AN: Hello! This is an unexpected short-ish story that I started writing on vacation, and the idea would not leave me alone until I finished it. This was inspired by one of the Royai prompts, Military Personnel, as well as portions of the movie Centurion, which tells one version of the disappearance of Rome's Ninth Legion in ancient Scotland. I changed a few things, and switched the setting to the FMA universe (without alchemy). I hope you like the story :)

AN: (09/01/19) Updated with a few edits/corrections - no changes to plot.

Southern Drachma – 100 AD

Roy had been running for days, so long that he'd forgotten the last time he was able to fall to the ground and gasp for air like a man drowning. The others felt it as well, he knew. They were three legionnaires in the Amestrian military, fleeing for their lives in an unfamiliar hell, each trying to ignore the near certainty that they would soon die. Part of him wondered if that's why they were sent on a fool's errand, to die.

At that moment, however, such thoughts were useless, and he instead focused on forcing one foot to plod in front of the other, nearly rolling his ankle on an unsteady rock. Mercifully, the man at the head of the line slowed, and the trio wasted no time in collapsing onto the frozen earth. He could feel the cold seeping through his skin, but ignored it in favor of the intense relief flooding his limbs. He'd even landed on a few stones, and only considered that long enough to recognize the good fortune that he did not crack his skull.

All too soon his fingers grew stiff from the biting, snow-laden wind and, taking a deep breath, he fought to stand in spite of protesting muscles and dwindling willpower. The cut on his abdomen tore open a fraction with each movement but he pushed away the pain, peering at the moonlit terrain ahead. "We must keep going." He'd given the men his word, and he would get them home.

The young centurion known as Ling groaned miserably, rolling onto his stomach to push himself up. He had only recently become a soldier, starting out as a tradesman following the legion north, and making a small fortune along the way. Now, he may never see Amestris again.

"Mustang."

He spun at the sound of his name to find the veteran, Fu, pointing to the north and, just where the mountains faded into snow and trees, a line of horses was visible following the ravine. His gut sank. "Let's move."

At the sight of their pursuers his body resumed its race more willingly, trudging up the slope and ever southward. They had escaped the Drachman encampment five days prior, after being taken captive during a scouting excursion, though for all he knew it might have been weeks; the hours simply bled together. The tracker following them was a woman, known as the Ice Queen, and somehow she always managed to find them. Her presence at their backs was constant, and she moved with the unhurried gait of a predator that knew its prey could only run so far. And she was correct. They were fatigued, half-starved, and racing through the Drachman wilderness in midwinter. If she did not end them, frostbite would.

They tried to forage for anything edible, but the land was icy, with only scattered patches of barren soil. There were few animals to be found and most were small, scurrying away before they could be caught. When thoughts of food made his stomach churn painfully Roy stared ahead, hoping to suddenly see the Amestrian border in the distance, though he never did.

Behind him rose a strangled cry and he turned to rush back the way he'd come, dropping stiffly next to Ling, who writhed in pain and clutched his arm. Fu knelt by the man, putting a hand over his mouth to stifle the shouts, and Roy shook his head when he spotted a streak of white poking through skin. He searched for anything he might use to bind it, settling for tearing several strips from his own tunic. Leaning over him, he said, "You cannot scream." Ling's eyes widened in fright as he nodded fiercely, and Roy took his arm, glancing around them when the man bit back cries. He wrapped it securely, hoping to keep both bone and tissue in place until they had a moment to reset the injury properly. He could only hoped they would find that moment.

They pulled Ling to his feet, the young soldier bracing the arm against his chest, face pinched in agony. Before they could even think of moving forward, the whinny of a horse was carried aloft on the wind and the men shared stunned, exasperated looks. "That woman is a demon," Fu growled, glowering northward as though he would rather take on the entire Drachman hoard than retreat any farther. "Only dark things could follow us in this." The experienced veteran had been in the army most of his life and, after surviving so many battles, Roy refused to let him die a fugitive in a foreign land.

"You're superstitious, old man." He received a scowl in response but paid it little mind. Lost in thought, he took a couple steps forward and asked, "Ling, can you handle a climb? We need to move to higher ground."

The injured man shook his head hesitantly. "I doubt it."

"What do you have in mind?" Fu asked.

Roy gestured toward the ridge they'd been following. "I remember this place. This line runs for miles in either direction. If we climb, the horses won't be able to pursue, and we should be able to cross to the other side."

"They could follow us over on foot."

He nodded. "True, but not all of them. Some will have to stay with the mounts, and it will take them days to circle round."

The older man grinned. "And the storm's worsening. It'll buy us time."

"Ling?"

"You go. I'll lead them on a chase, give you time to escape. I'm only going to slow you down."

Roy shook his head. "I'm not leaving you behind." He gave him a light push, starting them up the steepening incline. "You didn't really have a choice."

They trudged higher, inevitably slowing as the ascent became more arduous, loose stones and exhaustion causing more than a few slips along the way. Unimaginably, the air grew colder, the wind whipping past them as the snowstorm intensified. White drifts continued to expand in various places along the rise, their depth difficult to ascertain. He searched behind, but blowing snow had almost obliterated the surrounding terrain, masking those who chased them from view.

Finally, after nearly an hour, he saw a gap in the ridge, two rocky crags jutting skyward on each side of the opening. He wordlessly pointed toward it before throwing Ling's uninjured arm over his shoulder, the pain was clearly weakening him. Noticing how saturated with blood the improvised bandage had become, he attempted his best reassuring tone and said, "We'll rest soon."

With some difficulty they crossed the ridge line and started down the other side, still trying to head south whenever possible. He had to repeatedly keep them from gaining too much momentum on the downward trek, not wanting to lose his footing and crash into a tree downhill. They were, perhaps, halfway to the treeline when he felt something sharp graze his side. He winced, a few choice curses leaving him when an arrow stuck into the dirt several feet ahead. Forgetting his previous concerns, he increased his pace, careening down the slope with Ling while Fu whipped a knife back at the archer.

The trio continued the sprint, disappearing into the forest, but he brought them to a halt after they had only traveled several meters, lowering Ling to the ground to rest against a tree. Drawing the sword he'd managed to steal when they first escaped, Roy gestured for Fu to circle back in one direction and he took the other. To the young soldier he said, "Draw them here."

With Ling's pained shouts floating through the air, he vanished into the haze of dim, snow-covered trees. For a short distance he could hear the man, until all sound melted away, muffled by thickly grown pines and brush. When he heard the softly padding steps of their followers, he concealed himself behind a rotund trunk, leaning his head back and taking a deep breath, eyes sliding shut. He shook out his sword arm, searching within for the tiny amount of energy he'd reserved for foolhardy, last-ditch attempts at freedom, that strength which always seemed to find him when he needed it most. He would still be slower than normal, however, which meant he had to make each strike count.

Listening to his enemy advance, he abruptly spun around the tree, but the man must have heard him because his gut-aimed attack was met with a firm block. They simultaneously stepped back and then Roy lunged, feinting right before twisting left and slashing at the enemy's shoulder. Rather than find its mark, his sword glanced off the man's blade and he felt metal cut into his own hip. Setting his jaw in frustration, he parried an attack with a somewhat wild swing and the Drachman's weapon became embedded in a tree. He then lashed out with a kick but his opponent jumped backward to avoid it and tripped over an exposed root when he did, landing awkwardly. While the man tried to rise Roy pulled the sword from the tree trunk with his free hand, running both blades across his throat before he could stand.

Embarrassingly short of breath, he turned to watch Fu wrench his weapon free of another pursuer's chest. "They sent only two?" the older soldier asked incredulously, both men stooping to pilfer anything useful from the bodies.

"This huntress' confidence is irksome," Roy muttered as he examined an enemy's knife. "And we need to find somewhere to rest."

"I agree," Fu replied, filling his arms with the furs worn by the fallen. "But I'm unfamiliar with this terrain. I've never ventured to this side of the ridge."

"Nor have I, but we'll manage."

They returned to Ling, divided the furs and food amongst themselves, and set off away from the mountains. The storm grew more intense as they went, the snow continuing to fall, and he drew comfort from the thought that nature might cover their trail to some extent. It was a stroke of luck that the forest blocked much of the wind, as that last fight had drained what strength remained him, and the simple task of walking had become even more onerous.

At the sight of a light up ahead, he hardly dared hope that they might find help and, when it turned out to be a small cottage, the others hurried toward it, smiling in relief. Roy, on the other hand, noticed the symbols etched into the bark of nearby trees, saw the bone-carved figurines hanging from branches. It was unnerving, but not enough to dissuade him from cautiously entering, nor was it sufficient to keep him from sitting before the fire. Fu and Ling fell onto the bed, and somewhere in his fatigue-addled brain the thought surfaced that the bright candles scattered about the room surely meant the cabin's owner had not gone far. However, the warmth lulled him to sleep much too quickly for him to fully recognize that truth.

Pushing the basket's handle into the crook of her arm, Riza closed her eyes, lips curving as snow flakes softly fell on her cheeks. The forest around her was quiet and, while some would find that eerie in the dead of night, for her it was peaceful. The wind occasionally whistled through the highest of branches, or even minutely jostled the hood covering her blonde hair, but within the protection of the trees there was mostly silence. To her companion, she said, "How do you always talk me into wandering around in the middle of the night?"

"You secretly enjoy it," Gracia replied, snow adorning her light brown locks. "And you know this is the best time to harvest them." She gestured toward their baskets, which were laden with a type of mushroom that happened to flourish in the winter, conditions being milder in the woods.

"So you say."

"And you love my wild mushroom soup."

"That's true enough." Seeing that they were nearing her one-room cottage, she added, "You go on in. I'll bring the rest." The domicile looked utterly quaint, blanketed white with two small windows glowing warmly. Inside it boasted a wooden bed with straw mattress and furs, a modest table and bench made for her by a friend of Gracia's, and a stone fireplace. From the ceiling hung bunches of dried herbs, which filled the cabin with the comforting scents of sage and thyme, and a kettle bubbled on the fire for tea.

She had just reached the outdoor table, on which rested another filled basket, when a piercing shriek cut through the night. It came from the cottage and she instantly dropped what she carried, rushing through the doorway where Gracia stood immobile. Not far away were three men, two near the bed and one before the fire, all of whom seemed to have been woken by the other woman's scream.

The men wore Drachman furs, but she could discern the tunic common to Amestrian soldiers beneath. The youngest held one arm to his chest, blood seeping from a rudimentary bandage, and a gray-haired soldier watched her with the eyes of someone trying to ascertain the level of threat she presented. The tall man near the fire, whose dark hair hid his eyes, was the first to move, and when he stepped forward she pushed Gracia behind her, saying in quiet Drachman, "Find help. Run."

Riza eyed the sword on her wall as she paced backward through the door, lamenting the fact it was uselessly positioned out of her reach. She searched for any means of defense and grabbed a pouch from the table, the eldest soldier coming toward her. Behind him, the tall centurion that seemed to be the leader ordered in Amestrian, "Put the knife down, Fu."

"She could be with them," the old man replied, still approaching slowly, blade in hand.

When he tried to grasp her wrist, she reached into the pouch for a fistful of black powder and tossed it in his face. He coughed, lurching unsteadily in her direction, and then fell with a look of utter confusion. Riza took his knife and faced the soldier that had first spoken, taking another large step backward when he drew his sword. Her back hit a tree and she instantly felt trapped but, rather than lunge for her, he adjusted his grip on the pommel and tossed the blade to the ground. He also pulled out a dagger and threw it aside, before raising his hands and telling her in Drachman, "It's not our intention to harm you."

"Your friend felt differently." She paused to evaluate him, and saw he was wounded as well. "Who are you?"

"We're soldiers. We've been on foot for several days, and are in desperate need of food and shelter." He waved toward the cabin. "My comrade is injured. I only ask for your aid." More quietly, and with a sincere note of entreaty, he added, "Please."

Riza examined him for a long moment, and then switched languages. "Do all Amestrians make themselves comfortable in strangers' homes? Or just the soldiers?"

His mouth quirked in curious amusement. "Just us soldiers. We've terrible manners." He reached out a tentative hand and she shook it, pulling her hand back immediately. "You speak Amestrian."

She nodded, watching closely while he sheathed his sword. "And you speak Drachman. I've met very few soldiers that have taken the time to learn it."

He started to respond, but a crash inside the cottage drew their attention, and she eyed the man somewhat apprehensively. Making a decision, she rushed by him and knelt next to the injured soldier who had collapsed, peeling back the dressing. The wound was dirty and red, the limb was inflamed surrounding the injury, and she saw something white that she feared was bone.

"How is he?" the dark-eyed Amestrian soon asked. "I couldn't set it correctly before."

"It needs cleaned. Get him onto the bed and I'll redress it." She was passing him to fetch some cloth and herbs, when he firmly grasped her arm and pulled her behind him. Riza made to protest but he shook his head and half-drew his sword, eyes closed as if intently listening. He then tore it from the scabbard, leveling it at the neck of the neighbor that came bounding through the door. The newcomer raised his weapon to respond in kind, knocking the blade aside, and she stepped between them before the situation could escalate. She placed a hand on the soldier's wrist to lower his weapon and raised the other to her friend as a signal that he should back down. "It's alright, Maes. They haven't hurt me. They need help." For an instant, she thought she saw a glimmer of recognition in the Amestrian's eyes at the mention of that name, but she was uncertain.

"And the man outside?" Maes inquired, eyes warily jumping from one stranger to the next.

"He was a threat and I handled it. He's still alive." She waited until both men sheathed their blades and then said, waving toward the invalid on the bed, "Take this one to Gracia, will you? She's much better with broken bones. I'll come seal the wound in a little while."

He nodded, still observing the centurions with unveiled suspicion. "I'll take the one outside to Edward and have him secured."

"Thank you."

Maes lifted the young man and moved to leave. "I can come back."

With a look at the leader she shook her head. "I'll be fine." Her neighbor disappeared and, when the Amestrian made to follow, she put a hand on his chest. "Your friends aren't in danger. Gracia will set the boy's break, and the old man will be awake in a few hours."

He glanced toward the door. "What did you do to him?"

Riza started collecting various items: a needle carved from bone, herbs, a jug of wine, sutures, and cloth bandages. "There's a tree that grows near here. When its bark is ground into a fine powder and inhaled, it induces sleep." Setting all she'd gathered on the table, she said, "Remove your furs and tunic, please."

He let out a dubious chuckle. "Excuse me?"

"You're bleeding in a few places. I'll take a look, if you like."

The soldier appraised her for a short time and then complied, placing his neatly folded belongings on the bed. He took a seat on the bench she indicated and she commandeered a stool, facing him to give herself better access to the obvious cut on his chest. It stretched five inches and crossed the lower portion of his sternum diagonally, the right end slicing up across muscle while the left spanned downward over two ribs. It was bright red and, judging by his sharp inhalation when she touched the edge, it was also tender. Picking up the jug to drink the wine and thus demonstrate the lack of poison, she poured it on a square of cloth to clean the wound.

Riza could feel his chest rise and fall with each breath he took and, in light of their current position, now had an unobstructed view of his features: eyes as dark as his hair, a surprisingly straight nose given his occupation, muscular frame, angular jaw. And his skin was soft, not toughened by numerous battle scars or the elements as she might have expected.

Once the laceration was cleaned to her liking, she took up the needle, along with the flax sutures she'd made, and caught his eye. "Ready?"

With a wave of his hand, he requested the wine and proceeded to take a long, preparatory swig. "I'm Roy Mustang, second in command of the garrison at General Brigg's wall." He shrugged and took another drink. "I thought you should know my name, since you're about to stab me repeatedly."

She started to smile at the unanticipated declaration, and shook his hand once again. "Riza Hawkeye. I fear I have no striking title to give."

As she inserted the curved needle for the first stitch, he asked, "Do you plan to use your magic powder on me?"

She pulled the thread through, guiding it carefully. "No, but I can if you prefer."

"I'll manage." He set the jug aside, wine sloshing quietly as he did. "I apologize for invading your home without invitation."

Riza briefly met his eye while she worked. "Accepted." Throwing several more stitches, she added, "Brigg's wall. You're far from home."

He gave a clipped nod. "We escaped from a Drachman camp almost a week ago."

"Who hunts you?"

Mustang shrugged again, wincing when it pulled at the stitches. "They call her the Ice Queen, that's all I know."

She sighed softly and tied off the thread, producing a knife to cut the needle free. "Her name is Olivier, and she's never once lost her prey."

"That inspires confidence."

"I thought you'd find honesty more useful." She leaned back for more sutures. "This storm will buy you a few days, at least. That's something. Where's the next injury?"

With astonished eyes he pointed to his side. "That was quick." A brief pause followed that comment. "Your technique is...familiar. Where did you learn this?"

Riza repeated the same process she'd used for the other cut, starting with the cleaning. "There's a military post four days southwest. I lived there for nineteen years and was apprentice to the medicus for five. It's how I know your language."

"First, I've never met a medicus with a female apprentice..."

"I had the steadiest hands in the garrison," she interjected. "And second?"

"Second, I assumed your ability to speak my language had something to do with the gladius on the wall." He hooked a thumb at it. "If you grew up in a garrison, I'd hazard a guess that your father was an Amestrian centurion."

Her hands stilled, and she glanced at the sword in question before resuming her work. "Your powers of observation are irritating."

She both felt and heard his slow exhalation. "Apologies for my rudeness, but finding someone like you here, in the middle of the Drachman mountains...well, it's curious."

"Someone like me?"

"Riza," a voice interrupted, and she looked up to find Maes at her door. "Gracia's ready for you to stitch the gash on the boy's arm. And she has soup on the fire."

"We'll be finished in a few minutes." Returning her attention to her patient, she saw that blood soaked a section of his trousers near his right hip and carefully pulled them lower, nodding distractedly when she half-heard Maes inform them that he would wait. The wound was deeper than the others, so much that it was necessary to hold the cut open to flush it, and she felt him shift in discomfort. With her friend present silence fell over the group, for which she was thankful, as Roy Mustang had been getting entirely too inquisitive. Still, after the way he'd set aside his weapons to reassure her, and even moved to protect her before he knew Maes was no enemy, she did not feel threatened by him.

"Done," she announced, putting several items in a pouch and throwing on her cloak while the Amestrian dressed. When they strode out into the cold night air, Maes positioned himself between them, one hand poised on the hilt of his own gladius.

Once inside Gracia's cottage, she immediately set to work on the young soldier's wound, this requiring a few more sutures than Mustang's injuries. Shortly after she started, his pained squirming necessitated that she place a pinch of the black powder in a mug of wine and, as soon as he drank it, his body relaxed. The drug was not as potent when taken orally, but it would suffice. With him calmed she closed the wound quickly, after which the other woman wrapped it tightly to keep the limb stable.

Riza then dropped onto a bench at the table and gratefully accepted her own share of wine, coupled with a bowl of soup. "It smells wonderful."

"It does," Mustang seconded from her left, taking the seat beside hers. Another bowl was energetically plopped before him, revealing Gracia's continued anxiety in light of their unexpected visitors.

"Where are you stationed?" Maes asked to begin the conversation.

"The wall. I was sent into Drachman territory and captured." He set his utensil down and wiped his hand on his tunic before offering it to the other man. "The name's Mustang, and I cannot thank you enough for your assistance." Maes only shook his hand with a crisp nod, and the Amestrian continued hesitantly, "Where did you come by that gladius?" Riza tensed instantly at the question, and she saw Gracia nervously stir her soup.

"A traveler passing through found it on a dead soldier. I bartered it from him."

"Do you get many visitors passing through?" His food was already nearly gone, a testament to his level of hunger.

"No," Gracia softly responded. "They think we're witches. It keeps most people away."

The soldier was silent for a few seconds. "I saw the bones, and the carvings, but I was too exhausted to be frightened. We needed help." After another moment's hesitation, he stood and walked toward the door, indicating the other man's weapon with a hand. "You've nothing to worry about from me."

The three villagers eyed each other after their guest left, until Gracia broke the silence. "He did remember you." Maes had met her when she was taken prisoner by the Amestrians, and deserted with her when he realized they meant to kill her. While he was not a priority, his general would doubtless wish to make an example of him if given the opportunity.

"We'll simply have to hope he's a man of his word, though I believe if he meant to turn me in as a deserter, we'd know." His eyes leapt to the doorway and then to Riza. "I think you should stay here tonight. I'll take them back to your cabin."

She shook her head, standing and reaching for her cloak. "You have the extra bed. Keep the boy here, he shouldn't move right now. I'll be alright with Mustang, and Fu can stay where he is."

"And if they dislike being separated? There's no way to know what they may do. I'd feel better if..."

"No," she interrupted, finishing her wine. "I believe he understands the situation he's put us in. I'm more worried about when Olivier might arrive."

Maes stood sharply. "You failed to mention that harpy's after them."

"My apologies. I've been a touch occupied."

"Yes, busy risking our lives. If we were smart, we'd turn them away."

"That's not our way, and you know it," Gracia said, cutting over his attempted protests. "I know you're trying to keep us safe, but the Ice Queen has earned none of our allegiance. I refuse to do anything that could even be construed as aiding her. I'm sure the others will agree."

"Forgive me. I dislike having centurions here." He heaved a sigh. "It's brought back memories I've fought to forget."

"They won't be here long," Riza replied, attempting to reassure him. She knew he felt no real ill will toward the men, that he was only concerned for the safety of their small community. "Everything will be fine." With that she stepped outside, brow rising in surprise when she saw Mustang leaning against an oak tree, waiting for her. "I thought you'd gone."

He matched her pace. "I didn't think it right to leave you to traipse through the dark forest alone."

"I frequently traipse around alone, as you say." She glanced over at him, only to find his face in shadow. "But thank you."

They were soon back at her cozy cottage and, hanging her cloak on a hook, she took the spare from a shelf and passed it to him. "I've no other blankets, but this is warm, and I'm afraid I only have the floor for you to sleep on."

"The floor is perfect," he said, taking the cloak with a nod of gratitude. "I'm sure it's more comfortable than stone." He was asleep as soon as his head hit the rolled up fur serving as his pillow, while Riza quietly went around blowing out candles. Crawling into bed herself, she contemplated the strange evening and wondered what the next day would bring.

Over the following days Roy fell into an unforeseen and strangely domestic routine, one that he'd not experienced since his teenage years, when he joined the military after his parents' death. Each day he would accompany her to check on Ling, who was healing well, and Fu, who was regretful of his earlier behavior. He'd also taken it upon himself to make the odd repair around her modest cottage, fetch fresh water for her, or perform any other task he thought might be useful. It was the least he could do to demonstrate his gratitude for her hospitality, but his assistance had caught her entirely off-guard.

When he first walked into the cabin with his arms full of freshly split kindling, Riza had looked at him as though he were some wholly inhuman creature, like she never would have expected the help in a thousand years. She stared at him in shock for a brief time, and then finally smiled, indicating the small rack to the left of the fireplace, which he filled. While she continued the preparations for bread, and a stew which smelled delectable, he chopped more logs for the fire. Afterward, she thanked him by checking his sutures and handing him a jug of wine to sip while she worked.

They chatted frequently during their time together, but Roy never again broached the subject of her parentage, as it seemed a sensitive issue. He'd been able to tell the moment they met that she was only half-Drachman, the other half in all likelihood Amestrian, and he wondered how a woman with her medical skills ended up in a remote village near the mountains. His own garrison could certainly use a medicus of her caliber.

As the storm raged outside, his evenings were often spent reading from a small collection of poetry he'd discovered hidden away in a faded mango-wood box. It contained parchment scraps she'd amassed during her time at the garrison, varying widely in size with verses scribbled by many different hands. Roy was thrilled, not having lain eyes on anything aside from terse Amestrian missives since he'd left home, and even added the few poems he remembered. Eventually they would retire, with her crawling into bed as he occupied his usual place on the floor, fresh cups of tea close to hand.

They did not stray from this routine until the third evening of his stay, when the village gathered to celebrate the marriage of a young man called Edward to a woman named Winry, who he'd heard was the best baker around. It was when the lot of them were crammed into Gracia's cabin, that he noticed the way Riza's face brightened when she laughed. Mirth glittered in her eyes, and her smile was warm, but it was barely an instant later that his own face fell, when he caught sight of an ominous scar on her neck. Someone, at some point, had tried to slit her throat, and it occurred to him that he earnestly disliked that idea.

Back in the comfort of her cottage, she watched him prepare their late-night tea, her cheeks gorgeously pink from wine. "You're not like other soldiers."

"How so?" he asked, his lips forming a grin of their own accord in response to her infectious smile. He filled a mug, adding a small amount of honey as he'd seen her do each morning, and slid it across the table.

"Your friend Fu, for instance. His first instinct was to be rid of me and take what he needed from my home. Yours was to protect me and seek my aid instead." She took a sip, nodding her approval. "Why did you join the military?"

Roy held her gaze, idly twisting the gold and obsidian ring on his right middle finger, the one remnant of his family's heritage. "My parents died when I wasn't much older than Ling. I'm a mason by trade, but no one wanted to hire a man of Xingese descent, not after the recent conflicts with Xing. I had few options." He took a hesitant breath. "What happened to your neck?"

Her eyes instantly saddened. "It was a parting gift from a friend." His brow furrowed at the unanticipated and cryptic reply, but she quickly changed the subject. "I should check your dressings." Suddenly she was kneeling beside him, lifting his tunic to delicately feel her meticulous sutures, and he could only watch her: fair skin shimmering, lips parted in concentration, cheeks slightly redder than before. "You'll have to cut the stitches once you've gone. I trust you'll be able to do so without ruining my good work?"

"I'll manage."

Seemingly avoiding his eyes, she took his hand, examining the ring with which he'd been toying and running a finger over the Xingese character etched into the gemstone. "I'm sorry about your family."

He gave a tiny nod. "Thank you."

Riza moved to the table for another sip of tea. "The symbol. What does it mean?"

"Honor."

"Fitting," she mused.

He glanced over, tapping his ring on the earthenware mug. "Shall I take that as your way of calling me honorable?"

The blonde only smiled.

Their pattern resumed after that, the only change being the initiation of morning walks around the village. She would explain the ideal routes to the garrison, depending on weather and myriad other factors, and he would make mental notes. Then, two nights after the wedding, she offered to give him half the bed, noticing that he'd developed pain in his neck from so many evenings spent on unforgiving surfaces.

"Control your hands, centurion," she teased.

Roy slept poorly that night, thoughts focused on the woman beside him, and he could tell she lay awake as well. The next morning she rose early, draped her cloak over her shoulders, and left without a farewell, basket in hand. Once she was gone, he put a kettle on the fire for when she returned and busied himself with the chores he'd taken on during the past several days.

With the sun continuing to rise overhead and her absence lengthening, he began to worry, and had just stopped in to ask Gracia where her friend liked to disappear when shouts suddenly came from outside. The sound of someone being thrown to the ground had him striding toward the door, even as a voice yelled in Drachman, "Outside, traitors!"

Maes appeared in front of him to stop his progress. "Get yourself, Ling, and Fu into the grain store under the floor. And keep quiet." When he did not move, the man added, "If you storm out there it'll be worse for everyone."

Roy set his jaw, contemplating something extremely stupid, when Fu yanked him into the grain store next to Ling, pushing floorboards into place above their heads. Maes and Gracia joined the others outdoors and, when the same authoritative woman spoke again, he assumed it was the Ice Queen. "Three fugitives passed this way. Tell me where they are."

"I've already told you," he heard Riza defiantly respond. "We've had no visitors, seen no one." There was a pause, then, "Search my home if you must, but touch nothing. I'd rather not have to burn it down."

There was an indistinct shout, and through his mind ran images of someone grabbing her by the hair, placing a knife to her throat. As he imagined the worst, he reached reflexively for his sword, but Ling put a hand on his arm before he could draw it, shaking his head.

Outside, a gruff voice said, "Olivier, enough. The gods preserved her, you know her death would displease them."

Yet another yell rose outside the cabin, as she was no doubt thrown to the ground, and then he heard nothing. He did not realize why until a tall, heavy-set Drachman lumbered into the hut, looked around the single room, and promptly left. They were searching the village. After what felt like an age, but was probably only several minutes, the hunters left, hoof beats fading away to silence. At that point he threw a loose floorboard aside and crawled from the cellar, sprinting to Hawkeye's door and nearly colliding with Maes. She was seated on a stool near the fire, turned away from him, and he fell to his knees at her side, lifting her face toward him with a finger under her chin. Roy's stomach clenched.

A cut above her right eye dribbled blood down to her jaw, a bruise was already spreading on her left cheekbone, and that Ice Queen bitch had nicked her neck. He scowled, free hand forming a fist, but she spoke before he could say a word. "No lasting damage done." When he opened his mouth to argue she continued, "This wasn't my first beating. I'll live."

"I don't understand, they're your people. Why do they treat you this way?"

"Those Drachmans are not my people," she vehemently rejoined, more anger and pain in her voice than he'd heard in their short time together. "These are my people. When my father died the Amestrians forced us to leave. We came to Drachma, to my mother's family, but soon Olivier began to suspect us of witchcraft. To prove it she had my throat slit, and took the fact that my mother was able to save me as evidence that we were witches." She pulled part of her dress aside to show him the scar. "Fortunately, the man she ordered to kill me was rather...fond of me. It could have been worse."

"A parting gift from a friend," he muttered, repeating the words that had seemed so strange before. With a slow exhalation he shook his head again, curling a few strands of hair behind her ear as he cupped her face, running his thumb over her uninjured cheek. "I am so sorry."

Riza's lips fell open slightly in response, her eyes flicking from his gaze down to his mouth and back. He saw her chest rise, her hand reaching for the one he still held at her cheek, fingers lightly grazing his skin. Wiping a little dirt from under her eye, he grinned, and then Gracia came walking in and announced, "I brought more wine. You'd run out." She slowly lowered his hand before releasing it, and there was a brief silence as the other woman observed them curiously. "If you'll excuse us, I need to treat the cut over her eye."

With an awkward nod Roy stood. "Right, of course." He tried to catch her eye, and she gave him a little smile before he left to offer any assistance that might be needed. He whiled away the time helping to fix what damage the Drachmans caused to various homes and, by the time he returned to the cottage, it was already midday. She looked up when he stepped inside and leaned his sword against the wall, filling a mug with tea and gesturing for him to join her at the table. He watched the steam rise for several seconds before asking, "Are you alright?"

She nodded and, when she spoke, her voice was softer than usual. "I'm fine."

He tore a chunk of bread from the loaf on the table, more to entertain his hands than to eat. "Why did you help us, knowing they'd see it as a betrayal?"

Riza watched him, the corners of her lips turning upward. "Because they have no claim upon my loyalty, I'll help whomever I like." She paused, stirring honey into her tea. "And because you're a good man. You don't deserve the death Olivier would give you."

He slowly slid the ring from his finger and, taking her hand, pressed it into her palm. "I'd like you to have it."

She shook her head. "I couldn't..."

"Please. As a reminder of how grateful I am." He held her hand momentarily. "We would not have survived without you."

She turned it around, and traced a finger over the band. "Thank you."

Afterward, they fell into their recently formed habit of sharing dinner, conversation, and a little wine. When they settled down to read he tried to force his eyes to follow the lines on the page, but more often than not they stole glances at the blonde. She looked lovely in the firelight and, though he had resolved to leave the next day, he knew a surprisingly large part of him dreaded leaving the peaceful village. Still, Roy had sworn to his men that he would do everything in his power to get them home, and he would not let them down.

To that end, he woke early the following morning and once more dressed in warm Drachman furs, since the frigid wind had not subsided even if the bulk of the storm had. The sun was bright, only the periodic snowflake flew on the breeze, and the improved weather gave him higher hopes. Just before their departure, Riza approached them in the center of town, handed him a satchel of food, and gave him a small smile. "Good luck, Amestrian."

"And to you, witch." He paused, slinging the bag over his shoulder. "Thank you. For everything." She responded with a silent nod and he turned to leave, Maes leading them toward the optimal path to the garrison. At the top of a nearby hill, he stopped a moment to look back, but she was already gone.

The first two days were comprised by an uncommonly tranquil run through the snow-covered woods, only interrupted by nightly breaks during which they slept fitfully and stretched the provisions as long as possible. To their dismay the huntress soon found their trail, and they spent the remainder of the trek to the garrison racing amongst trees, thoughts of hot meals and reinforcements keeping them moving. Their disappointment was indescribably acute when they reached an empty fort, with a hasty message scratched into the wall, informing them that General Levan's force had been ordered to fall back to a position ten miles further south. Roy picked up the charred leg of a stool, only to toss it away in frustration, while Fu vented his anger by slashing his sword at a wooden pylon.

From his position near the gate, utter defeat in his voice, Ling said, "We should move. They'll be coming."

"I'm sick of running." Hands on his hips, he perused the treeline and then faced his men. "And you?"

Fu nodded, brandishing the sword as emphasis. "I'm in the mood to kill a few Drachmans."

"Ling?"

The younger man shrugged. "Did I mention I hate running?"

The trio set about building what barricades they could, planning their most effective defense, and positioning in strategic places the weapons left behind by the garrison's previous occupants. Ling stood at a look-out post with a pile of spears, Roy at another with the lone bow and quiver of arrows, and Fu stood menacingly on the ground level, watching the unlatched doors and waiting for some unfortunate Drachman to enter. They were no sooner ready than their pursuers materialized on the dirt road, riding lazily to the fort.

The leader, who must have been the Ice Queen, drew a sword and the group spread out, all galloping toward the wooden garrison. Roy let out a loud whistle, his signal that the enemy was trying to flank them, and then shared a look with Ling, both men letting weapons fly simultaneously. His arrow found a Drachman chest even as the first horseman crashed into the square below. He continued to fire, the clash of blades ringing behind him with Fu engaged, and even began to feel hopeful until their youngest comrade received an arrow to the back. The enemy had found another way inside, climbing from horseback up the log-built walls and onto the second story walkway.

"Ling!" he shouted as the boy fell, loosing all his remaining arrows in quick succession and dropping three more attackers. Ripping his sword from its scabbard, he blocked one burly Drachman's spear, kicking him up against a pylon and running him through. A groan escaped him when an arrow lodged in his left upper arm and, wrenching his blade free, he snapped the arrow shaft. Racing toward the enemy archer, he dropped into a roll to avoid another projectile and, when he came to his feet, swiped at the bow with his weapon, taking the man's hand in the process. Once he'd spun away to dodge the Drachman's last ditch lunge with a dagger, he knocked the knife away and sliced open his gut.

Roy looked up just in time to see Fu finish of his third enemy, a shout of anger leaving him when a spear pierced the older man's side. Searching the small yard, he found the huntress and sprinted toward her, jumping down onto her horse and taking them both to the ground. She hopped to her feet, sword in hand, and he rolled away, scrambling for his blade and blocking three attacks while still trying to stand. He then swept a leg around to ruin her balance and, as he rolled over her, she landed a punch to his jaw, to which he replied by gripping her neck. They twisted onto his back, and he was forced to block her dagger with a hand, jaw clenching as the blade passed through his palm. He punched her in the temple, her head whipped to the side, and he quickly kicked her in the stomach to send her off him. Clambering to his feet, he slowly pulled the knife from his hand as he walked toward her, kneeing her in the head when she tried to stand.

Lifting her by the hair with one hand, he brought the weapon to her throat, and she glared up at him with icy blue eyes full of hatred. "Shit eating Amestrian. Burn in hell."

From nowhere she produced another blade, jamming it into his leg, and he grimaced, shoving the dagger into her neck and giving it an angry twist. Pulling out the weapon embedded in his thigh, he limped to both Fu and Ling in turn, finding no signs of life in either man. For a while he lay next to Ling's corpse, staring at the destruction around him and wondering what in hell he should do, where he should go. When only one truly desirable option occurred to him, he rose agonizingly to his feet and climbed onto the Ice Queen's horse, blood streaking up the animal's flanks.

Riza lay on the chilled ground and gazed up at a midnight sky dotted with white, distractedly spinning the gold and obsidian ring on her index finger. She had taken a walk to clear her mind, under the pretext of harvesting more mushrooms, even if it was not quite the middle of the night. In the days since the soldiers' departure, Gracia had been keeping a weather eye on her, as if expecting some powerful reaction. Her friend was convinced that she had witnessed 'something almost happen' and, while it was true she had enjoyed her time with Mustang, gotten to know him more than intended, she'd never been under any illusions. She always knew his visit would be short-lived.

With a sigh, she trudged down the hill, aware that Gracia was apt to send out a search party after what happened during her last solitary walk. She'd reached the trees, and was following the well-worn trail back to the cottages when the snap of a twig stiffened her spine. She reached for her knife, just able to discern a lone horse strolling through the woods, its rider slouched and swaying in the saddle. Her curiosity piqued she strode forward, smiling when she recognized the way the traveler's black hair stuck out in all directions.

He mumbled her name and dismounted clumsily, promptly listing to one side, and she raced toward him, reaching him just in time to support his weight before he dropped to the ground. Gripping his arm, her jaw dropped in horror when she felt an arrow shaft jutting from the skin, saw the gash on his thigh, the puncture wound through his hand. Her eyes grew wide in concern, and she partially turned to yell for help, hoping she was close enough to be heard. "Maes!"

Roy grabbed her hand, taking a raspy breath, and grinned when his finger ran over the ring. "You wore it." He cupped her face, a thumb grazing her cheek, and foregoing the previous hesitation, he kissed her softly. "I should have done that before."

"You're forgiven," she teased, solidifying her grip on him. "And you're back..." she added, the utterance somewhere between declaration and question.

He nodded. "To stay, if you'll have me."

"I suppose," Riza said, her lips curved as they rose laboriously to their feet. "Didn't I tell you not to ruin my good work?"

His chuckle swiftly turned into a groan. "No jokes, please." With her arm around his waist, and the horse's reins in her hand, they began the slow walk to the cottage, snow falling lightly around them.

Fin

AN: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed the story, and have a good one! :)