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Dawn broke across the quiet cemetery, the first gleam of light from over the horizon catching tip of a tall statue. At this early hour the cemetery was peaceful and, other than the chirping of birds and the gentle whisper of the trees, nearly silent. There was no one around to witness the grief of a dark-haired military officer who stiffly stood watch under a tree.
The calm would not last for long. Today was Security Day, the celebration of the end of the war that had engulfed Amestris after the fall of Fuhrer Bradley and the homunculi. Security Day was a day for the people to celebrate peace and the return of mutual respect with neighboring countries. And here, at the grave of the Border War’s hero, who willingly became the last Amestrian causality and spurred his comrades on to victory, people would soon come by in the thousands. But for this officer there was nothing to celebrate about a day that ended in blood, flame and death – so he passed the night in solitude instead.
The officer stepped into the light. He wore the traditional blues of a soldier. At his belt was a silver pocket watch, and he had two yellow lilies in his grip. The sounds of Central waking up could now be heard. He reached a white-gloved hand out to touch the stone at the base of the statue and stood there a long moment. In the distance a church bell chimed. The officer started slightly. His fingers opened – the lilies fell to the ground. He looked once more at the name enshrined before him, then dipped his eyes, turned, and started to walk away. To the people, this was a place for celebration. But to Roy Mustang, this was a place for quiet grief – still, after seven long years, powerful enough to steal the air from his lungs and make his heart skip a beat.
Colonel Edward Elric
3 February 1899 – 18 October 1916
The Hero of the People
One Life for the Many
As the officer reached the end of the path and disappeared from the view of the statue, the wind turned one of the lilies over. Written on the leaf in a careful hand were two words: “For Alphonse.”
Major General Roy Mustang walked through the halls of Central Command towards his office in silence. At the best of times he intimidated most of the officers and enlisted men. He was, after all, the legendary Flame Alchemist, who fought in Ishval, overthrew Fuhrer Bradley and nearly single-handedly ended the Border War. Those who had fought with him and served with him directly usually greeted him with a smile or a joke as he made his way through the halls. Today the halls were nearly empty. It was early and it was, after all, a national holiday. Most of the military would be present at celebrations in the afternoon and evening, but only the few who considered themselves unlucky enough to draw duty were in the office. Among the men and women who knew General Mustang well enough to joke with the man on a normal day, only Captain Havoc was present. And Captain Havoc knew General Mustang well enough to know not to try to joke with him on this day. Instead he tipped his head slightly as the general walked by. After a moment he stood up from his desk, poured a cup of coffee and entered the general’s office.
General Mustang, leaning against the window, seeming focused on the empty courtyard below, did not look up as Havoc entered and set the coffee on his desk. “It’ll be okay boss.”
Roy didn’t answer him, but he did turn towards him and nod in acknowledgement. A drop of coffee slid from the rim of cup to the paper Havoc had set it on. Your schedule is clear today. Take tomorrow off General -Hawkeye. Havoc, having done what he would to support the man who had his loyalty, stepped quietly from the room.
Seven years prior – to the day – Havoc, Hawkeye, Roy and a large suit of armor had huddled around a very different desk. It was really more of a rock table, hastily transmuted from debris and covered with a map showing a number of blue and red dots. The blue dots nearly encircled the red ones. A large blue dot labeled “Elric” and a larger blue dot “Mustang” were at the center of the blue line, facing down two large red dots “President Nelson” and “General Barker”. Just to the East, the blue dot “Armstrong” stood in front of a single red dot with the name scratched out. Just to the West, “Grumman” and a few small blue dots stood by themselves.
“Where’s your brother?”
The armor stood straighter as he started to answer, “I’m sorry Colonel, but I’m not sure –“ Alphonse broke off suddenly as a bang and a yelp were heard from outside.
“Ed!” The room emptied. Roy rounded the coroner and pulled up short. There in front of him stood President Nelson himself. Through blown out windows in half collapsed walls Roy could now see dozens of red uniforms. A cage made of brick and stone had risen from the ground and enclosed many more. Just behind Nelson stood Edward Elric, a sheepish frown marring his face, and the gun of General Barker against his temple. His flesh hand was twisted up behind his back, preventing him from further use of Alchemy.
“Let him go.” Roy called, voice level and calm.
Nelson smirked. “Take one step closer and Barker pulls the trigger.”
Panic gripped at Roy. “He’s just a boy,” he called, and his voice did not betray his fear. “If you want a hostage take me instead.”
“And let Fullmetal go? Not a chance Mustang. Now back off and go back to Amestria.”
Ed twisted suddenly in Barker’s grip. “We are in Amestria you idiot. You’re the one who needs to back off and go home!”
Barker raised the gun and bashed it against Ed’s forehead. Ed sagged in the grip but did not fall. Alphonse made a distressed sound and gasped out, “Brother, be quiet!”
Roy had a very different reaction. His right hand reached into his pocket and he pulled on white glove in one motion. His eyes narrowed and he spoke with a clear and cool voice. “Touch him again and you die.”
Nelson glared back, motioned with his hand, and the red soldiers not trapped in Ed’s cage emerged from behind the ruined walls. “I think we just might take you all. Yes, take you all and put you to work rebuilding the newest pieces of our country.” Nelson waved his arms around him, indicating the ruins of what had once been an Amestrian town. “Take off the glove Colonel, or your precious Major Elric dies.”
Resolve and panic warred within Roy. For a split second, he was frozen, torn between Ed’s life and the lives of the rest of his men, between giving in and snapping his fingers and ending the last two enemy leaders. He wavered and reached to remove his glove, but his left hand stopped short of pulling the cloth from his right. Another second passed in silence.
Ed made the choice for him. “This war ends here. If I die, you’re dying with me!” He twisted violently in Barker’s grip, pulling himself free and lifting his arms to bring his hands together.
A shot went off.
The bang echoed around them. Ed fell to the ground motionless. Red blossomed from his head, coloring the pale rock underneath him. There was a third beat of silence.
“NO!”
In the years to come, Roy would never be sure who screamed. All he knew for sure is that it was not him. Rage grew inside him. This was war. He could handle losses. But Ed was special. Ed was a boy. Ed was his to protect. Roy snapped. The war ended with a barrage of flame and the screams of dozens of men burning alive.
When the surviving Amestrian officers had rounded up the last living enemy soldiers and taken stock of their own dead the sun was low in the sky. Hawkeye and Havoc returned to the room with the table, each carrying an automail limb. Roy was sitting on the floor, back against the wall and head against his knees. If there were tears in his eyes, neither subordinate mentioned it. Hawkeye set the arm down. Havoc followed with the leg. “I’m sorry sir, but this is all we could find.”
Roy glanced at the metal. “Alphonse?”
Two heads gave a negative shake. “No sign of him, Sir.”
Alphonse Elric was never technically a member of the military. An old photograph of a young boy was attached to his name in a list of civilians missing and presumed dead from the Border War. There was no celebration of his life, no monument to his deeds for the people see, just a hope that diminished in the hearts of his comrades as each year went by.
For Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist, the end was very different. His name became legend. Already known as the Hero of the People, he was now also the martyr of the people. He who gave his life to end the war. Children sung his praises, pretended to be him as they played in their yards. A great statue was erected over his grave. The anniversary of his death became a holiday for everyone to remember and to celebrate.
Adults revered him, but they also feared what came after his story. The cold truth that with a single snap, Roy Mustang had ended the war and two dozen lives.
On the back that snap, Colonel Roy Mustang had become Brigadier General Roy Mustang, and it sickened him.
General Mustang folded in on himself. He was quiet, controlled and ambitious. Those who served under him were divided into two groups; those who knew him before the war and after. Those who knew him after respected him out of fear, but those who knew him before respected him out of love and loyalty. Hawkeye murmured to him that he was human, not a monster. Havoc brought him a cup of coffee every morning. Fuery took a stack of his paperwork and added it to his own. Armstrong personally took on any mission that may have hinted at a veiled assassination. Ishval had broken his heart, but Elric’s death had nearly broken his will.
In the early rays of dawn on the first Security Day, one year after the end of the war, with the goodwill of his men on his mind, he found himself kneeling on the damp grass in front of Edward’s grave. He resolved to keep climbing the ladder until he could create a world where monsters like him were not rewarded for slaughter. His only goal in life had become to make himself obsolete. He placed two yellow lilies on the grave. “For you and for Alphonse. I will make the monster obsolete. I will end the rule of fear.”
For the next six years first Brigadier, then Major General Mustang returned to the grave and made the same promise. On the seventh year, his goal still seeming so far from his reach, he could not speak. Instead he had written his resolve on the leaves before he walked away.
I live to die. This is my penance. The monster be obsolete. This is my living death. For Edward. For Alphonse.
Second Lieutenant Juto Gratia had managed to pull duty as lead security officer for central command on Security Day. As he strolled into the security office he was greeted by Sergeant Marcus White. “Who did you piss off to get OD today?” White asked with a laugh.
Gratia grimaced and he adjusted his sidearm. “I’m not sure but remind me not to do it again, White.”
“Anything for you, Sir.”
Several hours passed in peace. From outside the building, the sounds of the city celebrating could be heard. The lunch hour had come and gone, and the end of the day shift was approaching when the door to Central Command burst open.
White stood up “Whoa, hold on for a second kid. What can we do for you?”
Gratia joined him. A blond teenager stood before them. His short hair was unkempt and glistening with sweat. He was somewhere between a boy and a man – wearing haggard black clothes and no shoes. There was a smudge of dirt on his face, and something smeared on his upper arm that could have been blood. His eyes were wide with panic, but also haunted in a way that said he had seen too much. There was a peculiar blade, something like a large hunting knife, hanging from the belt loop of his shorts. The total effect gave him the appearance of a wild man. Gratia raised both hands in a universal gesture of peace. “What can we do for you?”
The boy took a shuddering breath. “I need to see Colonel Mustang.”
White’s eyebrows shot upwards, one hand on his holstered weapon. If Gratia was as surprised, he didn’t let it show. “His office didn’t tell us to expect anyone. Who are you?”
“I don’t have an appointment; I just need to see Colonel Mustang! Please, it’s very important.”
White took a step closer to the boy, raising his own hands to mirror Gratia. “Okay kid. We aren’t going to hurt you. Why don’t you put the knife on the ground.”
The blond swung around towards White. “What? I’m not going to hurt anyone, I just need to see Colonel Mustang. Please, it’s an emergency, why don’t you understand?”
Gratia took a step forward, grabbed the handle of the knife and pulled it toward him in a swift movement, then tossed it far behind him. The boy practically jumped at the movement. “Why aren’t you listening to me? I said it’s an emergency! Wait – I have a code. Please if I give you the code will you let me speak to Colonel Mustang?”
Both security officers stood up straighter at those words. Drawn by the commotion, a third officer had entered the room and picked up the knife. A fourth now stood in the doorway, blocking entry into the rest of Central Command. Gratia motioned with his hand. “Go on.”
The boy straightened, and for the first time the panic in his eyes lessened. He paused for a moment and tilted his head as if thinking. “Alpha, indigo, nine, six, nine, tango.”
White flipped a few pages in a large code book. He found the code and read. Alpha – indigo – nine – six – nine – tango: E. Elric – deceased., stared back at him. White held the book out to Gratia without saying anything, his finger just below deceased.
Gratia finally had enough. He waved the soldiers standing in the doorway forward. “I don’t know who you are kid, where you got a dead man’s code or what kind of sick joke you’re playing. And on today of all days! Maybe a night in the slammer will clear your head!” The soldiers moved to handcuff the boy who was now flailing in White’s grip.
“A dead man? What? Wait, please, no. Just, just please give a message to the Colonel for me. Please, tell Colonel Mustang, tell him – tell him I saw the truth, and I have returned. No – no I haven’t done anything take this off.” His pleading voice wavered as the soldiers walked him through a door towards the holding cells before an odd sort of whining sob took its place.
Gratia straightened his jacket and picked up the knife from the floor. “What a creep,” he said to White. “Some people just don’t understand when a joke has gone too far.”
White nodded in agreement.
By the time the end of his shift rolled around though, White was fairly certain that the blond boy had not been joking. He had really been frightened, of what White could not guess. He had a hunch that the boy did not belong in the holding cells. Of course, White was also fairly certain that today of all days it did not seem wise to approach General Mustang about something as trivial as a hunch. He briefly wondered if he would go to General Mustang on any day with just a hunch. Still, as he walked towards his locker the boy’s last pleading request to pass a message on to the General – a man he had called Colonel Mustang – echoed through White’s head. The general had not been a Colonel since the war. Mind made up, White turned abruptly on his heels and walked towards the stairs that would take him to Mustang’s office. He could only hope whoever had stuck around today was in a good mood.
Captain Havoc was not in a particularly good mood. Mustang had barricaded himself in his office several hours ago and refused to open the door to anyone, including Captain Hawkeye who had attempted to stop by with lunch, which had ended up in the trash, untouched. Havoc, having already resolved to stay by Mustang’s side until the miserable day was behind them for another year, perched silently on a chair just outside the door to the inner office, any pretense of actually working long given up on. He was tired and cranky. The ones they lost seven years ago had been his friends too, but loyalty to Mustang caused him to put his own grief on hold to protect his superior. So when Sergeant White came up the stairs looking faintly disturbed Havoc’s already poor mood soured further. The Sergeant came to a halt in front of him, opening and closing his mouth without saying anything. Havoc felt that whatever finally came out of White’s mouth would be bad news. “Spit it out Sergeant.”
White swallowed nervously and recounted what he remembered about the boy in the security office hours ago, finishing with: “He just wanted to talk to the general, but and kept calling him Colonel Mustang and asked us to give him a message. And it was strangest thing – he gave us an emergency code but when we looked it up it belonged to a dead officer.”
At the end of his story, Havoc was barely more interested then he had been when White had first walked in. “Who?”
“Who what, Sir?”
“Who was the dead officer?”
White swallowed again, nerves beginning to well up inside him again. “It was, uh, Colonel Elric’s code, Sir.”
Now Havoc paused, considering the story. Most people feared Mustang. A few, like himself, regarded the man as a hero and loved him. But there were others who hated him. An attempt on his life would not be unusual, though walking into Central Command alone armed only with a knife and a plan to assassinate the Flame Alchemist seemed foolhardy. And where would a would-be assassin have learned Ed’s emergency code? “What was the message?”
“That he knew the truth.” White paused. “No wait, that’s not quite right – he said he saw the truth, and he had returned.”
The truth. Why did that sound familiar? Blond haired boy. Short. Scared but polite. Ed Elric’s code. The truth. Blond. Short. Polite. Ed Elric. Polite. Blond. The truth. Returned! “What color were his eyes??”
Roy had only known one person with golden eyes. A hot-tempered boy of twelve who grew into a martyr and a man by his side, a young man whose face would not be forgotten, captured frozen in steel for the world to see. When Havoc had pounded on his door nearly dancing and chattering about a blond boy with golden eyes who had asked to see Colonel Mustang and presented Edward Elric’s code as proof of identify he thought for a brief moment it was ten years ago, before Bradley and before the war. Back when he was just Colonel Bastard and Ed was just Fullmetal. A traitorous voice reminded him that Ed Elric’s coffin contained only automail, and for a moment a glimmer of hope rose within him.
Roy and Havoc followed White to the holding cells. The outer door opened. There, sitting on a bench behind bars, was a teenager who stole the breath from Roy’s lungs. The boy looked up and golden eyes met black. The last voice he expected to hear from a human mouth called out to him.“Colonel Mustang! Lieutenant Havoc!”
A long pause filled the air as the voice registered in his head. White shifted nervously from foot to foot behind him.
“Alphonse?”
The day Roy watched two automail limbs being lowered into the ground in a white coffin had been among the worst days of his existence. He accepted the folded flag on behalf of the missing Elric brother, and he knew that Roy Mustang had also died. A monster now occupied his body. A simmering anger that could erupt into hellfire at any moment, at any snap of his fingers. Yes, his heart continued to pump, but Roy Mustang had died. The sound of dirt and rocks covering a mostly empty coffin filled his ears, but the screams of burning men filled his mind. Elicia Hughes was there at the graveside but she did not scream as she had at her father’s funeral the year before. Elicia understood Uncle Ed would not be coming back. She would only cry again months later when Uncle Roy refused to play with her. She did not cry the next time she saw him, only offered a weak smile that had barely been returned. At just four years old, Elicia Hughes understood death – she was collateral damage in a war to protect innocence.
Roy and Havoc had released Alphonse from the handcuffs and brought him to Roy’s office. He sat on the couch, a cup of coffee in his hands and Roy’s long black coat around his shoulders. As far as he could recall he had been standing helplessly behind Colonel Mustang, watching has Ed antagonized the man who held a gun to his head. Then suddenly he had been standing in front of the Truth. Ed had smiled at him, a sad smile, and nodded. He had watched as Ed’s body was torn away from him, and the world had gone black. He had woken under a tree by a river in a human body, fresh with the knowledge that his brother had traded lives with him. An animal of some sort sniffed at him and growled. He had panicked, clapped his hands, transmuted a blade and fought the thing away. Unsure where to go with Edward gone, he had gone towards the person he now trusted most. He listened in fascination as they told him of the seven years that had passed since then. Over the next few days, with their usual unflappable grace and confidence, Mustang’s team had “edited” the documents of one Alphonse Elric, missing since the Border War, to reflect a seventeen-year old country boy following in the footsteps of his famous brother and coming to Central for the first time.
The day Roy handed a folded flag to Major Alphonse Elric, state alchemist, he smiled. Now eleven years old, Elicia eyed him with detached curiosity. Elicia was comfortable with the only Uncle Roy she could ever remember having known – the man who was dead inside. She did not understand how this man, whom she was told was her Uncle Al, could make Uncle Roy look so, so alive, she realized. She understood living death. But this Roy – his black eyes sparkled in the sun. His shoulders were relaxed. There was an easy smile on his face and a softness to his voice when he spoke to Alphonse, a promise to create a world free from monsters together. This Roy was foreign to her. Elicia understood death but she was finding now that she did not understand life. Her eyes wandered, coming to rest on the grave of the man the world called the last casualty of the war, a man she had loved, but for whom she had not been able to cry. A thought came to her.
Am I the last casualty? If Uncle Roy is alive, am I the one who died?