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“There’s a fire going inside now.” Fritz pokes his head out the door. “Just in case you were getting, uh, cold or anything.”
Historia tries to smile for him, but she fears it’s nothing more than a facsimile of one. “Thank you,” she says graciously.
She thinks he’s going to leave after that. It’s not like they ever have anything meaningful to talk about.
He stays.
Fritz steps out onto the porch. He’s holding his hat in his hands, looking more than just a little awkward about it.
It would be endearing maybe if Historia didn’t already feel sick of this whole charade. There’s too much she has to worry about. And, of course, her heart is on the other side of the sea.
She rests her hand on her swollen stomach and leans back in her chair.
The sun is sinking below the horizon. The sky is awash with blended colors, orange and yellow and pink.
It looks like a painting.
If she starts to think too hard about it, it almost looks like an inferno.
Her breath catches in her throat.
“I’m not cold,” she says, tone stilted. She’s sure he’s noticed it, but he tactfully refrains from commenting.
He’s been taking great pains to avoid making things awkward for her. Which in turns only seems to make things more awkward between them.
Historia sighs heavily.
What she said is only half the truth.
The temperature is going down with the sun and a chill is settling into her bones. She wraps her shawl tighter around herself.
The truth is she wants to spend time with herself right now.
She’s been avoiding Fritz more and more lately and she’s certain he picked up on it, but there’s nothing Historia can do about that.
It’s not his fault. He’s a good man, and he’s sticking his neck out for them both by hiding her here, and she’s sure she’ll come to care for him as a friend with time, but she can’t… she can’t think of that right now.
Not while she waits for Eren to return, victorious or not.
No. He returns victorious or he returns not at all.
He’d offered to wipe her memory, but she’d refused him. After what she agreed to, she doesn't deserve the peace of mind that comes with ignorance. And she loves him too much to force him to shoulder that weight alone.
Is it wrong to think about something like
love
when the world burns down around her? Is it selfish for her still to wish for him to be here? For her to crave his arms around her? To feel the brush of his lips against her hair?
It is.
It’s the most selfish thing she could wish for and yet it’s all that she wants. She doesn’t want to lose anyone else. She doesn’t want to raise their daughter alone.
Historia’s breath stutters in her chest and she grips the arms of the chair more tightly. She wishes she could be anywhere but here.
She has duties she should be seeing to. She’s the queen now and, while the role still feels foreign to her, maybe she could have taken some comfort in it if she felt like she was actually doing something instead of being hidden away in the countryside.
But she doesn’t deserve comfort.
Neither of them do.
I may be an enemy of humanity, but I’m your ally, Eren.
It’s what she had told him back then and she had meant it.
God help her, she still means it.
She hadn’t wanted to do it. Not at first. She had thought there was a chance she could reason with Eren, that there could be another way out of the quandary they were in. They could make peace. There was still a chance that they could coexist.
But there wasn’t.
But he had presented her with a choice and she had chosen.
Us or them.
Us or them.
And I chose us. I chose my people. I chose my daughter.
How many daughters and sons will die for that choice? She shuts her eyes and breathes slowly.
She knows better than to hope for salvation, but at least they’ll burn for eternity together.
Historia opens her eyes. “I think I’ll come inside, Fritz. I’m starting to feel cold.”
She’s not so exhausted that she needs help getting to her feet, but Fritz offers her a hand anyways and she accepts it because she’s heartless enough to sentence the rest of the world to death, but she’s not heartless enough to reject his kindness.
His hand is warm and calloused from years of hard work on the farm. His smile is stiff and Historia wonders if the awkwardness is because of a lingering sense of guilt over what happened in their childhood or if he senses the kind of person she’s become. Or maybe it’s simpler than that.
He’s pretending to be the father of her child. It’s not a comfortable situation for either of them.
Instinctively, her hand comes to rest on her abdomen. She’s finally starting to show. Just yesterday, she thinks she felt the baby kick for the first time.
She’s already picked out a name. Heidi. She hasn’t even thought about boys’ names. Because of course the baby is a girl.
It just feels right.
Is there such a thing as mother’s intuition? She doesn’t know because she doesn’t have anything to base it off of. Her own mother was a stranger.
There’s a cushioned chair in front of the fireplace. Historia gingerly lowers herself into the seat- when did she develop such a lack of energy?- and sighs contentedly, resting her head back.
The warmth feels wonderful.
It hasn’t been especially cold lately but she’s found herself getting chilled far more often since the pregnancy began. The midwife tells her it’s not something she needs to be concerned about, but Historia worries anyway. How can she not?
She’s the queen. She’s pregnant. She’s never been more tired.
Even so, she would kill to have something to do. Something more than lending a hand where one is called for.