Chapter 6 Edward Elric I
After a smoke bomb blew open the front of the inn, the attention was finally off of Edward and Alphonse. The bomb bore the words Madrassi (an unkind word for Ishvalans) and Z'hoom (an unkind word for an Ishvalan-Amestrian mix), so, of course, according to everyone, the Elrics were no longer the intended targets anymore, because obviously Edward and Alphonse weren't Ishvalan. Which meant Edward would be able to traverse Kedesh as he pleased, without anyone breathing down his neck trying to protect him.
The only person who suspected otherwise was Miles, who knew that the words Madrassi and Z'hoom could apply to Edward and Alphonse as well. But despite Miles' cornering Edward and pressuring him to confess the truth, Edward had no intention to do so, and Miles hadn't forced the issue yet.
Miles did have a point, but Edward refused to admit it, and he refused to let this potential threat inconvenience him in any way. The inn was stifling, and Kedesh was so alive. And Edward didn't care much about a faceless attacker, who might not even be after anything except chaos.
On the day of the smoke bombing, the entire delegation had been encouraged not to leave the inn alone, especially when they knew so little about their attacker. But the people of Kedesh were going about their business, and Edward saw no reason to hide.
"You don't really think that guy who attacked us knows… do you, Brother?" Alphonse asked, as soon as he, Winry, and Edward fled the tense environment of the Accords to the relative safety of their room. Alphonse stretched out onto the bed, but his golden eyes were wide staring up at Edward.
"I doubt it, Al," Edward lied. "How could he know? The military didn't even find out."
"Z'hoom. He wrote that," Al said. "Z'hoom. We are Z'hoom."
Edward leaned over and pushed Al off the bed, who was so light it required very little effort. Al crumpled onto the floor, before leaping up.
"Hey!"
"Don't call yourself that. It's rude."
"What does it mean?" Winry asked, pushing the brothers' glaring faces apart.
"It comes from an Ishvalan word," Edward said. "It literally means 'contamination,' like our mixed blood is contaminated." He didn't want to look at Alphonse, who shouldn't have had to see the dirtier side to being Ishvalan. Edward had always tried to shield him from it the best he could.
"Oh, Edward," Winry said, and she threw her arms around him. He hesitated, and then returned the embrace, leaning into her warmth. He felt awkward, but she smelled like oil, and for some reason, he couldn't stop breathing it in. They let go at the same time, and Edward looked away, unable to hide the faintest blush on his cheeks.
"Don't worry, Winry, it'll all be fine," he said, watching Alphonse carefully, and Alphonse nodded.
"You're lying to me," she said but didn't press it.
Edward couldn't sleep that night. He hated lying to the people he cared about, and it felt like the world was closing in around him:
The smoke bomb, which hinted at retribution to come; Miles knew that he was Ishvalan, and that was something Edward just wanted to pretend hadn't happened; the attack on the train platform against an alchemist he couldn't beat.
And that was on top of the confusion of just being in Ishval. His first home that he'd spent over a decade avoiding.
Although there were horrible memories here, they'd been muted by time. His strongest association with Ishval was comfort, reminding him of family long lost, as though he were being hugged by the warm air. And when he meandered through the winding streets, Edward would recall dull memories that reawakened under the scorching sun, resurrected in his mind like a flower uncurling for an early spring.
He'd remember distant moments. Of growing up in Ishval, when life was simpler and adults hid the harsh realities of the advancing war.
Edward rolled out of bed, slipped on some loose clothing and a scarf, and tiptoed out of the inn. He held his breath as the door creaked behind him, but as soon as the inn was out of sight, he already felt more like himself. The clean Ishvalan air filled his lungs, and under the great expanse of stars, he felt small. His pace was slow and his destination unknown, as he wound in and out of the Ishvalan roads.
He didn't know where his feet were taking him until he arrived at the Zikkaron.
It was the perfect place to think, and his mind was so muddled he needed it. All of his secrets were clawing at the surface, and it seemed inevitable that they would sneak out eventually. On the other hand, he'd hidden any Ishvalan indication for so long already- all the way through his military years as a state alchemist, even while facing down Scar and the homunculi- so he was practiced at deception.
Edward weaved in and out of the rows, paying no attention to any of the familial monuments but his own. He recognized a few of the names on other displays, but it'd been too long to associate them with faces. Finally he arrived at his own, the Vaidya plot, and without any ceremony, he collapsed onto the sand, his knees buckling beneath him.
He was not ashamed of his family or of his heritage. He'd struggled to explain why his past was a secret to Miles, and even Madam Abra had questioned him on the same thing. But she did understand more than Miles had.
"It's not just a habit for you, dear," she'd said. "This secret is how you survived." She had tilted her head and frowned. "But you will not lose anything if you tell other people. The only thing you'll find out is who your true friends are."
Her words rang with truth, but it wasn't that simple, he mentally argued back. Edward's fingers followed the indentations of the letters of his family's motto.
While I have breath, I have hope. When I have lost all breath, I have Ishvala.
Did he have Ishvala? He'd practiced the religion of Ishvala while Mom was alive, though it had been more out of imitation than any religious fervor. When Mom had died, he'd turned away from Ishvala and her teachings and into alchemy's arms. Not that Mom had disliked alchemy. Quite the opposite, in fact, but she hadn't seen the two as incompatible, like so many others did.
If he hadn't embraced alchemy, Al would have never lost his body.
But after Mom died, it felt like Ishvala had forsaken them. They'd lost their home and their land and their culture.
And their parents. Hohenheim had left not long after they'd relocated to Resembool, and suddenly, Edward and Alphonse had gone from having everything to only having each other. Although Edward knew that many Ishvalans had cherished their faith after the Ishvalan War, he'd done the opposite.
But alchemy was no longer Edward's domain, and the less he dwelled on it, the happier he was.
Not that he regretted exchanging his alchemy for Alphonse. He'd have given up alchemy a million times to save Al. Hell, he'd have given up his own body!
But losing his alchemy was still a hole in Edward's heart. He'd cherished alchemy for nearly his whole life, and it had been a part of him, something that had always come as naturally as breathing. Learning to live without it was harder than he'd have guessed.
But he couldn't tell Al, because he'd just feel guilty. How could he explain that, even if it was a miniscule price to pay in return for Alphonse's return, it was still a price to Edward?
The way Edward defined himself had changed over the years. He'd lost his Ishvalan life, and he'd become an Amestrian alchemist. But now he had to redefine himself again, and he didn't know who he was anymore. He wasn't a State Alchemist. He wasn't an automail engineer like Winry. He was just a normal guy now, who couldn't even defend himself from a single attacker.
His hands clawed at the sand beneath him. His right knee had gone numb, but he didn't reposition himself.
It was still unbelievable that he was really here, sitting in the Zikkaron that he'd heard about as a child. Yet, when he'd pictured this moment, he'd always imagined his mother's family crowded beside him, huddled around the plot unsuited for so many bodies. He'd imagined his younger cousin, Prajin, wiggling through the crowd's legs, so he could stand at the front. And Edward would be trapped at the back of the pack, but maybe Uncle Ekbal would hoist him onto his shoulders, so he could see his grandparents performing a service at the very front by the monument itself.
But Edward was here without them, and now they were on the wrong side of the memorial. They'd been killed, some by the hands of Amestrians he'd worked with every day in the military.
So Edward and Alphonse were the only remnants enduring of their once large Vaidya clan.
Despite his arguments that Amestris and Ishval had to get along and that they weren't so different, he believed that inside his own body, his Amestrian side and his Ishvalan side were irreconcilable. And whatever Madam Abra said, the moment he came clean about his past was the moment he'd have to meld them together and deal with the unpleasant consequences.
That by working in the military, he'd betrayed his family, and then everyone would know he really was a Z'hoom, a contamination of both Amestris and Ishval.
No one really understood, not even Alphonse, who didn't carry the memories of Ishval that he did. Of running through the streets with their little gang: his young cousins, the twins that lived next door, and Alphonse. Of the stew his aunt would make whenever his mom had to go out of town.
Of the flower festival every spring, which would turn their quiet desert town into an explosion of color and tourists, as the budding blossoms uncoiled themselves for only a few weeks a year. And when they did, their sweet scent was inescapable, clinging to Edward's clothes and hair like a fresh perfume. And, after it was over, his grandmother would make warm baked treats with the fallen flowers, and everyone would know that the dry season was coming.
These memories were seared into his skull, even though he'd been young when they fled Ishval.
Edward didn't know how long he kneeled there on the cold sand. The stars twinkled above him, keeping the engraving on the monument bathed in light. When he finally rose, his body was numb. He shook himself a few times, and noticed the smallest peak of sun over the horizon.
He'd been out all night. He hadn't meant to.
When he slipped through the stone gates guarding the Zikkaron, like he had many times before, he removed the scarf from his head and let it rest on his shoulders.
"What are you doing?" a voice cried out. Edward whipped his head toward the sound, and his heart sunk. There were four approaching figures: Scar, Major Miles, Elder Shan, and Elder Vikram.
Scar was the one who yelled, and his face, even shrouded in shadow, was distorted in rage. Elder Shan patted Scar on his shoulder, but there was no softening in her gaze as she turned to Edward.
"Grand Cleric Heridas told us you visited the Zikkaron tonight," she said. "Perhaps you do not understand Ishvalan customs, but it can be construed as… distasteful for Ishvalans not related by blood of the ancient families to visit, never mind non-Ishvalans."
"Of course," Edward easily agreed, glad she'd already given him an excuse. "I'm sorry. I didn't know." He tried to make himself look sheepish.
"It's highly disrespectful for you to have done that. If someone saw you, you could have derailed the entire Ishvalan Accords," Elder Vikram said with a sneer. Edward meekly nodded, hoping to escape this meeting with just a small scolding.
He'd have to come back, of course. It was the one place he could feel whole. The only place he could feel like his two sides weren't raging against each other. Like he was not Z'hoom, but just Edward Elric, born of Ishvalan Trisha Vaidya and Xerxian Van Hohenheim.
"I'm sorry. It won't happen again," Edward said, and he caught Miles raising an eyebrow at him. True to his word though, Miles said nothing about Edward's heritage, for which he was grateful.
"You were thoughtless," Scar said. "Didn't your mother ever teach you manners?"
"Don't say anything about my mother." Edward's eyes flashed, and his vision blurred.
"You just walk into this memorial to Ishvalans without a second thought? You think that just because you're Amestrian, all of Ishval is yours for the taking?"
"Cleric Heridas!" Elder Shan shouted.
"You know nothing about my family. Do not presume to know otherwise," Edward forced out, keeping his voice calm. He was proud of himself for his composure thus far. He'd dealt with worse. He wasn't going to lose it over something so stupid.
"How would you like it if someone went trampling through your sacred place? Most of the families in there are dead because of Amestrians like you."
There was nothing Edward could say that wouldn't condemn him further. So he clenched his teeth together, knowing if he opened his mouth, he'd say something he'd regret. But he couldn't stop his hands from balling into tight fists.
Luckily, Miles interrupted Scar's rant.
"It's dangerous for you to be out alone, especially with your mysterious attacker," he said, eyeing Edward carefully.
"I needed to think," Edward said.
"Of course, this must be so stressful for you," Elder Vikram said. "You have so much on the line."
Edward said nothing.
"He made a mistake. It happens. Everyone calm down," Elder Shan said, clanking her cane against the stone gate. "Let's just go back to the inn before anyone thinks we've run off."
They all conceded, and Edward walked back in step with Elder Shan. She huddled over her cane, her back bent forward, but she was able to move quickly.
"Their nerves are on edge, young Edward," she said. "Don't tempt them into doing something they'd regret."
Edward nodded, his fingernails still digging into his palms. He was tired of biting back the truth, and it never got easier.
"It's like they're entitled," Elder Vikram said to Scar. Snippets of their conversation carried over to Edward. "Look at Ariyn Fitzgerald. I don't think she'd recognize hard work if it hit her in the head."
"Progress will be made," Scar said. Despite his harsh words to Edward earlier, he'd lost the tension in his shoulders and spoke pleasantly.
"Sure, but it doesn't help if one of our own keeps working for Them." He lowered his voice, but Edward (and everyone else) still caught it. He continued, oblivious to his volume. "But that's what you get when you invite a Z'hoom, I guess."
Miles froze mid-step.
Edward did the same, but only for a moment.
He saw red.
"No!" Miles shouted, grabbing Edward, who'd raised his fist and started toward the Elder. "No."
Edward struggled against Miles' arms, "Let go of me!"
The others had noticed the ruckus, and though neither Scar nor Elder Shan seemed comfortable with what Elder Vikram had said, they stared at Edward. Like HE was the crazy one.
"Let me go!" Edward shouted.
"Calm down before you do something you'll regret," Miles said evenly, and Edward wanted to shake him.
Edward finally stopped struggling, and Miles released him from his grasp.
"Do. Not. Use. That. Word," Edward said, marching over to Elder Vikram, ignoring Miles' sigh.
"You know nothing of Ishvalan culture. Do not lecture me, boy," he said, pulling himself up to his full height, which was eye-level with Edward.
"Maybe, but I know about respect, and I've lost all of what I had for you."
"If you hadn't gone into the Zikkaron…" Elder Vikram shook his head. "Your ancestors must be sad they got stuck with dirt like you." He muttered the last part in Ishvalan.
"Just because you experienced loss, doesn't mean you get to be such a pretentious asshole," Edward shot back.
For a moment, he didn't realize what he'd done, but at Elder Vikram's shocked expression, he suddenly realized he'd replied in Ishvalan.
Well, this was going well.
"You speak Ishvalan?" Elder Shan asked.
"A little," Edward said. But the jig was up. He hadn't sounded like a novice, and he could feel the lack of sleep crash upon him. The dawn was still young, but every moment grew brighter with the rising sun.
"You're certainly full of surprises," Elder Shan said with a smile, but Elder Vikram was less than impressed.
"Just because you know a little Ishvalan doesn't mean that excuses what you did tonight. If anything it makes it worse! If you know anything about Ishval, you should have known better!"
"Calm down, Elder Vikram," Scar said. "It was an innocent mistake, right?"
"Yes," Edward said. Miles watched the proceedings blankly, and Edward remembered that Miles' Ishvalan comprehension was limited.
"You know nothing about the pain that Ishvalans go through every day," Elder Vikram said, eyes flashing. He stepped closer. "We, who have lost everything and still must make amends with our attackers if we want to survive. The humiliation and defeat we must endure to recreate the country you people destroyed. You can't imagine it!
"Ishvala has been desecrated because of Amestrians-" he spat it like it was a curse "-like you. Don't talk to me about pain! My family barely escaped with their lives."
Edward knew that it was foolish.
That he was angry and therefore irrational.
He knew all of that.
But his mouth spoke faster than his brain, and the words came tumbling out before he could stop them.
"I am from the Southern region, Elder! I lived it! Wow, it must have been so hard for you, fleeing Ishval with your family! Most of my family was not so lucky! Don't you DARE tell me I don't know what it is like. Ishval is not just for people YOU think are proper Ishvalans!"
"What?" Scar said, and Edward felt like he was in a dream. "You're Ishvalan?" The sun was nearly up now, and in the budding light, Edward could see every minute reaction on their faces. Every flicker of disbelief and shock, and it somehow made him angrier.
"Yes…. half. My mom was as Ishvalan as any of you." Fury still coursed through his veins, but his brain was beginning to catch up to what he'd blurted out thoughtlessly.
"You're Ishvalan?" Scar asked again.
"You heard me," Edward said, crossing his arms across his chest.
"That's impossible," he said.
Edward heard the Elders muttering to each other, and he wanted to sink into the sand. But it was too late to take it back now, and darn it if he was going to show anyone how much he wished he'd stayed silent.
"And why is that?" Edward asked.
"You're… Amestrian," he said. He gestured to Edward's skin and hair. "You're lying."
"I'm not."
Scar furrowed his brows, "There's no way. It's impossible."
"Just because I didn't run around murdering State Alchemists, doesn't mean I'm not Ishvalan," Edward said. "We're not all psychopaths."
Despite his cutting words, he really wasn't that angry at Scar.
The tumultuous churning in his gut came from Elder Vikram. But now that he'd announced it, what was there to lose?
"Is there something you want to say to my face then? About my ancestry." He stomped up beside Elder Vikram and searched his red eyes for a glimmer of emotion, but was disappointed to find them lacking.
"If you don't live like an Ishvalan, you are not Ishvalan," Elder Vikram said with a tight-lipped smile.
"I don't know if you've noticed, but there aren't many Ishvalans around," Edward said, gesturing to the town. "If I were you, I might not spend all of my time ostracizing the ones that you've already got."
"Stop taking your anger out on your allies, Elder," Miles said, stepping forward for the first time. "Or you might find yourself with none."
Edward's eyes swept from Miles to the Elders to Scar. Everyone stared back at Edward. Elder Shan looked at him like she was seeing him for the first time.
"Everyone needs to calm down before we destroy Ishval ourselves and disgrace Ishvala even further," Elder Shan said firmly. "Major Miles, Cleric Heridas, escort Edward back to the inn. Vikram, I need to visit the temple: accompany me."
This wasn't a suggestion but an order, and although Elder Vikram shuffled his feet, he followed Elder Shan in the opposite direction of the inn, shooting Edward a glare as he passed.
Which left Edward, Miles, and Scar standing in the quiet street corner. It was still too early for many people to be out, so their walk back was undisturbed.
At first, they were silent. Now away from Elder Vikram, Edward cursed himself for letting his anger best him. Again. It didn't matter how often his anger led to trouble, there was nothing he could do about it. When it overwhelmed him like that, the world blurred and his heartbeat shook in his ears. He was as helpless as he'd been when the kids in school made fun of Al so many years ago. Consequences be damned.
But the consequences had only just begun.
"Elder Vikram is a real-" Edward began.
"Don't say something you'll regret," Miles interrupted.
"Trust me, I won't regret it," he muttered but didn't finish his expletive-laden thoughts.
"The Elder is old and unused to changes," Scar said. "He wants the old Ishval back, without the… influence of Amestris."
"And what do you think then?" Edward asked, trying not to sound argumentative.
"I wish for the Ishval I remember, but I don't delude myself into believing that it will ever return. Not that Ishval can't be great again, but you're right. Ishval will never be the same.
"And I also think you have to learn to get along with Elder Vikram. The last thing we need is another squabble." Scar sent a pointed look Edward's way.
"He started it!" Edward said, not caring if he sounded childish.
"You didn't strike me as someone who'd fall apart when they were insulted," Miles said neutrally. Which made Edward madder.
"It's… impressive that you are unaffected by Elder Vikram's words," Edward said. "I don't know how you could stand it."
Edward looked down at his feet, pausing to gather his thoughts.
"It's just that he makes me so mad! It's like… he's as old as time itself, and he thinks he can just waltz around because he's lived a thousand years? That he can say whatever he wants because he's old? I don't want to just swallow my pride because he thinks that his way is the only way to be a true Ishvalan." His words jumbled together as his anger returned.
"Elder Shan is older," Miles said with a smile.
"Yeah, but she doesn't act like she's the divine spirit of Ishvala."
"Edward?" Scar asked. The road back to the inn was thankfully deserted, and the only noise was the wind rustling the sand.
"Hm."
"Were you really born in Ishval?"
He hadn't told Miles that, but then again, Miles hadn't asked directly like this. He'd already confessed as much when he was yelling at the Elder, so there was no point in hiding now.
"Yes."
"In the Southern region?"
"Yeah."
"Damn," Scar said. "Not many people survived that. You're tougher than you look, kid."
"What's that supposed to mean!" Edward said. Scar stopped walking, so Miles and Edward paused too.
"You continue to surprise me, Edward Elric."
"Yeah, yeah," Edward said, waving off Scar's words and strutting forward.
"What town were you from?" Scar asked.
"Netanya," he said, images of the quaint town flashing across his mind. The cobblestone path that led up to their home. His grandparents' house just down the road that always smelled like cinnamon. The fresh fried treats the vendors would sneak him and Al for free when they were closing for the day.
"A beautiful city," Scar said.
"Did you ever go?" Edward asked.
"A few times for the local flower festival. Before you were born, I'm sure," he said, and it struck Edward that he was having a normal conversation with Scar. The man who'd killed the Rockbells and had almost killed him on multiple occasions. But when Edward spoke with him, it wasn't like talking to the Scar he'd fought in East City. This man was lighter, freer from the burden of revenge. He didn't smile much, but he still had a warmth that reminded Edward of one of his mother's brothers.
And he was someone who'd been to Netanya, another person alive who held the memories of the beautiful city he remembered. That was a blessing in and of itself.
He looked up to Scar, who was peering down at him slightly concerned.
"Sorry, I zoned out I guess," Edward said. "Lost in memories."
"That's understandable," Scar said. Miles was silent, because, as much as he understood, he carried no such Ishvalan past.
"Where are you from?" Edward asked.
"I was born in the Kanda region, but I traveled a lot in my youth."
"You were young once?" Edward asked, smirking.
"A long time ago," Scar said.
"A very long time ago," Edward corrected.
Scar smiled, making his x-shaped scar stretch across his forehead, "To you, it must seem."
They were nearly back to the inn, and Edward was glad to finally escape this conversation. And to confess to Alphonse and Winry what had occurred. But as the familiar illuminated exterior of the inn welcomed them from down the road, Scar stopped again.
"I don't know how you did it," Scar said.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"You're from the Southern region," Scar said. "Netanya. The State Alchemists devastated the South; Mustang devastated the South." He turned away from Edward. "You worked under the man who destroyed your country, most likely your town. His hands could have killed your friends, and you served him."
He didn't say it cruelly, but Scar didn't need to remind Edward of those things.
"Does that make me a traitor to Ishval?" Edward asked.
"No more than I am," Miles said. "You just asked me how I dealt with getting called Z'hoom. It's the same way you dealt with working under Mustang. You think it would be impossible and it would be painful, but you just wake up and do it."
Miles smiled to Edward, "You are a better man than you think."
Luckily, Edward didn't have to respond, because just then, Hawkeye swung the inn's door open.
"They're right here!" she yelled out. She lowered her voice towards Edward. "You've caused quite a stir."
At some point around dawn, they'd realized that Edward and the entire Ishvalan delegation had vanished. People had assumed one horrible thing after another and rumors had spread, so when Edward walked into the lounge, the boy who worked there, Gilad, jumped up from his stool.
"We thought you were dead!" Gilad announced, and he threw his arms around Edward's legs. Edward patted his head awkwardly. Havoc shot Edward a sheepish grin, who didn't know how to respond.
"Cleric Heridas and I were just taking Edward to the old temple," Miles said. "No one else was awake yet. We thought we'd be back before dawn."
Miles' face was emotionless, per usual, and after some grumbling from the others, they begrudgingly accepted it. When Edward slipped upstairs, he was subject to a lecture from Al and Winry about leaving without a word, but before he could tell them about what had happened, they heard a knocking on their door.
Edward opened it, revealing Scar and Miles, who pushed Edward aside and strode in without so much as an invitation.
"What are you doing here, Major Miles?" Winry asked.
"Your unique heritage may be the focal point of the mysterious attacker," Scar said without introduction.
"What?" Al said, and Edward hid behind Miles.
"Cleric Heridas knows," Al said blankly.
"Actually the entire Ishvalan delegation knows," Scar said.
"You didn't even talk with me!" Alphonse said, his anger seemingly directed at Miles, because Edward was still hiding behind him. "Don't I get a say in this?"
Edward peeked his head out, "It kinda just… happened, Al. Sorry."
Al immediately brightened.
"That's all right, Brother, I hate lying to people." Al clapped his hands together. "Okay, what now?"
"Do you speak Ishvalan too?" Scar asked Alphonse.
There was a pause.
"Not well," Alphonse said with a frown. "I want to….um… -"
"Practice?" Edward supplied.
"Yeah, that," Alphonse said.
"You can't keep this from the others now," Miles said. "You are in danger."
"Maybe," Edward said.
"Yeah, Miles is well-known for being mixed, so why couldn't they just be referring to him?" Al said.
"But it wasn't my train that they attacked," Miles said, sending a piercing stare first to Edward, and then to Alphonse. "You are in serious danger, and these secrets could get all of us killed."
"This isn't up to a committee. This is our life," Edward said. "It's not your place to demand we tell people-"
"This isn't 'people.' This is just Mustang and his men. That's it," Miles said firmly. "It's not like I'm asking you to tell Ariyn Fitzgerald. It's just so everyone here is on the same page."
"I don't see how Edward and Al's Ishvalan heritage is relevant to any of this," Winry said, brushing her hair back behind her ear. "None of you can figure out what the attacker's next move is going to be. So yeah, it's dangerous, but it doesn't matter who knows what. It's up to them."
Scar groaned.
"What do you think, then?" Miles asked Scar.
"Despite my best judgment, it's not our place to reveal their secrets," Scar said slowly. "Even if we may not agree with their choice."
"Fine," Miles said. "So be it. But the moment we get any more information that you or your brother are the targets of the attacks, I will tell them myself." With that, Miles withdrew, and Scar gave an apologetic glance before following behind.
Edward plopped onto the bed and closed his eyes, "This stinks."
"Why?" Al asked. "Is it so bad that they know? They were pretty cool about it. Actually, I think that's the nicest I've ever seen Scar."
Alphonse laid down next to Edward, and, with a shrug, Winry laid down onto his other side.
"Maybe it's not a big deal," Alphonse said, all of them now staring at the ceiling. "Brother, maybe this isn't something we have to carry around any longer."
"Maybe," Edward said blankly. "We have to carry around the War forever though."
"So does everyone else here," Al said. "They seem fine."
"Fine?" Edward asked. "Are you joking?"
"Fine is relative," Winry chimed in. "Lying right here with you two dorks makes me feel happy, but there will always be a piece of me that can't get over my parent's deaths."
"There's only one thing to do then," Al said, propping himself up onto his elbows. "We have to restore Ishval. That's the only way I could live with myself."
"You're right," Winry said. "I know I'm not Ishvalan, but… I want to keep helping people here, keep giving people automail and repairing what I can. It's not much, but it's something, right?"
"It's more than something, Winry," Edward said. "It's amazing. You're kind of amazing."
Edward didn't need to turn to know Winry was blushing.
They rested in an easy silence, and Alphonse flipped back over, so they watched their bare ceiling again. The faint murmur of discussion filtered in through the crack in the floorboards.
"I want to help Ishval too," Edward said. "I have to. Is it enough? To want to help?"
"It's a start," Winry said, and she sat up, swishing her hair back into place.
"The moment we go out as publically Ishvalan is the moment we lose the ability to be an Amestrian supporter of Ishval," Edward said.
"We don't have to decide everything right now, Brother," Alphonse said.
"You're right," Edward said, before smirking. "Wanna sneak out of here? We could go exploring?"
Winry rolled her eyes, "Is that really the best idea? Didn't that get you in trouble literally this morning?"
"Yeah, but I can't be the only stir-crazy person here," Edward said. "Let's go. It'll be fun."
"No."
"Please."
"No."
"Alphonse, what do you think?" Edward asked.
"Sorry, but I'm with Winry on this one," he said, biting his lip. "It's too dangerous."
"Sure you say that with Winry here," Edward muttered but not out of any real spite.
Although the day was nearly done, Abra's chores hadn't ended. So when they checked in on what was happening downstairs, they found Abra peeling potatoes in the back of the kitchen. Although Edward was curious as to what the delegation was discussing, he needed a break away from it all. And unlike most of the members, Edward had more leeway to come and go as he pleased, because he wasn't an "official" member of the Ishvalan Accords.
"Come on, dears, don't be shy," Abra said, as soon as she caught sight of them. She insisted they take over for her, which was how Edward ended up covered in potato skins and smelling vaguely starchy.
Abra, meanwhile, began creating a spice mixture for the food, and Edward couldn't help but smile.
"Smells like home," he said, and at Winry's confused face, he quickly translated.
"I imagine there aren't many Ishvalan restaurants in Central," Abra said, and Edward shook his head.
"None."
"I don't think there are many in all of Amestris," she said, taking a whiff of an unmarked bag. She nodded, adding a bit of it into the bowl, which was full of thinly ground seasonings of a variety of bright colors. "They all closed during the War. I mean the real stuff, not the Amestrian crap."
"What are you making?" a rough voice asked from the doorway. Elder Vikram.
"Just some potatoes," Abra said, and Edward ignored him, as though that would mitigate Edward's already burgeoning anger.
"I see," Elder Vikram said. Edward could feel his eyes on them, but he refused to even acknowledge him. Elder Vikram said nothing more, marching back out of the kitchen as though Edward and the others weren't even there. Edward let out a breath.
"He'll come around eventually," Abra said.
"How'd you know?" Al asked. "About everything."
Abra leaned forward and lowered her voice, "It's because I know everything, dear." She snickered into her palms.
"Or I told her," Miles said, as he strode into the room, Scar a step behind. "Do you need help?"
"No, no, I'm being assisted by some lovely little helpers; don't worry," Abra said.
It was then that Mustang returned, followed by the rest of his team. The room went silent upon their entrance.
"I just got off the phone with the Fuhrer," he said. The phone service wasn't good in Ishval yet, so Mustang was forced to hike back to the train station for the nearest telephone. "He's pleased with the progress, but he wants to send in a security team because of the attack yesterday."
Just what Edward wanted. People to stop him from coming and going when he wished. But, then again, he'd been caught now by both Miles and the other Ishvalans, so maybe he was just overestimating his ability to be sneaky.
"You turned him down, I hope," Scar said, and Mustang answered with a curt nod.
"His heart's in the right place," Hawkeye said slowly. "But we don't need to escalate the situation."
"Besides," Scar said. "We have the Flame Alchemist. How could anything happen?"
His sarcasm was biting, but Mustang didn't rise to the bait. That they were having a civilized discussion in an Ishvalan inn's kitchen was bizarre to Edward suddenly, and he couldn't have imagined this moment a few years ago.
"If anything goes wrong, everything could be ruined. Be extra careful," Mustang said, narrowing his eyes.
But then Abra laughed, which ruined the dramatics of the moment.
"Sorry, sorry," she said, leaning over and resting her hands on her knees, her shoulders still shaking from laughter.
"What's so funny?" Winry asked.
"Nothing, nothing," she said, refusing to hear another word about it. It wasn't until the area had cleared out, and it was just Edward and Abra, that she would say anything.
"I've seen much worse than this little nonsense with the smoke before, and I will probably see much worse than this again, and General Mustang has seen his fair share of atrocities too. But…" she trailed off.
"But?" Edward asked.
"But Mustang's frazzled," she said. "He cares about these Accords, perhaps more than his own life. And for him to sink so low, it's just amusing to me. If he'd had this revelation during the War, maybe nothing would change, but maybe it would. But he wouldn't have so much blood on his hands." She paused for a moment. "At least he doesn't try and rewrite the past."
Abra's words, like they often were, both made complete sense and were completely confusing. But Edward could use her insight, so even though she'd heard the story from Miles, he told Abra all that had happened that day. She listened intently, but said nothing until he finished.
"Did the world end, now that people know?" Abra asked.
"No," Edward reluctantly answered.
"Then what are the consequences of telling other people? I shouldn't say anything, and it is your business," she said. "But your secret, well, you may hold a card greater than yourself, and that is something special."
"How do I know when to use it?" Edward asked.
"You don't. That's how a game of chance works. If you save a trump card for the right moment, you will win, but if you use it too early or too late, it may be useless. We all may be useless in this world, but when the right moments come at the right time, we act. You will know what to do when it happens."
She smiled and Edward returned it, feeling more hopeful than he had all day.
A/N: Thanks for reading!
Special thanks to small helm, princ3ssf33t (That's okay: I'm Royai trash too!), lilaclily00 (It's funny because Heridas' name comes from a Hindi name Haridas, but about three chapters in, I started spelling it with a typo, and it became Heridas. It wasn't until I finished writing it that I realized what I'd done, and I was like… woah. I'm so accidentally smart, because heridas is Spanish!), Shiloh Moon (Haha! You're so kind. That last chapter was supposed to be one of the shortest, but then I just kept adding stuff, so it ended up being one of the longest. I just love Mustang's angst too much.), Akahime, Lacila (I know right? How did this story end up being this long? It was originally supposed to be around 40k in total, but then… I don't know what happened hahaha), and inuyashamunkey (soon enough? ;) )
Next week we'll bounce into the POV of Alphonse!