Witch's Vein and Blood Stains (ereri)

4. Knightmare

Levi woke in a cold sweat, the after images of limbs thrashing against churning black water burned into his memory and a haunting, gurgling scream echoing shrill in his ears. He blinked, his room coming into focus as the nightmare faded and slithered back to hide amongst his memories until next time.

"Levi?"

He lay in his bed, staring at the yawning rafters in the ceiling as his mind reeled and recalibrated. The room was a deep, dark purple; it was a long time till dawn. His hair was plastered against his sweat soaked forehead.

No, that was water.

Eren was here.

Levi's gaze focused unsteadily on the boy leaned half over him, a damp cloth hovering uncertainly in his hand. It smelled of rosemary, lavender, and other, unfamiliar herbs. Levi suddenly realised what had happened, and the shame washed over him.

"Did I wake you?" His voice was hoarse from screaming.

A nod. His eyes were clear and watchful, free of judgement.

He should have anticipated that, when Eren chose the small room adjoining Levi's as his own. There was a reason he slept so far from the others, high up in his solitary tower. That reason just happened to elude him in the moment he saw the way Eren's face had lit up at the tiny room overlooking the moors and begged to claim it as his own. It was an obsolete design; a manservant's room, built with a small door leading into Levi's for ease of access, though the castle hadn't housed a Lord or his servants in years. Of course he'd hear his screams with just a flimsy wooden door between them.

"I'm sorry."

Eren's brows creased at the apology, but Levi was just relieved he couldn't see pity on his face. It was why he'd moved quarters in the first place; seeing the sympathetic looks on his squads faces every morning grated on him until he couldn't take it anymore.

"This is what I am here for." He put aside the wash cloth and unfolded a handkerchief that had laid on his lap. Levi watched him methodically sort through batches of dried herbs and slip them into a small cotton draw-string pouch. The fragrance was stronger now, but soothing. "To help you sleep," Eren explained. He pulled the strings to seal the pouch and rolled it between his palms to crush the contents. He leaned over Levi, and the older man shifted to allow him to tuck it beneath his pillow. He smelled of sweet resin, rainstorms, and pine. He smelled like the woods.

He picked up the wash cloth again and, silencing Levi's protests with a patronizing shush, resumed dabbing. The cloth was cool and soothing against his skin, and Eren's attentions not unwelcome.

"Ilse."

The name made Levi stiffen. He'd spoken in his sleep, too.

"You don't have to talk about it," Eren added, sensing his unease. The knight forced himself to relax. He watched Eren's face carefully, but the witch looked absorbed in his work. He watched the single braid swing like a pendulum in the space between them, brushing the brown of Eren's clavicle. Did he sleep with it in too? He focused on it, and felt his heartbeat slow.

"She was our witch."

Was.

Levi closed his eyes, then, when all it did was make the memories of his nightmare reappear on the backs of his eyelids, forced them open again with a sigh.

"She died," Eren surmised, his voice level and light. It wasn't probing or laced with morbid curiosity; just patiently edged him on to speak.

"She was killed in a mission. Drowned."

Levi reached up to still Eren's hand, and Eren retracted it, taking the hint. He put the cloth away and pulled his knees up to his chin, resting his feet on the edge of the mattress. He waited. Outlined in moonlight, his edges seemed to glow. Levi turned his head and looked at the door on the opposite wall that led to Eren's room.

"How often do you dream about it?"

"Often." Often enough to never forget a single detail from that night. His dreams were always so vivid; a clear, perfect replay of those final moments. He could still feel the ghost of her nails clawing down his wrists.

"You blame yourself." Levi's eyebrows knitted. He hated that line: 'you can't blame yourself.' It was usually what followed.

"I was in charge. I was responsible. I was – it was..." Of course he blamed himself.

"You should remember her in life, not her death."

"Easier said than done." Levi managed a dry, humourless laugh. It was horrible. The memory was horrible. He wished to be free of the nightmares, but some part of him feared that he would forget that night. How could he move on when Ilse couldn't?

The silence stretched long and weary. Eren's presence was not uncomfortable; it wasn't taut with awkwardness, the lapse in voices chased with a desperation for something else to say.

"You need rest."

"So do you." Levi suddenly remembered with guilt that Eren's companionship meant the boy was missing his own sleep. It was his first night at the base; he'd need to be well-rested for his first day. "You can leave now, thank you. I'm fine. This happens often." He'd make himself a pot of tea and look over tomorrow's reports until dawn broke. That was the usual routine.

"Close your eyes."

"Eren—"

"Shh!" It was sharp and firm and Levi relented, feeling like a chastised child. He closed his eyes begrudgingly.

"Grey and tender is the rain

Over hills and wildflowers

Wash away the old day's stain

Wile away the wilting hours"

"Soft and gentle is the rain

Through gaping gullies, bumbling

Caressing leaves and window panes

A sweet song muted and mumbling"

His voice was hardly above a whisper; soft enough to soothe but loud enough to carry a tune.

Levi felt the frown he didn't realise he was wearing smooth out. He felt the mattress shift as Eren gently rocked on the spot. The repetitive motion was soothing; like being rocked to sleep.

"Slow and silent is the rain

Whispering sheets, a breathless swoon

On tumbling brooks and the violet spray

Of night blossoms twilight bloom"

He smelled lavender and rosemary, underpinned by Eren's own, wild fragrance. He felt Eren's warmth beside him, and the movement of his body close enough to touch. He heard his voice, soft and rich and certain, like wind through an ancient oak.

He saw no more dreams that night.