we all (have a) hunger
A/N: I had been waiting to write this for a long time, so I hope I did it justice. This chapter introduces the woman's name, lineage, and background. As always, feedback is appreciated, thank you for reading!
At heart, Zeke Yeager believes he is a hedonist.
"One would think the Beast would be more animal than man."
Alternatively, primal urges and primal encounters.
At heart, Zeke believes this was the Titan his mother spoke of. The Burning Behemoth. The Right Hand of the Founder. The Devil's Chronicler. The Goddess Ymir's maternal line. In the ancient texts, their old religion, Ymir was called the Founder, and the Colossus was called the Matriarch. Back then, Titan shifters had numbered by the thousands, if not millions, and the ability was granted by both Ymir Herself and the Original Colossus. Mother, it was called. The Great Matriarch. Back then, the Original Colossus had nearly the same abilities as the Founder, but once Ymir had fled along with the Colossus and those most loyal to her, all information regarding the Founder and the Original Colossus had been lost.
Until now. Until this woman had arrived. Until Roth had brought to them one who claimed to be the vessel for an Ancient Colossal.
(But Zeke knew better than to tell them, Magath and Calvi and all the Marleyan military officials, that this was no mere Colossus being paraded, but it was the closest kin of the Founder itself.)
He had read Jonathan Roth's compiled report on the woman. She is a noble from the Eldian capital of Mitras. A soldier of the Scouts. The former Captain of the Recon Troupe. Victoria Irina Klaus. Klaus… He's heard the name mentioned by both his mother and his father, even Roth himself, but always in passing, always in conversation about the Founder and its vessel. It is her mother's name, her mother's lineage. He pieced together what memories he has left from his childhood and this information provided to him, and realized that this woman held a key. Whether this key would be for him or someone else, he didn't know yet. No, he still doesn't know.
(In his mind, he questions the Beast, but the Beast does not answer. In his mind, he questions the Beast, but the Beast just howls.)
What he does know is that the woman is suffering. Since she had come to Marley, she had been suffering. Her mouth is always taut, always pressed into a thin line for fear of something escaping. Her face is often sullen and distraught. Her cheeks are sunken and her jaw is tight. She has a chain around her neck and she has never removed it; whether it has strung a pendant, a remnant of her royal past, he does not know. He doesn't like not knowing such things. She is keeping something secret, and he understands why. Still, he does not like the gnawing feeling it gives him. It makes him feel unnerved, makes him feel inadequate.
He had offered her his friendship, knowing how grueling it must be to be, more than just alienated, but treated as fouler and lower than dirt. He knew who she was prior to her arrival, according to Roth's report, but he expected her to be different. He had expected her to live up to the Klaus name, as he had known from the stories of his youth. He had expected someone grander, someone who exuded royal pride and eyes that would remind him of his mother. But the woman's eyes reminded him of someone else instead. And he wants nothing but to forget about this person, about his youth in shades of the sunrise. This will do him no good. This will do the revolution no good. He should just forget about it. He should just forget about her.
(The Beast howls and bellows inside him, laughing that monstrous, gargling laugh that had scared him all those years before.)
The woman had refused any sort of companionship with him, and he knows why. He understands why. He knows about her silent fury and her controlled indignation, why she walks at night and prefers the company of no one. He understands this. He has lived this, with all the hopes and dreams and endless expectations placed upon him. As his much younger self, he had wanted to run from all of it, to flee and like freely as his own person without his mother's lineage, his father's unwilling neglect, and the dream of his people to just… live. But now he knows his responsibility, knows his capability, and he knows this woman does too. She refuses his friendship because of this, refuses to be anywhere near him or alone with him because she knows, because he knows, because they both know the roles they have to play and what they ought to do in order to fulfill it.
(In his mind, the Beast is an animal and the Beast yearns to touch her.)
The woman takes walks, like a dog if it was its own master, and he walks alongside her. He doesn't call it walking with her and he doesn't think he's accompanying her. He just so happens to take walks the time as her, in the same places as her. He does not think them friends or companions, not even allies as she had said, but he must make her think this way. He must make her empathize with him, even if just a little bit is enough to start. She is the holder of the Matriarch, and she has the only Titan that can challenge the Imperial Family's Guardian.
The Warhammer Titan.
(In his mind, the Beast had warned him. In the very few instances it spoke to him, it warned him about the Matriarch, the Behemoth, the Devil.)
Tonight, Zeke waits for the woman to appear as she always had. And she is like a ghost when she does, silent and always in mourning. Before, she would stop at the threshold at the sight of him, she would grimace and greet him hesitantly. She did not like seeing him waiting for her, she still doesn't. But now when she appears she does not frown or grimace, she does not even greet him. When she appears, she walks without acknowledging him.
"War Chief."
But tonight she is different. She greets him before she passes the threshold, but she has no frown or grimace. Her expression is blank, face plain.
"The nights in Macquarie are always pleasant," he smiles by way of mild flirtation.
He knows this will not faze her, not the slightest, but he needs her trust and he needs her Titan. And if there was anything he'd learned from his interactions with noble-bred men and women, it's that flattery will get him nowhere, but flirtation will take him everywhere. Eventually. The woman should not be so immune to such charms and seductions. Matriarch or not, she is still human and all human beings crave a little bit of connection, especially in such troubling and alienating times.
She doesn't reply. Zeke knows she feels more alienated than ever.
"I'm just admiring the stars," he says, "it's quite ironic that they shine so bright in this wasteland."
He hears her hum. He thinks she's agreeing with him.
"I would rather admire them alone, sir."
So she's turning him down again. She's always done this, always refused any kind of company. To him, she is doing this with purpose. She wants no ties to him or anyone in Marley, the only exception being Jonathan's daughter. From what little he's seen in their interactions that are far and few between, the woman is relieved in the young Roth's presence, almost like a poor dog who'd just seen their master after being separated for so long. It makes him suspicious, makes him wonder if there is anything secret between them.
(In his mind, the Beast still thinks the woman is a wolf in human skin. The Titan inside her is a killer, a demon, a devil. It is hiding beneath the veneer of a somber, suffering woman. It will kill them all, trample them and crush them. In his mind, the Beast wants to see it, grasp it, feel its power radiating in waves.)
Tonight, the woman looks as somber as she always had, and Zeke thinks it's a skill of hers to look so dull and so grim at the sight of him. He already knows she doesn't want anything to do with him, but he cannot fully understand why.
"So please…"
Her eyes flicker to the lit cigarette in his hand and she frowns. She doesn't say anything else after that, but walks ahead. He knows her route, how she walks as if she's retracing her steps and recalling odd memories. He'd asked her before about what she sees and what the Ancient shows her, and she told it to him reluctantly. Macquarie wasn't always a wasteland so barren and so empty. She told him about the trees and the old architecture. She told him this is what the Titan shows her, what it allows for her.
(In his mind, Zeke is wondering why she had told him this. But if not her, was it the Ancient? Why?)
In the distance, he hears a coyote howl. He turns to its direction by instinct; it's the Beast responding. He sees her do the same and wonders what she's thinking. There are few animals that dare to appear under the Macquarie sun, but at night these animals emerge and make known their presence through shadow and sound. The coyote continues to howl alone.
(The Beast tells him it's a call of yearning. Lonesomeness is a frightful thing, no matter how sharp one's fangs are.)
The woman turns away and continues walking, ignoring him the rest of the way. It is true that the nights in Macquarie are pleasant, everything is silent and idyllic. Far from the noise of the city, Macquarie is a wasteland where the moon shines brightest and the stars number in the thousands. He understands slightly why she takes walks at night, why she prefers to do this alone, and why she asked for nothing else. The Titan inside her frightens her, as he has observed. It always frightens her, because if it didn't, she would have reduced the base to ash the moment she had set foot here. There is no reason for her to remain so submissive and lowly, there is no reason for her to persist with the false docility, so why?
"Aren't you cold?" He asks when a breeze washes over them.
"No."
The breeze blows stronger, picking up dust. The lit end of his cigarette burns brightly, it's about to run out. He takes out the worn pack from his pocket and the matchbox, and notices that she has turned to him when he takes out a cigarette.
So he offers the stick to her, "Want a smoke?"
She stares down at it. "Why?"
He realizes then that Paradis does not have such comforts. Coffee and tobacco are just among the staples here in Marley that are absent on that island. And although they have varieties of tea plants and salvia species, he can't imagine life without such luxuries.
"It's a… drug," he starts explaining, "it helps with a lot of things."
Surely, she's noticed all the others who do the same. After all, cigarettes are cheaper and more portable than alcohol, and Calvi isn't particularly abashed about brandishing his own personal collection of cigars. For soldiers in the Marleyan army, a portable and easily accessible means of escape are worth every fight. If not high-grade booze or attractive company to look forward to after every victory, cigarettes are the next best thing.
"Restlessness, for example," he continues, "or agitation most of the time. Personally, I just like the taste."
He chuckles to initiate a friendly atmosphere, "It's bitter, but it's refreshing."
But she doesn't respond in his favor, "It smells."
He assumes she means he should stay far from her, stay away from her, that he should stop following her altogether.
"Sorry," he says half-heartedly before taking the final drag.
She watches him do it, and he thinks she's staring intently at him. It's invasive, almost intimate. He's never had someone stare at him like this as he finishes a cigarette. It's like she's rushing for him to finish, like she wants to see what happens, like she wants him to choke on the smoke and ash altogether. The coyote howls again, in the distance, but neither of them turn to it.
(In his mind, the Beast bellows and hollers, calling over the Ancient Colossal.)
He lets the consumed cigarette fall from his mouth and onto the dirt. He watches the final flickers of the fire burn out before turning to her. She was watching it too. He returns the fresh cigarette back in the packet, and puts it and the matchbox back in his pocket. He realizes she finds his habit distasteful. There's no reason for him to smoke around her if he wants to curry her favor and her Titan.
"And it sticks," she continues, "it's unpleasant."
He didn't think she would be so displeased with such a thing, but he spares her the long-winded explanation and gives her the simplest answer he can.
"The smell is a reminder. Most people consider smoking a bad habit. It's essentially poison."
"What does the Beast think of it?"
The question she asked came after a beat. In that time, she hasn't looked away from him. She hasn't done this, he thinks, she hasn't stared at him so steadily as if trying to pry an answer from him. He thinks it's her Titan, the Ancient commanding her to do so. He's never thought about what the Beast thought of all this, never once cared to think it could understand such artificial pleasures.
"I hadn't considered–"
(In his mind, the Beast howls and roars. It is mocking him, laughing at him. It does this, sometimes, when he's about to make a mistake. In these times, he wishes it were someone else. He wishes for it to be Ksaver, or any of those who have come before them. Not the Beast, that metamorphic monster whose face is never the same.)
He decides on his answer, "It doesn't care."
And perhaps it is true that the Beast couldn't care less about him poisoning his body. The Beast rejects it all the same. The Beast won't let him die, because the Beast knows his blood. It is familiar. The Beast knows his blood like it knows his deepest, most banal desires. The Beast knows him too well now, knows him enough to mock his grand ambition and his rose-colored promises.
(The Beast knows this too, that the woman from Paradis reminds him of someone else besides his late mother.)
He thinks she is so otherworldly then, staring at him with the moon behind her. In the shadow, he can see her grim expression, the glint in her eyes, the hint of teeth in her mouth. He thinks she looks more like an animal now, a wolf more than anything, a hunter that's cornered its prey.
"Gods rarely do."
She whispers loud enough for him to hear, and he wonders if it is still her that's speaking.
"In our religion, it is believed that the creator harbors both compassion and envy towards humankind," she continues, "and that Ymir herself had dared to challenge it, stole the power of the gods and declared herself the beginning of a new world. What does your religion think?"
He had never heard her speak this much before.
"About gods?" He asks, "Or about Ymir?"
She lets him speak.
"I'm not a very religious man," is his simple reply, "and I don't particularly believe in any god."
"Even when its blood courses through you?"
"Titans are no gods."
"No, but they are descended from them."
He looks into her eyes and thinks it is not her speaking, for she wouldn't be so frank with him, so open with him. He thinks this is her Titan or perhaps even her mother, or an ancestor. He wonders where she is, how she is hearing herself, if she even is.
"You and I," she continues, "we are closer to the gods than anyone else."
Yes, he definitely thinks that this is not her. This is someone else. This is–
"What are you implying?" He hardens his gaze.
But her eyes do not move away from his. They are shimmering. Glittering. No, these are not her eyes. They are someone else's. As he looks into her eyes, she begins more and more to appear an animal before him.
(The Beast in his body howls, cries. He does not know what it wants.)
"And yet they call us devils, fouler than the most foul, crueler than the most cruel." She bites, "Tell me, Yeager, what do your eyes see when they look at me?"
No, this is definitely not her. She wouldn't challenge him like this, wouldn't goad him into a fight like this–
(The Beast inside him howls, its voice echoing.)
"Who are you?"
She stares at him, expression unchanging.
"I am–"
But then she stops, shouts. Her voice is hoarse. Her voice is desperate. She is flailing. She is shouting, yelling. She speaks in a language he does not know, in a language he has not yet heard. Gibberish. Alien. Strange and ancient. He watches her as she does this, just watches as she suffers and shakes. She is trying to get rid of it. She is trying to be rid of it.
"Mother!"
In a brief moment, he recognizes the word amongst all others that she has said. In a brief moment, her eyes catch his. In a brief moment, he recognizes the fear, he recognizes the grief. He recognizes the silent plea, the same kind he had when he–
(In his mind, the Beast tells him to touch her.)
She growls, yelps. Tears prick the corners of her eyes. This is a scene he knows well. She is fighting, battling. She is in a nightmare.
(In his mind, the Beast tells him to touch her.)
He reaches out—
"No!"
She yells at him with the voice of multitudes.
(In his mind, the Beast tells him to touch her.)
"I know your kind," the voices echo from her, "whose blood it is you carry."
She glares at him with ferocious eyes. And he wonders whose it is, if it were her mother's or someone else's, someone who knows of him, of his own mother, and the will that they both carry. He wonders if the woman herself is aware of this, if the woman is a willing participant, or if she is still trapped in her own mind, fighting a battle she is already losing. He wonders how many times this has happened in the past, and why it has only happened in Marley now. Was this all part of a plan?
"Then tell me," he goads the one that uses her voice, "tell me whose blood it is I carry."
She narrows her eyes and grits her teeth, like a dog ready to fight, a wolf ready to bite. He merely looks at her, neither afraid of what she may or hesitant about subduing her. She may hold the key, but if he cannot lose these unwilling ghosts in her head the same way he lost his, she will be nothing more than a weapon.
"Tell me," he uses what height he has to taunt her, "whose will it is I carry."
She tilts her head to taunt him right back. She is a tall woman. She is a soldier. Her body carries the weight of experience. She eyes him as she walks around him, a wolf surveying its prey. He knows she is looking for weapons, anything sharp to surprise him. They have not yet allowed her to keep any arms for herself, they cannot risk her transforming, they cannot risk what is about to happen right now.
(In his mind, the Beast tells him to touch her.)
She stops at his side, facing the opposite direction.
"The Beast," she tells him, her voice a mere whisper, "that metamorphic thing, a curious child, one of those beloved by the Goddess."
He has not heard of this before.
"Yeager," she continues, "first-born of the doctor, Grisha, and his wife… Dina, the humbled queen."
He hears her bite.
"Dina Fritz, descended from Ymir's eldest, the mighty commander of her Titan armies, Maria, the wise and just."
The information is nothing new to him, but for it to come from her—
"Traitor."
She attacks, aims directly behind his knees. It's a swift motion of her leg and a hard force that jolts him to the ground. It's a fight, bare and brutal, and he rolls before she can lunge after him. He scrambles to a stand, choosing to put as much distance between them rather than fight her head-on. Although he can risk injury, he cannot risk it for her, not when she is as volatile and unpredictable as she is now.
("But look," the Beast tells him giddily, "look at what she's gotten!")
In the few instances of the Beast mimicking human speech, he has always followed its instructions, but he immediately regrets his earlier action when he sees that she's gotten hold of the small knife he has kept in one of the side pockets. She has it raised between them; she is telling him to stay back. She is daring him to move.
(In a fight, the blade will always best the beast.)
She does not make any move, and neither does he.
The blade glints in the light.
He does not make any move, and neither does she.
The blade glints in the light.
He waits.
Her grip does not falter.
He knows she has a choice.
(In his mind, the Beast tells him she does not.)
What good would come from it?
"Why?" She croaks, seemingly back in her own body. She sounds confused and desperate, a stranger in her own skin, "Why can't you leave me alone?"
He wonders who she is speaking to.
"Why can't you just let me die?"
He wonders if she has always felt this way. He understands the burden of all this, understands the weight, the destiny. He has read her file and Jonathan's report enough times to understand what could be running in her mind. She never wanted this power, and she is constantly haunted by it. She takes walks to settle back into herself, to come back to herself. She is scared. She is alone.
He approaches her, and she does not back away.
The knife hangs between them, as do all the ghosts.
"Mother, please."
She does not yet see him.
"Please let this end."
He offers her his hand again. That is when she looks at him, in shock, in awe, in pain, in fury. Her expressions change, but her eyes tell him everything. He doesn't forget the knife she has between them.
(In his mind, the Beast tells him to touch her.)
"Leave," she hisses between her teeth.
(In his mind, the Beast challenges him to touch her.)
The knife between them sways. She looks at him like she wants to beg him, to cut through his neck and kill him, to ask him, to, to— He realizes that she's still fighting because this is something he knows all too well, has witnessed others before her suffer in both the sleeping and waking hours, children, and he knows to do the one thing to appease it, them all.
(In his mind, the Beast laughs and howls.)
He reaches forward, past the knife, and encloses his hand over hers.
(In his mind, the Beast yells in pain.)
It's a split second of shock and anger before she falters. The knife falls from her hand, and she snaps to look at him.
(In his mind, the Beast begs forgiveness for the trespass. In his mind, he hears several hundred voices yelling at him.)
Her expression tells him she feels betrayed, if not her, then whoever has won the constant battle in her head.
(In his mind, the Ancient's will is overwhelming. The Beast tells him to let go.)
Perhaps this mother he has only heard about. Perhaps someone older. Perhaps someone more powerful.
(In his mind, the Beast tells him that thought the Ancient denies him, it recognizes his blood. Though he cannot see what it is in her mind, who it is she is facing, the Ancient recognizes his blood. And perhaps this is enough for now, the simple recognition.)
"You—"
She begins speaking in that language again, and he waits for her to finish. And when she does, she pulls her hand away immediately and looks at him directly in the eyes. She doesn't say anything, doesn't do anything, but her eyes tell him everything. Defiance. Defilement. Disrespect. He thinks she is looking at her with her mother's eyes, with the Titan's eyes, he still has much to do to convince her. She turns away and lowers her head.
(In his mind, the Beast breathes heavily. He can still hear the multitude of voices.)
"If you are given the chance to kill me, do it."
It is the woman's own voice now. It is the voice he knows at night.
"The Ancient cares not for your wish, War Chief, it would rather see Marley burn than to see a traitor on the throne."
He knows the warning in her voice, knows the fear. It is indeed her.
"Then let it burn."
He thinks of lighting a cigarette at the thought.
"You would—" she whips around to look at him, "And for what?"
The word is bitter when she spits it out, "Freedom?"
"Justice."
She looks at him disbelievingly, "At the expense of all else? Even the innocents?"
He could laugh at her. What did she think she was brought here for?
"Such is the code of war. It will lie in the Emperor's hands, the fate of his people, the fate of Marley."
He didn't think he should be sharing this with her so soon, but he has no choice, he has nothing left to show her. If he had any other thing to leverage his faction, it would have been the Founder itself. It would have been better if it was the Founder, but instead she was the one brought in, and he has learned to play the cards he's dealt.
"You have little choice, anyway," he shrugs, "fight for Marley or fight for Eldia."
He knows internally she is seething, reeling in anger and betrayal, but what did she think would happen? For what reason would she be here in enemy territory?
"You would waste peace on such a pursuit."
"This can hardly be called peace," he retorts, "and you've said it yourself, this stalemate is not peace. Peace can only be achieved once there are no longer any enemies left."
He chooses his words on purpose, "You consider us enemies, but aren't you just the same as me?"
She doesn't answer him, rather, she refuses to.
"To Marley, we are one and the same."
He knows she understands him now, because it is she who looks at him with such a pronounced expression of shock and betrayal. He can tell she has no liking for war, for battle. It is she who looks at him now. It is she who opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out.
"A pleasant evening to you," he says for a goodbye.
He decides leaving her is best. Let her be. Let her think. Let her decide whose enemy she is. If his assumptions about her are correct, then she will want to avoid conflict at all costs. But she won't tell Magath or Calvi, she is not that reckless. She won't risk the idea that she is planting seeds of doubt within Marley's ranks. She requires their trust, she requires his approval. But—
(The Beast tells him the woman wants to die, more than anything, the woman wants to be left in peace. And if reporting to Calvi and Magath would allow her death, then she will take it.)
But she is not reckless. She is not so selfish. She has another goal, an ulterior motive. If she wanted to die, she had every opportunity to do so. If she wanted to die, then surely she would have forced her hand. If she wanted to die, then she wouldn't have gone to Marley. If she wanted to die, she wouldn't have done this. She would have taken his knife to her throat and force it open.
(The Beast agrees with him, apologizes for its assumptions. But the Beast also tells him that it would be a pity had she killed herself before him. The Beast wouldn't want to battle the Ancient over dominion over his body, the Beast already likes him too much.)
Zeke laughs by himself, the howls of coyotes in the distance drowned out the boisterous sound. If she is so ready to die, he decides, he will give her a reason to live. He will force it by any other means, as long she is alive, so will the Ancient, so will the only means of defeating the mighty Warhammer.
But the next day, he is immediately summoned into Calvi's office.
"Yeager," the general greets him with a smile, "there is a task only you must do."
He knows Calvi is plotting something, the man wouldn't smile at him otherwise.
"The council wants to see the Ancient," he explains, handing him a file.
"The woman is compliant, but there is a stubbornness in her that I'm sure you have noticed." Calvi exhales slowly, "She is agreeable in all but the Titan."
The general continues to explain that there is no proof of her holding the Ancient, of the Titan that has granted her invulnerability as not being the Female or their own Colossal.
"Amicable she may be, she is still the enemy, no matter what you think of her."
He knows that Calvi is critical of him accompanying the woman at night, but the general isn't suspicious of him yet. If anything, Calvi still believes he is as wary of the woman as anyone else. She cannot be trusted, she is still the enemy. And defamed War Chief he may be, he is still leagues more trustworthy than any obedient enemy.
"I do not think anything of her," he replies calmly, "as I was taught, it is the quiet wolf that is more terrifying than the roaring lion."
The general smiles at his reply.
"Then you will be so honored with this task," Calvi pauses deliberately, looking to gauge his reaction, "you will force the Titan upon her."
Zeke's reaction is trained, he gives no outward expression, only the subtle acknowledgement of what he must do.
"And if she chooses to end us?"
"Should such a surprising turn of events occur," Calvi sounds amused, "the Royal Guard has been called to attend."
He knows the Warhammer's attendance is possible.
"It's such a grand event, don't you think?" The general's tone is forcibly amused, "Everyone in attendance, and should she choose to destroy us all, then Marley is done for."
Calvi stares at him.
"You will tell her nothing of this, Yeager," he warns, "tomorrow everything will be as it was."
(Inside him, the Beast laughs.)
"She should be informed of what's at stake, at least," he argues, "if she is shot so suddenly, there is no telling what would happen."
"She already is," Calvi nods, "Magath should be briefing her already. Either she transforms of her own will or we will force it out of her."
He knows that Calvi means to do any means necessary. Internally, Zeke is seething. Calvi is hiding something from him, he does not trust him. The war council has its own motives, motives that even Jonathan is not privy to. Are they on to them? Do they already suspect him? He cannot say for sure. And what of the woman's actions the previous night? Had all that happened solely because she knew? Because she didn't want to do it? Because she would rather die– Everyone is hiding something from him, and he has to know–
"She knows," the general affirms, "has known for days what rests on her shoulders. So rest easy today, Yeager, tomorrow is a momentous day."
Calvi's smugness feels unnerving, like he's suddenly been caught. Like he's suddenly turned again into the Boy Wonder.
"Understood, general." He salutes before leaving.
(In his mind, the Beast is laughing at him.)
Outside, he spots the woman speaking with Magath. Her eyes flicker briefly to him before answering the commander with a firm salute.
(Inside him, the Beast is howling. Whether in fear or admiration, he does not know.)
Yet by the eyes, those phosphorescent eyes, you know him in all his shapes; the eyes alone unchanged by metamorphosis.
