A/N: Okay, Faces, Places, and Memories needs an update and I promised some other oneshots first, but I lost my notebook a week ago. I finally gave up looking for it (I'm 85% sure my little brother took it- bet you he gives it back to me for an X-mas present), and I hate rewriting stories I already had written down- so that includes FPM chs 4 & 5, 7 FMA oneshots, and other assorted drabbles and oneshots. FPM ch 4, Snow Angels, and Alter Reality are going to be posted as soon as I can stop moping and rewrite them. But this is what happens when I am miserably sick, doped up on cold medicine, and depressed over the loss of my favourite fanfic notebook. Blame my muses Thalia and Asharina; they are being mean to me.
Disclaimer: Don't own.
BTW: Deathfic- but don't let that stop you. More of a history of Royai... Enough said.
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Ed's PoV:
Was it just three months ago? He pondered, gazing at the letter in his hand. It was a plain enough envelope- nothing special. White, crisp, the flap had obviously been carefully unfolded and refolded along the creases many times. The paper sticking out, neatly in thirds, wasn't out of place, either. The ink was blue. Indigo blue. Small, neat handwriting. Concise, a hint of a curl in the 'y's. No, it was what the front of the letter's package said. 'Roy' was spelled out in the same handwriting that could be found on dozens of the colonel's other office things. No title, no surname though. Just 'Roy'. The date- three months ago, the day before Mustang initiated rebellion. A lump formed in the blond alchemist's throat as he carefully slid the paper out with a metal hand. Maybe- maybe someone else should open it first, see it before he did. No, the torn seal and the folds bent both ways plainly showed the letter, like the envelope, had been carefully preserved, its contents obviously of great importance. The way it had been carefully stuffed at the very bottom of Mustang's office drawer, placed almost reverently among dusty scotch bottles and out-of-date reports, a few not-so-new bottles smelling of whiskey placed on top.
The state alchemist could dimly hear the rest of Mustang's group outside- the smells of an in-office lunch wafted in. Why was I the one unlucky enough to pull the sort straw and have to clean out Mustang's drawers? he asked the slowly forming icicles outside. Because, the icicles answered, you know the others are too torn up to do anything about it. He sighed. It was true- the others had been drifting around HQ like lost souls lately. Since three months ago. Maybe the mysterious letter- maybe it could help them. Himself included.
He unfolded the worn out piece of paper.
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Dear Roy, it read,
I don't really know what I'm trying to say here. Just a few things, really- a few things that I feel need to be said before tomorrow. I know that the only reason this letter will ever be found- I will put it in the 'top secret' envelope- is if someone other than me is cleaning out my desk. And I know no one will have any reason to do that unless I'm not there to do it myself. If I'm not coming back.
If I die.
There, i said it. I know what's going to happen tomorrow, Roy. I know what I'm- what we're- risking. I know I might not live. And if I die tomorrow, I want it to be so you can live. You're the country's hope, Roy Mustang- so much more important than me. I'll be proud if tomorrow I have to, if I ever have to, take a bullet for you. It would be my choice. To die for something I believe in. Don't blame yourself, Roy. Please.
The night before you arrived at my father's house to learn alchemy, it stormed. I was eight. I had made my father dinner, done my chores, done my homework, told him to go to bed, and gone to bed myself. I realized that something was going to happen. I looked out my window- the shutters were broken until you fixed them, remember?- and saw, all of a sudden, a clear patch of sky. In the middle of the storm. With a single star, a star forming part of Orpheus's lyre. Do you remember the star poem? The one my father taught me, about a year before he went insane.
Star Light,
Star Bright,
First star I see tonight,
I wish I may,
I wish I might,
Have the wish I wish tonight.
"Please, stars, can I have a purpose in life?"
The next day, you showed up, standing there unannounced on my father's doorstep. I knew it wasn't a coincidence. Or rather, I was hopeful it wasn't a coincidence. But I don't think I decided to believe in you then. I guess I came to gradually believe in you over the years, as you studied alchemy under my father. I decided to believe in your dream, however idealistic and improbable it may be, later. When my father dies and i showed you the array he tattooed on my back. I decided to follow you and help you in any way possible when you left.
Don't blame yourself for anything, Roy. I told you a million times, I know what I'm doing. I've made my choices.
However, for your plan to succeed, well, "Please don't die." I said that so many times in my head- only twice aloud to you, right? Once when you left me for for the military, once when I was taken away from you. "Please don't die." There, now I've said it three times. But each time I had to follow you, to make sure you didn't die.
So I followed you to Ishval. I realized I might die for the dream the first time I killed an Ishvallan, stranded in my lonely sniper tower. I realized we all might die for the dream when I contemplated killing you for what you had done with my father's alchemy. That wasn't part of the dream... But at the same time, I am willing to die, if it means you will succeed.
Chess, right? The game all you military men love so much? Some pieces must be sacrificed to win the game. The King must prevail at all costs. The King has to keep going. The King can't ever give up. Ever, Roy. Keep going. Even if I die.
Oh, and Havoc, Hughes (Before he died, I'm not insane! Am I?), Grumman, hell, everyone told me... Well, I might as well stop dancing around the other reason I wrote this... I might just be shamelessly flattering myself here, but they- they told me you love me back. If you do-
Please don't die. Wasn't your lucky number four a long time ago? Or five? Please don't die, Roy. Keep going, keep moving.
Hughes once told me you tried to kill yourself. Twice. Twice! Do you know how much that scared me? Goddammit, Roy Mustang, If we live through tomorrow I swear I will do two things- one, I will slap you as hard as I can for scaring the hell out of me like that. Two, I will tell you. Tell you what I should have told you long ago. That I love you and will follow you till the end. Or death. Whichever comes first. So either way, after tomorrow you will know.
Whatever happens, Roy, if I die protecting you, it was my choice.
Not your fault. Please don't die. There, six times I've said that to you.
Ed told me that the homunculi plan to use me to get to you, to get you to see the gate. So Roy- I don't care what you think- if I die, don't try to bring me back. DON'T. You'll die, too, then, and you know it. Either die in the attempt or die when they sacrifice you. Please don't die. Seven. I will do my best not to let you die tomorrow.
I love you,
Riza.
Ed swallowed the lump in his throat and slipped the letter- the confession- back into the envelope. He'd show it to the others, then... burn it, maybe. Commit it to memory, then incinerate it and scatter it over Roy and Riza's graves. (Oh, c'mon, you knew that one was coming.)
Ed walked out into the front office and placed the envelope on the table, in front of the remnants of the now-cold lunch. In front of the remnants of Mustang's loyal brigade.
"Look." His voice cracked on the single word.
Havoc reached for the envelope and opened it. Clearing his throat, the lieutenant began to read aloud...
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Feury put down the letter- Havoc had collapsed halfway through. Tears streaming down their faces, Mustang's brigade paid silent homage to their fallen comrades.
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They'd done it, it was true- Amestris a democracy, the homunculi overthrown, minimal losses, only 64 dead overall.
~Riza Hawkeye died 27 minutes after sustaining severe bullet wounds to the chest and arm. She took three bullets for her superior officer, Roy Mustang. Mustang survived the battle, uninjured except for a knife graze on one arm. He became severely depressed and one month later committed suicide, discovered dead in his apartment. He apparently attempted human transmutation, the failed attempt leaving the Colonel to die instantly, his heart taken in equivalent exchange.~
That was the official story. Of course, many urban legends, of a sort, grew around the story. The way Mustang never let go of his dying Lieutenant, the way she had to be pried from his arms long after she was dead. The way the hour before he killed himself he finally cleaned out Riza's desk. The way he had curiously misinterpreted the circle- exchanging the latin for 'set me free' with the latin translation of 'set her free'.
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Review, please. I love to hear what you think. Did anyone catch the Orpheus reference? He went to Hades, the land of the dead, to get his love back, then lost her on the way out. I like my new ending better- in the original draft, the final paragraph was quite different. As for the numbers, the number 64 is a not-so-wonderful puke-esque colour, 27 a nice indigo. that was my only reason for choosing them.