The Game of Three Generals
by Lady Norbert
A/N: Thank you for all the comments saying that you hope I feel better! As long as the storms leave me alone, I'll be fine.
I hope I've successfully managed to throw enough monkey wrenches into your path that you no longer entirely know where this is going. I decided to give this chapter to Fuery because I haven't given him as much screen time as I would have liked; I was originally going to go with Breda, but Breda doesn't like me a whole lot right now. (Those of you who belong to the fma_fic_contest community at LiveJournal probably know why. Those of you who don't, rest assured that it has nothing to do with this story.)
This chapter is dedicated to "thehawkseyem1910," who has now done two pieces of fan art for the trilogy! You can find her on deviantArt under the name "thehawkseyes" if you'd like to see them. They're adorable!
Chapter Fifteen: Crossroads
Crossroads: Turning points where the path, direction and ultimately fate of the game are decided.
"I never thought I could miss Central that badly," Rebecca comments, clearly trying to keep the mood light. "I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever be warm again!"
The train is pulling into Central Station, and her quip is met with thin smiles of varying warmth from her male companions. Fuery appreciates what she's feeling and what she's trying to do, but they're all so depressed that it's hard to know how to respond to anything right now. The queen is in captivity and the king is facing death, and it's all up to the loyal pieces to reverse this terrible checkmate and win the game. And they've only got three days.
Actually, given how long it's taken them to get to Central from Briggs, it's more like two.
Actually, given that they don't even know what time the execution is scheduled to happen on Friday (don't they do these things at dawn, sometimes?), it might really only be one.
Great, he's just managed to depress himself even farther.
Fullmetal meets them at the station.
"I was never so glad to get a telegram in my life," he says.
"How's Riza?" asks Rebecca, voicing their first concern.
"Devastated. Trying to be tough, for the baby's sake, but the light's gone out of her eyes." Ed looks haunted. "I want to take her to Resembool to stay with us, so she doesn't have to be here when it happens, but she won't hear of it and I'm not sure I can get her out of the house anyway, with all the damn guards."
"We can't get in to see her either, can we?" asks Breda, grimly.
"No. Nobody below the rank of General is allowed to visit either of them. I'm only able to get in the mansion because I'm staying there and she pitched a fit at the idea of my being thrown out."
"Did you tell her we were coming?" asks Havoc.
"I thought about it, but... honestly? I was afraid to get her hopes up." He folds his arms. "We don't even know what the hell we're gonna do."
"We can't talk about it here," Breda mutters. "We don't know who's listening. We need to find someplace a lot more private."
"Like where?"
"I'm still working on that part."
"Well, we can't stay here," Fuery points out. "We all just deserted our posts. I don't think General Armstrong would report us, but that doesn't change the fact that the higher-ups at Central know we were transferred. If we're seen, they'll arrest us."
"The mansion's out, and so is pretty nearly every public place. Do any of you still have lodgings here in Central City?" Ed asks dubiously. They all shake their heads.
"Madame," Breda says suddenly.
"What?"
"Madame Christmas - we could go to her bar."
"That's another funny thing," says Ed, although they start walking out of the station regardless. "Ever since Mustang was arrested, her bar's been shut up tight. It's believed she fled town."
"Why would she do that? He's her son."
"Nephew, technically," Falman corrects, "but let's not split hairs. She raised him."
"Maybe she was afraid of reprisals?" Fuery suggests. "You know, if people believed he was guilty and somehow found out they were related, they might have done something stupid."
"Maybe. Point is, the bar's been closed for weeks."
They convene instead in a bar in a seedy part of town, where for enough money the bartender will gladly forget your name and anything else you want him not to know. Huddled around a corner table, they speak in hushed voices, with Ed giving them what specifics he's been able to learn. The execution is set for three in the afternoon on Friday, so at least they have a little more time than they originally thought. The Mustangs will be allowed to spend the earlier part of the day together, a fact which makes them all look pained.
"I can't imagine being in that position," Rebecca murmurs. "Knowing...knowing what will happen..."
"Let's not think about it too much," says Havoc shortly, though he puts his arm around her. "We're all tired and depressed. We need to keep our resolve strong."
"Don't drink too much either," Breda warns. "We can get drunk after this is all over. We might need to."
It's only after dark that they leave the bar, using nightfall to help conceal their identities somewhat. Ed doesn't bother to hide his golden hair, as he's free to move about the city, and when someone spots them Fuery thinks that this was a mistake on his part. But it's only an older woman selling flowers.
"Is that the young Master Elric?" she asks. There's something funny about her hairstyle. It reminds him... of Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong, actually.
"Who wants to know?" he asks, not impolite but clearly wary.
"I have some beautiful flowers here that might be of interest to you."
"I don't think-" he begins, but Havoc cuts him off, a gleam in his eye.
"We'll take them," he says.
"What are you doing?" asks Rebecca.
He pulls them aside slightly. "The Chief told me that one night, a flower seller who worked for the Armstrong family sold him a bunch of flowers while giving him information. I think this is the same woman." He turns back to her. "What have you got?"
"I have this stunning bouquet of white roses that would be perfect for your lady friend there, and these bright yellow daffodils remind me of this young man's hair."
"Sold."
Fuery is impatient to know what on earth they could learn from the flowers, but Havoc waits until they've put some distance between themselves and the flower seller before he starts pulling the bouquets apart. "It's a message," he says, uncovering a piece of paper folded up so small it could almost be overlooked entirely.
"From who?"
Breda takes it and works the little square open, eyes going wide as he does. "Lieutenant General Armstrong," he says in a hushed voice. "You were right, Havoc."
"What does she say?" asks Rebecca.
"That we..." He looks around quickly, but they're still alone. "We're to make our way to the Armstrong estate."
"It's on the far side of town from here, it's going to take a while. Think we dare to hail a cab?"
"Think we can find a cab at this hour?"
"That's probably a better question."
"People actually live here?" Rebecca squeaks. "And I thought Riza's grandfather's place was impressive!"
"They say the Armstrongs used to be members of the nobility, before Amestris became a military state," Falman muses. "This is the ancestral estate."
"That probably explains a few things."
Feeling uneasy, and wondering if they're all just walking into an elaborate trap, Fuery summons his courage and rings the bell. A moment later, the door is flung open.
"What the - Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong?"
"Oh, my dear, dear friends! It is so good to see you all!" He's almost weeping with joy at the sight of them, and they all brace themselves in case he starts ripping off his shirt. Fortunately, he refrains. "Come inside, quickly, before anyone sees you."
"What are you doing here, sir?" asks Falman. "I thought you and your men were sent to Ishval Command!"
"And so we were! We only returned to Central a few hours ago." He leads them to the dining room, where his sister is sitting at the long table with Ross, Brosh, Miles, Douglas, Dorset, Mason, and Webber.
"Holy... hail, hail, the gang's all here?" asks a bewildered Havoc.
"Get rid of that filthy cigarette while you're in my house," snaps the General.
"Yes ma'am."
"What's going on?"
"Sit down and quit staring. You want to save the bastard, don't you? Let's figure out what to do."
Numbly, stunned, they take seats at the table. It's impossibly good to see them all, and yet - do they dare to hope that it'll work?
"Right," says the General, briskly. "I called you all here because we've got to stop this execution. Mustang isn't my favorite person - he doesn't even rate in my top fifty - but he's been framed and I can't stand a miscarriage of justice. Besides, his child needs a father, even if I don't think he'd be a competent one. So we have to stop it."
"It's at three o'clock on Friday afternoon," Ed begins.
"I know that. I went to see him myself this afternoon."
"You saw the Chief?" Fuery exclaims. "How is he?"
"He's been wrongly condemned to death for murdering his wife's grandfather. How do you think he is? Don't ask stupid questions."
"All right," says Breda, shifting into strategist mode, "maybe we should lay out everything we do know. That way we can figure out a game plan."
Armstrong nods, as though pleased that someone is speaking sense. "Fine. Here's what we know. Three o'clock on Friday, as Fullmetal says. Before that, he's being given three hours under heavy guard at the executive mansion, so he and the Colonel can say their goodbyes. From there he'll be taken directly to the old parade grounds, which are being used for the purpose, where he'll be executed by firing squad. Do we know anything else that has relevance?"
"We know that his mother is missing. We were just talking about it a little while ago, because we were going to go and hide out at her bar," Falman interjects.
"Christmas, huh? Hmm." Armstrong looks thoughtful. "We should look into that. Miles - you came back to Central on my orders, you can move around unimpeded. Go to the bar - get the address from one of these men - and see if there are any signs of life. Mustang's mother may need protection." She blows a lock of hair out of her face. "He's going to owe me big time when this is all over."
As Miles gets the bar's address from Havoc and heads out to find out what's become of Madame, they start discussing possible strategies. "The thing is," says Breda, "we can't move too overtly because they've still got Ladyhawk - sorry, Colonel Mustang - under their 'protective custody.' If we do something like intercept the Chief en route to the execution site, they could do something to her."
"Yeah, and if she dies, there's absolutely no point in saving him," Havoc adds darkly. "Trust us on that one."
"I'm the only one who has clearance enough to get into the mansion, is that correct?" asks the General.
"Nearly. I'm staying there," Ed says, "so I'm allowed to come and go as I please. They watch me pretty closely, though, I can't do anything too crazy, and I've been hesitant to tell her anything in case the house is bugged or something."
"Fine. You and I will worry about getting her out of the house. The rest of you will need to focus your energies on saving him."
Alex Armstrong, meanwhile, is directing a handful of servants to bring refreshments for everyone. "Of course, the other problem," he says, contemplative, "is that even if we save him from being executed now, he's still a convicted criminal. Unless we find a way to smuggle them out of the country or something equally drastic, he'll be taken prisoner again as soon as he's caught - and that's if they don't kill on sight."
"You're right," says his sister. "We need to prove his innocence if he's ever going to be able to live in this country again. Not that I object to shipping him off to Xing or wherever."
"How can we prove his innocence, though?" asks Fuery. "They should have been the ones to prove his guilt - what happened to innocent until proven guilty?"
"Innocent until proven guilty only works when the judge is truly neutral. From what Mustang told me, the judge was in that Acheron's pocket. So was the prosecutor," Armstrong replies. "They didn't have to prove him guilty, they just needed to make it look convincing to the public."
"What's their plan now?"
"Apparently they figure that since I already turned down the Fuhrer's seat, it will go to Hakuro, who will almost certainly appoint Piper his successor when he steps down. When that happens, Acheron will control the country from behind the scenes. What he plans to do then, he didn't explain to Mustang."
"His only chance is if we can find some way to prove he didn't kill Grumman," says Ed with a sigh. "This isn't looking good."
"Without a body for autopsy, I guess that's a little hard to prove," says Maria Ross, and Breda - who had a hand in "her" autopsy - gives her a grim smile. They fall silent for a time, as the servants bring in beverages and small pastries, although few among them have any sort of appetite.
A distant bell jangles, and Armstrong looks up from her tea. "That must be Miles...he certainly made good time."
"General!" the familiar voice calls. They all exchange looks, because Miles is hardly the most exciteable individual in Amestris, but he sounds a bit worked up just now.
"Miles, report!"
He stands in the doorway; his dark glasses are off and his red eyes are perplexed. "General..." He seems to be at a loss for words.
"Did you find the place?" she prompts him.
"Oh, I found it all right."
"What about Madame Christmas?" asks Havoc. "Did you find her, is she okay?"
"I'm fine," grumbles a smoky voice, and the portly figure of General Mustang's foster mother moves past Miles to enter the room. "So you lot are finally going to do something about all this, huh?"
"We would have been here sooner if they hadn't deliberately split us up," Douglas protests, speaking for the first time. He seems slightly awed by her, like he hasn't been sure what to expect.
"Yeah, well, they're wily like that. Just ask these four." She jerks a thumb at Fuery, Falman, Havoc and Breda. "Do you have a plan?"
"We're working on that," says General Armstrong. Fuery is a little surprised, because that's the closest he's ever heard her come to being deferential toward anyone other than Fuhrer Grumman. It's not exactly a friendly tone, but there's a sort of neutral pleasantness to her voice that she doesn't normally present. Maybe she just feels sorry for Madame; after all, that is her son - or the closest thing she has to one - who's about to be executed.
"Well," says Madame, "I brought something that might help."