Chapter 39: Our Terrible Culmination

"Edie."

She had a sticky taste in her mouth, leftover from a hanging jaw and cool night air. Thankfully, they'd turned in their sleep so her back was against his chest, and his arms wrapped around her waist. She groggily pressed her lips together and swished some spit around and swallowed what was likely bad morning breath. The waking clouds began to clear, and Edie nearly laughed at thinking about morning breath and stickiness. Who had the time for that? But the Shadowman hadn't shown his face, and they were lazy in rising.

Ripples ran through her body as she slowly turned and smiled at her hair clouding his face. "Morning."

"Hi." He ran his hands between them, spreading her locks on the pillow. He drew her in for a long kiss, and his lips lingered on her forehead. "How'd you sleep?"

"Decently. You?"

"Best rest in years. Maybe ever."

"Little early to be romantic, don't you think?"

"Only honest." He kissed her again.

"How's your wound?"

Levi grimaced but turned pain into a smile. "Healing, slowly. I won't be able to ride for a few weeks, most likely."

"So, you're stuck here?"

"I'll hitch a ride home."

"Hmm. Home." Edie sat up, her hair still grazing the pillow, and he twisted it around his fingers. "It's practically midday."

"Nine in the morning, I'd say."

"Like I said. Larmie and Hajule must be swamped."

"I'll make it up, once I'm better." Pain shot across the captain's face as he pulled himself up; he paused once his shoulders touched the metal railing. "Do something around the farm, you know."

"You're insane if you think Larmie would ever let you work on injury. I twisted my ankle a year ago and was confined to housework for an entire week."

"Mm. A year ago." He reached out his hand and caressed her cheek, running his thumb carefully on her skin. "That's around when we met, isn't it?"

"We met before. But I'd say that's when we started…seeing one another." Edie glanced down at the sheets, blinking. A year ago.

"A lot has changed since then."

"Yeah, I'd say." Edie sat up straighter, and his hand fell to the side. She pressed her wrist against his forehead. "Are you sure you're not still running a fever?"

"Why?"

"I don't know. You're sappier than usual."

"I had some time before you woke up, to think about last night." He met her eyes. "I'm sorry I can't make you that promise."

"What promise?"

"Of life." His gaze bore a slight sadness. "I can't promise I'll always come back."

"It's alright. No one can ever make that promise, no matter how powerful. And you insist on taking on some very mighty foes."

He nodded. "Yesterday…reminded me of how quick it all is, how instantaneously life can change. In a moment, men can be dead on the floor, and titans burst through the walls. Nothing is certain, except the present."

"How else would we live?"

"We wouldn't." He lifted himself until he sat up and stretched over to the side table. The captain rooted around for a few moments, before sighing in disgust.

"What are you looking for?"

"I'll find it."

Edie sighed and stood, crossing to a bloodied knapsack on the floor. "Don't be such a man. What is it?"

He scowled. "It's a bit redundant."

"Wuss."

"A small leather wallet. Don't open it."

"Of course, captain. Orders are loud and clear."

She found the package in his bag and brought it back to the bed. Assured that Larmie would make do without her, she curled back up to him, her head lain on his chest. Her hands steered clear of the wound on his side, still nicely stitched despite the restless evening, but her hands circled loose cloth on his shirt. Her head rose and fell with his breathing, slowly at first, then agitated. "You alright?"

"Yeah."

"Good." Her eyes closed, and she listened as his breathing steadied, still quick.

"I've lived on the skirts of life my whole life, you know? In the underground, joining the Scouts, becoming a captain, all of it. I've never known whether to trust my own instinct or put my life in the hands of my comrades, or to rest on my own skill. Never have those three aligned and led to one path, and they've never led to something I desperately wanted."

"You didn't want to be a captain?"

"I didn't want to be responsible for men's lives, but Erwin saw otherwise."

"I'm sorry."

"There's no need. Being a captain brought me to the squad I have now. It brought me to you."

Edie smiled and lifted her head, but her lips suddenly parted. Levi had opened his leather wallet and held a small silver ring between his fingers.

She blinked and pushed herself up, at his level. "L—Levi—"

"If the present is all that is certain, then all this is for nothing, but I've come to believe that we have some power over what will be. Whether that's the case is for priests to decide, but they can't say this for me. I…adore you, Edie Cartwell, but above that, I trust you. For the first time in my life, I truly believe that someone knows me and sees me, and I would die before losing that. I'll be the first to admit that I don't know a damn thing about being a husband or…or a father, but I will do everything in my power to ensure that you are happy, in every—"

Edie cut off his sentence by suddenly standing and pressing her hands against her stomach. Her head swirled, and her sight grew dizzy.

The captain reached out his free hand and touched her wrist. "Are you…alright?"

"What are you asking me?" She asked in disbelief, blinking. "What—I don't—"

The captain's eyes lost their flurried glow, and a murky look returned. He still gazed with concern. "I'm…asking you to marry me. I've been…holding onto this for quite some time now."

"How…how long?"

Levi swallowed. "Four months." He looked back at the ring, then at the bed. "And three weeks."

Edie wrested free of his grip and paced the room. It's been a year. It's been a year. How has it been a year already? It was only—a month, or two months—just a week ago—oh, God, it's been a year.

Levi stuffed the ring back in his wallet and hurriedly put it on the bedside table. "If it's not what you want, then just say so. I won't ask again, if this is how you want to—"

"That's not—no, I'm not—I'm just—oh my god, it's been a year."

"Edie—"

"This wasn't supposed to happen," she breathed, mostly to herself.

But he was quite good at perceiving things meant just for herself. "What was supposed to happen?"

She looked at him, then at the floor, paced again, and wrung her hands. "Look, I probably gave the wrong idea last night, saying all those things about—about dying, and death, and—look, I'm sorry; none of this is fair to you."

"I'm glad you did." He stared at the sheets. "But you wish you hadn't."

"I—I was delirious. I wasn't thinking straight."

"And now that you are?"

"I can't—I can't marry you."

"That's—" His eyes searched for a place to stay. "It's fine. You—if you're content with this, then I will be."

"No, you shouldn't be content with this, it wasn't—it—"

His head shot up, a burning fire finally growing. "What was supposed to happen?"

The dam broke. "You were supposed to realize that I am not good for you. You were supposed to discover all of a sudden that those fine city girls with well bred manners and good money and nice dresses will be so much better for you, all those girls who fall head over heels at every word you say and hang on every syllable. I know I've never listened with—"

"None of that is what I want!"

"Well, you should! There's a hundred girls just in Ehmrich who would make a far better partner than me. They'd dote on you and keep house and just be thrilled with all the attention. Or, bright idea, someone who understands what you go through on your missions—"

"—you do. Can't you see that? There's no idiotic cliches about how they're in a better place, or that their sacrifice matters, or that I just need to mourn their loss." He stared in disbelief. "Was—did you agree to go out with me because you thought I'd—what, come to my senses?"

"I—at first, I—I thought—"

He looked her dead in the eyes. "Edie, I have lived above ground for seven years now and never loved someone the way I love you. And if you think I can bury that longing and just find someone else, then you're more deluded than any city pastor."

"Don't say that. You'll—you'll find someone else, and she'll be perfect for you, but I cannot marry you." She stared at the corner of the room. "I—I don't think we should see each other anymore."

"Edie!"

"Please, don't—" Her trembling hand scraped against the door. "It's not fair for you to be stuck in this for a minute more. I'm—I didn't mean for it to go this far."

"Don't leave." His eyes strained in desperation. "God, Edie, don't walk out that door, don't—"

She swung through the opening and closed it resolutely, swallowing a sob. The stairs blurred, her good-byes blurred, and she scarcely recalled boarding Larmie's horse. The city sped by, and soon she was in the countryside, making a long midmorning journey back home.

Progress slowed when panicked sobs overtook her, and Larmie's horse slowed, turning its head to see what was the matter. Edie slipped off the saddle and toppled onto the dirt road, throwing up bile and spit. Larmie's trusted steed shielded her from the watching fields as soundless sobs erupted from her chest.

You did the right thing, she told herself. There was nothing else you could have done. He proposed. He would've been in too deep before realizing his mistake.

Eventually, the panic subsided, but an afternoon sun crept across the sky. Edie's trembling arms managed to lug herself back on the high saddle, and the horse continued his stride.

Every shadow jumped out at her, with a peering smile and understanding eyes.

Oh, you sweet, silly girl, the shadows responded. How could this be any different?