So, this is my first fanfic. Baby's first steps.

I was inspired by a prompt on the SnK kink meme about one of the Shiganshina Trio surviving to release the other twos' ashes into the ocean. Someone already did a beautiful one with Mikasa, so I gave Armin a shot.

I'm not a very strong writer, so please feel free to comment and critique so I can improve.

It had been a long journey.

Those days when they would sit by the river and enthuse about the world beyond the walls seemed a lifetime ago. It was hard to reconnect with those memories when they were clouded by so much bloodshed in between. Sometimes it felt like they weren't his memories anymore, but memories of a boy long since carried away by the unrelenting force of carnage and battle.

He fell to his knees, balling his fists in the sand. It was coarse, gritty. The way books described it, he imagined it'd be finer, like sugar – but then again, books can't accurately replace experiences.

Experiences. He had a lot of those now. Too many, perhaps. So many people had come into his life and, just as quickly, winked out of existence. Heroes, martyrs, cowards, idealists. Each had taught him something new, something whose essence could not be summarized in text. He cherished every moment he shared with them, however briefly their lives intertwined before parting ways again, sometimes for good. Each interaction was an influence in shaping who he was today. Where he was today.

Cool, humid air gently brushed hair from his face. He could almost feel her hand gently caress his blond locks out of his eyes; just like she always did when he was sad. She had a way of calming people with just a touch, though her hands could just as easily break bones. Lips lightly parted, he breathed deep the marine air. Small drops of moisture made their way in. Salty, like tears. Maybe they were his. Maybe they were theirs. Liquid welled in his eyes, distorting his view into a swirling tempest of turquoise. It was the color of his eyes. Burning, bright eyes full of determination that would never get to see the splendor set before him, stretched out endlessly past the horizon.

They were all so eager. So eager to see the world beyond. It was the force that drove them, even when all else was in ruins. Each had lost their family but they had made a new one together, held strong by the bonds of friendship and that dream. Every book they read opened their minds and kindled their desire to see the end of each and every single one of them so that they could explore the world they were born into. And, in the end, he supposed that they at least had gotten half of what they wanted. They had seen the last one fall.

In spite of himself, a soft, sad smile spread across his lips. He would be sure that, in some small way, he fulfilled the other half of the dream. Reaching around into his backpack, he fumbled around as his fingers sought out the familiar spine. Two seconds later his hand withdrew a heavy, leather-bound book from the depths of his pack. It was well worn with years of three pairs of hands thumbing through the pages. He was amazed that he had managed to keep it so pristine throughout the war. At least he managed to salvage part of his childhood, though the rest remained lost to the pyre. Pressing his forehead against the cover, he let out a choked sob. Tear continued to fall as he opened the book on his lap. Droplets distorted the ink of finely written script as they pattered against the paper.

He hated crying. It was something that happened far too often, at the slightest provocation. It gave him a reputation of a crybaby when he was young. Made him a target of bullies. Those two had always come to save him, of course, and he had cried when they offered their hands to help him up. Cried out of frustration. He was useless - a burden - something to be coddled and pitied. He had doubted himself; doubted he had what it took to be a soldier - to be their equals. But they never did; not even the briefest flash of uncertainty. It had taken him years to understand what had been in front of him the whole time. To them, he was strong in ways they could never be.

Trembling hands pulled out the last items in his pack – two heavy porcelain urns. He knew the names engraved on them. Everyone did now. Every man, woman, and child would speak of their achievements in awed tones for generations to come. Two of the bravest soldiers mankind had ever seen. They all wanted a grand, solemn occasion for them, but he had requested otherwise. This was something he had to do himself – something more intimate and meaningful. It is what they would have wanted. It's what he would have wanted too, had their roles been reversed.

He owed this to them in more ways they could have ever imagined. They believed in him; trusted their lives in his just as he trusted his with theirs. It was their unconditional love and support that saw him through the darkest of times, even when their burning fires had been extinguished. He was who he was because of them. He had become a hero; a respected strategist renowned for his courage and compassion. He was somebody he could be proud of. He only hoped that they would be just as proud.

He kissed each in turn as he settled them into the sand on either side of him – her on the left and him on the right. It was their usual positions when he read to them. Reverently, he opened the lids and tilted the mouths towards the ocean, contents now exposed to the briny air.

A soft breeze ruffled the pages of the book, pages turning through pictures and chapters faster than the eye could follow. It didn't matter. He had memorized its contents years ago, back in another lifetime. He steadied his shaking breath and began to recount the words within: tales of flaming water and frozen earth in lands far, far beyond the confines of towering walls.

The wind picked up, spiriting away his words with what remained of his friends – his family – as they were carried off to sea.

I admit I teared up a little when writing this, but I really wanted my first fanfic to be something a little more serious as I am prone to writing humor and crack. If all goes well, I have a few other ideas I'd like to take a stab at. (Stargazing and drinking drabbles and maybe some yumikuri if I can work up the courage to do romance.)

Feel free to PM me with prompts. I can't say I'd be any good at them, but the practice will do me good.