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.
Far away and long ago, an emperor reigned supreme
A fearsome little tyrant, he ruled at just 16
Whispers of naught but praise and words of naught but wishes of happiness shower Eren's ears the moment the announcement had been made—and Eren has slowly grown tired of it all; smiling and saying nothing but endless thanks to the people who are trying to woo him. The only times when he had smiled his real smile was when his servants have greeted him with grins and bows—and Eren, then, had become soft of heart.
Armin has been cheering his charge on for quite some time since he and the courtesan had arrived in the room, proudly declaring that he will be the one to make the courtesan's wedding dress, and Eren quickly acquiesced to the blonde's wish—a dress made of the finest materials by Nature herself, along with the loveliest design, the colors bright and alluring to the eyes, the cut and fitting, conservative yet brazen—
Eren laughs as he listens to the servant babble on, and he idly toys with his dagger as he sits on the bed and declares that a simple dress will do just fine—
But Armin will have none of it, quickly to counter Eren's argument with conviction as he shakes the courtesan's shoulders. "As the future empress of the land, simplicity is not an option—not when there are people out there dying in envy and vying to have your position now. You will look your best—the best of the best—on the day of your wedding! Why, for you, I will create the grandest wedding dress of them all. I will make the heavens cry out in joy upon seeing the creation I will do for you. Trust me on that."
And Eren resigns with a sigh and a hearty laugh and a playful shake of his head. "Once you have made a decision, you will never back down from it, huh." Armin nods, and Eren grins as he glances at the glinting, golden blade sitting on his palm.
Behind him, the servant girl of his smiles.
Emperor Levi slashes his sword on a dummy, splitting it half. From afar, Eren watches him with a critical eye, and behind him, Armin and the new slave stand by.
"Shall I announce my presence, I wonder," Eren muses out loud with a smile, glancing at Armin with a playful wink. "Should I disturb Your Highness's practice?"
Armin blinks, and shakes his head and blabs and flails as Eren turns away and goes over to the busy emperor with a happy skip in his step. "Your Highness," he hears Eren yell out, and Armin sighs and scratches his head, letting Eren do as he pleases.
"I feel like I need to apologize to you in behalf of my charge that has been nothing but frisky lately," he turns to a stern-faced woman, whose hairstyle is like his own, and has the lightest shade of blond he has ever seen on a woman. Her eyes bear the hue of silver, orbs that rival the emperor's own. Her expression constantly reveals nothing, often looking blank and passive—and it reminds him of the emperor in some ways.
The woman says nothing, merely nods, and Armin's smile turns a tad too fake, and she notices it, and the smallest tug on her lips slips through, and Armin blinks—the girl then speaks—
"He is the opposite, I see," she finally comments, and he purses his lips in thought as she continues. "Quite a lovely pair they will make in the future, don't you think?" And she cocks her head, her gesture holding a bit of openness, and Armin finally beams.
"You think so, too?" he claps in glee. "I know, right. They complement each other well. Fire and ice. Pale and bronze. Silent and outspoken. They are two of a kind." He pauses, and looks at his charge happily avoiding the emperor's sword attacks. "There are times when I can't even seem to decipher what Eren's thinking, but I surely hope that his decisions from now on will lead him to greatness."
"I hope so, too," the woman agrees, "he is of my own, after all."
Armin turns, curiously peeking at the woman's carefully-placed façade. "What do you mean by that?" he asks, and he sees her slyly smile, a dainty hand covering her lips, and her eyebrow arches, and she speaks.
"You will know soon, little one. You will know soon."
And she bows to him, and she departs right before Armin could say—
"…I haven't even asked your name…"
A few weeks of Erwin cooping up in their room is all that it takes for Hange to come storming in front of the door with her voice squealing in its might. She hasn't seen a minute's worth of him, and it is eating her out.
She furiously raps on their chamber door incessantly, and when the door opens, she is greeted by her worse for wear husband. Still, Erwin greets his wife with a winning smile of triumph despite the apparent lack of sleep creeping behind those eyes of blue, and Hange is curious to know the reason behind that tired, yet smarmy grin.
"I've finally cracked it. I've finally found out who is our little spy. And I know you, too, will also be unsurprised of the person I will speak of."
And they talk about the spy among their ranks, how they have infiltrated Eagle land with the means of pretending to be slaves, and working their way up towards the surface where they could have positions where they could be revered and have followers of their own—
"Here," Erwin explains, laying out a scroll filled with unfamiliar writing in front of Hange, "it explains of 'a great rejoicing on the land of yellow and a great mourning on the land of dusk, that will occur on the twenty-fifth during the blanket of the skies, when the silver circle will grace upon the inhabited land of birds. An eye will die by the hands of gold, and will leave flames shedding ash.' An exquisite prose, is it not?"
He watches her reaction, and sees her tilt the scroll with furrowed brows, and she hums.
"This is the writing we have found on one of the slaves we have captured, right? It looks almost like our own writing, only… Well, what does it mean?" Hange finally whines out after trying to decipher little characters of the unfamiliar tongue. "If I read this in our own, it would make no sense at all. I love riddles and all, but this one seems too hard. What is the land of yellow?"
"In a month's time, you will be crowned as the empress of Eagle land. I'm sure the other courtesans are dying to be in your shoes," says a grinning Armin to a flustered Eren. "Which also means that the guards in front of your room have increased. The General's orders, I believe."
Eren falls quiet at the mention of the general's name, and he warily eyes his servant. "Armin—"
"I am fine about it, if that's what you're asking."
And just like that, the conversation turns into a halt, and Eren gulps as he tries to continue. "But Armi—"
"I told you, Eren," the blond finally turns with a bright smile, "I am fine. But still, be wary. The General is on to something that we don't know of. And I find it completely unsettling." The blond casts his eyes to the ceiling, pondering out loud, "A completely straight man with a lovely wife waiting for him every night suddenly swerves into a heated one-night stand with the greedy emperor of the country and the emperor's precious courtesan. That greedy emperor wants the courtesan all for himself, yet he drops it at a second's tick when wine entered his system. He is known to be someone who holds his liquor well, and not the complete opposite. Something is not ringing right."
"Perhaps they are planning something," pipes the servant girl out of a sudden, startling both the courtesan and the male servant. "You should keep on a lookout, future empress. Something is about to smell foul. And now that the emperor will be going away on another scavenge hunt for more land, all of us must stay alert more than ever."
Eren gulps, and he feels his palms grow cold in nervousness at her words. "But I haven't even done anything to warrant their anger or suspicion."
"Are you sure?" asks the female servant, and Eren nods sternly.
The female servant stares at the beryl-eyed courtesan, and her lips thin out in thoughtfulness.
"…is that so."
Argent eyes flit for a second too long on the courtesan's garments, and she sharply looks away with a click of her tongue.
"He is being suspected, Your Grace."
A forced-out hum slips past an old man's lips, and he gulps down a flask of whisky he has been drinking.
Wiping off the excess liquor from his lips, he passes the empty flask to the kneeling woman on the ground. She begrudgingly takes it, and the old man stands up and pops his joints. Sighing, he smiles and looks at the furrow-browed woman.
"Stand up." She does. "Gather the men. Young and old—"
He laughs, and the woman does not know why. Only the words slipping past his lips are her order, and she follows—
"There will be a grand banquet in the land of freedom, and we will join him in celebration." He turns a mirthful eye towards the passive-faced woman, and he grins.
"He is of our own, after all—right?"
It happened just a few days after the announcement of the upcoming wedding.
A growing tension fills the nobles' hearts as days pass by. Word has leaked into the palace about a possible spy that has crept inside the Eagle kingdom. A sense of heightened awareness and suspicion rises from the ranks. Servants and soldiers alike shift a wary eye every now and then, eternally asking their selves who is the person that seeks destruction of their kingdom.
From the meeting hall, a fist bangs on the table, and the startled ministers glance at a grinning, armor-clad Hange with fear. The general is with her today, and surprisingly, the emperor, is not.
She calls for their undivided attention, and when everyone is settled down, she then takes out a scroll showing a picture of a sheath. She asks them if anyone has seen the contents of such a sheath—a golden one—and no one answers. She tells them it contains a small thing, only of wood, with an unfamiliar inscription. And she shows them another scroll, this time, only with the writing in question. The ministers ask her of what it is, and she briefly glances at Erwin, who merely shrugs. And she huffs and speaks of the sheath—how it has been accidentally discovered by Erwin, how it belongs to one of the people in the palace, and how the writing came to be.
"This is writing here is from a distant land. A land that we have recently conquered. See this? This is one of the messages that house our kingdom! And sadly," she glances at her husband once more, her eyes narrowing the slightest, and she directs her attention back to the ministers, "our dear General here cannot comprehend the letters. Yet." She pauses, long and thoughtful as she observes the slew of reactions from the ministers' faces, and she breathes, "This distant land has become quite dear to us, for it is now one of the 34 lands that make up our kingdom."
Murmurs and slowly building uproar ring out in the room, and Hange slams her fist on the wooden table once more.
Silence settles in, and she speaks.
"Of the 34 lands, the writings indicated in this sheath share the same distinct appearance to those of these former countries—" and she takes out another scroll, clears her throat, blinks twice, and reads out aloud with a shaky voice that brings unease to the people in the room. "Humaine." Gasps are heard, and some eyes slide to the minister sitting nearest to Hange, their eyes wide and fingers at the ready to point out a culprit. She ignores them. "Schwert."
A minister cries out, slamming his fist on the table with a finger pointed at the Major, "Blasphemy! I am no spy!"
"No one says you are, Minister of Left. But then again—" General Erwin says coolly, and the aforementioned swallows the lump from his throat and huffs back into his seat, his face red from both anger and embarrassment—
A shattering cry pierces the room as Erwin's blade thrusts into the minister's neck in one, swift strike.
"—why the sudden reaction that you are a spy?"
Faces pale, the ministers say nothing as Hange calmly speaks.
"Scild."
Several pairs of eyes slide to a silent man sitting farthest on the table, and whispered grunts and accusations are made as Hange speaks, and this time, with a pained voice.
"Militaire."
The room spins into a hushed silence, all eyes falling on both the Major and the General.
They all know that General Erwin and Major Hange were hailed from the distant land of what was once called Militaire, and the two, once they have grown enough, have travelled far into the heart of Stallion, where they have made their family business there.
"Stallion."
"Lies!"
"Silence," shouts Erwin, "let her speak."
"Tiger."
And the room crashes in an uproar.
An agitated Hange and an oddly calm Erwin walk down the halls towards their shared quarters, talking about the recent episode of the furious ministers in the main hall. She asks of things that will happen, and of the unease that has settled over the palace, all because of what they had done—
And Erwin decides that he will relay to the emperor of what has happened—he has said it calmly, never once looking at his wife as they walk side by side.
She observes him—the way his eyebrows are drawn tight together, his jaw tense, his lips set into a thin line—
"You are still hiding something from me, Erwin. That picture of a dagger you showed me, there is more to it, I know. You know the meaning of the words behind it. 'I am from Tiger land'? Surely, you know whom we are supposed to be targeting. There are a million of people here gathered from former Tiger land alone, the biggest number being in what was once Stallion land. Besides, you haven't told me if you had fun with the little guy and his tiger. I've been asking you nonstop about it but you just can't open up, can you."
"There is nothing more to it but a fleeting fancy, that I assure you," he counters thoughtfully, and thinks about telling her what he knows, but snaps his mouth shut. And he knows she senses it—the urgency to bury something as quickly as possible, and she decides not to press the matter further. With a huff, she crosses her arms.
"I see there are spies in our country now. That man you killed earlier is proof enough," she comments nonchalantly, and Erwin hums, appreciative of the change of topic.
"Schwert is a country near Tiger land, correct?" He gives her a sidelong glance, and their eyes meet. "Do you think, perhaps…?"
And Hange's answer is a clear and resounding no.
"He is too sweet, Erwin. Surely, you cannot possible be thinking of accusing him of such a thing—!"
"Haha! Armin, that surely is a great way to get a lot of fabrics, but really? Why?"
The couple stops dead in their tracks, and from the end of the hallway, they see Eren, Armin, and a female servant walking in laughter. Erwin tenses as Hange runs and goes off to greet the younger three with her usual cheer.
The courtesan and the servants return the exchange with bows and smiles of their own. Eren gives the general a coy smile, while Armin gives him a shy glance. The female servant, however, bows and offers a fleeting bat of lashes as a greeting.
"—and then I will be the godmother of the future rulers of this land and this will be the first time I will be addressed as 'Mama'—"
At this, Erwin chuckles, both at his wife's enthusiasm, and at Eren's awkwardness. "Surely you realize they cannot have children of their own, right, Hange?" She hears this, and it dampens her eagerness for only a second—
"But surely they can have a surrogate, right? I can volunteer if they want." She sharply turns to a fearful-looking Eren with a feral grin, and she inches closer to his face, holding his hands as she does so, "Hey, Eren. Do you want a boy? Or a girl? Or how about both? Surely we can meet halfway about the birth arrangements—"
Erwin sighs, and Hange guffaws at Eren's incomprehensible babble. Armin tries to diffuse his charge's growing discomfort, but to no avail.
"Ah, Miss Hange—your hands—"
Hange blinks, and looks at Eren's hands that are slowly turning purple from her hold. She lets go of them quickly, apologizing just as much, and she holds his wrists against hers instead.
"Eren, surely you will become our royal empress, right? Right?"
Flustered, the courtesan mutely lets out a mouthed yes, and Hange hugs him tightly.
"Please do it for our Levi."
She breaks the tight embrace, and she smiles at him and the servants.
They part ways with a bow and a slew of smiles.
"What was that for?" Erwin asks with a hidden grin as soon as he sees the courtesan and the servants far from earshot. He eyes his wife with a playful smirk, and she returns it all the same with a huff and a cross of her arms.
"Nothing. There is nothing more to it but a fleeting fancy, that I assure you."
The blond smiles, "That it is."
Two, veiled women decked in black cloaks are trying to enter the House of Tiger in the dead of the night, and a wide-eyed Jean stops them from going inside.
"Why, this is for a man's paradise, my ladies. Do you have the proper warrant that you are wanted in this establishment?" The women look and nod at each other, and two pairs of hands palm him up, feeling him through his armor and—
"Whoa, slow down, ladies—I didn't ask for—"
A rough cough from behind him startles Jean away from the women. They stop, one woman's teeth nearing Jean's jaw, and the other woman's hands curling into a claw on his back.
"Soldier Jean, I think the emperor hired you here to protect the Tigress's abode, not to desecrate it with your trivial whims."
"Ah! O-old man! It is not what you think—! These women are trying to—"
"We are here to seek the audience of the Tigress, if we could," says the woman in a raspy voice, trying to bite Jean's jaw as he pushes away. And the other woman meekly nods in agreement—
The old man nods, shrugs, and beckons them in. "The Tigress rarely leaves the palace nowadays, and this house has become more of a brothel from the palace's courtesans more so than his alone, but I can send a messenger to deliver him a message, if you so wish."
The women detach themselves from the soldier, and Jean makes a protest to the old man. "But you are just a regular patron here, you might be troubled by such a thing. I will send a messenger to the Tigress. You stay in there and drink like you always have." The old man shrugs and waves him off.
"Fine then. I will see these ladies to the back while you gather your wits, and we will wait for him to arrive."
A flustered Jean does just as that, mumbling to himself about temptresses as he sends a messenger to the palace while the old man leads the women to the back, so they will not see any of the courtesans gathered inside the house.
"He will meet us here when he arrives," he says to them as he lets them sit on plush cushions. He slides the doors close and regards them with a smile. "A lovely night, tonight, right, my lady? Or should I say, my future empress?"
One of the women chuckles, and she removes her cloak and veil, revealing a grinning Eren. The other woman does the same, and a beet-faced Armin gulps and quivers as he buries his face in his hands, mumbling something about shame.
"Shall the meeting begin, I wonder?" idly comments the old man, and he strokes his mustache as he grins at Eren's becoming attire. "I am sure that the men from outside will flock to see you dressed like that once more."
Eren, dressed in a black, thin cloak that exposes his shoulder blades, merely shrugs and waves his hand, "And have my finally-bearing fruits thrown to waste? No can do. I did this to meet up with you."
The old man nods, looking very much pleased, and he points to Eren's right sleeve. "It is still there, yes?"
Eren smiles, and shows him what he is asking for. He fumbles with his right sleeve, and out pops the dagger into his palm, "It is still here, Your Majesty. Now—about the plan to recapture our land…"
"Ah, so eager to take back what is rightfully his. I like that about you," the man comments with a laugh, and Eren merely nods with a smile. "You have everyone in the palm of your hand, Courtesan Eren. The courtesans, the soldiers, the residents of the palace, the emperor—" He sees Eren chuckle, and the old man sips wine from a discarded flask on the floor. "—even me."
Teal eyes dart to the man before him, and Eren fights back a grin, "Why, Your Majesty, do you suspect I would plan to instigate a rebellion? Remember, our kingdom is swallowed by that bird of a ruler."
"And that bird of the ruler you so speak of with spite is the one you will be marrying in a month, yes?"
Eren does not speak, and he looks away with a grunt. The old man guffaws. "Now is not the time to let your emotions wallow you into a tipping scale. Our freedom is at stake."
He reaches out to Eren's hand, and curls his fingers into a loose fist over the golden sheath.
"Your freedom or your love—which one weighs the most?"
"A resident from this kingdom? Why, why have I only heard of this now?" Emperor Levi glares at his general, his fingers idly tapping away on the wooden armrest of his lofty throne. Erwin has told the ruler of the recent events that has taken place while he was busy with conquering a little land from the north.
"We have taken up measure while you were away, Your Highness. We have disposed some of the would-be assassins sent to annihilate you—"
"And these people are…?"
"People from the former colony of Schwert. A land that was quite fond with the treasures of Tiger land."
The emperor raises his brow, and purses his lips as he drawls, "How many have you killed while I was away?"
"A total of 16, Your Highness," Erwin hears the emperor grit his teeth, and the general lets out a slow sigh. "Plus, I have discovered something that might… pique your interest. It is about our little spy."
Hange tilts a scroll this way and that, mumbling something to herself every now and then. A man by the name of Moblit—her right-hand man—appears by her side, observing her with mild curiosity. And he asks her, "Major, are you feeling fine?"
He answers him with a nod, her eyes still trained on the scroll as she leans back on her seat with a groan, "Of course I am. It's just, something about this picture rings wrong to me. I don't know what. I know I've seen it before, but where…?"
Sitting under the shade of a persimmon tree, Eren, with his red hands riddled with wooden shavings, presents a wooden carving of a Tiger to a surprised female servant. She takes it with a muttered word of thanks, and guiltily looks at his hands. "Don't mention it," he says in return, clapping away the dust gathered in his fingers. All the while, he keeps the dagger close to his person at all times, and she fights back a smile.
"Do you feel burdened with the weight upon your shoulders?"
Eren looks up at the female servant, confused. Still, he answers, "Yes, I am. But—I am happy, I suppose."
"Why?"
"Because I have found what I have lost. It is a different kind of freedom, shall I say. Besides, you remind me of someone I know too well. Please stay by my side."
And they talk of things like this under the shade of the persimmon tree, and Armin listens on with a small smile as he keeps watch over them.
Watching from behind a pillar, a pair of blue eyes oversees the three, and he glances a second too long on something that lies shining in its golden glory in the hand of the laughing courtesan—
"A dagger, huh."
A robe-clad and barefooted emperor Levi walks down the halls one day, the sleeves falling from his shoulders as usual, and he sees someone, a familiar face with a name that he cannot place. He observes her from afar, watching her tend to the fishes in the pond outside of Eren's room. A small woman, she is, one that would surely pass his tastes in his harem. It has been too long since he has had his taste of men and women over his body, he admits to himself, but then he denies himself of such luxury, for he is now of Eren's. That one night of pleasure with him and Eren and Erwin is only a bite of the maddening needs that are driving him to insanity—he denies himself, again and again.
But even so, he is naught but a man driven as a slave to his own desires—
—and so he calls her over to him. She looks at him, and she follows.
"What is your name?" he asks her. She is meek, he perceives, and he takes her silence as a moment of laughter. "Never mind," he waves dismissively, "come with me."
She looks back, to where Eren's room lies, to where, surely her charge is taking a rest in the bath with Armin to assist him—
"Fear not, I will not harm you."
She looks at him, finally, and glares at the proffered hand, and she reluctantly grabs it—
—she is led to a room filled with silence, and he speaks to her once more. "What is your name?" he asks, eyeing her from the corner of his eye, and she does not speak for a while. When he does turn around, however, she opens her mouth, and a whisper slips past her lips.
"My name is not of importance, Your Highness. I am humbled by your presence—"
He chuckles, and he tuts at her.
"Ah, but at this moment, I am not the emperor you speak of. I am merely a man dressed in a too thin and too large robe with not even the thinnest footwear to shield me from the coldness of the floor. Sad, is it not? I have all these riches in the palm of my hand, yet I choose to dress this way. Too laidback and relaxed—like a once fearful predator turned into a helpless prey."
He grins at her, all wide and toothy, and she holds her guard, legs ready to flee at any moment—
—a flash of silver flashes through her eyes—
—and a cold whisper breathes through her ears, its voice too faint to hear.
"Where is she? It's been a week. Is she sick?" Eren asks Armin for the umpteenth time. The courtesan is in a flurry of agitation, too restless to think of anything, and Armin realizes in their early days together that Eren is a person known to grow easily attached to the people he's constantly around with—and his female servant is no exception.
"Eren, calm down. You'll ruin your dress," the blond reasons with a smile too forced, but Eren will have none of it as he sharply turns to him.
"I can't calm down knowing my servant is missing. Armin, what if she has gotten ill and I have no knowledge of it? That makes me a bad person, does it not?"
"Eren, that doesn't make you a bad person," Armin sighs out, feeling his stomach flip in the oddest of ways. Trying to get reason through his charge's mind surely is a daunting task at times, but then again, it is a part of his job—
—a scream rips through the walls.
The courtesan and the servant rush out of the room to inspect what has happened. They run towards the hunched people gathering just near the water wells, and they see, there on the ground, surrounded by guards and servants, is a heap of lifeless flesh decked in white robes—
"We thought we smelt something terrible coming from the well—"
"We thought it was rotten meat and—"
"—we dragged it out of the water and—"
"—a person—"
Eren hears no more, and he pushes the onlookers out of the way, and he crouches over to the body and turns it over—
—he gasps, and sees it is his missing servant.
Eyes wide with disbelief, he feels his blood run cold at her white attire splattered with black.
On the corpse's robe is a note, written in fresh ink.
"'Nega Tiger land eseoib—ijjima.'"
He governed over his country with an iron fist
For most of his reign, the people were powerless
A/N: Story will end in three chapters, yay~! Also, this is a gift to myself because I finally finished the college of hell.