Off we go! Part 3.

This marks my first stab at writing Maes. So be kind, dear readers. Be kind.

Excuses, excuses!

-o-o-o-

Part 3: Haughty Tongue

Ah me! Ah me! what wafture nigh at hand,
As of great birds of prey, is this I hear?
The bright air fanned
Whistles and shrills with rapid beat of wings.
There cometh naught but to my spirit brings
Horror and fear.

Aeschylus – Prometheus Bound

Ethon stepped away. The flickering torchlight played over his reedy form and cast his gaunt face in shadow. "You have no idea how long I've waited for this," he murmured. Roy's gloves turned over and over in his thin hands. "I have dreamed of this."

Roy tugged experimentally at his bindings. The chains quickly pulled taught, clinking softly against the rocky wall. He could move his fingers well enough, but there was barely a hairsbreadth of space for his wrists. The shackles bit into his skin and the awkward position set a deep ache into his shoulders.

The thin man continued pacing, his voice dropping to a fervent whisper. "But now you're mine. Mine. I have longed for this." His golden eyes drifted to Roy's prone form. They hungered.

Roy tried to pretend the shiver that ran down his spine was from the damp that leeched through his shirt. The keen, predatory stare seemed to pierce him through. Roy lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes, feigning confidence despite his vulnerable position. He hoped he made a good show of it; he still felt slow and thick from the aftereffects of the drug. "Ethon," he said. "Think. Do you know what happens to those who kidnap Amestrian military officers?"

The measured cadence of Ethon's boots faltered for the briefest moment before it resumed. His heels ground on the rocky floor with each deliberate step. "Of course I do," Ethon spat. "I was a cadet at one time, too."

Roy's eyes glittered. "You could be executed for this."

"I won't," Ethon said with grim certainty.

"Fools like you always end up getting caught."

Ethon stopped to let out a cawing 'ha!' He cocked his head to one side and regarded Roy with a bemused smirk. "You're the fool, Mustang. You don't seem to understand that it's not you they value – it's what you know. They don't need you. They need a Flame Alchemist." Ethon snapped his fingers with a small chuckle. "That's why the military will beg to have me back after I'm finished with you."

Roy brows furrowed. He did not know what Ethon meant by that. He did not care to.

Ethon resumed his pacing. "I've watched you, Mustang. All these years, I've watched you. You're always in the papers." He spread his arms expansively. "The Flame Alchemist: venerated Hero of Ishval! Perfect soldier! Alchemy like no other!" Ethon snorted. He stopped in front of Roy, staring down at him with disdain. "Please. You are a thief. You stole your secrets. It's the only way."

Roy glared at his captor. "I stole nothing. The equations were given to me willingly." His thoughts strayed to a room filled with musty books and the smooth curve of a woman's back.

"Liar," Ethon sneered. "You. Are. A. Liar."

"I don't lie," Roy said fiercely. "They were endowed to me."

Fury broke over Ethon's angular face. "I don't believe you. No one would entrust their secrets to such a petty, selfish creature."

The colonel looked away for a moment. Petty, he thought. Selfish. Another memory surfaced – this time of shifting sands and falling ash. A woman's voice – soft and cool – drifted into Roy's thoughts. 'I trusted you with my father's research.' Her tone spoke of remorse and unfulfilled promises. 'There can be no more flame alchemists.' Roy shuddered and shook his head. Now was not the time for regret.

Ethon's face grew livid: ghostly pale in the dim light. He resumed his pacing. "You don't deserve to bear such precious knowledge."

Roy let out a laughing breath through his nose. "And you do?"

Ethon turned, boots scraping on the pebbly floor. He strode closer to lean threateningly over his captive. Roy coughed as a cloying smell filled his nose.

"I made flame first." Ethon's voice was disturbingly soft.

"You think that matters?" Roy said, shaking his head. "That was hardly flame alchemy. It was dangerous. You had nothing more than an inefficient equ-"

"Shut up!" Ethon screamed. His boot darted out before Roy could react. It met the colonel's side with a sickening thud. There was a telltale cracking noise – probably a broken rib – and Roy's breath whooshed out in a throaty 'huh.' He fell to his side, arms stretched taught on the shackles that joined his wrists to the wall.

Ethon stepped back, a kind of brutal triumph twisting his features. After a long silence, Roy used the chains to right himself. The motion tugged at his ribs and he sucked in a painful gasp. Yes, definitely broken.

"I should have known," Ethon seethed. "I should have known the moment I met you. You were such a jealous, petty boy. You thought only of your pride first." He stepped closer. "Do you remember that, Mustang?"

Roy glared up at his captor through sweat-soaked bangs. "Yes."

-o-o-o-

There exists an inflammable element contained in every flammable substance. Careful measurement substantiates its existence. It has been observed that ash is lighter than wood. Rust is lighter than iron. Thus, something is released or lost during combustion. This is the 'phlogiston.'

Ethon bent over an ancient copy of Physica Subterranea. His back ached. He squinted at the tiny lettering; his eyes felt strained from long nights in the library with a single, paltry candle. But he neared an answer – he was sure of it. Epiphany would strike soon. It had to. It just had to. The secret of flame was just beyond his grasp.

He was so engrossed he hardly heard the sound of footsteps nearby.

"What're you reading?" said a cool, smooth voice.

Ethon glanced up to see a dark-eyed youth approach. He sauntered, hands delved deeply in his pockets. Ethon recognized him immediately: Roy Mustang, fellow cadet and alchemy classmate. He often watched the charismatic boy from afar, quietly admiring his easy, carefree manner with something like longing. Roy was his better in every way: He was boyishly handsome while Ethon was a bulky, awkward thing. He was charming while Ethon stuttered and stumbled over words. He quickly made friends while Ethon sat in quiet isolation.

And Roy was popular. Everyone loved the raven-haired youth with the sharp eyes and sharper tongue.

Ethon's mouth hung open, wordless. The candle guttered in the awkward silence.

Roy's bows rose. "Anyone home?" he called archly. He leaned forward and spoke his next words slowly, as though Ethon could not understand. "What. Are. You. Reading?"

"Ph- Physica…" Ethon managed.

Roy's brow arched. "Phlogiston theory?" He snorted. "Why are you bothering to read that?"

Ethon's hand jerked away from the text as though burned. "I- I just wanted…" he stammered. "For my research. I'm trying to… I want to research flame alchemy."

Roy stilled. His eyes narrowed, and his mouth set in a livid line. "You're studying flame alchemy?" he murmured guardedly.

"Yeah. I think I'm really on to –"

"You can't."

Ethon swallowed. "W- what?"

"It's impossible. I've been studying it for ages and I haven't even gotten close."

Ethon simply stared at the handsome youth with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Roy sighed. "Listen, er…"

"Ethon."

"Listen, Ethon. I'm trying to help you."

"You- You're studying..." Ethon's moth quirked into a tentative smile. "You're researching flame alchemy, too?"

Roy's chest puffed. "I studied under Master Hawkeye."

"You know Berthold Hawkeye?" Ethon whispered, awestruck. The Flame Master was known as a brilliant recluse, rumored to possess the complex theorems necessary to alchemically create fire. Ethon's heart fluttered. "Did he teach you…? Did he show you…?"

"No," Roy said bitterly. "But he taught me enough to stay away from Phlogiston theory."

Ethon quailed under the criticism. "Oh. Well I've been reading some other…"

"Don't bother." Roy shook his head. "Look, I'm doing you a favor. I've read practically every book here. And then some." The young man planted his hands on his hips, an impossibly charming smile pulling on one corner of his mouth. He threw his head to the side to flick the unruly bangs from his eyes. "And I'm still looking."

-o-o-o-

"False pride," Ethon hissed. "You had nothing back then. You knew nothing. But still you looked down on me as though I were the idiot."

Roy stared back at his captor, his gaze unwavering. Guilt gnawed at him, but he could not show weakness now. He was just a boy when he first met Ethon. A boy filled with misplaced pride and youthful naivete. He was too self-centered to think on the feelings of others. To know how his words stung.

Ethon frowned, peering down his hooked nose. He clearly hoped to elicit a reaction from Roy. Behind him the torch sputtered. Ethon's features became more haunting as the light slowly dimmed. "Even now, you're too proud," Ethon said. "Don't you have something to say?"

Roy slowly raised his eyes. Black met golden brown for what seemed an eternity. The colonel's expression broke into a smirk. "Who's proud?"

Ethon let out a garbled screech and swooped close, his hot breath washing over Roy's face. He struck quickly, his fist seeming to materialize from the growing darkness. It met Roy's cheek in a glancing blow that torqued his neck to one side. Roy blinked as spots filled his vision. The world doubled and spun. His ears rung and he tasted the tang of blood. After a moment's recovery, he slowly righted himself again. Ethon stood over him, chest heaving.

Roy glared up at his captor, mouth filling with blood. He tongued a loose tooth and spat, staining the rocks a deep sanguine. Damn.

"You don't deserve to possess such secrets." Ethon shrieked. He reached down to grip Roy's collar in one clawed hand. "I want to know how you do it. I want the equations. Give them to me!"

Roy managed an impudent smile, teeth flashing bright red. "No."

-o-o-o-

"I think you have an admirer," Maes said, jerking his head towards a spot just behind Roy.

"Oh?" Roy turned in his seat. A young man sat alone at a table across the mess hall. He hunched over a book, his face hovering mere inches from the page. A tray sat untouched at his side. From time to time, the boy looked up from his work to glance fleetingly at Roy and Maes. He blushed and ducked his head when he saw them staring back.

Roy frowned and turned back to his meal. "Next time Hughes, make sure it's a girl before you say something like that."

Maes impishly waggled his eyebrows and ripped his bread in half. He popped one piece into his mouth. "Do you know that guy?" he mumbled around the mouthful, spraying a few crumbs in the process.

Roy grimaced. "Hughes, please. I've asked you a thousand times. Close your mouth when you eat." He tried to swipe the second half of bread from his friend's tray, but the nimble-fingered Maes beat him to the prize.

With a cheeky grin, Maes stuffed the rest of the bread in his face. He snorted at his friend's affronted expression, nearly choking in the process. Maes coughed and sputtered for a moment before he regained his composure. "Really, Roy. Who is that guy?"

Roy shrugged. "Just some kid from my alchemy course." He stabbed at his gruel disinterestedly.

"Oh really?" Maes sat straighter to peer over his friend's shoulder. "He's been staring at us this whole time."

"He's probably just jealous," Roy said without lifting his eyes from his plate. "He wants to learn flame alchemy. I told him I studied under Master Hawkeye and he practically blew an aneurysm."

Maes scoffed. "Jealous? Of you?" He leaned forward to pinch Roy's bicep. "But you're so skinny and pale and altogether unimpressive."

Roy scrunched his nose at his friend. "Funny."

"Jealous of a brown-noser from who knows where?"

"Ha-ha."

Maes' eyes turned sly. "Jealous of a kid that's still trying to learn flame alchemy himself?"

"Enough, Hughes." Roy said sharply. He slumped in his seat. He did not want to talk about flame alchemy at the moment. It only served as a reminder of how he failed.

It was well over a year since Roy left the Hawkeye estate. He was certain if he worked and studied hard enough, he could prove himself worthy to the venerable Flame Alchemist. But Master Hawkeye refused to advance Roy's studies again and again, calling his apprentice 'too young and too reckless.' Master promised he would reveal his secrets in time – when the young alchemist was ready. Roy argued – pleaded – but to no avail.

And in a dark, secret part of his heart Roy began to fear the truth: That he would never be good enough. It was a devastating blow to his fledgling pride. Without flame alchemy, he may never become a State Alchemist. His aspirations to serve the people of Amestris would go unfulfilled.

Maes watched his friend's darkening expression with some amusement. "You know," he said blithely, "If you keep scowling like that, your face might get stuck that way."

"Shuddup, Hughes."

"Come on. A little competition never hurt anyone."

Roy threw his hands in the air. "You just don't get it."

The taller boy smiled happily. "Nope. I don't." He leaned back, hands tucked behind his head. "Don't let it bother you so much."

"It doesn't bother me," Roy clipped, though his downcast eyes and half-eaten lunch said otherwise. "Why should I care about some wanna-be flame alchemist?"

Maes cocked his head, his eyes glued to the lone boy in the corner. "Looks to me like he's more than a wanna-be."

"What do you mean –?" Roy turned in his seat again. His face paled.

A small curl of smoke rose from Ethon's table. The young man had two hands pressed on a chalk transmutation circle drawn on its wooden surface. As the two cadets watched, a tiny flicker of flame burst from the center.

"Whoa." Maes said. "Neat."

Roy stiffened. He slammed his fork down and pushed away from the table. "C'mon." He stood and strode resolutely toward the other side of the mess where the young man sat alone.

Maes stumbled after him, his gangly legs nearly tangling in the chair. "Roy… I don't think we should…"

"I just want to talk," Roy said, his eyes trained on the impossible, wavering flame. It couldn't be. It simply could not be...

Ethon glanced up as the two cadets approached. The boy's eyes widened; they lingered especially on Roy. The flame between his hands sputtered and died. As they neared, Maes could see that Ethon shook from head to toe. His waxen face shone with sweat. He looked completely spent.

"Did... did you see?" Ethon's voice was breathy, full of pride and shock.

Roy stopped, utterly still. He studied his classmate warily. "I saw."

The boy flushed with pleasure. "You were right," he panted. "You were right about Phlogiston theory - Becher was all wrong. But I've got it. I think I've got it. I just need access to the military library. My equations are too inefficient..." His eyes took on a faraway look, already mapping the alterations he could make in his array. "I had to use some of my own energy to make the reaction exothermic... but maybe if I..."

Roy gasped. "You... you used your own energy? Are you insane?"

Ethon seemed to hardly hear Roy. "... takes so much concentration... if I were to slip..." he mumbled. He rubbed his arms to warm them.

Maes poked Roy's shoulder. "What's wrong with using your own energy?" he whispered.

"That's what's wrong," Roy said, pointing at Ethon. The young man was visibly shivering. Sweat dripped down his face and plastered his hair to his forehead. He looked sick and pale. "He stole heat from his own damn body."

"But it worked," Ethon said, finally breaking free of his reverie. His teeth chattered. "I just lost too much heat in the exchange."

"No shit." said Roy.

Ethon hardly seemed to notice his classmate's horror. He veritably glowed. "That settles it. I'm going to do it."

Roy's brow crinkled. "Do what?"

"The State Alchemy exam. It's this Saturday. If I don't do it now, I'll have to wait a whole year before I can try." He glanced at the book that rested open on the table. "I need to get into the military library - only State alchemists have access. I need to research more. There has be be a more efficient way... so that I don't lose so much heat.."

A look of dread stole over Roy's face. "You're... you're trying? Now?

"I have to," Ethon said. He glanced in Roy's direction almost shyly. "You understand, don't you? You'd try too, wouldn't you?"

Roy stared at his now-rival. He no longer wore his confident, charming smirk. His face was now open - weak and vulnerable. He bowed his head. "I would," he admitted.

Maes' eyes bounced between the two young cadets: one half-drunk on his own accomplishments, the other seeming to wilt as another snatched away his dreams. He knew Roy would be unbearable later today - sulky and unapproachable. But as he watched, Roy's expression transformed into something hard and determined. His jaw tightened and his mouth set in a straight line. His hands fisted at his sides.

Roy was planning something, and Maes suspected he wouldn't like it. Indeed, the young alchemist's face suddenly relaxed into a semblance of his charming smile. "It's just too bad," Roy said offhandedly.

Ethon looked up, finally daring to look Roy in the eye. "What's too bad?"

Roy shrugged. "Maes and I were just about to invite you out to drinks Friday night."

A hopeful, longing expression bloomed on Ethon's face. "You were?"

Maes frowned at Roy. "We were?"

"But I suppose... if you're planning to take the exam..." Roy hedged. "You won't be able to join us."

The boy seemed to simper under the attention. His eyes darted to his array, then back at Roy. "I... I guess I could come... for a little while, at least..."

"Excellent!" Roy said. He reached forward to grip Ethon's shoulder in a friendly kind of way. The hefty boy blushed to his hairline and smiled weakly at Roy. "We'll see you after classes on Friday." He turned away from Ethon; a satisfied smirk tugged at his lips.

Maes had to hurry to catch up with his friend. "Roy, what are you planning?" he murmured.

"Nothing," Roy said evasively. He avoided Maes' eyes and shrugged as though something uncomfortable rested on his shoulders. "Can't a guy make some new friends once in a while?" he said. "Anyways, I've got to head to class. See you." He quickly stalked away without a backwards glance.

Maes watched his friend disappear around a corner. Disquiet settled deep in his stomach. There was something strange in Roy's expression a moment ago - a perplexing mix of shame, anger, and determination. "Roy," he whispered. "What are you planning?"

Nevertheless, of a too haughty tongue
Such punishment, Prometheus, is the wage.
But thou, not yet brought low by suffering,
To what thou hast of ill would'st add far worse.

Aeschylus – Prometheus Bound

-o-o-o-

Thank you to my dear don't eat paint for allowing me to steal ideas from her (far more) creative mind, to Shandrial for suggesting I include Hughes in this story, and to Disastergirl for giving me a reality check. Best beta ever! Also, credit to Rothfuss for the heat-stealing idea. Read his books!

And to you, mebh: Thank you for your infinite patience.