Challenges in Rhetoric
by bleeze brew
Summary: Ten years after the Promised Day, Roy just wanted to give his inauguration speech. The universe had other plans.
T, [Roy, Riza], Olivier, Ed, Alphonse, Friendship, Drama
AN: Ten years is a long time. A lot of things happened that have been glancingly referenced in this, and I've assumed that characters and relationships and suchwhatness have continued developing over time. If things seem a little weird to you, don't panic. :)
I wavered between which Elric to tag for a long time, so I will use this note to say that Alphonse plays an equally significant role to Ed in this!
The first time, it had been a thunderstorm.
The clouds had been threatening all day, but the coordinators had assured Roy that no, it would not rain. If it did rain, it would be after his speech, surely. His speech and the inauguration combined were only meant to take ten minutes, just intended to set a precedent. He'd approached the microphone, his cue card clenched in his hands and a hint of anxiety twisting his guts as he stepped forward to give his speech to the attentive crowd. He took a deep breath to settle his nerves, and—
The heavens opened in a torrential downpour. Shrieking and scrambling erupted as the crowd dove for cover and the various technicians and set up people tried to get themselves and their sensitive equipment under some protection. Roy himself had stood for a moment with as much composure as he could muster, given the circumstances, before returning the soaked cue card to his suit's equally soaked pocket, shoving his now-loose hair out of his face and offering his help to the closest technician.
He could hear Fullmetal howling with laughter from under his umbrella all the while.
His campaign rival Jared Hanson, who had gotten fully a fifth of the vote and seemed to have hard feelings about losing, made a statement to the press that it was curious that nature itself had endeavoured to prevent his formal acknowledgement as president.
The second time, it had been an assassin.
Four days later, item one on the agenda this time had been the inauguration, as lacking formal acknowledgement as president did throw a wrench into what he could do, even though he still had stacks of paperwork to get through. With the help of Hawkeye, Breda, and Falman, the budget was balanced, sensible, and being considered by parliament. All he had to do now was be confirmed so that he could sign off on the cursed thing. The inauguration went smoothly. His oath went perfectly. The symbolic sash was placed on him without issue. Fullmetal didn't disrupt the proceedings. Then it was time for his speech.
Once again, Roy stepped up to the microphone, reaching into his inner breast pocket for his new cue card. He fumbled the manoeuvre, though, knocking the photograph of him and Maes from so long ago out of that same pocket to the ground. He knelt swiftly to pick it up—
The wind from the bullet ruffled his hair.
A split second later, Hawkeye had tackled him out of the way of the second bullet, giving General Armstrong a chance to start issuing orders.
"You know you're my Chief of Staff now, not my bodyguard," Roy told her quietly.
One of Riza's hands tightened on his shoulder. "I will always watch your back," she murmured back, fierce.
Roy couldn't help his smile.
Olivier came back a minute later, scowling. "You can let him up now. Damn!"
"What's wrong?" Roy got to his feet, brushing off his suit as he did. The ceremonial sash had been creased.
Olivier gritted her teeth. "The gunman is on the loose. My men are tracking him."
Roy nodded sympathetically. "But he has left the area?"
"Yes."
He scanned the crowd. Most were still there, milling, and some were applauding at seeing him on his feet. "Then I can continue."
Both women gave him the same glare: Are you an idiot?
He glanced down at the two pieces of paper in his hands, straightening a corner carefully. "If this office lasts as long as I hope it will, my first address to the people could set the tone. That's not a responsibility I can take lightly."
Riza's eyes softened in understanding. Armstrong snorted. "You'll do a much better job 'setting the tone' with the choices you make, not by dying five minutes after you get the title. You can say your fancy speech later. Get back to your office and do your work, and don't go unattended until I say you can. I have more important things to do than pacify the citizenry after you get yourself killed."
He glanced at Riza again. Although she clearly understood, she shook her head marginally. "Fine," Roy agreed, trying not to sound as disappointed as he felt. "Hawkeye, could you release a statement and arrange a few interviews to address this and shift the people's attention in a positive direction?"
"Yes, sir."
The press clamoured for answers. Roy said the words "active investigation" many times, until one reporter demanded more.
"This person, their motives, and therefore the main criteria to judge them by, are currently unknown. What is known is important not to share so that they don't know what to change or disguise to evade the military." Roy gave a rueful smile. "With patience, I'm sure we'll both be informed of the progress of the investigation. Hopefully soon. I'm not used to being kept out of the loop."
That elicited laughter and insightful questions about the lack of connection between the president and the military. He was glad of the opportunity. It was one thing to talk about it as fuhrer; it was quite another to discuss it as president.
Over the next three days, security around him tightened considerably. He began to feel frustratingly smothered. General Armstrong began to check on him personally at random hours of the day. He still hadn't been informed of the issue, but based on how grim Hawkeye looked, he would bet that the assassin had been associated with a well-established group of some kind.
That was why, when the door was thrown open without warning, he clapped his hands.
"Do you know how many hoops I had to jump through to visit you? They had to drag Hawkeye away from her work to get my leg okayed."
Roy grinned and threw down his pen. "Edward! It's great to see you. Stay as long as you like. Can I get you anything?"
Fullmetal drew up short, suspicious, until he saw the mass of paper covering his desk. He laughed. "You're a masochist, aren't you?"
Roy came around his desk, looking at the paperwork with a twisted smile. "Not quite." He set his hand reverently on one of the piles. "Difficult or not, this is all meaningful."
"That so?"
He nodded. "There are a lot of reforms being considered, and—well." He drew one of the top pages off one of the stacks and passed it to Ed. His eyes widened in surprise as he read it. "I won't answer every letter," he explained, "but since Hawkeye's arranged to have the inane letters removed, I will read them all. It's important for me to know the concerns of the people."
Ed passed it back with a sunny smile. "This. This makes me happy that I voted for you."
"You did vote for me?" Roy asked, smiling faintly.
Ed gave him a look.
"What other options were there?" General Armstrong asked from the door.
"There were six other candidates—"
"There were?" Ed asked, confused. "I only heard about the other guy…Han…del?"
Armstrong waved at him. "My point. I see you're still alive."
"So far. Do you want me to theorize about the group that wants me dead?"
Her eyes narrowed. "No one told you that."
He shrugged. "Not directly."
"I am not going to tell you anything more than anyone else. It's a military matter. A military which you no longer head," she said curtly. When Roy just folded his arms and waited, Armstrong sighed heavily. "At least I voted for someone with an ounce of intuition," she muttered to herself.
Roy froze, his eyes going wide. "You—?"
Armstrong raised an eyebrow. "What other choice was there?"
"You don't even like the concept of democracy."
"Because the masses are usually ignorant and foolish, yes," she agreed. "All the more reason for me to vote. I'll check on you later."
Roy gave a vague wave, watching her leave in shock. Ed snickered. "You got nearly three quarters of the vote. Why do you find it so surprising that people who know you would vote for you?"
He shook his head, smiling as he set a hand on his hip with a soft huff. "That would be why."
Ed's grin grew larger. "That's actually a fair point."
"I should ask what you came for."
He dug into his pocket. "Oh, yeah. Here." A stack of bills landed on the desk. "Congratulations, President. Finally paid you back for that train ride. Trouble is, I don't know what to borrow money from you for next."
"My speech," Roy answered dryly. "I actually want to say it someday, but so far it's been impossible."
Ed nodded. "Okay. I need a snack. Give me a thousand cens, and it had better be an awesome speech."
"Third time lucky," Roy agreed, passing it over.
"Sure hope so."
Jared Hanson somehow caught on that the assassin had been part of a group and began to build up an outcry by the end of the week, claiming that the election had been rigged, that the people didn't truly support him, so on. He was persuasive enough that a few of the minor candidates began to support his story in spite of the public's lack of interest. It had started to gain enough traction that Roy feared he would have to change his first speech to a claim of innocence—that is, until Armstrong held a press conference. Voluntarily. With relish. She revealed that the assassin had been part of a Drachman sabotage and spy team with full proof. She had dismantled them, but intimated that she was on the lookout for more spies. Everyone dropped the discussion quickly out of fear of being branded a traitor.
Roy considered addressing that fear before giving what would now be his first formal speech, but he had the okay to give the speech. He wasn't going to delay. It was a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky. Armstrong and Hawkeye had spent the previous day making sure security was air-tight. He took a breath and stepped forward, cue card held tight in his hand. "Thank you all for com—"
The flash of light from an alchemical reaction could be seen only a few blocks away, causing sounds of crashing in the distance. Roy grabbed the podium to keep his balance as the ground bucked under him and stared at the latest distraction. "You have got to be kidding," he muttered.
The crowd murmured, sounding concerned. Roy tipped the microphone away and turned to give Armstrong a look.
She looked back at him from where she was issuing orders to her radio operators to be passed along. "No."
"Yes." He raised his hands pointedly. "I'm an alchemist."
She set a hand on her sword hilt as she considered. The building shuddered. He could hear the damage from here, and it set his teeth on edge. He shot Armstrong another glance—
She nodded sharply.
"I'm terribly sorry," he apologized into the microphone. "There will be a brief delay before I can make my speech."
With that, he pulled out his gloves and followed Olivier off the stage. He was going to give his speech today.
Hawkeye drove them over to the location of the flash quickly, chasing the army personnel already headed there. "Mustang," Olivier growled. "If you do anything to put yourself in danger, I will personally see to it that you have a full complement of guards every hour of every day. You will wait for my clearance before you think to leave this vehicle."
He grimaced but gave a nod. He knew she would follow through on her threat. He scanned the building ahead, and the streets beside them, searching for some sign of what to expect. Something caught his eye as he did. "Stop!" he ordered.
Hawkeye hit the brakes. Roy had the door open before she'd stopped completely. "Alphonse!"
The younger Elric's eyes widened as he stopped running. "President Mustang!"
"Get in!"
He ran over and dove into the car just as Hawkeye hit the accelerator again.
"Hello," Alphonse said cheerfully. "Any idea what that was?"
Armstrong glared at the rapidly approaching building as another alchemical flash could be seen. "Not yet. Good to have the help of a competent alchemist, Elric."
Alphonse glanced at Roy, uncertain. He gave him a slight smile to let the young man know that there was no real hostility between himself and the general. Well, not on his side. Olivier was always tricky to read accurately. "Thank you for your help, Alphonse. I'm sure it will allow us to resolve this situation much more quickly."
"Happy to, sir," Alphonse said with a bright smile. Roy would never get tired of seeing that.
Hawkeye pulled to a stop well back from the crumbling building. Olivier and Alphonse both jumped out immediately; Olivier to take control of the situation, and Alphonse to help the alchemist already struggling to keep the building front from crashing to the ground completely. Another spark of alchemy could be seen deep inside the building before Alphonse's transmutation outshone it completely.
Where was the attacking alchemist, he wondered, drumming his hand impatiently on the car door. Olivier should be able to clear him to be on scene shortly, shouldn't she? The men here had already gotten a head start on investigating the situation. On the other hand, the timing was conspicuous. There could be someone lying in wait for him in the surrounding buildings. Hawkeye and Olivier had made absolutely sure that there would be no assassination at the podium, given his last attempt at the speech, but they hadn't prepared this area in the same fashion. In that case, wouldn't it also be risky to stay in the car? Getting out of it would increase their mobility, especially given the army personnel filling up the road behind them. If an alchemical attack were made on the car, that mobility would be necessary. Roy set his hand on the door latch as he considered.
"Sir." Hawkeye sighed, shaking her head.
He pulled his hand away from the door, trying not to pout. "We could help."
"Sir," she repeated, sounding exasperated. "You are a civilian now."
"I'm not useless."
"No," she said slowly. "But your usefulness is in a different area. If you get yourself shot, it will be very hard to give your speech."
He folded his arms with a frown, but nodded. She was right, as always, although it galled to be protected like this.
Stone supports extended up to the building, followed by a staircase. Soldiers made their way up to clear the area. Roy glanced at his pocket watch impatiently. Six minutes late.
Radio chatter could be heard nearby as they cleared the damaged building and began to check the surrounding buildings as well. Olivier continued to coordinate the effort, not even glancing back at him. He checked his watch again. Eight minutes. "What's taking so long?" he muttered.
Riza's response was dry. "Well it's not as if—"
She was interrupted by a glow beginning to become visible in the building. One that they both recognized in a single, heart-stopping moment. The scent, the sight, the heat of it. Fire. They were both out of the vehicle in a moment, running towards the building together. Hawkeye kept an eye on the nearby buildings while Roy figured out the location of the fire and its speed of growth. Third floor, one level below Alphonse's stairs, and it appeared to have just entered a second room.
Olivier jerked as he stepped past her. "Mustang, what did I just say?" she shouted at him in frustration.
"Fire," he stated, pointing upwards towards the affected floor, running calculations and estimations in his head. It was dangerously active; he'd need to determine what was fuelling it before he could try to snuff it out. "You may want to evacuate the building. Alphonse?"
"Yes sir?"
"Third floor, now."
"Right. Hold on," he warned.
Roy barely caught his balance as the ground shot up beneath him. Approaching the third floor, the waves of heat from the growing fire caused the window above him to shatter. He tried to duck, and ended up having to brush glass out of his hair. He covered his face with his sleeve, squinting into the now three burning rooms as Alphonse brought him level with them. There had to be an accelerant of some sort involved; he sniffed the air cautiously, and had to stifle a cough. He thought he'd caught scent of something….
Roy clapped his hands, sending alchemical lightning shooting through the air. There was a pop as the fire swirled and started to recede. He clapped again, and the raging fire turned yellow and smoky as it was partially smothered. He stifled more coughs, starting to gasp for air in the heat. His cheeks stung where sparks had landed on them. He couldn't transmute any more oxygen from the area without risking suffocating everyone on the floor. At least he had slowed it down; at the rate it had been progressing, it could have consumed the building in ten minutes flat—twenty at the most. While it was well-established, it would take nearly double the time now. "Is everyone out?" he called down to Olivier.
She held up one hand, motioning for him to wait. The flames began to spring up again, the heat beating against him, an almost physical force. He edged back from the fire slightly, flinching as another window shattered. "Yes!" she called back.
Roy clapped his hands, transmuting the remaining oxygen near the fire into water and carbon dioxide, dousing it instantly. Smoke and water vapour curled out of the building, propelled upward by the dying updrafts from the heat. Roy covered his face again, looking down to see how he should return Alphonse's pillar to where it had been.
The gunshot that ricocheted near his head was unexpected. He instinctively took a step back, his heart flying into his throat as his foot kept moving down, nothing under it—
The sudden appearance of a stone ledge beneath his heel sent a shock of force up through his leg even as it stopped his inevitable fall short. Roy pressed a hand to his heart, fighting to catch his breath while Hawkeye's precision shot took out the shooter's knee. He gave an agonized cry as he fell, unable to defend himself from the soldiers rushing forward. Roy clapped his shaky hands and pressed them to the pillar, riding the stone back down to solid ground as carefully as he could manage. The threat appeared to be taken care of, given the changed posture of those on the ground.
When he finished smoothing out the sidewalk and stood up, brushing a few glass shards off his shoulder and trying to salvage his composure, Alphonse smiled at him with concern in his eyes. "Are you alright, sir?" he asked in an undertone.
Alphonse always had known how to be discreet. Bless him. "Yes, of course," he agreed easily. "Thank you," he added earnestly.
Alphonse gave a slight bow. "Happy to help, sir," he repeated with a smile shockingly reminiscent of his brother. "I helped you get into office, after all."
On an intellectual level, Roy couldn't explain why it made him feel so strongly and simultaneously humbled and exultant every single time someone he knew and respected told him they had voted for him. It wasn't all that unexpected, statistically, yet it caught him off-guard every time. When combined with shock of nearly falling to his death, it left him embarrassingly weak at the knees.
"Jared Hanson," Olivier announced with a cold smile as her men brought him over to them. "I'm surprised you had enough of a spine to try this. What were you attempting to do with that pitiful display?"
Jared gritted his teeth, tossing his hair out of his face as his hands were cuffed behind him. "Don't think I don't know the deal, here," he snarled. "The two of you are working together to wring Amestris dry! Why else would you make this new form of government, and rig it for Mustang to win?"
"It wasn't rigged," Alphonse stated, voice dangerously low. Jared ignored him.
"You expect me to believe that you all know what he's done, and you still voted for him instead of me?" he shouted, his voice bitter. Roy's hands clenched into fists at his words, his stomach sinking. "After the war crimes trial? He shouldn't have even survived it! And yet this military dog is the ruler of Amestris all over again." He spat towards Roy, then yelped as the irate soldiers holding him up jarred his leg. "You funded his campaign!" he yelled at Olivier. "The two of you colluded to create some—some farce of a government, pretending to give the power to the people when—"
Olivier raised an eyebrow. "The Armstrong family offered you the same campaign funds as every other candidate. You refused to accept them. Take him away for medical treatment," she ordered.
He glared at them all as he was dragged away, his leg still bleeding severely. Watching him, Roy only felt sick. "I'm sorry we couldn't work together to better Amestris," he said, his voice neutral. "I hope I can assuage your concerns over the course of my term."
He ignored Olivier's look detailing every way in which he was an imbecile for saying that, and Hanson's second attempt to spit on him. He took a breath and resettled his shoulders, checking the time. "Fourteen minutes late," he sighed. He turned to Olivier. "Do you think—?"
"Go give your damned speech," she snapped at him. "That podium is the safest place in the city for you. If you could have just stayed there—"
Smirking, he held up his hands apologetically even as he started to walk towards the car. "I know, I know. I'm sorry, but you have to admit you needed me."
"Not in the slightest."
For once, it was his turn to roll his eyes at the general. "Hawkeye—"
"I'll drive you back, sir," she agreed, stepping crisply towards their vehicle. "There's still glass in your hair," she added as he got in the front with her.
"What?" he reached up to pluck it out, and nearly cut his fingers as she tapped the brakes. "You've got to be kidding," he grumbled. "What kind of country is this where the president can get glass shards in his hair?" He did cut himself on one of the shards, and sucked on the injured finger. "Do you have a compact?" he asked.
Riza smiled faintly as she turned the vehicle around. She fished her mirror out of her pocket, allowing Roy to extract the glass without further cuts.
As Hawkeye drove them both back to the square, the podium in view once more, Roy took out his cue card and fiddled with it uneasily. He was determined to give his speech, yes, but...
Hawkeye glanced at him sidelong. "Sir?"
"I'm going up on that stage as myself." He couldn't say how deeply unnerved he felt about that.
Riza chuckled, drawing his attention. "You've been yourself more often than not from the rank of Brigadier General on, Roy."
His heart slammed into his rib cage as he heard her say his name. It was still so rare. "I don't know that—"
"Roy," she interrupted, leaving him tongue-tied. "I know you. I helped you run your campaign so that everyone could know you. You are a good, kind man who only wants to help this country, and has the strength to do so. That's why you got such an overwhelming win."
He studied his cue card. "Did you vote for me, Riza?"
She smiled. "Yes."
"Would Hughes have voted for me?"
"Yes." She turned, taking them close to the crowd once more.
"I'm terrified I'll screw it up."
"As unlikely as that is, I'll give you an exit if you do." Riza pulled to a stop next to the platform. "Go, sir."
With his composure nearly returned, he reached for the door, but paused. He touched where Hughes' photograph was sitting in the inner pocket of his suit jacket. "Do you think...would he be satisfied with what we've done?"
Riza turned to look at him. He met her steady gaze with all the unease he felt.
"Satisfied?" she asked.
"We received no conviction," he murmured, barely keeping his hand from running through his now-tousled hair. How the Ishvallans who had watched his reformation efforts had stepped forward to save him from execution—him, of all people—still ached, and humbled him.
She chuckled again. "Roy. He'd be ecstatic." She nodded towards the waiting microphone. "Go give your speech."
If Riza was sure, then he wouldn't doubt any further. For the fourth time, Roy walked up to the microphone. He needed to do this. The weather, assassins, and other's spiteful feelings couldn't stop him. He wouldn't let his own doubts stop him, either. Exuberant, relieved applause followed him to the microphone, and died down when he reached it. "Thank you for your patience," he stated.
Open faces watched him, waiting. He took a breath. "If this were just about me, continuing to try to make this speech would be arrogant," he confessed. "After so much rescheduling, so many delays, I must thank you for bearing with me. Because this speech isn't about me. It is about you, the people of Amestris."
He could tell he had their attention at that. He pressed on. "You are the reason that these governmental reforms were possible at all. You were tolerant. You were understanding when things did not go as planned. You were forgiving of mistakes." His tone gentled. "And I have made many mistakes."
The pause was silent, and for once he couldn't read it. He pressed on, determined. "You have proven that democracy has the strength to stand—that a diverse people can unite themselves in spite of their differences. From now on, you will sculpt the face of this country, and I know that it will be beautiful."
Now came the difficult part. He swallowed hard. "Moreover, you have helped realize the dreams of many people who never got a chance to see this come about, and without whom, it likely wouldn't have. Many who suffered and died in the attempt. Their—" His voice was shaking. Tears pricked at his eyes. He hadn't gotten through that sentence once in practice without breaking down, but that was the way it had to be. Without true emotion, the words would become nothing more than trite platitude. Hughes...Maes...deserved better than that. He bowed his head and took a deep breath, hanging onto his composure by the thinnest thread. "Their sacrifices have not been in vain."
He took another breath to regain himself, and straightened slowly. He scanned the crowd; they were rapt. "You have chosen me to be your representative. I am deeply honoured that you felt me worthy of the position, and will do everything possible to serve you and your interests—to be your chisel as you sculpt this country. With the support of my brilliant staff, I just might be up to the task."
That elicited a smattering of laughter. Roy gave them a small smile. "I look forward to seeing what we can create together. Thank you."
He hadn't even stepped back before cheers erupted. All the tension faded into awe at the reception of his words. From the Promised Day, to the rebuilding of Ishval, to the war crimes trial, to fuhrer, to here, president, a position he knew he was unworthy of, but at least there was this. At least he could serve his country, his people, with all his heart.
The people were still cheering. He spun around to grin at Riza, waving for her and the rest of the team to join him. Hesitant, they did, and the cheers spiked again. He wouldn't have it any other way. After so many years of service, they deserved the recognition.
He would make sure they got it. He may be president, but one man alone could never run a country.
AN: I seriously want to vote for the man. Why can I not vote for this man?
In other news, there's probably gonna be a whole string of not-FMA stuff for a while from me. So. Sorry, I guess?