Chapter 2

"So have you heard Miasma's going to be taking the field?" Falman asked his partner.

"The Demon of Ishval is here?" Havoc replied incredulously. There had been rumor going around that Central had authorized the mobilization of a State Alchemist, but no one seemed to know who was being sent. This one said that it was the Silver Alchemist, that one said the Iron Blood Alchemist. Jean Havoc had heard some talk about the Miasma Alchemist being the one that was called in, and had disregarded it like the rest. But he also knew the Vato Falman was not one to spread unfounded rumors. If he said that Roy Mustang was here, then it was at least the most probable theory.

Among all the State Alchemists stationed in the east, the Miasma Alchemist was probably the most enigmatic. He was known for being direct and focused almost to the point of obsession, which if rumor was true was how he claimed his state certification. This more than often led to him being secluded from others to delve into his alchemic studies, first inventing and then continually developing his patented gas-based alchemy.

"Hey Falman," Havoc said, "didn't you serve in the same area of Ishval as him? What's he like?"

Probing Falman for information was probably his best bet. The man was known to have an almost perfect memory, especially if it regarded something he had witnessed personally rather than heard second hand.

"Not much to say," Falman replied, "Up until the end of the war he was just rank and file like me. We weren't even in the same squad, so it's not like I was beside him in the field of battle."

"Sure," Havoc said, pressing further, "but what about off the battle field? Talking in the mess hall and whatnot."

"The times I saw him he seemed… conflicted. Always with his face buried in some alchemy book of his, but constantly glancing up. It was like… like he wanted to connect with the other soldiers, but whatever he was doing was more important. Now that I really think on it, there was really only one guy he ever was seen opening up to."

"Oh? And who might that have been?"

"His name was Hughes," a third voice interjected, "Captain Maes Hughes, at the time. He's in intelligence now, so I'm not sure it would be wise to include him in your gossip."

Havoc turned offer a sarcastic thanks to the man who had just spoken when he stopped, his face frozen in an open mouthed position which likely did not help with anyone's impression of his intelligence. But that didn't matter to him as much as the eyes drilling holes into him right now. Eyes that belonged to an instantly recognisable face.

"Lieutenant Colonel Mustang, sir!" he nearly shouted after his initial shock passed. Instantly his moved into a stiff salute, mirrored almost perfectly by Falman only a split second behind him. His eyes scanned the sky, doing their utmost to ensure that they made no contact with the eyes of the superior officer in front of him.

"What are your names?" the Demon of Ishval asked.

"Sir! I am Warrant Officer Vato Falman, sir!"

"Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc, sir!"

The Miasma Alchemist eyed the two critically, like he was examining a particularly intriguing insect under a microscope. Havoc only hoped that he had no intention of squashing this particular bug. He stood stock still, even though he was filled with fear. It wouldn't do any good to meet his doom with trembling knees.

The Lieutenant Colonel continued glaring at the two, and while he was not an unnaturally tall man when he drew himself up to full stature he seemed to tower over them. The expression on his face would not have looked out of place on a statue of some vengeful god.

And then all of a sudden the expression changed. Hard eyes softened, flared nostrils relaxed, and his tightened lips loosened, showing his teeth as his mouth widened into a grin. There was a quick bark of laughter, nearly causing the two soldiers to jump in surprise, followed by a more drawn out and restrained chuckle.

"At ease, you two," Mustang said, waving at them nonchalantly.

"There's no harm in a little conversation, but try not to engage in gossip about someone while they are in earshot."

"Erm… yes sir," Havoc said, lowering his arm. There was no small amount of confusion in the soldier's mind, but it appeared that he was not facing imminent death or punishment, so he allowed himself to relax for the moment. But not too much, he reminded himself as he kept his legs straight and study as columns under him.

"Excuse us sir," Falman asked, "we did not realize that you had already arrived."

"Actually I only just got here. I think I might have gotten a little sidetracked, could either of you point me towards the general?"

Both Havoc and Falman looked at eachother. Given the reputation that the Miasma Alchemist had built, not to mention the grim nature of his abilities, there were both surprised at the relaxed and informal way that he spoke. Wordlessly, they pointed as one over the alchemist's shoulder, towards a tent not far away. He turned to follow their direction, chuckling again.

"Walked right on by," he said to himself, "sometimes I wonder if I need someone walking around with me twenty four seven just to keep me focused. Thank you very much. You may resume your posts."

Mustang turned to walk away, and as he took the first step the two soldiers to his back visibly relaxed. Havoc's shoulders sagged, Falman's head tilted back to gaze at the sky in relief, and both allowed their knees to unlock. Havoc offered a smile to his comrade, before noticing that Mustang had stopped after only a few steps. He turned quickly, and by the time his eyes fell on them again, they had resumed their obviously uncomfortable stances.

"You two," Mustang began, "you've impressed me. You obviously know who I am, and you're obviously frightened of me. Yet when I confronted you, you did not back down. Not a step. I could use men with nerves like that."

And with that, he turned away again. This time the two waited until he was out of sight before relaxing, almost falling to the ground like puppets whose strings had been cut. Havoc rested his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. Never before had air seemed to taste so good. He looked over to Falman, and couldn't help but smile. Despite being older and therefor supposedly wiser, he could tell that he too had been instinctively refraining from excessive inhaling.

"Well," Havoc said, "that shaved about five years off my life, how about you?"

~…~

Roy entered the general's tent the very picture of military professionalism. He walked straight towards the desk at the far end of the tent, apparently ignoring his surroundings. Of course no one, least of all someone who knew General Grumman personally, could ever actually ignore the bizarre assortment of items the general had assembled in his tent. Roy wondered how exactly Grumman had justified the effort of transporting all this stuff to his superiors in Central, before realizing that he had probably "forgotten" to mention it.

He couldn't help but mentally catalogue each item as he passed them. A rack upon which an entire village's worth of tribal masks hung. A full suit of armour, standing at attention with halberd in hand. A bear, a testament to the general's love of taxidermy, posed so as to appear to be loom over whoever stood in front of it. A statue of a winged woman, dressed in such a way that Roy was tempted to stop and examine further. He maintained focus, however, only slowing slightly as he passed the exceptionally well proportioned figure.

Finally he stood before the general's desk, oddly simple when compared to its surroundings. Grumman himself sat in the uncomfortable chair that came with the utilitarian piece of furniture in front of him. Roy couldn't help but muse on the fact that this elderly man in front of him could justify dragging all this stuff that held no use on the battlefield, but didn't want to bother anyone with bringing a more comfortable chair.

"Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang reporting, sir!" Roy snapped to attention, giving a salute that looked as though it belonged in a textbook. Unfortunately, Lieutenant General Grumman did not respond, as he was currently focused on a chessboard in front of him, apparently partway through a game. Grumman was known to play with several by correspondence when a flesh and blood opponent was not readily available, and Roy could not help but wonder who was giving him such a pause for thought.

It would be improper, of course, for Roy to comment. Had this been a personal visit, he wouldn't hesitate to chat, inquire, and perhaps even offer his opinion, but they were on the field and right now protocol demanded he show the proper respect for his superior.

Even if he had been standing for five minutes in silence.

"Perhaps you should move your kingside bishop, sir?" Roy offered, his patience finally reaching its limit.

The general merely chuckled, showing that he was in fact aware of Roy's presence. He tapped the head of the piece that Roy suggested for a moment, before deciding against it. Instead, he moved his only remaining knight, claiming his opponent's queen. From what Roy could see the lone horseman was clearly at risk of being claimed by his opponent's rook, but he knew better than to comment once the move had been made. Grumman knew this game better than anyone he knew, at there was bound to be a plan behind this.

The general scribbled his move down on a sheet of paper and folded it in half. Finally, he looked upward and greeted Roy with a smile.

"Well then, what can I do for you my boy?"

Roy allowed himself to relax, if only slightly. It was a sort of unofficial standing order from General Grumman, that if he felt no need to stand on formality, Roy shouldn't either. Still, he could not help but maintain some semblance of structure in how he addressed the seated man in front of him.

"Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang, the Miasma Alchemist, reporting for duty sir."

"Yes, yes. I was told that you'd be leading a team of Central soldiers in the upcoming attack. Looks like the higher ups are finally listening to me about you."

Roy knew what he meant. While he could not say he did not have a hand in it, Roy had been left in what many considered the backwater East ever since the war with Ishval ended. It had, for a time, suited Roy to be left alone, to continue researching alchemy and refining his techniques. But eventually he knew that he would have to begin moving up in the world if he was going to accomplish his aims.

"In any case," the general continued, "don't let me detain you. The sooner you get onto the field, the sooner we can put this whole sorry mess behind us."

Roy nodded, turning to leave. After only a few steps, however, he stopped. He turned back to face the general, and one did not need to be a great reader of men to tell that he wished to bring something up but was hesitant to do so.

"General," he asked, choosing his words carefully, "may I ask you something?"

A simple nod, accompanied by eyebrows being raise in interest, were the only response the Miasma Alchemist received. He collected his thoughts and spoke slowly, making certain not say anything he shouldn't. Even here, one never knew who might be listening.

"An associate of mine in Central has heard rumors of someone in the area. Someone we are both familiar with. I have to ask, is there any truth to this?"

"Oh, who can say? I'm just an old man, I can hardly keep track of what I had for breakfast this morning, let alone keep tabs on the rumor mill," Grumman responded, and to the uninterested listener it might have seemed like he was casually brushing off the question. Only someone who truly understood the situation between the two men could listen to the unspoken words passing between them.

"I'm afraid that I'm more caught up in the past than paying attention to the present these days," Grumman said conversationally. He seemed quite interested in the chess piece in his hand, the white queen. He turned it over once in his fingers and continued on.

"For example, I was just thinking the other day that it has been years since I've seen my granddaughter."

Roy could not help but tense up. Even when not named, Riza Hawkeye had that effect on him when she entered conversation.

"Yes, not since my son in law's funeral. A good man who taught her well. She was a strong girl, but she took losing him hard. She looked so heartbroken when I left. Trying to put on a strong face, but hurting underneath all the same, with nobody she could trust to fall back on. I hope that I can see her smile again one day. Soon, if at all possible. But I suppose that is out of both of our hands now, isn't it? Don't let my silly ramblings keep you, Mustang. You have a battle to win, after all."

Roy nodded curtly and left the tent. He hadn't missed the edge in the general's voice, a tone that bordered on the accusatory. He hadn't said anything, because in truth he couldn't argue against the simple fact that his actions were, at least in part, what drove Riza to where she was today. He looked towards the direction of the militants, where he would be engaging in battle not too long from now. If she was somewhere over there, he was going to bring her back to her grandfather.

He owed them both that much at least.

~…~

"Come on you stupid beast, move!"

Her friend pulled at the old horse, but Rose knew that it was a meaningless gesture. The poor animal was probably far too old to have been force to take anyone as its rider, but they could not simply leave Rikan's wife to walk on her own, not in her condition. She placed a calming hand on the man's shoulder, and then craned her neck to smile at the bandaged woman behind her. She smiled back, petting the neck of the horse to reassure it. Her husband walked dutifully beside her, and unlike the others in the small procession did not react to the sounds of gunfire from behind them, despite the fact that the four of them bringing up the rear were the closest to the danger.

"Those heathens will be upon us soon if we don't pick up the pace," the man beside Rose grumbled for the umpteenth time. Rose sighed but did not say anything. She thought that it was sad what war did to people. True, this was holy war, but all the same she could remember a time in which she would never have felt uncomfortable talking with a friend of hers.

Rose wondered if she could obtain an audience with the Prophet to help clear these worries from her mind once they reached Liore. She knew that her fears should have been decreasing now that the gunfire had quietened, but-

Rose stopped in her tracks, startling the horse behind her. She was thankful that Rikan was around to ensure that his wife was not thrown, but that thought was not at the forefront of her mind at the moment. They had not progressed that far; by all rights, they should still be within earshot of most of the fighting. And yet now she only heard the occasional gunshot ring out.

Rose fixed her gaze behind the group, trying to determine what had happened. Something was wrong, she could tell that. Fighting in the dry east often resulting in kicking up dust, but the cloud that had enveloped the battle was far too thick to simply be the result of the actions of men.

At least, or normal men.

The pieces clicked into place in Rose's brain when two things occurred: first, a flash of blue, like lighting emanating from the ground, appeared out of the cloud, and then, a figure stumbled into view. He tried to run away, towards their fleeing caravan, but did not make it far. Letting out a scream that could only barely be heard, the man fell and did not rise.

Rose put her hands to her mouth in shock. Slowly, she said the thought that was beginning to dawn on the rest of those who had turned to investigate.

"An alchemist," she whispered, "The military has sent a State Alchemist."

~…~

Well, apparently 'soon' translates to 'within several months'. Sorry about the holdup, let's hope that the next chapter doesn't take half a year.