Chapter 7: Alphonse Elric I

Alphonse was trying to convince Edward to get into bed after his previously sleepless night. And though Al had enlisted Winry's assistance, neither of them were having much success.

"Sleep is for the weak. It's only 9," Edward said. They were back in their room; the candlelight was low, but the window remained open, so the stars illuminated the far corners of the bed.

"You've had a long day, Brother," Al said, as patiently as he could.

But it was no use. Edward continued talking like Al hadn't said anything.

"Do you think I did the right thing?" Edward asked. "Not telling the Ishvalans about the Zikkaron?"

Alphonse had learned many years ago that Edward was more honest, especially about his own vulnerabilities, when he was exhausted. (Which he had never exploited before. Honest.)

"It doesn't matter really," Edward continued, not pausing for an answer. "It's just a stupid tradition." And then Edward yawned and griped to Winry about not being tired.

"Sure you're not," Winry said, sharing an exasperated eye roll with Alphonse. "But from the way you were talking before, it doesn't sound like it's just a stupid tradition, not to some people."

"It is a big deal," Alphonse chimed in. "It's like… Ishvalan nobility. That's what Edward told me when we were little."

"Maybe I exaggerated a bit, because it sounded more impressive," Edward said, yawning again. "It honestly wasn't a big deal to our family. It's not like we were the Armstrongs or whatever. And it didn't really matter to our lives. At all."

"But now…?" Alphonse asked.

"If there aren't any other members of the Vaidya family alive, I guess that means…"

"It means you're the head of the family. So what does that mean?"

Edward shrugged, "Not much these days, I guess. It's just a stupid status thing." Edward looked off into the distance. "Can you imagine? An Amestrian being the head of an ancient Ishvalan family? People would go mad. Our grand-uncle would come back to life and haunt us forever."

"Stranger things have happened," Al said, which was as much of an answer as he could give.

Alphonse's recollection of Ishval consisted only of recycled people and stories he'd gathered from Edward or Mom. His memories had been dulled with time, which felt supremely unfair. After all, Edward was only a year older! How could Edward list off the names of their aunts with ease, when Al could barely remember how many there were?

"A year is a lot when you're young," Winry would say, as gently as she could whenever he'd complain to her about it. It didn't feel right discussing it with Edward, who was so secretive with his Ishvalan memories, as it was. Well, secretive wasn't the right word. Rather, Edward would get this pained expression whenever Alphonse mentioned Ishval, so Al didn't like to pry.

The only time Edward would open up about Ishval was when he was really sleepy, so when they'd been running around Amestris, trying to restore their bodies, Al would wait until Edward was exhausted, and then he'd casually probe about Ishval, their family, and Netanya.

They had no pictures of their family, no belongings or family heirlooms. All they had were memories, and Al didn't have those either.

Al's earliest memory was their escape from Ishval. Of their parents, Ed, and Al in a car, fleeing from the War, but they'd had been stopped by a blockade of Amestrian soldiers. The details were hazy, and he hadn't understood what was happening at the time. But Al would never forget the terror surging through his tiny body, as a dark-haired man leaned into their father. They discussed payment in low voices, before Edward and Alphonse were forced to get out of the car. The dark-haired soldier inspected them for a moment and when he was properly assured they weren't Ishvalan, they fled back into the vehicle, and their father didn't stop driving until they'd arrived in Resembool. It was Al's first recollection of terror, intertwined with the horrors of the War.

When Edward finally gave in and got into bed, he conked out immediately, but not before Alphonse had coaxed a few new details out of Edward, about the mischief they used to make with their young cousins in their old city of Netanya.

Winry was stubborn enough to stay awake past Edward, but she fell asleep as soon as Edward started snoring.

Which left Alphonse awake alone.

And he was strangely restless. Since he'd gotten his body back, Al usually slept as much as possible, turning in early and waking up late, and it felt amazing. Not just physically and emotionally, but he hadn't realized how much he'd missed dreaming.

And a lucky side effect to his excessive sleeping habits was that he rarely saw his most loathsome hours on the clock.

1 a.m. 2 a.m. 3 a.m. 4 a.m. The hours between Edward falling asleep and the dawn had always been the most painful, when there were no distractions from his unfeeling solitary confinement. It was the time of day that let painful thoughts fester and somehow, even the most hopeful of people could find themselves lost.

Alphonse had no reason to fear the wee hours of the morning anymore. He could touch and taste and feel again, and not even his most vivid nightmares could bring the cruel reality of that unfeeling prison back to life. But Alphonse still avoided the darkest hours of night regardless.

Which was why it was so strange that it was past midnight and Al was awake, alone with his thoughts, like he'd been for so many years.

It was almost 2 a.m. now, and although he didn't feel tired, Alphonse slipped into bed beside Edward anyway, and much to his surprise, he fell asleep immediately, dreaming of dozens of tanned children with white hair and red eyes, all smiling and laughing and chasing each other.

When Alphonse and Edward saw the Elders the next morning, they didn't know how they were going to react, given Elder Vikram's lukewarm reception yesterday. Even if it made their life more difficult, Alphonse was glad that their Ishvalan roots were known to the Ishvalans. With so few Ishvalans left, remaining hidden had felt wrong.

Elder Shan strode over to the Elrics and leaned in close, "Ignore Elder Vikram. An Ishvalan is an Ishvalan. There's nothing anyone can do to take that away."

"Yes, Elder," they replied, and Al noticed a pep in Edward's step after that.

Although the man responsible for the train station attack and the smoke bombing at the inn still roamed free, enough time had passed that the delegation was getting antsy. The Ishvalans and Amestrians alike had spent so long holed up in Abra's inn debating and arguing, that interacting with real people outside of that dim back room might help them from going stir-crazy indoors.

Honestly, Al didn't pay much attention to what the delegation was up to. He was just glad to hitch a ride to visit more of Kedesh. After all, wasn't it safer in a larger group?

At least that was what he and Edward argued to Major Miles, who didn't want them to go.

"It's dangerous, especially for you two." Miles sent them a pointed look. (Miles nagged more than Granny did, not that Al would have admitted it to either person's face.)

"So is staying here! We're defenseless just waiting around in the inn," Edward said.

This continued back and forth until Havoc happened to walk into their argument in the kitchen, and everyone quieted immediately.

"Don't let me interrupt anything," Havoc said and pivoted out, but Miles sighed, pinched the ridge of his nose, and acquiesced.

Which left Alphonse, Winry, and Edward accompanying the delegation as they strolled through Kedesh, meeting people in the town and surveying some of the finer details of the progress so far.

However, Alphonse had never faced such hostility from Ishvalans before. When Winry, Edward, and Al had walked through the Ishvalan streets, even if they did look Amestrian, they'd been mostly glanced over. It was a bit unusual to see Amestrians in Ishval, but nothing that made anyone look twice.

But as he travelled amongst the Ishvalan Accords' delegation, it was the complete opposite. He felt like an eyesore to the Ishvalan environment, surrounded by the bright blue Amestrian uniforms, signaling like a beacon to the Ishvalans to stay away. Or at least to stare unabashedly. It made Alphonse's skin crawl. Though he'd been the subject of his fair share of stares when he had been trapped in his armor, those had been more from curiosity than suspicion and hatred. Alphonse was forced to wonder what kinds of memories these Ishvalans associated with Amestrian soldiers.

They toured the new construction sites quickly, and despite Alphonse's fascination with Kedesh, listening to lectures on building layouts was terribly boring. He spotted a stray cat out of the corner of his eye.

Edward was going to kill him.

But Alphonse didn't care. While some random Ishvalan guy was blabbering on about the type of stones they used, Al snuck away, ducking behind a distracted Ishvalan couple.

"Here kitty kitty," Al said quietly, hunching over and reaching out his hand as a peace offering to the cat. It was actually a very fat cat, he realized as he got closer. But its chubby body was partially camouflaged against the sand beneath it. (It was probably very advantageous for a cat to be sand-colored here.)

The cat was not interested in Alphonse, instead focusing on licking its adorable little paws. Al could watch cats all day. Even only at a distance.

"What are you doing?" Ariyn Fitzgerald asked, and at the approaching footsteps, the cat darted away, suddenly disappearing amongst the sand.

"Nothing," Alphonse said. "Just trying to woo a cat."

Ariyn watched Al search the vicinity for any sign of the cat, but the feline was gone, so Al straightened.

"We should get back," Al said, and Ariyn Fitzgerald nodded. Why Ariyn Fitzgerald had followed him, Alphonse had no idea. But he didn't spend much time dwelling on it either. It's not like the deep details of architecture were thrilling to anyone but architects. (Much like alchemy and alchemists.)

They returned to where the architect had been lecturing just a few minutes before, but the entire group had vanished.

"Great. Where did they disappear off to?" Ariyn Fitzgerald muttered, and Alphonse promised her that he knew where they were heading. (Which he did. It just felt like he was lying because Ariyn made him a little nervous.)

Alphonse led the way towards the temple, but his steps were slow. Alphonse because he was trying to absorb every tiny detail of Ishval into his mind, from the little kids chasing each other in circles in some kind of childhood game, to a group of young women, all hovering around a patchwork quilt that was as large as Alphonse. Community was a key of Ishvalan, evident everywhere Alphonse turned.

Ariyn Fitzgerald probably didn't linger with a longing to absorb every detail like Al did, but regardless, she kept pace with Alphonse, as they strolled towards the temple side-by-side.

"Why are you in Ishval?" she asked, watching her feet as they walked. Her heels sunk into the sand as she stepped, so she had to wiggle her ankles every few paces to remove the accumulation of grit.

"I'm from Resembool," he said. "We were pretty affected by the War."

"I heard," she said. "You were attacked by the Ishvalans during the War, weren't you? If I recall correctly, the bombings in Resembool caused a lot of damage. I was in the Parliament then."

"Yeah," Al said, his eyes finding his missing cat lounging on a distant roof, its tail hanging over the edge. He reluctantly pulled his mind away from the cat and towards Ariyn Fitzgerald, who was watching his reactions intently. "Resembool never really recovered, and I kept thinking that if Resembool was so affected by just those bombings, Ishval must be so devastated by everything that happened!"

Assuming Al had remembered this section of Kedesh correctly, Al knew that the temple wasn't too far now. He hoped Edward hadn't noticed his absence, because although Alphonse could take care of himself, Al was the younger sibling and Edward worried. Not that Edward would ever say anything, but Al could tell.

"You're not angry at Ishval for the bombings? You don't want revenge?" she asked quietly.

Alphonse shrugged, "I'm sure some people in Resembool do. But desperation can provoke uncharacteristic acts of violence. I'm not mad."

"And didn't that man Scar try to kill you and your brother?"

Ariyn Fitzgerald had gotten a sanitized version of Scar (now Grand Cleric Heridas, though Alphonse struggled to disassociate Heridas from Scar) and his misadventures, and Alphonse didn't know how much she knew.

"In a way," Al said, trying to describe their relationship with Scar delicately. "But he was upset about the destruction of his people, and we all learned to work together in the end."

"You're young and naïve," she said, but not maliciously. Al noted that, with her dark hair and light skin, she must have been considered beautiful once. After spending time under the Ishvalan sun, she bore light freckles dotting across her cheeks and nose. "How can it be that simple?"

"It doesn't have to be complicated," he said, almost sad to be nearly at the temple. "It's simple human nature. We have to be tolerant to others in their times of distress."

Ariyn Fitzgerald didn't have the opportunity to respond, because as they turned the corner, an ominous crack like thunder boomed everywhere.

A cloud of sand rushed passed, and Alphonse coughed. He covered his eyes with his arm and squinted, but all he could see was dust.

And then the screaming started.

The sand still swirled around them, nipping into his exposed skin, but Alphonse didn't hesitate. He bolted toward the screaming, heart pounding, fear building. Fighting through the sand storm was difficult, and luckily, not necessary for long, because only a minute later, his visibility returned.

But he almost wished it hadn't.

He'd followed the screaming, and now he stood outside of the Ishvalan temple. A small, unimpressive building made more unimpressive by the gaping hole, still oozing smoke. And the screaming, which was coming from within.

Without thinking through anything, he rushed through the fracture, terrified of what he would find. He leaped over fallen debris, and inside, the damage was much worse than a measly hole. Mustang and Edward were already there, hovering over an Ishvalan woman kneeling among the wreckage. Her face was stained with ash, tears, and blood, but she paid no mind. She kept wailing.

She was the only one inside, and it was a good thing too, because the main sanctuary of the temple was devastated. Char and sand coated the walls and the ground and pretty much everything else, which were now mostly just piles of rubble. Wooden beams had snapped in half and were balancing precariously over their heads, swaying in an invisible breeze. What must have been pews had partially melted and fused to the floor, and for a moment, Alphonse feared that the woman was stuck in the rubble.

Mustang leaned over the woman, "What happened?"

When she opened her mouth, only hysterics poured out. So she just pointed.

They followed her gaze to the wreckage further into the temple.

Alphonse inched closer towards it, and underneath a shattered column lay a bloodied hand.

A few people had followed them into the temple by now, so Amestrians and Ishvalan bystanders alike began carefully clearing the collapsed vestiges of the temple, afraid of what condition they would find the person underneath. It was too delicate work for alchemy to be any help, so Alphonse could do nothing.

Instead, Al kneeled beside the hysterical woman and patted her on the back. At the human contact, she fell into Alphonse's embrace and tightly wrapped her arms around his waist.

"It'll be okay," Alphonse murmured, knowing it could be a lie. They had to have hope. "It'll be okay."

When she'd quieted slightly, Alphonse felt it safe to broach the subject again.

"What happened?" Al asked.

"A bomb." The woman hiccupped. "Just like before. My baby. My poor baby."

"Were you two the only ones here?" Al asked.

Another hiccup.

"Yeah. My poor baby. It's all my fault. I-" Hiccup. "I wanted to come pray. My baby." The tears started pouring again, and Al comforted her the best he could.

Finally, they were able to lift the fallen rubble off of the boy. His eyes were closed, blood smeared across his arm and cheeks, but the faint rising of his chest proved he was still alive. The woman rushed over to him, but Scar pushed her back, not unkindly.

"We have to get him to a doctor," he said. "We don't want to injure him further."

This made the woman burst into tears again, and she collapsed onto the ground, "My baby!"

The boy was young, maybe only four or five, and of typical Ishvalan appearance. His face was rounded in his youth, and Alphonse realized his arm was twisted the wrong way.

Scar and Miles lifted him out of the temple with care, and they rushed him to the nearest doctor, a shabby establishment just down the road. Alphonse and the woman followed behind. She leaned heavily on Alphonse, which should have been difficult, given the frailty of his body, but under the adrenaline of the moment, it was easy to support her weight as they sped towards the clinic.

The doctor gave no visible reaction to the boy's appearance, just signaling to Scar and Miles to deposit him towards the back rooms and then return to the lobby.

"The doctor will do the best work in Kedesh," Scar said to the woman, in a way that was supposed to be comforting. She didn't acknowledge his words, staring blankly at the door that led towards the back. As though the doctor would return any moment, even though he'd left mere seconds before.

Al cursed himself, wishing he knew the medical alchemy that May had used. Although he'd picked up a few tricks from her, he knew so little of Xingese alchemy that he'd be more a hindrance than anything. But that didn't stop him from wishing, over and over, that he could do something. Anything. But all any of them could do now was wait outside the door.

Although many members of the Ishvalan and Amestrian parties checked in on the fate of the boy, the small office could not hold them all. So the military men went back to the explosion site for more clues, accompanied by Scar. Elder Vikram muttered something about praying and left without a backward glance. Even Elder Shan left too, off to soothe the scared masses which had been gathering in the stretch of road from the clinic to the Ishvalan temple itself. Alphonse could hear the crowds shouting behind the thin walls of the clinic, and he didn't envy Elder Shan, but she left the office with a narrow smile on her face regardless.

Everyone seemed to know what to do, which left Edward, Winry, Alphonse, and Ariyn Fitzgerald with the Ishvalan woman, waiting to learn whether this young boy would survive past the day. Ariyn was uncharacteristically silent. She sat on the ground, rocking back and forth, unable to peel her eyes off of the woman. Ariyn seemed to want to say something, but couldn't bring herself to begin.

"Is that your son?" Winry asked in her most gentle voice.

The woman sniffled and wiped tears away from her cheek, "Yeah."

"How old is he?" Winry asked.

"Six, just turned last month," she said. "He's always been small for his age. I can't-I can't-I can't lose him!" Tears cascaded from the corners of her eyes, and she didn't bother to clean them.

"You have to have faith," Alphonse said. "The doctor will do everything he can."

There were no hospitals in Kedesh. And Al knew that, although the doctor was likely well-trained, the medical facilities were not up to Amestrian standards. Probably not even up to the limited resources they had in Resembool.

All they really could do was pray.

It felt like they sat in the sad waiting room forever. It was windowless and colorless, the epitome of despair. A few broken chairs lay useless in the corner, and all Al could think of was how sad it would be for someone to die here.

'Don't think about that,' he urged himself. He mentally recited all of the Ishvalan prayers he could remember, sure he was making many mistakes, but it was better than doing nothing.

The door creaked open, and the doctor emerged. His face gave away nothing, as he beckoned the woman into the back rooms. She rose with shaking knees and inched towards the doctor. Alphonse feared she would collapse, but she wobbled all the way through to the back, the doctor slamming the door behind her.

It was quiet. No wailing, which was probably a good sign, but he couldn't be sure. She could have also fainted from the shock.

"It's a horrible thing," Ariyn Fitzgerald said suddenly, staring at an empty space on the wall. "Burying a child. The worst thing a parent can go through."

Winry gasped.

"Did you- wait, I'm sorry that's personal. Never mind. Granny keeps telling me not to pry into other people's business." Winry stumbled over her words, and Ariyn treated her to a rare smile.

"That's all right," she said. "I did. Two of my children actually."

"I'm so sorry," Winry said.

"You lost both of your parents in the Ishvalan Civil War?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"But you don't hate the Ishvalans for what they did?" Ariyn asked, looking down at her lap.

Winry's eyes lit up. "Oh. Your- oh," she said. She paused. "I don't hate them. It's hard to explain."

Edward, in a surprisingly touching move, wrapped his arm around Winry, and she grasped it as she struggled to find the words.

"My parents showed kindness in the face of disaster, and it's a testament to their memory that I have been able to move on. It's not easy, and I wish every day that the war hadn't happened, but they died doing what they believed in. It'd be easy to hate Ishvalans for their deaths, but I guess… there was a long line of circumstances that led to their deaths and Ishvalans were not the only contributors. I suppose I could hate everyone, but that's exhausting. Hatred only hurts ourselves."

Her words were steady and careful, and Alphonse was pleased to see Ariyn nodding.

"You are a remarkable young woman, Miss Rockbell," she said. "All three of you, actually. I can see why people keep you so close."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Representative," Alphonse said.

"That I hold onto grudges probably makes me sound petty," she said, but didn't elaborate further.

The door swung open at last, and Alphonse rose.

"What-what happened?" he asked the doctor, who stood paused in the doorway, a cigarette in hand.

"The boy will live," he said, frowning, which elongated his face into a strangely horse-like shape. Alphonse let out a breath of relief. "But, I couldn't save his arm. I'm going to have to amputate it."

Winry stepped forward, "Doctor, I'm an automail mechanic. May I speak to them about their options? If you haven't amputated yet, I could make sure the amputation would be suitable for automail. Sir."

She tacked on the last bit, and Al could see the doctor wasn't impressed by her infringement onto his territory, but he acquiesced. Complaining to himself in Ishvalan the whole time, but letting her into the back anyway.

Winry's capability to help other people was amazing. Just like May could. And it wasn't unlike what General Mustang did or what Brother did. Helping people, regardless of the consequences, with abilities that were almost superhuman. Learning alkahestry never seemed so important.

Alphonse accompanied Ariyn Fitzgerald back to the inn, while Edward waited for Winry. Before they left, they could hear the boy's screams. Frenzied and hoarse, they were audible all the way down the street. Alphonse blinked back tears.

"Do you hate Ishvalans?"

The question creeped out of Al's mouth before he realized it was a horrible thing to ask. They wound through Kedesh, and Alphonse felt relatively sure he was going the right way. As they got closer to the inn, he stole a glance back towards the Kedeshian skyline. The Ishvalan temple was no longer visible from this side of town, a gaping hole where its spires had once stretched towards the heavens. At least the smoke had stopped polluting the cloudless sky.

"Here's the thing," Ariyn Fitzgerald said, keeping pace with his slow, steady steps. "I have been in Parliament for a very long time, and in Parliament, no one cares what you think. It's about who you represent and how you can get what you want."

"So you think Amestrians hate Ishvalans then?"

"I don't know," she said. "But someone is going to have to answer for the way these Accords turn out, and it's not going to be the military."

Alphonse noticed that she was still avoiding giving a direct answer. And she didn't blame anyone directly either.

"Why did you join the Parliament?" he asked.

"For the power," she said, deadpan, before her face erupted into a genuine smile. "That was a joke. I have been known to joke from time to time.

"I wanted to have a say in the future of Amestris. I know we in the Parliament couldn't do much, but one day in the history books, I wanted my name to be there. That in a military state, there was a civilian voice of reason." She glanced at Alphonse. "Seems silly, doesn't it? It was a long time ago."

"Were you against the Ishvalan War?" he asked.

"I was. Many people were. But it didn't matter much. It was a long, costly war with no benefit to Amestris, but the military didn't care," she said. In the madness of the day, her hair had unfurled from its bun, and Alphonse had never seen her more human than in that waiting room.

"I think I understand you a little better now," he said.

"I haven't done my job as a politician then," she said smirking. And just like that, the door into Ariyn was closed, but Alphonse didn't mind it. Everyone had their own methods of coping; it was presumptuous to assume differently.

When Alphonse and Ariyn arrived back at the inn, they were greeted with a loud discussion about the attacks in Kedesh over the past few weeks.

"This is a copycat," Scar said. "He is mirroring the way Amestrians attacked Ishvalan cities during the war. Simple as that."

"In my experience, it doesn't seem to mirror-" Mustang began, but Scar cut him off by slamming his fist onto the table.

"Not everything is about you, Mustang!" he said, spit spewing from his lips. "This is far before State Alchemists were ever sent in. This is exactly how Kedesh fell at the beginning of the war. The fear and the bombings."

At Al and Ariyn's entrance, they silenced, but no one seemed happy to see them. (Alphonse attributed it to Ariyn's presence.) Al passed on the happy news of the boy's survival, and at this, Elder Shan smiled.

"Can you really smile at a time like this, Elder?" Elder Vikram asked. "We're inching closer to war. Again!"

"I hardly need to remind you the importance of a single child's life, Vikram," she said coolly. "Besides, every life is important. That he survived is Ishvala's miracle."

Elder Vikram said nothing, and as Ariyn sat down onto a couch, ready to join the discussion (much to the visible dismay of the others), Alphonse didn't know where to go. He hadn't been part of the negotiations before. Ed was the one who was a member of the military. Alphonse was just his kid brother that tagged along.

"Alphonse, sit next to me," Hawkeye said, scooching over on the couch, and he fell into the cushion beside hers.

They all acted like he belonged here.

Even though Alphonse disagreed with Edward, he understood his brother's desire that their past remain hidden. Regardless of what Edward said, Edward cared about General Mustang and Captain Hawkeye and Breda and Havoc and the countless others in the military who would subsequently find out. Alex Armstrong, Falman, Fuery, Sheska, Maria Ross, Denny Brosh.

A very long time ago, they'd been blessed with a large, welcoming family, but then it had been torn away from them, leaving only Edward and Alphonse in its implosion. Edward didn't want to lose their new family, the one that wasn't built on blood, but the one that they'd found for themselves.

Of course Edward would never call it a 'family' but his affections were the same as Al's.

Alphonse understood this, but he was becoming less convinced that hiding their Ishvalan side was the best option. After all, if they didn't accept them as they were, they were no family at all. Right? Sure, it was easier not to tell them, but just because it was easier didn't mean it was the right choice.

There was a final factor in the equation though.

Espionage.

Since the Ishvalan War had begun, anyone with more than one Ishvalan grandparent wasn't legally allowed to become a State Alchemist. Of course, it was more a formality, considering not many Ishvalans were alchemists to begin with, but it had never been overturned after the War. Edward serving in the military was legally an act of espionage, as he would be considered a "spy" for Ishval; the penalty was death.

Whenever Alphonse would broach the topic, Edward would laugh it off, but that didn't stop Alphonse from worrying.

Of course Alphonse understood Ed's laid-back response, especially considering the latitude the Amestrian government had afforded Scar, an Ishvalan who'd murdered State Alchemists in cold blood. Surely Edward, who had done no harm to anyone, would be exonerated.

And yet, even if Edward was unconcerned, Alphonse couldn't stop the little voice from whispering in his ear.

What if?

The conversation danced from topic to topic, from Kedesh's fall during the Ishvalan War and the methodology, to ideas of the next target, to what the public should know, and then back again.

"There is no need to frighten the public prematurely," Mustang argued. "We don't want the consequences of these attacks to outweigh the damages they have inflicted."

"Everyone in Kedesh knows what's happening," Elder Vikram said. His voice was level, but it trembled, like it required all of his energy not to start smashing objects in his hidden rage. "Ignoring it would be the pinnacle of human stupidity. Do you think people will just stay calm now that they saw this attack? This is what happened before. Do you think they will just roll over and prepare to die?"

"Ishval does not trust Amestris," Scar agreed. "The Fuhrer needs to condemn these attacks or we're going to have a dangerous situation."

"Are you threatening the Fuhrer?" Ariyn Fitzgerald asked, injecting herself back into the discussion with a careful smile.

Scar gritted his teeth together, "Don't you get it? There are no leaders of Ishval right now, Representative. The Ishvalan government was destroyed! We-" He gestured to the Ishvalans "-are here on behalf of all Ishvalans, but we are not their leaders, and no one will listen to us unless they want to. We can talk all we want about the future of Ishval, but no one will surrender their freedom unless they trust us. All of us."

Scar stared Ariyn down until she looked away.

"Fine," Mustang said. "I'll speak with the Fuhrer now. If he condemns the actions of this madman, then what? We still don't know anything about him."

"He's abiding by the pattern," Elder Vikram said, his narrow face splotched with patches of maroon. He didn't raise his voice, but he glared at everyone. Even the other Ishvalans.

"So what does the pattern say is the next move?" Breda asked.

"Bombings in public locations," he said, his thin lips pressed into a frown. "The goal is chaos, not casualties, though those often accompany them."

"How much damage can one man do?" Ariyn Fitzgerald asked.

"I don't think any of us doubt the power of a single alchemist," Scar said, eyes drawn to Mustang.

"You're an accomplished alchemist, are you not, General Mustang?" Ariyn said. "Can't you just blow this man to smithereens, and then we all can go about our lives?"

Mustang pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, "I can't attack anyone I can't see. I don't know who he is. It's not magic; it's alchemy."

The impending argument was luckily curtailed by Edward and Winry's arrival back at the inn. Dark bags pulled underneath Winry's eyes, and she wobbled as she walked. Edward steadied her gait, but she found the first open chair and sunk herself into it. Edward didn't join Alphonse on the couch but leaned against Winry's chair. Her eyes were already drooping, and Edward patted her awkwardly on the head.

"How'd it go?" Al asked.

"Pretty well, as far as these things go," Winry said, yawning. "It'll be a long road for him."

"Automail?" Ariyn Fitzgerald asked. Winry nodded, her eyes blinking slowly.

"It'll be months before his wounds will heal enough to install any, but he can begin exercises to make it easier on him. It can be hard on a young body, and it can stunt growth." Edward shot her a dirty look. "It'll take years before he's adjusted. At least this alternative exists. But it's hard for him; he woke up this morning with four functional limbs, and now, by the end of the day, he only has three."

No one knew what to say to that, but soon enough, Winry retired early, and Alphonse spent the rest of the night listening to the conversation spinning in circles, as no one agreed on the proper course of action.

"This is a mess," Havoc said, as they trudged up the stairs to their rooms. Dawn was nearly upon them, and Al could feel his exhaustion. He'd pushed himself too far. Edward lectured as much when they were alone, but Al couldn't regret it. He didn't want to feel like a passive player in Ishval anymore. If they were truly Ishvalan, and they were, they had to help, they had to try their best and work their hardest to bring peace back to Ishval.

The following morning, Miles cornered Edward and lectured him about how dangerous it had been to walk back from the clinic with no guards. Alphonse happened to be around the corner, and felt only the tiniest twinge of guilt for eavesdropping.

"You're not an alchemist anymore!" Miles said.

Alphonse knew this very well. Honestly, Alphonse was much better equipped to protect Edward than the other way around, but Edward would never let that happen.

"If you're going to be so pig-headed about this, Edward, at the very least, carry a gun," Miles urged, and dug into his holster.

"No," Edward said, and moments later, Al heard the uneven thumping of Edward stomping away.

"Your brother is stubborn," Miles said, and Al jumped.

"Um, yeah," Al said, sheepish he'd been caught listening in.

"Could you talk to him? At least about carrying a weapon," Miles asked, and Alphonse promised he would, even if it wouldn't do any good. Edward was the most stubborn person Al knew.

So when he brought it up, Edward just rolled his eyes.

"I'm not going to kill anyone," Edward said. "It's stupid for me to even carry it."

"You might be in trouble, Brother. I'm scared for you!" Al didn't want them to, but treacherous tears leaked out of his eyes, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. He'd found himself more prone to tears since he'd gotten his body back, which is what he tried to blubber out between sobs.

Edward shushed him, grabbing his hands and kneeling in front of Alphonse. "It's okay. Everything's going to be ok."

"I don't want to lose you, Brother. What if the alchemist comes back? You won't be able to defend yourself, and it's-" Hiccup. "All my fault. I'm the reason you don't have your alchemy."

"Don't. Don't ever say that," Edward said, his voice strangely hoarse. Edward rose, dropped Al's hands, and left the room without looking back.

Alphonse didn't follow, but just moments later, Edward poked his head back into the room, "Let's spar."

They were well-matched now, though Edward's more durable body gave him an edge. After Edward beat him three straight fights, they laid on the hot sand, staring up at the sky.

"I would do anything for you, Alphonse," Edward said, in-between wheezes from their exertion. "I'm just so glad to have your body back."

"Me too, Brother," Al said. The sun beat down on them, their layer of sweat thickening every moment they remained in the sweltering heat. Yet, Alphonse didn't want to get up either. He closed his eyes, focusing on the miraculous feeling of warmth and exhaustion.

After they finally cleaned up, they learned that, like the Ishvalans had requested, the Fuhrer had formally condemned the Ishvalan attacks, and he was seeking any available information the man they'd dubbed the "Sand Alchemist."

"Sand Alchemist," Havoc said slowly, like he was testing the flavor of it on his tongue. "'Cause the explosions were sand-based. Kinda catchy."

"The Fuhrer suggested it may be a former Amestrian soldier," Mustang said with a stern expression, in no mood for such inane discussions on nicknames.

"It would explain his knowledge of the Amestrian attacks," Miles said.

"But there are no records of any alchemist during the war who can do what he can," Mustang said, throwing down a pile of files. "No manmade sand explosions. No one who could possibly make explosions like that except-"

"Except?" Breda asked.

"Except Kimblee," Miles supplied.

"Kimblee is dead," Mustang said. "Besides, if this were Kimblee-"

"We would have all known it by now," Miles interrupted. "He has a certain… style."

Edward muttered curses under his breath at Kimblee, and considering Alphonse had seen the wounds Kimblee inflicted on Edward, he was tempted to repeat them.

The Fuhrer had wanted to send additional troops to Kedesh, but Mustang had talked him out of it.

"If any of them make the wrong move, everything could be at risk," Mustang said, his eyes focused on the Ishvalans. "The situation is tense enough as it is."

Although this hadn't been an easy time, the Ishvalans nodded, and it felt like some of the tension had passed.

"There are only so many places this Sand Alchemist can hide," Mustang said. "We'll find him."

But the old city of Kedesh was an enormous, ruinous place. It could take weeks, if not months, to search it for a hide-out. Never mind if he'd already left Kedesh.

"He's not going to leave Kedesh," Elder Vikram said in his gravelly voice. "We are his prey."

But beyond Elder Vikram's certainty lay dozens of questions.

Where would this Sand Alchemist attack next? It could be a public gathering, like the market, or a place of significance, like the Zikkaron, and although many of the people in the inn were skilled combatants, only so many could hold their own in an alchemic battle. And they couldn't be everywhere at once. It felt like they were being sieged, and nowhere was safe.

Alphonse couldn't deny that he was scared, but they'd faced down much worse and come out all right. He had to focus on that and stay hopeful. He had faith in everyone in this room, and he had to believe that they'd beat back this Sand Alchemist too.

A/N: Thanks for reading!

And special thanks to Shiloh Moon (That's kind of awesome. I love Grease, probably more than I should, so I can imagine it very clearly. Sorry for all the Ariyn Fitzgerald in this chapter though. Hope you didn't mind too much!), lilaclily00, small helm (I guess you'll just have to see if your questions get answered, but my gut tells me… maybe?), arelia22, Akahime, and princ3ssf33t (Mustang angst is what I live for, so… basically, yeah!). Seriously, you guys are the best! I love hearing all of your thoughts on the story! Whenever I get a review, it makes my whole day.

Next week, we'll be taking another dip into Riza Hawkeye's POV!