Histories and Annals
Mater
He was assigned to kitchen duty with Historia the next morning, while those with more physical strength and stamina went about outside work. They were getting prepared for some experiments with Eren, but they weren't quite ready yet. Armin wasn't sure if Eren was either, but he couldn't say anything. Eren would only get huffy.
Armin and Hange had neglected to eat the previous night, and due to Armin's all-nighter he was famished. Historia was quiet, per the usual nowadays, going through a perfunctory routine as she prepared the porridge. In all honesty, breakfast was so simple only one of them could do it, but Armin needed a break from decoding. His hand was cramped, and he needed to get up and move around, else he'd fall asleep at Hange's desk.
It was very quiet in the kitchen, to the point where it was almost awkward. Historia had her back to Armin as she focused on letting the water boil. He spotted a burlap sack in the corner full of oranges, and his stomach made a pathetic little mewling noise that made him frown. He wandered around the kitchen, and began to take an inventory of the spices they had stocked.
"You don't have to be in here," Historia said. It startled him so badly he nearly dropped the little pouch of ground peppercorns. He caught it in midair, giving a soft gasp, his eyes flashing to Historia's back. She did not look up from her station at the stove. "I'm fine on my own."
"Oh," Armin croaked, feeling embarrassed. Had he intruded? "I'm sorry, I was just… I kind of just wanted to get out of the study. If you want me to leave—"
"No," Historia said, her voice quiet and level. "Stay if you want. I was just saying… I can do this on my own."
"I understand," Armin said gently. She looked at him, and he saw that her eyes were a little dull. She misses Ymir, Armin thought, sympathy panging in his chest. He couldn't help but understand her sadness. Eren had been retrieved, but Ymir's fate was unknown. As was her allegiance.
Historia was quiet for a few minutes, and Armin rolled the bag of pepper in his hands, smiling vaguely as he glanced at the oranges in the corner. It was almost time for breakfast, though. Also, he would feel guilty taking an orange.
"What have you been doing in there?"
Armin jumped, surprised again that Historia had spoken. She had stepped away from the stove to look at him. He stared at her, biting his lip nervously. How could he explain the journals? They were confusing and weird, and they hadn't gotten much information out of them.
"Captain Levi has Hange and I working on deciphering a journal he stole from a man in Wall Sina," Armin said slowly, glancing away from Historia. "Um… over a decade ago."
"Why is it important?" she asked carefully. Armin looked at her, and saw her brow furrowed as though she was trying to link it all together. "Has it got anything to do with the Wall Cult?"
"Maybe," Armin said, giving in to temptation and wandering over to the burlap sack of oranges. "It did mention your dad somewhat, but the man who wrote it got sidetracked with other things."
"My dad," Historia said vacantly. "It doesn't mention me, does it?"
Armin shook his head. Though, he wasn't so sure. The last thing he had decoded was the man meeting the woman again, asking her if she was feeling any better. The woman had laughed at him, and told him that she was worse, so much worse. The man had told her that she should see a doctor, and she had said that she had. She was pregnant.
That's when Armin had decided to take a break.
Historia looked relieved, and she nodded slowly. "Okay," she said. "Good."
Armin retrieved an orange carefully from the sack, and held it up so Historia could see it. She blinked rapidly. "You won't tell if I eat this, will you?" he asked, smiling weakly. "I didn't eat dinner last night."
"Oh, no," Historia said softly, shaking her head quickly. "Go ahead."
He smiled at her gratefully, and began to peel the orange, digging his fingers into its skin and tearing. Historia watched, and she turned back to the porridge, stirring it quietly. Armin was beginning to realize how little he actually talked to Historia. She'd always been a little quiet, but kind. She had just become incredibly reclusive without Ymir, and that worried him.
He stuck the peel inside the empty bag of oats sitting in the waste bin. He wandered back to where he had left the bag of ground peppercorn, and carefully pried it open, taking a pinch of the ground pepper and sprinkling it on an orange wedge. He stuck the slice between his teeth, nibbling at the delicate skin of the fruit, the pepper not quite hitting his tongue, as he sprinkled a little more on the rest of the orange.
He noticed Historia staring at him as he tied up the bag, chewing the peppered orange slice unthinkingly. Then he flushed, and swallowed quickly. "It's weird," he blurted, "I know, but I've been doing this since I was a little kid—"
"Can I have some?"
Armin stared at the girl, the taste of citrus and black pepper burning his tongue. "What?" he asked flatly. She stared back, her blue eyes moving from the orange to his face. "Oh. Yeah, sure."
He ripped off a slice, moving quickly to her side to hand it to her. She took it tentatively, and smiled up at him gratefully. She bit it, and turned away, chewing the orange thoughtfully as she stirred the porridge. Armin stared at her, expecting a violently negative reaction from the pepper. Historia finished the slice, and she turned her face away from him.
"Thank you," she said. Her voice sounded strained. He wondered if she was going to cry.
"I-I'm surprised," he said. "When Eren tried it, he couldn't even swallow it. He had to spit it out."
She laughed, a sweet and distant giggle that made him smile in alarm. She faced him, a genuine smile on her lips as she tilted her head upwards. "So did Ymir," Historia said. Her smile seemed to dampen a little at that, and she looked down.
Armin didn't know what to say. So he offered her the orange in his palm, and she stared at it for a moment before prying another peppered slice from it. They stood there, quietly eating the odd little snack, and before long Historia was smiling again.
"I don't think I've ever met anyone else who likes this," she said. She had finished the porridge, and was leaving it to stay warm. Now they leaned against the countertop, eating the orange slowly.
"Neither have I," Armin said. He thought about it for a moment, and then he shrugged. "Well, Mikasa tried it once, but I don't think she liked it. She just swallowed to be polite. How'd you discover it?"
"I don't know…" Historia said, nibbling her last slice. "I guess I just liked it when I was younger, and it stuck, or something. What about you?"
"Same," Armin admitted. "I can't even remember when I first tried it."
They both finished their respective slices, and stood against the countertop silently watching the wall across from them. Historia looked up at him, smiling dimly. "Thanks for sharing," she said softly.
"It's no problem at all," Armin responded quickly. "I'm just glad it's not that weird."
"It's kinda weird," Historia giggled. She held up her thumb and forefinger. "Just a little."
"Okay," Armin said, flushing a little, but laughing as well. "Well, if I'm weird, you're weird too."
"Okay," Historia agreed. "Sounds fair."
Armin looked away for a moment, and then he quickly looked back at her. She was no longer paying attention to him, and had focused herself on cleaning up the kitchen. "Hey," he said, quickly helping her with the task. "Historia… about your childhood…"
She paused without looking up at him, and then quickly resumed, as though she'd been startled by his words. "What about it?" she asked, sounding distracted.
"Well…" Armin pulled out the dishes from the cabinet as she continued to clean. "I know it's… not any consolation, but I think I can relate."
She glanced at him, her pale brows furrowing at him. It seemed he kept confusing her. "What do you mean?" she asked slowly.
"When I was little, the kids in Shiganshina would pick on me," Armin said, resting the dishes on the countertop. "I was weaker than them, and interested in the outside world, so they'd do things like throw me into walls, or push me into puddles, or kick the shit out of me, or even throw rocks." He smiled at Historia then, and he shrugged. "I always felt bad because Eren would try to help me, but then he'd just get beat up too. It was awful. I almost wish I could have hidden away, if it meant I didn't have to face them."
"No you don't," Historia said. He looked down at her guiltily, and she shook her head. "If… if I had just had a friend, like… like you had Eren…?" Historia smiled up at him sadly. "I would have been so much happier, I think…"
Armin closed his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said.
"Don't be," she said. When he opened his eyes, she was smiling. "It's not like that anymore. I have friends."
Armin smiled back, and nodded. "Yeah," he said, picking up the dishes and laughing. "I guess, if you ever feel lonely, you should just remember that." He studied her face as she pawed the top few dishes off his stack. "That you're never alone."
She nodded quickly. "Thank you," she murmured.
They started out of the kitchen to set the dining room table, and Armin caught her smiling again. He was glad to see she wasn't broken, just lonely because of the loss of Ymir. And loneliness was easy to cure.
"Okay," Hange said, "so you're telling me you knew this guy for months and months and months… but you never bothered to learn his name?"
Levi scowled from his place in the doorway. He looked ready to abscond, but considering his hissy fit the previous night, he seemed to decide against it. Armin was sitting quietly at the desk, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible. This was between Levi and Hange, and he didn't want to be a part of their bickering.
"You don't think I didn't ask the shitface?" Levi looked up at the ceiling, and glanced at the door, as if he expected someone to walk in. "He didn't think it was safe to tell anyone his name. Not where I lived. He was such a fucking smartass, I didn't even care at the time."
"So what did you call him?" Hange asked eagerly. "I mean, he taught you how to read, so clearly you didn't just not call him anything…" Hange studied his face, eyes widening in amazement. "Unless you did—!"
"He didn't care what I called him," Levi cut in sharply, glaring up at Hange. "Like I said. It never mattered."
"But it matters now!" Hange groaned, ruffling their hair in frustration. "What did he look like?"
Levi gave Hange a look, a dark little glower that suggested that Hange back up and shut up. "I can't even remember how many years ago this was," Levi said, his monotone voice growing harsh and biting. "And you think I can tell you what this wallfucker looked like?"
"Well, I don't know!" Hange cried, throwing their hands into the air. "Tell me something!"
Levi sighed in frustration, looking ready to throw something again. He caught Armin looking at him, and Armin quickly turned his attention back to the journals. The man had offered to help the woman with her pregnancy. Because apparently he'd read medical books, and she wanted to keep it as quiet as possible. Well, Armin thought amusedly, there's no way this can go horribly wrong.
"He was…" Levi seemed to struggle with the words, and Armin glanced at him. He looked uncomfortable. "Tall."
The room was quiet. Armin pressed his lips together tightly, and put a lot of pressure on the tip of his pen to keep himself from laughing. He was thankful Hange didn't laugh, because then he wouldn't have been able to contain himself. Instead, the squad leader was silent for a few moments, before making a soft little beseeching noise.
"Can you be a little more descriptive…?" Hange offered.
"I didn't fucking measure him, you nasty haired bitch," Levi said, his voice so quiet it sounded like a grumble.
"Okay, well, tall for you is—" Hange paused, and gave a shaky laugh. "Hey, hold on there, Levi, what're you—"
Armin looked back at them, alarm taking over him as Hange cried out in pain. Levi had Hange bending over backward, his hand grasping their ponytail, and he kicked the back of their knees.
"Yeow!" Hange gasped, giving another strangled laugh as they collapsed on their hands and knees. Armin jumped to his feet, feeling indescribably concerned for the squad leader, but also stunned at their audacity. How does Moblit deal with this all the time? Armin thought helplessly. "Hey, hey, I thought my hair was nasty?"
Levi gave Hange head a sharp shove, and whirled away, releasing their hair. Once again, it seemed they had gained nothing from Levi. It was disheartening, knowing Levi had known their mystery author, and yet knew nothing about him at all. Armin wondered if Levi truly could not remember this man, or if he was just avoiding his past. If the man's descriptions served as any indicator, then Levi did not live a very good life prior to joining the Survey Corps. Not that it was very surprising. Harsh places bred harsh people.
Once again Levi slammed the door, and Armin helped Hange to their feet. "You know," Armin said. "You were kind of antagonizing him."
Hange huffed in response, adjusting their glasses and grimacing. "I was not," Hange whined, massaging the backs of their knees. "Wowie, that's gonna bruise."
Armin smiled at Hange weakly. "Maybe if we stop pushing," Armin said gently, not truly believing his words, "he'll feel more comfortable telling us?"
Hange glanced at him, and frowned. "You think he's uncomfortable?" Hange asked, brown eyes growing wide.
"With talking about his past?" Armin shrugged. "Yes? I mean, he might also be… embarrassed, or something, because he was illiterate then?" Armin bit his lip, and shook his head furiously. "Oh, I don't know…"
"Hey, if you wanna guess at what goes on in Levi's twisted little noggin," Hange said, grinning as they held up their hands. "I'm all ears."
"Oh," Armin said, scratching his head uncertainly. "Well, I haven't got much beyond that. I don't exactly know him very well."
Hange gave a little laugh. "Oh, I don't think anyone really does," Hange admitted. "But that's just who he is, I guess!"
Armin smiled. "Maybe," he said. He turned back to the desk. The man had begun to detail his next experience with Levi. That was, Levi had appeared before the man with three contraband books, a shaved head, and so many cuts and bruises marring his face that he had been unrecognizable at first. The man had been hesitant to ask, and he wrote about how afraid he was of Levi and for Levi.
Then Armin translated something without thinking.
He reread it, and stared at it for a moment. Hange was sitting in the chair in the corner, possibly working on something else. Armin glanced back at them, and then quickly at the paper, the word glistening in wet ink. Had he… had he decoded that right? Armin crossed it out quickly, rapidly, listening to the pen scratch furiously against the paper.
But when he checked again, the word was the same. Wait, Armin thought, his heart thudding rapidly, and his mind halting at the thought. What? Armin didn't know what to think. Perhaps it was better that he didn't think at all, or else he'd over think it, and what would he do then? What could he do? This was certainly not something he was expecting to stumble upon!
So he tentatively left it out. As well as anything relating to it. He hoped Hange didn't attempt to check over his translations, but he thought that maybe Hange trusted him enough to have done it right. Eventually the lamplight drew low, and Armin, who was still hard at work, noticed Hange had fallen asleep at the chair in the corner. Armin smiled dimly, and he pulled his jacket from the back of the desk chair, wandering over to Hange and draping it over the slumbering squad leader. The wings of freedom were a shadow in the flickering light.
Armin scooped up the journals, hugging them against his chest as he took the lantern and headed cautiously toward the door. Hange gave a snore, and he smiled. He was fine. Hange wouldn't be waking up anytime soon. He stepped into the hall, shutting the door behind him, and walking very slowly through the darkened hall. Shadows spilt across the floor, hugging his legs and the walls as light bloomed before him in a spherical scope.
He ended up in the dining room. To his surprise, the table was not vacant. A candle was burning low, and Levi was sitting lazily, drinking tea in that odd crane-like grip of his. His dark eyes moved, but otherwise he did not acknowledge Armin's presence. Perhaps he just didn't care.
Armin set down the lantern carefully, as well as the journals, and he swallowed nervously. "Hello," he said.
Levi took a sip of his tea. Then he jerked his chin in what Armin could only assume was a greeting. He set the teacup down, his shadowy eyes narrowing as Armin slowly made his way to the chair across from him. Armin was surprised to see Levi, but glad. Levi was exactly the person he needed to talk to. Even if he was a little scared to death.
"What the fuck are you doing up?" Levi asked Armin. His eyes travelled to the journals, and he rolled his eyes. "Never mind. Let me try again. What the fuck are you doing in here?"
"I wanted to move, just in case Hange woke up," Armin admitted. He met Levi's eye with wariness as he sat down. "But I'm glad you're awake. I need to talk to you."
Levi looked unimpressed. "I told you two already," he said. "I don't remember the asshole. It was probably before you were even a thought passing through your parents' dirty fucking minds."
Armin was very quiet. He stared at Levi's face, his heart pounding, and he tried to evaluate the situation. He understood there would be consequences to dredging it up. The question was whether or not Armin was willing to gamble on Levi's ability to open up and speak.
"You never told him," Armin said softly, vacantly, tentatively prying open an old wound, knowing fully well how sensitive it was. "Did you?"
Levi's expression never changed, although his eyebrows briefly furrowed. "What are you mewling about?" Levi asked, resting back in his chair. "Shit, you need to stop spending so much time with Hange."
Armin noticed he was wearing his loose cotton shirt, clearly coming from bed. Had he had a nightmare? Armin wouldn't have blamed him. But was hard to see the man as anything other than the world's strongest soldier, or his callous commanding officer. The journal could be wrong. Maybe it was. Maybe it'd be better if they dropped it all together.
"You never told him…" Armin didn't want to say it. Levi was staring at him expectantly. "You were really young. Weren't you?"
"I'm pretty damn positive he knew I was young," Levi said, his eyes searching Armin's face. They flashed suddenly. "What did that journal say?"
Armin had to steady himself. He had to convince himself that he knew what he was doing. "You were a prostitute," Armin said. He said it in a calm, soft voice, as though he was speaking only to himself as a reassurance.
Levi stared at Armin, and in his eyes a thousand emotions seemed to skitter helplessly, and then die fast amongst a dark and furious blue haze. Before Armin could so much as blink, the man had gotten to his feet and rounded the table, grasping Armin by the front of his shirt and lifting him from his chair. Armin had been expecting this, and but he made a strangled noise of objection anyway, grappling at Levi's wrist.
"Hit me if you want," Armin gasped, his eyes widening. Levi had him dangling by the front of his shirt, choking and struggling. Levi's fist was pulled back, ready to strike. "You can explain the bruise to everyone— if you're up to it…"
Levi stared at him, and Armin knew he had caught him. Because this was certainly not common knowledge, and it certainly was not something that Levi wanted to explain to a bunch of teenagers. And so, with a curl of his lips, Levi dropped Armin. He landed in a crumpled heap, and before Levi could tear his wrist from Armin's grasp, the boy slid the sleeve of his shirt up. Armin was stunned to see a tattoo twisting about the muscle of his forearm. It was a black string of feathers clumping in an intricate design against his pale skin. It obscured the majority of the scars, but Armin could make out an awkward W, a haphazard H, and a painfully large O.
Levi's foot connected with his stomach, forcing him to let go, and he gave a shuddering gasp, his hands twitching toward his stomach. The pain lanced upward, settling inside his chest and causing his ribs to shiver. He squeezed his eyes shut as Levi grabbed him by a fistful of his hair.
"You're a little piece of scum," Levi spat.
Armin coughed weakly, wincing as he clutched his chest. "F-fair enough," he rasped. "Sir."
He let go of Armin by giving his head a shove, nearly smacking it against the side of the table. "Tell me exactly what it says about me," Levi ordered, standing above Armin with the most disturbing look about his child-like face. Levi looked far away, and yet ready to tear Armin apart.
"It doesn't…" Armin gave another weak cough, his stomach aching. "It doesn't say much… I didn't write it down, so… you don't have to worry about anyone else finding out, but…" He took a deep breath, and he looked up at Levi, his brow furrowing. "I didn't mean to find out."
"Tell me," Levi ordered, bending down before Armin, his eyes moving almost rapidly to read Armin's face. "What did that bastard know about me? How the fuck did he know?"
Armin swallowed, and wondered how much of his fear his face was betraying. "He guessed from the scar on your arm," he said. "Also, I think he asked around about you. Maybe he knew from the very beginning." Armin's eyes were wide. "I don't know." Armin had to take a deep breath. "I could have… pretended, you know. That I didn't find out." Armin shook his head furiously. "But I didn't."
"Because you're a stupid fucking fool," Levi said, closing his eyes. Then they snapped open, and he stood up. "You want me to talk about it, don't you, brat?"
Armin almost smiled. He pushed himself shakily to his feet, feeling a little sheepish as he nodded. "I think," he said quietly, "that you don't remember the man because you don't want to shed light on that part of your life."
"Oh, don't give me that bullshit," Levi scoffed. He sat back down, and folded his hands across his lips. "I was telling the truth, you little shit. I don't remember because it was so fucking long ago."
Armin sat down as well, noting how Levi was glaring at the journals. "Just tell me what you can," Armin said. "You want to identify him just as much as me."
"If it was that easy," Levi hissed, "don't you think I'd have done it years ago?"
"You didn't have a way to decipher the journal," Armin said. "The only reason we figured out the code is because it was from a book I read when I was younger, about the world outside the walls."
Levi looked at him, and he tilted his head as though Armin had said the most curious thing. "What did you say?" he asked.
"My book…" Armin repeated slowly. "About the outside world?"
Levi blinked, and he leaned back in his chair. "Where did you get a thing like that?" he asked.
Armin shifted uncomfortably in his seat under Levi's scrutiny. "Um," he said. "My… my grandpa gave it to me. I think it was my parents', but…"
"Your parents," Levi repeated. His eyes narrowed. "They died when the Wall fell?"
"No, they—" Armin stopped suddenly. As a child, he'd thought about it a lot. He'd asked a lot. He'd never gotten concrete answers. "They…"
"You don't know, do you?" Levi gave another scoff, and picked up his tea. "Aren't you supposed to be some sort of genius?"
Armin flushed. "My grandpa said they went outside the walls," Armin said quietly. "But…"
"Whatever," Levi sighed. "It's just weird. I had to scour the entire Sina underground to find books on the outside world. And you had one as a fucking bedtime story."
"Weird…" Armin stared as his hands. "I never thought so… but… I guess, maybe it was. Anyway, clearly you remember some things."
Levi looked ready to fling the candle at Armin. He didn't, thankfully, but he looked rather grumpy. "Do I need to spell it out in piss for you to understand me?" Levi leaned back in his chair. "I can't remember the asshole."
Armin was growing desperate. "But can you at the very least confirm that this was sixteen years ago?" Armin felt a little sick to his stomach, but he ignored it. He had to think.
Levi gave a sigh of irritation, watching Armin with a gaze that told him that he'd best be watching himself from now on. He was quiet for a few moments, looking undeniably uncertain, his lips pressing into a thin line. He seemed to be thinking about it, which was a good thing for Armin, but also likely troublesome for Levi. Armin didn't mean any harm, but it was inevitable.
"Sixteen…" Levi muttered, taking a sip of his tea. He shrugged, and Armin felt himself slump. Come on, Armin begged. Just give me something— anything.
"Yes," Armin said. "Was it sixteen years ago?"
Levi met Armin's eye, and Armin felt more like throwing the candle now. Levi looked positively demonic in the faintness of the candlelight, the bruise-like bags under his eyes only accentuating his appearance more or less resembling a child's corpse.
"Yeah," Levi said finally. "Probably."
Armin needed a moment to assemble his thoughts. Sixteen years ago. Armin could say now that the woman their mystery writer had been meeting with was more than likely Historia Reiss's mother. If that was so, which he was almost certain it was, then a huge layer of the mystery had been peeled away. However, the man was still a mystery, as was his particular interest in the Walls as well as the outside world.
"Are you sure?" Armin asked tentatively.
Levi stared at him with his dark blue eyes shadowed even in the glare of the candle's flame. "No," he said quietly.
"How… exactly do you tell time?" Armin asked. Levi gave him a look, and Armin quickly reiterated. "I mean, I think you clearly have some idea when this was, but you aren't sure because… uh…"
"I go by the year," Levi said in his chilly monotone. "Usually. If I'm feeling wild, I'll try and figure it out by the amount of gray hairs I have."
Armin almost pointed out that Levi didn't have any gray hair. He realized very quickly what he'd be walking into, so he decided against it. "So," Armin said, choosing to ignore Levi's comment, "do you have any indicator of when this was?"
Levi scowled. "You have to give me something a little more specific than what I was at the time," Levi said. He was hesitant to speak, clearly, but it seemed his exhaustion had stolen his will from him. "The years blur together."
"You don't remember the year you learned how to read?" Armin asked, trying not to sound too shocked. "I'd think that'd be a huge indicator."
"Like I said," Levi said, his eyes narrowing impatiently. "The years blur."
"Okay," Armin said, nodding. He was getting somewhere, he could feel it. "Well, you were in a gang."
"I was always in a gang." Levi swirled his tea around his cup lazily.
"Um…" Armin had to think about it. Levi wasn't mentioned too much in the journal, but when he was there was a lot of negativity surrounding him. It didn't help that to the man writing, Levi had honestly been nothing more than a child. It was likely Levi's youthful appearance had been what had convinced the man, who clearly had a strong sense of self-preservation considering the great lengths he went through to keep his name concealed, to trust him. "You… oh!" Armin sat up straighter as he recalled what he had only recently deciphered. "You'd been beaten up."
"I wonder if your awful pisspot of a mind can even begin to comprehend how little that narrows it down," Levi said. "Be fucking specific."
Armin sighed, and he brushed his hair from his eyes. "Okay," he said. "You were beaten up, and your head was shaved, and someone had carved the word whore into your arm." He looked up at the ceiling, wondering how that had not been the indicator.
Levi, for a fraction of the second, seemed more than ready to go back to trying to beat the shit out of Armin. But instead, he sat quietly, his furious gaze falling upon Armin's face. Armin had to suppose he was thankful for Levi's exhaustion, because he was positive it was the only think keeping him from getting his face kicked in.
"I remember," he said. His voice never wavered, nor broke, nor held any sign of trauma. He spoke like he spoke about the weather, or pissing, or the secret to getting tough bloodstains out of the Survey Corps cloak. "My face got fucked up."
"Yeah," Armin said. "The journal said you were almost unrecognizable."
Levi shrugged. "It's not like I wanted to be recognized," the man said. "And it gave me the final excuse to change my profession to something that didn't make me want to set myself on fire."
Armin wasn't sure how to take that. In all honesty, Armin was out of his depth. He could not say he understood how Levi's youth had affected him, but he seemed to speak about it without much care. Perhaps he just didn't care anymore. Maybe that was it. Maybe Levi just didn't give a fuck about what Armin thought, since Armin already knew, and there was no hiding it.
He was still trying to figure out how to respond when Levi snapped his fingers before Armin's eyes. Armin jumped, blinking rapidly at the man across from him. His brow was furrowed, and his tired blue eyes seemed to assess him differently. "If I'm making you uncomfortable," Levi said in a low voice. "Say so."
"No," Armin blurted, shaking his head furiously. "N-no, that's not it—" Wait, Armin thought. Is he withholding information because he thinks I'll be uncomfortable? "Are you uncomfortable?"
Levi sat with his eyes heavily lidded, and his shoulders hunched. "Yeah," he said cautiously, watching Armin with the most intimidating stare the boy had ever witnessed. "There's a reason it's a fucking secret, you piece of shit."
Armin felt the urge to apologize, but he didn't. He pressed his lips together, praying that he didn't look as scared as he felt, and he folded his hands on the table. "The man who wrote the journal," Armin said carefully, "obviously cared about you a lot." Levi gave a little scoff. "He said he was scared for you."
"I was eighteen," Levi said in a dull voice. "I guess I was scared for me too."
Armin wondered how he had gotten so lucky as to find Levi in such an exhausted state. Certainly if the man was completely lucid he would not be speaking so candidly about himself. Armin had to be careful how he went about this, though, because Levi was not someone he particularly wanted to piss off. It was probably too little too late, but at the very least Levi was talking.
"Okay," Armin said. "If you don't think he cared about you, then why would he have bothered to teach you how to read?"
"Charity." Levi leaned back, and he crossed his legs. "I dunno. I didn't care. He did me a solid, so I smuggled books for him. He didn't give a fuck if I was rotting in the filth of Wall Sina."
Armin wanted to say something comforting, but he didn't know how anything could soothe this kind of pain. He didn't think Levi would want Armin's pity, so he couldn't apologize. Armin was simply left to keep prying open that old wound, and hoping nothing snapped.
"What did you do after you, um, changed professions?" Armin asked. Levi gave him a scathing look, one that was all too familiar by now.
"I was a cutpurse," Levi said, resting his cheek against his knuckles. "And a cutthroat."
Armin looked down at his hands. Well, it wasn't surprising. "You know," Armin said, "I think you might have made a very good living selling books."
"Tch," Levi scoffed. "You don't know Sina very well."
Armin smiled. "No, not really," he admitted. "You're giving me a pretty good idea, though."
Levi said nothing. He stared at Armin, his cheek still resting against his fist. Their conversation had been enlightening, to say the least. And also entirely too frightening for what little Levi could actually give Armin. There was no denying his guilt for unearthing Levi's unsavory past, but it was a guilt he could deal with.
They stared at each other for a few minutes, and Armin's discomfort grew. Perhaps Levi could sense it, and continued to stare only to make Armin feel worse. The candle was nothing but a waxy stub, and the lantern Armin had brought with him had long since gone out. And yet, here they were, staring each other down.
"Can I ask you one more question?" Armin asked the man. He shrugged in response, his face a mass of shadows forming smooth lines. The light was so dim now that Armin could barely see Levi's eyes. "Why did you steal the journal?"
Levi looked at Armin, but there was no fury or bitterness. He looked tired and bored, as if Armin's curiosity could not longer draw emotion from him. "I knew the fucker had secrets," Levi said. "I think I've said this before."
"Yeah," Armin said, biting his lip. "But there's something else. You have to remember that day clearer than the rest— you would have forgotten about the journal years ago if it wasn't important to you. So… what exactly happened to the man?"
"If I knew—" Levi said, straightening up. Armin sensed his irritation, and quickly tried to amend himself.
"I know," Armin gasped. "If you knew, you'd have found him, but… that's just it. Where did he go?"
"You're the one who can decode the damn thing," Levi said. "Why are you asking me?"
"Because you sought him out," Armin said. "You have to remember that day, at the very least. Can you give me any kind of details at all?"
Levi sighed, and he looked away, his shoulders slumping miserably. "I never should have bothered with it," Levi said. "If I'd known it'd give me this much grief, I'd have burned the fucking thing."
"But it's important, isn't it?" Armin asked Levi desperately. He needed it to be important. It was important to him. "We have to identify this man so he can tell us about the Wall Cult."
"Which we know he wasn't a part of," Levi said irritably.
"But he knew things about them," Armin murmured. "He knew about Historia."
Levi looked at him, and then his head moved slowly to the unlit end of the table. He said nothing for a minute, and then he sighed again. "Okay, don't give me any of your bullshit," Levi warned. "This was sixteen years ago, and it's not something I think about a lot, so fuck if it's a little hazy. But I do remember that day a little. He… gave me a book or some shit to read, but it was one that I had smuggled for him, so he wanted it back. That's why I saw him that day. I gave him the book back, and stole his journal."
Armin watched Levi with wide eyes. "You read one of his books?" Armin asked. "On the outside world?"
"I dealt him those goddamn books," Levi said. "Of course I read them."
Armin couldn't help but smile. "You could have cracked the code," Armin told him. Levi stared at him, his expression entirely impassive.
"No," Levi said. "I couldn't."
Armin looked down, and he tried to make sense of that. How did he crack the code, then? What had he done that had been so effective? "Was there anything else about that day you remember?" Armin asked quietly.
Levi was silent. He hadn't touched his tea in awhile, and Armin supposed it had gone cold. Then he spoke, and it was slow and quiet, as though he was not entirely certain he was even speaking at all. "I think I went to look for him. He always stayed at the same damn inn, I just figured he'd be there. But… yeah, no." Levi closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly. "The only person who had gone through there that day had been a father and child from Wall Maria."
That caught Armin's attention. "Wall Maria?" he asked, eyes widening. "That's a little weird."
"I didn't think much of it," Levi said. "The shitrag was gone, so I didn't stick around."
Armin had to think about it for a moment. No, there's no way it was Historia, Armin thought. She was raised near her mother at the very least. "Well," Armin said. "That's definitely a little strange."
"Not really," Levi said. He stood up, walking slowly to the edge of the table, out of the reach of the dim candlelight. He reappeared with the journals in his hands.
"I didn't write down anything about it," Armin said. "You can check."
"I will," Levi said, sitting down again.
Armin sat quietly, watching Levi begin to read the translations. He was a little surprised he had gotten as much as he had out of Levi, but equally disappointed because the information just seemed… inadequate. But Armin had a lot to piece together.
After a while, Armin's head began to droop. He rested his chin against his folded arms as Levi continued to read. "Did he ever talk about her?" Armin said. He was a little delirious from exhaustion.
Levi did not raise his eyes. Instead, he turned a crisp white page, his lips pressing together thinly. "No," he said. His voice was so soft, it was barely a whisper. It trickled across the silence of the room, breaking the darkness and shattering the eerie atmosphere.
Armin thought perhaps that wasn't all that strange. The man had not even shared his identity with Levi, so why would he reveal anything about his personal life? But Armin also had to wonder if Levi was a little bitter about it all. He couldn't be blamed if he was.
Armin fell asleep at the table, his thoughts swarmed by the contents of the journal. He could not escape it. It was chasing him, flagging him down and prying his eyes open. But he couldn't see a thing. He was plagued by words and pictures, symbols and codes that made no sense and yet, he understood them. He felt a daunting connection to the way the journal was strung together, as though it was tailored for his mind and his mind alone.
He was roused the next morning by a firm hand. His head was vaguely aching, perhaps from lack of sleep, and he squinted into the morning haze. The dining room was bathed faintly in the soft white glow of early morning. Armin blinked rapidly to clear his bleary eyes of sleep, and he looked up inquisitively at the figure who had awoken him.
Mikasa's dark eyes were taking in his face, searching it as though she was trying to find some concealed flaw. Ah, he couldn't help thinking groggily. It's a good thing Levi didn't punch me, then…
Armin's eyes widened momentarily, the hazy memory of his and Levi's conversation resurfacing. His gaze flashed to where Levi had been the night before, sitting directly across from him. The man was still there, nothing but a white lump and a disheveled black head of hair. His face was buried in his arms, the journal sitting beneath them.
"Armin?" Eren wandered into the room, looking half-asleep, but fully clothed. He rubbed his eyes, and blinked between Armin and Levi dazedly. "Whoa, what's going on?"
Mikasa tugged at his shirt, and frowned. "You've been wearing the same clothes for three days," Mikasa told him. He flushed, though he couldn't deny it.
"Did you sleep in here?" Eren asked, his voice booming in the vacancy of the dining room. Levi awoke with a sharp intake of breath, his head jerking upright. He immediately met Armin's eye, and saw the similar position they were in.
"Morning," Armin said weakly.
Levi stared at him. His eyes traveled to his teacup, and then the stub of wax that had once been a candle. Finally they fell upon the journal beneath his arms. For a moment, he seemed to focus on it, but his attention trailed away as he rose to his feet, pushing his chair in and taking his teacup to the kitchen. Armin watched him curiously, and he wondered how their conversation had affected the man.
"What were you two doing?" Eren asked, scooping up the journal and flipping through it. Armin wasn't concerned, because it was unlikely Eren would find the journal very interesting. "There're so many squigglies…"
"We were discussing something Hange and I have been trying to decipher," Armin said as Eren quickly got bored of trying to figure out what was happening in the journal.
"Oh," Eren said, his brows knitting together. He seemed to gain some semblance of lucidity, and he tilted his head down at Armin. "Anything good?"
"Not sure yet," Armin taking the journal back. "Ask me in a few days."
"Is this what you've been doing, then?" Eren asked, pointing at the journal. "'Cause you haven't exactly been around much."
"Oh," Armin said. It hadn't occurred to him that his absence would be noted, but it was no shock that Eren had noticed. He was Eren. He always cared a little too much. "I'm sorry. Yeah, I've been trying to decode this journal, in hopes that maybe the author knew some stuff about the Wall Cult."
"Well?" Eren asked, his green eyes widening. "Does he?"
Armin shrugged. "That's kinda what we've been trying to figure out, Eren," Armin laughed, pushing himself to his feet. His joints felt very stiff and inflexible, and his abdomen was vaguely aching from the kick Levi had delivered to it. Armin had to suppose he was lucky Levi had opted out of beating the shit out of him. Because Armin, now that he sort of recalled the previous night, had been entirely insensitive about the entire situation.
Jean lumbered into the dining room with Sasha close behind. "What's for breakfast?" Sasha asked, sounding half in a dream.
"Same thing as yesterday," Jean said, his eyes moving suspiciously between the trio. "Did something happen?"
Eren glanced at Jean, and he gave small scoff. "Why the hell are you jumping to that conclusion?"
Jean's eyes narrowed, and he tossed his hands into the air. "Well, I dunno, Eren," Jean said. "Maybe you should look at your track record, and then ask me that again."
"Okay…" Armin said slowly, scooping up the journal. "I'm going to go wake up Hange…"
Armin took the other journal, the older one, and he carefully ducked out. He thought about Levi, who likely despised him for various reasons, and he thought about what possibly lay ahead in the journal. Hange could stumble upon Levi's past at any given time. He had no control over that.
Armin began to flip through the older journal, taking in the drawings as opposed to the words. He handled the aged yellow paper delicately, turning the pages with only the tips of his fingers. He found the page where Levi had been beaten up, and he studied the drawing that had been inked under the vague words that had ciphered Levi's true predicament. The picture was of some small peak of ice perched upon a sea. There was a faint squiggle, a lapping of artistic waves against the ice as the drawing peered below the surface. The ice mountain was inverted. It was larger beneath the water.
His examination of the drawing had distracted him, and for that reason he ended up stumbling in the hallway, his mouth smacking rather painfully into someone's forehead. The journals slipped from Armin's fingers as he doubled back rapidly, his hands clamping over his mouth. He heard a soft little gasp, and Armin watched Historia's fingers move carefully beneath her fringe of blonde hair.
"Oh," Armin choked through bruised lips, "I'm so sorry—"
"No," Historia said, rubbing her head distantly, never looking up at him. "No, that was my fault. I wasn't looking where I was going."
"Neither was I," Armin objected.
Historia didn't answer. She had crouched to the ground, kneeling carefully to pick up Armin's books. He felt very guilty, and he bent down to help her, his stomach viciously objecting. Do bruises scar, Armin thought, because I think I'm going to feel Levi's kick forever. Armin recalled that Eren had been beaten far worse by Levi, and was more or less okay after the encounter. And then Armin recalled Eren's Titan powers, and frowned.
"Are you okay?" Armin asked, taking the translation journal. Historia glanced up at him, and he noticed that she had opened the older, coded journal to the page he had just been on.
"Hmm?" She nodded quickly, her eyes darting back to the journal. "Hey, Armin? What's the iceberg for?"
Armin looked at her vacantly. "What?" he asked her flatly.
Historia turned the journal to him, and pointed to the drawing of the inverted ice mountain. Armin opened his mouth. And then he closed it. He wasn't exactly sure how to respond to her. Iceberg? "Wait," he said. "Is that what it's called?"
Historia smiled faintly, looking vaguely baffled. "Yes," she said. She pulled the journal back, and examined the page curiously. "They're… oh, I don't know how to explain it…" She sighed, and shook her head. "But that's what they're called."
"How do you know that?" Armin asked her, his eyes widening. "I-I mean, I know what they are, but I didn't know they had that name."
"Mmhmm," Historia hummed, her eyes fluttering closed momentarily. "I think it comes from, um, a really old word— eis, or… ijs… berg…" She bit her lip, and opened her eyes, shrugging. "Meaning ice mountain."
Armin stared at her, feeling a rush of awe as he listened to the tiny girl speaking. "Where did you learn that?" He asked her eagerly. She blinked up at him rapidly, looking stunned at his sudden interest in what she had to say.
"Oh," she said quietly. "A… a book, I think, when I was little."
"You had books on the outside world?" Armin asked, feeling the need to grab Historia's arms and shake her excitedly. Of course, he didn't, but he was very tempted to.
"Um, yes?" she asked, her eyes growing wide. "Is that strange?"
"Well, they're not exactly legal…" Armin bent completely to his knees, so he and Historia were completely eye to eye. Her large blue eyes were watching him with varying degrees of hesitance and confusion.
"Well, no," Historia said. "But I always thought that the illegality of it was just a… a thing that wasn't really enforced, and was ignored, and…?" She flushed, her eyes widening. "By the look on your face, I'm going to guess that's a no."
"I only had one book on the outside world," Armin said, "and I got beaten up constantly for being a heretic."
Historia looked away. "Well," she said, "I didn't really have anyone to convince me otherwise…"
Armin had to look away as well, his eyes casting down to the journal sitting heavily in his hands. "Sorry," he said awkwardly. She peered at him, and then closed the little book with a snap.
"So, um, what's the iceberg for…?" Historia asked tentatively, offering the journal to him. Armin took it.
"I'm not really sure," Armin admitted. "It's a symbol for something, but…"
Historia picked herself up from the floor, dusting off her skirt with a pensive look in her eyes. She offered him her hand, and he smiled gratefully as he took it. "It could mean…" Historia frowned, and tucked a few loose strands of pale blonde hair behind her ear. "Oh, I don't know…"
"It's okay," Armin said, hugging the journals to his chest and smiling at her gratefully. "I'm still trying to figure it out."
Historia bit her lip, and said nothing. Armin was beginning to sense that Historia rarely ever said what she was truly thinking. That was worrying, and he wondered how Ymir had gotten her to open up. He didn't know, and he couldn't help the faint, numbing sadness that came with the revelation that maybe she just didn't want to talk to him.
They parted ways without a word, and Armin entered the study with a heavy heart and an aching abdomen.
I'm pretty unsurprised at the lack of feedback for this fic, considering it's about two characters that no one seems to give a fuck about, let alone blink at a gen fic involving them. ='] Thank you so much to the people who have given me feedback, though. You are true heroes.
My decision for Levi's backstory stems from the fact that I have a tendency to link him to prostitution in the least kinky sort of way. I mean, I lump him together with Jason Todd in that aspect, so it's not all that surprising. I had a lot of fun writing all of these scenes, though!
The next chapter might be outrageously long because I'm almost positive I didn't split this story equally. Oops. Review, please, if you've gotten this far without stabbing needles into your eyes! =D