ATTACK ON TITAN: 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖙 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗 // an erwin smith fanfiction

prologue : as it should have been

"Sofia."

The name whispers over and around my ears as I ascend towards consciousness. Someone has started a fire in the small brick fireplace; its smoke wreathes across the tip of my nose. Beside me, my youngest daughter breathes in a quiet cadence, fast asleep. My hand is buried in her tangle of curly dark hair.

"Sofia."

My name again. I flutter my eyes open at last, filling my lungs with a yawn full of warm, smoky air. Erwin stands above me, and his workworn palm caresses my cheek with all the tenderness of a falling petal.

"Are you awake now, love?"

"Ja." I sit up, careful not to wake my slumbering daughter, and shimmy out from beneath my quilt. "Is it that time already?"

"I've put the water kettle on to boil for tea. It'll be dawn in a few hours, so we should get started."

"Do you want my help hitching the oxen?" I ask him. "I should collect the eggs before we leave so your father can make the children breakfast."

Erwin smiles and backs away from me as I pull on a pair of workboots and slip a work smock on over my head. I hold out my hand for the apron that is slung over the back of the chair behind him, and he hands it to me without having to ask what I'm reaching for.

"Yes, I could use your help with the oxen," he says, watching me tie the old apron around my waist. "I still have to pull the plow out, though, so you can go collect the eggs while I do that."

In the dying moonlight that cascades in through the wavy windowpane, he looks older than his thirty-four years. The silver light paints streaks of grey through his fair hair and deepens the hollows beneath his cheekbones. Nothing can dim the strong light in his blue eyes, though; they glint at me through the grey, early morning shadows, as bright as they were the night we first met. Eyes that have seen far greater things than I have in this life alone. It's almost as if the things they have seen belong not to this world but to another - one more terrible than I can imagine.

I feel the urge to kiss him quickly, before I leave to begin the everyday chores that consume so much of my normal life. These moments always don't seem quite real; the minutes when the day begins in darkness, when nobody in the world is awake except for me and him. 

I step up on tiptoe to brush my lips against his. Yes, married for five years, almost six, and the passion has not faded. Warmth blooms in a deep part of my belly as his hand presses against the small of my back and pushes me flush against him. The warmth reminds me that I'm still alive, and a sharp pain catches me over my right temple.

"Are you alright?" Erwin asks in concern as I pull away from his embrace.

I pass my cold fingers over my forehead. "My head just hurt again," I mutter. "But it's fine now."

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes. Don't worry so much," I say.  I smile at him and run my fingers through his fine hair. "It was only for a moment."

He leans down and kisses me again, his lips lingering over mine for longer this time. "I should get that plow out," he sighs at last.

"The eggs," I remind myself. 

We pull apart, and I reach for the cane basket sitting on one of the kitchen chairs. Erwin holds the door open for me, and we step out into the crisp morning air. Immediately, I wish I had grabbed my cardigan, but I figure I can handle the chilly air. Haven't I been a farmer's wife for five years now? It takes more than an early spring breeze to kill me. 

I stoop to enter the henhouse, and a cacophony of clucking greets me as I duck inside. Our ten chickens stare at me from their wall of nests, beady black eyes shining in the faint moonlight. The rooster crows half-heartedly from his little hut outside of the henhouse, jealous that I can go inside and he cannot.