Chapter Text
The military was looking for Ed. It wasn’t dramatic. There were no bounties, no warrants or wanted posters with his name on them. He wasn’t in danger. He technically wasn’t even on the run. They were looking for him in the casual way that old friends do, with people more worried about Ed now that he didn’t have his alchemy than they did when he was a child full of rage and bad ideas and a job that got the people who did it killed.
How have you been?
We’ve missed you.
When will you visit?
They knew the alchemy was gone but the rage was still right there, next to Ed’s heart. It sat beside the hole where love was supposed to be but only grief remained. His small rebellions as a Major, and they were small compared to what he wanted to do, what he had the power to do, had been the only way to safely express that he loathed the military as much as he loathed himself. When he’d understood what Truth had been after, when he’d finally saved Al, Ed’s self loathing had eased.
He no longer hated the arrogant child who thought that he could commit taboo, that he could spit in the face of alchemy and Ishvala combined, but instead found a measure of pity for the boy that Ed had been. Ed didn’t forgive himself, it wasn’t his place, but he was more at ease with the man he was becoming.
The Amestrian military didn’t get the same level of compassion. Ed had been eleven, a grief stricken survivor of a genocide, an orphan of an unjust war, left with only a brother to cling to. A large and thriving family made of love and laughter had been whittled away to two, hidden from the purge order by their bastard of a father’s genetics. He’d thought that if the world could take and take and take that Ed could take back. He and Al had lost everyone so they should be able to reclaim one of them. In the aftermath, with Al in armour and Ed having sold his soul to the enemy, he had thought himself arrogant.
In retrospect he’d just been hurting.
The Amestrian military didn’t get that excuse. Bradley had ordered the Ishvalan genocide but everyone had chosen to obey those orders. They didn’t do it because they’d lost everything, because they were desperately looking for one rock to keep them sane in an ocean of anger and despair. They didn’t even do it because they hated Ishvalans. They did it just because someone told them to and that somehow made it okay.
There was a reason Ed barely followed orders.
Losing his alchemy was a sacrifice and a boon. His alchemy had been part of his identity for so long that it was hard to know who he was now that it was gone, to know what he should do with his life. It was like losing a limb, but he’d lost limbs before so he was learning to deal with it, to hobble along and stop clapping at every little problem. It had also set him free. What good was a State Alchemist that couldn’t perform alchemy? That Ed was a genius didn’t matter if he couldn’t test his theories according to them, so the military had let him go with a thank you for your service and a generous severance and Ed had taken it and ran, content to never have to deal with the blue uniform that had flashed through Ishval like a flood, destroying everything in its path.
It had been fine until people had started to call, to try and check in as though they hadn’t been using Ed as much as Ed had been using them. There was genuine affection, sincere worry, and fond exasperation and Ed couldn’t fucking handle it. The fact that Al took the calls as though they were no sacrifice, genuinely delighted to hold onto the connections he’d made while Ed had served, had been more than Ed could take. He’d packed his bags, told Al, Granny, and Winry he loved them, and taken the next train out of Resembool.
He called them often, never telling them where he was currently while talking about the places that he’d been. They kept the conversations casual, sticking to day-to-day topics. Al had tried to fill him in on Mustang’s life once and Ed had hung up on him. He hadn’t mentioned anyone in the military since.
Which was why Ed was thrown for a total loop now. “Al, I don’t want to know that you’ve been talking with Armstrong!” Ed snapped, his voice echoing in the way the older phone lines did. He was in some nameless town in the west that Ed was actually surprised even had one, though it made sense since none of the trains ran here directly. They needed a way to communicate with the outside world if something ever happened.
Armstrong wasn’t the worst. It said good things about him that Ishval had broken him badly enough he’d been forced to leave, but he’d still never hung up his uniform. It was an Armstrong tradition from generations, one he’d stayed committed to even when he’d seen the ugliest side of that. Some might call it noble.
Ed had other opinions.
“Listen, Brother,” Al said urgently, the way he did when Ed needed someone to keep him balanced, to keep him from spiraling as he balanced truth and lies in the nest of enemies who thought they were his friends. “It’s about the Ishvalans.”
“You mean us,” Ed said, barely able to keep his tone from biting, knowing that static would hide the little that crept in. He hated how Al did that. They weren’t ‘the Ishvalans’, they were what remained of Ed and Al’s people. They were ‘we’, not ‘them’.
Al ignored him, which was probably for the best. It wasn’t a fight to have over the phone. “Fuhrer Grumman is trying to negotiate reparations but he’s been told that only the members of the prominent families can negotiate on behalf of the people. Grumman’s started a relocation program so the remaining Ishvalans can make it back to Ishval to do a head count and see if any of these families remained.”
Ed frowned. They didn’t really have a nobility system, which meant that Grumman was being fed a line. Sure, they were organized by family lines and some were more prominent than the others by virtue of the usual shit that separated people. Money, great deeds, family size, but who negotiated on behalf of the Ishvalans had always been those best for the job, not those who had the most bragging rights attached to their name. “What else did Armstrong say?”
“All the military was told to stay out of Ishval until the count was done because they would need to give the names back to the desert.” So as much as it was a bid for time to regroup, it was also a literal headcount of remaining ammus.
“Oh fuck that,” Ed growled.
“Don’t do anything reckless!” Al ordered, though any firmness in his tone was drowned out by the undertone of despair.
“Bye, Al.”
“Ed, wai-”
Ed hung up the receiver of the phone at the hotel. He turned to the front desk, where a woman drummed her fingers on the splintered wood countertop. “I don’t need the room anymore.”
“No refunds,” she said apathetically, letting Ed know he wasn’t the first person to cut his stay short and that his money was already gone.
Ed nodded. He’d only been there for ten minutes and there was a period in his life when he would have made a fuss, but times were hard and he had cash to spare and a train to catch.
It was a long walk to the nearest station.
-
It took Ed three steps to get off the train, to stand on his homeland with the one good foot he had remaining, and hold onto the fact that he was home.
The first thing he noticed about Ishval was the smell, or maybe the absence of. His childhood memories smelled of spice and incense. Smoke and spices curling in his nose and filling his lungs. There had been fruit, tangy and moist, juices dripping off his elbows as he bit into it, and flowers that had been soft and sweet, adding a hint of floral to where they grew. There had been colors, red and orange and gold draped as far as the eye could see, with Ishvala’s hand embroidered to remind them that he held that, that their every footstep was taken in his palm as he cradled them with the love they were supposed to share with the world.
The Ishval before him smelled like smoke from the train, like metal and grease. There were no spices, no colored flags. The only red he saw was in the suspicious gazes of those who didn’t know that he’d been baptised on these sands, that he held a sacred name in his heart that had been given to him by a god that let his people burn. They didn’t know that whether or not he had the right to set foot here was between him and Ishvala, and that even if he didn’t have the right to be in Ishvala his name was still his to carry.
He had not forsaken it and hopefully no overeager s’wit had cast it away before Ed had fucking arrived.
The train station showed some life. Temporary structures had been set up on both sides of the tracks and it wasn’t hard to see that they were divided by people. There was the odd Amestrian outside in the offensive military blue, obviously here for the negotiations, or to bring news of more delays.
The Amestrians weren’t armed but considering alchemists still existed that didn’t mean much.
Ed’s people were more numerous, dressed in light colored clothes and halvids that had been cobbled together out of whatever fabrics they had been able to scrape and find while doing their best to survive. Ed’s was in Resembool, too small to wear and too painful to carry, lovingly made by his mom’s hands before his baptism. He could still remember the cheer as the serjo of his family, his great uncle, had slid it over his head and pinned it crossways, from hip to shoulder. He could still remember the drop of water being poured from the fis onto his forehead, and the way the earth had shaken as his family had danced until the dawn rose again.
Ed pulled on his luggage, dragging the suitcase over the sand and shattered cobblestone with the full intention of heading straight to Hagil, the new settlement, before a man about Scar’s age, missing an ear with a smatter of scars peppered on the same side of his face, stepped in front of him. “Amestrians are to remain in the designated,” he spat the word and Ed pegged him as someone who’d been stuffed into one of those forsaken internment camps, “area.”
Ed squared his shoulders, recognizing the man’s rage and letting it flow over him. It was an anger they shared, even if the man didn’t know it yet. “I need to talk to the Almsti before they cast any ammus,” Ed said, stumbling over the words. “I know there are survivors of the Alberic line and it should not be cast.”
The man blinked at Ed, obviously surprised. Amestrians didn’t understand the value of names. They wouldn’t get that if Ed’s name was cast then his history was gone. He could found a new family, could start anew, but his connection to his line, to his ancestors, to his mom would be severed and though Ed had learned that though he couldn’t get her back, he could hold onto the few pieces of her that he had left.
“Raynil!” he called, and a woman with her ashy hair worn in a braid popped her head out of one of the tents. She was young but her eyes were old. It was the same at every refugee camp Ed had ever passed through. Even the children had old eyes. “Can you send someone to tell Almsti Shan that I have an Amestrian calling to have knowledge of an ammu?” he said in Ishvalan, as though Ed would be deaf to the words of his own people.
“Or you could tell Almsti Shan that Ed is here and needs to speak with her,” Ed called, and both of them looked at him with surprise, though the man who had approached Ed watched Ed with deepening suspicion. “We met in Xerxes,” Ed explained, trying to get the guy to chill the fuck out. “She’ll remember me because I know the Rockbells’ daughter.”
It was like inserting a key into a lock. His shoulders eased, his face relaxed, and while he didn’t smile he didn’t look like he wanted to stuff Ed back on the train. “Your Ishvalan is terrible,” and Ed bit back a snarl. It was a sore spot, made worse by the fact that it was true. Ed hadn’t spoken it regularly since his mom had left for Ishval and had never come back. He’d tried to keep it up with Al but memory twisted words and even their nightly practices had dwindled when Ed started working with people who would as soon kill him as they would hide him if they ever figured out that it was a quirk of genetics that his eyes weren’t the same color as his blood. “We’ll pass on your message to Almsti Shan. You can wait here or you can wait with the other Amestrians. It is a long walk into town.”
“Here’s good,” Ed said, flipping his suitcase and sitting on it. He knew he was being stubborn. He could go sit with the Amestrians. They had shade, probably water, and the title Fullmetal Alchemist still carried weight but, while Ed was willing to play that game in Amestris, something about doing it on Ishvalan soil felt dirty. Ed wasn’t Amestrian. Hell, Hohenheim had been from Xerxes. Ed was from the desert and he could stand a little heat far better than he could stand using his skin to lie about who he was.
“Gena’id,” the man said with a shake of his head. He sighed in the way that a lot of people sighed around Ed. “I am called Midar.”
“I am called Ed,” Ed echoed the introduction and he got a short nod of approval. You told people what you were called. What you were named was between you, Ishvala, and those you trusted with your soul.
Midar lingered and Ed could feel a growing tension like a blister readying to burst. He sat and said nothing, just staring at what remained of Ishval and trying to match it to his memories. He could faintly see the outline of Hagil, the newest settlement, in the distance but Sunat, the original city by the tracks was gone, completely wiped off of the map. Ed had read the reports on how the ruins had been deliberately flattened for crop land, even in the spots where crops couldn’t thrive.
Finally Miadar asked. “Do you really know if the line of Alberic survived?”
Ed nodded. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Two sons. Their mother married a khurdahr and she moved out of Ishval before the borders locked down.”
“She didn’t survive,” Midar stated, catching Ed’s tone.
“Not many people did,” Ed said darkly. More than the reports estimated, given by Ed’s travels, but still not enough.
Nowhere near enough.
Midar grunted but he made no move to leave. Ed supposed that was probably because Ed was sitting right in the middle of his workspace if Midar’s primary job was keeping the Amestrians on the right side of the track. There likely wouldn’t be any that tried to wander this way. The train Ed had been on had come to collect more people than it dropped off and it would be days before another one arrived. Grumman also really did want to make some peace with Ishval, if only for the publicity. Now that Bradley wasn’t disappearing people who spoke too loud, criticisms about how Ishval had been handled were slowly bubbling to the surface.
Sweat soaked into the back of his crimson jacket, the Flamel symbol gone but the cut and color the same as when he was an idiot kid. It wasn’t his halvid but it was as close to it as he could wear safely. With the sweat came boredom but there wasn’t much to be done. Midar didn’t seem to be in a chatty mood and Ed was only carrying around a single book in his bag right now. It was about alchemy, because even without it Ed couldn’t seem to let go. He’d given Truth his ability to transmute but Truth had left the knowledge in his head, taking up space and being useless. Ed had theory after theory that he couldn’t practice himself and would never share with anyone who might actually use them. Sitting in Ishval and reading a book about alchemy was something an Amestrian would do.
“Here.” Ed looked up and a wooden cup was held out at eye level. Raynil offered it with a smile. “It’s hot out in the sun.”
“Ishvala suna,” Ed said, taking the wood. It was smooth in his hands and the water was cold, likely drawn from a nearby well. He sipped slowly, ignoring the looks that Midar and Raynil were sharing. Ishvalan genes ran strong. Miles was only one-quarter and he still had the red eyes, so it wasn’t like anyone was ever going to guess that Ed was one half, but Ed probably shouldn’t be so casual about things.
Some of the reasons he had never announced he was Ishvalan still existed.
But it was hard because he was home. It didn’t matter that it was broken and barren. There was just something about being here that felt right. As a child Ed had been told it was Ishval was the hand of Ishvala himself, that he had built them from sand to be his children and to spread his love and Ed didn’t know if he believed in Ishvala, didn’t know if he could acknowledge a god that had allowed a genocide to happen, but he could feel Ishval in his bones and it sang.
As he nursed his water his attention flickered to a spot on the horizon that was slowly yet steadily growing bigger. It took about twenty minutes before it took shape as a person and another ten for him to arrive, huffing and sweating, having run the whole way there. “Ishvala suna,” he said between gasps as Raynil handed him a cup of water. “Almsti Shan wants to see him as soon as possible!”
Raynil shook her head, her smile fond. “You didn’t need to run, Dalden.”
The boy shook his head vigorously. “She said as soon as possible!” he stressed in the earnest way that children did and he reminded Ed a little of Rick. “We need to hurry back!”
“Cool it, pipsqueak,” the boy squawked indignantly and Ed bit back a grin. If that was how he reacted, no wonder everyone had liked pointing out how short he was for his age. Ed was still short. It just bugged him less now knowing that it was because he had been keeping Al alive.
Ed pulled up his pant leg, revealing the steel beneath. “I’m not running with this baby.” Ed could. His leg was top of the line and was built with the type of bullshit Ed got up to as a State Alchemist in mind so a jog through the desert would be nothing, but if the kid tried to run again he’d probably drop dead of heat stroke. Ed was willing to swallow a little pride these days.
Dalden eyed him dubiously. “Okay,” he said doubtfully. “But you can’t walk too slow. Almsti Shan said as soon as possible.”
Ed nodded. “Sure thing. Have another cup of water and then we can go, alright?”
Dalden opened his mouth, probably to object, but Raynil was already refilling his cup from a metal pitcher. He sighed and drank.
-
By the time they made it to the small settlement that the people were starting to rebuild, twilight had begun to fall. Dalden was starting to zig zag as he walked, obviously ready to sleep, and Ed was half afraid he was going to have to toss the kid over his shoulder before they arrived, which would not be suspicious at all. The kid made it, if only just, and Ed took in what few details he could catch in the dying light.
Sturdying buildings made of mud and stone huddled together, most of the buildings dark. It didn’t surprise Ed. When most people spoke of Ishval they acted like the country had run on oil lamps but they’d had electricity like the rest of the world. Amestris had just flattened their power plants the same way they’d flattened everything else. Water, shelter, food, and then things like power were going to be the focus. Ed could see a spigot showing that, for now, they had a handle on water and there were houses standing with pits dugs so new ones could be anchored.
“This way,” Dalden said with a yawn, leading Ed to a long building that’s windows flickered with light. Dalden brushed the curtain that was serving as a door aside, allowing Ed to enter first.
Ed was hit with a wave of nostalgia as he parked his luggage by the door. It wasn’t his family home, but the walls were the same color, sanded smooth, and the arches between rooms arched in the same pattern. The incense that Ed had been expecting since he stepped off the train filled the house and Ed took in a deep breath. If he closed his eyes he could hear Serjo Odral’s laugh above the din of conversation, the squealing of children as they raced around the house even as the aunties scolded them to run outside. He could smell kadirsh baking in the oven and feel his mom’s hands as she stroked his hair.
For a moment he had his family back.
“This way,” Dalden repeated grumpily, shattering the illusion, and Ed followed him through the building to where Almsti Shan was sitting on a plush red cushion. She wasn’t alone, with fucking Scar of all people sitting against the wall. There were a few other people, two men and a woman, also lined up. Ed was pretty sure one was the guy whose ass he had kicked in Xerxes. Their halvids were decorated with yellow threads, which was pretty weird because Ed was fairly certain someone who was nameless couldn’t become a Cleric of Ishvala on account of not having a fucking name. If you didn’t have a name you weren’t connected to the world. Scar had cut himself out of the world.
“Sav’saaba,” Almsti Shan greeted, though the others remained silent. “Thank you, Dalden. Go get some rest.” The boy bowed and gave Ed a quick wave before wandering off, hopefully to find a bed to faceplant in.
“Cute kid,” Ed said, knowing he had been too precocious to ever have been that adorable. Even in Ishval he’d been full of questions, hungry for knowledge and unwilling to take no as an answers.
He settled onto his knees on the cushion before Almsti Shan, giving a traditional bow, or his best attempt at one, with his forehead touching the floor for a moment before slowly popping back up to kneeling. “Sav’saaba, Almsti Shan,” he returned the greeting, frustrated that his mouth was having trouble shaping the words that had fallen from his lips so easily as a child.
Almsti Shan gave him a small grizzled smile. “It is good to see you again, Edward. Did you do as we asked?”
Ed nodded. “I did. And I told their daughter and their mother that you were grateful.”
If Almsti Shan was surprised that Ed knew Ishvalan she didn’t let on. Others shuffled and Ed could see that Scar had straightened, which made Ed wonder if he’d just yelled at the man in Ishvalan a lot of their fighting would have been avoided. Given that the military had shown up quickly it probably would have caused Ed worse problems though. He didn’t have an onhand excuse for knowing how to speak Ishvalan and Mustang would have recognized the language immediately.
“Thank you,” she nodded her head in gratitude. “Dalden says that you have news of the Alberic line. There are some here who doubt that.” A man with one eye and burn scars scoffed, giving Ed some idea of exactly who that was. “But I know you to be honorable. Nalis vouches for your character. So what can you tell me of the Alberic line.”
Ed took in a deep breath. “I am called Edd Alberic, named by my mother Trarisa Alberic, born and embraced by the Serjo of our home Odral Alberic.” He bared his teeth, daring anyone to disagree with him.
It didn’t stop the outcry.
“How dare you!” snarled the one eyed man, half rising to his feet, only to have Scar pull him back to the cushion. Others hissed and Ed heard the woman call him a liar, but she could get fucked. Ed wasn’t here to make friends, he was here to claim his name.
Almsti Shan held up a hand and a grumpy silence filled the room. When she was certain no one was going to speak she turned to Ed, red eyes bearing into his soul and he matched her, having nothing to hide. “You look Amestrian.”
It was an accusation that had Ed’s hackles rising and it took him a breath to calm himself. “No, I look like my father. He was a khurdahr but he was not Amestrian,” Ed said dryly. Hohenheim was once again making his life hard, even from beyond the grave. “It’s how my brother and I were missed during the purge.” Not that soldiers had come to Resembool. Ishval had bombed the small community so there had been the assumption that had any tried to hide there the townspeople would have turned them in.
It was probably true.
“How can you sit and listen to these lies, Almsti?” the woman hissed like a snake. “To have some Amestrian come and try to steal even more from us. To try and claim an ammu? May the desert take him!”
Ed glared at her and at the insult. He didn’t yell and he didn’t swear because he promised himself he wouldn’t. He looked Amestrian and had a history with the military. He was an ex-achemist, something that Ishvala reviled. There was no reason for anyone to believe Ed except for the fact that it was true. Still, some insults were too much to bear. “I was baptised in the blood of Ishvala under a new moon and gifted my halvid which was sewn by my mother’s hands. It is my ammu and you can choke on an olive if you think I’m letting it be returned to Ishvala.”
She gasped, grabbing at her molghen as Ed sneered at her.
“Quiet!” Almsti Shan said in the same quiet commanding tone Granny got when she was really mad. “Nalis, what do you know?”
Ed almost jumped when Scar spoke. “Edward Elric looks like his father.” While Ed appreciated the backup, he was frustrated that he needed someone to do something as simple as confirm that he looked like his fucking parents. What motive could Ed possibly have for trying to get his name back. It wasn’t like he could get anything from it. Ishvalan names were useless to Amestrians, at most giving them a target to hate. “I moved to Mora before Trarisa met her khurdahr. She moved to Amestris before the fighting reached Ara.” Scar watched Ed, consideringly.
Ed frowned at him, trying to reconcile the fact that it sounded like fucking Scar of all people knew his mom. “She went back to Ara,” Ed said. An extra bunk bed had appeared in Ed and Al’s room, but instead of people coming to fill it, a letter that smelled like ashes had arrived in the mail.
There was a moment of silence. Everyone knew what had happened in Ara.
The one-eyed bastard sneered. “If you have been baptised then what is your name?”
Ed reared back as though he had been slapped. “Are you a fucking Amestrian?” Ed snarled, falling back into the more familiar tongue so he could lay into the asshole. “My name is exactly none of your fucking business.” His fingers clenched, both hands flesh which prevented him from bruising his thighs in rage. Or transmuting his arm into a sword and taking a swing. Ed was against killing but did the guy really need his tongue? “Alberic is the name of my line. It is the only thing of my family that survived the war and I am not going to allow it to be cast simply because some s’wit doesn’t like the color of my eyes.” He used those same eyes to glare at the fucker.
Almsti Shan cleared her throat, commanding Ed’s attention. “You were a State Alchemist.”
“I had a sin to make right,” Ed said coolly, knowing this was going to come up. “It gave me the resources to do so.”
“And now?”
Ed lifted his chin. “I am neither in the Amestrian military nor an alchemist.”
She leaned forward. “And this great sin?”
“Made right. The rest is between me and Ishvala.” There was a lot between Ed and Ishvala.
“Hm.” Ed didn’t squirm even though it felt like his chest was going to beat through his ribs. He knew this was going to be hard but Ed had pulled off the impossible before. He had saved his brother. He could save his own fucking name. It was his by divine right and he wasn’t moving an inch until it was acknowledged. Ed, as usual, was more than willing it to make it everyone else’s problem until he got his way.
“How old are you?”
Ed blinked at the non sequitur. “Eighteen?”
“Have you communed?”
Ed shook his head. “I don’t know how.” It should not have been embarrassing. He knew he was past the age but he’d been five when they’d left Ara. His days were spent chasing his cousins in the street, not studying for a religious ceremony that was eleven years away. He’d studied what little he could find on Ishvalan history, often tainted by being filtered through Amestrian’s supposed superiority, and the military reports, which were cold and calculating descriptions of violence, not culture. Communing without knowing the first thing about it felt useless.
Almsti Shan nodded and Ed could see her arrive at a decision. “Edd,” she announced, “will be acknowledged as the Serjo of Alberic upon a successful communion as Ishvala acknowledges him as an adult. If Edd turns away from his commune, the name Alberic shall be cast in the sands and given back to Ishvala.”
Ed glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw a line of smug faces, which made him think that the ceremony for communing was a little more complicated than Leto’s saying a few prayers and taking a sip of wine. The Ishvalans were a tough people, which means it was probably a tough ceremony.
Nothing Ed couldn’t handle. He was a tough guy.
-
Apparently communing meant wandering directionlessly until he found a ‘good spot’ and meditating for three days and nights while reciting a few prayers, which were mostly familiar. Normally one’s halvid was used as a head scarf to keep the heat away but Ed wasn’t heading back to Resembool to pick his up because he didn’t trust cyclops to not cast his name away while he wasn’t there to defend it. Almsti Shan could take care of herself and she held the ultimate authority, but the name would still feel tainted even if someone tried and Ed did not come all this way for it to get damaged.
So Ed was given a water skin, a timeline, and told that if he came back too soon he was no Ishvalan, which made Ed want to stay out there for an entire fucking week except he knew enough about biology to know that he needed water. He couldn’t transmute a water pump up anymore, not that he would transmute during a communing. Ed skirted around being an atheist, not a heretic.
So he took his waterskin, mentally flipped off all the elders who seemed to think he was going to fuck this up, and picked a direction to go off and commune with Ishvala, who, if real, was a useless asshole.
If he was real he probably thought the same of Ed.
He headed east because it seemed like the least likely direction for him to run into anyone. He didn’t want to get disqualified because some friendly bypasser thought he needed help. Away from civilization seemed the way to go.
He hadn’t planned to go too far, knowing that walking back the same distance he’d come would be much harder after three days without food. He’d probably be out of water by then too. It would suck no matter how far away Hagil was but every time Ed thought he should stop a little voice told him just a little further.
This way, Edd, it seemed to whisper with a soft breeze, and every step felt right in a way Ed couldn’t explain. The heat of the desert cooled even though the sun was high and burning without a cloud in the sky, and the soft sand which ate at Ed’s feet became as easy as hard stone to walk on. This way, Edd.
Ed wasn’t walking alone. There were a hundred, there were a thousand, there were a million people walking with him. This way, Edd.
Step by step, Ed went, one foot in front of the other, until he blinked.
The desert was gone. The sun, sky, and sand had all disappeared and Ed spun, standing in an unfathomable space. It wasn’t the endless white that haunted his nightmares, but the soft golden color didn’t change and Ed was definitely in a place where humans weren’t meant to tread and he didn’t know how the fuck he’d gotten here.
Was it heatstroke? Was he dying of fucking heatstroke? It hadn’t even been a fucking day!
“Hello, Edril.”
Ed jerked at the sound of a name that he hadn’t heard on anyone’s tongue since his mom left. He’d told Al though he knew Al had forgotten it, buried the knowledge behind things Al found more important than their Ishvalan blood. While Ed knew it wasn’t personal, it still felt that way, so he’d kept his name to himself where no one else could mistreat or neglect it. There was no one living who knew that name.
Ed turned.
Before him stood Ishvala.
They watched Ed, crimson eyes the only fixed feature. The rest of his body flowed, thinning and thickening, morphing from harsh angles into soft curves and back again. It was a constant cycle between man and woman, adult and child, and it was giving Ed a fucking headache.
“Pick a damn form,” Ed snapped.
Ishvala laughed, the sound of wind brushing against sand. “If I could, but I cannot hide from you, Edril Alberic, son of Trarisa Alberic, the wife of Von Hohenheim.” Ishvala tilted his head, brown hair falling off of one shoulder. “Nothing can hide from you.”
Ed huffed. “This is Gate stuff, isn’t it.” Ishvala laughed again, like a parent amused at a child’s tantrum and Ed scowled. “I gave up my Gate. I shouldn’t have to deal with this bullshit anymore.”
“And yet,” Ishvala said, raising her eyebrows with a half smirk. “You have come to commune with me and I know what you seek, but it is not such an easy thing to give.”
Ed took a step forward, pointing at the child before him. “It’s my damn name!”
“It’s the name of an Ishvalan. Are you Ishvalan, Edril?” Ishvala challenge, the voice still soft despite the sharpness of the accusations. “Can you, who served with the enemies of Ishval, claim to be a child of mine?” White hair hid most of the weathered face.
Ed really hoped that Ishvala could still feel his glare. “Who are you to claim to be a father of mine when those enemies burned and butchered your people?” he snarled. He didn’t think many were going to have a chance to actually yell at Ishvala and he wasn’t going to pass it up while the bastard challenged Ed’s right to be Ishvalan, as though he was the one who fucked everything up. “Even when this land was raised we were hunted. What should I have done? Screamed that I was Ishvalan to the very sky?” Ed snorted derisively. “Those of us who gathered lived in squalor, where food was scarce and disease was rampant. I denied my people, denied my origin, to keep my family alive.” His voice rose with a rage he’d been forced to keep buried for too long. “I did what I had to survive, to keep my brother safe, but if you had fucking protected us then I wouldn’t have needed to!”
The silence between them was filled with Ed’s angry panting as the echoes of his wrath died off. Part of him wondered if he was going to be struck down. Truth would have taken Ed’s tongue over such vitriol but Ishvala studied Ed like he was a book, not an insect.
Finally Ishvala sighed. Hair curled behind her ears, showing off an impressive array of piercings. “There are rules, Edril. There are always rules.”
Ed slumped. “Of course there are.” There were always rules and Ed knew that some of them were immutable. Before Ed met Truth this answer would have meant shit, but Ed had seen the consequences and AL had been the one to bear them. “So what rules are you breaking to talk to me like this?” What did this conversation cost and who was going to pay for it?
“I am correcting a wrong,” Ishvala said, lips obscured by a bushy beard, “but there is a price.”
Crossing his arms, Ed tilted his head. He knew what he should do. He should tell Ishvala to go to hell, that Ed had paid every toll in his life that mattered and he wasn’t going to get caught up trading pieces of himself until there was nothing left.
But.
His name.
His mom’s ammu.
“I’m listening.”
“I will give you your ammu, give you back every piece of yourself, but you must protect my people, our people,” Ishvala said and the urgency hit Ed like a blow the the chest, knocking the air from him. “Be a sword and a shield. Be the guard dog and be the shepherd. Be my hands, Edril Alberic.”
“I’m just a man,” Ed countered at the insane proposal. “I’m not the smartest or the strongest and definitely not a one man army. I can’t even do alchemy.” He gestured expressively, waving his hands in front of him in disbelief. “How do you expect me to protect everyone?” He’d been able to save Amestris with help, a lot of help, and alchemy. Now he was alone and without, a man humbled with understanding his own limitations and living within them.
“Do you truly think the son of a living philosopher stone is human?”
It was as though the ground shifted and Ed fell to his knees, his stomach clenching. He’d had and dismissed that thought, never speaking it allowed and giving it life. Ed and Al were the products of sex, not cast of aspects of self. “No!” he denied. “I’m not a fucking homunculus.” He was not. He could not be. He was fucking human.
“You are not,” Ishvala confirmed, crouching down beside Ed. “You are different. Unique.” Her long red hair pooled on the ground. “Do you think anyone else could have used their own life to heal themselves?” He reached over and cupped Ed’s cheeks with his calloused hands, forcing his gaze up. “You are the most and the least human, Edril, and it is not a terrible thing. But you are in pieces.” They leaned forward, their forehead touching Ed’s. “I will put you back together if you promise not to turn your back on our people.”
“Fuck,” Ed said raggedly. “You know I hate you, right?”
“Many Ishvalans do,” came the simple answer. A soft thumb stroked Ed’s cheek. “Edril, you who understand true power and its terrible cost. Edril, you who I trust with it.
“Alchemist, be thou for the people. For our people.”
Before Ed lay two paths. On one side was Edward Elric shaking his head. He’d take his suitcase back to Resembool where he would embrace Al, he would maybe tell Winry he liked her. He’d eventually cave and visit Armstrong and Maria Ross and Mustang. He’d live and die as an Amestrian and the name Alberic would be given back to Ishvala to hold.
Or he’d say yes. He’d be Edd -Edril- Alberic. He’d stay in Ishval, digging houses and wells, burning incense in the morning and dancing under the year’s first rain. He’d wear a halvid, openly and with pride, in a small sea of people who would do the same.
It should have been an easy choice. A life of love and comfort versus one of hardship and toil.
But it was his name. His ammu.
“Okay,” Edril said.
A familiar groan had Edd rising to his feet in a sharp spin. Behind him was the Gate he had given away, stark in the golden realm Edd had wandered into. He instinctively stepped back as it began to open, bracing himself for clawing hands, the sharp sting of betrayal in his chest, but Ishvala set her comforting hands on Edd’s shoulders.
From the Gate emerged a single white hand, slowly drifting towards Edd. In its fingers it delicately pinched a glowing red stone. “Wha..?”
“It’s yours, Edril,” Ishvala whispered in his ear. “It is the legacy Truth stole.”
“Stole?”
The withered hands on Edd’s shoulders tightened. “Truth is jealous and it takes without remorse. You owed it nothing and that made it furious so it ripped what was not its due.” The hand slowly approached and Ed couldn’t pull his eyes from the stone. It called to him. Not its power. Ed knew how useless power was. But it sang to him in his mom’s voice, tugged at him like Al’s hands.
“But you are mine.”
The stone touched Ed’s forehead.