we all (have a) hunger
A/N: This has been sitting in the drafts for weeks now, and I've only gotten around to finishing it today.
I'm changing a lot of things in canon lore. And for this one, why settle for a hundred years of isolation when you can have more? I find it highly unlikely that it only took that short amount of time for the Eldians to settle, build cities, and establish livelihoods and culture in Paradis.
(Originally posted on AO3, where my more... "adult" works are posted. But I don't think this violates the site's guidelines, so I'm posting it here too.)
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, the woman believes that she will die on a battlefield, fighting a war she should have no part in. In truth, she was prepared to fight and die in battle; because she always had been. Ever since the fight to reclaim Wall Maria, or even before that, since she has been conscripted into the Survey Corps. But not when she joined the Training Corps. She did not think about death then, all she thought about was freedom and knowledge.
(And is this the knowledge she has sought? This war beyond their shores, the Ancient Colossal thrumming deep within her, the inevitable fate her mother had shackled her to. Is this the ultimate consequence of her running away? Is this the true and noble duty she was destined for?)
She looks at the old scars on her hands, scars from when she was just starting as a Scout, and the lines across her palms. An old friend had once told her that the lines read a long and fruitful life; she would have become a good mother to two children, and she would have had a warm and comfortable home. Well, she could have. If it weren't for everything that had happened.
(Sometimes, she presses the ring to her chest to remind herself of its presence. It is a solid band, untarnished and simple, and symbolic of the life she could have had. Deep within her mind, the Ancient Colossal laughs and mocks her. Why would a child of such a noble bloodline marry a common man?)
She hangs the laundry out to dry in the midday sun. This is the last of her chores, and the last of her days as a maidservant in the Liberio Barracks. She's had no complaints about her work or their treatment of her. She is used to working, cleaning and organizing. It reminds her of her beginning days as a Scout, how they were made to clean the barracks and prepare the training grounds. They weren't soldiers if they didn't know how to clean up after themselves, after all. But here in foreign land, with the threat of death looming overhead, she busies herself with these chores more than anything else. She doesn't want to think about the Titan, about the war, about Marley and its people. She is a long stranger here, and she only dreams of being given the chance to talk to Roth, to remind herself that there is at least one ally here.
She does not consider the Eldians here as allies, at least not of Her Majesty Historia Reiss, and she has not yet heard of the so-called "Eldian Restorationists" as Roth had put it. But even if there were secret allies in Marley, in Liberio even, she doesn't blame them for not contacting her yet. She is in a delicate situation, and it would take time before... But how long? She can't wait; the war can't wait.
Tomorrow, she will start her training in Macquarie, and the travel there is roughly ten hours by horse. She hasn't heard much about the place or where exactly it is located, only that it is one of the many military bases in Marley with a dedicated training ground for Titan Shifters. She wonders if Roth knows about this. Sure, the Red Spider is orchestrating this entire ordeal, but she does not know if Roth will be able to reach her in Macquarie.
("Don't worry," Roth had said before, "No harm will come to you, I guarantee it.")
And no harm did come to her. Whether it was by Roth's hand or by the very presence of the Ancient, nothing unsavory had happened. If she continues to play her part as a piece in this game, then all will be well. The war will end before it can even begin, and Eldians will live free under the rule of their Queen.
(The Ancient disagrees with this, claiming that war is the natural outcome and this conflict between Eldia and Marley; they don't even recognize the Reiss line here.)
She's noticed that the Ancient has become a lot more chatty lately, even more than before. It shows Liberio as it was in the past before the war; its golden shoreline and the crystalline waters. It converses with people in a language she does not know; all she hears is noise, too clear to ignore. The sights and sounds are dreamlike and hazy. It's making things confusing, even during the day, even as she tries to refamiliarize herself with the base's sterile walls and quiet grounds.
(This is real. This is real. The Ancient cannot fool me, it cannot fool me, it cannot–)
"Are you alright?"
As it turns out, all she needed was another person's voice to dispel the Ancient's hold on her senses. But if she had a choice, she would rather have anyone else besides the War Chief. After all, he'd been the reason why she was questioned all those weeks ago.
"Yes." She straightened herself after realizing she'd been hunched over and holding onto the wall for support. "Good day to you, War Chief."
The soldiers behind her salute him, and she's glad he doesn't make them leave. She doesn't want to be alone with him. He's smoking again, all casual and relaxed, and she's slightly envious, wishing she could be like him.
(How could a mass murderer be so carefree, anyway?)
The Ancient's laugh rings in her head. It mocks how she thought she could push out the knowledge of him as the Beast Titan, the mass murderer who orchestrated the failure of the Shiganshina Operation, the very person whose head she wants nothing more than to lob off. Yes, she only appears to know him as nothing beyond his face and title, as Roth's plan goes, but the Ancient is aware that her blood is boiling beneath her skin. She is raging, she is furious; the Ancient knows this, fuels it even.
(He killed him! The Beast killed him! He must die, he must be devoured! Eat him!)
And thankfully, in the very few and very brief encounters she has had with him, she has not let the Ancient's will slip. Of course. She is her mother's daughter, part of the noble and ancient bloodline, Ymir Fritz's own maternal bloodline. She will never let it slip, and she will always have control over this Titan.
(And should it ever go rampaging, it will be of her own will, her own anger, her own desire.)
"I hear you'll be traveling to Macquarie later in the day."
Of course he has. A tiny part of her appreciates the attempt at conversation, but the majority of her wishes he'd just leave her be.
("One can only hide their true intentions for so long, and that goes for the both of you, doesn't it?")
Sometimes, despite its annoyances, she agrees with the Ancient. No good would come with being amicable with the enemy.
("Absolutely nothing at all.")
But the Ancient is still a Titan, and Titans hunger for destruction all the same.
(Destroy them! Crush them beneath your feet, reduce them to dust, burn them to ash!)
Sometimes, she doesn't know whose thoughts these are. Hers or the Ancient's? The Titan's will is strong, but is hers stronger? Had her mother suffered the same? Had her ancestors? Had they no choice but to suffer through it?
"Are you..."
The sun is high in the sky, and she is not sure if the smell of the sea comes from Liberio's shores or the Ancient's hallucinations. She presses her hand into the wall to ground herself; this is the reality, not the hazy, salty-smelling dreamscape. Her will is stronger than the Titan's, it has to be, and she will not give in to its impulses and its desires.
"...sure you're alright?"
The sound of his voice further grounds her, but she finds no comfort in it. She doesn't like how he is friendly with her, more than anyone else she has met. She doesn't like how comfortable he is with her, how casually he is conversing with her. She thinks there must be a hidden agenda. Does he know who she is? The Ancient wants to argue yes, because she was in the battle in Shiganshina. And though she was forced to flee, she was there and she was visible. So does he plan to incriminate her, perhaps even catch her off-guard and end her like how he–
(The Ancient Titan continues to chatter away, fueling her anger and setting fire to her rage. It wants her to rampage, to allow it that simple act. She has tested its power only once, summoning its skeletal torso to catch a glimpse of how massive it is. The Titan wants to destroy. It yells out with the voice of multitudes, bellowing from deep within her.)
She raises her head and looks straight into the sun, suddenly reminded of a story from long ago–was it from her childhood or someone else's?–of a boy and his father flying towards the sun with wings made of wax and paper...
("Foolish child!")
The sun is bright and burning, and the Ancient is silenced. She collapsed against the wall, eyes rolled to the back of her head, and body limp and heavy.
(How did that story end, anyway?)
In the dark of her mind, she stands on a sandy beach. The moon is high in the sky, its face full and round, and utterly pale. It is quiet here, there is no sound besides the lapping of the shore and the whisper of the wind. And there is no one else here besides her, stark naked in the dim light. It is cold, but warm where her feet touch the water. She looks and she wanders for anything else, but sees nothing past the horizon.
(Is this really her mind? So devoid of all life and all color, all sound and all sensation?)
Here, in this void space, perhaps she is the creator. She steps back onto the dry sand, black and glittering in the moonlight. She digs her feet in, tries to take root like a tree, then she swings her arms backwards and upwards. She thrust her hands high into the air, and dark, stony tendrils erupt from the ground to reach towards the sky. They curl and unfurl, reaching as high as perhaps a mountain before crashing into the ground. The sound echoes and the earth rumbles. Finally.
(Here, she is God.)
But the rumbling sound grows louder, sounding almost like a groan, almost human. She turns to the water, where the sound is loudest, and sees it emerging from the blackness. It is a Titan, larger than anything she's ever seen, glowing a pale red in the moonlight. It rises face-first, its sinewy, skinless arms lagging behind it. Its mouth is open agape and its eye sockets are wide and hollow. A Titan with no eyes? Could this perhaps be the Ancient? She stands in awe of its presence.
Then it turns to her, all body and muscle without a sound. Its face is more terrifying seen in full. It reaches out its arms towards the beach, its fingers dig into the sand. She comes face-to-face with it, and thinks she could fit in one of its eye sockets. The Titan pants and howls, and the sheer force of it makes her stumble back.
"Who are you?" It speaks with the voice of multitudes. It speaks to her in her head. It overwhelms her with that power alone. "You are not her."
She doesn't know what it's talking about or who this "her" is.
"Weak." It says. "You are weak!"
Its hands claw at the sand to throw it over her, as if to bury her it in. So she runs. She flees as fast as her legs can carry her, half-aware that she's summoning these tendrils that pierce and attack the Titan coming after her. Why? How? Is there an inherent power within her, to summon such things? Or were these things just a manifestation of her will to control the Ancient, of humanity's will to control a god?
(And how is she so aware of this? How is she so lucid in this dream-state?)
She looks back and sees the pillars of jagged rock, all but completely crushed by the Titan. They could not be manifestations of the will. If they were, then it only meant that... that she had none, wouldn't it? That her will is still too weak and too fragile–
(Mother would have never allowed such a thing!)
Yes. Her mother, in all her practiced poise and elegance, would never allow herself to be overtaken by this entity. And though she had not seen her mother's transformation into the Ancient, a woman so stern and so strict would only have a will befitting it.
"You will inherit this knowledge, my daughter!"
It is her mother's voice, so uncharacteristically desperate and pleading, from the time she was forced to inherit the Ancient deep underground, in the midst of the coup against the false government.
"Then you will see, you will learn!"
She had never thought her mother could act or sound that way.
"And you will finally understand."
So shaken. So rumpled. So distraught.
"This is the burden we must bear, for the greater good of our people."
Her mother's voice is louder than all the others erupting from the Titan's unmoving mouth. She stops running when the Titan's hand appears above her. In this dream, she is crushed beneath the Titan's palm, and she welcomes the crushing weight.
(If only she had died with them, with him.)
Still, she is alive and she wakes. She is in a moving vessel; she feels the push and pull of the earth beneath her. She feels the cool of the restraints around her hands and the weight of a heavy blanket above her. She doesn't open her eyes out of fear. Where was she? Were they going to execute her?
But then she is jolted and forced awake by the sudden movement. She is on the floor of the vessel and is surrounded by crates and barrels. She is alone in a transport vessel of some kind, much larger and much faster than horse-drawn carriages. And if that is so, then where is she being taken? Was she already on the way to Macquarie? How long had she been asleep?
An anxious feeling wells within her as she rises to stand. She is unsteady on her feet, thinking that she's been unconscious for quite a while, probably longer than she should have. She uses crates and barrels for support as she makes her way across the vessel. She sees that it's made of hardwood, all floors, walls, and ceiling. There are doors on either end, but no windows. She hears the sound of the vessel running across the earth. Surely no horse or animal could go this fast or sound this loud.
A door slides open, and she kneels out of habit, hands raised above her.
"Finally awake."
Theo Magath stands in the doorway, and for some reason she finds comfort in the idea that she is not alone here. His face is tired, but he does not look disappointed or suspicious. She thinks if she looks further, he will seem concerned, but she does no such thing.
"I apologize, Commander."
Another habit she has formed during her stay here is apologizing for everything, which she thinks her proud mother would gravely disapprove of.
"I was..." She doesn't know how to explain it, or if she should.
"Fatigue is no excuse." He says as he steps inside the vessel, "And neither is shock."
Of course they aren't, she wants to agree, but she isn't even sure about what exactly happened and how.
"It happens to Shifters, more often with those who've newly-inherited the Titans." He explains. "The previous holders of the Titan communicate through that experience."
And she finds comfort in the thought that at least she is not an isolated case, but she wonders about that experience. Was it truly the Ancient Colossal attempting to communicate with her? Hasn't it already been doing so? Hasn't she already started seeing the memories of her ancestors?
"You weren't aware?"
The question is heavy, she thinks, because the only answer she can give him is, "My mother forced the Titan upon me, saying I would learn and understand once I have inherited it."
He sighs. "And she hasn't told you anything else, not even in the... space?"
She supposes that's the term they use for the... She doesn't know if it could be considered a dream, or another of the Ancient's hallucinations.
"No, but there was a Titan."
He nods, urging her on. "The Colossal."
"It was searching for someone, a woman." She pauses, "And it rejected me, there in the... dream."
She isn't sure if "reject" was the right word for it. Was it possible for a Titan to reject its holder? Titans were sentient beings with their own thoughts and desires; the Ancient's being death and destruction. If the holder's own desires weren't aligned with it, then what? Would the Titan suddenly refuse to lend its ability? If this was the case for her and the Ancient, then would she be of use? She looks at Magath, wondering if he had an answer.
He hums. She waits, looks at his feet.
"This would be difficult, then." He mutters, "And Roth had promised you were in control of that Titan."
("Well, Roth is young and Roth is overconfident in even their own ability.")
"I apologize if I was... exaggerated." She chooses her words carefully, "I have not completed a transformation, but I can assure you that this is the last time."
("You feel faint and you lose consciousness. You have no control over your own body." The Ancient mocks her.)
But he doesn't accept her apology or her empty promise. "Don't speak of things you don't know, soldier." He frowns, "It happened once and it will happen again. You will need to train it."
("When to faint and when not to? Ha! You're hilarious, Commander!")
"Now, come." He says, "We're nearing Macquarie, and you've gone eighteen hours without food or water."
She's been gone for that long?
"Ideally, that would be admirable, but not in your weakened state."
He turns his back to her and begins walking. She follows after him, holding on for support whatever is near her along the way. She wonders why he is more cordial than usual, if Roth had anything to do with it, or if this was only a prelude to something worse.
She steps out of the previous room and into a new one. It looks like a kitchen, with pot and pans on counters and foodstuffs placed in various containers and boxes. Near the ceiling there are windows, narrow and high up. There's light coming through them, orange and hazy. It's sunrise, she thinks and wonders how it would look from here.
The next vessel surprises her the most. There are dining areas and small booths on either side. And windows! She almost gasps at the sight of the outside, at the rapidly-moving surroundings. The trees are blurred against the field and the sky; everything is moving too fast.
"I'm sure you've already surmised that this is a transport vehicle." Magath says, having noticed her surprised expression, "It's a train."
(There's nothing like this in Paradis.)
He then explains briefly what it's used for and what she has seen, and she wonders how the more than three hundred years of the Eldians' isolation in Paradis could have been if the knowledge the Ruler of the Walls and the Archivist knew had been passed on. Would the people not have suffered as they had? Would their lives be better? Would there be less disparity between the rich and the poor?
She walks and wonders, not minding the wary glances of the soldiers; and she's only noticed now that the guards usually assigned to her are absent. Do they trust her enough to remove them? Or is this only temporary, will she have guards once she reaches Macquarie? And what about these restraints, will she have to wear them until...
"Yeager."
Magath stops before a booth. And there sat the man, hands full with a cup of dark liquid.
"A fine morning to you, Commander Magath." He greets, smiling. "Have you eaten?"
(No, he is not a welcome sight.)
"Yes."
Magath steps aside and looks at her. She meets his serious gaze and watches as his eyes trace a path towards the booth. Is she supposed to sit? Greet the War Chief, even?
But he huffs when she doesn't do anything, "Sit down, soldier."
So she does, sliding to the far end of the booth, nearer to the wall and farther from the man. His presence unnerves her; she does not want conversation from him. On the table before her, there's already a plate of food. There is meat, peas, a sort of porridge, and some bread. It looks a full meal, a delicious meal, but she supposes it's gone cold now. Is it even hers in the first place?
"Consider it your final meal." Magath says.
She looks at the cutlery on the table, and the shine reminds her of the restraints on her hands; she cannot use them.
She raises her wrists, "Thank you, but I..."
And Magath is quick, if not moved past his reluctancy, to remove the restraints with a series of clicks and turns. He removes them with ease and places them on the table, sitting beside her. She is trapped, and in more ways than one.
There is a mug as well, filled with what she thinks is the same liquid the War Chief is drinking. She reaches for it, finding it surprisingly warm. And slowly, she uses both her hands to take it, finding comfort. It reminds her of home, of the tea she drinks in the mornings and afternoons, of the tea she would bring to...
(No. No good would come of her remembering those.)
She smells the drink, and it's aromatic, extremely so. The scent is strong, but not necessarily acrid. It's more fragrant than tea, and she thinks the smell is almost... masculine. It smells burnt. It smells sour. It smells like the earth. Like wood. She doesn't know what this is. She doesn't know what it will taste like. Is it poisoned?
She dares not ask, but she doesn't put it to her mouth either.
"Coffee." The War Chief supplies, noticing her reluctance. "It's... a morning drink and best taken fresh from the pot."
She scowls internally. Are her thoughts so plain now?
"Try it." He continues. "It's not poisoned."
She knows he is smiling and Magath is not. But she doesn't give him what satisfaction might be earned from her doing so. Instead, she places the mug back on the table and picks up the cutlery. It's a knife and a fork, and the Ancient is more than happy to voice its own thoughts.
(End him, end him! Slash open his throat and be done with it!)
She feels the weight of Magath's stare, and considers picking up the spoon instead.
"Commander." She hears the War Chief's seemingly jovial tone. "How about another cup of coffee?"
She hears Magath exhale. "One is enough, Yeager."
"A whiskey, then?"
His voice is grating, sure, but she has a small appreciation for how it moves Magath's eyes away from her.
"So early in the morning..." Magath mutters, but doesn't make a sound of disapproval.
The War Chief laughs, and she dislikes the sound of it even more. He and Magath begin to converse, and she drowns them out. She fills her mind and her mouth with food, already cold and stale. She does not wolf them down like she expected when she took the first bite. Perhaps it is her mind being wary of the food being poisoned. The meal itself reminds her of a typical breakfast back in her childhood home in Mitras, but it is not comforting. She looks out the window from time to time, still in awe of how such a vehicle could exist and if there were any more technologies she had yet to witness.
She is reminded that, here in Marley, she is a stranger. And she will always be one.
She finishes every last crumb on her plate and goes to drink this coffee, already lukewarm. It is bitter and sour, and she dislikes the taste but doesn't spit it out. And that is when Magath calls her by name.
"Macquarie is just past these hills." He says, "As you already know, I am directly responsible for your training."
"Yes, sir." She replies automatically.
"And Yeager will be supervising it."
Her breath catches in her throat, and she does not say anything. She wonders if Roth had any say in this, or if it was not part of Roth's plan. Everything had been going so well, so why had this happened? Had she suddenly become so important that the Marleyan military decided to have its own War Chief supervise her? Or was this Magath's own doing, or Calvi's, or even the murdering Beast himself? The thought sickens her, she feels a growing pit in her stomach.
"I look forward to working with you," the War Chief nods to her, grinning slightly.
"As do I." She mimics his tone and his grin, quick to drink afterwards, thinking to wash away such words with the bitter, bitter liquid.
(She wants to spit at him, the Ancient wants her to spit at him, but she decides to reserve such pleasures for her mind.)
Inside her, the Ancient is screaming curses.
That long-drawn, wavering howl has, for all its fearful resonance, some inherent sadness in it, as if the beasts would love to be less beastly if only they knew how and never cease to mourn their own condition.
A/N: Oh, that was a doozy. And yes, let me just add some notes here.
I didn't plan for this to be long-haul, I actually wanted the tension (and the sex?) to come in earlier (pun intended), but I also wanted this to be part of the universe I'm creating. I'm not too interested in the sticky stuff, I'm more interested in what leads to it. And yes, this may be considered an "enemies to lovers" kind of thing when I really get to meat of it, but I'm not too certain of the word "lovers" in the context of this world. I guess we'll see it when we see it!
It was difficult for me to explain what trains and coffee are to the woman, given that neither exist in Paradis. I hope I wrote it well enough! There's a lot more for her to experience in this country, so I'm gearing up for it.
The italicized lines at the end of every chapter are from Anne Carson's work, "The Company of Wolves" from the compilation, The Blood Chamber and Other Stories. I highly recommend this book to anyone who's interested in reading "darker" fairy tales.
I'm really having fun with this, though I am a bit reluctant on how the lore-bending and the slow build would make people feel, so any comment would be very much welcome.