Work Text:
Roy’s blade crashes against Edward’s with a loud clang as the young knight blocks yet another of Roy’s attacks. He grunts in annoyance; they aren’t usually this evenly matched. Edward’s early aptitude for fighting and strategy launched him up the ranks at record speed, but Roy still has the edge of age and experience. He huffs, heaving Ed back and adjusting for another strike.
“What’s the matter, old man? Distracted?” Ed smirks, rolling a shoulder back.
Roy’s brow twitches in irritation. “I’m still your king, Elric,” he grits, “A little respect would usually be-” his retort is cut off by Ed’s swift counterattack, an unexpected jab that very nearly hits its mark on Roy’s chest before his last-second block.
What the hell? Roy’s been severely off his game today- his earlier sparring match with Sir Breda went similarly. Although he’d rather die than admit it to Ed, he really is distracted. He and Riza have been spending more and more time together in the past week, and with that time has come plenty of fuel for daydreaming.
He’s discovered an amalgamation of facts about his wife, none less important to him than any other. He’s learned she likes dogs- when she sees one playing around the courtyard, her eyes light up in appreciation and she gives a small, unconscious smile. She has a tendency to stare out of a window when she’s lost in thought. She bites her lip when she’s anxious. She has a fondness for the tarts the chef makes from the blackberries that grow around the castle in bunches. She was raised with more-than-sufficient etiquette training, but still felt wildly unprepared for taking on the role of queen.
He’s also listened to Riza describe her relationship with her father- the distance, the pressure. He watched her hands fidget as she spoke, saw her brow furrow. He’s never met the man, but he doesn’t think he likes him very much.
For all he’s discovered about Riza, he’s sure that she’s discerned at least twice as much about him. Not much escapes her analytic gaze. It’s intriguing if not slightly intimidating- she just knows things. The other day she asked if he’d hurt his leg, pointing out that he had the slightest limp. He hadn’t even noticed it.
Truth be told, he hadn’t been prepared to take a queen this early into his rule. He’d only been on the throne three years and although he’d already garnered quite a positive reputation from his subjects, he didn’t feel at all as though he’d found solid footing yet. He wasn’t even really responsible for any of the decisions he was respected for.
Coronated when he was only 20 years old and severely lacking political experience, he would often default to the suggestions of the advisors. Even now, three years later, he doesn’t much feel like a king in more than name.
When Grumman, his most trusted advisor, urged him to accept King Hawkeye’s suggestion of marriage, he was hard pressed to find any reason to decline besides his personal hesitancy. Hence, he agreed.
He hadn’t really expected much from Riza besides cohabitation and an occasional dancing partner when required. So, when she waltzed in with her soft hair and quietly honest brown eyes and allure, he found himself quite shocked. And distracted. Very, very distracted.
Edward whirls his blade around, hitting Roy in the side hard enough to knock him to the ground. He quickly dislodges it from the sparring armor and swishes it up, pointing directly at Roy’s neck. He raises a blonde brow. “You were saying?”
After recovering from a moment of shock, Roy sighs. Ed laughs, offering a hand to help him up. Once he’s standing, Ed elbows him in the side he just struck. “You really like her, huh?”
Roy is absolutely not having this conversation with him. “She’s my wife, of course I like her,” he deadpans.
Ed rolls his eyes, turning to walk away. “Yeah, sure, whatever you say, grandpa. I know the start of love when I see it.”
A vein in Roy’s forehead twitches, and he runs a hand through his sweaty hair. Dumb punk. He hates that he’s right. He sighs again and brushes himself off. That’s enough training for one day; not like he’d really get anything out of it right now, anyway.
He takes off his gear and washes his face in the basin beside the door, then heads inside. He walks aimlessly, thinking over everything he has to attend to before the end of the day. It’s nothing crazy; some documents to sign, a couple plans to approve. When his feet stop moving, he leaves his thoughts and realizes where they’ve taken him- he’s arrived at the castle exit that leads to the archery yard. So much for being aimless.
After Riza told him how fond she was of archery, he made sure to show her where the soldiers practice. He had a bow made for her as well, although he told her it was a spare they'd already had. Since then, she’s spent much of her free time shooting. He doesn’t mind; his feet always seem to end up taking him here anyway.
He walks under the stone archway fully out into the courtyard, spotting a lone figure down at the targets. He continues down the hill towards the archer, watching her practice. She draws back an arrow, and he sees her chest rise and fall in a deep breath before she lets it fly. It hits the dead center of the red-painted bullseye- unsurprising. He’s never really seen her hit anything but.
Riza smooths back some flyaways that were caught in the breeze, her deep blue skirt fluttering as she gazes at the target. She never looks more peaceful than when she’s standing with a bow in her hand. It‘s taken Roy’s breath away every time he’s seen it.
He says nothing as he approaches, Riza only noticing his presence when his footsteps are close enough to overpower the sound of the breeze.
“Hello Roy, are you here to practice?”
Roy exhales a light laugh. “No, I am not.” They have some form of this conversation every time he shows up here.
She watches the grasses of the yard roll in the breeze. “Lovely day today,” she says.
“Yes,” he replies. Now is the point in the conversation where he usually struggles internally to produce some sort of excuse for disturbing her, although neither of them ever quite believe whatever he comes up with.
“I’d like to show you something,” he lands on. Riza’s brow quirks up. “Really, more like show you somewhere. A place, I want to show you a place,” he stumbles. He’d been meaning to take her all week, and he supposed now was as good a time as any. Riza’s expression reflects good-humored curiosity. “Alright, lead the way.”
-
They arrive at a rustic wooden building and Riza glances at him in confusion. “The stables?”
“Ah, no- we need the horses to get there.”
“Ah.”
Before Roy begins to tack-up Sal, his white mustang, he gets gear for Riza. He leads her to a stall with a chestnut brown mare. “This is Enfield, she’s yours,” Roy starts, opening the stall gate. “She’s gentle, loyal, really a great girl. I think you’ll get along well.” He turns to see a note of shock written across Riza’s face.
“She’s…mine? To ride whenever?”
“Ah, yes. I wanted to make sure you could go wherever you needed to.” Roy scratches his head. “She’s one of our best,” he adds, feeling slightly uncomfortable. He’s continuously finding himself utterly gripped with the desire to give her things, but feels completely useless when he actually does. He never knows how to stand, where to look, how to accept her gratitude. It all feels too obvious, too vulnerable.
“Thank you,” she says quietly, petting Enfield’s nose. Roy’s paid attention enough to know she strongly dislikes any semblance of feeling trapped, so he hopes this will help put those sentiments at ease.
After they tack up their horses, they ride out into the rolling hills outside the castle and away from the city. Roy does not miss the way Riza’s gaze sweeps over the scenery, drinking it all in, sharp and clear as always.
He finds the familiar path beginning at the edge of the woods, and they follow it inside. They ride onwards in comfortable silence, watching the shifting greens of the sunlight filtering through the leaves and hearing the echoing chirps of the birds. The path is clear though not incredibly defined, undeniably old and repeatedly tread but only by one or two individuals at a time. It snakes through the trees, winding up and down through the changes in groundlevel.
Suddenly, the forest opens up around them to a moderately sized clearing, and Roy slows his horse’s walk. Sweet, green grasses and wildflowers ripple around the area, giving way to a tiny shore and small crystalline blue pond. One very large, very old oak tree stands near it, drenching some of its waters in cool shade. Its thick branches gnarl up and outwards in the charming way only ancient things can be.
The area is alive with nonhuman sound- bugs sing from the grass, frogs chirp in the pond, and birds call from the surrounding forest. The ground itself even seems to hum a song of ambience. It’s completely and utterly peaceful.
Riza pulls Enfield to a stop just inside the clearing, absorbing the air of the scenery. “Wow,” she breathes.
They walk their horses over to the oak, dismount and tie their leads to branches. Roy then grasps that he probably should have brought a blanket for them to sit on, sheepishly apologizing. Riza waves him off without fuss and they settle at the base of the tree, leaning on its trunk. They sit for a moment, absorbing the non-silence of the clearing.
“I’ve been coming here since I was a boy.” Roy glances over to Riza. “I grew up in the city and would sometimes sneak away from lessons to come here. My mother would give me an earful when I got back, but it was always worth it.”
She turns to see his remembering smile, realizing she knows very little about his history. She knew he ascended to the throne only a few years ago and was not directly related to the previous royal family, but had assumed he still possessed royal blood.
Roy notices her calculating and curious expression and looks down. “I’m not a royal by birth, no. I was appointed to the throne after the previous king and his family died, leaving Amestris without an heir.”
Riza’s gaze does not waver, inviting him to continue. “The Bradleys- the previous royal family- all died in a carriage accident on a bridge. They were traveling back from their house in the country and the whole thing gave out- the entire guard died, too.”
Roy picks at his fingers, nervous. He’s uncomfortable facing the realities of his own potential inadequacy.
“I’d been part of the king’s upper circle of knights at the time, and I guess I checked a lot of boxes. They told me I’d been chosen as replacement and, well,” he gestures outwards, “here I am.”
Although he’d been young at the time of King Bradley’s death, he’d held a high rank and been heralded as the hero of one of the Drachman War’s last great battles, granting him celebrity. Politically, he seemed like a perfect choice.
“I can’t believe I didn’t know that.” Riza looks up at the clouds. “Did they ask you?”
Roy’s brows furrow in confusion. “What?”
“Did they ask you if you wanted to be king?”
“No, they didn’t.”
“If they had, would you have said yes?”
Roy pauses, staring at the sky. Clouds sit overhead, trailing past just fast enough for their motion to be noticed. “Yes, I think I would. I’d think for a while about if I thought myself capable, but I think I would say yes.”
“Well, you’ve been doing pretty well so far, I’d say.”
Roy grimaces almost imperceptibly. Riza notices, but chooses not to press.
“What does your mother think of your new status?”
Roy’s eyebrows raise before he sinks into a hefty chuckle. “Chris? She could care less, really. She’s proud I suppose, but I think she’d be just as proud had I chosen to be a fisherman or something.”
He shakes his head. “If anything, she’s annoyed that my title causes government interference in her dealings. You know, they keep trying to get her to live in the castle? Keep telling her it’s a ‘security risk’. Every time, she tells them where she can shove it.”
Riza laughs. “She sounds like quite a force. She’s not worried at all about assassins as mother of the king?”
Roy snorts and leans his head back against the trunk. “Her? Worried about assassins? It would be a freezing day in hell before the most well-trained assassin could lay a finger on her head.”
Riza’s not sure why he’s so certain about this but takes his word for it. She must be a hell of a woman. Riza smiles to herself- of course she is. She raised Roy Mustang, how could she not be?
It’s hard to imagine- Roy as a boy in Central City. Did he get into trouble? He must have, she can’t see him being a goody-two-shoes. Maybe he knows some of his knights from childhood- that would explain why they’re so close. They must have had quite a time back then.
“What was it like? Growing up in the city?”
Roy grins. “Oh, it was something. I was a terror of the neighborhood back then, or so I’ve been told.”
Riza hums in acknowledgement. “Sounds accurate to me.”
“What about you? Did you get up to anything devious when you were younger?”
“Me? Oh no, not particularly. Even in a kingdom as small as Astya, being the sole princess leads to quite a lot of scrutiny. No room for mistakes, really.” Her eyes slide to the ground, watching a beetle crawl over a blade of grass. “Keeping my hunting a secret was difficult enough, so I didn’t much try to push it beyond that.”
“I find it mighty hard to believe that a force such as Riza Hawkeye grew up without breaking a single other rule.”
She smiles slyly. “Well, maybe once or twice.”
“Hmm, that’s what I thought.” He elbows her in the side. “So? Any stories to share?”
She pauses, considering. “Well- once, when I was thirteen, I dumped a bucket of crickets into the room a Duchess was staying in at the castle.” She glances to see him dissolving into barely-contained laughter. “What? She was vile. Saw her yelling at one of the servants’ children. Made the poor boy cry for absolutely nothing at all! ”Said he walked too close to her, or something.
“Well, she clearly deserved it then,” Roy declares. It’s just like her to only step out of line for the sake of someone she wants to protect. “And did they catch you?”
She snorts. “Of course not. I was smart about it; I knew the guard rotations and made sure to go when they were changing shifts.”
“Well, it’s a good thing the only one clever enough to make use of that window was an angry thirteen-year-old armed with crickets.”
“Hah. True.”
“Where did you get all those crickets, anyway?”
“Collected them myself, of course.” Roy does not miss the air of pride in her voice. “Took three hours in the field to get a good enough amount.”
Roy whistles. “Impressive.”
“Damn right it was, your majesty.”
Roy chokes at the word “majesty” and coughs out a real, gut-formed laugh. He can almost see it- little Princess Riza digging around the field in her nice dress for hours for a well-deserved revenge mission on behalf of a child she didn’t know, her face scrunched in rage and determination. Priceless.
They sit under the oak for hours, talking about all manners of things, only breaking to feed and water the horses. They learn each other’s likes and dislikes: their favorite colors (Riza’s is green, Roy’s is blue), their least favorite folk dances (they both have a healthy dislike for the Jester’s Box). They swap stories, laugh, and offer solemn understanding. It’s the longest continuous conversation they’ve shared.
They talk until the sun starts to set over the trees, and they both silently realize it’s time to head back. They say nothing, but neither of them really wants to.
They rise, and Riza gazes around the clearing for a final time of the evening. “Thank you for showing me this. It’s beautiful here.” She laughs lightly. “Company wasn’t bad, either.” She turns to him, and realizes now that they’re standing how close they are to each other. Her eyes widen.
He’s staring at her with an unreadable emotion on his face. He looks almost… enraptured. He steps impossibly closer to her and without warning or ceremony, takes her face in both his hands and kisses her.
It’s different this time- no exhaustion or pressure from the wedding, no flurry of passion. It’s sweet, emotional, a physical hallmark of their connection. She sighs, sinking into him, drinking him in. He smells like soap and wind.
He runs his fingers through her hair, tousled from the earlier ride and day spent outdoors, allowing his palm to rest on the back of her head. Their lips move together softly in a rhythm, no tongue added.
It’s Riza who pulls away first, only for the reason of catching a necessary breath. Roy grins at her boyishly. “Better get back, huh?”
She gives a small smile, trying to prevent too much emotion from bubbling to the surface. “I suppose so.”
They untie the animals from their branches and Roy swings up into the saddle, beginning to walk Sal to the treeline without a look behind to check on Riza. Not because he doesn’t care or doesn’t want to help, but because he knows her to be fully capable. And he adores it.