Chapter 4: 'Til Death Do Us Part

Standing in an antechamber of Central City's largest civic assembly hall, Hawkeye took a deep breath, smoothed the stiff blue wool of her dress uniform, and waited for her cue. Wrath had wasted no time, and had scheduled the wedding just three days after his swearing-in ceremony. It was about to begin.

Now he was Führer and she was about to become his wife, in a twisted parody of everything she had ever wished for. This was suddenly becoming very real. And frightening. She wanted to run away, to yell, to open fire on something, but instead she clamped down on those emotions, and focused her mind on getting through the task ahead.

She checked her appearance in the mirror, straightening her lapels and military insignia. Not a fan of wedding ceremonies even under normal circumstances, she had seen no reason to celebrate this one. She hadn't taken any particular care with her appearance, wearing no more makeup or jewelry than on a normal workday. Her only nod to the occasion was that she hadn't clipped her hair into its usual bun, but had instead left it flowing loosely over her shoulders.

She heard the opening strains of the song customarily used to start military weddings—her cue—and stepped out of the antechamber into the hall's foyer. Her grandfather, General Grumman, was waiting for her, concern evident in his eyes. They had not been permitted to speak before the ceremony, and now, taking his arm, she could offer him nothing but a rueful half-smile as he escorted her down the aisle under the watchful eyes of Amestris' military and political elite, and an unknown number of homunculi.

Waiting on the assembly hall's grand stage, the groom was handsome in his dress uniform, sword and eyepatch, and looked exceedingly pleased with himself. Hawkeye avoided making eye contact as she took her place next to him. She listened impassively as the magistrate droned through the ceremony, speaking the proper responses when required of her.

"…Citizens of Amestris, we are gathered here today…"

"…Do you, Elizabeth Hawkeye, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband…"

"…If anyone knows any reason why these two should not be joined in matrimony…"

"…I now pronounce you man and wife…"

When it was over, she stood woodenly in acquiescence of the ceremonial kiss. Wrath leaned in with a smug grin, his one visible eye glittering with satisfaction. But his kiss was surprisingly gentle, and when she pulled back, she realized suddenly that she was looking at the Colonel. He managed to smile sadly at her for just a moment, and then he was gone. In the next moment, the groom's face wore a profound look of irritation.

The next required step in the process was the wedding reception. Hawkeye (if that wasn't technically her name anymore, she had no intention of thinking herself in any other way) had to stand next to Wrath as a line of military dignitaries filed by, shaking their hands and offering congratulations. He had warned her that there would be consequences if she was not on her best behavior, so she wore a bland smile and gave the expected replies. None of her team members had been invited—evidently they were not important enough—nor any other State Alchemists.

At the end of the line, forced to wait until the supply of officers was exhausted, was Madam Christmas, the Colonel's foster mother. Hawkeye took another deep breath. She had never met the woman, and had no idea how much her foster son had revealed to her about his condition. She did know that Madam, who owned a popular hostess bar that served as a cover for information gathering and political influence peddling, could be a vital ally. This would likely be her only chance to make contact.

"Hiya, kid. Nice to finally meet you," Madam said gruffly, shaking Hawkeye's hand with an iron grip. Her eyes glanced sideways at Mustang, occupied with glad-handing a minor general. "Sorry it's under these circumstances," she added in a murmur. The older woman knew everything, Hawkeye was now certain. She could see the same fake smile, the same eyes full of repressed grief that she herself wore.

"It's nice to meet you too," replied Hawkeye, then impulsively leaned over and gave her Madam a hug. She made sure her long blonde hair fell in front of her lips, shielding them from Wrath's view, and whispered, "Will you help us?" Then she pulled back with a friendly smile.

"You too, kiddo," Madam said casually, clapping her hand on Hawkeye's arm, as if they had just exchanged meaningless pleasantries. But she also gave a nearly imperceptible nod, understanding glinting in her eyes, before moving on to exchange insincere well-wishes with the creature possessing her foster son.

Once the receiving line duties were concluded, Wrath wrapped his arm around Hawkeye's shoulders and guided her into a nearby corner, screened from the guests' view by decorative greenery. His hand gripped her arm hard enough to cause real pain. "What did you say to Madam Christmas?" he demanded angrily. "Neither of you is sentimental enough to hug the other. What did you say?"

She looked him in the eye. "I said, 'I'm sorry for your loss,'" she offered curtly. "Because I know exactly how she must be feeling right now. Am I allowed to have a single human emotion on my wedding day, sir?" For just a moment, she allowed her eyes to well up with tears. The Colonel wouldn't have fallen for it; he knew her too well. But this creature wasn't the Colonel. Not entirely.

Frowning angrily, he relaxed his grip, scanning her face for deception. After a moment, still annoyed but apparently satisfied, he turned her around and gave her a small shove back into the corridor.

The celebratory banquet that followed was nearly intolerable. The newlyweds' table was filled with high-ranking generals, with whom Hawkeye was required to engage in pleasant small talk. The process was periodically interrupted by the increasingly intoxicated guests banging forks on champagne glasses en masse, signaling that the bride and groom were to stop whatever they were doing and kiss each other for the crowd's amusement, something she would have found irritating under the happiest of circumstances. There were no repeat visits from the Colonel. She ate very little of her dinner, and tasted less.

After dinner came the final bout of enforced merriment, this time in the form of dancing. The first dance at a wedding was traditionally between the bride and her father (or closest available substitute), who would then symbolically hand his daughter off to dance with the groom for the remainder of the evening. Another trite and vaguely demeaning custom. But at least it meant that Hawkeye would finally have a few moments to talk to her grandfather.

Making sure to tilt her head forward so that her hair shielded their conversation, she quickly filled Grumman in on everything she knew, including Wrath's threats against him. The older man sighed. "I knew something was wrong when he called to tell me about the wedding. And when my calls to you wouldn't go through. But I had no idea things were this insane.

"Listen to me, granddaughter," Grumman continued sternly. "I'm going to tell you two things: First, do whatever has to be done, and don't worry about me. I'm an old soldier. I know the risks of battle. And I'd rather die than be used against you as a hostage.

"Second, whatever you feel for the real Roy Mustang, do not let it cloud your judgment. If you find yourself with an opening, you need to kill that thing. Don't think, don't feel, don't hesitate. That's an order. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," Hawkeye responded tersely. She spent the remainder of their dance miserably contemplating the possibility of having to watch her grandfather die, or kill the man she loved, or both. As she waited to be handed over to the arms of a monster.

She really hated weddings.

"No," said Hawkeye, arms folded defiantly.

Wrath's predictable temper was working its way to a boil. "May I remind you, my dear, that you are now my wife, and this is our wedding night." They were in their new home, standing in a spare bedroom that Hawkeye had claimed for herself. He was understandably upset that she had not joined him in the master bedroom.

"No."

She was taking a gamble. She had known what she was getting into when she accepted his proposal, and she was genuinely prepared to do whatever she needed to do. It was the Colonel's beautiful body, and he was still in it somewhere, and if it came to that, she supposed she could manage. But only if it came to that.

He tried a different tack, smiling through clenched teeth. "It's perfectly natural for you to be nervous at a time like this, Riza. Any woman would be." He had slipped into the old-fashioned, Bradley mode again. "I can assure you that I'll be gentle."

She suppressed a laugh. Did this creature really think it would be her first time? "That's hardly the issue. The answer is no."

His smile curled into a snarl. "I could force you."

"You could." While her hand-to-hand combat skills were excellent, and she could easily defeat a man of Mustang's size, she would not be able to counter this creature's inhuman speed and strength. "But we both know that isn't what you want."

It was too late; his anger was boiling over. His hands gripped her shoulders hard, and he shoved her down into a sitting position onto the bed. "You will—" he began to growl. But now the ouroboros in his eye was weaving. Wrath was losing control.

In a moment, she was staring into both of the Colonel's eyes. He managed a smile. "I won't let that bastard touch you," he gasped.

Her gamble had paid off, again. "Thank you," she smiled back with relief. Her eyes scanned his. "Can you stay this time, Colonel?"

"No. Can't do this for long." He took his hands from her shoulders and stood up, with difficulty. "Need to warn you what they're planning. A human transmutation circle, over all of Amestris." He was struggling to get the words out. "If you can't stop it, get out of the country."

"What—"

"In the Spring. There'll be an eclipse. They call it the Promised Day." He moved away from her, toward the door. "Lieutenant, next time I take control, be ready. To kill me."

"No!" She stood up, shock in her eyes. "We'll find another way—"

He shook his head slowly. "No other way to kill Wrath. Not my first choice either." His right eye was beginning to roll upwards in its socket. "It's—an order. Remember—your promise from that day."

Then the ouroboros and Wrath's snarl were back. He took a menacing step towards Hawkeye, but the eye began weaving again, stopping only when he took a step back. The Colonel would let him go no further. Breathing heavily with rage, he picked up a vase from a nearby table and hurled it at her. She ducked as it smashed into the wall above her head.

"It won't work, you know," he taunted, still seething. "You're not strong enough to kill me, and nothing you do will interfere with our plans." Then he gave her a chilling smile. "Don't worry, my dear. When the Promised Day comes, you'll be protected. I plan to keep you close to me." He turned and strode imperiously out of the room.

She locked and barricaded the door behind him, then sagged onto the bed, sighing with relief that he had gone. But the Colonel's warning…and more importantly, his order. She buried her face in her hands. He had invoked her promise, the one she had made when he had recruited her to his team. That she would kill him if he ever became corrupted by power. It was hardly a fair description of what had happened to him; but he had given her an order, the same one her grandfather had given. And unless she could find another way to defeat Wrath, she knew she would have no choice but to obey it.