Originally Published: March 2, 2021
Last Edited: Oct 27, 2022
A/N: I've been debating all week whether to give you guys two chapters or not (I feel bad about the cliffhanger, and I got so many excited reviews for chapter five). Expect another chapter on Thursday!
Chapter 7
The Price of Flames, Part I
Sunday, April 8, 1906
Roy leaned against the phonebooth, tapping the inside of the rain soaked glass as he smiled softly. "She's absolutely perfect, Roy! I'm telling you, if your woman is half as wonderful as Gracia, you're in luck."
"Haven't you only known her for a week," Roy reminded, shaking his head softly. He'd called Hughes for another purpose, but the energetic man had hijacked the conversation to talk about a woman Roy would likely never meet.
"Not everyone needs to take years to decide they want to marry someone." Roy tried not to choke as Maes said the 'm' word. He had to take control of the conversation, this had been going on for five minutes already, and he was running out of pocket change.
"Do you plan on doing that before you're sent to the front?"
Hughes fell quiet for a long moment, "So you've heard."
"Yeah," Roy shifted the phone to his other ear, holding it with his shoulder as he pulled out a white glove with some red thread strung on a needle. He began carefully adding stitches to the mostly completed transmutation circle on the back of the glove.
Hughes gave a long sigh, "I'm being sent out in two weeks. I- don't want to leave a widow behind- if I don't make it."
"Reasonable enough," Roy offered flatly. And vastly different than what the man had said back in the Academy.
"I don't know, Roy. I didn't think I'd get deployed this quickly. It's only been a few months since we graduated. It's a lot to take in."
"Yeah," Roy felt lame that was all he could come up with. Hughes could be going to his death and all he could manage was a simple 'yeah'?
"What about your State Alchemist exam? Have you gotten that scheduled?" Hughes asked, trying to change the topic.
"It's tomorrow, actually," Roy answered, tightening a stitch on the salamander.
"Good luck with that. I'll be rooting for you from Central," Roy smiled to hear Maes' support, simple as it was. "What about that childhood friend of yours? Has she joined the Academy?"
"I wish she hadn't. She started at the beginning of the month for the spring semester," Roy answered with a grimace.
His apartment felt empty without her as she'd moved into the Academy barracks, his bed cold. Not that anything- sexual had happened. With her determined to join the Academy, he wasn't willing to risk any illicit relationship. She also seemed emotionally- fragile, still occasionally crying in her sleep. He just had to wait this out and hope she would decide that Military life wasn't for her and decline any commission she was offered after graduation.
Or he could tell her then. Beg her not to join. Sounded a bit desperate, but if she wanted to stay, he would be desperate.
In the meantime, she still had the spare key to his place and he hoped she'd come by to visit on the weekends.
As if the man on the other line could read his thoughts, Hughes continued, "That's why I'm not taking forever to decide I want to marry a girl. They can run off and join the Military these days! I don't envy you, Roy. She's off limits if she decides to stay on. What was her name again?"
Roy smiled, a warning beep on his end of the phone. "If you can't remember, I'm not going to keep telling you. Anyways, I'm out of change and the call's about to be cut."
"Right. Well, you'll write to me, won't you?" he sounded almost pleading over the phone.
"Get me the address of your camp. I'll send a few letters," Roy promised.
"Good. Talk to you later," he offered before the call ended. Roy exhaled, pinching the needle to the glove as he hung the phone back on the receiver. He tucked the glove carefully away in his coat pocket, the rain would surely ruin it and he didn't have time to embroider another pair for the test in the morning.
He stepped out of the phonebooth, droplets hitting his dark hair as he began striding down the sidewalk. He'd been hoping to practice tonight, the rain easily ruining that plan. The best idea now was to go home and get some proper rest.
Ready or not, it was here.
Monday, April 9, 1906
"Warrant Officer Mustang, welcome to your State Alchemist exam. I'm Colonel Upton, I'm in charge of recruitment for State Alchemists in the East Area. It's always nice to have Academy graduates show interest in the program," the graying man was a bit heavy, Roy pegging him in his fifties as he offered a proper salute to the Colonel.
"It's an honor to be here, Sir," Roy offered as a Second Lieutenant approached him.
"Do you need something to draw transmutation circles with, Officer?" she asked, expression sober.
"No thank you, Ma'am. Though target dummies would be appreciated."
"Then get the Warrant Officer some target dummies!" Lieutenant General Grumman was slightly familiar from his occasional visits to the Academy grounds. Now he sat in the balcony as one of the evaluators for the examination. He had a bright smile under that mustache of his, Roy allowing himself to feel more confident with the General's good mood.
Several soldiers brought in five dummies, Roy noting they spread them out at different distances from him. "Your application stated you were a Combat Alchemist. May I ask what your specialty is?" Upton inquired conversationally.
"I'd like to keep that as a surprise, Sir," Roy smirked, reaching into his pockets as he pulled out his ignition gloves.
The old men up in the balcony laughed warmly, "Less talking, more alchemy!" A Brigadier General jeered, nearly as gray as Grumman.
"Yes, the Warrant Officer would like to be a Major already," Grumman laughed.
As Roy pulled on his gloves, Upton allowed himself a chuckle. "Whenever you're ready, Mustang."
Roy looked around, noting a soldier too close to a dummy, "You'll want to move," Roy warned, the Sargeant looking surprised as he rushed further back.
Roy turned forward again, inhaling. 78% nitrogen, 21% oxygen, 1% argon, and other trace elements mixed with water vapor. The familiar crackle of energy flowed down his arm around his hand as he snapped.
The spark caught as Roy transmuted trace amounts of hydrogen, decomposing the very isotopes before composing them back together. It had taken quite a bit of research and practice to properly understand how to alchemically trigger nuclear fusion, but now he had...
Fire torched from him, heat washing over him in a wave as the air was pushed around him, his waist cape flapping against his legs.
The first dummy burst into flames, Roy pivoting as he snapped with his other hand, the arc of flame slamming into three separate dummies. Again, and again, and again.
Riza's back floated into the back of his mind, the alchemic array in red ink contrasting against her fair skin. He grimaced, forcing his attention back on the moment. She wasn't there, and if he let his mind wander, he was still prone to rebounds.
Roy smirked as a simple snap ignited a flame, roaring through the air as the training dummies were washed in fire again. He was showing off. That was what he was supposed to be doing.
A dummy flumped to the ground, Roy halting with the sound. Fire crackled around him, but beyond that, he was met by silence. He straightened, glancing at the gaping Colonel and soldiers on the floor with him. Eyes lifting, he met the bespeckled gaze of Lieutenant General Grumman, the only one in the room not in awe at the display.
He looked concerned.
"F... Was that Flame Alchemy?" Colonel Upton stuttered, drawing Roy's gaze.
"Yes, Sir."
"Impossible!"
"It's only been theorized!"
"Not anymore," Grumman's voice cut off the murmurings of the other officers. He slowly stood up, gaze shadowed by his glasses. "I've seen what I need to. The traditional tests won't translate well with this. Colonel Upton, you may proceed as you wish," Grumman snapped, his previously jovial tone gone entirely. He turned, stepping out of sight.
Upton cleared his throat, drawing Roy's gaze. "The rest of the tests are Earth Alchemy based. Would you be willing to demonstrate your abilities in that field as well?"
"Of course, Sir." Roy replied, pulling his gloves off.
Monday, April 16, 1906
"Have a seat, Mustang," Grumman offered, gesturing to the chair across from him. Roy took it, glancing at the chessboard tucked to the side of the desk. "Ah, do you play?"
"My old Alchemy instructor used to play with me on occasion. It's been a good three and a half years since I had the opportunity," Roy answered. He hadn't forgotten Grumman's reaction to his assessment the week before, the concern in the older man's face still fresh in his mind.
"A pity. I'm always looking for new opponents, if you'd humor me some time," Grumman proposed, a casual air about him today. He'd summoned Mustang to his office, and Roy doubted it was for a chess match.
"I would gladly take you up on that, Sir," Roy smiled politely. He really would, he enjoyed the challenge chess offered.
Grumman smiled brightly, "I'm glad to hear it! But that's not why you're here. Now where did I put it," Grumman muttered, digging through some drawers on his side of the desk. He pulled out a hard stock piece of paper and a silver pocket watch, sliding them over to Mustang. "Congratulations, Major Mustang, you've been licensed as a State Alchemist."
Roy picked up the paper, scanning the formal lettering. The edge of his mouth twitched upward at the title near the bottom: Major Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist.
"I've already sent in a request for your new uniforms with the quartermaster. You're also being reassigned under Colonel Upton's command and being given charge of some lower ranking officers. Your fellow graduates might give you a hard time about the swift promotion, so keep that in mind."
"Thank you, General," Roy offered, placing the paper back on the desk, picking up the pocket watch, the Amestrian sigil crafted into the metal.
"Don't thank me yet, Mustang. Rumor has it that the Fuhrer is considering deploying the State Alchemists to the Ishvalan front," Grumman warned, his light humor gone.
Roy grew sober. He knew it was the risk he'd signed up for. He was doing this to protect Amestris like his father had. To protect Chris, his missing sister Izumi, and more importantly, Riza.
"Major," Roy looked up at Grumman, meeting his serious expression.
"Yes, Sir?"
"Your Alchemy instructor- he wouldn't happen to be Berthold Hawkeye, would he?"
"You know Master Hawkeye?" Roy asked in surprise.
"I used to. He and I had a falling out around twenty years ago. I knew he was researching Flame Alchemy. I never imagined he'd allow that research to end up in the hands of the Military." Grumman seemed heavy with memories, a hand brushing the edge of the chessboard.
"He didn't," Roy answered, "He passed away in November, Sir."
Grumman's expression grew serious with that news. A knock came at the door, Grumman shifting his attention from the information. "Come in," the General ordered. The door opened, Roy turning to see Riza Hawkeye step in, holding a thick file of reports. Roy swiftly rose to his feet, a lump in his throat at the sight of her in uniform, cadet markings on her shoulders.
"Excuse me, Gen-" she began before meeting his gaze, trailing off. "Roy?" her voice croaked. They hadn't seen each other since she'd joined the Academy. She flushed, shaking her head swiftly, "Excuse my informality, Sir," she snapped, a strange, hardened tone to her voice.
"Do you know each other?" Grumman chirped, Roy glancing back to see the Lieutenant General stand.
"Yes, Sir. Excuse my intrusion, General. Lieutenant Colonel Kive sent me to deliver a report," Riza rushed, still red in the face.
"Yes, yes, that can wait. Major, you must introduce me," Grumman laughed.
"Um," Roy began, quickly clearing his throat. "This is an old childhood friend. Master Hawkeye's daughter: Riza."
Grumman seemed to freeze mid-smile, the sudden shock slowly draining the laughter away from his face like a flat tire. Roy furrowed his brow, glancing at Riza to see she was just as confused as he was.
Grumman removed his glasses, pulling out a cloth to wipe the lenses. Replacing them, he strode around the desk, the stiffness to his shoulders something Roy hadn't seen in him before. The Lieutenant General stopped before Riza, eyeing her up and down with a critical eye. To Riza's credit, she didn't back down, instead snapping to attention, holding his gaze with a serious expression. Grumman opened his mouth, and when words failed to form he snapped it shut again.
"Sir?" Roy prodded gently. Grumman looked back to Mustang, almost as if he'd forgotten Roy's existence.
Clearing his throat, Grumman looked back at Riza, offering a hand to shake. Riza hesitated a moment, but before she could meet the gesture, Grumman pulled it back. "No, that's not right," he muttered.
Concerned, Roy stepped towards them. "Um. Cadet, the General was just telling me how he used to know Master Hawkeye," Roy offered, hoping to help break the awkwardness the General was floundering in.
"Hawkeye," Grumman growled, turning his back on Riza and moving back to his desk. "When I heard what he'd done to Elizabeth... I would have come and snatched you away if I didn't believe the brute would burn the both of us as well."
Riza flinched, her composure vanishing with mention of her mother's murder. Roy was bewildered that Grumman knew about that, until he recalled the murdered Officer Mr. Bishara had told him about.
"Sir," Roy protested, his defensive side stepping in swiftly. Riza did not need to be thinking about that.
The old man was pulling out a box from his desk, placing it on top roughly. "It's here somewhere. That damned girl was always stubborn, despite my warnings. She insisted she was in love," Grumman paused, softening as he held a picture. He looked back at Riza, sighing heavily. "I'm doing a very poor job at introducing myself."
"You're Lieutenant General Michael Grumman, Commanding Officer of the Eastern Forces, Sir," Riza supplied.
A sadness filled the General's face, "No, that's not it. I'm your grandfather, Riza. Your mother, Elizabeth, was my daughter."
The silence that followed was near deafening. Roy took another step to Riza, gently lifting a hand to her elbow. "Pardon?" she managed weakly.
"Riza," Roy murmured softly.
"I- I have photos of your parents, and your mother. A letter she sent after you were born telling me you had her eyes. You look so much like her- she had longer hair, but you're certainly her daughter," Grumman began shuffling through the box again, pulling out an envelope, a string of pearls, and a dried flower. "I'd given up hope of meeting you a long time ago, so forgive my rough introduction. There's so much I'd like to tell you- if I may have your time," he looked back up at her, almost desperate.
Riza swallowed hard, Roy surprised when she took a step forward. "Sir, I- I'm expected back in class. Perhaps you'd like to take some time to decide what you'd like to tell me first and then we can get back together another time?"
Grumman blinked, hastily putting the mementos back into the box. "Of course, Cadet. You had a report?"
She stepped the rest of the way to the desk, offering the file to him. "Here you are, Sir," her voice was that strange, hard tone again. Roy noted her glancing at the silver pocket watch on the desk, her lips pursing in obvious displeasure.
"Thank you," Grumman offered dumbly.
"Permission to leave, Sir?"
"Of course."
Riza turned, moving towards Roy and the door. She looked upset at the sight of him. "Riza, you knew what I planned on," Roy reminded. She paused, hand on the doorknob as she looked him in the eyes.
"I know. Congratulations, Major," she offered before stepping out.
He grimaced. Surely she'd forgive him. She'd known, damn it!
"Mustang, how do I talk with her?" Roy started, turning towards the General. It was very strange to see such a high ranking officer so- flustered.
Roy cleared his throat, moving back to his desk as he slipped his hands into his pockets. "Erm, Riza's a bit- prickly with people she doesn't trust. I found that she does well with genuine gestures. Like," he blushed with the memory, "She was really cold to me until I bought a bouquet of flowers for her to take to her mother's grave."
Grumman's brows raised at that, Roy rushing to add, "Sir, I should tell you, bringing up her mother's death was a poor choice. I never knew your daughter, but I think Riza still grieves her.
"She- I respected Master Hawkeye while he was alive for the knowledge he gave me. In these last few months, that respect has faded the more I've learned about how he treated Riza when I wasn't around. As a potential father figure, she has no reason to trust you, Sir," it was strange being so frank with a Commanding Officer, but he wanted what was best for her.
Then it hit him. "Shit!"
"Major?" Grumman reproached.
"I forgot," Roy stammered. "Excuse me, Sir. I forgot to wish her happy birthday. It's tomorrow."
Grumman looked thoughtful for a moment, "Nineteen, right?" Roy nodded. "Hmm, that's eighteen birthdays to catch up on," that sober side of Grumman was back, a frown under his mustache. "Please excuse me, Major. I have- a lot to think on."
"Yes, Sir," Roy offered a salute before picking up his pocket watch and the letter from the Fuhrer and stepping out.
Maybe he could find Riza- except he had no idea what class she had, and it wouldn't be very appropriate for a Major to go gallivanting around the Academy grounds to wish a Cadet happy birthday. He sighed, disappointed in himself. Perhaps he could settle for a letter and give it directly to the Academy postman in the morning.
Tuesday, April 17, 1906
"Cadet Hawkeye? You've got some mail," Riza looked up from her textbook, noting the three envelopes in the carrier's hand.
"Ooo, someone's popular," Rebecca chimed as Riza accepted the envelopes. She did her best to ignore her bubbly bunk mate as she flipped through the stack, looking at the return addresses.
Christine Mustang, Major Roy Mustang, and... the Office of Lt. General Michael Grumman.
Blood rushing, she flipped the envelope, peeling it open and sliding the single leaf of paper out.
Dear Riza,
What a coincidence we met the day before your birthday!
I'll be the first to admit you don't know me, and I don't know you, but I hope we can find some common ground. Perhaps an old favorite of your mother's:
Divine upon its seat is rest
The lily of the desert blooms
The Queen of flow'rs is often best
Upon the crowns of bright young youths.
Amaryllis, queen of flowers
Forget-me-nots and laurel leaves
Please bless us now and become ours
The child of April sows the seeds.
Happy 19th Birthday,
Grandpa Grumman
P.S. You don't have to call me Grandpa! You can do Papa, or Papi, or Pipaw, or anything really!
Riza reread the verse, tears pricking her eyes as a warmth swelled in her chest.
It was Ulden. It was why she'd always added an amaryllis to her mother's bouquets. Why she treasured the little, worn out book hiding at the bottom of her personal belongings under her bed.
Her grandfather knew it. He knew Elizabeth had loved it, and had reached to her with an offered laurel branch.
"Are you alright?" Rebecca's voice broke in.
Blinking away the traces of tears, Riza focused on her bunk mate, a soft smile on her face. "I'm fine. I just received an- unexpectedly tender birthday gift, that's all."
Rebecca slapped the table with a flat palm, dark brown eyes wide, "IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY?!"
Wednesday, September 23, 1908
The harsh warbling of the phone jerked Roy from his sleep, limbs tangled in pillows and sheets as he groggily opened his eyes. His room was pitch black, no light coming through his curtains. Sitting up, he stared down at the shadowed lumps of blankets around his legs, numbly processing another ring from his phone.
Groaning softly, he pulled his way out of bed, his foot catching in the sheets and nearly causing him to trip. He grabbed onto his nightstand, catching his balance as he extracted himself completely. Consciousness rolled over him as the phone gave a third ring. Swallowing hard, he pressed his way out of his room, hitting a lightswitch on his way.
The flood of illumination made him squint as he stumbled to the phone, the fourth annoying ring screaming in his face. Picking up, he lifted the receiver to his mouth, "Major Roy Mustang," he answered, voice thick with sleep.
A pleasant, feminine voice came on the other end of the line, "Could I get your confirmation code, Sir?"
"What's the time?" he mumbled, looking for his clock on the wall. He squinted, reading the hands. "Why the hell are you calling at 0215?"
The woman on the other end sighed, "Excuse me, Sir, for the late call. I have important orders from the Office of the Fuhrer and the Military Council. I need your confirmation code to relay them."
Groaning, Roy lifted a hand to his eyes, rubbing sleep from them as he focused on the request. "Right. It's Bravo, Foxtrot, Mike, Zero, Five, Eight."
"Thank you, Sir. At 0000 hours, the Fuhrer and Military Council met to sign Order 3066: The Extermination Order against the Ishvalan Insurgents. Part of the order involves the deployment of the entire State Alchemist program to Ishval. You are scheduled to deploy at 1600 hours, today, September the 23rd. Please report to Eastern Headquarters for further details. Have a good night."
The phone on the other end clicked as she hung up on him. A tingle of shock slowly inched through his veins as he held the phone away from his face, staring at it in disbelief.
A call at two in the morning, and less than a fourteen hour warning before he'd be on the train to head towards Ishval. That's all she gave him? He finally hung up, processing what had just happened, all traces of grogginess gone from his body.
He was going to war.
He fumbled to pick up the phone again, swiftly spinning the rotary, phone number memorized. He lifted the phone to his ear, hearing the ringing on the other end of the line. The clatter of someone picking up made him exhale in relief.
"This is Vanessa at Madame Christmas' Bar and Brothel, how can I help you?"
"Peppermint Whiskey," he answered simply, adrenaline beginning to climb in his veins.
"One moment," Vanessa replied, her voice sober.
He waited with short breaths, a lump forming in his throat as he tried to calm himself. Hughes had been deployed for two and a half years, and he was still alive. This wasn't a death sentence. He'd signed up for this.
"Madame Christmas, here," his aunt's voice came raggedly over the phone.
"Hey, Aunt Chrissy," Roy greeted.
"Shouldn't you be asleep? You've got work in the morning," she scolded lightly.
He cleared his throat, swallowing hard. "I just received deployment orders."
Silence followed his announcement, Roy's heartbeat as loud as the ticking clock behind him. "When do you leave?"
"This afternoon. 1600 hours."
"Speak Amestrian, Roy."
"Four pm."
Another silence, "You're going to miss your birthday party." Roy gave a humorless chuckle, thoughts of his twenty-third birthday on Friday having vanished with the news. "It was supposed to be a surprise, but I got Riza to agree to come."
He inhaled sharply, tilting his head back to try to stop the tears from falling. "If anything happens to me, you'll watch after her, right? I can't really tell her myself. She'll know tomorrow, though. All the State Alchemists are being deployed."
"I think you need to be worried about yourself right now, Roy-Boy."
He swallowed hard, a tear escaping his eyes as he ducked his head, trying to steady his breath. "If I don't make it..."
"Don't talk like that," she snapped, her voice harsher than usual. "You'll make it back. If it'll ease your mind, you can write some of those letters they give to family if you die. Then, when you don't die, I'll fucking burn them while I drink a cocktail."
He laughed weakly, sniffing as he blinked away the rest of his tears. "Right. I'd love to see that."
She grunted slightly, the sound comforting. "You asked for this, Roy-Boy. You know that."
"Yeah."
She was quiet for a long moment before murmuring, "I have to get back to the Bar."
"Yeah," he nodded.
"Don't cancel your housing contract, the girls and I will take care of your apartment while you're gone."
"Thanks. I appreciate it."
Silence stretched between them again, Roy not eager to hang up. "I love you," she whispered.
He inhaled sharply, closing his eyes as fresh tears slid down his face again. "You're going to make me cry."
"Yeah, yeah. I just thought- I don't say it enough. Now, don't fucking die," she growled before the call cut with a slight slam.
He gave a weak chuckle, carefully hanging up his own end.
Friday, September 25, 1908
Roy trudged back into camp, stars splayed across the sky, the crescent moon hanging low on the west horizon. He absently wondered if his aunt had still held his birthday party. Imagining her, Riza, and the girls having a pleasant evening with cake and drinks and good food gave him a slight sense of relief. Riza should be with someone right now. His aunt would need the company too. If nothing else, he hoped they had at least gotten together despite his absence.
He focused on a campfire, food suddenly sinking in as a priority, his stomach gnawing at his insides with surprising ferocity. He slowly approached, his body protesting the increase of physical effort during the day. He ached like he had after his first weeks in the Academy: all over. His heavy weight uniform scratched uncomfortably at his skin, the dark wool having seemed like a bad idea in the day's heat. Now, with the night's chill, he found himself grateful for it.
A giant of a man sat over the cook pot, a single, golden curl in the center of his forehead, striking Roy as rather odd. Two, slightly older men with lab coats over their Military blues were seated as well, a glum silence filling their company.
"Is there enough for one more?" Roy asked, stopping as he entered the glowing radius of the flames.
He drew eyes and silence for a long moment before the larger man held out a hand. "You got a dish on you?" he asked in a low rumble.
Roy reached back for his pack, digging for the standard half plate, half bowl that all the soldiers had been given. He passed it over before digging more for that half spoon, half fork thing he'd been given as well.
"Don't mind if I smoke, do ya?" one of the older men grumbled, his glasses reflecting the firelight, making it hard to see his eyes.
"I told you, Knox, that'll gunk up your lungs," the other man reminded.
"Eh, fuck off, Marcoh," Knox growled, pulling out a box of cigarettes, picking one for his pleasure.
"Don't know why you bothered asking if you're just going to smoke anyways," Marcoh shrugged, turning back to his food.
"Here," the giant rumbled, passing Roy his bowl back.
"Thanks," he murmured, sitting gingerly on an empty boulder, a part of the rock jutting into his rear uncomfortably.
"Got myself another Alchemist to bother me. Drawing you idiots like a magnet tonight," Knox grumbled, pulling out a lighter and trying to get a flame sparked.
Roy glanced up, looking between the other men and the transmutation circle stitched on both of his own gloves.
"Alex Louis Armstrong, the Strong-Arm Alchemist," the giant offered a beefy hand to Roy. He carefully balanced his food on his knee, grateful again for the thick wool to protect him from the heat of the metal dish.
He took Armstrong's hand, shaking it firmly. "Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist."
"Tch, that young upstart from East City? I heard you had a stunning first day. The Brass can't shut up about you," Knox grumbled, quietly cussing at his lighter.
Roy eyed the cigarette, gauging if he could manage the transmutation right. "Hold still," he murmured, drawing a surprised grunt from Knox. He snapped, a tiny, orange flame lighting the cigarette successfully.
Marcoh and Knox started in surprise. "But- don't you have to have contact with the material you're transmuting?" Marcoh asked.
Roy shrugged, shifting his attention to his food. "I do. I transmute gases in the air," he supplied, taking a scoop of the- stew? He blew on the steaming liquid before testing it hesitantly. It was bland and still too hot, the texture mushy and slightly grainy.
"Gas transmutations. No wonder Flame Alchemy has been elusive for so long. Excuse me, I'm Dr. Tim Marcoh, the Crystal Alchemist. Could I ask you a few more questions about Flame Alchemy?"
Roy regarded the man cautiously, his promise to Riza surfacing instantly. Lowering his utensil in his bowl, he grimaced, "It's not my secret to share. And after today- well, I agree with the decision that Flame Alchemy should be kept secret."
A sobering silence settled over the men, the implications obvious. Armstrong cleared his throat slightly, "Sorry the food isn't better. I suppose that's rations for you."
"You'll get used to it," Knox grumbled. "It's when you get used to the killing that you really need to worry about. Just hope they don't pull you into the research division with Marcoh and me. Nothing good there. Thanks for the light." He stood, grabbing his things and meandering away.
Roy's appetite failed him, his stomach a leadened weight. "Research division?"
Marcoh grimaced, "Weapons research... I can't say more."
They all grew quiet with that, Roy left to stare at his food.
He'd killed. He'd burned other men to crisps, and once he had, the battle had turned. He'd saved the men under him, in a way, but he'd still murdered. Mass murder. The rumors Knox had mentioned had been right. The Brass was already excited about his potential in the field, Brigadier General Grand giving him gruff compliments and a slap on the back, promising a more 'exciting' assignment tomorrow to take out more of those 'Red-Eyes'.
Were the insurgents really that much of a threat to Amestris? This whole war had started over one of their children being shot. In that situation, wouldn't he stand up against those who had done it?
There was so much racist prejudice going on, Roy worried he could be next. A half Xingese brat posing in the Military like Heathcliff and other Ishvalan soldiers.
He closed his eyes, trying not to let bile rise up his throat. An image of Riza came to mind, meek and cowed, her cheek blotchy and swollen from her father's beating.
He was here for her.
"I'm tired of hearing that vile rhetoric!" echoed back to him, Berthold's eyes furious and crazed.
He opened his eyes, dread and regret beginning to boil up in his belly. He's brought about the fulfillment of Berthold's deepest fear: Weaponized Flame Alchemy. And he was the only one to blame.
Now he would witness the price of giving the Military a Flame Alchemist.
Riza stared out the window blankly, her hands cupping her tea, thumb rubbing the edge of her mug.
"He'll be fine," Ms. Mustang reassured, Riza having to resist the urge to crinkle her nose at the smell of the woman's cigarette.
They had foregone the birthday party in Roy's absence, but Riza had come anyway to be in familiar company. She'd never visited Ms. Mustang's establishment before and was grateful to have been taken to the back kitchen, away from drunk and horny patrons.
"It's unfortunate timing, that's all," Riza sniffed, picking up her mug and taking a sip. She really hadn't had a chance to speak with Roy for quite some time, and though she had gotten past his State Alchemist status before, the concern was fresh in her mind now. What was he being asked to do with Flame Alchemy? What had she enabled? Would he really be safe, or would he come back in a bag?
Her stomach churned with that thought, her grip tightening on her mug.
"How are practicals treating you? I remember Roy having a rough time with them."
Riza turned her focus from the window to her companion, her mind shifting to the new topic gratefully. "I'm doing fine with them. I've been assigned to the Investigations Department, but my instructors keep talking about giving me something more challenging. Apparently I've broken a few range records on both rifle and pistol practice. Funny, I'd never touched a gun before starting."
"You got that from your mother," Chris commented, sipping at her cocktail.
"What? You knew my mother?"
Chris's eyes flashed to Riza, an intelligence behind them. "I knew of her," she relented. "It was your grandparents I really knew. Know. Sarah was a good friend and mentor when she was alive, and Michael has always been a dear family friend. They even came to my brother's funeral, though I don't think Roy remembers."
Riza found a smile quirking at her lips, "How- coincidental. When you found my father's advertisement for apprenticeship, did you know of the connection?"
Chris cautiously placed her drink back on the table, taking her cigarette and snuffing it in an ashtray. "That's a very intelligent question."
"You did."
"Don't think poorly of me, but I didn't want Roy to be an alchemist. I didn't want Izumi to be, either. That's why she ran away.
"When Michael came to me with the advertisement, he asked if I would consider letting Roy take up the apprenticeship. He explained what happened to your mother and that he was concerned for your safety. He didn't feel like he could do anything- with the animosity between him and Berthold, he knew it would be too dangerous for both of you if he went to take you away.
"So, he asked me to keep an eye on you through Roy. After Izumi ran off, I figured it would kill two birds with one stone, and I wasn't opposed to helping a little girl in need."
"You mean, the whole reason Roy came to Harsten was because of General Grumman?" Riza clarified, processing the new information.
Ms. Mustang nodded in silent agreement.
Riza stared back down into her tea in thought. Something felt off. "If you've been friends with the General for so long, why didn't you tell him my father died?"
"I did," Chris answered simply.
Riza met her dark blue gaze again, blinking in surprise. "What about me joining the Academy? Did you tell him that?"
Chris smirked, leaning back in her chair. "Of course I did."
"But- he acted so blindsided when we first met..."
Chris chuckled, the sound full and warm. "He's always been a little thespian, Riza. Probably all those poetry books he collects. He likely didn't want to intimidate you, so he tried to match your level of shock when meeting."
"And- he probably had Roy there- for me," Riza realized, a surprising warmth growing in her chest with the realization.
"Very likely, dear. I've told him how close you two are multiple times."
A smile tugged at Riza's lips, a warmth growing in her cheeks. It quickly faded as she recalled Roy's absence, worry quickly replacing endearment towards her grandfather. With Order 3066, Grumman had been deployed as well, both men somewhere in Ishval at that very moment.
"I hope they're alright," she whispered weakly.
Saturday, October 30, 1908
Riza zipped her bag close with a snap, basic toiletries and uniform all she was allowed. Rebecca sat on her cot across their shared room, eyes wide and hands clasped in her lap.
"I can't believe they're sending you," she whispered, her usual chipper attitude gone.
"Believe it, Catalina," Riza stated, taking her bag off the cot before swiftly and efficiently fixing the sheets. If she'd known this was what her instructors meant by giving her 'something more challenging', she might have chosen to just drop out.
"If I'd scored two points higher, I'd be going with you. Damn, I think that scares me as much as you leaving does."
"Then be glad you don't have to go. Work hard and don't bring any boys into the dorm," she reminded, straightening from the cot, evaluating her work.
"Riza." She turned back towards her friend. Becca slowly stood, pulling her into a tight hug. The physical displays which Rebecca was so free with still made Riza stiffen slightly. Trusting anyone like that (well, anyone other than Roy) was still difficult, and when she'd explained her father's physical abuse, Rebecca had simply taken it in tow, being more gentle and less frequent with her affection.
Exhaling her discomfort, Riza lightly returned the hug. "You have to be careful out there. Keep an eye on your six, and don't do anything I would do."
Riza ghosted a smile, patting Rebecca's back lightly. "I never do."