Chapter Text
Her father’s dying words had been, “Don’t you dare let my secrets fall into the wrong hands.” Which Riza is fairly certain is the closest she will ever get to a profession of love or pride from the man. That’s why she’s not crying; at least, that’s what she tells herself as she stands in the hall for his wake.
She hasn’t gone to see his corpse yet, even with the open casket. She doesn’t see a point really; she’d been with him as he died and she’d helped set up this whole sham of an event, so frankly, she’s had enough of looking at him. This event that she didn’t even want to have had taken up more of her time and energy than she wanted to admit. His stupid attorney had insisted that this is what Berthold wanted, as was stipulated in his will - Riza would have to disagree with that assertion.
Afterall, this wholly unnecessary funeral not only invited strangers into their home but sucked up what remained of her father’s money. After debts, funeral costs, and the grave plot were paid for, there was hardly a handful of cens left for her. Not that she could say for certain one way or another if her father had anticipated such a high attendance for his wake.
She’s shocked by the amount of people who have shown up to pay their respects. Berthold Hawkeye, the recluse who barely left the house in the past decade, apparently had friends all over the country and now they’re all here gawking at how fragile he looks as a corpse.
“I can’t imagine how painful his last few years must have been.”
“He must have truly suffered.”
“A brilliant mind gone too soon.”
“Do we know what took him in the end?”
“Doesn’t even have family by his side.”
“Didn’t you hear? That’s his daughter over there.”
“And where’s her mother?”
“Dead long before her time.”
“Poor thing.”
She shuffles from her post by the door, away from the commentary from men she’s never met who must, at least in part, know how tragic her life has been. It’s tragic that she has been locked in this house alone with a man obsessed with his research for the last thirteen years of her life. Fourteen, really; in two weeks she’ll be fourteen and she’s fairly certain that means she will never get the chance to have a proper family.
Orphans are already unwanted, teenage orphans might as well be plague incarnate - something to be avoided at all costs. She’ll go from being unwanted by a father to being a burden on society. She wonders if she’ll be able to survive in an orphanage for four years or if she’ll be joining her parents in an early grave.
“I see we’re lost in thought.” An older man with a kind smile approaches her.
Riza flicks her gaze up to him and nods. “I hope you’ll understand, funerals are the types of events that call for solemnity.”
“Indeed they are,” he concedes. “Would you mind if I stood and thought beside you?”
She gestures to an empty section of wall for him.
“It’s quite a thing of beauty, is it not? To see all the people whose lives we touch gather together to say goodbye.”
“I’m not sure if I’d call it beautiful… but the gesture is appreciated,” Riza says, clasping her hands in front of her.
“Your father was a force of nature to be sure,” the man says quietly.
“I take it you were an old friend of his,” she responds conversationally.
“Hardly,” he chuckles. “But he did have a profound impact on my life.”
“May I ask in what way?” She mutters the question as her eyes glance up toward a group of soldiers entering the hall. An odd thing considering her father abhorred the military and refused to work with them so fervently that he moved the two of them to a remote village as far west as he could manage.
“Well, he made me a grandfather for one,” he says, flashing her a smile.
“I’m sorry?” she asks.
“Took my daughter right out from under me, whisked her off to the mountains where he sired a daughter of his own, and then he died. Quite the impact, wouldn’t you agree?” He’s still smiling, though much softer now as he gently pats her arm.
“You… you’re teasing me.”
“I assure you I’m not.”
“General Grumman, sir.” One of the soldiers salutes him and Riza’s heart lurches in her chest. Isn’t General Grumman a titan of a man? Isn’t he a war hero? A man like that can’t possibly be her grandfather… right? “A message from Central Command for you.”
Grumman sighs, “Oh not now, I’m in the middle of a family reunion.”
“It’s from the Führer, sir.” The soldier looks deeply unsettled and it puts Riza on her guard.
“Tell him I’ll call him back,” he responds with a flippant wave of the hand.
“But-”
“You have your orders, Sergeant.” The terse snip of his voice causes the soldier to fumble with a salute before turning away. A laugh falls out of Grumman’s lips and he mutters something about family she doesn’t quite hear.
“Are you making fun of me, sir?” Riza manages to ask.
“Hm? Oh no, of course not.” Grumman turns to her with a blissfully ignorant smile.
Riza chuckles in response, “Are you certain?”
“You are my Lydia’s child, I wouldn’t lie about such a thing.” Grumman takes her hand and squeezes it. Riza pauses as she processes that, he knows her mother’s name. How does he know her mother’s name?
She’ll be the first to admit she’s on her guard, that she is looking for motive behind the eyes of every man who comes to speak to her. This man, however, doesn’t look at her with curiosity - he looks at her with kindness in his eyes. He is trying to placate her, he’s trying to put her at ease. It almost makes her more skittish.
“You… you’re my mother’s father… I don’t believe it.”
He looks at her with such tenderness that she finds herself doubtful of her words.
“I’ve been trying to meet you for quite some time, unfortunately the deceased told me if I were to attempt a visit I’d make it back to Central in a body bag.”
“Well that’s… aggressive,” Riza says, breathless and disbelieving.
“I thought so too,” Grumman laughs. “I can’t fault a man for being protective of his family, but I can be bitter about it.”
“Which I take it you are.”
“Clever girl.” His eyes gleam with a teasing light. He's still holding her hand and for a moment she feels warm inside.
Then she remembers herself and takes her hand from his. “So, I assume that you came to dance on his grave?”
He laughs, “Hardly, though I like the way you think. I came to retrieve you, dear.”
“Retrieve me?”
“Well, knowing your father, I doubt he remembered to list a guardian for you in his will.”
Riza bites her lip and drops her gaze to her shoes. He hadn’t listed a guardian for her; his will only outlined where assets would go and that all of his research be left to her. Most of his research is in shambles now, incomprehensible notes that are meant to deceive. Riza knows the truth and her spine prickles as she thinks about it.
“I’m sorry, it must have been… all of this must be difficult,” Grumman says. “But I hope… I hope that knowing you still have some family will bring you a bit of comfort.”
“So you… you want me to come live with you? Even though father didn’t put me under your protection?” Riza asks.
“I would very much like for you to come live with me in East City,” Grumman smiles at her. “If you find that amenable.”
“You would let me choose between your home or an orphanage?” She looks at him, partially stunned and partially disbelieving.
Grumman is plainly surprised by that. “An orphanage… I had assumed he would have put you in contact with someone else… maybe a girl’s school or… you mean to say he left you with no plan at all?”
Riza nods. “I… I suppose that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
There’s a stormy look that overcomes the man before her. Even with his smaller stature, (the two of them are around the same height, after all, though he might be an inch or two shorter than her) he gives off a profound presence. She remembers that soldier called him General and his military training shows in the way he stands. He looks like a man who commands respect and she has to wonder why her father didn’t respect him.
He swallows whatever he wants to say, and instead takes in a deep breath as he comes back to Earth. “Well, Riza… I would still very much like for you to consider coming to live with me. I know I have never been a grandfather to you. But I hope… I would like to have the chance to be your family.”
There’s a lapse in their conversation then, him looking at her and her looking at the room filled with people she knows nothing about. All of these people that her father could have left her to, all of these people who took a train to the middle of nowhere to say goodbye. It all feels precarious, maybe even a little nefarious as she wonders what these people were hoping to find.
What they were hoping to gain might be the better question.
“Thank you… General. I would like some time, if you don’t mind… to think on that.” She says it methodically, scanning the room for any sign of something untoward. People are commenting on the derelict nature of the estate, how it must have fallen into disrepair when Berthold got sick.
People are looking into the little glass bowl that has been her home for the past decade. Her father’s estate, a lonely little burrow that once felt like a prison now feels like a display case. This once unassuming place is full and it sets the hair on the back of her neck to attention.
“I think I can understand that, all of this… all of this must be very overwhelming,” he muses, following her gaze to the other attendees.
“It’s almost time for the procession. I will… speak to you later.” She curtsies to him and walks over to the casket.
The hall has cleared some to make way for the pallbearers, though nobody stops her from approaching her father. Berthold’s features are sunken and gray; his visage does not shock her at all. In his last few months of life he had been quite ill and colorless. His hair has already begun to fall out, and the coroner had to sew his mouth and eyes shut to make him presentable for the wake. He looks unchanged from the day he died, when he made Riza swear to keep his secrets.
She wishes she could speak to him now as they close up his casket to begin the procession. She may not have loved her father, but she cannot bring herself to hate him, much as she wishes she could.
In her mind she asks him why he left her; why he didn’t leave her a guardian; why he never bothered to tell her that her grandfather wanted to be in her life; why he never told her so many people knew about him and his research; why he never warned her that so many people would be vying for his secrets. She can make excuses for him, in fact, she thinks she should make excuses for him, but this time she won’t.
General Grumman does not go to the cemetery with the procession, whatever business the Führer had for him must be important. She watches the casket fill his grave, and she still hasn’t shed a tear for him; she’s starting to wonder if she ever will.
It’ll rain soon, and her father must be furious about that wherever souls go in the afterlife. He hated the rain, it made his alchemy useless; and useless was the worst thing a human could be, in his eyes. It was his favorite insult to throw around, especially when she was in his way.
She waits by his grave until everyone else is gone, and feels herself sinking into the earth as the humidity grows around her. It’s buggy and hot as she stares at his headstone: All becomes none and the world spins on. His epitaph was just as pretentious as he had been; if it were up to her she’d have left the stone as barren as his life.
His life had amounted to nothing, he died alone with a child who feared him, and worst of all he left behind a dangerous alchemy that Riza is convinced can never be used. How is she meant to think fondly of a man who was pathetic, through and through. Pathetic, that’s the only word she can think of to describe him.
“Miss Riza? Are you alright?” She turns towards the hearse driver. The vehicle is still parked at the entrance of the cemetery and he looks at her sadly.
“I am, thank you.”
“Can I give you a lift back home?” he asks quietly.
She looks back to her father’s grave, biting the inside of her lip as she thinks. In spite of everything, her father would not have wanted her to suffer, she believes that. Maybe it’s because she feels like she has to believe it, or maybe somewhere in the beyond her father isn’t angry about the rain, he’s just wracked with worry over what will become of her. Regardless, she looks at the driver and smiles.
“Actually… can you take me into town?”
The General wears a righteous scowl as he marches into town hall. This podunk village has the only phone in a one hundred mile radius and of fucking course the Führer just happens to know exactly which number needs to be dialed to harass him. And after he finds out that his horrible good-for-nothing son-in-law expected his daughter to find her own way in the world without a guardian or a school to attend or even the name of a friend…Incompetence abound, it seems.
The General aggressively picks up the phone; “Grumman.”
“Ah, there you are, General. I assumed you’d keep me waiting longer,” Führer Bradley chuckles into the receiver.
“A man deserves a day off every now and then, wouldn’t you agree, sir?”
“I certainly do, and I expect you’ll put in for plenty of leave time once you return to Central with your granddaughter in tow.”
Grumman takes a measured breath in an attempt to not betray his surprise. “I take it that means my orders have changed, then, sir. I anticipated returning to East City.”
“I believe that raising a young girl in our beloved Capital is preferable to the volatile East, wouldn’t you agree?” A false sincerity leaks into Führer Bradley’s words.
“I agree that Central is the pinnacle of safety, sir,” Grumman answers.
“Excellent. I think we could use more like-minded thinkers like ourselves here in Central Command, General. And of course, your promotion has been a long time coming.”
He stills in response. “I see.”
“I look forward to meeting that granddaughter of yours. Hopefully she has half the patriotism that you embody. Riza sounds like a wonderful young lady.”
“Thank you, sir.” Grumman hears the Führer hang up and he slowly lowers the phone in his hand. Of course Bradley wants to meet his granddaughter; everyone and their mother wants to get their claws into her. After speaking with her, Grumman is more certain than ever that Berthold figured it out.
Flame alchemy could be the difference between winning and losing this war, and that jackass had to be a thorn in his side even in death. His men had been searching that derelict house since the wake began and there wasn’t a single clue as to how Berthold had accomplished his alchemic masterpiece. All that was left of his research was the daughter he had actively neglected.
That man had every intention of letting Riza slip between the cracks, letting her loose so that no one, not even the military, would be able to find her. The bastard would damn the girl to a life of poverty and loneliness all to protect his precious research.
Damn that man. Grumman hopes he’s burning in hell.
“General Grumman?”
“What?” he snaps at his subordinate.
“Uh- sorry, sir, but Miss Riza Hawkeye has been asking about you. She’s currently waiting for you at the station.”
Grumman power walks out of town hall and right to the train station. His granddaughter is nearly a woman now; he knows that she’s likely grown as much as she ever will, but he can’t help but think she looks particularly small and skittish as she twiddles her thumbs on a sorry excuse for a bench right by the tracks.
“Hello, my dear. I’m surprised to see you already.” He smiles at her.
She looks up at him and he is suddenly taken aback by the light in her eyes. She has Lydia’s eyes; they were Maria’s eyes before they were hers, and that thought sparks a fondness in his chest beyond measure. If she has bits of her mother and grandmother, perhaps she has bits of him within her as well.
“I know I said I’d think on it… but I’d very much like it if I could come stay with you, General.”
Anxiety and excitement bubble to the surface of his mind; he lets out a laugh in response. “Well, Riza, if we’re going to be roommates I would much prefer it if you call me Grandpa.”
Part of him wants her to scowl at him and tell him to fuck off. He thinks he deserves that, after everything he’s done, after everything he’s had to do as a soldier… he doesn’t think he deserves a second shot at family. Moreover, he doesn’t want Bradley anywhere near her, he doesn’t want anyone to know that she’s a Hawkeye or that she’s related to him in any way.
He wants her safe; he doesn't want to drag her into his world of secrecy and war. Yet, there is a selfish part of him that wants the chance to know her. His beautiful granddaughter who carries the grace and dignity of her maternal ancestors in such a way it’s like she wears their ghosts. He wants the best for her and for the first time in his life he isn’t sure what best looks like.
“We can start with Grandfather and negotiate as I see fit.” She wears a serious expression as her hands grip at the fabric of her skirt to anchor herself.
Grumman stalls for a moment; he sees more Maria than Lydia in her intense gaze, and he can’t help but laugh.
“You drive a hard bargain, Miss. Very well, Grandfather it is.” Grumman holds out his hand to her and she shakes it with a strength he hadn’t expected.
“Do I need to buy my own ticket to get to East City?”
“Heavens no,” Grumman laughs again. “The train back leaves in the evening, do you have your things in order, dear?”
“My bag is packed at home, didn’t have much of anything to take with me, even when I thought I was going to an orphanage,” she admits with a sheepish smile.
“Well then, I’ll send one of my soldiers to go grab it and the two of us can get something to eat. How’s that sound?”
She bites her lip and glances around nervously, uncertain if she can accept such a kindness.
“Consider it my first bid to get promoted from Grandfather to Grandpa.” He winks at her, giving her permission to agree.
“I suppose I have no choice.”
“I can drive a bargain half as well as you when I please.” Grumman offers her his arm.
Despite the uncertainty of the peace between them, Grumman is without a doubt relieved that Riza accepted his offer. This is a second chance, for both of them, and he isn’t going to waste it.
“So, Riza, perhaps you could tell me a bit about yourself,” he prompts her as he flags over one of his soldiers.
“Like what?” she asks once the man is given his instructions.
“Anything you like. Hobbies, interests, what’s your favorite subject in school?”
She bites her lip nervously, “I don’t go to school… not really. Father insisted on private lessons with him.”
“And I take it you didn’t appreciate that,” he says softly.
“I-... I suppose not. I’m not sure if I would have enjoyed going to school… I like to think I would have,” she admits.
“Well, I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. I have every intention of enrolling you in a very fine school when we get to Central.”
She cocks her head at him. “I thought you said you live in East City?”
“I split my time between both. I’d hate to brag but your grandfather here is quite important in the military.” He lies so easily that Riza doesn’t even flinch. “I typically spend my summers in the East but I recently had a reassignment to Central. Which I believe is a bit of serendipity; there’s a lovely girls academy in Central that I think would be a wonderful introduction to your school years.”
She smiles at that. She has always wanted to go to school. “Do you have a home in Central then?”
“I do indeed, I should let the staff know that we’ll be returning sooner than expected.” He opens the door to one of the only restaurants in town and gestures for her to enter before him.
“What’s the city like?” she asks with wide, innocent eyes.
“It’s beautiful really; bright, colorful, lively with people from all walks of life.” He goes into great detail about the park near his town house - how it’s filled with children and street performers on weekends, and how much he enjoys the nature path nearby. He learns she likes hunting and horses, apparently she’s been weidling guns since she was old enough to hold one, and she’s got the prettiest smile.
She learns that her grandfather is goofy, he likes to laugh and tease her, but she also sees an edge of cunning to it. She doesn’t think he’s putting on a front for her, but she does think there’s more to him than meets the eye. He’s trying to convince her to get a little dessert when their table is approached by a pair of scientists.
“Excuse me, we hope we aren’t interrupting anything,” one of them says with a polite smile. “But we overheard you mentioning Master Hawkeye. You wouldn’t happen to be his daughter, would you?”
Riza feels a curl of unease in her chest as she nods. “I am, yes.”
“My deepest condolences, Miss Hawkeye, what a terrible thing to go through at your age,” the other says. “Might I ask how you’re faring in all this?”
“I’m coping as well as I can, thank you,” she says with a tight smile.
“And have you any place to go? Now that your father has passed on I imagine you’re in a bit of an unfortunate predicament,” he asks. The question is laced with ill-intent and it makes Riza shudder.
“While we appreciate your concern, sir, her grandfather has ensured she is more than well cared for.” Said grandfather stands from his seat; even with his height he is an imposing figure. Especially when he just barely flashes the gun strapped to his belt at them, careful to be sure that Riza doesn’t see the weapon.
The man’s eyes widen; “Oh how fortunate!”
“We are deeply relieved that you are going to be well looked after, Miss, our sincere condolences.” The other man grabs at his partner’s arm and the two of them scurry away.
“Um… grandfather?” Riza watches as Grumman continues to scowl at the retreating figures.
“Sorry, dear, I have no tolerance for their kind.” Grumman straightens his coat before taking a seat.
“Scientists you mean?” she manages to tease him.
Grumman notices the glint in her eye; she’s not unaware of the scoundrels who want to take advantage of her, then. He finds himself smiling proudly at her.
“Exactly. Blasted scientists always trying to insert themselves where they have no business being!”
“Isn’t that the point of being a scientist? To ask questions and get the answers?” She challenges him.
“Ah, right you are. Still, they make for terrible house guests. Always asking questions they shouldn’t be." He orders her a slice of pecan pie and a cup of coffee for himself when the waitress returns. He thinks she deserves it, that bright little girl who he is more anxious than ever to learn and understand.
He tells his subordinates to call the house in Central to inform them of their pending arrival. When he asks Riza if she has anyone to say goodbye to she chuckles in response.
“I don’t think anyone knows my name here, let alone anyone worth saying goodbye to.” She responds so easily it almost doesn’t break his heart to hear it.
“Is there anything you’ll miss about this place?” he asks.
She purses her lips as she thinks. “Only… only the sunsets.”
“The sunsets?”
“Yeah.” She turns towards the mountain range where, in perhaps an hour or two, the sun will dip from the sky. “At just the right angle… the sun barely slips through the mountains and there’s these beautiful streaks of color; they’re called crepuscular rays and they’re so pretty it’s like… father used to say that it was like god or mom or whatever you believe in is drawing a line between the heavens and earth.”
Grumman’s gaze is soft on her as she speaks and she recoils a bit when she notices his expression. “Sorry, I got a bit carried away. Father always said I run my mouth when I get excited. It’s unbecoming of a young lady and-”
“Perish the thought, you deserve some enthusiasm in your life and may I add that excitement is a healthy feeling. I look for it all the time,” he laughs. “Your father’s seriousness was far and away one of his worst qualities. I hope you will not allow his poor choices to affect your joy.”
Her gaze shifts to her shoes as she nods. “Well… anyway, I won’t miss much, but the sunsets are spectacular.”
“Then I suggest we find a good place to view it, wouldn’t you agree?”
She nods, glancing around for a good spot to see the phenomena. The clouds have rolled away without a deluge and the waning hour means sunset is close at hand.
“How good are you at climbing?” she asks teasingly.
“Better than I might appear,” he snickers.
She leads him to one of the more derelict buildings in the area. There’s hardly anyone walking around town - Riza explains that the earlier poor weather probably kept many people stuck in their homes. She takes him to the old market district and the pair of them climb into the decomposing loft of the old station house in the freight yard. True to his word, Grumman is more spry than his stature might suggest, though his knees crunch in such a way that he is brutally reminded of his age.
They plop down next to each other on the edge of the exposed loft; the wall has crumbled away (or perhaps it was knocked out by unruly teens looking to destroy something) and left a perfect place to overlook the town.
They have made it just in time; Riza smiles as she sees the slivers of light she described peeking through the mountains. To Grumman it’s adorably rudimentary, just some streaks of sunlight streaming across an orange sky - something he has seen thousands of times before. Then he looks at her and something stirs within him.
She looks so innocent bathed in warm light; her eyes are almost the color of a good cognac and her face is devoid of any unease or anxiety. She sits at the perfect angle for the light to bend around her head in such a way that she looks like she’s wearing a halo. For a moment, his granddaughter looks like an angel; he feels a tug in his gut to wrap her up in his arms and squeeze her to his chest.
He refrains from doing so, however, as she turns to him with an excited smile.
“See, look!” And she points towards where the light curves at the perfect angle to form a rainbow.
“Stunning,” he chuckles fondly.
“Do they have sunsets like this in Central?” she asks, returning her gaze to the pink and orange sky.
“Not quite, they’re different but beautiful in their own way.”
A stretch of silence falls on their shoulders, Grumman glances at the girl just to be certain she’s still smiling. She is smiling but she also looks tired.
“Those men earlier… they were looking for my father’s research weren’t they?” she asks quietly.
“I believe they were, yes,” He agrees.
“At the beginning of the wake a man asked me if I had any interest in alchemy. I said no and he tried to convince me that my father’s casket had alchemic symbols on it, but I know he was lying.” She clutches at the edge of the wood beneath her. “Please be honest with me, did you come here because of my father’s research?”
Grumman holds in the devastated sigh that forms in the back of his throat. “No, dear, I didn’t.”
“You mean to tell me that the military doesn’t want flame alchemy?”
“I didn’t say that,” he says tentatively. “I have been… I wanted to meet you, Riza, long before your father died.”
“Did you really stay away because you thought he’d kill you?” she asks.
“I did.”
“You thought he’d use flame alchemy to do it?”
“I had my suspicions he might.”
“My father was a pacifist, he wouldn’t have hurt you,” she says rather confidently.
“When a man’s family is threatened they will do unspeakable things,” Grumman says quietly.
“Is that why he didn’t like you? Did you do unspeakable things?”
He wants to smile at her; she really is a clever curious little thing. “It wasn’t that, it was my position in the military he hated.”
She looks back at the bright colors of the sky - reds and pinks cascading through the heavens - she remembers the last time her father had used flame alchemy. The way the fire danced between them, how the scent of smoke filled her lungs and how bright the light had been.
“Don’t look away, Riza,” her father had demanded harshly. “Don’t look away. Remember how horrible this feels, and you aren’t even inside that flame. Imagine what that would be like, what burning alive would feel like. That would be their fate, hundreds of thousands of people’s final moments in a blaze that painful. Commit that feeling to memory, and don’t you dare ever give this secret away.”
“Did you love your father, Riza?” Grumman asks, his voice hardly above a whisper.
She takes in a stuttering breath to calm her beating heart, “no.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“So if you didn’t want my father’s alchemy… did you really come for me?” The question is so timid it sounds like she is asking it against her will. Like she doesn’t want to hear the answer and it breaks Grumman’s heart to hear how meek she sounds.
“I came here because even without knowing you, I know I love you,” he says.
It’s a genuine response and it hurts her more than a rejection would have. “Then why did you leave me with him for all those years?”
“I don’t have a good answer. I wish I did. I hope… I hope you will let me atone for leaving you all this time.” He feels something thick lodge in his throat as he holds out his hand to her, waiting to see if she’ll respond in kind.
She looks at it, just barely holding back tears. “I don’t know anything, I don’t have his secrets, I won’t be useful to you.”
“I don’t care about alchemy, not one bit. You’re my family, Riza, I want to give you a home. I don’t expect anything in return for that.”
In that moment it feels like the rays of light separate them, a wall that if she so chose would remain between them. She isn’t certain he believes her lie, she isn’t certain that she should have lied at all, but he is an honest man. In so far as his proposition goes, he does want to give her a home. He did protect her against those horrible scientists from earlier.
More than anything, Riza wants to believe that she deserves a family, and where better to start than the one right in front of her?
She takes his hand and looks back towards the light; the sun is lower now, those streaks of light are weakened in the distance as a dusky purple begins to coat the mountain tops.
“Is the train ride to Central long?” She sniffs, trying to keep her tears behind her eyes.
Grumman feels relief settle in his chest. “Unfortunately yes, nearly fourteen hours, but I’ve slept in worse places than those trains. Having seen your home I’m certain you have too.”
He pulls her into his arms and pecks her forehead as she lets out a sob. There’s an unspoken sentiment in the interaction; he gives her a promise in that quiet - I will take care of you - and she responds with a smaller acceptance - I trust you - in her weeping.
Twilight truly settles on their shoulders while they sit in solemn silence, and he watches the last of those crude rays or whatever she called them fade away. He offers her a handkerchief and suggests they get to the station. She nods and helps him stand from the edge of the loft when he struggles to do it alone.
They make it just in time for their train, the two of them sitting in one of the first carts with the seats facing one another and a table between them. Grumman’s subordinates leave him with a few reports of their findings - they have apparently brought every last document in that house with them in the cargo hold.
Riza falls asleep with her cheek against the window, and Grumman is once again struck by how young she is. He’s surprised by how young and how aware she is of everyone’s bullshit. She knows she’s a valuable commodity and he hates that she is so guarded. Moreover, he hates that he couldn’t protect her from her father.
He wonders if anyone could have saved her - certainly if anyone could have it would be a General in the greatest military power on earth. He hadn’t even tried too hard when Berthold was alive to see his granddaughter. Now he sees the consequences of his own neglect; she’s timid and broken - a little girl who spent her childhood unloved and knowing she was unloved.
He doesn’t even care that she lied to him, he just wants to coddle her a bit. He’ll have to teach her how to be a bit more secretive in the future, but for now he wants to protect her. He wants more than anything to set things right and give her a future as bright as those sunsets she loves.
He isn’t sure what lies ahead for her, but he knows that no matter what happens, from now on he’ll always have him in her corner. No matter what comes.
Central is big, she knew it would be. While her education was not formalized she was constantly surrounded by books. She’s read about the Capital, knows all about its exports, its geography, its claims to fame - but knowing a city is home to 1.65 million souls in only 200 square miles of land is very different from seeing it with her own eyes. She knows she’s gawking at the landscape and the grandeur of the skyline, but she doesn’t care. It’s more beautiful than any text described.
Over those first few days Riza’s grandfather takes her all throughout the city showing her landmarks, parks, shops, and the school she’ll be attending in the fall. He buys her new clothes, properly fitting clothes that the housekeeper insists are very fashionable for young ladies these days; he takes her to the shooting range and glows with pride when he sees how good a shot she is; he even introduces her to his secretaries who tease him about how cute it is to see him with her.
On her fourteenth birthday he’s scheduled to attend a semi-annual military ball. He had told her she’d be alone for the evening, but the day before he had informed her that the Führer himself insisted Riza attend the event. She didn’t like the idea of attending a ball, but she wasn’t about to defy an order from the most powerful man in the country.
She wears a baby blue dress with frills and bows that she is almost completely certain her grandfather chose because it screams innocence. She thinks that wily old man knows that anyone who looks at her will see a docile child and not the daughter of the highly coveted flame alchemist.
They’ve only lived together for nine days but Riza and Grumman have figured out each other’s tune. The pair of them can harmonize in their words and actions so seamlessly it’s like they’ve known each other all their lives.
She’s never worn anything so finely made, let alone a dress with a bustle - slim as it might be - and she feels utterly out of her depth as she plays with her gloves.
“So even soldiers have to go to balls, like in the fairytales that father said were a bunch of hogwash,” she chuckles as her grandfather settles in the car.
“Seems like it,” he chuckles back, patting her leg.
“Do you think I could be a solider one day?” she asks.
“No,” he says without missing a beat.
“Why not?” she laughs with the question.
“Ladies don’t join the military,” Grumman says.
“Colonel Armstrong is a lady and she’s in the military.”
“Colonel Armstrong doesn’t count, she’s a force of nature not a lady.”
“But she comes from nobility so she is a lady.”
“You won’t need to join the military, dearest. By the time you’re old enough to enlist there won’t be a military because we’ll have achieved world peace.” He’s teasing but he wants her to drop the subject.
She considers continuing to bait him but they are suddenly in a line of cars approaching the Führer’s home, and she’s struck with the grandeur of it all once more.
“You won’t need to worry about dancing tonight, dear, as long as you stick with me or to the sides of the ballroom you’ll be fine. We’ll leave right after dinner so we won’t be out too long.”
“It’s… beautiful,” she says, watching in awe as the lights in the presidential home flick on. Dusk is settling quickly and the warm hum of street lamps coming to light still catches her off guard. Grumman takes her hand and squeezes it, admiring the way she continues to be gobsmacked by the city.
They are welcomed into the house and she immediately feels dwarfed by it all. There are large chandeliers and an expansive dance floor that hosts hundreds of decorated officers. It should feel crowded, there are more people in this room than the whole of her village back in the west but there’s plenty of room to mill about.
She clings to her grandfather’s arm as he takes her over to a few of his comrades; she vaguely knows their faces though their names escape her. She knows that people are whispering about her, she just wonders what sorts of things are being said of her.
“Do you think you’ll be alright for a moment, Riza?” her grandfather asks nearly an hour into the event. “I have to take care of something, but you can go to the car if you’re uncomfortable.”
She feels a burning of nervous energy in her chest as she smiles at him. “I’ll be fine. I can’t leave before seeing the Führer, afterall.”
“I will be right back.” He squeezes her hand as he follows one of his colleagues.
She adjusts her hair briefly and then she takes a turn around the perimeter of the ballroom; she figures if she walks with enough purpose no one will try to stop her for a conversation. The room is filled with men sporting the same dress clothes with a variety of badges and ribbons adorning their lapels, and women who hang off their arms with long, gorgeous dresses that seem straight out of a fairytale. Riza is well and truly out of her element.
Then she spots a beautiful woman with long blonde hair and striking blue eyes that seems to be surveying her kingdom. She stands proudly beside a man who is not in dress attire but is instead in his military uniform. Riza smiles as she gathers her skirt and approaches the woman.
“Excuse me, are you Colonel Armstrong?” she asks, trying not to let her nerves get the better of her.
The Colonel turns to look at Riza with an appraising eye, though her gaze almost lazily rakes over her figure. The Colonel is wearing a black dress (very different from her male counterparts' full tailored suits) with a high neck and an impressive slit up her thigh. Riza wonders if the Ice Queen herself picked it or if she was handed a dress and fought every second it took to wrestle her into it.
“And who are you?” Armstrong asks, returning her gaze to the ballroom at large.
“My name is Riza Hawkeye, sir, I’ve heard so much about you and I-”
“Why are you talking to me?” she asks humorlessly.
Her abrupt question does nothing to sway Riza, however. “My grandfather says that ladies don’t become soldiers but you did. He said that you’re not a lady and if that’s true that means that soldiers are born not made. Do you agree with that?”
The Colonel glances back over at Riza, and the soldier beside the Colonel snickers. “Good soldiers are born that way. Anyone can enlist but only the strong survive.”
“My grandfather says I shouldn’t be a soldier, but I think he’s wrong.”
Armstrong chuckles but says nothing in response.
“He also says that they’ll only let women enlist if the war gets bad enough but the radio says that’s going to change too. Is that true?”
“You ask a lot of questions for a timid young lady fresh off a farm,” Armstrong notes with an edge to her tone. She’s not annoyed, at least, Riza doesn’t detect annoyance in her tone - instead she thinks Armstrong is testing her.
“Mining towns aren’t quite the same as farms, coal miners have more bite.” Riza has heard people say that before; she has no idea if it’s true but it’s a saying that feels useful to her now.
“And do you have more bite to you, Riza Hawkeye?” Armstrong asks.
“I do and it’s bound to get worse with age, grown men are always saying that about me.” Her father certainly did…
“You do a lot of listening; perhaps you’ll be better as a spy than a foot soldier.”
“The instructors at the academy say I’m a sniper in the making if I dedicate myself to it.”
“A sniper I could use,” she hums briefly before turning full on towards Riza. “When you enlist, request a posting at Briggs. Perhaps after training I’ll have a better idea how to use you.”
“Why are you recruiting at a military ball, Olivier?” Armstrong rolls her eyes as she turns to face a gargantuan man that gives Riza pause.
“Brother, it’s about time you showed up,” she groans.
“You wound me! I waited almost an hour for you before I realized you’d gone without me!” he weeps openly.
“That’s because you’re so thickheaded you didn’t take two seconds to realize I had no reason to attend with you,” she snarls in response.
“Olivier!” Before the man can go on another outlandish tirade he spots Riza standing there in awe of him. “Who’s this? Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier, Miss, I am Captain Alexander Armstrong at your service.”
“My name is Riza,” she smiles sheepishly at him.
“Riza Hawkeye? General Grumman’s granddaughter?” he asks, eyes wide with realization.
“That’s right,” she nods.
“Pft, no wonder your grandfather has been spouting such tripe bullshit,” the Colonel scoffs.
“Olivier! That’s no way to talk in front of a young lady.”
“She’s not a lady, she’s a soldier.” Riza practically glows at the compliment awarded to her by Colonel Armstrong. “In any case, she should know that her grandfather is a trifling old fool who is content to play dumb so long as it gets him far enough in his career.”
“That’s a horrible thing to say!”
Riza laughs out loud as the siblings quarrel; the soldier beside Olivier slips over to her side and nudges her.
“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” he chuckles.
“I didn’t make them fight,” she insists.
“I meant to get the Colonel’s attention, she doesn’t give it out for free,” he says, smirking at her.
“I gathered as much.”
Suddenly Colonel Armstrong is clicking her heels together as is her brother.
“Führer Bradley, sir.” They salute in synch and Riza has the gnawing instinct to hide.
“At ease,” the Führer smiles brightly at the group. He looks different than Riza had imagined; sure, she’s seen his photos in newspapers, but seeing him in person is quite another thing. He’s imposing in stature but he’s got an easy smile and a gentle looking woman on his arm that softens his appearance greatly. “I hope you two are treating the birthday girl with due dignity.”
The Führer turns his smile towards Riza and she feels a shiver of nerves run up her spine. “Happy birthday, Miss Hawkeye. Remind me, how old are you turning?”
“Fourteen, sir.” She curtsies to him with all the grace she can muster. She sees the Captain stiffen, glancing sidelong toward his sister with a grimace at her answer but he says nothing in response.
“My, my, almost an adult already. Your grandfather must be devastated,” the Führer laughs.
“I should hope not considering the circumstances; it’s much easier to take on a teenager as a roommate than a child or a baby even.” She laughs conversationally. Her heart is beating loudly in her chest and her ears heat up as she tries not to panic. This man is the leader of her country and he is honest to goodness, a little goofy.
“You are absolutely charming,” the woman beside the Führer chuckles. “It’s so wonderful to meet you Miss Hawkeye, I’ve heard so much about you.”
Riza bites her lip as she sucks in a deep breath. “All good things I hope.”
“Of course, I’ve been keeping you and your family in my thoughts ever since I heard where General Grumman had run off to,” she says.
“Really?”
“I can’t imagine what you must be going through, it must have been such a relief to have your grandfather show up when he did.” The Führer’s wife takes Riza’s hands.
Riza doesn’t remember her mother and Berthold certainly never spoke of her, but she likes to imagine that she was something like Mrs. Bradley, with a kind warm smile and the most genuine green eyes that convey just how earnestly she means her condolences. Riza is struck with the realization that no one has honestly felt sorry for the passing of her father; that kindness squeezes her throat just a touch.
“I was… it was almost like a miracle,” Riza admits quietly.
“Oh you poor dear.” Mrs. Bradley squeezes her hands.
“But I am so very happy to find myself where I am now.” Riza shakes away that sadness and manages a smile.
“If you ever need anything you come find me, alright? I’m sure this adjustment to the city has been overwhelming and - well, no matter how much we might love the men in our lives, there really is no substitute for a feminine touch.” Mrs. Bradley gives her that tender smile again and Riza finds herself nodding.
“If you don’t mind, Miss Hawkeye, the first dance is about to begin and I would be simply delighted to escort you to the floor.” The Führer holds out a hand to her.
“What a flatterer you are, dear,” Mrs. Bradley chuckles at him.
“I certainly try to be.” He looks at his wife with fondness before returning his attention to Riza, hand still outstretched.
“I’m afraid I don’t know how to dance, sir.” She tries not to grimace at the idea of stepping on the Führer’s toes during a waltz.
“If you can keep a secret, Miss Hawkeye, I have two left feet. We’ll make quite a pair out there.” He laughs and she finds herself unable to refuse.
He pulls her onto the dance floor with little mind to the many gawking onlookers. The first dance is a waltz that Riza has no business partaking in. The closest she’s come to a ball before this was a small fall festival back in the west when she was barely ten years old. Even then she’d barely managed to keep up in the circle dance around the bonfire.
At least Führer Bradley is there to guide her and he doesn’t seem particularly bothered by her lack of skill.
“Tell me, Miss Hawkeye, how have you been settling in? Your grandfather has been rightly keeping himself scarce at Central Command since retrieving you, so I have heard precious little.”
Riza chuckles airily, “The city is so different from the west. I sometimes get lost on our street because all the houses look so similar. Everything’s so big and colorful… and I must sound particularly simple to you.”
He laughs jovially, “I can promise you, I never tire of hearing how beloved our capital is. Even if your arrival was under less than ideal circumstances.”
She blushes in response. “I suppose life has a funny way of happening to us sometimes; Father used to say as much.”
“I feel I should apologize for my wife bringing it up so immediately - she’s a good soul, finds herself worrying herself sick over everyone and everything. Ever since she heard about your arrival from your grandfather she’s been beside herself wondering how you’re getting on.”
“Nothing to apologize for. I admit, I have never… really had a maternal figure looking out for me. And I can tell Mrs. Bradley is so genuine… I appreciate her concern, truly.”
“I should encourage you to tell her then, I think it would make her happy to hear it.”
“Of course, sir.” Riza nearly slips as the Führer twirls her in time with the music - he had been lying about his dancing it seems.
“I hope it is not too forward of me to ask if you miss your father at all. I’m afraid I know very little about the man beyond his being your father.”
Riza can’t decide if that’s true or not - was her father important enough to have caught the Führer’s attention?
“He was a man dedicated to his research, I never really saw him much.” The truth, a story she can stick to.
“I imagine you still miss him, even if he was a less than perfect father.”
“I… I haven’t thought much of him since grandfather retrieved me.” More of the truth, a painful one, but so very real.
“I suppose reliving such a thing with an old man like me was not how you imagined your first ball,” he laughs.
“I never imagined myself to be the type to attend balls, sir. Father kept us away from… well, everyone.”
“Everyone?”
She nods. “I think he was either very shy or really didn’t like noisy neighbors.”
“Well, thankfully your own social skills didn’t suffer,” he comments kindly; the air of humor about him still remains.
“I’m glad you think so.”
“I heard a little rumor that you have found your way into our training academy,” he mentions with a grin.
“You heard about that?” she chuckles.
“I did, someone mentioned a prodigy in our midst, I assume that’s why Colonel Armstrong cornered you.”
“I’m afraid it’s the other way around. I just really admire her - she’s a beautiful woman and she’s climbed the ranks of the military. Everyone respects her so much and she didn’t even have to use alchemy to do it.”
“Is that right?” he laughs.
“Well I… The Armstrong family has produced so many alchemists… but she didn’t even need that to get where she is.” She finds herself fumbling over her words as she tries not to forget herself.
“There’s nothing wrong with using alchemy,” he laughs again.
“No but… I uh-... my father seemed to believe that alchemy was the greatest tool a person could use. I never had a talent for it, he often said that it was one of his greatest failures that I wasn’t gifted in that way.” It’s a lie and she knows it - she cannot believe she’s standing here lying openly to the Führer… but why would he care if she could use alchemy? It’s not as if… not as if he too craves her father’s research.
“Alchemy is a difficult study, talent doesn’t get one very far in that field. It’s a hell of a lot of work, a pity your father didn’t see that.” He squeezes her hand as the dance finally ends. He spins her out one last time before bowing to her. “You are exquisite, Miss Hawkeye, thank you for entertaining an old man on your special day.”
“You honor me, Führer Bradley.” She curtsies as low as she’s able without toppling over.
“Let’s get you back to the General, I’m certain he’ll be cross with me for stealing you away.”
“I’m afraid he was the one leaving me, sir, I haven’t seen him in half an hour,” she admits.
“Truly? Then perhaps I should rectify that for you.”
“Oh I couldn’t impose!”
“Nonsense. My darling!” The Führer waves his wife over. “Would you watch over the young miss while I go searching for her grandfather?”
Mrs. Bradley smiles at Riza. “I would be delighted.”
The Führer passes the young girl off to his wife before walking purposefully out of the ballroom and over to his study. There he finds General Grumman sitting with his hands folded neatly on his lap.
“I hope I haven’t kept you long.” Führer Bradley says with a knowing smile.
“Of course not, sir.” Grumman salutes his superior.
“I take it you haven’t gotten the secrets of flame alchemy out of the girl.” It’s a statement from the Führer, not a question.
“Not yet, sir, these things take time,” Grumman says politely.
“Well, I just had a lovely dance with her, she is a remarkable young woman.”
The General barely tightens his fist, frustration coursing through him as he speaks. “I am glad to hear she was a delight, I have plenty of reason to be proud of her.”
“You would be even prouder still if I were to bring her into the fold.”
“I’m not certain I understand your meaning, sir.”
“Then let me be clear, General. If you do not get her to share her secrets with you I will be forced to do it myself. None of us want that, even if our dear Riza would make a fine State Alchemist.”
Grumman pauses, considering his next words carefully. “Women are not allowed to join the military, sir.”
“Well, with the war ramping up in the East no one would bat an eye if we were to lift that ban - nor if we were to call for a draft of young people to serve their country.” The Führer’s gaze bores into the General. “I would hate to do it, but if in four years time you still haven’t managed to pry it out of her - mark my words, Grumman, I will do what must be done to protect this nation.”
“Understood, sir,” Grumman manages to respond through the fiery fury in his chest. “I will ensure that does not happen.”
“Our Riza is a good girl, I know she’ll do what’s right, in the end.” Grumman nods, barely holding back his anger as the Führer closes in on him. The Führer places a heavy hand on the General’s shoulder and that genial smile has returned to his features once more. “Now, you best be getting back to her. I’m sure Mrs. Bradley has talked her ear off by now.”
“The first lady is a treasure, sir.” The General spits out the compliment as he is led out back to the ball. He could spot Riza from a mile away; she clings to Mrs. Bradley’s arm so tightly she would look like a leech if Grumman thought her capable of cruelty.
His sweet granddaughter wears a bemused smile as Captain Armstrong regales her with some story and Mrs. Bradley fixes Riza’s hair and pats her cheek gently. When Riza sees him she nearly runs into his arms.
“Grandfather, Captain Armstrong says his little sister is attending the same academy as me, just two years behind. Do you think I could meet her before the semester starts?” she asks, cheerful and curious as ever.
His anger is gone in one fell swoop and he is instead filled with a jolt of worry looking at her. He will not, he cannot allow the military to taint that sweet smile. He cannot betray yet one more woman he is meant to protect. He will do what he has to do to save her from the horrors of war.
“I think that can be arranged. Catherine is her name, is it not?”
“Indeed! And she will be delighted to show you her piano as well, Miss Hawkeye,” Armstrong laughs heartily.
“Maybe she can help me with my piano skills, I haven’t played in years!” Riza turns back to the Captain with a gleam in her eye.
Mrs. Bradley nudges the General, smiling at him serenely. “You have the most precious granddaughter, General. I hope you know how lucky you are.”
“I do ma’am…” General Grumman glances at Riza once more, a tightness filling his chest because for just one moment she looks like Lydia. Young, spritely, curious Lydia whom he couldn’t shield from the world. “I do.”
He won’t make the same mistake twice.