Supplication
"Sir?" Riza Hawkeye respectfully opened the door to the meeting room, "We got word of that bird you were asking about." Five heads snapped in her direction. The Fuhrer, sat at the far end of the table from the door, interlocked his fingers and leaned forward.
"Thank you, General Hawkeye, I'll see you at the end of this meeting then." With that, he turned back to the meeting at hand, redirecting their attention to the board, a whisp of a smile at the corners of his mouth.
Riza watched as the three civil engineers and two Major Generals exited the meeting room, rolls of paper tucked under their arms and talking about the proposed new rail improvements. She quietly gathered the small package she'd found on her desk, post marked to the office of Fuhrer Roy Mustang.
As she entered the room she could see that the Fuhrer had released that inimitable posture he always held around those he considered The General Public, and was instead leaned against the window sill, eyes scanning the horizon.
He turned when he heard the General's polished boots click on the tile. "So then? What of that Firebird? Where has he suddenly arisen now? Drachma? Xing?"
"Just this, sir. It was left on my desk while I was out." Riza handed him the package, wrapped in brown paper, with nothing but red ink to hint about it's sender. Roy took the package, carefully slit it open with the small mother of pearl handled knife he kept in his left breast pocket, and slid out a worn leather journal, stuffed full and tied closed with a leather strap.
Roy eagerly untied the strap, and out fell a letter, with a red wax seal stamped with the Flamel, and a scrap of rough red cloth.
"Hawkeye, a moment please?" The Fuhrer once again turned away from Riza as she gave a smart salute and turned on her heel, "And Hawkeye? Thank you." she paused to give him one last scrutinizing look before swinging the door closed behind her.
Roy opened the letter with his knife, and removed the contents.
Dearest Mustang,
If you're reading this it means something has gone terribly, terribly wrong. I've been in in the farthest North reaches of The Great Desert, I was trying to find something very important to me. I had instructed my companions that should something happen, they were to send this letter, along with my personal journal to you.
You're probably wondering why not Al? Well, the truth of the matter is...
I can't.
When I left he was still quite upset with me for that stupid promise I made Winry on the train platform. I know he'll want to know that I am dead. Please find a way to tell him. Tell him I'm sorry again, too.
Also, I could never have sent him my journal. I'm sure if, or when, you read it, you will understand.
Please tell the Bees that I am gone.
Yours,
Always Ed.
"Damn you Ed, damn you for putting this on me." Roy Mustang's fist met the table with a bang, the water in the jug rippling at the center of the table. His hand came to the bridge of his nose, head tilted back, as if supplicating to heaven. Roy sat heavily into his chair opening the journal to the first entry, dated approximately two years before, he began reading.
Mustang,
I want to keep a record of my time in the wilds of our great world, and somehow it's easier to write letters than to feel like I'm talking to myself. I just have one thing to say before anything else.
I know you'll never read this so I know you will never know, but I was there when you took your Oath in front of the country. You looked good up there. Noble.
I know you'll lead this country into an era of peace. I may have been called the People's Alchemist, but you are going to do so much more than I ever could. I'm proud. It's been a long road, for me and you.
I have many dreams still, not so grand as they once were, but dreams all the same. I wish I could be at your side, supporting you with what little notoriety I have left. However I have one last thing to do before I can come home. I hope you make this country one we can be proud of.
Until then, dear friend, I'll just be words on paper you will never read, thoughts you may never understand, and a friend you may not even know you have.
-E.E
Five hands came to sharp salutes when the door of the meeting room finally opened to reveal the great Fuhrer of Amestris.
Standing with the top button of his collar undone, and an old book in his hand, Roy mustang suddenly seemed to his team both much younger and much older than a few hours prior. He stalked down the length of the desks and clicked closed the large bolt to the door to the office suite, and turned on his heel. Facing his team he cleared his throat, "Breda, we're gonna need that bottle of whiskey you've been stashing in your drawer. Edward Elric is gone."
"Gone?" Havoc's unlit cigarette fell to the papers on his desk. "Gone where? He hasn't been back in like, three years sir."
"No Havoc," Mustang said, ignoring the blatant breach of military protocol. "According to this letter he's gone." Silence took hold of the office, before the sound of Breda's drawer sliding open became the catalyst for the sudden buzzing of irritated voices.
"What do you mean gone?"
"The Boss can't be dead, that just wouldn't happen-"
"Maybe it's mistaken identity?"
"Stop." Mustangs raised voice cut short the sudden melee. "According to this letter," he waved the sealed envelope for all to see. "Edward Elric, the honorably discharged Fullmetal Alchemist is dead. This letter details his wishes for me to tell Alphonse that he is dead. He also instructed me to Tell the Bees as well."
Silence again reigned. Each of them knew what 'Tell the Bees' meant. It was a code phrase they had agreed upon long ago, meant to be used to notify the rest of the team should one of their members fall. It had only been used once before, on the day that Roy Mustang had stood at the foot of a grave while it rained.
Together they sat, a small glass in each of their hands, as they contemplated what could have possibly ended Edward Elric.
The Fuhrer and his loyal attache watched the members of their team dwindle off one by one for the night. Heads and spirits low as they slowly filed out. Soft murmurs fading with the sound of their footsteps.
