly laughs—
—it is a sound that sings music to Eren's ears. It is a sight that paints a thousand pictures in his mind.
He doesn't realize it when the emperor had gotten close enough for him to see the little patches of red adorning his pale face.
"How long have you been drinking?" he mindlessly lets out.
"Ah. You are concerned for my well-being, yes?" he jokes, and leans even closer to his face just to rile him up. The courtesan scoffs, as though disgusted, Eren snarls at the still smiling man.
"Keep dreaming, old man."
The emperor blinks, his lips curling into a little pout as he narrows his eyes, "I am not old."
Eren crosses his arms and snorts, and sticks his nose up high, "Yes you are. You are like an old man, always walking sluggishly around the castle, especially when you are out of your room. Like this—" And he mimics the way the emperor walks, with shoulders slouching heavily, his brows furrowing, along with the permanent frown of his lips as his feet lazily patters on the floor. All the while, the emperor observes him with the smallest curl of a smirk hidden by his palm.
"How's that?" And Eren finally turns to him with a grin that falls flat the moment he sees that familiar smirk.
"So you have been observing me—observing me close enough to know the way I walk?"
Eren backs away and gulps, "Why would I even—look, I just heard of it from the others, all right—"
"Which others?" the emperor interrupts, standing on his tiptoes as he cocks his head and leans closer to Eren with the same lazy smirk. "Tell me. Tell me so I can punish them for talking about me in such a disrespectful manner."
Eren gulps and stammers incomprehensibly, and his mind tries to come up with anyone who might fit the description, only to end up with none. He looks away and grumbles out, "There is no one."
"Ah, are you trying to defend this person, then? Because trust me, I will find out soon enough." The emperor turns around, huffing, and is stopped by a surprisingly strong hand clutching his wrist. Silver eyes drift to that tanned hand, and he raises an eyebrow.
"There is no one," Eren sternly repeats, and the emperor frowns.
"Were you lying to me, then?"
Eren looks away, and lets go of the ruler's wrist, "I just want you to look at me, is that really bad?"
The emperor chuckles and shakes his head, "Not really—though this side of yours, this—" he gestures to him with a lopsided smile, "—adorable side of yours—it's charming, really."
Eren blanches, his mouth gapes, and his eyes go wide, "I-I'm not—"
The emperor flutters his eyes close, and smiles. "I miss this," he says softly, "how long has it been since I last talked to you like this?"
And just like that, the expression on his face shifts. The color on his cheeks returns, and a sneer crosses his lips the moment he speaks, "Three months? Four? I don't know, I've lost count."
The dismissive tone in Eren's voice, the sudden blankness on the younger male's face, seeing him like this is more than enough to make the emperor wince and look away, "I apologize, then."
"Hmph. Return to your lovers, then. Since you desire them so much. Or have you found another one in your collection? That poor servant girl does not deserve to have her innocence taken by a wretched and greedy man." The emperor doesn't reply, and Eren continues, "Why do you refuse to touch me?"
"Because I want you."
Eren laughs through his nose—unbelieving, "What? You mean to tell me you love me, is that it? That's hogwash."
The emperor sighs, and his shoulders slouch, "I—cannot say I love you—yet, but I know that I want you. That's why I cannot touch you."
"What do you mean?"
The emperor gulps, and Eren sees those pale hands starting to shake, those jittery fingers aimlessly raking through the mess of ebony locks, and a shuddering sigh escapes his thin lips. "I want you, Eren. I want you enough that it drove me crazy when I heard about you turning the house I made for you into a brothel. I went crazy when I saw you in that place surrounded by filthy men. I wanted to stop you—"
"Then why didn't you."
"Because I am a foolish man," he says, gritting his teeth at the pain of it all. The emperor bites his lip in an attempt to stifle his words, but Eren, already at his limit, chokes out—
"Tell me."
"Because you want to get back at me, all right?" he exclaims, beating his chest with his fist as he finally lets loose the impenetrable wall that is his feelings. "I have let you do that to me because I thought that that would make you satisfied—! Satisfied for leaving a bitter aftertaste in my mouth after you saw me standing there stupidly in front of your—your clients!"
"And you are blaming me for this because…? Isn't this what you want? You turned me into a courtesan so I could service people, right, Your Highness?"
"That isn't what I want—"
"Then why turn me into a courtesan and not touch me at all?"
The emperor's words are small as he speaks, the sound an airy tune from his petal lips, "—I don't want the courtesans to touch you, and I don't want to touch you with the hands that have touched theirs. I am a broken man, Eren. I can destroy people with my words and actions alone. I can do it to anyone, even to you—because I am a ruthless person."
He gauges Eren's reaction, and he almost takes a morbid satisfaction in seeing those beryl eyes harden. He pauses, and when he speaks once more, gone is his previous weakness, and he utters with determination, "Are you afraid of me now, now that you know who I really am? Knowing what things I am capable of doing?"
Eren says nothing, and the emperor almost scoffs at the lack of response.
"If you can't even keep up with me and my words, then you are better off alone, child."
The courtesan ignores the apparent insult, and he crosses his arms and huffs, "And if I can keep up with you?"
Eren's biting words echo through the emperor's ears, and the sound of a hidden promise behind his voice brings a smile to his lips. "Then I shall make you my own. I shall not bring another man or woman in my arms anymore. It will be only you that I will touch in the way that you want me to. If you doubt me truly, then I shall gladly order those courtesans dead if you so desire—"
"Oh, hush, Levi. I won't be going as far as that, if I were you. They are also like me. Bring them to their demise, then I shall follow them." He smirks haughtily, and glances at the closed doors behind him, "Besides, there are eyes and ears everywhere in this palace. You can't have them being killed for a trifling reason."
The emperor laughs, and returns the smirk all the same, "Ah, I've missed that, too. You calling me by my name. Well, if you wish, then I won't be doing that."
Eren's smirk slowly turns into a barely-there smile, and a familiar calm washes over the two of them, both not wanting to break the comfortable silence.
Levi places his hands on his back and looks at the ceiling. "The night is still young," he says. "What say you about playing me a song to ease our troubled hearts?"
Eren, now in a much calmer mood, lets out a withheld sigh with a little smile, "Of course, Your Highness. What instrument do you want me to play?"
The shift of tone and demeanor in the courtesan lifts a burden from the ruler's shoulders, and Levi hums, his expression contemplative as his silver eyes soften, "I have seen you play to your clients the two-stringed vertical fiddle once. I long to hear from it once more. It was… solemn and calming—a nice sound of sadness, should I say."
"Then I shall play it for you, Levi."
A melancholic tune settles in the room of the Eagle, its sound blanketing tears and sadness to those who pass by the closed doors.
Inside the emperor's quarters, Eren sits cross-legged on the floor, playing the two-stringed fiddle with the saddest song he has ever played. Levi sits on the duvet, the glass of wine long gone forgotten, as he becomes mesmerized by Eren's rueful melody.
He closes his eyes, listening to the airy sighs the silk strings make. He hears it tremble and resonate, and he smiles. His heavy eyes open, and he gazes at Eren's elegant and concentrated form.
The tanned male has changed out of his usual wardrobe of green that showcases his collarbones and shoulders, and has changed into a robe of pure, crimson-hued, gossamer silk that reveals his upper-half. A slip of fine silk conceals his lower half, much to Levi's dismay. Covering the courtesan's head is a silken veil that matches his outfit, and the ruler cannot help but be hypnotized at the ethereal display that is Eren.
The adept, tanned fingers hold the bow against the strings, caressing them with precision. Eren's left hand goes higher against the strings he press on the neck, and the pitch turns lower, sadder—and it fills Levi with a feeling he cannot place.
The song goes on with the same sorrowful tune, and Levi, in the brief absence of his mind, cannot help but stand up and go over to the still playing courtesan—
A tear falls from those tanned cheeks. Even if the veil hides those tears, they cannot conceal them from those sharp, observant eyes—
He hugs the younger male, startling the latter from his music—
—the fiddle and bow falls to the floor with a silent thud—
"Play the tragic sorrow of my soul, if you will."
Eren goes still, and he nods at the quiet words.
He understands, and he returns the shivering embrace.
That night, the sounds of the mournful fiddle dies, and it is replaced by a sound so familiar and not—a croon of a body snaps heavenward, a duet of voices ring out from the darkness—
Eren's body sighs and sings and lets out a new melody that reaches a higher and higher pitch for the emperor that has destroyed and recreated his life—and the courtesan's mind is aloft; he wishes for him, only for him and that broken soul, and nothing more.
With a blade hidden in the sleeves of his robes,
He fell into a love that he could not even throw