Chapter Text
The boy wipes the sweat off his forehead and swipes blond locks of hair out of his face, the torrid sun burning his skin. He slams the scythe into the ground, then takes a deep breath in before continuing with his work.
Ever since his grandfather has fallen sick, he’s had to do all the work on the mayor’s land– the wretched man didn’t care who did it as long as they got it done and didn’t ask for anything more than he’d offer. Which was barely enough for the two of them to get by, but more than nothing. Any help was good enough, and maybe, with some luck, he’d afford to buy his grandfather’s medicine this month. Maybe he’d even afford a bucket of milk, he thinks. Maybe if he does some extra work around the mayor’s property, he’d agree to pay slightly more.
A sudden rustle snaps him out of his thoughts. Armin stops in his tracks, scythe frozen in hand. He listens cautiously, glances around, scanning his surroundings– the land lying before him endlessly, the tool he’s abandoned by his side, next to his discarded shirt, the dark forest standing tall to his side, the village buzzing by the feet of the valley.
For a second he thinks it’s an animal, but then the sound of shoes against dirt makes him reconsider. He gazes at his bare dirty feet as he continues his work, dreading whatever interaction might follow. He can only hope it’s just a passerby.
That thought disappears when he hears a quiet, whispery voice calling his name. He doesn’t have to turn around to know it’s the mayor’s daughter, her voice is enough of a giveaway. A glance towards her is all the confirmation he needs, the sight of her leather shoes enough to give her away. He presses his lips together and keeps his head low, acknowledging her with a nod but not raising his eyes. Getting in trouble for even daring to be in her immediate proximity is not something he's willing to do today, or any other day, so he keeps doing his work, raising the scythe and slamming it back onto the ground, dragging it towards him.
The girl doesn’t move an inch, her eyes burning holes in the back of his head.
Suddenly, Armin is very aware of his scrawny figure, unprotected by the shirt he's abandoned by the side of the property when the sun got too unbearable. But he tries to ignore it, minding his work, trying to ignore her gaze. But his ignorance seems to only make her gaze more intense, for she doesn’t budge, nor does she move, seemingly having no intention of leaving anytime soon.
Eventually, he sighs, straightens his back, and finally meets her eye.
"Can I help you?" he inquiries, a slight notch of annoyance in his voice.
The girl doesn’t immediately answer, giving him time to observe her, his eyes glossing over her appearance. Her shoes are too spotless, her long white dress too clean for her to be standing there, the sleeves richly embroidered with red flowers. The same pattern adorns her waist, then the skirt flows all the way to her ankles, the hem adorned by the same red flowers. Her hair looks freshly washed, whereas his has been getting greasier by the day.
She says nothing, her lips pressed together, her hands hidden behind her back. Her icy eyes pierce through him and he finds himself holding her glare for a brave moment.
Seeing how she wouldn’t spare him one word, Armin drops his gaze with a sigh and goes back to his work. Only when he raises the scythe above his head for a third time does the mayor's daughter speak.
"There is something you could help me with."
He slams his utensile into the ground again and, with a tired sigh, drops onto the floor himself, his legs too tired to keep him up straight. He takes a moment to catch his breath, then crosses his legs and raises his eyes to meet hers again, intrigued to find her frowning at him as if he were intimidating her . Armin raises an eyebrow.
"What can I do for you, Annie?" he asks, his voice softer when he speaks.
The girl opens and closes her mouth as if the words won’t come out. Armin tilts his head at her, looking her up and down. As if her presence here wasn’t weird enough, her behaviour is truly strange. What could it possibly be that she, the daughter of the richest man in the region, would need from a mere peasant like himself? And why can’t she just say it?
She raises on her toes then falls back on her heels, and takes a deep breath in.
"I need you to teach me how to dance," she eventually mumbles, looking away.
It takes a few seconds for the words to register. Armin blinks once, twice, looking at her quizzically. Her complexion grows pinker under her eyes, her frown deepening. A tiny smile creeps onto Armin’s lips– she’s the flustered one now. Oh, how the roles reversed.
"I saw you at that wedding last week," Annie says quietly. "You danced all the folk dances as if they were in your blood. I want you to teach me how to do that."
Armin frowns slightly, recalling the event. It wasn’t that big of a deal. His neighbor married one of his daughters off to some lord on the other side of the river, one of the mayor’s close friends. His friends’ and his childhood friend, someone their age. The most they could do was send her off nicely, make her wedding night memorable. So, Eren, Mikasa and himself danced with her all night, and started most if not all dances. Most people joined in on their joy. Some clapped along to the music. Some simply watched.
"What's in for me?" he asks, amusement creeping into his voice.
Annie’s lips twitch up, as if she just regained the upper hand. She finally takes her arms out from behind her back and reveals the book she’s been hiding, holding it so he can see the cover, but not close enough for him to touch. His eyes widen at the sight, betraying his excitement. He quickly scans the cover, thick and pristine, and simple enough– a light brown cover, with golden edges and black letters spelling out its title in the middle, too small for him to read from afar.
"You get to read this," Annie says slowly, "but only when you're with me. You cannot take it home, and you cannot tell another soul about it."
Armin presses his lips together, his eyes transfixed on the book, hungry to hold it in his own hands. He's wanted to put his hands on one for so long, it almost feels surreal to have a book this close to his face. He considers her preposition for a long minute before saying, "I cannot teach you right now. I'm supposed to be working."
"Well, you're not," she retorts. She crosses her arms over her chest and raises an eyebrow.
"Well, I should be."
"What about tonight then? Down to the river, after you're done with work," she suggests, as if she had all this planned.
Armin doesn’t hesitate when he agrees, earning a satisfied smile from the mayor’s daughter.
"Good luck with your work then," she says, turning around. "Don’t take too long."
And for the first time in a long time, Armin has something to look forward to.