Author's Notes: It's been ten years since I last wrote for this fic, but it's literally the first thing I think about when I want to write. And now that I finally know where this is going, things are getting ramped up for me. This is a very calm chapter - heavy with Royai - but you know what that means for the next one. But I also love Ling and May so much?


good men don't become legends
there is peace even in a storm


Considering that he's a Heroic Spirit and a legend in the flesh, Roy likes to think that he's extraordinarily strong even outside of his magic, but he still hisses in pain as Riza wraps his hands. She pauses for a moment, giving him an apologetic look, before gently continuing. Cleaning the wounds was painful enough and it isn't like any sort of pain medication will do much good. All he can do is sit on the cross-legged ground as Riza sits on her knees before him and does her best to patch him up. Alphonse hangs around the background, waiting his turn, but his eyes keep drifting in the direction of her big brother's bedroom.

Just as she's finishing up on his left hand, a sharp stabbing pain runs up his arm and he jerks his hand away, the action causing him even more pain. It throbs from the holes in his hands, making it almost impossible for him to even move his fingers, and he inhales thinly through his nose in order to keep from making any other noise.

"I'm sorry," Riza says quickly.

"Not your fault," Roy mumbles, cradling his damaged hand weakly against his chest. The other sits limply on his leg, already bleeding through the first bandage. He'll have to go through this all over again soon, but hopefully it won't be so bad the second time around. God, he hates being this weak. He can't even take care of himself. But his hands are a weapon in a sense and he can't operate fully being injured like this. Saber knew just what to do in order to incapacitate him; he just hadn't planned on Roy finding a way around it.

Roy's magic isn't the only tricky thing about him; he knows that a clever mind can be just as dangerous.

After giving his hand back to her, Riza finishes wrapping it up. She holds his hand in his, her thumb carefully swiping over the knuckles of his fingers and looking down at it with a type of intensity that lets him know she feels guilty for allowing him to get hurt. He wishes he could take her hand in his, squeeze it reassuringly, but he can't. Instead, he's forced to take a deep breath to draw her attention and then he smiles at her, even through the pain. It's absolutely monstrous, but he refuses to show just how weak he is anymore than he already has.

"You're always hurting your hands," Alphonse grumbles as he rolls forward into the room. So far, he has been surprisingly quiet ever since his first outburst of fear and concern over Edward when Riza carried him inside. After fretting over Edward and doing what he could for his brother, he waited silently outside of the room as Riza patched Roy up, but Roy could tell that the boy was itching to say something.

Riza stands up and steps out of the way. When Roy goes to stand up as well, Alphonse waves a hand at him to stay sitting down. Healing magic does tend to take the strength out of the people it's performed on and with the severity of the stab wounds, it's likely that he might collapse if he's on his feet. Roy grits his teeth at Alphonse's assumption, but knows that he's in the right. Roy knows a good amount of healing spells and all of them are taxing on the body. Healing isn't meant to be done on one's self though; it can be lethal. All of which means that Roy is stuck relying on a mage that isn't even old enough to smoke.

As a low green light glows over his hands, Roy tries to breathe deeply and slowly. He can feel the way Alphonse's magic gently glides over the wounds under the bandages, how it prickles at his skin, and probes at the damage done. A sudden gasp slips out of him once the magic takes hold and biting cold washes over him, like his hands are dumped into a bucket of freezing water, causing him to jerk ramrod straight and tense up. Alphonse's eyes are shut tight as he grips Roy by the wrist, keeping him from pulling away, and sweat is beading his face by the time the light dims and his body goes slack in his wheelchair as his magic fades from him.

Despite everything, Roy is trembling as he takes his hands back. When he goes to pull at the bandages, Alphonse shakes his head. "Not yet," he says tiredly. "The wounds were really bad, probably something to do with whatever magic is on Saber's sword. Another day or two and one more session, and you should be fine."

"So I'm stuck like this for now?" Roy asks, holding up his bandaged hands. He doesn't want to say it, but he feels weak and vulnerable, almost just as defenseless as he felt when Saber was piercing him to the ground.

Alphonse dodges his eyes and looks down at his immobile feet. "I'm sorry I couldn't do better."

Guilt strikes at Roy's heart. Alphonse is good at making Roy feel like that even when Edward is doing his best to drive him crazy. He's secretly grateful that out of the two Elric boys, it's Edward who is his Master. Roy stands up and puts a wounded hand on Alphonse's shoulder. At least he can move it now without wanting to groan in pain or flinch horribly. It's just a dull throb now, one that he can block out if he focuses, and he can move his fingers again. That's more than enough for now.

"No, you did well," Roy tells him. "Counteracting a Servant's magic is no small thing." It's not exactly a thank you and it's not the most direct of compliments, but Alphonse beams regardless as a light blush crosses his face. "Now go see your brother, but try not to wake him. He needs to sleep."

Alphonse nods his head and rolls out of the room, his wheelchair squeaking where it needs a bit of work. Once he's out of the sight, Roy walks to the door, but then slinks against the threshold. It was taking every ounce of strength he had left in him to not drop to his knees as he spoke with Alphonse. He might not be as powerful as his brother since Edward inherited the family magic crests, but he's strong in his own right and healing magic is no joke. Considering the wound, healing magic could make even the strongest of men pass out afterwards.

Riza puts one hand on his arm and one at his other elbow, so that she's standing behind him and he can lean back against her. He breathes in her familiar scent, which somehow hasn't changed since their first lifetime, except with the addition of gunpowder. A smile crosses his face. He kind of likes that. It's new but all her. "You need to rest as well," she points out.

"How's your ankle?" Roy asks, peering back at her.

"It's fine," Riza tells him, which he knows damn well is a lie. She's still limping, although she did her best to hide it from the younger Elric.

"You should've had Alphonse look at it," Roy says.

Stubborn as always, Riza shakes her head. "Alphonse was exhausted after tending to your words. I would not run him ragged like that. Besides, it'll be fine in the morning. Winry barely used any of her mana, so I only need a night to recover." She was like that before in their time, refusing medical attention until everyone else was taken care of, to the point where she passed out once. Even so, she was forced to wait on him since she could only be examined in private, lest others find out that she was a woman. How long did she bleed in public for him?

Dutiful and protective, despite not being his guard anymore, Riza helps him to the spare bedroom he uses, the one adjacent to hers. He can't help but cringe whenever he puts any weight on his hands or moves his fingers, but it's more than he could do just minutes ago. It's fairly embarrassing needing help with something as simple as moving his bedsheets around, but with Edward completely out of commision, Roy is terribly weak. He should slip back into his incorporeal form, but he's too stubborn. At any rate, he can't afford to do so, not with them in such a vulnerable position.

After briefly sliding her fingers through his hair, Riza smiles at him and then moves to leave, but Roy stops her cold with a simple, "Stay." The smile vanishes from her face, replaced by a blush. He wants more than anything to grip her hand and pull her to him, but when he moves his fingers, pain throbs dully up his arm. Roy looks up at her with a lopsided grin. "It's not like we have to worry about anyone catching us."

Riza's blush somehow deepens. "Winry and Edward-"

"Asleep and unconscious," Roy points out. He tries to play it cool, even though his heart is drumming wildly. There are plenty of excuses he could perhaps use, but at the end of the day, he just wants her close. He wants to hear her heart beat reassuringly next to his; he wants to feel her warmth radiate over him.

"It's not appropriate," Riza mumbles, even as she wanders back over to him.

"I promise not to make any unseemly moves on you," Roy teases, waving a bandaged hand in the air.

When Riza rolls her eyes at him, fully aware that he couldn't grope her even if he wanted to, he knows that he's won. It's not a hard-fought battle, considering that she clearly wants to be with him. There were so few times when they were allowed the simple comfort of sleeping next to one another. In this world, they've been given a small chance to make up for that, even if they're in the middle of a war. He might be teasing and grinning on the outside, but on the inside, he feels jittery and off-kilter. He needs her and he's greedy enough to ask it of her.

Scooting over to give her room, Riza slips into the bed next to him, at first careful to not touch him, but then he rolls onto his side towards her and their bodies touch under the blankets. It's innocent, but she still jolts and electricity runs up his spine. He would love nothing more than to pull her closer to him and press into her, but he recognizes that she needs time to adjust. Her heart jumps erratically as she struggles to breathe steadily, only stilling when he lays a useless hand on her hip to calm her down. She grabs a fistful of his shirt as he presses his forehead against hers and closes his eyes.

It's both not enough and too much at the same time, but also exactly what he needs.

"I almost lost you again," Roy whispers hoarsely.

"But you didn't," Riza tells him. "I don't want to ever see you give up like that again."

"Are you mad?"

"A little," Riza admits. When Roy opens his eyes, she's looking at him directly. "But I was mostly scared." He gives her a questioning look, furrowing his brow and frowning. "Edward is a good person, but if you were under the control of a man with a Servant like Assassin…"

There's no telling what Roy would be capable of doing with a man like Assassin's Master. Flashes of the end of the Mage Wars comes roaring back to him, like the screams of the dying never left him and the flames are licking at his back. He could perform such astonishing and horrific feats at the behest of such a Master. He could break the world again. It would be so easy to do. Would he fight it, forcing his Master to use his command seals, or would he go along with it, knowing deep down a monster lies inside of him? He likes to think that he would fight, but there's no telling what a man driven to such dark power is capable of.

Roy knows that all too well. He sees that man every time he looks into a mirror.


May is light as a feather as Ling lays her down in her cot. It's such a little thing for such a small person. She held on for as long as she could while watching the fight between the four other Servants, holding tightly onto the magical barrier she constructed around them, but the second it was over, she nearly passed out. The extreme use of her mana was enough to exhaust him, but she had just enough to keep him steady. She has more, he knows, but it's still blocked behind her own insecurities.

Ling gazes down at his Master as she sleeps. He never would've guessed that someone as fragile-looking as May Chang would one day order him around in a war and yet here he is,willing to die for her. It's almost disgusting. He is supposed to be one of the proudest rulers there is in history, so ready to belittle anyone beneath him, and yet this unseeming girl disarms him completely.

Without warning, May turns on her side, reaching out to grasp one of his hands. She's quicker than he expected due to her exhaustion. "Lancer." He freezes as she holds onto him, a troubled look on her sleepy face. "Did you see them?"

"Yes, I did," Ling answers, barely breathing.

"They were scary," May mumbles, eyes blinking until finally they close, "like monsters."

Ling gently pries May's fingers from his hand and lays it on the bed next to her. She brings her hands to her face, curling in on herself, as she drifts off to sleep. He can't help but stare down at her, his sharp gaze catching the Command Seals on the back of her hand marking him as hers. Looking at her now, she seems like little more than a child whose only concerns are her friends and eating sweets. She is a child though, far from her home, family, and friends. He wonders if her parents know where she even is - if she told them that she was leaving for a War, if she even said goodbye. For some reason, he doubts she did.

It would have been too painful and she would want to spare her parents that pain. She's such a kind soul.

After pulling a thin blanket over her shoulders, Ling moves to the side of the room, sliding open the window so that he can sit on the sill and gaze outside. The motel room is dingy at best, but it was all that she could afford. It's nothing compared to the palace bedroom that he'd once slept in, but the stars are the same, he thinks. He likes to pick them out; it helps center himself. When he was younger, in his own time, he would say that he owned all the stars that he could see. Everything his eyes touched was his.

A humorless grin crosses his face. He was terribly greedy as a ruler, but he was caring as well. The people of his country were his, too, and he would do everything in his power to protect them. After all, who is a king without his people? A tyrant. Ling glances back at May. Who is a Servant without his Master?

A monster, he thinks. It would be so easy to become a monster.


Ever since the Flame Alchemist had found out her true gender, Riza was filled with nerves. Sure, he had given her clothes back (after a lot of cheeky teasing that had set her blushing and hiding under the water), but he hadn't outright promised that he wouldn't tell anyone her secret. Her lie. Was it truly lying though? No one had asked her outright if she was a man or woman and they hadn't bothered to ask her to remove her helmet when she had fought in order to gain a position on the Flame Alchemist's Old Guard.

It had been three days and nothing had changed. Still, she could help but feel like all eyes were on her whenever she walked through camp. She could've sworn that people were whispering about her as she passed, but no one said anything to her. It was as if her greatest secret hadn't been found out days before. Not even Mustang seemed to look at her differently. His eyes would pass over her as she silently stood in the back of the tent while battle plans were cooked up or he would smile at her pleasantly if they passed each other in the camp.

Part of her wondered if maybe she'd dreamed up the whole thing - Mustang coming out of the clearing as she was quickly drying off. His befuddled gasp, "You're a woman!" and her terrified yelp before she tumbled back into the pond. Could it be that she had just hoped that he would find her and see her for who she truly was?

Riza scowled at herself as she ducked into her tent. She had never acted like some silly lovestruck girl before and she wasn't about to do it now in the middle of a war.

It had taken a lot of dedication and work to hide her gender, especially now that she was the leader of Mustang's Old Guard. Anyone could walk in on her at any moment, so she had implemented rules and structure to keep her secret safe. Besides Mustang, only two other people knew her gender and she used their help to keep it a secret.

Her dearest friend, Rebecca, was torn between helpful and bitter that she could not be of more service. Women weren't allowed to fight, even if they were excellent with a weapon, and Rebecca had more talent with a sword than most men. It had taken some convincing to allow her to be Riza's assistant of sorts, but it was a relief to have another woman so close to her. And then there was Havoc, her second in command to Mustang's Guard. Jovial and nonchalant as he appeared, he acted as a go-between to Riza and older soldiers, keeping her secret close to the vest even as he pretended to play it loose.

Without them, Riza knew that she never would've kept it a secret for so long - and now it could all be ruined because she'd desperately wanted to take advantage of clean water.

Lost in thought as she took her armor off, Riza did not hear the noise outside of her tent before it was too late. She spun around, a knife in hand, uncaring for a moment that she was vulnerable and open, but only found the man she was entrusted to protect, Roy Mustang, standing before her.

Rebecca ducked inside, face red and lips twisted into a frown. "I'm so sorry! He just barrelled right past me and said he knew everything and I-"

"You've got quite the little network going on behind everyone's backs," Mustang interrupted. Both his face and voice were unreadable. She couldn't see his eyes well, not with a crack of light shining in from behind him. "Is there anyone else I should know about?"

Rebecca tensed at that, as if reading between the lines. Mustang appeared to not know about Havoc, which was good. She would never forgive herself if she ruined another man's life for her own selfish reasons. Hiding such things behind the mages could get them in severe trouble. If anyone got the idea that they were spies, it would mean death. As the lead mage, it was Mustang's job to deal with spies in the camp. Death by fire. How ironic.

Mustang flicked a wrist and flame burst to life in the lantern on her small writing desk. It was also an order. Biting her lip, Rebecca slipped out of the tent, much quieter than when she came in. No doubt she would be running off to find Havoc to warn him. Riza never looked away from Mustang and he didn't look away from her. He was so much more serious than when he'd been laughing days ago. Maybe the passing time had made him realize how serious her grievance was. He may have been different from all the other mages, but he was still a mage.

With a tilt of his head, his entire demeanor changed and the air around them seemed to lighten. "Is it painful?" When Riza blinked at him in confusion, Mustang took a step forward - and she took a step back. She was not afraid of him - she swore that she wasn't, not even after all that she had seen him do - but it had been a long time since any man had looked at her like he was now. Like a woman. It was unsettling. He pointed at her chest without a hint of shame. "Is it painful?"

Riza looked down at herself and realized what he was talking about: the chest binding. She went to great lengths to hide her gender and the gods had seen it fit to bless her with a chest that was very recognizable as a woman's. The armor was capable of hiding most of it, but with everything else that went underneath it, she was forced to bind her chest tightly every day. She owed a lot to Rebecca with helping her so much.

"Sometimes," Riza admitted warily.

"It looks like it makes it difficult to breathe," Mustang pointed out.

You make it difficult to breathe, Riza thought. Especially with the way he was looking at her right now. His gaze wasn't filled with lust like she feared it might. Back before she had slipped away to join the Old Guard, she had done work around her father's place and did errands in his stead while he was wrapped up in his research. Men had plenty leered at her then, commenting on the old dresses that seemed to do little to hide her. But Mustang looked at her with a sense of curiosity, like he was the first to lay his eyes upon something glorious.

That intense gaze set her blushing just thinking about it.

"Are you going to tell my secret?" Riza blurted, unable to hold it in any longer.

Mustang practically flinched, as if she'd slapped him. "Why would I do that?"

"Because women are not allowed to fight and I lied, sir," Riza said.

"It is curious that a soldier so honorable would be so underhanded as well," Mustang mused. Then, he shrugged his shoulders, as if he was merely describing a painting. "But you're a better soldier than most. I'd be an idiot to leave my back open without you to guard it. Woman or man - it means naught to me."

She couldn't understand his flippancy. Any other mage would've sent her running days ago, cursing her as she left. Why she hadn't left immediately was still a mystery, but she could not just abandon her station. She was meant to protect this man. She'd known that he would be something the day she first saw him. A young man, barely more than a boy, being tutored by her father in a castle so much grander than their ramshackled house. Truth be told, it wasn't much of a castle, but she had spent so many days getting lost in it while he studied under her father.

Riza wondered if Mustang remembered her or if she had just been a ghost in his peripheral. He had been so absorbed by his studies; he probably couldn't recall the little, blonde-haired girl that sometimes accompanied his teacher and brought them tea. She was younger than him and not nearly so outgoing.

"You won't tell anyone?"

Mustang shook his head. "Not if you promise to be more open with me. It must be lonely living like this." He was not wrong about that. She loved Rebecca dearly and Havoc had become like a protective brother, but sometimes she couldn't help but miss a normal life. There was no way she would've become some simple farmwife or handmaiden, but she'd isolated herself almost completely here. "I think I can understand what it's like. A mage's path is a lonely one's as well. We've burdened ourselves quite a bit with our dreams, haven't we?"

"It's worth it," Riza told him.

"Perhaps, for now, we can dream together," Mustang said, holding out a hand. Riza looked from his outstretched hand to his face. He looked so open and earnest, so good and kind. He had very hopeful eyes, ones that dreamed of a better future. She took his hand, but instead of shaking it, they merely stood there like that staring at each other. It felt like all the air was sucked out of the tent. "Call me Roy in private, please." He gave her that lopsided smile of his that set her heart racing. "And what can I call you?"

Riza tried to breathe again, but she couldn't. How long had it been since anyone had called her by her name? Not even Rebecca or Havoc did it, out of caution. "Riza. My name is Riza." And she smiled.


Roy wakes up with a start, his hands throbbing painfully underneath the bandages, but when he grips them, he finds that he's holding onto something. A soft form lies against him, breathing gently, and Roy stills as he finds Riza sleeping next to him. He has his arms wrapped around her. She's so larger than life sometimes that he forgets how small she is. Tucked against him her face turned towards him and a balled up hand on his chest, she looks more like a mere sleeping woman than a Heroic Spirit of the Holy Grail War.

Selfish as he is, Roy allows himself a few seconds in the early morning light to believe just that.

It has been a long time since he hasn't dreamed of something that involves fire. He's so used to waking up to choking on the smoke of his sins. For a moment though, he can't decide which dreams are worse: the fire or her smiles. Hate and hope are tied so closely together that sometimes he can't tell the difference. It doesn't matter which they are; both scare him. And he's so loathed to admit that anything scares him.

When Riza stirs in his arms, Roy looks down at her, willing his heart to slow down. She mumbles something that sounds dangerously close to his name and then slowly opens her eyes, blinking a few times in the light. He smiles down at her and even risks pressing a light kiss to her forehead. "You slept in later than me. I don't think I've ever seen that happen."

"You're warm," Riza points out in a sleep-rough voice.

"Occupational hazard." Always one to push the limit, Roy slides a hand up her back. He can only feel with his fingertips, the rest of his hands covered in bandages, but it's enough to drag a gasp out of her as he nuzzles into her hair. It's so long. He wants to run his fingers through it. Damn Saber and his bloody swords.

Riza puts a hand to his chest. "Roy, the kids-"

"Probably still asleep," Roy rumbles as he presses a few more kisses to her cheek.

"I thought you weren't going to grope me," Riza points out as she reaches a hand up to take hold of one of his damaged hands.

Roy gives her a suggestive smirk. "Who said I was going to use my hands?"

Just as a blush creeps all over Riza's face and Roy thinks about sneaking in an actual real kiss on the lips, the door to the bedroom bursts open. While Riza tenses up and jerks away from him, like she's ready for a fight, Roy sighs in aggravation and flops back down on his back. She might not be able to sense the others as well, but he knew that his Master was clambering around the house. He hoped the kid would walk on by the spare bedroom, but it appears as if he has other ideas.

"You!" Ed shouts, stumbling into the room and almost falling on his face. Only Winry grabbing him by the arm last minute and holding him up saves him. He shakes her away though, staggering to the side until he smacks a hand against the threshold and drags himself up. He's still standing a bit lopsided and his gaze wavers as he tries to focus. "What did you-?"

And then he notices that Roy is not alone in his bed and practically shrieks.

"I'm so sorry," Winry babbles from behind as she tries to Ed out of the room. "Al and I tried to convince him to stay in bed - he's still recovering - but he wouldn't listen-"

"You're not at fault, Winry," Roy says over Ed's incoherent, childish sputters. He sits up in the bed, noting that Riza has the blanket pulled all the way up to her neck even though she's completely covered. A leftover habit of when she was hiding as a woman in a war camp, he thinks. "My Master is stubborn to death if nothing else."

Finally, Ed manages an actual sentence: "You're sleeping with Archer!"

"Well, yes, sleeping is what typically happens in a bed," Roy responds dryly. Ed clamps his mouth shut and glowers at him like such a child. Roy is suddenly reminded of just how young his Master is. He wonders if the boy has even had his first kiss. He glances at Winry, the way he holds himself away from her even when she touches him or tries to help him. Probably not. Too busy with his head lost in loss, magic, and the Holy Grail. It's almost sad. "And it's what you should be doing right now. Exhausting yourself further won't help anything. In fact, it'll make things worse. I need your mana to recuperate. You standing there is making me tired."

As if unable to deny it any further, Ed's legs give out and he slumps down the wall, Winry's featherlight touches on him the entire time. Riza pulls herself out of the bed, causing Roy to groan, but he follows her quickly enough. It is his Master, after all, that is pushing himself further than his limits - and it's Roy's fault that he's like this. Granted, it was to save their lives, but he must accept the consequences. Riza would accept nothing less. That and he had thought Ed wouldn't be conscious until the afternoon. The kid is chock full of surprises.

"What did you do to me?" Ed huffs as he sits there, sweat beading his face. He's pale, but not nearly as much as he was the night before.

Roy brushes Riza and Winry aside and hovers a hand over Ed, a few inches from his heaving chest. He can't do much right now - Al is a better healer than he is, truth be told - but Roy's experience counts for more right now. "I transferred some of my mana and od into you last night."

"Idiot!" Ed exclaims, but it's weak and he's panting from the effort. "That could've killed you."

"And Saber would've easily killed you if I hadn't, maybe even Winry as well," Roy says placidly, putting a hand on Ed's shoulder to keep him from standing up again. He doesn't need to do so though; his words seem to weigh so heavily on Ed that he can't stand up. "Besides, I have enough mana to survive days without you. I can spare it." Ed rolls his eyes at Roy's confidence, but says nothing. He knows it's true. "On the other hand, your magic circuits are highly developed for your age, but you're still young. The flood of my mana essentially short-circuited you."

Ed's breathing slowly starts to steady as he stares up at Roy. It's the first time they have ever maintained eye contact for so long. Either Roy will do something to make Ed look away or Roy will turn away from him. Ed's golden eyes seem to shimmer in the morning glow. "They were going to take you away from me."

"I couldn't let that happen; if some short, annoying brat is going to control me, I'd rather it be someone I know and can manipulate already." When Roy grins at him, it feels weak and he hopes to everything that none of them can tell. He feels Riza shift next to him though and knows that she at least caught him. He doesn't look at her; he cannot handle the look he knows is on her face right now.

"Who the hell is this Father guy and what's so special about him that makes him a 'true Master'?" Ed demands, though he knows that Roy doesn't have the answers. None of them do and now that it's morning it grates on Roy. He doesn't like it when he doesn't know all of the pieces of the board.

"I don't know," Roy admits, "but I'd very much like to meet him."

"And kick his ass," Ed grumbles. "You're my Caster."

Roy stands up and watches as Winry and Riza help Ed to his feet. My Caster, not my Servant. He doesn't know if the two women catch it or if Ed even noticed it himself, but he decides not to say anything. Ed is so touchy, maybe because of his age, maybe because he's had to be an adult when most people are kids. God knows Roy was busy running around a castle causing mayhem in between his alchemy studies at Ed's age.

They're able to goad Ed back into bed, Al rolling behind them with a nervous air, but before they close the door, Ed makes a childish grabby hand movement, like he's too tired to do anything else. Sighing, Roy makes his way over to Ed's bed and leans down so that Ed doesn't have to exert himself too much. Honestly, Ed's exhaustion is taxing on him and he feels to urge to disappear into his spiritual form.

"You're getting too attached," Ed tells him in a quiet but firm voice. It's almost accusatory.

Roy sneers, unable to stop himself. "As are you." The way he looks at Winry sometimes is all too obvious. Anyone with half a brain would be able to look at them and know that something was going on between them, even if the two were too young to recognize it themselves.

"I won't lose this War," Ed says and somehow he doesn't seem weak despite lying in bed.

"I know." And Roy does know. This boy, his Master, is filled with determination to the brim. He would go to the ends of the earth to win the Holy Grail War. Roy stands up and flicks the light off before shutting the door. He just doesn't know if Ed will like what he sees once he's there.


"I will admit that I was…not expecting this," Father proclaims as he sits in his chair. He looks comfortable, like he doesn't have a care in the world, but the truth is that he's ready to strike at any moment. He knows for a fact that his company feels the same way. It would be a fool to underestimate who he is facing right now and he is no fool. Still, he swirls the red wine in his glass and gazes at the fireplace crackling to his left. It's a chilly, fall night.

Olivier Armstrong smiles at him and it's all icicles and frost. He can't imagine that she has ever given a warm smile in her life, not even when she was a child. The cold suits her. "Call it a fortuitous event."

"The Armstrong line is not known for its partnerships," Father points out.

When Olivier laughs, it's not filled with warmth either. It's callous and cold, a promise of the harsh winter that will come after the War. "My ancestors have preferred to bulldoze through the War, do we not?"

"Which begs the question," Father says as he sets his wine glass down. "What are you doing here?"

"Seeking a partnership," Olivier answers without a hint of irony and then primly sips on her wine.

Father quirks an eyebrow. So far, neither of them have produced their Servants. He knows for a fact that Rider is her Servant, but he doesn't know whether she has guessed his Servant's class yet or not. She briefly mentioned that she found Archer, but said nothing else. For all he knows, she's completely in the dark about the rest of the Servants, considering that she hasn't appeared in the game nearly as much as everyone else so far. But then he catches the sharp glint in her chilly blue eyes and he knows that a single assumption might kill him.

"And if I say that I already have a partner?" Father asks.

Olivier shrugs her shoulder. "There's always the chance of a vacancy." She sets her glass down and leans forward, her body filled with intent and danger. "And do you really think that gold-toothed fool can compare to me, even with Saber at his side?"

No, Assassin sighs from his hiding spot in the shadows, I think not.

Father smiles pleasantly. Olivier leans back in her seat and props an ankle on her knee. She's the first person to find this place on her own and leave of her own accord. It's the beginning of a new partnership, Father thinks.