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"Where they planning to rise, or were they provoked? No-one now will ever know for certain. But when a powder keg is primed, it ceases to matter what the spark is that sets the fuse burning."

- K Schiezka, "The Forgotten Province"

Alphonse lay on his bunk in the close darkness, while the slow minutes inched their way past him. He couldn't sleep. For weeks now he'd found himself collapsing into sleep that was dreamless, his workload had been so heavy, but now things were beginning to even out. It left him restless.

Was Edward restless too? Al couldn't tell, and that worried him all the more. If he was under pressure, then his older brother must have been under twice as much, but so far there had been no sign. Ed was just carrying on, struggling with supplies and reports and discipline, and all the other things State Alchemists didn't usually have to deal with. He was surviving, but he wasn't good at any of it, and the tension was not decreasing. There had been too many little arguments, between Ed and the officers, between the officers and the garrison, between the garrison and the townspeople, Even between him and Ed, if he was honest. Too many little arguments, too much tension. Somewhere, the embers were beginning to smoulder.

But who was incubating them? There was no way to know. Not yet, not until it was too late, but the writing was on the wall now. Literally. He had seen it, had reported it to Ed, had ordered it scrubbed away. But every day it reappeared, screaming the same message – "INDEPENDENCE! BUTCHER THE DOGS WHO OPPRESS US!" And, though over time the words changed, the message never did.

Al sighed. The blackness was pressing round him now, full of the tensions plaguing him. Well, if they were going to keep him up, he may as well focus on them. He got up, and as quietly as possible pulled his uniform on over his nightclothes. Maybe work would settle his mind.

Maybe not.

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"I don't want you to go."

Ed opened his eyes and sighed. The ruins of his old home had long ago lost any terror that they had once held for him – indeed, covered in grass and yellowing ivy, the place had a strange tranquillity - but today it didn't look like he would find any peace there.

"I can't stay with you and Pinako forever, Winry."

"I don't mean that, I mean this job the military want you to do," the blonde girl threw herself down on the grass beside him, frowning "Why do you want to go back to them anyway?"

"I have to find Al." There was no way he could tell her his other reasons, even if he'd wanted to. They concerned her too closely.

"Al would say the same as me. You've done enough for them Ed, break away and live you own life." Sound advice – no point in telling her he was trying to follow it.

"Do you know where Al is, then?"

She hesitated. "Not exactly."

Ed sat up, staring at her intently. He hadn't been certain she'd know, but he couldn't think of any reason she wouldn't. She had once been almost as close to Al as Ed was – closer even than most sisters.

"I got a few letters after he left Dublith, and they sounded pretty normal, but. . . you know he couldn't remember anything. And then the letters just stopped. He never said where he was."

She looked away, as if to avoid his eyes, and Ed realised that he was probably wearing his hopeless look.

"I'm sorry, Ed."

Ed sighed again. "It's not your fault, Winry. But the military, they've got the resources to find him, don't you see? I don't want to play their silly games, but. . ."

"Yeah, I know."

Winry went quiet again, as though she wanted to say something very difficult. "You could stay here. With me. Would that be so bad?" She turned back towards him, and he saw that there were tears in her eyes.

"Come on, don't do that, Winry," He was about to accuse her of dramatics, as he usually did, but he knew she didn't deserve that. Instead he reached out and touched her face, trying clumsily to smooth away her tears. Her beautiful pale skin felt damp and puffy beneath his fingers, and suddenly he realised how many years it had been since he'd felt comfortable enough to touch her. And then he kissed her.

For a moment she was motionless, but then her arms came up defensively and she moved to push him away. She didn't say anything, but he could see the look of hurt in her eyes-

Edward sat bolt upright, instantly wide awake. Over the past few years bad dreams had become a normal part of existence for him, but this one was new. And it was profoundly disturbing; even more so than the grey confused dreams of the other world that visited him some nights. Its unsettling effect lay in its closeness to reality.

That was how it had been – the grass-grown ruins, and the matter of Al between them, and Winry's tears. Except that she hadn't pushed him away. How much better it would have been for both of them if she had!

He had known, even then, though he'd shoved his worries aside. They were young, and the fire they lit in one another could not be resisted. But self-disgust had visited him later, when she lay in the curve of his arm in the darkness and he'd remembered that he had to go. He had known it was the worst thing he could possibly have done. One more "worst thing" to add to the great sordid heap of them all.

Pinako had known too, he realised. She hadn't said so, but it had been there in the heaviness of her tone the next morning. It had suggested she didn't expect to see him again any time soon. And she had been right not to expect it. How could he go back now, with this. . . curse hanging between them?

No. Things had to go back to the way they were. They had to. Winry just as big a part of his life as Al was, in a way, and he could not imagine losing her – not so soon after finding everything that mattered again. There had to be a way. . .

The darkness of the room was not quite as total as it had seemed when he woke. In the dim charcoal-greyness of a very early dawn he could make out the objects that he'd left on the room's small desk the night before, when he'd been too tired to tidy them away properly. Pen, ink, writing paper – what had he been doing again? He couldn't remember now, but it didn't matter.

Winry had always complained that he didn't write home often enough.

He didn't bother to light the lamp, but seized the pen and began writing in an untidy scrawl.

"Dear Winry," he began, "The weather is terrible here. . ."

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Most of the few shops and businesses in Isen were unfriendly to the garrison, but there were a few, at least, that treated them with apathy rather than stark hatred. One of these was a small café-turned-bar at the end of the main street, just before the town gave way to bare heathland, which had become a favourite amongst both officers and enlisted men.

In retrospect, Ed thought, that was probably because the staff took no offence at their presence rather than because it was a particularly nice environment. Like almost everywhere in the town, the place was dim and shabby, with a watchful air. Here, though, there was an added air of uncertainty as both camps mingled, which he was quick to note. If ever confrontation was likely, it was in a place like this.

The two brothers had chosen their vantage point carefully, both to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible and to gain a good view of everyone else in the place. This was advantageous for Ed - he knew how quickly a disagreement could turn into a fight, particularly in an environment with plenty of alcohol. It didn't take him long to spot potential trouble. At a centre table, he could see a group of junior officers, all of whom seemed to have been drinking a good deal, and who were swiftly becoming drunker and rowdier. His attention was particularly caught by Lieutenant Dalligan, who was talking loudly. He couldn't hear enough to tell what he was saying, but, knowing Dalligan as he was beginning to know him, he probably didn't want to.

He turned slightly to get a better look, only to have his view blocked by the figure of one of the bar's employees, a narrow, dark young woman he'd seem once or twice before. Before Ed or Al could say anything, however, she leaned down under the pretext of mopping at the table with a cloth, and said quietly, "Please, could you do something? There's going to be trouble."

She shifted her head to indicate the table where Dalligan and the others were sitting.

Ed turned his attention to the people surrounding the rowdy group. Sure enough, some of the civilians in the place were shifting uneasily, looking alternately at Dalligan and at each other. Ed's eye was drawn by one – a heavily built man whose eyes were a calculating dark green. He isn't just a thug, Ed thought, He's more dangerous than that. Ed saw the man smirk, saw him glance sideways at his companions, and then, just as Dalligan's table exploded into laughter-

CRACK!

The punch threw Dalligan backwards into the table, but in a moment he was up again, wiping at the blood flowing from his nose. With a yell of rage his launched himself at his attacker.

Ed looked at Al, beckoning his brother to follow. Al hardly needed prompting. In a second he was across the room and laid hands on the lieutenant, trying to pull him off the larger man. Ed joined in, seizing Dalligan's shoulder with his automail arm and dragging him back. It would leave bruises, but at the moment he didn't care – the important thing was to diffuse the situation as quickly as possible.

Struggling, Dalligan fought to free himself from their grip, one hand clutching at the collar of his tunic. He rounded on Ed, fury in his eyes. "With respect, Major-"

"No, Lieutenant. If you want to fight, you should join Lieutenant Keyes for unarmed combat practice. But you don't fight civilians. Is that clear?" Ed wanted to hit Dalligan himself. It still wasn't clear to him what the officer had said, but it had obviously been insulting. And then to punch back – how could he be so stupid?

Al seemed to pick up on his brother's irritation. "Go back to the base please, Lieutenant." he said in a calmer voice.

For a moment Dalligan seemed to consider disobeying. He took a step towards Al, his dark eyes flashing, but then he smirked. "Sure thing, sir."

With that, he turned on his heel and left, staggering only slightly as he reached the door. Ed heard his uneven steps on the pavement as they died away.

Inside, an uneasy quiet had descended. The other drinkers, military and civilian, were melting away now, and it was not hard to see why. Dalligan's attacker had gotten to his feet, and now he was flanked by two other men, both his equal in height and girth. Ed suddenly became aware of how much taller and stronger they looked compared to himself, and had to steel himself against taking a step backwards. He could not retreat – if he did he would lose, here and now.

And yet, astonishingly, before either Ed or Al had time to react, the young waitress stepped forward.

"You clear out as well. We don't want fighting in here."

The man who had attacked Dalligan looked down at her indignantly, and said in a low grunt of a voice, "You really sure you want to be ordering us around?"

The girl made a contemptuous little flick of the head that set her hair rippling behind her, "Do you want me to call my father?"

"Your father can't touch me and he knows it."

"He can tell the man you work for. I hear he's not too pleased when his associates start fights."

The man seemed to blanch. Clearly his employer was someone to be feared, but there was face to be saved. He gave a smirk not dissimilar to Daliigan's, and made as if to swagger out, his two companions following in his wake. But at the door he turned and said, as if he couldn't stop himself, "We all know whose side you're on, anyway, girl." Then he spat and was gone.

Al turned to look at the waitress, who had gone deathly pale. She was pretty, with thick dark hair and brown eyes. "You should have left it to us, Miss. They were bad men."

The girl shook her head. "They wouldn't have gone if you'd told them. Besides, even they wouldn't hit a girl with her father in the next room."

Ed frowned. This girl troubled him, "Hey, I've seen you before, haven't I? What's your name?"

She turned away from them and began wiping at a nearby table. "It's Sienna. Sienna Roy."

"You go out with Sergeant Kai, don't you? Is that what they meant when they said they knew what side you were on?"

The girl blushed a little, but then her face hardened, "I'm not on anyone's side, Major. And come to think of it, it's time you left as well. There wouldn't be any trouble in this town if it weren't for your military."

All of a sudden, Ed had the ridiculous desire to protest that it wasn't his military, but stopped himself. This girl saw things clearly, and that unsettled him.

"Well, if you have any trouble, Miss, you should call us. That's what we're here for – to keep the peace." said Al politely.

Out in the street, Ed turned back to see Sienna lock the door of the cafe. He couldn't help but notice the worry flooding her face, or the way her hands shook as she drew across the bolt.

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Captain Winter was tidying a new shipment of supplies away when Ed stepped nervously into his infirmary. He'd spoken a great deal to Winter since he and Al had arrived, and found him likable and trustworthy, but he'd never before been into the room that was the doctor's home territory. It felt like an invasion, somehow.

Winter looked up, surprised, "What can I do to help you, Major?"

Ed looked around the infirmary. It was pleasant enough, well ordered and meticulously clean. The only oddity was that one corner of the room was curtained off. This presumably, was where the Captain slept. Ed shifted nervously. "Did Lieutenant Dalligan come to see you?"

Winter paused for a second, then continued with his task. "Yes, he did. His nose wasn't actually broken, but I put a dressing on it anyway. The greater wound was to his pride, I think."

"Yeah. He didn't like being ordered to leave, that's for sure."

"He won't like being punished either."

"That's not up to me. He was out of line. Plus, he gave that thug an opening."

Winter put the last of the supplies away and stood up. "Listen," he said, "I wouldn't ever presume to tell how to run things here, but if you take my advice you'll punish him as quickly and publicly as possible."

"You mean before anyone says we covered it up, don't you?"

Winter nodded silently. "Yes. This region is unsettled, as I'm sure Major Reynolds told you. We have to avoid anything that might escalate the problem." He paused again, as if what he had to say was difficult, "I suppose you're wondering why Reynolds never reported the continuing unrest to Central, aren't you?"

"It's crossed my mind."

"I never knew for sure, but I always though at least part of it was. . . Look, you've been in the military almost as long as I have. Do you imagine that back then they would have hesitated for a second before grinding this place into the dust?"

Ed looked away. "Have you ever heard of a town called Liore, Captain?"

Winter's expression was puzzled, "Yes. There was a rebellion, the military went in to stamp it out, and-" He stopped abruptly, "You were there."

"Yes. The only reason the State didn't kill everyone there is that the people had already gotten out."

"Then I didn't need to tell you what I did. I apologise."

"It's okay. I shouldn't have mentioned it."

"No, it was stupid of me." Winter paused, considering his next words carefully, "Major, I mean no disrespect, but I must confess some confusion as to your presence here. I had heard rumours that you were. . . well, dead."

"It was complicated." That was not a subject Ed was willing to be questioned on. Luckily, however, Winter seemed to realise this.

"And now you're here in our dangerous little backwater. Most of us were sent here because we were out of favour. Dalligan claims it was so that we could made scapegoats of, in case more trouble sparked, but in your case I don't think that's true. Why were you sent here?"

"I don't know." replied Ed, trying to keep the frustration from his voice – it wasn't the doctor it was directed at, after all. He turned around to see that Winter had gone back to his work. "How long have you been here?"

"Almost five years. It's strange; I became a State Alchemist so that I could use my skills to help people. I don't get much chance of that here." He sighed, and it occurred to Ed that Winter was equally frustrated at this distant transfer, although he showed it less. "But I've long since given up hope of another posting,"

If the unrest he had seen earlier bubbled over, they might all find themselves somewhere else soon, Ed found himself thinking. And not a new posting, either.

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Ed was woken form confused dreams by a loud and insistent knocking at the door of his room. He sat bolt upright immediately, nerves jangling with alarm. Al was already half out of bed, shouting "Come in!" just as the door was thrown open.

Lieutenant Keyes was standing in the doorway, his broad, honest face white with shock. Yet in spite of the desperate way he had woken them, he said nothing.

"What?" asked Al, reaching hurriedly for his uniform "What is it?"

"It's the night patrol sir," said Keyes slowly, as if he had bee stunned,"They. . ." He took a deep breath, "They've found a body."

Ed threw himself out of his bunk and began pulling on his own clothes. "Where?" he demanded.

"Round the back of Lampwright's Street, sir."

"Who is it?" Ed asked, but Keyes shook his head mutely, staring at him. Whether this meant that he didn't know or that he wasn't willing to tell him, Ed wasn't sure.

In the confusion, neither of the brothers thought to ask where Sergeant Kai was, although by rights it should have been him who woke them.

They found out where he was soon enough. The narrow alley Keyes led them to was overlooked by a large building. With a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Ed realised that it was the café where the fight had taken place that afternoon. He fought down his mounting horror. The alley was full of rotting rubbish, but the prone figure lying on the cobblestones lay oddly separate from it, half submerged in the shadow cast by the torchlight. Ed did not want to look at that still form. Behind him, Keyes and the members of the night patrol looked on wordlessly.

A harsh, dry sob broke the silence. Stepping forward into the alley, Ed could perceive the small, slim figure of Sergeant Kai, cradling the head of the dead body, his face caught between horror and grief.

That was the final confirmation Ed had feared. Al followed his brother into the alley, shining a torch into the face of the still figure. Ed heard his stricken gasp with a sense of numb expectation.

A pale girl in a plain dress lay there, her skirt stained with a substance that shone wetly black in the light. One of her hands still clutched vainly at the purple marks around her neck. And her face, though twisted in pain and fear, was shockingly familiar.

Sienna Roy had been strangled.

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