Letters Home
Roy Mustang sat alone in his private tent, on his temporary bunk hidden behind a temporary screen, a portable writing board in one hand and a glass of shoddy, watered down brandy in the other. His black shirt and uniform pants were slightly rumpled, his boots at the foot of the bed and his jacket hanging over the screen, his alchemy watch dangling precariously from the pocket. Outside, the sun was just rising, signaling yet another sleepless night for him. The camp was still quiet, the morning wake up call less than an hour away.
He took a quick drink, ignoring the horrid taste and stared down at the blank piece of paper that was returning the favor with its unmarred pristine whiteness. It had been six months since the Ishval war had started, and he hadn't sent a single letter back home. Not one. They had to be wondering about him by now, if he was alive, if he was getting enough to eat, how things were progressing. Of course there were strict guidelines on the information allowed beyond the camp, so any letter he sent would be nothing more than idle rambling. But still, they had to be wondering about him. Picking up his pen with determination, he took another swig of the arsenic passing as alcohol and started to write.
Dear Isabelle,
I know it's been a long time since we saw each other last, but I wanted you to know that you have been on my mind lately. Every moment of this damned war, in fact. Your smile keeps me going, and the thought of us together again helps me sleep at night. The safety charm you gave me seems to be working. In the last battle, I thought for sure it was over for me. Our unit was surrounded by some of the meanest Ishvalans I've ever seen; we were outnumbered and outgunned. But when we started fighting back, it was as if some divine force was guiding our hands and every one of us walked away completely unscathed. I believe your faith in me had a hand in this. So thank you. I'll write again as soon as I can. I wish this letter could be longer, but my free time is always limited, and even now the rest of the troops are lining up to move out.
Yours forever,
Roy
Setting the brief letter aside to let the ink dry, he picked up a fresh piece of paper, took another drink, and started again.
Dear Charise,
I know it's been forever since we saw each other last, and I'm sorry we couldn't meet the night I had to leave for Ishval, but my summons came quickly and I had no time to do anything but pack my gear and go. How are things at the apothecary? Have you graduated from your apprenticeship yet? I know that by the time I return you will be the best healer Central has ever known. I also wanted to thank you for the wound salve you sent me. It saved my best friend's life when he was injured last month. His recovery has gone well, and he should be able to rejoin our unit in a couple of days. He also said to thank the angel with the healing touch that will allow him to return to his family when this is all over. You should really be proud of yourself. I hope your serene smile is the first one I see when we return victorious to the city.
Yours forever,
Roy
The second letter joined its brother on the mattress and another blank page was added to the writing board.
Dear Ms. Lindam,
I just wanted to send a note to see how everything was going in Central and thank you again for looking after my apartment while I was away. I wouldn't trust Mr. Ben's care to any green thumb but yours. Have the guards given you any trouble about visiting the base so often? If so I'll see that the matter is attended to promptly. I haven't been able to obtain any of the Ishval wine you requested, but as soon as I come across a bottle of the country's finest, it shall be yours. I won't bother you with any of the details of life here, since you already know the trials of war through your late husband's own experiences. Just know that for the moment I am safe and shall do my best to keep you from inheriting Mr. Ben. He sheds horribly in the fall and I couldn't in good conscious leave you with such a terrible mess. Take care of yourself and I shall see you soon.
Yours truly,
Roy
Glass empty now, Roy set it aside, on the wooden crate that served as his nightstand. Noise erupted from outside, signaling the morning lineup. It wouldn't be long before someone was sent to look for him. One final sheet of paper was relegated to the writing board as he refreshed his pen. He couldn't send a letter to anyone before he wrote the illustrious Madame Christmas.
Dear "Mom",
I'm sorry. I know it's been six months since I left, and you haven't heard from me. You have to be worried sick. I just wanted you to know that I'm okay. Though I've been in several engagements, I haven't been wounded and am in good health. I've received several field promotions for my hard work, and it shouldn't be long before they hand me another. I know that even though I told you not to watch the papers for news of the war that you have done it anyway. Please, don't worry yourself so much. I will return soon, and you can rest easy at night again.
I know I shouldn't talk about it, especially since it will only make you more anxious, but things here are awful. The living conditions of the men under me are less than the most neglected dog in Central, thanks to the Ishvalans cutting off some of our supply routes, and the officers aren't faring much better. The injured come in daily, and it pains me greatly to think that a good portion of them won't be going home to their families. I am just grateful that this war will soon be over. Though the Ishvalans have a tough military force, our superior numbers are slowly overwhelming them. I wish a few of their warriors were on our side; they fought so bravely in the field that I had nothing but the utmost respect for them.
I have Ms. Lindam looking after the apartment and the plant you gave me. I know you would have trouble getting over there every other day, so I had her take care of it instead. I know you don't like her that much, but she'll do the task faithfully, and I trust her not to rob me blind. Also, don't forget to see Charise about your medicine. I don't want to worry that you'll run out while I'm gone.
Take care of yourself, "Mom". I love you.
Roy-boy
Just as he set his pen down, the flap on the front of his tent rustled. They had finally missed him. A moment later the imposing figure of Basque Grand appeared around the screen. Swallowing his distaste for the man, Roy straightened his shirt and schooled his face into an unreadable expression. He could feel the other man's eyes roving over the details of his quarters, from the empty glass to the sheets of paper on the still-made bed, his severe frown growing deeper.
"Mustang." he deadpanned.
"What is it, Basque?" Roy returned, not bothering with formality in the privacy of his own tent.
"Orders from HQ. It's time for the next extermination. Let's go."
Without another word, Grand turned and left the tent. With a heavy sigh, Roy gathered up the letters he had just written, crumpled them in a wad and dropped them in the trashcan. Opening a box on his nightstand, he retrieved his pyrotex gloves and Dr. Marcoh's ring. Pulling them on, he absently examined the gleaming red of the philosopher's stone a moment before donning his jacket and boots. Snapping his fingers once, he ignited the paper in the trashcan before walking out the door, his mouth set in a firm line. It was a familiar routine by now, one that happened nearly every day. Nodding to the private standing outside his door with a bucket of water in hand, he made his way to the main tent.
There was no use to send word home to anyone, because any lie he told would be just as hard to stomach as the truth that he could never reveal. Silence was his only reprieve.
The End
A/N: A quick one-shot written for a prompt challenge between Colonel Hawkeye, InternalPanthara and myself. My prompt was "Who did Roy write letters to during the Ishval War?" I don't know how often we'll do this, but expect more in the future. :)