AUTHOR'S NOTES: Yes, I made up Mr. Hawkeye's first name, and the name of his wife, some of their lives, and I don't know when or where or why she died. Eh, you know the drill.

Mr. Jonah and the entire Mustang family (besides Roy, of course) are all my characters as well.

The title of this chapter, and the concept of "Be Thou for the People" was inspired by episode 9, of the same title (at least, in the English dub).

---

"So…my parents and my sisters actually ended up liking what I did with the broken vase, but Ginny and Vicky, after owning up to breaking it in the first place, got no dessert that night, if I remember. Lizzie and I felt sorry for them, but they took their punishment all right. At first I thought my mom and dad were only saying they thought the 'vase' was nice so it would make me happy, but eventually, I saw that they really meant it. Mom even showed it off to anyone who would visit us, saying that she had a six-year-old alchemist."

Roy couldn't help but grin, feeling proud of himself. He shifted around in the high-backed, maroon velvet armchair and watched the jumping sparks and dancing flames in the fireplace. The warm colors amazed him, the occasional popping noises were comforting in a strange way, and it was just so fascinating to see the fire sway about as it spread its heat for the two of them, like an invisible blanket. For a while, it was as though he were talking to the fire instead of Mr. Jonah.

"How's your alchemy these days now, Roy?" asked the shopkeeper, leaning back in his own chair and placing his bare feet on a footstool, sighing contentedly as the fire warmed his feet and eventually the rest of him.

"It's all right…sometimes I can make it work, sometimes I can't. Most of the time, I end up doing something like what I did with that vase when I was six. And I usually screw up more when creating things instead of just fixing them."

"Well…just keep working hard and soon you'll become a real alchemist, boy," said the bookstore owner, staring out into space and wiping his pince-nez on his worn brown vest over a green shirt with rolled-up sleeves.

Roy nodded. "Of course I'm working hard. That's why I want to buy that book on display…advanced alchemy. I don't think we have that at home."

"I wish I could sell it to you," answered Mr. Jonah, turning to gaze at him a bit sadly through his tiny round spectacles. "Unfortunately, that book is reserved for State Alchemists only. You know them, don't you? They're alchemists who serve the military, who are usually called in when all else fails, and even when conflicts can still be solved by more peaceful means. Sometimes they use their abilities to mow down hundreds, maybe even thousands, of people, all for the sake of the State."

"But they have pocket watches that can amplify alchemic reactions," added Roy thoughtfully. "My dad says so. And they have access to lots of information and books and other stuff nobody else can have…who knows? Maybe when I get really good at alchemy, I could become a State Alchemist! Then when I can get my hands on all that knowledge on alchemy…I could easily become the best, most famous and most powerful alchemist in the world! Then with alchemy, I can help make the world a better place!" His eyes glittered with exhilaration and his smile grew wider as his mind brimmed with thoughts of him reaching his goal.

Mr. Jonah gaped at him.

"You wouldn't want that life. You don't know what you're asking for. I highly doubt your father would want you to join the military that way. And these are things you're better off taking up with him, not an old shopkeeper like me," he said, massaging his wrinkled forehead. "Listen, I'm really sorry. I know you'd like that book very much. Perhaps it's just fate's way of saying that you aren't ready for it yet…still a long way to go before you are. You are ten, right? Now run along before your father starts calling in reinforcements to search for you. Tell him that I hope he's doing well, along with his family, which I'm sure they – and you – are."

"Okay." Roy stood up from the armchair and bowed before the old man. "Thanks for the fire. I'll be going home now."

"You sure you know how to get home?"

"Of course I can. I'm ten, right? Ten's a big number. Not as big as twenty, or sixteen, but pretty close…and soon, I'll even be eleven."

Mr. Jonah sighed, a mixture of nostalgia and satisfaction as he heard the pitter-patter of the boy's footsteps as he headed towards the exit and the clang of the bell as he opened the door and left. The man sighed, nodding towards the fire.

"So much like his father," he whispered to the crackling fire. "So very much…"

---

"Roy, honestly, no reading on the table," Olivia chastised her son. "You can read all you want later."

"Sorry," said Roy, scratching the back of his head sheepishly and standing up to return One Hundred and One First Transmutations to the library – or at least, put it somewhere where none of its pages would be stained with potatoes, lamb chops in Olivia Mustang's famous sauce recipe, and stir-fried vegetables. He placed it on top of the piano in the living room and went back to the dining hall, where the family conversation was only beginning.

"So, how is Corporal Vermont doing, Regine? Has he been courting you?" asked Arthur casually, spearing a bit of asparagus with his fork.

The eldest Mustang sister nearly choked on a particularly huge portion of lamb, and quickly grabbed her glass. After a long drink of orange juice that washed the stubborn piece down, she took several deep breaths, patches of red flowering in her cheeks and even her ears. She tossed back her flowing, dark brown ponytail, which was the exact same color as her surprised eyes, and glanced away, preferring to focus on the starry night sky outside the nearest window. She bit her lip before whimpering, "Dad…"

Nobody saw Victoria discreetly poke Elizabeth in the arm. The two of them started to giggle.

"But Charles is good-looking…I think he likes you," Vicky pointed out. "Remember when Brigadier General Vermont came to visit and he brought his nephew Charles with him? He was always looking at you, Ginny…especially when you were practicing that piece by…"

"I think it was probably because I had a bad hair day that day," Regine retorted. "It was stupid of me to try to braid my hair when it would always escape from the braid anyway. So shut up, Vicky."

"I have to admit, she's right," said Elizabeth, shrugging and adjusting the lacy straps of her turquoise dress, which starkly contrasted with her twin's crimson outfit. "The corporal didn't look like he wanted to court you, Ginny, no offense. But I think you deserve better."

"None taken, and thanks, I don't think he's my type, anyway," said Regine, rolling her eyes. "I mean, all he does is talk and talk and talk about how so many of his family members are military officers. As if his mother's cousin's nephew's brother counts…or his aunt's brother-in-law's…"

She never got to finish her diatribe, as Roy cut her off and asked loudly, "Dad, do you think I could become a State Alchemist?"

Clink.

Arthur suddenly dropped his knife on the floor. He bent over to pick it up, but when he looked up at Roy, the major general had a very serious, no-nonsense expression on his face, and if eyes were matches, his stern, blue-green ones would have burned anyone he stared at to a crisp. But he wasn't mad, not even the slightest bit agitated, but neither was he impressed. In fact, nobody could tell what he really felt when Roy brought up the subject of becoming a State Alchemist – not for the first time. Lizzie nudged Vicky, who raised an eyebrow in bewilderment in reply.

"Ever since I've told you about State Alchemists, you always ask me about them and whether you could be one of them," said Arthur frankly, wiping his knife with a napkin and looking at it instead of his son. "Why?"

"I don't know…it's just that…it sounds like I can not only become a great alchemist, but I can also use my alchemy to help others. According to Introduction to Alchemy, alchemists 'Be thou for the people'. Sure…I might have to fight in wars and such, but isn't that what everyone in the military does?"

The man finally gazed at Roy, as though watching him for any sudden movements. "Listen…this is not the time to discuss such matters. I think it's about time you and I had a little heart-to-heart."

After that, talk around the table simmered down drastically, and the sound of silverware and glass seemed amplified tenfold.

---

"If I remember correctly, you were only seven when you first found out about State Alchemists and what they do. I'm just going to reiterate what I've been telling you over and over again, and at the same time tell you things that you must know, now that you're older, and definitely a lot wiser – State Alchemists work for the military. They use their skills for that kind of job – and it's not a pretty sight to see them marching into battle. Usually, they aren't deployed into war till things get really bad for us, but many officers already place them on the front line as soon as possible. With their alchemic power, they can flatten a place as big as Central in a few minutes or even less and force the enemy to surrender. But to be part of that force, you must pass a rigorous test, and they only accept one or two candidates a year."

"That's what Mr. Jonah from the bookstore also tells me. But what's so bad about that?" asked Roy, tugging at a loose thread in his shirt sleeve. "Isn't that what the military does? And who cares about a test – "

Arthur leaned back in the sofa and placed an arm around his only son. By the light of the dimmed chandelier and the blazing fireplace, he seemed to age by several years. "Yes, but…the thing is…what you said before about 'alchemists being thou for the people' is true. Many people believe that alchemists who sign up for the military and allow their skills to be used for the military's profit are actually selling their souls for fame and prestige and are willing to be used as attack dogs – hence, 'dogs of the military' – of the State. You see, it is a very, very big thing when you pass the alchemy exam and receive the silver pocket watch that is every State Alchemist's symbol, not to mention an amplifier of alchemy."

"But doesn't the military also help people?"

"Yes…but not everyone. In every battle, there are sides to choose from, and in the end, there can only be one winner. You could say it's like your Equivalent Exchange, because there are no winners without losers in a war. I won't deny that as we have led Amestris to victory, there are also many lives we have taken in the process, but not by choice. That's military life for you – definitely not for the weak and fragile. If all this sickens you, then don't bother signing up."

"Then why did you become a soldier, Dad?" asked Roy, raising an eyebrow in slight confusion. "I mean, besides the fact that you're not weak and fragile, at least I think so…"

"I believe I have a duty to protect the country," said Arthur, his eyes misty with reminiscence. "As much as possible, we don't kill, but negotiate. We only bring out the heavy artillery when we have to, but sometimes, there are so many situations wherein we have to use force, and a lot of it. It's a dirty job, but some people have to do it. Even so, we have always been cursed by our countrymen for it, not just the State Alchemists."

The youngest Mustang nodded, letting it all sink in as he let himself sink into the sofa they were sitting in. He tugged at the collar of his white shirt and fidgeted underneath his father's arm.

"Still…I want to be able to help with alchemy, by joining the military," Roy insisted. "But I don't want to kill anyone…"

"Just remember the value of life and your values," said Arthur, glancing outside and listening to a slight drizzle begin tapping against the living room window. "Not that I'm discouraging you from becoming a State Alchemist; just don't forget what's right and wrong. It is a hard path, a much harder one than simply becoming an alchemist. You will encounter many forks in that road, and by then you will be old enough to make your own decisions."

The major general sniffed, and embraced Roy tightly. "You're growing up, son. I just want you to grow up knowing righteousness. And whenever I see you drawing an array, or attempting to create something with alchemy, or even just poring over all those books in our library, I know that your skills are growing with you. It seems like only yesterday I had to read that book to you – now you've practically touched every last volume on alchemy we have."

He paused and let go of him. "Which reminds me…you need a teacher, someone who has had experience in alchemy, who can help you. I was never much of an alchemist myself, and neither are your sisters, or your mother. I have been asking some of my friends who are also State Alchemists – and they could probably also explain the ins and outs of being one – but as much as they would love to teach you, they can't take you under their wings."

"A teacher?" echoed the boy. "But I can do alchemy fine on my own…"

"Well, that's true," said Arthur, looking at the ornate flame that was displayed on top of their fireplace – the shattered vase that Roy had inadvertently turned into a replica of fire. "But you still have a lot to learn, and you need a mentor who can help you understand the finer points…the more complicated turns of alchemy…luckily, I was able to talk to an old friend of mine who recommended a very prolific alchemist who lives not too far away. You will want to meet him, Roy. He's very, very good, and he will be of more help than me."

Roy blinked several times. "Really?"

"In fact, I'll tell him we'll be paying him a visit soon." Arthur patted his son's jet-black head and thought of the times when he also had black hair – not black streaked with gray and even touches of white. "Don't say you don't need a teacher; I had teachers too, when I was learning how to be a soldier. You know one of them very well…he retired from the military a few years ago and set up his own business, which also serves State Alchemists who need rare and intricate readings."

"Mr. Jonah once taught you in the Military Institute of Amestris?"

"He used to be Lieutenant General Jonah…till he decided that his time in the force was up. Anyway, if you don't exactly like the alchemy teacher we've found for you, or if you don't get along," Arthur gave a short laugh, "we don't have to keep on hounding him. Yes, Mr. Jonah was the one who once knew Nicholas Hawkeye, and remembered the man. He even has a daughter, I've heard, so you'll probably make a new friend…"

For a moment, Roy thought of the girl he had met in the park. She said her name was Riza…but she never said her last name, come to think of it…I'd like to be her friend, she's not like all those other girls who scream whenever they see an ant crawling up their arms and bother me to pick it off for them, and then when they're done they start clinging to me…and I bet she wouldn't force me to play the piano or the violin for her when I don't want to…

"Roy?"

"Oh, sorry," said the boy, snapping out of his reverie. "What was that again, Dad?"

"It's nice that you're chasing after your own dreams," said Arthur, squeezing Roy's hand. "But know when to pause and take a breather. Don't forget everything I've told you about the military, State Alchemists in particular. There's nothing wrong with being one; but there will be when you sacrifice the wrong things for it. Never focus on such superficial things like fame, or power, for many State Alchemists and people in general have made that mistake and paid dearly for it.

"But no matter what happens, your mother, sisters and I will always be there to back you up, I promise. Make us proud." Arthur relinquished his grip on the young boy's hand and patted him on the back, beaming proudly.

"I will. When I get the hang of alchemy, I'm going to become a State Alchemist and really be an alchemist for the people."

But a sudden cracking noise caught Roy's attention, and he found himself staring at the fire, wondering what made those sounds, why it sounded like that and not some other sound, how something could be so beautiful and useful, and yet could become a deadly weapon in the hands of the skilled, capable of hurting, even killing…

---

Neither of them noticed a sixteen-year-old girl in a pale yellow nightgown and matching slippers peeking through the doorway that separated the living room from the hallway that led to the staircase, running her fingers through her loose, waist-length chestnut tresses. She twitched, narrowly stopping herself from jumping a mile and screaming, when someone's fingers clamped down – hard – on her shoulder. Whipping around, she saw another brown-haired girl in a pink and periwinkle striped nightgown. The two of them stared into each other's blue-green eyes.

"Liz, you scared me."

"Is Roy in trouble?"

"No…but he says he wants to be a State Alchemist now."

"Why?"

"State Alchemists pass a really hard test to get into the army, right? Roy figures that when he gets really good at alchemy, he'll enter the military so he can help lots of people that way," whispered Vicky, taking a deep breath after saying all this.

Lizzie nodded placidly. "I see…" She let her voice fade away between the two of them, and for a while they stayed frozen and out of sight.

When Vicky opened her mouth to say something, her twin spoke first. "He's really serious about this, isn't he? I mean, with becoming an alchemist and all…"

"Yeah…c'mon, Liz, let's go back before Mom finds us eavesdropping again."

"We're technically not eavesdropping. We went downstairs because you forgot your hair ribbon and just happened to hear Dad and Roy talking."

"But Liz, I didn't leave my ribbon anywhere. And I was wearing a clip today, not a rib – oh." Vicky grinned and stifled a giggle when she saw her sister wink. "What the heck, let's just head upstairs. Still…I have to admit, I'm worried about our brother. I know he's smart for his age and knows what's right, but I hope he does stick to his agenda of sharing his alchemy with everyone. Not that I don't believe in him or anything…"

Lizzie put her finger on her lips and gripped Vicky's hand. "I know…me too. Let's go."

---

A considerable distance from the burgeoning Mustang mansion and its prosperous family was another house at the end of a lane filled with huge, old, withering buildings, some of which could barely pass as houses. Most of the gardens and yards surrounding the area were dry and almost devoid of life, save a few weeds and ancient, gnarled trees. The entire place was an eyesore, but many people still insisted on living there, especially the man who lived in the spacious yet disintegrating house several meters away from the his nearest neighbors, like a castaway on a deserted island in an endless, desolate sea.

Nicholas Hawkeye was an enigma. Some people would say he was a brilliant genius who worked wonders with alchemy. Others would disagree and declare that he was a lunatic slipping further and further into insanity. Still others would simply pity the man, who lost his wife, Perenelle, years ago, leaving him to raise their only daughter by himself. Everyone else thought some combination of the above, or all of it, applied to Mr. Hawkeye, as he was usually referred to.

After all, he did have hawk-like eyes – piercing, stormy-gray ones that could bore into anyone to the point that he freaked people out, even though he wasn't staring at them. There was practically only one individual around who could survive his gaze…probably because she had lived with him all her life.

Now, inside the Hawkeye residence, the phone rang, its chime punctuated by unpleasant buzzing noises that told anyone who heard it that it needed to be fixed. A young girl wearing a forest-green shirt and khaki trousers instantly thrust out a small, delicate hand, the one not holding a slingshot, and picked up the receiver, all the while watching out for the slightly frayed wire and the peeling paint.

"Hello?"

"Are you Nicholas Hawkeye's daughter?"

"Yes, I am, sir. Do you wish to talk to him? Who is this?"

"This is Major General Arthur Mustang. Please put your father on the line, thank you very much."

"Okay, just a minute."

She set the receiver aside and walked briskly towards a small room not too far away. The door was ajar, but she knew better than to just barge in and interrupt whoever was working inside. Instead, the girl simply stuck her head in and said loudly, "Father, there's someone on the phone for you – his name is Major General Mustang."

Three out of the four walls of the room were filled with shelves, cupboards and closets, which in turn were filled with not only books, but also articles, papers, documents, photos, miscellaneous items, bottles of strange liquids, and all sorts of other things the girl didn't recognize or didn't want to recognize. The remaining wall was home to a huge study table that was half as wide as the wall, another table that was probably for more hands-on work, a chair, an ancient, dim lamp that flickered every now and then, and a small window that was draped by thick black curtains. The floor was grimy, stained and smudged in many places with dirt and dust that had accumulated over the years and proved resilient to any cleaning material, and was littered with wads of paper and other bits and pieces of research and random stuff.

A man with long, unkempt, dull blond hair and clad in rumpled clothes was hunched over the table, furiously scribbling on a huge piece of paper taped to the table, not bothered by either the scarce light, or the flickering of his lamp, or even the disarray of his room. He looked absolutely oblivious to everything except his work, and so did not hear his daughter call him the first time.

"Father, Major General Mustang wants to talk to you."

The scratching of the pencil stopped, and the man shoved himself away from the table, standing up and swaying slightly, as he had been seated there for a long while.

"Why would a soldier want to talk to me?" he asked in a raspy voice that sounded more like nails on a chalkboard than anything else. But the girl was used to it, having lived with him between seven and ten years – in short, all her life.

"I don't know," she answered truthfully, as he stomped across the room and passed her by, absently pushing the blond hair away from the girl's left eye.

"Never mind, Riza," the man mumbled. As she left the doorway, he heard him snatch the receiver off the table and grumble, "Major General Mustang, I presume?"

The person at the other end of the line sounded as though he quickly stifled a gasp. "Oh…you must be Nicholas Hawkeye. Yes, I am Arthur Mustang. I have heard from a good friend of mine that you are quite an alchemist…"

"Is that military-speak for 'You are a moronic loon'?" was the sour reply. "Listen, if you think you're going to get me into that happy little army of yours – "

"Oh no, Mr. Hawkeye," said Arthur coolly. "I just want you to know that my son and I will be dropping by within a week or so. You see, I have been looking for an alchemy teacher…I mean, for my son. His name is – "

Mr. Hawkeye grunted. "How old is this son of yours?"

"Ten, but he'll be eleven soon."

"I don't teach alchemy to kids, Mustang. Children are way too naïve and trusting and innocent to be dabbling in such an art. And what makes you think that he's even worth teaching alchemy to?"

"He has been interested in the subject since…since he was four or five, I think. Roy is a real budding alchemist. He even fixes things around our house and creates…"

Mr. Hawkeye let out a barking noise that was a cross between a laugh and a snort. "Four? Don't make me laugh, Major General. Seriously, I don't teach alchemy, period. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm a very busy man."

"I'm serious," said Arthur, keeping his cordial tone. "But please…at least take a look at him. We'll be dropping by for a visit. Please, I've been looking for a teacher for my son, and he's very willing to learn…"

"Really now," drawled the alchemist. "Fine, do what you want. You know Grail Lane, right? You can find me at the very end. But I can't guarantee that I will be your son's mentor. And in the rare occasion that I actually decide that this boy is actually fit to learn and I actually wish to educate him, I will, of course, need payment. Don't tell me – when he grows up with knowledge in alchemy, you'll turn him into a State Alchemist?"

Arthur was silent for a second or two before answering, "That is completely up to him, I assure you. That is all; I look forward to seeing you, Mr. Hawkeye."

"Goodbye, General Mustang," said Mr. Hawkeye, returning the receiver with a bit more force than was necessary. Leaning against the table, he shoved some of his hair away from his face and muttered under his breath, "Dogs of the military…whatever happened to alchemists 'being thou for the people'?"

Still, he couldn't help but be curious about this man Mustang and his son. Interested in alchemy when he was only four…it's too good to be true. Then again, so many things in this world are – or were – too good to be true…

He glanced down at the table he was now drumming his fingers on, and saw a framed photograph. The gold-painted frame, decorated with swirls and clouds, was fading and tarnishing, but the photo still remained clear – pretty much. At least he could see the three people in the picture – a tall, imposing man with earlobe-length golden hair that magnificently fell over his gray yet bright, euphoric eyes; a somewhat petite woman with delicately tanned skin, brown eyes infused with a bit of red, and jet-black hair pulled back into a long braid that snaked down her chest, carrying a young girl of about three, her hair restrained in two pigtails tied with bright red ribbons, who was blond and fair from her father, and inherited her mother's eyes and looks. They were dressed very formally; the man in a brown blazer over a white shirt and red tie and black trousers; the woman in a long blue dress that was buttoned up to her chest and adorned with lace around the collar and sleeves, and draped with a turquoise coat; and the child in a plaid skirt and a plain white blouse with a small scarlet bow tie and without sleeves.

They were all smiling for the camera, looking extremely happy.

It had been taken a few years ago…not too long before Perenelle was killed in an accident, leaving Riza motherless and Nicholas loveless.

I guess it really was too good to be true…

He glanced at the picture once more, a tear dripping onto Perenelle's face before placing it back beside the old phone.