Riza was no stranger to luxury. While the Hawkeye Manor had seen better days, the Grumman Estate, with ten en-suite bedrooms and two large dining parlors, was the epitome of grandeur.
Or so she thought.
Having never been to the Bradley Manor, Riza had expectations; however, she certainly did not expect the small palace before her. Bradley's Eastern property was larger than the Grumman and Hawkeye estates combined, with a large, sprawling garden extending all around the foreboding great house. A large lake to the left reflected the rising moonlight and the trees of an orchard rustled in the distant breeze. If this was his Eastern property, Riza could only begin to imagine his main residence in Central.
Roy shifted beside her, equally in awe. "It looks as though General Grumman beat us here. And he is not alone."
Riza's gaze shifted to where Roy's gaze was fixated. Grumman's carriage was stationed directly out front of the Estate, along with another that Riza could only identify as a military-issued one.
"Here we are," Berthold said as the carriage came to a stop at the end of the driveway. "Best behaviors now."
Riza rolled her eyes at her father's warning, grateful he was climbing out of the carriage and away from her. She followed him, lifting her dress to avoid stepping on the delicate lace hem. She had chosen a black ensemble for the evening, one elegant enough to meet her father's expectations, and she could not help but think that she was properly dressed to silently grieve the end of her freedom.
The trio was greeted by Bradley's doorman, who politely guided them inside while explaining that both General Raven and General Grumman had already arrived and had joined Bradley in his study for a drink. The doorman politely led the group into what Riza could only guess was one of Bradley's many living rooms, before excusing himself to fetch their host.
"Berthold!" A voice boomed across the room. "How wonderful that you've arrived." Lord Bradley entered the room with the two generals following close behind him, deep in their own conversation. "I hope you were not waiting long. Berthold, this is the esteemed General Raven from Central Command. Raven, this Berthold Hawkeye, Grumman's son-in-law." The two exchanged pleasantries before Bradley motioned for Roy and Riza, who had both hesitantly stayed in the background, to move forward.
On cue, Berthold took over the introductions. "Generals, Lord Bradley, you know Lieutenant-Colonel Mustang"- he motioned to Roy who offered a polite greeting- "and my daughter, Riza."
"As stunning as I remember," Bradley said as he kissed the back of Riza's outstretched hand.
"My lord," she said quietly before turning to the Generals. "Grandfather. General Raven."
"So this is your new wife?" Raven asked, not bothering to take Riza's outstretched hand. His eyes did a long, nauseating examination of her figure. "Wherever did you find such a gem?"
"I almost married her mother and Miss Riza is finally marrying age. Some may say the timing was fate," Bradley answered. If Riza had not been looking for it, she would have missed the smallest twinge of bitterness at the mention of her mother. "Regardless, dinner is ready to be served. Allow me to show everyone to the dining room."
Dining room was an understatement, Riza decided. As with everything else in the Bradley household, the room oozed wealth and influence. A large table, meant for twelve but set for the current party of six, was the focal point of the room. A domineering stained glass design occupied the entirety of the north wall and a crystal chandelier completed the space.
Bradley took his seat at the head of the table and beckoned for Riza to join him on his right. Her father sat down beside her, Mustang next to him and the two generals faced the Hawkeye household.
"General Grumman has told me many things about your victory in the war. Much more interesting stories than the damned reports they make us read at Headquarters," Raven began, engaging Roy in conversation. "How does it feel to be adored by Amestris, Hero of Ishval?"
To his credit, Roy's expression remained unschooled at the use of this title.
"Thank you, sir," Roy said mildly. "It is comforting to know the people of Amestris think highly of the military."
Raven then turned to Bradley. "This boy here is a strategic genius. Reminds of you, back when you were young."
"Is that so?" Bradley asked, his interest piqued. "Tell me more, Roy. I would love to hear about some of your accomplishments."
Roy released the breath he had been holding and took a sip of water, slowly lowering his glass back to the table. "My men and I were able to infiltrate the enemy lines. We discovered their plans and successfully spoiled any attempts of them reclaiming the Daliah District."
"Is that so?"
"Only 30 Amerstrian casualties," Raven boasted. "A small toll compared to the thousands of Ishvalan filth eliminated."
Riza turned her head slightly, hoping to catch a glimpse of Roy's profile. His jaw was tense, but to the untrained eye he seemed unscathed by the glowing admiration from the General from central.
"Grumman also mentioned your part in the assassination of the remaining Ishvalan clergy," Bradley said so casually he could have been discussing the weather.
"Yes sir," Roy nodded, but did not elaborate further until both Raven and Grumman threw him knowing glances, daring him to stop talking without elaborating further. He swallowed. "Without their priests, the Ishvalan were without what little leadership they had. They have no true army, just militia, and looked to their religious leaders for guidance on all affairs. Once they were gone, the war was all but won."
"A fine thing too," Berthold interjected. "You brought many Amestrian men back home to their wives and children. You should be proud, boy."
Riza pursed her lips as the rest of the dinner party bantered on, trivally discussing the aftermath of the war and the widespread relief that the Ishvalan threat was no more. Her mind, however, was focused on one word. Assassination.
Roy had mentioned Ishval was the material of nightmares, but was borderline unfathomable.
Instantly, Riza truly understood Roy's desire to become Fuhrer.
"Riza? Bread roll?" Her father held out a small basket.
"Yes, please." She then realized she had said barely a word since their food had been served. "Lord Bradley, your house is beautiful." It was the truth and seemed a safe enough topic to discuss.
"Thank you, my dear," Bradley replied as he cut into his steak. "As my properties go, this is the smallest of my houses, but I have more land than my West and South estates combined. Benefits of East City being sparsely populated, I suppose. Tell me, are you much of an equestrian?"
Riza's eyes involuntarily lit up at the question. "Of course! I learned to ride as a small child."
"Wonderful," Bradley said. "You'll come to love the stables here."
In lieu of a reply, Riza smiled softly and met Bradley's gaze. He looked at her fondly, studying her, unphased and unhurried by the presence of his dinner guest. Riza's cheeks flamed crimson once it became apparent to the entire table how intently he was starting.
Dinner dragged on, the conversation full of flattery from all five of the gentlemen. Riza stayed silent, only speaking when she was directly addressed. Better to leave the men to their overly polite pissing contest, she reasoned. Even Roy, a genuine and earnest man if she ever knew one, played up his flattery to an almost nauseating level as he complimented the Generals and Master Hawkeye at every opportunity.
"Let's all head to the sitting room for a drink?" Bradley asked once the final course had been cleared from the table. A small chorus of agreement sounded from the table. "Excellent. Right this way."
As with everything else in the manor the sitting room was the epitome of wealth. The group settled down and to her great dismay, Riza found herself sitting next to Roy, clutching a glass of wine so tightly her knuckles were beginning to turn white. She mentally scolded herself to stop glancing his way to gage his reactions
"So Lieutenant-Colonel," Bradley began, his usual too-friendly smile on his face. "Now that the war is over and Grumman has secured you a promotion, do you have any plans on settling down soon?"
How the wine glass in Riza's hand did not shatter at his question was beyond her.
Luckily, Roy played off the question with grace. He took a sip of his scotch and returned Bradley's well-rehearsed grin. "You should meet my best friend. He married shortly after Ishval and keeps insisting I find myself a wife. However, I am eager to advance further in my career before I settle down."
"I did the same myself, when I was your age," Bradley said. "I was a Colonel when I married my ex-wife and I have no regrets for waiting so long. It allowed me to make better connections, connections that allowed me to comfortably retire and start my businesses after I lost my eye. My father, although influential, preferred to keep the company of old money. I had to forge all of my industrial relationships on my own."
"I remember the day you announced you were retiring," Raven said from across the coffee table. "Shocked the hell out of everyone. We took you for a military career man, but it's clear your talents were wasted serving the Fuhrer. Your business empire is second to none."
"Mustang has a similar eye," Berthold said. "If he ever retires from public service, he would be a valuable asset to any company."
"Thank you for the compliment, master, but I have no intention of leaving the military."
"What if your wounds never fully heal and you are forced to medically retire?"
Riza could feel Roy shift uncomfortably at Bradley's words. Something about the question seemed intrusive.
"They won't. He's too stubborn," Grumman interjected. He winked at Roy.
"If the occasion does occur where you are in need of a job in the private sector, just know you can always ask me. That is, if Berthold here would bear parting with your services," Bradley said.
"I will keep that in mind, Lord Bradley, but for right now, my loyalty is to my country."
Riza furrowed her brow. Was it just her or did Bradley seem acutely interested in Roy? All throughout dinner, Bradley had inquired about Mustang, asking about his family, how he became acquainted with the Hawkeyes and now, his future aspirations. She took a sip of her wine, relishing the bitter taste, and tried to push down her paranoia.
But was it paranoia? Bradley had asked more about Mustang than of Riza herself. She understood that his interest in her was purely transactional- she was young, healthy and prime for bearing children, with a military general for a grandfather and the face of her long deceased mother- but the complete lack of interest in who she was as an individual was striking. Riza could have the personality of a doll and she was certain Bradley would still marry her.
She sighed audibly, realizing too late as the eyes of her companions shifted her way for the first time in an hour.
"Something wrong, my dear?" Bradley asked, concerned in his voice.
"Oh no, not at all." Riza feigned a smile. "I am afraid I am growing tired, but please do not worry on my behalf."
"Nonsense," said Grumman. He turned to face Bradley. "It is getting quite late and Raven and I have a full day at Eastern Command tomorrow."
"Understandable. I appreciate the company, General."
"We should be going as well," said Berthold, standing up to begin his goodbyes.
Riza moved about the room, graciously bidding General Raven and her grandfather a safe ride home and a restful sleep. She approached Bradley and curtseyed slightly. "Thank you for the hospitality, my lord."
Bradley's hand reached out to cup Riza's cheek, pulling her gaze directly to meet his own. He leaned forward, gently kissing her forehead.
"Have a good night, my queen."
Internally, Riza was screaming.
/-/-/
"Cinnamon rolls, fresh from the oven."
Riza smiled softly at Morgan as he served a small breakfast at the kitchen table. It was barely daybreak, but Riza had woken up abruptly and completely almost an hour ago. Once it became clear she was awake for good, she had crept into the kitchen, deciding to take her meal here, for fear of today's groundbreaking news at the hand of her father. Her engagement party was tonight and the last thing she wanted was something to rattle her nerves.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Morgan asked as he sat down beside Riza with a serving of his own.
"I'm sure you know what I would say," Riza answered.
"I know," Morgan said with a nod. "But I'll always ask."
"I hope arranged marriages die out in time for my children. Mister Mustang's friend, the one we went to visit, married for love."
"Most people of low status these days do, or so my nephew says," Morgan said in agreement.
Riza nodded, taking a long sip of her coffee before putting the tin mug on the table. "So I've heard." She paused before turning to her favorite servant. "Why did you become a chef?"
"Simple. My father was the Hawkeye's cook before me and his father before that. I never thought about another path for my life. If my wife hadn't passed away so young, I'm sure one of our children would follow in my footsteps."
"It won't matter. My father will be the last Hawkeye by name."
"So he will," Morgan said.
"You're the oldest servant my father has. I can't imagine anyone else manning the kitchen."
"You flatter, Lady Hawkeye," Morgan stood up and offered her a smile, wrinkles forming in the corner of your eyes. "Why do I get the feeling this is going somewhere?"
Riza's gaze went straight to her lap as her cheeks flushed crimson.
"You don't have to continue, Lady Hawkeye."
"You won't tell my father?"
Morgan stood up and collected their empty mugs and plates, bringing them to the large copper sink. He turned on the water and began to scrub the small pile of dishes. "When have I told your father anything?"
"But this is worse than falling off my horse and losing a gold necklace. Much worse." Her voice was shaking.
Morgan continued to focus his attention on the dishes, giving Riza room to decide if she wanted to talk.
"Mister Mustang kissed me the night we went into town to visit his friends and I'm afraid I liked it more than I should."
Morgan simply nodded at Riza's confession. He finished scrubbing the coffee tin in his hands before placing it on the drying rack and turning his attention back towards her. "I see."
"You see?" She was confused and utterly underwhelmed at his lack of reaction.
"The Lieutenant-Colonel told me a few days ago. I was wondering if you were going to bring it up."
"Roy told you?! Why didn't you say anything?"
Morgan shrugged. "So you two really are on a first name basis. About time, he's only lived here on and off for nine years. And I wasn't going to say anything unless you mentioned it yourself."
"What-what did he say?"
Did she even want to know? Riza cursed internally. He had kissed her, taken her breath away, only to rebuke his advances a moment later. Her father's announcement the next morning only supported Roy's decision to distance himself and effectively killed any chance of Riza's to discuss the event further.
She wanted to know what he thought, she decided. He had looked at her so ardently, filled with longing and lust, that Riza had lost herself for a moment. He had suspended her emotions, subjecting her to a radiating glow of warmth, a heat that he alone controlled. She longed for it, even now. In his arms, she had no worries or fears. Everything she had ever needed existed in Roy Mustang.
Or so she thought, until he had ruptured her bubble by breaking their kiss and running away.
"What did he say?" She asked again.
"I won't divulge too much," Morgan started. "But if my reasoning is correct it's very similar to what you would say yourself if I kept asking questions. He feels guilty it happened and guilty he enjoyed it in the moment."
"It was foolish of us."
"Or just foolish enough."
Riza's eyes narrowed. "What are you insinuating?"
"Nothing at all," Morgan said plainly. "It was a mere kiss. You did not know your father had accepted Bradley's marriage request and you both deemed the action irresponsible afterward. I see nothing wrong with it, but guilt clearly plagues the both of you."
Riza could not bring her eyes to meet those of the Hawkeye family chef's. They had kissed, but it had been so much more- a detail both Roy and herself had left out. Roy had pinned her to the bed and explored the bare skin of her body without any resistance. He had kissed her collarbone, grabbed her hips and split her legs open with his knee. He could have taken whatever he wanted from her and she would have blissfully complied.
She knew the full story, but as with Rebecca, she could not find it within herself to disclose the full truth to Morgan.
She decided to go the safe route. "So what do we do now?"
Morgan eyedher knowingly. "If I'm correct, both yourself and Mister Mustang have no intention of pursuing anything further." Riza nodded. "Then it may be best to just speak with him- gain some closure, if you will."
"But that's how it happened in the first place. He was looking for closure to all of… this," Riza said as she waved her hand around in the air.
"Yes, but that was closure for a different situation. Mister Mustang is a good man, Lady Hawkeye, and he blames himself for your discomfort."
She thought about it for a moment, contemplating Morgan's advice. She did need closure, she realized swiftly. Their tempers had flared and, if she was honest with herself, she had not been her most rational self. She needed to apologize for the slew of insults she had hurtled his way .
"You're right." Riza stood up. "I'm going to see if he's awake. I would prefer we clear the air before tonight. The party is going to be insufferable on its own."
Morgan smiled at Riza before returning his attention back to the half-forgotten dishes. "You know where to find me if you need me."
Riza thanked him profusely before exiting the kitchen and heading down the hallway towards Mustang's suite.
It was early enough that she could wander the corridors of the manor without little interruption from the staff. The chances of running into her father were even lower, as he often took to his study until the early hours of the morning, barely emerging in time for breakfast, if at all.
"No! Please!"
The voice startled Riza. She frantically looked around, searching for the source.
"I said stop!"
Her eyes snapped wide. She knew that voice.
Hurrying forward, she opened the doors to Roy's room without a second thought. He was fast asleep in bed, tossing and turning, his face contorted with pain. Sweat graced his brow as he continued to cry out.
"Roy! Roy!" Riza said as she raced towards his bedside. She put a hand on both shoulders and began to gently shake him awake. "Roy! It's me, Riza. You're safe. Wake up!"
"I said don't kill them!"
"Roy!" She firmly slapped him across the face, reddening his cheek.
He gasped awake, sitting up straight, eyes filled with panic as his hands lashed out to grab a fistful of bedsheets. "No! Don't! ...Riza?" His gaze shifted from panic, to confusion. "Riza.. what? What's going on?"
"Shhhh-" she said reassuringly as she tucked a strand of his sweat-soaked hair behind his ear. "Your safe Roy. It's just me."
He collapsed into the bed and placed his hands on his forehead as he fought to catch his breath. "I- I-"
"It's okay, you're safe." She placed a reassuring hand on his chest. "You're safe."
They sat there for a moment as Roy's breathing evened out. Once it had steadied, he met her gaze, eyes somber. "Water."
Riza leaned over towards the nightstand and poured Roy a glass from the pitcher the maids made sure to leave before retiring for the night. She handed the glass to Roy, who eagerly drank, emptying it quickly before returning it to her. She placed it back on the nightstand.
"Sorry about that," Roy said finally. "Nightmares."
Riza raised an eyebrow. "That is one hell of a nightmare. You want to talk about it?" She sat down on the edge of his bed.
He sighed and sat up slightly on his elbows. "I was dreaming about Ishval. I'll spare you the details, but reliving what happened there… what I did there…" His voice trailed off.
"But you're here now and you're safe," Riza soothed.
"I know. I just wish I could stop hearing the screams."
Riza reached out and grabbed Roy's hand. It was clammy and trembling. She brushed her thumb across his knuckles. "Do these nightmares happen often?"
He averted his gaze, shame clear in his face. "Often enough Grumman placed me on extended leave. Said he doesn't need an officer who wakes up screaming."
His answer brought her no reassurance. "How come I've never heard you?"
Roy shrugged. "Benefits of a first floor bedroom, I guess. But don't worry about me, Riza. I'll be fine."
"Is there anything that can help? A doctor? Medicine?" She bit her bottom lip.
"Just time and acceptance," Roy said casually. "Self-forgiveness. I apologize if I scared you."
"Don't apologize!" Riza admonished. "I only wish I could do more to help."
"Me too." He paused. "What are you doing awake so early?" He turned to look at the small clock sitting on his desk nearby. "It's barely seven."
"I couldn't sleep and decided to have breakfast in the kitchen."
"Ah." Roy nodded in full understanding. "So Morgan told you."
"He didn't say any details, only that you told him we kissed. He did make me realize that I needed to apologize for calling you a bastard- among other things." She offered a sincere smile, hoping he understood she held no ill will towards him.
"I don't think I've ever seen you with such a temper," Roy said playfully. "If it helps I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have done… well any of it. Climbed through your window, invited you to Hughes' house or kissed you." He moved to get out of bed, throwing the covers aside and swinging his legs over to sit down beside Riza. It was then that she noticed he was dressed only in trousers, his bare chest exposed.
In any other situation, Roy's well chiseled body would have sent her blushing. His military training was obvious in the definition of his muscles and breadth of his shoulders; however, Riza's eyes were drawn to something else entirely.
On his lower left side was a large, angry burn scar. Though the flesh had healed over, the skin puckered angrily, the juvenile scar tissue disrupting his smooth skin.
Riza realized she was staring a moment too late.
"From the explosion," Roy said, answering her unspoken question. As a courtesy, he stood up and headed over to his dresser, pulling on a button down shirt.
"I know you were injured. But it's one thing to hear it and another to see it."
"It really is all superficial. I'm almost back to normal."
"Except the nightmares?"
"Except the nightmares," Roy sighed. His face fell in defeat and for a moment he was lost in his thoughts. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. This is my penance for the war. I did terrible things. It's only right I suffer."
"So it was all true? The assassinations? The Dahlia extermination?"
Roy did not answer. He turned away from Riza and began to rummage through another drawer before pulling out a vest.
"War is war, Roy. No one expects a soldier to go unscathed. Even the victors."
"That's where you're wrong, Riza," Roy said quietly as he buttoned up his vest. He turned to look at her as he began to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. "There are no victors in war. Only survivors. I will never be able to take back my actions, but I can work to make them right." He turned back to his dresser and pulled out a pair of pants. "Do you mind? I need to finish getting dressed." His voice was neither rude nor upset.
Riza nodded. She stood up and flattened the front of her skirt. "If it's of any consolation, it takes great strength to accept your own wrongs."
She began to walk out of the room before Roy's voice briefly stopped her.
"See you tonight, Riza. Thank you."