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She said we’d live for our own sake... together...
But now she’s left me behind...
I’ll never forgive her...
It was only after Ymir was gone that Historia knew she was in love with her too.
The ride back to the walls left her light headed and bewildered, her legs giving out beneath her as she stumbled weakly forward. She sobbed and sputtered breathlessly, then broke down in harrowed laughter when she could bear it no further. It was as though her world had shattered around her in a ruthless rebuke for having let herself hope. How she would gather all of the broken bits to put back together was beyond her. The light of her life had left her in the dark, and only in this did Historia realise what she truly meant to her. She was bereft of her first love before she could make her feelings known, indeed before she even knew them herself, and as she slumped defeated to the ground, she began to lose what frail sense she had of who, where and why she was.
But she was given no time to grieve, for no sooner than she had regained her bearings was she grasped by the neck and thrust into a role she had no wish to fulfil. Through the struggle of the uprising however, she found her way back to her will to fight. Taking a stand against the man who fathered her but who warranted no daughterly love, she vowed as she delivered his death blow never to let her own path be drawn by those who regarded her merely as a means to their ends. From there on out she would live for her own sake with pride in her heart, in homage to the woman who had seen her for who she really was all along.
She bore the burden bestowed unto her by her birth with her head held high, forbade herself from giving in, left no regrets in her wake. No regrets but one. When she lay in bed at night she dwelt upon everything she never told Ymir. She wept for words unsaid and love never shared, wished for the warmth of her body, for the endearing little smiles that Ymir would never know how much she loved. Nevermore would Historia let sadness hollow out her heart, but the days she had to push on through without Ymir by her side grew ever harder to handle.
She tried to stay brave. Even by herself in the safe haven of her bedroom she swallowed the tightness in her throat and refused to let herself waver. But the harder she tried, the harder her buried grief threatened to take over. Her thoughts often found their way to Ymir in her room, where she tried to unwind at the end of each highly strung day. It was the only time she truly had to herself, but it was a tarnished blessing. While her daily workload wore her out, it tended to keep her mind off of the foreboding wisps of sorrow that writhed at the bottom of her soul. In her room however, she was free to brood.
Draining the last of her tea, Historia set her mug back down on her bedside table with a soft sigh. Her book lay forgotten to the side, given up upon when her thoughts had begun to wander. It must have been well into the evening already, the sky taking on swirling hues of red as the sun sank unhurriedly beneath the skyline. Leaning back against the headboard, she let another weary sigh leave her nose. It was too early to sleep and too late to go on a walk around the grounds, but she needed something to do. Eyeing her book, she took it in her hands, opened it back up and chose to give reading another try.
Then two soft knocks came at her door.
Historia frowned slightly as she put the book back down and swept her legs over the side of her bed. She grumbled as she trod over to the door, irked to have been bothered in the only free time she had. What business was so dire that it could not wait until the next day, she could not fathom. Unless the world was ending even more than it already had, whoever was behind that door was going to be on the hurty end of a very thorough earful. Grasping the handle, she huffed as she tugged it open.
Then her deep blue eyes met Ymir’s warm hazel, and the barely healed wound in her heart was torn wide open.
Historia’s sight blurred with tears, her hands shaking as she reached out and drew her slowly into a soft hug.
“Ymir...” she whimpered, spluttering as she began to sob freely into her shirt, “I thought I’d lost you forever!”
She held nothing back, bawling messily in betrayal, heartbreak, love and relief. Every feeling she’d stifled since the day Ymir left her came gushing forth unhindered. Before long, she felt Ymir’s chest heaving as she began to cry with her. They held each other until their sobs gave way to snivels and they had no tears left to shed, then they drew apart, still gripping each other by the waist. Lifting a hand, Historia wiped the tears out from underneath Ymir’s eyes and brushed back the messy brown strands that had gotten a little longer since last she had seen her. Her Ymir had really come back to her. It was somewhat hard to believe, even though she was right before her.
Letting go of Ymir’s waist, Historia pushed the door shut behind them before taking her by the hand and leading her over to her double bed. She helped Ymir out of her shoes and trousers, which she folded and stacked neatly to the side, then they hopped onto the bed together, sitting and holding hands as though if they forgot to stay linked they might be sundered once more. Stroking Ymir’s hand with her thumb, Historia gazed into her beautiful golden-brown eyes. Within herself she’d already forgiven her for everything, but she had to talk to her about what happened.
“Ymir...” she began, her throat still hoarse from having cried so hard, “when you left me... it hurt so much. I stopped understanding who I was and what I wanted. My guiding light was gone and all I could do was thresh about in the dark.”
“Historia...” she breathed, her lip quivering as her glistening eyes filled with rue, “I’m so sorry...”
“It’s alright,” Historia whispered, stroking the side of Ymir’s face, “I forgive you. I’m proud of myself now. I know who I am and I’ll never live for anybody else’s sake.”
Ymir smiled wistfully, leaning into Historia’s touch.
“But...” Historia went on, “I don’t think that you are as true to what you believe as you think you are. You taught me to make my own way in life, not to throw myself away only to have others regard me a hero, yet you abandoned me to go throw yourself away for them...”
“I’m here now,” Ymir said, trembling, “I’m with you.”
Historia’s eyes grew watery as she let her other hand come to rest on Ymir’s hip.
“I was lost without you. Don’t you get it, Ymir? I love you!”
Ymir’s breath hitched, a shaky whimper leaving the back of her throat as fresh flows of tears began to stream down her flushed cheeks. Historia ran her hand lovingly up and down Ymir’s flank, her head tilting to the side and her eyes fluttering shut as she leaned slowly forward. She let her lips brush shyly up against Ymir’s, nuzzling her mouth before taking her into a slow, gentle kiss. Historia hummed lowly with the heavy hearted happiness of a great longing’s fulfilment, Ymir’s soft whines as blissful as they were sad and yearning. They kissed until they were breathless, puffing as they broke away and met each other’s gazes again.
Evening had already yielded to night, the red of dusk swept away by a dark, star flecked whirl of purple and blue.
“Stay with me...” Historia bade, wreathing her arms around Ymir.
“I’ll never leave you ever again,” she whispered.
Holding Ymir tightly to herself as they lay down together under the bedsheets, Historia fell wordlessly asleep to the soft, thudding beat of Ymir’s heart against her own.
__________
They awoke in the morning to warm shafts of sunlight filtering in through the windows and sweeping gently over their skin. Looking at each other tenderly through sleepy, hooded eyes, they giggled as they shared a brief morning kiss. Historia was the first to get up, throwing her sheets off and stretching herself out as she stood up, and Ymir followed shortly thereafter.
“Come on,” Historia said with a smile as she padded over to her wardrobe, “let’s go for a stroll. There is much to talk about.”
Taking her nightgown off, Historia swapped it for a white shirt and trousers to match, then slipped into her green coat that bore the blank shield emblem of the walls’ leaders. She put a pair of boots on, then tied her hair into a low ponytail rather than the bun she had worn more often since having become queen. Flicking her eyes over to the other side of the bed, she walked up to Ymir after she’d buttoned up her own trousers and slid back into her shoes.
“Ready?” Historia asked.
Ymir offered a nod, and they made their way down into the gardens.
They were breathtaking in the light of the midmorning’s sun, a witness to the great wealth of the walls’ grandest town. Neatly trimmed shrubberies bordered well groomed flowerbeds, the grounds’ edges hemmed with trees. Shallow pools were set at the meetings of overlapping walkways, topped with gushing fountains. None of it, however, was as beautiful to Historia as the woman to her side.
“So...” she said, squeezing Ymir’s hand tightly as they walked, “how was it that you got back?”
Ymir looked down at her, blinking a few times before she began.
“I made my getaway while Reiner and Bertholdt were sleeping, then made the trek back to the walls. I was so tired when I reached the gate that I could hardly stand.”
“Yeah?”
“I gave myself up to The Garrison and they handed me over to the Survey Corps. They wanted to hold me for questioning then bring me in for a trial, but Hange let me come and see you first. She thought you’d want to be the first to know that I was back. She wrote me a letter for the guards to let me through.”
Historia glowered, gripping Ymir’s hand defensively.
“There won’t be a trial,” she spat, “you are hereby pardoned of any wrongdoing, real or otherwise. And if they want to question you they can do it in a meeting room over tea, with me by your side... not in some... grimy lock up. That’s no way to behave toward the queen’s betrothed.”
Ymir halted in her tracks, her eyes widening as her speckled cheeks went bright red.
“Your what?” she wheezed.
“Oh,” Historia sang, smiling broadly in delight as she took Ymir’s hands and entwined their fingers, “we’re still engaged, aren’t we?”
“Historia...” Ymir whispered, visibly overwhelmed.
Without a word, Historia led Ymir over to the gardens’ edge, where they lay down together, side by side and hand in hand, in the grass beneath the shade of a great beech tree. The sun beamed through the leaves in mottled streams, fine motes of dust catching the light as they twirled weightlessly to and fro. It was utterly still but for the steady sound of their breathing and the rustle of the grass below them. Time itself almost seemed to slow to a stand,
until Ymir broke the dreamlike haze with a word.
“Yes,” she uttered softly,
and Historia shut her eyes with a smile.