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Chapter 12: Holding Out For A Hero
Auric shifted his shoulders uncomfortably in the unaccustomed folds of his new coat. The coat a certain Colonel was making him wear. At least he had been allowed to take a knife to the sleeves of the jacket in order to ensure that his gauntlets would be unencumbered by the excess fabric. He tested them out experimentally, then flexed his knees slightly, testing out the range of motion of the garments. Good. Everything in order, and at least he had been allowed to keep his own boots. The same could not be said for his hair, which was pulling at the back of his head in an unaccustomed manner. He knew it was just old habits dying hard, but it was a change all the same, and he wasn't over-fond of change in his personal habits, given that everything else in his life seemed determined to stay in a constant state of flux. Maes paced around him once more, eyes narrowed, finger rasping the side of his beard thoughtfully. "Yes. Yes. The unbuttoned open-necked look suits you – very dashing. Hmm. That sai tucked in your belt in back is ruining the line of the coat, I don't suppose you could…"
"No," said Auric flatly. He had barely had two hours of rest since closing the Gate, his bones ached, the coffee was cold, and he missed his old garb. He didn't feel terribly inclined to compromise at the moment.
"Oh well, I suppose once we're in the middle of the fight it won't matter," sighed Maes. "Comfortable?"
Auric shot him an irritated glare. "No. How would you feel in this get-up? I'm practically a walking target!" But he knew that wasn't entirely true. The real problem bothering him was that these clothes felt…too comfortable. Too familiar. Like he'd put them on a hundred times before, even though they were brand new. They even fit reasonably well…wait a minute…he looked accusingly at Maes. "You planned this all along, didn't you?"
"I did consider the possibilities early on, yes," admitted Maes. "This is a war, we need all the advantages we can get, even the psychological ones. Alphonse was able to give me your sizes. Besides, you said it yourself: Ed is the best person for a certain sort of job."
Auric growled. "I'm not Ed. And I hate playing the hero."
"You could have fooled me back there. Anyway, perception is nine-tenths of reality," said Maes smoothly. "At least you look the part and do know how to use alchemy. Master of Disguise or not, I couldn't possibly pull this off…the one time Roy tried to teach me basic alchemy, I nearly made a hole in the floorboards, and it took Gracia days to get the smell out of the rooms. Not to mention that my craggy good looks just don't go with your crowning glory."
Auric snorted, running a hand over his golden hair self-consciously. "I didn't exactly get to pick my hair out of a line-up, so I wish people would stop talking about it."
"It's one of your most distinguishing features, Auric," Maes pointed out. The Gatekeeper looked mulish and Maes sighed. "Look…people need heroes. Heroes make us believe…the impossible is achievable. And you just happen to be the right man in the right place at the right time. I'm sorry. Deal with it," he said, not unsympathetically, sounding less like a soldier and more like the father that he was.
"Was the General in on this?" the blonde man asked resignedly.
Maes shook his head. "I couldn't tell him – he would never have agreed to it." For some reason that made Auric feel marginally better. "Now remember, our advantage lies in surprise and the offensive."
The Gatekeeper rolled his eyes in exasperation, then winced at a sudden spike of pain in his head as he fought off a wave of dizziness. "Please. Surprise is one of the Guild's key strengths. And I'm sure 'Ed' will be able to handle the second half of that statement, the little loudmouth. Although I must admit there's something quite refreshing about his candour."
"I meant offensive as opposed to a defensive approach, but you're probably right either way," Maes said, smiling nostalgically. "Oh, I nearly forgot – the finishing touch!" Auric looked sceptically at the things being flourished before his face.
"I can't wear those things. It would impair my feel for my weapons."
"You have to, at least initially – it's part of the package!" argued Maes. "Look, you just have to be seen in them and then you can take them off, all right? Now we have to get going. Ready?"
Auric patted himself down in a final check, then drew his sais and twirled them experimentally, casting a keen eye down the new runes on the blades and hilts. "Yes…oh, wait. Didn't the last wireless communication from the front say that it looked like storm clouds were gathering?"
"Yes. What of it?"
"I almost forgot my present for the General. I'm going to need you to sacrifice two…no, make it three of those silver photo-frames on your desk. And get me some coffee while you're at it, won't you? As hot as you can make it, and a splash of whiskey, if you've got some."
Maes paled. "Not Alicia's photographs!"
Cold. So cold.
Roy loathed being cold. He knew that in theory, cold didn't technically exist – it was simply a word used to describe the absence of heat. But he knew better. Cold was a living thing, a spiteful, insidious little creature that slowly but surely worked its way into your bones. He hated the way it seemed to seep in through the heaviest winter uniforms, curling its way around the ends of sleeves and up under coats, making his hands feel slick and numb and stiff and cold all at once. And his gloves weren't exactly helping, being designed for another purpose.
Snap! And another squad of Drachman soldiers went down in flames screaming. Roy hadn't even turned his head to look. He knew what he'd see all too well, and anyway, he had an image to maintain for the men. They didn't need to see agony and pain and guilt written all over their leader's face. Traits normally considered commendable, desirable even, in a leader – empathy, compassion, a moral compass – had no real place on the battlefield once committed to a course of action. You simply carried out your duties, because there were comrades depending on you, people who could die if you hesitated a second too long. Better blood on your hands than a grave at your feet. Or so he told himself as the oath he had made long ago on a battlefield in Ishbal burst into flames and crumbled into ash.
Snap! And just like that, the artillery battery that had been covering the rear of the Drachman forces went up in flames, the exploding cases of ammunition making a particularly satisfying sound as they detonated. He had been careful to leave a few cases untouched, and he could see the non-coms breaking into them, handing out spare cartridges and grenades to the men. The sounds of war formed a thick fog around the dark-haired man, swirling and eddying, now this thing coming into focus, now that. Soldiers locked in hand-to-hand combat of the deadliest sort. Glowing arrays on gloves and ground. The sharp, acrid smell of gunpowder mingled with the bloody smell of death and the stink of burning flesh. And through it all walked the tall figure of the Flame Alchemist, austere and untouchable, his greatcoat billowing about him. Men would later sing songs and tell tales of those eyes like burning coals in that cold expressionless face, of how he had dealt death easily, almost unconcernedly, with a snap of his fingers. "Our General" they would whisper proudly. "He was terrible in his righteousness. He saved us all. He was a hero."
It made Roy want to vomit. Or perhaps it was merely the cold. A storm was coming. He only hoped it would hold off long enough for him to see this through.
A runner came up, panting. "Sir! We're nearly at the front, sir, the enemy is trapped between our two forces."
The General nodded absently. "Pass the word for the Earth Moving and Strong Arm Alchemists, we're going to need them up here."
"Yes, sir!" and the boy ran off again. Boy? That runner was at least twenty, after all. Yet he seemed so very young. Youth was all relative, after all. He himself was considered ludicrously young for his rank – war had a way of thinning out the military hierarchy swiftly. And he had known another pair of boys who had seemed far too old when they were half that boy's age. One of whom was coming up off to the side right now.
Alphonse Elric's round face was covered in sweat and his gloves were spattered with dirt and mud from his exertions. He wiped his forehead raggedly with the back of his hand, leaving a brown smudge across his brow. "General, you needed me?"
"Yes, Major. We're going to try and close the gap between our two forces." He didn't need to say anything more as Al's face hardened and he nodded. They were silent for a moment, contemplating what lay ahead. Finally Al stirred.
"Sir…you haven't heard from…Colonel Hughes, have you?"
Roy knew what he had really meant to say. "No. But Auric was still conscious when I left them. He's the strongest person I know, Alphonse. He'll make it." Al bit his lip.
"General." Armstrong had come up behind them, strangely silent for such a large man. His pink cheeks were streaked with tears, but he held himself rigidly, only the barest twitching of his moustache betraying the pain his gentle soul was in. Roy nodded, smiling, but there was no joy in it.
"Well then, gentlemen, shall we?"
"Well, that was something different!" gasped Maes as Auric released his shoulders none too gently. After they had attempted unsuccessfully to contact the secondary force the General was leading, the Gatekeeper had teleported them to the site where he had initially set the beacon, which now resembled a trampled cow-wallow, so torn up and decimated was the landscape around them. Auric dropped to one knee, feeling sick at the carnage around him. He and Alp always used to take it in turns to be the one at the front, because otherwise it just grew to be too much – the smell, the blood, the pain. Pushing his feelings aside determinedly, he scanned the area with sharp eyes that seemed to miss nothing, reminding Maes of a predator on the hunt, golden eyes glowing like a cat's in the darkness.
"Seems like the General's done a pretty good job of clearing a path," Auric said neutrally, standing and walking off decisively. "This way. We'll have a job to catch up with them, are you up for it?"
"You couldn't just teleport us there?"
"I could if I knew where there was," said Auric with some asperity. "Unless you'd like me to just drop you in the middle of the frontlines?" He stiffened as a chilly breeze whipped about them. "That storm's moving faster than we thought," he murmured. "It'll be here just before daybreak."
Maes's face darkened. "Let's move, then."
The Flame Alchemist stifled a cry of pain as a boot landed on his ribs. Again. "Ah, Mustang. My faithful dog. How could you keep secrets from your Fuhrer?" His tormentor sounded almost genial, as he always did.
"Traitor!" Roy hissed, barely lifting his head from the muddy, wet ground. That earned him another leisurely kick. He was starting to become delirious from the pain, he knew – his vision was beginning to blur. Or was that simply the rain? The storm had rolled in over the battlefield about half-an-hour ago, just before dawn, dark rain clouds that opened up and released sheets of freezing sleet and rain, putting out flames and rendering the infamous Flame Alchemist…utterly defenceless. Armstrong and Alphonse Elric had done their best to take up the slack, but the Amestris soldiers were understandably unnerved by the sudden loss of one of their major advantages. Still, they had pressed on bravely, and for a time it had seemed as though all was not lost. And then the Homunculi had appeared.
Mustang fought to stay awake. Breathing hurt – he was pretty sure he'd fractured a few ribs, but at least he knew hadn't punctured a lung if he was still able to inhale. Not that it mattered, really, since the probability that he was going to die was pretty high – actually, more of a certainty, all things considered.
The Fuhrer. Not just in league with the Homunculi, but one of them. The alchemist was surprised at how calmly he was reacting to the news – perhaps Auric's latent fatalism was starting to wear off on him. Or his body could be going into shock. He wondered if he would see the blonde Gatekeeper again and decided not. He wondered if he would see Edward Elric again in whatever world waited beyond this one and decided eventually. Surely one of the fringe benefits of the afterlife had to be the return of one's memories?
How could anyone have known? The real war wasn't between Drachma and Amestris. The conflicts had been stirred up by the Homunculi for their own purposes to weaken the humans they simultaneously despised and wished to be. And to obtain more lives to strengthen the incomplete Philosopher's Stones that gave them life. Roy closed his eyes. No wonder Edward Elric had been an atheist. He was finding it hard to have faith in the goodness of any higher power at the moment. He could dimly hear the screams of men dying, and a warm darkness began to wash over him. He welcomed it as a respite from the cold rain pelting down onto his helpless body, although the numbing chill did lessen the pain from the gouges in his side made by Lust's claws as she had dragged and dumped him unceremoniously at the feet of her leader.
"What's this?" the Fuhrer – no, Pride – asked mockingly, toeing Roy's face with the tip of his boot, jerking him rudely back to harsh reality. "Don't fall asleep on me now, Flame, I want you to see this. The beginning of the end for your beloved Amestris."
Roy turned his head stiffly. He could just make out Alphonse Elric struggling with Envy, and as he watched, the Homunculus altered his form as was his wont. The alchemist's face twisted in revulsion as Envy grinned at him with Ed's smile and hair and…no, not Ed's eyes. Never Ed's eyes, because eyes were the windows to the soul, and that was the one thing no Homunculus could ever feign. Pride shook his head wistfully. "Pity the other Elric boy has to die as well, such a pretty boy. No doubt he was the one who got you behind the Drachma lines, eh? Very impressive, you'll have to tell me how he did that. Of course, we could keep him around and make him tell us himself, but it does so ruin the morale of soldiers to see their heroes fall in dramatic fashion – a very useful psychological tactic, eh, General? Remind me to write that down in the Officer's Handbook, won't you?"
This was all his fault, thought Roy hazily. Should have been more observant, should have known there was something more wrong with the Fuhrer than just a general monomania, should have moved faster to take power and stop all this…. "Coulda, woulda, shoulda," said an irritable voice in his head, and he almost snorted in amusement as he recognized it as the elder Elric brother's voice. "Get off your lazy ass and do something about it, bastard Colonel!"
I can't, Roy answered back. I'm so tired, Ed. And I've missed you so much. I didn't know how much I could miss you until you were gone.
Yes, you can. Al needs you. And help is on the way. Just believe.
Believe? The delirium must be affecting you too, since you're only a figment of my imagination. Since when has Edward Elric been a believer?
I didn't say to believe in God, came the snide reply. Believe in me. Hold out for a hero.
Heroes are for children and fairy-tales, Ed.
It's always darkest before the dawn, bastard, didn't anyone ever tell you that? Look, the dawn is breaking.
Roy lifted his head. Streaks of red really were beginning to stain the horizon, fighting to break through the dark storm clouds that shrouded the battlefield. Pride was watching Envy slowly get the upper hand in his tussle with Alphonse, Mustang temporarily forgotten for the moment. Slowly, painfully, Roy uncurled one hand from its protective grasp at his ribcage, and quietly began to trace one fingertip in the mud. So he didn't have fire to work with - he was still a State Alchemist, wasn't he? An array slowly formed under his hand, a little one – size actually didn't matter, much to most novices' surprise. Larger arrays were simply easier to draw, but as long as the symbols were clearly written, a small array could be every bit as powerful. He wiggled his fingers experimentally, then summoning the last vestiges of his strength, let his hand fall onto the array.
Envy yelped in surprise as the ground surged beneath him, breaking his hold on Alphonse. Taking advantage of this godsend, Al leapt away and clapped his hands together, transmuting the first thing that came to hand, which happened to be a fallen rifle. Bringing his arm back, he tossed the newly formed harpoon at the surprised Homunculus, pinning him to the ground. Envy writhed furiously. "Fool! This won't hold me for long!" he snarled as he wrenched at the shaft, ignoring the tears in his flesh as he struggled to yank himself free.
Pride turned to look down at a faintly smirking Mustang. "Why, General, I didn't know you had it in you. Such a noble gesture, once more trying to play the hero, but ultimately, so…futile." He deliberately stepped on Mustang's hand, politely ignoring the stifled scream of pain as he ground his heel in deep. His victim mumbled something, near unconsciousness. "What was that, Flame? I can't quite hear you, I'm afraid. All this moaning and groaning, you know."
Roy licked his cracked lips, savouring the sting of blood and tears on tongue. "I said…I'm not playing hero. I'm…holding out for one." The puzzled look on Pride's face was worth the effort it had taken for him to articulate clearly.
"You're starting to annoy me, General," said the Homunculus ominously. "I rather think I'd like to see you suffer." He drew his sabre ostentatiously. "Perhaps your hand first?" The blade shone redly in the rays of the rising sun as he lifted it high, and Roy shut his eyes, waiting for the blow…that never came. Instead there was a cry of pain, and he opened his eyes in confusion, only to see Pride staggering back clutching at the left side of his face, where a dagger of some kind had pierced his eye patch and embedded itself up to its hilt, the tip of it protruding out the back of the Homunculus's head.
"You know, the problem with all you dictator-types is that you talk too much," a hoarse voice commented dryly.
Roy half-turned his head to look at his saviour – and stopped breathing. Perhaps he had merely dreamt the last few minutes and he really had died. Because standing there, glowing in the morning light – stood Edward Elric. His golden hair and eyes sent up sparks where the sunlight hit them, his braid flying out behind him, red coat flapping in the breeze as he thrust his hands into his pants pockets in an insouciant manner, a cynical smile on his lips. "Ed?"
