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The palace corridors appear blissfully empty at night, haunted only by the ghosts of its royal forefathers and a young prince out of his room past bedtime.
Prince Armin, nine years old and filled with far more rebellion than appropriate for the potential heir to the most powerful kingdom in the nation, already knows precisely which hallways to traverse in order to avoid all the guards; he is on a quest that requires no interruptions.
“Where are you headed?”
He has not, however, accounted for being caught by someone no older or taller than he.
“Eren!” Armin cries out as quietly as he can, clutching a hand to his beating heart and pressing himself against the stone walls. “You surprised me!”
Eren laughs, whispery and breathless, and says, “I apologize, Your Highness.” He joins Armin against the wall, their shoulders nearly touching, and offers his friend a cheeky grin, eyes glinting in the limited light streaming through the windows.
Armin flushes and swats at his friend’s arm, unable to contain his smile. “I’ve already told you that there’s no need to call me that!”
“Well, Ar—”
The sound of footsteps echo in the distance, and Armin stills, shushing Eren with a finger to his lips. He is well aware of the times the guards tend to switch posts, and they are not due to come down this hallway for at least a few more minutes; still, though, he and Eren may be too loud, and it would not do for them to get caught.
They stand there, pressed side to side, mouths shut and eyes wide, praying their silence and the cover of night will hide them. If Armin is caught outside his chambers past bedtime, he will likely receive a harsh scolding and more etiquette lessons, though not much else; for Eren, though, the physician’s youngest, there is no telling what grueling chores might be added to his list for the next day.
Their fears are realized when a thin shadow, illuminated by the lantern in the guard’s hand, appears mere feet away from them.
A whimper of terror threatens to slip out of Armin, until he feels Eren’s hand close around his, their fingers tangling together clumsily, hurriedly; he knows then that any verbal lashings they may receive will be made more bearable with his best friend by his side.
The familiar face of Sir Levi, current captain of the royal guard, appears before them.
“Your Highness,” Levi says, deadpan, inclining his head slightly less than would be considered proper. He turns to Eren and raises a brow, though the rest of his face betrays no surprise. “And the brat.”
Eren scowls but does not speak.
“H-Hello, Sir Levi,” Armin replies, tilting his head to the side and putting on his best, most polite smile.
“Why are you out so late, Your Highness?” Levi places his lantern on a nearby hook and crosses his arms, standing before them in the only slab of fiery light in the otherwise dark corridor.
The lie tumbles forth easily. “I awoke a little earlier feeling thirsty, so I left my chambers for a drink,” Armin explains, gesturing in the general direction of Eren’s room. “Eren was simply accompanying me.”
Eren nods, confirming the tale, fingers tightening around Armin’s own.
Both of Levi’s eyebrows raise. “You require an escort to the kitchens?”
Armin flushes, offering up a truth. “I fear the dark, Sir.”
He can see Eren’s curious gaze out of the corner of his eye, but he continues to look forward.
Sighing, Levi unhooks his lantern and signals for them to follow him. “I will escort you both to your chambers now and request a maidservant bring some drink to you, Your Highness. And you, brat,” he fixes a look at Eren, who puffs his chest up defiantly, “you’re lucky I’m the one who caught you and not Shadis. Your father would not be pleased to hear about this.”
At this, Eren pales, visible only due to the flickering light of the lamp leading their way through the halls.
Levi continues, “Thus, I will arrange your punishment myself. If your father asks, tell him that I requested your help specifically. Do you understand?”
Eren nods again, his face a mix between relieved gratitude and tenuous annoyance, and they follow the captain in silence toward their chambers. They come upon Eren’s chambers first, and Levi ushers him in.
Once the door is closed and they are a corridor away from the physician’s dwellings, Levi says, casually, carefully, “If you want to wander the halls at night uninterrupted, I suggest telling Hange of your plans.”
“Them?” Armin, embarrassed at being so transparent, stutters out.
Hange, the palace alchemist, is an enigma whose lessons he looks forward to thrice a week, but he does not know how they play into his no longer secret nightly adventures.
“Yes,” Levi confirms, slowing his steps the closer they come to Armin’s chambers. “They and I eat supper together nearly every night.”
Without saying anything more, Armin knows what Levi is implying; as the head of the royal guard, Levi has jurisdiction over the nightly patrols. So long as Hange and Levi know what Armin (and, by extension, Eren) are planning to do at night, they will be left to their own devices, undisturbed.
Armin turns to Levi and smiles. “That sounds nice. I’m glad that you two have such a bond.”
Levi scoffs but says nothing. They arrive at Armin’s room and the knight opens the door and lets him inside. “Get some rest, Your Highness.” The door closes softly behind him.
The prince giggles to himself and tucks himself back into bed, content with his adventure despite not truly going anywhere.
The next afternoon, when Armin and Eren meet again in the full light of day, they both have deep bags purpling their eyes, lying tiredly against the sturdy oak nestled in the very back of the palace gardens.
“What was your punishment, Eren?” Armin asks, watching the gardener tend to the flowers nearby.
“I have to help Hange gather ingredients for their experiments.” Eren picks at the grass, dirt smearing against his fingers. “It’s not too bad. A lot better than having my father make me study more anatomy texts, at any rate.”
Laughing, Armin leans his head against Eren’s shoulder, uncaring of the posture lecture he has just left. “I’m glad.”
Eren leans into him, and they sit there in a comfortable silence, hidden away from the sun’s unforgiving glare by the cool shade offered by the tree’s leaves. There is a fluttering of wings above them as birds settle and leave the branches, chirping a light song perfect for the humid spring.
“If you’re afraid of the dark, why do you go out at night?”
Previously close to drifting off to sleep against Eren’s side, Armin startles at the question. “Pardon?”
Eren shifts so that they are looking at each other. He repeats, “If you’re afraid of the dark, then why do you walk around at night?”
Armin pulls his legs to his chest and places his chin on his knees, looking up at Eren with a tiny smile. “It’s the only time I can ever really be alone,” he confesses. “You know how diligently everyone in the palace follows me around. I just wish for some part of my day to be truly mine.”
He is met with silence, and he hastily continues, “I know that they are simply trying to protect me, and I appreciate it greatly. But…”
“You just want freedom,” Eren finishes for him.
“Of course,” Armin replies.
Eren reaches forward and places his hand atop Armin’s. “Do you mind that I follow you?”
Armin shakes his head quickly. “Of course not! Eren, I love having you around.”
A wide, toothy grin spreads across Eren’s face. “Good! Because I will become your knight, so I can protect your nights.”
Eren looks immeasurably proud at his rather terrible pun, while Armin can only blush and stare in wonder. He knows that his friend has been training as a pageboy for two years now, but he has never dreamed that he might be the reason why his friend chose to pursue such a route.
“You wanted to become a knight to protect me?” Armin asks, voice soft.
Nodding, Eren clutches Armin’s hands tighter. “To protect you. And, well, I do enjoy sword fighting…”
Laughter bubbles freely from Armin’s chest, and Eren joins in; the two laugh and laugh, giddy and light, and scurry up to run and play in the gardens as the sun begins to make its journey down toward the horizon.
--
Over the years, both nights and a certain green-eyed knight have served Armin faithfully, providing safe havens away from the pressure and expectations of high society, of being born into a role far beyond what he believes is his calibre.
This night is no different; the day has been exhausting, the heavy burden of a life he does not want wearing on his bones, and Armin wants nothing more than a temporary escape in the chill of the air and the melody of crickets amongst the foliage.
As always, though, he feels the presence of someone following him; he recognizes these footsteps, though, and this is a presence he readily welcomes.
“You don't always need to follow me, you know. I can handle myself.”
A light scoff echoes through the empty hallway, teasing and playful, and Armin does not bother hiding his answering grin as he turns to face his shadow.
“It’s my job to protect you, Your Highness.” Eren says, stepping out from behind the cover of a pillar. “What are you doing up at such a late hour after such a busy day, if I may be so bold to ask?”
“I am just taking a night stroll,” Armin replies, shrugging. “No matter how exhausted I am, sleep, sadly, would not come to me.”
Armin knows that Eren knows the reason for this late night escapade, and he is grateful that no words need to be shared.
Just earlier in the day, Armin had turned twenty at a ball being hosted in his honor; it had been an ordeal that he had dreaded entirely in the weeks leading up to it. His parents may have thrown it under the guise of celebrating his birth, but it had really been, as such events always were, a strategic political move.
Dukes and duchesses from around the nation and princes and princesses from neighboring lands had attended, hoping for a chance to steal his heart, and he had been forced to entertain each one to a dance—all the while the one he truly wished to dance with had been stationed at the sidelines.
The sounds of polite chuckles and rustling ball gowns continue to haunt the corners of his mind, and he itches to leave the palace, leave behind the alabaster walls and gilded crown that keep him tied to his post.
Eren gestures to Armin, who is obviously carrying nothing on his person. “Hm… I wasn’t aware that taking a night stroll required such stealth.”
“The moon is high in the sky tonight,” Armin responds smoothly. “I see no need to waste a perfectly good candle.”
Eren nods, disbelieving, and points to the object clutched tightly in Armin’s hands. “Are those the keys to the stables, Your Highness?”
He has already shed his formal robes, donning a simple tunic and trousers (a little too thin for the chill of November), looking for all the world like an everyday stableboy. If not for the aristocratic delicacy of his hands or the soft gold of his hair, he would look just like any other of the simple servants around the palace.
Armin looks at this companion, brown hair tousled and strong build apparent under thin nightclothes, and he wishes desperately then that he could trade away this life of noble birth, a title he has earned no right to, for the simple joy of having Eren be his official suitor.
Realizing he has been quiet for too long, he hurries to respond; it is unseemly of a prince to be caught red-handed. “And what if they are?”
Smirking, Eren walks closer—perhaps a little too close to be proper—and settles a hand on his shoulder, at the junction where his neck meets his collar. “As it is my duty to protect you, Your Highness, I will simply have to accompany you to ensure your safety.”
A pretty blush that even the dark of night cannot obscure settles itself on Armin’s cheeks, and he nods and turns around, hurrying toward the exits of the palace before Eren can notice just how pink his face is.
“Let’s hurry before someone else finds us,” are the only words Armin offers before they both steal through the hallway, a familiar silence settling between them.
Eren smiles at him with that same adventurous gleam in his eye that he has had since he was young, and Armin knows in a heartbeat that no amount of riches in the world or centuries of noble blood will ever give him as great a gift as Eren by his side.
It is a smile that, Armin recalls, had been hard to come by earlier in the evening, hidden away under a stony disposition only further emphasized by the harsh lighting of dozens of chandeliers.
Armin is glad that they were able to share a private dance between the two of them, far away from the prying eyes of judging nobles, in the solitary peace of the palace gardens, one of their many spaces shared.
They exit the palace, painstakingly closing the doors slowly behind them, and head for the stables; Eren keeps an eye out for any stray guards out on night patrol, as Armin stays close to his side.
Once at the stables, it is quick work to wake the horses and get them prepared, strapping saddles and all the other necessary equipment onto the horses with practiced ease; Armin, as always, has chosen to ride his elegant white stallion, while Eren has already mounted his trusty destier, its coat an inky black.
The moon, full and stunningly bright, hangs above them in the sky, aiding their trek out of the palace grounds and into the winding roads that lead them to the countryside surrounding the castle.
“It has been a long time since we’ve ridden together, just us,” Eren comments, directing his horse to trot at a calm pace. “Your royal entourage always follows along.”
He is correct; though they had been at the front of the group by at least twenty meters, their last expedition had been accompanied by a group of at least twenty knights and squires. Unfortunately, privacy is terribly hard to come by when one is the heir apparent to one of the most powerful nations in the world.
“Well, you are technically a part of my entourage, are you not?” Armin quips as he watches the palace slowly become smaller and smaller behind them. “Did you not just say earlier that you are serving as my escort, Sir Jaeger?”
Resounding, boyish laughter shakes Eren’s frame, and his horse whinnies in time. “So I am.”
Smiling brilliantly for the first time all day, Armin watches Eren, framed by a backdrop of thick forest, and sees Eren watching him in turn, the last peals of laughter still rolling from him.
Armin has never wanted Eren more.
The royals Armin had been forced to dance with had been fine people, all politely kind and standardly beautiful; they knew how to dance in time, steps hardly making a sound across the marble floors of the ballroom, twirls and courtesies in time with the orchestra.
But none of them know the way he shakes with unresolved nerves after leaving a war assembly, frustrated at his influence in name but not in practice; none of the know how he holes up in the corners of the library for entire days, scarcely leaving for meals; and none of them know how to find him in the dark, vast corridors of the palace on nights he needs to get away.
Likewise, he does not know what scares them, what captures their attention, what habits they entertain after nightfall—but he does not want to.
He already knows the way Eren wakes, gasping for air, after having nightmares of his mother's death, a tragedy he was wholly unprepared to prevent; he knows how Eren trains himself to the bone, muscles and doctors alike screaming at him to stop, working toward a personal standard he believes in before anything else; and he knows that, when Eren finds him in the palace hallways in the dead of night, he will always welcome him.
Armin does not give his life away freely; there is only one other person with whom he wishes to share his life with, and he is sitting, regal yet rough, atop a black stallion just a few feet away.
“Where did you want to go, Armin?” Eren asks, giving him a curious glance.
In his reverie, he had hardly noticed as they strode through the paved roads; now, they are clearly in the untamed fields occasionally used to train the nights in taming their horses.
“Let’s race,” Armin announces, leaning close to the back of his horse’s neck.
Eren doesn’t miss a beat and gathers the reins up tighter in his hands, all the while grinning from ear to ear. “Don’t come crying to me, Your Highness, when I leave you behind.”
With a shout, he is off, horse galloping through the night and across the dewy fields like a shooting star; Armin joins in, bright and cheery and hopeful, and prompts his horse to follow.
The two race through the fields, calling out encouragements and hearty cries as they dance and weave around one another; childish joy and uninhibited happiness, free of court titles and political engagements, courses through their veins and up into the flush of their skin and the twinkling of their laughter.
Armin tires before Eren and slowly leads his horse to a halt, wiping the sweat off his brow with the sleeves of his tunic.
Though Eren could continue, he does not, choosing to stop his horse right by Armin’s. “Tired already?” he teases, sweat just barely a sheen on his forehead.
“I am getting on in my years,” Armin says, snorting.
Eren’s eyes widen, and he leans across the space between them and tangles their hands together. “I forgot to say it earlier,” he says, “but happy birthday, Armin. Here’s to a harmonious and prosperous life.”
A harmonious and prosperous life with you, Armin thinks, but does not voice. Instead, he hopes the tears gathering in his eyes and the curling of his fingers convey all that he cannot yet say, stunned to silence by how Eren looks, earnest and handsome, under the pale light of the steadily waning moon.
--
Weeks after their impromptu escape from the palace, Armin decides that he has had enough of whatever bizarre courting ritual their friendship has evolved into.
They have always been far too close to be simply childhood friends, a prince and his knight, and he has always known, really, that he is in love with Eren; he had never realized it so much as he had accepted it, accepted it as an unwavering truth of his life. He has known the extent of his feelings since before they raced in the glades, before they danced in the gardens, before he could put words to feelings.
Still, though, that night ride on the eve after his birthday had changed something, had charged the air between them in such a way that he could scarcely breathe in its tension.
Armin, uncharacteristically bold, decides to visit Eren in his chambers after his parents have retired for the night. The palace servants are still bustling about the castle, preparing for the beginning of the twelve days’ feast tomorrow, and they pause only briefly to bow to him before continuing on their way.
He knows the knight has not gone to sleep yet, and, armed with determination and strength that he isn’t sure he really possesses, he knocks.
Eren answers, pulling open the door, and looks down at Armin in surprise. He is wearing his night clothes as well, the particular shirt that pulls taut across his chest, and—Armin gulps and stops that train of thought.
“Have I interrupted anything of consequence?” Armin asks, reverting quickly to seasoned politeness now that his nerves are beginning to settle in.
Shaking his head, Eren ushers him inside. “I was simply surprised,” he says, closing the door once Armin has entered the room. “You haven’t come to my chambers alone since, well… likely since we were children, honestly.”
The room has not changed all too much since then, though Eren had moved into nicer dwellings following his promotion within the royal guard. The furniture is sparse, a bed and a desk and a wardrobe, and there are a few keepsakes atop the desk and likely in the drawers. There is a portrait of the Jaeger family and Mikasa hanging on one wall; another, a portrait of himself and Eren, all dressed in their respective ceremonial garb.
What Armin notices most, though, is how small Eren’s room is compared to his own. They are standing close together, so much so that Armin swears he can count the lashes on Eren’s eyes, and he hopes to the heavens above that Eren cannot hear his heart beating out of his chest.
Steeling himself, he breathes in a shaky breath and begins. “Eren, what do you feel for me?” When Eren’s eyes widen in shock, he adds on, “I’ve read all the romance books in the library, and I am reasonably sure that I am correct, but…”
Eren opens his mouth to answer. “Wait—”
Armin continues, nerves and adrenaline coiling throughout his body and bursting forth as a flustered ramble. “And all the signs point to this being true, but I am still unsure…”
“Your Highness, if I may—”
“Why have you not done anything?” Armin asks furiously, hands waving in the air. “Am I insane?”
“Armin,” Eren says, firmly, clutching onto his shoulders with a tightness near bruising. “Please, slow down for a moment and listen to me.”
Armin takes in a deep breath and wills himself to calm down, embarrassed at his outburst at Eren.
Eren sighs and runs a hand through his hair, clearly discomfited by the situation at hand. He bites his lip, and Armin, charmed by all his little nervous quirks, watches his incisors, sharp as fangs, sink against the plush skin.
Finally, his hands drift from Armin’s shoulders and settle around his waist, pressure light and almost reverent. “I believed my feelings for you to be quite obvious, so I... well, you're better educated than I. I hadn't meant to confuse you, but, I... Armin, I love you.”
Hearing that phrase, a long-held blatant secret between the two, fills Armin’s heart to bursting.
“I love you too, Eren,” he replies, not needing any time to think. “But why have you waited so long to tell me? I cannot read your mind as well as you think I can.”
A light blush appears on Eren’s face, creeping all the way up to his ears. “I actually had planned to tell you tomorrow, or, well, confirmed it with you, once the twelve days festivities had begun. I was hoping that we could escape the palace once everyone had drunk their fill, perhaps stay away for longer than a night…” he rubs his thumbs nervously against the bones of Armin’s hip. “Well, only if you were willing, of course.”
How strange of them, for Eren to have been planning and for Armin to have been impatient. Heat rushes to Armin’s face, and he returns to his typical sheepish shyness. “I… You really thought ahead.” He brushes a stray lock of hair away from Eren’s face and smiles until his cheeks hurt from the force of his joy. “I am more than willing. I am typically the one who whisks you off on nightly escapes, or have you forgotten that in your haste?”
Eren chuckles and bends down to kiss him lightly on the forehead. “How long should we run away?”
“I would run away forever with you, if I could,” Armin says, seriously, eyes boring into Eren’s, before being struck once more by the weight of his royal title. “Let us only stay away long enough to ensure that the royal court knows we are unwavering in our love, in our resolve to stay together. I cannot shirk my birthright forever, but I would at least...”
Armin flits his gaze down, throat tight with the pressure of just how surely and wholly he loves the man before him. “I would at least like to rule with you by my side.”
Eren rests his chin against Armin's head briefly and says, “I would love nothing more.”
They stand there, embracing, for a few heartbeats, simply basking in the realization of a confession long withheld and a love surely returned.
“If forever is what you want but cannot have,” Eren pulls him closer until they are separated only by the clothes on their person, “then let us leave tonight.”
The reality of the plan hits Armin, and he panics, looking down at their thin nightclothes. “Wait, I need… I need to grab a change of clothes, some money… We cannot go tonight! I need to plan this out, just give me another day, we—”
He is cut off by the ardent press of Eren’s lips against his own; the kiss is unlike anything he could have ever imagined, tingles fluttering through his body as they press ever closer.
Neither are experienced, of course, having been too caught up in the past years of their lives with each other and with the demands of their ranks, but that is no matter. Eren’s lips are gentle yet forceful against his, and he arches upward, missing Eren's warmth in the nearly nonexistent space between their bodies.
Finally, after what really could have been an eternity, Eren pulls away. “Tonight.”
Eren’s eyes soften, and in his gaze Armin knows that he is not and has never been Crown Prince Armin Arlert, heir to the throne, destined to take over rule once his father deems fit. He is simply Armin, childhood friend, closest confidant, and, now, lovers in all definitions of the word.
Armin nods, stepping onto his tiptoes to whisper sweetly against Eren’s lips. “Tonight, then.”
When the sounds of servants outside the door subside, the two slip quietly out of Eren’s quarters, bundled in thick garb, a small sack of coins and other precious metals tucked securely in their belts. Due to Armin’s insistence, they have packed enough to get by without much trouble for at least several weeks, and they are headed to the stables for their horses; they will need to cover as much ground as possible tonight before they are missed in the morning.
As they approach the doors of the stables, underneath the silvery light of the full moon, Armin realizes that this moment is only for them—that, of all the citizens of a slumbering land, the moon is surely smiling down just for them.
Lovers destined since birth, separated by rank, and blessed by the veil of the night.
Armin doesn’t think he has ever seen Eren more lovely than he is now; he is brilliant, a drop of starlight amidst the gentle darkness. Even without the rays of the moon against his skin, Armin is convinced that he is glowing. Armin knows that he wants to kiss Eren everyday there’s a sun, every night there’s a moon, and even still when the world turns dark and cold and there are no more lights from above to illuminate them.
The moon shines high above them, privy, as it always has been, to the secret of their love, so Armin gives in to the tug in his heart and pulls Eren down into another kiss.
The night is beautiful, and the night is theirs.