Chapter Text
Alphonse pushed through the guards, dropping to his knees next to Winry. “Someone get Hohenheim!” he shouted over his shoulder. He stared at Winry, sharp and hard. “What. Happened.”
“There was someone in Ed’s room,” Winry stammered.
“Black hair, looked exactly like you’d think a sociopath would,” Edward gasped out. He didn’t sound good—blood at the corner of his mouth, probably in his left lung too by the looks of it.
“Lie still, you idiot,” Alphonse told him.
Winry stared desperately at Alphonse. “I didn’t do this.”
“I know you didn’t. He was stabbed from behind,” Alphonse said.
Hohenheim arrived, scooping Edward into his lap. The ruler of Xerxes touched the injury, probing carefully. “Edward, take a breath for me.” Ed obeyed, falling into a dry cough. “Try to relax. Alphonse, can you pull that out on my mark?”
“Yes, Dad,” Alphonse said, pale but determined.
“Miss Rockbell, you may want to look away. This won’t be pleasant.”
“I can handle it.”
“That does not mean you should have to. Very well. If Alphonse needs help, help him.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for medical assistance?”
“I’m not leaving my son to suffer any longer than he has to. Alphonse?”
Winry helped Alphonse grasp the broken chair leg. At times like this, you had to remember that the person was a patient and ignore the unpleasantness.
Edward made a choked sound that barely even seemed human. Winry hardened her heart and kept the wooden stake moving. It finally pulled free after what seemed like an eternity.
Hohenheim quickly pulled the torn cloth at Edward’s back away from the dreadful injury, then covered the exit wound with his hand. Red light sparked around Hohenheim’s fingers and Edward’s breathing eased.
Winry’s mouth fell open with shock. “What did you just do?” If it was alchemy, he’d done it without using a transmutation circle, and she’d never heard of medical alchemy that quick or effective.
“I’m fine.” Edward pushed himself up. Hohenheim caught him and pulled him close to his chest.
“Let me be a sentimental old man for a minute, glyko mou. I could’ve lost you.”
Al leaned across, hugging them both. To Winry’s surprise, Edward just let it happen, closing his eyes in what could be contentment.
Finally, the royal family separated. Winry threw herself on Ed, tugging at his tunic, half-expecting there to be not even a mark to show he’d been hurt. The wound had already closed, turning into a dark, twisted scar—it looked as if Ed’s skin had pulled itself together at the center. Not even any bruising where the capillaries should have broken. The question sat like a salty-sour candy on her tongue but Winry threw her arms around Edward’s shoulders. “I’m so glad you’re okay, but what the hell just happened?”
Hohenheim was watching her, looking a little bit… sheepish? “We may not have been completely honest with you, Miss Rockbell.” Edward snorted, obviously amused.
“The truth is that I am the philosopher’s stone created on the last day of Old Xerxes.” Hohenheim said.
Ilai, the scarred Ishvalan, escorted Edward into Hohenheim’s study after he had cleaned up and changed. Hohenheim, Alphonse, Lady Shan, and a few who Winry hadn’t met were already there. A dark-skinned giant of a man handed out mugs of spiced coffee. Winry sat between Roy and Riza, hands folded in her lap. Roy looked grim. Riza’s expression was hard to read.
As Ilai led Edward in, the tall black-haired woman stood. She grabbed Edward by the shoulders, shaking him soundly. “You fool. Don’t hesitate. Never hold back. You could have died. How dare you shame my teachings like that?”
Edward bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Master.”
The woman patted his cheek. “Next time you see that coward of an assassin, I expect you to slaughter him before he so much as gets a good look at you.”
“Yes, Master.”
They sat down.
“Who was the attacker?” Roy asked, his voice flat.
“A man with black hair. I didn’t get a good look at his face.”
“He looked like a stone-cold murderer. There were transmutation circles tattooed on his palms—equilateral triangles, one invert, with endpoints on the outer circle and an interior circle tangential to each triangle. One had a central point to symbolize the sun and the other an arc representing the crescent moon—they were clearly designed to intersect and overlap when the palms were pressed together, most likely for detonation.”
“Kimblee,” Roy snarled.
The black-haired woman glared at him. “You know this man?”
“His kill count in Ishval was astronomical,” Roy said bitterly. “The last I heard, he was rotting in a Central prison for blowing up seven of his commanding officers.”
“So he’s plausible deniability, then,” Alphonse said. “The fact that he wasn’t using alchemy points to the idea that he was trying to frame Miss Rockbell for the assassination. An escaped convict with a history of randomized murder would point to an accident. It’s all a little too convenient for my taste.”
“He’s very likely doing someone’s dirty work. Probably someone right at the top.” Edward observed.
Roy laughed, a harsh sound. “So Bradley is dirty.”
“Captain Ross,” Hohenheim addressed a black-haired, straight-backed woman in a guard’s uniform. She saluted. “Please inform the watch to start a search for this man Kimblee. It would not reflect well on us to allow him to escape after attacking one of our own.”
“Yes, sir. What should I tell them to look for?”
“A black-haired man, medium height, with dull blue eyes. He is very pale, with likely Xingese ancestry,” Roy said. “The transmutation circles tattooed on his palms are as Edward described, and when I last met him he wore his hair long.”
Ed’s laugh was a sharp, brittle thing—the laugh of someone who had done the unthinkable and didn’t want to do it again, but would if required, clinging to the last scrap of innocence left to them. “The hair’s still long, ponytailed, with bangs a bit like Dad’s. He’s only got one eye now, though. Look for a blood trail.”
Winry swallowed down bile.
“At least that’s something,” the intimidating woman Edward called “Master” said darkly, her arms crossed.
“He’ll be covering his right eye, Captain Ross, probably using a hood or cap.” Edward continued. “A man like that would like to walk out of our gates bare-faced and arrogant, but he’s got no choice now. A man with an eye missing is far too memorable. On the off chance he comes back with a vendetta, tell him I’d be glad to relieve him of the other eye as well.”
Roy stood. “I was in Ishval too, young Master Hohenheim.”
Edward stood up, all but kicking his chair back to look Roy in the eye. “You haven’t tried to kill me, or any other Ishvalan here. Your country is bloodstained, but shedding more blood, particularly the blood of a potential ally, is useless.”
“Edward,” Hohenheim said softly, “sit down.”
Edward obeyed, not even sullenly. Winry gulped nervously.
“If you were stabbed,” Riza asked, her voice even, “how are you moving so easily now?”
“The past seems to have caught up with us,” Hohenheim sighed. “This story will only be new to the Amestrians.”
Captain Ross saluted and left the room, her blond-haired adjutant with her.
“Five hundred years ago,” Hohenheim began, “I was a slave in the house of a Xerxian court alchemist.”
Roy jumped to his feet. “Impossible.”
“Sit down, Colonel Mustang,” Edward said, arms still crossed across his chest.
“My former master was ordered by the last king of Old Xerxes to perform an experiment. My master used my blood to create a new form of life—the first homunculus, but it was weak, unable to leave its flask. However, at least I got a new friend out of it—or so I thought at the time. The homunculus knew things no one else had ever so much as imagined. It gave me a name, taught me to read and write and the basics of alchemy. I was freed and made my former master’s assistant.
“However, the king was growing old. He was beloved, and Xerxes had lived in a golden age under his rule, so his advisors agreed that to give him immortality would be wise. The homunculus undertook the task, telling the king how immortality could be taken.”
Hohenheim bowed his head. “I had no idea to what lengths the king would go to gain immortality until afterwards. A massive circle of canals and irrigation channels was dug, its points anointed in the blood of the workers and outlying villages. On the last night, the circle was activated and I found out the extent of the homunculus’ treachery. A philosopher’s stone is made of human souls. Half the souls in Xerxes created my stone; the other half formed a second for the homunculus itself. Everyone inside the circle died that night, except for the two of us.”
Edward’s face was stony, staring straight ahead. Alphonse’s head was bowed. Hohenheim stared at a point high on the far wall. “I didn’t know what to do or where to go. They… they were all terrified. I stumbled into the desert at some point, and was found by a Xingese merchant. I traveled to Xing for a time, but one day I decided to return to Xerxes to try to discover more about what had happened. I found a group of refugees hiding in the ruins, desperate for a home again, and that is how New Xerxes began.”
“Ling Yao,” Edward said, in a low, sharp voice. “Eavesdropping may be politically advantageous to you, but it’s certainly impolite.”
The door opened and the Xingese prince and his two bodyguards stepped inside, seemingly without any shame.
“Are you still interested in immortality, now you know its price?” Edward asked.
“Edward, who is this?”
Alphonse’s palm hit his forehead with an audible smack.
“The Xingese emperor is dying. Ling hopes to become his heir.”
“Ah.”
“I’m not ready to give up yet. Perhaps there’s some other way.” Ling said firmly.
“What does this have to do with Amestris?” Riza asked.
Edward cracked open a large atlas and pointed to the map of Amestris. “Tell me that doesn’t look like a transmutation circle.”
“Tonight’s assassination attempt was probably meant to drag our attention away from Amestris.”
“The homunculus is trying again?” Roy asked.
“Most likely,” Hohenheim agreed.
“That’s what all our alchemy experiments have been for,” Edward explained.
“What if they try to kill you again?”
Edward flashed a toothy grin. “The safest place for me is Amestris. It’s the last move they’d expect.”
“Just as impulsive and stubborn as Tariquah,” Hohenheim muttered. Ilai sighed, nodding.
“Do you still have Cousin Ezra’s notes from when he was learning alchemy?” Edward asked Ilai. “They could be useful.”
“Watching you work is like trying to follow a hummingbird,” Ilai told him.
“Thanks, I guess.”
“Do you even have a plan?” Roy demanded.
Winry nodded in agreement. “I’m not hearing any ideas on what we’ll do once we get there.”
“Our best option is to disrupt the creation of the homunculus’ transmutation circle,” Hohenheim said, his voice steady. “We can do that by preventing the channels for the circle being dug, or by keeping them from massacring people to create the anchor points—the blood crests—of the array. However, it’s better to have multiple plans in place—”
“If a philosopher’s stone can be created, and is not the perfect object it is rumored to be,” Edward added, his topaz eyes sharp and hard, “then it stands to reason it can also be destroyed.”
“I understand why you didn’t want to help me on the project when I first proposed it,” Hohenheim said softly. “But will you help me now?”
Ed nodded slowly. “You better not do anything foolish, old man.” There was heavy tension in his voice, and sharp concern.
“I can’t afford to do anything foolish. I have you and Alphonse,” Hohenheim said.
Edward nodded, biting his lip.
Hohenheim stood up. “Come here.”
Edward obeyed. Hohenheim wrapped his arms around his son. “You and your brother are the best thing that ever happened to me, Edward. I won’t do anything to throw you away in any way. I won’t do anything rash.”
Ed swallowed, nodding. Winry looked away. Jealousy pierced her sharply for a moment. Her father couldn’t do that for her. She shouldn’t be jealous, though—shouldn’t be upset with her fiancé for having one more parent living. He watched as his mother died, she reminded herself, unable to do anything to save her.
“I have an information network. We can manage communications. Find allies. Wrench back control of our government,” Mustang said, a gleam of hope and ambition in his dark eyes. “Amestris has been out of control for a long time. This could be the perfect opportunity.”
“I’ll disguise myself,” Edward said. “It’s the hair people notice first. I’ll be your roaming agent.”
“Are you sure you’re up to the task?” Hawkeye asked, not disbelieving—Winry knew that as a sniper, Lieutenant Hawkeye never left anything to chance.
The black-haired woman exchanged glances with Ilai, who raised an eyebrow. Edward’s master smirked. “Oh, he’s up to the task, even if he’s still an idiot with those qualms about killing.” She turned to Ed. “There are people who don’t deserve your mercy. I expect you to live through this, Elric. Don’t disappoint me.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“I’m going with him,” Alphonse said. “Ed might be the cleverer alchemist, but I’m the better fighter.”
“We can have our militia, such as it is, ready to move in on the day of reckoning,” Hohenheim added.
"Sig and I are originally from Amestris. We'll form a separate party." the black-haired woman said.
Winry stood up. “I’ll come with Edward and Alphonse too.”
Hawkeye stared at her, the closest to open alarm Winry had ever seen her. “Your highness, is that wise?”
“Someone’s trying to turn all the people of my country into an alchemic abomination,” Winry said firmly. “I may be only a figurehead, but they’re still my people.” She glanced around the room, surprised to see that Edward was watching her, approval and something approaching adoration in his eyes. Mustang nodded slowly.
“Besides,” Winry continued, “Edward, you mentioned your current mechanic is elderly. You’ll need someone with you, in case you do something to your automail.”
“That seems wise,” Hohenheim said. “Gonsalo has had to work with what he has for Edward’s prostheses. We don’t have much in the way of quality ores here in the desert, and Aerugo isn’t interested in provoking Amestris by trading with us.”
“I’m going,” Winry said firmly.
“So are we,” the Xingese prince butted in.
Winry’s heart pounded. She felt exhilarated. They were going to do the impossible.
She hadn’t even really noticed that as she affirmed her resolve, Edward’s hand crept into hers.
Edward took a slow breath, relaxing as he settled the scissors around the top twist of his braid.
“Are you sure about this?” Winry asked softly. She glanced regretfully over the thick, lustrous hair falling over Edward’s back in a waterfall of molten gold. “It seems like a shame…”
Edward sighed. “Yeah. Just… give me a second.” He held position awkwardly for a moment, then severed the braid with a quick stroke of the scissors. Or at least, that’s what he’d been hoping for, but he had to saw his way through the thick plait. Finally, though, he worked his way through it and set the loose braid down on the dressing table between them.
“Can you even it out a bit?” he asked, offering Winry the scissors. “Just leave the bangs alone. They’ll help hide my face.”
Winry was silent as soft, shortened strands dropped to the floor like snow, only interrupted by the snip of the abused scissors. “I think I’m done.” she said.
“Okay.” Edward pulled the bowl of warm water toward him, pouring in a packet of powder and swishing it around.
Ed leaned his head back into the basin, letting the activated dye swish around the back of his head. He clapped and reached up, touching the sides of the bowl and letting the array spread through the water. He snagged the towel, wringing out his now-black hair and leaving the towel perfectly clean. Winry watched, wide-eyed. Ed smirked at her. “That’s practically a parlor trick. Simplest one in the book.”
Thoughtfully, Winry reached out, running her fingers through Edward’s soft bangs. Despite their new color, they retained the same almost-preternatural sheen and softness. Edward felt himself blush faintly at the physical proximity. “You have got to tell me your hair care routine,” she said.
“Are you two done? It’s my turn for a dye job,” Alphonse called.