#interim | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

haliyam · 1 year

Text

interim (vii)

zeke x reader/oc

summary: You return to Liberio not long after the Warriors arrive home from their failed mission in Paradis and discover that things have changed. (Or they will, and maybe a little more with Zeke than you expect.) [Season 4 and manga spoilers ahead]

AO3 link | Ch 1 | Ch 6

As usual, Reader default name Lucy is a cis-female Eldian character with a set background and family name. But feel free to set the substitution for Lucy to your chosen First Name using the InteractiveFics browser extension!

Chapter 7

“Zeke?”

Zeke’s door creaks as you gently push it open. It makes more noise than it would if you simply kicked it open, but his eyes are still glued to his book as he leans against his bed’s headboard.

“Zeke,” you whisper insistently.

You think you see the slightest smirk pull at his mouth, but exasperation is all you find when he finally pries his eyes from the pages in his hand. “What?”

You know well enough now to ignore or really see through his obvious irritation. It’s been a month, or months? since Zeke first started teaching you how to deal with the consequences of your own pride at Magath’s hands using trusty warm compresses and even trustier pain ointment. Unfortunately, Mrs. Yeager caught the scent of the latter on your bedsheets during laundry—and in a bid not to worry her, you asked Zeke if you could stay in his bed instead.

He didn’t like that at all. As a growing boy, he needed all the space he could get, and adding a demanding little six year old and a pillow between you diminished that greatly. Being the greatest advocate of removing any cause for his grandparents to worry, however, he had no choice but to agree. (Especially since, as a twelve year old, the sole Warrior candidate, and having much more time on his hands, he does his own laundry.)

Of course, Finger—Pieck—has taught you how to swallow that pride since. But that is a recent development. And you’ve grown to like having somebody to chat with before you sleep at night. Zeke’s room feels warmer than yours, and less lonely.

“You know what,” you say.

He sighs. And then he sighs again, before setting aside his book. Turning to face you, he crosses his arms, looking like someone who clearly has the advantage in this situation.

“Fine. But tell me a story first.”

Your pride, still in full force at home, makes you make a face at him. Still, you quietly shut the door behind you and ask, “About what?”

“Lara.”

Your sharp intake of breath is audible. “How do you know that name?”

“And Willy,” he adds. With a shrug, he explains, “you said his name once. But Lara—you say that a lot in your sleep when you cry.”

You find your eyes glued to your feet. Those names are a secret. Even more secret than Mila’s, who has visited you here in their place. You aren’t to tell anybody about them, least of all the Eldian family you’re staying with. Father was very clear about that.

But it seems a small price to pay for company at this moment. If you return to your room alone, you’ll just remember how much you miss them. And isn’t that worse?

Besides, Zeke can keep a secret. You already have one together. What’s another?

You glance up, feet shuffling a bit. “Lara is my sister. Willy is my brother—Mila’s husband.”

Zeke draws his knees up, one arm on top of the other on them, and rests his chin there so he can comfortably quirk a brow at you. “Why don’t they visit you instead of her?”

“They’re—” not allowed to, you almost say. But what you say next isn’t entirely wrong, either. “They don’t live nearby.”

“But Mila does? Eldians who live in the mainland are all supposed to live in Liberio. That makes no sense.”

You open your mouth to protest, trying to come up with the lie. This was why father told you not to tell anybody anything about your family. Because they would wonder at once about your circumstances.

But Zeke is quicker than you yet, and he speaks before you can even stammer a reply. “Unless… does your family work for the Tyburs?”

Your eyes widen at him. “H-huh?”

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Your startled expression makes Zeke even more smug. “Outside of Liberio, the Tybur family estate is the only place Eldians can work in the mainland. That explains your attitude, too.”

“Hey,” you frown, but you’ve given yourself away. In a fashion. “...Don’t tell anybody.”

“I won’t,” Zeke says easily. You don’t know yet that it’s because he wouldn’t have anyone to tell anyway, besides the fact that he wouldn’t. “What are the Tyburs like?” he asks.

If Zeke were his usual self tonight, he would point out that your mouth’s been open long enough to let a fly settle in. But he’s as deep in thought as you are scrambling for a response, and again he continues ahead of you. “They’re the only Eldians who have the right to live… to be happy.”

A sentiment that echoes all father has told you all your life, you think, even if you know they’ve never met. You suppose it only makes sense that other Eldians would feel the same, since any Marleyan would know the history of the motherland. Even you still feel the same.

Don’t you?

Shouldn’t you?

“...That’s not what you asked me for a story about,” you murmur.

“Oh, right,” Zeke remembers, like he’s waking from a dream. Jerking his head in the direction of the foot of the bed, he says, “Lara and Willy. Tell me a story.”

Squeezing your fists behind your back, shaking the nerves out of them—how much closer could he have gotten to the truth, if he didn’t agree to change the subject? Or not change it, unknowingly?—you push yourself up to his bed.

He stares at you expectantly, and for once, you look entirely unsure before him. Where do you begin? “Willy is the eldest. He used to spend all his time with me and Lara, until he married Mila,” you say, trying not to let an edge touch your voice as you speak of your sister-in-law. “But Lara…”

Now you smile. You can’t help it. “Lara is—wonderful,” you beam, until your face falls. “But she’s always been sickly. Before I was born, she and mother fell very ill… but she never got better. It’s why she never really leaves home.”

“Oh.”

You nod, and Zeke is quiet. He usually is, especially when he’s reading, except now he looks like he wants to say something.

When he doesn’t, you wonder if that’s your fault. “...So can I stay?”

Zeke’s eyes snap to yours. The hesitation on his face vanishes for his exasperation again. “Fine,” he sighs, “but don’t hog the blanket. Or kick me. I don’t know how you do that past the pillow with those stubby legs, anyway.”

“Want me to show you?”

“…Go to bed.”

You pull the curtains over the carriage window further closed, if that’s at all possible.

Willette sits across you, peeking out of her end with a small smile. You have no idea why she’s so excited, but you don’t resent her for it. There’s something familiar about her demeanor that makes it impossible.

You should leave it alone. Just be silent the rest of the way, get it over with—after all, you’ll get to see Lara—but your curiosity gets the better of you. You never really thought of what happened to everyone else not chosen to become a Warrior candidate; you figured they all returned to their regular lives.

“How did you come to work for the family?”

Willette blinks when she realizes you’re addressing her. Still pleasant, she says, “I don’t know if you remember me from training, but… I wasn’t very good at all the physical work. But even Eldians are paid better if we serve, even among the regular corps. Sometimes they let us do paperwork. The grunt work of it, really,” she laughs a little. “Eventually, somehow, I—”

Willette clears her throat, trying not to look too proud, but she looks pleased with herself. “I was recruited into intelligence. My recruiting, now superior officer, he… saw my potential. It was still just paperwork, but I did well. And that was when Miss Rose saw me.”

“Miss Rose? …Oh,” you drag on, because you always forget the family’s excuse for Lara’s constant presence outside the estate, “Willy’s, ah… secretary?”

“That’s all right,” Willette nods at your slightly sheepish expression, clearly assuming you’ve simply never noticed her is all. “Miss Rose thought I was someone she knew, but—well, she talked to me one day and asked about my work, and… I’ve been part of the regime’s liaison to the family ever since.”

You forcibly stop your jaw from falling. Lara, talking to anyone else? You only know her as your reclusive sister. A silent shadow to Willy. It does please you to know someone else outside the family knows her as more than that, because she is, but it’s odd nonetheless.

“…and you like the work?” you eventually ask.

“I do. And Miss Rose - and Lord Tybur, of course - they’ve been very kind to me, whenever I have the honor of meeting them. I was happy to take on the small task of bringing you to see Lord Tybur.”

“I see.” You simply can’t imagine anyone from your life in Liberio interacting with your siblings. It takes you a moment to realize you might come off as rude, or even jealous, so you give her a small smile. “I’m glad things have worked out for you. It’s the least I can hope for - for anyone who was in Warrior training especially.”

Willette eyes you with a warm one herself. “You’re kind, Miss Lucy. It’s no wonder Lord Tybur is so eager to see you again.”

Any flattery at her words in the beginning falls flat to your ears at the mention of Willy. Given the choice, you would see only Lara…

“We’re here,” Willette beams, drawing the curtain open now that you’re safely inside the estate. As the carriage rumbles to a stop, you take a deep breath.

But not even a Tybur can have everything.

Like all Tybur mansions across Marley, the one in Liberio is considerably smaller than the main estate near the capital, but it’s still large enough to fit an entire clan built on lies if the situation calls for it. Wandering the wide hallways and ceilings too high even for three of you to reach, you realize you’ve never really stayed here—no reason to, when Lucy Blanchard was restricted to the internment zone—but the general layout is familiar enough that you know Willette is taking you to the drawing room.

You’re still thinking about how you feel about all this when you find that you’ve passed another large door and are walking along a line of red-clad soldiers. Tybur guards, at the center of whom stands the tallest of them. He’s just emerged, ducked out from the drawing room, and he closes the door behind him.

“Miss Tybur, to see Lord Tybur,” says Willette, in a very formal voice.

You peer up at a familiar face. In spite of his much sterner features, you recognize him—Markus, one of your brother’s childhood friends whose family has served yours for generations. He was already training to be Willy’s personal bodyguard by the time you were born.

A flicker of a smile flashes across his natural frown, and he nods. “Lord Tybur will be pleased to see you, Miss Lucy.”

You feel as small as ever before him, but you tell yourself it’s just his height. “Thank you, Markus.” You turn to Willette next to you. “And thank you, Willette. If you go now, you might be able to catch up with the others for lunch.”

“That’s okay,” Willette shakes her head. “I think Pieck was just being polite. Besides, I should wait to see if anything else is needed of me here. But you go inside—everyone is excited to see you.”

“Everyone?” you repeat, but Markus has already opened the door. He ignores your questioning glance at him too, so you have no choice but to enter.

This drawing room is comparably small (it’s one of many, if the mansion is to standard), but it’s built that way. With a wide window facing the city, sofas turned to one another crowd most of the space, facing a fireplace on one long end of the room while built-in bookshelves line the rest of the walls. They’re filled with plants and vases and old family photos, though one painting holds a special place above the fireplace mantle.

Father. His likeness has been captured perfectly; as intimidating as when he still lived.

But you’re distracted by a most familiar sight—Willy, sitting up straight as he drinks tea on the chaise longue, while Lara stands across him, never too far, a smile on her face as they chatter softly. You were only home not that long ago, but they’d been away then.

It wasn’t Markus’s height at all. You feel small again, watching them like this. Like it’s still just the three of you, and you don’t know anything about the Warrior program yet, or Mila, or…

“Lucy,” says Lara, the calm expression on her face lighting up. Her voice remains soft, but her joy is unmistakable.

“Lucy!” Willy beams at you before setting his tea down on the side table. “I see Miss Weiss found you after all.”

His tone reminds you of the last time he scolded you, even if he’s clearly aiming for humor this time, and the homely air about the warm drawing room dissipates, at least on your part. Hackles already raised, you fight down a frown. You don’t notice yourself standing at attention in an attempt to make yourself feel bigger.

“How did she know where to find me?”

Willy’s smile remains, as though he doesn’t notice either. “You know we leave those little details to intelligence for a reason. But how do you like her?”

It takes you a second to realize he means Willette. Strange shift in topic, but you humor him. “She’s all right. She was in my Warrior class.”

“It was difficult to believe back then, but now I understand what they meant… even Lara and Markus mistook her for you at first glance.”

You blink. “Willette?” You suppose you’re of the same stature. With a similar hairstyle, similar features… but you don’t think you look all that much alike. The fact that this is even in question is starting to frustrate you now. “Wait—” What kind of ridiculous diversion is this? For Lara’s sake, you restrain the emotion with confusion. “How… how is this relevant?”

Lara turns to Willy, who nods and begins, “I believe she would make a—”

“Aunt Lucy!”

The drawing room door opens ever so slightly again, and the illustrious Lord Tybur is interrupted by the one of the few who can afford to do it—his eldest daughter. Fine scurries into the room and practically leaps into your arms as soon as you turn in surprise.

“Fine!” you gasp, barely just catching your suddenly excitable niece—you set her down and fall to a crouch instead, wrapping your arms around her as you chuckle. “What are you doing here?”

Fine is the spitting image of her mother—her eyes, her nose, her mouth—all she really has of Willy are his hair and his eyes. But she must also be the happiest eight year old you’ve ever seen in spite of her natural shyness, so even the sight of Mila on her face can’t tarnish your fondness for her.

By now Fine has remembered herself, and her timid nature returns in full force. She stammers as a flush fills her cheeks. “Oh! I - I just thought—”

“When Fine heard we were coming to visit Liberio where her Auntie Lucy was studying, she nearly begged me to let her join us,” Willy chuckles.

Fine shoots her father a little pout. “Papa…”

“Well, I’m glad you came,” you squeeze her small hands in yours, regaining her attention.

Encouraged now, Fine nods quickly. “We’re staying here until after Papa’s birthday, so I wanted to come. Besides,” she wrinkles her nose, the way only an older sister can, “Alois and the twins are too noisy back home.”

You laugh, only for your mind to go over her words again. “Ah—until Willy’s birthday?” Your eyes snap to Willy, and then to Lara. “You’re staying for that long?”

That’s a week from now. You’ve never known the new Lord Tybur to dwell far from home for so long in one place. At least, not in an old city to no one’s advantage like Liberio.

“I hope you don’t mind too much, Lucy,” says Willy, a small smile on his mouth.

You want to roll your eyes. He knows you can’t complain in front of your niece.

“Of course not,” you say, mirroring his mirth, but it only reaches your eyes when you look to Fine again, and then up at Lara. “You’re all here so early. Were you able to rest during the trip?”

Fine nods. “I slept the whole train ride, Aunt Lucy.” She takes a deep breath, and then nods with a sudden determination. “Do you want to play hopscotch in the courtyard?”

“Hopscotch?” you repeat. You remember hopscotch. Father in particular liked calling them hop squats. Sometimes hop snaps. A snap of father’s finger was a jump and no slower, and every time there were boxes where you could land on both feet, you were to immediately fall to a squat before launching yourself into the next box. It was mostly to test your agility, you realize as you look back now; but then hop squats never lasted long, and father soon graduated you into obstacle courses of his Titan’s making.

As quickly as the thought comes to you, you realize she must mean proper hopscotch. The kind you saw younger children at boarding school play outside.

Mistaking your confusion for hesitation, Fine quickly says, “P-Papa said you were the best. I’m not very good… but I’ve been practicing.”

“No, no—of course I’ll play with you,” you say, heart breaking at her hopeful expression. You reach out to take her hand, but Willy has approached and places his on her hair instead, gently patting her.

“Fine, why don’t you get your chalk from your room? Auntie Lucy will meet you in the courtyard.”

“Okay, Papa,” she says, though she’s smiling at you. She takes your smile in return as your leave, and walks out of the room as calmly as she can, as you suppose her mother has told her a little lady of eight should, but her near-skips of excitement are difficult to conceal.

Willy is laughing the moment Markus closes the door behind her. “I know what you’re thinking. Father would turn in his grave if he knew I was letting the children taint his precious courtyard with colored chalk.”

He would, but you simply shrug. “Was it really that much better than using his own flesh?”

You purse your lips as soon as you say it. You suppose that’s Lara’s flesh now, and your eyes are wide and apologetic in her direction—but she only stifles a soft chuckle. “Father was never much concerned about this particular estate. I believe he will forgive us.”

You know that’s a lie and so does Willy, but neither of you contests her. Willy only shakes his head. “Thank you for humoring her. She really has been practicing.”

“When she’s come all this way? How couldn’t I?”

Willy’s eyes crinkle in half-amusement. “Does the same logic apply to your…” he pauses, and then motions to himself with a flourish meant to annoy, “dear brother?”

What remains of your smile falls, hanging by a thread thanks only to Lara’s presence. But it’s not entirely Willy’s fault. Now that you’re here before Lord Tybur, all you’ve managed to set aside since your meeting with List at HQ comes back to you.

You ignore the urge to roll your eyes and purse your lips instead. “Willy, there’s something we need to discuss.”

He pauses at that; considers your expression. Glances at Lara before he looks at you again.

Sighs.

“And it can’t wait for lunch, Lucy? We’ve only just said hello.”

You were only irritated before, but now you’re upset. You scoff. “You don’t even know what it’s about—or did your intelligence man tell you?”

“My intelligence—what would Arnack know of it?” In spite of his question, he relaxes somewhat. “This concerns the military, then?”

The military and not Mila, not the family is what he means.

You cross your arms, glaring to the side almost petulantly—now it annoys you to even speak—when Lara’s hand finds yours. Your gaze softens, shoulders relax when she squeezes your fingers, and you have no choice but to look at her.

“Fine is waiting in the courtyard. But you’ll tell us when you’re all done playing, won’t you, Lucy?”

Your will to sulk dissipates into embarrassment. You don’t want to give Lara any trouble. “All right.”

Lara smiles.

Sometimes, putting up with Willy is worth it.

You soon learn that maybe regular hopscotch isn’t so different from yours after all; besides the fact that there is no father around to insist you can move faster than you are now, the hopscotch Fine knows has 40 squares as well—you both dirty your dresses drawing the blocks and circles together, but you doubt Willy will chastise Fine for it—and she goes forward and backward too.

Hopscotch goes better than you hope. Fine is very good at it, especially when she stops looking at you to see if you’re watching every few steps so she can focus on the pattern on the ground instead. She’s agile herself, and she lasts several rounds of this, which makes you wonder if Willy had her trained, however silly the notion may be…

But surely he hasn’t. You remember him angrily protesting the decision to send you away to father when you were little, though you hadn’t understood why until you were older. You know you can at least trust him not to do to his children what father did to you, even though he continues to permit the Warrior program.

“Aunt Lucy?”

Still catching your breath, you sit upright from the courtyard bench you laid back on, all sweaty and tired—but a good tired—and glance over at Fine. She’s sitting up too, her dress as much covered in chalk as yours. A stray strip of powder green that matches the color of her fingers is spread over her cheek.

Before she can say anything, you give her a look of apology. “I don’t think I can go again, Fine. I haven’t moved that much in weeks.”

“Not that,” Fine lets out a little giggle as she shakes her head, though her face grows somber rather quickly afterward. “May I ask you something, auntie?”

You feel your hackles raise again, and you wonder if it’s the Mila or the Willy in her that does it. “Of course.”

She pulls her lips to one side, and then another as she considers her words. “Will I get the War Hammer after you do?”

Absolutely nothing is what runs through your mind as you hear her question. Nothing but terror and alarm, and the feeling of your stomach sinking again. A child shouldn’t have to think of these things. Not the new Warrior candidates, and not your little niece. You feel your mouth open and close just as it did with her mother, and you must somehow get to your feet and approach the bench next to yours. Fine draws her knees to her chest under her dress to give you space.

It takes you even longer to look at her. “What makes you think I’ll get it?” When she only stares at you again, you tilt your head. “Fine?”

Fine presses her lips together, suddenly she seems as reluctant to speak as you do. She smiles now, glancing around as if to find something else to talk about.

You sigh. Like father, like daughter.

“Fine,” you insist.

Her eyes quickly fall to her knees. “It’s supposed to be a secret.”

“Then it’ll be our secret.”

“Promise?” When you give her an earnest nod, she bites the inside of her cheek, and then nods herself. “Mother said you must have it one day.”

Of course Mila would say that. Though you do your level best not to scoff, that is something on which you both agree, even if she thinks otherwise. “That’s Willy’s decision to make in the end,” you say, a small rebellion of your own, even if Willy’s wife isn’t here to hear it, and Fine is too innocent to know what it is. “Now, to answer your question—” you scoot a little closer. “It’s unlikely, you know. This is another secret,” and Fine nods quickly, “but the head of the Tybur family rarely receives the War Hammer. Not since the early days, from well over a hundred years ago, back in the time of the Eldian Empire. And since you’ll be the head one day, after Willy…”

Fine does not look comforted as you expect. “But grandfather had it.”

You blink.

For all her shyness, your niece watches you with the expectation of any precocious child her age.

She isn’t wrong—you simply never questioned it because father had it for as long as you can remember. The head of the Tybur Family must always, at the very least, bear an heir and a spare (for the War Hammer)... a policy father himself flouted over nineteen years ago.

You don’t really have an answer for her. Lara was terribly ill at the time, as she always was before the War Hammer, and so you never considered her a candidate, but father did have a cousin or two remaining.

…Who can say? Father was enigmatic to you the day he sent you away, and was just as much so on the day you returned home from Liberio to learn you had failed his expectations and to bid him goodbye in a flurry that felt like the same breath. Lara certainly never speaks of him or of his memories to you. Not even when she told you the truth about the family.

“Father…” you decide to guess, “always liked to take matters into his own hands. He was Lord Tybur when he took the War Hammer. You would have to decide yourself to do it one day—I’m sure Willy would never break with tradition and have the future Lady Tybur inherit it.”

You prefer not to tell her that it’s so unlikely because she has so many little brothers and sisters from among whom Lord Tybur may one day choose instead.

Fine has no protest this time as she considers your answer, and you realize you don’t even know whether this news is good or bad to her ears. After all, you once wept with disappointment when you learned you wouldn’t inherit the War Hammer months before your thirteenth birthday.

“Did you want it?” you ask, taking your handkerchief and wiping the chalk from her face.

Fine presses her lips together again.

“I don’t know.”

That answer alone heartens you somewhat. If nothing else, you suppose, Willy is a man who loves his children.

Fine is as ladylike as a little girl can be as she devours her food as quick as she can. Willy had promised Mila that their eldest wouldn’t lose too much time for lessons simply because of the trip, so she is ushered back to her room for her studies not long after lunch begins.

That leaves you alone with Willy and Lara.

Even in the early afternoon, the chandelier high above shines starkly over the room. You sit at a long table, fit for several family members, you imagine, as you do in every Tybur estate dining room you’ve visited. The three of you occupy the tail end of the table, a little far from the fireplace with your back to the window. This room is filled with portraits of a select few former heads of the Tybur family, lords and ladies both. From where you sit, the earliest known Lord Tybur stares down at you with his head tilted aside.

You’re wondering what he might have been like through the eyes of his War Hammer when Willy starts.

“I’m so pleased to see your clothes still fit.”

Eyes turning away from the portrait, you glance down at the dress the staff had prepared for you. You didn’t bring your entire wardrobe to the Yeagers, of course, leaving much of it back at the Tybur estate. Especially the prettier dresses Willy bought you which have no place in the internment zone.

The funny look on your face is too quick to stifle. “You bought me this only two months ago, before the two of you left.”

“I know. But it always surprises me how much you’ve grown up each time I see you again.”

At least Lara looks amused. “Only newborns will change so much in the span of two months, Willy.”

The little chuckle that escapes her throat makes Willy laugh. “I certainly know it now.”

“Now?” you ask with some curiosity.

“Oh, yes. He learned his lesson when you were born,” says Lara, fingers over her mouth as she continues to laugh.

“I’d insisted,” he tells the story, “that our baby clothes were too old for you, and that we needed an entire wardrobe of new baby pajamas despite father’s protests.”

You can’t help but lean in. “Really? What did mother say?”

The two exchange glances. Lara opens her mouth, and then Willy—saves the moment with another smile. Or he would, if it weren’t so familiar to you. “She was ill,” he says.

Mother always was. A little too often, even to the ears of a child no older than six, but you let it pass without comment as you always have.

Lara clears her throat. Her smile leads you both away from the thought of her. “Imagine our chagrin when father was right, and you outgrew your clothes within your first month.”

“Father must have been so upset,” you gasp, grinning without knowing it.

“He understood,” Willy laughs. Even Lara’s mirth is hearty, and they both watch you as they settle down. There’s something in their gazes you recognize, but don’t, and you’re about to ask what when brother speaks again.

“Don’t you miss home, Lucy? Just us at the fireplace, reading together? Laughing at the dining table just like this?”

The question surprises you just as much as the immediate answer in your mind does. His question is honest enough, without the underlying needling that you often feel accompanies his others. For once, you set aside the instinct to sneer at him.

But you can’t respond just yet.

“That’s not why I’m here.”

The hope in Willy’s gaze fades, and what remains of his smile is the kind he has always presented to the public. Lord Tybur and annoying brother all at once.

“Of course not. You came because I summoned you. You would never join us at the estate otherwise.”

“No,” you say carefully, and remind him, “I came because the military summoned me almost as soon as I arrived here two weeks ago.”

Lord Tybur’s face quickly sours. “They did what? Under whose command?”

“General List,” you supply. Willy’s expression gives nothing away, so you continue. “They want… a better foothold in the Mid East peninsula, and they want to start with surrounding territories. They think they could accomplish this if the head of the Tybur Foundation denounced the regime’s policies to curry favor abroad, and then used the Foundation to ferry in Marleyan spies.”

Willy’s brow, quirked all this time, softens as he scoffs. “And they think my wife would agree to this.”

You brace yourself. “They think your sister would.”

Willy’s eyes fly to Lara—until, after a moment of confusion, they land on you.

“You?” he asks after a long pause. “You would chair the Foundation?”

Your gulp is practically involuntary. Your mouth is dry without warning and your mind buzzes to life with anger and self-doubt. Willy has never been outwardly so… so like Mila.

You square your shoulders and lift your chin. “Why not? I’m a Tybur, too. And by blood, at that.”

“Running the Foundation takes more than blood, Lucy,” Willy says, setting down his utensils. “What did List promise you in exchange for this?”

You lick your lips in apprehension, but you answer. “I would fulfill the Foundation’s purpose, of course. The Tybur Foundation can show other nations that Eldians are no monsters. Just - just people. And I’m not stupid. I know it’s a carrot List dangles over my nose, but—but why not take this chance? People can learn. The Tyburs have a voice. We can teach them.”

Willy’s flippant expression slips into neutrality as you speak. You don’t know that he’s holding his temper. “Teach them what?” he asks quietly. “That the Tyburs are hypocrites, maintaining their status in the Empire that suffocates the rest of the world with Eldian might while claiming that Eldians are innocent?”

“I - I would distance the Foundation from the regime and the family.”

“And endanger the family?”

“The Tyburs are the furthest from any danger in this world and you know it,” you snap, fists clenched at your lap before you know it. “Are you saying you won’t permit me to do this?”

“I’m saying that this is a fool’s errand,” Willy says, head tilting up, his patience clearly wearing thin. After a pause, he rears his head to you. “You’ve begged me to let you remain Lucy Blanchard ever since you returned from this city. Pleaded with me only a year past to let you take the entrance exams here. Now you want this? Help me understand, Lucy. You’ve never been one for caprice.”

He’s right. You have to answer him quickly before he realizes he is.

“I never said—” you stammer, “I don’t even want—I mean—”

Willy catches your mistake and latches on. “You don’t even want this,” he repeats slowly. “And yet you persist. What is the meaning of this? Is this - is this about going against my wishes? You would put yourself at risk just to—?”

“No!” you insist. “I—I just want the Tybur family to do something! And if,” you venture, the momentum in your voice losing its edge, “if it has to be me,” your hands wring at your skirt, “then…”

“Please, Lucy.” Willy is too dignified to groan, but you hear it in his voice. Exasperation. “You don’t know the first thing about leading the Foundation!”

“And Mila, raised in all her riches here, did?” you challenge. “I can learn! That’s all I’ve done my whole life—learn!” You can’t help but slam a fist against the dining table. The silver all do a little leap and clatter back against themselves in support. “Learn that Marleyans are no better than Eldians. Learn that I’m nothing but a failure after a childhood spent training to kill. Learn that everything this family ever taught me is a lie!”

“Lucy!” Lara says your name so sharply that it hurts. Not hisses, but almost. She watches you with an expression you don’t recognize, wide-eyed and almost furious, except you’ve never even seen her upset before. You would recognize it as danger, if you knew what it looked like on her face.

You don’t. You at least lower your gaze, but the summer after father died is burned into your memory, and sometimes you remember the Warriors’ first foray into war better than you can recall mother’s smile. Your fire may be doused, but you aren’t finished.

“Please,” you murmur, eyes still on your plate. Your food is unfinished, and your appetite is lost. “It doesn’t have to be me. It could be you, Willy. …Everyone loves you. You could make peace with Paradis. They think they’re the last of humanity. If that king’s will lives on in the Founding Titan as sister remembers it, as our family tells it, then they would find relief in the return of the world.”

“Lucy—”

You interrupt Lord Tybur with more. “We would regain not only the Founding Titan, but the glory of removing what the world believes is the last threat of the old Eldian Empire. And then you could… you could change things. Ease the world into a period away from Marleyan hegemony.”

Willy scoffs, this time with pity. “Naïveté at its finest. Peace is easy to speak of, but all the world wants Paradis for its resources. They would view Marley as competition at best.”

His softer tone is the only thing that helps you maintain yours, though your hands continue crumple at your skirt under the table. “But the world is terrified of Paradis,” you reason. “Marley is the only superpower at present that can hold the ‘threat’ of that island at bay. And then—and then, before the world develops weapons enough to defeat Titan might, we could show them that the remaining Eldians on the island, in the world, can be just as good as the family that bears the War Hammer. If the world might listen to anyone, it would listen to the head of the Tybur family.”

“A century of Eldian suffering cannot make up for the millennia of Eldian tyranny,” Willy says gravely. “The world still cries out for blood. No goodwill for the family will surpass it.”

“You don’t know that,” you frown. “There have to be people out there willing to learn better.”

Willy rises to his feet. Looks down at you to remind you that though he suffers your candor, you are still a Tybur under his authority. “The Tybur family has survived because we have known when and where to pull the strings. I will not change this policy.”

You glare up at him from your seat. You feel your grip on this argument slipping, and your patience, too. “Of course not.” You never did learn to bite your tongue with him the way you did in the military. “You’ve changed nothing since you became Lord Tybur.”

Willy’s lip curls. You look incredibly alike in that moment, Lara will tell you before you go later—but he reins in his own anger. “We can only do so much to restore the Eldian name, Lucy.”

“The words of a coward,” you spit powerlessly.

“Lucy,” Lara reprimands, but not with the same expression as before. This one is less harsh, but still reproving. Disappointed more than angry.

Willy sends her a grateful look. His shoulders relax somewhat, and you seize the opportunity to speak.

“Then—then can’t you give the Mid East peninsula something for the sake of peace?” you plead. “Our forces are weakened without the Colossal Titan, and if the weapons abroad really are becoming as powerful as they say…”

“I’ve read the reports.” Willy sounds exhausted. “This… anti-Titan weaponry will take much longer than List would have you believe. But the Mid East desires freedom above all else, in any case, and the regime would never agree.”

“The regime would listen to Lord Tybur.”

“The answer is no, Lucy.”

You feel petulant staring at Willy’s plate in dismay. You have nothing else you can say. If he won’t give you the Foundation, then List’s plan is dust. The Warriors will go on as they have until they pass their Titans to their successors, and so on. Eldians will remain fodder.

You can only turn to Lara.

“How could you agree with him?” you ask. Before father died, after you came home from Warrior training, she agreed with you. She thought the world could do better.

She takes a moment to think. And then, as though recalling an old memory, she says, “It’s all well and good to care for other Eldians, Lucy. But the family is where our loyalties lie, and we - I trust the decisions of Lord Tybur. I’m sorry… but you ask too much.”

“So what you mean to say,” you mutter in resignation, “is that our choices are to obliterate the enemy in their entirety or to doom our race forever.”

Willy shakes his head. His expression is closed. Isn’t this how each of your fights ends, anyway?

“What Lara meant is she will not risk your life, or the Tybur family, for a chance at peace. Neither will I.”

The dining table is far too quiet for any more eating after that, and Willy claims to have some appointment after lunch soon after. He always happens to be busy after any fight you have with him, so you aren’t too surprised. When Willette promises it’s true, you don’t bother to disagree. Everyone loves Willy too much to imagine he might tell lies.

You don’t return to the zone just yet, even after Lara quietly embraces you goodbye as they go. Fine is still around, after all, and she’s all too quick to ask you to stay and read while she studies in her room. You aren’t inclined to disappoint her, and you’re almost sorry to find that Willy brought a selection of books from your room back at the estate with the hope that you might stay with them a while.

The answer is no, you think with a little frustration, but also with a little regret that you set aside. It would be far too strange for anyone who knows you only as Lucy Blanchard for you to come from anywhere but the zone every day.

You’re brought back close to the zone in the late afternoon, once Fine is tired enough to need a nap, with a permit that explains away your disappearance. You’re heading down a block toward the zone gates when you catch a familiar face coming your way.

“Kellan?”

You’ve noticed that Kellan’s eyes always look ahead outside of the zone. Around, over, aside Marleyans and never on them, so as not to attract attention. So your voice clearly surprises him, and he double takes before blinking at you.

“Lucy. What are you doing here?” He looks you over politely. “That’s a pretty dress.”

“Thanks. I was on an errand,” you answer, waving your permit in an effort to distract him from your clothes, and then folding it before he can try to take a look. “You?”

“Errand,” he smiles, freely showing you his. You don’t take a look, nodding instead as he glances around. “Do you want to come? My cousins were supposed to join me, but they… well, they’re afraid to leave the zone. The permit was for a few of us.”

You look around too. Marleyans don’t go by this area so close to the internment zone, but you’re not entirely sure where Kellan’s going. Despite everything, there’s safety in numbers, right?

“Sure.”

A few blocks later, and you know you were right to join Kellan for this errand. You always walk among non-Eldians going to and from and in the university, but this area is particularly thick with them. It’s only when you turn right toward a smaller street that there’s any room to breathe.

“It’s not that much different from the zone sometimes,” Kellan murmurs once anyone nearby is too far off to hear him. “Whenever I see it, it’s… odd to think we’re not welcome here.”

You look up at him. “I hope one day we will be.”

His sullen expression lights up just a little. “That’s - that’s what I want to happen by becoming a doctor. I know we’re only allowed to have patients from the zone, but… At least the world will see that there are Eldian hands that heal. Destruction isn’t all we’re good for.”

Pleased by his optimism, you miss the spite in his last sentence. “That’s admirable. Really,” you add, when he measures the truth of your words with a glance.

He smiles now. “What made you want to become a doctor?”

The answer is easy. “Dr. Yeager did. He used to receive patients next door when I was little.”

“Dr. Yeager,” Kellan repeats. “I almost forgot you live with them. …If you don’t mind me asking, why do you? Are they family?”

“No,” you laugh. “I came here from… far away,” you wave your hand at the general distance. “For Warrior selection. I made it as a cadet, but—” you shrug. “No further.”

“You were chosen,” he realizes, clearly shocked. “That’s why you know them so well.”

Some pride goes into your nod. “I spend time with them at HQ most mornings before I return home so we can go to campus.”

“With them,” says Kellan, unable not to repeat your words. “With the Cart, with the new Jaw…”

You nod slowly. You’re starting to wonder where this is going.

“With the Beast,” he rattles off, “and the Armor, right?”

A small pause overtakes your desire to speak when you remember they’re all that’s left. For now, you hope. Only Marcel has really been confirmed dead.

“I… work at the market sometimes,” Kellan says like an admission. “Everyone knows Mr. Hoover’s kid didn’t come back. That girl, too.”

You exhale. You weren’t even close with Bertholdt and Annie, but the reminder still makes you bite your tongue. “Yeah.”

“Doesn’t it bother you, knowing what they do?” he continues. “They make us Eldians even more hated in the world—all in the name of getting to be honorary Marleyans.”

You don’t know if it’s his scoff, so uncharacteristic of how you’ve seen him thus far, or the fact that you’ve had the same thought that silences you again.

“But,” you can’t help but respond, “that would have been me if I’d succeeded. A Warrior.”

“But it’s not you,” he says reassuringly, guiding you across another small street. “You’re studying to be a doctor, Lucy. To help. The antithesis of what they do.”

You know he’s not wrong. He’s absolutely right. And yet… you frown at him, brows all furrowed, gaze almost prickly. He hasn’t seen you this way, either.

His eyes widen again, this time with apology. “...Forget I said that. It’s just… been a long day. And, uh—we’re here.”

You don’t want to think about this right now. You give him, and yourself, the out. You put on a smile.

“Right,” you say, but it’s still all wrong when you follow his gaze. The alley spills out into a bigger street again, though it’s not wide enough for an avenue. Across the street—

Kellan’s errand was a pharmacy visit?

“Ow,” he yelps when you grab his arm tight and pull him back, just before you enter the main road. Across the street, a line stretches outside the pharmacy. None of the customers are wearing Eldian armbands.

“We’re not allowed at Marleyan pharmacies,” you say. “We have to go.”

He looks at you almost like you’re a stranger until he pats your hand around his arm. When your grip loosens, he reminds you, “They allowed it around five years ago. It was a…” he shrugs noncommittally. “A gift to the Eldians, because the Warriors had gone on their mission to that island. A few months late, but… I would never complain.”

A few months after the Warriors left. After father had already passed.

You lower your gaze as you head across the street together toward the pharmacy. But just as the regret for your words earlier starts to sink in, a gruff Ha! distracts you.

At the end of the line heading for the pharmacy, two city guards have accosted a boy wearing an armband. His bangs are all over his eyes as he stupidly tries to break free of the hold one of the guards has on him.

“I—please, I got a permit! See?” he cries out. The Marleyans ahead of the line shuffle a little closer to each other and further away from the scene.

The guard that isn’t holding him looks at a now crinkled piece of paper. “Don’t they teach you anything in that zone? A permit to run errands for select shops is a separate permit from entering a pharmacy.”

“B-but I, I have a - a permit, it’s still a permit,” the boy stammers. He’s only a few years older than Fine and the new Warrior cadets. Certainly not even Colt’s age.

The guard holding him chuckles darkly. He says something else, but—it’s the boy you’re watching. You can already see his face, nose all bloody with his eye swollen and purple. On the ground. An adult’s boot still digging into his side when he’s already curled up in agony.

The guard with the permit raises a straightened hand when you feel your feet move.

“Ah—Grisha,” you call out, grabbing his free hand to the surprise of the guard holding his other. “This is where you’ve been, you little snot-nosed brat!”

He looks up at you in fear and utter confusion, but you can give it no more thought as you turn to the guards in dismay. “I’m so - so sorry, sirs,” you try. You wish the tremble in your voice were an act. “I—we told him to get the,” you glance at the small bag dangling from his elbow, “the bottles, and go straight home. I knew when he wasn’t at the gate that he must’ve done something completely idiotic.”

The guards are both sizing you up and glaring at you.

“I’m his—sister,” you explain hurriedly. “We - we have a permit. Don’t we?”

You glance around for Kellan, who is where you left him, still watching you with his mouth agape. When you give him an urgent look, he rushes over to you with a nod. His hands are shaking when he presents the permit, which the guards snatch with a grunt.

Their eyes flit between you, Kellan, the permit, and the boy.

“Much better dressed than the brat here,” one says suspiciously.

You curse under your breath as you look down at the clothes Willy bought. “I…” you do your best to smile, “I just put on my best dress when I leave the zone.”

The guard eyes you from head to toe and back. Slowly.

Kellan clears his throat unsurely, taking a step forward in some attempt to get in your way. “Um, sir—”

“You’re a pretty little thing,” the guard says, coming close before he can. “But it don’t matter what you look like. Still got pig’s blood underneath.”

Relief and fury fill you at his words. All this time, your instinct is still to raise your eyes to him in defiance, but you see the messy mop of hair on the child as he watches you from the corner of your eye, and you hear Kellan’s trembling breath not far to your side.

You’re Lucy Blanchard, and you know better.

You release your tongue from between your teeth and set your eyes to the man’s boots, head bowed. “I understand, sir. Please forgive us for the trouble.”

“Bust,” the other guard mutters with disappointment, dropping Kellan’s permit to the ground. “Let’s find another one.”

The guard still has his eye on you when he nods at his friend. “Right. Well. You three make sure you head back to the zone once you’re done here. We don’t need more of you running around where it should be safe for the rest of us.”

“Yes, sir,” Kellan quickly says. You murmur it in suit, and the guards walk away.

When they’re finally out of sight, you let out the biggest sigh of relief you’ve given—probably the biggest since you were selected as a Warrior cadet. Or maybe when Zeke first successfully transformed.

“Don’t,” you say, looking to the boy, “ever wander around here without a proper permit again. You could’ve died. You hear me?” When the boy squeaks out a yes, you hold a hand out for the list of medicine he came for.

Next to you, Kellan smooths out his permit. “That was dangerous,” he frowns, though it soon softens into wonder. “But—amazing, too. Quick thinking.” Drawing closer, he gently takes your hand and looks the boy, and then you in the eye. “Are you all right?”

You put on a brave face. “At least they’re gone, right? No one - no one was hurt.”

The boy nods meekly next to you, and Kellan smiles, squeezing your hand. “Yeah.”

You smile back, ignoring the looks you receive from the Marleyans. “Can I see your prescriptions, too?”

“Of course,” Kellan nods, letting you go to take it from his messenger bag.

When he hands it to you, you hold the lists with both hands and fall in line.

Your fingers are still shaking.

It feels like months have passed by the time you get home. You parted ways with Kellan and Ben—the boy—not long after you arrived back at the zone. Kellan offered to walk you home, but his house is the opposite direction from the Fingers’, and you didn’t want to trouble him.

The truth is his words before you arrived at the pharmacy were still ringing in your mind, and the idea of him taking you to Pieck’s didn’t sit well with you. She’s still out when you visit, so you end up helping Mr. Finger dust their living room and bookshelf that afternoon—and resist his desired reordering of it, expressing your misgivings about how Pieck might not like that very much. You manage to distract him by pointing out that the laundry still needs folding, and he had better start with dinner in the meantime.

Pieck is none the wiser about how you saved her system when she comes home, and you enjoy a quiet dinner with them. She tells you all about their lunch - the cadets took over the entire conversation during meal, given how excited they were to have Reiner there, especially Gabi. Mr. Finger is all too happy to listen, and thankfully doesn’t press you about your own affairs that night when you decline the first instance. You and Pieck share a look then—an understanding that you’ll talk about your own day another time, away from her father’s ears.

The Yeagers are in bed when you come home. Of course they have leftovers for you, even when they know you were meant to have dinner with the Fingers today. You resolve to eat it for breakfast tomorrow. You decide you’re too tired to even bathe when you finally get to the stairs.

You know the upstairs hallway well enough that you don’t turn the lights on when you get there, so it’s impossible to miss that Zeke’s door is ajar, the lamp at his bedside table spilling warmth onto the floorboards outside.

His door creaks as you nudge it further open. Zeke is in bed, a book splayed open on his chest while his head is laid against his headboard. Eyes closed, lips parted, Mr. Ksaver’s glasses still on his nose—he must have fallen asleep reading again.

“Zeke,” you sigh, shaking your head.

You approach his bed and lift one knee over it, reaching over to take the glasses off—when he grabs your wrist out of the air, eyes flying open with suspicion and fear.

“Easy,” you grunt.

His gaze and his body relax with a slouch at the sight and sound of you, and you release each other as he lays back. “Hey,” he says, blinking dry eyes up at you as he briefly lifts his elbow to his mouth for a yawn. His free hand motions to the space by the foot of the bed, though it stiffens somewhat as he takes a good look at you.

“What’s wrong?”

You blink yourself, trying not to look too obvious about the answer. You don’t feel like talking about it right now anyway. “Nothing, I’m just… tired.”

After a scrutinizing pause, he pats his bed again instead of insisting. When you take a seat at the very edge of his mattress - you’re still in your out clothes, after all - he asks, “How was the family reunion?”

You shrug. “I guess… The way we’d expect. They want me to stay with them while they’re in the city.”

Zeke sits up. “Really?”

“I’m not doing that,” you mutter, glaring aside as you think of lunch earlier today. “I don’t know how Willy expects me to play nice after everything. And Lara… she’s no better nowadays.”

Zeke scratches the back of his ear. “But you love Lara.”

The certainty in his voice makes you remember it despite your disappointment. “I - well, I’m having dinner with them, anyway. For Willy’s birthday.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Zeke says dismissively. He’s leaned over a little closer to watch for your expression.

You whip your head at him in a frown, and he almost laughs. “You know you don’t have to pretend you don’t miss them to me.”

You continue to glare at him, but this time he shoots you a look, straightening somehow to remind you how much taller he is, even when he’s leaned back against his headboard again. He knows you well enough now to see through this. With a sigh, you draw your knees up to your chest under your dress, still sitting as close to the mattress’s edge as possible, and cross your arms over them.

“I do miss them,” you sigh. “But things will never go back to the way they were. They’re just so - so - they’re so—”

Zeke helps you along with a, “So…”

“So different!” you groan, and bury your nose and mouth under your arms in embarrassment for the little outburst. “I know it. I’ve known it for a while. Especially since father died. But…”

Head against your arms, you look to him as though he can change anything for you. “Why can’t things just stay the same? I know why, but… why?”

Zeke is quiet as he listens to you, lips pursed slightly as if in thought. Suddenly you feel guilt. You’re whining about the good old days when you were happy, knowing full well what he went through as a boy. Knowing your childhood, so carefree, was worlds different from his own.

“Sorry,” you say, wincing at your stupidity again. “I know I’m being selfish.”

Zeke shrugs. “I didn’t say that. I was going to say—” His chest shudders a little as he inhales, but his voice is steady when he opens his arms to you. A promise in a single motion. “Some things can stay the same.”

You hold each other’s gazes, his with the offer and yours unsure of the truth of it. There’s still so much you don’t know, still want to know about these past six years, but you can save that for later. You’ve done it before.

“I’m in my out clothes,” you confess.

“That sounds like a Lucy problem,” he admits in turn.

You smile as he does, and with a grateful huff, you lean closer and dip into his arms, burying your face into his chest. He still smells like—like every good memory you had in the past in spite of every horror you’ve learned since leaving the Tybur estate almost a decade and a half ago. Like Zeke, and like a little more that you refuse to acknowledge.

“You’re not gonna kick me again if I let you sleep in my room tonight, are you?” he asks. Your muffled laugh makes him do the same.

Even then, as his arms tighten around you and you breathe in the scent of him, you both know his promise is a lie. But neither of you cares to pull away just yet, either.

When you finally do, Zeke sets a pillow between you, just like before, and you lay with your head in your arms again, looking up at him as he settles down himself.

“Do you... want to tell me a story?” you ask. You had a family reunion. So had he, weeks ago.

His gaze shifts to you almost sharply, but the surprise blunts it. You can feel it—that he knows Pieck told you something, and that he knows you know he knows. You expect him to reply with sarcasm, the way he always has when you prod too quickly before he’s ready, but he only shakes his head.

“Another time,” he says, though it’s more of a question between you.

“Okay,” you agree with a small smile.

He returns it… until yours starts to slip. And then he smirks. “Can’t stand being in those clothes, can you?”

The disgust finally makes its way to your face. “It’s awful.”

Zeke lets out a knowing snicker and groans as he crawls off the bed. “I’ll get your pajamas. Think I still have some of your old ones here—you can’t have grown that much, right?”

You rear your foot back in preparation.

////////

I’ve been excited to write this chapter showing the Tybur dynamic forever! I know people might disagree with my interpretation of them, but let’s just say - Lara has a lot going on. As for Willy, for all that he does in the canon story and for all his charisma, my view of him is he very much assists in perpetuating a certain cycle, and that he would have a hard time with Lucy even if he means well.

Yes, Lucy = indecisive hypocrite, but what Tybur isn't? JK I love the Tyburs but I hope you can stick this out to see how things go.

Thank you for reading despite the wait!

#zeke x reader #zeke x oc #zeke yeager x reader #zeke jaeger x reader #zeke yeager x oc #zeke jaeger x oc #zeke yeager #zeke jaeger #attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #snk #fanfic #fic #fanfiction #haliyam #interim #interim vii

13 notes · View notes