Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the definite portions of the following plotline.
Note: Spoilers for Chapter 56(?) onwards.
"Musings" by Dailenna
Her father and I didn't get on well. Some quarrel when he was young and hot-headed that he wouldn't allow himself to back down on. I was always made to keep to the sidelines, and wasn't allowed to approach. The only time he gave his consent for me to see her was one birthday on which he felt particularly lenient. She didn't know who I was, and he didn't care to let me inform her. As far as she knew, I was another one of her father's acquaintances there to bid respect.
I was merely a watcher for that time. I wasn't one of the participants in her life. For her, I didn't even exist.
When my daughter died, I was allowed less freedom with her than I had been previously. She was allowed to move without constrictions, but should her father see me within sight of her, he would send her back home and confront me. I saw mere glimpses of the young girl.
All I knew was that finally, her father came to his wits' end as to how to he could support himself and a child without any form of income. I had offered my support many a time, should he allow me to visit her, and in recent years I had retracted even that requirement – just that she would be able to live more than an unstable step above abject poverty was my main concern. But he refused, each time, his reply quickening with every suggestion. So I found out, through my contacts, that he had taken in a boarder, and was supplied with a solid income from his student's parents. I was relieved that I learned of the situation, and finally gave in to the 'request' that I transfer.
It was a surprise when I heard news of the "Flame Alchemist". I almost thought that he had removed himself from his loathing and come to more certain employment – his skills were superior to all others I knew – but this face was young and fresh; full of hope. He was placed under my command, indirectly. Over time, I made my way around to greet the boy, and I learnt that he had actually been the student of the man who, had he joined the military, should have had the title himself. I didn't want to appear pushy, and so made my questions casual, asking how he left the family. One less, apparently. I was not allowed to leave my post to visit her, because the situation in Ishbal was reaching dangerous levels. I struck up a form of friendship with the boy.
Ishbal was a terror for us all – some were taken into the violence, others were made to stand back, fearing for the lives of their friends and loved ones. Some blessing had held me back, but I saw others around me drawn – pushed – towards the terror, including the young Flame Alchemist. He disappeared for some time, and I didn't see him until after the war had ended. We exchanged letters once or twice, but no more. Only enough to assure me that he did not die within his first month on the battlefield. After that, communications were reserved to the bare minimum to lessen the number of couriers killed on deliveries.
Upon the return from war, I sought out the Flame Alchemist once again. He was a changed man; no longer the young boy of hope and of bright futures. His eyes had hardened against the world, and from behind them his soul peered out warily. There was no glow of contentment behind those inky irises anymore, just the stiffness of the soldier he had been formed into. I spoke with him again, but it was some time before I caught so much as a glimpse of the carefree manner he had had before Ishbal.
He remembered my simple requests after the family, and dealt a blow to me that I had not expected. She had been there, one more soldier on the battlefield. When he began to talk, his manner was so grim that I did not know what to expect. My breath stopped in my chest, and would not surface. But then he intimated that he had seen her since. All bodily functions were restored to me. She still lived. His office – a generous promotion had been bestowed upon him – was still being put in order, but he had requested her presence amongst those who were to join him. I carefully stowed away this information, and invited him to a game of chess.
Over chess we spoke of all kinds of matters: the state of the Ishbalan people; the mess Eastern Headquarters had been in since the war; the loyalties of our subordinates; his aspirations for the future; they had not died, as I had thought, merely been replaced by those of a more righteous struggle.
One day, she accompanied him in one of his brief tours over the building – an attempt to clear his mind of the stresses his office brought him. I passed them briefly; both snapped to attention, then when given permission to be at ease, he gave a smile and a short wave. She looked at me for a moment, but continued on after her Lieutenant Colonel. I glanced back as they wandered off, but they had no more time for me – he was listening as she ventured some claim. Perhaps saying that she had seen my face before, and asking who I was.
Chess became a regular occurrence, and hallways were common meeting-grounds. Nothing more than a quick nod of acknowledgement, but it was more than I had been granted for those youthful years throughout which I didn't have conversation with her at all.
It came out of the blue all of a sudden. I don't know how or why it sprang out of my mouth, but my defeat had left me with the confidence that here before me stood a strong, and worthy man. So I asked him if he would have my granddaughter's hand in marriage. He declined without declining, of course. I don't know whether it was because he didn't know who she was – she didn't know who she was – or because he didn't want to admit what was plain for an aging man to see.
So when he was promoted again, and those in his office were to move to Central, I gave him the chess-set. It was as good as his, should I have died, anyway. Not that I planned to, but had the event occurred, the chess-set's destination was fixed.
I still wonder these days, when he was been gone for some months, and going on years, now, whether he has understood my message. Whether he has truly received my message. Or whether he has taken the initiative without my further input.