Originally Published: January 21, 2021

Last Edited: September 1, 2022

A/N: Welcome to A Fuhrer's Play! This Royai centric story I've been working on is a VERY slight AU from the Brotherhood/Manga storyline. I added one familial relationship I wanted to play with, which is revealed in this chapter. Everything else is the same.

This is also rated M (Mature) for a reason. There will be language, sexual content, and adult themes. You have been warned.

This is the only time I'll post this as to not beat a dead horse:

The majority of characters and the world they inhabit belong to the wonderful Hiromu Arakawa. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 1

A Family Matter

Thursday, September 12, 1918

Riza Hawkeye wore her hair down while in uniform now.

She could recall the clear surprise of the Team the first day she'd come to work without it pinned up. Breda, Fuery, and Maria had offered polite compliments, while Havoc, Denny, and Sheska had managed less tactful ones. Armstrong had gushed about the time honored tradition of the Armstrong women wearing their hair down in combat 'for generations!' and praised the change in her appearance. Rebecca had laughed at the sight, claiming she'd always known Riza would go back to letting her hair down. Falman was the only one left oblivious to the change, like he didn't even register that she had hair.

As for Mustang, he'd avoided looking at her the entire day, an unpleasant twist to the edge of his mouth. Though left unsaid, she could tell he knew why she'd discarded her hair clip. A detail everyone else had forgotten to question.

That had been the day before they'd stepped onto the train and headed to Ishval.

Tucking a loose strand of golden locks behind her ear, Riza swiftly taped the box closed. Setting the tape roll to the side, she grabbed a thick, black marker, labeling the cardboard with a large F-257-G. With the help of Sheska (who had been acting as an extra secretary under Mustang, which meant she worked directly with and for Riza as her only official subordinate), Riza had created an orderly filing system for the paperwork that had accumulated over the last three years in Ishval. They'd created a key for the secretaries in East City to interpret the numbers and letters labeling each box. They'd also have Sheska's help once everything had been transferred.

Riza looked over the stack of boxes to see the mousy haired woman crouched over a newspaper, muttering to herself in obvious distress. Furrowing her brow, Riza stood up, crossing over to the woman. "What's wrong, Private?" she asks gently.

Sheska jumped, looking up at Riza, eyes wide behind her glasses. "Oh, I'm just trying to find housing for when we move back- I know it's a bit late now, but I kept getting distracted. Now it looks like I'll have to move into the dorms. There's no way I can pay rent at any of these places."

A bit late? They were going back tomorrow. Riza had long since arranged her housing, a few letters to her previously favorite apartment complex, a visit on one of her rare days off, and she had a contract waiting to be signed when they arrived the next day.

She grimaced at Sheska's predicament. Opening her mouth to try to comfort the scattered brained woman, she was interrupted by the sound of voices coming from Mustang's office. Eyes drawn to the door, Fuhrer Grumman stepped out, his characteristic, light-hearted smile on his face. Brigadier General Mustang followed with his own polite smile, though she could see he was trying to mask the eager excitement in his dark eyes. Riza swiftly moved to attention, saluting the two men. Sheska gasped at the sight, fumbling out of her chair and awkwardly mimicking Riza.

"...The paperwork has been finished, and the promotions will be official by Monday," the Fuhrer finished, his gaze shifting to the two women. His expression changed instantly to thrill as he focused on Riza. "Good heavens, you're as radiant as your mother!"

Riza's face heated, and she doubted her cheeks were any shade less than scarlet. She'd missed his arrival, having been at lunch when he'd joined Mustang in his office. "Sir," she replied formally.

His smile vanished at that, lips turning downward. "I'll have none of that at the Gala tonight, am I understood? Now as you were, it grates me seeing you so stiff around me. I have a whole damn nation that offers me salutes and respects, can't my only family treat me like normal?"

Riza blinked in surprise at the suddenly severe behavior. So often he was in quite a pleasant disposition that it really did come as a shock. She knew he didn't like her formal behavior towards him; in the past he had made it clear that if either of them were out of uniform, the titles were to be dispensed with- but both of them were in uniform right now.

Obediently, she lowered her saluting hand, cautious, "Are you feeling alright, Grandfather?" It still felt odd calling him that, particularly in public. She hadn't met the man until her first year in the Academy, and learning she had a living grandparent had been a shock. Add that to the fact that they had kept their relationship quiet until his promotion to Fuhrer, the open display almost felt- wrong.

Like a switch had been flipped, Grumman was all smiles again. "Hmm? Oh, I'm wonderful. I was actually hoping to talk to you dear, about a family matter. Would you mind if I snagged you away from your work for a tick?"

Yes, she would mind, but that wasn't the point. He was the Fuhrer, and despite herself, Riza couldn't say no to him. She wasn't sure if it was because of his rank or if she was subconsciously enamored by the concept of 'Grandfather'. She'd struggled to bring herself to snap the aged man back into line as she so easily did with Mustang, bending to his will despite herself.

She glanced at the Brigadier General, "Sir?" she asked, seeking permission. He was the only real barrier she could use and she knew his answer without asking.

His eagerness had vanished, replaced by a collected calm. She could see in his eyes a silent 'grin and bear it' as he replied, "Of course. You're welcome to use my office if it's private, Sir," Roy offered, turning to Grumman.

"How kind of you. Come along, Riza," Grumman chirped, turning past Mustang and heading right back in. Riza took a steadying breath before moving out from the maze of boxes.

As she passed Roy, he murmured softly, "General," his voice low enough only she could hear. Her eyes flicked to him, keeping her surprise from her face, though he'd easily see it in her eyes.

She hadn't missed the word 'promotions' that her grandfather had flung out like candy, and this single word sent a thrill up her spine. He was being promoted to a full General? Skipping both Major General and Lieutenant General completely? It was a huge step!

She had to force herself onward, Roy quietly closing the door behind her as she turned her attention to Grumman. "It's been too long, Riza," he sighed, almost sounding melancholy. She thought back, the last time she'd seen him had been his last inspection of the restoration efforts some- six months ago.

"It's good to see you, Grandfather," she replied, clasping her hands before her.

He smiled warmly at her, "How's your neck feeling?"

All subtle traces of her smile vanished with the question. She instinctively lowered her chin and tilted her head so her hair curtained over the left side of her neck, hiding the scar over her jugular vein. She'd perfected the movement over the last three years, blocking the guilty stares Mustang would give it when he recalled the events that had led to its inception. The frequency of those looks made her uncomfortable, leaving her to wonder how often he stared at her back in the same way.

As much as she wished it, her black turtlenecks did not cover the scar like it covered her burn and tattoo.

The stares had come from more than her CO, though, and she'd become very conscious of eyes finding her vulnerable throat over the last three and a half years. "It's fine," she answered, struggling to keep her voice level. "It hasn't really hurt in over two years."

Grumman's own smile faded, expression serious. "That's good to hear."

"You wanted to talk about something?" she had to bite back the 'Sir,' that almost sprung to her lips.

"Yes," Grumman nodded, not lightening as he usually would. "It's important that this stays between us. I'm not ready for the public to know yet."

"I would never..."

"That includes Mustang," he interrupted, his violet gaze holding an intensity behind his round spectacles.

Riza felt herself freeze, her teeth clicking shut as she stared at him, processing the request. "Sir, I don't like keeping things from the Brigadier General."

"I know you don't, but it's imperative that you do. He's being promoted to a full ranking General," he paused for her reaction and she gave none. He gave a single chuckle, bowing his head to hide his amused smile. "Of course he already told you. Mustang... No, that's not what I'm here to talk to you about."

His smile slipped again, his gaze down. Riza hesitated, sensing something off in the man. She stepped forward, half a head taller than her grandfather, though she'd heard he'd been taller in his prime. She gently took one of his leathery hands in both of hers, squeezing the cool flesh comfortingly. "What is it?"

He exhaled slowly, lifting his eyes to meet hers again. His other hand reached up, patting her cheek lightly. "I'm old. And I'm ill," he confessed.

Instantly, a tightness gripped Riza's heart as she stared at him. The pushed back memories of her father's fatal illness rushed forward to fill in the unknown. The sleepless nights, the icy distance, the endless cups of tea to help sooth his coughs.

"The Doctors don't know what it is and don't know how to treat it. I didn't want to leave you in the dark, my dear. If my symptoms progress, I'll need to retire soon. By next summer, maybe."

That was why she couldn't tell Mustang. Unspoken though it was, the logic calculated swiftly in her mind. "What are the symptoms?" Her lips asked numbly, her fingers tingling as they still held his cool hand.

He gave her a withered smile, squeezing her hands and pulling his palm from her cheek. "Now, now, you don't need to worry about that. I'm working with the best Doctors in Amestris and I have endless help from my staff. I just wanted you to know."

She grimaced slightly, but nodded. With Roy becoming a General, she had too much on her plate as it was to be worried about Grumman too. "I'm glad," she whispered.

His smile grew warmer as he pulled from her grasp, "One more thing, dear. I thought I should ask you, when do you plan on settling down? I'm eager for a few great-grandchildren, and I might be running out of time."

Riza balked with the sudden change of topic. She resisted the heating of her cheeks, her hands clasping behind her as she stepped into an at ease position instinctively. "Well, Grandfather, not anytime soon."

"Why not? Find a young man you like, go on a few dates, get married, have babies," he talked about it like his favorite type of tea, the casualness of it causing her shoulders to tighten. The feel of her bra against the perpetually numb skin on her left shoulder blade pressed into her mind, reminding her of that night. "To hell with propriety, you don't even need to do that!" Grumman added with a chuckle.

"I don't date," her teeth clicked with the consonants, "I'm much too preoccupied with work and take great pride in it. I've already determined I'll either die an old maid or in the line of duty. I don't need to leave a child behind." Though her voice was factual, Grumman's expression dropped again, all parental teasing gone. A tense silence fell between them, Riza finding a grimace as she realized what she'd just said.

"What did Berthold do to you to make you think that was normal?" he whispered, his faced shadowed.

"Father didn't do any such thing," Riza breathed, avoiding his gaze.

"He killed your mother."

"Please," she cut in, voice stronger. "I had- a really bad experience- and I thought he was the one. You get burned-" she winced with the involuntary wording, but tried to continue, "and it doesn't seem worth trying again."

Grumman watched her steadily, opening his mouth to speak. He seemed to think better of it, his jaw clamping shut. "I'm sorry to press you, dear. I suppose I regret missing your infancy and childhood. I was- hoping I could experience..." he shook his head, not needing to say more. "I should get going. I have an Emperor of Xing and an Ishvalan Supreme Cleric to meet with. I'll see you at the Gala tonight," he smiled wanly, crossing to the door and opening it. Riza turned to watch him walk off, a spring gone from his step as he left Mustang behind, his two bodyguards quickly joining him.

Mustang watched the man go, then turned to look at her with a lopsided grin. "Captain," he rushed, moving into the office and closing the door before she had properly processed what had just happened, "Full rank General."

She shifted her eyes between him and the door twice before focusing. Right. "It's a big move," she agreed, blinking away thoughts of Grumman and the sudden forlorn emptiness in her heart.

He paused, meeting her eyes steadily. Concern flashed behind his obsidian gaze, "Are you alright?" his tone was gentle, his scarred hand reaching for her before jerking back to his side. She must look distressed if he tried to hold her; they had long discontinued any physical aspects of their relationship in the name of professionalism.

"I'm fine. Just a conversation I'd rather forget about," she informed. "You were saying...?"

He considered for a moment before continuing, "Armstrong and Hakuro are getting promotions as well. Armstrong is of course staying North; I honestly don't see her ever moving. Hakuro is moving from New Optain to South HQ, leaving me in charge of the East."

"I take it Perkins is still over the West?" she asked, properly settling into the new conversation as she crossed her arms, her hair tugging with the motion as it got caught between them. She absently brushed it aside.

"Yes. Also, every officer who was involved in the Ishval Restoration is receiving a promotion. Congratulations, Major," he grinned.

Major. She frowned slightly at that. She wasn't sure what she had expected, but part of her still was waiting for punishment for the people she'd killed during the War. Not rewards and congratulations for doing her penance. She turned her face away, sensing his apprehension at her reaction.

Her eyes were drawn to Black Hayate. The unofficial Second Lieutenant was laying on his back. Barrel chest facing up and tongue lolling out of his open mouth, he lay directly in front of the office's box fan, trying to cool down from the Ishvalan heat.

With the move to Ishval, Mustang had heartily agreed to allowing Hayate to become a permanent member of the Team, and Riza had been grateful for her CO's understanding on the matter. (Thankfully Breda's apprehension of dogs seemed to exclude Hayate, likely because of his strict training.)

Shifting her focus away, she stepped over to the window in the sandstone wall. She looked over the repaired city, unrecognizable from the rubble they had found when they'd arrived three years ago. Smoke from a train engine approaching the city's new station trailed up into the clear blue sky. People dressed in colorful thawbs walked down the now busy streets. A single Amestrian flag was visible on a flagpole outside of the Military Headquarters.

Ishval had decided to remain annexed. They had their own government set up and a treaty with Amestris. Amestris would provide training for their military and supplies for the Ishvalan based troops. In return for partial independence, Amestris was to keep the border with Aerugo secure, and handle any international conflicts.

It didn't feel like enough.

"Hawkeye," Mustang sounded gentle, joining her beside the window, though his dark eyes were on her.

"We shouldn't be pardoned," her throat clenched around the words, her hands tightening on her arms. "It's not enough. We're monsters, Sir, and they're letting us go."

He was quiet for a long moment, slipping his hands into his pockets as he leaned against the windowsill. "That was the Council's decision," he whispered. "Perhaps our own guilt is the only punishment we'll receive now."

Riza brushed her fingers across her brow, resting them against her temple as she tried to compose herself. "I should probably go back to help Sheska some more. Unless there was anything else you needed from me, Sir?"

"No, no. Just don't forget about the Gala tonight," he offered dismissively, leaving her at the window and moving to his desk.

"I should be the one telling you that, Sir," she found a sly smirk as she crossed to the open door, grabbing the knob to close it behind her.

"You can leave that open, Captain."

"Yes, Sir."

Tuesday, October 28, 1890

Roy watched his mother with a reverent awe as she placed a hand against the kettle, the tattoo on the back of her hand causing a bright flash of light. She quickly pulled her hand away, smiling as steam began seeping from the spout.

"But why doesn't it make the metal melt?" Izumi asked, standing near their mother's elbow, looking at the kettle.

"Remember what I was teaching you about the different states of matter?" Their mother began patiently, holding up three fingers. "You have solids, like earth and metal, then you have liquids like water, and gasses like air. The elements in each move at a different speed. Do you remember?"

"Air is, like, crazy fast, right? And solids don't move really at all. Liquid is between the two."

Their mother smiled, smoothing Izumi's hair back. "That's the basic idea. It's easier for objects in motion to stay moving. That's called inertia. Things in motion stay in motion, things at rest stay at rest. It's easier for liquid to heat up, because heat makes things move faster. Cold makes things slow down. Do you understand?"

"I- think so," Izumi looked like she'd eaten a sour grape, chewing through the concept.

Their mother smiled softly, glancing up to find Roy half hiding behind the door frame into the kitchen. "Roy, what are you doing out of bed?"

Roy ducked a little more behind the wall, but knew he'd been caught. Eyes downcast, he answered, "I wanted to hear the Alchemy lesson."

"Honey, this is really advanced for you," his mother pulled away from Izumi, crossing to him and crouching to his level. "And we do our lessons in the mornings," she reminded, pushing his bangs out of his face.

"But you actually use Alchemy in Izumi's lessons. It's really neat to watch!"

Their father stepped in from the other entrance to the kitchen, buttoning up his uniform jacket. "Sying, we have to get going. York won't be very happy if I'm late."

Sying sighed softly, "Yes, I know. Roy, we'll have our lesson in the morning. Now go to bed," she whispered, kissing his cheek before she stood, stepping over to Izumi and bending down to kiss her as well.

"Sying," their father warned.

"Say goodnight, James. It'll only take a second," she replied, moving the kettle off of the burner.

He sighed, "Alright, hugs," he announced, lowering himself to one knee as Roy and Izumi rushed to him. He wrapped his arms around them, groaning as he lifted them both from the ground, spinning them once. Roy squealed a laugh, a bright smile on his face. James set them back on the ground, kissing each of them, his facial hair tickling Roy's cheek. "Listen to your mom and go to bed."

"Yes, Sir!" Roy laughed, giving a salute. He could see Izumi roll her eyes as he let them go.

"Love you both. See you in the morning," Sying cooed, taking their father's arm as they moved to the front door.

As the door clicked shut behind their parents, Roy looked at Izumi hopefully. She looked down at him then sighed heavily. "Fine, but if you start kicking in your sleep again, you're going back to your own bed."

"Yes!" Roy hissed, running for her bedroom. He climbed into her bed under the blankets, scooting up against the wall. Izumi turned off the lights before climbing in with him, settling down with her back to him.

They grew very quiet, the clock on the nightstand the only sound other than their breathing. "Izumi," Roy whispered, half sitting up, looking at her shadow.

"Go to sleep."

"Mom hasn't been a State Alchemist for years, right?"

"She left so she could marry dad," Izumi grumbled.

"So, why does she always go with him on missions?"

"Maybe you should ask her. Go to sleep."

Roy settled back down, huffing slightly. There were no more words, and slowly, the dark faded into sleep.

Sleep which was broken by a slamming door. Roy bolted upright.

"Izumi! Roy!" Izumi groaned, sleepily sitting up and rubbing her eyes. The hall light turned on, swift, high heeled steps moving across the wooden floor. "Roy?"

"That's Aunt Chrissy," Roy mumbled, climbing over Izumi's legs and out of bed. He opened the door. "We're in here," he mumbled, padding down the hall to his open door. Chris stepped out of his room, a tense expression on her pretty face. Rushing to him, she scooped him up into a big hug, his face pressing into her generous bosom. Roy wrinkled his nose at the smell of cigarettes.

"What's going on?" Izumi asked.

"Oh, dears," Chris whispered, leaving Roy and grabbing the older girl in a similar hug. "We're going to the Bar. You're not going to school tomorrow. Get your shoes on and a pair of clothes to change into. I'm going to help Roy."

"Aunt Chrissy?" Izumi asked, concern in her dark eyes.

"Grab your things," Chris prodded, letting her go and grabbing Roy's hand. "Come on, Roy-Boy."

Roy didn't protest, letting her put his socks and shoes on as he sat on the edge of his bed. He didn't really like shoes. They made his feet feel heavy and big. He had to resist the urge to kick his feet restlessly while she helped him put them on.

"I have all my things," Izumi announced, hugging a bundle of clothes to her chest.

"Good," Chris replied, struggling to maintain a graceful rise to her feet in the tight, nautical colored dress. She moved to Roy's dresser, pulling out a pair of shorts and a shirt at random. "Come on, it's time to go."

"Chrissy, did something happen to dad?" Izumi asked, dark eyes keen.

"Come on," Chris's voice was husky as she grabbed Roy's hand again, turning off lights as they moved to the front door, Izumi following closely.

Opening the door, they stopped at the sight of two Officers who had just stepped up onto the porch. Chris's grip on Roy's hand tightened. The Officers glanced between each other. "Christine Mustang?" the female Officer asked.

"I know, and I don't want the children to hear. Izumi, take Roy to the car."

Izumi's eyes were wide, but she took Roy's hand obediently, "Come on," she whispered, rushing past the two soldiers. Roy looked back, watching the adults talk in hushed voices. Izumi urged him into the back seat, closing the door behind them.

Roy blinked as she pulled him into a hug. She was trembling. "Zumi, what's wrong?" He hugged her back, worried.

"I think something happened to dad. I think he's gotten hurt," she whispered.

"Mom's with him, though. He'll be fine," Roy tried, hoping she'd stop shaking. "She can heal him with alchemy!"

She squeezed him tighter.

Sunday, November 2, 1890

Roy didn't quite understand. He stood on a stool, looking into a casket. The repeated explanation of death swirled in his head as he reached in, softly poking the cold, hard cheek of his father.

He understood what death was. Though he hadn't when his Aunt had told him the morning after taking him and Izumi to the Bar. His mom and dad were asleep, but they wouldn't wake up- ever. The idea was a bit scary, but he tried not to dwell on never waking up.

No, what he didn't understand was why. Why couldn't they wake up? Why did their faces look strange and fake? Why were they cold and hard? Why?

He'd been shown the bullet wounds in his father's chest when he had asked, but that didn't answer his question. That had answered the how, not the why. He was quite proud of himself for making the distinction.

But why?

Izumi and Chrissy had been crying a lot. Now, at this thing everyone called a 'wake' everyone was crying. Everyone but Roy.

Soldiers and family friends would cry at the sight of the dead James and Sying Mustang. They would cry worse when they saw Roy or Izumi, but those tears they tried to hide. They should just let themselves cry, it usually passed faster if they did.

Roy stepped down from his stool, grabbing it and carrying it to his mother's casket. He climbed up again, ignoring the soldier standing beside him. He reached in and poked her cheek too. Still cold and hard.

He didn't like death. His parents had been so warm and soft. Well, his dad was only soft right after shaving in the morning, but prickly hair was different than this.

"What do you think, Roy-Boy?"

Roy looked over his shoulder at the soldier standing beside his stool. He didn't recognize the man, wearing glasses on his large nose, his blond hair graying and his face beginning to wrinkle.

He looked back at his mother. "Do you know why? When I ask, everyone tells me how. They point to the bullet wounds and say that's why, but it's not."

"In a way, it is. They wouldn't have died if they hadn't been shot. In their minds that is the why, because they don't want to think about the real why."

"Which is...?"

"Everyone dies. Our bodies stop working, and our souls can't stay. It's hard to understand, I know, but one day, you will. One day you'll want to protect your family and friends so they don't die before their bodies naturally give out on them. One day you'll understand why they had to do what they did. I'm sorry I can't explain more."

Roy frowned, looking up at the man and the rank marking on his shoulder. What was it? "Brigadier General?"

The soldier looked surprised, glancing at his shoulder before chuckling. The sound was strange amongst the restrained sobs and weeping of the others. "Indeed. Brigadier General Michael Grumman," He offered his hand to Roy, who took it, trying to shake it like his father had taught him. "Do you plan on being a soldier one day?"

Roy tilted his head, considering as he pulled his hand back. "I want to be like both of my parents. A soldier and an alchemist."

"Lucky for you, that's very possible, but the State Alchemist exams are very difficult. You'll have to be very good."

"Then I need a teacher... since mom can't teach me anymore."

"That you do," the soldier agreed, patting Roy's shoulder.

The man turned, leaving Roy alone with his mother. He looked back at her, sighing sadly as he remembered her last kiss on his cheek.

Monday, May 18, 1896

"Here, Riza, try it. I rather like playing and kneading dough."

Riza frowned at the blob on the counter before her. She lifted her palms, squishing into the dough. It was more firm than she had expected, her mind having imagined something like mud. She mimicked the rolling motion her mother had shown her. The dough stuck between her fingers, around her nails, and all over her palms. She grimaced, her hands feeling strange as the dough clung to her skin. Not like mud at all, that came off much easier.

"You're really good at this, Love. Remember, push with your palms."

"It feels weird," she protested, pulling her hands away and looking at the dough. "Is it supposed to stick like this?"

"It tends to, yes," her mother opened the flour again, taking a large pinch and sprinkling it over Riza's hands. "That will help take it off, but you might try kneading a bit more. The dough becomes less sticky the more flour you add."

"Can't I go practice alchemy instead?" Riza asked, her shoulders slumping.

Her mother's expression crumpled a bit, Riza instantly flooding with guilt for disappointing her that way. Without further prompting, she began working the dough again. After a few moments, she offered, "It's not that bad."

Her mother sighed softly, reaching over to brush Riza's bangs from her eyes. "Perhaps nine is a little young for bread making," she murmured.

Riza looked up, her wide eyes meeting her mother's, a mirror image of her own hazel brown irises. "No, I'm fine. I'm sorry."

Her mother held her gaze, visibly debating something. She sighed softly, opening her mouth to speak as a knock came at the door. She looked over her shoulder in the direction of the door, "Clean up, Love. I'll go see who it is."

Riza let go of the dough, patting her fingertips together to feel the dough stick. Her mother moved out of the kitchen/dining room into the front room. Riza crossed to the sink, washing her hands as she listened intently.

The door opened, "How can I help you, Officers?" Her mother kept her voice calm, Riza tensing at the address.

Not again. It had only been a week since their last visit. Why couldn't they just leave them alone?

"Hello, Mrs. Hawkeye, is your husband home?" A man asked, his voice holding an intimidating tone.

"He is not," her mother answered curtly. Riza quietly turned the faucet off, drying her hands.

"Do you know how long until he'll return?" Riza crept towards the doorway between the two rooms, poking her head around the doorframe and adjacent bookshelf. Three men in Amestrian Military uniforms were standing in front of the door, her mother holding the door half open, partially shielding behind it. One man had more gold stars on his shoulders, indicating he was the Officer in command.

"Excuse me gentlemen, but he's not interested," her mother's tone became hard, her grip on the door tightening, fingers going white. "Please stop harassing our family and go back to East City."

She made to close the door, but the Officer shoved his boot in to jam it, forcing his way in. Riza's gasp echoed her mother's as the man took her mother's wrist, twisting her arm sharply behind her.

"Search the house. I'm not leaving without him," the Officer barked, pushing her mother face first against the wall.

"Riza, get out!" she called, a strain to her voice.

"Mother!" Riza stepped out from her hiding place, all three soldiers' intimidating eyes finding her. "Don't hurt her!"

"Riza," her mother gasped, struggling against her captor. One of the other two moved to her, grabbing Riza's upper arm with a firm hand. She squirmed, grunting in discomfort.

"Riza?" The Officer pinning her mother looked at her with interest. His facial features, brown eyes and dirty blond hair, ingrained themselves into her mind. "Tell me girl, do you know where Berthold is?"

Riza looked to her mother, the fear in the woman's hazel eyes shaking her. Her mother had always been brave. If she was scared, Riza had every reason to be scared too. "I-"

"If you can bring him to us, I'll make sure your mother isn't harmed," the Officer promised. Riza met his gaze, breathing fast.

"You're going to take my father away," she challenged.

"I just want to talk with him," he soothed "Can you bring him to us?"

Riza looked back to her mother, who watched her, that same fear in her eyes. She could help. They just wanted to talk. Riza nodded. "He's in the thicket. I can get him," she offered. Her mother closed her eyes, grimacing.

"Let her go," the Officer ordered. The soldier holding her arm released her, Riza rubbing the spot grimly. "Bring him here. Let him know we just want to talk and your mother will be fine."

Riza nodded dumbly, darting back into the kitchen, opening the back door and stumbling out the back porch. Her floral pink skirt swished as she sprinted down the grassy hill under the cherry trees. The spring blossoms had been replaced by green leaves, the grass lush from the plentiful rain the month before. She jumped the creek lazing at the border of the yard, running into the thicket of gnarled trees.

"Father!" she called, following the beaten path to the clearing where her father would teach her alchemy. A branch scratched her arm, but she didn't stop, calling again, "Father, come quickly!"

Before she reached the clearing, Berthold stepped into view, his sandy blond hair in a tail at the nape of his neck. His blue eyes caught sight of his daughter, a worried frown on his face. "What's the matter, Riza?" he asked as she flew into his arms. He grunted with the impact as she clung to him, shaking.

"S-soldiers! There are soldiers at the house, and they have Mother," she rushed, looking up at him.

His face grew hard, "What?!"

"They promised not to hurt her if I brought you to them. He said he just wanted to talk," Riza rushed, words spilling from her.

"Like hell, they just want to talk," Berthold growled, grabbing her hand and pulling her into a run back down the path. She gasped for breath, short legs struggling to keep up with his full stride.

They broke through the thicket, the soldiers standing on the grass of the yard, the same man restraining her mother with her arms behind her back. His expression was stone as Berthold slowed Riza to a walk, crossing the stream with a wide step, helping Riza jump across more easily before letting her go.

"Stay here, Ri," he whispered, shoving his hand into his pocket, pulling out a paper and lighter. She looked at the objects, seeing red ink forming a transmutation circle on the paper. She didn't recognize the details, a lizard on one side, a flame on the other, a mix of triangles crisscrossing the inner circle. He climbed the hill, shoulders tense as he stopped about halfway up the slope, a good fifteen feet between him and the soldiers.

"So this is how the Military behaves when they don't get what they want? They harass women and girls."

"Mr. Hawkeye, we're being quite generous. The State Alchemist program would see you have enough money to support your family and work on your research, not divide your time."

"Flame Alchemy would become a weapon in the hands of the Military. I will not be responsible for the catastrophic genocide that would ensue," Berthold growled.

"Mr. Hawkeye, I would consider your situation more fully," the Officer pulled a pistol from his belt, pointing it at the back of her mother's head.

"You bastard."

"Sir!" The two soldiers protested in unison.

"Berthold," the woman squeaked, looking back at the Officer with wide eyes.

"Release her, or I'll give you Flame Alchemy in the more direct sense!"

"I doubt you'd do that, Berthold. You'd end up in prison for resisting Military Personnel and your dear wife and daughter would be left without you," the man smirked.

Riza had never felt anything so negative in her life. Her chest knotted, her fists clenched, and she glared at the man holding her mother. She struggled to place the emotion, her young mind screaming in silent rage as she dared not interrupt her father.

Then it hit her. She hated this Officer. The soldiers were different. They looked uneasy, and nearly as frightened as she felt. But that man...

"I'm warning you again," Berthold shifted, gripping the paper between his fingers as he moved the lighter to his other hand. "I will defend my family from you. Release my wife."

"What kind of monster are you? You take this woman from her family, and force her into this squalorous life? Do you not want to give her better? That's what we're offering you. Prosperity and comfort! A connection to your old life and family. Her father misses her, Berthold. Will you really keep her a prisoner here in this hut? Will you really raise your daughter in destitution because of your pride?"

Berthold growled, flicking the lid off the lighter. "I warned you!" he spun the flint with the pad of his thumb, electricity running down his arm, the circle on the paper glowing in response.

Riza felt the wave of heat, eyes widening as she watched the fire flash through the air, scattering in four different directions. Wild and sporadic, the flames hit a rock in the yard, danced into the sky, burned branches from the trees, and flew towards the threatening Officer.

And her mother.

"No!" Riza gasped.

The pair began to scream. Riza was unable to look away as their bodies were engulfed by flame. Her mother flailed, collapsing to the ground and writhing. The Officer wasn't far behind her.

Berthold jerked his arm down, "ELIZABETH!"

The Officer and her mother crumpled, smoking corpses as silence filled the air in the absence of their screams. Berthold bolted towards his wife.

It had all happened so fast. Riza was frozen with horror as Berthold took his beloved and pulled her into his lap. She was hardly recognizable, mostly charred black. Riza stared open mouthed at her mother's body, tears welling in her eyes.

The remaining flames burned out, smoke trailing into the sky. The soldiers hesitated, one moving to the corpse of the Officer and checking for a pulse. "Dead," he stated, looking at his companion.

"Mother?" Riza whimpered, drawing the attention of the three men.

Fear shot through the faces of the two soldiers, the one standing hastily moving towards her. Berthold didn't miss a beat, tensing as he raised the lighter again. "You stay away from her!" he barked.

"Stop, he'll kill you both!" the soldier by the bodies trembled, scrambling back from the alchemist and the two corpses.

"We have to get the girl away," the other protested.

"Take your man and go!" Berthold shouted. The soldier trying to get to Riza met her eyes, jaw working silently.

And they fled.

Berthold and Riza watched them vanish from sight, taking the dead soldier with them. With them gone, Berthold suddenly moaned, tears running down his face as he leaned over his wife's body, "What have I done? Elizabeth."

Saturday, October 30, 1897

Gone were the days of them practicing in the thicket behind the house. Gone were the smiles and warmth of home.

Electricity flowed through Riza's arms, intense and determined as the earth slowly morphed in the center of the transmutation circle. Slowly the pieces began to shift into the form of a horse. Riza gasped as the energy shocked her. She pulled away, her hands shaking, the fading echo of screams in the back of her mind.

Suddenly her father's ruler slammed on her wrists, causing her to cry out in pain. "You quit too soon!" he snapped, glaring down at her.

"It rebounded, father! I could feel it start. I didn't want to-"

"And what causes rebounds? Lack of concentration, imperfect comprehension, or flawed transmutation circles," he punctuated the three causes, counting them off on his fingers. Tears in her eyes, she looked up at his shadowed face. His visage was always dark these days, ever since her mother had died. "Tch! I'm beginning to think you're not worth my time," he growled before turning away, moving back into the house.

Riza looked at her work. The shape of the horse was obvious, but the details were poor, the tail missing entirely. She gently picked up the statute. "I'm trying, father. Please," she shook as tears ran down her cheeks, her wrists stinging.

Friday, December 3, 1897

Riza looked up at the stern woman standing above her. She was dressed in heels, a tan pencil skirt, and a matching suit coat. Her sandy hair was pulled into a tight bun high on her head. At ten, Riza was still small enough for it to feel like she was being towered over. Her father behind her was worse. His shadowed eyes were dark, his hair unkempt and falling over his shoulders.

She remembered a time he'd tried to keep his face freshly shaven. His hair had only reached his shoulders then, and he'd always kept it back in a tail. He also laughed back then, the sound now only a distant memory.

"Her mother always wanted her raised as a proper young lady. Well educated in maths, sciences, literature, politics, history, and the likes. Refined and cultured. I have little patience to teach her such things myself, and her studies in alchemy have proven- faux pas," Berthold Hawkeye explained clinically. His words caused Riza to duck her head in shame, her hands held tightly together before her as she squeezed her fingers nervously.

"Hmm. I'm willing to teach her, but there's a question of payment. You're no State Alchemist, and from the condition of your home there's no money coming in either. You want a lady, but you can't raise her in the type of home a Lady needs to flourish."

"Tch, I'm an alchemist, not a statesman. She has a dowry dedicated to her education. Payment won't be a problem," Berthold answered stiffly.

The woman narrowed her eyes, a soft frown creasing her lips. "I can work during the week, but I must have the weekend to myself. Is that acceptable, Master Hawkeye?"

"Yes," he agreed, irritation gone from his voice.

The woman looked down at Riza, her expression softening. "Then it's settled. Miss Hawkeye, I'm Alice Kent. I'll be your Governess. Now, please straighten your posture and lift your chin. Ladies don't slouch."

Monday, April 11, 1898

Riza stood in the shadow of the open door, her arms folded as she frowned. Yes, she'd had a dowry set aside for her education, but Ms. Kent hadn't been wrong. After the death of her mother and the unnamed Officer, her father had ceased his job at the mill. They didn't have a lot of money coming in anymore and money had been even tighter over the last four months since she'd begun her studies.

Harsten was a small town, her father the only alchemist in the surrounding area. Neighbors would occasionally ask for his help repairing miscellaneous things, but the payments he received in return weren't enough to keep bread on the table consistently. Some people offered to pay more, but her father lived strictly to the Alchemist Code, 'be thou for the people'. Thankfully, this had been one of those weeks where they hadn't been short on money, and Riza was encouraged by the spring of new plants in the garden. Come late summer and fall, they wouldn't go hungry at all if they kept up.

Her father, on the other hand, had come up with an idea of getting a constant flow of money, and it angered Riza to no end.

Her father was in front of the house, speaking with a woman and a boy a year or two older than herself. The woman was puffing on a cigarette, dressed in a sleek, plum dress with a fur scarf wrapped around her shoulders. The scarf confused Riza, the spring warmth would surely be uncomfortable with all those furs. Riza couldn't deny her beauty, though, wavy dark brown hair framing her porcelain face, a beauty mark below her lip.

The boy was just as handsome as the woman was beautiful. He was tall for his age, his mop of black hair so exotic compared to the blond and chestnut boys who lived in the Harsten area. He was wearing a gray vest and slacks with a button up shirt, holding a couple of books in his arms. Riza found a heat rising in her cheeks at the sight of him.

"So you want to train in alchemy, do you?" her father asked, his voice stern as he looked down at the boy.

"Yes, Sir!" the boy sounded eager.

"I'd like to see what you know before taking you on. Show me what you can do, son."

The boy moved to a patch of dirt, kneeling down and placing his books to the side. He quickly drew a transmutation circle in the dirt using his finger, his movements confident as the woman spoke, "He's been studying books in the local library. I can hardly get him to focus on anything else. His mother was an alchemist and his older sister is off training herself," the woman gave a warm smile, taking her cigarette between her fingers, looking down at the boy.

He finished his last line in the dirt, Riza stepping out of the shadow of the door to watch more closely. He smirked, slamming his hands down confidently on the soil, electricity coming off his body. Riza flinched at the sight, but the boy remained focused. She watched the soil loosen, then form a twelve inch statue.

Riza's eyes widened in surprise as the statue turned out to be a detailed rendering of a raven. His speed and accuracy were enviable. Even from here, she could see the precise lines of the fathers, beak, and talons. "I can make something else if you'd like," he grinned as her father looked at the statue speculatively.

"Not bad. You show control over details and mass. Your speed was excellent as well. Ms. Mustang, you said you live in East City, correct?"

"That's right, I can bring him out here for lessons a couple days of the week, if you're interested in taking him on."

"That won't be necessary. I have a spare room he can stay in during the week, and he can go home during the weekends, if that sounds good to you," he sounded pleased, giving the boy a ghost of a smile.

Riza's expression hardened. The boy looked in her direction, surprise on his face at the sight of her.

"Miss Hawkeye, you're supposed to be studying your history!" Ms. Kent's voice suddenly snapped from behind her. Riza jumped slightly, the boy briefly forgotten as she spun on her heels, disappearing into the house.