Chapter Text
At some point later, when the Flame Alchemist and the Hawk’s Eye were at the same camp
don’t take your eyes off them for a second
“Major Roy Mustang.”
The Flame Alchemist turned, finger still on the trigger.
“Suicide? Really?”
The barrel pressed against his head, cold and comforting. “Riza. . .”
“You coward. You think this is the honorable option?” The Hawk’s Eye’s voice trembled. “You think a simple bullet through your brain will absolve you of everything you’ve done?” Thousands. Tens of thousands. You don’t get to kill yourself.
The Flame Alchemist didn’t know when the tears started dripping down his face. Pathetic.
Then she was beside him, taking the gun from his hand. “I almost did it too,” she whispered. “To end it. The darkness. The pain. The blood.”
“Hawkeye, I’m so sorry.”
“But someone once told me that we have a responsibility to more than just ourselves. And to back out—to end our lives, to run away—isn’t noble, it’s selfish. You once wanted to change the country for the better, didn’t you? They’re calling you the Hero of Ishval. You have power, and you can use it. Even if all these murdered lives are for nothing, we have to try. It’s our duty to the dead, and it’s our duty to the future.”
~~~
January 1909
and never forget them
Clouds and sun and sand. An old man breathed raggedly, propped up against a wall.
“Major Mustang. He’s the last one, sir.”
“Old man,” said the Flame Alchemist. “You’re all that’s left. Do you have any last words?” He forced himself to look straight at at the Ishvalan. Don’t look away. Don’t you dare look away.
The old man smirked. Blood trickled from his mouth. “I will never forgive you.”
Snap.
Boom.
~~~
“It’s over? Is it really over?”
The soldiers heard the news.
“So we can go home now?”
“I don’t know! Wait for the official announcement.”
“What should I take home to Mom as a souvenir?”
“How should I know?”
~~~
“Now the cleanup process along the border begins.”
“Ha! That’ll take longer than the actual war.”
~~~
“Major Mustang. Will you have a drink with us, sir?”
Alcohol poured into the cups.
“What are your names?” asked the Flame Alchemist.
They said their names.
Then he asked, “Which squad are you fellows in?”
They roared with laughter. “See? He’s never even seen us before!”
“We’re in your squad, Major. But we’re so low ranking that I don’t blame you for not recognizing us.”
Two other men introduced themselves.
“This guy’s a new recruit—just arrived the other day. I’m not surprised you don’t recognize him.”
“New recruits,” said the Flame Alchemist. “Of course. So many died. How pathetic I am. I don’t even know the names of the comrades who fought with me side by side. Let alone anything about the Ishvalans I killed.”
One of the soldiers finished his drink and set it down. Clack. “Don’t be so down on yourself, sir. Maybe you didn’t mingle with the enlisted men, but you never left us behind to save your own skin.
“When you led us into battle, you always made sure to use your flame attack to cut a path through the enemy ranks, so that we wouldn’t die needlessly. The sight of you cutting down your enemy inspired. . . trust. That’s the only word for it.
“The only reason we survived was because the Flame Alchemist was there for us. To us, you’re a hero. So please cheer up, sir. Thanks to you, all of these soldiers managed to survive.”
Salutes.
The Flame Alchemist saluted back. “Thank you, everyone. I’m glad you survived.”
~~~
because they will never forget you
The crowd. Soldiers mingling, ready to return home. The dragon flag, green and white, on a fort wall standing before the soldiers. The sand. The sun.
“This war destroyed my naive ideals. I swore to protect my country, but all I protected was a handful of people.
“That guy said I protected ‘all of these soldiers.’ One squad. A handful of men in a sea of deaths. Do you know how many Ishvalans I killed? Me neither, but it’s in the tens of thousands. Hero? I’m a failure.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Roy,” Hughes replied. “One person can only do so much. Anyway, on the battlefield, we’re all just garbage, right?
“Uh huh, but a piece of garbage has its pride. The power of one man doesn’t amount to much. But that doesn’t matter. With what little strength I have, I’ll do whatever it takes to protect the people I love. And in turn, they’ll protect the ones they love. It seems like the least we tiny humans can do for each other.”
Hughes laughed. “On and on, like generations of rats? That’s a child’s logic!”
“Go ahead!” the Flame Alchemist said sharply. “Call me naive! You say I’m an idealist, but unless someone chases after pipe dreams, nothing will ever change. Tell me about your dreams, Hughes, like we used to with Heathcliff at the Academy.” Both men winced at Heathcliff’s name, but the Flame Alchemist plowed on. “When people stop talking about their dreams, they cease to grow as human beings.”
“Your words have changed, but deep down you’re the same old dreamer you always were!” Hughes adjusted his glasses. “Which means that in order to protect this entire country, you’re going to have to climb to the top of the rat’s nest.” Hughes pointed to the top of the fort.
At the top stood Fuhrer King Bradley.
The Flame Alchemist smiled coldly. “It must feel good to be up there, huh? But I won’t be able to climb to the top on my own.”
“Ha ha! Listen to you! Don’t get cocky just yet.” Hughes elbowed his friend. “You have my support. Let’s see how your naive idealism can change this country.”
Let’s do this, thought Roy.
~~~
“Aren’t you going back?” Roy asked. “You’ll be left behind.”
The Hawk’s Eye continued patting dirt on a grave.
“Who’s that? A war buddy?”
“No, it’s—it’s an Ishvalan child. One left dead with nowhere to call home.” She sat with her back to him, like she had years ago.
The sun. The soil.
“Let’s go. The war is over now.”
“The fighting may be, but the nightmares of what we did in this place are far from over. They’ll stay with me as long as I live.”
Roy said nothing.
“I believed in you. I trusted you with my father’s research. And I applied to the military academy because I hoped to help other people. The way things turned out? It’s not what I wanted, but there’s no escaping the truth.” She curled over, into herself. Her voice was crying. “I’m a killer. And I created you. I can never atone for the suffering I’ve caused.
“I have a favor to ask, Mustang. Please burn this off. Deface my back.”
“But how could I ever do such a—” Wait.
“At least,” the Hawk’s Eye interrupted. “I may not ever be able to atone, but at least I can destroy the secrets on my back. There can be no more Flame Alchemists. Can you do this?” She stood up, still turned away from Roy. “If so, please release me.” Then she faced him. “I want you to set me free from my father’s burden.”
The sun. The ruins. The ground that always soaked up the blood.
“Please,” said Riza. “Set me free from his alchemy. I’m begging you.”
Roy’s ungloved hands clenched into fists. They shook silently. “Alright.”
~~~
Later
The station was loud and big and full of soldiers reuniting with their families. The call of a train. Little shouts of joy, of finally see you again, Mom! and I can’t believe how much you’ve grown! and laughter. Roy and Hughes stepped off their train.
“She said in her letter that we was gonna pick me up from the train station,” said Hughes.
“Maes!”
Roy turned. A woman with short brown hair. Green blouse, blue skirt. Amestrian civilian clothing.
She ran towards Hughes.
“Gracia,” Hughes said in wonder. “Gracia!”
The two embraced, then looked into each other’s eyes like they were the only thing in the world that mattered.
(Once, Roy would have been jealous. Now, he felt nothing.)
Hughes, I think you’re a strong man. Much stronger than I’ll ever be. But if so, Amestris doesn’t need a strong man. It needs me.
~~~
“Roy! I’m so glad you’re safe. You did so well! They’re calling you the Hero of Ishval.” Madame Christmas stopped. “What’s wrong?”
~~~
Roy sat in his aunt’s study, explaining his plan. The sun shone past the purple curtains.
“And once I’ve done everything I can as Fuhrer to help the survivors and make sure that the Ishval Genocide never happens again, I’ll order trials.” He bent a paper clip. “Remember that international document? The one defining war crimes that no one follows? Well, we’ll follow it. I’ll try all of us as war criminals. And then I’ll be executed,” Roy finished.
Madame Christmas was silent for a long moment. Roy no longer drowned in the silence, praying he wouldn’t be rejected. Instead, he simply waited.
Finally, she said, “Okay. I’ll help you.” She stood up and reached for a new file folder.
The gears in Roy’s head were turning. Was he trained in politics and manipulation and the power games he’d need to climb to the top? Yes. Did he know how we was going to win this? Not really. But already, he was laying out blueprints, strategies, first steps.
“Your mother wouldn’t,” Madame Christmas said quietly. “She’d go to heaven and hell to justify your actions. Then she’d drag you across borders. To Creta or Dahab or somewhere where you couldn’t carry out your plan. She certainly had the arm strength to do that.”
That sounded about right. Roy laughed.
“Her love for you said, ‘I love you so I could never let you hurt yourself.’ But my love for you says, ‘I love you so I would walk you to your death if you asked me to.’”
~~~
Spring 1909
Roy was at a banquet in celebration of the Hero of Ishval. He laughed and chatted and flirted. Lieutenant-Colonel Roy Mustang, the youngest State Alchemist. The picture of a young Amestrian soldier.
Before dessert, a messenger handed Roy an envelope. He opened it.
Second Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye has requested to serve in your unit.
Roy looked up and continued chatting with the high-ranking officials around him.
Alright, he thought. She wants to help. I have what I need.
Let’s do this.