A/N: Hey guys! A little later than expected, but here's our next instalment. Don't forget, you can keep up to date with my ramblings and progress on Tumblr under Soron Rocket, and also ask me any questions. A huge thank you again for your wonderful reviews - your encouragement really does keep me going!

A Queen's Request: The Final Arc

DELIVERANCE

'The action of being rescued or set free.'

Chapter 42: Sand and Serum

They came the day after the message about Zackley's assassination. Five of them, toting guns in the style of MPs. It made Historia want to laugh in their faces. Five? What sort of fight did they really expect a heavily pregnant woman to put up?

It wasn't as though she could try to run, even if she wanted to. She wouldn't make it so far as the fence with her swollen belly to contend with.

The fence. Don't cross the fence.

Funny, how life sometimes came full circle, wasn't it?

Except it wasn't her long lost sister Freida forbidding her to cross the fence now, was it? It was Eren Jaeger.

Historia sat upon the porch in the rocking chair crafted by George's hand. He'd insisted on making it her as a gift, once the news of her pregnancy had settled in like a sinking stone in a once calm pool, the ripples smoothing out as they came to terms with the fact.

Now, she wanted to break it. To smash it into pieces; a physical display of the pain she felt at his betrayal.

Are you sure he can be trusted?

Levi's words from back when they'd ridden together to the Orphanage, all those months ago, circled accusingly in her mind as she looked out across the fields. Clearly, she was a fool to have said yes.

Was this how Levi had felt at the revelation of her own dishonesty with him? The thought stung. They'd all been coaxed into deception at every turn. All because of Eren.

It was beginning to feel like Eren was the devil himself, and the one to be feared in all of this. Where had their ally and friend gone?

Her gaze settled across the far side of the paddock, to where the fence separated the grounds of the Orphanage from the open road. She briefly wondered how far she'd get if she snuck into the stables and untethered one of the horses. But the idea was fleeting; it was far too risky for her to be going anywhere alone in her current state, and where would she go if she did make it away from the Orphanage? She didn't even know where exactly Levi was stationed with Zeke, and from what she'd heard from the rebel soldiers that had been sent here - what were they calling themselves; Jaegerists? - the capital and the military may have been completely compromised by this point.

Of course, there was also another reason.

"'Storia? Are you okay? You seem sad …"

She looked down to find little Sam had quietly come along and settled himself on the wooden porch next to her chair.

The children. She couldn't just leave them, could she? They had no idea of the danger that threatened.

"I'm alright, Sam. Just thinking."

"What about? The Princess?"

The little boy's term for her child was almost enough to pull a smile from Historia. When they'd told the children of her pregnancy once she'd begun to show, they'd all been gathered in the sitting room, gazing up with wonder at her and George. Sam had taken it upon himself to declare that in light of the news, Historia could no longer be called their princess, but was finally promoted to the rank of Queen. She and George had grinned at the irony of it. Sam also maintained the belief that Historia was absolutely going to give birth to a girl, and she would be their new princess. She'd marvelled at how fairy-tale like it all sounded, and wished with all her heart that she could take on the children's innocence, just for a moment, so that she could believe that it would really all pan out that way. Levi had watched from the doorway, always in the shadows, but nevertheless, always there in some form or another for the important moments. He'd worn the most peculiarly endearing look on his face as he gazed at the children, listening intently to their chatter and excitement. She remembered with perfect clarity how it had made her chest glow with warmth, and how his eyes had sought hers across the room. It was unbelievable, how they could exchange so much in a single glance.

But then they had gone to Marley, and everything had changed.

Emotion lodged in her throat, making it difficult to find the words to answer the boy. He seemed to sense her hesitation, as children often do, and instead of waiting for her answer, voiced exactly her own thoughts in that moment.

"I don't really like our new knights that have come to protect us, you know. I miss Captain Levi. Will he come back to see us soon?"

She sighed, reaching down to ruffle his hair. "Yeah, me too." How was she supposed to answer his question? The truth was she'd no idea what was happening with Levi right now. She trusted his abilities and strength more than anyone else in the entire world, except maybe Mikasa. But … against a rebel group of soldiers … against another organised revolution, and with the Beast Titan in tow …

The baby kicked hard, as though sensing her anxiety. She gave a small oh, removing her hand from Sam's head to massage her stomach. She couldn't allow her mind to venture in that direction - she couldn't break. She wouldn't break. For the sake of her child, and the children she'd vowed to protect here.

Sam's eyes were round and expectant as he stared up at her. "Is she moving? Can I feel?"

Historia forced a smile. "Yes. Of course. But Sam, we don't know that it will be a girl yet."

The small, chubby hand of the boy was so gentle against Historia's stomach that it made her soul ache. She ached for the hands of her own child, small and perfect and safe.

"Yes we do. She's going to be a princess." There was a small nudge against the spot where Sam's palm lay, gentler than before. "Oh!"

Despite herself, Historia laughed. "Well either way, she or he likes you."

Sam grinned, wide and unbridled by any concerns beyond feeling Historia's baby move in the present moment. She envied him so much. "What's her name going to be?"

Her name.

His name.

They'd never even had the chance to discuss it.

She opened her mouth to reply, but a familiar voice got in there first.

"Well, we're still deciding on that, Sam."

She glared up at George as he came to stand beside her on the porch. His hand on her shoulder was like a shard of ice piercing her flesh, despite being perfectly warm. She wanted to yell at him, to push him away, to ask him how dare he keep up this facade with such apparent nonchalance when they both knew the depth of his betrayal. She hoped he could feel the venom in her stare.

But still, from the corner of her eye, Sam's expectant gaze weighed upon her, shackling her to her responsibilities.

"Yes," she managed to murmur finally, turning back to the boy. "You go inside and get washed up, Sam. Dinner will be ready soon."

The patter of his footsteps faded into the house, but she remained seated. She stared back out across the fields, the corn across the way now swaying in the evening breeze. The weather had grown cold, but the biting air was a million times more welcome than the stuffy heat of being shut away indoors.

"Historia. Please come inside and eat. You have to take care of yourself, remember?"

There he went again, always fussing over her health, and the health of her unborn child. As though it was his to concern himself over. Perhaps Eren had given strict instructions to see that she was taken care of. Maybe he had some guilt about this mad situation that he'd orchestrated, after all. Or perhaps it was George's own guilt eating away at him.

"Yes. In a moment."

She looked at the fence again.

Don't cross the fence.

Act more ladylike, Historia.

You mustn't cross the fence.

It's silhouette stood starkly as the bulging, blood-red sun dipped towards the horizon.

Fight.

Rising, she turned to follow George inside.

Don't go outside the walls.

Don't leave the internment zone.

Don't cross the fence.

But … they had to, didn't they?

Because the alternative wasn't freedom. The alternative was slavery. It was the worst thing of all, to be a slave. Pass the walls, leave the internment zone, cross the fence.

It was the only way to keep moving forwards. Towards total freedom. A life without barricades.

That's all she'd ever wanted …

Eren clenched and unclenched his fist, watching as sinew beneath skin tensed and untensed according to his mental instruction.

Soon.

Soon there would be no more walls, zones or fences left to cage any of them.

That scenery …

For now, he had work to do. Starting with the Marleyan brat that killed Sasha. She was going to be useful for smoking out any infiltrators.

Then he needed to reach Zeke.

As he stood from his perch on the sill, Eren caught sight of a figure reflected in the windowpane. Expression stormy, eyes dark; it took just a second too long to realise it was his own.

Fight.

The word rebounded from the walls around him, but he wasn't sure the voice belonged to him.

Searing, white light. It scorched the inside of his eyelids.

Then there was fire. Engulfing him, smothering him, stealing his oxygen as he was yanked backwards so sharply, he was sure some of his organs were left behind. What felt like needles pierced the skin of his fingers … his knuckles … his arms … his face …

His face. The pain was unbearable. It felt as though the right side of his face was being torn away.

Was this it? Was this what dying felt like?

So this was how he went out. What a fucking waste. No-one even here to see him take his last breaths.

He'd messed up, alright.

Blackness.

Then rain.

He couldn't see it, but there was no mistaking the fat droplets that struck the back of his head.

Since when did it rain in fucking hell?

"Levi?"

He was being rolled over. Excruciating fire licked through his body. Every faint breath was like a dagger to the ribs.

"Let's shoot him in the head."

"He's dead."

'I know how to take a pulse. Let me see him."

Fine. So this was it, then. A shot through the head to finish him off. How fucking dignified. He was tired though. So damn tired. At least the blistering agony might stop. Yeah. That would be good.

Except …

Something nagged at him.

Kill the Beast Titan.

I trust him completely. I'm in safe hands.

He still had shit to do, didn't he?

Cold enveloped him. Freezing, icy, wet cold. Daggers to the bone. Pain screamed through his face, his limbs.

This may not be a blazing inferno. But it was hell, alright.

"His … storia …"

The rasped syllables tore through her conscious like a blade.

Historia lurched upright. Her heart beat frantically. Her bedroom was dark, save for the sliver of moonlight staining the floorboards as it sliced through the open drapes. She was alone.

No. Not completely alone. She was never completely alone. Not anymore.

Her hand rubbed at the dome of her belly. The child was squirming. Could it feel her nightmares, too?

Except this wasn't a nightmare, was it?

And neither were the falling Titans.

She gasped, unable to process the maelstrom of information and emotion descending all at once.

What she'd seen … Levi … what had happened?

He couldn't be …

She shook her head defiantly, refusing to even go there. No.

No. No. No.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

He'd promised her. He wouldn't leave her alone. Not like this.

Her hand went to her mouth in an attempt to keep the chaotic agony caged within her, but at that moment, the damn inside of her broke, and she let out a wail against her sweat slicked palm.

Please. No.

Then she felt it. Not painful, not yet; just the smallest tightening of her stomach, like something otherworldly was gripping her in it's claws for a few seconds. But there was no mistaking it.

It was starting? No. Not yet. It was too soon. Please, not yet.

Tears dripped down her chin, splashing onto the bed sheets, already damp with sweat against her skin. Historia reached for the medal bearing the Wings of Freedom from beneath her pillow, winding it over and over around her fingers as she sobbed, overcome with terror at what she'd seen, and terror at what she was about to go through at a time when she'd never felt more alone in her life.

"Shit."

Hange heaved as she dragged Levi's broken body up the muddy bank, away from the churning river.

"Shit. Shit. Shit."

The cold bit through her, wet hair plastered across her forehead and clothes heavy with moisture.

Were they still being followed?

There were no sounds for now above the groaning water, but she couldn't afford to pause out in the open like this. They needed shelter. And the warmth of a fire. If the Jagerists didn't find them out here, hypothermia would.

Her teeth chattered violently. She allowed herself just a brief second to look down at Levi's ruined face.

Hange was no stranger to ugly wounds and mutilated bodies. She'd seen more than her fair share over the years. And if you wanted to talk about Titans, too, she'd caused plenty enough. But Levi …

She'd never expected to see him in such a sorry state. Battered. Bloody. Barely even alive. She hissed at the moisture welling up behind her goggles. This was no time to falter. He was still alive, just, and that meant there was hope.

Her boots slid in the mud as she began to drag him again, cresting the bank and then through the long grass. Raindrops still clung to the blades, but the storm had let up for now. Not that it mattered; they were both soaked through to the bones anyway.

There was forest cover nearby. She had to make for the trees. At least then she might be able to utilise the element of surprise somehow … but then, without any weapons …?

Shit. It was hopeless.

She thought of Jean, Mikasa and the rest of the Corps - her soldiers - potentially without a Commander or Captain to lead them. She thought of Historia and George, alone at the Orphanage, waiting for Levi's safe return in time for the birth of their child.

No.

She could not afford for it to be hopeless. There were too many people depending on them both.

The trees crowned overhead, and the tumultuous, grey sky disappeared from view. Still Hange's burning legs kept moving as she dragged Levi by his cloak.

Finally, when the light had dimmed sufficiently enough for it to be apparent they were a good way from the fringe of the trees, Hange allowed her knees to buckle. She fell down into the undergrowth clumsily, beside Levi's worryingly still body, her own breathing laboured and ragged.

"Le-vi," she panted, turning towards him. "Don't you dare. Don't you - fucking dare. You - were meant to be the last one. The last - one of us to …" Her voice broke. She grit her teeth, bringing her fist against the mossy earth with a muffled thud. "Erwin will be pissed. You're still not done. And … Historia …"

Hange's head dipped, until her clammy forehead was pressed to Levi's bloodied chest.

"Please. Don't go."

Please. Don't Go.

The words were a long way off, echoing and fragmented, as though heard in a dream just before waking.

There was no waking from this, though. Blackness loomed from every corner, grim and final. There was dull, throbbing pain coming from every direction. The sort of pain that once, may have been urgent and searing, but now seemed less important. Maybe it wasn't even actual pain at all, but rather the memory of it. Echoed, like those words.

Please. Don't go.

Purgatory. That's what this was. How long had he rotted here? Minutes? Hours? Days? Years?

Wasn't it finally time now for him to just let go? Couldn't he rest? So many others had gone before him. Maybe he'd see them again …

Kill the Beast Titan.

We'll finish it together, Levi.

Fight.

"Historia"

Burning.

He was burning.

White-hot fire shot like a screaming phantom through the darkness. Levi was suddenly aware of his limbs again, or, to be precise, he was aware of his right leg. And it was in agony. Something sharp was buried in his flesh, piercing skin and muscle and fucking bone, by the feel of it. He tried to claw at it, swinging his arms, but he wasn't entirely sure that they were even attached to his body any longer.

This was hell. The flames had finally found him.

He writhed and screamed. The inferno engulfed his whole body. This was what he deserved. He wasn't a good man; he'd done bad things. So much violence. The young MP, the shitheads from the underground that dared to stand in his way, the shitheads on the surface that dared to stand in his way. All that death at his hand.

He'd beaten, he'd tortured, he'd killed. This was the price. The devil's hellfire.

The flames danced across his vision; the smell of burnt flesh stung his nostrils, and for the first time in his life - and death, now, apparently - Levi Ackerman just wanted an end to it all. He wanted the darkness back. He wanted to give up.

Eternal damnation didn't exactly work that way though, did it?

Levi … Fight.

No. Fuck you. I'm done fighting.

Don't go.

Please. Just let me fucking die already.

Ackermans don't give up.

The flames roared in his ears, the smoke made his throat close up. He found his eyes had been clamped shut. When he opened them, the burning agony remained, but his body wasn't alight. It was merely broken and bloodied, laid out in the sand, beneath the shimmering sky.

Sand? Where the fuck …

It's alright. You've got this.

He tried to cast about, but his neck was stiff and unresponsive.

"Hello?" The word was barely a whisper from his scorched throat.

There was a figure. She walked towards him, through the dunes. She was small, with a navy cloak billowing behind her as she moved. Her blonde hair cascaded around her shoulders, pulled back from her face by a familiar white strip of material, dully stained with something rusty, like blood. He'd recognise those angelic features anywhere. Made sense she'd come to him, in his dying moments.

"Historia …"

She shook her head as she approached, and it was then he realised something about her wasn't quite right. Those eyes … they were not round, warm and bright, like Historia's … they were cold. Steely. Narrow.

Suddenly, it was like looking in a fucking mirror.

Dad …

She cast her gaze over him, and her features seemed to contort with anguish.

Even if his body had been in any fit state to move, Levi was stupefied.

"What … did you just say?"

She looked back at his face, and he wondered whether or not he'd still been breathing before. Because he wasn't now.

It's not time to give up yet. You still have work to do. We …

A single, silvery tear tracked down the girl's porcelain cheek.

We'll be together again soon, I promise.

She turned, and as if about to call someone, raised a hand to her mouth. There was no sound. But then, There was another girl. Small, blonde; so alike the girl stood beside him, they could have been sisters. She approached through the gloom, her path lit eerily by that twinkling sky. Her head was held low, and in her hands, she carried a bucket.

Ymir will take care of your body. Go back. Go be a hero, Dad.

She turned as though to walk away.

"Wait -" Somehow, fuck knows how, he managed to raise a shaking hand a little way. He noticed two fingers were missing. He didn't care.

The girl paused, glancing over her shoulder at him. Her features were delicate and perfect, and suddenly he realised, more so than her appearance being like looking in a mirror, or at Historia … it was like looking at Kuchel.

"You - you're my … what's your name?"

She smiled; wiped at the tear on her chin. I think you already know that, since you gave it to me. I will find you again. Both of you. Then she was gone, and there was just darkness. And sand. And the little girl with her bucket, kneeling beside him. All that sand. It smothered the flames he'd almost forgotten were there. The cool grains against his skin were enough to make him delirious.

He let his head fall back against the soft, yellow earth, sighing at the calming sensations replacing the heat he'd been engulfed by only moments ago. He allowed his eyes to slide shut, darkness taking him once again, but now something in him knew this wasn't his end.

"Where the heck is your damn knife?"

Hange slid her fingers into the calf of Levi's boot, but the cool metal she was expecting wasn't there. How? He always kept his knife on him. Maybe it had been lost in the explosion?

She sat back on her knees, her body still trembling. She couldn't light the fire she'd prepared until she was ready for them. And to be ready, she needed a weapon. Any blade would do, or something heavy ...

She cast about for a rock big enough to make decent impact on a skull, but the forest floor was just a blanket of soft moss, small pebbles and shrubs. Her gaze caught on Levi's face. Three pieces of jagged shrapnel jutted grotesquely from his cheek. They glinted in the fading light.

Shit. She'd been reluctant to attempt removing them without at least some alcohol to douse the wound, and a bandage to stem the blood loss. But they were rapidly running out of options. She was in no fit state to fight as it was, and her body was getting rapidly weaker by the minute.

Grimacing, she wiped her fingers off as cleanly as she could with her soaked cloak, and pinched one of the pieces.

"Fuck. Sorry, Levi."

She yanked it from his flesh. worryingly, he barely twitched.

Her time to save him was almost up.

She pressed her fingers to his neck, feeling around for several daunting seconds until she found it. The pulse was dreadfully weak, but it was there. Just about.

Fresh blood began to trickle in rivulets down his cheek, mixing with the congealed brown already coating the skin in sickly clumps. Hange tore a large strip from his cloak. She lifted his head carefully, wrapping it around the wounds before laying him back down.

"Just hang on a little longer."

It was easy enough to find a stick sturdy enough. She secured the shrapnel to it with a vine, her fingers shaking so badly she wasn't sure she'd manage it at all. It only needed to hold up for a little while. Once she'd taken down the first, she'd have better weapons to use.

Her stomach twisted at the thought of killing what had been her own subordinates only a short time ago. She moved towards the make-shift firepit she'd made.

The pebbles in her hands sparked as she struck them beside the kindling. She cupped her hands and blew, praying that it would catch despite the dampness. To her relief, smoke began to rise, and before long, the tiniest embers were glowing along the branches.

She carefully dragged Levi further out into the clearing, before sizing up the tree she'd selected earlier. it had been a while since she'd had to climb these things without ODM gear. She hoped her limbs wouldn't give out.

After much grunting and cursing, she made it up to a sturdy branch which jutted out a little further than the rest. Now she just needed those damn Jeagerists to get a move on and find them. She knew for certain they'd be carrying medical supplies, weapons and ODM gear. But the last item on the list of things she needed to acquire right now - and, if her hypothesis was correct, the most important - was based on a complete gamble.

So Zoe Hange sat alone in the treetops, peering down at Levi's broken body, and she prayed.

When Levi opened his eyes again, he saw the stars, but there was no longer any sand beneath him, and the specks of brightness twinkled and glimmered through gaps in a canopy of trees. There was moonlight, too. Moonlight from a blooming, waxy, full moon, creating an ethereal halo around the unkempt locks of Zoe Hange. She was staring down at him slack-jawed, inches away from his face, her goggles misted.

"Levi? Oh, thank fuck."

Her right hand shoved the frame further up the bridge of her nose. Levi's eyes followed the movement, blinking away the blurriness.

It was then that he saw it. Between her fingers, flashing in the light of the moon.

A syringe.

His vision faded to black once again.

Hmm ... tell me your predictions - where do you think all this is heading?