Alright, here we go! This is my fic for FMA Week 15. It's completely written, but due to current travel plans, I may not update daily. But you'll have it all, don't worry!
Warnings for violence, death, language, and all the drama/angst associated with a war fic.
Some EdWin, but no real focus on romance in this story.
Chapter 1: Trust
Even now, more than twenty years later, Ed sometimes forgot that he didn't have his automail anymore. He'd trusted that his arm would block incoming attacks for years, and his reflexes were still stuck on following that.
And he was really starting to regret that.
The Drachman's knife had sliced right through his skin and muscle (down to the bone, probably), and Ed kicked out, sending the attacker to his knees. The room was in chaos, with the rest of the Amestrian delegation fighting back with whatever they could get their hands on.
Nobody had come into the room armed- that had been part of the deal. Both the Amestrian and the Drachman diplomats had been searched before being allowed inside. And since nobody present was an alchemist, there hadn't been any worries about someone trying to blow up half the room.
But of course the two dozen Drachman guards waiting outside were heavily armed.
It didn't help that most of the Amestrians were older, and aside from Ed and two others, none of them had any sort of combat training. The Drachmans, on the other hand, were all trained soldiers. Even the diplomats knew what they were doing, as Ed found out when the Drachman minister of agriculture had broken another man's neck.
Ed still couldn't believe Mustang had talked him into this.
"Drachma. You want me to go to Drachma to talk nice?"
Mustang leaned back in his chair. "Your name came up in Parliament and they actually managed to agree over it."
Ed's scowl deepened. "So you want me to go tromping through the frozen wastes just because a bunch of politicians thought it was a good idea?"
"Essentially, yes." When Ed offered up a rude gesture, Mustang continued. "You have a reputation, Fullmetal. If anything your face will scare the Drachmans into backing down."
That led to another round of mouthing off. "Look, Edward, if you don't want to go, I'll veto the movement and they can go back to arguing while Drachma continues to take shots at the border," Mustang finally said, slapping down a file folder to cut Ed off mid-rant.
It was a low shot, they both knew it. Ed's unstoppable desire to fix everything he could get his hands on practically tore at the bait. If he could stop the border tensions by simply showing up and shaking some hands, then he'd do it.
"If you go with the diplomats, you'll have immunity under international law." Mustang shrugged. "You could take the family, let them tour the city while you do boring, political things. I can wait another couple days before acting, so go think it over."
At the moment, Ed was very glad he'd ended up going alone. Sara had broken her ankle earlier in the month, and Ed wasn't about to drag her through the Drachman mountains. Some of the other diplomats had come with their husbands and wives, and Ed had no doubt they were receiving the same treatment he was at the moment.
Gunshots went off, and Ed dove behind an upturned table. Papers were scattered all over the floor- trade agreements and tax rates, now spattered with blood. One of the other Amestrians was already there, a bloody candlestick clutched in his grasp.
It was Marcus Hossler, one of the assistants. The young man was shaking and almost brained Ed when he came close. "Fullmetal, sir! I didn't-!" His eyes widened as he took in the gash down Ed's right arm. It was coated with blood and looked about as bad as it felt. "You're injured!"
Ed gave him a look and snatched up a discarded cane. "So are you," he said, testing the grip of his right hand. It was weak, too weak to fight with. Fantastic. It wasn't the first time he found himself missing his automail. Even broken automail could be taken off and used a makeshift bludgeon. But he really wasn't about to cut off his arm and starting hitting people with it.
Hossler raised a hand to touch at the wound on his forehead, a stunned look on his face as it came away bloody. He made a noise of confusion and flinched again as someone screamed.
Shit, things were not going well. Ed chanced a glance over the top of the table in time to see one of the remaining dignitaries shoved into a corner by a cluster of Drachman guards. One of them pulled a knife from their belt and Ed ducked back down behind cover. He knew what was coming next.
Ed reached over and grabbed Hossler's arm. "We have to run. There's too many," he hissed. As much as he did want to stand and fight, they were outnumbered, outgunned, and were going to get themselves killed. Well, Hossler'd be killed, no doubt. But Ed had been famous for long enough to know that Drachma had more to gain by ransoming or torturing him.
"We can't run through them all, we'll be shot in the doorway!" Hossler looked like he was about to collapse on the spot. "The only other way out is the window!"
Well, Ed hadn't considered the window. He whipped his head around to stare at the large bay window. They were on the second floor, but it was snowing. Maybe the drifts would break their fall. If not… well, they were screwed anyway. "We have to take it, let's go!"
Hossler shook his head, eyes wide with horror. "What- No, I wasn't serious!"
Too late. Ed yanked him up and ran, bashing the cane into a Drachman soldier that got in the way. He went down and Ed tore past him. He could feel bad about beating up people later; right now, he just wanted to get out.
Behind him, Hossler let out a shout, and Ed, against all better judgment, looked over his shoulder. The other man was dragged to the floor, pinned down by two of the guards. And that was when it was over.
Two soldiers were on him in an instant. A steel-toed boot slammed into his left knee and Ed spat out a curse as it gave out, sending him to his knees. Even now, decades after the surgery, the port was still sensitive, especially in the dead of winter.
"No, get off-"
He managed to punch one in the nose and temporarily free himself, but he was the only moving target left in the room and the sole object of their attention. Ed turned, trying desperately to get his legs back under him. Half a step later, he was tackled from behind, head slamming onto the wooden floor. His vision spotted and Ed ground out another string of curses. But he was so outnumbered that Ed had to wonder if he would have stood a chance even if was twenty years younger and fully equipped with alchemy.
"I'm not going down here!" Ed snarled, cuffing an attacker. No, he was going to back to Amestris, yell at Mustang, yell at Parliament, and then just yell in general, because he was really sick and tired of getting dragged into these situations. Winry and the kids were waiting. Winry was opening the new automail shop soon and Alexander was getting ready to graduate and he was going to be there.
Someone grabbed him by the neck, pulled back, and slammed him into the floor again. And that was it.
