Vanity, valor, veracity

Chapter 16

The pain was dull now. Dull and steady. He didn't have much memory after reaching the walls—the pain was such at that point that he had slipped into a fitful stupor, his mind taken over and tormented by feverish thoughts. He only had vague snippets of consciousness but one thing was clear to him—he was alone. Somehow he was alone with no one to care for him. He had avoided love all these years and this was the inevitable outcome. In his delirium he knew that the past few years had to have been a dream. That she was a dream. Why wouldn't she be there then with him? When he was suffering? When he needed her? He knew her—she'd have been at his side every minute if she was at all like he remembered her—like he had imagined her.

Of course, leave it to him to conjure the perfect love in his tortured mind—loyal, caring, amenable to his stubborn commander myopia, stoic about his missions outside the wall, beautiful—curvy and small—just like he liked his women. And, of course, an angel in the bedroom. She was everything he wanted. So she couldn't be real. Best of all, she couldn't have children. He'd never have to worry about leaving a fatherless child behind.

Suddenly his eyes snapped open to an empty room. He was in bed, one arm was missing, and he was, indeed, alone. He had no idea how long he had been there. It was bright daylight outside the window and he could hear vague noises of training. He was in HQ.

Yes, he didn't know how long he had been unconscious. But one thing he knew for sure now that he was awake: she was no dream. Morgana was real. And she wasn't there.

He laid there for hours it seemed, staring at the ceiling, feverishly contemplating his current state. He had sustained a grievous injury. The pain was relentless. But the longer he lay there and a distressed reality started to set in, the more he recognized it was more than the pain that was disturbing him. It was dawning on him that his life was now unalterably changed. He now had to figure out how to live without his right arm. As the minutes ticked on, he agonized. Would he have to relearn everything with his left arm? Would he still be able to fight? Could he still command? He was awash with apprehension.

He finally struggled to push himself up. Why wasn't she there to soothe his anxiety, to reassure him, to help him? He frowned as he looked around at the room and saw no evidence that she had been there. Surely there'd be flowers or bowls of broth or cups of tea, a shawl—something? Where was she? Was she okay? And what about—oh, god, he thought. What about the baby?

He suddenly felt shame suffuse him at his dreams. In his dream he was glad she couldn't have children. What was wrong with him?

He stared out the window. Did he really regret that Morgana was pregnant? It would certainly seem so with the way he had been behaving lately. The sudden and stunning revelations about the titans were his sole obsession these past few weeks. Even the startling news that she was going to have a baby couldn't divert him from of his fanatical pursuit.

It wasn't that he didn't want children. It just scared him. If anything, the idea of bringing a child into the world pushed him even more. He couldn't allow that child to grow up in this world—he had to eradicate the titans and the power structure that allowed them to endure. Yes, that was why he was single-mindedly pursuing these new developments. Why he had to get to that cellar in Shinganshina. He wanted a better world. His complete and utter disregard for the news he was going to be a father was really a form of selflessness—heroic, when you got down to it.

Right?

She had been patient with him. She had acquiesced to his fierce dedication to these new-found facts and how he couldn't pause to savor this moment, to express joy at the idea of her having his baby. He didn't have time to dote or marvel or pamper or whatever husbands did when they found out their wives were going to have a baby. He had to seize the opportunity now to change the world for his baby. Right?