The Tinder Gloves
By Kay
Disclaimer: I don't own FMA or get any money off of it. Pity, really.
Author's Notes: A spoof of Han Christian Anderson's "The Tinder Box" fairytale, complete with very mild SLASH hints of the EdxRoy variety. (However, they are indeed very mild.) All characters will eventually show up. Enjoy.
Prologue: In which Roy Mustang encounters a Very Bad Man
Roy Mustang was starting to feel really pissed off.
It started out so innocently, as well. The day had been a wonderful one—he'd been traveling along the road for quite some time, but the weather had finally straightened out into a warm, pleasurable standard. He still had some food tucked in the bottom of his knapsack, as well as a fresh canteen of water swinging from his belt. Yes, there were few things happier than a man who had food and water, even when he sported holes in the soles of his boots, and a blue uniform that had most certainly seen better days. This was something he planned to rectify at once, as soon as he managed to make it home, anyway. Thus, for all his bedraggled appearance, he was feeling pretty good.
Home wasn't more than a few days walk now.
Home sounded like a good thing, of course. After spending the past year or so fighting in the foreign country of Ishbar—and he'd seen enough there to give him nightmares for the rest of his natural life—home, in all its boring and dull glory, was looking beautiful. He may be slightly more poor than before (the last of his coins clinked awkwardly in the pouch hanging from his belt), but these things would eventually work out. He still had his military title, after all, no matter how much he was unsure as to whether or not he really wanted it after the horrors he'd seen.
Nights of unrest and disquiet, and an ever-traveling road… yes, Roy was really looking forward to spending the night on an actual bed. The road he'd been winding around on had finally sought to give him a bit of lenience; around one of the next bends, a hotel stood.
He was definitely looking forward to sleeping in a bed. Possibly not alone, which depended entirely on what the company here would be.
Well, he would have, anyway.
If the aforementioned hotel had any common dignity and honor, and understood that they should let poor, tired soldiers have a break once in a while.
And not call its huge, abnormally gigantic owner to throw aforementioned soldier out in the dirt on his ass.
"No money, no business! Quit loitering around the tavern!"
The slow burn of frustration flared immediately.
"I wouldn't stay at a rat-infested establishment like this, anyway, even if you paid me!" he shouted angrily, waving a hand threateningly at the large hotel in front of him. Standing in the doorway of the inn, the mistress of the building glared down at him, hand on one cocked hip in an obvious display of superiority. Next to her, looming menacingly, the owner cracked his knuckles.
"If you don't have the credit, you can't stick around. Sorry," she mocked, obviously not sorry at all. Roy glared at her.
"I have money—"
"Not enough, you don't."
"Surely it can't cost that much for one night! Or even one drink."
"For your kind," the woman intoned, looking pointedly at the worn blue fabric of his uniform, and the unpolished brass buttons, "there ain't nearly enough money for that, understand?"
Oh, he understood. Gritting his teeth, Roy stumbled to his aching feet, taking extra special care to brush all the dust off of his uniformed knees. He grabbed the knapsack that had fallen beside him, still shooting dark looks at the hotel owners, who were watching him with a smug satisfaction that made him want to throw it at them. The only thing that actually stopped him was the fact that that knapsack didn't have enough in it to really garner a tough blow.
Pity, really.
"Well, have a nice evening," he said sarcastically, throwing the bag over his shoulder and beginning to walk away. "Thank you for your time."
They didn't say anything. Not that he'd expected them to, really—it was quite obvious that they shared the opinion (like most people around these parts) that the military were dogs. Scum. Whatever unpleasant things they could think of. The war in Ishbar had done little to elevate their opinions on the soldiers, and to be honest, it'd only worsened his own. Still, it was hard to get used to the feeling of everyone disliking you. He'd already encountered quite a few of the same-minded groups, but this was the first time he'd been flat-out insulted.
It was, Roy admitted in irritation, almost refreshing to have the hatred out in the open. He might have even thanked them, if given a chance.
Actually, no. It was probably for the best. Besides, then he wouldn't have an excuse to feel justified for transmuting the hotel's "Welcome!" sign into a large, wooden statue of a donkey. A fat donkey that oddly resembled the owner's wife, as a matter of fact…
He stood up, brushing the chalk off of his fingertips, and surveyed his handiwork. They probably wouldn't find it until morning—it was around the corner, and therefore invisible to the windows of the inn—but that only gave him time to get farther away. And it honestly served them right, he concluded, for upsetting Colonel Roy Mustang, alchemist and soldier of the army!
Feeling soothed, Roy smirked and stalked further down the road.
Roughly four miles (and eight bushes) later, Roy saw the old man.
"You there!" he called, hiking up the knapsack on his shoulder. He waved with one of his hands. "I don't suppose you know how to get to Central?"
It appeared as though he'd startled the figure; it jerked in surprise, whirling around to stare at him. It was, Roy noted in even greater shock, a man of the cloth—he was old and wrinkled, though the curve of his jaw was strong against the white collar of his black robes. It was strange that a priest be seen around these parts, as it was open wood on either side of them, but it was something he was willing to overlook for directions.
"Pardon?" the man asked, his voice low and suspicious. He had squinty, beady eyes, and a bald head that shone slightly with the rays of light that made it through the thick canopy of trees.
"I'm heading to Central, but I've been meaning to check to see if I'm on the right path. I haven't seen anything for miles now," Roy explained, coming to a stop before the priest. "I'm heading home."
"Ah, I see," the priest muttered. He eyed Roy's uniform. "You're military?"
'Not this again.' Roy's heart sank, but he mustered an impassive, stone-like expression and held it there as he nodded. "I am," he added, to avoid any mistakes.
"Great!"
"… excuse me?"
"Wonderful!" enthused the old man, his face brightening. He beamed at Roy as though he were the greatest thing since sliced bread. "I've been waiting for someone similar to you!"
"Y-you have?" Roy gaped; he couldn't help it. This was possibly the first time someone had greeted him with such happiness. Surely it was a good sign…? "I… well, yes. Well. Ah. Why?"
The man ignored him. Leaning in secretively, he beckoned with one gnarled hand, smiling in an oddly disturbing, somewhat wicked way. "You are a soldier, which makes you perfect for the job. I want to give you a large sum of money, boy. Wealth beyond your wildest dreams."
'Oh boy,' Roy thought. This sounded familiar. "Father, I'm sorry," he said aloud. "But I'm not interested. If you're looking for a spry, strong young man, I can ask around to see if anyone's interested in… erm… older relationship pursuing—"
"What?" sputtered the priest. "Wha—no! No! Don't be an idiot!"
"Oh." And he thought that was it again. Wouldn't be the first time. "Sorry."
"I just want you to climb this tree!" the older man snapped, glaring at him. He waved one hand at the large, towering oak tree to his left. Roy peered up through the leaves, squinting at the small breakthroughs of sunlight amongst the foliage.
"Climb the tree?"
"Yes."
"… with what?"
"You're a soldier, you're supposed to think of something," grumbled the elder. He huffed a bit, and then, "It will be well worth the effort in the end, young man, trust me. More riches than any king could claim await you there."
"Where?"
"In the tree," the priest replied sagely.
After a moment, Roy nodded slowly. "In the tree."
"Yes." He gestured upwards, towards what looked like a hole in the trunk near the top. "Once you climb up there, you are to go inside the tree. It's hollow, I assure you—there should be plenty of room, you're fairly thin."
"Go inside the tree," repeated Roy doubtfully.
"Yes."
"Alright then. And what?"
"I have a rope to tie around your waist for when you want me to pull you up," the priest told him firmly. "But only after you go down a hallway of blazing torches, and discover the three rooms that have more money than you could ever desire. You can go into any room you want, because the keys are already in the doorknobs, open and inviting."
"The money's in the tree?"
"You don't listen very well, do you?" growled the priest. Roy blinked innocently, choosing to gesture futilely with one hand.
"No, it's just… okay, fine. What do I do in these three rooms?"
"The first room has a large chest of copper coins in the middle of it. There's a guard, however—a four-eyed monster with a hold of iron. Don't worry about him, though, just flash him a glimpse of this and he'll let you take any of the coins you want." The priest brought out a small token from his garments with a flourish. It was dark red, glimmering, and frighteningly energized; Roy could feel the power radiating off of it. He stared, mesmerized, as the man continued. "Of course, copper only gets you so far in the world, yes?"
"Yes," agreed Roy absently, staring at the red stone with dark eyes. It flashed beautifully in the light.
The priest smiled at him, though he didn't see it. "That's why you may wish to try the second room. There is a chest full of beautiful silver coins, ready for the taking. There is another guard, of course—a tall, hulking creature that oozes smoke with its every breath. But don't worry about him, just flash him a glimpse of this and he'll let you take any of the coins you want."
"Ah. Really?" It was hard to believe. The old man was obviously fibbing, or at least telling a lie that he'd believed from going senile. There were no such things as hollow trees, treasure chests, and fearsome guards in the real world.
Except… that red stone seemed awfully convincing. And, Roy thought uncertainly as he stood there, it wouldn't hurt just to see what the delusional man thought he was doing.
Hardly believing the words as they spilled from his mouth, Roy asked, "And the third room?"
"Ah, the third room," the man sighed happily. "It has a chest full of more gold coins than you've ever seen in your life. There is a guard—"
"Of course."
"—but she's tamed easily enough with a glimpse of this stone. You may want to watch out for the, erm, flying bullets, though. She's supposed to be your worst nightmare if you bring anything resembling paperwork within near twenty feet."
"Ah. Noted." He didn't have any paperwork, anyway. Not yet, at least.
The old man smiled sickeningly at him. "Well? You must admit that it's a tempting offer, eh? All the wealth you could ever desire. You would be honored; distinguished. It would be sure to secure you high places in society…"
Roy frowned momentarily at him. All that was what he was looking for, admittedly—- there were things he wanted to do, changes he wanted to make in the world that were only attainable through these methods. The question was, how did the priest know? And furthermore… "What do you gain to profit from this, Father—?"
"Conero," supplied the priest. "High Priest Conero."
"Ah. What do you get from this, Father Conero?"
"Nothing much." Was it him, or did the old man's eyes gleam almost greedily in the fading sunlight? "I need your youth and spry abilities, you see, to retrieve something I left in there years ago. It's not much; they only hold memories for me, but… there is a pair of white, rough-fabric gloves with strange symbols on them."
"Gloves? In the tree?" It was an awfully small tree trunk to fit all that junk in there, in Roy's professional opinion.
"Yes." Conero slyly smiled. "All I wish is that you would retrieve those gloves for me. In return, take all the riches you desire from the rooms."
"I… see."
"Do we have a deal?"
"Um," Roy said, but he was seriously thinking it over. It wasn't like he had much else to do, anyway, and the strange glint in Father Conero's eyes told him that if he said no, the freakish priest might attack…
This thought about a threat to his safety finally put him into action. "Very well," the Colonel said decisively, clapping his hands together. If it was a trick in the end, at least he would be in a tree—and therefore much higher than the possibly rabid and psychotically dangerous priest. "I accept your generous offer. Roy Mustang, at your services, Father."
"Wonderful!" The old man flashed him a sharp, frightening grin. "Please feel free to get started right away. Remember—take this to ward off the guards!" He tossed the glistening red stone in the air. Roy's eyes snapped to it immediately, watching in awe as the traces of sunlight still left behind caressed its beauty.
When he caught it in his shaking hand, it was warm to the touch.
"What is this?" he asked before he could stop himself. Father Conero's beaming smile waned slightly.
"It is… only a precious stone. Many man are tempted by its beauty, and that is why the guards will adhere to it."
"Oh," Roy said, though he hardly believed it. Forcing his eyes to tear away from the red surface, he quickly shoved the stone deep into his pocket, where it burned slightly at his hip like a brand of heated metal. "I see."
"I have rope," the old man offered. He held a loop of it out. "If it helps."
"Ah yes… actually, that's perfect. If I just threw it over that high branch…" Roy took the rope, already concentrating on the hollow opening of the tree and the best way to get there. Behind him, Father Conero smiled maliciously.
Had he known, of course, that by accepting his mission, he was going to end up going through hell and back… or that he'd face demons and monsters alike… or that his entire life would be changed by someone special… or that he'd never be able to look at another photo again in less than a few weeks…
Of course, Roy Mustang had no idea that by scrambling up the tree, he was climbing to his own destiny.
End