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when edward returns from the east, he lets himself into roy's house late that night rather than returning to the apartment he and his brother share. roy's a light sleeper these days - has been ever since the war - and for all that ed has mellowed with age, he's still not exactly subtle when he enters, banging through the bedroom door and tossing his bag toward roy's closet with a heavy thud. roy blinks awake, then rolls over and tugs the comforter up over his head.
by the time he's awake enough to sort it out, head poking out of the blankets, edward is stripped down to his boxers and rummaging through roy's dresser drawers.
"you could ask, you know," roy mumbles, voice thick and clumsy with sleep, but edward just laughs fondly and keeps digging.
the moon is nearly full tonight, and the room is bright, a section of light cutting across from the bay window and casting edward's back in a soft, iridescent blue. times like this, ed is so beautiful it takes roy's breath away. it's a serene moment, the kind he rarely gets, and having one with his partner like this is rarer still; they've both done too much to deserve any acts of divinity other than the inevitable damnation.
roy startles, and the serenity cracks open. "edward," he says, "what in god's name happened to your back?" as the image comes into focus, he can start to make out cuts on ed's back, jagged and red and freshly scabbed over.
his back is still turned, but roy can see ed's shoulders shake with laughter. "ashura," he says, consonants dragging like rusted metal the way they always do when he slips back into his native language.
roy's struck, not for the first time, by exactly how little he ever bothered to learn about the culture he set ablaze.
"i'm afraid i'm not following," he replies.
"i went home for our holy day," edward explains, finally locating a suitable t shirt in the pile he's pulled from the bottom drawer. there's a barely perceptible wince as he tugs it over his shoulders. "not just because of it, i wanted to see al and winry and stuff, but the timing wasn't exactly an accident, you know?"
"i thought eid was your holy day," roy mutters. his accent always mars ishvalan words, all wide amestrian vowels that do ishvalan no favors.
edward snorts. "eid is the fun one with gifts and parties and feasts," he explains. "i understand why it gets all the good press; ashura isn't always pretty, and it's- difficult, i guess, if you didn't grow up around it."
roy is just watching, all dark eyes and heavy shadows. "i'd like to hear about it, if you'll tell me."
ed heaves a sigh. “it's a really dark day for us," he says. "i don't want to get too into details, but like a thousand years ago, before ishval was ishval, our people were just one of several tribes in the deserts in the east. we lived in a near-constant state of war, but after years of fighting, the ishvalans came out on top, and on the day of ashura, the leader of a rival tribe beheaded the grandson of our prophet because they knew his blood was holy. i guess they thought without our imam, we wouldn't be able to keep it together, and they'd be able to take back the land that they believed was theirs. unfortunately for them, having a martyr does wonders in motivating an army, and we were able to fend them off and stop the attacks for good. ashura is really the day that all of the land became one, and became ishval; it just sucks we had to stake the claim in blood, you know?"
roy winces. it's three am and they've both got to work the next day, but roy's ears are ringing and his pulse feels as loud as a military drum. "it makes sense," he says, because if he doesn't say something edward will just keep looking at him.
"we actually have a myth that that's why our eyes are red," edward continues. "they say they used to be blue, but ishvala turned them after that day so we could never forget what we'd done to get to where we were - our religion is one of peace, despite what some amestrians try to claim, and even justified violence isn't treated lightly. we can never forget that everything comes at a price, because we all carry a physical reminder of that sin." he pauses, fiddling with the hem of his borrowed shirt. "i am aware that this is somewhat ironic, given some of my life choices."
to his own surprise, roy laughs; it catches him off guard, comes out slightly garbled, but it's nice all the same. "i think it'd be in bad taste for me to joke about you trying to bring your mother back when i'm still washing the blood off of my hands," roy responds, and doesn't flinch even though he wants to. "what does this have to do with your back?"
"we celebrate with parades that are more like funeral processions," edward explains. "it's a serious thing, so there's no fun parties or fancy food, but the parade does include the lovely bonus of ritual self flagellation. like, the razors-on-chains kind. i mean, it makes sense with the history of ishval that our holiest day would be a day of mourning."
roy exhales heavily, tries to relieve some of the pressure in his chest. "wow."
"every ishvalan i know has lost more people than they saved." ed pauses, like he's thinking, but there's no accusation in his voice. "like we mourn for our imam, peace be upon him, but on ashura we also mourn for ourselves, i think."
roy just looks at him for a long moment. his ribs still feel like a cage, squeezing his lungs and dropping a brick on his heart. "you should come to bed," he says, after far too long. his voice sounds like choking on sand.
ed smiles softly and does.
when he's nestled into roy's chest and tucked in under a mountain of blankets truly worthy of a future fuhrer, roy says "thank you" in his quietest voice. ed nods, buries his face in roy's shoulder, and promptly falls asleep.