Alternative name: The Crying Flame
ANSWERS TO REVIEWS:
Brightpaw32:Hello there friend :) Thank you for reviewing my stories and putting so much effort into your reviews, I really appreciate the sentiment and hope I'm in your good books ;) I completely agree with you concerning the 2003 vs Brotherhood chapter, I admit I haven't been quite myself while writing it and I regretted including too many characters but I WILL change it once the opportunity offers itself :) T_T Well...your reviews very much touched me and I'm very moved to hear your compliments all thrown my way ^^ Grammarwise, there's a lot I need to fix still and thanks for the small tips to aid me ;) Ah, well I try to incorporate a mixture of different genres in my stories (especially one shot collections) but I still need to improve my humor a bit more ^.^ I'll be seeing you around! :)
Of Tears and War Songs
Graves littered the expanse of the meadow, but he paid them no heed, passing by them on his journey to freedom, to redemption. The sides of his coat tickled the sharp blades of the graves, but when he actually looked at them, they were no graves. They were swords, all of them were, swords imbedded in the ground, each symbolizing the defeat of an enemy, of a human, by his hands. And the sword in his chest symbolized his own.
Throwing away the white gloves marked with a transmutation circles to the ground, he stepped over them as he made his way up toward the steep hill that only seemed steeper the longer he walked.
He ignored the excruciating pain in his chest, he ignored the blood dripping from the hole in his chest, a hole physically not there, but the blood was and he almost thought he was hallucinating by this point.
Clutching at the bleeding fabric at his chest, Roy found he had no injury, he didn't know why he was bleeding, why he was feeling so empty and why he felt like he had gotten run over by a dozen of duty issued military vehicles.
He also didn't know why he was here.
In his own personal hell, one might say.
The further he walked the path, he started seeing people, or images of them passing him by.
The first one had been the sad, grieving expression of his aunt, attending his parents' funeral, he was small back then, but bits and pieces he remembered.
Another image showed her taking care of him, cleaning him, enrolling him in school, scolding him for doing something brash...and she was smiling. He wasn't quite able to remember when she stopped smiling, most probably when he had joined the military...or when he became a State Alchemist. Either way, the most common expression he had seen on her face was a frown, a smirk or a deadpanned expression that told him he said something stupid.
But he knew she cared, hardened by the events and tragedies that had transpired around him, raising him on her own and taking the underrated job at her brothel, she cared. And Roy had learned to read between the lines with her, seeing the tiny lifts of her lips and the flash of relief in her eyes when he would walk into the bar after long months of not communicating, looking safe and well.
Another image appeared.
It was master Berthold, the man that had taught him alchemy, everything he knew. The late flame alchemist had been of brilliant mind but of a cold exterior, often neglecting his daughter in favor of teaching Roy alchemy or treating him none too gently when he didn't understand something.
His teaching methods had been harsh but knowledgeable, something Roy could work with to expand his own view on alchemy and master it with every new mastered step.
His death had hit Roy hard, he had known the old alchemist had been ill but...
And the funeral with Riza...she had lost her father, her home and he felt like he was to answer to. He wanted to give her what she had lost, at least a home she felt safe in.
The other image was Riza.
His most trusted Lieutenant, the woman that had been by his side since day one, the soldier he thanked and pledged his life to...
The woman he fell in love with.
His team had followed, everyone, Hughes, Havoc, Breda, Kain, Falman...everyone...
Edward and Alphonse, those two boys had grown close to his heart, a detail he would only reluctantly admit. He had seen a little bit of himself in them, a wandering boy, a boy who lost his relatives...
His comrades greeted him as well, the Armstrong siblings, the chimeras, Greed the Homunculus, Ling and his entourage.
But then they vanished.
In a flicker of flames, his flames and suddenly, he was unable to see the hill, see the steep pathway leading to redemption.
All he saw was red.
All he felt was heat.
Unbearable heat that threatened to cut his air supply and melt the flesh from his bones...
His very own flames...
Colonel!
His eyes opened and the crackling fire greeted him again but he swore he heard a voice.
Colonel!
There...somewhere within the raging flames...somewhere...he followed it, fire licking at his body but he paid the pain no heed.
He needed to hear that voice again.
Colonel!
Colonel!
His eyes widened in realization. He recognized that voice, it was-!
"Colonel!" he heard her shout, it wasn't a figment of his imagination this time and when he slowly cracked open his eyes and saw his most loyal subordinate, the woman he secretly fell for, run towards him with tears in her eyes, he knew he was saved, he was alive.
"You idiot!" she barked and he thought she would have slapped him had his injuries not been so severe.
He managed a throaty chuckle and her glare softened slightly into a smile, shaking her head, "What am I going to do with you?"
He would have countered with a snarky remark but he was too tired to, content to simply lay in a small puddle of his own blood and endure the pain the gesture of Alphonse lifting him into his arms brought him.
Instead, he focused on her.
On her eyes, the guns littering the ground, the ashen marks streaked all over across the floor, a reminder that the Flame Alchemist was there, had eradicated an enemy.
But this death.
The death of the Homunculus Lust.
He would not add to his long list of sins to be repented, when he looked back at Riza he knew why.
Lust had been trying to kill Riza, an act he could and would never be able to forgive, regardless of who had tried killing her.
Hurting or even attempting to hurt Riza Hawkeye was one of the things sane people didn't do if they valued their life, not if they knew he was around or within reach to burn them alive.
It was one of the things he was proud to let people know, subtly or otherwise, that if anyone as much as looked crossly at her they would taste the burnt flesh of their own tongue in their mouths.
When he gazed upon her, fussing and worrying over him, he couldn't help but smile.
The flames disappeared, his gloves were back on, his friends were alright and he didn't feel the heat anymore.
Riza was alive.
And so was he.
Glowing embers were the only remains of the fire that had spread, reminders of the destructive power flames could leave. A single tear dropped into the seemingly endless sea of red and heat and the flames were extinguished. The tear of a man who had lost everything burned brighter than any flame could hope to stand up to him. Another tear, another cry, another dying flame. And with it, the fire vanished.