Vanity, valor, veracity

Chapter 8

It was late but fortunately he saw a light in the downstairs window and could see Millie moving around the kitchen. He tapped quietly on the glass, making the maid startle and nearly drop the jug of milk she was carrying. She looked up to see Erwin and her face gentled.

"Commander?" she asked questioningly as she opened the window sash.

"I'm sorry-I know I shouldn't be here and I'm so sorry to frighten you... but I..."

Millie took in the haunted look in the man's eyes. How his shoulders sagged, how disheveled the usually impeccable and handsome soldier looked, his hair mussed, his uniform rumpled and stained. How his entire body radiated exhaustion and defeat.

"I just-really need to see her..." he finally said.

"Of course," said the kindly servant. "Come to the back door."

The maid silently led Erwin up the back stairs. "H-how has she been? Is she, um, well?" he stuttered, so tired and deflated he could barely form a sentence, his voice faltering.

"She's healed fairly well," said Millie. "I know she's told you not to come, but I'm sure she'll be happy to see you. Losing the baby was hard on her-even if, well... She's too tender-hearted... and she's been very distressed by your, er, orders... She's usually quite good at staying sunny despite her circumstances, but these past months..."

These past months. It had been two months since that day in the hospital, when his vision went red with fury as he saw her broken body in that bed. But Shelton's demands that the mission beyond the walls happen as soon as possible meant Erwin had no time to visit Morgana. Hange had kept tabs on her condition and had informed him when she finally returned home from the hospital about a month ago.

During that time he had furiously worked with Levi and Mike and Hange to develop some sort of plan that would minimize casualties from their dreadful task. Success was never really an option and they all knew it. When the gates finally opened two days ago and he led the long line of refugees out into titan country, he had tried to numb himself to the truth of the situation.

His plan had been to arrange his soldiers on horseback around clusters of refugees, who were armed with whatever they could acquire as weapons-muskets, bayonets, swords, makeshift spears. The idea was for the refugees to slow a titan at ground level while the scouts took it out using their ODM gear. It had sounded somewhat reasonable to the civilians-many of whom had never seen a titan. For those who had, though, they knew it was merely a tactic to keep them from simply cutting and running. Slow-moving as they had observed the titans to be, those who had encountered them knew that ultimately there was no real escape.

Erwin knew this as well-and he, Levi, Mike, and Hange had to make the wrenching decision of when enough would be enough. In other words, at what point would the decimation of their forces be deemed sufficient and they could sound the retreat. It had been a difficult debate.

For Erwin, who desperately wanted to minimize losses, he proposed a time limit of half a day. He could see no reason to prolong the agony out in the field. He had to think of his soldiers, who, he argued, could only take so much. Their morale had to be guarded so they could live to fight another day. While Erwin was a commander to his core who had ruthlessly sacrificed the lives of his soldiers over the years in the pursuit of the survey corps' goals, the wholesale killing of innocent civilians went against every fiber of his being, violated everything he stood for in his battle on behalf of humanity. He could not ask his soldiers to endure more than he could endure himself.

But Levi had had a clearer-eyed understanding. His was a harsher view of reality due to his time spent in the underground-where life had little value-and he knew that nothing less than near complete attrition would be acceptable to Shelton and the powers that be. Only that would ensure the comfortable survival of the rest of the population and, more importantly, the diffusing of any brewing rebellion. And he had no desire to repeat this nightmare at a later date. Better to take it all in one go, he reasoned, and allow the refugees left behind to absorb the injustice and horror and move on.

Erwin eventually had to agree with his strongest soldier. As much as it nauseated him-he knew it was the way it had to happen. But that didn't make it any easier to accept beyond the walls. More than once he had placed himself in front of a cowering group of refugees, taking out as many titans as his soldiers, highly unusual these days given his role as commander. Finally, Hange and Mike had to pull him back, reminding him of Zackly's command to not sacrifice himself to the futility of the mission. He ultimately agreed but they couldn't help but notice the increasingly haunted look that came into his eyes as he carried on.

When he had finally sounded the retreat, it was noon of the second day. Returning to Wall Rose was a considerably less taxing effort given the reduction in their numbers. Just as Levi predicted, they returned with fewer than 20 percent of the force. Stone-faced, Erwin had spent the remaining part of the day overseeing the care of wounded and dead, the return of survivors to refugee settlements, and quietly heartening his traumatized soldiers with his own calm and determined demeanor.

But then he needed to escape. And with a quiet word to Hange, he had slipped away on his battle-weary horse, not bothering to clean up or change. He was desperate for some sort of comfort, some sort of peace-and the only place he could think of finding it was with her. All he could think about was her soothing voice, her sweet and kind face.

Hange understood and promised to make his excuses to the others. They could all go fuck themselves, she told herself, if they couldn't comprehend why their commander had to seek out some sort of respite. He wasn't a machine, after all.

Erwin and Millie arrived at the door to Morgana's bedchamber. "Can you go in and wake her?" he asked, uncertainly. "I want her to-have the option of refusing me..." he mumbled, eyes downcast. His nerves were shot and he wasn't sure of anything after the past two nightmarish days.

The maid went in, shutting the door softly behind her. A few moments later she emerged and nodded to him. He stepped into the dim room that was lit by only one candle. She was sitting up on the edge of the bed. There was a second when they only looked at each other-and then she opened her arms. He stumbled blindly towards her, the tears starting to well as he fell on his knees and buried his face in her lap, his arms coming around her waist. She stroked his hair that was matted with sweat and dirt and blood, leaning over to place her lips to the back of his head.

For a long time neither said anything, she just made comforting sounds as he sobbed quietly into her lap. It pained her heart to see her proud soldier so broken, so beaten.

"It was a slaughter," he whispered hoarsely at last. "I can't even describe it ..."

"You don't have to if you don't want to ..." she soothed him, her fingers massaging his neck along his hairline. "But I'm here for you..."

When he quieted, she lifted him up by his hand and she led him toward her bathroom. She sat him down after starting the water in the tub and pulled off his boots and then his soiled uniform-she didn't dare ask what was on it, but she suspected. He sank down in the warm water and allowed her to wash him, pulling the soapy sponge over his tense muscles, finally inducing him to let go of the tension in his body. She gently washed his hair, massaging his scalp, giving him tender kisses on his forehead.

"I'm a monster, Morgana," he whispered to her, his eyes closed, his head leaning against the edge of the tub. "How could I have led those people to their death? I'll never stop seeing their faces. The carnage-the screams, the blood..."

"You are not a monster, Erwin," she said, gently stroking his damp hair. "You had no choice..."

She prompted him to stand and she dried him with a thick towel and handed him some sleep trousers that belonged to the coachman that Millie brought up when she collected his uniform to clean. Pushing down the covers in her bed, she helped him under and then joined him from the other side, pulling him into her arms and resting his head on her chest. After a pause, she then she did something that she'd never done for anyone other than her daughter. She sang to him. A low, sweet lullaby that she had made up for Mila when she was just a baby. Undulating and mellow, it had worked wonders in lulling the infant to sleep-and it did the same for the worn-out commander, who fell into a deep, restorative slumber.