FMA: In Memory (GEN, AU, complete)
Okay, so I'm trying to make this my primary fic lj but the transition's rather difficult. This is an old fic that's been posted in FFnet for a while, but I thought I'll put it here for the people who for one reason or another may not like going through that archive.
Comments are more than welcome!
IN MEMORY
By Lady Addiction
DISCLAIMER: Full Metal Alchemist is someone else’s brainchild. The anime was someone else’s idea - for which I heartily thank them. This fic is my baby, so please don’t take and repost any part of it anywhere without permission.
WARNINGS: GEN, PG-13, angst?, OOC?
AUTHOR NOTES:
1. Previously supposed to be part of an AU universe, but that never got on the ground so this fic is complete in itself.
2. A writing experiment inspired by all the wicked drabbles and shortfics in the LJs of FMA fans. Unlike HP, most fans of FMA seem to like doing character sketches or short dialogues and skits with the characters. Very interesting and entertaining.
So goal is monthly fic updates. Since my muse is rather vapid with a Dory-like memory capability, the fics updated will be random. But an update is an update, right? Right?
And now, for my first FMA fic. And if you’re considering writing GEN FMA fics, please do. There are not enough of them out there!
WWWW
I. BRAIDS
He was letting down his hair when he noticed a shadow at the corner of his eye. He started, turning swiftly.
Gracia Hughes was a couple of feet away from him, startled. Then, she relaxed and smiled, holding up a wide hairbrush. “Let me,” she offered quietly. “Alicia’s sleeping and you look like you need a break.”
Alphonse Elric smiled back tentatively and slowly moved towards one end of the couch. There were only the three of them in the house, with Gracia’s husband at work. The young blond matron settled behind him and skillfully undid the rest of the braid. She put the leather tie onto the coffee table and then began running the brush through the thick, light-brown strands.
Though he tried not to, Al found himself sagging into her comforting warmth. He seemed to attract women who loved to mother him, he thought with a wry grin. First there was his mother, then Izumi-san, and now Gracia-san.
“Your hair is very beautiful,” Gracia complimented, admiring the way the well-treated locks shone and sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the open windows. Without the travel dust and grit that had created a tangled and dusty mop, it was astonishingly silky to touch. She smiled humorously as she saw the crinkles made by the constant plaiting, giving the tall, light-framed youth a somewhat effeminate air. “And it’s the longest I’ve seen men grow their hair,” she continued, “living in a military settlement like the East City, all the men never wear their hair long. And even most of the military women wear it short. It’s such a shame sometimes, I think. Maes has beautiful black hair. And so does Roy.”
Al blushed. He had let his hair grow out in the year since he left Dublith, as a reminder of the promise he had made to himself. Now, his customary braid reached all the way down the middle of his back.
Feeling soft, tingly, and fuzzy, basking in the sun-warmed atmosphere, he decided to open up. After all, the Hughes family had taken him in without demure a month ago, when he had first arrived in East City. He knew they wondered at why he was here, at where he had come from. He had only told them that he wanted to be a State Certified Alchemist because he was looking for something.
“It’s for my brother,” he said, feeling his heart clutch as he remembered loud voices, golden hair, and golden eyes. “He used to want to have his hair in one of those braids by the tribal warriors of Xing.” Xing was in the eastern border of Amestris, whose powerful military and trade connections made its western neighbor cautious.
Gracia was surprised at Al’s sudden garrulity and fascinated with what he was saying. “Are they the people who fight wars on horseback with spears and swords along with guns?”
Al nodded then winced as the motion knocked his head against the brush. Gracia gasped and apologized. “I’m okay, it’s alright. It wasn’t your fault, Gracia-san, but yes, that’s them. I read a little about them.” He read about their culture and language for his brother. Closing his eyes, he recalled the first time he had heard about them.
“Al, Al! Look!” A widely-grinning boy was thundering down the stairs, hands flailing, a picture book in one hand.
“Niisan! Watch out!” But the younger need not have worried. The elder nimbly jumped from the third to the last step, avoiding the orange spill of juice. He landed solidly with a thump and skidded his way towards Al, who was coming from the kitchen with a damp washcloth.
“Look! Look!” Ed was yelling as he yanked open the book. Al stared down. It was a picture of dark-haired men in strange, flowing clothes. Their pants gathered at the ankles, and their high-necked jackets had sleeves longer than their arms and closed at the front with enormous, diamond-shaped buttons. They were all bearing arms and drawn as if they were in one-to-one battles. The most astonishing thing was that all the men were bald, except for a long rope of braid.
“What is this, Niisan?”
“It’s a book about the warrior traditions of Xing,” chattered Ed, “they look much cooler than all those stupid soldiers! And look, it says here that the ‘men of Maren keep their hair long in respect for their horses, which were the only true companions in a battlefield’. I’m going to grow my hair and have a braid too! Look at this, you can attach a knife at the end and use it like a whip!” Ed was jumping from foot to foot as he stared down the book in excitement.
“Niisan, we don’t have a horse.”
“That doesn’t matter! Idiot!”
Al scowled. “Well, are you going to shave the rest of your head too?”
Ed flinched. “Of course not! But I think it would look cool if I have a braid, wouldn’t it?”
“I think it would look girly,” retorted Al, wanting vengeance for the ‘idiot’ jab. “Winry would like that! Another girl to play with! Girly Niisan! Girly Niisan! Niisan wants to be a GI--IRL!!!”
“Al! Shut up! Come back here! I’ll show you who’s a girl!” Book and washcloth fell to the floor as the two boys ran off, one chortling, the other yelling. He snuffled quietly at the memory.
“I didn’t know you have a brother,” Gracia said. She had put down the brush and was now carefully separating Al’s hair into three parts.
Al swallowed and lowered his head. He drew his knees to his chest and hugged them, his bare feet poking out of his pants. He had worn denim and a gray cotton tunic because of the sunny spring warmth. Gracia paused as he resettled himself, then resumed her slow movements. “Yes. He’s my older brother. We were together all the time until . . . until our father came back and took him away.”
The woman hid a gasp and forced herself to keep working. She said nothing.
“We were studying alchemy and I think my father took him away because he was better at it,” the boy continued on. That had been an initial source of resentment and jealousy, until he had realized that he was never seeing his older brother again. “Niisan loved reading. I only learned to like reading because he did. He found the books our father left behind and we began to experiment with it.”
“What intelligent children,” she murmured, amazed. Al couldn’t be more than fifteen or sixteen, but Maes had told her confidentially that from what he’d seen, he was more proficient than half of the Alchemists already certified by the government. He had said seriously that alchemy was a mixture of talent and dedication --- for Al to be so good, he must have learned very early. “Didn’t you find it hard to understand the books?”
“Well, we managed somehow,” he replied, unconsciously echoing his and Ed’s response when their mother had asked them the same question. “Niisan had great talent in it. Right away, anything he did came out perfectly even though we started at the same time. I was not as good.” He brought up his left arm, staring at the beautiful metal arm Winry had made for him. Chills ran down his spine as he remembered why he needed it in the first place. “I am terrible at it. At alchemy, I mean. If I had been as great as Niisan, if he had been with me . . .” he whispered. Then maybe his attempt to transfigure their mother back to life wouldn’t have failed so badly.
Gracia finished plaiting his hair, tying it off with the leather thong. Then, aware of his rising distress, she leaned closer and hugged him affectionately. “You are a great Alchemist, Alphonse Elric. And I know you’ll find what you are looking for.” She had a very strong suspicion of what that was.
“You know,” she said chattily, still holding him, “I’ve always wanted to have a little boy. A baby brother for Alicia-chan. But maybe, while he’s not here yet, you can be Alicia-chan’s big brother and take care of her like your big brother took care of you.”
Al’s eyes watered. His mind was filled with mixed emotions, a whelming flood of them that he didn’t know how to think and act. All he could say was, “I’ll take care of Alicia-chan, Gracia-san. Then when my brother’s here, we’ll both be her big brothers.”
“I hope that day’ll come soon,” she answered.
“I hope so too,” he whispered.
-End Part 1-
AUTHOR NOTES:
1. The opera style here is derived directly from Beijing Opera, terms and all. I’ve just had the pleasure of reading a translation of a J-manga named B-Opera, which is about a young Japanese boy time-travelling to China and joining in a Beijing Opera group. That was the source of my inspiration.
2. I love Ed and Al’s canon hairstyles. Truly I do.
3. ‘Strafanstalt’ - Ger., “prison”
REVISION: October 13, 2004 - Okay, the B-Opera thing seems stilted so I went with the original monk idea. Does it work? Please tell me.
COMMENT: This is the last chapter of this fic. The purpose of this was really just an experiment to get a hold of the Elric brothers’ voices and to try and work out a little Divergent Timeline idea in my head.
WWWWW
II. SHAVEN
When he was told he had to shave off his hair, he had laughed out loud.
Before causing a minor riot.
In the end, a cloth was ruthlessly stuffed into his mouth and he was strapped down that special metal chair with the straps. They were always located at the blacksmith’s, the chair slaves are seated to have their head shaven, their nose pierced for a slave-ring, and their wrists and ankles given plain iron bands. Once they have been sold, the name of the owner was then engraved on the bands by the smith.
Contrary to what they thought would happen (especially after the racket), he sat still as stone in that chair. His body was shivering uncontrollably with each snip of the scissors. Then, when his hair was down to an inch long, they wet and covered his head with soap before applying the razor.
It was the only way, he knew. It was the only way to finally escape his father.
He wondered if this was some diabolic plot of his sire. Hoenheim had always hated Edward’s hair, the way the boy kept it long and only pulled back into a loose ponytail. His father suspected that it was some kind of talisman, a reminder that he had family other than Hoenheim. He would be right.
Now all of that would be gone, skilfully stolen by an indifferent barber. He would be left to rely on his faulty and fragile human memory.
But soon, soon, he would not need to rely on memories alone. Soon, he would be reunited with his true family. He would be back in that large house in the middle of a farmland, surrounded by apple trees and wheat fields. Soon, he would see Alphonse, the baby brother who always followed at his heels, his mother who always smelled of fresh bread and apples, and even Winry, the obnoxious girl-next-door.
The loss of his hair was a paltry price. It was only hair, after all.
But his eyes still watered, his chin still trembled. He tried to close off his ears to the whish and ssss of the blade as it slid smoothly and expertly along his sensitive scalp, but he could feel it. The sounds raised goosebumps.
Then it was done. His head was towelled dry and he was released from the chair. He was lucky, he thought in some distant part of his mind. He was not a true slave, so he wasn’t given the nose ring nor the bands. Instead, he was only an indentured servant, exchanging one year of labour for a passport out of Xing.
Outside the blacksmith’s shop was a small man dressed in the dark-yellow and light-brown robes of the sect of Kuan Yin. These were the healer-monks, whose study of alchemy was geared towards finding different ways to heal injury and sickness, and to extend life. He bowed to the blacksmith as he led out the quiet Edward, and handed him a small pouch of coins. The blacksmith shook his head no and instead knelt for a blessing, which the monk gladly gave.
They got into one of the two-wheeled carts dragged by a limber, quick-footed man with an enormous conical straw hat. Edward found himself looking at the city of Huan and comparing it with the city of Yiqi, which had been the closest to Strafanstalt, his father’s holdings. Huan was several days away from Yiqi, and was a port city based off the Great Demon Sea. Unlike Yiqi, which was small and widely-spread to accommodate the large numbers of horse-breeding farms, Huan was compact. Near the wharves, most of the houses were ramshackle constructs built of cheap materials. At the back were the beautiful mansions of the wealthy clans, where their scions paraded in vivid silk robes on top of gorgeous horses. They were the only ones allowed to own the creatures and having a horse was a true measure of wealth. While the lower classes horded their rectangle slivers of tin and copper to exchange for necessities, the nobles displayed opulence by the number and quality of herds they owned. Horse racing was a sacred event, and half of the vast lands of Xing remained plains, with land distribution strictly regulated by Imperial law.
So close to the smithy, most of the people they came across were merchants, craftsmen, farmers, and slaves. The freemen wore bright clothing and beaded jewellery, while the slaves were delegated to dull-coloured tunics and pants. Edward had been initially surprised at this obsession with color when he first arrived to the port town. In Strafanstalt, the majority were slaves, either serving at the house or tied to the mines. Only his tutors, the Sins, his father, and him were freemen, and they mostly wore sober or dark clothes.
He watched them quietly, subdued by his recent ordeal. He found himself rubbing his left arm. It still hurt, even though the surgery had been seven months before. Strange how a lifeless metal limb could ache so much.
Edward took it as his penance, his punishment. Everything was his fault.
He would never see Chu’Li again. Never hear her laughter, her teasing. Never look upon her and see, faintly, the shadow of another girl, a blonde, blue-eyed sprite. Never be able to play tag with her, to show her what he had learned from Shi Len-laoshi. Chu’Li had gotten a kick out of finding out that Ed was being trained to become a dan (female role) performer for the Opera. Especially since Ed, sensitive about his height and feminine face, was so adamantly protective of his masculinity. He had made sure she never found out that he actually liked the idea of playing the great dan roles, finding them to be more interesting and intriguing than the sheng (male role) ones.
And now she never will.
Edward had lost her in a battle with Envy. The homunculus had hated Edward since they met and the hostility had grown bone-deep, fostered by Hoenheim himself. They were often pitted against each other, urged on to mutual destruction in the name of science, knowledge, and improvement. It was no surprise that Envy would seek out his nemesis’ weak point and find a fourteen-year-old Ma’ren slave girl. A mistake on Edward’s part and Envy had belly-cut her. Edward, having just read about soul transmutation, in his fear, shock, and desperation attempted it.
At the cost of an arm, he successfully bound Chu’Li’s soul onto the doll he had just bought for her. Envy had departed, laughing demonically.
But Chu’Li had been aghast. Hour after hour, she wept and wailed inside that pretty, golden-haired doll. She asked for death, for release, that she didn’t want to remain an abomination and a restless ghost, forever denied the company of her ancestors. Edward had refused for two weeks, before he was brought close to the brink of madness and despair and finally erased the blood-inscribed seal at the leg of the doll. The silence left behind had been deafening and he had wept bitterly.
That was when he knew he had to leave the hell he had stayed in since he was eight.
After a rigorous six-month therapy to adjust to an automail limb, he escaped on one of the nights his father, Lust, and Gluttony were gone. He had left Envy in a pitiful state, chopping off his head and leaving it inside a chest even as his decapitated body twitched and trembled. As he did, he cursed the immortality of the homunculi and vowed to find a way to destroy them all.
The rest of his escape was made possible by Shi Len, his teacher. It was Shi Len who found him a way to get to Huan, who gave him the name of a reputable opera school and a contact. He had left eagerly, using alchemy to change the colour of his hair, dreaming of a chance to finally perform on stage. He had failed to notice the dimness in his teacher’s bright black eyes, the disgust at the sight of the automail, and the carefully neutral expression on his face.
It was only when he was face-to-face with the contact that he learned a devastating truth: automail was anathema on the stage. To the Xing, who valued physical perfection, automail was something to hide, to be ashamed of. Expensive and functional though they were, nobody ever wanted to see them. He was quickly thrown out of the school grounds.
He met Shen-Lok by chance. As he was passing dejectedly through one of the many merchant alleys, he saw a small, yellow-robed man nimbly walking around. Curious, Ed followed him and saw a poor woman and her child crawl out of a shack. The woman begged for a healing for the child. The monk knelt by her and put down the large wooden box on his back. Ed watched as he carefully measured out dried and fresh herbs, pouring them onto a wooden bowl with alchemical symbols. The monk held the bowl with both hands and it glowed for a few seconds. When the light receded, there was a pool of murky green liquid. Gently, the monk poured the liquid down the child’s throat and began telling the mother how to make sure the child didn’t get sicker. Then he took out his money pouch and gave her a handful of coins before getting up.
Edward snorted and turned away. Chemical and botanical alchemy were not interesting to him; he preferred metals and earth matter.
He wandered away, looking at the merchant stalls, bumping into people as he forced his way through the crowds. Finally, feeling hungry, he went inside a tiny restaurant and ordered several bowls of egg-on-rice with deep-fried shrimp and fish.
An hour later, he leaned back on the bench, replete. His stomach was bulging and his eyes were heavy-lidded. As the serving girl came to his table, he fished for his money pouch.
It was not there.
Alarm flooded him as he began to frantically pat his clothes and hair, trying to find the bulging pouch. The serving girl’s pleasant expression turned darker and darker as she watched his antics, until she yelled shrilly for the owner of the restaurant. Edward swallowed, empty-handed, as a thin middle-aged man marched towards him with a meat cleaver.
“Trying to eat without paying eh, shit-scum?” the man yelled at him. “You owe me 1000 chon, shit-scum! If you don’t pay up, I’m taking you to the debt-slavers!”
“I have the money! It, it’s just gone at the moment! Look, seriously, I don’t...” Ed began to babble, trying to back away but he was being surrounded by the other patrons. Most of them looked like they were looking forward to roughing him up for the notaries.
“The Thousand-Armed doesn’t like strife,” a quiet deep voice said. All of them looked at a figure standing up from the corner. Ed stared at him, recognizing the monk from before. The monk approached the restaurant owner. “I have been blessed by Her Holiness today. May I be allowed to take on this child’s debt?” He took out a pouch from his robes and carefully counted out 1300 chon, small rectangles of tin that were of the lowest value. “The rest is for my own meal.” The monk put the pouch away and bowed low, holding out the pool of money in front of him. The restaurant owner lowered the cleaver, smiled, and slowly took the coins. He bowed to the priest as well, blessing the man for his generosity. He glared at Ed one last time before returning back to the kitchen. The patrons drifted back to their seats.
Ed bowed low to the priest. “Holy One, I thank you greatly for your kindness. I must have been robbed on the way here. I will make tenfold a donation to the Order for your generosity.”
The monk said simply, “No.”
Ed started, and began to straighten up. He recalled his manners and returned to his bowed position. The monk continued on. “My Order has more need for helpers than donations. If you are honourable in your intentions to repay your debt, you must become an indentured servant to the Order for one year.”
Ed shot up, forgetting all manners. He stared straight into the monk’s eyes. “You’re crazy,” he said flatly.
“You are the foolish one who let his pouch get away,” returned the monk calmly. His black eyes were pools of serenity.
“I won’t do it.”
“Ah.” Staring at him for a few more minutes, the monk turned away. Ed felt a heavy feeling burst in his chest. “Wait! I will pay you back, I promise!” he blurted out, heart thudding. He felt strange, as if something had taken a hold of him.
“The Thousand-Armed need not earth’s coin,” came the reply.
Ed watched him walk away, conflicted. One year of indenture. One year shackled to someone else’s prison. But he had never been one to leave his debts unpaid...
“I, I will do it,” he yelled out. The monk stopped and looked back. “As you will.”
The notaries were quick to complete the indenture papers. Then came the blacksmith shop.
Now, Edward Elric was getting out of the carriage, at the south entrance to the city. He looked down the dusty road and saw the enormous mountain range called the Sky Dragon Sleeping. Somewhere in it was an isolated monastery. His new Strafanstalt.
He ran a tentative hand over his bare scalp. Maybe it was for the better, he thought. His past wishes and dreams had been shorn from him, but ahead still lay a future, new dreams, new hopes.
Still, touching his scalp, he marched forwards, following at the heels of his new keeper.
-FINI-
WWWW
So that’s it for this story. I can’t believe I made Ed bald!!! Eeeee....
Okay, so he was supposed to go with the monks. Then I changed my mind. And I changed my mind again. Anyway, this is the end.
So, in this arc, Al attempted human transfiguration only, while Ed only attempted soul transfiguration. And both lost their left arms, but are otherwise whole. Just so to keep it clear.
Comments are more than welcome!
IN MEMORY
By Lady Addiction
DISCLAIMER: Full Metal Alchemist is someone else’s brainchild. The anime was someone else’s idea - for which I heartily thank them. This fic is my baby, so please don’t take and repost any part of it anywhere without permission.
WARNINGS: GEN, PG-13, angst?, OOC?
AUTHOR NOTES:
1. Previously supposed to be part of an AU universe, but that never got on the ground so this fic is complete in itself.
2. A writing experiment inspired by all the wicked drabbles and shortfics in the LJs of FMA fans. Unlike HP, most fans of FMA seem to like doing character sketches or short dialogues and skits with the characters. Very interesting and entertaining.
So goal is monthly fic updates. Since my muse is rather vapid with a Dory-like memory capability, the fics updated will be random. But an update is an update, right? Right?
And now, for my first FMA fic. And if you’re considering writing GEN FMA fics, please do. There are not enough of them out there!
WWWW
I. BRAIDS
He was letting down his hair when he noticed a shadow at the corner of his eye. He started, turning swiftly.
Gracia Hughes was a couple of feet away from him, startled. Then, she relaxed and smiled, holding up a wide hairbrush. “Let me,” she offered quietly. “Alicia’s sleeping and you look like you need a break.”
Alphonse Elric smiled back tentatively and slowly moved towards one end of the couch. There were only the three of them in the house, with Gracia’s husband at work. The young blond matron settled behind him and skillfully undid the rest of the braid. She put the leather tie onto the coffee table and then began running the brush through the thick, light-brown strands.
Though he tried not to, Al found himself sagging into her comforting warmth. He seemed to attract women who loved to mother him, he thought with a wry grin. First there was his mother, then Izumi-san, and now Gracia-san.
“Your hair is very beautiful,” Gracia complimented, admiring the way the well-treated locks shone and sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the open windows. Without the travel dust and grit that had created a tangled and dusty mop, it was astonishingly silky to touch. She smiled humorously as she saw the crinkles made by the constant plaiting, giving the tall, light-framed youth a somewhat effeminate air. “And it’s the longest I’ve seen men grow their hair,” she continued, “living in a military settlement like the East City, all the men never wear their hair long. And even most of the military women wear it short. It’s such a shame sometimes, I think. Maes has beautiful black hair. And so does Roy.”
Al blushed. He had let his hair grow out in the year since he left Dublith, as a reminder of the promise he had made to himself. Now, his customary braid reached all the way down the middle of his back.
Feeling soft, tingly, and fuzzy, basking in the sun-warmed atmosphere, he decided to open up. After all, the Hughes family had taken him in without demure a month ago, when he had first arrived in East City. He knew they wondered at why he was here, at where he had come from. He had only told them that he wanted to be a State Certified Alchemist because he was looking for something.
“It’s for my brother,” he said, feeling his heart clutch as he remembered loud voices, golden hair, and golden eyes. “He used to want to have his hair in one of those braids by the tribal warriors of Xing.” Xing was in the eastern border of Amestris, whose powerful military and trade connections made its western neighbor cautious.
Gracia was surprised at Al’s sudden garrulity and fascinated with what he was saying. “Are they the people who fight wars on horseback with spears and swords along with guns?”
Al nodded then winced as the motion knocked his head against the brush. Gracia gasped and apologized. “I’m okay, it’s alright. It wasn’t your fault, Gracia-san, but yes, that’s them. I read a little about them.” He read about their culture and language for his brother. Closing his eyes, he recalled the first time he had heard about them.
“Al, Al! Look!” A widely-grinning boy was thundering down the stairs, hands flailing, a picture book in one hand.
“Niisan! Watch out!” But the younger need not have worried. The elder nimbly jumped from the third to the last step, avoiding the orange spill of juice. He landed solidly with a thump and skidded his way towards Al, who was coming from the kitchen with a damp washcloth.
“Look! Look!” Ed was yelling as he yanked open the book. Al stared down. It was a picture of dark-haired men in strange, flowing clothes. Their pants gathered at the ankles, and their high-necked jackets had sleeves longer than their arms and closed at the front with enormous, diamond-shaped buttons. They were all bearing arms and drawn as if they were in one-to-one battles. The most astonishing thing was that all the men were bald, except for a long rope of braid.
“What is this, Niisan?”
“It’s a book about the warrior traditions of Xing,” chattered Ed, “they look much cooler than all those stupid soldiers! And look, it says here that the ‘men of Maren keep their hair long in respect for their horses, which were the only true companions in a battlefield’. I’m going to grow my hair and have a braid too! Look at this, you can attach a knife at the end and use it like a whip!” Ed was jumping from foot to foot as he stared down the book in excitement.
“Niisan, we don’t have a horse.”
“That doesn’t matter! Idiot!”
Al scowled. “Well, are you going to shave the rest of your head too?”
Ed flinched. “Of course not! But I think it would look cool if I have a braid, wouldn’t it?”
“I think it would look girly,” retorted Al, wanting vengeance for the ‘idiot’ jab. “Winry would like that! Another girl to play with! Girly Niisan! Girly Niisan! Niisan wants to be a GI--IRL!!!”
“Al! Shut up! Come back here! I’ll show you who’s a girl!” Book and washcloth fell to the floor as the two boys ran off, one chortling, the other yelling. He snuffled quietly at the memory.
“I didn’t know you have a brother,” Gracia said. She had put down the brush and was now carefully separating Al’s hair into three parts.
Al swallowed and lowered his head. He drew his knees to his chest and hugged them, his bare feet poking out of his pants. He had worn denim and a gray cotton tunic because of the sunny spring warmth. Gracia paused as he resettled himself, then resumed her slow movements. “Yes. He’s my older brother. We were together all the time until . . . until our father came back and took him away.”
The woman hid a gasp and forced herself to keep working. She said nothing.
“We were studying alchemy and I think my father took him away because he was better at it,” the boy continued on. That had been an initial source of resentment and jealousy, until he had realized that he was never seeing his older brother again. “Niisan loved reading. I only learned to like reading because he did. He found the books our father left behind and we began to experiment with it.”
“What intelligent children,” she murmured, amazed. Al couldn’t be more than fifteen or sixteen, but Maes had told her confidentially that from what he’d seen, he was more proficient than half of the Alchemists already certified by the government. He had said seriously that alchemy was a mixture of talent and dedication --- for Al to be so good, he must have learned very early. “Didn’t you find it hard to understand the books?”
“Well, we managed somehow,” he replied, unconsciously echoing his and Ed’s response when their mother had asked them the same question. “Niisan had great talent in it. Right away, anything he did came out perfectly even though we started at the same time. I was not as good.” He brought up his left arm, staring at the beautiful metal arm Winry had made for him. Chills ran down his spine as he remembered why he needed it in the first place. “I am terrible at it. At alchemy, I mean. If I had been as great as Niisan, if he had been with me . . .” he whispered. Then maybe his attempt to transfigure their mother back to life wouldn’t have failed so badly.
Gracia finished plaiting his hair, tying it off with the leather thong. Then, aware of his rising distress, she leaned closer and hugged him affectionately. “You are a great Alchemist, Alphonse Elric. And I know you’ll find what you are looking for.” She had a very strong suspicion of what that was.
“You know,” she said chattily, still holding him, “I’ve always wanted to have a little boy. A baby brother for Alicia-chan. But maybe, while he’s not here yet, you can be Alicia-chan’s big brother and take care of her like your big brother took care of you.”
Al’s eyes watered. His mind was filled with mixed emotions, a whelming flood of them that he didn’t know how to think and act. All he could say was, “I’ll take care of Alicia-chan, Gracia-san. Then when my brother’s here, we’ll both be her big brothers.”
“I hope that day’ll come soon,” she answered.
“I hope so too,” he whispered.
-End Part 1-
AUTHOR NOTES:
1. The opera style here is derived directly from Beijing Opera, terms and all. I’ve just had the pleasure of reading a translation of a J-manga named B-Opera, which is about a young Japanese boy time-travelling to China and joining in a Beijing Opera group. That was the source of my inspiration.
2. I love Ed and Al’s canon hairstyles. Truly I do.
3. ‘Strafanstalt’ - Ger., “prison”
REVISION: October 13, 2004 - Okay, the B-Opera thing seems stilted so I went with the original monk idea. Does it work? Please tell me.
COMMENT: This is the last chapter of this fic. The purpose of this was really just an experiment to get a hold of the Elric brothers’ voices and to try and work out a little Divergent Timeline idea in my head.
WWWWW
II. SHAVEN
When he was told he had to shave off his hair, he had laughed out loud.
Before causing a minor riot.
In the end, a cloth was ruthlessly stuffed into his mouth and he was strapped down that special metal chair with the straps. They were always located at the blacksmith’s, the chair slaves are seated to have their head shaven, their nose pierced for a slave-ring, and their wrists and ankles given plain iron bands. Once they have been sold, the name of the owner was then engraved on the bands by the smith.
Contrary to what they thought would happen (especially after the racket), he sat still as stone in that chair. His body was shivering uncontrollably with each snip of the scissors. Then, when his hair was down to an inch long, they wet and covered his head with soap before applying the razor.
It was the only way, he knew. It was the only way to finally escape his father.
He wondered if this was some diabolic plot of his sire. Hoenheim had always hated Edward’s hair, the way the boy kept it long and only pulled back into a loose ponytail. His father suspected that it was some kind of talisman, a reminder that he had family other than Hoenheim. He would be right.
Now all of that would be gone, skilfully stolen by an indifferent barber. He would be left to rely on his faulty and fragile human memory.
But soon, soon, he would not need to rely on memories alone. Soon, he would be reunited with his true family. He would be back in that large house in the middle of a farmland, surrounded by apple trees and wheat fields. Soon, he would see Alphonse, the baby brother who always followed at his heels, his mother who always smelled of fresh bread and apples, and even Winry, the obnoxious girl-next-door.
The loss of his hair was a paltry price. It was only hair, after all.
But his eyes still watered, his chin still trembled. He tried to close off his ears to the whish and ssss of the blade as it slid smoothly and expertly along his sensitive scalp, but he could feel it. The sounds raised goosebumps.
Then it was done. His head was towelled dry and he was released from the chair. He was lucky, he thought in some distant part of his mind. He was not a true slave, so he wasn’t given the nose ring nor the bands. Instead, he was only an indentured servant, exchanging one year of labour for a passport out of Xing.
Outside the blacksmith’s shop was a small man dressed in the dark-yellow and light-brown robes of the sect of Kuan Yin. These were the healer-monks, whose study of alchemy was geared towards finding different ways to heal injury and sickness, and to extend life. He bowed to the blacksmith as he led out the quiet Edward, and handed him a small pouch of coins. The blacksmith shook his head no and instead knelt for a blessing, which the monk gladly gave.
They got into one of the two-wheeled carts dragged by a limber, quick-footed man with an enormous conical straw hat. Edward found himself looking at the city of Huan and comparing it with the city of Yiqi, which had been the closest to Strafanstalt, his father’s holdings. Huan was several days away from Yiqi, and was a port city based off the Great Demon Sea. Unlike Yiqi, which was small and widely-spread to accommodate the large numbers of horse-breeding farms, Huan was compact. Near the wharves, most of the houses were ramshackle constructs built of cheap materials. At the back were the beautiful mansions of the wealthy clans, where their scions paraded in vivid silk robes on top of gorgeous horses. They were the only ones allowed to own the creatures and having a horse was a true measure of wealth. While the lower classes horded their rectangle slivers of tin and copper to exchange for necessities, the nobles displayed opulence by the number and quality of herds they owned. Horse racing was a sacred event, and half of the vast lands of Xing remained plains, with land distribution strictly regulated by Imperial law.
So close to the smithy, most of the people they came across were merchants, craftsmen, farmers, and slaves. The freemen wore bright clothing and beaded jewellery, while the slaves were delegated to dull-coloured tunics and pants. Edward had been initially surprised at this obsession with color when he first arrived to the port town. In Strafanstalt, the majority were slaves, either serving at the house or tied to the mines. Only his tutors, the Sins, his father, and him were freemen, and they mostly wore sober or dark clothes.
He watched them quietly, subdued by his recent ordeal. He found himself rubbing his left arm. It still hurt, even though the surgery had been seven months before. Strange how a lifeless metal limb could ache so much.
Edward took it as his penance, his punishment. Everything was his fault.
He would never see Chu’Li again. Never hear her laughter, her teasing. Never look upon her and see, faintly, the shadow of another girl, a blonde, blue-eyed sprite. Never be able to play tag with her, to show her what he had learned from Shi Len-laoshi. Chu’Li had gotten a kick out of finding out that Ed was being trained to become a dan (female role) performer for the Opera. Especially since Ed, sensitive about his height and feminine face, was so adamantly protective of his masculinity. He had made sure she never found out that he actually liked the idea of playing the great dan roles, finding them to be more interesting and intriguing than the sheng (male role) ones.
And now she never will.
Edward had lost her in a battle with Envy. The homunculus had hated Edward since they met and the hostility had grown bone-deep, fostered by Hoenheim himself. They were often pitted against each other, urged on to mutual destruction in the name of science, knowledge, and improvement. It was no surprise that Envy would seek out his nemesis’ weak point and find a fourteen-year-old Ma’ren slave girl. A mistake on Edward’s part and Envy had belly-cut her. Edward, having just read about soul transmutation, in his fear, shock, and desperation attempted it.
At the cost of an arm, he successfully bound Chu’Li’s soul onto the doll he had just bought for her. Envy had departed, laughing demonically.
But Chu’Li had been aghast. Hour after hour, she wept and wailed inside that pretty, golden-haired doll. She asked for death, for release, that she didn’t want to remain an abomination and a restless ghost, forever denied the company of her ancestors. Edward had refused for two weeks, before he was brought close to the brink of madness and despair and finally erased the blood-inscribed seal at the leg of the doll. The silence left behind had been deafening and he had wept bitterly.
That was when he knew he had to leave the hell he had stayed in since he was eight.
After a rigorous six-month therapy to adjust to an automail limb, he escaped on one of the nights his father, Lust, and Gluttony were gone. He had left Envy in a pitiful state, chopping off his head and leaving it inside a chest even as his decapitated body twitched and trembled. As he did, he cursed the immortality of the homunculi and vowed to find a way to destroy them all.
The rest of his escape was made possible by Shi Len, his teacher. It was Shi Len who found him a way to get to Huan, who gave him the name of a reputable opera school and a contact. He had left eagerly, using alchemy to change the colour of his hair, dreaming of a chance to finally perform on stage. He had failed to notice the dimness in his teacher’s bright black eyes, the disgust at the sight of the automail, and the carefully neutral expression on his face.
It was only when he was face-to-face with the contact that he learned a devastating truth: automail was anathema on the stage. To the Xing, who valued physical perfection, automail was something to hide, to be ashamed of. Expensive and functional though they were, nobody ever wanted to see them. He was quickly thrown out of the school grounds.
He met Shen-Lok by chance. As he was passing dejectedly through one of the many merchant alleys, he saw a small, yellow-robed man nimbly walking around. Curious, Ed followed him and saw a poor woman and her child crawl out of a shack. The woman begged for a healing for the child. The monk knelt by her and put down the large wooden box on his back. Ed watched as he carefully measured out dried and fresh herbs, pouring them onto a wooden bowl with alchemical symbols. The monk held the bowl with both hands and it glowed for a few seconds. When the light receded, there was a pool of murky green liquid. Gently, the monk poured the liquid down the child’s throat and began telling the mother how to make sure the child didn’t get sicker. Then he took out his money pouch and gave her a handful of coins before getting up.
Edward snorted and turned away. Chemical and botanical alchemy were not interesting to him; he preferred metals and earth matter.
He wandered away, looking at the merchant stalls, bumping into people as he forced his way through the crowds. Finally, feeling hungry, he went inside a tiny restaurant and ordered several bowls of egg-on-rice with deep-fried shrimp and fish.
An hour later, he leaned back on the bench, replete. His stomach was bulging and his eyes were heavy-lidded. As the serving girl came to his table, he fished for his money pouch.
It was not there.
Alarm flooded him as he began to frantically pat his clothes and hair, trying to find the bulging pouch. The serving girl’s pleasant expression turned darker and darker as she watched his antics, until she yelled shrilly for the owner of the restaurant. Edward swallowed, empty-handed, as a thin middle-aged man marched towards him with a meat cleaver.
“Trying to eat without paying eh, shit-scum?” the man yelled at him. “You owe me 1000 chon, shit-scum! If you don’t pay up, I’m taking you to the debt-slavers!”
“I have the money! It, it’s just gone at the moment! Look, seriously, I don’t...” Ed began to babble, trying to back away but he was being surrounded by the other patrons. Most of them looked like they were looking forward to roughing him up for the notaries.
“The Thousand-Armed doesn’t like strife,” a quiet deep voice said. All of them looked at a figure standing up from the corner. Ed stared at him, recognizing the monk from before. The monk approached the restaurant owner. “I have been blessed by Her Holiness today. May I be allowed to take on this child’s debt?” He took out a pouch from his robes and carefully counted out 1300 chon, small rectangles of tin that were of the lowest value. “The rest is for my own meal.” The monk put the pouch away and bowed low, holding out the pool of money in front of him. The restaurant owner lowered the cleaver, smiled, and slowly took the coins. He bowed to the priest as well, blessing the man for his generosity. He glared at Ed one last time before returning back to the kitchen. The patrons drifted back to their seats.
Ed bowed low to the priest. “Holy One, I thank you greatly for your kindness. I must have been robbed on the way here. I will make tenfold a donation to the Order for your generosity.”
The monk said simply, “No.”
Ed started, and began to straighten up. He recalled his manners and returned to his bowed position. The monk continued on. “My Order has more need for helpers than donations. If you are honourable in your intentions to repay your debt, you must become an indentured servant to the Order for one year.”
Ed shot up, forgetting all manners. He stared straight into the monk’s eyes. “You’re crazy,” he said flatly.
“You are the foolish one who let his pouch get away,” returned the monk calmly. His black eyes were pools of serenity.
“I won’t do it.”
“Ah.” Staring at him for a few more minutes, the monk turned away. Ed felt a heavy feeling burst in his chest. “Wait! I will pay you back, I promise!” he blurted out, heart thudding. He felt strange, as if something had taken a hold of him.
“The Thousand-Armed need not earth’s coin,” came the reply.
Ed watched him walk away, conflicted. One year of indenture. One year shackled to someone else’s prison. But he had never been one to leave his debts unpaid...
“I, I will do it,” he yelled out. The monk stopped and looked back. “As you will.”
The notaries were quick to complete the indenture papers. Then came the blacksmith shop.
Now, Edward Elric was getting out of the carriage, at the south entrance to the city. He looked down the dusty road and saw the enormous mountain range called the Sky Dragon Sleeping. Somewhere in it was an isolated monastery. His new Strafanstalt.
He ran a tentative hand over his bare scalp. Maybe it was for the better, he thought. His past wishes and dreams had been shorn from him, but ahead still lay a future, new dreams, new hopes.
Still, touching his scalp, he marched forwards, following at the heels of his new keeper.
-FINI-
WWWW
So that’s it for this story. I can’t believe I made Ed bald!!! Eeeee....
Okay, so he was supposed to go with the monks. Then I changed my mind. And I changed my mind again. Anyway, this is the end.
So, in this arc, Al attempted human transfiguration only, while Ed only attempted soul transfiguration. And both lost their left arms, but are otherwise whole. Just so to keep it clear.