A/N: This will probably be one of my best chapters I've done so far, but I'll leave that up to the critiques. lol Now from the title, YES, there is references to classic literature in this, the illiad by Homer, and Plato's Allegory of the cave, and you can guess right away what nerd goes into full detail about that. ;)

An Allegory

The cabin was ancient, as far as Annie could tell. From the clay-baked bricks to the aged crumbling foundation; she speculated it dated back around fifty or so years, probably even further, before the three walls were even built on Paradi Island. It wasn't very spacious either, in fact, she was sure her dungeon cell had been quite larger.

The inside smelt of wood rot, and rust. There were only two windows; one of them caked with so much dust and grime, it created a layer of filth that could be peeled off like a second skin. The other—at the side of the cabin—had slivers of cracks that ran jagged over the glass surface.

Near the cracked window, situated right in the middle of the stooping front porch, was the front door, or what would had been the front door.

The threshold was stripped bare, wide-open to any passerby's, Annie could peer right into the darkness of the cabin. If there had been a door, it's long since been fallen off its hinges. That or a wandering thief might have had a need for it. Annie wouldn't be so surprised at that notion; especially in an underground society, the laws that were abided above couldn't reach the ears of those who dwelled below.

Annie figured she'd blend right in with these criminals and beggars. Although, Captain—I'm a hard-ass at all times—Levi, thought otherwise. For the first few days of settling in her new home; the Commander had assigned him to aid her in tidying things up, as he was, apparently the most efficient one in doing tasks such as cleaning and rearranging. He was reluctant at first, but seeing the inside of the cabin had instinctively changed his mind.

He couldn't bare looking at filth for more than a minute. So, begrudgingly, he did help her make the interior more livable. And with a pissed off glare, or an irritated demand tossed her way every ten minutes.

"You see this, right here?" Levi jutted his chin to a dirty bronze spout, a tin bucket dangled from the curve of the faucet; a large basin sat below it. The two stood in what would be considered the 'backyard'. Which was Just a slab of cold, hard stone, flanked by weeds, and roots, and other plants that didn't thrive off sun light so much.

Annie couldn't complain, she wasn't allowed to, really. At the very least, the front porch didn't look as hideous as the backyard.

Levi took hold of the handle that stuck out from the end of the water pump, and pushed down, grunting at the bit of resistance, he pushed down harder, fighting against decades old rust. "This is where you'll get your water."

Annie blinked, arms folded nonchalantly. "What is that?"

"A water pump." Levi huffed, "For water."

"I know that."

"Then don't ask stupid questions."

Eventually, Levi managed to get the spout working with one final, and swear inducing push. It spat a half-gallon's worth of water into the bucket—unfortunately, the force of the pump caused the water to splash everywhere, dousing Levi's recently ironed shirt, and his precious cravat. Annie fought against the urge to laugh at his shame, knowing full well he expected a brat like her would do so.

He cursed again, stepping away, and very calmly removed his cravat, then began wringing the drenched cloth in his hands. Annie watched him, spiteful amusement glinting in her dull azure eyes.

High above them, the sun light's beams poured through the cracks of the rocky terrain. Levi coughed, whipping the cravat dry. She secretly hoped he caught the flu, that extremely anal man. Her fingers crossed.

"So, where is the water coming from?" She asked, idly examining the cave-like walls that enclosed the whole area. It was an odd miracle that there would be access to water miles beneath the surface of land; and of course, Captain Levi pretended not hear her, wiping the flecks of water off his face with the cravat; looking very much like an angry wet cat.

"Is it even clean?"

Levi grunted, "The hell should I know?" He flicked his wrist at her, carelessly, "Go grab the bucket, bring it inside, the floors still need to be mopped."

Annie, adamant as always, stayed rooted to her spot, just to test his patience—which he obviously did not have any to spare. "You stalling?" Levi turned to her sharply, tongue in cheek. "I don't have time for your bullshit, grab the bucket, and go."

She did not take one step; equally challenging his dark glare with blank blue eyes. Oh—did Annie sure love to get on men's nerves. Especially one's she greatly loathed. Levi worked his jaw muscle irritably, blue and green lines popped from the stark white of his hand as he clutched the cravat tightly.

"Princess." He spat through clenched teeth, each syllable enunciated venomously, "Would you be a dear, and bring that fucking bucket inside?"

The use of her slanderous nick name made the corners of her lips quirk almost wickedly; though Annie gave no indication of feeling the brunt satisfaction from toying with the small fry Captain.

"Well, since you asked so nicely…" Annie sauntered on pass him, hefting up the heavy bucket from its handle—Levi's eye's burned pin holes into the back of her head. Annie was sure his hands were itching to close around her throat right then. He shadowed her until she had carefully placed the bucket down on to the dirty wood panel floors of the cabin.

"Listen," he said, still practically seething. Annie braced herself for yet another one of his empty threats that either involved slitting her nape, or hacking off her limbs for being disobedient. Though, to her utter disbelief; it was none of that, nor was it a threat.

"If you're gonna' drink from the water pump, I suggest boiling the water first, to get rid of the bacteria," Levi cleared his throat, "and other shit… like that."

Annie paused in soaking the mop momentarily to glance at the Captain, taken back by his sudden calmness when not a minute earlier he was clearly ready to strangle her. She said nothing but nodded as affirmation. Levi was probably the oddest man she'd ever have the displeasure of meeting in person.

He nudged the bucket with his boot, causing the water to slosh onto the creaky floor panels. "Now get to mopping these floors, I'm tired of seeing this filth."

Captain Levi was odd—Annie grimaced as she plunged her hands into the lukewarm water—and the biggest passive-aggressive asshole she'd ever encounter in her short life.

One Month Later

"It's very clean in here… a-and quite warm!" Armin chirped from where he perched on an old writing desk, the books he gifted to Annie all piled neatly by his side. A single lit candle dripped wax on to its holder; the light it gave off only bathed a portion of the small room in a dim yellow glow, shadows cut diagonally across the space, as if it forbade the light to enter its side.

There, sitting on the bare cot-bed, riddled with holes, sat Annie Leonhardt. Watching him with eye's like ice, and an expression too match, on guard as always, when it came to him. Of course, Armin did not expect her to act any different toward him, even after he had revealed to her all the events that happened while she was still crystallized. Well, a portion of them.

It was more out of the kindness of his heart that he did so, anyway. They have had their differences in the past, yes, and he was very much as inconspicuous at mind-probing as a graduated psychiatrist. He understood her lingering suspicion, and he welcomed it.

But, right now, he just wanted her to be comfortable around him, to freely speak without fearing he would eat up her words and regurgitate them to his superiors later. He wanted her to feel at home, in this new home.

Armin glanced to the ratty old bed sheet that covered the window next to the door, then the icebox at the middle back of the cabin. Searching his brain for some mundane topic she'd likely ignore anyway.

"I love what you've done with the interior so far," He smiled, though a bit forced, "I hope it suit's your needs."

From her end, he heard an indignant scoff, and some fumbling of the cot. Good, he thought, at least she's responding to something. He surveyed the area, looking to find another useless item to talk about, when she spoke.

"Armin?"

Surprised to hear voice after being silent for so long, he startled. "Y-yes?"

She paused for a moment, Armin could hear the gears spinning in her head. "I still don't understand…" She murmured.

He leaned forward, piqued in her wonder. "Understand…what?"

"…Why you've come." Annie met his eyes than, like glaciers stagnant, caught in the far, far away oceans of winter. The Arctic ocean, it was called. He remembered, The arctic ocean. Armin smiled, not forced or unwanted this time, just a small genuine act of amity.

"What's so wrong about wanting to spend some time with an old suburbanite of mine?"

Another scoff, though lighter this time. "We were never suburbanites, neither were we friends."

Armin frowned, feeling that slight sting from her words. "Don't be so harsh now, Annie." He hopped down from the desk, turning his back to her—a blatant sign of showing his trust, because as they say, never turn your back on an enemy… but, she was no longer his enemy—He grabbed the first book off the stack, the parchment was stained and worn, crinkled at the corners, the binding coming undone, and already crumbling in his hands.

Armin sensed her eye's heavy on his back, it raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

"At most," he murmured, now turning to her, holding the book he'd chosen carefully in his hands. "I did have respect for you, and I know you did, for me as well."

Annie gave no answer. Armin dropped his gaze to his feet, feeling sheepish. "And I… still do, by the way."

Annie shifted on the cot; uncomfortable at his flattery, most likely. She was never good at receiving compliments from others. He peered at her through his spectacles, she was hunched forward, attention drawn to the floorboards, hands resting on her lap. Her pale fringes covered her eyes, hiding from him an emotion she probably did not want to be seen. Maybe Armin had struck something within her?

"Did somebody put you up to this?" She asked briskly, "Was it the commander?" She didn't even give him time to answer; Annie sighed tiredly, tucking strands of blonde behind her ear, "I thought she said I wouldn't be under surveillance, was that just another fib?"

Armin shook his head, "You've got it all wrong!" He took a step into her personal space, crossing that boundary where the shadows grew darker in the corners of the room. "I'm here, because I want to be, believe me." Another step, Annie watched him, warily. "I'm not lying to you, I wouldn't be at this point."

It was the truth. Nobody had demanded he visit her dungeon when she first awakened, and nobody had persuaded him to visit her secluded home. There was also the fact being of, Who would? In all honesty, it was Annie Leonhardt—her—an ex-terrorist of humanity within the walls, with a kill-count of more than two-hundred citizens and soldiers. Who would want to visit her?

Why, Armin Arlert of course! He was only here as a friend, and a friend he would stay. Armin hoped he appeared as sincere as he sounded; the tension in Annie's shoulders were relieved somewhat, but her eyes were still skeptical. "… And those?" She pointed to the neatly stacked books behind him, Armin smiled daintily. "They're for you."

The pale blue of her eyes widened for a fraction of second. "All of them?" She mumbled. He nodded, trying to swallow down the rushing glee of finally getting Annie to communicate with him.

"Yes—um, do you mind if I…?" Armin nodded to the empty space beside her, the cot was rather small, but enough to fit three people sitting. Annie slid to the end of the bed, giving him more than enough space. He sat down, the old book still in his hands, Armin ran his thumb gingerly down the crooked spine of thick pages, now having been invited into Annie's space, he didn't really know what else to say. But he did not want to sit in nerve racking silence again.

Armin cleared his throat, twisting his body to grab her attention. "… You see, these books are extremely rare."

"Is that so?" Annie raised a blonde brow. She was giving him the go ahead, Armin grinned. "Yes! In fact, after we had cleared the titans from Wall Maria, we were able to venture—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. You've already told me that." She waved impatiently.

"Ah! But you didn't know this!" Armin focused on the book in his hands. A glorious book it was, he's read it about a good fifteen times or so. Though the covering had ripped long ago, all the pages were still there, coming apart, but holding together various mythical worlds written, and translated in English, each sentence read so exotically, his mind ran wild with vivid imagery each time his eyes swept across the pages.

The word for that extrinsic, non-conforming way of telling a story, was called poetry, and Armin loved it more then he loved the adventurous 'outside world' books his parents had left with him.

"Eren, Jean and I—we had stumbled across a hidden cellar while we patrolled the outside of Wall Maria for the second time."

"And?"

Armin raised his head, looking nowhere in particular; too lost in a memory playing behind his cerulean eyes. The smell of salt, the taste of the ocean, the age-old smell of leather, and the feel of rough parchment. A sense override.

He breathed, still at awe of what he had witnessed long ago. "It was unlike anything I've ever seen, an underground library!" he bounced his knee like an excited child, turning to her with vast admiration of their discoveries, Annie was dumbfounded. "I've found scriptures from philosophers who talked of unusual forms of government, I've found playwright's written in various language's I couldn't even understand!"

The unbridled excitement poured off him in waves, too no effect on Annie, of course, but she was definitely more interested than she had been prior. The bed creaked as she leaned towards him, ever so slightly.

"So, you've basically found your own sweets shop." She quipped.

Armin chuckled, drumming his fingers on the parchment. "You could say that, it was a miracle these books still existed… Or have been existing all this time." His voice dropped to a hush.

"…All this time." It did appall him that the former monarchy would choose to ever banish such wonderful, and fleeting telltales, books filled with pages of prose and poetry, beautiful theatrics' written in the blackest ink. It angered him even, how dare they had taken away pieces of literature that held no harm. Literature that could have been taught to children who dreamed of the faraway lands, children like he and Eren once been.

But then he remembered the philosophers, their point of views, their theories and collective categories of all things human, and he knew. The pursuit of wisdom would have been the downfall of the old king. How funny that would have been, had it happened, but fate works in many different ways.

"Have you gone back there?"

Armin was snapped from his reverie, Annie peered at him more intensely than before. Rapt in his daydreaming. He blinked twice, "Uh—um, no. I've been quite busy, and the commander already ran-sacked the whole area. Though most of the books fell apart in her hands the moment she touched them."

"She has that effect."

Armin snickered, delighted Annie was partaking in jests. The pamphlet in his lap urged him to peel apart it's pages and soak up the long ballads of foreign hero's like Achilles, and Odysseus; and ride along with their victorious battles until their untimely deaths.

But the young woman across from him called for his attention more. "How have you been?" He asked.

"Me?" Annie shrugged, carelessly. Typical of her. "I'm alright, besides the fact that I'll be dead within a year."

Ah yes, Armin sighed, He'd forgotten all about the real reason he'd wanted to befriend her in the first place. What an ugly eye-opener. "Not all hope is lost," He focused on her, baring the same expression he had when he'd fooled her into following along with his plan four years ago. "There can still be a chance."

She scoffed again, bringing her bare feet up onto the bed to sit pretzel like, the mattress creaked under her weight. Annie could see right through his lies. "How? And please don't say by praying."

"I can't reveal to you much…" Armin chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip, weighing in his odds. But he decided to tell her—as Eren would say—for the fucking hell of it. And because she would be dead within a year, regardless.

"The expedition to cross the sea under Marley territory has been renounced, for now."

Annie shook her head, her shoulders visibly trembling from hidden laugher. As evident in her voice. "How does that make my situation any better than before?"

The candle light flickered momentarily, shadows danced, catching them both off guard. Armin placed his beloved poetry between them, as if creating a barrier. He wished the cabin weren't so quiet without their voices, he wished he could reveal much more to her. The secrets hidden beneath more secrets. His mind echoed, thirty-seven war ships sent to destroy us, but only one man allowed to survive through the havoc, to return to the Mainland. One man, with one dying goal. Armin felt slightly disgusted with himself.

He wished he had her willpower to not fear imminent death as well.

"I'm forbidden from revealing any more of the Survey Corp plans." Armin focused his gaze elsewhere. The burning candle caught his line of sight. "… However, I will say this, we now have eyes and ears, on both sides." For the time being, he thought.

Knowing Annie, Armin figured she was going to catch on rather quickly. But she did not, much to his shock. There was slight movement on the bed as she shifted to a more comfortable position. Eyeing him like a hawk, but looking even more curious.

"I'm betting that gamble was your own." She deadpanned. Armin huffed a laugh, turning to her now. "Nope, though I appreciate the thought… Actually, it was from a person you've been affiliated with in the Military Police."

Right than, and there, was when Armin knew he should've clamped his jaw shut, and bolt it with iron. Right than, and there was when he should have jumped from his seat, and hurl himself out the front of door like the damned loud mouth rubbish he was.

He cursed under his breath, turning away from her. Annie was cozy, and warm on her side of the bed. She looked as content as a cat, and she was sly like one too.

"You sure love to reveal a lot, for a soldier who's forbidden from doing so." He could hear that cheeky smirk in her tone. Damn it all to hell. Well, at the very least, she was under no circumstances to leave the underground. Nor did she have any friends, nor was she very good at making them. Besides he barely gave away much; she still did not know who their infiltrator was. Though, neither did a majority of the Survey Corp... Armin never liked to keep such drastic secrets from his friends, but if it was for the sake of protecting them, he would do anything, and everything he could.

"So as long as you keep it to yourself, okay!"

"Sure thing, Arlert." There was an eyeroll somewhere between those three words, he just knew it.

Suddenly it didn't seem to Armin that he was intruding in on Annie's personal space anymore—in fact, he felt… oddly, comfortable. There was a welcoming warmth dawning within his gut, overtaking the lingering doubt that had planted itself there the moment he knocked on her front door. No. The moment he even stepped foot into the underground.

With Annie, it was peculiar, because it was like that tingle of visiting an old friend he hadn't seen in years. Annie was not an old friend, and yet, he felt at ease with her. Strange, so very strange. Armin mused. But very delightful. He had to remember that Annie was still just a girl, a cursed human with human emotions like any other, perhaps that was why.

"Can I ask one thing?" Annie perked from her spot at the foot of the bed. Armin nodded, mulling over the changes that were rapidly occurring.

"It is possible this rat of yours"—Armin cringed-"can deliver a message?"

"What kind of message?"

"… a message to my father."

Armin froze. Of course. He would still be on her mind. Family was family, regardless of the past. He could... pretend to deliver her letter to her father or... no. That's too cruel. He supposed writing a letter would be harmless, because he could go revise it for anything suspicious before sending it in. But something as simple as a message to a family member wouldn't fly by with the Commander, or the rest of the Survey Corp, for that matter. There were more important things happening across the sea, destructive, bloody things. Like the finale of war.

Armin did feel sympathy for Annie, being separated from her only living blood. Then being forced to die where no one could see her. He wondered how it was that her resolve hadn't crumbled to pieces yet. Armin picked up the pamphlet that lay between them, then offered it to her, tentatively, as not to set off any alarms in her head.

"I'm sorry, but that's not possible." He murmured, she eyed the stained pages curiously, then carefully took it from his grasp.

"So I figured." She drawled, like he had the intention to brush off the idea of sending her father anything to claim she was still alive. Armin was not the cruel one here.

"You don't understand," he exasperated, "It's not possible because our informant is not located within the Marley territory, yet."

Yet another piece of information that he should have never revealed, but did. To hell with the rules, dammit. Though, Armin knew he was bluffing, even in his own head.

Annie traced the title of the parchment with her forefinger, each word curving delicately. "Then where are they?" It sounded like a question more to herself than him. He said nothing, and revealed nothing more.

"I'll just assume until otherwise than." Annie shrugged, then pursed her lips in an uncaring manner. Whatever, who cares, not me. Was the vibe she was giving off. Armin knew better than to trust that face.

"Oh." She looked up, meeting his eyes, the arctic ocean clashing with the pacific yet again. Armin shivered. "And I hope your rat knows their way back home."

Armin smiled, empty. "I hope so too."

Elsewhere in Castle Yggdrasil; Eren Jaeger hid behind a dark corridor, just right outside the royal pantry doors, which he noticed, happened to be more heavily guarded than before. Goddamn it Historia!

He cursed quietly, peering from behind the corner, only one of the stationary guards appeared to be on the verge of dozing off, but the rest were upholding their duty, as ever. Damn it all to hell! It was only half past noon, and he'd just woken up from a fatigue induced nap after the Commander had burned him out with her excessive morning drill exercises.

He wondered why she even bothered honing his abilities anymore, it's not as if they were in constant peril now, nor had the Marley made any recent overseas threats; as they had been completely besieged by the ongoing turf war with another enemy dubbed the Middle East Union, he was informed by Armin of this. The last Eren ever fought, was when he had kicked a fifty thousand long ton ship across the ocean, and stomped the rest to pieces, with Armin by his side. Eren couldn't even call that fight, in fact, he even felt somewhat sorry for the soldiers who failed to escape in time.

Hopefully, the war would be ending soon, so said Armin. So, maybe Commander Hange was just taking precaution. Still, he could do without her poking, and prodding at his back with a forty-yard stick, and yanking at his pointed ears—significantly different from the other titans. Not that they'd encounter any more in the last four years.

No more prisoners of the Marley, meant no more subjects to the cursed serum; meaning they'd seen the last of the titans, for now, at the very least.

Eren sighed, a puff of balmy air from his nostrils; those guards were on a full dawn to dark watch, it'd be useless to wait them out, he gritted his teeth—looked like it'll have to be another four bronze, and two silver coins at the tavern tonight.

Eren pushed himself off the wall, continuing down the opposite path of the pantry, the sun chose to be an asshole than, and blind his periphery in stark afternoon light, the rays poured through the tall windows of the hall, amplified by the crystal-glass. The windows sparkled like they were made up of billions of diamonds; it was a breath-taking sight to behold, and Eren detested it. He grumbled, irritably putting a hand up to shield his eyes.

Too damn bright. Too invasive, too fucking cheery. He needed a drink, he was becoming crankier than Captain Levi on Monday mornings before he had his first sip of tea.

Eren turned a corner, abruptly colliding with another body, though the person didn't budge while he ended up stumbling backwards, almost falling on his ass. "Goddamn it, watch where your—Oh!…Mikasa."

He swallowed thickly her eyes, like the darkest coals he'd ever seen, pierced right through him. It was one of the many reasons he had avoided her for nearly three weeks. Though he noticed the scarf was wrapped around her neck once more, it did give him some sort of relief.

"Eren." She greeted, clip and curt as her pixie-cut hair, then she bowed her head, walked passed him like he was just another random face in the Survey Corp, not someone who was special, who was family.

An irrational Eren would have stopped her, he would have turned around, grabbed her by the wrist, and shout at her every emotion that raced through his mind like the vapid wiring shooting out of a 3DMG; he would have cried like the sniveling little boy he'd been and tell her he had wanted to make the right choice, he wanted to be angry with her for being angry with him.

But that Eren had long since grew silent; and he had long since grew out of tantrums. So he let her go, feeling pathetic with himself. He couldn't even muster up the courage to apologize for being absent, he was just that pitiful.

Eren swallowed the lump of anxiety in his throat; dragging his sorry-self down the blinding hallways. One drink would not be enough for tonight.

The people of Mitras loved to sing songs of their past kings; though they were not songs of gratitude, these songs were about their wretchedness, their thievery, and their wickedness of sealing away the truth.

They sang because they could do nothing else with their old rage; they could not go march rampant on the streets, not while they had a young, beautiful Queen bestowed to them. No, they adored the Queen, they respected her; while the kings had wronged them, she had led them back on the paths of righteousness.

There were songs of the young Historia Reiss as well; people told tales of her battle with her monstrous father who had wanted to bring havoc on them all; they preached lullabies of her honorable reign all through the night. Eren was sure Historia was sick to her stomach of having to constantly hear the same tiresome melodies repeatedly, day after day. He, for damn sure, would be.

The ale he sipped at was frothy and fresh on his tongue, he arrived at the local tavern in minutes after dusk. Eren chose to sit at a table furthest from everyone else, secluded in the corner, facing the doors, so he could watch anyone come in or out. He'd folded his Survey Corp uniform, resting it behind his chair, with his body free of leather straps and metal, and his wild hair tied in a loose knot, he could finally relax.

Eren found it amazing how alcohol could bring the oddest groups together. Three wall worshipers had paraded in hours earlier, loudly protesting the reconstructing of Wall Maria—"It's blasphemy!"—One of them, a stout chubby man, had shouted, another read from a scripture from their own written testament. The other sang a hymn of the three goddesses; the three walls, that were not meant to be touched, or ruined by human hands, or whatever bullshit they spouted.

And it was bullshit; everyone knew the truth, so why did they continue to trump people into their false beliefs? It irritated Eren to no end. Luckily, after only a few shots of clear moonshine; their preaching turned to something more jovial.

Soon one of them had forsaken his hymns for loudly proclaiming raunchy stories of his younger days, while the one who had argued about the walls cackled, slapping his palms on the table like he'd heard the best jest of his lifetime. The stout chubby man wobbled drunkenly by his brethren's side, cheeks flushed, and so obviously on the verge of passing out; the other two paid him no mind, blathering on about nonsense, but it was far more tolerable nonsense than what they had been spouting before.

Eren snorted into his mug; the devoted would never change, not even when change occurred right in front of their eyes, not even when their entire belief crumbled like the walls before them; faith was an invisible veil that blinded sight and rationality; a near impenetrable fortress of protection against the imminent fear of death. The end cycle of all things living.

Because eventually, all things had to die. Eren was not ignorant; he understood the science of it all, the world gave, and it also took away; like an ongoing chain of life then death that just grew longer, and longer. Humans were not an exempted from this chain; though many chose to become followers of what they sought as a greater spiritual power. This devout faith was what kept them 'safe' from the lingering paranoia that came from the awareness of existing.

He had thought about it too—his existence in this world, and the absence of it. Would anything change with him gone? Will things continue as they always had? What would no longer existing be like—would it be nothing? Would he be floating in a dark void forever? That was a question only the dead could answer, and Eren would never know until his time was up.

One thing was for certain though; there was nothing in this world that held greater power than a human being, there no more cruelty extruded from anything more than a human either—there were no divine goddesses who he prayed too, there was not an inkling of spiritual faith in his body. Eren was like a sponge; he had already soaked up all that he could as a boy; and this world had squeezed the life out of him; quite literally. It took things away from him, but gave him purpose too.

He could almost say that he was ready to die; it might as well happen while he was debating life and death itself, right? He wasn't sure if he feared death, as he could've died from a number of things that happened in the past; if not for his friends risking themselves for him constantly.

Eren coughed, downing the last of his ale, his tongue darted out to lick the stale taste from his lips. Perhaps he was thinking too far into it; perhaps he needed another drink, a stronger one this time. Yeah, he needed to forget, that's what. He was ready to order another round; not really taking in the commotion that was happening all around him, the chattering of drunk men, giggling of women, the loud clinking of glass, and forks scrapping on plates. It was all a distant buzz in his ears. His cheeks felt a little warmer than before.

"E-excuse me, M'am?" Eren hiccupped, eye's drawing up to meet the bare back of a tavern woman, the backline of her blouse hung a little too low, revealing much of her tanned shoulders; she stood faced away from the end of his table, politely greeting the new guests. Two wealthy merchants they looked to be, they ogled her like she was a piece of candy

Eren cleared his throat, and tried again, "M'am, excuse me?"

She glanced over her shoulder momentarily, turning back to the customers, before immediately swiveling around to face him again, olive green eyes blown wide in recognition. It took Eren a whole minute to comb through the fog that was his mind, to realize who was standing before him in that scanty tavern dress, holding a pitcher of ale.

He leaned back further into his seat, thick brows furrowing in bewilderment as he took her in, "Hitch?!"

"You?" Her mouth formed a surprised O, like she, never in a million years, would expect to see someone like him in a high-end bar like this, drinking themselves into a stupor. He was sure she noticed the large empty mug on the center of his table by now.

It was no wonder he hadn't recognized her; her hair was far too long, dusty waves cascading down her bare shoulders, she wore a bronze clip that held her heavy locks in place, the top ruffles of her tavern dress hung low on her neckline, exposing a hint of cleavage. Eren's alcohol addled mind unfortunately noticed this, his face flushed, and he looked away to compose himself, she was quite the sight, but it was disrespectful of him to stare so blatantly. Plus, he knew her.

HItch tilted her head curiously, Eren could see she was at loss of what to say. Her cheeks pinkened, whether it be from embarrassment or anger at him for discovering her, he didn't know.

She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "What—"

"Oi! Tavern wench! Gimme another shot ya'hear?!" Slurred a man from the back; completely interrupting her. Hitch closed her eyes, sucked in her teeth, clearly frustrated. Her fists trembled, and she looked about ready to punch someone, hopefully it wouldn't be him.

"One moment!" Hitch replied over her shoulder in a sickly-sweet voice. She turned back to Eren, who looked at her questionably, one brow raised.

"One moment." She huffed, then turned on her heel, marching pass the other attendees, and customers, right up to the man who hollered at her. Hitch leaned over him, a coy smile painted on her lips, and Eren was sure she going to strike the man, but, instead, she just refilled his mug.

Maybe her new job was too precious to lose—suddenly Hitch's foot slipped, she yelled a "Whoopsie!"—Eren took that train of thought back. Hitch acted as if she had fell, kicking the table stand the man sat at, and the pitcher went flying from her hands, clattering onto his lap, ale splashed onto the man's face. He sputtered, jumping from his seat in a fit of rage.

"Ya fuckin' klutz! Wha' is wrong with ya?!"

Eren sprung from his seat too, sensing animosity from the man, he may have not had seen her in some years, and may be somewhat drunk, but she was still considered a friend, and he'll be damned if he lets some other drunken fool lash out at her. Although, Hitch proved she didn't need any white knight to sweep her off her feet. Rather, she swept the feet of the man who leered at her, and she did it so discreetly, it looked as if he had tripped over himself. The customers around them all cackled, and even the burly bartender snickered loudly.

"Are you okay, sir?" Hitch asked in that still sickly-sweet voice, she made a show of kneeling down to heft the drunkard up by his shoulder, he grumbled, and shoved her back. Hitch staggered, and fell on her bum. Though Eren knew, she was still so obviously faking it.

"Ow!" She cried, "Ow, oh Mister! I was only trying to help!"

"Hey!" The burly bartender, raced from the bar, rolling up his sleeves. "No assaulting the tavern ladies!" He roughly grabbed the drunkard by the back of his shirt, and tossed him out the front doors like he was a sack of potatoes. The whole thing was so horribly cartoonish.

Eren blinked owlishly as the man walked passed him—in his haze, he swore he saw cropped blond hair, and small golden eyes—but another two seconds went by, and all he saw was another unknown man, brown hair, and a goatee. Not the other he had thought of, not him. That 'soldier' was long gone.

As the bartender helped Hitch to her feet, she met Eren's wide green gaze from across the tavern; and she had the nerve to smirk cheekily his way. Eren snorted, he couldn't help but smile back.

The flames of the candle danced all through the night; having only gone out once the entire time Armin was there. He could only assume it was pass dusk time, of course, since there no view of the sky above. He had arrived around a quarter to noon; but Armin couldn't have predicted he'd be staying for this long.

He glanced discreetly to Annie, who rested her back against the window at the side of her bed, a tattered beige book on her out-stretched legs. Her body language seemed peaceful, but then Armin saw her face, the twist of her lips as she grimaced, and the wrinkle on her brow line, she was too deep in a thought, Armin almost did not want to disturb her, but his curiosity got the better of him.

"Is there something wrong?" He partially faced her, he didn't want to be rude and place his filthy boots on her bed.

"I don't understand this." Annie murmured, clearly so engrossed in the book she was reading, Armin smiled softly, offering his hand, "Maybe I can help, mind if I have a look?" She stared pointedly at him—two pinpricks of ice right settled right on his face. Armin swallowed nervously, his hand lowering, but then she dropped the book in his upturned palm.

"Fine."

The first thing Armin's sight set on was the intricate name of the chapter, "… The Allegory of the cave?" He repeated the voice in his head as he scanned the title, and the colorful content that lay beneath it; then it suddenly clicked to Armin as his eyes caught a familiar word. "Ah! This is one of Plato's!" He exclaimed, then turned to Annie, "He's a philosopher from—" though the Annie was hardly moved by his enthusiasm, and was quick tell him so.

"I don't care about who wrote it, I'm just trying to make sense of it." She was as callous as ever, Armin blinked, albeit sheepishly. "Right, right," he nodded, "Well, first thing is first, do you know what an allegory is?"

Annie looked down at her folded hands, then to him, then down again, not exactly a fidgety gesture, but on the verge of it. "Do you?"

"Yes, I've learned of it recently actually."

Annie pursed her lips, then sighed, her shoulders sagging a bit. "I know… of them."

That was a lie. But Armin knew better than to call Annie Leonhardt out on her fibs by now. Regardless, he was a man of chivalry; and he truly did want to teach Annie all he knew about the fascinating world of literature.

"An allegory is…" He searched his mind for a simple definition she could comprehend. "… Is like a piece of art, or literature, where people, things or events have a hidden meaning."

Annie stared at him, befuddled. Armin explained in further detail. "Okay, to put it simply, it's a message that the authors try to convey through their writing."

"I see." She nodded, then brought her chilly eyes to rest on the book in his hands. "But what about that story, I didn't feel any powerful message from that nonsense."

Armin sighed, "It isn't nonsense, you just don't understand."

"Then make me understand." Armin met her eye's, that came out more as a gruff command than a desire to learn. But he seldom got the time to ever teach anything pertaining to literature, as his peers weren't the most enlightened individuals. He took her challenge, and with a gleeful spark in his ocean blue irises. Armin got to his feet, walking over to the writing desk, and standing with his back toward it.

He shut the book with one hand, he had long since read Plato's Allegory of the cave anyway.

"You see this," He started, and Annie huddled over to sit at the edge of her bed, rapt at his attention, "is an allegory about the man's desire to be educated, it dictates that a man is only as educated as his surroundings."

"Okay but," she shrugged, "The main character was a prisoner, why would they release a prisoner?"

Armin waved the book around like he was swatting a fly, "No, no, no! Annie, you've got it all wrong! It's not about the prisoner, it's about their imagination, and their growth to perceive what is real, and what is not."

"He thought the shadows casted by the fire were real people." Annie blandly stated, as if making a fact. Armin nodded, "Yes, he did," Armin turned away for a second to switch the book in his hand with the candle, he held the burner carefully, the flame illuminated his chin, and nose, and blinded his spectacles in a bright yellow glow. "but you see," Armin continued, "his knowledge of the world expanded, the more he explored the environment around him."

"I don't get it."

Armin lowered the candle, a little miffed, had she been listening at all? "What? What don't you get?"

"Why they didn't believe him, the other prisoners."

Ah. "Well, that," He shook his finger at her, "Is why you need to understand the meaning of allegory because you missed the point that was made."

Annie scoffed, another roll of her sapphire eyes, she really was just another girl. "But they could see him, he stood right in front of them, and they wouldn't believe anything he said about seeing the sun, and trees, all that."

"Yes, but you forget they perceived him as a shadow," Armin placed the candle holder back down on the table, putting his hand directly behind the little flame, the large shadow he casted fell over Annie, "because shadows are all they know of their world, their only drive is their own imagination," Armin wiggled his fingers, watching his shadow copycat do the same over Annie's face. "Do you see where I'm getting at?" He pulled his hand back.

Annie blew out air, shrugging once more. "Well, I'm getting there."

Armin grinned, a little too creepily for a nineteen-year-old, too much teeth showing, his grin was almost akin to a titan's. Annie veered back from the look on his face.

"Um…"

"Ah! Sorry!" He coughed, though still smiling, "I'm just so glad to be discussing this with someone, Eren thinks reading is boring, and Mikasa only likes fairy tales. Everyone has too little time or finds literature to be useless." He shook his head, "They don't know one of the most powerful weapons is the tongue. They say it's like a sharp knife, it can kill without drawing blood."

Armin chuckled, pointing at her. "By the way, that is a metaphor, which I'll teach you about next time, perhaps, if you're interested."

Annie mouth grew slack in an expression of shock. "You're… coming back here?"

"Yes?" Armin blinked. "Unless, you don't want me too… which is completely fine by the way I understand if—"

"I do." Annie got up from the bed, the old floors creaked under her socked feet. "It's always good to learn a few things."

Armin figured this was where he would bid his goodbyes, and a make a promise of returning, but she had a little more on her mind. "Can I ask you something?" She padded over to him, and even four years later, Armin was still perplexed at how such great strength could be held within a tiny body like hers. "It's not about what you told me before, it's… more personal."

"Well than, ask away."

"Do you think of me as a good person?"

Armin froze; stunted by the cold finger tips of their shared past prodding at his neck. Why did she bring that up? Why did that have to be her last question for the day? Was she testing him, like she had in Stohess? He swallowed visibly, but this was not Stohess, and he had grown so much since then, his life was not only about taking gambles anymore. And Annie, Annie was not his enemy. He decided to answer as truthfully as he could.

"I think," he swallowed again, "I think that good, is not something you are, it's something you do."

Annie smiled than, though it was a barely there, kind of smile, a witness-it-once-before-it's-gone kind smile. Armin felt his stomach do a swoop, whether it be from seeing the former female titan smile genuinely for the first time, or pure fear, from the seeing the former female titan smiling, and it being so similar to the one he saw during the 57th expedition.

"I guess, I'm not a good person after all."

Armin huffed, "That's quite alright, I'm not an entirely good person either."