Fullmetal Alchemist fanfic -- Springtime Serenade (PG)
Soft sunlight filtered through the dense thicket of trees onto the blooming garden floor. A cool breeze swept through, whispering in the leaves and sending down a gentle shower of flower petals. A lady stood amidst the flowers, slightly embarrassed to be in such a picture of beauty. Not that she herself was unlike the vibrant flowers.
She was clad in a dazzling white gown woven in lace and silk. This was perhaps another reason why her cheeks were blushed pink in mild embarrassed. This lady was more used to wearing clothes that had the sole purpose of ease of movement, not enhancement of one’s looks. The way her long skirt rustled when she moved, or when the wind chose to blow, was a new experience to her, though she was learning to enjoy it.
She also wore her hair in a bun, though not the loose kind, as was her usual style. Her hair was held firm by a dozen or so clips stuck into the heart of the bun, and adorned with sparkling gems, such that they caught the light every time she moved her head. These gems, both red and white, complimented her light blond hair and deep brown eyes, which were in themselves twinkling stars.
Shielding her eyes with a hand callused from holding the gun too often, the lady turned her gaze to the azure sky. It was spring again. Spring was when she first met him, she reminisced. At that time, all he was, was a cocky brat with too much talent than was good for an ambitious man just out of his teens. And she, she was probably no much better: a prideful girl with an admirable lineage, steady of hand and sharp of sight, yet lacking in worldly experience. What a long way they’ve come!
And yet, he’s still a man of proud dreams, she murmured to the trees, proud, but no longer impossible. It was strange how her thinking had changed. Perhaps love does change people after all.
“Riza!” The lady turned at the sound of someone shouting her name. In the shadow of a tall steeple stood two girls in pale pink: one with cropped black hair, and the other with flowing golden locks.
“Come into the shade! It’s cooler in here,” the one with the long hair shouted across the garden.
Holding up the hem of her white gown so as not to dirty it, the lady walked carefully towards the other two.
“Is it time yet?” she asked. Now that she was closer to the steeple, she could hear soft music. She smiled. It was one of her favourite pieces: Spring Serenade. She could hear the second movement in its full, lively flow, matched only by the chirping birds overhead.
“Almost,” the girl with black hair said, smiling. “Are you excited?”
The lady blushed as her companions began tucking stray hair into the neat bun. “Of course, Maria! I have waited for this moment for so long! Although…” She frowned slightly. “I’m a little scared too. What if I screw up?”
The long haired girl laughed. “You can’t screw up! All you have to say is ‘I do’! Besides, he’s got it all planned.”
The lady sighed. “That’s what I’m worried about, Winry. You just can’t trust him to plan anything. You can’t even trust him to do his paperwork properly!”
The girl named Winry patted her shoulder, looking straight into her brown eyes. “It’s his wedding, not his work,” she said. “Trust him.”
The lady nodded, albeit a little stiffly, due to the fact that Maria was placing a white veil on her head, and was beginning to fasten it into place. Winry began smoothening out the creases in the white gown.
“There! All done! You look beautiful, Riza.” Maria fastened the last pin into the lady’s soft blond hair, and stood back to admire her work. The veil was made of white netting, interwoven with white jewels, as the lady’s hair was. The effect was stunning. Any passer-by who glanced at the lady now would not know she was First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, best marksman in the military. They had transformed a soldier into a lady, something perhaps even Henry Higgins would find a masterful task.
Springtime Serenade thrummed it final note, and applause ensued from inside the church. The lady smiled sadly. This piece was important to her for its title, and what it reminded her of. Surprisingly, she never told him about her love for this song. How did he know to include it in the pre-ceremony program? Or was it chance? Or maybe, he loved the spring too, for the same reasons she did. She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the first time she saw him: the wind blowing his jet black hair into a mess, the way his hand moved to smoothen it, and the petals that fell away as his hand swept them from his hair…
“Come on,” Winry said, startling her from her daydream. “It’s time!” She grabbed the lady by the hand, and handed her a small bouquet of violets. Violets were what he gave her too, the first time he asked her out. That was a cool spring day too, come to think of it. They had dinner by the riverside, and he’d impressed her with a display of fireworks after that. Gazing at the flowers, the lady touched her cheek softly, exactly at the spot where he’d kissed her that night.
Maria gave her a gentle shove. “Time to move out, dreamer girl! Go get your dream man!” She and Winry led the lady to the double doors of the chapel, where two guards stood. Saluting the trio, they pushed the doors open.
Riza’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the relative darkness. The congregation, most of them in dark blue, had all turned to the open doors, squinting in the sunlight. A red carpet was rolled out in front of her. On either side, at spaced intervals, stood the people she had worked with for her entire career: every one of them members of his squad. They stood at attention, medals gleaming brightly on their chests. The lady’s eyes focused on each one of them in turn, travelling down the red carpet until her vision reached the end. There, with a solemn expression on his face, stood her target, dressed in ceremonial uniform, with a red sash across his chest.
The lady was frozen on the spot, too excited to move. Her target gave her the smallest of smiles, then she felt a soft push from behind. Slowly, she began to put one foot in front of the other.
The leader of the string quartet in the far corner raised his violin bow and cued the first note of the next piece. As one, the congregation rose to their feet, clapping. The lady could make out Gracia and Elysia, the late Maes Hughes’ wife and child. Elysia caught the lady’s glance and waved. The lady rewarded her with a smile in return. If Hughes were here, he’d be so proud of him, she thought. He’d be so happy…
As the lady reached the flanking rows of soldiers, they raised their ceremonial swords in salute. Each man’s sword met his opposite’s in mid air, creating a dome of crossed swords through which the lady must walk. She had never been in anything this grand before. Walking slowly, her two female escorts close behind, the applause ringing in her ears, she wished the moment could last forever.
After a moment that spanned an eternity, she finally reached the end of the red carpet. There, he waited. As she took her place beside him, he turned to gaze into her eyes with his one good one, and saluted to their love: Salut d’Amour. Now, she recognised the string quartet’s piece.
“You chose that piece on purpose, didn’t you?” she whispered, holding out her hand, “that piece, and the one before: Springtime Serenade.” He simply gave her his lopsided grin, bent over, and kissed her hand. The congregation whooped and cheered.
On the platform one step above the couple, stood General Grumman. He now held his hand out for silence.
“We are gathered here to witness an important event: an event that will change the lives of these two young people before me,” Grumman announced to the crowd, once the last of them had regained their seats. He turned to the couple.
“Roy Mustang, do you promise to take care of my granddaughter Riza Hawkeye, to love and protect her, in sickness and in health, in peace and in war, till death do you part?”
“Yes I do!” Roy’s deep baritone voice echoed in the chapel. “I swear on the alchemy that is my career and my life that as long as I live, I will put Riza first before everything else.”
General Grumman nodded, satisfied, then turned to his granddaughter.
“Riza Hawkeye, do you promise to take care of this man Roy Mustang, to love and protect him, in sickness and in health, in peace and in war, till death do you part?”
The lady paused for a moment. This was it. Two words that would change her life forever. But there was no hesitation in her heart. She’d already decided the day he became her supervisor.
“I do,” she said, loud and clear. “Not just as a subordinate, but also as a wife. I swear that as long as I have fingers to pull a trigger, I will protect him,; as long as I have legs to walk, I will follow him; as long as I have a life to live, I will devote myself to him.”
“Then I pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.” The congregation exploded in applause and cheering. Roy pulled the veil aside, bent over his lady and swept her off her feet. Lifting her in his arms, he kissed her, passionate as the flames that he created. Confetti filled the chapel and music began to play again. As Roy carried her out down the red carpet, a flock of white paper swans took flight. Her eyes following the direction from whence they came, the lady saw a teenage lad with golden hair and eyes peering from behind a curtain. She waved at him, and he grinned back, giving her a thumbs-up.
Roy carried his lady out into the garden, where the riot of colours continued. Pink petals crowned the newly weds as they led the congregation through the fresh grass, still moist with dew. At the gates of the garden, a black sedan waited to bear the couple off to some exciting destination. There, Roy let his new wife down, and turned to face the crowd, which was still cheering. Roy’s squad had abandoned their guards-of-honour posts and had come to join the commotion too; he could see Vato Falman standing a head above the rest. Nearby too stood Major Louis Armstrong, crying tears of joy. On the left stood the bridesmaids, Maria Ross and Winry Rockbell, eying the bouquet in the lady’s hand expectantly.
The lady saw them too, and knew what they wanted. Both were steadily attached, and both were waiting to receive the blessing of the one that has been so blessed today. She tossed her bouquet of violets high.
As the bouquet halted its ascent and allowed gravity to catch up, Roy shot out a white-gloved hand. With a snap of his fingers, flames shot out and caught the flowers. For a moment the bouquet glowed brightly like a torch. Then it exploded into a display of dazzling purple fireworks, which showered over the crowd, much to their delight.
“Show off,” the lady muttered out of the corner of her mouth, her eyes dancing.
“For you only, Riza darling,” Roy replied, suave as ever. He pulled open the door of the car and stood to attention, saluting his lady, as she smiled and got in. With a final wave to the crowd, Roy got into the car too, and it pulled away amidst the cheering into the sunset.
She was clad in a dazzling white gown woven in lace and silk. This was perhaps another reason why her cheeks were blushed pink in mild embarrassed. This lady was more used to wearing clothes that had the sole purpose of ease of movement, not enhancement of one’s looks. The way her long skirt rustled when she moved, or when the wind chose to blow, was a new experience to her, though she was learning to enjoy it.
She also wore her hair in a bun, though not the loose kind, as was her usual style. Her hair was held firm by a dozen or so clips stuck into the heart of the bun, and adorned with sparkling gems, such that they caught the light every time she moved her head. These gems, both red and white, complimented her light blond hair and deep brown eyes, which were in themselves twinkling stars.
Shielding her eyes with a hand callused from holding the gun too often, the lady turned her gaze to the azure sky. It was spring again. Spring was when she first met him, she reminisced. At that time, all he was, was a cocky brat with too much talent than was good for an ambitious man just out of his teens. And she, she was probably no much better: a prideful girl with an admirable lineage, steady of hand and sharp of sight, yet lacking in worldly experience. What a long way they’ve come!
And yet, he’s still a man of proud dreams, she murmured to the trees, proud, but no longer impossible. It was strange how her thinking had changed. Perhaps love does change people after all.
“Riza!” The lady turned at the sound of someone shouting her name. In the shadow of a tall steeple stood two girls in pale pink: one with cropped black hair, and the other with flowing golden locks.
“Come into the shade! It’s cooler in here,” the one with the long hair shouted across the garden.
Holding up the hem of her white gown so as not to dirty it, the lady walked carefully towards the other two.
“Is it time yet?” she asked. Now that she was closer to the steeple, she could hear soft music. She smiled. It was one of her favourite pieces: Spring Serenade. She could hear the second movement in its full, lively flow, matched only by the chirping birds overhead.
“Almost,” the girl with black hair said, smiling. “Are you excited?”
The lady blushed as her companions began tucking stray hair into the neat bun. “Of course, Maria! I have waited for this moment for so long! Although…” She frowned slightly. “I’m a little scared too. What if I screw up?”
The long haired girl laughed. “You can’t screw up! All you have to say is ‘I do’! Besides, he’s got it all planned.”
The lady sighed. “That’s what I’m worried about, Winry. You just can’t trust him to plan anything. You can’t even trust him to do his paperwork properly!”
The girl named Winry patted her shoulder, looking straight into her brown eyes. “It’s his wedding, not his work,” she said. “Trust him.”
The lady nodded, albeit a little stiffly, due to the fact that Maria was placing a white veil on her head, and was beginning to fasten it into place. Winry began smoothening out the creases in the white gown.
“There! All done! You look beautiful, Riza.” Maria fastened the last pin into the lady’s soft blond hair, and stood back to admire her work. The veil was made of white netting, interwoven with white jewels, as the lady’s hair was. The effect was stunning. Any passer-by who glanced at the lady now would not know she was First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, best marksman in the military. They had transformed a soldier into a lady, something perhaps even Henry Higgins would find a masterful task.
Springtime Serenade thrummed it final note, and applause ensued from inside the church. The lady smiled sadly. This piece was important to her for its title, and what it reminded her of. Surprisingly, she never told him about her love for this song. How did he know to include it in the pre-ceremony program? Or was it chance? Or maybe, he loved the spring too, for the same reasons she did. She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the first time she saw him: the wind blowing his jet black hair into a mess, the way his hand moved to smoothen it, and the petals that fell away as his hand swept them from his hair…
“Come on,” Winry said, startling her from her daydream. “It’s time!” She grabbed the lady by the hand, and handed her a small bouquet of violets. Violets were what he gave her too, the first time he asked her out. That was a cool spring day too, come to think of it. They had dinner by the riverside, and he’d impressed her with a display of fireworks after that. Gazing at the flowers, the lady touched her cheek softly, exactly at the spot where he’d kissed her that night.
Maria gave her a gentle shove. “Time to move out, dreamer girl! Go get your dream man!” She and Winry led the lady to the double doors of the chapel, where two guards stood. Saluting the trio, they pushed the doors open.
Riza’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the relative darkness. The congregation, most of them in dark blue, had all turned to the open doors, squinting in the sunlight. A red carpet was rolled out in front of her. On either side, at spaced intervals, stood the people she had worked with for her entire career: every one of them members of his squad. They stood at attention, medals gleaming brightly on their chests. The lady’s eyes focused on each one of them in turn, travelling down the red carpet until her vision reached the end. There, with a solemn expression on his face, stood her target, dressed in ceremonial uniform, with a red sash across his chest.
The lady was frozen on the spot, too excited to move. Her target gave her the smallest of smiles, then she felt a soft push from behind. Slowly, she began to put one foot in front of the other.
The leader of the string quartet in the far corner raised his violin bow and cued the first note of the next piece. As one, the congregation rose to their feet, clapping. The lady could make out Gracia and Elysia, the late Maes Hughes’ wife and child. Elysia caught the lady’s glance and waved. The lady rewarded her with a smile in return. If Hughes were here, he’d be so proud of him, she thought. He’d be so happy…
As the lady reached the flanking rows of soldiers, they raised their ceremonial swords in salute. Each man’s sword met his opposite’s in mid air, creating a dome of crossed swords through which the lady must walk. She had never been in anything this grand before. Walking slowly, her two female escorts close behind, the applause ringing in her ears, she wished the moment could last forever.
After a moment that spanned an eternity, she finally reached the end of the red carpet. There, he waited. As she took her place beside him, he turned to gaze into her eyes with his one good one, and saluted to their love: Salut d’Amour. Now, she recognised the string quartet’s piece.
“You chose that piece on purpose, didn’t you?” she whispered, holding out her hand, “that piece, and the one before: Springtime Serenade.” He simply gave her his lopsided grin, bent over, and kissed her hand. The congregation whooped and cheered.
On the platform one step above the couple, stood General Grumman. He now held his hand out for silence.
“We are gathered here to witness an important event: an event that will change the lives of these two young people before me,” Grumman announced to the crowd, once the last of them had regained their seats. He turned to the couple.
“Roy Mustang, do you promise to take care of my granddaughter Riza Hawkeye, to love and protect her, in sickness and in health, in peace and in war, till death do you part?”
“Yes I do!” Roy’s deep baritone voice echoed in the chapel. “I swear on the alchemy that is my career and my life that as long as I live, I will put Riza first before everything else.”
General Grumman nodded, satisfied, then turned to his granddaughter.
“Riza Hawkeye, do you promise to take care of this man Roy Mustang, to love and protect him, in sickness and in health, in peace and in war, till death do you part?”
The lady paused for a moment. This was it. Two words that would change her life forever. But there was no hesitation in her heart. She’d already decided the day he became her supervisor.
“I do,” she said, loud and clear. “Not just as a subordinate, but also as a wife. I swear that as long as I have fingers to pull a trigger, I will protect him,; as long as I have legs to walk, I will follow him; as long as I have a life to live, I will devote myself to him.”
“Then I pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.” The congregation exploded in applause and cheering. Roy pulled the veil aside, bent over his lady and swept her off her feet. Lifting her in his arms, he kissed her, passionate as the flames that he created. Confetti filled the chapel and music began to play again. As Roy carried her out down the red carpet, a flock of white paper swans took flight. Her eyes following the direction from whence they came, the lady saw a teenage lad with golden hair and eyes peering from behind a curtain. She waved at him, and he grinned back, giving her a thumbs-up.
Roy carried his lady out into the garden, where the riot of colours continued. Pink petals crowned the newly weds as they led the congregation through the fresh grass, still moist with dew. At the gates of the garden, a black sedan waited to bear the couple off to some exciting destination. There, Roy let his new wife down, and turned to face the crowd, which was still cheering. Roy’s squad had abandoned their guards-of-honour posts and had come to join the commotion too; he could see Vato Falman standing a head above the rest. Nearby too stood Major Louis Armstrong, crying tears of joy. On the left stood the bridesmaids, Maria Ross and Winry Rockbell, eying the bouquet in the lady’s hand expectantly.
The lady saw them too, and knew what they wanted. Both were steadily attached, and both were waiting to receive the blessing of the one that has been so blessed today. She tossed her bouquet of violets high.
As the bouquet halted its ascent and allowed gravity to catch up, Roy shot out a white-gloved hand. With a snap of his fingers, flames shot out and caught the flowers. For a moment the bouquet glowed brightly like a torch. Then it exploded into a display of dazzling purple fireworks, which showered over the crowd, much to their delight.
“Show off,” the lady muttered out of the corner of her mouth, her eyes dancing.
“For you only, Riza darling,” Roy replied, suave as ever. He pulled open the door of the car and stood to attention, saluting his lady, as she smiled and got in. With a final wave to the crowd, Roy got into the car too, and it pulled away amidst the cheering into the sunset.