[Fullmetal Alchemist] Marked Injustice of Endearment
This is another fic I've been struggling with. I finally had the courage to end it today. Dedicated to the three most loyal fans of Royai I know. :)
Title: Marked Injustice of Endearment
Series: Fullmetal Alchemist
Rating: K+
Characters: Roy/Riza
Word Count: 647; Short short
[Written for alphabet_love; 10. jamais vu & dedicated to zauberer_sirin, kittu9, and hamsterfactor]
Playing chess is his hobby, as reading and organizing are hers. He places the white knight carefully on the board, aiming at the heart of the black queen. She watches him (the game, but always the way his fingers move with anticipation and grace of all kinds she can find) silently without a sound and the afternoon passes by, only interrupted by the occasional sunlight pouring in through the curtain, which she moves this way and that to make more shade.
She, the faithful, walks by the table to retrieve the paperwork he has completed the night before. He is not much of a structured man, but she prefers to have him stay like this, staying up until five in the morning trying to uncover a new chess strategy, his arms and legs draped in a blanket she hands to him wordlessly.
After many months and years of watching him play, she clearly recognizes his moves. A glance can tell her: a pawn forward or the rook goes three spots in horizon. Out of all his pieces, he loves to experiment with the queen-the most powerful creature with her freedom on board. He moves her about and often puts his hand under his chin, looking like a pondering child with a lackluster soldier’s mind.
“What about the king, sir?” An offhand commentary is common at ten o’ clock at night, the curtain now drawn up to cover the lighted room from the public view. She does not sit beside him but stands a good distance away with her back to him.
Roy replies without tearing his eyes away from his solo game. “He hardly moves. It’s a sad thing, if one thinks about it.” He stretches his arms and yawns, weary tears on his eyelashes. “He should be the one conquering, but he has too much on his hands already.”
Too many worries and concerns, Riza thinks, and that thought alone strangely reminds her of where he stands amongst his companions. He is often too far involved with the Elric brothers-it is not pity that he feels for them, but a feeling of comradeship and genuine care, like an uncle and almost like a father. She doesn’t blame him, can’t blame him for what he does and how he does it all. She never questions his authority or her respect for the future fuhrer.
Instead she listens to him murmur in his sleep, turning constantly as if wanting her to notice what small comfort the chair provides him. Truthfully, he is not quite sleeping; he’s halfway gone to dreamland, but she knows he can still hear every single word she says-that is, if she is to say anything.
She gives a long stare at the chess game as she brings another cover to his side. It’s almost like the military organization itself, in the way it’s arranged. The king barely sends commands; none of his followers rebel but become the pawns, the knights, the rooks, and the bishops, going on a long journey across the field to destroy the enemy.
But Riza notices something different today: the queen. The queen does not place her trust in the king. She does not wish to protect him. She longs to rule the game and for that point alone is given the most sovereignty and liberty. Riza stands still, scanning through her brain for anyone that she knows who might replace such a position in real life, but there is none. As far as she understands, they’re a team of one, all seven of them (Black Hayate is not to be excluded, she tells to her mind clearly).
She wraps the blanket securely around his shoulders and then picks up a pawn to move it back one spot. It is an irregular, but logical tactic; it is to go near to the king, closer to her king.
Title: Marked Injustice of Endearment
Series: Fullmetal Alchemist
Rating: K+
Characters: Roy/Riza
Word Count: 647; Short short
[Written for alphabet_love; 10. jamais vu & dedicated to zauberer_sirin, kittu9, and hamsterfactor]
Playing chess is his hobby, as reading and organizing are hers. He places the white knight carefully on the board, aiming at the heart of the black queen. She watches him (the game, but always the way his fingers move with anticipation and grace of all kinds she can find) silently without a sound and the afternoon passes by, only interrupted by the occasional sunlight pouring in through the curtain, which she moves this way and that to make more shade.
She, the faithful, walks by the table to retrieve the paperwork he has completed the night before. He is not much of a structured man, but she prefers to have him stay like this, staying up until five in the morning trying to uncover a new chess strategy, his arms and legs draped in a blanket she hands to him wordlessly.
After many months and years of watching him play, she clearly recognizes his moves. A glance can tell her: a pawn forward or the rook goes three spots in horizon. Out of all his pieces, he loves to experiment with the queen-the most powerful creature with her freedom on board. He moves her about and often puts his hand under his chin, looking like a pondering child with a lackluster soldier’s mind.
“What about the king, sir?” An offhand commentary is common at ten o’ clock at night, the curtain now drawn up to cover the lighted room from the public view. She does not sit beside him but stands a good distance away with her back to him.
Roy replies without tearing his eyes away from his solo game. “He hardly moves. It’s a sad thing, if one thinks about it.” He stretches his arms and yawns, weary tears on his eyelashes. “He should be the one conquering, but he has too much on his hands already.”
Too many worries and concerns, Riza thinks, and that thought alone strangely reminds her of where he stands amongst his companions. He is often too far involved with the Elric brothers-it is not pity that he feels for them, but a feeling of comradeship and genuine care, like an uncle and almost like a father. She doesn’t blame him, can’t blame him for what he does and how he does it all. She never questions his authority or her respect for the future fuhrer.
Instead she listens to him murmur in his sleep, turning constantly as if wanting her to notice what small comfort the chair provides him. Truthfully, he is not quite sleeping; he’s halfway gone to dreamland, but she knows he can still hear every single word she says-that is, if she is to say anything.
She gives a long stare at the chess game as she brings another cover to his side. It’s almost like the military organization itself, in the way it’s arranged. The king barely sends commands; none of his followers rebel but become the pawns, the knights, the rooks, and the bishops, going on a long journey across the field to destroy the enemy.
But Riza notices something different today: the queen. The queen does not place her trust in the king. She does not wish to protect him. She longs to rule the game and for that point alone is given the most sovereignty and liberty. Riza stands still, scanning through her brain for anyone that she knows who might replace such a position in real life, but there is none. As far as she understands, they’re a team of one, all seven of them (Black Hayate is not to be excluded, she tells to her mind clearly).
She wraps the blanket securely around his shoulders and then picks up a pawn to move it back one spot. It is an irregular, but logical tactic; it is to go near to the king, closer to her king.