CHAPTER 1

OCTOBER 19, 1905

In the kitchen, a young woman with blond hair cut boyishly short was readying a tea tray when she heard knocking at the door.

"Ms Vanier! Can you answer that for me?"

"Already am, Riza," was the older woman's reply.

Riza set the kettle to boil on the stove and smoothed her rust coloured skirt before hurrying out to see who was visiting in this dreadful weather.

When she reached the main foyer, she found the middle-aged housekeeper blushing like a schoolgirl. Standing in the doorframe was a dark haired man wearing the soldier's royal blue uniform under a soaking wet overcoat.

He actually came, she thought, but why did he have to wear the uniform?

"Father's not going to be pleased, Mr Mustang."

"Miss Riza," he said with a shallow yet theatrical bow. "How many times have I told you to call me 'Roy'?"

"Many times, Mr Mustang. I take it you've introduced yourself to Ms Vanier?" she asked as she waved him into the warm living room.

"Yes."

"Then it's past time you get out of that wet coat. What were you thinking riding in this horrid weather?"

"I thought Jun and I would arrive before the rain," he said as he slipped off the garment in question and draped it over the back of a chair. "By the way, I took the liberty of settling her in the stall across from Wulf's."

Jun, short for Junker, was the mare his aunt had gifted him on his eighteenth birthday.

"Anyway," he continued, "we had only another half a kilometre to go when the skies opened up and decided to pour buckets down on us." He plucked at his damp uniform. "The quartermaster promised me that the coat would be waterproof, too."

"Clearly it isn't," Riza commented and excused herself before dashing back into the kitchen to pour the water from the whistling kettle into the teapot. She added another cup to the tray and brought it out with her.

When she returned, Riza saw that Sara had dealt with the coat-that-was-supposed-to-be-waterproof and was now hunting up a towel for the man. She shifted her gaze to Roy who was standing by one of the braziers. He had taken off his uniform jacket as well and had rolled up the sleeves of his button-up shirt. The jacket was drying in front of another brazier and she couldn't help but note that his shoulders were broader than they were two years ago and gone were the remnants of baby fat. As she walked past him she subtly compared their height and confirmed that, in addition to all the other changes, he was now half a head taller than her.

"I think you should stop growing now," she said as he sat down to dry his hair. When he emerged from the vigorous toweling, she handed him a cup of tea. "I'm going to get a crick in my neck if you get any taller."

"I'm not that tall."

"Well, you—"

Riza heard a series of coughs coming from her father's study and quickly left with the tea tray, leaving Roy in the care of the housekeeper.

"I take it Master Hawkeye's health hasn't improved?" asked Roy.

Sara was silent for a moment, then she glanced up the stairs and shrugged as if she had just finished an internal debate.

"For the past week," she told him, "he's developed this cough that, no matter what we did, it wouldn't go away."

As if to prove her point, the coughing upstairs stopped for a moment, then resumed. And, if it was even possible, worse than before.

"This morning when his coughing fits started, they didn't stop for a good five minutes."

She paused when the the Hawkeyes' muffled voices drifted down the stairs and Roy caught "sick" and "doctor". Shaking her head, she continued. "We tried to convince him to summon the doctor, but he refused. You know how hard-headed the two of them can be. Finally, Riza told him that if he continued coughing like this, she would have Doctor Ganz come over regardless of what he thought."

Riza descended the stairs and Sara took the tray from her hands.

"Should I send a message to the doctor and ask him to come over?" the older woman asked asked.

Cheeks still flushed, Riza gave a jerky nod. "Yes. That would be good. Before Father thinks to roast the pigeons would be best."

Their housekeeper gave her a pat on the arm and went to contact the doctor.

"Father wants to see you."

He was surprised and it must have shown on his face because what she said next sounded like an accusation.

"You did come here to see him, didn't you?"

He set down his tea and stood in front of her. Now that he's had a good look at her, she look much more tired than the last time he had seen her three years ago.

"That wasn't the only reason," he answered. Since she hadn't backed away, he lifted his hand to tuck a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. "You know that."

He watched as the anger slid off her face only to be replaced by surprise and embarrassment when she understood what his cryptic answer meant. Not too hard considering that during his time here the only other person other was her.

Knowing he had made her uncomfortable, he stepped back and pulled on his jacket which was now pleasantly warm. As he turned toward the stairs, Riza's hand rested on his forearm, effectively halting him.

"Try to convince him to rest." Her voice was calmer now, but he could still hear the worry in it. "He's been in there all day."

"I don't know if he'll listen to me any better than he did you," he warned. "But I'll try."

Riza nodded and Roy made his way up the stairs to Master Berthold Hawkeye's study on the second floor, the floorboards beneath his feet silent. He thought of everything that had happened since returning to the Hawkeye's after graduating from the Academy. He had been pleased to know that he was now half a head taller than Riza. She had nothing to worry about; he'd stopped growing last year.

When he had first arrived at the Hawkeyes'—had it really been nine years?—he was a bit shorter than Riza. By the time he had left to join the army, he was about a finger's width taller than her. Now, he could see over Riza's head and that was tall enough for him.

The door was open when Roy reached it and he entered the room. Light from the setting sun slipped between the gaps of the heavy curtains. The light from the oil lamps were the main source of light for the room.

The pile of books that laid haphazardly in the corner, out of the way but still within easy reach, was a familiar sight even if the books themselves weren't the same. Other than that, the rest of the room was tidy – scrolls neatly rolled up and stacked on a set of shelves, the surfaces free of dust. Riza's doing, Roy thought. Unless his teacher changed his preferences in the two years he had been gone, the only person allowed to touch his notes and research materials was his daughter. Even Roy was forbidden from touching things in this room.

Master Hawkeye had set his pen down when Roy walked in and spoke only when Roy stopped in front of his desk.

"So, you've become a soldier after all, Roy."

"Yes, Master." If he hadn't heard him coughing earlier, he would have thought that his teacher was perfectly fine. "Though I eventually plan to take the State Alchemists' exam and work as an alchemist for my country."

"As I thought," Berthold murmured, "it's still too early for you to have flame alchemy."

"Still?" Roy couldn't control the sudden outcry. Roy recomposed himself and continued. "Master, you've already taught me the basics of alchemy. All that's left is flame alchemy."

"Of course. But even the fundamental concepts have been wasted on someone who would degrade himself to become a dog of the military."

"'Alchemy is for the people.' You taught me this. By being useful to the military I can be useful to the people. The threats from neighbouring countries – the military needs to be strong and alchemy is—"

"Don't give me that rhetoric."

"Master, as knowledgeable as you are, it would be easy for you to become a State Alchemist. Someone of your caliber shouldn't live like this," Roy gestured at the old walls and equally old windows. "If you become a State Alchemist and accept the issued research funds, your research would—"

"That won't be necessary."

He set down his pen and leaned back on his chair, his eyes staring far into the distance.

"My research has been perfected a long time ago. Very powerful, it is."

His teacher closed his eyes as if to relive the moment he knew that all his years of research had finally borne fruit. That he had created something that would—could—never be forgotten.

"Depending on how it is used," he continued, his eyes still closed, "it could bring death and destruction. It was perfect," Berthold repeated, "and before long, I stopped seeking. Alchemists, Roy, are creatures who live as long as they continue to seek the truth. The moment he stops seeking is the moment he dies."

Master Hawkeye opened his eyes and they bore into Roy's.

"That is why I'm a man who died a long time ago."

"Don't say such things. If you would use that power—"

"Power?"

Master Hawkeye muffled a cough and when he spoke again, his voice was raspy and thin. "So it's power you want, Roy?"

And then coughed up blood.

"Master Hawkeye!"

Roy rushed to his teacher's side and for the first time since the day his parents died, felt utterly useless.

"Riza! Is that doctor here yet?" he shouted.

"I don't need a doctor," Master Hawkeye got out before another coughing fit shook his entire frame.

"Master, this," he indicated the blood Berthold had coughed up, "calls for a doctor, don't you think?" but his master was too busy coughing to reply. "Riza!?"

Roy got his left shoulder under Master Hawkeye's arm and half carried, half dragged the older man out into the hall.

Roy heard footsteps and saw Riza and a man Roy believed to be the doctor close behind her.

"Father!"

She took her father's right side and, between the two of them, carried her semi-conscious father into his room across from his study.

"Let me up," croaked the alchemist.

Alright, Roy amended, mostly conscious then.

Everyone looked at Berthold who was now trying to brush Roy off with little success.

"Father, you were coughing up blood. That is reason enough for you to be in bed and not in your study."

"How long has he been like this?" Ganz asked.

Riza recited what Sara had told Roy earlier and added that Master Hawkeye had some chest pains when breathing and coughing.

After seeing the glare that Berthold and Riza sent back and forth, Roy decided that laughing right now would be tantamount to suicide, he opted to tell the doctor his observations; at least that way the bedridden Hawkeye couldn't kill him.

"He was fine up until he coughed up blood. I think he has a fever, too."

"I see. Alright then, run along you two. I think Ms Vanier said that the soup was almost ready."

When both he and Riza remained in place, the doctor heaved a put-upon sigh.

"Why do they all have to be so stubborn?"

"Riza. Roy."

Both were surprised that even with all that coughing, Master Hawkeye's voice could still slice through the room.

"Out."

Riza exchanged a look with Roy and without another word, they left the room.

Berthold observed the doctor his daughter had summoned with a wary eye. Yes, he liked Samuel Ganz as a person, and on some days, even as a friend but he would never like those of his profession.

"What's the verdict? Am I going to die?" he asked dryly.

"Hmm. Not quite yet, my friend," the doctor said with a frown as he stowed away his instruments of torture and gave Berthold's upper arm a pat. "You'll be around for some time if I have any say in it. You have pneumonia, Berthold. I don't know how you caught it, but if I hadn't been called today, you could have died."

"Died?"

"Yes, Berthold, died. I'm going to write you a prescription. Follow the instructions to the letter and I promise you, you'll be right as rain in no time," Ganz told him briskly.

"I hate the rain."

"No matter. You're going to be in bed resting for the next couple of weeks or until I deem fit. I'll tell your daughter and son-in-law everything, so you just rest and let them fuss over you for the next little while."

Berthold felt his eyebrows come together in confusion.

"Did you mean Roy, by any chance, when you said son-in-law?"

"Yes, I suppose I did. Isn't he?"

"No, dear Truth, no." The thought of Roy being his son-in-law startled a laugh from him. "He's just a student of mine."

Berthold surprised himself again with that last sentence. It appears he has chosen his heir to flame alchemy after all.

First uploaded: MAY 14, 2014
Updated: APR 6, 2018