Part two, my little ducklings. Again written for the marvelous mebh. Tread carefully, now.

-o-o-o-

Part 2: Heart of Gall

You, the sophistical rogue, the heart of gall,
The renegade of heaven to short-lived men
Purveyor of prerogatives and titles,
Fire-thief! Dost thou hear me? I've a word for thee.

Aeschylus – Prometheus Bound

His breath reeked of stale liquor. His tongue lay thick in his mouth. He felt cold stone scrape against his back. Unseen hands gripped his wrists, and his heels caught against the uneven ground. Someone was dragging him. He heard a distant plinking sound, like water falling into a shallow pool. The air tasted stagnant. His torpid, drugged mind did not recognize this place.

"Damn, he's heavier than he looks." The voice sounded muffled, far away.

"Stop complaining. The money's worth it."

Roy struggled against the ten-ton weight that smothered his consciousness. Dim memories of a shapely woman and a tumbler of whiskey surfaced. She drugged him. She drugged him! He was Roy Mustang: the venerated Hero of Ishval. He was poised, sly – always in control. Not powerless. Certainly not helpless. Anger tinged with fear settled into the center of him; it writhed in his stomach and tightened his throat. Roy tried to yell, thrash, twitch – anything – yet his leaden limbs refused to move. He was completely paralyzed. But he could hear and he could feel. Unpleasant sensations filtered through his clouded sensorium. He did not like the way the rocky floor scraped his back. And he loathed the distant, seditious voices. They spoke freely – loudly – without fear of being overheard. He was alone and at their mercy.

This did not bode well.

Hazy questions tumbled through his mind. Who were these people? What was their goal? Why did they bring him to this cold, isolated place? His mind quickly reeled through potential culprits – those that had the impetus and the means to destroy him. It was macabre task. There were far, far too many: those he'd slighted, those he undercut in his bid for the top, those whose loved ones he'd killed. The list grew far too long in a disturbingly short amount of time. How did one manage to acquire so many enemies? Roy pushed the thought out of his mind with steely determination. The time for compunction had passed.

Damn. Just what had he gotten himself into this time?

One of his captors grunted. Roy felt his shoulders lift from the floor and slam into a jagged wall. He shivered as a chill leeched through the back of his blazer, and soon his bones ached from the cold. He tried to lift his head. He wanted to move – he had to move. He was a man of action: a soldier and alchemist, respected and feared by all that knew his name. He would overcome this. But his chin lolled tonelessly against his chest and his eyes refused to open. He felt so very, very weak. What a helpless, miserable thing he was.

"Help me with these."

Roy heard a heavy clinking sound and a cool something briefly grazed his cheek. Callus-roughened hands gripped his left forearm and lifted it above his head. Roy felt a smooth band close about his wrist; it clasped shut with a terrifying snap. The sound had a cold finality to it that sent dread through Roy's slackened body. The captor let go of his arm and Roy's wrist hung like a dead thing from the shackle. The cold metal bit into his flesh.

"Bind him up good. We don't want any alchemy today." He recognized the smoky voice. It was woman he met in the bar. Her companion – a man, by the sound of it – grunted in assent, and Roy felt his other hand lift from the floor. It met the same fate as the first. He was now fettered, his hands bound above his head.

"Who are you?" Roy asked. Or that's what he meant to say. Instead he let out a pathetic, gurgling moan from deep within his throat. How horrid. At least it meant he was beginning to shake the cobwebs that cluttered his mind and clung to his limbs. He could feel himself growing more aware. His fingers twitched. His eyelids fluttered.

"Look," the woman cooed. "He's trying to speak." Roy felt her long fingernails dig into his chin as she tilted his face toward the sound of her voice. "Go ahead, Colonel," she teased. "I'm listening."

Roy mumbled again. Inwardly, he quailed. It took all his willpower to lift his eyelids against the overwhelming weight that dragged at them. A promising crack of light filtered through his lashes before his eyes rolled back in their sockets. He slumped into semi-consciousness again. The failure of it stung.

"Mustang," she crooned, calling to him in a singsong tone. The cruel nails burrowed into Roy's skin, eliciting another pitiable grunt. The woman's other hand ran down his chest, worrying at the buttons of his coat. Her fingers left burning trails on his skin. Hot, thick revulsion exploded in Roy's gut. He wanted to escape her unwelcome touch. "Wake up."

Now fueled by fury, Roy desperately clawed at the heavy darkness that cloyed his mind and anchored his limbs. He inched towards awareness in tiny, painful spurts, and the drug's hold on began to peel away in slow layers. His eyes cracked open.

The woman's face hovered in his doubled vision, her eyes dark and triumphant. "There you are," she murmured. Roy blinked against the haze that clouded his sight. His half-lidded eyes sluggishly slid past her. He needed to get a gauge on his surroundings. They were in a dimly lit cavern, the walls and ceiling formed from natural stone. A man stood silent several paces away. He was huge – practically a behemoth. Lank hair hung to his shoulders and into his dull eyes. A torch sputtered in his hand, casting an eerie glow against the stalactites that jutted from the ceiling like daggers.

The woman smiled her crooked smile. The hand that gripped Roy's chin slid around to the nape of his neck and her fingers twined into his hair. She swung one leg over his and settled into his lap. Roy could not do much more than stare at her with violent hatred in his eyes. He managed a garbled croak.

"You're in trouble, Mustang," she murmured, false pity in her voice. "Our employer must truly hate you. He is certainly paying us enough to retrieve you for him." Her free hand slid to the topmost button of his shirt. She popped it off with a deft flick of her thumb. "What did you do to him, I wonder?" Her hand moved. Another button jumped free into the space between them. Roy felt a damp chill seep through the widening gap of his shirt.

Meanwhile, the woman's hulking partner simply stood there, silent and expressionless. His hard, sullen eyes never left his companion as her hand slipped down yet again. "Don't," Roy slurred. Pathetic.

The woman's fingers tightened in Roy's hair and she jerked his head back. Her lips spread into the smile he found so beguiling mere hours before. Now the lopsided grin filled him with foreboding. It spoke of secret, terrible things. "He said you would fall for a blonde," she breathed, puffing her fringe to illustrate her point. "I never thought the famous Flame Alchemist would be such a sentimental man." She drew back to regard him with her dark, dark eyes. "You truly are a fool, Roy Mustang."

Roy silently raged against the drug-bonds that chained him. How dare she mock him. How dare she touch him. If only he had his gloves and his strength and wits about him. She would feel the unloving wrath of his alchemy. He imagined her screams as he set his flame against her. He imagined how her depraved, dark eyes would widen in fear and pain.

She smiled and leaned toward him. Her free hand delved between the folds of his unbuttoned shirt.

"Stop," a man's voice keened from the darkness. Roy looked up. A shadowy form stood just outside the light that pooled under the flickering torch.

The woman jumped away from Roy as though she had been burned. "Ethon!"

"What are you doing?" The voice had a strange quality to it, like a muted shriek. It echoed weirdly off the stony walls.

The woman scurried to her companion's side, a terrified expression on her beautiful face. "Ethon, I… I just –"

"You were told not to touch him. You were told not to leave a mark on him."

"I didn't –"

"I wanted him whole and unharmed."

"I know that, I –"

Ethon strode forward into the torchlight. He had a slight form and tawny hair. A large, hooked nose jutted from his angular face. Something about his features pulled at Roy's memory. "You will leave." Ethon's piercing eyes trailed down to where Roy sat shackled against the wall. "Now."

The woman's companion growled, the muscles in his free arm bulging as his hand formed into an enormous fist. The woman stepped forward, her voice low and fierce. "What about our money? You promised us –"

"Silence," Ethon bit. His gaze remained trained on Mustang's prone form. "I will pay you in due time. After I ensured that you remained within the bounds of our agreement."

"No! We want our –"

"Kate." Ethon's voice was suddenly airy – treacherously so. "Did you hear what happened to the last mercenary that betrayed me?"

The woman – Kate – glowered. "…Yes."

"Then you know what I am capable of."

She shuddered delicately. "Yes."

"You will leave. Now."

Kate glanced up at her companion. They exchanged a long, meaningful look. The man jerked his head, and Kate nodded curtly. "Fine," she said. "But I expect payment. I told you we'd get the job done. He's yours." Kate stalked up to Ethon and drew Roy's gloves from beneath her plunging neckline. She threw the ignition cloth at his feet. Kate tossed her head and sent a scathing glance in Ethon's direction before she stalked angrily into the darkness. The behemoth wedged his torch into a nearby crag before lumbering after her.

Ethon's sharp eyes followed the sound of their footsteps for a long time. Eventually it faded, replaced by the distant noise of dripping water. Roy eyed the man carefully. He looked so familiar. He swore he'd seen him before… It was his nose. Roy knew that shape. His numbed mind just couldn't pin where or when.

"Roy Mustang," Ethon drawled. He reached down to scoop up the gloves and strode toward the Colonel. His feet hardly made a sound against the stone floor. "We meet again. At last."

"Who're you?" Roy mumbled. His tongue felt more nimble and he found he could move his fingers at will. Good.

Ethon's face twisted in fury. He swooped down to crouch before Roy, his face uncomfortably close. "You don't remember me?"

Mustang shook his head dumbly. He could move his neck – another small victory. He managed a weak semblance of his confident, crooked smile. "No," he said flatly.

The man's hand darted forward to grip Roy's throat. His fingers dug into Roy's skin like talons. Ethon's voice came out in measured, angry pants. "You… don't… remember… me?"

The fury in Ethon's eyes filled Roy with bitter strength. He had somehow unhinged this man. Perhaps this could work to his advantage. He needed to buy more time to shake the effects of the drug. "Why should I remember you?" he croaked haughtily.

Ethon's lips tightened into a livid line and his fingers tightened on Roy's throat. Roy's breath whistled through his constricted windpipe, but he refused to cry out. Whoever this man was, Roy would not give him whatever satisfaction he sought. He would not be a helpless victim of misplaced revenge. Roy stared impudently back at his captor, black eyes meeting golden brown. Ethon's chest heaved with pure, unbridled fury. Emotions flickered over his face. For a moment, he looked almost… hurt.

An immeasurable time passed, marked only by the agonized cadence of Roy's hooting breaths. Eventually, Ethon's grip loosened. His face relaxed, and his fingers were suddenly gentle against Roy's throat. "You always were a hateful boy," he said softly. "It seems you turned into a hateful man as well." Ethon's fingers trailed up to Roy's cheek, running softly against the pale skin. His eyes lingered on Roy's lips and his voice dropped to a near-imperceptible whisper. "A hateful, beautiful man."

Roy flinched away from the unwanted caress. Revulsion roiled within him. "Don't touch me," he hissed. The back of his head met the stony wall; he was pinned. Trapped with this disturbing, vengeful stranger.

Ethon's feathery brows furrowed. His fingers gripped Roy's chin. "You may not remember me, Roy Mustang, but I remember you." His voice rose to a wheedling falsetto. "Roy Mustang, Golden Cadet. Always at the top of the class. And such an alchemist the Academy had never seen. What a clever boy. So confident – so talented!" Ethon's eyes shone with hate. "I was supposed to unlock the secrets of fire. I was supposed to be the Flame Alchemist, not you. You conniving, hateful boy."

Roy's eyes widened. Of course. Ethon looked different now. Nothing like his younger days as a cadet. Back then his cheeks were fuller, his hair cut short in military style. His body was thick and awkward – almost chubby. The perfect target for hurtful, cutting jibes. But most of all, Roy remembered his hooked nose and lingering eyes.

Ethan watched Roy's face closely as recognition slowly dawned in the Colonel's eyes. "You do remember me." He breathed. "Good. That means we can get right to business."

Roy stared silently at his old rival, now his captor. He could not believe such an obscure figure from his youth would seek vengeance now.

His thoughts strayed regretfully to the past.

Think not that I for pride and stubbornness
Am silent: rather is my heart the prey
Of gnawing thoughts, both for the past, and now
Seeing myself by vengeance buffeted.

Aeschylus –Prometheus Bound