Hey guys! Long time no see…
I know I was on a roll with my StarCraft fanfic, but I lost the outline I had for the story and have since lost the motivation to finish (note to everyone, do NOT save important story stuff anywhere but on a cloud!)
BUT! I've been extremely into Attack on Titan these last few years, and with the finale coming out in a few months, I finally decided to try my hand at something a bit different!
Spoilers for up to Season 4 of the show! That's right, if you haven't seen at least the first half of the fourth season, recommend you don't read! Go watch the show itself first, I promise you won't regret it :)
If you have seen it, let me know what you think!
And if you haven't seen it and decide to read anyways, well…buckle up for an emotional ride.
CHAPTER 1 – My Name (part 1)YEAR 841
The luxury of birth was one that I often took for granted.
The daughter of a general.
The daughter of a noble.
From the moment I'd taken my first breath, I was born to this world with no blessings withheld from my name, nor my lineage.
I was named for the sea, because that's what had brought my mother and father together. That's what my uncle always told me, behind a barely steaming cup of tea and a look so distant, I could only imagine the miles he had seen within those depths. To be named for the sea was pleasant enough…but the full weight of my importance came when I spoke my name in its entirety.
Marina Octavia Magath.
It was a name I wore with pride, for it was mine, and mine alone. My name meant something, because everytime I used it, I could see the light of recognition, and the profound halo of respect it brought me. My father was a soldier, as was his brother. His father before them had also carried the title of commander, and his father before him, all the way to the first few steps Marley had taken as a free nation, from the oppression of the titans, and the overwhelming burden of their king. The Magaths were a proud family, and I was a proud daughter.
From my earliest memory, I knew I was coddled. I had once tripped on the last step of our family mansion's grandest stairwell, after fancying myself a princess. I was so distraught over the fact the little tumble had cost me one of my front teeth. I had wailed, and sobbed, crying out for the injustice, enough to convince my mother to commission a doctor from the far southwest to create the daintiest little ceramic replacement to fill the gap. At least, until I gained the sense and realization that it would come back.
Spoiled was one word for it.
Coddled, another.
For all intents and purposes, however, I would like to imagine it was love that caused my parents to treat me as they did.
I was a proud daughter.
But I was also an only daughter.
My mother could only bear so much of the sea in her life, it would seem. The toll I took to come into this world took her ability to have any more children, and despite my father's flippant nature with booze, he kept his heart close to his chest and pants cinched at the waist. So I remained alone in my weighty, brilliant burden of an inheritance. My uncle never had children. He sold his soul to the military, and the moment his younger brother expressed the inkling of a thought of marriage, he poured his heart and body into it as well.
It came as no surprise when he was elected as the lead on the Warrior program several years back. It was a sought after position, and I was frankly surprised the Magaths hadn't been given the reins on something so vital sooner. It didn't matter much to me, as I wasn't even born at the time. But my proud father and his glinting medals never let me forget it. His history, his brother's history, the history of the blood in my veins.
I don't think I truly understood what it meant to be myself. What it meant to have my name.
Until the day I followed my uncle to the Eldian training grounds.
"Marina Magath!"
"Yes ma'am!"
The sting to my posterior causes a squeak to wrench from my chest as I attempt to straighten up. However, the result is the opposite of what I expect, and what my instructor probably intended. Book after book tumbles from my head, leaving me with a single, tottering magazine.
"Your shoulders are still far too slouched! Again!"
Mid gathering the handful of books that had tumbled to the carpet, I twist my face into the most pleasant yet apologetic smile I can muster.
"I was doing my best-"
"Best is not what I ask for, young lady, but perfection!"
The smile on my face is a little too plastered as I daintily place the books atop my head once more, demurely taking a bow, books almost completely still. I glance over to my mother, who's fanning herself beside the window, looking out into our lavish garden. I know she won't watch me unless I receive praise…discipline is necessary, she's told me, so she typically waits until I have things perfect before she glances over with her soft blue eyes.
I spin in a small, careful circle, sweeping my arms wide. In a measured box step, I begin the first slow movements of the Marleyan waltz, the traditional three four timing directing my movements into the smallest, contained space.
"Back straighter, Marina. And curtsy."
Bowing low, my spine is as rigid as a maypole, my hand gathering my skirt into a grand sweep of chiffon and silk. I bend my knees just so, and lower myself without letting a single book fall.
I look down with lowered lashes at the beautiful, Durisian rug beneath my shoes. Imported from some far distant land, it's so easy for me to imagine I'm dancing in some grand, glittering ballroom, rather than the dim interior of our study. I often read of the far off nations of our world. Durisia, Hizaru, Westrun, even to the land across the sea, Licha, with its lush forests and bountiful resources. As I stand tall again, I imagine myself there, in those distant courts, weaving between palm fronds and flower stems, a gem for others to see.
If only I could swoop my arms, with their glittering bangles and gemstones, impeccably stepping left, and right. Weaving the air with my body, rather than letting it flow around me in my small little box.
With a twist of my hips and chest, I spin in the smallest circle, and resume the waltz. It's so natural to me, I can close my eyes. And within the darkness, I can see the dancer.
My mother had taken me to see her when I was only a few years old.
A Lichan dancer.
Her dark skin was beautiful, the gemstones along her gown and within her hair causing sprays of light, like droplets on water, to erupt and paint the curtains around her like a masterful artist. She would spin, and the casting of light would make her look like an otherworldly creature, a gemstone in and of itself-
"Stop your daydreaming, child!"
A single book falls, followed by another.
Madame Tallowson leans down, hands on her hips, ensnaring my wide, pale gray eyes with her shrewd glare. I stand as still as possible, my arms drawn into tight angles. Her thin, wrinkled face draws into an unpleasant, disappointed scowl.
"You close your eyes, and it's as if you disappear from this world altogether." Her pinched voice is just as tight as her expression, her posture, the strangled bun atop her head. I'm not sure how to respond. Pleading, I look up, another book sliding from my head to the ground below. As it thuds against the thick carpet, a softer voice cuts through Madame's mutterings.
"Put it into words, my darling."
I turn to face my mother in the window, as surprised as Madame Tallowson is. The midday sun causes traces of sunlight to outline her beautiful dark hair, her blue eyes smiling with the reflections of the garden outside.
"What are you thinking about?"
I'm a little embarrassed. My small hands clutch at my skirt, and the rest of the books fall to the ground.
"Marina-"
"I was thinking of the pretty dancer, mama."
"Oh?" She smiles, her lips the prettiest shade of pink, outlining nearly perfect teeth as she fans herself. My eyes widen…I don't think I ever realized it before, but…my mother is also covered in gemstones. They dance and wobble with the pressure of the fanning at her neck, dangling from her ears and around her throat. She glitters in a much more serene way, and when I can finally look at her entire face, she's glowing.
"The one we saw when you were younger?"
"Yes!"
"It is unladylike to raise your voic-"
"She was so pretty! Her dance was so pretty, and I wanted to be like her! Pretty!"
My mother's laugh is so delightfully pure.
"You are pretty, my love. Come."
Her hand gesture has me running to her knee, much to Madame Tallowson's chagrin. Beaming like a patch of sunlight, I throw myself into my mother's warm green skirts, feeling as they billow up and around me like blades of sweet smelling grass. Sunlight on a field of flowers…that's how it feels to hold, and be held by my mother. Leaning down, she kisses the top of my head, brushing the locks from my eyes, still fanning her face with her other hand.
"Darling Marina, why do you think we dance?"
Fwip-fwip-fwip-fwip-fwip-fwip-
The fan speaks in the silence as I try and think up a good answer. Simply enough, I look up at her, smiling broadly.
"To be pretty, obviously."
"Tch…" Madame Tallowson tuts, picking up the discarded books.
"Well, that is one reason." My mother concedes, still brushing the hair from my forehead, dragging it down along the side of my cheek, then back up. Her cool palm holds my face, and I close my eyes in bliss.
"But we also dance for other people. Who do you think the Lichan dancer was dancing for, Marina?"
"...us?"
"Yes. But also for herself. When you dance…you share a message. Even if you're alone, you dance for a reason. For a purpose."
"What's the purpose of learning this kind of dance?"
Mama smiles, glancing over to Madame Tallowson, who has her hands on the stack of books, hugged tightly to her chest like an impromptu shield.
"To find you a husband, eventually. But for now, to impress Marley's finest and brightest, and to uphold the Magath traditions of ladylike decorum."
I didn't hear the second part. My mind had run a quick circle around the word 'husband', and my lips were pulled up in disgust in the process. This expression causes my mother to erupt into laughter again, and the fan is finally put to rest on the table beside her. She stands, and I continue to clutch to her skirt as she closes the window, her hand falling to my head once more in a comforting gesture.
"You don't seem too fond of that idea, darling."
"I'm not going to marry a husband." Comes my declaration from her skirt, my little hand unraveling to take hers as we end the day's practice with nothing more than a little walk. Madame bows her head to me, and I in turn to her, though I feel my chest cheer with vicious glee at the sight of her putting the books down on the table. Those would be saved for tomorrow. For now, my mother and I must tend to the house.
Our residence is by no means the largest in Marley, but it does have the need for upkeep. Three Magaths are a force to be reckoned with, but even we couldn't dust every chandelier or polish every banister, between our present duties. So…our actual present duty is to supervise those who do. Exiting the sitting room, we enter the main grand hall, with its long, unbroken red carpet and many many windows, all facing the rampantly blooming garden outside. Suits of armor guard a few doors, coupled with oil-painted portraits of the sires that wore them into battle.
No matter how many times I pass these portraits, I can't help but watch and stare in curiosity. To see my own sharp gray eyes stare back at me…it's both a powerful, and an unsettling experience.
My great great grandfather keeps a close eye on us as we pass a maid in a black and white gown, who's presently dusting the slats of the window panes, catching dust that our eyes are untrained to catch. The Magath's eyes were created to see details, as my father always said, but only the important ones. As the maid draws her feather duster along the white stripes of wood, I watch her hand. Pale, unmarred, perfect for dusting.
"Good work, Cleo."
She startles at my mother's voice, then dips her head in respect.
"Of course, Madam Magath."
There is so much power in a name. That's what mother had told me when I asked her why she knew nearly every name of every servant, chef, and gardener under our watch. Seeing Cleo flush, with a tiny little grin on her freckled face…I could see what my mother meant. Showing you care…showing that you recognize another by their name…it's a form of respect.
"Thank you, Cleo." I chime in, and her brown eyes grow wide as she looks down at me. My sparkling gaze, my open smile. And I can see the happiness reflected back. Like looking into a mirror, I can see the acknowledgement of the power in my name as she speaks it in return.
"Of course, Lady Marina."
My grin is that much bigger.
As soon as the exchange is done, I fall back into the wonderful vision I had been fancying earlier. My mother leads the way, eventually taking my warm little palm with her larger, cooler touch. Cleo is left behind, as is the long red hall with the portraits of my many ancestors. Because I'm far, far away from this place.
Licha is a beautiful country, and I wish I could be there.
I've seen pictures upon pictures in my books. Thick, lush jungles that stretch on for miles. Filled with creatures of every kind, of every shape. Cities covered in colorful tapestries and endless artwork. People playing music, and dancing in their cobbled streets. Beautiful temples that stand proudly beside waterfalls, for the worship of the Lichan's God. A creator, is what they call him. Their creator. The pictures of the insides of their temples were always my favorite to stare at.
Pristine and white…walls glittering like the many gems Lichan women wear. Columns carved with the stories of their ancestors, how they came to occupy the land, and tamed it, taken it from fierce predators. If I could dance anywhere…it would be on the polished marble floors of a temple.
Waterfall thundering outside. The fronds of jungle trees rustling beside the open windows. My neck and arms glittering with gems. Nobody in the world but me…and I could certainly dance without books or Madame Tallowson or-
"Jacob! You're home early."
My eyes suddenly see the red carpet of our entryway lobby, and I look up in surprise.
"Papa!"
Shrieking, I release my mother's hand to run to my father, who kneels. His gray eyes, just like mine, are lit with a smile he saves just for me. His dark hair, like mine, has been cleanly shorn down recently. Spring is coming to an end, after all, and he does better with shorter hair in the dry heat of the summer. I bury my nose into his shirt, impacting him with the billowing of my skirt.
His pristine white uniform smells of dust. He's already been out today. It's a wonder why he is home, but I don't care. I hug him so tightly, he isn't able to stand without me dragging myself along. I dangle from his neck, giggling, as he straightens up and steps forward.
"Beautiful Roda, how are you?"
"I am well, husband."
I shriek as I'm crushed between the two of them, as they kiss, and I hold tight to my father's neck. That's when I see him. Over my father's shoulder. My uncle.
Theo Magath stands a few paces away, his intense stare causing me to quiet down.
Unlike my father's stare…I can't put my finger on it, but my uncle's…it just looks so far away sometimes. But there are other times, like right at this moment…where I feel he's staring directly into my soul. So honed in on the present, it's…frightening.
My father shifts, and I sink into his shoulder, unable to break eye contact.
"I apologize for returning without warning. I have other documents needed for consideration this evening, we're…ah…"
I lean back, to pay attention to my father, but he bites his tongue.
"I'll discuss it with you later."
Something isn't right. I finally look away from my uncle as Papa sets me down, patting my head.
"Either way, I have documents to review, and Theo has training to attend to, we'll be brief."
I tug at my father's coat.
"But Papa!"
"Hm?"
Lip trembling, I focus on my father and his eyes. Much softer, much kinder, focused on me now.
"Please stay! I've been practicing my dancing! And I want to read stories! You promised we'd read stories when you got home!"
"Yes, Marina, my love, but I'm focused on my work now, I can't-"
"YOU PROMISED!"
It's not fair. Papa can't tell me something, and then not follow through. Magaths keep their word. Magaths keep their promises. And I fully intend to remind Papa of that as I open my mouth wider, tears ready to spill.
"I said after work-"
"YOU SAID WHEN YOU GOT HOME! PAPA YOU PROMISED!"
"Oh Marina-"
I didn't hear the footsteps. But I do see my uncle. He looms over my father's shoulder, staring down at me. From beyond his shoulder, I see the portrait of his father, my late grandfather, who holds a special spot in our entryway, stare down at me as well. Intense, and full of pride.
No…not my uncle's eyes.
They're full of…disappointment.
The Magaths are a proud family.
And I am a proud daughter.
I will not fall to sniveling or crying.
Tears in my large eyes, I release my father's coat. I stare up at him, lip only partially trembling as his eyes widen in surprise. So easily, he had been prepared to brush off my fit. But I am a Magath. And Magaths use their words.
"Father."
His eyebrows raise a fraction of an inch.
"You promised. As soon as you were home. We would read stories."
"Yes, I did say that. But coming home for a moment wasn't something I knew would happen. Much less to find you out of dance practice."
"The fault is mine." Mother chimes in, before I feel the guilt. "The drawing room was far too warm, and I saw the military automobile."
"Regardless!" I seize the conversation again, hands releasing my skirt as I lift my chin in defiance. "I don't want you to go back! Surely you can stay for the rest of the afternoon? I want to show you my dance!"
Together…the adults chuckle.
My father shakes his head, and I deflate a fraction of an inch.
"Oh Marina."
"Marina…" My mother takes my shoulders, and I look down at my little shoes. My very little shoes, because I feel so very small in this moment. The tears are back again. What was a second ago a tool to bring triumph…it only signals my loss. My tears won't listen as one…two fall to the ground. Defeated so easily. And he hasn't even said 'no'.
"She could come with us, Jacob."
A sharp intake of air signals my mother's dismay, both at the suggestion from my uncle, and the way my expression has become absolutely struck with a hundred stars.
"Absolutely not. She's only eight, and what's more, she's a young lady. I won't have her surrounded by…by…"
"What, old foxes like me?"
I can barely breath as my father once again scoops me up and into his arms, and I cling to his shoulders. I'm struck to muteness by the mind boggling option that has been laid out for me on a silver platter. A gilded, indescribable silver platter, that had up until this moment been out of my reach. Because, as my mother continues to repeat, I'm both a child, and a young lady. Neither of which should be allowed anywhere near the terrors of war. Or so my mother is saying.
"...she could see things, Jacob. I don't want our little angel to get in trouble, or see…"
"...yes?"
"Oh, don't be impossible! You know what I'm trying to say."
My father laughs, and I take a moment to look over at my uncle. Despite the outrageous suggestion he'd made, and the harsh pleading my mother is lashing out with, he's as calm as a lake without ripples. In fact, his eyes seem to have become distant again…looking up at my great grandfather, he's gone somewhere far away.
"Theo, why would you put a suggestion like that into her head?"
And far away he remains, slowly turning his eyes to meet my mother. Focusing in on her only when he realizes the severity hidden in the depths of her crystalline blue eyes. And he speaks the words that have been bouncing around in my head since the day I truly came to know my name.
"She's a Magath, isn't she?"
I sit up against my father, beaming like a lighthouse.
"That's right! I'm a Magath!"
"A proud Marleyan family!"
"Yeah!"
My father rolls his eyes, caught in a half-hearted grin as my uncle continues, and I chime in with my small, enthusiastic agreements.
"She's your only daughter! Any daughter of Jacob Magath ought to know what to be proud of."
"Yeah!"
My father, with his much softer voice, slides into the conversation, providing a soothing touch to my mother's wrinkled brow with his words alone.
"It will only be for a few hours. And she won't be out of my sight. My office is small, my love, and there won't be anything or anyone dangerous around to harm her. I promise, she won't leave my sight."
"Please Mama?" I beg, bouncing on my father's hip. I study her expression closely, searching as deep as I dare for the hope that maybe, just maybe…she would let me go. Uncle Theo's confidence, coupled with my father's gentle yet firm reassurance…there was no possible way her defenses could withstand it.
"...and if she runs into any of your Eldians, Theo?"
My stomach drops. The bounce in my body becomes lead in my abdomen, and I sink like a sack of flour, deflated once again. Although, this time…the sensation in my body is driven more by…fear. Fear, this time, rather than loss.
I'd almost forgotten about that.
The Eldians.
"What then? If something were to happen, if one of those devils were to transform, hurt her…"
"That's not how their kind works, Roda. It takes a bit more than just willing a transformation to happen for it to occur."
"You can't be sure of that."
"I may not be. But the hundreds of Marleyan scientists who have studied these monsters for years are." With an open palm, my uncle presents the facts as if sharing a particularly odd stone in his hand. "It requires more than just will. A part of biology is kept from them. Do you think, after all my years of training these monsters, pushing them to their limit, I would still be doing what I do if they could transform into flesh-eating giants on command?"
"THEO." My world suddenly becomes muffled as my mother's cool, calm hands cover my little ears. I can hear several other muttered complaints, and judging by my father's expression, he's simply allowing my uncle and mother to express themselves. Removed, and taking his own time to stare at the carpet. And while my ears are covered, my Magath eyes can still see, plain as day.
My uncle, with our ancestor at his shoulder, has a stern, yet open expression, brows lowered over his serious eyes, and the hint of wrinkles beginning to show on his cheekbones. His skin is a bit darker than my father's…from the few things he's told me about his work, he's often out in the field with his trainees…
The Eldians.
I'd never met one before.
That was an odd thought to me.
For something so central to our pride as a family, I actually have yet to see any such devil. Though, I'm not sure if I'd ever want to. I see the way my uncle stands, and speaks. As if something is holding his shoulders tall, and straight. Ready to stand firm…or defend himself, as he's doing with my mother's barely contained 'she's only eight'. And I can't help but wonder…could they be the reason why? Why my father is so at ease, while my uncle looks ready to dodge some invisible bullet?
An invisible pair of jaws.
I'd only heard of Eldians through the servants around our abode. Mostly when they didn't know I was nearby, or intentionally hiding to hear more…it seems the only thing drapes are good at hiding are bodies, not words. A race of demons, devils, foul-blooded monsters. Who could, from within their DNA, transform into hideous, huge men, monsters, with a thirst for human blood. That could eat a person with a single bite, could swallow them whole in one gulp. Gruesome. Very gruesome.
I think it was Cleo who blamed her family's poverty on the Eldians. She had said her home was too close to something known as an 'internment zone', so her parents could barely scrape by with 'property values'. I have yet to find a way to ask Mama what either of those things mean, without betraying where I'd learned such large words. Magaths like myself are special, but we also can't afford to be stupid.
My mother's hands release me.
"PLEASE?" I squeal, launched from my thoughts before allowing either my uncle or mother to speak. "I promise! I won't go near any Eldians! I'll stay by Papa the whole time!"
"Dear Marina, weren't you listening?"
"...Papa, my ears were covered."
"Ah. You're correct."
Only my uncle chuckles, and I turn in Papa's arms, just to risk a look at my mother.
Oh…she looks cross.
Her beautiful eyes and starlit jewelry glitter in disgust as she looks up at our forefather, and the pride in his eyes. It may be to avoid the triumph in my uncle's.
"You won't be going with your father, Marina."
My eyes whip to Theo Magath, bristling, hurt and confused as I squeeze my father's neck. My lips are too controlled to utter what I'm screaming inside my chest. Did my uncle break a promise? Did he betray my trust? Heartbroken, and a little more than stiffed, my little hands tighten in my father's clean, white uniform. Watching as my uncle, Theo Magath, firstborn of Rodrick Magath, pride of the military, commander of hundreds, and head of the Eldian Warrior program, smiles with the first hint of glee I have ever seen in such a serious face.
"You'll be joining me."