we all (have a) hunger
A/N: Season 4 Part 2 is... Well, I'm not a real big fan of the events of Season 3 onwards, and this my personal AU to make sense of the world. In my personal life, well work has been hell. Apologies for all the delays.
This chapter mentions violence (both to humans and animals). Nothing too squeamish, but please be mindful. Thanks for reading.
Additional note: My personal laptop suddenly died on me while writing this, so I'm pretty bummed. However, writing this on the laptop the office loaned me feels almost rebellious and #antiwork, lol. Enjoy.
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 Yeager believes war is justified. Every battle and every sacrifice, by his own hand or someone else's, is justified. Each man and woman, even children, who are made soldiers and conscripts, bearing the name of Marley on their chests, is justified. The band around his arm, the tags around his neck, and the dirt beneath his fingernails, are all justified. And especially the blood on his hands, embedded in his memory, haunting both his waking and sleeping hours, is justified.
(They still call him Boy Wonder as if he's never aged a day, as if he isn't any different from the runt he was before. And the boy in him believes that war is only justified if it is won.)
So he fights, he battles, he rages, and he transforms. In the field, he becomes larger than life and greater than any catapult. But the power of the Beast Titan is not in its size, eyes, claws, or teeth, but in its ability to adapt and become.
(In older texts, it is adapt and conquer, but there are so few of them left that the "conquer" part is considered an old wives' tale, a foolish assumption that an animal could ever hope to overpower a man.)
And Zeke is adaptable. Part of why he became known as the "miracle" of the Eldian unit is because he is adaptable, he is adapted. He never really wanted to become a soldier, as the story goes, but he wanted to become a doctor like his father. It's a sob story most of his superiors are familiar with and a story he uses to his advantage.
"Oh, how tragic!"
"Such a noble act for an Eldian."
"A doctor? Wow!"
He'd get praise and tears for the story, and he'd get the love and affection only most his age and kind would dream of, instead of the unjustified hate and loathing.
(At heart, Zeke believes everything besides hatred is justified.)
So when the newest addition to the military's disgraced Warrior Unit is made to run, jump, crawl, skip, and climb, it is only reasonable–expected even–that she does it over and over again. Like a child trying to learn, or a toddler lost in the repetition of its own actions, she does it over and over. It's a little close to midday now, and she's been running this drill since dawn. On one side of the field, Magath is shouting, screaming at her to go faster, to use her legs and not her feet, to prove to them all that she was a soldier–a prized one–back in the island of devils.
"You're slacking off!"
A gun is fired behind her; a warning shot.
"Next will be the shoulder."
She'd been shot there once before; the bullet whizzing past her, barely cutting it close to the skin. But the only response she gave was a stiff nod, a sharp intake of breath, and a shaky reply.
"I apologize, sir."
Her posture was fixed, and her body was solid. She didn't shake, shiver, or even squirm at the feeling. It's like she had experienced this before, like she'd been shot in the shoulder too many times that the warning would be for naught; it was only the shoulder anyway, and flesh and bone are nothing compared to the fearsome regenerative ability of the Titans.
(Deep inside, Zeke believes that it's not her own individual experience, but the Ancient's collective memory. It was centuries' worth of knowledge, after all, knowledge that he–of all people including her–would know what to do with.)
So Zeke knows there is reason behind this amateur performance. She's just out of training, that's all. Scrubbing floors and cleaning dishes are by no means equivalent to crawling through mud and handling guns. Which reminds him...
Two rounds are fired. This time, from the drill range itself.
"Good."
He follows Magath's voice and sees her with a pistol in hand, aimed at the wooden target behind him. He looks at the target, both holes through the chest, the right lung and the stomach. She doesn't have pinpoint accuracy, but given her time in Macquarie being the first experience she has with a firearm like this, it's good enough.
He looks away from the target and towards her, "Good work."
(If he thinks any deeper, he might say she was aiming for him the entire time.)
She breathes quietly, trying to minimize her heaving to short pants, but he can tell she is tired. He can tell she is frustrated and wants to lash out. It might have taken her every fiber of her body not to deliberately disobey orders and shoot–
"Thank you, War Chief Yeager."
She bows her head lightly, dropping the empty gun to the ground. Right, because the only guns she is given are either faulty, loaded with blanks, or only have two bullets. He doesn't know the logic behind having two actual bullets in the guns, besides the idea that she would be shot down before the second one is fired–
"Again, soldier."
Magath sounds more bored than tired; watching her do the same thing over and over again, all with the same safe result, proves to be little entertainment in the deserts of Macquarie. She is obedient and shows little resistance, she always has even since she'd set foot in Marley. So if this exercise was to prove that she had no ill intentions, then she'd already proven it long ago.
But again, the enemy is still the enemy, no matter how humble or how comely they seem.
(She does, in some way, with her poised nature and perpetually collected expression, remind him of his mother. His prideful, distant, ambitious mother.)
He watches her jog towards the start of the drill range, huffing quietly without much else, and watches her begin again. And she runs, jumps, crawls, and climbs like she wasn't close to shooting anyone before. A soldier replaces her pistol, and he wonders what fault there would be this time. She'd handled guns that didn't fire, guns that held blanks, and guns that had no bullets at all. He wouldn't put it past the upper brass to have her handle a gun that would go off and explode in her hand.
(Or they wouldn't. After all, that might trigger an unsightly and terrible transformation. Unless it is a test if...)
"Good pace, soldier."
Magath rarely ever gives praise. In fact, appraisals for Eldian members of the military only come in the form of commands and demands. And for her to receive small words of commendation... It's almost as if she's proven how capable and how dependable she is compared to the rest...
(...the rest of the Warrior Unit and its candidates, the rest of the Eldian forces, the rest of the devils that reside in that cursed island.)
"Thank you, Commander Magath."
When she returns to the starting line, she bows her head deeply to give her thanks and begins the drill again. He watches her move through the course with the same practiced movement. Surely she's already proven through this that she is a soldier, loyal and obedient. They should move to the next course, the next regimen.
(So he and everyone else can see the Ancient Titan's form for themselves. He feels his palms itch just thinking of it.)
Someone approaches from behind him, and from the sound of footsteps, he knows exactly who it is.
"General Calvi," he greets, "a pleasant day to you, sir."
The general, for all his practical knowledge and tactical experience, is still a Marleyan of refined and expensive taste. Or was it when he became Marley's supreme military commander that he gained the hobbies and attitudes of those noble-bred men and women of the Empire's court? Beside him, a soldier holds open a parasol. Calvi glances at him from the shade before scowling at the sun above them.
"The sun is always high in Macquarie," the general mutters, "how goes the training?"
"As smooth as anyone would expect," he says, "she has shown to be a capable soldier."
(But does he mean that? Any one of the Warrior candidates can run this drill, and this is by no means a difficult course. And the constant repetition feels too much. What was Magath up to?)
Calvi watches her run the course in pensive silence. His eyes narrow at her, scrutinizing her form all the while. Of course, he is a veteran. He has gone through wars and battles ever since he was young. And he is celebrated, all his medals and badges shined and polished constantly, pinned on his uniform or displayed in his office. Today, Calvi is wearing the bare minimum, the single pin that differentiates him from all the soldiers in the Marleyan military.
The Badge of Helios, which is modeled after the sun, is awarded by the Emperor himself in a grand ceremony filled with pomp and fanfare. And for what reason? For significant contributions to the military might of Marley. After all, it was Calvi who'd won the skirmishes between Marley and the countries in the south, by utilizing the most unpredictable, yet most abundant resource.
(The Eldian war volunteers turned into Titans, whether by their will or not, thrown out of blimps and ships; far more devastating and far more inexpensive than any steel weapon. Humans are cheaper than steel, anyway. And of course, the continued use of the Colossal Titan's explosive ability.)
So when Calvi looks at the holder of Ancient Titan run the juvenile drill, he is looking at the potential, how he can exploit its power, how he can minimize its weaknesses. Calvi is not looking at her, not at all, but he is simply looking at the vessel, the medium, the means to manifest the Ancient's ability.
She finishes two rounds without so much as a huff, and fires two bullets from the gun, hitting the target's left lung this time.
"How interesting." He says, "What say you, Roth?"
As if on cue, the young Roth steps forward–and Zeke hadn't noticed until then–followed by Reiner. And it... has been a while since he'd seen the holder of the Armored Titan. His uniform, a deep navy, is obviously uncomfortable in the desert. After the disgrace of their failed mission in Paradis, Braun–as the only survivor–had been temporarily decommissioned from the military and made into a member of the Roth's personal guard.
(Part of him would think that it's a privilege to be away from the frontlines and in the comfortable interior cities, but Zeke knows that Reiner wouldn't be able to stand it all, the gossip, the pressure, the constant insult and judgment, and the general humiliation, the persistent reminder of his failure–)
He looks at Reiner and thinks the younger man had looked better fighting on the frontlines. His hollow cheeks, shifty eyes, and overall disposition of a quiet wallflower just proves how the sudden "transfer" is still affecting him.
"She looks to be doing well, General." Roth replies, smiling all the way, "It reminds me of when we used to work together."
Roth, as the Red Spider's child and protege, is effective at what they do, at what they've done, and Calvi recognizes this. After all, the Ancient Titan was brought to Marley through Roth's actions and careful planning, and not the Warrior Unit. And even the Emperor himself recognized this. The young Roth, a noble-bred Marleyan raised in the interior cities of Paradis, managed to acquire a Titan without any assistance from the Warrior Unit? How admirable.
(Admirable? Hardly. Zeke thinks that, if anything, the young Roth is dangerous and cunning. One cannot simply curry the favor of the Empire's court by bringing to them a gift horse–or a gift wolf. Roth is planning something, something that he needs to know.)
General Calvi hums as the woman climbs and crawls through the course, the tiredness in her body is not evident, not really, except for when one really looks at the slight slouch in her form and the dig of her feet into the ground.
"It is like watching an animal run." He says without a beat, expression almost amused.
If Magath giving compliments is rare, Calvi being amused at a Warrior is even rarer. The first time Zeke witnessed this was when he'd completed the final trial to become a Warrior.
"I didn't think you had it in you, Yeager."
That day, he shot the dog he spent a full year with. It was a small pup, a runt of the litter, and he could easily carry it in his too-large uniform. And when he shot it, he made sure not to close his eyes or tear his gaze away from it. That day, he'd heard he was the first one to have completed the trial and the only one who didn't even flinch at the sound of the gun.
That day, Zeke Yeager, the Boy Wonder, was reborn.
(But that night, he didn't eat or sleep. He shivered and bit his lip and swallowed all his sobs into his stomach. He looked at his hands and wondered if that was the only way to achieve the grandoise dream of his mother and all those that came before her. That night, he wondered if his mother would do the same thing, if she had done the same thing, and he felt like gagging.)
He'd wondered how Calvi could be so calm at the sight of a child killing an animal, and he'd wondered if Marleyans would undergo the same thing. But then again...
"...that is what differentiates a Warrior from a soldier."
Calvi had applauded him then, smiling like he'd achieved a victorious outcome, like he'd won.
(That night, Zeke felt nothing but cold.)
Now, seeing Calvi almost sneer at the sight before them, Zeke feels like he'd shrunk back into his younger body. He feels inadequate, inappropriate, belittled, and mocked. Calvi had never really seen him as Zeke Yeager, he'd only seen him as the Boy Wonder, the prizehead of the Eldians, the now-defamed War Chief of the disgraced Warrior Unit. Seeing Calvi smile with teeth peering behind his lips, Zeke feels like he's been shunned, ignored, and forgotten.
Calvi looks at the woman now like she was a secret prize, a newly-developed weapon of war that will lead them–no, that he will lead to Marley's victory. In some part of his mind, Zeke anticipates the near-impossible day when the top brass names her the War Chief and shoves him aside.
(And she will become a prized beast then, wielded and rode like a horse. Or perhaps she'd be like a war dog on a leash, collared with praise and baited with meat.)
"Which do you think it is," the general continues, turning to Roth, "the predator or the prey?"
It.
Zeke thinks the question is uncomfortably heavy to be spoken with such nonchalance. He glances at Roth and Braun, and sees them as equally tense as he is.
(It is obvious enough, and from that statement alone, that when Calvi looks at Eldians of the Warrior Unit, he doesn't see monsters. He sees weapons.)
"I don't think people have such roles." Roth answers.
The general sneers, "You really are your father's daughter."
Calvi knows Jonathan Roth, he had personally worked with the Red Spider in ensuring the mission to Paradis was successful. And for the most part, it was. Entry and stealth were guaranteed, and everything else would have fallen into place if the ones they've sent were capable enough of following orders and knowing when to wait. At least, according to reports the upper brass had sent to court.
"And you were the one who brought this to us."
Roth nods. "With the help of my father, sir."
The drill continues. The desert wind blows above them.
"The Ancient Colossal," Calvi narrows his eyes at the heatwave in the distance, "or as you'd written in your report, the Burning Behemoth."
(Zeke thinks Calvi is imagining the sight of it.)
"The Chronicler of the Walls, too." Roth supplies, "The Paradis archives say it's as old as the Founder itself."
Calvi is scowling now, looking at the woman with disdain.
"Such grand titles with little proof."
Zeke knows where Calvi's disdain comes from. He knows it all too well, having borne the brunt of this failure. This woman running these juvenile drills below, was a large factor in Marley's defeat when they had thought to assault Paradis with their forces and bring in the Founding Titan by sheer force. According to the reports sent to the Empire's court, the Founding Titan had actually exhibited the ability to call forth The Rumbling, an army of Colossals that would trample and annihilate all in their way, destroying and massacring the hundreds of soldiers and dozens of airships sent to the island.
But he knows, he and Calvi and Magath and all those who were present, that only one Colossal–a surprise from the depths of their nightmares–had eliminated the airships, swatting them out of the sky like flies.
The ceasefire was declared after that humiliating defeat. Soon after, the Red Spider returned to Marley with the very Titan that destroyed its army.
(How convenient, one might think, almost as if it was planned.)
And now, the holder of this Colossal, the Ancient Titan that towered into the heavens, is running beginner drills like they were just an ordinary Eldian?
Zeke knows Calvi's rage burns hot and bright behind his scowl.
(And he feels that this, too, is justified. Satisfying as well, to finally see Calvi be conflicted with such emotion.)
The general then turns to him, the deep scowl still on his face, "And you, Yeager, how goes the surveillance?"
The change is sudden and abrupt, and only proves how miffed Calvi really is beneath the unimpressed façade.
"Nothing to worry about, General," he smiles jovially, "the flames of their rebellion are waning."
If there was anything Zeke knows how to do extremely well, it's to read into and take advantage of people's tendencies and emotions. And Calvi plays into it, huffing at his reply as if it dissipated his boiling rage. There have always been rumors of rebellions and mutinies in Marley's colonies, but there was never anything too big to be considered a threat.
(Because the greater threat to Marley is right inside its own borders; he and his ancestors' legacy, his birthright, the return of the Eldian Empire.)
"Always a way with words, Yeager." Calvi scoffs at him, "I wouldn't be surprised if the flames weren't even there to begin with."
(If Calvi had any weaknesses, it was his pride.)
"One can never know, General," Zeke continues, "until he's been burned himself."
(And if Calvi had any surprising tastes, it was flowery language.)
"Only a fool wouldn't notice a fire until he's burned by it."
"You have a point there, sir." He nods.
Calvi hums in agreement, "I'll be waiting for your report, Yeager."
"Of course."
(Zeke plans for the day he calls Calvi, him and the entirety of Marley, fools.)
The soldier beside Calvi shifts on his feet. Zeke turns to glance at Roth, who is watching the woman with an almost fond expression. Beside her, Reiner stands quiet and unnoticed. In front of them all, the woman reaches the end of the course. She pauses, heaving, and turns to their direction for the first time.
The sudden shifts in her plain expression say it all–shock, fury, disdain, animosity, fear.
She reaches for the gun provided to her, and for a split second, Zeke thinks she'll actually fire it at them.
(But which one?)
But she, seemingly obedient and meek, shoots at the target instead.
And by chance, the bullet hits the dead center.
(Who was she imagining?)
"Finally." Magath mutters, "That's it for now, soldier."
She drops, her knees bend and her hands plant on her thighs. She heaves through her mouth, loud and brash and definitely like a tired soldier. She'd been running this same course for hours, running and climbing and crawling in a mad repetition to please.
(And are they?)
Magath approaches them in the shade and offers Calvi a folder. He opens the folder and skims through the report.
"Stamina is good, speed is passable, and accuracy is," Magath sighs, "better, at least."
The woman remains on the field, turned away from them, breathing and heaving like there wasn't enough air to go around.
"For ordinary Eldians, this much improvement would be admirable," Calvi says, "but this is a Titan."
"Understood, sir."
Zeke knows what they mean. Having overseen candidates ever since, he knows they're expecting better results in a much shorter timeline. She was already a soldier before this, so she ought to deliver what is expected of her.
"Have you tested it?"
Calvi shifts his eyes to the woman standing on the field, awaiting their command like a dog.
"It's still too great a threat, sir." Magath explains, "If she so chooses, she can trigger an explosion instead of a transformation."
Calvi tilts his head; he doesn't seem convinced.
(And neither does Zeke, but then again–)
"Is it?" The general asks, almost challenging, "What do you suppose, Yeager?"
And Calvi rarely asks for his opinion on such things, ever since that defeat. So when he is asked that question, he knows the one answer that is guaranteed to please the Marleyan general.
"No, sir. She wouldn't be a threat."
Zeke knows Calvi is quick to grow smug, that all he needs is to hear his words from someone else.
"And you, Roth?"
(...to hear his words from everyone else.)
"I agree." Roth glances at him, riding with the same idea, "Since the beginning, they've had this power and yet they've done nothing."
("Or perhaps they are just biding their time? Perhaps you are just biding your time?")
Zeke doesn't trust the young Roth, not until he confirms it with Jonathan himself.
(If Calvi knows Jonathan Roth, Zeke knows the Red Spider even better. After all, Jonathan is one of the very few nobles who support him and House Fritz, if not the only one.)
"You are Marleyan." He remembers his reply when the man had openly expressed his interest in the restoration of the Eldian Empire.
"And you are a Fritz." The man responded then, a jarring sureness in his smile, "House De Angelis should be ashamed."
Back then, Zeke was still young and not as ambitious, but now...
Now, he listens carefully to the young Roth's words, trying to determine if she shares the same belief as her father.
"And I know her," she continues, "she wouldn't raise even her voice to a superior."
He admits she has the same kind of sureness–almost smugness–that he first saw in her father.
"Tell us, Roth, whose side are you on?" He wants to ask, "Marley's? Eldia's?"
("Mine or your own? Or someone else's?")
He doesn't know what to think of her, doesn't even know what to think of the woman now.
"I'm sure she hasn't been any trouble." Roth grins, "Right, Commander Magath?"
The man turns to Calvi, "Not even a single complaint, General."
"Then go through with it," he orders stiffly, "and let's not waste any more time."
Magath nods, before turning his attention to the woman on the field.
"Attention, soldier!"
And automatically, she jogs up to them and salutes.
"Present, sir, Commander Magath. General Calvi, sir. War Chief Yeager. Miss Roth."
(How practiced.)
"So this is it." Calvi says, scrutinizing her appearance. He doesn't look impressed.
She blinks and breathes evenly, but doesn't say a word.
"The holder of the Ancient Colossal."
He doesn't look impressed at all.
"The devil."
Calvi sneers then, almost wide enough to show teeth, and mocks her so openly as if to say that he isn't the least bit terrified.
(But Zeke knows, or at least believes, that Calvi is shivering in his bones.)
The woman says nothing in response. The harsh sunlight catches in her hair and beads of sweat roll down her face. Unsatisfied, he steps back, the soldier beside him quick to follow.
"Be on your way then," Calvi says and tosses the envelope to the soldier beside him, before he bids them goodbye, "Magath. Yeager."
They both salute him.
"Roth."
The young woman smiles, "General."
And he pauses, glancing briefly in Braun's direction.
"Very well then."
The general takes his leave of them in silence, and Roth takes this opportunity to embrace the woman.
"Maria–" She stammers.
"It's good to see you again." Roth says, "I'm glad to see you're doing well."
When Roth parts from her, she is flustered, "I–thank you. I am glad you are too."
The first words he's heard from the woman today that aren't one-word answers or practiced phrases. Still, she is so formal and so stiff with Roth. Why?
"I will take my leave as well."
And so Roth bid them goodbye, bowing daintily like a true noble.
"War Chief," Braun salutes, "Commander."
And those are the only words he's said today.
"Let's go, Reiner." Roth says, smiling gently.
And Braun matches it, even if only a little.
(How strange. How familiar.)
And as the two depart and follow after Calvi, Zeke notices the woman's shifting expressions; tiredness, disappointment, sadness, surprise, fury. She had looked at Roth with such longing and sadness, but then turned her eyes cold with fury towards Braun. And now, she watches them walk side-by-side, a look of quiet, pensive shock on her face.
"How could you, Maria?" He imagines her pleading, "How could you leave me here?"
(But deep inside, he knows she is seething, raging loudly enough to burst at the slightest provocation–)
"Good work earlier," he says instead, in feigned support he knows she'll never accept completely.
"Thank you, War Chief Yeager."
(And he's right.)
Purposely, she is quick to turn away from him and towards Magath, waiting for the next command.
"Eat, soldier." Magath huffs out, glancing up at the sun. "Rest if you can. We return at sunset."
Sunset?
She salutes, "Understood, Commander."
So Magath walks away without much else, leaving the two of them in the sparse shade.
Silence.
The woman exhales shakily, and Zeke feels like puffing a cigarette if it wasn't so hot.
Silence.
Obviously, she is still uncomfortable around him, around all of them.
Silence.
She's faced away from him, he cannot see her face.
Silence.
"Are you not eating, War Chief Yeager?" She asks.
Ah.
He almost stumbles.
Right.
"Shall we?" He gestures towards the mess hall.
She nods.
So he walks, she follows. She doesn't fall into step with him and he makes no move to match her pace. And he feels like she is a dog following him, like she is a reincarnation of that dog he'd had before. The dog he'd had to shoot.
(No, she reminds him more of a wolf. A quiet predator who works best with its pack, and being alone would be a death sentence. That is what she is now, isn't she? An animal with a death sentence, desperate and unfeeling for anything else.)
When they sit to eat, he sits across from her. He makes no attempt at conversation and neither does she, and their meal is taken in stale, humid, silence. As she eats, she looks at nothing but her food.
"Are you alright?"
(As he eats, he looks at nothing but her.)
"Of course, War Chief." She says without a glance.
("Please do not concern yourself with me.")
"We've known each other for some time now." He sighs, "Zeke."
He wipes his hand out of courtesy before offering it to her.
(Again.)
And again, she just stares at it, neither disgusted nor suspicious.
"It wouldn't be appropriate, sir."
(Again.)
"Please, we're allies now."
And that's when she stares–gawks, more like–as if to question his use of the word. But she swallows whatever she was about to exclaim, and says instead,
"Perhaps you are right," she nods but doesn't take his hand, "but only until the ceasefire is revoked."
(How bold! How exciting!)
He's never heard her say such a thing, but he doesn't try to provoke her any further.
"That may be so," he agrees, "but I don't think either side would see such a good thing go to waste."
(And the ceasefire is good, because it gives him the opportunity to organize and focus on his own cause, the Eldian cause, the throne, the empire–)
"But the war is still there, sir." She says, "The war is still there, waiting like a wolf in the dead of night."
He didn't think her to be waxing poetics the same as him, and yet, and yet... How unexpected.
(How like a wolf she is, indeed.)
"The question," he muses, suddenly remembering Calvi's earlier question, "which is which?"
(Predator or prey, in war, does it really matter?)
When her eyes line with his, he swears he can see them shining.
"The enemy is still the enemy."
He could toast to that, if she'd let him. Instead, he grins, knowing exactly what she means.
(And she is still the enemy, no matter how interesting it would be if she wasn't.)
There is a vast melancholy in the canticles of the wolves, melancholy infinite as the forest, endless as these long nights of winter and yet that ghastly sadness, that mourning for their own, irremediable appetites, can never move the heart for not one phrase in it hints at the possibility of redemption.