Disclaimer: FMA is not mine.
Song: Grown Ocean, by Fleet Foxes
In that dream I'm as old as the mountains,
Still as starlight reflected in fountains
...
In that dream I could hardly contain it,
All my life I will wait to attain it
The wedding was exactly what Riza had expected.
The ceremony was simple and brief – in the aftermath of the war, anything too grand would have been like a slap in the face. They weren't able to forget so easily, not yet at least.
Roy had spent the entire time fidgeting. Thankfully, the smile on Maes' face was more than enough to draw the attention of the small audience, so no one but her noticed the best man as he tugged at his jacket, tugged at his tie, tugged at seams on his pants.
She had been seated next to Maes' grandfather, in the back. Clearly Maes had not inherited his good nature from his grandfather. The man had muttered under his breath the entire time at the folly of marriage, at the folly of war, at the folly of being stuffed into a suit two sizes too small. His fidgeting was just as bad as Roy's, and Riza was certain that were kindred spirits, and that Roy would someday transform into the grumbling old man beside her.
The reception was outdoors, and the weather was perfect. A tent had been set up over the dance floor in the event of rain, but thankfully, the skies remained clear, and as the daylight faded and the lanterns were lit, the stars were visible overhead. It was something she had missed, in the army camp and in the city – the stars that had been so familiar to her in childhood. It was funny how the little things like that were the ones that she felt so strongly.
Now that the toasts were over and supper had been laid out, Roy had abandoned Maes to the dance floor and his new wife, and honed in on the food. Somewhere in there he had latched onto her, and now they sat together at one of the small tables, three empty plates before Roy, who had descended into yet another fit of fidgeting and gloom.
Riza found herself longing for the company of Maes' grandfather once more as the grumbling commenced.
As though she had summoned him with her thoughts, the old man appeared before her.
"Young lady," he began, "Would you care to dance with me? I may be old, but I've still got a few moves in me!" He pushed his glasses back up his nose and squinted as his wrinkled face contorted into a smile that softened her heart.
"Of course I would," she replied, at the same time that Roy said –
"Of course not!"
Roy looked over at her in surprise, sitting straight in his chair for the first time all evening.
The old man cackled.
"Stole her right out from under you, didn't I Sonny!" he said.
Anger showing on his face, Roy put his glass of wine down, and opened his mouth to speak, but Riza cut him off.
"Don't be belligerent," she chided him, before abandoning him to dance with the old man.
To say it was a dance would be a stretch. Mostly she stood in place while the Maes' grandfather shuffled around. He talked continuously, full to the brim of stories of his youth that seemed to largely result in his mother taking him by the ear. The more he talked, the more he reminded her of her grandfather, from the few times she and her mother had gone to visit him when she was young. It brought a smile to her face and she felt the weight on her chest lessen slightly.
By the time she returned to the table where she had left Roy, he had his feet up on the table and was slouching so low that his head was level with his knees.
"Please sit up," she said as she took her seat once more. It wasn't a question, and he grumbled as he returned his feet to the floor. "Oh, do stop mumbling," she said. "I don't think Maes would want you sulking in a corner at his wedding."
They both looked out at the dance floor, where Maes was dancing with what Riza assumed was one of his nieces. He was hunched over to reach her hands as she perched on his feet so that they tottered around in a circle. He grinned broadly and there was no trace of the fear or loss or guilt that had lined his face since the day she had first met him.
"He looks so happy," Roy said, and it startled her to hear him speak.
"Yes, he does."
"How can he…how can he forget?" he asked, and Riza turned to him at the note of desperation in his voice. He was focused in on Maes' face still, a look of such intensity on his face and his fists clenched that for a moment, he looked so much like the boy she had known that she forgot to see the stains on his hands.
He feels the weight of guilt as heavily as she does.
"He doesn't," she said at last. "But he is learning to live with it…and without it." She looked back at Maes and found that Gracia had joined him. Their smiles were extraordinary, blotting out the darkness around their feet. "He has someone to help him heal."
The light from the lanterns was almost magical and their shadows stretched to blend and merge, and she felt, for a brief moment, as though it would be easier to release the burden on her chest, on his chest, if they could do it together.
She turned away, looking anywhere but at him, because she couldn't take on his weight along with her own, and he wasn't ready to reach out to her yet. He still wanted to believe that he could find peace on his own.
They sat there in silence for so long that she half expected him to get up and leave, to go get another glass of wine or perhaps something stronger, until he reached out and took her hand, his palm warm and sweaty against hers.
"Let's dance," he said, standing abruptly. There was little time for her to protest and she found herself on the dance floor once more. The look on his face was one of concentration – it seemed he intended to focus so much on her that every other thought was driven out.
It also seemed the only dance move that Roy knew was a spin, which he seemed content to have her do until she put a stop to it, more than a bit dizzy. His hand found her waist and they shuffled back and forth themselves until the musicians began to pack up their things.
Even after they stopped dancing he didn't release her hand until she prompted him, fingers sweaty.
Legs tired, the two of them helped fold up the tables and chairs until everything had been loaded into the truck in which it had arrived. The night air was warm and by the time they were finished, their skin was flushed with warmth and damp with sweat. It felt good, so unlike the cold sweats that shook her in the middle of the night when she woke from her nightmares.
They sat down on the cement steps that led out of the building, and the cool night air felt good as it brushed against her face. The rough cement caught at the fabric of her dress as she tugged it down to cover her knees. That morning it had felt unfamiliar to her form, after the months she had spent in the desert, but with the evening winding to a close it had started to feel less foreign. Not right, yet, but something closer to it.
Maes and Gracia emerged from the building, hands intertwined. Roy jumped up as they did, offering congratulations and good wishes in multitudes, as though trying to make up for all of the sulking he had done earlier. At last the newlyweds departed and he had no one else to congratulate, and he returned to her, a strange look on his face.
"Do you ever dream about getting married, Riza?" he asked. He held out his hand to help her to her feet.
She gave his a smile.
"Not anymore," she said, taking is hand. "I've found something more important."
The smile that lit up his face then was one she hadn't seen since he was a child – one without pain, the smile of a man who had shed his burdens.