Death
Roy stood on a narrow spear of rock overlooking one of the many small, nameless cities in Ishbar. It was nighttime – the military preferred that their alchemists strike under the cover of darkness. Not like most of them couldn't be tracked anyway.
Command had spared a sparse squad for his protection. The sergeant was less than happy about protecting an alchemist, but had gone to do his duty nonetheless. Roy felt vaguely flattered.
So now he was standing at the tip of the overhang, watching lights flick out through the town. He felt cold sapphire eyes on his back and the skin between his shoulder-blades rippled uncomfortably.
A shot rang, coupled with muffled cursing. A firefight broke out.
Slowly, he turned, not wanting to help. His hand came up, poised to snap... then a bullet zinged past, a tall, rangy body slammed into his, knocking him down to the hard rock.
"Stay put," a harsh voice hissed. "You're a fucking walking bull'seye, so keep your head down." The man was gone in an instant, pouncing cat-like away from the prone alchemist. The heat was gone, the comfort was gone, but the memory of the hissed command and the stirring of warm breath against his ear stayed. His skin pricked again, but for a vastly different reason.
Judging from the voices speaking in the fluid Amestrian dialect that Ishbarites used, they had lost. A bayonet poked him in the side, and even through he was wearing thick wool and cotton, he could feel the rusted edge of the iron.
"Dead?"
"Probably. I think the first shot got him."
Frozen in horror and fear, he went even limper. He swore to himself then and there, that he would never kill anyone unless he deemed it absolutely necessary if he got out of this war alive.
A yelp and two thuds later, he felt calloused, though gentle, hands help him up. "Are you hurt anywhere?"
Roy looked into cool blue eyes and shook his head mutely.
The blonde head nodded curtly. "Good. Command would have my head on a plate if you were so much as scratched."
Roy managed to croak out: "What about your men?"
"A few broken bones, a few bullet wounds, a few slashes. Nothing new."
Then he notices the man favoring an arm and a leg. "You're hurt..."
"At least I'm alive."