THE WATERS OF LETHE
Disclaimer: I don't own FMA, I just like to play around in its world and torture Ed for a while.
Warnings: violence, bad language, and death. Maybe sex.
Beta: Took-baggins & Nefertekas
Chapter 73: The Flame Rekindled (Die Flamme Rekindled)
He stood before the long mirror and soberly studied his reflection in it. Not bad. The new uniform felt a bit stiff, the cloth chafing at the underarms, collar and in the crotch. He half wished he could return to the old uniform he'd worn for the past ten years, six of those in exile at Briggs. It still lay draped over a nearby chair, but Lieutenant General Raven had insisted on the change after he came all the way up from Central to inform him of his transfer. He practiced making a salute in the mirror. The material was stiff enough to slow his arm down, but it would have to do.
His ear caught the sound of three pairs of booted feet approaching in the stone-flagged corridor outside.
He grabbed his coat and hat, opened the door of his room and came out into the corridor just as the trio walked up to him. The leader was an imposing blonde woman who wore her uniform and her rank like a second skin. She stood a hair over six feet tall and had a good two inches on him. Her full red lips, large rounded breasts and half-closed blue eyes looked too seductive to belong to a woman her troops fondly nicknamed "The North Face of Briggs". There was no softness on that face, the eyes glared at him like a laser beam and the lips slightly curled into a snarl of contempt.
Two even taller men stood obediently at attention right behind her. One was trim and roughly his height. His longish grey hair was held back with a clip and sharp angled sideburns defined his face, but his eyes were hidden by sunglasses. The other man was the biggest he'd ever seen outside of Major Armstrong, only he was far less friendly. His mostly bald head was shaved into a ponytailed mohawk while each side of his long, drooping mustache was intricately braided. His entire body bulged with muscle, except for his right arm that was made of automail.
"Major-General," he didn't smile as he snapped a crisp salute to the woman and her companions, all of whom outranked him. The man in sunglasses didn't change his unreadable expression, the ends of the woman's lips barely quivered upwards, but only for a moment. The bulging man merely deepened his scowl. Roy was despised here at Briggs and opinions hadn't softened much in the six years he'd been here. But now he was leaving, transferred back to East City, a place he thought he'd never see again.
The woman returned the gesture without evident enthusiasm. Once upon a time she'd been pleased when this ambitious, arrogant Colonel was busted down to Private and placed under her authority. For six long years she'd ordered him to perform every shit job at the fortress in hopes he'd give her an excuse to run him through with the sword she wore strapped to her left hip. But not a spark of insubordination ever showed in those narrow black eyes, he performed every duty without complaint, even cheerfully. In the end, she had to show respect - even grudgingly - to this soldier. Now he was being transferred, she couldn't wait to see the back of him.
"Major Miles! Give Mustang his new orders!"
The man in the sunglasses strode forward and now Roy saw he held a large manila envelope under one arm. His face was still blank, his eyes barely vislble behind the lenses. His red eyes, because Major Miles was the only Ishbalan still serving in the Armed Forces of Amestris. With military precision, Miles handed the envelope to Roy, it was at least two inches thick and rather heavy. He took it in both hands before transferring it underneath one arm and saluting again.
"Corporal Roy Mustang!" the woman barked. "You have officially been transferred to East City. Now, get out of my sight!"
She spun on one heel and retraced her footsteps, Major Miles and the other man stood aside to let her through before each fell into step behind her, hands behind their backs and heads held high. None of them looked back at Roy who held his salute for exactly ten seconds before he too spun around and walked quickly in the opposite direction.
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Roy settled into his seat in a third class compoartment and looked blankly out the window at the landscape rolling by. This far north winter lasted eight months of the year. Snow retreated to the foothills of the Briggs Mountain range in the brief spring and summer, but soon enough the bitter cold reigned again. It took a special sort of person to live in conditions like this, and Roy Mustang felt no shame in admitting he wasn't one of them. He sighed at the unchanging landscape of deep snow and bare black trees before he turned to the valise on the seat next to him.
It was time to read his new orders. Roy extracted the envelope from the valise, undid the cord which held it shut and slid the contents out on to his lap. For the next two hours, he read the copies of Major Smiley's reports and stared at the pictures. He recognized Alphonse Elric immediately and smiled to see the handsome boy's face at last. The Fullmetal had kept his promise. But his eyes narrowed at the the photograph of Edward and the state he was in. His former subordinate had vanished utterly that night, time and time again Roy told his interrogators about his final conversation with Edward Elric. His last sight of the boy was him running away to find and rescue Alphonse.
Now you're back Fullmetal, and you've brought trouble with you.
He scanned the photographs of the invaders and read their names: Dietlinde Eckart, Rudolph Hess, Joseph Goebbels, Heinrich Himmler. Roy committed their names and faces to memory. These people didn't know it yet, but they'd just made a powerful enemy.
He replaced the reports and photographs back into the envelope and shoved the whole mess back into the valise before looking out the window again. It had gotten dark while he'd been reading, Roy grimaced and rubbed the back of his stiff neck. His eyes burned too, and the view from the window hadn't changed at all. He stretched out on the hard bench seat, his head pillowed on his coat and fell fast asleep. Roy dreamed of her while the train rushed across Amestris towards East City.
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Black Hayate remembered him. The dog's mouth opened in a big canine grin, but he walked casually over to sniff the fingers Roy held out. His wet, black nose quivered at the unfamiliar scents before he raised his head and stared long and hard out of those big brown eyes, as if to say Where have you been? The dog's reaction made Roy chuckle, Black Hayate has always been rather cool towards him, as if he was jealous. Roy held up a blue leash, "Hayate? Wanna go visit Riza?"
He wasn't sure about this human, but he was offering a walk, an irresistable treat to a bored Black dog raised an eyebrow as if he was condsidering the idea. It was such a human gesture, Roy couldn't help but laugh out loud. Hayate cocked his head and he gave Roy another appraising look before deciding he would let this man walk him. He sat down and raised his head so Roy could click the leash snap onto his collar. Hayate heeled obediently, just like his mistress taught him, yet he pranced a little with excitement.
"Uh, sir?" the man who cared for Hayate spoke up with a definate nervous edge to his voice. Roy gave him the famous Mustang grin in response.
"You outrank me now, Havoc. All you have to do is say the word and the military police will come and throw my ass in the brig."
Havoc looked horrified at the thought. He didn't want to get Mustang into any more trouble - but he would be in trouble himself for allowing Mustang to take the dog into a hospital. In the end, he gave in just like Roy knew he would and walked with an erect stance a few strides ahead of Roy and Hayate. Something about Havoc bothered Roy, but he couldn't put his finger on it at first.
"Havoc, have you given up smoking?" Roy's voice was sly, as if daring him to turn around, but Havoc didn't take the bat.
"Only when I'm caring for Hayate - sir," the honorific slipped unconscously into Havoc's reply. "The Lieutenant-General told me she she could smell cigarette smoke when she came home from missions, and could I not do it anymore. She said it in a really nice way, but even an idiot like me knows an order from a request."
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East City was warm this time of year and Roy was embarassed to discover he was sweating, dark rings forming under the arm of his uniform by the time they reached the millitary hospitals front steps. Havoc had gratefully lit up during the walk and he stood there, hands in pockets and body relaxed while he looked quizzically at his former commander. Another man was coming down the steps, very tall with dark hair cropped so short Roy saw a few patches of bare skin. He smiled broadly at Roy and Havoc before saluting the latter, and both men returned it. Black Hayate ignored the man with Major's bars on his uniform, sniffed a fire hydrant and delicately cocked a leg at it.
"I'm Smiley, Major James Smiley, Corporal Mustang. I knew you'd bring the Lieutenant-Colonel's dog. I own two myself and realize how strong the bond can be. So I came along to smooth your way. " Roy nodded and puffed out a breath before he pulled a handkerchief from a pants pocket and wiped his sweating face. He looked at the steps without enthusiam because they seemed very steep, but he nodded and said "Let's go" to Havoc.
Once in the main reception area, he let the gregarious blond distract the ladies with his fumbling charm while he picked up the surprised dog, plopped him on a wheelchair seat and tossed a towel from the soiled linen cart over him. Roy did this with a well practiced air of insouciance which returned easily to him and he wheeled Black Hayate away into a corridor without anyone the wiser. If Smiley was at all astonished, he hid his surprise very well, put his arms behind his back and strolled casually next to Roy. Military nurses don't approve of animals - except companion animals - in hospitals, but the few who tried to openly challenge him were quickly intercepted and sent on their way.
Hawkeye was in a small room consisting of four beds, but she was the only patient and slept undisturbed in glorious isolation. Smiley patted his shoulder, grinned and said, "You'll have ten minutes before the head nurse drops the hammer, so don't waste any time."
Roy stopped the wheelchair right next to the bed and whipped off the towel. Hayate was a bit disoriented, he shook his head and looked around before his nose began to quiver at a familiar scent. He whined for the first time, then crouched down before leaping onto the bed. His tail softly thumped the covers, but his beloved mistress was still asleep, so he snuggled next to her and put his head down between his paws. But Hayate stayed awake, his brown eyes alert for any sign of recognition.
Riza must have known she had company because she stirred and opened her eyes a few minutes later. A warm glow spread in Roy's chest as she re-connected with her dog. The tears surprised him because Riza Hawkeye was a true soldier who never cried and rarely showed her true feelings.
"Sir."
"Don't call me that Hawkeye, you outrank me now, remember?"
A slow smile crawled across Riza's face and Roy felt himself returning the expression. Damn this woman, she can still make my heart flutter like a lovesick teenager's. "Riza, you stood by me after - that night - and now I can return the favor.."
Riza stopped petting Black Hayate long enough to wave the fingers of her right hand in the air, "You were recalled from Briggs for a reason, Roy. Even though Amestris threw you away, it needs you now. I had a feeling this would happen, our country is facing a grave threat and it doesn't forget it's heroes."
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Roy remembered, although six years ago it seemed Amestris would be perfectly happy to destroy its heroes. He'd been put on trial after recovering from the injuries Bradley had inflicted, and the government wanted his blood. No lawyer in Central would represent him, and the public defender who'd finally been appointed to take his case let Roy know from the start he hated his guts. Fuhrer Bradley had a surprisingly large and loyal fan base. People loved him for expanding the size of Amestris, for standing up to Creta and Aurego, for wiping out the Ishbalan "terrorists" and keeping them safe from Drachman aggression.
With no tangible proof Bradley was a homunculus or of the widespread corruption in Military HIgh Command, things looked black indeed. Roy tried to resign himself to the facts: he would be found guilty on all counts and an ignomious death at the end of a rope or in front of a firing squad would be the fate of "the Hero of Ishbal". Every day public sentiment against him was reinforced by the sight of Bradley's devastated widow, dressed in black and weeping up in the spectator's gallery. She didn't even have her adopted son, Selim for comfort from her loss because he was dead too. Bradley had strangled the innocent and frightened boy to death right in front of Roy, but with no witnesses other than himself, the State Prosecutor easily tore his story to shreds. The public defender barely lifted a finger to argue, rebut or cross-examine.
Only a derisive snort answered Roy's testimony of how the Fullmetal Alchemist was the one who told him, because he'd disappeared the same night, as if erased. The prosecutor suggested Roy had killed both Edward and his younger brother, Alphonse because they oppposed his lust for power. "Those poor boys are just ashes now, blown about by the wind" the prosecutor said in his closing remarks, bringing the spectators, the news reporters, the jury and even the judge to tears. Unless "the People's Alchemist" were to suddenly make a last minute, dramatic entrance and corroborate every last bit of Roy's story, a guilty verdict and death sentence were inevitable. Only his former subordinates stood up for him, but they were labeled "brainwashed" and their testimony mere "hero worship".
A few hours after the jury adjourned to deliberate his fate, Roy paced in his small cell that night, unable to eat or sleep. What had happened to the promise of the sharp young Major who passed the alchemy exam at the age of eighteen and covered himself with glory in Ishbal? Dead, just like poor Maes Hughes, the damn prosecutor had intimated Roy was even responsible for HIS death during the fnal remarks to the jury. Another strike against him, another drop in his brimming bucket of guilt. Roy finally threw himself down on the uncomfortable bunk, once he turned his head and scowled at his untouched and now cold dinner. He rolled over and turned his back on it, closed his eyes, but never went deeper than a light doze.
I'll sleep when I'm dead.
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The guards at the Central headquarters brig hauled him out of the cell soon after daybreak and hustled him upstairs to the court room. There only the judge, a court reporter and a couple of tired looking bailiffs were waiting for him. The judge looked like he hadn't slept at all, his unshaven face was dark with stubble, his eyes were red rimmed and even his white wig was askew on his head. Roy looked over at the empty jury box, then at the closed door to the jury room.
"Don't bother waiting, Mustang. The jury has been dismissed." The man's tone was sour, like curdled milk.
"Y-yuor honor?" Roy was stunned by the hope which surged in his breast.
"The existence of certain - documents - came to my attention last night. Copies of them had been messengered to both the prosecutor's office and the public defender, plus several high ranking officers. These ah-documents detailed accounts of forbidden experimets in human transmutation conducted by our military in secret laboratories all around the city. It didn't name names of those involved, just pseudonyms, but enough to throw suspicion on some highly placed people. More importantly, they backed up your story of official corruption and conspiracy with unnamed foreign agents to the degree the state's case against you is fatally damaged. Therefore, in the best interests of the State and healing wounds, your sentence is commuted to permanent exile at the Briggs Fortress. Court adjourned!"
"Wait, your honor. What do you mean by my sentence?"
"Yes, Mustang, your hearing must be off. 'Commuted'. Ddn't your attorney tell you?"
"My attorney hates my guts and he informed me on Day One, your honor. So, no, he didn't tell me about this."
"Oh, the jury deliberated for five hours before returning a guilty verdict. You were orginally scheduled to be hung in the prison courtyard at sunset. But after I read those documents, I had no choice but to inform Parliament and they went into special session to commute your sentence." The judge seemed rather put out at the thought he'd been deprived of his chance to put on the black cap. No wonder he'd sounded like someone had pissed in his morning oatmeal.
Roy's head was in a whirl. He'd been convicted, but he wasn't going to die. Although if he was going to Briggs, he'd wished the State would hang him instead. Briggs was commanded by Major-General Olivia Armstrong, the older sister of Major Alex Louis Armstrong. She had twice his drive, but less than a fraction of his warmth. Her nickname was "The North Face of Briggs" and it was very fitting, Roy privately considered her to be the most ruthless person on the face of this earth. Glaciers came to her for lessons in coldness, milkitary rumor had it the Drachmans beleived her to be a witch.
He was gonna go through hell.
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Now it was in the past, that hell seemed preferable to the chaos when the Battle for East City exploded a week later. Roy saw the planes and he knew his flame attack wouldn't work. They flew too high and too fast, and in any case, Roy knew ground troops would be coming soon. The wisest course was to evacuate terrified residents from the city. People streamed past him while he battled the flow in the opposite direction, towards the military hospital. He had to find Riza and make sure she got out.
"Mustang! Mustang!" Roy saw the blond head of First Lieutenant Jean Havoc bobbing above the crowd and he felt a brief surge of thanks Havoc was so tall. Eventually, the human tide parted and there he was, pushing Riza in a wheelchahir, Black Hayate sitting like a king in her lap. A week of enforced bed rest had done her good, her eyes were bright and her cheeks had a healthy color to them. "The rest of the hospital staff and patients started evacuation procedures, but Lieutenant-Colonel Hawkeye didn't want to leave without seeing you."
Roy tried hard to fix a stern look on his face, but he didn't succeed,after all, the man meant well. "Good job, Havoc. Please make sure she gets on a train to Central and keep her safe until she's recovered." Havoc snapped a salute which Roy returned before they went in seperate directions, Jean, Riza and Hayate to a train station in the western suburbs and Roy to the east, to face the enemy. He reached into his uniform pockets and pulled on his gloves, the fabric embraced the skin like old friends reuiniting after a long seperation.
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He found General Grumman directing front line defenses in front of Easy City headquarters. "Their ground forces must have started moving before dawn because spotters saw the dust they raised before their planes had finished bombing. A forward skirmish force went out to meet them but they were wiped out in short order. You need to slow them just long enough to give us time to remove sensitive documents from headquarters. Can you do that?"
Roy nodded in reply, but he was stunned. "Aren't you going to try to defend the city?"
"It's a lost cause, Mustang. Central is the ultlimate target of the Thulists. It's the heart of Amestris, so we have to withdraw and save our forces for a last ditch stand."
Roy didn't like it, but he understood the reasoning behind Grumman's order. "Understood, sir!" He saluted crisply, but Grumman just waved his hand filpppantly and went back to issuing orders to the men setting up barricades.
"Give 'em hell, Roy."
Roy smiled bitterly before he turned and walked through a gap in the barricades, towards the enemy. He rubbed his fingertips together while he walked, the feeling of the rough cloth - tradenamed Pyro-tex - helped him calm his racing thoughts. He and his gloves had been through a lot together, and they'd never failed him.
He met the enemy's first forward unit about six blocks later, on the edge of East City's Old Town district. Approaching him were two of the largest tanks he'd ever seen, and walking on either side were dozens of German and Thule sodiers. They all looked armed to the teeth and spoiling for a fight. Roy stood in the middle of the deserted street, one hand upraised, the fingers poised to snap.
The lead tank halted, a man was standing up in a hatchway with an arrogant smile plastered on his face. He waved one hand in a dismissive gesture. "Get out of our way, little bug, unless you prefer we just squash you now."
His command of Amestrian was very good, although it was strongly accented. Roy knit black eyebrows together, his narrowed eyes focussed on his target. "I am Corporal Roy Mustang of the Armed Forces of Amestris, I'm called the Flame Alchemist. Retreat at once or you will be destroyed!"
The soldiers stared at him for just a moment before one chuckled, then another and another. Finally, all of them started laughing, the officer in the tank joining in loudest of all. When the noise finally began to die down, he pointed his swagger stick at Roy and yelled down into the hatch, "Crush this bug!"
The tanks massive gun moved with a clicking sound like the crack of doom until it pointed right at Roy.
"Ready! Aim! FIRE!"
Roy snapped his fingers as the officer sounded the "eff" of "FIRE" sounded and a tiny flame erupted. He concentrated on adjusting the oxygen level around his target before he unleashed his attack. It leapt forward in the blink of an eye and met the tank, and the shell as it raced down the barrel. There was a blinding explosion and the force of it first ruffled Roy's uniform before it knocked him flat on his back. Hot air and debris rushed over and around Roy, and he shielded his face against the macadam before he looked up. The tank and another one behind it were reduced to smoking holes in the ground, while the street and the sides of buildings were painted with an unholy mess of blood, brains and assorted body parts blown into small pieces. It looked like a particularly violent sort of child's finger painting. Those soldiers not evaporated by the blast lay unmoiving and were probably dead.
Roy got back to his feet, brushed dust off his uniform and out of his hair. His handiwork didn't fill him with joy or any other positive emotion. He was a soldier now and his duty was to kill the enemy and protect Amestris. A well remembered line from a famous poem written in the last century echoed in his head as he cut over to the next street in search of more tanks to destroy.
Ours is not to question why. Ours is but to do or die.
Author's note: So much for my pledge to return this story to its semi-drabble roots.