Written for the prompt War for Almei Week 2015.

I gave up trying to be creative with the prompt because it usually devolved into me singing WHAT IS IT GOOD FOR? ABSOLUTELY NOTHING, and then I proceed to knock stuff over and make kung fu noises. But in order to meet certain self-imposed deadlines, this story is split into a 2 or 3 parts. The chapters are pretty short though.

Warning for mentions of death and language.

I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist.

Sounding the Bugle

Five days before he's supposed to set out to Xing, Al receives a telegram from Mei. Before he even looks at it, he knows something is wrong. Mei writes like she collects words with every step, every breath she takes, like her only outlet is in her pen and the ten page letters she sends to him. She has never been brief, certainly not enough to warrant sending a telegram. He takes the telegram with dread. Even the grain of the paper feels suspicious against his skin.

Insurgency escalating. Xing is not safe. Do not come.

He reads it twice; once for comprehension, twice to taste the words, testing the way his tongue and teeth mold around them. They taste like fear and desperation, flavors her previous letters have not come in.

It's the only thing he gleans from her words.

He leaves for Xing that night.

Xing is not safe.

It's one thing to read it. Another to see it. The streets of Weihu are teeming with guards and empty of civilians. Jerso says, "It must be pretty damn bad. Port cities like this one are usually overflowing with people. It's like a point of contact between countries, trading center, shit like that." It takes Al a long time to realize what the flowers lining the sidewalk mean and even longer to realize what the makeshift curtains across the alleyways are hiding. One sheet ruffles with the wind, and it's enough that Al meets a handful of gazes. All frozen. All haunted. All dead.

He keeps his eyes forward from then on and takes on a new appreciation for the phrase out of sight, out of mind.

Their little trio is a magnet for attention. The bad kind. The few people on the streets – shoulders hunched, face hidden, no you never saw me – give them a wide berth to pass. The guards are the opposite; they're never more than a few meters away. They're watchful eyes and white knuckles from gripping the barrel of their guns too tightly. Al is careful to always keep his hands out where they can be seen.

He thinks it might have been a mistake to bring Jerzo and Zampano. Despite their insistence, he didn't want to drag them into a violently unstable country. At least, if he had been by himself, he might have been able to find a disguise and wander the streets inconspicuously. He feels like he's picking a fight everywhere he goes when he has two hulking figures flanking his sides.

He knows it was a mistake when a drunkard breaks a bottle over Zampano's head. The man spits at them in Xingese, practically snarling at them with his teeth bared. Guilao, he says over and over, like the sheer weight of the word could slam them out of the bar. Al doesn't know what it means, but it's the way the drunk says it. It's like he's pouring sludge into Al's ears.

They have to drag Jerso out of the bar before he drowns it out in mucus. He throws off Al and Zampano with a growl and is understandably surly for the rest of the day. Years down the line, Al will ask Zampano why he didn't react. "That city… It wasn't really a city. It was more like a cage. Yeah, they had flowers and shit to hide the bars, but it's not like they forgot the bars were there. It smelled awful. You could just smell the desperation off of those people. They were this close to thrashing in their cage and ruining themselves. That's not the kind of shit you mess with."

For now, Al replans their route. They're avoiding cities from now on.

The first welcome face they see is Lan Fan's. She spots them in a backwater town miles from the capital. "The three of you stick out like a crane among chickens." It's the only time Al appreciates how much of circus show they are. Lan Fan looks much the same as she did two years ago. She holds herself straight with her gaze relentlessly forward, but there's something haggard about her. It's the sleepless nights that bloat and color the skin under her eyes. Still she carries herself with a sense of pride and duty befitting of her role as captain of the royal guard.

Al drops his voice to a whisper. "If you're here, then…"

Lan Fan smiles in appreciation of his caution. "Well yes. He's not one to sit still when the country is thrown into turmoil. I would take you to him, but the situation currently calls for… discretion." The three don't even need to look at themselves to understand.

She offers them food, clothes to blend in, and more importantly information on Mei. "There was talk of dissent in response to abolishing the heir laws, the ones that dictate the Emperor must sire a child in each clan and that the children must compete for the title. Extremists are accusing the Emperor of trying to keep the crown within the Yao clan." She sighs and runs her fingers along the pinched ridges of her eyes. "It got out of hand about two weeks ago. There have been bombings and attacks and riots. They tend to be localized around supporters of the emperor. I haven't heard about any damage to Chang territory, but I wouldn't be surprised if Mei is making preparations to protect her people."

At Al's pleading, Lan Fan goes as far to trace a relatively safe route to Yunnam where the majority of Chang territory lies. "She won't be happy, you know? She didn't want you to come."

Al nods and gives a small smile. "Guess I should prepare for a scolding."

"Maybe." Lan Fan returns the smile and gives him a soft but hefty punch to the arm. "But you're looking much better than when I last saw you. If you can pick yourself up after that, then a scolding will be nothing."

They're ambushed on a forest path on the outskirts of Chang territory.

It's wave after wave of kunai, and Al ruins the landscape with alchemy to protect him and his bodyguards. Any attempts to run prove fruitless as their exits are headed off. It's five against three, and who knows how many more are hiding in the trees. One of their masked assailants throws a volley of kunai, and it's only after Al dodges – far too late – that he realizes that the attack was meant to separate them. He finds himself against two of the attackers while Jerso and Zampano tag-team the other three.

As Al dodges their blows, he regrets that he didn't spar more with Mei when she was in Amestris. Ed is fast relentless attacks, unpredictable in his footwork but straightforward in his punches and kicks. Al's opponents are too bulky to move as fast as Ed, but they make up for it with an odd fluidity and elasticity. His opponents dance around him like water currents around a rock. He throws a punch, and they bend away from his fist.

A third opponent swings in from the trees and lands a kick to his stomach. Al transitions into a roll and manages to transmute a rock into a rather crude dagger. He doesn't have Ed's flair in making weapons, and the knife is an strange weight in his hands. Al's more of a punch-for-punch kind of fighter, but he no longer has the luxury of steel skin to guard against their weapons. The dagger is awkward and clumsy, but it'll have to do.

Al squats, ready to defend himself, but his third opponent drops her attack stance. The shuriken in her hands fall to the ground, and her mask follows soon after. "Alphonse?" Her large eyes – always happy but not now, not now – are disbelieving.

Al is not so much disbelieving, but he is surprised. She's lost some of the roundness of her cheeks and her trademark braids, but it's in the furrow of her brow and the way her eyes crinkle in horror. She's giving him the same look as when he asked her to transmute him two years ago.

"Mei."

Her name is an anchor the pulls her from any horrible thoughts or visions she's having. She cracks a smile, though it's pained. "I should have stressed 'don't come.'"

"Maybe," he jokes.

She scoffs out a laugh before groaning out in frustration and sinking to her knees. Her partners calls off the attack and give her space. She doesn't look up even as minutes pass, and Al wonders if she's wishing him away. Even if she is, or maybe because she is, he crawls his way over to her.

"Hey," he says quietly.

"I – I was going to kill you."

"But you didn't." He wraps her in a hug. He expected a scolding, but he couldn't have prepared himself for the despairing look she sends him. She looks like she might cry. Instead she sinks her head onto her hands, fisted together like a prayer.

"You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be here." She says it over and over again, like an incantation that could teleport him away if she just wanted it enough. Al holds her tighter, but he doesn't apologize.

Why should he for being where he's needed?

A/N: End of part 1. Part 2 and maybe Part 3 should come in the next successive days.

Now for you lovely people who made it this far, tell me what you think, what you liked (if anything), and what you would like to see! I'd love to get feedback, positive or critical. If you liked this, be on the watch for future chapters and future prompts!