Chapter Text
Reiner had postponed his return to Wall Rose Parish on the pretext of unfinished correspondence, though most of his writing seemed to take place in the parlor whenever Miss Pieck Pixis happened to be in it.
That morning, she sat by the window with her embroidery, while Hange, Ymir, Historia, and Sasha occupied themselves, none of them with much success, with needlework of their own.
Reiner cleared his throat. “Miss Pixis, I must say, it is a comfort to find a young lady so modest and so composed. In an age of restless spirits, such tranquility is truly admirable.”
Pieck looked up, smiling politely. “You are kind to say so, Mr. Braun. I find tranquility a most reliable companion. It never contradicts.”
He brightened. “Ah, an excellent sentiment. A quiet temper is indeed a lady’s greatest ornament.”
“How fortunate for me,” she said mildly. “I am not often accused of being loud.”
Ymir raised an eyebrow at Hange, who bit back a laugh.
Reiner continued, warming to his subject. “You would be astonished, Miss Pixis, at the trials that accompany a lively disposition. It unsettles the home and disturbs the harmony of the household.”
“I imagine it does,” Pieck said softly, her tone perfectly even. “Harmony requires balance. Some temperaments must yield so that others may lead.”
Reiner nodded in approval, hearing agreement where others might have heard irony. “Precisely so! You understand the duties of a wife, Miss Pixis. Few ladies of my acquaintance speak so sensibly.”
“I try to be practical, Mr. Braun,” she replied. “One must be, if one wishes to be happy.”
“Happy!” he repeated, pleased. “Yes, yes, and happiness rests in submission, as all good wives know.”
Pieck inclined her head. “Then I trust your future wife will make you very happy indeed.”
Reiner blushed slightly, misinterpreting her calm tone for encouragement. “You are too good, Miss Pixis.”
Across the room, Sasha whispered, “She is going to say yes.”
Historia frowned. “Already?”
“She is being clever,” Ymir murmured. “She is letting him think every word is his idea.”
Reiner, still smiling, took Pieck’s hand briefly in farewell before retreating to his correspondence. The moment he was gone, Ymir dropped her embroidery hoop onto the table.
“Well,” she said, “if that is what men call sensible conversation, no wonder they tire of their own company.”
Historia looked up from her needlework. “I thought she was very composed. Mr. Braun seemed pleased.”
“That is the problem,” Ymir replied. “He was pleased because she agreed with him. He does not want a wife, he wants an echo.”
“Perhaps he simply prefers peace,” Historia said. “I cannot blame him for that.”
Ymir leaned back, smirking. “Peace is overrated. You would spend your life nodding while someone explains morality to you at breakfast.”
“At least it would be polite breakfast conversation,” Historia said, her cheeks pinking. “You always want to argue.”
“I call it critical thinking.”
Sasha snorted. “You call it arguing because you enjoy it.”
“I enjoy being right,” said Ymir. “It is not the same thing.”
Historia folded her hands primly. “A good wife does not need to be right. She only needs to be kind.”
“And obedient,” Ymir added dryly. “Do not forget that part.”
Hange looked up from her embroidery with a half smile. “You both make it sound terribly dull. Surely there is room in marriage for something besides obedience and argument.”
“Food,” said Sasha immediately. “There must be food. And dancing.”
Ymir groaned. “You would marry a man for his pantry.”
“I would marry a man for his pastry,” Sasha corrected. “Or his patience. Either will do.”
Pieck, who had remained serenely silent through all of this, looked up at last. “A good wife,” she said, “is simply one who understands the world as it is and finds a way to live comfortably in it.”
Hange tilted her head. “That sounds very convenient.”
“It is practical,” Pieck said. “Convenience is only the sensible reward of practicality.”
“Then what of affection?” asked Historia softly.
Pieck gave a faint smile. “Affection is pleasant, but it does not pay the grocer. Security, however, keeps one from worrying about the price of affection.”
Sasha laughed. “I could never think so calmly about it. I want affection, adventure, and possibly a handsome soldier.”
Ymir glanced at her. “You will end up with a shoemaker and ten children.”
“Then at least I will never be bored,” Sasha said cheerfully.
Historia shook her head, still blushing from Ymir’s earlier teasing. “I only want someone who is kind.”
Ymir’s expression softened. “Then you deserve him.”
The others fell momentarily quiet. Only the faint tapping of rain against the window filled the silence.
Finally, Hange spoke again, her tone thoughtful. “Pieck may be right. There is comfort in knowing exactly what you are agreeing to. But I do not think I could love a man I must always appease. I would rather have argument than silence.”
Pieck’s eyes met hers, steady and unreadable. “And I would rather have peace than victory.”
Neither spoke again, and yet both seemed satisfied with the last word.
The next morning dawned bright and clear after a night of steady rain. Mrs. Zoë, pacified by Pieck’s new influence and the apparent civility between all parties, announced that her daughters might take a walk to the Karanes District, provided they promised not to dawdle or be seen laughing too loudly.
The promise was made and immediately broken.
Sasha led the group, swinging her bonnet by its ribbon and singing snatches of a tune she had heard at the last assembly. Historia followed, trying in vain to keep the pace respectable. Ymir trailed behind with the air of one who had been forced into exercise by poor company and worse persuasion. Hange, cheerful despite the mud, walked in the middle, her mind half on the scenery and half on the conversation from the previous evening.
She was still smiling over Pieck’s remark about peace when the sound of footsteps approached from the opposite direction. A tall man came into view, his fair hair catching the sunlight, his uniform neat but worn at the edges.
“Miss Zoë,” he said with a bow. “What a fortunate meeting.”
Hange stopped short, startled. “Mr. Yeager! I had no idea you were in the district.”
“I might say the same,” he replied easily. “I had been walking to clear my head, but I would rather lose my way than such company.”
Sasha’s eyes widened, and she gave an appreciative look to Historia. Ymir muttered something unprintable under her breath.
Hange, who rarely blushed, found herself doing so now. “You flatter me, sir. Though I hope you have recovered from the ordeal of our last encounter. I had the impression you were avoiding certain acquaintances.”
“Ah, yes,” he said with a laugh. “Captain Ackerman. I see you remember. A most… formidable man. You must forgive me if I prefer my conversations unaccompanied by mortal peril.”
“You were avoiding him, then,” said Hange, amused.
“I was,” he admitted, his tone conspiratorial. “It seemed prudent. He has a way of looking at a man that makes him reconsider his life choices. I try not to be reminded of mine.”
Ymir gave a short laugh. “That sounds accurate.”
Hange smiled, entirely charmed by his frankness. “You cannot be so fearful, Mr. Yeager. Captain Ackerman is very loyal once he likes you.”
“Then I am safe for life,” he said with mock solemnity. “He will never like me.”
Sasha giggled, and even Ymir’s mouth twitched.
The group continued walking, and Hange found the conversation flowed as easily as the spring air around them. Zeke spoke of the regiment, of travel, of philosophy, of nearly everything that might interest her, and with such apparent sincerity that she scarcely noticed how much of the talk centered upon herself.
“I confess,” he said, “I had not expected to meet anyone at the ball whose curiosity rivalled my own. Your questions were so incisive that I began to fear you might discover the truth before I had invented a satisfactory one.”
She laughed softly. “You credit me with too much wit, Mr. Yeager. I am only ever searching for the truth.”
“Then we are alike,” he said. “Though I suspect you search for it with faith, while I do so only for amusement.”
“You make faith sound like a dangerous habit.”
“It is one,” he said, smiling. “One I have never managed to acquire.”
Ymir, who had been listening with increasing skepticism, spoke up. “You sound as though you enjoy being misunderstood.”
“On the contrary,” said Zeke, turning to her with unruffled grace. “I prefer being understood by the right people. It saves time.”
He looked back at Hange as he said it.
Historia, ever eager to mend awkward silences, asked him about the recent regiment ball.
“Ah, yes,” he said. “A splendid event. I was impressed by the turnout, though not by the dancing. The gentlemen seemed intent on proving that military training does not improve rhythm.”
Hange laughed again. “Then you should have joined them, Mr. Yeager, to correct their example.”
“I make it a rule never to expose my own limitations before witnesses,” he said. “But if you had asked me, Miss Zoë, I might have broken it.”
She looked away, flustered by his boldness, though the compliment was delivered with perfect civility.
By the time they reached the lane that led back to Longwalls, Zeke had offered to see them home. Ymir muttered something about lost causes, but neither Hange nor Historia objected.
When they reached the gate, Zeke paused. “I hope I have not overstepped by intruding upon your walk. It was a pleasure beyond expectation.”
“The pleasure was ours,” said Hange quickly. “Will you not come in for refreshment?”
He hesitated just long enough to appear modest before accepting.
Mrs. Zoë, when she saw the visitor approaching, brightened at once. It was as though the very sunlight that glinted on Zeke’s hair had chosen to illuminate her drawing room. Within moments she had arranged the furniture, summoned refreshments, and composed herself into a picture of maternal welcome.
Zeke’s manner was everything she most admired in a gentleman: deferential without timidity, confident without presumption. He spoke to her with the courtesy of one long practiced in pleasing women of every age, yet there was a quiet intelligence in his gaze that made each remark appear spontaneous. When he praised the garden, she accepted it as personal flattery; when he asked after the health of her daughters, she heard the first overture of courtship.
“Such manners,” she declared later, still flushed with satisfaction. “Such conversation, such taste, such perfectly measured admiration. A far better prospect than poor Mr. Braun ever was. I daresay, Hange, he could restore this family’s fortune and our good name besides.”
Hange had hardly the patience to answer. Her mind was still full of his words, the ease of his laugh, the strange mixture of warmth and melancholy that lingered in his tone. She sat at the window long after he departed, turning his sentences over in her mind as if they were riddles meant only for her.
Mr. Zoë, meanwhile, had spent the entire visit in a contemplative silence. He now stood by the fire, looking at the empty doorway. “Better, perhaps,” he said at last, “but not safer.”
His wife frowned. “Nonsense. You never like anyone until they have left the room.”
“That is usually the safest time to begin,” he replied.
Mrs. Zoë waved him off with a sigh, already lost in speculation about invitations, dinners, and the possibility of a second carriage.
Hange heard none of it. Her thoughts were far from Longwalls, wandering instead through every remembered glance and phrase, searching not for warning but for meaning. Where her father saw danger and her mother saw opportunity, Hange saw only intrigue, and it fascinated her completely.
The next morning brought renewed bustle to Longwalls. Mrs. Zoë, restored to good humor by Zeke’s visit and fortified by a fresh sense of possibility, declared that the family was “on the brink of excellent prospects” and must not allow such momentum to falter.
“First Mr. Braun, now Mr. Yeager,” she said over breakfast, her spirits rising with each syllable. “Two gentlemen of such standing and distinction within a single week! It is as though Providence has remembered us after years of neglect.”
Ymir poured herself tea. “You mean our luck has run out for someone else.”
“I mean our good fortune is overdue,” Mrs. Zoë replied, undeterred. “If only my daughters would remember their duty.”
Sasha grinned. “You mean their duty to marry the next man who compliments their embroidery?”
“Do not be vulgar, my dear. Their duty to marry well,” Mrs. Zoë said, as if the distinction were profound.
Armin, who had joined them that morning, smiled faintly. “If I may offer an observation, Mrs. Zoë, it seems your daughters are quite capable of deciding what ‘well’ means. Some might define it as affection, others as security.”
Mrs. Zoë clasped her hands with exaggerated patience. “Mr. Pixis, your philosophical nature does you credit, but affection cannot pay the butcher. I prefer my sons-in-law to be solvent rather than sentimental.”
“That explains so much,” Ymir murmured.
“Affection is overrated,” Mrs. Zoë continued. “Mr. Braun, at least, has proven himself steady. His attentions to Miss Pixis are most proper. Such self-command after disappointment shows true character.”
Sasha looked up. “You mean after Hange refused him?”
Mrs. Zoë pursed her lips. “We are not revisiting past embarrassments. I refer to his renewed civility and his excellent taste in conversation.”
“I am told his sermons are equally thrilling,” said Ymir.
“That will do,” Mrs. Zoë warned. “Pieck, my dear, you must not allow your natural modesty to prevent you from accepting his regard. I would not be surprised if Mr. Braun were already forming the most serious intentions.”
Pieck, who had been quietly buttering her toast, looked up with serene indifference. “It is possible,” she said. “He seems to enjoy forming them.”
Armin hid a laugh behind his cup. “You have a generous spirit, sister. Few people find pleasure in being admired so persistently.”
“It is a useful exercise,” Pieck replied. “One learns patience while appearing agreeable.”
“Some would call that diplomacy,” said Armin.
“Others would call it survival,” Ymir added dryly.
Mrs. Zoë ignored them both. “I should be delighted if diplomacy or survival produced a wedding. A parsonage in Wall Rose would suit you perfectly, Pieck. I daresay your quiet nature will be a blessing to his congregation.”
“Quiet, yes,” Pieck said thoughtfully. “Though not always devout.”
Hange stifled a laugh. “You will convert him within a month.”
Pieck’s lips curved. “That would be an unfortunate start to married life.”
“Married life?” repeated Mrs. Zoë eagerly. “So you do not reject the idea outright?”
“I never reject practicality,” said Pieck, returning to her tea. “It keeps one from unnecessary suffering.”
Armin leaned forward slightly. “Still, you deserve more than mere practicality, Miss Pixis. A person of your wit should have someone capable of appreciating it.”
Mrs. Zoë seized upon this. “You see, even Mr. Pixis agrees she must marry a man who appreciates her! Mr. Braun is just such a man.”
Armin blinked. “I meant appreciation in a broader sense, Mrs. Zoë, not specifically clerical.”
“Of course, of course,” she said, waving him off. “You are too modest to say you agree entirely.”
Ymir muttered, “He is too polite to say he doesn’t.”
Before Mrs. Zoë could reply, a servant appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath. “Mr. Braun has called, ma’am.”
Mrs. Zoë beamed. “How punctual. A man who values time will surely value marriage.”
Reiner entered, bowing with solemn grace. His expression suggested that he considered every breath of conversation to be of moral significance.
“Mrs. Zoë, Miss Zoë, Miss Pixis,” he greeted them all. “I trust the morning finds you well.”
“Well enough,” said Ymir. “And you?”
“I am in excellent health, thank you,” he said, taking the only empty seat beside Pieck. “The air here is restorative, though I confess the company has much to do with that.”
Pieck inclined her head with composure. “It is a kind sentiment, Mr. Braun.”
“Not kindness, Miss Pixis, but truth,” he said earnestly. “Your conversation is a balm to the soul. I have seldom encountered a lady of such serenity and good sense.”
Hange caught Petra’s eye and suppressed a grin, the faintest flicker of shared amusement passing between them.
Armin intervened smoothly. “That is high praise, Mr. Braun. Though serenity often conceals a very active mind.”
Reiner nodded gravely. “Indeed, but Miss Pixis is proof that wisdom need not disturb harmony.”
“Then I hope my thoughts remain asleep,” Pieck replied.
Reiner chuckled, not entirely certain whether she was jesting. “A rare gift, to think wisely and speak modestly. It is a quality most pleasing to both man and Heaven.”
Armin’s eyes flickered toward Hange, who was doing her best not to laugh. “I am sure Heaven is greatly obliged to her,” he said lightly.
When at last Reiner departed, Mrs. Zoë was nearly radiant. “There, you see? Such civility, such mutual understanding. If ever there were a match arranged by Providence, this is it.”
“Providence seems easily amused,” Ymir said.
Armin set down his cup with a thoughtful frown. “He does seem very earnest. Yet I wonder if earnestness alone makes a man happy.”
“Of course it does,” said Mrs. Zoë. “What else is there?”
“Affection,” Armin said gently. “And the ability to see one’s partner clearly, rather than as a reflection of one’s own virtue.”
Mrs. Zoë blinked, uncertain whether he was complimenting or contradicting her.
Pieck rose with quiet elegance. “Do not worry, Mrs. Zoë. I have every intention of helping Mr. Braun see clearly. Whether he enjoys the view is another matter.”
Hange laughed softly, and even Armin smiled.
Mr. Zoë appeared in the doorway, having overheard the last line. “If the man has any sense,” he said, “he will run while he still can.”
“Sense,” said Mrs. Zoë, “is the last thing I expect from any man.”
“Then you will never be disappointed,” her husband replied, retreating back into the hall.
In the quiet of the upstairs chamber, Petra sat on the edge of her bed, the letter open beside her.
“They have all gone,” she said in disbelief. “All of them. Hitch says Commander Smith, Captain Ackerman, everyone connected with Rosethorn, have departed for Marley and will not return for at least six months. Perhaps never.”
Hange took the letter and read it carefully, her brow furrowing. The phrasing was elegant, but the sentiment behind it was unmistakably cruel.
My dearest Petra,
How strange it must feel to be so distant from Rosethorn now. I am certain your absence will be deeply felt, though of course one cannot expect such attachments to survive long distances. Commander Smith seems perfectly himself. He speaks often of his duties, rarely of anything sentimental.
We are all in excellent spirits here in Marley. The Commander has already become quite the favorite among the officers and their families. His calmness and integrity inspire universal admiration. Dear Miss Ackerman, too, is much in his company. Her good sense and elegance continue to delight every heart. I am sure you will rejoice to hear that her friendship with the Commander grows daily. Indeed, her refinement and quiet dignity will, I am convinced, recommend her to him as his future wife.
The household here has no plans to return to Rosethorn for at least six months, if ever. The Commander’s work in Marley is expected to extend far beyond the season, and none of us can imagine exchanging the energy of this place for the quiet of the countryside again.
You would be charmed by our company here. The circles we move in are so lively, and one quickly learns who is best suited to life among the distinguished. It is an atmosphere that encourages improvement in all who can rise to it.
As for myself, I am finding Marley quite agreeable. The society is brisk and full of conversation, and there is every prospect of advancement for those with the courage to seize opportunity. I confess I look forward with particular pleasure to renewing acquaintance with Miss Ackerman’s brother, whose return is expected soon. I always did enjoy speaking with him; his manners are so strikingly composed.
Pray give my compliments to your family, and accept my warmest wishes for your continued peace and contentment in the country.
Your ever affectionate friend,
Hitch Smith
Hange set the letter down with care. “Well,” she said at last, “that was a remarkable amount of venom to fit on one page.”
Petra shook her head. “You think it cruel, but perhaps she only means to inform me. Hitch can be thoughtless, not malicious.”
“My dear Petra,” Hange said gently, “Hitch is never thoughtless. Every word she writes serves a purpose. She wants you to believe that Commander Smith has forgotten you.”
Petra’s eyes filled with tears. “Then perhaps he has.”
Hange crouched beside her, her voice firm but kind. “You must not believe that. Hitch dislikes your connection to us, and she has reason to protect her family’s standing. If she can separate you from Commander Smith, she not only elevates herself, but she also removes what she sees as an embarrassment. And there is another motive, I think.”
Petra looked up, startled. “Another?”
“Yes. Hitch wants her brother to have better prospects, and she believes that aligning him with Mikasa Ackerman will improve her own chance of catching Captain Ackerman. She sees marriage as a ladder, not a partnership.”
Petra blinked, the pieces fitting together. “You mean she hopes Levi Ackerman will look kindly upon her?”
Hange’s smile was faint but knowing. “She hopes many things. But I do not think she understands Levi as well as she believes. And she certainly does not understand Erwin.”
Petra twisted her handkerchief in her lap. “Still, she said he never speaks of me.”
“Of course he does not,” Hange said lightly. “Erwin speaks of very little. You know his way. The less he says, the more he means.”
That earned a small, broken laugh. “He is not a man to waste words.”
“Exactly. Which is why you must not waste tears on a letter written by a woman who measures her worth by the number of names she can drop into her correspondence.”
Petra wiped her eyes, her composure slowly returning. “You are certain she only wishes to wound me?”
“Quite certain,” Hange said. “Hitch would not have written if you did not matter. She wanted a reaction. Do not give her the satisfaction.”
For a moment, Petra said nothing. Then she folded the letter neatly and placed it into the drawer of her writing desk. “You always see things so clearly,” she said. “I envy that.”
Hange smiled faintly. “I only read what people try to hide between the lines.”
Petra glanced toward the window, her voice quiet but steady. “Then I shall write to him. Not to plead or to demand, but simply to remind him that I still think of him.”
“That,” said Hange, rising, “is exactly what he would admire most.”