Chapter Text
She must have a gift, Eren thinks, the way she switches her personality like a light switch. She’s smiling, beaming at the man who caught her wrist and told her she was too pretty to be an Eldian wench.
The dark-haired boy feels anger pulsate within him, nails digging so hard into palms, they’ll bleed. She shouldn’t have to do this. Entertain men’s whims to avoid trouble.
*
“Eren! Don’t you understand? You can’t just fight your way out of every situation.” She sighed, wiping away the blood on the corner of his mouth.
“He had no right to touch you like tha-.”
She looked at him square into his eyes, summer blue skies clashing with deep viridian. He wondered if she was going to give him that lecture again. How she could handle herself. How she wasn’t weak. How she was used to men underestimating her.
But instead, she looked at him gravely, took his hand, and intertwined their fingers.
“You’re going to put both of us in danger if you can’t keep your temper in check.”
His throat was dry, still metally processing her words. He squeezed their interlocked fingers, “I would never put you in danger.”
It was not a promise. It was a vow.
*
She finally manages to evade the stranger’s grasp, when Eren’s fed up and pushes past her, and stands at his full height. The man must have felt Eren’s eyes burning holes into his, unconcealed fury shining. One snarl away from pummeling him right there.
He leaves but not before spitting out a bitter comment, “Sweetheart, you’d have a better life as a whore.”
Whatever restraint Eren has is gone within that moment, but there’s a tug on his sleeve. He doesn’t have to turn around to know Historia’s big blue eyes are pleading at him to not be brash.
Men know when to fight their battles. Men know how to win wars.
So he lets the stranger walk away, and turns around to face the petite blonde who has her arms out in a hug. Eren takes a step back. Hurt flashes across her face, but she manages to school her features, hands dropping her by her sides. They resume walking as the stall owners along the marketplace begin to close their shops.
Historia does not know why her dark-haired best friend avoids her touch. How he acts like he’s allergic to close proximity nowadays. She does not understand it but she respects his space. It was only recently Eren had gone through...the ritual. Maybe he was still shaken up a little bit.
She doesn’t want to dwell on these thoughts because her heart already feels so heavy. If only I was stronger. It should have been her inheriting the titan. She doesn’t care if Eren’s been groomed for this since his birth. It’s unfair. It’s unfair.
Because when she looks into his eyes, she sees a boy aching for freedom, a boy with a soul that can not be contained, a boy larger than life. A boy who does not deserve a 13-year death sentence.
They walk in silence, each enveloped in their thoughts. Eren, though, sneaks glances at his shorter companion. How the sunset reflects on her skin, tinting her cheeks with pinks. Her hair-which may as well be strands of gold-were tied in a neat bun that was falling loose apart.
He liked her with her hair open, he decided.
She breaks the silence first, “You’re a warrior now. Not a candidate. You have to avoid trouble as much as you can.” She whispers with a voice light as a feather, eyes darting to the red of his new armband.
The tall boy doesn’t say anything in return, looking up at the sky to watch birds fly south for their migration. He wonders how far they’ll go.
“You’re an honorary Marelyan now. They’re watching you closer than ever because you’re one of them now.” She continues, reprimanding gently.
Eren guffawed a harsh laugh that made the blonde slightly recoil: “Don’t you get it Historia? As long as we have these armbands, we’ll never be one of them...no matter what color it is.”
She doesn’t have the heart in her to disagree. But emotion is not what logic necessitates, so she conditions herself to think pragmatically.
Logical thinking keeps you from wasting time worrying or hoping.
“Still, you’re expected to act a certain way.” Her voice breaks but she must not falter, “If you want everything to change so badly...you can’t have them suspect you in any way.”
The petite blonde stops in her step, and Eren finds his footing stop too. She gazes at him with tender eyes, “You have to be the perfect warrior.”
In a reflexive moment, her hands reach out for his but he pulls back with an unnecessary force. He wills himself to look away so he doesn’t have to watch her pretty face crumble.
*
Eren doesn’t know what the visions are.
He’s been having him since he ate the traitor that Marleyian special intelligence found. Well, he’s no traitor to Eren. The dark-haired boy was heartbroken to see the most prized spy of the Restorationists bound in chains.
That man with sunken eyes and hollowed cheekbones had possessed what he called the Attack titan. So far the known abilities were great physical strength and fast healing,
In comparison to the other titans, utterly lacking in special abilities. Eren had been annoyed he was not given the Armored titan, believing it to be far more useful. But apparently, he lacked the temperament to pilot one.
But his temperament was just right for an experimental titan that the Marleyians had just only unwittingly discovered. Eren was a problem child of sorts, rebellion seeping out from his pores, but he was a skilled hand-to-hand fighter. Oozing with potential. Gifting him the Attack titan had been a strategic move. It would serve him well, but would still make him reliant on his peers with the more flashy titans.
And then he saw visions. Snippets. He couldn’t really understand them, as the visions trickled in
like memories he’s never witnessed. But slowly, he begins to pick up the fractured pieces.
He remembers one vision, where he’s staring into a mirror, almost unable to recognize himself. Shirtless and far taller and built than he’s even been, hair long enough to be tied up to a bun.
He’s telling himself to fight.
“If you win, you live. If you lose, you die. If you don’t fight, you can’t win”
He repeats his words like a mantra.
It’s then he understands that what he’s seeing are memories of a future that hasn’t happened yet. That’s why The Owl-before his departure, had a shadow of a smile on his face even as his life was nearing its end.
It’s not that these visions were too often. But the pattern could not go unnoticed. They were inexplicably triggered by Historia’s touch.
Not all of her touches affected him but he did not know which times it would.
He misses her warmth and her touch. Was he a selfish boy for not wanting to see the future? He’s stuck. It makes him upset, how she activates visions inside of him. Was she a part of this? He knew it deep in his bones Historia was important. Not just to him. But to the world. He wished that wasn’t true. All she tells him about her past are half-stories and Eren doesn’t press on, because he knows not everyone was quite lucky like him. He had a full family who loved him. But there is something greater happening, larger than life and larger than both of them. He doesn’t want her to be swallowed up mysterious forces. He wants her to be free.
Sometimes his feelings for her scare him. He would plunge a knife into anyone’s heart who would ever think of hurting her. That was fine.
But sometimes he has darker impulses. He wants to protect her, lock her away from the cruelty of the world. He does not want her to talk to men anymore, men who only dream of devouring her body with their teeth. His father, Grisha wanted him to become a warrior to restore Eldia to its former glory. Eren understood that. But he would be lying if a big part of him agreeing to the plan wasn’t because of Historia...so she’d never had to become one. So she’ll never have to trade her yellow for red.
And just maybe, he will make a world where there are no armbands at all.
He thinks about the golden-haired girl with cornflowers for eyes. She deserved to live her life with pride.
She is the reason he does not look at his birthright with disgust. He remembers the way her hands stroked his face, “You’re born for a reason. Even if we are enemies of humanity, I will always be your ally.”
He stares at the ceiling, eyes heavy with sleep, and as he begins to close, a scene plays out in front of him. Maybe a dream.
Historia, looking visibly distressed, golden hair pooling all over her slim shoulders. He hears himself speak, “If I have to turn myself into a devil to protect you, I will.”