March 16th, 850
Before he opened his eyes, Erwin knew that something was wrong, but he couldn't remember what. His first memories were nothing but the physical imprints of pain—the ache in his wounds, the bruises on his back and sides, the ghost of a pair of hands on his throat. He knew he was angry. He knew also that he was unbearably sad, but for several long seconds, he couldn't for the life of him remember why.
And then the memories came rushing back, and he felt his face grow hot.
That little bastard.
The heat of the anger was overwhelming, and Erwin immediately shoved the blankets off and sat up, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed. He sat there for a moment, staring at the floor, trying to regulate his breaths.
But to his surprise, a few seconds later, the violence of the rage burned itself out. The feeling was still there, but subdued, like coals smoldering after a bonfire. Erwin let his breath hiss out through his teeth.
He couldn't be bothered with this. He had things to do.
But it took him twenty minutes to button his shirt, fifteen minutes longer to wrestle himself into the rest of his clothes. He didn't even try to beat the razor into submission. By the time he was ready to face the world outside his bedroom door, he was already sweating as if he had been battling Titans rather than merely getting dressed.
He wandered down the hallway, and he was not looking for Levi, but he found himself asking the first Scout he saw—a tall, gangly young man named Euan—whether he knew where Captain Levi was.
He did not, which did not matter, since Erwin didn't want to see Levi anyway.
Still nursing the brooding flames of his self-righteous anger, Erwin headed down the stairs. He stopped by the war room—no one there knew where Levi was either—before stomping outside into the early morning light. Levi had probably left already to meet up with his squad. Good. Erwin didn't want to talk to him.
But Erwin found himself circling the property anyway, glancing up at the roof of every shed and the leafy crown of every tree. He told himself that he was not looking for anyone or anything in particular. He was just taking a short morning walk before getting back to work.
As Erwin passed by the stables, he heard a noise inside. It was not the sound of a horse, but a human, and a vaguely bittersweet feeling—almost a memory, but not quite—flared up weakly inside Erwin's chest.
He pushed open the stable doors, and there was Levi, alone in the second stall, bridling his horse.
Levi did not look up.
Erwin opened his mouth to speak without knowing what he meant to say. For half a moment, he was horrified at the thought that he might begin to utter some kind of apology.
But Levi spoke first.
"Commander," he said flatly. There was no hint of emotion, anger or otherwise, in the greeting.
Before last night, Levi had never called Erwin commander. Now he had done it twice.
"Captain," Erwin replied, more out of surprise than anything else.
In silence, Levi finished bridling his horse. He led her out of the stall before crossing over to the opposite wall and taking down a saddle.
"I'm going back to the cabin to rejoin my squad. Hange and I will go ahead with the hardening experiments," he said. He met Erwin's eyes coolly. "That is, if I have your permission, sir."
Levi was being sarcastic—of course he was—and yet he gave absolutely no indication of insincerity. Both his face and voice were perfectly calm, docile, dutiful.
This composed obsequiousness made Erwin feel a little sick, as if the ground were shifting beneath him. On a strange, sudden instinct, his left arm twitched, as if to reach out toward Levi—but with a sinking feeling, he recognized the wall that Levi had reconstructed between them. He remembered how difficult it had been to tear down, how he had spent years removing brick after brick, chiseling the stone away.
And here it was again.
"Yes," Erwin said, unable to think of any other reply. "Of course."
"Either Hange or I will come back with a report on the experiments soon," Levi continued briskly. "By tomorrow evening at the latest."
"All right," Erwin said, feeling a little helpless. "Thank you."
Levi nodded, then led his horse past Erwin and onto the path outside. Gracefully, Levi mounted his horse and kicked her into a trot. Erwin emerged through the stable doors just in time to watch Levi ride out through the main gate, speeding to a gallop as he went.
Dazed and blinking in the sunlight, Erwin was suddenly aware of a savage, burning pain in the stump on his right side. Painkillers. He hadn't taken the painkillers yet today.
He returned to his bedroom and searched, but he could not remember where Levi had left the bottle. After several minutes of growing frustration, he eventually found the pills inside the drawer of the bedside table. He took two pills and sat back down on the bed, staring out the window.
He needed to research Historia. The Reiss family. Somehow, she was connected to the secrets of the Titans in the walls, secrets that only the church seemed to know. There was a library of records in Trost. He could send an aide, or he could go himself…
Erwin shook his head. His thoughts were coming a little slower than usual. Everything felt fuzzy, as though his skull were stuffed full of cotton. The painkillers had already begun to kick in, so the feeling couldn't be a reaction to physical pain. Why did he feel so tired?
He had the sudden, somewhat absurd thought that a cup of tea might fix the problem. He almost dismissed the idea—he didn't even like tea—but he got up anyway and trudged down toward the kitchen.
As he wound his way down the stairs and through the halls, it occurred to him that he had drunk a cup of tea almost every morning for the past four years. Every day that they were both at headquarters, Levi had brought him a cup of hot black tea at precisely eight in the morning. The tea had tasted exactly the same every day, obviously brewed to Levi's clinical standards.
The kitchen was empty. Erwin was glad of that fact—he would rather not have an audience to his total ignorance on the subject of tea brewing. Then again, how difficult could it actually be?
It did not take him long to locate the kettle, which was sitting on the counter next to the stove. Lighting the stove with only his left hand was slightly more difficult, but after a few minutes of fumbling, he managed to do that too.
Leaving the water on the stove to boil, Erwin turned his attention to finding tea. A little embarrassed that he didn't even know what kind of container he was looking for, he opened practically every cupboard in the kitchen. He pulled out every box that looked like it might hold tea leaves inside, sniffed inside every jar, until finally he found a cardboard box that held five or six canisters, along with an odd metal instrument. Having no idea what it was, Erwin ignored it.
It took half an eternity to unscrew the lid to each canister. After a lot of trial and error, Erwin discovered that he could grip the canister between a drawer and the counter; then, with his left hand, he could twist off the lid.
Erwin took a whiff of each canister until he found the leaves that smelled like Levi.
By this time, the water in the kettle was bubbling a little. Erwin grabbed a teacup from one of the cupboards and then stared at the tea leaves, trying to decide how much to use. With no way of knowing or guessing, he pinched a fingerful of leaves and dropped them into the teacup.
He poured the water into the cup. How long was he supposed to wait? He didn't know, any more than he knew how much tea to use or whether to stir the soaking leaves. He only vaguely remembered what color it was supposed to be in the end. Even though Levi had set a cup of tea down in front of him hundreds of times over the last four years, he had always drunk it without really looking, without really pausing to notice that it was there.
After a couple of minutes, the water appeared sufficiently dark. Erwin lifted the teacup gingerly. He did know that there weren't supposed to be tea leaves floating around in the cup, but he had no idea how to fix that problem, and so he took a slow, tentative sip instead.
And spat it back out.
The tea was bitter. Gritty. It tasted, Erwin imagined, as bath water would.
But black tea was a valuable ration and Erwin couldn't let it go to waste, so he took another gulp, grimacing as he swallowed. The hot water, at least, warmed his stomach, but the warmth was quickly overtaken by a bitter cold that had begun to spread through Erwin's body. It started in his chest before radiating out to his limbs, his hands, his feet. Even though Erwin pretended that he did not recognize this feeling, he had faced the black void of a Titan's jaws too many times now not to know the icy grip of panic when he felt it.
You're under pressure, he told himself. You have a lot to do and not enough time to do it. The fate of humanity is in your hands, but you only have one hand left.
But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that these were the reasons for his gnawing fear, he was not quite a gifted enough liar—for he was already beginning to suspect that he had lost something far more precious than his right arm.
Just as he took another sip of the horrible tea, Euan came bursting through the kitchen door.
"Commander!" he gasped. "We've been looking for you everywhere!"
"Euan?" Erwin set down the tea. "Why are—?"
"You've been summoned by the chancellery, sir. You have to leave right away."
March 17th, 850
One of the nobles had something stuck in his teeth. It was greyish brown rather than colored, so not cabbage or carrot. Stringy, so not potato. Probably gristle. He had been eating meat.
"Commander Erwin," another noble inserted sharply. "Did you hear the question?"
"Yes," Erwin replied smoothly. "Pardon me. Eren's scream did occur just before the Titans moved to attack the Armored Titan, that's right. Your information is correct."
Levi had been so angry at the buffet tables at the gala, so indignant that the nobles were out here stuffing themselves with meat while the refugees starved.
"And there is some reason to believe," the noble continued, "that Jaeger's scream actually caused the other Titans to attack, isn't that correct?"
Erwin regarded him impassively.
"There is little evidence for or against that hypothesis," he said. "It would be inappropriate for me to answer definitively based on nothing but conjecture. If you would like a more informed opinion, I recommend you speak to Section Commander Hange, our resident expert on—"
"But you did not see any other reason for the Titans to attack?" another noble pressed.
"No," Erwin admitted after a moment's pause. "Not from my vantage point—but I had lost a great deal of blood by that time, so you will have to forgive me if I missed something."
"Damn this," interjected a noble from farther down the table. He was pudgy, richly dressed, with a permanent frown etched onto his face. "Damn the scream. What we really want to know is, what is the likelihood that the Armored and Colossal come back and breach Wall Rose after all that?"
"I couldn't say," Erwin replied coldly. "They did escape. That is all I can tell you."
"If they did, could Jaeger's scream protect us again?"
Ah. So that was the reason for all the interest in the scream.
"Theoretically, yes—if, of course, Eren's scream is what caused the Titans to attack. Presuming that this is in fact the case, Eren's position in the Scouts should more than enable him to assist in the defense of Wall Rose, should the need—"
"No." A fist banged on the table. "We need him here. In the interior."
Erwin felt his lips part slightly, his brow furrow, as he gazed back at the men seated before him.
"Scouts do not operate out of the interior, sirs," he said. "They never have."
"If Wall Rose is breached," said one of the nobles, just as if Erwin had not spoken, "then we need Jaeger here—guarding the interior—ready for when the Armored and Colossal come for Wall Sina."
A slight hiss of breath rushed out through Erwin's nostrils. They didn't even have the decency to be subtle about it. None of these men cared about the citizens behind Wall Rose. They didn't care about anything outside their own estates, their wealth, their gardens. If Wall Rose really were breached, chances were that they wouldn't even…
And an idea appeared in Erwin's mind, almost fully formed, as if it had always been there, lurking in the dark.
But no. It wasn't possible. Unless he could find an alternative power quickly, it would only lead to unprecedented bloodshed. That is…unless he could manage to confirm his suspicions, in which case…
Erwin shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He needed to leave—needed to stop wasting his time with these imbeciles so that he could finally research Historia Reiss.
"That is out of the question, I'm afraid," Erwin said, a little coldly. "Eren Jaeger will remain where I have stationed him."
"What good is he supposed to do us out in the middle of nowhere?" a noble muttered to his neighbor, just loud enough for Erwin to hear.
Erwin's heart skipped a beat.
"Pardon?" he asked.
"In the territory behind Wall Rose," the large noble at the end of the table corrected quickly. "Instead of here in the interior."
Slowly, Erwin nodded.
"Of course," he said. He smiled his diplomatic smile.
He would have to move Levi Squad soon. A day or two, perhaps—just long enough that the experiments would not be interrupted. No longer.
March 17th, 850
When Erwin arrived back at the Survey Corps precinct in Trost District, he found that they had moved him to a room on the other side of the building. As soon as he had opened the door, he understood why. There were stacks of books everywhere—piled high on the table, the floor, the desk. The library must have fulfilled his request for records.
Erwin cleared the table, grabbed the first book off the nearest stack, and fell into the chair. He dusted off the cover of Census Records: 825-835.
Just a bit of light reading, Erwin thought to himself dryly, flipping open the table of contents.
After scanning the R section of the census, Erwin sorted through the books for records from the southern training corps. Already tired out from a long, one-armed ride, he found himself growing quickly irritated at how difficult it was to move so many books with only his left hand. Eventually, he found a few volumes of bound paperwork from the cadet corps. He sat back down at the table and began to read.
Two or three hours later—sometime before midnight—there was a knock on the door.
"Come in," Erwin called from the floor beneath the window. He had given up on the chair an hour or two ago; the books were more easily accessible from here.
The door swung open, and Levi stepped inside.
"Commander," he said with a nod before closing the door behind him.
Erwin's stomach dropped without warning. Only once he had already scrambled to his feet did he stop, a flush of embarrassment creeping over him for how quickly he had moved. Swiftly, he painted his typical commanding composure back onto his face.
"Levi," he said evenly. "How did the experiments go?"
Silently, Levi laid a handwritten page down on the table and sat sideways in the chair. He crossed his legs, resting one arm nonchalantly on the back of the chair, the other on the table.
It was all Erwin could do not to roll his eyes.
"You did come all this way, you know," he said. "You could just tell me what happened."
Levi's expression did not change as he gestured lazily at the report lying next to his arm. This time, Erwin really did roll his eyes as he crossed over to the table, snatched up the report, and returned to the window.
The room fell silent for a few minutes while Erwin read the page of front-and-back writing. Although it had not been signed, the author was unmistakable; it was written in Levi's meticulous, almost childlike print.
"I see," Erwin said after finishing. "Another failure, then."
Levi did not look up at him.
"Imagine if it had worked," Erwin continued, more to himself than to Levi. "We could've plugged the hole in Shiganshina in less than a day."
"What we need is information," Levi said suddenly. Erwin looked over at him, but his captain's eyes remained fixed on the floor. "It's not like there are books on the subject. That would make things too easy."
Erwin glanced sideways at all the books lying around them.
"We do have Christa—no, Historia Reiss," Levi added flatly. "Maybe she can give us some insight into the nature of the walls."
Erwin looked back up at the wall, trying to ignore the fact that since Levi had entered the room, he had not looked at Erwin once.
"I did some digging and found a report about her life before the cadets," he said coolly. "The illegitimate daughter of Lord Reiss. Hers was not a happy childhood."
He waited for Levi to speak. Nothing.
"Lord Reiss is the key to all this somehow. Why would a mere regional lord know the secrets of the walls?"
Levi shrugged. Even though he had finally turned his head toward Erwin, he still kept his eyes fixed low to the floor. Somewhere deep inside Erwin, a renewed flame of anger flared back up.
"Damn it, Levi," Erwin heard himself say. "You're being childish."
"I apologize," Levi replied, but his cold voice bore absolutely no trace of an apology. "Wouldn't wantto displease you. Sir."
Erwin stared down at Levi, struggling for words. He was unused to this sensation. It felt almost like choking.
"If you're ready to dismiss me," Levi continued smoothly, "I'll head back now."
Erwin bit his lip. He didn't want Levi to go. He needed to talk through his suspicions about the Reiss family, to explain the ghost of a plan that had occurred to him back in Mitras, to hear someone reassure him that he wasn't about to doom humanity to civil war.
But he was still angry, and he didn't know what to say.
"That's fine," he said. "You're dismissed."
March 18th, 850
A few MPs were hanging around the precinct. Even though they had apparently been sent to lend support in case the Armored or Colossal reappeared near Trost, the brass had not asked permission for their presence. Despite this, Erwin had refrained from ordering them off the premises.
As it turned out, this was a good decision on Erwin's part, because he happened to pass by two of them holding a hushed conversation in a doorway sometime in the early evening. They stopped their conversation abruptly, but not quickly enough to keep Erwin from overhearing just one word.
Cabin.
It was enough.
In the dead of night, Erwin sent a messenger with orders for Levi Squad to disappear.
March 20th, 850
As a pale sun began to rise over Trost, Erwin stumbled down into the kitchen and tried to make the tea again. As his one remaining hand fumbled with the kettle and stove, the canister and that goddamn lid, the idea that had entered his head back in Mitras was solidifying slowly into something almost resembling a plan.
Only a madman would follow through with this plan, he knew—and yet Erwin did have some good reasons to believe it would work. The nobles in the interior cared far more about their own estates than they had ever cared about the citizens of Wall Rose. The history of the Reiss family was deeply suspicious, to say the very least. Pyxis could almost certainly be convinced to support a coup, and with the right persuasion, Erwin was confident that Nile Dok would side with him in the end.
If it worked, the takeover would be bloodless. Humanity's path forward would finally lie open, cleared of obstacles. At last, Erwin would free to lead the expedition back to Wall Maria, back to Shiganshina, back to the basement.
Still, Erwin could not get Elijah William's long-dead voice out of his head.
"You're a good man, Erwin, but you want to cut the string. You always have."
Lost in thought, Erwin took a sip of the tea only a minute or two after dropping the leaves inside the cup. He scrunched his face up at the weak taste, barely distinguishable from hot water.
March 21st, 850
Erwin unveiled his idea to Commander Pyxis as he would have done to the crowd. He spoke with self-assurance, taking care to protect the illusion that he was perfectly confident in this plan. But even as he explained the situation with diplomatic coolness, delicately laying out the terms and conditions of the takeover, he was all too aware that the entire plan hinged on one fact—a fact that had not yet been confirmed.
If it wasn't true—if the Reiss family was not the true royal family, as Erwin suspected—then his long-held dream of overthrowing the king would once again go up in flames. As usual, he was gambling everything on just one variable, just one unknown.
Then Nifa burst in. She delivered the news.
Pyxis had heard it too, and now there was no going back. Either the coup would be successful, or Erwin would lose his head.
He permitted himself a little thrill of hope at the thought.
March 23rd, 850
Deep in the dungeons of the Royal Palace, Erwin Smith was tortured for the second time.
The interrogation wasn't all that different from Bradley's. These torturers took a little more care, perhaps, to leave as few marks as possible on Erwin's body. They did not want a public uproar when Erwin faced the people on the gallows. They did not want to look like butchers.
Through the dull haze of pain, Erwin thought, somewhat cynically, that he had at least had some practice responding to these kinds of questions under these kinds of circumstances. Throughout the whole ordeal, he never wavered from the same four answers.
The murdered members of the Reeves Corporation were killed by unknown parties.
These parties were working with the intent to kidnap Eren Jaeger and Christa Lenz.
The Survey Corps never intended to act against the Royal Government.
Disbanding the Survey Corps will provide no benefit to humanity—only harm.
He never changed his answers, but the interrogators made him say them over and over again. They didn't believe him. Of course they didn't. No one ever did.
March 24th, 850
Bound, bedraggled, and trembling with pain, Erwin was forced down on his knees in front of the false king. He was either about to overthrow the government or be hanged for treason, and yet buried somewhere inside his racing mind—somewhere beneath the calculating, the manipulation, the maneuvering—he was still thinking inexplicably about black tea.
"Clause Six of the Charter of Humanity: One must never prioritize their own gain over humanity's survival. You've broken the most sacred of laws."
What was he always doing wrong? Did the water need to be hotter? Did he need to use more tea? Less?
"Indeed. You have refused to hand over Eren Jaeger time and time again, and through this selfish action, you've violated our charter."
Maybe he was a fool after all. Probably he was. The Royal Government clearly knew something that Erwin didn't know. Was all this just Erwin's hubris? Who was he to think that he knew better than the powers that had ruled the walls for over a hundred years? How the hell were you supposed to steep the leaves without leaving them inside the cup?
"It's not a stretch to describe you as a threat to humanity."
"You want to cut the string. You always have."
Maybe they would just kill him. Dear God, wouldn't that be kind of them.
March 25th, 850
The huge, monstrous Titan, face buried deep in the belly of the earth, dragged itself forward in the distance. Even the trees were bursting into flame.
Erwin rode parallel to the Titan, quickly approaching the rattling cart and scattered riders. It was too dark to make out any faces—too dark even to discern colors and shapes—but he could still recognize at least one of the riders by nothing but his silhouette.
In light and in shadow, in life and in death.
"Erwin!"
It was Levi's voice that had called out through the dark. It was his name that Levi had spoken. Something caught in Erwin's throat. A tiny seed of hope tried to spring up inside him, but he kept it in his hand, ready to take it like a pill.
He waited. Just in case.
"Anyone hurt?" he asked, reining in his horse beside the cart. Levi pulled up next to him, and Erwin could finally see his face, although the darkness still made it impossible to read Levi's expression.
"Yeah, Hange took a hit."
Erwin glanced over at Hange, lying in the cart. There was still color in her cheeks. He had seen her go through much worse.
"Doesn't look like anything too serious," he said. "You've done excellent work, all of you."
"I've got a whole slew of things to report," Levi said grimly, "but first—"
"Anything on that Titan?" Erwin asked.
"It's Rod Reiss."
What?
"Look forward to hearing your thoughts on this, Commander."
Commander.
Oh.
Erwin met Levi's eyes, and with a sinking feeling, he recognized the wall between them. With a small sigh, he let the seed of hope slip from his fingers.
March 28th, 850
Erwin spent the day after the coronation in endless meetings with Pyxis, with Nile, with some very angry nobles, and with various important officers in the Military Police and Garrison regiments. By the time he stumbled back into his office sometime in the early evening, he had not seen a single Scout all day.
Just as he sank into the chair behind his desk, there was a soft knock, and one of his aides slipped through the door.
"Sorry to bother you, sir," she said apologetically. Her arms were full of a bundle of papers.
"That's fine, Eden," Erwin said, but he was unable to contain a sigh as he leaned back in his chair. "Do you want to sit down?"
"No, sir, thank you—I just need to drop off the reports from all the squad leaders."
"Thank you." Erwin gestured at the desk. "You can set them here. I'll read and file them later."
"Section Commander Hange asked me to point out a specific section of Captain Levi's report, sir. Just to make sure you didn't miss it." Eden set the papers down and shuffled through them before pulling out two pages covered in perfect, rounded letters.
"Really?" Erwin reached for the report, curious now. "Why?"
"Captain Levi's paperwork needs to be updated, sir."
Erwin glanced up at her.
"With what?"
"His surname, sir."
"Surname?"
"Ackerman."
"Ackerman?"
"It's all in the report, sir, but I'm happy to explain if you—"
"No, no." Erwin waved a hand toward the door. "Thank you, Eden. You're dismissed."
Erwin quickly scanned the report. Kenny Ackerman had been the leader of the First Interior Squad that Levi and the others had fought in the chapel. He had sustained mortal injuries when the chapel had collapsed. Kenny was Levi's uncle, as it turned out, not his father. Just before Kenny succumbed to his injuries, he had given Levi a serum that, apparently, would turn the recipient into a Titan.
So Kenny was dead. Levi had been alone with him when he died.
Was Levi all right? Had he talked to anyone about it? He was almost certainly still somewhere on the grounds right now. If Erwin went looking, he would probably find Levi on the roof, or up a tree, or—
Erwin didn't even bother finishing the thought. He knew he would not go looking for Levi, just as he knew that Levi did not want to be found. Ignoring the beginnings of a headache, Erwin got up, opened up the filing cabinet, retrieved Levi's file, and filled in the blank he had left empty six years ago.
April 14th, 850
"Erwin!"
Pushing through the crowd on top of the wall, he heard Hange's squeal of delight before he saw her. At the sound of Erwin's shouted name, the Scouts and Garrison soldiers alike turned their heads away from the sight below the wall. Recognition lit their eyes, and they parted, leaving a wide path for Erwin to follow all the way to the edge of Wall Rose.
Kneeling along the ledge, Hange gestured wildly for Erwin to crouch down next to her. He obliged, glancing only briefly at Levi and Eren, who were standing next to Hange.
"Look at it!" she cried, a huge grin on her face. "It's glorious! It's beautiful!"
Glued onto the stone with a rock-like substance, a long pole stretched away from the wall, forming a structure that looked something like gallows, something like a guillotine.
"You attached this to the wall? With your hardening ability?" Erwin asked, looking up at Eren.
"Yes, sir," Eren said, a little pale—but proud nevertheless.
"I'm impressed." Erwin stood and grasped Eren's shoulder. The boy's cheeks flushed slightly. "This is excellent work. Have we tested it yet, Hange?"
"We'll run the first tests soon," she said, jumping to her feet. She was nearly dancing with excitement. Weak as he clearly was, even Eren cracked a smile.
Only Levi said nothing, keeping his deadpan gaze fixed on the structure below.
"They're calling it the executioner from hell," Hange continued. "Isn't that just delightful?"
"The device is perfect," Erwin said. "Exactly what we need."
"You've earned a break, Eren," Hange sang. She threw one arm around the boy and drew him away from the ledge. Levi moved to follow them.
"Wait," Erwin said. "Levi."
Reluctantly, Levi stepped back toward Erwin. By now, the rest of the soldiers had drawn back away from the ledge. No one else was within earshot.
"I didn't come here to see the executioner," he said. "I came to talk to you."
He had not realized this until just now. All the same, it was true.
"Okay." Levi crossed his arms. "What do you want?"
"I want," Erwin started, and then stopped. Helpless, he tried again. "I want to…I want you to…or…rather…"
Levi made no effort to save Erwin from his floundering. A vaguely disinterested expression gracing his features, he did nothing but watch as Erwin struggled.
"I would like to fix…it," Erwin finally said, aware of how idiotic he sounded. "Fix this," he added, as if that would make it any better.
"All right." Levi had not moved a muscle. "Then fix it."
"I can't…I don't…I don't know how."
Erwin felt dirty somehow. Exposed. It was as though he had been pried open, examined, and found lacking.
"I don't know why you're still angry," he said. At least the words were coming a little easier now. "I don't know what you want. If I did, I would give it to you."
"Then tell me you were wrong."
Somewhere behind them, Hange was laughing loudly at something Eren had said.
"What?"
"Admit that your idealistic bullshit doesn't work. Admit that I was right to kill William, and you were wrong to tell me not to."
Erwin stood silently for a moment. With a busy clatter, several Garrison soldiers passed by, carrying a fresh load of lumber. The few stray clouds that had been blocking the sun drifted by, and the temperature rose several degrees.
With every drop of blood coursing through his body, Erwin wanted to say it. He cared about Levi more than he could express in words. He needed his friend back.
This is a cruel and brutal world, and I'm tired of living in it without you.
And yet.
"I can't do that," Erwin said quietly.
"Because…?"
Levi waited expectantly.
"Because it isn't true."
"Yeah," Levi said. "Yeah. And that means you think the same thing William did. You think I'm a rat."
"Levi," Erwin said, a wave of desperation rushing over him, "everything I said that night by the pond, and on the roof—it's all still true, all of it. I'll say it all again if you want."
"I'm good, thanks."
"Levi—"
"Look, you can't even deny it."
"Deny what?"
"That you think I'm a rat."
"Of course I don't think you're a—"
"Murderer, then. Thug. You look at me now and you see exactly what everyone else saw back then—way back when you dragged me into the Scouts. Only difference is, everyone else has come around by now."
"Levi, what are you talking about?"
Several long seconds passed, during which Levi frowned down at the executioner. Finally, he spoke.
"Back then, you didn't look at me like everyone else did. You thought I was different, and so I followed you, and then I kept following you because—"
Levi cut himself off. He looked down at the stone wall beneath his feet.
"Why?" Erwin took a step toward Levi. "Why didyou keep following me?"
"Doesn't matter." Levi's voice was strained, frustrated. "You always wanted me to be a good soldier, right? So let me be a good fucking soldier. Let that be good enough."
Erwin opened his mouth to reply, but Levi was already walking away.
April 25th, 850
Erwin lifted the lid to check on the kettle. Lightly bubbling ripples had already begun to form. The water would boil any minute now.
Only now, after all this time, did Erwin think, really think, about the fact that Levi had been making two cups of black tea every morning for four years. He had gone through the effort of boiling extra water, of measuring the tea leaves twice, of washing two teacups. It wasn't a lot of work, he supposed, and yet the repeated ritual now seemed almost sacred to Erwin, a statement of something so profound that it had become unspeakable.
The water was boiling. Reaching for the kettle, Erwin considered how pathetic it was that he couldn't replicate the tea any more than he could understand the man who had made it.
"Erwin?"
Startled, he jumped. Boiling water splashed out onto his hand.
"Shit," he hissed. He nearly dropped the kettle.
"Shit, I'm sorry!" Hange flew forward and grabbed the kettle out of Erwin's hand. He spun to the sink and shoved his hand under the cool running water. Relief flooded over the burn.
"Sorry," she said again, setting the kettle back down on the stove. Her eyes fell on the open canister of black tea, the metal infuser, and the teacup on the counter. "You're making tea?" she added, a little incredulous.
"Obviously," Erwin muttered.
"You don't like tea."
"Evidently I do." Erwin pulled his hand out of the stream of water, wincing a little. "It was a surprise to me too."
He turned back to the kitchen counter. He had figured out by now that the tea leaves did not go directly inside the teacup. The odd metal device had a use after all. Erwin took a pinch of tea out of the canister—still just guessing at the correct amount—and dropped the leaves into the infuser.
"How are the executioners?" he asked without looking back at Hange.
"Great!" Hange's voice brightened. "We've constructed a lot of them already—it's slower going than I wanted, but the hardening takes a lot out of Eren, so we had to slow down production."
"That's too bad." Erwin turned around and leaned back against the counter, waiting while the tea steeped.
"I know, but we have to take care of Eren, right? Turns out I'm an idiot, and I wouldn't even have noticed that we needed to slow down, except that Levi—"
She broke off suddenly. A nervous look passed over her face, as if she knew she had stumbled into treacherous territory.
"It's fine." Erwin turned away and fiddled with the infuser, mostly just to have something to do with his hand. He let the silence sit for a few seconds before adding, as casually as he could, "How is he?"
"He's, um…" Hange's voice was hesitant. "You know how he is. Grumpy. Quiet. Short."
"That does sound about right." Erwin glanced down at the tea—not quite the right color—before turning back to face Hange.
"Look, Erwin," Hange said, a note of frustration creeping into her tone. "You really need to figure all this out. It isn't good for either of you."
"Sounds like he's doing just fine."
"I mean, he acts like he always does. But I know he's lonely too. Sad. And it's obvious as hell that you are—lonely and sad, I mean—so how about you get your shit together and talk to him?"
"I did." Erwin shook his head slowly. "He doesn't want anything to do with me."
"That's not true."
"Well, it's what he told me."
Erwin checked the color of the tea again. It was too dark. He had let it steep too long. Quickly, he pulled the infuser out of the teacup and set it aside.
"I don't know what to tell you, Erwin," Hange said softly, and Erwin found himself stiffening, unable to stand the unmitigated pity in her voice. "But he misses you. Of course he misses you."
Silently, Erwin took a sip of his tea. He made a face. Too bitter—but a little better than his first few attempts, at least.
"When you came back after the coup," Hange began slowly, as if unsure whether or not she should keep talking, "and you were all—well—when it was obvious that they had—"
The word torture hung on her lips. It stayed there.
"Anyway, that night—the night before the coronation—he was a piece of work. Nobody could even sneeze without him biting their head off. When I told him to knock it off, I swear he nearly stabbed me."
Erwin stared down into his teacup.
"I know it was because of you," Hange said. "Because of what they did to you."
Taking a deep breath, Erwin inhaled the scent of bitter, poorly made black tea. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? That he was sorry? That he hadn't meant to hurt anyone?
For years, Erwin had taken so much about Levi's presence for granted. For years, he had thanked Levi for giving his heart with the same careless, perfunctory air that he used to thank him for his morning tea. Only now did Erwin finally understand that Levi had been a porcelain teacup in his hands, and that, like a fool, Erwin had casually dropped and shattered the most real and beautiful thing he had ever known.
"There's nothing I can do," Erwin said.
May 12th, 850
A knock.
"Come in," Erwin called, only half paying attention. He was staring down at the latest report from the squads who were charting a route to Shiganshina with the glowing stone. It was slow going, but they were making decent progress. At this rate, Erwin would be able to begin preparing for the expedition in just a couple of weeks.
"Sir."
Erwin glanced up, startled to see Levi standing in front of his desk—and, even now, startled to hear Levi call him sir.
"What is it, Levi?"
"Sasha broke one of the turbines on her gear. I'm submitting a request for a replacement. I need you to sign it."
Glancing up, Erwin met Levi's eyes. They were cold, just as they had been ever since that night back in April.
Erwin's heart ached.
"Oh. Yes, of course. Let me find a pen."
Not even two months ago, you were sobbing into my chest.
Erwin rummaged through the papers piled all over his desk. He had been using a pen just a moment ago. Where had it gone?
I held you like you were a child.
Rising halfway to get a better vantage point, Erwin began stacking papers to try and clear the surface of the desk. He still couldn't find the pen. He started pushing a pile of books over to the right.
"Careful," Levi said.
"What?"
I carried you over four and a half miles in a raging blizzard.
"Your tea." Levi pointed at the teacup.
"Oh. Thank you." Erwin snatched the godawful tea and set it over on the bookshelf, out of the way.
"Teach me how to make the damn tea," he almost said. "Teach me how to take care of you."
"Ah," he said instead. "There's the pen."
You slept in my room for months. You're small enough to fit in the windowsill.
Wordlessly, Erwin took the paperthat Levi handed him. He set it down on the desk, signed it, and handed it back.
"Thanks," Levi said.
When you fall asleep, you curl up like a cat. You still have nightmares. Sometimes it's Isabel and Furlan, sometimes it's Dover and Julia.
"You're welcome," Erwin said.
Sometimes it's Hange. Sometimes it's me.
"Don't leave," he almost said.
"Dismissed," he said instead.
May 29th, 850
Erwin could hear the voices from halfway down the hill. Raucous, vibrant, even happy.
"Come on, Jean, you didn't even make it ten seconds!"
"Yeah? You think you're going to do any better?"
"Let me try!"
"No, I've got it—"
He couldn't help but pause as he passed by the outdoor training arena. In the very center, amid all the stacks of weights and racks of knives, stood Levi on a sparring mat. The rest of his squad was gathered just off the mat, clearly arguing about who was next.
"One at a time, the way God intended."
Erwin shook off the memory. He meant to keep walking.
"Commander Erwin!"
Reluctantly, Erwin slowed down and then stopped. Connie had made eye contact with his commander, a cheeky grin spreading across his face.
"Want to see me beat up Captain Levi?"
A laugh cascaded through the rest of the squad.
"Sorry, Commander—what he means is, do you want to watch Captain Levi beat the absolute shit out of Connie?"
"Commander Erwin's got better things to do," Levi grumbled, avoiding Erwin's eyes.
We got drunk in a carriage on the way to the Capitol. I asked you about your friends. You asked me what normal people want.
"I do have to—" Erwin began.
"Come on!" Sasha interrupted. "It'll only be a minute!"
"Less," Armin interjected. "A lot less."
Erwin gave up and watched as Connie stepped onto the mat and faced his captain.
"Ready?" Levi asked.
Within six seconds, Connie was on his back. His squad laughed, mumbling something teasing like even worse than you, Jean. Meanwhile, Connie was struggling to catch his breath. The wind had clearly been knocked out of him.
Levi walked over to Connie and crouched down next to him.
"You okay?" he asked.
Connie nodded.
"You were trying not to leave your right side exposed," Levi continued, roughly but not unkindly. "But you can't block what I did. You have to dodge."
It had been weeks since Erwin had heard Levi speak like this, in a voice that was not hard, bitter, guarded.
When I dreamed I was the falcon, you made me say the statement until I was human again. You told me my name.
"We'll go again when you're ready." Levi rose and took a few steps back, leaving Connie to gather himself.
Six years ago, Levi had trained his first squad like this. Ari, Hume, Trem, Quinn, Julia, Dover—all of them hardly more than children. All of them dead now.
Six years from now, how many of these children would be dead?
June 6th, 850
Over time, brewing the tea every morning had become an automatic ritual. Wake before sunrise, walk to the kitchen, boil the water, measure the tea, set out the teacup, wait for the tea to steep. Every day for these past few weeks, Erwin had made incremental adjustments, trying to replicate Levi's tea. He had experimented with the water temperature, used different amounts of tea, tested out various lengths of time while the leaves steeped.
The results no longer wrinkled his nose. The tea was smoother now than it had been, richer in flavor.
Still, it was not quite Levi's tea.
The dark sky outside the kitchen window was just beginning to brighten as Erwin set the kettle on the stove. Yawning, he rummaged in the cabinet for an old thermometer he had discovered a week or two ago. Today, he planned to try boiling the water ten degrees warmer than he had the day before.
Perhaps it was overly sentimental, but Erwin almost believed that if he could only recreate the exact steps that Levi's fingers had followed day after day, year after year, then he might also understand the mind that had moved those fingers. If he could only figure out how Levi made the tea, maybe then he would finally understand everything else Levi had ever done.
Because it was true, of course, that the same hands that had delicately swirled the water over these tea leaves had also tightened a noose around Elijah William's neck. Erwin had always known this—but today, as he sat on the counter and waited for the kettle to boil, a new thought occurred to him, as violent and vibrant as the sun rising over the hill outside the window.
Maybe, Erwin thought, Levi had made the tea and killed the man for the exact same reason.
A man born into the light of the upper world, Erwin had not been raised in fear and darkness. He had always been free to prove his affection by speaking warmly, by leading firmly, by telling the truth, by issuing new cloaks to soldiers who lost them. He had always enjoyed the privilege of drawing absolute delineations between truth and lies, between ordering a soldier into battle and killing a political enemy.
But Levi, who had lived the first twenty-four years of his life in hell, could not afford the same luxury. His compassion had always hidden itself away inside curses and handkerchiefs, blades and teacups. While the rest of the world made shiny promises of toothless affection, Levi Ackerman could not help but love to the point of slavery, to the point of murder.
Did all of that—did any of it—make him a rat?
Or did it make him a good man who had been born into a cruel and violent world?
June 14th, 850
It was unusually hot for mid-June. Someone had opened all four of the blue-curtained windows in the war room just enough to let in the warm, sticky breeze whenever it blew, which was not nearly often enough.
Alone in the room, Erwin stood leaning against one of the windows, staring at the velvet-lined box that sat at the center of the round table before him. A syringe lay nestled in the dark velvet, glinting in the sunlight.
The door creaked open. Erwin glanced up to see Levi, who hesitated when he saw Erwin. His hand still rested on the door handle.
"It's fine," Erwin said. "Come in."
Still frozen halfway through the door, Levi did not move.
"I'm early." He glanced back out into the hall. "I can come back."
"It's fine, Levi." Erwin could hear the irritation in his tone. He regretted it immediately.
I taught you how to read and write. You write too slowly, and you read too fast. I'd know your handwriting anywhere.
Slowly, Levi entered the room. He crossed over to the table and stood, hands shoved deep in his pockets, several feet away from Erwin.
They were both silent.
"So—Historia's orphanage plans are underway," Erwin said eventually. "I hear that you've been helping her."
"Yeah." Levi was staring down at the floor.
You made me eat. You made me sleep. When the council's commissions were killing me, you kept me alive.
One or two painful minutes later, Pyxis appeared, followed by Hange. By the time Premier Zachary showed up, everyone had been present for nearly five minutes.
"Looks like I'm late," Zachary said. "Sorry."
He took a seat and laced his hands together.
"Have any luck?" he asked. "Were you able to establish what's in the container?"
Erwin and the others listened while Hange explained. It was some sort of human body fluid. It vaporized in the air. There was no way to run further tests. Whoever made the serum had technology superior to anything within the walls.
But how do we know, Erwin thought grimly, that there aren't any humans outside the walls?
"In that case," Pyxis interjected, "rather than tamper with it, we should put it to use for our current objective."
"But to whom do we entrust it?" Zachary turned toward Erwin. "To you, Erwin?"
"No," Erwin said, his left hand reaching subconsciously for his missing arm and grasping only a loose sleeve. "With my wound, I would be a poor choice. This syringe—it belongs in the hands of one of our elite. Someone with the best odds of survival."
He looked over at Levi.
"Levi, will you accept it?"
Hands still buried deep in his pockets, Levi met Erwin's gaze with sullen eyes.
"If it's an order, just say so," he muttered. "Why even bother asking?"
We sat under that tree by the pond five years ago. I told you about the leaves.
"When we need to use this," Erwin said carefully, glancing away, "there may not be time to plan. We'll be relying on you to make a decision swiftly, and with little deliberation. Judging when to use it, and on whom, will be your responsibility."
He turned his gaze back on Levi, and again, he could hear the note of annoyance in his voice.
"Will you accept it?"
Every day for four years, you brought me a cup of tea.
"If this dream of yours comes true, what will you do then?"
A little surprised at the question, Erwin paused before answering.
"I don't know," he finally said. "And I won't. Not until it happens."
"I see." Levi stared straight ahead, eyes narrowed and unreadable. "All right. I'll do it."
June 18th, 850
Erwin knew, even before tasting it, that today the tea was perfect. The color was exactly right. The bottom of the cup was free of any drifting leaves. The scent was so exactly like Levi that it hurt.
He knew also, as he took his first sip, that he no longer blamed Levi for killing William, or for lying, or for anything said in the heat of argument. Erwin was no longer so proud, so demented, as to think his own perspective was the only one that mattered. He never should have tried to mold Levi into the perfect soldier; he never should have extracted an absolute promise of faithfulness, as if Levi were nothing but a dog. Whatever hatred he had ever harbored, however briefly, toward the friend he loved had been erased forever.
Now he hated only himself, and the fact that he had learned the truth too late.
June 20th, 850
The plans for the operation to retake Wall Maria were finally complete. After weeks of planning, Erwin had taken care of all the logistics. They would set out at sunset on the following day.
Erwin held the briefing in the late afternoon. He, Hange, and the squad leaders sat around the conference table in the war room as Erwin explained the strategy. He answered questions and clarified maneuvers.
Throughout the meeting, Levi sat in a chair against the wall, some distance away from the others. Sometimes he stared blankly at the floor, and Erwin wondered whether he was even listening. But sometimes, Erwin would glance over and catch Levi watching him intently. At these moments, his face was no longer empty, but tainted by a peculiar kind of unease.
Once or twice, for less than half a second, Erwin could have sworn that the look flashing in Levi's eyes was something like torment.
When Erwin ended the meeting, the others stood up, gathering their papers, conversing casually with one another—something about serving meat tonight, something about Commandant Shadis. Erwin was not listening. His attention was on Levi, who was rising slowly in his peripheral version, obviously waiting for the others to leave.
Hange was bickering with Marlene as they walked out of the room. Levi hovered near the doorway, and as soon as Hange had crossed the threshold, he leaned back against the door, shutting it against her muffled gasp. Hands in his pockets, he looked up at Erwin. There was something different in his face—some strange emotion that Erwin could not identify.
"What is it, Levi?"
"This may sound impatient," Levi said, "but what do you think you'll do after retaking Wall Maria? I'm guessing a defense plan comes first—but after that? What's next?"
Erwin blinked, confused. Levi had not spoken this many words in a row to him for weeks. Guarded, uncertain what to expect, he answered honestly.
"Eliminating threats. Outside the walls, there seems to be someone hoping that Titans will eat us all, down to the last person. As to who, well—if we have any luck, we'll find that answer in the cellar. A full plan will have to wait. First, we need to see what's in that room."
Was he imagining it, or did Levi actually look…worried?
"You realize I'm asking this now because you might not live that long."
Subconsciously, Erwin grasped his empty sleeve.
"You're not exactly as spry as you used to be," Levi continued, his voice low and colored by something that Erwin could not place. "Let Hange call the shots on this mission. In your shape, you'll only be dead weight."
Now thoroughly bemused, Erwin stared back at Levi.
What are you talking about? Why say any of this?
"You sit back and wait for the good news. We'll tell the others I argued till you gave in—which I will—so why not make this easier on both of us? What do you say?"
Erwin said no. Of course he did. This was his chance to find out the truth, to prove his father right at last. But he didn't say that. Without even thinking, he made the argument that he thought might persuade Levi: that without Erwin leading the Scouts, the operation was far less likely to succeed.
"That's true."
Levi had rested his head back against the door, regarding Erwin with a curious expression.
"Without you, the operation might fail. But if you bite the dust out there, we're really screwed. So just stay safe at your desk and keep using that head of yours. As far as I'm concerned, that's the last thing the Titans would want, and the best weapon that humanity's got."
And it hit Erwin all at once what that strange tone in Levi's voice was, the one he had not been able to place. The words were positively gentle.
Almost tender.
For the first time in weeks, Erwin allowed himself to hope.
"No," he said slowly, "you're wrong. Our best option is for me to gamble it all on the plan that I came up with—"
"Okay," Levi interrupted, "that's enough. Stop right there."
His right hand hovered near his chest, almost pointing at Erwin, but not quite, as if he weren't sure what to do with it.
"Any more of those noble ass excuses, and I'm gonna break both your damn legs."
Had Levi actually reached out for Erwin?
Erwin froze. He must have imagined it. He blinked, but no—Levi's hand was still there, stretched out toward him as if he could bridge the long distance between them.
It took a second or two before Erwin realized that Levi was still talking.
"They'll heal just fine," he was saying, "but you'll be way too busted up to even think about joining us on the operation—and it'll be a bitch to get to the toilet."
Without Erwin's permission this time, the hope had begun to grow. It was warming his chest now, filling him with a lightness that he had not experienced in months. All of a sudden, he felt almost drunk. He found himself chuckling.
"Don't like that idea much," he said, then paused. "Normally, I'd agree with you. A wounded soldier should stay off the battlefield. However…that may be the day we learn the truth about our world, and I'll be damned if I'm going to miss it."
A look of shock crossed Levi's face.
"Being there…is that important?"
Levi took a step forward, and for a split second, Erwin wondered whether Levi really was going to break his legs.
"More than your legs?"
"Yes."
"More than humanity's victory?"
This time, Erwin paused just a little longer before giving his reply. Even so, the answer was the same.
"Yes."
Levi lowered his chin just slightly. His expression had returned to its usual cool impassivity.
"I see."
Turning his back on Erwin, Levi walked to the door. His right hand rested on the handle for a moment. Then he looked back over his shoulder.
"Fine, Erwin," he said quietly. "In that case, I'll trust your judgment."
When he left, he closed the door just a little too hard behind him.
Erwin.
Maybe Erwin should have been a little more chastened by the fact that he had just placed his own dream over the fate of humanity. Perhaps he ought to have dwelt a little longer on the apparent selfishness of his own motivations.
But Levi had spoken to him. Levi had reached out for him. Levi had used his name.
It was a childish hope. Erwin did his best to press it down, to strangle it, but despite his most valiant efforts, the hope walked with him back to his office to finish all the last-minute paperwork. The hope distracted him as he tried to go over the expedition plans one more time. The hope brightened the office as the sky outside darkened, warmed him as the breeze from the open window cooled down, kept him awake as the evening passed and the hallways grew quiet and the stars came out.
For hours, Erwin fought this internal battle, but in the end, the hope conquered all Erwin's efforts at control, all his assertions of dominance. The hope, no matter how thoroughly Erwin suppressed it, was stronger than he was. Maybe it always had been.
And so, fueled by nothing but his most foolish hopes, Erwin got up not long after midnight and walked down to the kitchen. The building was dark. All the soldiers had undoubtedly returned to the barracks long ago.
In the kitchen, he lit a lamp and got to work. He boiled the water, taking great care to ensure that it reached exactly the right temperature, and no hotter. He measured the tea leaves with perfect precision. He watched the tea as it steeped, counting down the seconds until he removed the infuser, washed it, and returned all the materials to their proper place in the cupboard.
He took the cup of tea back to his office. Leaving the door slightly ajar, he set the cup on the desk momentarily while he picked up a handwritten letter—his backup plan—and stuffed it into his pocket. He grabbed the teacup again and turned back toward the door.
But just before he could nudge the door open, someone pulled it open from the other side, and Levi was standing not even a foot away from him.
"Oh," Levi said, startled.
They stared at one another.
"Hello," Erwin said.
A pause.
"Hi," Levi said, and the long-suppressed hope in Erwin's chest exploded like a sunrise.
In one hand, Levi was holding a bottle of vodka.
"You've been drinking," Erwin noted. He gestured at the alcohol.
"No," Levi said, glancing down at the bottle. "Not yet. I mean, not from this bottle."
Another short silence.
"Can I come in?" Levi asked.
"Oh," Erwin said. "Yes. Please."
He stepped back, motioning Levi into the room and nearly sloshing the tea all over the floor in the process. He had forgotten that he was still holding the teacup.
"Isn't it a little late for tea?" Levi asked, hovering by the chair in front of Erwin's desk, as if uncertain whether or not he should sit down.
"Maybe. But it's not for me." Erwin set the teacup down on the desk. "I made it for you."
Still a bit hesitantly, Levi sank down into the chair. He lifted the teacup from the top, like always, and tentatively sniffed the contents. His eyes widened in surprise.
"It smells…" he started, then paused. "Like it's supposed to."
"Don't sound so shocked." Erwin fell into his chair and watched Levi take a sip of tea. "What's the bottle for?"
"Right," Levi said. He set the bottle down on the desk. "Play your game with me."
"My what?"
"Your stupid drinking game." Levi held the bottle out to Erwin, who stared at it before looking up at Levi.
"You're serious?"
"Yeah," Levi said. "Did you have a nickname when you were a kid?"
Slowly, Erwin took the bottle, pulled out the cork, and raised it to his lips.
"Coward," Levi said, but the ghost of a smile had already spread across his face.
"It's embarrassing," Erwin muttered. He was trying, unsuccessfully, to hide his own grin. He hadn't even realized how much weight he had been carrying on his shoulders until it had fallen away. Right now, if he jumped out the window, he was certain that he would fly—with or without his gear.
"That's the whole idea of this shitty game," Levi pointed out.
"Fine," Erwin said. "They called me Eyebrows."
"Eyebrows?" Levi cocked his head to one side. "No way."
"I told you it was embarrassing." Erwin pushed the bottle back toward Levi. "Would you rather always live in summer or winter?"
"Neither," Levi said. "Spring."
"That's not one of the choices."
"Woe is me," Levi deadpanned, lifting the bottle to his lips with a flourish. "Guess I have to drink now."
"Cheater."
"Wow, I'm devastated. What's the drunkest you've ever been?"
Erwin considered the question for a moment.
"One night at a bar…with Nile…when we were both in the training corps," he said finally. "The night we both met Marie. We set fire to the curtains and nearly burned the bar down. Come to think of it, it's a miracle she was ever interested in either of us."
He grabbed the bottle and stole two or three long swallows. The alcohol burned as it traveled down his throat. Levi did not comment or protest on behalf of the rules.
"Do you ever drink coffee?" Erwin asked.
"Nope," Levi said. He snatched the bottle back from Erwin and drank before adding, "Makes me depressed. Don't know why. What would you name a kid? If you had one?"
"Kasimir," Erwin said quietly. The name conjured the memory of a gravestone that stood in a small, well-kept cemetery in Ehrmich District.
"Kasimir? Why is—" Then Levi's face cleared. He understood. "That's a good name."
Erwin cleared his throat.
"If you could be anything other than a Scout, what would it be?"
"I'd open a tea shop," Levi answered without hesitation.
Erwin raised an eyebrow. "That was quick."
"I was thinking about it the other week," Levi said, his cheeks flushing a little. "If we win. Beat the Titans, I mean. I think I'd want to run a tea shop."
"I think you'd be good at it," Erwin said with a small smile.
"Where'd you learn how to make the tea?" Levi asked, gesturing at the teacup in front of him.
Erwin felt the smile slip from his face. The question brought him back to those cold, dark mornings, to bitter leaves soaking at the bottom of lukewarm teacups, to weeks and weeks of trying and failing and trying again.
"I did it wrong a lot of times," he said eventually. "And I kept doing it until I got it right."
"I see," Levi said, although he probably didn't. "Your turn."
But Erwin did not speak. He was staring at Levi. After a few seconds, Levi noticed.
"Um, Erwin?"
Erwin rose abruptly, nearly knocking his chair over in the process. In three quick strides, he had circled around the desk and knelt down in front of Levi.
"Forgive me," he said.
"What the hell?"
Erwin raised his head. Levi was looking down at him, utter shock etched across his face.
"Forgive me," Erwin repeated. "Please."
"Get up, Erwin, why are you—"
But Erwin had seized one of Levi's hands in both of his own, as a suppliant might grasp the hand of a monarch.
"I'm sorry," Erwin said. "I'm so sorry. Please, forgive me. Please."
Levi tried to yank his hand away, but Erwin held onto it.
"Look, why do you think I did all this?" Levi asked, sounding almost panicked. He gestured at the desk. "The bottle—the drinking game—everything—it was all so that you wouldn't—"
"Please, Levi."
"Get up—"
"Not until you forgive me—"
"You idiot—don't—not to me—"
And to Erwin's absolute astonishment, Levi slipped down from his chair and knelt down in front of him. In one fluid motion, he grasped Erwin's wrist in both his hands, gently turned Erwin's right palm to face downward, and bowed his head over Erwin's hand.
For a long moment, they remained like that. Both of them kneeling. Both of them perfectly still.
"I'm sorry," Levi said. "I'm sorry. I was an asshole. I shouldn't have killed William and I shouldn't have lied to you and I shouldn't have disobeyed your orders and I'm sorry that it took me three months to realize it."
"No," Erwin said. "No. I shouldn't have treated you like a tool."
"I should have trusted you enough to tell you."
"I shouldn't have asked you to make that promise."
"I shouldn't have held a grudge for so long."
"Forgive me."
"I do."
"I do too."
Slowly, Erwin extracted his hand from both of Levi's. He stood up, reached down, pulled Levi up to his feet, and hugged him tightly to his chest. For less than a second, Levi stiffened—and then Erwin felt all the tension slowly melt from his friend's shoulders. A moment later, Levi's arms tightened around Erwin's back. Levi was so small that Erwin's arms buried him entirely.
For a long time, Erwin held still. Levi could decide when to let go.
When Levi finally pulled away, he looked up into Erwin's face. His nose wrinkled.
"You big baby," he said.
"Sorry." Erwin sniffed. "It's been a long few weeks."
"Yeah. I know." Levi glanced up at the clock. "Shit, it's late. You need to sleep if you're going to have any chance of surviving this expedition, and I should—"
He stopped himself.
"I don't want to go," he admitted.
"Then don't." Erwin grabbed the bottle off the desk and held it out to Levi. "Stay awake with me."
Levi stared at the bottle, then sat cross-legged on the floor. Erwin sat in front of him, setting the bottle down between them.
"It's still your turn," Levi said.
"What would you name a child?" Erwin asked. "If you had one?"
"I don't know." Levi leaned back on his elbows. "Kuchel. Or Claire."
"And if it were a boy?"
"I wouldn't want sons," Levi said, as if this were a perfectly reasonable opinion to hold. "If I had kids, I mean. Only daughters."
Erwin laughed.
"How old were you when you lost your virginity?" Levi asked, pushing the bottle back toward Erwin.
"Oh." Heat suddenly rising into his face, Erwin stared down at the bottle. He debated drinking, but…
What the hell.
"I didn't," he said.
Levi stared at him.
"Not with Marie?"
"Almost," Erwin said slowly. "But no."
A snort of a laugh escaped Levi's throat.
"What?" Erwin asked, just a little defensively.
"Nothing," Levi said, but a smile was already spreading across his face. "I just…all this time…I assumed…I didn't think…"
Despite himself, Erwin felt a lightness gathering in his chest. He tried to stifle the smile that was rising through his throat.
"…that I was a pathetic thirty-six-year-old virgin?"
"I wasn't trying…" Levi said, but he was already struggling with the laugh that was trying to escape his lips. "I wasn't going to say it like that…"
"Okay, listen, asshole." Erwin felt himself break out into a grin. "Aren't you the one who—what was it you said?—lived like a 'motherfucking monk' for the last five years?"
And now they were laughing in earnest, and the harder they laughed, the harder it was to stop or speak or even breathe, and in six years, Erwin had never seen Levi laugh like this, so uncontrollably that he might as well have been sobbing. They laughed for the lives they might have lived, for the families they would never have, for all the things they had each given up in pursuit of this lonely, ridiculous, impossible dream.
So long ago, they had both stumbled across the life that normal people wanted, come so close as to examine and smell and taste it—and they had both chosen something else. Erwin had chosen Titans, and Levi had chosen…
What, exactly?
"To be honest, I'm not even sure what I think about all that 'give your hearts for humanity' shit."
Strange that after all this time, Erwin could know so much about Levi—could know how he took his tea and when he liked to drink it, could interpret his tiniest movements and facial expressions, could recount everything he had ever done—and still not fully understand exactly why so many years ago, a street rat from the Underground had lowered his blades in the misty rain and followed Erwin into the storm.
He almost asked. Instead, he let it go.
The reason didn't matter anymore.
The hours slipped away like tea dripping out of a cracked cup. The thirteenth commander of the Survey Corps and his one and only captain sat in Erwin's office and talked about everything and nothing. Levi sprawled out on the floor, and Erwin leaned back against the wall, and even as the moon rose and the clouds drifted over the stars, Levi did not leave, and Erwin's chest ached with the knowledge that he could never repay Levi for this mercy—for the immeasurably precious gift of not leaving.
As the night crept along, Erwin found himself haunted by an overwhelming feeling of homesickness. He was home, of course—the Survey Corps had been his home since he was fifteen years old—and yet for some reason, he could not shake the agonizing sensation that something was ending here; that once he and Levi left this room, they would never come back.
He did not want to leave. He did not want the dawn to come.
But the dawn did come—and when it came, it found Erwin sitting by the window, watching as the midnight haze on the horizon brightened into a baby blue. Behind him, Levi was curled up on the couch. He had been drifting in and out of sleep for the last hour. Slowly, very slowly, an orange sheen was beginning to tint the sky above the hill.
Erwin loved that hill. He loved the pond, and the trees, and the way the leaves came back to life every spring.
How had it taken him twenty-one years to realize he loved this place?
"Levi," Erwin said suddenly.
"Hmm?" Levi mumbled. His eyelids cracked open, but only just barely.
"I have a request."
"Yeah, what's't?"
"This isn't an order." Streaks of pink and orange had begun to glow on the horizon. Soon the first rays of the sun would be reaching up over the hill. "It's only a request. It might just be a hope."
"Mm-hmm…"
"If something happens to me on this expedition," Erwin said, "and if you live to see the end of the war…"
He turned back to look at Levi, curled up like a cat in the pillows. His eyes were shut once again. He probably wasn't even hearing any of this.
"I want you to try to be happy," Erwin said softly. "Even if it's just for me."
"Mmm." Levi shifted a little, burying his face in the couch cushions.
Any minute now, the sun would appear. With a sigh, Erwin pushed himself up out of his chair. There was work to do now, and he could not linger by the window to watch the sunrise, no matter how much he wanted to. He walked over to Levi and gently shook him awake.
"The sun's rising," he said. "Time to get to work."
A grumpy huff escaped Levi as he untangled himself from the pillows. Silently, Erwin returned to his desk as Levi stretched his arms, grabbed the bottle, and headed for the door.
"Can you send Hange in?" Erwin asked, already distracted by his papers. "I want to go over a few things with her."
"Yeah."
But then, just as Levi's hand touched the door handle, something occurred to Erwin.
"Wait," he said. "One more question."
Levi paused in the doorway. His right hand rested on the handle; his left hand still held the bottle.
"What you said to me today. Wanting me to stay behind. Why?"
"I already told you why."
"No, you didn't."
For several long seconds, Levi remained perfectly still, staring down at the floor. The tiny muscle in his jaw twitched, and Erwin had the sudden, strange sensation that his friend was fighting an invisible battle—or perhaps it was only the final battle in a war that Levi had been waging ever since that first day, when Erwin had knelt down in the mud before him. His arm shifted slightly, and for half a moment, Erwin nearly believed that they were back in that carriage, five years younger, and that Levi was about to lift the bottle to his lips and drink.
But then he lifted his eyes instead, and Erwin knew that Levi had won.
"Your life," Levi said, "is now, and always will be, dearer to me than my own."
And after all these years, Erwin knew exactly what Levi had chosen.