The Visitors

Two Alchemists reflect on The Promised Day and the truth about love and sacrifice. End of the series spoilers.

The yard rang with the sounds of shouting children and barking dogs.

Fingers that gnarled and bent like the twigs of an oak tree closed around the stem of a teaspoon and stirred. The leaves swirled around the china cup, and the tea exhaled another breath of steam that formed beads of condensation around the edge. The man tapped the spoon against the edge with all the delicacy arthritis would allow and set down his spoon. He cradled the teacup like a newborn chick in his hands, savoring the flood of warmth. The cup was a heated kiss against the wrinkled vellum of his palms, pale and spotted brown with age.

"The day is coming, I fear," he said as his flexed his fingers. "Soon I won't be able to open these blasted claws."

He gazed out the window at the dark-haired children romping in the yard beneath the silver maples. They were playing with a new liter of black and white puppies, carrying them back and forth from one hedgerow to the other according to some sort of game they had devised. The mother of the litter trailed after them, barking as she tried to herd them all together. The forsythias were blooming riotously, and his wife's azaleas were early this year, forming a flaming carpet of red blossoms. The breeze that moved through the open window was fragrant and thick as honey.

"I don't think either of us expected to live long enough to see our bodies start to quit," his companion said from across the table. "Where do you keep your sugar?"

The old man turned to regard him crossly. "This tea doesn't need sugar."

"Everything needs sugar, Mr. Fuhrer."

Children laughed and screamed. Fuhrer Roy Mustang nodded his wispy white head in begrudging acquiescence and pushed a painted porcelain bowl across the table. "Here."

Watching his companion carefully stir sugar into his tea was like looking into a mirror of age for the Fuhrer. Roy remembered getting old, but he didn't remember when Edward Elric had started to look it as well. The former Fullmetal Alchemist had long since given over to grey, and his face had the wrinkled leather look of one who has spent a lifetime outdoors. He almost looked like Van Hoenheim with his glasses and his square beard, but he kept his hair cut short, and there was something still vital and alive in his liquid gold eyes.

"My daughter gave me that sugar bowl a long time ago. Before we got this house." He gave the bowl a look of distaste, but capped it carefully just the same. "She likes sugar in her tea as well. I don't know how I raised her so wrong."

Edward chuckled. "Are those her children in the yard?"

"My son's. The eldest, Myra, is going to be eight next month. She will be beautiful, and I will have to fight off suitors with a stick." Roy smiled and pointed out the girl with a long braid and three squirming puppies under her arm. "How are yours doing?"

They always exchanged these pleasantries when they saw each other. Resembol and Central were too far away for regular visits, but the two families still managed to get together on occasion. Whether it was a visit to bright and sunny Resembol with its vast green fields, or the Furher's fancy white stucco house in Central, there were always children to be marveled over and boasted of on both sides.

"Of the nine grandchildren I have somehow managed to acquire, the eldest just graduated from university with a degree in medicine," Edward said. "Can you believe that? The Elrics have another doctor in the family."

"Cause for celebration, Edward." Roy raised his cup and took a small sip. "Gods, I remember when there was a time I couldn't call you anything but Fullmetal. Seems like another lifetime now."

"You were still calling me Fullmetal when my second child was born, as I recall," Edward quipped. "I remember because after the party, I had to explain to my son why you would call me something like that."

Roy started stirring his teacup again, holding back his smile. "Old habits die hard."

"Fullmetal." Edward tested the word, and if he couldn't remember the shape of it. "Sometimes those days feel like a weird dream I may have had once. Sometimes the memories are so sharp I could cut myself on them."

Roy tugged his feathery white beard, carefully trimmed to make him the strong, dignified face of Amestris. "How much do you talk about those days to your family?"

"I don't if I can help it." The sunlight winked off Edward's glasses as he looked down. "Winry was there during some of it, so we still talk sometimes when the mood strikes. Not like we used to when it was fresh in our minds. Before long our family became more important than reliving the past. I didn't tell my children any more than I had to about that time."

"When I became Fuhrer, my daughter was old enough, so I told her why it was important to me to change this country. I told her about Ishval and the Promised Day," Roy said. "But she is a child of peace. None of them will ever know what it felt like on that day in headquarters. There are no words to express the things I saw."

The homunculi. The puppet soldiers. The whirlwind of souls. The countless slain.

"The stuff of nightmares." Edward shut his eyes, remembering. "The worst day, and the best day. I can't forget that it ended with Al in his body again."

Roy nodded, took another sip of his tea, and fixed his dark, rheumy eyes on Edward. "You know what still haunts me?"

"Everything?"

"Besides everything," Roy's hand started shaking again as his raised the cup to his lips. "On that day, did you even wonder about how they forced me to open the Gate?"

Edward could not conceal the apprehension on his face. "You told me once. Bradley pinned you down with his swords, and then they used that creepy son-of-a-bitch scientist with the gold teeth to open the damn thing." He looked out at the yard, not really seeing the children on the lawn—transported back to that dark room in the bowels of Hell. "I still remember when you fell through the other side, looking like a lamb that just lost its mother."

"It was the worst moment of my life, Edward. Not because of the Gate, what was inside of it, or the loss of my sight, or any of it." Roy set down his cup and adjusted the cufflinks on his crisply ironed suit, still shaking. "Nobody saw the worst part, and I couldn't talk about it back then. I was too ashamed."

A bee buzzed by the window and circled the azaleas. A door closed upstairs, and Edward heard the muffled tread of a maid moving around on the landing. Roy Mustang's white house glowed like a painted still life—polished furniture, gold framed photos, a centerpiece of fresh-cut flowers on the table separating them, and a sugar bowl that Roy loved because it was from his daughter.

Edward had spent 40 years of his life as a carpenter in Resembol. It was a good life, surrounded by family and friends, and it made him feel skilled and useful. He was able to use his hands to build and better the lives of others. Now his hands were dark and calloused, not fit to be holding a china cup in the Fuhrer's house. Still, he shrugged into his chair and leaned back.

"Why now?" Edward asked him.

Roy managed looked the dignified, even when he bowed his head. "Somebody should know what I did."

"But they forced you."

"Barely," the Fuhrer whispered. His voice cracked and died, light as a breeze. "Nobody knows, but I . . . I would have done it. Knowing everything I know about human transmutation, and knowing the consequences if I were to give in to their machinations, I was ready to do it."

"I don't understand," Edward said. But he was afraid he did.

"They asked me to do it, and I refused. They told me to try and resurrect Hughes, and I refused. They . . . they held her up in front of me and . . ."

Roy's whole rigid body began to shake like a leaf. His hands grasped at nothing, his eyes stared through his companion on the other side of the table, the whites flashing like a spooked animal. Edward wanted to put a hand atop Roy's and tell him to stop. He didn't want to know anymore, because he knew the rest would only be worse. He knew who the 'she' in this story was. Roy knew he would know, and they would both understand why it didn't need explanation.

He said nothing. He hardened his mouth into a stern line, and did not look away from the ivory-haired man's haunted eyes. In the twilight of their lives Roy needed to speak the words to somebody, and somehow Edward knew he was the only one who could hear whatever it was he had held onto for so long.

"She was covered in blood," Roy murmured. "I had to watch them cut her throat and leave her to die."

"I thought she would die, and I couldn't even hold her in my arms while it happened." His lips twisted, remembering. "I screamed. I screamed like a crazed man. Like they were ripping me apart, piece by piece. When that . . . man . . ." There was still unbridled rage in that one word. "When he told me what I had to do to save her life I . . . I was willing to pay any price."

Edward dipped his head. He remembered again the round table with the homunculus Wrath. He remembered every veiled threat Wrath had said about Winry. Even now it still had a clarity that pierced through the fog of events around it. He remembered how Roy's face had turned from red rage to yellow fear, and finally to bone white as he listened to Wrath paint a cage of words around the person he loved. Empathy was a terrible and painful curse.

Roy let himself continue speaking. Edward made no demands and asked no questions, so the words tumbled over themselves, pressing on his teeth and barging past his lips.

"If it wasn't for her being stronger than me, and some lucky timing, I would have committed the taboo. She was the one who made me wait. She has always held me up, kicked and shoved me, threatened to kill me if I falter or lose sight of my goal. I'm too weak without her."

If he closed his eyes, he was in that room again, bound by two of the golden-toothed scientist's rejected experiments. He could still smell their bodies—acrid and musty, like forgotten old things that had been left in the dark. He could still feel the sweat beading down his forehead from the hard fighting and the heat of his flames in such a contained space. He could still see the shadows whirling, as if they had a life of their own. They had fought for their lives, but in the end, they were overwhelmed. Edward had disappeared, and they were all pinned. Him, his faithful lieutenant, and the nameless Ishvalan who watched with eyes as red as blood.

It was like something out of one of his many nightmares. The ones that woke him up gasping for breath and covered in sweat. When they dropped her, his lieutenant curled on the ground, like one of the many discarded bodies in the streets of Ishval. Her golden hair and her life's blood spilled out around her. Deep, viscous red, soaking into the dirt, pumped out by the treacherous beating of her heart. Until there was no blood left. Until her amber eyes went still forever and her body went cold. Except in his nightmares, he could wake up.

That day, it had been one of the last things he saw.

He still had the dreams when it was all over. Every night, she would die, and then come back to life. He would wake, thrashing, twisted up like a prisoner in the sheets. She was dead. He had just watched her die, again. And then his wife would be there, wrapping her arms around him, pressing every inch of her warm living body against him, whispering just so he could feel the heat of her breath on his skin. She was alive. It was only her golden hair that spilled over his chest, and her eyes glittered with life in the moonlight. The relief was so palpable it made his chest ache.

"The worst part is I feel no remorse for what I would have done," he said. "And I would still do it if I had to. Knowing what I was capable of simply because I needed one person more than reason or honor . . . that was the worst moment of my life. I didn't deserve to have my sight granted back to me. Everyone said I was an innocent. They all said I didn't deserve to have anything taken at the Gate, but I new the Truth. The Truth saw right through me. I was never innocent."

Edward had remained silent, but at last, he spoke. "And what should you have done? Should you have watched your closest friend and partner be killed in front of your eyes and remain objective? Honestly Roy, sometimes you expect too much of yourself. You're a human, in case you've forgotten. Humans do crazy stupid things for the people they love."

Her eyes. He had met her eyes across the ocean of dirt that separated them. She couldn't even raise her head off the floor. There was so much blood. It was smeared across her cheek, matted in her hair, blooming like a bright red flower from the corner of her mouth. She was going to die soon, and it was all his fault. She had followed him to Hell, and now she would die for it. He could have given up then and there, but her eyes were still fierce and full of fire.

"I was supposed to be better than that."

Edward drained his tea and set down the cup with a clink. "Nobody is without sin, Roy. Did you expect that your purity of purpose would make you better than the rest of us? Your ideals sound like arrogance to me."

Roy stared at him. It had been a long time since Edward Elric had called him arrogant. It had been a long time since anyone had called him arrogant. He'd spent his whole life trying to atone for mistakes of the past and embrace the humility he had felt when he had lost his sight. The rebuke felt like a slap in the face.

"You're still holding yourself to impossible standards," Edward said. "You thought Alphonse and I were weak because of what we sacrificed for love. Made you feel guilty to think that way, but you did. Unlike you, we couldn't hide the truth, and so we had to own it."

Roy frowned into his half-finished teacup, watching the leaves settle to the bottom. "That's different. You were children. Nobody should blame a child."

"Oh really? When we decided to bring our mother back, it was quite pre-meditated," Edward reminded him. "When it went badly, I lost my brother. And I knew when I pulled Al back that I had no choice. I didn't even think about whether it was right or wrong. He was someone I couldn't live without."

"You paid with your own limbs," Roy maintained stubbornly. "I knew the possible consequences for the nation if I performed human transmutation for the sake of a woman. If I am willing to throw away the lives of my people so carelessly, I'm no better than those I fought to overtake."

Edward was just as stubborn. "You act like Al or I could have possibly known the real consequences when we performed the taboo. As you said, we were children. We never thought about the consequences. Besides, what you would have done is irrelevant. They made you do it anyway."

"It matters to me." Roy's voice was cracked and thin again. "I have never been able to live with it."

"And that has made you into a more humble and compassionate ruler. You can understand the selfishness of love," Edward responded. "We have had the unique pleasure of seeing the limitless power of such selfishness better than other people. They don't have the burden of knowing they could do terrible things."

"Evil things," the white-haired man muttered.

They both looked out at the yard. The puppies were asleep under a hedge. The children were playing fetch with two of the dogs. His Myra's black braid waved in the wind each time she jumped. His only granddaughter with freckles. Roy knew he was capable of dark cruelty if anyone ever tried to harm her.

"Just make sure your people never have to make the choice between love and terrible things," he heard Edward say. "As you said, the truth hard to live with."

Roy sighed. "And yet, we both have."

"And here we are now."

"And here we are now," he agreed. "Old men with our tea and our regrets."

"Old friends," Edward corrected.

Roy met the other man's eyes and nodded. He didn't remember when exactly he had started to think of Edward as a friend and equal. When they had first met, the Fullmetal Alchemist had been so young and rash. He was full of dreams and ideals, and he had an explosive temper. He let his emotions get the best of him too many times. He flew off the handle, got himself into trouble, and didn't listen to adults. They had not seen eye-to-eye on so many matters, but they at least they had what amounted to a grudging respect, if nothing else.

Now there was a tacit understanding in Edward's golden eyes that spoke of common experiences and memories neither of them could let go of. Somewhere between that day in Resembol when Roy had found a broken child who couldn't stand and this spring day in Central, they had forged a bond of trust and admiration. It had crept over him so slowly he didn't even notice when the change had occurred, but he was grateful.

"Do you think we pay for our sins on the other side?" he asked.

Edward shook his head. "No. It's not what the fancy religious folk have in mind, I'm sure, but I've seen too much to think we have an eternal rest waiting." He smiled wryly. "I for one will be glad to have some peace and quiet when my time comes."

"This is all there is." Only the children and the dogs. The bees and the maples. A soft breeze on his weathered face, and an old rival and friend to share a cup of tea with. "I'm glad of that."

Edward leaned back to stretch. His back popped, and his automail leg hit the ground with a dull thud. "Leg works better than the rest of me thanks to my damn talented mechanic."

"Your wife still does the work on your automail?"

"Of course. Couldn't make her retire if I wanted to. My daughter has the gearhead gift as well, but Winry always insists on doing my leg herself."

Roy smiled and fumbled for his cane. "Sometimes I wish I had automail instead of these busted joints. Also, I'm hungry. Shall we see about having a little snack before dinner?"

Edward squinted at his watch. "The rest of the family will probably be back soon. They've been out shopping for four hours, and I'm probably a poorer man to show for it."

"You and me both," Roy grinned. "Riza is the only sensible one of the whole bunch."

Edward tapped his fingers on the table. "Speaking of Riza, I'm betting she will want you to make sure the grandchildren look presentable before dinner. Especially if we are going out somewhere."

Roy groaned theatrically, a hint of his old mischievousness in his eyes. "I'm too old to round them all up. Besides they usually listen to her more anyway."

"That's because Grandpa Roy is a softie. And their grandma wears a gun."

"That she does," Roy beamed. "Not a day goes by when I don't wonder what kind of insanity possessed me to marry that woman."

"Same insanity that made me marry a woman who likes to throw wrenches at me. With all the alchemy business over with, there here had to be something perilous in my otherwise quiet life." Edward raised an eyebrow over his glasses. "That, and her spectacular set of . . . skills."

Roy laughed. "Indeed. One must never underestimate a good pair of skills."

"I cherish them dearly."

The Furher of Amestris rubbed his stomach. "And I am going to cherish that apple pie your wife makes this evening."

"You'll have to fight with all the kids if you want a piece," Edward said. "That pie never lasts long in our house."

Roy pushed himself up and stood. "I welcome the challenge. Now, if you would please excuse me. I have grandchildren to wrangle."

He tipped his head to his old friend and stepped out into the sunlight.