IMPORTANT NOTE! This chapter references the FMA Bonus Episode, "Yet Another Man's Battlefield." So if you haven't seen it, check it out! I mean, if you haven't seen it and you don't want to, you'll understand everything just fine, because it's a pretty small piece of the chapter. But I highly recommend it anyway, because it's just awesome.
Back to your regularly scheduled fanfic
Chapter 10: Roy Mustang III
Roy Mustang couldn't sleep. Again.
Of course, insomnia wasn't unusual for Mustang. He'd experienced his fair share of horrors- and had inflicted many as well- so he had enough nightmare material for a dozen men.
But being in Ishval had made it even worse. Although the nighttime was cooler than the sweltering days, the dry Ishvalan heat still pressed down onto his chest when the sun was down, suffocating him as he closed his eyes. It had been a foreign sensation when he'd first been shipped to Ishval and feeling its distinctive grasp reminded him of the War in a visceral way.
However, the reason Roy Mustang couldn't sleep had nothing to do with the heat or his nightmares. This time it was all about the Elrics.
This wasn't the first time the Elric brothers had kept him from sleeping, of course. Over the years, those two brats (one brat and one kind young man) had caused him a lot of worry, from tales of their recklessness on missions to making sure the higher-ups weren't paying too close attention to their antics to just wondering whether they would get their bodies back. But none of those things were causing his insomnia either.
Instead, it was the Ishvalan heritage the two bore that kept Mustang tossing and turning, the heritage that Mustang had never known about. Mustang, Hawkeye, Havoc, and Breda had been up late last night, first talking about the Elrics, and then abandoning the uncomfortable topic, in favor of playing cards and pointedly avoiding any discussion on Ishval at all.
Eventually, as the sun spread across his bed sheets, Mustang realized he had lain awake all night, so he decided to give up and get out of bed. Which, of course, was exactly when he fell asleep. And just moments later, or at least that was how it felt, he was forced to rise for the day. All of this culminated in a foul mood, exacerbated by the Ishvalans' distaste for coffee. Although he'd been going without his caffeine fix for a while already, today was a day he could have really used it.
"You look awful, boss," Havoc said with a grin.
"Thanks, I feel it," Mustang said with a scowl. But before he greeted anyone else, he smoothed out his features, combed his hair down, and fixed his crooked uniform. There was nothing he could do about the bags underneath his eyes, so it would have to do. There was no point in parading his weakness around, especially to Ariyn Fitzgerald, who'd been awfully quiet recently. She was scheming; he could feel it.
So Mustang was unsurprised when he noticed Ariyn Fitzgerald's shit-eating grin, visible the moment he entered the lounge for breakfast that morning. She was speaking to one of the newly arrived soldiers from Central, and he didn't seem too thrilled by her attention. He was young and baby-faced but wore an uneasy expression he hadn't quite learned how to hide yet.
As soon as he spotted Mustang, however, he leaped up and saluted. His form was precise and practiced, the way that Mustang's had once been. Ishval had been good at training out the religious adherence to formality he'd carried throughout his time at the academy. At Mustang's appearance, Ariyn Fitzgerald smiled and rose lazily. She sent a long look toward the soldier, before grabbing a piece of bread and leaving the inn altogether.
"At ease," Mustang said, his gaze following Ariyn's exit.
"Yes, sir!"
The shouting enthusiasm made his ears ring, but he too grabbed a bite to eat and settled into Ariyn's previous seat.
"Shouldn't you be patrolling?" Mustang asked.
"My shift ended at dawn, sir!"
Was he ever this much of a suck up? The answer came swiftly and in the form of Maes Hughes' mocking voice: Aw, Roy, you were much worse.
"What's your name, kid?" Mustang asked, and he was pleased to see the shadow of a frown at the diminutive.
"Second Lieutenant James Darrow, sir!"
Right, of course. This was their most experienced soldier among the Central troops, a lieutenant with no field experience.
"Take a seat, James," Mustang said and patted the seat next to him, trying to channel Fuhrer Grumman, who'd always been good at this kind of thing. After a healthy pause for gaping, Darrow slid into the chair beside him.
"So, why'd you join the military, James?" Mustang asked.
"Um," he began, his voice shaky. "My father was Colonel Anton Darrow, sir. He was killed in Aerugo about ten years back. He'd always spoken highly of the military, and so it felt like the right path for me, sir."
"I'm guessing that spending all of your time in an office filing paperwork wasn't in your to-do list, then, was it?" Mustang asked with a smirk, and Darrow narrowed his eyes slightly.
"I knew that I'd be assigned according to my best use in the military, sir, but during this time on assignment in Ishval, I hope to impress you, sir, and if my abilities are best served outside of office work, I'd be most pleased to hear it."
Mustang always appreciated ambition. Maybe because it reminded him of his younger self. But Mustang didn't have any more time to spend on Darrow, not when everything else was going to hell, so he'd just have to be direct.
"What did Representative Fitzgerald ask of you?"
A flash of alarm and then James Darrow schooled his expression back to neutral, but Mustang had been playing this game for almost as many years as this kid had been alive.
"Nothing, sir. She just wanted to check on the soldiers and the military's efforts, sir. I assured her that it was none of her concern, sir. I didn't tell her anything, sir."
Mustang was pleased that, even though the past year had held very little excitement, he still had all of his old skills, which had been carefully crafted by Fuhrer Grumman. Although this kid wouldn't confess to Mustang what Ariyn asked, he did refuse her outright. That was something. Although Mustang could order James Darrow to tell him (and he was almost positive Darrow would break instantly), there was no need for that now.
It would be much more helpful to have someone keeping an eye on the soldiers and reporting back to Mustang, someone from inside the ranks.
"Second Lieutenant James Darrow," Mustang said in his boastful official voice he reserved for official military business. "Thank you for telling me about Representative Fitzgerald's actions. I know that she wants what's best for Ishval and the safety of all our soldiers. I want to make sure that all of the troops out here are faring adequately in the Ishvalan heat and will be able to appropriately reflect the might of the Amestrian military. I want you, Lieutenant Darrow, to inform me if anyone is having trouble in the heat and will be unable to perform their duty sufficiently. Can you do that for me, Lieutenant?"
"General Mustang, I don't-"
"This is extremely crucial to our success in Ishval, Lieutenant. Can you do that for me?"
A glimmer of understanding reflected back at Mustang, and he was given the affirmative. Mustang sent Lieutenant Darrow on his way, hoping he would understand. It was the same kind of bullshit Grumman loved to pull on Mustang. The kind that made Mustang question whether there was even an assignment or whether Grumman was just crazy. It would hopefully get Darrow to report back to him if anything suspicious went down, especially because Mustang didn't like the look Ariyn Fitzgerald had flashed as she was leaving.
And if James Darrow was able to be his eyes and ears among the soldiers, well, Darrow would find himself with a promotion in no time.
"Very well done, General," a calm voice whispered, and Mustang found Major Miles smirking down at him. "You're a natural."
"So are you," Mustang replied thoughtlessly. At Miles' surprised expression, he elaborated. "Differently, of course, but you've fit well into the military."
"I'll take it as a compliment," Miles said.
"Likewise."
There was no world in which Mustang could imagine focusing on the Ishvalan Accords at a time like this: Ariyn was plotting, the Elrics were Ishvalan, and, of course, Marius Gustav was still seeking blood. (Despite Hawkeye landing a shot on him yesterday, it hadn't been fatal, so Mustang wouldn't rest until he saw Gustav's body himself.).
Yet, Ariyn Fitzgerald was enthusiastically pushing forward with the Ishvalan Accords. And although it was against his best instincts, Mustang knew that their best chance at ending Gustav was to lure him out of hiding while he was still injured. Then they could distract him with enough of the Amestrian soldiers to allow Mustang to finish the job. Considering that they still had no idea where Gustav was hiding out, this was their only opportunity to catch him, though it would be, unfortunately, on his terms.
"If he attacks, all you need is a moment of a clear shot," Hawkeye said, as they discussed it before they left the inn as part of the Accords delegation.
"Are we playing bait then, Captain Hawkeye?" Mustang asked.
"I'm merely remarking that it presents an unexpected opportunity, does it not?" she asked, tilting her head. The Hawkeye head tilt, as he called it, was one of her trademark giveaways that she was joking. It was incredibly subtle, but Mustang thought that it suited her.
The Elrics, regardless of whether they wanted to, were forced to join their trek for their own safety. (Abra's inn, while homey, wasn't exactly an impenetrable fortress.) Edward grumbled, though Alphonse confessed to Hawkeye in a lowered voice that Edward had wanted to come anyway but just didn't want to be forced to. Mustang filed that tidbit away for use later, more out of habit than anything else.
The delegation was accompanied by half of the Amestrian soldiers. Mustang supposed that they could be useful, possibly. Maybe. If every other fighter with them had simultaneous heart attacks.
But the most obvious consequence of their presence was the unwanted attention that they got from the Kedeshian citizens. As the group marched through town, the Ishvalans parted and gawked. If the Amestrians had thought that they'd received a lot of stares before, it was nothing compared to now. People gaped at the procession, leaning over walls and windows to watch them, their red eyes reflecting their fear, anger, and confusion. One teenage girl froze as they passed, a bite of fruit halfway to her lips, her eyes watching their movements unblinkingly.
This was exactly why he'd protested soldiers in Ishval. It was the last thing they needed for morale, even with Gustav on the loose, but Mustang knew unquestionable orders when he heard them. If Fuhrer Grumman was a lesser man, he'd wonder if the excessive protection was because of his granddaughter's presence, but Grumman had always been able to effectively compartmentalize his personal life and his military career.
It was a relief to finally clear the town, enter the fields, and leave the intense glares behind them. Although the fields were also filled with Ishvalans, they were mostly busy working and didn't have time to ogle at their presence.
As they passed the Ishvalan outposts, Major Miles gave them a quick summary of the agricultural difficulties so far. Only the most resilient plants would grow in the harsh desert climate, so the Ishvalan struggle had often been focused on growing enough food to create a balanced diet. So far, Kedesh had become largely self-sustainable, but they didn't have enough hands to grow additional food for trading.
An unimportant piece of the empire, Mustang could imagine Ariyn Fitzgerald complaining.
Great. As if one Ariyn Fitzgerald wasn't bad enough, he now had one in his head.
But surprisingly enough, while Mustang listened carefully to Miles and the Ishvalan guides, Ariyn was already three steps ahead, asking about the different crops they'd tried so far and what agricultural techniques they had used.
Mustang shot a confused look to Hawkeye.
"She's the Head of the East. What do you expect? Her region is the agricultural center of Amestris," she said.
Ah. So this was Ariyn's element. While Ariyn jabbered on, Mustang followed the conversation the best that he could, as they trudged through the fields and were introduced to various important people. Mustang greeted and spoke with them, but they soon became a whirlwind of names and faces, all sporting red eyes.
"Your fake smile is slipping," Hawkeye muttered out of the corner of her mouth. Mustang gave no indication he'd heard her, except that he attempted to more naturally engage with the Ishvalans, who'd taken time out of their busy schedules to speak with them. Mustang understood this and tried to be respectful, but he was also tired and his minimal energy was mostly wasted staring at shadows, waiting for the Sand Alchemist to strike.
"You're right," Ariyn Fitzgerald said, her political smile etched across her face. "Amestrian cotton has no chance of growing in these conditions, but Cretan cotton has become much more popular in recent years. It requires a lower density of the soil, and it thrives in drier terrain, much like I'm seeing here. Considering the recent escalating tensions with Creta, Amestris should leap at the chance to get Cretan cotton without having to deal with Creta.
"And are those wheat crops I spot? After a few consecutive years of bad yields about a decade ago, many Amestrian wheat farmers switched crops, and since then, most of Amestris' wheat supply has to be imported. If you had a larger workforce and expanded the farming region, you might be able to revolutionize Ishval and its relationship with Amestris through trading."
Ariyn dominated the discussions, but Mustang didn't mind. If this was her territory, then let her have it. She was actually engaged, for once, so he couldn't complain.
By the time the delegation and the accompanying soldiers began walking back to the inn, it was nearly sunset, and Mustang couldn't wait to go to sleep. It had been a long, boring day.
Edward, Alphonse, and Winry had snuck off sometime mid-morning, when Winry had noticed a young man missing his legs. They'd promised not to go far and to take a sizable amount of soldiers with them, but the soldiers had returned empty-handed soon after.
Mustang just didn't have the heart to be mad at them, so when they'd returned an hour or so later bearing snacks from the marketplace, he'd let Hawkeye tell them off. Although they did look properly abashed, their still-chewing cheeks made Mustang think they'd do it again in an instant, regardless of the danger. At the very least, they had remained close for the rest of the day.
"Are you ignoring the Elrics?" Major Miles asked, sliding up beside Mustang as they passed the first of four outposts on their path back towards the outskirts of Kedesh.
"What? No!" Mustang fumbled, but his shout grabbed the attention of a few passing Ishvalans, who were leaving the fields after a long day of labor.
"Sure you're not," Miles easily agreed. "You're just not talking to them or acknowledging their existence. Why?"
They walked in step with each other, as the sun began slipping beneath the horizon in a splash of bright reds and purples. The open landscape made the sunset feel like it stretched eternally into the distance, as though the sun would never succumb to the oncoming earth.
"There's nothing like an Ishvalan sunset," Miles said, when Mustang didn't answer. "That's what my grandfather told me growing up. He was right."
The about-face was unexpected, as was the tidbit into his life long ago.
"Did you have a hard time at the academy, Major Miles?" Mustang asked.
Miles granted him a frigid smile, "The academy is meant to be a challenge, General Mustang."
"That means yes then," Mustang said, too tired for the political mind games. Miles took the hint and dropped the pretenses as well.
"I graduated a few years before you arrived," Miles said. "Ishvalans weren't treated any better than they were when you went there. But there were a few more of them in my year, I suppose."
Mustang nodded but was unwilling to dig any deeper into his own experiences.
"You knew Heathcliff Erbe, right?" Miles asked abruptly. And Mustang froze, every muscle immediately taut.
"It's been a long time since I heard that name," Mustang choked out. And Miles squinted at him, his Ishvalan red eyes glistening under the setting sun.
"That means yes then," he said. "He was an acquaintance of mine."
Images that he'd been trying to hold back flooded his mind. A young Ishvalan cadet at the academy. A friend, even, who'd left the military during the Extermination and had gone home to protect Ishval. And then the icy, unfamiliar red eyes on that fateful last day Mustang had seen Heathcliff. When Heathcliff had shot at Mustang, and Hughes had killed Heathcliff instead.
Mustang had stared down death that day, but he would never forget the hatred and desperation in Heathcliff's eyes as he'd fired on Mustang. In one lifetime they'd been friends. In the next, bitter enemies. And for what?
"You knew him?" Mustang asked, torn between curiosity and a desperation to cover up a long aggravated wound.
"Not well," Miles said, glancing Mustang up and down. "He liked you though. We exchanged correspondence while he was at the academy. He wanted advice… for obvious reasons."
"He liked me?" Mustang asked.
"Of course. You were friends once, yes?"
Mustang nodded.
"But after he deserted, I never spoke with him again," Miles said.
"What did you tell him?" Mustang asked. "What did he want advice about?"
"Many things. Some private, some…" Miles trailed off. "He asked me what the field was like for people like us. And he wanted to know how I did it. How I kept my head down and never caused a scene. How I never fought back, never giving them the flimsiest excuse to expel me."
"Did you tell him to desert?" Mustang asked, and Miles glared at him.
"Do you think I would? I didn't desert after all," Miles said angrily, but then the emotion flooded out, and Miles sighed. They passed the next outpost, and Mustang noticed that the walk back was passing much quicker than he'd anticipated. Miles and Mustang lingered at the back of the group, though they were still within range of the soldiers "guarding" them.
"Heathcliff was half-Ishvalan, so he fell under Order 3066," Miles said. "If he didn't desert, the military would have quietly done away with him anyway, so I don't blame him. If he'd been a bit older, I might have gotten General Armstrong to bring him north to Briggs with us, but he wasn't experienced enough for that to make sense to the higher-ups. But…" Miles turned to Mustang.
Major Miles was always serious, but he seemed especially solemn.
"Heathcliff's family still lived in Ishval. There was nothing I could have said to get him out of that fight. It was his war to join. I can't say that, if I had known my Ishvalan family, I wouldn't have done the same."
Mustang nodded, "I never blamed him. His actions made sense. Defend your land from invaders: pretty simple military theory. But he made me question mine." Mustang paused and gave a wry smile. "Once upon a time I thought I knew right from wrong."
"You still do," Miles said, his gaze pointed up at the dwindling Ishvalan sunset. "You always have; you just learned how to silence it for authority."
Mustang felt the urge to defend himself and pushed it away, but Miles seemed frustrated by his silence.
"I am hardly the pinnacle of righteousness in the world, but I've made my choices, and now I have to live with them. I know you have found the same," Miles said. "So why are you ignoring the Elric brothers?"
Mustang didn't bother trying to explain the way his heart clenched when he saw Edward and Alphonse smile. The way he felt when he imagined the struggles that they faced because of him and his military. The way Mustang knew that he should be begging on his knees to even be in the same room as them. He had committed a sin, and karma was a bitch.
But Miles didn't want to hear about his pity party, so Mustang said nothing.
"Let me wager a guess then, General," Miles said. They passed the last outpost, and he could see the shimmering lights of Kedesh close by. The sky had darkened, and the sun had slipped out of sight, but it was too early for the sky to be painted with stars yet. The heat would dissipate in an hour (as much as it ever did), so Mustang's uniform still stuck to his neck and back as though it were mid-afternoon. And though Miles strutted like he was unaffected by the warmth, Mustang imagined that after years at Briggs, it must be a difficult, ongoing adjustment.
"You have now realized that in a different life, in a different world, in a different set of circumstances, you would have killed Edward and Alphonse without a second thought. You would have their blood on your hands, much as you have Heathcliff's, even if you did not pull the trigger. And worse, you wouldn't even know what you'd have lost. They would just be two more Ishvalan children, added to your collection.
"Although you remember some of the faces of the people you've killed, you never knew their stories. Their goals. Their dreams. And, of course, you are now wondering if you have the Elrics' family's blood on your hands. Is that about right?"
Miles didn't give him the opportunity to answer.
"Understand this, General. Edward and Alphonse have lived with their Ishvalan roots since the day they were born. When they joined the military, they knew who you were. They've had many years to settle their dissidence. Ignoring them because you feel uncomfortable looking at them is disrespectful."
"I-I don't even know if they want to talk to me," Mustang said, an unwilling truth escaping from his lips.
"They've known who you are for years, and they haven't run yet," Miles said. "Who knows why?"
His piece said, Major Miles sped up to the rest of the group, leaving Mustang to dawdle at the back. But he hadn't taken four steps on his own when Hawkeye slipped from her own discussion with Elder Shan and Havoc to join him at the rear. Mustang wanted to linger, so Hawkeye followed his lead, as they took small, steady steps together.
Mustang tried to take what Miles said to heart and talk with the Elrics. He'd never been known as a coward before. It was just a conversation, right?
But he didn't have the opportunity for a while. Dinner was occupied by more agricultural talk, though he could now follow it more closely than he'd been able to in the heat. Ariyn Fitzgerald, strangely helpful, was explaining about an economic trading plan which would mitigate tariffs between Ishval and Amestris.
For someone who'd been complaining about everything Ishvalan for their entire trip, it was certainly a shock but a welcome one. Mustang wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth, even if he suspected she had other motivations.
As people began trickling upstairs to their rooms, Mustang realized that only his men (that Hawkeye was included in 'his men' was implied), the Elrics, Miss Rockbell, and Major Miles remained.
However, Madam Abra was continuously darting in and out of the lounge with an unusually frantic energy.
"You know that little boy who sometimes comes to help me? I can't find him." She didn't sound too alarmed but continued searching immediately. Soon they all pitched in to find the boy, who was soon discovered asleep in Madam Abra's bed.
"That brat," Abra muttered, but she didn't wake him. She just closed her door quietly and crept away.
"Is he an orphan?" Edward asked her, as they settled back into the lounge.
Abra nodded, "He lives with his older sister. She's… almost twenty, I think, so she takes care of him. But she spends a lot of time working, so I watch him during the day, when he's not in school. He'll do some chores, and I'll give him a bit of money." Abra sighed.
"What happened to his parents?" Edward asked. It was the question they all wanted to ask, but no one was bold enough to inquire. Except Edward.
"You're a true Ishvalan," Abra said with a loud snort. She covered her nose with her hands but didn't seem too embarrassed or alarmed.
"What?"
"I told you, don't you remember? Us Ishvalans don't like to beat it around the bush. Instead of saying 'how are you?' we like to lead off with 'what's your story?' It's much more important, don't you think? It's how we make sense of the world."
Edward ducked his head, and Abra continued, "Gilad was obviously born after the war. I believe his father was a soldier in the Ishvalan forces, and his mother worked as a doctor. They fled into Aerugo with their daughter, as some of the Ishvalans did. Long story short-"
"I don't think you know how to tell a short story if your life depended on it," Winry said, which made Abra laugh again.
"Very true, dear. It used to drive my husband up a wall. Anyway, his parents enlisted again-this time in the Aerugan army- during one of the skirmishes between Amestris and Aerugo a few years back. Both were killed-in-action. Tragic really." She tutted and shook her head. "Poor kids."
"Can't escape your fate," Edward said morosely. And Abra gave him a good-natured shove.
"They weren't the only Ishvalans to settle in Aerugo. From what I've heard, it was the most open country to Ishvalan refugees once the war started," Abra said.
"Of course the Aerugans wanted payment," Miles chimed in. "In the form of knowledge of Amestrian military strategies."
"It was a fair exchange," Abra said with a shrug.
This was the first Mustang had heard of this, but he didn't need to learn the details. There were some things he'd be safer not knowing.
Abra soon left for bed, presumably in an empty room upstairs, considering her own was occupied. And Major Miles followed suit, but not before sending a pointed look towards Mustang.
And then it was just Mustang, Hawkeye, Breda, Havoc, the Elrics, and Miss Rockbell.
Although Mustang felt awkward, the teenagers didn't notice it at all, at least not at first. They were initially distracted at a card trick Havoc was demonstrating, and the conversation fell from one easy topic to another, any mention of Ishval taboo.
It would have been easy to let it stay there, and Mustang wasn't sure that he would have had the strength to dampen the mood, but luckily (or unluckily), Hawkeye had no such qualms. So after a very exaggerated story from Havoc about how he rescued a family from a car crash single-handedly (while his legs were still paralyzed), she turned to Fullmetal and Alphonse.
"Have you given more thought as to how Gustav figured out your family background, given that no one in the military had? If it had been that easy, how did no one else know?"
Edward's face, still smiling from Havoc's story, froze mid-laugh. His golden eyes sharpened, and watching Edward lock away his emotions made Mustang feel so much older than his years. How could he have never noticed this before?
"I guess it makes me wonder if certain people did know, actually," Edward said slowly. "It wasn't much of a secret in Resembool, but why would Father and the homunculi care if I was Ishvalan? I'd performed human transmutation, so all they cared about was keeping the sacrifices close by. If I'd been known as Ishvalan, it would have been a lot harder for them."
"Does it really matter if anyone knew?" Al asked.
"I guess not," Edward said. "I mean, it seems likely that, if Gustav stumbled on the information by accident, he wasn't the first to do so. But maybe not. It's not like I have a lot of enemies digging through my past for weaknesses, right?"
A pointed look from Alphonse made Edward splutter.
"I do not."
"Sure, Brother."
This was natural and easy, and Mustang could almost forget why his stomach kept churning.
"It's okay if you don't want to answer," Havoc said, twirling an unlit cigarette in his fingers. "But, do you mind me asking … what was Ishval like? Before the war? The other Ishvalans don't like to talk about it, and I was just thinking because, well, we know you and-"
Edward smiled, "I don't mind, but you might get a better answer out of Madam Abra. She remembers it a lot better than I do. I was still really young when we left." Edward's eyes glazed over, seemingly lost in a distant memory.
'I'd rather hear it from you," Havoc said, and Edward surveyed them, leaving Mustang's dark eyes for last. Edward was so different than the boy Mustang had met in Resembool all those years ago. This Fullmetal was older and yet, more open. When he'd first joined the military, he'd been quiet and preferred to keep his head down.
Of course, that didn't last long. In no time, Mustang and Edward were bickering about everything, and everyone learned that there was nothing more amusing than making a short joke in his vicinity. Edward had somehow wiggled his way in as a crucial member of Team Mustang. He was smart, resourceful, and moral to a fault. Not that Mustang would ever tell him this. They'd reached a silent understanding about a year into Edward's service, and they'd never looked back.
"I don't know much about Ishval really. I didn't leave the Southern region at all, I think. Hm…" Edward seemed to struggle to find the words.
"To me, Ishval was…" Edward began, before shaking his head. "Let me put it like this. Amestrian accounts of the War always describe Ishval as a sandy hellhole. That its climate was hot and unforgiving. Its people were practically savages, worshipping a deity that would let them fall into oblivion. And I guess I can see that all that stuff is true, from a certain point of view. I guess it's easier to think of other people as less than human in a situation like that.
"But the thing I remember most from Ishval was how alive it was. I was born after the War had already begun, but where we were… we didn't feel the direct effects of it until later. There was rationing and people heard horrible news from the war fronts all the time, but as kids, we were shielded from a lot of that. And, really, what are you gonna do? Life continues. Everyone got out of bed each morning, and the kids went to school, and people went to work.
"And nowhere did Ishval feel more alive than in the marketplace of my town. It was smaller than the market here in Kedesh, but it was lively and everyone knew everybody else. I don't remember getting a lot of stares for my Amestrian appearance, probably because everyone already knew who I was. I know that it sounds backwards, but my childhood in Ishval was peaceful and quiet. So that's how Ishval exists in my memory."
"Were people unkind to you? Because of the way you looked?"
"A few," Edward confessed, scratching the back of his neck. Winry and Al were captivated by Edward's words, and Mustang was pleased to know that Edward had been reticent with his past to everyone, not just him. "But not many. Most people were really nice, which maybe was 'cause we came from a respected family, but I'd like to think that they were just nice."
"So this ancient family thing, is it that big of a deal?" Breda asked. His fingers twitched, so Mustang knew he was craving some hard liquor.
"It depends who you ask. To the Elders, yeah. To average Ishvalans, I don't really know. It never felt like a big deal in our family, but…." Edward shrugged. "The only thing that was kind of cool about it was the monument in the Zikkaron."
"Will you be able to fix it?" Mustang asked, speaking for the first time. His mouth was dry and he reminded himself that he'd stared down much worse than this shrimp, but he couldn't think of anything.
"I don't know," Alphonse said. "At some point I guess we will, but we'll have to find someone who can craft that kind of stone. It might take a while."
"So this ancient family thing? Did that mean your family was loaded?" Havoc asked, leaning forward.
"Havoc!"
"What?" he asked, not at all abashed by Hawkeye's glaring. "It's a legitimate question. I mean noble families in other countries usually have gold up the wazoo."
"Er, yeah, we had some inheritance. Don't know how big it was. Why, you looking for a loan?" Edward asked with a half-smile.
"Nah," Havoc said with a shrug. "I'm just nosy. So that money… is that…?"
"Gone? Yeah," Edward said. "Ironic, huh? I know a lot of Ishvalan money got funneled into the Amestrian government."
"So it was like they were paying you back your own money when they paid your salary," Breda said.
"Exactly," Edward said, but as he saw their serious faces, he rolled his eyes. "Ease up. It's mostly a joke."
"You suck a joke telling, Edward," Winry said, punching him in the shoulder.
"OW!"
"That was so light! Get over it!"
As Edward and Winry began bickering, Alphonse sat down closer to Mustang and the others.
"Are you mad at us?" Alphonse asked, and at those words, Winry and Edward stopped yelling, shock coloring their expressions.
"Mad? Why would we be mad?" Hawkeye asked.
"We lied to you for a long time," Alphonse said, refusing to meet Mustang's eyes.
"That's true, but we can understand why you did it," Hawkeye said, inflecting her voice with warmth.
And then Alphonse's eyes began glistening, and suddenly, tears cascaded down his cheeks.
"Argh, not again," he blubbered. "I-I cry a lot these days. Since-" Hiccup. "I got my body back, it just happens all the time." Hiccup. "It's so embarrassing."
It seemed really important to Alphonse to explain that he wasn't crying because of the conversation, but Mustang didn't entirely believe that. Winry ran forward to embrace Al, who closed his eyes and rested his head on her shoulder. His tears cleared up soon after, and he dabbed at his red-rimmed eyes with his sleeve.
"I really hope that goes away," Al muttered. "I can't live the rest of my life crying constantly. Honestly, I didn't cry much before I lost my body, I swear. Right, Edward?"
"Right, Al," Edward chimed back.
"I'm sorry," Al said. "We don't have any precedent for these kinds of things, like getting your body back from the Gate after years without its soul. What was I saying?"
"You were apologizing needlessly," Hawkeye said, placing her hand on Al's shoulder. "Of course we understand why you lied. It was for the best."
"Thanks for saying so," Al said.
"It was," Mustang said firmly. "We don't begrudge you for keeping your secrets."
"It must be, like, second-nature by now, right?" Havoc asked.
"Yeah," Al said quietly. "We didn't start off that way though. We got better." Alphonse shrugged. "Teacher knew."
"She did?" Hawkeye asked.
"Yeah," Edward said, sharing a smile with his brother. "She was awesome. And she really saved our butt too."
At their questioning expressions, Edward sighed, "We were really stupid back then."
"In our defense, Brother, we were just kids," Alphonse said.
"Eh. Anyway, Al and I liked to speak Ishvalan to each other when it was just the two of us around. It was good practice, you know? But we accidentally did it in public while we were in Dublith training with Teacher. So someone heard us and reported it to the military." Edward's mouth narrowed, and Winry rubbed his shoulder.
"But the War was over then," Havoc said. "I don't understand-"
"You would think, wouldn't you?" Edward said with a strangely out-of-place dark smile on his youthful face. He'd aged since the Promised Day, and now that he no longer needed to support two bodies, he had grown some too. He looked like a young man, no longer the kid Mustang remembered breaking down his door and turning in purposefully vindictive, unhelpful reports. But the thing that aged him the most wasn't his appearance; rather, it was the world-weariness that Edward had never had. Or at least he'd always hidden it, but Ishval had coaxed a different side out of Edward. One that Mustang wished wasn't there.
"Ishvalans could be reported to the Amestrian government for five years after the end of the extermination. Any form of Ishvalan culture, like prayer or Ishvalan clothing, was banned in any capacity," Mustang recited blankly.
"What would have happened to them then?" Havoc asked.
"It depends on who had investigated them," Hawkeye said. "Deportation, fines, just a warning. Even though they don't look Ishvalan… even speaking Ishvalan in public could be considered a crime."
Alphonse leaned on Winry, who wrapped her other arm around Edward. His tense shoulders loosened at the contact. There was no fight left in the Elrics. Their unhappy resignation to the horrors of their past made Mustang feel worse than if they'd yelled and screamed.
"But don't worry," Alphonse said. "Teacher protected us. She scared the people who reported us so much that they receded their account."
"She would have done anything," Edward said fondly. "And the whole time, she would just complain that the only reason she was doing it was 'cause it'd be such a waste to have to start training new alchemists from scratch."
"We should go visit her soon, Brother," Alphonse said, and Edward shuddered.
"She's going to kill us, isn't she? We haven't been sparring regularly." Edward groaned and Winry comforted them both. From what Mustang had seen of Izumi Curtis, their tales of terror were not overblown.
"Probably," Al easily agreed.
"I thought you weren't her students anymore?" Winry said.
"That's got nothing to do with it. She's still scary!" Alphonse said, and Havoc hid a laugh behind his hand.
It would have been easy to let the night come to an end naturally. It wasn't awkward anymore, and although Havoc and Breda were noticeably on edge, it felt normal to be sitting around a table with his men and the Resembool trio, even Miss Rockbell, who'd somehow wormed her way into Mustang's affections.
Yes, it would be easy to let the evening end with warm feelings, but Mustang had been putting this off all day, and he vowed he wouldn't be too afraid to ask. So when the talking wound down, he asked the question he needed answered.
"What town in Ishval were you from?" He knew that it didn't flow with the conversation, knew that he'd just killed the mood again. Hawkeye was far too practiced to roll her eyes at him but just a tilt of her head was enough to get the message across.
"Why do you want to know?" Edward asked, glancing Mustang up and down, and Mustang felt strangely judged by his gaze.
"I think you know why," Mustang said.
"Does it matter?" Edward asked. "What town I'm from. Does it matter if it's your hands or anyone else's that did it?"
"It does matter. To me," Mustang said. That Havoc, Breda, Hawkeye, Winry, and Alphonse were spectators to this personal moment barely crossed his mind.
"Let me tell you this," Edward said, and Mustang wondered if Edward's hesitation to share was the smallest form of payback he could offer. "When I became a State Alchemist, I had access to most of the military files from the Ishvalan conflict."
"You read them?" Hawkeye asked. "That's…"
"Sick, I know," Edward said, shaking his head. "But I had questions, and it was a way to get answers. I thought that I needed to know all of the details, every scrap of information I could get my hands on, but… that's me all over, isn't it? Not learning my lesson."
"Don't say that," Winry murmured, and Alphonse nodded.
"No, it's true. If I've learned anything, Mustang, it's that there are some questions you don't want the answers to."
With that, Edward left. It wasn't an angry retreat, but he didn't pass words of farewell along either. Winry and Alphonse followed him, but before they left, Alphonse leaned into them.
"He won't say anything, but thanks for not… freaking out that we're half-Ishvalan," Alphonse said, and Mustang wondered when it had become normal for the Elrics to expect rejection after the revelation of their Ishvalan past.
But images he'd pushed aside for years roared to the front of his mind. Of the intolerance and bullying that Heathcliff Erbe endured for years. It had made Mustang angry beyond words, completely willing to face punishment on his behalf. Maes was much the same. But Heathcliff? He was barely phased by the taunts and physical attacks. His resignation to the cruelty had been confusingly tragic to Mustang once, but now, he could see it on the Elrics' faces. How many times could you face rejection and cruelty before you started expecting it?
"I need a drink," Mustang said, and the others echoed his request. They leaned over the bar and grabbed a quick (and small, unfortunately) drink before bed. Even Hawkeye, who usually refused out of hand because somebody needed to be in fighting condition, accepted one too.
"Just when you think a kid's life can't get any worse," Havoc said, before chugging the entire glass down in one swig.
"So it goes," Breda agreed.
"Mind if I say something none of you want to hear?" Hawkeye said, and they all nodded.
"If Edward came out publically as half-Ishvalan and supported whatever treaty comes out of these Accords… well, some of our problems go away. The Fullmetal Alchemist was well-renowned, and if he reveals that he's really part Ishvalan, it might drum up more Amestrian support for Ishval." At their frowns, Hawkeye took a slow drink. "It's not right to ask of these boys, but I know you were thinking it."
"Mustang?"
"The thought crossed my mind," he said, his drink long since finished. He could down six of them in a night easily, but he had to be at full brain capacity early the next morning, so he resisted. "But we have no right to ask that of him."
"If he wants to-" Havoc began.
"He won't," Mustang said. "You saw him. He's been hiding this since he was a kid."
"When we met him, he was still a kid," Breda reminded them.
"Yeah, a kid that could kick almost anyone's ass though," Havoc said.
"But still a kid," Breda said. He'd finished his drink too and was wiggling the glass, as though more alcohol would magically appear in it. His frown dug deep into his face, and Mustang wanted to scream at him. At Havoc. That Ishval was his burden to bear. He'd served in Ishval. He'd inflicted terror on these sands, but they hadn't.
Mustang could never understand how Hughes had been able to come home after such a war, embrace his girlfriend, and continue living a normal life. Mustang had envied it at the time, but he realized now that it wasn't good or bad that Hughes had left his war crimes in Ishval. It just was. Hughes was just one of the thousands of the Amestrians who had to make peace with themselves over the horrible things they'd done.
Mustang always felt exempt from this group. How could he not, considering the scope of the damage he'd wrought? He was the Flame Alchemist, a name which could still inspire fear in the hearts of Ishvalans. He wouldn't be surprised if his moniker became equated with an Ishvalan "boogie man" who'd strike down kids if they didn't listen to their parents.
And yet…
He just couldn't understand Fullmetal.
This wasn't unusual. He'd struggled to keep up with that pipsqueak since the moment he'd met him. Edward had understood alchemic theories at age twelve better than Mustang could now, and his strict moral code made him difficult to fit into Mustang's well-rehearsed equations.
Mustang tried to put himself into Fullmetal's shoes, staring down the man who may have murdered his family, and he couldn't do it. For one, Mustang had been bereft of family, sans Madame Christmas, for almost as long as he could remember. The only comparison he had to family was Maes Hughes, and look how well he'd taken his death!
He would have murdered Envy in cold blood if he hadn't been stopped. The fury that possessed him then still bubbled his gut when he imagines Maes or thinks of Gracia and Elicia, eternally cursed with a Maes-sized hole in their lives. It frightened Mustang to realize that he still had that anger, but it made Edward's actions all the more confusing.
If it was Mustang staring down the man who'd killed his countrymen, the man whose hands were stained with blood from thousands, the man who may even have his cousins' or aunts' or uncles' or grandparents' blood on his hands, Mustang doubted that he'd still be alive.
Breda, Havoc, and Hawkeye had retreated upstairs to sleep ages ago, but Mustang hadn't moved. It wasn't until he stood up and crossed the lounge that he noticed Hawkeye. She sat on the bottom step, head resting against the banister, drooling slightly (not that he would ever mention it for fear of his life). She'd been waiting for him.
The thought elated him for a second and then immediately filled him with shame. Hawkeye had always deserved a life better than the one she'd chosen for herself, all because she was following him. Mustang nudged Hawkeye awake, and she leaped to her feet.
"Good morning, Riza," Mustang said in a teasing voice, and Hawkeye stared him down expressionless.
"Are you done moping, sir?"
"I'm not sure." They plodded up the stairs side-by-side, and as they stood in the hallway ready to part, Hawkeye leaned towards him.
"Edward is a far better man than we deserve, Roy."
Mustang nodded, glad that in the darkness he couldn't see the pain in her eyes. It didn't matter what they did in Ishval. Even if they accomplished all of their goals, they would only be returning Ishval to its natural state. The one that they'd destroyed for philosopher's stones and a country-wide transmutation circle.
For what surely wouldn't be the last time, Mustang wished Maes was alive. He'd always been good at raising Mustang's spirits, even if Mustang didn't believe that he even deserved that much. If Hughes could see Mustang's self-loathing, he would have pushed his glasses up past the bridge of his nose with a sigh, and then give him some pointed words about Mustang's stupidity.
But he was dead, and he'd never shake Mustang out of his moping again.
Mustang just couldn't understand these Ishvalans: Edward, Alphonse, Abra, Padma, and the list continued. People who'd lost so much and yet remained good and hopeful.
Edward truly was a far better man than Mustang deserved. But despite that, Mustang knew -regardless of Edward's warning or advice- that there would be no peace until he learned the truth about Edward's town. This was a question that he needed to have answered, whatever may come.
A/N: Thanks for reading, guys!
Special thanks to GoldenMoon1997 (Thanks! I spent so much time thinking about the consequences of Ishvalan!Elrics that I decided it would be less time consuming to just get onto paper! I was totally wrong because writing this fic took FOREVER, but I'm glad it's out of my head at least and that other people can enjoy it!), gwtan12, Shiloh Moon (Exactly! That's exactly why I chose Winry's POV last chapter. She was perfect for not being too close or too far from either side of the action), lilaclily00, Yuna's Reincarnation-1 (Hope you enjoyed Mustang. He's such a little ball of angst… but he's my little ball of angst!), inuyashamunkey, Nora, Lacila (Thanks! I've always hated it when a story spends so long building to a secret reveal, and then everything is suddenly resolved and never dealt with again. Like, bring all the drama!), Akahime (Fellow military history nerd! Yes! I'm glad you liked it. I actually got super into it and drew maps and stuff, but that was more out of my own personal fulfillment than any necessity lol! And yup, half of the OTPs are moving forward, but Royai have always been very stubborn), fanimegirl0405 (Well, thanks for the review! And your kindness. Seriously, so sweet I can't deal. I'm blushing right now), and smallhelm (Yeah, I really feel like it fits with Edward. I just love the way he's characterized in canon. He's allowed to be such a complex character, and so I was able to play with that a bit)!
I treasure every single review, so really, I thank you from the bottom of my heart!
Next week, we'll bounce back to Alphonse, and no spoilers, but I promise that it'll be a doozy.