As of January 2016, this entire fic has been revised and undergone several minor changes from the original. Thank you for all of your support. I own nothing.

Chapter 1: The Alchemist's Daughter

As he stepped off the train into the warm late afternoon air, Roy Mustang pulled a slip of paper from his pocket but did not bother to look at it; he knew the name and the address meant nothing to him. Instead, he glanced around to see if someone could point him in the right direction, only to find that the platform was empty. It occurred to him that this was the type of quiet village where nothing happened, despite the insistence of the novels he had read that these places were the most interesting; it seemed the perfect place for an alchemist to do his research in peace.

After spending what he could remember of his life in Central, he felt completely out of place here. Even East City, quiet though it had been when he had switched trains, had seemed far more like home. Slipping the paper back into his pocket, he began to make his way toward the town square. "Excuse me," said a quiet voice, "are you Mr. Mustang?"

Surprised, he turned to see a girl standing beside him, carrying a large sack with a few carrots protruding from the top. "I am. Who are you?"

She shifted her weight nervously and clutched the groceries tighter to her chest. "My father sent me. He said you'd need someone to show you to the house."

"I didn't know Master Hawkeye had a daughter," he said, looking at her curiously. From what he had heard—and that wasn't much, as was evident from the girl standing in front of him—Hawkeye had little interest in anything beyond his research. It was odd to think of such a man having a family. "What's your name?"

"Riza. I'm Riza."

"Nice to meet you, Riza," he replied with a smile. "I'm Roy—but you already knew that, I'm sure. I'd shake your hand but I can see they're both full at the moment. Would you like me to carry that for you?"

She blinked at him, and surprise flashed across her face for a moment before it resumed its neutral expression. "It's no trouble. I can see that your hands are full as well."

"Just the one and this isn't heavy." He lifted his suitcase to his shoulder, and let go with all but one of his fingers.

She ignored him, moving the bag so it rested against her hip. With one hand now free, she offered it to him and he shook it. "As I said, Mr. Mustang: it's no trouble at all."

Releasing her hand, he let his arm fall to his side and took a proper hold of his suitcase again, he flexed the very sore finger he had been using to support it, silently relieved that his finger hadn't given out. "I told you—it's Roy," he said.

"I'm not sure my father would approve. It's not polite to address an older guest by his first name," Riza hugged the bag to her chest once more.

Roy raised an eyebrow. "You can't be that much younger than me, can you?"

"I will be sixteen in September," she explained.

"Not quite two years, then. A bigger gap than I thought, sure, but definitely not enough to warrant a last name basis. But I guess, if it makes you more comfortable…"

"It does."

"I apologize for being so forward, Miss Hawkeye. I didn't expect to meet someone so close to my own age and I forgot my manners." He bowed and she narrowed her eyes. "I'm not going to try to kiss your hand, if you're worried about dropping your groceries."

Rolling her eyes slightly, she started to walk away from him. "It's a little outside of town. I hope you don't mind."

Did he seem like some rich city boy who couldn't be bothered to walk? Somewhat miffed, he followed her along the hard-packed dirt of what seemed to be the village's main road. As they approached the square, it grew more crowded, much more appropriate for a sunny Saturday afternoon than the deserted station had been. However, every person they passed seemed to be in a hurry; not a single one stopped to say hello.

"Strange town," Roy noted, turning to Riza as they left the village behind. "I would have thought everyone knew each other in a place like this."

"They do," she replied, her eyes on the distant trees as the road grew steeper.

Roy wondered how she could focus on something so far away without stumbling. Now that they had left the town behind, the road was littered with loose stones and softer dirt. "Are they wary of strangers, then?"

"What did you expect?" Riza asked, the corners of her lips twitching. "A festival in your honor?"

Somewhat taken aback by her response, Roy stopped to stare at her. "You know, for someone who insists on a last name basis, you're being pretty forward yourself."

"Ask a forward question…" She had stopped as well and turned to face him, the slope of the road bringing her closer to his height.

Roy laughed. "I guess that's fair. I didn't realize my question would upset you. I just wondered why no one said hello to you so I figured they must not like strangers."

"They don't." She tensed slightly as she spoke, her hands digging into the sides of the sack.

Noting her tone, Roy froze. He opened his mouth to speak, but he was unsure of what to say. She had already turned and continued walking, this time at a much quicker pace. He wanted to apologize, and he had at least thirty questions forming at the back of his mind, but he had a feeling that any attempts at picking up the conversation would be ignored. He was a stranger, after all, and he had no right to pry into her life, no matter how curious he was about his new master.

Not bothering to catch up to her, he simply looked out at the countryside as he matched her pace. The road had leveled out and one side was lined with trees. On the other, he could see mountains in the distance, beyond a large meadow of tall grass and even more trees. It was beautiful, he thought, but in a lonely sort of way. The road curved and he saw a house not too far ahead, surrounded by a tall, wrought-iron fence that attempted to separate the overgrown yard from the surrounding field and the woods not far beyond. From what he could see of the house, it hardly seemed in better repair than the yard. A small path branched toward it and Riza followed it, her pace slackening as she approached the gate. She shifted her sack but Roy stepped forward to open it. "Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome." He closed the gate behind them. "Would you like me to hold that while you get the key?"

She shook her head. "I left it unlocked. Very few people come out this way, and none of them come near the house."

When they reached the front door, Roy opened it and followed Riza inside, bending to remove his shoes before he even closed the door. "You don't have to do that," Riza told him. "Father isn't particularly fussed about the floors and I didn't have time to mop before I came to get you."

"Sorry."

"It's fine. I'll put this in the kitchen and then I'll show you to your room." She went through an open door at the end of the hall beside the stairwell, and feeling somewhat uncomfortable at the thought of being left in the entryway by himself, Roy followed her. He stopped outside the door; she had set the sack on the counter and had begun to empty it. "You can come in, if you'd like. I won't be long." He stepped into the doorway but hesitated to come closer. She removed the last of her purchases, then folded the sack and stooped to put it in the cupboard. "If you get hungry between meals, the pantry is there—" she gestured toward a door to his left "—and you can eat in here or in the dining room. If you need anything, call for me." She stood and closed the cupboard.

Roy stepped out of the doorway as Riza turned around. "Should I help pay for groceries, or was that included in the fee?"

"I believe it was included, but you should probably ask my father. If you prefer to buy your own food, you're welcome to," she told him, and as he looked around at the peeling wallpaper, he made a mental note to pay for as much as he could afford. "I'll show you to your room now." She twisted one hand nervously around her wrist as she walked toward him. He followed her back into the hall and up the stairs.

"The bathroom is there," she said, pointing at a door that stood slightly ajar. "I've hung a towel for you already. The pink one. I hope you don't mind; it was the nicest I could find."

"Thank you."

"You may put your things on the shelf above the sink if you wish. Or you can keep them in your room, if you prefer." She stopped in front of the only fully-open door in the hall and gestured for Roy to enter. "I left the window open because it was a bit musty earlier. It's been a while since Father's had an apprentice. He tends to chase them off and word gets around…"

"Should I be worried?"

She looked at him appraisingly for a moment. "I think you should be clever enough to keep up with him. And you don't…" she trailed off and he turned to see a faint flush creeping into her cheeks.

"I don't what?"

"You don't…scare me…the way the last one did," she muttered, grinding the heel of one foot into the toes of the other.

"He didn't hurt you, did he?" Roy asked, suddenly worried.

"No. I avoided him. He just seemed…cruel. Like he wanted to learn alchemy so he could hurt people…to burn them if they got in his way." She ran her fingers through her hair nervously, as though the fear of the memory was still fresh in her mind, her hand coming to rest at the nape of her neck.

Roy set his suitcase down and hesitated before saying, "I would never do that. Believe me. I understand if you don't right now, though." His eyes widened. "Shit! You had to walk all the way home with me and we'd only just met! I'm so sorry. I hope I didn't scare you too badly."

"You don't scare me. I already told you that."

"What would you have done if I had?"

She swallowed hard. "Given you directions and told you to go on ahead while I finished my errands."

"Good." She seemed so small. Not delicate, though. Just untrained, and part of him wanted to teach her how to defend herself, but he assumed that offering would only get him scolded for being too forward again.

She looked down at the floor. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Mr. Mustang, I have to make dinner." She turned to leave.

"Would you like some help?" he offered, taking a step toward her.

Surprised, she stopped. "What?"

"I have to earn my keep somehow," he joked. "Besides, I helped my aunt with it more than a few times and it's not like I've got anything better to do."

"You should unpack. You're a guest here. There's no need for—"

"But I'm not a guest," he countered, immediately feeling bad for cutting her off. "I'm an apprentice and my duty is to my master and his family. You shouldn't have to make dinner all by yourself."

"I'm used to it."

"At least let me keep you company."

She looked at him over her shoulder. "Maybe some other time. Tonight, I'm making a meal to welcome a guest and I want him to be surprised. I'll come for you when it's done." Pulling the door closed behind her, she left the room.

Roy turned and went to his case, thinking that Riza Hawkeye was too stubborn for her own good. Or perhaps, he realized, just stubborn enough to keep herself safe. He knew his place better than to ask Master Hawkeye how he could allow so many strange men to parade through and stay in the house with his younger daughter. Making a mental note to teach his future wife and daughters as much about alchemy as he could—hopefully more than enough to defend themselves—he picked up the case and carried it to the bed.

As he unpacked, he wondered if maybe Riza knew more about alchemy than she let on. He hoped she did, especially if her father's next apprentice was less than honorable. Then again, if he made a good enough impression on the master, it was likely there wouldn't be another new apprentice for quite some time. Roy strode to the window and rested his arms on the sill. There wasn't much to see: just more of the same woods he had seen from the road and a modest-sized backyard that was just as overgrown as the front. The warm afternoon breeze ruffled his hair as he leaned farther out the window. Judging by the sun, it was nearly five and he decided to freshen up before dinner.

Leaving the window open, he returned to the open suitcase and removed a clean shirt and his toiletries before leaving the room. When he opened the door, the faint scent of sautéing onions greeted him and he realized he had not eaten since he had left Central that morning. In the bathroom, he placed his things on the shelf Riza had mentioned.

He washed his face and dried it on the pale pink towel that was nowhere near as threadbare as the brown one that hung beside it. He saw only one toothbrush in the mug at the far end of the shelf. The bristles stuck out in every direction and the handle was cracked. He assumed it was Riza's and that the ragged towel was hers as well. He supposed by now she was used to sharing the bathroom with strange boys and men, but he couldn't help but feel guilty; she seemed so reserved that even looking at her toothbrush felt like an invasion of her privacy.

What on earth was he thinking about? Tired. He was tired. Between the train ride and the heat and the long walk from the station, he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep. He brushed his teeth lethargically, watching his reflection as his mind wandered back to Central. Saturday afternoons were his favorite. Aunt Chris had always insisted he was in his room by six, but before then, he kept busy: making certain that the bar and the dishes were clean, often running errands for his foster mother and the girls, preparing a dinner that everyone could eat quickly before they opened for the evening.

For the first time since he had left, Roy felt a twinge of homesickness. The woods were nice, but he missed the noise of the city. The house felt so empty with just three people and he wished Riza had allowed him to keep her company; he wasn't used to being this lonely. Even when he went upstairs for the night at home, the noise from the city and the bar had provided company. At least from here, he could hear the faint sounds of Riza cooking below, but they were practically silence compared to the boisterous conversations and clinking of glasses that he was used to.

He changed his shirt and returned to his room, leaving the door open so he could smell whatever it was Riza was making, even though it made his stomach growl. Only a few things remained to be unpacked and he noticed and envelope sticking out from the pocket of one of the shirts. He removed it, curious. The only writing on it was Aunt Chris's: "Roy-Boy." Carefully, he unsealed it and removed a photograph with "Mustang family, April 1886" written on the back. He turned it around and immediately recognized it from the photo album in the Madam's room. He had forgotten about it, not having had much inclination to look at it in recent years. But Christmas must have remembered all the hours he had spent in childhood looking at it as though his gaze could bring his parents back, if only for an hour.

Smiling slightly, he tucked it into the drawer of the nightstand and retrieved the envelope. He reached inside but it was empty now: Christmas must not have thought a note would be necessary.

The breeze gathered strength, ruffling Roy's hair again even though he was nowhere near the window. Folding the envelope, he got to his feet. The summer air had diminished the already-faint scent of dinner and he crossed the room to lean against the sill once more. He closed his eyed and tilted his head toward the sun, enjoying the heat against his face. Soon, he thought—soon, he might be able to feel the heat of his own fire. A smile spread across his face: after all these years, he would finally be learning alchemy. He opened his eyes and looked out over the trees, letting his excitement and the fresh summer air carry his homesickness away.