A/N: Hey all, so this one I guess you could say has a Jane Austen influence to it...Guess I was in a real romantic mood for this chapter. Certainly wasn't what I had intended when I sat down to type but I like it rather well.
If someone had said parties were comparable to hell he would have agreed with a smirk. This was exactly how he felt, especially when it was his aunt who threw said parties. He didn't think a party was befitting at the current moment. There were far more important matters to attend to. Like clearing the fields.
But his aunt was in charge until he reached the proper age so what could he do? Throw a fit and expect everything to drop because he demaned so? No he'd show up, late. Very late if he could manage. The grandfather clock behind him chimed seven times.
"The party is starting." He whispered in an agitated tone. Like clockwork music began to drift up from the floor below. The sound of loud giddy salutations rose with the harmonies of piano and violin.
Guests were in his house and he should be greeting them. But with so much weight on his shoulders he didn't think he could. His aunt would handle the party, scold him later, and finally remind him why the party was crucial at such a tragic time.
Dressed in a dark indigo military uniform and standing before a long wood framed mirror was a dark haired young man. His appearance spoke of late twenties with no facial hair and a slightly rounded jawline. Pitch black eyes, the distinct sign of his lineage, glared back at the pale face.
"Returning as a hero?" He asked himself. "I hardly feel like one."
The dress uniform was a little loose now, he'd lost some weight in the months since he'd been gone. Honestly it was near impossible to have an appetite when you watched hundreds of soldiers die on the battlefield.
Though he was presentable he fidgeted with the gold epaulettes on his shoulders and then with the braid that hung over the right side of his chest. He checked that the white gloves were straight, imagined a spot on his black leather shoe, and polished at it with the side of his hand. The silver trim reflected the lights nearest him shining brightly.
I'm so obvious in this thing. He griped.
Both comrade and enemy alike had littered the once peaceful fields and deserts between his home in East City and the desert near the border of Amestris. The war had finally ended when there was no one else to kill.
He tried to tell himself it was for a good cause. But the dead were haunting him rather well tonight. Here he was about to go down to an unnecessary party and celebrate the victory. But who would be so cold as to celebrate killing hundreds of people all because they didn't get along with you?
Roy Mustang certainly didn't feel like he deserved the praise and congratulations that was waiting for him on the ground floor.
He looked around the room searching for any item that would catch his interest. Something to distract him until his aunt sent someone to find him.
But the room was immaculatley clean with only the furniture and decor. Green papered walls, white framed windows, a mahogany desk with the proper acoutrements, brass floor lamp, brass sconces with new electric lights, canopied fourposter bed, glass paned book cases filled with old and new volumes, tapestried floor rug, and thick dark green curtains. How exciting.
With nothing to really draw his attention he sighed heavily.
"You really shouldn't slouch."
Roy straightened and turned at the familiar voice. The dark haired man who owned it was leaning against the open door frame a sort of curious gleam in his green eyes. He wore a similar uniform but with less decoration. It was obvious Roy outranked him in military status. The man's trim was grey not silver and he wore simple stripes over his shoulders instead of the rows of short cropped gold braids that adorned Roy.
"It's rude to enter a room without knocking." Roy said but his voice held no anger or agitation. He was actually pelasantly surprised by the visitor.
"I figured I would make an exception just this once."
"I thought you weren't coming Hughes." Roy said almost smiling.
"I remembered I owe you one for saving my sorry self on the field." Maes Hughes replied.
"Couldn't expect a more useful payback." Roy said.
"Ready?"
"Am I ever ready for these things?"
Hughes cuckled. "You act like everyone's your enemy."
"Some of them are." Roy murmured.
"Only the ones with their eyes on your position."
"How many ladies?" Roy asked before striding towards his friend.
"Didn't really get a count, but I saw a lot of skirts from the stairs."
Roy groaned. Why was it that as he inched closer to the day he inherited his title the number of gainful ladies increased?
"I really don't feel inclined to dancing." He said darkly.
"Still fighting?" Hughes asked knowingly.
"I don't think this is the way to start off after having been at war."
"I agree, but I'm just as stuck as you are. Having the respect and not the title or power must be annoying."
Roy said nothing in return as they started down the hall. Hughes walked a step behind him mindful of the difference in rank.
At the landing he could hear everything. The crowd of happy party goers was raucious in their mirth. It angered Roy that people were celebrating the fact that blood had been spilt. Even if the victory ensured their safety it still felt wrong celebrating the massive amount of bodies the war had produced. War wasn't something you forgot once it was over, it was a clash of two entities that just refused to get along. The noisy arguing of men who behaved like spoiled brats. It was pouring out of hatred and fear that consumed whatever lay in it's path.
War didn't care about the destruction left behind. It cared not for the lives taken or destroyed, not for the buildings brought to rubble, not for the fields reeking of decay, and certainly not for the soldiers that returned home with visions of blood and destruction in their eyes.
Agitated and still on edge from having just returned earlier that day, Roy came down the stairs in a huff landing on the wooden floors only to have his smiling aunt gesture toward him.
Please, isn't coming down bad enough? Roy wanted to aboutface and march up the stairs to his room and hide in his closet. Not that it wouldn't prevent those with longer noses than was proprieitary to go searching for him.
"Ah there he is now," Lady Chris Mustang said looking at the ladies and gentlemen gathered.
All eyes turned to him in an instant.
Roy deadpanned. Too many faces eager to get a moment of his time. Some wanted to hear the tales of imagined glory, others were seeking to ensnare his heart, and some wanted to assail him with questions to seek out any weakness he might have.
Hughes coughed in a poor attempt to sheild a chuckle.
"Good evening ladies and gentlemen." Roy said nodding his head at the guests.
Lady Mustang gave a satisfied nod before regaining the attention as hostess.
Roy with Hughes in tow found a quiet corner.
"Too much." Roy growled.
"There's a lot of females in here." Hughes said wagging his eyebrows.
"I'm not interested." Roy snapped.
"You have to pick someone someday. They expect it from you."
"Exactly why I refuse. Those women don't want my affections or my heart, they simply want my status. All of them are here to seek out my future wealth. And why are there so many after we've just announced victory over the enemy? Don't they know I need time like every soldier needs time?"
"A soldier with a rank and civilian status isn't allowed such a luxury." A third voice broke in. An aging aristocrat with the smile of a cat approached.
"General Atwood." Roy and Hughes saluted on instinct.
"Nonsense." He waved away the decorum.
"What's a fine handsome Captain like yourself complaining about? You've got a whole group of women waiting for you like a buffet table. You don't have to look at them all, but you should see if any are worth your interest." Atwood said jovially. He obviously saw this as a grand opportunity as a male.
"I'm not feeling up to the excitement of the party. I've only just returned home General." Roy replied politely. Damned fools thought he'd be after a woman right after seeing men die for two opposing causes. How could anyone even entertain the idea of attempting romance with battlefield still vivid in their memory?
"You could muster something I'm sure." Atwood walked away without another word.
"Hello Sir Mustang." A femenine voice timdily approached.
Roy turned his eyes onto a petite young lady with the gleam of hope in her sable eyes. She wore a pale yellow dancing gown made of shimmering fabric that was aappropriately shaped into a wide bell shape. The straps covered her shoulders meeting just above her cleavage. She smiled at the two men warmly.
"Greetings Lady-?" Roy waited for her to supply her name.
"Raven, Katerina Raven."
"General Raven's daughter?" Hughes asked out of turn in curiosity. The girl nodded not removing her eyes from Roy.
"I assume you are here with your father?" Roy asked dodging the question she was impatiently waiting for him to ask.
"Of course." Her eyes were bright and Roy felt awful for not having the desire to even offer a dance.
"I'm surprised he has recovered enough to attend."
"Father's much too relieved in our triumph to stay home."
Triumph? Is that what they call it when your side kills the most people?
"I see." Roy was about to shake the girl away by saying he had a need to see her father when his aunt's piercing black eyes bore into him. They warned him not to make trouble with her guests. He bit back a sigh and inclined his head to Katerina.
"Would you care to dance?" He asked as politely as he could. He was pretty annoyed with the woman watching him from afar. What right did she have to expect him to not only participate but to entertain her company as well?
As Roy took the girl on the dance floor and ignored her chattering voice as they danced he caught the sound of something approaching through the music and conversation. He looked up just in time to see a haggard blond man and a younger woman enter through the front doors.
The music stopped as all eyes turned. Roy looked them over closely. The man had long hair and a beard, his eyes were brown and he wore clothing that, while obviously his finest, was outdated by a decade or so.
The young lady with him had hair and eyes like him imparting that the two were related. The lady wore a soft blue gown with straps that gathered on the sides of her shoulders and a firm bell shaped skirt. Slightly darker tassled trim brushed the floor as she stepped into the main entry. The dress boasted a snug bodice with a sweetheart neckline that gave her ample chest just the right definition. She was by no means petite, but her full figure advertised that she would be far better company on a cold night than the tiny little things standing in packs and staring at her. Her heels clicked as everyone remained silent.
"Lord Hawkeye," Lady Mustang said greeting the latecomers.
"Forgive me madam, our carriage was nearly run off the road by highway men. We apologize at arriving so late."
"All is forgiven." The dark haired woman smiled at them. "Please join the festivities."
As if late guests weren't enough of a shock Roy found himself unconciously marching toward the blond woman. Her brown eyes did not flitter around like most of the girls who sought him. Instead they looked clearly at everything and everyone. He didn't even realize he'd forgotten momentarily the images of violence in his head.
Her eyes fell on the stranger approaching and it was obvious who he was. His eyes met hers silently and she almost stepped forward.
"Lord Hawkeye may I have permission to dance with your daughter?" Roy was shocked and at perfect ease with his words.
He could feel the eyes on him. The rumors that Berthold Hawkeye was mad had circulated even to his ears. That didn't matter. He sure had a pretty daughter. The thought barely registered as the older man nodded approvingly.
"Would you care to dance miss Hawkeye?" Roy bowed to her and a few girls gasped. He'd never done the same for them.
"Thank you Sir Mustang." She replied.
Roy liked her voice instantly. It wasn't the high pitched whine that Raven's daughter carried nor the repugnant haughty sneer some of the other guests used. It was a smooth melodic voice like the middle range of a piano's keys.
When her proper curtsy ended he took her in his arms and the musicians struck up a lively waltz.
Roy smirked when he caught a glimpse of his aunt's face. She was both shocked and relieved. Never had her nephew shown this amount of interest in any lady he'd ever been introduced to.
Katerina was on the sidelines pouting and complaining to her mother who scolded her for speaking aloud.
"May I have the honor of knowing the lady's given name?"
"Riza."
"An unusual but not unpleasant name." Roy smiled.
"You are too kind Sir Mustang."
"Would you mind if I asked you to call me Roy?" He whispered conspiratorially. "Mustang sounds so cold and formal."
"But isn't that the purpose?" Riza asked keeping her voice low. "I haven't the audacity to say your first name aloud. Not when we've only just met."
"So you favor wisdom over requests?" Roy asked. He could tell by her tone she would have obliged had there not been polite society watching.
"When the situation allows it, yes." She answered. "I much prefer to remain unmoved than do something silly."
"Like court someone you have no interest in?"
"Are you implying the girls here are boring?"
"Would you laugh if I said yes?"
Her response was a stifled giggle.
The waltz picked up and he twirled her deftly in his arms. "I was afraid all the fighting had made me forget to dance."
"Apparently you haven't forgotten a single step." Riza complimented. It was obvious she was enjoying the dance. A few couples were trying to keep up with the pair but it seemed useless.
The two were enjoying the floor until the song ended. For a few moments they stood on the floor waiting to hear what would play next.
"My isn't she an odd one."
"Why her father must have let her eat whenever she felt like it."
"Such boldness in her eyes, she's not meek at all."
"Where's her bonnet. Why is her head not properly covered?"
"I hear her father went crazy when his wife died of illness."
"They say he stays locked in his study all day."
"I hear that Riza, that's her name, likes to read books."
"I wonder if her father keeps her isolated?"
Riza blushed as the voices in the room drifted to her. Roy frowned. "Perhaps we should sit the next one out?"
"Please."
Riza curtsied, turned, and nearly rushed to her father.
Roy spun on the women talking in a corner. His eyes glared. "Have you ladies enjoyed the gossip?" He asked. The mothers and daughters talking suddenly paused. They all looked at him dumbfounded. "As the gentleman of the house I asked you a question." Roy pressed.
"I do believe they are merely curious." His aunt broke in. The women all nodded eagerly, politely but eagerly. She made sure her nephew didn't lash out at them. All she needed was the young man's temper to get out of hand.
"I thought curiosity was a dangerous thing for a woman's mind." Roy's voice was low as he turned away.
Silence remained at his back and he smirked. Foolish little twits. He didn't mind a little curiosity in a woman, if focused on the proer subject that is.
Riza sat on an empty chair a cup of tea in her hands. Now she remembered why she usually begged her father to ignore party invitations.
Why did they treat her so differently? Certainly the fact that her body was naturally of a slightly larger size wasn't that bad? Even the women who could have shamelessly been called fat had agreed with those statements. Her bonnet was gone. She'd discovered it was lost after the carriage was nearly overturned.
Was it wrong of her to enjoy what her eyes took in? Should she not take in the little details around her?
"Care for some company?" It was Mustang gesturing to the chair at her right.
"Please." Riza replied her thoughts brightening.
In all honesty she couldn't remember the last time she'd had a real conversation with a person.
"Feeling better?" Roy asked.
"Certainly, thank you."
"Have you any interests?" The man was for more intrigued with her than he usually was with possible wives.
"I like the outdoors, preferably in the morning." Riza supplied not fearing what he would think. "What is it you enjoy spending your leisure time doing?"
"I prefer to do nothing." Roy admitted. He wasn't lazy, he just didn't feel up to doing anything if no one was expecting it from him.
"As in you rest?" Riza inquired.
"As in I sit under my favorite tree and think." Roy said. "I seem to have too many ideas some days."
"Ideas can be good if properly utilized." Riza replied.
"Such fast cunning." Roy complimented. Her cheeks warmed.
"Dance with me?" Roy asked when her color had lightened.
"Yes."
The two were back on the floor this time performing an upbeat minuet.
Roy's aunt was staring at the young man in wonder. "He's never been taken with a lady before."
"I find my daughter is the same." Berthold murmured. "I'd say they quite fancy each other."
"Does that worry you?" Chris asked.
"Not in the least. I am glad to see her enjoying herself with such a fine young man. You've done well in lieu of his parents."
"Please, that young man has learned more from his father's memory than he did from me."
He chuckled.
"My they are getting along." Berthold looked back at the two youngsters to see them share a gentle laugh.
His voice was quiet and amused as he spoke. "Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye."