Yesterday's Enemy [AoT]

MEMOIRS OF HAVAS [10]

(SET THREE YEARS BEFORE HAVAS IS BREACHED)

'Heinous it is to shatter godly faith.'

-An extract from traditional Havasian scriptures.

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MEMOIRS OF HAVAS

10

Wall Maria, North Region, Havas, Central Grimold, Ingreed

Martyr.

Lorelai had never put much thought to the word before, but that was what had become of her friend. A martyr. A symbol. A sacrifice to the wrath of the people. Though they cursed Agneta's name, labelling her a tyrant overthrown, Lorelai knew the truth. Her friend had died in service of Havas, given her blood to quell the storm.

And they called her a tyrant.

In the grief-stricken months following that fateful rally, Lorelai was forced into her friend's shoes. Commander of the Military Police. The rightful leader. A Bervik returned to power. The notion was ludicrous. Lorelai wanted to scream as they photographed her smiling in Agneta's uniform. She wanted to plaster the truth over every newspaper. She wanted to drown her friend's bare grave in the flowers she deserved and was so wrongly denied.

But she couldn't.

Agneta's sacrifice, the blood spilt, the people's frail contentment in this 'justice' were all that was holding the country together. And so, she stayed quiet and obedient. She smiled. She nodded. She spoke only to agree with the person nearest to her. Lorelai became the floodgates holding back civil war— silent, reserved to her duty, trapped.

Years past.

It eased... as the years dragged on. It was never comfortable. Never happy. But soon, Lorelai grew accustomed to her reluctant duty; she had dug this grave for herself after all. She smiled. She nodded. She made it through speeches without trying to hang herself in the storage closet moments prior.

She did what they wanted.

Warren was there all the while. He waited in the wings of each stage, ready to swoop in and soothe the crowd with well-timed quips and easy charisma while Lorelai finished throwing up. Then, she'd appear, bright-faced, dead-eyed, and say her lines. Together, they managed it. The flash of the camera. The scream of the headlines. The constant demands. With him, it all seemed just a little less daunting.

Lorelai shouldn't have relied on him; this was her burden. But, as her deadly secret once again died in Agneta, she found herself more alone than ever. He was a dim hope in that blackness; drawn, as if a moth to a light, she couldn't help but reach for him.

When Warren would help her home at night after an evening of forced smiles and grand, untrue speeches, Lorelai let herself have this. This one thing. One thing for herself. If she must live in blackness, she would clutch her candlelight close. She let him soothe the screaming crowds and then soothe herself, deep at night when she echoed their frenzy. He'd kiss away the death on her lips. She'd forget her farce in his arms. A lifeline, a saviour, all in one lover.

And Warren had loved her all his life.

From the vast white valleys of O'Haen to the bustle of Ingreed, he had loved Lorelai. In schoolhouses, ice caves, and now in palaces. He had always loved her. But after she let him in, after he had seen her sleepy eyes in the morning and run his fingers through that silky white hair... it felt like an avalanche. The kind that ravaged his homeland. Devastating. All-powerful. Being with Lorelai was somehow like drowning and also the first breath of air after being buried in snow. He couldn't breathe without her.