Chapter Text
The day was warm, not that it mattered. He was hungry again, which wasn't unusual. He had been hungry for years, and he wasn't the only one. The warm bread in his hands was a treat. He had out-manoeuvred the guards, again, something that wasn't unusual, but of course, he didn't always get away scot-free, even if he didn't get put behind bars on a frequent basis. Panting, sweat pouring down his forehead and down his back, scratchy linen shirt clinging to his back, uncomfortable and almost suffocating, he glanced around before slipping into a familiar alleyway.
Beating down on him, the morning sun did nothing to help him as the exertions he had taken to get this meal pushed him to his limits. Slumping against a nearby wall he allowed himself a little smile, bread clutched tightly in his hands. “Bertholdt!” a familiar voice sounded, making him jump and jerk upright.
“Ymir,” he breathed as the woman poked her head out an open window, the glass cracked “ah...” he continued weakly, his breathlessness stealing his words.
“Shut up and get inside.” She said, ducking back inside the building before he could respond. Ymir was not company he usually kept, but then...he hadn't really chosen it. She had found him one day and stuck to him for reasons he didn't particularly want to know. She was secretive by nature and her general countenance was intimidating to say the least. Her hazel eyes were almost perpetually narrowed defensively, if she wasn't busy being smug about something. What she had to be smug about most of the time, Bertholdt didn't know.
So, gulping, Bertholdt let out a final, steadying breath before he made his way towards the window. Reluctantly, he passed the bread through the window, Ymir practically snatching it from his hands, leaving him to feel bereft and wanting. He said nothing of it as he lifted a long and thin stick of a leg through the window and ducking his head low to slip beneath the frame. “If this tastes of your sweat again, I'll be pissed.” Ymir huffed as she disappeared into the next room, hopping over a gap in the floorboards that had given away to rot at some point in the past.
“Then maybe next time you should get the food.” Bertholdt said with a frown, just loud enough to carry into the other room. Ymir let out a bark of a laugh as he too, followed her. The building was old and had been abandoned for years...and no-one was quite sure how long, but the marks on the front door marked the house as condemned. Illness had passed through the house, Bertholdt was sure, and no-one had come to reclaim it.
Glancing around, Bertholdt was pleased to see everyone was accounted for “Eren,” he started as he sat down beside Ymir in the empty room, decorated only with old wood that had fallen from the walls and ceiling, the paintwork faded and every inch of it dusty, but the group had done their best to clean it up some. “Did you and Mikasa get water?”
“I did,” the woman said from where she said next to her brown-haired companion. The ebony-haired girl was a little scary at times, especially where Eren was concerned – the fact she had spoken at all meant failure of some kind. “Eren wouldn't get up this morning.”
“It's over there,” Eren grumbled, gesturing to the corner of the room, where a bucket sat with a small wooden ladle set inside, floating precariously on top of the almost certainly filthy water, threatening to slip to the floor at any time as the handle hung over the edge of the bucket. “I tried to sieve it.”
Dirty. Bertholdt frowned, but nodded. There were probably too many guards at the well in the town centre that morning. He looked down at his lap, reaching to toy with the frayed rim of his shirt. If only he could find a needle and thread...almost all of them needed to have their clothes fixed. Eren's shirt had been torn at the sleeve weeks ago because of a confrontation he had gotten into. Some other thugs had tried to take food from him. If Mikasa hadn't been around, they would have, too. The stoic girl had holes in her skirt where splinters and broken wood had tugged at her it. Bertholdt toyed with his clothes so often that he had had to turn up his shirt several times, so it hardly ever managed to conceal his flat stomach and bony hips most of the time. It would be worse if he ever managed to get around to fixing it this time. A new shirt was on his list of things to steal. Ymir's shirt were threadbare at the elbows, but that was all. He could try to patch it up with the scraps of cloth Bertholdt had taken to asking the group to collect if they ever saw any. Of course. Bertholdt had thought it was about time he began to sew some of that material to the rim of his shirt, if he could not steal one.
“Sasha and Connie aren't coming are they?” Bertholdt asked softly. Sasha and Connie kept to themselves more often then not – they made an efficient team when it came to grabbing food on a frequent basis. Sometimes they would come to them if they couldn't get a meal of their own, and sometimes they would trade something with what Bertholdt would very loosely term his family, if they could not obtain food. They were friendly of course, and tended to stay with them for hours at a time until they had to leave for one reason or another.
“Who cares.” Ymir piped up as she began to tear at the bread in her hands, off-handedly chucking food in the group's general direction as she focused on getting the portions as equal as possible. She wasn't counting the pair into the division of the bread. Bertholdt withheld a sigh, guilty that he was almost glad it was the case. It was always kind of a pain when hey showed up, wanting food. Ymir and Mikasa refused to share, and the oriental woman refused to let Eren share his own food. She was determined not to let that boy suffer. Bertholdt didn't necessary care why, but it fell to him to keep up their admittedly beneficial relationship with the pair. There was an awful lot of back scratching going on between the two groups. Of course, that meant he lost most, if not all of his portion of food for that day. It didn't matter though, Sasha and Connie always paid him back for it.
Catching piece of bread in his hands at last, Bertholdt immediately took it into his mouth, and chewed hurriedly – he rest of the group had fallen silent, focused on their meal. The bread was heaven to him, and he couldn't help but let out a pleased sigh through his nose, even as the crust scratched at his dry throat. Hungry as he was, he couldn't be bothered to chew properly. He desperately wanted to feel the weight of food in his stomach. Everything, in that moment, was good. He couldn't help but smile around his bread as he yanked another piece off and swallowed hurriedly.
Beside him, Ymir laughed “You look like you're about to have an orgasm!” She said through laughter, and Bertholdt blushed ducking his head low. He chose not to respond, shoving bread in his mouth and chewing resolutely.
“Lay off, Ymir.” Eren piped up, obviously irritated “He hasn't eaten for two days.”
At that, Ymir scoffed “It's his fault for sharing with Connie and Sasha so much.”
“It's hard for everyone right now – even them.” It was true, Bertholdt thought, as he glanced up just in time to see Mikasa nod once in agreement. Lately there had been an increased presence of soldiers in the city. It seemed like they had begun to filter home again...the war was probably over, or at least very nearly ended. It was only going to get harder once they resumed normal duties as the city guard and palace guard. For the past five years, law enforcement had been somewhat lax, because most soldiers got deployed at some point or another, but of course, there were still enough men around to protect the home front. It just meant that small-time criminals like himself were left largely to their own devices, but now that they were returning, Bertholdt couldn't help but wonder how his little family was going to adjust.
It was entirely possible that one or both of them had run into trouble, but if that were the case, then at the very least, he would have thought Sasha or Connie would come to them. Were that day to come however, Bertholdt would take that as his cue to leave. He preferred to be alone, anyway.
“So, do you think we won?” Eren after a long, almost uncomfortable silence, hoping, no doubt, to shift the heavy atmosphere that had filled the room – perhaps, Bertholdt thought, everyone's train of thought had been similar to his own.
“Probably,” Ymir said with a shrug “probably would have heard about it much faster if we'd lost.” That was true enough, Bertholdt agreed mentally, bad news tended to travel faster than the good. “Probably waiting to make some big announcement.” then she paused “Hey,” She started up suddenly, capturing the group's attention “Isn't Prince Reiner out on the field?”
Bertholdt felt his throat tighten.
“Yeah.” Eren confirmed nonchalantly “Why?”
“They are waiting for him to return.” Mikasa said, as if she had known all along, which Bertholdt wouldn't have put past her. She had a tendency to withhold information until it became of use.
“I guess that makes sense.” Eren agreed, thoughtful. “Maybe he's going to be the one to break the news.”
“Unless he dies on the way back.” Ymir snickered.
“Don't say that.” Bertholdt said, before he could stop himself, tone raspy with the constriction of his throat. The stick of a boy couldn't quite breath.
Ymir fell silent at that, and turned her attention to Bertholdt completely, and he shrunk away, ducking his head down again and nibbling at his bread, to keep his mouth busy – he wanted to stay occupied for as long as possible, so as much as he wanted to, Bertholdt had to resist the urge to simply shove the rest of the bread in his mouth.
“Oh, what, you're suddenly a monarchist?” Ymir snapped pointedly, making Bertholdt wince.
Of course, after a moment, he frowned and lowered his hunk of bread into his lap, filthy fingers tugging a shred of bread from a chewed-upon corner. “I have never said a word about the monarchy...” Bertholdt muttered as he shoved a piece of bread between his lips “So I could be, for all you know.”
Ymir put her arm on her leg, putting her weight on it as she leant forward, and he could feel the heat of her gaze upon him. He felt himself sweating all over again. “You look nervous, Berty.” She said, with an almost malicious note to her tone. “What do you care about them, huh?” She asked, drawing out the inquisitive noise in that detestable way that she had, and it grated on Bertholdt's nerves.
“Don't call me 'Berty'.” Bertholdt snapped lifting his head to meet Ymir's gaze with a furrowed brow and a narrowed gaze. They stared at each other for a time, silently challenging one another. Bertholdt was happy to let many things go but he hated it when people tried to give him nicknames. All but two, anyway.
Bertholdt was the first to look away. A moment of silence followed before Ymir scoffed and shoved the rest of her food in her mouth
The room had settled into an awkward silence – even Eren didn't dare speak. Bertholdt rarely got angry, and no-one liked dealing with Ymir's temper on a good day, let alone a day like this, when she was already incensed. Mikasa simply sat in perpetual silence until suddenly, cheer erupted from the street, and the group turned their attention to it, their ears angled towards the noise.
Eren was the first to stand, jumping to his feet and fleeing into the next room to the window through which Bertholdt had entered, slipping out hurriedly. His hands were empty of his bread, as he had finished it some time ago. Mikasa, true to her fashion also hopped to her feet and followed diligently after Eren. Bertholdt didn't want to go, but when Ymir sighed loudly and pulled herself to her feet as if the effort to stand was too much in itself, and slunk out of the room, Bertholdt mirrored her sigh, shoving the rest of his food unceremoniously in his mouth before he too got to his feet.
It didn't take him long to catch up to the others at the mouth of the alley. Crowds of people lined the street, some people hanging out of windows. Eren and Mikasa were perched on a nearby crate, empty of its contents, and Ymir had disappeared, no doubt making her way to the front of the crowd. Tall as he was, Bertholdt didn't have to make much of an effort to get a decent view. A carriage was making its way down the street – painted white and gold and carved more finely than anything Bertholdt had ever seen in his life. He resisted the urge to gape, despite marvelling at the sight of the procession of soldiers leading the carriage, as well as the four fine pale horses that pulled it. The Royal crest of the founder of the kingdom – Queen Sina – was painted onto the doors of the carriage.
However, it was not the crest that caught Bertholdt's eye, but rather the sight of the person within the carriage, who, rather then sit still within, subdued and regal, he leant out of the window of the carriage door, waving and grinning. Bertholdt's eyes widened. He recognised that short blond hair and the golden brown eyes that were so steely, but in their own way, so kind. He recognised that frame, and gulped.
It had been years.
Turning, Bertholdt ducked his head and skulked back into the alley behind him. Now, at least he knew what the commotion was about.