prompt 229, green thumb, The Green Path
Title --The Green Path
Author-- cornerofmadness
series -- manga/FMA:B
Disclaimer -- Arakawa owns all
Rating -- teen
Characters/Pairing -- Alphonse
Word Count -- 875
Summary -- It’s a path to his father
Author’s Note --self edited as I’m awash in work and running low on time.
XXX
Hohenheim had always wanted to have a green thumb, but the truth was, he had exactly the opposite effect. Most things he tried to grow died, often from neglect as some new idea or bit of research captured his attention. Time didn’t move the same for an immortal, and Hohenheim was just absent minded enough to not notice its passing. He had tried herbs for certain alchemical experiments, rose gardens, oh how he wanted to grow those, water gardens, desert plants, which came the closest to success. The only garden that thrived had been the Xingese rock gardens where he could use a rake to make patterns. Rocks were very amenable to his style of gardening.
He had been such a failure at growing plants that when he learned he was to be a father, Hohenheim panicked. He was sure the moment he was left alone with his child, he’d blink and the baby would be dead, or worse, he’d be five and Hohenheim had missed the years going by. It wasn’t that fear that eventually forced him from his home. It was the loss of humanness that motivated that.
It was all here in his father’s journals, how the man had felt, how he had strived and failed. Al hadn’t told Ed about them right away. Their father had given Al the locations of several places he hid his journals and research all around the world. Al didn’t know what Ed might do. Even though their father died for them in the end, Ed might still be mad enough to destroy them, so Al had waited until he was well enough to go look for the first, closest place himself. He had found very few alchemy tomes. Instead, there he had uncovered his father’s personal journals, some hundreds of years old. It had taken nearly a month to break the code and only then did he tell his brother about it.
They had divvied up the task of bringing their father’s things home, even enlisting Mr. Mustang’s help, mostly because he had somehow learned of their endeavor. Maybe his aunt really did have eyes and ears everywhere. Al didn’t mind sharing. Ed howled like he usually did, but his brother wasn’t a fool. He knew Mustang was a good ally. Al had volunteered to go get the items in the Far East. After all, Ed needed to stay closer to home, even if he was too much of a fool to figure out why until reminded sternly. Al planned to spend three years in Xing, the longest he had ever been apart from his brother, but he had Ling, Mei and Lan Fan.
While in Xing, his father’s desire to grow something, to see it live and thrive took root in Al’s psyche. It seemed like such a worthy cause, and while he had no idea if his thumb were any greener, it would be fun to try. Al started with bamboo. It was basically grass, after all, and the Xingese held it lucky. Bamboo, as it turned out, was next to impossible to kill. Ling gave him his own pond and Al turned some of the bamboo into a bull roarer, tapping a stone every time the hollow stem filled with water. In the pond, he grew lotuses. They were beautiful, pinks, whites, reds and blues, all pushing up from the muck below. Al began to understand his father more - beyond all the legends about the Golden Sage that abounded in his adopted country. He understood the sadness and loneliness the man felt, his sorrow when he forgot his leafy charges and they withered. However, truth be told, Al was better at it.
Ling eventually gave him own garden space, dedicated to Hohenheim. Al grew chrysanthemums to symbolize longevity. That seemed appropriate. He didn’t particularly care for the smell, but the Xingese seemed to love them. He talked the Imperial gardeners into letting him plant some peaches, which had the same meaning behind them. Finally, confident in his own talents, Al had roses brought in. They had been so spindly at first, but within two years, he had garden filled with a variety of them. He had even crossed a rose of his own, golden with just a hint of red at the tips. He named it Hohenheim.
When he finally headed for home, Alphonse brought the Hohenheim rose with him. He already had plans for a fragrant white and gold cross that he would call Trisha. Ling had broken tradition and sent Al home with some special plants, the lotuses in seed form and the tricky to keep alive and next to impossible to make bloom orchids. His brother would probably laugh when he saw his brother’s new hobby. If he ever accidentally bred an extra thorny rose, he’d call it Edward. He’d do Winry’s garden for her and maybe a couple garden parks in Resembool named after their parents.
His own house would have expansive gardens with a place to sit and contemplate his father’s writings. Such a long life translated into so many books to read. Al didn’t know exactly where his life was going, but he had his home firmly in mind. He dreamed in green splashed with color.
Author-- cornerofmadness
series -- manga/FMA:B
Disclaimer -- Arakawa owns all
Rating -- teen
Characters/Pairing -- Alphonse
Word Count -- 875
Summary -- It’s a path to his father
Author’s Note --self edited as I’m awash in work and running low on time.
XXX
Hohenheim had always wanted to have a green thumb, but the truth was, he had exactly the opposite effect. Most things he tried to grow died, often from neglect as some new idea or bit of research captured his attention. Time didn’t move the same for an immortal, and Hohenheim was just absent minded enough to not notice its passing. He had tried herbs for certain alchemical experiments, rose gardens, oh how he wanted to grow those, water gardens, desert plants, which came the closest to success. The only garden that thrived had been the Xingese rock gardens where he could use a rake to make patterns. Rocks were very amenable to his style of gardening.
He had been such a failure at growing plants that when he learned he was to be a father, Hohenheim panicked. He was sure the moment he was left alone with his child, he’d blink and the baby would be dead, or worse, he’d be five and Hohenheim had missed the years going by. It wasn’t that fear that eventually forced him from his home. It was the loss of humanness that motivated that.
It was all here in his father’s journals, how the man had felt, how he had strived and failed. Al hadn’t told Ed about them right away. Their father had given Al the locations of several places he hid his journals and research all around the world. Al didn’t know what Ed might do. Even though their father died for them in the end, Ed might still be mad enough to destroy them, so Al had waited until he was well enough to go look for the first, closest place himself. He had found very few alchemy tomes. Instead, there he had uncovered his father’s personal journals, some hundreds of years old. It had taken nearly a month to break the code and only then did he tell his brother about it.
They had divvied up the task of bringing their father’s things home, even enlisting Mr. Mustang’s help, mostly because he had somehow learned of their endeavor. Maybe his aunt really did have eyes and ears everywhere. Al didn’t mind sharing. Ed howled like he usually did, but his brother wasn’t a fool. He knew Mustang was a good ally. Al had volunteered to go get the items in the Far East. After all, Ed needed to stay closer to home, even if he was too much of a fool to figure out why until reminded sternly. Al planned to spend three years in Xing, the longest he had ever been apart from his brother, but he had Ling, Mei and Lan Fan.
While in Xing, his father’s desire to grow something, to see it live and thrive took root in Al’s psyche. It seemed like such a worthy cause, and while he had no idea if his thumb were any greener, it would be fun to try. Al started with bamboo. It was basically grass, after all, and the Xingese held it lucky. Bamboo, as it turned out, was next to impossible to kill. Ling gave him his own pond and Al turned some of the bamboo into a bull roarer, tapping a stone every time the hollow stem filled with water. In the pond, he grew lotuses. They were beautiful, pinks, whites, reds and blues, all pushing up from the muck below. Al began to understand his father more - beyond all the legends about the Golden Sage that abounded in his adopted country. He understood the sadness and loneliness the man felt, his sorrow when he forgot his leafy charges and they withered. However, truth be told, Al was better at it.
Ling eventually gave him own garden space, dedicated to Hohenheim. Al grew chrysanthemums to symbolize longevity. That seemed appropriate. He didn’t particularly care for the smell, but the Xingese seemed to love them. He talked the Imperial gardeners into letting him plant some peaches, which had the same meaning behind them. Finally, confident in his own talents, Al had roses brought in. They had been so spindly at first, but within two years, he had garden filled with a variety of them. He had even crossed a rose of his own, golden with just a hint of red at the tips. He named it Hohenheim.
When he finally headed for home, Alphonse brought the Hohenheim rose with him. He already had plans for a fragrant white and gold cross that he would call Trisha. Ling had broken tradition and sent Al home with some special plants, the lotuses in seed form and the tricky to keep alive and next to impossible to make bloom orchids. His brother would probably laugh when he saw his brother’s new hobby. If he ever accidentally bred an extra thorny rose, he’d call it Edward. He’d do Winry’s garden for her and maybe a couple garden parks in Resembool named after their parents.
His own house would have expansive gardens with a place to sit and contemplate his father’s writings. Such a long life translated into so many books to read. Al didn’t know exactly where his life was going, but he had his home firmly in mind. He dreamed in green splashed with color.