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Ymir gazed down at the infant swaddled in her arms and didn't know how to feel.
It was - it was a baby. It was small, wrinkly, and resembled a human being about as much as your average titan did. ( Had .) Society dictated that it was cute, but truth be told, babies all tended to be pretty damn ugly when they were this young. This one was no exception.
It was also royalty. That part was pretty important.
The Cult of Ymir had made being royalty out to be this wonderful thing. Enchanting, mythical, untouchable - holy.
Of course they had; she was supposed to be the reincarnation of a goddess. And although she may have been a fraud, making no real decisions and good for nothing but taking the blame, her people didn't know that. So they draped her in jewels and acted as if she was above them all, and for a while, it had been enough to make her forget that it was all a lie.
(After learning about Ymir, the real Ymir, she couldn't help but wonder at how that little nameless, powerless peasant girl, draped in jewels and falsely called a goddess, was closer to the truth than any of them had ever realized.)
Real royalty was more complicated. It was political machinations and coached reactions and meaningless public appearances that caught the crowd's eye while the actual important meetings went hushed and unnoticed by the common person. It was complicated and full of secrecy and deceit and left no room for anyone to be truly selfless.
So of course, Historia was great at it.
Or at least, that had been the case until more of those selfish, scheming politicians appeared. They had a new song and dance, but it was all the same old tune - they wanted Historia to inherit a titan and push out as many royal babies as she could until thirteen years passed and she died. And Historia, for all that she was no longer the false martyr that had been Krista Lenz, couldn't find a way to say no. And Ymir... maybe she had grown too complicit in her two years of almost-peace as nearly-real-royalty, because for all of her rage, because she couldn't find a better escape plan than the one proposed by the genocidal bastard who went on to destroy eighty percent of the world.
And she hated herself for it.
(Ymir also hated herself for leaving Historia behind when she needed her most, even if she had a pretty damn good reason. She hated that the feeling of watching her squat, ugly titan change and learning that it could fucking fly was tainted by the near-certainty that these were her final days. Most of all, she hated that that genocidal bastard was the reason that she was able to go home in the first place; why she would be able to stay for longer than one more year.)
Ymir hated a lot of the things that had happened recently.
But as she stared down at the baby that, in a better world, wouldn't exist, she found that she couldn't hate it.
Ymir narrowed her eyes. The baby squirmed, as if it could sense her eyes boring into it, only to let out a tiny sneeze. It then let out a contented burble and settled comfortably back into her arms, as if she were someone safe and reliable.
Smug little thing, she thought.
Out loud, she asked, "what are you calling it?"
"Ymir."
Ymir sighed. "Fine," she said as she turned around to face Historia, who sat cross-legged on her bed, watching them. "What are you calling her."
Historia grinned. "Ymir."
Ymir froze. She slowly looked back down at the tiny thing in her arms, at her rolls of pudge, the tiny dimple on one of her cheeks, at the little wisps of blonde hair. She really looked nothing like her. Except apparently... "No," she murmured, like the beacon of elegance and grace she was. Then, for emphasis, " no ."
She glanced back up. Historia was grinning like she'd done something to be proud of, rather than blight the world with a third Ymir.
"Historia..." There was a horrible tangle in her chest, making it hard to know what to think or feel. After half a second of choked silence - which was, frankly, half a second too much - she managed, "this is a horrible idea. Besides, you don't need two Ymirs."
Historia's smile faltered. "Maybe not," she admitted. "But..." Something flickered in her gaze. Her eyes began to wander away, falling back into old habits, before she caught herself and looked at Ymir with eyes that widened into something unshakable. It was startlingly attractive, considering the circumstances. "I thought it was appropriate, since I didn't think there would be two Ymirs for very long. If you came back at all."
Oh.
All of the air left Ymir's chest. Without thinking about it, she marginally tightened her grip on the baby. It - she - tiny Ymir - nuzzled closer to her chest and let out a little croon.
She was right. There wouldn't - shouldn't - have been two Ymirs around for very long at all. Certainly not long enough for the third to remember the second. It hadn't even been very likely that she would survive to return to the island. And yet...
"Well, that's stupid," she choked out. "I always come back."
Historia's face softened fractionally. Not completely - that kind of fear and heartache took a while to disappear completely, especially when it had just happened for the second time - but enough to tell her that it wouldn't be there forever. "You do," she said.
Ymir made her way to the bed. Getting on it without jostling the baby took a little doing, but she'd managed far more difficult feats within just the past week. She sat down next to her girlfriend - partner - reason for being - wife, once she'd worn those politicians down enough - and carefully transferred the baby into her arms. As Historia took her, Ymir pressed a kiss against her temple and whispered, "you can still change the name. People might think you named her after the founder."
Historia huffed out a tiny laugh and tilted her head to press her lips against hers. They were soft and tasted faintly of grapes, and in that moment, Ymir became painfully aware of how scared she'd been that she'd never get to feel this again, baby or not.
Drawing back half an inch, Historia whispered, "I doubt anyone will think that."
Ymir huffed and allowed herself to slump over and press her face against Historia's shoulder. "At least this one will never turn into a titan," she murmured.
There was a pause. Then, in a soft, wonder-filled voice, Historia murmured, "you're right. She won't."
Ymir smiled, softer than she would allow anyone to see, and thought that maybe she could get used to having a namesake.
Maybe she could even get used to being a mother.