Color of Life, Lesson of Love

I think that the Ishvalan Conflict proves that Amestris doesn't have the best track record with cultural diversity.

This probably isn't my best work, but I hope you enjoy it! If you've been reading the Citizen Soldier 'verse, keep an eye out for a new story for that tomorrow!

Roy is six when he realizes that he is different. Six when he realizes that his pale skin and dark, slanted eyes aren't considered normal in Amestris. Aunt Chris tells him about his mother, a Xingese girl who met his father, and how they had fallen in love, despite what those around them said. "Appearance meant nothing to them," Aunt Chris tells him, uncharacteristically gentle as she moves around the kitchen behind the bar. "And they were happy together. They were even happier when you came." She ruffles his hair as she passes him with a bowl of something sweet-smelling. Until the crash, are the unspoken words. They don't talk about that horrible night.

Roy is six when he learns that appearances don't matter.

Roy is ten when he gets in a fight at school. "They deserved it," he grumbles, "they called Mom names."

"What else did they say?" Aunt Chris asks as she dabs something that stings against his scrapped knees.

"They called me a dumb slant-eyes," he mumbles looking down. Those same slanted eyes prickle with tears. The words hurt. He doesn't get it – appearances don't matter! How would they like it if he teased them about their hair or their eyes?

Aunt Chris sighs. "Roy-boy, not everybody sees things the way you do. You see the similarities. They only see the differences."

Roy is ten when he learns that people don't like differences.

Roy is fifteen, eager to learn alchemy from Master Berthold Hawkeye, when he meets Riza. Riza is the first person in a long time to treat him like a normal person, not batting an eye at his different coloring and features. She treats him the same way she treats everyone – with mild disdain.

It takes weeks, but eventually, she warms up to him. Never once does she ask about his eyes or his skin.

Roy is fifteen when he learns that not everyone sees only his features.

Roy is twenty-two, in the middle of the desert, when he is afraid of his own features. Before, his eyes and hair have merely been a novelty – the instructors at the military academy hadn't cared about his difference – he was just another cadet. It had been liberating.

But out here – anyone with brown skin, red eyes, and white hair is the enemy. Anyone. If the government decided to wipe out anyone in Amestris who looked Xingese, or Drachman, they could do it. There was discrimination back in East City. But this is different. It wouldn't take much for the same thing to happen to other peoples, other cultures.

Roy is twenty-two when he really learns how far people will go to eradicate difference.

Roy is thirty when his slanted eyes don't serve their purpose anymore. Everything is dark – he knows people by sound (Hyatae's paws on the floor, the crackle of Fuery's radio), smell (Havoc's cigarettes) and touch (Riza's calloused grip, Breda's firm shoulder clap).

He can't see, and now, they are all equals.

Roy is thirty when he realizes just how much people rely on sight to learn about people.

Roy is thirty-six when he stands at the altar surrounded by the people he's grown to know – the people who have become his family. Golden, brown, blue, and green eyes, all colors of skin. Half a dozen cultures merged into a beautiful, chaotic myriad. But when he sees Riza come down the aisle, he decides that, even though appearance doesn't matter, he likes amber brown eyes the best.

Yup, this turned into a bit of a Royai moment. What can I say?