Roy stepped out of the car into what felt like a blast furnace. He stopped himself from squinting up at the blazing sun, turning instead to Hawkeye as the second car pulled to a stop behind theirs. "I'll be a few minutes," he said. "Wait here."
"I'm coming with you," she informed him and he shook his head.
"Not necessary," he assured her. "I'm sure I won't be long. Please stay here."
He didn't wait for her reply, but turned and began to stroll across the dry grass in the central plaza, leaving her to wait with the others. Out here in the open, without even the cover offered by the roof of the car, the heat descended like a heavy blanket. It was a bit depressing how quickly he remembered the sensation of trudging through air that felt as thick as molasses. But he walked on.
The voice became audible as he approached the little group by the fountain, and soon he could hear the words as well. "…and that, children, is why the most important precept of Ishballa is mercy…"
Roy stopped some distance outside the circle of seated children, waiting for the end of the lesson. Whereas he himself remained full in the hot sun of the late Ishballan morning (these damn dark blue uniforms, he thought, remembering summers gone by), the teacher had placed his charges in the shade of a large spreading tree that grew out of the centre of the wide circular fountain. As the sun rose steadily higher and the outer edge of the shade patch crept closer to the edge of the children's circle, the teacher watched, and timed the ending of his lesson.
Scar had seen Roy coming, of course, across the spread of hardy grass in the centre square of town. Sitting on the white stone lip of the fountain, he'd glanced over the children's heads with clear sight of the two cars rolling to a stop at the edge of the circle, and the five military personnel emerging from them. But he'd made no move to draw the lesson to a quick close.
Nor had Roy expected him to. As they'd worked closely together for all those weeks, rebuilding Central and gathering Ishballan refugees together to send home to rebuild their home as well, Roy had learned a great deal about this man and his priorities. He expected Scar had discovered a few things about him as well, as they'd worked past their initial enmity and settled into something else. He wondered what those things were.
"…and thus Ishballa tells us to forgive our enemies and those who have hurt us," the lesson continued, adding eerie commentary to Roy's thoughts.
He waited patiently, barely moving, eyes closed as he absorbed the heat bathing his body. A trickle of sweat made its way, oddly cold, down the small of his back.
"But teacher, isn't that hard to do?" interjected a young voice. It made Roy think of Alphonse Elric.
"Yes it is hard," came the frank reply. "It is the most noble, most beautiful thing any man or woman can do. But it is almost impossible."
"Then how can we do it? Why should we try?"
Yes, Roy smiled to himself. Another Alphonse Elric here, with dark skin and red eyes. Thinking the deepest thoughts. Asking the hardest questions.
Opening his own eyes, he surveyed the buildings around the edge of the square. Along one side ran a long, low edifice with openings all the way across the front, large alcoves, really, in which food vendors could set up their goods to keep them out of the sun. That had been the first public building to be reconstructed, and Roy could see the people there now, moving in and out of the light. Women in their bright skirts with baskets over their arms, men with their long embroidered tunics.
On the side of the town square behind him stood a two-storied administrative building, its upper floor still caved in and open to the sky, but its lower rooms functional once again. The town needed some governing organization, after all, to handle the return of the refugees as Ishbal re-established itself. Roy had wondered, as his car had pulled to a stop in front of the building, if he should offer more help to complete its reconstruction. Maybe he'd bring it up with the Ishballan Elders later.
To Roy's right, between the market and the administrative building, stood a ruined temple of Ishballa, the dusty stone rubble still piled amidst a few standing pillars. The plan, Scar had told Roy, was to nourish the bodies and lives of the people first, and rebuild the temple after that. Ishballa already dwelt in the people's souls, and a building was secondary.
He wondered if this had been one of the towns he had destroyed. He wondered why he couldn't remember.
"Why do we strive for this hard thing, this forgiveness?" The lesson went on, as Scar answered the young boy who had asked the question. The smile in his voice drew Roy's eyes back to his face. The cross-shaped scar bisecting the man's eyes glared more starkly than usual on his sun-darkened skin, in the shade under the spreading tree. "We do it because all of Ishballa's other gifts, all the teachings, prepare us and point our way to this. The reason it's so hard is that it is the greatest teaching of all. If we attain this, we have touched perfection, and entered the very mind of Ishballa." Scar straightened, his hands on his knees. "But I've given you much to think about, and I think you're almost ready for your noon meal." He smiled at the murmur of agreement from the children. "Go, then. Thank you for listening."
The crowd of youngsters – maybe fifteen of them around twelve years old, Roy guessed – sprang to their feet like they'd been shot from the ground. Most of them scattered, but two or three who turned in his direction paused, the immediate unease clear on their faces at discovering a stranger in their midst. And a military stranger at that. He waited, heart thudding heavily in his throat, for that extra spark of recognition in their eyes. Waited, despite the fact that the oldest of the children would have been barely a toddler when…
One of them, a girl with a red scarf tying back her long black hair, gave him a shy curtsey. Then, as though her good manners had shamed them, the two boys to either side of her bowed. Then they scampered away, chattering and laughing, the girl skipping with them, her long brown skirt flowing easily about her legs.
Scar watched them go, smiling, and Roy watched him.
When at last the Ishballan looked up, he seemed untroubled by the scrutiny. He stood, and inclined his body forward in a bow of his own, hand on his heart. "General Mustang," he murmured. "Welcome. Won't you sit in the shade with me?"
Roy stepped closer, out of the sun, sensing the immediate drop in temperature. "Thanks," he sighed. "That's much better." He seated himself on the fountain rim, pressing his hands to the stone, surprisingly cool beneath his skin. Glancing at his companion, he remarked, "You seem to have found your calling. Unless you're just filling in until official teachers can be trained?"
"I haven't decided," the other replied. "I've been teaching for several months, and it's been very peaceful. Very rewarding."
"That kid who asked the question reminded me of Alphonse."
Scar smiled. (Roy still wasn't used to seeing that expression on his face.) "He's very like him. He's one of the rewards. And," the man added, his red eyes gleaming in the shadows, "teaching him and the others is infinitely better than killing, don't you agree?"
Roy's breath caught. He closed his eyes, throat thickening inexplicably. Always one to come to the point, this guy.
"You know," Roy whispered, "I can't even remember if this is one of the cities that I…" He faltered and fell silent.
A hand closed on his shoulder. "There is no sign of scorching in this town," came the gentle response. "I've helped with the rebuilding, and I've seen. The buildings and stones seem to have exploded from the inside out. Not burned."
"Ah," Roy whispered. "Kimbley, then."
"I believe so."
Roy swallowed, bowing his head. "Well," he managed. "I'm…grateful to know that. And…it seems to me that you're pretty close to the mind of Ishballa yourself, just now."
"Not necessarily. Perhaps, after knowing you for a time in Central, I'm merely closer to knowing your mind."
"A much less pleasant thing, I'm sure." Roy's lips turned up slightly. "You know…," he added slowly, "I don't think I've ever thanked you for your part in saving my life back there, down in the tunnels under Central. My life…and my sanity."
"My friend, I did almost nothing," Scar shook his head. "I merely stood with Edward Elric as he tried to reason with you. And the greatest work of all was done by your lady."
"She's not my – " Roy's gaze darted automatically to the figure of Riza Hawkeye, standing alert and watchful halfway between the cars and the central fountain, eyes methodically scanning the area. He'd told her to wait with the others by the vehicles. She never listened. "She's not my lady," Roy repeated, "but yes, she finally brought me to a halt. Still," he turned back to regard his companion, "I'm not sure even she could have reached me if you hadn't spoken first." He slid his hands further behind him on the lip of the fountain and leaned back, his gaze distant. He quoted softly, "'I wonder how a world led by a beast in human skin would end up.' You shook me right to the very core."
"I did hope it would remind you…"
"…that we already knew what that world would look like." Roy nodded. "We had both lied it. Right here, in Ishbal. So if you could relinquish your own hatred and revenge after what you'd witnessed, then I…"
"You could. And you did."
"You gave up seeking revenge for the loss of an entire nation, while I…"
Scar crossed one leg across the other knee, and clasped his hands on it. "General," he said, "hard as it is to forgive our enemies, it is even harder to forgive ourselves. If you had been able to forgive yourself for the death of Maes Hughes, you would not have found it so difficult to relinquish your thirst for revenge."
Roy managed a mirthless laugh. "Why do you think I wanted her to shoot me?"
Scar surveyed Riza briefly in silence. "You are certainly well matched," he murmured.
"She's been my greatest support from the beginning," Roy nodded. "My rock. And more importantly…my conscience."
The two men fell silent, watching the woman turn, slowly, watching, always watching. Her gun remained in her holster – Roy had insisted on that, with children in the vicinity – but her hand hovered just above it. The sun made her hair a halo of burnished gold.
"I take it," Scar remarked, "that Hawkeye will remain your second in command after you hand power over to the civilian authorities?"
"Oh yes. She won't be going anywhere."
"And when will that be? Soon, if I recall?"
"Six months," Roy answered. "Once the interim Council was elected, we got to work on the new Constitution right away. It'll be ratified in a couple of months, and four months after that, I leave office and they take over."
"A short rule, after all you did to attain your position, General."
Roy smiled. "True. But it's the right thing to do."
Scar nodded. Roy had known from the beginning that he approved of this decision. "I agree," said the man. Then uncrossed his legs and set his hands on his knees. "So tell me, General," he said, "whose idea was it – yours or theirs – that you would come here now, to arrest me?"
