Lost Legacy
Ameran
It had seemed like it would be a quiet night; no wind whistling through the trees, making branches scratch at the windows, no thunder to shake the house in its foundations, no lightning to wake the children from sleep in a burst of light, no rain to patter down through the gutters to wake them from their dreams... Just darkness and quiet, not a thing stirring through East City.
But there had been something to disturb one family's night: a death. A death and a life left behind, wailing and flailing around in his blankets, dark-haired, and worse... foreign. He didn't look like the other children, the three girls that peeked out hesitantly from behind their mother's skirts. The clothes of the woman were foreign as well, different, and she reached out to the child as the light of life began to leave her eyes, but it fell short, limp, a single finger touching the baby.
The news ofa death in town was cried out in the streets, the body prepared for burial, but the next morning, it was gone.
Only the child was left, still crying and wailing.
"God, honestly, what's taking him so long... HAVOC!" Roy roared impatiently from his desk. Havoc poked his head around the corner defiantly, a cigarette stuck in his lip. "What now, Brig? You haven't let us rest since the crack of dawn, and you've just been sitting there!" Roy put his cheek in his hand and fingered the eyepatch over his eye.
"I'm still trying to get used to being mono-sighted, Havoc."
"Geez Roy, is mono-sighted even a word?"
"I don't know, but you know what I mean, so hurry up already! All I'm asking you to do is put up some posters!"
"But the posters are gigantic! All you need to do is put one up on HQ's wall and the entire town plus Central can see it; we're talking about a gimongous poster here!"
"Is gimongous a word Havoc?"
"Touche, Mustang."
"Yeah yeah... anyway... where's our new Colonel Hawkeye?"
Havoc scratched his head. "I dunno, thought you knew. She's always near you. You think maybe she's had a sick day?"
Roy stretched in his chair and got up unsteadily, using the desk for support. He really wasn't supposed to be working again, but he just couldn't stand being cooped up in his apartment for too long. Or... Hawkeye's apartment, really. Just after he'd been moved back to his apartment for recuperation, a water pipe had blown and he'd somehow managed to avoid getting run over long enough to find Hawkeye's apartment complex and ask for help. Or rather, wait for her to infer that he needed help; he wouldn't ask for it. All in all, it had worked rather nicely, though she was a bit adamant on feeding him apples and keeping him in bed. Or making him use that blasted cane when he did walk. Grrr.
"You know, Roy, maybe it would be better if you-"
"I'm not using the damn cane!" he spat obstinately, and Havoc held up his hands innocently.
"Hey hey, just som advice."
"Get on with what you were saying, Havoc..."
"Alright. Well, the way the poster's going, it could take days to get all of them up. I mean, Fuery's gotten himself glued to the wall five times now, and Breda's fallen off..." he took a pad of paper out of his pocket and checked it. "Eight times. Falman's had three buckets of paint fall on him, and Hawkeye is nowhere to be found. Did I say days? I'm sorry, I meant it could take months... the ones I've got up are doing pretty good, and I've done about seven. Nervous about Fuhrer Elections?"
"Nah. I figure if I don't get it, I'll try again later. Besides, I need to slow down the pace a little, you know? Live a little."
"You mean spend more time snuggling up with Hawkeye in her apartment," Jean crowed, and Roy shot him a look.
"It's not like that... I can't go back to my apartment."
"Could have come to me."
"Your apartment smells like smoke."
"Uh uh uh, I got a house now, and I've already paid it off, so it's completely mine! I'm trying to quit smoking though, seriously I am."
"You can't be having much luck with that one stuck in your mouth."
"No, it's not going so well. Eh? What's this?" Jean walked over to the window and stuck his head out, examining the walkway below. Roy couldn't be bothered with walking over to the window and stayed where he was. "What's up?" he asked.
"Ah, it's some weird looking guy... never seen clothes like that before... kinda... I dunno... medievel lookin', but kinda not. You'd have to see it to know what I'm talking about. He looks like he's coming in though..."
A glue spattered Fuery, a very bruised Breda, and a paint covered Falman stumbled into the room, Falman leaving a big blue handprint on the door. Roy groaned inwardly. These were his most trusted subordinates, men he would trust his life with. Trust his life, but it was better not to trust paint, glue, and ladders to them.
"Sorry for the mess, Sir, we're doing the best we can!" Fuery panted, dripping glue onto the carpet. Hawkeye would have a fit when she got here... Speaking of Hawkeye... a very flustered and irritable looking Hawkeye was stomping out of the bathroom with looks that could kill, one hand on her gun. Roy decided not to try anything smart today. Recovering or not, she wouldn't hesitate on firing at him.
She stared at him, daring him to say a word, and the letters 'PMS' started to drift through his head. He gave her a grin and her frown deepened, her finger twitching at the trigger. Fuery eyed her warily, hoping that she wouldn't notice he was dripping glue, and that Falman was painting the walls wherever he touched. Roy leaned a little into his desk, suddenly feeling fatigued, and the others seemed to slump as well, though much more than he did: Hawkeye leaned against the wall, Fuery, Falman, and Breda doing the same, and Jean sank onto a chair, brushing at his bangs. "Does anyone else seem really tired...?" he asked wearily, and the others nodded.
The feeling passed for Roy, but seemingly not for the others, and he opened the door, careful to avoid the paint-y handprints. People were sighing and slumping everywhere in the hallway, and it made his hair stand on end.
This wasn't natural.
His gloved hands suddenly seemed very itchy; the urge to snap them at something was becoming almost unbearable... He backed into his office quickly and looked back at his subordinates. "You stay here, I'll go see what's happening." Hawkeye straightened and made as if to come with him, but he shook his head and held her back against the wall. "I'll go by myself."
"But-"
"No buts. Just stay here and rest." He didn't know what he was thinking; he was hardly in any condition to venture off by himself, but he didn't want to put his subordinates in more danger. They had done enough for him. He made it down to the lobby and found what must have been the man Jean had described: Tall and tan, his clothes were very foreign. Roy had never seen anything like them before. He was wearing silver plated chest armor lined with gold and matching side plates. Abare sword was belted at his side, also silver, and he had on leather boots plated with steel on the bottoms. His hair was long andblack, his eyes almost as black as his hair. A cape almost touched the floor behind him, a gold cape with unreadable red symbols on them. He turned and saw Roy in the doorway, and his face broke into a smile.
A hungry smile.
"Ahh... there you are. You must be the one I'm looking for." Roy didn't know who the hell this person was. An assassin? He chose his words carefully.
"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not."
"You're the only one who's still walking in this whole..." he looked around distastefully at the drab lobby, the cheapness of the desks and the amateur weaves of the insignia's hanging on the wall. "Facility." Then the man frowned, studying Roy, who had a look of utter disbelief on his face. "You did that?" Roy asked. The man nodded, hand on the hilt of his sword.
"You... do not remember?"
"Remember what?"
"You... are different from these... pathetic things," the man said, unbelting his sword and using it to point around the room. "You're not what you think you are."
"What do you-"
"You, boy, are not of this world."
"What are you talking about?" Roy growled. "I was born here, I know what I am!"
"So you think-"
The doors flew open again and another man jogged in. He was dressed in white and blue armor, his cape blue with white symbols. "Cecil!"
The man in silver, Cecil, turned and smiled a sickening smile. "Ah, Serin. What impeccable timing, as usual."
"What are you doing here, Cecil?"
"Me? Nothing, of course," Cecil replied, but his hand still remained on his drawn sword. Serin's sword was out and ready as well.
"Don't play dumb, Cecil. I know what you came for, all I'm asking is that you leave."
"We'll see. Have at you, Serin!" Cecil lunged forward with his sword and Serin parried then sidestepped. Cecil recovered quickly and thrust several times, sharp, short thrusts, and Serin danced out of the way nimbly, still blocking every blow. Serin swung in a wide arc and Cecil blocked, and they pressed against each other, neither willing to give ground to the other. Serin jumped backwards quickly, off-balancing Cecil, and thrust into the other man's sword arm. Cecil grunted and his sword clattered to the floor, but he picked it up with the other. Serin did not move to strike, but kept his sword ready.
"Just go back, Cecil, it's all I'm asking for."
"You won this time, Serin. We'll see if you'll do it again the next we meet." Cecil backed out of East HQ and rounded the corner, out of Roy's view. Serin sighed and belted his sword back onto his waist, then looked at Roy with his blue eye. "You've seen alot," he said. "I suppose Cecil... told you some things."
"What did he mean?"
"I... should not... perhaps you should go to the ones you call your parents.Ask them. When you've heard what you need to know... well, I'll find you. Then I'll explain."
"You're... Serin, right?" The other man nodded, then paused.
"You're older than I thought you would be. I was expecting a young boy."
Roy turned. "I don't know what you were expecting, but I'm far from a young boy. Maybe I'm not the one you're looking for."
"No, maybe not. But then, maybe you are. Time is a strange, fickle thing." When Roy turned back around, Serin was gone.
The following day, Roy found himself knocking on his parents' door. He was inside and sitting on the couch, his mother and father talking to each other and to him, his sisters laughing and pinching his cheeks playfully, but he was not in the mood. He couldn't take it, the question had been burning, eating away at him since the day before.
"Am I your son?" he asked, loudly, turning all chatter to dead silence; never was there a better mood breaker than that question. His mother turned to his father and he said, "Of course you are, Roy, what else would you be?"
"Am I... are we... related by blood... at all?"
His father looked like he was in a hole; he didn't know what to say, but then his sister stood up and spoke. "No, Roy, you're not.You're not related, at all."
He got upas well, looking around wildly at them, his voice rising. "Then why didn't... why did you... why did you hide it? Why wasn't I ever told? Didn't you think I should know? I could have been... or I... why didn't you tell me?"
"What could we have told you?" his mother asked, and he put his face in his hands. "I don't know! Just... anything! Anything at all! Do you know who my parents were then? Anything?"
"We don't know.. anything, Roy."
"Do you, or are you just lying to me again?" he growled at them, stomping upstairs and slamming a door. He knew it was childish, but right now he didn't want to be treated like an adult. Thirty years in the world and not a hint until now that he was adopted. He punched his pillow angrily. Didn't they think he was old enough to know the truth? God, was his real name even Roy?
His thoughts went, somewhat angrily, to the man he had encountered before. Why did he know the truth, when Roy himself hadn't had the smallest notion that he was adopted? And the other man...
You are not of this world.
What the hell?
He went back downstairs and opened the door to get outside, get some air. Hmph. Where was that guy? Didn't he say that he would find hi-
"You're looking for me?"
Roy whirled around and cursed. "H-how did you do that? That was-"
Serin studied his fingernails. "Well, I've been waiting here for ten minutes. Maybe you just didn't see me, hmm?"
Roy didn't want to deal with this. "Okay, yeah, whatever. You said that you'd explain, now explain!"
Serin sighed and slid down the tree, his armor scraping a little against the bark. "Might take a while... or not. You never know. How much are you willing to hear?"
"As much as I can!" Roy muttered, irritated at the man's vagueness. "And that other guy... Cecil. What'd he mean when he said-" Serin held up a finger and his mouth clamped shut of it's own will while Roy was in midsentence. Roy flailed around and struggled to open his mouth again, and Serin sighed and his hand went back to his side. Roy glared at him and opened his mouth again, gasping for breath.
"Used on a man from this world, that move could have been fatal."
"Meaning?" Roy snapped.
"You have a choice. Find out who you really are, or stay here and believe in this perpetual lie. This is not who you are."
"Then who am I?" Roy challenged. "I am what the world makes me, aren't I?"
"Wrong. You are who you were destined to be."
"And if I don't come?"
"Then you can continue to live here, but don't think for an instant that Cecil will leave you alone. Now that he has found you... you have a critical choice."
"But I don't have a choice, do I?" Roy asked, getting panicked. "I don't have a choice at all! It's either go... wherever, or stay and be caught by the other guy... it's just a choice of who I side with, isn't it?"
"True."
"Then who am I siding with?"
"I am Serin Meteru, Dragon Rider of Balian, guardian of the Uragawa line. He is Cecil Koren, Dragon Rider of Ark, butcher of Balian. Your choice."
Roy laughed hollowly. " 'Butcher of Balian', huh? Not so much choice, there. And where is this place, huh? I've never heard of it."
Serin put his hand on Roy's arm, his one blue eye focused on Roy's single black eye. "Are you willing to find out?"
Roy swallowed hard and nodded, and the world turned white.
"Kid, wake up." Roy felt himself nudged roughly by the toe of an equally rough boot, and he groaned, opening his eyes slowly.
"Uuuuh... where..."
"Just get up, first. You'll see that your clothes are... not going to fit you anymore..."
"What?" Roy looked around blearily, surprised to find himself covered in clothes twice his size. "What the heck happened?" he cried, feeling his face. "I shrank! I shrank!"
"Well... I said before that time is a strange and fickle thing... seems that time in your world flows faster than over here."
"But I'm thirty-two!"
Serin snorted. "Hmph, still a child. I'm one-hundred and thirty-five. Oh, by the way," he said to Roy's disbelieving looks.
"Welcome to Ameran."