After the meeting, the call was made in the quiet of the night. It was without contest as they marked the wedding with blood.
.
.
.
The carriage rattled down the muddled masonry of St. Valencia, weaving through the crowded thoroughfare.
"We're late," Dr. Jaeger muttered, glancing at his pocket watch and then Alma.
"A woman must be presentable," she replied, unfazed as she fluffed up her fur stole. It was white as snow, as was her gown.
However, sitting near Dr. Jaeger, was Historia Reiss, donned in an onyx dress. It was as dark as sin as she sat still, holding her hands in her lap like a good child.
The bruises in her chelidon had healed as the blood ministration had ceased the day he last saw her.
"You will draw attention with her attire," Jaeger spoke, tired of Alma's lack of respect for the wedding itself. Such dark clothing was sacrosanct to funerals or religious ceremonies.
"She will draw attention. She isn't my child anymore," she sniffed. He did not pursue the topic as he leaned back, tightly gripping his cane, and wishing that tonight's events would be done with. Successful and quick—just like a surgery—to remove the most potentially damaging tissue.
While the two ignored each other, Historia knew not to obtrude. She kept her eyes into her lap until she couldn't stop herself from gazing out the carriage's window, watching the plebeians and consumptives cheer them forward with their intoxicated gaiety.
Historia glanced at her mother in the corner of her eye, finding her distracted with priming herself.
It would be fine, she thought as she scooted closer to the window, pressing a hand up to it, and really observing the outside world.
Her eyes took in the sight—drinking its queerness and effulgence. Not ever was she permitted to leave her family's estate, but she had always heard of the cripples and sickly. Now, they lined the streets as if to prove their very existence to her.
"Do you see the illness?" Jaeger asked, causing Historia to pull back from gaping, ashamed.
"Don't bother with her," Alma shot.
"But, she is my child now, isn't she?" He spoke. Dr. Grisha Jaeger was an unimpassioned man. It showed through his monotonous voice even when he was being cheeky, it seemed.
Alma rolled her eyes, tolerating it, knowing this would be the last she'd have to endure.
Jaeger watched the people outside, raising their bottles and grogs in the air, clamoring with excitement, but his eyes always found the sickly amongst the crowd.
"Do you know why they are that way?" It was the first time he ever directly addressed Historia in conversation.
It was the first time she was ever given the chance to properly speak—to give her opinion.
At first, she reluctantly shook her head.
"No? What do you think has caused this?" he asked instead of explaining it right off.
Historia strained her lips, rubbing her knees together. Emboldened, she began again.
"T-their blood?" It was a guess.
And what a correct guess it was.
"Very good. A smart child," despite the words, his demeanor did not change, "the Blood is dangerous, is it not? Look at the many who suffer its evil…"
Historia did as they slowly went.
Every group had it shares of woes, bandages, staves, wheelchairs, and skin conditions—a few of the lucky were unscathed, but the majority suffered.
"A lot, sir," she responded, glancing over at him. She was afraid if she did not answer that he'd discipline her. Whenever she had to speak, it was followed by beatings.
However, she saw something glint in her eyes as she became transfixed with the crowd. The creature's appearance was so sudden that Historia didn't have the time to jump—she had always known of such creatures—the ones who lurked deep in the hearts of men, forest, and nights of the Hunt, but she had never thought to be unfortunate enough to witness it. It was tall and ethereal as it stood, intermixed with the crowd, implausibly by the people and guards as if it was normal. Its body was a blur of black, bristled fur as the carriage sped up—but it was its face, the face—Historia flinched backwards, finally realizing what she saw—the cracked skull of a terrible beast and its electrical eyes, piercing into her deepest nightmare! She saw its many maws and endless teeth as it wickedly smiled at her as they passed through the first clearance. The patrol bellowed out orders as the carriage went through the tunnel, leaving them in the eerie darkness, shrouded in silence.
Historia didn't have the heart to peer out the window, ready to find that the Darkbeast had been awaiting inside the tunnel to devour them whole. She kept imagining the unspeakable horrors it'd do to them, but as they parted from the tunnel she found that they were intact. Not a single thing out of place.
"Everyone must suffer in this lifetime," Dr. Jaeger spoke, running his thumb over his cane, "it is humanity's fate to do so. We can never escape it."
"Oh," Alma badgered, "are you a foreigner?"
Grisha did not respond.
Alma smiled.
"Don't you know where you are, Doctor? You're in St. Valencia, home of the Healing Church, capitol and only place that boasts its Blood Ministrations! The cure-all for everything! You name it and we have a drop of blood for it." She mocked.
"I'm very well aware, Alma." Jaeger glared at her.
"Oh, then you're not a foreigner, hm? You might want to keep your beliefs to yourself. People don't like foreigners, or their strange beliefs."
Historia hunkered down, pitiful in her innocence, scared their fighting was because of her and how she expressed her little knowledge.
"We must suffer regardless. Do you believe the Healing Church knows exactly what it's doing? Hm?" All the years of enduring Alma seemed to have reached its limit.
Historia withdrew, glancing at the window, because it was a lot less scary to see a Darkbeast than imagine what her mother might do if she saw her eavesdropping.
Down the boulevard, rows upon rows of beautiful houses stood with gardens brimming with flowers. Each house had red candles lit in celebration but the streets were empty, as all the blue-bloods had already convened at the castle and its wedding.
Street lamps were accordingly placed on the sidewalks, glowing warmly.
And, it was within this second that Historia saw her—the woman of haunting—the very moment she forever became enthralled with her vision.
Underneath a lamp post stood a conspicuous woman—she was tall, bearing an impish smirk as she held her top hat to her chest, eyeing Historia and seizing her soul in an instant. It was her coruscant, golden eyes that startled Historia.
Just like the beast, the carriage kept going and she was gone from view.
Historia could only crane her neck out the window, attempting to view her once more, but she felt sharp nails dig into her ankle as she was yanked back in, slamming the back of her head against the window.
"Get back in here," Alma seethed, readying her fist, but Jaeger slammed the bottom of his cane down.
"Enough," he barked, riled up, "cease your wickedness!"
Her mother's grasp stung even after she relinquished it—but Historia put her head out of the carriage, hoping to see the woman again.
The one with the cosmic freckles—the handsome woman who had tipped her hat to her.
But she was long gone as they came to the second and final clearance, whisked away into the dark, ushered by the garrison.
~X~X-O-X~X~
Two stood behind the curtains of the royal podium, listening and watching the merry crowd from the shadows.
"You're not happy." The young boy named Eren spoke, glaring up at his adoptive older brother, but the man did not respond. He kept his cool gaze amongst the crowd. Every now and then he'd flick over at his appointed wife who smiled and laughed, conversing with anyone who went up to her, and thus attracting a large crowd who were enamored with her kindness and eloquence.
"Why won't you talk to me?" Eren seethed despite being only eight, clutching onto the cuff of Levi's uniform. Unlike his wife, he didn't go for attire that would suggest affiliation with the Healing Church. He adorned himself with medals he earned through war and conflict, dressing himself in the military uniform saved only for the highest of rankings. After all, he swore to the people and its safety, and not the delusional yet auspicious Healing Church which sought higher purposes of expansion within the city-state's hierarchy. It was a joke that it was even calling itself a church when it began as an obscure medical facility, but people revered it as powerful as a religion with its miracles, and that was something Levi could not debate. He could only judge from its scant explanations that its bowels were far darker and unfathomable than it let on. He only had to be of position to question its authority to find the quivering truth.
"Are you even listening to me?" Eren was in tears, yanking on his cuff until Levi firmly took it back with a single motion, readjusting it with a frown.
"This doesn't concern you," he responded because anything else would only excite more outbursts.
"It does, too!" He cried, slamming a fist into his thigh.
Levi was not dense—he could see the more than filial love Eren expressed. Too many times did the boy attempt to act older, doing bold and stupid acts in hopes to be bathed in Levi's attention, and, hopefully, one day, his love—but this wedding had stolen his unreachable dream and Eren bitterly fought it all day up to this very hour.
Levi sighed, feeling Eren punch his leg, wailing, struggling to provoke him.
"Mikasa," he called out.
From the shadows nearby was a young girl just as small as Eren, wearing an oversized scarf she refused to rid of even during such an occasion.
"Take care of the brat." Levi intentionally put distance between him and the child. After all, this infatuation was nothing more than a child's fascination—to allow him any comfort was to encourage.
"Levi!" Eren wept as Mikasa hugged him, patting his back.
Luckily, the fanfare pealed through the ballroom as Levi strode out from the shadows and into the light with the roar of applause. He went to his wife's side, bowing low to the crowd and linked his arm with hers.
"Hear thee," the castle crier announced, "drink to the Crown and its blood lineage! Drink! May the union of the Captain of the Legion, Queen's consort, Levi Ackerman, and her Fairness, Queen of St. Valencia, Choir of the Healing Church, Freida Reiss!"
Levi's eyes caught onto blue eyes in the crowd—he felt his skin grow cold as his frown twitched.
The retiring Commander was standing, raising a glass to Levi with a smile.
Such a smile that it made Levi's insides clench as he felt ill to his stomach, recalling what the Commander had said last night in his private chambers.
"Do not despair— all must come to an end as duty calls for sacrifice. By honor, you will always be of my own blood—the very river that runs through my heart, always."