Chapter Six:

Acceptance

You have to accept that you can't change the past experiences, opinions of others at that moment in time or outcomes from their choices or yours.
Shannon L. Alder

Central –Spring, 1915

0315

The first night had been the most difficult; quiet, unnerving, yet acceptable considering the hell he'd been through. Even though the battlefield was had been deserted and the battle won, he could still feel the quaking of the ground underneath his feet, hear the thunderous reports of the artillery around him, sense the currents of alchemy coursing through his body , and taste the acrid stench of the blood of the fallen. His eyes, however, had remained dim, his vision shrouded in darkness. He'd spent his hours after the conflict enshrouded in that mocking darkness, weary as his thoughts consumed him.

So many questions and no answers as he stared ahead, his mind a filling with images of the days and hours before his world had changed, their vibrancy a painful reminder of the price of his haughty aspirations. He clung to those images greedily as if it would bring him some comfort, as if recalling bright red blood on his hands would bring him respite from the ether of nothingness he'd been flung into.

So many unknowns and he didn't have the wherewithal to search for the truth. He was worthless now, his future unseen and uncertain.

Darkness had once been comforting, now it served only to mock him and his quest for power. There was no calm, no peace and the echoes of despair reverberated deep within his soul. His country, the people he cared for were safe, yet he was defeated. The almighty Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist was defeated. He'd made a promise to Hughes that he wouldn't stop until he'd made it to the top, that he'd lead their country away from the death and destruction that had been its constitution for so long.

He couldn't even find his way to the nearest bathroom.

Days later, Roy had finally convinced himself that he was well and done. He'd seen the brief glimpses of a future that now awaited him, his dim useless eyes regulating him to the shadows instead of at the forefront. What was there for a blind and infirmed alchemist? Despite his gallant efforts in defeating Father, Roy understood clearly that his limitations far exceeded his desires. He couldn't risk using his alchemy without someone to gauge and direct him. He was a liability, one he wouldn't force on any one, least of all Riza. Although she'd pledged her loyalty, he'd finally gone where she couldn't follow. He couldn't rely on Hawkeye to be his eyes in the field as he had during the battle; to do so would forever mark her as a target and although she'd had his back in the past, he couldn't ask that of her. The image of her lying inside a transmutation circle as her blood flowed freely was more than enough to convince him that this was the right path. He would never risk her life again.

Maybe he would retire and persuade Riza to come along and finally live the lives they wanted. Perhaps discover that this world, his life was built on more than the bodies of the weak and ruined dreams. He could finally find peace in the stillness that had been forced upon him.

Roy scoffed.

Idleness was never his strong suit. Neither were fairytales.

Sitting on his ass when there was still much to do was the last thing he wanted, yet he'd been given no choice on the matter. He'd begun to accept his fate and realized that there was nothing wrong with moving on. Essentially, he'd given up.

That was until Breda had arrived.

The day before, Breda had offered to bring him up to speed on what was going on in Central while he convalesced, thrusting an open book onto his lap saying, "You might think you're down and out, Sir, but the Mustang I know wouldn't let this little hiccup get the one up on him."

Roy had heard the smug tone in his subordinate's voice, practically envisioning that smartass smirk of his. He'd let a small chuckle escape as he turned toward the open window, feeling the soft breeze caress his chilled skin. In that moment, he wanted to laugh at Breda's presumptuous actions but the rotund 2nd Lieutenant had been right. Now wasn't the time for self- pity, it was indeed time for action.

"Keep moving," Roy whispered, "whatever it takes."

The bed next to him creaked and he turned his head toward the sound listening as its occupant rose and made their way toward him. Roy frowned and was about to say something before a light touch met his lips.

"Before you order me back to bed, I want to know why you're still up." Riza's alert tone was evidence enough that he wasn't the only one up pondering the future. As she settled next to him, he smiled a little, relishing the warmth and soft scent that now surrounded him. Aching for her embrace, he turned his body toward her more, lifting his hand to caress her cheek. Instead his fingers grazed the bandages that were wrapped around her neck, binding together that near fatal wound wrought by the gold toothed doctor. She must've noticed his scowl; her deft fingers pulled his hand away gently and she countered, kissing his fingertips reverently, "I'm still here, Roy. I'm still here."

Roy closed his eyes and allowed her touch, grateful that it was still his. Beneath his eyelids, the images clashed together, fresh memories of her blond hair smattered with blood intermingled with visions of her at her happiest. Her smile, the one thing that he cherished, was lost to him, stolen and used as currency to forge a path of darkness. He pulled her closer and breathed her in, gently wrapping his arms around her. For a long moment, he held her tightly; eternally grateful that his sight was the only thing he'd lost on The Promised Day.

"I've made so many mistakes, Riza." His voice cracked under the pressure of that realization and he struggled to maintain his composure. His mistakes had cost him his loved ones, his hubris leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. As his thoughts turned to Hughes, he let her go and turned toward the window, opening his eyes as if he could stare out into the depths of the night.

"I was stupid to think that my reckless actions wouldn't have serious repercussions."

Riza's arms encircled his waist and he could feel her wordless encouragement as she held him through the troubling emotions that were brewing within him. The hatred that coated his voice seemed to echo in the cavernous room, branding itself on his consciousness. As much as he understood that his was not the only folly, he couldn't concede that his was only one in a number of actions that became a catalyst to the end of everything. He bore the grief and pain of those lost like a medal, it's burden a catalyst for change.

Placing his bandaged hands on top of hers, he exhaled heavily, "Even so, this will not stop me. I have too much to work toward, too many debts to repay." As the words left his lips, he turned toward Riza and smiled lightly, "I'm a very selfish, stubborn man, intent on achieving my goals. I promised that I would make it to the top so that I can protect the ones I care for." He snickered softly. "I try not to break my promises."

"So, you've accepted your fate?" Roy could hear the tenuous hope in her soft voice as she tightened her arms around him.

"My fate..." Roy had pondered on the meaning of that particular word often since The Promise Day. To accept his fate would mean that he'd leave his future to chance, accepting that he didn't have the power, the control to change. To essentially abandon his chosen path. "I'm not especially keen on the idea that I'm not in control of my own destiny, Riza. I- we have too much at stake to leave anything to probabilities and happenstance."

"You're going to use the Philosopher's Stone."

Riza lifted her head away from his back and Roy staved any further movement by applying light pressure to her hands. He knew what the Philosopher's Stone was, what it took to make one. The thought of using it for his own gain reeked of the same opportunism that gave rise to the Homunculi endeavors, yet he couldn't convince himself to refuse its power. But, he wouldn't do so without first ensuring that he'd repay a significant debt.

"I'm going to use anything and everything at my disposal, Riza. Now that Bradley's regime has fallen and Father is defeated, Amestris will have to rebuild, heal. We need good people at the helm, people who value life over power." He released her and as she turned toward him, he reached out for her, his fingertips glancing over her hair and down the bridge of her nose before settling on cheek. He tilted his head downward, hoping that she could see his eyes; even devoid of sight, he wanted her to see his determination. "I will not leave you, my country, my life to chance. The past remains but the future...The future is ours to build."

He had the tenacity, the fortitude to strive further. Every thought, every command, every step was his to make.

Idleness was never his strong suit. Neither were fairytales.

But promises, those were the bedrock of his aspirations.