Chapter Text
The lighting in your room seemed to grow dimmer and dimmer as a storm brewed on the horizon, just outside of the internment zone. Miles away, there was a flash of lightning, but you made no move to close the window. You welcomed the storm, felt a kinship with the dreariness that came from the grey skies.
Besides, there was still time before the rain began.
You sat at your desk, flipping through a novel that you hadn't had time to finish over the weekend. While normally, you had those two days to yourself, your superiors had decided that you were slacking off and needed to put more focus into your studies. Your genius military tactic would be needed soon, depending on the outcome of the Warrior's mission. There was no time to get lazy.
If only they knew your plans simply came from instinct, not from honorably studying the historical battle plans of the empire.
You sighed as the breeze fluttered through the window, a cool, humid one that seemed foreboding at best. The pages of your novel wrinkled against each other, growing damp from the air and the oils of your fingertips. With a frown, you closed the book, not knowing why you couldn't focus, when you had suddenly been graced with all the time in the world.
For nearly half a decade, you had been part of the Marleyan military, working as a brilliant tactician who had gotten your troops out of many situations, including those that had seemed doomed. You'd been a Warrior candidate once, but your dreams of venturing out of Liberio—if even to destroy an entire nation—had been crushed by a near fatal injury that had put you out of commission for a year.
Despite regaining your health and consciousness, you'd never fully recovered from the injuries. There were scars along your sides and sometimes, you walked with a limp that became even more obvious after strenuous activity.
For a while, back when you were young and full of a lot more life, you had hoped that you would be able to pick up right where you left off, as if no time had passed. Perhaps, if you worked hard enough, you'd be back at the top in no time, able to go with the other Warriors to Paradis as planned.
Of course, hope like that was a fickle thing. By the time you were back on your feet, and truly at a point where you could even begin building your strength to where it had once been, the Warriors had already been chosen. They'd gone to the island across the sea, and you were left behind.
Even still, you returned to training with the other candidates, the newer ones and the ones who hadn't been chosen, but it was months before you were healthy again.
Determination was one thing, but every body had its limits. No matter how hard you pushed yourself, you would never be as strong as you'd once been. You'd never be able to catch up to the younger candidates, the ones with bigger dreams, with bones that didn't ache.
After a few years, when you were no longer a bright-eyed kid, your dedication began to wane, and your drive to become a Warrior had almost diminished completely.
Of course, you knew it was possible that you could grow strong enough someday, that you could inherit a Titan and your physical injuries would be healed completely. The problem was timing.
You'd be in your mid-twenties by the time someone new was set to inherit one of the Titans, and that was old, by Warrior standards. By then, they'd have their eyes on younger candidates. They were easier to teach.
They were easier to control.
You'd realized it, and your commanding officers had realized it too. Still, you'd proven yourself to be too valuable of an asset, and they knew your skills would be of better use elsewhere. When Pieck Finger was set to inherit the Cart Titan, the Commander approached you with a proposition.
If you gave up your position as a Warrior candidate and came to work for the Marleyan military in tactics and strategy, you would still be granted the status of Honorary Marleyan. You and your immediate family, of which you had none anyway, would earn protection from any compulsory military enlistment. You'd never have to leave Marley, never have to fight in any war outside of your soil.
Which, you'd supposed, was all you'd ever wanted in the first place.
Two years ago, you'd been delighted that you'd gotten such a rare and valuable offer. It seemed ideal, fascinating, even, to see another side of battle.
Yet, aging was a mysterious thing, and time crafted ideas in the expanding grooves of your brain. You'd grown to hate war, hate the bloodshed that you never saw, but you knew happened. It disgusted you how people could be so willing, so happy, even, to kill one another.
The battles were not done on your command, and you had very little power, but it was enough to almost make you regret accepting the offer in the first place.
A loud clap of thunder brought you back to the present, out of memories you had no desire to relive.
You pursed your lips, not daring to think about the past anymore. Doubt was a dangerous thing to have, and once it clawed at your mind, it wouldn't let go.
This was just the way the world was. You needed to get that through your head. There was nothing you could do, no change that you could make, except to continue protecting the people that you cared about.
Your mouth was dry and sour when you finally shut the window and placed your book back on the shelf. It had been so long since you were last roped into the novel, and you were starting to have trouble following the story. You'd already forgotten how the beginning went.
There were better ways to spend your time than aimlessly staring at inked words.
Before you could think of what to do, there was a knock at the door, a quick, demanding one that had you alert and to your feet immediately.
"Come in," you said, brushing your hair out of your face, to at least appear as if you hadn't been dozing off.
With a click, the door swung open, revealing the War Chief himself. He seemed tired, clearly worn down by the mission that he'd been sent on for the past few months. The one, of course, that you'd been a key player in.
"Captain." Your eyes widened with surprise. "I wasn't aware you all were back. How did the mission go?" you asked stiffly, not sure you wanted to hear the answer. You knew the Warriors were expected back in the near future, but not today, not so soon.
You weren't sure if that was a good sign or not.
"We've only just returned. It was a rather quiet affair, what with the loss that we suffered. Hopefully now, we can take a break from all the fighting. At least for a while." Zeke took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes with a sigh. "We're all meeting at Headquarters in about twenty minutes. I expect you'll be ready by then?"
"I'll be on my way down in just a few."
Zeke nodded and shut the door abruptly, not saying another word. With that, you let out a loud breath. Although he was your superior, you had never enjoyed the presence of Zeke Jaeger, and he'd never quite liked you either.
Since you'd become a lead strategist, Zeke regarded you with much contempt. You figured that it had to do with the fact that while he was still, technically, ahead of you in rank, his orders were only pursued if they had your approval. The Marleyan commanders were happy to ignore your Eldian blood and revered you as a military genius.
You hadn't been on the frontlines next to them, but you'd still been able to get them out of situations that no one else could.
As you headed into the small bathroom that led from your office, you hoped that your appearance wasn't as disheveled as you expected. You looked a bit lifeless, your skin not holding its usual color, but that was due more to the stress and lack of sleep—nothing you could do about that. Your clothes, at least, were in pristine condition, and your hair looked just as it usually did.
With a shrug, you left the room. Who were you trying to impress anyway?
The hallway was quiet as you walked down towards Headquarters, where the Warriors' meeting room was. No other units seemed to be coming, which came as quite a shock, considering Zeke never invited you to Warrior meetings unless he was under pressure from other commanders. Something that was more out of spite than anything.
When you got to the room, the first thing that you noticed was the complete and utter silence. Pieck had her arm stretched across the table, head resting near her elbow. Porco Gailliard was across from her, but the other chairs were empty.
You took a seat next to Porco, who in the past few years, had quickly become your best friend. The two of you had bonded over bitter tales of not being chosen, and while your stories were vastly different, you could still understand the resentment that came from not inheriting the Armored Titan.
"You look like shit," Porco remarked as you sat down, flattening your skirt under your legs.
You gave him a sour look. "Really? I thought I looked rather nice today. I made sure to look especially pretty for you, asshole."
Porco rolled his eyes, scoffing, but there was still a hint of concern behind his dark irises. "You're not sick, are you? Do I need to tell Zeke? I don't want a walking infection loitering so closely." He covered his mouth and nose, throwing a hand out to put distance between the two of you.
"You're a horrible person, you know that?" you glared. Your arms crossed over your chest as you leaned back in your seat, wondering what the hold-up was. Even though you didn't come to the dreadful meetings often, you still hated them. Typically, your time in this room was just spent listening to Zeke drone on and on about his military prowess. "I haven't been sleeping. Who can sleep, anyway?"
"Yeah," Porco said, but the word didn't hold its usual teasing bite, just a casual acceptance for what everyone knew was true—something bad was coming, whether it be tomorrow or in a decade—and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. "You promise you're still taking care of yourself, though?"
"Don't get all sappy on me, Galliard. It's embarrassing." You rolled your eyes.
"Avoiding the question is never a good sign," Pieck said in a soft voice, one eye blinking open lazily. She studied you for a moment longer, and then quirked a side of her lip upward. "I think you look just fine. Pock, you really are terrible."
Porco opened his mouth to argue, but he didn't get far. The silence was interrupted by the door bursting open again, this time with Reiner Braun strolling in, dragging his feet like they were too heavy to even lift off the ground. Your eyes met briefly, but he darted his own away quickly, standing a little taller while the stoicism returned to his features.
Reiner, you knew, had made a short return to Marley with Bertholdt Hoover a few months ago, though you had only seen him for a moment. Really, you hardly ever saw any of the Warriors or Warrior candidates since you'd taken the new position. You conferred with Zeke most of the time, and any strategic plans you had were finalized through the Commander. There was no reason to ever speak directly to any of them, and Zeke made it obvious that he would not let you be the one to share plans with his unit.
Of course, there was also the matter that of all the Warrior candidates of your time, you'd always liked Reiner Braun the least. Where you'd felt a sense of duty, felt that it was your requirement as a child of Liberio to become a candidate, Reiner had always been a bit too willing to throw himself into battle. He seemed to make it his mission to spread the passion that the Marleyans had instilled in him, even if they viewed him to be the scum of the earth.
Still, you'd only been children back then. Judging by the harrowed frown on Reiner's face, you could tell that this was not the Reiner Braun that you had once trained with.
Zeke began talking, but you weren't too keen on listening, caught up in memories of the past. You spent a moment in your own mind until a few words caught your attention.
"As you all know, we've lost a very crucial asset to our invasion."
Your eyes shot up, finally registering the permanently empty chair at the middle of the table. This, of course, was news only to you. Somehow, you hadn't realized that Bertholdt, just like Annie, was gone. One day, he'd just been gone, and you'd carried on like nothing had ever happened. He hadn't even crossed your mind until Zeke alerted you of his absence.
The guilt hollowed your insides as you furrowed your brow.
What had been the cause of his death? Was it an order that Zeke had carried out, or had Bertholdt just been following the plan you'd set from the start?
Reiner, across the table, sunk into his chair even further. His eyes were glossy, honeyed irises that didn't betray any emotion. He swallowed and stared at absolutely nothing, caught up in a world all of his own.
Porco glanced over as you steadied yourself. You had always liked Bertholdt. He was quiet and kind, and he never forgot to include you, even when you didn't much care if you were a part of the activities or not. In fact, he was one of the only people—besides Porco—who had ever attempted to be your friend, and that meant something to you.
It stung, knowing that you would never hear his gentle words again, yet you felt you had no right to mourn. You hadn't been close to him in years, had only spoken to him briefly in the few months, sparing only enough time to ask about his experience on Paradis. He had never seemed too keen to talk about it, though, and a connection that could've bloomed into a valuable relationship had been lost through the years of looming adulthood.
Zeke paid little attention to the haunting silence in the room. He rambled on about the mission in Paradis, mostly for you and Porco, who had been the only ones not present.
While you were the seed of nearly all these missions, the way that Zeke recounted the bloodshed with an almost sickening amount of glee was something that you would not soon forget. You were willing to do what needed to be done for the sake of war, but you refused to be proud of slaughtering an entire army of people, "devils" or not.
Bertholdt's death was described briefly—the Colossal Titan had been transferred to someone named Armin, who was in the same unit that Reiner and Bertholdt had been in while undercover.
Armin, on his last breath, had been saved by the rest of his unit. Bertholdt, on the other hand, spent his last moments in agonizing fear, begging for the people he'd once called his friends to spare him.
You closed your eyes and tipped your head down, your heart squeezing in your chest. The mouth of a Titan was usually the last thing that a Warrior ever saw, but Bertholdt had had so much time. He was still just a boy.
Your stomach lurched, and Porco spared you a glance from the corner of his eye, concerned. You ignored him.
"Reiner tells me Armin serves a purpose much like you," Zeke said, your name leaving his lips bitterly, as all the attention in the room turned towards you. "A supposed great military mind, but someone who couldn't win a fight with the enemy blindfolded."
Reiner had been quiet until now, but he sat up, interrupting Zeke quietly. "I'm not sure those were my exact words..."
"I can fight just fine," you said, ignoring Reiner, a bitter taste in your mouth. "I've just had no reason to. The military has use for me outside of combat." You narrowed your eyes. "Although, if I recall correctly, Captain, it was you who was always at the bottom of the rankings. And that was without injury."
You met his eyes, blurry behind his glasses, with the same steely expression.
Porco seemed to be caught in a laugh, one he held it back for his own sake, while Reiner, on the other side of the table, wore a look of poorly veiled surprise.
To your disdain, Zeke simply waved the comment off. He would likely write you up later for disrespecting your superiors, but ou didn't care.
"That was a long time ago," Zeke said, shrugging. "What's more important is that Paradis has gained yet another asset, while ours continue to dwindle."
There was a resounding silence. It was a threat concealed as a statement. No one else was to die, and certainly, no one else was to lose their Titan to the enemy.
You were dismissed after that.
Porco followed you out of the room, looking over his shoulder to make sure that he was out of Zeke's earshot. The War Chief, though, was yet to emerge from the room, and Porco let out an obnoxious laugh as the two of you relaxed.
"You've been holding that in for a while, huh?" you said, rolling your eyes. How Porco could feel even a little amused after that depressing talk was beyond you.
"I thought for sure Zeke was going to launch you out the window. I swear I saw his hand twitch. I wanted a fight to break out!" Porco grinned, one that was met with a heavy sigh.
"We're hardly children on a playground, you idiot. I'm not getting into a fistfight with Zeke Jaeger."
Porco shrugged, slinging an arm over your shoulder. "Why not? I think you could take him."
You refused to dignify that with a response, but a brief smile flitted onto your face. Sure, Porco was a shithead nearly all the time, but he always made you laugh, even when you felt like a smile was impossible.
While Porco rambled on about all the ways he believed you could take Zeke down, you saw Reiner leave the meeting room from the corner of your eye.
Reiner's shoulders were slumped, heavy, his entire body caving in on itself. His hair had become a dull shade of blonde, smile lacking the smugness it had once held. It was as if he was a shadow, a mirror image of himself from another dimension.
Maybe, it was simply your memories betraying you, but he'd never looked quite so miserable.
Of course, change was to be expected. Reiner had left Marley with his best friend and come back alone. If you had gone on a mission with Porco and returned without him, you would never be the same.
The thought alone made you feel horribly depressed, and you were rushed with an overwhelming amount of sadness for the blond man behind you.
Without thinking, you stopped, feet grinding to a halt in the middle of the hallway. "I just remembered I left something in the meeting room." You hoped it didn't sound too suspicious, but Porco had likely forgotten that you hadn't brought anything with you. Zeke's monologues had a way of sucking the life from the both of you, and it was close to dinnertime. Porco wasn't the most detail-oriented when he was hungry. "I'll meet you downstairs, okay?"
Thankfully, Porco didn't argue. He brought his arm back from around your shoulders and waved briefly. "Yeah, okay. Just don't trip on the stairs and crack your head without me."
"Can't make any promises," you shrugged, and turned around, watching as Porco caught up with Pieck. The two of them turned the corner together, leaving you alone with Reiner.
He was still hovering around the Warrior's meeting room, a bit dazed when you approached him. His appearance was messier up close, and judging by the dark shadows under his eyes and the pale contrast of his skin, he hadn't slept in weeks.
"Hey, Braun," you said softly, hoping not to startle him.
Reiner's eyes drifted over to your own, the same hazel shade that you remembered. It was, at least, one thing that hadn't changed about him. "Oh," Reiner said, eyebrows raising as he said your name. "How are you?" He seemed surprised by your presence. Perhaps he'd expected that the two of you would go on as you always had, skirting around each other's lives as if you didn't exist at all.
Well, after this one moment, you probably would.
"Fine," you answered quickly, not bothering to ask the same. You already knew the answer would be a lie. "I just wanted to—"
"If you're going to ask about what Zeke said in there, I never meant to sound insulting. It's just that Armin is really valuable because he's smart, and I've heard you're really smart, so—"
You cut him off with a wave, though a part of you preened at the compliment. "That's not what I came to say. Don't worry about that," you said, swallowing as you looked up at him. He'd grown taller, much taller since the Warriors left for Paradis. It was the first time you'd realized that. "I'm sorry about Bertholdt," you said, with a shaky breath. "I know you two were very close."
Although you'd expected Reiner's face to fall, his gaze only hardened. He set his jaw stiffly. "You shouldn't apologize to me. It's my fault he's dead."
You were unsure what to respond to that—you had no idea what really happened on the other side of the sea. Despite being a strategist, your plans were only dictated by what you knew from the past. You, nor Zeke, nor any of the other Marleyans could see the future. There was nothing you could say that would comfort him.
"We all played a bit into that, didn't we?" You said, hoping your voice remained as neutral as you intended. "You can't blame yourself. It'll eat you alive."
Reiner stared at you with a hard gaze. There was silence, and neither of you seemed to know how to break it, as you shifted awkwardly on your feet.
"Right. Sorry—" he finally said, forcing a tight smile. "Didn't mean to sound so..." He rubbed a hand over his face. "Well. It's hard to believe he's gone. So many people have died on that island, and I'm still here. I guess I always thought Bertholdt would make it back, even if I didn't."
You swallowed. Even though you felt old most days, older than you really were, every exhale, every second of life was another that Bertholdt would never get. You'd already outlived him—you'd outlive them all. Their days were so numbered by inheriting the Titans.
A part of you wanted to tell Reiner that if he made it back, there must be a reason. That if life had chosen him, of all people, to return to Marley, then surely, he had some greater purpose that must be fulfilled. You just didn't believe that. If there was a greater purpose that all this death served, then Bertholdt should've been a part of it. He should've met a better end, one that didn't result in him being crushed by the jaws of a Titan.
"He was a good man," you said, instead. "I never knew him as well as you did, but I'll miss him."
Reiner nodded, but he didn't look at you.
"You know, you're the first person to say that. Everyone praises him for being a good soldier, for giving his last breath to Marley, but no one seems to care about what he was like as a person. He didn't want to die. Most of the time, he didn't want to be there at all," Reiner's gaze was far away, still trapped on that island. You weren't sure he would ever escape.
You thought about reaching out, taking his hand, and squeezing it lightly to offer some sort of comfort, but quickly abandoned that thought. Reiner was nothing more than a stranger, a person you passed daily but never spoke to. You would likely never be more than acquaintances, soldiers brought together by a battle that would never end.
"He deserves to be remembered for more than just what he did for Marley. I promise I won't forget that." It was all that you could say in that moment. Reiner mustered a grateful smile, even if it wasn't real. "I'm heading off now, but I'll see you around."
Another formality, another thing you said to ease your way out of conversation, to lighten the load of heavy topics. The future was so uncertain. Reiner Braun could be dead tomorrow. You could be dead tomorrow.
The thought made you a bit sick. You stretched your fingers out at your sides, trying to release the stiffness in your body.
"Have a good night," Reiner responded.
With a nod, you turned around, wondering how things could've been different. Maybe, fate was real and destiny would always lead you to these moments. Those were questions that no one had the answer to.
You headed downstairs; the hallways eerily quiet with the growing storm and the setting sun. It seemed most everyone had gone home, except for you and the three other Warriors that remained.
"What took you so long?" Porco said with a loud groan when he finally saw you. He was alone—Pieck had probably already gone to get dinner. "Did you get what you needed?"
You threw on a grin, hoping to dispel the pit of despair in your stomach. You didn't need Porco Galliard pestering you about the dismal look on your face. You felt the gloom deep enough in your heart already. "There was nothing. I must be imagining things, it's probably in my room. Want to get something to eat?"