Thanks for all the reviews!
Warning: Mentions of EdWinry
Mistakes are my own.
Chapter 3
The funeral was a somber affair.
As Roy predicted, even the weather chose to mourn that day, casting down a cascade of bitter tears to tribute Grumman. Grey was the predominate color above and it looked as though it would remain so for the near future.
He stood in the middle of a multitude, staring at the dais, at the speaker. He wasn't sure who this was, someone important. The service was packed with enough politicians and false grief to kill even Alphonse Elric's exuberant enthusiasm.
Roy's cold black eyes traced from the speaker, he wasn't listening anyway, to the casket placed just below the dais. They moved over the familiar profile, the glasses, the mustache, that awful beak of a nose.
Grumman lay, grey amidst the white satin and stained oak. He looked like a corpse, not the vivid leader of Amestris; that was right. But it felt so wrong. This wasn't the man Roy had left to go East. The body in the coffin commanded no respect; held no dignity. It looked shrunken and empty and pathetic.
What was left of Grumman wasn't even smiling.
The man's picture was smiling though; the great gaudy gilded thing they mounted in his honor. As though they thought everyone would've forgotten what their leader looked like in the 48 hours since his death. Maybe Amestris had, the mob was fickle after all, even in Central. Or maybe he should say: especially in Central.
Today they wept over Grumman's cold corpse, tomorrow would they cheer when Roy was announced as the new Fuehrer?
Roy could hear Fuery behind him, sniffling, but the man was not in tears, not yet. Fallmen was trying to hold it together too. Breda was eerily quiet, so was Riza. But her silence didn't disturb Mustang. He was used to quiet from her, especially at funerals. She hadn't even cried when her own father was laid to rest.
The curator gave a signal and Roy sighed. It was his turn to join the prattling politicians.
Roy slipped his hand to the pocket where he tucked his speech the day before. The soft outline pressed back into his probing fingers. He was prepared.
And then he was moving, striding to the podium with all the calm and poise he did not feel.
All eyes on him, he could sense them trained in his direction, clawing at his coat and hair. He wasn't used to that, wasn't sure he would ever become used to such attention.
Roy nodded to the curator, a slender, middle-aged man with mossy-brown hair, before turning to face the colorful crowd. The people gathered, their numbers stretching out as far as the eye could see. Crisp blue of military uniforms mixed with civilian red, green, yellow…black. Old flowery hats, ugly print dresses, lace, jeans, freshly shined boots, leather gloves, coats.
For long moments he just stood and looked at them as the full, honest reality, at last sunk in.
Grumman was dead.
Two days on a train wasn't enough time. But it couldn't be helped. Three days wouldn't have been enough; not four days; not five. In the end Roy knew he had to be here; had to see his friend lying ugly and wretched on the satin cushions.
Grumman was dead.
Roy never knew that he said; what words his grief addled brains chose for his mouth. He was aware of the sobbing, the polite clapping as he stepped down from the podium. But it was all distant, happening from another world, to someone else entirely.
Roy just went back to his place, standing beside Riza.
She offered no word or gesture of encouragement. But she was there. It was enough.
A cousin of Grumman's came up to speak next. His age gnarled voice mingled absurdly with the coughing and shuddering sobs as he droned on about a great man to be laid to rest.
Roy tried not to look at the casket. His eyes found purchase of the frame's muted gold.
The crowd wept.
And Grumman's gaudy portrait grinned back.
Ed was staring up at the ceiling fan…again.
At least it wasn't the one at home.
He was lying on the couch in his old room: Room 502. Well, it may as well have been his room; he and Al spent enough time in it whenever they came to Central. Here and the hospital.
He remembered spending an inordinate amount of time staring at this stupid fan, trying to figure out one mystery or another. He liked looking at it.
It was familiar.
Al might not approve his ceiling fan fetish, Ed thought sardonically, but at least he'd gotten out of his house.
The tri-blades still spun lazily around.
"Papa, Papa, Papa."
His son bounded up to the table where Ed sat, talking to Winry while she finished cleaning up dinner dishes.
"What is it Big Man?" Ed pulled his son into his lap for a tickle. The blond two year old squealed in horrified delight as his Father abused his ribs.
"Stoppit Papa, stoppit. Wanna show sumfin."
Ed stopped and perched his son on the chair next to him. "Okay Big man; what do you want to show me?"
Winry wasn't watching. She was too immersed in dinner dishes.
Eagerly the boy pulled out a piece of chalk and began scribbling on the polished wood.
Edward reached out and was about to reprimand his son for drawing on furniture when the boy released the chalk, grinned at his Father and pressed his small palms onto the tabletop.
White-blue light flashed and danced for long seconds then melted away; leaving a crudely transmuted wooden bird in its wake.
Ed gaped in utter astonishment before he leaped up, grabbing his child and tossing him high. The boy began giggling; the joy so incredibly pure it was contagious. Soon they were both laughing uncontrollably, Father and son. Everything was right in the world. "Big man, you did Alchemy." The eldest Elric brother laughed, beginning his tickle-torture anew. "I'm so proud of you."
"Not mad?" The boy squirmed, trying to escape the offending digits.
"Mad?" Ed pulled the child in close for a hug. His son was a prodigy, only two years old. Ed had been five before his first transmutation. Edward was astonished. "No, I'm not mad. I'm happy. You were amazing."
The boy grinned, a smile so like his own, awe filled him with each glimpse. "Wanna do more Papa."
A matching grin was threatening to overtake Ed's face. His son wanted to be taught, wanted to learn the science which had been Ed's passion for the first part of his life. "Yes, yes, of course you can learn Alchemy. I'll teach you everything you want to know. We can start tomorrow-"
A dish shattered.
Ed turned and saw Winry, her hands empty, her face wide and horrified.
"Absolutely not."
"Papa?" His son glanced from one parent to the other.
"Absolutely not, Ed."
Edward set his son down, placing a kiss on the soft forehead while tears gathered in innocent golden eyes.
"It's okay, Big man. Mommy and I are just going to have a talk. Go find your sister. Make sure she's still napping."
"Okay Papa." The blond boy wandered away, pausing at the door to snuffle. "Sorry Momma." And then he was gone.
Ed turned to his wife.
"Winry."
The woman was furiously gathering the glass fragments from the floor. "Don't start with me Ed. I'm not going to have Alchemy in my home and that's the end of it."
"Why not? I was an Alchemist."
"But you're not performing it."
Ed frowned. "What difference does that make?"
Winry shoved her handful of broken plate into the trash. "Because as long as they don't have it, it can't hurt them."
Ed's mouth opened and closed and opened again. Maybe he hadn't gotten enough sleep the night before, but he couldn't decipher Winry's fantastic leap in logic. No matter how he looked at that statement, it didn't make any sense at all. Of course their child could be hurt by Alchemy; he could be hurt by anything. A building could collapse on top of you just as easily with a brick in your hand as without.
His jaw continued to work for long seconds. He couldn't think of anything to say.
"What are you talking about?" he managed at last. Of course, it was the wrong thing to say. Winry went from cool to boiling in the time it took to inhale. She turned on him.
"Edward Elric, how can you stand there and encourage my son to practice the very thing that took away your arm and leg? How can you want him to use it when it turned Al into a suit of armor? When it took away my parents? When it almost destroyed Amestris? I saw what it did to you and Alphonse. I was there the night you tried to bring your mother back. I saw exactly what it did to you. It was awful. And you want to teach my child how to do that?"
Ed was stunned. Of course he wasn't going to teach the boy human transmutation. That went without saying; at least he thought it did. But Alchemy wasn't evil and he'd thought his wife understood that too.
Ed shook his head. "Al and I understood the consequences were ours, because we made a mistake. We made the mistake. Alchemy didn't force us to try and bring Mom back.
"You can't blame Alchemy for causing destruction anymore than you can blame a shovel for being used to dig. Alchemy is a tool; it can heal just as well as harm. You know that."
But Winry had stopped listening. She furiously dried the remaining dishes.
Ed stepped beside her, took the plate from her fingers. His voice was soft as he spoke.
"Our son has a gift. Why shouldn't I encourage him to explore that talent if he wants to? Would I be a good Father if I stunted him, blocked him from doing what he wants?"
"He's two years old."Winry shouted.
"Yes." Edward gestured to the ruined kitchen table. "And that two-year old just performed a transmutation I couldn't until I was five. Our son is a genius."
Winry ignored the furnishing. "That still doesn't make it safe. I don't want my child anywhere near it."
He would have backed off, was used to just giving in and admitting she was right. His life was typically easier that way. But he couldn't, not this time.
"He's my son too." Ed said, storing the dish in its cabinet. "He's the son of an Alchemist, the nephew of an Alchemist and the grandson of a Philosopher's stone. You can't just say no, stamp your feet and expect this to go away. Alchemy is in his blood."
Winry was gritting her teeth. "He has Rockbell blood too, or don't you remember I was there while he was conceived?"
"Of course I-" Ed cut himself off. This argument was becoming ridiculous.
"So he can do other things, be other things besides an Alchemist." His wife finished drying and she turned on him. "He has his whole life ahead of him. Let him be a child. Let him be interested in bugs or dirt, or wrestling or engines."
Edward's sudden smile held no humor.
"I get it. So if he'd come in and showed us a piston he made himself; you would have forbid him from becoming an Automail engineer?" He didn't let Winry answer. "No, of course you wouldn't. Because following in your footsteps, that's a nice, safe dream for him to have, isn't it?"
"Why am I the bad guy?" Winry was yelling again. "Why can't I try and do what's best for this family without being the mean parent? Tell me that Ed. Tell me why I shouldn't care that my son is safe?"
"I never said you couldn't. And he's my son t-" But she didn't let him finish.
"I'm not going to let Alchemy tear this family apart again. I almost lost everyone because of that stupid science. I'm not going to just stand by and watch as my child is infected-"
"It's not a disease!" Edward shouted.
"It's dangerous!" She spat back.
"So what about Alchahestry then?" Ed asked. "Isn't that too dangerous for me to study? Why did you even let it into the house if you're so against the science? Won't that infect him too?"
"That's…" Winry took a deep breath. "…different."
They were back around to square one it seemed, but it was a foothold. Ed grabbed on and held tight. "Alright. Then could he study that?" Ed was trying hard to keep the anger out of his voice. "Would that be acceptable?"
His wife glanced at the table then. When she spoke, it was softly. "I'll have to think about it Ed."
Edward opened his mouth.
Their daughter started crying.
"He woke up Trisha." Winry took a step toward the sound of interrupted nap. But Ed was already walking out of the kitchen.
"It's okay Winry, I've got it."
"Ed."
He paused at the door. He felt her arms wind around his chest from behind as she hugged him.
"I love you."
Not 'I'm sorry'. Not 'Let's try and work this out.' Not 'I know he's your son too'. Just: 'I love you'.
"I love you too."
Edward sat up.
He needed a walk; just a small walk, just to clear his head.
He slammed the door.
Just a little walk.
Roy was staring at the doors, thinking about the mound of dirt where Grumman disappeared. He had watched while the elderly man was laid to rest. And so now, all that Roy Mustang cared for Grumman must be put to rest as well. Roy had a county to run.
Gone were the days of cost-free cares. He could not carry the burden of Grumman's death and a country's troubles. It was too much for one man.
Riza stepped calmly to his side. "Sir, they're ready for you."
"Alright." Roy tucked his hat back on. A little rainwater, leftover from the storm, was gathered on the brim. It trickled slowly down his cheek. It was not a tear.
It was not a tear.
"Let's get this business over with."
Riza opened the doors and the warm glow from a dozen fluorescent bulbs bathed Roy's face. He blinked and stepped into the wide ante-chamber.
Riza slipped in behind him and closed the door.. Roy expected her to stay at his back, like she always did. But when he turned to look, Riza had disappeared in the ranks of Generals and he could no longer see her.
Red carpet made a path to the front where waited the man with the book. Roy strode down the long crimson, searching the faces on either side of the aisle. Many he recognized, old friends from the revolution, older ones from Eastern Command and the Ishvalan War. Even comrades from Briggs had come to witness his ascension to Fuehrer.
He was kneeling, baring and bowing his head to the man with the book. A hand, the barest touch of fingertips splayed against his hair. And then the man with the book spoke, his large voice echoed in Roy's ears, out to the military senior staff assembled.
"Do you so swear that you shall uphold the laws and regulations which so bind this great land Amestris? Will you, with your knowledge guide; with all your strength protect and with your wisdom rule over every soul entrusted to your care? Until such a time as sickness overcomes you, death takes you or until you deliver this great charge to Amestris' newest caretaker; be they found worthy of so noble a calling?"
Roy knelt; his back to the four hundred gathered. Colonel's and General's, friends and allies. His people.
All eyes on him again.
His people.
"I so swear."
His people.
The fingertips disappeared.
"Before thyself and before these witnesses it is so sworn. Rise, Fuehrer Roy Mustang."
Roy was a paradox; light and heavy, he was soaring and plummeting to earth all at once. Somehow he was rising, turning to look at the crowd. They stared back and clapped. Polite applause. It was the best he could expect for the audience. Many would be disappointed they had not been chosen to succeed Grumman. His eyes sought those of Olivier Armstrong. She was already watching him carefully.
'Grumman's wishes didn't make everyone happy…'
He hadn't made many friends here today.
Roy saluted.
His Generals saluted back.
That moment was perfection.
He walked down to the doors, a newfound confidence measuring every step.
The doors opened wide, the hall beyond beckoning and as Roy strode to it, looking to either side, he saw his comrades falling into place behind and beside him.
Fuery, Fallman, Breda, Havoc, Hawkeye.
It was everything he could have hoped for; his moment of triumph.
Roy Mustang was Fuehrer at last.
He smiled.
"Pack your bags and prepare to transfer to my personal staff." Roy smiled. "We have a job to do."
AN: He's finally attained his dream. Go Roy!
Anyway, here's my usual call for Reviews. Please, it's what keeps me going.
Until next time.