Hey all, so as we approach the end of snk, I thought I would finally finish my post-rumbling story that I had been writing for a while. It's perhaps a slightly different take on it from other fics which may be interesting or cringy idk.
Either way, I hope you enjoy it.
(Feel free to treat EH as romantic or platonic depending on how much angst you like with your angst)
There was a knock at the door.
Two short taps against the ornate oak door that reverberated around the private office.
Historia looked up from her desk with a sigh. All the servants in a palace knocked like that. Like they were constantly afraid she might bite their heads off for knocking too loud. It had been years since she had assumed the throne, and she still hadn't been able to break the fear the previous monarch installed into them.
"Enter." She called, sliding the report she had been reading back into its file, fighting the urge to rub her temples knowing what the servant was here for.
The door opened soundlessly, and a tall, slender woman with dark black hair stepped in.
'Must have been outside recently.' Historia absently noted, seeing flecks of grey dotting her hair.
Standing before her, the vaguely familiar palace servant picked up the corners of her long dress and bobbed a well-practised curtsy. "Apologies for the intrusion, your Highness, but all the members of the privy council have arrived. They are awaiting your presence in the conference chamber."
Historia fought down another sigh and rose to her feet. "Thank you, Sandra." 'Please let that be her name.' "I'll be leaving for my estate after this meeting has concluded, so could you please see to it that my things are packed and my carriage has been prepared?"
"Of course, Ma'am." The servant curtsied again and backed out of the office, allowing Historia to pass and make her way towards the wolf's den as she had come to think of it these past few months. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad today.
Historia rather doubted that though.
"All rise for Her Royal Highness!" The crier bellowed, announcing her arrival into the chamber. All twelve members of her privy council rose from their chairs, some noticeable slower than others, but Historia waved them down with a small gesture. She wanted this done as soon as possible and had no further patience to stand on ceremony.
Taking her place of honour at the head of the table, Historia allowed her gaze to pass over each member trying to get a read on the room. As always, it seemed, the atmosphere could best be summed up in a single word.
Tense.
To her right sat a man Historia barely knew, but one she was painfully reliant on. Joseph Lasint. Officially he was the Commander of the newly-formed and anointed 'Expeditionary Legion', replacing the now-defunct survey corp. Unofficially, of course, he was the leader of the Yeagerists.
His was a relatively new face on the privy council after the previous leader, who had been sitting in that seat only weeks before, was tragically struck down by a fatal allergic reaction to something he ate. Joseph had assumed the man's spot with little fanfare.
Next to the Legion Commander sat his allies in the court; the remnants of the nobility, important industrialists and influential ministers from the new Government. Sycophants all.
Across the table, directly opposite Joseph, sat the new Commander of the Garrison, the stony-faced Anka Rheinberger, who looked like she'd rather be anywhere else right now. That was hardly a surprise. It couldn't be easy 'advising' a Queen you despise.
Looking past the Garrison Commander, Historia's gaze trailed over the older woman's allies. There were fewer than Joseph's faction, but the ones Anka did have were made up for the discrepancy with the power they brought to the table. Namely the representative from the Military Police; Captain Hitch Dreyse.
Hitch was someone Historia had some faint memories of back in the days of the 104th when they had joined the other half of their cadet class up north for winter training. There had been certain… rumours about the button-nosed woman that had done the rounds in the girl's barracks, suggesting that she had no qualms about using everything she had to better her lot of life.
Some were clearly exaggerated, but even if it was the case then Historia had to admit Hitch had done well for herself. You couldn't get much higher than a royal advisor at the age of twenty.
Focusing back on the meeting, Historia couldn't help but feel disappointed at just how petty it all was. She knew factions and alliances were part and parcel in politics but did they really need to express it so openly in a closed meeting like this? Can't they just sit wherever?
'Perhaps I should have the table replaced with a round one next time we meet. See where people sit when robbed of clear sides. Oh who am I kidding, they'll probably just stand if I did that.'
"Shall we begin?" Historia asked, filing the idea away for now. The question was only a formality, as she was the one who opened these meetings. If she wanted to be as petty as they were, she could probably force them to sit here in silence for hours until one of them worked up the courage to speak first.
But sitting with these people for that long felt like more of a torture for her than anyone else.
"Let's start with the reconstructions. How goes the rebuilding of Shiganshina?"
One by one her advisors stood up and filled her in with whatever was happening in their quarter of Paradis. The good, the bad and the benign. Apparently, the production of paper had increased three-fold in the Utopia district. Very important information for the Queen to know…
However, the news about the growing wave of sickness in the Orvud district was a bit more concerning. Historia asked if their already strained budget could cover the cost of building a new hospital to combat the illness but the doleful look on the finance minister's face was answer enough.
Historia made a mental note to check afterwards if the royal accounts still had enough funds left over to pay for it.
But with every passing advisor who stood up and gave their piece, everyone could feel the unmistakable tension starting to rise as they all skirted around the Titan in the room.
However, that growing 'Titan' could no longer be ignored and was finally acknowledged when Paradis's chief scientific advisor stood up, face slightly pale and a bead of sweat rolling down his brow as he cleared his throat to speak.
"Your Highness, I- We are growing increasingly concerned about the ash."
Ah.
There it was.
The ash.
When it had first started, it had created a panic in the streets as the midday sun was blotted out by roiling dark clouds which stretched to the horizon as far as the eye could see, plunging Paradis into darkness. When the first grey specks descended from the sky, some people thought it was snowing. Young children who played in the streets stopped their games and looked up at the sky with eyes wide with both confusion and excitement.
A few children had stuck their tongues out, hoping to catch some of the strange snowflakes in their mouths. The ones who hadn't been stopped by parents or older siblings quickly discovered that what was falling from the sky wasn't frozen water.
In the face of the unknown, the people did what they did best. They panicked—the most human of reactions.
There had been brawls in the street when frightened civilians demanded answers from government officials and soldiers, demanding to know what was happening and when it would end. There had even been a riot in Trost which had been squashed by the Legion.
Four people died that day, and dozens more were injured.
To curtail the growing panic and prevent any repeats of the debacle at Trost, the Government had tried to calm and reassure the people by telling them that the 'unusual weather' would pass within a few days, a week at most.
Keep calm and carry on, they had told them.
That had been three weeks ago.
Three weeks of sporadic sunlight. Three weeks of cold. Three weeks of the foul-tasting ash getting into everything: houses, clothes, hair, food. Some days were worse than others, when the ash was so thick and heavy that one could barely see beyond their outstretched arm. Other days it was a thin dusting, scarcely noticeable, and often swept away by the faintest gust of wind before it could land.
Eventually though, as the days turned into weeks and their statement was proven utterly false, the people just stopped talking about it. They went about their daily lives, doing their best to ignore the ash and the darkness, wrapping scarves around their faces while carrying lanterns around, as if it were the dead of night.
Some part of Historia wanted to assume they had taken their message to heart, that they had decided to just keep calm and carry on, but the cynical part of her believed it was more the dawning realisation of what this ash really was and where it was coming from that stopped all further discussion.
It's easier to forget that you're breathing in the funeral pyre of billions when no one talks about it.
"Explain." Historia prompted the scientist. The ash was a concern to be sure, but it would settle eventually… right?
"If I could direct you all to section three, paragraph four, which summarises our principal concerns and highlights the severity of the problem we might soon be facing." As the scientist started to explain he handed several sheets of paper round the table, each filled from margin to margin with text and figures. Historia picked up hers as soon as it landed in front of her and started skimming through the data. To her shame, most of it went over her head, but the bits she did understand did not make for pleasant reading.
Despite her best efforts, Historia couldn't stop her eyes from growing wide as the numbers. 'Sample 1: 17% failure, Sample 2: 12% failure, Sample 3: 26% failure. This can't be right…'
"Over the last few days, we have received an alarming number of reports from farmers all across Paradis regarding crop failures. We believe the lack of sunlight, temperature drop and the mix of biological and chemical contaminants in the ash are responsible."
The scientist took a measured breath. "If the current rate of failure remains consistent and conditions don't improve soon, we could be facing food shortages or even a famine once winter arrives. Our current stock of reserves can sustain our current population for approximately three to four weeks, depending on how much of the harvest survives to supplement it."
That sent a wave of panicky murmurs shooting round the council, each man and woman taking the news a different way but all clearly disturbed at the starkness of the numbers laid out in the report.
"This- this can't be right." Joseph blurted out, tossing his sheet down. "These numbers… this would be worse than the fall of Maria!"
"As much as I wish it wasn't the case, Commander Lasint, I assure you there's no mistake. I've sent trusted members of my team to each one of the farms mentioned in the report to verify their claims, as well as carrying out our own tests and the results are similarly damning. Crops are dying and livestock too in some cases."
Historia placed her paper down and folded her hands on top of it, hoping to emit an aura of calm. "What can we do?" She asked, directing her question to the scientist who shifted under her gaze.
"Um, well, we have three ideas," He started before Historia stopped him with a small gesture.
"We will not be repeating what the previous Government did after the fall. There will be no culling of the population, is that understood?" The warning issued, Historia allowed the man to continue speaking.
"...We have two ideas that may prevent a widespread famine should our situation not change. The first is to implement a system of rationing across Paradis to make our current food stocks last as long as possible."
"Rationing?!" One of the ministers blurted out, horrified by the suggestion. "We only loosened the previous restrictions two years ago, and now you want to bring it back?! The people will revolt!"
The scientist grimaced and coughed into his hand. "It wouldn't be the same restrictions as before. These ones would have to be even tighter."
The minister moved his mouth soundlessly, cheeks reddening in anger. A return to rationing mere months after they had publicly proclaimed a new era of peace, freedom and prosperity for Paradis would go down like a cup of cold sick with the populace.
"Why?" The minister eventually forced out.
"When Wall Maria fell, we lost a third of our arable land, but also a significant proportion of our population as well. The remaining farmland in Rose and Sina were still usable and following their rapid expansion, we were able to keep everyone who remained fed, if just barely. This time however, there is no other farmland to fall back on. This ash is poisoning the land all across Paradis, and it doesn't matter where our farms are located or how large they are, because nothing is going to grow." The scientist explained.
Historia coughed into her head, hoping to shift the knot of dread in her throat. Didn't she read somewhere that any society is only three missed meals away from collapse?
Pushing away the old proverb for now, Historia gave her response. "While it may be prudent to start increasing our reserves as much as possible, I cannot in good conscience introduce such harsh restrictions on the people unless there is no other choice. We have already asked much of them. You spoke of another option?"
The scientist suddenly looked extremely nervous, his tired green eyes shooting back and forth between Anka and Joseph. "I-I did, ma'am. W-with your permission, we'd like to ask the remaining volu- outsiders for assistance. T-they might have a better idea of what we're dealing with."
Silence. Complete, deafening silence.
Then, a mocking snort.
"You think they'll help us? After what happened?" Anka scoffed, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms over her chest. "Why don't you ask a Titan for a hand while you're at it? You'll probably have more luck there."
"We don't need their help." Joseph sneered, glaring at Anka. "And even if we did, they're in no position to refuse."
"Oh, forcing the people whose families and homelands we wiped out to be responsible for our food supply. Genius, truly. What could possibly go wrong?" Anka sneered right back. "And I'm surprised you're so opposed to working with them, Lasint. After all, you were so buddy-buddy with them when you went round poisoning everyone."
'Dammit all,' Historia cursed, looking over to the clock on the wall. 'Twenty minutes. That's got to be a new record. Just once can we have a meeting without this kicking off?!'
"Both of you, please," Historia intervened, hoping to nip this in the bud and get the meeting back on track. "Now is not the time or place for this. We are facing a crisis, and if we are to overcome it, we need unity."
"Unity?" Anka spat the word, rising to her feet and glaring at the Legion Commander. "What 'unity' can there be while those responsible for the betrayal and murder of Dot Pixis, Nile Dawks, and the hundreds of other loyal men and women not only walk free but are rewarded for their heinous acts."
Like clockwork, Joseph shot up and shouted back. "Bah! They were weak cowards, willing to sacrifice our Queen because they were unable to do what was necessary to truly protect Paradis and its people. If we hadn't acted, they would have led us all to extermination!"
"Commander Pixis did more for this country than you could possibly imagine! He dedicated fifty years of his life to us, to Paradis and its people, and you murdered him!" Anka thundered back, slamming her fist down onto the oak table, her body trembling with rage.
The tension in the silence that followed was so thick that it could be cut with a knife as everyone waited to see the Queen's reaction to the open divide between the branches of the military.
Historia took a measured breath, the throbbing pain in her head growing worse by the second, as she prepared the same answer she'd given every time this argument had come up.
"What occurred during the second revolution was deeply regrettable and a terrible loss for all of us. Both sides did what they thought was right for our nation, and both sides suffered for it. We cannot undo what has been done, but we can move forwards together, as a united nation and people. Endlessly arguing over the actions of the past will only serve to further divide us."
The statement left a sour taste in her mouth.
It was the only answer Historia could give, but every time she repeated it, it only further embittered Anka, and by extension the Garrison, against her. Pixis had been well-loved within his division, that slightly crazed elderly man who could motivate an entire army of demoralised, exhausted soldiers to take to the field again with a single impromptu speech, bellowed down from on top the Walls that once circled their nation.
And her flowery statement basically telling Anka and the Garrison to just accept it and move on was like spitting in their faces.
But what else could she do?
The Garrison was basically a lost cause to her now, and worst still was the fact the MPs, once the most loyal element to the crown, had also been reduced to a shadow of its former self. Much of its upper leadership had been gutted during the second revolution and the tainted wine and had been replaced with younger officers who were less supportive of the monarchy than their predecessors had been.
It was ironic really. Historia had worked hard to curtail the favouritism shown to the MPs during her tenure as Queen, hoping to create a more equal system within the military. Now she was reaping what she had sown in her youthful naivety.
The loss of their premier position, combined with the fact many of the surviving officers had lost close comrades and friends during the revolution, made the new MP division far more sympathetic to the Garrison's position than hers.
The Legion was the only arm of the military that openly supported her. She couldn't go after the people responsible for the wine plot because it would enrage the Legion, who would believe she was betraying their loyalty and stabbing them in the back. After all, did they not openly and proudly proclaim they did what they did for her?
All that together meant that every time this divide flared up, Historia was forced to choose between either the one division that liked her or the two divisions that didn't.
And was there really a choice to be made there?
"We should think of this issue not just as a crisis but as an opportunity—a chance for us to rebuild the bonds and comradery that were broken between the branches. To work together and-" More hollow, generic nonsense spewed from her mouth as Historia fought to appear at least semi-partial before she was cut off with a single word.
"Why?"
The string of sharp inhales around the table was like a howling wind. Mouths dropped open in shock and eyes widened in horror as the Garrison Commander not only interrupted the Queen while she was speaking but outright questioned what she was saying. Even Historia found herself momentarily lost for words. One of the things she had grown used to as Queen was having full command of the room when she spoke, knowing that all others would remain silent until she was finished.
"E-excuse me?" Historia stumbled over her words, still reeling from the questioning.
"I said 'why?'." Anka repeated coldly. "Why should my division work with backstabbers and murderers? What reassurances do we have they won't turn on us again? Why should I put my soldiers at risk like that?"
Anger. Historia was no stranger to the feeling. She had been angry plenty of times before; at countless people for countless things, both big and small. Typically anger for Historia was like an ocean wave; it built up gradually, gaining strength and mass over time until it reached a point where it could grow no further and finally broke, crashing down all at once. Then once the damage had been done, it receded like the sea sinking back deep inside her and leaving Historia feeling hollow and tired.
Right now, Historia could feel the wave nearing its crest. The whole week of bullshit she had been grappling with had made this wave a big one, but Historia was still in control. This wave would not break, not yet.
"You will do it because it needs to be done." Historia replied icily, staring down the Garrison Commander as a tiny tick formed on her brow. "You will do it because the people need food. And you will do it because I said so."
There was another emotion squeezing down on her racing heart as Historia held Anka's glare.
Fear.
Her expression gave no sign of it, but Historia was afraid.
If Anka stood her ground… If Anka rejected her ultimatum in front of everyone present… then Historia had no idea what she would do.
Sure, she could call in the guards and have Anka thrown out of the palace or even put in a cell for disobeying a direct order, but that wouldn't solve the problem. In fact, it would only make it worse.
What would the Garrison do when they heard that their tyrant Queen, who had so shamelessly aligned herself with the monsters who poisoned the 'old man' and so many other officers, had thrown their newest leader in jail for daring to ask why they should work with the Legion?
Yet at the same time, Historia couldn't let such an open challenge to her authority go unanswered. Had it just been her and Anka in the private room, then maybe she could have ignored the slight, but not here. Not in front of the most powerful and influential people in the country. Her power as Queen came from their perception of her. If she looked weak in front of them (something a direct refusal of her orders would certainly achieve), then she was weak.
No one was going to listen to a Queen who allowed people to walk all over her.
All that meant that if Anka didn't back down right now, then Historia was up shitcreek without a paddle.
The next few seconds were perhaps some of the longest in Historia's life. It could have been hours for all she knew as she maintained her hard, unblinking stare. It was almost surreal, like standing in the eye of the storm.
Historia tensed up as Anka's mouth slowly opened, the single word that could shatter the fragile peace and almost certainly start a civil war already forming on her lips.
"N-"
Then, just as the refusal was about to spill forth, the moment was broken by the scraping sound of a chair being pushed back across the marble floor. Anka's mouth snapped shut with a click as the now standing Hitch placed a hand on the older woman's shoulder, gripping it tightly in an unspoken warning.
"If it pleases Your Majesty, the Military Police would be willing to act as an intermediary between the divisions during this crisis." The silver-tongued MP spoke, her voice smooth and eloquent, slicing through the tension like a hot knife through butter. "I believe such an arrangement would be of benefit for everyone."
Finally breaking the tense staring match, the Garrison Commander turned her head away from Historia to regard Hitch with an unreadable expression before forcefully exhaling. Her nostrils flared out like an angry bull, and her teeth were gritted together as she stiffly sat back down without a word.
Historia let out a silent sigh of relief, the tremor in her hand dying out under the table. Looks like the peace would hold for another day.
Pulling her gaze away from the near-insubordinate Commander to young MP, Historia gave a slight nod. "Thank you, Hitch, that sounds more than acceptable. I trust you can make the arrangements?"
"Of course, Ma'am."
"Wonderful. Now, I believe it's time for a quick break." Historia decreed looking up at the clock with a fake smile, noting how no one looked too happy with what happened, especially since the original issue about the volunteers and the food supply had still gone unanswered.
She'd deal with that particular can of worms once everyone had cooled down a bit.
"I'm sure many of you are hungry, so help yourselves to some of the refreshments laid out in the other room. We'll reconvene in ten minutes."
Despite the disappointment at the lack of solid answers, the relief of her advisors was almost palpable, and many of them all but ran for the door once they had completed their bows. Anka barely spared her a parting look as she stormed out of the room and out of sight. Hitch at least offered a clipped "Ma'am." before following the older woman out, letting the door shut behind her with a dull thud.
There would surely be some choice words exchanged between the two women during this recess. To be a fly on that wall...
'And then there were two.' Historia thought to herself as she turned to face the only other person who remained in the room.
"Are you not hungry, Joseph? I would hate to make you sit here for the rest of the meeting on an empty stomach."
"I am fine, Your Highness. I serve at your pleasure."
Historia mentally rolled her eyes. 'It would be my pleasure for you to leave. Now.'
"But I was also hoping I could speak with you privately without the less disruptive elements of the council present."
"Oh?" Historia's face was starting to hurt from maintaining that fake smile.
"While it pains me to say, I believe it is time to look into curtailing the power of the Garrison. Having so many soldiers under the command of Rheinberger with her… questionable loyalty to the state is a disaster waiting to happen. Should she attempt to seize power for herself, there would be little anyone could do." Joseph let out a sigh, a fake, theatrical sigh as if pretending to be torn over what he was about to say.
It didn't fool Historia for a second.
"With your permission, Ma'am, I could have a list drawn up of loyal men and women of the Legion who could assume leadership over the Garrison, once Anka and other seditious elements of her command staff are removed. I would also recommend breaking up the division into several much smaller groups, as to prevent any one person from amassing too much power which could potentially be used against you."
'Let me guess, each group would be smaller than the Legion, which would conveniently leave you as the most powerful man in Paradis. But I'm sure that never factored into your decision, did it?' Historia thought bitterly, sick and tired of being treated like an idiot. Just because she had spent most of her reign as a figurehead that didn't mean she was oblivious to when people were trying to take advantage of her.
"I don't think that will be necessary, Joseph. Tensions are running high right now, that much is true, but time heals all wounds. The Garrison has always served Paradis faithfully and with distinction for many years. Forcefully breaking up the division and imposing on their chain of command would only lead to further chaos and disruption."
"For a short time, maybe," Joseph acknowledged with a shrug. "but without a single overarching authority to command them, there is little the Garrison could do to oppose the new system."
Historia shook her head, her patience reaching its end. "I have made my decision, Joseph. The Garrison will remain as it is and we will speak no more on this. Now, is there anything else you want to speak about because I would like to gather my thoughts in private before the meeting resumes."
There was a flash of anger and frustration in Joseph's eyes at the rejection, but he quickly got himself back under control. "Of course, Ma'am. Your wish is my command." He said tightly. "I do have one last question, Your Highness. It's about our saviour. The Legion wishes to know when Eren Yeager will be making a return to public life."
Historia's already weak smile vanished entirely and was replaced by a hard, unyielding look. "Joseph, like I told you and your predecessor many times, that decision is up to Eren and Eren alone. I will not force him to do anything, and should he wish to live out the rest of his life in private, then I shall support him. I'm sure you'll agree that if anyone has earnt the right to live their life as they please, it's him."
Joseph's lips pressed into a line. "...I see." He slowly answered.
"I can pass a message on to him on your behalf the next time I see him, but I can't promise a reply." Historia half-heartedly offered.
The Legion Commander rose from his chair and offered a bow (Historia noticed this one wasn't quite as deep as when she entered the room). "Thank you, Ma'am. Please tell him that we have nothing but our deepest respect and gratitude for the man who saved us, and that the Legion will do everything in its power to live up to his example. As long as one Legionnaire still stands, no one will ever threaten Paradis again. He has our word."
Historia just stiffly nodded as Joseph turned and finally left the room, leaving the silent Queen alone in the chamber with only her thoughts and the ticking of the clock to keep her company.
Two hours later, the mentally exhausted Historia stepped out of the palace, pulling up her coat's hood to protect her immaculately brushed hair from the falling ash. So tired was Historia that she barely felt the chill in the air. It was cold, not a mid-summer sort of cold like it should be, but the sort of cold one might expect from late autumn or even winter.
Mechanically, Historia made her away across the ash dusted courtyard towards her carriage where the loyal retainer and personal guard waited for her.
"Your Highness." Tomas saluted as she approached, and pulled open the door for her.
"Thanks, Tomas." Historia breathed out, climbing to the luxurious carriage and all but slumping into her seat. The rest of the meeting had been just as tense and challenging as the beginning, but at least there were no more shouting matches between her commanders.
She felt the carriage dip as the driver climbed up, and Tomas joined her in the carriage itself with a kind smile plastered on his face. She tried to smile back, but it looked more like a pained grimace than anything else.
"Long day, Ma'am?"
Historia let out a very unqueen like snort, allowing her head to fall into her hands with a groan. Tomas's role as her personal guard meant he was one of the few people who saw when she wasn't in her royal persona and was just plain old Historia Reiss, overworked and exhausted.
"You have no idea." Historia bemoaned, voice still muffled by her hands. "I almost had to call the guards in halfway through."
Tomas winced, that small factoid painting enough of a picture for him to feel sympathy for her. "Well, you're heading home now, Ma'am. And if it's not too bold of me to say, I'm sure Princess Ymir will be happy to see you."
Historia felt her spirits rise slightly at the mention of her beloved daughter. It hurt that she had to keep leaving little Ymir at home while she went to the Capital to fulfil her royal duties, but she was simply too young to make that sort of journey every week as Historia had too. However, the knowledge that she was safe and sound at home, and that they would see each other again soon made Historia's time in Capital just a bit more bearable.
"I hope she's okay. I didn't think I'd have to spend a whole week here."
"I'm sure she is, Ma'am." Tomas thudded the roof with his fist twice, signalling the driver they were ready to go.
"Yipp, yipp!" Historia heard the driver cry out and crack the reins, causing the carriage to jerk forward as they started to move.
Finally. She was going home.
The Royal Estate
Reiss Farm
Former Wall Sina Territory
Historia stood beside the crib, smiling down at the sleeping form of her daughter.
It was a bittersweet smile, for while Historia finally got to see her baby again after her time in Capital, she had arrived mere minutes after Ymir's nanny had put her to bed, and Historia just didn't have it in her to wake her daughter up again.
So she contented herself with watching over little Ymir as she slept, carefree and safe, shielded from the stark realities of this new world.
While Historia would be the first to admit the situation surrounding Ymir's birth may have not been the best, she loved her daughter unconditionally. She had loved her from the moment she had first laid eyes on her, bloodied and crying, with her adorable little nose, bright blond hair and her father's eyes.
The head nanny was always singing Ymir's praises, happily telling Historia how well behaved she was, even for an infant barely a few months old. She rarely cried, and on the odd occasion she had, little Ymir was always quick to settle down after being fed or changed.
She had developed a little cough while Historia had been away, but apparently it was nothing to worry about.
"Mama is sorry she's away so often." Historia softly cooed, reaching down to brush a small bit of hair off Ymir's face. She had such beautiful hair. "But I promise I'll be here when you wake up, sweety."
Almost as soon as she said that, there was a soft knock on the nursery door, and Historia felt her irritation skyrocket. For the love of everything holy, could she not have just ten goddamn minutes with her daughter without being disturbed?! Was everyone on this damn island incapable of doing anything without her being there to hold their hand?!
"What?!" She hissed, glaring back at the door.
"Your Highness." Tomas's head poked through the nursery door, keeping his voice as low as possible. "I'm sorry for intruding, but Dr Mandrik has requested a meeting. Apparently there was an… incident while you were away."
Oh.
Oh no.
The spike of annoyance vanished and was replaced with a wave of dread rising in her heart. Historia looked back at her sleeping daughter, feeling torn as she watched Ymir shifting around on the soft crib mattress in her sleep. Historia didn't want to leave her, not after so long apart, but if Mandrik had asked, no, requested her presence then Historia knew she had no choice. The old doctor would never request she do anything unless it was serious.
'Damn it… I'm sorry Ymir. Mama has to go, but she'll be here when you wake up tomorrow. Mama promises. Sleep well little one.' Historia bent down and planted a tiny kiss on her daughter's forehead, lingered for a moment, then turned away and followed her guard out the room once again, leaving her daughter behind.
Dr Mandrik was an elderly man in his late sixties, with hair as white as snow. He was her personal doctor, and lived full time on the estate with his team, ready to tend to her or Ymir at the drop of a hat. He was perhaps the best doctor Paradis had and the one who had brought Ymir into this world. He was smart, kind and loyal to a fault.
And it was for those reasons why Historia had entrusted him with Paradis's greatest secret.
"What happened?" Historia asked as soon as she entered the man's office, skipping over the usual pleasantries in her haste.
"Ah, Your Highness, thank you for arriving so soon." Dr Mandrik replied with a respectful bow. "I'm sorry for pulling you away from Princess Ymir but I knew you would want to hear as soon as"
"Doctor," Historia stopped him, putting some steel into her voice. "What happened?"
"... we've had a relapse. I'm not quite sure what triggered it, but it was severe." The doctor let out a small sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "These things take time, and the road to recovery is always a rocky one. Setbacks are to be expected, and even planned for, but it is nevertheless disheartening."
"H-how bad?" Historia asks, dreading what the answer may be.
Mandrik said nothing as he bowed his head, confirming Historia's worst fears. Slumping down into the chair opposite the Doctor, Historia allowed her shoulders to drop in defeat. She had been so sure they were making progress. Not a lot, not by any standards, but at least some. To lose it all…
"The human mind is a wondrous thing, Your Highness. We understand a great deal about our bodies, but have barely scratched the surface when it comes to unlocking the secrets of our minds. It can endure much pain and suffering, but even the strongest mind can only handle so much before it snaps. And the things he must have seen…" Mandrick paused, looking out the window at the dark grey clouds above before sadly shaking his head again. "I fear no mind could truly recover from something like that."
"N-no," Historia hated how weak and wobbly her voice was. "No, I can't accept that. I won't. You are to keep trying, is that understood? No matter how long it takes or what it costs. I will not give up on him and neither will you." She hadn't meant to lash out at the doctor, but the words left her mouth before she could stop them.
"O-of course, Your Highness. Forgive me, I didn't mean to imply I had given up." Mandrik apologised, quickly backpedalling. "In fact, I was just about to mention a new experimental procedure I've heard some of my colleagues in the medical community discussing. I believe it could be of some benefit for him, if you approve?"
Historia immediately nodded. "Yes, do it. Whatever you need, just ask, and I'll get it for you."
"Then I shall make the arrangements." Mandrik stood from his chair and was about to bow when Historia stopped him with a word.
"Would-" Historia took a breath, pushing down her growing nerves, hands pawing against her skirt. "Would it be a problem if I saw him?"
Mandrik stopped mid-bow, face shifting into a look of concern. "I-I don't think so. It won't make it any worse at least. But are you sure, Ma'am? It would likely be an unpleasant affair, and I wouldn't want to see you needlessly distressed. Your body is still recovering for childbirth and additional stress could lengthen that process."
Historia couldn't help herself. Her shoulders started to shake as laughter burst out of her lips. A bitter, hollow sound which echoed around the office.
Stress? Stress?! What could he possibly know about stress? What could anyone but her know about stress?
Stress was being the only person trying to hold Paradis together, yet being forced to watch as it slowly unravels around her.
Stress was being the Queen for what remained of Humanity, the whole damn species crammed together into this political tinderbox of a nation.
Stress was knowing that this winter could be the last for tens of thousands of people as they slowly starved to death, demanding to know why and how their Government had failed them so spectacularly.
"Doctor," Historia wiped a lone tear away as she got herself back under control, and glanced towards the now rather disturbed looking man. "The time to worry about what extra stress might do to my body has long since passed, trust me on that. Now, unless it's going to cause him any harm, I want to visit."
"...Very well. If you'd be so kind, ma'am, please follow me."
"Armin?"
That was the first word spoken to Historia as she stepped into the bedroom, a small tray of food in her hands. It was almost enough to send her right back out again.
This… this may have been a mistake. Perhaps she should have listened to Mandrik. But she was here now, and Historia wasn't going to run away.
"No, Eren." She spoke softly, keeping her voice low and even despite the tightness of her throat. "It's me. Historia."
Eren Yeager turned to face her fully, his once green eyes now a brilliant purple, peering straight through her as if he was looking without seeing.
His face was gaunt and haggard, with skin so pale and thin that it was nearly see-through, drawn uptight over the curvature of his skull and sinking in around his eyes and hollow cheeks. Thick black veins ran up the right side of his face like a spider's web, originating from that hideous weeping scar that circled around his neck like a hangman's rope.
His skeletal form, emaciated and sickly, sat in a padded wheelchair, no longer able to walk on those half-formed stumps of legs that dangled uselessly over the edge of the chair. They would never grow back or heal like they had years ago because humans don't grow back limbs. And that's all Eren was now. Human.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
This was Paradis's greatest secret. Their savour, the man who had done the unthinkable to save them, had been left little more than a hollow shell of a person. Irretrievably shattered in body and broken in mind.
Historia blinked away a stray tear that threatened to form at the total lack of recognition in Eren's eyes, fighting to keep her already weak smile in place.
"Krista, Eren, my name is Krista. Do- do you remember?"
On some bad days when he didn't recognise her, something would still flicker in Eren's eyes when she mentioned her old name as if there was still some fragmented memory of their training days nestled deep in what remained of his psyche. Today was not one of those occasions, and Eren's eyes remained painfully empty as he shook his head no.
Taking a calming breath, Historia gestured with the tray of food, trying to move on from Eren's failure to recognise her in any shape or form. "I brought some food. You must be hungry."
Carefully, as to not startle him with any sudden movements, Historia slowly crossed the distance between them and placed the bowl of tomato soup on Eren's small table with a dull thud. The orange liquid was the only splash of colour in his otherwise sparse and colourless room.
A table, a few chairs, a bed and a wardrobe. That was it. There was nothing that personalised the room, no unique individual touches or decorations. Just bland, sterile and lifeless.
It hadn't always been like that though. Eren's first room had been very different. Following his return to Paradis, when he had been slipping in and out of lucidity and consciousness, Historia had ensured it was a perfect replica of his old bedroom in the house he had lived in before the rumbling.
She'd had the whole thing drawn up and moved. Every piece of furniture, every drawing of friends, every nicknack and accolade transported in total secrecy back to her estate, and set up exactly how Eren had left it.
The care and consideration that had gone into that effort were matched only by the truly horrifying reaction it caused when Eren had first 'woken' from his delirium.
If Historia ever saw something like that ever again, it would be too soon.
After that event, she and Mandrik had agreed that a simple room with only function in mind would be the best thing for him. If Eren was bothered by his rather barren quarters, he never showed it, choosing to spend most of his waking hours sitting by the window and watching the horizon. His room was located on the top floor of the infirmary giving him a clear view of the surrounding area, while also preventing anyone not in the know from peering in through the window and discovering the dreadful state Eren was in.
Historia had done many things she wasn't proud of to keep this a secret, given orders she never thought would pass her lips, but she didn't regret it. If she had to, she'd order the same thing again to protect Eren. Both for his sake and the greater good.
The soft squeak of a wheel shook Historia out of her thoughts, and the young monarch turned to watch Eren regard the steaming bowl for a moment before facing away.
"It's fine. I'm not hungry."
Historia bit her lip. That was a lie. According to Mandrik, Eren hadn't eaten since breakfast, refusing what the nurses had brought him for lunch. Eren needed to eat, he didn't have the strength to miss meals like that, but Historia didn't want to force him to eat, like they had too a few times before.
"Eren you need to eat. Here, why don't we share it if you're not that hungry?" She offered, picking up one of the rolls of freshly baked bread and tearing it half, keeping the smallest bit for herself. "We shouldn't waste food after all."
'Especially if the weather doesn't improve… I already instructed the cooks to start building up our winter stocks.'
After a few seconds of silence, Eren slowly wheeled himself over to the table, taking the spot opposite her. "Okay." He said quietly, one of his thin arms reaching for the spoon. Historia was pleasantly surprised that worked, and made a mental note to instruct the nurses to do the same thing next time Eren refused a meal.
The two of them ate in silence, Eren spooning tiny sips of soup into his mouth, as Historia nibbled on her chunk of bread, trying to think of what they could talk about. There was a list of topics that were to be avoided at all costs. It was an extensive list determined through a painful process of trial and error. It would have been easier to make a list of topics they could talk about instead.
"Did you sle-"
"Armin," Eren abruptly spoke, his purple eyes still fixed on the soup. "When will Mikasa get here?"
Historia froze, the bread stopping halfway to her mouth, allowing crumbs to fall into her lap. Her mouth was dry, dryer than anything had ever been before, and she had to force herself to swallow down the morsels of bread she had been chewing on.
It was an innocent question. A perfectly normal thing for Eren in this state of mind to ask. If he thought she was Armin then, of course, he would wonder where Mikasa was as well.
This was a topic Historia could not touch. No ifs or buts. It was the single biggest no go area they had.
"I'm not Armin." Historia wanted to say, wishing desperately to remind him of who she was. But what would that achieve? If Eren believed she was Armin, then denying that would only confuse and upset him, and lead him to question where Armin was as well. Eren would ask again where they both were, and if she didn't reply, it would quickly spiral; more questions and more names, and if she still didn't answer Eren would eventually fall silent and start to think, trying to look back into his muddled, scattered memories to find out where they might be, and then…
Then he might start to remember.
She had seen it happen before. And it was with those occasions in mind, that Historia opened her painfully dry mouth and lied.
"She'll be here soon, Eren. Very soon. I promise."
The words tasted as bitter as the ash which endlessly fell from the skies.
"Oh, okay." Eren sounded disappointed with the answer, and even as he started eating again with his spoon trembling in skeletal hands, Historia braced herself for further questions. One of which came moments later.
"Is she training again? She's always training."
Historia wanted to look away, but couldn't bring herself to do so, even as Eren fixed his purple eyes on her; unfocused and cloudy as they were.
"I keep telling her to slow down before she hurts herself, but she won't listen. She's too stubborn. Maybe she'll listen to you, Armin. You'll tell her that wont you? You'll tell her to slow down? I don't want her getting hurt."
Historia stared over Eren's shoulder at the blank, featureless wall as she answered, trying to ignore the fist-sized knot that had formed in his throat. "...Yes. Next time I see her, I'll tell her that."
"Thanks Armin. You're a good friend."
Historia stayed with Eren until he had finished eating, and then an half hour more until a nurse arrived to give him his evening bath. By that time Eren seemed to have forgotten she was even in the room with him, as he went back to his spot by the window and gazed out towards the slowly setting sun.
The nurse had jumped at the sight of her and had started to splutter apologies for interrupting, but Historia just shook her head and thanked the woman for looking after Eren, then left without another word. She walked down the sterile white hallways in total silence, lost in her own mind as she headed down the stairs and straight out of the infirmary. She didn't register the quietly conversing Mandrik and Tomas in the reception area as she stepped past them, and into the cold evening air.
It was only then, as she ducked around the corner of the infirmary out of sight from anyone lurking nearby and leaned against the wall for support, did Historia feel herself starting to breathe again. Each gasp was shallow and shaky, and came with the taste of ash. It was almost a welcome reprieve from the bile which clung to the back of her throat.
Her breathing became faster, and when the world started to spin, Historia slammed her eyes shut, plunging her world into darkness and bit down on her tongue. Not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to focus herself with the pain as her hand trembled against the cold brick wall.
Historia didn't know how long she stood there for, eyes scrunched tight and tongue throbbing in her mouth, but as her breathing eventually steadied itself, the growing weight on her heart became too much to ignore any longer. With a final shuddering sigh Historia limply pushed herself off from the wall and stood up as straight as possible.
It was time, she decided, no more putting it off. She had made Eren a promise.
With that, Historia twisted on the spot and started making her way over to the westernmost edge of her estate.
The crunching of gravel underfoot was the only sound to be heard as Historia made her way up the dirt path, heading inextricably closer to her destination.
There were some advantages of being Queen, namely the ability to point at a small bit of unoccupied land on the map and say 'This is mine now' and outlaw anyone from entering the area without her explicit approval. She had only exercised that authority once, and that was to claim this small forest near her estate, which she had promptly surrounded by a tall fence with two guards manning the singular entrance at all times.
The same guards who had standing orders to stop trespassers with deadly force if needs be.
Many of the servants at the estate assumed this was the location of a home away from home for the Queen. Perhaps a small cottage cut off from the world nestled somewhere within these woods where the Queen could go whenever she felt like getting away from it all.
In a way, those people were half right. Historia did come here to get away from everything, but it was isolated and secluded for a very different reason.
After all, no one could see the Queen mourning over the graves of traitors.
The crunch of gravel was replaced with the soft sound of grass as Historia reached the end of the path and entered a narrow clearing, which opened around a small pond. The water was still clear and tranquil despite the incessant ash and glimmered in the dying light of the evening sun. The reflected sunlight wrapped around the six marble headstones that faced the water pool, casting long shadows across the dewy grass.
Historia walked towards them, the handful of roses she had picked from the gardens on the way here resting in her arms as she turned to face the graves and read the words engraved upon them.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Levi Ackerman
819 - 854
Humanity's Strongest
Kept his promise
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Hanji Zoe
824 - 854
14th Commander of the Survey Corp
Fought for what she believed in
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Historia's throat was tight and dry as she placed a rose on her one-time commanding officers' graves. They were always the first ones she read, but no matter how many times she came here, it never got any easier.
Even now, years down the line and after so much had changed, Historia still occasionally dreamed about those few weeks she had spent with the two officers while hiding from Kenny and her father. The ever blunt Captain and energetic Section Commander, guiding and protecting everyone, doing their very best while still bickering about things like an old married couple.
While she had not been happy back then, having just lost her daughter's namesake and with the memories of Frieda still locked away, Historia still remembered that odd feeling of longing that would well up within her heart whenever she saw the two of them cooking, taking the night watch so the rest of them could sleep or just poking fun at each other.
Maybe because it was the closest thing Historia ever had to real parents.
Letting out a shaky breath, Historia turned away from the two quasi-parental figures and shuffled over to the next two stones, once more forcing herself to read the inscriptions despite the words having been long since burnt into her mind.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Jean Kirstein
835 - 854
A loving son and friend
Selfless to the end
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Connie Springer
835 - 854
With his family
And his other half
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Numbly and with burning eyes, Historia placed Jean's rose next to a small reef already resting against his headstone. The reef hadn't been there last time she'd visited, but Historia wasn't surprised. Jean's mother, one of the few people permitted here, visited from time to time to put down flowers and reefs on her only child's grave.
Historia had only met Mrs Kirstein once in person, but the mother had been so thankful to her for setting this place up that Historia had nearly broken down sobbing into the portly woman's arms.
Would she be so thankful if she knew the truth?
Connie's grave always hit Historia hard, harder than she ever expected. Not just because it existed and that she'd never hear his goofy laugh ever again, but because it was located here, leagues away from where it should be.
It had torn her heart in two to have Connie buried here instead of the plot next to Sasha in the memorial gardens, as he should have been. It's what they would have wanted, but Historia knew that couldn't happen. Not if she wanted his name engraved on the stone.
That's why he was here.
That's why all of them were here.
So they could rest in peace. Undisturbed and undamaged.
It's the least they deserved.
Historia always left two roses on Connie's stone, one for him and the other for the girl whose grave she rarely got the chance to visit. It just felt like the right thing to do. They would understand.
Historia's head dropped down as she moved over to the final two stones, the end of the row and the ones she had come specifically to see. Hesitantly, the Queen of Paradis sunk to her knees before them, hands reaching out to touch the two patches of still bare soil laid out before the headstones.
"Hey." Her voice came out as a tight croak, shattering the peaceful silence of the private graveyard. "It's me again. I know you'd probably prefer anyone else but... H-how have you been?"
It was a pointless question to ask, but Historia asked regardless, just like she had done every other time she had come here. She couldn't stop herself any more than she could stop the sun from setting.
A squall of cold wind tore through the clearing, sending a chill down her spine and blowing a few strands of loose hair across her face. Even through her now cloudy vision, Historia could see one of the strands wasn't the same golden blond as the rest. She doubted the ash was responsible for that greyness.
Historia sniffled when the wind died down and silence once more reigned. "...Yeah, I thought so."
She should have left it there. She should have just placed the last two roses down, wipe her eyes and head back. Back to Ymir like she promised.
But she didn't - she couldn't. There was always too much left to say for that.
"I-I talked to Eren today. He… He's not doing so well." Historia confessed as her fingers curled inwards, digging small groves into the dirt which caked beneath her nails. Small droplets of water fell from her cheeks and landed on the backs of her trembling hands. "He asked about you again. Both of you, in his own way."
Her voice started to break as she regarded the left most grave. "He thought I was you again. I didn't try to correct him… it's easier that way… to just pretend to be someone I'm not."
"Funny how things work out." A bitter broken chuckle left her lips as Historia shook her head. "We just can't escape that old joke, can we, Armin?"
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Armin Arlert
835 - 854
15th Commander of the Survey Corp
Always the best of us
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Memories of their training days forced their way into her mind's eye. Glimpses of Sasha asking in the dead of night if they were related. Flashes of Connie begging Armin to try on a dress for a bet. Jean's voice telling the rest of them to knock it off while pretending not to laugh. Even the occasional slip up from old Shadis.
They had both hated it, so so much, but forced themselves to smile along with it, trying to not let the others see how much it bothered them. They both had enough worries about themselves, their identity and their place in the world without being constantly mistaken for someone else.
It got to the point where the two of them had first properly bonded as friends when they had privately expressed their mutual displeasure at the joke one cold winter's night during a particularly grueling survival training exercise.
The two of them had been paired up, the two smallest and physically weakest cadets at the time, and told to go survive in the wild for several days and that if they starved or froze to death, they failed. Obviously.
Just their pairing alone got a few 'amusing' comments and a handful of jokes thrown at them from the others about the 'twins' being sent off together.
The first day had been painfully awkward, filled with half-hearted conversations and long sullen silences, as they struggled to find much common ground. They hadn't interacted much before that point, partly because of that damn joke and not wanting to add more fuel to the fire by being near one another.
But that all changed when they finally stopped for the night and after silently setting up camp, and cooking the few rabbits they had managed to catch over the fire, Armin had let out a long weary sigh and abruptly asked out of the blue if she was as sick of it as he was.
'God, yes.' Was her immediate reply. No hesitation. Just a straight-up answer.
Thinking back, that was probably the first real crack in her Krista persona.
They had stared at each for a fleeting moment, bathed in the orange glow of the fire, as her blue eyes locked with his hazel. It was like they were testing each other's resolve, taking part in some weird staring competition over who hated it more. Then, with no real cause, they both broke down into pearls of laughter. It wasn't even that funny, but they couldn't help it, and before long they were both wheezing and short on breath.
It still annoyed them whenever they heard it, but after that night, the knowing glances and subtle eye rolls they gave each other whenever it came up made everything easier. They were their own people, no matter what others said about them.
But Armin was gone now.
She missed him.
A lot.
Recently though, there were times when Historia almost wished that she was Armin, or at least had his brains. If she was just a bit smarter, would she be able to actually deal with the problems facing them then instead of running from fire to fire, desperately fighting to keep them under control?
Perhaps, Historia wondered (and certainly not for the first time), that was why Armin gave his life trying to stop the rumbling. Had he foreseen this happening back then; the chaos and suffering, the stewing anger and resentment? Was that what made him choose a world that despised them over his own people? The fear of seeing them regress into… this?
Or was it more simple than that? Did he believe there was another way or did he just refuse to stand back and do nothing while a genocide of billions of men, women and children was carried out in his name?
Maybe she'd be able to ask him that one day. Historia wasn't a religious person by any standards (despite being the official defender of the faith), but she reckoned with the things they have done in their respective lives and the blood they had on their hands, if there was a place people went to after death then they'd end up in the same place.
How long it would be until she got there, however, was still up in the air.
A rose was placed, trembling in her hand even as she rested it against the hard lifeless stone.
Now there was only one left; one last rose for one last grave.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Mikasa Ackerman
835 - 854
Beauty in a cruel world
Never gave up hope
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Unlike the other graves, this one actually contained a body and wasn't just an empty box, because against all odds, Mikasa had made it back to Paradis.
She had been missing an arm, had multiple broken ribs, one of her lungs had collapsed, and half her body was covered in cuts, burns and lacerations. No one knew how she had survived that long or how she managed to make it back home in first place. The fact she managed it even while carrying the ruined Eren over her shoulder was nothing short of miraculous.
The man who had found them - a farmer whose land once laid outside of where Wall Maria used to be - had told Historia that when he came across Mikasa, slowly limping and hobbling through his fields, she had said nothing to him, lacking the strength to even form words. All she did was to force the comatosed Eren and single blood-speckled letter addressed to her into the farmer's arms before finally collapsing and succumbing to her grevious wounds.
Mikasa was dead long before any help could arrive.
The doctor who examined her body reported that there was nothing they could have done for her, even if she had collapsed in the most well equipped hospital in all the land. Mikasa was just too far gone by that point.
That report hadn't made Historia feel any less devastated when Mikasa's body and letter was delivered to her estate. It was the second such letter she had received from a dead friend, and one just as heartbreaking as the first.
Soot, dried blood and what looked like tears drops stained the off white paper, smearing the ink and leaving reddish, brown fingerprints throughout the letter. Most of the text was smudged and illegible, an incomprehensible sprawl of sharp, spiky words from a young woman trying to write with her off-hand while slowly dying.
There were bits Historia could still read, however. Bits about how her friends and old comrades had died one by one in a desperate attempt to stop Eren.
Hanji's sacrifice. Levi's last stand. Jean and Connie being overwhelmed. Armin's final gamble. Mikasa's own actions.
So much pain and suffering.
Friends and family tearing each other apart.
All for nothing.
Fresh teardrops had stained the paper once Historia finished reading.
Why didn't they just stay?
There was something else as well. A large paragraph near the end of the letter which had been scratched out. Purposely obscured and censored, blackened with ink.
Historia knew there might be ways of recovering what had been written there. Tracing over it, bathing in with certain chemicals, even just holding it up to the light. With any of those methods, she could have seen what had been so important for a dying Mikasa to fill half a page with.
But Historia had done none of those things. Whatever it was, whatever words had been written there, if Mikasa had wanted her to read it, then she wouldn't have blacked it out like that. What had been written there was not meant for her, and Historia would honour that wish.
The only thing in that block Mikasa hadn't blotted out were two short lines down at the very bottom of the page. A mere handful of words hastily squeezed in the last free space of the yellowish paper.
'We all had a choice. I don't regret mine.'
'Look after him, Historia.'
The letter ended there.
Those were Mikasa Ackerman's final words. A request to look after Eren.
A request Historia felt like she was failing every time she came here to cry her eyes out. In the end, the only way she could protect Eren was to lie to him everyday and keep him locked away from the world.
Eren deserved better.
Mikasa deserved better.
They all deserved better.
Had she had been wearing her crown, Historia would have torn from her head and hurled it into the lake with an anguished scream. Instead, hands clenched around the rose, the thorns biting in her palms until blood spilt forth and trickled out to join the tears on the dirt.
Why was she the last one standing? The last one left sane and whole?
Was this her curse? Her punishment?
Historia's grip tightened, driving the thorns yet deeper into her flesh. The cuts would probably scar, but Historia couldn't bring herself to care. What were a few self-inflicted scars at this point?
It's not like they were the first.
"I-I… I'm sorry." Historia choked out a sob, as the seal that held everything back started to break. "I didn't mean for you… I never thought… I just..."
I didn't mean for you to die.
I never thought you would go after him.
I just wanted us… me... to be free.
Excuse after excuse. It was all she had. All she could give, pulled from her lips like barbed wire, tangled and vicious, tearing at her throat and mouth with every syllable. But it wouldn't undo what had been done. It wouldn't bring back her friends, or Eren's sanity.
Historia could feel what little strength she had left crumbling as she released the blood-soaked rose, allowing it to land on Mikasa's grave with the softest of thuds. And then, at long last, the dam broke entirely, and the tears which had been faint trickles before now streamed down her cheeks like rivers.
With another sob, Historia buried her face in her bloody hands and cried freely, grieving for her friends and loved ones in the only place she could. She cried for the friends and loved ones she had lost, she cried for Eren and her people, and she cried for herself in the faltering light of the setting sun.
And above the grieving Queen in the otherwise silent clearing, the ash continued to fall.
Yeah so the ending is kinda weak and I was stuck on it for a really long time, so sorry if it falls flat. Hopefully, you still get the gist of it though.
I won't comment on how the current canon is going but I've always had concerns about the rumbling and was very concerned about the message it would send unless Yams wrote it just right to avoid justifying a genocide. This was my attempt to write an Eren 'victory' without that message, as while Paradis is safe from the outside world it is by no means happy and secure, after all, in less than a decade Paradis lost a third of its population, lived on the edge of famine for many years, had a military coup, found out about the outside world, then had another military coup, a foreign invasion and had most of its military high command eviscerated.
Paradis is not a stable place, even if it seemed like it in the short term. Then throw in the environmental effects of the rumbling (destroying ALL life outside the walls; people, animals, flora and fauna), and old resentments flaring up, and you have a powder keg waiting to blow.
It didn't want to make everything seem hopeless and maybe Historia can thread the needle of problem that face her, but it wont be easy and certainly wont be a happy time for her.
Let me know your thoughts in the reviews/comment section whether you agree/disagree/or just want to call me cringe. I really don't mind XD