Hi there! The cat is back! To all my loyal fans I'm sorry that I haven't been updating in a while. Things have been totally crazy at my end, and I haven't had the time to sit down at my compute and type. All I'm asking is that you kill me after I finish "Of Cats and Titans", which by the way looks like It's going to take a while

To all you people who are actually reading that fic, I'm sorry to inform you that it's temporarily on hold. My muse of fanfic inspiration has fled, and I can't seem to find any good ideas. I do have the first couple pages of the next chapter though, so don't lose all hope. I debated on giving up the story, and then decided I'd just wait a bit and see if any inspiration comes. I'm not defeated yet!

However, I do have another project that I'm currently working on. It's a four/five chapter fic called Sick Day that I've yet to post. It's a FMA fic, though, so anyone who read this has to read Sick Day, too. It's soooooo much better than this one! So please read my work!!!

Anyway, this is a oneshot on Roy and the Ishbalan war. I wrote this after reading the third book, so all the other info on the war isn't in it. It's still pretty good, though, so GET GOING AND START READING!

Thief of Black Winged Hearts

And So We Go to War

"What?" Roy said in disbelief. He couldn't believe it, this wasn't happening, but there was the official seal on the document. Colonel Basque Grande frowned at the outburst, but gestured at the three red vials sitting innocently on his desk.

"I think you heard me perfectly well, Mustang, but I'll say it again," said the colonel. "Your orders are to go to Ishbal and destroy any enemy resistance you encounter there. Also, you are to use these prototype Philosophers Stone's to amplify your alchemic powers and negate the equivalent exchange rule." He said this like it was perfectly sane and justified. Roy could not believe that these measures were justified. After all, they were the ones who had started this conflict.

"You mean to say, sir," said Roy slowly, "That the alchemists are going to war?"

"That is exactly what I'm saying," said Basque, his cold eyes pitiless.

"But, sir," Roy protested, "This is highly irregular. Never before have the State Alchemists been used this way."

"Then," said the colonel, his tone frigid, "It will be all the more effective." It was a clear warning, one which told Roy that continuing this line would be dangerous, and one that he for once chose to ignore.

"Sir, the Ishbalans have no alchemists," said Roy, his final plea to reason. "Surely the treat is not yet advanced enough to go to such strenuous measures-"

"That's enough!" snapped Basque, and Roy immediately fell silent. "Stop acting like you have a choice in the matter! You are a soldier, and you will do your duty. There is no questioning your orders or your superiors, Mustang, and you would do well to remember it. Now remember your place and get going, soldier!" The colonel returned to his paperwork, holding out a vial to Roy with one hand.

"Yes, sir," said Roy promptly, snapping a salute. Snatching up a vial, Roy turned on his heal and marched out of the office, Closing the door behind him, Roy put a hand to his face and heaved a miserable sigh. He didn't want to do this. This was wrong, and Roy knew it. But what could he do? He was an officer of the king, a dog of the military, and it was his duty to carry out orders no matter what. He had accepted this when he had first become a state alchemist. Now, he wondered if he had made the right decision.

Roy started to walk towards his quarters with the idea of packing for his trip to Ishbal. He would carry out his orders. But someday, Roy would be giving the orders, and then maybe he could make things right.

The night was cold and clear. Roy stood on a dirty cobbled street, resolving himself to do what must be done. Roy knew that twenty-four hours ago he had promised to follow orders no matter what. But now that he was here, about to take the lives of thirty men that were hiding in the building across the way, his feelings had changed. How could he do this? These were innocent lives. How could they ask his to single handedly murder them all? But it had to be done. The soldiers were waiting. The colonel was right; its not like he had a choice. So Roy pulled his glove on, prayed for forgiveness, and snapped his fingers.

Immediately, the building in front of him exploded, raining concrete down on a twenty foot radius. Beside him Roy heard a man cry out in pain, and turned to see that his shoulder had been crushed. Roy himself took a chunk of concrete to the temple, and the scene flickered before him. When his vision cleared, he saw a picture strait out of hell.

The building was burning, and the men's dying screams could be heard over the crackle of flames. Around him, concrete littered the ground, and many of his men were dead or bleeding. The god awful stench of burning flesh assaulted Roy nose and he bent over and vomited onto the street. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he gazed around at the horror he had caused. This was all his fault. "Oh god," Roy said in horror, his eyes wide and staring, "What have I done?" Any innocence he had once had was now forever gone. He had the blood of thirty men or more staining his hands. What was going to do now that he was already damned?

"Major Mustang," said one of the soldiers, snapping a salute. "We have orders to report to the next target, sir." Roy recoiled mentally. He would have to do this again? Destroy more innocent lives? But no, he had no choice. His orders were clear. He must continue on and do his duty to his country. This was the only way.

"Understood," Roy said, sending the soldier to alert his remaining comrades. As he walked towards his next target, he steadied himself for the grim work to come. Roy had told himself he didn't have a choice. That this had been the only was. But maybe, there was another choice. Perhaps he had been to blind or scared to see it. Now it was to late, and there was no going back. This was a job that had to be done, and Roy resolved to see it through.

Roy stared at the puddle of blood that used to be two doctors. The red blood made a sticky lake that oozed across the floor, radiating pain and malicious intent. Roy was shaking, his fists balled up at his sides. Tears prickled what had once been hard and bitter eyes. Now, all he felt was anger and sorrow. What had these people done to deserve this? These doctors had been neutral, helping anyone that they could help. What had been their crime. Kindness? Compassion? Pity? These were deaths with no meaning.

Today Roy had seen terrible things, done terrible things. He had seen children no older than fourteen holding guns and shooting down soldiers, hatred burning in their eyes. He was personally responsible for ending the lives of so many people; more people than he cared to count. One thing was certain now; this was not a war. In a war, you at least get the chance to fight back. This was a massacre. And Roy knew that this was a direct result of bypassing equivalent exchange. This is what happened when you take more than you give.

What could he do now? No soul left to speak of, he had already damned himself too thoroughly to go anywhere but hell. But what was the point of living like this when he had done so many terrible things. Roy had seen too much on this fiery, bloody night, and all he wanted was a way out. Even taking his own life could never make up for the lives he had taken, but if it was the only things he could to redeem himself then he would. Slowly, Roy brought the shaking gun out of its holster and pressed the cold metal underneath his chin. He steadied himself, took a breath, and closed his eyes.

"What point would that serve, Roy?" said a tired voice from the doorway. Opening his eyes, Roy saw Dr. Marcoh, the Crystal Alchemist, standing there looking like death already had his hands on him. Roy looked back at him with wild eyes.

"But is there even a point anymore, Dr. Marcoh?" asked Roy sadly, "Because if there is, then I don't see it." Dr. Marcoh looked back at him, dead eye glimmering faintly from an empty shell.

"Did you know my research led to this?" asked Dr. Marcoh. Roy stared at him in shock. "I provided the research they used to make the experimental Philosopher's Stones. This entire mess was all my fault. "Dr. Marcoh paused, looking Roy squarely in the eyes. "I'm going to disappear, and I'm taking my research with me. Perhaps I will live as a traveling doctor and serve the people for the rest of my days. There are many options in front of you, Roy. Consider them." And with that, Dr. Marcoh walked out of the room.

Roy slowly lowered the gun, then put it back in its holster. What did he want to do now? How could he even attempt to console the deaths of so many? At first, he thought he would become like Dr. Marcoh, traveling the land and helping the people. But when Roy thought it through, he knew what he must do if he ever again wanted to feel content with his lot in life. He would stay at central, even if he never wanted to go back to that place again. He would stay, doing whatever it took to rise through the chain of command. If someday Roy could make the rules, then perhaps he could change things for the better. This was something Roy could dedicate what little he had left of his life to. He would pay much more to insure that something like this never happened again. Roy closed his eyes and took a deep breath, calming his nerves. Then he opened his lives to the new life he had chosen. You can't control all the things in your life, but you can choose what you want to live for. And on this day, this war, Roy had chosen the path he needed to take.

And so, a king is born.

Comments, questions, or nuclear bombs of flame? I'll accept all of the above.