I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin
A/N: I'll update "Change of Gate" by this weekend~
"Down here!" Sasha called out as she, Eren, and Armin raced through the hallway.
She was the first to enter and found Christa on the ground, sitting against the wardrobe. Getting to one knee beside her, she checked Christa for a brief moment, then looked on to Hanji as the woman was straddling Jean with a fist in the air that was held back by Rivaille's good arm. Immediately, Eren rushed over to her, along with Armin; the two hauled her off of Jean.
Sasha expected her to begin to kick away but she didn't put up any resistance, letting herself be cast back to the floor. Her sleeves worked to frantically wipe at her face.
Eren knelt over to Jean, offering a hand up.
"We heard yelling," Armin explained as Rivaille's hand went back onto the bed like a dead limb. He didn't move much, only laying on his back with his injured arm propped upwards by a few pillows.
"She started it!" Jean countered, brushing at his bloodied mouth. "She kept talking shit about Commander Erwin, saying how it's all his fault-"
"People...blame others when things go wrong," Rivaille breathed out, throat dry and his voice heavy,"I want all of you to...go away..."
Sasha aided Christa to her feet, then ushered her out of the room. Not waiting for either of the boys to protest. She kept the blond girl close to her as they went back to the dining area where Petra and Mike were making their way towards them. Before they passed, she said to them,"Don't go, the Corporal doesn't want anyone."
Mike gave her a confused look until he looked over his shoulder to see Armin and Eren helping Jean. Hanji had managed to bust his lip, a bruise was beginning to form under his eye; said woman was absent from them. The barmaid took notice of Jean and ran to the back room, probably out to get some supplies to treat him. With all the bustle going around, Weiss whined loudly.
"Quiet," she told him, the dog went off to hide under a table as Christa took her seat by the food.
Jean was plopped down nearby with Petra using a wet cloth to clean the blood off of him. As she dabbed at his lip, he broke out,"Someone needs to handle her before she decides to kill us."
"We trust her because we know she has nothing to lose other than the Corporal," Petra explained to him, though she looked reluctant to admit it. Mike grimaced slightly but turned away to grab his mug. "And she'll follow whatever fits his judgement, she's just following orders-"
"Yeah, like Erwin was," he snapped.
"Stop moving!" She chided him.
"Erwin's an entirely different situation," Mike voiced in. "He had the choice of telling us in advance and letting us leave while we still can, yet he let this drag on. Did he have enough time? Yes, he had half a month; the caucus in which the Marquis and King declared the obliteration of the Recon Corps was two weeks ago. Why didn't he tell us to leave sooner? Look at us, we're only a handful of fresh Scouts and a few veterans, one of us is incapacitated for good."
He drew close to Jean, close enough to force Petra out of the way. He placed the mug on a nearby table, his larger form easily towering over Jean, Sasha wanted to shove him away but the man had already taken a hold of Jean's chin, tilting him upwards.
"Each of us are still trying to cope with this. I understand your reasoning but I don't see why you would try to start a fight with Hanji. Don't you remember? She was sentenced to death before either of us. Unlike her, you and I, even Eren over there, know that Erwin was trying to save us at the last minute despite his neglectful actions-"
"He wasn't neglectful," Jean countered,"he couldn't reach a word the Marquis on time. Poor communications and all, he didn't even arrive until the day of executions!"
Mike released his hold on him. "He didn't?"
"Erwin set up correspondence three weeks ago, right after the caucus of nobles," he confessed. He spat out a bit of blood. "Pheh! The Marquis was supposed to arrive a week before the orders to kill were distributed...give us all a head start..."
"Then...the Marquis of Hermiha let this happen?" Sasha asked.
"Sounds like it, he said he came to deliver the last execution orders for myself, Rivaille, and Petra," Mike recalled with spite,"and that was the day after the executions started."
Mike stepped away as Petra went back to cleaning Jean. He added,"He met with the Commander earlier. They set up a designated location to meet up after getting Eren out of prison, some burned down bookstore. You got to talk to the Marquis- ah!" She pressed too hard on his lip. "Damn...you got to talk to him, he has something to do with all of this. We heard him talking with Erwin the other night..."
He gave a curt nod and headed for the door. Sasha decided to come with him; as she headed for the door, she stooped low for her bow and quiver, then whistled for Weiss, but then Mike turned around, shaking his head.
"Stay here, Sasha," he instructed, not leaving room to argue. She tried to protest, even when he slammed the door in her face.
-...-
"Hanji...don't go," Rivaille uttered despite Hanji kneeling at his bedside, she hadn't moved, nor was she planning to. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on anything but the searing pain shooting through his body. He right to reach out with his right hand when the yelling grew, but he found himself lacking a limb. It shocked him at first, though hearing Hanji screaming by him gave some focus.
He turned his head towards her, eyes opening slowly to see her tear-streaked face. She brought a sleeve to clean herself though the cloth made her skin redder. Rivaille breathed deeply and extended his left hand to her. Immediately, she took it to cradle her cheek into his palm.
"Where...?"
"An inn, twenty kilometers from the Karanse," she answered with a hoarse voice,"we got out...and we have Eren."
"What about...Erwin?"
She didn't respond. His thumb touched her lip, the pad of it caressed the skin gently and she finally said,"I sent him off with Ymir to get supplies from headquarters."
His mind drew a blank at the name.
"...Ymir?"
"The one with Christa," she said.
The thought of the aloof woman staring absentmindedly into space jolted his memory. He remained quiet as she let out a heavy sigh,"She overheard a conversation between Bertolt, Reiner, and Annie when I sent the two boys to fetch me barrels in the cellar. Some...plan to kidnap Eren, smash through Walls to escape when we were making a run for it ourselves."
Her words were slowly drowning away for him.
I feel so weak...
"...those three..."
A tunnel began to form somewhere in his line of sight.
"...may have been involved with the Fall of Wall Maria..."
He could feel her hands keeping his in place.
"...Ymir neglected to tell..."
He thought of when Bertolt and Reiner were riding on either side of him, he remembered Reiner taking his horse as he used his Gear to ascend to Eren's shoulder. Where did they go? They aren't here with us, right? He wanted to ask their whereabouts, then he drifted over to Ymir. She knew of this but didn't tell either of us? There's too many traitors...it's happening again...
"Too many," he breathed out.
Hanji leaned close to him. "What?"
"Kill," he rasped, unable to explain himself,"kill the girl, just as we agreed."
I can't keep up with them...punishment is the best discipline, is it not?
"Christa?" She meekly questioned as he turned his head to face the ceiling.
"Kill..."
Her forehead was against his cheek, he felt her give a gentle nod, her shaking slowly lulling him to darkness. He felt cold suddenly, so dreadfully cold...
-...-
Isidor von Hermiha, the fourth child of the current Marquis of the Hermiha.
Rivaille had never met him before but had several dealings with women, collecting his gold through messengers and giving said messengers the goods; it was a practice done by most of his high-profiling clients. He had begun trade with the man in the eighth month of 834; large shipments of half a dozen women were taken every few weeks, he never heard of them after that but no matter.
The man had particular tastes, only favoring what he thinks would be the best of them all; of course, Rivaille didn't mind, money was money. It was when Isidor suddenly ceased his orders altogether that it caught Rivaille's attention; it prompted a personal meeting.
He payed large sums of gold, probably from his father's treasury; he became the largest source of revenue Rivaille had ever encountered. Naturally, when the money stopped flowing, he'd be hellbent to see what was wrong.
It was the first month of 835, ten years prior to the Fall of Wall Maria.
He was called to the Karanese, a designated spot for his meeting.
As he waited outside in the cold, his gaze was fixated on the books displayed at the window. He was familiar with the proprietor in his youth. Eyes drifted left to right, looking at each title and reading whatever excerpts he could find. A young woman whose face he couldn't see was busy putting up a new book. When he caught notice of her staring, she turned away and sprinted out of sight.
"Sir!" Came a hushed voice.
Rivaille straightened his back when he saw a man clad in the Military Police uniform stand a few feet away. "Gervas?"
Fritz nodded, he brought his hands to his mouth and blew, shivering at the cold. "Yes, sir. The Lord is ready for you."
"About fucking time," he scoffed, following him. They entered an alley whose entrance was covered by half a foot of snow. Fritz kicked away the white and lead him further down to where a trap door was tucked behind a watchmaker's store. He waited as the man pulled the door open, allowing Rivaille to enter first into a long tunnel at the bottom of a twenty foot ladder.
When his boots met the moist bricks, Fritz was directly above him.
"You couldn't lead me to the main entrance?" He asked, perturbed by the filth he had to go through.
Fritz apologized gruffly when he landed by his side. "The MP would grow wary of you, sir."
They went down the tunnel and merged into a large chamber that had various networks leading out under the Karanese. Numerous cads for merchant thieves tried to sell their wares; drugs, illegal arms, vines, and most of all, humans. Fritz pushed passed many who threw suspicious looks at him. When he showed his face, their scowls turned to smiles in recognition.
However, when eyes fell upon Rivaille, they shirked, giving him a wide berth.
The attention was unnecessary but it made the walk less cramped.
After going through the crowds, Fritz met up with two other men, both of which wore their MP uniforms but carried rifles, signifying themselves as personal guards to royalty. There were several authorities such as Fritz protecting the nobles, as is their job, what set them apart from the other, ordinary MP were the people they were associated with.
The two guards opened a set of double doors that led into a brothel of sorts.
Rivaille, for once, took notice of the women. They were young and had a sense of natural beauty, though what killed their looks were the scandalous outfits. He glanced at whatever he could and continued on, following Fritz to a private room in the back hallways.
Inside the room was a bed fit for the King with numerous curtains draping all around. Wardrobes containing clothes told Rivaille that the guest had taken residence for quite some time. He was led to an elaborate, cushioned seat that was situated by a coffee table, parallel to that was a sofa. As he seated himself, a woman, foce once decently dressed, gave him freshly brewed tea - he was well known for it rather than booze, oh, Fritz knew well about that.
"Lord Isidor, Rivaille is here," Fritz's voice rang.
A stifled giggle came from the bed, Rivaille rolled his eyes as a man, half dressed with a shirt barely holding to his shoulders, came out of the sheets. Fritz fetched him a pair of slacks and the man scrambled to put it on. He staggered over to the sofa across from Rivaille, plopping himself to the seat while waving his hand for the door; a signal to be left alone.
When the room became quiet, Rivaille scrutinized him for a moment. He didn't like him, he never liked anyone. As long as he had money, Rivaille was alright with him. However, when the women ceased to be placed orders on, there was an issue. Rivaille was, in fact, the one who arranged to meet.
"Is there a reason why you stopped ordering from me?" Rivaille began, impatient.
"Perhaps," Isidor drawled. Out of the darkness of a corner, a lone servant appeared; apparently he wasn't dismissed. He came with a bottle and glass at hand, handing them to the nobleman to drink vine.
"Whatever it is, you've caught my undivided attention, sir," he said with the last word accentuated with spite.
Isidor took sips from his glass, then swayed the contents of his glass longingly. "As the fourth child of the Marquis, I will eventually be cut off from the family banking when my eldest brother comes to power. A few months ago, I tried my hand at human trafficking. Unfortunately, some of my stock had...gone to waste. After that, I thought to myself, 'What if I ask of that Rivaille fellow to teach me to make money?'. "
"You want to make a living off of trafficking then in case you lose your inheritance," Rivaille surmised, Isidor nodded,"I don't make partnerships, only take subordinates."
"I knew you would say that," Isidor chuckled. "But look at me." He spread his arms to present himself. "The son of a Marquis, I can give power, I do have governmental positions open."
"I'm not interested in politics."
"Then what about immunity from the law?"
"There's no use of it, I have a faily good grasp of the law-"
Isidor barked out in laughter. "Not until it comes to the likes of me!"
"Well, what can you offer to me that will be of actual worth?"
"The capability to walk amongst the Karanese and the Hermiha without the military breathing down your back," Isidor said. "Fritz had to take you through the back entrance, did he not? Imagine, Rivaille, the capability to walk in broad daylight without the need to draw a gun at someone, to live a normal life amongst the people; I even offer you my townhouse here."
Rivaille began to get up. "It's a stupid idea you have. For all I know, you could be scheming against me."
"What would I have against you? Look at me, a man of royal blood begging for the King of the Ring to be his leader, that's something you don't see everyday," he said,"I'll even step down from my position to live in the filth with you-"
"I live in a nice, clean manor in the Stohess, I try to not take much time Underground unless it's for business," he deadpanned Isidor.
The nobleman got up as the man began to head for the door. "Rivaille, wait a moment, please."
Rivaille rarely gave second chances, let alone a third. The man provided him with good coin for a few months, just to stop it all to have a chance to speak about a partnership? It was time wasted on his part and money wasted on the noble's. His hand rested on the door's latch, he glanced over his shoulder, a silent gesture of his willingness to listen.
"...if you're going to live on as you are upon your throne in the Underground, you're going to need some firm grasp on the surface world as well. It's been only three years you've climbed to the top of it all. I'm here...to offer you a connection to our government. You see nobles bending the MP to their will? Imagine yourself slowly gaining more power than the King himself. We both will start little, but give it time and money, see what else you can rule," he entreated.
Power did sound awfully tempting. What Isidor offered sounded well to him. He wouldn't have a hand in politics but he felt the pressure of needing authorities to turn a blind eye on him. He had, indeed, spent most of his infamous time in hiding. He thought carefully of the potentials Isidor could have. He would, of course, keep him as a subordinate.
He would have to keep an eye on him.
"What can you do?"
"I just-"
"What is your skill?" Rivaille questioned.
Isidor perked up in realization. "Your stock of humans can be added to, I have a good eye for women...and I figured that those orphans on the streets are less likely to draw attention than what you've done with kidnappings. Now you see why you're not well taken up there?"
Rivaille had to admit Isidor was right. Most of the prettiest women were kidnapped from the middle classes as he saw the poorest useless and filthy. Picking the right people off the streets, that's a skill noteworthy. Coupled with a political anchor, he was beginning to be convinced. He turned to face him completely, his right hand extending out to him.
"You're under my wing now," Rivaille declared, though it was grudgingly.
Isidor graciously took it, shaking it vigorously, desperately; a broad smile was smeared across his handsome face. "You won't regret it...friend."
He regretted it later on, for he didn't know the man had shaken it with a dagger behind his back.