AUTHOR'S NOTE IS IMPORTANT THIS TIME, THANKS.
Please excuse the long-windedness, but there's a lot to explain. If you don't care, then just skip to the actual story part, but I suggest that you care.
Hello, everyone! This lovely fan fic is the brainchild of the illustrious Fudfoodle's and my boundless and shameless enthusiasm for all things awesome (which includes FMA, of course), as well as our dazzling intelligence. We have everything all planned out, so don't worry, we know where we're going and what we're doing here. ;) For your information, the story includes legal processes, semi-organized interest groups, political intrigue, a few philosophical entanglements, sweet love, and action, as well as appearances from most of the original cast. Oh, yeah.
Also, we included all information about the FMA world and characters revealed to us up through Chapter 102. Anything that happens thereafter will be disregarded, so you may consider this story a bit AU if necessary. But we'll make up for it later. :3
Basically, the way this works is that I'm doing the writing, but Fudfoodle is posting comic versions of each chapter with her account on deviantART. You can find it at fudfoodle . deviantart . com. She is amazing and fabulous, and if you don't check her out, I'll turn you into an octopus. Really. Anyway, we agreed to post the contents of the first chapter together at about the same time, so she's either already posted them or is just about to do so. QUICKLY!! Make a new tab and put her deviantART address into the URL bar! Go! MAKE A TAB LIKE THE WIIIIIIND!!
Pairings include RoyxRiza, EdxWinry (sorry, darling RoyxEd fans; we're sure you're very nice people, but you make less than no (as in negative) sense to us), FueryxOC, and just a dash of AlxMei. There are also adorable little Mustang and Elric kidlins running about as an added bonus. :3 It's rated T for the occasional cuss word and/or slightly adult topic of conversation. But there are no lemons. None. Nope. Plenty of love, but no lemons. Lemons give us sour faces. Ha. Metaphors.
Fudfoodle and I hereby disclaim everything that Arakawa has copyrighted. This obviously excludes our wonderful OC's and story line. Please do not steal them from us. My soul does not like thieves. Sometimes it eats them.
Reviews are, needless to say, dearly loved and appreciated, and constructive criticism is always accepted graciously and gratefully, as both Fudfoodle and I are aspiring to be masters of the art of story-telling. Well-built (I repeat, for this is a key word—"WELL-BUILT") differences of opinion on the characters and/or social and political mechanics of the FMA world are also quite welcome. Flames, on the other hand, will merely be sighed at pityingly. Depending on the severity of the flames, my response may be to simply inform you that I will be praying for some kind of happiness to enter your life and distract you from the inner darkness you feel you must unleash upon poor, helpless little Fudfoodle and me. For we are definitely helpless and devoid of self-confidence of any sort.
Aaaand with further sarcastic and verbose ado….
In The Name Of Peace
"Look at me.
"Look at what I've become.
"I was at the top of the world. I had it at my feet.
"Now I'm here. Just waiting. Plenty of time and space to go insane. But I'm not there yet. I'm still full of dreams. Wonderful dreams. They're all that carry me through now.
"You're scared, aren't you?
"Scared of me? Or scared of the d-word?
"How ironic.
"People have always been obsessed with living forever. Some people spend their whole lives trying to find a way to immortality. Others give up far sooner and decide instead that they shall live forever through their art, or their deeds, or simply by passing on their names, or even through the memories of others who will, laughably, die one day as well. They say this is the only true way to live forever. But they are wrong. They are pathetic mongrels scrounging for some sort of hope that doesn't exist, some sort of haughty, pseudo-philosophical truth that makes them feel better about eventually having to spiral into oblivion.
"Fools. All of them. Jealous, ignorant fools.
"The only way to live forever, my friends, is to be alive forever."
"You're looking a little dead this morning," Riza teased lightly in a voice not quite accustomed to being activated again after hours of sleep, passing a hand over Roy's tousled hair as he inhaled sharply, brought his head up from the kitchen table, blinked slowly and heavily in her direction, despite being unable to actually see her.
"Good morning to you, too, dear," he mumbled, then cleared his throat, trying to rid himself of its light coat of disuse. The black, long-haired, floppy-eared adult dog resting passively next to his feet raised his head at the sound of his master's voice, awaiting an order.
"Morning," Riza returned. "Good morning, Wataru," she said again, smirking at the affectionate licking she received in gratitude for running her fingers through the hair on the top of the black Labrador's head. Soon, she set to work spreading strawberry jam on a slice of bread. "You didn't sleep," she stated after a moment, glancing at Roy when he shook his head and massaged his temples. "Why didn't you wake me?" Her husband declined to answer, instead fingering the newspaper next to him. Noticing this, Riza leaned over his shoulder to check its date, glass of milk in hand. "You got the paper? It arrived early today," she murmured thoughtfully, sipping her milk as she scanned the headlines.
"I heard it hit the front door, so I got up to get it," Roy said, absent-mindedly brushing his hand over the oak walking stick leaning against the edge of the table, its metal end clinking faintly when it was jostled on the floor tiles.
Continuing to skim the articles in the paper, Riza spoke again, keeping her voice level, though Roy heard the fierce frown in her tone. "And it seems that stubborn imbecile of a principal still refuses to allow Ishbalan children into his school."
"Is he?" Roy grunted. He kept a straight face as he listened to her walk past him to set her glass—now empty of milk—in the sink and begin preparing a kettle for tea. Only he knew her well enough to detect the slightly firmer, louder way that she moved objects around, picturing the way he knew she was jamming her palm into her hip as she one-handedly ignited the stove, a gesture with which he had become familiar while he still had his eyesight and slacked off on his paperwork as a colonel. She was upset. Very upset. And it was not even seven o'clock yet. "What was his reasoning?" he queried.
Riza took a moment to breathe deeply. "Apparently, he said, 'I couldn't fight in Ishbal because of my illness at the time of the war, but at least I can show my patriotism now.' Looks like a lot of people agree with him, but a lot of other people are really angry about it. A fight almost broke out at the school."
They were still for several minutes, no sounds save for Roy's unconscious tapping of his stick against the table's edge, or when Wataru licked at his lips, bored. They heard the water in the kettle begin to steam and bubble, but there was no whistling yet. At last, Riza began to busy herself washing dishes.
"Didn't we talk about sending the boys to that school?" she asked.
"Yep," her husband replied.
"Are we still going to?"
Roy paused, his mind feeling as blankly dark as his sight. "Well, it is very distinguished."
"Hm," Riza nodded slowly. As she set aside the dish from the sink after forcing every drop of grease her elbow had into scrubbing the tomato sauce from it, the kettle began to whistle, and she hurriedly switched off the stove. Drying her hands and grabbing a mug, she inquired after Roy's interest in a cup of his own, but he shook his head. Moments later, she had seated herself across the table from her husband, waiting for the tea to cool enough that she could taste it without burning her tongue. Roy listened to the rustling of the newspaper's pages as she pulled it toward her and continued her study of it.
"Apparently, they're organizing a country-wide vote to put us on trial, too," she suddenly said, face and tone implying that the matter was no more significant than needing to buy more soap for the bath the next time they were out.
"Oh?" Roy merely raised an eyebrow in response.
"For the Ishbal war crimes," Riza elaborated. "Voting is tomorrow." She kept speeding through the paragraphs of the article and nodded modestly. "The legislature really put this together quickly for only being active for a year. I'm impressed."
"Me, too," Roy agreed.
"Well, it's thanks to you," Riza said, making sure he knew she was smiling.
Roy shrugged lightly. "It really is a good thing Olivier is the Chancellor. Being her consultant may be important, but it's not like it's a position Olivier couldn't easily refill or that anyone would really miss if she decided to forego it. The country will hardly notice."
Riza nodded slowly. "Well, I don't know that all of that is true." She paused to take a few thoughtful gulps. "But it's about time, really. It's been seven years since the Promised Day. Seems like it's been ages."
Roy smirked. "Today, somehow, it feels like it wasn't very long ago at all. But a lot has happened since then." He blinked and suddenly broke into a smirk. "We have company coming, Riza."
A yawning voice that somehow managed to be authoritative despite its youthful pitch broke through the quiet conversation from the entrance to the kitchen. "Daddy, Zach wants you to help him go to the bathroom."
Roy smiled in the direction of their two boys, imagining them the way Riza always described them to him. Their six-year-old, Jadon, was nearly the spitting image of his father, besides having inherited Riza's eye color. He rubbed his eyes while patiently enduring the clinginess of the four-year-old, Zach, whose cerulean eyes appealed earnestly to his father from behind dark blond bangs that Riza swore she had to trim twice a month. It was she who answered the boys' implied question, however, rather than Roy. "Zach can go by himself, dear."
"But I want Daddy," Zach whimpered.
Roy adjusted his position in his seat so he could hold his arms out to the boy. Zach toddled across the floor and fell into them sleepily, and Roy squeezed him close.
"I'd love to help, Zach," he said, "but you heard your mother. You've got to be able to do things on your own. We can't always be around for you."
By this time, Jadon had scampered over, expecting his turn for a hug. Roy did not disappoint, scooping both boys into his lap and grunting affectionately as he pressed them as hard as he could against his chest. Riza smiled and waited for her sons to wriggle away to greet her; when they did, she kissed each of their cheeks.
"Please, Mom, can Dad help me? I don't want to go by myself," Zach asked, eyes pleading.
"Thank you for being polite," Riza said softly yet firmly, "but if you can go by yourself, then you should. Hurry."
Urged by a gentle push, Zach exited the kitchen with a pouting face. Jadon left his mother's side to reach for the bread on the counter, snatch up a slice, and munch.
"Can we have pancakes?" he asked, licking up a chunk of half-chewed bread when it dribbled on his lower lip.
"Don't talk with your mouth full, Jadon," Riza sighed. "I don't want to have to keep telling you."
Jadon took the time to loudly gulp down his food before speaking again. "Sorry, Mama. Can we have pancakes?"
"Your mother and I will have to leave for work soon, which means we have to take you to Mrs. Hughes's house even sooner," Roy smiled warmly, though Jadon's shoulders drooped. "Sorry. But maybe we can have pancakes for dinner instead."
The six-year-old's face screwed up skeptically. "Breakfast for dinner?"
"Why not?" Roy shrugged and grinned, while Riza smirked to herself.
"Okay!" Jadon stuffed the last of the bread into his mouth and clapped his hands together. At the distressed and unintelligible sentence Zach suddenly tried to shout from the direction of the bathroom, he ran out of the kitchen. "I'll go help Zach!"
The room fell quiet again for a moment. "At least we know they'll be all right," Riza said.
"Are you all right, sir?"
The voice was that of his secretary, whom he had been informed possessed a fountain of blond curls on her head and dark forest green eyes, on top of her reputation as an especially efficient and trustworthy office worker. Roy suddenly realized he had been staring in her direction for the past several moments after hearing her read the name of the sender of the large manila envelope she had reported had been delivered to his desk before his arrival. It must have been rather unsettling, being under the intensely contemplative gaze of eyes as blank as his. Putting on an apologetic smile, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk and steepling his fingers. "Pardon my distraction, Holly. Is there anything else?"
"Well, there are a few other documents here," Holly replied. Roy heard her sheaf through several papers, but he paid the most attention to the deeper sound of the manila envelope when she set it aside; he would take it later to have Riza read it. "These are from your wife, covering security details for the commemoration conference you wanted to call on the upcoming anniversary of the Promised Day battle."
Roy raised his eyebrows. "She got started early."
"Perhaps being in love with the Chancellor's personal consultant is what makes her such a good head of security," Holly grinned.
"Don't you have anyone else to make fun of?" Roy smirked. "Your fiancé, perhaps? Doesn't he usually come to distract you from your job right about now?"
Holly narrowed her eyes at him, though there was no real heat in her glare. "May I be dismissed, sir?"
"Dismissed," Roy waved his hand at her with a chuckle. He heard her hand fall on the knob of the door leading to his office and found himself calling, "But Holly!" He paused, making sure she was acknowledging him before continuing. "Please send for my wife to come see me as soon as possible."
"Yes, sir," Holly answered. Once she had closed the office door behind her, Roy's momentary sense of humor rained away to be replaced by…. placidity. His stomach and lungs felt light, like they had shrunk somehow, but there was no dread, no sickness. He shook his head at himself. "All this time waiting, and now it's here, and I feel like this," he mumbled.
He fingered the tray on the left side of his desk he knew was filled with at least half a dozen tapes as yet unheard by him. Law proposals, trade agreements, civil disputes—the members of the Chancellor's Cabinet were proficient at keeping him busy. Not that he usually minded; exhausting as it may be that so many prominent experts on every facet of politics and economy imaginable could deliver eloquent opinions on the country's affairs but remain unable to reconcile their votes for solutions, the Chief Advisor would have little to do without their contentions to solve. Besides, it was interesting, having so much accumulative information at his disposal keeping his mind alert and sharp. For a disabled man with as tumultuous a past as his, Roy felt glad for his success and relished still being of use to the country he loved.
Still, at that moment, he found his hand slowly slide away from his trays to idly support his cheek.
It seemed hours before he sensed Holly approaching his office door, Riza trailing behind. Wataru's collar license tinkled as he raised his head and perked his ears. Holly rapped on the door before opening it with a quick and light, "Your wife here to see you, sir."
"Thank you, Holly," Roy replied before she closed the door again, and he listened to Riza's confident strides across the carpet, picturing the focused gaze he kept imprinted in his memory. He set his hand on the manila envelope, just where he knew Holly had set it earlier. "She said it's from William Heralds."
"Head of the legislature?" Riza said. She studied the seal solemnly. "Are you ready for me to read it?" she asked. At his nod, she picked up the envelope and neatly tore it open, unfolding the letter inside. " 'To the most honorable Chief Advisor,'" she began. " 'Your presence is requested this afternoon of October 18th, 1922, at three hours after noon, in the Legislative Council Amphitheatre. Apologies for the short notice; however, your cooperation and timeliness would be appreciated, as the matter which we are required to discuss with you is of an urgent nature. The representatives of Amestris hope you are doing well. Please do not reply.'"
A silence. Neither moved.
"Is that all?" Roy finally asked.
After a long pause, Riza said, "Would you like me to come with you?"
Roy wished he could see her eyes as he tried to give her a small smile. "If you'd like."
"You're early, sir," a guard at the meeting room door commented expressionlessly. He glanced around, searching for bodyguards and finding none but an excitedly panting Wataru and a taciturn Riza. "And you came alone?"
"I figured I'd better not keep them waiting," Roy answered smoothly. He then grasped his wife's hand. "And right now, I only need Riza." She squeezed, and he squeezed back. "Are they ready for me?"
"They're ending a discussion of a bill as we speak," the other guard replied as he scribbled on a piece of paper. "We will announce your arrival in a moment." With that, he opened the door silently and slipped the paper through the crack to someone who took it from him slowly so as not to disturb the commanding voice from somewhere inside. The guard deftly closed the door and nodded politely at Roy. "Please take a seat as you wait."
Roy took the guard's suggestion and sat on the cushioned bench to one side of the doors, Riza seating herself next to him while keeping his fingers intertwined with hers, running her thumb gently over his skin. They had no idea how many minutes passed. As far as they were concerned, time had ceased moving and would only resume once they called Roy inside. Two tremors went through his leg, but they were fleeting, and other than that, he did not particularly feel anything.
At last, the door inched open again, and the guards conferred briefly with someone behind them. They nodded resolutely and pushed the doors shut once again as they turned toward Roy.
"They will see you now," the second guard said. Roy stood and absent-mindedly smoothed the wrinkles in his suit and lapel as they pushed open the doors for him. Riza lay a comforting, guiding hand on the arm Roy was using to hold his walking stick, while Wataru waited patiently on the leash Roy gripped in his other hand. As the man on the other side of the doors raised his booming voice to announce the arrival of the Most Honorable Chief Advisor to the Chancellor of Amestris, Roy stepped past him to enter a huge amphitheater he could sense was filled with two hundred-odd men of varying ages, most in their forties or fifties. With Wataru and Riza on either side of him to lead, he made his way confidently down step after step, keeping his head erect and a sense of alertness in his filmed eyes. Although they had all stood up out of formal respect for his presence, most of the men had their backs to him, intently facing the front of the room, where a sixty-something, balding man whose last few strands of hair were colored like pepper watched him with half-lidded icy blue eyes, pressing the fronts of his thighs against the large paper-littered oak desk before him. Roy felt him there, and Riza confirmed his estimate by whispering discreetly to him that it was William Heralds, elected head of the legislative body. Few men swiveled their heads to watch the Chief Advisor, along with his wife and aide dog, walk into the box reserved for him at one side of the room.
"The legislature may be seated," Heralds commanded, watching the Mustang family settle calmly into their chairs before taking his own seat and clasping his hands. After several moments of letting the shuffling of suits and seats and papers gradually desist, Heralds spoke. "On behalf of the House of Amestris, I thank you for your punctual arrival, Chief Advisor Mustang," he said genially to Roy. "We are glad to know that our summons reached you in time."
"I must thank you, in turn, for being so efficient," Roy smiled.
"Well, unfortunately, sir, we have no time for pleasantries," Heralds's tone turned matter-of-fact. "We are limited on time." He leaned forward and tapped the tips of his fingers together, inquiring, "Do you happen to know why we have asked you to join us today?"
Roy told himself he should say something. But somehow, he could not bring himself to do so. He only kept his unseeing gaze steady. The wait was almost over.
"There has been a great amount of civil unrest in every region of Amestris lately," Heralds said. "We have several representatives here from every part of the country reporting distress and dissatisfaction from their constituents. We have all received a number of letters and dealt with many lobbyist agendas concerned with the causes and aftermath of the Ishbalan War. When the majority of us were sent petitions asking for a country-wide vote to be cast about whether to place you and your comrades on trial for the Ishbalan War crimes, we acquiesced. The votes were counted a few days ago." He paused to watch for a reaction of shock or dismay or perhaps even humor from Roy. There was nothing. "Chief Advisor, you are to be put on trial in the Great Court for the Ishbalan War crimes within the next week. In the meantime, you will be stripped of your title and power. If you are found unpardonable—" Heralds cleared his throat, his eyes softening only a little—"you will be subject to immediate execution or exile, in accordance with the law."
Roy nodded quietly. Then he asked, "I am the only one being called to be put on trial, correct?"
Heralds hesitated. "Well, your trial is the most in demand, but the people wish to bring all of the most prominent Ishbalan War criminals to justice as well."
Roy did not flinch. "Is Riza Mustang one of them?"
Next to him, Riza brushed his arm and began to murmur something, but he paid her no heed, and she soon quieted.
"Yes, sir," Heralds finally answered.
Roy took a moment to consider his words before leaning forward and addressing every man in the amphitheater. "Gentlemen, don't you think it would cause the country more stress than necessary to put all of the war criminals on trial at once?" Roy queried. Not that he was expecting all of them to answer at the same time; they waited for him to continue, most of their expressions unreadable. "I will, of course, accept an indictment if the people wish it, but I want to ask you to consider not calling anyone else to trial until mine is finished. I am likely the one of whom they are most scared, after all. If I am able to obtain amnesty, then there should be no reason to try anyone else."
"What precisely are you proposing, Chief Advisor Mustang?" Heralds broke in, eyeing him with furrowed brows.
"I'm explaining that I will accept the indictment on the grounds that I be the only war criminal tried for now," Roy answered patiently. "My comrades should be tried only if I am found unpardonable first. None of them did anything worse than what I did."
Heralds scanned the amphitheater knowingly. "We will discuss your conditions. They are in keeping with the law, but we have a duty to represent our constituents' desires."
"I realize that," Roy said. "You may take your time." All was silent. Roy almost smiled at the awkward atmosphere, though he did not know how to alleviate the anxiety on the representatives' minds. After all, how could he possibly make them understand how he felt? "Are we finished here?"
"Apologies for taking up so much of your time, sir," Heralds said. "We have nothing more to say." He motioned toward a group of soldiers Riza only just noticed lurking stoically in one corner of the room. Roy furrowed his brows when he sensed them step forward in unison. "The Great Court has arranged an escort for you, eight soldiers who will monitor you in shifts of four at a time for the duration of the trial."
Roy fought a grimace. "Well, it can't be helped." He stood with as concentrated an air of nonchalance as he could muster, and the House of Amestris hurriedly rose with him. He bowed to them. "Thank you for your summons. Have a good day, gentlemen." With that, Riza and Wataru again guided him as he swept out of the box and made his way back up to the top of the amphitheatre, shoulders square, back straight, grim-faced soldiers now tailing his every step.
As the guards swung open the doors for him, he imagined that this was the way he would walk to his gallows.
AHA!! Chapter 1 is COMPLETE!!
.... It gets more exciting than this, don't worry. The action is being set up. :3
FYI, the name Jadon means "He will judge; grateful," and according to Nehemiah 3:7 in the Bible, it was the name of one of the several builders and repairers of the Jeshanah Gate of Jerusalem and its surrounding area. We thought it would be a fitting name because it would refer to how the birth of their first son might have helped "repair" Roy and Riza, who probably never considered deserving children in the first place. On the other hand, Zach means "pure or clean." Together, the two boys seem to represent the ideals, skills, and hope for the future Amestris; the next generation will hopefully keep their hands clean and thus rebuild a shattered country.
Furthermore, the name "Wataru" means "navigation."
From here on out, I'll post a chapter once a week, while Fudfoodle will put up comic strips as often as she is able. Please don't forget to check her out. :3