Flowers of Antimony
by Lady Norbert
Chapter Two: Sublimation
Sublimation: A property possessed by some substances which enables them to go directly from the solid to the gaseous state without passing through the liquid phase.
Ed is decidedly less than pleased by the summons. He is still technically regarded as a state alchemist, despite the inability to actually perform alchemy, so refusal isn't really an option. And he doesn't dislike General Hothead as much as he once did, nor anywhere near as much as he likes to pretend he does. Still, it's not exactly a convenient time to be invited (he uses the word loosely) to Ishval, and Winry makes a point of letting him know it. She's half toying with plans for an automail wedding dress, a concept that amuses and exasperates him on levels he can't even begin to describe, and with a shake of his head he kisses her goodbye and dutifully boards an express bound for Ishval.
Sixteen hours of solitude in a train car, and his automail leg is not thanking him for the experience. He forgets the pain, however, as he drinks in the sight of all the reconstruction. Under General Jerkwad's leadership, Amestrians and Ishvalans are laboring jointly to rebuild the devastated land. He wouldn't really say that there's an atmosphere of peace in the air, but there is far less tension than there must have once been.
"Edward Elric!"
Uh-oh. There's no hiding from that voice.
Before Ed can even offer a weak greeting, he's being crushed in the embrace of a familiar mustachioed strongman, and his shirt is being saturated by an outpouring of happy tears.
"Hello - Major - Armstrong," he grunts brokenly through gritted teeth.
"Oh, my dear boy, how magnificent to see you again! And just look at how much you have grown!" Armstrong wails, at which Ed decides to forgive him for the cracked ribs.
"It's good to see you," he says once the giant releases him. "But what are you doing here? I thought you were in Briggs or Xing or something."
"I've been to both since last we met. But I had to come and see General Mustang - my sister had a message for him, and one for Miles as well, which I delivered for her. She has never been one to trust the post if she can help it. Since I was in the vicinity already, the General asked if I would escort you from the station to his headquarters."
"Oh." Ed supposes this makes sense, so he picks up his suitcase and falls in step beside the Major. "Looks like he's been keeping busy, anyway."
"Indeed, young Edward." Armstrong begins to describe all the changes that are underway in Ishval, starting with the wary return of citizens, still shell-shocked after almost a full generation in exile, to their ruined homes. Tent cities have been erected to house the work force; there is the matter of constructing schools and hospitals, and reinstating old trade routes and relationships. Fuhrer Grumman has been liberal with the distribution of labor and aid, and public proclamation has been made of the military's wrongdoing in the Ishvalan matter. Amestrians from all quarters are urged to remember that the Ishvalans are their brethren, and the response to the call for able-bodied assistance has been slowly growing more enthusiastic. Bradley's guilt in the the regional conflict has been minimized, a whitewashing of history that those who knew what he really was both universally despise and universally recognize as necessary.
Ed listens only half-heartedly, his mind wandering over the details even as his gaze wanders over his surroundings. Something asserts itself in his consciousness, however, and he realizes he needs a question answered.
"Major? Has the Fuhrer made any sort of decision about the people who served in the Ishvalan war?"
"You refer to official reprisals against the state alchemists and other personnel, I presume."
"Yeah." Specifically, he thinks of a conversation he once had with Riza Hawkeye, sitting at her kitchen table drinking tea and watching her clean a bloodied pistol. She had entrusted him with the explanation of General Skirtchaser's ambitions, which to him had sounded like planned suicide.
"An extensive military tribunal was conducted. It was determined that the bulk of the guilt lies with the high-ranking officers who gave the directives. Most of those have already been arrested for their collaboration with the Homunculi, and their power had been lifted before the tribunal even began. Fuhrer Grumman is very selective about the people he trusts. There were some dishonorable discharges for the ethically unreliable, and some prison sentences."
"What about the rest?"
"General Mustang was cleared of charges, if that's what you're asking. He wasn't too pleased, to be perfectly honest, but he has accepted the pardon."
"And Colonel Hawkeye?"
"Also cleared. Between ourselves, I suspect this is the only reason that the General acquiesced to his own pardon." Armstrong looks faintly amused. "Conversely, I believe the fact that he was cleared was the only reason she accepted hers. A fine partnership."
"How about you?"
"As you see, I remain at liberty."
"Right. So what did I get called here for, anyway? General Fancypants didn't give me any details."
Armstrong hesitates. "You are an object of some concern at present," he says carefully. "That's really all I can tell you."
"How much concern can I be raising?" Ed objects. "I can't even do alchemy anymore!"
The older alchemist shrugs. They reach the headquarters building and make their way to Mustang's office. Ed can hear Hawkeye's voice just before the door opens, lecturing her superior about something or other, and he smiles involuntarily. It's good, he thinks, to know that some things really never change.
As he follows Armstrong across the threshold of the office, Mustang looks up. Ed admits, privately, that he's glad the Flame Alchemist got his sight back. A slightly comical expression crosses the General's face, and he gives a snort that is half agitation, half welcome.
"Fullmetal, you're the only guy I know who can turn getting married into an international incident."
