The khal would be left alone to her own devices as she had demanded. Hours passed. She drifted between being angry to confused with little to no warnings in her mood shifts. Not that it mattered, really, as no one really was there to keep an eye on her or tend to her whim.
She felt stuck. Unimportant. A monster.
What a life it was, to wake up with conflicting memories battling another for dominance and no one to give you any answers. At least, not the answers that Ymir needed, or perhaps Ymira - the contradicting voice in her head went back and forth between which was the right name.
On top of that the freckled woman hadn’t the slightest idea where she was. Now and again she would ask aloud, receiving an answer once from a guard passing by at the right moment. It didn’t help her out at all.
She ended up throwing a tray of fruit at the door in frustration and screaming. That warded off anyone else from coming anywhere near her, which was probably what she needed despite it being nothing she wanted.
Perhaps the most frustrating was having no one to turn to for guidence. Marco was blood of her blood from what she remembered, and yet he now served a woman that wasn’t her. There was also her irrationality at being mad for defending himself when she had attacked him earlier. A true loyal member of her khalasar would have bent at the knee and received a blow or a scratch but remember their place. That day, he had proved he was not the same man she recalled him being in her mind.
When Ymir decided to lay down, she found herself curling into an unusual position the only way to get comfortable. Her last thoughts before sleeping her anger away (though she wanted nothing more than to slit some more throats) was recalling a warm mound of flesh to sleep on and a soft voice urging her rest. At the same time she found herself remembering copious pillows and fur and silk with the sound of a fire crackling nearby. Either way, the voice was the same, the tones different, and the overwhelming sense of helplessness forced her to lose consciousness for the rest of the day.
Morning came and went. By the time Ymir opened her eyes, she found herself still engulfed in a rage that rivaled the hottest of fires. It was useless trying to find reason in anything.
Like a child, she pouted, sitting on the bed she had been provided and staring blankly ahead. Her hands remained together, leg shaking impatiently as the sounds of her foot tapping repeatedly against the cool stone echoed throughout the room.
She had started trying to draw a map together in her head of the lands she remembered and where she was. There was the memory of the great grass sea, and stretches of sand that went as far as where the sun would set. Then, there was the world that seemed almost like a dream, made up of stars and constellations, where the blank space travelled for eternity, and other men walked among stars. She vaguely recalled a tent located in the middle of a storm she had never experienced before, like that of sand but cold and white and harsh.
Never mind the memories she had and gaps here and there. Part of her was convinced she had a son. Another part argued she had never married. A third of her considered herself too young to be thinking of children or marriages or anything of the like.
Marco tried to talk to her but she refused him. Instead, she kept staring ahead, not touching her food, merely locked in concentration. Quite a bit of land sat between here and where she considered the closest thing to a home. Home was relative, honestly, considering she was more than certain her life no matter what was always nomadic.
Finally, after two sunsets had passed, and she had forced herself to touch the bare essentials of her food, Ymir decided to call Marco in. Not to talk, no, just a simple order:
”Bring me the Sinain woman.“ Her eyes narrowed as she rested her elbows on her thighs. ”Now.“
There was a time that Historia would have found comfort in an enclosed room with the same four walls. It would feel like safety, a whispered lullaby with silks and plush throws, where the only future she had to worry about was already set before her by Erwin. Even now, as she stared out of the sparse windows that broke up the sandy stone walls, a part of her remembered the feeling.
A louder voice screamed for open air, for freedom and red clay smattering her skin.
The familiar and striking voice chastised her for being so unladylike, but her inner Ymir told the voice it could go fuck itself.
Getting up from her seat at the table within the late Dimo Reeves' private chambers, Historia felt Berik begin to climb her small frame to dangle over her shoulder. Her sweet child had grown so much now that Ymir wasn't the boss. Annik had been more independent and forming her own personality that hadn't been there before, as aloof as it was.
Historia pulled her hair over her shoulder, reading over a paper in her hand as Berik made it to his perch, huffing loudly in displeasure. "I know," she sighed. "Only two more people and you and Annik can go outside."
The creation of the new Five was a harder decision than she had foreseen. Many men had shown up to impress the Khaleesi, but so few had actually accomplished being anything more than what Historia had already seen. A son of a blacksmith had caught her attention, his dreams so much bigger than his father's ideal monopoly of Genis. Then there was a maester many years her senior, with an intelligence that Genis could use. A former warrior, with the experience to keep Genis safe.
"Deep in thought, Khaleesi?" Reiner stood in the doorway, forcing Historia to look over her shoulder as she paced.
"No more than I have been the last few days." She answered, crossing a few more names off the list. "What did you think of the slave of the fisherman?"
"Did he speak to you?" Reiner kept his place at the doorway, an eyebrow cocked.
"Only enough to interest me in what he had to say." Historia crossed yet another name out. "A slave would know the underbelly of any city, and what people like them would need."
The Hand of the Queen paused, giving a small nod. "I suppose so."
Historia turned back and handed Reiner a piece of paper. "In addition, I wish to call the Silk King's eldest daughter to council. Tonight, preferably."
Reiner took the piece of paper, looking it over. "You might want to rethink that meeting."
Picking Berik up off her shoulder, Historia placed him on the bed, watching as Annik crawled up to tackle her sibling and lay on top of him. "Why would I do that?"
"Ymir is requesting your presence tonight." Reiner said after a beat, letting out a heavy breath.
Eyes widened, Historia looked to her trusted friend. " . . . Have Sasha take the titans out in the sun until I return. I will call council in the morning."
Reiner grabbed her arm, looking out into the hallway for a moment. "Are you sure you want to do this? Ymir can wait."
Using her foot to open the door, Historia gently pulled her arm out from his hand. "She's outnumbered, scared, and confused." She spoke softly, pained that it had taken this long for Ymir to call out to her. "In the state that she's in, she is still a Khal, and there is no pride in killing a woman with no gain to be won."
Historia made her pace quick, avoiding as many people as possible to get to Ymir's secluded chambers. Finding Marco at the bottom of the stairs, she slowed to speak to him. "Has she said anything?"
"Just that she wanted to see you, Khaleesi." Marco replied, looking up the staircase. "She doesn't seem to be as wound up, but still protect yourself if it comes down to it."
The idea of attacking Ymir made her sick. She would sooner let Ymir kill her than hurt Ymir - after all, the entire situation was her fault. "You can leave, Marco. Reiner will need your help to give announcements to the new council." Historia placed her hand on his arm, nodding as she passed.
She closed the door behind her, and took the stairs two at a time despite the screaming of her legs. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw Ymir for the first time in days, still thin but at least a little more rested.
"You sent for me, My Khal?" Historia spoke up, bowing before her former wife - current wife. She was just lost in memories and fog. Ymir was still hers.
Historia exposed her palms, holding her arms away from her thin build. She couldn't hide anything in the thin silk dress she wore, not that she wanted to carry anything with her. "I come with no ill intent in mind. I simply wish to speak with you to clear up as much as possible."
Taking a seat on a woven basket at a lower perch than Ymir's, Historia folded her hands in her lap. "If you wish, My Khal, you may call me Historia, rather than witch, as it is my name." Now was not the time to bring up titles, unless she asked. "What did you wish to speak to me about?"
